#oracliisms

Beach Dreams

Like father, like son. Siegbert is every inch his father when it comes to wielding a sword. All flawless technique and fluid motion, confidence oozing with every swing of the wooden weapon. Leo is proud of his nephew underneath the irritation. A cruel thought, yes, something he’s usually better at not entertaining--at least when it comes to Siegbert. 

Shirt falls to the ground, ripped side hidden in the puddle of fabric. Petty is an ill-fitting raiment. Leo exhales, the muscles along his back rippling as rolls his shoulders. Sheds the last vestiges of a poor attitude, the projections of his own inferiority onto an undeserving recipient. 

Leo reaches into the wardrobe for a fresh garment. Fabric rustles, nearly covering a tiny squeak. Nohrian prince freezes for a second as he places the source of the sound. Pivots right when a feminine voices squeals an apology, teal hair flashing out the door. Cheeks burn hotter than the fire he so readily controls. 

“Please knock next time!” Is his voice higher than normal? Leo blindly yanks a shirt free, shoving it on before bounding toward the door, clicking it firmly shut. 

ocean waves drift over me

     The resort was the loveliest at night. She held little favor for the sun and the heat brought with it, but as she stepped out of the house and is greeted with the cool, fresh air, a small smile and sigh of relief washes over her.

     The path to the beach is marked by footprints left in the sand and the moonlight shone down, almost ethereal, lighting a way to the much gentler tides. Rinea follows the trail and finds a moment of peace. The waves crashing against the shore held a certain rhythm that was amplified in the absence of others.

     She takes some time to herself to stroll alongside the and finds herself at a little floral garden. The birds were quietly tucked away for the night, but the frogs and cicadas could be heard singing to themselves. She hums along and takes in the fresh aroma of the flowers. Her body begins to spin and twirl, but she is spotted and is greeted by a soft voice.

     Rinea turns to look over her shoulder before facing the blue haired dancer proper. Chuckling as her gaze hits the ground, she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.

Matthew walks beneath the moonlight he so used to crave, for want of the old memories it stirred so easily within him. On an eve such as this, however, it offers little by way of distraction. His thoughts are too scattered and clouded, a haze he struggles to piece together with uncharacteristic fervour, the haggard look in his eyes betraying not so much lack of sleep - for they need it not in this strange place and time, it seems - as it does a lack of closure, thoughts that despite their embroilment stalk him through the night.

When he looks up, it’s to the sight of something that steals his breath away in the same instant it sweeps the addled whispers at the back of his mind unto the breeze and carries them away. His shoulders lift slightly. He inhales, partakes of the fresh night air, and all of a sudden, he can think again --

though naught is much clearer now than before, and there’s a new piece of the puzzle to consider, as well.

“Ninian,” he offers by way of greeting, a ghost of a smile succeeding his sigh of relief. Brows flexed in uncertainty, he walks over and seats himself on a rock, propping his chin up on his hand. 

Rocking back on her heels, Myrrh frowned up at the rain, holding a hand out of their small area of safety. Anything to avoid the strange prickling sensation on her skin. She couldn’t figure out what it was, but it was familiar somehow, and not entirely unwelcome.

As she frowned out at the rain, she glanced over and caught her companion looking at her. (Despite how much she hated attention, she started getting used to it. That couldn’t be good.) She simply smiled and offered a wave, almost apologetic for being there to take her attention.

A soft voice enters Flayn's ears, flowing like a song.

Though she knows not the girl that spoke, the sensation is familiar; akin to a lullaby in a sense. Ruby eyes shine orange in the warm firelight, speckled with stars and gold. The girl comments on the lovely night, and Flayn finds herself agreeing. She gives the dove-haired girl a nod.

"Indeed they are. I find myself getting lost in them."

Flame crackles and pops as the logs used for firewood turn into embers. It is a calming sight; the smell of cordwood smoke snaking upwards towards the air, the flicker of bonfire and flame cracking the relative silence of the beach, and now, the presence of this mystery girl. It was a good way to offset the frigid night air that settled on the beach.

Flayn thinks she should probably introduce herself; it was only right, after all. Hands gesture to an empty spot on the log beside her, a silent invitation for company.

"Oh, please do come and sit next to me. We can enjoy this warm hearth together."

The saint offers her a small smile and a bow.

@oracliisms

“So, then... we light this end, and...?”

Ninian is crouched low to the sand, tenuous as she holds a lit match to the firework’s wick. The oracle had never seen such contraptions before, but according to the redheaded girl next to her, lighting them would result in quite the show.

The wick lights with a spark!, and Ninian squeaks as she backs away, hastily rising to her feet to put distance between herself and the firework. She only manages to get a few feet away before the strangely shaped toy soars into the air with a loud whizzing noise, leaving a trail of sparks in its wake. Ruby eyes widen, alight with fire and awe as it bursts into an explosion of color in the night sky. At the sight, Ninian grins, turning to the young woman.

“What... manner of magic was that? It was beautiful!” Her normally solemn demeanor is lit with a spark of excitement, much like the fireworks that colored the sky, the oracle’s tone uncharacteristically eager as she asks, “Do you possess any more of them? We should light another!”

          as haunting as the condemning eternity of this place is, there’s something about that same quality that adds an indescribable flair of wonder to certain things. she’d discovered it the other day with the books lining the strange inn-like manor they had all been moved into without knowledge or consent, and this evening with the crate of what she had initially mistaken as explosives before the bursting lights of one particular festival came to mind and identified them for what they were. but there’s no one here to hold a festival, and nothing celebratory for which these fireworks could be used; it’s almost as though they had been dreamed up into existence by nothing more than intangible wishes;

          she glances to the expression of unbridled delight on the young woman’s face, briefly illuminated by the spokes of color that brighten the sky and framed in celeste blue made almost white in the gradient—

          dreamed into a reality to suit her, maybe. caeldori can’t help but smile.

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