#◜ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐄 — ( to act selflessly is anathema. ) / arc. our lady of prophecy. ◞

[orexias]

 she is a flirtatious thing, a wretched little creature whose favorite activities seem to be harassing the local guard with her mischief. all too often is it necessary for one, if not many, of the city watch, or the flaming fist, or a combination of the two are always putting her back where she belongs, inside the iron-fenced walls of the d'angelis estate, if only because it is what mother and father have bade them to do. still, this does not stop her mischevious nature, and she wanders out relatively frequently to test the waters, and the limits.

alas. perhaps this would be a fun game of cat and mouse if it weren't for... him.

@zilmdat , " it looks like you've found me again. "

she turns over her shoulder, sensing his presence, eyes rolling briefly as she looks him over. her arms cross over her chest as she adorns baldur's gate's newest fashions - this dress in particular has a high slit, and a snake motif around the midsection. she is never caught in comfortable clothing, it seems, and it's uncertain at the moment as to whether or not the good mr. barnes is being given an expression of amusement or annoyance.

she is dramatic, here, her wrists extended with the most incredulous sigh, as if to imply he needs to put invisibile handcuffs on her, to return her to her mother and father's suffocating grip. when he doesn't immediately do such a thing, her wrists drop, and she approaches, hands on her back. her hair is longer, here, than it would be in the future, dancing across her shoulders, and falling over one as she tilts her head. " hello, james, " she laughs softly. " must you take me back to the estate? can't we bargain for... oh, an escorted walk? " never make a deal with a warlock, bucky; they're always on the verge of turning it in their favor. (or do - you might have fun in the interim.)

[orexias]

presenting : advisor enver gortash & lady nesta d'angelis.   ,  a pre-plotted thread featuring @banedicti .

one might expect someone of such noble upbringings to understand a modicum of decency, the conservatism that comes with the higher baldurian courts. the d'angelis family had investment hands in just about everything - banks, loans, development projects... political campaigns. and with lady rhiannon and lord owain always so invested in the needs of their inferiors, lady nesta was always not far by their side. this gala, in particular, was one of importance, one that nesta was very much so informed she did not have the option of attending. it is important, as members of a society that works in the darkness behind the scenes, to maintain a shiny exterior, for the brighter the light - the bigger the shadow becomes. and the measure of nesta's reach is that of her beliefs - all-encompassing and all-consuming.

the dress is beautiful: evening gown of stygian shade, golden epaulets, a cloak to hide her exposed back from mischief-makers who might be otherwise entitled to lay claim to the small of her flesh, to touch that which is not offered. a circlet adorns her head, golden jewelry shining against the white of her hair, of her skin, of her eyes - as if she is an angel, like the ones depicted by the lathanderian temples. but the glass of wine in her hand, the rose brooch, no - those are all effigies of her intention. that she is a rose with thorns, that bleeding is sanctimonious, and that parties like these pale in comparison to the indulgences beneath these very floorboards. still, it is a good, quiet night - until it becomes instead an interesting one.

to see him is to gaze upon roadkill, nesta thinks; to be enamored by the charisma he exudes and yet repulsed by the act that put him here. this is not the first time she has met him, nor will it be the last, but she is amused, regardless, at the intention with which he strides across the room, long before the first dance, to greet her. this must be kismet, nesta thinks, and not statistics, with the number of times they've interacted with one-another in the settings belonging to her mother and father. despite this, her voice is low and sultry even still, her hand already extended for him to shake, to kiss the back of her knuckles, to do as he pleased. in settings like this, women were objects to greet and examine as they pleased, though nesta's calculating demeanor often intimidated away those with low charismatic fiber.

enver gortash, unfortunately, was not one of those men.

" advisor gortash, " she hums, pale eyes hiding a concoction of amusement and annoyance as her dreams of a quiet night are all but dashed away in favor of a wretched game of thrones and crowns. " what a... well, how appropriate it is to see you here. lady whittnia throws quite the ball, no? "

[orexias]

tag set. new verse.