[open] march catch-all

[leicesters]

🧙 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.]

Comments

[backstreetbard]

[ 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.

[leicesters]

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.

[backstreetbard]

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?

[leicesters]

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.]

[backstreetbard]

[ 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.

[leicesters]

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!!]

[backstreetbard]

[ 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?

[leicesters]

Hmm... It'd have to be this type of layered pastry they make in my homeland. It's usually sweet, but you can get savoury kinds too. Never did find anywhere in Fodlan that sold it, but it's really popular on the other side.

[Maybe he'll find something similar here in Camelot... Who knows.]

What about you?

[backstreetbard]

Any treat? Hmm. I'll admit that I'm not much of a picky eater, but when I was a little girl, there was a bakery in Enbarr that I would often pass by, and I loved staring at the beautiful displays in the windows. They had tiered cakes that seemed a mile high to me at that age, and tarts topped with beautifully-arranged slices of fruit that looked like stained-glass windows. Manuela bought one of them for me when I got into the Mittelfrank, and I've loved that sort of treat ever since then.

[ A warm, fond look crosses her face as she thinks back to one of the happier moments from her childhood, sharing a custardy slice of fruit tart with a woman who might as well have been the Goddess herself to a formerly-impoverished orphan. ]

In general, I like fruity desserts best. The peach sorbet that they used to make at Garreg Mach was wonderful. As for your little pastry, I bet we could find some here if we looked hard enough. I'll help you find it, so I can try some myself.

[leicesters]

[He has to wonder if that bakery is still there, or whether it was destroyed in the fighting on Enbarr's streets. Granted, they intentionally tried to keep the fighting away from the opera house for Manuela and Dorothea's sakes, but that's not to say the surrounding structures escaped intact.

Best not to think too deeply about it right now.]

Sounds like a deal. And if we find anywhere that sells your sorbets, I'll let you know. You can do a taste test to see if they match up to Garreg Mach's.