Tales of Vesperia, Typetrigger drabbles (ii)

[sincere]

A series of 300-word drabbles for Tales of Vesperia. Spoilers involved.
Written in response to the folowing Typetrigger prompts. Follows [very belatedly] the previous post. Here are the second six prompts:

who is that?: Flynn, Sodia, (Yuri)
a place to go: Duke, Khroma: Khroma -> Duke
invisible: Rita, Estelle: Rita -> Estelle
can't complain: Raven, Yuri
best behavior: Flynn, Yuri
this good forever: Judith, Repede, Yuri: Yuri/Judith

Any suggestions for future ones? Any votes on what series I do next? You can tell me in the comments~

who is that?: Flynn, Sodia, (Yuri)

Flynn paused in front of the store, his attention caught by a new wanted poster pinned up just outside. He made it a habit to at least have passing knowledge of the criminals the Empire sought, just in the event that he happened to run into them, so that they seemed that slightest bit more familiar, enough to make him pay more attention to them even if he didn't remember the context.

As always (as was intended) the artist's rendering caught his attention first, but the black scribbling was not very helpful, so his gaze dropped to the description.

"Yuri Lowell?!" he blurted.

"Where, Lieutenant?" Sodia snapped behind him; he could hear her shift, hand going to her sword. She also kept watch of the wanted posters.

"No-- sorry, I was just... reading..." Flynn trailed off, scanning the description more carefully.

It clearly described Yuri, with an ugly list of crimes after his name and a surprisingly small bounty on his head. (Flynn had always thought that when he finally did something poster-worthy, the knights would be fed up with him enough to make it impressive.)

"Kidnapping the princess..." he repeated, secretly stunned. That didn't sound like Yuri at all.

And it certainly didn't look like Yuri. Flynn frowned, eyes darting back up to the smiling caricature. The mouth looked like a banana. His hair looked like a straw wig. His nose was just -- a triangle.

Sodia was peering at it over her shoulder. He had never spoken to her about Yuri. "Is something wrong, sir?"

He half-shrugged, turning away with his jaw tight. "We really need to get some better sketch artists," he said, stepping from the merchant's kiosk.

a place to go: Duke, Khroma: Khroma -> Duke

When she comes into his presence, Duke flickers his gaze back at her, measuring for a heartbeat before dismissing her again. He turns back to the aer krene, observing its quiet spilling-forth with expressionless distance, but a look in his eyes that she knows instinctively beneath her skin is contentment. He has gotten used to her presence in the decade since Elucifer created her, but he has never cared for her. She has never asked whether it is because she is a painful reminder of his lost friend or simply because he does now understand how she is connected to him.

She just accepts. With Duke, she always just -- accepts.

"Will you go to help them?" Khroma asks him quietly.

Duke says nothing for a beat, and then, just as quietly, "I cannot allow Dein Nomos to be lost."

Which means that he is not willing to take the risk that they will fail without him.

"It isn't so bad, you know," she murmurs. "To be among others of your own kind. To belong."

She says it because she wants him to be happy, and selfishly because she can live with him in a mortal life. But as long as he seeks to continue Elucifer's work, work that has been left to her, and rejects humans as petty and hateful beings, she does not think he can ever really be happy.

"You insult me," he says, his voice even.

She says nothing, then, and neither does he.

She hopes that those mortals that he has placed his faith in -- against his will -- give him a reason to smile, someday soon.

invisible: Rita, Estelle: Rita -> Estelle

She might as well not exist in Zaphias. She -- Rita Mordio -- the best mage in the world and the most brilliant researcher of the modern age, thank you very much -- was all but invisible standing next to Estellise, the dazzling warm princess in the elegant ballgown with the perfect hair and the perfect laugh and the perfect everything, down to the charming emperor with the sweetly stupid smiles on her arm.

And of course Estelle was always doing a thousand things. So they talked in the dressing room over the heads of the older girl's tailors bustling around her. "You look so good in yellow!" Estelle said excitedly. "That gown really suits you, Rita!"

"No, it doesn't," Rita said, irritable in response. "It's way too stiff, it's impossible to clean, it makes me feel six years old and look like a cupcake. Or maybe I look six years old and feel like a cupcake. It could be either way."

Estelle's face fell. "No, it doesn't! Not at all! Everyone here is wearing dresses like these!"

"Some women can pull it off," Rita said, folding her arms over her unimpressive cleavage that was barely keeping the dress up. "Not me."

Estelle scowled briefly, and then turned around, peering for a familiar head. "Ioder! Ioder, please come here, I need your opinion on something."

(And of course a male opinion would make her believe it, right?)

But Estelle kept inviting her, and so she kept coming. Maybe she was hoping privately that the only person who mattered would see her there, instead of looking right through her.

can't complain: Raven, Yuri

"This beer's pretty weak, dontcha think?"

Yuri sipped at his own mug without saying anything. He'd come to the bar with the old man to relax and unwind, so critiquing their beer was defeating the purpose. He could swallow just about anything by this point in his life (a skill honed by poverty and growing up with Flynn) so he didn't care how strong the beer was.

Not the old man, though. "It makes my nose itch. Always has." Raven rubbed the side of his nose, bleary eyes slipping over the crowd. "Don't know why I keep coming back here." His gaze settled on the waitress, her fit arms and shoulders flattered by the skimpy, flowy top she was wearing to expose her cleavage.

Yuri snorted into his mug. "Yeah, it's a real mystery," he agreed.

"'m not a fan of the atmosphere, either," Raven confided, leaning back in his chair. "It's too loud here. All these kids stumbling around, shouting at each other. Puts me on edge. Young men don't know how ta drink."

A fine thing to say, considering the man was ruining Yuri's drinking by whining incessantly about the whole establishment. He just raised his eyebrows. "Uh-huh, I hear you," he said noncommittally.

"And--" Raven leaned closer, confidential. He smelled like beer and bowstring oil. It was much too close. "--Don't even get me started on the total sausage-fest."

The man was undeniably a class act. "I won't," Yuri assured him.

The waitress glided past them with a flirty smile for Raven. "Hey, sugar. How's everything?"

"Oh, I can't complain," Raven told her brightly, winking back.

If only.

best behavior: Flynn, Yuri

"You came," Flynn said, pleased in spite of himself. "You're even wearing the uniform I gave you."

Yuri gave him a droll look. "Yeah, well, I happened to be in the neighborhood, and a certain princess told me that imperial coronations have a dress code."

Flynn ignored him. "I'm glad you came," he said instead.

The other man put a hand on his hip and shifted, nonchalant. He did look good in the uniform, and with his hair gathered and up instead of loose around his shoulders for once; but he clearly didn't want the compliments, and Estelle had probably said them already anyway.

"Did she tell you the protocol for the ceremony?"

"She might've mentioned something like that," Yuri said, bored.

That caught Flynn's attention, and he frowned. "You have to be on your best behavior, Yuri. This is the most important event since the end of the Great War. You cannot create a fuss during Master Ioder's coronation."

"Oh, is that what you meant by 'protocol'? Not starting a fistfight?" Yuri smirked at him. "Because I thought that was pretty standard operating procedure, and wasn't anything special for when cute little princes get big fancy titles."

"This isn't a joke! Everything has to go smoothly. If you screw this up--"

"Wow, now I'm a screw-up. I thought you were glad I came."

"I was glad before you started testing me--" Flynn stopped, took a deep breath, and said firmly, "Don't ruin this, Yuri."

Yuri smiled at him crookedly. "I'm just giving you a hard time, Commandant," he said, breezing past and patting Flynn's arm idly in reassurance. "I won't start any trouble."

And he didn't, even though Flynn spent half the evening on edge, waiting for it and half-watching him.

He was glad that he'd come, though.

this good forever: Judith, Repede, Yuri: Yuri/Judith

This was all that he asked for. This moment, this feeling: sprawled on his back in the warm open sunlight, far enough outside of Zaphias to not be disturbed and not have anything to worry about, with his dog curled up against his side and Judith curled against his other. Judy was breathing unsteadily, her skin glistening faintly with sweat, and her breath tickled his neck along with their tangled, damp hair.

"...that was a great fight," she said admiringly.

Yuri felt his lips curve up. "Yeah," was all he said.

Judith pressed her lips lightly to his shoulder through the sleeve. "We could keep going."

"You know, I don't get to say this a lot... But I am all fought out." He dropped an arm to her shoulders.

She shifted, rolling on top of him, pressing her generous cleavage to his chest, unsettling Repede. The dog grumbled irritably and picked up to go elsewhere, but Yuri's attention was caught by the wicked smile in her eyes and on her lips. "There's other ways to get the blood pumping."

Now, there was something he wouldn't mind as a great cap to a great fight... but Yuri smoothed a hand up her thigh, and just said, "I like your style. Maybe later, though?"

Judith pouted, but she slipped down, curling around and pressing into his side again. Repede was sitting off to the side, facing away with his ears flat, but he slowly came back to lie with them.

He wanted everything to stay just like this for just a little longer.

"Why, Yuri Lowell," she said against his shoulder. "I think you might be a secret sentimentalist."

Maybe he was, he thought. But he didn't say anything, and the breeze passed over them, silent and sweet.