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Entry tags:
- !event,
- arcane: silco,
- arknights: gavial,
- black butler: sebastian michaelis,
- culture (the): demeisen,
- divinity original sin: fane,
- enderal: jade the prophetess,
- expanse (the): amos burton,
- fate grand order: tezcatlipoca,
- fate/: rin tohsaka,
- fate/: sakamoto ryouma,
- fire emblem: shez,
- fire emblem: yuri leclerc,
- forgotten realms: raphael,
- howl's moving castle: howl,
- jinba: hayame,
- legend of zelda (the): link,
- life is strange: chloe price,
- oc: liem talbott,
- oc: matt jamison,
- pumpkin scissors: alice l. malvin,
- suikoden: yuber,
- terra e: tony asuka,
- tsubasa reservoir chronicle: subaru
THE ADVOCATE ORACLE - A RIP VAN WINKLE IN TIME
Sweet dreams are made of Bliss
As the twilight falls, and bearers begin to tuck in for their evenings on the night of the 15th of March (OOC time) and whether they tuck themselves into bed fully, or simply drift away in the middle of their dinner, work, indulgences, or what have you; bearers will fall into a deep, deep sleep. Perhaps you slump in your chair, or you wrap your arms around a teddy bear, or partner, or cup a precious shard in your sleep, it doesn’t matter, because as you drift away, into a sleep that seems to tug you under like the undertow itself, a question will echo in bearer’s minds: “If given the choice, would you show compassion in the face of adversity?”
It sticks with you, even as you fall into a dreamless sleep. As if it rotates in your mind, over and over, letting you worm over that. You know for certain what it is, that it is the calming, soothing voice of the Oracle, reaching out to you across the ether, telling you – promise you – that if you accept its promise, you will find that the Oracle could be in your hands. That thought leads you to dream of something else – of home, or your loved ones – of what you are fighting this war for. Even as you dream, you feel a presence next to you, and unlike the Harbinger’s winding, rough digging, this is more akin to a friend, who is asking you soft, coaxing questions. Things like: what was your childhood like? What were your friends like? What did you do? You cannot help but think of them, think of your home and your loved ones. Of where you came from, and how it made you what you are.
The advocate seeks to understand you, and where you come from. You can feel it, that overwhelming Acceptance and love from it, even as you reminisce, compelled to answer the multitude of questions, you can feel something building behind you, around you. “Don’t you want them all to understand this?” the impression is given through communion, and you cannot help but answer: yes.
It sticks with you, even as you fall into a dreamless sleep. As if it rotates in your mind, over and over, letting you worm over that. You know for certain what it is, that it is the calming, soothing voice of the Oracle, reaching out to you across the ether, telling you – promise you – that if you accept its promise, you will find that the Oracle could be in your hands. That thought leads you to dream of something else – of home, or your loved ones – of what you are fighting this war for. Even as you dream, you feel a presence next to you, and unlike the Harbinger’s winding, rough digging, this is more akin to a friend, who is asking you soft, coaxing questions. Things like: what was your childhood like? What were your friends like? What did you do? You cannot help but think of them, think of your home and your loved ones. Of where you came from, and how it made you what you are.
The advocate seeks to understand you, and where you come from. You can feel it, that overwhelming Acceptance and love from it, even as you reminisce, compelled to answer the multitude of questions, you can feel something building behind you, around you. “Don’t you want them all to understand this?” the impression is given through communion, and you cannot help but answer: yes.
Click your Heels together, Dorothy!
As you awake for the first time, it’s alien, the world that meets you. New smells fill your nostrils, new sights, the gravity is perhaps different than you’ve gotten used to on Kenos, even those slight shifts enough to make the world feel wholly different. You remember the advocate’s words, and it wants you to feel what it feels. Understanding. Compassion, and perhaps there is a sense that doing so would hurt yourself in turn, if you understood too much. That is the advocate’s way, after all, isn’t it?
You feel an inexorable, slight tug in your chest. Something subtle and gentle, the slightest of sensations, that gives you a direction. You know it, your mind only just now comprehending the advocate’s confusing impressions via communion, that there is something of this world’s… Soul/center/heart or whatever word you want to use for it. Something about this world that will help you along your path, and help you with the results you so desire. You know it will not guarantee a victory, but surely it will help. Especially as your numbers dwindle from world to world. You are left with an impression from the Advocate -- if you die, they cannot bring you back. There is apology in this, but alone, one oracle is limited. Only united, can they truly change your fate.
The lingering presence of the advocate starts to fade. You know this is a bearer’s world, if not your own. You look around, to see perhaps a familiar face nearby? Or perhaps you are alone. Does it matter? You know that this place belongs to a bearer, but whether they are a friend or an enemy, one has to begin to determine that. You’ll need your wits, you’ll need your strength and resolve to make it to the end of this, won’t you?
After all, as bearers were recently reminded: this is War. This is not simply the fate of this world, but perhaps all, as it will require you to find the answer to this question. So you start to move, you start to look around, explore, and search. For the soul of each world, for the bearers that lie dreaming within, and your foes that will seek you out. Stay steadfast, for the way out will come, if you make it to the end. The longer you spend in each world, however, the more the shadows look darker, and deeper. Hungrier. The more the spaces seem smaller or compressed. As if there is something gnawing away at the sides, making their way to the heart.
You feel an inexorable, slight tug in your chest. Something subtle and gentle, the slightest of sensations, that gives you a direction. You know it, your mind only just now comprehending the advocate’s confusing impressions via communion, that there is something of this world’s… Soul/center/heart or whatever word you want to use for it. Something about this world that will help you along your path, and help you with the results you so desire. You know it will not guarantee a victory, but surely it will help. Especially as your numbers dwindle from world to world. You are left with an impression from the Advocate -- if you die, they cannot bring you back. There is apology in this, but alone, one oracle is limited. Only united, can they truly change your fate.
The lingering presence of the advocate starts to fade. You know this is a bearer’s world, if not your own. You look around, to see perhaps a familiar face nearby? Or perhaps you are alone. Does it matter? You know that this place belongs to a bearer, but whether they are a friend or an enemy, one has to begin to determine that. You’ll need your wits, you’ll need your strength and resolve to make it to the end of this, won’t you?
After all, as bearers were recently reminded: this is War. This is not simply the fate of this world, but perhaps all, as it will require you to find the answer to this question. So you start to move, you start to look around, explore, and search. For the soul of each world, for the bearers that lie dreaming within, and your foes that will seek you out. Stay steadfast, for the way out will come, if you make it to the end. The longer you spend in each world, however, the more the shadows look darker, and deeper. Hungrier. The more the spaces seem smaller or compressed. As if there is something gnawing away at the sides, making their way to the heart.
Around the world in 60 seconds 12 hours
When you find yourself at the end, when you close your eyes – only a blink, but it hangs, as if the momentary motion is enough to suspend you into a suspended space before. You can see the two options stretched out before you – metaphysically – the impression of it. A long, long shadow cast over one. As if there is a presence hovering over and above, like waiting jaws, ready to strike. In the other, there remains…nothing. It is not pleasant, it is not comforting, it simply… is. A sense that there is now a lack of anything, almost like it had never existed before.
Does this world have value? You can feel the Advocate ask. Do you want to give them a chance to live? Or does should this world cease, is there nothing here to save?
And though you are compelled, required to answer, you know this question for what it is. Short-sighted. Both, in the end, will lead to its destruction, but which will you choose? Will you allow the world to continue, even with that long shadow cast, like a hungry beast with snapping jaws; or will you erase it from existence and spare it that oncoming apocalypse?
Does this world have value? You can feel the Advocate ask. Do you want to give them a chance to live? Or does should this world cease, is there nothing here to save?
And though you are compelled, required to answer, you know this question for what it is. Short-sighted. Both, in the end, will lead to its destruction, but which will you choose? Will you allow the world to continue, even with that long shadow cast, like a hungry beast with snapping jaws; or will you erase it from existence and spare it that oncoming apocalypse?
Catch [???] Winks
The last world’s fate decided, bearers float in an endless sea of stars. You can see them all, spread before you. Intermittently, they wink out, swallowed into the darkness, consumed as the shadows, that inky-black nothingness grows ever-larger. It looks upon you, bearers. It is nothing, but you have its attention, and your blood runs cold, your limbs frozen. You cannot move, you cannot speak, you cannot breathe. You feel it, the power of being drawn into it, like it wants to consume you. Like it knows you.
T̸̢̼̯͓̬̘́̀̋̆͊h̷͔̣̱̝͍̬̣͕̄̂͗̆͒͌͜ͅẹ̶̱̩̅͒̿̇͠ ̵̭̹͇͖̔̀ṃ̸̢̧͙̟̼̜͌͆̍͝͝ͅo̴̟̞̓̆̇̐̆͊̽͆̂̀r̶͈̺̮̠͙̗͌ę̸̤̻̈́͐͂̓̊͐̂͆ ̵̡̛͎̩̳̤͔͚̱̼̆̒̓y̴̺̞̹̺̝̤͂ǫ̷̡̣̱̥͊̈́̓͑̕͘ű̵̼͜͜ ̶̨̨̝̟̘̱͇̲̻̪̊͂̽̈̒͊f̴̱̐͌̌̓̋̔́̀͝i̶͖̤͎̬̝̦͒̂g̸̳̰̟̀̓̽̈́̐h̸̼͍̮͎̊̅͗͊̈͋̽̀͘t̴͔͚́̓,̷̨̧̱̠̙̠̙̱̒̍̽̾ ̷̖̰̼̬̟͐̊̂t̶̖̄͂̅̃̍͐̊̑̅͜͝h̴̢̛͙̪̞̫̝̺̋̅̿͛̇̚͝͝ͅͅȩ̶͉̤͍̠́̈͑̏͋̚͘͝ ̸̢̨̧͚̖̤̪̬̪̀̉̐͗̂͆͑̚̕̚c̴̠̩̳͎̲̪͔̟̈́͂̉͑́l̶̡̲̻̣̘̏́ͅo̶̢̧͔͈̬̳̰͈̝̻͌̋̆̃͒͗̏͘ş̴̪̺̣̥̎̽̿͗̒́͛̕̚̚e̴̺͍̤͖͂̇͑͂̋͂̆̾r̴̨̩̈́͋͠ ̷̧͚̲̩̖̋͒̉́͗y̶̘̖̝̑̈͊ǒ̵͚̽u̵͎͍̇̀̏̊̕͝ŕ̷͎̜̘͙̀̋ ̶͇̲̝̞̖̝̣̘̝̬͋d̷͔͈͔̀̿õ̴̝̯͇̹̘̏͗͜ö̵͚͓͆m̵͉̦̫̥̦̞̫͐̆͐̿͊͒͌͋͜.̷̼͈̻̥̜̾̏͐̾̐͆͘͜
You gasp, as you startle awake, and open your eyes for the first time in a long time.
T̸̢̼̯͓̬̘́̀̋̆͊h̷͔̣̱̝͍̬̣͕̄̂͗̆͒͌͜ͅẹ̶̱̩̅͒̿̇͠ ̵̭̹͇͖̔̀ṃ̸̢̧͙̟̼̜͌͆̍͝͝ͅo̴̟̞̓̆̇̐̆͊̽͆̂̀r̶͈̺̮̠͙̗͌ę̸̤̻̈́͐͂̓̊͐̂͆ ̵̡̛͎̩̳̤͔͚̱̼̆̒̓y̴̺̞̹̺̝̤͂ǫ̷̡̣̱̥͊̈́̓͑̕͘ű̵̼͜͜ ̶̨̨̝̟̘̱͇̲̻̪̊͂̽̈̒͊f̴̱̐͌̌̓̋̔́̀͝i̶͖̤͎̬̝̦͒̂g̸̳̰̟̀̓̽̈́̐h̸̼͍̮͎̊̅͗͊̈͋̽̀͘t̴͔͚́̓,̷̨̧̱̠̙̠̙̱̒̍̽̾ ̷̖̰̼̬̟͐̊̂t̶̖̄͂̅̃̍͐̊̑̅͜͝h̴̢̛͙̪̞̫̝̺̋̅̿͛̇̚͝͝ͅͅȩ̶͉̤͍̠́̈͑̏͋̚͘͝ ̸̢̨̧͚̖̤̪̬̪̀̉̐͗̂͆͑̚̕̚c̴̠̩̳͎̲̪͔̟̈́͂̉͑́l̶̡̲̻̣̘̏́ͅo̶̢̧͔͈̬̳̰͈̝̻͌̋̆̃͒͗̏͘ş̴̪̺̣̥̎̽̿͗̒́͛̕̚̚e̴̺͍̤͖͂̇͑͂̋͂̆̾r̴̨̩̈́͋͠ ̷̧͚̲̩̖̋͒̉́͗y̶̘̖̝̑̈͊ǒ̵͚̽u̵͎͍̇̀̏̊̕͝ŕ̷͎̜̘͙̀̋ ̶͇̲̝̞̖̝̣̘̝̬͋d̷͔͈͔̀̿õ̴̝̯͇̹̘̏͗͜ö̵͚͓͆m̵͉̦̫̥̦̞̫͐̆͐̿͊͒͌͋͜.̷̼͈̻̥̜̾̏͐̾̐͆͘͜
You gasp, as you startle awake, and open your eyes for the first time in a long time.
no subject
Asking the guards to keep an eye out cannot hurt either. (She cannot imagine it- her stable master on his hands and knees looking for something... and yet he was their King, here-)
She bows slightly to the guards on her way out, before the doors close. But once they do, and they are "alone" again on the way to what she assumes is the guest chambers he had mentioned...]
Fancier than I even imagined.
[The answer is that same quiet murmur, half-distracted by something she foes not feel she can or should put a name to. He speaks of the audiences, hours of them, and though to a warrior like her such a thing sounds tedious and beyond her... She knows it isn't beyond him. She has seen him absorbed for hours in his books, in puzzling over a problem, turning it around and around in his head... he must. He must be a good king. He must listen in that throne intently, applying himself to bettering the lives of his people...
Her fingers brush over the copper bracelet again before her hands fall back to her sides. As they walk, she almost reaches for his hand... but something stops her, and she tells herself it is simply because they needed to focus on the shards, not get distracted with confused whispers or guards being confused as to who their king was consorting with. A lump forms in her throat, but she swallows it down.]
- I am sure they will improve all the more once you return.
[Someone as stubborn as him, as determined as him, with such lofty ambitions for the betterment of others, like the "outsiders" they had both once been... When (if) Meridian allowed them to return to their worlds...]
With luck, our disappearances will not have been missed.
[If time had continued on without them... Perhaps he could reclaim the throne. She... cannot let herself think of what that would mean for her, the village wiped from the earth and her chance for redemption with it. She will not think of it.
- She will take his hand, when they turn down a hallway that seems unguarded.]
no subject
[He has people who can take over for him should he disappear or die, but Hayame? She had the village depending on her. If she can't go back, then and there when she left...
He doesn't want to think of it, either. He laces their hands together, lifts her hand to press a gentle kiss to her knuckles; an easier thing to do given their difference in height. Were they here for any period of time, he might have been more honest with the guards rather than treating this, once again, as a secret, but in the interests of time, they don't have that luxury.
The hallway leading to the guest rooms looks out onto a courtyard with a fountain, giving a more quiet and serene feeling separate from the rest of the palace.]
You can use the guest quarters here. [He lets go of her hand, indicates one of the doors.] One of the servants will help you get changed and give you advice on what to wear in the heat, but there's enough selection you should be able to pick out something you like, too.
[Receiving guests from Fódlan soon made it apparent that having clothes available for foreign guests was a wise idea, if only because the dry heat could be too much for them in their own garb. If Hayame is from a similar climate, he reasons she'd likely benefit from such advice, too.]
I'll do a little more searching in the other guest rooms while you get ready, so how about we meet at the fountain when you're done?
no subject
The brush of Claude's (Khalid's) lips over her knuckles was equal to what others would consider far more intimate gestures. Enough, as she follows along beside him, that a touch of blush ruddies her cheeks despite the seriousness of what needed doing in the twelve hours they had in this world. She doesn't... She does not feel poorly that he has not introduced her as his lover. Even without the Oracle's trial, the possibility than none of this was real at all, there were more important things they needed to do...
And this place... wouldn't be like Kenos, where she had a title and respect. Here, she was... just some foreign woman. It would cause unnecessary confusion or perhaps even undesirable reactions that might prevent them from exploring as freely.
It makes perfect sense. She just accepts it. (Even if she thinks he might not agree or do the same.)]
At the fountain, then.
[Her devotion to their mission consoled by his offer to keep searching while she changed, Hayame gives a little nod and takes the door he gestured to with a last, longing? look, her fingers unlaced from his and toying with her bracelet as she disappears into one of the guest rooms. A few minutes later, a little bell chimes to call for assistance, and a female attendant comes bustling by. Later, as he searches, he will see that same attendant scurrying past again with various pieces of clothing.
And by the time he finishes his search of the guest quarters, maybe even thinking he will have kept her waiting... Perhaps Hayame is being uncharacteristically picky about her garb? She doesn't seem to be anywhere in sight in the courtyard they had agreed to rendezvous in. The only person present is... Hmm? Perhaps another servant, or a guest of this world's King Khalid that he was not aware of. There is not much to notice from the back beyond the fact that she has dark hair beneath the half-sheer wrap of one of the many layers of light robes, and that she seems to be rather short and idly playing with some of the tassels on her sash.
But perhaps she saw where Hayame went?
... As he gets closer, there is a flash of newly-familiar copper on the woman's wrist.]
no subject
When he returns to the fountain and finds a small woman there, he wonders if Hayame sent her ahead to leave a message. That doesn't seem like her, though, and this definitely isn't the attendant he saw pass by earlier, so he approaches from behind to ask:]
Hey, excuse me, have you seen Hayame? She was using the first guest room on the right...
[The question falters when he notices the bracelet on the woman's wrist, identical to the one he'd just taken a good look at when he had kissed Hayame's hand not long ago. Had she stolen it when Hayame wasn't looking? Or perhaps... He hesitates, wanting to get a look at her face first.]
no subject
- What was she going to say again? Her fingers play with the tassels on the sash that is somewhat similar to the ones she has seen him wear before... and oh. That's right. Her hearing was so dull in this shape... it's him, he's behind her, and he will see the woman he addresses stiffen up, not responding at first...
Before she turns and reveals that her face is familiar. Even the blush is familiar, the way she purses her lips to try to look serious or unbothered is the same, the eyepatch is familiar, and despite the fact that surely there is no reason that the half ton centaur he had fallen in love with should or could be a barely five foot tall human woman dressed in Almyran garb...
She apparently is.
And, just a beat too late, sounding, in all honesty, kind of awkward and a probably a little lame... She looks up at him and says,]
... Are you surprised?
no subject
Not so here. She seems tiny all of a sudden, despite being nothing out of the ordinary for a human. Is this how she must have felt, when he had the lower half of a stag for a time...?
Oh, but she was (he guesses) trying to be witty, so now he has to stop gawping and come up with something in return to play along.]
You're, uh... really blending in.
[Nailed it.]
no subject
But he's just staring, and she's staring, up at him, like with their height difference she's never had to unless she were laying down, and then he just...
Hayame's brow furrows almost comically, lips pursing even more fitfully. A serious response, so she had to answer seriously--]
It will be better, won't it? This way we will attract less attention while we search...
[Right? It had seemed to make sense, it is what she told herself was the reason... But a deeper part of her knew there was another. Knew that... that this might be the only chance she would ever have to see his world, even as an illusion conjured up by an Oracle. And if she only had this one, then she wanted to... (She wanted to try on his people's clothes, and hold his hand, and fly on his wyvern with him, and see the steppe grass turn to a silver tapestry beneath the moon like he'd described to her that autumn night, and-)
... She stands up, wobbles just slightly, the nerves throwing her off her practice just a bit, pretending to brush imaginary dust off her lap and sending the layers and tassels on her clothing rippling as she mutters,]
... I did expect you to be a little more...
[... Excited? No, certainly not, it was an Oracle trial, so she definitely wasn't thinking about something as foolish as that, just- !]
no subject
A little more what? Sounds to me like you are trying to attract attention.
[Attention from him, at least, which he rewards her with by picking her up by the waist, not unlike how she had once done to him, twirling her once with a laugh and setting her to stand on the edge of the fountain. (Mercifully, he holds onto her waist so she won't run a risk of falling in the water.)]
I think you look adorable. And look -- now you can feel tall again!
no subject
Except he just grabs her waist. The moment of confusion when she feels him start to lift turns to panicked fluster, concerned that he was about to hurt himself straining to lift her, she weighed half a ton— !
… Except she doesn’t, and the sun-dappled courtyard becomes a whirl of colors, or maybe that’s her clothing, and though she had stiffened up in consternation, gripping at his arms, it all comes back in a sudden set upon the fountain rim… and yes, it seems to have been a good idea to hold on to her waist, because she decidedly puts her weight too far back, used to having a heavier, longer lower body, and still defaulting to those motions when in new situations. Like being twirled.
She definitely would have ended up in the fountain.]
Adorable is not-
[Just because she is shorter than him now? She was a perfectly average height for a human woman (of her world and time)! But she bites her lip, face red, looking down at his face. … The looking down felt familiar, but.]
Cetina gave it to me so that I could be of more use to Meridian… The goal is to be more… I could step into Kowloon, now, or Highstorm, and we could… I could be more… compatible…
[Is that the right word? It doesn’t feel right, none of them do. … It isn’t as if she is dissatisfied with how they fit together naturally, she doesn’t want him to think that she is after she has assured him that she wanted him as he was, after they’d proven to each other their willingness to do what needed to be done to overcome certain differences… and it begins to show on her face that she might regret trying to phrase it at all, that feeling of wanting to do things with him that she could not in her natural form, even at the risk and nagging fear that it might awaken some new insecurity. Her fingers dig in to his arms, tight, to make sure he wouldn’t let go. And not for balance.]
Y- you can spin me again, if you like. I am ready this time…
[If he wanted to… ignore that, he could just. Just spin her, and pretend she hadn’t said anything at all. Maybe that was best, she was messing it up—]
no subject
He picks her up again, but doesn't twirl her, hooking his arms under her legs to bring their faces close.]
You were already perfect as you are, you know. Changing for a mission is one thing, but don't ever feel like you have to do it for me.
[Unless she wanted to, of course, but listing it in the same breath as her mission objectives makes it sound an awful lot like another obligation.]
no subject
She grips his arms at first, instinctively afraid she was going to crush him until she remembers again that... she is barely eight or nine stones heavy now, and he is holding her up so easily that it's strange, it's so weird, but-
Her hands clasp his face, her own expression muddled with insecurity. But not in him. In her, and her ability to express herself, to use words even though she always felt her skills lacking. But even if its hard... She's been honest with him before. She can be honest now.]
I didn't feel like I had to do it for you.
[... Simple. Clear. (It was clear, right? As clear as how much she wanted to kiss him because they were so close and she had a bad habit now of using kisses to stall or distract him when she felt like she didn't know what to say.)]
But I... if I had to get used to this weird body so that I would be convincing during missions...
[Sorry, humans. Weird... because it wasn't her natural body, and there weren't enough organs, and her senses felt all dull, not... because humans were weird- !]
Then I want... I want to do human things with you, too. Things we can't normally do.
[She only has one eye that she is willing to let anyone see (or let anyone else be seen by), but that one... is soft with a desire not to hurt. To be understood, despite her fumbles. To make this strange thing into something that instead... could be made good if they did it together.]
no subject
All right. When we're done here-- [He stops, thinks to correct himself.] When we win the Oracle, we can do anything you want. Weird or not, I think you'll like it.
[If only they had all the time in the world to enjoy the palace together. But perhaps, someday... For now he sets her back down on her feet, brushes aside a few strands of her hair to presses a kiss to her forehead, a much easier task now that she's smaller than him.]
And I'm sorry for doubting you. I know you always make your own choices, so I shouldn't forget that.
no subject
Well, like she still very confused by having to look up at him, but.]
... We have half a day in these... whatever these are.
[Whether they were just visions, hallucinations, madness... they seemed real enough. They felt real, and smelled real, and looked real...]
So if we find the shards quickly...
[They would have the rest of the time for... for anything they wanted to do. He could show her everything he loved about Almyra, the desert, the people, the food... and her face heats just a bit more as his lips press to her forehead. (Why always--) But she nods, when he apologizes. Now that she could make her own choices... Even if it was hard, and even if it sometimes left her in knots, unused to doing anything but serving...
She had chosen this. Just like she chooses to tentatively wrap her arms around his neck from that unfamiliar position, physically discombobulated by how she needs to lean up to do it.]
... I told you I would fly on Naira with you, didn't I? If I ever had two legs.
[And sure, when she'd said that... It was the equivalent of a human saying "when pigs fly", she had never actually thought it would come to pass, but... It had, and she was a woman of her word. One who chooses then to tug with embarrassed insistence so that he would lean down far enough for her to kiss him.]
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Of course, she's only off the hook temporarily, and once they part comes the inevitable teasing.]
--And here I was hoping to surprise you by suggesting it later, but I guess you've been thinking about it this whole time. Naira will be happy to hear it.
[Or confused as to why Hayame is suddenly a different shape, but as long as she gets treats and attention out of it, she won't mind the new passenger, he suspects.]
Then I guess we should get moving, right? We have a lot of ground to cover.
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But his kiss feels the same. Warm. Familiar. A little playful, in how she just knows that he is going to tease her because she can feel the corners of his mouth curling upwards against hers. Even though she wants to believe that the last trial being broadcast was the work of the Harbinger Oracle's nature and not something that would repeat itself, that surely she could expect privacy and did not need to worry for being seen... even if it wasn't...
So be it. She kisses him anyway. And just as predictably... she blushes deeper when he speaks, (she wasn't thinking about it the whole time!!!), muttering her paltry reply of,]
Just because I remember the promises I make...
[But he's right. They have a lot of ground to cover. There are other wings of the palace, so many rooms, following the vague sense of growing warmer and warmer as they seek out the shard of his world to keep it safe from harm throughout the trial. Along the way, Hayame admits that Yuri and Liem had helped her practice things as she demonstrates her acquired skill in walking. She grumbles about how soft and weak the bottoms of human feet are. He mentions his family, and she... she thinks of how she will attempt to excuse herself after the necessary bows and names. (She doesn't... she doesn't know to meet someone's parents, how to be a woman introduced to parents, even false visions of them.) It's good they have the shard to focus on--
And then they find it. It's safe, there is relief-
Oh. Except now... now she has to fulfill that promise about flying. Which is how they end up in a stable full of mounts, both wyverns and...]
- What are those things, anyway?
[The weird... lanky horses with sheep faces and hunchbacks?]
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So he takes her to the palace stables, where there are wyverns, horses (bearded and long-eared, much like their Fódlan counterparts, albeit with finer coats), and... yes, the even weirder, hunched horses. He walks over to one munching hay, and as he reaches to pat it on the neck, it swings its head to look at them both and lets out a grunt of acknowledgement.]
This is a camel. Pretty cute, right?
[He's already sure Hayame doesn't think so, but he gestures for her to come over and say hello anyway -- weird as it looks, like the wyverns, it's fully domesticated.]
If you need a pack animal for a long journey through the desert, these guys are your best friend.
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But it does spare them from the potential scandal of King Khalid's new something? punching a prince in the face. So. There's that. (But she is... sad. For him. That he could not see his parents, or the general who he seemed to respect so much.)
Within the stables, the horses ("horses") she recognized from Byleth's world brought to temporary life in that strange domed building, but these... "Camels"...]
I do not know about... "cute"...
[She sidles up to the creature with the same general distaste that seems to be her general reaction to most horse-like animals, the result of a life being compared to horses and desperate to separate herself both mentally and physically distant from beasts. Pack animals sounds useful, sure, they were required... but she hesitates halfway to reaching out to touch the thing. What if they bite? Also, what's with-]
Are you bewitched by it because it has thick lashes?
[- Seriously, why were they so thick and full, like those women who wore makeup on their eyes???]
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[He laughs out loud, and looks at the camel, who dips its head to mouth at Hayame's hand curiously, mistaking her hesitation for a treat offering. He'd always taken how they look for granted, but now that she points it out...]
You have a point that they're long, actually. I guess it's good for keeping sand out -- that stuff's a nightmare if you get it in your eyes.
[She might have experienced that herself firsthand at the beach, come to think of it, though even then that's a far cry from the difficulties of being struck by a sandstorm.]
1/2
And so... Hayame smiles. Just a tiny bit, a little twitch upwards in the corner of her lips that came with a single "hmm" in an upward tone that was... the first sound of a potential laugh.]
You are the one who called them cute when they look like the spawn of a goat and a...
[A... crap, this isn't going to work, medieval Japan has so few large mammals.]
Something.
[Amused by her own joke, she lets out another muffled little half-laugh, reaching to finally force herself to try and touch the thing-]
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Except she doesn't.
Which means she is rather unprepared for a camel to suddenly spit in her face.]
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Whoa there! [He speaks to the camel, patting its neck to try to placate it.] Sorry she spooked you, but that's not how we treat a guest.
[So he says, but he's trying his best not to look at Hayame and laugh. Maybe he should have warned her about that part...]
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Gods, what did camels eat for this to smell this foul- ?!]
Khalid…
[It’s barely discernible, because she does not want to risk opening her mouth! Or her eyes! This is not happening… it’s definitely not happening…]
Which… of these garments can I use as a rag… ?
[She doesn’t want to use some sort of special sacred scarf to wipe spit but also please get it off???]