Jump to content


  • Content Count

  • Joined

  • Last visited

Everything posted by vielle

  1. vielle

    When Snow Falls

    ardís valkyrja The man named Knox is the one to approach the girl, and Ardís does not give undue attention to the way his shoulders had tensed, the way he had hesitated before vacating his seat and making his way forward to converse with the newcomer. There is no reason for her to further pursue any interaction with the two at the moment, so for a brief second, she is cast afloat, nowhere and no one to turn to until the man with the arquebus takes notice of her. "Very lively? No?" She can only agree; Ardís gives him a quiet nod in reply. When the man moves aside to make space for her to sit down beside him, she deliberates that this is the wisest course of action to take, especially with the stranger who had pulled up a blade at the blonde woman’s arrival into the tavern—Sikkoran, Knox had called him earlier—sitting a few paces away. The farther her person is from any trigger-happy individuals, the better. "Sit. Stay a while and listen." It goes without saying, but she feels the need to verbally respond regardless. “I believe I shall,” Ardís murmurs, taking her seat with strait-laced grace. Her gaze lands on the firearm in the man’s possession, and she eventually gestures towards it. “Impressive. You crafted it?” @Artificer @Fierach
  2. vielle

    Church On The Hill

    such shaping fantasies; [ Coth: Ópera ston Aéra ] There is nothing more to be said about the matter of the documents, and so Míra simply nods at Wally’s statement and sends for her secretary stationed in Coth to draw up the papers. Cleo is a tiny mouse of a girl, slight and willowy, but she has the makings of a genius, whiz-head on those scrawny shoulders. As a furious paper storm brews in the far corner of the room, Míra shifts her attention to the draconian leaning against the windowsill, wonders what exactly is going on in that scale-covered brain of his. Wally begins to speak again, laying out the foundation of his plans for his troupe and the opera house itself when their eyes meet and catch on each other, and— It rather comes all of a sudden to her, like a matchstick strike to a flame, that despite the primordial form of the man before her, there within the animalistic body, housed by scaly walls and slitted windows lies a mind that works beyond the capacity of most. It’s a realization that rather humbles her, if anything. "The secret to a well-told lie, which is basically all acting and plays and entertainment are right? Is to be specific, and to be sincere." Míra smiles at that, gaze twinkling with knowing mirth; there are many ways to lie, but she quite likes this elucidation as well. Why else would she be in the realm of cultural, artistic pursuits if not for this very reason, this very secret held by those who wear masks for a living and get paid for it? "Is there anything you can tell me about the people of Coth I can use as emotional ammo?" Her gaze skitters across the desk, eyebrows scrunched up in thought as she considers the question. “I suppose I haven’t been here too long to consider myself well-versed with the people of Coth, but I imagine they would enjoy something more, let’s say—adventurous. Bold, daring, the core of fantasy,” Míra muses, eyes growing unfocused as she collects her thoughts, focus pointed towards the imaginative endeavor. “Or perhaps something that relates to their religion or their history; as deeply attached as the people are to each other and to their god, they might appreciate something that celebrates such devotion.” @supernal @jaistlyn @Grimmholt
  3. vielle

    'tis the golden hour

    Port Thea is a study in warm colors, and the way the sun dapples over the buildings, the sand-yellow bricks, the deep blue ocean cresting on the horizon makes something ache in her chest. This is the first time she has ever set foot on the shores of Thraece, and Varda tries her best not to recreate the expression of a lost puppy as she gazes at the sights and scenery from her vantage point near the carriage window, moving leisurely through the streets on their way to House Senaria’s seat of power on the island. Jasper has it in mind for House Hildebrand—and by extension, Lady Hildebrand herself—to pay courtesy calls to every other noble house in a gesture of goodwill. Having just recently visited House Dali, and for Iyalon to have visited House Uldwar as her representative, Varda had decided to visit House Senaria next, knowing very little about the foreign-born nobles. The wildlife and water conservation projects she has heard about only bolsters her interest. Nai is silent from where he sits across the carriage, dark eyes scanning through the book in his hands with single-minded focus. In truth, Varda knows he had not wanted to come, had not wanted to be displaced from the comfort of his herbal workshop and the diligent care of their ailing mother’s health, but Lady Hildebrand had insisted, and so he had gone. Though Aspen would have been a better fit, more attuned to the relationship of nature and the land than her brother, Varda had a selfish reason for wanting otherwise: it has been too long since Nai had taken a step out of Hildebrand lands, and this foreign visit is one way to drag him out of his shell. She only wishes he’d actually take some time to look around. “It’s quite beautiful, isn’t it?” She taps his shoulder to punctuate her intrusion into his personal bubble. It takes a moment, but then Nai lifts his gaze to catch hers, confusion evident on his face. “What is?” “The city, brother,” Varda rolls her eyes even as she smiles, gesturing out to everything outside the window. “Isn’t it beautiful?” “Ah.” He pauses, adopts a pensive look as he shifts his gaze to the scenery around them. “Yes.” A startled laugh bursts from her lips, and she clamps a hand over her mouth, glaring playfully. “Nai! That’s all you have to say?” He smirks at her, then, about to turn back to his book when the carriage makes a sharp turn, and then there it is, leaving all prior conversation forgotten. Solaria Estates stands proud and sprawling, its facade overlooking the Thraecian coast. The sight of the greenery so close to that brilliant blue beyond sparks a longing in her chest that has only very rarely been addressed: despite her love for the ancestral lands of her youth, Varda had always wanted to live near the sea, where she could farm within sight of the rolling waves framing the horizon. It calms something in her, the idea of that quiet life. “We are here, my Lord, my Lady.” Iyalon appears at the foot of the carriage, outstretched hand ready for her to take. Varda clutches the bouquet of white roses entwined with chicory tight as she alights from the step onto the ground, gazing up at the estate. The color of the stone looks almost like the wheat of her fields; if anything, she thinks she would not feel homesick, not within view of that familiar color. Nai hovers behind her, and soon, the words come spilling out so easily. “Imagine waking up to this view everyday, brother,” Varda smiles, casting her gaze out to the beautiful, restless sea, “with the wind and the waves so close. It’s, um—it’s peaceful.” Nai turns to her, follows the direction of her stare. “You wish to live like this?” He hums in thought, tilting his head as he shifts his eyes back to her. “I can understand the sentiment.” They share a half-smile for one brief moment, then they turn their attention back towards the estate, waiting for their noble hosts to meet them. @danzilla3 @Sleepy Seal
  4. vielle

    all things wild and soft

    Aspen is not the best choice, she thinks, for any sort of trip outside the borders of the Hildebrand domain, but really, this is something she had wanted to do herself. “Darling, you’ll be fine,” her fiancé had cooed, kissing her on the forehead and causing a flush to spread over her cheeks, and her siblings had granted her a wide range of farewells and good wishes, although she can do without seeing Nai trying to calm Esme’s mock weeping fit. She can also do without the insinuation of the spark urging her to seek the particular creatures out, but that is entirely in her own head. Leaning her head against the windowsill of the carriage, Aspen closes her eyes and breathes in slow, breathes in deep. She reminds herself of why her departure from Ravenel Manor is of her own volition. She is on the quest for the elusive beefly. Aspen chuckles to herself at the sudden, childish thought of her brandishing a sword and cutting her way through the wilderness, a wide-eyed traveller on a journey for treasure. She supposes the beefly can count for treasure, but she does not know enough about them to be sure, hence her journey across the island into the wildlands of Corinth. Perhaps this supposed Beefly Protection Group she is visiting will be able to provide more information about them as well as the means for House Hildebrand to acquire some beeflies on their own land. Varda had been most adamant about that last part, after hearing about the creatures in the first place. Her sister is quite predisposed to anything endearing and innocent, Aspen cannot help but muse with a soft smile. After a while, she watches the treeline part like tilled soil, and Aspen prepares to disembark the carriage to speak with the people advocating and protecting the beeflies. @Metty
  5. bewitched; unceasing “Going up that river was like travelling back to the earliest beginnings of the world, when vegetation rioted on the earth and the big trees were kings. An empty stream, a great silence, an impenetrable forest. The air was warm, thick, heavy, sluggish. There was no joy in the brilliance of sunshine. The long stretches of the waterway ran on, deserted, into the gloom of overshadowed distances. And this stillness of life did not in the least resemble a peace. It was the stillness of an implacable force brooding over an inscrutable intention. It looked at you with a vengeful aspect.” ― Joseph Conrad, Heart of Darkness s-class artifact thread | persicaria's amulet sounds of stories: in the shadows and forest: night watercooler/ooc thread | brevity rules
  6. vielle

    Rekindling Old Flames.

    Okaaaay 😂 just lemme know how you'd like to go about this so we can start plotting! 👀
  7. Samael will be there, ready to be broken down into something darker for the sake of his Commander 😈 Join us; it'll be fun! 😄
  8. Affiliations: House Hildebrand more to come. Events: upcoming: grand reopening the Guestlist: NOVEMBER 23 | 29 AO Evienne Goldcourt of House Dali NOVEMBER 24 | 29 AO The Mistress Blackhead Evienne Goldcourt of House Dali
  9. vielle

    Shirin Izora

    SHIRIN IZORA to your palette, i'm translucent; at least when i am looking at myself ♦ ► R O O T S age: 26 race: human occupation: lady attendant of the matriarch of house hildebrand birthplace: ursa madeum ► S T E M S height: 5'11” weight: 144 lbs gender: female hair: ashen black eyes: dark cobalt voice: smooth and reserved ► F L O W E R S temperament: phlegmatic alignment: neutral good traits: straightforward, quixotic, inquisitive, pedantic, devoted, vulnerable likes: multicolored plants, chaotic spaces, and long work hours dislikes: chess games, windy days, and having nothing to do ► L E A V E S skills; ♦ extensive plant knowledge ♦ basic agricultural knowledge ♦ proper etiquette, befitting a servant of House Hildebrand ♦ medicinal knowledge ♦ a little bit of gardening, courtesy of Varda’s influence ♦ herbalism ♦ managing the household ► F R U I T S relationships; ♦ varda ♥♥♥♥♥ ♦ jasper ♥♥♥ ♦ aspen ♥♥♥♥ ♦ nairne ♥♥♥♥♥ ♦ esme ♥♥♥ ♦ merel ♥♥♥ ♦ kalika ♥♥ ♦ suri ♥♥♥♥♥ ♦ iyalon ♥♥♥♥♥ ► S E E D S threads; ♦ the blood we share ♦ a funeral with no tears ♦ a rough start "productivity is a good look on you, boy.”
  10. vielle

    The Official Aleksei Fan Club

    *hauls a bag of food through the door* I come bearing snacks 😄 Super down with this; Aleksei was one of the first writing partners I had on Val, and the ensuing display of talent and kindness has made me a very happy roleplayer 😃 Also, our thread together is the longest running one I have 😂 thank you very much, friend, for giving me a very warm welcome here ❤
  11. vielle

    Rekindling Old Flames.

    Ooooh! I don't know about my capacity to write behemoth replies, but I'd like to offer myself up as a writing partner! 😄 I sometimes take a long while to post in 1x1 threads, but I'm always committed to finishing things regardless 😊
  12. vielle

    Sounds of Stories

    Cool cool cool! 👀 I use Tabletop Audio for—you guessed it—my Dungeons and Dragons group as one of the DM's go-to resource for ambience during sessions 😆 haven't really used it for writing yet, per se, but I'd like to take on this idea for an upcoming thread I have, and I'll probably just edit this post after the thread finishes to share the Experience(TM) I had 😂 Tracks I picked: In the Shadows and Forest: Night
  13. vielle

    The Reverie Ball (Open Hub)

    jasper hildebrand Jasper watches his wife and daughter return to him none the worse for wear, the Duchess Karradeen straying away a few paces to join the group Kalika had just extricated herself from. He does not immediately question Kalika what exactly had transpired, knowing she would reveal her knowledge in due time when it suits her best to do so; furthermore, he had overheard Lady Goldcourt offer the words from this distance, just as Abigail Karradeen had. "I offer the Dali Estate as refuge for you and your children, until Lord Uldwar is brought to account for his transgressions. Lady Dali, even my Father, Lord Goldcourt, will offer refuge and protection- we can not stand ignorant and idle under the weight of these crimes." He is silent, gaze calculating as he observes the group of noblewomen with their shared commiseration and their tangled queries. “Asylum?” It takes a moment for his wife to respond, her focus still trained on Lady Uldwar, but then she responds, tone dry and measured. “It seemed,” Kalika pauses, her eyes wandering around the ballroom in a show of indifference, “appropriate to offer.” “I see,” Jasper hums, taking her hand in a courtly fashion and laying a gentle kiss upon it, lips lifted in a wicked smirk. “Your compassion knows no bounds, Lady Isidore.” “You jest, husband.” “You wound me with your sharp wit, darling.” He chuckles, offering Suri his hands as she tugs at him to dance with her, albeit one-sided in movement. His daughter twirls and laughs, skirts flaring as she spins like a top, even as the lines of her eyes still pinch with excess tension from what had just occurred. “Must we worry ourselves with the ramifications of the events prior?” Kalika tilts her head, attention flickering towards the exit, as if she could see beyond the castle walls and observe whatever is happening to Lord Uldwar. “It remains to be seen.”
  14. vielle

    The Reverie Ball (Open Hub)

    dahlia chamelis "Say, isn't it a treasonable offence to destroy a gift from the Emperor?" Niko chokes on nothing but air all of a sudden, which is quite frankly ridiculous, and so Dahlia merely smiles innocently in Lady Evienne’s direction as she strokes the man’s back, waiting for Niko to compose himself after that query. In the flurry of activity that ensues at the arrival of the weeping Uldwar matriarch—she does not personally know the noblewoman, but she thinks it would be rather constricting to be surrounded by so many strangers while in the throes of grief—Dahlia decides to take one for the team and drag the foreigner away from the group towards the dancefloor. Her presence would not be missed, in the face of more serious matters that are beyond those who are not nobility, and so she might as well make herself useful and quietly extricate Marik from the group as the Dali women work to rectify the situation. It’s not like Niko would mind. Much. She offers the aforementioned bespectacled, frowning man a carefree grin, gives Lady Merida and Sir Mosgrove a thumbs-up as she sweeps away in a dazzling flourish, tugging Marik off into the crowd. As much as Dahlia would prefer something a little bit more formal, a little bit more complex like a waltz or a foxtrot, she can never really guarantee a stranger’s propensity for such things, so she sinks into a simple box step for the time being, watching the man eventually match her steps. "Very smooth, miss tea society." She smirks, turning her nose up in the air with a mock-snooty expression. “Oh, haven’t you heard? I’m smoother than silk,” Dahlia responds, a twinkle in her eyes as she makes a daring twirl before stepping back into their shared rhythm. “I know I am not the one you’d rather be dancing with, at the moment, but I am a humble listener and a satisfactory conversationalist, at the very least. Just this one dance for now, yes?” Her gaze flickers towards Lady Evienne for a brief moment, amusement curving her lips, before returning to the foreigner before her. “You really do seem like a man more at ease on the battlefield than in a ballroom. Tell me of your land, Taen; I’ve never been.” @Ataraxy @KittyvonCupcake @Witches Brew @LikelyMissFortune @Grubbistch
  15. welcome to the moving profile pic gif club *shower of confetti* 😂 very mesmerizing 👀

    1. Show previous comments  23 more
    2. TheElementHunter


      Remember the motto my brother: To Move Is To Live

      And never lose your way.

    3. Thotification
    4. TheElementHunter


      Sadly! Why is it sad to have life imbued upon your profile by the galactic art of the gif?

  16. vielle

    the frost in the veins [closed]

    In the space for consideration between words, between his question and her answer, the silence threatens to deafen Samael, even as the wind howls fierce and the tree branches snap back and forth against the breeze. In the breathless divide, he allows a moment to spare for settling the restless wild thing rampaging behind the cage of his ribs, for seeking the slippery edge of the equilibrium he always seems to fall off of. When the girl’s answer comes, heralded by the rumblings of thunder in the distance, a brewing storm, the boy is prepared to face the world once more. “I don’t know. I think I was trying to get away from… all the trouble happening. Far from the cities.” Ah, he has found a kindred spirit, perhaps, even in this desolate wasteland with no one else in sight. There is something about him attracting people towards him even in the deepest depths of solitude, like a lighthouse beacon streaking across a stormy sea: his Lady marauding through the caverns to fish him out of a dark pit, this peculiar girl calm and composed even in the midst of nothing but cold and severity. The darkness spills further across the sky, and Samael knows, can taste it in the air, that this brewing storm is the work of the Commander. “Um. Are you with anyone? We should probably find shelter.” He hesitates, not wanting to reveal the group he had just left behind, and thus shakes his head in response to her query. “There is no one. I will follow you,” he murmurs, glancing up at the sky. Power hums in the air around them, suddenly, and Samael jolts in surprise; it is minute in its rippling movement, but there nonetheless. Could it be—? “Where are you from?” That question, he has an answer for. “I come from Hell’s Gate. Just wanted to—to take a walk.” Samael looks away, turns his gaze to his feet as he scuffles his heel against the rock. “I might have gotten lost.”
  17. It takes four thousand steps in the snow—or perhaps five thousand; he had lost count somewhere halfway after almost stumbling over a wayward pebble—for the storm in his head to settle, to ease its winds from howling to whistling, to lessen the bite of the icy shards just enough to hear his own heartbeat over the noise. And oh, does his heart beat. Samael plods heavily across the white-blanket landscape, frowning at how his feet sink easily into the ground. He shakes his head, moves on with determination into the haze. What the Commander, the Mistress, the other Paragons do not know: he is tired. He has sobbed into the dark, into his warm-cold-warm fingers until he had choked, until he had blacked out for the lack of air. He had tried to pry off the metal pendant around his neck, had scratched his throat raw with sharp nails to take it off, take it off! He had begged, even, for the Voice to leave, for the Other Place, the Mirror Realm, to let him go. He is tired. The cold does not bother him, not when the cold is coming from within, from veins carrying blood too heavy, too sluggish to move. Samael takes a few more steps through the fog until he comes to a stop by a jagged rock. He sinks down, icy moisture seeping through his clothes, to sit on the ground and lean against it. He disappears into his head for a long moment, and the tears that curl against his eyelashes go unnoticed. @Csl
  18. vielle

    When Snow Falls

    ardís valkyrja "That would be me." Ardís turns her head towards the man who had spoken, her eyes passing over the scabbard he had lifted up into the air for all to peruse, and nods in acknowledgement. Before she has had any chance to speak once more, another woman comes forward, freshly stepping in from the outside, the exact same purpose displayed in the flyer she holds in her grasp. The sheer amount of strangers in the room, rapidly growing as if summoned from thin air, is almost enough to make her hackles rise, if not for the way the men before her immediately respond to the queries ferried in their direction. She can appreciate someone inclined to speak straight to the point. "My name's Marcel Lancaster. The other person on the paper — Knox Hadley — is just over there. Your names? Ladies?" “Ardís,” she offers to the men and to the woman beside her, the verbal delivery almost detached from any feeling or emotion, which is fair enough; she had not been the one to choose the name for herself. Waiting for the other to respond with her own moniker, Ardís does not flinch when the temporary, peaceful bubble around them shatters as a figure ladened with an varied assortment of weaponry bursts through the door, almost kicking it off its hinges. "Who here is Knox Hadley and Marcel Lancaster...." Ardís turns to the men in question, an unreadable look bubbling in her gaze, before looking over towards the blonde girl almost visibly trembling: in excitement or anxiety, she can not truly tell from this distance. She raises a hand to catch the stranger’s attention; holding it, she wordlessly nods in the direction of their group, beckoning the girl to come closer. @Artificer @Hani
  19. vielle

    the Dead Celebrates.

    The man offers a smile at her approach, even as he does not personally extend his name, even as his gaze skitters away once he finally voices his greeting. Belladonna does not begrudge him this movement, this moment of recollection for his thoughts or otherwise. “No, I don’t believe we have. Unless you toured any jail cells in Tia right before it fell.” Her lips quirk in a half-smile at this, remembering the night she had taken part in the ruination of a megacity. There is a sense of superiority creeping in her thoughts, the idea of her partaking in something beyond the means of the organization she had left behind, the family she had betrayed for greatness. When she thinks of her matriarch at this very moment, reminded of the achievements she had obtained for herself, there is no small hint of pride fueling her train of thought. See, Mother, how glorious I can be? Nica shifts his gaze back to her, glittering emerald under the kaleidoscope lights, and her attention returns to the conversation at hand. “What found you in the company of these ah.. Movers and shakers?” Belladonna tilts her head, considering the query with the weight it deserves, for all the actions she has taken thus far to arrive here, surrounded by pretty colors and opulent fixtures and companions both devious and deadly but beautiful, yes, just like the sisters she had forsaken. “I found in myself a thirst for something beyond what I had, in the beginning, and in these people, I seem to have finally quenched it,” she chuckles, gesturing about the room, the sea of people shifting and twisting around them. “Thus far, at the very least. It seems to me that this want can become insatiable, grasping for more and more should I add fuel to the flame.” Belladonna hums, extends a hand to brace herself against the table, gaze wandering away from the man beside her. “I imagine I cannot hardly match up when compared to an enigmatic individual as yourself. Have you been enjoying the night thus far, Sir?” @amenities
  20. vielle

    Wandering Roads

    Once again, he is faced with a reality of a dying world, its effects spelled out by Harshal’s story of his home, plagued by a ghoulish disease none can find the cure for, and Jal’s breathless for the way the man before him, seeming so strong and impenetrable, brought down so low by something beyond his control. It takes him back to his own past, which— —he is not prepared to face right now. What are you even doing, the Liir-voice tells him, shades of mockery entwined with understanding. "Shanti and I were sent here to see if we could find something within the knowledge of Terrenus that could help our home. We parted ways and will later meet in the middle with our findings - if any." And now Jal understands: this separation had been willingly accepted, voluntarily executed. He allows his lips to curl up in mild comprehension, nods at this information freely given. "Ah! Here you are, listening to my woes and I haven't asked a single thing of you. I don't mean to be so rude Jal, forgive me. I get carried away sometimes. My sister says I'm self-centered and maybe that's true." Jal waits for the man’s gaze to shift back from the table to himself before offering him a firm shake of his head. “S’alright,” he croaks out, a watery smile plastered in place on his lips. “Me too. Lost.” He points to himself, the expression of the dead and the dying ghosting its way over his face. He is lost; he is weary: all for the loss of someone he cannot extricate from the walls of his mind, the veins of his heart, for the way the idea of him supports it all. There is something almost strange in the way the man does not seem all too bothered by the distance between himself and his close companion, but then again, they do not have the lingering presence of the soul pact somewhere in the core of their chest, unlike himself. “Finding him. Liir,” Jal explains, voices out the name ever-present at the back of his mind, and the idea comes together then and there, like a spark of a candle-flame in the dark. If he is to find his friend again, he might as well join forces with someone who is more experienced with the world around them. And he likes his newfound friend, most of all; it would not be a lonely journey by Harshal’s side. “We look together? Me, Liir; you, Shanti?”
  21. vielle

    A Rough Start

    Over the course of their travels, Iyalon has finally arrived at a very sad conclusion: Crowley can be incessantly annoying. To his credit, he rather thinks the man is doing this intentionally, an act of revenge against the lies he had laid on Crowley’s door, but the constant barrage of worryingly intrusive queries battering his mind makes his shoulders tense, his spine stiff as a rod. He shakes his head at the sight of the man’s teasing expression and his stupid eyebrows. “So, you and Varda. Yay or nay?” Gods, but what kind of question is that? Had he truly been this transparent that even a day-long acquaintance had already figured him out? Iyalon opts to not respond to that at all, lest he dig himself further into his own grave. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell a soul. Pinky promise. C’mon, put her up.” He does not in any way reach out first, but then Crowley takes his hand and does a one-sided attempt at a pinky promise, of all things. It does make his lips twitch, just for a brief moment. The Symarron River curves and bends through the landscape, cutting through the earth in serpentine motion, and Iyalon finds he enjoys the journey for the sights and sceneries, current company notwithstanding. The aforementioned current company suddenly murmurs under his breath, and Iyalon raises an eyebrow at him. “What?” “Nothing. Just having a midlife crisis, don’t mind me. Say, would you know if Aspen or Esme are still single by chance?” Now, he knows to cut that at the root before it has a chance to grow. “Lady Aspen is to be married soon, and Lady Esme is,” he struggles for a moment, glancing out into the fields beyond, “otherwise engaged.” He dare not say another word on the fifth child; his Lady will destroy him for it. Crowley had not made mention of the favored Lady Merel, who is pursued by various hapless suitors despite her youth, which ultimately brings a sigh of relief out from Iyalon’s lungs. Eventually, the two men reach the gates of Ravenel Manor, and Iyalon plasters a firm smile on his face to make the other knights keep their curious observations and queries to themselves as they make their way through the grounds up to the manor. Standing tall to meet them on the front steps is Aspen Hildebrand, Shirin quietly hovering behind the Lady with a giant grin on her lips. “Greetings, Sir Crowley,” Aspen curtsies with Iyalon’s sister following suit, and then extends a bouquet of angelica towards the Oathsworn. “For the peace and prosperity of all that is yours, sir. It’s—well, it’s been quite a while since I’ve last seen your face, out and about in the public eye.” Her spine straightens, her amused expression smoothing out into something politely formal. Iyalon can almost swear he sees something apologetic in the way Aspen looks at him. “We apologize that Lady Hildebrand is unable to appear before you today. She—well, um,” Aspen shares a glance with Shirin, who merely shakes her head, face unreadable. “Well. Let us come inside and away from the sun first, shall we?” Iyalon does his best not to flinch, but his fingers grow cold. What had happened while he had been gone?
  22. vielle

    The Andelusian High Tea Society [Hub]

    November 24 | 29 AO Marcy is not spying on anyone, least of all on his own boss, no matter what anyone else has to say in the contrary. Despite his plentiful duties around the teahouse, he finds time to pass by Dahlia’s table every once in a while to check on her dealings with the foreign stranger. There is something about the hungry way she gazes upon the proprietor that sounds alarm bells in his mind, and for all his teasing and carefree ways, Marcy is ultimately protective over the one who had brought him and his brother a better life here in Andelusia. There will be no such deviance occurring under his watch. From the edges of his peripheral vision, he watches the front door open, glorious sunlight sprawled all over the threshold of the entryway as two women make their way within. It takes Marcy a moment, preoccupied as he sets down a tray of tea cakes on a table between a finely-dressed mother and her son, but then the spark of recognition connects, and he strides over to Lady Dali and her companion with a faint hint of a swagger in his step. "Good, awkward sliver of not-quite afternoon, Marceau. Where's delightful Miss Chamelis today?" Marcy smiles winsomely at the two women, bowing low in respect. “Good not-quite afternoon, my Lady,” he greets the noblewoman, giving her maid a sly grin for the comments he had overheard on his way to them. “Miss Chamelis is currently engaged in a courtesy call with a foreign visitor, but she has prepared for your arrival today. Would you like to have some tea while you wait?” @LikelyMissFortune The other woman’s mind must have flown off for a moment there, when Dahlia is forced to wait a few seconds longer than is necessary for the Mistress to reply to her business offer. "I guess, it's a deal." An amused smile curls itself onto her lips, and she takes a moment to finish her pastry, observing the white-haired woman taking a cigar and lighting it, the smoke wreathing her face for a brief moment as she takes a long drag of nicotine. "On that note, Lady Chamelis. Now I have a proposal to you." Dahlia’s gaze catches on Lady Evienne near the door as she converses with Marcy, and when the noblewoman turns in their direction, she waves and smiles. The response she gives the Mistress seems almost distracted, if not for the way her gaze immediately returns to her guest. “What sort of proposal is that?” @Thotification
  23. vielle

    Not enough banks, am I right?

    Theeeeen alrighty! 😂 whichever one gets up and running first gets first dibs at attention and effort, i suppose? 👌
  24. vielle

    Not enough banks, am I right?

    In terms of interest, I am up for both 👀 I suppose the Dragon Iris wouldn't require as much attention, being an established museum already, but in terms of free time, the independent-touch-base-for-story-oodles would work much better for the new one 😄 depends which of them gets up and running first, methinks!
  25. vielle

    contemporary movement

    Crouched half-hidden in the grass, rendered defenseless and alone, Varda is far from safe, despite what her brother tells their other siblings. She tries her best to keep her breathing under control, but with the sounds of pain and assault filling the air, it is almost a miracle her heart hasn’t given out yet from the anxiety. The doll emerging from underneath the vehicle makes an attempted stab towards her but is ultimately foiled by the woman shifting her weight, crawling forward to raise herself off the ground and take a peek at whatever is going on at the other side of the car. Then the arrows come, and her luck finally runs out. The first sinks into Varda’s side, and as she sways from the impact, the other two bolts wedge themselves into the dirt at her feet, not quite hitting their target as well as the first arrow had done. She staggers, falls to her knees in a crude reenactment of planting life in the earth to nourish and grow, and opens her mouth in a frozen scream. Nai has never tried such a thing as treating a open wound on the field, but he will damn well try his best. Knowing the limited resources at his disposal, he examines Tynes’ arm, noting the physical appearance of the injury with dismay. The dart had been poisoned? Gods, what then? "Take my gun. I can't use it now..." Nai watches as Jasper nods and turns to retrieve the aforementioned weapon, Aspen wringing her hands in worry just off to the side of the jeep. A pained cry bursts out through the clearing, and in its familiarity— “Varda!” It is almost as if the name had been wrenched straight out of Aspen’s throat, bloody red and dripping with horror. She begins to run towards her fallen sister, just barely held back by her older brother’s firm grip on her arm. “Stay back!” Jasper shouts at her, running forward to take the gun and make his way over to Varda’s side. Nai does not turn his head to look, even as it kills him not to. He cannot afford to be distracted, not now as he works on the Executor’s arm.