Fireblossom Festival [Closed; Orin]

Knock-knock-knock.

"Delivery for Miss Izuki?"

Orin would open the door, and a post runner, no older than twenty with shaggy blonde hair, would be holding a large bouquet of elvish lilies. Placed in them was a single red rose, deep and ruby like blood. The Winter-aligned eladrin would look over the teenager, then peak out into the hallway, hearing a door close faintly about four doors down- Citrine's room. Orin would inhale, put on a fake smile, and coldly accept the flowers before closing the door.

Knock-knock-knock.

"Delivery~!"

Orin would open her bedroom door the next day, her hair pulled back but otherwise frazzled, to see a cheerful blonde woman, older, in a similar outfit- another post runner. Clad in nothing more than her morning robe, the eladrin, still aligned with Winter, would be presented with fine gnomish chocolate in a velvet box. Across the box, tied into the ribbon, was a second single red rose. The eladrin would lean into the hallway, and Citrine's door would close. A squawk was heard, the door would open, and the tip of the phoenix's wing would drag back in before the door would close once again, more quietly.

"Thanks," the eladrin would grumble before closing the door.

Knock-knock-knock.

"Delivery~!"

Orin would open her door, hair tied up, her skin considerably warmer compared to the shades of Winter, now in Spring. She had just gotten back from the bath-house, and was still wrapped in her fresh, clean leathers layered above new clothes of spring, various shades of green that matched her hair. This would be the same woman from yesterday, though this time, she was holding a platter of dwarven meats and cheeses, with a small bottle of firewhiskey- one of Orin's favorites, paired with a third red rose.

"Thank you," Orin would look down the hallway, though this time she didn't hear a door. Instead, there was a shadow, a small avian form falling past the window in the hallway. She would smile nervously, moving into her room and closing the door with a foot.

Knock-knock-knock.

"Coming~!" Orin would call before opening her door. It was later in the day when Orin opened her door. This time, it was a taller human man holding a trunk. Orin would raise an eyebrow.

"Orin Izuki?" the man would speak, his thick mustache wiggling up and down with his top lip. The eladrin, still Spring-aligned, would step out of the way, the older human moving in toward the table with the lilies. Setting it down with a thud, he would pull a single crimson rose from his bag, placing it on top. "Enjoy, ma'am."

"Thanks?" Her door would close behind her as she turned to it. Moving the rose into the lilies, and then moving that vase across the room to the side table next to her bed, she would open the chest. In the chest was four different cloaks of elvish designs. The blue cloak held white designs of snowflakes and frost, the green held colored flowers and birds. The golden cloak held designs of fire that reflected in the light, and the fox-red cloak held designs of maple leaves and golden harvests. One magnificently designed cloak for each season, all complete with a new trunk to store them in- and more clothing- within.

Knock-knock-knock.

Orin wasn't in her room when the delivery happened on the fifth day, but when she came to her room, there was a note, which brought her down to the tavern bar. Skip, the barhand she usually interacted with gave a smile before fetching her package- a new notebook, bound in darkleaf leather from Silverymoon, the first city she had found herself after leaving Madam Shey's Vistani caravan. Bookmarked in the pages, sticking out above, was a fifth red rose, waiting for her, and as Orin turned to face Citrine, who was talking with a couple of the other sea captains, she would find herself smiling. She would turn away to go to her room, where she closed the door quietly.

Knock-knock-knock.

"Yes?" Orin, now Summer-aligned, would expect the delivery at this point. Despite her alignment causing her to be a little more short-tempered, she would still open the door, folding her arms. It would be the teenager from the first day, holding a flat, long box of some kind. She would look down, then look the kid in the eyes. "Can I help you?"

"De-de-deliv-livery," the teen would look away from the room, his face red. Behind Orin, in her bed, were two more women, nude and draped in colorful silk blankets.

"Are jou comin' back to bed, Orin?" - "It is still so early~" the two women, one a human with long black hair and dark brown skin- Amelia- and the other a tiefling with royal purple skin and horns that curved around like a ram over her stark white hair- Beltari- would tease before turning their attention on one another. "Unless ye think teh boi wishes ta become a man?"

Orin would turn back to the teenager as he gulped. "No, Amelia," she would reach forward, taking the long, thin box from the nervous wreck of a delivery boy. "I wouldn't want to ruin him. Thanks, dear," she would close the door, and the delivery boy would need a moment. He would try to build up the courage, hearing the giggling behind the door, but couldn't muster up enough willpower, quickly turning down the hall.

Later that night, Amelia would tell Citrine that Orin seemed to love the new ear clasps of mithril and diamond.

Knock-knock-knock.

The door would open, and unlike every other delivery person that had shown up, Orin would have to look up, her eyes only coming to pectoral level of the form before her. She had been getting ready to head out for an interview at one of the guilds down in the Docks, but she wasn't expecting this delievery today. There was a goliath man in magnificent shape, a sleeveless shirt bound tightly around his broad, muscular, tanned chest, his pants little more than shorts that didn't even move past his defined, chiseled thighs. Tucked inside the left strap of his shirt was a single crimson rose.

"I am Rico~!" the goliath spoke, a heavy accent coming through as he smiled. Orin would look down, then look back up. "I vas summoned. Vor good time?"

"Good time?" Orin would raise an eyebrow, her ears perked, her attention still covering him. She was a greedy person, after all.

"Yes," he would chirp. "Good time. I come in?"

"Please do," Orin would purr, reaching forward to lead him by the hand. It was fine- she didn't want to be a dockhand anyway. Citrine would have to cover the noise complaint from the room below Orin's on the first floor.

Knock-knock-knock.

The eighth day, Orin would open her door to see Citrine standing there. Orin would blink- by this point, the red roses (ten of them; she had gotten one from both Amelia and Beltari, and another with the ear clasps) would have their own vase next to the lilies she maintained in the window, and her bedroom had been reorganized from the last time Citrine had seen it. The eladrin would blink, and the phoenix would inhale, and it would come out- a floodgate of flattering words, fueled by anxiety and nervousness as the avian continued on. And on. And on. Orin couldn't really do anything but stare, the orange eyes of her Autumn alignment trained on her, though she kept the facade of stoicism.



"Cit-Citr-Cit-RAIN!" Orin would interrupt her, raising her voice before coming back down just as quick, still stoic, and the words would stop from the phoenix. She would purse her lips for a moment before speaking again, making sure that Citrine wasn't going to try to interrupt her. "There's... a fireblossom festival in a couple days. If you'd want to go... with me?"

Needless to say, that had been a resounding yes, with the avian barely able to contain her excitement. Orin closed the door, and through the door, all she could here was a celebratory skree-laugh of joy, the avian disappearing down the hallway calling out that Orin had said yes. The eladrin would chuckle and then move back to her chair, still pleasantly sore from the previous day's delivery.

Knock-knock-knock.

The ninth day- this one was a delivery that Orin had called for herself. Her dress, cleaned, pressed and re-fitted the previous day. Orin would smile, take the dress, and shut the door, but not before retrieving a single letter, folded in the edge of the door with a red rose that fell to the floor as the door had initially been opened.

Knock-knock-knock.

The tenth day, the Fireblossom Festival. Orin would sigh, slightly nervous, and open the door. Orin took in Citrine's appearance at the same time that Citrine would take in Orin's. Her feet would be weaved in a pleasant sling-back sandal of dark leather. The dress was the same gown that the eladrin had worn when Citrine had initially missed the date the first time, woven around her body in intriguing elvish design that clung to her in all of the right ways. Her Spring alignment would be the closest to what Citrine would remember as Orin- blonde hair, with the streak of white over the left ear that was all tied back into an elegant braid, complete with the lilies woven in. The braid was long enough to reside over her shoulder, draping down, and her nails would accent her appearance- a light green with gold leaves painted in.

However, the there was something that would stand out, amidst all of the prep that Orin had put herself through. Earlier in the day, she had gotten into a sparring match that turned violent, and while most of the wounds were healed, Orin's un-painted lips would be split where a boot met her face, and the single scar that had run from her left eyebrow to the edge of her hairline just below her ear had a friend- a second, smaller scar where the edge of the metallic boot met the side of her face. A small amount of bruising had darkened her left eye, and she would curl her lips into a smile. She was wearing the ear clasps that Citrine had gifted her, though, and they looked stunning across her ears.

She'd try to play it off the best she could. "Citrine- you look lovely," she'd start, her lips breaking into a genuine smile, despite the split on the left. It would be the first time that Citrine ever saw Orin in a dress of any kind. Ever.

The eladrin would smile slightly, watching the phoenix get frustrated and defensive of Orin's new wounds. The dwarf cleric from the training grounds earlier in the day said she would make a full recovery, but it would take upward of twenty-four hours, The eladrin figured that trying to hide it with make-up was only going to cause the wounds to stand out more, so she hadn't even tried, outside of a faint mascara and a minuscule amount of eyeliner.

"It's fine," Orin would speak, picking up the conversation again- in Varisian- to catch Citrine's attention. It was just another checkmark of proof that Citrine knew Orin from a past life, speaking a language that no-one else had to her this entire time. It would be an all-encompassing phrase, covering her reaction to the wounds, the idle frustrated threats mixed with a fierce fire, as well as bringing up an Anchor Day celebration that she didn't remember. "You wrote about it- on my birthday. Every birthday I've read across so far." she would recollect. Reading through the journal entries of Citrine's adventures as the Herald of Gozreh. It was still surreal, but she didn't remember the fact that she wore a dress. Just that Citrine's neach gaoil had been stunning.

"Is that-?" Orin would look at the bottle. "Is that Janderhoff?" Her eyes would go wide, a shocked expression across her features above the roses that had been shoved into her hands by a nervous Citrine. She would step back into her room, which had been organized once again, most notably by a new bed, with the furniture reorganized around it to look pleasant. "How did you-?" she would stop, calming herself down, resisting the urge to trade the flowers for the whiskey and open it.

"We can leave it here and have a drink later?" Orin would offer, moving back to her table. The vase that held the lilies was empty, so the eladrin would use that for a second red rose bouquet, placing them in there carefully. She would be able to get more water later- for now, she would pour some of the water from the first vase into the second, hoping it would be enough. "I- I like the flowers." Orin would admit, turning back. Citrine would ask her to the festival, and she would smile again, opting to grab her Spring cloak. Just in case. "Let's get going, then," Orin would close the door behind them.

The two of them would make their way downstairs, outside into the nice spring evening, and onto the street heading toward the festival. Orin would be enjoying the walk but they couldn't spend the entire thing in silence, could they? Well, they could, but that'd be rude of her. "I enjoyed the gifts you sent me," she'd smile, remembering everything from the lilies that now lined her hair to Rico, the large, muscular goliath, as well as everything- and everyone- in between. "I have to admit... I didn't expect that you'd apologize so-" Orin tried to think of the proper word to use here- "thoroughly. I kind of feel bad for not really... approaching you sooner," she would be back to speaking the common-tongue of Faerun now, as they moved down the street. It felt weird in a way, for Orin at least- this was the first time in a while that she didn't have a proper weapon at her side, armor over her form or shield to hold onto. She would, instead, slowly through their walk, trail her hand closer to Citrine's, not wanting to just grab her hand outright, but at least, on some level, put the offer out there for the phoenix.

It was like fishing, in a way, the way their hands came together. Citrine's fingers glanced once, then a second time, and then, on the third time, Citrine bit, and as her fingers weaved, Orin's fingers would bob, and the fingers would tie together. There would be a silent squeeze, a thank you from Citrine. There would be a second, a response from Orin- you're welcome.

She would listen to Citrine's story as they moved, Orin letting Citrine fill the silence of their walk, hand in hand, speaking of her Patron, a firebird. Citrine herself was another Warlock. It made sense, at least, from the journal that she she had read, about the Spirit of the Firebird that had been withdrawn from Citrine through kinetic means, though it was more of a retelling, the journal entry a mere recollection of the event that had long since passed. Still, though, even now, Orin wouldn't apologize for leaving that night, but she would feel slightly worse in the fact that Citrine's wings and magic had effectively been stripped from her. The eladrin would flatly smile as their eyes met, not sure what to say, and for a bit, it was quiet.

Until Citrine asked about the gifts.

Orin's cheeks would darken, just a little bit, as Citrine turned on her with the question of the gifts. The smile would curve into her lips more as the tip of the wing came over and brushed over her ear. "Thank you," she'd respond. "I didn't initially... at first. Never really been much for jewelry and trinkets. My friend, Amafreya- she's another eladrin I met up in Silverymoon- she convinced me to start wearing jewelry and make-up here and there. 'If you like the way it looks on other people, other people will like it on you~!' she'd always say," the eladrin would mimic a much more posh, proper accent while they walked before chuckling quietly and rolling her eyes at herself.

"But, your gifts," Orin would continue, letting a small group of people pass, keeping an eye on them as they moved past, a rowdy trio of halflings holding instruments. "I liked the lilies," she would start, "and the roses, too. Trying to keep them all alive is a chore, but I like them." Aside from the fact that she had to go out and buy a vase, then eventually buy a second one as well, but she wouldn't bring that up. "The firewhiskey is always a good drink to have on hand, if we're being honest. I ate through the meats and cheeses over the week.

"The gnomish chocolate was amazing, though," Orin would admit. She always had a bit of a sweet-tooth. "I think it was a dark sea salt chocolate with a caramel center? Probably my new favorite." Sorry, dwarvish peanut brittle with whiskey syrup drizzle, though Orin's favorite sweet could change once a day and no one would ever be able to keep track. "I also like the journal as well as the cloaks- they match all of the new wardrobe I've bought, too." Orin didn't care to admit that, since becoming an elf, she cared much more about her appearance than before. Vain, yes, but who didn't care about their apperance on some regard? It made the boot to her face that much more of a quiet insult, but she would handle that at a later date.

"And... as for the people?" Orin would continue, watching children pass by. She would mute, and they would walk in another bout of silence, though it was more Orin not wanting to continue that topic in front of children. They left, after a moment or two, which the eladrin would help Citrine through by squeezing her hand lightly and just enjoying the walk thus far. The kids, though, would disperse into an alleyway, playing some little game of hide and seek or something, and the eladrin would finally answer to Citrine's curiosity.

"Well, Rico was... powerful," she'd finally admit. "I don't know where you found him, but he carries himself... very well." She should have stretched before Rico. "Very good at picking things up and putting things down, if you know what I mean.

"I still have to give credit to Amelia and Beltari, though. I think I'd have to go with them again over Rico." She'd turn to Citrine, her free hand caressing the bottom of the braid that sat over her chest. "I think that's the longest I've stayed in bed since coming to Faerun, honestly," she would smile, then turn away from Citrine, looking down the High Road. They... still had a bit to go, having just past the Way of the Dragon. While Orin didn't mind the walk, she was just starting to realize how much time they had to fill while they were en route. It's not to say that they didn't have pleasant conversation, flirting lightly back and forth as they made their way down the High Road going north, and Orin was enjoying her conversation with the phoenix.

"So, I have a bit of a legitimate question," the eladrin would ask, a little further into their walk. "Do you miss it?" Ominous, but Orin would specify. "Golarion?"

At the start of Citrine's answer, Orin would tilt her head slightly, looking over as Citrine glanced over at her. There was a small, half-curt chuckle- it was a perfect description of Holly- but she did notice the awkward struggle of the phoenix's expression, the sideways glance. All little nuances that Orin easily picked up on, despite... not really remembering anything. Almost like it was normal- comfortable, even- to read the amber avian to her side.

The eladrin would nod at a passerby as they chimed in with a random "'ello" but her focus was mainly on Citrine. Her fingers would press together a little more tightly as the strained voice spoke of things she did remember; Rin being one of them. Corrine, a druid-like mage from the realm she had ventured to after her death in Golarion, was her counterpart. She remembered details. Taking over Corrine's life at the academy in Fukuoka, and so much more about a woman she could never physically meet. Orin's own thoughts slid into the time that she had traveled to a smaller island- Hawaii- and met another version of her mother. It wasn't her mother, but ever since Amon had mesmerized an entire part of the Shackles into forgetting who she was, it was the closest she had ever come to having a conversation, and it was close enough that it was satisfying in its own way.

"Not Golarion," Orin would agree with Citrine as Citrine brought her hands up, and the eladrin would fold hers behind her back. She would fall silent, for a moment. She was trying- trying- to remember everything- anything- and it was... frustrating. The hands felt right. Being here felt right. Talking with Citrine felt right. Why couldn't she remember why, though? She couldn't remember details outside of glimpses, clips, and shadows, but it all happened! Why would Citrine, a person who seemed to hate anything based in books and writing, keep diaries outlining memories and dreams she had- of Orin!? Why would that be fake? Who would go through that amount of effort to feign a relationship? Who would know that amount of perosnal detail? There were details that she hadn't shared with Lady Susan, even!

"...I wish I could say the same," Orin's voice was light, as if treading on a light veil of ice that threatened to fall through and consume her with the cold, harsh very real grip of the darkness and sheer cold. "I... I can't say that, though," her eyes would look down, her gait slowing a little more than it already had to allow Citrine to keep up, her lip a little less pressed thanks to the split in them. "I want to, though. It feels right- more right than in the past. More right than-" she couldn't say the name, Darious, knowing what she had done to him, to his family, to his life-

"The past," the eladrin would repeat, then take a quiet, nervous swallow, looking away for a moment as her arms unfolded. She would brush her fingers through her hair nervously, looking up to the skyline before them. They hadn't even gotten to the festival yet, and there was already heavy conversations starting to emerge, at least on Orin's end. "Even the past that I do remember? I'm not... It's not good, Rain. I don't think that I can be forgiven for even half of the stuff I did. The things I enjoyed doing? I just... I don't know."

Orin's eyebrow would perk up a little bit, along with the ear on the same side, in a slight amount of question, though before she knew it her fingers were cupped and a squeeze would apply- one that would innately bring a small curve to the eladrin's lips. The smile only got bigger as Citrine continued, assuring Orin that it was alright- that nothing she had done would be bad- or good, really- that it had all been about surviving, and that now they were together? It was fine. Everything was fine.

But then she mentioned time limits. Orin... did have a time limit. She... she couldn't hide that from Citrine, really. So she didn't.

"Actually," Orin would inhale, closing her eyes, then exhale, opening her eyes. Steeling herself. She couldn't hide that any longer. "There- there is a time limit. For me, actually." The eladrin could practically hear the phoenix asking something along the lines of "Whut?" or something comparable, so she'd continue.

"Three years. To find what I've lost and been separated from. And when I cannot? I will come back to the Winter Lady. Be her Knight as she is the Queen to Be, Queen that Is and the Queen that Was." She would quote Lady Susan on that night. "And to prove it? A vial of an oil that only the person I am looking for can smell, courtesy of my Winter Lady," she would remove her hand, retrieving a small, wax-sealed vial wrapped in a leather cord.

The vial itself was about half-full, thanks to Darious when she thought he had actually detected what was in the vial (though she had freaked, seeing him motion to even dump it, and caught it before all of it was removed; an automatic response). "That was-" a quick thought- "Midwinter 1487. I have until this coming Midwinter to find the person that can smell whatever is in here," Orin would still be holding the small vial tightly in her hands, afraid to let Citrine even touch it or examine it.

"I- uh- was going to show it to you. Tonight, if everything went well, but-" Orin would stop, looking past Citrine as she zoned out for a brief second in her thoughts. There was a hint of fear and uncertainty in her features, ears flat, lips pressed the best they could be. If it wasn't Citrine... then who was it? "-I can't really hide it any longer. I only got six months left, and if for whatever reason you can't detect what's in this vial?" Orin would look at her. "I need to find whoever can, or else... it won't be a concern much longer."

There was a bit of a pause as Citrine asked for a minor clarification- making sure she understood it alright- as her wing curled around the eladrin tighter now. Orin would purse her lips, look side to side, and slowly nodded. "Ye-ahhh when you say it out loud it sounds a whole lot worse," she would agree as the aaracokra's scowl tightened her feathers flat and back through her hair. The look on Citrine's face solidified it a bit more as the eladrin looked down, her own ears flattened. There was a small part of her (bigger than she cared to admit) that would honestly be fine with going back to the Winter Court, but at this point? After these last two and a half years? After everything she had come to realize?! The freedom? The choices? The absolute power she felt in just being able to say no to even considering her own Warlock abilities in any scenario?! She wouldn't have had a split lip if that was the case! She could have easily handled that half-orc prick! But she didn't, and that in of itself was a victory, right?

"Yeah, yeah. After the Festival," Orin would agree. The scraping on the ground hadn't been lost on her, and neither had Citrine's sort of shift i demeanor. The eladrin would take one literal step before the phoenix's next exclamation, and Orin exhaled. "Right! So I'm not the only one that would be thinking about it."

The eladrin would look over Citrine, watching her from two steps away. "Yeah," Orin would agree, "it is just like the fae." She would read the body language the best she could, an innate talent that she couldn't explain. "Just like us. I'm still attached to the Winter Court. I'm a warlock," the eladrin would tell her. "I think that's what it is, at least.

"I haven't used the powers, though- not since the circus! Not even a cantrip!" Orin would tell Citrine. "But the connections still there. I can still feel the Winter Lady. See her in the corner of my meditations. Feel her behind me. Smell her on the winds." Orin would look down at her hand, still tightly closed around the vial. "Even if I did get my memories back, Citrine." The eladrin would pause, thinking for a brief second. "Would it be worth whatever would happen to you for smelling it? What would even happen to you? Am I really worth whatever that would be?!"

Self doubt. Fear. Darkness. Hopelessness. These were all things a fey of the Winter Court feed from, right? She knew that. Was this really her? Orin would look back to Citrine, looking her up and down before thinking. "Okay. I have an idea," the eladrin would offer, but then proceed to walk back the way they came. It would be a couple of minutes of hurried walking back down the street, body tense, thoughts racing, heart pounding like a drum in her head.

"There's a gnomish drug called swiftsail," Orin would speak after a moment of slowing down, coming to the realization that Citrine was having a bit of trouble keeping up without the full power of her wings. She'd center herself once again before continuing.

"Have you heard of it? I don't remember it in Golarian. It's essentially a magic drug that you ingest, and you have a major out-of-body experience- literally. It puts your body to sleep, but your spirit and sense of self come out and you travel through the skies for a little while, like you're flying," the eladrin would look over her shoulder. She would try not to think of anything else- nothing of the dark, the shadows, the cold on the breezes she felt even now on this warm night. Nothing of the desolation and sheer amount of suffering. All that time spent in the dark. All that time spent doing things that she didn't want to do to please her Winter Lady.

"We can use that to go to the Festival. Return to our bodies in, like, minutes afterward, and then we can figure out what we want to do about this," Orin would hold her hand up to emphasize the vial in her grip.

Back in her room, the eladrin didn't bother taking off the dress that was wrapped around her- at least yet. She would never let Citrine know, but the dress was actually rather comfortable. The eladrin had obtained an appreciation for elvish clothing throughout her time here in Faerun. The material was light enough to not really feel like anything, so it didn't really pull in awkward directions when she did things like lay down. She did, however, take off her heeled shoes the moment they came off the street, not even waiting until they were in the room proper. They were in her hands the moment she stepped back into the Mariner's Hall.

Having retrieved the drug from a small pouch wrapping in binding covered in the middle of a hallowed book, Orin withdrew two small leaves that were coated in a thin wax that made them shine faintly of a prismatic oil that would catch the eye with the seven colors of the rainbow. It was a drug that she had used once or twice, mostly when she was with Amafreya in Silverymoon, but only on special occasions. Like any drug, there was potential for abuse and risks. The chance for addiction still existed, and in the rare cases, in elves and other fey creatures, there was the slim chance of death- not in the mortal sense, no, but in the sense that they would disassociate with themselves so hard that they would simply become a breeze on the wind. Nothing more than a small torrent, waiting for the next cycle of life.

She wouldn't tell Citrine that, though. There didn't need to be another thing for the Firebird to worry about.

Orin would shift, however. Her arms would come up under Citrine's wings and around her. She would press a little closer, aware of the wings, but still finding a place to rest her head in the nook of the avian's collar. The bed, still new, was bound in different layers of blankets and pillows that they would have adjusted to help with Citrine's wings. Once they were comfortable, the eladrin would close her eyes. They had a dance to get to. The heavier stuff could wait until after the festival, but Citrine would know it was weighing on Orin just by the way she was being held tightly, pulled close for security- to know everything was going to be alright.

"Ready," Orin would murmur. With her longer reach, she would manage to get the swiftsail leaf into her mouth, press it under her lips and fold it under her tongue. First, the lips would go mostly numb. Everything would get tingly within the first couple minutes. Breathing would get more shallow. Perceptions would dim. Sounds would start to fade into echoes. Warmth would fade, not into cold, but into nothing. The sense of smells and touches faded, and for a moment, even Citrine, who she knew was wrapped in her arms, close enough to feel her heartbeat in her own chest, faded.

But then, everything would come back. With a rising feeling, they would each take the biggest breath they had ever taken, as if they had been on the verge of drowning. Any amount of weight they felt was lifted and it would feel as if they were unrestrained. They appeared, to each other (and anyone else that could see, feel or interact, in some way, with magic) as wispy shadows with the impressions of themselves. It wouldn't be able to be placed, but it was the closest Citrine would have ever seen Orin look like Orin. Her features were more neutral, but even now, with her kineticist abilities taken away and powers sealed within the Pact she had signed, Orin still possessed a mighty storm within her. "A desire to live free and unrestrained," Amafreya had told her.

"Come on," Orin would speak, her wispy hand reaching out for Citrine. When they joined, it was like they moved as one, if they willed it. Citrine may have been confused as to why Orin had cracked the window in her room, but they moved toward it, and with just an inch, they blew through it no problem, creating a small whistling howl as they did, the curtains moving, the fire in the mantle of the room flickering, dimming for a moment, and then coming back to a moderate glow, not that they would be there for long. With a sudden burst of speed, Orin and Citrine would be able to burst into the air straight up, waving with the currents coming from the Sword Coast. The view quickly came above the city teeming with life below and outward across the farmlands to the east, pathways highlighted and intersections like firebugs a night glade.

From straight up into the sky, they would spiral and coast back downward, aiming at the upper part of the city. Still connected, though it would trigger so many more memories for Citrine than it would for Orin at the moment. It would be reminiscent of the keep of the Skyfire Mandate on Triaxis. It would be the kineticist coming back from disappearing into the edge of the Abendego with a fully saturated energy, able to drive both of them away from the monstrous mythical hurricane of the Shackles. It would be Baba Yaga's hut overlooking the vast winter of the Serbian wilds in the early 20th century, the calm before the storm. It would be Minkai, right before the Heraldry called Citrine away, right before the last time she had seen Orin for more than a century.

It was also be a reunion. This meant new beginnings. This meant, on some level, they were still them, right? Somewhere within the frozen grip of the Winter that held Orin, she was still there, reaching out. She was still there, holding Citrine's hand. She was still there, arms wrapped around Citrine, never wanting to let go. She was still there, still connected on some level, and even if Orin didn't recognize it, Citrine would.

The winds would carry them to the north- to a garden the size of a square block, a small pond on the south end, a larger one hugging the city wall. Statues of heroes lined the area, though from above, they looked just like people, especially against the indomitable pale yellow blossoms of the magical fireblossom trees. The crowds were below them, but they were the wind! Orin would, though, simply take in the view for a moment before looking over Citrine as well. "We made it!" Orin would smile. It'd be this point, maybe, that the phoenix would realize that there was some kind of telepathic ability that connected them- at least as long as they were connected in some form. Holding hands seemed to be enough if she tried. Maybe that's why Orin hadn't let go of Citrine just yet? "Where did you want to start?" They hadn't missed the event just yet, spinning idly in place with one another in a slow circle, just above the rooftop level. The tree closest to the two of them would shift quietly in their breeze, the leaves pulling upward toward them.