A grumbled escapes from Severa as eyes fall on that doofus' door. Quick, sporadic thumps beat hard against the firm wood, the redhead not having time to wait. She was already sacrificing her pride for part of his gift. And he'd better be happy too, or else.
Arms are quick to cross after assaulting the blonde's door, two fingers tapping mindlessly against her bicep. When Owain finally opens the door, she exclaims, "There you are! Don't you know it's rude to keep a lady waitin'!?" Quick as ever, an arm shoots to take his and lead him out to the training grounds. She doesn't look back, those red tresses bouncing with each matching tap of her foot on cobble.
Once they've marched across the campus, Severa turns back, still grasping the others arm. Carefully reaching back, she reveals a leather-bound notebook. Strapped to it was a rather nice feather, a holder, and two small containers of ink.
"So, since it's your birthday, I figured I'd get you a notebook, which... if you open it..." she says, handing the fancy pad to her comrade.
Should he open it, he'd find a list.
Viseguard Missiletainn Gryphonsbane Edge Fell Ballista Staff of Deep Hurting Epic Threading Thrusting Waking Slash of the Deep Night Venomous Stitching Strike...
And many, many more.
"Since you've got so many names for all your moves and weapons, I figured you might need one of these. A list from everyone I could find asking about whatever names you came up with. And added a few of my own," she boasts some, a cocky smirk as she then reaches for her blade, revealing it to the other.
"And. And I'm gonna letcha name this new move I've been workin' on, just so that you can get a head start on your list, got it? So pay close attention, 'kay?" Tone light and playful, a wink is given as she readies herself.
"Huh? Who could that be? Surely I am not needed for something this early..." Owain wakes in a daze. He was drifting off moments prior, enjoy the sweet, fluffy sensation of a pleasant dream. But the aggressive knock from the woman at his door breaks that feeling, forcing his body into a jolt. He barely has the time to push past his blanket and bedsheets, much less straighten his hair out to something presentable, when her voice cuts through his once silent room.
He knows that voice.
The entrance to his humble abode is flung open, and as he suspected, Severa stands there waiting. Her scolding--something he has long since gotten used to--is allowed to fly over his head. Instead of being upset by the sharpness of her words, he's gladdened by her presence. A beam shines through on his lips, which open to speak, "Hoy there, Severa! Let me just get ready, and I'll be out to join you for whate-" But it's too late. She's already snagged his arm, and has begun dragging him out of his room.
He wonders why he expected anything else.
Severa is truly the type to march to the beat of her own drum, and for that, she has Owain's respect. As such, he keeps quiet during their trip, trusting that what she has to show him is important enough to pull him out in his pajamas.
They arrive. The blonde motions to catch his breath, having just moved at an awfully hasty pace this early in the morning, but a book is suddenly being shoved in his face. He gasps at it, looking up to Severa once, then back down at the journal again, as if asking permission to look through. But who is he kidding? He snatches the thing from her hands and cracks it wide open, silken eyes glued to each page he reads.
It isn't long before those eyes start to tear up. Recognizing each and every name contained in these pages, imagining the thought and effort put into such a gift, and the fact that Severa is trying to give him more? It all has a profound effect on poor Owain, moving him at his deepest core. So what if a little crying makes him look goofy? Or if the tears dripping from his eyes stain the corner of the current page a little. It's his birthday, and though he nearly forgot, his dearest friends worked together to bestow upon him something truly special: all under the supervision of Severa. It's an emotional moment for the guy.
And so he cries, not in an over-the-top sob, but enough for his heart to be full of happiness. The book is then held in one hand, with its accessories all in the other, and Owain moves in to briefly hug his companion. He whispers an oddly normal "Thank you," before pulling away. He wants to feel confident she knows he seriously, truly appreciates her gift, and allows himself to break grandiose character in that moment. When he pulls away again, he coughs, and the theatrics resume.
"Hah! A special move?" Owain moves to seat himself just barely off the training grounds, a safe enough distance away to spectate. "As one who imbues souls through names, I shall gladly give your technique a title! But be warned: the unstoppable power that shouting one of my names while using its move will unleash would no doubt be deadly. You are to be extra cautious when employing it in battle, and should train plenty to master its roaring spirit!" Ready and waiting, the notebook is flipped to the first empty page, its pen wetted with ink so that it might record Owain's ideas.
"Begin, Severa! And let us set your sword ablaze with destruction!"
