#primaeverra

The academy professors are bogged down with work and need a little extra help. Teacher’s assistant positions have been opened up and are available to just about anyone willing to lend a hand. Try your hand at helping teach some of your fellow students—or get an inside opportunity to change you and your friends’ grades in the assignment logs. [Grants Authority +1]

It wasn’t rare for news to spread quickly around Garreg Mach-- She was only a student herself, but Annette could imagine how many papers were stacking up on their desks. Being a professor in itself didn’t sound all too bad. There was a certain joy in getting to help others and further enrich their magic abilities. That is, assuming she didn’t embarrass herself and mess up on the spot.

There’s no way that would happen! She wouldn’t let it.

When the opportunity arose to become an assistant, Annette jumped at the chance. There was no chance she could pass something like that up, both because it sounded fun and she wondered what kind of teacher she would make. There was so much power in that kind of position-- She’d even be able to view her own grades. That was tempting, she’d admit.

In this particular classroom, she found herself accompanied by Mae. She greeted her with an exaggerated wave before quickly moving to place her hands atop her hips with a dramatic tone of voice: “Today, I am Professor Annette! Us professors have a lot on our plates, you know? Let’s do our best to teach these students to the best of our abilities!”

With a laugh, she moved her hands back to her sides and added, “Anyways, this is all so exciting! I almost don’t even know where to begin. What do you think?”

The nerve of this girl. 

It all started last time Larcei was on cooking duty. She was doing her part, preparing a healthy meal for everyone in the dining hall. Nothing too fancy, but sure to help everyone grow big and strong. That is where her talents shine best, she thinks. Food is more than just a luxury for one’s tongue: when prepared with personal development in mind, it can be used to hone one’s body, refueling it after a tough day of training. In her eyes, everyone should’ve been privileged to eat her cooking!

But that was where Mae stepped in. Larcei overheard some complaints regarding her dish. Though she held her tongue then and there, the image of those annoying pink pigtails was seared into her mind forever. She would remember that disgrace; an Isaachian never forgets.

And thus we arrive at today. When she was sure she saw that same sparky head of hair enter the kitchen, Larcei made her move. She planted a foot up on her table, cupped her hands around her mouth, and was extra vocal with her critique. She emphasized ‘mediocre’ when she said it, was sure to raise her voice when she got to the word ‘disgusting’. What was most certainly an embarrassing and blown-out-of-proportion move earned the attention and ire of that mage, and that was all that mattered. Skim past a few heated discussions, and the pair arrive in the kitchen together.

Only, they are not here to cooperate. Two chefs enter, but only one will leave victorious. 

“Hmph! I’ll make you regret those words. By the end of the night, you’ll see: you had no right to be moaning about my cooking!” Though they now stand on opposite sides of the facility, kept in their respective stations by the judge they dragged into this, Larcei is the first to fire a potshot. It’s all part of the competition, she tells herself. And besides, Mae started this thing. She deserves it!

But trash-talk aside, the Isaachian has already gotten started on her dish. She knew, going into tonight, exactly what she would prepare. And it would be something akin to the very meal that plunged them into this mess: her patented Battle Fervor. A single bun is to be sliced in half and toasted golden-brown with the protein-rich fats of red meat. Then, its top is decorated with a special kind of flaky fish snack, adding even more bulk to the meal and making it wriggle as one eats it. The filling is more of a rough guideline in her head, but last time it was leftover pizza sausages, Midsommar turkey, and a whole hunk of ham. Her bun has already been chosen, its singular form forced into two equal halves. As Larcei fires up her burner to get started on the key components, she looks over her shoulder.

Just what is she up to...

Probably nothing good. Admittedly, Larcei hadn’t even tried a bite of whatever she made today, opting instead to get her vengeance before filling her stomach. It is a dish best served hot, that revenge, and she didn’t want to waste her opportunity.

Should Mae turn and make eye contact, she’ll find Larcei glaring--already having cemented her as a rival in her mind.

There are rumors about a tiny, unmarked village in the northwestern post part of Rusalka. The people there are entirely self-sufficient and need no help from outsiders for anything. They dress strangely and behave even more so. What you weren’t warned about was that they tame giant birds, and now you’ve found yourself pinned beneath one’s claws with the explicit orders not to hurt it. If you do, there will be irreparable consequences, and the guy in the straw hat watching you from the trees seems frighteningly serious. [Grants Gauntlets +1]

@primaeverra

Normally, Rhea would be ever so eager to learn more of Rusalka and its culture, particularly in regards to its reverence for its sea-soaked land and its mountainous heights but when such tarrying could cost her lives - particularly, the lives under her own protection, well, she was known to become impatient.

Such was the case now, for the tour guide the Church had hired seemed to care little for propriety and gone on ahead of Rhea and her party. She had still not found the missing Seiros knights and without that backup it fell to her to care for the students in the area.

Which was why she had ended up tackling one Valentian mage to the side of the mountain path as soon as  she was movement in the air; a good thing, too, for Rhea hardly has time to make sure the girl is alright before coming to face to face with a bird the size of which she has not seen in Fodlan for some time.

“Haha!” Comes the voice of their tour guide. “Looks like I was right to go on ahead. Here’s the welcome party! If you can get that bird to cooperate with you the way to the village will be cakewalk but if the villagers find out you hurt it... well, don’t say I didn’t warn ya.”

“Such impudence,” Rhea huffs, but sheathes her sword for the moment. The bird still hovers in the airs, talons outstretched and bright eyes trained upon the archbishop and Mae behind her.

The last thing Chrom expected turning the corner to enter the dining hall was a weapon blocking his view of the doorway, point at his face. Looking beyond the point of it, he could make out the bubble gum pink hair of Mae, a mischievous smile on her face.

"Excuse me" He said, trying to move past it but she kept blocking him. With a sign he pulled out his falchion and raised it to parry. "You want a duel then?" He questioned.

She gave a laugh.

         Had the school put up a birthday roster on the bulletin board? How had this clown even managed to find out what his birthday was, let alone find him again after her previous coward's play? Gods, he was entirely glad that his mask covered up most of his face, and he had undergone rigorous training for his nerves. Because clearly, all this unwanted attention would have made a lesser man red by the ears.

        Good thing he wasn't a lesser man, was he?

        "...Mae." He's not going to mention the incident at the library. He's going to forget it happened, entirely. He's not going to mention the incident at the library. He's going to forget it happened, entirely. "Where did you find this out?" Not the phrase of appreciation she was probably expecting, but nonetheless, it was better than him running off in the opposite direction.

        "If it is a roster poster or something or another—I'm going to tear the thing down." Even his seething is glacial. Gerome doesn't have an inch of heat to give out like pennies. He was looking directly at her, and the disapproval played upon his brow quite evidently. She had chosen to espouse the wrong person, and her general misconception that they were friends was far too left-field for him to humor her.

        Her cheeks were puffed. Her cheeks were puffed? She was the one wasting her blasted money on things that would easily go down her gullet and out the other end. Gods.

        "Mae. We're not friends. Why do you—"

        ...

        He supposed he could not spurn her for getting him a present. Gaudy as it was— what, with the bright pink floral accents, did she think he was going to wear it?— it reminded him of times long before war. And in its modesty, he could feel her sincerity ring through. To be honest, she was being awfully unfair. How could he refuse a sentiment like this one without feeling cruel?

        "Fine." His fingers snatched it away from her quite abruptly, and he rested it upon Minerva's crown. He turned his gaze away, so she could only see the side of his head. But in doing so, he had rightfully revealed that his ears matched the gaudy pink he had passed onto Minerva.

        "...Thank you. Really."

        Eighteen was far too young to be honest. And far too old to not be true.

          Eventually, a slave named Iote rose up to lead a rebellion against Dohlr, taming the wild wyverns of the wood and riding them into battle. With their rebellion occurring at the same time as Archanean... He recalled a direct passage from Ylisstol's Central Library some time ago and had thought to search for remnants of the same book in these archives. Though masterfully written, it was riddled with what Gerome would say was a fair amount of propaganda. Either way... he could not find it anywhere, and settled on an exhaustive field guide to wyverns instead. Utterly absorbed in the work, he was taken by the comparative physiology that the author had introduced into her research, speculating that while the philogenetics of human and wyvern could hardly be comparable it—

          He felt her breath tickle his skin before he could register that she had pressed her lips on his cheek. And immediately slapped a gloved hand where he could feel the warmth blossoming into full roses. The book thumped onto the floor, and she bolted like a ghost without a sheet. "Wh-wh!?" Gritting his teeth to avoid stuttering, he slammed to his feet and bit down the burning desire to grab her by the scruff of her uniform. "Mae!?" He hissed a vile of poisons, that vined and curled in the most violent of whispers. There was no ignoring the fact that there were enough eyes upon him to force a flush of frightening red— enough to be the envy of any sore candlewick.

          Gods. Gods. Gods.

          Picking up the book and leaving it neatly on the table, he soared off in the complete opposite direction. Gods. Gods. Gods. An open-roofed area? Good. "MINERVA. TO ME!"

          He was simply going to flee in a bough of foolish embarrassment until the heat died down. He'd piece his tattered pride back together later.

          Gods, he hated dares.

There was a dream she often had of exploring beyond Fódlan. She'd tie her hair into little braids (no longer worrying about its placement) as she purchased trinkets from every market she came across. As nice as it was, she'd always awaken back in her room in Garreg Mach.

Flayn considered herself sociable-- She loved talking to all the people here and hearing about all the different adventures they had been on. She had found herself striking conversation with Mae and listening as intently as possibly. Interest sparkled across the girl's face with each and every tale she heard that differed from her own.

If only she had more opportunities to see beyond the familiar walls.

Still, there are times it made her a little jealous when she heard about her friend's fascinating expeditions. Even when she audibly said as much, there was little she could do about it. When Mae placed an arm around Flayn, she smiled and shook her doubts away.