ayzrules

Why We Fight? (WWII with superpowers)

@Oak7ree as someone from sort-of southeastern US, I just want to say that it was 90 degrees f (almost 38 celsius) yesterday and humid as hell :p

so not as bad as summer, but still rather muggy and hot

Why We Fight? (WWII with superpowers)

And while everyone else is running, Maria's taking her sweet ol' time with it, going at a fast walk at the best
Sweating is ugly :p

Side note: though she would be pretty damn good at running in a floor length gown and heels ;D

Why We Fight? (WWII with superpowers)

lol maria's probably taking 2 hours every single run lets be real

Why We Fight? (WWII with superpowers)

Maria Marjorie Moretti despised coerced physical activity.

She absolutely despised it.

Which, understandably, made her entirely unsuited for "basic training", or whatever the hell the government was calling the torture facility known as Camp Toccoa. Maria's opinion of the government, in general, was quite low. Aside from the fact that she had spent the entirety of her life breaking the law, Maria was resentful of the fact that anyone could have power over her. I already have to deal with this whole giving-birth-to-a-girl bullshit, she thought. Why must I put up with more men telling me what to do? Indeed, Maria had discovered that there was only one thing that had remained constant thus far in her life: men were continually screwing her over (or she was screwing them, but that was beside the point). There were the scumbags in London who had robbed her mother and effectively sealed Maria's fate as a, well, whore, and then there was her father, who was an utter fool, and on top of that, there were the policemen and judges and military officers who all decided that Maria would be best used in an effort to fight yet another goddamn man.

Needless to say, Maria tended to despise certain types men as much as she despised coerced physical activity.

The worst were the men who had too much power and knew it-they were the ones whose hands were the roughest, whose kisses were the greediest (and the sloppiest), whose slaps were the hardest. They were the ones who saw Maria as simply another being created for their pleasure, and they would always see her like that, even if she was wearing a priceless silk gown and dripping in diamonds. Those men were bastards who would tear that beautiful, beautiful silk to shreds in seconds without a second thought.

And those were the men who always, always, always underestimated Maria. Needless to say, Maria took great pleasure in killing them by kissing them without the extra layer of lipstick that served to protect the clients from the poison in her saliva.

Aside from her vendetta against the men who'd taken her life away from her, Maria resented the government because she thought that their current plan was completely stupid.

Really, now, Maria thought scornfully. Send me to Germany, and I'll find a military officer or someone of equal importance to associate myself with, then I'll kiss Adolf Hitler on the lips. Problem solved. I'm wasted in the battlefield; what good are my abilities going to do against bombs and gunfire? Fighting a war was such a messy business, what with dead bodies and blood and pieces of shrapnel going everywhere, and Maria wanted no part in it. Bloodstains were impossible to remove from silk-Maria knew that much from her time with Alessandro Rossini.

There were only two other women in the unit; Belasy and Zhanna. Belasy didn't say much, and Zhanna seemed like she was happy to be there. Belasy had a ferocious intensity to her that made Maria want to roll her eyes. Maria had no doubt of her skill, and she supposed that the other woman had some sort of oh-so-tragic backstory, but then again-didn't they all?

Maria mentally winced. She hated thinking about the past. Both Belasy and Zhanna seemed like the type of people who would heartily disapprove of Maria's decisions and actions, anyway, so it was best to leave that subject alone for the time being. She didn't think Belasy would offer up an explanation of her own history, and Maria would refrain from doing so as well.

One thing that annoyed Maria to no ends, however, was the fact that the government had confiscated some of her most valued possessions. Her pistol, for instance, the one with a mother-of-pearl handle and decorated with intricate metalwork. It was a veritable work of art, in Maria's opinion, worth more than the Mona Lisa. And those pigs had taken her poisoned lipstick, as well as her regular lipstick. The very thought of it made Maria want to violently...well, kiss someone, sans lipstick. Really, though, is the entire military run by fools? Had they not considered what would happen, should my bare lips accidentally come into contact with someone else's skin? There hadn't been any trouble so far, of course (Maria was not inclined to randomly kissing others), but there was still a risk. And Maria would have felt much better about the entire situation with some proper red lipstick on, thank you very much.

Belasy entered the medium-sized room that housed Maria and the two other women, grabbing her PT gear. Maria sighed inwardly, not bothering to look up from where she was combing her hair with her fingers. She hated everything about the place-the food, the beds, the hideous uniforms, the people, the very air she was breathing (not to mention the coerced physical activity). Yet she had no choice, unless she wanted to spend the next ten years-or more-in prison.

After delaying for another couple of minutes, Mara finally got up, took hold of her gear, and glided out of the room to join the others for yet another run up the cursed Curahee. "Glided" being a relative term, of course. It was nearly impossible to appear graceful and elegant when one is wearing a pair of boots and a military uniform, but Maria was determined to master it. She did appreciate a challenge.

Why We Fight? (WWII with superpowers)

oh my GOODNESS maria despises running ;D

Why We Fight? (WWII with superpowers)

@KaiserElectric I feel like Maria and zhanna are going to clash wonderfully ;D

Rolling Thunder

​​Violetta stared at the stars scattered across the sky-all that remained of Sister Star, who'd shattered herself to pieces for her love of Brother Desert. Would Violetta do the same for Pippa? She thought that she would, if the circumstances called for it.

Violetta thought of all the stories, myths, and legends surrounding the goddesses. She knew more about their universe than even some of the Alumnallen priests, which she found to be rather ironic. She was technically considered less than human through the Almerintian system of belief, after all. Funny how she should know more about it than some of its most devout practitioners. But Violetta had spent ten years of her life all but locked away in the basement of a library, and there hadn't been much to do other than reading.

And read she did-everything from little-known mathematical theories to ancient scrolls detailing the creation of the world. It was in these very scrolls that Violetta discovered some of the most obscure stories and beliefs concerning the goddesses and Almerinte, though there was no way to confirm the veracity of them. Violetta found these stories to be the most interesting. One of the most notable stories was about how, in a time long-forgotten by even time itself, Brother Desert tried to claim the world for himself.

Legend said that after he'd been banished to the Wastelands for attempting to steal Mother Moon's valuable crown, but before he created humans in a failed attempt to plague the goddesses and Mother Nature and Father Earth, Brother Desert tried to claim the world for himself. The stories told of how plants withered and died at his touch, of how animals fled from his malevolent presence, of how his anger created violent sandstorms that raged for weeks on end. According to the stories, the wrath of Brother Desert repelled everything that the goddesses set at him-he was not hurt by scorching rays of sun, he could tolerate frigid cold, and howling winds did nothing but make him angrier. In the end, Brother Desert was victorious-for a time. He'd managed to transform all of Almerinte into a giant wasteland, but he hadn't counted on his sisters, the four goddesses of the four realms, approaching the elusive Empress.

That was what the ancient texts referred to her as-simply the Empress. From Violetta's understanding, the Empress could give and take life at will. According to the legend, the four goddesses beseeched the Empress to restore life to Almerinte, only to have her spurn them scornfully, telling them that they were perfectly capable of doing so themselves (Violetta thought that Pippa was remarkably similar to the Empress in this aspect). And so, the goddesses returned to Almerinte, and with the help of Mother Nature, Father Earth, Sister Sea, and Brother Sky, began anew. Father Earth laid down mud and mountain once again, and Lativia sowed the seeds as Mother Nature breathed life into them. Sister Sea filled the clouds of Brother Sky with rain as Ver'lya raised trees out of the soil and Scarletta ran through them, leaving a whole host of animals in her wake. Ophelia froze the lands of the north and Ver'lya shined the sun down on the lands of the south and Scarletta painted the trees red and gold and Lativia created fields of wildflowers, and all was right again.

Upon having his plans thwarted, Brother Desert retreated to the Wastelands, leaving with only one warning-that he would return, and he would return when the goddesses least expected it. Some accounts say that he fled beyond Almerinte to the realm of the likes of the Empress, joining the dangerous Lady Luck and Catastrophe in a land that was not governed by the laws of Mother Nature or Lord Time. Other accounts tell of his continuing presence in the Wastelands, where he preys on anyone bold enough to trespass into his realm.

Whatever the case was, one thing was for sure; Brother Desert was gone, his power severely diminished. And now, his creations, the humans, ruled the realms he had once tried to take over, worshipping his sisters. None of the priests that Violetta had encountered ever mentioned anything about Brother Desert's short-lived rule of Almerinte, so Violetta was unsure if that had actually happened, but nevertheless, it made for an interesting tale.

Other mentions of figures such as the Empress, Eternity, Catastrophe, Lady Luck, Lord Time, the Lady of Light, and the Lord of Darkness were few and far in-between. Violetta understood that most of the Almerintians dismissed them as the fanciful imaginings of their ancestors. Violetta thought that there could possibly be merit in the stories, but it was not her place to say so. Even after ten years, many members of the Alumnallen nobility could not accept the fact that a half-blood lived and worked amongst them in the running of the realm. Imagine what they would say when the aforementioned half-blood came out and directly challenged their ages-old beliefs of their world and their goddesses!

Violetta was startled from her musings by the sound of falling trees. What in the name of Father Sun and Mother Moon... thought Violetta, scrambling to her feet as she peered into the darkness, unable to discern anything save for the fuzzy outlines of trees simply toppling over. She listened closely, and she then she heard something else-it was a strange, peculiar sound that reminded Violetta of the sound of gears turning, except for considerably amplified. And it was getting closer.

Scarletta save me, Violetta thought, fear freezing her to the spot. She scrambled into the relative safety of the forest behind her, peering cautiously in the direction of the tremendous noise from behind a particularly large tree. She knew she should run back to the castle, behind the tall stone walls, but some sort of morbid curiosity kept her from going anywhere. Despite her fear, Violetta was interested in seeing what was capable of producing such a sound.

She got her answer as a hulking shadow crunched over the last of the trees, and the thing came to a stop just before the small stream that cut across the clearing. Violetta's eyes widened at the sight. It was made out of a metal that sort of resembled Itervian armor, though it was much duller than the shining steel of armor. It seemed to move on wheels encased in...something. As a whole, it was shaped like...like a four-legged animal with large feet and a small torso.

Violetta had never seen anything like it.

She let out a small gasp and took a step backwards, her palms slick with sweat. Violetta was on the verge of turning on her heel and fleeing for the castle when a fierce gust of wind almost knocked her over. The wind screamed, coming up from behind Violetta and blowing her skirts every which way. Violetta stumbled, grabbing hold to the tree she was standing behind. Leaves of red and gold and brown swirled through the air, some of them settling on the metal of the thing beside the stream.

The wind eventually settled down after a minute or so, and Violetta winced and caught her footing once again. If the Alumnallen belief that the wind is created by Scarletta running through the trees is true, then it must mean that she is here with us right now, Violetta thought to herself in an effort to assuage her fears. Scarletta save us all. What is that?

Rolling Thunder

@Hostile Hey just a heads up I'm going to be out of town sunday/monday and I may not have time to get a reply up before then. I'll do my best to get something up for ya asap, sorry about that :/

EDIT: nevermind :D

Steamtown: Blood and Gunpowder

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Isadora Violetta Langdale
_{PLACE // Langdale's saloon, the Marketplace
TIME // Late morning, noon}

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Isadora blinked groggily and roused herself. It was well past the time that people normally got up, but then again, Isadora worked unusual hours.

Isadora brushed out her hair the best that she could before putting it up into a messy bun. She envied her older sister, Minerva, whose hair was wavy enough that it fell naturally in loose ringlets, but not so curly that it was perpetually frizzy and impossible to manage. Unfortunately for Isadora, her caramel-colored locks fit the latter description quite beautifully.

Isadora walked across the cramped room that she shared with her older sister to the rickety old wardrobe that stood in the corner. Whereas Minerva's side of the room was neat and meticulously organized, Isadora's side was utter chaos. Minerva had long given up trying to get Isadora to do anything tidily.

Isadora donned a lightly-flared prairie skirt of ruffled rose calico that brushed her ankles and a fitted cotton blouse decorated with a few ruffled areas at the sleeve and neckline large brass buttons ran down the front of her blouse. She pulled on a pair of Minerva's practical boots for the time being-she would change into something flashier when it came time to open the saloon for business later in the day-and topped the entire ensemble off with a functional leather belt. Isadora decided that she would pinch a bit of lace and line the hem of her skirt in the aforementioned lace if she ever got the chance. Lace was very hard to come by, as expensive as it was, but if Isadora got lucky, she'd meet a nice rich lady who would be willing to trade a lace ruff or a pair of lace gloves for a bit of information. Though, Isadora reflected, she would never ruin a pair of lace gloves in order to decorate one of her plainer skirts.

It was Market Day, which meant that Minerva had been out all morning haggling with the vendors hawking their wares. Isadora felt sorry for the poor vendors. Minerva was one hell of a haggler. Something about her sharp, eternally disapproving eyes, Isadora imagined. And the way her older sister talked-like she was murdering each word as it came out of her mouth. Their mother referred to Minerva's extremely precise way of speaking as clipped. Mariana and Rosalina referred to it as mean.

Isadora made her way down the narrow staircase, which ended in the small office that Eleanora called home. Isadora's mother was there right now, busily scribbling away. None of the Langdales knew much in terms of reading (though Mariana and Rosalina had taught themselves more), but Eleanora and Minerva were good with numbers, a trait that Isadora most certainly had not inherited.

"Isa, finally awake, I see," Eleanora said without looking up. "I know what you've been fixin' to do-all's I'm sayin' is that you best get it done 'fore it's time to open. Use that pretty face of yours and see if you can buy me some new shoes for real cheap while you're at it, hmm?" Although an unknown disease had left her mother crippled when Isadora was only eleven, she had lost none of her brusque, no-nonsense attitude.

Isadora laughed and planted a kiss on her mother's cheek. "You got it, Ma," she replied affectionately, grinning widely. Isadora unlocked the lock box that contained the earnings for the week, counting out a handful of coins. It was Market Day, and by god, Isadora was going to shop.

Isadora was just about to step outside when a face popped out in front of her. "Isa! Are you goin' to the market?" Rosalina asked excitedly, her green eyes twinkling with mischief. Isadora laughed.

"Rosa! What are you up to now?" she questioned, picking up the armored parasol that the twins had created for her out of a durable but thin piece of metal Isadora had managed to acquire from a wealthy old man a couple of years back. He'd been looking for his daughter-something about her running off with a highly improper young man-and Isadora had traded him everything she knew about the aforementioned daughter for the valuable metal. She had planned to sell it at the market, but Mariana and Rosalina had insisted that Isadora let them tinker around with it. They were convinced it was some obscure remnant of the Old World, and Isadora frankly had no reason to believe otherwise. Out of the twins' efforts came a plum purple parasol decorated with little white bows and rosettes and gold swirls made from bits of scrap metal. Isadora adored the parasol; it was very pretty, it blocked the sun extremely well, and although she'd never had to use the bulletproof feature of it before, Isadora was sure that would come in handy some day in the future. She'd never been directly attacked, per se-sure, there were riff-raff in Blackfinger who thought to steal from the saloon, seeing that it was pretty much run by women, but Isadora's honeyed tongue and sweet smile usually deterred them. If Isadora's wiles didn't work, then Minerva's revolver and shotgun usually did the job very nicely. And the twins were perpetually rigging up some sort of contraption or the other. They had plenty of potentially deadly gadgets on hand, if the need arose.

"Well, I jus' wanted to come with you," Rosalina answered, sticking out her lower lip and giving her older sister big puppy-dog eyes.

Isadora frowned in mock-disapproval. "And have you finished all the dishes, young lady?" Isadora asked.

Rosalina's guilty look was all the answer she needed. Isadora sighed and relented. "Fine. Come along. But make sure you finish those dishes 'fore opening, you hear? Otherwise Ma will have your head."

"Splendid!" Rosalina exclaimed happily, her chestnut-colored curls bouncing up and down as she bounded out the door. Isadora shook her head and smiled to herself before following.

Langdale's stood in a convenient location in between a mess of piers and wharves along the Great River and the train station. It was the perfect spot for intercepting any relevant gossip. Normally, Isadora liked to find the bargers, but today, all the action would be in the marketplace. Isadora linked arms with Rosalina, balancing a basket in the crook of her free arm. "Are you goin' to tell me why you wanted to come so badly today, Rosa?" Isadora questioned, appraising her younger sister with a slight tilt of her head.

Rosalina grinned wickedly. "Nope."

Isadora let out an exasperated huff. "Don't play coy with me, missy. I'll be damned if this ain't about that explosive thing you and Maria have been working on for months."

Rosalina deflated slightly. "I should've known that you already knew," she groaned. "Will you tell Ma or Minerva?"

"Not if you don't accidentally blow our house down, no," was Isadora's cheeky response.

Rosalina smiled broadly. "That's why you're my favorite sister."

Isadora arched an eyebrow. "You sure that it ain't Maria, now? You two are as thick as thieves, mmm," Isadora teased lightly.

Rosalina shoo her head fervently, chestnut curls bouncing. "Nuh-uh, Isa. It's you, and you know it!"

Isadora laughed and rolled her eyes. "Kindly do shove off, Rosa," she answered, her dark eyes sparkling with mirth. The two sisters had reached the marketplace, and Rosa's emerald-green eyes flitted from one vendor to the next, searching for anything of interest. Isadora watched her with an amused expression on her face. She let Rosa survey the marketplace for another few moments before digging into her coin purse and pressing a couple of coins into Rosalina's hand. "Meet me back here in two hours, you hear? We gotta get back 'fore it's time to open the saloon." Rosa nodded quickly and dashed off.

Isadora immediately turned to the matter at hand: shopping. She managed to procure a jar of lip tint, a pretty little sun hat decorated with a wide burgundy sash and a bow, and Ma's new boots. For Minerva, Isadora purchased a plain wooden comb, as she'd accidentally snapped her sister's old comb while trying to untangle her impossibly frizzy hair the other day. Isadora shouted greetings and animatedly chatted with others as she went on her way; most of the faces in Blackfinger were easily recognizable to her.

After concluding a lively conversation about the scintillating topics of decorative millinery and Mrs. Blingchester's potential extra-marital affairs with her friend Joanna (Isadora was a firm believer in small, dainty little top hats adorned with an equally small feather or rosette, while Joanna had an unfortunate propensity for wide-brimmed monstrosities adorned with ostentatious poufs and ruffles), Isadora wound her way into the middle of a group of vendors selling firearms. She immediately dismissed the more practical options, instead examining the more decorative pieces. There was a gorgeous ebony-stock percussion muff-pistol that would have suited Minerva well, Isadora thought, if Minerva actually cared about the aesthetics of her weapons (which she didn't). There were a couple of blades with intricately carved hilts, and even one that was inlaid with rubies and pearls that twinkled prettily in the bright sunlight. They were well beyond her means, of course, but who said that a girl couldn't look?

One or two of the passerby gave her strange looks-what was a young woman carrying a parasol decorated in bows and cloth flowers, of all things, doing here?-but otherwise, business was as usual...until a scuffle broke out a couple of feet away from Isadora.

Isadora watched with interest as a man yelled at another about stealing, punctuating his words with violent blows. Isadora felt like rolling her eyes. Men. Ain't there anythin' they can do without hittin' each other? she thought incredulously. Nevertheless, it was over rather quickly, and the man apologized for his actions before continuing on his way. Isadora was thrilled. These things weren't necessarily uncommon, no, but Isadora was an artful spinner. Oh yes, she'd have plenty to say about the incident.

Rolling Thunder

The Alumnallen Castle in the city of Corvell
The sixteenth day of the tenth moon, in the year twenty-eight hundred and forty-six

Violetta stared at her reflection in the crude mirror that Cynthia had fashioned out of a piece of glass and spare bits of cloth. Sweet, pretty Cynthia, with not a mean bone in her body and an understanding of other people that most of the bluntly practical Alumnallens lacked. Violetta silently thanked the younger woman as she dipped her fingers into the small wooden bowl beside her and used the powder to cover up the bruises on her face. Prince Edwyrd Forrester, who was older than Princess Phillipa but younger than Queen Letitia (thank the moon and stars above for that), was prone to hitting anyone who displeased him, not just Violetta. There were a score of serving men who could attest to that. Itervians would have been disapproving, the Cyrainese would have been scandalized, and the Meraliti would have been horrified, but here in Corvell, the capital city of Alumnall, nobody so much as batted an eye. It was an accepted fact of the Almerinte-Alumnallen nobles and royalty were notorious for their quick intellect and their quicker tempers. Nothing to be done about it.

Cynthia was a chambermaid, tasked with tidying up the various rooms of the Alumnallen castle, including those currently occupied by a lady who had a complexion that was strikingly similar to Violetta's. Though Violetta frequently retired to the straw pallet that served as her bed much later than Cynthia did, the other woman somehow always knew when to filch some of the wondrous powder, the goddesses bless her soul.

Violetta finished up with the powder and smoothed out the front of the plain, unassuming beige skirt that she wore. She also had on a matching blouse devoid of any frills or decoration. She pulled her Meraliti-black hair back into a tight bun and scooped up the scrolls beside her bed. Violetta had stayed up quite late in order to ascertain that all the information in the scrolls were, in fact, accurate. She then gathered her skirts and left the small room she shared with Cynthia, preparing herself for the trek to Princess Phillipa's chambers.

Violetta kept her head down as she hurried by. While some of the serving staff, like Cynthia, were perfectly accepting of Violetta's presence, others seemed uncertain and wary around her. When she first took on her position in the castle, the servants were quite scandalized. They'd either treated her like she was nonexistent, were openly belligerent, or were entirely unsure of what to make of her. Some tried to address her as "m'lady", due to the fact that she would have been a lady in her current position if she'd been full-blooded, which Violetta put an end to immediately. She was no lady, and she wasn't delusional enough to believe that her current duties in helping the youngest princess run Alumnall automatically nullified the inescapable truth that she was a half-blood, and half-bloods had no place in Almerinte, least of all in an important ministerial post.

Violetta was two corridors away from her destination when the bells began to ring. One, two, and she was rounding the corner of the first corridor. Three, four, and she was halfway down the second corridor. Five, six, and she was a couple feet away from the elegant wooden doors that led to the princess's chambers. Seven, eight, and the guard stationed outside had caught sight of her and knocked. The last chime of the bell faded away as the guard showed her in at exactly eight o'clock in the morning.

This had been Violetta's routine for the past ten years.

Princess Phillipa Forrester was wearing a military-inspired tea colored affair that day. It was trimmed in chocolate-brown velvet, and large brass buttons ran down the front. Violetta thought that it suited Phillipa very well-it conveyed her clipped way of speaking and her no-nonsense demeanor perfectly.

Pippa glanced up as Violetta walked inside, her arms overflowing with scrolls, just as the bells finished chiming. She grinned inwardly. Violetta was nothing if not punctual, and Pippa loved punctuality in a person. Pippa was breaking her fast on fried wild mushrooms, sliced pears, boiled eggs and toast, fruit preserves, and porridge. She smiled a greeting at Violetta. "Good morning," she said, pushing a bowl of porridge toward Violetta's customary chair. When Violetta first began working with her, she always claimed that she'd eaten before arriving at her chambers. But Pippa had deduced the truth quickly-the cook was a pious arse who wouldn't so much as look in Violetta's direction, let alone give her anything to eat. So Pippa had decided that they would share at least one meal a day, depending on the circumstances, propriety and tradition be damned. Besides, Violetta never ate very much, anyway, despite Pippa's best efforts, so it would not kill the thrice-cursed cook to prepare the extra food.

Pippa frowned in thought as Violetta murmured a "Good morning, Your Grace," and sat down, taking small sips of her porridge. She's not as bony as she was when we first became acquainted, but she's much scrawnier than any Alumnallen. It must be because she eats like a bird; that, and her Meraliti blood.

"The calculations are all correct?" Pippa questioned, gesturing toward the scrolls. Violetta nodded.

"Lord Teignmott does good work, Your Grace," answered Violetta, referring to another one of Pippa's advisers and assistants.

Pippa nodded. "Mmm," was the only response she gave. "Why do you keep telling me that, Vi, when you and I both know that Randolph would have you stoned to death if he could? I know that you're being honest, but really, why must you be so damn nice about him all the time?"

Violetta shrugged slightly, embarrassed. "I-I did not mean to offend, Your Grace."

Pippa rolled her eyes. "For the love of the Western Wind, ViVi. Nothing you ever do offends me in any way, shape, or form. Do stop apologizing for everything. It's really quite vexing. And no, before you start-do not apologize for apologizing too much!"

Violetta couldn't help herself-she smiled at that, quickly covering her mouth with a gloved hand in order to stifle her sudden urge to giggle. Pippa looked on approvingly. Good. She's finally getting a sense of humor, it seems. It's about damn time.

The princess and Violetta finished their breakfast while discussing the scrolls that Violetta had looked over. Pippa groaned in frustration as Violetta mentioned the handiwork of a certain Lady Dremminick. "Why must you save Angelina's work for last every single time, Vi?" Pippa grumbled as she plucked the scroll from Violetta's fingers and glanced down at the numerous corrections done in Violetta's precise, tidy handwriting. "I swear, that woman couldn't tell you that two plus two equals four. But of course, my dear, foolish husband insists that his sister have a ministerial position, and I guess Lettie thought that she would do the least damage with me-how utterly wrong my sweet sister was," Pippa said with a derisive snort. "Well. You've fixed her atrocious math quite splendidly, my dear Violetta. And, what's this-she thought that The Bronze Wind was still abroad?" Pippa asked, incredulous. "Scarletta save me, what was that woman thinking? The Bronze Wind returned weeks ago."

Violetta let the princess ramble on. She talked enough for them both.

The rest of the morning passed rather routinely. At some point, a serving girl came in and cleared away the leftovers and cutlery, which went unnoticed by the princess. Pippa and Violetta were soon joined by the rest of Pippa's junior ministers, advisers, and assistants after they relocated to the meeting chamber. The rest of the people who served in Pippa's staff were quite a varied lot, in terms of family and personality and intelligence level. Pippa sighed heavily as Lady Angelina Dremminick swept into the chamber. One would think that a prerequisite for a position among my staff would be mathematical acumen, she thought. One would think so, but apparently that is not the case.

The topics of discussion mostly focused on the air-merchants returning to port and the castle's supplies, as well as the Itervian dignitaries that were due to arrive that very night. Pippa liked the Itervians-they were a tough, no-nonsense people-kind of like Pippa herself. Except their realm was cold, Scarletta save her, and so were the Itervians. They had no idea what the word "humor" meant. Queen Marleyna herself would be there, in fact, accompanied by her Cyrainese husband and her younger brother. Pippa understood that the other brother was the High Priest, so he would never set foot outside of Itervia in his life except for the case of a dire emergency.

Officially, the Itervians were coming to discuss Alumnallen-Itervian trade, but Pippa knew her older sister better than that. Queen Letitia had more important things that she wanted to consider, which was why the queen of Itervia herself had been invited. Pippa wasn't quite sure what it was, yet-Lettie had been keeping it a secret, even from her husband, which made it all the more worrying. Lettie had grown up with Philander. She trusted him with her life.

The Ministry of Records and Finances finished for the day at four past noon. The lords and ladies all retired to their chambers to prepare for the upcoming feast and arrival, while Violetta lingered in Princess Phillipa's chambers.

"Will you be attending the feast, Vivi? You should. It's only fair that you should," Pippa was saying as a servant girl brushed her unruly red hair.

Violetta shook her head and lowered her gaze. "It is not my place, Your Grace," she answered quietly. As a general rule, Violetta avoided all of the celebrations hosted in the castle. Most of them honored the four goddesses in some way, shape, or form, and what right did Violetta have to attend when her very existence was considered a disgrace to the goddesses?

The princess frowned but didn't press the point. "Well, off you go," she said. "Get some rest, then. The next few weeks will be very busy."

"Very good, Your Grace," Violetta murmured, bobbing a curtsy and returning to her small room.

As afternoon turned to twilight and twilight turned to dusk, Violetta could hear the sounds of revelry even from her quarters in one of the castle's many attics. She spent a couple of hours reading a book about Itervia before she decided to get some air. Violetta skirted the great hall and the main corridors, knowing that they were likely filled with serving men and girls rushing back and forth. Instead, she made her way outside of the castle walls, into the Corvellan Forest. There was a forest clearing that was only a one or two minute walk from the gates of the castle. Violetta reached the clearing and sat down beside the a gurgling stream, staring up at the stars and wondering if Mother Moon could see her from her vantage point high, high in the sky.