#whiteheroncup2021
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white heron cup.
style. 7
choreography. 6
technique. 6
They are called to the dance floor soon enough; the first round of competitors moving onto the next. Alm and Celica had been lucky enough to be allocated to the second round, affording them more time to practice— time, that was very much needed on their ends. And although by no means had either of their skills faced the dulling of time (and one could argue that alm’s proficiency with footwork in the setting of a ballroom dance had only improved) they had, after all, not seen each other for much too long a time. There were bound to be changes that would hinder them— even in dancing— if all but their inherent understanding of the other would allow.
One such change is how (and Alm had never really noticed, himself) how much taller he is than Celica. And it certainly hadn’t been that way before— they were much closer in height, as he recalls, after the war. But that had been two years ago, after all. It only serves to remind him of how much has changed between; and how long he has been separated from his beloved. Nevertheless, he pays it no heed; Alm takes Celica’s hand and leads her to the dance floor.
A cordial bow, a hand pressed to his heart. “My fair lady,” a slow grin spreads across his lips; a playful wink. “Will you allow me this dance?”
A firm hand placed on her waist, another hand in hers; just as they had practised. The music begins, a slow beginning— before the other parts of the ensemble pick up the pace. It feels odd, almost, just how used to dancing he was now. Even if he still felt a little stiff around the edges, even if the very activity made him feel restless in nearly all sense of the word— with Celica as a partner, it wasn’t half as bad. No smiles kept up just for the sake of pleasing a guest; just admiring her, the look in her eyes (and how she looks at him, when they dance), and that alone brings a smile wide enough to invoke a soreness in his cheeks that will last the rest of the evening.
They have decent flair, even if their choreography and technique fell a little above average. Certainly, Rigelian and Zofian dances differed quite greatly. Where Celica would turn he would feel the need to alter course, as if a sudden improvisation had occured, despite the fact that this was what they had discussed. Briefly, at least. It was hard to unlearn something drilled so deeply into you. To accomodate, they had made the choreography fairly easy for the both of them to follow— and while they definitely had style, their technique could surely use more polishing.
But that didn’t quite matter. As long as they were enjoying themselves— and Mila knows they needed it. To be there with one another. Alm carefully dips Celica as an end to their dance, and as he helps her up, an arm comes to wrap around her waist. He inhales, breathing deep. Verdant eyes close for a moment, before opening up to the judges’ scores.
7. 6. 6.
A sigh, a hum of contentment. Alm leans his head against Celica’s. “We did well, huh? Honestly, I didn’t know you could dance like that. It feels like you surprise me every other day.”
@seraphiia v. @radiantpriamos & @elegiac-boar !
#whiteheroncup2021#// alm vc: ohhhmyngodd!!! look at my wife!!!!!!!#꒰⚘݄꒱ 𝐂𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐀. ┊and we can see ourselves turning into memories. we are these memories. we’ll part in the pitch of longing.#dimitri tbt.#priam tbt.
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Style: 2
Choreography: 4
Technique: 4
Total: 10
This certainly wasn’t what she had hoped for when she’d accepted Eldigan’s request. The first mistake is innocuous, but it throws off her rhythm, and a second, third, and fourth soon follow. Her arms and legs don’t move the way she wants them to, growing tenser with every small error etched into her mind. What had she hoped for, then? Had she wanted to indulge in some small form of fun? She was never good at that. The knot in her throat grows tighter with each breath; she steps on Eldigan’s foot and fumbles, hissing an apology under her breath.
It had been a foolish idea, all of it. And now she was letting Eldigan down. Chin up, then, for the student who believed in her (once, at least; likely not anymore), and she pulls her act together, scrounging up some small amount of the poise she should have had from the start.
The finish is much stronger than the middle, though she still sighs quietly to herself when she sees their final score. Better than it could have been, but still a reflection of her failings.
@felemfidelem next! opponents @verseandrhyme & @perfectionist-prince
#lalala we are here to bust a groove#whiteheroncup2021#[procs crest of knight] [procs crest of knight] [pr#recreation? in my house?#felemfidelem#verseandrhyme#perfectionist prince
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Our competitors entered this competition with hope in their hearts. Where they may have lacked in technique, they made up for in flair and passion as they twirled and leapt across the dance floor.
In the final hours of the ball, two teams made it to the finals: Azura and Edelgard von Hresvelg versus Lorenz Hellman Gloucester, pitting passion against passion, skill against skill. Blood, sweat, and tears went into their performances, Their movements captured their audience and impressed the judges, but in the end, only one could prevail...
"And, without further ado, this year's White Heron Cup victor is-- well, I should say victors are....
Azura and Edelgard von Hresvelg!"
Azura and Edelgard each obtained the Heron’s Garland! With the help of magic, frost coats this crown of blue-gray winter roses and downy heron feathers. This crown enjoys a long and storied history in chivalric tales as a grand prize at royal jousts, traditionally given by the winner to the person they intend to court.
“Let’s not neglect our runner up in the competition, who has also made a strong showing tonight... Lorenz Hellman Gloucester!”
Lorenz obtained the Heron’s Silk! The embroidered scene on the silk handkerchief depicts a popular winter scene in Fódlan: a draconic heron as it alights on the branches of a barren tree in the midst of a flurry of snowflakes.
“And finally, our semi-finalists, who gave it their all in the final rounds of the competition: Dorothea and Elincia and Alm and Celica!”
Dorothea, Elincia, Alm, and Celica each obtained the Heron’s Brooch! This is an elegant silver brooch of a standing heron, holding a small garnet in its beak as a dragon’s tail curls around its feet.
“To everyone who has competed tonight, please, give yourselves a round of applause! It is your passion and dedication to dance that makes the White Heron Cup such a joy to hold each year. Thank you all, and have a great night!”
The White Heron Cup has concluded!
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Style: 10
Choreography: 7
Technique 5
Total: 22
In some standards, the male leads and the female follows in dance—size difference primarily. However, L’Arachel could only trust her partner as far as she could throw him. She wanted to win this and the only person she could grab with a sufficient dance skill was Rennac, her employee.
The princess was not immune to competitions, far from it, and she was determined to triumph, no matter the lengths she would drag her partner through. Literally. She marches to face their opponents, Rennac linked with her, on her will, likely not his. “Just follow my lead,” she nudges him in the side and shoots him a wink.
A small price to pay for a large prize. She dangled those words in front of him like a bone in front of a dog.
When the music begins, she takes Rennac by the hands and begins moving her feet in rapid fire motions. Meanwhile, she begins to lead, dragging the pair around the floor in... somewhat of a gallop.
Next: @carcinac Opponents: @hungrymage & @amnesiac-pawn
#carcinac#support:rennac#hungrymage#support:ilyana#amnesiac prawn#support:m!morgan#whiteheroncup2021#(( just imagine a very messy charleston ))#(( lmk if i need to change smth! ))
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Style: 3
Choreography: 2
Technique: 1
Total: 6
It’s the only way they could have been guaranteed entry, but Ike still feels a little guilty over having invited himself and Soren to a competition first, and the ballroom second. He spends the next few days practicing, and practicing, and making sure his steps are right.
At the end of it, he still feels unease. His steps land with the right frequency and position, and the faculty has been terribly helpful. But still, something does not sit well with it.
Maybe it’s the people? The fact that they’re putting up a show for others? His cuff is itchy; another bauble for appearance. No, perhaps it’s something a little more personal that’s the bug under his collar.
“Hey. Want to change the plan?”
Ike’s posture is stiff and his behaviour rickety, but there’s a crinkling near his eyes of mirth as he steps in onto the floor with Soren. There’s no way it could have been otherwise; all that effort, thrown away for something hasty. Well, perhaps in another time they might have excelled, but not here. There is no miracle. If their dance is anything, it is dross.
Perhaps a certain queen might recognize them as the same steps that those stuffy old coots had attempted to teach a commoner (to their eternal frustration). Well, it appears that whilst nothing can be said for the quality, it has indeed endured. Just one extra footnote of defiance against their bonds—the letter in word, and not in spirit.
The Laguz and Beorc share the same origin, and perhaps the same spirit still remains. He makes no better use of it now—the sensation of someone watching your back is distinct, and he waits, patiently, as gazes drop off their forms like water leaking from a faucet. When the last lingering gaze leaves their hides to join the river, he gives Soren a gentle tug to the wrist, just a smidgen harder than usual, and shuts his eyes, counts—one, and two.
No words are spoken, but it is an eternity compared to the mere moments where gazes were traded, where a breath decided an inch between spilled blood and the sickly rotting scythe of death; and so he knows Soren understands, or will.
No one is watching. Let’s go.
He doesn’t even notice the relief that escapes his lips as Soren responds; he acts, and you have always relied on him, trusted him--
—and he trusts you.
To open the way.
Ike is already on it; his job has always been the path. The nobles are occupied, and the ball is packed, terribly so. Now, it’s to his benefit, as jostling a path through the guests does not even turn their eyes, treading forwards and keeping a firm lookout so the gap does not close around the both of them.
One foot ahead of the other. They crest the bulk of the crowd, the ring of watching participants, and slip past; free.
Ike gives a reassuring squeeze to Soren’s palm-- ah, somehow they’d closed hands, probably for support. He looks at him, and fingers twitch against Soren’s palm, a gentle reminder to let go, if he so wants to.
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White Heron Cup
Style: 4
Choreography: 2
Technique: 4
Total: 10
This was an absolute, colossal, complete and utter mistake and Bernadetta didn’t know why she thought she could ever do this.
It had been a moment of panic that prompted her in asking Hubert to be her panic. She had been (and still was!) incredibly thankful when he said yes and she knew she wouldn’t have to be facing this alone. That didn’t make any of this any easier.
The dance had been incredibly stiff and awkward, even Bernadetta could tell as she did her best to follow along Hubert’s lead. They weren’t horrible at the basics; they both had enough practice between them to be passable at the very least, but that was it. Their entire dance was stiff and basic and Bernadetta wasn’t sure if she felt worse for herself, Hubert for being dragged down with her, or the judges for having to stand there and watch them.
As soon as they finished, Bernadetta wished she could go running off the dance floor and find somewhere to hide before anyone in the school had the misfortune of looking at her again, but they had to wait for their scores.
A ten. Bernadetta groaned. No way they would win...
Waiting for the other team’s results, Bernadetta ducked her way under Hubert’s cape. Too many eyes, too many eyes... “Tell me when it’s over.” She whimpered, covering her face as she waited.
tagging; @vonvestra @headsantails @prhyst
#ic#hubert support#ranulf support#rhys support#((If we somehow win I will be GOOPED))#whiteheroncup2021#toaball2021#vonvestra#headsantails#prhyst
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Style: 9
Choreography: 8
Technique: 8
Total: 25
“It’s our turn, Kana.”
Her voice is soft as she whispers to her partner for the competition, her hand cupped by her mouth as she offers encouragement for him and him alone. She’d thought that dancing in front of judges would make her nervous, but now that she’s here, Maria finds that excitement thrums through her fingertips.
“Dancing with you is fun.” Still softly spoken, though she begins to pull away; a quiet huff of laughter tickles the little prince’s cheek. “That’s all that matters, isn’t it?”
And so it is-- to her, at least. For all their (or at least her) relative inexperience, they’d done their very best. Even if imperfect, the effort shone through -- as did the joy, bright on their faces and light in their steps.
@dragon-kiddos up next! tagging opponent @ashenprofessor
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Heron Cup Takes Off!
Style: 8
Choreography: 7
Technique: 5
Total: 20
Rhys was as ready as he’d ever be for this. He took a deep breath, smoothing down the front of his new dress jacket and shirt. Instead of his usual white and blue he’d gone for.... blue and white. Pearlescent waistcoat and matching gloves were bright under a long, flowing coat of light blue that, upon further examination, was accidentally rather close to Ranulf’s hair. He’d tucked a peach rose in against his chest, and it was time to take the stage.
“Alright. Let’s give it our best!” He offered a hand to Ranulf, excitement in his eyes but still managing to seem composed.
They’d practiced before, and it showed in the confidence in Rhys’s steps, though he was by no means a professional dancer. Ranulf was naturally more graceful than he was, but he kept up as best he could with an occasional flair or spin, joy enough to make up for any lapses on his part.
Rhys cared little about being onstage. He knew, frankly, he didn’t belong on a stage anywhere.
It was enough to feel elated while dancing with a friend.
@headsantails is next! and @cruelsfate @flowerofgoneril
#heroncup2021#headsantails#cruelsfate#flowerofgoneril#thread#thread: heron cup takes off!#//that shopping thread for outfits is still in my court oops#whiteheroncup2021
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Style: 8
Choreography: 4
Technique: 2
Joining the White Heron Cup alongside his cousin, Febail's body and face go stiff the moment the duo make their way in front of all to see. Though he has been practicing to a degree, the results of his efforts make him think he was likely no dancer before or if he was, he certainly had no talent for it.
But one look at Lana and the reminder that she is invested in this, and Febail tells himself to care to put in the effort to make as good a memory as possible for her. Even if winning feels far-fetched in his mind, a blissful memory can be made from more than just a victory.
He eases up, and for the duration of their routine, he is all the more creative in putting on flourishes to help make the dance memorable for the both of them. He follows his heart, clumsy as his footing is, and though the steps may be uncoordinated on his part and more akin to that of two children learning how to dance together for the first time, there is the bounciness and vitality associated with play.
It's not very him, he decides, but it conveys the feeling of fun all the same through the unprofessionalism of their moves. When they have finished, he doesn't bother looking too much at the audience or the judges even, muttering under his breath to Lana, “ I probably should've let you lead. ”
It is an apology without saying as such, but despite his lack of one, he does hope he has not ruined his cousin's night with his ineptitude. // @healresolve & @sheerelixir @seirsvelgr
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FINALE. V
style: 10
choreography: 9
technique: 6
The heart often lies unruly within the cage of the chest.
Breathing quickens and slows as she steels herself— no one needed to see her falter. Not now, not when they were so close. This would be over; one final dance to settle the score. Between the Black Eagles, or the Golden Deer.
This time, their victory would be absolute. There was no space left to make mistakes.
As she leads Azura onto the floor, Edelgard extends a hand out towards the other. When she feels their palms meet, she leans in— pulling her closer, stepping backwards.
“Let’s give them the performance they’re all waiting for,” she murmurs, the grin upon her face almost within the field of arrogance. Edelgard pulls away, and onto their stage. “Shall we?”
This time, she leads.
@sheerelixir v. @thyrosus !
#lorenz tbt.#azura tbt.#whiteheroncup2021#toaball2021#// im sorry this is so short i think life kicked me square in the chest#// lmk if i need to change anything!#// i’ll probably edit it later for archive purposes 😔
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let the good times roll~
Well, well, welly, well!
This has gone fabulously, hasn’t it? They’d started with a bang, wowing the audience and judges with a whimsical story told through dance and emotion... might be, they would have been better off keeping their trump card in hand.
That’s not how either of them really operates though, is it?
For all that their scores the second round had been lower than the first’s, Ewan would wager both had enjoyed themselves just as much. But by the time their third round sees its end, the Jehannan wonders if maybe they should have spiced it up a bit.
Or, maybe it’s that he shouldn’t have eaten so many sweet buns and coffee, delicious nectar of the gods, between rounds. Dizziness overtakes him and panic flashes in his gaze as he tries to focus on his partner. “S-Sara,” he manages in quiet, albeit dramatic warning: “Save yourself.”
And with that, he sacrifices himself lest he bring her to any harm; instead of rejoining his hand to hers upon their penultimate twirl, Ewan stumbles off to the side to find a pot of flowers and,
well, it’s not as discreet as he might’ve liked but it’s Somewhat out of the way, at least. Regardless, it’s not exactly pretty.
[style: 2 choreography: 2 technique: 1
score: 4 @prayerwitch ]
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BOOGIE WONDERLAND
competing against Farina @making-dough in the White Heron Cup
Dancing, as far as Claude is concerned, is moving your arms and legs to pretty music and making sure you look good doing it. So a little improv ought to be not just required but expected, right?
In his heart of hearts, he knows that’s not what he’s being judged on. They want his ability to follow a predetermined set of rules–any creativity at all could only toe the line at best. But how could anyone make new strides of dancing if they are forced to conform to old societal norms?
The dancing common in Leicester’s high society have some redeeming qualities, but when Claude starts dancing, he pulls from another source entirely. Maybe, if he can figure out a way to blend Fódlan and Almyra’s dancing, he could get a breakthrough
Style: 9
Choreography: 4
Technique: 1
Well... the low scores in Choreography and Technique burn in his heart, but the Style gives him some hope. It’s not great... but it’s not terrible either, right?
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—round iv; 🌹
WHAT A LOVELY PAIR THEY MAKE.
Lorenz would be remiss not to let his eye track the two of them. Every round that passes, waiting for his chance to strike the hearts of the judges for one more round. A successful endeavor, though he feels some stiffness in his limbs start to sink in. Lance drills require a particular type of fortitude; the steadiness and focus of reason magic require another. Yet still, dance is different, and constant vigilance of a different kind necessary when he must monitor every single turn and step of his own.
A partner—the human element of this event, this matching of body and soul—is a different sort of difficulty. But, he decides, watching his eventual competitors dance, in-tune with each other through the highs and lows of each routine, well worth the effort.
One day, he supposes, there will be a Countess dancing opposite him as his equal. He has little time to daydream when demands require him to act, but when he does, the partner remains... ephemeral. Unable to be put to words or dream. He is all the better for it, he supposes; no one has yet to be proven his equal.
It does not feel a bad thing to want for an equal, to hunger for passion and wit and breeding within the person whose path will intertwine with his.
There is proof to that before him.
STYLE; 8.
CHOREOGRAPHY; 6.
TECHNIQUE; 1.
No matter how stalwart a man he is, thoughts linger, and a bitter taste he cannot quite place a name to sits at the back of his throat as he begins his own. He blames the exhaustion for a stiffness his shoulder, grit teeth behind the smile he flashes wielded as a distraction as he feels the near-stumble.
The bitter taste does not subside, when a turn does not land as planned—when his cape is almost underfoot—eyes again rest at the fated pair that will dance opposite him next.
Bitter feeling remains, but softness curls into a quiet place within his chest.
Lorenz still has a job to do, and a showing to make. With all eyes on him, he cannot afford a failure so close to the end.
TIEBREAKER; 9.
It is with a renewed reminder he finishes his dance with a flourish.
The movements, onlookers say, were more languid, the finale with a hand plucking the rose from his lapel as though an offering to the Goddess himself, a melancholic waltz for one.
【 @seraphiia; @albeinn. 🌹 】
#❝ＮＯＢＥＬＥＳＳＥ ＯＢＬＩＧＥ．❞ 【ｉｃ．】#whiteheroncup2021#seraphiia#albeinn#[ I MAY HAVE GONE A LITTLE BIT SAD WITH THIS ONE ]#[ Lorenz compelled me to have a moment of introspection bc celicalm too cute ]
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The White Heron Cup begins!
The White Heron Cup this year is a dance tournament! Give a round of applause to our competitors!
How It Works
The White Heron Cup is an optional mini-event within the Ethereal Ball, so these event conditions are completely separate from our Ethereal Ball conditions.
White Heron Cup participants will face off against their opponents in a funktastical battle of Style, Choreography, and Technique!
1. Check your first round matchup here.
2. The participants in the top bracket of each battle will begin the dance battle! If your muse has a partner, decide which of the two of you will post first and/or roll the dice.
3. Roll 3D10 (three 10-sided dice). These three results will be what you (and your partner, if applicable) receive from the judges for your dance. You can choose which numbers correspond with each category (Style, Choreography, and Technique) and use this to flavor the way you write your muse dancing.
4. Please start a new thread and tag your partner and your opponent(s). Please also include your Total Score somewhere in the post. If you have a partner, they will post next, and then you turn the round over to your opponent. Your opponent will roll their own 3D10 and reply to the thread.
5. Whoever’s total score is 2 points greater than their opponent’s score will progress to the next round.
6. The mods will count the scores as soon as they’re rolled, so that winners can be moved on to the next round even if a thread is stalled. Each round will last at least 24 hours, and no more than 2 days. Posts should be short and quick, but you’re welcome to continue your threads after a winner has been decided for the sake of character development.
7. Tag all posts with #whiteheroncup2021
And that’s it! If you have any questions or concerns, please let the mods know!
- The House Leaders
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White Heron Cup- Round 3!
Style: 7
Choreography: 6
Technique: 1
Rhys had to admit, all of the physical activity was getting to be a little draining. He loved every moment dancing with Ranulf, but there was only so much he could take. The mounting excitement of the evening had left him tired as well.
He did his best, though. They opened as they had before, stylish and in sync, the previous performances a good template to follow and expand upon. However, Rhys’s feet couldn’t quite keep up with his spirit, and he got himself tangled up in his own steps once or twice. Worse was when, after doing a spin, he nearly tripped over Ranulf’s tail.
“Sorry!” he whispered under his breath, lurching and squeezing Ranulf’s hand in his to brace himself and offer a silent apology too, gingerly taking a moment and stepping out of the loop of his blue tail. There was no way the judges hadn’t seen that, and also no way it looked like it was on purpose.
Rhys was breathing harder than he’d expected by the end of it, but he was still grateful to be a part of something like this, and proud of Ranulf in particular. “You’re a natural at this— really. Thanks for having me.”
@headsantails is next! @amicitium @ladybcrd
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