#serraic

"For... once?" What. Just what does she mean by that?

You know what.

Nevermind.

"Woah. Serra. You look..."

Easier just to play along. Except that when Matthew goes to appraise Serra, that he might come up with a suitable compliment, he finds himself stunned into a brief disconnect with reality. Is this really Serra??

"... Different."

Okay. Uh. Not his brightest. To his credit, since he doesn't want her to start beating him up with that bouquet of hers, he's quick to course-correct:

Surprise strikes at the center of her chest as she lays on the hay-haired priest, eyes lit like the lanterns flickering around them and on the surface of the ocean. This is one shrill name-calling that Erk, who has stepped away to get her drinks, could perhaps forgive her for. For who would have thought that Lucius would appear so suddenly, in the midst of a party, of all things?

“Lucius, is that really you?” She picks up the edge of her dress as she pounces towards him, and clasps her hands with his. In her part, Serra is transformed — pink hair in a bun, long, flowing dress, marks of light make-up. She looks like a totally different girl than the one that had fought aside him years ago.

“I can’t believe it! You’re really here! You look...” Exactly the same! He hadn’t even dressed up. “... Well!” Not even the storm of flat fashion can rattle the battlements of this girl’s castle. “And we both have pearls! Here, let’s trade! Lucius, you won’t believe who I’m here with, as my date. Guess. It’s a boy. You know him. Go on, guess.”

"Oh— Serra!" Lucius' voice is considerably quieter than hers, but no less warm, regarding the younger cleric with a fond look as he grips her hands back, "What a blessing of St. Elimine's that has brought us all here again. You look quite beautiful."

In the years since he's last seen her, Serra had clearly grown and matured, especially dressed up as she is tonight, though it seems her personality is as excitable as before. Smiling indulgently, he hands over his own pearl in exchange, though he pauses a little at Serra's next insistence. There hadn't exactly been time to keep up with the love lives of their younger allies during the chaos of battles and the marching in between. He does make an honest effort to recall whom Serra tended to spend time with.

That’s odd. People don’t normally ask Sain to say more. 

He stops to finally catch his breath, straightening that hunched-over back and doing away with all the gasping and heaving. “Serra...?” he asks, with the perplexed tilt of his head, “Last we spoke, you said I was disgusting. I believed you would not have the ears to hear any of my praise.” 

Stepping back, he allows a finger to fall onto his chin. Eyes tilt up, then drop down--scanning the Ostian from head to toe. He shrugs. “If my fair lady desires it so, then praise her I shall! While in my company, you shall receive the worship you deserve!”

He clears his throat. Like it’s a performance. 

“In all our time spent apart, your beauty has yet to wane,” he nods as if to affirm himself, believing this to be what she wishes to hear from him, “And your sense of style, how it blossoms further. Why, Lady Serra, I believe you’ve somehow managed to grow even more magnificent! More perfect than perfect!!” 

For a moment, a flicker of something shines through in his eyes, but it’s quashed when he thinks further. His last query was at the front of his mind, yes, but with it now out of the way, a new idea has taken root. Sain’s index taps his cheek. He’s going right back to trying to get what he wants out of her.

@serraic [ Sword +1 Mission ]

These missions were a bit unusual compared to what he'd done in the past, but Lloyd wasn't about to complain about it. If it served a good purpose, he would help. And if it could be solved without spilling blood...well, that would be a welcome change, too.

The student that was accompanying him on this particular task was...energetic, to say the least. Though he wasn't exceptionally talkative himself, responding to some things as they moved towards their destination, she seemed more than willing to fill in the otherwise dead air with her own chatter.

She was a bit much to take in all at once, but she was young and owed her exuberance. Besides, as a healer, he was sure she would be a reassuring sight to the people who were concerned about these ruins. Such things were often calming to those with a more superstitious outlook.

quick starter for @serraic

@serraic​​

Hubert feels something akin to acid sizzle the back of his throat. This couldn’t possibly be her, could it? He slips behind a pillar a safe distance away, eyes his target—feels the urge to retch. But, no—the description he had been given matches this girl far too perfectly. 

He enumerates in his head precisely what he observes: swinging pink pigtails; bubbly and cordial demeanor; obnoxious and grating voice. The one who assigned Hubert—of all people—this task must certainly have a fierce, deep-seated grudge against him. Or perhaps, even worse, a death wish. Because there is no genre of individual he despises more than the one he sees before him. 

His assignment had been to find this new Blue Lions student—Serra is her name—and take her on a little excursion to the woods in search of medicinal herbs and tea leaves. A dreary, seemingly menial task that is, frankly, beneath someone like Hubert. But alas, the true purpose of the undertaking is most likely somewhere along the lines of ‘building community’ and ‘making friends.’ He is a new student, after all—as is Serra. 

But by the Goddess, is that really necessary?

This miniature reconnaissance had at the very least proven effective. Now that the threat had been identified, all that’s left is to craft a quick-witted stratagem consisting of Hubert doing this herb-gathering on his own—definitively not interacting with Serra through any means possible—and telling a harmless little lie to his superior. 

Yes, that shall suffice. Hubert should waste no time proceeding with this operation, he thinks as he moves to slip from one pillar’s shadow to another. But, as soon as he turns around—