#petalblight

Matoi? The name makes Mitama pause. She is unfamiliar with that name, but this is not the first time she has discovered that Hoshidans outside her realm of familiarity do exist in Fodlan. It is odd to hear Tsubaki speak an unknown name with such familiarity, but she has absolutely zero interest in prying into that subject. What if she prompts him into sharing something personal? What a horror that would be.

"I see." She settles on instead with a shrug. What one might call impeccable strategies, others might call dumb luck or fate's wheel. "Well, I am glad you at least seem satisfied with your defeat. Some people get so overly emotional about it."

She left her staff in the tree and has nothing to fiddle with while they talk. She settles instead for folding her fingers neatly together in front of her. The faintest hint of the battlefield can be seen at this distance. People she knows and talks to daily look like little more than unidentifiable blurs. She knows more about who is not in the medical tent than who is...but she will wait for them, regardless.

WAS IT A SIGN THAT SHE HADN'T SEEN ANYONE ELSE　𑣲　using the photo-artifex with their parents? not that there were many, nor, she supposes, would she outright know if it was parent and child without asking. she just didn't want to seem embarrassing or unsophisticated——at her age, it seemed like she wasn't supposed to still want to spend time with her father.

fortunately, she's relieved somewhat of the burden by the knowledge that, with the extra meaning she'd decided on for the night, spending time with her father is exactly, also, what she should be doing. hoshido's seijin-shiki, a custom she was only just beginning to understand in practice and not just in theory told through stories of a homeland she'd never known, was a layer gestured to by her selection of the furisode she wore and the thematic tie that bound her and her father together, something she hadn't told anyone else but him, not even mitama as they'd gotten ready together for the night——their fathers were, she understood, a topic better left untouched between the two of them, even if it meant keeping some of her feelings to herself so she wouldn't cause her friend to feel bitter.

but it meant she had no one to talk to about this particular brand of nerves and adrenaline: could anyone truly understand what it meant to her to shine in her father's eyes, and in the eyes of the family he'd come from——of which she was part, however distantly——to whose lines she must honorably pay homage and continue? with tonight, just as she'd hoped when she'd finally returned with her father to hoshido properly after the war, she'd take one step closer to being what she truly wanted:

the newest child of the spear of heaven, shining and flawless, strong and worthy enough to shoulder the accolade of all who had served before her ; and to do the same, so that their name and the crown of hoshido's name could continue to face the rising sun with each arriving day of the future.

tonight may just be a party, a ball, a celebration that was every year the same here at garreg mach. but for her, with these richly-embroidered camellias draping cooling silk long off her arms, with her hair coiffed and pinned just so, with her hand in her father's hand, warm and protective——a small thing just a couple short years ago thought impossible——it was so much more than an annual occasion to dress up and dance.

and nobody else could know that, and what it meant.

and, she decides, maybe that's just fine.

there are some things that can only be shared between a parent and their child, some feelings only understood between father and daughter. grief and love, a sharp, sharp pride of⠀(⠀watching them grow into all that they would become⠀/⠀knowing they would be your safest place forever to come, to catch you when you've lost your wings⠀) ,⠀the searing ache of⠀(⠀knowing they would not always be the little helpless thing that relied solely on you⠀/⠀recognizing that your time with them was, by nature, going to be limited in this life⠀).

how could anyone else understand? if they had no loving father ; if they had not been raised in a deeprealm ; if they were not them——

tsubaki and matoi, cocoon-wrapped in generations of expectation, broken bones and regrown wings to fit the shapes they'd had to become, and still, nevertheless, reaching out to one another in the warmth of the hope they had in one another: hope to be loved, hope that they would come back someday soon, hope that it would be different this time:

all delivered together in such a simple request as:

Elemental magics have never really been Azama's forte. He can weave a fine charm, mend a wicked cut, shut an annoying opponent's gab with a well-aimed flick of his hand, but fire-? fire's new.

There isn't much time to sit back and admire it though. He mustn't keep Tsubaki waiting.

"Did you know the Morfisian Elementals blessed the monastery some few years back? They shrank everyone to the size of your thumb. It even lasted through the end of that year's Ethereal Ball. Made for quite the memorable experience, ohoho~"

Flames dance in smooth arcs from hand to hand, shimmying, swaying, wending along like a fish in a river - graceful, vibrant, alive. Inhaling, Azama readies to pass the fire along to his partner.

... But he has a reason for this particular tale to surface here and now, beyond the current dance being on topic.

"... You really never learn what to expect from this strange land, even after being here for some time. You'll be careful, yes? I know Lady Sakura would hate for you to come to any harm."

Not only that but, well,

from one father to another...

[ TXT ] : At the risk of sounding forward, what are you wearing? [ TXT ] : (sticker: tenma_tentative) [ TXT ] : It's the first time we've been extended an invitation to attend a Firene-styled tea ceremony. This collaboration is riding on high expectations, so... [ TXT ] : We mustn't overlook even the tiniest of details.

[ TXT ]: 🫢 [ TXT ]: Getting rather risqué, aren't we? What *would* Miss Sakura think...

Céline smiles slightly as she taps Send, only able to imagine how the man on the other end would be silently simmering. Because Tsubaki, the Tsubaki, would never do something like fluster.

[ TXT ]: I'll be wearing a midi length floral dress, with a sheer stole and sunhat. The ceremony will be outside, so the dress code

She stops to adjust her purse strap, apologizing to the woman she nearly ran into on the street—

There's a sense of foreboding that shrouds Tsubaki as he notices her. Briefly, two thoughts flicker in his mind: The first, if her father had grown any taller since the war had ended. The second, if Rhajat could have anything to do with the impeding epidemic looming above Fodlan. Both thoughts, of course, aren't particularly pleasant conversation starters, so Tsubaki knows to keep his mouth shut!

Of course, that doesn't mean he won't greet her, though.

"Heeeey, Rhajat." Tsubaki greets simply with a cordial wave, "Since when have you been studying here~?" If he'd have to take a guess, it'd definitely have to be her first week here, right? Although, to him, it's not as if she's an easy one to weasel out. "Some might consider it a nightmare to take up studies at monastery right now, buuut…. In your case, I'm sure arriving here during these unfavorable events is nothing short of perfect timing~"

One of her comrades from the army, and someone of Father's generation. She gives his peppy demeanor a once-over, but her mind's already been made up: Tsubaki's perfect attitude and acts of good advice aren't going to ruin her day.

"I arrived yesterday," she says curtly. To make sure he knows he's pissing her off, she raises her chin slightly when she rolls her eyes. Despite this, she does stay in place for conversation— albeit with an unexcited crossing of her arms. Her expression says one thing while her body language says another.

The more she looks him over, the more she finds some sort of recognition in his face. Where his jaw slopes, where his eyebrows sit, where his hands rest, it all has an air of familiarity she just can't place. Then again, this guy's known for being stupidly good at everything; it's probably no wonder he has ideal human proportions, perfectly suitable for cloning and experimentation...

Tsubaki easily finds her among the dissolving crowd, a bright smile on his face. "I've heard that a few teams have begun to form an afterparty of sorts at the dining hall so, if your team had planned something similar, then please don't hold yourself back on my accord."  

There's plenty of opportunities to hear Sakura's adorable recounts in the future, after all. As she's promised him before, they will always be at each other's side. 

"Tsubaki!" Sakura's soft voice still eachoed loudly, despite the fatigue of the arena, "I'm glad to see you in one piece, despite all!" she giggled, grasping his hands in feverish emotion; she wasn't completely sure about the outcome of his team, but about one thing she was sure -she was glad he did manage to make the best of this experience (or so she thought in her innocence).

As she listened to his proposal, a candid smile appeared on her rosy lips, a feeling of joy spread into her chest. "Of course, I'm willing to accompany you, regardless of the others" she didn't mind the company of her team, but being with Tsubaki was far more important for her, now.

Shiro's identity is still shocking but there's no denying the truth. Regardless of his origins, he's a bright kid with an admirable heart; that's enough to commend respect.

"Shiro~" Tsubaki calls out to the young prince and— for a split second— hopes that a snowball isn't going to somehow manifest in the teen's hand and splatter all over him. This is his first look of the year, so he took the time to look even more perfect than his usual self! Which is a paradox, because nothing is more perfect than perfect unless you're the paragon of perfection and therefore have sway in what perfect entails in the new year but— Nevertheless! His outfit and, more importantly, his hair isn't ruined so everything is okay!

"Happy New Year!" Tsubaki nearly swats Shiro's head playfully with the money-filled otoshidama envelope but thankfully withholds himself as he offers it to the crown prince. He smiles. "May you be in good fortune and health this following year, too…. And make sure to spend your money wisely!"

i owe you a (belated) apology, tsubaki. i wasn't really familiar with your game.

“hey!! what are you—”

instinctively, shiro’s hand flies out to intercept whatever whizzes by his head, but just as swiftly, tsubaki retracts what he now recognizes as that familiar envelope.

( it’s been a while since he’s seen one of these. )

even within the deeprealm, he’d gotten his share of these gifts, which his caretakers took great care to explain the meaning of, along with the significance of the little detailed motifs. in one ear went those explanations, and out the other. what meaning did tradition hold for him then, when he’d hardly been acquainted with the outside world? a lonely child had no use for envelopes and well wishes, and instead found that he was far more interested in seeing which familiar face might accompany them.

nevertheless, on the heels of fleeting awkwardness follows an unexpected wave of nostalgia. young once more, he blankly takes the offering from tsubaki. a belated wisecrack attempts to break the ice. “ 'wisely?' who says i’m a spendthrift?” uncomfortable as ever with this medley of complicated feelings, he shifts his weight—and hastily remembers to tack on: “not that i’m ungrateful! i appreciate it. i know you, uh, didn’t have to do this.”

it’s hard not to think back to the gap-toothed kid who’d eagerly tear open each envelope with grubby little hands and a lopsided grin. in his ears rings the gentle chastising of the caretakers who’d raised him. say thank you, shiro. “thanks, tsubaki.” wish the other the same, shiro.

Tsubaki doesn’t particularly enjoy such frivolities. He, however, cannot afford a reputation for being too strait-laced. He’s not actually a prude, after all— Some people are just disgusting!

Nel is not one of those people, he’d like to think.

“Well, well. Look who’s participating in the courtyard commotion~” Tsubaki greets with a smile. His gaze flickers down to the box in Nel’s hand before plucking one of the sticks. “If I win, will you cease this at once~? Not that I have to ask, anyway… I’m sure you’ll scurry away in embarrassment once defeated by my overwhelming perfection.”