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LikelyMissFortune

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About LikelyMissFortune

  • Rank
    Phoebus
  • Birthday 01/05/1999

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    seraphinah
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    missfortune#2898

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    Behind you
  • Interests
    I'm a major history buff, I also love learning in general and am a Poli sci and linguistics major!
  • Occupation
    Student

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  1. I've been super sick and had a tonne of assignments to do! But look out, posts incoming!

    I still have a tonne of assignments god help me.

  2. LikelyMissFortune

    To Have and To Hold.

    It was tenderness that washed her away. The sudden realization that there was no escape, no exit, no play to be made dawned upon her, devastating her in its wake. Not quite like the blunt pain of earlier tragedies. That was solid, like a brick, slamming into a poor unfortunate's head. It was helplessness, a loss of control, unwilling. Here, she's in control. Here, she sinks herself into a river. It's a choice. A silly, frivolous one, but a conscious one nonetheless. In the end, it was the surprisingly gentility, the consideration with which he touched her. More than anything she's had with... Her Father, cold and calculating. A sneer and a challenge woven into every word. Leizhen, pliable and yielding, but only because she was her lady in waiting, duty hammered into her, pinning her in place. Surely, people have made sillier decisions for less? Surely, the stranger with more concern over Evienne than the people she was closest to, was worth making one silly decision over? The consideration had tension rippling in her loaded, questioning gaze, so thick she could hardly draw breath for fear of making a choice. They'd be a storm, together. In the end it's the wine seeping into her chemise that snapped her out of it, forcing laughter out of her, a touch too close to a sob for comfort. "Damned Death!" The words were too tame to properly convey her dismay. "Perhaps you're a bit more right than I thought, I had so much champagne at the ball. Even my feet had some to drink." Teasing him eased some of the tension that had so traitorously built in her chest. The wine would banish it. "Don't think that just because I desperately require your help to find Merida, that you're off the hook, Sir! You owe me a dance, and, I shall claim it sooner or later." It was on her second glass that she began to speak of Merida. At that point, Evienne had all but dissolved into a reclining mass of curls and wine. Having argued, passionately, that it simply wasn't fair that he had gotten the chance to found Taen, Why, she'd conquer his bed in revolt. Surely she deserved as much of that opportunity as him. She laughed about it afterwards, and downed the second glass of the golden liquid, and remembered how adventurous Merida had been. "She was a darling girl, Merida. I never had so much as Mother, you see, and it was always Leizhen and I for as long as I could remember. She was my Lady in waiting- a companion, yes, but it was never the same as a true member of the family." "Merida was the first, though I never got to see her much. She was always such a small thing! Curious, and had a little adventurer's heart! Oh, how she loved to clamber on top of things, trees, fences, it didn't matter to her. She'd claim it as hers." She wanted to laugh, hide the regretful tone sneaking into her words, "I made my first gown for her, blue and silver. Right after her incident, panniers made walking around much too difficult for her- I don't know how Lady Ship-hips does it- but she always had bruises on her shins, and, oh-- the poor girl didn't deserve it." Merida deserved so much more than what Evienne could provide. Heavy with guilt, she downed her third glass, wanting to steer them towards something lighter. They'd be plenty of opportunities to sulk, now she had to rest and be light. Thus determined, she abandoned occupied territory, to unsteadily make her way to Marik. He had such strange eyes, it made her laugh, like an ocean set aflame. She wanted to tell him as much, but suddenly, it was very important that she prove how un-tired she was. Bounding with energy, she assured him, despite the sway of her shoulders. She was just restless. "You, Sir Cayne, have very pretty eyes. Where'd you get them from?"
  3. LikelyMissFortune

    The Reverie Maze [Accepted Participants Only]

    Wrong Turn There's a horrific stillness in the air. Uncanny gazes fixed on their counterparts, daring for one to move, one to flinch, one to look away. The air is thick enough, musty with the scent of the blooms, of earth and of sweat and blood, it was easy to snap into the corner. A loaded spring, wound tight; ready to snap at a moment's notice. This was the Dali Dangersense, blossoming in the pregnant pause. In the end, it was the blue creature that moved first. Limbs that moved in disjointed, awkward fashion as though it were formed from pliable clay, a faintly humorous sight, were it not for the thick, cloying scent spread with every move. He-She-It tapped a golden watch with furry fingers, not for a second breaking its gaze from Alistairs. "What day of the month is it?" It croaked, and Evie noted the three exists. One behind the creatures, one to the left, and the last one behind them... It was her gut that told her to aim for the one beind them, the wider one. It was also her gut that warned her to keep her gazes on them. Not to move, not to breathe, not to exist. Alas, there was no forward without movement- and, they had to keep going forward. Merida might still be in the maze, she had to look after the Lord Mosgrove, the cartoonish creatures would not stop her from accomplishing her goals. Thus, it was with shaky resolve, that she spoke up, darting a leg out; easing herself into a slow half step to the left. "It's Reverie." She must've seemed terrified, or it was the tremor of her voice- her foot, or perhaps it was the glint of steel alerting the two outlandish creatures. Either way, the Blue one suddenly tilted i's head back, farther than it should have, along with a shriek of braying laughter. It was the other one that lunged at them from across the table, plates and cups smashing onto the ground. Her cry is, as much that of surprise then terror- a dagger lodging beside the creature's flouncy sleeve. The pain brought tears to her eyes, fingers creaking with protest. Her aim was off, but it stunned the blue into silence- and the green one paused in his advancement. Evie dashed tot he left, she should go straight ahead- her instincts screamed at her to take that exist, but it was too far away and the Lad was cumbersomely tall. Even as she led the way into the narrow path, she could hear the cackling laughter- and the shuffle of footsteps, in hot pursuit. @Witches Brew
  4. LikelyMissFortune

    Dice Rolling Thread

    rolling d3 for damage to the Mad Grapper from Evie. 1= misses. 2= catches sleeve. 3= draws blood.
  5. LikelyMissFortune

    Church On The Hill

    [The Church: Basement Library] Unease, restless unease had risen unbidden, unwelcome with the news that the Father had wanted to see her. Odille had wanted to Run. Out of the inn, away from the hill, the town, the church- but Mark had sat through her shakes and moans, and, casually blamed Ioreth for the incident. In the end, it was this that all but forced her to stay. Billy was, most definitely, Odilles fault. Ioreth wouldn't have done what she had to do if it weren't for Odille, heck, Billy would never have appeared in Coth if it weren't Odille. There'd be no way she'd run away to let the Elf Lady take whatever horrific, horrendous punishment the Father would conjure up. It seemed to Odille that a truly egalitarian space for Elves were as mythical as the fae folk themselves. She is very near frozen by the time they arrive at the church. Ioreth, and the other, younger Elf close behind her. Sodden boots awkwardly plopping behind the other two, keenly aware of terrifying pace her heart has set, determined to beat out of chest- douse them all in blood. Eventually, she stood before the Father, and made it a point to not look the directly man in the eyes. Despite his apparent gentleness, there was something discomfiting, almost unnatural in his gaze; not at all helped by the scratch of quill on parchment, the rasp creeping into his voice the way Rothbart's cracked after a night of screaming. She eye'd the proffered drinks with a potent mix of desperate need to keep the chill away, and suspicion. Hadn't they been summoned to be punished by him? It was, with a nervous shuffle of her feet, that she noted that the congregation were mainly Elven. And female at that. Very nearly did Odille knocked the steaming cup of tea from Ioreth's hand upon the realization, puzzled at the casual trust she placed in him. "..transformation made it clear that he had ill intentions set upon Odille and that he would not listen to reason. Not only did he torment her with insults, I had to stop him from attacking her with a knife. She came to me for help, Constans. I thought it best to ensure he could not harm her without resorting to any form of violence.” It was panic that drove her to speak, her first attempt all but a pitiful squeak. The second held off at the warning gumminess of her throat, and the tears, hot and unwelcome in her eyes. She didn't want Billy to be Billy again, he had been a rather silly goat. The kind she had sung about in the inn's smoky hall countless times. And yet, if Ioreth didn't turn him back, she'd get into trouble. Ioreth had been so kind to her, even when she needn't have been. And so, she endured, shivering in the basement- struggling to keep still, struggling to speak up. Eventually, she did, her voice rivaling the Father's for its broken, grating quality. "It was all my fault, Father. Lady Ioreth's been so kind, it was all my idea! If you were to punish anybody, it'd be me." @Witches Brew @KittyvonCupcake @Vansin
  6. I spy a new Dali! 

    Welcome aboard with Icarus! 

    1. Token

      Token

      A new Dali you spy!

      Glad to be there!

  7. LikelyMissFortune

    In Sickness and In Health

    "He's resisting me," Evie sighed her grievances, whispering into the shared pillow, a way to surely arouse disdain from her companion. She had stomped her way up the stairs, slammed the door to their room, and now encroached his bed with the masses of airy taffeta she sported. What wasn't very comfortable for her would, no doubt, be unbearable for him. So far, he had only stirred, cracked bleary eyes open and murmured half heartedly at her griping. She didn't mind it terribly. It was unnerving how she didn't mind Marik. Lazy and Obstinate as he was. Even now, as the hour closed, and the ruckus from downstairs grew ever louder; she didn't want to trade the bed for the cold, the noise and, no doubt, the painful simpering smiles. She'd much rather while her hours away conjuring up new way in mildly annoying the man beside her, until he cracked, and she dissolved into a fit of laughter and sordid apologies. But Evienne had a role to play, she allowed herself to steal only precious minutes of absolute stillness, before plunging back into the cracked veneer of the Lady. Infuriated that Godric Uldwar had not immediately melted into her hands, another offence on top the laundry list that the Uldwars have committed. She hadn't expected him to, but, frustration warmed her- it gave her an edge she doubted forgiveness would. So she doesn't luxuriate in peeling her dress off- impatiently tearing in places that require a more delicate touch than the ones she could be bothered with at the moment. She was methodical in yanking a heavy robe on, in plaiting her hair, and in grabbing a green vial- ominous and foreboding. Empty wooden and glass potions littered the floor by the time she found her self stooped over her sleeping 'guard', a hand pushing back locks of hair. She flinched when she grasped a fistful of his hair, and tore it out. She is a specter when his body jerked, a ghostly kiss- there one second, gone the next. The locks of an admirer. Unwillingly gotten, the last ingredient. The timing was near serendipitous. A young woman sat, sniggering behind the bar with another customer- primarily at the blonde man in a booth, his slouch all but assured her of his current state of affairs. Perfect. The inn was near deafening, a few bards having gotten into what sounded like a fight about who could sing the loudest, bawdiest- cacophonous songs about things that made Evie's ears burn. Still, people shrieked, sang, fought and hollered all around them; cast in the warm glow of plenty of fires set about the room. "Rabbit stew, two for that booth," She smiled, daintily stifling a yawn. "Better make it two ales as well, though, I'd cut him off after this one. That one doesn't look too good, and I don't think either one of us want to mop up after the little lordling, do we?" The bonny girl laughed uproariously, and set two mugs of ale before Evie. "I'll take it myself," She assured her, and the girl shrugged her answer, turning around. Evie seized the opportunity to dump the contents of the vial into one of the mugs, and tossed the empty container underneath a table. There'd be no trace, nothing to link it back to her. She wouldn't allow herself to ponder upon what was right or not, Godric had been given a chance to comply. Certainly, what she was doing to him was no worse than what his family had done to Merida. It wasn't ideal, but, it was a necessity. Thus, it was with a shuddering heart that she placed the mug in front of the lordling- sliding into the seat opposite his, shaking her hands in a pantomime of pain. "I broke my fingers in the maze," she laughed, nervously sipping at her ale. "I hope you don't mind me joining you, I came to get dinner but... you don't look very well, Godric."
  8. LikelyMissFortune

    The Law of House Dali

    It was with a certain meekness, a docility that, to her family would be amusing, that she had been escorted back to the court house; leaning upon her maid. A handkerchief was all but glued to her lips, and the noble woman looked to all the world an innocent. A young creature that had been taken advantage of by the villainously grotesque Prescott, and she said as much, whimpering softly with every word. It was only afterwards, when the eyes of the public were trained on Prescott, that she let her satisfaction become evident. A toothy grin may have put their achievements in jeopardy, so she came as close to it as she dared to. She didn't so much as blink at Vesper's state, clothing could be fixed, and surely, judging by the way some of them men and women eye'd their attire, it'd be beneficial. An outpost in Tormo will have to be build, Clamentine had delivered on her duties wonderfully. The seamstresses were delighted in her designs, if a little dubious. A little gold, carefully folded into reports of the success in Ursa Madeum convinced them readily enough. "It's quite alright, Moonie," Evie had sighed, regret-able tinge at the sight of the slashed fabrics. "Perhaps you should sell it here, make it a landmark! Think of that, dear cousin, you'd have reached immortality." Her laugh is imperious and dry. "Well, well, Avarice," She crooned, once they were out- finally!- and free to leave. "You should thank our Lovely Lieutenant, and Lady Merida for their hard work! Without them, I don't think we would've gotten you out! And Lord Titansinger! He came all the way down here to help you! Have you no shame, dear, dear Avarice? I'll make sure Papa hears of how terribly you've behaved!" She sniffed, despite the pleased curl of her lips. If anything, it seemed to spur Avarices' terror on.
  9. LikelyMissFortune

    Dice Rolling Thread

    Evie's Luck in this Maze.
  10. LikelyMissFortune

    In Sickness and In Health

    "Wait!" She lunged, grabbing his arm. The action hurt her, and winced at the sharp throb- still, she doesn't release her painful hold. "Please don't go, L-- Godric, I..." Words rise bidden to her tongue, only to die at her lips. Her panic is mirrored in his, and the realization that time-- more time, has t o be spent in this pursuit dawns on her. There's be no use in scaring Godric away, failure was not an option. Slowly, she relaxes her fingers, grateful for the pain now, it cleared her head. Reminded her of what was at stake. "As you said," she mused, wanly. "It's getting dark, I would not want anything more to occur. I believe we're staying at the same inn, will you not accompany back, at least?" Evienne affixes him with a pleading gaze, a nervous laugh wrenched from her. "I don't quite know anyone in... Patia, I left my guard at the inn as well. Everything happened so quickly last night, I left in such a hurry..." She shook her head mournfully, taking another swig of the wine skin. "I am a silly, silly girl, Godric Uldwar. But, whatever the words of one so silly is worth, I am truly sorry for what's happened. No one should have to hear what I've said to you from a stranger." It was a concession, gladly made. Evienne gingerly grabbed her horses' bridle, and slowly lead the beast back towards the inn, it wasn't very far. Evienne could walk, despite the stinging warning of her knees, her thighs. "Won't you rest the night and be off at dawn? We'll be doing the same. That way, at least, we could both leave without a heavy conscience. I'd loathe it if both my cousin and another noblemen met with misfortune under my watchful gaze, they'd think things." Bitterly, she admitted, "Sometimes, those old nobles can be even sillier than very silly girls."
  11. LikelyMissFortune

    To Have and To Hold.

    There were bruises on him. Blossoming roses and violets and orchids, a gruesome bouquet that gave her pause, coax her to really examine him. Far more from banal curiousity than the concern her mouth had twisted into; there were old scars and new ones. White and black and blue, like medals whispering tales across skin... Bare skin. Warm, bare skin. One of a man, that had captured her in an embrace, not a cousin- not a friend, or an uncle. It certainly was strange, when she let her fingertips trace, testily down the side of his face; over the taught skin of a particularly nasty bruise, black and tender. Her hands were broken, a pinkie shattered; nails torn off, the very tips grey, cold. It was fitting. She's had bruises like that before, more times than it was pleasant to remember. Her Father's gaurds were given strict instruction to not go easy on her, some obliged gladly, the others, regretted their actions. But, Leizhen has always taken care of them, and they faded. At least, with Marik, the bone wasn't broken or shattered. Or, the eye burst. "How reckless," She frowned, muttering words that had become a mantra aimed at her, a daily devotion. An imposing matronly figure, until whatever shred of modesty, or rather noble ideas of it, forced her probing hand away. Evienne had the decency to avert her eyes, cheeks a glow with protestation. Perhaps it was stupid of her to have 'forgotten' her Robe, Moonie would definitely have thought so, and certainly, even with her hair arranged to drape over her shoulders- she was defenseless. Vulnerably. Papa had promised that her virtue intact would fetch a higher price, he'd disapprove of putting that in jeopardy. Rumors could cause scandal, a scandal could be disastrous. If she played it off wrong. Yet, his words were gentle, considerate; unlike her Father's reproachful mirth, glee at her state of distress. It pleased her, and she was forced to admit that, perhaps Evienne was softer than she thought herself. Surely, Moonie would grunt in disgust, it was dangerous. She knew nothing about him. But, surely, Merida's life was worth more than some scandal. "I apologize," she breathed, finally- resorting to freely curl a lock of her hair around her finger. "I... am afraid the matter is desperate. Were you here for the Maze, Sir Cayne?" Gritting her teeth, she sought out the bottle of wine, she knew would be there, and was surprised to see it untouched by his vanity. She spared him a look, a specter of the generous smiles she had showered him with before, and didn't bother with permission as she strayed for it. There was strength in the drink. "I don't think I saw you there, well. The Ball was full of tragedy for the Uldwars, and, they decided to bite the hand that helped them by taking my cousin." She considered the bottle for a moment, villainously corked; and rummaged around for a screw. She hated how small she sounded, almost hysterical in the lightness of her tone, and tears threatened with every word. She daren't look at her reflection. "They took her. I think they took her. I should've been their target." Finding the small, wooden instrument, Evie was faced with another dilemma. The thought of trying to open it with her mangled hands made her cringe. The effort was abandoned with a sigh. The frustration of retreat expressed in a testy stare, and, the compulsive drumming of her fingers against the vanity, "She's sixteen years old-- and blind at that. She... was left to my care, and now she's gone." The tears came unbidden, frustrated. Evie was small, always had been, and she worked hard for the muscles that rippled in her limbs. Unmarked, untested, coiled and tense. Yet always bidden to be careful, warned that she had to watch her own back. Merida had no need for that, no need to train like Moonie or Evie. She was allowed safety, she was supposed to never have to think about strength, or, how to fend off people who'd want to hurt her. She was supposed to be a soft Lady. A kind lady, like the one who had borne Evie's face- stooped, slightly, with pain. "I have to find her. You have to help me."
  12. LikelyMissFortune

    The Reverie Maze [Accepted Participants Only]

    Wrong Turn She spun on him, a small, pleasant smile twisting her face into something disconcerting and unnatural. Her knees stung, and she was pretty sure her pinkie had all but shattered. The twisted, bumpy shape all but confirmed it for her, and, she struggled to transform her desire to snarl and snap into something more diplomatic. It wouldn't do any good to lash out at the Lad. "He's not here, is he Alistair?" she choked out, carefully wiping her face with her elbow. There was something, had been something heavy here. Disappearing into the hedges, that she eyed with suspicion, they seemed banal enough. But, she daren't risk getting caught in a trap like the one Alistair had gotten caught in. Either way, she couldn't run through, or hack the vines away- that would result in a disqualification, Merida may yet be found in the maze. She tried to search for any clue, a lock of hair, or a strip of cloth or thread-- anything. That's when she caught sight of the first bloom. Brilliantly blue in the dirt, and emanating a scent so cloyingly sweet she feared her belly would revolt once more. Then more appeared. Five. Ten. Twenty. The scent clung to her, and she to the tree that she was bent over, paralyzed. Shallow breaths. She had to take shallow breaths, but so did Alistair, who had already been exposed to so much-- "Hold your goddamned breath, Lad." She snapped, backing away from the poisonous bloom. With a sickening crackle of branches and leaves, the hedges that hid the track marks the boxes had left, parted before them, maliciously inviting. They had to retrace their steps. But, Merida might be where this path lead, scared and alone. Stumbling around in the dark. There were voices that emanated from the path. Small and high-pitched, and something felt oddly wrong with the thought of going down the path. It warned her not to go, and revolted hideously, beyond the searing pain of her broken fingernails, pressed against the boys' shirt, clutching his sleeve, tugging. Urgent, she wanted to scream. He needed to get away from the fumes, he didn't have her immunity. And, even then, she felt her head getting foggy- the leaves of the hedges pressed down around them, almost squeezing down on them turning green and gold and blue and red and pink. Stupidly, Evienne wanted to giggle. There wasn't a terrible long path to the voices, the path so narrow she felt every prick, prod and petal around them. The voices got louder, and louder; so shrill that it seemed to pierce her skull, and all she could think off was to keep going. Eventually, they stumble upon another clearing. Her Head spun so hard- the sky spun, and, at first she missed the strange creatures and their strange tables. One, was blue and fuzzy- his cloying, sick perfume reaching them, from where they stood. Two curved horns sprouted from his head, and juxtaposed greatly from the other who was more human. If not for the sickly yellow hue of his skin, and the darkness of his eyes. They were huddled onto one corner of the table, a chipped and broken tea set spread laid out before them. Questionable stains peppered the entire area, a kaleidescope of rust, yellow and a nauseating cracked white. She clung to Alistair's shirt when they turned their gazes upon on her, fear striking her like lightning. "There's no room for you here," The two shrieked in unison. @Witches Brew
  13. LikelyMissFortune

    The Pulchritudinous Priestesses of Coth

    Her sister worried her. Lately, Ellie has been rather extreme with her willingness to do whatever for the sake of the Church. She'd lie with a man, many men, the Father. Eleanor was happy with working the fields, touching patients with a cough so horrid-- so familiar, without so much as a flinch. And now, her eyes- so much like Isabelle's own. Eyes that were sick, and tired, and fading not so long ago, ones that were begging to go see danger once more. Had she forgotten the landlord? The blood? The run? Had Isabelle forgotten her own, rather sudden, change? It was useless to deny the way she searched for what God would will in all situations, feeding that great, lazy, ever present serpent- or being moved to join the Father in his preaching. It would be redundant to deny her own longing to rescue the virgin, carry out God's will. Take action, leave for the mission this very instance. Without any planning, or provisions, or even strength, which will get them all killed- and suddenly it'd be 8 women in need of rescuing, not 4. That was not God's will. "Of course we shall help the ladies, right Father?" Isabelle purred, hands clasped, calm. It is Milka's face that bids her to speak, sweet innocence; poor, terrified innocents "It is a crime against our God, these brothers spit on his face and laws- we will deliver the law onto them. But, we must be prepared, dear sister, or we'll just be their new victims." Isabelle was used to customers, charming them from stupid decisions. No, they did not have to go back to their wives tonight, yes, they should spend the weeks salary on her. She wrapped her arms around Ellie's waist, possessive, a cage. The hand she placed her hand on top of the one that held the Fathers, served a warning. Her smile is small, but, still it curves on her lips; pressed against her sister's ear. "I wouldn't let you do that again."
  14. LikelyMissFortune

    In Sickness and In Health

    Tendrils of panic seeped into her like the cold at his admission. She knew. Evienne knew what he was, and still, it made her flinch. She had taken a step back, forced flush against her horse's rump. Fingers clutched against her chest; Evienne was forced to admit her fear. She feared the man, and, she was terrified with the name he carried, hesitantly given, as though it were a secret- a curse. Something that would damn them should anyone else catch wind of it. But, most horrifying of all was her own reaction to it. They couldn't hurt her, that was what Marik was for. He'd come looking for her. Godric had proven to be nothing but kind, thus far. He had proven chivalrous, and far, far different from the imperious Cassandra. And the brutish Oscar. He couldn't hurt her. She had this coming. She had thought Luis was harmless, a boy. She deserved it if she got hurt. It was a long while before she spoke, her silly lungs refused to draw enough air for breath. The frivolously rapid, deafening drumming of her heart drowned any coherent thought from her mind. Surely, she looked stupid, terrified of a man- barely a man, and, even worse: a name. She had faced the Father, grizzled and ready to cut her down in the middle of a ball, should he have to, without so much as a flinch. Yet, she balked and paled before the Son. "N... No, keep the coat, I uh, I beg you. I'm quite alright." She had to forced, finding her tongue painfully clumsy. Immediately, she busied herself locating the skin of wine she had tucked away in her saddle bag. It had been filled back at the Andelusian Castle, and, once found Evienne took a long, grateful swig of it. She handed it to Godric without a word. There was strength in the drink. "It's from, er, the Emperor's own collection, it'll help. I am rather silly, Lord Uldwar, y-you look so much like your Lady Mother, you've her mouth." Her face flushed from embarrassment, hands curled into tight fists by her side, so they wouldn't shake or fidget. Steady. With a breath, she tried to force it out; and she is pleased with the almost imperceptible twitch of her fingers. "My name is Evienne Goldcourt, of House Dali," the tremor was gone from her words, so she braved a curtsy, fingers bent at her bosom. "Your Father hasn't caused war, Lord Godric, but, h-he's gone. No one knows where, but he's gone, and your Lady Mother has sought refuge at the Dali Estate. Though I'm not sure how long she'd be welcome there." She tried to take a breath, and still, tears welled in her eyes. So she stared at the golden sky, the straw target, her own hands. But they shook, so frustratingly she had to clutch them together, hard enough to hurt. "Your Father's disappearance might concern you, in regards to who's going to be the next head of the Uldwars, but I'm not here for that. R-rather..." She found it hard to continue, to spit it out. It tasted wrong, "I'm afraid your little brother might've--" She grit her teeth, and forced her eyes to meet his. "Luis might've taken my cousin, Merida. She's only 16 years old, and blind, he might've done something to her. I need your help, desperately."
  15. LikelyMissFortune

    In Sickness and In Health

    Even Prescot would've been proud of the way Evienne hid her distaste, a shudder, followed by a lofty laugh that could easily have been taken for joviality. A good humored Lady, wearing her smiles with as much ease as the wind carried arrows. And just as fickle. "I'm quite alright," she grimaced at her horse, sorting out the war strider's mane with quick fingers. Grey, they were still grey and cold- and spreading. "But, now, I'm also quite indebted to you, how could I let you help me avoid a rather nasty fall and take advantage of your supposed expertise? Sir, You're far too generous with strangers..." She laughed once more, engaging him with a coy, playful gaze. The sun beat down on them mercilessly; and Evienne drew the moment out, suddenly a bashful Lady- far too aware of her forwardness. Evie knew that the sun offered her a halo, and that the pallor cast on her since Merida vanished was expelled by an embarrassed blush. With her eyes averted, she was the very picture of bold Lady, bold, and, yet armed with all the silly manners of nobility. It did, however, give her enough time to confirm that this man was indeed Godric Uldwar without a doubt. Blonde of hair, blue of eyes... and all the cockiness she could expect from an Uldwar. Evie was overcome with a desire to stamp her little feet, and demand he come back with them to Ursa Madeum on pain of death. But... it would not be a long term solution, and, surely Evie had far more grace than that. It was she who would make sure that they could not hurt her family again. It was her responsibility. Her's no matter Prescot's askance glances, no matter Erin's silent, perpetual disproval; Evie would make sure it was safe for her to breathe once more. So she sighed in dramatic effect, sacrificing her posture for sheepish shrug, "Ah, very well! I shall be shameless in my endeavor. I'm looking for a young Lord, light complexion... I'm not sure if he would answer to this, but his name is Godric Uldwar. Lord Uldwar, actually, of Ursa Madeum." She transfixes him once more, joviality replaced by exhaustion that bled into her words in a way that would've surely made Moonie or Merida laugh. It hurt to think about Merida, she haunted Evie mercilessly now. Her fault. "He should look a lot like you, Sir. Though, I wouldn't- couldn't recognize him at a glance, I've never met this Lord... Nor would I know how to say what I must." She rambled on, while her fingers mapped the outline of the fading welt on her cheek, then onto her lip, grey and pink. "Tragedy hounds him, and, I think it would be far kinder to hear it from a friend, then from a stranger, wouldn't you agree?"
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