under the illusion.

on opposite sides of a war with @ufnathaniel !

     there is something to be said about war. it ruins everything. friends become enemies, and people are hurt. it’s destructive and the only people who benefit are the extremely rich. 

     vivian hates it. 

     of course, it’s not often that she runs into someone she personally knows from the war in the streets, so for the most part, people are safe from her ire. but it’s one particular afternoon in the streets of noyillai that she sees a figure she knows all too well, one that towers above her, a person she knows from their school days, even though he had been older than her and more connected with her brother than directly with her. 

that what he tells himself, at least, as he pushes through the crowds of noyillai, hoping to escape the populated central area lest he's recognized by any alumni or teachers from the academy. he's had enough of formalities and polite, meaningless greetings for a lifetime—the more he can avoid, the better.

that is, until someone calls out his name, loud and clear, causing him to freeze in his tracks and internally laments the loss of his freedom already. he turns around to face the voice, recognizing the figure immediately.

ufnathaniel

two hundred and fifty years is a long time. as astrea roams the streets of noyillai, taking in the growing excitement and increasing decorations, she can’t help feeling her own buzz of anticipation quietly dulled. by what, exactly, she can’t pin point.

a long time, and a lot of memories. ah, well that may be the problem. because a blink and a breath ago, astrea was one amongst the many trying to hold the lives of the wounded together, with the horrors of war lurking even in the corner of the eye, even when one’s eyes were closed. somewhat cruel, but perhaps karma, is the fact that all astera remembers of those times are the painful ones. it’s so hard to remember the good times.

astrea heaves a sigh, as if expelling the negative energy, and decides to find something to eat. perusing the stretch of shops ahead, however, her attention is captured by a particular face. she squints, moves closer, to the left and right, and a soft gasp escapes her.

"alive?" his eyes widen at her rather bizarre words, but the moment his gaze lands upon her scarlet locks, memories of a time he'd rather not remember come flooding back. the time he almost died.

he questions the validity of his guess, but what other reason would the lady be approaching him in this manner? it wouldn't be some sort of odd scam, would it? he does remember his men telling him of the red-haired healer that had tended to his wounds, but he had been much too shaken to remember much of the experience himself—only that he had made it out alive.

an (un)lucky encounter with @ufnathaniel

“oh, for goddess’ sakes.” azura sighs in frustration as she sinks down on a bench by the city streets, burying her head in her hands. she almost wants to cry, but she won’t — this is just a minor inconvenience, which doesn’t even begin to compare to any other hardship she’s been through in her life. but it still leaves her just so incredibly frustrated. 

truthfully, she should have known better than to believe gleerium is some nice country to vacation in now, especially not a former military city like ouros. there’s a reason she has made a point out of avoiding entering gleerium at all costs all these years, as she finds the constant wars and thirst for power downright distasteful. though now that the war was over, and parts of the country had started to rebrand itself as tourism spots, then surely it would be safe to visit now. 

but no — it didn’t take long until her trip to ouros resulting in some lowly criminal stealing everything she had on her. the fuck kind of tourist place was this, anyway, with criminals running free in the streets? well, maybe that’s a slight overstatement, as she hasn’t seen anyone else suspicious, but still! 

for a moment, she considers if perhaps she’s taking her frustration a bit far — it’s not like she had brought that much gold with her, and she could quite easily just go back home and forget this ever happened. but, stubborn as ever, she remains in the city, having a pathetic mini-breakdown in the heart of it. and, well… there’s also the fact that she may have forgotten where she would even go to get to the warp point. but it’s not like she was going to admit that to anyone and ask for directions. no way.

several people pass by as she sits there, none of them paying her any mind. that is, until she notices out of the corner of her eye a figure stopping slightly, then moving towards her. oh, goddess. she’s really not in the mood to talk to anyone right now. azura holds onto a tiny hope that maybe, just maybe, they’d pass right by her, but knows it’s not very likely as they had stopped to look at her, after all. and sure enough, the man stops in front of her, looking like he’s about to speak. 

some recognize him, some don't. it matters not anyway as he treats everyone the same regardless of whether he's in uniform. he's always liked helping everyone out ever since he was a child and that habit never died. the intent behind it has changed, though, going from altruism to wanting to be useful to simple obligation. a way for him to build back up karma — he's going to need it.

and speaking of which, his gaze lands upon a woman looking as intimidating as she is distressed. he takes a quick look around and weighs his options before deciding to approach her. before her can greet her, though, she rejects him outright. nathaniel blinks in confusion, not expecting to be spoken to in such a tone in his own home city, but recovers from it quickly enough.

@ufnathaniel

one might conclude he’s seeking out trouble — the usual, others may chime in, for often does the mood strike him, to allow violent intents to run its course when called upon. in this case, however, upon this mundane day filled with mindless chatter and the mediocre bustle of the afternoon crowds, there is little reason for him to be loitering around the streets of ouros. little to none, really.

vincent has absolutely no business being in ouros. (lie) 

maybe it’s more a half-truth camouflaged by falsities he wished were true; a contradiction to his inner philosophies, as if the (so proclaimed) heart of ouros itself wasn’t the very person he’s successfully avoided encountering since their last ill tendered farewell, and the very one he has absolutely no business nor intentions to see. 

yet.

yet  —  perhaps the more accurate sentiment that would more aptly fit the circumstances in lieu of ‘avoidance’ would(/could/should) be ‘yearning to see’.

perhaps. perhaps.  

however!  —  to set the scene, there is an elegantly dressed lady before him in this corner of town square sans much privacy. there’s a smile that promises something delightfully wicked as his hand sits perched against the wall before him —  thus, with a picture perfect distraction entrapped between his torso and the wall, and sweet nothings conjured too easily to chapped lips for willing ears; vincent has a reason to be in the city this fateful day. 

a solid reason. a real reason. 

(lie? is it a lie if he can’t remember the excuse’s name; a fact instead diluted with affectionate pet names as placeholders and half a prayer for her continued ignorance  —  as he’d hoped for with the man he entertained before her,  and the one before them,  and so forth; all doomed to become just another name, another face in the crowd.  see, here and now, in a city that holds the same name of ouros — the name on his mind is inevitable).

his eyes begin to wander without much thought, potential conquest caught up in a story he cares little to hear, and they seek for something he’s not bound to find.

(nathaniel. Nathaniel. nathaniel.)

it feels as if his eyes are playing a trick at first.  

its automatic —  the way his free hand clenches into a fist, as he fixates on that newly sighted, familiar curve of a back within the crowd, as he wills the individual to turn to face him from where they patrol, as he locks eyes with someone that looks awfully identical to the object of his turmoil. 

there’s a nudge to his shoulder he’s keen on ignoring, fixed upon the figure that easily captures his attention without a moment’s thought  —  his more criminal vice will always be this; the hold he’s allowed the other to have upon him, to a sickening extent. 

“gil?” his once-potential conquest chimes in with his alias of the day, another touch to the forearm in search of the attention that had been present moments prior. the sweet persona he’d adorned has all but melted away now, and with a dismissive wave, he detaches himself from her touch,  interest gone altogether for the woman he’d been entertaining since the start of the night as she scoffs in place.

his family hadn't initially known that he was sneaking out to the city wrapped in a dusty brown cloak. they had no reason to even suspect him, really, as he had always been a docile, obedient child, and to their merit, he was--until he had met vincent.

well, they had met much sooner than that to be clear. duke vessalius was a good friend of his father's, seeing as he was under his direct rule, and when they had both been blessed with sons within the same year, it was seen as a sign to have them bond.

it was awkward at first, of course, as nathaniel was expected to be vincent's vassal. the ouros boy had little to no experience talking to other children his age, and the pressure of their families breathing down their necks didn't help. it took years for them to finally become friends, and by then, it was much too late to stop.

vincent was the wild one of the two, persuading (read: commanding) nathaniel to skip out on their boring tea parties together to go explore the city. that's where the biggest part of his memory of ouros lie.

the alleyway they had hid in from the frantic guards, the tree they had scaled to take in the view, the bakery they had convinced to sneak them scraps. all fond memories he looks back on, though much hazier now.

in his reminiscing, a familiar face catches his eye, and he doesn't even process it until moments later. was it a hallucination? there's no way he would be here, not after...

vincent.

as if by pure instinct, his legs carry him in the direction of the phantom, closing the gap between them within mere seconds. though when he arrives, he says nothing, even as he's face-to-face with the marquess. his face holds an expression of disbelief, as if expecting the man in front of him to disappear at any moment. no words are said as he waits for any sign of this moment being more than just a figment of his imagination--a mere dream--but his heart overflows with questions for the marquess.

what are you doing here? are you real? where have you been? what happened to you after i left? have you been doing fine? do you hate me?

@ufnathaniel

asher makes poor choices. it’s not that he’s particularly dull, or even particularly unlucky, but… things just seem to happen to him. maybe it can be blamed on a short lifetime of being hidden away from the other etlian nobles, his grandfather’s shame of pirate blood in his lines causing him to all but completely lock the child away from the world. or maybe it’s asher’s attitude, a little too carefree and not one to think twice about what he wants (or thinks he needs) to do. whatever the reason, he keeps finding himself in situations he really… wished he didn’t.

like stealing from nathaniel von ouros.

he knows the name all too well. the conqueror of the land formerly known as etlia, asher’s old home. a hero to the citizens of gleerium, an enemy to those on the etlian side who lost their sons, husbands, and fathers to the war. his war. a battle asher never fought, though his grandfather sent men to die for. only to immediately grovel at the feet of their new rulers and sell his daughter into a marriage she didn’t want so he could keep his little seat of power. with time and distance, asher thinks he has grown to hate the man. but… not nathaniel von ouros. somehow he understands; it was just duty. they all carry out their orders. someone has to be the victor.

but still, asher doesn’t want to mess with this one. it was a complete mistake to lift his coin purse; he hadn’t even realized who the young man was until he took a closer look, initially trying to judge how much coin he had just snagged. then he saw it, the crest that symbolized the noble family. asher’s blood had run cold. if anyone knew he had this, he’d be an enemy of the public anywhere in gleerium which is, however fortunate or unfortunate, where he happens to be right now. who would dare to steal from their war hero?

so asher makes the only logical decision he can: he has to put it back.

it’s easier said than done. asher couldn’t explain it if he tried, but taking something is so much easier than giving. but still, he has light, delicate hands. an old thief told him long ago that they were perfect for this line of work, fingers still small like a child’s and lithe enough to fit into the cracks where most adult men couldn’t. so when asher’s trying really hard to un-steal something, why is it that suddenly his hands don’t cooperate with him?

the reputation he's built up because of it was unexpected, though welcome. on top of his existing reputation as a war hero, he now had the image of a kind, down-to-earth noble to go along with it. how ridiculous, he thinks, shaking his head. he was only doing what was right. it may seem like something righteous and selfless, but nathaniel only sees it as his duty, and perhaps, a way to atone for the sins he's committed (and the many sins he will undoubtedly commit in the future).

the loud, metallic clink jolts him out of his polite conversation, though, and he turns around to see...ah, this must be it.

the thief looked rather calm about the situation. perhaps he doesn't recognize the identity of the person in front of him? nathaniel's eyes drift towards the coin purse on the ground, and raises his eyebrows upon recognizing that it belonged to him. his hand reaches for his belt to confirm the theory, and indeed, his coin purse was missing. a very bold choice indeed.

the chatter had already begun. civilians and shopkeepers alike murmuring and whispering about what he would do to the thief. as much as the ouros' family's reputation had softened in the recent year, they were undoubtedly still recognized as brutal, but fair executioners of justice--and what fairer justice would there be for a thief as bold as to pick the pockets of the city's heir than death?

no, no. that was far too much, nathaniel sighs internally. the presence of thieves indicated a larger problem at hand, one that would take years to solve, and definitely not one to be erased with the unnecessarily cruel punishment of a victim of the system.

he knew that the ever-growing crowd was waiting on his judgement, though, and he had to act fast.

six years ago with @ufnathaniel​

finn doesn’t really have trouble sleeping. he worries little, rarely haunted by his mistakes of the day. learning experiences, his father calls them, and so they don’t bother him too much most of the time. he needs to learn to apologize more, his father also says, which usually goes hand in hand with said mistakes. well, finn is of the mind that if someone can’t forgive him for a mistake, he doesn’t mind them staying mad at him. so what if he doesn’t apologize? should he really be sorry for a learning experience?

he is learning, though. his time at lotus academy, among other people his age from all over deyuis, has made him more open-minded and understanding. everyone is different, and so they’re hurt by different things. even when finn doesn’t understand, he knows it’s important to acknowledge that pain, and to apologize if he’s responsible for it. it’s not really about the mistake; it’s about the pain in the process.

he wonders if the gleerian students understand the pain their country has caused. finn learned the history he suspects gleerium didn’t teach them, well before his time at the academy: the slaughter of innocent people in the name of unity– of falling into line and obeying gleerium without question. lotus academy’s teachings are supposedly objective, but finn has trouble believing gleerium doesn’t have their hands all over it.

he wonders if they know the amount of etlians that have died at gleerium’s hands, and if they care; if they would apologize. 

finn doesn’t want their apologies. he wants change. he wants to know peace for the first time in his life, and he doesn’t want gleerium’s version of it. he wants that troubled expression on his father’s face when he thinks his children aren’t looking to disappear for good.

he doesn’t have trouble sleeping, but he’s outside at the school’s training ground anyway. maybe it’s for etlia. maybe it’s because of the feeling that he has to work twice as hard as anyone here just to make sure his country still exists in a few years.

swinging his sword through the air by himself probably isn’t the most effective way to practice, but he remembers the corrections his instructor made to his stance earlier today, and maybe if he practices enough, it’ll become muscle memory.

he realizes he isn’t alone soon enough, and turns to where he sees motion out of the corner of his eye, still holding his sword at the ready.

oh, it’s nathaniel. one of said gleerian students. the one from the military city close to etlia’s border. the one finn can’t pretend isn’t training every day in order to kill his people, no matter how hard he tries.

he tries not to think about what things would be like if the gleerian students were from etlia instead, either; about nathaniel training to be a general of the etlian army instead, and how they could’ve grown up together and been friends. 

“okay,” he says, instead of a normal greeting. he lowers his sword regardless, and he relaxes. 

maybe he can pretend a little.

he's no different, of course. how could he be? when everyone you've grown up with, been taught and raised by, teaches you reality as it is, who are you to refute it? what is a measly child to do when spoon-fed a sugar-coated truth?

but he's always had his doubts—for nathaniel von ouros is a coward.

surely the screams of the conquered must mean something? if gleerium was fighting so passionately towards their perfect goal, wouldn't everyone else have their reasons too? their own beliefs? it didn't seem right to force their laws on them, especially not through bloodshed and meaningless death.

oh, he would be severely punished if his mentors ever heard him say that, let alone his father. as far as they're concerned, the people of eltia are mindless, faithless zombies being led along by false prophets, and it was gleerium's job to free them, and in their defense, it made sense. if he hadn't had the opportunity to meet so many eltians in his time here at lotus academy, he would've lived his whole life believing that too. that the closest he was ever going to get to one was piercing their chest with his sword.

swish.

he swings the blade idly in his hand, relishing the quiet time of night where he wouldn't be yelled at for mishandling the weapon. 'keep it by your side at all times, don't make any unnecessary movement,' and so forth. how bothersome. this little act of rebellion feels like one of the only semblances of control he has left of his life.

"hello, finn," he places a hand on his chest briefly as a greeting. he hadn't expected to see the eltian here, but wasn't perturbed by his presence. the movement of his sword stills. "i see we're both up late tonight."

he tries to be friendly, polite, a small smile visible under the moonlight. 'it's always important to treat everyone with respect,' his mentor's words ring in head. 'you never know how many people you can get to let their guard down with just sweet words.'