#headsantails

Style: 4 Choreography: 2 Technique: 4 Total: 10

This was an absolute, colossal, complete and utter mistake and Bernadetta didn’t know why she thought she could ever do this.

It had been a moment of panic that prompted her in asking Hubert to be her panic. She had been (and still was!) incredibly thankful when he said yes and she knew she wouldn’t have to be facing this alone. That didn’t make any of this any easier.

The dance had been incredibly stiff and awkward, even Bernadetta could tell as she did her best to follow along Hubert’s lead. They weren’t horrible at the basics; they both had enough practice between them to be passable at the very least, but that was it. Their entire dance was stiff and basic and Bernadetta wasn’t sure if she felt worse for herself, Hubert for being dragged down with her, or the judges for having to stand there and watch them.

As soon as they finished, Bernadetta wished she could go running off the dance floor and find somewhere to hide before anyone in the school had the misfortune of looking at her again, but they had to wait for their scores.

A ten. Bernadetta groaned. No way they would win...

Waiting for the other team’s results, Bernadetta ducked her way under Hubert’s cape. Too many eyes, too many eyes... “Tell me when it’s over.” She whimpered, covering her face as she waited.

Style: 8

Choreography: 7

Technique: 5

Total: 20

Rhys was as ready as he’d ever be for this. He took a deep breath, smoothing down the front of his new dress jacket and shirt. Instead of his usual white and blue he’d gone for.... blue and white. Pearlescent waistcoat and matching gloves were bright under a long, flowing coat of light blue that, upon further examination, was accidentally rather close to Ranulf’s hair. He’d tucked a peach rose in against his chest, and it was time to take the stage.

“Alright. Let’s give it our best!” He offered a hand to Ranulf, excitement in his eyes but still managing to seem composed.

They’d practiced before, and it showed in the confidence in Rhys’s steps, though he was by no means a professional dancer. Ranulf was naturally more graceful than he was, but he kept up as best he could with an occasional flair or spin, joy enough to make up for any lapses on his part.

Rhys cared little about being onstage. He knew, frankly, he didn’t belong on a stage anywhere.

It was enough to feel elated while dancing with a friend.

Starter for @headsantails

The grip of the sword was unnatural in his hands, which were more used to cradling the spine of a tome.

Soren took a deep breath. The racks of training weapons along the sheltered border of the sparring grounds all held the same tier of weapon, which he supposed he’d already known before inspecting them: wooden, weathered, and dull. However, procrastinating and pacing with pointless analysis was no use. So there he was, holding a sword for one of the first times in his life with the intent to actually use it. He positioned the wooden blade out from his body, both hands around the hilt. He weighed the balance in his grip, unsure of what he was even trying to gauge.

This wasn’t playing to his practical strengths whatsoever. It could be seen as a total waste of time. While someone like Ike had years of practice, muscle memory, physical strength, and a warrior’s intuition, Soren’s only boon was being light on his feet. Even after lessons, he couldn’t possibly see himself charging into a genuine battle with a sword— it made little sense to hand a squirrel a claymore.

He closed his eyes. Negative self talk, insecurity, none of it would help. Truthfully… he hadn’t anticipated that the idea of taking up something like a sword could feel so intimidating.

Perhaps he could learn something totally new as an adult.

Magic had always felt like an innate part of him, a skill he had no choice in learning. It was as second nature as walking, and had been drilled into him even earlier than speaking. With his real talent being so second nature, the idea of having to consciously, painfully learn something he had no inclination for and couldn’t just read out of a book was unsettling. Soren shook his head, yearning to clear it from unwanted dregs of the past. This would be nothing like his childhood. It was purposeful; it was of his own free will to take up a sword (but also, mostly, an annoying aspect of the academy curriculum). 

“Why this is required for me to be ‘certified’ to pick locks, I have no idea,” he muttered. Soren shifted the sword to his right hand and let his arms hang at his sides, at ease. He ventured out into the sunlit training grounds, intent on finding a practice dummy or—

“Ranulf?” 

Soren blinked, quickly recalling that Ranulf was indeed an instructor, and there he was, right before his eyes. His expression remained blank while he internally scolded himself for being so withdrawn inside that he’d forgotten that a combat instructor might, indeed, be at the training grounds. There was no hiding the sword in his hand, or what an odd sight it must be to someone who knew him. Soren glanced down at it. He pondered simply leaving and saving himself a load of embarrassment, but…

“Pardon me. This is part of what I’m supposed to train with, for academic qualifications.” This could be useful. “I don’t suppose… you could…” Soren stumbled. Ranulf could likely send him flying across the length of the arena like a cricket ball if he wanted, and it wasn’t like they had the best history of old bossom friends, mostly because of Soren. This was a terrible idea, but he could also think of no other teacher who he’d personally seen in combat and knew to be such a qualified expert in hand to hand combat. “Well, laguz don’t use these, but combatants rarely are up against their identical weapon type on the battlefield anyway. Would you mind imparting instruction, and perhaps sparring? I would appreciate it.”

He didn’t know if holding a sword or asking Ranulf for instructions felt more bizarre. Soren wondered how visibly he was out of his depth. Swords are just large knives, and less suited for throwing.

Style: 7 Choreography: 6 Technique: 1

Rhys had to admit, all of the physical activity was getting to be a little draining. He loved every moment dancing with Ranulf, but there was only so much he could take. The mounting excitement of the evening had left him tired as well.

He did his best, though. They opened as they had before, stylish and in sync, the previous performances a good template to follow and expand upon. However, Rhys’s feet couldn’t quite keep up with his spirit, and he got himself tangled up in his own steps once or twice. Worse was when, after doing a spin, he  nearly tripped over Ranulf’s tail.

“Sorry!” he whispered under his breath, lurching and squeezing Ranulf’s hand in his to brace himself and offer a silent apology too, gingerly taking a moment and stepping out of the loop of his blue tail. There was no way the judges hadn’t seen that, and also no way it looked like it was on purpose.

Rhys was breathing harder than he’d expected by the end of it, but he was still grateful to be a part of something like this, and proud of Ranulf in particular. “You’re a natural at this— really. Thanks for having me.”

Starter for @headsantails

White was his color.

Well, Rhys hoped so, anyway, since he wore it all the time. He posed in front of a full length mirror at the tailor’s shop in the monastery town, holding a white dress jacket on a hanger in front of himself. “Hmmm.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. Getting ready for a ball was proving to be stressful, if only because he wasn’t used to getting to actually pick out brand new clothes, especially not formal ones. Everything looked incredible, which made it all the more difficult to choose.

He could just wear his robes, but the ball was supposed to be special. Rhys wanted to look his best— whatever that was.

“Maybe I need to accessorize.” He held the hanger in one hand and wandered into a different section. “More white? White gloves? No, maybe something blue… maybe I should be really different and bold,” he muttered, browsing various neckties, cufflinks, and waistcoats. Whatever he wore, it would have to look good with his bright orange hair. 

The shop’s door chime jingled with the arrival of a new customer and Rhys raised his head with interest. A second opinion was exactly what he needed! He scooted his way to the front of the store, face lighting up when he spotted Ranulf.

His excitement spilled out before he could really think. All of the buzz around campus had him giddy for a chance to attend a real ball. 

Ask Meme {Accepting}

The first thing Bernadetta unpacked after she finished sobbing her way through the shock of ending up at the monastery was her big, stuffed bear.

Mr. Christopher was one of Bernadetta’s oldest stuffed animals. A gift from her uncle when she was young, he’d survived most of her childhood at her side. He had been one of Bernie’s biggest inspirations to pick up sewing as a child, having suffered an unfortunate rip one evening in her garden. It was easy to see that as well. If one shuffled through the fur, one could find him littered with amateur sewing, slowly improving over time.

Mr. Christopher was the last thing Bernadetta had of her uncle. Many things had been thrown out after her uncle’s death, but Mr. Christopher was one she fought for.

Staring into his beady eyes now didn’t bring Bernadetta the usual reassurance that it did, but it did help.

Well...if they had to attend this school, then at least they were still together. Bernadetta placed Mr. Christopher on the chair by her desk and patted his head. 

He thought he’d be falling over as soon as he stood up.

Somehow, it wasn’t the case. Rhys glided smoothly over the ice, almost immediately comfortable with the sensation of skating across the surface of a frozen lake. He skated with his arms a few inches out from his sides for balance, anxiety and caution on his face soon replaced by joy.

It was a lot like flying, but on the ground. On his own.

Rhys smiled wider, getting an idea in his mind as he did a few loops around the lake. He waited until he thought the path in front of him was clear and jumped up with all the power he could in his legs.

He rotated once, and he landed on his feet.

“WOO!” Rhys sped on the ice, laughing as he barely managed to retain his balance. He looked down for a moment to correct himself and then back up with a sudden jolt of panic, going too fast to turn without falling over.

“Oh, yes we do.” Rhys was pleasantly surprised to have someone to get ready for the ball with. Outfit shopping, and now dance practice would finish it off nicely. The moonlit evening was picturesque to say the least. It was rather cold too... but Rhys could handle it a bit more. He didn’t get a chance to be out in such scenery often.