1. Home
  2. Ti

Ti Member

Kitti

Avatar of Ti

Status

User has no status, yet

Bio

User has no bio, yet

Most Recent Posts

In The Hourglass Order → 7 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Event: Part One: The Sich | Location: Vossoriyan Tundra, 10 years ago
♫

"Ivor, close it up already," Lyudmila said scornfully, as her husband was taking more than his fair share of time chatting away with the opening of the Chum wide open. "We don't have that much grass on hand." Oksana giggled wildly. "Tatu, hurry, it is getting so coooolllldddd," she said with exaggerated emphasis as she wrapped herself up with the fur blankets.

Ivor grumbled and humbugged as he was thoroughly chastised by his family, reluctantly finishing off his conversation. He eventually sealed it as the hot air started to refill the room, enough to start peeling some layers off.

"Not sure why you are the one complaining; you don't feel the cold as I do," he rebuked towards his wife, Lyudmila, who returned a playful smile. "Only thinking of you, dear." He only half managed to get his coat half-off before he was attacked by a ferocious little girl. "Rawr!" as she pounced on him.

"Ah, it is Oles the Levlytsar in the flesh!" he grabbed the girl in return, bundling her up in a hug, his arms wrapped around her and in the blankets. "She gets more like her Tato every day. I worry about her future marriage prospects," Lyudmila chastised the pair of them now.

Ivor smiled brightly as he doted on his daughter. "Now, my zaychenya is going to become a great healer like her Mamo, isn't she?" Oksana nodded her head in return. "A great healer like Mama and travelling the world to fight monsters!"

Lyudmila shook her head. "It is like talking to a deaf girl; she never listens. They keep entertaining her with those fanciful stories when they come in. I never knew Elk herding was such a dangerous occupation."

Ivor couldn't help but chuckle. "They have a bet on; whoever tells her the best story is getting first pick of the Elk at the end of the season." Lyudmila chuckled as she shook her head in bemusement. "They were certainly upping the stakes; it will be hard-pressed to beat the one with the Begemont."

Ivor laughed in return as Oksana gave a puzzled look at the pair. Lyudmila opened the outer layer of her fur as she beckoned her over, and Oksana closed in for a hug as Lyudmila began to start serving supper. "I love you, Mama," "You too, sonechko."



As they all settled down for the evening, with little Sana bundled up in her furs, the pair of them were able to speak more privately. “What were you talking about earlier?” Lyudmila gazed into her husband's eyes with concern as they laid together.

Ivor sighed, shaking his head disappointedly. “It is Borislav and his brutes sniffing around the herds again.”

Lyudmila's brows furrowed in worry, and she gently traced a soothing pattern on Ivor's chest. “Already? We were not expecting him again till the end of the season.”

“The Tsar has increased the tithe, apparently. We were found to be short.”

Lyudmila's expression hardened. “Does he think we are so forgetful? He already raised it last time. This is robbery.”

“Robbery or not, he is here to oversee these lands. We plan on leaving tomorrow, we are considering moving the herd further south, perhaps buying ourselves a season or two.”

Lyudmila shook her head, frightened. She twirled a strand of her hair nervously. “He would not like that, he really wouldn’t. I have known him since I was a girl; he has always had a temper.”

“If we don’t, if it came to another season, there wouldn’t be a herd for him to take a tithe from. He would start looking at people.” Ivor's eyes gazed towards the bundle of wrapped-up fur where his daughter lay.

Lyudmila's hand found its way to Sana's small form, a protective gesture. “He wouldn’t dare; that is our daughter…”

“…and if she is anything like her mother, the blood mouths would pay big for her.”

Lyudmila nodded, her worry shifting to determination. “He is a traitor to the Kozaky; we always fought to keep our independence, we serve in their armies and pay the tithe so they leave us alone.”

“Word has it, he sold out, and they promised him the title of Knyaz. The tithe is being used to weaken us and drive us out of his lands.”

“What will happen now?”

“We have sent Anhelina to inform him we accept his terms and will have the delivery ready in three days. It should buy us enough time.”

Ivor wrapped his arms around Lyudmila, offering comfort as she cuddled up against him, and they rested for the evening, facing the challenges that awaited them.



The snow fell during the peaceful night, the chums stood amongst their herd as the smoke of the dim fires rose from their tips. Sharpened sticks lined the boundary around the Sich, serving to keep the wilderness out and the herds inside.

The fresh snow easily parted as it was ploughed by horses, and the riders moved at twilight. Their trail left dark streaks in the landscape, as if a bear god had clawed through the land, eventually fanning out and encircling the encampment. The man at the head lit his torch as he approached the entrance. Adorned in thick furs, his arms glistened and jingled with bands of precious metal. His face was coated in war paint, flanked on the right by a man with scars and tattoos, his disfigured upper lip forming a permanent scowl, and on the left by a woman with a seemingly unremarkable appearance. Her dusty blonde hair and dress were more in keeping with the style of those in the Vossoriyan settlements. She was the first to approach the gates, captivating the men with a gesture, causing them to open the way before dropping into a never-ending sleep. The band began to enter the Sich.

Metal was drawn as the band scattered toward the chums dotted out before them. The light sounds of snow crunching beneath their feet were soon accompanied by blades slicing through the hide walls of the chums and the occupants inside. Most were caught unaware of their fate, while others fought valiantly to protect their families. Some raised the alarm, letting out loud noises, creating light displays, or screaming from the top of their lungs.

The sound of drums vibrated through the encampment as the alarm was raised, survivors regrouped with others who readied themselves for war. Oksana, bundled in furs, watched the shadows in the night and the frightening shapes they made in the light of the night sky. Her people ran around grabbing what they could as invaders set the chums ablaze, the fierce fires scorching their presence from the lands. Those who tried to challenge the band individually found themselves overpowered, leading to the formation of a defensive group as the invaders regrouped, resulting in a stand-off.



The first to break ranks was the snarling man, holding the head of a woman, Anhelina the messenger, as he hurled it to the feet of Ivor. Though the one to speak was the well-dressed gentleman, Borislav himself, his jewellery jingling.

“I thought better of you, Chief Ivor. I thought you and your kind already knew your place as my property.” He shook his head disappointedly, tutting. “You tried to run from me.”

Ivor stepped forward, opposing him, “You monster, how could you turn on your own people like this?”

The disfigured man started to laugh loudly, “They don’t deny it! I have been robbed of their whimpering, of their feeble lies.”

Borislav gestured to the man to hold back, “Viktor, please, we are civilized people now.” His dark grin betrayed the malice behind those words; he was not discussing culture but simple superiority, of man above those that are property.

It was the woman who gestured next, towards the mother and her daughter. “Ice veins. Those two shall fetch us a good price.” She laughed as Lyudmila and Oksana were escorted to the back of the group as others moved to stand before them. “Then make sure to gather them up, Zorya.” Borislav nodded.



As the tension in the air thickened, Borislav, Viktor, and Zorya stepped forward, casting an ominous shadow over the group with flames of destruction roaring behind them. Viktor’s disfigured face contorted into a snarl as he confidently advanced. Ruslan, the 'Begemont Slayer,' fuelled by defiance, readied himself, locking eyes with Viktor, determined despite the odds. The snow beneath their feet seemed to hold its breath, anticipating the eruption of violence.

The first clash echoed through the night as Ruslan repeatedly thrust with his spear, targeting vulnerable spots. Viktor wielded his axe effortlessly, parrying the spear ferociously and seeking opportunities to strike back. The moment one was created, he hurled the weapon toward Ruslan, the axe striking him in the head, and splitting his skull as he fell into the snow unceremoniously limp. Viktor, undeterred, pulled the axe from the man's skull with a squelch, roaring out as he scored his skin with another mark, overwhelming any who dared to cross his path.

Lenka, another of the Sich, raised her hand, casting a fireball towards the group. It was Zorya that stepped forward, creating a hungering shield to absorb it to protect the warband. She followed up with an internal attack, attempting to knock out Lenka, but the stumbling woman resisted. She used an opportunity as the spear lunged towards Zorya as the woman was caught by surprise, hitting her with a glancing blow. Furious, she snarled and used internal magnetic magic to paralyse and crumble the woman into a pile on the floor.

As the others fought, Ivor readied his bow, chanting and praying to the Old Mother of the Sky. He readied his bow as he fired at Borislav multiple times with kinetic empowered arrows. They flew in the air, hitting him unexpectedly in the arm and then the leg. Ivor couldn't believe his luck, instructing those behind him to start running. Viktor and Zorya turned towards him with concern, while Borislav laughed. He reached down, pulling the arrows from his body without bothering to heal, his blood splattering on the snow. His features twisted in a cruel smile, as he began to proceed forward. “Cut them off, he is mine.”

Borislav began bearing down on Ivor with his sword drawn, unleashing a torrent of movements that seemingly parried arrows in a choreographed manner, his swordplay was a brutal dance of dominance. Ivor found himself cornered, and despite his valiant efforts, the odds were insurmountable. Blow after blow of that sword landed on him until he fell, bloodied, a symbol of resistance crushed beneath the weight of tyranny and progress.

In the chaos, Lyudmila found herself captured and dragged away by unseen hands, using ice magic to fend off her attackers. She called out desperately, "Zaychenya, run!" and created an ice wall, giving others an increased opportunity to flee. Zorya quickly made her way to the scene disarmed and disabled her with internal chem, ending her resistance, and to haul her away to be sold.

Oksana ran as fast as her little legs would take her, tears flooding her face as her world crashed down. "Mama.. Tatu..." Others around her also ran. An explosion rocked behind her as they tore down the ice wall, which caught her in the crossfire and she was now thrust into a world of chaos. A shockwave resonated through her being, as she was struck by the debris. The world became a muffled symphony of destruction. A loud pitch rang in her ears as she grew disoriented, slipping into states of unconsciousness, as she was now face down on the ground.

She remembered the heaviness on top of her, hardly able to breathe as the snow continued to drift and fall around her. The sight of Viktor making short work of others fleeing, taking pleasure in their suffering, as their blood stained the snow, the battle continued to rage on around her. She struggled against the cold embrace, but the shock was too much. She passed out for good, and soon was completely trapped in a snowy cocoon. The world she once knew was gone, meeting its final end.



The world was pitch black, and silent. Was she dead?

Out of the emptiness of the void was a sensation. A rough but wet feeling over where her face was. As awareness slowly crept back, she shot up quickly and suddenly, taking in a deep breath. The remnants of the snow cocoon surrounded her, and a warmth on her face indicated the source of the sensation. Ice covered her eyes, and she clawed at it until the world became bright with the sun's rays.

Before her stood one of the elk calves, nudging and prodding its nose into her. Dazed, she struggled to maintain balance, experiencing vertigo that made distinguishing up from down challenging. She reached out, holding onto the creature for support, and embraced it, grateful for its companionship. Though she attempted to speak to it, the silence hung in the air, a loud, deafening silence. Staring at the calf, she saw its concerned gaze, felt the rumblings in its body as it bleated, though she couldn't hear the sound.

She leaned into the creature's fur, tears streaming down her face as the events of the previous night flooded back. Alone in this new, quiet world, she felt a profound sense of isolation. The Elk calf, however, disagreed, moving to lick her face, drying her salty tears.

Perhaps she was not entirely alone.

Stroking the Elk, she reluctantly sobered up from her distress.

“I shall call you, Metel.”

In Tales From the Realm of Laelilon → 7 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
ꁲ ꂵ ꁲ ꋊ ꂠ ꂑ ꋊ ꈼ
ꋖ ꂑ ꂵ ꈼ
Day 1 [Night]
꒒ ꂦ ꀯ ꁲ ꋖ ꂑ ꂦ ꋊ
Lock and Key [Somerset]
ꌚ ꂦ ꐇ ꋊ ꂠ ꋖ ꌅ ꁲ ꀯ ꀗ
♫

Amandine simply gave a serene wave as the big blue… buddy sent a wink in her direction. It is obvious that whoever orchestrated this gathering under the Sapphire Sun took pleasure in hosting a collection of eclectic individuals to join the organization. She cannot fathom anything that could unite them to a common purpose, other than the fact each one of them is rather different and unique from the other.

She placed the pheasant on the table as she allowed each to help themselves, making sure it was spread out to be enjoyed before her new buddy scooped up the rest in a single handful. Turning the chair at the table, she sat, leaning against its back.

Amandine listened attentively to what others said, mulling and contemplating their answers and perspectives. “Diseases come and go, but with the Rot, if it becomes a pandemic, it could bring the Empire down to its knees overnight.” She said as she took a bite out of her flatbread pheasant sandwich and washed it down with some wine. “The Royal Knights would be sent out to purge any areas affected immediately.” She gestured with the sandwich to indicate Maltar’s point about Mercenary work, she continued, “The mystery is certainly who or what is causing it, and I venture to guess that our esteemed Royal Knights are having their hands full of this question.”

Solemnly, she added, “There isn’t a known cure for the Rot, which poses a secondary problem for the Empire: corpses don’t pay taxes.”

In The Hourglass Order → 7 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Event: Masks of Black | Location: Ersand'Enise

The evening had come to an end as Taleja’s heels clicked on the stone. She found herself ruminating on a particular set of events, and she couldn’t put her finger on the specifics of it. Jocasta had accused her of poisoning, yet there had been no intention for her to play any kind of active role in such a feat. Also, earlier means when? There had been no opportunities and no interactions since thin air, and she would not have resorted to such efforts for a children's game. There was also the possibility of mistaken identity; perhaps Memento Mori acted, but why would she suspect her involvement, especially in a poisoning, when she did not have a hand in it? Did they let slip with a source of their information? Whatever the outcome, it was troubling. Jocasta wasn’t the only one who had been on her mind; there was the Vossiriyan too, and she was up to something. One scene, in particular, was when she requested her to stop; was it more than the fight, an indication people were watching her? The girl had hurried her away from Jocasta; were they connected somehow? To make it even more perplexing, her mark for the evening had not even made an appearance. She clenched her fist in frustration as she needed to reassess the drawing board. She attracted attention, and she needed to blind all the eyes upon her in some fashion.

"You're good, Miss Drakenknecht," announced a man's voice, and then there was a cloaked figure standing in her path, hands spread in a nonthreatening gesture. "Very good, in fact, but you've chosen some especially dangerous people to deal with." There was a momentary pause. "I believe you recognize that now."

“However, I was not good enough,” she responded dryly. The heels came to a stop as she stood still in front of the figure. She didn’t need to be informed of the unwritten rules of the dynamic, and she simply breathed in and let her shoulders drop in resignation. Her green eyes looked down. “I have entered a chessboard and made a first move that I don’t remember,” she brushed her hair to the side as her green eyes moved to meet his, “and all I can recall is playing draughts.”

"A mistake that came about because you didn't take the time to learn about your opponent. A mistake that you won't make again, I trust." The man was wearing a black mask: a clear statement to Taleja of what he was if not *who*. "You're used to winning," he continued. "You're used to being the strongest or at least the smartest in the room, but almost everybody here comes from a similar pedestal." He shook his head. "The only thing inherently special about you, Taleja Drakenknecht, is your mana type. The rest, you'll have to build. The problem, as you may or may not be aware, is that the all-powerful maniac whom you conspired to kill in a timeline since erased, is about to arrive and render you a stain on the floor." He tilted his head to the side. "What is your way out of this situation?"

Taleja silently listened and mulled over the words being spoken as she replied softly, "It was actually a move in Go that was played." There wasn’t much else that needed to be said verbally, as the situation was pretty clear. It was a thick, uneasy, and heavy silence that lingered. "They always said that Dami’s hell is paved with the best intentions." Her hands held together as they shook and twitched, "Not that it truly mattered. This world is ruled by the strong, who seek nothing more than to abuse it." She looked down at the muddy pavement, "Truly, my fight had already been lost 800 years ago, a remnant, really, of a people on the verge of genocide by the hands of another." A tear rolled down her cheek, as it lingered there for a moment, before eventually falling. She moved into her bag to retrieve a handkerchief, her finger stroking the head of her Slefish for a moment, before she wiped the tear away.

"Though, you are wrong about one thing." She sniffed and put the damp handkerchief back away in her handbag. "What makes me special isn’t my mana-type. What makes me special is that I am willing to embrace being the monster people already see me as." Her eyes coldly regarded the man, "My mere existence is regarded as an abomination, both as a swamp witch and as a Kressian," she paused before making an amendment, "That is Kressian, with a K. We have not all died, just yet." She took a step forward, then thought better of it, then took it back, then began to pace sideways instead, "They like to make up stories about me, you know. People I have never met." She spun her finger around in a circle, "Apparently, I enjoy dining on a good baby when I have the opportunity, my mouth full of their innocent blood." She mimicked the action of eating a leg of lamb like an Eskandr, "Children taught that if they misbehave, a Kressian will kidnap them in the middle of the night to raise them in the filth and squalor of the swamps and burn down their village."

"My mere existence is abhorrent. I see the way people look at me, their looks, their disdain. I am as welcome as a swarm of locusts on a farmer's field. If you saw that little Soirée, you would have noticed that invisible barrier that naturally formed around me, nobody wanted me there." She outlined a circle around her, one that the man conveniently stood out of the range of. "Nobody wants Taleja, the nice girl who likes to share her love of herbal tea, who would like nothing more than to share a small tea party with her friends. All they care about is their little giggles, point and laugh at the creepy girl, all fun and games. A curiosity like the bearded lady, conjoined twins, or a siren caged in an oversized bucket. So… I did it," she moved into her own bag as she pulled out her beaked black mask, as she tossed it to the man’s feet, "Like you, I wore a mask." She moved her hand over her face; any trace of annoyance, sadness, frustration, and fear disappeared, replaced by a very unsettling polite smile. Her tone became incongruent with her words, a polite singsong of a voice in disharmony with them, "I became the monster, the devil they made me out to be. I gave them the impression I am someone to be feared, it is easier that way, they leave you alone. I played the part, three C’s as you will. Calm, collected, and in control. I really wasn’t, but you see, if you appear like you are, people just assume and back down, as if going according to some obnoxious master plan, rather than swinging by the hem of my skirt, as it were."

She moved her hand upwards, as if the motion removed the face as it revealed that natural and distressed expression, her tone now congruent again, as she moved to directly answer the question, "My way out of this situation? There isn’t one." Her shoulders dropped, "If fortunate, I may have time to get my affairs in order, write a letter to my father, as it were. At best, I will get a carriage in the morning with my belongings, and return to Kressia, perhaps enough for some funds, and disappear for a bit. Perhaps I may follow the footsteps of my ancestors, head to the wandering mountain as a hermit," a wry smile formed on her lips, "or like the other side, peddle my wares as an alchemist swamp witch for some young couple who wants to discreetly induce a miscarriage, then get accused of crimes against Oraff and wanting to harvest the child in exchange for eternal youth and beauty."

Taleja paused for a moment, then stood still, "The truth is, I am already dead, that is why you are here. Assassin’s don’t make social calls." Her green eyes turned to the man in the mask, "I shared my story so that I may be remembered. Perhaps you may feel some pity, and after the deed is done, you go home, raise a drink, send me off with a memory of the person I am. A girl who never lived. Perhaps I might hear, and thank you through the cheery song of ‘Ding Dong, the Witch is Dead’." She turned and lowered her head, closing those green eyes for a final time. "I’m ready. Please make it quick and painless."

Taleja's great monologue went forward uninterrupted. For a moment afterwards, there was silence. Then came a single clap, muffled by gloves, and a second, third, and fourth, slowly and deliberately. "A touch melodramatic. A touch *long.* You'll need to learn concision, to tone that down just a bit, but affective nonetheless. I *felt* something." He strode forward, into the immediate range of her disruption, and pressed his hand to his heart. After a moment, he let it fall. "Parts of it may even have been real." He was motionless but not emotionless. "That's a valuable skill: channeling the authentic bits, *using* them." He lifted her mask from the ground with uncertain kinetic magic, and returned it to her opened bag. "I am Volto Nero. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Drakenknecht." He held out his hand for her to shake it.

Taleja remained motionless as he clapped, simply listening to his words. As he approached, she lifted her head and gazed toward him. She was not fooled; she knew her life lay in the man’s hands, though his continued presence suggested an alternative outcome to the evening. As he walked close to her, she could sense no fear or hesitation in his actions. She fiddled with her glove anxiously as he opened the fastening, scratching against the back of her hand. Her green eyes shone as she stared into his eyes, watching every twitch of the iris, every direction they looked, trying to better understand the person she was with. As he offered his hand, she moved her pale, dainty fingers towards it. "What brings Signore Nero from his warm bed to meet me this evening?" Her eyes continued to follow his, questioning him. "Are you here to recruit me into the Volti?"

He shook his head. If there was any further expression, it was hidden behind both a mask and magics. He was easily Jocasta's equal in that regard. Even though his manas should have been in rebellion, he retained enough power to cast. "Would you want to join the Volti Nascosti, truly, or would it only be for the resources?" Would your goals align with theirs?"

"Everyone knows the Dieci Volti do not exist," she turned away, peering past him, "Even if they did, a secretive cabal of immortal killers has never been at the top of a little girl’s list for graduation. If it was, I would be very concerned." She turned to give Nero a wry smile. "I had assumed your recruitment philosophy would be ‘We find you, you don’t find us’, so I have been unable to ascertain your goals from the recruitment poster. Please forgive my ignorance on the matter. If it were true you were responsible for the death of monarchs last year, I wouldn’t say our goals were incompatible. I would assist with at least a couple more on your list, timeline erasure forgiving."

Her green eyes looked to his, then appeared to eye his figure. "If you are not here on behalf of the Volti, then are you here on behalf of yourself?" She moved her hands towards the back of her hair, beginning to unfold the platinum blonde locks before him. "A bride, perhaps, keeping you to your bed. One whose very life is held in your grasp?" She fluttered those green eyes before him.

There was an extended pause. "Do hold yourself together," replied an unamused voice, but there was a hint of something in it - a hard-to-place hint. "There are those who work with us who are not *of* us. Those whose goals align with ours." He tacitly acknowledged her suspicions on the assassinations. "Although - " He paused. "Not all of our goals are *in* alignment these days." He shook his head.

At around that moment, Taleja felt it: a pinch in her chest - a pressure in her heart and a weakness in her knees. Volto Nero sprung back instantly and then, before it could become a serious threat, the pain alleviated. He stood there with his hand outstretched. "Case in point," he declared. "That was our mutual friend. Some, like her, are a bit too volatile; a bit too attached to their...personal issues. I'll speak with her, incidentally, whether or not you agree to work with us. We don't kill for pleasure or personal reasons here. She needs to be reminded of that."

Her green eyes gleamed at his response, a bemused smile played on her lips, then she felt it. That tug, that pinch, the sensation of a hand clenching the heart in her chest. The searing pain in her chest became unbearable as she tried to claw at her chest, though the sudden weakness in her body caused her to fall down suddenly, her body pooling on the floor on the cusp of an unconscious state. Her eyes opened wide as she gasped for breath, the skip of the beats replaced by an intense pounding heartbeat, her face feeling flush as it reddened. "That was very much personal." Her sumpfkrake peeled away from her dress, the creatures that had masqueraded as star-like shifting patterns made themselves known, expressing their distress at her presentation. She moved her hand as she caressed the creatures, and they began to settle down on her again. She began to move, righting herself, though she was coated in the filth and silt where she had fallen. Attempting to stand back up in these heels would be a challenge. "You saved me. Thank you."

Volto Nero nodded. "Some of us have principle," he said simply. "We stand for more than our own power. You don't need to have that to work with us, though." There was no visible smile behind that mask, but his bearing gave off a certain air of concern. Not much. "Should I bring you an opportunity in our mutual interest, may I count on you to act upon it?"

Taleja had hoped for some assistance, though, she supposes, a certain generosity cannot be stretched too far. She struggled to get up, but up she did, using her magic to clean herself off until she was suitably presentable. "I do have principles, Signore Nero." She brushed off the rest of the dirt. "Whether they are shared is a different matter, which is best discussed alongside a cup of tea and not on a dark muddy street."

As he presented his question, her green eyes flicked towards him with a shy smile. "Well, currently, you are scoring seven out of ten." Her eyes pointed forwards. "You used flattery to soften your target and build an empathetic connection. You don’t pressurize, either; you want to enlist their help with an illusion of free will." She moved a hand to symbolize his frame. "You have this air of a mysterious masked gentleman-renegade, which could make a girl quite smitten." She gave a playful wink as she turned to him. "You saved my life, and I am in your debt. If there is an opportunity of mutual interest that happens to fall into my lap, consider it completed."

With that, Volto Nero nodded. "Much obliged," he replied. If there might've been any reaction to her prods, he did not show it. Perhaps that was why he hid his face, or perhaps it was simply Volti Nascosti convention. "We shall certainly stay in touch." A moment later, he was gone.

In Tales From the Realm of Laelilon → 7 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
For me:
"Like" was always a case of I like this post, and I read the post.
"Thanks" tends to be the post was exceptional or really enjoyed it, or it was very helpful, etc.
"Laughter" tends to be I found it funny, or something made me laugh out loud (in the good way, job well done!)
In Tales From the Realm of Laelilon → 7 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
ꁲ ꂵ ꁲ ꋊ ꂠ ꂑ ꋊ ꈼ
ꋖ ꂑ ꂵ ꈼ
Day 1 [Night]
꒒ ꂦ ꀯ ꁲ ꋖ ꂑ ꂦ ꋊ
Lock and Key [Somerset]
ꌚ ꂦ ꐇ ꋊ ꂠ ꋖ ꌅ ꁲ ꀯ ꀗ
♫

She observed as the others introduced themselves and moved toward the group. Her eyes casually flicked between them, assessing their appearances, especially noting any weapons they might be carrying. As she approached, she noticed that Maltar, as he identified himself as, offered the chair before him to her. It was clear they were all searching for missing individuals, a shared purpose between them. Turning, she gave a polite bow to the others, drawing inspiration from the last introduction she experienced, "Hello, my name is Amandine," as she moved to take the offered seat. She glanced at them with a questioning expression, "Have you met my father?" wondering about the nature of the missing people and hoping for clues that might shed light on their shared purpose. To break the ice and foster a positive start to their relationships, she added, "Prepare to dine," opening her bag to reveal some roasted pheasant meat, including a leg, along with some unleavened bread to accompany it with.

In Tales From the Realm of Laelilon → 8 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Symbel diving onto my dinner plate is a tradition that must continue.
In Tales From the Realm of Laelilon → 8 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
ꁲ ꂵ ꁲ ꋊ ꂠ ꂑ ꋊ ꈼ
ꋖ ꂑ ꂵ ꈼ
Day 1 [Night]
꒒ ꂦ ꀯ ꁲ ꋖ ꂑ ꂦ ꋊ
Lock and Key [Somerset]
ꌚ ꂦ ꐇ ꋊ ꂠ ꋖ ꌅ ꁲ ꀯ ꀗ
♫

"Achoo~!" Amandine felt a chilly breeze as she warmed herself by the fire, hands outstretched as the flames licked them. She had been having lucid dreams lately, and one of the latest involved a shapeshifter turning into a plump pheasant, roasting itself on a spit for dinner. The juices ran down its flesh, crisping in the flames. Her stomach rumbled as she thought about food, and she sighed. Why were her dreams always more flavourful than reality? One part of her chastised her fixation on food, while another encouraged her to indulge, a third nagged her to focus on the mission, and a fourth gave her a sense of déjà vu. She sighed as she connected with her sense of self, finding the pitter-patter of rain on the leaves soothing, as she came into agreement with the parts. She bit into a piece of hard tack, then dimmed down the flames with her toasty mitts. "It seems you all have decided that I'd better get moving." She adorned her traveller's cloak, preparing to continue her journey.

As she walked through the dark streets, she could feel eyes gazing in her direction. Even with the modest travelling cloak, her features marked her as not being from these parts. In this area, they tended to think she was from the Sands of Regand, her swarthy complexion reminding them of the sun-kissed inhabitants of the south. Funnily, in the Sands of Regand, her paler complexion made her stand out as someone from the north. For those wiser and more travelled, she might be identified as one of the nomads from the Western Rife Mountains, a people who tended to keep to themselves. However, that would only be partially correct, as she was no nomad. In truth, she didn’t exist, and that is the way her people preferred it. Reclusive hermits of an ancient Dragonian temple, more ruins than a great city of eons past, who led a simple and monastic life, away from the eyes of the empire. Even within her temple, those who manifest traits of their bloodline like Amandine were prized amongst them, proof of their own existence. More secretive still, for those even more fortunate, they would learn of one last secret: that one true Dragonian still lives. “... and she is a bitch.” Amandine smirked widely, her lips curled as she recalled the Lady Phoenix, before making a ritual sign of respect.

Despite being out of place in these parts, her journey followed the footsteps of her shifu, ꁲꁅꍩꁲꂠ. The old man is considered one of the most knowledgeable of her people, though if they spent any time with him outside the ceremonial and formal settings, they might quickly question their assumptions. Less of a Sage and more of a Lore Keeper, she had been assigned as one of his apprentices, the one deemed from them to have any merit. Her day-to-day consisted mostly of travel to the ancient temple sites to keep the flames held in ancient braziers lit. A relatively mundane task, the nomads knew better than to camp within the sacred walls. The most common nuisances were ones that called themselves ‘Adventurers,’ seeking to plunder, vandalize, and destroy anything they got their hands on, in hopes of obtaining long-lost coveted Dragonian riches and treasures. It always amused her as they always seemed to expect riches to be sat on a pedestal, waiting just for them, or treasure troves filled with golden riches about to open their doors after hundreds of years. She concedes, sure, they do have a sacred treasure on display back home, but that quest is so foolhardy they would have much more luck trying to steal from the Emperor and his elite guard.

Amandine made her way to the Lock and Key tavern, opening the door and stepping through. Inside, you couldn’t ever find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy… in the town. The absolute title goes to the Volenstul Downtown district, and the fact one of the patrons was clearly from there in the crowd playing dice said enough. She wrinkled her nose as she exhaled the scent from the man’s magic from her nostrils, scanning the room. Her irises took a slit-like appearance as she gathered what she needed before blending in. She moved towards the fattened orange tabby cat on the table, her fingers stroking through its fur, pinching the flab. “Well, aren’t you a plump one.” Her eyes, however, were not focused on the feline, but on the one adorned with the best equipment in this place, Dorian. It seemed like with the gathering of armed persons in the backroom acting unfamiliar, multiple people had been lured here like a siren’s song.

When the Volenstul man began to gamble with a familiar-looking coin, her suspicions were confirmed. She watched as he was led into a back room. As the pair made their way to the door, she followed them, presenting her coin as she was challenged by Dorian, and followed through the door.

As she eyed the others who entered the room already, she unfastened her cloak and hung it up on a peg. “Now this feels like déjà vu.”

In Tales From the Realm of Laelilon → 8 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
I have a feeling the bar has been set now!
In The Hourglass Order → 8 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Event: Ersand'Enise's most eligible bachelor and bachelorette? | Location: Ersand'Enise


The man stumbled out of the Forked Tower, rubbing his head with confusion. Curiosity had got the better of the cat, as it led him to Juulet's trap, which landed him squarely at the door demon of room 69. Despite attempts to explain the mistake, his words fell on deaf ears. Now, he found himself enduring the consequences of a gender-swap for an unspecified length of time. A quick change of clothes granted spared him from potential awkwardness with his transitioned figure, and now standing at 5ft 7, the Torragonese noble bachelor ventured into the town as he tried to make sense of his newfound situation.

Aside from the height difference, not much had changed much. He still has his long red hair, his blue eyes, though the petite physique was now lean and more masculine. The new clothes suited him well, a noble suit tailored to his size and dimensions, though in places it fit too snugly. A glimpse of his reflection in a piece of shining metal at the market revealed a resemblance to his brother, Jorge.

Adjusting to the social dynamics of being a man proved challenging. Men seemed to frown at each other, and even a friendly smile was met with derision from his peers and elders. When he looked towards women, his attention brought a mixture of results from hostility from the males, a disapproving reserved look from the women, and sometimes what appeared to be a blush and a giggle from the girls around his age. As he moved through the town, he maintained a positive demeanour, noticing some stray kitties and taking a moment to scratch them behind the ears. At least he still had his charm intact where it mattered. His laugh pleasant and sweet, as he displayed affection towards these wonderful creatures.

Wandering through the streets, followed by his new feline companions, he stumbled upon a crowd near one of the local restaurants. From what he could make out from the flyers, Ipte's Courtyard and The Taster’s Union were organizing a one-off event - a dessert tasting experience. With a sweet tooth intact, even with the transformation, he approached the restaurant. The catch: the special offer was limited to couples only. This posed a dilemma; he pondered convincing Rikard to join him, only to realize the challenge of explaining his current predicament and the unlikeness of him accepting whilst he was in his current form. He had considered his other friends, Maura, Zarina, or perhaps even Jocasta, though the humiliation from confiding in them would be merciless.

What appeared to be a saving grace is the marketing was tailored to those like normally like himself. It was fluffy, pink, hearts and very feminine. This worked to attract the attention of girls walking past, or those seeking to find a mister to escort them through the door. His attention turned to a girl from his Darhannic studies class, a friend of Zarina. He recalled that her name rhymed with Taffy, remembering it was Raffie. Despite limited knowledge about her, she seemed pleasant and might make a suitable partner for him. Contemplating the best approach to invite her, he rejected the idea of being too forward, like many of the male peers might consider or the tall-tale Prince Charming approach, where they would hope to sweep her off her feet. Unlike them, he had insider knowledge to how a girl thinks, and it was time for him to take advantage of it.

Approaching Raffaella with a suave smile, he extended his arm, palm open towards her as he offered her to take it. "Mi’lady, will you accept my invitation to join in indulging in sweet desserts for the next hour or two?" The straightforward manner of the proposal cut to the heart of the matter, emphasizing the shared enjoyment of sweet treats without the unnecessary pretence that came with such an advance. As if on cue, one of the stray kitties brushed up around their feet and purred contently.

Raffaella was right outside the door of the event, absorbed in her prayers for happiness for the couples passing by. Some thought it quaint, others found it endearing. Only a few opted to actually stop and *join* the girl as she prayed over them, however. All these were Darhannic as well. In fact, *all* of the Darhannic students that came stopped to pray with her. They all seemed to know her, or at least know her name. Perhaps it was fitting for the shy girl who paradoxically tried to look her best without standing out.

She had just finished her latest prayer when a cat wandered up and curled on her foot. She smiled, giving in to the adorable creature's plea for scratches. "What am I to do with you? You're just so needy~" she "chastised" in her native language.

Then came the unexpected invitation. A hand outstretched as she looked at a familiar face. She'd *seen* this person before. Maybe. Or was it a relative? But regardless...

How could a *guy* be this..?!

Her eyes widened, her cheeks flushed pink to match the rest of her, and she squeaked like a little mouse. "H... Holah," she said uncertainly, cuing in on his Torragonese accent. "E-Estoy..." she paused, as if she forgot what came next... nothing else came next, right?! "Raffie," she finished, her voice barely above a whisper.

She was shy, alright. In fact, she looked like she wanted to flee—but there was, presently, a cat curled up on her foot, and as all true cat lovers knew, movement in this situation was forbidden. "Um... I can't speak Avincian that... formally. I'm sorry!" She clapped her hands together in apology. "Er, or speak Torragonese, like, at all." She frowned and gripped at the loose floof of her dress.

Man, he looked *really* cute.

Er, important! Yes yes, VIP level nobility! Wow!

He smiled warmly at her as she searched for words, displaying patience and politeness. “Selam ben A… Selam ben Asier.” He almost stumbled over his own name, unable to reveal his true identity at the moment. Instead, he chose to adopt the name of his pet puff lion and esteemed ancestor. His cheeks flushed as he acknowledged the stutter, “My Virangish is just as bad,” attempting to play it off as a language barrier with a chuckle.

Asier noticed the cat moving on her foot, registering the panic on her face. He tilted his head, he crouched down, guiding the kitty off her foot with a gentle pspsps using his finger to scratch and brush against the cat's body. “It seems wherever we go, these cute lil’ furballs have a habit of following. Probably because we keep feeding them.” Looking up into Raffie’s face with a smile, he continued, “Speaking of which, are you hungry?” Patting his stomach to indicate his own hunger in that universal language, he took the girl’s hand within his own as he stood up.

Surveying the restaurant's interior, even with the spontaneity of the event, it was nearly at full capacity. Asier spotted a cosy spot near the kitchens, clearly one of the better seats for catching the attention of passing servers. Hoping his increased size included a bigger stomach, he gestured for her to take his arm, signalling the start of their entrance. “There seems to be a table in there, ideally placed for the two of us.” He motioned towards the greeter, indicating their desire for seating, as he prepared for escorting her inside.

Raffie couldn't help but giggle as "Asier" blushed. She wasn't sure why, but it just slipped out. "I'm sorry! I don't mean to be rude. It's... a good name. Your parents chose well." She smiled somewhat ambiguously.

She joined him in spoiling the cat, ruffling its fur. "Yup! We keep feeding them, 'cos they're cute!" she replied cheerfully. Then, she frowned. "Am I that obvious?" she asked.

"...Thank goodness!" she heaved a long sigh. "I thought I'd lost my touch! I wanna go inside so bad~! But all the boys are too nervous to ask me... not that I'm one to talk." She fidgeted a bit. It was her own fault, refusing anyone who was after more than just a one-off tea and dessert date.

Asier, however, seemed to share a similar goal in mind to Raffie. Somehow, being with him felt cosy, though she couldn't place why just yet. She clung to his arm without hesitation and...

Haha! As if! She was nervous as heck! She took his arm with a touch so gentle it could barely be called grabbing. She was understandably anxious with this tall stranger, no matter how vaguely familiar, friendly, and good-looking he might be. But at a second glance, she wasn't looking *away* from Asier so much as she was looking around at the other couples, and in particular, the other girls.

Will they get mad? Girls are scary when they get jealous... she thought as she sat down. She put her hands in her lap and tapped her thumbs together nervously. A few times, she almost put her hands on the table, and she abruptly stopped swinging her legs once or twice. Table manners didn't seem to come naturally to her. Nor patience, but she was trying!

Asier smiled widely, saying, “Named after the legendary lion knight himself, and as a consequence, probably quite a few kitties with that name as well. As for my parents, we are fortunate that they never settled on Harold. There was a girl whose parents were so convinced they were getting a boy, she ended up with that unfortunate name.” His smile softened as she attended to the cat, “Yes, you are a cat person, just like one of us. No turning back now.”

After his comments, Asier appraised her, examining her features. It's an odd feeling being so tall and looking towards someone shorter than you are. He isn’t tall for a male, but still a fair distance taller than his previous height. He smiled warmly as he looked into her eyes, “Worry not; you have this captivating aura that draws in people's attention and lights up the room. Any of those boys would be lucky to have you escorting them. Now, let’s investigate these puddings; they won’t eat themselves,” he winked towards her as he guided her inside, indicating to the wait staff the table he spotted and allowing them to be escorted inside.

As they stepped inside, a wave of warm air infused with the sweet aroma of baked goods and caramelized sugar greeted them. The dimly lit space gave a romantic ambiance as shadows from the candlelight cast across the antique wooden furniture and tapestry-adorned walls. The low hum of hushed conversation and occasional clinking of glasses and silverware created a lively yet intimate atmosphere. Each of the tables was adorned with crisp white linen cloth, showcasing an array of decadent desserts: Crème Brûlée with its crackling sugar crust, Trifles layered with fruits and cream, and Flummery moulded into shapes of sweet velvety goodness. Asier watched as Raffie appeared to be eyeing up the treats others indulged in, recognizing she is most likely just as looking forward to tasting them as himself.

Finally ushered towards their table by the bustling kitchen, they settled in, and their anticipation grew. Asier moved his long red hair out of the way as he tried to position himself within the chair. Navigating this outfit was a new experience, especially when he noticed just how uncomfortable it can be to cross your legs, finding himself quickly rectifying that error with his eyebrows risen in surprise. Finally settled as he sat facing towards Raffie, he smiled widely as he looked over the menu, and it was then he came to notice something unusual as his expression changed. He had the men’s menu. Glancing between his and Raffie’s, he noticed the details such as the font being different, her list looked shorter, and more surprisingly, his had prices against the options unlike hers. A mischievous smile played on his lips, and with a glint in his eye, he lowered the menu onto the table, saying, “Just how big is your sweet tooth?”.

"Oh gawds, really?" She chuckled, picking up the pace. "At that point, why not just change the name? If I had a kid, I'd want to know right away if they're a boy or a girl!"

Distracted from her nervous musings, she looked at Asier. "C-Captivating?" She blushed. "You think? Everyone's looking at me, when I'm not looking?" she asked innocently. "Gosh, but that'd be embarrassing~"

She started fidgeting excitedly again as she picked up the menu. No prices. That means everything's probably really expensive. Shoot, he's actually really nice. I should tell him. I should tell him, but! It all looks so good, and he looks really rich. It's no skin off his nose, right?! Right!

Unbeknownst to her, she was gnawing on her thumbnail the whole time, looking mildly frustrated as she eyed the menu. Eventually, though, she caught herself. "Uhm, I'll just have one," she replied with a nervous smile. Then, her stomach growled. "Uhm, or tw... three," she relented, with a big goofy smile. *No more, Raffles. Any more than three and he'll definitely think you're gross. Like, a total pig.

Asier nodded with a smile, as he gleamed with appreciation, “You are definitely my kind of girl.” With a playful wink, he clapped on the table, and caught the attention of one of the waiters. “We’ll take one of everything.” he declared confidently, placing an order for each delectable item on the menu.

The waiter, adorned in a crisp apron, approached as a subtle smirk played on his lips as he observed the pair. With a measured tone, “Ah, Monsieur, feeling adventurous tonight, are we? One of each delightful delicacy, très bien. A feast for the senses, indeed." A subtle annoyance lingered in his voice, masked by the professionalism, “But of course, Monsieur, we strive to accommodate all preferences. A delightful selection, but may I recommend a few personal favourites to truly enchant your evening?” He subtly attempted towards a more well-curated selection over an exhaustive one.

Asier smiled as he sensed the waiter’s disapproval, and chuckled, “Ah, but we are very hungry, my good sir. The plan is to make this an evening to remember,” he replied, with a mischievous demeanour.

The waiter maintained his professional facade, nodded in acknowledgement. “As you wish, Monsieur. A memorable evening it shall me. Your order will be promptly served.” He retreated, perhaps with a hint of bemusement, to relay the extravagant request to the kitchen.

As he waited for the banquet of desserts to arrive, he got the napkin as he fastened it to himself with a flair, as he began to strike up some casual conversation. “What are your favourite things?”

Raffie's eyes widened in surprise at Asier's order. Her cheeks flushed pink as she realized that he'd seen right through her, and her embarrassment only escalated as he navigated the waiter's subtle barbs.

Then came the question. "Oh, you know! Cute things, fluffy things! Sweetness and pink, girly girl things!" she recited, as though she were asked every day.

Asier politely smiled as he ordered a bottle of wine from a passing waiter and poured some water into a glass. What a delightfully dull response to the question, he mused. He sat back and reflected, noting the absence of a follow-up question to encourage engagement. Perhaps he was always guilty of the opposite, recalling Rikard’s face every time he mentioned his cats.

“It is worth developing some niche or special interests,” he smiled wider as he leaned forward, “We enjoy a number of them. First is my animals, from my kitties who have the habit of sitting on me while we are in bed, growling every moment for me to feed them, appreciating their insatiable appetites. Also enjoy combing the long hair mane of my beautiful mare, and riding my royal froabas, with a particular favourite of soaring high with him at sunset, watching the light creep away from the world. Simply divine.”

As the wine arrived, he held his glass for it to be filled, and the waiter offered to fill Raffie’s glass as well.

“Second, we really love music, especially something with a strong beat. We find that dancing to a fiery flamenco can be so energizing and passionate, simply losing yourself in the heat of the moment. The moment the music stops, the lights go out, and the sudden coolness as the heat escapes your body. Exhilarating.” He took a drink from the glass, savouring the smell, texture, and taste. It was Perrench, as expected from an establishment like this. Certainly, one thing you cannot fault them for was the high quality of their wine, refined for hundreds of years.

He sat back and smiled toward Raffie with a playful smirk. “How about the trials? How are you finding them?”

*Now he's just showing off...* Raffaella thought, annoyed. *I'd love to have hobbies, if I had any time or money for them.* She didn't let her irritation show, however. "Ehehe, yep! Kitties are so full of mischief, but you just can't stay mad at them!" She curled up her fingers into little paw shapes and raised them up close against her cheeks, all giddy and giggly just thinking about them.

When the waiter offered wine, Raffaella refused. "Oh no, I can't~! Juice please!" she requested instead. Then, the next topic came up. Finally! A saving grace! She gasped dramatically. "I *love* to sing and dance~!" she proclaimed, even as Asier was still explaining. She covered her mouth in apology.

Of course, there were also the Trials. In truth, she was trying to forget about the next event. "They were surprisingly fun!" she admitted, leaving out the part where she, the team's namesake, had contributed almost nothing to their success. "But the next event is... how do I put it..." she rested her chin on her little hand in contemplation. "Totally barbaric?" she ventured. Then, she heaved another big sigh. "I can't fight at a~ll! I hope my opponents are nice. I don't wanna die..." She frowned, staring intently at the glass of grape juice in front of her.

Asier smiled as she engaged, even giving a chuckle as he watched her little cat impression. This is better, he thought. He appreciated her engagement, even if she interrupted him, not offended in the slightest.

“You do? We would love to sing and dance with you sometime. Warn you, though, things can get quite competitive.” He moved his hand onto hers, “Will drag you onto the dance floor and have those pretty feet of yours tapping away. You should have seen last time when we dragged…” he paused for a moment, “Well, it was electrifying.”

He continued to enjoy the conversation as she opened up, preferring to hear Raffie enjoy the moment. His hand lingered on hers, as if they were sharing a connection with the other. “They are challenging, fun, and intense.” He listened to her every word as he allowed her to express herself. He was in agreement; he had never killed anyone before either, and the thought of it, especially when it came to killing her friends, was unspeakable.

“As for Mano e Mano… there is an expression, there is more than one way to stroke a cat.” He squeezed her hand empathetically, then released it, “There is no need to kill anyone; you just have to get them to leave the arena.”

"Were they really that hard?" Raffie pondered, tilting her head innocently. "I must be doing pretty well, then~! There's that one girl who keeps getting in the way, I guess," she remarked, referring to Taleja, vastly understating her annoyance with the woman.

She looked down at the hand that completely dwarfed hers, and realized that she'd left her hand on the table. Again. She smiled softly. Unlike a certain "maid," Asier didn't scold her for her bad manners. Bold of him to go for the hand-holding so quickly... but she'd let it slide.

After all, he was cu... ahem! A gentleman, yes.

"Can I really just make them leave? It's not like I can shove them off." She flicked a delicate finger, knocking a crumb of someone else's cake off the table. *Missed a spot, Mr. the Waiter. Not very professional, despite your carefully managed appearances.* A slightly impish grin curled the corner of Raffie's lips, though it wasn't obvious why. "I'd rather challenge my opponents to keep up with my dance moves. Ooh, or a beauty pageant! Since I'm just so~ captivating!" Her half-smirk became a full one as she teased him.

Asier smiled widely at the confidence, “Never underestimate an opponent; it is what happened last year, and we won. That caused quite an uproar.” On the topic of particular candidates, “Oh, quite a few of those. Marci is certainly playing the best so far, and Maura is after repeating her success from last year. That Vyshta girl is causing quite a stink, too… the boys are doing quite a poor showing.”

He beamed widely towards her proposal, “That sounds like a fun challenge. We would love to find myself facing you; we’ll even put on our best dress for the occasion.” He imagined the dress as well, the red and black one with the lion mask that he wore for Nox Arcanium last year, “Don’t think we’ll go easy because we like you.”

The desserts began to arrive at the table, crowding it with a tempting array of flavours. Each dessert hailed from a different region, allowing one to taste a varied palette. From Perronce came the Crème Brûlée, its caramelized sugar crust shimmering in the soft candlelight, promising on the first crack to reveal a velvety vanilla custard beneath. From Enth was the Trifle, a layered marvel of sponge cake, custard, fresh fruits, and whipped cream. The Panna Cotta was a creamy delight of vanilla and fruity drizzle, promising an indulgence of Revidian culinary finesse. Bitesized Baklava with layers of phyllo dough, chopped nuts, and honey promised a taste of Virang. From Torragon was the classic choice of churros, crispy on the outside and tender within, served with chocolate sauce. Vossiyrian Medovik provided a layered honey-infused cake to enjoy. A sweet variant of Moin Moin from Belzagg came on the table, prepared with black-eyed peas, sugar, bananas, cinnamon, then steamed to perfection. Lastly, Helwa tat-Tork from Djamant, the sweet and nutty fudge delicacy of sesame seeds and honey served in bite-sized chunks, graced the table.

“Is that all, Monsieur and Mademoiselle?” Another waiter brought along a pair of elegantly crafted long-handled spoons, clearly designed not for individual use, as they were handed over. Asier playfully looked at the spoons, “Looks like we can help ourselves to the desserts from the other tables with these.” The waiter, whilst bemused, sternly corrected the assumption. “Today is a special day by Ipte for couples to enjoy this fine dining experience together. This, Monsieur, is for you to feed your Mademoiselle. Enjoy.” The waiter politely made his leave, leaving the pair with their conundrum.

Asier blushed as he began to survey the table, “What would you like to try first?” as he offered to Raffie.

"I didn't make the cut for the Trials last year," Raffaella admitted casually. "They kept trying to push me to learn atomic or temporal, but I'm just not strong enough in the Gift." She said it in a sing-song voice, like it didn't really bother her that much.

At the mention of boys not doing well, she tilted her head. "That short lad with the funny hat seems to be doing alright. The one who wears a mask all the time?" she prodded, covering her mouth with a napkin. "Which team are you on?" she added excitedly. The conversation shifted back to dancing, however.

"I wonder if the crowd would get mad~" she remarked absentmindedly, like she didn't really care if they did or not. Best dress? she pondered. Is that some kind of absurdism that only makes sense to nobles? In the end, she decided that giggling girlishly was a safe bet as always. "Bah, do your worst, foul villain~! The ballroom floor shall see thy face smitten~!" she teased with a high-pitched war cry.

Then arrived the desserts. Her eyes sparkled unnaturally with arcane magic at the sight of them all. She did it so seamlessly; it was obviously an effect she practised often. "Gawds, I wanna try them all. ...Did he just say you're supposed to feed me?" She paused. This was something... couples did.

Oh. Yeah. They got in on that pretence, didn't they? So, it couldn't be helped if they had to do something like this. That said, why was Asier blushing?! "Oh, come on~!" she pouted. "Look, I see you blushing. This was *your* idea, so don't get cold feet now!" she gently scolded him. She was blushing too, though, looking at his face and imagining him doing it. "S-Surprise me," she demanded in that soft voice, closing her eyes.

Asier tried to recall someone who matched the description but struggled to think of any boys. However, he couldn’t resist some bemusement. “We can only think of the girl in Fait Accompli… Heard her name is Bella.” He clicked his fingers as he nodded affirmatively, recalling the name used. When it came to the team he is on, “We are on Singers and Saints… as a substitute when someone becomes inconveniently indisposed. Then we step in to help out.” He wasn’t exactly wrong, as he gave her a big grin, but it was certainly a stretch of the truth. “The Moon Prince to the Sun King.” In reply to her boast, “You would be purring like a kitten in our hands as we take you as our partner on the dance floor.”

Asier couldn’t help but smile when called out for blushing, the corners of his mouth lifting. “It is our first time doing something like this; it is kind of romantic when you think about it. Imagine if we were doing it as a real couple.” The tip of the spoon broke through the caramelized sugar as he began with the Crème brûlée, scooping up a mouthful of the delicious treat. He couldn’t help but feel his heart racing as he brought the spoon towards the other’s lips. There was just something so cute and vulnerable with her gesture; it made him want to feel… protective? Certainly, it stirred a sensation as he drew the spoon to her mouth. “It’s entering now.” He delicately pressed it forward past her lips, as he began to fill her with the sweet treat. One spoonful at a time.

"Eh? A girl? No way, right? What girl in her right mind would hide her face~?" She cackled a little. Then, her eyes widened a bit in realization. Wait, then is she the girl who went missing? Who just up and kidnaps someone that strong?! Scary!! Her face turned a bit sheepish as she realized that she might've been insensitive. She said nothing, however, and the two passed over the grim topic quickly.

At Asier's rebuttal, she seemed a little surprised. "First time? Really?" She averted her eyes shyly. "L-Lucky me." Is this what a romantic evening with a prince would be like? It is, isn't it! she realized, happily accepting the bite of crème brûlée. She cracked a wide smile as her cheeks tingled with delight. "Mm~! What's next?" she asked without missing a beat.

But... shouldn't it be Asier's turn now? As if she suddenly had the realization herself, Raffaella nearly slammed her hand on the table to grab her own spoon. "No, wait. You need to try this too!" she backpedalled, taking up a sample of the crème brûlée in her own spoon.

Outside, in the grander world of Sipenta, with its politics, power struggles both economic and martial, and businesslike marriage arrangements for mutual gain, it was a man's world. But here, in this protected bubble of precious, even *sacred* romantic rites, the whims of the girl would direct the events of the evening. In this situation, as the man, Ayla's needs and desires took second place.

Yet Raffie, despite her obviously selfish motive in accepting Asier's proposal, made an effort to set her privilege aside. She had to raise her arm a bit just to reach him, and she held the spoon with a hand that trembled with signs of hunger and low blood sugar. "Open wide~" she said sweetly.

Asier opened his mouth wide, resembling a lion about to pounce, his mouth roaring as he moved to attack the vulnerable crème brûlée. It was as if the spoon had a mind of its own as he was countered, the crème brûlée getting mushed over his nose. He blinked in sudden surprise as the rich flavour invaded his nostrils. He paused for a moment, shocked, then burst out laughing as he moved to hold onto the spoon, guiding it into his mouth to consume the mouthful.

“Our turn,” he moved his spoon over to the trifle, ensuring to scoop a big dollop of whipped cream. As he approached Raffy, he kept his other hand on her spoon to disarm her. “Now make sure to open wide; we don’t want to miss...!” The custard prince threatened to make his date the cream puff princess as his movements hinted at getting her nose, then he would dive it into her mouth if she opened wide.

Raffie sat frozen in... fright? "Oh no! I didn't mean it, I'm so sorry! Please..! ...Forgive... ...me." But Asier had laughed it off. She was so surprised by his reaction that she almost missed the counterattack, but managed to react just in time to get *most* of the whipped cream. "*Ooh,* now you've done it!" She grinned mischievously.

What followed was a spectacle that some might call a more elegant version of a food fight. They jousted with their spoons as they feasted on the delectable desserts. With each bite, Raffie's smile grew wider, her laughter more raucous. The two had become the centre of attention, but she was too focused on Asier to notice. Her signature shyness seemed to just melt away.

Come to think of it, had it even been there at all?

Even as Asier finished, Raffie kept going, until there was hardly a crumb left on any of the plates. At some point, she'd finally stopped shaking. Oh dear. I really overdid it. She's definitely going to know that I've already had food today. Maybe this will be enough, if I go to sleep early. She covered her mouth and yawned loudly. "Gosh, is it getting late? So... sleepy."

Just like that, she was out. Fully asleep in her seat, as the waiter returned with the bill.

Asier had fun as he smiled towards the other girl. She definitely could out eat him when it came to puddings, a miracle in itself. He sighed whimsically, looking toward himself introspectively, wishing someone would do this with him, somewhat envious of the girl opposite. The waiter came with the bill after a delay, and after seeing the eye-watering price, he could understand why, especially with what appeared to be additional security by the doorway. He looked toward the sleeping girl, opened the coin purse, and essentially emptied it to pay for the dinner. “What shall we do with you?”

“If Monsieur is accepting suggestions, typically one should accompany the lady back home,” the waiter said, impressed by their appetites and the compensation in tips, “A true gentleman would wrap a young lady in his jacket and carry her home.” Asier smiled a little at the suggestion, “You are certainly a romantic at heart.” “It ended up with me being married for 24 years and counting,” the waiter politely nodded as he departed with his sage advice.

“Well, looks like we play this role some more, mi amor.” He removed his jacket and draped it over Raffie’s shoulders, then gently lifted the girl up in his arms in a bridal carry, escorting her out of the restaurant like a Prince Charming. As the fresher air hit his senses, he made a realization as he looked down toward her. “Where do you live?” He mulled over the options as he discreetly caressed her cheek, as he wiped away some of the crumbs, before finally deciding to escort her back to his place. He knew she would be safe there at least, he would have to figure out the rest of the details later.

Asier was able to pick Raffaella up without any difficulty. Beneath the fluff, she was even smaller than she looked. There were probably mid-sized cats that weighed more than this fully-grown young lady. Was this really normal? Or was Ayla just that much stronger right now? "Mmh... Ana... F-Fash..." she mumbled in her sleep, but didn't stir. While Asier walked and onlookers whispered and giggled, Raffaella slept peacefully right through it.

Asier may have intended to leave her in the care of Zarina, but he wasn't able to get far before a semi-familiar middle aged maid shrieked dramatically and ran over to him. "You! Put her down this *instant!"* she cried, causing Raffaella to jolt awake. However, she continued to pretend to be asleep, not moving a muscle.

Once she'd gotten a good look at Asier, the woman straightened her posture and bowed in respect, acknowledging his noble bearing. "My apologies. As I'm sure you can guess, this girl is my responsibility." She let out a hollow chuckle. "I'll escort her back to her quarters," she offered with her words, but not her hands. Perhaps she was too old to carry her; though, that was questionable.

Asier classically looked behind him, wondering what was going on, oblivious to the fact that initially, he was the one being hollered at. He eventually saw a maid giving him an evil eye, examining him up and down. She then became deferent in her mannerisms towards him, observing his noble bearing. It's a good thing he wasn’t trying to kidnap the girl, he thought, noticing the difference. He smiled toward the woman, “No apology needed; misunderstandings can happen all the time.” He looked toward Raffie, the girl tucked up like a baby kitten, snug within his arms. “It appears she doesn’t want to move,” as he shook her gently within his arms, trying to stir her awake, “If you like, lead the way, and we will follow you.” He smiled politely towards her. If this maid was like one of her old ones, Raffie is getting plunged into the nearest fountain to wake her up and get her moving if he didn’t offer.

"Thank you for your understanding, milord..?" she inquired for his name. "Good grief. She just does whatever she likes, this girl. I have my hands full every day. Expecting her to act her age is like trying to squeeze water out of a rock." Raffaella was trying not to smile as the maid laid her troubles on Asier.

She led him to a small, unassuming place just outside the Queensgate. It didn't seem like the kind of building where a young noble lady and her maid would live. Inside, however, it had a distinctly upper class vibe; it was a haven of luxury hidden in plain sight.

An elderly woman in well-worn, ashen gray mage's robes greeted them with a smile as they entered. She didn't seem the least bit surprised to see Asier carrying Raffie. "Leave milady on the seat over there, if you please. Then you may go," the maid said with a stern expression, gesturing to the chair next to the old woman. "Please excuse her rudeness. She has her hands full every day, you see." She cracked a mirthful smile. "Why don't you stay awhile and have some tea and cakes?" she offered, grinning as though she had said something witty.

"Milady, this man was currently making off with your daughter before I stopped him. He tempted her with sweets at that location she told you about earlier today," she dutifully reported.

"She went inside after all, did she? Naughty girl, going somewhere you shouldn't be." Her words seemed intended for Raffaella, but her emerald eyes stared right at Asier, accompanied by a knowing smile. "You may leave us," she said, regarding the maid. She looked like she wanted to protest, but she obediently took her leave.

Slowly, she turned back to Asier. "The last time I met your mother, I was sure she was expecting a girl. How peculiar." As ever, she smiled. "Did the two of you have fun together?"

“Asier”—getting used to calling himself that name would take some time. He idly listened to the maid as she led the way. He was simply relieved he didn’t have to host the girl somewhere and answer a series of increasingly awkward questions about accommodation and decoration choices.

He came across a humble abode, and it was fair to say, it looked bigger on the inside and far more luxurious. As instructed, he laid Raffie on the nearby chair and was about to leave as instructed until the maid was interrupted by the lady of the house. He raised an eyebrow to her about him running off with her daughter, and he didn’t take much convincing to help guide Raffie home. Though in hindsight, it wasn’t exactly wrong either, simply not correct. He ended up sitting down next to the girl as he joined them, albeit temporarily, to prevent an unintended slight.

Asier was certainly surprised at the idea of this woman knowing his mother, especially given he hadn’t revealed who he was. He questioned if it was some kind of intimidation, though he continued to act as if it was natural, “We do have a sister; perhaps it is her you are thinking of.” He left it open for the woman to further elaborate on her statement, “How do you know her?”

“The kitchen was kept busy, and our table kept fully replenished. We were not left wanting for dessert during our stay.” He moved to indulge in a sip of the drink offered to him. “And it appears that the excitement of the event was too much for some.” He gave a playful and knowing smile as his eyes moved to indicate the girl beside him. “It was a pleasant afternoon together.”

"Hmm. Perhaps my memory is going sooner than I'd hoped," she replied in good humour. "I've met with a great many noble families. Used to be quite the diplomat in my younger years. I never did give up travelling, though." She gently ruffled Raffie's hair, sighing contentedly. "Soon I'll be too old. Then, off to the long dream I go. It'd be nice to know that this girl won't be left alone when I do. I'm happy you made a friend, little one."

Raffie, still pretending to be asleep, looked like she might cry. It was no coincidence that, around the same time, the old woman put her back to sleep with a gentle but strong surge of chemical magic. "I'd like to thank you, Asier, for keeping her safe and well fed, but now I need you to go. I need to tuck her into bed before we all get in trouble." She smiled tightly, and did not elaborate. She was still pleasant, but she was very much urgently shooing him out the door, leaving him to speculate on Raffie's family circumstances.



In Tales From the Realm of Laelilon → 8 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Amandine of the Western Rife Mountains
© 2007-2024
BBCode Cheatsheet