#eymr

Her hand reaches under her cloak, to where she has stashed his hand. She reveals it slowly, gently, as if she were carrying gold itself. Once the fingers are completely revealed, her demeanor changes.

Without holding back any of her strength, Edelgard stomps down on his toes. When he leans forward in pain, she grabs a fistful of his hair and knees him square in the face. Hand still tangled in his hair, she brings him down to her height, whispering a threat only for his ears as lavender eyes, cold and narrow, stare into his soul.

"I will show mercy this time. Don't do it again."

She releases him, expression unreadable. She tosses his hand towards him. And as she returns to the lift, she says, "I will have questions for you at another time, Niles." When they were not locked underground together.

Uh oh. That’s a very alive—which, less of an uh oh and more like a thank the gods—and very pissed—yeah, definitely an uh oh—princess approaching them. She might not look like she’s angry, but he can feel it as surely as a sailor feels an incoming storm.

And, surely enough, there it is: a stomp on his toes—at least she can do that much with her feet, since landing on them was clearly too much to ask for—and then a rough grip in his hair. And before he can say anything (likely inappropriate), there’s a knee slamming right into his face. He barely hears her threat over the sharp pain; Niles doubles over, and it’s a domino effect of poor reactions.

His hands—hand—comes up to clutch at his face. First of all: ow, his nose. Ow, his mouth. Ow, his entire face.

But then there’s contact between the stub and his aching face, so: again, ow, except far worse. Maria might not deserve to hear so many expletives sworn and spat in such a short span of time, but that’s exactly what she gets now, tight, anguished gasps punctuating each swear that leaves him as he grips his wrist again.

“I,” he manages, quite the pitiful sight when he's hunched over the way he is, “should’ve known you’d be into a little rough play, princess…”

               What did King Naga ever see in humanity? To the point of giving them a fighting chance? Honestly, Xane has to give it to em’. Few things in the world are as downright ugly as humans and he’s got a room filled with their most prime specimens to help drive the point home.

               A look to his left reveals the sight—as well as smells—of a rowdy crowd sprinkled with more than a few wobbly drunkards. Most of this rabble are here for the show. Big burly arms and fists thrown in the air to goad their chosen fighter in the ring. Veins popping, eye-whites glaring, and the stench of sweat near unbearable. Red-faced men cheering. All for the near destruction of their fellow man like they’re watching dogs gurgle and tear at each other’s throats in a cage.

              Xane has seen two stag beetles lock horns on a rock with greater entertainment, but hey, whatever floats their boat isn’t his to judge! (Except, it is) Most of these crude fights are thrown. It doesn’t take a more-than-thousand-year sense of feeling for right and wrong like his to understand it. Or both eyes, really, just one would be enough; so, what’s everyone so obsessed for? Something like this is a bore, humans can’t even fight each other right!

               (And no, he is certainly not angry that he threw in a few silver for the wrong guy, or that his pockets are much lighter now than they were an hour ago. Clearly, these sort of matches are just unethical!)

               The shapeshifter yawns. His jaw creaks from the motion, and when his gaze roams to the right, he sees them. Sleek black academy uniforms, a tall fellow with blond hair and a much shorter girl beside him with long white hair. Huh. They don’t look like the stratum of people who typically entertain this scene.

              He gives them the eye for a bit longer, then suddenly brightens with an idea when it registers. Most students from the academy are young, good at fighting, and don’t take kindly to defeat. Three criterion that these two chumps seem to fit perfectly just by the look of them! Perfect. Xane has found the instruments of his sweet, sweet revenge, and with a stalking puma grace prepares to reel in the unsuspecting fishies.

               “  How’s it going, guys! Name’s Xane,  “   he butts in with a grin, looping an arm around their shoulders from behind. Definitely not sizing up muscles and getting a feel for statistical percentages at victory here. Nope, totally not.   “  I’m from the academy, too: I gotta say, s’good to see some friendly faces around! Y’know, I couldn’t help but notice the two of ya watching the fight. Looks like interest ta’ me. If you want an easy way to test your skills, why not give it a go?  “ 

kiss me beneath the milky twilight

"My, is this not a charming display?" Mitama grins and takes her skirt in hand to curtsey appropriately in response to the kiss Lady Edelgard presses to the back of her hand.

It is an amusing mirror of the gesture Mitama had given her a time ago. While it does not flatter like she is sure the future Emperor intends (though who can say? Certainly she has no look into her classmate's inner mind.), Mitama is endeared to the action all the same.

"To what do I owe the honor?" She asks as she straightens. She allows Edelgard to keep a hold of her hand. She is in no particular rush to depart, and she is curious about what prompted such an affair. "If this is an attempt at convincing me into your house's graces, I am afraid to burst your bubble. Your standards are a bit too high for mine, I am afraid."

But there is another potential option that Mitama has to consider. One she does carefully, of course. They are within the monastery's grounds, and she is sure the Archbishop has as many ears as she does devotees.

"Or..." Mitama leans closer. "Are you perhaps curious about my time alone with the Archbishop last month?" She does not know Edelgard, but she can connect dots. Claude, after all, had displayed plenty of curiosity for her mission. What other reason did Edelgard have to seek her out?

A Random Act of Kindness. // Accepting.

Lana has been a slight thing ever since birth, according to mother, and even those who avail themselves to her contributions on a battlefield also voice question of her place on it. Time and time again she will offer reminder that she has the same right as any of them because she cannot - will not - stand by as those she cares for put themselves in the path of danger. Perhaps it comes with the territory of being a healer, never knowing if her presence may have made all the difference, but that is not the whole of it, she knows. Whether to the heavens or the people of Isaach, Lana has always felt indebted - to do more, to be more. 

There’s always one more thing - one more person that needs helping, one more corner of the monastery to be tidied, and no matter how well Lana manages her time, the hours of the day seem to run out before she can accomplish what she’d like to. Today, she’d promised a work weary professor some assistance in organizing papers to be filed and before that it had been the understaffed kitchens. Her problem has always been that she sees her mother in those that devote their lives to service of others, never stopping. What had started as an earnest desire to ease the many burdens of her mother had become Lana’s own way of giving back.

On the return trip to her room for some much needed rest, the walls appeared to sway around her. She closes her eyes in what she’d thought a single blink, but her head slouches forward and she registers falling only when the kind arm of a stranger catches her around her midriff. 

self-indulgent ask meme

Lucina didn’t notice an enemy sneak up on her until Edelgard had gotten in between them and defeated them.

"Stand fast, Lucina. Only a few of our enemies remain."

Lucina takes note of the way the princess seems to wince slightly when she moves a certain way. While she wants to check and see if Edelgard is wounded, she knows they’re hard-pressed for time.

She cuts quite the intimidating figure, even though the top of her head barely reaches his chin. Niles supposes that’s to be expected; regardless of her supposed inability to land on her feet, Edelgard von Hresvelg is still an imperial princess. She wears authority better than most.

“What a pleasure to see you alive and well, milady,” Niles grins, refusing to yield. When she steps into his space, demanding answers—demanding, he thinks, that he bow, that he submit, that he lay his head beneath her heel as all nobles tend to want—Niles only turns his gaze lower to meet hers. What a pretty shade of purple they are, not unlike lilacs.

(Or, if he wishes to be more poetic: wisterias. Start high, hang low. Careful, princess—don’t bare your neck.)

"Maria." Despite the pain in every inch of her body, Edelgard approaches the other with head held high and a poised demeanor. (Niles' hand is tucked away, out of sight.)

She holds up her hand to stop her from saying much. "Forgive me for intruding, but I would like to ask if you could heal me. I cannot stand the thought of hindering this investigation." And she smiles slightly. Politely, but she smiles.

The commotion from the lift has already drawn her attention, and with Niles drawing it fully to both of their attentions, the little cleric had already prepared to run to meet her.

Something caught between breathtaking awe and paralyzing horror stops the Macedonian princess in her tracks: Edelgard is on her feet. More than that, despite the clear injury that Maria knows must wreck her (she had seen what happened -- had watched helplessly from afar as someone fell, like she always did), Adrestia’s future emperor maintains her grace and approaches her instead. The worry flusters in her blood, too hot and too cold both at the same time, but Maria could never take that from her; she lets Edelgard come to her.  

“Of course!” She meets her with a smile of her own, earnest and comforting, one hand raised and argent magic already dancing upon her fingertips. It reaches for Edelgard, attempts to swaddle her in a warm light, but falters soon enough. The injury is everywhere; she would wonder how Edelgard can bear to stand, had she not already met her share of princes, kings, and warriors. Instead, it only beats a painful beat in her heart. 

“I’m sorry,” she says, though the smile doesn’t fade. “Please hold on just a bit longer.” But the magic swirls uselessly around her, dancing around Edelgard as it had upon Maria’s hands, searching and searching and searching for where to begin to little avail. Commanding the healing of Niles’ wound has taken much of her, it seems. The magic pulses and fades, again and again, all but bleeding away. 

A pause. Her expression otherwise unreadable, she smirks slightly and tosses her hair behind her shoulder. "I don't believe it is customary of Nohrian royalty to not show up for appointments. Am I correct?" Another glance up at him, waiting.

"Lady Edelgard." Equal or not, this was her continent; it was acceptable for him to lose his title, but most certainly not her. Never her.

But perhaps that might change.

"I would enjoy that," he says slowly. The shock in his tone belies his calm expression; he had not expected to be approached with such an offer, especially by one such as Edelgard. Surely she had things to better occupy her time than make friends with a prince from a country she would never see.

(Perhaps, some day, he could show her Nohr. It was only fair, after he sees all of what Adrestia has to offer.)