Malena Member
- Last Seen: 8 yrs ago
- Joined: 10 yrs ago
- Posts: 41 (0.01 / day)
- VMs: 0
-
Username history
- Malena 10 yrs ago
Status
User has no status, yet
Bio
User has no bio, yet
Most Recent Posts
Thank you, so glad you like it. Very much looking forward to this story beginning, I checked the thread as soon as I got home from work.
Name: Lilith D'ardor Averice Beauchamp
Gender: Female
Age Taken: 2
Age Escaped: Apparently 17
Seeming: Fairest
Kith: Companion
Blessing: A Friend In Need. 'Spend glamour to add +1 to rolls made by any character acting in the Changeling's defense or best interests.'
Appearance (Glamor):
Standing several inches below five feet tall, her diminutive size is disarming to say the least. With long, white blonde hair and a complexion as smooth and pale as porcelain, the vibrance of her sea blue eyes is an almost startling contrast. Utterly petite, her small size lends her a doll-like countenance, fragile and delicate. Her features are equally delicate, as if painstaking painted on, from her wide, doe-like blue eyes to the pert button of her nose and the sensuous bow of her lips.
White silk ribbons are tied into her hair, gathering the pale curls into an intricate, upswept style that emphasizes the youthful fullness of her cheeks. Her small frame is draped in white as well; an angora sweater made of the softest white rabbit fur clings to her torso, and a short white skirt with an elegant white lace overlay falls several inches above the knee, exposing shapely legs seemingly untouched by summer's sun. On her feet are a pair of white ankle boots with tassled fringe and kitten heels that add a melodic click to her footfalls. Her jewelry, from the chandelier drop earrings to the ring on her left middle finger is made from gleaming white crystal, and a crystal crucifix is suspended from a silver chain at her throat.
Appearance (No Glamour):
Standing at barely three feet tall, this girl resembles nothing quite so much as a living porcelain doll. With long, curled white silk ribbons for hair and a complexion as cold and smooth as the finest porcelain, it is the luminous glow of her sapphire eyes that really draws the attention. Utterly petite, her small size adds to her doll-like countenance, fragile and delicate. Her features are equally delicate, as if painstaking painted on, from the pert button of her nose and the sensuous bow of her lips, though her eyes seem to be made from nothing less than actual sapphires.
Luminous white silk ribbons replace her hair, gathered into an impossibly intricate style that frames her delicate face. Her small frame is draped in white as well; a white silk gown with sheer sleeves and a deeply plunging back, the train fluttering behind her as if dancing on a breeze of its own. Her jewelry, from the chandelier drop earrings to the ring on her left middle finger is made from gleaming white crystal, and crystal crucifix is suspended from a silver chain at her throat.
Court: Winter
Personality: Thoughtful and slow to speak, there is a sense of wonder in her gaze, as if she is taking delight in everything she sees for the very first time. An aura of helplessness surrounds her personally, though she is quick to offer what assistance she can to anyone else that may be in need, even if that assistance is to her detriment. Far from a leader, she prefers to remain in the background, a companion ready to offer what solace she can.
Clarity/Wyrd: 4 Clarity, 8 Wyrd
Glamour: 8
Contracts & Clauses:
Contract: Hearth
Clause - Fickle Fate: She causes a minor curse on an individual.
Clause - Favored Fate: She slightly betters the fortunes of a target.
Clause - Beneficent Fate: She guarantees success for her target.
Contract: Eternal Winter
Clause - Jack's Breath: If she hears a shiver, she may lower the temperature in the area.
Clause - Touch of Winter: Once she writes something she hates in a liquid, she can freeze liquids with a touch.
Clause - Riding the Devil's Jawbone: If a bell rings near her, she can surround herself with a frozen aura that disables her enemies.
Contract: Fleeting Winter
Clause - The Dragon Knows: Looking into a target's eyes, she will know the cause of their sorrow.
Clause - Slipknot Dreams: Once a target has accepted a gift from her, she can let them forget about the cause of their sadness.
Backstory:
Lilith remembers very little of her time on this side of the Hedge, having been abducted when she was but a toddler. What she does remember is a sense of warmth and caring; a mother's face obscured by time and memory lost.
Upon being taken, she was given into the care of what can only be described as horrifically beautiful living dolls. Some were barely older than she, and some were dolls withered with age but still ethereal in their beauty; cracked porcelain and yellowed white satin draped in mystery. She was taught to sit still for hours on end, sometimes even days. Dressed up in the finest clothes, she would pose for what seemed like eternity, expressions never her own. Forced smiles, affected pouts, and feigned yearning made her a master at hiding her own emotions, or perhaps a slave to the emotional whims of others - the line blurs.
After many, many years of this training, the True Fae that had taken her, a cold but distant prince of some corner of Arcadia, returned to whisk her away from her tutors; none of whom she ever saw again. They traveled, she the silent companion, he the silent Master. Servants would change her clothes, do her hair, basically keeping her as perfect and pretty as he would wish it, though to what end she knew not. Her life at this point had become an un-life, she was an object for viewing and no longer a child with emotions of her own, no longer a person with opinions to be expressed.
Despite her inability to express herself, or perhaps because of it, her mind grew sharp with the skills of observation one picks up by being unable to participate in the world. When they would visit others, be it cottage or castle, she would be set down somewhere nearby, an observer. She learned things this way. She learned languages, she learned names, she learned secrets. She learned songs, she learned poems - such epic poetry, recounted time and time again in her long moments of mental solitude.
And so her un-life continued, until one day, quite out of the blue, she was addressed directly. It was midday, the middle of winter and she was seated on a plush cushion in a crystal carriage with none but her Master nearby, so when he spoke, it could be to no one but her. He asked, of all things, her opinion of the weather. It was an icy winter day, but the sun was shining and all the world was wreathed in frost, and she told him so, her voice still carrying the melodic lilt of childhood, unused all these years. Over time, he asked her more questions, and she gave more answers. She learned to ask him questions, and of these she remembers every answer he ever gave. She remained a doll, pampered and precious, but she became a companion in time, invited to speak, to recite poetry on their visits.
At times, then, she would be loaned as a gift. Never so long as to give her cause to think He would not return for her, but long enough for her to be fawned over at a party, or petted for good luck before some election or event. Then came one eve, on some such extended borrowing, when the Fae to whom she'd been privileged sought liberties no one had ever suggested to Lilith before. Afraid, she called out for her Master, and swiftly he came, dispatching her assailant as she looked on.
From that day, he no longer lent her out, but also no longer sought her company with the frequency of years past. And all too soon, he informed her that she would be returning to the place of her training, where a new girl had arrived, and would need her expertise. She accepted this fate, as she had accepted nearly all that had come to pass yet, but a terrible blizzard conspired to ruin these plans. A carriage accident, and her Master and his footmen were lost, leaving her alone in all of Arcadia quite suddenly.
Making decisions did not come naturally to Lilith, so it perhaps took her longer than it might have to make her way to and through the Hedge. But make it she did, arriving on the outskirts of Leeds of all places. Unfamiliar sights and sounds and altogether too many people made for a terrible re-entry into the world of Iron, and were it not for a timely intervention from a merciful benefactor, she might have thrown herself back into the Hedge toward that which was familiar. Accepting a position as the personal assistant of a Leeds City Councilman, none other than her patron and an active member of the Winter Court, Lilith is a long way from finding out who she is, or even deciding she wants to know the answer to that question.
Gender: Female
Age Taken: 2
Age Escaped: Apparently 17
Seeming: Fairest
Kith: Companion
Blessing: A Friend In Need. 'Spend glamour to add +1 to rolls made by any character acting in the Changeling's defense or best interests.'
Appearance (Glamor):
Standing several inches below five feet tall, her diminutive size is disarming to say the least. With long, white blonde hair and a complexion as smooth and pale as porcelain, the vibrance of her sea blue eyes is an almost startling contrast. Utterly petite, her small size lends her a doll-like countenance, fragile and delicate. Her features are equally delicate, as if painstaking painted on, from her wide, doe-like blue eyes to the pert button of her nose and the sensuous bow of her lips.
White silk ribbons are tied into her hair, gathering the pale curls into an intricate, upswept style that emphasizes the youthful fullness of her cheeks. Her small frame is draped in white as well; an angora sweater made of the softest white rabbit fur clings to her torso, and a short white skirt with an elegant white lace overlay falls several inches above the knee, exposing shapely legs seemingly untouched by summer's sun. On her feet are a pair of white ankle boots with tassled fringe and kitten heels that add a melodic click to her footfalls. Her jewelry, from the chandelier drop earrings to the ring on her left middle finger is made from gleaming white crystal, and a crystal crucifix is suspended from a silver chain at her throat.
Appearance (No Glamour):
Standing at barely three feet tall, this girl resembles nothing quite so much as a living porcelain doll. With long, curled white silk ribbons for hair and a complexion as cold and smooth as the finest porcelain, it is the luminous glow of her sapphire eyes that really draws the attention. Utterly petite, her small size adds to her doll-like countenance, fragile and delicate. Her features are equally delicate, as if painstaking painted on, from the pert button of her nose and the sensuous bow of her lips, though her eyes seem to be made from nothing less than actual sapphires.
Luminous white silk ribbons replace her hair, gathered into an impossibly intricate style that frames her delicate face. Her small frame is draped in white as well; a white silk gown with sheer sleeves and a deeply plunging back, the train fluttering behind her as if dancing on a breeze of its own. Her jewelry, from the chandelier drop earrings to the ring on her left middle finger is made from gleaming white crystal, and crystal crucifix is suspended from a silver chain at her throat.
Court: Winter
Personality: Thoughtful and slow to speak, there is a sense of wonder in her gaze, as if she is taking delight in everything she sees for the very first time. An aura of helplessness surrounds her personally, though she is quick to offer what assistance she can to anyone else that may be in need, even if that assistance is to her detriment. Far from a leader, she prefers to remain in the background, a companion ready to offer what solace she can.
Clarity/Wyrd: 4 Clarity, 8 Wyrd
Glamour: 8
Contracts & Clauses:
Contract: Hearth
Clause - Fickle Fate: She causes a minor curse on an individual.
Clause - Favored Fate: She slightly betters the fortunes of a target.
Clause - Beneficent Fate: She guarantees success for her target.
Contract: Eternal Winter
Clause - Jack's Breath: If she hears a shiver, she may lower the temperature in the area.
Clause - Touch of Winter: Once she writes something she hates in a liquid, she can freeze liquids with a touch.
Clause - Riding the Devil's Jawbone: If a bell rings near her, she can surround herself with a frozen aura that disables her enemies.
Contract: Fleeting Winter
Clause - The Dragon Knows: Looking into a target's eyes, she will know the cause of their sorrow.
Clause - Slipknot Dreams: Once a target has accepted a gift from her, she can let them forget about the cause of their sadness.
Backstory:
Lilith remembers very little of her time on this side of the Hedge, having been abducted when she was but a toddler. What she does remember is a sense of warmth and caring; a mother's face obscured by time and memory lost.
Upon being taken, she was given into the care of what can only be described as horrifically beautiful living dolls. Some were barely older than she, and some were dolls withered with age but still ethereal in their beauty; cracked porcelain and yellowed white satin draped in mystery. She was taught to sit still for hours on end, sometimes even days. Dressed up in the finest clothes, she would pose for what seemed like eternity, expressions never her own. Forced smiles, affected pouts, and feigned yearning made her a master at hiding her own emotions, or perhaps a slave to the emotional whims of others - the line blurs.
After many, many years of this training, the True Fae that had taken her, a cold but distant prince of some corner of Arcadia, returned to whisk her away from her tutors; none of whom she ever saw again. They traveled, she the silent companion, he the silent Master. Servants would change her clothes, do her hair, basically keeping her as perfect and pretty as he would wish it, though to what end she knew not. Her life at this point had become an un-life, she was an object for viewing and no longer a child with emotions of her own, no longer a person with opinions to be expressed.
Despite her inability to express herself, or perhaps because of it, her mind grew sharp with the skills of observation one picks up by being unable to participate in the world. When they would visit others, be it cottage or castle, she would be set down somewhere nearby, an observer. She learned things this way. She learned languages, she learned names, she learned secrets. She learned songs, she learned poems - such epic poetry, recounted time and time again in her long moments of mental solitude.
And so her un-life continued, until one day, quite out of the blue, she was addressed directly. It was midday, the middle of winter and she was seated on a plush cushion in a crystal carriage with none but her Master nearby, so when he spoke, it could be to no one but her. He asked, of all things, her opinion of the weather. It was an icy winter day, but the sun was shining and all the world was wreathed in frost, and she told him so, her voice still carrying the melodic lilt of childhood, unused all these years. Over time, he asked her more questions, and she gave more answers. She learned to ask him questions, and of these she remembers every answer he ever gave. She remained a doll, pampered and precious, but she became a companion in time, invited to speak, to recite poetry on their visits.
At times, then, she would be loaned as a gift. Never so long as to give her cause to think He would not return for her, but long enough for her to be fawned over at a party, or petted for good luck before some election or event. Then came one eve, on some such extended borrowing, when the Fae to whom she'd been privileged sought liberties no one had ever suggested to Lilith before. Afraid, she called out for her Master, and swiftly he came, dispatching her assailant as she looked on.
From that day, he no longer lent her out, but also no longer sought her company with the frequency of years past. And all too soon, he informed her that she would be returning to the place of her training, where a new girl had arrived, and would need her expertise. She accepted this fate, as she had accepted nearly all that had come to pass yet, but a terrible blizzard conspired to ruin these plans. A carriage accident, and her Master and his footmen were lost, leaving her alone in all of Arcadia quite suddenly.
Making decisions did not come naturally to Lilith, so it perhaps took her longer than it might have to make her way to and through the Hedge. But make it she did, arriving on the outskirts of Leeds of all places. Unfamiliar sights and sounds and altogether too many people made for a terrible re-entry into the world of Iron, and were it not for a timely intervention from a merciful benefactor, she might have thrown herself back into the Hedge toward that which was familiar. Accepting a position as the personal assistant of a Leeds City Councilman, none other than her patron and an active member of the Winter Court, Lilith is a long way from finding out who she is, or even deciding she wants to know the answer to that question.
Dock 55, Twelve Seas Port, Haven
"My head..." This groan, more of a whimper really, comes from Katarina when she awakens from her storm-tossed slumber. The regular jolts of movement seem to have her disoriented until she realizes she's being carried once more. She opens her mouth to scream, but no sound comes out as she suddenly notices who is carrying her. No longer a captive, her mouth falls shut and she continues to let Solomon bear her until they come upon the dock where the airship is tethered, her luggage moved aboard and the machines monitoring the ship itself unhooked in preparation for the Crimson Claw's departure.
"How did you find them? Me; how did you find me?" she asks, motioning to be set back on her feet. There is a patch of dried blood at her temple, but other than that she looks no particular worse for wear, though the hood of her cloak has come down in the kerfuffle, exposing that mane of sun-touched red hair once more. "Thank you, either way. I..." She hesitates, averting her eyes, but her words are firm when they do come. "I understand if you would rather terminate the contract. I was not exactly forthcoming when we struck the deal, and I would harbor no ill-will against you if you decided not to risk bearing me aloft as a passenger."
"My head..." This groan, more of a whimper really, comes from Katarina when she awakens from her storm-tossed slumber. The regular jolts of movement seem to have her disoriented until she realizes she's being carried once more. She opens her mouth to scream, but no sound comes out as she suddenly notices who is carrying her. No longer a captive, her mouth falls shut and she continues to let Solomon bear her until they come upon the dock where the airship is tethered, her luggage moved aboard and the machines monitoring the ship itself unhooked in preparation for the Crimson Claw's departure.
"How did you find them? Me; how did you find me?" she asks, motioning to be set back on her feet. There is a patch of dried blood at her temple, but other than that she looks no particular worse for wear, though the hood of her cloak has come down in the kerfuffle, exposing that mane of sun-touched red hair once more. "Thank you, either way. I..." She hesitates, averting her eyes, but her words are firm when they do come. "I understand if you would rather terminate the contract. I was not exactly forthcoming when we struck the deal, and I would harbor no ill-will against you if you decided not to risk bearing me aloft as a passenger."
Location: A back alley, Haven
"Unhand me at once!" As ineffective as this demand has been thus far, Katarina repeats it again, heart pounding in indignation and irritation as she is carried along like so many potatoes. Physically overpowered, there is no way for her to free herself, and desperation kicks in - the further she gets from dock fifty-five, the further she gets from completing her quest, from finding her mother. A gust of wind breezes down the alley, stirring debris on the ground - and apparently stirring Katarina's creativity as well.
"Let me go!" she demands again, this time taking a deep breath and repeating the words again. "Let me go!" And again. "Let me go, let me go, let me go, let..." And again and again. The breeze takes on a bit more strength with every repetition, whipping the debris around the trio. But Katarina's worries and anger are a distraction from the attempted channeling, and the wind quickly leaves her control, building and building into a maelstrom that halts the men in their tracks, buffeted back and forth against the brick walls that form the alleyway.
"What's 'at? Stop that!" the skinny man howls, a crisps bag flying into his face and plastering itself over his eyes. "Gallus, clap your hand over 'er mouth before she sends us over into the juvven Deeps!" He lunges at Katarina, but a gust of wind slams into him like a wall, knocking him back and setting him to reeling. Gallus manages to remain upright, but his panic has him unsteady on his feet, though his grip on Katarina is still too strong for her to escape on her own. He stumbles, and her head hits the nearest wall with a resounding thud - rendering her unconscious. The wind continues however, having taken on a life of its own. (Failed a Sorcery Roll, +1 dice pool)
"Unhand me at once!" As ineffective as this demand has been thus far, Katarina repeats it again, heart pounding in indignation and irritation as she is carried along like so many potatoes. Physically overpowered, there is no way for her to free herself, and desperation kicks in - the further she gets from dock fifty-five, the further she gets from completing her quest, from finding her mother. A gust of wind breezes down the alley, stirring debris on the ground - and apparently stirring Katarina's creativity as well.
"Let me go!" she demands again, this time taking a deep breath and repeating the words again. "Let me go!" And again. "Let me go, let me go, let me go, let..." And again and again. The breeze takes on a bit more strength with every repetition, whipping the debris around the trio. But Katarina's worries and anger are a distraction from the attempted channeling, and the wind quickly leaves her control, building and building into a maelstrom that halts the men in their tracks, buffeted back and forth against the brick walls that form the alleyway.
"What's 'at? Stop that!" the skinny man howls, a crisps bag flying into his face and plastering itself over his eyes. "Gallus, clap your hand over 'er mouth before she sends us over into the juvven Deeps!" He lunges at Katarina, but a gust of wind slams into him like a wall, knocking him back and setting him to reeling. Gallus manages to remain upright, but his panic has him unsteady on his feet, though his grip on Katarina is still too strong for her to escape on her own. He stumbles, and her head hits the nearest wall with a resounding thud - rendering her unconscious. The wind continues however, having taken on a life of its own. (Failed a Sorcery Roll, +1 dice pool)
Katarina vacates the steam car after a few moments of observing the sky ship from her seat in the back. As the workers move about, ants in comparison to the expanse of hull docked at the port, she waits for her luggage to be unloaded, tipping the clockwork driver not quite as handsomely as someone of her means could, but generously enough that it will be appreciated without drawing suspicion. That done, she looks about for the captain, checking her pocket watch. Seven minutes to eight, and he's nowhere in sight. Her expression is less than pleased, to say the least, but she hides it and the rest of her features in the heavy folds of her cloak.
"Does Captain Pierce always cut his lift-offs this close?" she asks a random passerby, and the young man blinks at her from behind his massive goggles, his eyes comically taking on the fishbowl effect.
"Everything is right on schedule," Goggle-face claims, pointing to a chart on his clipboard as if it were supposed to mean something to the redhead, then heading off to go about his work once more.
"Everything except Pierce," Katarina mutters under her breath. Standing about on the dock near her pile of luggage, she paints a less than discreet figure, all told, and more than one person moving about the dock casts a curious glance her way. Already impatient, Katarina moves back toward the curved road that connects the piers - only to catch wind of a whispered conversation nearby.
"That's her, the one from the poster. I 'eard she fetches a right princely sum, and look - there's nary a bandit t'be seen. Let's grab her, quick-like!" This from a skinny man with a hunched posture, spoken to his partner, a taller man of a more muscular build. He's obviously the muscle of the outfit, as it's quite clear he's not exactly blessed in the brains department. After a moment for the instructions to actually manifest into action, the larger of the two lumbers in Katarina's direction, arms outstretched toward her.
"What do you think you're doing! Unhand me at once, you brute!" Katarina slaps at the approaching hands most ineffectively. "Let me go, I say - put me down!" This last is hissed most indignantly, as the man scoops her up off her feet and over his shoulder like a shapely sack of potatoes. "Unhand me at once!" she demands, to no avail, and her fists pound at the man's shoulder and back, seemingly with no effect.
"We're only 'ere to 'elp, my Lady," comes the oily voice of the skinny companion. "Your da will be so relieved to see you again, maybe he'll double the reward. Nay, triple it," he muses more to himself than anyone else, greed a glint in his eye. "Come on, Gallus," he prods his friend in the side, pointing toward a nearby alleyway. "We'll go this way, so's to avoid her kidnappers when they come lookin'." He trots off toward the alley, and Gallus follows suit, Katarina still caught up over his shoulder.
"Unhand me at once!" Katarina demands once again, desperation in her tone as she is carried away from the ship, the dock, and her belongings. In the course of her struggles, the poster in her cloak, crumpled as it is, falls free, drifting to the ground just before the unlikely trio disappears into the murky darkness of the alley. (Endangered by Key of the Paragon, 2XP)
"Does Captain Pierce always cut his lift-offs this close?" she asks a random passerby, and the young man blinks at her from behind his massive goggles, his eyes comically taking on the fishbowl effect.
"Everything is right on schedule," Goggle-face claims, pointing to a chart on his clipboard as if it were supposed to mean something to the redhead, then heading off to go about his work once more.
"Everything except Pierce," Katarina mutters under her breath. Standing about on the dock near her pile of luggage, she paints a less than discreet figure, all told, and more than one person moving about the dock casts a curious glance her way. Already impatient, Katarina moves back toward the curved road that connects the piers - only to catch wind of a whispered conversation nearby.
"That's her, the one from the poster. I 'eard she fetches a right princely sum, and look - there's nary a bandit t'be seen. Let's grab her, quick-like!" This from a skinny man with a hunched posture, spoken to his partner, a taller man of a more muscular build. He's obviously the muscle of the outfit, as it's quite clear he's not exactly blessed in the brains department. After a moment for the instructions to actually manifest into action, the larger of the two lumbers in Katarina's direction, arms outstretched toward her.
"What do you think you're doing! Unhand me at once, you brute!" Katarina slaps at the approaching hands most ineffectively. "Let me go, I say - put me down!" This last is hissed most indignantly, as the man scoops her up off her feet and over his shoulder like a shapely sack of potatoes. "Unhand me at once!" she demands, to no avail, and her fists pound at the man's shoulder and back, seemingly with no effect.
"We're only 'ere to 'elp, my Lady," comes the oily voice of the skinny companion. "Your da will be so relieved to see you again, maybe he'll double the reward. Nay, triple it," he muses more to himself than anyone else, greed a glint in his eye. "Come on, Gallus," he prods his friend in the side, pointing toward a nearby alleyway. "We'll go this way, so's to avoid her kidnappers when they come lookin'." He trots off toward the alley, and Gallus follows suit, Katarina still caught up over his shoulder.
"Unhand me at once!" Katarina demands once again, desperation in her tone as she is carried away from the ship, the dock, and her belongings. In the course of her struggles, the poster in her cloak, crumpled as it is, falls free, drifting to the ground just before the unlikely trio disappears into the murky darkness of the alley. (Endangered by Key of the Paragon, 2XP)
Location: Twelve Seas Port, Haven
"One hundred twenty," she confirms, sounding exactly like someone that's gotten a thirty sovereign discount without any real effort on their part at all. Slipping out of her seat, she inclines her head imperiously. "Eight o'clock," she further confirms, before turning to go. "I've hired a steamer to ferry my things to the dock, you just have your crew worry about being able to take off as swiftly as possible." And without further comment she's blended back into the crowd, the only sign of her passage the opening and closing of the front door, and the gust of cold evening air it brings with it.
Traveling back down the street proves to be a chore, as the cobbled thruway is even more densely crowded than the hour previous. She makes it back to the boarding house without much in the way of event, and in nearly no time at all, her trunk and accompanying luggage are piled onto the steam car belching out clouds of exhaust as it waits outside. Approaching the front desk, relief etched onto her features, she almost misses the notice posted on the cork board nearby, but with a start, she recognizes a face on a new poster. A face in particular recognizable because it is in fact her own face. 'Missing' it claimed, and a reward of 2,000 sovereigns offered for her return.
Blanching, she glances around the sparsely populated lobby, then reaches up to snatch the poster down, stuffing it into her cloak. The young woman, identified on the poster as none other than Lady Katarina Steele, sole heir to the Steele Mining fortune and 'missing, presumed under duress', hurries up to the desk and pays for her stay, adding a few coins with a subtle word of encouragement toward discretion to the desk keeper, mindful now of hiding her accent, thanks to the comment from Solomon earlier. Pocketing the coins wordlessly, the middle aged woman barely gives Katarina a second look, more likely to assume she's privy to a bored housewife's indiscretion than a runaway noblewoman. (KEY of the Imposter, 1XP)
Getting into the steam car, she settles back against the seat as the short journey toward the Twelve Seas Port begins. Her eyes are fixed out of the window, but her attention is seemingly elsewhere - at least until she notices another of those posters with her face on it being plastered onto a pole. She draws away from the window as if forced away by an electric shock. She'd only been away from home for three weeks, surely that wasn't enough time for her father to have arranged all this... but apparently it was. Her eyes close as the car trundles along, scattering children and monkeys out of its path, but the ride isn't nearly long enough for her growing headache to subside, and much too soon, they're pulling up to a stop at dock fifty-five.
"One hundred twenty," she confirms, sounding exactly like someone that's gotten a thirty sovereign discount without any real effort on their part at all. Slipping out of her seat, she inclines her head imperiously. "Eight o'clock," she further confirms, before turning to go. "I've hired a steamer to ferry my things to the dock, you just have your crew worry about being able to take off as swiftly as possible." And without further comment she's blended back into the crowd, the only sign of her passage the opening and closing of the front door, and the gust of cold evening air it brings with it.
Traveling back down the street proves to be a chore, as the cobbled thruway is even more densely crowded than the hour previous. She makes it back to the boarding house without much in the way of event, and in nearly no time at all, her trunk and accompanying luggage are piled onto the steam car belching out clouds of exhaust as it waits outside. Approaching the front desk, relief etched onto her features, she almost misses the notice posted on the cork board nearby, but with a start, she recognizes a face on a new poster. A face in particular recognizable because it is in fact her own face. 'Missing' it claimed, and a reward of 2,000 sovereigns offered for her return.
Blanching, she glances around the sparsely populated lobby, then reaches up to snatch the poster down, stuffing it into her cloak. The young woman, identified on the poster as none other than Lady Katarina Steele, sole heir to the Steele Mining fortune and 'missing, presumed under duress', hurries up to the desk and pays for her stay, adding a few coins with a subtle word of encouragement toward discretion to the desk keeper, mindful now of hiding her accent, thanks to the comment from Solomon earlier. Pocketing the coins wordlessly, the middle aged woman barely gives Katarina a second look, more likely to assume she's privy to a bored housewife's indiscretion than a runaway noblewoman. (KEY of the Imposter, 1XP)
Getting into the steam car, she settles back against the seat as the short journey toward the Twelve Seas Port begins. Her eyes are fixed out of the window, but her attention is seemingly elsewhere - at least until she notices another of those posters with her face on it being plastered onto a pole. She draws away from the window as if forced away by an electric shock. She'd only been away from home for three weeks, surely that wasn't enough time for her father to have arranged all this... but apparently it was. Her eyes close as the car trundles along, scattering children and monkeys out of its path, but the ride isn't nearly long enough for her growing headache to subside, and much too soon, they're pulling up to a stop at dock fifty-five.
"One hundred sovereigns," she counters immediately. "And yes, I'm ready to leave - I'll just need to pick up my luggage from the room I rented and settle my account there, and can be at the dock by eight o'clock tonight," she estimates. "I'll assume," she continues, giving a meaningful once-over of the somewhat shady establishment, "That your ship's passenger list won't be showing up on any Imperial manifest?" The wine long-forgotten, she folds her hands in her lap for lack of anything better to do with them.
"Also, you'll receive half payment now, and the other half once we arrive - an incentive, perhaps, against scuttling me or my things in the event that you attract any of the wrong sort of attention again," she adds a bit dryly. "If we have a deal, I'll head to the boarding house now, and meet you back at the docks. Where are you anchored?" she asks, already drawing her hood more securely over her hair in preparation for leaving.
"Also, you'll receive half payment now, and the other half once we arrive - an incentive, perhaps, against scuttling me or my things in the event that you attract any of the wrong sort of attention again," she adds a bit dryly. "If we have a deal, I'll head to the boarding house now, and meet you back at the docks. Where are you anchored?" she asks, already drawing her hood more securely over her hair in preparation for leaving.
Using the edge of her cloak, she surreptitiously wipes at a smudge on the wine glass before taking a sip of the cheap, watered down drink. "I understand," she says of the ship when Solomon begins to wax eloquent about it, and she is apparently so interested in his words or at least, very good at feigning said interest, that she almost misses his offer. She startles when she catches it, and hides the sudden tensing of her shoulders behind taking another sip of her drink. "Why would you assume I am looking for passage?" she asks a bit primly. "I could always book passage at the port authority if that were the case," she insinuates a bit too smoothly. A bit of the wind goes out of her sails when he clarifies, and she doesn't look particularly appreciative of his pointing out her accent, either.
"If I were looking for passage, then." She purses her lips, glancing about the pub for a moment before continuing. "What would your fee be for a voyage of about... five weeks?" she asks. "I'm going to visit my mother," she explains. "And may even be interested in a swift return for the both of us, if you were amenable." She sets the unpalatable wine aside, now that they've gotten to the heart of the matter. "I would need to leave quickly, nigh immediately," she adds. "And discreetly, of course."
"If I were looking for passage, then." She purses her lips, glancing about the pub for a moment before continuing. "What would your fee be for a voyage of about... five weeks?" she asks. "I'm going to visit my mother," she explains. "And may even be interested in a swift return for the both of us, if you were amenable." She sets the unpalatable wine aside, now that they've gotten to the heart of the matter. "I would need to leave quickly, nigh immediately," she adds. "And discreetly, of course."
"La- ...that is, Miss Catherine Stone," the redhead introduces herself, covering up the faulty beginning with a charming smile. Setting her hand in his, she withdraws it after their introductions in favor of finding herself a seat at the bar. "Wine, perhaps?" she chooses as her poison of choice, looking over the pub's other offerings with a somewhat dubious expression. "What sort of cargo was it?" she wonders. "On second thought," she adds quickly, "Perhaps that is more than I need to know."
When Solomon asks her for her story, she reaches up to idly twirl a lock of coppery hair about her finger. "Not from around here, no," she murmurs. Her accent lends credence to her claim; there is an aristocratic inflection to her words that is particularly uncommon on Haven, and even more so in a dock-side pub. "Tell me about your ship, Captain? The... you called it the 'Crimson Claw' if I recall correctly?" she asks, aiming curious, emerald green eyes up at him.
When Solomon asks her for her story, she reaches up to idly twirl a lock of coppery hair about her finger. "Not from around here, no," she murmurs. Her accent lends credence to her claim; there is an aristocratic inflection to her words that is particularly uncommon on Haven, and even more so in a dock-side pub. "Tell me about your ship, Captain? The... you called it the 'Crimson Claw' if I recall correctly?" she asks, aiming curious, emerald green eyes up at him.
© 2007-2024