Author's Notes: All Amethyst Bubble's fault. And here I was perfectly content to just sit back and make them suffer all the time. ::pout:: This is pointless, badly-paced fluff. Yeah. Mildly entertaining, but mostly just for the fangirls. If you want something deep or beautiful, go somewhere else.

Footnotes are rather important in this one, much like Good Omens (if you've ever read it), and can be found at the bottom of each scene.

Disclaimer: I do not own Fire Emblem, Intelligent Systems, or Nintendo.

When muggy summer days fell upon the mercenaries' base, Soren would be wrapped in a irate fury that all the veteran members came to know and fear (1). In fact, on particularly hot days, birds and squirrels made themselves scarce within the fort walls – something they attributed to Soren. Plants were equally wise. "The poppies aren't sprouting like the vender said they would," Mist would complain, and Boyd would exchange a glance with Oscar that clearly said, "Soren did it."

It was on one of these scorching days that Soren began his rampage down to the main hall. As Rolf spotted him, he nervously stepped out of his way and crossed his fingers behind his back, hoping that Oscar had cooked breakfast instead of Mist.

"Ike," was all Soren snapped as he stepped into the lunch room. Instantly, everyone's looks shifted towards Ike. "Ike of the Greil Mercenaries, where did you put my hairtie?" (2) And as Soren dragged Ike out of the lunch room, some looked on in pity, and others were happy that Ike was finally included in their everlasting torture.

However, as is dictated by fiction conventions, an antagonist must be obtained at about this point. And indeed – if one looked closely, Rolf could be seen looking on with quite a menacing expression. Be it some strange form of pederastric jealousy or an unusually early onset of pubescent rage (or both), the boy was clearly out to ... do something. (3) A facial expression was not quite yet sufficient to reveal the inner depths of his deep little heart (very conveniently for foreshadowing purposes).

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(1) excluding Mist, who was oblivious, and Ike, who was an exception to Soren's wrath

(2) Despite the sheer comedic value of the situation, the only one who dared to laugh at the effeminate man was Shinon, who, alongside being too brash for fear, was generally cocky enough to provoke Soren.

(3) Shinon noticed and beamed with pride. His pupil was headed in the right direction, that of the Soren-sabatoging Ike-antagonizing sort.

"I checked this place already," Soren insisted. His hair was becoming loose – it was far too thick for a little string to secure – and as wisps descended down the left half of his face, the moist strands clung to his face. A missing hairtie, he realized, was more of a nuisance than he had previously perceived. "Ike, stop wasting time!"

"You could've missed something because of your mood," he responded patiently, searching a few shelves that Soren was clearly unable to reach.

"I'm always thorough," he insisted.

Ike resisted the urge to tease as he pulled Soren's hair tie out of a box. "Then what's this?"

Soren looked at the little metal ring in shock. "Oh." Amused, Ike helped Soren remove the string from his hair and replace it with the hair tie. All throughout this process, Soren ranted, "I can't imagine why it would be in there – I hardly even come into this room, and I don't put things into the boxes..."

And finally, Soren concluded, "Someone must've put it there."

"Soren, you're being paranoid," Ike said, still quite amused. (1)

Soren shook his head, noting that he was happy not to have his hair fly out all over the place. "Ike, that's the only way it could've ended up here."

"Soren..." Ike began, before deciding it was too much effort to argue. He gave the mage a peck on the forehead, then proceeded to drag the dumbstruck, babbling mage out of the musty storage room. However, his progress was immediately interrupted as he came to Rolf, innocently standing in the doorway.

"-- and I can't imagine WHAT you're thinking, Ike, as this sort of thing--" Soren continued, before realizing that they had company. "Yes, Rolf?"

"Oh, umm," Rolf stuttered, before clearing his throat and saying quickly, "Oscar and his horse say that it's going to rain and get wet and really really cold tonight so maybe we should save the surveying trip for the day after tomorrow or something?"

Ike and Soren exchanged glances. They communicated much like a couple, Rolf noted with glee. "A land survey is pointless if the soil is being observed under unusual conditions," Soren noted.

"Yeah, okay, we'll do that later," Ike dismissed. He wasn't really interested in the survey, and Rolf's unusually innocent presence was making him uncomfortable. He left, Soren in tow, to do unspecified things. Unfortunately for the reader, these unspecified things were not particularly scandalous. (2)

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(1) In any other case, he would've been right.

(2) See, there was this book Soren always wanted to read, but it was kind of on the top shelf, and he couldn't quite reach it, even on a stool...

Not many people had an opportunity to see Soren in his pajamas (bedclothes, he preferred to call them). Some (1) went through great lengths (2) to steal a pair for blackmail, but given that they were drab black robes not unlike his normal clothes, it proved to be of little worth. Ike, however, was one of the "blessed" individuals who was frequently greeted with the sight of Soren in bedclothes, disgruntled, at his door.

"It's cold," Soren said simply.

"Soren, it's..." -- he blanked, trying to come up with an appropriate description, and finding a single word appropriate -- "hot."

"It's going to rain," Soren insisted. "It'll get much colder through the night."

"But... your room never gets cold."

"Yes, it does. Scoot over."

Ike complied, still perplexed. "You know, I honestly didn't see any clouds. I don't think it's going to rain..."

"You called off the land survey, didn't you?"

"Well-- yeah, but..." -- Ike scratched the back of his head -- "that was actually because... I really didn't want to do it." Soren sighed and gave him a stern look before crawling onto the bed. "Seriously, though, we're going to be frying."

"You need oil for that," Soren said, voice muffled within the pillow.

"True, but... we're going to be sweating." Ike could feel the overwhelming heat lifting from his head. "A lot."

And, as soon as his fatalistic words rang out, the tapping of rain began to ring from his window (3). Ike stared blankly at such a violation of nature and wondered if Soren concealed a blizzard tome beneath those baggy robes.

Soren grinned, drew closer to Ike, and said not a word.

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(1) Shinon

(2) the agonizing feat of trying to find a time when Soren actually wasn't in his room

(3) much to Rolf's dismay, as his entire secret plot (not-so-secret now) was to make the couple entirely miserable by spending a night profusely sweating and complaining in each others' embrace

(4) Shinon would like to air his grievances towards being represented solely in footnotes.

(Ammy better be happy now. I expect phone calls and chocolate.)