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KittyvonCupcake

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About KittyvonCupcake

  • Rank
    Roleplay Wizard
  • Birthday April 18

Profile Information

  • Gender
    Lady
  • Location
    The Moon of Titan
  • Interests
    Hungry ghosts, the roar of the sea crystallized and shattered thrice for good luck, poorly recorded punk music.

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    KittyvonCupcake#0467

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  1. KittyvonCupcake

    The Black Anvil Hymn [ OOC ]

    Oh, Leper. 😭 The power of friendship will heal you! Later this week, I can go ahead and start up that quest thread if you guys are ready to press forward.
  2. KittyvonCupcake

    The displacement of Ignatz

    I rather like the idea of sneaking past an oi! punk holy whale to liberate that library, but I'm perhaps overlooking some key details while my heart is breaking for those poor soon to be orphan books.
  3. KittyvonCupcake

    The Black Book (B|E Quest)

    A sliver of self satisfaction purred in Ioreth’s heart. As charming as meandering adventures with a ragtag group of strangers could be, she was running her own faction of a business and a business required structure. Mercs had their quirks, but she had high hopes for this little collection of book retrievers. While she stood to collect and skim over the signed forms, she addressed Noel’s question with quiet sigh as she mentally ran through the inventory displayed at the estate sale. “It was all quite tame, as far as an enchanter’s collection goes. Apart from his antique furniture and smallclothes, the most interesting items were a few first edition volumes of Rognov’s Arcaniums, a daemonic entity in a decanter, a potted mandrake, and a Hand of Glory. Those that knew Herrington well enough all insisted that his rare pieces were not present, particularly those procured by questionable means.” Blue flame engulfed the forms. No heat radiated from the fire, although it felt as though it was drawing in warmth from the atmosphere around it. The pile of contracts Ioreth held disappeared the moment they were completely covered with flickering cerulean, off to be filed away with the appropriate records at Book|Ends and the local Blairville government. Flexing her hands to wriggle out the tingling sensation in her palms, she tilted her head at Noel to ask, “Would you like to see the sale’s catalog?” Peeking out from beneath her tunic was what appeared to be a leather holster strapped to her upper thigh and left hip. Rather than a weapon, it contained two spare pens and a palm sized notebook. She flipped this open to a recent entry: a list noted out in her flowing script. “I left out his undershirts and the vintage of his wines, but the rest is recorded there.” Noel was granted a moment to examine the list if he so desired, while Ioreth studied Haru with a note of concern. Under the light of the moon, the Roots could be an unforgiving place. Before Godric could make his way out the door, she gently placed a hand on his shoulder and leaned over to murmur in his ear, “Watch after the girl. There are worse than pickpockets down there.” Slavers, rat trappers, and affiliates to organized crime were as common as friendly blue deer, for there were only two constables on beat at night and they valued their safety far more than they desired to go down into the market. After her notebook was placed back into her care, Ioreth slipped in back into its holster and adjusted the belt slung around her waist. A quick gesture was made towards the door. “Shall we? The Golden Fox is on Tennyson Street. It’s rather gaudy and difficult to overlook. Albert is around forty years old with a consistent habit of making an ass of himself. He should be difficult to overlook, as well. Madame Kozlov is to the west of here. Constans, I can take you there. She can be---” A diplomatic rephrasing of her initial description of the oneiromancer danced on the tip of her tongue. She rubbed her bottom lip with a thumb and gave a slight shrug. “A character” was the best she could conclude with. The ram’s head cufflink appeared once more from the tiny pocket sewn in her sleeve and she placed it into Haru’s hand. “Keep this out of sight. If you see anything with this insignia at the marketplace, contact me. It belonged to Amare Woolf and it may have a connection with our tome.” A smile softened the gravity of her tone. “Okay?” Together, they made their way out of the Lithium Hour’s lofty alcove and into the night. Godric’s pack was now in possession of Ibeyi’s equally tall and equally glowering sister that operated the cloakroom where it would remain until either he or Ioreth reclaimed it. By Constans’ side, Ioreth drifted down the grassy plaza and paused to stroke the head of a blue deer that grazed near their path. Lonisara flowers peeked out from the earth as though they were curious at what occurred above the grass and unfurled their silvery blossoms, releasing the faint scent of honey. The doe’s tail twitched, her version of a grin. They walked on, weaving through crowds once greenery abruptly gave way to stone pavement. Broken shards of glass and abandoned refuse littering the streets was avoided with a preternatural ease. Ioreth would slow her pace at moments to glance into psychic shops advertising tarot readings, or to examine the riverfood stands with their disorientingly brilliant lights and mouthwatering scents of freshly caught fried fish and hot peppers. This was a city that once captured her love, and her admiration did not easily perish. Few places captured such a variety of wonderful madness in a way that Blairville did. Leaned against a ramshackle brick building stood a pair of grim faced young men, each armed with curved khopesh blades and piercing leers. Ioreth quickly averted her glance and nodded at Constans to do the same. “qara əl,” she explained. “The blades give them away. Only a few years ago, they were a mercenary band. They have claimed territory here recently, perhaps taking advantage of the market to sell zabi. It’s supposed to enhance your magic.” Down an alleyway they turned, into a residential street that was filled with quiet rowhouses. The lawns before each connected property gave a suggestion as to what its residents were like. Some were wild and unruly, others neatly manicured, while others contained scattered children’s toys and ragged flowerbeds. Ioreth turned to playfully smirk at Constans. “Where do you think Madame Kozlov lives?”
  4. KittyvonCupcake

    What are you reading?

    I wrapped up: The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho Both Flesh and Not by David Foster Wallace An Artist of the Floating World by Kazou Ishiguro Stranger Music by Leonard Cohen Currently reading: Good Omens by Terry Pratchett & Neil Gaiman Her Body and Other Parties by Carmen Maria Murchado
  5. KittyvonCupcake

    Church On The Hill [Currently: Feast Event!]

    [COTH: Town Square: Feasting Pavilion] There are phenomenon that occur at rare moments. Entire lifetimes pass without witnessing a solar eclipse, or the rebirth of a phoenix, or Draug Rhavon relaxing as though he were on holiday. Yet there he was: with an empty cup of wine, one boot resting atop a knee, a book in his hand, and what one could easily mistake for satisfaction purring in his heart. Even with the sudden sharp pain in his head that struck just a moment ago and a nebulous sensation of unsteadiness that followed only brought the slightest of scowls. How could he be unhappy? Without the slightest effort extended on his part, someone brought him a meal and wine and then left him alone. No one pestered him about his incomprehensible system of financial records, no fists were pounding on his office door while they demanded to see the manager, nor were there any carnivorous tomes menacing his employees. No, all was peaceful in this corner of the pavillion. “You look old.” Well, all was peaceful. “Are you old? You look like my granda.” At his elbow stood a pair of solemn pale gray eyes. They stared at him with unnerving intensity that was exaggerated by the height of her cheekbones. The rest of the child was unremarkable: Pale blonde hair half-heartedly washed and combed, scabbed knees, an impertinent nose dashed with freckles. Draug flipped a yellowing page with a calloused thumb and gruffly asked, “Who’s your granda?” “Dunno,” answered the girl. “He runned off.” An intake of air hissed through his clenched teeth. “‘Ran off’,” he corrected. “Right, well, why don’t you…” More children had materialized as though responding to a ghostly summons, as they had followed the now panting wolfhound back to his pack leader. Though his tongue lolled out of his mouth and his sides were heaving, Kir was thoroughly contented with life. The tiny two-leggers would need improvement with their prowling and tracking, but they made the best with their inferior physical forms and chased as well as they could. Kir flopped his massive form by Draug’s side with a happy sigh. “We runnded but now your dog is tired,” reported a boy with the upper half of his dirt streaked face nearly hidden by a ragged shock of dark curls. “Can you read us a story?” “You ran with the dog,” Draug grunted. Before he could deny Mud Boy’s request, his desire for a story was echoed by the crowd youth that pressed in closer. “Yes!” they exclaimed, working as one collective hive mind. “Read it to us!” The book in his hand wasn’t exactly a child’s tale. Not only was it full of ancient warriors perishing in gruesome manners, often by the hands of vengeful concubines or by the talons of terrifying beasts, it was recorded in a now defunct dialect used by a now abandoned region of Genesarian settlements in the mountains and arranged in a way that was so dull one could not help but slip into a meditative state while reading. The glance he cast over his shoulder was nearly desperate. On which corner of the planet had Andras slinked off to? You hire someone to be your assistant and they disappear the moment you need assistance. Such was the way of life. On the second shrill demand for a story, a rumble of frustration growled in Draug’s throat. Steady, old hunter. Had he not faced worse sights than this? Draug would have preferred to be cast out into the wilds and surrounded by murderous barbarians, but, alas, that was not to be his subplot. After all, it had been nearly eighty years since he last had any verbal interaction with a child, and that was an elvish child. These dusty creatures were of a different nature. Kir pressed his cold nose into Draug’s elbow while raising his doggish brows in an imploring fashion. These are good pups, he seemed to say, even with their deficient legs. The third call for a story was cut short by a bark of “ce art!” in a tone that was harsher than originally intended. One little voice piped up from the stunned crowd: “Why does your arm thingie has tooths on it?” The subject in question was a thick leather band embellished with teeth sewn into place. They were old trophies, though he refrained from explaining that. “Arm band,” was his flat response. “Have. Teeth. Alright?” Fourteen heads nodded in unison. “Uabasasch. So, this bit is before the battle: Þat veitk bazt und blǫ́um himni kenninafn, svát konungr eigi---” Fourteen faces stared back with varying looks of dismay. A smile tugged at the corners of Draug’s mouth and a flash of white navigating through the throngs of feasting villagers caught his eye. “It’s thirty more stanzas to get to the beginning of the battle. But, look, why don’t you lot run off?” The woman in white appeared to be locked on to his location and was striding towards him in a manner that he found vaguely unsettling. Kir’s lips were twitching the beginning of a snarl. She smelled...briny. Was the priest collecting sea witches now? His bewildered and disappointed audience were less than keen to budge away from the elf. Even if he was cantankerous and looked as old as their grandfathers, he was a novelty item that, most importantly, had a dog. Draug arched a brow and lied as easily as one breathes. “See that woman? She’s searching for children to feed to her giant fish. How well can you swim?” They immediately dispersed. When Riley announced her intention to join Draug’s poetry battle, a twinge of surprise threatened to disrupt his neutral expression. Well, damn. He had mentioned the idea under his breath to Andras after a monk made an inquiry about their plans for cultural development in COTH, but he certainly did not expect his assistant to assist with making his sardonic proposal a reality. In his mind’s eye, he could see an elvish man dressed in black and bent over double with wild laughter. So be it. His eyes lazily flicked up to meet Riley’s as he gave a shrug. Otherworldly beauty or not, swishing white robes did not do much to catch his interest. “You happen to be the first to come over with that, so why don’t you give me an example of your poetry. Make it as insulting as possible, yeah?” @Grubbistch
  6. Thanks for the like, my ninja

    1. KittyvonCupcake

      KittyvonCupcake

      You're welcome! I like your style.

      I could make an attempt at echoing back another snappy nickname, but I believe it would be best to save us from any mutual embarrassment. 

  7. KittyvonCupcake

    Black Book OOC

    It's been quite some time since @Seraphina Jeanne's last post, so I'm going to pop on ahead and have a post up by Saturday night.
  8. KittyvonCupcake

    Church On The Hill [Currently: Feast Event!]

    [COTH: Near Houses and One Insulted Flowerbed1] Visions. Fire below, how she despised them. Constans had been correct with his assumption: it was not the first time an otherworldly entity trespassed beyond her mental barriers, although no previous spiritual entity managed to ransack her consciousness so thoroughly. There was always a price one had to pay for the acquisition of knowledge, and risky ventures often preceded fortuitous rewards. Yet what did she gain? At the moment, it was difficult to draw up an adequate analysis. Her sensitivity towards arcane energy had made spiritual contact with the green flame quickly accessible, yet it also plunged her into a temporary state of shock. She was earth and darkness; it was fire and light. There was also the nature of the message given by Ioreth’s ancestors. Although the dialect was unknown to her, the syntactic structure and cadence shadowed modern Duendaic enough to invoke some familiarity. Yet it was the feeling that circled above her like a vulture. Such… Emptiness. Fingertips brushing against her forehead startled Ioreth back into reality. In Duendaic tradition, and also in other cultures that believe in a third eye, this was the locus of their metaphysical energy. Night elves would greet their kin by pressing their foreheads against one another, a custom that perhaps appeared rather odd to outsiders. Though unintentional, it was Constans’ touch that allowed Ioreth to breathe once more. On a normal occasion, Ioreth would have immediately recoiled from physical contact. However, it was not every day that one plunged into the recesses of one’s mind before meeting the beginning of their bloodline with a man they had just met earlier that afternoon. She leaned back into his hand and released an exhausted sigh. Her initial answer was at first a noncommittal noise, followed shortly by, “They saw us, they knew we were there. How is that possible? I---” It was then that she realized she had failed to translate her thoughts into Terran for Constans, but somewhere within her was the notion that he could understand precisely what she expressed. “Shit.” For simplicity’s sake, she made an attempt to switch back into commonspeak. “My apologies.” A self deprecating scoff of a laugh preceded the continuation of her musings. “Thiandruil, it is a reference to Thiadis, the All-Mother. Well, our All-Mother, to be correct, but that is not the…” Her voice trailed off and concern furrowed her brow as she tipped her chin up to glance over Constans. “Are you okay? The flowers over there seem to think otherwise.” @Vansin 1: Did I do it right?
  9. KittyvonCupcake

    Relationship Between Valucre and Earth

    I, and my characters because I am the boss of them gosh darnit, view Valucre and Earth as separate planets in separate galaxies in their own far flung corners of outer space, as opposed to different universes existing parallel to each other and accessible only through a breach in the metaphysical fabric that keeps them from colliding. In a theoretical sense, of course. My characters wouldn't be aware of Earth's existence, as they lack expertise in space exploration nor have they ever met another character that openly claims to be from Earth or any other world. My elvish characters would be intrigued by this novel information, while my vampire would tell a dad joke and/or fantasize about eating them. She's predictable like that. This most likely stems from an internal bias against the multiuniverse/multi world storytelling trope that in turn stems from a childhood frustration that Aslan never let me into Narnia. That, and I like the idea of lots of neat planets spinning around in their own star systems.
  10. KittyvonCupcake

    Black Book OOC

    Because we are all working different subplots, I just want to clarify that it's okay to post at your own rate. (I'll try to keep up!) @desolate and @Seraphina Jeanne, here's another friendly bump for you two. I'm going to scribble up a response to get us all out of the room in the next few days. 🤗
  11. KittyvonCupcake

    The Black Anvil Hymn [ OOC ]

    Poor hobbly Godric! I need to get him a service animal, like a bear that assists with balance. (Methinks it might be too soon for a dog, no?)
  12. KittyvonCupcake

    The Black Anvil Hymn [ Hub ]

    Gaia’s tits, such suspicion. Was it the hat? Stello and the Leper’s misgivings were a contrast from the typical way human (or human-seeming) males behaved around her. They did not immediately trip over her Mystical Elf Lady vibe and fall into her hands, nor did they seem willing to be blindly swept up into the wandering river of her life. She did her best to look after those that stumbled into her path, but one cannot help but notice that the balance of power was often tipped in her favor. While a superficial feeling or two twinged in irritation, it was another lesson that the universe flung her way: a reminder to refrain from complacency. Stello’s request was for full transparency met with an arched brow and, invoked by the suggestion of a big fat disappointment, a gleam of that blistering elvish distaste. “I would promise no less. You and I both take our work seriously, yes? We have contracts written for clients and---” she inclined her head towards the Leper “---mercenaries seeking temporary employment that should cover all of your concerns regarding payment and our company’s services.” For the Leper, though, serenity once more took its hold of her features, despite him echoing his own reservations towards potential dissidence. Not only did he have snacks, he also brought drinks. Well, a drink. Whatever it was, it promised to burn on the way down. She accepted the flask with a bow of her head and purred, “Naichte òcai d’uis-al.” It was a toast which, when translated from Duendaic to common Terran, essentially could be paraphrased to mean “blessed be the obstinate asshole.” Nevertheless, it had the cadence of a friendly santé, and the joke was ultimately on her when she shot back a swig of the Leper’s oath-serum. Not only did it burn, it kicked like a thrice damned mule. Not only had it been well over a year since she last had even a flirtation with hard liquor, Ioreth never developed much of a taste for tequila. Whiskey was an old friend; tequila was a tolerated acquaintance. The flask was thrust back into the Leper’s wrapped hands as she made a valiant attempt to contain her grimace. “Well. Ah. I can bring the contracts here in a few days or…” Once more her pen and pad of paper made their appearance, and she continued to speak as she jotted down two separate notations. “...You both could meet me here. I’m lodging with a friend, she lives near the Haze Kitchen district and makes a divine parmigiana. ‘Tis your choice.” The address to the eclectically constructed home was passed to her new adventuring companions. It was not difficult to miss. If one did not first notice the electric blue tree towering out of the center of the home, one may have found their attention fixated upon the seven foot tall orcish woman tinkering with motorcycles out on the front lawn. “I can provide transport to Ashville, but one of you shall need to decide who is riding in the sidecar. I like to keep my books there,” she laughed, “though I suppose I can move them elsewhere.” After Stello and the Leper answered with their preference, Ioreth would offer each of them a bow of her head and thank them for the new retrieval opportunity and for the protein bars, respectively, before inquiring, “Since we are going to be traveling together, would you two like to have a meal with me? Stello, you know the area far better than I. If you pick, I’ll pay. No big fat disappointments, yeah?”
  13. Thank you for the likes, and welcome to Valucre!

    1. Bastard

      Bastard

      Why thank you, Cupcake. Can't usually call a lady that without it being weird. It was a pleasure reading your posts. You're quite the talented writer. You'll be seeing more of me here shortly as I join in on the shenanigans. 

  14. KittyvonCupcake

    Custom title raffle 3

    I'll hop in. 🐇
  15. KittyvonCupcake

    What's in your speakers, nukka?

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