enmuni

The Pyres Never Stop Burning (Old-School Occult Horror/Mystery)

@Olive Fontaine

I've just tried to do the roll but can't see any options to.. well.. roll? Do you need to give permission or anything like that?

@Archazen

I’ve also had this same issue

Realms of Sun & Shadow

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The Eye of the Beholder

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Nesna nodded along as the Coswains advised her. Her expression drifted from genuine interest to skepticism, and then, at last, she closed her eyes and inhaled as her lips drew into the curious, tight-lipped smile of someone who was trying to figure out how to phrase something just so.

She held her hand up to her nose for a moment, let out a restrained exhalation, and clicked her tongue.

“I realize now that some context might have been beneficial,” she responded. She sat back in her chair and looked to Persephone, all four of her eyes seemingly fixated in her direction. Nesna clasped her hands together again, inhaling sharply again.

“I am under no illusions that I could, in some hypothetical world, be of use here. Rather, I understand well the burdens of nobility, to say nothing of fears for one’s safety. I only wish to be sympathetic in my presentation so as to ease anxieties that one afflicted as myself might inspire. In another life, I would have surely pursued sagedom legitimately, but as the case may be, I am restrained to beseeching obvious betters for such a privilege rather than pursuing such…magical proficiency and wisdom as a matter of right.”

Looking to Coswain, Nesna continued, “You had mentioned, Milord, that you were Castellan. My great-grandfather, in fact, held such a title. Or, rather, holds, I believe. Of course, my great-grandmother—may she rest in peace—was Countess, which I suppose diminishes the title in some measure, but never mind that—”

Shaking her head and waving her hand quickly, as if clearing the air, Nesna looked between both Coswains.

“My point is to say that I am by birth familiar with these sorts of stresses, if only in a lesser form. I am comfortable following even the most evidently arbitrary of rules, for they serve some purpose until we declare otherwise. My only wish is to demonstrate my willingness to serve and my intention to be a boon. But if I understand your counsel correctly, this Astaros Prince—he is a man of more practical, austere disposition, then? Having spoken with Mistress Sya previously, I’ve gathered as much that this place is indeed quite…loose…in its, shall I say, pleasantries. My concern is to avoid giving any impression of entitlement and monstrosity that some, most of all the one—the beastly brute—who attacked Her Highness have suggested afflicted ones such as myself to perhaps be. One can hardly imagine that the privilege of becoming a sage and assisting in the noble pursuit of eliminating the Blight would be granted to anyone, most of all one such as myself, who could not demonstrate an acceptable disposition, obedient demeanour, and deep desire to work feverishly to help in bringing about some manner of solution.”

Nesna furrowed her brow and rubbed her neck for a moment.

“I suppose a better way of putting it is just that I really have a hard time believing that there isn’t more to it.”

Interactions
Lord & Lady Coswain @PrinceAlexus

Realms of Sun & Shadow

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The Eye of the Beholder

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Nesna smiled brightly and clasped her hands together by her face in delight.

“Lord and Lady indeed!” she chirped, “What a relief and a joy it is indeed to happen upon nobility here!”

Nesna let her hands down in front of her chest and exhaled as she composed her thoughts. Without further ado, she took her seat at the table.

“I wish to ask for counsel on a matter which I imagine one of you might be well-equipped to offer advice upon,” she began, wasting as little time as possible, “In order that I should not take up more of your valuable time than absolutely necessary, Milord and Milady, I will…endeavour to be expeditious.”

Nesna swallowed, and then continued, speaking quickly, “Essentially, I have been given the impression that His Highness should intend to meet with all who are…”

Nesna hesitated. She bobbed her head side to side for a moment and then let out a little sigh.

“Afflicted, shall one say, as I find myself. Knowing that Her Highness has recently undergone a rather stressful and unpleasant incident involving, as I gather, one such particularly abominable creature, and that there was some question for a time regarding Her Highness’ wellbeing outright—and to say nothing of the inauspicious time of my arrival here—I felt it only proper to make sure I am familiar with Aurelian customs as well. I wish to assure him of my genuine intentions, goodwill, and most of all my sincere desire to be a compliant and beneficial participant in this experiment here.”

Nesna seemed to register shortly after that she’d not necessarily succeeded in being “expeditious,” as she’d put it.

“In simpler terms, I was wondering if either of you might be able to give me some insight on any Aurelian customs or particularities of His Highness’ temperament that might be beneficial, or, failing that, direct me towards someone who might. And it is at this point that I recall that I have failed to introduce myself!”

Nesna offered a genuine little smile and a chuckle, shaking her head at herself.

“Please, you may simply call me Nesna. Please accept my most sincere apologies for my indiscretion!”

Interactions
Lord & Lady Coswain @PrinceAlexus

Realms of Sun & Shadow

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The Eye of the Beholder

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Frankly, Nesna’s head was spinning. Laying down in her little bed in the inn, it all felt unreal—like a hallucination conjured up by a mind that had finally shrivelled away from years of being alone. To feel warm, so truly warm, that she actually needed to sleep in her shift alone again, was this unconscionable luxury compounded by the alien support of a real, genuine bed. Nesna could remember this sort of thing. She remembered her lovely bedroom setup back from back when her world made sense. And this bed, though it was neither as large nor as soft as that previous bed was, felt incomprehensibly better.

It couldn’t be this easy, could it? To speak to people again, to engage in polite conversation, and then to retire? This human comfort felt somehow as alien as her new appendages had felt when she first transformed. Every muscle and every instinct in her bones was telling Nesna that she needed to pry the window open—to be sure there was an escape—and then to curl up tightly under her wings beneath a shelter of blankets and rags. But that wasn’t possible or reasonable—no sooner had she done so than she’d found herself uncomfortably warm. To be dressed to sleep, to be in a place where one was expected to lay on a bed as a real person, to be treated—if only for a moment—like a real person—to feel like a flicker of a real person again—it was an intoxicating, yet sickening, disheartening feeling.

It felt altogether too real. For years, the world had felt like some endless haze trapped between dreams and nightmares. For years, the world had been shrouded in a silent, mind-bending irreality that let her feel like anyone but herself. Nesna—belonging to the dead—felt so believable as a being. The funeral felt so final and blessédly conclusive until…this moment. Her fingers gripped the blanket tightly as her back tensed and relaxed in a rhythm, demanding that she curl into that protective little ball again. Slowly, her stomach dragged her into submission. Nesna curled up, until her knees were against her stomach. But as she pressed her face into the pillow again, she found herself overpowered by the same thoughts again.

When did it feel so perverse to feel the fleeting glimmer of humanity in one’s heart?

It was all so overwhelming. And it felt too real. Uncomfortably real. Like life was ceasing to be a survivalist haze and mutating back into that painful beauty of the social world.

Nesna felt her heart skip a beat in horror. Where was she?!? She fumbled around in her covers for a moment as her heart started to race.

She jerked out of bed and fell to the floor on her hands and knees like a maddened beast. It was too much. Where was SHE?!? Nesna spiralled quickly from worry to panic as she tore into her bags like a starving animal. Spiking from rest to a state of nigh-hyperventilation, she ripped out half the things she’d brought with her before turning every bag but the jewellery bag upside down and shaking them. She clamoured on the floor, tossing things to the side with possessed fervour until she found it.

A soft little coo escaped her lips. She popped up onto her knees and hugged the object of her relief while gently rocking.

“Thanks be—oh thanks be to Seluna,” she murmured to herself. A black, viscous tear began to push its way past one of her eyelids. “Agnella, my sweet!”

She cradled the little lamb-blanket like it was a baby, then hugged it again. Nesna sat there for a time, freezing in place after babbling to her toy.

No, it was all real. Agnella was here—it could not be a nightmare preparing to be cruelly stolen, or a baffling dream preparing her to be disoriented upon waking. It couldn’t be anything else. Nesna began to softly fidget with the silken folds that made up the blanket-toy’s wool. As she did, she could feel—in the very moment—her heart and breathing slow. It was all real. And all would, maybe, just maybe, be fine.

In time, Nesna soothed herself more, and brought herself to fold the clothes she’d strewn about and return them to their bags, still holding her Agnella close to her as she did.

Trying again to get some sleep, she found herself caught up in the thought of the Astaros Prince. Zeph had said he wished to meet with all of the new Blightborn of the town as they arrived, and would be doing so at the earliest opportunity. Pending whatever came of the…disaster…that had happened around shortly before her arrival, that surely meant the meeting was soon.

Oh, and how she had so little to wear! So few options! Her first time properly meeting royalty—royalty who would decide her fate no less—and she had but the one dress to wear. A nice dress, kindly tailored to fit her, certainly, but how understated it was compared to something that could hope to be fitting for a royal audience! Nesna curled up tightly in the bed, petting Agnella with greater speed as the newest thought consumed her.

She was real. And she had precious little to wear about it. And she was a freak! A monstrous creature! Like one of the ones that attacked the Princess.

Nesna produced a faint whimper as the notion set in. How could the greatest honour of her life be so deeply terrifying? But it was going to be fine. It had to work out in the end. Didn’t it?

…

Nesna had tossed and turned, cursed and sat up, and tried all manner of positions to lay in her newfound bed. Were it not for her great fortune of needing very little sleep to begin with, she likely would have slept the day away. But of course, the movements of the other patrons who had awoken at sensible times rattled her awake. And after slowly rising, and spending some amount of time more laying on her right side, with Agnella resting on her left hip so her left hand could stroke the lamb-toy’s wool just so, Nesna finally got herself out of bed. Though wearing the same peacock-blue dress and overall outfit as the day prior, Nesna had managed the forethought of brushing and putting her hair up in a series of tight braids to produce a head full of white ringlets neatly draping about, rather than the barely-tamed white rats’ nest she’d come with. In fact, the effort of the affair was what had at last coaxed her to sleeping.

Producing her hand-mirror from her bag, if she covered her face…and ignored her skin and horns…and slumped her wings behind her back…she almost…looked like a person. A beautiful…human…person. Nesna dropped her mirror on the bed without another thought to it.

Nesna wrestled with herself for a moment, before finally deciding she couldn’t bear it. She wrapped Agnella around her tail, and then curled her tail around Agnella for good measure. Before she left the room, she grasped for a moment, and then looked back to her bag of jewellery. Earrings! A gift would make everything a bit better, wouldn’t it? Surely the royals must have been missing some of their nicest things?

Nesna returned to the bag and dug through it.

Perfect, she thought as she tucked the earrings into one of the little pouches hidden in the folds of her dress.

With a final, anxious exhalation, Nesna departed from the room.

…

As Nesna made her way through the inn into the main area of the tavern, her first instinct had been to enquire with Sya about the state of the curfew. But seeing as Sya was nowhere to be seen, and that the place was no longer hunkered down as it had been the night before. her question was answered anyway. At first, she had resolved to simply head out and perhaps make her way to the Aurelian temple to ask a few questions about decorum in anticipation of that meeting. But something else caught her attention, and her gaze settled back on this pair who seemed, at least as best as she could tell from a distance, quite official—surely bearing some rank superior to most of the guards. As she approached, her sense was better confirmed. The woman in particular seemed well-to-do, courtly, something in that range, anyway. Stopping a short distance from them, Nesna cleared her throat.

“Begging your pardons, My Lady and My Lord,” she began, “Could I trouble you for a moment?”

Interactions
Lord & Lady Coswain @PrinceAlexus

The Pyres Never Stop Burning (Old-School Occult Horror/Mystery)

Terribly sorry for the delay; I hope this will help us get moving!

The Pyres Never Stop Burning (Old-School Occult Horror/Mystery)

Joséphine B. L’Hôte

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Joséphine listened intently to M. Herbachet’s explanation of the circumstances, carefully avoiding bringing the cognac into her gaze. It simply wasn’t worth trifling with gloves over a ceremonial nip. With subtle nods and measured head tilts, she made an effort to deliver the distinct impression that, though the promise of the inheritance itself was certainly compelling, the little story that came with the affair was by no means to be discounted. As M. Herbachet explained the terms of the inheritance, an amused little huff escaped Joséphine’s nose. Truly, was such a thing even a term? Spending the night in Loudon seemed only sensible anyway, for once this matter here was concluded, it would already be late enough in the afternoon that a train to Lyon would be of some inconvenience, to say nothing of the distinct risk of a particularly late supper without an appropriate goûter to keep the day on a sensible course.

An amused little smile grew on Joséphine’s lips as she considered the matter of the term—or, in more accurate terms, thematic accommodations—which came coupled with the inheritance. And then, just then, M. Herbachet offered a sweetener to the saccharine pot!

« Thank you, Monsieur! » Joséphine chirped as she inspected the ring. For a moment, she found herself utterly compelled by the gentle beauty of the ring, but no sooner had the ring made its way into her hand than it had occurred to her that the invitation to the ring was perhaps better understood as an elegant means to elicit introductions in a less unfortunately direct way than had been previously alluded to by M. Herbachet.

Without further hesitation, she rose from her seat, offered a slight curtsy, and gazed across the room.

« I suppose this might be an appropriate cue to begin introductions, » she began, « Good afternoon, everyone. My name is Joséphine L’Hôte—L’Hôte as in the host of a gathering, that is.»

Joséphine’s diction was methodical and careful, offering the distinct impression that there had been some extensive effort in her past to cultivate it. Most saliently, little glimmers of foreignness, provinciality, or perhaps simple old-fashionedness wriggled their way into her otherwise radio-perfect elocution in the form of her pronunciation of « r », for her tongue seemed incorrigibly prone to bringing it forwards to a little trill, rather than backwards into a more Parisian uvular sound.

« I might like to mention here that I—Oh, wouldn’t you know it? » she interrupted herself, having fiddled with the ring and slid it over her kid glove onto her left ring finger, « How perfectly it fits! Auspicious, indeed… But, ah, I had meant to say that I come from New Orleans and have found myself engaged in postsecondary education at the faculty of Letters in the University of Lyon. I am most looking forward to making your acquaintances. »

The Pyres Never Stop Burning (Old-School Occult Horror/Mystery)

Why, it seems as though M. Trentwell might need some translating! Now I’m quite glad I’ve got a bilingual character lol

The Pyres Never Stop Burning (Old-School Occult Horror/Mystery)

And there we go! Joséphine is ready to go @Olive Fontaine

The Pyres Never Stop Burning (Old-School Occult Horror/Mystery)

Joséphine L’Hôte

Character Sheet

Name: Joséphine “Fifi” Baptistine L’Hôte
Age: 23
Sex: F
Profession: Scholar
Interests: Although her education was quite thorough, in her time in Lyon, Joséphine has come to find her greatest passion lies in the young field of Linguistics, and has pursued this course of study eagerly. Beyond the realm of academics, Joséphine’s independent tastes are still young, and therefore quite subject to change. But as she delves deeper into the worlds of academia and independent living, there could well be any manner of matters that might grab her passions...
Personality: Joséphine L’Hôte is nothing if not an eccentric woman. At once bearing with her the noble arrogance of posture that befits a wealthy planter, and the dubious social position of being a white Créole in a world increasingly reticent to recognise such a thing as a valid category, Joséphine is well-familiar with navigating the many curious pitfalls of the Fin du Siècle’s social world. In many ways a foreigner both in the increasingly Anglicised Louisiana and in France for various reasons, combined with the forceful exposure by nature of her place and station of birth to the social complexities of the world that many could so easily miss, combined with her keen mind and newfound intellectual freedoms, Joséphine offers a shockingly open mind for someone who appears to the world as she does. With that said, she bears a formidable temper, like her father before her, and a passionate propensity for frustration. More than a few difficult puzzles have known her wrath. And underlying this, though she is formidably disciplined in well-trodden paths, when it comes to the unfamiliar—places where her parents’ intense oversight has not carved the way clearly—, Joséphine navigates without inhibition, without metric or regard for the matter’s or her very own limits. When presented with just the right opportunity, the maze of passions and proclivities can unite, and the disciplined student and naïve academic have potential to merge to form a researcher unbound.
Appearance:

Hider

Background: Joséphine L’Hôte was born in early 1878 as the only child of Monsieur Joséph L’Hôte fils and Madame Léopoldine L’Hóte (née Vigouroux). As a young child, she and her mother were subjected to the Yellow Fever, and, though both survived, Léopoldine has forever since been in perennially ill health. In some respects, Joséphine has thereafter lived a relatively easy, and entirely straightforward life, being the daughter of a wealthy businessman.

But a more nuanced story would clarify much about Joséphine as a person. As for her father, he is the current proprietor of L’Hôte Lumber, sharing ownership with his younger brother, one M. Damien L’Hôte. The L’Hôte brothers have inherited and cultivated a prosperous lumber enterprise from their father, who has, for over a decade now, been bedridden due to a severe back injury, and placed in the care of the brothers’ younger sister, Mlle. Claudine, who remains, for this reason and others, a Catherinette numerous times over. The brothers, then, work to support the entire family, and make well of it. Where both are shrewd and competent in their own respects, Joséph fils, hereafter M. Joséph, serves in a markedly more public capacity.

M. Joséph is a sociable man personally torn between his shrewdness as a businessman and his inexorable proclivities towards the fineries of life. In many respects, he finds himself torn by his very nature, be it the tension between business concerns and those of the family to which he and it belong, between his own dispositions, or towards his own views. This diarchic nature has done much to shape Joséphine’s life. In some areas, seemingly disharmonious elements produce an odd harmony. Most saliently of all, M. Joséph has seen to it that his daughter and his younger son alike have received thorough, rigorous education. On one account, as a man of younger money, he has a broad appreciation for the utility of education and holds to the rather Progressive notion that it is, in fact, important for all. But on another, in the end, he has been known to lament—to his own daughter, in fact—that his wife—her mother—received a less rigorous education simply for the fact that he finds this lesser level of education frustrating in a partner, and, that Joséphine would eventually ideally wed an intellectually sound man, she would be better to not be a bore.

Looking from M. to Mme. Joséph L’Hôte, one might initially wonder where their enduring common ground should be, if indeed it ever existed. Overtly, Léopoldine L’Hôte cannot be rightly said to hold the same genuine enthusiasm for a great many matters of high culture, preferring an assortment of entertainment sources which M. Joséph regards as thoroughly pedestrian on the whole, and has long struggled to summon patience for. However, though she lacks in entertainment of the matters themselves, she does hold a strong opinion that they are necessary inconveniences to undergo in order to maintain social ties. It is on this account of the importance of social ties that the two wholeheartedly agree. As a result, from an exceedingly young age, Joséphine has been given no recourse but to learn the ways of a good hostess, and learn them well.

Now, why is it that a woman so apparently disinterested in high culture would subject herself to it with stunning regularity? Looking back to the Vigouroux clan, Léopoldine’s relations have had a history which perhaps requires more attention than those of the L’Hôtes. Some generations ago, the ancestors of the Vigouroux line enjoyed an excellent station in Saint-Domingue—now Haiti, though they to this day refuse to even entertain the notion that it might be so—only to find themselves so fortunate as to have the opportunity to expel themselves rather than face the fate of many other of the island’s former overlords. Of course, let it not be said that the family was ever so readily discouraged as to reevaluate their business practices in light of one of history’s precious few successful slave revolts. Rather, like a number of their ilk, they found refuge in Louisiana, and they put their remaining coin into land, resuming their lifestyle with unrepentant immediacy. Some decades later, after no small amount of squabbling, infighting, and other such things between heirs of the mess of estates and investments the family had produced, Mme. Léopoldine’s maternal grandparents—M. François Vigouroux and Mme. Laetitia Vigouroux—definitively wiped their hands of the entire matter, on account of Mme. F. Vigouroux’s ailing health and increasing inclination to be free of the entire affair, a sentiment shared by M. Vigouroux, and made arrangements to walk away with money and investments and leave the plantation and remainder of the fortune to a cousin with whom the most enduring spell of the conflict was undertaken. It was perhaps some great measure of fortune that this decision was made in 1859.

Now, the question of how Léopoldine bore her grandparents’ name comes to mind. Here, the sense of pride carried within the lineage becomes more overt. Augustine Vigouroux, mother of Léopoldine, made the decision to pick a husband of social bearings that M. and Mme. François Vigouroux felt assuredly beneath her. However, Augustine was not dissuaded, and eventually a compromise was reached. Their children would take the Vigouroux name, lest they forfeit any inheritance. On some account, they regarded this as reasonable on the basis of the peculiar insistence that had arisen within the family that they held some manner of tie to the de Beauharnais family through the Vigouroux paternal line, for some of M. François’ elder siblings had chosen to flee to Guadeloupe rather than New Orleans those many years ago. That is to say, nobility by proxy of having family who were able to marry into nobility. Unreasonable, perhaps, but is it not also unreasonable to retreat to another colony to resume the same practices that led to one being revolted against and chased out from one’s previous place of residence?

This is to say, Joséphine L’Hôte comes from an eclectic lineage, and understanding this fact makes Joséphine herself appear far more transparent in her eccentricities and limitations. It was at her mother’s behest that she studied Latin and received a comprehensive religious education—the latter of which her father felt on some accounts quite simply wasted time altogether beyond a certain point. However, Latin itself was of keen interest to him, though English was as well, for it was by the utilization of the English language in addition to French that the L’Hôte business had remained competitive in the increasingly Americanized region. So Joséphine found herself studying French and Latin, but also English, for this practical measure of her father’s, and yet, as if to balance the practical with the impractical, she was also split down the middle with Classical and practical (e.g., business-oriented) educations, as if hiring extra tutors could force a child to learn faster. Whether or not it in fact did so, M. Joséph maintains firmly to this day that a childhood choked by and crushed under a truly intense education did his child well.

Combined with her mother’s rigorous routine of social matters and her father’s further insistence on supplementing every available moment of would-be relaxation with ensuring his child was adequately exposed to “proper culture”, it cannot be rightly said that Joséphine, in the course of her youth, ever meaningfully developed hobbies or found the time to nurture passions. Certainly, there are matters which she has enjoyed, such as Latin and arithmetic, and those she has found frustrating, most notably the practice of the overwhelming majority of the fine arts to which she has been exposed, but on the whole, there is little that has been cultivated in her life without an adult’s hand guiding it by hook or by crook. That is to say, Joséphine had, in the course of her development, scarcely enjoyed time to properly develop meaningful interests, or even deep friendships, for her mother’s engagements were less so suited to intimate arrangements and more so to keeping up appearances.

What can be said of Joséphine becomes most overt, then, in the aftermath of her débutante ball. At first, as a girl, Joséphine was by most accounts merely following in her father’s particularities when it came to the matter of men. Of course, on the other hand, with the rigorous schedule she found in the course of her life, there was scarcely much time to attend to the matter anyway. After secondary school, there remained no progress on the matter of marriage. Thus, even had she contested the matter, which she did not see fit to, Joséphine was off to college. Newcomb College, to be specific. Having to a degree exhausted extracurricular activities, Joséphine’s excess time became filled with another pursuit, one which she still regards with thorough ambivalence. If she had no suitors to attend to, then, according to M. Joséph, his daughter could contribute to the family business, and help foster its continued prosperity so that the next generations would be well cared-for. Although it certainly bore its benefits, time to socialize was scarcely one of them, and by her graduation from Newcombe, Joséphine had still scarcely found anyone, though not for lack of her mother’s trying.

It was at this point, then, that the question of will arose. To Mme. Léopoldine’s dismay, it appeared that Joséphine felt unready to marry, while M. Joséph bore a stunningly dim opinion of the overwhelming majority of potential matches Mme. Léopoldine had even offered. The family stood in deadlock on this matter for some time before a bold proposition between father and daughter won out. Joséphine, in the course of her studies at Newcombe, had found her fondness for Latin and historical studies, among other things, was sufficient that she had considered continuing beyond the bounds of education. Although she could scarcely be said to have had much free time, college, and some of the less-intensive administerial work her father had assigned her, had brought a slight bit of flexibility that allowed her the opportunity to consider, for the first time in her life, her own preferences. And to Joséphine, continuing education in specific areas of interest felt wholly comfortable, and quite sensible. Although Mme. Léopoldine deeply opposed the notion, M. Joséph offered his daughter some consideration upon her addition of her wish to study in France. For if there were no satisfactory Francophone suitors in Louisiana, she reasoned, would it not be best to look elsewhere, in a place with more Francophones than any other place in the world?

It was the Université de Lyon that received Joséphine L’Hôte’s petition to attend as a graduate student studying ancient languages and history under the Faculty of Letters, and it was in Lyon that the L’Hôtes saw off their eldest daughter to attend a higher level of education than M. Joséph himself had achieved. Although perhaps bittersweet at first, Joséphine has found the life of an academic most fulfilling, and has, over the past year, become increasingly reticent to even make a modest effort of procuring a courtship. Does Joséphine L’Hôte, Dr ès l., not indeed sound better than Mme. Unetel? The sound is ever-more titillating, to say nothing of the studies themselves. M. le Prof. Ferdinand Brunot is working on his History of the French Language, and Joséphine finds herself ever more deeply fascinated by the impossible depths of learning. To the fire with soirées, the joy of life was in the books all along!

Stats

Vitality: 17
Strength: 12
Skill: 10
Perception: 10
General Knowledge: 13

Rationality: 13
Spirituality: 11

The Great Game of Knowledge

The cards tell me that you have been blessed with a hearty and healthy nature, but that you are sometimes too airy and uncoordinated to take full advantage of it. You are quick to understand, however. If you keep your head on straight, you are sure to live an enviable life. But isn't there a skeleton or two in your closet? Things left forgotten are not, as it were, harmless.

Cards: The Artist (Reversed), Adam, The Alchemist, -hidden-, The Great Book

Calling All Heroes and Villains!

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Arakana Tower, 30th Floor, the Lagoon Lounge

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_{Collaboration between @Chrys and @enmuni}

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Nibbling on the samosa, Ruby was starting to question what was even the point of her being here. Surely she could figure out this on her own, after all that’s how it had always been in the past. That was when her attention got caught by a woman in some disturbingly hideous gettup, and her face did not hide her opinion in the slightest.

What in the actual fuck is she wearing?!

Gods above she had heard of villains and heroes with their horribly flashy outfits before but this was a whole new level. It was like villainous narcissism itself being made into a piece of clothing.

These thoughts crossed her mind and decorated her face as she stared at the woman for a bit too long before the words seemed to finally settle in her consciousness. Leaving Ruby raised one pale white eyebrow as she looked up at the lady, seemingly asking many questions. Who the hell are you, what are you wearing but most importantly … Why the hell should I help you?

Noting Ruby’s stare and eventual suspicious expression, Georgia let out a sigh as her face shifted into a deeply exasperated expression.

“You don’t talk much, do ya?” she commented, placing her hands on her hips, “Look, this ain’t exactly my normal getup. I’d’ve been happy in a hoodie and shorts. But Solaris has me wearing this…whole…thing.”

Hearing the explanation and the use of the word ‘thing’ to describe her outfit had a little silent chuckle move Ruby’s chest as she watched the lady with an amused smirk on her face. It seemed this stranger knew exactly how strange she looked at the moment.

Georgia held the bridge of her nose with another sigh, and continued, “I can annihilate that Auction, no problem at all. Unfortunately, Solaris needs some people there alive. So I can’t exactly do my normal shtick, can I? I don’t exactly know what he’s offering you, but if you’re takin’ that deal, I’d sure like a hand.”

Ruby’s eyebrow rose up again as she thought to herself exactly who were these people that needed to be kept alive and even more interesting, what was this known villain offering this woman to make her do his bidding. It didn’t seem like simple money was going to buy the interest of someone like her.

Georgia clicked her tongue, realizing she had neglected to introduce herself, “I know your name, but I realize you probably don’t know mine. Not that it seems you’re fixin’ to use it any time soon, but it’s only polite anyways. Georgia Gray. You may have known me as Hostess back in Ironclad, or, if you watch the news, Anathema. But I’m Georgia to anyone I ain’t fightin’. So. You wanna gimme a hand? Or do I have to ask some damn men for help instead?”

The outfit was starting to make some more sense now. Ruby had heard of the name Anathema, more in passing and the fall out that had happened from her gleaming hero life to … well what she was now. Though, surely there was something more fitting. Something simpler, sleaker…. Why was she even bothering so much about this?

Her thought track was broken by the last question and a snort of laughter broke from her lips. Looking up with bright amused red eyes, she couldn’t help but be entertained by this larger woman and her way of phrasing things.

That didn’t change the fact that she needed more information before she even considered going along with her. So in a voice uncannily the same as Anathema’s she repeated the words, “needs some people there alive.” Her words didn't sound like a question, reflecting the exact same tone she had heard the statement said in. Though the expression and her head cocked to the side said otherwise as she looked up at the overdressed woman for answers of who exactly these people would be.

“Like a parrot, are you?” Georgia commented, a bemused expression flashing briefly across her face, “Well, long as you don’t steal my soul…But yes, Solaris needs some people alive. The prisoners they’re sellin’, specifically. Because sure, may be the twenty-first century, but some people can’t do without a goddamned slave auction. So we’re gonna put a stop to it, but I need a hand getting the poor bastards who ain’t done nothin’ out of there before I torch the place. You think you can be of help with that?”

An instant frown decorated Ruby’s face as she rolled her eyes and let out an exhausted sigh at Georgia's comment. This was exactly why she hated speaking. It was either freaking out like she was some kind of demon spawn or does Polly want a cracker? Couldn’t someone just take it in stride or hell, at least come up with something a bit more creative?

She was about to walk away from this whole annoyance when the strange woman’s next words hit her. Her eyebrows instantly rose up as she stopped frozen in her spot. She really shouldn’t be surprised, as much as she hated it, this shit happened all the time. This, however, was one of the first times that she was hearing about such sales before they happened. That was instead of seeing the awful aftermath from supposed ‘reputable’ brothels.

Looking back up at Georgia, her face seemed set as she in that moment made the decision that this was her chance to actually do something about this. She nodded resolutely. Ruby would help, she had no idea exactly how she was going to manage this but she was determined nevertheless.

Georgia brought her hands back to her hips. Seeing Ruby’s mixture of expressions prior to her eventual confirmation, Georgia traced her tongue along her teeth idly, until stopping and grimacing. Every damn time. Georgia sucked in, and then clicked her tongue.

“Don’t like the parrot thing, huh,” she commented. Georgia patted Ruby on the shoulder suddenly, and said, “Well I’m sorry ‘bout that. I don’t like being called some names myself. Not that I imagine you’d need a list to guess.”

Ruby didn’t seem to like being touched much either, as she flinched from the sudden touch from the stranger.

Georgia withdrew her hand, and cracked her knuckles. “Read your file by the way. Figured you’d have a soft spot for the poor S-O-Bs in that Auction. Maybe you can figure out what to do with ‘em once we got ‘em outta there.”

My what? Ruby looked at her with wide eyes as her mind started to run through the fact that she had a file and what it could even contain. It seemed to already contain her powers, which could be worrying in the wrong hands but the real alarming part was it seemed to contain her motives. This knowledge could easily be used to bring worse visitations upon her current home. Her thumb went up to her lip, as she bit at it uneasily. She needed to rethink how she was putting The Mystique in the middle of all of this.

Georgia sighed, and clasped the bridge of her nose again, “But I realize I gotta tell you how we can even do all ‘at. Look, I can make a, fucking, uhhh,” Georgia gestured vaguely for a moment, rolling her hand as if the word was escaping her, “Portal type thingy.”

Georgia sighed, and pulled off her left glove, showing a well-worn, fresh scar on her left wrist.

“So, I cut this open, smear a circle of blood on the wall, and then burn something of mine in it,” she concluded, “And rip a hole to wherever the hell I wanna go. Fuckin’ satanic or some shit, but hell if it ain’t more convenient than flyin’. That make sense?”

Ruby looked at her strangely for a moment, as if taking in all that she had heard and the supposed demonic side of this strange woman’s powers. That though, did not seem to stop her suddenly foraging through her sling bag as if she was looking for something in particular. Pulling out a small jar, she reached out her hand expectantly as she looked towards Georgia’s left hand.

“My blood? Honey, it won’t work for you,” Georgia stated, shaking her head, “If you were to try it, you’d summon me. Which I s’ppose is useful in its own way. But you don’t need my blood to do that. Just, like, a sock or sumn like that that’s nice and flammable. That does need to be mine, otherwise you’re just burning some shit in a circle of blood.”

Ruby shook her head in frustration at her point not getting across. She shoves the small jar in Georgia's hand. Now in her hand she could see a weird coloured balm that looked anything but made elegantly. A little sticky and a little smelly, but the mix of onion extract, honey, lavender and coconut oil should help with keeping the scar soothed.

“Thank ya, but it’s really alright,” Georgia assured Ruby, still taking a dollop of the balm and rubbing it on the wound all the same, “If I didn’t need to reopen it all the time, it’d heal just fine on its own…”

When Ethan made his entry into the conversation, Georgia subtly shifted closer to Ruby, though her body language made no indication as to what she meant by it. Ruby looked at him like he had two heads as she took the plate of food and notebook absentmindedly. What the hell was this guy thinking suddenly acting all nice and even serving them drinks?

She shook her head a little before she pulled up the notebook and wrote two simple words. Showing the messy handwriting to Georgia, she could see the words, ‘Twice Daley’. Ruby pointed meaningfully at the jar now in the other woman’s possession. Georgia nodded and tucked the jar away.

After letting Ethan make his commentary, Georgia looked back to Ruby and declared, “Looks like we’re playing more dress-up tonight. I can handle the burning no problem. My only trouble’ll be not killing everyone. You reckon you can score a few more discerning kills for me, Ruby? Oh, and are you any good with restraints? I can probably snap ‘em, but that’s likely gonna get some of those so-called specimens broken bones. Figure that ain’t in the spirit of the idea. So? Whaddaya sa—think. What do you think, Ruby?” Georgia made a small grimace at her own perceived jab, looking at Ruby expectantly all the while.

Ruby winced at the idea of dressing up in whatever this Masked Solaris had chosen after seeing his idea of fashion. She wasn’t normally that picky about what she wore, but this was just ridiculous.

Luckily the conversation actually went to how they were going to be breaking out these prisoners, and Ruby was already scribbling in the notebook again. Though as she heard the little poke at her … condition, she rolled her eyes at Georgia before shoving the notebook into the other woman’s hands.

In it she had just written, ‘I do restreants.’

Reading it passively, Georgia gave Ruby another nod, and patted her hand softly, affirming Ruby’s statement.

“Then it looks like we just need to get tabs on whoever else is meant to be going there. We got any buddies comin’ along, Solaris?” Georgia asked.

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