[Closed] April Catchall

[finesseblade]

Who: Felix + Various
When: Throughout April
Where: Throughout Aefenglom, and a little Dorchacht too
What: Quests, Events, and Shenanigans!
Warnings: Maybe a little blood, a little body horror, all kinds of fun stuff

If you'd like to plot something for this month please pm me or contact me at ruddyowls

Comments

Tataru

[finesseblade]

[ Another month, another shift, and this one is no less pleasant than the first. He doesn't think it's supposed to hurt, but it does—manifests as a splitting ache in every bone of his body that turns into pieces of him painfully rearranging themselves into another shape entirely. When it's done, he's entirely a great black wolf, curled up on the floor with both large paw-hands clamped over his snout and his eyes squeezed shut, growling at the fading discomfort. At least he'd thought to wear loose-fitting clothes that wouldn't tear this time, which is good, because he has an audience.

At least, he thinks he does.

When he can finally bring himself to crack one golden eye open and peer into the dark around him, Felix realizes a problem he hadn't counted on—Tataru has vanished, at least to his eyes. His nose twitches. He can smell her, but what's left in the place where she was standing with all her sewing supplies strewn across the cellar floor is mostly a grey smudge, and a handful of her tools that happen to be blue or yellow.

He whines irritably, ears flicking back, and when he can finally bring himself to speak, his voice comes out rough as gravel. ]

This is ridiculous—are you still there? I can't see.

[seemstressed]

_{[Ridiculous is one way of putting it, yes, especially since all Tataru can do, at least for a hot second, is stare at the now quite furry Felix flabbergasted. While the whole shifting business in of itself was a bit...much to witness...she's immediately concerned by the fact he can't apparently see her. Sure, the lighting in the cellar isn't the greatest - it's lit by lanterns strewn about the corners of the room - but weren't wolves supposed to see well in the dark?]}

Of course I am! Whatever is the matter with your eyes?

_{[He's not actually blind is he?]}

Here let me bring one of the lanterns closer.

_{[Off she goes to grab one from one of the corners, carrying it closer, setting it down a few feet away from where Felix is currently curled up.]}

Are you all right?

_{[Maybe if he can't see her she ought to, y'know, reassure him that she's there. Out goes a little hand to pat him against one of his paw-like hands, her touch gentle.]}

I'm here, I haven't disappeared.

[finesseblade]

[ There's a moment when her hand settles upon his that he blanks out—where the wolf overtakes him, and all of his conscious effort to still be Felix fractures on the edge of something more feral, more fearful. He flinches, lips pulling back from sharp predator's teeth, and a low warning growl issues from deep in his throat. Don't touch me. Don't come near me. I will bite.

But the warm yellow lantern light throws her into stark relief against the grey of the cellar, making her easier to recognize, and Felix snaps back to reality all at once. He jerks upright, the growl in his throat cutting off abruptly as he backs up one pace and then two, putting a safe distance between them. ]

—Sorry. [ He shakes his head, whuffs softly like it might clear some of the fog of the moon's influence, but it's... not helping much. ] You should hurry. This isn't safe.

Sypha

[finesseblade]

[ He's followed the trail of blood spattered in the fields to the edge of the woods—hard to trace with the naked eye, but easy for a Turnskin's nose to pick out the copper undertones and the stink of several strange animals and trace its path here.

Here being... at the edge of the unfamiliar Wilde beyond Dorchacht, with its unfamiliar beasts and who knows what else lurking in the shadow of the forest.

Felix frowns, ears canting in all directions, mapping out sounds both mundane and not. He's still frowning when he glances over his shoulder at Sypha. ]

If we were anywhere else but here, I'd have thought that man's description made-up, but no. The trail stinks like half a dozen different beasts. How's your magic now? Any new tricks up your sleeve in case of trouble?

[ He has a feeling this isn't going to go off as harmlessly as their last jaunt into the woods. ]

[strongspirited]

[Sypha has been willing to trust his nose, because listen, she's killed Werewolves. She knows how sensitive their noses can be...nasty little buggers...and honestly it's not like she'd do any better. If he gets them lost, she can fuss at him, and that's good enough for her.

She keeps quiet, for the most part, hands gripping a walking stick she's picked up for treks like this. His question brings her out of her consideration of the trees around them and the trail ahead of them.]

Not quite completely back to it's old self. But I've got a firm grasp of what I'd need to fight. And a few spells I couldn't do back home to back myself up.

You're used to the transformation and all that now?

[finesseblade]

[ Felix rumbles irritably in response. That's a touchy subject. Is he used to it? Absolutely not. Resigned might be a better word for what he feels about what he's turned into. But it is what it is, and he's determined to at least harness the advantages his new form gives him in a fight. ]

I can handle myself now. That's what matters.

[ They can both handle themselves, and that's what matters. A couple of months ago, Felix wouldn't have even considered what he's considering now, but... ]

We have two options. We can wait it out here, and hope the beast makes an appearance after we've trampled all over these fields and spread our scent everywhere, or... we can take the fight to wherever it's hiding.

It's nocturnal, right? If we can catch it while the daylight's still with us, it'll be sluggish.

Saber

[finesseblade]

[ Felix finds her where he least expects her, in the barn where their farmer last saw evidence of the reported Devil hunting his livestock. If it's really been here, then perhaps he can pick up the beast's trail and follow it, or at least get a better idea of its movements about the farm at night.

When he steps in the doorway and spots her inside, he stops short, blinking in surprise. ]

Oh. It's you. [ Not to sound unenthused, but... well, they hadn't exactly gotten off to the best start.] Let me guess: you're here hunting the Dorchacht Devil as well?

[arturiarex]

[ True, their last face-to-face hadn't ended on a particularly good note. But he'd offered her assistance after that, so she can't truly hold a grudge of any sort. ]

Good day.

[ She nods. ]

And you would be correct. It is a threat to the people of these farms and ultimately to the city. I would be remiss if I did not assist as best I could.

[finesseblade]

[ Felix is... well. He may still be dubious about her point of view, but he's not going to waste his breath trying to argue about it when it's not the most important problem they're facing right now. So long as she can competently swing a sword, he'll keep his mouth shut. ]

I suppose I can tolerate the company.

[ He steps inside, eyes roaming about the interior of the barn. His nostrils flare. There are any number of smells here—mostly the unmistakeable stink of livestock, but there's the scent of an assortment of other animals that don't belong in a barn, too. ]

Something has certainly been here. Have you learned anything of value in your search?

Sylvain

[finesseblade]

[ So Felix... may have been out in the garden when the comet flies started coming out, and he may not have realized they were more than just oddly-colored fireflies until he got swarmed by a dozen or so of the little bugs, looking for a place to rest their wings after all the work of burrowing to the surface.

Now he's haloed in little lights stuck to his collar, his hair, and even the tip of one ear, and his emotions have gone a little hectic—most of the lights are blue and yellow, drowning out the other colors, but suffice to say, he's a little moody right now. At least it's a good mood?

This is how he ends up finding Sylvain. Without so much as an explanation, Felix bumps his forehead against Sylvain's shoulder and stays there, slumped and heaving a great, confused sigh. ]

I feel strange.

[crestfallenfor]

[Small mercies that it's a good mood. For his own part, Sylvain had been out and about, enjoying the sights, letting moods and whims take him as they came until they inevitably faded away as the cometflies fluttered away and as the lights faded from his skin.

Even so, when he comes across Felix, a few of those blue and yellow bugs flutter away at Felix's movement to alight on him, only really intensifying the swirl of odd emotions he'd already been feeling tugging at their bond.

(Notably, it isn't any of those emotions that prompt him to wrap an arm around Felix's shoulders when he slumps against him.)]

Yeah? Want to talk about it?

[If he doesn't, then, well... he doesn't, and Sylvain won't push the issue, but he'll listen if he does.]

[finesseblade]

[ The biggest shocker here is that Felix doesn't immediately jerk away and scold Sylvain for pushing a minimal display of affection too far—and the thing is, he should. In the back of his mind there's the sense that this is too open and too vulnerable a position to put himself in, and he ought to put a stop to it.

But there's a pleasant warmth in his chest, and an itch to be close to someone right now, and well—out of anyone here, Sylvain is actually probably his safest bet. So he settles against Sylvain's shoulder, closer than they've been in a long while, and exhales quietly. ]

Of course I don't want to talk about it. [ He scoffs. And then he ventures to talk about it anyway, a crease forming between his brows like he's trying to string together an entirely unfamiliar sentence, which he is. ] I just feel... happy. I don't even remember the last time I felt like this

Early April, sometime

[belligerentwarrior]

[Thump thump thump.]

Hey, you in there, new guy? [Fang calls from the door of the fancy house, poking at the door with a strange red double-ended staff-looking thing.]

[The Turnskin looked leagues better than when they'd last met; she was without her bandages now, warped burn scars ringing her wrists and neck, abruptly breaking the dark fur that crawled down from her neck to her back. For as miserable as Fang looked during the trip, she seemed remarkably carefree, now.]

[finesseblade]

[ It's a good thing Felix has come into more of his changes since they last spoke—the house is pretty large, after all, and it'd be easy for a knock at the front door to get lost in the halls. Fortunately, he picks up on the sound, and a minute or so later a disgruntled Felix appears at the door, ears cocking upward in recognition at the site of her.

He looks her up and down with bright golden eyes for a moment, appraising, before he actually speaks. Looking healthier, at least. ]

You. [ Because that's what qualifies for a greeting, coming from Felix. ] What are you here for? Come to take me up on that duel finally?

Memshare 01.

[finesseblade]

Felix is five years old and crying because Ingrid told him to quit being such a crybaby and stick-fight her again.

Or he was. Then he'd crawled up in the hayloft in the stables and found the barn cat had kittens, and this is where he's spent the last half hour, with four balls of fluff crawling all over him while he sniffles up his tears and recovers his five-year-old dignity.

"C'mon, Felix, let the ladder down. We just want to see the kittens!"

Felix peers over the edge of the loft, red-eyed and snotty-nosed and shedding bits of hay from the dark tousle of his hair. Sylvain grins his most charming grin up at him. He's flanked on either side by Dimitri, whose pout could probably kill a man, and Ingrid, who fidgets and scuffs her feet and firmly doesn't look at him.

Felix's lower lip juts out petulantly. A mewling grey kitten pokes its head over the edge; Felix pulls it back and out of sight. "Not unless Ingrid says sorry."

"I won't because it's true!"

[ The children continue to argue back and forth, and Felix—grown Felix—hangs in the background, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. So. This is embarassing. ]

This is ridiculous. Let's just get out of here.

Memshare 02.

[finesseblade]

"Don't be a crybaby. Get up and try again."

Felix, nine years old and laid out flat on the courtyard stones, sits up and glares daggers at his opponent. The older boy arching an eyebrow back at him has Felix's same face, his same carefully controlled bearing as he spins the practice blade in his hand, but the tousle of dark curls and blue eyes are different enough to distinguish them.

"What did I say? Get up."

"But Glenn—"

"I won't ask again, Fe. Get up or we're done."

Felix scrubs under his nose with the back of his arm and climbs to his feet, pouting the entire time—and then he charges again, his own blunted blade held over his head.

And just like before, Glenn catches the blow on the edge of his own blade, twists, and tosses Felix straight back down on the cobblestones.

"This isn't fair!" Felix whines, huffing dirt from his mouth as he pushes himself onto his hands and knees. "You're bigger than me!"

"Battle isn't fair. You win or you die. Now—"

"Get back up. I know."

[ This same pattern carries on for a while—Felix climbs to his feet, charges, and Glenn tosses him back down, and with each successive try Felix gets a little more frustrated. Once or twice, he changes up his strategy, maybe manages to get in a blow or two—but Glenn has the advantage of skill and experience, and each time, Felix ends up back on the ground.

Side-by-side, watching from the edges, the similarities between Felix now and Glenn then are apparent in the way he carries himself, and the hard set of his jaw as he frowns. Strange as it may be, this Felix seems more like Glenn than the much younger Felix fighting him—and anyone who knows him may be quick to notice it. ]

[supersoldier]

[It is the first thing he notices, of course. The similarities between the two are striking, despite the difference in age — the dark hair, the similar shape of a brow, the shared bearing of determination. Even the one-sided training session itself, strict as it might be, seems wrought of familiarity between the two. The conclusion is not hard to draw: family of some sort, and that is not even taking into account the present Felix standing nearby.

One glance at at him and all doubt is swept away. Certainly family, maybe brothers? He wonders.

But he does not speak up at first, only watching as the a young Felix is bested by the other again and again and again. It’s a harsh lesson learned, a harsh way to learn, but Sephiroth knows it to be efficient. Repetition is the key to understanding, practice grinds muscle memory into the body. He cannot say that he disapproves, not wholly, but he is also not privy to the true nature of this relationship. Is there warmth between the two beyond these training sessions?

Finally, Sephiroth deigns to speak, stepping closer to Felix.]

You’re stubborn, aren’t you.

Memshare 03.

[finesseblade]

Felix is thirteen years old and has not been allowed to see Dimitri since they brought him back from Duscur only an hour ago.

He knows something must have happened, because the royal palace is in a hushed sort of uproar—knights pounding through the corridors and horses screaming in the courtyards as stablehands try to calm them, messengers handed bound missives and told to make haste. Glenn should've come back with the soldiers, but he has yet to make an appearance.

Felix leans in and presses an ear to the door, trying desperately to listen to the conversation between the healers tending to the prince inside. The heavy wood muffles most of the words. Frowning, he stoops down to the keyhole, and there he catches bits and pieces:

"—Don't know how he even survived—"

"—not through the worst of it yet—"

"—even when he's awake, he doesn't say a word. Just stares straight ahead and—"

"Felix."

Two hands clap down on his shoulders, and Felix is spun around sharply to face his father, looking older and more drawn than he's every seen him.

"Felix," Rodrigue says again, exhaling slowly like he's trying not to snap. "What are you doing here? The prince is—resting. You mustn't disturb him right now."

"But I—"

"You must not," Rodrigue repeats, this time more firmly. "Stay out from underfoot. Let the healers do their work."

Rodrigue draws his son to the side, out of his way—but before his hand can settle on the doorknob, Felix asks:

"Where's Glenn?"

Rodrigue stills. When he doesn't answer, Felix presses, his brows knitting together into a tight furrow:

"Where—"

"Felix." There's no arguing with the sharp finality in Rodrigue's voice now. "Not now. Go to my study and wait there. I... I will be there shortly, and then I'll explain everything."

Rodrigue's shoulders sag then, and without another word, he slips inside, leaving Felix alone in the hallway. Felix can hear him behind the doorway, speaking with the nurses.

"Tell me what can be done. I cannot bear to lose another after—"

Felix doesn't stay to listen. He takes off down the hall—not toward Rodrigue's study, but in the direction of the knights' barracks. He'll find Glenn, and Glenn will explain—

[ For those witnessing the dream alongside Felix's older self, he will linger outside the door only a moment longer before he insists on leaving. No one needs to see these next few moments of his life, he thinks, but you can certainly try.

Otherwise, he'll be outside in the mirror hall, none too pleased to find you were poking around in his memories—particularly those memories. ]

[bloodypath]

[Well, now. There was no sense in staying, Hubert thought. The most intriguing part of it all was beyond the scope of this dream as the memory followed Felix' made dash elsewhere.]

[It was too much to ask that Felix would be as absent as when Hubert touched the mirror.]

Ah, how untimely.

[bergamotrose]

[Unpleasant scenes abounded no matter where he went, Lorenz mused as he retraced his steps. There were matters that other people were not meant to see, and a part of him stung with guilt every time he caught a fragment of something personal.

Spotting Felix lingering in the hallway, he quietly nodded his head in lieu of greeting.]

They couldn't have found a better way for us to spend this time, could they? Even a revisit of the White Heron Cup would have been more entertaining.

Memshare 04.

[finesseblade]

Felix, thirteen years old and sitting still as stone in an armchair in his father's study, feels as though the world just fell down around his ears. He didn't find Glenn in the knights' barracks, but he found—something.

Rodrigue stands in front of his youngest son holding his eldest son's blade across his palms, shoulders heavy with the burden of what he must now try to explain.

"Your brother died like a true knight—"

Felix feels bile clawing its way frantically up his throat. Like a true knight? What does it matter? It's Glenn, and he's— "That's not what they're saying around the castle.

Rodrigue's eyes snap upward, frowning, confused. "What—"

"They said it was horrible," Felix continues, the words spilling out of him all in a rush.

"Who told you that?"

"They said he burned, maybe alive—"

"Felix—"

"They said there wasn't enough of a body to bring back!"

Felix is on his feet, shouting, fists balled tightly at his sides. His eyes dart around the room, trying to find somewhere to settle, but in all his anguish he doesn't know where else to look, or what to do now.

Rodrigue says nothing.

Felix darts out of the room before he can, slamming the door behind him.

[ Felix, older now, doesn't have to see the memory play out at all, staying out in the hallway until the moment his younger self darts past scrubbing tears from his eyes. He remembers this moment as vividly as when it happened; it's played out over and over in his head for the last nine years, and from the tight-lipped scowl on his face, it doesn't get easier with time.

Maybe you're there with him, witnessing this in person. Or maybe he'll be waiting in the hall of mirrors when you walk out. Either way, Felix's stony silence says this is a memory he didn't want to relive. ]

slides in late... will swing into the sylvain half of the clusterfuck in a tag or two

[crestfallenfor]

[All these years, and suspicions of what Sylvain thought must have happened from the news are all but confirmed. He aches to reach out to the younger Felix, to bundle him up in his arms, to reassure him - not that it'll be alright, no, because after this point, not much is for them all, but that he isn't alone, at the very least.

That he - that Sylvain - wouldn't trade him for Glenn, even though it feels like almost anyone else might.

Vaguely, he realizes he's never said as much out loud, but has to hope the sentiment has come across loud and clear over the years all the same.]

Felix...

[For once, he's not entirely sure what to say. He settles on reaching out, on draping an arm around Felix's shoulders in some effort of being a... if not good, then at least steadying presence in the face of a painful memory.]

Memshare 05. | cw: little gorey yo

[finesseblade]

Felix is all of fifteen years old, a small, lean youth in chainmail that hangs awkwardly about his shoulders, wiping blood and sweat from his forehead as he straightens over the body of the man he just killed and spins around to scan the battlefield for the crown prince.

He freezes at the sight of him when he finds him—Dimitri, equally fifteen years old, laughing like something about this is supremely amusing while he carves his way through a cohort of six mercenaries surrounding him like they're made of paper. There's a flat, dead look in his eyes. One man falls to a lance through the throat. The next, a spiked gauntlet to the face that drops him like a rock. The last is thrown carelessly through the ground, and Dimitri thrusts his lance through the man's chest once, and then again, over and over in a vicious fury.

Felix remembers the sound the most—like nothing so much as the sound of a kitchen knife sinking into a ripe melon in summer.

He's reminded of the time Glenn took him on a boar hunt in the mountains years ago. One of the hunters who went with them had been gored by one of the animals in its death throes. It had taken three other men to drag it off him, and the healers could barely keep up with the flow of blood from his wounds.

There had been so much blood.

Felix must make a noise at some point—a high, throaty whimper that catches the prince's attention. Dimitri spins around, still wearing that dead-eyed look, and there's so much blood—on his armor, in his hair, even flecked against the whites of his bared teeth.

And then the look melts away, the awareness coming back to his eyes, replaced by startled confusion.

"Felix?"

Felix takes one rapid breath, then two—and runs. He does not look back.

[ Even now, older and more battle-hardened, Felix makes no secret of how he feels about this scene—and he'll want to get away from it as fast as he can, not running, but striding. He doesn't look back at Dimitri. He doesn't care to. ]

Memshare 06.

[finesseblade]

It's an hour, maybe two after Imperial forces called their retreat and fled Gronder Field, and the wind whispering through the trees, the overcast sky, all foretell of rain to come. It couldn't be worse timing—they still have their dead to deal with in droves, and the body of Lord Rodrigue Achilles Fraldarius, pale and still laid out on his hastily constructed funeral pyre, must still be burned. A decision made quickly, in the chaos after the assault—they couldn't take him back to Garreg Mach. The journey would be too long.

Felix Hugo Fraldarius, twenty-two years old and feeling twice that now, hovers in the distance with one eye on his father's body. He doesn't dare go any closer—not with the Boar there, looming over the pyre as though standing vigil, still as the corpse in front of him and muttering apologies under his breath to Goddess knows who.

Cursing under his breath, Felix turns on his heel and strides away from the macabre scene back into the war-camp. Let the Boar have his moment with the dead. He'll come back later.

[ Felix—not Felix after Gronder, but Felix now, months later—watches himself go with a tight frown. He knows, because he lived this, that he won't come back. He'll return to his tent and emerge hours later, after the rain, only to stumble into the surface of a shining pool of water and out into a hall of mirrors.

He doesn't follow. He knows how that story ends. This time he approaches the pyre, walking around to the opposite side from where Dimitri stands watch, unaware that he's been followed here. ]

this thread is gonna b a train wreck

[boarddyd]

[Dimitri cannot smell the oncoming storm over the stench of the dead. None have yet begun to rot, but these soldiers have taken their final breaths with their faces in the dirt. Their blood spilled over the vast fields of Gronder.

He cannot see any of their faces, cannot turn a single one to see the lifeless lull of their eyes.

His hands fall through.

There's a pyre, and standing in the shadows cast by bright flames is a blonde man wearing the Blaiddyd colors. Is that...?

Dimitri approaches with the intent to identify himself, or whatever monster has taken his skin.

Instead, he sees the crest of Fraldarius and stops.

One step closer, but the scene remains blurry.

Another, and he sees Felix walking towards the fire but he can't bring himself to call out.]

Damn it-!

[Like a dead man himself, Dimitri drops to his knees, greaves sinking into torn up grass and mud.

Why him?]

I'm so sorry... Rodrigue.

Please. Please. I'll find who did this. [Whispers, to himself and to presences he has not yet truly allowed to manifest.

But he knows their names. And now Rodrigue is among them.]