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!
[ 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. ]
[ 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. ]
[ 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?
[ 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. ]
i'm going to print this and put it on my wall of flawless tags
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...
[ Light engulfs her body, and in an instant, he'll see the woman far more familiar to him, what was once gold, yellow, and harsh light, is now crimson, red, warm... and sorrowful. ] .... Me.
[ She says quietly, raising her eyes.
And then the words come tumbling out. ] L--Lord Berkut.... [ She starts, taking a step close, hand raised as if she might reach for him-- but she stops herself, she stops because she remembers those months ago, when he told her to begone. The memory serves as an arrow right to her chest, it robs her of her breath, it hurts. ]
Lord Berkut, I'm-- sorry. I-- should have told you. [ She should have told him months ago, she realizes. She should have told him everything all that time ago. Why did she ever think to keep anything a secret from him? ] I'm sorry, I was wrong... I'm.... [ She chokes on her words, but she's still unable to will herself to leave. She wants to be by him-- she wants to be with him. ]
[ In retrospect, Mythra's armor resembled that of Pyra's. He should have known. All the same, how could he have predicted this?
His heart skips a beat. Rather than disappointment, he finds himself feeling no different from before. His heart skips another beat when Pyra retracts her hand; the urge to step forward and take it is overwhelming.
But of course. Who else would be so warm and kind, always inviting the company of others with a smile? Just like R— ]
[ Then there's a twinge. He realizes that Pyra has been withholding the truth from him since the day they met. Was he so untrustworthy? No, she must have known from the beginning that he was unworthy. Of course she wouldn't have said anything. In all the time they've known each other, he never earned the right to know the truth.
With flushed cheeks, Berkut mumbles through the shame. He exchanges the flowers in his possession from one hand to the other—fidgeting, for all intents and purposes. If he were a few years younger, he might have burst into tears by now. ]
No . . . You've nothing to be sorry for. The one who failed to earn your trust was me.
[ It's the way he fidgets, it's the slight flush to his cheeks, it's the way he looks at her-- then looks away-- it's his words, saying that he has failed in something yet again, that causes the tightness within her chest to increase. It's becoming unbearable.
And because it is unbearable, she's unable to help herself.
Pyra steps forward, lifting a hand to his cheek; she wants to comfort him, to have him look at her, to know that she is here. Likewise, that pained expression he wears, she wants it to never see it in his eyes again. She wants to protect him, she wants him to be happy. He speaks of trust-- isn't this a form of trust, this closeness? This touch? ] ....No. No, that's-- [ Well, okay, it's true. Of course she wouldn't have revealed Mythra to just anyone, but she also had been sealed back then. ]
The one who I trust most now is.... is you.
[ ...And now it's her turn to pause, to fidget. She swallows, her voice quiets, her blush deepens, she falters as she looks at him, his cheek against her palm. He's beautiful, she's never seen-- ]
[ The flowers go slack in his left hand as Berkut freezes. After everything, she would still place her trust in him? Did he not talk at length about how he's doomed to remain a failure? How can she stand to even look at him? He hesitates to lift his downcast eyes.
Meeting Pyra's gaze, he swallows.
More than anything, he wishes for her to be happy. He wants to see her smile. As soon as she makes her request, he nods rigidly once, then twice. ]
[ She had asked to walk with him without an idea of any destination in mind. That he asks causes her to pause and consider where they can venture safely. The forest? Out of the question. Around town? Mostly covered in trees. But there are some lovely areas around. Like walking along the banks of the canals of Bluo, their sides decorated with all the flowers from before. ] It really doesn't matter where, [ Enchanted by her own fantasy of having the opportunity to walk alongside someone who means so much to her, a small, soft smile manages to grace her lips. Maybe they will even hold hands! If he says yes. ] ...so long as we may walk together.
[ She's still blushing, and she knows it. It's terrible, it's awful, this is-- didn't she learn her lesson. She knows what this feeling is, she knows it quite well, knows its dangers, how painful it can be, this isn't something that is for her, this isn't something she deserves...
Her expression shifts, saddened, for one moment, before her smile returns.
But isn't it nice, isn't it nice. She could sing of how nice it is just to have her fingers at his cheek, his gaze upon hers, the idea in her head that he doesn't mind, wouldn't mind, walking with her. ] ...Along this canal would be lovely, or, ah... There is a garden [ That she had planted last month. ] next to my house, if you would like to see? [ She feels as if she's about to suggest just about anything and everything, if just one thing would garner his interest. ]
[ He watches her with visible concern. Fleeting though it may have been, he glimpsed what looked like sorrow on her face. She smiles now, but is she truly happy?
A garden . . . That's right. She loves gardens, too— ]
It would be my pleasure.
[ With a soft smile, devoid of the sharp edges he's been wearing for so long, Berkut reaches up to take her hand into his. Though his confidence remains in shambles, the love he feels for this woman allows him to take the first step along the canal with her hand still in his. He's been to Pyra's abode before, so he knows the way well enough. ]
[ When his hand takes hers without any prompting, without having her to ask, it's then that she feels as if the worry from before, the gripping chill that he might have refused, dissolves like ice in midsummer. Her entire body seems to become more relaxed, her smile becomes much less shy, and for some amount of time as they walk... she doesn't say anything at all, simply enjoying his company. Has she ever held hands while walking with someone? No. Because she had no one to walk with like this before.
She can hardly describe how happy she is-- how excited she is at such a simple gesture, and because of it she almost trips. She doesn't-- thankfully-- but the stumble does cause her to bump into him, her arm brushing more along his... and she doesn't make an effort to return to their previous distance. It occurs to her again that he really isn't wearing his platearmor. ]
I... ah. Earlier I found it odd that you're not wearing your armor, but didn't want to pry. [ She steals a glance at him from the corner of her eye, noting what she can of his vestments once more. With his armor, he looks as if he's about to head into battle. Without it, he looks... he looks.....
...She staring, oops. Quickly correcting her gaze to look forward, she clears her throat. ] Was it too warm to wear out today?
[ His snap heads toward Pyra when their arms brush. He quickly turns away at the mention of his armor, self-conscious of his appearance now that he knows she's looking. He fears that she'll only see his inadequacy the longer her gaze lingers on him.
After all, what can he give her? Especially here in Chroma, where his unremarkable standing means nothing. Nothing. ]
Chroma is warmer than the Empire, but that was not the reason. I . . . simply didn't wish to put them on today. They were too heavy.
[ He doesn't mean that in the literal sense. He's long grown accustomed to the considerable weight that armor carry. No, it's the responsibilities attached to them, knowing that he'll only be humiliating himself by pretending he can shoulder them. ]
[ She's none the wiser to his reasons for not wearing them, and while she does catch the hesitation in his answer, it doesn't make her question further. ]
Your wear your armor so... easily, as if it is your second skin. [ She comments, idly. ] I wouldn't have ever guessed it was heavy to you.
[ In any case, she decides that it's much easier to talk about him and speak anything of herself. ] But even without it... [ Is it so much as stealing glances at him now, when she does it so often? She likes looking at him, watching him, all of his expressions, the way his hair moves when he turns his head, the set of his jaw. ] You seem... different, but not in a bad way. [ He looks softer, more approachable, but she doubts he would be keen on those compliments.
.....And so she looks forward as they walk, stepping over a few flowers. She still wants to compliment him, and the first thing that comes to mind is: ] You still look quite handsome. [ Still, as if she had thought that of him before! ]
[ His breath catches at the compliment. Still? Does she really mean that? Berkut can't help but to smile a little. ]
. . . Not nearly as you are beautiful. Both of you.
[ He still doesn't understand what she meant by other self, but he understands enough to know they're one and the same. How can they not be? He wants to know more—to learn everything about Pyra, from the flowers she likes to the things she dislikes so that he might do something about them—but he must be patient. Nothing as he is and has now, he'll need to earn those answers.
Perhaps if it's for Pyra, he can do something. Succeed, for once, in her name. Wouldn't that be grand? ]
[ Beautiful. He's called her beautiful-- the both of them. ] We, ah...
[ All she has to say here is "thank you", just as she's always done when others have mentioned something similar to her. A thank you, and she'll move on. But when he say it, her world has completely stopped and all she can hear is that same word in his voice repeated to her over and over again. Beautiful, beautiful, she's not even sure what it means anymo-- ]
Oh, yes, he's smiled before-- in this very same conversation in fact-- but just then a soft breeze has picked up a few petals from around them, swirling them up into the air. She catches the scent of lilacs and bluebells, violets and roses. They dance and twirl behind him as he smiles at her, lyrical in their descent. ]
--Ah, Lord Berkut... [ She comments quietly, her footfalls slowed to a near stop. ] You're-- you're smiling. [ And for as long as he smiles, there's nothing in the entire world that could get her to look away. ]
[ Now she's at a complete stop, and her free hand is back to reaching up to him again. ] You're smiling. [ She repeats, this time her voice more breathless. She sounds-- excited, somehow. Hopeful? Very much pleased and happy.
She doesn't know what has made him smile, she's simply happy that he is able to. ] M-my apologies. [ A bubbly giggle escapes her, soft like champagne, and with the apology she withdraws her hand. ] I'm... glad, that I've gotten to see your smile not once, but twice today.
[ How do such simple things make her happy? She's not even sure herself. Maybe because his are so rare, or perhaps it's because she's so used to seeing him scowl. ]
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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.
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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.
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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?
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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... ]
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The one . . . most important to me?
1/?
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What is going on. ]
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done
.....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. ]
i'm going to print this and put it on my wall of flawless tags
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? ]
i can't fucking even also 1/2
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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[ She says quietly, raising her eyes.
And then the words come tumbling out. ] L--Lord Berkut.... [ She starts, taking a step close, hand raised as if she might reach for him-- but she stops herself, she stops because she remembers those months ago, when he told her to begone. The memory serves as an arrow right to her chest, it robs her of her breath, it hurts. ]
Lord Berkut, I'm-- sorry. I-- should have told you. [ She should have told him months ago, she realizes. She should have told him everything all that time ago. Why did she ever think to keep anything a secret from him? ] I'm sorry, I was wrong... I'm.... [ She chokes on her words, but she's still unable to will herself to leave. She wants to be by him-- she wants to be with him. ]
Please, I beg your forgiveness.
1/2
[ In retrospect, Mythra's armor resembled that of Pyra's. He should have known. All the same, how could he have predicted this?
His heart skips a beat. Rather than disappointment, he finds himself feeling no different from before. His heart skips another beat when Pyra retracts her hand; the urge to step forward and take it is overwhelming.
But of course. Who else would be so warm and kind, always inviting the company of others with a smile? Just like R— ]
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With flushed cheeks, Berkut mumbles through the shame. He exchanges the flowers in his possession from one hand to the other—fidgeting, for all intents and purposes. If he were a few years younger, he might have burst into tears by now. ]
No . . . You've nothing to be sorry for. The one who failed to earn your trust was me.
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And because it is unbearable, she's unable to help herself.
Pyra steps forward, lifting a hand to his cheek; she wants to comfort him, to have him look at her, to know that she is here. Likewise, that pained expression he wears, she wants it to never see it in his eyes again. She wants to protect him, she wants him to be happy. He speaks of trust-- isn't this a form of trust, this closeness? This touch? ] ....No. No, that's-- [ Well, okay, it's true. Of course she wouldn't have revealed Mythra to just anyone, but she also had been sealed back then. ]
The one who I trust most now is.... is you.
[ ...And now it's her turn to pause, to fidget. She swallows, her voice quiets, her blush deepens, she falters as she looks at him, his cheek against her palm. He's beautiful, she's never seen-- ]
Would you.
Would you.... like to go for a walk? W-with me?
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Meeting Pyra's gaze, he swallows.
More than anything, he wishes for her to be happy. He wants to see her smile. As soon as she makes her request, he nods rigidly once, then twice. ]
To where?
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[ She's still blushing, and she knows it. It's terrible, it's awful, this is-- didn't she learn her lesson. She knows what this feeling is, she knows it quite well, knows its dangers, how painful it can be, this isn't something that is for her, this isn't something she deserves...
Her expression shifts, saddened, for one moment, before her smile returns.
But isn't it nice, isn't it nice. She could sing of how nice it is just to have her fingers at his cheek, his gaze upon hers, the idea in her head that he doesn't mind, wouldn't mind, walking with her. ] ...Along this canal would be lovely, or, ah... There is a garden [ That she had planted last month. ] next to my house, if you would like to see? [ She feels as if she's about to suggest just about anything and everything, if just one thing would garner his interest. ]
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[ He watches her with visible concern. Fleeting though it may have been, he glimpsed what looked like sorrow on her face. She smiles now, but is she truly happy?
A garden . . . That's right. She loves gardens, too— ]
It would be my pleasure.
[ With a soft smile, devoid of the sharp edges he's been wearing for so long, Berkut reaches up to take her hand into his. Though his confidence remains in shambles, the love he feels for this woman allows him to take the first step along the canal with her hand still in his. He's been to Pyra's abode before, so he knows the way well enough. ]
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She can hardly describe how happy she is-- how excited she is at such a simple gesture, and because of it she almost trips. She doesn't-- thankfully-- but the stumble does cause her to bump into him, her arm brushing more along his... and she doesn't make an effort to return to their previous distance. It occurs to her again that he really isn't wearing his platearmor. ]
I... ah. Earlier I found it odd that you're not wearing your armor, but didn't want to pry. [ She steals a glance at him from the corner of her eye, noting what she can of his vestments once more. With his armor, he looks as if he's about to head into battle. Without it, he looks... he looks.....
...She staring, oops. Quickly correcting her gaze to look forward, she clears her throat. ] Was it too warm to wear out today?
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After all, what can he give her? Especially here in Chroma, where his unremarkable standing means nothing. Nothing. ]
Chroma is warmer than the Empire, but that was not the reason. I . . . simply didn't wish to put them on today. They were too heavy.
[ He doesn't mean that in the literal sense. He's long grown accustomed to the considerable weight that armor carry. No, it's the responsibilities attached to them, knowing that he'll only be humiliating himself by pretending he can shoulder them. ]
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Your wear your armor so... easily, as if it is your second skin. [ She comments, idly. ] I wouldn't have ever guessed it was heavy to you.
[ In any case, she decides that it's much easier to talk about him and speak anything of herself. ] But even without it... [ Is it so much as stealing glances at him now, when she does it so often? She likes looking at him, watching him, all of his expressions, the way his hair moves when he turns his head, the set of his jaw. ] You seem... different, but not in a bad way. [ He looks softer, more approachable, but she doubts he would be keen on those compliments.
.....And so she looks forward as they walk, stepping over a few flowers. She still wants to compliment him, and the first thing that comes to mind is: ] You still look quite handsome. [ Still, as if she had thought that of him before! ]
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. . . Not nearly as you are beautiful. Both of you.
[ He still doesn't understand what she meant by other self, but he understands enough to know they're one and the same. How can they not be? He wants to know more—to learn everything about Pyra, from the flowers she likes to the things she dislikes so that he might do something about them—but he must be patient. Nothing as he is and has now, he'll need to earn those answers.
Perhaps if it's for Pyra, he can do something. Succeed, for once, in her name. Wouldn't that be grand? ]
1/3
[ Beautiful. He's called her beautiful-- the both of them. ] We, ah...
[ All she has to say here is "thank you", just as she's always done when others have mentioned something similar to her. A thank you, and she'll move on. But when he say it, her world has completely stopped and all she can hear is that same word in his voice repeated to her over and over again. Beautiful, beautiful, she's not even sure what it means anymo-- ]
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Oh, yes, he's smiled before-- in this very same conversation in fact-- but just then a soft breeze has picked up a few petals from around them, swirling them up into the air. She catches the scent of lilacs and bluebells, violets and roses. They dance and twirl behind him as he smiles at her, lyrical in their descent. ]
--Ah, Lord Berkut... [ She comments quietly, her footfalls slowed to a near stop. ] You're-- you're smiling. [ And for as long as he smiles, there's nothing in the entire world that could get her to look away. ]
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She doesn't know what has made him smile, she's simply happy that he is able to. ] M-my apologies. [ A bubbly giggle escapes her, soft like champagne, and with the apology she withdraws her hand. ] I'm... glad, that I've gotten to see your smile not once, but twice today.
[ How do such simple things make her happy? She's not even sure herself. Maybe because his are so rare, or perhaps it's because she's so used to seeing him scowl. ]
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