still so unsure

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

he beams.  where he'd held his crest in hand is instead a bright dot, looking luminescent, almost like an unchanging opal.

"It may mean nothing currently, but if this invention was further refined... I can see it as a useful tool." A picture capturing a memory, all done in an instant. This sort of documentation would be more reliable than testimony. What if a soldier could exchange pictures with his family in another kingdom? What if a court used this to gather evidence for a criminal's conviction? But alas, he isn't really a man of science or engineering to think beyond that. All he can do is wonder. "It can serve as a memento of the occasion — less unwieldy than keeping a whole bouquet of flowers, at least."

Travant has had his fun in this section of the ballroom, and so he says before turning to leave, "If I'm not needed anymore, I shall be on my way. Even if not in frame, I hope you'll still remember who was behind the camera."

the monastery is bare to that which he knows. the paths are completely clear. no rubble lurks in the corners. no doors are blocked. when linhardt passes near the courtyard, he even sees that school is in session, with uniformed students slowly filing out of class with the bell's ring.

what happened to the monastery? or if nothing, what happened to linhardt?

they drift across the grounds, pointedly avoiding what had, five years ago, been their usual rut. 

did they finally die? is this some form of purgatory? or a second chance?

alone with his thoughts is a bad plan, but without being aware of what happened, he can't rightly approach a stranger. his friends come to mind. they could be anywhere in the monastery but one of them… one of them is rather easy to find.

well, of late she's been a little harder, but linhardt knows her haunts.

so they find themself outside of her bedroom door - her old dorm room turned recently into a wartime bunk - and they knock.

then, because they know her, they prove she has nothing to worry about. “bernadetta? it's me. may we speak?”

it sears less than the hand stuck to hers, though, she'd say—if she felt like being dramatic about it. but drama and hapi don't mesh well for the same reason that emotions and hapi don't, either.

so she takes it in stride. she always has to take it in stride.

“great. only six days and twenty-three more hours of this to go.” and however many minutes. hapi's head turns to him. “no offense, linny, but i have no idea why they chose you to rehabilitate me.”

they're not exactly the student of the year themself. not by any lack of intelligence—no, not one bit—but book smarts have less correlation with star behavior than most might assume. you could say they don't always go hand-in-hand.

it will be gross then.

how is he supposed to be ‘rehabilitating’ her, exactly? if her grades are lacking, he could tutor her if she wanted, but if that were the case she would ask him. that's what words are for.

if anything, their proclivities just mean they'll be taking naps together, rather than separately. surely anyone with eyes and ears could see that.

If only Thracia had been able to afford such an invention, then it would've saved him the time and effort standing still for portraits... Then again, there were many other opportunities that would be infinitely more important to invest into than a measly device.

he beams.  where he'd held his crest in hand is instead a bright dot, looking luminescent, almost like an unchanging opal.

Which, truth be told, could be any manner of thing. She would not wish the worst to come of their circumstances, but she feels as though she would be a sour knight if she did not consider it. (They were told beforehand that the portrait was grotesque; that Lady Carmilla was unnaturally young; and there may be dark magic involved.) What would happen if Lady Carmilla were the practitioner? Would there be a danger to interfering with the painting? (Would she act out if she found her youth was being threatened?)

…Selena could not know what Lady Carmilla’s motives could be, but she imagines that, if she were to marry a woman; she would want to grow old with her. Even without traces of forbidden magic involved, she would not accept the offer of forever youth; because aging had a beauty as well, she thinks.

She snaps to attention when Linhardt recoils, the sudden motion catching her eye, even in her musing. Sickness, he claims, and the professor can imagine very little could be the potential cause of that. A hand is extended, tentative, to rest upon his shoulder—only if they do not mind—Selena falling to match his height, and she voices, “What do you need? I’m afraid I am lacking in faith magic, but—” (This was a noblewoman’s manor.) “—I’m certain we can find something for you.”

it's linhardt's problem.

“no, no, this is…  it felt…  i can't stand the sight, the smell, or anything of blood. and the painting… seems to be alive.”

they straighten up, trying to focus on anything other than what they'd gleaned, and as they do, the lady of the hour arrives.

“Ah, Rosemary mentioned she invited guests, but not that you've arrived.  Welcome, welcome."

lady carmilla looks very little like the painting.  she is beautiful.  her long lavender locks are tied into an impressive bun, adorned with a variety of expensive-looking hair pieces.  her dress is a dark red, covered in matching adornments and decorated in a way that suggests her money rivals that of linhardt's family.  her hands are folded politely in front of her, but the look in her eyes is almost as dark as the sinister painting.

she's young, powdered, and doesn't wear any of the wrinkles or stains on the portrait.  did the artist hate her?

with lady carmilla are two other women, looking just as young and beautiful as herself, one on either shoulder.

“You must know my name by now,” carmilla continues, “so I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage.”

“Even if she does need to rest, for whatever reason you might conjure for us, it makes far more sense to see us first so that she may rest uninterrupted afterwards, I would argue.” She very much doubts that it will actually be that simple, but the fewer arguments this fool has to make, the sooner they can drop the pretenses.

Or…well, she will also not complain at the idea of being rid of the gentlemen in question. Midway through the hall, she pauses and turns back to look at Linhardt, leaning past the great lump between them to properly view them. “If you do not mind, it would be greatly appreciated. Considering we are here on the monastery’s orders to investigate, this intrusion really is quite unwelcome.”

the count is warped back to their starting point in the parlor, and the blinding light of linhardt's crest illuminates the hall.  their eyes go wide, but they say nothing, instead quickly closing the distance between themself and mitama in order to place a hand on her shoulder and guide her into the first unlocked door.

thankfully, it's the one beside her.

“I cannot claim to know how much pressure it is to be someone with a crest, but… I am most certain that having it does not define you at all. It would be quite the terrible world we live in otherwise.” She shakes her head.

“I am a princess of the theocracy of Rausten. I am also a skilled healer. Yet neither of these are my defining characteristics. Sure, I am quite possibly the most radiant princess to exist, and my healing is beyond compare. But in addition to that I am a monster hunter, a skilled dancer, a talented melee fighter, and quite the talented actress, amongst others. I am not simply one of these qualities, but rather all of them at once.” She looks quite proud of her explanation.

“You are talented at healing and magic in general. And that is quite incredible. But there is most certainly more to you than that. And if anyone thinks otherwise, they are quite stupid.” She gives them a confident nod, one that morphs into a grin as a brilliant idea forms in her head.

“I think, with how they treated us inside the infirmary, they can wait on us however long we want. As such, I would like to use this newfound time to get to know you, my newfound friend. Other than healing, what sort of things do you think you are good at? And what is it you enjoy?” She gives him an easygoing grin as she makes herself comfortable; hopeful that this shall get him to see more of his own worth.

and it feels like his parents. you can still do your job! you can be the count of hevring and you can still have time for your books and your silly hobbies!

his job. his reason for existing. but healing is different than that - he actually likes it. and here he doesn't have it.

but then l'arachel acknowledges that. linhardt is a person beyond his purpose. even if he likes healing, and that's one of the things he's allowed to like, she asks him (after a lengthy diatribe that would rival ferdinand von aegir) to explain one to her.

“my research…” they murmur to begin with. “my knowledge of crestology rivals currently rivals experts in the field… and i suppose it's a positive that i haven't given it up, yet.”

and what else do they have?

“i enjoy fishing…”

"rest assured there are plenty of secrets you'll never get out of me besides," they continue with a dismissive wave of their hand. "but consider that warning part of the reason you'll never hear them."

Edelgard turns on her heel as she speaks, tossing her hair behind her shoulders once more as she leaves the room. "Yes. I've been here longer than I planned. If you see Professor Hanneman, pass along my regards."

Her heels clank against the floor, turning her facing a single time at the doorway. "I'll be seeing you in class later. Don't disappoint me."

"...so it's still happening. i thought it was a one-time instance. a cautionary tale."

it comes out sounding defeated, because what else is there to feel in the face of confirmed atrocities, in knowing they may continue well into the future without any sign of stopping?

"i don't understand the logistics of it," she says, softer still. "i mean, i get what they're after, but... where do you even find those things? dragon bones? dragon blood? i mean..."

“if it's any consolation, it may not be a book full of nothing but horrors,” they suggest gently.  they say it, but that doesn't mean they believe it themself.  "the manner of people that would commit such atrocities may not necessarily see it as horror, but… mundane.

“what i mean is, they might catalogue such horrible experiments alongside those easier to, well, stomach.  so…"

he shakes his head, moving so that he might hug his knees to his chest.  “well, i suppose none of that matters much.  awful things have happened, and awful things continue to happen, and… there's always awful things that happen. if i could heal the people that were hurt by those experiments, they would still be hurt. there isn't… it can't be… solved.”

it can't be solved. is that how he feels about it? hurt is a problem to be solved, and because it can't, is it pointless?

“there would certainly be a blatant effect should i learn that…  but no.”

their focus returns to the professor, smiling.  "it's warp.  since i can't yet cast that upon myself, i'd need a willing volunteer, and to be honest, i'd rather not risk anyone else's safety like that.  the crest of cethleann has more interesting intricacies than some others - for example, the only two other crests that have any affect on white magic only preserve the fatigue one experiences when casting for a long time.  that's a difficult thing to quantify, but i've noticed that my spell-slinging stamina, let's say, isn't very different than some one without a crest, even when mine manifests.

“cethleann's crest enhances my spell casting, so i hypothesize that if my crest manifests on a cast, it should strengthen the effect of the more utility-based white magic, such as…”

rather than say the spell name, linhardt casts it on the envelope still in his hands.  to his delight, the crest of cethleann shines in front of him, and the conversation is almost dropped by him instantly.  his focus goes to the envelope, touching every surface with his fingers, and testing the boundaries of the flap meant to seal a letter in.

But then, it’s all the same to her. Saint Od knows she’s no researcher, after all.

And so, though she approves of Linhardt’s caution and even returns their smile, Ayra tunes most of their answer out. She asked only about his own Crest for a reason, and yet — never mind, Linhardt does get to the point and keeps his mouth shut after, too.

Ayra knows better than to take this respite for granted, though. There’s absolutely no guarantee that Linhardt won’t resume her annoying chant... And her target shouldn’t be an envelope either way.

“Linhardt?” The first call goes unheard, so the second is harsher. “Linhardt! We have arrived. If you need me, I’ll be helping with repairs around town.”

She turns on her heel before they answer, naturally.

“well, it sounds a little gross, but the ones i just mentioned do eat bat droppings instead.” and when bernadetta fantasizes of living life just like a carnivorous plant, with food bringing itself right to her door, bat droppings are hardly her idea of what's appetizing. neither are insects, really—but that's beside the point.

“a lot of them can usually survive from water and sunlight,” she continues, “but since their natural habitats don't have many nutrients in the soil, they started adapting to eat insects. maybe it's like, um... if you get in trouble and your parents won't let you eat, you start improvising. you'll try dirt, leaves, mushrooms...”

“when you say it out loud, it makes much more sense,” he comments.

“but regardless, don't worry about making any trades with me.  the implications of the pea pod experiment are staggering. just having some one to discuss them with would be a treat in its own right.”

they turn to smile down at her.  it's much nicer to see her like this - talking at length about a subject she knows, excitedly fidgeting with their conjoined hands.  yes, linhardt has long suspected that they and bernadetta have so much in common, but it's not only vindicating to see that they were correct - it's fun.

the only stumbling block between them is to be found within an analogy he cannot relate to.  why would he ever eat dirt?  why would his parents force him?

it's an unsettling little detail in what otherwise is a lovely conversation.  no matter how linhardt may try to dismiss it (as, for example, bernadetta's extraordinary imagination) he can't return to the state before she'd mentioned it.

[ PHOTO IN MOTION ] - And in addition, this year boasts a similar device bolstered by new advancements that allow it to capture more than just a moment; now, even motion and sound can be immortalized forever. Take a video with a friend—or catch something juicy you'll want to keep up your sleeve for later.

"So this button triggers a mechanism which burns the image onto each section of the... Hmm... That can't be it," Travant mutters to himself, narrowing his eyes to try to peek into whatever gaps in the box there are to examine the camera's insides but to no avail. As he moves away from the machine, giving up the task before someone could start looking at him weird, he notices a familiar face. "You're that 'crestology' person from that expedition, aren't you? What a coincidence..."

“before you assume i know anything about those things, think again,” linhardt responds, shaking their head slightly.  “and besides, you'd do better to use my name.  linhardt.”

despite the man's status, linhardt severely doubts he cares about titles or names, so he doesn't bother offering his last name.  in any case, his crest is already sewn into the lacy boarder around his shoulders.

“wait - that brings up a good question.  yes!”

they set aside their bouquet and step forward, then take the strange device to point it towards themself.  then, they take a couple steps back, hoping they're properly in frame.

At Linhardt's suggestion, he raises a brow. Does this camera really operate on magic alone? Perhaps it may be the most obvious answer, but Travant can't help but be disappointed if that were the case.

"I don't believe it should, seeing as it only captures what we see with our own eyes..." But if it does capture signs of a crest — signs of holy blood — then it would have considerable value to those who seek its power. Still, wouldn't it be a breach in privacy if it were that easy to find one's lineage from pressing a button on a box?

they would, naturally, still like the photograph to look good, so they pose appropriately before raising their hand and conjuring their crest.  the shape of cethleann rises from linhardt's palm, floating in gentle green magic.

If she cannot free herself of them, she will have to accept it. It is the world that needs its release more. Her arms cross. "Yes, that's quite enough. I see what you're trying to say." A beat. "It would be pointless to go through all that effort to begin with if it was that simple. Nothing about this is." She hadn't intended on delving much deeper— nor will she— but this much is plainly obvious. "You know, you've told me much more than if I had spoken with Professor Hanneman. That may not have been your aim, but thank you even still."

"rest assured there are plenty of secrets you'll never get out of me besides," they continue with a dismissive wave of their hand. "but consider that warning part of the reason you'll never hear them."

"But it was a mistake," Mauvier amends, lest Linhardt think that Mauvier is in the habit of punching everything that takes him by surprise. "I shall inform an attendant immediately, and incur whatever punishment the Church deems fit for my indiscretion."

"well, don't you think their very presence is... impolite?" linhardt suggests, making it up as they go along. they believe they do rather well at packiaging the truth into more acceptable appearances, so perhaps they can get away with this.

linhardt shakes his head. "have you met my friend bernadetta? she spends most of her time in her room because she's afraid of people's eyes on her. now, should the church will it, they could watch her from inside her room. for those of us with... an abundance of thoughts on how people perceive us, i can think of little better to exacerbate those unpleasant feelings than these devices.

"it's also rather distracting from the faith, don't you think? i think it's rather obvious i have a uniquely personal relationship with the goddess, and i don't very much like the idea that my faith is constantly being surveilled like this... what if some one finds an issue with my genuine beliefs?"

they fold their arms. "ah, i shouldn't run my mouth like this, should i? if it's the church's will..."

Ares' clipped reply was half-muffled, buried beneath a hand flexing two fingers to rub away the white that had suddenly hammered his eyes. Anything else he would have, or should have, gleaned from such a flood of magic was lost the instant he shot a small peek over his shoulder just as it was cast.

All else that remained was apparent when he finally dragged his fingers down his cheeks and revealed a tired and bloodshot glare to Linhardt.

and, because threats have never deterred linhardt before in his life, he casts another heal spell.

and then another, because the first one doesn't see his crest springing to life between them.

in the quiet night, the only ambience is to be found in the gentle rustling of the leaves of the trees or bushes. though the person linhardt had glimpsed earlier moves quietly, he's still aware of their footsteps, light as they are, across the cobblestone, then the dock he sits upon.

"yes," linhardt agrees. they don't match their companion's whisper, though they neither speak at a common volume. it's low-effort speaking: their favorite.

they turn to appraise their current fishing-buddy and finds they don't recognize her in the slightest. well, it hardly matters. the companionship so far has been pleasant, even if the two are strangers.