#verseandrhyme

woah. just like that, the stills of them move! up goes his arm to wave side-to-side in that motion he'd tested out before, and his once-frozen grin widens in real time as shiro watches himself burst into hearty laughter. he can hear it, too — a tinny ha ha ha! and look! the little mitama beside him also moves!! far more subdued in her own body language, but brought to life all the same when her shoulders shake, and one of her sleeves neatly lifts to cover her mouth.

it’s nothing like what he’s seen on his travels following the war: brilliant and strange all in one. peering at it now, there's a pang of wistfulness as it occurs to shiro that something like this would've been handy back then. a way to soothe the twinges of homesickness for the friends left behind, and a way to remember them if their faces should one day fade from memory.

if such a thing is even possible. he'd prefer to think it isn't.

As it turns out, the Goddess Tower is not, as the name might suggest, a place of worship. Neither is it a bell tower tied to religious ceremonies, nor a religious prison (?) of some sort (??), nor... anything else, really, that anyone normal might think when they hear of its existence. No; the Goddess Tower, if this surly guard is to be believed, is where indecent brats—of which neither he nor Mitama are!—go to get handsy—he would never dishonor her so!—without adult supervision—which is ridiculous, because they were certainly old enough to fight in a war.

...Which, really, is all to say that Siegbert is terribly embarrassed, because he doesn't have any excuse aside from his own ignorance. But the guard seems to take his mortification to stem from being caught, which is not at all the case, because he straightens up even further and puts on his best scowl—even if he doesn't come up much taller than Siegbert himself.

"If you've got the message," the guard says, "scram. It'd be worse for the both of you if had to be escorted back to the main hall."

"Thank you for your diligence," Siegbert replies, which is most certainly not all that he wanted to say, but he'd feel worse if he'd kept Mitama here any longer and ruin her night when she'd gone through the effort of dressing so beautifully. "Let's go, Mitama. Maybe we can take a walk by the pond...?"

Then, he remembers. Handsy. Without supervision.

SINCE THEY'D HELPED EACH OTHER GET READY ,　𑣲　it was only natural for them to get matching mementos together too, commemorating the once-in-a-lifetime occasion in such beautiful and highly-made clothing as these. though this was her first time actually using the photo-artifex herself after hearing all about it in past years, it didn't take long for caeldori to get the hang of how it worked. flash!

but the strip of glossy material that emerges from the mechanism is less than perfect. she groans, hardly even wanting mitama to see it and tossing it aside quickly, hurrying to set up for the next try. "i don't understand how i keep blinking even when i try my hardest not to! i don't suppose you'd have a spell at the ready to pry my eyes open and keep them that way. . . "

"we'll just have to do it again, until we get it right."

another flash! and another. and another.

each one, she manages to find something flawed, unaware and uncaring of the line developing outside the little booth and the impatience growing on the waiting faces, all conveniently obscured from her attention by the thick curtain that enclosed the two of them in the space.

"my face doesn't look right in this one."

"ugh, is my nose truly that big?"

"i look like an ogre! absolutely not."

"Nothing's happened tonight," Azama complains. "How dull."

Suppose he had been anticipating an uneventful ball, but even so! Where was the drama, the intrigue, all the usual fuss and hullabaloo the ball typically came with?

Had it all somehow been passing him by?

But then what good is his nose, known for sniffing out trouble? Tch.

"Do you think any fights will break out? I feel like there's always one or two." Suppose he shouldn't wish for them though. He doesn't want to be bothered with fixing anyone up, and nor does he intend to take part, himself. He sighs. It's not exactly that he's bored - if anything, Azama's glad for the moment of Mitama's company he's managed to steal this eve.

It's more that he's... antsy. Restless, even.

Had she seen the decoration he'd made to match hers...?

It's hard to care about what antics anyone else is up to when hers is the opinion that matters the most.

"Yellow lilies... an interesting choice."

Céline plucks one such lily from her own bouquet and slips it into Mitama's, arranging it around the other flowers the woman had already gathered. Bunching it up with the already existing lily would disrupt the artistry... "They mean thankfulness, you know. Joy, and friendship... I suppose it is a blessed thing, for us all to be sharing this space, enjoying one another's company in a time of relative peace."

The princess hums softly, removing Mitama's lily to put into her own bouquet. "I say we should enjoy every moment of it. Have you gotten to dance yet, or try the refreshments?"

"hey, mitama," shigure asks to the fellow wallflower beside him, briefly pausing in his sketch. "have you seen soleil? ...do you know if she came with anyone?"

Forsyth doesn't dislike mint, per se. He's amenable to the flavor on the whole, but about a year ago, he developed an...association with the candies they have on offer here.

It's not really a problem on his mind as he traverses the ballgrounds, though he may spend less time dancing with the minty-breathed than he would have in previous years. No, it does not come to the forefront of his consciousness until he finds himself pushed by a particularly rowdy student into a girl with hair as vibrant a pink as some of the roses in his bouquet.

Mitama.

Speak of the devil, and he shall appear. Have him nest in your subconscience, and you'll inconvenience his daughter.

"Watch where you're going!" The culprit doesn't even acknowledge Forsyth's admonishment, which is probably for the best. His focus should be on the girl whose kimono he'd almost inadvertently ruined, and who does not represent her father. "Are you alright, Mitama?"

Her opinion of Forsyth surely cannot be worse than Azama's, but he's never gotten the impression that she thinks highly of him. Looking at her now, several flowers in her collection crushed and disturbed, he can't imagine that's improving anytime soon.

[ PHOTO-ARTIFEX ] - The ever-popular photo-artifex makes its annual return, allowing users to capture pictures in as little as a flash of light and a moment. Take home something to remember the event by! "My, it certainly all came together nicely." The dress is lovely, of course. Did anyone expect less from Nanna? She is far more impressed that her makeup efforts managed to look dainty rather than clownish. She reaches up and gently brushes Nanna's bangs from her face to better inspect the work. Her fingertips brush against her skin and linger before dipping down to settle against her jaw bone as she nods, satisfied. "Another wonderful look this year." And then, after allowing her friend to think that things have settled, she takes Nanna by the hand with a laugh and pulls her along. "It only makes sense then that we commemorate this moment, yes? Come, I believe the line is not that long right now."

“...Mitama!” The delighted protest dissolved almost immediately into warmth, into fondness too familiar to hold any real resistance. Her gaze drifted toward the couples and friends stepping away from the machine, laughing as they inspected their captured moments. She tilted her head to allow Mitama to tease her bangs, an act marked by letting someone into your home and ushering open your curtains. Nanna tucked her head inward, bringing her own thumb up to Mitama's wrist and resting the calloused pads where her bones drew a dip in her skin.

“There is something vulnerable about preserving happiness before you know what becomes of it.” The admission came easier beside Mitama than it would have with most. She answered a thought with another thought, knowing herself beautiful because she was drawn up under the hands of someone who made her beautiful.

Still, when her friend’s hand lingered warmly in hers, Nanna used her other to arrange the orange blossoms that gathered candlelight. “...Though if I am to be immortalized anywhere,” she added lightly, leaning just enough for her shoulder to brush Mitama’s, “I cannot think of better company. If you were any more beautiful a portrait would not be enough to capture it, hahaha!”

As they reached the front, she glanced toward the artiflex with playful solemnity.