IND. FE3H MULTIMUSE.

some modern headcanons for mercedes 

works in a children’s hospital as a nurse specialising in palliative care and often works ridiculous amounts of overtime

comes from a big italian family, but lost contact with them when her mum fell for an asshole who subsequently isolated her from her family

has a samoyed named sir flufficus (sir fluff for short) 

lives in a small single bed studio apartment in the dodgy (but cheap) part of the city

cannot drive. walks everywhere, even longer distances, but if she finishes work late she’ll often grab an uber about halfway through her journey home

is only in her mid twenties, but if you looked at her from the neck down you’d swear she was in her forties. she has that mom™ look down pat 

frequents local bars several evenings of a week in search of social contact that isn’t sick kids, but rarely drinks all that much 

owns a switch and plays an incredibly wide variety of games on it, most often when she can’t sleep

watches eurovision religiously, and hosts watch parties when it’s on, complete with a massive stock of homebaked treats to snack on

has never been in a serious relationship, her commitment to work tends to put people off 

please note! this is just my headcanon. you don’t have to ascribe to it but it will apply in my writing with my characters, doubly so for mercedes and marianne. 

despite its precedence in game, faith magic is by far not the be-all end-all of medical care, and those who learn it do not suddenly become doctors, nurses or experts in healing. its practical application is rooted in the physical act of mending flesh, which renders it nearly useless against ailments born of disease or ill-health. that much is evidenced by the remire calamity, and how manuela became quite busy trying to learn the cause of it, so she could begin finding a cure. that’s because manuela is a healer! 

most commonly, the branch of faith magic taught in garreg mach (even to students of the gremory or priest classes!) is the art of field healing. a field healer’s studies focus on strengthening their skills in:

healing at a distance. healing is much more effective with the boon of physical contact, and it takes a great deal of strength and focus to learn to do so across great distances.

healing at large. if untrained, the healing produced by someone attempting to portion it out across several bodies will be weak and possibly ineffective. 

managing the intensity of healing --- especially across distances, and across multiple people!

the greatest concern in the art of field healing is that it can be just as dangerous to the patient as the injury itself. generally, field healing is seen as a short term measure to give an army a second chance in the current conflict. though the other option being death in the field makes the practise worth it, the risks involved in field healing are astronomical. healing a broken bone that hasn’t set right could require surgery to fix. sealing over an open wound that hasn’t been cleaned of dirt, blood or poison can lead to lethal infection. indeed, one of the first things a field healer in training will learn is that infection is a far more common cause of death post-battle than the injuries themselves, and if these infections have been sealed in by a field healer, they’re that much more difficult to treat. 

that is where healers come in. far more versed in traditional medical care than your average field medic and almost always trained by the church, healers serve as day to day doctors. they go through intensive training to become professionals in longer term healing, including infection and disease treatment, physiotherapy, and surgical medicine. often working out of churches and under church supervision, it’s these healers that the general population will turn to with sickness, injuries and health issues. naturally, there will always be healers among the ranks of armies too, taking care of the sick and wounded outside of battle. mercedes is in training to become one of these specialised healers. 

    “ya know, hubert said my yelling is good for my fighting style.” admittedly, hubert was talking about the shout that precedes either a gauntlet or an axe sinking deeply enough into flesh that caspar doesn’t need to worry about any level of retribution, but that distinction doesn’t exactly matter right now. he’s talking about that restraint hilda suggested that he rightfully defied, and turning it on her! “maybe if you yelled, you’d have more fun in training! and uh, show up more? claude told me you’re great with an axe, but i’ve never seen it for myself!” 

    “hah, yeah.” cyril chuckles, and studies both weapons. he’d say neither had it easy, fighting wasn’t easy. he thinks it’s supposed to be hard, hurting people is supposed to be hard. cyril grips the sheet tightly, wishing is pain would pass already. perhaps, he could always ask– no, he’d just wait. it wasn’t as bad as it could be! instead, he purses his lips, “is… is my wyvern okay? i’ve been raising fidan since she was a baby.” 

    “c’mon linhardt, we gotta go.” it’s beyond him that caspar actually has the physical power to make his way to this afternoon’s training session all by himself. you see, linhardt is napping on the arm he’d been writing with, much like how a cat will do everything in its power to pull your attention towards it, even if it’s not conscious to receive it. he doesn’t have the heart to push linhardt away. caspar wiggles his arm gently, enough to jostle his sleepy companion, but not enough to push him away entirely. “you’re gonna make me late!” 

    somehow, caspar’s acceptance felt comforting. people rarely took cyril at his words - did you steal that, and he’d say no, sir, and they’d take it anyways, because he must have. yet, caspar does. it’s a relief, in a way, and quells one fear, though where one is felled, two more emerge. thought the first: caspar had been one of the invaders, and cyril should be revolted and enraged at him, not accepting his friendship. thought the second: cyril could not bring himself to care that the monastery had been overtaken. still, he wrinkles his nose and awkwardly laughs, “that’s really gross.” 

     it seems like time stops and marianne is left to flounder in the blankness between to points of time. at least the surroundings aren’t silent, filled to the brim with a song both pleasant and uninhibited. it corrals away any of the gloom and darkness, and makes it so that marianne can stand in the doorway (so close to a path in which she must make herself invisible, move out of the way) without thought, only that she’d like to hear more. still, marianne steps aside as the groundkeeper moves, desperate not to be a burden, ears drinking in the sound of annette’s voice. 

   cyril remembers very little of the battle; he could barely see over fidan, the bucking, baby wyvern unused to real combat, unskilled and untrained. he recalls his axe being too heavy, his hands clammy, heart stuck in his throat and an arrow lodged in his shoulder. and rhea, all her benevolence and kindness forgotten, left him bleeding. like a child forgetting her toy, when mother buys a new one. for a moment, cyril wonders if this is the afterlife, watching light filter and play through the fabric of a tent - a tent, that he soon realizes is the same one that tea parties have been held in. besides, dead people don’t hurt like this, aching in his shoulders and head. “i––” he starts to answer honestly, but then, he notes whose asking. he knew of caspar, knew of all the students, even if he made a point to avoid them at all costs. resent settles and mixes with the apprehension that is building. “i’m fine. if not, i will be soon. ya don– don’t have to bother mercedes.” 

    “you’re hapi, right?” caspar speaks to her with a barely contained level of excitement. you see, he knows. he knows all about what she’s good at, and unlike most of the residents of garreg mach, he’s got no reason to hold it against her (or relate to her, for that matter). despite chastising linhardt on his manners, he’s completely forgotten to introduce himself. “you think you could do that thing you do when the circumstances aren’t desperate? i’d love to train against some REAL threatening enemies!”  

❛ oh ! well, wouldja look at the time– ❜

❛ i better be goin ! ❜

    “so you’ve been living underground, all this time,” give him a minute, he’ll catch up eventually. mostly, it just kind of seems unbelievable that this could actually be true. but linhardt filled him in, and linhardt has never told caspar a lie in the past, so why would he start now? plus, he’s never seen yuri before, but his uniform is way too similar to the regular garreg mach uniform to shake it off as being a coincidence. despite his confusion, he grins. “welcome to the surface, i guess? what’s it like not seeing the sun every day?”