Fantasy // The Other Side // Open/Accepting

[tityanya]

𝖁𝖊𝖗𝖔𝖓𝖎𝖈𝖆 𝕽𝖔𝖘𝖓𝖔𝖎𝖗𝖊​

I am here: The Drunken Crow
With: Morgan, distantly Alberto

"What beautiful music the children of the night make" ☽

Morgan wasn't put off by Veronica's violent words. In fact, he laughed, his face softening. His concern was for poor Boris, who already had his hands full and didn't need a bar fight on top of it. That...was fair. "Perhaps one of them might have helped us," she said with a smirk about the guards. She knew that wasn't likely. Guards protected guards from outsiders. An outsider pummeling one of their own was sure to receive a pummeling in return. She gave a dramatic sigh. "But best case scenario is that they would simply just stand aside in watch," she acquiesced.

Morgan took a sip of his drink, before telling her that she was sharp. She beamed at him, tilting her head to the side and squinting her eyes a little. As he said that, Veronica noticed the door open again. A cursory glance revealed a man covered head to toe, his face hidden behind a mask. That sent up a red flag in Veronica's brain. Who was this man hiding his identity? She watched him from the corner of her eye, as he moved along the bar floor and sat down at the bar. She turned her attention back to Morgan. So he was the stable master, hmm? That certainly explained the pony boy comment. And further proved to Veronica that Matthew was an idiot. Taking care of horses was hard work. She had done it a couple times, back when she was human. People who were way richer than her throwing her a bone for back-breaking work.

Veronica took a sip of her wine, and it nearly made it down before Morgan said that he would put their horses out of commission. Veronica choked a little on her wine, covering her mouth with her hand as she coughed. "Horribly devious of you. What do you do to those poor, innocent horses?" she asked, although her tone was more amused than aghast.

That was when he said that she looked familiar to him. Her head tilted, eyes narrowing as she properly examined Morgan's face. Did she...recognize him? Nothing immediately rung a bell. But there was some nagging sense in the back of her head...there was something familiar about him, even if it wasn't his face. "I'm quite the socialite. Do you attend any of the parties up in Maple Hill? You could recognize me from there," she provided. She wasn't sure if a palace stable master would even be invited to a party put on by the upper crust, but stranger things had happened. Sometimes the rich liked their token "normal" person to invite to parties and watch them marvel at all the things they took for granted. Veronica had been that for a couple of people, back when she was human. She wasn't fond of the practice now. It was so...exploitative. Let's watch a person who never lived in luxury marvel at it and laugh at them.

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((ooc: ))
((Dress))
((Mediate))​

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[TaperedNightjar]

Morgan Bandera
Artwork by Cytomoss​

• Location: The Drunken Crow (Florien).
• With: Veronica and Black Shot.
• Wearing: Fancy.
• General status: Suspicious.

Morgan was glad to see that Veronica approved of his observation. She smiled up at him and before he could add more to his statement the heavy front doors opened. He followed Veronica's gaze as a man strode across the floor and sat down a few spots from them. Morgan felt his skin crawl. Folks around here didn't conceal their whole face just because they felt like it. When they did it was usually a human with unsightly scarring. No Otherfolk would hide their face in such a way. It would be too obvious. Morgan's green eyes narrowed a bit as he studied the masculine figure.

He observed only briefly before turning his attention back to Veronica. "I don't do anything malicious. I just tell them that their horse can't work for a time. Maybe tell them I felt a little heat in their legs. Just something that would cause the animal to need some stall rest. The guards are so dense they wouldn't know the difference. They never look after their own horses anyway, so they don't notice things in the same detail as myself."

He reached into the leather pouch on his waist and fished around in it for a moment. "I have driven a carriage to a few parties. That's not usually my job, but I do fill in for the driver from time to time."

Morgan placed a piece of parchment on the bar so that Veronica could see it. On the parchment was a sketch of three horses. The lines were drawn with charcoal in a particularly unique style. "That's my horse, Nighthawk. He's the blue roan standing out front right now," Morgan said as he pointed to the horse on the left. "The one in the middle is Acacia, and the one on the right is Oak. We have countless horses at the stables, but this trio is my favorite. Oak actually belongs to Prince Emory."

As Morgan spoke he glanced up to watch Boris make his way to the masked newcomer. The giant bartender smiled down at Black Shot, "Good evening, Sir. What can I get ya' to drink?"

 

[Metallic Bold]

The giant bartender smiled down at Black Shot, "Good evening, Sir. What can I get ya' to drink?" ​

Alberto Easton "Black Shot"

(Pixel artwork by me)

Location: Florien, Mirium- The Drunken Crow
With: Beronica Rosnorie, Morgan Bandera, NPC 'Boris'
Wearing: Assassin attire
General statues: Neutral, tired

Black Shot stores the conversation within his memory files, organized neatly within their cabinets. Morgan Bandera was his name; he recalls seeing it once during a negotiation with a client. Seems his work with the guards also brought along a connection to one of the royals. He makes a mental note to stay away from this guy. The last he needed was killing labor to blue bloods, especially royal blue bloods. The women, however, isn't someone he knows but she is a smooth talker. She mentioned Maple Hill as her usual stalking ground, he keeps a note of that as well.

A large man strode behind the bar and welcomes him. Black Shoot looks up at the square amber tinted face of Boris, the owner of the tavern. He smoothly moves his hands away from his jaw, briefly eyeing the stable master and his acquaintance. Then he adjusts himself in his stool before he clears his throat and speaks.

"'M not 'ere for sophisticated drinkin'." A low, rough voice trapped within the muffle of fabric. "But considering it is a..."
He tilts his head, overhead oil lamp light dancing upon his goggle lens. "Cheery day for some folk...."

He gestures a dark gloved hand to the assortment of wine barrels behind the bear of a man. The material sleek and his fingers casting long shadows across the countertop. "Dealer's choice."

 

[Gazimon X]

Yetzirah
Taavi Jokela + Hector Darius + Princess Corline + Zayleigh Hellswater | Bored > Hopeful

“A walk within castle grounds.” Yetzirah echoed, in a tone that suggested equal parts disbelief and amusement, as if a gentle reminder that they would be held accountable to their words. But of course, it had been Captain Jokela who had first mentioned the extent of their presumed venture and cautioned about Balta and Mud Bay, not their guests. The princess’ words cemented that they weren’t wandering further than their proclaimed bounds. The automaton felt a twinge of disappointment, like a sadistic jailer hoping his captives would give him any reason to react with punitive force. “I see, that puts us at ease then.” He couldn’t mask the dissatisfaction. “Perhaps a ride some other time then, Princess.”

The arrival of the messenger youth was treated with solemnity, but once the task was done Yetzirah waved the lad off as if he was shooing a ratty pigeon. His glowing eyes shifted from the emblem of the paper and fixed upon the lady with the blazing mane, glimmering like simmering ice that met the flame. Did he adore her or abhor her? “It is well that you brought your healer with you to ensure that you are fit for the morrow. We buried the senior doctor of the gifted guard a few weeks prior. Attacked in his own manor at Maple Hill by a filthy otherfolk; quite unfortunate. His penchant for solitude was his undoing. The murderer remains at large, so please forgive our caution.”

If anything, the metal monster was doing a piss-poor job of allaying any fears, or the opposite was his intent; brusquely sharing such information without care for the princess’ delicacy. The words, uttered with the shadow of boredom and mundane flatness, felt hollow as his soul. As if he were a petulant child forced to read a script sprinkled with emotive keywords — with an utter lack of sincerity. “My Lady,” he whirred softly with a slight bow, “Princess.” Then he stepped away, making clear his own intent to leave despite neglecting to acknowledge Captain Darius.

~~~​

He had to wait for Captain Jokela, but once they were alone in the hallways a ceaseless hum hovered in the air like an invisible wasp, broken only when he spoke again some moments later — he’d entirely forgotten to ‘breathe’ while humming.

“Did that go well?” Yetzirah remarked, his mercurial mood lightening with the density of helium. “It’s such a pity that my master reverted me before their arrival. Your friend would have found some appreciation of that doctor; even an incomplete specimen at that.” As they paced toward the stables, the soldier spun his halberd with a flourish and the long weapon shrunk in split seconds, vanishing into the palm of his gauntleted hand. “But, we’re still friends. Aren’t we?”

Seeing that Bandera was not present Yetzirah moved to ready Jokela’s horse, even if the creature pinned its ears back with a flash of teeth.

 

[TaperedNightjar]

Vyrik Tal’Ho
Artwork by Keydo Burakai​

• Location: Swordfish Point > Maple Hill
• With: Alone.
• Current eye color: Brown.
• Wearing: White shirt, vest, warm cloak, trousers.
• General status: Stressed. Anxious. Guilty.

➤ "Not now. It is too risky."

Vyrik's mouth was twisted in a grimace as he fast-walked through Swordfish Point. In theory, Nova should have done the visit. That was their job after all. They should have been the one to apologize to the family. They were head of the Otherfolk Protection. They should have been able to save the girl. Vyrik was disgusted to say the least. He was being left to tend to Nova's responsibilities, as the HOP had to lay low for a little while. Vyrik would have to rip into them later, and he would.

The family had been less than happy to see him. Like many Otherfolk families, they knew him and generally liked him. However, they were mad. They were in mourning and many emotions raged through the family. Grief, despair, hopelessness, cynicism. The bird was familiar with the hurricane that was grief, he'd grown up surrounded by it. As he had stood there being berated by the family, he compartmentalized their anger. He let them yell at him. He let the mother cry and throw a plate at him, to which he was thankful for her bad aim. Vyrik's face showed empathy, but on the inside he was panicked and trying to desensitize himself to the flurry of emotions that surrounded him.

"Don't let it get to you. You know where the anger stems from," he'd told himself. How could he not let it? The Otherfolk Protection had failed this family. Vyrik and Nova had both failed them.

"Nova is a coward! They can't even face us to apologize!" The father had yelled.

Vyrik felt a stinging pain as he mentally repeated the words of the grieving man. His stomach was sick as he continued on his way through the busy streets. The night air was cool and the sky was clear. Normally he would have stopped to stargaze for a moment, but his brain felt exhausted and fried. All he wanted was a huge meal and to sleep for a month. Hard chance of either happening.

As he entered the Neighborhood of Maple Hill, Vyrik veered off from the main path and began weaving his way around the smaller streets. He moved through the lustrous neighborhood quiet and swift. Folks he passed hardly gave him a second glance. If anything caught their attention it was his unruly hair. The residents of Maple Hill didn't have time for someone like him and unless they felt like picking a fight, no one would bother him at all. He knew that even talking to him would be a scandalous tale among their social circles. His nose scrunched at the thought of proper ladies sitting among themselves and gossiping about the foreigner. It was a strange notion, although it also made him smirk.

Vyrik came to a stop and peered at the home in front of him. It was a grand home like the others around it. However, unlike them it was completely dark. There were no lights on in the windows. Guards were posted on the property. Vyrik counted two by the front entrance, but hew knew there were likely more.

"Great," he muttered quietly to himself.

He had checked on the location several times and had yet to find it unattended. Vyrik had expected this. There was no way he could get into Dr. Lykeios' home on his own. The bird's lip twisted in frustration. He needed to get in there. There was one person whom he knew could help. He simply had to find her first.

 

[Malacina]

• Post
• Profile

• 
  
  Kimberly Parrish
  
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  Wᴇ ᴀʀᴇ ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴛᴏ ʟᴀᴜɢʜ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏᴅᴅs ᴀɴᴅ ʟɪᴠᴇ ᴏᴜʀ ʟɪᴠᴇs sᴏ ᴡᴇʟʟ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴛʀᴇᴍʙʟᴇ ᴡʜᴇɴ ɪᴛ ᴛᴀᴋᴇs ᴜs.

  “What is the most interesting thing I’ve seen?” Kimberly repeats the excitement in his voice going airy, a little surprised to hear the question. “While out collecting?” The words go past his lips with no concern for an answer he already knows because, of course, the nobleman means while he was out in the forest. The chill in the air sweeps around the edges of his cloak and he turns his head into the wind, bright eyes looking in the direction of the closest exit out of the city and back towards the forest despite rows upon rows of buildings blocking his sight.
  
  It wasn’t all that long ago that Kimberly was living in a place with only a handful of homes without such large walls and security checkpoints. People didn’t ask about the woods there, they just experienced them. It was never something Kimberly had to explain or put into words, because no matter how unique your experience was among the trees someone else knew someone who went through the same thing. Here, though, within the city proper, Kimberly finds most people seem to forget the forest and the things in the forest even exist. And the ones that know are much too eager to send him out into it in their place. Occasionally he would run into someone or see someone from afar, but most of them were knights of Mirim. They patrolled the areas diligently, especially during the time of day in which the sun shifts. But that wouldn’t be very interesting, Kimberly though. No running into people wasn’t all that unusual so he skips over talking about the man with translucent wings he saw stretching out his limbs in the moonlight and the kind woman with a shimmer to her skin and too many teeth who shared lunch with him. Running into people wasn’t what made the forest special. Kimberly filtered through some of his more memorable encounters with the fauna and wildlife, the newest ones holding the clearest for him.
  
  Turning to look back at the other man, hood pulling back against the wind to expose a little more of his hair and face. Kimberly grinned before answering with an excitement he displayed early - putting his whole body up in motion. “There’s a stream down south that bubbles out of the ground that flows uphill. If you follow it, it’al take you to a set of old buildings that circle a hot pool. There’s a lizard there that lives in the waters and has skin that’s brighter than the sun.” The little lizards are extremely cute with big eyes and fat limbs, but even Kimberly knows better than to touch an animal with such markings. He often wondered what kind of toxins the lizard carried but has so far avoided finding out. Instead, while there, he focuses on collecting the reeds surrounding the pools and the little purple flowers Ms. Gover always asks for that hide between the broken stone of the forgotten buildings.
  
  Carrying the excitement over to his offer of help, Kimberly let the mental map of the forest go, building back up the one of the city. Due to nothing more than blind confidence, Kimberly was sure the man would let me retrieve his jacket for him. He was expecting a yes and some instructions, Kimberly isphysically thrown - his rocking feet stuttering, an uncontrolled pitch forward before an overcorrection - when the next words out of the man’s mouth were washed with indignation. “Uh?” Kimberly so eloquently put, while processing the words. Physical punishment was common in and out of the city. And while Kimberly managed to avoid most of it, he saw it happen in one form or another nearly every day while running around. A quick clip of someone’s arm when they weren’t moving fast enough, a slap of the wrist when someone tried to pay less than what something was worth, or a hit upside the temple when someone was utterly mistaken. And it wasn’t like it was just common folk. Kimberly had already revealed that the richer merchants and other nobles acted similarly, and that didn’t even include the guards near the rougher divisions of the city. That was just how things were, weren’t they? The man spoke as if that was not only rare but wrong. Cocking his head, Kimberly stared openly at the man as he cursed under his breath.
  
  However, before Kimberly could think of what to say or unscrunch his brows, the man finally agreed to Kimberly’s earlier offer rattling off two locations - where the jacket was and where the jacket needed to go. The man probably didn’t mean for it to be a challenge, but the more Kimberly mapped the path in his head, the more sure he was that he would beat the man to Stetlan Street. Well, as long as the man followed the major roads like most people did. He wasn’t entirely sure what pompous meant, but he could guess the context and regardless it was worth a grin to see someone with such nice clothes speak in a manner that most would say was crass. “White Walk Lane. Stetlan Street. Stefan Bellcomb’s jacket.” He repeated to himself after the end of the instructions, keeping the words in the forefront of his mind and away from any real meaning outside of the task he now had. It didn’t matter who else he knew that lived on White Walk Lane. It wasn’t the same house and they wouldn’t be of any use. It didn’t matter what he knew about Stetlan Street outside of where it was and how to get there. It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter what the name of the jacket owner was as long as speaking the name to the right person got Kimberly to jacket to return.
  
  The younger man was ready to take off, repeating the words, when suddenly a hand was thrust out into the open space between the two. Green eyes switch between the hand and the man’s face, before understanding hits Kimberly in the face. He moves to return the handshake but stutters to a stop at a second realization and then hastily takes off his worn and dirt-covered glove, attempting to brush off the dirt from his fingers in the process. “Oh!” Registering that he had left the other man’s hand in the air too long, he quickly fumbles to take it. “Kimberly. I’m Kimberly Parrish, Mister Bel-bellcomb” It was probably the most awkward Kimberly felt in years, color dotting his face as he finally connects the name Stefan Bellcomb to the man in front of him. “I’ll go - I’ll get your jacket now. I promise.”
  
  Kimberly offers one last smile, lets his hand slide away from Stefan’s grip, and then turns and immediately starts off across the street towards a side street, vaguely in the same direction that Stefan came from. Moving helped Kimberly put aside the odd sensation of introducing himself with an actual handshake and it’s only when he makes it just past the start of the side street that he understood he had heard the name Belcomb before. He was certain he knew the name, but he was also certain he hadn’t seen Stefan before. Stefan didn’t seem like the type of man one would forget meeting. So then why did Kimberly know the man’s name? A family member? At the other end of the side street where he plans to cut across the back path of an old potter when he remembers, startling him to a quick stop. Of course, he knew that name, everyone should recognize the family name of the late crown princess. “Oh.” Was all Kimberly could think to say, looking back over his shoulder even though now there was a set of buildings between where he was and the place he had seen Stefan. He wondered how closely related Stefan was to the late princess. Regardless, having that surname alone meant a level of respect Kimberly was sure he hadn’t provided and decided he would be extra careful returning Stefan’s jacket, taking off again around the potter’s building.
  
  
  Location: Vardi Hill
  Company: Stefan > No One Immediate
  Wearing: A high neckline, standing collar vest without a shirt, brown fitted trousers, short fingerless leather gloves, and barefoot with a muted green hooded cape and a multi-pouch black leather belt strapped at his waist and thigh. All of which is covered in dust and dirt.
  
  OCC: N/A
  
• 
  The Basics
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  • Real name: Kimberly Parrish
  • Nickname: Kim, Parrish
  • Age: Twenty-two (22)
  • Gender: Male
  • Romantic preferences: Pansexual
  • Race/Species: Human
  • Role: Human
  • Time in Mirim: Seven Years
  • Neighborhood: Lives in Florian & Works in Lanesboro
  Appearance, hobbies, and abilities
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  • Height: 5'6"
  • Hair color: A dark reddish-blond w/occasional dyed strands.
  • Eye color: Bright green
  • Scars and body markings: Mostly temporary ink or dyes of various imagery with minor scars here and there.
  • Occupation: Courier, Collector and Amateur Cartographer.
  • Hobbies:
    • Exploring: This includes running around the roads and houses inside the city and the vast land and mountains outside the city.
    • Drawing: The majority of the time, this means Kimberly is detailing his many maps.
    • People-watching: Kimberly enjoys seeing people interact and live their daily lives as they are.
  • Abilities/Skills:
    • Free-climbing: Good hand grip, the ability to pull his weight, and impressive agility.
    • Acrobatics: Flexibility, fine and gross motor skills, and good balance.
    • Ambidextrous: Able to switch dominant hands or feel without trouble for the majority of tasks.
    • Spatial Awareness: A good sense of direction, understanding of one's body relative to space around it, and is good at guessing distances.
    • Improved Recollection: Better memory than most for both locations and faces.
  The Personal Things
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  • Personality: If nothing else, Kimberly is Optimistic - a trait that is the root cause of both his Resiliency and Confidence. He believes in the best of people and situations, makes the most out of what he has, and is sure he will always get back up again after falling. He's eager to help even if he doesn't know how and he often doesn't know how to due to his Obliviousness and Naivety of the world and the hardships many face in the world. It is less that he grew up sheltered from the horror of the world and more that he grew up Isolated from it. He spent more time exploring and hunting as a kid than he did staying indoors and only really learned about life and the history of the major cities through the occasional traveling storyteller. When he started spending more time inside villages and city walls, Kimberly was so enchanted by the daily lives of everyday people and the novelty of it all that he missed and continues to miss the exact extent of the discrimination of otherfolk face in Mirim. He doesn't see how bad it is because he can't fathom being so cruel. Another reason for this is that he very much lives in the Present, letting the past stay behind and not worrying about the future. He's been told more times than he can count to learn history and to plan his future, but figures he's Not Educated enough nor has any desire to do so. He's also constantly being told he's too Impulsive and Energetic causing people to find him Obnoxious or Friendly and sometimes both.
  The Fun Things
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  • Likes: His family. Running & Climbing. Exploring. Drawing. Shortcuts. Flirting. Rain. Talking. Cemeteries. People. Heights. Abandoned buildings.
  • Dislikes: Spiders. Clothing with sleeves. True silence. Indoors. Books. Lightning/Thunder. Being late. Fighting. Jump scares.
  • Fears: Being stuck in one place for the rest of his life. Being completely on his own. Losing a limb.
  Other
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  • Kimberly doesn't know how to read or write, but there are some words he recognizes through pure memorization. These words usually pertain to the herbs and reagents he's been hired to obtain. Some of his maps have the names of neighborhoods on them - this is in response to him asking someone else to point out the name or write it and then he copies the letters.
  • Kimberly is enthralled with the abilities and talents of otherfolk and gifted humans. He finds that he's in awe and is just so happy to be able to witness such abilities that he skips over feeling jealous of not having his own.
  • Kimberly really wants a pet but knows he can't take care of one. Instead of having his own, he makes do with petting all the animals he can.
  • Kimberly deals with migraines.
  Relationships
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  • (Character name here): XXX
  • (Character name here): XXX
  • (Character name here): XXX

Stefan​

​

 

[Lost Echo]

There was to be a ball. Her father couldn’t put off introducing Emory to the Eastwind Princess any longer. The delay had been kind, even if the invitation was foolish. This Corline couldn’t possibly replace Alicia. All but perhaps her and her monster of a guard knew it. Why their father even accepted the invitation, she didn’t know. Eastwind allowed the monsters to stay there. They didn’t even put them to use like Ostello. Like Marshal. (She refused to forget who that monster was. Proof the Otherkin could be hiding anywhere.)

Normally, Elodie loved balls. They were a celebration of freedom, letting her get lost in the dances. She would love to pick out a new dress, something to make her stand out further. But tonight, that was unimportant.

Elodie was on a mission. She simply had to find her brother before the courier did. She could break the news to him softly. As he needed, as poisoned by his grief as he was. He was even drinking! She’d checked his room first. (She’d made sure to dispose of the bottles she found, so the maids wouldn’t talk.)

Outside was her best option. So she’d grabbed one of her coats, wrapping up in it. Her cat followed at her heels, his paws silent compared to the clicks of her footsteps. Turning a corner, she almost startled. Her face kept smooth, but she stopped.

It was the princess. The one for whom the ball would be held. Knowing she was already visible, she continued forward. Bowing her head slightly, she murmured, “Good evening Princess Corline.” She wanted to leave her presence, but knew she couldn’t be rude. Her father wanted ties to the barbaric kingdom. Her cat curled around her ankles and hissed at the massive guard, just like she wished to. He had to be an Otherkin. No human got that big naturally. Gifted or not. Hopefully the princess could keep control of her beast. Maine Coon cats could easily take on an unarmed human, but this creature was like a bear.

Caffeinated Joy

 

[tityanya]

𝐸𝓂𝑜𝓇𝓎 𝒱𝒾𝓈𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝒾

I am here: Castle Grounds
With: Eudora​

There was nothing in the world that I ever wanted more...⇙

╔══════════════════════════╗​

Emory could see the Countess' mind whirring as she processed what he had told her. Contrary to proper belief, he wasn't stupid. He knew that she didn't believe him. But really, what else could be done about that? His father was a fool for keeping that power around. People were going to gossip and come up with their own conclusions. But for some reason, the Countess didn't seem upset at the blatant lie. Instead she seemed...pleased? Like a smug cat that had finally caught the mouse it wanted to eat. At the very least, Countess Eudora accepted Emory's answer, and didn't call him out for the blatant lie. Not that he would have admitted to it. No, he feared his father's wrath way more than the Countess. He wasn't going to do anything to contradict the man.

But to Emory's discomfort, the questions continued. He fidgeted, his weight shifting from foot to foot. The pointed comment about him joining the Royal Council meeting made him grimace. It had been months since he had attended one. He had always hated them, always found some way to put his foot in his mouth at least once. He had only really gone when his father requested him to, and his father hadn't requested him to since Alicia died. Jero wasn't perfect by any means, but at the very least he knew that those meetings were torture for Emory and didn't want to make him endure them when he was mourning.

"I believe his main role is to be an assistant to Captain Jokela. I cannot say too much more though, of course," Emory said, his tone awkward and stilted. He genuinely wasn't sure what his father's main plan for the rock man was--except to use its power to scare his enemies. But at the very least, his answer would help explain why Yetzirah was always near Captain Jokela. He just hoped that his hastily thought-of answer wouldn't be contradicted by someone else. He would have to have a short meeting with the captain, perhaps, and explain the cover story he had given and what the captain would like Emory to tell people in the future...

"As for the council meeting, we shall see. It has been a while since I have joined, and I would hate to drag everyone behind with retreading ground." That was a polite enough "no," right? He didn't want to admit that he hadn't been reading the meeting notes Simon had diligently been taking for him. He would want to read those first, and study up on what he had missed over the months...which would take time and effort that he didn't have to give. No, it was far better to just not attend the meeting at all, than show proof of his own ignorance.

╚══════════════════════════╝

((ooc: ))
((outfit))
((pictures of you))​

talk think

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[Rosacea]

𝐸𝓂𝑜𝓇𝓎 𝒱𝒾𝓈𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝒾

I am here: Castle Grounds
With: Eudora​

There was nothing in the world that I ever wanted more...⇙

╔══════════════════════════╗​

Emory could see the Countess' mind whirring as she processed what he had told her. Contrary to proper belief, he wasn't stupid. He knew that she didn't believe him. But really, what else could be done about that? His father was a fool for keeping that power around. People were going to gossip and come up with their own conclusions. But for some reason, the Countess didn't seem upset at the blatant lie. Instead she seemed...pleased? Like a smug cat that had finally caught the mouse it wanted to eat. At the very least, Countess Eudora accepted Emory's answer, and didn't call him out for the blatant lie. Not that he would have admitted to it. No, he feared his father's wrath way more than the Countess. He wasn't going to do anything to contradict the man.

But to Emory's discomfort, the questions continued. He fidgeted, his weight shifting from foot to foot. The pointed comment about him joining the Royal Council meeting made him grimace. It had been months since he had attended one. He had always hated them, always found some way to put his foot in his mouth at least once. He had only really gone when his father requested him to, and his father hadn't requested him to since Alicia died. Jero wasn't perfect by any means, but at the very least he knew that those meetings were torture for Emory and didn't want to make him endure them when he was mourning.

"I believe his main role is to be an assistant to Captain Jokela. I cannot say too much more though, of course," Emory said, his tone awkward and stilted. He genuinely wasn't sure what his father's main plan for the rock man was--except to use its power to scare his enemies. But at the very least, his answer would help explain why Yetzirah was always near Captain Jokela. He just hoped that his hastily thought-of answer wouldn't be contradicted by someone else. He would have to have a short meeting with the captain, perhaps, and explain the cover story he had given and what the captain would like Emory to tell people in the future...

"As for the council meeting, we shall see. It has been a while since I have joined, and I would hate to drag everyone behind with retreading ground." That was a polite enough "no," right? He didn't want to admit that he hadn't been reading the meeting notes Simon had diligently been taking for him. He would want to read those first, and study up on what he had missed over the months...which would take time and effort that he didn't have to give. No, it was far better to just not attend the meeting at all, than show proof of his own ignorance.

╚══════════════════════════╝

((ooc: ))
((outfit))
((pictures of you))​

talk think

I am here: Castle Gardens
With: Emory
Mood: Pensive, slightly worried, energised
Notes: These are Eudoras personal views. They are very biased, she is not a reliable narrator.

Eudora Withersbury
​

Eudora stared at Emory as he tried to dodge her questions, polite disbelief on her face as the prince seemed to trip over his tale. He really was a terrible liar. How did he survive an upbringing under King Jero's oppressive gaze? “I understand. You were kind to answer my questions, Your Majesty. How reassuring to know that the King values the Kingdom's security so highly.” The countess answered neutrally, deciding she had tortured the prince enough. Contrary to popular belief, she did know when she was pushing people too far—especially those who outranked her. Anyway, his answer was useful enough. Captain Jokela would surely know more about this creature if it was his assistant. But she wasn’t sure how and if she would approach the captain…he seemed rather chilly towards noisy nobles, especially those he had covertly investigated for treason. She had a hunch that it may be best If the captain did not think her overly interested in the castle's defensive measures.

Eudora tried to think of a way to proceed, but it seemed futile. After Marshall's unfortunate passing, she lost her former insight into the king's movements, and she did not have a rapport with anyone else who may know the captain personally. Eudora exhaled in slight frustration. She had hit a wall here. Her investigations would have to proceed from a different angle unless she could find some way to interrogate one of the Knights working with the creature. Risky, too risky, considering the head of securities' potential suspicion of her. She would ponder this later. It was clear that she had to speak to someone else first.

The countess seemed unfazed by the prince's admission that he would continue to skip council meetings. “What a shame. When your majesty is ready, your insights and contributions will be much appreciated.” Eudora said flatly, barely bothering to elevate her tone to anything above an empty platitude. She supposed that she should not feel quite so happy about the prince's absence, since his involvement with the council substantially strengthened its position in court. And she was dimly aware that if King Jero would ever do her the favour of falling down the stairs or swan diving in front of a carriage, Emory would be the one dictating council protocol. Still, the countess couldn’t help but be a little glad about being spared the particular brand of lethargic, consensus-seeking obstruction that the prince brought to the table. He opposed some of her views, as many others did, but he seemed to almost recoil at the thought of any quarrel with her at all, instead continuously asking insolently neutral questions when his face reflected obvious disagreement with her answers. It was infuriating. Other council members had found an undignified pleasure in adding their own nitpicky commentary to these accidental interrogations. She could not exactly tell him to get stuffed, no council member could, but the meeting would invariably end with one sarcastic remark by her or aimed at her which then would make the rounds at the next political evening saloon. So perhaps it was good for both her sanity and the prince's well-being if he stayed away from council meetings for a few weeks longer. She just wished that it wasn’t the grief gnawing at him that caused these welcome absences. The countess really could understand him. Losing a partner was shattering. The all-encompassing darkness of the first few weeks, the disbelief, the anger; she had gone through all of that twice. And she knew that the problem with death was that it could not be overcome. It was not simply a storm to be weathered by holding on tight and drawing the shutters. The death of a partner was a state you lived in for the rest of your life. Acceptance would dawn in time.

Even if there was a brief moment in the morning, when sleep still fogged her mind when she thought she heard his muffled footsteps in the bathroom. Even if she still polished his reading glasses because she had always done so, every day, for twenty-three years. Even if a part of her still instinctively pointed out how the Gardner had butchered his daffodils again, words half risen in her throat before she realized he was gone.

Really, the prince ought to get a hold of himself now. After all, where would she be if she had let Olivians passing impact her work?

The countess smiled slightly, her voice a little less dishonest now. “Your presence will always be valued, Your Majesty, no matter your preparation. Your attendance inspires the nobility so.” She paused, an idea occurring to her. “The princess has expressed some interest in noble relations in the past” Eudora mentioned, her fondness for her public speaking pupil evident. “Perhaps she could attend council meetings in your stead until you feel prepared enough to do so again?”

It would be good for Elodie to gain some insight regarding the formal proceedings of court and perhaps the debates in the council would allow the princess to gain new perspectives on certain issues. Not that she could be stopped in her righteous crusade against the "monsters", Eudora didn't entertain any illusions regarding the impact King Jeros views had on his daughter. But it may aid Elodies quest to be taken seriously beyond her established witty tea-time routine.

 

[tityanya]

.

𝖁𝖊𝖗𝖔𝖓𝖎𝖈𝖆 𝕽𝖔𝖘𝖓𝖔𝖎𝖗𝖊​

I am here: Drunken Crow
With: Morgan

"What beautiful music the children of the night make" ☽

Both of their attentions were grabbed by the mysterious new figure walking in, briefly derailing their conversation. No doubt Morgan was wondering the same thing: who was this man, and what was he hiding from?

But their conversation made it back on track after only a moment. Ah, so he only lied about the condition the horses were in? "It's so curious to me that people know so little about the creatures they rely on. I don't have a horse, but I know if I did I would dote on it every moment of every day," she huffed. Horses tended to be a little wary of her, though. The whole "undead aura" she had.

Morgan provided a possible explanation for how they knew each other--he was an occasional coach driver! "That could be it! I do rely fairly heavily on the coaches to get around," she said, pounding her fist into her open hand as an "a-ha!" moment. Grover had asked her so many times why she didn't just buy a carriage of her own, but Veronica stubbornly liked to take the coaches. She didn't want a servant to know where she was at all times, after all. Sometimes she wanted to sneak about and be unnoticed, like now. A random carriage driver wasn't likely to remember every patron and every location they took them to, but her own private driver would.

From a pouch around his waist, Morgan pulled out a piece of parchment. What...was that? Veronica leaned over to look at it, immediately recognizing the charcoal used to draw it. Her artist's eye kicked in, and she began to examine the shapes, the lines, the style of the drawing. It was very unique, for certain. Morgan pointed to one of the horses, saying that it was his. Veronica nodded. "Nighthawk is an adorable name for a dark horse," she commented, thinking about the horse skulking about in the darkness.

Although her face betrayed no emotion, Veronica felt her undead heart skip a beat as Morgan mentioned that the horse Oak was owned by Prince Emory himself. And this horse was one of his favorites? Did that mean that Morgan knew the prince himself? If that was the case, she certainly had picked an excellent target to try and gain information from. "Prince Emory himself? Is he good to his horse?" she asked, her voice fascinated. And she was fascinated. Who wouldn't be when interacting with someone potentially close with the royal family? But the question was more than just about interest in the reclusive prince--more about how the staff felt about him. Was his kind? Was he arrogant? Was he likely to overturn the draconian ban on otherfolk? That last one Veronica knew wouldn't be answered by just one conversation with Morgan--but an ally in the royal family would be a valuable thing to have, indeed.

≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎​

((ooc: ))
((Dress))
((Mediate))​

 

[TaperedNightjar]

Taavi Jokela​

Location: Castle hallways > Royal Stables
With: Yetzirah, Hector, Princess Corline, and Zayleigh > Yetzirah
Wearing: Idk.
General status: Tired.

● The arrival of the summons provided the perfect opportunity for Taavi to part ways with their guests. He bade everyone farewell and gave them a small bow before turning and leaving with Yetzirah. "It went well enough," he replied to the armored being. He went silent for a moment as he thought over what the other had said. Taavi's voice lacked any clear emotion when he finally spoke again. "Lykeios certainly would have enjoyed them. I know he would have been fascinated by the Healer's prosthetic."

Taavi wasn't sure how to respond to Yetzirah's question. Were they friends? Hardly. Lykeios wasn't human. He never had been, and now this strange entity came from the same course. How exactly did this all work? Who exactly was her? Was Yetzirah even capable or human emotion, or was he just mimicking them? Taavi felt betrayed no matter how he looked at the situation.

He watched as Yetzirah moved to tack up his large horse. Sure enough, Lapis' black ears instantly pinned back and the horse barred his teeth at Yetzirah. However, he did not bite. Lapis had learned his lesson about biting Yetzirah the first time they met. The sensation of teeth against metal had taught the aggressive animal a valuable lesson.The whites of his eyes showed and he swung his head away. Taavi watched as he pawed the ground angrily. The Captain's blue eyes moved from the horse and to the aisle of the stables. Bandera was nowhere to be seen, and so he quickly assumed that the Stable Master was enjoying his night off at the tavern.

As he scanned their surroundings he spotted a tuft of copper hair a few stalls over. Peter the stable boy was hiding. Most likely from Yetzirah. Taavi and the teenager often had short but pleasant interactions, but as far as Yetzirah went? Well, Peter was clearly terrified of him. Taavi turned his attention back to Lapis so that Yetzirah would be less likely to catch sight of the poorly hidden teen.

"I suppose we could be," he finally answered.