[Hearing no response, Claude enters the stable, and the feeling of a Shard only grows stronger. It's probably a good thing he's not sneaking around in this case, because it occurs to him that the other Shardbearer will likely be able to sense his approach, too.
He follows the feeling all the way to the last stall, spotting Hayame, looking a more miserable sight than even the cave he'd last seen her in Horos, even with her back turned.]
Heya. Do you always greet guests by ignoring them?
[Though his words are still flippant, he's more subdued now that he's seen the state she's in. How long has she been living like this...?]
[It's hard to tell time in the city where it is always light, illuminated by twin suns in perpetuity. It has been... some time. A few days. Since her hooves started to ache and crack. It was fine. (Hah.) Shard-bearers didn't die.
There is very little in her stall that makes it seem like a person, not a horse, resides inside of it. There is a spare robe hung on a nail on one wall. A withered, dried up... is it a string of flowers?, on the nail next to it. Her bow and quivers are hung beside them. And that... is it, beyond the simple bean pillow that she lays her head on.
The sound of footsteps approaching, the voice closer, too close... her tail flicks angrily over the wood shavings.]
As a matter of fact, I invited myself. [And he is not at all apologetic about this fact, hypocritical as it is to have lectured her about manners. He leans against the stall door, though he at least has the good sense not to just barge right in.] Come on, can we talk? I thought you might be excited to see an old friend.
[More likely is she'll just be confused, as Sooyoung was, but he has to bait her into talking with him somehow, right?]
[This one, whoever he is, is persistently. Annoyingly so. And though he doesn't want to, resents being dragged from her wallowing... she rolls herself over to at least haul her upper half off the ground (the bedding sticking to her side) with a snapping-]
So you say, but you look like you could use one, so I'll be your one and only.
[He smiles at her in return of the glare and offers a little wave, if only to disguise the concern that would otherwise show in his expression. If he recalls right, she was one who might mistake it for pity, and resent him for it.]
You do remember me, right? Claude? Dashingly handsome? Uses a bow like you do?
[She had planned to rip into whoever tried to disturb her, to make them regret ignoring her obvious desire to be alone with her regrets and pain, but... she recognizes this man. More accurately, she recognizes the echo of the younger man she had met in Horos, with no hair on his face and a smaller frame.]
Claude...
[... They could address "dashingly handsome" later, but the rest was facts she couldn't deny. Or, no, wait-]
What the hell happened to... You are not that man-
I'm the same guy, I promise. I'm just older now-- six years older, not the kid you knew before. A lot's happened since Horos.
[How much more does he need to say until she believes him? He suppresses a shiver and wraps his cloak more tightly around him, for all the difference it makes.]
It looks like a lot happened for you, too. Can we just talk about it?
[Spoken as a woman from a land where men came of age at fifteen, but… She doesn’t even know why that’s what she’s protesting, it just slides out because it’s the only thing that she can actually make sense of that quickly. Compared to how could he even remember her but somehow be six years older?
- He shivers. She notices, because she had been doing the same. Did that mean… ?]
Where is it you have been? They told us that Horos was gone.
[That’s talking, isn’t it? - Not about what happened to her.]
[In the eyes of Fódlan nobility he was still a schoolboy back then, albeit one who still engaged in battle and government, so the difference is basically semantic. He doesn't bother to correct her, instead shrugging.]
From my perspective, it feels like I went home and experienced all that time passing. Maybe Cyrus was right, and our homes really aren't gone, not completely. Or... It's just another sign time works in a weird way for Shardbearers brought here.
[The more likely explanation, he thinks, given how Byleth and Dimitri are here, but they're not quite the people he knew -- Byleth, especially.]
But enough about me. You haven't been holed up in here all this time, have you? What's going on?
[There is no denying that Hayame pays sharper attention when Claude says that he was in his home for those six years. Was it desperate for her to cling to any proof that their worlds were still "alive"? Perhaps. But it makes so much more sense to her than the idea that they could simply be gone, that time could be so strange, and any ounce of proof...]
He must be right.
[- She still can't quite say "is", though. She wishes she could.
When it comes to herself, however... her expression grows cagier. Her fingers curl and fist in the shavings on the floor of her stall. She should get up- she shouldn't let a shard-bearer see her like this, the citizens of Meridian, fine, but...
But.]
So what if I have?
[She goes to defensive rather than honesty on instinct.]
In case you missed it... Meridian was defeated. Why should I want to show my face and invite the shame of Springstar?
I didn't miss it... I just didn't think you were the type to throw a pity party about it.
[His words are blunt, but if he can provoke Hayame into more than just lying around looking such a sorry sight, it'll be worth getting her anger directed at him. He rests his arms on the stall door, glancing along the stable.]
Hanging out here with a bunch of horses can't be doing your mood any favours, either. No offence to them, but I'm sure we can find somewhere a little more dignified for you to relax. What do you say?
[Her reaction to that is a bit slower than it might have been on another day, but it does come out... predictably defensive, summoning up some of her reserves of anger she might had thought lost to... something like self-pity, if she were being honest. (But she rarely was, not with this sort of thing.)]
And I do not hang out with horses. Where else do you expect a jinba to go?
[A house?
... But neither of those are necessarily what makes her unable, or unwilling, to leave. There's a moment when she almost doesn't say it. After a stumble, another flick of her dry, tangled mane across the bedding before she averts her gaze.]
... My hooves are cracking.
[It is painful to walk. There. Is he happy to hear it?]
[He peeks down at her hooves, surprised to have gotten the truth out of her, then back up to her face. She does look as rough as he feels, but at least he's able to get around with comparatively little trouble. He can only imagine that it would be difficult for her.
And while he's no expert, he can't just leave her like this, so:]
How about I track down a farrier? Would you let them take a look? Then I can go give Cyrus an earful for not giving you any proper accomodations.
[On instinct, she tries to hide them, even though she'd grudgingly admitted to the weakness, pulling her long dun legs in as close to her belly as she can. For the other members of their faction, brittle nails were an inconvenience, an eerie reminder of withering in their failure... yet to a woman with hooves? It was not crippling, but.]
- I already spoke to a... farrier.
[Like a fucking horse. Her lips pursing to try and prevent them from curling into a sneer (or something more pathetic), reaching into her waist pouch and pulling out a vial... that she tch's over.]
Their oils and salves aren't working.
[Because the cause... wasn't physical. A part of her knows that. But what is she supposed to do?
She doesn't even realize at first what else he'd said. These were proper accommodations. The stalls even had wooden shavings, unlike the plain dirt of her "home".]
[The worst he's had in that regard is dry skin, though it's more an inconvenience than anything, and not difficult to hide with gloves and the like. It's the chills, the sluggishness, the emotional effects he finds more troubling -- and they seem to feel worse the longer he spends here in the stable. Perhaps all of them are similarly suffering in the same way.]
Then, do you want anything to eat? Or drink? If moving around's a pain, I can bring you stuff.
[The chills, strangely enough… Hayame was familiar with. She had spent more than a month shivering and curling in on herself beneath useless blankets in the corner of her stall after the dryad had cursed her in the wake of those “trials” in the Tree, and this… it was a similar coldness.
One that just made her want to… to debase herself. To curl up with someone else. To bury her head in a warm chest and be not alone, or…
Except no. She doesn’t actually know how that feels. She’d never let herself do it- be that weak. She thinks… maybe once, she had let someone lay against her flank. But that man’s face and the circumstances of that touch were lost somewhere in the crack across her shard, and now…]
I do not need a nursemaid, or pity, or-
[… What?
The vial of oil is tossed angrily aside, she wishes he would just go away and leave her to her shake in peace, she wishes someone would stay so she wouldn’t ache by herself in this gods damned stable with its nosy horses and grooms, and just-]
… Why did you even come here? It has been six years.
[To him, apparently. Six years. She should be nothing but a distant memory of an ornery woman.]
It felt like someone with a Shard was in here. I wanted to check I wasn't imagining things, so I got curious.
[...And, yes, he did overhear the stablehands gossiping, but maybe he'll tactfully leave that part out that people are complaining about her.]
We were allies back then, right? As far as I'm concerned we still are, and allies look out for each other. Oh, and don't give me the-- [He pauses and tosses his head dramatically, as if he too has an majestic mane, but mostly just succeeds in flipping his hair slightly,] --"I don't need help, I'm super tough" thing, because I won't buy it.
[So she had been just a twist of luck. A curiosity that had been followed. ... Of course. It made more sense that way. There is a moment when he "tosses" his hair when she glares as if debating whether to take insult with his behavior, to make another issue of it... But she is so tired. And cold. And...
Lonely. She is lonely, and he hasn't been scared off as quickly as the others.]
... And what battle are we fighting now, ally, that you think I need you by my side?
Hayame doesn’t know whether he’s a fool or he thinks she is. She stares (glares) at him from where she half lays on the bed of shaved wood, her blanket at least accurately thin. She knows (she thinks) what he wants, but why… Why did she want it, too? Why was the idea of refraining from it so offensive to her?
She does not know, and so… she bites. Or maybe it’s just a bark.]
Will you not win the battle far more easily with someone different at your flank?
This battle is to save a downed ally, and that ally is you. So it would defeat the purpose if I went off to battle with someone else, wouldn't it?
[She's running with his silly metaphor instead of telling him to get lost, so he decides to put his neck on the line and opens the stable door, shrugging off his heavy cloak as he does so.]
Here, you can have this. [And assuming she doesn't get up to stomp him to death, he'll drape the cloak around her shoulders and along her equine flank. It might not be jinba-sized, but it's something.]
[The semantics are grit out as if even she knows how arbitrary it is to argue them, but she just can't help herself. She also... can't help but be shocked that he just lets himself in to her stall. Hayame had been raised in one without a door, and somehow... even though a normal human would surely blanche at how little privacy there was in her current living arrangements, it had been a huge step up for her to even have that half-height door.]
Wh-
[But because she's laying down, she can't... he gets the cloak over her before she can protest or move out of the way, and though she grabs it as if she's about to rip it off... her hand clutches the heavy hem instead.
[Claude crouches down so they're at eye level, deciding he's more comfortable with that than standing over her.]
But it'll make you feel a little better. Even if it's just to get annoyed at me instead of focusing on feeling cold and miserable.
[He's still cold himself, and the absence of his cloak isn't making much difference to that, but he instinctively crosses his arms and hunches his shoulders as if to huddle up and keep warm regardless.]
So why don't we hang out for a bit? You have your own personal nuisance to distract you.
The chill is in our shards, not our bodies. Take it back, I did not ask for it-
[It is belated, yes, but she still tries to do it, awkwardly trying to shuck off his rather large cloak and maintain an angry look his way while also suppressing how much she wanted to just wallow in her misery.]
The dryad cursed me similarly before, so do not tell me I do not know what I am talking about.
[The cloak flies awkwardly and weakly at his head.]
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He follows the feeling all the way to the last stall, spotting Hayame, looking a more miserable sight than even the cave he'd last seen her in Horos, even with her back turned.]
Heya. Do you always greet guests by ignoring them?
[Though his words are still flippant, he's more subdued now that he's seen the state she's in. How long has she been living like this...?]
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There is very little in her stall that makes it seem like a person, not a horse, resides inside of it. There is a spare robe hung on a nail on one wall. A withered, dried up... is it a string of flowers?, on the nail next to it. Her bow and quivers are hung beside them. And that... is it, beyond the simple bean pillow that she lays her head on.
The sound of footsteps approaching, the voice closer, too close... her tail flicks angrily over the wood shavings.]
What guest? I didn't invite any guests.
[... Where had she heard that voice before?]
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[More likely is she'll just be confused, as Sooyoung was, but he has to bait her into talking with him somehow, right?]
1/2
I do not have any friends, either-
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- Who is that? The face looks familiar, and yet not, matching the voice that sounded familiar, yet distant, and...
No. It couldn't be. Was she seeing things?]
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[He smiles at her in return of the glare and offers a little wave, if only to disguise the concern that would otherwise show in his expression. If he recalls right, she was one who might mistake it for pity, and resent him for it.]
You do remember me, right? Claude? Dashingly handsome? Uses a bow like you do?
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Claude...
[... They could address "dashingly handsome" later, but the rest was facts she couldn't deny. Or, no, wait-]
What the hell happened to... You are not that man-
[She sure could try, still frozen half-up.]
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[How much more does he need to say until she believes him? He suppresses a shiver and wraps his cloak more tightly around him, for all the difference it makes.]
It looks like a lot happened for you, too. Can we just talk about it?
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[Spoken as a woman from a land where men came of age at fifteen, but… She doesn’t even know why that’s what she’s protesting, it just slides out because it’s the only thing that she can actually make sense of that quickly. Compared to how could he even remember her but somehow be six years older?
- He shivers. She notices, because she had been doing the same. Did that mean… ?]
Where is it you have been? They told us that Horos was gone.
[That’s talking, isn’t it? - Not about what happened to her.]
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From my perspective, it feels like I went home and experienced all that time passing. Maybe Cyrus was right, and our homes really aren't gone, not completely. Or... It's just another sign time works in a weird way for Shardbearers brought here.
[The more likely explanation, he thinks, given how Byleth and Dimitri are here, but they're not quite the people he knew -- Byleth, especially.]
But enough about me. You haven't been holed up in here all this time, have you? What's going on?
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He must be right.
[- She still can't quite say "is", though. She wishes she could.
When it comes to herself, however... her expression grows cagier. Her fingers curl and fist in the shavings on the floor of her stall. She should get up- she shouldn't let a shard-bearer see her like this, the citizens of Meridian, fine, but...
But.]
So what if I have?
[She goes to defensive rather than honesty on instinct.]
In case you missed it... Meridian was defeated. Why should I want to show my face and invite the shame of Springstar?
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[His words are blunt, but if he can provoke Hayame into more than just lying around looking such a sorry sight, it'll be worth getting her anger directed at him. He rests his arms on the stall door, glancing along the stable.]
Hanging out here with a bunch of horses can't be doing your mood any favours, either. No offence to them, but I'm sure we can find somewhere a little more dignified for you to relax. What do you say?
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[Her reaction to that is a bit slower than it might have been on another day, but it does come out... predictably defensive, summoning up some of her reserves of anger she might had thought lost to... something like self-pity, if she were being honest. (But she rarely was, not with this sort of thing.)]
And I do not hang out with horses. Where else do you expect a jinba to go?
[A house?
... But neither of those are necessarily what makes her unable, or unwilling, to leave. There's a moment when she almost doesn't say it. After a stumble, another flick of her dry, tangled mane across the bedding before she averts her gaze.]
... My hooves are cracking.
[It is painful to walk. There. Is he happy to hear it?]
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[He peeks down at her hooves, surprised to have gotten the truth out of her, then back up to her face. She does look as rough as he feels, but at least he's able to get around with comparatively little trouble. He can only imagine that it would be difficult for her.
And while he's no expert, he can't just leave her like this, so:]
How about I track down a farrier? Would you let them take a look? Then I can go give Cyrus an earful for not giving you any proper accomodations.
[The last part is a joke... at least for now.]
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- I already spoke to a... farrier.
[Like a fucking horse. Her lips pursing to try and prevent them from curling into a sneer (or something more pathetic), reaching into her waist pouch and pulling out a vial... that she tch's over.]
Their oils and salves aren't working.
[Because the cause... wasn't physical. A part of her knows that. But what is she supposed to do?
She doesn't even realize at first what else he'd said. These were proper accommodations. The stalls even had wooden shavings, unlike the plain dirt of her "home".]
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[The worst he's had in that regard is dry skin, though it's more an inconvenience than anything, and not difficult to hide with gloves and the like. It's the chills, the sluggishness, the emotional effects he finds more troubling -- and they seem to feel worse the longer he spends here in the stable. Perhaps all of them are similarly suffering in the same way.]
Then, do you want anything to eat? Or drink? If moving around's a pain, I can bring you stuff.
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One that just made her want to… to debase herself. To curl up with someone else. To bury her head in a warm chest and be not alone, or…
Except no. She doesn’t actually know how that feels. She’d never let herself do it- be that weak. She thinks… maybe once, she had let someone lay against her flank. But that man’s face and the circumstances of that touch were lost somewhere in the crack across her shard, and now…]
I do not need a nursemaid, or pity, or-
[… What?
The vial of oil is tossed angrily aside, she wishes he would just go away and leave her to her shake in peace, she wishes someone would stay so she wouldn’t ache by herself in this gods damned stable with its nosy horses and grooms, and just-]
… Why did you even come here? It has been six years.
[To him, apparently. Six years. She should be nothing but a distant memory of an ornery woman.]
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[...And, yes, he did overhear the stablehands gossiping, but maybe he'll tactfully leave that part out that people are complaining about her.]
We were allies back then, right? As far as I'm concerned we still are, and allies look out for each other. Oh, and don't give me the-- [He pauses and tosses his head dramatically, as if he too has an majestic mane, but mostly just succeeds in flipping his hair slightly,] --"I don't need help, I'm super tough" thing, because I won't buy it.
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Lonely. She is lonely, and he hasn't been scared off as quickly as the others.]
... And what battle are we fighting now, ally, that you think I need you by my side?
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[He leans in over the door, voice lowered conspiratorially as if the horses might overhear.]
...The battle to be cosy. Somehow I don't think sleeping on the ground with a thin little blanket is going to cut it.
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Hayame doesn’t know whether he’s a fool or he thinks she is. She stares (glares) at him from where she half lays on the bed of shaved wood, her blanket at least accurately thin. She knows (she thinks) what he wants, but why… Why did she want it, too? Why was the idea of refraining from it so offensive to her?
She does not know, and so… she bites. Or maybe it’s just a bark.]
Will you not win the battle far more easily with someone different at your flank?
[It’s not an immediate “no”.]
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[She's running with his silly metaphor instead of telling him to get lost, so he decides to put his neck on the line and opens the stable door, shrugging off his heavy cloak as he does so.]
Here, you can have this. [And assuming she doesn't get up to stomp him to death, he'll drape the cloak around her shoulders and along her equine flank. It might not be jinba-sized, but it's something.]
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[The semantics are grit out as if even she knows how arbitrary it is to argue them, but she just can't help herself. She also... can't help but be shocked that he just lets himself in to her stall. Hayame had been raised in one without a door, and somehow... even though a normal human would surely blanche at how little privacy there was in her current living arrangements, it had been a huge step up for her to even have that half-height door.]
Wh-
[But because she's laying down, she can't... he gets the cloak over her before she can protest or move out of the way, and though she grabs it as if she's about to rip it off... her hand clutches the heavy hem instead.
It's warm. But her body is not-]
It is not that kind of cold.
[Idiot.]
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But it'll make you feel a little better. Even if it's just to get annoyed at me instead of focusing on feeling cold and miserable.
[He's still cold himself, and the absence of his cloak isn't making much difference to that, but he instinctively crosses his arms and hunches his shoulders as if to huddle up and keep warm regardless.]
So why don't we hang out for a bit? You have your own personal nuisance to distract you.
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[It is belated, yes, but she still tries to do it, awkwardly trying to shuck off his rather large cloak and maintain an angry look his way while also suppressing how much she wanted to just wallow in her misery.]
The dryad cursed me similarly before, so do not tell me I do not know what I am talking about.
[The cloak flies awkwardly and weakly at his head.]
You're the human, jinba don't get cold as easy.
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