#sublimeflowoftime

What is it with total strangers approaching her to offer her water at this ball? It’s just the same comment as the first time, too... Except more wordy, and so more grating.

Ayra wonders for a moment if this is some custom she’s unaware of, but with the first woman’s admittance that she is unused to these events, it cannot be that. She didn’t exert herself nearly enough to be drawing attention for it, either. The thought itself is ridiculous: she has devoted her entire life to honing her body as a blade, and a few dances are nothing at all.

Not least because she has been quenching her thirst as needed.

“ I can pour myself water, thank you, ” she replies coldly. A crime to leave them both separated? A brow rises. Perhaps this one is simply odd. “ The orchid, though, I shall accept. It does match my dress. ”

Having taken it, she offers a white lily and her dry wit in return:

“ Here. It matches your outfit just as well as any other. ”

Sothis lets out a short laugh at the critique of the question. She was thinking much the same after all. “The organizers, clearly.”  She leans her head down as close to the table as she can, trying to see beneath the card the best she can without being able to actually pick it up and flip it. Which is not at all. “Hm… I suppose one could attribute such vagueness to an attempt to allow an ‘open-ended’ perception.” She sighs, lifting her head as she gives up on her investigation of the card. She doesn’t know what she expected there. Her brows furrow as she turns her attention to the groups around them, attempting to peer at their questions to see if they’re just as strange. “Still though, I do agree. A question such as this does seem rather out of place within a ‘romantic’ setting, by all accounts…”

"Romantic. Huh." Right, this was supposed to be about romance, or friendship, at the very least. Testing chemistry between two people or something in a controlled setting. Had Erk been paying complete attention during the pitch? Not particularly.

The experiement part had certainly interested him at the time, but now he's almost wishing that he had elected to stay in his room and continue studying the topic he had been reading up on.

"Religious, or... hm, what's the word?" Erk pauses, scanning through his mind, "Ah yes, theological. Theological debates do not interest me much anyway. Saints are historical figures revered in one way or another, I care not for the divine aspect of tales about them."

closed starter for @sublimeflowoftime

You watch as the storybook characters play out their scripted lives, day in and day out.  As though fettered, they stick to their routines; they fulfill their roles - or lack thereof. They do what must be done to keep the main beats of their storybook life going. But what happens if something new and different were to be introduced by an outside force? Will they continue on as if nothing happened? Or will they instead break? Perhaps you might be inclined to find out. [Grants Reason +1]

Byleth had been enjoying a good story, an opportunity to relax after a busy day of teaching. Suddenly there had been a bright flash of light and now she appeared to be living in said book instead! Looking around to gather her bearings, the Professor took in her surroundings. It appeared to be a simple town, wooden frame buildings lining cobbled streets. Colourful flags hung, strung above her head and there was the faint chiming of a clock in the distance from a tall tower rising up over the rooftops. 

Speaking of clocks, there was something eerie about this place. Despite the image of a bustling scene bursting with life, the streets also felt empty and regimented. People moved as though running on a schedule, regular as clockwork. It was unnerving in its mundanity. She approached the nearest person, to ask where she was, but they just looked at her blankly for a second before carrying on their business. 

"If the tea bags are not to your preference, perhaps you might like to try my blend? It is a lovely marriage of black tea and jasmine."

Céline sips at her teacup, fingers delicately pinched about the handle—the scent of jasmine petals mingle with the flowers on the other girl's dress in a such a way that reminded her of a spring meadow.

“uhm. sorry. even though i’m from elyos i don’t know this dance.” veyle frets about her lack of experience. she knows the meaning behind it but she’d never seen it performed by anyone before. fell dragons didn’t exactly hold balls or anything of the like, after all, and they'd be hard pressed to be found in the same space as lythian clerics.

Thrasir was certainly surprised to see the green haired woman in short form. Not once did the lich think she would ever be approached by Sothis. A summoned hero from the Askran army, not summoned by her... And to approach her with... sweet buns? Surely the undead was anathema to her. And now she was offering sweet buns. Which the lich couldn't truly eat.

Which presented Thrasir with a second dilemma.

How does she refuse an offer like this from her politely?

Did Sothis know who she was? What she was? Or was this just trying to interact with the people of Fodlán? Should Thrasir make any indication that she knew...? All she could do was offer an apologetic smile.

"I am afraid I am unable to eat such things," she replied, hopefully kindly. "You may have all of them if you desire, I won't say anything."

Hopefully that sufficed? Regardless, Thrasir offered the goddess a rose. Her only understanding of this woman, that she had heard back in Askr and Embla, was she was supposedly kinder than Hel, and for the lich... for Veronica... that was enough.

Sorry, blizzard guy. But who would she be to come between a girl and her thirst for vengeance?

Truthfully, she'd quite forgotten about her revenge. Waking up all woozy in the med tent had done much to put her at ease from her earlier blood boiling. Despite her seething, her vendetta must not have too serious, as it was replaced rather quickly with her searching for Forrest. One obsession begets another.

She squints up at the voice of her teammate. There's relief spreading in her breast; but her expression remains as stony as ever. It's an oddly considerate line, one that Rhajat hardly expects from anyone, much less a stranger; but it's clear that this girl understands the catharsis in her single-mindedness. Soon, Rhajat decides, she would learn her name, her profession, her allegiance, her power, and her address.

"I'll consider it. ...Thanks." Her voice is a flat grindstone that sharpens her tongue as it remembers how to speak. In exchange, she gives the girl her cup of juice. A little girl would probably enjoy it more than she.