Fantasy Fire Emblem Divide: Fynola x Charme

[theplasticdemon]

Fynola Dahl & Charme Mausinia
Mothman

Time: Before Chapter 1
Location: Glypheim (111th Battalion Barracks)
Support Rank: C

Love to stalk and read a bunch of text? A shameless shipper? Love Fire Emblem/fantasy? Cool! Divide is just for you!​

 

[theplasticdemon]

Fynola was sweating underneath her suit of armour, the issue was not the training regime in Glypheim, in fact, many would say it paled in comparison to Malth. Perhaps that was what the Alliance thought the advantage would give them. However, the arrogant members of the Alliance had not once considered that one of their strongest warriors in training had left the academy. She had also seen a few Maltian faces among the crowd of soldiers, giving her relief that she was not truly alone. The Legion could never make anyone feel that way... right?

Taking a deep breath, she stood inside her barracks alone. Normally there were around 5 or 6 other women sleeping in the same room, but they had all gone out to local pubs to unwind. Fynola simply was not that kind of girl. Normally, her training would have gone for longer, had it not for her other comrades inviting her out for drinks. Never one to turn down a chance to boost group morale, she agreed. Fyn was never a party girl, and crowded settings with people she didn't talk to, with alcohol she didn't drink, made for an unfulfilling night. Anything for group morale, she told herself. Stripping off most of her protective armour, Fynola went with her regular clothing. Even with a dress on, she still felt naked.

Sighing, she made her way to the aerie, grabbed the reins of her Gryphon and flew. Stopping by a bar, her icy eyes glanced over the sign. A drink and a dance...? Taking one deep breath, she tied his reins to a pole beside some other mounts and made her way inside. "Wish me luck, Barin." Fynola gave her mount a final goodbye before heading into the unexplored territory.

Making her way inside, the first thing she noticed about the bar was the crowds. Fynola scanned them to the best of her abilities, yet her comrades were nowhere to be found. Perhaps they had come late. However, there was one familiar face that stood out from the rest. A tall man with red hair and a crown met eyes with the gryphon rider before she looked away quickly. She did not know his name, but only recognized him through his fighting style in the Battalion training areas. The way he spun and moved, it was informal, yet graceful all at once. This kind of fighting was rare in the brash regions of Malth. It was common to be drawn to his style of combat.

Around the bar, there were dances being performed in smaller booths, erotic dances to be exact. The men receiving the dances began to undress her with their eyes at a distance. Fynola held her breath, attempting to sustain an obvious blush from rising to her face. This was a mistake. Fynola's first move as soon as she arrived should have been to turn back.

Avoiding contact with anyone that had a chance of recognizing her, she found herself a seat on an empty bar. "A... A pint of ale, please." She spoke softly, almost hesitant in her order. This brought her memories of the tavern her parents drank frequently at after training. Every warrior worth their salt drank ale. And Fynola? She didn't even drink. What did that make her worth?

The gryphon rider didn't want the answer to that question.

Biting her lip, the woman drank her mug until it was halfway empty and the noise around her drowned out. Deep breaths, Fyn. It was at the point that she wasn't sure if she'd be able to fly home safely, had Barin not been properly trained. Warmth had risen throughout her body as her eyes saw a man walking in her direction. Was he the same soldier from before? At least the men leering at her stopped becoming much of a bother. Little did the Gryphon rider know, this was his territory, and Fynola had enough gold for another drink and a dance.

Little did she know, her comrades weren't coming anytime soon.

Mothman

 

[Mothman]

No place like home. The thought always went through his mind when he was at places like this. Sure, he was miles away from his own home, now resting his head in the quiet bunks of the Legion's encampment, but he still had this. It was second nature to him, even if he'd never stoop to the levels of the many others in the bar. His parents had run a glorified brothel during his childhood, Charme's young eyes becoming quite used to the sights. The lancer didn't come to prance in the carnal urges of most men, nor was it a ploy to boost his ego, which was quite high enough. In all honestly, even the lancer didn't fully know his rational. It was likely just the part of his childhood resonating with him, Lord knowing he was still quite childish. That, and women were generally a joy to talk to! Perhaps it was his eternal hope at a nice wife, a good family, or perhaps he was just in over his head. With the drinks he'd had, it wasn't anywhere near on his mind.

Having taken a passing glance at Fynola, Charme didn't recognize her in the slightest. Mostly the alcohol's fault, though also the fact that he hadn't seen the woman off of her Gryphon. It wasn't until the door swung open again, and Charme caught a glance of a large wing on the street, that it clicked to him. Though, scanning in the area around him, the girl didn't seem to be around. Maybe he'd just imagined her, he thought. Perhaps she had found her way to some of the other troops that had showed up.

Stumbling over to the bar, however, his eyes caught the sight that he had near forgot about. Perfect. Making his way over, the boy took a seat, waving the bartender over, ordering in his own words 'the usual'. He came in and immediately ordered a drink to be put under his usual, knowing he would be here a lot during his time as part of the Legion. As he waited for his drink, he turned, faking that he had just noticed the girl. From what he could tell, the woman didn't want to be her. Despite her refined and almost sophisticated demeanor, which Charme didn't mind one bit.

"You're part of the Battalion, right?" He asked passively as his drink arrived. Eagerly taking a swig of it, he knocked it back and clanked the glass back on the table, a satisfied sigh following. Turning his head, he eyed over the girl, mentally noting what seemed to be her nervousness. Even if it was likely having to do with the scenery, not him, he'd make sure to not push anything that would make her uncomfortable. "If I remember right, I've seen you on that bird-thing of yours. Must be quite beautiful from up there. Fitting."

 

[Mothman]

theplasticdemon i forgot to tag u

 

[theplasticdemon]

A blush surfaced on her face as she looked down. Fynola had just barely gotten the pass Charme had made towards her. "Beautiful? How... forward of you." The woman laughed, tucking a stray strand of hair around her ear. Fynola was not one to focus on looks, she was a Maltian soldier. The only thing the gryphon rider was to focus on was her strength and physical prowess in battle. She shook her head, continuing as if her prudishness wasn't sticking out like a sore thumb. "Correct. I am glad to have you on the Battalion, comrade. May Aqua be kind to you." Even tipsy, Fynola managed to demonstrate her unnecessary penchant towards the formal.

"Though, I would not call a gryphon a mere 'bird-thing'. Barin might not be all too happy to hear such insults." With alcohol in her system, she grew courageous enough to show off her sense of humour. The young warrior took note of how quickly he drank, knocking the glass back onto the bar. Judging from the look on the bartender's face, this was a common occurrence. "The skies are beautiful at every hour of the day. Even as it rains plenty in Glypheim, I continue to train."

Fynola envied his natural confidence compared to her own nervousness. Was the man always here?

Shaking her head, Fyn turned to him. Training was an easy subject for her to talk about, as was her gryphon or anything regarding the sky and stars. If her comrades had not dragged her to the tavern, Fynola would have taken Barin out to the sky to admire the constellations. "Forgive me, where are my manners? I have simply had too much to drink! You may call me Fynola." She introduced herself with a shy smile. "I have seen your combat style during my indoor training. Your technique is... entertaining to watch."

Mothman

 

[Mothman]

"Well of course!" Charme followed with a chuckle. It had taken a moment, but the refined woman he had before her was starting to take the influence of the alcohol. So was he. In Charme's drunken mind at the moment, it seemed like a win-win situation, as long as he didn't make a fool of himself. Though, in general he didn't.

Fynola reminded him of someone he'd met once. The duchess of a small estate. She held the same look of grace and beauty that the Gryphon Rider does, or at least did. The alcohol might have been impairing that slightly. A chuckle left his lips at the thought of that very same duchess being drunk.

"Of course! Consider my strength yours, my lady." Formalities regardless, it was strange, Charme always felt more fierce on the battlefield with women around. Perhaps it was just his instinct, though it was more likely it was his excuse to be flashy and show off. Something that the lancer was quite used to. And it was surprisingly effective, as long as the attacks worked. It clearly must have drawn Fyonla's attention. "My apologies. I wasn't positive it was a Gryphon, and those creatures are quite... Foreign to me, I suppose. Quite a beautiful beast, however. Must be nice having a partner like that."

Rolling his shoulder, he took another shot of his drink, holding the flashy albeit egotistical crown upon his head in place. When Fynola mentioned his fighting style, his smile lightened even more than usual, and he turned fully in his seat to the woman. "Why, thank you. It's my pride and joy, if I'm being quite honest. The inspiration-" Stopping himself, he near choked on his breath. That was the embarrassing part. "Is unimportant, frankly. Air combat must be quite interesting. Must be different seeing the world from so high, Fyn." Pausing, his smile creeped to a sly smirk. "Can I call you Fyn? It's not an embarrassing childhood nickname, right?"

theplasticdemon

 

[theplasticdemon]

Fynola shook her head. "No, soldier. Your strength is everyone's in the Legion, as is mine." In another situation, say, military school, it acted as one of the core values. Now, in a sketchy bar, it sounded more or less the same. Her soft voice made it appear something motherly, while such a statement was anything but get Fynola talking about anything remotely related to combat will get her into a romantically-oblivious frenzy. With a passionate nod, she continued.

"It most certainly is. He is more of a partner, as well as a friend and extension of my own body." The gryphon was a symbol of strength and courage. Only the bravest survived the cold mountains, and Fynola was happy to have domesticated one in the wild. "I found Barin on one of the steepest mountains of Malth, his red eyes nearly drew him to me. You simply cannot find another like him. Occasionally, he even has a mind of his own." He was her pride and joy, and could not miss the chance to brag about him.

Fidgeting her fingers on the near-empty pint of ale, this was the most she had drank, and it clearly took a toll on her. Fynola bit her lip. "I will not mind if you introduce yourself in return." She smiled shyly, clearly new to the concept of those not a part of her family calling her Fyn. Not that the Legion wasn't her family. That, and realizing that as the man shamelessly charmed her, she had not yet gotten his name. "Being on personal terms with your comrades boosts morale. As for air combat, it is rather disorienting for infantry, though, it is a thrill every time." Speaking of personal terms, she wanted to know more about him.

Fynola put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "I would have to disagree. I believe inspirations and origin stories of great warriors deserve an important place in one's life. Though, you do not have to tell me if you would prefer to keep such things a secret. I am an open book." While inebriated, she could be quite forthcoming with her thoughts, even if she still remained her kind self. Ignoring his smirk, a wave of dizziness hit her.

She pushed the pint to his direction, shaking her head. "No more." She laughed, fumbling over her words. While she had not been in the best shape to stand, the gryphon rider had done so anyways. Almost on instinct, Fynola grabbed onto the lancer for support. A blush rose to her cheeks before her hands moved themselves to the bar table instead. "Excuse me. I do not think I am fit to fly." Drunk Fynola let out a disoriented laugh. "Is there a room somewhere?"

Mothman

 

[Mothman]

Charme let out a slight chuckle as he noticed the alcohol beginning to take effect on the rider. The chuckle faded quickly as his first of many pick up lines fell flat, though he got that a lot. "Fair, my lady. I've been itching for combat, perhaps we could fight together." A sly tone to his voice carried his words with a seductive and almost chilling voice. He was enjoying Fynola's company, even if it may have chalked up to her being one of the few women who would actually listen to him.

"A partner, eh? An odd one to keep, wouldn't you say?" Perhaps his words came off as slightly condescending, they were meant more as a jest rather than everything. "Malth? Haven't been in years. Nice place though, from what I've heard. Cold, though."

"Ah, myself? My apologies, I was so entranced by our talk that I forgot my manners~!" A laugh left Charme's lips as he smiled brightly at Fynola. "Name's Charme. Charme Mausinia. Not that my family lineage is anything to mention, they, uh... Run a brothel." The man wouldn't admit it, likely to anyone, but his lance-style was mostly developed off of watching exotic dancers twirl around poles in his family's brothel. Perhaps it's a questionable topic to wonder why a child would be in a brothel, even if it belonged to his family, but it was an odd, and drawn out story.

"I like to consider myself a morale booster, in frank." Tilting his head to the side and slightly adjusting the gaudy crown upon his head, he crossed his left leg over his right. "No rational to fighting with those whose company you can't find some fun in, right?"

"O-oh, uhm..." On the topic of his lancemanship again, he brought a hand across his chest, a nervous tick of his. "It's nothing heroic, I can assure you. Quite the opposite." He left it at that, the last thing he wanted being to get pestered about that topic.

As he realized how drunk Fynola really was, a slight bit of worry crept onto him. How was he gonna get her back to the Battalion camp? Even if there was some form of Inn nearby, could he really leave her alone when she had a Gryphon on the street?

 

[theplasticdemon]

"Perhaps. You shall see me along with the rest of the battalion." Fynola nodded, not seeming to get the hint. Despite the gryphon rider's raised suspicion of his condescending words, she brushed it off. It was a habit of hers, as her joining the Legion had led to enough backlash in Malth. Taking the high road was her own way of acknowledging that in a minuscule way, Fyn honoured her teachings. "Beautiful. There is no sight quite like the northern lights."

"It is nice to meet you, Charme." She smiled nervously, especially at the mention of his family running a brothel. It made her uneasy, as she leaned towards prudishness more than anything. Not that she was judging him. Totally not judging him. "Of course. Though, do not let your fun take over your discipline in battle." She nodded, thankful for the change in topic.

"B-Barin will be fine... he knows his way around Glypheim. He will do anything to ensure I am not in danger. They are smarter creatures than you would think." Fynola stumbled, her legs giving out as she put her hands to her temples in an attempt to find her centre of gravity. "Though, I was not very intelligent for getting myself into this situation." A small laugh escaped her lips. "I just... I just need some... rest. Just for a minute..." Fynola lightly wobbled as she stood on the verge of tripping.