#forfodlan

     “Yes,  of course.  I know you can.  Likely far better than I ever could.”  A shoulder rolls for his ear and his eyes drift down at such a wholly truthful statement.  He sweeps his hand across the back of his neck,  sheepish,  tracking the long bristles of hair there disheveled like  haysticks  by their newfound length. 

   JERALT SHAKES HIS HEAD ALMOST IMMEDIATELY, thoughtfulness adding a furrow to his brows. it’s a foolish question, filled with implications of hope that reality simply doesn’t agree with. he’d be loath to even entertain the idea. wishful make-believe scenarios can’t change their lives as they currently are. so he crosses his arms, raises a brow. 

   ‘ there’s no such thing as a cure for sitri's condition. i’m not a medic, i can’t help her. ‘ and that, that’s a source of frustration that will stick with him for eternity, having to sit by while his wife suffers, only being able to offer warmth, comfort and affection. but no real solution, never a real solution. ‘ i can’t make it better. it’d have to be some kind of dark magic— ‘ and his expression darkens with that, rejection hard on his face, ‘ and that’s out of the question. ‘

   shaking his head, jeralt adds: ‘ i know her mother doesn’t agree, but sitri is plenty capable of doing things on her own. i hate to see her in pain, of course. but there’s simply nothing to be done about it. ‘ 

"i just... have to finish it. like now. if i don't everyone will think i'm lazy!" annette to claude

[ unprompted ; accepting ]

“No one’s gonna think you’re lazy.” Not that Claude doesn’t understand that feeling. He has pressures of his own, as a person, as a house leader, and as an heir to House Riegan. He still feels like he has much to prove to himself, more so than proving to others.

Despite that, he hates to see people trying to overwork themselves. Annette is definitely the type to do exactly that, and it worries him.

Hilda can't help the giggle that passes her lips when Marianne kisses her. She can't get used to the feeling her lips. She could fall into her over and over again, but she has to keep her hands to herself. Hilda doesn't want to push Marianne into doing anything.

She looks through the outfits. They're all quite reserved, very Marianne of her. They're not very Hilda, though. The point isn't the clothes however - there's another meaning behind her desire to model. She picks one, and sets it to one side. Maybe she can hike up the skirt or something.

[ TEND ]:     sender begins to care for the receiver’s injuries. / mercie to lorenz

[ settling the dust prompts ; accepting ]

Lorenz had taken quite the blow to the shoulder. His arm is now useless at his side - for the moment. The good news is that there is someone to help him. The bad news is that someone is Mercedes, who could not have less love for Lorenz if she tried. Their strained relationship makes it difficult to look her in the eye, though he does manage. She's a difficult woman.

Her hands are surprisingly gentle as she patches him up. Her work truly feels like the might of the Goddess channeling through her. He can't help but be amazed. As soon as she's finished, he moves his arm, though it doesn't move much for him in turn. At least it's moving.

He doesn't know why he said it. There's something about those amber eyes that pull it out of him. He knows how he feels about her. He's known for a while. But he didn't mean to say it. He wants to take it back, and he opens his mouth to do so, but he's stopped.

What is happening? Her hand is in his hair, her lips on his. Before his mind has enough time to catch up with what happened, she's pulled away, her forehead to his. Ignatz's brain is scrambling to process what's happening. He doesn't know why she did that, and he wants to know, but he's too scared to ask.