Prosaic

𝚂𝚃𝙰𝙺𝙴𝙳 - 𝙸𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚏𝚢, 𝙸𝚗𝚟𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚐𝚊𝚝𝚎, 𝙴𝚕𝚒𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚎

Okay, I very technically finished my sheet. However! I felt I should ask a question first and edit it accordingly. A lot of the current submissions have a history in combat, my OC does not, is this OK? Or should I lean more on combat? He's very research oriented as it stands.

The Witches Of Shipden Peak

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Location ⋗ The Patch. Interactions ⋗ Zhalia Ramshorn @Benzaiten School of Magic ⋗ Divination & Illusion Items ⋗ Suit / Crutches	_ _

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"Zhalia," he says the name as if he's committing it to memory, "You've got a beautiful name, Zhalia."

He may have had a few mixed thoughts about Zhalia but that did not render him incapable of accompanying her for the night. It wasn't as if he had plans to do anything else. He'd never been a fan of large gatherings although witches were very insistent of their importance, they had a large gathering planned for everything, every turn of the season. While he understood the cultural importance of these gatherings, it was hard to not feel as if they were excessive at times.

He didn't dare miss them, for he knew that his long deceased mother would have never dared to miss them, but at times they felt... tiring to him.

All the same, there was no use in voicing these thoughts to his newest companion so he didn't allow himself to linger on them. "Dinner sounds wonderful," he says, earnest enough. He's definitely hungry, he hasn't eaten anything since early in the afternoon. "I think I'm just about starving."

He fell in step behind her, using his crutches to anchor himself against the soft ground beneath them. The tents smelled warm and inviting, he could even hear his stomach growl as they neared them. He felt a touch embarrassed about that but he continued forward. The tent was populated by a few different witches, some that he recognized and some that he couldn't place a name to if it was in favor of saving his life.

It hardly mattered, he didn't think his knowledge or lack thereof would stop him from grabbing himself a plate and stacking it with anything that looked good enough to eat. "Popular spot," he comments to Zhalia, "Looks like you had the right idea."

He'd already stuffed a mouthful of bread into his mouth by the time she addressed him again which left him to comedically attempt to swallow that down before he responded. He coughed, cheeks reddening slightly, "Fire? Oh, absolutely." He coughed again, burrowing his face in the crook of his arm for a moment while he tried to swallow down what remained in his throat. He gestured with his chin weakly for her to lead the way.

When he spoke again, his voice was a touch raspier and his eyes were watery. "How are you adjusting to Shipden? Have you met anyone nice?

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

_{Interactions: @mellowdy, @heartfillia, @13org}

"Kieran--" Then he stops. He exhales through his teeth, he attempts to re-situate himself. "Lord Kieran Edwards, it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mayet."

He hates when Priscilla expects him to speak up because it always goes about as well as one can expect, he's no socialite, he's never been a socialite. There were times, of course, where was capable of eloquence but he was usually content to keep his mouth shut. Priscilla was better spoken, she wasn't as prone to overthinking. He was better at being a wall ornament at this point in his life, looking pretty and idling about like he cared about what was going on.

It didn't help that Mayet seemed sharp, someone who didn't miss many details. There were many details that he could do with someone missing when they looked at him.

He tried to straighten out his posture before she addressed him directly, do something to prove that he was nobility and not just some battle-scarred fool accompanying a band of nobles. Although, he often felt as he was just that. Semantics. He was taken aback by her comment but it didn't immediately register in his face, so, he pulled himself together to incline his head to her.

He even managed to make himself sound charming, imagine that. "It would take a fool not to notice the lady accompanying the tiger," he responded smoothly, "You're very beautiful yourself, however, it's not so polite to murmur that from a distance, I'd much rather tell you in person."

He did mean it. He wasn't blind yet, by any means.

He didn't have long to think about the ways in which he'd probably misspoken because very soon after he'd finished speaking, Lady Harlow was in pursuit of his sister. This annoyed him, or Lady Harlow annoyed him. He bristled despite himself, "You really have a way with showing up when you're least wanted, Lady Harlow." He heard himself saying it before he could really stop himself.

He'd never had much luck with keeping his mouth shut when he was annoyed, a polar opposite to the mild-mannered way he spoke when he felt he was on the spot. "If my sister had time to stumble about spilling her breakfast on every high society hack at this park then-"

Luckily, he didn't have to continue because Mayet had spoken up herself to Priscilla's defense. His brows raised consideringly as she threatened Lady Harlow and he just managed to bite back a laugh. Mayet had very quickly become someone he liked with that response.

"Seems smart to listen to her, Lady Harlow. She doesn't strike me as a lady to hurl false accusations about." This was both a compliment to Mayet and playful burn to Lady Harlow. The barely disguised mirth in his eye was a dead giveaway for how he felt this had gone, as was the sliver of a smile that had touched his lips. If there was nothing more that Kieran loved than avoiding other nobles, it was making a fool of other nobles.

Sue him, sometimes it was funny to see the utter bafflement in their faces.

It was around this time that he realized Crystal was orchestrating a retreat and he still... had his hands full with waffles. Fuck. "I should probably bring these to Crystal, shouldn't I?"

𝚂𝚃𝙰𝙺𝙴𝙳 - 𝙸𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚏𝚢, 𝙸𝚗𝚟𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚐𝚊𝚝𝚎, 𝙴𝚕𝚒𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚎

Gonna start on a CS soon.

𝚂𝚃𝙰𝙺𝙴𝙳 - 𝙰 𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍 𝙾𝚏 𝙳𝚊𝚛𝚔𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚁𝚘𝚕𝚎𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢

Pretty interested! The concept looks super neat.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

_{Interactions: @princess, @FunnyGuy, @SausagePat, @Conscripts}

He didn't linger at the estate long, he wasn't eager to sort through his thoughts. He waited just long enough for Delilah to retreat with his luggage and then a moment longer to take in the main entrance before he'd made his quick retreat. He tore down the stairs and past the fountain without sparing either a second glance, putting it behind him for the moment and letting himself pretend that this was just a short visit. Some things were easier when he didn't put much thought into them, this was one of those things.

He could still remember his way to the park, luckily, and he hoped that seeing Charlotte would at least distract him. It wouldn't be so bad to see Lorenzo either. In fact, as he walked, he grew more and more confident in where he was headed.

He had almost settled himself entirely by the time the park was in view, the sunshine casting a faint glimmer over everything. It, too, was as beautiful as he remembered it being. A warm, open place with lush, green grass and flowers that made the air smell sweet. He, admittedly, felt a touch out of place in mostly tones of gray and black but he didn't think it really mattered. He could see some familiar faces, some... unfamiliar faces, and a--

--what looked to be a small gathering where the waffles were being served?

Something like anxiety washed through him when he recognized Charlotte and Lorenzo from where he stood, with some manner of reluctance, he quickly pressed his way over across the grass. By the time he was in earshot, he could only make out yelling. Those who weren't yelling were arguing quite loudly. He was stuck in place, watching in mild alarm as the good doctor pressed a knife to the throat of one of the patrons. He wondered, maybe not for the first time, if he could still leave.

He didn't leave, although this whole debacle might have provided the perfect distraction for a retreat back to the house.

He cleared his throat, spoke calmly and clearly. "Do I even want to know?" Which was an astonishingly uncolorful statement from Devan, not littered in every obscenity that he felt was necessary to the situation. "Good God, I'm starting to think my parents set me up."

As polite a greeting as this was, it wasn't exactly "hello, Charlotte, I'll be staying at your house all summer". Although, he wasn't certain he was her primary concern or anyone's primary concern, really. The entire gathering looked as if it had been doomed to fail from the beginning. Charlotte was standing defensively with a hand on the arm of a blonde girl that he didn't recognize and Lorenzo was facing off with a caned gentleman who seemed eager for a fight.

Or something. He mostly just seemed eager. People who weren't entirely in touch with reality usually seemed a little overly eager.

As an after-thought, maybe, he added, "Hello."

The Witches Of Shipden Peak

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Location ⋗ The Patch. Interactions ⋗ Zhalia Ramshorn @Benzaiten School of Magic ⋗ Divination & Illusion Items ⋗ Suit / Crutches	_ _

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The reading left him feeling decidedly odd.

It was a creeping feeling between his shoulders, he felt like a dog with a flea that he couldn't shake off. So, by the time he nodded his farewell to the diviner, he was left to sort through his tangled thoughts. He gathered himself back up onto his crutches and made his way out of the tent, muddling through what was presented to him. The Axe, The Occultist, The Frost Queen. There was pattern to it. He appreciated that it wasn't jumbled, tarot could often be jumbled, it was no exact science. It was all interpretation and hope.

Nonetheless, this reading was cohesive. It was one straight line towards an end goal, but he couldn't imagine what the end goal was. At times he wished his abilities worked differently, that he had honed them to be a bit more broad but he hadn't so-- he'd have to figure this out himself. He wasn't certain he could figure it out but he'd be damned if he didn't try.

I'll be an agent of justice?

He had always been outspoken, the kind of person that didn't sit on their feelings. He wasn't one to judge unfairly, not usually, but an agent of justice? He wasn't paying attention well enough to have spotted the approach of Zhalia, he just felt the jostle of someone tripping over him. He stumbled in turn, wheeling to try to catch himself by digging his crutch into the ground. "Careful--" He says, before he registers exactly who he's saying it to. "Are you alright?"

He swiftly realizes that he's facing Zhalia Ramshorn.

He doesn't know her, not really, only in passing sentiments. She's an oddly pretty brunette with vibrantly blue eyes and a look of surprise and shame that almost makes him feel bad. He instinctively wants to reassure her that he's fine, maybe make an off-color joke but he can't seem to come up with one. He'd heard the rumors, of course, murmurings about cults, about necromancy. He'd never been one to fear what he didn't understand, but he was curious.

How odd for fate to pull us together like this after that reading.

He was certain he was being paranoid but it was odd, wasn't it? Something could be odd without being a pull of fate but he couldn't help but wonder. For now, he relied on whatever charisma he had to not let him bungle this conversation entirely. "I wasn't paying enough attention," he admits with a laugh, readjusting himself so that he's no longer standing like he might collapse. He extends a hand to her, "Simon Hart." He says in way of greeting. "Surely we were meant to meet."

He's got a nice smile, one that's off-putting in a good way, it's one of his better qualities. He's not got many good qualities, so it helps to have that one. "Am I blocking you from the tent?"

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

_{Interactions: N/A (but the Delilah chunk of this post was brought to you by @princess.)}

Anger was not a productive emotion, especially not on Devan Vikena.

Unfortunately, it was the only emotion that made any sense to him right now. The carriage ride out to the Vikena Estate had felt long, longer even because he couldn't seem to settle down. Each moment he spent listening to the sound of hooves passing over the ground was another moment where he was replaying his final conversations with his parents in his mind. His mother had tried to excuse the decision, sad-eyed and unable to vocalize her emotions productively while his father had rose his voice until the sound of it echoed across the halls.

He had yelled back, of course, angry and spiteful. He had been insistent that they couldn't just send him off like a fitful child when they were tired of dealing with him, that they had no right to act like this was anything but an attempt to get away from him. The screaming match between him and his father had gone on for an hour, maybe two, and then he'd wound up in a carriage on the fast track back to a place that reminded him of his childhood. So, he was angry.

Not only was he angry, he was upset, but he was significantly less capable of working that out than anger. So, he was content with being angry.

The ride towards the estate was silent, each bump made him grit his teeth and when they finally arrived, he was quick to gather his luggage and go. The place hadn't changed much since his last visit, it rarely did and it hadn't been so long that it should have. Still, there was an odd comfort to be found in traversing paths that he had traversed for years, knowing where they lead and what waited beyond them. It was comforting but a reminder of exactly why he was so mad.

Win some, lose some.

The sound of the fountain was even comforting, it threatened to lull him into a false sense of security. He pushed onwards, only stopping when he stood outside the door. He pushed the door open and the smell of childhood washed over him, nearly overwhelmed him with it's warmth. The place was too open for his tastes, always had been, but it was grand and beautiful and for the first time in a few hours-- Devan exhaled. He felt like a deflating balloon.

One moment his shoulders were raised defensively, a scowl in place and the next-- he was staring out across this place and wondering why he'd been so mad to begin with. Quite suddenly, he wondered if maybe he had been a bit unreasonable. Surely not.

All the same, the buzzing that had consumed his mind for so long had settled into a low hum. He thought, that maybe, just maybe, he felt sad but he very quickly smothered that. He, luckily, didn't have much time to mull over the complexities of his emotions because just as that threatened to rise up, he spotted the maid. A lady who was not much older than him with a headful of golden hair, who he recognized as-- "Delilah?"

"Oh! Sir Devan!" Truthfully, Delilah had not had a chance to remind Duke Lorenzo nor Lady Charlotte that Devan was coming for the summer. She hoped that maybe it would be a pleasant surprise. She smiled and offered him a hug, perhaps unusual behavior from a maid but behavior he wouldn't be surprised by as the Vikena staff had a different relationship with their employers than most. "It's so nice to see you, sweetie!" She did also recall that Devan could be quite a little shithead, but she always tried to be kind to him the best she could. However, if he barked up her tree, she had no issue putting him back down on the ground.

"Let me help you with your luggage. Nathaniel and I can bring it to your room for you...I can fix you up some food if you like or you can cross the street to the park to see your Uncle Lorenzo and Cousin Charlotte. I do believe some pancakes are being given out for free there... You'll find them there certainly."

The feeling of someone folding him into their arms was alarmingly nice, and for a brief moment, it made him feel like there was something stuck in his throat. He abruptly cleared his throat to fight it down. Do not cry, you big baby. "Uh.." He faltered, internally cursed himself, continued. "I'm okay for now, gotta reorient myself with all this. Thank you, Delilah."

The gratitude was a bit weak admittedly but it was earnest. God, he hoped he got used to this.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

-

The Witches Of Shipden Peak

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Location ⋗ The Patch. Interactions ⋗ Khalida @Benzaiten School of Magic ⋗ Divination & Illusion Items ⋗ Suit / Crutches	_ _

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Lina had a flare for dramatics, which... most people could see.

Simon found himself feeling oddly tired while he watched her speak, wondering how she managed to find the energy with so many people expecting something of her. Maybe there was some merit to that though because every time he looked right at her, she felt weird, she felt displaced. There was hesitance at one point in her speech, an unspoken feeling of paranoia that briefly raised the hairs at the back of his neck. It passed about as quickly as it had come.

Don't like that much.

He leaned the bulk of his weight on his crutches and settled in, listening to the coven leader as she tied off her speech with a pretty little display of light. A sigh escaped him despite himself, like a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. As soon as she stopped addressing everyone, he was free to reorient himself with where he was.

The festival of the Spring Equinox was as beautiful as expected, the air was pungent and heady with the smell of food which made his stomach growl despite himself. He wasn't sure he could eat yet, he didn't have a strong stomach and eating when he was anxious was a gamble. He disregarded the urge to stop and pick at the food available and instead let his gaze trail over the other gathered witches, most were talking amongst themselves or occupying themselves with something at the festival.

He couldn't see Sophia, but he presumed she was lost somewhere in the sea of... somewhat familiar faces. He made a note to himself to track her down before he inevitably left, it wasn't that he was terribly close with anyone else yet. Not that he was opposed to meeting anyone-- just that he was not terribly competent at it.

He eventually spotted the tent amidst his wandering observation just as the older gentleman exited, watching with keen interest. "Well, that could be something." He said, to no one in particular. "Don't mind if I do."

He readjusted himself and pushed forward, crutches sinking into the dirt as he approached the tent carefully. He let himself cast a look back over his shoulder to see if anyone was nearby, to make sure he hadn't cut anyone off, and then pushed the flaps back. When he entered the tent, he found that he felt odd again, although in a different way. It was like a tingling at the tips of his fingers, a building apprehension that he couldn't quite shake. The place was dimly lit, occupied only by a young lady with very long, dark hair and a sternness about her expression. There was no room for argument in a face like that.

He didn't often have himself divined.

"Don't suppose you mind another?" He says, voice light. "Haven't seen a get-up like this in awhile." He liked it though, the fact that it was outdated in practice didn't mean that it was bad. Contrarily, he found there was some merit in old methods, although he hadn't practiced them himself.

He'd always had a soft spot for tarot cards.

He lowers himself into the chair across from her, leaning his crutches against it. "I don't know my own future. Can't help but be curious."