wucina
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It's odd, what a tough life does to someone. One can stay stoic in the face of death, stubborn and emotionless while inches away from a bleeding neck, for years upon years, not thinking a single word of it, and then, one day, such a small thing can crack the entire shell in its entirety, and leave nothing but a sad little core that isn't sure how to do anything but cry.
If someone were to tell that person, in between all the death they escape, that such a minuscule act would be their total undoing, they would laugh at you. They don't know how easy it is to chip off the one part of a foundation that matters, to make it all tumble down in an instant, because until it happens, it's like they're invincible.
For Byleth, it was the knocking.
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What use is there in a woman who can only think in battles, when the war has long since passed?(A Modern AU)
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She’s quite the odd one, someone who absolutely would tower over them if they were standing up, but everything else about her, from the quiet, high-pitched voice, to the oversized robes she hides in contrasting with her tiny little shoulder bag, to the very way she sits, trying to take up as little space as she can manage, gives the aura of a girl much tinier than her physical mass implies, like a terrified little bird swept within the body of a bear.
They suppose she can have that anxiety in peace, at least. They take a heavy step in the opposite direction to leave—
[snap]
“Gah!” The girl is loudly shocked, as Marth forgot to pay attention to their surroundings, stepping on a tree branch lying on the ground. “W-who goes there!? I can fight back, you know!”
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While trying to find a woman of mystery, unknown to their future, the masked prince stumbles upon her deepest secret. -
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Summary
“Excuse me, madame.”
She turns around, expecting to have to reject another sixty year old with really bad opinions on her gender identity, but instead she finds one of the strangest folks she’s ever seen in this bar, which is saying something. A fanciful dark blue tuxedo, complete with a black bow, short azure hair styled slightly to one side, and a pair of white leather gloves–and also, an entire butterfly mask covering everything from the nose up, dark and elegant with golden accents lining the borders. Why the hell someone looking this top-notch in disguise is at the cheapest bar in town, she has no clue, but she’ll still concede that it works incredibly well to catch her eye.
Robin tries to act neutral, pretending she isn’t internally panicking over whether or not there’s any visible parts of her face she missed shaving that morning. “Hm?”
Robin goes to a bar to drink her sorrows away, and instead finds a stranger worth talking to.