Age: ~300; like many elves (and dark elves in particular), tracking a year of birth has never stood out as necessary or helpful; once you’re old enough then everyone in the community is just used to your being there and a contributing adult. For those who live underground, there’s even less point and religious ceremonies tend to be celebrated on the basis of events rather than the calendar.
Gender: Female
Race: Dark Elf. This means, like all other dark elves, that Quille can see in complete darkness, although without true colour, but makes her extra susceptible to sudden changes in light level.
Rank: Steel. It has been officially noted that this is not an accurate reflection of Quille’s skill or experience, but rather a limitation due to unfamiliarity with (and continuing adaptation to) surface environs. She is, in the event an adventure somehow winds up deep underground and in true darkness, to be officially considered silver rank for its duration.
Appearance: Like all dark elves, Quille has a comparatively unusual skintone; in her case, the purple hue is slightly more dominant than the grey, giving her complexion more of a pale lilac appearance than anything. Definitely pale for a dark elf. This goes for her eye colour, too, a pleasant amaranth pink. Her hair, quite unsurprisingly, is also white rather than some shade of silver, something all too easy to examine as even the tightly-wound braid reaches nearly to the floor. One unflattering comparison was that she looks like a normal dark elf that’s been washed one too many times.
In terms of physique, she has the usual slender athleticism associated with almost all elven warriors or hunters, albeit at a rather unusual 6’2, an eyebrow-raising height for one of the firstborn – who, as a rule, very rarely stray from a range of 5’ to 6’, without difference by sex or race.
For the most part, Quille’s attire is surprisingly light, given Estival’s usual climate: thin spider silk, oddly lacking in much of the way of dye and their natural pale grey, but with surprisingly elaborate patterns sewn into them in silk or – often – some metallic thread. It’s not that she doesn’t have cold-weather clothing – the fur scarf that remains wrapped around her lower face at all times shows that – but as she tells anyone who wonders: the frigid chill of the far north extends deep, deep below the surface, and the climate here is positively balmy in comparison. Dressing like she’s near some geological source of warmth is the only sensible option.
From what little of her face remains uncovered, she almost certainly has the usual refined elven beauty, it’s just hard to see much beyond “those are some mighty pretty eyelashes you have”. Quille’s quite embarrassed by her teeth; like a small minority of her kind, they’re all noticeably sharp. And her ears are, of course, long and pointy – yes, they're also on the long side, that doesn't mean that overly touchy adventurers should play with them.
Personality: Quille isn’t just quiet physically, she’s a quiet person in general, leaving the business of starting conversations to others and often needing to repeat herself because she’s just not speaking loudly enough. That’s not to say she’s rude or disinterested; the elf watches other people keenly and always answers politely when spoken to.
As is typical for a dark elf found wandering around further south, she’s quite interested in new experiences and new sights, although this only infrequently extends to the local cuisine. As much as she’d want to eat with others, the diet frequently disagrees with her, and exposing her teeth… well, she got more than enough attention when she first arrived.
Brief Backstory: Dark elf society, despite the harsh environment, isn’t as hostile or uncultured as some southerners like to imagine, and elves that choose to become hunters are actually a minority – a prestigious minority, but not a massive contingent either. Nor is it something that tends to be pushed from parent to child, unlike many other specialisations; it demands a certain natural talent and inclination that can’t be forced.
Quille was one such child with this talent, and rather than follow her parents’ more domestic specialisations – and such things really are specialisations, not careers, with an elf’s endless life and the way the tunnels of the north enforce a migratory lifestyle – she was picked up by the older hunters and taught their ways. How to move silently, how to track and find prey in the deeps, how to kill – and how to do all of these while running away, or fighting for her life when it went wrong.
It was something that she got very good at.
And then, as occasionally happened, she wondered about the warm and sunny lands in their cultures’ songs and stories; the stars and other celestial objects that they can almost never see; the great constructions on the surface and in the dwarves’ halls. So she made sure to find someone to learn the necessary languages from, replaced her worn set of knives in their entirety, and went through the long journey up to the top and then steadily south, through Barukstaed and then into Estival.
This… didn’t go perfectly. She, after all, had nothing in the way or money or tradeable goods on her, and there were some extremely difficult misunderstandings involving livestock that needed to be resolved before she was pointed at the adventurers’ guild as a way to both pay the restitution necessary – a much more practical punishment than imprisoning a baffled and heavily armed elf – and gather the funds she needs before continuing her journey in full.
Quille hasn’t been in the guild long at all, only just starting to find her place amongst the other adventurers and learn about Estival in detail.
Equipment: Given her background, Quille operates lightly equipped for an adventurer planning to get in the thick of a melee at some point: soft leather, and a very thorough assortment of knives. Armour, in her prior profession, is almost useless compared to not getting caught in the first place, and it’s more a matter of wearing something that can deal with scrapes and sharp rocks and go under actually warm clothing.
Fully half her knives are tools of one kind or another, but the rest cut a neat split between very thin and very pointed daggers, and wicked single-edged things. Interestingly enough, only half of the full set appear to be metal, the others are reworked teeth of some underground monster.
Skills: First and foremost, Quille was – is, despite her interest in the surface – a dark elf hunter. This is not the skill set and job of someone who tracks and stalks herbivores or fowl that they don’t want to scatter and run, or a grand hunting party to bring down more aggressive quandary. It’s the skills of someone who expects, given the slightest slip, to be in a fight for her life against a raging lithovore that could grind her to dust, against a predator eager to eat her just as much as she wants it, or the mushroom eaters that can somehow survive this environment.
Her movements must make no sound, mustn’t disturb the environment at all; she cannot even be a glimpse in the vision of those creatures that have sight – whether by speed or by remaining in a blindspot. Every strike must be a killing strike into somewhere vulnerable, no matter how protected or hidden. The floor might be too dangerous, or not even there, but there are walls and ceilings too.
And then begins the process of butchering and taking everything back home.
These skills… mostly translate to the above-ground world, but outside of the perpetual snow and extended darkness of the northlands, there are always things that she’s still accounting for and not used to. Leaves. Foliage in general, in all honest. Things not echoing, a sense Quille has never fully accounted for. Shadows are a big one that she slips up on, that she can be seen without being seen, and worked stone is a lot harder to get a grip on (let alone wide open spaces, although caverns and the occasional above-ground hunt don’t make that too crippling).
Although she knows magic, it’s all of a practical bent: cleaning, cooking, creating fires that burn with no fuel to save on things too precious to waste. Some measure of her normal silence is magical, and the ease with which her knives can carve through rock and metal, but the spells are something she uses so constantly and with such ease that to catch her ever casting them in a big display would never happen. Only when a dark elf can cast these spells with a word and keep them going for the length of a hunt are they truly considered a hunter.
Quite unsurprisingly, although she knows Elven (in all its major dialects) and the languages of Barukstaed and Estival reasonably well (enough to puzzle through Veltish), Quille knows nothing of Talderian or its daughter languages, like Ithillane.
Back to the cold, mountainous border… Cellica wished she could say it was the same as any other assignment, but that would be a lie. These mountains carried memories that other locales didn't and every sight of an Eryndreal border patrol put her on edge, her hands itching for her sword and her lack of armour leaving her feel uncannily naked. Every time there was a moment of confusion as they didn't come under attack, then reality caught up and she carried on with her day.
That wasn't to say that the elf outwardly showed this, natural stoicism and a proper upbringing leaving her expression unaltered as she went back to her tasks. Logistics, mostly; making sure supplies were moving properly and to where they were needed. It was all good having scientists and engineers and exploration experts; somebody needed to make sure that food was ready and the fuel to cook it. Especially in such a cold environment.
Warm coats if required, too. Her normal attire and the armoured undersuit beneath warded off the worst of the cold – mostly the underlayer, in all honesty – but not everyone was necessarily that equipped. It also did nothing for her head, but she had a thick scarf wrapped around her head. It couldn't entirely keep her ears warm but, well, that was nothing new to her.
It only took a few minutes after the instruction to meet up came through for Cellica to finish up her count, signing off on their current supplies before heading over. At least the interior was warm enough to present more to the others than a slit view of golden eyes and long ears.
… not that it made much difference. A sober Cellica wasn't an expressive one.
Despite being lean and slightly shorter than average at 5'2, Cellica still manages to have an air of looking down on her surroundings, an upright bearing and something in those golden eyes making her seem larger than she physically is. She's also athletic rather than skinny, but somewhat counteracts that by being possibly the only person stubborn enough to wear long skirts consistently in dangerous situations.
Scripts or Executables: An Executor – her affinity and interests lie primarily with Discordia, then Svarog and (unsurprisingly for a former officer) Metis. As might be expected for someone who's generally in tune with a goddess so… straightforward in her sphere, Cellica's boons are equally straightforward: she can very briefly enhance her strength or speed to surprising degrees – not long enough for more than one action, but for a sudden exertion of force or, say, a corridor of swinging axes…
From Discordia, she can also purify someone of poisons and their aftereffects. While this might seem to be useful for cleansing evil… no, it's mostly useful for sobering up in a hurry or eliminating hangovers.
Besides those, Cellica has a spell from Svarog that reduces the damage she takes… so long as she's physically interposed with someone she wishes to protect, a legacy from her time in the military and facilitating an evacuation, and a divination from Metis. Quite unsurprising given the conditions that prompted her to learn it, that one simply rates the danger of any given day – excellent with good scouting, terrible if plumbing a complete unknown.
In terms of names –
Strength Burst
Speed Burst
Detox
Guardian Interdict (It notably immediately stops having an effect if whoever she's protecting is out of danger… or if they hang around to try and continue the effect)
Augury
Equipment: Consistently, Cellica has a laser sword – something she's surprisingly proficient in, if not exceptional given the conditions she 'practised' in, with a focus on teamwork and… well, fighting a modern war, and staying on as an officer doesn't give much advantage for practising. It's a particularly advanced model, collapsing to a slender tube when deactivated, easily kept in a deep, secure pocket out of sight – and then it turns into a full cruciform long sword of gleaming, glassy blue once activated. A present for retiring from active service to the reserves.
On the down side, her martial background and interests don't extend to keeping a full exosuit… that would be notably rather awkward to procure without good reason, regardless of funding. The compatible undersuit that replaces the traditional medieval padding, though? Oh, she definitely has that on under her normal clothes, although the only giveaway is really the gloves. It is, as she would point out, eminently practical for exploratory work: comfortable in most environmental conditions, tough and resistant to nicks and scrapes, and possibly the only clothing you can wear that can automatically bandage injuries.
Academic Qualifications: Cellica's pure scholarly background seems somewhat… lacking for someone part of the Metian Institute. She's an avid antiquarian, for certain, endlessly engaged by finding objects and traces from the past, but her attitude is clearly one of a collector with a particular interest in old military finds rather than a learned scholar, and she can't really tell you much of their inner workings. Oh, she also dabbles in clockwork – enough to clean up certain things – but that hardly counts either.
Her biggest academic contribution by far? Her family backs the institute quite heavily as one of their major interests in Orvalis. Enough that a scion only a few steps removed from a hobbyist was allowed to join, since her practical skills aren't half bad.
History: Elamenor isn't just a noble family, it's a noble family with a history stretching so far back that entire scholarly works have been written about it and their involvement in both Thalodreal's and the wider world's politics. Since the council's inception, they have regularly managed to secure a spot as the representative of the nobility, and are deeply entwined in the country's trading with Orvalis, either providing indirect patronage or heavy ownership in business in both countries.
But with this position has developed a certain… fatalism. It would ill-suit any of the house's heirs to not be the first to jump at a call to battle, to protect the country in actuality as they believe themselves to do in spirit. And so, after an excellent showing in the Solar Hunt through as traditional means as any – no less than expected of her position – Cellica joined the military.
She didn't find herself a lowly grunt, of course; her education was impeccable and she was fast-tracked as an officer… but even her background and education don't allow for straight entry to a general staff position, and nor would she have accepted it. Seeing frontline combat was inevitable, in all its modern lack of glory, and Cellica served to the end of the war with reasonable distinction.
On returning home, with no more military duties on hand, she promptly fell into an odd mix of debauchery interspersed with collecting anything pre-modern that caught her interest. It was something that threatened to become a problem, a young noble with nothing else on the horizon… but when working with the Metian institute was raised, Cellica jumped on it. Something that would satiate her desire for more conflict, her interests in the past…
"H-Hey, that's our line! You r-r-ran away!" Miina snapped back. Attacking… eugh, it was split open, but there was no point in her original planned offence now, they needed her to die fast and not have time to rig another explosion or something. So… support it was.
At least this was an easy choice. For one, she didn't particularly want Izayoi to die – brusqueness towards her father aside, family was still family – and for two… vengeance was important, wasn't it?
"Cura. Haste," Would that be enough? Well, it might keep her alive more, but… ah, well, it couldn't do any more harm at this point, could it? It wasn't like Izayoi would even notice what she was doing, this was just helping it along a little, "Berserk."
There.
…
"Protect." Okay, that was her limit. Izayoi and the rest had better be able to finish it, Miina wasn't going to jump in to stab this thing… and she didn't want to find out what happened if she was forced to jump without a way to absorb the landing.
Despite being lean and slightly shorter than average at 5'2, Cellica still manages to have an air of looking down on her surroundings, an upright bearing and something in those golden eyes making her seem larger than she physically is. She's also athletic rather than skinny, but somewhat counteracts that by being possibly the only person stubborn enough to wear long skirts consistently in dangerous situations.
Scripts or Executables: An Executor – her affinity and interests lie primarily with Discordia, then Svarog and (unsurprisingly for a former officer) Metis. As might be expected for someone who's generally in tune with a goddess so… straightforward in her sphere, Cellica's boons are equally straightforward: she can very briefly enhance her strength or speed to surprising degrees – not long enough for more than one action, but for a sudden exertion of force or, say, a corridor of swinging axes…
From Discordia, she can also purify someone of poisons and their aftereffects. While this might seem to be useful for cleansing evil… no, it's mostly useful for sobering up in a hurry or eliminating hangovers.
Besides those, Cellica has a spell from Svarog that reduces the damage she takes… so long as she's physically interposed with someone she wishes to protect, a legacy from her time in the military and facilitating an evacuation, and a divination from Metis. Quite unsurprising given the conditions that prompted her to learn it, that one simply rates the danger of any given day – excellent with good scouting, terrible if plumbing a complete unknown.
In terms of names –
Strength Burst
Speed Burst
Detox
Guardian Interdict (It notably immediately stops having an effect if whoever she's protecting is out of danger… or if they hang around to try and continue the effect)
Augury
Equipment: Consistently, Cellica has a laser sword – something she's surprisingly proficient in, if not exceptional given the conditions she 'practised' in, with a focus on teamwork and… well, fighting a modern war, and staying on as an officer doesn't give much advantage for practising. It's a particularly advanced model, collapsing to a slender tube when deactivated, easily kept in a deep, secure pocket out of sight – and then it turns into a full cruciform long sword of gleaming, glassy blue once activated. A present for retiring from active service to the reserves.
On the down side, her martial background and interests don't extend to keeping a full exosuit… that would be notably rather awkward to procure without good reason, regardless of funding. The compatible undersuit that replaces the traditional medieval padding, though? Oh, she definitely has that on under her normal clothes, although the only giveaway is really the gloves. It is, as she would point out, eminently practical for exploratory work: comfortable in most environmental conditions, tough and resistant to nicks and scrapes, and possibly the only clothing you can wear that can automatically bandage injuries.
Academic Qualifications: Cellica's pure scholarly background seems somewhat… lacking for someone part of the Metian Institute. She's an avid antiquarian, for certain, endlessly engaged by finding objects and traces from the past, but her attitude is clearly one of a collector with a particular interest in old military finds rather than a learned scholar, and she can't really tell you much of their inner workings. Oh, she also dabbles in clockwork – enough to clean up certain things – but that hardly counts either.
Her biggest academic contribution by far? Her family backs the institute quite heavily as one of their major interests in Orvalis. Enough that a scion only a few steps removed from a hobbyist was allowed to join, since her practical skills aren't half bad.
History: Elamenor isn't just a noble family, it's a noble family with a history stretching so far back that entire scholarly works have been written about it and their involvement in both Thalodreal's and the wider world's politics. Since the council's inception, they have regularly managed to secure a spot as the representative of the nobility, and are deeply entwined in the country's trading with Orvalis, either providing indirect patronage or heavy ownership in business in both countries.
But with this position has developed a certain… fatalism. It would ill-suit any of the house's heirs to not be the first to jump at a call to battle, to protect the country in actuality as they believe themselves to do in spirit. And so, after an excellent showing in the Solar Hunt through as traditional means as any – no less than expected of her position – Cellica joined the military.
She didn't find herself a lowly grunt, of course; her education was impeccable and she was fast-tracked as an officer… but even her background and education don't allow for straight entry to a general staff position, and nor would she have accepted it. Seeing frontline combat was inevitable, in all its modern lack of glory, and Cellica served to the end of the war with reasonable distinction.
On returning home, with no more military duties on hand, she promptly fell into an odd mix of debauchery interspersed with collecting anything pre-modern that caught her interest. It was something that threatened to become a problem, a young noble with nothing else on the horizon… but when working with the Metian institute was raised, Cellica jumped on it. Something that would satiate her desire for more conflict, her interests in the past…
On the one hand, this was excellent first-hand experience of… hmm, could she even classify this? It was outright deadly to be around, but she wasn't sure that really counted for being black magic. It was deadly to not have any air to breathe or water to drink, but the absence of those wasn't itself a hazard. This was just overwhelming with raw power, whatever it was.
On the other… as useful as they were, materia were lazy enough. It still took skill and practice to use and control anything that replicated a more general control of aether, and highly specific effects? Well, it was what it was. But here Valheim had created a machine to do the casting for them. No knowledge. No finesse. Just another one of their stupid constructions doing things they had no business or talent messing with at all. She hated it.
Working out how to make sure Valheim lost this knowledge later would have to late. Skael had better not copy it, one country that had to be destroyed was enough.
… it wasn't as if she had many options. This was all brute force. Couldn't dodge it (well, if she could just teleport off the ship then it would be fine, but that would mean being in mid-air and Miina wasn't a bird), couldn't have a targeted defence… fine, fine, fine. Layer up the best she could on everyone stuck here, hope that it could ablate enough they didn't go splat:
"Th-The head. She's in the head," Miina shouted, hoping that this might get a repeat of the armour-cracking on something significantly more… relevant. While having it flop around on one functional limb would be useful, that wasn't going to incapacitate anything…
Of course, focusing on the detailed workings of the weapon was currently taking a back seat. For one, Rudolf was… well, on fire. Quite literally, fire leaking out was… hmm, she was pretty sure that there was no approach to either magic, skill, or technology that would make that a good thing. But healing it? Oh, that would be quite pointless, it would just be adding more fuel. What was even going on?
It was just so… abnormal. Destructive and corrosive, the things she could learn and do if she had access to study that… if it could be replicated, then in pure destructive power, it must be unequalled, right? But it also felt… very bad. Definitely not something you wanted to mix with, from whatever was going on with Rudolf…
Okay, first priority: survive. Second priority: kill Reisa. Third priority: keep Rudolf in particular alive long enough she could find out what was going on. Izayoi could handle herself, generally, so…
Now, of course, Miina just had the matter of… doing something useful. Like avoiding those talons. Dodge. Wait, that one had gouged through her coat! Faster. "Haste." Dodge. Dodge. Useful, useful…
Well, she had a direct conduit to the weapon's internals, past all the armouring. It was no "drown Reisa" in terms of effect, but…
"Thunder. Thunder. Thunder." Under strength, really, but she didn't really have time to fire something more impressive…
There it was again… something had an unpleasantly sharp smell to it. It didn't smell quite like anything else Tyaethe could think of but it stung, hanging cloying in the air. She had asked around, and nothing about the way Candaeln was cleaned had changed recently, so it had to be something introduced externally by one of the knights. It wasn't the fairies; they smelled… well, pretty much like their element, and so long as Laoise was happy to stay near the forge, the smell of woodsmoke wasn't overpowering. Fiadh smelled like a tree.
Then this must be…
As Gertrude rounded the corner, it was exceptionally unlikely that she would have expected the vampire to almost spring from her seated position and… sniff at her stomach?
“A bleeding stick,” Gertrude muttered as she paced the grounds, looking down at the present the Moonlit Queen had gifted her. In between naps, her thoughts were occupied by the meaning of this thing, and it annoyed her to no end.
What was she even supposed to do with-
…And that’s when Tyaethe leapt at her, just as she was turning a corner. Her immediate reaction was to blast her attacker, immolate the sod, but she quickly recognized the owner of that snow-white hair. Her fingers had sparked with flame which quickly died down, and her irritated complaints were subsumed entirely in a series of giggles as Tyaethe’s nose brushed up against her belly.
“Eheehee… p-p-piss off! T-that- ehee… w-what are you doing, you daft- YAYA!”
Gertrude was, in fact, rather ticklish there.
The head snapped up from her stomach, eyes giving her a grumpy half-lidded stare. "You stink."
The vampire also paused for a second before adding, "… and don't call me Yaya. Why do you even know that, it's even rarer than my name down here…"
Gertrude’s cheeks colored as she shot Tyaethe a dissatisfied frown.
“I don’t bleeding stink, I use cleaning magic on myself daily,” Gertrude said matter-of-factly, “the spell also takes care of various other health concerns, like providing nutrition and preventing disease. I developed it using components of various spells, and made it into an all-purpose physical maintenance spell.”
Gertrude smirked with no small amount of pride.
“...And ‘Yaya’ is cute, and I like it. A step up from ‘Mosquito’, wouldn’t you say? Perhaps you’re growing on me.”
One fairy-mandated sing-along and suddenly it was like you were all friends. Or maybe it was a witch thing? Jump straight to being overly-familiar as soon as you were done trying to be distant. And if you argued about it, it just got worse and worse. Still, why did she even know that was right… she didn't have the accent for someone from Stalva, so it wasn't that, and she was pretty sure the girl wasn't from Ithillin.
But Gertrude had given her the answer. "It's the magic. That's what stinks," the vampire said, confidently stepping back. It was something clinging to her like a shroud, which… probably made sense if it was meant to be a series of daily effects. Just annoying if you were sensitive to it.
Gertrude shook her head.
“It smells just fine to me, Yaya,” she replied, happy that the nickname seemed to have gotten on the woman’s nerves in a fun new way, “and it’s not like I’ve gotten any other complaints.”
It occurred to Gertrude that Tyaethe had to be immensely sensitive for the scent to bother her, though it didn’t really come as any surprise, given what Gertrude had heard and witnessed in regards to the vampire.
“If that’s all, then, I’ll be off,” she teased, smirking.
A small hand grabbed her wrist, the grip gentle – and yet no less yielding than if an iron bar had suddenly snaked its way around her arm. "Hold up. Why are you using cleaning magic now? The baths are right there."
Sure, the magic might be faster, but… well, Tyaethe had yet to see much indication that the Witch apprentice needed to squeeze out any extra time. The blonde-pink girl spent nearly as much time napping as she did.
Gertrude frowned. Getting grabbed by Tyaethe essentially meant that you would have to humor her to her satisfaction, because there was no other way to get out of this grapple save for violence.
Gertrude remembered throwing a rock at the small woman when she was a child, before running off. She had hoped to harm Tyaethe, but she was too weak. The rock had fallen short by a humiliating amount.
…She didn’t really want to hurt Tyaethe any more, it seemed.
“I have magic. I don’t have to take baths, so I don’t. It’s more efficient that way. Should a knight really complain about more efficiency, Yaya?”
"Yes," the paladin insisted with surprising vehemence, releasing the grip and folding her arms. It seemed it was all the vampire could do to not pout, "More than anyone, warriors need to remember that there's more to life than moving from kill to kill with the most efficiency. Family. Love. Food. Nice baths. That goes for mages too, or they end up muttering to themselves in dark rooms doing stupid experiments and forgetting to sleep!
"… And usually making undead or something too, because that means more hands," Tyaethe grumbled, breaking her gaze, "But you're here now, and Candaeln has the best baths. It's a waste."
Baths and everything to go with them.
Gertrude had thought she’d gotten Tyaethe with her talk of efficiency, but it seemed that just emboldened her more.Her talk of mages was specific to a degree that she was probably thinking of someone she knew, which definitely wasn’t good for Gertrude’s chances of getting out of this.
“Please, undead are sodding awful. There are much better ways to get help for your work,” Gertrude said, avoiding the subject at large, “Gretchen is, er-”
Shite.
“Well, it’s much better to just have a twin sister, isn’t it? Besides, you sleep more than I do and barely interact with anyone. I don’t need you telling me there’s more to life.”
"I still enjoy some things…" the apparent-child muttered… before deciding that, apparently, that was enough attempting to persuade Gertrude to take a path. Unfortunately for the taller girl, that meant that she had been picked up with about as much effort as a particularly big blanket: a bit awkward to get situated to carry, but the actual weight was completely insignificant as they made a beeline for the baths.
“Oh, bollocks,” Gertrude growled as Tyaethe picked her up and began hauling her off, “you don’t have to sodding- ugh, fine! I’ll just… whatever.”
Gertrude pouted petulantly and crossed her arms, looking from Tyaethe to the path in front of her.
“Suppose you’ve been around long enough to know the path even if you can’t see it,” Gertrude mumbled. She was pretty sure she took up at least 90% of Tyaethe’s vision, after all.
"Yup."
“You know, I’ve seen you enjoy exactly one thing since meeting you, and it was murdering that Midnight Hunt blighter.”
"So?" Tyaethe asked, "I've not seen you enjoy anything yet. It's not like you've been here that long… and besides, what's wrong with enjoying what you're good at? I've wanted to fight Rozenalt again since everyone was still around. It just… took a while."
Not that there was all that much time to continue the conversation, as the vampire turned around to walk backwards into the baths. Presumably to avoid bonking Gertrude headfirst into the door.
“How gallant,” Gertrude quipped sarcastically as Tyaethe took great care not to accidentally hit her head while dragging her into the baths, “I suppose you’ll want to go in together to make sure I bathe properly.”
Gertrude huffed, but she had to admit it was quite a sight. The white tile floor stretched out in front of them, vast and luxurious. Perfectly spotless, with plenty of places to rinse off before you got into the baths proper. The word ‘opulent’ had a tendency to be overused, but this was obviously a place that was very important to whoever had it commissioned.
Someone had really liked baths.
“...Who had this place built? No one needs baths this bleeding nice.”
"The original baths were…" Tyaethe hummed, finally placing Gertrude down and starting to undress, "Inadequate, given the prestige of the knights at the time. Non-existent, really, Candaeln hadn't been fully rebuilt from its original purpose. So why not push to get nice baths put in? They're much nicer than a bucket of hot water and a fire, and the holy water is good for you…"
Gertrude snorted. It seemed Merilia was completely correct about the spoiled little princess that Yaya was, to have used her influence to push for baths this luxurious. And hot. And filled with holy water, of all things.
“You did? What a precious thing you are,” Gertrude replied just a bit too mirthfully, “why not add a few rose petals and incense? Light a few candles?”
Then, noticing that Tyaethe was undressing, Gertrude followed suit. That answered that question, she supposed. They’d be bathing together, it seemed.
Well, it’s not like she was going to get out of this at this point.
"Maybe for special occasions," Tyaethe answered off-handedly, not seeming to give the question much thought as she washed up first, "Easier to appreciate them if they're not… constant. Although that's more of a religious ceremony at that point."
Gertrude rolled her eyes. An honest answer in return for a chide. She had no idea what religious ceremony might include lavish bathing, but she certainly hadn’t heard of it. Then again, the clergy in her village was only invested enough in their goddesses to reap the benefits.
“...Is that a tattoo on your bum?”
Gertrude sat beside Tyaethe and washed off, snorting at the idea of this woman getting such a tattoo.
“You don’t seem the type.”
The vampire paused mid-motion, face flushing, "I-It's a paladin thing… not every paladin, b-but most get a mark of their respective goddess somewhere. And!"
She paused, pointing dramatically in… basically Gertrude's direction. Close enough? "It's not like there's a lot of places on me with enough space."
Tyaethe was quite small, after all.
“...Your goddesses like having their paladins permanently mark their bodies in service?”
After a couple of seconds, Gertrude burst out laughing.
“That’s so bleeding kinky! Ahaha… no, it’s working! I’ve never been very religious, but they’re alright! You might’ve converted me, that’s a bleeding laugh!”
Gertrude wiped a tear from her eye.
“You see that marking? That’s Reon’s arse you’re looking at!”
"That – no, it's not! It's a paladin thing, not a Reon thing, it's nothing like that!" Without warning, the vampire had entirely closed the gap between them, red eyes – in an equally red face – bearing down on her. If the blush didn't lose the intimidation factor, the part where the vampire was half covered in soap suds really didn't help. "This is entirely a human thing!"
… probably. She didn't think it was really an elf thing and Hundi would mostly follow along.
Gertrude was surprised by Tyaethe’s speed and vigor. She hadn’t expected to upset the vampire that much, though it was a welcome occurrence. She grinned, and spent a few moments admiring the woman’s face. She had no idea Tyaethe could even look so flustered.
…It was remarkably cute in a way Gertrude hadn’t expected. A real prize.
“Eh? It’s all your idea? Doesn’t that make it even kinkier?” Gertrude continued prodding, “getting marked up like that without your goddess saying a word? Though since you’re blessed by Reon still… isn’t that basically tacit approval?”
Gertrude went to poke Tyaethe’s cheek.
Tyaethe made a hard-to-describe high pitched noise as the finger prodded her cheek, then was just as promptly gone, back to washing herself with shocking alacrity and some rather violent splashing sounds before disappearing into the baths proper with another shockingly loud splash. The vampire was easily flustered, who knew?
Gertrude laughed, but didn’t rush herself as Tyaethe finished up quickly and bolted to the baths. Still, it wasn’t long until Gertrude followed the woman in and made a beeline towards her prey.
“Oh, don’t be like that, Yaya,” Gertrude said patronizingly, “I’m just teasing a little.”
She grinned as she plopped down next to Tyaethe, and went to pat the woman’s head.
“Is my cute little Yaya angry with me? Well, you wanted me to enjoy myself, right? And I’m very much enjoying myself.”
"I wanted you to enjoy the bath," the paladin ground out, gaze drifting out over the steamy expanse of water rather than at the blonde that was once again invading her personal space. She could move away… but that would just encourage her to chase even more, so what was the point? It would be even worse if she outright stopped her, she'd probably break something in doing so.
In the vain hope of steering the conversation to something more reasonable: "See? It's nice in here."
Probably even nicer when you actually accumulated aches and pains for the blessed water (and heat) to soothe, rather than just regenerating all your damage, but she found the general feel of it relaxing even when it wasn't doing anything.
“...Eh?”
Gertrude had to think for a second. She hadn’t even noticed how the bath felt. She was too busy having fun teasing Tyaethe. She was quiet for a moment, sorting everything out. Her daily maintenance spell felt good. It did pretty much everything this bath was purported to do.
Still, it had all the appeal of a medicine jar. It reminded her of the days she would have to choke down expensive ichor as a child. If anything, she could say of this bath…
“...It’s warm,” she concluded, looking down at her companion.
And there was still some place deep down that forced Gertrude to consider whether or not she deserved that warmth.
“Well, it had better be bleeding nice, considering how expensive it must have been to build, and still to maintain.”
"It's cheaper to keep going than you would think. The baths as a whole are blessed… easier to renew than any other enchantment," Tyaethe answered, leaning back and relaxing now that the head patting seemed to have stopped, "As long as the order doesn't stray from its founding principles and the church doesn't get too mad at us to help out, it's just a lot to clean."
She wasn't wrong that it had been expensive but that was… rather insignificant? Candaeln had needed expensive refitting to fit its new role rather than being an actual defensive outpost that had fallen into some disrepair, it hadn't been an egregious item on the budget.
“Well I don’t know how all that holy horseshite works,” Gertrude said rudely, shrugging, “but as long as I don’t have to help clean, it’s… not too bad. Does the goddess’ blessed bath water make my scent more bearable to your nose? Because I’m not stopping my daily castings.”
She poked Tyaethe’s cheek once again for emphasis.
That? Hmm, it wasn't really the baths that were important, it was cleaning first, more the ritual act of it washing away the cloying scent of magical cleaning… right now, she didn't really smell of anything other than soap and water, which was appropriate. Blood, too, but everyone always smelled of that, it was easy to ignore.
"You smell fine, now," she confirmed, "No need for anything extra."
“I see…”
Gertrude nodded.
“Well, enjoy it, because I can’t see this as something I’d do regularly on my own.”
She didn’t much care whether or not she smelled bad to Tyaethe. In fact, it would be funnier to annoy her. But more than that… the cloying feeling that she didn’t deserve this warmth was kept at bay primarily through her teasing of the miniature vampire.
Napping was something she felt perfectly happy to do on her own, this was not.
There was quiet for a minute, Tyaethe seemingly having no response to this and happy to just… stare at whatever patterns she could see in the steam, or the way her hair got everywhere. But then she finally responded with a flat sounding: "I never thought I would have to carry a grown adult to the bath every day."
“Oh…? You’d deal with this every day rather than smell my magic?” Gertrude teased incessantly, not at all secretly happy to have someone to talk to regularly other than herself, “I can scarcely believe it. Maybe you have a crush? Perhaps you should get a broomstick tattooed on your belly. You’ve got room other places, you know.”
"I like taking baths!" Tyaethe snapped back, face pink again and looking away, "If it means I don't have to smell that all the time…"
She chose to ignore the implication of a crush, if she even acknowledged that she would never get away from it. And she did not, in fact, want to be followed around by implications of falling for someone two centuries younger than her… especially one whose personality seemed to be completely rotten, regardless of her looks.
But that second part – "Hey, what's that meant to mean!?" There wasn't that much space anywhere else!
Gertrude grinned, but avoided saying anything for the moment, her eyes fixing on Tyaethe’s belly beneath the gently sloshing water. She couldn’t help but think a goddess’ brand might have consumed different, also utterly available real estate.
Aside from her bum.
“...Oh, come off it. You know.”
Gertrude prodded once again to emphasize a point, but this time it was the woman’s gut.
"That's nothing!" Tyaethe was definitely pouting, now, folding her arms and seemingly shuffling away from the poking. Slowly. It was, unfortunately, nigh impossible to move imperceptibly away in the bath, "I was still young when I became a vampire, and it's not like I can change anything…"
"Well, I can get older," she conceded, still pouting, "But I don't control that, either."
“What do you bleeding mean you get older but don’t control when?” Gertrude demanded, profoundly baffled by the foolishness coming out of the vampire’s mouth, “that’s… not how vampirism works. Or magic, for that matter.”
As far as Gertrude knew, body alteration on the level of aging or de-aging would be an immensely specialized school of study. Possible, perhaps, for someone absolutely dedicated to that magic. Someone who had a clear idea of the mechanics involved and years of study under their belt.
With Tyaethe’s mana reserves and her many years of life it would be possible, but to Gertrude’s knowledge, the woman hadn’t studied magic at all. Then again, if she had, it would never be something she’d have no control over.
Maybe some sort of curse? But what would be the sodding point of that?
“You’re having me on. What? Then when do you bleeding get older?”
"When I want to?" Tyaethe responded, incredulity on her face. What was with the disbelief? It didn't seem... all that unreasonable to her. "Look, I'll show you."
The ever-roiling furnace of mana besides Gertrude intensified and then calmed again, surging out, in, and... leaving one vampire who was, despite not having grown all that much vertically, undoubtedly an adult in comparison to her previous appearance. And the overall mana flow had barely changed.
Gertrude had the ability to perfectly emulate any magic, with a few caveats. If it was innate to a species, obviously she wouldn’t be able to mimic it. A demon using demon magic, for instance. Well, unless Gertrude became a demon somehow. But leaving that aside, the magic also had to make literally any mechanical sense. Normally this wasn’t an issue, because magic had to make sense. The basis, the principles, modern magic was built on certain understandings that in turn allowed a mage to understand any spell with enough study.
Whatever it was Tyaethe did was not that. It was complete nonsense, but it also had a perceptible effect. It had worked without question, but it worked in a way utterly unobservable to Gertrude.
“WHAT THE SHITE WAS THAT!? WHAT? When did… I thought you said you didn’t control it! How is… WHAT? Wait, so you can control when you get older? HOW? I couldn’t- I can copy any spell! Any spell, because I have an innate understanding of the underlying mechanics. I’m a prodigy. If I see something once, I can mimic it perfectly! And I have no idea what that was!”
"I wanted to be older, so I got older," Tyaethe answered, adjusting her position and then leaning back to smirk at the obviously frustrated Gertrude, "This would have been... hmm, when I was in my twenties? I just kept at it until it worked."
If she had been aiming for her chronological age at the time, the vampire had undershot it marginally. Not that it made too much difference now.
She ’wanted to be older’, so she did it? She ’kept at it’ until it worked? Even the phrasing made Gertrude furious, like it was just that simple!
“That’s not how it works. It doesn’t make sense, and I hate it!”
"Well, it obviously is how it works. Magic isn't all spells and rules, it's part of the world," Tyaethe interrupted with a half shrug.
It was Gertrude’s turn to pout, cheeks pink. She stole a glance at Tyaethe.
And another.
…And another.
“You’re still short,” Gertrude said finally, poking her once more.
"I said I didn't control it! It just makes me about ten years older than I was – stop that!" the vampire responded, finally making a move to cover her vulnerable belly as it was poked again, having given up on the 'move slowly away' part.
“Ughhh that doesn’t even make sense!” Gertrude growled, frustration building due to how stupid this magic was and her inability to poke Tyaethe, “Whatever you say, I should be able to understand it! This pisses me off.”
Gertrude crossed her arms and let out a huff. If she kept letting Tyaethe annoy her, the little mosquito would win. But this was infuriating! She’d have to ask Merilia about this later. That old hag should have told her!
Just imagining the Witch’s smug expression when she learned that Gertrude had been acquainted with Tyaethe’s ‘magic’...
“You’re really annoying, you know that?” said one of the most annoying women in the world.
"Says you."
“...Are you sure that spell ages you ten years? Because you’re still short, you’re still daft, and you’re still a brat. It’s hardly a wonder you have no friends.”
Tyaethe looked down, briefly, then up to Gertie's eyes, and then very deliberately looked down again. "I know I have a baby face, but really?"
She still seemed to sink into the water. "And I do have friends."
Left unspoken, obviously, was that most of the people she would consider under that label (if not all of them) were conspicuously dead from time or injury.
Gertrude had hoped to get the woman’s goat again. To get her pouty and flustered and red-faced. Gertrude liked those expressions, and liked teasing Tyaethe to get them.
This, however, was not such a reaction. If anything, she looked dejected. That expression wasn’t really fun for Gertrude.
…Did she feel bad?
Gertrude reached out, but it occurred to her that at this point touching the woman in any way would likely be seen as patronizing. Her hand halted.
“...Funny thing. I’m here on my own merit, the sort of genius you only see once an age. That’s how I like it, I don’t want to be treated differently based on someone else. But I ended up here anyway.”
Gertrude leaned in, and offered what appeared to be a genuine smile.
“It’s funny because I’m one of Florian’s, though I’m sure there are plenty of those out there, the bleeding cad.”
"Ten. It's ten, human at least, not the ones with Raya… but obviously, those would be much too old," Tyaethe muttered, "You can't be descended from Brandt or Adalheid, Brandt's family has never left Aimlenn and Adalheid never got with anyone. Tanja would have pulled you into the college if it was her, she's still there…"
The vampire kept muttering, eyes closed in thought before they snapped open, "Adrian, Gunther, Melania, Reinhard, or Reinhild? Those are the only ones I can think of about the right age. I haven't really stayed in contact with most of the recent generations."
Gertrude was frankly a little dumbfounded to hear Tyaethe list all those names, but supposed it was a skill to be expected of a noble brat. She half expected to not hear a name she knew at all, given how dubious her father was and how backwater her village.
Then, she visibly flinched when she heard her father’s name. She hadn’t wanted to deal with that, and thought she wouldn’t have to. That would show her for trying to be nice for once.
“...Yeah. Gunther’s kid,” she mumbled, “you stopped by the village once to kill some Orcs. I threw a rock at you.”
"Sorry," Tyaethe started after a pause, shaking her head. She couldn't remember the rock, but… "We should have been there much sooner, before they even attacked, but… well, we do rely on information from outlying regions to know. Your father wasn't as competent as I'd hoped."
Gertrude allowed herself a derisive chuckle.
“He was good enough at hunting game to afford getting drunk every day and occasionally pay for my medicine,” she said, shrugging, “but shite at everything else. I’m sure Florian would have hated the rotter.”
Gertrude closed her eyes, and tried to accept the warmth of the baths without letting the feeling that she didn’t deserve it crop up. She did not succeed.
“Anyways, it’s not your fault. No need to apologize.”
"Yeah, Flori would hate for one of his descendants to be a drunk with no ambition. Or even just the latter…"
The vampire appeared to have relaxed again, her posture no longer guarded and her eyes closed. "It's not about fault. The Iron Roses are supposed to be the foremost defenders of the country. Paladins are supposed to be the Goddesses' protection made manifest. As long as there are orcs still attacking, as long as there are still orcs, then we aren't doing good enough."
Gertrude sighed. Generally, she considered her only duty to be to herself. Concern yourself with others too much and you’ll be the one at a loss. How a person can hoist a whole country’s safety up on their own shoulders like that without completely breaking eluded her.
…Then again, maybe Tyaethe was already broken in some ways.
“I’d say you were a workaholic, but I’ve seen you nap enough that even I couldn’t make myself believe that,” Gertrude teased.
"I'm old enough to have retired three times over, and I'm only good for fighting, translating, or religious ceremonies," Tyaethe said after a pause, a certain drowsiness ironically heavy on her voice, "My body's unchanging no matter what I do, so I can't even train to improve it. Does it matter, as long as I'm ready when called for?"
“Sounds bleeding depressing,” Gertrude replied, rolling her eyes, “you could be doing anything. You could go anywhere, but you chose to stay here for two hundred years and do this. I honestly don’t get it. I’m sure a lot of people pledge their lives to a cause, but that usually ends in sixty years or so.”
Gertrude reached out to pat Tyaethe’s head once again, this time a bit less teasingly and a bit more sympathetic.
“I’m not too far away from immortality, myself. I’ll probably piss off once I’ve got what I want out of this place. What about you? Plan on staying forever?”
Tyaethe's head moved slightly despite her eyes being shut, as if she was thinking about pulling it away, before her shoulders slumped and she allowed Gertrude to keep patting the fluffy lengths. "You sound like Lilette when she decided to move on. 'But surely you can do something else?' I'd still be a paladin, Reon's not going to release me from my vows. It'd just be back to before I joined, wandering and killing monsters…"
The vampire sighed. "And if Elly ever comes back, or anyone finds any trace of what happened, then here would be the first place to learn about it. So I'm staying."
“That’s just as depressing as it sounded to begin with,” Gertrude said, shuffling a little closer to make the patting a bit more comfortable, “but what do I know? Maybe the thing you enjoy most is being a weapon or a pet. Maybe if Elionne comes back, all those years will be worth it when she pats you and calls you a good girl for waiting.”
Gertrude continued stroking the woman’s head.
“I don’t know you well enough, I just think it would make me bleeding miserable.”
Tyaethe didn't respond. This may have been because it was hard to speak when you'd buried your face underwater before the other person had even finished speaking.
Gertrude grinned. That was the sort of reaction she wanted to see. She leaned in close, gently patting Tyaethe’s head, and whispered into the woman’s nearly-submerged ear.
“She’ll come back and say ‘good girl, Tyaethe. You’ve been suuuch a good girl’~”
There was a distorted warble through the water, and the distinct feeling that if Tyaethe was able to magically generate heat through sheer embarrassment, she already would be.
… She couldn't do that, right?
There was something Gertrude had been saving for the right time. Something that had been on her mind since Tyaethe had transformed. She’d held her tongue this long, but it seemed the right opportunity to release it into the world.
“Your tits are bleeding huge. Forget Reon, you have enough real estate for both goddesses, every other deity, and all the stars in the sky. As one of Florian’s line, I feel it is my personal duty to comment that if two fully-grown Ingvarr women hopped in a magic cauldron with five gallons of milk and a pound of gelatin, they might come out of it with a chest half as salacious as yours. I have been made keenly aware, without any words having been spoken, why you choose not to use this body for combat. I’ve genuinely never seen the like.”
There was the sound of splashing water as Tyaethe lifted her head out, although her expression was still thoroughly screened by hair. "I know! I said I don't control anything!"
There was another splash and the muffled sound of a scream. And then more water, slowly dripping into the hot bath. "It wouldn't be so bad if I at least had my mother's height, but no, I outdid her while being barely taller than Merilia. You seem to have gotten lucky."
"… at least you're more eloquent than Flori was."
Gertrude grinned.
“I’m not as lucky as you might think. I was born rather sickly, though I did end up with some nice proportions. It seems you’ve noticed,” Gertrude teased, “but for the record, I think you’re very pretty.”
Gertrude leaned back in the bath, enjoying a warmth she was slowly becoming more comfortable with.
“Let me guess: he said something like ‘goddesses above, look at those’ pretty much immediately the first time he saw that form.”
"He just stared for so long that Cyrus cuffed him round the head…" Tyaethe laughed slightly, no longer trying to drown herself in the bath. In fact, she seemed rather… melancholic? But not in the same nostalgic way that was oh-so-common… if Gertrude was that good at reading anyone, that is.
"You too? I wanted to be a knight like Erich and papa, but… a girl in no state to even train most of the week never had a chance. Even if I hadn't grown up like this… well, it wouldn't have worked out."
For some reason, it had never really occurred to Gertrude that Tyaethe could have been sickly. Could have been at all like her as a child. She had seen herself as too different from the noble brat. Well, they were still very different, but apparently they shared this.
“Then barring any extra tragedies related to the incident, becoming a vampire must have been pretty good for you. I suppose I have a similar story. Is knighthood like you imagined, then? Were you happy to be able to do what you wanted for once?”
"Yes, if you put aside everyone dying, sunlight burning even more than it always had, needing to feed on blood, not ageing, being a social pariah, the strange change in senses, the forced changes to magical affinity, mana now being tied to hunger rather than a boundless well, and the part about bleeding out first, it was good for becoming just dead enough to not be sick," Tyaethe responded in a rather… dead voice. "Happy? I guess once I could start killing monsters. I just wanted to be strong enough to put down the one that did this."
"… And even if I do ever get strong enough for that, it would just cause a disaster." She added, sighing.
Gertrude frowned.
“Then I suppose you might’ve enjoyed the path of the mage more, though I struggle to say so given your apparent disinterest in the mechanics of magic. I can keep my sickness relatively at bay through my own ability, though I don’t think I’ll be doing anything particularly knightly until I’ve cured myself for good. No swords or lances for me, for the time being.”
"Mama always did push me to be a mage. Said it would be a waste with all the mana I had. Not that that's been any less warped…"
Gertrude demurely pushed her hair over one shoulder, and exposed her neck.
“You’re already pretty strong, you beat Rozenalt’s arse. Why do you think it would cause a disaster to go after this person?”
She gently tapped her neck.
“Ah… and are you hungry? I’m a little curious how this works.”
"It's the Marquess. If she goes, Ithillin has… maybe a few weeks to raise an entire permanent defence force capable of guarding the western half of Talderia, without the benefit of any existing fortifications, or having a dragon around to buy time. Her and her household are tolerated for that alone," she vaguely folded her arms, pouting over something. No way was she bringing up how dismal the last attempt was, and a mere century and a half wasn't enough to overcome that gap.
Blood, at least, was a better direction for the conversation: "A little. Fighting Rozenalt took a lot, and to not have a reserve…"
There was a definite hunger in her eyes, Tyaethe now sitting up and leaning towards Gertrude, "It's just a little bite. Normally, I go for the wrist. It doesn't bleed much."
Well, the identity of the one who turned Tyaethe into a vampire really did put a damper on the revenge plot. No, Gertrude supposed that wouldn’t end well.
“I see… then I suppose the first order of business in your revenge is to make certain the area can be held permanently without her. Bit of a tall order, that, but I suppose you have time.”
Gertrude leaned in, and offered her neck to Tyaethe.
“My blood is very mana-rich. I don’t know if that’s a good or a bad thing for you, but something to be aware of.”
She took a deep breath, and her cheeks colored a little.
“And I won’t have it anywhere but the neck. If I’m going to be bitten by a sodding vampire, it’s going to be like in the books and plays.”
"Oh, mana makes things much richer," Tyaethe was practically purring now, pressing close to get into position, "Every flavour stronger, every unique characteristic more. And I'm sure witchcraft has its own flavour to it."
The bite didn't hurt that much, as sharp as the fangs looked they were almost needle-thin going in, and quite numbing. The actual process of being drunk from… well, it would in and of itself be quite boring. But there was still the vampire's own chill skin pressed tight against Gertrude, the warmth of the bath – ah, and Tyaethe's quite unexpected moan at the started.
It wasn't that long – shorter than Tyaethe would take from one of the other knights, Gertrude had shared her own underlying poor health – when the vampire broke off, smiling. Magical blood was always the best, stronger and richer and… hmm, sweet blood was nothing unusual, but the distinct fruitiness, something not native to any of these countries, but very rarely from oversees…
"You taste like bananas."
Gertrude had not been expecting for things to go anywhere near this direction when the day started. However, event after event piled atop each other, and she found herself growing some level of fondness for the one person she had actually disliked before even joining the knights. Fond enough, now, to trust the woman with her blood.
It wasn’t as… overtly naughty as the stories had led her to believe, but it required a level of intimacy that made Gertrude’s cheeks brighten. Trusting someone with your neck like that, trusting that they wouldn’t hurt you, trusting that they’d take just enough…
It probably wasn’t something that Gertrude could have done without knowing she had a backup body, but it was a lot. Especially for her.
Still, it felt surprisingly good.
“...What the fuck’s a banana? Wait- did you bleeding moan?”
The shorter woman had sunk up to her mouth into the bath again, face a brilliant scarlet as she decided to look everywhere but Gertrude's direction. "You taste good. 'Snot any other strong mages in the order, 's been a long time since I got anything that nice… 'sa fruit. Foreign. Takes magic to bring it here, 'll get some."
A grin slowly crept up on Gertrude’s face as she looked down at the vampire.
“Well… if I taste that good, I suppose I understand,” she said with some apparent pride in a flavor that she could not, herself, taste, “if you like it that much, I guess you can have me on occasion if you ask nicely~”
She patted the woman’s head once more.
“And also if you ask nicely, I’ll join you when you bathe. I’m pretty generous, aren’t I?”
Her grin very quickly became very smug.
“I’ll look forward to trying that banana, Yaya.”
"If you start avoiding it, I won't ask nicely. But… fine."
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