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Post by Ossular on Mar 6, 2019 20:40:58 GMT
Orin ignored her own thoughts as she started walking down the street, back toward the Temple of Oghma with the High Cleric's coffee, but the entire scene hadn't played out yet. Hearing footsteps in a city was normally more of an ambience, but with the scene and everything around it having slowed down to watch and observe, the eladrin took a breath, mentally preparing herself for Citrine to do something dramatic. But it wasn't Citrine- it was an air genasi with shoulder-length cloud-like hair, and skin of ice with freckles of ice dotting her otherwise focused features as she stepped in front of her. When Orin looked at her, her lips remained pressed, as if she was biting the back of her bottom lip, and she swallowed a broken breath before composing herself mentally, emotionally.
"The Mariner's Hall. Sunset," Orin would repeat, quietly, before looking at Thea. She would give a light nod before watching the air genasi move back down the street, and she would stand there, for a moment, looking back at Citrine and Thea, who would shove into the feathery curtains.
Orin would turn back to her walk, slowly at first, in case anyone else wanted to stop her. During her walk, she found herself in a haze of sorts. The thoughts she had shoved away initially came back. With all of the others that had happened on her journey to the City of Splendors, it had been revealed to her that they were only here because of Lady Susan trying to throw her off of the course. But, even with Darious, who had been charming her during their travels, who had even had his own romantic relationship with Orin herself at one point? The scar didn't throb. With Citrine? Her heart burned with an intensity she hadn't felt. Everything had led her here under the premise of finding a way to teleport back to Holly, who Citrine also knew, but-
"Miss Izuki," a voice drawled out as she looked up to see High Cleric Davis, the one that she had gotten the coffee from. She swore under her breath. "I was wondering when you were going to return. I have been waiting for my coffee for a while now," his voice was flat and snobby, his halfling nose turned up. The only reason that Davis was taller that Orin was at the moment was because of the stairs leading into the Temple of Knowledge.
"I... ran into something. I have your coff-"
"Further tardiness won't be tolerated, Miss Izuki," the older halfling would scold the eladrin. "I suggest you get back to your table, and make sure that your cat doesn't upset Finn when she sneaks in again. The other clerics do not appreciate being disturbed in the middle of the night."
"..." Orin would inhale. Maybe if she hadn't been aligned to the Summer- maybe if she hadn't just gotten another lead on Holly, and maybe, just maybe, if she hadn't just had all of the thoughts she had just had on the hazy half-consciousness walk back to the Temple? Orin may have been able to keep her cool.
But she didn't.
"You know what?" Orin would start up the stairs. "I appreciate the help, but I am not your personal assistant. I volunteer my time-without pay- and I am one of your hardest working scribes, and I get treated like- like- like shit!"
"Language, Miss-"
"No!" Orin would shout at him, a combination of a natural eladrin reaction and personal frustration ringing out as she focused on Cleric Davis. "I'm tired! Sure, I have a bed, but you know how often I use it? Rarely!" Because I get to spend my time getting random trinkets and stuff from around town?! When's the last time you went to the Dock Ward for your coffee for yourself?!" Orin would reach the top step. "You want your coffee? Here!" Reaching into her bag, Orin would pull up the tin, and toss it into the air before snapping her fingers. A sharp sound echoed through the air, and the canister shattered into coffee grounds that shot everywhere like a brown dust-filled pinata.
The warlock's lips curled into a smirk as she wickedly brought her gaze back down to Davis, who stood there, shocked. She would kneel down to get to his level, her eyes now orange and ablaze as she stared at him with an nonseasonal malice. Very quietly, and very harshly, Orin spoke. "You can lick your coffee off of the bottom of my boots! At least that way it would taste better, you tasteless sack of-!"
"Miss Izuki! Get your stuff and leave this temple!" Davis, now covered in a majority of the instant coffee, waggled his finger before coughing some of the dust up from his mouth, wiping his eyes.
The eladrin would remove her messenger bag before slipping out of the robe that was two sizes too large. "Gladly!" Orin would snarl before moving into the temple, past six or seven other clerics that had been watching the scene unfold from the moment the eladrin rose her voice. The sunlight intensified around Orin as she gathered her things, her armor, her pack, her blankets, quickly packed everything up, and then left the temple after a quick stop by her desk to grab her inks and papers she had been working on. By the time she walked through the lobby on her way out, Davis was gone, replaced by two guards that would lead Orin not only off the premises, but also out of the Castle Ward.
From the Font of Knowledge, Orin carried herself gladly, stopping by The Market and selling her chain-mail before making her way down the Warrior's Way (because let's be honest, she definitely didn't take the High Road in any sense). Once Orin got down past Selduth Street, it started to rain a chilly spring mist that came in through the ocean, and the eladrin simply took her time. With a shield strapped to her back, completely soaked leathers and clothes and a fire in her eyes, Orin felt the most free she had felt since coming here. The only thing that stayed dry was a tightly bound leather journal she had been writing in through her journeys to date, which was double wrapped in more leathers.
Orin had made it to the Way of the Dragon by sunset, and found the two-story guildhall known as the Mariner's Hall. She watched the outside, the previous high of quitting a horrible job now replaced by a dull nervousness of the unexpected. While her appearance was dried from earlier, an ambient heat from a Summer alignment helping dry her out, it was easy to tell, at least a little bit, that Orin had been soaked at one point, between the strands of hair that hung out of the ponytail, the smears of the light make-up that had accented her eyes earlier and the stale starchiness of clothes underneath the now fastened leather armor. She simply watched, and out of the habit that this could have been another trap, paced around the building, looking for exits and entrances that either existed or could be easily made if she needed to do so. With her paranoia put to rest, the eladrin made her way to the door, carrying her shield in her right hand.
With one more pause, Orin took a breath, opened the door and moved into the hall. She really hoped this wasn't a trick.
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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 7, 2019 16:48:45 GMT
Her room in the Mariners' Hall was like a chaotic fireball had been let loose. Clothing was skewn about. Journals, number 287 through 289, were stacked atop a small catch-all sort of tray near the front door of her Captain's Suite - the only thing presentable and tidy in the whole room. Citrine stood there, in the center of her room, mage handing different tops in front of her chest - she was drip drying from her bath she'd taken - and was having difficulty determining what to wear.
While not as vain as some, being covered in filth due to hard work, a chaotic impulse decision, or even because she was feeling like taking a lazy week of being completely unproductive and lounging in comfy worn clothes that had been mended far too often they could be considered clothing made of magic than real material, Citrine did like to present a certain aesthetic when out and about. Her clothing all followed a certain color scheme -pastels just washed out against her tan skin- of deep jewel tones, primarily deep oranges, red, and greens but a smattering of purple, blue, and rosegold filled out the variety. She had several hats, none as extravagant as her Captain's hat with the gold medallion shining from the side, that helped top off the look she was constantly striving for. Leather, pants, corsets, belts, cuffs… a common material in her closet. Everything, from pants to skirts to shirts to accessories all tied together so that no matter what she wore it all looked presentable, pleasing to the eye, and pirate-y.
Nothing looked good on her right now.
Scowling, she balled up the shirt she'd been holding up and threw it onto the bed. This was stupid. Orin didn't even care about pleasant looks and accessories. She was function and form over pretty and unique. She wore armor so much she could sleep in it and still get a good night's rest! Citrine was all but a stranger right now anyways, what she looked like wouldn't matter!
But it did.
She had to make the best possible planned first impression as possible. To make up for the sudden chaos earlier today had been. First impression… first impression… first impre- She knew what to wear. Popping from her central location she appeared in the walk in closet, ignored everything hanging, and threw open the trunk lid she kept against the wall. Bending into it, osprey wings spreading to keep her balance, Citrine dug around looking for something very specific. They'd need mending, adjusting, and stitching, but… she had time. It was just after lunch and Orin wouldn't be here until evening.
The Hall, being as upscale and vogue as it was, had no problem catering to one of their resident Captain's needs in supplying a private meeting room for two. In one of the cozier studies, no desk like some had, but worn yet elegant leather armchairs situated by a fire filled the room with a large coffee table in front. Rugs, plush and elegant, carpeted the floor underneath to protect feet from the hardwood. Built in library shelves filled with books, knickknacks, and other thematic things decorated the walls while a low hanging chandelier that were lit with traditional candles instead of mage lights lit the room. Between the fire and the candles, the windowless room was warmly lit from all the natural fire.
Situated on the table was a decanter of water, a bottle of fine whiskey, appropriate glassware, and a tray of preserved meats, cheese, fruit, and breads. Citrine had instructed the room's manager to hold nothing back in the preparation of the room. And so they didn't. The only other things there were a stack of journals wrapped in deeply tanned leather.
Citrine herself was pacing in the room, the fire reflecting off her wings almost making it look like color had returned, but it was nothing but a trick of the light. They seemed to want to absorb the element though, parched for the heat they were missing. She wore an older style of pants, in a strange but familiar style of someone who once traveled in a caravan - tight around the waist and ankles, but large and airy in the length. Her shirt, a bright rosy red with multi colored threads making pretty traditional Varisian patterns and shapes, especially along the hems, were weighted down by the strands of necklaces she wore around her neck. Large hoop earrings decorated her ears and her burnt orange dancer skirt? It was worn in a more traditional triangle fashion with the gems and coins stitched onto it on full display.
It was the outfit, or as close to it as she could get it, to what she wore when she first ever met Orin upon being called to take up the black knight's mantle to save Golarion from an eternal winter.
The door clicked open and Citrine stopped pacing, standing there in between the two arm chairs, as the Room Manager led Orin in - a tall human male who's style of dress seemed to fit the room so well he himself could be considered an accessory for the small private library.
She couldn't breathe. Seeing her there, wearing armor just like she always did, hair braided behind her back and shining in its own light of its own making, worn and creased clothing underneath, a bag slung over her shoulder.
"Bonnie." She whispered, the last of her air being used as a word instead of a breath.
"And if either of you need anything, please just pull the bell string. I will be awaiting with anything you might need." The Manager spoke somewhat posh, but warm, as he bid Orin to enter and closed the door quietly behind her.
Citrine just stood there, still unbreathing, as she drank in the sight of her.
Sing me a song Of a Lass that is gone Say could that Lass Be I?
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Post by Ossular on Mar 8, 2019 2:02:23 GMT
Orin had stepped into the Mariner's Hall.
A couple conversations hushed and muted around her as the eladrin with the water-washed make-up and the broken ponytail that clung to the sides of her face. This was a place for ship captains and fleet owners that frequented Waterdeep. The wattle-and-daub building was warm, and the inside was what she had been expecting, with the Hall known for being one of the most lavish buildings in the Dock Ward. The inside was dark and lit with lanterns, and as she looked around, she didn't see anyone that she recognized. Instead, she approached the manager, a barkeep behind the counter of the tavern. He seemed friendly enough, though she was still taking more caution than she normally would.
"I'm here to see a Citrine Redbriar?" The door clicked open, and the manager stepped back to let Orin in first. Immediately, she took in the room. The two arm-chairs were another flag, but everything else in the room seemed to shy away from the usual trickery of the Winter Court. The fire. The alcohol presented. The lack of tea. The general amount of meats and cheeses on platters that reflected deep copper. In the middle of it all was Citrine, dressed in reds and coppers that matched the ambiance of the room. Orin simply stood there, two steps into the doorway as the manager spoke before quietly shutting the door.
The eladrin would reach up, unbuttoning the clasps on her dark leather jacket, letting the still damp shirt underneath meet the warmth of the room. Her eyes would meet with the amber-clad aarakocra, and for a moment, there was an awkward amount silence exchanged as she pressed her lips together, running a finger through a strand of her blonde hair to tuck it behind one of her long, elvish ears. If it would stay there or not was left to fate.She would simply look around the room quickly and quietly, her eyes glowing like an all-too familiar fire that at least one of them would remember.
"You, uh, don't mind if I set my bag down, do you?" Orin would speak first, un-shouldering the strap slightly, but waiting for the other woman's approval. Some habits weren't so easily broken, though between Amafreya's help and her general travels since her experience at the hands of the Winter Wolf that her Winter Lady had sent after her, she did continue. "I've had a bit of an un-expected day today."
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Citrine
Approved
6 Wild Blooded Sorcerer+ 1 Celestial Warlock
Posts: 328
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Post by Citrine on Mar 8, 2019 2:29:18 GMT
She watched her, perceptive as always, taking in every detail she could. Nothing seemed mused, ruined, or in disarray to her. She was perfect. The way the fire light flickered. It was perfect. The fire in her eyes, the way she tucked hair behind her ear. It was just… so Orin.
She snapped out of it when Orin asked about the bag.
"Oh!" Popping from where she was standing, to reappear next to Orin, Citrine reached out to grab the bag, somewhat clumsily, to pick it up herself even though the strap height was nearly as tall as she herself was. "Aye got et, nae tae worry. Es nae problem ut-hull." Awkwardly she tried to lift it, finding it difficult but not impossible, giving up using the strap and just picking it up with her three hands and setting it on one of the smaller tables near the bookshelves - only of course if the much taller woman let go of the strap to begin with.
That set down she turned and looked to the tray of whiskey, then back to Orin. Her thumb pad circled the palm of her hand as she curled her toes into the carpet below her. Cocking her head slightly to the side, a very bird like motion, then reached up and made a sort of swish and flick motion with her hand. A shimmer of her amber magic drifted out to whirlwind around the eladrin, the prestidigitation magic drying and warming at the same time.
The magic would feel warm, a sort of hot heat that came from fire or even a coal burning stove. Toasty, comforting, and with a faint hint of smoke, clove, and ash. For a moment her wings lit up, like when you blew on a chalky, dying ember. But it faded just as quickly as she cast. "Ye looked ah little chilled, Captain. Thought Aye'd warm ye a bit. Whiskey?" She bit the tip of her tongue as she turned around just wanting to keep busy. Since Orin walked in? Citrine hadn't stayed still one moment.
Misty stepping from there back to the coffee table she measured out two shots, looked at them, snort-huffed out her nose, then in quick succession knocked them both back and refilled them. Nervous energy, made strange somehow by how dull and colorless her wings were, quelled for a bit with the addition of the liquid courage. She held out one of the freshly poured shots, with her real hand this time (anything in an attempt to try and skim her fingers), with what she hoped was a welcoming smile to put Orin at ease.
"Sae, bad day Aye take et?" She shook the shot a little, taunting the warlock to come take it. "Wanna tell me about et?" There was a whistle of question at the end, the concern-question clearly not one that sounded like a demand.
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Post by Ossular on Mar 8, 2019 3:04:55 GMT
The pack would be set into the chair with a weighty thud, with Orin initially not expecting Citrine to take it herself. She had let go of the strap just in time to not make anything awkward, though her eyes did follow the bag all the way to the chair, and remained there for a moment to make sure it wasn't tampered with. Of all of the things she had within the bag, hidden in the middle and wrapped in a winter cloak, was probably the most important thing she owned- her journal.
"Thanks," Orin would speak, looking around the rest of the room before a shimmer happened. The eyes of the wary eladrin moved down to Citrine's hand, and her own hand lit up, though she caught herself. Orin's hand initially started as a gold, but quickly shimmered to a blue, then to nothing as she realized what was going on. She had been in her own head most of the day she had forgotten that prestidigitation was even a spell that could have dried her out. It was about now that Orin realized she must have looked like a paranoid mess with her smeared eyeliner and her distraught hair.
"Sorry," the eladrin would take a breath, closing her eyes for a moment. Citrine was just being... hospitable. Cautiously, as her eyes opened back to the ambient fire-lit room, Orin would watch as Citrine misty-stepped to across the room, and she would continue to watch as the shorter woman took two shots of whiskey before pouring two more, offering the warlock one of them with a nervous smile. Orin looked at Citrine for a moment- she was nervous, too, which was amusing in a slight way considering how she was dressed.
The eladrin's eyes focused on the shot as it shook, and Orin decided that she herself would also probably need some amount of alcohol to get through this amount of awkwardness. Stepping across the room and around the chairs, her fingers would swipe the shot glass from Citrine. "I-" Orin would exhale through her nose- "I quit my job at the library today. I snapped at the High Cleric, blew his powdered instant coffee all over the place and got escorted out of the temple by guards." With that? The elvish woman would take her first shot, the burn sliding down her throat as she simply let the burn of the honeyed vanilla, caramel and oak permeate through her senses until the scent faded on her breath, her head tilted backwards, her eyes closed, her messy tail hanging away from her face and down past her shoulders.
It was perhaps the first time Orin's features relaxed, even for a moment, since she had come in, some of the tenacity loosening from her features. But she hadn't come here to enjoy whiskey- she had come here to learn of Holly, and Citrine had said that she knew who Holly was. "So-" the moment gone, Orin set the glass back down. "Not to get right to business, but... you know of Holly?" It wasn't a demand or anything like she had earlier in the streets with everyone watching- that was because Citrine apparently knew her full name. There was... a lot of confusion hidden behind her eyes as she moved to get another shot for herself.
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Citrine
Approved
6 Wild Blooded Sorcerer+ 1 Celestial Warlock
Posts: 328
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Post by Citrine on Mar 8, 2019 4:09:44 GMT
Saluting then knocking back the now third shot of whiskey Citrine finally felt like she could manage to sit somewhat still - or at least not misty step pop everywhere. Quicker at it, the flavor already in her mouth and throat and so the burn didn't last nearly as long as the first time, Citrine instead had her focus still on watching Orin. For a frozen moment in time it was like taking shots in the Shooting Star again. Eyes closed, hair back, a sighing expression as she savored the tastes.
But then the moment was gone.
"Right, 'Olly. Me sister, as Aye said." Citrine went with it, Thea's voice whispering in her head like the wind. Slow and steady, patient. It would take time, if ever at all, to coax or find the memories that had left Orin. No need to push anything to fast now. "Blood sister, we performed ah blood-bond ritual when we were just sprogs, Aye was about six o' seven, she would 'ave been then ten o' eleven. Became somethin' deeper ever sense then, though we've 'ad our differences."
"And.... Well." She began, running her hand through her hair, bracelets jangling -then pausing- as she tried to think of how to not only best describe Holly, but prove they were sisters. A sort of quiver went through her as her eyebrows raised and a relieved sort of upturn at the mouth. Right then she began removing the bracelets and leather straps around her wrists, more and more tattoos on the arms being released.
" 'Ere, ef ye knae 'olly, ye knae then tha' she's… well…. Ah cold an' unforgivin' sort o' bitch." She chuckled as she said it, endearingly, and flipped up her right wrist. There, in blue and white ink, was a stylized wolf. Or 'bitch' in this case. "Aye thought et was quite funny, 'er totem's ah wolf on top o' et, saw et's fitting, thematic, correct an' ah friendly jibe at 'er." She flipped up the other wrist, the left, which had a brilliant red and orange fox mirroring the same sort of stylized position. "Aye got teh same, but fer me, on me left wrist. Crazy as ah fox Aye've been called. An' before teh Firebird Aye 'ad ah fox guidin' me en me dreams an' all tha'. Aye always get teh same set, sometimes different poses, whenever Aye reincarnate. Loose me tattoos, ye see, 'cept fer me soulscar, sae Aye've gae tae re-get any ink each time around. Ye might reconize some o' teh new ones Aye've gotten sense we parted ways. Aye had teh wolf an' fox when we first met though, eg ye can remember."
Closing her eyes, arms still out so Orin could see the designs nestled in-between the henna brown mandala and tribal like designs she had that eventually disappeared into her shoulders where downy feathers grew, she kept talking. "But, back tae 'Olly. She's ah half-elf, though was born human. White hair, ice fer eyes, an' ah resting bitch face like ye wouldn't believe. Ah horrid actor, but she does try 'er best. Ah right master o' magic, she crafts and designs 'er own spells like we breath air."
Cracking open an eye to look at Orin, she tilted her head, and couldn't help but grin at the corner of her mouth. "Tha' sound like teh same 'Olly ye knae? O' shall Aye go on?"
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Post by Ossular on Mar 8, 2019 4:48:16 GMT
Orin would listen to Holly's blood sister. She would listen to every detail, every word, and as she did, her eyes would hone in, her focus pulled to every word of Citrine's accented voice. Her eyes would read her lips as if they were reading a book, watching each curve, each purse and every upward curl. The focus extended to Citrine's wrists as the aarakocra removed bangles and bracelets, setting them on the small table with the bottle of whiskey. There would be a nod at the bitch, a small chuckle- even now, as an eladrin, an elf, she knew that Holly would be considered an uptight bitch, even in elvish society. The chuckle would lower into a curled, pleasant expression as the eladrin looked over the fox on Citrine's other wrist, though there was a phrase that caused the small amount of optimism that Orin held to drop, slowly at first, but it would sink.
Reincarnation.
Soulscar.
Orin's heart dropped as she heart Citrine talk about the one thing that no one other person in this realm should have known about. Her eyes of reflected fire would read over the avian's expressions, and she would search for any form of intent to act against Orin. Orin, though... didn't find any. She would shift, looking around the room. As assassin? Hiding in the dark corners that the light danced with around the room? As Citrine would open an eye, she would see Orin looking around the room, hear Orin's breathing increase as the eladrin took a step back. The shadows waxed and waned, and she instinctively looked down. That's where they always came from. From looking under herself, Orin would turn to face her own shadow and freeze for a moment.
"Yes-" the eladrin would speak, a small amount of panic in her voice. "It does sound like her, but I think- maybe- we could continue this- maybe outsi- I- I need some air." With that? Orin would step toward the door, unexpectedly opening it before looking out the window down the hall out of the front of the Mariner's Hall. Glancing back at Citrine, Orin would blink from existence, disappearing into a powdery mist that fell like snow in the wind, tracing in the direction that she had gone.
Appearing outside, Orin allowed herself to breath, trying to calm herself down. From there, the eladrin would use another Misty Step, appearing on the roof of the Mariner's Hall, and her skin would start to glow within the twilight of the sun. Orin basked in the light, a natural warmth overtaking her form as she started to glow slightly with the presence of summer. Shakily, Orin would reach into her leather jacket, under her shirt, and rest a hand on her own soulscar, a snowflake of various sizes of stab wounds right above the heart that was still cold to the touch, no matter how warm the rest of her ever was. She closed her eyes, taking a couple of deep breaths to drive away the thoughts and fears that plagued her mind, to center herself.
Citrine knew Holly. They were sisters! That meant that Citrine had to know how to contact Holly, right? That meant that there had to be a way to get the information, to ask Holly who she had to find before her three years was up. Orin just needed another minute in the setting sun before heading back down from the roof and inside to continue on with the conversation. She just had to remind herself that there wasn't anything in the shadows here. Waterdeep, except for the City of the Dead, was safe. Nothing of that nature was here. Nothing would drag her back into the void.
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Citrine
Approved
6 Wild Blooded Sorcerer+ 1 Celestial Warlock
Posts: 328
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Post by Citrine on Mar 8, 2019 15:38:27 GMT
Citrine locked on to the growing sighs of worry and distress on Orin, darting minutely across her face and posture to try and see what was wrong. Was it something she said? What had she possibly said that would have caused a …. Was this a panic attack? Shortly after Orin stood, Citrine did too, her feathers in her hair going tight against her scalp and her wings wrapping around her front torso as if she was hugging herself in mirrored worry.
"Orin… Lass…?" She began to trill softly, having no idea what had brought upon this sudden change of expression in Orin. Subconsciously she followed a few steps, then raced to the door to look around following her - only to see the quickly fading remains of spell sparks.
…
Was this what it felt like to have someone misty step away from you?
…
…….
Touche.
"Captain!" She shouted through the halls, the shout completely mundane to most within the Mariners' Hall. Nearly everyone here was a Captain or close enough of some sort. No one gave the phoenix any heed.
Where'd she go, where'd she go, where'd she go? It was all she could think of, ignoring the Thea voice of 'yes, this is what it feels like' and stopping to lean against the door frame to try to stop and think for once instead of just rushing off. Orin had said… something about it sounding like Holly, but needing to get outside? It was as much thought she'd be able to put into the 'stop and be patient' mantra of the evening.
She knew the range of misty step like the back of Orin's hand, knowing the only place she could have possibly gone using the keyword 'outside' was through the front windows or an open door in order to get the line of sight she needed. Of course she could have blindly stepped… Citrine herself did that enough times -the risk adding another layer of fun to it- but she had the gut instinct that the front was her best shot.
Running after someone she'd offended was nothing new, but this time there was a heaviness to her steps and a clenching hand around her heart. It took all her willpower to not misty step herself in fear of somehow passing Orin. Part of her wondered if she should just stay in the study room. Part of her knew she could never sit still long enough to make that work.
Luck was on her side though, when Citrine reached the front doors and opened them to see Orin about to open the door from the other side. A breath she'd been holding jumbled out in a relieved sigh. "Orin Lass, ye had me terrified ye'd left fer then night." She couldn’t help but exclaim, relief and worry all over her features. Crest feathers were still stressfully pinned back, but the phoenix pushed onward. Standing this close to Orin again? It was so hard to not bring her into a hug. 'Get to know her again before pushing for anything.' Thea's voice still instructed her - Goddess she and Holly would get along -
So to compromise she reached out her slightly hybrid bird hand, the one with the fox at the wrist, and asked. "Can Aye escort ye back to our room? Aye'm sorry about whut Aye said tha' offended ye… even though really Aye've nae idea what et what." She nervously admitted, toe claws curling even as she kept a steady hand out towards Orin. "But Aye'll understand ef ye want tae part ways nae." Eventually she arooroorooed in her head. She didn't want their meeting to end now, but she wouldn't push it.
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Post by Ossular on Mar 8, 2019 19:11:40 GMT
Orin would take a moment, watching the setting sun, to calm herself down. With one more Misty Step, Orin would land on the ground some ten feet away from the door, just in case, and would take another moment to herself. The fires of summer would flicker and coat her presence, the scent of a beach-side camp fire wafting away from her on the breeze. With another passing thought calming her down, Orin approached the front door, but by the time she had gotten to it and extended her hand, the avian traveler had opened the door with a relieved sigh. The eladrin took a step back from the opening door before adjusting her otherwise disheveled appearance. Pulling the shirt down before pulling the jacket shut, covering the necklace she wore that had the vial and several other small trinkets along with the snowflake scar etched into her chest, just above her heart.
"I-" Orin would pause, taking in the general worried expression. Did she really mean this much to Citrine? And if she did, why couldn't she remember? "-needed a moment. Needed some air." The eladrin wouldn't apologize, but would watch a hand be extended to her. Her eyes would move up and down Citrine, looking into her eyes before taking the offered hand slowly, cautiously. It was warm, even against her own, a different kind of warmth, and slowly, Orin's fingers would softly close around Citrine's open palm. She would be quiet other than that as the two went back toward the room she had stepped from, and with another breath, would enter the meeting room.
Eventually, she had released Citrine's hand, grabbing a bigger, more appropriate glass for the amount of whiskey that would be needed. The glass chilled in her hand before she poured the fiery liquid into it, and she took a big sip before refilling it and finally turning to the matters at hand. "Okay. So I'll just... bite," Orin would speak, taking another sip. "We know each other, right?" Orin would sit down in one of the chairs with her whiskey in the chilled glass.
Then, in a completely different language, one not even from this world, Orin would speak, the waves and rumblings of the Shackles in her voice: "So... you know that I'm not from this world." It would be an old language that Citrine would recognize as Polyglot, a collective language sometimes used in the part of the old world that Orin had been born from. "What can you tell me of... me?" Orin would challenge Citrine- maybe it would help break through some of the gaps that Lady Susan had thrown in her way during her next trance. Still, though, the eladrin had to at least know how much Citrine knew of her. It was a test, though- there were details that no one else could possibly know except for Lady Susan. If Citrine knew them? It would just prove that she was a spy.
At least that's what made the most sense, right? Lady Susan had given her three years to find... someone that she couldn't remember, right? What if that someone was... Citrine?
That'd be stupid.
But still a possibility, right?
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Citrine
Approved
6 Wild Blooded Sorcerer+ 1 Celestial Warlock
Posts: 328
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Post by Citrine on Mar 8, 2019 22:38:08 GMT
((Hold onto your butts! Citrine kept going and going in this one))
It was like water to a parched lost soul in the desert. Feeling Orin's finger around hers, the first voluntary movement and touch Orin had given Citrine, lit a few of the feathers in her hair and wings. The ones in her hair brightened, just enough, to make it seem like she now had multi-toned barbs in her hair instead of brown and cream. On her wings? The osprey pattern of speckled dark brown had some of them freckle to cherry red, not as bright as they could have been.. But at least they were red now instead of brown. Some of the elbow feathers took on a more orange hue, and a smattering of flight feathers had the gold of the candle's firelight reflect from the inside instead of just the outside.
The colors faded back to brown and dull when their hands separated.
"Aye, we knae each other." She agreed, sitting down in the chair, mage hand pouring just as generous of a glass as Orin had taken for herself - wings spreading out to hang over the armrests and drape like a blanket on either side of the chair. The thick and vibrant language of a land far from here washed through her ears, and Citrine slipped into the tongue just as easy. Different from Thieves' Cant but almost in the same vein, the tones were almost like the sound of Ameila's voice - thick as honey and smooth like rum.
She nodded, took a deep pull from her glass -now consuming more than someone of her size should be able to- and leaned back in her chair. "Oi, Captain. What daen't Aye knae about ye?" She grinned, tilted her head back, and slumped from the enormous task at hand. "Corrina Ellethwen Izuki - Daughter o' teh Hurricane, an' teh next en line tae prove 'erself teh King en teh Shackles. Kinestisist an' master o' teh five elements. Ye protect o' those who can't defend themselves yet ye're teh most greedy an' blunt person Aye knae." She took another sip, her Polyglot spoken like a native for as long as she'd sailed there, then continued.
"Ye mother es Oria Izuki, firstborn daughter o' Syl Izuki who married teh Hurricane King Zuzu himself. Aye was there tae bless teh birth o' ye mother, as Aye was best friends with ye Grandmother an' Grandfather. Ye had ah brother, Amon, who sailed teh ship, teh Argent Prince -o' which ye were his livin' charter when they carved their named inta ye back." Her voice took a very dark turn there, as the embers of fury at the knowledge still burned hot in her soul whenever she thought of it.
"We met en teh spring o' 4813 AR when teh Mantle o' teh Black Rider descended upon me, ye, Karak, Rook, Svana, Anselma, an' Darious were enlisted tae find teh o' Winter Crone herself, Baba Yaga. An' through tha' adventure we learned about each other, protected each other, lost then found one another again, an' ultimately came tae love one another. Et wasn't easy. Et wasn't fair fer some. But we did. An' Aye swore me life, loyalty, an' love tae ye as Aye've nae don' but fer two others en all me lifetimes. En tha' time Aye met ye dobbleganger from ah realm called Earth from ah city called Fukuyoka, Corrine, Rin fer short - ah druid, an' loved 'er like Aye did ye. Because ye an' 'er switched places where ye lived en the city there fer three years nearly on ye own with nae way back until Rin was murdered an' ye two switched places again."
She was staring at Orin now, silent tears falling down her cheeks even though her voice and wings betrayed none of her emotion. "Ye once had ah 'scar, 'ere, an' piercing on ye eyebrow 'ere." She gestured to each location. "Ye have.. Er perhaps had, since ye ain't human anymore, ah tattoo o' ah tree o'l ife that hid teh scars o' ye time on teh Prince. Teh branches blazed with teh elements ye controlled an' their symbols at all four directions plus teh center, fer darkness, appeared as ye learned tehm." She was getting slightly worked up now, rambling and speaking so quickly as she tried to convey as much information as possible.
Sorry Thea, there was no patience here.
"Ye Captained our group against teh Crone Baba Yaga, an' stood by me when e'eryone else saught tae see me dead. Ye pulled me wings out an' refused tae back down even when Aye was at me worst an' fightin' ye every inch o' teh way. Ye comforted me through 'Olly's death when Aye thought et true. Ye pulled me ferm me own terrible illusions when Aye couldn't tell real ferm fake after sufferin' under teh hand o' Lady Maeve fer months en ah frozen place called Wonderland. Ye even branded yeself with teh Black Spot on ye palm tae match mine when Aye was marked by Mani Decard Luffy, teh then Harold o' Gozreh himself, when we promised, always, as teh sun rose o'er teh horizon as we perched on top o' teh chicken 'ut, tha' we'd always be true tae each other, tae take what we could, an' give nothin' back. Ever."
She was breathing heavily now, a bit of fire igniting back in her wings as she rushed through an abridged history of their time together, and still not even touching it all. At some point she'd stood up and had begun pacing the small area in front of the fire, but always turned to look at Orin in the eyes when a new potent point was brought up. Her hand clasped tightly at one of the many necklaces around her throat.
"Et's been ah'undred plus some years since Aye've seen ye, an' Aye've missed ye e'ery day o' every year, longed fer ye, wised fer ye, dreamed o' ye. An' now ye're 'ere? Aye dane't knae what tae do."
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Post by Ossular on Mar 9, 2019 0:14:32 GMT
There was her full name again.
It compelled her to listen to every single word that Citrine spoke, though admittedly, Orin would have done that anyway. At the beginning, Orin almost disbelieved everything she was hearing- Lady Susan would know all of this, too. She would know of the Mantle and the people she adventured with. She would know of Fukuoka and Corrine. She would know of the fact she had switched places. But it was the small details- the motivations behind why she did things that started to get through to her. The Tree of Life tattoo that she had, and why she had ever gotten in in the first place. What it represented. What it meant and how she got them.
The lapses in her memories, though- Orin remembered standing up to the group, but not about what or who. Orin remembered the Black Spot, but not the reason it had appeared. She remembered burning herself with fire, but not the motivations. She remembered being content on top of Baba Yaga's hut watching the sun rise over a Russian forest, but didn't know why it was so peaceful, so beautiful. She remembered losing something, but it had been quickly replaced... by Lady Susan's presence.
She remembered instances of conversation with the Winter Lady, but not why the Winter Lady was jealous. Every negative reaction, and for the length of time she had been in Faerun, the warlock wondered what she had done to upset the Lady. There was a topic she never tried to mention in her conversations with the Queen of Air and Darkness, but for all of the intellect and wisdom that Orin could muster, she could never remember the topic.
Just like she couldn't remember Citrine, who had went through and listed a plethora of personal memories- even bringing up the one-hundred years of service. Orin simply stared at the avian woman who glowed like fire and paced back and forth with a little bit of shock in her eyes. The warlock gripped the whiskey glass, having not even taken a drink of it after Citrine had spoken her full name.
"If- if you- If I'm-" Orin would stutter through the thoughts racing through her mind. The stray voices in her mind. The murmurs on the edges of her hearing, distorted and warbled. The fire in her mind, censoring something from sight in the rare glances she had seen through her trances, only to not be there. The frustrations started to surmount in her mind as the colors in her eyes begun to intensify. "If you're so important to me... then why can't I remember you?" she finally mused through a shaky breath. She would tighten her grip on the whiskey glass as her eyes focused on her. "Why do you know all of this about me, but I know none of it about you?"
Orin's eyes would narrow at Citrine, though she resisted the urge to summon her rapier quite yet. "How do I know this isn't a trick? That you weren't sent after me to drag me back to her... just like Darious was?" the warlock would be ready to move if she had to, preparing herself to counter an assassination attempt, or at least make as much noise on her way back to Lady Susan as she could.
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Citrine
Approved
6 Wild Blooded Sorcerer+ 1 Celestial Warlock
Posts: 328
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Post by Citrine on Mar 9, 2019 1:05:57 GMT
((In the spoiler, the blue text counts as Orin’s word count))
The memory played in Citrine’s head, and it took all her will, effort, and poise to not burst out laughing. It seemed fate was demanding history repeat itself. Or maybe? Maybe there were always destined to, if one ever forgot, repeat events in a sort of never-ending repetition that guaranteed them to, if they had their minds wiped, rekindle the same emotions and feelings towards one another so as to guarantee the soul-fated duo would always have each other? Spinning slowly on the balls of her feet Citrine turned so she was fully facing Orin . "An who's te say I'm not, just waitin for the perfect time, when I've gained ye trust, only teh backstabe ye. Aye do owe ye a swift end after ye disappeared on me like tha’ earlier just nae." She referenced the misty step and took slow, hip swaying motions of movement towards Orin. She stepped up onto the coffee table, her weight not bothering it and her height now more on par with Orin’s sitting height. The equal height didn’t last long as Citrine hopped down to walk the remaining space until she placed her feet to stand them right in-between Orin’s. She could tell Orin was poised to either fight or flight again, but she knew Orin better then perhaps the warlock knew herself right now. If she hadn’t pushed her off then, when she really did firmly believe Citrine had been sent to hunt her down, she wouldn’t do it now. And if she did? She’d deal with it. With quickening breath Citrine grinned mischievously, unable to keep her face straight as she did her best to parrot the even from years ago. "Goddammit Orin, honestly, where would ye get an idea like tha'? By teh Goddess..." Quieting her laughs mid-motion Citrine climbed up onto Orin's lap, both palms reaching up to push down on her shoulder blades, then sweep both legs over, pinning Orin to the chair with her impressive 70-something pounds of weight…. Really this worked better when she was a kitsune. Staring Orin straight in the eye Citrine, who's focus was entirely on Orin spread her wings to wrap around her and the chair, keeping all three of them right where she wanted them. "Nauow ye listen teh me Orin, and ye listen good. Aye'm goin' teh ignore teh fact that ye think Aye'd be killin' ye, just this second time. Otherwise aye'd think tha' our friendship means nouthing. An' Aye like teh think we have a nice friendship blossoming, despite ‘ow one sided et es at teh moment - one tha Aye might even be taken further if aye play meh tarot right, Aye daen’t want tae be waitin’ until ye remember everything." She let the silence hang, to let the meaning of her words sink in before continuing. The fireplace, just like it had then, crackled behind them, lighting up the firebird. "So, nau that ye're done accusing me of bein' a killer, which aye'm choosing to /mostly/ ignore, let's continue. It seems te me that someone has been weaving tales, one tha' has my reputation on teh line, and the reputation of that of our past years tagether. An’ there be nae secrets between me an’ ye. So. Continue. Who es ‘She’ tha’ ye’ve mentioned ah few times nae? An’ how dae Aye break ‘Her’ grip on ye?"Being this close to Orin, touching her, sitting on her lap, running her fingers over her shoulders in between the armor, the firebird did look like she was on fire – more of her turned back to red and gold, the oranges pulling colors from the fire but becoming more brilliant for it. And with this much fire of hers reigniting from within? The smell of candlesmoke, ash, and clove began to fill the room, paired with the sweet woodsy smell of Citrine's special brand of violin polish she used to preserve and maintain her most beloved item.
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Post by Ossular on Mar 9, 2019 1:53:32 GMT
Orin still didn't move, even as Citrine sauntered toward her, taking a quick break at the coffee table before making her way to Orin's chair. A leg on either side of her, the warlock simply kept that same intensity, though managed to set the glass down on the small table between the chairs before the phoenix had made it over to her. The wings enveloped the both of them as Citrine perched around the her lap.
She would listen, once again, to Citrine- her full name had been spoken, so she hung on every word that escaped Citrine, looking for any reason to actually attack. Fingers dug into the chair. Teeth ground behind pursed lips. Ears flattened in aggravation. But as the redheaded pirate continued, her fingers fumbling over the leather armor, right near the collar of the jacket, right above the scars above her heart, Orin's hand snapped up to Citrine's wrist. For a tense moment, Orin would simply stare at Citrine, grip around the wrist of the smaller woman tightening, like the warlock was struggling on a decision.
"You can't." The eladrin would take a shaky breath. "I can't. No one can. Not even the Lady." Orin would admit, finally, her lips pursing, and her eyes falling along with the grip. "You mentioned reincarnations and soul-scars earlier. If you know of those, then you know you can't break a grip involving those. At least not that I know of."
There was another second or three of contemplation. If Citrine was an assassin, then it would be over soon either way. She'd die and fall into the Winter Lady's service forever. If not, though?
There was something here that was off. Orin couldn't think of it, couldn't place it. With some conflict in her mind, dancing behind her eyes as she looked forward, not meeting Citrine's eyes, Orin's hand would twist around Citrine's softly, directing the redhead's fingers, and she would hook Citrine's own thumb under the edge of her leather jacket, under the edge of the shirt. She would wait for Citrine to pull back the layers to see a snowflake, scars of various sizes and directions branching out into a sadistic snowflake that was much more detailed than the last time Citrine had seen it.
"I- I don't know what's going on," the warlock would speak. "I need to find someone- but I can't remember who. They were important to me, but I don't have anything to go off of." Orin remembered the vial that was in a chain around her neck, under all of her layers, close to her, but didn't say anything about it just yet. "If I don't find them, then I belong to Lady Susan." The eladrin would look up to her, not crying, but looking into Citrine's eyes, taking an sharp inhale.
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Citrine
Approved
6 Wild Blooded Sorcerer+ 1 Celestial Warlock
Posts: 328
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Post by Citrine on Mar 9, 2019 2:28:22 GMT
Being prompted as she was, Citrine pulled at the layers Orin’s hand directed her to. It only took looking down and seeing the beginning branch of the silvered scar, feeling the cold, to know what was there. Eyes widening, the yellows of her eyes circling her pupils, she tugged harder, faster, needing no more prompting to push aside fabric and move the shirt underneath to see it.
There, just likes hers, if not a little different – each and every snowflake was unique after all – was a soul scar.
Shocked mute Citrine stared at it, frozen, until the name Lady Susan was said. “Oh Captain.” She quivered, the firebird pinching the bottom lip between her teeth to keep her from trembling more. “Nae, tell me ye didn’t end up with Her.” But it was clear she had. “Aye knae ye wanted tae be able tae knae, fully, what et was like what Aye went through… but Luv, please, tell me ye didn’t end up en Wonderland…. Et was just ah dot last Aye saw et… nae’t ah whole ‘flake.” The scent of spearmint twined through the scents coming off her wings, still staying strong as long as the two were in contact with one another.
She looked up at Orin and pulled on her own shirt, the collar of it slipping off her shoulder to slump down her arm due to the fact the shirt was backless, and then gently grabbed Orin’s hand. Mirroring the actions Orin had made, Citrine bid the blonde to pull gently where the top part of a different snowflake poked out of her green chest band, right above where the heart would be.
“Ye say ye’re lookin’ fer someone? That was important tae ye?” She pressed her hand onto Orin’s snowflake, feeling the cold, remembering the chill and biting bone cold. She wished she could kiss and sooth it away. But it was there, stuck, forever. A soul scar. “Ye can remember everyone else – but ye daen’t remember me? Captain, ye always were teh smarter one between teh two o’ us – what does that tell ye?” Her eyes narrowed a bit then, her temper rising as it hit her again. Somehow Lady Susan had stolen Orin from her when they’d stepped out of the time-stopped Minkai dimension. Her toes curled and her lip began to snarl. “Ye bet ye fookin’ arse there ain’t ah way tae break ye from ‘er! Aye’m nae lettin’ ye belong tae anyone. Ye’re ah Free Captain, through an’ through. We belong tae knae one but ourselves. Aye won't have ye stolen away with 'er fey trickery an' manipulations! Lady Maeve was destroyed, taken out by teh Iron Prince. Et's nae impossible tae remove ah arch-fey, even one strong enough tae be en teh Court.” Though she didn't know for sure, she had a good inkling of who'd taken Lady Maeve's place shortly after the Prince had taken his revenge.
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Post by Ossular on Mar 9, 2019 3:08:17 GMT
"..." Orin would simply look back down as Citrine told her to say she hadn't wound up with Lady Susan. Her hand would be led to Citrine's chest, where she would look up and feel a scar, similar to the one that she had, but different; still cold to the touch, but... more, if there could be such a thing. Citrine would push, and Orin would lean back into the chair until she couldn't anymore, feeling the warmth of the phoenix's fingers on the scar. Just like she was doing to Citrine's scar, tracing over it with her own fingers.
"It's you," Orin would speak, quietly, to Citrine's questions. That's what everything pointed toward. The reason she couldn't remember.
"You're the person I'm missing from my memories." The eladrin would look back up to Citrine's eyes, the heat of summer starting to churn behind her glossy eyes; that same fire that Orin used to control, that somewhere, on some level, still did.
"Because Lady Susan didn't want me to find you. She doesn't want to give me up." The grip, the jealously of the Lady of Air and Darkness was overwhelming. She had been plucked from Minkai after her time with the mesmerist dogs, a recovery period from everything that she had been subjected against through her quest for Baba Yaga, only to fall into Lady Susan's service- all because of Orin's initial curiosity. One favor led to another, and nothing was ever free when it came to the fey.
"Because I'm her Darling. She chose me-" Lady Susan had chosen Orin because she was powerful, cunning, intelligent. The first kineticist to ever control and master five different elements. Someone who had traversed the Dimensional Grid, walked the Void between Life and Death. Lady Susan was a paragon of the Winter Court, Benefactor and Ally to Baba Yaga, Successor to the Mantle of Winter, the Unseelie Queen Who Was To Come, the Lady of Air and Darkness. She was manipulative. Cold. Considerate. Welcoming. Understanding... but never forgiving. Lady Susan had chosen Orin because Orin was powerful.
"-But I chose you." But Orin had chose someone else... even after everything she had been through. Even after all of the power Orin had gathered and mastered, the reputation that Orin had claimed in service to the Winter Lady. Even after Lady Susan had professed she would never be able to find who she was looking for, that Orin would always be her Knight as she was the Queen to Be, the Queen that Is and Queen that Was; that no one would ever care for her as Lady Susan did, no one would ever love her as Lady Susan did, no one would ever punish her as Lady Susan did, no one would ever push her as Lady Susan did. Orin had accepted the contract. Orin had connected on a level that no one ever probably would with Lady Susan... emotionally... mentally... physically...
Even through all that? Orin had chose someone else.
Orin had chose Citrine.
"Citrine?" The eladrin would look up to the phoenix. "I- I don't remember, but I believe you." Her heart was beating faster than an orc war-drum under Citrine's hand. "I believe you when you say we'll figure out a way." She had to believe, at this point. What was the alternative?
"Anything-" Orin would take a breath, staggered and shaky, her hand trembling against Citrine's scar. "Anything you want to do or talk about, any detail you want of my last one hundred years plus one year? I'll give you. I won't hide anything from you. If you'll have me... I'd like to try."
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