open.

[rightfully]

ᴡʜᴏ: Lucina! And you!
ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ: All around the Temple of Beginnings.
ᴡʜᴇɴ: Early October, pre-caves.
ʀᴀᴛɪɴɢ: G - PG at most.
ᴡʜᴀᴛ: Whatever your heart desires. Also: prompts below the cut.


» ғɪɢʜᴛɪɴɢ ʀɪɴɢ.

[ Getting used to this new existence with its promise of effort - a home she hadn't exactly asked for, but wasn't complaining over - Lucina certainly can't allow her forms to slacken or her muscles to grow lazy with disuse. The two-handed sword is her weapon of choice, typically, although she has trained on other things (thank you, Fire Emblem Heroes)—today, Falchion is loyally in her hands.

...Metaphorically loyally. She still likes to believe her inherited sword is loyal to her, the way it picks and chooses among Naga's scions with a finesse that borders on cruel.

Why would that be in doubt?

Well, the training dummy has managed to disarm her and refuses to let go. Falchion protrudes from the left hand it mysteriously has, wooden fingers wrapped around the hilt.

She has been trying to get it to relinquish the blade for the past ten minutes. Kicking it does not work. Striking it in center mass does not work.

(Walking away will work, but that's not in Lucina's repetoire. Hopefully someone will suggest that to her.)

Maybe... maybe begging will work? ]

Please return Falchion to me.

[ Stony, smiling silence. Ridiculously, Lucina's voice cracks like a whip. ] It will not even work for you! [ Who would like to walk onto this mess? ]

» ᴋɪᴛᴄʜᴇɴs.

[ Fortunately, Lucina is at least somewhat familiar with rationing, although life here is hardly comparable to the ascetic necessity of her sundered future. She knows precisely how much a person can live on without losing too much muscle mass - getting to prepare her meals beyond that limitation is a luxury she's still growing used to. She has yet to eat the alloted breakfast portion in its entirety without saving a little over for lunch, but with all the sickness going around (and her own arguable bout, that she denies and affirms in turn—Lords Don't Get Sick, except when they do) she's put a little extra energy in ensuring people are fed.

This prompt will not be as long as the previous one.

As soon as someone enters, she smiles over at them from her position above an oven. A large pot bubbles placidly, efficiently stewed meats lending an edible aroma to the air. ]

Good day, friend. Would you care for some soup?

[ She... she doesn't really know how to make anything else. ]

» ᴡɪʟᴅᴄᴀʀᴅ.

( Anything else! Lucina can likely be found making herself useful in whatever degree, training in the fighting ring, or wandering the forest. If you'd like to plot something, feel free to hit me up via PM to this account, but I'm usually down for whatever. c: )

Comments

[rightfully]

It's no trouble at all.

[ Despite the relative severity of her expression (it's just how her face is, really), Lucina's tone is gentle. Having fought alongside taguel and manakete, she notes his incongruent little features but makes no comment on them.

As for his query - no, not exactly. Not a hunter by trade, but many skills had to be picked up in the name of survival.

Lucina works deftly, if not in any especial hurry, setting out a few bowls and ladling out from the pleasantly simmering stewpot. ]

Do you take it with bread?

[ What a... medieval question. ]

[isaz]

[ Medieval indeed, but he too is from a region of similar medieval customs, so he has no problems adjusting. ]

I don't mind, if it is how you are to eat it.

[ When in Rome, act like the Romans. Or whichever equivalent Rome is, for a world that did not contain Rome, or humans from Earth at all ]

Thank you.

[rightfully]

[ Bread and soup is a bit heavy for someone accustomed to living on, well, nothing - with a side of roasted insects for survival - but Lucina takes to it eagerly, more than ready to fill her belly. ]

It is.

[ Some bread is carved out... and even buttered! How fancy. ]

I don't believe we have been introduced yet. Are you one of the newer arrivals?

[isaz]

[ Very fancy indeed. It draws to mind his days of living in the capital city, working with the civilians within the stone fortress of Tifereth. Butter would come from the churning cellars, distributed amongst the hunters and those who needed it. The nutritious value of the substance meant that it would go first to the sick and the young to maintain their energy. For that reason, he rarely consumed it - better to give something so precious to another person.

Though, circumstances are different here. The world turned - not upside down, but sideways. ]

I am. You can call me the Wintersmith. What is your name?

[ — a title, not a name. But he asks of a name from her ]

[rightfully]

[ That... that's a bit disquieting, certainly, but Lucina doesn't bat an eyelash. Whatever he chooses to call himself, or how he identifies - that's his own business. Not hers. ]

Lucina. It's nice to meet you, Wintersmith.

[ The way she says it, it sounds wholly natural - not at all awkward or fussed over, no time spent ruminating over how to evenly pronounce such a thing. ]

[isaz]

[ The Wintersmith is a title. It is effectively his name, because he's been living with that mask on for decades. To him, it doesn't matter. ]

A pleasure to meet you as well. [ His voice is flat, but not hostlie. Lucina isn't questioning him, which he'll take. And... ]

Do you cook often?

[rightfully]

[ There is little Lucina questions when it comes to the base mannerism of an ally - or, at least, someone presenting as an ally. People are unique. It's discourteous to harp on little quirks outright. ]

When there's need. Back home, tasks such as cooking were passed around so no one was burdened unfairly. Here, I suppose the system is a bit more relaxed.

[ She may just keep doing it until someone tells her not to. Who knows. ]