isleofavalon | [open] march catch-all

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[open] march catch-all

🧙 WHO: Claude and you!
⚔️️ WHAT: Quests, being a nerd, and dumb happenings
🕒 WHEN: Throughout March
🗺️ WHERE: Camelot, the Red Springs and the Broceliande
⚠️ WARNINGS: Nothing yet.

1. RUN SNAGGLEFOOT RUN (QUEST)

[Apprehending thieves is nothing new to Claude, even if he's more accustomed to battling dangerous, heavily-armed bandits than just chasing down someone harmless yet sticky-fingered. Somehow the latter is proving much more elusive, however, and he's chased his target all the way from Camelot on horseback to try and catch up to him before he can make his escape.

Initially he'd managed to hit the thief with a curse to try and slow him down, but Snagglefoot managed to give him the slip when his curse wasn't quite what he wanted: hitting him with a binding curse only managed to immobilise one of his arms rather than his full body.

By the time Claude dismounts his horse at the springs and runs after him, he realises someone has already beaten him to the punch and -- intentionally or otherwise -- is blocking the doorway to the inn the thief had just tried to flee inside. Claude puffs, out of breath, hands on his knees.]

Grab that guy for me... would you...?

[If they hesitate for even a second, the thief might just get away again.]

2. LIBRARY

[Claude's not thrilled about being hurled into another world, what with everything resting on his shoulders at home, but it's also not the first time he's had to adjust quickly to a completely new land. His reaction in this case is to handle things just the same as he first did in Fodlan: get as much information and then some, as quickly as possible, so he can make up for any disadvantage he has in knowledge.

... Maybe he's overdoing it a little, though. It's getting close to closing hours in one of Camelot's libraries, and he still has a huge pile of unfinished books on the reading desk he's seated at, covering subjects as broad as history, magic, flora and fauna, geography, and more.

He yawns, and his familiar, a small cat-sized white wyvern, headbutts his arm -- either for attention, or just to make sure he stays awake. He pets her absently.]

We'll leave soon, just let me finish this chapter first. [He stifles another yawn. He should call it here, but he's also dreading the idea of lugging lots of heavy books back to his room.]

3. BROCELIANDE

[For anyone who might be wandering in the Broceliande, you might hear a voice complaining and cursing through the trees. Follow it to its source and you'll find Claude, who seems to be... kneeling by a stream and... crying? At the very least, there's tears streaming town his cheeks, but on a closer examination he looks more exasperated than upset.]

Ouch ouch ouch...

[He splashes his face with water to try and rinse his stinging eyes, his wyvern keeping a lookout as he does so.]

Owww. I knew I should've left that flower alone. [The wyvern trills in what sounds like agreement, or maybe because she just spotted someone approaching. Hello friend!!]

4. WILDCARD

[Choose your own prompt! If you want to plot anything out, feel free to hit me up via PM or at moonsilver.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Nonsense. That's what friends are for, isn't it?

[ Besides, they'd saved each other's skins plenty of times on the battlefield. They were more than friends in that way, each having held the other's life in their hands. The idea of him owing her anything at the tail end of a long and bloody war seems foolish to her.

She can tell that the witch hazel is working when Claude's shoulders begin to relax, but his words give her a little jolt. There are so many mixed feelings there, byproducts of a long-held and complex relationship. She hums noncommittally in response. ]

I could never replace Manuela, nor would I want to. [ Even though she had, in fact, done precisely that when she'd taken her place as the Mittelfrank's prima donna after Manuela left for Garreg Mach. That feels like a lifetime ago. ] I hardly think applying a tincture to a bit of cotton qualifies me as a physician, at any rate. I... suppose it's fair to say I like looking after the people I care about, and I have a bit of experience with tending wounds, but even that does not a doctor make.

Okay, okay.

[The comment had just meant to be a passing joke, but apparently his observational humour was a little more cutting than intended, so he drops it.

Although it does remind him of a little something else he'd observed earlier, and so he can't resist bringing it up again.]

... What was that you said before about love potions, by the way? Already found a special fairy here you've got your eyes on? [He doesn't expect a serious answer, but he's still a little curious. Spill the gossip!!]

[ Dorothea is glad for the fact that Claude can't see her for the moment. Her face turns bright red, but she laughs in a convincingly casual way (she was an actress, after all) as she leans back against the tree they've settled under. Her familiar hops up into her lap and she pets his soft feathers. ]

Please, even I don't work that fast. I was just joking; I don't need a love potion to be captivating. [ A beat passes, and she adds, more softly: ] Besides, I want something real, you know? Not something out of a bottle.

[ Even with eyes covered, there's an unmistakable note of yearning in her voice, though it's there and gone in a flash. Maybe it's because his eyes are covered that she feels comfortable enough even to say that. ]

[He'd love to take even a little peek at her expression, but he's not about to risk irritating his eyes all over again. And in his current situation, there's no way to do it with anything but zero subtlety, so he'll just have to settle for using his imagination.]

Don't worry, I get it. [He couldn't ever seriously imagine her resorting to such drastic measures, or being happy with such a choice even if she did.] Who knows? Maybe you and some magical being will fall madly in love here, just like some old story. Wouldn't that be romantic?

[ Now that gets a sincere laugh, if not a self-conscious one. ]

Please! As if that would happen. It would be romantic, sure, but it sounds too much like something from an opera for me to trust it. There are always rules and caveats where magic is involved, and the ending is rarely a happy one.

[ She shakes her head and sighs, though this sigh is more dreamy than heavy-hearted. ]

No, it doesn't have to be a magical being. Just a regular person is enough. Someone who... sees me, and loves me in spite of it.

I can't see much of anything right now, so I suppose I've been disqualified.

[He grins, before his tone becomes a little more serious again.] Regular or irregular, I'm sure you'll find the one. So don't get too down about it, especially when you just got here.

[Was he quizzing her to try and cheer her up all along? Well, maybe.]

[ More like he's disqualified because he's in love with their old Professor. That would be her theory if she were a betting woman, at any rate. There's a lull in the conversation as Dorothea smiles to herself, leaning over to gently bump Claude's shoulder with her own--carefully, though, so as not to jostle him too much. ]

You can be very sweet when you put your mind to it. I appreciate it, though. You're a good friend, Claude. At any rate, how are your eyes feeling? She didn't really give any indication of how long you're meant to leave it on.

[He just smiles as she bumps him, and hums as he considers her question.]

Only one way to find out. [Claude tips his head forward again, removing the pads, and blinks a few times. His eyes have stopped streaming from being irritated, and they're already looking less puffy and swollen, too. He looks around, giving his eyes a few seconds to focus before they move to settle on Dorothea.]

Ah! Still a little sore, but I can see much better now. [And while he's largely remained lighthearted about the ordeal, the relief is tangible in his voice.] This stuff works fast.

[ When he turns to her, she makes a show of examining him critically, nodding after a moment. ]

Much better, it seems. That's a relief. It's lucky we crossed paths when we did, isn't it? Are you going to try again now that you know how to approach it? Or will you take a break for tea with your dear old friend?

Very lucky. I'm not going to push my luck any further -- and tea sounds amazing right now after all that hassle. Shall we?

[He gets to his feet, then offers her a hand up.]

Of course, if you can bear to have tea with someone whose face is all puffy and gross. [At least, that's what he assumes his eyes look like, not that he can see his reflection at the moment.]

Tea it is, then.

[ Dorothea accepts Claude’s hand and rises to her feet with a dramatic flourish of her skirt. Now that he can see again, there’s technically no need for them to walk arm in arm, but she doesn’t let that stop her. She guided him before, now it’s his turn to escort her.

His next comment earns a light scoff, but she grins at him. ]

The irritation doesn’t look that bad now, dear. And even if your face was puffy and gross, I would still have tea with you.

Sweet of you to say. Someone like Hilda would definitely rag on me for being gross. [He laughs, tossing the used pads into a trash can as they pass it. He has no problem leading her into town; it's the least he can do after all the effort she went through to help him.]

Have you heard of a thing around here called "cafes"? They serve tea. Maybe not up to exacting noble standards, but...

[If she's not fussy about it, neither is he.]

I'm not Hilda, darling. Don't get me wrong, I love the girl, but I think I'm a bit less squeamish about certain things than she is. [ Growing up as a street urchin will see to that, she does not say. ] Life isn't always a pretty picture. You get used to it. But, it's as I said earlier: you're just as pretty as you ever were.

[ His question about cafes earns him a tiny, incredulous snort. ]

You should know I've never cared about noble standards. Come, show me this wondrous establishment. I doubt they'd have an Almyran pine blend on the menu, though, but we'd probably be hard pressed to find that here.

Now you're just laying it on thick to make me feel better. [That's a Hilda thing to do, especially if there's a tea date involved in it for her.

He's just joking, though -- he knows they're plenty different.]

You remembered that's my favourite? You're right, though. It's not likely they have anything like it here. [Even in Fodlan, it was one of the rarer varieties to procure. He pauses as he spots a cafe, peeking through the window and over to Dorothea.] Here's one. What do you think?

Me? Laying it on thick? I would never! [ She totally would. ] That is an outright attempt at character assassination. I'm horribly offended. [ She isn't. Obviously, as she laughs after that, her voice light and airy.

When he directs her attention to the cafe in question, Dorothea peers eagerly into the window and the displays piled with confections and treats--some she recognizes, others which are mysteriously foreign, all of which look tempting. There are people milling about inside, some eating and chatting with one another, others behind a bar in the back brewing drinks. ]

Let's give it a try. It looks delightful. [ And speaking of teas: ] Of course I remembered. I try to remember what my friends enjoyed drinking, especially because everyone loved tea so much back at the academy. I have so many wonderful memories of teatimes from back then.

Personally, I was a bigger fan of the feasts. [Especially the one after the Battle of the Eagle and Lion... horribly bittersweet though it is, in hindsight.] But, you can't go wrong with tea, either.

[He leads her into the cafe, picking out an empty table by the window. Though the interior is just as scenic as outside, as with much of Camelot's architecture, there's a tree and its roots snaking their way through and out of the cafe, along with a fountain in the middle.

Naira hops up onto the chair to try to steal it from under Claude before he can sit, so he scoops her up and places the cheeky little wyvern on his lap.]

Oh no you don't. [Then he looks at Dorothea.] So... What tea's your favourite, since you know mine? If they have it here, we could share a pot.

My favorites were always the sweeter ones. I love the apple blend, and the Albinean berry, too. But, I'm not too picky about food, for the most part.

[ Aria doesn't try stealing her chair, choosing instead to perch on the edge of the table to have room for his long tail plumage. Dorothea takes in the ambiance of the cafe, then glances out the window to watch a few people come and go. ]

Do they have many occasions for feasts in Almyra? What are they like?

[ Now, these aren't questions she would have asked so casually if they were back in Fodlan. You never knew who might overhear and what they'd think. But they aren't in Fodlan anymore, and no one here but the two of them would even know the difference, much less care about it. Her expression remains soft, inquisitive. Aria chirps and she scratches him under the chin. ]

[Claude's smile freezes on his face for a second, and he flipflops between his instinctive reaction to play dumb or deflect the question, or...

Well, they are in another world, aren't they? He supposes it matters less here whether he divulges any compromising information, and he's not about to insult Dorothea's intelligence by trying to claim she's mistaken.]

... They're big and rowdy, and pretty much always after a battle. Win or lose, there's a feast to celebrate. [He shoots her a defeated grin, as if to say, 'you got me'.] Since when have you been interested in Almyra, anyway?

[ She sees how he freezes for a moment, ironically like a startled deer in the second before it bolts away. He doesn’t run, though, and her smile widens. She knows she could have easily put a rift between them just now, but she’s pleased that he decides to accept her comment for what it really is: a way to extend her hand toward him in friendship.

Her chin rests delicately on her hand when he asks his question in turn, humming as she thinks back. ]

When I was with the Mittelfrank, we actually produced an opera based on an Almyran legend. Almyra was more of a point of curiosity in the Empire, rather than the mortal enemy of the Alliance. We had Brigid and Dagda to worry about, after all—Almyra was hardly our concern.

So we put on a show about a woman whose eyes could see for miles into the distance, so keen that her vision served as a premonition for the people of her village. Their enemies could never take them by surprise, until they thought to disguise themselves as rocks and trees. When the woman told her village what she’d seen, they thought she was going mad, imagining moving trees. Everyone dies in the end, unsurprisingly. It was a perfect story for an opera.

Of course, we changed the names and added a love story to make it that much more tragic. By the time we opened, it wouldn’t have been easy to recognize as a foreign story. But I remember the books we used to write the story and the score—gilded volumes from Almyra, full of beautiful illustrations.

[ She gestures to the right side of her face where Claude’s braid used to hang. ]

It was pretty brazen of you to wear your hair like that, you know.

Huh, even I haven't heard that one. Pretty wild to think Fodlan can both hate Almyra, but use its stories when it likes them enough, too. I suppose nothing unites people like a good story... just like the Church.

[If they're going to talk more frankly here, he might as well talk shit about the Church while he's at it. He's never known Dorothea to be a devout one.

As for the comment about his braid, he offers a lopsided grin.]

Look, getting me to dress in a stuffy Officer's Academy uniform was far enough. I wasn't going to cut my hair or change it to please people in Garreg Mach. People had me pegged as suspicious regardless. [He shrugs.] So long as I could do enough to pass as a Fodlan noble, I really didn't care about the rest.

I never thought of it that way, but you’re right, of course. Maybe now that the war is over, we can use those stories to start mending that divide. We’re all just stories in the end, aren’t we? If we tell the stories of the Almyran people in Fodlan, and those of the Fodlani people in Almyra, maybe everyone will begin to realize we’re not so different after all.

[ Just as noble men and women aren’t so different from commoners. Dorothea sighs, frowning contemplatively. There’s... a lot to unpack there. ]

The Church... all I can say is that I hope the Professor does better with it than Rhea did. The Church’s obsession with crests is... well, you know that I‘m a commoner, that I lived in poverty on the street. The truth is that my father... he was a nobleman. I met him once at the Mittelfrank. [ Her brow furrows, but only the slightest pinch. There are layers to her private pain, memories that feel like a punch to the gut every time she so much as considers them. Still, she uncovered one of his secrets; it feels fair to share a bit of herself with him. ] He told me that he threw away his daughter—he threw me away because I was born without a crest. I can’t tell you what I felt that night. I saw stars.

[ That’s only part of the story, of course, but a table in a pleasant little cafe like this is hardly the place to divulge the uglier parts of her history. Sitting up a little straighter, Dorothea shakes out her hair and then relaxes, letting go of the past for now to enjoy the company of her friend in the present. ]

I don’t know about you, but I could use that tea about now. What say we place our order?

Dorothea... [It's a familiar story, one he's heard before. Children tossed aside for lack of a crest, just like Miklan. Others adopted precisely because they have a crest, like Marianne, to bring wealth or prestige to the family, regardless of whether that crest makes their life a living misery. It's almost funny, considering how little a crest did Claude any favours in Almyra. All Fodlan's strange little obsession with a certain type of power... He didn't understand it at all until he witnessed it firsthand.

Still, she doesn't want to linger on the subject, so he won't either. He nods and gets to his feet.]

I'll go place our orders. Hang tight. [Of course, as soon as he gets up, Naira is happy to swipe his seat again, and he just rolls his eyes fondly at her as he leaves the table.

It only takes a few minutes -- the cafe's not busy, since it's past the lunch rush -- so soon enough, Claude's returning with a tray laden with a teapot, cups, and a plate laden with small cakes and pastries.]

...I couldn't decide what sweets to order, and you could use the pick me up, so I sort of went for everything. [He laughs, placing the tray down before he evicts his familiar again.]

[ Now he's speaking her language. Dorothea perks up immediately, leaning forward to examine the assortment of treats. Immediately, she gravitates to a small custard tart piled high with slices of glazed fruit. Naturally, she hadn't told Claude about her sad history just to garner sympathy, but pastries? She'll accept those, for sure. ]

Oh, Claude, you didn't have to do that.

[ It's a token protest, but he really didn't. Even so, she carefully picks up the plate with the tart and sets it in front of her. Picking off one of the berries, she offers it too her familiar, who gleefully swallows it down. ]

Do you even like sweets? I'm not going to be able to eat all of this by myself, you know.

You won't have to! There's a few things in there for me. Like that one, or that one. [He points to a sour cherry pastry, then a dark chocolate brownie.]

Besides, if we're in another world, it'd be a shame not to sample as much of the cuisine as we can. Who knows how long we'll get a chance to, you know?

[It's not exactly the fine dining he makes it sound like, but still. Snacking adventures!!]

[ Ah yes, those do look good. It all looks good, and with the war and how expensive even the smallest bag of sugar is, this spread feels almost sinfully indulgent.

Dorothea takes a bite of her tart and sighs happily, pausing to offer another little piece of fruit to her familiar. ]

If you could choose any kind of treat for yourself, sweet or not, what would it be?

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