#ufnathaniel

on opposite sides of a war with @ufnathaniel !

     there is something to be said about war. it ruins everything. friends become enemies, and people are hurt. it’s destructive and the only people who benefit are the extremely rich. 

     vivian hates it. 

     of course, it’s not often that she runs into someone she personally knows from the war in the streets, so for the most part, people are safe from her ire. but it’s one particular afternoon in the streets of noyillai that she sees a figure she knows all too well, one that towers above her, a person she knows from their school days, even though he had been older than her and more connected with her brother than directly with her. 

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@ufnathaniel

one might conclude he’s seeking out trouble — the usual, others may chime in, for often does the mood strike him, to allow violent intents to run its course when called upon. in this case, however, upon this mundane day filled with mindless chatter and the mediocre bustle of the afternoon crowds, there is little reason for him to be loitering around the streets of ouros. little to none, really.

vincent has absolutely no business being in ouros. (lie) 

maybe it’s more a half-truth camouflaged by falsities he wished were true. a contradiction to his inner philosophies; as if the (so proclaimed) heart of ouros itself wasn’t the very person he’s successfully avoided encountering since their last ill tendered farewell, and the very one he has absolutely no business nor intentions to see. 

and yet  —  perhaps the more accurate sentiment that would more aptly fit the circumstances in lieu of ‘avoidance’ would(/could/should) be ‘yearning to see’.

perhaps. perhaps.  

to set the scene, there is an elegantly dressed lady before him in this corner of town square sans much privacy. there’s a smile that promises something delightfully wicked as his hand sits perched against the wall before him —  thus, with a picture perfect distraction entrapped between his torso and the wall, and sweet nothings conjured too easily to chapped lips for willing ears; vincent has a reason to be in the city this fateful day. 

a solid reason. a real reason. 

(lie. or is it truly a lie if he can’t remember the excuse’s name; a fact instead diluted with affectionate pet names as placeholders and half a prayer for her continued ignorance  —  as he’d hoped for with the man he entertained before her,  and the one before them,  and so forth; all doomed to become just another name, another face in the crowd.  see, here and now, in a city that holds the given name of ouros — the name on his mind is inevitable).

his eyes begin to wander without much thought, potential conquest caught up in a story he cares little to hear, and they seek for something he’s not bound to find. or perhaps it’s simply boredom with the scene, for people generally can hold his attention for only so long (outside the very privileged chosen ones, of course. others (read: normal people) may call these so-called chosen ones his loved ones).

it feels as if his eyes are playing a trick at first.  

its automatic —  the way his free hand clenches into a fist, as he fixates on that newly sighted, familiar curve of a back within the crowd, as he wills the individual to turn to face him from where they patrol, as he locks eyes with someone that looks awfully identical to the object of his turmoil. 

there’s a nudge to his shoulder he’s keen on ignoring, fixed upon the figure that easily captures his attention without a moment’s thought  —  his more criminal vice will always be this; the hold he’s allowed the other to have upon him, to a sickening extent. 

“gil?” his once-potential conquest chimes in with his alias of the day, another touch to the forearm in search of the attention that had been present moments prior. the sweet persona he’d adorned has all but melted away now, and with a dismissive wave, he detaches himself from her touch,  interest gone altogether for the woman he’d been entertaining since the start of the night as she scoffs in place.

@ufnathaniel

asher makes poor choices. it’s not that he’s particularly dull, or even particularly unlucky, but... things just seem to happen to him. maybe it can be blamed on a short lifetime of being hidden away from the other etlian nobles, his grandfather’s shame of pirate blood in his lines causing him to all but completely lock the child away from the world. or maybe it’s asher’s attitude, a little too carefree and not one to think twice about what he wants (or thinks he needs) to do. whatever the reason, he keeps finding himself in situations he really... wished he didn’t.

like stealing from nathaniel von ouros.

he knows the name all too well. the conqueror of the land formerly known as etlia, asher’s old home. a hero to the citizens of gleerium, an enemy to those on the etlian side who lost their sons, husbands, and fathers to the war. his war. a battle asher never fought, though his grandfather sent men to die for. only to immediately grovel at the feet of their new rulers and sell his daughter into a marriage she didn’t want so he could keep his little seat of power. with time and distance, asher thinks he has grown to hate the man. but... not nathaniel von ouros. somehow he understands; it was just duty. they all carry out their orders. someone has to be the victor.

but still, asher doesn’t want to mess with this one. it was a complete mistake to lift his coin purse; he hadn’t even realized who the young man was until he took a closer look, initially trying to judge how much coin he had just snagged. then he saw it, the crest that symbolized the noble family. asher’s blood had run cold. if anyone knew he had this, he’d be an enemy of the public anywhere in gleerium which is, however fortunate or unfortunate, where he happens to be right now. who would dare to steal from their war hero?

so asher makes the only logical decision he can: he has to put it back.

it’s easier said than done. asher couldn’t explain it if he tried, but taking something is so much easier than giving. but still, he has light, delicate hands. an old thief told him long ago that they were perfect for this line of work, fingers still small like a child’s and lithe enough to fit into the cracks where most adult men couldn’t. so when asher’s trying really hard to un-steal something, why is it that suddenly his hands don’t cooperate with him?

an (un)lucky encounter with @ufnathaniel

“oh, for goddess’ sakes.” azura sighs in frustration as she sinks down on a bench by the city streets, burying her head in her hands. she almost wants to cry, but she won’t — this is just a minor inconvenience, which doesn’t even begin to compare to any other hardship she’s been through in her life. but it still leaves her just so incredibly frustrated. 

truthfully, she should have known better than to believe gleerium is some nice country to vacation in now, especially not a former military city like ouros. there’s a reason she has made a point out of avoiding entering gleerium at all costs all these years, as she finds the constant wars and thirst for power downright distasteful. though now that the war was over, and parts of the country had started to rebrand itself as tourism spots, then surely it would be safe to visit now. 

but no — it didn’t take long until her trip to ouros resulting in some lowly criminal stealing everything she had on her. the fuck kind of tourist place was this, anyway, with criminals running free in the streets? well, maybe that’s a slight overstatement, as she hasn’t seen anyone else suspicious, but still! 

for a moment, she considers if perhaps she’s taking her frustration a bit far — it’s not like she had brought that much gold with her, and she could quite easily just go back home and forget this ever happened. but, stubborn as ever, she remains in the city, having a pathetic mini-breakdown in the heart of it. and, well... there’s also the fact that she may have forgotten where she would even go to get to the warp point. but it’s not like she was going to admit that to anyone and ask for directions. no way.

several people pass by as she sits there, none of them paying her any mind. that is, until she notices out of the corner of her eye a figure stopping slightly, then moving towards her. oh, goddess. she’s really not in the mood to talk to anyone right now. azura holds onto a tiny hope that maybe, just maybe, they’d pass right by her, but knows it’s not very likely as they had stopped to look at her, after all. and sure enough, the man stops in front of her, looking like he’s about to speak. 

six years ago with @ufnathaniel​

finn doesn’t really have trouble sleeping. he worries little, rarely haunted by his mistakes of the day. learning experiences, his father calls them, and so they don’t bother him too much most of the time. he needs to learn to apologize more, his father also says, which usually goes hand in hand with said mistakes. well, finn is of the mind that if someone can’t forgive him for a mistake, he doesn’t mind them staying mad at him. so what if he doesn’t apologize? should he really be sorry for a learning experience?

he is learning, though. his time at lotus academy, among other people his age from all over deyuis, has made him more open-minded and understanding. everyone is different, and so they’re hurt by different things. even when finn doesn’t understand, he knows it’s important to acknowledge that pain, and to apologize if he’s responsible for it. it’s not really about the mistake; it’s about the pain in the process.

he wonders if the gleerian students understand the pain their country has caused. finn learned the history he suspects gleerium didn’t teach them, well before his time at the academy: the slaughter of innocent people in the name of unity-- of falling into line and obeying gleerium without question. lotus academy’s teachings are supposedly objective, but finn has trouble believing gleerium doesn’t have their hands all over it.

he wonders if they know the amount of etlians that have died at gleerium’s hands, and if they care; if they would apologize. 

finn doesn’t want their apologies. he wants change. he wants to know peace for the first time in his life, and he doesn’t want gleerium’s version of it. he wants that troubled expression on his father’s face when he thinks his children aren’t looking to disappear for good.

he doesn’t have trouble sleeping, but he’s outside at the school’s training ground anyway. maybe it’s for etlia. maybe it’s because of the feeling that he has to work twice as hard as anyone here just to make sure his country still exists in a few years.

swinging his sword through the air by himself probably isn’t the most effective way to practice, but he remembers the corrections his instructor made to his stance earlier today, and maybe if he practices enough, it’ll become muscle memory.

he realizes he isn’t alone soon enough, and turns to where he sees motion out of the corner of his eye, still holding his sword at the ready.

oh, it’s nathaniel. one of said gleerian students. the one from the military city close to etlia’s border. the one finn can’t pretend isn’t training every day in order to kill his people, no matter how hard he tries.

he tries not to think about what things would be like if the gleerian students were from etlia instead, either; about nathaniel training to be a general of the etlian army instead, and how they could’ve grown up together and been friends. 

“okay,” he says, instead of a normal greeting. he lowers his sword regardless, and he relaxes. 

maybe he can pretend a little.