Welcome to Gaia! ::

Arashe was, suffice to say, slightly shaken by the booming voice of the Wyvern Lord. The moment she gave the order to move out, Arashe began to walk at a reasonable but leisurely pace. He would more than likely end up alongside the middle of the pack, perfect range for firing arrows at any foes. However, as he began to actually move at the desired pace, he found himself constantly fidgeting about, trying to work with the two bows he'd brought with him.

They were both unstrung and tied to his belt, so he couldn't even take a step without them clattering against his pants, and being otherwise uncomfortable! So, Arashe soon became quite flustered with his setup. This led to the Ranger restringing the Killer Bow, and holding it in his hand. The Ichival, on the other hand, was simple insufferably annoying. That bow, unlike the Killer Bow, still remained unstrung, but was moved from his belt to the quiver, clasped carefully next to the part that actually held the arrows.

At least if something were to come now, he'd be slightly more prepared than when he had the both of those bows clattering against his sides. And who knows, maybe he would come across a few new faces or something...

(( Yeah, I pretty much just made this post to change how Arashe's stuff was setup. :P ))

{Amelia}

Tibarn blinked at Serra slowly, brow arching upward as she gestured wildly at him. He himself had been a bit too concerned with exactly what his daughter was learning from one of her favorite babysitters to notice the peculiar body language Amelia was using, but once Vah had climbed down to run off and get her coloring book, he picked up on Serra's mad gesticulations quickly enough. He swung his wrist behind his back and snapped sharply, jerking his head toward Amelia as if to remind Serra that he was not the only one who could pick up on loud and frantic arm movements, but slowly strode over to the window. "Amelia!" he said jovially, hands still held behind his back, under his wings. "Can I get you something to drink? Wine, beer, scotch? I keep a nice bottle of rum in one of the upper cabinets, I'm sure I could mix something before you have to go." It was a simple test, but after seeing Serra's gesturing, he'd picked up on the pose as well.

It was a very simple test, and not infallible. But it would do two things if she declined: lend a bit of credence to the idea, and give Serra time to do... whatever it was she did.

♥ Super Awesome Ostian Noble Lady ♥

"Oh, my little Vah baby's growing up so fast! Yes you are!" For the briefest of moments, she shared another laugh with Tibarn's daughter. She looked back at Tibarn with a gleam in her eye, glad that her gestures hadn't gone completely to waste, and listened to Amelia's response with keen interest.

Not wanting alcohol? Not even a little bit? Now, that seemed a little suspicious on its own, especially with all the stress around. Normally, a soldier would be happy to take a shot of something weak before they hit the road- it calmed the nerves, warmed them up, and soothed the inner voice that shrieked in a last-ditch attempt at self preservation. To hear her turn down any sort of alcohol, especially in a time like this, seemed a bit odd.

Combining that with that very odd gesture, Serra sidled up to Amelia and smiled sweetly, not even looking down. She made sure to meet the blonde girl in the eye, refusing to let her gaze move from those doe-like eyes.

"So, Amelia- you won't even have a small glass of wine with me? What's wrong? Are you not feeling well?"

Smiling in a manner that was almost predatory, Serra's voice was still sickly sweet as she asked her final question.

"...Are you expecting something?"

[Played a bit of this out to speed things along, so I'm posting parts for both Tib and Amelia here, with her permission. And yeah, she did write the Amelia parts.]

Tibarn could sense that Serra was about to say something again, and he suddenly stepped forward, raising one hand with his index finger extended toward the pink-haired Bishop. "Excuse me a moment, it's clear that you're in a secretive mood right now, Amelia," he said evenly. "Whatever the reason is, it's fairly irrelevant, because I have a more important question." He narrowed his eyes just a bit, watching her reaction closely. "Have you talked with your husband about your plans to run off to war in Estarcia?"

Amelia flinched once, but she otherwise didn't move. She stayed quiet for some long seconds, then finally spoke up, eyes still on the window. "I... haven't, actually." She reached up with one hand and brushed her hair off of her face. "I'm... not entirely sure that it's much of your concern, though. You're quite busy with your own activities and your wife and daughter, aren't you?"

The Hawk King shook his head. "Yes, I'm busy, but that doesn't mean I can't take time aside to give you advice. Amelia, you're married now. That means you can't just make decisions like this. As your husband, Rhys has a say in the major decisions you make, because they affect him, as well. And you, in turn, need to speak with him before he makes a decision as well. I sat down with Ayra, before I resigned, and we had a long talk about it." Okay, it's not quite what some people might call a 'talk'. More of a row. "She didn't like it, obviously, but in the end we came to an agreement. Yeah, I resigned anyway, but she had a say, and we made the decision together. If nothing else, you need to go and talk to Rhys."

Amelia didn't respond right away. She adjusted her arms under her chest, continuing to stare out the window. Her hands shook just a little against the insides of her elbows, but she didn't move. Finally, she spoke up, her voice quiet. "Maybe... you know, maybe I ought to just go ahead and leave." Amelia looked down at her feet, then back up, looking at Tibarn via his reflection in the window. "And all the company has gone already, anyway."

"If you're leaving, you need to talk to Rhys first," Tibarn said firmly. "You owe him that much. I don't doubt you could follow them and catch up if you do decide to go." He gently patted her shoulder, stepping aside to give her a path to the door. He glanced at Serra after a moment and smirked a little. "Of course, then you'd have to go through me, 'cause I don't know what makes you think I'm letting you march off to war pregnant."

Tibarn sighed, closing his eyes. He couldn't help what he was good at, or what people made him out to be. Say what you like about effortlessness, he worked himself hard when he cooked, and it was good because he was a perfectionist about the meals he made. Every day was a grueling fight with his ingredients to make his dishes come out the way they were supposed to.

"Amelia, please," he murmured, crossing the room to sit with her. "The Watch depends on you every day. Hell, I've seen them, they couldn't get anything done without you." He sighed, reaching around to pull her against his chest, stroking her hair. "Calm down. You need to go talk to Rhys. He needs you. Your child needs you. Besides... You killed the strongest of the Nine Heroes, remember? And gods, you killed Fenrir, Loki's own flesh and blood, and then? Then you charged in and started stabbing the big b*****d himself! You've earned yourself the glory of ten run-of-the-mill heroes." He smiled, pulling her back and lifting her chin. "Come on. Inferiority doesn't suit you. Go see Rhys. Talk with him." He gently started to pull her up, smiling again, and then hugged her once more, wrapping her in his downy wings.

--MEANWHILE--

Rhys (who was probably armed with the glory of anywhere from four to six run-of-the-mill heroes and would bump that up to the 5-7 interval the following day for blowing up Molina) was at last walking home.

Yes, he was a healer, but he for one had not been comfortable going off to war. It wasn't that he didn't feel sympathy for Estarcia's plight--he still all too well remembered the days of the war between Crimea and Daein--but he had his own responsibilities to deal with. He was in charge of Eyris Hospital, after all. Plus (at least, he was pretty certain that) his wife was pregnant, and if she wouldn't be able to go, he just felt it would be wrong if he went. Not that he had any doubts in her fighting abilities, of course, but people DID get injured in war, and if she got hurt in the wrong place...

He opened the front door. Ahh, the front door of Fefga's. Someone was always bound to be inside, so it was virtually never locked save late at night 'til early morning. He didn't see Amelia down on the first floor, but that was fine--maybe she was still asleep or something. Of course, he didn't her in the bedroom, earlier.

He paused.

...She's probably still out, right? ...Yeah, sounds about right.