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garregmach2019-10-19 02:12 pm
starfelled) wrote in garregmach2019-10-19 02:12 pm
(no subject)
A mist settles in over the monastery.
Is it morning? Night? Who can say? Today, the day feels endless. The sun is nowhere to be seen — or had it been at all? Instead, a curious green glow engulfs Garreg Mach, like an eternal twilight settling in. Time seems to be paused almost, though the wildlife in and around the area continues to act as though nothing is wrong. As though this is perfectly normal. As though it is natural for the skies to be dark, with not a single star in sight, and for the sun to be forgotten in the mist that lingers. The paths are at least lit by small orbs of light, fireflies flitting about.
However, should one come into contact with one of those fireflies, a memory of the past will be projected for all in the close vicinity to see. Joyous occasions, tragic events — they don't seem to discern one way or another. Perhaps it would be best to watch your step for now, though.
Of course, after lingering for about a day, the strange ambience will fade into what appears to be a normal night at Garreg Mach. It's as if nothing had happened at all. Did it? Or was it all simply a shared hallucination?
[ ● MEMSHARE POST. Coming into contact with the fireflies will share a memory of your character's with those around them. You can top-level with a memory to start out or have people tag you and determine it then, whatever. I don't make the rules (except I do and I say yolo). Have fun with it!
● Open posts like this one are flipping to a two week schedule instead of a weekly one.
● Because of the above, the last bit is there for people who'd maybe like to play out aftermath threads later on but don't want to wait for a new post or make a new one.
● Settings have been slightly updated. ]
potential spoilers for vw
[Perhaps it would be a sore point to know that even at the tender age of 5, he still had that damnable haircut. It sheers cleanly through his bangs like a blade gone awry and ends neatly at a set of bangs framing a young and near ivory pale face. But for little else besides his height and clothes, there is little to mark him different from that of his academy self. An eternally smiling and bright-eyed youth with all the confidence in the world to exude.
The memory itself is seemingly no great thing. A boy poised upon the edge of a chair, too large a book in hand and thumbing through the pages with meticulous care. It is, presumably, no moment of rarity for a young noble heir to while an afternoon away at study.
Save, perhaps, in the minor details.
The longer the memory carries, the more it might strike unsettling. The boy's immaculate, unmoving posture and the unwavering gaze of a woman settled in a seat opposite. Monitoring. A gaze that narrows when Lorenz raises his hand, a befuddled look upon his brow.]
What is this man doing? [His voice betrays his youth, higher and questioning in all the ways indicative of a child as he turns the book towards his teacher, gesturing to the image of a man hard at work at an anvil.]
"Smithery," [Her voice is matter-of-fact in her response.] "He is a blacksmith. One who forges objects from metals, whether they be something as simple as a nail or as important as a blade."
[And it is betrayed on his youthful face- an unguarded interest that a nail could share its origins as a sword. Unbidden, the questions tumble out. Do they handle all metals? Shields? Axes? What of buckles and hinges. Gold? And she answers them dutifully, unbiased and intelligently- weathering a child's curiosity with a cool patience. Then,] Would it not be famous to craft a legendary sword? [Lorenz asks, bright eyes shining.]
[Her response is immediate.] "Is that something a noble should do?" [It is a question posed with no inflection, no shift in tone from her earlier answers save but a subtle arch of a once furrowed brow. And Lorenz, young and unassuming, glances up with no worldly wisdom to guard him against what is being insinuated.]
... I suppose a noble ought to wield it, instead. [He answers after a moment of thought, interest dissipating visibly. The excitement sloughs off him like rainwater, his posture returning to immaculate as the teacher nods at him with approval.]
after the war—
"Count Gloucester, a moment?" [A servant beckons him mid-stride down the hall, a handful of papers in hand. Lorenz, already amidst a gathering of several questing men and women, glances up at the call and, rather than seem harried, nods with a brief smile and returns to his conversation with a soldier.
It is in that smile, however, an indication of agitation. Absent is his usual beaming self and in its place is someone courteous but brief. Someone who is forced to answer questions as quickly and briskly as possible without seeming curt or dismissive and barely managing to succeed. The memory carries on some several minutes, discussions of finances, patrols and various complaints of nobles and commoners alike before Lorenz is able to answer the latest inquiry.]
"Their majesty sent this along. It seems your proposal for a memorial is to go ahead. They-" [The voice trails off as Lorenz takes the papers offered and scans through them, an indescribable expression clouding his face. The smile lingers yet but it is hardly an expression that could be called joyful.] "They said they've given the location some thought."
I suppose Garreg Mach would seem inappropriate. [Lorenz's voice is carefully reserved as he reads the missive, turning a page and seeming resigned.] But given all that has happened, I had thought... [And he trails off, expression turning grim.] ... no, perhaps that is more fitting. [And he is quiet a moment, silent in his thoughts, eyes growing distant as he is reminded of some grim, terrible moment.] ... thank you, [his reply comes after a pause- quietly.] You are dismissed.
[Whichever moment your character has become privy to, the man in question is idling outside the stables, frowning at the images splayed upon the mist around him as the firefly in question perches on an upraised hand, light casting an unearthly glow upon his fingers. If there is any question lingering yet as to his feelings on the matter, a weathered sigh answers them promptly.]
Honestly... how much more am I expected to tolerate before I must ask if I have passed on? [He asks of... oh, himself. The firefly. The heavens.]
childhood
And just because he simply can't resist.] You made a pretty cute kid... even with the hair.
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With a jerk, Lorenz whips around towards the sound of the voice and startles the firefly from his fingers. As it vanishes into the obscuring veil of the mists, only a faint glow to mark its flight, the images go with leaving them both in the eerie dark once more.]
Claude. [It is hard to say whether the word is a relief or a curse.] It is customary to announce yourself. [And though the lecture carries with it a world-weary tone, one could hardly say it was impassioned. Perhaps merely a reflex at this point.] And I do not take your meaning, there was nothing wrong with my hair. It was neatly trimmed and perfectly styled.
no subject
He chuckles, looking in to the stables as he approaches. Well, that explains why the horses are roaming freely.] I can't argue those points. It was styled. [He casually shifts out of the path of a wandering firefly. None of that, thanks.
Should he go ahead and say he's recently arrived here, and isn't one of the other Claudes that are somewhere about that Lorenz has likely already spoken to? ...nah.]
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It is in his expression- first a blink, then a glance. A seeking gaze searching for something not made readily apparent in the dark.
Certainly he has met a Claude, just as he has met a Hilda and a Linhardt. And while he is well aware of the discrepancies of history between all of them, that there exists versions beyond simply what is before his eyes, he has yet to come face to face with that reality personally. At least, until this very moment.
It is not a certainty yet, merely an inkling. The Claude he knows of this place- distant, guarded, wary- lacks the cordiality of this Claude's voice. A trick of the imagination, perhaps? The day is, after all, far beyond normalcy.]
... Perhaps, someday, you will see fit to tell me what was so objectionable about my appearance. [A note of hesitation that slides into comfortable confidence. An unspoken question he has not even thought to give words.]
no subject
Claude picks up on that hesitation, brief and mild though it is.]
I didn't realize it had become such a sore spot for you. Don't tell me the illustrious Count Gloucester is letting a bit of teasing get to him?
[And isn't this a nicer line of conversation than pondering whether this is some bizarre sort of after-life? After all he'd survived, he refused to believe he'd been unknowingly taken out by some mysterious force, right as he was taking the next steps to bring his dream to fruition. And Lorenz-- now that the war was over, his leadership would be invaluable, helping to guide a freshly united Fodlan.
As if just to spite his thoughts, a firefly alights on Claude's shoulder, the memory of a shared conversation playing out.
Claude brushes the firefly off, huffing a laugh.] Well, that one wasn't so bad. I shudder to think of exposing you to my wild and untamed childhood.
[Well now he's just tempting fate.]
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[And it strikes, like a bell rung in consummate clarity sending stray thoughts awry. Count Gloucester. His words falter, as does his expression. (False) frustration gives way to shock as those words and their implication registers. Certainly that is his title. Certainly there is no other who could inherit it. Such an address should hardly give him pause, save for the fact...]
Claude. [The name is murmured, astonishment robbing of his usual imperious tone as he realizes what has happened. That Claude would not deign to call him so. Could not. This Claude has, and therefore...
Ah, but is this not that wretched familiarity?
Against his wishes, the smile that emerges is... resigned and a little helpless. A little too fond to mask. For months he had wondered, worried even if he knew he should not. How many times over the course of his duties as a newly titled Count had he wondered what mischief Claude might be getting up to? Only for it to be followed by a weighty knowledge that he could no longer simply go and see for himself. That, more than miles, now he lacked even such basic knowledge as to Claude's location?
... In his more seasoned years, there really is no other word for it save obsession, is there? The thought makes him embarrassed.
And so when the firefly darts by, illuminating that damnable grin he was certain would be there and spreading a memory upon the cloud of fog that surrounds them, he closes his eyes. He does not need to see it. The scene alone- one so common in the later moments of the war and yet so tentatively unique all the same- is enough to stir a recollection. He remembers that moment. Careful honesty and tentative concern. Their relationship has ever been conflicted, but in the end had they not both been true to what mattered?
Which, naturally, brings them to this...
When he opens his eyes again, his expression twists in a way that Claude might not quite expect. Annoyance, irritation- anger.] I hope you at least are prepared to explain yourself. [His voice is laced with scorn as he folds his arms, but the look in his eyes belies the truth- amiability.]
[ooc: aaaaand book. :B]
no subject
Lorenz. [He echoes, unable and unwilling to hide his amusement. And, alright, maybe he's gotten pretty fond of Lorenz too. He's gotten much more likeable since their days at the Officer's Academy. That smile's a rare one, at least when directed at him, rare enough that it puts him off his guard just a bit, just for a moment. Enough for the memory to play out, and for Lorenz's return to irritation to be-- a little bit of a surprise.
Only a little, though.] You know you're going to have to be a bit more specific than that, or we'll be here all night.
[There are just so many things he can imagine Lorenz wanting an explanation on, after all! Even if he has a damn good guess what this particular demand is about, he's not going to just volunteer that information unprompted.]
[ooc: :P so do you want......... a babby claude mem/what kind of mem]
no subject
[And, perhaps, while this lecture is a tad unfair given this Claude likely has little to no bearing on what he is referring to... one could hardly say he is undeserving of such a scolding. Truly, serves him right for disappearing without a word.]
I am, of course, referring to your abrupt disappearance from the Alliance. Or am I about to learn you have not even yet witnessed the end of the war? Or perhaps you are about to inform me in your world I have... dallied off with Felix, I suppose. Certainly I have been told stranger. [Or worse, but he'll not give consideration to that particular train of thought.]
[ooc: give me your hearts desire. a childhood memory. a battlefield memory. a memory of Claude getting it on so Lorenz can slap the firefly out of his hand. the options are endless.]
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Not without a little more teasing first, though.] No, I don't recall you dallying off with anyone. [And yes, he's putting more innuendo into that than Lorenz probably intended.] I didn't realize you'd miss having me around so much.[That's supposed to be a tease but it comes out a little more... truthful.] I, uh... I went back home. To my parents.
[Surely Lorenz has at least an idea, an inkling... Claude smiles ruefully. He's dropped hints, of course, had very poorly deflected Lorenz' questioning of why exactly he was on such good terms with a famous Almyran general... but he's never said it. At this point, he could admit to himself at least, it was partially out of fear-- of the reaction he might get, both from the truth and from keeping it from them all for so long.]
no subject
[It is alarmingly easy to fall back into routines. To critique and second-guess near every word of Claude's, even though he has hardly done much of... well, anything yet. In truth, while much of it might simply be reflexive at this point, it would be hard to dismiss the possibility that much of Lorenz's frustration, over this situation and Claude's- Claudes'- behavior has become... pent up.
Really, he can only be expected to handle so much. Even if he should have a notion by this point, it means nothing if the man before him cannot even be bothered to speak its name. Surely he has earned that modicum of trust between them by now.]
no subject
But maybe he's dragged this on too long, if Lorenz is falling back this far into their old bickering routine. He has earned that trust-- that Claude is even considering telling him is proof enough of that. Here goes nothing. He keeps his voice pitched low, private, overly cautious perhaps but, well.] I went back to Almyra... to petition my father for my position as heir to the throne. I knew Fodlan would be safe in the extremely capable hands I left it in, so... [He gestures vaguely, smiling.] it was time for me to get to work in my first homeland. I intended to write, after things settled down at home.
no subject
But, well… certainly there were indications, Lorenz can only dimly note past a sudden loud buzzing in his ears- loud enough for him to think a firefly might have wandered too close while they were speaking.
Claude’s coloring is, of course, pale for an Almyran. But for his inclination towards wyvern riding- calling it a “right of passage” back in their Academy days- and the colorful make of his apparel… somehow, it seems less outlandish than it should for how long he has managed to keep it a secret. As if Lorenz should have suspected all along.
And yet, when faced with the truth after all these years, it matters less than he thought it would. The threat of the Almyrans, the necessity of Fodlan’s Locket, years upon years of his father’s warnings echoed in his ears as he idolized Lord Holst’s achievements… all of it seems utterly trivial as this latest piece of the puzzle slips into place.
Claude is Almyran... and he cannot find it in him to care.
More importantly… it is there, past the veil of fog and illuminated in the barest traces of light. Uncertainty, wariness- distance. All at once he is reminded of the other Claude.
Resignation.]
With those manners? [The barb is made after a moment in the same tone of voice, a perfectly arched brow to compliment the purported disdain he is showing. A flawless display of indignant nobility ruined only by the way his mouth faintly smiles towards the end.] I fear for the madhouse your court will become.
[It is alright, he tells himself, because they’ve grown beyond such things.]
we got a buy one get one sale on sad childhood memories here, cw for child abuse.......
Believe it or not, my manners are pretty typical for someone of my upbringing.
[A firefly lands on Claude's leg and crawls into his boot, unseen and unfelt. The swirling fog around them, though, is extremely visible.]
[The fully grown Claude is trying to find that damn firefly, trying to ignore that painful scene. He knows it doesn't paint his mother in the best of lights, but he can understand where she was coming from now. The memory melts right into another.]
[Mercifully, the firefly escapes from its escapade into Claude's boot, harmlessly flying off.]
after the war
Her eyes skirt towards Lorenz, a sight as familiar to her as any one of her Golden Deer classmates, though she knows she hasn't spoken to him since she arrived in the monastery. Still, the days of trying to escape from a friend's presence are long gone, and the Marianne here and now thinks of Lorenz first, and herself second.]
Um... Lorenz, I'm sorry. I saw one of your memories. [she needs to admit that first, at least.] I thought I was getting a little better at avoiding them...
[that sounds like an excuse....]
no subject
Ah, Marianne. [Though her name is preceded by an expression of surprise, the warmth with which he effuses it is assurance he is not in the least bit offended by her presence, nor by what it implies. And, certainly enough, at her admission his smile can only soften as he shakes his head.]
No apology is necessary, I assure you. Even if I could find offense, the memory is nothing so sensitive that it cannot bear witnessing. On the contrary, I'm honored you could witness one of my finer moments. ["Finer"... well, if given the alternative, certainly it could be considered that. Though he may not have familiarity with Marianne's perception of history, he would not have cared to force her to needlessly witness something more distressing.]
no subject
But Marianne takes that as yet another sign of the strength she's always admired in Lorenz. She's often thought of the noble ideal as... well, a sham. as well as practically unattainable, thanks to being around less than stellar examples of nobility like Margrave Edmund... But Lorenz not only carries himself with ease, but he actually does... what he sets out to do! That's rare.]
I've never seen anything less from you, Lorenz.
[except for maybe certain occasions from five years ago, but look... she thinks he had only the Best intentions,]
But I would never blame you if I did. [Marianne has made lots of progress but saying things like 'so come talk to me' in a way that Hilda or Claude or Leonie would is... perhaps still beyond her... but!!] So I... I guess I am glad that I got to see your memory.
[this attempt at reassurance is maybe a solid 6.5 there... but it Is an attempt]
no subject
Perhaps it was a comment made without intention, but for the implication of it he cannot help but smile a little in awkward shyness. To be praised is one thing and natural due course for one such as him, certainly, but to be offered it so freely and without prompt is... oddly warming to the spirit.]
You're too kind. [Truly, though to his mind she always has been. Enduring all his bumbling attempts at social awkwardness throughout their youth unto now, even glossing over the discomfort of a memory best left as such.] I can only hope to aspire to be worthy of your consideration. But please, enough of that. Pray forgive my delay in asking- you have been well? Though I am sure these halls are safe, I cannot help but worry with all the strange happenings of late.