#makingdough

The morning came, as it was wont to do, warm rays cresting over mountain peak and tree, and Fiora had risen early, as she was wont to do, and climbed out to see it. In truth, she wasn’t sure how long she had slept, or if she had even slept at all — first, she was settling into her barracks, next, she heard tentative birdsong, the start of a new morning, a sweet lilt out before the sun even rose. She was determined to find Farina, early as she could. She was a flight instructor here, she knew. So she may be out by the flight training grounds, and that was where Fiora looked first.

It — and Farina’s office — had been empty. Her face quirked into a tiny frown. Maybe she should have gotten Huxley, taken him for a ride for this search. She had wanted to get the lay of the land beneath her feet, so perhaps she felt more adjusted to traversing it, but she believed now that that was perhaps a silly thought, and doubled back to the stable to find—

“It’s good to see you too, Farina.”

Her younger sister’s grumbling was not lost on her, but it hardly affected the serene smile plastered on her face. It would be more unusual if Farina wasn’t name-calling. Besides — she wasn’t going to let this reunion be soured. (Not yet, anyway. Who knows where her frankness and Farina’s acerbic tongue would lead them?)

Well, that night's conversation came with some interesting reveals so the moment she could, Farina opted to corner Erk for a private chat. "So...dragons. Any chance he could be one of those dragons?", she asked, sounding especially nervous. A 'fell dragon' certainly sounded like the sort of dragon that would feature in legends right out of the Scouring. She'd hate to end up facing one of those in a dark alley.

Erk never knew Farina well, though had been the case with most people in the army back in Elibe. He had preferred to keep to himself, even when they were not fighting.

But she was the only other person amongst their group from Elibe, who could understand the apprehension towards the idea of dragons.

The first snow of the year comes earlier than expected–much to the chagrin of the students that find themselves navigating icy paths to their morning classes. Snow sticks to the ground and piles up with ease until a thick blanket of the stuff covers the entire campus. You could clean it up with a quick fire spell… but where’s the fun in that, when you can just lob snowballs at your friends?

starter for @making-dough

Hector knew the back of that head, knew well that particular mop of blue hair or was it purple? or that fancy sounding colour... indigo? agh, whatever. It belonged to a lady who’d cost Ostia’s coffers a pretty little penny, and he’d be damned if he ever forgot it.

(’Lady’ might have been overselling it, even. Ah, but he was a generous employer, was he not? He’d dare her to say otherwise.)

The thought of calling out to her crossed his mind for but a fleeting moment. Did he regret hiring the mercenary? Not really. Plus, he’d left it up to Mark in the end anyhow. Did he resent the steep fee that had come alongside signing her on? Maybe a little. Between Serra, Oswin, and the rest, he’d had enough plucky, unruly folk on the payroll already. . .

Bah.

In any event, he’d the perfect payback in mind.

Odds were good it’d have been a comical picture to any who happened to stumble across the big man stooped behind a mound of snow, diligently packing and preparing his store of munitions. For good measure, he’d throw a furtive glance overhead every now and again to make sure his prey hadn’t moved out of sight or range yet.

The assault began with no warning, no fanfare.

It began, instead, with a snowball to the back of her shoulder, followed swiftly by another, and then, only then, at last: a hearty chuckle.

The marquess wasn’t sure what had possessed him to ask the pegasus knight to partner up. Heavens knew he’d skipped out on his fair share of etiquette lessons back home - or he’d damn well tried, but insofar as matters of dance etiquette went... dance had been the one thing Uther would forcibly drag Hector back to class for, by the ear, time and again.

At least that way you can pretend at being a noble for some short period of time if ever you should have to, dear brother of mine, he’d chided with a chuckle.

Even still, out on the dancefloor, Hector felt woefully unprepared. What had he been thinking? It had been on a whim, after Farina had ambushed him at the photo-artifex. He’d surprised himself when asking - and had been doubly so upon hearing the knight - or prof, now, he supposed - had accepted. The knots in his stomach had started that very moment.

But whatever nerves or agitation Hector felt standing up on stage, Farina’s hand in his as they awaited the judges’ signal to begin... whatever trepidations he felt, the fire of competition incinerated from the moment they started until the very end.

It had all been a blur. Brows furrowed, Hector could but stare as the judges announced their scores. Had there been a mistake somewhere...?

[ Style - 9, Choreography - 10, and Technique - 7 ] [ Total score: 26 ]

He glanced to his partner, perplexed, and hissed in question: “Do they have the wrong duo or what?” A pause, nose crinkling. “We did that?”

Vaguely, he could recall a whirlwind phantom of their dance. She’d jumped at some point, and he’d caught her, right? A high tempo piece, risk weighed against reward - certainly, lessons had never taught him that, and yet...

Well. He could always blame Farina. From the first, he’d always found she had a way of sweeping people into her pace. Not like he was complaining though.

Mistletoe || Accepting!

This was possibly one of the worst-case scenarios for Alfonse. Of all of the people he could get stuck under this wretched plant with, why Farina? There was absolutely no easy way out of this one, and everything he knew about her led him to believe that going through with it wouldn't be an escape. It would only prolong his suffering, because there was no circumstance in which she would let him forget the incident easily.

...That wasn't fair to Farina at all, was it? He hadn't given her a chance; he was judging her based solely on the fact that she reminded him of someone Alfonse worked with regularly. She wasn't Anna, though. She shouldn't be assumed guilty of all of the same things just because they shared a few personality quirks. Alfonse chastised himself internally, but that little bit of logic didn't help him dread the situation any less.

All that said, Farina, despite how worried Alfonse was over the ramifications of this incident, wasn't... the worst person to be forced to kiss. She did remind him of Anna well enough to feel familiar, to make Alfonse slightly more at ease around her than most everyone else. It was wholly one-sided in ways she wouldn't even realize and he knew it, but...

"...I suppose I'm not getting away without indulging in tradition, am I?" Alfonse joked halfheartedly, eyes flicking from Farina's to the mistletoe hanging above them. He didn't really want to give her time to answer. If he did, she might feel guilty over it... or not. Making her feel bad or receiving an entirely unsympathetic response were both bad outcomes to Alfonse.

Name: Farina.

Age: 21.

Gender: Female.

Class: Unaffliated, Flight instructor

Notes:

[ Fairy Wings ] - Alright, so she might need a bit more practice with these wings. Just because she knew how to how to fly mounted apparently didn't translate when it came to having wings herself. Oh, it should be fine. So, what if her flying was a little wobbly. She was still airbourne. It was fine. Totally fine. "Uwaaahh! Watch out belooooow!" Except when she was about to crash. Yeah, that was not fine. CRASH! At least, she landed on something soft. Or someone rather. Well, up until she realized exactly whom she landed on. " "Ah, archbishop? What a nice surprise!", Farina laughed nervously. Welp, landing on your own boss totally counts as a bit of an oopsie. Unless she thought of an excuse quickly. "I was just, uh, showing everyone proper landing techniques." Yeah, that's right. Totally a workable excuse. If only she wasn't still leaning over the other woman, pinning her down. "Um, need a hand?" At least, Farina had the sense of mind to realize where she was.

When Air speaks to her (never with, as that would imply some degree of choice in the matter) it is always at the level of her ear or just outside her line of site, never from above, so when Rhea does hear a voice in that direction her head snaps up instantly.