abraxaslogs | i'm reaching for the clouds

Entry tags:

i'm reaching for the clouds

Who: Claude and various
When: January + early February (pre-event)
Where: The Horizon, Aquila, TBA
What: Catch all
Warnings: None currently, will add/mark as needed

( Closed starters in the comments below. Feel free to find me at

indech, arboria#1862, or by PM at any time to plot something! )

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And leave you without something to wear on your date? I couldn't do that to a dear old friend.

[ There's a disappointed shake as she breezes past him into the room as if it's a crueler thought than doing whatever it is she's here to do now. She doesn't waste any time hanging the dress bag over the door ledge so she can unzip to reveal the dress in question. Her voice is nothing but all bright innocence. ]

Nope!

[ Upon closer inspection it's a heavier dress than Hilda carrying it would have been it seem; the fabric that makes up the bottom of the dress is finely sewn together, and the embroidery is a product of half magic, and half stitched by hand so at least the cost hadn't been exuberant -- but it's good that it could pass. She taps her chin thoughtfully upon seeing the dress again in its full glory. ]

On second thought, this really isn't my colour. It wouldn't fit my complexion, but it would fit yours.

I have things to wear on a date already. I have a perfectly good pair of pants and a shirt right here.

[ With a gesture sweeping down himself to point out the exact clothes in question, just in case Hilda wasn't clear on that, and not that Claude believes anything about this is an actual date. Some part of him still thinks this is a joke despite the indicators it's not. Curiosity about what's in the bag does get the better of him and he crosses his arms over his chest lightly to watch as she hangs it.

The dress is revealed once it's stripped away and Claude freezes into place. This is not the simple dress he'd pictured in something befitting Faerghus. It appears like it might meant to fit in a sort of tailored sense at the top given what looks vaguely like a corset to his eyes, and then there's the skirt billowing out. It's well made and surprisingly fashionable in a way he hadn't anticipated but really should have considering Hilda's involvement in picking one out. And - most importantly - it's a very distinct shade of blue.

As he looks at it Claude doesn't even register his jaw's dropped slightly. The dress is real; it's happening. That's also why he looks at Hilda with something like disbelief he doesn't bother hiding though he's not giving up just yet. ]

We could make it your color if Sylvain meant it about that magic dye since surely there's some left to turn it red. I'm not above bribing you with even more accessories to go with it and all of them ones of your choice, of course.

But you have to match Sylvain. You don't want him to out do you, do you?

[ Hilda knew what she was doing when she tried to stoke the competitiveness out of Claude. Despite the ridiculousness of the situation, that part of him would never wane.

But in all seriousness despite all the needling and teasing to gave Sylvain, she had to admit that he knew what he looked good in. Claude's puffy and quilted jacket from home on the other hand...

Well it's hard to concentrate on much of anything else when he looks as shocked as he does. Silently she gives Sylvain a little high five and notes every minute detail of it so she can recreate it for him later when they're back from their date. It's hard to keep a straight face but she does. At this rate, maybe picking up acting as a hobby wouldn't be such a bad idea. ]

Unfortunately we used all of it. [ A sigh leaves her mouth as if she's disappointed too - never mind that Sylvain was going to get her a bottle of the stuff as payment for helping him out with this. Her expression is so carefully crafted that anyone else would never guess that she isn't the least bit swayed by some of her favourite things. Only Claude would see the prickle of interest in her eyes before she turns from him to take the dress off the hanger with a pout. ]

You can't using that on me you know! I'm not that easily won over. [ In other words, he was going to have to make the pot really sweet in to get her to fold. ]

[ Hilda's mention of Sylvain outdoing him, or matching, or whatever it is - that's a successful ploy and it gets him to uncross his arms. A little. With great reluctance, at first, but then something else starts to dawn on him: he can use that against Sylvain.

Eventually, anyway, because what's far more pressing right now is that Hilda isn't going to give in so easily to the temptation of new trinkets as much as he would've liked for her to accept that. There's a slight huff from Claude at that sigh, one he's not buying for a second, and he has to change tactics when she faces him with the dress. Quickly, because there's not much time to lose. ]

Are you sure about that? Aquila seems to have much more going on when it comes to fashion than Cadens, and Cadens' variety is already impressive. Just imagine what all we could find here if you and I went shopping. And this time, shopping just for you.

[ Now have a long pause while he puts on a deeply thoughtful expression while recalling some of the shops he'd walked through earlier in the day out of curiosity. Now he's cursing himself just a bit for not looking closer to call out specific pieces Hilda would be interested in, but: never let it be said Claude doesn't like to improvise. ]

I'm pretty sure they have way better jewelry here, and don't forget about the fabrics for sale in the marketplace. We could easily get you something one of a kind that'd make you the talk of Cadens.

[ Got him.

But then again, Hilda fed a similar line to Sylvain earlier when she took him shopping for clothes. If the boys were going to place silly bets, then she'd sit back and stoke the flames in any way she could. It was all in the name of harmless fun anyway, right? And besides it would be a fun story to relay to Wanda later when they had tea.

And thankfully, knowing each other thing goes both ways; she's entirely aware of what he's doing. Claude is right - Aquila does have more fashion choices than Cadens does, but what he doesn't know is that she's already gone through it from top to bottom with Sylvain. She pauses, eyes staring unblinkingly at Claude before moving to replace the dress onto the hanger, voice full of a carefully crafted wonder. ]

Really, you think so? [ When she turns around she looks every bit convinced. ] I mean, you're still going on this date because a bet is a bet, but I can't let you leave without doing your hair first at least.

[ And besides, doing his hair first means it'll be less likely to get mussed when she eventually shoves him into the dress. ]

[ That seems successful. He's hopeful then, that just maybe, maybe, he's redirected her to better topics despite the date being inevitable. The dress is just as inescapable - something he knows on a rational level - and yet Claude's not given up just yet.

However, the mention of his hair immediately puts Claude back on guard as he sends an askance look Hilda's direction. He is absolutely not ready to accept whatever suggestion is coming based on what his imagination is running wild with in the resulting silence. ]

What's wrong with my hair?

[ Wait - no, that's a question that leaves too many possibilities for answers and also gives Hilda a chance to leap into whatever it is she has in mind. Because there has to be something, right? Right. He's definitely not overthinking this or how to save it. ]

That was a rhetorical question, by the way. [ Nailed it. ] Better yet, I could just put the dress on if that's what you're trying to wheedle me into doing and then braid your hair instead. That'd be better.

[ Claude's easy agreement brings about some surprise at how easily he had just resigned himself to his fate in a dress. But it also brought about a mild sense of disappointment. She had been looking forward to doing his hair. She still could of course, there was nothing stopping her (and Claude didn't count). Experience had taught her that with enough persistence she would get her way with him.

Well, most of the time.

Her lips purse slightly in thought as if she really has to think that hard about the offer before grinning. It's nothing short of brilliant, but there's a smugness that Claude would immediately recognize - a quality that clearly said this was where she had hoped it would land. She's already flitting back to the dress and sweeping it back over to him, hands deftly undoing the laces and such. ]

See - that's why you're Mr. Leaderman. Once you're in it, I can lace up the back for you.

[ Having zero modesty considering their relationship, she simply stands there not really bothering to turn around in case he needs help or gets tripped up by the swathes of fabric. But she will if he shoots her a look - she's not that mean. ]

Edited (I SWEAR THIS IS THE LAST EDIT ) 2023-02-08 18:21 (UTC)

[ There's the vague sense he's stumbled into something Hilda laid a trap for without him even noticing it at that look she gives him, but he's willing to suffer this. Probably. It remains to be seen where exactly this is going to go in the end, but he does raise an eyebrow at the mention of lacing and now finally looks closer at the dress beyond just absorbing the general outline. ]

Is that a... corset? [ There is Something offering structure to this, anyway, and he grimaces even as he reaches for the hem of his tunic in the same moment. ] Do I get to request being able to breathe while wearing this? Sitting down might also be nice with breathing as a bonus to that, too.

[ Claude's still grumbling, but this time he's doing so while stripping off his clothes. If it was anyone else here besides Hilda he might have some level of self-consciousness but since they're long past that - the shirt and trousers get tossed haphazardly onto the end of his bed and with a (deeply dramatic) sigh he takes the dress to pull it on over his head in what seems like the logical way to go about this.

Except that it's unwieldy. This much he'd guessed from the appearance but the actuality of more or less burrowing out of a tunnel of fabric is something else since it takes him a minute to find where everything goes so he can resurface. He gets there eventually. ]

Gods. Please tell me getting dressed isn't like this every day for you.

I won't tie it too tightly, I promise.

[ It's said with something akin to a tone that she uses when she's lying through her teeth, but in this instance it's really just to make Claude sweat a little. She doesn't actually want to leave Claude uncomfortable and unable to breathe. Just because she tied her corsets tight from time to time doesn't mean that everyone enjoyed fashion over being able to use their lungs.

As Claude sheds most of his undergarments Hilda looks on appreciatively, but also silently accounting for new scars that may have appeared over their time apart. Alone, the scars wouldn't tell her anything, and some of them could easily be byproducts of silly things because it was Claude, but she wants to make sure nothing looks too dire. She's about to tell him to step into the dress instead of slipping it over his head - but she shuts her mouth, simply watching on in amusement as he struggles. Any longer and she would have forced the dress down him, but then his head pops up and she looks just about ready to laugh. ]

I normally step into the dress. But everyone has to learn sometime, right? And you didn't do bad for your first time!

[ She sweeps over, ensuring that the bustle and the corset sit in the places they're meant to before twirling her finger around so that he'll spin so she has access to the laces. True to her word, her fingers nimbly work the laces, tying them just in enough so that it won't slip. ]

How's that feel?

Edited 2023-02-09 23:58 (UTC)

You couldn't have told me the part about stepping into it beforehand?

[ Dryly, and because stepping into it makes an unfortunate amount of sense. Common sense which had eluded him, clearly. Maybe this dress hadn't been the best to treat like putting on a tunic or a shirt considering it's several times over the weight or heft of it, but he'll cooperate enough after turning by standing in place while she works even if he's going to keep right on running his mouth while doing it. ]

Also, you say 'first time' like there's going to be other times. What do you know that I don't, Hilda?

[ For good measure he shoots a suspicious glance back over one shoulder in her direction, like there's truly concern for it happening when this dress existing is entirely his own fault. That'd require acknowledging it, though, and Claude's not going to do that.

When he's given what he hears as a blessing to fidget, that's exactly what he does: time to test whether he can breathe (yes) or whether it impedes his stride when he takes a step (not really). ]

This thing weighs more than my armor, you know. [ Now he's just amused. There's a mirror nearby in which he could contemplate his own reflection, so on his way there and all because he can, Claude attempts a spin while walking. Obviously just to flare the fabric out to keep from walking on it, and not at all for Hilda's entertainment though he shoots her an amused look afterwards. ] It's a bit more fun to move around in than armor is, I suppose.

You seemed so enthusiastic about it though. [ Hilda pouts to combat his dry tone, the ghost of what sounds like a 'tsk' in her voice. While she'd admit that he has some basis to complain seeing how he didn't have prior knowledge on how to put on a dress, he could have easily asked her the best way to go about it instead of jumping in head first. Honestly, as smart as he was, he could still be so dumb sometimes. ] And really, it would have taken more effort to get you out of the dress at that point.

[ Could she have tugged it off him easily enough? Absolutely, and they both know that. But where's the fun in seeing someone like Claude struggle a little? She shrugs nonchalantly from behind him, her voice bright and sing-songy as she knots off the corset. ]

Nothing! I'm just encouraging you to wear whatever it is you like, Claude.

[ And he didn't seem to really hate it all that much with the preening he was doing (although he was probably doing it more for her amusement than his own). The corner of her eyes crinkle taking in the sight. Despite her chiding, she's smiling, a laugh on the verge of escaping from her lips. ]

Stop exaggerating, you drama queen. There's no way that's heavier than heavy plated armor - plus it looks much more flattering.

[ She's reminded of the early days at the Academy and trying to learn how to maneuver in heavy armor at Byleth's behest. It had been grueling and she had immediately cast it off as soon as training was done, whining that she'd rather swing around an axe than be stuffed into a metal sauna that she couldn't move in. If the gleam in their professor's eye had been any indication, that had been Byleth's plan all along.

After ensuring that he doesn't get tripped up in the dress and that he can breathe, she plops herself in the chair in front of the mirror. Tugging her hair out its usual pigtails, the rest of her hair falls neatly down her back and she glances at him in the reflection, grinning. ]

Braid my hair?

Edited (LAST EDIT OMF) 2023-02-10 21:33 (UTC)

I didn't say it was heavier than all armor. I said it was heavier than my armor.

[ Sometimes it's good to be technically correct when that's the most useful variety of it to be annoying. He pairs it with a grin for good measure and one last swoosh of the skirt by running a hand along it quickly just to show off the heft of it. Again. Claude's not going to argue that too much farther since Hilda has a valid point about how this dress probably weighs as much as the boots and greaves of his homeland's armor combined.

Besides, Hilda takes a seat to shake her hair out and that's far more pressing as he comes to stand behind her. A glance at the table nearby reveals none of them had left anything out which would've been entirely too helpful, and while he could easily step away to dig one out of his luggage there's something else here that'll work perfectly in the meantime. Claude reaches forward to comb his fingers through her hair working from the top to the ends, moving slowly to undo any tangles without snagging them in the process and possibly with more than a little appreciation. He has always enjoyed any chances he'd had for his hands to end up in her hair like this. ]

Awfully bold of you to assume I'm not going to tie your hair into knots for betraying me by putting me into this torture device I'm wearing.

[ Claude glances into the mirror to meet Hilda's gaze with a smirk if she's looking, purely for effect since they (hopefully) both know he's going to do no such thing regardless of offering to braid it now or not. Even while speaking, that he sections off part of her hair to start a medium sized braid with hair meant to be pulled back from her face and to overlay and wind into a larger braid with the rest tells on his actual plans all the same. ]

Then again, that's probably more like what Lorenz thinks I'd do if he allowed anyone to touch his hair. A braid would've been an improvement over what it was like at school, though that's not saying much since anything would've been better.

[ There's something a little dry to Hilda's expression as she raises an eyebrow. Her thoughts immediately go to the clothes that Claude preferred to don at home, namely his jacket. It looked thicker and heavier than it actually was. While there was no denying that it was a beautifully made piece (she had poured over every detail when she had laid her eyes on it, noting the craftsmanship and how she hadn't ever seen anything like it before which, when voiced, had only been met with a nonchalant shrug from its owner), it was more puffy than heavy.

She had never shared her own opinion with him that she thought he might wear it to make himself look buffer than he was — he probably would have been a little offended by that — but she liked that it made him look cuddly. Regardless, the same went for the armor he'd wear when they were fighting: it was nothing compared to the armor that Lorenz or Sylvain wore.

Any dryness seems to melt away with the feeling of Claude's fingers in her hair. Her eyes flutter closed and she lets out a quiet little sigh, settling back into the chair. She'd normally chide him for not using a brush but beggars couldn't be choosers, and if she were being perfectly honest with herself, this was a much better feeling than a comb. When was the last time he'd done something like this for her? Both of her eyes open at his empty threat that she meets with a long, flat stare that may or may not be a dare for him to try it and see what would happen. ]

You wouldn't do that. [ And then she pulls a face at the thought of Lorenz's unfortunate hairstyle during their younger years. ] Whoever told him that those bangs would look good with that length must have really had it out for him. Thank goodness he took my advice to grow it out.

[ But the mention of their tiresome, but well-meaning friend, makes her go quiet. It reminds her that she still didn't know his fate, which only leads to the slippery slope that had become knowing her own future in Petra's timeline. Despite her best efforts to avoid that slippery slope, Hilda can feel her feet catch from under her, slipping on proverbial rocks and rubble that would send her over the edge if she didn't stop herself. But her mind runs, and her chest tightens soon joined by the uncomfortable clamminess creeping up her spine. Silence hangs in the air, and she watches Claude's actions in the mirror, committing everything about this to memory. ] Claude, can I ask you something?

I still might do that.

[ Without any real intent behind it besides flippancy as an immediate response while he continues plaiting pink strands, and with the knowledge Hilda won't take it seriously either. ]

But that would be leaving you with the potential to take the worst hairdo crown away from Lorenz even if he's relinquished it these days, and I can hardly be responsible for that. Especially after you rescued him from certain doom.

[ A glance up into the mirror to double check nothing about the front of her new hairstyle looks even, though he quickly pulls a face when realizing that - no, it isn't. Back to square one as he shakes out what he'd braided so far and starts over, this time eyeing her reflection to be a bit more careful when combing it back so there's no third try needed.

The silence is nice, a comfortable one like ones they've settled into before where despite their tendencies to chatter on about anything there's no need to fill this with anything. In it he keeps working on the top braid until he gets to the part where it'll need to blend in with the next braid, and right as he's about to open his mouth to ask Hilda to bring a hand back to hold it into place - she beats him to talking.

What she asks brings him to a halt as he lifts his gaze to meet hers and holds the eye contact when holding out a hand for hers, foregoing the verbal part of asking for hair assistance in favor of pursuing where her question before the impending and yet unasked one is going. ]

That's a rather ominous way to ask. Is it time to redeem the first part of our little bet already? [ He hasn't forgotten Hilda mentioning she might save those questions for whenever she felt like it, so it doesn't feel like much of a leap to assume that's where this is going. ] Ask away.

Excuse me?

[ Her mouth drops open, partially for the dramatics, but also because she's actually a little offended that he would think tangles would be the sole reason Lorenz's hair during their academy days would be unseated from its position as the worst hairstyle to ever grace the halls of Garreg Mach. She'd flick him if she were in a decent position to do it, but instead she glares at him in the reflection instead. ]

You'd have to practically sheer all my hair off and even then I'd still look better than Lorenz did back then!

[ With how passionately she says it, it's clear she's fairly confident in it too.

Wordlessly, she holds her hand out to him, gaze never leaving his in the mirror. Unsurprisingly Claude's mind goes straight to their bet. She knows that she could cash that in now if she wanted to, and potentially get all the answers to the questions that had been swirling in her mind. Hilda suspects that he, Sylvain, and Petra all know more than she does and she can't deny the slight hurt that comes with it. It has less to do with feeling left out, and more to do with thinking that Claude, for whatever reason, doesn't trust her enough. Never mind that she often didn't want to know the unpleasant truths, but maybe something had changed between them in the months now that spanned them.

It's enough to make her hesitate, make her think for a moment that she doesn't want the truth given to her because of a bet no matter how awful the truth may be. It certainly has nothing to do with avoiding the truth for a little longer. Instead something else slips from lips, something else that she would have asked anyway. A furrow forms between her brows, gaze flitting away from his almost immediately so he doesn't realize that this isn't what she had initially planned on asking. ]

Can I sleep in your bed?

[ Claude's a little too pleased by Hilda's distress if it's not apparent in that he's (unsuccessfully) trying to hold back a smile even while simultaneously nodding very seriously. When her hand's offered - and she doesn't smack him first as would've been justified for putting her hair in any hypothetical league with Lorenz's - he squeezes it lightly before guiding it back to hold onto his progress so far. That frees up his hands once more and now he runs his fingers through the rest of her hair to smooth it out.

Having another braid to work on is a convenient way to hide fidgeting while he waits for her to address whatever she wants to ask. The bet still seems like the safest guess and that leaves Claude feeling a little adrift as he waits with so many potential ways Hilda could use to wield it if she wanted. There's no way out of answering whatever it is. But maybe watching her isn't encouraging forthrightness either, so to give her time to decide he looks back at her hair and delicately sections it to finger comb those into neatness.

What she chooses to ask is something much different and again Claude stops to study her in the mirror.

Now Hilda isn't looking back at him and while she could just be looking at something else in the room, it could mean nothing, he can't help but wonder fleetingly if he's made a misstep somewhere. If something happened, if there's any number of other things she's not saying, but if she's not going to tell him then on this Claude won't pry. ]

Of course, Hilda. [ He says this quietly and without an ounce of teasing behind it, hands still paused in her hair until he's sure she knows he means it. ] You don't ever have to ask for that.

[ Hilda doesn't remember precisely when they had started sharing a bed together; the nights that they had at the Academy are all blurred and wrapped up in soft, warm light like the precious memories they are. She wants to preserve them for the days that would become more difficult, for the times when she felt the most alone. For all she knew, it could have started accidentally, a post-dinner nap turned sleepover where she had fallen asleep and then had to drag him into bed when she woke in the middle of the night to lantern light and the sight of Claude hunched over his desk still reading.

Whatever the reason, it had become a normal occurrence for them that they continued to do so despite Lorenz's lectures on "modesty", and the detentions handed to them by Setheth for the same reason. It didn't matter that what they did had merely been the innocent act of sharing a bed — or at least that's what they told everyone, sometimes the mystery of it was more fun as was sowing some chaos and scandal — because what they did behind closed doors was for them to know.

It had only started again recently before Hilda had left. If Claude would burn the midnight oil she would be there to coax him into bed, pouting and claiming she was cold or that the light, despite being so dim, was keeping her up. He often didn't have a choice in the matter; sleep was good for him and what good was a tired leader? And forget retainer - what kind of friend would that make her if she didn't look out for him? There hadn't been many moments when sleeping in his bed or vice versa had been for her benefit, at least that's what she told herself. She knows that Claude would always agree, no matter the reason or circumstances, which is what makes this embarrassing to some degree. She can't meet his eyes in the mirror, keeping a steady gaze on her hands instead. ]

I know. [ Her voice is quiet and so unlike her. ] But you share a room with Sylvain and I just figured... [ Her voice trails off. There's nothing in it implying anything, she just simply doesn't want to be a bother. Insecurity and uncertainty in their friendship gnaws at her, rearing its ugly head for perhaps the first time ever when it came to him. ] I just wanted to be sure.

[ Her lack of eye contact isn't comforting.

There is something off kilter, but where to start in narrowing it down? Is that even possible when there's so much it could be? Claude isn't often one to worry, but this request plus her hesitance around asking at all when it used to be something they never thought twice about no matter what anyone around the monastery said feels like it could be anything at all. It had been so easy to let down walls to let Hilda in, more so than he could've ever guessed, and to the point where he hadn't noticed her persistence gradually eroding them away. To where her complaints about the volume of books, quills, and papers stashed in his bed at any given time had dwindled, just in case, and he'd thought about that more than once since arriving where he'd piled them up to fill a missing void once more.

I just wanted to be sure. That stings more than anything else ever could, he thinks. But with Hilda not looking back at him in the mirror - Claude shrugs a shoulder and pastes on a smile as he gets back to braiding, just in case she does look up. Never say he's not ready to pretend something is fine even if it doesn't seem to be. ]

Well, if Sylvain's the problem, we could always just kick him out of the room. I haven't a feeling he wouldn't stand much of a chance against us when it'd be two against one, and when he hasn't seen you at your most persuasive.

[ One strand of the plait over the other as he keeps his gaze on them despite the light tone he's forcing enough to be natural, adjusting it here and there and reaching to take the top braid from her hand when it's time. And, in a ploy to get her to smile or sound more like herself for scolding him with what's a blatantly apparent attempt at teasing her, and with a decidedly wide smirk - ]

Or he'll vacate the room when he hears how loudly you snore when you're out cold, and then it won't be a problem anyway. Maybe I should've had you nap in there sooner whenever I was looking for some peace and quiet.

[ Fortunately for Claude she does look up just at the moment that he shrugs. Hilda knew so much about Claude; each of his looks, his laughs, the way he sidestepped and danced around truths (some would call it lying, but Hilda called it Claude playing hard to get unless he was being prescriptive about it). It's how she knows that that particular shrug isn't directed at her question and there's no dismissive quality to it. This is him trying to lighten the gloomy mood that had been brought on by her. There's suddenly a strange duality of guilt clawing at her chest at the same time that a hint of gratefulness sparks overcomes her for him falling back onto what they knew.

She chides herself for being so silly, for letting herself fall down the slippery slope of bad things. How selfish of her to ruin the precursor to a date that, even though it was just a date born from a bet, still might mean something to both of the men going on it. Claude's goad, however gentle and completely untrue as far as she's concerned, lands because she lets it land. He's lucky that the plait is starting to look good from the font and she doesn't want to risk whirling around to punch him in the gut or tug at his cheek in retaliation. Instead she settles for a well practiced gasp. ]

I do not snore! [ The act continues with a firm crossing of her arms because she thinks, if she can continue to fake it like this then she'll eventually be okay. That's how that worked, right? There's no heat to her protests, just the usual air of, "How dare you insinuate that I'm not a delicate flower." ] I think you're just mistaking my snoring for your snoring. And don't get me started on the drool, Claude.

[ He doesn't have long to wait for her response. As soon as there's a gasp Claude has to put more effort into restraining a smile than he would around anyone else where it wouldn't be so easy to show his thoughts if he was around anyone but Hilda. Her outrage is just as familiar - and he's well aware of the only reason he's spared a smack to go along with it - but by the end, he's shaking his head slowly as if they're addressing some deeply heavy topic.

This time when he stops, it's with great seriousness that Claude shifts the almost finished braid to one hand in order to let his now free one on Hilda's shoulder gravely as if he's bracing her for something for which she'll need support. ]

I regret to inform you, Hilda, that the drooling is all yours and I can no longer take the fall for it. [ There's a slightly too formal note to his tone, as if he's pulled out his duke voice just for this and like it's some kind of ruling edict rather than mirth tugging at all the corners of his face. ] It's been a good few years of blame, but now it's time for you to take it. I have plenty of pillowcases over the years to prove it, you know.

[ Something about the thought of somehow also summoning his supposed evidence is enough for Claude to grin cheekily at her in the mirror as he pulls his hand away and completes the braid, tying it off with the ribbons she'd pulled out of her hair earlier and then spending a second to tidy up his handiwork before putting both hands on the back of her chair so she can investigate it herself. ]

But on the bright side, you're the most stylish combination snorer-drooler in Aquila by a long shot.

[ Apparently it doesn't take her long to actually become a little offended at what he says. Her eyes narrow when he places a hand on her shoulder because she has a distinct feeling that she knows where this is going. It doesn't take her long to confirm that yes, it went exactly where she thought it would go. Her mouth falls open in a perfect little 'o' and the outrage waiting for Claude is imminent spurred by his mirth and mere moments away from him tying off her braid.

But if they were being honest, she does drool but only when she's really, really tired! The snoring is however is all Claude's doing, she's certain of it even though she's usually the one who sleeps far more between the two. She channels her outrage into the most fierce pout as she turns from side to side to examine Claude's handiwork. The examining is more principle than anything. She has no doubt that it's probably flawless — she had schooled him for many months until it was to her liking — although he already had some level of how to do it before she had met him.

It's hard not to admire his deft hands and the way her hair weaves in and out of itself. If she didn't know any better, she could have very well braided it herself. It's almost enough to make her forgive him for airing out her dirty secret to a room of just them. Almost.

Quick as a flash she climbs up onto the chair, standing up on her knees. She gives him a smile so saturated and sweet that he'll know something is coming immediately and she hopes it put the fear into him. ]

Amazing work as always. [ She reaches out her hands, grabbing a hold of both of his cheeks and stretching them out, emphasizing each word. ] How did I get so lucky to have the loudest snorer in Aquila braiding my hair?

[ Hilda's investigation of the braid in all its finished glory is enough to make the smile on his face widen a bit more. For a second it's easy to believe things are normal, or close to it; if he doesn't look away from the mirror then maybe they're really in Garreg Mach after all. But of course they aren't because she abruptly turns, he's reminded about the corset digging into his side when he takes a half step back on instinct.

For all his quick reflexes, Claude's not fast enough to dodge Hilda's hands on his face. He also makes the mistake of grimacing which likely makes it all the easier for her to grab on and tug just like he knows she's going to even as he's already reaching to lightly swat the backs of her hands like it'll change his fate. ]

Hey, leave my roguishly beautiful face in one piece, will you? I'm kind of attached to it. Also, I definitely need it to keep charming everyone I meet.

[ As usual, his protests are more for the sake of it than any active distress which might also be clear from the fact that there's no small amount of amusement in his nonexistent attempts to escape Hilda's (literal) clutches. Still, he's also going to sigh heavily as though this is deeply troublesome to him and her stretching of his face isn't also conveniently hiding his smirk. ]

Way to add salt to my wounds by pretending like you braided your own hair with that comment about your snoring title! Might I remind you I'm wearing a dress and now you're just adding to my unending torment?

Oh, Claude. You’re lucky that you’re such a charmer too and that I like you.

[ She continues to pull and stretch his face like it’s dough, a genuine laugh beginning to form in the back of her throat and at the corner of her eyes. For all her boisterous claims that anyone would be lucky to have a friend like her, Hilda can’t help but feel deep down that she’s the one that’s lucky to have him. Very few would willingly put themselves through this or put up with her and her princess tendencies. It’s better to just accept it because thinking about it sends her down a spiral of anxiety.

The prickle at the back of her eyes signal that tears are going to show soon if she doesn’t stop thinking about how moments like these were so important to her. Crying over sentimental things had never been a common occurrence before the war, but she supposed that this was just another way it was changing her. She isn’t entirely sure she likes it. The thought is enough to make her stop, telling herself that it’s because she doesn’t want to make his cheeks too red and her hands are cramping anyway. It’s not the thought of dying and never being able to spend time with him like this again and it definitely doesn’t have anything to do with crying and potentially ruining his date. It would never be either of those things. ]

Here I am trying to pay you a compliment and you’re just going on complaining! [ She lets out a sigh, throwing her hands up to the side in a very similar way that he does. ] I’ll let it slide this time because I don’t want to be the reason you’re late for your date. [ True to her word, she smoothly hops off the chair and brushes her own dress before doing some last minute checks on Claude’s dress as if her pulling his face had somehow effected the clothing. ]

You’ll tell me all about it later, won’t you? [ Her fingers fiddle listlessly at the bustle for the sake of looking busy. Her voice is nothing but light and conversational too in an effort to not go back down the slippery slope she had just been tugged back from. ] Also, I can make myself scarce tonight if you’d rather. I don’t have to sleep in your bed starting tonight.

[ The nightmares aren’t consistent anyway. ]

I'm complaining because you're trying to rearrange my face!

[ Not a real complaint; also, not even remotely possible to do - he's pretty sure - but for good measure that's not going to stop Claude from bringing both hands up to his face after he lets go to pat it tentatively with his fingertips as if he's expecting things to have actually moved. Obviously they haven't, so he drops his shoulders in exaggerated relief. ]

Well, it seems to all still be in place so I suppose I have no choice but to continue liking you, too. I was worried there for a minute.

[ It goes without saying he was no such thing, but. He'd caught that expression flickering across Hilda's face again, another one that seems like it might align with from earlier. Or maybe it's something that needs to be layered over it for a clearer picture, a way to bring it all into focus, like a stack of stained glass fragments forming a different view than when laid out separately. Something Claude's no stranger to himself in operating the same way, and as Hilda smooths out his dress for him when he was about to do that next he watches her carefully beneath the too easy smile on his face.

All the better to catch her hands in his when she lets got of the bustle and possibly starts to step away to keep her there. ]

I will. But whether it's tonight or not, Hilda, I meant what I said. You don't have to ask to join me. Show up whenever you need to, and I'll be there for you.

[ There's more he could say - likely should say - but Hilda's probably right about not running late when he'd had the idea to show up to the restaurant in question first. So with one last squeeze of her hands he lets go to tackle pulling on those very high boots much different than his usual ones or his greaves from another life to round out the outfit, and then he's off with one last wink over his shoulder Hilda's direction as he walks out the door. ]

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i'm reaching for the clouds

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it's a wrap!