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About LikelyMissFortune

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  • Birthday 01/05/1999

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    Fantasy, all types of fantasy. History

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  1. LikelyMissFortune

    A Room with a Weave.

    Striaght to business, then. If anything, Evienne could admire his work ethic. There was a manner in this Mr. Swan that weared her patience, by now, most would've been assuaged by her manners and lively way of speaking. Her smile grew thin, not at his words, which she found curt- but at the creature on his hand. The angle allowed her to make it out properly- there was no doubt about it, a Rosendite spider. She accepted the book back, almost hastily, laying it across her lap- an eyebrow quirked up at his countenance. Who exactly is this Mr. Swan? "You mustn't always be at work Mr. Swan," her tone was light, but her eyes were fixed on the creature. "By what means do you spend you spare time? My Father quite enjoys gardening." Her laugh rang out hollowly, as the silence stretched out between them; Evienne unflinchingly met his gaze. "You must quite enjoy facilitating growth, Mr. Swan- what of the arts do you enjoy the most? Or is it just watching people create?" Raising a direct challenge, "On the contrary, my Father believes in giving me opportunities- certainly; but it is up to me to facilitate them and nurture them into accomplishments and enterprises. The Dali, Goldcourt included, are Rosendrites; no matter what I would be considered his heir. Independence is a skill that was pressed upon me at a very early age." Indeed, Prescot Goldcourt would delight as much in watching her fail as much he enjoyed watching her succeed. A knock on the door was followed by Leizhen, and the promised Wine and Tea. Evienne preffers the wine- if only to slow the pace her heart has set. "I was ambushed by the meeting, usually I would get to pick the investors." The admission was followed by an apologetic smile, "My Father must think highly of you regardless of other houses, Mr. Swan." Her eyebrows raised in quizical surprise- Prescot Goldcourt must really put faith in his daughter. So, leaning back against the chaise her smile melted off of her face, hands clasped across the tome. "The Dali is a Martial family, Mr. Swan, but we also grow a variety profitable crops: Tea, Coffee, Tobacco and Cotton. In fact, we have a monopoly on the supply of locally sourced Tea, Coffee, Tobacco and Cloth in Ursa Madeum currently." Absentmindedly she flipped through her book of poems, if only for her fingers to be occupied with something. But she managed to engage Quinton with her gaze as she explained the situation. "We've recently discovered a vineyard too in the Baizo Islands- I suspect the Spidervalley branch of Dali will profit greatly from it." "Ursa Madeum is going through rapid- rapid changes, Sir, I'm afraid that while the rest of our crops may fare well- unless turned into something, the clothing industry would slow down considerable. It may even be more expensive to keep producing cloth in the future. Primary products are no longer as profitable as things that can be produced for them; increased trading has brought it's value down considerably" Unable to contain herself, her hands gesticulated with her words, and she made a conscious effort to not look too eager in front of the Quinton's grey gaze. "But, it also poses opportunity, by making clothes and using the cloth we get along with those from outside Ursa Madeum- we can create products that can compete with the influx of foreign goods." "To keep up, we need investors, like yourself, to help us expand vertically- it's no longer enough to be supplier, we need to create as well. New wealth in Andelusia itself will lend the opportunity for us to integrate ourselves and appeal to the new market." She grabbed the blue cloth laying next to her- a charming design of butterflies that glittered silver in certain intervals- but more importantly, it was light, breathable. "Pragmatic designs, Mr. Swan. It's imperative we act as quickly as possible and expand to the market. Dali controls the supplies, and Goldcourt is well known for being a cultural hub." She offered it to him for inspection. "This would benefit you economically, Mr. Swan, but it would also help you establish a cultural foothold in Ursa Madeum. The nobles are eager to cast off the remnants of the Tyrant King's rule, we've lost much under his rule. A change in trends, is exactly what is needed right now." The persistent, sweet smile graced her lips once more- though a hint of bitterness seasoned her words. "They still don't see us Dali as their own, despite the two centuries we've spent here. This is a chance to show them that we're as much a part of Ursa Madeum as we are Rosenderian." Taking a healthy sip from her glass of wine, she turned the conversation back towards Quinton. "You understand don't you, Mr. Swan. I believe you're Rosendrian as well?"
  2. LikelyMissFortune

    Strangers in the Night [Networking Event]

    Evienne Goldcourt and Caeceila Glassmann “The Hostess is particularly violent, there are claims of her being a monster, there were reports of a…” The maid in front of her was not Leizhen, and that slightly unnerved Evienne. Clementine was tall, even taller than Eviene, with a build more befitting for a man, than what could've been considered elegant or befitting for a Lady's maid. Elegance and beauty, however, was not what Clementine’s job demanded of her- and she managed perfectly fine without such delicate tendencies. She does her job with surprising efficiency. Still, it did little to assuage the uneasiness had put her on edge for the past two days. Hell's Gate was a world completely different from her own. The letter Prescot Goldcourt received, inviting him to Hell’s Gate spoke of wars and rifts and ‘the breaching of artificial barriers’, and it wasn’t something that would’ve interested the man anyway. But, he did have a daughter to whom he could push the responsibilities unto. She’d done such a good job with the meeting with Swan, was probably what Prescot conspired as he entered Evienne’s drawing room to inform her of this development. Disturbing her at her desk, half listening to the performance of on the Harp by Leizhen half catching up with correspondence. It is, as much as he told her anyway. “We’ve gotten an invitation to an event at Hell’s gate- you’d do well to go there.” No comment on the music she’d been listening to; straight to the point. Yes, Papa. It would delay her businesses, but she wouldn't complain. “Also, take care to spend your time on the Andelusian talent.” Not that she had been expecting anything beyond that- she just had to conclude quite a few of her businesses in preparation for the trip. Leizhen was the only one of her maids she relied on to make sure her tasks in Andelusia were done, so she had to make do without her competent hands. It was small comfort in knowing Leizhen was incharge of affairs back home- but the unease stemmed for Evienne's presence in Hell’s Gate. She hadn't the faintest idea why. Calling the City massive was an understatement. It glowed; it was far, far more advanced than anything she’d seen before. She had to reign in childish curiosity in more than one occasion- desperately trying not to marvel too enthusiatically at the architecture that seemed to have taken root on the streets, extending upwards, to the heavens. Yet, it was the City’s seedy underbelly that she found compelling. Clementine, the servant she had decided shall accompany her, regularly ventured out from the Hotel the had been boarding at. She brought back reports of regular riots, and the regular use of brute force to crush them. Industrialisation, it seems, have deprived the people of jobs- unemployment and poverty was rife. The trip from the hotel she was given boarding in to the venue- however was spent with Evienne in quiet awe at her surroundings. She devoured every light, every vehicle; wrapped in the airy silk she felt queerly as much a part of the city scape as she did a foreigner. Never had she felt more young or inexperienced in her life. “...the afternoon was dispersed with artillery units.” Clementine continued, and Evienne snapped back into focus, unconcerned at the news. “Is it safe?” “All reports point to it being so, my Lady.” Her voice was crisp and oddly soothing. As the vehicle drew up to the Glassmann estate, Evienne did one final inspection of her cloak- looking for loose threads, dirt or anything that could ruin it, pleased at finding nothing a mess. The article was dazzling- the base material being made from translucent organza matching her dress of the day, but silver thread had stitched the night sky onto it. Crescents broadening her shoulders, stars and constellations gracing every inch of the fabric- only to be fringed by the phases of the moon at the hem. It flowed from her fingertips like smoke. The only weapon she brought with her was a hollow ebony ring and a heavily gilded curved dagger at her hip. It was designed to showcase the quality of the cloth- and the talents of the ones that made them. The black, admittedly, was inspiration drawn from her meeting from Mr. Swan. She needed to be intimidating, enigmatic tonight. Drawing the star spangled hood, affording little privacy- she stepped out onto lush carpet, unto flashing lights that blinded her. If she found the city incredible, the estate was something else entirely. The technology used was something that she could only have conjured up in her dreams. There was a servant provided to her by Glassmann estate, so she bid Clementine to wait in the estate. But, even Evienne she found the show of wealth in somewhat bad taste, the cloying scent of flowers- the fireworks; it was truly overwhelming. So, Evienne resorted to sipping some sort whiskey- and observing the less ostentatious qualities of the great hall. It was, she suspected, extremely expensive, the men and women around her seemed to talk about the full-bodied flavor. It stung her throat and warmed her up- so she endured through the taste she hadn’t acquired yet. Conspicuously missing, was the hostess. Evienne had the luck of being paired up with the young mistress of the house for the first turn, so when the bell rang- and the guests moved towards the provided lounges and chaises and refreshments; she could only quietly pull her personal servant aside. “Where is Lady Glassmann?” The servant gestured towards the elevator, to which Evienne had to control from wincing, smiling a little wider instead. There was a staircase, thankfully- and she was swept up to a landing by the servant, who remained dutifully behind her, head bowed. If it weren’t for dangersense, she doubted she could’ve made much out in the room- in front of her stood a young woman, in clothes Evienne could only kindly describe as rustic. Her back was turned and there was not much she could glean, except that it was a woman. Caeceila Glassmann. “Lady Glassmann?”
  3. LikelyMissFortune

    The Owl and the beckoning Moon

    Lady Gwendolyn Dermont, it seemed to Evienne at least, was a gentle woman. The eagerness was not something that could've been feigned- nor was the concern of her brother at the positive reception. It certainly wasn't lost to Evienne that these two were incredibly doting siblings. "What an enterprise, Lady Gwendolyn. I must admit that I could never coax anything out from the soil! Even grass would die if tended to it," A warm smile aimed at Gwendolyn, she hoped would cushion the barbs towards the woman, "What's your secret?" “While officially I’d have to say I have no clue about what you’re talking about and that I would not put much stock in any vague rumors that you might have heard, on the other side I think it’s true that we could both benefit from certain collaboration.” He smiled at her, and she could sense the apprehension behind his eyes- the unspoken words hovering in the air. What do you know, and why? Evienne's finger tips brushed against her own lips, a smile as cryptic as the one he aimed at her. “However, my father always used to tell me that any lucrative alliance is one that have been carefully nurtured with the mutual trust between the parties involved.” "Rest assured, Lord Dermont," her voice slipped like silk against the tension, "I would not base my judgements upon baseless rumors, so carelessly- Dali's a proud house, we wouldn't stoop to such unscrupulous actions. Nor would I ever repeat them... But, there are those that would purposefully seek to misunderstand." Her fingers trailed across the smooth, cool glass of the window panes- finding herself too warm. "Especially a family with such grievous scars inflicted by the Tyrant King- I understand how hard it must be for you to trust in institution- let alone your fellow nobles." A reflection of grey eyes upon the glass caught her by surprise- fingers flinching away from the pane, Evienne pivoted away from the window, reaching for the basket at the Desk. The sealed enveloped was placed daintily before the lord, his eyes clouded over in contemplation. "We should discuss more terms, Lord Dermont. Let us carve a new path in the future of our houses" To the Owl Leading a Murder. "I think it would be a benefit to us all to accept such a generous proposal for alliance.” Once more, Gwendolyn's genuine albeit hasty proclamation brought a smile to her lips- despite the pointed, disapproving glare Arnau fixed on her. It looked as though she was about to witness some form of great confrontation when a knock on the door disrupted the tense moment. Disappointed, Evienne resumed her seat- it was the servant Arnau had spoken to earlier, carrying refreshments for them. "I hope you enjoy the cheese, my maid Leizhen, claimed it was a great thing. I haven't had any myself, of course, but Papa-- I mean, Lord Goldcourt had some for breakfast and seemed to approve of it." Despite her thirst having been assuaged with the wine from earlier, she still poured a cup for both Arnau and Gwendolyn as well as for herself. It wasn't the proper thing to do, and she wondered if they would call her out on it. Will they see it as a gesture of good will? Or as bad manners demonstrated by a patronizing little girl? Either way, Evienne was content on making quiet, crooning remarks on the 'delightful' porcelain, and the full bodied aroma and taste of the tea. There was no doubt in her mind that these decisions were made Gwendolyn, and she aspired to her good graces- the fact remained that Evienne was nearly 3 years her junior. “For now, you have intrigued my curiosity and as such I’m inclined to accept your proposal for the time being.” Was the decision, and Evienne, finally turned her smiles on him. "Excellent! I'm glad you've accepted my proposal, Lord Dermont." However, the issue of trust did rankle in her mind, there was no way Dermont would be completely under her sway unless it was put to rest. So, Evienne settled back in her chair, letting herself relax for a while; completely aware that her restlessness could be taken as an insult. "I must agree with your Father, trust is essential to a fruitful aliance. It can only be built with time- but perhaps," She suggested, engaging the Lord's gaze boldly. "Perhaps, we can start on that today. Breaking bread together, I've heard, is incredibly therapeutic."
  4. LikelyMissFortune

    A Room with a Weave.

    "But, while he gaz'd, the beauty of the flesh abash'd the boy. As though it were the beauty of her soul" Laughter filled the room she had chosen for the meeting. Evienne lounged in a golden chaise, Leizhen, perched on a stool to her right- reading aloud from a book that looked as though it would fall apart at any give moment. Yards of half finished silk lay near a loom almost haphazardly out of place in the light of her drawing room. There wasn't a surface that wasn't gilded, an edge that wasn't curved or a wall that wasn't covered in either mirrors or frescoes: designed to blind any with the glory of the Sun. It set in direct contrast against the simple, geometric lines and cool, white marble the rest of the house offered. In the same spirit her hair unbound now- free spirited curls interwoven with golden daisies: the setting was overwhelmingly feminine. It wouldn't have been her choice in recieving this enigmatic Mr. Swan, but, it of set the gold in her hair- and it sparkled along with the delicate threads in her dress. Young, inexperienced and naïve. And yet, there's a letter trapped between her fingers. Dainty enough to be enveloped by the palm of her hand. To Whom it May Concern. "Leizhen! Go on," She sighed, raising a hand to her forehead. "Continue on with your tale- what ever happened to the Young Queen next?" "... Had ye not held your Lancelot in your Bower, My Queen, he had not won" "A Mr. Swan," Declared her footman, Erin, with a stomp of his mace. The contrast almost made her chortle, letter raised to her lips to hide her mirth. Indeed, the powdered wig and elaborate cravat stood out comically against the fitted, dark elegance of this stranger's suit. Evienne's eyes did not miss the athleticism of his physique, one had to have sharp eyes for these things, in her line of work. He was a handsome man, Evienne had to admit, even as old as he was. The suit magnified the person's bearing- the dark color picked to make him look more intimidating than he truly was, she assumed. If anything, she concluded as she stood up- shoulders held back, cheeks flushed from earlier merriment, It accomplished its goals rather effectively. She'd have to make one for her Father, of course. The thrill of terror, eased a sweeter smile unto her face. She dipped into a curtsy, respectfully bowed head- fingers daintily bent at her bosom. "Greetings to Mr. Quinton Swan, I've been expecting you." Her voice didn't falter, a laugh bubbling just beneath it's surface, "I welcome you to our humble manor." This Mr. Swan hesitated not in moving deeper into her cocoon, being so bold as to offer a hand (uncovered!) to her. The impossible flicker of a mark on his hand made her quirk an eyebrow in surprise, but, after a moment of hesitation- she took it firmly, using the opportunity to press the letter onto him. "Pleasure to meet you at last Mr. Swan," a breathless quality affecting her voice as it dropped an octave lower, "Likewise, I expected a Swan, instead it seems I've received a spider. I'm glad you've found my lack 'blocky features' pleasing. Perhaps, after this meeting you'll get to seem them more? I've been told I'm a paragon among Prescots." It was Leizhen's chortle that broke the spell, it was hardly proper of her to have done that. But, Evienne motioned to the chaise, her smile turning into an apologetic grimace. "I apologize, Mr. Swan, but my Father's indisposed and can not receive you. However, as it was rather important business, he's sent me in his stead. I'm Evienne Goldcourt of Dali- pleased to have made you acquaintance." She then plucked the book of poetry from Leizhen's hands, the smile she'd so bestowed upon him being bestowed upon the maid as well. "Tea, please, Leizhen," and almost as an after thought, "Some wine and cheese as well, Mr. Swan looks as though he's in need of it." She, then proceeded to perch herself on the edge of the Chaise, offering the dusty tome to her guest's inspection, The Tragedy of the Knight of the Lion. "Quite an interesting read, Mr. Swan, I thoroughly recommend it." Offering of a diversion, if only to have a feel of one another before the issues of the day were broached.
  5. Thank you for the Like.

  6. LikelyMissFortune

    Strangers in the Night [Networking Event - Interest Check]

    My post may come a little later, I've an exam today- but worry not! It will get posted today.
  7. LikelyMissFortune

    The Owl and the beckoning Moon

    With a dainty flick, she tossed the brown, curly tendrils behind her shoulders at the mention of notifying the servants about the meal- she had intended for them to sup of the bread and cheese she had brought from the Dali estates, however... This works in our favor. Whatever was served up would a good indication of the position and circumstances of her 'friends'. So, dutifully, she made some agreeable sounds and deigned to follow Lord Dermont and Lady Gwendolyn. She was struck by the Lady's gait- Gwendolyn was quite different from Evienne, and she couldn't help but admire her form as she glided... glided- beside her. Her step was tender, as though she were maid who didn't do much but needle work and micro management of the household- Being underestimated was one of the biggest competitive advantage one could possess. The words of the Rosendite poet flitted through her mind- there was steel forged in her hosts' veins, there was no other way they could've survived the horrors inflicted on their family. A bitter reminder of what could've been the fate of any family, small or great, under the Tyrant King. "Lady Gwendolyn, you must be an excellent dancer!" She remarked, her voice soft but the earnest meaning behind was clear. "You must be present at the next ball, you'd simply glitter." Arnau spoke of a salad to a very well groomed servant- and Evienne racked her brain for the list of produce in season, and the ships in port at the moment. There were strawberries, carrots, beats and pomegranates from the Genesarian continent available in the market. Entering the study, a sweet smile graced her face, as she non-chalantly referred to the Green space she had seen earlier, "You have a lovely garden, Lord Dermont, pray! do you have a green house? My father fills them with Orchids and now, I've come to detest their smell." She wondered if they'd catch on to her words, dropped carelessly with a breathless laugh. She laid her basket, finally (filled with Bread and Cheese, the Wine skin, tobacco, tea , a sample of an airy, splendid cream organza and intrigue on parchment) on the desk. Grey eyes trained on Dermont's face, she sat- ankles crossed, the glittering fabric clinging to the shape of them- lips parted in an intrigued half smile. "Evienne, please, we're all friends here- aren't we?" She insisted. "Well, Lord Dermont," she began without more dithering, "I propose an alliance. I've heard about some interesting activity on your part, and I think we could help each other out a little." She gestured to the basket, with one hand- the glittering cloth with the other, "I've been working on a certain enterprise, you see. I believe you and your companions would be interested in the many changes of a noble wardrobe. In return, I believe it would be extremely helpful to my enterprise with certain companions of yours helping to usher this change along." She stood, and, with swift, languid motions- she drew up to every inch of her height. Crossing over to a window, hand trailing the outline of the desk that Dermont sat behind, drawing aside the heavy maroon curtains, to allow slits of sunshine through. Conscious of presenting her work at its finest. "A gesture of our goodwill, Dermont, you'll find an assortment of our very finest products..." Neither her iron gaze, nor the amicable smile left her face for a moment.
  8. LikelyMissFortune

    Moths to the Flame :: A Story of Coth

    She felt increasingly embarrassed at the praise she received for her aspirations- never had Odille been acknowledged for voicing her opinions. It had always been met with incredulousness at best, and scorn at worst; " And, how, missy are you gun' be able to afford that? Such disrespect I've never heard of." Not quite knowing how to handle it, she could only smile- shoulders hunching almost up to her ears. The young woman could've meant no harm, surely, she seemed nice enough. And was empathetic enough to stop her Mother from interrogating her. Odille had nothing to hide, but her Village was but a days ride away- it would be foolish to give away more than she already had, especially to these noble strangers. A furtive glance towards the young woman, however, pulled something in her- a want for someone she could, perhaps, rely on? She dismissed the thought as being foolish- instead bringing her thoughts back to the gentle sway of her horse in sway. “A valiant aspiration, then. I pray that you will find what you seek, Odille Rothbart.” The Lord's voice startled her enough to induce a small exclamation from her- his declaration pleased her. A smile returning to her lips, he was, indeed a 'kind' Lord. She didn't know if they existed, in her songs they were either Brave and Courageous warriors or Evil and Sly slayers. "I sense that the fates have much in store for you, young lady. Do not disappoint.” At this she felt the need to protest, Odille was just a young Peasant girl. The fates had as much in store for her as it did for the Dairy Maids and Beggar girls in her Songs. Not much, she hoped. She would be content with a full belly, with seeing the world and by singing the rest of her days away. Wishing someone an eventful life was a curse- not a blessing. She couldn't bring herself to protest, however; the new found awareness of his position made her choose words carefully, and his attentions were quickly diverted by the setting of camp. This time, Odille took care in slipping off of Heffer, holding the reigns tightly, knees bent in order to avoid slipping or landing awkwardly. A touch to the hand, however, drew her gaze away from Heffer to the Young Woman, there was nothing said- she seemed as though there was a lot to be said, for that alone Odille allowed the silence to linger and envelope the two. Watching her and Heffer's shadows lengthen in the fading light of the day, the evening star twinkling behind a haze of clouds. “It always brings me comfort to look up into the skies. Because no matter how heavy the world might feel on our shoulders, we are nothing but tiny specks in a seemingly endless ocean.” Her words urged her to truly examine the twilight skies, and was awed by the deepening purples, the smudges of Oranges so bright it seemed to burn her eyes and most of all, the darkness that seemed to creep up behind them. Taking over the skies, slowly, and then all at once- leaving only the distant, cold light of stars behind to guide them, where they may go. “See, in the end it doesn’t really matter what happens to us. It's a relief to know that even if we would to in our fail personal endeavors and ambitions, the universe will still continue to exist. Don't you think?” "It scares me, a little. We're so insignificant- all we can do is try to live a fulfilling life- and try to help others live a fulfilling life as well. But, the vast emptiness of the heavens scares me; theres so little that we know, so little that we do know about those eternal objects, it makes me grieve." She felt foolish, putting it in words, her pauses were painful- but it was how she felt. The growing darkness also made a song take root in her head- and as she unpacked her skin of water from Heffer, she sang it quietly. "A Lark sometimes did breed, within a field of Corn And had increase when as the grain was ready to be shorn. She wary of the time, and carefull for her nest: Debated wisely with her self, what thing to doo were best."
  9. LikelyMissFortune

    The Owl and the beckoning Moon

    The estate was a veritable gem in it’s own right, Evienne supposed. Less gilded than her home, but there was something to be said for straight lines and rich color, it was a welcome respite for her eyes. But, by now, she was already enraptured by the noon’s mirage- made stronger by the hold of wine. That’s a silly, silly move. The voice was gentle, coaxing- and she heard a patter of footsteps behind her, drawing closer. Still, she found herself unable to peel her eyes from the unfocused gardens up until the last moment, congenial smile ever present on her lips. There were two of them, the young man who had spoken had long curls, pulled almost messily into a pony tail- and then there was the softer presence of the Lady behind him. Evienne smiled at her, even the dark- strict silhouette of the day's vogue didn't diminish her presence. "Thank you so much for having me, Lord Dermont," she curtsied, right hand raised to her bosom, fingers delicately bent. "You have a lovely home, I'm absolutely delighted to be here." Evienne couldn't help but indulge them with generous smiles as introductions were made- switching her basket from one hand to the other, offering a nod at each introduction. What small advantage she might have over them due to rank was leveled due to her being younger than either of them- still they offered her every curtesy. "Enchanted, absolutely enchanted. Lord Dermont, Lady Gwendolyn, please call me Evie-- or Evienne, at least." "Oh, it's too hot to travel today," she complained- pointing to the basket she carried. "I had put this together for us to enjoy on account of how to today would be! A light luncheon would be wonderful, no?" She sighed dolefully, feeling herself flush faintly, "I ended up drinking some of the wine I'd prepared on the journey- I was quite thirsty. It was a great bottle, though- from our own vineyards. I hope you'd enjoy it." They were trying to make her feel welcome- so she obliged them with the tale sheepishly. Surreptitiously, she drew the muslin cloth covering the basket aside, just enough to shove the letter she had written for Arnau farther into its depths. The smile remained as she graciously accepted his offer; "Ofcourse, ofcourse. This is your domain Lord Dermont, proceed as you wish." An inkling of apprehension, however trailed down her back- her fingers tangling up in her hair, while she doubted any harm could come from those in the Dermont household- the best scenario would be to keep the discussion between them: the two siblings and her. Curioser and curioser.
  10. LikelyMissFortune

    Strangers in the Night [Networking Event - Interest Check]

    Evienne rolled a 63. So she goes between the 20-40 range?
  11. LikelyMissFortune

    Dice Rolling Thread

    Strangers in the night, Networking event. Rolling for Evienne Goldcourt
  12. LikelyMissFortune

    Strangers in the Night [Networking Event - Interest Check]

    Can I drop Evienne into this? She's a noble from house Dali in Ursa Madeum.
  13. LikelyMissFortune

    A Room with a Weave.

    ~Goldcourt Manor, Andelusia~ Prescot Goldcourt was wealthy, powerful and an absolute scoundrel, and, he knew it. He had lived through the rise and fall of a mad King, and had done his duty with a cold, decisiveness-- and still was prone to be described as one of the most jovial people. Thus, today, it was with an air of suspicion that Evienne sat beside her Father at the breakfast table- the former contentedly sipping on a cup of coffee, annoyingly persistent smile on his bearded face. A conspiracy is afoot. “Good morning, Papa,” Evienne could only oblige sweetly; determined not let her mood be ruined, she had a good session this morning, sparring against her Father’s personal guards. “I find you in good spirit today?” and she serving herself a bowl of thick, creamy chocolate- a questioning glance that was met with a stubborn wall of mirth. What’s in store for the day, then. “Ofcourse, ofcourse,” His voice was light, but his eyes twinkled as he appraised Evienne’s attire of the day, the way a smith would appraise the quality of a sword. The smile on his face grew ever wider, an eyebrow cocked in surprise. “Finalized the ratios have you? The cloth glitters, you’ve outdone yourself this morning.” Compliments were not to be taken lightly, especially one that was delivered from him with surprising earnestness. Evienne had been working on making a lighter, airier weave of cloth-of-gold for the better part of two months, and for the past two months her Father hadn’t missed a beat- picking up on problems and changes with unusual perceptiveness. Today, she had chosen to wear the dress she had weave she had declared perfect- the cloth was equal parts soft and pliable, like muslin and silk- but had been inlaid with golden threads so fine it almost made the cloth diaphanous. It rippled with her every movement- the gold leant the muslin structure it would otherwise have lacked. Fashioned into the elven designs, she currently so favored- the gown embodied both femininity and ferocity. Today, she had chosen to weave golden flowers into her hair, pulled neatly into a braided rope. “The secret was in a diagonal weave, we were looking at the problem wrong.” She admitted lightly, pride blooming warmly in her chest, she motioned to the young maidservant standing patiently behind her chair. “Leizhen, of course, helped me out a great deal- I’d be lost without her.” Which was true- there was no need for Evienne to be the taking the credit. “Yes, very well.” Prescot spared the girl a glance- to which she replied with sharp, deep curtsy. “The result is splendid, you’ll make more from the same cloth? You’ll have to make me a new kerchief with it.” “As you wish, Papa.” The accompanying silence was punctuated only by the scraping of utensils and the sounds of activities from the courtyard. The guards had moved on from wrestling it seemed, as the clang of dueling sword faintly carried through from the open windows. There was a tension between her and her Father- getting drawn out by the second, it diminished her appetite, and she desperately tried to not squirm under the growing unease. “I’m expecting you to entertain a guest today,” Prescot declared, skewering Evienne with his calculating blue gaze- she willed herself not to flinch. There it was. “I assume you’ve heard of a certain Mr. Quinton Swan?” The name was familiar, certainly- she’s head his name before. Evienne wasn’t quite sure where or how, though. “I’d be delighted to receive Mr. Swan of…” She trailed, hoping her Father to fill in the gaps. “ He’s looking to invest,” His words were mild, conversational- but his gaze was still locked onto hers, was there, perhaps a sliver of disappointment in them? Or was it just amusement? Either way, her Father had correctly deduced the motive behind her sudden interest in dress making. She wasn’t surprised at that, she had assumed he’d simply not comment on- or acknowledge it all until she approached him with investors, resources and patrons in hand. The help was, honestly, a welcome relieve. Evienne couldn’t help but positively beam at this revelation- her hand grasping her Father’s in a fervent clasp. “Papa, I would be delighted to entertain Mr. Swan- of course!” It was too perfect- this day was revealing itself to be a good one, indeed. Prescot coughed, and Evienne released his hand, “Expect him soon, I invited him right after breakfast.” The lord rose from the table- and Evienne did so as well, dipping into a respectful curtsy. “I’ll join you for dinner, I doubt my indisposition will keep me from that.” The parting shot dripped with good natured sarcasm, and Evienne laughed. “Leizhen!” She called, sitting down to finish up her sweet drink- at leisure. “Gather the new Blue gown- and the White one, make them presentable in case it needs to be displayed.” It occurred to her, that perhaps she should get to know more about this Mr. Swan- information on certain delicate details such as a preferences for tea and cakes were absolutely indispensable. But, it was already a quarter past 10 O’clock, and this was a matter requiring certain delicacy- It was best to show herself off as honestly, and without pomp as she could. So, Evienne took her sweet time in finishing her breakfast- making sure to appear calm and collected. “Get the loom into the Drawing room as well, Leizhen.”
  14. LikelyMissFortune

    Moths to the Flame :: A Story of Coth

    So it was this Cedric Dermont, then, who was the Lord. Not Zachair, it mattered little to Odille, who was herself from what could arguably be considered the lowest rung of society. The touch of resentment caught her attention, the air of bitterness that descended over him- and then carelessly brushed aside. Whatever, this great tragedy is, Odille mused- glaring at the road ahead as though it was the most fascinating scene, It was none of my business. She let the silence drag on, content with her observations- though the urge to comment on the quality of the day, if only to dispel the awkward silence rang strongly in her. “We seek to inquire about the legitimacy of these claims of divine providence and if the supposed prophet truly is of virtuous design. If so then we might be inclined to join their cause, as long as it would be deemed justified.” Luckily, she was saved by the Lady- and she soon found herself flanking the Lady to the left. Odille was struck by the woman's presence; there was just something in the way she carried herself that allowed her to be at ease. The gleam of her dark hair, her gaze and her skin conjured images of mermaids- dangerous folk when provoked, according to what little she knew of them at least. “Are you running from something?” Odille let a nervous laugh fly with the probing question, a flush rising to her tanned cheeks. By now, Odille was gripping her reigns so tight her knuckles were white and Heffer snorted in protest. “Mother!” The younger one's chiding was welcomed relief, but it didn't dissipate the knot of dread that grew in heavy in her belly- Odille laughed right along with them, though even to her, it felt a little hollow. “Please excuse my mother, sometimes she lets her curiosity get the better of her.” "Th-there's nothing to be excused," She said, slipping back into her 'peasant's accent'. "My Father didn't kindly t-take to my being a Bard, y'see? So, he wanted me t-to marry and sett-settle down and ta-take over the farming." Odille cringed at the slow, ponderous tone of her voice. "I... quite like not being married, beg pardon Lady- the songs call to me as well. I couldn't stay there anymore." These folk, noble or not had treated her with utmost kindness and consideration thus far. Perhaps she had been lucky in finding them- and she reciprocated their honesty and candor. She sat uncomfortably in her saddle- desperately trying not to slouch. "I would much rather put my services in the hands of church," her fingers were absolutely frigid, "T-there's been so much lost, I-I'd like to help"
  15. LikelyMissFortune

    The Owl and the beckoning Moon

    The dry, torrid day had seduced Evienne Gouldcourt into an idyllic trance. She sprawled in her coach, one arm draped lazily across the seat- the other grazing the smooth, airy fabric of her dress- felt the cool, hard gilded surface of a dagger strapped to her hip. The action was repeated in such a way that she felt like a cat, full of milk and now in the drowsy state that most cats tend to be in this time of the after noon. The rays of the sun posed as a cruel muse in her mind; in one hand, she admired the way it peeked through the half drawn curtains of her vehicle- furtively sending rainbows to skitter and frolic about on the white, sheer fabric of her dress and the gilded, plush expanse of the coach, and the reed basket of bread and cheese and wine beside her. She even appreciated the way it struck the greenery that seemed rush by the carriage- casting dappled shadows that enhanced the hazy, much-too-bright haze the day been cast with. The white hot quality of the day made it seem like a mirage, intangible and ethereal. But, the blessed rays of the sun that cast such a soft haze on the day was also what broke it. It periodically shook her out of her stupor, send her crashing back into her body and anchored her there. Burning her eyes until she was blinded by multi colored shapes and head throbbing with it- it rendered the temperature inside the coach nearly unbearable and she sat flushed in its heat. Evienne was absolutely parched, and, had resorted to sipping on the rustic skin of wine that she had intended for the Dermonts. She had sent Arnau a missive hours ago detailing the little excursion she had in mind, a surprise for his sister- the weather was absolutely perfect for a light luncheon in the Sun- but, with a quarter of the skin's contents already gone, she supposed they'd have to settle for whatever could be conjured in the Dermont estate. It made her feel just a little waved of guilt- and she made a point to not touch the tantalizing delicacies left in it. Perhaps, most importantly, her annoyance at the heat could be attributed to how it made her acutely aware of what she was wearing with every merciless, unforgiving jolt of the coach. It felt too much like anxiety, perhaps, for her liking. Evienne had far too much confidence in herself to allow even a shadow of self consciousness arise, so she pulled herself up- crossing her ankles, and sitting up in proper repose just as the coach swept into the crumbling front façade of the manor. The Dermonts will serve as testing ground for this. Thus bolstered, and still half dazed from the long, lazy drive to the manor- she languidly stepped out from the the coach, basket in hand- the other clasping that of her footman, Erin. She wasted no time in admiring the structure of the house- the classical layout, or the gardens that were just beginning to be tended to. The sheer, gossamer white of her dress drew looks from the servants that milled about, so she bid her retinue to return back to Dali manor, her business would take a fair amount of time, it seemed. It made no sense to make her servants wait for her in this heat. So, she stood there- watching her coach pull away from the entrance of the manor- leaving her very much by herself (the gilding and the crests and the color of the coach left no room for doubt about who owned the magnificent thing. "Look at me," it seemed to cry, "I carry news from Goldcourt of Dali") slowly, she made her way to the antechamber. "Lord Dermont is expecting me," she informed the servants, not allowing them to speak, her voice rasping from disuse. Evienne smiled innocuously, thoroughly satisfied by the reactions she had recieved, thoroughly pleased by herself. The offending dress was a design she had improved upon, received from the Elves of Tia- bared arms, shoulders and a low neckline, belted with a simple braid of gold just below her bust. Evienne hoped to present an elegant, ethereal appearance- her curls only half tamed into a braided bun- tendrils curling down her back, only a minimal golden diadem of pearls sitting atop her curls. The stark lines, the bold colors and militaristic nature of the empire's vogue had its own particular charm. But, she yearned for something looser and lighter and more freeing. It was hardly practical to wear strong, hot colors in this rising heat- so she had chosen this particular style. What a delightful reception thus far- I wonder how they will take to it? She posed herself, by the window, conscious of the capricious sunlight that threatened to leave her blind and her head throbbing. But she allowed the haze of the afternoon to lure her back into idyllic observations, waiting impatiently for the Master of the House.