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Played by Offline bruiser [PM] Posts: 92 — Threads: 12
Signos: 45
Dusk Court Champion of Battle
Female [She/Her/Hers] // 5 [Year 499 Spring] // 16 hh // Hth: 20 — Atk: 20 — Exp: 27 // Active Magic: Storm Calling // Bonded: N/A

let our eyes show the 
fire in our hearts tonight

When she exits the barracks that night, Vespera is beginning to streak purple and blue across the sky, the barest glimmer of stars beginning to appear behind the clouds, and in the moonlight she can see the Halcyon cadets assigned to the night patrol beginning to gather in the barrack’s courtyard before they head out. Thankfully, those cadets who Marisol trusts with the night patrol are also those disciplined enough not to question when she seeks out the cadet assigned to have been Mari’s partner that night -- a few raised eyebrows, sure -- they’re not dumb (or brave) enough to question something that seemed like an order Marisol would give.

She was a cadet, sure, but the fact that she was Champion was enough for the more doubtful cadets to defer to her, something she generally took great care not to abuse for fear of overstepping some boundary between her two roles. Tonight, though -- tonight, Marisol needed rest, and relaxation, and privacy to grieve in the comfort of her own bedroom, rather than the burden of remaining strong and aloof in front of the cadets.

(She recognizes the irony in the fact that she is ignoring her own advice, pressing on despite the fact she cannot remember the last time she had settled down for more than an hour or two of stolen sleep, despite the fact she has not stopped long enough to let loose the grief howling in her heart. There will be time to rest later, she tells herself, and she knows that she is lying.)

When she returns to the barracks, the dawn is painted across the sky in shades of rose and lilac, and the bruises beneath her eyes have deepened -- but the night’s patrol had been calm, and quiet, and she’s sure that with the recent unrest, Terrastella’s citizens had been comforted to see the Halcyon unit out prowling along the borders and through the streets to make sure they remained safe. Perhaps even more so that the Champion had been among them, that she had pulled some of her ground soldiers into the patrols ever since Night’s market had burned in Raum’s wake -- she liked to think, at least, that Terrastella would be comforted by the fact that they would be safe while they slept.

(She will not allow any other alternative. Terrastella has suffered so much already -- she can not just stand by when there are ways to prevent her court from harm.)

When she is sure that no one is watching, she muffles a yawn into her wing, but even so her steps turn towards the training grounds rather than her own room, passing through the empty halls like a ghost.

She would rest later. Always later.


@Marisol set the morning after i know this whole damn city thinks it needs you

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


Played by Offline RB [PM] Posts: 158 — Threads: 24
Signos: 315
Dusk Court Sovereign
Female [She/Her/Hers] // 6 [Year 498 Fall] // 16 hh // Hth: 18 — Atk: 22 — Exp: 37 // Active Magic: N/A // Bonded: Anselm (Ibizian Hound)

i wish i could say everything i've done and still be loved.
It’s a joke, that anyone thinks she could sleep tonight.

Her whole body is in pain. It’s worse than being beaten in a fight, it’s worse than the weight of ill-fitting armor. The pulsating sore that is her heart feels like a ball of concrete in her chest; if she could, today would be the best of all days to be rid of it.

But somehow Mari gets the sense it would be impossible now more than ever.

Her body hurts and her heart hurts and her brain hurts and the only way to get rid of it is to focus on something else. She knows this. You don’t fix a wound by picking at the scab. So instead of wallowing, as tempting as it is—instead of relegating herself to the bedroom that still hosts letters from Asterion and flowers from Florentine and the smell of a reign that has passed as suddenly as the scythe of death—she forces herself out of the barracks and into the cool night.

Overhead are the insistent pinpricks of stars, and a little sliver of moon shining in the darkness, stubborn to the end. Mari shivers against the new fall breeze as it bites through her short hair. Seasons are changing, she realizes, and everything with it—her heart, her friends, her regime—

Suddenly her chest squeezes in a spasm of pain so intense she stops moving for a second as it rises and then ebbs away, and by the time it disappears completely she’s out of breath, teeth grit and eyes teary.

For a moment the world is quiet, and there could be absolutely nothing worse.

With a grimace she moves towards the arena, and is disappointed (though not surprised) to see Theodosia’s silhouette outlined by the silver light that sweeps down from above like a kiss. A little movement rushes through her—a shudder, or maybe just a cramp—but either way it slows her step, and by the time she emerges into the light her face is calm and still as ever.

Underneath it something cold and vicious roils, and she is fighting hard not to let out her new set of teeth in frustration.

“Go to bed,” Marisol says; how can a voice be so compassionate and so harsh at once? 



queen marisol

[Image: ddg6quy-9d15dab5-339c-4b09-8b57-20a99fda...jvUop12efQ]


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