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Nikki Thot

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SPECIAL DELIVERY ⸻ @babygirlhq

RECIPIENT ⸻ TRISTAN GOODMAN

daphne is well and truly preoccupied, the sway in her ‘step’ all the more pronounced as she’s accompanied by rolling wheels at her feet instead of just her usual heels. her pondering expression is punctuated by the index resting ever so acutely at the base of her chin as her absent pacing continues, one of her favorite magitek robots bounding through the air proclaiming ‘thinking too hard’ on repeat as if a blaring alarm that could never be properly silenced. “i know, puu, i know,” the reporter begins after a longer beat of silence from her end. “it just doesn’t make any sense. you would think —” her words are stopped short at the appearance of a messy-haired mumbler that was her adorable little hometown adversary.

“tristie!” she bolts from her stupor, leaping ( or rather skating ) suspiciously happily in his direction, though her face switches to something more serious than expected as she grips his hands in hers. “perfect timing, you little dorkasaurus! you’re just the guy i need." she offers, as if this arrangement hadn't been preplanned just a short while ago and their meeting now had been entirely coincidental. "you have to tell me the truth okay —” her voice lowers, vaguely conspiratorial in nature ( though that did seem to be the norm for someone like her ) as her glasses slip along the bridge of her nose. “the wiz-man — he’s totally your daddio, right? was it a secret love child scenario? does rookie know? the people are demanding answers and i swear if you lie to me about it —” the floating robot seems to interject here with a more devilish, and vaguely threatening expression. or as much as it can muster given its usual cuteness.

“ .. oh also," the reporter starts again, seeming to sidestep the earlier part of their conversation momentarily. "we can grab pudding or something somewhere, can't we? i seem to have run out somehow and i'm totally craving some serious sugar, you know.” while she'd normally prefer caffeine and sugar, given how many cups she'd already consumed in this later hour and how energized she already seemed, she clearly thought better of the idea.

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SPECIAL DELIVERY ⸻ @babygirlhq

RECIPIENT ⸻ DOMINIQUE DE SADE

when the idea was first presented, this rendezvous of supposed lovers, it seemed the sort of reprieve george could all but beg for. indeed, the freedom to wander from her overbearingly mirthless home and into the welcome company that was her betrothed brought an apparent glee to her gait — one her guard couldn't help but note with the coyest of smirks upon their typically troubled lips. 

the very moment doe-like hues fell upon the waves of viridian that was to be their midday picnic destination, a grin as wide and marvelous as a child in bliss danced along painted lips, gloved fingers clasping in joy as the lady settled upon domi's figure in the near distance. "domi, oh domi! how wonderful to see you!" practically gliding between the pockets of crisp white snow that met the otherwise glorious greenery, it took little time at all for their careful embrace. "i hope the journey wasn't a terrible one. i do wish we could grace each other much more often than we seem to." given their respective duties, however, such wishes may in fact remain just that — a want that could rarely be. 

for now, anyway.

"you must tell me all about your days since we last spoke." of course, georgina was informed to a point — having a tendency to send missives and the like when she was able. such things could seem rather lacking, however, and it could hardly compare to seeing the other in person.

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SABRINA CARPENTER via Instagram (July 31, 2023)

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“you say this as if you are so easy a man to deny. as i recall, you’re quite determined when you settle on something.” the fact was georgina had little idea, beyond what her father permitted her to know, the means the man went to to assure his reputation remain intact above all else. her ‘safety’ was a secondary concern, if an outright concern at all, though it did well to present as though this too were paramount. “letting you in on the game would ruin the fun for others.” george declares with a kind of certainty. “and you wouldn’t wish to ruin our fun, would you? that’d be rather rude of you.” as ulysses mentions future concerns, a small smile seems to grace her lips. “i shall do my very best, of course. i wouldn’t wish to deprive you needlessly, after all.” a wink follows.

“nonsense, you look just fine to me. and i believe my opinion is what matters most, no?” while aware it likely should have, his manner of attire was rarely something that concerned the dancer. so long as he was never a slovenly mess of a man, which seemed rather unlike him, he was just presentable enough, oftentimes. “besides, if you dressed any better, i fear eyes may wander where they shouldn’t. you are not an unfortunate looking man, ulysses.”

as the young noble moves about busying herself with the chore of freshening up backstage, she calls back as she trots off, “a kind gift, like a good woman, is always worth waiting for.” a smirk etches into the corners of painted lips. “see you in just a bit, sir lebeau.”

“If you really grew bored of my antics, you wouldn’t have even permitted me to come in here,” Ulysses answers. Having worked for her father briefly, he feels all too familiar with the bodyguards that are undoubtedly stationed somewhere nearby - with or without Georgina’s knowledge. And had he been a stranger, he could very well have had a weapon directed at his chest before coming within ten feet of her. If she wanted him gone, he wouldn’t have even made it close. “Of course I’m right. I often am. I believe people simply enjoy dismissing my ideas like it’s some sort of game that I was never let in on,” And he’s only partially kidding, but doesn’t give her any further time to think on his words. “I would certainly appreciate the honor of your time. And hopefully next time, it won’t be some weeks before you are able to grace me with your presence once more,”

He knows he cannot place the blame solely on her. She throws herself into her work, and he busies himself with his own, often working late into the night and finally sleeping once the sun rose. Although Ulysses was accustomed to night life, slowly becoming nocturnal was leaving him feeling groggy. There was always more work to be done, but he’d taken a surprise night off. He needed to stretch his legs and freshen his sights. And with a girl as beautiful as George on his arm, there wasn’t much more Uly could ask for on a night off.

Thoughts of dinner do make his stomach growl - and there’s a brief flash in his mind if Georgina tasted more like cinnamon or more like honey. He grabs hold of a nearby chair to remind himself she is a friend, and not his next meal ( which may have to come later that night, after he returns her to her quarters ). “Dinner and a proper night out. I suppose I should have dressed up better than this –” A smile strings along his face to disguise any tempting thoughts. “Since when have I not been on my best behavior? Me?” A free hand is placed over his heart. “You may as well just deliver that invitation to me now, rather than make me wait until the end of the night.”

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( nikki thot, she/her, human ) To DAPHNE DAPHROSE, the whole world looks like an open page. With a leap of faith, their skills in ALCHEMY grow a little stronger. For THIRTY-ONE years, they have survived a world of magic with both their TEMERITY and MEDDLING. They work as an INVESTIGATIVE PHOTOJOURNALIST FOR THE DAILY GRAIL and INFLUENCER, but if they could change their fate, they’d want to RECLAIM HER TWIN SISTER BY ANY MEANS and PROVE THE WORTH OF HER PARAPSYCHOLOGICAL ENDEAVORS + rook pendragon first girlfriend. tristan goodman academic rival. dollie alimjan influencer rival and occasional guest star

inspo includes the likes of the following: daphne blake + daisy dinkley of the scooby-doo series, m'gann m'orzz of dc comics, winry rockbell + rebecca catalina of fullmetal alchemist, honey lemon of big hero 6, lois lane of my adventures with superman

pinterest

&. ⸻ BASICS

name — daphne elladora daphrose

aliases — ( danger-prone ) daph

birthdate — october 23

zodiac — scorpio

birthplace — kardia

sexuality — panromantic pansexual

alignment — neutral good

temperament — sanguine-choleric

element — air

primary vice — avarice

primary virtue — kindness

occupation — investigative photojournalist + social media influencer

markings — a cursed jewel embedded in her chest

&. ⸻ HEADCANONS

her typical scent is a mix of orange blossom, vanilla, and a vague whiff of chemicals

despite her love of all things cute and fashionable and having an occasional tendency to portray herself as a stereotypical airhead, daphne has quite the stellar mind. she was a battle bot champ for a number of years in high school in fact, and a leading member and student of various honor courses, science and math clubs. she even had the option to graduate high school early, spending summers completing ap courses. she decided to stay to keep to a 'normal' experience in school, completing a dual major upon graduating college

for how infuriating he can occasionally be, she considers her boss, murray wheatbelly, among the best there is in the world of journalism and would follow him to the ends of the earth

pantsuits and comfy sweaters are among her go-to styles

she considers science and all its various trappings the ideal 'religion', though she tries to be respectful of others' beliefs all the same. that said, her interpretation of what's truly considered science can have some variation from what's considered 'traditional', with her taking to the power of the arcane, things like enchanted talismans, and anything that can shine favorably upon her to heart

she has been to jail on several occasions, mostly for breaking and entering

places like the archiviste library and the wizard's tower of rest ( when allowed in ), are among her usual haunts

she's a stress eater. it tends to appear more apparently when deadlines are looming

she is dirt poor a good portion of the time, but given her years of experience and convincing persuasive abilities, knows how to work the wealth of others to her advantage, and has plenty of connections to utilize on account of her occupation. particularly in the seedier sides of town

she is a lover of gossip and drama in all its various forms. reality television — specifically keeping up with alimjans — is her absolute guilty pleasure

paranormal fiction and various forms of fanfiction for those works also lie among her usual pleasures

her home is full of all sorts of magical tech, primarily in the form of these adorable bots

her kitchen bears a striking similarity to a chemist's lab, full of beakers and all sorts of supplies you'd rightly expect to find in a science class for some grand experiment rather than used, for example, to make someone's daily coffee

the people she dates tend to lie in the realm of the unusual or odd ( psychics, monster impersonators, weird dreamshades, etc ) and she has no trouble using those around her for the sake of a free meal or a great scoop. she considers it all to be for the greater good ( mostly meaning herself )

she has mildly controlling, OCD leaning habits when it comes to her home, routines, and general personal space. these tendencies are not necessarily overwhelming or utterly debilitating, however, she absolutely believes in everything having its proper place and will freak on anyone who disturbs her things. she even has her own personal label maker and keeps a variety of highlighters, notepads, and organizational tools on her person, outlining her belongings and so on whenever possible. her need to be prepared has also leant itself to keeping things like spare shoes,

she has had various odd jobs over the years to make ends meet, particularly when first arriving in selphia and eventually dealing with her internship. she worked as a mechanic for a summer or two in college, she's been a waitress at giovanni's, a part-time bartender, a teacher's aid, and so on

the glasses she may often adorn, specifically in the office, are strictly for appearances. she thinks they give her a certain kind of appeal despite not being necessary, which she'll gladly admit to if asked

&. ⸻ CURSE + OTHER SKILLS

daphne and her twin were cursed at a younger age due to their father's actions, with daphne suffering a curse of the body where her twin suffered one of the mind. daphne has the talent of ergokinetic metamorphosis, or the ability to shapeshift and utilize shapeshifting tactics with a basis in life-force energy. a living luna pen, in other words. her energy aura tends to resemble this hue, specifically

daphne's specialty lies in chemical warfare and transmutation, with her knowledge of chemistry, robotics, physics, and engineering having aided greatly in her efforts as an artificer of alchemical infusions. typically, her creations take the shape of chemically-enhanced, spherical concoctions with varying, transmutable effects and color range. these spheres are her primary method of offense and protection, housed in a purse-like storage system that can change style at will

some skill in martial arts, mechanical know-how, and the capacity to pick almost any lock also lie in her repertoire

&. ⸻ HISTORY

daphne and her sister were born in the farming town of kardia, with daphne often of the opinion, unlike her sister, that its small-town feel would never be enough for her — even in her youth, she was someone who desired the spectacular and extraordinary. despite yearning for life beyond its borders, she made the best of her time there for the sake of her family and the few friends she held dear. at some point in her final years of high school, she would come to know, love, and antagonize the local kardia kids upon agreeing to date rook pendragon for a period in an initial effort to make her ex jealous. she would keep in touch with them following her move to selphia some years ago ( primarily through scout and her various updates ) until they were properly reunited

a man of science himself in various aspects and wholly misguided in his efforts for his family, her father attained various medical and scientific breakthroughs by secretly experimenting on townsfolk, including his first wife, while acting as a resident doctor in kardia. he would be among the reasons daphne would choose to vacate kardia after awhile and to her knowledge, he is presently on the run

her sister's curse, which appeared to take the form of a mind link ability, would burden the poor girl to the brink of insanity before her disappearance. due to their shared mental link and the unexpected shattering of this connection at the time of her twin's disappearance, daphne suffered a version of a mental break herself and was hospitalized for a time. her belief in something supernatural or strangely otherworldly coming about to remove her sister's presence would stem from these indistinct, unreliable visions and her inability to decipher or perceive their meaning as her sister’s actual passing without witnessing it with her own two eyes. her move from kardia to selphia would occur shortly after her presumed recovery. to this day, however, she's still haunted by unclear imagery in the waking and unconscious world, lapses in memory, and various feelings of imposter syndrome which she refuses to address in a manner most would consider healthy

her connection to the establishment known as the poulailler, run and owned by ulysses' adoptive mother, derives from her mother's longstanding work as a dancer there. daphne and her sister would visit in summer when they were younger, and for a time, particularly during daphne's internship with the daily grail, the woman's work was their primary source of income when daphne was between temporary jobs. aside from what her uncle, her mother's brother-in-law, supplied them with, of course. and while she doesn't blame her mother for seeking out what's best for her in her choice to run from kardia, the woman's presumed abandonment of her daughters with a man like her father has resulted in some resentment on daphne's end

daphne's interest in putting herself out there in the realm of reporting initially took the form of her doing the morning news while in middle school or participating in the fashion club's gossip column in later years before shifting with other interests. in time, a want to expose her version of the truth in a world that seemed hellbent to bury or ignore it, specifically with the paranormal, would drive her to where she lies today. her father and his work, and the eventual mystery surrounding the disappearance of her sister would inevitably play their part in enhancing this desire

her habit of treating matters and social opportunities like a giant experiment would eventually lead to her work as an influencer, seeming to come about almost accidentally in her effort to manipulate and test social algorithms. but she takes great pride in her curated efforts, keeping to a dedicated schedule and utilizing her talents ( and those of her unpaid assistant ) to make the most pristine content. most of her work seems to center on clothing, cosmetics ( magical or otherwise ), and various scientific or paranormal endeavors

these days, her hard work and efforts are focused on finding what remains of her sister, proving the worth of her studies on the effects of the paranormal, supernatural, and cursed activity on the intellectual entity within the human environment, and kicking butt in her search for all variations of truth and justice. oh, and of course, looking amazing while doing all of it

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SPECIAL DELIVERY ⸻ @cagliostrostart

RECIPIENT ⸻ OPEN

the tournament was certainly an event leonore would intentionally avoid. despite the cover of the crowd, the amount of security could prove a troublesome affair if she weren't careful. and she generally had little interest in the workings of the crown, these days. unfortunately, with the supposed completion of necessary repairs, the knight's presence was practically deemed a requirement for the retrieval of her favored weapon, now residing in marc's capable hands.

she was also hoping to avoid a certain someone, and the excuse proved rather useful there as well.

"my apologies," she offers quietly, her shoulder brushing past another as the hood of her cloak rests low to obscure her features from immediate view. the next of her words fall as her gaze briefly meets the other. "would you perhaps be able to direct me to the blacksmith's location? i'm somewhat .. turned around, it seems." considering all that lay between her and her apparent destination, perhaps she should have expected such an outcome. there was a wonder cast towards the thought of iona, and whether they reached their dear friend as intended.

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SABRINA CARPENTER photographed by Shaira Luna for Vogue Philippines

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he doesn't seem to deny her, at least, and she'll claim that as a victory. granted, it may have been a more .. practical request to aid him in his chores here, with the many fauna rummaging and rushing about and certainly keeping the man well-occupied. she had little doubt he could use another helping hand, but suspected, seemingly correctly, that this would be the last thing he'd permit her. or even want to teach her as would surely be required. as, again, the few skills she possessed were obviously not at all to his standard. no, she was much better suited anywhere but in these fields, as much as she may wish otherwise. the idea of cuddling with such wonderful creatures regularly and being a figure to care for them brought a great warmth to her heart, however.

"should i save a few for you?" george questions as she notes the way jiro gravitates towards her works, a touch of pride swelling in her chest as she was quite certain very few things could capture his attention so. "i have plenty to spare, and i notice your place could use some .. sprucing up." she offers as kindly as she can, trying her best not to outright insult his home or his preference in décor .. or lack thereof. it struck her as such a lonely place, without the animals around.

as the turtleducks scamper away into his orbit, giving him their undivided attention in the most delightful manner, georgina takes the opportunity presented to break away from her paintings. it was time to fulfill the task she placed upon herself, no matter how terrifying a venture it seemed. "you really are sweet with them." she notes, rising to her full height on still bare feet. "i'll just get lunch started, then, if you're sure you don't mind. do you have a preference for ... anything in particular?" the dancer understands even before she finishes the question that perhaps he'd have little in the way of actual concerns for the meal she chooses, so long as she isn't interfering. "actually, i'll just .. surprise you, i think." she settles on this as she moves towards the actual residence, removing herself from his field of vision in practically no time at all despite the nature of her injury.

The most that's given is a grunt. Jiro never has the time for humor ( and he'd forever deny it if anyone was to witness otherwise ). There's always something else to do instead. For instance, the orphaned Bearowl cub could use fresh bedding. New soil and fertilizer should be spread around the nest of budding apodemus raphanus soon. Hell, even the tigocodile could be fed a little early.

Yet he finds his eyes straying — has been for a quite some time. Though he may not seem like it, Jiro isn't impervious to the influences of art. Find the right portrayal and even he can have his breath taken away. Such is the response to the handiwork found on the guest's craft. Try as he might ( and he has tried ), he finds himself stilling — softening — at the sight of them.

Another disgruntled harrumph and he begins to busy himself once more. "Do what you will." Is all that's offered as the turtleducks are beckoned his way. They all flock to him at once — some almost tripping over another in excitement. He, in turn, squats down with hands splayed to let the feathery bodies bump and nip against. "But do stay out of my way."

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"hey, fuck you, i'm a goddamn royal delight!" the lady vanitas offers, never realizing the partial truth of her words where royal is concerned.

she's gotten to the point of his body where her hands can reach his neck, grasping and tearing and pulling herself upward like a willful kitten clawing a grand tower. once she settles against his back, daena allows her gaze to narrow into slits, curled claws inching near his nape and a sly threat resting on her wicked tongue. a wild grin etches forth. "apologize, bish boy, or the curls will get it." it's why the decision came to go higher if possible, concluding vengeance against that mane of his would prove the best lesson. "also," daena gives in a quieter tone. a beat, and the lady vanitas seems to rock even more forward along his right side, resting on his shoulder as she shifts towards bishop's face in a way that kept obscurity of her own to a minimum. her arms slither across his neck and along his shoulders far too comfortably. "have you seen your bitchass bro around? i have a bone to pick with him too."

He should've known. Much like the uncanny sight without seeing, Bishop should've fucking known better. The banshee shriek shouldn't have been surprising, but he clearly hadn't prepared himself. So he flinches. Sharply. Would've jerked to the side hard enough to tear his quad if it wasn't for the immediate constriction. Like a captive of a highly unwanted boa, he finds himself pressed for air.

"What.. respect is warranted by this fuckin' act?" He bites back, bickering at half the volume but with the same vigor. "Maybe if you act regal n' shit, I'd fuckin' remember."

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while iona may not take immediate note of the long-standing placement of her hands, it is an observation hardly lost on the knight herself. the unfamiliarity with such … intimacy between them apparently occurs to leonore only then. and while a significant part of her places concerns towards propriety and manner, the allowance to marvel at the priestess from a closer angle and ensure her stability permits enough pause that she seems to conclude it acceptable in the end. at least, for the moment.

"and what might 'this' be, then? if you're so certain a trained hand cannot assist." the query is not riddled in accusation as some may assume, merely a wish to understand the nature of what they were now dealing it. the apparent awareness of their circumstance intrigues the bodyguard, surely. and if it is a matter they were to suffer through regularly, it would help to know how to proceed in the future.

"… reunited?" the matter of trust and whether it fell towards their lady and iona themselves is briefly forgotten, this revelation in wording drawing complete focus perhaps for no other reason than the oddness it provoked in her mind. there was something to the weight of it, how it seemed to imply more than just her arrival recently.

the sudden recollection that this actually had not been the first indication of more to their overall situation has her expression shifting accordingly, a hint of suspicion in the glint of her eye. "iona," leonore begins patiently, "i get the impression you are not sharing all you need with me. is there something .. more you wish to divulge, by chance?"

Unrest lingers amid the upwind Iona finds themself riding. All that talk is good for something — other than the sweet sound of strange laughter from their companion. The gift of the gab easily diverts what attention the priestess had dedicated to the pain. Ventuswill willing, it subsides from breathless agony to a dull ache. Every few moments, it flares like echoing droplets from a faucet. However, the affectionate words spur a timid smile and a blistering fire that lights their heart and face with warm embarrassment. Iona does not take their hand from the place on Leonore’s forearm, not that they notice it remains. All the while, they mull over the frog that has climbed into their throat and whether those statements are sincere till they remember that they are the ticking time bomb.

While their companion might think herself the sullied, they can hardly imagine the blood she has spilt — and neither should they! Leonore is a vision soaked in gold and crowned by a blinding light. Nothing less. Never anything less. It is plain to see that Ventuswill chose her as Her sword. Back on that dreary day in Rigbarth, it was clear to see. And it would be a disgrace to overlook how they could ruin the knight with this gnawing hunger. The realization of their foolishness should be followed by distance, but Iona is not so strong as to do any such thing. Goddess’s messenger and yet inextricably selfish. None of what Leonore suggested could be true while they were an unbeknownst danger. Especially not when their frightened gaze was reflected with the tenderness in Leonore’s eyes. Nor with the frustration they harbor towards her poor memory.

“No physicians,“ they insist strongly, squeezing her arm, "I can’t see a physician. They cannot cure this.” They bite their lip until wetting the both of them with their tongue. Searching for some kind of guidance in the empty corners of the cabin. She would not understand. And yet, further guilt trickles in when they think of how daft they are to make a scene. How everything must be about themselves. All this self-reflection the only defense Iona had anymore when plagued by the weakness of the body.

"It’s not that easy. I can be of help now, as the Divine Wind expects of me. Do you trust Her? Do you trust me? We’ve hardly been reunited for very long, but…” they trail off, hand suddenly dropping from the muscles of the knight’s arm. Clasping doubtfully to the hope they might not have to share the reality of this curse from a mind already addled with its shame.

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ELECTRIC PULSE | event iii.

tendrils of inky blackness and brilliant crimson hues.

these are the first images to shutter across her mind's eye, the former royal of varael recalling little else, initially, as she comes to in what she was certain was death's lair. yet, she would come to think better of her circumstances with the jolt of pain that shoots through her wrecked figure — the slightest shift apparently enough to signal a deed well done by her opponent thus far.

amber irises ease to life at a near snail's pace, gradual blinking beneath a flutter of lashes and bruised skin.

ah, she thinks.

right.

and the blow she couldn't see coming dents her already swollen left cheek, cracking into back teeth. a smattering of blood sprinkles the darkness in specs of gold as her body is sent lurching outward, skidding along the barrier of their enclosed little domain once in contact.

the echo of her pained utterance, the lacking, unknowing expression pieced together in worn features seems to fill her enemy with an unrelenting glee. granted, the brilliance of their teeth was dulled in a prison of their own making, but it remained present all the same. they were sure now more than ever. the girl could stay down. they could practically taste their victory.

just one more go of it, just one more solid hit, and that'll be the match. they were quite enthusiastic, nearly skipping in their joyous mood.

yet, the sight of her blood escaping her desperate, decrepit little self doesn't bother the former royal of varael.

the tip tip tapping that signaled the coming steps of her now well-enthused enemy stir her in a vague sense of the word, but the alarms aren't blaring.

for once, daeneryn is seemingly entirely composed, still, emitting a calm in a manner that's outright terrifying as she lies there. rotting like a corpse.

daeneryn notes the bellowing of the crowd — once a formidable roar of thundering applause and marvelous delights — is now a dull whisper against the near impenetrable blanket of shadow.

a sliver of a grin situates itself well before she fully does.

her fragility appears to be on rare display for an unknowing audience as unsteady limbs attempt to push the figure attached upright again. the daggers that would glisten where human teeth should reside are as dull as her enemy’s own. yet, they slither forward to a point of prominence, seeming to slice through a bloodied, golden mouth ( and this was not just a symptom of her tongue ring ) and sever into already aching, tender flesh. it breeds a wild, maniacal impression of the former princess — and in a flash, it all practically vanishes. the blur of daena seems to launch itself from one side of the room to another, halting suddenly before the once confident figure of her enemy. appearing to relay the shock of her abrupt appearance into the depths of wavering bones, the next thing her opponent feels is a crack beneath their chin as an open hand thrusts upward against it, propelled by an unimaginable force.

she's free.

cast in a nearly endless veil — the pinpricks of light that dance along the shadow globe's ‘ceiling’ are not at all enough to be concerned over and barely allow for true visibility — an impenetrable shield. daena realizes she's struck the motherlode.

she’s free. for a moment. only just.

finally.

free to mangle, to choke, to tear into delicate flesh with all the obscurity the shadows allow.

no longer did she have to take in deafening blow after deafening blow, to dart around with intention to defend, to maintain a cover she barely cared about. trapped as they were in this pocket of darkness her enemy had so foolishly permitted, her risk for exposure was non-existent.

and she grasps her opportunity with clinging, gnashing, wanting teeth — devastatingly unhinged at every passing step.

and oh, the pain.

the divine, marvelous agony of aching.

she seems as if an insatiable thing, overall — how easily she bursts through shielded flesh, carving through skin and bone with such a marvel of motivation. in every instance of her blood flooding forth by her will — launching her forward at remarkable speed, elongating claws to ridiculous lengths, creating bullets out of her enemy’s guts, keeping the remnants of her work entirely within herself so that only she knew the truth — she’s further rendered a bloodthirsty wreck. adrenaline and rage are all she knows in time, suffering through every shudder of motion, barely coherent of her actions.

and desperate as she is to taste, to further give in to sweet ecstasy, she swallows nothing of her prey. demonstrating a fringe semblance of control even in her darkest, most glorious moments. a well-earned discipline and a notable feat in the face of such longing.

with the eventual collapse of its master, the veil melts away gradually. daena emerges victorious. drenched in red and no longer bearing signs of the maniacal fiend her opponent would know with horrifying clarity, the leader of vanitas seems rather small and child-like, even helpless. especially draped in her usual sigil jacket, the DGF cropped tee barely peeking through.

any semblance of conversation that could have occurred in their domain of darkness would remain almost entirely unheard by audience ears. at most, the cry of her enemy would pierce through, due to just how devastatingly shrill it became.

she leaves her opponent effectively swiss cheese, in the worst possible sense. the cause of such is never revealed to the crowd, the spirit warrior seemingly lingering with a thread of life, rendered wholly incapacitated.

the moment the time runs down, daena has collapsed to her knees. a mess of shattered bones and various fractures, ruptured skin.

medical is on their way to render care.

and the only breathless words on offer for her exit interview are, “rosalind alimjan. goddess be fucked. go out with me.”

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SABRINA CARPENTER via Instagram Stories (January 25, 2023)

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SPECIAL DELIVERY ⸻ @vicioushauntings

RECIPIENT ⸻ SIMON MUHN

the scenes on display thus far were gruesome, visceral ordeals, and entirely the sort of behavior that has george cowering behind parted fingers in all her finery, the screams of the crowd seeming to wash over her and amplify her anxieties over the whole affair tenfold. she was only present out of obligation to her family, much preferring the quiet of jiro’s home, for example, to all this needless bloodshed and violence. her stepping away as she had only a few moments ago had been during an intermission, with her sisters growing so tired of her behaving as if the world were collapsing around her that they begged her to be a ‘sniveling mess elsewhere’ for a change. when she initially refused, for fear of wandering where she would prefer not to, her father had threatened in a whisper, ‘relieve your sisters this very instant or else i'll throw you into the ring myself, like i did that heathen boy.’ and these words seem to stick with her, shatter something in the core of her.

the blatant implication of wishing to do away with a nuisance that was not herself could only mean one other and her father was apparently aware george knew his dirty secret. so whether ren knew the reason for his fate or not, whether ren was truly her father’s or not, the man had little intention of denying anything to her face now it seems, choosing to ‘end’ the problem before anyone else could discover any possible truths and using the tournament as others may have to rid themselves of ‘difficulties’. it was too much to take in.

the young noble has no idea what to do with this information besides bolt, suddenly, frantically, in search of the boy who did not deserve to endure such a horrid circumstance — no one did. in her haste to move forward, pockets of ice seem to burst from where she once lied, and thankfully any embarrassment this may have caused her father is mitigated by the privacy the family had been permitted with their very own box in the stadium. any views from this arrangement, however, are partially obscured by the sharpened blades of ice springing forth, her sisters particularly at risk of suffering injury given their former proximity to georgina.

in time, she bumps into a man who looks as if he may prefer to be anywhere else himself, pleading present in her voice when she dares part her lips. “excuse me, but .. have you seen this boy?” she points to a tattered picture that apparently had been folded multiple times, or perhaps even torn into pieces, at one point. it was a photo she’d kept on her person for awhile now, from back when her father thought he’d done away with it. george just couldn’t rid herself of it yet, an idea planted in her head that should she fail to keep this ‘proof’ then she was merely imagining the whole thing. “he .. might be performing soon, i’m told. i need to find him before then, so if you could .. if you know anything ..” she could feel tears threatening to spill forth as her head lowers, frustration with the situation starting to get the better of her. it seemed a silly, common occurrence whenever ren was involved. she couldn’t believe her father’s cruelty.

“anything at all, please ..”

[grxmincvdescxnce]

"i assure you, good sir, i wish i did." she declares upon closing in on the boy, the quickness in her gait holding an air of frustration as her expression keeps in line with similar feelings of annoyance and utter impatience. this was not a task she was meant to be saddled with, but her usual aid had come down frightfully ill recently and was still recovering. "you are renato luna." this was not a question. "and we apparently share a father, i'm told, though honestly it is the most ridiculous claim." 'told' in the loosest form of interpretation, of course, as she happened to overhear matters she should not have.

"my father is .." the kind words and showering compliments do not breech her lips as she intends, the noble struggling to put form to the complicated feelings the figure of her father summons. ".. he would never dare betray his family in such a horrid fashion. so then," it's as if george is trying to convince herself, more than anything. "i need you to explain to me why he wants you dead because it just .. it can't —"

tears well up and threaten to cascade down, her view of ren already blurring as droplets of ice eventually slip along the apples of her cheeks. her fists balling and twisting into the fabric of her dress, the mere idea of such betrayal overwhelms the dancer to the point she fears she may succumb to a panic attack of some kind, the thumping in her chest as rapid as a hail storm. the confusion of circumstance, in what it might mean for the family she's given up everything for, lay her heart heavy with the sort of grief she's never truly known. "renato luna, i demand an explanation." george offers quietly, softly, as if pleading for an easier truth.

GEORGINA ODETTE && RENATO LUNA

Having a famous mother meant Ren had almost seen it all - obsessed fans, uncomfortable letters, and even those desperate enough for a look at her that they had followed her home. He, luckily, had remained out of her spotlight, even if it had still affected him, Ren had never been the center of so much attention before.

He’s not sure when a stalker of his own started, but when he begins noticing the same tall man in a dark coat always a few feet behind him, even on his way home at night, Ren starts taking notes on him everywhere. When he orders his morning coffee, the man is sitting at one of the tables. When he visits Gabs, the same car is parked on the other side of the road. Even when he visits the comic book shop, the man idles at the bookstore just outside. He first notices the other girl when he picks up his lunch for the afternoon. Now she looks familiar…and Ren can’t understand what he’s done that’s lead him to attract such an audience.

Curious if she’ll still follow him, he takes his lunch outside and across the street - and minutes later, he sees her crossing the street as well. He grows frustrated, and makes his way down an alley filled with cardboard boxes - enough for him to conceal himself - and he waits until a second pair of footsteps echoes against the brick walls.

“I’m not sure what you want –” He pulls himself away from his hiding spot behind the boxes. “ – but whatever it is, I’m not interested. I don’t want what you’re selling. And I’m probably not the person you’re actually looking for,” He scowls. “Why don’t you tell me who it is you’re actually looking for? I assure you, you have the wrong guy.”

@grxmincvdescxnce​

[grxmincvdescxnce]

the sudden onset of a much more fragile form as iona sways and, in time, leans into leonore for support as they nearly collapse has the knight at full attention. rigid as a stone, neither her gaze — now in search of possible cause as it remains steady in offering the concern she cannot give voice towards presently — nor her footing falter. as the sweat and imbalance persist alongside quicker breaths, for a time there is consideration given towards a doctor. and, in this passing moment, leonore finds herself quite mournful of the state of their situation, in her need to remain unseen and their complete isolation. and this was certainly not the first instance of such — of her wanting to provide in a way she found almost impossible under the circumstances. these worries present themselves in a rueful fashion now, an almost hollow laugh, as the compliments and condemnation of self flow from the priestess’ lips. 

“if either of us were truly ‘saddled’ in this matter, i fear the very opposite is true.” by which, of course, she meant iona being forced to deal with someone like the bloodied knight in any capacity. “you are a marvel in your dedication to our lady, in your willingness to push ahead and ensure the care of others despite your own circumstances. i commend your strength. and your kindness.” whether it was the words themselves or simply a matter of coincidental timing, the bodyguard notes the regained composure with which iona seemed to settle into thereafter. a quiet sigh escapes as the pair seem to ease into a calmness together, a wonder cast towards the idea of medical attention once more.

“when we come to the next town, we’ll make sure to have you looked over. it shouldn’t be more than a day.” she notes, her tender gaze still upon the priestess with what was likely an overwhelming level of focus. “do you think you can manage until then? i’ll handle the food for now.” the latter was not a matter up for discussion. it was obviously important to secure any nourishment they could as soon as humanly possible, and the priestess was in no state to take command of the task. “you may take on the duty once you’re up for it, but not a moment sooner."

A wave of heat passes. The Dragon Priesthood’s cloak suddenly makes the room warm, sticky, and unbearable. They are left tugging at their neckline as sweat prickles down their back. Perhaps it is the act of standing up that precipitates the sudden sickness, the burning of the bite above their hip or Leonore’s uncomfortable question.

The speed with which she meets Iona doubles the so-called nervousness. The concentration on breathing entirely vapid now that she stands so close to them. Stomach grumbling yet again and bloodlust resurfacing with an incessant need and an ache in their veins. They meet her eyes with rippling gazes before their fingers close around her arm for balance. Bitter comfort that they wholeheartedly do not deserve. In all their pain, it is a soft grip as they attempt to refocus on the sound of the wind and the Goddess’s will lapping against the cabin.

"I’m alright.” It careens out on an exhale before sending another fleeting look upwards at the taller of the two. They hadn’t the will to lie and say that it was only foolish butterflies that carved out their innards, so their nod follows with pursed lips. There is no telling for what reason they do so, but it is all they can muster on the question long since passed. Their palm feels like it is burning more unremittingly wrapped around Leonore’s arm than their bite; a welcome escape.

“Thank you. I think you’re doing amazing,” they put forth, harkening to the shadow of doubt that had once been on the woman’s face when their breath evens. It is an attempt to ignore the condition they are in. Grasping gently albeit desperately to the knight. The beads of sweat collected upon their forehead. The pained way in which they talk, hissing, almost like that of a snake. Blinded by admiration or not, the compliment continues and so does the distraction, “I’m more than thankful for your help. I hardly know what I’m doing– what with this sickness,” an honest slip-up for the way they were deteriorating. Yet, it seemed the only excuse for their embarrassing behavior – other than natural frailty. “If the Goddess hadn’t saddled you with me…” Iona felt certain that Leonore knew how that statement would end. They would no longer be human, and, given the state of the curse and the trouble they always seemed to be fleeing from, long gone. A duck of their head admits such incompetence. Somehow, always a damsel.

[grxmincvdescxnce]

"bishooooppp!" she's absolutely several pitches louder than the words once delivered, the sound of her screams reverberating in the seeming quiet, echoing against the solid walls in their vicinity.

daena doesn't approve of what she perceives as blatant disrespect — the idea of bishop dismissing her as one of several seems to lean enough in this direction, at least, and perception is everything. she seems to round on him like a rabid flying rodent, her body contorting in such a way as to climb him like a bending tree before her legs curl around him and her yells breach seemingly uncaring ears. "whatthefUCK is wrong with your bitchass! i'm daeneryn you asshole, treat me with the respect i fuckin deserve, you fuckface!"

status: closed @grxmincvdescxnce | location: off to the side in the arena somewhere

It doesn’t take much to know who’s come prowling around. Not when he’s able to see outside of the naked eye again. A bit of idle soul searching and a name’s flagged to the one nearest.

“Get in line if you wanna butt heads. Up to the thirties and I ain’t got ‘nough time for all of that,” Bishop states as he stretches, knowing damn well it’ll help in the long run. Hardly knows the person he’s pitted against for the tournament. Best be prepared in case they, too, hold a fierce grudge against him.