#wingboundwarrior

(Flower) A stall has been set up that sells rare flowers: ones that glow under the moonlight. A bouquet of these would already be perfect, but a beautiful flower crown made from them would look like a halo placed on a loved one’s head..

@wingboundwarrior

Continuing on in her quest to hand out her flower creations, Camilla found a young woman with a floral crown, but no necklace to match!

“Oh! Forgive me, my lady…” She doesn’t know this woman’s position in court, but the apology — and taking off her own coat, using her sleeve to dab at the drink mark on the pink tulle — seems the right form of action. “I will pay to have your dress cleaned or replaced… And… here. You may have one of my roses for your trouble…” One is proffered, along with sorrowful remorse, quirked along her aquamarine brow.

[ SPILL ]

At the impact, Elise can’t help but gasp twice. The first, out of concern for the poor person she’d collided with and made lose her drink, and the second, out of concern for her poor dress.

“Oh, no no no no no…” The princess almost visibly deflates as she grasps the edges of damp fabric, twisting and turning the affected piece in hopes of a new angle revealing its not really that bad — only for the new angle to instead confirm yes it really is that bad.

Stains aren’t really the biggest concern in the world, they’re easily fixable with the proper care and treatment, she knows. Problem is, without Effie here to help her, she’s at a sort of loss and what that proper treatment entails… And just like that, another dress is lost to another ball disaster. As if last year’s sand debacle wasn’t disheartening enough.

Still, she forces herself to greet the stranger with a smile, even if a bit of a strained one. She, too, has lost much in this great tragedy. They are both victims, and they are both morning. Herself, her pretty fluffy dress — and she, her drink.

“It’s… it’s alright, don’t worry about it! I probably wasn’t gonna wear it to anything else after this, anyway. And look! If you turn it like this, it looks kinda like a heart!” Elise guides away the helping hand to once again turn the fabric just so, but this time in a way that faces it towards the stranger instead of herself for her to look at as she takes the rose from her hand, only to replace it with one of her own lilies.

Fiora is in the rarest of best moods — despite the pain radiating through her body, it's a beautiful, sunny day, the breeze is light and hardly bites with winter's breath, and she's with someone she deeply cares about, who has been pulled away to look at the ring toss for only a moment or two, something she's happy to allow him to indulge in.

She catches a familiar mess of green hair with a streak of white and comes to his side, smiling boldly, looking with him at the wooden horses that adorn a magically rotating platform. Most of the students seem to find the affair too strange, or are too old for it, so they currently are the only two gazing at it.

"What do you think?" she asks him. "I have wrangled my share of Hyperion, and you have been on the back of Huxley, but… we've never tried a horse."

This still wasn't a horse, of course, but she is teasing, a little bit. (Something she almost never does… she really is in a good mood!)

"We ought to give a try. See what all the excitement is about, hm?"

Heath can’t say he’s particularly enthusiastic about this festival given his…complicated experiences the year prior, but he isn’t so humbug as to skip out entirely. Especially not when he sees a smile lighting the face of his normally stoic friend.

“I can’t say I have, no. But with our combined skill, it shouldn’t be much of a challenge, should it?” Heath laughs, free and unrestrained. The air is abuzz with positive energy and the mood bright as the sun. It’s infectious, and perhaps he can allow himself this much. “Of course, there is the matter of who takes point…race you for it?”

“Happy birthday.” His face will likely betray nothing, but she gives him information unpaid for, anyway. “Heath told me.” She doubts he lied to Heath — he was the one thing she saw his heart on his sleeve about — but even if he did, it is a day to celebrate. Just like her birthday. It may as well be any day.

Legault is in the midst of adjusting the knot on his headband when Fiora approaches, making sure it’s secure. The light trimming of gold around the edges matches the lone little hoop on the helix of his right ear. He’s got a foolish grin on his face that he doesn’t bother to adjust when he sees her.

That she comes bearing a gift is a surprise, but the gift itself makes perfect sense. The daggers beneath the box’s lid are well-made and clearly for battle rather than display—pretty without being ornamental. He draws an index finger just beside the edge of one of the blades.

“Sharp.” He remarks, looking from the blade to Fiora with that same silly smile. “Heath’s a terrible liar. A great choice for questioning.”

He closes the box with a gentle touch.

“And now I owe you a debt, Dame Fiora.”

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

sci fi au - a kiss to the palm of the hand

Their touches are few and far between.  She likes him better when she isn't staring at his face, he realizes, and he doesn't fault her for this.  If she sees an enemy in his eyes, there is nothing that can be done but wait patiently.  It's neither of their faults, but Zelkov takes the blame, and he is careful.

It's easier like this, seated side by side.  This shuttle has a single window in the entire ship, and a time table reservation list to use it.  Fiora hadn't even asked, but Zelkov had decided to sign them on it for two hours.  She doesn't know they had to wait two weeks, nor does he tell her.  She knows its rarity, at least, he thinks.

Holding hands is a new, precious thing.  The first time they met, he had caught her fist in his; that was the closest to something like this before.  Now, he finds himself deeply fascinated with her - all of her - but her hands especially.

He doesn't look at her, lest she glance up at him and startle at his gaze again.

Zelkov doesn't need to look.  His hand is carved in so many ways.  He has a callous on the top of his index finger from where it brushed a million times against the body of his plas rifle.  He has cuts and nicks from frantic knife-play - cutting binds too carelessly or fighting at the end of his rope.  He also has scars from nicking himself with a knife while carving woods or (more often) soaps.  He has callouses from sculpting clay and using tools to create.

These bumps trace over her fingers and knuckles, too.  Her hands are worn, but it's all from fighting.  She showed him, once, where she had a scar from pulling the reigns of a bucking beast, but the rest of her hand…

It's fighting.  The thought arises, then, that he wishes for a world in which her callouses can fade from disuse on her shock stick or rifle.  He wonders what shape her hands may take in that world - if she were able to pursue what she wanted in the same way he does, but without the added guilt and focus.

ask meme: send ♡ to see what my muse thinks of yours

●●●○○ | ATTRACTION ●●●●○ | AFFECTION ●●●●● | INTEREST ●●●●● | LOYALTY ●●●○○ | TRUST

LOW | ●●●●● | HIGH

Heath sees a lot of himself in Fiora. She is one of his closest friends, and perhaps one of the first people he let himself put trust in after the slaughter of his wingmates. Perhaps it is because they shared a similar tragedy, perhaps it is their kindred demeanors, but they found themselves drawn toward each other during their service in Eliwood's army, a friendship that continued into the future.

Heath didn't join her new mercenary unit, primarily in an attempt to keep her safe from potential Bernese targeting. He did join in to help her when their paths crossed, though--he wants nothing more than for her to be safe and happy, and wishes she could live a more peaceful life. But she probably feels the same way, doesn't she?

♠ - She doesn't tend to agree with her big sis on a lot but one glance at her expression and Farina knew they were agreeing on at least this. There was something sus about this whole arrangement. An entire island built practically overnight and they were meant to gather 'happiness points'? Only a naive fool would think that was the entire picture. Especially when they were all neatly split up into three of these 'groups'.