Did you hear that, Adelheid? Hilda thinks you're slow!
[ Said 'conversation' called out cheerfully and every bit as loudly as needed for Hilda to hear it over the rush of wind and wings in their ears, and with no repentance whatsoever for egging the wyvern on. It works, too; there's an answering screech as if she's now also taunting Waffle by extension.
But that also means it works on Waffle who's still in the lead by a wingspan and then some, and now that it's turned into a proper race beyond just stretching out as if they'd been cooped up in that aerie for days or weeks as they might've been during the war, back in another life, that means it's on. Both wyverns seem to sense the competitiveness of not only their riders but between each other, and there's some bonus trilling back and forth between them as they fly.
Garreg Mach looms closer with each passing second, and for a second Claude almost regrets suggesting this be a race since that means it'll end soon. But then again: that's definitely an almost since this has been well worth it in every possible sense. He's tempted to look down to see if there happens to be anyone out walking through the Horizon or the monastery grounds, especially considering those others who wouldn't have the slightest idea of what's flying overhead beyond maybe a brief glimpse of the two of them around the wyverns' outlines, but can't break that concentration now.
Well, except for calling over to tease Hilda as usual like that'll distract from the fact that he's still losing. ]
Is it too late to change my wager to saying if I win then you have to clean our inn rooms for a whole month? I think that sounds like a better option!
no subject
[ Said 'conversation' called out cheerfully and every bit as loudly as needed for Hilda to hear it over the rush of wind and wings in their ears, and with no repentance whatsoever for egging the wyvern on. It works, too; there's an answering screech as if she's now also taunting Waffle by extension.
But that also means it works on Waffle who's still in the lead by a wingspan and then some, and now that it's turned into a proper race beyond just stretching out as if they'd been cooped up in that aerie for days or weeks as they might've been during the war, back in another life, that means it's on. Both wyverns seem to sense the competitiveness of not only their riders but between each other, and there's some bonus trilling back and forth between them as they fly.
Garreg Mach looms closer with each passing second, and for a second Claude almost regrets suggesting this be a race since that means it'll end soon. But then again: that's definitely an almost since this has been well worth it in every possible sense. He's tempted to look down to see if there happens to be anyone out walking through the Horizon or the monastery grounds, especially considering those others who wouldn't have the slightest idea of what's flying overhead beyond maybe a brief glimpse of the two of them around the wyverns' outlines, but can't break that concentration now.
Well, except for calling over to tease Hilda as usual like that'll distract from the fact that he's still losing. ]
Is it too late to change my wager to saying if I win then you have to clean our inn rooms for a whole month? I think that sounds like a better option!