#willowitxh

[ ADRESTIA ] - A court dance that has spread like wildfire through Fódlan ballrooms. This waltz is best known for a special move that calls for the partners to join hands, together forming the shape of a bird in flight.

"My lady, I hope you might forgive my cold hands, but might I trade you a rose for a dance?" A paltry offering, condering many things, Thrasir's initial meeting of this young woman back in Zenith not withstanding. It wasn't like anyone here knew they had once been summoned.

As the music shifts from a quickened upbeat to a slow melody, Edelgard rolls her shoulders back and prepares to saturate herself in the style she oft dons. It is a dance she cannot do alone. There is much to be learned about a person through the way they move and how they hold themselves. It is why she is so quick to accept the invitation even with those she has yet to meet proper. She looks forward to it. A small, quaint laugh leaves the girl's pristine lips: "Worry not. I'd have gladly accepted a dance even without a flower."

The princess plucks one of the orchids from her bouquet and presents it to her current dance partner. It leaves a gap in the flowers she holds onto, ready to be filled with a rose most befitting for a girl oft in crimson.

"Prince Alfonse," she murmured in greeting. Then she offered him a small cluster of yellow daffodils. "I know we have had differences in the past, we have been on opposite sides of the battlefield. But in more recent times, we've stood side-by-side as allies. As Veronica, I used... to have an interest in flower language... before studies of ruling the Empire pushed frivolous things aside. But the merchant assured me that I was remembering correctly when I recalled daffodils represented new beginnings."

The smile that Thrasir offered Alfonse was small but genuine. For the first time, she didn't compare him to Líf. She just saw... Alfonse. And she didn't seek to see Líf, because she didn't want to. Alfonse was in front of her, she had friends around. Líf wasn't here.

"Happy birthday, Prince Alfonse" she hummed.

This was certainly unexpected. For Thrasir to go out of her way to get something for Alfonse was already beyond anything he would anticipate; for her to actually come up from the Abyss to deliver it was another matter entirely. It was more than likely that she may have been visiting Garreg Mach's surface for other reasons, but it still represented a significant departure from whatever route she may have already been on. It showed clear intent and dedication, care for someone that Alfonse would not have expected her to put in such effort on behalf of.

Alfonse was caught entirely off-guard by Thrasir's appearance, eyes darting from her face to the flowers and back again. His mouth opened, but sound failed to escape his throat. There were no words to properly greet her with to be found. It was rather embarrassing, frankly, to be so surprised by it. He could only hope she was not insulted by Alfonse's evident confusion.

"I... thank you, Thrasir," Alfonse finally managed to mumble, extending a hand to accept the flowers from the princess-turned-general. "This is... well, it's a lot more than I had expected. Er... that is to say I had entirely forgotten what day it was. And, uh, I won't pretend to be an authority on the meanings of flowers. I find the topic interesting, certainly, but it's not something I've ever studied, so I'll... I'll take your word for it. Thank you."

It would be a nice topic to discuss with her, if she had the time to indulge him, but he didn't want to push too far by asking. A simple talk with a friend on unimportant topics was a pleasant thing to be treated to, certainly. It would represent quite a step in their relationship for them to be able to speak so freely about such inane matters. It seemed simultaneously unwise to push Veronica or Thrasir towards something whimsical and also necessary to their growth... but perhaps it would be best to see if Thrasir offered of her own accord instead.

"Forsyth, how are you?" Thrasir asked quietly as she approached her friend. There was no longer a question of if he was her friend or not. She... had friends. "I am sorry I was not able to help to the end of that battle."

And truly she was. For the first time in a long time... falling in battle had been frustrating, had.... hurt her. She... hadn't considered herself as expendable. She.... wanted to know what had happened after she had fallen.

"How... did everything go? Did we manage to at least capture most of the vagabonds?"

She didn’t know what happened precisely, she had only heard snippets...

Thrasir has established that she is already dead, but that does not mean Forsyth does not fear for her safety. To see her--well, not alive, as established--awake and about is a relief.

"Surprisingly well, given the state of things." It is not lost on him that Thrasir has sought him out before he could do so himself. Though part of that can be contributed to the fact that he just now has learned she regained consciousness, he is gladdened nonetheless. "You've nothing to apologize for. It's frankly a miracle I made it out standing, given how long I was under the influence of their sleep magic."

It's hard to maintain a smile when thinking of how the end of the battle went. It could have been worse--far worse, if not for Lord Leif--but things had collapsed quickly after Thrasir and Darios fell.

kiss zelkov for free (great deal!) || accepting

??? au - a kiss underwater

The relationship between death and assassin is one few outside the profession could ever fully understand.  It is duty and mundane; to work in the employ of death, many harden their hearts and forget the weight of a human life.  Zelkov has never been good at that.

He doesn't hesitate in the action.  His blades are as quick and sharp as any colleague's.  Zelkov's difficulty in his occupation has always come afterwards.  The nightmares, the lack of sleep, the knowledge that he'd torn families apart, ripped couples in half, ruined more than just one life with every execution.

Still, he goes back to it every time.  It's easy, despite it all.  It's what he knows.

He thinks she is similar; this blonde woman with the strange appearance and sharp eyes.  Outwardly, she seems to enjoy the task, but there's something about her that suggests something deeper.

Somehow, they entered this dangerous game together.  Cat and mouse, perhaps, if one of them lacked claws.  Neither is prey when both are predator, but perhaps that's why it makes the game all the more interesting.

Hunting the reflection in the mirror is more interesting than an average hunt.  It pumps Zelkov's blood in a way that reminds him he's still alive - it makes him realize that he hadn't lost some piece of him that he had thought were long gone.

How then, can he be angry with claws in his side?  How can he feel anything but disappointment when his knife slides between her ribs?  How can he not fall with her, into the water, in each other's arms?

23. A kiss influenced by alcohol/other substances

TW: Alcohol consumption

"Princess Sharena," Thrasir greeted neutrally. "It is good to see you here."

That was a lie. In all honesty, Thrasir had no direct feelings towards this encounter at all, but she was pulling on all of Veronica's remembered lessons on etiquette and how to get through balls as painlessly as possible. Her only concern here was the Askran Princess not sharing her brother’s willingness to... set aside past conflicts.

"Are you enjoying the ball so far?" Her only hope here was to offer small talk and remain... non-threatening.

She has no idea how she hadn’t noticed her here sooner. The voice that addresses her is a sound so very familiar now — a sound that despite the times it was one she loathed to hear, sends a feeling of pure joy through the Askran princess she can only express in a surprised gasp. “Princess Veroni—!”

But the face that greets her as she looks up, as she focuses on the features behind the mask meant to obscure them; it’s the wrong one. Features too sharp, build too tall. The voice that continues out of her mouth is just a smidge too deep. Too cold. Just like her eyes.

“…Ah.” Joy shatters into disappointment. Then guilt. Why is she disappointed? She shouldn’t be. That’s not fair. They’re different people. She can’t be upset with her just because she’s not her. That isn’t right.

It’s hard — it’s really hard, and she hates herself for it — but she pulls it together, usual ‘open’ grin suitable for Askr royalty slapped right back into place. “Sorry, I mean — Thrasir! It’s good to see you, too!” It’s not a lie for her, at least, regardless of her previous reaction. She hopes the lich-person can at least tell that much.

"May I ask for a toast from one of Adrestia's elite?" Thrasir asked, her false smile fixed upon her face. She offered him a glass of the champagne as she spoke. "I hear this one was a good year. According to the bartender, at least. So perhaps a toast to the continued prosperity of Fodlán, despite the wretched weather."

Not that she cared for the weather. She'd been in worse. And now it was time for drinks. Or something whatever nobles did. Her memories from Veronica were a little hazy. She wasn't particularly focused on them. All she needed was enough of the noble learnedness to get through the night.

Particularly with another noble, especially one from Fodlán itself. The only way he would recognise her would be if he somehow miraculously knew Veronica (as Chrom had...) and call her such, but if she expected that near impossibility, then she wouldn't be surprised this time.

※ toa ball 2025 | second half

for a moment, Ferdinand’s eyes fell not to the glass, but to the gloved hand offering it—graceful, deliberate. she wore her smile like lacquer, carefully applied and just as difficult to read. he accepted the flute with a courteous nod, the flicker of candlelight tracing golden arcs along the rim.

“only one glass per student,” he murmured with a slight lift of his brow, more amused than accusatory. “then it is a good thing you caught me before my allotment was claimed.”

he raised the glass but did not yet drink, amber eyes narrowing with a mix of scrutiny and fascination. “a toast, then,” he echoed, “to prosperity, and the sharpness it takes to smile through a storm.” his glass clinked gently against hers, the gesture polite but not hollow. he drank, but sparingly.

she was striking in a way that did not quite match the atmosphere—like a thunderhead at sea. Ferdinand studied her, not rudely, but with the curiosity afforded to mysteries. she carried the air of someone used to wielding more than words.

“you speak well,” he noted. “with a confidence I suspect is no stranger to court. forgive me, but... i do not believe we’ve been introduced.”

20. A rough kiss (kiss roulette || accepting!)

Sneaking someone like Thrasir onto academy grounds was far easier said than done. Even in the darkness of night, she stood out like a sore thumb-- maybe it was the glowing red goo that made up her body, who could say? Regardless, it was a task that could so easily jeopardize his place with the Knights of Seiros. Getting caught would almost certainly end in excommunication. There would be no returning to the monastery for him if he were found out. Not in this world, at the very least.

Unfortunately, that hadn't stopped Alfonse. For better or for worse, he was determined to help her however he could. Maybe it was some misplaced compassion (or perhaps pity) for her. Somewhere in there was a sliver of his friend living on inside Thrasir. He had to imagine Veronica's preexisting loneliness hadn't gotten any better after the tragedy that befell her world. If this could help her open up, help her grow as a person, help her find some smidgeon of happiness, it would be worth it.

The sound of distant footsteps caused Alfonse's head to whip around. Someone was about to come around the corner. He'd hoped this place would have been secluded enough that nobody would bother them in the dead of night, but clearly, he had been wrong. He needed a way to hide Thrasir from view, or at the very least, dissuade whoever was approaching from actually paying much attention to them. His body could theoretically manage it, especially with his father's fluffy cloak making his figure all the broader. Getting close to Thrasir like that was likely a death sentence. Besides, how could he cover her without it looking suspicious?

...He could think of one way.

There was no time to consider other options. Alfonse practically threw himself atop Thrasir, mumbling a quick apology before his lips crashed gracelessly into hers. He peered down the hallway out of the corner of his eyes as best he could, both to keep an eye out for whoever was approaching and because he couldn't bring himself to actually look Thrasir's way. Even though it was just a momentary ruse, Alfonse's inexperience managed to shine through. He was clumsy and tactless, moreso smashing his face into hers than actually approaching with the gentle passion one might expect of a kiss. At the very least, there was no denying that some kind of emotion drove it. His heart was certainly racing, though perhaps not for the typical reason.

The footsteps stopped for a second, and Alfonse could only pretend he didn't notice. He drew his father's thick cloak tighter around Thrasir, doing his best to look as though it was only him being absorbed in the throes of their passion. He had managed to wedge himself perfectly in between the pathway and where Thrasir stood so that whoever was approaching would be almost entirely blocked from seeing her, save for a few glimpses of the edge of her figure-- her shoes, her hair, maybe even part of her head, but little else. She wouldn't look suspicious... well, not any more than a couple of amorous fools sneaking out at night to share a moment alone already did.

The footsteps began once more, quickly heading in the direction from which they had originally come. Only then did Alfonse release Thrasir from his grasp, a heavy sigh leaving his body. A quick glance over his shoulder confirmed that they were indeed alone once more. Crisis had been averted... or one crisis had, at the very least. He had a sneaking suspicion that this had caused a different one to brew. He wasn't sure what expression he expected to see upon Thrasir's face, but he had little doubt it wasn't going to be good by any means.

"I-I apologize again," Alfonse mumbled, sheepishly stepping back from the witch. "I wasn't sure how to-- I thought it would be less suspicious if they thought we were-- I didn't want you to get caught."