Zoey Boey

Calling All Wrestling Fans!

Count me as a maybe. Will this be an all-male cast?

Blood's Jewels (High Casual Fantasy Revolution)

Dareen had assumed that Fatima was just taking a mild detour, but the Queen drudged on ahead down the dark alleyway. Nodding dismissively at Jandar, Dareen furrowed her eyebrows and followed Fatima behind. She wanted to call out and ask what Fatima was doing, but her role was a silent one and she didn't want to give herself away. Interlocking her arm with Jandar's she followed behind, trying to act all uppity and snooty at the mild disarray at the environment around here. As they continued forward, her discomfort need no longer be manufactured. A powerful Jewel lay ahead. Dareen had spent her time around powerful Jewels before but this was dark. Darker than even Jandar's. As Jandar picked up the pace Dareen caught wind of his anxiousness and his feelings of worry only amplified Dareen's own.

She began to breathe quicker, and she swallowed dryly at the sensation of Jandar tightening his grip on her. Sweat began to dig away at her makeup and she nervously scanned the environment. Where was Fatima going? Who's Jewel was so dark? The feeling was only getting stronger. Jandar than disengaged from Dareen and interposed himself between her and Fatima. The mercenary in disguise's chest was beginning to swell with fear. In this god damn dress. She felt naked! Without the cool feeling of protective cloth and chainmail weighing against her skin she was utterly exposed. This dress might asewll be tissue paper. Without her weapons, either. They were but a moment of concentration away, but sometimes that's all it took. Mikhail was supposed to be following them, right? Dareen turned her head around, eyes wide, searching the rooftops but finding nothing. If Jandar's disguise was breaking, Dareen's was already broken. Her fingers clawed at the thin air, wrapping themselves around the handle of a blade that wasn't there. This was oppressive. No backup. No plan. Not even a hood. She always wore that hood. Her ears were cold and Dareen always thought they stuck out too much to the sides. Was that really relevant right now? Once again she found herself brushing her damnable hair out of her face only to find it had begun to stick to it.

"What are we doing?" She whispered harshly, the fear in her voice making itself apparent in her rapid, trembling canter of speech.

🌠 Once Upon A Time 🌠(Concluded)

Annabelle Lafeyette

Annie's parent's house

"Um," Annie articulated her confusion, nervously pacing back and forth. "Yeah, I can stay on the phone. I- I live on 271 Oakview Lane. I don't-I don't know where he went. It was just a street or two over I was taking my dog for a walk." Annie peeked through the blinds to see her neighbor waiting outside. What were they doing here? What awful timing!

She was going to need to talk to someone about all this. Her parents were- well, they were worry warts that was for sure. Maybe she'd tell them later. Probably text her friends, like Willow? Would she even care about something stupid like this? Annebelle hadn't exactly acted valorously. Well- whatever! Who cared about Annie's- reputation? Mind all jumbled up, Annie tried to keep calm.

"There's my- neighbor? At the door. I'm- I'm sorry. I'm frazzled," She laughed nervously. "That guy really...got inside my head." She finished, voice getting serious as once again the strange visions that felt like memories swarmed in her head. Today was a bad day.

Bogeys! - Air Combat Drama [OPEN]

yuppers !

[HIGH CASUAL] ► Her Majesty's Spirit

The Ballroom

---

^{August 31st, Sunset | An Entrance | Fellow Guests}

A few others had joined the conversation at this point, the radius of discourse growing. Dietrich had spotted a lull in the conversation as Sabrina and another woman began to get to chatting. Elly was listening when Dietrich approached. She raised her eyebrows and turned around, resting her elbow on the back of her seat. Someone speaking to her in her mother tongue had not been something she had particularly expected. Though anyone could tell just from looking at her that she came from that favorite Isle to the north.

Gingerly picking up a glass of wine she daintily sipped it and placed it back down. Elly returned her answer in Moorish. "Yeah, I've got some Mjod back on my horse. But perhaps consider that I'd like to be sober though, hmm? As much as my brothers-in-arms would most likely tell you otherwise, blackout drunk is not the default state of Moorish existence." She said humurously. Her Moorish, of course, was smooth, natural and sophisticated. It was, after all, her first language. Back in the day Alice and Elly had helped each other learn their respective mother tongues merely by being around each other, and learning the common tongue of the southern kingdoms was a necessary part of her education as a warrior. After all, a language barrier is more resilient than any wall or fortress. Especially to a viking, who ate fortified locations for breakfast.

"Name's Elly," The moorish woman introduced herself, unaware that her name had already been pegged. The man who had inquired about the Mjod was a finely dressed Thelannian nobleman who seemed just shy of middle age. Handsome and apparently intelligent since he knew at least a little about fine Moorish alcohol, he had given Elly a good first impression. Still, if he was a knowledgable about viking ways as he seemed, he would know that Moorish people rarely kept conversations at the level of a whisper. Elly was no different, though her tone was friendly and inviting as opposed to boistrous or challenging. Switching back to the common southern tongue, Elly spoke up loud enough for the others at the table to hear their conversation. She had no interest in secret conversations even though his intentions seemed innocuous enough. After all, these nobles were here to support the 'heroes', stuffy as they were. It would be rude to leave them out.

"You comin' with us on our little trip? Or are you here to meet the heroes?" Something about this man indicated that he could handle himself in a fight. Having grown up around people itching for a fight, Elly figured she could spot a warrior amongst a crowd. Could be wrong though. Her question about heroes was lightly dipped in sarcasm. Subtle enough to be missed by those who took themselves and this event a little too seriously but the humor in her voice could be picked up on by those who were 'in on it'. 'It' being that heroics were rarely as spick and span as the stories and songs often recounted them. It was a prodding question for Elly to pick up on what kind of person the man she was talking to was.

Bogeys! - Air Combat Drama [OPEN]

Jamie Teale

---

Or not. She didn't get to enjoy her breakfast for long. Jamie was quickly hurried along to meet Gravestone and she grumpily complied. Sitting lazily in a chair she picked at her teeth as the Old Man talked. But she sat up straight, slamming her fist on the desk and smiling as Gravestone announced Jackson was alive.

"That tough son of a bitch. I never should have doubted him. I'm sure he'll get outta bed any minute now," She coughed and was grinning from ear to ear. God damn...she was getting a bit emotional! Then she frowned and glanced around at everyone else to see what they had just heard what she heard.

"Wait- what? Angel 6 was a spy and- you guys- what do you mean where the fuck is Carter?" Jamie was on her feet now. "We gotta go find him! Also, what? Robins? Fucking what- a spy? Jesus!" Visibly flustered Jamie wasn't sure what to do with her hands or where to walk. Putting both of her hands on her head she turned her back on the group. Why hadn't Felix come back yet? Last time she saw him he doing some kamikaze shit. Or having it done on him? Either way his plane was destroyed and the Old Man hits them with the 'where the fuck is Carter' as if they're supposed to know? He was in friendly territory, someone should have gone to pick him up already! He could be fucking dead impaled on a tree or something! And Robins- a spy? Jamie couldn't even register that bullshit. No way.

-closed go away

that is gonna be a solid bump from me, my mans

The Curse of Sonina

well gang, looks like we got a mystery on our hands. i am interested in ur cool idea

Rogue Continuum [CLOSED PENDING REBOOT]

ive been here :)

Blood's Jewels (High Casual Fantasy Revolution)

Dareen followed Fatima’s sweeping gesture and opened up the carriage door. Keeping it open with the back of her hand she allowed Fatima inside to the best of her ability and awkwardly sat down with the dress in her lap. Compressing one side of her lower lip she picked the thing up and set it floppily back down. As the coach doors closed behind Fatima the two were left in privacy. Once again she removed her hood to reveal her semi-frazzled black hair that ran in a braid along the side of her head. This revealed the pattern that was usually hidden by her hood that went up and around the back of her ears and vanished down the back of her neck.

"I mean, what’s first, I guess?” She asked the Queen. Fatima smiled kindly, a gesture of understanding and compassion for the discomfort she was sure the woman would experience. They were practically strangers after all. Fatima had not exactly lent herself to a good impression these past few days.

"Firstly you need to undress and I'll help you into the new one. A lady's maid always does up the laces so it would be impossible to do yourself." She reached out a hand to gently touch the woman's hair. "Once we've got you dressed well do your hair and make up. You'll be a whole new woman."

Dareen blinked at the touch but then nodded. "Okay, sure. Sure. Laces...got it." Dareen wasn’t a particularly modest person, but she realised this was the first time she had had an extended conversation with someone who wasn’t part of her company in...years. Since she was a teenager. Let alone having someone help her into new clothes.

Trying not to be too awkward Dareen vanished the hood she held took off and then cleared her throat. Unclasping the belts and straps that kept her clothes from being too loose and held her weapons, one by one the leather implements vanished. Crossing her arms she lifted her red long-sleeved shirt off her body, revealing the sleeveless chainmail tunic underneath. Her bare arms were covered in a line dot pattern similar to the one on her face, though much more intricate.There were also a few scars cut into her arms from long healed wounds. For a moment she hesitated but shaking her head she removed her underarmor, and with a clink and a clank that too vanished into nothingness. Now she was just in her pants, boots, and a white wrapping around her chest. Her torso was just as tattooed as her arms, with the lines doing a kind of swooping circular dance around her breasts and navel. There were ghosts of a few nicks here and there, but the most obvious scar was a particularly grievous one that had been carved to the right of her belly button and was four inches tall.

Face turning red against her will, Dareen spoke. "”Do I uh- how do pants work? With a dress?" She asked and then laughed quietly at her ignorance.

Fatima was utterly fascinated with the markings which swirled like stars over her traveling companion's body. Without thinking much she reached and and traced the dots along Dareen's side before pulling back with a faint apology. Dareen had frozen up a little bit but forced herself to relax. "Pants should be fine, the modified in such a way as to indicate the need for pants. Makes it easier with the height difference. I can finish the hem once it's on."

She lifted a pale cream blouse and handed it to the girl. "This first. And then we'll make the corset work. I'll tie it loose so you can move more easily in it." She pulled at strings on the under item in question. "It might be a bit short but it should work." She was saying it more to herself than to Dareen. "Does the blouse fit?" She turned from the corset to check that seams and movements were all in check. "Ever worn a corset before?"

The Pruulish witch lifted the blouse over her head and put it on " Yeah, it fits. A little small, but it’s fine.". Once again covered she seemed comfortable. Not many people had seen her markings before- let alone touched them. They shared the texture of her skin, of course- the dark red tattoos were inextricably etched into her brown skin. A permanent, inescapable reminder of her past, even more so than the scars given to her by her quarries. A scar could have come from anywhere- but the markings were very specific. They only came from one place.

"Um, a corset? I don’t think so." Her old red shirt vanished into nothingness as she spoke.

A devilish grin spread over Fatima's face. "You are in for a treat!" She directed Dareen how to stand, arms up while she laces the object around her middle, just over her chest. It stopped a bit short over her hip bones but it would be passable. Then Fatima began to tighten the laces, cinching Dareen's waist.

Dareen raised her arm to look at the enthusiastic Queen behind her. With a look of mild concern she asked, "Is this a treat?” She asked. "You wear these often, then?" She asked with a small wince.

"Only when forced," Fatima replied with a small laugh. "What do your tattoos mean?" Her chatter was idle and congenial as she finished tightening the bodice. Still loose and Dareen could breathe. But not exactly comfortable.

Dareen was a terrible liar. So instead, she only decided to give some of the story. "They are uh, a tradition. From where I come from." She said, staring into the middle distance. ”I got them when I was sixteen. They mean I am a warrior." She thought back to that long evening so many years ago, where she was told not to squirm as the artisan marked her in that glowing warm tent.

She finished up the laces, tying and tucking them away. Once satisfied with how the corset sat on Dareen's frame she then offered up the dress. "Over your head," she directed. "That is amazing. There are so many of them. It must have taken a great deal of time."

Dareen smirked and then somewhat clumsily followed Fatima’s direction, placing the dress loosely over herself. "Yeah. A great deal of time. Had to spend an entire biting on a wooden spoon.” This was one of those odd memories that was absolutely miserable upon living it, but that Dareen had come to look upon with a strange sense of fondness.

"Is this right?” The ex-mercenary asked, turning her back to Fatima.

"Yes, lovely!" She began to position the dress properly over Dareen and tying the laces in place so that it hugged her curves tightly. "What about the scar on your stomach. Was that part of it or were you attacked?" She knelt down in front of the woman, pulling a needle and thread from the air. "Keep your arms at your sides." She licked the thread before pushing it through the needles eye.

Dareen cleared her throat as the dress began to tighten. She didn’t answer for a moment, lowering her arms at her sides. "Uh, no. That a few years later in a fight.” That was the worst pain she had ever felt and the closet she had come to dying. Dareen was dancing around the true context of all these situations, avoiding telling Fatima who gave her the tattoos and who gave her the scar. Fatima didn’t yet know Dareen’s past as a mercenary and for now she would much rather keep it that way.

"Oh, you have lead a very exciting life it would seem. The proof is all over." She carefully, but with speed, hemmed the dress so that it hung correctly and with no frayed edges. It was shorter in the front, revealing Dareen's legs below the knee and longer in the back so that the light fabric would float behind her as she walked. "I'm sorry for asking but… what has you gathered here with us? Most I know and I think you've had this sort of conversation before my arrival… but your presence is baffling. That is not to say unwanted! Please don't think that. I just… you're different from the rest of us."

"Yeah, you could say that." As Fatima became more and more curious as to why the mercenary had joined this little cabal of aristocrats, Dareen’s throat was impeccably dry. "”W-well. I, uh..." Did this seriously have to happen while she was having a dress put on?

"...I have an interest in seeing the fall of Queen Dorothea. And Faeril decided to...to let me join her. It’s kind of a long story, you know?” She managed. If Fatima decided to ask Faeril, it was probably all over. No way Fatima would regard Dareen with anything but disgust if the matter of Dareen’s origins became apparent to her.

"That much is obvious." She said dryly. She finished the hem and cut the thread with a flick of her wrist. "I mean, why throw your lot in with this odd crew? There is much contention in the group, you are not kept to us in the way that I am to them. Take a seat." She gestured to one of the carriage seats as she stood. Fatima then produced a tiny latched trunk. "Face paint," she explained. "What I mean to ask is… what is keeping you here among us woman warrior."

Sitting down, Dareen couldn’t meet Fatima’s gaze, Instead she focused her attention on the tiny latched trunk. "I...well, where else would I go? You are the only people I know of who are going against Queen Dorothea, right?" Dareen asked, questioning her own truth.

"I suppose you're right. It's a common thought. Not so much action though." She set the box to the side before opening it to reveal an amazing array of beautiful bottles, tins and tubes in endless colors.

Dareen nodded. "People are scared, I guess. I...I know I was. " Admitting this felt good. "But we’re just getting started. Can’t all just be dresses and makeup." She joked, glancing over at the cosmetic arsenal Fatima had at her disposal.

Fatima grinned. "In any case, I'm glad you're here to help me set the world on fire. You've got a good energy." She opened various bottles and containers to find the right concoction of paints to apply to Doreen's face. "I don't want people to feel afraid of us anymore." She gently began to apply a coppery powder to the woman's face.

Dareen was about to say something but closed her mouth as Fatima began placing powder. Then Dareen closed her eyes as Fatima moved up her face and continued not to say anything, instead breathing slowly as if she was worried about inhaling the substance. In the meantime, she internally considered Fatima’s words. Good energy? That was a first. Did Fatima have some kind of magical energy detector? Or was it just a figure of speech?

Setting aside the powder, she then cocked her head to the side. "I don't think I have anything strong enough to hide your tattoos. It should be okay though. The powder will at least make them less obvious."
Dareen opened her eyes and looked at Fatima. "So...I could pass as a nobleman’s wife?" She pinched the shoulders of her dress and lifted them a little bit and shrugged. "Is there a mirror in there?". She placed the finishing touches of a pewter eye shadow, dark kohl, and a bright red lipstick.

"Here," she plucked the mirror from amongst the containers and handed it over. "Of course you could. You're very lovely."
Dareen touched her newly done up face in the mirror. She pulled down the skin on her cheek and opened her eye up wide. After a while she laughed mirthlessly. "I feel ridiculous, Fatima. But, hey, are we done now?" She said, still looking at herself in the mirror. It was like looking into some kind of bizarre alternate reality.

"Should be fine once you let your hair down. Yeah… we're done." Her voice was filled with sincerity when she spoke again. "You are quite marvelous my dear."

Dareen shrugged and smirked, letting the mirror fall into her lap and quirking her head at Fatima. Reaching up she undid the braids and knots of her hair and let it fall down to just past her chin, running her fingers through it like a comb to straighten it out a little. Swearing disbelievingly in her native tongue, she slapped Fatima crudely on the shoulder, a soldier reassuring a comrade of their deeds.

"Thanks for the effort, Fatima. Let’s hope this is worth it, eh?" With that she stood up straight, put on her best dignified face, and left the carriage.

---Shalador---

Now as Ranina Rentrick stepped out of the carriage, all done up and "pretty", Dareen followed her "husband" into down. She tried to keep her back straight, and as Jandar would instruct, her arm looped through his. Trying to put on a dispassionate, formal stride, Dareen tipped up her nose and observed the town. Perhaps she was a bit too observant and bit too aware of her surroundings, she pulled off a somewhat convincing illusion. Now she just had to keep her mouth shut and let hubby here do all the talking. The guards here were clearly just hired goons some aristocrat plucked off the street. Nothing more than warm bodies to scare off the rabble and be meat shields for material possession. Still, they were antsy. Dareen tried not to look at them for too long, though. Try to act as though she was letting the hobbling hag and her spouse worry about the troublesome little things like that.

Of course there was the distinct scent of witchblood on the air aswell. All of this combined to fill the Pruulish young woman with the sense that something was about to go wrong, and a fight would start. If so she would feel woefully vulnerable. Dareen brushed a strand of black hair out of her eyes. When was the last time she ever had to do that? Besides when washing it, her hair was permanently tied tightly up into it's braid. Now it hung freely and bobbed up and down and to the side like some kind of maniac. Just begging to caught on or by something.

It was nice, though, to go unchallenged. From her brief experience of travelling alone, everyone was eager to make snide remarks and prove their worth against the woman warrior that dared enter their town. But now, the proverbial shoe was on the other foot. Though it was cheating, since they were obviously more wary of Jandar than they were of her. Whether it be her fellow mercenaries or her fake husband, if she wanted to travel somewhere with any modicum of respect she had to be side by side with a man. How...annoying. Perhaps this annoyance in the vague direction of the entire world would add to her persona.

Every once in a while she had to re-check her gait, resisting the urge to drop her hand to where her scabbard would be or to slouch her shoulders. How did people do this all day? The sooner this was over, the better. Thankfully she wasn't alone, though she got the sense that Fatima derived some sort of cheeky joy from her Ugly Queen persona, and Jandar was probably just acting as he always did except with a different hairstyle or whatever.

Sighing, Dareen kept her eyes foreward. Fatima began to speak, but trailed off. Dareen turned her head to look back at Fatima and raised her eyebrows before looking at the road ahead.