supernova starlight

  ❝ ——— something tells me you’re a troublemaker. ❞ don’t take it personally; she had the same knee-jerk reaction to prompto. must be something about the body language.

  ❝ i do not recall anyone announcing visitors. ❞ to be courteous or not, stella cannot quite decide. as a fleuret, she is used to strange visitors at strange times. she’s used to people from other lands and other worlds. but most arrive with a flourish of servants — hers and theirs — announcing the arrivals with the utmost respect.

    so, should she be suspicious of him or the quiet of her staff ?

      He follows her movements. Turns his attention to the small vials she’d retrieved. They would provide only a minimal amount of cure to the both of them, just enough to keep their adrenaline pumping until they could have a moment of rest. He took one from the palm of her hand, popped the cork, and downed it in one swallow. And already, it was working like a warm blanket in frigid air, spreading throughout the entirety of his body and into his sore limbs.

      “Die?” He cast her an incredulous look. “Who said anything about dying?” He quipped dryly, reclaiming his hold on masamune before jamming the tip into the ground, using it as a support while he climbed steadily to his feet.

      Once he was standing fully, he threw the blade over his shoulder, posing for battle ─ digging worn boots into the wet soil of the ground. Ahead, the pack of Mi’ihen fiends snarled and snapped their jaws at the two fighters, easing closer and attempting to encase the pair within a circle.

      “I trust you’ve got the ones on the left.”

  he accepts one of her potions; she pockets the other. it isn’t serious enough yet that she’s willing to concede to magical aid. potions are back-up plans. they’re last resorts. it’s always better to remove the enemy from existence and crawl home than rely heavily on outside forces. if you cannot heal yourself, you do not deserve to be healed.  

  straightening her shoulders — compartmentalising the pain — stella readies herself for battle. she readies herself to pull her weight and more.  do not be fooled by the satin of her clothes and the jewels slung like roses around her neck. the noblewomen of tenebrae are adept in battle, she better than most. the golden rune flickering like stars in the night sky brings forth a bevy of weapon choices, and they circle her like a carousel, waiting for the first fiend to charge. 

     “–Hm?” He did not catch her presence either.              “Excuse me?”

        She had watched and played out memories with weapons in her hand, in her grasp, but never had she held one a true weapon. Nor had she held one with intent. So smooth palm curved about the handle, fingers curled, weight held up carefully, grip just enough to keep it from falling. Oft she was quick to pick up on things ( on facts, on recollections ) but such things which required stamina and general strength were far more difficult for her. “Your explanation is simple, but I imagine it’s harder in practice.”

                                     The image of herself falling over was rather prominent.

  when naminé finally grasps the rapier between her fingers, stella is pleased. a sunrise crosses the horizon of her face. a soft gust of a laugh escapes her lips. her own hands release the hilt only to clasp over the new wielder’s, callouses rough and numerous along her lifelines. ❝ but it’s just practice. 

  ❝ —— no one’s perfect at first. that’s what makes us human. ❞ 

      Unfortunately, Noctis did have a knack for keeping things hidden from Ignis, but only when they revolved around Stella. Their friendship was honest otherwise. Still, her acid-like sarcasm strikes deep, enters the bloodstream, and sizzles at the adviser’s core. Because if Ignis hated anything, it was Noctis “keeping him in the dark”, when the prince knew his friends were only looking out for him in regards to the girl from Tenebrae.

      “It does put a strain on things, I must admit.” A single, gloved digit pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. He seemed bitter about her previous remark. “But I cannot help the way he feels about you, wotever those feelings may be. I suspect not even his father is aware you’re here, ‘else you would have gone about entering the palace on another route, surely.”

  ❝ i am given leave to come and go as i please, ❞  she murmurs, hands falling to lace behind her back.  ❝ i didn’t think my choice of entrance would matter. ❞  the hullabaloo of introductions and servants and escorts from room to room wears on the soul. while stella is comforted by clearly defined roles and customs, she is also tormented by the repetition in her day. it is enough to have her own people treat her with lace gloves; she does not need foreigners bowing to her, too. 

  a moment passes. a concession spills forth. ❝ for the sake of your sanity, i will use the front door next time ——— 

   it was almost as if he was in a daze, something that would perpetuate embarrassment.    such sublime words nearly snapped him out if, all eyes on him. right, my apologies. ’    maybe if those words, not an able bone in his body spoke to dance, but in order to avoid    suspicious eyes, he must.

   a hand placed upon a slim waist to the small of her back, other gently and grasping her    hand within his. movements were swift and smooth to the closest perfection, it was    ———— almost as if he wasn’t just standing like a baffled baboon only moments ago.

                             i must have been out of it. ’

   ❝ —— something’s on your mind. ❞ it’s meant to be a question, a quiet inquiry traded beneath the current of music and conversation. eyes are on them, but ears are not. it’s meant to be a question, but stella is more matter-of-fact that she intends, and, in hindsight, it’s more assumption than anything else. 

      “Not nearly as bad as I could be,” The warrior assured her. His pride unable to call it for what it was. A thin trail of blood trickled down his cheek, and it appeared to be the former monk’s only abrasion, but that was hardly the case. His red haori was masking the lethal hits he’d taken from a gang of Mi’ihen Fangs; weak foes when they were alone, but together in a group of six, their speed outmatched the warrior’s heavy swings by far.

      Breathing hard, he took his eyes off the gathering pack ahead and glanced at the girl beside him, acknowledging the obvious gash on her forehead. “You look pretty bad. Have you any white magic?”

  she rummages through her pockets, acknowledging his question only when her fingers find the object of desire. a flourish. stella’s palm flattens — her fist unravels — to reveal two small vials. ❝ just some potions. ❞

  uncomfortable with the attention on her injuries, she aims a pointed glance at his own scratch, the way he favors one side of his body, and his reluctance to accept them at face value. battle always draws the charm from her bones and buries it beneath her feet. when enemies are afoot, stella is always straight to the point.  ❝ so try not to die on me. 

  ❝ i believe, prince noctis, that we are supposed to dance. ❞  she can barely contain her laughter, but she tries — oh does she try. offending the crown prince of a developed nation and potential ally seems like something her parents would frown upon. a pity. she prefers people best when they’re off-kilter.  ❝ everyone will stare if we continue to stand. ❞

  ❝ do you need assistance? ❞ she wants to say that the other woman’s voice carries, but stella would prefer to blame it on the acoustics. even her breaths reverberate against the walls.