#linhardt support

Her pride was already wounded from losing her fight so spectacularly. Not to mention how her arms and legs hurt from the burns. It was a miserable, sniffling, and unthreatening Bernadetta that was making her way to the infirmary. She was clearly no threat to anybody, and most people had given her the goodwill to let her go past unbothered.

The wind magic was a little surprising.

Falling to the ground with a pained yelp, it took her a moment to process what was happening. A moment that was quickly interrupting but the pain from the burns being jostled so suddenly. When she did look up, it was to a familiar green head of hair looking at her with unfamiliar determination. “Linhardt!?”

Confused, in pain, and too tired to process the unfamiliar anger that surged at seeing him, Bernadetta did the first thing she could think of in response to the unprompted attack.

She threw her bow at him. It missed, of course, not being very aerodynamic, but she still tried it. (Bernadetta rolled a 1.)

It’s the burst of energy through her veins that followed that was the real surprise. Of all the stupid, annoying things Linhardt had done (and she could think of plenty if she really sat and tried), now he was attacking her? She’d already lost! What, was Bernie so horrible that everyone thought she needed to lose more? That it wasn’t good enough that Bernadetta lost once? Was he going to tie her up to the ballista and set her on fire and shoot her at the enemies? Oh she bet he would have fun doing that wouldn’t he?

“You...you!” Bernadetta struggled for words as she struggled to her feet. So, she did the next best thing she could think of with her crest sending blood rushing through her ears so fast it was hard to hear anything.

Bernadetta shares his surprise as none other than Linhardt comes and makes his way over to her booth. She’s sure it’s not subtle either. She’d never had expected Linhardt of all people to even think of stopping by one of these things. They seemed so...un-Linhardt.

...though now that she thought about it, nobody probably expected her to be running a booth either. Still. She felt like she still had a point here.

“Huh?” She frowns in confusion as he sits down and starts...questioning her? He looks smug about it...and the whisper that his last question comes out in is the push that connects all the dots in Bernie’s head.

He’s teasing her. At her own booth!

Bernie spluttered in her usual way, leaning back in her own seat. The burst of indignation that she feels is unexpected, but familiar in a long forgotten way. (Except Linhardt is green and not lilac and this isn’t her garden and Yuri was prettier so it was at least charming when he teased her.)

Besides she’d been doing well! She kissed lots of people! And all of them had been on the mouth! What did Linhardt know? She’d been embarrassed and shy and sure she’d screamed a few times, but she was doing a great job! She was totally doing that hot girl summer thing Cynthia mentioned, even if she still wasn’t sure what it meant.

Puffing up with determination, Bernie took hold of his hands on the table and leaned forward to kiss Linhardt on the mouth just like every other one she’d done so far. It was...a little clumsier than all the other ones she’d done so far, and didn’t make her feel fuzzy like some of them, but she did prove Linhardt’s teasing wrong.

And that was satisfying.

“Oh, but you heard about it right?”

“Who hasn’t yet, it was such a scene!”

“But he went after that Varley girl too...”

“Oh please, that’s an easy target. Have you seen her?”

“Quiet you’ll get cursed!”

It made sense that Bernie was the last to know that anything was going on. It didn’t make it any less upsetting though when she found out.

The gossip was flying around the ball wildly. About the first argument. And then the second. Of course, Bernie herself had been sad to see Linhardt leaving the Black Eagles, especially when she thought they had gotten along fairly well. Sure, she screamed when she saw him like everyone else, but he didn’t yell at her. That meant he was at least a little nice, right?

Not as nice as she thought, apparently.

Bernie knew she was an easy target. Bernie knew most people didn’t think she was good for anything.

Bernie didn’t think her own classmates would actually confirm it for her.

Bernie sniffed, curling into a tighter ball. She’d ducked under a table when she began to hear whispers flying around about herself. She regretted not just making a dash to her room. Her jaw began to hurt like it always did when she was trying not to cry. She buried her face into her knees.

Bernadetta squeaked with terror as his eyes raised to meet hers. “Oh no...” He wanted something? What could he possibly want that Bernie had? Bernie didn’t have anything of interest to someone like Linhardt, as far as she knew! Bernie didn’t even know Linhardt had interests beyond- uh oh...

“I-I can’t! I can’t let you chop my body into bits so you can study my crest! I like not being in tiny little bits! An-and my father would get so upset if  you took my Crest! It’s the only good thing I have!”

"I never realized how ornate an art form flower arrangement was. Did you know? Even the way you trim the branches and flowers are heavily considered. It's quite tragic once you realize overlooked such minor details are, but I suppose that's symbolic to life." A pause and aegean eyes flicker down towards Bernadetta's features, analyzing her expression. "You can keep it, by the way. I made this especially for you... Did I do a decent job?"

flowers in bloom

Bernie let out a tiny squeak as Linhardt’s voice cut through her silent space. She’d been so focused on the embroidery she’d been working on, she’d failed to notice he’d found her in the empty classroom. Maybe she should’ve stayed in her room after all. “Wh-what? I don’t like any strange plants! Why would you even think tha- Oh!”

Bernadetta gasped as he revealed the plum blossoms, contained delicately in the dish he’d found. The branches were a little banged up, clear signs of being tended to by someone without much practice. Not that Bernadetta was any good at it herself. She’d always preferred to tend to her little pitcher plants above anything else.

“A-a bit...flowers have all kinds of meanings...my mother thought it was important for me to learn how to send messages with them.” Plum blossoms...she couldn’t quite remember what those meant. “But if you put different flowers together, it can mean different things...like you can say a nice thing but pair it with a different flower and it becomes an insult.”

The offer was what broke her from her thoughts of rushed and quiet lessons. “Y-you...you made this for me? Really?” She could already feel the red blossoming in her face. She hadn’t even thought Linhardt liked her that much...he made her something like this? “I...wow, thank you!”

None of them are a favorite of Linhardt, but she ends up taking some of the Southern Fruit Blend—so long as it wasn’t completely and utterly terrible, Lin found that most any tea could be enjoyable. In the right context.

And in this context—that is, a loud and populated ballroom wherein any and all amounts of dancing, food, and shenanigans existed—there were very few teas that Linhardt would find dislikable. With that sense, they had chosen to swipe the largest container they could manage before meandering their way to a corner of the hall.

“Oh, Sakura.” Perhaps there were people that Lin had expected to run into even less, but all the same, he’s a bit surprised. Recognizing that an entire kettle’s worth of tea generally doesn’t go unoffered, he continues, “Care for some tea?”

“Though, if you’d much rather trade brooches, that works for me as well.”

The evening proceeded quite busily for Sakura, who managed to meet new people as well as enjoying the company of old friends –and among them, the familiar call from the green-haired young boy did catch the petite priestess’ attention, who happily joined the tea session he was attending to.

“Glad to see you here as well Lin!” she enjoyed his nickname, quite short and easy to remember, “A cup of tea is perfectly fine!” she picked the first free cup she saw and while she waited for him to fill her cup, she nodded at his request. “An exchange you say?” she giggled, observing the black feather decorating his elegant outfit. She needed as well to collect some more feather, so why not helping someone else for this brilliant event? She extracted one white feather from her brooch and handed it to him, “There, now your turn” and she waited for the black feather to come.

“I’m relieved to see you’re doing well, by the way”

“H-huh? Me?”

Linhardt was asking Bernadetta for help? Linhardt? Asking Bernadetta?

Bernadetta stared at Linhardt, surprise clear on her face and doubt blatant in her eyes. After all, who would believe that Linhardt of all people would go around willingly asking for help from people? And from Bernadetta? That just seemed like a set up for something, she knew it.

She squinted at the vegetable on the table in front of him. The vegetable sat there innocently as it was subjected to Bernie’s powerful pout of suspicion. It didn’t deserve it, but what could it expect, participating in Linhardt’s strange scheme.

“Really? You want Bernie’s help? Y-you’re not just trying to do a trick? L-like asking me for help and then telling me all my ideas are awful and your ideas are better and you don’t know why you asked so you’re just going to go with your ideas but thank you for wasting your time and mine, Bernadetta!”

your  muse  is  watching  mine  sleep ,   when  my  muse  suddenly  wakes  up   &   catches  them .

There was a voice. There was a voice while she was sleeping and it was speaking to her. There was a voice while she was sleeping and it was speaking to her and oh goddess it was her father, it had to be her father who else would find her while she was sleeping, her father had found her at school and-

Bernadetta shrieked. She grabbed the pillow she’d been sleeping on and swung for her father’s head. “No! You can’t take me, I won’t go back!” 

She scrambled against the ground, abandoning the pillow in her desperate bid for distance. Taking a nap? In the open? Bernie, you’re so stupid! “You can’t take me home I won’t go, I won’t!”

She kicked out at the stranger as she frantically clawed her way away. If she could make it back to her room, she’d be fine. She’d be safe, behind a door, and someone would have to hear her father banging against the door and come save her, right? No way the professors would just let her father take her away in the middle of the school year, right?