Delicate Flower - A Hilda Fanzine

YOU CAN COUNT ON ME TO MISBEHAVE
SAFRANINFLARE
“So, tell me again why I’m here?”
“Hilda, the sparkling jewel of House Goneril.” Claude patted Hilda on the
back, but she swatted his hand away like one of Dorte’s flies. “This is revenge.”
“Okay, but like. It’s Lorenz. We prank him all the time!” She thought back to
their most famous scheme, where they convinced the Gloucester heir that
she totally knew how to cut hair and Oh yes, Lorenz, that looks so noble.
Claude had nearly broken a rib from trying not to laugh.
“This is different. No one messes with the Golden Deer.”
“But, why do you need me? I’m not good at anything and plus, I need my
beauty sleep!” Hilda crossed her arms over her chest and gave her best pout,
even though she knew that Claude von Riegan was the only person in this
entire monastery that wouldn’t fall for her song and dance. Maybe that’s why
they somehow became best friends.
“You’re the only one that can fit through the window!”
“Nuh uh. Lysithea can too!”
“Do you really think that Lysithea would engage in something as childish as
our prank war?” Claude asked. “Plus, if we let this keep going, they’ll end up
pranking Marianne. You wouldn’t want that, would you?”
Hilda bit her lip. Of course she wouldn’t want anyone to go after Marianne.
So, she snatched the rope out of Claude’s hands and sighed.
“The Black Eagles are going down!”
“That’s my girl!” Claude clapped her once on the back. “Just go through the
window, and unlock the door from the inside.”
She flashed him a thumbs up, then began to scale the wall. The moment
her foot first touched brick, she wondered how the hell Claude managed
to convince her this was a good idea. What if she got stuck in the window?
What if she failed miserably and got them caught, and then Marianne would
get pranked, and Claude would hate her.
What if she broke a nail?
“Come on, Hilda!” Claude shouted up at her, somehow forgetting that this
was supposed to be a secret mission. She was halfway up the wall, and yet
she was frozen. “I’ll do your chores for a week if you make it in there.”
“Oh, you dastard. Deal.” Hilda scrambled the rest of the way up the wall and
popped the window open without a second thought. Sure, it looked a little
tight, but there was no way that Claude would have miscalculated this.
She could definitely make it through.
Hilda shimmied through the crack and landed face-first on Manuela’s desk.
Papers scattered to and fro, littering the ground with assignments and
rosters and whatever other questionable things that Manuela kept there.
She picked one up, squinting at the horrid handwriting.
“Wow, Caspar. Even I can spell orange,” she mumbled, before vaguely
straightening out the things she knocked over. Thankfully, Manuela had
much less method to her madness than Hanneman, or even Byleth. Even if
she left things a bit of a mess, Manuela probably wouldn’t notice.
Hilda made her way back to the window and looked down at Claude.
“To the door!”
He flashed a thumbs up at her, and she watched as he slunk around the side
of the building. She made her way through the rows of desks, pausing for a
moment when she found what seemed to be the place where Edelgard and
Hubert usually sat.
At least, she assumed that was where they sat, considering it was the front
row and it reeked of the pair’s air of no fun allowed. Goddess, she was so glad
that Claude wasn’t as much of a fuddy duddy as the other house leaders.
If she was going to be stuck in the Academy for a year, at least she was going
to have a good time!
She unlocked the front doors and cracked one open, allowing Claude to slip
inside. He took a look around and let out a low whistle, even though there
wasn’t much different about this classroom than their own.
“So, what’re we doing? Hiding a dead fish in Edelgard’s desk?” Hilda asked.
Though, part of her wondered if it was wise to go after Edelgard. In fact,
she could already see the look on Hubert’s face. He might murder them all
in cold blood.
“Even better, Hils.” Claude had a bag slung over his shoulder, which he
dumped out on the floor. “I got some paint from Ignatz.”
A smile broke out on Hilda’s face as she snatched up a jar of bright yellow
paint and a brush. She bolted towards one of the Black Eagles banners,
moving faster than she had in months without someone actively chasing
her with a weapon.
“What should I write?” she asked. Before Claude could answer, though,
she smirked again. “Oh, I know!”