#boltsunder

He's tried this before, is the thing.

When she was similarly drunk. When she was asleep. When she was in the baths, even. Anywhere and everywhere one might expect peace, he'd approached her with his blade aimed at her throat—and every single time, sober or inebriated, asleep or awake, she'd managed to evade him.

Moze isn't foolish enough to assume this attempt would be any different; not when Feixiao has already noticed him. Still, he remains where he is for a moment longer, lips pressed thin as his fingers curl over the imagined hilt of his dagger. And as he does, he thinks not of past failures or future attempts, but of her: endlessly confident and ceaselessly bright, fragile even in—especially through—her invincibility. No matter her strength, no matter how untouchable she seems, she bleeds just like any other living creature.

And that has been, and always will be, the most terrifying and reassuring thing about her.

Sometimes, you get to interact with fully reasonable, careful, cautious and patient people who know when to follow regulations and instructions in a dangerous place for their own safety and well-being. And other times, you get General Feixiao of the Xianzhou Yaoqing.

Dan Heng stirs and blinks as he looks up when she calls out to him; he knew she'd been sitting up there, but was not expecting to catch her attention, or indeed to receive the announcement she makes. He isn't sure why exactly he has to know this (does she think he would try to stop her, or could succeed in doing so? If yes, she has way more confidence in him than he does and he'll take that as a compliment), and his initial reaction to her words is merely a light tilt of his head in silence.

"... Certainly wouldn't, General," he eventually responds, his tone rather flat, "though I'm not sure where you intend to find it. But I'm sure the people around here would appreciate it." A moment of pause.

@boltsunder wrote:

[ SNOWBALL ] She didn't expect to be pelted with snowballs by various children around the plaza-- after all, kids weren't always this bold-- but for those who have the guts to come after her... She can't ignore their challenge, can she? A bout of raucous laughter can be heard throughout the entire campsite, along with Feixiao running back and forth to nail the children with her rather impressive arsenal. There's a scream every so often, signifying a new 'kill' to be confirmed. One of the kids surprises her, though, and a snowball flies directly at her face. Feixiao's quicker than that, however, and she ducks out of the way... only for it to land on the shoulder of a woman she doesn't recognize, pink hair now spattered with bits of snow. The kid that threw it stiffens and points at the General. "She did it!" Before the audacious little punk scampers away. The foxian's jaw remains slack, mouth open, before she whirls on her heel with snowballs in each hand. "Uh. Sorry. I did not. For the record."

Cold bursts over her face, dousing her vision in white for just long enough to obscure the accuser. Cyrene reaches to brush snow from her eyes, blinking powder from her lashes. Her vision refocuses at last on pointed ears and piercing eyes, either hand still armed. She looks between them, then back to the woman's face.

And laughs.

"I believe you." She shakes her head, sending snow flying every which way. What still clings is, at least, has scattered throughout the pink of her hair. "Though that was quite the impressive throw, I'd have complimented you if you had."

Her gaze flits then across all of the still playing children, narrowing on one that she would deem the suspect. Not that she had seen the throw, of course, but the way they hide and blink nervously at the foxian from afar tells Cyrene all she needs to know. Their eyes meet and she winks before looking to the other once more, sidelong.

"Not too late to take credit, you know. ♪"

And then, the slightest of nods towards where the assailant has hidden before she turns on her heel, laughter warm on the wind.

What is this Sampo Koski hears, but a cry for help? He turns toward the miracle-seeker, more than prepared to cheerfully ply his services, when he sees It. He can't help that he makes a face as he does so, some expression screwed between pity, horror, and bafflement.

What kind of unholy creation . . .

"With all due respect, ma'am," he advises solemnly, "you may be kinder to put it out of its misery..."

Sheesh! What a scary lady. One whose bad side Sampo would prefer to steer widely clear of.

She’s right about that. There’s something uniquely tantalizing about the oily, roasted scent of street food on a winter’s day, and it’d managed to turn Wriothesley’s head before he’d even seen her haul. Grease-stained paper cartons, funnels, trays, skewers, and who-knows-what-else balances in a precarious stack between her arms, all of which she deftly balances to offer him a skewer. The twitch of one of her long ears brings Wriothesley’s attention to those fox-like features for a split second as he decides whether or not to accept food from a stranger.

There had been a time when he’d been too desperate to be picky, and he’d grabbed whatever anyone was willing to give him, paying for it a quarter of the time later. Certain people in Fontaine had no desire to see children with holes in their clothes and tar on their cheeks sitting in the streets, and surreptitiously did what they could to get rid of them. Poison still lingered like a warning in the back of Wriothesley’s mind even now, but that indecision holds him back for only a split second. He takes the offered skewer like there hadn’t been any hesitation at all.

”That’s kind of you.” He pays her back with a polite smile, a little warmer than his usual. “No one else to share all of this with? You've got quite a lot there for just one person.”

Chomping off a chunk of grilled what he assumes to be chicken of some kind, he nearly forgets his manners and offers through a mouthful:

a smile greets the general as she approaches and takes a seat next to him at this late night soiree; he takes the drink easily when it's tapped against his arm, then lifts the glass to his nose to take a slight whiff. a slow sip finds the taste lacking, perhaps even more than she does --- mostly astringent, but the burn is largely mild.

earlier in the evening, he'd toured the museum with a little machine that played a sound recording through small speakers that wasn't quite made for foxian ears, learned a few things about what the people of belobog find precious and worth preserving. funny, then, that they were a society that worshiped the preservation, when most of their history was nowhere near as ancient as that of the hexafleet... "hm... I suppose that's true, the exhibits in this museum do show how the people of belobog have grown with time into who they are today. but have you considered most of the history recorded in this museum --- over half the exhibits, by my count from the audio tour --- are not even older than the divine foresight? maybe we should put him in a museum, and perhaps also place the flaming heart of the zhuming in a fossil exhibit..." jiaoqiu chuckles, then takes a more earnest sip of the drink feixiao brought him.

It’s a comfortable silence that lingers between the two Generals— Feixiao brought an offering of liquor to share with her companion, making a snide comment about the previous ban of alcohol sales on the Luofu. (“I’ll show you what happens when the wolves arrive, alright…”) She won’t hold a grudge over it, but she certainly won’t forget the transgression against her.

The explosions of color above them would be vaguely reminiscent of the searing flames that would signify a starskiff’s defeat, and were she not in a better mindset, the red lights would likely make her skin crawl.

She takes a sip of her drink, letting out a hum of content, almost as if she’s forcefully stopping the train of thought.

“So, General,” The Merlin’s Claw drawls, nudging the bottle of baijiu in his direction. “The drinks here are quite good. I think I’ll need to take some back to the Yaoqing— I believe they may be to your tastes as well.”

A particularly impressive display of fireworks catches her attention, azure eyes sparkling with mischief as a brazen idea strikes her. Maybe it’s fueled by her drink, or maybe it’s fueled by the excitement overall, but… regardless, the comment is made in jest, though Feixiao wouldn’t mind if it was taken seriously.

The look on Jing Yuan’s face would be worth it.

“I think we could easily put on a better show. Surely Lightning Lord can make grander blasts than this.”

The only person to blame for the new jurisdiction across the Luofu was her own. He did not even call for the ban, he simply approved it after all the damages she caused. That being said, he does indulge in a cup with his fellow general. A long sip, just to place the cup down and refill it. He is casual about what had come and what had gone, though such grudges over issues he did not instigate were not worth his time.

His mind is on the fireworks roaring above them. Having already watched an earlier showing, this one does seem to be more intensive. They are larger, explode more loudly, paint the skies in their blaze more passionately.

"Hmm?" He would take another sip of his cup, just to refill as he had done before. Slowing his pace so as to not possibly cause an incident, he listens to Feixiao thoughtfully. "I would agree. I've sampled their tea as well. I'll certainly be stocking my own collection. Even if I must be tactful about how I get it home." A playful jab back at the Foxian.

Such a devious gaze and even more devious thoughts earn a rather hearty laugh from Jing Yuan.

"I dare say you're right. I do not think it would be wise to use the Lightning Lord for that, though. I believe I'd scare these people half to death with such a display. I'm not here to conquer, I'm here to enjoy." Another laugh, extending his cup to Feixiao, offering a toast between the two of them.