#shydancer

verses meme! (accepting) | @shydancer

olivia has entered the battle!

battle theme: Dance of Swords 

battle intro: “I was looking forward to a chance to see your moves up close, Olivia!”  victory: “WOAH! I didn’t even trip!” 

defeat: “You really took the lead there... Ouch, I’m still dizzy.” 

taunt: “You might be light on your feet, but I have wings!” 

reacting to taunt: “Huh? O-Oh. No, no! Don’t be silly... my feelings aren’t hurt at all!”

tie: “Ah! It would be really cool if we struck a pose right now!” 

perfect victory: “Hehehe! I feel like taking a bow!” 

final finisher: “BREAK A LEG!” 

⚔ tag-team quotes ⚔

assist: “Mind if I cut in?!”

olivia down during assist: “Hey, don’t pick on her!” 

using item on olivia: “I know it’s not much, but it’s something, right?” 

healing/buffing olivia: “Stay with me! It’s not over yet.” 

Summer kisses! (not accepting!) 

“Gah!” It’s almost scary how easily Mother sneaks up on people. A special talent peculiar to both of them, really, given their affliction. At least this time she isn’t sneaking up on his dance practice. Gods, there’s this new routine he really wants to show her, but it’s not ready yet. 

Inigo pushes the thought away. There’ll be time to show her later, once he’s fixed that tricky transition. He pivots easily in the sand; that fallen banner can wait. Even now, he’s still so relieved at seeing his mother. Alive, happy. Sure, it’s a little strange to see her here of all places, but they’re together again. 

starter for @shydancer [+1 Authority]

Prince, former prince, or anything inbetween - the title means nothing in a monastery full of the same. In some ways, a blessing. The fall from grace smarts less here, where a crown buys one no special treatment (lest they be the progeny of Fódlan's leaders, and even then, the princess in charge of the Black Eagles insists they all stand on equal footing). Berkut is no stranger to hard work. From the metaphorical whip his mother wielded to keep him in line, to his own clawing up the chasm walls to escape the fate of all the others who dared claim relation to the Emperor, he has fought for his place in society. And he will fight for his place here, too.

If his homeland continues to adhere to the traditional laws of inheritance and fate, then, at the very least, he will surpass Alm in all else and make a name for himself at this school.

"Cooking contest," the poster reads. It's printed in bright ink, nearly identical to the one a few feet away. As Berkut looks between the two, he wonders idly how the artist had managed to replicate it so precisely. He steps closer to inspect the fine white lettering at the bottom which describes the pre-requisites for entry into the competition. "Pairs." A thoughtful frown pulls at one corner of his mouth and his eyebrows knit together.

So much for showing off his skill alone, he thinks as he straightens his back and brings a hand to his chin. Perhaps for the best. Though he's dabbled in the culinary arts before, he's by no means an expert. He could count on Rinea, butー

Eyes drift to a young woman as she enters the corridor at the other end, drawn by the vibrant color of her hair -- like the summertime peonies he's seen grown in the northern regions of Rigel. She, too, stops at one of the posters. He watches her as he thinks, merely some place for his gaze to rest until he notices the hesitation in her step when she turns away. His hand lowers from his chin, then drops to his side with a new course of action. He turns as she approaches him.

"This competition seems a fine way to learn the traditions of other lands," he observes, nodding toward the advertisement. With no guarantee that she'll even stop for him, he knows he's taking a leap. But he's long outgrown his childhood timidity, and in its place the confidence of a future leader has bloomed -- in his voice, his body language, and the aura that surrounds him.

starter for @shydancer

Gaius wasn’t supposed to be sleeping. The weather tricked him into comfort, and the lull of the ocean quickly made his eyes droopy, his consciousness quick to fade. Soon, he’s not watching the clear blue skies anymore, his vision shifting into... something more topsy turvy. A silly grin forms on his unconscious body as his consciousness sends him to a dream in a gingerbread house, with everything in his reach edible and sweet. 

He slept so peacefully, and too long, the sun unforgiving. What felt like minutes in his dessert escape was hours in real time. He even snored as he slumbered, one hand on his chest at first but it soon dropped down to the mat, leaving behind a curious little treat on his chest. It was a miracle ants were flocking to him now as he slept. 

Life philosophy headcanons (still accepting)

It kind of depends who you are as far as he’s concerned, but for the most part, the answer would probably be no.

For one, he does not see himself as fully free, as in his eyes, his parents’ will binds him, closing from him the path of the artist that he would love the most to take. Though he tends to only open up about this issue before closer friends, he is actually resentful for that to a degree. It’s a conflict for him; he loves his family and wants to help them however he can, while at the same time smothering some frustration about being forced into knighthood.

Perhaps he would initially see those of noble birth as possessing more free will than the common folk, but honestly I think he’d drop that thought pretty quickly; he knows it’s a cliché among commoners to see nobles as frivolous and able to do whatever they please, but as he interacts with the likes of Claude and Lorenz on a daily basis, he quickly realizes that in many situations, a more powerful position just means that one has even more worries. Not to mention the whole thing with being bound by Crests and traditions, though that’s something he might not be all that aware of.

Morgan’s Tome Entry for Olivia. Still Accepting.

(Please recognize most of this is written in a code she made back in her original timeline. Part may be written in the past, and some in the present depending on the character. This is the translation not what a character would read.)

Shared History: I knew her via her son, Inigo. At least, I believe. I hadn’t had many interactions with her, nor do my notes make much mention of her. Obviously she was a role model to Inigo who seems to have inspired him to dance truly and expressively. I do know she truly loves Inigo with all her heart. 

Addendum: After leaving my world and remeeting Father and another group of Shepherds, I had told her I once saw Inigo dancing in the woods (which was pretty great actually). Though it seems she now attempts to spy on him while he trains. Not sure how that went. Maybe I should ask Inigo?

Addendum: I haven’t interacted with Garreg Mach’s Olivia, but I have seen her around. I wonder which Robin she knew? At this point does it matter? Sumia thinks not after all.

Pros: Energizing and somehow powerful in performance. She dances, sings, and performs on the battlefield which raises the moral of our troops. She’s an extremely effective member of the team. Her dexterity can also lend to her ability to wield a sword or get out of danger.

Cons: Not trained in sword play or to be defensive. She’s a performer first and foremost. While that in itself is an amazing aid, she needs training in swordplay to effectively stay up front, provide support, and then defend herself. While it’s possible to guard her, the effort spent in guarding her would be wasted. Also, while as a performer she might be an excellent, and almost immediate choice, for subterfuge she’s far to shy to send in alone. 

Tactical Benefits: Somehow, her skill and grace are able to really encourage others to continue fighting and make a stand. Keeping her in the front lines is almost paramount, but also making sure she can travel with ease is very important. Partnering her up with a Pegasus Knight can be extremely useful and keep her out of immediate danger.

Death: Reports indicate Olivia died during a large scale invasion of Risen. She was reported to have died later on in the battle, providing many individuals with the power and moral to continue fighting to their absolute very last. Father mentioned that he was glad she couldn’t train Inigo to be as fluent a performer as her. He seems to have a mild distrust in her.

Legacy: Inigo

Lingering Questions:

Father seems to imply many parental figures as possible threats. Why is that? 

Why wouldn’t Father want Inigo to be a performer like his mother? This doesn’t add up.

@shydancer:

"And I think that went there...”

Soft mumbles filled the air as her hands worked meticulously for her newest sand creation. Feeling just a little homesick she thought it’d be a good idea to recreate a piece from home, one that particularly stuck in her mind even as she traveled across the continent, hopping from town to town.

Adding a pretty shell to the top of the multitude of white hills as its final touch Olivia took a step back to admire her work, promptly bumping into someone behind her as she did so.

“Eeeek!”

A high pitched squeal escaped her body as she turned to face her new company.

“S-S-Sir Chrom! Milord! C-Chrom!”

She took a step back in shocked surprise, barely catching herself before she stepped on her new sandcastle. The dancer was now a jitter of stutters and mumbles, standing meekly before the Ylissean heir with her head slightly bowed before him. She knew there was nothing to be afraid of—she had spoken with Chrom plenty times before during their time in the Shepherds—but force of habit caused her to switch to her shyer demeanor.

Before he can take a step forward Olivia puts up her hands in front of him, face flushed pink and eyes squeezed shut as she does so.

“N-No! You can’t look at that! T-This may be presumptuous of me, Chrom, but y-you’re not allowed to look at it! O-O-O-Or else I might...”

She takes a moment to pause, taking a deep breath in before blurting out her next sentence.

“I might die(of embarrassment)!”

           In the span of a few seconds, Chrom's hands flew between a series of indecisive actions. His first instinct was to catch his comrade, but Olivia's nimble feet rendered the intent quite useless. Then, in an involuntary flash the next obvious place for his arms to rest was up in the air. Chrom surrendered as if he'd been the one to break her own personal palace, and in a way, he supposed he had been.

          He gave her a nervous smile, the sort that hid a sigh and could've just as easily been a grimace had his brow furrowed the right way. Of all the people in all the world... why was this always so hard?

          “Ha... and, what if I said you were?”

          Chrom laughed weakly, trying his best dislodge whatever stone had crawled into his stomach. After a moment's pause though, it seemed like maybe that sort of jest hadn't been the best call. He opened his mouth to say as much, assuring her that he'd been kidding, and finally returning his hands to his side for good measure.

          Really, things hadn't gone particular well since he walked over—but that was fine. Chrom cleared his throat, and prepared to start again.

          “I wouldn't want that to happen, but, I also caught a glimpse or two down the beach already. It looks nice—that's what I came over to tell you...” Chrom dared a peep over her shoulder, long enough to discern that looked might've been the more appropriate term. The craftsmanship was still there, just hidden behind a light dusting of rubble as the central tower crashed onto what remained. It was unfortunate, but... not unsalvageable.

For the first time since waking up to the sound of crashing waves, Inigo allows himself to believe this truly is nothing more than a dream.  Only there can he find a moment as perfect as this. Mother’s hands in his, walking by her side without a care in the world. 

(Countless dreams have begun this way. Though instead of sand, they step lightly in the snow. Red noses and breath fogging the air in front of them. Snow drifts always blurred into nightmares when she released him. Frantic footsteps turning into hoofbeats--) 

Inigo summons a smile despite the shiver running down his spine. Fingers curl over balmy air, missing the warmth of Mother’s hand--proof neither of them are phantoms. 

Heat tinges cheeks pink. He knows it’s ridiculous to be embarrassed in front of his own mother. The woman who taught him everything he knows, picked him up after every failed leap and turn. But this new routine isn’t perfect and he hates performing an unpolished dance. Rough edges aren’t yet smoothed into elegant lines, supposed effortless steps still unbalanced. 

He fiddles with an earring for a moment. What he would have given to hear her advice back during the war. Vision turns blurry, shoreline blending into the night sky. Inigo swipes a hand across his cheeks. “O-of course, Mom.” Practice has become a sacred tradition for him, a connection to the childhood swept away in ash. Rarely does he willingly let others peek behind the curtain. In fact, he hasn’t had an audience since before the ball with Morgan.