garregmach | (no subject)

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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. ]

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[The expletive that slips from his mouth is by no means crude, save that it was made at all.

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.

Strange, I've never seen anyone else announce themselves every time they pass through a gate. Seems a bit much to me. [Claude is utterly delighted to have provoked an expletive from him at all, a lack of crudeness aside. He's getting the hang of this place-- this may or may not be the Lorenz he knows, but the tone of this banter is familiar enough.

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.]

You know well what I mean. It is impolite to sneak up on someone. [It is near immediate his response and the withering patience that accompanies it. A conversation born of a dozen more like it carried throughout years of familiarity. And it is in that he finds such routine oddly out of place.

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.]

[He wasn't sneaking, but they've had this conversation a million times and there's not much point in continuing to rehash it, other than to pull amusing reactions out of his companion. Although, that look is curious. Perhaps he already suspects.

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.]

Sore spot? [Lorenz scoffs.] Hardly. If you should manage to find a complaint worthy of consideration, I would hear it. The likelihood of that however-

[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]

[Claude watches with interest as the pieces so obviously click into place for Lorenz. Even in the low light, the shifts in his expression are like an open book. Titles are things Claude rarely refers to anyone by if not in jest, a bad habit Lorenz has also lectured him on a million times, but he suspects that may have been what gave him away.]

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]

[The noise Lorenz let's out is aggrieved.] Even your excuses are the same. [He mutters with a grimace.] Honestly, if you're going to be this difficult about the entire affair, the least you could manage is to have the decency of coming up with different deflections.

[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.]

Edited 2019-10-28 06:01 (UTC)

[For a moment, Claude considers taking one of those convenient excuses Lorenz just handed right to him-- the one about Felix is a particularly entertaining option-- but... well, he probably deserves the truth, doesn't he?

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.]

I would appreciate it if you could refrain from insinuating anything further from this line of questioning. [Lorenz is quick to respond, arching a brow in disapproval.] And while you may see fit to make glib remarks, I will have you know you caused quite a stir when you up and vanished to your "parents," whom I'm sure live in an actual place with a proper name that I note you are deliberately avoiding mention of.

[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.]

[Claude chuckles, pleased enough with having been given an opening to imply. He didn't need to push it any further. He's not trying to be glib-- if anything, he's working up the nerve.

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.

… you’re a prince. Of Almyra. [The words are stated blankly, perhaps in partial disbelief. As though clarifying this is not a poorly timed jest, of which he is still not certain it isn’t.

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.]

[A part of him is holding his breath, right up to the moment Lorenz chides him for his manners. Claude laughs, and it's an honest one, tinged with relief. He doesn't ask Lorenz to keep this knowledge to himself. He doesn't need to ask, he simply knows Lorenz will do so to the best of his ability.]

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.]

A young boy of Claude's coloring, barely old enough to spell his own name, is dragged by the wrist into the Almyran royal chambers. The woman dragging him is paler, her green eyes the same as her son's, her face drawn tight and fierce.

"What were you thinking?" She wheels around and snaps at the boy. "You idiot child, do you have any idea what could have happened to you?"

The boy shakes his head, teary eyed and not understanding what he'd done wrong. "He was nice to me! He said he'd take me to see the wyverns!"

The woman slaps the little boy across the face, her own blanched and stricken. That was all it took for her to nearly lose her only child. "He was lying!" She kneels down, taking the now sobbing boy by the shoulders and shaking him to get his attention. "Listen to me carefully. Unless your father or I say otherwise, you can't trust anyone. No matter how they act, or what they promise you. That man would have killed you. Do you understand?"

He doesn't, not really, not yet, but the boy nods anyway, tears tracking down his cheeks.

She releases her grip on him and stands, brushing at her skirt with her hands. "Wipe your face. You're too old to be crying like that. Stay here until I fetch you for dinner." She walks brusquely out of the room and the boy wipes his face on his sleeve, sniffling and hiccuping in his poor attempts to stop crying.

[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.]

The boy is older, not yet a teenager, bandaged and bruised nearly from head to toe, and even though moving hurts he runs from his pursuers. The boys chasing after him are laughing, but it's not a playful sound-- more like when a group of hunters have cornered their prey so well, they no longer need worry about alerting it. And indeed, it does seem like he's run himself into a dead end.

Teeth grit, he scrambles on top of a table, jumps to grab the side of a wardrobe and pulls himself up on top of it with a pained grunt and straining arms. From there, his thin frame slips up into a hidden crawl space, a vent carved into the stone meant for air flow. He'd long ago dragged pillows and blankets up there, and there was a nice little hole in the wall, just big enough for him to look down at the room below. He's still trying to catch his breath when the group of boys catch up with him, their victorious and vicious grins soon turning to looks of confusion and frustration.

The boy puts a hand over his mouth to muffle the sounds of his breathing, peering through the peephole down at them.

"Hey, you rat, where'd you crawl off to?"

"Show your ugly face, coward!"

Being called a coward makes him bristle, but not enough to give away his hiding spot. It's not cowardice to avoid an unfair fight when he's still injured from the last time they successfully cornered him.

The boys start searching the room, turning over furniture in their attempts to find him. That's going to make getting back down harder, but that's a problem for later. For now, he settles into his nest of pillows and blankets, picking up one of the many books strewn about the tiny space. It's about Almyran flora and fauna, and he quickly turns to a section about poisonous plants, a determined look in his green eyes.

[Mercifully, the firefly escapes from its escapade into Claude's boot, harmlessly flying off.]

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we got a buy one get one sale on sad childhood memories here, cw for child abuse.......