#dawnmantle

— @dawnmantle .

❛ did anyone see me fall? ❜

"yes." arms crossed, erenville inclines his head in the direction of their myriad of onlookers. some of their faces are awash with concern, but most look rather amused. seeing the vow of resolve take a spectacular tumble is not a sight everyone has the privilege of being privy to, after all.

he steps closer to offer her his hand. it should be unbecoming, that clumsiness. wuk lamat has done a great deal of maturing through her journey to the throne, but sometimes... sometimes, she simply cannot help herself. and though he is loath to admit it, erenville would rather hate to see her true personality vanish in favor of ruling tural.

besides, they still have koana.

as erenville helps wuk lamat to get back up, he mutters, "i've heard it makes you look... relatable." he averts his eyes. "people are fonder of you for it." he lets go of her hand. "at any rate, we have work to do. are you coming? preferably without stumbling over your own two feet this time."

why the church of seiros willingly chose to employ him was an enigma. young , reckless mercenary. he was never supposed to interact with the students at the monestary , either , but ever do they linger nearer. intrigued. and who was he to disappoint? ' now , now. ' a finger wagging in another's direction , ' don't touch what's not yours , kid. ' / @dawnmantle , lysithea von ordelia !

@dawnmantle : ∗ 9o﹕ sender  helps  receiver  patch  up  a  wound .

his attention is fixed to the ground, right hand rests in his hair to hold it back. a wound just above his eyebrow, all the way to his temple, is being tended to by sophia. it's not the worst wound he's brought in yet, in terms of damage, but it's one that could have easily been avoided. a scraped knee here, a cut on a hand there. this one, however, is the result of an argument that ended with him shoved and foothold lost. a pane of glass lay shattered in the wake of it all and all things considered, it could have hit him so much worse. still, he doesn't enjoy this. being fussed over, being reprimanded, even if ever so gently. he taps his heels on the floor in impatience. ❛ why am i the only one getting in trouble, anyway ? ❜ he's good at bemoaning these things, after all, practice makes perfect. this only earns him a look. the look. stern disappointment and a sigh. he almost expects her to ask him what she shall do with him but it doesn't come. instead he's only given more silence as sophia reaches to the table to retrieve a cloth and a bowl of something . . . he assumes it's to clean the wound.

her second sigh prompts a response. ❛ it's not that bad. you can spare me the lecture. ❜ he knows exactly what would await him in one of her famous lectures. be more careful. you have to let things rest. his eyes roll at the prospect of listening to it again for the hundredth time. ❛ ow ! ❜ and immediately he eats his words when a damp tissue is padded against the cut. his teeth clench for a moment and he breathes in a hissed breath. as quick as the sting of cleaning arrived, it leaves again and in comes a dry cloth to dry off the rest of the blood. ❛ you act like i was about to bleed out. it's fine-ee. ❜ he drags out the last word in a sing-song tone, albeit a slightly annoyed tune. carlo's head lolls to the side away from her and he lets go of his hair.