#brudmila

[chickie-dee]

aw heck- if you Arcana requests are still open- May I ask what you think the guards look like (either with or without their masks!!) thank you! :)

I’m assuming you mean Ludovico and Brudmila, so here they are! Our lovely Rabbit and Deer respectively (embarrassed after getting reprimanded by Nadia at dinner lmaooooo)

Ludovico I see being around 5′7″ and Brudmila being a tol girl TM at 6′5″

The Arcana Requests are still open!

[chatoyisou]

some notes about rowan during the routes .

extremely wary within the palace . something is telling them that there ’ s something off about it , that they need to be careful . part of it is lucio , part of it is spending their time in courts before they died . always gotta be on your toes after all

they ’ d “ go for the nice options ” ! they don ’ t like being mean .

however , they also don ’ t like being late / the like . they don ’ t visit selasi nor the fortune teller during the prologue .

pets all the fucking animals i swear to god you cant stop them . the magic beast ? the dogs ? pepi ? all have been petted by them

snuck out of the palace & spent time with julian during the prologue ... which means they ’ re very curious . they go into lucio’s room in the prologue too .

a fucking mess half the time . they ’ re so caught up in doing their best for nadia & trying not to get overwhelmed by the memories lmao

sometimes ... an interaction ... has to be continued ... later . you know that thing about some people being more socially exhausting then others ? rowan culture 

they don ’ t watch julian ’ s execution

ludovich & brudmila used to be their old guards , but since the weird memory - wipe - thing they only have a sense of familiarity with each other .

by some coincidence the room they use in the palace used to be theirs

[collective-laugh]

Detective AU - Muriel x MC Chapter 3

Chapter One Chapter Two

Taglist:  @a-zoidberg-aesthetic @lesbiancountess @fartkittyonline@yaysam @y-all-dnt-ve @countgoatman-and-drleechboy @julians-chest-hair @softarcana @vesuviass @caterpiller-tea@zaemoultrie75901 @saltywerewolfrebel @obsessedwiththearcana@thatsaltyseaman @xburningwitch @i-dont-speak-wolf @missrabbitart

Chapter Three: Morality

Muriel lights a cigarette as soon as she’s locked the front door, turning the neon lights off as she hugs herself, arms wrapped around her torso and the heavy winter coat that covers her. She eyes the cigarette a moment, taking her bottom lip between her teeth, but says nothing, following him as they make their way down the street.

The only light is that of the street lamps and the soft glow of the cigarette, and he has half a mind to offer what’s left of it to her.

The half of his mind screaming at him to fork it over wins, and he holds the little burning stick to her. She eyes it, a bemused little smirk on her lips, before accepting the half smoked cigarette, “Thanks.”

He hesitates, unsure of what he ought to say, so he settles on a late, “Don’t mention it.”

She eyes him, obviously still thinking about what had just happened in her office, though he was certain she was trying to read his mind; tear him apart, bit by bit and understand just what the hell he was.

“I haven’t been out in...forever.” She smiles, a million miles away, “Thanks for letting me tag along.”

He’s blushing a thousand shades of red, he’s certain and lights himself another cigarette so he can busy his hands. Instead of saying anything smooth or suave or...charming, like the guys in the pictures, he says, “You don’t have to keep thanking me for everything.”

She rolls her eyes, sucking on the end of the cigarette with renewed vigor, “You sound like Asra.” He thinks of saying something along the lines of how they were raised together, but she continues, “I think that all the good people in this world deserve to be thanked for the good things they do.”

Immediately, he says, “I’m not a good guy.”

She arches a brow, challenging him, obviously not believing him in the slightest, “Really? You’ve given me no evidence to believe anything else.”

“You don’t exactly know me.”

She stops in the middle of the sidewalk, holding her arms out like she was the Christ, and says, “Okay. Prove me wrong.”

He tries not to smile, watching the way her eyes light up while she challenges him, “I’m gonna be late for work.”

She grins, smug as he’d ever seen any one person, “I don’t know if I believe in good and bad people, but I do think people are more inclined to one or the other.”

“And what makes you think I’m any good?”

She shrugs, “Asra trusts you, and you took me out to dance when I complained about missing it. So…” She tosses the butt of her cigarette into a puddle on the side of the road, “I think you’re a good person, and you deserve to be thanked.”

Muriel pouts, not willing to argue with her and not willing to believe that he was a good person, especially with the things he’s done. He pushes his hands into his pockets, letting the cigarette dangle from his lips, and he considers the idea that morality could really be so black and white.

It was unlikely, and the idea depresses him anyway.

They walk in awkward, companionable silence for a long minute, Muriel doing his best to come up with something to say to break the pause in conversation. He finishes his cigarette, considering lighting up another one right away, but thinks better of it.

“Tell me something about yourself, Muriel.” She prompts, wringing her hands together before explaining, “We’ve known each other for years, and I hardly know anything about you.”

He hesitates, and nearly refuses her completely. Instead, he mutters, “...like what?”

“Like…” She stretches the word far longer than she needed to, “what do you like to do in your spare time?”

Muriel furrows his brow, as if he genuinely didn’t know what he liked to do when he wasn’t working or sleeping, and realizes that that’s the extent of the things he does. “I have a dog.” He offers, hoping that that might satiate her questions for now, rather than her pressing him for more about him.

She is a detective, after all, and he should have known that as soon as he gave her an inch, she’d try to take a mile, “Really? So you like animals?” He can’t tell if she’s genuinely trying to be nice or if she’s picking his brain apart.

He shrugs, “Yeah.”

She bites her lip, and then asks, “Do you have a favorite flower?” She must realize that it’s an otherwise outlandish question and adds, “Asra told me you like to preserve them.”

He wonders just how much Asra’s told her about him, but by way of answering, he pulls out a small, pressed flower from his back pocket, and she pauses, looking it over with a soft smile, “Forget-me-nots.” He explains, feeling a little ridiculous for carrying the damn thing around and showing her.

She smiles, wide and bright and honest, and says, “It’s beautiful.”

He shoves it back in his pocket, embarrassment flushing across his face, and he shrugs, “It’s okay.”

She pauses again, racking her brain for another question, before settling on, “Is there anything you want to know about me?”

He asks the first question that comes to mind, “Where are you from?”

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

“Oh, I don’t actually remember that. I get...flashes, you know? Little memories.” She shrugs, “Asra tried to tell me a couple of times, but whenever I start remembering things, I get these migraines that just…” She shakes her head and rolls her eyes, “kill me.”

Muriel swallows, hard enough for his Adam’s apple to bob, and he feels shitty for asking something about the one touchy thing, bringing up the worst possible subject he could have gone for. She doesn’t look offended, surprisingly, but that does little to quell the shame bubbling in Muriel’s chest. He feels like shit, like he ought to apologize, but the words turn to ash on his tongue, unsure of how she’d feel about that.

“What do you think of the whole...Nadia thing?” She asks, blessedly changing the subject. It’s something neither of them were too keen on brooching, but he found it favorable to the hole he’d dug himself in.

“I think it’s a case.” He shrugs, “It’s from a mob wife. You’ll be paid handsomely.” It was a no-brainer, considering the hole that she and Asra found themselves in, but the implications of the law gave her pause, for good reason.

They spend the rest of the walk in silence, and Muriel is thankful for that.

The Rowdy Raven lives up to its name, at least in the idea of being rowdy. It was loud, far more than Muriel would ever find himself comfortable with, but he had to afford food somehow, and working at this dump was the safest bet.

He isn’t surprised to see Dr. Devorak there as he slips in the back door, the detective only a step and a half behind him, and he sighs, knowing he’d have to kick him out within the hour if he got too, well, rowdy.

“What time do you get off?”

He realizes for the first time that she came with him with the intent of staying for the rest of the night. It was nine o’clock now, and he wouldn’t get off until five, and given the big day she had tomorrow, she needed to get some semblance of rest.

Fuck, he dug himself into a hole.

“Not until five.” He swears internally, wondering how he could have forgotten that she needed an escort home, and that he wouldn’t be there to protect her from Vesuvia, “But I’ll find someone to walk you home before then.” He promises, trying to think of someone, anyone who he knew well enough to bring her back to the office.

He’s not happy with who he comes up with, but he figures he has no other option.

She arches a brow, challenging him again, “You think I need someone to walk me home?”

It’s late, and he’s definitely not in the mood to argue with her over the fact that Vesuvia would chew her up and spit her back out, so all he does is hand her a few crumpled bills from his pocket and says, “Enjoy yourself. I’ll send someone soon.”

He’s gone before she can protest or complain, clocking in and taking his post by the front door, taking over for Brudmila, and she’s left inside, money in hand. Ultimately, she decides that the best idea is to make her way for the bar. Muriel gave her money, for some reason, and she figures she ought to enjoy herself tonight before whatever tomorrow was going to bring her.

“Can I have a mai tai, please?” She orders, feeling small, but she was determined to have a good time.

The bartender nods at her, accepting her money, and as she waits for her drink, she hears, “Well, well, well, what have we here?” She would have rolled her eyes, would have scoffed and ignored the man, had she not known exactly who the owner of the poorly masked Russian accent was.

Julian tries - he really does - to hide the fact that he wasn’t from the States, but despite of his many, many talents, hiding his native dialect was not one of them.

“How are the headaches, detective?” Julian asks, leaning against the bar.

She shrugs, smiling at her friend, “Tolerable. How’s work?”

“Steady.” Julian waves the bartender over and orders a Salty Bitter, “And yourself? How’s work?”

She thanks the bartender for their drinks and takes a long, well deserved drink from the mai tai, eyes widening reflexively, “Nonexistent. No one seems to be looking for anyone anymore.”

Julian scoffs, “No one knows where to look for their missing people.” Julian nudges her with his elbow, “You need to get out of that hole in the wall and into an actual job.”

She rolls her eyes, “Right, because those old geezers are gonna hire me.” She waves at herself harshly, “The best I’d get is to be a goddamn receptionist.”

Julian shrugs, “It’s actual work, though.”

He had a point.

She sighs, “I didn’t come here tonight to depress myself.”

He waggles his eyebrows, “You came with talk, dark, and broody, hm?”

“And I didn’t come to talk about him.” She cuts him off sharply, doing her best not to smile, “Dance with me, doctor?”

“Gladly.”

Muriel has to break up a fight between two assholes within the first half hour of his shift, but it doesn’t stop him from keeping tabs on her, making sure that she’s alright. He doesn’t want to over stept, and certainly doesn’t want to send her home with Doctor Devorak, considering how drunk he knew the doctor was bound to get.

When he sees them dancing, he notices just how good they look together.

He tries to focus on his work.