#dellarosula

[dukemeropide]

quite the bargain for you, i must say!

"Wow, a visit from the President of the Spina di Rosula herself. This business with the intergalactic pop star must be pretty important for you to set aside personal issues to come all the way down here. Why don't you join me for my afternoon tea and we'll discuss Miss Robin's freedom?"

(45 minutes later)

"... Long story short, you'll have to take it up with the court."

"Thanks for the twenty."

[huntersoath]

"I'm not scared. Not of you."

"Today's duel was quite dramatic, did you hear? A huge change in pace, everything's been so boring lately..." A woman speaks in a hushed tone, excitement flashing in the depths of her eyes.

"I did, actually. I wish I had been there. I feel like I really missed out on the drama." Another woman, slightly shorter, held an umbrella over the both of their heads in an attempt to shield them from the light patter of rain.

"I heard his family was in the audience. When it was all done and over with, his wife rushed up and had to be escorted away by the Gardes. I feel a little bad for his son, though... He kept begging for Daddy to get up."

"Seriously? That sounds like something straight out of an Opera, you know. Still a shame that I didn't go."

"That Duelist, Clorinde... She's really scary! I wonder how many people she's killed? And she doesn't even bat an eye!"

"I don't know, I try not to think too much about it..."

Chewing at the inside of her cheek, Clorinde opts to take a longer route home, the detour specifically chosen to avoid any of the populated areas of the Court. ---- "He wouldn't yield." The normal mask of impenetrable calm on Clorinde's façade had begun to crack and crumble under the pressure of her words. She's meant to be a pillar of strength and reliability, her every action and every word measured and deliberate. But as with everyone else, there are bad days. There's days where it's harder to keep a straight face, where it's harder to suppress the feelings that threaten to swallow her whole; when she's presented with the past so plainly, replaying the final moments of Callas Caspar over and over and over in the back of her mind until the only noise she can hear is Navia's scream of anguish. "He knew he would die. He knew it. And as always, I made the conscious decision to do my job, as he made his. There's... no justice to be found in tearing families apart."

Truthfully, it's rare to have such a second guess about her profession. She's always understood the implications of her role, and for the Fontainian public to refer to her as a glorified executioner is not entirely wrong. The blood on her hands has seared into her skin until Clorinde can no longer remember what it felt like before she took a man's life-- there are times at night where she wakes up panting, nails digging into her skin with the sole intention of scraping the memory of red splashed across her palms. There are times where she feels as if she is drowning, where she dreams of a time where on the opposite end of the dueling right, there lies Navia; unmoving, run through with Absolution's blade, and the life essence of another Caspar smeared across her shirt, her skin, her blade. She's not talking about today's duel anymore.

Clorinde's hands are balled into fists so tight that her knuckles run white; they grasped and clawed at the fabric of her skirt as she hunched forward slightly, staring at nothing in particular on the floor. A tremor slowly spread to her arms, and then her shoulders, almost as if she was making a poor attempt to carry a great weight that her body was wholly incapable of bearing. "I don't know how you do this. How you choose to keep me close." The words were blurted without care, far before she has a chance to truly think about it. Yet despite the primal fear that set into her gut, she raised her gaze to lock with the other's-- violet eyes appearing cold and beyond reach, a stark contrast to how she normally presented herself to Navia. She trusted her, implicitly and without hesitation, yet... Navia kept a lion in the den far too close to her to be deemed safe. Clorinde's fangs dripped with blood, and she is beloved by the public, yet only when she is securely caged behind the boundaries of the dueling ring. When everyone is safe from her deadly claws, keeping their distance as she strides in circles around her prey. The stares she gets and the hushed whispers she hears in her wake confirmed the thought on a daily basis. "I'm not scared. Not of you." Navia's tone was softer than she'd ever heard it before, and Clorinde's brows knit as her mouth began to shape around some protest, awful and devastating. The tremble in her lower lip gave away her train of thought, threatening to succumb to the trench that never failed to drag her deep into its depths. Her voice wavered as she spoke, coming out as more of a choked reply than anything else. "I killed him, Navia."

Her eyes, typically steady and discerning, have lost their usual sharpness-- where her breathing normally remained steady, her chest began to rise and fall with a subtle, uneven rhythm. Clorinde felt her eyes begin to water, and she bit down hard on the inside of her cheek in a futile attempt to force her tone to remain even and calm. She's highly aware that she didn't deserve this treatment. Navia never had to allow her back into her life, but she did. She did. Perhaps she shouldn't have. Quickly, Clorinde covered her face as the tears began to fall-- and this might be the first time Navia has ever seen her cry, ever since Callas's death and since the seemingly irreparable damage to their relationship. She doesn't want to cry, she doesn't deserve to cry for something like this-- because ultimately, it's her who threw the wrench into the cogs of their relationship, even if she had no other choice but to honor Callas's wish to die by her hands. It's her who drove her blade into the chest of today's opponent, and into the chest of the only man who had treated her like a daughter. "I killed him. I'm sorry, Navia."

She repeated the apology almost as if it were a sort of mantra, curling in on herself as her words are broken by the occasional sharp breath punching through her lungs in the same way a bullet would. If it was Navia holding the gun, she'd take that bullet. It was only fitting, after all, for a daughter to properly avenge her father's killer- perhaps that was the justice she deserved all along.

@dellarosula

[sweepingthunder]

[CUP PONG] - From across the dimly lit table, Navia flashes her opponent a wide grin. If their previous encounters are any indication, this will be the nation's least eventful game in perhaps ever. Not that she minds, frankly. The little ball twirls between her fingers as she lines up her shot and-

-it bounces harmlessly to the floor.

"Seems my luck hasn't changed since our last game, Mr. Jing Yuan."

"Quite the contrary. I recall your aim being rather precise last time we met." Tossing the small ball upwards, it lands gently in his palm. As Navia whiffs her shot, a contemplative shake of his head. "Or perhaps, you've given it to someone else..."

As he takes aim, his eyes narrow. The ball whistles as it soars through the air, and eventually, a gentle plunk as it lands easily into cup. A smirk, as a few more balls are shot and land into the cups of Fonta. "Such as myself. Drink are on me, lady Navia." After succeeding in 4 shots, he misses his 5th, and cracks his knuckles. Already off to a great start.

[huuuugestmoney]

♡ aheemheem

[ kiddo meme ]

listen i don't know much about miss navia aside from 'boss of fantasy mafia' but that is Enough to know that this child would get into So Much Trouble ❤️

misc -navia eye colour, sampo eye shape/pupil -unfort doesn't Quite have navia's fabulous curls in the back but makes up for it in sheer volume -confident lady for sure

[balemouns]

about navia ... :eyes:

Send me “About [NAME]” for my character’s thoughts on another character! - accepting!

"spina di rosula and poisson are nearly one in the same; very little in the underground city is untouched by the spina, and their proliferation spreads into the court of fontaine as well up from the city's underbelly. it was a relief to see a favor for a favor exchanged between us several months ago. and in several respects, I believe miss navia and I actually have much in common -- capacity to identify shared interests and avenues for cooperation, but operation from the shadows, like a slow bleed from the core."

a breath. "but, why we operate our respective organizations also differs greatly. altruism is not necessarily an aim of the house of the hearth, where spina di rosula seems as though they'd like the people of fontaine to perceive that as their primary aim. whether that's truly the case with their occasional extralegal operations... it's hard to say. the house of the hearth, meanwhile, does not pretend to be anything other than what it is."

[cisoriaseams]

"Chioriiiiiiiiiiii~!!"

As insistent as the late summer breeze, Navia pushes through the door of the Chioriya Boutique. It's still early, watery sunlight just beginning to warm the streets of the Court of Fontaine, and so it is blissfully quiet in the small shop. Not that Navia would have paid it much mind were it rush hour or any other time, but it is more convenient, in any case.

She parades herself straight to the other woman's counter, grinning all the while. In her arms is a bolt of fabric, carefully draped in an old coat to conceal its true nature. With little regard for what she may or may not be interrupting, the young president presents her gift atop the counter with a rather dramatic unveiling.

"Ta-da! Happy birthday!"

The fabric is... arguably plain in appearance-- just any other bolt of cream-white cotton-- but Navia has no doubt that Chiori will recognize it for what it is. Or what it is not, which is any old broadcloth.

"You have no idea what I had to go through to get this. There were these special sheep on this super weird island..." A dismissive wave of her hand. "Oh! But I know you'll make something just darling with it!"

The bell rings, and the shrill excitement is all the indication needed to know of Navia's return. Her most regular client, her most well-paying client, and perhaps her one friend in Fontaine.

Chiori rises from her knees, putting off the ballgown she was working on so diligently. A sigh of melancholy, her diligence uprooted by the desire to socialize. A worthy sacrifice.

A few steps to the side, and a rather... dull looking wrap of fuzz is placed before her. Squinting and hiding her apprehension before a poorly masked grimace. "Oh, lovely." It truly felt like Navia would bring in the most outlandish fabrics or ideas, and then expect her to make riches out of rags. It's— It's—

"Soft. Wait a minute..." Immediately, disgust turns to intrigue as she unfurls the well-maintained fabric. Despite it looking like a once-soft blanket that'd been washed about 100 times and become matted, the texture was nothing like the appearance. Perhaps some TLC might just make it work...

"Thank you. This is... incredible, actually. And a fair amount too. I'll be sure to make something special... Although it is... soggy. Did you get this wet intentionally? I can dry it and hopefully fluff it up a bit but... it's certainly an odd choice." A little smile as her gaze shifts from the wool up to her companion. "Thank you, Navia. This is a wonderful present..." awkwardly, she extends an arm, silently ushering her to give a hug.

[inscryptions]

[DRESS UP] - "How about this one?"

She presents the stranger with her selection, a hanger laden with ebony silk. Golden embroidery peaks out along hems, depicting a pattern of falling leaves that flows along the fabric as though upon water. Navia smiles.

Of course, the man had not asked for her help, but she knew an undecided mind when she saw one. ( Not that it was particularly hard to tell, he had been pondering the stall's racks for quite some time now. )

"Go on, then. Give it a try!" She offers the garment forward, eyes glittering and smile wide. It'll flatter him phenomenally-- of that she is already certain-- but this is a matter of proving herself right. Not that she's ever wrong on these types of things. "I insist."

In those rare instances where I have the pleasure of encountering Liyuen silk, I have always appreciated the softness and breathability of the cloth, a practical material I could see myself wearing daily. I've entertained the idea of owning a silk garment or two before, which is why I'm currently perusing the selection of a clothes stall in the harbor. Their inventory is... quite large and varied, and I debate whether it would be more practical to buy just one piece or several, as well as how often I would wear them. Though I'm not exactly a vain man and typically prefer comfort over style, it would be nice if they looked flattering on me at the very least.

But... which one do I choose?

A high, melodious voice with a Fontainian accent interrupts my thoughts, and I turn to find a woman with flowing golden hair and tasteful dress holding a hanger out towards me. The proffered garment, a sleek black robe highlighted with gleaming embroidered leaves, arrests my attention. It's nice, reminiscent of my usual outfit while incorporating Dendro patterns, and it appears to be my size. Why didn't I include such a fitting piece among my options? It must've been buried quite deep, otherwise I would've found it. The lady's forwardness aside, I appreciate the offer of assistance. "You must have a keen eye for fashion," I reply, taking the robe from her hands and examining it. Yes, I can see myself wearing this frequently, though perhaps it's a little too nice for forays into the desert. "Thank you for the suggestion, I'll try it on. Wait right here."

I duck inside the empty changing booth and make short work of switching my upper garments for the robe, and oh, it feels heavenly against my skin. It fits perfectly too, the reflection in the mirror revealing that it compliments my figure well. With a small smile, I exit the booth and return to the blonde's side. "Well? Does it pass muster?"

[mrch7th]

probably isn't smart to just walk through random doors, huh? but march 7th is a nameless for a reason— the strange and unusual aren't enough to dissuade her natural curiosity, and there aren't any more logical voices of reason around to do so. besides, she's had stranger dreams before.

and so, between one step and the next, she finds herself face to face with, uh...?!

march yelps and throws herself backward without warning, nearly knocking into the decidedly more human companions— well, until she squints and realizes one of them is mr. jiaoqiu, another is...some other species, and then a pretty blonde lady that actually looks human.

“ack— sorry!” arms fly out to balance herself as she stumbles the remaining distance between them, then catches herself as friction finally slides between the soles of her shoes and the ground. two-toned eyes glance between the three before her now. “hello!” she chirps shortly afterward. “i'm march 7th, nice to meet you! i guess we're supposed to fight...” a vague gesture in the direction of the weird things she'd just stumbled away from. “...these things?” is what she ends up finishing with. “they don't look very friendly...”

nothing really out of the ordinary for march. no rest for the weary, or something like that, right? if only she had some milk tea, then she could really kick into gear...

jeez, all her training on the luofu really did a number on her cravings.

energy roll◞　3! -3 energy :　march 7th 10/10hp uses master, it's tea time! on navia 10/10hp.

just as she thinks it, a cup of immortal's delight appears in her hands. march blinks down at the sweet temptation in her hands, bemused, before furiously shaking her head. no, no! dream or illusion or whatever this was, she can't have another one! all the milk tea she drank on the luofu was already bad enough. instead, she turns to the blonde lady with a smile and holds it out to her. “do you wanna try this? it's delicious! it always gives me a good boost before a battle.”

✿　@dellarosula , @spicehill , @sedena

　❅　bubble up like soda pop!

spiral abyss  |  floor one　 ▪  ▪  ▪ 　team five

[dukemeropide]

Fading in Time

2024 Birthday drabble | gifts received from @huntersoath, @iustitians, @fanfaire, @dellarosula

(Wriothesley character story spoilers)

Wriothesley could count the number of birthdays he’d celebrated on one hand. The very concept of them had become, by now, the stuff of fantasy, consigned to the place in his memories occupied by fables spoken by ordinary animals and humans that could fly all on their own. In other words, something for innocent-minded children with the kinds of well-adjusted families that only existed in fiction. He had been that, once.

For a long while, it had been hard for him to reconcile the happiness and love he knew conceptually to be a part of celebrating one’s birthday with what he had witnessed to be little different than throwing a party for a lamb set for slaughter the very next day. Three of his siblings had disappeared before he realized the truth, but he had eyes, and he had ears, so he denied himself the excuse of age. He should have known, even as young as he was. 

Cake tasted like dirt from that day onward. His own birthdays passed in hazes of fury and grief. It had been someone’s birthday when he laid on the floor of his parents’ manor, drenched in their blood, choking on his own. That had been the last one, he’d made sure of it. And it was, for a while.

The Fortress of Meropide had hammered him down into an insignificant number in the years that followed, but he’d come to enjoy the anonymity. The fools who celebrated their birthdays down here might as well have put a sign up asking to be robbed, or beaten up, or both. Wriothesley had taken advantage of his fair share of fools. It was either that, or risk going hungry in the dog-eat-dog world under the sea. It was their own faults, he reasoned, and pretended like it wasn’t the resentment that festered just skin-deep during those first few years. Even so, the Head Nurse always had something for him on the same day every year, usually little more valuable than a piece of buttered toast, so that Wriothesley didn’t catch on until he’d been conditioned to expect it.

One year, as he sat on a cot in the empty infirmary while Sigewinne, humming a little song, poured peppermint tea into a nondescript cup, he realized just how talented the Fortress’ Head Nurse was.

Birthdays became easier to stomach after that, although he was still a prisoner of no importance until the day he scared the previous administrator from his post. Rumors followed the fearsome Duke of the Fortress of Meropide, among which was a distaste for birthdays, and yet he’d find his office collecting little trinkets, wrapped boxes, desserts, and a dozen or so hand-drawn stickers every year from then on.

There is far more clutter this year, even if “clutter” might be too harsh a word for the gifts and letters carefully delivered to his desk. The Duke has tried to clear space to work, to no avail, so he stands over the spread with a look that can be described as none other than fond exasperation. Little blue, pink, and yellow stickers speckle the tall back of his chair, and a shark sits on his shoulder. He’s left them all for the occasion, because he knows it’s futile to remove them today. More will soon take their place.

Where to start, he thinks, and his eyes land on a neat, no-nonsense signature he recognizes at once. Clorinde knows his preferences well by now, for how often they trade bets over life’s trivialities. The box and the thoughtful letter accompanying it showcase the champion duelist’s pragmatism, but it’s the new gloves that capture Wriothesley’s attention. He lifts one from the box to try, and it fits perfectly. She’d always had a good eye, but it seemed she knew him even better than he thought. With a soft laugh, he carefully returns the glove to its pair. A duel would be in order if he wanted to break them in, so he makes a note to invite her to the Pankration ring next time he sees her.

Alongside this box is a smaller one in beautiful wrapping, topped with a letter signed unmistakably by the Iudex’s precise hand, with the Iudex’s characteristic apologies. Wriothesley reads through it with an amused smile and then with the shake of his head, sets it aside to open the gift he knows deserves no such humble preamble. The tea within is wholly new to his collection, which lacks much of anything from Natlan, and when he opens the lid, out rolls the scent of bonfires and warm spices. It’s no legal codex, certainly, but it's at least something more practical. 

Wriothesley thinks he might prepare himself a cup now and contemplate the rest of his cleaning project, but the massive iron doors down below suddenly rumble open.

”Another delivery for you, Your Grace,” calls the courier. “From Lady Furina.”

”Bring it up,” he directs, studying his desk like one might a puzzle. Where to fit a new box…

But it’s not a box that arrives at the top of the stairs. Instead, tray after tray of cakes, cookies, macarons, and other finger treats file into his office, which the Duke stands by to watch helplessly. Only when his tea table has been covered in a spread fit for a small party does the courier finally leave. What has he done to earn such extravagance from the former Archon herself? he wonders, and, still bewildered, approaches one of towering gift baskets to inspect what else she might have sent. There, he finds the gilded tickets for a show at the Opera Epiclese nestled in the filling, as if it were the real gift hidden under layers and layers of the most ornate paper one could find.

Another knock at the door. Wriothesley quickly slips the tickets into his breast pocket and goes to the top of the stairs to send back whatever else might be on its way up.

”Just leave it down—“ Eyebrows raise with surprised pleasure at the sight of a familiar, albeit entirely unexpected face. 

“Now, to what do I owe a personal visit from Madame President?” he asks cheekily, following her to his desk to clear a space for the box she carries. It’s the result of the bet he’d technically lost, as it turns out, which Navia sets in front of him like a mafia boss presenting a suitcase full of mora.

”Let’s see what you’ve got here…” Leaning down for a better look, Wriothesley picks through the selection carefully, inspecting each tin as if searching gemstones for flaws. Lifting one in the middle from its bed of velvet, he spies the little note hidden beneath. If Clorinde is straight and to the point, Navia is anything but. With a soft huff, Wriothesley sets it back down.

"To be honest, I can’t remember if I’d tried any of these during my trip to Liyue last year. I guess the only thing to do is to have a taste test.” He shrugs his shoulders like it’s a matter of course, then flashes Navia a smirk. “Care to join me? I have a whole spread of desserts I need to figure out what to do with, too.”

So he sets his kettle to boil, because he expects that she won't say no. And after years and years of his birthday passing without any fanfare, Wriothesley thinks that, for once, it wouldn't be so bad celebrating it. Especially with someone else.

- -

He'd need a second hand to count them now.

[huntersoath]

[WATER BALLOONS] - She knows better than to think she can sneak up on Clorinde.

After all, even were she not a famed duelist or descendent of a Marechaussee Hunter, their lives have been intertwined long enough that the other could certainly recognize her even by only the sound of her footfalls. No matter how quiet Navia tries to make them.

So then she must launch another tactic: deception.

Hands in plain sight, she skips up to match the stride of her dearest friend. If there is mischief in her smile, well, there is no helping that.

"Look at you! My, enough time away from the Court and, dare I say, we may just wipe that too-serious look off of your face for good." Her shoulder knocks against Clorinde's, teasing, before she stops walking altogether with a sudden gasp. In a display of utmost distress, Navia begins urgently rifling through the bag tucked beneath her shoulder.

"Oh no, I could have sworn..." A sneaky glance upward, the only fault in her otherwise very convincing act, to make sure the other is watching. Good. "I had brought a gift for you along with me. It was just here, I..."

One swift motion, disguised by the anxious flurry of her faux distress, is all it takes. A carefully hidden balloon, tucked in her palm, saved until the other is just close enough-

POP!

It bursts with a perfectly timed squeeze, dousing them both in sun-warmed water. Navia can't help it; she erupts into a fit of laughter.

"Found it!"

Whether she wanted to be or not, Navia's intentions had almost always been easily discernable-- especially when she was wanting to cause trouble. That was one of the many traits she appreciated in her childhood friend; the propensity to throw a wrench into even the most carefully laid plans, keeping Clorinde on her toes. It was always a refreshing change of pace from her normally rigid schedule. The grin stretching across Navia's face was infectious, and she returned the expression with a warm smile of her own. It was impossible to remain entirely stoic in the blonde's company, and it often was her downfall. "Not quite. I still have to hold some sort of professionalism-- my reputation as a Champion Duelist is rather important. Though you're welcome to rise to the challenge," Her tone is light-hearted, gently pushing back against Navia's shoulder bump as way of expressing her contentment with the situation as a whole. Upon hearing her friend's gasp, however, her face contorts into concern... Not that others would discern that, but there was no doubt that Navia could. She knew Clorinde too well. Something was off, though. She couldn't exactly put her finger on it, but the blonde was up to something-- it became evident in the nervous glance at Clorinde, and she allowed her suspicion to simmer in the back of her mind. Besides... She could indulge Navia. Whatever tricks she had up her sleeve, she would gladly go along with. And, of course, as if on cue-- the balloon splashes her with a generous amount of water. Her eyes squeeze shut and she wrinkles her nose as a result, her bangs becoming completely soaked and hanging at a rather pitiful angle. Alright... If Navia could have her fun, so could Clorinde. There is no warning as she opens her eyes and dips low to wrap an arm around Navia's thighs. She hoists the smaller woman up and over her shoulder as if she were a sack of potatoes, making a small grunt of effort as she did. It wasn't exactly a difficult feat, considering how many times she had lifted the other woman in the past. Ignoring any protests, she makes a beeline for the crystal clear water lapping at the shoreline. No doubt, it's slightly cold, but she doesn't particularly care; it was nothing she couldn't handle, and she knew that the same would go for Navia. Easily wading into the deeper waters, Clorinde lightly chuckles as she unceremoniously dunks Navia into the water. Her own shirt and shorts are soaked through at that point, and she makes a mental note to toss them on the beach where the sunlight can dry them out.

A rather cocky grin stretches across her face, one specifically reserved for her time with Navia. It's only in her presence that she becomes a bit more expressive.

"My, my, Miss President. It seems you've been bested this time. Better luck next time, perhaps?" @dellarosula

[dustymetaltrail]

steel and sea .

starter for @dellarosula .

what a situation he's been put in , he thought infiltrating this airship -- taking out a few IPC , grabbing some intel and darting would be a quick and simple task . . . who would've known things could go this bad ?

it was a trap , set just for the gunslinging cowboy cyborg , surrounded by what felt like hundreds of IPC and bigshots , who all looked way too smug about this .

reasonably so -- beaten , battered , exposed inner workings of his mechanical body , scratches and cuts on his face , heavy breaths coming from him , hand still on his gun despite it all .

eyes darted around the room -- every exit was covered , wasn't it ? this situation isn't looking good for him .

even still , he had a smug grin on his face , did they really think he didn't have a way out ? he spun the chamber in his revolver , before firing one at the ceiling , which was paired with a loud explosion .

the wall behind him burst open , of course he had an escape plan ready , he just needed to get to the right spot . . .

" alrighty then -- toodle-oo , forkers ! "

he tipped his hat , as they started opening fire , he fell backwards , diving straight down off the side of the ship , into the body of water below him . . . what's going on ? why was his vision feeling all blurry ?

. . .

. . .

on the shores of fontaine , those walking by would see what looked like nothing more then a hunk of metal washed up and left to rust , those who looked closer would see a rather fancy looking hat not too far off . . . those who looked even closer ?

they'd see boothill , partly buried beneath the sand -- they'd see a mix of man and machine , unconscious upon the shores .

[dukemeropide]

It's then that Wriothesley finally stops, and between the quieter, almost forgotten storefronts down this out-of-the-way street, lets himself laugh. Navia had been so earnest, so unwilling to try to backpedal her way out of what he thought for sure was an unwanted hole of her own making, that he can't help it. And almost as compensation for giving her the runaround, he offers her a rare, genuine smile - one that wrinkles the downturned corners of his eyes.

"Nothing," he answers and then chuckles again. "But I'll remember to call on you if I ever do."

He's impressed, really, that she'd jump into the water for him, of all people. And ruin her expensive dress, no less. Even if she'd been bluffing, her resolve to stand her ground in such a way makes her a formidable business partner. Wriothesley makes a quiet note of it. One hand comes to his hip, chin raised in good spirits, as he examines her face for a second more - to let her find her footing in the conversation again.

"I'm actually looking for something that the Fortress' Head Nurse might like," he resumes after a beat, the mirth cooling but not quite returning to his usual frigidity. "I'm sure you've met her. She's fond of makeup and clothing, but I don't have the slightest idea about where to start."

Oh, damn him. Of course he would make a remark about what she was so dutifully trying to ignore the implications of. Navia shrugs, a very intentional display of indifference.

"Everyone's my friend, really." She isn't lying-- it's just that he hadn't exactly ever been apart of the aforementioned everyone. It has yet to be determined whether or not she regrets this change.

"Dihua Marsh...? Eh... I mean-" Navia blinks down at her elaborate skirts, hand-made and pinned perfectly into place. It would be far from the first dress she had ever dirtied, and surely it would all wash out eventually. And if Wriothesley was recruiting her to help then that must mean whatever he's looking for is worth more than a little dry cleaning.

So she resolves that it'll be fine, probably, and she'll wait to decide if the title of friend remains until they're back home.

"Sure! It'll be an adventure," always the ever unwavering optimism that she is so well known for, even when a touch forced. "What exactly did you lose down there?"

[phantomiaou]

[COSTUME RACK] - "Hold still... Just one more second... Almost... There!"

Pincushion between her teeth, Navia rises to stand. The ruffles of her skirt are smoothed as she takes a step back to admire her work. Well, work is a strong word-- she's used enough pins to make any good magnet a proper threat to Lynette, and certainly not missed an opportunity to accidently poke her model with them-- but she pays that no mind. Shimmering navy charmeuse has been draped with extra care, and scraps of white and black felt are pinned artistically in place on either side of the wearer's head.

"Ta-da!! Don't you just make the most lovely Blubberbeast?"

poke. poke.

poke.

if lynette at all feels the occasional prod or pinprick, she does not say a word. half-lidded eyes stare at the same dapple of light on the wall. it is a game between young girls, perhaps a tease of what could have been a decade or two ago—dressing up dolls, only the doll in this situation is quite fittingly lynette.

she lets miss navia do as she pleases. at the end of it lynette waddles around to gaze into a vanity's mirror behind her. the best way she can think to describe her transformation is that miss chiori will not be put out of work anytime soon.

but navia, shining like that, makes the words die in lynette's throat if there had been any chance of her voicing them to begin with.

"i don't know... does it really suit me? they're supposed to be cute and round."  less lethal and lithe. her giant blubberbeast bobblehead tilts with added weight. "well, as long as it's not a main role... is it my turn to dress you up now?"

[spicehill]

he takes a long look around the office as the eccentric man barks orders -- and assigns them nicknames --- and ultimately decides, after a few short minutes, that this is little more than the den of a madman proclaiming to be a medical professional when he had no such qualifications... or, worse, had acquired them once long ago, and now needed them revoked. a mutter to himself tries to recall what little he knew about this place, and a potential explanation for such irreverent behavior. "average livespan of species in teyvat... can't be that old, can he?..." but with a shake of head and clearer voice, jiaoqiu smiles politely to the doctor. "afraid it's unreasonable to ask us to commit to a week of work for you this early in the hiring process, doctor. what exactly is the board demanding of you that you cannot accomplish alone? besides, I'm also in medicine, and have my own patient to return to at some point..." jiaoqiu's voice trails off -- and yet, he picks up a file to start diligently looking through.

it only takes a few minutes more to confirm that the notes contained inside the file are almost completely incoherent, or full of misguided medical practices when they can be made sense of. a few files in particular are set aside as he fingers through them, and jiaoqiu calls back across the room to confirm that what he's reading is correct.

"you've been treating a patient with chronic fatigue and lightheadedness with little more than crushed mint flower and cardamom tea? for ten years? has it not occurred to you that this patient is also exhibiting telltale traits of anemia and likely needs more meat in their diet...?" the file in question he's reading out of is set down on a cluttered table, and he picks up the next he has concerns about. "another one you list here has struggled with passing stools for six months. your recommendation includes... a strange concoction of magnesium supplements, boar bone marrow, and mushroom tea? do you treat everything with tea? fiber, doctor... your patient needs leafy greens and to drink extra water, maybe take some additional probiotics. why have so many strange experimental treatments for ailments with long-identified solutions?"

as he looks across the office, the man in question does little more than wave his hand over his shoulder in a very shut up already manner, "what are you, some old school nurse? no innovation can come from using these treatments you've suggested."

flower of lapis, shape of a horn.

swirl: professor kettle job openings with @dellarosula.

[dukemeropide]

This is perhaps the first time Navia has ever stood before these doors and not contemplated turning right around. And that's not a lie, either-- she has not yet had the thought, even now as she acknowledges how odd that is. A breath through her nose before she shoulders one open. She had come all the way down here, after all.

The Duke's office is not exactly homey, rather the opposite despite how familiar Navia is with the dank, dimly lit world that exists under the conventional surface. She hates it here, or hated it here, but business is business. Maintaining a healthy, positive relationship with one's partner in such a thing is most important. Disregard that she has never bothered with such for him before, of course.

The last of what must be a thousand stairs, and the Spina's president presents herself with a smile.

"I may have won our little wager," she begins in the place of a greeting, coming to halt at Wriothesley's desk, "but a challenge is a challenge."

Before him, she sets a small box for consideration. It's an ornate little thing, which opens to six or so tins each labeled differently-- loose tea blends imported straight from Liyue tucked between a couple from Mondstadt, an odd one from Inazuma. Beneath them, a small envelope stamped with the Spina's own emblem.

"Of course, you didn't exactly give me a list of what you have tried, so I figured I'd start broad." A hand upon either of her hips. "And personally delivered, per your request."

She leaves it to the little note to say the rest, whether he chooses to read it before her or waits. In her neat script, it reads:

I'm sure I'll find one eventually, and if not- well, I imagine I'll keep trying! Happy birthday, in any case. - Navia ♡

... “Now, to what do I owe a personal visit from Madame President?” ...

[unfxllenone]

[PHOTO OP] - "Well, if it isn't my most beloved partner!"

One arm comes to sweep the other girl into a warm embrace, laughter honey-sweet in her voice. "C'mon, friend! How about something to remember me by the next time you head off?"

So distracted by the tasks assigned, Lumine hardly takes note of the blond approaching her -- an oversight on her part, considering this is exactly where she ought to be expecting a run in with the Demoiselle herself -- but even still, that warm, familiar touch is surely welcome. The Traveler's own face brightens in response, and there's no denial toward the shift in proximity.

"Think you've read my mind!" She chirps, easy as anything. Another prized possession for the album tucked away in her teapot? She might even take two!

Lumine shifts, parting only to hook her arm with Navia's for an easier stride, before making a beeline to the nearest Kamera operator. Boy, are they ever swarming the place..! Only natural for the Steambird's home base, and alongside the festivities -- "Say Fonta!"