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Played by Offline Jeanne [PM] Posts: 30 — Threads: 11
Signos: 25
Day Court Medic
Female [She/Her/Hers] // 5 [Year 500 Winter] // 13.3 hh // Hth: 13 — Atk: 7 — Exp: 19 // Active Magic: N/A // Secondary Magic: // Bonded: N/A
#1








☼  RUTH OF HOUSE IESHAN  ☼
רות

"Will you rescue me? / What kingdom will replace my bounty / of leisure, what tether of care and nurture / do you wish to rope my neck with?"


The blossoms in my hair have only been braided in for a day, but they are already wilting. As I stride across the threshold that separates the hall from the courtyard – out into the night air -, they shed petals in a trail of soft pink behind my hooves. The image is far too delicate to suit me, and soon – quickly – the petals are crushed beneath the hooves of partygoers, as unnoticed, I think, as a fly on the wall.

The evening has only barely begun, and the crowds are still small, quiet, and mostly-sober; the sun hasn’t even slipped entirely over the edge of the horizon, and the – faint – breeze hasn’t grown cold just yet. That is to say: the party is still utterly palatable. No chaos from my siblings, no sordid whispers, no drunken partygoers to pull aside and care for after they’ve drunk too much, because Solis knows, someone dying of alcohol poisoning at one of our parties is the last thing that our household needs right now. It is still, in a certain way, serene.

I am not sure where Ishak is. I know that he is nearby; chatting with one of the maids, I suspect. (Much as he has complained about hearing too much about this party, how he only, desperately wants to get it over with, how the servants can’t seem to come up with anything more interesting to discuss – he is still collecting more information about the specifics. Ishak is particular like that. He is never quite satisfied that enough as enough; no knowledge is too much knowledge.

I am, I’m sure, the opposite. I don’t want to look. I don’t want to know. I think that is why I keep him in my company, or- that was the intent. Sometimes, now, I’m not so sure, but that is another thing I don’t want to look at too deeply.)

Corradh and Hagar are in the courtyard, each preoccupied with their separate poisons. I glance, for a moment, at the finished result of Hagar’s work, and then at Corradh, among a flock of artists. I consider, for a brief moment, participating – and then, almost immediately, I think better of it. (Or maybe I run from it.) I love them both, of course, in very different ways, but I am sure that I would have no patience for their games – they do not ignite the barest flare of interest in my chest. (That is hardly unusual.)

I am not interested – and obligation can only carry me so far on its own.

Still. I stride through the courtyard, towards the center, where I can see the sky – and I try to make sure that I am carrying myself like a proper Ieshan, even with wilting, dripping blooms in my hair, even without anything interesting to do (like my siblings). I am not sure if I am praying to go unnoticed (because it would be troublesome to speak with anyone) or praying to be somehow eye-catching (because I am so hungry and so envious, so desperate for something I can’t put a name to), though I know better.

I need only look in a mirror to know better.

Over the haze of light, I can make out the soft blush of sunset, interrupted here and there by branches and building and string of decorations. I wonder – and the crowd swims around me, as I do – how long it will take for the sun to disappear entirely, how many precious moments of peace I have before trouble, inevitably, sinks its dark and jagged teeth into the lovely atmosphere my brother has seen fit to manufacture.

(It will crumble, certainly – this sort of thing always does.)





@Dalmatia || aaaa, a thread with you again <3 ||  Jeannine Hall Gailey, "Rapunzel: I like the Quiet"

















HE FEEDS ME RED MEAT / HE WATCHES THE BLOOD POOL IN MY MOUTH
laughs at my red teeth


please tag Ruth! contact is encouraged, short of violence


Reply




Played by Offline e-cho [PM] Posts: 13 — Threads: 3
Signos: 270
Dusk Court Citizen
Female [she/her] // 15 [Year 490 Fall] // 16 hh // Hth: 8 — Atk: 12 — Exp: 10 // Active Magic: N/A // Secondary Magic: // Bonded: N/A
#2

Some people are meant to be pruned and prodded, groomed day and night, placed upon a pedestal and left to become some pagan idol, some fantastic icon that is partially out of this world and too great to fully comprehend. But they are vapid underneath. They are hollow shells of men and women who were almost enough, almost more than life itself.

Dalmatia is never meant to be something stunning, something to be stared at and wooed. She is far more sharp, like broken glass than the average blade in any kitchen drawer. Most, not all, but most, are only butter knives beside her scalpel. Precision, focus, determination. They all rest in her beating breast, humming and thrumming with life, with the vitality that only years can try and try to drain and fail over and over again.

Tonight, at the Ieshan party, she is no different than a candle flickering on the wall. While someone, somewhere, painted her body with swirling clouds of gold, with watery waves of red, and outlined her eyes in kohl so that she is as soft as she is fierce, Dalmatia is not here for pleasure, and honestly, she cannot tell you the last time she lived just to live and experience the world. Purpose has become a much more present thing in her life, and it lives, oh it thrives, alongside that simmering rage threatening to turn into a roaring inferno at any given moment.

Cicero. The word that is a name. A man who ruins lives. It is the beat of her heart. Cicero. She thinks as she moves through the bodies; throngs of people don't care if they stand in the way. No one cares. Not anymore.

She works to hide a snarl and fails at keeping away a frown. It matches the coolness of her holly eyes, it mirrors the tension in her muscles.

Nothing about her is soft, or pretty, or anything like the Ieshan that is the least like the other Ieshans, it seems.

Even Ruth, in the center of it all as some dusty goddess, some earthen beacon, is much lovelier than the magpie girl would ever be. You can shine a window all you want, but you cannot make it any less painful when it shatters.

It is to the girl of brown and red that Dalmatia now goes. Away from the crowds. Away from hands against her hips and men with curious eyes plucking at her ribs. Once, perhaps, Dalmatia could have loved another. Now...now there is no time for love. There is no time for anything, really, other than Cicero. Tonight, there is a chance that he could be here. Marisol still has no leads, but she has two children that all of Terrastella is buzzing about. Unable to stay, the ex-vicarious left and walked, and walked, and flew, and walked more until the sand burned her skin, until the city in the sun, Solis' very own desert jewel, lay sprawled before her.

"You're bored?" Dalmatia inquires of Ruth, watching the way the other woman watches the world: detached, uninterested... Perhaps she is more stone than she would appear, but even rocks have eyes in this city.


Beware: I am fearless, and therefore, powerful.

@Ruth | a very late reply <3







Reply




Played by Offline Jeanne [PM] Posts: 30 — Threads: 11
Signos: 25
Day Court Medic
Female [She/Her/Hers] // 5 [Year 500 Winter] // 13.3 hh // Hth: 13 — Atk: 7 — Exp: 19 // Active Magic: N/A // Secondary Magic: // Bonded: N/A
#3








☼  RUTH OF HOUSE IESHAN  ☼
רות

"Will you rescue me? / What kingdom will replace my bounty / of leisure, what tether of care and nurture / do you wish to rope my neck with?"


I see the woman even before she strays close. I think that it is something in the way that she carries herself; the way she threatens to make my hairs stand straight up, like a press of a knife to the throat.

(Of course – I do not feel afraid, not properly, and I can’t imagine anyone causing trouble to me at my family’s own party, regardless of Ishak’s insisting. Besides. She feels like a snake in the sand, cagey and nearly erratic; but she does not feel hostile.)

For the dark kohl drawn around her eyes and the golden swirls snaking like leaf and vines in her coat, there is nothing soft to this woman. Her eyes are hard, and they are searching; for what, I have no idea. She’s lovely, technically, but she isn’t beautiful. She looks almost like she is made of stone, like I do, but a different type, a different composition – cool grey and mottled white where I am brown and sickly gold, with turquoise eyes as sharp as chips of steel. She moves through the crowd with restless purpose, and the crowd in the courtyard parts to let her pass.

The woman approaches me. I can’t say why.

You’re bored? she asks of me, and my response comes almost immediately. I might be Ruth Ieshan, least important daughter of my house, but I am still an Ieshan, and I am under some degree of obligation to present myself accordingly. It will not do to act bored at my beloved, prestigious brother’s party, even if I find it utterly unextraordinary, and, perhaps, depressing.

“Bored?” I incline my head at her – do we know each other? No, I don’t think so (then why is she here?) -, utterly apathetic. “My brother never throws boring parties.” That isn’t an answer, so it isn’t technically a lie. (It is what Ishak does to me all the time. It is, I think, what I do when I don’t want to be honest, when I can’t open my eyes and stare the truth in the face – much less admit to it.)

Bored. Am I bored? I feel much the same as I always do. (I am – lukewarm. Apathetic. There are terrible things beneath my surface, terrible things creeping at the corner of my vision like peripheral shadows wherever I look, but I pretend not to notice them; or maybe it is that I cannot care enough about them to strive against them, so I take the easy way out.) At any rate, parties are a novelty that I have been attending since childhood. I suppose I should consider them a luxury, a consequence of my privileged background – the servants scurrying about the party are not so idle or so lucky as I.

(I cannot help but think that they are a burden. I have no interest in the dancing, or the socializing, or the expensive alcohol. After seeing enough of them, they all begin to blend together, regardless of Pilate’s planning skills.)

I am not usually courteous, but I bear with it. This is a public occasion, and I am a host – whether I like it or not. “I am Ruth,” I say, slowly, and dip my head, “fifth-born of House Ieshan. May I help you, guest?”





@Dalmatia || I <3 her ||  Jeannine Hall Gailey, "Rapunzel: I like the Quiet"

















HE FEEDS ME RED MEAT / HE WATCHES THE BLOOD POOL IN MY MOUTH
laughs at my red teeth


please tag Ruth! contact is encouraged, short of violence


Reply




Played by Offline e-cho [PM] Posts: 13 — Threads: 3
Signos: 270
Dusk Court Citizen
Female [she/her] // 15 [Year 490 Fall] // 16 hh // Hth: 8 — Atk: 12 — Exp: 10 // Active Magic: N/A // Secondary Magic: // Bonded: N/A
#4

Introspection is a deadly thing at times when caught unaware of one's surroundings. Dalmatia is always so careful to keep her thoughts omnipresent, her eyes scanning and roving even when they flicker back to their goal over and over, her mouth a taut line that is as immovable as the mountains standing between Solterra and Terrastella. At last, her approach has ended and there is nothing close to alarm or suspicion or even mild curiosity about why she is here or even what she is doing. After all, Ruth, the fifth child of House Ieshan, is just standing in the middle of the courtyard with no one about her, watching over it all, overseeing the evening and not taking part. Why would one approach her?

Those that look and do not speak always have page upon page of stories to tell. Sometimes, they know too much. Sometimes, they are nothing more than another vapid face.

No matter the outcome, Dalmatia is here now, in this moment, left to watch how it unfolds. Ruth, it seems, chooses evasion as her tactic, putting forth a pawn, a smoke screen instead of answering with something of how she would feel. Useless girl. The woman in grey's frown deepens for the briefest of moments. Blowing out a slow puff of air, she answers in turn. "The party," Dalmatia muses "may not be boring, but even a crowd would not stop me from boredom should it claim me." With the flat words come an even flatter shrug.

Noncommittal, just like she is after the cliffs.

Once, Dalmatia would have been at the forefront of Terrastella, of the Halcyon, steering them toward the sun, steering them toward the sky, the future, prosperity. Anything. Everything. It was going to be theirs.

That once upon a time crashed, falling on rocky cliffs, shattered like a plant tumbling from its third floor trellis to nothing more than stone and rocks below. It's gone now, but Cicero isn't.

Sometimes she thinks he'll never leave. Then she remembers that it will be her hand which holds the blade to be pressed against his throat, to be covered in the silk of his blood, and it will be her face that he sees last. She deserves that much for his lies, for his arrogance!

Another deep breath, then...a pause that lasts too long as the woman cloaked in mist, cloaked in shadow, looks over the other made of stone, made of something both more and less feeling. It pulls her back to the present, away from the precipice of her thoughts that would consume her. They are a viper meeting a cobra, and oh how they hiss in their own ways when their eyes clash. "Should you help me, Ruth?" the woman counters, at last, the barest inflection throwing rumbling tones up at the end as she looks down her long, thin nose.

There is no pleasure in her eyes. There is nothing but death left for her to hold.



Beware: I am fearless, and therefore, powerful.

@Ruth | <3







Reply




Played by Offline Jeanne [PM] Posts: 30 — Threads: 11
Signos: 25
Day Court Medic
Female [She/Her/Hers] // 5 [Year 500 Winter] // 13.3 hh // Hth: 13 — Atk: 7 — Exp: 19 // Active Magic: N/A // Secondary Magic: // Bonded: N/A
#5








☼  RUTH OF HOUSE IESHAN  ☼
רות

"Will you rescue me? / What kingdom will replace my bounty / of leisure, what tether of care and nurture / do you wish to rope my neck with?"


In a feat of social inadequacy that is impressive even to me, the woman says, The party may not be boring, but even a crowd would not stop me from boredom should it claim me. She says this in a flat tone that is half-familiar; it could have come just as easily from my own mouth, but I have too much training and status to be so blunt in public. I consider her briefly. It isn’t quite an answer, but it is enough of one to prevent me from inquiring after her boredom, and what I might do to ease it.

(Charitability does not much suit me, anyways.)

When I ask her if I might help her, she is silent for a long, long time. Some violence seems to come over her, a deep breath that somehow feels sharp around the edges; her eyes rise up to meet mine, and her stare is somehow a challenge. I meet it, unblinking.

I have a feeling that she is more bark than bite. She might like to be all bite (and she is something like a snake, though the kind that bares its fangs) – but, if she were, I don’t think that she would make all her sharp edges so obvious. I spend my days keeping company with a man who used to be an assassin, after all. I know that the most useful blade is the one that no one else knows you have. That is why he is all friendly smiles and witty remarks.

Ishak is stained in more blood than I would care to consider. You’d never know it, from the way that you can catch him gossiping with the maids and offering courtesy after courtesy to each passing partygoer. You’d never know it, save perhaps for the way he can move as soundlessly as a breath of desert wind, and that is precisely why he is so dangerous.

I don’t know what she is trying to get from me, or what she is searching for, and I am not sure that I care – I am not sure that I could care, even if I wanted to. But this is my brother’s party, and I am a host, and she is watching me like a viper. It would be a shame to back away now.

When her voice comes out, half-snarl, I don’t even flinch. Why would I? I have stood still and hard as stone with my own surgical blade pressed to my throat. Should you help me, Ruth? If I were Pilate, I’m sure that my response would be some sharp retort about an inability to make small talk at parties, but I simply look at her like I used to look at the corpses that I would bring in from the desert to practice dissection, and I run my tongue along my teeth. The edges of my lips curve up in a hollow, polite smile that is utterly meaningless.

“I suppose,” I say, slowly, “that depends on what you would ask of me.”






@Dalmatia || dal is SUCH a babe....her intensity.... ||  Jeannine Hall Gailey, "Rapunzel: I like the Quiet"

















HE FEEDS ME RED MEAT / HE WATCHES THE BLOOD POOL IN MY MOUTH
laughs at my red teeth


please tag Ruth! contact is encouraged, short of violence


Reply





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