#freliasarrow

It is sad, he realises, that this flimsy relationship is one of the closest things Innes has to a friendship. However, his pride is not strong enough to not seek out some kind of familiar.

"Linhardt," he says. "I-" What did he even want to say? He tries again, hoping this time words will come out. "I'm glad you made it out, though I wasn't aware you were out on this mission with us in the first place. I assumed you would have shirked that responsibility. Though, I suppose if you had..."

He trails off, and looks towards the monastery. "You likely would no longer be here, would you?"

linhardt doesn't see anyone approach. they don't have a word for it, but it's been awhile since they've felt this way. it's familiar in a sickening way, but they're glad for it, too, because it means they don't feel the way their body revolts against them. it's out-of-body, it's numbing, it's like they're not even there.

but hearing his name can cut through the fog surrounding him. it doesn't help him recognize the voice, or the face, but the words stick out enough that he can grasp onto and pull.

they aren't looking at him. they try to, but their gaze jolts away at the first opportunity. it takes a moment for everything to click. innes. he's happy to see them alive? they wouldn't have expected that, but they don't have the presence of mind to explain why not.

"maybe that would be preferable," linhardt says reflexively. normally, he may have thought it over it enough to bite back the truth. he is simply incapable of that right now.

The rain had been quite sudden. While Innes had come prepared in many aspects, he had forgotten one key thing - a towel. With his hair being as it was, it was uncomfortable to have it dripping under his shirt and down his back.

But there seemed to be a responsible adult - a professor of some kind, though Innes didn't know him.

"Excuse me, professor, you wouldn't happen to have a towel on you or anything of the sort, would you? I would be happy to trade you a charm for such a favour."

Azama's hair doesn't mind the rain. It's kind of mystifying. Maybe a blessing from the gods? Who knows. That said, the monk himself is not impervious to being soaked overall - and nor is his mood safe from being dampened, either.

Towels in a tidy pile before him, monk looks up and over his shoulder as his space becomes co-occupied.

Though he smiles airily, much akin to his usual self... Azama is grumpy. You would Also be grumpy if you had been trapped in a shrinking closet with your current Archnemesis for any amount of time and forced to smell your own reeking breath to boot. (The breath problem has, mercilessly, since been fixed, but…)

Brows furrowing, Azama stares Innes down hard -- or, that's the impression one might get, despite the professor's eyes remaining shut tight.

Innes's hair… it's not as green as a certain other mosshead Azama knows, but it's still. Sort of? Green? And in a fit of irrationality,

Azama sees red.

Gaze drifts to the towels before him. He moves just slightly, enough to put them within Innes's line of sight. Then...

Then, the monk scoops them up. Buries his face in them. In ALL of them.

"No!" he answers with glee.

Then throws them in the air. They fall in a disarray.

"I've no towels to give, sorry!"

"Prince Innes." Ephraim greets him with a cordial tone reserved for matters of the crown. He remembers Lucina's words encouraging him to have one last conversation, and Forde having suggested similar at one point, but now is not the time.

kiss roulette (accepting!) 35 = a kiss against a wall

Andrei had not seen the man since their last training session-turned-competition, one that had ended in the least expected way. A way that, try as he might, he had not been able to put from his mind.

At first, he’s uncertain if he even wishes to see Innes once more. How does one act, after an encounter that had ended like that? His thoughts on one Innes of House Magvel had been clear until that exact moment. Irritating, pompous, with skills that were just inferior to his own, but impressive in their own right, if he were to give an objective critique.

(He has never given the other man the courtesy of an objective critique.)

But… no. That apprehension gives way to an irritation, bordering on anger, as the days pass. He needs to find the other, because he needs to ask Innes to explain himself. As two nobles, even of foreign nations, such an act could be taken as an offense if he so wished, and even failing that... He needs answers, an apology, perhaps, he needs—

The irritation, the swarming thoughts, all disappear when Andrei actually meets his eyes, replaced with a singular determination.

(Perhaps he understands, now. Perhaps, in this way, as in so many others, they are not so different.)

Before the other could even have a chance to react, Andrei surges forward, pinning Innes against the wall and pressing their lips together once more. Their kiss is slower this time, deeper. When it’s over, Andrei doesn’t immediately let go, but leans in, close to Innes’ ear.

"Thank you for your aid. However, if I never see you again, it will still be too soon," Innes says.

Griss can be patient when he wants to be and right now he can hold his tongue just long enough to see if Innes will eventually break. With all the energy that he can muster, he offers him his best shit-eating grin. It's a gift that goes two-ways: one side to justify Innes finally hitting him like he'd wanted to all patrol, and the second so that Griss can taste the other man's anger in bludgeoning fist or piercing arrowhead.

Innes thanks him, but Griss blinks like he'd been struck. His smile falls immediately into some confused grimace.

Being thanked did feel good. Maybe even better than pain. Sometimes.

It's hard to forget her piercing shriek as she was thrown. He feels like he ought to say something to her, but he isn't sure what. He isn't sure how he made it out, let alone her - especially when she was the first one down.

Still, he forces himself to speak to her, even if she seems not to want to talk to anyone.

"We were in the same unit," he says, expecting her to remember him. Truthfully, he knows she probably won't. "I'm glad to see you made it out, as well. I should introduce myself. My name is Prince Innes of Frelia." He says his own name like a reflex, like the title does not matter. Right now, it doesn't.

"Do you know how we made it out of there?"

bernadetta remembers green. she tries to remember it more than the red, and that is what whets her memory enough.

it had all happened too fast—with her being the first of them to fall, predictably, because she is incompetent and weak. the demeanor of the other almost convinces her that he had come over to scold her about it. teeth worry her lower lip as she shrinks, afraid.

but much to her surprise his words betray his less welcoming expression. gray eyes widen and blink back.

"huh? oh, i—i'm glad! that you're alright, too!" still, she feels the need to apologize. when does she not? she has the decency to look ashamed, of course. a hand is placed over her chest as she nods. "um... i'm really sorry for not being more useful back there. but, i'm bernadetta."

not of house varley. not that name, not right now. never mind that she's talking to—a prince?! she very nearly chokes and sputters on absolutely nothing, but manages to contain herself even though she got concussed like an idiot in front of a whole prince.

send 🎄for our muses to get caught under the mistletoe !!

The awkward end to their escape room had left Ephraim in a whirl of emotions that he couldn't put names to. He had yet found the time to untangle any of them when he found himself colliding with another while on his walk around the monastery.

"Apologies," Ephraim started, and then realized just who he had bumped into: Innes. The very object of source of his mood.

"I can’t fix the fact that I’m in love with you."

The words reeled through his mind and Ephraim glanced upward, as if he sought guidance from the heavens themselves for his situation, only to discover that they were instead beneath a mistletoe.

It was a wonder Innes hadn't already left.

Ephraim's attention snapped back to the other. "Innes," he said, hoping that the other would stay long enough for him to speak. Though what he would say was beyond him.

"You were correct," and he couldn't help the wry, sad smile that twisted his features. "As always." The expression faded but his gaze remained on Innes. The man he had known all his life and yet not known at all. It reminded him of Lyon, finding himself so inadequate that he had turned to a demon, and he oblivious that it was even occurring. How many times had he failed to realize the feelings of those close to him, he wondered, but now was not the time for that contemplation.

Since Innes had told him plainly how he felt, Ephraim was resolved to at least meet this situation head on.

"I cannot return your feelings. I wish that I could say something more than that." It was not what Innes wanted to hear, for more than one reason he was sure, but it needed to be said. "it is my hope that we can be friends in the future. Our nations are allies, but more than that, I would like to be your friend and spar with you again some day."