#hermidetta

★ "Alear! Don't you look stunning! Our Bern's outdone herself, hasn't she? At this rate, she ought to dress everyone for next year's ball!"

☆ "Right? You're a lifesaver, Bernadetta, not to mention talented... if I need advice on next year's outfit, I'm coming straight to you!" / @aliberation

★ “Y-you guys are really flattering me here! I just patched it up a little, but I'm glad it all worked out.” / @hermidetta

Ah. Well this is awkward. Because Yunaka did that.

This is on her, to be honest. She should know better than stepping outta the room before the job was done. Problem was that her outfit left for little opportunity in terms of supplies, and while she could find a way to hide the body with her bare hands, she didn't want to have to.

At least he was just unconscious. That made lying easier. Somebody getting wasted and passing out was way easier to play off than somebody bleeding out of their throat after all.

"I know you didn't." And she wouldn't have suspected Bernie even if she didn't. Her heels click against the ground as she walks over to Bernadetta. Ugh, stupid circumstances. It feels so awkward to tell her how cute she looks right now. She settles for absently smoothing out any stray purple strands that have blown out of place while she inspects the body.

...Well, her plan had been to knock the guy out and leave him someplace else so he couldn't bother anyone anymore...this kinda still accomplished that.

Yunaka smiles brightly as she holds up a finger from her other hand in front of her mouth and winks at Bernie. "Let's just leave this for the guards on duty to handle, okay?"

She feels lucky for her orchids now, because the one she slips out of her bouquet looks so beautiful with Bernie's hair as she delicately sets in place behind her student's ear.

"Come on, let's go let's go get a snack instead. How has your night been going so far? Are you here with anyone?" Yunaka wraps an arm firmly around Bernadetta's waist as she guides her student away from her crime. She feels a little guilty about letting her be her alibi, but the smile on her face, at least, is real.

[ ADRESTIA ] - A court dance that has spread like wildfire through Fódlan ballrooms. This waltz is best known for a special move that calls for the partners to join hands, together forming the shape of a bird in flight.

alright let's be so real. bernadetta doesn't expect to round a corner and come nose to nose with her future emperor who is criminally breathtaking tonight, but alas. her eyes practically burst out of their sockets as she trips backwards, letting out a shrill that edelgard hasn't had to hear from her in months. bernadetta's arms flail about wildly in some bid for balance and miserably fail—she's falling, she's falling!

With how little she's seen and heard from Bernadetta in more recent moons, Edelgard's worry only grows in unsettled increasements. Has she herself done something? Is it her harshness— The demand to come to class and listen to what she speaks? The hypothetical theory sits unassured. That cannot be the sole reason for their scarce conversations. No, perhaps there is something yet unseen to her all-knowing eyes.

If she had gone on any longer without crossing paths, she heavily teetered the thought of investigating with Hubert. How can she not? Spared from doing so, it is the sound of her classmate's voice that eradicates the thought in its entirety. Her eyes widen nearly as large. Now, she can handle this alone. As Bernadetta begins to trip, Edelgard acts quickly— Running forward, she catches her with both arms and pulls her closer to her person.

"Bernadetta..!" She says her name with urgency and command. "Where have you been." It is a statement asked as a question; an inquiry that demands an answer. A sigh escapes her lips as she keeps her friend close: "I've been worried. I hope you realize that." The music softens; slows into the sound of Adrestian melodies. How befitting, she thinks. Gliding her hands to interlock with one another, Edelgard keeps their arms outstretched as she sways back and forth to the music. The purples of her dress fit her well. She's glad to see her here.

“you made too much. that’s it. that’s all,” she’s mumbling under her breath, clad and hunched over in hooded cloak, rifling through the basket slung over the bend of her elbow. “it’s not anything special. bernie, special? ha! as if.”

she should not be here, tucked in one of the monastery’s more dilapidated corners. if she had it her way, then still, there would be a formal writ of house varley’s demise in the royal court’s hands. it is nothing but the few and frayed crimson threads that keep her dangling above ground now. a glimmer of green eyes, a mannequin lost to last year’s rubble. a loud voice, a bid for her health. all she was doing was proving ferdinand von aegir’s point, and yet. “and it’s not like you knew everything would blow up when you planted these tulips… it’s not the poor tulips’ fault. that doesn’t mean they should go to waste. yeah! they were a pain in the butt to cross-breed! yep.”

keeping quiet was the easy part, hushed blathering aside. bernadetta’s speedy hands finish their arrangement of flowers and dessert, left at his doorstep small and unimposing. just like her. nothing like him.and nothing ever like each other.

nothing like the variegated reds and oranges he had set by her door once upon a time. nothing like what her eyes had caught on his plate enough times to call a habit. bernadetta springs back to her feet— “hm-hm-hm… okay, there. one more holiday out of the way. back to hibernation!”—and begins to scamper back off, the flutter of her cloak tailing after her like a another faraway farewell.

he thought he had heard something in the corridor, faint whispers and sweet air. something placed with care just beyond the threshold, quiet as snowfall. Ferdinand paused, wondering if someone could really impart a feeling of fresh snow, no footsteps. with his hand still resting on the handle, he stepped out into the hall.

his gaze dropped, and there— a basket. modesty jeweled by a deliberate hand, recognizable now that Ferdinand was beginning to see her touch in places he was blind to before. flowers, warm in color despite the season. carefully arranged. and beside them, something sweet. “she must have grown these for their color…” he murmured, almost to himself. “and with remarkable success, at that.”

straightening, he turned—not toward the safety of his room, but down the corridor she had fled. who was she, if not a glimpse of violet and faded reflections? a painted figment in a child’s mind, the nebulous branch off a grapevine, the pride of Varley (or his projection of such). an old book, old words, never dog-earred because he believed every whisper that came before hers. even now, he wondered if it was ego that made his footsteps break the snow, thundering out of his mind and into hers. “Bernadetta! wait!”

the moon might split, he thought. there goes the year of trying to posture nonchalant. of pretending his innocence was to protect what little they had of each other to begin with. he was afraid to ask: am I cornering you? even now?

“Bernadetta! you have my thanks!” 

uh oh. there it is, on his mind again. where he prayed on grass-stains, he wondered if she was put on bleeding knees. “and my admiration!” a set of lungs go out. uh oh. “I am SORRY!” 

what a pretty picture. nobility trampling past flowers to get into the snow. for he was trapped between his father’s teeth (a smile) and his father’s shape (a cut-out). and she was trapped under her father’s ink (predetermined) and her father’s shape (a shadow). he was sure that if they were in the same frame, it was by their hands, too.

“...sorry.” he said, catching up to her at last. awkwardly. “but I heard you were…” well? “well, I just wanted to see you.” 

“we should talk.”

not again, Ferdinand. 

“I am starting to know your touch.” tired buzzer noise. “you know that, do you not? let us not dance around each other like this…” 

"I see," Ronan says with a hum fit for a doctor puzzling over a diagnosis. He stares down at the open, heart-shaped box of chocolates this timid guest had crept back up to the table to deposit, likely without thinking he'd notice, and doesn't really see what he says he does. Only half the box is full of little, finger-sized chocolates, and maybe one could make an argument that that was how it was supposed to come, were it not for all the divots in the bottom that suggested a place for each it was supposed to contain.

"Well, I didn't eat them." He'd called the girl back over before she could sneak away again, mostly just to explain himself, as the one handing out these boxes of chocolates. She'd taken one like she thought herself invisible, but Ronan had noticed her then, of course. Speaking to her now though doesn't seem to nail her physical body back down into the realm of the living either, such that Ronan feels as if he has to keep her always in his line of sight so that she won't disappear.

Setting her box aside, he grabs another from the basket he'd been handing gifts out of and pries the lid off to find its chocolates in much the same state. A third contains even fewer. If they were all like that, then he's been handing out half-filled boxes all night. The thought sinks a stone into the pit of his stomach.

"If you didn't eat them, and I didn't eat them, then that must mean..."

That they had been delivered like this.

"There's a thief on the loose," Ronan declares with absolute conviction.

Being asked to teach something so specific to Hoshido should be considered an honour. Faith is being placed in her, deserved or not, and she is not in the interest of betraying such an honest sentiment. Though...she does wish she was more familiar with the dance. Her little deeprealm had bothered little with traditional dances such as these. The festivals she remembers attending in her childhood were simpler, with people simply doing whatever they wanted to.

As Mitama attempts to guide Bernadetta through the motions, there are inevitably missteps and fumbles. Some of them are Bernadetta's, but others are Mitama's. Eventually, their movements bring them close enough together that her stumbling leads to Mitama using Bernadetta to catch herself before she can fall. She stares at the other girl before laughing softly, hoping that it covers her embarrassment.

"I am not very good at dancing." Just in case her classmate could not have figured it out by her pitiful performance. After straightening herself up and brushing out the fabric of her outfit, she is quick to reach for her bouquet. The soft pink lily comes free easily, thank the Dawn, and it goes rather nicely with Bernadetta's purples when she offers the flower to her. "Here, as an apology for me wasting your time and expectations."

[ TXT ] : y rough draft at your place

[ TXT ] : please tell me you didn't accidentally throw it away please please please?? please

SMS TXT || accepting

[ TXT ] : Fret not, Ophelia Dusk is well aware!  I have kept it safe and secure, as all works of art should be.

[ TXT ] : Also I drew my headcanon of the main villainess do you like it? 

[ TXT ] : can we go to cheesecake factory

[ TXT ] : can we go to cheesecake factor y

[ TXT ] : cheesecake factory

𝐀 𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐏𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐄 — accepting

└ 𝟭𝟮:𝟬𝟳𝗔𝗠 𝗥𝗔𝗙𝗔𝗟 -> 𝗕𝗘𝗥𝗡𝗔𝗗𝗘𝗧𝗧𝗔: 💬

└ 𝟭𝟮:𝟭𝟬𝗔𝗠 𝗥𝗔𝗙𝗔𝗟 -> 𝗕𝗘𝗥𝗡𝗔𝗗𝗘𝗧𝗧𝗔: 💬

└ 𝟭𝟮:𝟭𝟰𝗔𝗠 𝗥𝗔𝗙𝗔𝗟 -> 𝗕𝗘𝗥𝗡𝗔𝗗𝗘𝗧𝗧𝗔: Bernadetta.

└ 𝟭𝟮:𝟭𝟱𝗔𝗠 𝗥𝗔𝗙𝗔𝗟 -> 𝗕𝗘𝗥𝗡𝗔𝗗𝗘𝗧𝗧𝗔: I am rendered speechless that you would message me this late at night for something so inane.

└ 𝟭𝟮:𝟭𝟳𝗔𝗠 𝗥𝗔𝗙𝗔𝗟 -> 𝗕𝗘𝗥𝗡𝗔𝗗𝗘𝗧𝗧𝗔: If I were in my right mind, I would say no. But.

└ 𝟭𝟮:𝟭𝟳𝗔𝗠 𝗥𝗔𝗙𝗔𝗟 -> 𝗕𝗘𝗥𝗡𝗔𝗗𝗘𝗧𝗧𝗔: .....You are in luck.

└ 𝟭𝟮:𝟭𝟴𝗔𝗠 𝗥𝗔𝗙𝗔𝗟 -> 𝗕𝗘𝗥𝗡𝗔𝗗𝗘𝗧𝗧𝗔: These recent days have sported teeth. As of late, I have been craving sweet things with a fury, and you happened to choose just the place to satiate said craving.

└ 𝟭𝟮:𝟭𝟵𝗔𝗠 𝗥𝗔𝗙𝗔𝗟 -> 𝗕𝗘𝗥𝗡𝗔𝗗𝗘𝗧𝗧𝗔: In other words? Heh. Let's do it.