[Feasts are fun, feasts are nice, but there inevitably comes a point when things start to stagnate? Or: Hilda can only charm her way out of so many conversations centering around their latest victory, or field so many requests to send well-wishes to her older brother, before she finds herself completely and utterly... bored. She's proud of the Alliance's accomplishments, yes; she's proud of the role she (down)plays; she's proud of each and every person she fights alongside, but is a night of idle chatter... really too much to ask for...
Apparently so, which is why she decides to take matters into her own hands the moment she spots Cyril carrying a plate of cake over to a waiting Lysithea. How precious! How cute! How perfect, she thinks, watching them for a moment longer before she turns to scan the crowd. There's one person she can always count on for interesting conversation—and luckily for her, he has a way of, ah, standing out in the crowd. It's the gold clothing, surely. That, and the gaggle of people standing near him, watching his every move while they work up the nerve to approach their famous leader.
...Typical, but it isn't like she's the least bit bothered. Water is wet, the sky is blue, and Claude attracts attention... which is all well and good, but? Well. The top is a lonely place, full of responsibilities and expectations and blah, blah, blah; she doubts that he's having any more fun than she is at this point in time, and so she thinks nothing of sidling right up to him. Hi. Hello. It's time... for gossip.]
So, Mr. Leader Man, [she teases, arm bumping against his as she leans closer, like she's keen to share a secret.] How long has that been going on?
["That" being... the quietly conversing couple standing halfway across the room, of course? In whose direction she helpfully nods.]
[ In a sea of waxy faces, Hilda feels like quite the knight in shining armour. Though really, it's not Claude that needs saving as much as it is the figures around him: bulldozing over any attempts at sensible conversation with comments about other territories that aren't constructive as they are derogatory. Unfortunately for them, Claude has mastered the ability to manoeuvre conversations in ways that leave his partners scratching their heads.
But it is tiring, repetitive and doesn't serve as much purpose as he would like, which means there's barely any hesitation when he turns to Hilda, catching onto her meaning immediately; attention shifting as easily as the tide. ]
Oh Hilda, give them some privacy. [ His voice isn't sincere in the slightest, smile quirking all the more genuine (and all the more devious), as his head dips down toward her, conspiratorial. ]
Though at the pace Cyril is taking things, I doubt they'll need it. You should've seen Lysithea's face when he dropped her off with only a hug a couple nights ago.
[ Not that he had been spying on them, but nights run late when you sit at the Alliance roundtable, and Lysithea did always stand out in the moonlight, pale hair and delicate features luminous under the stars. ]
I wonder if he'll work up the courage to hold her hand tonight.
[Hilda has long since learned that it doesn't do her any good to ask how Claude always seems to be in the right place at the right time; the Master Tactician just... has his ways, she supposes, and yet she still shoots him an obviously amused look. Keeping a close eye on the younglings, hmm... tsk, tsk...
But two can play that game, because guess who also has fun information to share!]
A hug! No wonder she seemed so annoyed when she stopped by my room to borrow perfume. She said that hers was... oh, how did she put it... [Insert a thoughtful, if dramatique, pause here.] ...Completely ineffective? Something like that, anyway.
[And across the room, Lysithea suddenly sneezes—no, no. Their quiet conversation continues, even as Hilda tilts her head to the side and brazenly studies Cyril. It's not like he's going to notice; he's far too focused on the lady in front of him. Imagining them holding hands... cute, but...]
Do you think he's ever held a girl's hand before? And be honest.
[ That's adorable, and heartwarming. It reminds him that Lysithea is very much a willing participant in this romance; that Cyril isn't just a nuisance whose pursuits that she endures out of kindness. (He knows that would never be the case. Lysithea has always been very firm in her relationships—she doesn't have time to waste on false niceties—but there's some irrational, protective part of him that feels a small comfort in seeing it confirmed still.)
Of course, it's also hilarious that Lysithea apparently thinks men can be wooed by perfume. It sounds like something she might've read in a book on animal mating and pheromones. ]
A girl's hand? I'd be surprised. Our Cyril isn't wily enough.
[ Mirroring Hilda, he cocks his head to the side as he observes them openly, one hand to his chin. ]
But I've seen the way Cyril handles a bow. His touch is impeccable: delicate and precise. If nothing else, she'll appreciate his efficiency, wouldn't you say?
[Cyril... is not wily enough, it's true! A plus in his book, as far as Hilda is concerned; Lysithea deserves someone as sincere as she is serious, but—oh, dear. Oh, buddy.]
Efficiency, [she flatly repeats, finally tearing her eyes away from the lovebirds just so she can shift her attention back over to Claude.] That's what you think girls care about?
[Okay, well. Lysithea might, actually, but even though Hilda is positive that Claude is an adept hand-holder, it's the principle of the matter. ...And an opportunity to poke a bit of fun at dear ol' Claude himself, and when has she ever let one of those slip through her fingers?]
Oh, dear. [A sigh! A sad shake of her head!] I hope you haven't been giving him any advice.
[ Claude would never expect Hilda to let that pass by without comment (even if he's right). She's like a shark when it comes to things like this, acutely aware of any potential embarrassment like blood in the water.
And he doesn't mind it either, tilting his head away from the pair and toward the woman who is, by all accounts, his partner in crime. ]
Why, Hilda. [ Eyebrows high in a mockery of disbelief and a hand pressed against his chest, Claude's eyes are brighter than they'd been at any point this night. ] Are you doubting my romantic prowess? Or is this your coy way of requesting a demonstration?
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Apparently so, which is why she decides to take matters into her own hands the moment she spots Cyril carrying a plate of cake over to a waiting Lysithea. How precious! How cute! How perfect, she thinks, watching them for a moment longer before she turns to scan the crowd. There's one person she can always count on for interesting conversation—and luckily for her, he has a way of, ah, standing out in the crowd. It's the gold clothing, surely. That, and the gaggle of people standing near him, watching his every move while they work up the nerve to approach their famous leader.
...Typical, but it isn't like she's the least bit bothered. Water is wet, the sky is blue, and Claude attracts attention... which is all well and good, but? Well. The top is a lonely place, full of responsibilities and expectations and blah, blah, blah; she doubts that he's having any more fun than she is at this point in time, and so she thinks nothing of sidling right up to him. Hi. Hello. It's time... for gossip.]
So, Mr. Leader Man, [she teases, arm bumping against his as she leans closer, like she's keen to share a secret.] How long has that been going on?
["That" being... the quietly conversing couple standing halfway across the room, of course? In whose direction she helpfully nods.]
no subject
But it is tiring, repetitive and doesn't serve as much purpose as he would like, which means there's barely any hesitation when he turns to Hilda, catching onto her meaning immediately; attention shifting as easily as the tide. ]
Oh Hilda, give them some privacy. [ His voice isn't sincere in the slightest, smile quirking all the more genuine (and all the more devious), as his head dips down toward her, conspiratorial. ]
Though at the pace Cyril is taking things, I doubt they'll need it. You should've seen Lysithea's face when he dropped her off with only a hug a couple nights ago.
[ Not that he had been spying on them, but nights run late when you sit at the Alliance roundtable, and Lysithea did always stand out in the moonlight, pale hair and delicate features luminous under the stars. ]
I wonder if he'll work up the courage to hold her hand tonight.
I'M SO SORRY... this weekend was buck wild
But two can play that game, because guess who also has fun information to share!]
A hug! No wonder she seemed so annoyed when she stopped by my room to borrow perfume. She said that hers was... oh, how did she put it... [Insert a thoughtful, if dramatique, pause here.] ...Completely ineffective? Something like that, anyway.
[And across the room, Lysithea suddenly sneezes—no, no. Their quiet conversation continues, even as Hilda tilts her head to the side and brazenly studies Cyril. It's not like he's going to notice; he's far too focused on the lady in front of him. Imagining them holding hands... cute, but...]
Do you think he's ever held a girl's hand before? And be honest.
IT'S FINE i'm slow as molasses anyway cries
Of course, it's also hilarious that Lysithea apparently thinks men can be wooed by perfume. It sounds like something she might've read in a book on animal mating and pheromones. ]
A girl's hand? I'd be surprised. Our Cyril isn't wily enough.
[ Mirroring Hilda, he cocks his head to the side as he observes them openly, one hand to his chin. ]
But I've seen the way Cyril handles a bow. His touch is impeccable: delicate and precise. If nothing else, she'll appreciate his efficiency, wouldn't you say?
being an adult is, how you say... garbage
Efficiency, [she flatly repeats, finally tearing her eyes away from the lovebirds just so she can shift her attention back over to Claude.] That's what you think girls care about?
[Okay, well. Lysithea might, actually, but even though Hilda is positive that Claude is an adept hand-holder, it's the principle of the matter. ...And an opportunity to poke a bit of fun at dear ol' Claude himself, and when has she ever let one of those slip through her fingers?]
Oh, dear. [A sigh! A sad shake of her head!] I hope you haven't been giving him any advice.
how has another week gone by already
And he doesn't mind it either, tilting his head away from the pair and toward the woman who is, by all accounts, his partner in crime. ]
Why, Hilda. [ Eyebrows high in a mockery of disbelief and a hand pressed against his chest, Claude's eyes are brighter than they'd been at any point this night. ] Are you doubting my romantic prowess? Or is this your coy way of requesting a demonstration?