vielle

wynonna sinclaire It’s truly a momentous thing, when her fear is subsequently eclipsed by a tangled ball of amusement and mild irritation. ”Wynonna, you seem nice. But let me let you in on a little secret. You can try to run, you can try to fight, you can beg and plead. But until this is over. Until I’ve accomplished my goal. You belong to me.” Wow, rude. Wynonna just barely manages to keep her expression politely blank, instead of arching an eyebrow in contempt. Who does this woman think she is? She would have thought an employer of her apparent stature would have more courtesy. Nevertheless: there is much to be gained should she play along, and when Miss Blonde asks her whether the men are to live or die, she simply shrugs, fiddles with the glass of whiskey between her fingers. “Quite frankly, madame, I don’t quite care what you do with them, as long as you hold up your end of the deal,” she says, rather sweetly if she does say so herself. Raising her glass in salute, Wynonna meets the robotic woman’s cold stare with a casual smile before Miss Blonde turns away, screams ringing in her wake. —the Golden Circle and the Gilded Cage, darling why did you run away— Clenching her teeth, Wynonna opts to sit around the bar and ignore the proceedings behind her. It’s bad enough that she’s being hunted, and now she’s saddled with a job that is turning out to be more of a burden than a blessing. “Lady of Pain above, what did I do to deserve this,” she complains under her breath, tossing back another gulp of warm whiskey down her throat.

andraste líadáin "Very close, Andraste. Close enough to where I suppose I will give you the prize. I am indeed your employer, and for many of you, the one who spoke to you in your dreams. And as for who I am beyond that... well, it may have been unfair to expect you to know more. I am Sibyla, daughter of Neque the Shadow King, and, thus, the Shadow Princess of Aligoria." At that revelation, Andraste takes great pains not to allow her face to twitch in any way that might connote disrespect or scandalous surprise. Of all the possible individuals sitting before her as an employer, she would have never thought the princess of the area herself would be here, sitting around a tavern with the rest of the nobodies ‘round these parts. How interesting, this piece of information. Whatever miniscule curl of fear in her gut at the thought of being is quickly squashed under the weight of the promise of wealth should they return successful. “Well then. Hooray?” Andraste smirks, shrugging her shoulders and shifting to place herself in an empty seat. Her gaze wanders about the table, quietly observing each and every person around. This just might turn out to be far more entertaining than expected. “I’ll be awaiting that free cup of Aligorian tea, then, if you don’t mind, Princess,” she murmurs, leaning casually against her chair. “And while we wait, perhaps you may now reveal the details of this mission you’ve called us here together for?”

Varda’s chest warms at the sight of Pluto’s quiet smile, his hand cradled in her palm. No matter that Iyalon has sent him on the premise of providing her an escort; she is dearly appreciative of his presence. That physical anchor is what buoys her, in the end, when even more bodies drift into her vicinity with greetings and conversations at the ready. @Metty "Hello, Lady Varda, how are you doing? It's been a while. Your sister has been keeping me busy. She's great!" Varda grins and inclines her head in greeting to both Stormbreaker and the beeflies she has in tow. She has not had the chance to speak with the woman much around the Hildebrand grounds, perpetually in Aspen’s company as she is, but any friend of her sister’s is a friend of hers as well. “Lady Stormbreaker, it’s lovely to see you here, and with Sir Stormy and Lady Skittles in tow.” Her free hand comes up to wave in the direction of the beeflies before it moves to push a strand of hair away from her eyes. “You know, my sister is happier these days, busying herself to no end for a good cause, and for that, I must thank you all for accompanying her on her endeavors.” @Thotification Soon after, the Lady of House Sheathe moves into their little group, and the Lady Hildebrand greets the other head of house with a bow. "Hello, Lady Varda. A pleasure to meet you. It pleases me greatly that you are alive and well. Stories of your previous injury has greatly worried me." A chuckle forces its way out of her lips, which she quickly quells with an amused smile. “Miss Sheathe, a pleasure to see you as well. My brother has told me all about you, during his last visit to your lands.” Varda tilts her head, regards the woman with a thoughtful expression. “And I thank you for your concern for me; it has turned out quite alright in the end, as you can see,” she gestures to herself and the stark absence of any evidence of injury. @notmuch_23 Her attention is then swiveled away with the announcement of the Singlances, and Varda claps in appreciation at the mention of vassals—she quite adores Hildebrand’s many vassals, and she sees to it that they all receive due appreciation for their accomplishments—and then claps with delight at the mention of Vivian and Nadia’s adoption. “Wonderful, wonderful!” She grins in Thurgood and Aveline’s direction, inclining her head in recognition. “Rather splendid, this,” she mentions to Pluto at her side. Despite her apparent cheer, Varda finds the tide of anxiety rising once more, discomfort at the large crowd around her making itself known should one know where to look. Just as she’s contemplating making a quick escape to the toilet, she sees the illusions—and gapes. @Csl @SweetCyanide "I'm sorry if I'm being presumptuous, but you were looking uncomfortable with all the attention. I can keep the projection up for a while, keep your friends occupied. Would you like to get some food?" A slight shiver trails down her spine at the casual display of power; so like their mother, these two. She can finally see the similarities. “You’re very kind, my lord,” Varda tells Lenore, giving him a grateful smile. “Some food would be lovely.” She takes care not to examine the illusions very clearly, however, lest she gain a headache on top of everything else. When Pluto squeezes her hand, she squeezes him back, and together, they make their way to the dining room. “I’d like some of the, uh, ribs, Pluto,” she whispers to the Golden Crow. @SteamWarden The Varda-illusion has been listening to the conversation between the Lenore-illusion and the stranger she had yet to properly meet, a curious expression across her face. "Pleasure to meet you Lenore. M'names Lithist O'Malley." She waves a little at him, a smile growing on her lips. “Greetings, Sir O’Malley. I am Varda Hildebrand of House Hildebrand.” She nods as the Lenore-illusion asks whether he’d be staying in Ursa Madeum. “You’ll quite like our collection of islands, I must say,” she quips.

the store this round literally be like what a ninja

> ATTACK (d6 = 3)

S T I L L N O F R U I T L O O P S

A pleased smile makes its way onto Varda’s lips, and she inclines her head in appreciation of the Doctor’s compliments. “You’re very kind,” she tells him, just as the group pushes through the doors to the tea room and heads towards a small gathering of chairs and tables adorned with flower vases and tea trays filled with scones and dainty teacup sets. Aspen moves to the teapot and begins pouring while her sister gestures for their guest to make himself comfortable amongst the armchairs. Once they’ve all seated with teacups in reach, Varda takes one sip of warm jasmine and hums happily to herself, enjoying the warmth trailing down her throat and heating up her core. “I don’t suppose tea can be considered a medicine all on its own?” She shares a cheerful look with her sister before she turns her “I’ve let a servant inform my brother of the recompense we owe you; a written account shall be ready very soon. But before that,” she says, reclining casually against the plush seat, “tell us of your past endeavors serving House Senaria.” “Also, you say you’ve grown up around manors,” pipes in Aspen, a differing topic to pursue all on its own, “so perhaps you’re of aristocratic birth yourself, Doctor?”

At Quinton’s insistence, Iyalon bows wordlessly, shifts forward once more to quietly take his seat beside his Lady. Varda offers him a reassuring look, a smile of sunshine warmth; she would have placed her hand on his arm, had there been no others around them. She doesn’t think the other man would look kindly over such a gesture. Then: it is here that the explanation unfolds like ancient parchment, words crinkled along the edges but undoubtedly profound. Far beyond her enjoyment taken from hearing that deep baritone, Varda hears the underlying practicality of his views, the processes of an intellect long honed to sharpened acuity, and it further cements the image of Quinton Swan as an altogether different creature of a man, far beyond the aptitude of his peers. There is once a story there that her family dares not speak of but have long kept close to their chests: the Hildebrand bloodline has a strange relationship with the arcane, brought about when the first of the Hildebrands sprout from the remnants of Brynhilde’s tale, that fairest queen from across the sea: the ancestor responsible for the genesis of their family. They say it goes that only chosen individuals, few and far between vast generations, would be allowed the power to make use of that vibrant magic shimmering under their skin, the last gift Brynhilde would grant the children of her bastard son before her broken heart would take her away to her grave. It resounds, Quinton’s view of a world where magic must be kept under vigilant watch, safe in the hands of the few trusted enough to wield the arcane; her family has long stood as a living testament to that very concept, and where the evidence lives deep-rooted in their beliefs, so too had their view on the supernatural shifted beyond the normalcy. Magic is a mystery, an outlier to the Hildebrand family; apart from the existence of the branch houses, intermarriage quelling whatever barrier holds their gifts at bay, they are altogether sterile. With the serum, Varda is rendered forever mortal, unable to wield whatever dormant magic lies within her veins—and it frightens her, just a little, to find that she does not truly mind one bit. “Make no mistake, Lady Varda… you would have died last night had I not done what I did. You, one of the gentlest and kindest people I have ever met, murdered by some rogue’s dark magic. You should not have to live in such a world. And that is what I’m trying to fix.” Varda is helpless against the man’s sheer force of will woven through his words, and so she merely lowers her head and lets out a deep breath, nods almost imperceptibly. There is nothing more she can add that he has not already discussed. “I understand.” She pauses, raising her gaze to catch the man’s own. “You are a very thoughtful man, Sir Swan. Thank you for sharing your beliefs and, again, for saving my life. This visit has been,” a smile curls on her lips, “rather eventful, I should say. I do hope it does not set such a high precedent.”

This intention is a good intention and so in light of said intention (and the Angry Mob of Posts outside my door), I'll be declining for now 🙏 thanks for the consideration, though! 😊

celestine felsic Her world has narrowed down to a single word at this point: escape. “Come on,” she mutters under her breath, watching the guide fiddle with the door for a tense moment before it finally gives way. The group flails into the next hallway, and her eyebrows furrow in concentration, putting one foot in front of the other, rinse and repeat. "Th' skel'ton's too big. We'v gotta put some distance b'tween us an' it." Celestine rolls her eyes—you don’t say?—but continues on running, keeping her feet even in the slippery slope of debris and shaking stone, and when the roof crumbles over their heads, she attempts to dodge out of the way when big hands push her away regardless. “If we survive this, could you kindly refrain from any unnecessary shoving? Please?” Celestine yells over her shoulder at the guide, her annoyance getting the best of her for a brief moment. Gods, but Anatase would laugh himself to death over this series of unfortunate events. She hears the telltale splashes of the guide stumbling, falling into the rising waters, and she very pointedly ignores it, though— “Sorry, but really,” she adds when she hears feet slap against water behind her once more, focusing on the trail ahead of the group. Roody the Bunny reaches the wooden door first, begins tugging it to get it to open, but to no avail. There’s really only one thing she can do. Clicking her feet together, she feels the hum of the repulsion-aligned gems awakening in her boots, granting her faster speed as she careens towards the door like a speeding rocket. “Move out, Roody!” She yells at the cartoon, her gauntlets powering up and shining bright in the damp darkness, hardlight reflected upon the surface of the cold waters filling up the corridor. An armored fist makes contact with the barred entryway, and wood splinters under the weight of her collision with the door. In the wake of the hole appearing to grant them passage, Celestine flies through it and into the next room. @Jotnotes @Hurttoto

[ Míra Andronov / Ilyana Sevryn ] “I am an entrepreneur myself. I own several inns, clubs and eateries across the eastern portion of Hell’s Gate. I am also a distributor of desired goods across Terrenus.” Entrepreneurs? Desired goods? Perhaps they have more in common than she had previously assumed, Míra thinks, polite smile unwavering even as the woman steps back a moment, eyes sweeping over her face. As Ilyana continues her spiel, she merely nods and listens without any input; it’s rather interesting to hear of such similarity in their standing. Very few stand where they stand now, with amassed power and wealth at their fingertips, and Míra can only wonder if Ilyana is a self-made woman herself, just as she had been in the early years of her life, left destitute by a family long ruined. “There has to be something else this cannot already tell me that I can assist with. Intuition urges me to pry so I do hope you oblige.” Míra tilts her head, adopting a faintly bemused facade as she turns her focus inward, reflects on what she knows about the woman named Ilyana Sevryn so far. Can the knowledge of Toxicant be allowed to rest in the hands of this yet-stranger? There is an enterprising glint in those eyes that Míra cannot trust: altogether too observant, too devious, too—questionable. She cannot trust something so eerily similar to those of her own kin when the woman herself is yet to be considered a member of such. What had her affluent associate said that day? The other side is of no consequence so long as they’re unaware we exist. The statement ultimately rings true in this case; it seems more time is needed to gauge her companion’s suitability, and whether or not she can be trusted to call upon the services of the Poison Princesses without ill effects in regards to the organization and its operations. “Unfortunately no, madame; I’ll have to disappoint you there,” Míra demures, her eyes flickering down to her wineglass as she allows a somber curve along the edge of her painted mouth. “Transparency is rather important in our line of work, you understand. Trust does not come easily when your competitors are cutthroat. Therefore, whatever you see there,” she gestures towards Ilyana’s tablet in the hands of the other woman’s assigned servant, “is all there is for me to oversee, all there is to peruse should any potential investors be interested. My hands are rather busy as they are now, with the new expansion of my opera houses in Coth.” @Dolor Aeternum

ily @OBELUS

"The shelves go deathly still. For now, the store is silent."

@supernal Will you only be taking two students for this semester, professor? Can I still join or do I have to enroll the following semester? 😂