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Narcissa

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About Narcissa

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  • Birthday 07/09/1989

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  1. Narcissa

    Allied Nations of Terrenus (A.N.T.)

    Here's your first one.
  2. Narcissa

    Crime DOES pay (And has a great health plan)

    What. Sir, I am a lady.
  3. Narcissa

    Buried 'Neath The Ashes

    “My satisfaction, my Lady? Isn’t it the Empress who must be satisfied, and not anyone else? In any case, I wouldn’t worry about me… I’ve had occasion to eat ration bars and this is far better.” Rou poised a cavalier eyebrow high, offsetting the tilt of her grin to one side, smug and vainglorious, as was her wont to be. "Not to be dwarfed by a Genesarian High Lord, much less a favorite of His Majesty," she replied astutely, though the statement had imbued far more than she knew for certain. Zenahriel's portrait in the hall of the West Wing meant a great boon of importance, as was it's placement. True, the respect of Rafael had extended even to the history of the Tevkan rulers of past eons, those he had never even known, though the closer one drew to his --now their-- chambers, were filled with those closest to him. For his position, to be affectionately considered each time he required, Zenahriel had to be close to the Emperor's heart. Rou didn't have to be a genius to put two and two together. If anything, she was only convinced that Rafael's sexual deviance was far greater than even she had imagined. Despite the implications, and the An'She's reputation for destructive jealousy, she looked across from Zenahriel in a way that was collected, if not perhaps just a little conspiratory. It was not that she was certain of her position, even without a crown upon her head, a babe in her belly, or a sufficient title to her name, or that Zenahriel had been so absent within her years already spent within Umbra. Zenahriel had something that Rou did not, if only biologically, a token that if to be exploited, would see to the sating of Rafael's ferocious brand of hunger. Their Emperor was a being of nearly endless strength and power, and though it did not reside within himself, Rou became all the more certain of his weakness. Greater still, this demoness of manipulation secured her place, with the certainty of his feelings for Zenahriel, with another sharpened talon wrapping possessively around the Emperor's heart, preparing the vice that would see him belong to her for eternity. She would keep Zenahriel close for her own benefit; she liked him well enough, upon first impressions, anyway. Leaning against one of the arms of her chair, she swapped the lay of her legs, hitching one knee over the other. "How far we have come," Rou said with an idle swirl of her wine glass, no stranger to the unsavory diets of poverty and wartime both, "Besides, my dear husband sees to my satisfaction." As I shall see to his, she wanted to add, though she was confident the winged High Lord read it in her eyes, with all it's dark and lewd intention, and therefore did not give it voice. Serve her, Zenahriel would, in more ways than he likely bargained for. She dipped her head in gratitude for his promise of service, for she would be holding him to it. “Enough about me, though. Excuse my intrusion, but is this marriage between you and my King out of love or is it more political? Because… this tells me something very alarming, my dear.” Clang! In that instant, Rou had dropped her glass, toppling in a slosh of red liquid and shattering upon the floor, her hand gripped defensively, tightly, around his wrist. Rou froze at the touching of her cheek, tensing at the unforeseen closeness prompted by his curiosity; since Rafael's reclaiming, none had deigned to touch her, even in such an innocent way as this. Though there was no need to protect herself, she'd reacted instinctively. After a few tense moments, she'd gathered enough function to release his wrist by letting it slide from her fingers, her lips still slightly parted in the pause, trying to summon up either an apology, explanation, or answer. With the sound of the shattered glass, servants had clamored out of the kitchen doors and into the dining room, rushing to their side of the table to clean up the mess. Their conversation was suspended so that the staff would not hear anything beyond their concern, but the respite gave Rou a moment to collect herself. The glass had been swept and the wine seeped, plates and leftovers cleared and dessert presented: lemon bars with a thick, shiny glaze, paired with ripe red raspberries and drizzled over by a vanilla bean creme anglaise, speckled with black dots. Shamefully, Rou was no longer hungry enough to touch it. Her lips behind her fingers, and the cut of her eyes directed at the door to make sure the staff had left, Rou had warily returned her gaze to Zenahriel. She sighed, seeming to dispell any notion of lying to him, in the assumption that he'd simply see through any vain attempts to brush her ego; he was simply too integral to the inner workings of the Arcane East's politics and Rafael's desires to be fooled. Still, Rou only said what she must, knowing very well that walls often had ears. She wouldn't have been surprised if Rafael, himself, had been watching, in that constantly prying way of his. Moving her thumb beneath her chin, her index finger pursed her lower lip as she leaned on the elbow of the chair. "I bring nothing with me but myself to this partnership," she confided in him, direct in the lilt of her tone, "All my lands, my titles, my wealth; they were all instated by him. And I no longer bring with me the covetousness of his enemies." By that she had certainly (albeit unadmittedly) meant Roen, who had made his position clear in the defining moment that had nearly ruined her. She had initially had come to Rafael's side on the promise of revenge, but closeness had bloomed in a way she hadn't expected... but she had, only by fault of herself, destroyed her one redeeming quality: loyalty. It was hard to believe that Rafael would forsake all of his other hopes for the future if he hadn't loved her. There was no way Rou could be pleased with it, remembering her sore cheek, though she'd ascertained that his violence was not out of displeasure, but his desire to be superlative in her eyes. He desired to claim she who famously belonged to no one, and knew no other way to stand out other than by the back of his hand. Eventually, she knew, once her loyalty was again assured, his striking would subside. Rousing herself from the rather lackadasical slump against her chair, she summoned herself to the table's edge. Her gaze fell, as she toyed with a fork at the sweets upon her plate, though served no purpose other than to be rolled around by her contemplation. "Umbra does not believe I am a worthy counterpart to him, either," she said, knowing well the views of the council and it's residents. There grew a rumple in her brow, displeased with the unfortunate outcome, not simply for the raspberry that rolled off the tongs of her fork. "But why would they? They were promised a proper Empress, who would bring an end to their misfortune and resume the fertility of the entire culture. There's a perfectly good one on that damned island, they've presumed, despite how trouble stalks her like a storm cloud." Rou drummed her fingers on the table, and her chosen words were perhaps the most tempered choice she'd ever used to speak of Irene Gabriela DuGrace. There was a tremendous following for her upon the mainland, and her departure --who's reasons were mostly unbeknownst to the general public and therefore unconcerned-- left the masses bereft, and as if Rou had taken something from them with her return. "They dare not question their beloved Emperor, but mutter about his new consort incessantly. However, as much as it shames me to admit..." she paused, looking pensively aside, "...in that, they are right. I am not what was promised." Most, especially those of court, had assumed Rou to just be a flight of fancy, having seduced the Emperor with her youthful vigor and enchanting beauty, but was only a greedy thief who was playing at a game they assumed she was unprepared to play. Unbeknownst to them, Rou truly had been paying attention, and she knew just how high the stakes were. And she knew, even for all the love Rafael bore for her, she would never be able to give him the things he wanted, the things that he would not say, which endlessly worried him. "My love alone will never be enough." "Which is why..." she said, as she pressed her palms to the table, rising from her chair slowly in a way that made it screech back across the floor to make way for her to stand, "... because I love my husband, that I must do what he cannot." Rou had that conspiring look on her face, the kind that had her twisted up in plots and lines of the spider's web extending far past her reach. The look she showed to Zenahriel was determined, with a fire in her eyes that went beyond ambition. Her reasons were muddled between self-preservation, acceptance by the masses, and a gesture of loyalty, but both pointed towards the certainty of her plan. Words she thought she'd never speak in a million years passed her lips. "I realize you've only just returned to Umbra, and you deserve a moment to rest upon your laurels, Zenahriel, but I implore you to accompany me... to Orisia."
  4. Geralt of Rivia is going to be played on Netflix by Henry Cavill.  I can die happy now.

    The Man of Steel (and Silver).

  5. Narcissa

    Hello~

    WATASHI GA KITA
  6. Narcissa

    Hello~

    https://www.valucre.com/forum/251-umbra/
  7. Narcissa

    Hello~

    I’d shame you for Twilight, but I can’t fault a member of my own house. Slytherin House is best house. If you feel like playing a vampire, Umbra and the Arcane East of Genesaris have a large vampiric population.
  8. Narcissa

    Don't take your guns to town, son.

    Well, that almost counts. I also like old John Wayne films. Welcome to the family.
  9. Narcissa

    Custom rank title 10

    Me!
  10. Narcissa

    Are your characters like you?

    Rou has my temper, but I'd like to think of her as my alter ego. She expresses a lot of the things I wouldn't normally. Keeps me from sassing everyone to the point of wanting to murder me in real life.
  11. Thanks for the like, babe!

    tenor.gif

    1. Rin

      Rin

      Welcome ^-^

  12. Rou flinched when he'd reached for her cheek, but ultimately allowed him to inspect the damage with a pass of his thumb, her eyes glued to any sight that wasn't him. She looked ashamed, not having wanted Jin to have seen her this way. Rou, herself, was a vain woman, and this bruise was not a blazon of war paint, but a stamp of weakness. She'd adored the way how Jin had always looked at her like she was the most beautiful woman in the world, even back when he was just a young boy in Gaia, but she was certain that was not the way he was looking at her, now. She feared the imagined sight of his worry would make her stomach turn. It did anyway, regardless. She was quiet when he demanded an answer, recoiled with a close of her eyes as if his words were a physical blow that she had to steel herself against. Rou appeared hesitant, as her hands began wringing the leather of her smithing apron, hardly discernible whether she was gathering more soot on her hands, or if the soot of her hands was dirtying the apron. When his finger passed over the indent on her lip, her amber-yellow eyes dared to try a pass at his. The worry in his eyes tightened her chest, making it almost hard to breathe. The hard line of his lips made him intense, fiercely protective of her; Rou could feel the apprehensive tension of his arm as he claimed purchase upon the small of her back. She wanted to tell him the truth, confide in him so that he might help relieve the burden that was weighing down heavily on her mind-- Rafael was coming, in less than a fortnight, coming to drag her back to Umbra. She had no way of denying him... and neither would Jin. Rou would not have him be a casualty of her predicament. With a shake of her head, she reinvigorated herself with a resume to form, a played half-wry smile making levity of it. "What, this?" she asked, almost playfully, touching her fingers beside her cheek. Though it was a strain to overcome the harrowing exhaustion, Rou summoned a whimsical smile for Jin, and gestured with her hands; it wasn't perfect, but an attempt was made. "Brovnik purchased a new mare to pull the wagons. I stepped behind the untrained horse, and it kicked me," she lied with an almost apologetic smile, as if she had to ask forgiveness of Jin for making him worry, and placed a hand on his shoulder. She squeezed gently at his bicep, desperately hoping that his closeness would give her the strength to see the smile through, unwavering, and would prompt him not to ask her too many questions. "It should heal in a few days," she assured him with a nod, "I'll be good as new. I've seen worse." If only Jin had known the half of it. Quickly making effort to change the subject, she took his hand in both of hers (albeit covering both the front and back with soot from the forge) and clasped it just above her chest. "I heard you won the battle for Last Chance, the whole city is celebrating," she said, leaning gently forward with his hand captive, as if she never intended to return it. It was perhaps a bit startling with that inky bruise on her face, no longer believed as beautiful as Rou pulled from pining tones and affectionate gestures, though luckily, she hadn't had to lie her way through --she was glad to see him returned safely. "I should have been there for you. I tried, but--" she claimed, though she stopped herself to prevent her from saying what she could not. Pausing for only a moment, her shoulders sunk with a dreamy sigh, as if she was simply too overwhelmingly joyous to see him. "Does this mean you are a Knight, now?"
  13. Narcissa

    The Road Less Traveled

    “Don’t insult me, Rou. You’ll return to my-- our chamber, as is proper. If you desire an additional separate chamber for your womanly endeavors, by all means, you’re more than welcome to it. You know I’ve never been fond of gossip. But you will return to our chamber every night at a proper hour, or when I retire. If ever I have to come looking for you, I will not hesitate to make a scene of dragging you to bed.” Rou deliberately turned her head aside, so that Rafael might be spared the insolent rolling of her eyes, not eager to earn herself a matching badge on the other cheek. However, too prone to lose out on a clever quip, wasn’t beyond a grumble spoken between the clench of her teeth. “So dramatic…” she said, with a grimace that wrinkled her nose. Her disenchantment with his claims hadn’t lasted long, however, with the semblance of a grin at the prospect of turning her entire former chambers into a closet. Her hand lingered a moment on the velvet strap as it slid from between her fingers, stealing an upward glance as his hand touched hers, almost hesitant for him to draw it away. Ever the cliche that a thief would not relinquish the treasure of their bounty, she seemed for a moment conflicted by the treasure that passed her by, with a soft, incidental meeting of their skin. “Thank you,” she whispered, a small note of gratitude in exchange for the favor of placing it around her neck. It hadn’t been for disobedience, nor for lack of trying, though he hadn’t seemed to bothered by the idea of placing it, himself. As he stepped behind her, she drew in a heaving breath, feeling some of the stiffness of her blouse from being beneath the corset, and noticed the dried speckling of red blood that she’d nearly forgotten about. Rou was almost startled by the cold that came with the exposing brush of her hair, swept over her shoulder until she claimed the length in her hands. She could feel his hands on the back of her neck as he fastened the clasp, and as he diligently pried the mechanism apart and looped the keyhole within, the subtle brushing of his knuckles across her shoulders made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. His touch had been soft, careful, reminding her of a day long past when Rafael had a much gentler way of showing her his love. Rou craned her head downward, emphasizing the knocked columns of her spine in Rafael’s view, and touched a hand to the gem that dangled across her collar, then to the obscured side of her neck, where two indented fang marks lay beneath the velvet. It had distracted her a moment, for his attention had pivoted to his steward Miriam. Rou seemed just a passenger to the conversation, though she was notably the subject, the steward hadn’t even looked at her, once. A bit taken aback by being treated if she simply weren’t there, then by Rafael’s imposing choices, she was quick to object. “To the elbow? What am I, a nun?” Rou complained to Rafael, with a dubious wrinkle to her nose and a purse to her lip. With her frustration now veered in Miriam’s direction, Rou vehemently shook her head. “To the wrist,” she insisted, and held out her arm with a splay of her fingers, vaguely gesturing what she wanted with the other, “with a flourish, or something.” With a snap of her head that could’ve broken any other woman’s neck, Rafael had returned as the source of her ire. “And I can outfit my own wardrobe, thank you very much.” She was positive of the impending look she was guaranteed to earn for questioning him in front of another, and after a hasty moment to salvage it, plied herself to his baser urges. She placed her hand delicately over his wrist, and pulled in snugly, imposing her full bosom (a generous view for the pleated neckline of her blouse) on the breadth of his arm. Perhaps he wouldn’t mind the quip as much if it came complimenting him with a coy smile and a flutter of her eyelashes, letting her words roll out like honey. “Don’t worry, I remember what you like.” Some things never changed. Seemingly having escaped the guillotine, he proceeded on to request help of the cooks, earning a quizzical look from Rou in her proximal view from below. For someone who didn’t partake, he’d put together an impressive menu, and for once -- in startling revelation -- Rou had no objections. She rolled her lips back as she mulled over both food and fond memories, a bit surprised that he’d taken so much care to remember what she’d liked. She hadn’t needed to say anything, the genuine comfort on her face was enough. “As for your cheek...” Rou flinched as he set a tapered fingernail to her cheekbone, though he’d hardly grazed the skin. The irises of her yellow eyes shifted, careful to the attention of his hand, almost skeptical of the will he imbued directly into her cheek. It blossomed warmly, as she felt the pain that seized her cheekbone melt away, and she breathed a sigh of relief. Rou tested it with the touch of her fingers, as if rubbing her plushy cheek back to life, now no longer bothered by every one of the myriad of facial expressions that were like to change with her moods, but the one she'd chosen then was almost thankful. "It will suffice," she answered modestly, for half the things she'd asked for were better than none. “You left your shoes in the carriage. I’ll not have you walking around barefoot outside like some savage." To assume that Rou had been picked up was an understatement, she'd felt like she'd nearly flown off the floor at his height. She clutched at the lapel of his suit to keep herself from wobbling, squeezed against his chest with an arm across the broad of her back, and the other tucked under her knees, though he'd treated her like she were lighter than a feather. Rou had hardly noticed if her feet were sore or not, her toes peeking out from layers of skirt and ruffled white petticoat. She stared at him a long while, while occasionally bouncing from his stride, though she'd stayed adamantly away from the lock of his eyes. Rafael had walked into the casted shade of Lana'thel, the rising sun behind it like a halo as they entered, the cool of the shade making her cold. Rou held onto him a little tighter. Perhaps it was cliche, the warmth she felt in his arms, the kind girls fawned about in stories about princesses and knights in shining armor, for Rafael seemed both a blessing and a curse. Guilt made it feel undeserved, distrusting that he could strike her one minute and coddle her the next, simply to suit his whims. Was this Rafael that could employ such violence simply a product of his ire, someone who would fade when he was no longer displeased with her? Would he ever not be displeased with her? Or was the Rafael he showed her a lie, some fleeting vision of flight and fancy to tend to their desires until he had what he really wanted? She longed to feel that close to him again, but was understandably wary. It was hard to trust him. "Your feet are precious, after all. How else will you chase the children through the halls?” "Chi-ild," she reinforced with a brow-heavy glare, making two beats of a consonant to emphasize its singularity. Her lip wrinkled into a stubborn grimace, for Rafael knew she wasn't particularly fond of the idea of children to begin with-- they were smelly, noisy, and seemed simply a trophy for their parents' achievements. The act of making a child was nothing to credit, anyone could do it, and yet it was so celebrated and praised, getting attention undeserved; and if you didn't have one, particularly by Rou's age, women started asking what was wrong with them. She hated the way they talked. Childbirthing seemed like the threshold that would separate her from her youth: would she still feel like herself, if she wasn't her own first priority? Rou hadn't voiced her stronger opinions on the matter, but from looking through her memories, he already knew her dominating argument. She reiterated, anyway. "You know how I feel about siblings, Rafael," she said, with the stern use of his name, imploring him to consider her words, if none else, "My brother and I tore each other apart. This is much bigger than Wei and I ever were; any children we have could never be equals with a whole kingdom at stake." She was silent for a moment, hoping that her words weren't lost on him in the pause, struggling to find a way to make him understand; she wasn't needlessly denying him what he wanted. Recalling a former time, she remembered a history lesson in the library, curled up with Rafael on the cushions while reading the history of Tevka. While his idle pursuits often found him distracted, he'd been quite the diligent teacher, and Rou had committed the contents of the texts to memory as best she could. He was sure he'd thought her a lazy student, uncommitted to tutelage in favor of her more luxurious pastimes, but she'd paid attention. "I read that the last King of Tevka left the kingdom to his bastard son, and his stepbrother poisoned him for the crown; your rule began with his downfall. How can we expect history not to repeat itself?" Rou was somber, staring at her lap, which was a bundle of wrinkled fabric in his arms, and nearly obscured by the lay of her arms around his neck. Too many clashing paths had obscured any vision of destiny, too many things uncertain. Gabriela was still alive, only denounced, in Orisia. Jin remained at the Bastion, and loved her dearly. Rafael was determined to make her Empress, even if he had to beat her into submission. Things had changed so often and so catastrophically, Rou could hardly believe that she was here, now. Rou was hesitant, pressed to say words that she had preferred not to entertain. Her bosom heaved with her breath, the crushing weight of her contemplation weighing heavy on her chest, clearly troubled. She dared, only for a moment, to think about the future. "How can I protect our family... if my children grow up to be like me?" Guilt was the heaviest of sins, made her vulnerable, and Rou had never forgiven herself for what she'd done to Wei. She didn't know how to protect herself from Rafael's ire, when she felt she'd deserved punishment for betraying his trust across the sea. She didn't know how to submerge the fear that she would never be enough to live up to his expectations, the empire's expectations. How could she expect to keep the same from happening to her own children, with so much more at stake? "We could be a family-- just you and I. There is no threat great enough in all of Valucre to shake you from your empire, you will live even too long to leave it to be inherited," she tried, craning her neck to look up at him. Rou seemed desperate, the curve in her brow despondent and beautiful lips parted with the stillness of fear. She looked him dead in the eyes, pleading, in a way that Rou had never done, too genuinely vulnerable to be the prideful peacock that had so arrogantly defied him time and time again. "I am begging you," she said sternly, with a breath that caved in her chest for the weight of the word, "Please don't make me do this."
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