garregmach | (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. ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ Pull himself along the thread. Tug it through the eye of a needle and sew his lips into the right shape, so that the tremor of a laugh becomes a smile. Like stitches, to hold the shape until it sets. Smile like a scar.

Which, really, is too morbid for him. Melodramatic.

About as melodramatic as thinking, as he turns back, looks back, looks at Hilda who is and isn't his Hilda, who pretends not to notice his brief severity and holds out her hand, who isn't crumpled and broken in the spreading pool of her own blood — as thinking, it doesn't make sense to feel haunted. Not really.

Not when he's the ghost.

An outright groanworthy sentiment, one that can have no foothold in him, and one without any sense in a place like this. They might as well all be ghosts. None of them belong here.

So Claude looks at her hand, recovering quick. Slowly for him, perhaps, in that he'd not bounced back immediately. But he raises his eyebrows at the insinuation, mouth pulling past the thread to curve lopsided and sharp into his cheek. ]

Hey now, why am I responsible for Teach's bad behavior?

[ To his mind, it should be Edelgard. To hers, the Claude that Teach had chosen. Dimitri, too, would be appropriate.

Nothing to do with him.

Nothing, except her hand and the simple hold of her eyes. ]

Besides, if you've figured it out, you don't need me.

[ But.

Her hand, her eyes, and if he was a ghost (again, stupid), what else to do but haunt? Claude shakes his head, glances skyward, and reaches for her hand. ]

Buuut, I did say when we get there. Just, not on Teach's behalf.

[ She wasn't going to take "no" for an answer, but it's still warming to her — how he takes her hand, how he doesn't refuse.

Well, except for one small part. ]

Oh, please. It's not on the professor's behalf! It's more . . . on the behalf of anyone I'd want to share a meal with.

[ Including him. Not the blanket term of "Claude" — him.

She gives his hand a playful squeeze before tugging him along, dipping her head to avoid another firefly. ]

Just be careful of these little guys flitting about though, okay?