[ Newly arrived, a white-clad Edelgard had struggled to get the door unlocked and step inside the apartment. It's a relief to see her belongings waiting for her in one of the bedrooms, just as she was promised. There is much to be skeptical about but in this, at least, her hosts are as good as their word.
That's water she hears, though, isn't it. She must have a roommate. At least there are separate sleeping quarters. Curious, she takes a few more steps down the hallway and peeks into the other bedroom.
And then, brow knitting, takes a step inside. Is that... Faerghan armor on the bed?
She stills as she hears a door open and s l o w l y turns around to find herself staring straight into the pectorals of the king of Faerghus. Her disbelieving gaze dips down, as involuntary as breathing, to the line of the towel around his (surprisingly small) waist before rising up to his face, where there is no room for anything but certainty. That is Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd. ]
There has been a mistake.
[ Her cheeks may suddenly be flaming but she says it clearly, firmly, and forces herself to take steady measured steps (he can't be allowed to think this is a retreat!) past him, into the hallway, and into the room her things are in. Once there she moves with the speed of lightning. She removes a pillowcase from the bed to use as a bag and stuffs as much as she possibly can in it: her phone, her vulnerary, her headpiece and ribbons, cape and tunic and skirt and gloves. Only one boot manages to (sort of) fit so she hastily tucks the other under her arm with the pillowcase so she can grab her axe, shield, and chestplate.
She doesn't notice her dagger slipping out of the cuff of the boot. ]
as discussed!
That's water she hears, though, isn't it. She must have a roommate. At least there are separate sleeping quarters. Curious, she takes a few more steps down the hallway and peeks into the other bedroom.
And then, brow knitting, takes a step inside. Is that... Faerghan armor on the bed?
She stills as she hears a door open and s l o w l y turns around to find herself staring straight into the pectorals of the king of Faerghus. Her disbelieving gaze dips down, as involuntary as breathing, to the line of the towel around his (surprisingly small) waist before rising up to his face, where there is no room for anything but certainty. That is Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd. ]
There has been a mistake.
[ Her cheeks may suddenly be flaming but she says it clearly, firmly, and forces herself to take steady measured steps (he can't be allowed to think this is a retreat!) past him, into the hallway, and into the room her things are in. Once there she moves with the speed of lightning. She removes a pillowcase from the bed to use as a bag and stuffs as much as she possibly can in it: her phone, her vulnerary, her headpiece and ribbons, cape and tunic and skirt and gloves. Only one boot manages to (sort of) fit so she hastily tucks the other under her arm with the pillowcase so she can grab her axe, shield, and chestplate.
She doesn't notice her dagger slipping out of the cuff of the boot. ]