#reshaper lore

That being said, it wouldn’t kill him not to fly 15 feet up in the air, where the only one who could fight properly was him. Even he could admit things might get boring in that case, no matter how much the General loved playing a little dirty.

As the two men step up to take their opposing spots in the ring, their eyes meet. Seifer shakes his head slightly to knock his poof of a ponytail over his shoulder to rest against his back, then brings both of his weapons up in a readied stance.

Meanwhile, Otavah puts out both of his arms straight in front of him, rotating them in a swift motion so they cross over each other, hands now gripping an apparated pole blade and untwisting with a flourish to be in a more battle-ready position. It was hard to deny that despite how extra he was in everything he did, it was rather impressive to watch.

Seifer's mind wasn’t particularly focused on that aspect of things, although that didn’t stop Leiere, a member of his own squad, from cheering out, “Woohoo! Go, General! Kick his ass!” with all four of his arms fist pumping in the air for added emphasis.

Seeing the pleased and smug look that came over Otavah’s face was enough to make Seifer playfully roll his eyes. “Thanks for the damn vote of confidence, Lee! The support is noted!”

In that brief moment of distraction, Otavah already starts to play. Large, shimmering wings flit in small movements to aid in his languid approach. Seifer only has a moment to react to the pole blade curving up for his jaw, his arm twitching into a reaction to parry with his dagger. The metal clashes loudly, and several of the crew members around hoot and holler at the clutch counter.

There’s a brief pause where ringed violet eyes meet bronze crescents and General Minera laughs. Though the two of them are holding against each other in a seemingly effortless display, both are exerting enough strength to keep their strifes pressed together with a slight tremble on both sides.

“Already playing dirty, Otavah? I expected better.” Seifer says through a smile.

“Did you now? Your mistake, then, Celeste.” he retorts, a matching smile set on his own features.

In their brief back and forth, Seifer had moved his other hand slowly up, only to then bring it down in a swift move to try and slice into his combatant's shoulder. Otavah doesn’t even look toward the incoming threat as his wings flutter, allowing him to shift his shoulder back and away from harm. Without pause, he follows the movement up with a rotation of his blade to the left, forcing the sword into the ground.

“Shit-” is all Seifer has time to say before he has to make an evasive maneuver of his own, bending back at the waist to try and dodge the pole as it comes back for the upswing to the right. His reaction is only a fraction too late, but it’s enough that the weapon draws a small cut into his jaw, letting neon violet drops fly into the air.

At the first draw of blood, there are wide eyes and even more cheers from the onlookers. Things continue this way for a while, easily for over twenty minutes, as the two narrowly dodge each other's well-timed movements- or they seemingly fail to account for something, and they acquire a knick from one of the various weapons at play.

Moments occur where Seifer can feel the haze of magic buzzing around certain movements, but he keeps his mouth shut and allows himself moments of pride when his skills seem to keep him level with the mild fuckery afoot. Those continued moments of added confidence eventually become Seifer’s downfall, however, as his eyes track a repeated movement that the General had been using to go for a chest hit.

Seifer moves to parry it as he had in previous times, but the blade never actually makes contact with his dagger, and he notices the change too late.

Using a dancer's step, Otavah suddenly pivots in a spin to Seifer’s left, letting his right leg slide along the floor to bring him down low where his pole blade then sweeps behind his Lieutenants legs and knocks him down onto his back with a resounding thud. As the air comes back to Seifer’s lungs, he sees the tip of his opponent's blade hovering over his chest.

Several voices let out ‘ooh’s’ of sympathy, and a couple of others suck in air through their teeth at the sound. Just as many others also offer up a round of cheers or applause for the performance that the two of them gave.

“I believe you’ve lost, my dearest lieutenant.”

“Yeah, well,” A grunt as he pushes himself up onto his elbows, “I’d say I did pretty good given the integrity of my opponent, wouldn’t you?”

Another rich chuckle escapes his superior at that. “If I didn’t know better, I would think you were insulting me, Seifer.”

Otavah pulls his blade away and vanishes it off to gods only knows where before reaching out an olive branch of assistance: offering to help Seifer up. The violet reaches up to take it before it suddenly gets pulled away from reach. Another roll of Seifer's eyes, “You’re such an asshole, you know that?”

The Generals eyes glitter in amusement before reextending his hand. “Only messing with you my friend, no tricks this time.”

A skeptical look levels itself at Otavah for a long moment before Seifer, once again, reaches out to take their hand, and this time he makes contact, smacking their hands together audibly as he’s pulled to his feet.

“Alright, I’m gonna go take one hell of a power nap, if you don’t mind, General.” With that comment, Seifer begins to take his leave, followed quickly by Leiere- who was about to start chatting him up, before a voice calls after them both.

“By all means, Lieutenant,” they shrug, relaxed as always, “but don’t forget that your group is scheduled for a scouting mission at o-800 sharp!”

Tavian and Seifer would spend evenings chatting and cracking playful remarks at each other frequently, and they were known sparring partners. In the wink wink way and also in a fighting fr way--

They had a connection and a closeness in the past! One that Seifer fell into very strongly.. he def had some strong pale feelings with sprinkles of pitch tbh. The thing was, Tavian wasn't manipulating or using him by any means, but... he didn't really understand those feelings?

Your eyes jolt open with a start, hands hitting the wooden table with an audible thud as you begin to gasp for air. The wooden chair you’d likely been sitting in lies a few feet behind you, tipped over. It takes you a few seconds more to realize where you are, looking around to see that you were not in fact on an alien battlefield, but rather in your own abode. Safe and alive.

What had felt like blood flooding through your fingers was in fact only spilled ink from when you’d apparently knocked over the inkwell.

What did you do?

You needed to wash up. To breathe some air. Fuck, what you really need was a hefty glass of wine. Yeah, that would calm your nerves, surely. You’d have to finish your letter later.

Walking wearily out of your back room and into the kitchen area, you pour yourself some wine. It’s a full glass, threatening to spill over and into your hands to wash them clean of what filled you with such deep remorse.

You halt a moment at the thought, losing all interest in having a drink and dropping the glass to the floor where you stand. It shatters, of course, sending shards and wine cascading across the floorboards. You can’t do this right now, you’ll clean it up later.

You list over to the couch nearby and fall upon it, putting your head into your hands. You owe them your regret, you know this, but why did it have to be like this? Well, you know why, you could never forget it.