#vermilique

Friendship bracelets are making a resurgence, but this time, lance wielders are tying them to the shafts of their weapons to show off their popularity. Join the cool kids and decorate your lance with some sick new threads. [Grants Lance +1]

     “How fared you on your mission?”             (In hindsight, perhaps he should’ve gleaned the unspoken answer from her expression alone, before the question even left his lips.)

     He hadn’t exactly received a favorable response, but it was only fair. He had none to give in return, either.

     And somehow, they were still here, while the hands of the clock marched ever onward this time.

     (What did that mean?)

     He’d thought he’d understood his penance, the fate to repeat a life of fighting and suffering and death ad infinitum with no respite in sight. He’d confirmed it, when the time had turned back after the previous year. Had almost come to expect it this time.

     (It wasn’t to be that easy. If he could figure it out, would it not lessen the weight of that which bound him? Uncertainty was, in itself, a punishment.)

     It was all too easy to lose himself in wallowing hypotheticals, to spend days as though still within that initial haze after he had awoken on the beach of Almeiira. And yet still, he wasn’t completely unaware of the goings-on in the monastery, discussions of the year ahead, plans and classes, odd gossip and fads still managed to reach him, even as he remained as removed from the crowds as possible.

     How odd, that people still find the chance to be lighthearted, to find new ways to entertain themselves, even after this turn of events.

     How odd of him, to partake in it.

     Fingers clutching a handful of string — a larger strand of crimson jumping out among the varied colors — Andrei sought out Caeldori in one of the quieter afternoons since their return, a distance away from the gaze of others at the monastery. Perhaps, in truth, they cared too little about him for true distain to take root... but he disliked the feeling of being exposed under their gaze all the same.

     (There was still pride left in him, it seemed.)

     He offered the string to her. “Do you know how to make... bracelets?” he asked, feeling the question itself to be a bit foolish. Unlike him. To chase after silly fads as these, without a guarantee that she would be interested or knowledgeable on the matter... Well, it might take her mind off the circumstances of the mission, if nothing else.

     (How odd, that he would want to try for her sake.)

The clinking of glasses, the swishing of skirts, the low hum of conversation over the music playing—yep, Python's at a ball alright. Can't even escape them inside a novel, it seems. He's managed to procure a costume that won't get him turned away at the door, and his mask he procured back in Leicester suits the event conveniently well. Small blessings. An appropriate costume, however, doesn't do much alone to help him along with fitting in socially. The novel-born folks don't seem as bothered by his presence as usual, but he's not made many connections with them that could justify interrupting their wining and dining and dancing. Not many—though a rosy pink ponytail over by a snack table reminds him that there is someone here with low enough standards to not turn their nose up at him. "They'll let anybody in here, huh?" Python grins, sidling up beside Ilya and reaching for a glass of some sort of cocktail. "Seriously, not a speck of produce thrown my way or anything. Guess I should thank the birthday girl for her hospitality later."

"Heh, no kiddin' right? I thought she'd ban me for sure for putting ants in her favourite shoes that one day and yet we are!" Hehe. "May as well thank her now, not long til she croaks if the rumours are true."

"Wait...seriously?" Python's eyes widen. The curse is the center of this whole thing, of course, but the girl's really pushing her luck if she's waited this long. "She was throwing herself into demon fights with that clock ticking over her head?"

Ilya shrugs, cants their head to the side in question. "For some, I imagine that would be all the more reason to, no? Folks who have something or someones they'd like to protect..."

"That so?" Python swirls the contents of the glass. "Were you protectin' something then? Or were you playing tag with that bear just for fun?"

They frown and affect a pout, crossing their arms. "For fun, obviously."

"Uh-huh." Python replies, visibly unimpressed. He takes a sip from the glass and not-so-covertly tips some of the liquid from his mouth back into the cup as soon as the cloying taste hits his tongue. Ugh, why do people make these things so sweet?

no Hurt only Soft

Caeldori is crying. Mitama does not know why and does not know how something could have dug and broken one of the strongest people she knows, but it does not matter because Caeldori is crying and Mitama is going to burn down whatever the knight names as the source of her distress.

She's hushing the other before she can think, pulling her close to her and away from any straying eyes. Her hands go to the other's face, wiping away tears as reassurances fall from her mouth in waves.

Who was it? She will kill them. What was it? She will remove it.

"Do not worry, you are here, you are safe." She guides the other to sit. Mitama brushes hair from Caeldori's face before the strands can cling too much to her wet cheeks. Inactivity sits like a weighty hole in her chest. She hates feeling useless.

She does not know what to say. How laughable, that she should weave words so easily, but struggle with matters of the heart when it matters. But then again, is it truly unexpected?

She thinks to make a joke. What had Shiro done? How should she kill Sylvain? The words taste like ash on her tongue. Mitama sighs.

"Isn't it strange? I know it's just how they greet each other, but to be honest, I don't think I could get used to it."

She wraps her arms around Caeldori's shoulders and pulls the other against her. Mitama does not have the words to fix it, but that's alright. They are here. They are alive.

As long as they are alive.

Their camp is woken in the dead of night with an unholy shriek, ringing through the air. Every hair on his body stands to attention as he scrambles out of the tent, the cold night wind biting at his skin.

He has no idea what he’s looking at, only that it’s absolutely horrifying. An abomination, part wyvern and part humanoid with arms twisted into demonic wings. It carries a scythe and whilst it’s eyes are covered by a golden mask, it’s mouth hangs open in an ear-splitting scream. Ares wonders, briefly, if it’s in pain. The veteran knights charge upon it, swords, axes and lances raised high in the air but it’s all for naught. Whatever this thing is, anathema to all that is natural - it’s nimble and quick. They can’t catch it but it’s talons scrape across their skin, blood spilling out onto the soil. It needs to be shot down.

Ares is no archer but he believes the principle to be fairly simple. Knock an arrow, aim, pull the string and let it fly. He grabs a couple of bows from their store but his comrades are still making futile attempts to hit it with blades.

There is however, a student with them. Ares found it ridiculous, frankly, that the Knights of Seiros, supposedly the most renowned knights on the continent were so understaffed they were using students to pad their ranks. He’s seen the way she deftly handles as a lance though, even if he can’t actually remember her name. What matters right now is her skill as a warrior, not her name.

She’s clearly more intelligent than the rest of their rabble, he finds her trying to pick a quiver of arrows. He hands her a bow and grabs one of them without much care. If he misses his shots he’ll just have to take another and another until that beast breathes no more.

“Just take one,” he tells her - all the arrows seem sharp and glint ruthlessly in the moonlight, “you are the weapon, the bow is just your tool.”

starter for: @vermilique​

Non-Mission Task Board: Flight has already been achieved by mankind in the form of simply riding on a pegasus or wyvern, but what about human-powered flight? A mechanic arrives in Garreg Mach with a strange contraption and a dream: to find a filthy rich investor to fund his forays into human flight. Having arrived during the Guardian Moon, he spins it as a way to recreate the Immaculate One’s first appearance. Now all he needs is some bodies–er, volunteers that know how to fall from tall heights to demonstrate and help him gather some useful data. Whether or not you’ll get that “financial compensation” he promises is another story… [Grants Flying+1]

     Some might call it stubbornness, some plain stupidity. But Gray? He calls it dedication. There’s a limit to how much pain a person can tolerate and Gray has visited the medics too many times for one to count. He’s already gotten an earful from the wonderful healers of Garreg Mach but will that stop him? No. Not yet. Discovery happens when one reaches their limit and he truly believes he’s the key to a certain inventor’s success. No one else has the constitution to last this long and the strength to keep pushing through. He owes it to the inventor-- no, the world, to see this through.

     So he does. The moment he gets patched up again (after getting an earful), he journeys back to innovative and arguably crazy inventor of the so called Wings of the Immaculate One, ready to test out what modifications he made this time around.

     Only this time Gray notices his good ol buddy isn’t alone. If anything, he’s tailing someone along, hands constantly in motion as he explains his point, mouth continuously yapping to a gorgeous beauty. For a moment Gray thinks, Huh, maybe this is why we get along. But as he moves closer to listen, he starts to know why he was tailing her around. She’s some kind of genius, he thinks! He didn’t get the full context but hey, he must have a reason for treating her with such importance.

     “Please. PLEASE! Please spare me just a few minutes! I need your superior knowledge, milady! Are you not curious about the possibilities of what your people’s technology can do with that of Fodlan’s? Arguably mine is a bit unique and untested... but that is where the beauty lies! Endless possibilities and--” 

     Gray joins in, cutting her path and blocking her way out, “I have to agree on him here. It’s quite a long shot and ambitious, I admit. But if there’s even a 1% chance your knowledge can boost the odds of success for this project, that’s 1% less chances of a poor soul-- one might even say one handsome soul-- from meeting an untimely death just because of a malfunction.” 

“You’ve heard of me? Can’t say the same about you,” he replies, raising an eyebrow.

It’s true, for the most part; Yuri hasn’t exactly gone out of his way to ask anyone about her, after all.

Although, to say that he hasn’t noticed her would be quite the lie. Caeldori sticks out, from her fierce red hair to her strikingly good looks. Those wouldn’t typically be enough to hold his attention, but it’s not like that’s all there is to her. He doesn’t frequent the training grounds often but he’s encountered her there the most, and it’s when she’s sparring that she truly shines. 

But he’s not about to say any of that out loud, and to a stranger no less.

fruity hcs.  ( also asked by @vermilique! )

that’s a bit of a  ‘ depends ’  answer really! but i’ll try and articulate this as best as i can haha.

given how in-canon how much febail cares about kids, it’s very likely that he helps them out no matter what. it’s definitely inconvenienced him before and he’s willing to even compromise on his values.

Bloom: “Grmph… I had you summoned because I have a favour to ask of you.”

Febail: “What kind of favour?”

Bloom: “I need your help in bringing down the rebel army.”

Febail: “Not interested. Find another mercenary to do your dirty work.”

Bloom: “I understand you have several orphans under your care. It seems you could use the money. I hear your younger sister has resorted to theft to make ends meet. That doesn’t bother you?”

Febail: “Patty really goes out of her way for those kids… Hmph… we could use the cash.”

Bloom: “Then we have an agreement? You finish off Seliph and all the money you want is yours.”

here, it’s at least evident that febail has some kind of moral compass and he’s willing to draw the line in the sand. however, despite wanting to refuse the job to assassinate seliph, he reconsiders because of how much money it could bring him to help send to the orphanage. he’s willing to put them first, his own character second, and he even gets called out on falling from grace later on for being willing to take any job no matter how despicable.

Febail: “Patty! Are you stealing again!?”

Patty: “Yeah, just a little.”

Febail: “Well, knock it off! I don’t care if it is coming from the enemy.”

Patty: “You think I like doin’ this!? Do you have any idea just how low our army’s food supply is? That takes money!”

Febail: “Yeah, well, I caught a guy making fun of you. He said ‘It’s no wonder you became a thief with a pirate for a mum’. Of course, I floored the guy for saying that.”

we also see this inclination tends to rob him of thought entirely. the second he hears someone shit talk someone he cares about, in this case his sister, he’s not at all hesitant about starting in-fighting. he clearly also doesn’t regret it either. this 100% was a situation where he could’ve just ignored them, and patty herself was even ignoring the badmouthing (the only time she doesn’t ignore the insulting or let it roll off her back is when seliph is using his judgement against thieves to try and block her from joining the army), but febail can’t help but throw himself into trouble to defend others. his solution through and through when it comes to protecting and helping others is to get violent, and he always jumps at the chance to do it. he’s very much so inclined to help, but it’s not in the healthiest of methods unfortunately.

he’s likely been led down this path because he’s lived in a turbulent, violent world where the strong have always been the ones to prevail and the weak are the ones killed. the logical solution to protect the ones he loves then IS to get similarly violent. it’s likely the only way he knows how.

“Caeldori, come on! I’m telling you, this thing is really cool!” 

If there was a game that involved hitting stuff and getting candy for it, Kana was there. Despite his excitement, however, he wasn’t about to go and try out this “pinata” thing alone. Who better to bring than the master of long, pointy sticks herself, Caeldori? 

Kana just about drags his friend all the way to the marketplace, bobbing and weaving his way through the crowds to make it right up to the front of the attraction. The poor sap that was currently trying to destroy the colored paper and paste creature was nowhere near close to hitting the mark, what with how the entertainer holding the string to the pinata kept pulling it out of their reach the moment that they swung their bat. 

“See? They blindfold you, you spin around a few times, and then you start swinging! If you break the horsey thingy, you get whatever’s inside! I’m pretty sure it’s candy. Can we do it, Caeldori, please?”