#princessmacedon

“Happy birthday, Mitama!” She takes care not to raise her voice too much, but her toothy grin carries all the decibels left in her heart. The package she carries is set on the edge of the desk, made as little of an imposition as she can manage. “Here, this is for you!” Then, leaning in a bit closer, the little cleric whispers: “If you want, I’ll be looking forward to what you think of these, too! Hee hee.”

With a cheery wave, she skips away to her own classroom, leaving behind a surprisingly dense box. Inside are three books, two of them relatively similar in length, and one of them — curiously, the one packed in the middle — slightly longer, though she’s filled the gaps with a couple slim tubes of chocolate drops. One is a book of Archanean poetry; another, a book that’s recently gained popularity amongst the avid readers of Garreg Mach; and the last is a story she ‘loves lots and lots’, as her cheerful note announces, signed with her name and a few doodled flowers.

Normally, when she does make it to classes, Mitama prefers to use that brief opportunity between them to rest her eyes without worry of being reprimanded. This seldom ever stops her from falling asleep during class itself, but at least an effort is made. Today though, that little indulgence is denied as instead she finds her the focus of attention multiple times over. It is sweet, though, so she does not mind.

Her yawn trails off slowly before she is able to smile and nod politely to Maria in greeting. "Thank you. You did not have to, but I appreciate that you took the time." She has a feeling though, based on the other's excited whispering, that she would have received them at some point regardless of the date.

The three books inside look lovely. Mitama runs her finger along the spine of them, feeling the dips and shifts in texture from the printed on titles. It appears as though book club will carry on even into the 'next' year...perhaps they might even invite more people to it, who can say?

“Edelgard! Good morning!” The box she offers is, despite its height, altogether not so heavy. Yet the red in her eyes seems more vibrant than ever, perhaps a reflection of the house leader standing before her now — not her house leader, no, but certainly her friend.

“After last time, I thought you might be interested in something like this!” The little cleric keeps playfully vague, so as to preserve a bit of the surprise until Adrestia’s heir opens the box herself, but inside the box is a medley of things: a container of peppermint tea and chocolate cookies sits at the top, but underneath them is a small journal. Its pages are blank, but there are a number of loose sheafs tucked under its cover — handwritten notes in Maria’s own writing, sharing her experience and understanding of a few herbs and how (and why) they might be used to make various medicines. She’s even laid out the steps for a few of them.

“But I tucked a little insurance in there too,” she giggles, eyes twinkling with mirth; even if Edelgard ultimately has no interest in the notes, the peppermint that frequents them makes a fine blend! “So it’ll still be good no matter what! Hee hee… happy birthday!”

What a waste it would be if she doesn't open the box right here and now. In front of a friend— A person who has taught her much. While she would ordinarily accept the present graciously and turn on her heel, would it not go against what she believes Maria has shown her? With the morning sun cascading into the sealed darkness of Edelgard's room, she props the door open with her foot and lets the space be seen.

Taking the box into her palms, the corners of her eyes crinkle into the likeness of a smile: "Thank you. I'm flattered— And appreciative. All I can hope is that this was of no great inconvenience to you." She chuckles once, suspecting that is not the case.

Carefully opening the box, she cradles it under her left arm and sorts with the right. Homely does the scent of blends pour, scooping the blend to inspect it. Ah, peppermint! Sweet, next, is the sight of cookies in both appearance and aroma. Did she bake them herself? Edelgard presumes that to be everything, until it is not— Until her pinky finger swipes against a journal. The quill primed at her desk calls to be used— Such is what she assumes, and such she will do.

Hopefully that's silly enough! She hums, handing the glass over alongside a rose.

“Ah! Hello, Maria. I hope the night has been treating you well?” A hope and worry both, seeing as she’s visiting her — the self-appointed allergy nurse for the night… but she shows no obvious signs of distress upon first glance. No watery eyes, her voice and laugh both remain clear and bright as a bell as she remembers it before in their brief encounter, and most importantly, her nose is no more red than the usual pinks that come with having flesh, and the blood that flows beneath.

Sothis smiles. Good. It would be quite the shame if one so kind were to fall ill so soon.

“Yes, it is quite the surprising change indeed. And here I was under the impression it was a cultural staple of sorts.” Perhaps not for all Fodlan, she’s seen far too little of the place to feel confident in saying so for certain (a fact of which she is certain Maria in particular is well enough aware of to make saying as such rather redundant, thankfully), but for the academy it must be, surely? In her observation, at least, it serves a core part in nearly every aspect of daily life in Garreg Mach. Though, perhaps that view is the fault of her choice of company’s choice of activities. She has always had her doubts fishing was as frequent a task for the average person as a certain someone tended to make it, anyway…

“Though perhaps the tea is just running… ‘fashionably late’, as they say. Building anticipation for its ‘grand reveal’ as the celebrity that it is.” The girl giggles as she sweeps her arm aside towards the main entrance, flowing sleeve trailing behind on an arch like a curtain pulled back to reveal a stage. A stage home to nothing at present, but that is very much beside the point. Unless, of course, one were to shift perspectives to focus on the very nothingness itself. “Or, perhaps the staff simply believed it time for a change. To do the same things — feel the same experiences over and over and over… after a while, it becomes terribly dull.” 

Allowing her arm to drop back to her side, Sothis returns her sights to the matching reds of the girl before her and the offered flower — and the adorable doodles she takes careful efforts to not disturb as the cup transfers hands to her own. A very cold cup she nearly drops thanks to the unfamiliarity of it. She knew ice was meant to be cold, but goodness. What kind of crazy person picked this up and went ‘yeah, I wanna put that in my mouth’?????

It’ll probably taste better than it feels in her hands. Hot food was much the same, after all, just with a burn of temperature rather than a stab. For now though, she picks an orchid out of her own bouquet to offer in return, alongside a smile wide enough to (hopefully) match the her on the glass.

Although Ninian herself would never think it, the truth is she looks not only better but also radiant. The glow of her happiness is soft, yes, could hardly be otherwise for her modest nature. Still, for such a light to be in her face at all is a rarity. Maria saw her hale and hearty, before the disease came, but this... This almost feels new even to the dancer herself.

Perhaps it should not come as a surprise, then, how swiftly her light dims. It is no fault of sweet Maria’s, needless to say; in fact, upon first seeing the cleric she smiles gently and hurries to meet her.

“ Lady Maria, ” she greets in soft tones, “ I, too, am glad to see you... ”

Enjoying yourself after our trials, she meant to say, but (as so often is the case) she balks. To call the epidemic as such, to center their own struggles, does not seem right when so many were more affected; and neither does she want to risk implying that Maria’s passion, her life’s work, is something to be recovered from after the fact. It is not wrong to care, to put one’s all into ...

... Ah.

Even though she was just reflecting on Maria’s care for others, indeed even though the other remains as joyful as she’d been in the moment prior, nonetheless some primal instinct asserts itself in Ninian when the cleric peers at her eyes.

And, irony of ironies, it’s the instinct of prey: the dragon girl freezes up, breath hitching in her throat while every other time someone’s looked at her this intently comes to mind. That is, every other time she has been found out and driven away from whatever village she was in...

Because Maria is looking closely at pupils slit like a snake’s, a sign of beastly heritage which is no doubt noticeable beneath the chandelier’s bright light. Dread pools at her feet like melting ice, and she cannot find either words or the will to flee ——

Your eyes match the flower very well. Wait, what? Rather stupidly, the first response that comes to mind is oh, I got them from my father. Thank the Spirits, Maria has not finished just yet.

“ Ah... I... Thank you, ” she murmurs after, slowly reaching for the rose. “ I would love to dance with you, Lady Maria... Trade or no, ” she chuckles, then presents the little cleric with a purple orchid in turn.

"Hee hee... I used to braid roses into my brother's hair. Do you want one?" With a bit of a playful flourish, she pulls a rose from her bouquet and laughs. "This one, I mean!"

the ethereal ball || non-prompt

Bonding with students in her house is... odd, but not unwelcomed. Nor is it surprising, as most who are stationed in Garreg Mach, staff included, seem like they want to make connections. Granted, that is kind of the whole point of the place being built--

Task successful, one supposes.

But.. something about this interaction feels.. off to Selena. The more she tries to figure it out, the farther away from an answer she gets. Perhaps it was the student herself? What about her was standing out? Was it the red hair that they share? Of a young redheaded child? A redheaded child that Selena was never able to become--

Her expression softens at the gesture as she inspects the rose the girl is handing out in offering.

❛ Well, of course my hair is stunning. I spend quite a bit of time to care for my appearance. Quite frankly, I'd be insulted if it didn't put everyone else's hair to shame. Buuut... I do think a rose would make it even better! ❜

A prideful stride takes the older women over to one of the nearby benches to seat herself before waving the lass over.

❛ If you do a good enough job, I'll return the favor by putting a tulip in your hair. ❜

[ CHOCOLATE ] "You look really happy, Ferdie." For all the bright lights and echoing music, Maria's voice is rather soft. It's sincerity that brushes its edges with tender touch, woven together by gladness and warmth. She had met him once tired and twice regretful; to see him now, glowing enough to practically bid the sun rise again... what a relief it is. And what a joy. "Hee hee... I'm glad." Oh, she could tease him -- he does seem very teasable -- and for a beat she does consider it, a rose plucked from her bouquet and waggled quite thoughtfully in front of them. But in the end, it is enough that he is happy. The rose settles into a rhythm of sorts, a metronome to whimsy as she picks chocolate after chocolate from her box. Is this the kind she'd seen him eating earlier? And, stealthily, she attempts to drop a few extra chocolates into his box -- a gift as quiet as all his hard work the day she met him. All the while, the rose goes tick and tock. Then, when her reverse theft is done, the rose tips in a new direction: toward him. "Congratulations, Ferdie."

(when Maria, how Maria, is Maria)—she fanned into view and made him evaporate into a husk of salt and rose petals. ego was nothing to her, neither mania nor conceit. "do I?" he cannot stop smiling. the sinews pulling up his lips tightened playfully, and he swayed off-beat to the conductor's metronome. where the rose wandered left, he peeked right, dancing bizarrely. where the rose swung right, he snuck left—uninhibited and downright shameless. "you read me far too well."

when Maria is around Ferdinand is possessed by the textures of silks and chiffons, possessed by the smallness of her hands which look soft when they are full. he preferred when she did not need to bring them up to defend herself, preferred when they are folded around a giant box of sweets than a weapon. Maria hummed when she talked, a lullaby and bright ball of laughter warmed by springtime tea. he plucked a rose from his own bouquet, not quick enough to notice that his box was three, four chocolates heftier.

how Maria lives is like a poem, where the stanzas lilt and the lines never end. when she laughed, he laughed, and he became blind to the world around them. swaying his rose, thinking himself clever, Ferdinand squeezed his eyes joyfully.

he does not know what she celebrates, just that she does.

is Maria, was Maria always this brave? always this carefree? "say, Maria, might I celebrate you too? you seem to have the whole academy cheering your name."

"you always do look so happy, it makes me want to be a better man." he will never be able to recover from that kind of happiness.

her rose in his, his rose in hers, their hands cross like a rejoice. yes, if he were allowed, he might even say he forgets himself in moments like this.

"Hi! It's nice to meet you!" She holds up a tray of three buns as she approaches, grinning in lieu of a wave. "My name is Maria! I've got sweet buns to trade for your name, if you want one?" Then, leaning in slightly, her voice dipping into something more conspiratorial, she adds: "But if you want to know a secret, you can actually have all of them, if you want... for free! Hee hee!"

“Oh, that’s easy. My name’s Caspar!” With the trade deal nice and sealed, he wastes no time in taking his prize. It’s awkward eating around the cherry on top, but he’s gotten good at fitting it all in his mouth anyway. The icing and cream just taste so much better when they’re mixed in with that fruit flavor. Totally worth it.

He’s still working a dollop of cream off of his tongue when he adds, “Wait, that’s way too generous though. I would’ve given my name for free!”