#❝ ＡＸＥ ＯＦ ＱＵＥＵＥＫＯＮＶＡＳＡＲＡ．❞ 【ｑｕｅｕｅ．】

[thyrosus]

barks & birthdays.

continued from: here! 🌹 @atypicalsenerio.

LORENZ ARRIVES EARLY, as any good host should, and nothing is ever done in half-measures when under his control. The tablecloth selected is a warm cream, befitting of the summer flowers, and the smell of gardenias that follow in the air. He’d chosen a tea set that Soren might find himself amenable to: nothing so ostentatious as to give him something to complain about, but elegant enough to speak to Lorenz’s aesthetic sensibilities. Misty mountains, pine trees climbing up the sides. The rim is etched in a fine line of forest green; the tea cups and saucers match the landscape, tiny outlines of birds interspersed throughout.

Matching the set: a variety of sweets, and a small army of Lorenz’s own collection of teas, so that they may brew according to Soren’s own taste.

(He would have preferred the consideration of having it prepared, but knowing that it is an ordeal in itself to even get Soren to agree to tea. Some measure of control conceded may well put him at ease, and make their day more pleasant.

Hmph. Lorenz must think like a strategist to get one to agree to even the simplest meeting.)

But, either way: when Soren arrives, roses in tow, Lorenz is prepared.

—When Soren arrives, puppy following behind, and then suddenly underfoot, canine snuffling heard from underneath his carefully-crafted table, he is most certainly not.

“Ah. I did hear through the grapevine you’d suddenly found yourself a companion. Julian is quite a regal name.” Lorenz’s teeth might be the tiniest bit grit. But still, his smile remains in place, rising from his seat to take the flowers in kind.

“A happy birthday to you as well, Soren! My gratitude is immeasurable for your time. It is a strange turn of events that we share the same day of birth, but I believe it may well be fortuitous, to bring our attention to one another. All in good time, of course, but—”

(—Is the dog chewing on his leg underneath the table?)

“Ahem, please. Have a seat. I hope you do not mind if we steep the tea while we talk, but as my guest, I only found it fitting to let you choose our selection. Do you prefer something a little more earthy? A hint of fruit?”

#❝ＢＡＲＫＳ ＆ ＢＩＲＴＨＤＡＹＳ．❞ 【ｓｏｒｅｎ．】 #atypicalsenerio #[ lorenz may not be thrilled for puppy time but I AM ] #❝ ＡＸＥ ＯＦ ＱＵＥＵＥＫＯＮＶＡＳＡＲＡ．❞ 【ｑｕｅｕｅ．】

[thyrosus]

mage to mage communication.

TO HIS GREAT EMBARRASSMENT, Lorenz had put little thought in the decision: his prowess in magic afforded him a great deal of leniancy, and to prove his mastery and earn the high marks he craves, he’d all but selected a spell at random from a pool he’d yet to master, chosen the one that was so far out of his usual range of elemental mastery but whose equations still felt familiar enough that he was not walking blindly without a map. Luna, said the chapter heading; mastered, said the mark he’d earned for it.

He had not touched it since, not to cast in the heat of battle, and not even once to practice since it had been added to repertoire. Neglected for stronger spells and other whims that caught his eye.

Lorenz could consider it accidental, just like the choice of spell. He’s had his hands full, after all, and it stands to reason mastery of Thyrsus comes before all else. But, as following that path has taken—detours, it stands to reason progress could be made elsewhere in the interim, while he’s left chasing rabbit holes of ancestry and the whims of cryptic peers. And so, his attention turns back to other places where his knowledge is lacking.

He cannot truly say he’s mastered it without proper use, but proper use requires swallowing the trepidation he feels. It hadn’t sunk in during the impulse to learn it, but dark magic remains the study of few for reasons—

—Well, reasons that, upon reflection, he can’t quite put to words, other than learning from mentors throughout his life that it is a very fickle, very volatile thing, not usually for the faint of heart to try.

Idly, as Lorenz tucks away old journals of bygone Gloucester ancestors and sets Thyrsus back to rights in its lacquered box of a home—another hour of focusing on Thyrsus’s steep learning curve—he wonders how solid that grasp on the reasons why truly is.

Lorenz elects to linger after his own training is done, journals and Thyrsus tucked neatly in a bag, and elects to lean, just a little, for a time underneath the shade of one of the columns that make the large border of the training grounds, to watch others in their work as he sits with his thoughts.

It pays, sometimes, to lay in wait and observe: as he fusses with pulling the scarf around his neck tighter for the afternoon chill, he observes one man, absorbed in his own training, and a spell that has not crossed Lorenz’s vision before. Advanced, he’d venture a guess, as its caster does not give off any appearance of being an amateur.

Lorenz finds himself enraptured. He watches, for a time, current frustrations melting from his expression as pure curiosity finds a spark within his gaze.

It isn’t long before he is out of the shadow of columns, bag slung over his shoulder and crossing the training grounds. He elects to approach from the side, waiting patiently for a moment where concentration will not be so swiftly broken.

“Pardon my intrusion!”

Jovial as can be, Lorenz offers a smile and a courteous bow of his head before pressing ever-onward, adjusting the straps of his back and straightening himself, first in his eagerness and second for his manners. “But I believe myself to be in possession of a keen eye for recognizing spells, even from a distance, but I’ve yet to see that one cast before, be it in training or in practical application. May I ask what it is you’re practicing?”

↳ @windsheedme. 🌹

#❝ＭＡＧＥ ＴＯ ＭＡＧＥ ＣＯＭＭＵＮＩＣＡＴＩＯＮ．❞ 【ｍｅｒｒｉｃ．】 #windsheedme #[ woe! lorenz be upon ye! ] #[ LMK if you need anything changed! ] #[ I glanced at Merric's spells to see which dark magic spells he had and :eyes: don't think either of them have thwacked Lorenz yet :3 ] #❝ ＡＸＥ ＯＦ ＱＵＥＵＥＫＯＮＶＡＳＡＲＡ．❞ 【ｑｕｅｕｅ．】

[thyrosus]

the misters clean.

The Ethereal Party was a smashing success! That said, perhaps it was a bit too smashing… the reception hall and parts of the surrounding campus are looking worse for wear with how littered the ground is with broken decorations, spilled punch, and trampled cat-ear headbands. When only a few students stepped forward to volunteer their help, the administration decided to up their game and hand-pick a few “struggling” students to help out with the cleaning, hoping that the good deed will help them see the inherent value in performing good deeds. Whether those students take the lesson to heart, or even need the lesson at all, is another story…

THE ETHEREAL BALL LIVES UP TO ITS ACCLAIM, as it does every year; while Lorenz once again finds himself without a winner’s crown to his name, the memories of the event stay fonder in his heart, twin smiles etched near-permanently into his features—despite the occasional mishap and the twice he’d found himself swept off his feet neither of was expected or welcome, mind Lorenz would consider the evening a rousing success.

The Great Hall might well agree, if walls could talk. And floors, and the various messes left in the wake of excited students in their reverie. Every footstep leaves his foot coming away—sticky, for lack of a better word. Of course, he’s seen many a part go above and beyond in its celebration, leaving its grounds worse for wear.

Right now, the reception hall looks akin to a battlefield in candlelight.

“Something should be done, yes,” Lorenz is agreeing, in the midst of a straggling amount of students that feel some correct lingering guilt for the sad state of affairs. He has never been one to leave a party early, but once the crowds had thinned, such a mess could not be left at attention.

He’d only been… agreeing, however, not volunteering his duties, but it only took the span of a blink for Lorenz to find himself in possession of a broom, half-heartedly trying to shake off the broken remains of one of those… terribly tacky pieces of eyewear he’d allowed himself to be subjected to.

He was raised to standards, after all. Lorenz does not leave a mess in his wake, and yet, despite preening with confidence this had nothing to do with him, finds himself cleaning the mess of others.

The broken 1180 falls out of its bristles and to the floor, and Lorenz whirls around and, for his trouble, nearly misses someone with its handle.

“Ah—Leonardo! A much later good evening to you, although one found in less… exciting circumstances.” Lorenz straightens, grateful at least for recognition as he offers a smile much more tempered with growing frustration. “My apologies for the near-collision—I’m afraid my footwork with a broom as a partner nowhere near matches that of a dance.”

And then, tone a little flat, exasperated with the circumstance: “You’ve been roped into this, too, I see.”

↳ @freedomarrow. 🌹

#❝ＴＨＥ ＭＩＳＴＥＲＳ ＣＬＥＡＮ．❞ 【ｌｅｏｎａｒｄｏ．】 #freedomarrow #[ here you go!! :D ] #❝ ＡＸＥ ＯＦ ＱＵＥＵＥＫＯＮＶＡＳＡＲＡ．��� 【ｑｕｅｕｅ．】

[thyrosus]

marigold :   is your muse prone to jealousy ?how might they handle envious feelings ?

                                      BOTANICAL ASKS / NOT ACCEPTING. 🌹

ON THE SURFACE: no. One aspect of Lorenz I think is genuinely one of my favorite parts of his character is that his confidence isn't an act. He truly believes himself to be the pinnacle of nobility, and a paragon of everything he proclaims to stand for. There's an earnestness to his proclamations that borders on humorous, and an instinct to cringe at the lack of self-awareness he sometimes shows to the way he's perceived, especially by characters that aren't nobility.

But that earnestness means that he rarely covets the talents or possessions of others. If anything, others should feel jealous of him, for they have not been born as the heir to House Gloucester!

BELOW THE SURFACE: Lorenz is only human. While I do think that his rare streak of self-assurance shields him from a lot of jealous thoughts, I don't think he's immune. There are two places in particular where I think jealousy is most likely to take root:

Leadership skills. I don't think it's controversial to say Lorenz's heavy hand, rigid beliefs, and lack of self-awareness means that his leadership skills need work. He's young, and even if he can navigate social situations with ease, he doesn't yet have the life experience and skills of self-reflection to inspire a lot of confidence in others that aren't predisposed to liking him. I do think there's a certain jealous streak to some of his dialogue with Claude, even if I don't think he'd ever admit it, least of all to himself, without a bit of growth. As it pertains to The Officers Academy, I think this is especially pronounced, as working alongside monarchs and war heroes from all corners of the globe means that he has a perfect mirror to see exactly where he lacks. It's become a sore spot, even, in his near-two years here. I think he's getting better! But he's not there yet.

Romantic relationships. This is one that's definitely more of a TOA-exclusive pain point for him, albeit one I really haven't had the chance to explore. It also takes a bit of a different form than I think would suggest from his general attempts at wooing the ladies. I do think, given proper chance to observe couples that have years of history behind them, it would strike a nerve. Lorenz's conception of relationships is both shallow and not. He desires an equal, and clearly wants to put in the work to search for them, but the disconnect between his own failed attempts at flattery (that absolutely baffle him when they backfire; again, that lack of self-awareness comes back to bite him!) and the ever-present need to continue his family legacy gnaws at him. TOA has given him... a lot more present and pressing concerns, so that aspect of his character has largely been put on hold, but it's definitely present, and something I'd like to explore more. I think he craves the intimacy of a long-term relationship more than most, having that unshakeable trust in each other, and that desire sometimes conflicts with what he sees as the more pragmatic and responsible reasons for having a relationship. As of right now, this is an undeveloped sort of thought I've had in the back of my mind, but I do think it could bloom into a pain point, given time!

#❝ＨＭＭ， Ｉ ＤＯＮ＇Ｔ ＲＥＣＡＬＬ ＭＩＳＰＬＡＣＩＮＧ ＡＮＹＴＨＩＮＧ．❞ 【ｉｎｂｏｘ．】 #lionheartedsunflower #❝ＴＨＩＳ ＷＩＬＬ ＳＥＣＵＲＥ ＭＹ ＰＬＡＣＥ ＩＮ ＨＩＳＴＯＲＹ．❞ 【ｈｅａｄｃａｎｏｎｓ．】 #[ AND HOPEFULLY I EXPLAINED THIS WELL ENOUGH ] #[ tldr I don't think Lorenz has the. self-awareness to know when he's jealous and it's not at all frequent but It's There ] #[ he craves genuine respect and is lacking emotional intimacy and he doesn't quite understand how to get to either ] #❝ ＡＸＥ ＯＦ ＱＵＥＵＥＫＯＮＶＡＳＡＲＡ．❞ 【ｑｕｅｕｅ．】

[thyrosus]

winging it.

LORENZ STANDS WITH CROSSED ARMS at the threshold of the wyverns’ keep far longer than he cares to admit, solemn in his thoughts and not as ironclad in his resolve as he’d believed himself to be that morning. While his peers delighted in the yearly wyvern migrations, marveling as the autumn sun was blotted out by wings and piercing wails, Lorenz saw a warning, airborne and reminding him that he preferred existence with his feet firmly planted on the ground.

He’s a lover of riding at heart, with an immense respect for his steeds—every rider will be thrown from his horse, and though he’d become enamored with them faster than most, the ground still stings in the mind’s eye. He cannot imagine the blow to his body and spirit that would come from falling from heights any greater than horseback. Heights themselves aren’t the problem, it’s the threat of being plucked from the sky—

—and, fine, were his feet put to the flame, there is perhaps a lingering fear left over from childhood, the type that left him at a loss to see what excited his peers. A horse bite will break the skin; a wyvern might well take his arm with them.

He is grown, now, and in short order will hold the mantle of Count. He’s made a silent vow to himself that seeks to strive for betterment. That means exercising a healthy amount of caution, of skepticism, but of laying such fears to rest in his adulthood.

What matters is that he crosses the threshold, head held high. It’s not as though he’s been a stranger—he’s still assisted with cleaning duties, as per the Officers Academy’s regulations (no matter his grievances) and he has chased down Claude here more than once.

This time, however, he’s here of his own accord.

Lips are drawn thin as one wyvern takes a curiosity to their domain’s new visitor, long neck peeking over its own little nook, most likely hungry.

Lorenz falsely believes no one is around to see him take a generous step back, before a wyvern’s maw is in his face—and to hear the yelp that involuntarily escapes his lips.

He doesn’t stumble backwards, mind. He has some grace.

Readjusting himself, reconsidering his approach, however—he realizes he is far from alone. Another man lingers, with no face or name that Lorenz can place, but he looks far from torn of his own element.

…And likely watched his display not a minute since steeling himself.

“Ah, good afternoon.” Lorenz seeks to clear the air, standing up straighter, not yet approaching the man but flashing a smile that is thin on humor but polite nonetheless. “I do not suppose you’d know where the stablemaster is? They have eluded me so far today.”

↳ @madnessbefallen. 🌹

#❝ＷＩＮＧＩＮＧ ＩＴ．❞ 【ｒａｊａｉｏｎ．】 #madnessbefallen #[ I AM SO SORRY FOR THE DELAY IN THIS STARTER ORZ ] #[ but here it is now!! I'm excited to see where this goes :3c ] #[ lmk if you need anything changed! ] #❝ ＡＸＥ ＯＦ ＱＵＥＵＥＫＯＮＶＡＳＡＲＡ．❞ 【ｑｕｅｕｅ．】

[thyrosus]

While her handmade work alone is nothing to be ashamed of, there's a certain satisfaction to be had in the extra weight of the box sitting on top. It's a flat thing, filled (of course) with a brand new assortment of tea treats, sectioned and labeled that Lorenz might know the name of any he particularly takes a liking to -- this in addition to the next box on top of that, the all-important tea leaves themselves.

Beneath all of it, though, is a handsome purple scarf, its shade slightly darker than that which Lorenz so often sports, both ends of it decorated with embroidery of roses and four leaf clovers, bright little things that popped against their subtle backdrop.

"Happy birthday, Lorenz!" Maria beams from ear to ear as she hands her precarious stack of gifts to him, all before her brows upturn almost sheepishly. "I know it's not really the right time for a scarf, but you never know where you might have to go, right?" If not for the snowy season, then... well, they never knew where the church would send them next. "It's super soft, but that doesn't mean it's less toasty! Hee hee."

LORENZ KNOWS MARIA BY FOOTSTEP before her smile reaches his eyes, but when it does, the grin takes the whole of his attention, mirrored back with one of his own. The box passes between hands gingerly, handled with the utmost care to mirror the efforts of his friend.

Every layer brings about a new surprise: the first a new array of treats for the day, underneath the tea to pair with them. Lorenz, of course, takes his time with the assortment, regarding nearly every one with excitement—the gift comes from someone cherished, no doubt hand-selected, and he does well to echo that sentiment in his own attentiveness. Lorenz’s chest swells, too, as eager a recipient as Maria likely is a gift-giver.

“As usual, your thoughtfulness is enough to give even those of a stoic heart pause, overwhelmed by affection!” It may sound like hyperbole, but from Lorenz’s tongue, it is blindingly sincere.

At the end he reaches the scarf, fingers tracing over the delicate embroidery before doing the honors of wrapping it around his neck. Never mind the heat of summer, felt immediately around his collar—he is too busy regarding the softness (as promised! as echoed in his affirmations and nodding head) and rising from his seat, giving Maria a half-turn with his new apparel proudly on display.

“I believe it suits me perfectly!” Lorenz’s hands reach out to Maria’s, lightly grasping both between his own, a steadying gesture that precedes a genuine laugh. “Your generosity never ceases to make the day. If only all had a friend half as wonderful as you, dear Maria!”

#❝ＨＭＭ， Ｉ ＤＯＮ＇Ｔ ＲＥＣＡＬＬ ＭＩＳＰＬＡＣＩＮＧ ＡＮＹＴＨＩＮＧ．❞ 【ｉｎｂｏｘ．】 #princessmacedon #[ HHHHHH THEY MAKE ME SO :') ] #❝ ＡＸＥ ＯＦ ＱＵＥＵＥＫＯＮＶＡＳＡＲＡ．❞ 【ｑｕｅｕｅ．】

[thyrosus]

Nearly a year has passed, and the unlucky cat has taken care not to cross his path in all that time. Nevertheless, upon learning that they even shared a birthday, it seemed the least she could do to leave him a wish.

It's a modest thing, subdued enough to be in danger of being crushed under heel should the Gloucester heir exit his room with an abundance of gusto: a plain card with a message written in tidy, simple script, and a humble ladybug pin attached to the corner.

Happy birthday. May the years to come treat you well.

HE DOES ALMOST MISS IT, tucked unassumingly at his desk, almost going unnoticed in the sprawl of his own class belongings, but a twinkle catches Lorenz's eye. In the middle of his own haste, he pauses, slides the missive over so that he may read it.

Between his fingers, the ladybug rests, bigger than its living counterpart, but only by so much.

Their communication has always been like this: brief, respectful, circling well-wishes and more polite conversation. This may well be all Katarina desires, and Lorenz has at least learned enough to respect boundaries where they've been drawn. Briefly, however, attaching the ladybug to his lapel, tracing its delicate make, if there's more than meets the eye beyond.

(Later, there is a note slid underneath her door, folded carefully as always: Thank you for your generosity. I hope our shared day has treated you kindly.

And, a cue taken from another friend: a careful sketch of a ladybug resting on a rose. Far from proficient, but Lorenz hopes the effort is worth the lack of technical skill.)

#❝ＨＭＭ， Ｉ ＤＯＮ＇Ｔ ＲＥＣＡＬＬ ＭＩＳＰＬＡＣＩＮＧ ＡＮＹＴＨＩＮＧ．❞ 【ｉｎｂｏｘ．】 #ephemeralove #[ KAT ;O; ] #❝ ＡＸＥ ＯＦ ＱＵＥＵＥＫＯＮＶＡＳＡＲＡ．❞ 【ｑｕｅｕｅ．】

[thyrosus]

【０２．　ＯＮ　ＴＨＥ　ＭＡＴＴＥＲ　ＯＦ　Ａ　ＮＯＢＬＥ　ＳＴＥＥＤ．】

PRESENTING; a short list of facts about Lorenz’s dearest steed, whose presence in Garreg Mach is a welcome comfort few are privy to the true depths of.

NAME:  begonia. AGE:  four years. BREED:  “adrestian quarter horse.” (appearance and stature based off the lusitano breed.)

a gelding of impeccable breeding, and a gift lorenz received upon his arrival back in gloucester after the rather... unfortunate departure from the fhirdiad school of sorcery due to unrest in western faerghus.

while he responds well to lorenz as a rider, he is known to be rather unconcerned with most others, and their comings and goings. while he will allow others to ride him, it will not be without some resistance, despite the tempering of temperament associated with gelding a stallion.

a wonderful sprinter, and enjoys being out in the open, although by lorenz’s own admittance, took some time acclimating to the mountains of garreg mach.

mane and tail are well-maintained; lorenz takes great pride in the appearance of begonia, believing it directly reflects back on him.

owner of a variety of blankets, decorations, ribbons, and the like. you could say he’s rather spoiled...

plays nice enough with other horses, but notably somewhat miffed around wyverns and pegasi.

*artwork drawn by me, but heavily referenced from several sources, notably here for pose.

#❝ＴＨＩＳ ＷＩＬＬ ＳＥＣＵＲＥ ＭＹ ＰＬＡＣＥ ＩＮ ＨＩＳＴＯＲＹ．❞ 【ｈｅａｄｃａｎｏｎｓ．】 #[ tfw you use references and still fuck up the hooves ] #[ it's f in e ] #❝ ＡＸＥ ＯＦ ＱＵＥＵＥＫＯＮＶＡＳＡＲＡ．❞ 【ｑｕｅｕｅ．】

[thyrosus]

lockstep.

NOTHING WORTH DOING WILL BE DONE IN HALF-MEASURES.

There is familiarity in the motions that keeps his thoughts from swimming. Once the dining hall has cleared, the lull between midday meals and supper fully settled, no one had questioned the silent strides to make use of the kitchen. The polished porcelain, the water bubbling, the smell of the tea leaves, tucked away in their pouches from his rather large collection—all familiar, all worth his attention so there is no time for dread to sink in.

Today’s menu: Almyran pine, something to keep wandering minds sharp and focused for what they must sift through. One of his favorite tea sets, dark trellises of leaves in cool greens, gold at the edges of rims for embellishment, blood-red roses at the handle of each teacup and sparsely dotting the pot, so as to draw attention but never overwhelm—all pieces polished to shine.

A special, softer kind of tea cookies, more vanilla and sweet whipped sugar than the usual, hardier fare, selected as soon as he’d made himself presentable enough to stroll through Garreg Mach proper. Biscuits, apricot jam.

Answers, hopefully, to follow with the correct mood set. Lorenz elects not to dwell on another outcome, for the first this might encourage a slipping of nerves. He focuses on the feeling of the warm teapot against his palms, setting everything just so.

—There is one other thing to set to rights. Lorenz had hidden it away the moment he’d awoken, body aching, fist clenched painfully around the cold metal. A lock.

(The lock is not part of the table setting. It is left on his tidy bed, shoved into an empty envelope that it bulges from, partially tearing the fine cream paper.)

He does not know its origins. There is a chance Ferdinand might. Lorenz has not yet decided if an answer will set anything to rights, but. More knowledge cannot hurt more than he’s already ached. It will only arm him—

—It will only arm them. There is no need to charge into the abyss alone. Lorenz carries that reminder while fretting over the finishing touches, pacing around his table until a knock jolts his head to attention.

“Ferdinand,” Lorenz begins, only making it halfway through his friend’s name before the man in question has let himself in without a second thought. Please, remember some etiquette, is the flash across his mind, and while they are a far cry from normalcy, the wry smile the thought brings comes to his lips anyway.

“I extend my sincerest apologies to Dorian for stealing you away from his moment of glory,” he starts, for levity, “and my deepest gratitude for your presence at teatime. Please, have a seat.”

↳ @exemplaris.

#❝ＬＯＣＫＳＴＥＰ．❞ 【ｆｅｒｄｉｎａｎｄ．】 #[ two horse boys sit down for tea; what happens next may surprise you ] #❝ ＡＸＥ ＯＦ ＱＵＥＵＥＫＯＮＶＡＳＡＲＡ．❞ 【ｑｕｅｕｅ．】

[thyrosus]

midnight society.

SUPERVISION COMES NATURALLY TO A NOBLE SON—and, furthermore, Lorenz likes the challenge it presents. He always has, the feeling of executing something flawlessly leaving him beaming for hours after the fact. In normal circumstances, anything but a supervisory role would truly be beneath him.

However, there are times where concessions must be made. Lorenz would not consider himself a storyteller by trade; he’d never fancy himself a street performer, even in jest. There are things to gain from the charade, however, and in the spirit of such an unusual celebration, he can put **some** pride aside in the short term for—well, peace of mind, and at least further proof he is not so incorrigible as his cohort of the night believes him and those of his status to be.

“—I still do not see why I must play the role of a phantom, at least to start.” But, of course, Lorenz is not without complaint. He and Mitama stand at the back of a small tent, tucked between fairy floss vendors and tents promising prizes for great displays of accuracy and strength, all equally as enticing to the youth of Garreg Mach. Yes, the chance is great they’d overlook the tent of theirs, pillows laid out in a circle, and a large candelabra sat in the middle of them in lieu of a proper campfire, mage-fire burning bright. With limited time, they’d done their best to decorate for the moment: false cobwebs made of old stuffing spread all across the interior and exterior. More candles yet remain unlit, strewn across the inside of their tent.

While it may be the most eye-catching to the children of the township, eventually, they will tire—else, inquisitive minds and brave souls would be lured into the abode of their makeshift club’s first Candlelight Revue.

And so they stand, ushering in those prepared to listen to a tale most frightful. And so Lorenz stands, a mask pinched between two fingers and a frown on his lips. “At least to start. Narratively speaking, it makes no sense—the point of view of the original story is of an unnamed narrator, dutifully recounting the facts, peering into the hearts of the characters.

“—And it is rather a shame to have so much of my face covered. Would you have me tell a story with only half of my expression, Mitama?”

↳ @verseandrhyme.

#❝ＭＩＤＮＩＧＨＴ ＳＯＣＩＥＴＹ．❞ 【ｍｉｔａｍａ．】 #toaphantasmagoria2021 #verseandrhyme #[ let's see how long they last before starting a fight in front of the kids LET'S GO ] #❝ ＡＸＥ ＯＦ ＱＵＥＵＥＫＯＮＶＡＳＡＲＡ．❞ 【ｑｕｅｕｅ．】

[thyrosus]

if wishes were horses.

🌹The Havers of Rideable, Sizeable Equestrians (also known as HORSE) have posted fliers around campus advertising a competition: whoever can dress up their horse (or other mount of their choosing) in the prettiest, most dashing accessories will win a grand prize—unknown for now. You don’t actually have to own a mount to enter, as you can “borrow” one from the stables. Find some flowers and get to braiding that mane and see if you have what it takes to win! [Grants Riding +1]

THERE IS A FLYER TACKED TO THE BOARD at the entrance to the dining hall; another two posted over instructor bulletins from the previous year. They are unassuming, save for the unique doodles that have lovingly found themselves scribbled onto the margins. Crude approximations of noble steeds and spritely foals crowd the announcement: a contest, of sorts.

Lorenz has to read the text thrice over before the words form any sort of meaning.

The contest is a victim of terrible timing, at best; bereft of tact, even, should he choose to think that poorly of his peers. There are a slew of other choice descriptors Lorenz can conjure in his mind, tearing one of the fliers off the bulletin to grimace at it as he leans his weight against the wall. A shame, too, as there is a fleeting ember of excitement stirred within him when the words click. Shallow as it is, he knows, under such circumstances.

He folds the flier in his breast pocket, neat and tidy, corner-to-corner, and lets his feet carry him as they do.

The motions of the day see to themselves: assigned a portion of gardening duty, something he once balked at the very idea of but now provides a nice distraction as he methodically waters the plots of flowers in the greenhouse, showing the first blooms of the spring. The flier remains in his breast pocket, and then, until the fated Sunday morning when the event is to transpire, seated in the back of his mind.

He has stable duty that very morning, a fated chance as any. The fact of the matter is:  Begonia, on his best behavior (for the most part) for the stablehands, has been without Lorenz’s undivided attention for far too long. The fact of the matter is: the snort and shifting of weight as Begonia barely lifts his head from drinking at first sunlight is the most genuine of greetings he can recall.

Much like the greenhouse, the careful plait he works to craft Begonia’s mane into is a welcome distraction, threaded with silver ribbons, head bowed in concentration before a voice startles him out of such rapt attention.

Truth be told, something twists unkindly at the sound. Lorenz makes sure his smile is taut in turn.

“Ah, Ferdinand—I suppose the greatest of minds think alike!” Watching, of course, through the slits between the stalls, means handiwork is somewhat obfuscated. For the best, in the interest of competition. Hands pause for a moment to rest at Begonia’s shoulders with a fond pat, an unspoken thank you for his patience. “At least, if I were to venture a guess. I could not resist the promise of light competition. I must earn back my winning acclaim somewhere, after all, and I cannot think of a stallion more deserving of pampering for the occasion!”

↳ @exemplaris.🌹

#❝ＩＦ ＷＩＳＨＥＳ ＷＥＲＥ ＨＯＲＳＥＳ．❞ 【Ｆｅｒｄｉｎａｎｄ．】 #riding +1 #exemplaris #[ horse boy time! horse boy time! ] #❝ ＡＸＥ ＯＦ ＱＵＥＵＥＫＯＮＶＡＳＡＲＡ．❞ 【ｑｕｅｕｅ．】

[thyrosus]

[ Arrow ] - A blank white sign in the shape of an arrow pointing to your left. You can write all sorts of things on it, from “Best Girlfriend Ever” to “I’m With Stupid”.

"Lorenz, I thought I might never find you," Elincia teases gently. Of course he's been busy mingling tonight. She would expect nothing less from him. "I'd like to steal you away for a photo though, if you don't mind?"

Before entering the artifex machine, Elincia pauses at the prop table. She picks up an arrow, writing carefully on it with her best handwriting. 'Golden Deer's Most Charming'

"Alright, I'm ready!"

“AH, DEAREST ELINCIA!” No pause this time to tumble over titles, and attention caught, there is no hesitation to take Elincia aside and follow her towards the photo-artifex. “And as dashing as always, may I add—you cannot be stealing me away from anything, for you have my full attention any time you wish!”

An arrow selected, and Lorenz takes one in turn, this time restraining his hand to only taking up most of the arrow, instead of the entire thing in a flourish of curls and loops. He does not need to pause for consideration, knowing exactly what to write without so much as needing to blink:

HONORED LADY & CHERISHED FRIEND.

(And again, while this time it does not take up nearly so much space, it remains a little cramped, but without a care. The words are big enough for all the world to see.)

“You are truly in possession of a most discerning eye!” Lorenz adds with a laugh, reading Elincia’s words with his grin growing wider. If he stands up taller in the aftermath, well. It is to be expected with such a correct assertion.

So he stands proudly, chest swelling with pride as he takes his spot next to Elincia, their bond immortalized for all time—yes, he believes he’s getting used to the photo-artifex. Early trepidation is no more, showing its kinder uses instead.

#❝ＨＭＭ， Ｉ ＤＯＮ＇Ｔ ＲＥＣＡＬＬ ＭＩＳＰＬＡＣＩＮＧ ＡＮＹＴＨＩＮＧ．❞ 【ｉｎｂｏｘ．】 #amitieos #toaball2022 #[ LINCIE : D ] #[ shhhhh don't tell him that though the praise is going right to his head KFSAJKDFJKSD ] #❝ ＡＸＥ ＯＦ ＱＵＥＵＥＫＯＮＶＡＳＡＲＡ．❞ 【ｑｕｅｕｅ．】

[thyrosus]

gallant.—cavalier mastery drabble.

FOR EVERY YARN OF GALLANTRY and birdsong of the heroics of knights of a foregone era, there is an oft-unsung stalwart companion.

A tireless steed, no less elegant than the swordplay of a hero, mane untamed or perfectly bound in intricate ribbons—it depends on the level of theatrics, Lorenz would discern later, upon closer readings, but such details escaped him as a child, captivated by the simplicity of the image itself. A knight upon a horse, the horse’s legs reared and head wild, a weapon pointed to the heavens and striking awe and fear with equal measure, every emotion cutting straight to the eye of the beholder.

Lorenz has never aspired to knighthood, of any kind. His path was set long before his birth, and he has never once considered what it might be like to stray. If he did stray—damning centuries of his ancestors in the process—it certainly wouldn’t be to knighthood.

(He can admire them, of course.

Who wouldn’t?

Strapping ideal of a gentleman; Lorenz can admire from afar and choose to emulate their core values, amplify them beyond, as he must with all things.)

But he aspired, as a child, to ride like them, to sit astride his own companion and be recognized for his glory.

Lessons started young, and as with most things, Lorenz felt as though he took to riding as naturally as breathing. The smells of stables took getting used to, and sensitive as his nose is, he’d learned the hard way he’d never be truly blind of it—but it was hardly a deterrent. 

Neither was the first time he was thrown. Or the third. Never injured beyond repair, mind, but it smarted enough to ground Lorenz to his own minuscule sense of humility. Colloquially, you can break a horse; that was never his goal, at least not after learning with bruised ribs and broken arms.

He sought an equal. A companion. He’s never wished to rule with an iron fist, not in his future endeavors, and not with fists curled into reins.

Stories are embellished, and Lorenz fancies himself a realist. (There is nothing quite so real as a face in the dirt.) But everyone must have their follies. A nobleman must have a noble steed. A noble steed may well not respond to a rider that cannot respect them in turn.

It became a point of pride, then, that he’d go through the ritualistic process of tacking up his horse without the aids of one of the many stablehands under House Gloucester’s employ. Every buckle secured, tight but not constricting; every coat brushed to perfection and hooves cleaned meticulously. Never rushed, so that both rider and steed may relish in the attention.

Begonia was a gift—no, a living apology for time cut short on his own endeavors. Fhirdiad’s chill was still in his bones, and there was still a bitterness in the back of his throat at the platitudes of his father, but he’d known best, and they were tempered. A velvet nose against his palm, a coat that called back to the night sky. Intelligent eyes, despite the shine of youth.

A noble companion, even some three years later.

Neither have any illusions of knighthood; by now, all illusions of Lorenz’s perfection have likely been shattered by Begonia’s judgment. The same ritualistic care still bookends their solo rides together. In Beltanne, an ocean of green flooded their gaze on the gentle slopes of Gloucester county’s hills.

At Garreg Mach, they see the break of clouds, jagged peaks that brush the heavens themselves. Atop Begonia, Lorenz feels as though he sits on the lone still point of a world that turns without them.

This is the last ride of theirs before winter sets in. It’s come early. The cold air still burns the both of their lungs raw. Both horse and rider are bundled to the best of their ability, dead earth underneath hooves. Soon, the world will be awash in flurries of snow, and the distant ache for spring will needle them both until they feel warmth in the air again.

On the peaks, were Begonia to rear, Lorenz’s years would kick in, and his body would move with his steed, heels in the stirrups and compensating for the shift in weight.

They may look gallant. They may simply look like fools, close to slipping from the edge of the world entirely.

“Dreadful,” Lorenz muses of the weather, and the thought, and only Begonia is around to hear him.

The pageantry of knighthood from stories of old has lost a lot of its luster.

The companion remains.

Begonia agrees, he thinks, with a puff of hot air expelled from his nostrils. Lorenz’s breath as he laughs leaves the same cloud in its wake, and they continue on down their path, no gallop of passion but a steady, meandering trot.

It is not noble, but it suits them both just fine.

#❝ＭＹ ＥＦＦＯＲＴＳ ＨＡＶＥ ＢＯＲＮＥ ＦＲＵＩＴ．❞ 【ｍａｓｔｅｒｙ．】 #❝Ａ ＮＯＢＬＥ＇Ｓ ＬＩＦＥ ＩＳ ＦＵＬＬ ＯＦ ＲＩＧＩＤ ＥＸＰＥＣＴＡＴＩＯＮ．❞ 【ｄｒａｂｂｌｅｓ．】 #mastery drabble #[ Lorenz horse boy hours real ] #[ mad nostalgic for my own horse girl crimes :') ] #❝ ＡＸＥ ＯＦ ＱＵＥＵＥＫＯＮＶＡＳＡＲＡ．❞ 【ｑｕｅｕｅ．】

[thyrosus]

❰❰ ARGUE ❱❱

“NO, NO—YOU ARE APPROACHING THIS INCORRECTLY.”

See, splayed before them on the classroom table: a map, to scale and more detailed than some of the acreage of one of Bergliez’s numerous sprawling fields, specifically what will in a scant few weeks become their battleground, colors raised for the purposes of mock war games. (And, more importantly, a matter of home pride.)

The wooden figurines inhabiting this map stand shoulder to wooden shoulder. One, carved into the crude approximation of a horse and its rider mid-rear, is swiftly plucked from its position in the crowd. The blue paint is somewhat chipped. It is an old set found in the corner of the classroom, handled by generations of students bickering over the same old map. Claude stands opposite Lorenz, lording over as the general of an army of golden soldiers showing their age.

Lorenz had conceded that, at least, without too much grumbling.

(More opportunities to shine while running interference as enemies—more chances to prove his strategy superior.)

“The Eagles have traditionally sought to maintain hold over the ballista. It is an advantageous position, yes, but the cost to stride straight towards it—and then maintain that advantage? What if the battlefield is compromised in an early morning fog? Bergliez offers barely any cover, and the hills to the west of the structure will only shield it one direction. It is a liability, furthermore, we are surrounded. Therefore—”

In the midst of their important council, the background noise fades away until it forces itself into sharp focus: a chase, one student claiming the notes of the other, both of them wrestling in and out of each other’s grip and colliding into the table.

All three armies—gold, blue, and the stalwart red army yet to take its turn—clatter across the map of Bergliez, some even scattering off the rest of the drawn world and onto the floor.

Before Lorenz has time for reprimanding, they are well out of earshot, taking the pursuit to the sunlight outside.

Lorenz’s eyes close for a silent few seconds, and then open again. There is, at least, a mutual concession of a draw.

He begins the arduous process of resetting the armies as they were, plucking the fallen soldiers from the graves of cold stone underneath their feet.

“Ahem! As I was saying…”

#❝ＨＭＭ， Ｉ ＤＯＮ＇Ｔ ＲＥＣＡＬＬ ＭＩＳＰＬＡＣＩＮＧ ＡＮＹＴＨＩＮＧ．❞ 【ｉｎｂｏｘ．】 #boundlesshart #[ something light to argue about this time! just ominously gronder-flavored! :3c ] #❝ ＡＸＥ ＯＦ ＱＵＥＵＥＫＯＮＶＡＳＡＲＡ．❞ 【ｑｕｅｕｅ．】

[thyrosus]

I can fix him—& eldigan.

❝ＣＯＮＴＩＮＵＥＤ　ＦＲＯＭ：🌹 ❞  ; 【 @felemfidelem. 】

—NOT THAT HE had expected Eldigan to be an unconquerable challenge, but there is a certain delight in earnest interest and a light hand on his arm. Lorenz would consider the very notion exaggeration, were someone to point it out to him, but he is *beaming.*

“There is much to be proud of. House Gloucester has stood since time immemorial.” Smile morphs into something a little more measured but no less enthusiastic as the pair begin their stroll. (Were he honest, it is something of a *rarity* to have another prompt this conversation—truly a shame.) “As one of the premier noble houses of Fódlan, and one of the blessed few with a coveted seat at the Leicester Alliance’s roundtable, we pride ourselves on a shrewd, even hand in all matters of governance, and a dogged commitment to the continued security of our people.

“And, of course, an eye to finer pursuits. My father has always had something of an interest in cuisine and cultivation, and my mother for impeccable landscapes and vinification. They have made a formidable match, as I am sure you could guess! I myself have a longstanding interest in the reason arts, magic and the actual glyphic construction of spells—and I am an accomplished equestrian!”

(Which, to be most sure, is not quite pertinent to Eldigan’s initial interest, but… he is as much House Gloucester as its storied history.)

“And, while not an accomplishment of our own, in the traditional sense, we have always been blessed with the most beautiful landscapes in Fódlan, especially during the fairer months. Very little compares to Beltanne—the city of my birth—in full bloom at spring’s end.”

Head cants to the side, matching Eldigan’s curiosity with an echo: “And if you are still near our domain, perhaps you could find the time to see Gloucester’s countryside! Although I do not believe you have let on to what brought you to Her shores in the first place.”

#❝Ｉ ＣＡＮ ＦＩＸ ＨＩＭ．❞ 【ｅｌｄｉｇａｎ．】 #felemfidelem #[ gonna be cracking up at this thread name the entire ball tysm ] #[ ALSO I moved it to its own post just for ease of reblogging :3 ] #toaball2021 #❝ ＡＸＥ ＯＦ ＱＵＥＵＥＫＯＮＶＡＳＡＲＡ．❞ 【ｑｕｅｕｅ．】

[thyrosus]

muse survey: battle edition.

bold what consistently applies; italicize situational, not always.

fight honorably  /  fight dirty  /  prefer close-quarters  /  prefer range  /  chat during /  go silent  /  low pain tolerance  /   high pain tolerance  /  attack in bursts  /  attack steadily  /  go for the kill /  aim to disarm  /  fight defensively  /  strike first  /  provoked easily  /  provoke their opponent  / tease  / get visibly frustrated  / shout while attacking  /  use strategy  /  focus on their battle  /  experience conflicting thoughts during battle  /  rush in recklessly   /  try to read their opponent before fighting  /  fight wildly  /  fight calmly and, or apathetically / fight with anger  /  fight with excitement  /  fight because they have to  /   fight because they want to  /   fight without regard to wounds  /  run away when wounded  /  hide wounds  /  take a blow to protect another  /  prefer a blade  /  prefer a gun  /  prefer to use their ability  /  prefer a bow  /  prefer a shield  /  prefer a pole arm  /  prefer a personalized weapon  /  prefer magic or spells  /  prefer brawling   /  their greatest weakness is physical  /  their greatest weakness is mental  / their greatest weakness is emotional /  transform for battle  /  fight as they appear  /  rely on strength /  rely on speed  / use everything they have /  hide their full potential  /  exhaust quickly  /  high stamina  /  doubt their strength /  proceed with caution  / behave arrogantly  /  brag after landing a hit  /  belittle their abilities /  use psychological tactics  /  use brute strength  /  avoid civilians  /  strike down civilians  /  damage surroundings  /  avoid damaging surroundings  /  signature fighting style  / making it up as they go  / mastered skillset /  learning their skillset  /  fancy footwork  /  sloppy footwork  /  messy fighter  /  elegant fighter  /  accept defeat /  refuse defeat   /  beg for mercy*  /  compliment their opponent /  insult their opponent  /  use unnecessary movements  ( flips,  twirls )  /  move efficiently  /  barely move  / prefer to dodge  /  prefer to block  /  defend their blindside  /  has no blindside  /  use all available advantages  ( ex :  use a gun but also throw punches,  kick out while blades clash,  etc. )  / strictly use one main method  /  play around  /  hold back / fight ruthlessly  /  show mercy  /  wait for opponent to be ready  /  strike when opponent isn’t ready  /  fear death /  fear pain  /  fear killing  /  has PTSD  /  avoid fighting /  has lost a fight  /  has won a fight  /  has killed  /  refuses to kill  / want to die standing  /  would succumb slowly.

#❝ＴＨＩＳ ＷＩＬＬ ＳＥＣＵＲＥ ＭＹ ＰＬＡＣＥ ＩＮ ＨＩＳＴＯＲＹ．❞ 【ｈｅａｄｃａｎｏｎｓ．】 #[ I love that the game said Lorenz is a jack-of-all-trades unit bc that gives me some wiggle room to figure out his Style ] #[ *beg for mercy is a highly specific circumstance bc Lorenz I think would let himself be captured or otherwise cooperate to save civilians #see: silver snow and azure moon ] #[ he will die honorably when he dies if he dies on the battlefield but he is far more likely to compromise to live first ] #❝ ＡＸＥ ＯＦ ＱＵＥＵＥＫＯＮＶＡＳＡＲＡ．❞ 【ｑｕｅｕｅ．】