thirty lives [o]

[Odele]

[attr="class","odele1"]

thirty lives

GOOD MORNING, MYSELF, IT'S BEEN A WHILE SINCE WE HAVE TALKED AND YOU HAVE CHANGED. FOR BETTER OR WORSE HAS YET TO DETERMINE, BUT I AM SURE THAT YOU'LL KEEP LIVING AND BREATHING UNTIL THIS WORLD TURNS OVER. SO LAY ME DOWN, LAY ME DOWN. I AM FOOLISH, AND I'M SORRY.

◄

►

On the outskirts of town, painted onto a green canvas between the bustle of Ylisstol and the crop fields beyond, Odele's favorite flowers grew in an abundance. They were a certain type of wildflower, one that she'd never quite been able to put a name to, and the sort that she'd tried – and failed to, repeatedly – grow in her own gardens back in the city. While she rarely had the time to slip out from the city streets and into the untouched land beyond and the trip itself was long, tiring, and dirty, there was something about standing amongst a sea of greens, reds, and yellows that seemed to drain her of her woes and make it all worthwhile. A welcome change from the chaos back home; ever since the Exalts death, “leisure time” was spent much less leisurely. As such, despite the inconvenience, she'd made it a point to make more regularly visits to her favorite place in the Halidom.

The various insects that threw themselves into the air when the grass around them was disturbed didn't bother the blonde the way it had in years passed. She'd long gotten over her childish fear of the creatures, and would have grown used to them, anyway, even without conquering her wariness. Fingers reached out to pluck on, two, a dozen from the ground. If she could not grow them herself, she simply made do with collecting a crude bouquet and setting them in a vase upon her return home. Never too many, though – if she got greedy, the field would be left barren before she caught death, and she'd rather go without making her visits there than know that its destruction was at her hands.

And that was all. Between keeping up with political matters, keeping her manor house tidy, and working on her sword skills, the trip outside the capital could never be made too long. Get there, take in the beauty, pick a handful of flowers, and be on the way. Not bothering to change the routine any time soon, the aristocrat picked herself up from off the ground, brushing off dirt, twigs, and stray blades of grass from her dress halfheartedly as she did so. It wasn't as though anyone was there to scold her on appearances, after all, and she could always change at home. However, it was tiny shuffle of grass – something that would have nearly impossible to hear, but made known by alertness and an odd lack of white noise – that had her freezing in place. Someone else? No one ventured out here. No one that she knew of, anyway. Her hand instinctively went to where her sword would have been sheathed in practice when she remembered that she'd chosen to leave it behind. Flower picking rarely grew dangerous, after all. However, with the addition of another person, that might not have been the case this time.

Turning slowly and finding the face she met unfamiliar, Odele barked, “State your business here.”

500 Words ● open ● bluh, i'm so out of practice

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[brendan]

The face that met her was hard and worn but the eyes that pointed back to her were perhaps sharp as the blade hidden in her sheathe. Guilt did not melt into his expression for being caught; in fact, if there hadn't been any aura of intent previously, then it had just come out, bearing equally distrustful teeth. His hand was at his weapon ready as well; the smooth leather of the tome's cover slightly dampening under his sweating palm.

He did not think to hypothesize and he did not plead, because he did not bet in the good will of a person to listen. He met her suspicion with suspicion. Though he very well knew she had simply been idle in the crown of wildflowers while he was quietly moving on - as quiet as a beetle crawling through blades of grasses - he did not consider her to be the one in position to demand. A dog, even when knowing it was in another's territory, did not submit to show its belly.

"None!" The definite youthful pitch in his voice was the first crawling realization. At times, a layer of precociousness masked the small shoulders and baby face. His voice cut through it like lightning across the sky.

Brendan subtly moved his thumb under the cover and readied for his legs to wheel backward. A myrmidon. If he were in her position and wielding a sword, he knew how easy it would be to cut up a mage with a tome.

Odele

[Odele]

[attr="class","odele1"]

thirty lives

GOOD MORNING, MYSELF, IT'S BEEN A WHILE SINCE WE HAVE TALKED AND YOU HAVE CHANGED. FOR BETTER OR WORSE HAS YET TO DETERMINE, BUT I AM SURE THAT YOU'LL KEEP LIVING AND BREATHING UNTIL THIS WORLD TURNS OVER. SO LAY ME DOWN, LAY ME DOWN. I AM FOOLISH, AND I'M SORRY.

◄

►

It wasn't until further inspection that Odele noted just what sort of person she'd come across. Where he looked simplistic, she was jewels and elaborately designed clothing. Where he wielded a tome, pages of a fragile object that granted him the ability to cast certain spells, she preferred metal blades that were effective in only close range. Where he looked to be not a day over sixteen – perhaps even younger, almost half her age – time would no longer be her ally come the next handful of years. However, even despite the youth to be beheld, there was no time to lower her guard. Their one similarity was the way their hands settled upon their trusted weapon, eyes filled with distrust toward the figure standing opposite. To be “snuck up on” whilst picking flowers and react in such a manner was to be expected, but to have that suspicion reflected in the stranger only made it all the stronger.

The gap between her demand and his reply seemed to drag on much longer than it actually did, and by the time he'd opened his mouth, the knuckles of her right hand had already gone white where they gripped the hilt of her sword. “None!” None, the boy claimed? Ludicrous. People did not simply go places without a reason to be there, even if it was only to pass through. Especially not in such turbulent times as those. Though, the childish sound that carried that single word were enough to ease her grip on her blade, ease the tenseness in her shoulder that held her stance. Despite the fact that she'd been proven on multiple occasions not to discriminate by age, the blonde found herself falling into an old habit with ease. She'd still be prepared to draw her sword if worst came to worst, but a familiar voice in the back of her head was telling her that there was nothing to fear from someone so young.

“'None'?” Odele repeated incredulously, adding with a lighter, almost mocking tone, “I wasn't aware that boys snuck up on women while wandering aimlessly; and armed, no less.” What magic, she couldn't help but wonder, did that tome enable him to use, anyway? He didn't look the part of someone to specialize in any one element, and mages were so versatile that her could have been using wind, fire, thunder, or even all three. Regardless, all she could hope was that she wouldn't have to find out first hand. “All people have a reason to be in any one place at any given time. I suggest you start fessing up before I have to make use of this.”

449 Words ● brendan ● sorry for the late(ish) reply! D:

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[brendan]

Sneak up? As hard as it must be for her to believe, Brendan had been passing by and as inconspicuously as possible too. He didn't know how he'd attracted the woman's attention but it was not unheard of for a person to realize through some unexplained psychic intuition that she was not alone. Especially not with veteran fighters. Brendan had an inkling he had the misfortune of running into a particular person in Ylisse.

He weighed his options. Running away was the easiest path. He couldn't picture this woman giving chase to some ragged boy like a rabid lunatic. She was quite plainly from a class that was beyond that behaviour.

"What's wrong with being armed? Are you the exception allowed to wield a weapon?" he threw back at her. She wasn't going to believe he was simply lost. She already made it clear she wasn't going to believe that sort of innocent story but his alternative didn't seem to be any brighter either; instead, it appealed to reason better. She wasn't pleased with his non-surrender but perhaps she'd see that even if Brendan waved a spell at her, she wasn't going to die and it would take one quick charge and an effortless swing to strike judgment. Who went unarmed these days anyway?

Odele (Twenty-four hours isn't late. You're good.)