[ Claude is truly acting suspicious here! Sylvain is no stranger to casual touches, skinship and all that, but even he has to refrain from shrugging away from Claude's hand, when the other student reaches out without much warning.
(He would accuse him of trying to start a fight but it's like, the exact opposite of starting a fight... It's weird! Either way!!) ]
Wait—
[ Pure instinct takes over, and this time he's the one to act on reflex, grabbing at Claude's arm and blindly catching him by the elbow. It isn't even a wholly-formed thought, just (literally and metaphorically) grasping at a half-baked idea. One that suddenly becomes a distinct hypothesis when the indirect contact coaxes a faint glow again from the torch. The gentlest blush of illumination... ]
...
[ No frikken way. Sylvain's thought process goes from 0 to 60, fingers still gripping at Claude's sleeve as he muses—makes leaps in logic, really. (Did the clownductors know what happened in Minecraftia? Is this why they've ended up together? For 'self improvement'?) ]
This is a bit heavy handed, wouldn't you say...? [ Pun fully intended, his voice suddenly dry. ]
[ It's pretty incredible. Cooperation, compassion and resilience have been common themes in the objectives that they've been given so far, but this is the first time that they've been corralled toward something so obviously intimate.
Something that says "you WILL get along" so obviously.
What a funny turn of events given his and Sylvain's last meeting. He almost wants to laugh. ]
I suppose these cars could only be subtle about teamwork for so long.
[ Claude's tone is equally dry, though he does sound genuinely amused rather than frustrated. As a schemer, he has to appreciate the poetic timing of this trick.
Not that he's going to let it force his hand one way or the other. He'd already resolved to be civil with Sylvain in the interest keeping resources rather than losing them, and he doesn't feel any anger toward him now that so much time has passed. He can't blame Sylvain for being curious, he just feels no obligation to indulge him.
And for the sake of not being stuck in the darkness forever, he's more than willing to keep his focus on the task at hand, rather than dwelling on the past. ]
But at least it's a simple mechanic. [ He looks out ahead of them, the scant amount of grey around the torch dwarfed by the inky blackness around them. ] We just need to hope that cauldron is easy to find without any guidance.
Claude seems to be taking it all in stride, despite his odd behavior before... (Unless... Huh, was that a preemptive attempt to try and fulfill the objective of this car?) Sylvain thinks he glimpses the thread of reasoning behind his actions, now. And if that's really the case, he's impressed he'd thought that far ahead; guess he isn't called a "schemer" for nothing... ]
Right. Teamwork...
[ Sylvain's historically better at burning bridges than he is at repairing them, and he was pretty sure he'd disastrously fumbled any potential of making friends with Claude. But things don't seem to be nearly as dire as he'd assumed them to be, and it helps ease the tension from his posture a little. This is a lot more like the Claude he'd first met, looking for korogus and getting chased around by bees... Completely unflappable, easy as a breeze. (Then what was all that before...?)
He gives a (slightly distracted) hum of affirmative when his partner mentions the cauldron. ]
I dunno if I'd call anything 'simple' around here. There's no telling what else might be in the dark.
[ He frowns at the torch, which is hardly doing a better job than their phones were, ] Can't this thing get any brighter?
[ Considering the recent hooplah in Minecraftia, Claude really doesn't want to tumble into another fight. Hopefully the train will have mercy on them for one day, and this car will be nothing but an awkward stroll.
At Sylvain's question he looks down at the torch, and then over to the hand on his arm, warm through the sleeve of his shirt. If he's following the logic of this car correctly, then he's pretty sure that he has a good guess as to what will make the torch burn brighter. ]
Don't panic, but I've got a guess.
[ Taking his arm from Sylvain's hold, he clasps their hands together instead, fingers lacing together. It's awkward and uncomfortable, and Claude instinctively wants to pull away, but sure enough, the torch blazes into a proper flame.
[ Oh. The realization doesn't hit him like a truck so much as another rising bubble of hysterical disbelief. He actually snorts out loud at this one, and gives Claude's hand a teasing squeeze. (Now he's starting to see some humor to it.) ]
Don't get shy on me now.
[ That would be pretty cute of him, actually (considering they've already k***ed). Sylvain uses the opportunity to take the lead, giving his companion a light tug forward (...even though he isn't the one carrying the torch). ]
Do you get sweaty palms? Is that it?
[ He laughs again. He doesn't actually assume any of these things, and isn't ribbing or accusing Claude so much as trying to play off and diffuse the abject awkwardness of having to hold hands through an entire car...
...Whatever. If they could fake their way through one objective, what's one more? Physical connections have never been difficult for Sylvain. He's just glad they're not being asked for any more than this. (Famous last words.) ]
Yes, but I meant more along the lines of something like: we could be forced to tango through this car.
[ Both literal or metaphorical.
In any case, the hand holding is comfortable. There's an instinctive need to recoil away from Sylvain, which isn't anything personal, but rather how Claude deals with prolonged contact. It's find to tease and play pranks, but Claude exists in the brief. This is just... the two of them, hand in hand, for far too long.
[ Sylvain snickers again, imagining having to waltz through this car with Claude, and the torch in their mutual custody. ('Tango' in the sense of 'mortal combat' is a big nah for him.) ]
So what? I'm a great dancer. We'd just call it practice for the Winter Ball.
[ (For when Claude asks Byleth for a spin on the dance floor...)
Claude's question gets another wry smile out of him, though he keeps up pace without faltering. ]
I hate the dark. Doesn't everyone?
[ He can manage, but it's definitely not comfortable. And perhaps he's just conjuring up a Traumatic Childhood Memory right now, but it feels as if there's a cold draft somewhere, though he doesn't feel the movement of air across his skin... (Just a chill deep in his bones.)
He's thankful to at least have a steady light, and awkward company is better than no company at all... ]
[ It's easier to focus on this conversation than anything else, so Claude gives actual thought to Sylvain's question. ]
I'm sure there's plenty of people who like the cover of darkness to get up to all kinds of things. [ Does that include himself? Who's to say.
But this is quite the same darkness that Claude enjoys. ]
I'm not a big fan of this car, but I wouldn't call this regular darkness. It's like being blind.
[ He glances around, to the side where the car disappears into inky black, beyond what the light of their torch can reach. He doesn't get a sense of darkness around them, it's as if there's simply nothing. Even looking down, there's no discernable road or ground underneath their feet. Just solid black. ]
But with a few stars and a little moonlight? It might not be so bad.
Well, yeah, it's always easier to sneak off at night. None of the professors around, and only a handful of sleepy guards...
[ He is a master of slinking in and out of the dorms at ungodly hours of the night, for ungodly purposes. ]
But that's different. Like you said, there's nothing here at all... You don't think it's even a little creepy? [ It's making him feel vaguely claustrophobic. (Or, maybe Sylvain just hates being alone...) ]
—Ah, see, you're talking about 'nighttime' again. [ Getting into semantics, because he is Annoying like that. ] Stars and moonlight are plenty nice. Mood lighting, right? But take those things away, and what's left...
[ He lets slowly lets go of Claude to demonstrate, the light of their torch fading, and fading, until it goes cold. He doesn't say anything in the pitch blackness, doesn't try to test Claude's courage. Just tries to show him that this is what the word 'dark' means to him.
—And then he quickly snatches up his hand again. ]
[ Claude just blinks at Sylvain's explanation, looking in the direction of his voice when the torch goes out. It doesn't frighten him, not yet, but he's thinking that this is more about Sylvain than himself. ]
Are you suggesting that darkness doesn't count if it's at night? You don't always need to experience things in the extreme, Sylvain.
[ He sounds amused, not missing how quick Sylvain is to take his hand again.
Though he doubts it'll be appreciated, he gives his hand a slow squeeze as he continues walking, relaxed and even-paced. ]
I'm not disagreeing with you in any case, being trapped in this car alone is probably enough to drive anyone mad. [ With his next step, he taps the front of his boot against Sylvain's calf in a friendly gesture. ] But I'm ready to take up the mantle to keep you grounded.
Should I regale you with a story as a distraction?
[ (claude is right, sylvain is getting too carried away with his White Manpain) ]
Hah... [ He sighs, a little exasperated even though he probably did sound like a crazy person for a bit. (Why does this guy have to be the Cool One all the time... And it's not like Sylvain's asking to be comforted by him... Now he feels even more foolish!)
...Though, it's surprisingly considerate that Claude would interpret it that way. Maybe he really is nicer than Sylvain gives him credit for.
—But he doesn't need to hold Sylvain's hand that tightly.
He huffs a small laugh. ] Regale away. Since my sanity's depending on it and all.
[ Despite his joking tone, he's curious to know what kind of story Claude's got up his sleeves... ]
[ Claude gets a feeling that Sylvain's sanity doesn't actually depend on it, but he decides to forge ahead anyway.
He hums, going through his arsenal and wondering which one to offer up. ]
Well, this might be kind of hard to believe, but despite being cute as a button, I was mildly unpopular when I was a boy, and there was this one other kid—the some of some fancy and respected noble—who was determined to brand himself my arch nemesis.
[ One of many. And it was more a deep-seated hatred borne of prejudice than a harmless rivalry between two boys, but those aren't important details. ]
Now this boy wasn't the noblest of nobles, and his father was beginning to hear rumours about his behaviour, so I decided to give him a little help—under the guise of one of the boy's instructors. [ Since no one would've trusted him. ] There was this jewel that was gaining popularity among the ladies: a stone that glows in the presence of love. The reality was, of course, that it was reacting to an increased heartrate however, so it was easy enough to get one and tell the father that it would reveal lies.
[ He grins a little, apparently finding his own story amusing. ]
From there, it was simple. The father gifted his son a piece with the jewel, and then several days later confronted him about his disappearance from his tutoring lessons. His son offered up some lies, so his father took the jewel in hand and demanded the truth.
Apparently the son eventually confessed to frequenting a brothel and falling in love with a woman there. His father was naturally outraged. But because he'd taken the jewel in hand in his anger, when he shouted at his son that he had never even heard of brothels at his age, wouldn't you know it, the jewel glowed again.
[ Claude laughs, unable to help it. ]
But the best part was that the noble's wife was also there, and while listening to this conversation, all she said was, "He really is your son."
[ Oh, Sylvain readily believes Claude was a cute kid, and also unpopular. (Because Claude's grown up to be a pretty cute guy, who is still unpopular.)
He squints at him in the darkness, trying to tell whether he's just cracking a long-winded joke at his own expense. A nobleman's son who spends his time whoring rather than studying? Sounds quite similar to someone else he knows very well. At least there are a couple inconsistencies:
1) Sylvain's habits have never been a secret; 2) Sylvain's crest could've only come from his father.
Regardless, he finds himself laughing alongside Claude by the end of the final, ridiculous plot twist. ]
No way. You're definitely making this up! I've never heard of a jewel like that, and believe me, I would know.
[ ...It's possible such a thing doesn't exist in Faerghus, but does in Almyra. He considers that possibility an awkward fraction too late, but he obviously doesn't go out of his way to mention it. He chuckles again instead, and shakes his head. ]
Heh... Remind me never to get on your bad side. [ Sylvain shudders to think of all the damage someone as clever as Claude could do to his already disastrous love life—
—and that's when the whispers begin, the chill from before suddenly clamping down on his spine in full force. His hand twitches in Claude's grasp reflexively.
He's a liar.Don't trust him.He'll do anything to keep his secret safe.
His recent wounds seem to pulse under his clothes, though they're mostly healed over. (Old scars too, suddenly itching like a reminder and warning.)
He'll leave you here, and you won't find your way out this time. ]
[ Sylvain had asked for a story, and Claude had delivered. How much of it he'd embellished will remain a mystery forever considering that he doesn't plan to clear any of it up. He's about to offer up a friendly warning when Sylvain's thoughts are broadcasted into his mind.
It takes him by surprise, because he'd thought they were smoothing over things from their last encounter.
But perhaps not. Sylvain had made clear what he thought about Claude's secrets, and what he thought it said about his character, and he doubts this story has changed his perception any.
He just didn't expect Sylvain to be so duplicitous about it. ]
Tell me how you really feel, Sylvain.
[ His voice is dry, but the whispers that slither into his mind are far more serious.
He thinks about the fact that of all the familiar faces that could've followed them onto the train, that it was Sylvain. That the Blue Lions are the most loyal to their heir than all the other houses, and that Faerghus, even more than Leicester, has felt the burn of foreign peoples.
It would be easy to get rid of a threat in the dark. ]
[ There's a sudden and distinct shift in mood, the tenuous good humor between them replaced by mistrust. Had this been Claude's plan all along? Get Sylvain to lower his guard with a funny story or two, and then confront him alone...? He tries not to react too obviously either way, self-preservation instinct kicking in. ]
...'bout what, your story? It's—
[ —suspicious, but I guess I can't really be surprised.
His own thoughts are interrupted by Claude's cutting in, cold and unforgiving. His pulse stutters as his adrenaline spikes. (It doesn't make any sense. Why would Claude go through the trouble of all this buildup, just to deliver a blunt threat? Don't tell him he's in another twisted dream—) ]
—a bit much for a joke, don't you think?
[ And yet he can't shake the feeling that Claude is entirely serious. He'll find a way to slit Sylvain's throat one car or another, maybe even use one of his poisons he's rumored to be so knowledgeable about.
[ This situation is odd. Claude is used to dancing around subjects. To avoiding ever revealing his hand or his thoughts, and only offering up implications or teasing hints of information. It's easy, because he doesn't mind playing the long game, and as long as the one thing he's invested in—his future—remains possible, he can endure anything else.
But in this space, he feels— bothered. Uneasy and afraid. Instead of focusing on his goal (their shared goal) of bringing the light to the cauldron, his mind wanders back to the threat at his side. And even that isn't unusual, he often plans for things to go awry, but for some reason his mind won't settle.
He can't calm himself by categorically working through the position of his dagger, the options he has for retaliation if Sylvain should attack.
He can't stop this feeling of... agitation. The thud of his heart and the desperation to escape this situation.
Get out. Something's wrong. ]
Why does keeping secrets make me a threat, Sylvain? [ He says this nonchalantly. ] Do you feel entitled to the life stories of everyone you know?
[ Sylvain knows this feeling of inescapable dread, of being subject to someone who wants you dead. He's no longer the boy he once was, pushed into an old well or left behind in the dead of winter when no one was looking, but the fear remains the same. (It's unnatural, but well-constructed enough that it evokes a physiological response.)
He doesn't think Claude is anything like Miklan, but his instincts won't settle either, even if they're wrong. ]
No, but you saying you're gonna take me out in the dark does.
[ His grip on Claude's hand tightens, enough that the other boy can't slip his fingers away to draw a weapon. (His other hand is still occupied with the torch, which he could easily swing at Sylvain, or drop in favor of something else.) ]
Despite what you may've heard, I don't get on my back for just anyone.
[ Not that I would've minded, if things had been different. ]
[ Despite the paranoia welling up in the base of his throat, a sudden thread of confusion cuts through Claude's thoughts, and he gives Sylvain an incredulous look. ]
Me? You're the one plotting to get rid of me after we get to the cauldron.
[ And that's about all Claude manages to get out, considering that Sylvain's thought comes so far out of left field it leaves him speechless.
It's disarming, because it's embarrassing and Claude is rarely embarrassed. It's also incredibly uncomfortable considering that he's convinced, for some reason, that Sylvain wants to kill him. For the two impulses to be combined is kind of... weird.
He focuses ahead. ]
I just want to get out of this car. I don't have any interest in picking a fight with you, Sylvain.
[ Sylvain gawks openly at Claude, sorely tempted to let go of his hand and navigate the rest of the way to the cauldron by the puny light of his phone. (If only it worked that way...) ]
What? [ That's definitely Claude's idea?! ] Why would I do that? In case you've forgotten, we won't get off this train until our numbers go down.
[ By that logic... It wouldn't make sense for Claude to murder him in cold blood either... Ugh, this makes no damn sense.
He has to make a dedicated effort to release the bruising pressure he's applying to Claude's hand, and keep his wits about him. ]
I don't want anything from you. But if you don't trust me then feel free to let go whenever.
[ What difference does it make where you're from. This is so stupid. ]
[ This is so stupid, and luckily Claude's confusion and irritation are doing an admirable job at keeping the influences of this car at bay. ]
You don't, do you? Not even when, in between issuing threats, you decided to mention how you wouldn't mind getting on your back in another time and place?
[ Get your priorities straight, idiot. It's still somewhat embarrassing to say out loud, but the hot and cold attitude is getting on his nerves. ]
In any case, it should be no surprise that I don't trust you. But I'm not so scared that I'd focus on that over getting out of here.
Okay I definitely didn't say that. [ Out loud. (He only thought it for a split second... An invasive thought. Everyone has them!! How did Claude—)
...Something's really not adding up here. It's like they're thinking the exact same thing, but somewhere along the way the signals are getting scrambled. As if they're sharing the same wavelength which unfortunately happens to be set to a headache-inducing frequency.
He tries not to glare outright at Claude, though he's also peeved enough that his stare probably comes off sharper than necessary. —And then his eyes widen in surprise when he hears Claude's voice clearly again, despite no indication of him actually talking. He goes still, unintentionally tugging Claude to an abrupt stop. ]
Wait. I... I'm gonna try something.
[ He covers his own mouth with his other hand, while maintaining steady eye contact.
[ It might be dark in this car, but it's not so dark that Claude can't tell exactly what Sylvain is testing. And for a moment, he goes still with disbelief.
But very quickly that disbelief turns into resignation.
Of course..
He just shakes his head, rubbing his temples as he absorbs this new bit of information. ]
There's really nothing sacred in the eyes of this train, is there? [ Not even a guy's thoughts. ] Well...
[ He's going to keep walking, because he really wants to get out of here, and standing in one place is making him anxious. When he continues talking however, he sounds more thoughtful than accusing, ] So you just thought about getting rid of me once we reached the cauldron, instead of saying it out loud.
[ ...One big fat mystery solved, and yet none of their problems have been fixed! Only made that much more convoluted. Sylvain resists the urge to sigh, and tries to piece together a coherent explanation despite the dread that still rattles through him. ]
Uh, no. I was thinking you were gonna get rid of me after we lit the cauldron. You were going on about getting rid of threats in the dark, but I figured there was no way you'd compromise your best chance of getting out of this car.
[ I can't believe I have to even explain this, there's no way he's gonna—you don't believe me, do you. ]
... [ Uuughhhh. ] It's nothing personal.
[ Just used to having a target painted—let's not go there.
...It's really hard to turn off his thoughts now that they're truly racing, and Sylvain is less than thrilled about it. ]
Can we just pretend this never happened? Take a mutual vow of silence?
[ Even though he's sick of singing (see: crystal car), he will start mentally humming if it means not having everything in his brain transmitted where he doesn't want it to go... ]
[ Is silence really going to help in this situation?
He knows that Sylvain means after they leave this car, but he can't stop his thoughts anyway. Still, he doesn't say anything else, not even to tease Sylvain over the stumbling of his thoughts.
His own echo the irritated groan, shifting incomprehensibly between trying to focus on the task at hand, and thinking about how much he hates this. It's way too much intimacy. ]
... I was convinced that you'd get rid of me here, in the dark, where no one would know it was you.
[ He sounds a little like he still believes it. ]
It's not as though you haven't already told me you think I'm some sort of threat to Dimitri.
So... you're paranoid of me, and I'm just as paranoid of you. That's definitely working in our favor.
[ Sylvain dares to laugh again, the sound of it dry and bewildered. But he can't blame Claude for his conjecture, especially after the way their last conversation went. (And it's not as if Sylvain hasn't had troubling thoughts...) ]
Look, I don't think you're actually a threat to Dimitri.
[ Let's be real he could snap us both in half. While Claude is an evasive punk, Sylvain doesn't really get the vibes of nefarious evildoing from him—at least not until he'd stepped foot into this car. (Strange, that.) ]
I was [ feeling sore from—... ] not in a great mood at the time, let's just say.
[ ... ] I guess this is where I say I'm sorry, a few months too late.
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(He would accuse him of trying to start a fight but it's like, the exact opposite of starting a fight... It's weird! Either way!!) ]
Wait—
[ Pure instinct takes over, and this time he's the one to act on reflex, grabbing at Claude's arm and blindly catching him by the elbow. It isn't even a wholly-formed thought, just (literally and metaphorically) grasping at a half-baked idea. One that suddenly becomes a distinct hypothesis when the indirect contact coaxes a faint glow again from the torch. The gentlest blush of illumination... ]
...
[ No frikken way. Sylvain's thought process goes from 0 to 60, fingers still gripping at Claude's sleeve as he muses—makes leaps in logic, really. (Did the clownductors know what happened in Minecraftia? Is this why they've ended up together? For 'self improvement'?) ]
This is a bit heavy handed, wouldn't you say...? [ Pun fully intended, his voice suddenly dry. ]
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Something that says "you WILL get along" so obviously.
What a funny turn of events given his and Sylvain's last meeting. He almost wants to laugh. ]
I suppose these cars could only be subtle about teamwork for so long.
[ Claude's tone is equally dry, though he does sound genuinely amused rather than frustrated. As a schemer, he has to appreciate the poetic timing of this trick.
Not that he's going to let it force his hand one way or the other. He'd already resolved to be civil with Sylvain in the interest keeping resources rather than losing them, and he doesn't feel any anger toward him now that so much time has passed. He can't blame Sylvain for being curious, he just feels no obligation to indulge him.
And for the sake of not being stuck in the darkness forever, he's more than willing to keep his focus on the task at hand, rather than dwelling on the past. ]
But at least it's a simple mechanic. [ He looks out ahead of them, the scant amount of grey around the torch dwarfed by the inky blackness around them. ] We just need to hope that cauldron is easy to find without any guidance.
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Claude seems to be taking it all in stride, despite his odd behavior before... (Unless... Huh, was that a preemptive attempt to try and fulfill the objective of this car?) Sylvain thinks he glimpses the thread of reasoning behind his actions, now. And if that's really the case, he's impressed he'd thought that far ahead; guess he isn't called a "schemer" for nothing... ]
Right. Teamwork...
[ Sylvain's historically better at burning bridges than he is at repairing them, and he was pretty sure he'd disastrously fumbled any potential of making friends with Claude. But things don't seem to be nearly as dire as he'd assumed them to be, and it helps ease the tension from his posture a little. This is a lot more like the Claude he'd first met, looking for korogus and getting chased around by bees... Completely unflappable, easy as a breeze. (Then what was all that before...?)
He gives a (slightly distracted) hum of affirmative when his partner mentions the cauldron. ]
I dunno if I'd call anything 'simple' around here. There's no telling what else might be in the dark.
[ He frowns at the torch, which is hardly doing a better job than their phones were, ] Can't this thing get any brighter?
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At Sylvain's question he looks down at the torch, and then over to the hand on his arm, warm through the sleeve of his shirt. If he's following the logic of this car correctly, then he's pretty sure that he has a good guess as to what will make the torch burn brighter. ]
Don't panic, but I've got a guess.
[ Taking his arm from Sylvain's hold, he clasps their hands together instead, fingers lacing together. It's awkward and uncomfortable, and Claude instinctively wants to pull away, but sure enough, the torch blazes into a proper flame.
He really hopes that cauldron is close by. ]
I suppose... it could be worse.
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Don't get shy on me now.
[ That would be pretty cute of him, actually (considering they've already k***ed). Sylvain uses the opportunity to take the lead, giving his companion a light tug forward (...even though he isn't the one carrying the torch). ]
Do you get sweaty palms? Is that it?
[ He laughs again. He doesn't actually assume any of these things, and isn't ribbing or accusing Claude so much as trying to play off and diffuse the abject awkwardness of having to hold hands through an entire car...
...Whatever. If they could fake their way through one objective, what's one more? Physical connections have never been difficult for Sylvain. He's just glad they're not being asked for any more than this. (Famous last words.) ]
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[ Both literal or metaphorical.
In any case, the hand holding is comfortable. There's an instinctive need to recoil away from Sylvain, which isn't anything personal, but rather how Claude deals with prolonged contact. It's find to tease and play pranks, but Claude exists in the brief. This is just... the two of them, hand in hand, for far too long.
Also, aren't sweaty palms inevitable?
He starts marching forward. ]
I hope you're not afraid of the dark.
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So what? I'm a great dancer. We'd just call it practice for the Winter Ball.
[ (For when Claude asks Byleth for a spin on the dance floor...)
Claude's question gets another wry smile out of him, though he keeps up pace without faltering. ]
I hate the dark. Doesn't everyone?
[ He can manage, but it's definitely not comfortable. And perhaps he's just conjuring up a Traumatic Childhood Memory right now, but it feels as if there's a cold draft somewhere, though he doesn't feel the movement of air across his skin... (Just a chill deep in his bones.)
He's thankful to at least have a steady light, and awkward company is better than no company at all... ]
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I'm sure there's plenty of people who like the cover of darkness to get up to all kinds of things. [ Does that include himself? Who's to say.
But this is quite the same darkness that Claude enjoys. ]
I'm not a big fan of this car, but I wouldn't call this regular darkness. It's like being blind.
[ He glances around, to the side where the car disappears into inky black, beyond what the light of their torch can reach. He doesn't get a sense of darkness around them, it's as if there's simply nothing. Even looking down, there's no discernable road or ground underneath their feet. Just solid black. ]
But with a few stars and a little moonlight? It might not be so bad.
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[ He is a master of slinking in and out of the dorms at ungodly hours of the night, for ungodly purposes. ]
But that's different. Like you said, there's nothing here at all... You don't think it's even a little creepy? [ It's making him feel vaguely claustrophobic. (Or, maybe Sylvain just hates being alone...) ]
—Ah, see, you're talking about 'nighttime' again. [ Getting into semantics, because he is Annoying like that. ] Stars and moonlight are plenty nice. Mood lighting, right? But take those things away, and what's left...
[ He lets slowly lets go of Claude to demonstrate, the light of their torch fading, and fading, until it goes cold. He doesn't say anything in the pitch blackness, doesn't try to test Claude's courage. Just tries to show him that this is what the word 'dark' means to him.
—And then he quickly snatches up his hand again. ]
...Anyway. [ Time to find that cauldron huh!! ]
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Are you suggesting that darkness doesn't count if it's at night? You don't always need to experience things in the extreme, Sylvain.
[ He sounds amused, not missing how quick Sylvain is to take his hand again.
Though he doubts it'll be appreciated, he gives his hand a slow squeeze as he continues walking, relaxed and even-paced. ]
I'm not disagreeing with you in any case, being trapped in this car alone is probably enough to drive anyone mad. [ With his next step, he taps the front of his boot against Sylvain's calf in a friendly gesture. ] But I'm ready to take up the mantle to keep you grounded.
Should I regale you with a story as a distraction?
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Hah... [ He sighs, a little exasperated even though he probably did sound like a crazy person for a bit. (Why does this guy have to be the Cool One all the time... And it's not like Sylvain's asking to be comforted by him... Now he feels even more foolish!)
...Though, it's surprisingly considerate that Claude would interpret it that way. Maybe he really is nicer than Sylvain gives him credit for.
—But he doesn't need to hold Sylvain's hand that tightly.
He huffs a small laugh. ] Regale away. Since my sanity's depending on it and all.
[ Despite his joking tone, he's curious to know what kind of story Claude's got up his sleeves... ]
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He hums, going through his arsenal and wondering which one to offer up. ]
Well, this might be kind of hard to believe, but despite being cute as a button, I was mildly unpopular when I was a boy, and there was this one other kid—the some of some fancy and respected noble—who was determined to brand himself my arch nemesis.
[ One of many. And it was more a deep-seated hatred borne of prejudice than a harmless rivalry between two boys, but those aren't important details. ]
Now this boy wasn't the noblest of nobles, and his father was beginning to hear rumours about his behaviour, so I decided to give him a little help—under the guise of one of the boy's instructors. [ Since no one would've trusted him. ] There was this jewel that was gaining popularity among the ladies: a stone that glows in the presence of love. The reality was, of course, that it was reacting to an increased heartrate however, so it was easy enough to get one and tell the father that it would reveal lies.
[ He grins a little, apparently finding his own story amusing. ]
From there, it was simple. The father gifted his son a piece with the jewel, and then several days later confronted him about his disappearance from his tutoring lessons. His son offered up some lies, so his father took the jewel in hand and demanded the truth.
Apparently the son eventually confessed to frequenting a brothel and falling in love with a woman there. His father was naturally outraged. But because he'd taken the jewel in hand in his anger, when he shouted at his son that he had never even heard of brothels at his age, wouldn't you know it, the jewel glowed again.
[ Claude laughs, unable to help it. ]
But the best part was that the noble's wife was also there, and while listening to this conversation, all she said was, "He really is your son."
... At which point her own necklace lit up.
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He squints at him in the darkness, trying to tell whether he's just cracking a long-winded joke at his own expense. A nobleman's son who spends his time whoring rather than studying? Sounds quite similar to someone else he knows very well. At least there are a couple inconsistencies:
1) Sylvain's habits have never been a secret;
2) Sylvain's crest could've only come from his father.
Regardless, he finds himself laughing alongside Claude by the end of the final, ridiculous plot twist. ]
No way. You're definitely making this up! I've never heard of a jewel like that, and believe me, I would know.
[ ...It's possible such a thing doesn't exist in Faerghus, but does in Almyra. He considers that possibility an awkward fraction too late, but he obviously doesn't go out of his way to mention it. He chuckles again instead, and shakes his head. ]
Heh... Remind me never to get on your bad side. [ Sylvain shudders to think of all the damage someone as clever as Claude could do to his already disastrous love life—
—and that's when the whispers begin, the chill from before suddenly clamping down on his spine in full force. His hand twitches in Claude's grasp reflexively.
He's a liar. Don't trust him. He'll do anything to keep his secret safe.
His recent wounds seem to pulse under his clothes, though they're mostly healed over. (Old scars too, suddenly itching like a reminder and warning.)
He'll leave you here, and you won't find your way out this time. ]
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It takes him by surprise, because he'd thought they were smoothing over things from their last encounter.
But perhaps not. Sylvain had made clear what he thought about Claude's secrets, and what he thought it said about his character, and he doubts this story has changed his perception any.
He just didn't expect Sylvain to be so duplicitous about it. ]
Tell me how you really feel, Sylvain.
[ His voice is dry, but the whispers that slither into his mind are far more serious.
He thinks about the fact that of all the familiar faces that could've followed them onto the train, that it was Sylvain. That the Blue Lions are the most loyal to their heir than all the other houses, and that Faerghus, even more than Leicester, has felt the burn of foreign peoples.
It would be easy to get rid of a threat in the dark. ]
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...'bout what, your story? It's—
[ —suspicious, but I guess I can't really be surprised.
His own thoughts are interrupted by Claude's cutting in, cold and unforgiving. His pulse stutters as his adrenaline spikes. (It doesn't make any sense. Why would Claude go through the trouble of all this buildup, just to deliver a blunt threat? Don't tell him he's in another twisted dream—) ]
—a bit much for a joke, don't you think?
[ And yet he can't shake the feeling that Claude is entirely serious. He'll find a way to slit Sylvain's throat one car or another, maybe even use one of his poisons he's rumored to be so knowledgeable about.
You're useless as soon as that cauldron's lit. ]
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But in this space, he feels— bothered. Uneasy and afraid. Instead of focusing on his goal (their shared goal) of bringing the light to the cauldron, his mind wanders back to the threat at his side. And even that isn't unusual, he often plans for things to go awry, but for some reason his mind won't settle.
He can't calm himself by categorically working through the position of his dagger, the options he has for retaliation if Sylvain should attack.
He can't stop this feeling of... agitation. The thud of his heart and the desperation to escape this situation.
Get out. Something's wrong. ]
Why does keeping secrets make me a threat, Sylvain? [ He says this nonchalantly. ] Do you feel entitled to the life stories of everyone you know?
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He doesn't think Claude is anything like Miklan, but his instincts won't settle either, even if they're wrong. ]
No, but you saying you're gonna take me out in the dark does.
[ His grip on Claude's hand tightens, enough that the other boy can't slip his fingers away to draw a weapon. (His other hand is still occupied with the torch, which he could easily swing at Sylvain, or drop in favor of something else.) ]
Despite what you may've heard, I don't get on my back for just anyone.
[ Not that I would've minded, if things had been different. ]
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Me? You're the one plotting to get rid of me after we get to the cauldron.
[ And that's about all Claude manages to get out, considering that Sylvain's thought comes so far out of left field it leaves him speechless.
It's disarming, because it's embarrassing and Claude is rarely embarrassed. It's also incredibly uncomfortable considering that he's convinced, for some reason, that Sylvain wants to kill him. For the two impulses to be combined is kind of... weird.
He focuses ahead. ]
I just want to get out of this car. I don't have any interest in picking a fight with you, Sylvain.
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What? [ That's definitely Claude's idea?! ] Why would I do that? In case you've forgotten, we won't get off this train until our numbers go down.
[ By that logic... It wouldn't make sense for Claude to murder him in cold blood either... Ugh, this makes no damn sense.
He has to make a dedicated effort to release the bruising pressure he's applying to Claude's hand, and keep his wits about him. ]
I don't want anything from you. But if you don't trust me then feel free to let go whenever.
[ What difference does it make where you're from. This is so stupid. ]
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You don't, do you? Not even when, in between issuing threats, you decided to mention how you wouldn't mind getting on your back in another time and place?
[ Get your priorities straight, idiot. It's still somewhat embarrassing to say out loud, but the hot and cold attitude is getting on his nerves. ]
In any case, it should be no surprise that I don't trust you. But I'm not so scared that I'd focus on that over getting out of here.
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...Something's really not adding up here. It's like they're thinking the exact same thing, but somewhere along the way the signals are getting scrambled. As if they're sharing the same wavelength which unfortunately happens to be set to a headache-inducing frequency.
He tries not to glare outright at Claude, though he's also peeved enough that his stare probably comes off sharper than necessary. —And then his eyes widen in surprise when he hears Claude's voice clearly again, despite no indication of him actually talking. He goes still, unintentionally tugging Claude to an abrupt stop. ]
Wait. I... I'm gonna try something.
[ He covers his own mouth with his other hand, while maintaining steady eye contact.
You can still hear me, can't you? ]
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But very quickly that disbelief turns into resignation.
Of course..
He just shakes his head, rubbing his temples as he absorbs this new bit of information. ]
There's really nothing sacred in the eyes of this train, is there? [ Not even a guy's thoughts. ] Well...
[ He's going to keep walking, because he really wants to get out of here, and standing in one place is making him anxious. When he continues talking however, he sounds more thoughtful than accusing, ] So you just thought about getting rid of me once we reached the cauldron, instead of saying it out loud.
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Uh, no. I was thinking you were gonna get rid of me after we lit the cauldron. You were going on about getting rid of threats in the dark, but I figured there was no way you'd compromise your best chance of getting out of this car.
[ I can't believe I have to even explain this, there's no way he's gonna—you don't believe me, do you. ]
... [ Uuughhhh. ] It's nothing personal.
[ Just used to having a target painted—let's not go there.
...It's really hard to turn off his thoughts now that they're truly racing, and Sylvain is less than thrilled about it. ]
Can we just pretend this never happened? Take a mutual vow of silence?
[ Even though he's sick of singing (see: crystal car), he will start mentally humming if it means not having everything in his brain transmitted where he doesn't want it to go... ]
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He knows that Sylvain means after they leave this car, but he can't stop his thoughts anyway. Still, he doesn't say anything else, not even to tease Sylvain over the stumbling of his thoughts.
His own echo the irritated groan, shifting incomprehensibly between trying to focus on the task at hand, and thinking about how much he hates this. It's way too much intimacy. ]
... I was convinced that you'd get rid of me here, in the dark, where no one would know it was you.
[ He sounds a little like he still believes it. ]
It's not as though you haven't already told me you think I'm some sort of threat to Dimitri.
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So... you're paranoid of me, and I'm just as paranoid of you. That's definitely working in our favor.
[ Sylvain dares to laugh again, the sound of it dry and bewildered. But he can't blame Claude for his conjecture, especially after the way their last conversation went. (And it's not as if Sylvain hasn't had troubling thoughts...) ]
Look, I don't think you're actually a threat to Dimitri.
[ Let's be real he could snap us both in half. While Claude is an evasive punk, Sylvain doesn't really get the vibes of nefarious evildoing from him—at least not until he'd stepped foot into this car. (Strange, that.) ]
I was [ feeling sore from—... ] not in a great mood at the time, let's just say.
[ ... ] I guess this is where I say I'm sorry, a few months too late.