#carefreemonk

The tight bouquet of flowers is a token gesture - when in Fodlan, and all. They are a medley of blooms in bright yellows, perhaps intended as a contrast to her hair, but it'd be a mistake to ask if the monk had any sense about contrasts in colours or art. To him, it had simply felt... right.

He isn't much of a material man. He's kept gifts, but otherwise, Azama keeps his own environs sparse, easy to pack up and take off if the need for a pilgrimmage should strike him.

Birthdays always seemed a fickle thing. Here one day, gone the next, same as any old number on the calendar. Congratulations on surviving another year! Congratulations on creeping ever closer to your inevitable end as a powerless mortal human on this ill-fated plane of existence.

He struggles to see the meaning in it.

But there must be something to it, he is beginning to suspect.

"Ahem. A little birdie told me."

After all, it can't have been on a mere whim that one of his favourite students had bothered to remember and celebrate him any, and more than once, at that. (Or can it?)

The parcel that follows is wrapped and folded in plain burlap. Within, a pouch on a cord, an amulet of protection blessed by yours truly. It isn't much of anything fashionable, alas, but there should be no doubting its intended purpose.

"For your new post as a knight..." Lips press into a thin smile. "Stay safe."

She would not have thought the bouquet was for her, had he not greeted her by name. Even on their own, flowers are such beautiful things -- the life that seeps through the cracks, that brings color to wastelands and hope to the world-worn. No matter what their color, they will never suit her; it is just that yellow in particular feels far brighter than her.

"Oh... th, thank you..." Still, Katarina accepts them despite feeling dwarfed by their light. After all, though she would never claim to be worthy of them, that does not mean she holds no affection for them, either. Once, she was a child who looked for the greenery peeking between stones; once, she was the world-worn traitor who saw gentle blooms in an ugly world and thought that maybe it could be more.

As for the professor--

--not a professor to her anymore, and yet always her professor --

--she suspects that maybe he'd picked the color on a whim. It would be very like him, she thinks, and yet if someone were to tell her it was not like him at all, she would not be so surprised either. Like the bleached hue of something always turned toward the sun, or the bright side of the moon, she suspects at times that his blasé demeanor is only the side of him turned toward others the most often.

Her eyes soften, the corners of her mouth pulled into a faint smile.

"...thank you, Professor." Take his gift, for example -- wrapped plainly, but securely. Once she might have expected him to prepare something much more outlandish, yet now she thinks it suits him unexpectedly well.

If something is to take her by surprise, it is the wish. Gray eyes blink owlishly at him before creasing into a silent laugh. That's right, she'd never really talked about it before, had she?

After all, his daughter is quite well surrounded, as far as Azama can tell. So: he resigns himself against stealing too much of her time.

But he must greet her in person this time. It's the proper thing to do... apparently. Eventually, he finds her, and makes good his approach.

"It's nothing special, I'm afraid. More practical than sentimental."

It is a small-ish parcel he hands her alongside a modest bouquet of flowers - when in Fodlan, and all. Atop the parcel is a capped inkwell, its sleek obsidian black hinting at nothing of its contents.

Within the parcel is a book, its pages blank save for the very first-

To: Mitama,

To use as you see fit,

Whether that be in recording those you cherish about you,

Or simply in noting the simple, fleeting moments☆

And the very last-

Another year gone

Yesterdays and tomorrows

Are never assured

... it is a book of fine quality, perhaps not excessively but rather appreciatively so. As for the ink, only when it is put to use does the truth of its make become clear: its mix of blues and silvers and purples shimmers and flickers in the light, much like the stars in the sky it had been inspired by. The flowers are pretty, chosen with due care - they offer wishes for health, for warmth, for friendship, and love.

He smiles, softly, faintly, but fondly.

"All the same... Happy birthday, dear. I am full glad I am here to bear witness to it."

Finally. Even with all the exhaustion of the day's attention sitting on her shoulders, Mitama still perks up when she catches sight of her approaching father.

"That is quite alright. There has been an interesting mix of sentimentality and practicality thus far as is."

(It is not necessary, she had told others. It is just another day. These facts remain true but, selfishly, her expectations fall different when it comes to him. Her hopes being proven correct inspires nothing but delight.)

Ink is always appreciated. That which is found here in Fodlan does not work as well with her brushes, forcing her to resort to more local tools more often than not. She does not mind, but there is something about the familiar and smooth movements of a brush that she misses. Particularly after writing assignments leave her with an unpleasant cramp in her hand.

The book is lovely as well. Mitama admires it quite before flipping it open, surprised to find text scribbled on the first page. How familiar. They really were cut from the same cloth. She cannot stop herself from laughing softly, happily, at the realization.

"Thank you, Father. I look forward to seeing what the future holds to be memorialized within these pages."

Only time will tell. Perhaps in a year from now, she will have already filled it to the brim, or only used a scant few pages. Who can say? She hopes though that he might be around then to see her progress.

"Ah! Miss Katarina. Just the person I wished to see. " Smile crinkles Azama's eyes. "Will you join me for a toast?"

He's got two glasses in hand, and he would very much like to not have two glasses in hand, thanks much. He offers her one before raising the other before him.

"To a brand new year full of whimsy and enlightenment and moving forward, and learning, and bothering people... and... and..."

There he stops, shrugs, grins.

"Hum... Your turn!"

"Oh...! Professor..." Hard to shake the habit, isn't it? Though she's a bit more conscious of it when he's handing her a glass of champagne. One glass limit aside, no teacher would have been the one to give her that one glass if she were still a student. "...thank you, Azama," she amends.

He raises his glass, and she does so in turn, listening as he gleefully rattles off the things he'd like to fill his year. Not that she would ever dare claim to understand him, but the corners of her mouth curl faintly upward when he slips 'moving forward' in with the rest. The rest being... well, things that very much sound like he'd enjoy.

"M-my turn?" Well, he did just end his list with bothering people. Really, it's on her for not seeing it coming. That does nothing to stop her fluster. "I've never, um..."

Eyes flit hither and thither in search of an answer, until they land on her bouquet and settle into calm. Lowering her glass, she lifts a tulip instead, raising it in his honor.

+ @viridescent-lance too!... unless he's scared to lose (:

"Pardon my reach."

The dry request is meant for Azama, but it's basically delivered into the back of Forsyth's head. The man seems to choose the path to that guarantees he stays at least partially sandwiched between Python and his Hoshidan friend for as many turns as he can.

"You're missing your usual spark," Azama notes. Will she be lacking her usual bite for him, too? Or will she perhaps manage to muster up a token quip? Suppose it'd be better if she didn't waste her energy on silly ol' Azama though.

Suppose he'd best not give her reason to want to.

He offers one of the glasses in his hands.

"Here. I wound up with two by mistake and need a hand free. I'm not sure what flavour it is, but t'is a night for new experiences, no?"

As for Why he needs a hand free:

"Ahem... Would you happen to be missing a tulip for your collection?"

Because he has noticed, recently, he seems to be missing a hyacinth.

... truce?

....

Should she trust anything this man offers her for free?

or in general, for that matter

Likely not, but she also shouldn't cause a scene, so she takes the offered glass and tulip, then exchanges both items for a hyacinth.

"I heard of a form of bouquets where you stick flowers into some soft, spongy texture so they remain upright; you could try it with your hair."

The insult towards his hairdo, as natural as it is floundering as she can't find the energy to be creative nor truly vindictive.

It's while he's rearranging his modest bouquet that Azama proffers one of his own flowers to Edelgard nearby. His smile, perfectly content, hides no ill will.

"I do believe, Lady Edelgard, you could easily be considered the belle of this year's ball... were my own daughter not in attendance, of course." He chuckles at that - perhaps he thinks he is quite the comic.

Edelgard enjoys the feeling of shifting around flowers with thoughts that seldom idle— The way she carefully chooses which colors adorn the outside of her bouquet and which remain tucked away. Reds to make a circle, purples on the inside, blues to add a splash once lacking. With all the talking and dancing that comes with a ball of this stature, she revels in simplicity.

It comes with ease, then, that she takes the flower from Azama and replaces it with an orchid of offering. There is hardly a reason nor desire to refuse. She inserts the singular flower into her bouquet and splashes it into place to match the rest.

"Heh. A proud parent, I take it," she says with a chuckle of her own. Lifting her bouquet into the air, the princess brings it to eye level and lets the faintest of smiles paint on her lips.

"Ah! If it isn't Hinoka. Making merry this eve, I should hope?"

He beams, steps around to stand before her, and with a flourish... presents the plate of curiosities he has procured for his one and only liege. At first glance, it looks to be a platter of sweet bun trios taken haphazardly from any of the tables about the ballroom offering myriad similar confections...

But those and these are not the same.

He offers a starry-eyed wink.

"The inside may surprise you."

So maybe he'd pulled a few strings with his modest income upon learning that Hinoka - even if she was not his Hinoka - had made her way to Fodlan. Tucked away within the sweet buns were small, crystalline, star-shaped candy - konpeito.

A taste of home for one so far removed. And a wish for her to feel more at ease.

"I will always wish the best for you, you know."

But then, the corners of his eyes crease upon noticing her bouquet - and in it, a particular pink tulip.

"It seems you already have one... but, my lady, you will still accept one of mine, won't you?"

Cream and pink tulip is held out for Hinoka to take.

Some days Azama is exasperating, other days he makes her want to tear out her hair. But on days like today, in moments like this one, Hinoka is grateful for her retainer. And maybe still a little exasperated.

"Azama, is that a whole platter?" She asked, but it is pointless to ask because, yes, it is, and no, she didn't want to enquire further. She was going to accept this at face value and enquire no further, because otherwise she would fall down some rabbit hole line of questioning she did not currently wish to entertain. So instead Hinoka sighed and offered Azama a smile, taking one of the trios.

"I have been better than I expected this evening," she answered. "Being at such a formal event hasn't been as bad as I thought."

Absent-mindedly, she took a bite of one of the sweet buns and paused when instead of the expected filling, her teeth instead crunch into a familiar sugar treat. Her eyes widen in surprise. Konpeitō. Whatever strings Azama had pulled had given her a sweet bun filled with her favourite treat. Something perhaps childish and she would be highly embarrassed about, but... right now it was reminding her of a home she was so far from at the moment. She sets the bun down on her plate again.

As the flower is offered, Hinoka pauses. Then accepts it gently, as though the offering is a most treasured gift.

"Thank-you, Azama," she murmured. Thanks for more than just the flower. She adds it to her bouquet and gives him one of her lilies in return. "You are a godssend."

Close calls…‎ ‎ Fashion…‎ ‎ I'm counting on you…‎ ‎ "Still studying hard, Lady Edelgard?" She must be. As the future face of her empire, she's got no choice in the matter. Or does she? "You know, if you ever need somewhere to take a nap and escape from it all, my office is open. Even future rulers - or perhaps especially future rulers! - should be careful not to skimp on their beauty rest." A pause. "Are you planning to 'tear it up', as the youth say, in the upcoming arena again? It pains me to admit I may not be joining this time, and so our chances of teaming up again are dreadfully slim… alas, and alack!" Ah, yes. He's totally heartbroken about it.

( Perfect Tea Time )

"— Of course I am. My studies take precedence. Not a day goes by when I'm not working hard. The same should be said for everyone here." That is her hope, at least.

If she is wrong, she has no qualms with rectifying that.

Rest and respite is important, but napping? She finds it unnecessary, lest time in the day break itself interrupted when one could be using their time productively. There are classes to attend and duties to fulfill. "Do I give the appearance of being tired? .. I'll have to pass on your offer, though I acknowledge the sentiment. I don't take naps. I get enough sleep at night."

She doesn't. She doesn't share that.