[CLOPEN] through the light that illuminates everything

[sunderings]

Who: Sion Astal & You!
When: 10/3 - 10/8.
Where: Gammon & Caissa!
What: Kingly failure on the job, singing, and domestic affairs (oh my).
Rating: PG?!



October 3rd - 4th ⇰ Cochrane, Gammon | Photo Tour (Job/Open!)

[ He flies on high, La Vista's wings of light ablaze at his back, a camera in his hands as he photographs Gammon's natural treasures from a bird's-eye view, sailing effortlessly over the Emerald Lakes until....! There is murmurous protest from La Vista itself, and though it is far from the first time he's received complaint from his Hero's weaponry (it seems the curse of Kings, to be subject to tantrums of the weapons which they wield), this surely marks the very first instance when he hasn't been able to quell them...!

And so: he plummets, wings of light dispersing into a thousand filament-fine strands of aetherous nothingness as he falls, silvered hair streaking behind him.

Apologies, Hero, if you were enjoying a lake-side picnic directly below, this scenario may end in one of three ways: broken bones (yours, if Sion should land atop you—thank goodness he can heal!!), an expert catch, or the King's own show of grace (a wind spell, with which to break his fall, and accidentally blow your picnic away?!). ]


October 5th - 8th ⇰ Coastal District, Caissa | M-m-manaplay?! (Open!)

[ Mana streams may catch the errant Hero's eye, should they find themselves wandering Caissa's coastal district in survey of the autumnal flush of color. The farmland nearest the coast is a patchwork of deep golds (barley, bending in the wind), brighter yellows (sunflowers, resilient of seasonal cold), and orange (marigold and an array of harvest gourds), all hues encompassed by mana-threads gathered not by the windmills, their sails catching mana from the ocean breeze, but by a King's song—an incantation which holds him still, amid the flowing, perpetual motion of farmland and field. Above the sussurating wind and distant sound of sea, his voice rises, and the world resonates with his melody—

(I see a spark of life shining; I hear a young minstrel sing. A beautiful roaring scream of joy and sorrow, so extreme. There is a love in me raging, a joyous magical feeling!)

—and the mana streams dance, coalescing into a magic which gathers the zest of fallen, dead vegetation and sees it flourishing within the bounds of the spell, and all those Heroes within its healing circle rejuvenated. For this is the power of King's rank magic: drawing upon mana from nature to revitalize allies...!

...even if acting as a channel, a living, breathing, conduit, should be more taxing than Sion had initially realized. His song cutting short, he falters—swaying—but catches himself (with grace), turning the motion instead into a pivot with which to face present company!

Why, of course he noticed you. ]

Shall I sing another song for you?


October ??? ⇰ Coastal District, Caissa | CLOSED TO ALICE

[ He draws.

Inked quill taken to parchment, the Hero King's thoughts are elsewhere, far from the seaside cottage he shares with his Lady (his Lady who has been curiously absent for the vast majority of the day—wherever it is that her adventures have carried her, he knows that there will be a story to tell when she returns home, safe and sound!), adrift in a landscape which has come to life beneath his fingertips, illustrated with a cartographer's accuracy and an artist's flowing script.

He draws, and he thinks of how, nearly eight months ago to the date, he'd stood upon the edge of the Southern Country of Ali with all his Empire's might at his back, poised and at the ready to take the territories of the Republic of Belis. His campaign to see the world of Menoris united by love, all countries come together beneath a great flood of renewal, his kingdom's banner of white and blue...

Would he return to it? The vision which he'd glimpsed, burned into his mind's eye (as his own men had been, by his own hand; his own order), had it truly come to pass realms away from here?

Golden eyes narrowed, sharpened to gleaming knives in a fit of what could only be described as King's fit (of brooding), he does not sense his Lady's presence until Alice is close, beside him at the table, and there is the softest, sweetest sound--...

A kitten's mewl???

(If his eyes go wide, round as saucers in childish surprise, at least no one but Alice will glimpse the sight...!) ]

Comments

[digophelia]

[ There will be no warning from Alice. She's surprised she's not greeted, as she wandered through the house, looking for Sion and having one small kitten in her hand (yes, hand). She wouldn't say anything or warn Sion about it. As far as she was concerned, he wouldn't really have much of a choice in the matter the moment she found the kitten behind Heaven's Feel during her usual breaks.

She's surprised that he can mewl, at all, given his size. An introduction was in order, Alice plopping the kitten without warning next to Sion. Alice stands straight, watching the little kitten make his way around his new surroundings, cautious and timid, his little triangle of a tail wobbling as he carefully sauntered away from Alice on the table.

Sion's expression almost gets a laugh from Alice. She does remember Kitty and Snowdrop, Dinah's two kittens, too small to climb. ]

It's awfully quiet in here; what are you doing?

[ Alice will try to play this off as completely normal, without an explanation, at first. Where's the fun if she does explain how she came back with a kitten right away? ]

[sunderings]

...relaxing?

[ Arriving after a moment's delay, Sion's response carries with it the distinct lilt of a question, as though he weren't precisely sure what to call the array of parchment (though it is the vast continent of Menoris which sprawls over the topmost sheet, so too has he illustrated Blanc and Gammon with the same level of expertise) and photographs (of Cochrane's Emerald Lakes and Taslo Mountain Range) blanketing their dining room table. Altogether, the piles of paper rather remind him of the documents once stacked upon his desk, his office in Roland's castle continuously filled with droves of work—policy, awaiting the King's seal—and perhaps it is true that his mind is most at ease when he is not so simply sitting idle.

(But rather working to predict what city Noir might next lay siege to.)

The kitten, smaller than Alice's hand (and by virtue, twice as small as his own!), pads lightly across the tabletop, curiosity momentarily outweighing caution, its little feet pattering over a picture as it advances toward the King himself, Sion who...

Is still very much wide-eyed, perhaps boyish, at the sight of something so very small. This kitten, with fur as ravendark as his Lady's hair, surely is a surprise—a pleasant one, even if Sion himself should seem twice-shy as he slowly offers his hand for the kitten to nuzzle into. ]

Clearly, you have had the more eventful day by far. [ A soft hum, a curious loft of brow. ] Would you care to introduce me to this little fellow?

[digophelia]

Relaxing?

[ Alice repeats quietly, approaching Sion and his work. A faint smile passes over her lips as she adds- ]

You? When do you ever relax?

[ She adds, knowing that she's no better than Sion, himself. She circles around him, briefly resting her hand on his shoulder as one of the briefest signs of affection. Alice's eyes follow the kitten, over the picture resting on the table. Photographs? Never has Alice seen colored photographs -- black and white photos from her father, whenever he would bring back pictures for Alice to look at. Back to Sion and the kitten, she observes his expression and...

And it happens, the faintest of laughs slips from Alice, gone quickly as it came. ]

Are you not familiar with cats, Sion? He won't bite you -- well, not with malice, anyway.

[ She teases him, daring herself to approach just a little closer. Standing this close and briefly touching his shoulder are still great advancements, no matter how small they may seem to others. Kittens at least aren't as aloof as adult cats; this little kitten seems to be fairly affectionate as he is curious, briefly rubbing his head against Sion's fingers. ]

I found him crying outside of Heaven's Feel when I stepped out for a few moments. His name is Cheshire. But you, you've been very busy. Are those photographs?

[sunderings]

Mm. [ —another murmur of a reply, an answer but not-quite. He is much too-taken with the lingering warmth of Alice's hand atop his shoulder (fleeting though it had been, he cannot remember a time when she'd initiated touch between them), and the softness of Cheshire's ears brushing against his outstretched fingertips. His radiant Lady... is happy, isn't she? From gentle sound of her laugh, to the way she hovers beside him; how she has brought home a new addition to their household—this is Alice at peace, at ease, and this... is also Sion hesitant, perhaps nervous, of the permanence which the kitten suggests. (How silly). ]

Photographs of Gammon— [ Ever mindful of Cheshire, he brings his map of Cochrane to the surface with a rustle, a shift of parchment pages. ] —which I had the pleasure of taking myself when answering the royal family's call. [ Here, he gestures to another photograph. ]

The Taslo Mountain Range, as illustrated...

[ Oh.

It is illustrated beneath four tiny paws, Cheshire somehow taken to following the motions of his hand, padding along wherever Sion's flourishing gestures lead. ]

...by the gentleman of the hour himself. [ Huffing slightly, Sion puffs his cheeks before...! Gingerly, gently, scooping Cheshire up, holding the kitten safe and sound in the palms of his hands. ]

I am sorry, to have forgotten him. [ A soft smile playing upon his lips, he leans just a bit closer to Alice (does she possess a gravitational pull...?) ] Welcome home, Cheshire.

[ A fine name, it is. ]

And welcome home, Alice. [ From his perch atop a chair, he looks to her, quite nearly at eye-level. ] If I wasn't before, I am certainly relaxed now, even if I should not be familiar with cats.

Cochrane, Gammon

[dishevelment]

[A 'camera'. That was the name of this strange device that Koumei had been given for this simple little job. It had been handed to him alongside the simple instructions to 'point and click' with the lens facing in the direction of the wonderous autumnal vistas that were the highlights of Gammon during this season-- and such a job was near enough to delight after the sordid affairs within the Dungeon at Pigeonsblood that Koumei didn't mind the strange device. The view from the other side of the lense was stunning, and if he turned his gaze upward he could spy the translucent presence of the moon sitting low upon the horizon.

--Or, a King falling because the powers of La Vista had failed him.

Koumei didn't have more than a moment's warning to brace himself before Sion crashed into him-- a tangle of limbs and long hair, of breathlessness and stunning pain as those bird-like arms and legs of the King jabbed into places where they shouldn't have been and memories he didn't wish to recall. Letting out a startled little oof, Koumei resigned himself to his fate of being stuck on this blanket beside the lake with the impetuous Hero King atop him.

Truly, there were worse fates.]

[sunderings]

[ !! Who's impetuous?? Certainly not Sion, winded by both fall and resulting impact—and there is some great irony in this, for Koumei is his (shooting, falling) star, and the Hero King himself the moon fixed in the sky—golden eyes unfocused for a moment, perhaps two, staring at nothing until...!!

He jolts upright (perhaps too suddenly, for his vision swims; his head aches) from the ungainly way he'd landed atop a friend, the camera (how he'd cradled the instrument to him, shielding it from damage; the technology is a marvel to him, still, worth more to him than his own person) briefly set aside in favor of tending to Koumei who hadn't cried out, despite how Sion is terribly certain he'd heard the air go out from the man's lungs after his elbow had met squarely, soundly with ribcage. ]

Fool. [ Healing magic leaps to Sion's fingertips, summoned by way of gesture alone. ] Why did you not move out of harm's way?

[ Honestly (he is worried). Even if his voice is quick to gentle and to soften, the golden light of his spell suffusing from his skin to Koumei's own by way of touch—his hands pressed (gingerly) to the other man's chest, over a prominent ridge of scar tissue keenly felt even from beneath layers of clothes. ]

...this is a terrible habit of yours, catching me. [ A slow shake of his head, windswept hair veiling his eyes. ] This marks the third time in a row.

[dishevelment]

Don't move like that!

[The outcry was instinctive-- as one would cry when someone yanked their long ponytail or forcibly dragged them from the comforts of their own study. Koumei squirmed underneath the (incredibly impetuous) king who had dropped like a star from the sky. His chest ached from the impact of a single body, all bones and long limbs, colliding with his, but the pain itself was still well within his limits of endurance

After all, a single body falling with the force of gravity alone was nothing compared to a javelin that had been propelled by magic with a single target in mind.

Moving carefuly, so as to not strain anything unnecessary, he grabbed one of Sion's hands with his own and cast the man a firm, assessing look.]

You've a terrible habit as well, whether you realize it or not-- but this makes it the fourth time you've found something I don't ever recall telling you about.

[The fingers that constantly found their way to his chest, that is-- or the magic that found it's way to the injury that had long since been healed....albeit clumsily and inelegantly.]

Sion. Did we perchance meet at some point that I don't recall? Because I've told no one about it-- not even Kougyoku. My room mates may have seen it, but they haven't questioned it.

1/2

[sunderings]

You would not have forgotten me, had we met before. [ —he huffs lightly, shying not from Koumeis' analytical stare, but matching it, holding it fast with glinting, golden eyes made all the more vibrant by the dimming daylight and encroaching darkness, the moon just beginning to take its place in the sky.

What is the other man thinking? Had it truly been so necessary to take his wrist captive...? Lifting his hand, Sion tests the manacle formed from his friend's fingers, all thoughts of mending the fractures of point-blank impact cast momentarily aside. Instead, he focuses on the bloom of mana bonds between them, borne first from close proximity, then by way of touch, the familiar sensation of Koumei's energy (hope, ever-distant, but still glowing strong) washing over him. ]

Nor would I have forgotten you, a man audacious enough to deem ensnaring a Hero King child's play, and so bold that I...

[ A wave of his wrist, trailing Koumei's hand along with it. ]

…cannot help but call that foolish, brazen man friend.

2/2

[sunderings]

[ A friend who granted him the utmost ease (when Sion wasn't tumbling down from the skies above!), someone who he... found himself close to, more often than not. Taken with their easy familiarity and ever fond of touch, the King hadn't at all been aware that he'd stumbled upon something—some great secret—until Koumei startled, garnering curiosity and begging response: ]

But what is it that your roommates have not questioned? What is this secret you would keep from your own flesh and blood? The scar which I felt...

[ Felt, for the briefest of moments. ]

...show it to me. [ ??? Sion. Are you still dazed from the fall??? ]

Photo... bomb?

[moreasleep]

[A vacation was not in Rory's interests. It was too relaxed for his tastes. Therefore, what brought him to this scenic location was not a job, but simple gathering. He took samples of plants that interested him and left some compost or water in return.

If it were not for the reflection caught in the surface of the lake, he may not have noticed the chaos above.]

Oh shit. Shit!

[While he cussed, he quickly motioned with the knife in his hands; luckily, he was currently using it. He formed a unique barrier. Instead of an immovable wall, he fashioned it more as a net, designed to give and safely slow his fall. Sweat beaded across his brow and neck as he poured mana into the spell to hold strong despite its pliant nature. Once Sion slowed to a stop, he released the spell. Too bad it just so happened to be right over the lake. Look, the important part was that no bones were broken.]

[sunderings]

[ Fact: Sion Astal is a man captivated by free fall.

When he had been young, new to the weight of the crown, how he'd oftentimes sought solace and escape by taking to his castle's heights, scaling its spires without heed or care, only to jump...! And to be weightless, if only for an instant, calling upon his country's magic (the falling flash of kuen) to break his plummet to the ground in the split-second before the flight of fancy turned lethal. But ah, that is a far cry from the here and now.

The present, where Sion had worn the faintest of smiles (a glimmer of something dangerous) upon his lips after the magic of La Vista crackled and flared out of existence. But the expression had been quick to fade, destined to be shortlived on account of another's (he is hesitant, to call it kindness, for the feel of the mana woven into the barrier which has caught him is too-familiar) concern.

Carefully lowered in the bassinet of a barrier, the King is not unaware of the finesse it takes to maintain such a precarious balance (strength which yields), and so, before the magic slowing his descent can fade, he takes a singular precaution: ]

Lightfield!

[ —a bout of minor magic, quickly cast, to form a platform comprised of holy magic, a perch for his camera (worth more than every bone in his body) to safely rest upon...!

As he falls into the cold water of the lake with a resounding (...we'll not call that a yelp...) noise of surprise and a splash. ]

Rory--...

[ By memory, he is able to name his would-be savior (no, Sion would never forget the way someone's mana, something so intrinsic to all things alive, felt) as soon as he surfaces, golden eyes flashing and alight, wet hair clinging to his jawline, expression perfectly bemused. ]

Why.

[moreasleep]

[He swiped his arm across his brow and heaved a sigh. Because he had never practised that particular spell before, it took more mana than usual to cast. However, he learned the principles by now and Pigeonsblood only served to further his knowledge. It was less of a risk and more of an informed chance. While Sion splashed around in the water, Rory quickly placed the jar containing plant samples in his pocket.

That look on Sion's face, more significant than that was that sound he made. His mouth twitched. A smile? It did not seem to reach his cold blue eyes. Whatever it was, it was gone in a blink and he crossed his arms over his chest.]

Why, what? Why'd I drop you? You expect me to hold your ass in the air forever?

[Despite the fog that constantly ate at his memories, he still recalled Sion's face. The name escaped him, like so many others, but not his face. Naturally, the most vivid memory was the very one he wanted to forget, the time when he came back wrong from fleeing the dungeon. Though it was far from the only reason, it alone was enough to bring back his distaste for the man.]

[sunderings]

[ That is the wrong why, Rory.

With a shake of his head, his hair trailing across the surface of the lake like some great, silvered serpent, Sion banishes all surprise from his face before making way to the shallows, emerging from the emerald waters with a flourishing, florid grace which rivaled even that of Capablanca's mermaids as they arose from the ocean's deep to mingle with Blanc's Heroes. But the image, of course, is naturally shortlived—the air is brisk and Sion shivers, thoroughly sodden from the silk of his dress shirt down to the very toes of his riding boots.

The cold is still very much a new sensation for him, so much so that the feel of it prickling across his skin is of no true discomfort as he takes to wringing out his hair by the water's edge. ]

What I wished to know was why you chose to interfere.

[ —his voice is oddly solemn as he turns his (lambent) golden eyes upon the other man, keenly aware of his savior's animosity and unperturbed by it. This is not the man he'd crossed paths with after conquering the Gisela Towers, but rather... ]

Though I am glad to see that you are yourself again. [ Strange, how earnest those words are. ]

Gammon

[burlyheart]

Potemkin had no shortcuts available to him. Of course flight is not an option he has, and the charming pony rides and rentable mount businesses (which market to tourists wanting a tour that doesn't call on their own legs) are not capable of serving someone of his size (or weight, but that at least was circumventable with his magic).

But this isn't something that bothers him. He considers it a privilege to hike along every single emerald grass-covered bump and ridge along the earth, crawling up and down along them like a beetle does on the ground. He's come fully equipped, backpack between his shoulders carrying water and snacks (some of which will be sacrificed to appease Strela so she'll stay still for a photo session) and a brimmed sunhat on his head with keeps the intensity of the afternoon light out of his eyes, to better gauge his photos.

What the brim also covers is his ability to see straight up.

[sunderings]

[ The sunhat is adorable fetching, or so Sion thinks, in a state of perfect calm despite the speed of his descent; how the brisk autumn air bites at his eyes, leaving them glassy, overbright when coupled with the aura-like light which limns from his person.

Naturally, Sion would know Potemkin anywhere (even from above!). Of course, he would not care to alert the mountain of a man to his presence, even as he falls from on high. And by virtue and by nature, he is given to one thing alone: taking his roommate (though they've not seen one another for quite some time, they are roommates still, bound to share quarters once again as they travel on Blanc's assignment!) by surprise.

A bout of minor magic (a bid for wind with which to break his fall!) sees the King's plummet to the earth below managed and slowed, such that he is able to land (with flourishing, intrinsic grace) before Potemkin as though he'd intended to drop out of the sky solely for the man alone. And one might call it an accident, if the summoned gust of wind parted Potemkin's sunhat from his head, the accessory now in Sion's hands (the camera formerly in his grasp now tucked into the satchel holstered at his thigh!), his fingers running along its brim. ]

Good afternoon— [ He laughs, then, a bit breathless; a touch dazed as he extends the hat back to its rightful owner. ] —I do believe this is yours.

[ It's been awhile, hasn't it, Potemkin. ]

[burlyheart]

[Though this is technically an extension of a Hero's job, stipend and all, for all intents and purposes he had seen this as a vacation and had all the expectations of one. It would be peaceful. Relaxed. Uneventful, if he was traveling with the sort who are hungry for a more noisy sort of entertainment and would call it that, but that's how he prefers to spend his time when he has the choice.

Maybe he doesn't, never did, never had.

What falls from the sky is too big, fast, and targeted to be an exotic bird, but that doesn't stop Potemkin from having a hard time identifying what just came down. A little bit of wind could never pick up Potemkin, but one could have swore he was lifted as well, with how quickly he moves back in surprise.]

What!

Wh - Sion!

[sunderings]

[ Ah...

This marks the second time one (1) Hero King, Sion Astal, has both witnessed, and been responsible for, Potemkin startling into surprise. Though where the very first time had been marked by a simple widening of the man's solid white eyes, now... now, there is motion, a swift drawing back, coupled with the low rumbles of an exclamation (his name!) echoing throughout the seclusion of the lakeside.

And so: Sion finds he cannot help but laugh, resonant and bright (and just a touch breathless, still, from his fall!), as he turns the sunhat once over in his hands before decisively placing it atop his own head, lambent golden eyes surveying his roommate from beneath its woven brim— ]

Truly, is it so great a surprise to see me? [ How flattering, charming, even. ] Come, walk with me and tell me how you've been.

[ About new homes, new ventures, and whether or not Potemkin has been keeping practice with healing—that flare of scarlet, mending light...

Sion has not forgotten it. In fact, it is the very same hand which Sion had once cut open (dagger, taken to palm in order to prompt Potemkin into action) that is extended to the man now, in place of the sunhat.

Let us be off, the King says without needing to utter a single word, the phrase voiced implicitly with a single, artful cant of head. ]

oct 5th, caissa!!

[footfalls]

[it's really a beautiful sight.]

[despite how often Lenalee catches herself thinking just how strange and foreign mana is (energy in one's body, energy shared between people, energy that won't punish or destroy her bit by bit for not following its will), she has to admit]

[that the sound of that song, and the sight of the world coming alive through Sion's will, a single individual, is breathtaking.]

[She hadn't meant to wander towards him during the song, but honestly... she can't be blamed??? it was super pretty??? pretty enough that she's a little regretful that it's over. (but at least she has this memory, and she's sure Lavi or Miranda or Allen would enjoy the telling of it.)]

[Then she sees Sion falter, and immediate concern replaces some of her awe. but before she can say a thing, he's already taken notice...!! and offering to sing again??]

Oh, yes!

[it slips out before she can realize just how embarrassing that request is?? Sion looked winded for a moment there, why is lenalee like this. she flushes in embarrassment.]

I mean -- no! [lenalee stahp...] I mean, it was absolutely lovely, really! I enjoyed it very much, but you must be tired after a spell like that. I don't want to burden you further.

[and it was a spell of healing on top of a great performance too... The itches of day-old wounds (small ones) underneath her bandages are already gone, thanks to that one song. some people can do really amazing things??]

[sunderings]

[ She's rather bold, isn't she, his new-found companion—bold, and somehow yet apologetic for the fact, her cheeks flushing a fetching shade of pink which can hardly be blamed on the autumn brisk of the air. How honest, Sion thinks, a smile curving his lips, lambent eyes flashing and alight as he surveys her (shining hair, violet eyes), knowing her as a Hero (has he glimpsed her in passing in the Hero's dormitories? perhaps upon Pigeonsblood's vast campus? somehow, someway, she feels familiar to him...!), but not yet for who she is—this, more than anything, he wishes to remedy. ]

You've my thanks, for worrying. [ —there is a hint of a laugh in his voice, something airy and bright as he shakes his head, the long fall of his hair (worn loose, today, free from it's regal plait) swaying with the motion. ] But it is of no burden to me, rather... it is akin to flexing a muscle, rarely used.

I've never before practiced this method of healing, you see. To continue is to test boundaries, to see what I am capable of— [ For slowly but surely, the glow of his magic fades, its verdant color dissipating into the air, seemingly swept away by the wind. ] —and what's more... it is fun, to sing for such a sweet someone.

Might I ask what it is that's brought you so near the coast today? [ A pause, before a keen noticing—those are the strips of bandages, aren't they? ]

...you're hurt.

[ No, that isn't phrased as a question, however gentle the King's voice may be. ]

[footfalls]

[it may have very well been both the dormitories and Pigeonsblood. despite being new and intent on not making waves (any waves bigger than the one she had when she first arrived at least... no more chasing down the prime minister in a bid to shake him down for information!!!), Lenalee's been as active as possible in gathering information, training, and finding all the ways she can to adjust to her New Life... She feels like she recognizes Sion too, perhaps a glance or two from afar. And now that he's standing in front of her, smiling kindly at her concern...]

[He doesn't seem like a bad person to get to know, either.]

[sweet someone tho... sion, pls??? the number of times Lenalee gets compliments back home: under 10 since komui's always around to destroy. here have some minute fluster, before she manages it long enough to reply]

...Oh. [she reaches up to touch one of the band-aids on her face, then she smiles brightly.] Yes, but I'm fine now, thanks to you. Your song healed me.

[except if he's going to take his turn worrying!!]

I got these while training today -- I wasn't doing anything as amazing, but I guess you can say I was testing my boundaries too.

[is lenalee the type to motherhen over people who push themselves too hard while simultaneously pushing herself too hard??? yes]

[sunderings]

[ Aaaah?? Perhaps Lenalee has finally met her match?? For it is none other than Sion Astal, King of over-working (to be strong for others), never sleeping (for there is always is something new to investigate and analyze in the world of Enprise; clues, regarding the war which the Heroes have been summoned forth by the Gods to fight), and sacrifice (on behalf of all things human) that she now contends with!!

...and it is with a graceful step that Sion bridges the distance between them, standing, now, within arm's reach. And ah, he is a true motherhen (silly worrywart, silly silver King someone, once upon a time, had called him) reaching out with a delicate touch to lightly rest the backs of his knuckles against Lenalee's forehead, brushing back the fringe of her hair as though he meant to check for signs of a fever.

But really, it's more than that.

(By way of touch, one might discern another's flow of mana, checking for injuries gone unseen if the healer is practiced enough.) ]

Forgive my forwardness, but... [ A cant of head, an apologetic smile as his eyes fall closed for the briefest of moments, silvered lashes fanning against his cheek as he seems to study a particular invisible something, visible only in his mind's eye. He does hope it won't be too uncomfortable for his new-found companion, for the bonds of mana are those of exchange, and Sion's energy is a slow suffusion of golden-touched warmth and light, resonant of something beautiful and boundless love for all things alive. ] ...I had to confirm it, for myself.

[ ??? And then, a slow withdraw of his hand. ]

Your mana levels are a touch too low for my liking, but that is to be expected from training. [ A pause, a step taken back for his companion's comfort. ] Aside from that, though, I am happy to pronounce that you are well.

But... I cannot help but wonder at what sort of exercise you might have been doing, to have earned this— [ He taps his own cheek with an artful forefinger, in reference to Lenalee's bandages. ] —along with the others.

Coastal District, Caissa! (feel no need to match me, I just don't feel like htmling on screenreader)

[sugegasa]

Autumn colors had always been something he very much enjoyed, and so, Shunsui had made his way to the area of the Capital most likely to boast its many hues in a rather scenic backdrop. He definitely wasn't disappointed! Caissa's seasons and vegetation were a bit different from what he was used to, but gorgeous all the same, and he was greatly enjoying himself. His new home was a wonderful place to spend time, but with four teenagers taking residence there, he found himself in need of some quiet reflection.

Quiet aside from the semi-distant sounds of the sea, and the song that had become more clear the closer he managed to tread to its source. A source none other than one Hero King, and he couldn't have been happier at the sight of him!

The rush of rejuvenation didn't go amiss, either. While he'd gone on many far longer treks, he was still an old man, and his walk from outside the City to the coastal district had taken some energy! Not nearly as much as Sion was expending, but the rush of energy did make him feel a bit lighter! And being able to behold the mana streams being woven so beautifully was a treat, one he hadn't seem in quite some time.

"I would be honored if you would, but might I interest you in having a bit of a snack with me first? I'm afraid the pastries I bought at the stall won't stay at their best for long, and I seem to have bought too many for just myself! Consider it a payment for your singing skills, perhaps?"

No, that hadn't been why he'd purchased them, but it had been many long years since he'd last been able to hear a friend singing by the sea, and it was only fair to reward him for the experience!

[sunderings]

...a snack?

Though he'd been aware of Shunsui's presence, the man's mana signature a vibrant spot of color in his mind's eye, Sion hadn't anticipated the offering of sweets. Sweets as payment, no less. Funny, how the Knight—even when operating under a bumbling, unassuming pretense—had a penchant for appearing in the moments when Sion so happened to be most in need of a rose-colored guardian (even if the King, in all his stubbornness, would not acknowledge the fact). What's more, he cannot believe Shunsui happening upon him is simple happenstance: the farmland which he had chosen as grounds for practice in both harnessing the mana of the earth and giving it back is not so very far from the cottage which he has come to call home.

And so: though he is smiling still, Sion shakes his head—no—the long fall of his hair cascading down, over his shoulders, with the motion.

"My thanks, but I think I will continue on. Though I would not deter you from enjoying the confections in the meanwhile." In the field, it would be an easy thing to shed the jacket of one's Heroic uniform, to blanket it atop the ground, and to recline—as though partaking of a picnic—while a too-impetuous King returned to his training? "Then..."

With a elegant, flourishing bow of his head, Sion falls back one step, then two, before returning to his song—a beautiful (haunting) warm (bone-humming) hymn which resonates through the fields, giving rise to verdant mana streams which--...

Dissipate, much too suddenly, when the King's voice breaks with an abrupt fit of coughing (the sound wet with blood), and Sion's body crumples (like a marionette, cut from its strings), flecks of gold (uncaught by the hand lifted to his mouth) coloring the earth below.

[sugegasa]

Shunsui was moving before the blood had started to fall, the first cough with its wet sound bringing millenia of experience to the forefront and guiding him by muscle memory alone. Sion would, within an instant, be swept into muscular arms and pulled back against Shunsui's chest before the man plopped down without even a modicum of grace onto the ground, his body supporting Sion in a sitting position while a gentle hand raised his chin ever so slightly to massage his throat.

His mana was steady stream of encouragement and safety, surrounding Sion in warmth and doing its best to calm him enough so that he could breathe again. Shunsui was uttering words of encouragement into his ear, free hand coming around to massage his chest.

He still carried cloths with him, unable to stop doing so even with his new memories of Ukitake's passing, and he pulled one from the pocket of his ever-present kimono to wipe away the blood that was still coming up, but a bit less intensely than before. Its color was miles and miles from the crimson he was so used to, but such a fact was merely a curiosity and not something he chose to focus on at the moment.

"Easy, now, you're all right. Relax, I'm not going anywhere and there's nowhere you need to be, it's lovely out here and we'll stay awhile so you can get a bit of strength back."

He'd said them a million times before, but to a far different man, and it made him smile, the tiniest bit. He leaned back a bit so Sion would be able to recline slightly, wanting to keep him mostly upright until he was sure the worst had passed.

"That friend of mine, whom I told you that you remind me so much of? He had a malady much like this, so please don't worry, i have a great deal of experience with it. His was rather unique in nature, though...should I send for a healer? My magic has never been the healing type, unfortunately."

As he said it, Pretty, the large black butterfly with bright pink designs on her wings, fluttered away from his shoulder, pressing her wings to his cheek lightly in comfort before moving to hover before Sion, spreading her wings to try to gently brush both his cheeks. Unfortunately, she was quite large for a butterfly, and her wings looked like they were either going to cover the man's mouth or tickle his throat...

"Pretty, love, it's all right! My apologies, Sion-chan, she gets worried."

But he needn't have said anything, because in the blink of an eye, Sion's carrier was there to bat Pretty away from its master, and Shunsui had to laugh.

"Ahhh, a good little protector you have! Now, don't speak, just nod or shake your head, eh? Should I call for a healer, my friend?"

Sion, unfortunately, didn't have an opportunity to answer before another spat of coughing took him, this one even worse than the last. Shunsui sat forward immediately, bringing Sion's head down a bit to make it easier to pass whatever needed to be expelled, trying his best to wait it out. Still, the man's breathing was labored, and if it got much worse he would send for a healer regardless of Sion's wishes.

4th

[whipoflust]

[ It's only thanks to his reflexes that he manages to avoid being hit full force by a person tumbling from the sky. He doesn't mean to look put upon for the couple moments where he just stares at the other man in silent, wide-eyed shock, but the expression turns to concern only an instant later, as soon as he has managed to gather himself. ]

My goodness...! Are you alright, sir?

[ He straightens up to sitting position from the uncomfortable position he had ended up in when he avoided the man, and turns his startled annoyance into concern. His carrier, the bird Bibyana, remains offended however, making noises of indignation. ]