awashlogs | Event Twenty-Five.

Entry tags:

Event Twenty-Five.

I'd like to creep into the wood
And see the bonnets blue,
And hear the bluebells ringing loud,
I wish I could -- don't you?

t's another day, another month, and another time for people to show up in the well. You'd better go rescue them! Never mind the fact that you woke up with a flower in your hands.

It's probably fine. Don't mind it at all. It's not like it's hard to ignore a little flower.

(At least, not until the effects start to kick in. Better go rescue the people in the well before they do.)

Oh, right. Even the people in the well have flowers, so... things are going to be a little ridiculous very quickly, when all of those side effects kick in. Have fun!

Welcome to Awash's Twenty-fifth event log, everyone! Further information on this event can be found here at the OOC post. You are welcome to make your own logs and posts for this event!

If there are any questions, please ask them here. Thank you!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ His eyes wander at the mention of war, unease seeping into his heart. ]

Cutting them down yields negative effects . . . do they not?

Losing emotions, right?

[ ...For whatever reason, the threat of apathy doesn't seem to bother her too much. ] But they return later.

[ A soft hm escapes her. ] Still far more peaceful, if you ask me.

[ Wrought with worry, he frowns. It's different from his usual scowls with a touch of consternation, rather than that of haughty pride. ]

But what of after the trees have overrun the town? Those emotions may never return, and we'll be nothing more than mere shells . . .

[ Bruh... Is what she would like to say, although with the emotions return eventually. But it's at this point that she hears the concern in his voice, and turning to look at him actually causes her some pause.

Has she ever seen that sort of expression on him? ] ...Hey.

You alright?

[ F u 2, Bruh.

He hears, but he doesn't listen. In fact, he doesn't even look at her. It feels like she's gone far away and left him alone to mutter to himself. ]

Perhaps that would be for the best. An heir presumptive has no right to anything. Everything must be earned; that was what my mother said. But nothing will ever be enough . . .

[ Well, that doesn't seem like Berkut at all. ]

...Hey.

[ Her voice is firmer, as if trying to call his attention back to her. She stands, brushing her hair over her shoulder. ] You don't look so good...

[ He snaps his head up before shying away, cowed into explaining himself by the firmness in her voice. So he mumbles the rest. ]

They said it was my duty to rule, yet I'm unable to overcome a band of peasants. The Emperor gave me one last chance. I failed him. I can now only beg my uncle for mercy I don't deserve. Pyra was right.

[ All this time, he's been denying the simple fact that he's weak. ]

[ ....Oh.

All this time-- and it's been months, literally months-- and it seems that her words have still stayed with him.

The question is: does she take this opportunity to reassure and console him herself? Does she tell him to go away, even when he's starting to look more and more like a wreck? ]

I said... hey.

[ And now she's in front of him, a hand reaching to his shoulder, firm, again, to try to break him out of whatever thoughts that plague him, to get him to look at her. ]

You, me.

[ Then, a smile. ]

Let's go fight a naga.

[ Third option: distraction. But also: if Pyra had called him weak, maybe literally beating the shit out of a monster will help provide him some proof that he's not. ]

[ Unfortunately for Mythra, Berkut cringes beneath her hand. ]

I already did.

[ Was it such a bad experience? The flower has likely colored his memory. What's certain is that he feels inadequate, and there's a nagging suspicion that perhaps he won't be so lucky the second time.

Besides, he's not equipped. Self-conscious of drawing attention, he'd shed his armor before leaving his assigned house. Only, clad in just his royal garments, he now feels exposed without something durable between him and the rest of the town. ]

[ --Good. Good. He's no longer muttering about his mother or Pyra or failing to lead his knights against an army of peasants. ] Yeah? I bet you kicked its ass.

[ He doesn't appear injured at all to her, but yes, seeing him without his armor is different for him. ]

[ She's talking to him like he's a child. How can she be so sure of that? She's only saying that to silence him. At the same time, she isn't wrong, nor has he ever felt so small. He bites his lower lip in frustration. ]

What does that matter? Anything I do here is pointless. Once I return to the Empire, it'll be to my failures as a noble and a—

[ Berkut cuts himself off as he sucks in a sharp breath. Even so, he sounds strangled when he continues. ]

How am I to face her like this?

[ ....Alright, she sees what's going on here. But she also doesn't know the solution to the whole flower problem herself. She decides to fuck it, she's giving away who she is, but. ]

That's right. [ She lets go of his shoulder, her hand returning to her hip. ] Our deeds here don't go back with us to our worlds. You're not proving anything to anyone here..... but yourself. [ She'd probably slap him to try to get him to get him out of this funk, if she knew it weren't flower-induced.... and that she is behaving more ~maturely~ right now. ] And hearing this from you? [ Her voices softens. ] Sounds like you need to start believing in yourself a whole lot more... whether you win or lose. If you win, it proves your strength, great. If you lose-- no, how you take that loss... proves your honor, nobility, and virtue.

This person that you wish to face again... won't they accept you, just for who you are? Wouldn't they want, above all else, for you to believe in yourself?

[ You are safe. That's all I need to be—

In his frantic state, he fails to notice the clues that might point Mythra to someone he already knows. ]

She may be better off without me.

[ Just saying that knocks the wind out of him. Oh, Rinea. He can't imagine life without her, but she can surely have one without him in it. She deserves none of the disappointment he brings to their doorstep. ]

What can a distant kin of the Emperor—one who was born without the Brand—hope to accomplish? I promised her the Empire, but Rigel seems further beyond my grasp now than ever before. Her household has already seen disgrace once; it would be most sinful of me to add another. I cannot lose . . .

[ Yet he has, and too many times to count by now. ]

[ She's not sure what Brand he's talking about, but she assumes it must mean some marking that makes for his birthright. And this, along with everything else he's said before, makes her wonder if this is just the work of the flower, or if his insecurities here have always been there and she had been none the wiser.

But it's like he's talking to himself, whatever she's saying going in one ear and out the other like plain water through a metal sieve, completely useless. ]

Are you listening to yourself.

[ What can a distant kin of the Emperor—one who was born without the Brand—hope to accomplish? ]

...Sounds to me that, for all you have accomplished-- maybe a Brand doesn't matter. Or that you're related to the Emperor. It seems that your merits come from a strength inherent to-- you, and only you.

[ What has he accomplished? All the victories he's secured thus far have been rendered meaningless by his recent string of losses. He hears himself, more clearly than ever. If this is the limit of his woeful potential, what's the point?

Berkut turns away. Instead of bothering this woman with his shortcomings, he should go. But the words keep on coming. Even if those things don't matter, he cares. ]

A strength inherent to me? I wish to be a son to my uncle . . . What strength I have now isn't enough for him to even glance my way. Even borrowing power from another wasn't enough. So what good is my strength?

[ If she hadn't grabbed that flower to make her a little bit more mature and on the calmer side, she would have been done with this conversation. As it stands, Pyra cares, which means she cares, and they both do not like him speaking so negatively to himself this way. They understand that feeling of uselessness.

At the same time, Mythra feels like throwing something at him. ] Because--

[ Turning away from her? That's fine, she'll continue talking. ] That strength isn't for your uncle. It's to protect what's most important to you, the one most important to you, you-- [ Ah. She's found something to grab and throw at him.

Flowers. Which she picks up a handful and tosses them at him, an array of tulips and orange lilies. ]

You--... you idiot prince!

[ Change happening in 3, 2, 1... ]

[ He turns back around at the shout, just in time to bring his hands up and catch the flowers being thrown at him on pure instinct. The change is instantaneous. While his self-confidence remains crushed, Berkut lifts his head and gazes upon Mythra like he's seeing her for the first time. He gasps. ]

The one . . . most important to me?

Yes, the one most---

Im-- [ Is that a stutter? That sure is a stutter. Her hands clutch the remaining flowers in her palm tightly. ] Im...important... to you.

[ She swallows, suddenly feeling her cheeks warm. Like everything's warm. And not only that, but when she looks at him-- the world seems somehow brighter? More beautiful?

What is going on. ]

[ She looks away again, more quickly this time, feeling like the energy within her is suddenly becoming lighter and fluffier and about to take off. Her cheeks begin to color, her eyes flick back to him, once, twice, and then away once more. ]

[ She dares to look back at him, and her breath almost leaves her.

.....How did she never notice it before? How-- how deeply blue his eyes are, like sapphires, how smooth the skin of his cheek is, just tempting her to want to reach out to touch it-- his jaw, his lips, his shoulders, his hair--

How strong he is, in personality, even. How determined he is, how for every question she had asked him as Pyra before, he had given a clear, concise, and effective and level-headed response. How much of a leader he is, how his presence commands others, how one can't help but be drawn towards him.

She can't help but be drawn towards him, and apparently she hadn't known it until now. ] B--..Berkut.... you.....

[ But she doesn't know what to say. She's breathless, she's caught up in the moment, in his gaze, and wishing she could be in his arms. ]

[ What is going on.

Berkut, meanwhile, never takes his eyes off of Mythra. The awestruck look on his face remains even as the surprise of hearing his name comes and goes. ]

How do you know my name?

[ The question is breathy; his voice, faint. This woman, who listened patiently to his ravings and even offered comfort more than once, leaves him breathless. The confidence with which she carries herself, as well as the depth in her eyes that promise the truth—does anyone more beautiful walk the grounds of Chroma?

He has no right to lay his eyes on her. She is strong, while he is weak. But in the face of such strength, how can he look away? ]

[ ...She realizes her mistake too late, his name past her lips like a whisper that had only been meant to be known to her own heart. Except it's out in the open, out for the world to hear, and all she wants to do is say his name again-- and again, over and over, so that even if she ever does leave this place, she will still be able to remember it.

His eyes are upon her, and it only makes matters worse. She's crestfallen, distressed, knowing that she can't lie to him, that she must tell him the truth of who she is.

And once he knows that... then she will have to leave. ] Because....my otherself, is...

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done

i'm going to print this and put it on my wall of flawless tags

i can't fucking even also 1/2