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Current Novus date and time is

▶ Year || 503
▶ Season || Spring
▶ Temp || 43℉ (8℃) - 70℉ (21℃)
▶ Weather || The weather radar really does seem to be off the charts lately...
I wonder what's going on? (#15-19)


Character of the Season

Member of the Season

Thread of the Season
A land of absence
and root and stone

Pair of the Season
Bexley and Acton

Quote of the Season
"And all the while her mind, her blood, her fierce and fearless heart was singing, singing, singing." — Shrike in We're under attack!

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Private - never told no one but we look so cute
Theodosia — Dusk Court Soldier Signos: 45
▶ Played by bruiser [pm] Posts: 31 — Threads: 4
▶ Female [She/Her/Hers] Hth: 10 — Atk: 10 — Exp: 12
▶ 4 [Year 499 Spring] Active Magic: N/A
▶ 16 hh Bonded: N/A
She is tired

It is as bone-deep as the cough that rattles her chest, no longer able to be ignored with their people safely nestled within the walls of Denocte, without the guise of duty to keep her on her feet and constantly moving. It is with quiet solemnity that she weaves through the few equines still scattered throughout the Night Court streets, offering a weary smile to those who glance her way but never pausing, never offering the chance to be waylaid. 

She aches for company, for the brush of skin-on-skin to remind her that they are alive and safe now, and damn any sort of propriety that says she shouldn’t, that it is some sort of bad idea to seek comfort from the only person she wants it from -- the only person as war-torn as she is, who understands the continuous ache in her soul for their people and for their Court.

“Commander,” Her voice is hoarse from coughing, from shouting orders and cursing every single God she knows, and yet it is still so soft as it cradles the name on her tongue when she finds the mare alone. She doesn’t pause, only presses herself close, one wing slinging over Marisol’s back and her forehead glued to the other mare’s cheek, drinking in the strength the commander has always exuded while offering what’s left of her own.



she wasn't looking for a knight,
she was looking for a sword.

Marisol — Dusk Court Soldier Signos: 280
▶ Played by RB [pm] Posts: 51 — Threads: 8
▶ Female [She/Her/Hers] Hth: 10 — Atk: 10 — Exp: 19
▶ 4 [Year 498 Fall] Active Magic: N/A
▶ 16 hh Bonded: N/A

heaven talks
but not to me

Denocte is unsafe as anywhere can be. She does not trust them - Isra, or Raymond, or even Asterion. (When she looks at the boy-king still she only sees the boy part, the shy, gloaming luminescence of a star that does not quite know how to shine.) And so as her people fall into the trap of gullibility, as they let down their defenses, shed their weapons in the doorway and offer their chests like bleeding-heart doves, Marisol skulks through the streets of Denocte and always keeps her wings half-opened.

There is no room for error, anymore.

Above the sky sparkles with its lace of stars, and in the silver glow Mari winds her way through the streets. She is gaunt now with stress and sickness and in the near-dark her narrow hips, her sloping shoulders, the slats between her ribs catch the moonlight. Her gold-tinged mane is cropped with punishing exactness. On edge, watchful, Marisol’s ears swivel constantly to catch the noise around her, and so she is not surprised when Theodosia appears, knowing the pattern of her hoof steps on stone.

What she is surprised by, though, is the almost-foolish brashness of the cadet, to slip her wing over Marisol’s back and press her head to the Commander’s as if that is a thing they are allowed to do.

Her heart bangs in her chest, sickeningly loud, and her breath starts to hurt, painfully tight in her lungs; for a moment she almost wants to give in, to the light warmth of Theodosia’s skin on her own, and to the way she almost grows dizzy at it - but quickly she steps away, shifting the Cadet’s wing from her spine, raising her head so they don’t touch.

Something like anger burns in her veins. "Theodosia," she responds, and it is almost, almost bitter.

"a burnt child loves a fire."

Theodosia — Dusk Court Soldier Signos: 45
▶ Played by bruiser [pm] Posts: 31 — Threads: 4
▶ Female [She/Her/Hers] Hth: 10 — Atk: 10 — Exp: 12
▶ 4 [Year 499 Spring] Active Magic: N/A
▶ 16 hh Bonded: N/A
Her skin burns wherever it brushes against Marisol, a feverish heat she thinks perhaps the Commander might even be able to feel radiating from her body. She’s on fire, it seems, so intense it feels like she just might combust, and yet whenever the slightest gust comes whistling through the streets it sends chills up her spine enough to make her ache. Another gust sets her teeth on edge, constricts her chest into a tight knot, and before she can blink she’s coughing hard enough to rattle her slender frame, as though her lungs want to vacate their current position.

She can’t seem to get enough air to respond to Marisol, and even if she could, she doesn’t know how ---

The ground seems to sway beneath her feet, her gaze fever-bright when she turns to muffle her coughs into her wing, and maybe if she just closes her eyes for a moment, everything will just… stop, because she’s dizzy with lack of oxygen and she doesn’t know whether she wants to press closer to Marisol or try to run away, try to hide this weakness like she’s been doing since the rains first started and her chest began to ache.

She doesn’t get the chance to run, because the world turns to static in her ears even as her knees buckle, the harsh coughing easing only as she loses consciousness.


@Marisol oops

she wasn't looking for a knight,
she was looking for a sword.


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