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[swordarm]

This, too, is under construction. Pretend there's all sorts of pictures and information here.

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tfln @outsideer

[swordarm]

[Continuing from here.]

[For the average person, packing for a hike doesn't require much to begin with; for Felix, even less so. With him he only brings a sword, a waterskin, a drawstring bag filled with a few essentials (vulneraries mostly, sword oil, a small knife, among other things). As he waits for Claude, he's cupping his chin, eyeing a fruit stand and wondering, idly, if he should pack a couple of things. Just in case.

They're not going to be gone long. Would it even be necessary? Or would Claude make them take a detour and get them stranded somewhere? Felix wouldn't put it past him, to be quite honest.

Although...

Hmm.

In the end, he ends up purchasing a bag of mixed nuts and dried fruit along with an apple and a banana. Just in case.

Now all that's left is for the golden boy to show up. Late, undoubtedly.]

tfln @outsideer

[swordarm]

[Continuing from here.]

I doubt that would ever happen. How sad for you.

[A shame, because he's smiling -- no, smirking -- now. It almost counts.]

No roosters in the basket, that's for sure.

tfln @ outsideer

[swordarm]

[Continuing from here.]


[Felix stares at the last message with mixed suspicion and hesitation.

He's pretty certain he downplayed his abilities with the violin enough to reduce it to mere cat screeching and yet, Claude still wants to bear witness to it. It shouldn't surprise him. And, honestly, why isn't the real question here -- it's Claude, after all. And if five years of hiking trips and spars and rooftop chats has taught him anything, it's that Claude's mind, and the piqued curiosity within, is a scary place.]

You're serious.

[More of a declaration than an actual question.]

Don't complain when you're underwhelmed and bored to death, then. I don't want to hear so much as a, "is that all?" out of you.

@nobleamong

[swordarm]

[The floor of the Training Grounds is cold. This shouldn't be a surprise -- they're smackdab in the middle of the Ethereal Moon inside an old monastery after all. Yet the shock of it against his back through the thickest and finest Faerghus furs, however brief, cuts through Felix's mind like the blade currently held up against his throat.

Everywhere else, he feels hot, especially over his neck and on his face. He quickly reasons it's because of the adrenaline from a well-fought spar. And, grudgingly, a bit of the shame of losing to one Ferdinand von Aegir.

Felix swallows thickly, his Adam's apple bobbing dangerously close to the tip of his opponent's blade, and looks up through his lashes. He grimaces. He isn't in any sort of physical pain save for the sting around his nose from when Ferdinand hit him there with the pommel of his weapon. His pride isn't wounded too badly either, which is the first sign that something about all of this is off.]

...I yield.

[If only because he needs to sort things out. And to catch his breath. He finds he can't do that if he's panting hard while being pinned to the ground.]