enmuni

The Pyres Never Stop Burning (Old-School Occult Horror/Mystery)

And there we go! Joséphine is ready to go @Olive Fontaine

The Pyres Never Stop Burning (Old-School Occult Horror/Mystery)

Joséphine L’Hôte

Character Sheet

Name: Joséphine “Fifi” Baptistine L’Hôte
Age: 23
Sex: F
Profession: Scholar
Interests: Although her education was quite thorough, in her time in Lyon, Joséphine has come to find her greatest passion lies in the young field of Linguistics, and has pursued this course of study eagerly. Beyond the realm of academics, Joséphine’s independent tastes are still young, and therefore quite subject to change. But as she delves deeper into the worlds of academia and independent living, there could well be any manner of matters that might grab her passions...
Personality: Joséphine L’Hôte is nothing if not an eccentric woman. At once bearing with her the noble arrogance of posture that befits a wealthy planter, and the dubious social position of being a white Créole in a world increasingly reticent to recognise such a thing as a valid category, Joséphine is well-familiar with navigating the many curious pitfalls of the Fin du Siècle’s social world. In many ways a foreigner both in the increasingly Anglicised Louisiana and in France for various reasons, combined with the forceful exposure by nature of her place and station of birth to the social complexities of the world that many could so easily miss, combined with her keen mind and newfound intellectual freedoms, Joséphine offers a shockingly open mind for someone who appears to the world as she does. With that said, she bears a formidable temper, like her father before her, and a passionate propensity for frustration. More than a few difficult puzzles have known her wrath. And underlying this, though she is formidably disciplined in well-trodden paths, when it comes to the unfamiliar—places where her parents’ intense oversight has not carved the way clearly—, Joséphine navigates without inhibition, without metric or regard for the matter’s or her very own limits. When presented with just the right opportunity, the maze of passions and proclivities can unite, and the disciplined student and naïve academic have potential to merge to form a researcher unbound.
Appearance:

Hider

Background: Joséphine L’Hôte was born in early 1878 as the only child of Monsieur Joséph L’Hôte fils and Madame Léopoldine L’Hóte (née Vigouroux). As a young child, she and her mother were subjected to the Yellow Fever, and, though both survived, Léopoldine has forever since been in perennially ill health. In some respects, Joséphine has thereafter lived a relatively easy, and entirely straightforward life, being the daughter of a wealthy businessman.

But a more nuanced story would clarify much about Joséphine as a person. As for her father, he is the current proprietor of L’Hôte Lumber, sharing ownership with his younger brother, one M. Damien L’Hôte. The L’Hôte brothers have inherited and cultivated a prosperous lumber enterprise from their father, who has, for over a decade now, been bedridden due to a severe back injury, and placed in the care of the brothers’ younger sister, Mlle. Claudine, who remains, for this reason and others, a Catherinette numerous times over. The brothers, then, work to support the entire family, and make well of it. Where both are shrewd and competent in their own respects, Joséph fils, hereafter M. Joséph, serves in a markedly more public capacity.

M. Joséph is a sociable man personally torn between his shrewdness as a businessman and his inexorable proclivities towards the fineries of life. In many respects, he finds himself torn by his very nature, be it the tension between business concerns and those of the family to which he and it belong, between his own dispositions, or towards his own views. This diarchic nature has done much to shape Joséphine’s life. In some areas, seemingly disharmonious elements produce an odd harmony. Most saliently of all, M. Joséph has seen to it that his daughter and his younger son alike have received thorough, rigorous education. On one account, as a man of younger money, he has a broad appreciation for the utility of education and holds to the rather Progressive notion that it is, in fact, important for all. But on another, in the end, he has been known to lament—to his own daughter, in fact—that his wife—her mother—received a less rigorous education simply for the fact that he finds this lesser level of education frustrating in a partner, and, that Joséphine would eventually ideally wed an intellectually sound man, she would be better to not be a bore.

Looking from M. to Mme. Joséph L’Hôte, one might initially wonder where their enduring common ground should be, if indeed it ever existed. Overtly, Léopoldine L’Hôte cannot be rightly said to hold the same genuine enthusiasm for a great many matters of high culture, preferring an assortment of entertainment sources which M. Joséph regards as thoroughly pedestrian on the whole, and has long struggled to summon patience for. However, though she lacks in entertainment of the matters themselves, she does hold a strong opinion that they are necessary inconveniences to undergo in order to maintain social ties. It is on this account of the importance of social ties that the two wholeheartedly agree. As a result, from an exceedingly young age, Joséphine has been given no recourse but to learn the ways of a good hostess, and learn them well.

Now, why is it that a woman so apparently disinterested in high culture would subject herself to it with stunning regularity? Looking back to the Vigouroux clan, Léopoldine’s relations have had a history which perhaps requires more attention than those of the L’Hôtes. Some generations ago, the ancestors of the Vigouroux line enjoyed an excellent station in Saint-Domingue—now Haiti, though they to this day refuse to even entertain the notion that it might be so—only to find themselves so fortunate as to have the opportunity to expel themselves rather than face the fate of many other of the island’s former overlords. Of course, let it not be said that the family was ever so readily discouraged as to reevaluate their business practices in light of one of history’s precious few successful slave revolts. Rather, like a number of their ilk, they found refuge in Louisiana, and they put their remaining coin into land, resuming their lifestyle with unrepentant immediacy. Some decades later, after no small amount of squabbling, infighting, and other such things between heirs of the mess of estates and investments the family had produced, Mme. Léopoldine’s maternal grandparents—M. François Vigouroux and Mme. Laetitia Vigouroux—definitively wiped their hands of the entire matter, on account of Mme. F. Vigouroux’s ailing health and increasing inclination to be free of the entire affair, a sentiment shared by M. Vigouroux, and made arrangements to walk away with money and investments and leave the plantation and remainder of the fortune to a cousin with whom the most enduring spell of the conflict was undertaken. It was perhaps some great measure of fortune that this decision was made in 1859.

Now, the question of how Léopoldine bore her grandparents’ name comes to mind. Here, the sense of pride carried within the lineage becomes more overt. Augustine Vigouroux, mother of Léopoldine, made the decision to pick a husband of social bearings that M. and Mme. François Vigouroux felt assuredly beneath her. However, Augustine was not dissuaded, and eventually a compromise was reached. Their children would take the Vigouroux name, lest they forfeit any inheritance. On some account, they regarded this as reasonable on the basis of the peculiar insistence that had arisen within the family that they held some manner of tie to the de Beauharnais family through the Vigouroux paternal line, for some of M. François’ elder siblings had chosen to flee to Guadeloupe rather than New Orleans those many years ago. That is to say, nobility by proxy of having family who were able to marry into nobility. Unreasonable, perhaps, but is it not also unreasonable to retreat to another colony to resume the same practices that led to one being revolted against and chased out from one’s previous place of residence?

This is to say, Joséphine L’Hôte comes from an eclectic lineage, and understanding this fact makes Joséphine herself appear far more transparent in her eccentricities and limitations. It was at her mother’s behest that she studied Latin and received a comprehensive religious education—the latter of which her father felt on some accounts quite simply wasted time altogether beyond a certain point. However, Latin itself was of keen interest to him, though English was as well, for it was by the utilization of the English language in addition to French that the L’Hôte business had remained competitive in the increasingly Americanized region. So Joséphine found herself studying French and Latin, but also English, for this practical measure of her father’s, and yet, as if to balance the practical with the impractical, she was also split down the middle with Classical and practical (e.g., business-oriented) educations, as if hiring extra tutors could force a child to learn faster. Whether or not it in fact did so, M. Joséph maintains firmly to this day that a childhood choked by and crushed under a truly intense education did his child well.

Combined with her mother’s rigorous routine of social matters and her father’s further insistence on supplementing every available moment of would-be relaxation with ensuring his child was adequately exposed to “proper culture”, it cannot be rightly said that Joséphine, in the course of her youth, ever meaningfully developed hobbies or found the time to nurture passions. Certainly, there are matters which she has enjoyed, such as Latin and arithmetic, and those she has found frustrating, most notably the practice of the overwhelming majority of the fine arts to which she has been exposed, but on the whole, there is little that has been cultivated in her life without an adult’s hand guiding it by hook or by crook. That is to say, Joséphine had, in the course of her development, scarcely enjoyed time to properly develop meaningful interests, or even deep friendships, for her mother’s engagements were less so suited to intimate arrangements and more so to keeping up appearances.

What can be said of Joséphine becomes most overt, then, in the aftermath of her débutante ball. At first, as a girl, Joséphine was by most accounts merely following in her father’s particularities when it came to the matter of men. Of course, on the other hand, with the rigorous schedule she found in the course of her life, there was scarcely much time to attend to the matter anyway. After secondary school, there remained no progress on the matter of marriage. Thus, even had she contested the matter, which she did not see fit to, Joséphine was off to college. Newcomb College, to be specific. Having to a degree exhausted extracurricular activities, Joséphine’s excess time became filled with another pursuit, one which she still regards with thorough ambivalence. If she had no suitors to attend to, then, according to M. Joséph, his daughter could contribute to the family business, and help foster its continued prosperity so that the next generations would be well cared-for. Although it certainly bore its benefits, time to socialize was scarcely one of them, and by her graduation from Newcombe, Joséphine had still scarcely found anyone, though not for lack of her mother’s trying.

It was at this point, then, that the question of will arose. To Mme. Léopoldine’s dismay, it appeared that Joséphine felt unready to marry, while M. Joséph bore a stunningly dim opinion of the overwhelming majority of potential matches Mme. Léopoldine had even offered. The family stood in deadlock on this matter for some time before a bold proposition between father and daughter won out. Joséphine, in the course of her studies at Newcombe, had found her fondness for Latin and historical studies, among other things, was sufficient that she had considered continuing beyond the bounds of education. Although she could scarcely be said to have had much free time, college, and some of the less-intensive administerial work her father had assigned her, had brought a slight bit of flexibility that allowed her the opportunity to consider, for the first time in her life, her own preferences. And to Joséphine, continuing education in specific areas of interest felt wholly comfortable, and quite sensible. Although Mme. Léopoldine deeply opposed the notion, M. Joséph offered his daughter some consideration upon her addition of her wish to study in France. For if there were no satisfactory Francophone suitors in Louisiana, she reasoned, would it not be best to look elsewhere, in a place with more Francophones than any other place in the world?

It was the Université de Lyon that received Joséphine L’Hôte’s petition to attend as a graduate student studying ancient languages and history under the Faculty of Letters, and it was in Lyon that the L’Hôtes saw off their eldest daughter to attend a higher level of education than M. Joséph himself had achieved. Although perhaps bittersweet at first, Joséphine has found the life of an academic most fulfilling, and has, over the past year, become increasingly reticent to even make a modest effort of procuring a courtship. Does Joséphine L’Hôte, Dr ès l., not indeed sound better than Mme. Unetel? The sound is ever-more titillating, to say nothing of the studies themselves. M. le Prof. Ferdinand Brunot has published his History of the French Language, and Joséphine finds herself ever more deeply fascinated by the impossible depths of learning. To the fire with soirées, the joy of life was in the books all along!

Stats

Vitality: 17
Strength: 12
Skill: 10
Perception: 10
General Knowledge: 13

Rationality: 13
Spirituality: 11

The Great Game of Knowledge

The cards tell me that you have been blessed with a hearty and healthy nature, but that you are sometimes too airy and uncoordinated to take full advantage of it. You are quick to understand, however. If you keep your head on straight, you are sure to live an enviable life. But isn't there a skeleton or two in your closet? Things left forgotten are not, as it were, harmless.

Cards: The Artist (Reversed), Adam, The Alchemist, -hidden-, The Great Book

Calling All Heroes and Villains!

---

Arakana Tower, 30th Floor, the Lagoon Lounge

---

_{Collaboration between @Chrys and @enmuni}

---

Nibbling on the samosa, Ruby was starting to question what was even the point of her being here. Surely she could figure out this on her own, after all that’s how it had always been in the past. That was when her attention got caught by a woman in some disturbingly hideous gettup, and her face did not hide her opinion in the slightest.

What in the actual fuck is she wearing?!

Gods above she had heard of villains and heroes with their horribly flashy outfits before but this was a whole new level. It was like villainous narcissism itself being made into a piece of clothing.

These thoughts crossed her mind and decorated her face as she stared at the woman for a bit too long before the words seemed to finally settle in her consciousness. Leaving Ruby raised one pale white eyebrow as she looked up at the lady, seemingly asking many questions. Who the hell are you, what are you wearing but most importantly … Why the hell should I help you?

Noting Ruby’s stare and eventual suspicious expression, Georgia let out a sigh as her face shifted into a deeply exasperated expression.

“You don’t talk much, do ya?” she commented, placing her hands on her hips, “Look, this ain’t exactly my normal getup. I’d’ve been happy in a hoodie and shorts. But Solaris has me wearing this…whole…thing.”

Hearing the explanation and the use of the word ‘thing’ to describe her outfit had a little silent chuckle move Ruby’s chest as she watched the lady with an amused smirk on her face. It seemed this stranger knew exactly how strange she looked at the moment.

Georgia held the bridge of her nose with another sigh, and continued, “I can annihilate that Auction, no problem at all. Unfortunately, Solaris needs some people there alive. So I can’t exactly do my normal shtick, can I? I don’t exactly know what he’s offering you, but if you’re takin’ that deal, I’d sure like a hand.”

Ruby’s eyebrow rose up again as she thought to herself exactly who were these people that needed to be kept alive and even more interesting, what was this known villain offering this woman to make her do his bidding. It didn’t seem like simple money was going to buy the interest of someone like her.

Georgia clicked her tongue, realizing she had neglected to introduce herself, “I know your name, but I realize you probably don’t know mine. Not that it seems you’re fixin’ to use it any time soon, but it’s only polite anyways. Georgia Gray. You may have known me as Hostess back in Ironclad, or, if you watch the news, Anathema. But I’m Georgia to anyone I ain’t fightin’. So. You wanna gimme a hand? Or do I have to ask some damn men for help instead?”

The outfit was starting to make some more sense now. Ruby had heard of the name Anathema, more in passing and the fall out that had happened from her gleaming hero life to … well what she was now. Though, surely there was something more fitting. Something simpler, sleaker…. Why was she even bothering so much about this?

Her thought track was broken by the last question and a snort of laughter broke from her lips. Looking up with bright amused red eyes, she couldn’t help but be entertained by this larger woman and her way of phrasing things.

That didn’t change the fact that she needed more information before she even considered going along with her. So in a voice uncannily the same as Anathema’s she repeated the words, “needs some people there alive.” Her words didn't sound like a question, reflecting the exact same tone she had heard the statement said in. Though the expression and her head cocked to the side said otherwise as she looked up at the overdressed woman for answers of who exactly these people would be.

“Like a parrot, are you?” Georgia commented, a bemused expression flashing briefly across her face, “Well, long as you don’t steal my soul…But yes, Solaris needs some people alive. The prisoners they’re sellin’, specifically. Because sure, may be the twenty-first century, but some people can’t do without a goddamned slave auction. So we’re gonna put a stop to it, but I need a hand getting the poor bastards who ain’t done nothin’ out of there before I torch the place. You think you can be of help with that?”

An instant frown decorated Ruby’s face as she rolled her eyes and let out an exhausted sigh at Georgia's comment. This was exactly why she hated speaking. It was either freaking out like she was some kind of demon spawn or does Polly want a cracker? Couldn’t someone just take it in stride or hell, at least come up with something a bit more creative?

She was about to walk away from this whole annoyance when the strange woman’s next words hit her. Her eyebrows instantly rose up as she stopped frozen in her spot. She really shouldn’t be surprised, as much as she hated it, this shit happened all the time. This, however, was one of the first times that she was hearing about such sales before they happened. That was instead of seeing the awful aftermath from supposed ‘reputable’ brothels.

Looking back up at Georgia, her face seemed set as she in that moment made the decision that this was her chance to actually do something about this. She nodded resolutely. Ruby would help, she had no idea exactly how she was going to manage this but she was determined nevertheless.

Georgia brought her hands back to her hips. Seeing Ruby’s mixture of expressions prior to her eventual confirmation, Georgia traced her tongue along her teeth idly, until stopping and grimacing. Every damn time. Georgia sucked in, and then clicked her tongue.

“Don’t like the parrot thing, huh,” she commented. Georgia patted Ruby on the shoulder suddenly, and said, “Well I’m sorry ‘bout that. I don’t like being called some names myself. Not that I imagine you’d need a list to guess.”

Ruby didn’t seem to like being touched much either, as she flinched from the sudden touch from the stranger.

Georgia withdrew her hand, and cracked her knuckles. “Read your file by the way. Figured you’d have a soft spot for the poor S-O-Bs in that Auction. Maybe you can figure out what to do with ‘em once we got ‘em outta there.”

My what? Ruby looked at her with wide eyes as her mind started to run through the fact that she had a file and what it could even contain. It seemed to already contain her powers, which could be worrying in the wrong hands but the real alarming part was it seemed to contain her motives. This knowledge could easily be used to bring worse visitations upon her current home. Her thumb went up to her lip, as she bit at it uneasily. She needed to rethink how she was putting The Mystique in the middle of all of this.

Georgia sighed, and clasped the bridge of her nose again, “But I realize I gotta tell you how we can even do all ‘at. Look, I can make a, fucking, uhhh,” Georgia gestured vaguely for a moment, rolling her hand as if the word was escaping her, “Portal type thingy.”

Georgia sighed, and pulled off her left glove, showing a well-worn, fresh scar on her left wrist.

“So, I cut this open, smear a circle of blood on the wall, and then burn something of mine in it,” she concluded, “And rip a hole to wherever the hell I wanna go. Fuckin’ satanic or some shit, but hell if it ain’t more convenient than flyin’. That make sense?”

Ruby looked at her strangely for a moment, as if taking in all that she had heard and the supposed demonic side of this strange woman’s powers. That though, did not seem to stop her suddenly foraging through her sling bag as if she was looking for something in particular. Pulling out a small jar, she reached out her hand expectantly as she looked towards Georgia’s left hand.

“My blood? Honey, it won’t work for you,” Georgia stated, shaking her head, “If you were to try it, you’d summon me. Which I s’ppose is useful in its own way. But you don’t need my blood to do that. Just, like, a sock or sumn like that that’s nice and flammable. That does need to be mine, otherwise you’re just burning some shit in a circle of blood.”

Ruby shook her head in frustration at her point not getting across. She shoves the small jar in Georgia's hand. Now in her hand she could see a weird coloured balm that looked anything but made elegantly. A little sticky and a little smelly, but the mix of onion extract, honey, lavender and coconut oil should help with keeping the scar soothed.

“Thank ya, but it’s really alright,” Georgia assured Ruby, still taking a dollop of the balm and rubbing it on the wound all the same, “If I didn’t need to reopen it all the time, it’d heal just fine on its own…”

When Ethan made his entry into the conversation, Georgia subtly shifted closer to Ruby, though her body language made no indication as to what she meant by it. Ruby looked at him like he had two heads as she took the plate of food and notebook absentmindedly. What the hell was this guy thinking suddenly acting all nice and even serving them drinks?

She shook her head a little before she pulled up the notebook and wrote two simple words. Showing the messy handwriting to Georgia, she could see the words, ‘Twice Daley’. Ruby pointed meaningfully at the jar now in the other woman’s possession. Georgia nodded and tucked the jar away.

After letting Ethan make his commentary, Georgia looked back to Ruby and declared, “Looks like we’re playing more dress-up tonight. I can handle the burning no problem. My only trouble’ll be not killing everyone. You reckon you can score a few more discerning kills for me, Ruby? Oh, and are you any good with restraints? I can probably snap ‘em, but that’s likely gonna get some of those so-called specimens broken bones. Figure that ain’t in the spirit of the idea. So? Whaddaya sa—think. What do you think, Ruby?” Georgia made a small grimace at her own perceived jab, looking at Ruby expectantly all the while.

Ruby winced at the idea of dressing up in whatever this Masked Solaris had chosen after seeing his idea of fashion. She wasn’t normally that picky about what she wore, but this was just ridiculous.

Luckily the conversation actually went to how they were going to be breaking out these prisoners, and Ruby was already scribbling in the notebook again. Though as she heard the little poke at her … condition, she rolled her eyes at Georgia before shoving the notebook into the other woman’s hands.

In it she had just written, ‘I do restreants.’

Reading it passively, Georgia gave Ruby another nod, and patted her hand softly, affirming Ruby’s statement.

“Then it looks like we just need to get tabs on whoever else is meant to be going there. We got any buddies comin’ along, Solaris?” Georgia asked.

Interactions:
@Estylwen

The Pyres Never Stop Burning (Old-School Occult Horror/Mystery)

Joséphine L’Hôte

Character Sheet

Name: Joséphine “Fifi” Baptistine L’Hôte
Age: 23
Sex: F
Profession: Scholar
Interests: Although her education was quite thorough, in her time in Lyon, Joséphine has come to find her greatest passion lies in the young field of Linguistics, and has pursued this course of study eagerly. Beyond the realm of academics, Joséphine’s independent tastes are still young, and therefore quite subject to change. But as she delves deeper into the worlds of academia and independent living, there could well be any manner of matters that might grab her passions...
Personality: Joséphine L’Hôte is nothing if not an eccentric woman. At once bearing with her the noble arrogance of posture that befits a wealthy planter, and the dubious social position of being a white Créole in a world increasingly reticent to recognise such a thing as a valid category, Joséphine is well-familiar with navigating the many curious pitfalls of the Fin du Siècle’s social world. In many ways a foreigner both in the increasingly Anglicised Louisiana and in France for various reasons, combined with the forceful exposure by nature of her place and station of birth to the social complexities of the world that many could so easily miss, combined with her keen mind and newfound intellectual freedoms, Joséphine offers a shockingly open mind for someone who appears to the world as she does. With that said, she bears a formidable temper, like her father before her, and a passionate propensity for frustration. More than a few difficult puzzles have known her wrath. And underlying this, though she is formidably disciplined in well-trodden paths, when it comes to the unfamiliar—places where her parents’ intense oversight has not carved the way clearly—, Joséphine navigates without inhibition, without metric or regard for the matter’s or her very own limits. When presented with just the right opportunity, the maze of passions and proclivities can unite, and the disciplined student and naïve academic have potential to merge to form a researcher unbound.
Appearance:

Hider

Background: Joséphine L’Hôte was born in early 1878 as the only child of Monsieur Joséph L’Hôte fils and Madame Léopoldine L’Hóte (née Vigouroux). As a young child, she and her mother were subjected to the Yellow Fever, and, though both survived, Léopoldine has forever since been in perennially ill health. In some respects, Joséphine has thereafter lived a relatively easy, and entirely straightforward life, being the daughter of a wealthy businessman.

But a more nuanced story would clarify much about Joséphine as a person. As for her father, he is the current proprietor of L’Hôte Lumber, sharing ownership with his younger brother, one M. Damien L’Hôte. The L’Hôte brothers have inherited and cultivated a prosperous lumber enterprise from their father, who has, for over a decade now, been bedridden due to a severe back injury, and placed in the care of the brothers’ younger sister, Mlle. Claudine, who remains, for this reason and others, a Catherinette numerous times over. The brothers, then, work to support the entire family, and make well of it. Where both are shrewd and competent in their own respects, Joséph fils, hereafter M. Joséph, serves in a markedly more public capacity.

M. Joséph is a sociable man personally torn between his shrewdness as a businessman and his inexorable proclivities towards the fineries of life. In many respects, he finds himself torn by his very nature, be it the tension between business concerns and those of the family to which he and it belong, between his own dispositions, or towards his own views. This diarchic nature has done much to shape Joséphine’s life. In some areas, seemingly disharmonious elements produce an odd harmony. Most saliently of all, M. Joséph has seen to it that his daughter and his younger son alike have received thorough, rigorous education. On one account, as a man of younger money, he has a broad appreciation for the utility of education and holds to the rather Progressive notion that it is, in fact, important for all. But on another, in the end, he has been known to lament—to his own daughter, in fact—that his wife—her mother—received a less rigorous education simply for the fact that he finds this lesser level of education frustrating in a partner, and, that Joséphine would eventually ideally wed an intellectually sound man, she would be better to not be a bore.

Looking from M. to Mme. Joséph L’Hôte, one might initially wonder where their enduring common ground should be, if indeed it ever existed. Overtly, Léopoldine L’Hôte cannot be rightly said to hold the same genuine enthusiasm for a great many matters of high culture, preferring an assortment of entertainment sources which M. Joséph regards as thoroughly pedestrian on the whole, and has long struggled to summon patience for. However, though she lacks in entertainment of the matters themselves, she does hold a strong opinion that they are necessary inconveniences to undergo in order to maintain social ties. It is on this account of the importance of social ties that the two wholeheartedly agree. As a result, from an exceedingly young age, Joséphine has been given no recourse but to learn the ways of a good hostess, and learn them well.

Now, why is it that a woman so apparently disinterested in high culture would subject herself to it with stunning regularity? Looking back to the Vigouroux clan, Léopoldine’s relations have had a history which perhaps requires more attention than those of the L’Hôtes. Some generations ago, the ancestors of the Vigouroux line enjoyed an excellent station in Saint-Domingue—now Haiti, though they to this day refuse to even entertain the notion that it might be so—only to find themselves so fortunate as to have the opportunity to expel themselves rather than face the fate of many other of the island’s former overlords. Of course, let it not be said that the family was ever so readily discouraged as to reevaluate their business practices in light of one of history’s precious few successful slave revolts. Rather, like a number of their ilk, they found refuge in Louisiana, and they put their remaining coin into land, resuming their lifestyle with unrepentant immediacy. Some decades later, after no small amount of squabbling, infighting, and other such things between heirs of the mess of estates and investments the family had produced, Mme. Léopoldine’s maternal grandparents—M. François Vigouroux and Mme. Laetitia Vigouroux—definitively wiped their hands of the entire matter, on account of Mme. J. Vigouroux’s ailing health and increasing inclination to be free of the entire affair, a sentiment shared by M. Vigouroux, and made arrangements to walk away with money and investments and leave the plantation and remainder of the fortune to a cousin with whom the most enduring spell of the conflict was undertaken. It was perhaps some great measure of fortune that this decision was made in 1859.

Now, the question of how Léopoldine bore her grandparents’ name comes to mind. Here, the sense of pride carried within the lineage becomes more overt. Augustine Vigouroux, mother of Léopoldine, made the decision to pick a husband of social bearings that M. and Mme. François Vigouroux felt assuredly beneath her. However, Augustine was not dissuaded, and eventually a compromise was reached. Their children would take the Vigouroux name, lest they forfeit any inheritance. On some account, they regarded this as reasonable on the basis of the peculiar insistence that had arisen within the family that they held some manner of tie to the de Beauharnais family through the Vigouroux paternal line, for some of M. François’ elder siblings had chosen to flee to Guadeloupe rather than New Orleans those many years ago. That is to say, nobility by proxy of having family who were able to marry into nobility. Unreasonable, perhaps, but is it not also unreasonable to retreat to another colony to resume the same practices that led to one being revolted against and chased out from one’s previous place of residence?

This is to say, Joséphine L’Hôte comes from an eclectic lineage, and understanding this fact makes Joséphine herself appear far more transparent in her eccentricities and limitations. It was at her mother’s behest that she studied Latin and received a comprehensive religious education—the latter of which her father felt on some accounts quite simply wasted time altogether beyond a certain point. However, Latin itself was of keen interest to him, though English was as well, for it was by the utilization of the English language in addition to French that the L’Hôte business had remained competitive in the increasingly Americanized region. So Joséphine found herself studying French and Latin, but also English, for this practical measure of her father’s, and yet, as if to balance the practical with the impractical, she was also split down the middle with Classical and practical (e.g., business-oriented) educations, as if hiring extra tutors could force a child to learn faster. Whether or not it in fact did so, M. Joséph maintains firmly to this day that a childhood choked by and crushed under a truly intense education did his child well.

Combined with her mother’s rigorous routine of social matters and her father’s further insistence on supplementing every available moment of would-be relaxation with ensuring his child was adequately exposed to “proper culture”, it cannot be rightly said that Joséphine, in the course of her youth, ever meaningfully developed hobbies or found the time to nurture passions. Certainly, there are matters which she has enjoyed, such as Latin and arithmetic, and those she has found frustrating, most notably the practice of the overwhelming majority of the fine arts to which she has been exposed, but on the whole, there is little that has been cultivated in her life without an adult’s hand guiding it by hook or by crook. That is to say, Joséphine had, in the course of her development, scarcely enjoyed time to properly develop meaningful interests, or even deep friendships, for her mother’s engagements were less so suited to intimate arrangements and more so to keeping up appearances.

What can be said of Joséphine becomes most overt, then, in the aftermath of her débutante ball. At first, as a girl, Joséphine was by most accounts merely following in her father’s particularities when it came to the matter of men. Of course, on the other hand, with the rigorous schedule she found in the course of her life, there was scarcely much time to attend to the matter anyway. After secondary school, there remained no progress on the matter of marriage. Thus, even had she contested the matter, which she did not see fit to, Joséphine was off to college. Newcomb College, to be specific. Having to a degree exhausted extracurricular activities, Joséphine’s excess time became filled with another pursuit, one which she still regards with thorough ambivalence. If she had no suitors to attend to, then, according to M. Joséph, his daughter could contribute to the family business, and help foster its continued prosperity so that the next generations would be well cared-for. Although it certainly bore its benefits, time to socialize was scarcely one of them, and by her graduation from Newcombe, Joséphine had still scarcely found anyone, though not for lack of her mother’s trying.

It was at this point, then, that the question of will arose. To Mme. Léopoldine’s dismay, it appeared that Joséphine felt unready to marry, while M. Joséph bore a stunningly dim opinion of the overwhelming majority of potential matches Mme. Léopoldine had even offered. The family stood in deadlock on this matter for some time before a bold proposition between father and daughter won out. Joséphine, in the course of her studies at Newcombe, had found her fondness for Latin and historical studies, among other things, was sufficient that she had considered continuing beyond the bounds of education. Although she could scarcely be said to have had much free time, college, and some of the less-intensive administerial work her father had assigned her, had brought a slight bit of flexibility that allowed her the opportunity to consider, for the first time in her life, her own preferences. And to Joséphine, continuing education in specific areas of interest felt wholly comfortable, and quite sensible. Although Mme. Léopoldine deeply opposed the notion, M. Joséph offered his daughter some consideration upon her addition of her wish to study in France. For if there were no satisfactory Francophone suitors in Louisiana, she reasoned, would it not be best to look elsewhere, in a place with more Francophones than any other place in the world?

It was the Université de Lyon that received Joséphine L’Hôte’s petition to attend as a graduate student studying ancient languages and history under the Faculty of Letters, and it was in Lyon that the L’Hôtes saw off their eldest daughter to attend a higher level of education than M. Joséph himself had achieved. Although perhaps bittersweet at first, Joséphine has found the life of an academic most fulfilling, and has, over the past year, become increasingly reticent to even make a modest effort of procuring a courtship. Does Joséphine L’Hôte, Dr ès l., not indeed sound better than Mme. Unetel? The sound is ever-more titillating, to say nothing of the studies themselves. M. le Prof. Ferdinand Brunot has published his History of the French Language, and Joséphine finds herself ever more deeply fascinated by the impossible depths of learning. To the fire with soirées, the joy of life was in the books all along!

Vitality: 14
Rationality: 10
Spirituality: 10
(We will finish determining your other stats after we're done with the great game of knowledge)

Calling All Heroes and Villains!

---

Nova City, Arakana Tower, the Night Before

---

_{Collaboration between @enmuni and @Estylwen}

---

It was quite late at night when Georgia finally made her way to Arakana Tower. And, in typical Anathema fashion, she had no regard for actually using the front door. Instead, Georgia emerged from one of her very own rifts from a window right by the front desk. She snapped her finger, the hellish rift zipped shut, and maundered to the desk. Without any further ado, the former heroine in a messed-up hoodie from her former merchandise clapped her hands together and shot the receptionist a piercing look. Without any further regard for her surroundings, she spoke.

“Solaris expecting any guests tonight?” she asked idly, making her voice sound almost like she was making small talk. But anyone who’d heard Georgia back in the day knew that any social niceties from her would have come off much less apathetic.

The receptionist nodded politely, either wholly unsurprised by the rift in which Georgia came through, or had an excellent poker face.

”Of course.” She passed Georgia an ID tag which read ‘Executive’ and pointed down the hall. ”Take the elevator, use your ID card to scan the reader inside, and it'll take you to the penthouse suite. The Mask Solaris will meet you there.”

If Georgia would do as such, she would find herself in the highest level in the tower. There would be a small hallway from the elevator that lead to a door. As she drew near, the door clicked open, revealing a man with tousled hair, dark dress shirt and slacks.

Ethan.

He offered a crooked smile, opening the door and stepping to the side, ”Welcome, Anathema. You're right on time~”

“Thank you,” she responded.

As she stepped in, she would see a warm, leather ensemble for a lounge. Ethan beckoned her through a second door, to a modern, open-concept kitchen. At the table, there was a cloth and two candles, and two silver platters covered in chrome covers.

Ethan gestured for her to sit, smirking. ”A little birdie told me you wanted a steak dinner, yes?”

Georgia crossed her arms, and a surprisingly good-natured, slightly embarrassed smile—not unlike the one she once sported in a meme from a few years’ back—sprouted on her face. With a light chuckle, she sighed.

“If I’d’ve known you’d be ready this fast, I’d’ve come dressed,” she drawled. She clicked her tongue, put a hand on her hip, and nodded, “You reckon I got a few minutes to freshen up, give this the dressing-up it deserves~?”

Ethan nodded, a knowing smirk crossing his face. ”Be my guest.”

Without another word, Georgia nodded, withdrew her knife from her hoodie pocket, and made a rift on the wall. She hopped through it, and some fair amount of crashing could be heard for a few minutes, before Georgia re-emerged. Shockingly, especially given how little time she’d taken, she looked quite well-put-together. She wore a backless, golden cocktail dress that hung on her neck like a halter and went down to just above her knees. Her hair wasn’t exactly done, but she had taken the liberty to somehow apply matching gold eyeliner and sparkly eyeshadow, as well as gold hoop earrings.

“Just needed a few minutes,” she affirmed, “Excuse the heroine look. Still haven’t found a new fancy look to do in a flash…”

She offered a shrug and took her seat, as if clearing out one’s wardrobe to look villainous was a mundane thing that just needed to be gotten around to.

“Anyhow,” she said as she slid her seat back in. She tilted her head and gave a genuine, bright smile—quite reminiscent of the one she showed the cameras a lifetime ago, “Thank you, really, for having me. It’s nice to dress up once in a while, isn’t it?”

Ethan smiled pleasantly at Georgia's change in attire. ”I have seen heroes dress in black and villains dress in white, so I'd say the attires meaning is entirely dependant on the wearer, my dear.

“And you'll find many more days of dressing up, working with me.” His grin turned cheeky.

He sat opposite to her at the table, his violet eyes gleaming in the candlelight. Leaned a little forward in his seat. Attentive, yet calm.

”You'll have to forgive my counterpart. She can be a bit overzealous at times.”

He shrugged lightly, before picking up the champagne bottle on the table, gently uncorking it. There was a subtle pop, then Ethan filled two glasses with the sparkling liquid. He leaned over and placed one in front of Georgia, and raised his own glass.

”To villainous new beginnings~”

And he took a small sip, before gesturing to her plate’s cover. ”Go on, don't be shy. Eat it while it's hot.”

If Georgia were to lift the lid, she would find a beautifully steaming steak with grilled asparagus and gravied mashed potatoes. There was also a small side of Russian salad.

Georgia sipped from her own glass, then cut into the steak. Inspecting the meat, she nodded approvingly.

“I think I’ll enjoy working for you more than most,” she commented. She matched the gaze of his violet eyes with her softly-glowing red ones, and smirked, “For one, you have good taste in steak.”

Georgia started cutting herself a piece, only to stop, click her tongue, and look back up from her plate. Her smile dissipated as fast as it came, and her expression settled into a neutral, if interested, gaze. “But, let’s talk a moment about your…counterpart, you said? She had some thoughts of her own. We’re going after the Dragon, now, are we? Don’t need any of the virtue crap. He stepping on your toes and need a spanking, or are we talking bigger moves?”

Ethan smirked. ”I knew I liked you. Got a smart head on your shoulders.

“Bigger moves, my dear. The Dragon is a necessary stepping stone to becoming the sovereign of the city. If we dismantle the Dragon, there will be no one stopping up from becoming a global force. Anything we,or you,could possibly want, would be at our finger tips.” He said, taking a bite into his own steak, his face lighting up. It seemed the big bad villain had a soft spot for delicious food.

He swallowed and glanced over at Georgia. ”You mentioned pay and lodgings. I'll show you to your room when we are done. As for pay, you'll earn the same as my men. $3000 a month.”

Georgia nodded along softly as Ethan explained his ambitions, raising an eyebrow in skepticism at his mention of expanding into the broader world. Want is such an ugly word. But it could not be denied that the man was, if nothing else, as close to the prideful reaching hand of man in the flesh as she’d ever seen. As he promised the world, Georgia blinked and smirked, as if to say, Sure, sure, whatever you say. But when the matter of pay came up, she took a moment to think and do the math.

“That’s…” she trailed, clearly still thinking unsure about what she was saying as she said it, “Not…bad? What is that, like, a bit more than twice minimum wage? So I gather most of these guys don’t have families, do they?”

Ethan gave an easy smile. ”For good performance they do receive bonuses. Like the bank heist we pulled off yesterday. And they do have families, a lot of them. Of course, you would be part of the bonus scheme, depending on your work.”

Georgia offered an appeased nod, perhaps mildly surprised, but otherwise satisfied with the answer.

“Whatever the case may be, $3000 a month is more than enough. I did a hell of a withdrawal a while back myself” she commented, in reference to the major ‘heist’ she’d committed shortly after her loss of hero status, where she’d forced several banks charged with the Gray family accounts to liquidate them and hand them over. Georgia made an aggressive, perhaps cruel, little smile as she spat the word ‘withdrawal’ with particular force.

“The money is a formality. That work you’re mentioning? That’s the meat and potatoes. This is the good stuff now. Been gettin’ sick of sitting on my hands again. So what’ve you got me doing first, then?”

Ethan smirked. He allowed himself another bite of steak and sip of champagne before speaking again.

”How are you with team work, Anathema? I plan to host a party tomorrow, 6 PM, where villains such as yourself can mingle and choose what they want to work on together.”

“I’m only Anathema to my enemies. Call me Georgia,” Georgia stated. With a brief sigh, she continued, “That said, I’ve worked alone, worked with a few folks, and worked with a whole lot of ‘em at once. Doesn’t really matter to me, long as someone’s got marching orders for me to follow.”

Georgia set down her fork and knife and picked up her glass.

“Not that I imagine you’ll have any trouble givin’ ‘em,” she added nonchalantly, “And speakin’ of, if there’s something you want me to do around here, let me know too. I don’ exactly have any other plans.”

Georgia nodded, as if agreeing with herself, before taking a formidable swig of the champagne.

“I made decisions as a hero. You don’t want me doing what I feel like, trust me. So what should I do there?” she concluded.

Ethan gazed over her, feeling like he understood her better. ”Very well, Georgia. Why don't I give you the task of infiltrating the Dragon’s Underground Auction? I have the password you'll need to get in. And then it'll be a matter of delivering it a blow it'll never come back from…”

He leaned back in his seat a little, that grin still on his face. ”Until the party tomorrow, though, why don't you rendezvous with my security team and you can learn more about the tower? Muster points, protocols in case of an attack, that sort of thing.”

“I think I can do that. But let’s be clear: Blow it’ll never recover from? You talkin’ literally or metaphorically?” she asked, with a small smirk flashing across her face when she posed the possibility of decimating the entire thing—clearly more enthused about the former idea.

Ethan snickered, finishing the last of his steak. ”I have been told that some of the specimens are alive. So, once they are out of the way, you can do what you like~.”

Georgia’s lips curled into a cruel grin, as her eyes flickered from her own empty plate to Ethan’s. She threw back the rest of her champagne, while with her left hand, she produced a puff of flames. She set down the glass with surprising care, and purred, “Then there’s only a bit left to ask. Since I’m workin’ for you, got anything you want me wearing for the big day? And do you want me to make sure he knows his perdition is coming from your hands through me, or will it be another mysterious attack from a fallen creature?” Georgia finally let her teeth show properly, revealing by the blood staining her fangs and welling in her mouth that in her consumption of the steak, she’d nicked the inside of her mouth more than once. Through the fiery grin, she enunciated, “That is, do you want any survivors other than these specimens~?” With a flicker of a grimace, she wiped her mouth with her napkin, and swallowed.

Ethan had a satisfied smile on his face. ”I'll have an outfit ready for you before you embark on your mission. And yes, if we can get into the Dragon’s head that his days are numbered, all the better. You're more than welcome to spare a few to carry the, well, message.”

He stood from his chair, gently nodding to the door. ”If you're finished, I can show you to your new lodgings.”

Georgia reached forward, flicked her wrist, summoned the bottle, poured herself another glass of champagne, downed her glass in three swigs, as if taking shots of it, and then scooted out from the table. With something between grace and drunkenness, she sprung up and made her way to the door, and like a débutante, offered her arm to Ethan.

“If you’d be such a gentleman~,” she cooed, “I’d be delighted.”

Ethan, an amused look behind his eyes, held out his arm a little for her to curl her hand around. ”Of course. I think you'll like this bit.”

And they walked together out of his penthouse and to the elevator. They went down about twenty floors, to a floor where the hallway was low-lit with strips of LED lighting on the sides. There was a door they walked up to among the few others, matching the number of Georgia's ID card.

Ethan nodded to the card reader. ”Go on, give it a try.”

Georgia swiped the card without hesitation and pushed the door open, holding a hand out briefly to telekinetically stop the door from slamming.

Inside, once flicking on the lights, there was a small foyer that led into a modern lounge, the lights of Nova City twinkling outside. Off to the side was an open-concept kitchen and two doors, one to a bathroom, one to a bedroom.

Ethan hovered at the door, a knowing grin on his face. ”What do you think?”

Georgia spun around, giving the whole place another look. She let out a small chuckle as a rather incredulous grin grew on her face.

“Shit, you could be making your bank as a property tycoon just as well,” she snarked, “But definitely, it’s more than enough—it’s great. Just two questions.”

Georgia held up a finger. “Can you turn off the fire alarms in here?” she asked. She held up a second finger, and continued, “And do any of the windows open?”

Ethan nodded, taking in her twirling with a bit of satisfaction. ”I can have them uninstalled tomorrow morning. And the windows open a crack, not enough to physically fit through, mind you.”

Georgia rubbed her chin, then clicked her tongue and spoke. “Any balconies or fire escapes?

Ethan pointed towards the kitchen area, where a small balcony could be seen through a curtain. ”Wouldn't suggest looking down too much if you've got vertigo.” He said with a chuckle.

Georgia looked behind herself and put her hands on her hips.

“Shit, so it is. Still gonna need the fire alarms out though,” she reiterated. She looked back at Ethan and snapped her finger, as if something had just occurred to her. “And one more thing,” she added, her expression drifting back to her stony, indifferent-looking resting face.

She ripped her dress’s halter neck and reached out with her other hand and flicked her wrist. A knife from the kitchen whipped into it. A tail—her tail, which she had previously kept quite discreetly curled around her left leg—curled around one section of the dress while she held the other side with her free hand. As the top of the dress tumbled down, Georgia ripped what of the dress’ back there was with the knife. She tossed the ruined garment to Ethan.

“That doesn’t fit well anymore. It’s supposed to go well below the knee, among other things,” she declared, gesturing towards Ethan with the knife, “But you can use it.”

She walked to the wall by the bathroom, slitting that same scar on her wrist as she did. Then, she pressed her wrist against the wall and drew a circle of blood on it. Georgia curled her tail around the knife to free up her hands and cauterized the wound. Finally, she ripped her underwear clean off of her hip, held the shredded undergarment to the circle, and incinerated it. “Just burn a shred of that dress in a circle of blood big enough to fit me, and you can summon me. Doesn’t matter where I am,” she stated, reaching into the rift with both hands. From it, she quickly produced a clump of clothes and a toiletries bag.

“I’m gonna take a hot bath and rest up for tomorrow,” she stated. Look back to Ethan, stark naked, she added, “Do me a favor and don’t try it out ‘till tomorrow. I’m not looking for any midnight callers,” before slipping into the bathroom and shutting the door without another word.

---

---

Nova City, Arakana Tower, 30th Floor, the Lagoon Lounge

And this was the outfit Ethan had selected? Georgia could not help but to deliver a dry, hoarse, mostly sarcastic laugh as she endeavoured to put the thing on. Really, the flair itself was…whatever. Showy? Yes. Very showy. But that wasn’t a surprise. Ethan seemed to have quite the fondness for it. What Georgia couldn’t wrap her head around was the open-skirt getup. The whole thing fit fine, yes, but it felt weird. The horns on the helmet weren’t heavy, but they definitely shifted the center of gravity for her head. And again, the open-skirt thing. Why? Maybe it made it easier to run with, but at that point, it looked well enough like folded-back wings. Except she couldn’t withdraw the skirt. Georgia found herself pacing around the apartment Ethan had provided, wearing the whole suit, just to try and get used to the strange thing.

Finally, checking the time, she realized there was no more time to navigate the thing. If she tripped on the skirt, she tripped. Presuming the heels didn’t just shred it, anyway. But who was to say?

Shaking her head, Anathema left the apartment, carefully nudging the skirt this way and that with her tail and tugging at it with her hands to keep it out of the way as she closed the door, and again when she came to the elevator. She was a touch later than most, and resolved to stay in the back as Ethan did his thing. Not that there was much to be said, in fact. The files, after all, had the entire thing laid out.

Looking around the room, Georgia spotted Ruby. Ruby…Bordell, it was, if Ethan’s files were at all accurate. She wasn’t a big name. But that could be useful. The Auction needed destroying. Apparently, though, there were people who could not, in fact, be collateral. That was the inconvenient part. It sounded like this place was selling people, and that Ethan wanted those people alive, at least. Targeted deaths were not her specialty. But if Georgia understood correctly, it was something cleanly within Ruby’s wheelhouse. The little death-canary, if that’s what she was, could do the trick well. With a frustrated grunt, Georgia pulled her helmet off. She summoned a samosa to her hand as she approached Ruby with purpose.

“You kill people by singin’, dontcha?” she commented, “I think you could be helpful for the Auction. I need someone who can be a mite discerning with who they kill. Up for giving the Dragon’s boys a show with me? I’ll bring the pyrotechnics.”

Georgia’s expression, like it so often was, seemed thoroughly indiscernible—landing somewhere between resting bitch face, the expression of a convict on death row, and someone only half-heartedly paying attention in class.

Interactions:
@Chrys

The Pyres Never Stop Burning (Old-School Occult Horror/Mystery)

@Olive Fontaine Working on my app as we speak! The tl;dr for the character is the eldest daughter of a well-to-do New Orleans family in the lumber business (Fun fact: L’Hôte Lumber was actually one of the biggest lumber companies in Louisiana around this time, and I so happen to be descended from L’Hôtes! So I can’t help but to humour the history, coming from that city as I do XD). As for why she’s in France, it helps to kill two birds with one stone and have one’s fairly bright daughter attend further education and perhaps happen to (read: should) find a well-educated, well-bred Francophone, since the pool in New Orleans isn’t getting any deeper!

How does this sound, conceptually?

Realms of Sun & Shadow

---

The Eye of the Beholder

---

Nesna paused briefly, then nodded rigorously, having felt there was another matter, but having been momentarily uncertain as to what it was.

“As a matter of fact, there is,” she affirmed. Reaching down towards her earring bag and summoning it to her, she hefted it into her lap and opened it.

“Regarding the matter of payment, I’m afraid I’m rather inconveniently without any genuine coin on my person,” she conceded. Quickly, she pulled out a pair of small gold earrings, not unlike the ones she’d given Sya. “I have, fortunately, something which I feel can adequately substitute. I wish not to make a habit of this, mind you, but being that this is my, shall we say, first day back in the civilized world in quite a while, I have yet to find a source of income. Fortunately, I do have my dear earring collection, and in it, some earrings which I can bear to part with.”

Nesna placed the earrings on the counter in front of Desmond.

“As you can see, these are solid gold. It isn’t ideal, I know, but if you’ll humour me or take some earrings as a deposit, I am more than willing to mitigate the trouble by offering a touch more than you might otherwise have required. Would this unorthodox payment suffice, at least this once?” she asked. Nesna offered a small, tight-lipped, conciliatory smile as she looked squarely at him with all four of her eyes.

Interactions
@Theyra

The Pyres Never Stop Burning (Old-School Occult Horror/Mystery)

Funnily enough, I’m in the same boat! Now, just to check, a touch of magic in the blood doesn’t specifically mean my char would have practiced any magic (at least intentionally) before, right?

Realms of Sun & Shadow

---

The Eye of the Beholder

---

Nesna pursed her lips thoughtfully at Desmond’s suggestion. With a soft nod, she simply said,

“Certainly, I think some longred will do,” she agreed. She clicked her tongue, and her lips curled into a small, almost cheeky smile.

“Since…it may take some time to get the tea shipped in,” she added, “I feel there’s no reason to be unadventurous with it. So…yes, I think we’ll do… Nesna trailed off for a moment, then snapped her finger.

“I ought to write this down for you!” she exclaimed. Nesna fumbled around briefly, then started psychically feeling around in her bags. Soon, she found what she was looking for, and pulled out a quill and a small bound notebook. She flipped to the last page of the book, popped the nib of the quill in her mouth briefly, and then started writing. Despite there having previously been no ink on the quill, it wrote perfectly on the page. Nesna wrote nesna’s order — 3 ligulæ e. in careful half-uncial lettering with impressive speed, and then began speaking again.

“Let’s start with…Ember Isle Jade Dew and Southeast Lunarian Scary Fragrance—that will suffice for the normal greens. Now for the dark greens——blues—black dragons, whatever you might want to call them—we’ll do Almond Phoenix and Big Red Robe. For the reds, then, Sun-Moon Lake, medium-grade Upstanding Mountain Small, and yes, let’s do, mmm, Blossoming Virtue instead of trying anything fermented.”

Nesna penned out each tea in the list, and then started fanning the ink with her hand.

“I’m hoping to give her a thorough introduction so she can find what she likes best,” she stated, “Once this is done drying, I’ll hand you the list.”

Interactions
@Theyra

The Pyres Never Stop Burning (Old-School Occult Horror/Mystery)

@Belikroz My father was an Anglican minister for a number of years, and I even attended a few of his seminar courses—if you’d like any help navigating ecumenical questions, I’d be happy to help! I’m familiar with Catholic and a number of Protestant denominations.