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Post by moralhazard on Feb 28, 2019 4:21:50 GMT
It wasn’t exactly Thea’s fastest walk. The desire to sprint full speed out of the captain’s hall, to race down the halls and down the stairs and out the door, across the city as fast as possible, until she could get home and bury her face in her pillow and just cry in peace was – strong. Equally strong was the tight, cramped stiffness of Thea’s limbs, but she would have been willing to fight that, to push through on the theory that running, at least as long as Thea could keep it up, would loosen her up.
No, the main problem was that tears were already streaming down her face, and it was all Thea could do to slowly walk while stifling the sobs threatening to burst through. Even her hair was limp and miserable, hanging down motionless by her face; it was dry, now, after a thorough washing the night before, but just – lifeless.
But stopping to cry it out? That was absolutely not an option.
So, Thea kept walking slowly through the halls, ignoring at least one curious face that peeped out at her, tears trickling steadily from her chin, leaving wet trails on the cheeks and little circles on her tunic and even the carpet. She made her way slowly down the stairs, gripping the curved railing tightly with one hand, and slowly towards the main exit, keeping her gaze fixed firmly on the door.
At least – until Citrine popped into sight in front of her.
Thea stepped back, chest heaving, one sob bursting out before she clamped down, tightly, on her emotions, hands gripping the sides of her tunic. She couldn’t even bring herself to look at Citrine, her gaze sliding right off the phoenix and fixing firmly on some point in the distance. Thea honestly couldn’t imagine anything more embarrassing than this moment. She never cried – almost never – and this was the second time in two days and worse still, this was public, in front of a handful of others in the front room. She had nearly made it, had nearly escaped at least without being a spectacle, but instead Citrine had burst out of nowhere in front of her, drawing the attention of the whole room.
Worse, Thea still didn’t know what to say.
When she’d like to talk? Thea managed to let go of her tunic, lifting one arm to wipe her face against it, doing her absolute best to control the tears. It was far too late to pretend she hadn’t been crying – the skin around her eyes as swollen dark blue, her cheeks visibly tear-stained – but she would at least do her best not to sob anymore. Her gaze skittered to Citrine, then away again, fixing determinedly on an utterly uninteresting speck of wall next to the door.
Citrine was sorry. Thea understood. But there were things said that couldn’t be unsaid, things done that couldn’t be undone, things unleased that couldn’t be bottled back up. Worse, still, Thea thought if she said anything like what she was really feeling, she’d start sobbing piteously in front of everyone and just be absolutely unable to stop.
When she’d like to talk? How was Thea even supposed to answer that? Oh, in two days, I’m sure I’ll feel better then and we can pretend like nothing ever happened and just go back to being friends. In two days, I’ll forget that you told me I was a pathetic excuse for a sorcerer who should have stayed with her cheating ex, because then at least I could have made something of myself. In two days, I’ll forget that I nearly killed you because I couldn’t control myself.
It wasn’t exactly fair. Citrine hadn’t asked for a return to normalcy, just – just to talk. But Thea wasn’t feeling very fair.
“I don’t know, Rain,” Thea still couldn’t bring herself to meet Citrine’s eyes. It was about the only sentence she thought she could manage without beginning to cry again, and she would not, she absolutely would not cry any more in front of all these strangers. Thea felt her chest tremble, another sob threatening, and clamped down even harder, holding herself in an iron grip. Her hair fluttered, swirling about her head in a sudden flurry of motion, then stilled again.
“I just – ” Thea’s eyes flickered to Citrine; tears welled up again and she looked pointedly back away. Her arms were crossed over her body now, hands gripping the opposite arm so tightly she was shaking. “I just want to be alone.”
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Citrine
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6 Wild Blooded Sorcerer+ 1 Celestial Warlock
Posts: 328
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Post by Citrine on Feb 28, 2019 4:40:41 GMT
The only golden lining here? Thea was still calling her 'Rain'.
"Aye, Aye'll leave ye be then." She muttered, not pointing out the wetness of her cheeks or how her hair stayed flat or how she was just barely hanging onto the life raft of keeping it all together.
Citrine opened the door with her mage hand, pushing it open and stepping aside, then closed it once Thea walked out.
Upon looking around at everyone else in the room, Citrine scowled, her wings hinting at sulfur. Her, standing here in night clothes, with a crying woman running out of the Hall? She knew what it looked lit.
"Oi! Et's naen o' ye business. Keep on." She glared at everyone, the judgmental stares of the patrons not making her feel any better about the situation
At noon she sang to the Firebird. He didn't sing back, and Citrine had no access to her warlock gifts for the remainder of the week - no fire, no heat, no favor, for three whole days.
It was a shitty week all things considered.
The second week her flame came back, even if the agitated smell around her wings stuck around.
By now, after two weeks of visiting the nearby taverns and festhalls, she'd racked up quite the tab.
The third week didn't help her coin purse either.
So Citrine wrote in her journals, in the rare moments she was sober enough to hold a pen. She talked with Holly, who was quite glad to see her writing more than usual. Reading, even, in an attempt to take her mind off of the lousy job she'd done. She'd never claimed she was a teacher! Or good at helping people through things! She just knew what worked for her… and she'd never had problems with wanting to cast magic. So how was she supposed to deal with this? By sitting in the bottom of her bath tub, old looking pirate medallion in her hands as she tried to numb herself in the ice-cold run bath. It didn't help. It wasn't cold enough to numb these emotions away.
But each day she went to the front desk, to see if a missive was sent from Thea.
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Post by moralhazard on Feb 28, 2019 5:02:57 GMT
And, one day, during the third week, there was a note. It read, very simply:
Thea had had a staggeringly dreadful three weeks. She’d dragged herself home from Citrine’s, collapsed into bed, and sobbed into her pillow as if enough tears might drain out the black misery from her heart. The rest of the day she’d spent in bed, sleeping fitfully, waking to toss and turn, and sleeping again. In the evening, she’d woken to a knock on the door and a gentle question about dinner. Thea had dragged a book on glassblowing from her luggage, the only book she’d brought to Waterdeep, and flipped through the well-read pages over a bowl of stew, managing a few bites and a few pages before she gave up and slept once more.
The next morning, at least, Thea had felt capable of getting out of bed. She’d bathed, quickly, and made her way to the workshop. There had been plenty she should have done the day before, and it was almost effortless to dive whole-heartedly into her work, absorbing herself in the intricacies of the pieces she was working on, focusing on blown glass as best as she was able – working was fine, planning was harder - and alternating with mold pieces whenever she felt her mind wandering.
The first week passed almost entirely like that. It was much like Thea’s first weeks in Waterdeep; her rooms were closer to the workshop now, but several nights she didn’t bother to go home, sleeping instead on a cot in the corner of the workshop, with her face turned to the wall so no one could see the tears on her cheeks.
The second week was well on its way to the same – Thea had been remarkably productive, although she’d produced less blown glass than usual, focusing mostly on pieces with less heart – when a spring storm blew over Waterdeep. The workshop’s windows were open, against the heat, and Thea could smell the lightning brewing in the clouds above.
Against her better judgment, Thea left her things in her workshop, hiking outside of the city. This time, she left her cloak as well; it had been remarkably expensive to get it clean, and Thea had no wish to muddy it again. She preferred to face the cold.
Thea had waited, on the hill nearest to the city that she could find, arms spread beneath the blanket of rain, head titled back, letting the rain soak into her skin and hair, watching the flashes of light, listening to the crack of thunder, feeling every inch of the storm. She let herself swirl into the winds and the clouds, rising to meet their patterns, and opened herself to the currents, with all the anger and fear and sadness that they brought. The wetness on her face might well be rain, and if it wasn’t, at least there was no one else there to see it.
And then, eventually, Thea had summoned her own winds to join the storm, soaring up off the ground, peeled the anger and sadness from her chest, and pushed it out, flinging it at a distant tree – and watched it shatter.
In truth, she had felt quite a bit better after that, at least until she woke the next morning sneezing, with a miserable headache and nose that seemed to contain an entire storm’s worth of mucus. What remained of the second week Thea spent largely in bed, occasionally dragging herself out to work on a few projects, and drinking nasty-smelling herbal draughts that her landlady swore were the best thing for a spring cold.
By the third week, Thea’s nose was dry, her eyes were no longer puffy, and she felt ready – almost ready – to face Citrine. So: the note.
Thea had no expectation that Citrine would come immediately, but neither had she left her room since sending the note to Citrine's hall in the late afternoon. It was fine; Thea had a few projects to plan, work that could be done at home as well as at the studio, and so she had curled up at her table with a few pieces of parchment and pencils, sketching colored designs, and flinching at the sound of footsteps in the hallway outside.
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Citrine
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6 Wild Blooded Sorcerer+ 1 Celestial Warlock
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Post by Citrine on Feb 28, 2019 15:57:41 GMT
It wasn't until Citrine had stumbled in later that afternoon, almost evening, having spent the previous night drinking with the lovely as always Amelia. She'd stayed the night, too, with the darker skinned lass - content to let herself wallow in her funk of depression at turning Thea away from her. Simply existing, she passed the front counter of the Hall, and was halted with news about the missive. The excitement and dread both inspired by the request? (She'd take it as a request) had some of her persistent melancholy melt away.
Bolting up to her room, skipping the stairs by flying up through the open square overlook the resident rooms were structured around, Citrine fled to her room to quickly bathe, dress, and grab the stockpile of items she'd steadily been hoarding collecting over the near month. The items contained within the sturdy nondescript canvas bag were wide and varied - from small trinkets she thought Thea might appreciate (non-glass of course, she'd not insult the crafter by gifting her glass) to a gorgeous new cloak that she'd bargained and exchanged a series of favors for, and a whole slew of things in between.
Leather pants, dancer skirt, off-cream V-shirt that let her green chest band show through, and ankle cuffs - Citrine was dressed (her damp hair drying in a cloud of steam as she dried her hair with magic) and out the door. She had one stop to make before heading to Thea's, as freshness would make a difference.
She'd tried the workshop first, to no success, flustered as she held onto all her gifts. No matter, her home wasn't too far anymore from the shop, not like it once was. A few misty steps and a quick flight later Citrine was now at the front door, lifting one of her bird feet into a fist and knocking on the door with that. Usually she'd just ignore the door and misty-step in… but not today.
Thea would see, upon opening the door, a huge expansive bouquet of flowers nestled in one arm, a basket with a bottle of something poking out of the lid and no doubt filled with other edible goodies in the other, and a bulging canvas bag filled with who knew what yet held aloft by her mage hand.
Citrine looked like a suitor who'd been in the doghouse for weeks. Funny…. It almost was like she had been.
"Aye got ye note." She coughed to clear her throat, then smiled weakly when the door was opened.
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Post by moralhazard on Feb 28, 2019 16:18:58 GMT
Something about the knock – there was a sound to it that was different than usual. Thea looked up from the table, heart pounding a little more than she might have liked in her chest. She usually worked facing the window, but today, instead, she’d sat with the window on her left, legs curled under her on the floor, so that she could check the door more easily as she worked.
Thea took a deep breath. She’d never heard Citrine knock before – honestly she hadn’t been totally sure the phoenix knew the concept – but she was almost positive Citrine was the one outside. She glanced down at the table; papers were scattered over it where she’d switched projects, with a handful of colored pencils looking like Thea had flung them across the mess. It didn’t matter.
Thea looked back at the door, then took another deep breath, in and out. A little gust of silvery, spectral wind swirled into existence at the door knob, swirling around it and flicking the unlocked door open. The door would swing open, and Citrine would see Thea still sitting a good ten feet back from the door, with a little gust of silvery wind disappearing even as she watched.
Thea blinked, once, at the sight of Citrine bearing what looked like an entire warehouse of gifts and – she couldn’t help it – she grinned, tears glistening in the corner of her eyes.
“Oh, Rain,” Thea stood up, trembling a little, hair rustling about her face. She smoothed down her silvery tunic, tugging at it a little as if that might help with the wrinkles left from sitting on the floor. It was one of her nicer ones, not something she usually wore for work, but paired with a more causal pair of blue tights. Thea took another deep breath, not exactly sure what to say, what to do, but –
“Come in?” Thea offered. The room was large, comfortable, with a large window that overlooked the city on the right wall. The bed was against the far wall, with gauzy blue curtains leaving a bit of privacy, with the wardrobe and dresser joining it in the back of the room. Thea’s working table was set up on the right side of the room, with a little low stool next to it, currently ignored. In the left corner was a little fireplace, with an armchair, a divan and a small table comfortably arranged about it; at the moment, the fire was off, but Thea had placed a lamp in its place, to make the corner still feel homey.
It was to that corner that Thea crossed now, setting one hand on the back of the armchair and waiting for Citrine to join her.
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Citrine
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6 Wild Blooded Sorcerer+ 1 Celestial Warlock
Posts: 328
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Post by Citrine on Feb 28, 2019 16:51:00 GMT
Stepping in, mage hand bobbing behind her, Citrine inhaled with a smile the smell of Thea's room. It was a real home it felt like to her. Smelled like it too. A reflection of the person who lived inside. Simple, neat, and cozy - just like Thea. The lamp lit the room well enough, the shadows dancing pleasantly. She'd almost, as she set the bag down on the floor, the basket on the table (careful of the papers) though still holding onto the flowers, sent a bit of fire towards the unlit fireplace… but held off. She was trying to be more considerate. At least today.
Turning, she faced Thea. "These, are fer ye. Aye wasn't sure what ye favorites were." So she'd gotten an array of what looked like all of them… Her wings had a sort of, not really smell at this point -steam didn't have a smell, but it changed the way her usual smoke, ash, and clove scents hung in the air. She was nervous.
Handing the flowers over, arms stretched out, her tail feathers flicked uncertainly to either side, her crest feathers a bit more flat against her head, the side fan-feathers above her ears semi-down like a dog. Though her voice was cheerful, her body was betraying what was going on in her head.
She couldn't help looking around though at the room, spotting the papers, and finally seeing the open spot on the armchair. Not wanting to be rude, despite her semi agitation at knowing how well this was going to go (fully expecting to be kicked out after all) Citrine sat in the armchair, one leg tucking up so she could rest her head on her pointed knee.
"Saeeeee…." She kept filling the air with words. "How've ye been?" It helped that, still, Thea was calling her Rain. It settled her feathers a bit, the crest becoming a little less stiff and her wings more naturally spread instead of being held under stress.
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Post by moralhazard on Feb 28, 2019 17:06:35 GMT
“Thank you,” Thea said, politely, taking the flowers from Citrine. In truth, Thea didn’t particularly care for flowers; they were pretty, they smelled nice, and they would wilt in a few days and need to be disposed of (a week? honestly Thea wasn’t sure how long she should expect them to last). That said, she wasn’t strongly set against them or anything like that, and she admired the ones from Citrine with a smile as polite as her thanks had been, before turning away to set them on the small table where she’d been working, rearranging the papers into a stack to make space.
It was then that Thea realized, for the first time, the benefits of flowers – they gave one a minute to catch their breath and recover from the arrival of your visitor. Without really thinking about it, she even rearranged them a little, adjusting a few of the stems so the display looked a little more coherent.
When Thea turned back, Citrine was settled into the armchair. Thea stepped across the room, delicately, and took a seat on the divan. Thea’s posture wasn’t quite so relaxed; she kept her feet flat on the floor and her back straight, not even leaning back against the soft, fluffy cushion right behind her.
“I've been well enough,” Thea shrugged, stiffly. Her hands shifting off the divan to meet in her lap, clasped together, one thumb rubbing over the back of the other. She glanced back over her shoulder at her worktable for a moment, then back at the little lamp in front of the fireplace. “Busy with crafting,” Thea supplied a moment later, feeling an urge to fill the awkward space between them with words.
“… How about you?” Finally, slowly, Thea turned her head just a little left and lifted her gaze to Citrine, looking at her for the first time since they'd sat down.
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Citrine
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6 Wild Blooded Sorcerer+ 1 Celestial Warlock
Posts: 328
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Post by Citrine on Mar 1, 2019 18:46:57 GMT
Citrine put on a good show of being relaxed, wings adjusting so she wasn't lying too harshly on the limbs, arms loosely crossed around her one pointed knee. Her toes kept curling lightly though, making slightly fidgety gestures, and her wings kept up the awkward scent of steaming smoke. Busy with crafting? That was probably an understatement to say the least. When Thea looked up? Citrine looked away, the normally focused eye contact individual kept finding other things to look at in the room.
"Wel, ye knae me. Still working on teh list tae visit every tavern an' festall en teh city." A vague way to say I wasted away my time and gold doing absolutely nothing productive to say the least. "Sae Aye worked me way though some Aye hadn't visited… took some time off performing at nights." Another way to say she was a bit too depressed-drunk to play - a very different 'version' of drunkenness compared to fun-loving-drunk. That Citrine could play the violin until the sun rose.
She didn't mention loosing favor with her Father, the Firebird, in fear it would make Thea feel even worse about the lightning and thunder damage she'd suffered. And bring up that afternoon on the hills outside of town. She'd gotten better from it, after all, so no harm done.
Drumming her fingers on her knee the firebird, never one to think things through, word vomited - the small talk of evading the subject already too much. "Aye didn't think ye'd want tae talk, as teh weeks went on. Daen't blame ye, tae be honest… sae… lemme just say, Aye'm glad Aye got ye note."
In a fit of nervous energy Citrine popped from her position on the armchair to appear standing by the table where she'd set the canvas bag down. Mage handing it closer, she opened the bag and started to pull everything out of it, tail flicking back and forth anxiously. "An' when Aye was out an' about Aye couldn't 'elp but spot ah few things Aye thought ye might like. Couldn't resist picken' 'em up." A strange array of items, trinkets, knicknacks, and home goods were spread out. A potted plant. A hand mirror, silver backed. Little fire-glazed figurines nautical themed… and finally? A bundled up plush square of fabric - a beautiful stormy green-grey that brought to mind images of things found in tide pools.
She held the wrapped cloak in her hands, mage hand still arranging the other items behind her. "Aye'm sorry, fer goin' tae far en pushin' ye, Althea." Citrine rarely ever, if never, used Thea's fully name ever since she learned it. "Aye knae et's nae much… but 'ere." She extended the cloak, finely weaved silk on the outside, with what felt like small chain mail inside. It was lined in a lightweight cotton with custom embroidery on the hems, seen on both the silk as well as the inner lining - lightning spilling over the hood and down the shoulders with waves rolling at the bottom hem ((seen, once the cloak was opened and held out))). The final touch? Where the tag would be (aka, ripped out) was now embroidered in fire-red thread, a phoenix in flight, with the letters C. Redbriar scripted out.
"Aye saw teh base cloak in the shop, then added decoration tae et. Et also nae will repel an' ground any sort o' lightning energy o' help disperse what ye summon. There's ah enchanted chain mail between teh cotton an' silk, Aye added, like what Aye 'ave en me Captain' coat fer fire..." She was rambling a bit now, taking a long winded approach to describing the cloak.
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Post by moralhazard on Mar 1, 2019 20:26:10 GMT
It was hard to tell, with Citrine. Thea had gotten better at reading her, over the last months of their friendship, but she was good at hiding herself. After Dominic – Thea was left with a lot of doubt in her ability to read those she was close to. People who were her customers for art, random strangers she met? They were easier, in a way, because there was little in the way of stakes for Thea.
With Dominic, in retrospect, Thea could understand that she had read into him what she wanted to see as much as what was actually there.
With Citrine? It was hard. Thea wanted to believe that Citrine had missed her, been sorry about Thea’s angry words, and sad without her. She wanted that mostly because she had felt much the same; Thea had been angry and sad and scared and also lonely, very lonely, without Citrine around. Citrine’s words said she had missed Thea; the gifts, even more, said she had missed Thea. But – there was a part of Thea that was scared to trust her. People lied. Dominic had lied, to her face, to her heart, for years, and Thea had never known. How could she trust herself well enough to believe Citrine?
All the same, a little flicker of a smile flitted over Thea’s face when Citrine said she was glad to have gotten the note. Her actions – coming the same night, within a few hours of the delivery – said as much as her words, and Thea at least felt better about trusting those.
“Rain…” Thea’s voice was soft, reluctant as Citrine started unpacking the bag with her mage hand, heaping trinkets on the table in front of them. She just – sat, quietly, looking at the objects unfolding from the bag, wondering if Citrine had used some kind of spell to fit them all.
The cloak was beautiful; so beautiful Thea’s heart ached a little. Citrine held it out, and Thea looked up at her, still sitting, Citrine’s description washing over her. The cloak unfolded and tumbled out in front of her, and it was incredibly hard for Thea to keep her hands in her lap, to keep from touching the waves at the bottom hem, the soft cotton lining.
“It’s beautiful,” Thea said, softly, but – she didn’t take the cloak. She was aware that she was shaking again, just a little, and her throat ached, as if a knot had been tied tight through her vocal cords. Thea got up, swallowing hard, crossing the room to the bedside table where she kept a small pitcher of water and a glass – self-made, obviously, the perfect size for her hand. Thea poured herself a cup, carefully, taking a little sip and setting the glass back down.
Part of Thea wanted to - push it away. There were plenty of questions she could ask Citrine about the knick-knacks she'd brought. The cloak was beautiful, warm, magically attuned to her needs, more than Thea ever would have thought to get for herself. The little odds and ends on the table looked less fancy, but equally - thoughtful. She could accept Citrine's apology, pass a pleasant fifteen minutes discussing the trinkets, and excuse herself on the basis of tiredness. It would be easy.
And it wouldn't do anything to mend the rift between them. Thea didn't want things; she wanted her friend back.
Thea turned back to Citrine from halfway across the room, grateful for a little distance between them. “I can’t – I can’t accept it.” Thea said, softly. “Any of it.” Her lower lip trembled, and she stilled it with a deep, calming breath, doing her best to accept the feeling and let it flow through her, rather than suppress it. “Rain, you don’t – you don’t owe me anything. I accept your apology. I know – I knew – from that day that you were sorry, and you didn’t mean what you said.” Thea was quiet, then, slowly, “It still hurts.” She admitted, blinking back tears.
Thea took another deep breath. She hadn’t made much more progress since the last time she’d seen Citrine in thinking through what she wanted to say. Again and again, she thought she knew how she felt, and then the next day would bring a sudden change, a wild shift in her mood like the brewing of a storm. In the end, she had given up on figuring it out; she missed Citrine, missed her badly, and Thea hoped that she’d been able to fumble her way through her feelings with Citrine in front of her, however hard it was.
“I’m sorry.” Thea’s lower lip trembled again, and all the blinking in the world couldn’t stop the tears rolling slowly down her cheeks. “I almost killed you, and I – I’m sorry.” Thea sniffled. “I was – so angry and I – ” Thea bit her lip, running it beneath her teeth. “I’ve never wanted that anger to be part of me.” Thea admitted. “Not the anger, not any of the other – not the sadness, or the fear, but… they are.” Thea’s gaze flickered down, and then, willfully, she pulled it back up to Citrine, forcing herself to look at the other girl. “I’m so sorry.”
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Citrine
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6 Wild Blooded Sorcerer+ 1 Celestial Warlock
Posts: 328
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Post by Citrine on Mar 1, 2019 22:09:27 GMT
Her feathers deflated, sticking tight to her and yet drooping at the same time, at hearing her gifts be rejected. Citrine loved gifts, thoughtful purchases, and used the same practice to showcase to others she cared. It was her way of backing up words and action, embellishing her sincerity in a way that was tangible. A real world expression. Proof that it was really happening. The firebird still, at times, hard a hard time distinguishing reality from illusion. Physical things helped. "Oh, right then." She stumbled through the dismissal as stoically as possible. She stood there, letting the cloak bunch in her hands, as she listened to Thea, her bottom lip shaking (no it wasn't! she'd deny later), feathers quivering slightly. And when she spotted tears on Thea's cheeks? The firebird popped over right in front of her and wrapped her in a big hug like she'd wanted to from the moment it happened in the hills. Arms around her stomach, wings enfolding them both like a comforting warm heated weighted blanket - custom cloak dropping to the floor where she'd been standing. "Oi, lass, nae need." She cooed, squeezing tighter so as to not need to show her own face. "Aye, ye almost killed me, but Aye almost killed ye tae… there's moar than one way tae die… losin' life esn't teh only way. Me words… Aye was too harsh with me words. Aye deserved teh slap back. Aye've ah bad habit o' goin' too far, too fast, without thinkin' through anythin'. Besides, ye stopped. Tha's what counts." Finally she pulled away enough (though her wings still kept snuggly around them both) that dried tears could be seen on Citrine's face too. "Aye knae what ye' goin' through. Really. Aye was just as angry an' temperamental when Orin pulled me wings out. Ah right bitch Aye was… Aye pushed me fire inta' her too much… taunted her with words an' names o' folks tha Aye should 'ave left well enough alone. En teh end? My anger took hold o' her, knocked her out, nearly killin' her. Aye stood vigil over her fallen body fer hours… Aye can't blame ye, o' hold et against ye. Otherwise Aye'd have tae blame meself fer me anger back then."She cooed a bit then, not sure how or what else to say. "Et took me ah long time ta learn how tae control me anger. Make peace with et. Even still, ets' nae something Aye can do all teh time. Et'll take time fer ye tae control ye anger, fear, an' sadness sae et doesn't control -ye-." She finally let her wings loosen and fall to sort of cling near Thea's hips in a lazy sort of way. "Aye got better. Ye had me scared ah moment, aye, but we both pulled through. Ye'll get better at et tae!" She reached up to push some of Thea's hair out of her face, tucking it behind an ear. "…. Besides… ye casted strong magic! Without needin' tae think about et!" Some of the usual Citrine was peaking through now, the grin and excitement. "Saaaeeeeee…. Even thou' et was ah right bastad an ye gettin' ah little heavy handed? We made ah breakthrough!" Her wings squeezed Thea a bit as the excitement quickly washed through Citrine - an excitement she hadn't truly been able to appreciate the whole three weeks. "Ye're castin' moar too! Et took me ah bit tae realize… but ye opened teh door even while ye were sittin' inside. Gettin' better with ye mage hand, aye?" Her wings were now smelling like aged whiskey, a prideful smell. "Ye've come ah far way! Before tha' ye'd 'ave opened teh door yeself. Et was worth et, despite teh rocky road tae get there."
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Post by moralhazard on Mar 1, 2019 23:13:07 GMT
Thea was stiff and still for a moment when Citrine wrapped her arms around the genasi, for one more moment trying to deny how much she needed her friend. Then, finally, she gave in, softening into the hug and wrapping her arms back around Citrine, squeezing her close. There was a faint echo of thunderstorm in Citrine’s wings that faded as Thea held her, replaced with the soothing smell Thea associated most closely with Citrine, that particular mix of candlesmoke, ash and clove that seemed to hang in the air from her wings.
Thea cried - not sobbed, but cried, there was really no denying it - with Citrine’s arms and wings wrapped around her like a blanket. Eventually Citrine began to speak, murmuring words of forgiveness and understanding, her voice nearly as reassuring as her embrace. Thea let it wash over her, let it sink into the aches and bruises still lingering in her heart, soothing away the pain and discomfort of the last few weeks.
Citrine pulled away, and Thea could see tracks of wetness on Citrine’s cheeks, twin to those on her own. More than anything, that sealed Citrine’s sincerity for Thea; she couldn’t imagine that the firebird, proud and independent and brave, could bring herself to cry for anything other than a true, genuine reason. Thea felt something inside her soften, slowly, as if her heart was unfolding towards her friend.
Citrine told a story of a time when Orin had inspired similar anger enough in her, had taunted Citrine to the point that she had lashed out, nearly killing her beloved. She made the point that if she forgave herself for that, then she could forgive Thea for what she’d done. Thea wasn’t sure she agreed, exactly, that it was so easy to forgive oneself – she thought the image of Citrine slumped on the ground, small and still and lifeless, would haunt her for a long time – but she appreciated the words and the gesture and the promise of forgiveness.
Citrine was still chatting, one hand reaching up to tuck Thea’s hair behind her ear, her wings tumbling open. Before Thea’s eyes, her friend’s mood seemed to pop back up towards normal, her energy rising until she was very nearly her normal self. Thea felt her own mood bounce up with Citrine’s, and she giggled, cheeks darkening faintly.
“I thought you’d notice earlier,” Thea admitted, smelling – whiskey? That was weird. “I – did it for you,” Thea wrinkled her nose. “I’m not sure I’m ready to cast spells for myself yet, but I – I’m working on it,” Thea took a deep breath, feeling calm and steady once more.
It was tempting to stop. Most of the time, in the past, Thea had let Citrine chatter on; it wasn’t that she didn’t talk, but usually Citrine had had to drag any discussion of magic out of her slowly and painfully, almost as slowly and painfully as any discussion of her past. Thea felt like – this was enough. This was progress, already; she’d apologize, Citrine had apologized, they both forgave the other. She thought Citrine was happy to move past it, not to forget it, but to leave it behind them and press forward thinking only of the good, the progress they’d made.
Thea didn’t object to that, exactly. In fact, it was very much what she wanted as well: to move forward, forgetting the anger and fear and sadness she’d felt nearly drown her, and be herself again. But… if the past held any lessons for her, it was that she couldn’t push it down, push it away, and try to forget about it. And, Citrine was still holding her, and Thea felt warm and comfortable and safe, in a way she hadn’t in some time, and she thought, maybe, just maybe, that she could try to do better.
“The first spells I cast were… uncontrolled,” Thea said, softly. “After the shipwreck, when I came home, I… I was in bed for a long time. I drifted at sea after the shipwreck, for a few days, and between that and the storm itself I was in bad shape.” Thea was quiet, letting herself remember; that little girl, listless and miserable in bed, had been her too. “I didn’t know what was happening at first. I would dream, of the storm, and wake up – casting. Simple spells but I… I hurt people with them, sometimes.”
Thea took a deep breath. “Maude. I hurt Maude. She was – my mother was at sea, most of the time, when I was a little girl. She left me behind, and Maude raised me,” Thea smiled a little. “She sat by my bed most of the time I was poorly, and… when I woke up, lashing out, sometimes I couldn’t keep from hurting her, hitting her with lightning or knocking her back with my winds. Sometimes even when I was awake, if I got too angry, or too afraid, I - it was like I couldn’t stop the magic from spilling out. That’s why I learned control, to start, because I couldn’t… couldn’t bear hurting Maude. And the best way to control was to try and suffocate the fear, or the anger, or – whatever I was feeling. If I didn’t suppress it, I couldn’t stop myself from casting. So I learned to just push it down.”
Thea shrugged, shifting, settling a little more against Citrine, needing a little extra support. “You weren’t wrong in - in what you said. Dom was always good at getting me to cast spells. He’s the only reason I did it at all, honestly. Even the first storm orb I made was for him.” She sighed, embarrassment tinging her voice. “I was happy with him, and he could coax me out of sadness if it started creeping in, and I could… find the spells all right, since I’d done them before. It’s hard to explain, I guess. But maybe it meant that I never – never had to confront those feelings? I could cast without letting myself feel them, at least a few spells, and… so I just kept pushing them down.”
“But I want to do better,” Thea said. “I want to – ” she swallowed, hard, “to let myself feel anger and sadness and… and fear, not to wallow in it, but to accept it. I…” Thea let go of Citrine a little more, mostly to meet her eyes better. “I still want your help. If – if you’re willing?”
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Citrine
Approved
6 Wild Blooded Sorcerer+ 1 Celestial Warlock
Posts: 328
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Post by Citrine on Mar 2, 2019 20:05:34 GMT
Cockily, like the supportive worst best friend that she was, Citrine slyly added, "Aye never said Aye was wrong Thea, just sorry fer goin' tae far an' all at once." She teased, her wings cheerfully giving the genasi another snuggle. Her wings stayed smelling of Citrine though, no sour at all. "An' o course Aye still want tae 'elp! Et's all uphill frem 'ere after'ull. Ye knae teh feelin' ye need tae bring out ye new spells. Anger. Fear. Saddness. Us sorcerers weren't created ferm happiness after all…" She let the sink in a bit, the depressing content juxtaposed from the naturally upbeat tone of Citrine's accent and mood.
"Et takes trial an' error. Et takes confrontin' ye deepest darkest part o' yeself and comin' tae terms with et. Et's easy tae lie tae yeself after'ull. Teh power comes ferm knaeing yeself. Just knae - et's alright tae feel sad, an' angry, an' be scared about et… et'll take moar than just ah day, o' even ah week, o' months. Et's ah lifelong thing… Ye saw how me own anger built up en teh cave. An' Aye had ah century tae come tae terms with what Aye've gone through tha' cause me sorcerer blood tae trigger."
She brought the taller woman into a full hug again, snuggling the side of her cheek into Thea's torso like a cat would. "Ye will dae better, Lass. Believe en me tha' believes en ye." She murmured into her shirt, one last final squeeze to her hug. "An ef ye ever did get teh foolish idea en ye head tae go back tae tah' eejit? Aye'll tie yet teh ye bed until ye see reason - don' think Aye won't Lass - Aye'm very good with me knotwork." She promised, not threatened.
Citrine pulled away then, looked over her shoulder to see the cloak pooled on the ground and picked it up with her mage hand, shaking it to remove wrinkles. "Sae…. Ye don't want this specially modified an' decorated cloak Aye spent hours on? Fair, Aye'll just sell et o' something." She teased, her wings only now releasing Thea.
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Post by moralhazard on Mar 2, 2019 20:20:05 GMT
Citrine seemed to know exactly what Thea needed, just then; she wrapped Thea back in a tighter hug, accepting Thea’s explanation without batting an eye or making a big deal out of it, and promising that it would be okay, that Thea would get there, that she would figure all of this out, sooner or later – and if it was later? Well, that would be okay too.
Thea giggled, somewhat nervous, at the promise that Citrine would restrain her rather than let her go back to Dominic. “I won’t,” Thea promised. “I mean – you won’t ever need to. I’m done with him. I’d rather be the world’s worst sorcerer than be with him again.” And she was done with him, Thea hoped; three months since she’d left Urmlaspyr, and now more than that long in Waterdeep, and Dominic hadn’t reached out, hadn’t sent a message or a friend. Perhaps she should have been sorry but, in truth, Thea was rather relieved.
Citrine let go, stepping back, and picked up the cloak, shaking it out.
Thea giggled, admiring the cloak. “Oh, well, I – I mean, if you insisted, I suppose I could accept it…” she bit her lip, managing a plaintive look at Citrine, her mind busy with a little bit of magical effort.
A knot of silvery wind swirled into existence next to Citrine’s mage hand. Thea kept a wide-eyed, hopeful gaze on Citrine as the silvery wind bobbed hopefully next to the cloak, periodically inching ever so slightly closer. When Citrine relented, Thea’s hand would swoop in and nestle in under the top hem, zooming the cloak across the room to hang on the tall stand near Thea’s door before winking back out of existence.
Thea let out the breath she’d been half-holding; her mage hand wasn’t anywhere near as effortless as Citrine’s was, but she was getting better all the time. Unable to quite resist, she wrapped Citrine in one last hug, kissing her cheek, before making her way back over to the couches, plopping down much more comfortably on the divan. "This is nice too," Thea shot a cheeky grin at Citrine, admiring the mirror first, then the potted plant. "It would be nice to have a plant again! I didn't feel I could at Thond's, and I hadn't gotten one yet here."
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Citrine
Approved
6 Wild Blooded Sorcerer+ 1 Celestial Warlock
Posts: 328
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Post by Citrine on Mar 2, 2019 20:52:19 GMT
Keeping a sort of guiding hand on the cloak to make sure Thea's mage hand had it the phoenix beamed. Whistling her pride, wings shifting to whiskey and oak barrel - the scent somehow mimicking the buttery taste of the sweet and bite of a high quality liquor without anyone having to drink it first. She trilled at the kiss of affection and swished her tail like a dog that had been dotted on with a treat.
And as the genasi began to admire and praise the other gifts Citrine preened, her crest feathers almost taking on a peacock like spread within her hair. "Plants 'elp keep teh air clean, least tha's what 'Olly always says. Made sure Aye'd always 'ave ah few plants en me cabin on me ship. Dunno why plants would elp, but Aye trust anything 'Olly says, sae, et must be true…. Thought et might give ye ah peace o' mind with some o' ye wind spells. An' teh mirror? Merchant said et was magical, though he lost teh phrase tae trigger 'em. Aye've the other one - apparently ye can speak an' see the other who 'as teh sister mirror." She didn't know if she believed it, but the mirrors had been affordable because of it, and they were pretty.
Popping from where she stood to the other side of the room where the basket of presumed edibles were, this time a smattering of flower petals and butterflies began to swirl around her like they were stuck in a whirlwind. Red rose, orange tiger lily, and bird of paradise -the flower- petals paired with red and orange monarch butterflies all created by her chaotic magic blossomed around. Citrine, as if this had happened before, was completely unphased.
She turned, a bottle of wine in one hand and a bottle of deep amber liquid stoppered with a cork in the other, "Aye picked up ah basket o' godies tae… Aye was hopin' we'd be able tae stay an' just meebe talk about whatever tanight?" She questioned, the wild magic effect starting to fade. "Aye brought teh wine fer ye… teh whiskey fer me, but Aye can share." She grinned - the phoenix wasn't much of a wine drinker.
"There's bread, cheese, an' o course butter. Amelia recommended ah sort o' creamed cheese spread with chives an' herbs en et tae ferom teh one shop near Dragon's Way, sae Aye picked tha' up tae try too… Smoked fish, ah few other meats." Citrine was a sucker for fish, in any style.
At the agreement of festivities Citrine turned around - butterflies and petals faded completely now - the phoenix fixed them both a plate, working around the room as if she herself had lived here too, it showed how often Citrine was over before their little fallout. And if she put a bit more on Thea's plate then hers? Well… Citrine didn't comment on it. Thea had lost weight, she felt it when they hugged. That just wouldn't do! Mother Henning the genasi would be easy, hence the extra cheese slice and heftier spread of butter. A generous glass of wine mage handed itself to Thea, the plate physically handed over by Citrine's real hand, the phoenix flopped onto the open armchair, wings a pleasant warm sea breeze smell. The full bottle of whiskey floated over in the sparks of orange - she'd just be drinking from the bottle like the high functioning alcoholic she was.
It would be a great evening.
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Post by moralhazard on Mar 2, 2019 21:06:19 GMT
“Really?” Thea set the plant down and picked the mirror up, examining it with a raised eyebrow. “… That would be a nice trick,” she said, cheerfully, smiling at Citrine. “One of the artisan’s in Urmlaspyr had a knack for making magic speaking mirrors.” She turned the mirror over, checking the back. “This isn’t one of his, but he might have some ideas for unlocking the phrase… if it’s true. I’ll write him.” Thea set the mirror down, clearly having given up on her earlier plan to refuse Citrine’s various gifts.
Thea turned to rest her chin on the back of the divan, raising an eyebrow at the swirl of flowers and butterflies around the nonchalant phoenix. She giggled. Citrine suggested a girl’s night in, and Thea sat up a little to give herself space to nod, agreeing cheerfully.
“Of course,” Thea giggled. “I’ll stick to wine, I think,” Citrine drank like the sailor she was; Thea knew that size wasn’t always directly related to one’s ability to imbibe – look at dwarves – but she had been consistently impressed by the phoenix’s ability to put away one drink after the next and stay shockingly functional. Thea was fairly sure that, if she ever tried to match the phoenix drink for drink, she’d find herself with her head in the toilet and Citrine laughing at her while holding her hair back.
“Sounds great,” Thea’s stomach rumbled, abruptly noisy, and she accepted the plate without complaint, and the rather more generous pour of wine than she might have made herself just the same. She set the wine down, reaching over to pluck a few stray flower petals out of Citrine’s feathers, then cheerfully tucked into her food. At the first bite, Thea realized just how hungry she was; she finished the portion Citrine had served her, and made impressive inroads into a second, equally generous serving. Despite her initial reluctance, before long she found herself accepting a sip of whiskey, chasing it down with a swallow of wine.
Within an hour, Thea was lying on her back on the fireplace rug, arms spread wide, the fire crackling behind her. “Forearms are the sexiest body part,” she pronounced, tipsily, rolling over onto her stomach and propping her chin on her hands, elbows tucking into the carpet. “Or – or maybe a trim waist,” The genasi’s face was properly blue, but she soldiered on. “On a man, anyway,” her eyes crept sideways to Citrine, and she blushed more at her audacity.
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