#cloudyknightskies

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Upon seeing a rather familiar face, Clair walked gracefully over without a hint of urgency, no, no. A lady was always in the best of shape! No panic painted upon herself at all! “Salutations, Forsyth! A pleasure to see you once more. I assume you are aware of the, ah, what did they call it…”

Something to do with a bird? Quickly now, Clair! You must remember… “The White Heron Cup! Yes. Would you be so inclined as to grant me your thoughts on my desired performance? You have been here far longer than I, thus, you must hold some knowledge on the subject.”

She plucked a hyacinth out of her bouquet for the other. Of course, this would not be her only form of repayment but it would do for the moment. 

“I have a dance prepared, rather common, I would assume? However, I do believe there is little else I could offer that could—”

And with that, she returned to rambling her thoughts away. Perhaps it could give her some reprieve…?

“Greetings, Lady Clair!” Clair’s enthusiasm is infectious, though she seems a little frazzled at the moment. Forsyth cannot blame her; if the ball is an undertaking for him as a mere knight, a student and lady must have such immense pressure, especially in her first year! “It is always a delight to see you.”

The way she speaks as if he is an authority on the ball should not bring him pause. He has been here near half a decade, after all. Perhaps that’s what trips him up, though--Lady Clair is deferring to him on matters of etiquette in a foreign land, and her assumption is in fact correct. He does have answers for her.

“Ah, yes! I’ve participated in it several times. I am not sure if I am the foremost judge for it, but I could certainly give feedback.” There's no time to dwell on that, not right now. Not with Sir Clive’s dear sister depending on him! He adds one of his own roses to Clair’s bouquet, giving what he hopes is a reassuring smile. "You need offer nothing more. I'd be happy to assist. You know, Python and I once..."

Sweet Love - Still Accepting Also asked by: @diadic

Short answer: no.

Long answer: Deimne is at a crossroads at the moment. He's in a new environment surrounded by new people and new opportunities, yet it's all so similar to back home. In Jugdral, the Holy War was one waged through genealogies holding holy bloods, of which Deimne lacks. He very bluntly says so, in FE4's endgame dialogue:

Deimne: It's not just me. It's like we normal folk may as well not even be here... Daisy: Actually, yeah, now that you mention it... They don't really seem to need us. Deimne: Exactly... Y'know what? I oughta just go back home and find myself a real job. (Source: Project Naga translation)

[ TXT ]  :   do i sense sarcasm in your tone?

[ TXT ]  :   ugh, what are you even doing?

[ TXT ] : there are some things im serious about yknow. like sleeping in

[ an hour passes ]

[ TXT ]  :   bernadetta ? 

[ TXT ]  :   come to the front door, I’ve come bearing food !

[ TXT ]  :   call me when you see this !

five or so more minutes pass before she notices the notifications. in bernadetta's defense, she had been on a roll with her latest chapter—

( "but then... there was only one bed!" )

alright. it was a god awful defense anyway. tucking her pen behind an ear, her free thumb unlocks the phone with a quick swipe to the screen.

[ TXT ] : clair!! i'm so sorry, i just saw this [ TXT ] : but i haven't, no! thank you, i'll be right out!

Some time passed as Clair did her usual routine. A lady would have to look her best after all! However, a rather… concerning thought appeared at random. Truly nothing to be worried about but…

Just checking couldn’t hurt, right?

Another look at her phone and she came to a rather mortifying realisation. Too embarrassing to admit to anyone else. 

[ TXT ]  :   sorry,  i think i have the wrong number.

Now all that remained was to throw everything out today in order to recover from such a mistake. If it would even work.

Céline is picking away at her omelette—perfectly fluffed, with a garnishing of herbs and Gruyère filling to further elevate the taste—when she receives the text, half expecting some sort of spam or automated message when she sees the unfamiliar number.

But, no. Just your regular mistaken text.

[ TXT ]  :   thought i'd reach out and see how you're doing.

[ TXT ]  :   are you taking care of yourself?

[ TXT ]  : Oh, Miss Clair! It is wonderful to hear from you. My apologies for not reaching out earlier, I've been quite busy as of late. The good sort of busy, to be clear; I've been hard at work assisting your [1/2]

[ TXT ]  : brother in my new position!

(Gachapon) A strange device sits at the festival grounds, containing little capsules with dolls inside of them. The perfect memento! For a few pieces of gold one of them can be yours- and who knows what you’ll get?

It was only a couple of gold pieces... Which quickly turned into several gold pieces as Camilla tried her luck collecting all of the dragons it offered. It wasn't until she ended up with several duplicates that she realized she should stop.

"Here!" She offered one of her duplicates to a passerby, dumping it in her hands before continuing on.

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None could say Clair was one to deny a challenge and now was no different. This had been her… third? No, fourth attempt. Each and every time, the stall owner looked at her with a sense of arrogance. The kind she found in those who had yet to feel the humbling of a million heavens. 

In most scenarios, Clair held an elegance none could match (well… maybe Matilda or Celica could… but that was beside the point) yet in this moment…

“HYA!!”

She looked rather foolish.

Of course, she kept her grace as she lost once again and was not glaring a thousand lances upon the stall owner. Perish the thought! Especially since it seemed another was present. She blinked at the other’s presence, quickly straightening herself up. “Salutations! Do you wish to earn a prize as well?” Maybe if she kept the conversation going, the other would forget her previous display…

Mitama remembers an expression. To attempt something again and again with no alterations, while expecting a different result, was the definition of...well, it would be rude to think that way about a stranger she has only just met.

This is why she had to stop, you see. The clear frustration on the victim of this game's face was obvious to those passing by, and Mitama had grown curious about how many attempts she really was willing to make before conceding defeat to this game. After all, from an observer's point of view, it was clear that they were not playing fairly. There was no reason that the player had not won yet, with how fearsome her attacks had been.

She blinks at the sudden address. Her gaze is much slower to move to the other woman, and she just barely thinks to hide her expression before it pulls into the slightest of grimaces. Zeal. Bright and cheery exuberance. The exact sort of person who takes all her energy until she's little more than an exhausted heap.

Mitama politely clears her throat and schools her expression before speaking. "I was wondering how long you insist on fighting a losing battle for, in truth. I do not have any particular need for a prize." She wonders if it s magic that keeps the bottles still, or something much more simple. Either way...