*furious squee* Okay bless. Thank. I'll get her intro'd tonight.
ScoundrelQueen Member
The Bitchy
- Last Seen: 3 yrs ago
- Joined: 8 yrs ago
- Posts: 181 (0.06 / day)
- VMs: 0
-
Username history
- ScoundrelQueen 8 yrs ago
Status
User has no status, yet
Bio
I'm not a girl. I'm a unicorn.
To clarity: Only children and hopeless dreamers believe in me, and I'm probably fake.
To clarity: Only children and hopeless dreamers believe in me, and I'm probably fake.
Most Recent Posts
Hey Echo! I figured I would throw in my hat for another teacher.
Well, to be fair, it's a century old feud. I'm 90% sure Sterlings and Norrevinters just brawl until they're old enough to have Council seats.
Then they just undermine each other in terms of money and political influence. Haha.
Then they just undermine each other in terms of money and political influence. Haha.
In case anyone did not know, @Vitofthevoid and I cleared all of those auto-hits with each other beforehand ^.^
Larke's expression warmed at Marcus's kind reception. "Why don't you join me for breakfast. We'll make this a ajoyo: party." His manner of eating did not throw Larke off for a beat; different cultures around the world had different ideas of table manners, and judgement had no place at a summit like this.
Before he could accept the invitation, however-
"TYYYYYR!"
"Sonofa-" Backed up between furniture and people, Larke had nowhere to dodge before being struck full-on by what he had to assume was a Norrevinter. Delightful. It was not, he thought in the split second before he was pitched forward onto the breakfast table, unlike what he imagined being body-slammed by a bear would be.
"Good morning, Miss Norrevinter," he replied, his chipper smile falling into a half-smushed grimace where it was pressed into the wood. He felt the uncivilised brute dump something over his head and neck, and braced his hands at the edge of the table. "Always good to see old friends-" He pushed up a bit, testing her weight and strength. She was too big to buck off.
"Though, if I recall the story correctly..." He threw an elbow back toward her ribs. His right foot hooked back around her grounded leg and yanked in against her ankle to topple her balance. When she moved to catch herself, he twisted free and pushed back to stand in the space cleared out as students backed up from the brawl. The contents of a breakfast pitcher flew into one of his hands and hovered there in a tensioned orb of iced water. "I believe it was your ancestors doing the... 'cocksucking,', was it?" He rolled his shoulders back, looking as self-assured and unruffled as ever.
Or, rather, as as self-assured and unruffled as someone could look with a bowl of parfait in his hair.
"I wonder, does you aunt know you've been throwing yourself on men who aren't your cousins?"
@LokiLeo789
----
"Fuck-" was about all that Professor Byrne had to say when Kora lunged forward. Maeve had made a superficial attempt to grab the girl by the elbow, but did not bother to pursue.
They would be brawling soon enough in class, and there was really no harm in letting the two duke it out. She would intervene if a third party stepped in, but as it was? It reminded her of a Council meeting plus breakfast food.
She cast a side eye toward Kovalenko that read something like, "Are you going to do something about that?" It was accompanied by a stiff-shouldered shrug indicating that Maeve certainly would not.
@VitoftheVoid
Before he could accept the invitation, however-
"TYYYYYR!"
"Sonofa-" Backed up between furniture and people, Larke had nowhere to dodge before being struck full-on by what he had to assume was a Norrevinter. Delightful. It was not, he thought in the split second before he was pitched forward onto the breakfast table, unlike what he imagined being body-slammed by a bear would be.
"Good morning, Miss Norrevinter," he replied, his chipper smile falling into a half-smushed grimace where it was pressed into the wood. He felt the uncivilised brute dump something over his head and neck, and braced his hands at the edge of the table. "Always good to see old friends-" He pushed up a bit, testing her weight and strength. She was too big to buck off.
"Though, if I recall the story correctly..." He threw an elbow back toward her ribs. His right foot hooked back around her grounded leg and yanked in against her ankle to topple her balance. When she moved to catch herself, he twisted free and pushed back to stand in the space cleared out as students backed up from the brawl. The contents of a breakfast pitcher flew into one of his hands and hovered there in a tensioned orb of iced water. "I believe it was your ancestors doing the... 'cocksucking,', was it?" He rolled his shoulders back, looking as self-assured and unruffled as ever.
Or, rather, as as self-assured and unruffled as someone could look with a bowl of parfait in his hair.
"I wonder, does you aunt know you've been throwing yourself on men who aren't your cousins?"
@LokiLeo789
----
"Fuck-" was about all that Professor Byrne had to say when Kora lunged forward. Maeve had made a superficial attempt to grab the girl by the elbow, but did not bother to pursue.
They would be brawling soon enough in class, and there was really no harm in letting the two duke it out. She would intervene if a third party stepped in, but as it was? It reminded her of a Council meeting plus breakfast food.
She cast a side eye toward Kovalenko that read something like, "Are you going to do something about that?" It was accompanied by a stiff-shouldered shrug indicating that Maeve certainly would not.
@VitoftheVoid
"You look well," Hilda said. The self-righteous bitch.
Maeve shook hands with Kora, giving an encouraging nod as she did so. "I do teach combat," she replied, "and if your grip has anything to say, I suspect you'll be a strong melee opponent. But I will be needing you to come by my office and register all of your weapons with me before the day is out." She looked toward Hilda and her partner, with an apologetic shrug. "Just policy."
She gave Hilda a final clap on the arm; a normally friendly gesture that would indicate absolutely no thinly-veiled animosity, and nodded to Kora. "If it's all quite well, we may as well walk you up to the assembly, Miss Kora. Lovely to see you again, Hilda." It was lovely, really, in the same way that cleaning the shower drain of a girls' communal bathroom was lovely: A long affair of pulling up things you had almost forgotten existed, and then remembered in one nauseating sweep.
She stepped back so that Kora could hug and gather her things, and then proceeded to lead her up the stairs. As soon as the elder vikings weren't looking, the smile dropped and Maeve was back to fiddling with her shirt cuffs in an effort to restore circulation to her hands. She said nothing as they ascended the steps to the common room.
There was, naturally, some concern as to Kora's reaction when she found Sterling up there, as well, but Maeve sincerely hoped the girl would have more restraint than her father.
Hope, however, was not the same as confidence.
@VitoftheVoid
Maeve shook hands with Kora, giving an encouraging nod as she did so. "I do teach combat," she replied, "and if your grip has anything to say, I suspect you'll be a strong melee opponent. But I will be needing you to come by my office and register all of your weapons with me before the day is out." She looked toward Hilda and her partner, with an apologetic shrug. "Just policy."
She gave Hilda a final clap on the arm; a normally friendly gesture that would indicate absolutely no thinly-veiled animosity, and nodded to Kora. "If it's all quite well, we may as well walk you up to the assembly, Miss Kora. Lovely to see you again, Hilda." It was lovely, really, in the same way that cleaning the shower drain of a girls' communal bathroom was lovely: A long affair of pulling up things you had almost forgotten existed, and then remembered in one nauseating sweep.
She stepped back so that Kora could hug and gather her things, and then proceeded to lead her up the stairs. As soon as the elder vikings weren't looking, the smile dropped and Maeve was back to fiddling with her shirt cuffs in an effort to restore circulation to her hands. She said nothing as they ascended the steps to the common room.
There was, naturally, some concern as to Kora's reaction when she found Sterling up there, as well, but Maeve sincerely hoped the girl would have more restraint than her father.
Hope, however, was not the same as confidence.
@VitoftheVoid
I'm down as hecky for Larke/Dunmaka, if Drazah is. He seems like a very interesting guy!
Larke gave a good-natured chuckle and a light shrug as Aaron criticized his own jokes. They could have been worse, he supposed,
but so could a lot of things. The mention of networking caused his smile to brighten. "Nothing wrong with making friends early, right? Never hurt to shake a hand." Larke's line of sight fell on some poor sap making the mistake of coming onto Dawn Memoli, but Aaron spoke again before Larke could point him out.
He followed the subtle point to a young man with the fade haircut, and nodded. He wanted to guess the boy as being a Leon; he was 88% certain he had met the boy at a trade meeting with his father, but nothing rubbed someone the wrong way like mistaking them for a member of a different family.
He strolled toward the prospective new friend as he was filling his plate, and took the opportunity to pour himself a cup of coffee. "Morning," he greeted, adding a splash of cream to his styrofoam cup. "I think we may have met? I'm Larke Sterling." He picked up the cup with his left hand and extended his right to shake. "And this is my friend, Aaron Heruscir." He indicated Aaron with a slight nod, and paused for a beat after each name so that the boy could place them if he was so inclined. "I'm sorry, but I can't seem to place your name."
@AluminumDude@LokiLeo789
but so could a lot of things. The mention of networking caused his smile to brighten. "Nothing wrong with making friends early, right? Never hurt to shake a hand." Larke's line of sight fell on some poor sap making the mistake of coming onto Dawn Memoli, but Aaron spoke again before Larke could point him out.
He followed the subtle point to a young man with the fade haircut, and nodded. He wanted to guess the boy as being a Leon; he was 88% certain he had met the boy at a trade meeting with his father, but nothing rubbed someone the wrong way like mistaking them for a member of a different family.
He strolled toward the prospective new friend as he was filling his plate, and took the opportunity to pour himself a cup of coffee. "Morning," he greeted, adding a splash of cream to his styrofoam cup. "I think we may have met? I'm Larke Sterling." He picked up the cup with his left hand and extended his right to shake. "And this is my friend, Aaron Heruscir." He indicated Aaron with a slight nod, and paused for a beat after each name so that the boy could place them if he was so inclined. "I'm sorry, but I can't seem to place your name."
@AluminumDude@LokiLeo789
Despite being neither taller nor older nor otherwise more remarkable than any other parent or faculty member, Professor Maeve Brigid Byrne had a way of moving that compelled other people to get out of the way. Not so much out of respect, in all honesty, but rather the feeling that she was likely to shove anyone who did not.
She prowled through the crowd of registrants with a stiff back a deep frown, her emerald eyes taking on a predatory narrowness as she surveyed the incoming students. Her glare roved over bags and bodies alike, though exactly what she was on the lookout for was not immediately clear. A few individuals warranted a second glance, but nobody stuck out enough to deserve being properly tailed.
For the sake of meeting parents, the other staff members had talked her into tying her unruly red hair back and wearing a pantsuit that did little to flatter her broad shoulders: The intended “look” of the outfit was unclear, however, as Byrne resembled a pissed-off orange alley cat far more than she did a qualified teaching professional.
Standing in the midst of the bustling crowd, she found herself quite confused as to how she had been persuaded into the role of a professor: She did not like people, least of all teenagers, and least of the least, teens of the entitled variety.
And speaking of the devils.
The sound of thundering Norrevinters filled the hall, and Byrne’s frown lines somehow managed to trough even deeper into her face. She turned on the balls of her feet to head out and let someone else take care of that godforsaken situation, and had very nearly made it out of the room when she caught sight of something far worse out of the corner of her eye:
It was striding through the front door in a pair of Italian leather shoes that likely cost more than her car, wearing a smile so self-assured she wanted to smack it clean off of his face.
A Sterling.
Larke, presumably, if her roster was correct.
The boy was dressed in a pair of pressed khaki trousers and a pale blue button-down shirt that was rolled just below his elbows. His jaw and face were cut as dashingly as any in his lineage, and the signature charm of his pedigree shone through as he managed to persuade the receptionist to crack her first smile all day. He smirked and said something. She laughed. He took the papers with an easy shrug of one shoulder, waved a lazy salute with the hand still holding his forms, and turned back to mingle with the rest of the crowd.
He held a black sport coat folded over one arm, but carried no bags with him. Those were handled, apparently, by the stout, black-haired man following behind him in a chauffeur’s uniform. Larke passed off the forms to the man with a firm handshake and another convincingly genuine smile, and then the two were up the stairs toward the common room, and the dorms beyond.
Byrne shook her head. Lazy brat.
Her bitter glowering was cut short, however, as she caught sight of the collision preparing to take place in the reception area: If the Norrevinters stayed their course, they would be seeing far more of Sterling than was good for the building’s structural integrity.
It was with a quiet groan that Maeve forced her best public relations smile (though it didn’t really manage to touch her eyes,) and strode over to the ginger clan with purpose. She circled around so that she stood in the opposite direction of Sterling, and stopped about a foot out from the three giants.
“Hilda? Hilda Norrevinter?” Maeve exclaimed, her jovial tone touched by just enough of an Irish accent to color her inflection, “By God, it’s been an age and a day! And is this the Kora we’ve all heard so much about?” She extended a hand to the teen girl, being sure to keep the sound of internal screaming out of her throat. “Grown a helluva lot since the last picture I saw, hasn’t she?”
@VitoftheVoid
---
Larke, for his part, had simply decided to make the most of the whole atrocious situation. As he came up the stairs, he split from Ives, his driver, and took toward the common area while his help handled the task of depositing his bag. The room number was probably on the paper, anyhow.
His sharp green eyes roved over the scene with casual interest, not betraying any of the general disappointment he was holding in his chest. He did not need to look at the wall placard to know that the name Sterling would feature at the top: The fine leather couches and brushed-nickel lighting fixtures were all in excellent taste, as was the blown glass chandelier up above.
The bearskin rug and antlered armchairs were less so. In fact, were there less food in the room, Larke was certain they would still smell of the Norrevinter tribe.
But it was no matter. Larke was here, at the god-forsaken boot camp, and he would be here until his father so changed his mind.
That is to say, Larke Sterling would be in school here for a while.
He glanced about again, this time at people, and shot a smile toward a familiar face. "Mr. Heruscir! he said with a grin and a short wave of his hand, and strode over toward the boy. It was common practice for Larke to be dragged along to Council gatherings, and even more common for his father to hand him itemized lists of people he may meet in such places. Everyone likes the the sound of their own name, his father said, and everyone wants to buy from someone who says things they like.
He extended a hand in greeting to the young man, his posture relaxed and his free hand in his pocket. "It is Aaron Heruscir, or am I mistaking you for someone? I think I remember meeting you at the Yuletide ball a few years back. You were the guy with the great jokes." Not Larke's speed of joke, of course, but everyone loved to be flattered. He leaned up against an end table and cast a glance toward the growing crowd before turning back to his company. "Name's Larke, by the way. Sterling. Pleasure to re-make your acquaintance."
@AluminumDude
She prowled through the crowd of registrants with a stiff back a deep frown, her emerald eyes taking on a predatory narrowness as she surveyed the incoming students. Her glare roved over bags and bodies alike, though exactly what she was on the lookout for was not immediately clear. A few individuals warranted a second glance, but nobody stuck out enough to deserve being properly tailed.
For the sake of meeting parents, the other staff members had talked her into tying her unruly red hair back and wearing a pantsuit that did little to flatter her broad shoulders: The intended “look” of the outfit was unclear, however, as Byrne resembled a pissed-off orange alley cat far more than she did a qualified teaching professional.
Standing in the midst of the bustling crowd, she found herself quite confused as to how she had been persuaded into the role of a professor: She did not like people, least of all teenagers, and least of the least, teens of the entitled variety.
And speaking of the devils.
The sound of thundering Norrevinters filled the hall, and Byrne’s frown lines somehow managed to trough even deeper into her face. She turned on the balls of her feet to head out and let someone else take care of that godforsaken situation, and had very nearly made it out of the room when she caught sight of something far worse out of the corner of her eye:
It was striding through the front door in a pair of Italian leather shoes that likely cost more than her car, wearing a smile so self-assured she wanted to smack it clean off of his face.
A Sterling.
Larke, presumably, if her roster was correct.
The boy was dressed in a pair of pressed khaki trousers and a pale blue button-down shirt that was rolled just below his elbows. His jaw and face were cut as dashingly as any in his lineage, and the signature charm of his pedigree shone through as he managed to persuade the receptionist to crack her first smile all day. He smirked and said something. She laughed. He took the papers with an easy shrug of one shoulder, waved a lazy salute with the hand still holding his forms, and turned back to mingle with the rest of the crowd.
He held a black sport coat folded over one arm, but carried no bags with him. Those were handled, apparently, by the stout, black-haired man following behind him in a chauffeur’s uniform. Larke passed off the forms to the man with a firm handshake and another convincingly genuine smile, and then the two were up the stairs toward the common room, and the dorms beyond.
Byrne shook her head. Lazy brat.
Her bitter glowering was cut short, however, as she caught sight of the collision preparing to take place in the reception area: If the Norrevinters stayed their course, they would be seeing far more of Sterling than was good for the building’s structural integrity.
It was with a quiet groan that Maeve forced her best public relations smile (though it didn’t really manage to touch her eyes,) and strode over to the ginger clan with purpose. She circled around so that she stood in the opposite direction of Sterling, and stopped about a foot out from the three giants.
“Hilda? Hilda Norrevinter?” Maeve exclaimed, her jovial tone touched by just enough of an Irish accent to color her inflection, “By God, it’s been an age and a day! And is this the Kora we’ve all heard so much about?” She extended a hand to the teen girl, being sure to keep the sound of internal screaming out of her throat. “Grown a helluva lot since the last picture I saw, hasn’t she?”
@VitoftheVoid
---
Larke, for his part, had simply decided to make the most of the whole atrocious situation. As he came up the stairs, he split from Ives, his driver, and took toward the common area while his help handled the task of depositing his bag. The room number was probably on the paper, anyhow.
His sharp green eyes roved over the scene with casual interest, not betraying any of the general disappointment he was holding in his chest. He did not need to look at the wall placard to know that the name Sterling would feature at the top: The fine leather couches and brushed-nickel lighting fixtures were all in excellent taste, as was the blown glass chandelier up above.
The bearskin rug and antlered armchairs were less so. In fact, were there less food in the room, Larke was certain they would still smell of the Norrevinter tribe.
But it was no matter. Larke was here, at the god-forsaken boot camp, and he would be here until his father so changed his mind.
That is to say, Larke Sterling would be in school here for a while.
He glanced about again, this time at people, and shot a smile toward a familiar face. "Mr. Heruscir! he said with a grin and a short wave of his hand, and strode over toward the boy. It was common practice for Larke to be dragged along to Council gatherings, and even more common for his father to hand him itemized lists of people he may meet in such places. Everyone likes the the sound of their own name, his father said, and everyone wants to buy from someone who says things they like.
He extended a hand in greeting to the young man, his posture relaxed and his free hand in his pocket. "It is Aaron Heruscir, or am I mistaking you for someone? I think I remember meeting you at the Yuletide ball a few years back. You were the guy with the great jokes." Not Larke's speed of joke, of course, but everyone loved to be flattered. He leaned up against an end table and cast a glance toward the growing crowd before turning back to his company. "Name's Larke, by the way. Sterling. Pleasure to re-make your acquaintance."
@AluminumDude
© 2007-2024