She's lost. And that's strange, the directions to her client's business had been very specific. Of the memories she does have, being lost is not among them and she's not quite sure how she's meant to proceed. The town she is currently in seems like a very normal town, in so far as she knows what a normal town is meant to look like. There are buildings that are not charred husks and bombed out ruins. There are people walking down the streets, uninterested in the girl with her bag.
There are people wearing armor and Violet thinks that that is a little unusual. Isn't it heavy? Would it stand up to artillery fire? She watches a man in a full suit of armor walk down the street, sword at his hip and she thinks she could probably outmaneuver him, though she only has her typewriter in her bag.
This isn't helping her not be lost. She's been standing with her back to a wall near an intersection for the better part of five minutes and though no one seems to find her appearance strange (her mechanical hands are hidden as always by her brown gloves), standing in one place for so long does seem to be drawing some attention. Thinking on it, the thing one does when they are lost, and there isn't a commanding officer around, is ask for directions.
Violet steps away from the wall and turns to the closest person. "Excuse me," she says, voice soft and sweet and entierly monotone, as devoid of emotion as her face, "Where am I?"
It's just a routine supply run. Ike didn't have to come himself, he could have just sent Mist and Titania, but it's good for him to get out once in a while, or so they like to remind him. The Greil Mercenaries are pretty well-liked in this area, they've been chasing bandits away from the villages for years, so it's a pretty pleasant outing. Low key, even.
Mist's brokering some kind of deal with the baker when the girl gets his attention, and he turns to look at her. He's never seen her here, but plenty of travelers pass this way. Strange clothes, though. Strange...everything else, actually. Ike can't put his finger on it, but there's something about her that doesn't quite seem to fit here.
"Caldea Village," he offers, and then, because he's starting suspect she might be really lost, "in Crimea." He pauses. "You know where Crimea is, right?"
Surprise registers, though it's muted in her expression: blue eyes widening and the slightest frown. Caldea Village, Crimea... She is willing to grant that she doesn't know every country, but considering her client was supposed to be just a carriage ride to a neighboring city...
"I don't." The frown deepens slightly, some unease beginning to stir in her gut. This had been her only plan of action and now she's really not sure what she's meant to do. "I will be late to my job."
Well, Ike's gut feeling that something was off is right. This is exactly why he's inclined to trust his instincts. They're usually pretty on point. If this girl doesn't know where Crimea is, then she is a whole world of lost Ike doesn't even comprehend. He reaches out tentatively to put a hand on her shoulder, half-turning towards the wall to shield this conversation from passersby.
"What's your job?" he asks, his brow furrowed slightly. One thing at a time; it's not going to help if he barrages her with questions.
The hand on her shoulder gets no response, though there is the soft sound of fabric moving over metal as her clothing shifts around the place where her prosthetic begins. Her expression settles back into neutral and her back straightens very slightly, till she's standing more like a soldier about to deliver a report. This is easy, this is familiar.
"I am an Auto Memory Doll. I have been dispatched from CH Postal Company to write for Mister Afram Poulan." It's a precise report, delivered concisely and without emotion.
Ah, well. Ike understood exactly none of that, and her toneless manner is a little concerning. What he does understand is that that means she probably needs help, and that he should probably at least try to.
"Right," he says, glancing over his shoulder. Mist is still busy with the baker, but Titania and Soren should be back soon. They'll probably have a better idea of what to do. Ike hopes so, anyway. "Do you have a name?"
And this is usually the part where she would curtsy, but his hand is still on her shoulder and she isn't sure if it would be considered rude or not to move out from it. Her next impulse is to salute. Her hand even lifts part way to her forehead before she hesitates.
"Violet Evergarden." She tips her head slightly, which seems like an appropriate response. "...And you are?"
It's the first thing she's said with any real inflection: hesitant, still a little unsure if she's allowed to ask questions.
Ike's actually kind of relieved when she starts to show hesitation, because it's something, and realizing that he may be making her uncomfortable, he pulls his hand away from her shoulder. He can almost hear Titania in the back of his mind commenting on his manners.
"I'm Ike," he says, and even offers a small smile, hoping that'll put her more at ease. He's never been the most diplomatic person, but he's trying, okay. "And I'd like to help you, if I can. You seem pretty lost to me."
She doesn't relax, but some of the military stiffness does leave her posture just a little bit. People never really smiled at her like that before she left the military.
"That would be very helpful." The neutral tone is back in force. And now that his hand is off her shoulder, she preforms a simple curtsy, "Thank you for your assistance, Ike."
"It's a little early to be thanking me. I haven't done anything just yet."
A tall, red-haired woman in bright silver armor is making her way back next to a significantly shorter man with long, dark hair, and Ike waves at them as they approach. "Those are my friends Titania and Soren. If you don't mind coming back to our base with us, maybe you can tell us what you know about how you got here. We're a mercenary company," he adds, realizing that that was kind of a critical piece of information to leave out. "We just came to town to pick up a few things. But we're in the business of helping people."
[Mae, all memes aside, likes Ike, as little as they've interacted since being spirited away to Aytolis to fight someone else's war, save someone else's world. The prince and princess keep talking about Outrealms and Gleamstones by way of explaining everyone's presence here some centuries apart, and all of it has gone in one ear and out the other; Mae secured a promise that she'd be sent back to Celica, and, in exchange, gave one that she'd fight alongside the ragtag army of lords and thieves and vassals from centuries apart. What's the duty of the Earth Mother's servants if not to zap the heck out of monsters encroaching on a peaceful kingdom? Or something like that.
The others have been more fussy than that, fairly, if only in worried hums while their commanders are elsewhere, but Ike has just seemed to just roll with each punch and meet it with a blade when necessary. And she can respect that.
Between the bustling barracks and the even busier battlefield, Mae hasn't had much of a chance to really talk to Ike—but tonight, they're both on mess duty. Regardless of what Ike wants to be up to, Mae's cooking up a storm, like this is just regular for her; she's got stews boiling and a big hunk of meat almost cooked to perfection and right now she's beating up a bowl of cookie dough with a spoon because she found chocolate the last time they went to purchase rations that she's been saving in secret.]
The worst part is smelling it all and just having to wait for it to be done, right? I'm this close to eating all this cookie dough for dinner right now.
sorry all his icons are basically the same face. this is just how his face is
[ being dragged into another world to fight someone else's war really isn't something ike appreciates -- he was really pretty done with war after stopping the mad king, thanks -- but he's here now, for better or worse, and if there are people in need of defending then he's not going to stand idly by. and if the lords keep to their words, he'll be able to go home and take care of his mercenaries after all this is over. that's what matters.
he hasn't gotten to know mae much, but she's hard to miss, and even harder to forget. she certainly has a personality. she actually reminds him of marcia a little, pink hair and all, although he's privately glad that mae doesn't carry a lance.
compared to her, ike is, let's be honest, a basic bitch in the kitchen; he's really good at following instructions, and cutting stuff, but left to his own devices, the mess probably wouldn't appreciate the result. so he's following mae's lead; for a guy who's used to being in charge, ike takes orders pretty well. he's usually so serious that he sometimes comes off as...kind of dour, but he smiles a little at that comment. ]
I wouldn't know. I'm not usually the one on mess duty. Oscar's usually our cook back home -- or my sister, but, uh...well, she's still learning.
Don't you "wouldn't know" me like it's not happening right now. We're living on mess duty, Ike. We're in the moment. We've slaved over these smells.
["We," meaning Mae has just been putting cutting boards and knives and foodstuffs in front of Ike with cheerful "dice 'em up"s and "get choppin'"s before returning to her own work, but she's only ever acted cheerful to have a prep chef this whole time. By now she's about out of cooking to do that isn't stirring or checking and waiting, though, cookie dough adventures aside.]
No time like the present to decide what the worst part of mess duty is, c'mon.
[ ike is a pretty decent prep chef; turns out years of practice with the blade lends itself similarly to good knife skills, because while he's no oscar, he is making pretty quick work of these veggies. he shrugs as he finishes decimating a bundle of parsley, neatly sweeping it into a bowl. ]
I don't know, I find this kind of relaxing. I guess the worst part of mess duty is all the cleaning up after you've already eaten.
Yes, good answer, and that is why we're gonna make everyone else clean up their own dang dishes to thank us for our hard work—Thaaaank you.
[She laughs as she says it, setting her cookie dough aside and coming over to take the bowl of parsley so she can start sprinkling it over one cooking pot and then the next, all fluid motions back and forth.]
Man, I like cooking and all, but I swear there's sooo much to get done, it's like we're feeding a whole army or something.
[ is that a joke?? it's hard to tell. (it is.) he's watching her with curiosity, though -- the way you watch someone really skilled with a blade or an instrument. ]
You must do a lot of it back where you're from. You seem pretty good at it.
Oh, yeah, cooking's part of my priory duties. [She's retrieved the cookie dough again and is comfortably leaning on the counter as she keeps stirring it, maybe just to keep her hands busy at this point.] Usually it's for a bunch of, like, kids and little old grandpas and families instead of, y'know, an army, and usually there are waaaay more fish involved, 'cause we live on an island, but it's the same principle.
I'm not one. I'm a priestess. Tooootally different.
[to be fair Mae's general battlefield tactics have all involved zapping things with lightning and sometimes stabbing them with a sword which is far enough off-base from what Ike probably knows that that's a fair assumption. she waves the spoon vaguely at her side, flinging a little piece of cookie dough across the room in the process.]
...I mean, not that different, we're still all servants to the Earth Mother and all, but it's all in the finicky details.
You're a priestess? [ try not to sound too surprised there, buddy. she's just not really what he pictures when he thinks 'priestess'. ] Earth Mother? Is that the goddess you worship?
[She laughs, light and good-natured, because honestly, she can see how she's not really the pinnacle of priestliness.] Uh-huh! Mila, the Earth Mother, Mother Mila, either way, but she's Zofia's goddess.
[ ike gives her a totally deadpan shrug. don't ask him these things, mae, does he look like a priest to you ]
As far as I know. I mean, she's the only goddess we've got. But you'd be better off asking the apostle if you've got questions about religion. I know about the old legends, but I grew up kind of out in the countryside. Pretty far from the big temples and all that.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
no subject
There are people wearing armor and Violet thinks that that is a little unusual. Isn't it heavy? Would it stand up to artillery fire? She watches a man in a full suit of armor walk down the street, sword at his hip and she thinks she could probably outmaneuver him, though she only has her typewriter in her bag.
This isn't helping her not be lost. She's been standing with her back to a wall near an intersection for the better part of five minutes and though no one seems to find her appearance strange (her mechanical hands are hidden as always by her brown gloves), standing in one place for so long does seem to be drawing some attention. Thinking on it, the thing one does when they are lost, and there isn't a commanding officer around, is ask for directions.
Violet steps away from the wall and turns to the closest person. "Excuse me," she says, voice soft and sweet and entierly monotone, as devoid of emotion as her face, "Where am I?"
no subject
Mist's brokering some kind of deal with the baker when the girl gets his attention, and he turns to look at her. He's never seen her here, but plenty of travelers pass this way. Strange clothes, though. Strange...everything else, actually. Ike can't put his finger on it, but there's something about her that doesn't quite seem to fit here.
"Caldea Village," he offers, and then, because he's starting suspect she might be really lost, "in Crimea." He pauses. "You know where Crimea is, right?"
no subject
"I don't." The frown deepens slightly, some unease beginning to stir in her gut. This had been her only plan of action and now she's really not sure what she's meant to do. "I will be late to my job."
Which is, of course, her primary concern.
no subject
"What's your job?" he asks, his brow furrowed slightly. One thing at a time; it's not going to help if he barrages her with questions.
no subject
"I am an Auto Memory Doll. I have been dispatched from CH Postal Company to write for Mister Afram Poulan." It's a precise report, delivered concisely and without emotion.
no subject
"Right," he says, glancing over his shoulder. Mist is still busy with the baker, but Titania and Soren should be back soon. They'll probably have a better idea of what to do. Ike hopes so, anyway. "Do you have a name?"
no subject
"Violet Evergarden." She tips her head slightly, which seems like an appropriate response. "...And you are?"
It's the first thing she's said with any real inflection: hesitant, still a little unsure if she's allowed to ask questions.
no subject
"I'm Ike," he says, and even offers a small smile, hoping that'll put her more at ease. He's never been the most diplomatic person, but he's trying, okay. "And I'd like to help you, if I can. You seem pretty lost to me."
no subject
"That would be very helpful." The neutral tone is back in force. And now that his hand is off her shoulder, she preforms a simple curtsy, "Thank you for your assistance, Ike."
no subject
A tall, red-haired woman in bright silver armor is making her way back next to a significantly shorter man with long, dark hair, and Ike waves at them as they approach. "Those are my friends Titania and Soren. If you don't mind coming back to our base with us, maybe you can tell us what you know about how you got here. We're a mercenary company," he adds, realizing that that was kind of a critical piece of information to leave out. "We just came to town to pick up a few things. But we're in the business of helping people."
no subject
The others have been more fussy than that, fairly, if only in worried hums while their commanders are elsewhere, but Ike has just seemed to just roll with each punch and meet it with a blade when necessary. And she can respect that.
Between the bustling barracks and the even busier battlefield, Mae hasn't had much of a chance to really talk to Ike—but tonight, they're both on mess duty. Regardless of what Ike wants to be up to, Mae's cooking up a storm, like this is just regular for her; she's got stews boiling and a big hunk of meat almost cooked to perfection and right now she's beating up a bowl of cookie dough with a spoon because she found chocolate the last time they went to purchase rations that she's been saving in secret.]
The worst part is smelling it all and just having to wait for it to be done, right? I'm this close to eating all this cookie dough for dinner right now.
sorry all his icons are basically the same face. this is just how his face is
he hasn't gotten to know mae much, but she's hard to miss, and even harder to forget. she certainly has a personality. she actually reminds him of marcia a little, pink hair and all, although he's privately glad that mae doesn't carry a lance.
compared to her, ike is, let's be honest, a basic bitch in the kitchen; he's really good at following instructions, and cutting stuff, but left to his own devices, the mess probably wouldn't appreciate the result. so he's following mae's lead; for a guy who's used to being in charge, ike takes orders pretty well. he's usually so serious that he sometimes comes off as...kind of dour, but he smiles a little at that comment. ]
I wouldn't know. I'm not usually the one on mess duty. Oscar's usually our cook back home -- or my sister, but, uh...well, she's still learning.
lord of resting bitchface
["We," meaning Mae has just been putting cutting boards and knives and foodstuffs in front of Ike with cheerful "dice 'em up"s and "get choppin'"s before returning to her own work, but she's only ever acted cheerful to have a prep chef this whole time. By now she's about out of cooking to do that isn't stirring or checking and waiting, though, cookie dough adventures aside.]
No time like the present to decide what the worst part of mess duty is, c'mon.
basically
I don't know, I find this kind of relaxing. I guess the worst part of mess duty is all the cleaning up after you've already eaten.
no subject
[She laughs as she says it, setting her cookie dough aside and coming over to take the bowl of parsley so she can start sprinkling it over one cooking pot and then the next, all fluid motions back and forth.]
Man, I like cooking and all, but I swear there's sooo much to get done, it's like we're feeding a whole army or something.
no subject
[ is that a joke?? it's hard to tell. (it is.) he's watching her with curiosity, though -- the way you watch someone really skilled with a blade or an instrument. ]
You must do a lot of it back where you're from. You seem pretty good at it.
no subject
no subject
[ because you know so many, ike. ]
no subject
[to be fair Mae's general battlefield tactics have all involved zapping things with lightning and sometimes stabbing them with a sword which is far enough off-base from what Ike probably knows that that's a fair assumption. she waves the spoon vaguely at her side, flinging a little piece of cookie dough across the room in the process.]
...I mean, not that different, we're still all servants to the Earth Mother and all, but it's all in the finicky details.
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
[She says it amiably, though, genuinely curious.</small.]
no subject
As far as I know. I mean, she's the only goddess we've got. But you'd be better off asking the apostle if you've got questions about religion. I know about the old legends, but I grew up kind of out in the countryside. Pretty far from the big temples and all that.