#wip: cold as ice

[bardic-tales]

Sneak Peak of the Map of Cirel. It is no where near finished.

Well, the corner of the world where Cold as Ice and Pale Fire is set. Flight of the Dragon is set in this area too, but it is considered "ancient times", so the naming wouldn't be the same.

This was created in Inkarnate.

[bardic-tales]

I am going to answer this for Stewardess Cyras Giovanna Teresa Covelli of the Olessan Empire, the protagonist of Cold as Ice.

After she had been sworn in as Steward as the Olessan Empire, Cyras is often awake at 6 am. She will typically work in the office of her estate and hold meetings with the Crowned Prince and others.

Cyras will usually have a glass of wine as she pours over affairs of the day. When it is time for breakfast, she will usually take it out in the gardens if it is not too cold.

If your OC is normally a night owl, how do they cope with having to wake up at 6AM?

[mossistyping]

details on cold, cold, cold if you pleeease :)

Ahhh liquid ily <3

Cold cold cold (there is 🧊 in the title of my notion page) would be the follow up to I can make it better!

In which Charles finally sends Max the pictures from their wax play session... In the middle of a press conference. Max decides to see if he can take control of their dynamic and gauges how into ice play Charles would be at the club >:)

[birdbeep1s]

who let these two meet. disaster couple

sharkboy belongs to @rusttbuckett

[bardic-tales]

In Cold as Ice, Vaene Ectorius Arturis's name symbolizes the vanity he possesses. The man will always primp and preen himself. This is how the readers is introduced to him in chapter one as he checks his appearance in a highly reflective plate before approaching the Stewardess of the Olessan Empire.

If he were to come across a mirror, he would do the same. His vanity is always on display, but it is also his defense mechanism. He thinks that if people only know him at a superficial lever that they will never be able to dig deep and truly know him. They will be safer that way.

How does your character act/react when encountering a mirror?

[midwrites]

I already know what Ice!au electric boogaloo I just need you to post a snippet <3

I should say no and leave you hungering for more tbh <3

Anyways here's a snippet of the second chapter of what makes a (good) man or my permawinter post-apocalypse AU:

There’s no breath left in him when he’s done, his arms falling limp like wet noodles onto his sides as he watches the first cow walk past him with a bellowing moo, watching in awe through his unfocused gaze how more gentle giants follow, barely paying any notice to him. He laughs he thinks, or screams. Tommy’s not sure, unable to decipher the hoarse raspy sound that leaves his throat at the rush of adrenaline that floods his body. And then there’s the hiss. The rustling of brambles across the gate Tommy barely registers before he takes one step back. Then another, shifting through the animals as vile threatens to claw up his throat at the hollow gurgle that can be heard from the vegetation just a few steps behind him. Let the boy feed! Let the boy live! He tries not to run. God, does he try. The cows keep marching, immutable, when Tommy scrambles past, his eyes fixed in the brambles where the low murmur that has begun to soar. Still whisper thin, but real enough to make some of the animals turn their heads. Tommy is faster than that. Smarter too. Staying would be utter insanity. He is getting into that van and telling Sol to get away from here as soon as he’s sitting— And then the ground gives way. No snow under his feet, his boots slipping on the ice, refusing to catch him before he falls face first and there’s only pain. Pain, cold, and numbness creeping up his legs where his knees have met the ground. There’s gonna be an ugly scrape there when he pulls up his trouser. Sol will worry. God, he hopes Sol wouldn’t worry so much.

[bardic-tales]

I am trying to decide on what WIP to become my main WIP for the rest of the year.

[catb-fics]

Just a few snippets of what’s in my drafts at the moment xxx

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

🩶🩶🩶🩶🩶🩶🩶🩶🩶🩶🩶🩶🩶🩶🩶🩶🩶

💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙

[halfpintpeach]

Cute cheeky lil WIP Wednesday because I'm trying out tumblr!

Have a fun glacial period AU (better known as an ice age - not the movie)

Text for the images is below!

Text version:

It had been years since Neil had been this close to the ice sheet. He'd traveled across it twice in the past with his mother. They'd followed a herd moving for a few months before going back south and covering their tracks. Since his Uncle had taken him in, Neil hadn't been this far from a city in three years. He was pleased to note that the survival and tracking skills his mother had drilled into his skull were still around. Case in point was the deer tracks that seemed fresh, a herd was close and no doubt readying themselves to travel the ice sheet to different grazing lands. It was the hoof impression in the snow that settled in his gut and made the hairs at the back of his neck prickle. There was little doubt that his Uncle's men were closing in on him. Neil hadn't been subtle with his escape from the city. The furs he hauled behind himself were good for trade but there wasn't much in the way of that this far north.

He needed to ditch the sled, it left too obvious of a path on where he was going. Once he reached the encampment up ahead he'd trade the furs for food and potential knowledge about any movement on the ice sheet. He was probably a several day's walk from the large geological feature once reaching the encampment. Neil panted as he walked. It was just reaching Spring. The nights dropped below freezing and the days gave way to milder temperatures. His mother used to tell him stories that had been passed down from her family for generations. A time when the sun shined so powerfully that wearing anything on the body was too hot. Neil didn't believe her, but there had been a few days when he was younger that his breath wasn't visible in the air. They'd enjoyed the hot days before everything was back to normal.

[tiger-in-the-flightdeck]

WIP Wednesday

Awkward Barry Allen (which is just regular Barry, to be fair) Edition

“And hey,” he held his hands up on either side of his head. “I’m not going to give you the speech again.” 

“You’re absolutely going to give me the speech again.” 

“Okay, yeah, probably. Just not tonight.” He chuckled and leaned heavily on the table, waving his finger in the air in front of Len’s nose. “You know I try to fit it in at least once a month. Want to find a time that works for both our schedules?” Barry took his phone from his pocket and made a show of unlocking it. “I can fit you in for an impassioned rooftop speech about how much good we’d do the city if we worked together on the fourteenth. If you want to wait til the seventeenth, we can do it in a back alley.” When those words hit Barry’s ears, and the rough huskiness in his voice, his eyes went wide and he made a pitiful, strangled sound in the back of his throat as he tried to put his phone away again. He missed his pocket twice, and getting desperate, he gave up and shoved it down the back of his jeans where his sweat made the screen cling to his ass. He willed it not to ring, there was no way he was getting it free without phasing right through his jeans, which he realised he should have done in the first place. All that he was missing now was a recreation of that time he tried to tie a cherry stem in a knot with his tongue and needed to get the Heimlich. 

“I’d say you were lying about booze not getting to you, but then I’d have to accuse you of being drunk all of the time.” Len clinked their glasses together and raised his to his lips.

[lindenwalker-studios]

Wanted to do something a little wintery :)

Image Transcription:

[A digital painting of a frozen lake. Tall coniferous trees are off in the distance, dwarfed by blue mountains. The sky is cloudy and the ice is covered in cracks and gashes despite being thick and blue.]

Image Transcription:

[birdbeep1s]

sneak-peek at somethin i'm workin on ;]

[bardic-tales]

How're you getting on so far?

It's going pretty good. I have set aside a period everyday where I just write. I'm almost finished with the final chapter of Caven, which is what I call a thrilling crime fiction short story that is set in Ireland.

As a lot of things are going on in my personal life, I've only set the goal of 10k words this month. This helps keep me focused and not distracted.

What's the scene you're most excited to write this month?

I'm looking forward to writing the first chapter of Cold as Ice again. I had previously lost this chapter in a data glitch where all my work for Cold as Ice except for a handful of information was deleted.

tw: briefly mentions corpses.

This chapter introduces us to The Wraith, the Shade, and the Siren. Each of them plays an important role in the story. The Shade is the leader of their shadow organization. No one knows who these people truly are because the assassins are able to utilize their body magick, shifting their shape into anything they wish. More advanced users such as the Wraith are able to resemble animals and corpses.

It ends on the coup to remove and murder most of the royal line -- the Arturis family -- from the Olessan Empire. This is so the Shade and his mysterious backer can assume the throne and lead Olessa to its glory.

The Siren would be stationed in the Alabaster Citadel and before a close confident to Emperor Graeme.

May 5th Check-In

Back for another exciting month of writing! Today's questions

How're you getting on so far?

What's the scene you're most excited to write this month?

This months participants are the lovely: @bardic-tales @awordchemist @ahordeofwasps @mischief-dream @sillyliterature @eccaiia @andromedaexists @randomfixation

[quadrantadvisor]

DPxDC Danny/Jason Soulmates AU WIP

-

Jason's timer read 044389:21:08, when the display suddenly went dark. 44,389 hours. Five years, 24 days, 13 hours, 21 minutes, and 8 seconds until he was fated to meet his soulmate.

Or not. Because the time stopped.

It wasn’t supposed to happen. He did his research, and with the resources at his disposal (namely, a batcomputer,) he knew for a fact that there should be no way to defy the fate of a timer. People had tried. Avoidance, isolation, putting a hit out on your own suspected soulmate. Nothing worked. Trying to delay the inevitable put you on the path to meet it. Sure, there were people who lamented the unfairness of their own situation, who were devastated they never got time with their soulmate, famous deaths on opposite sides of a battle, etc. But soulmates always, always met eachother, face to face.

Not him, though. His soulmate was dead. Five years early.

Bruce didn’t get it. Dick wouldn’t talk about it. Alfred only looked at him with pity in his eyes.

Jason wasn’t sad that he was the only person on the planet who’d never meet his soulmate. He was fucking angry, because it wasn’t fucking fair. It was another person in his life who was supposed to care about him that he’d never get to have.

So when he found out he had a mom, somewhere out there, who he’d never had the chance to meet… he had to go. How could he not?

-

It was Sam who noticed, when it happened. Danny had just finished a stupid fight with Boxy, and he, Sam, and Tucker were finally ready to call it a night. Danny de-transformed and grinned, shaking the thermos proudly. “Gonna get these guys back into the Ghost Zone,” he said, when suddenly-

“Danny!” Sam yelped, and snatched at his arm.

Danny stumbled, nearly dropping his precious cargo. “Whoa, Sam, what-?’ he stopped, looking as she turned over his arm, baring his wrist.

His timer was dark, like people who’s soulmates were dead. The numbers still showed, faintly, but they were stationary. The countdown had stopped.

Ice spread through Danny’s veins, like the cold that rushed through him when he went ghost, but worse, so much worse.

Danny’s ghost form didn’t have a timer, which honestly freaked him out, but as a human it had always behaved completely normally. When he turned back, it would be there, the time having elapsed just the way it was supposed to. It had been so reassuring. He was alive. He’d make it at least five more years, and be able to meet his soulmate, who would hopefully be able to accept him the way he was. He wanted that so badly. He wanted someone beyond his friends to talk to, to know him as a person and a ghost. He wanted to not be afraid anymore.

He’d just passed the five year mark, not that long ago. He’d been so excited to be that much closer to someone so important.

And now something was horribly wrong.

“Dude, that’s jacked up,” Tucker said, noticing the problem with wide eyes.

“Did anything happen today?” Sam asked, her expression hardened with determination. “Did you notice anything weird while you were transformed?”

Danny shook his head. “No, no it- it was running while we were at school, and we’ve been fighting ghosts since then. I don’t know when it would’ve…” Danny could barely make himself speak. “Is it my fault?” he said, almost to himself. “Did I spend too much time as a ghost and it just-”

Sam gripped at his hand. “No, Danny, it isn’t your fault. Whatever the problem is, we’re going to figure it out, okay?”

“Yeah man,” Tucker added, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, maybe your parents can actually help this time? Weird magic science is kinda their thing, right?”

Sam looked less sure, but nodded all the same. “You’re going to meet your soulmate. Okay?”

“Okay,” Danny said, quiet, looking down at the stopped numbers on his wrist.

-

Edit: Added a readmore

[gilverrwrites]

Summer Loving

Ft. Bruce, Dick, Jason, Roy, & Tim.

AN: Have a lot of lengthy and/or smutty wips on the go atm and I can feel them bogging me down a bit, so I decided to take a break and work on some short summer themed slice of life/domestic fluff to cleanse my palate. I feel I must apologise for my gratuitous and obvious Roy Harper thirst but I wont, enjoy!

CWs: Some are more suggestive than others, reader discretion advised. Minor swearing and minors swearing, mentions of alcohol. GN! Reader

Bruce: Tan Lines

It’s moments like these where you wish Bruce didn’t have to spend his nights on the endless pursuit of justice. You knew what you’d signed up for, but you’d missed him all day and god, the feel of his strong fingers massaging after sun into your skin was euphoric. Would you be such a bad guy for trying to convince him to stay home?

“I like this.” His hum pulls you from your train of thought, and you look down to see his fingers trailing against the tan line your shorts had caused. He spares you a quick suggestive glance, the look a wolf might give a rabbit it’s particularly fond of before dipping down to replace his hands with his mouth.

“Ohhh, stay home tonight Brucie?” The look he gives you this time maintains its warmth but there’s an air of warning to it. Despite his simmering combativeness, you add a charming “Please?”

To that he lifts his head, just far enough to deny you of his lips, but close enough that his low voice still seems to reverberate through your body as he speaks. “Crime doesn’t take the night off, neither can I.”

“I know.” You sigh, admitting defeat before the battle has even begun, and he rewards you by assuming his barrage of kisses to your lower body.

“Just don’t go out too early.” You advise, trailing the tip of your finger from ear to ear, estimating the line where his Batman cowl ends. “Don’t want to get any tan lines of your own.”

“Trust me.” There’s humour in his tone now as he works his way upwards, ghosting his 5 o'clock shadow along the skin of your stomach as he prowls closer. “The evening is young, and I have plans for you yet.”

Dick: A/C

The A/C is broken. Again. To combat the heat the whole household has resorted to wearing nothing but their underwear, except of course for Haley who is always naked. Lucky dog.

Additionally, all the windows are open in an attempt to let the cool night air circulate the humid apartment but all it’s really doing is letting in the ambient sound of Blüdhavens boisterous nightlife and countless flies.

“Want one?” Dick asks from the kitchen spaces as he digs into his second ice pop since dinner, you joke about envying his metabolism despite knowing damn well that’s not the real reason for his physique. Although between the food and the heat-induced skipped workout, he’s bloating, just a little bit; the tiniest, most delicious bit of plumpness and you can’t take your eyes off of it. “Are you checking me out?”

“Always.” You reply with a brazen smile, continuing your laser-focused stare even as he begins approaching your spot on the couch.

“How about you stop looking and start touching, huh baby?”

“No.” You finally cease your objectification of his stomach to look him in the eyes. The intended sternness in your tone is stifled by the way his icy confection has turned his lips blue. “I already told you, no sex in this heat until the air con is fixed.”

Despite your posturing, you don’t fight his closing proximity, nor do you stop him from dragging his cool-raspberry-stained tongue along the length of your throat, it’s still cold from the half-eaten lolly and the sensation sends a welcome chill through your body. As inefficient as it may be, you much prefer this method of cooling down to an A/C.

Jason: Sunrise

The metal grate of your fire escape is surprisingly cool against your bare feet. It’s early, pre-sunrise early but the air is still thick, a combination of the arid summer heat and steam of the cities underground. Despite the unpleasant temperature, you settle onto the grill, with nothing but a pillow for comfort and two ice-cold glasses of lemonade.   

When 15 minutes pass, and you start to notice a growing tinge of orangeness in the sky, you start to worry you’re being stood up, or worse; something awful has happened. Something that would prevent him from coming home, but then you hear it; The heavy steps of Jason’s steel-toed boots approaching from your apartment’s rooftop.

You glance up just in time to see him dropping down. A loud clang rings out as he hits the floor, causing the whole structure to vibrate and you wonder if he does that every night, surely not, there’s no way you could sleep through it or that your neighbours wouldn’t complain.

“Aren’t you sweating balls?” You ask, taking in his gear as he sits down beside you. The boots, the cargo pants, turtleneck, jacket, gloves, and the full-face mask.

“Nah.” His voice is muffled by the headpiece until he takes it off, shaking his head to support his answer. “It’s weird but I’ve kinda run cold ever since I died, you know?”

Obviously you don’t know, in fact having felt his searing, naked skin pressed to yours on multiple occasions, you highly doubt him, but you nod regardless and hand him his drink. Unlike a man on the chilly side, he chugs half of the icy drink in one go and you wonder if he’ll ever stop jumping from buildings and telling white lies to impress you.

“Want some help warming up?” Before he can respond you lean up, brushing your nose against his and watching as his lids flutter closed in anticipation, his breath is cool on your lips and when you finally press into them you can taste nothing but the tartness of the lemonade. Regardless, it’s heavenly; soft and tender. Every kiss with Jason makes your heart flutter in the same way it had the first time.

When he pulls away you chase after him, eyes only opening to meet his heterochromatic irises when your pursuit for more becomes an abundant failure.

He’s grinning as he tells you; “We’re missing the sunrise.”

“I don’t care.” You answer, trying again, and this time succeeding in drawing him in for another kiss.

Roy: Paddling Pool

If ever anybody asked you to describe a moment of pure domestic bliss, this moment would be a strong contender. Your lower body is submerged in a paddling pool as you bask in the sun, enjoying the occasional splash of water caused by Lian’s uncoordinated but enthusiastic dancing beside you. She too is basking, but hers is under an endless stream of hose water being directed by her father; Roy, who is watching the two of you from a sun lounger, hosepipe in one hand and a non-alcoholic beer in the other.

He's quite the vision, no shoes, no shirt, just tastefully tacky swim trunks and his iconically worn-out grey baseball cap that may be protecting his head, but is doing little to tame his mop of fiery hair. From this angle, you’ve got a great shot of some of his lesser-seen tattoos, but every time you look over at him you find yourself far more smitten with the countless freckles that adorn his chest and shoulders, made darker and more noticeable by the recent heatwave.   

“How’s the Heineken?” You ask, genuinely curious how he’s enjoying his first taste of alcohol-free booze.

“Crap.” He replies, lips briefly curving into a self-amused smirk before dropping to woefully panicked as you both turn to look at Lian. Luckily, she doesn’t seem to have been listening in, content in her own toddler babblings. Relieved, he turns his attention back to you and corrects himself. “Um, not good babe.”

“That sucks. I’m sorry.” You offer your condolences, but he seems completely unbothered.

Instead, he turns the glass bottle around in his hands a few times before chucking it over his shoulder. It sails through the air before seamlessly landing in the open bin by your backdoor. Your concern about it leaking into the rest of the recycling is seconded by how impressed you are. It doesn’t seem to matter how many times his trick-shot hit, you’re always at least a little bit captivated by his impeccable aim.    

“It’s cool, hon.” He shrugs and leans back into the lounger. His eyes flicker back and forth between you and his child, a slow, contented smile spreading across his face. “Got everything I need right here.”  

Bonus:

Hours later, you’re sorting through the soggy contents of the recycling as Roy scoops Lian up in his arms and takes her sleepy frame inside. The sun is still high and bright, but it’s past her bedtime, and it’s been a long, exciting day for her. He dries her with the softest towel he can find, careful to pat down every pruned finger and toe before putting her to bed.

“How was your day, sweetie?” He asks, strong fingers petting her soft hair to help soothe her to sleep.

“Crap!”   

Tim: Ice Cream

Tim is still sleeping off a rough, muggy night of crime fighting as you circumnavigate the boat's sad excuse for a kitchen. The bags under his eyes had been growing darker each day under the stress of hunting down a mysterious new bank robber. You’d hoped to lift his spirits by surprising him with a tub of homemade ice cream, but so far all you’d managed to make is a mess.

After having a falling out with the thrifted ice cream maker you’d stuffed in the back of a cupboard months ago, you settled for hand mixing. By the time you put the concoction in the freezer to set, your wrists are aching, and Tim has begun to stir. You’re just finishing up the dishes you’d created when he finally emerges from the bedroom in shorts, flip-flops, and a not-so-summer-appropriate hoodie.

Before you can offer a ‘good morning, Timmybear’ his arms are around your waist, pulling you close from behind and settling the weight of his sleepy head on your shoulder.

“What’s this?” He asks and then he’s licking what you can only assume is a stray splash of the mixture from your cheek with the bravery only a man raised by Batman could possess. It could have been literally anything. “Banana?”

“Chunky monkey actually.” Goddamn. Surprise ruined in less than a minute. Oh well, at least you can give him something to look forward to. “Don’t worry, I didn’t get ice cream without you, I made it for you.”

“I figured.” He hums, sounding so very drowsy despite the ease with which he manoeuvres your body against the kitchen counter so he can keep you close while brewing his morning tea, occasionally planting soft kisses to the side of your neck as his hands move absentmindedly. “You’re the best, you know that? Can’t wait to try it.”

“You figured? How did you figure?” You skip right past the justified praise; he’d been practically comatose since 4 AM, how could he have figured?

“It’s on the ceiling.” He’s right, you look up to see a cream-soaked walnut lodged above you and let out a dramatic sigh as you fall deeper into Tim's arms.

Taglist: @wandalfnation

[bardic-tales]

Tumblr Games: 15 Questions

Thanks for the tag, @laplumedemaureen. I really enjoyed reading how much similar interests we have.

Rules: Answer the 15 questions below as yourself or in character of an OC of your choice. Also tag 15 people if possible

This is an open tag, as I have already tagged my tag list. With that said, I'm going to tag some of my FanFiction friends to finish this for a fandom character: @serenofroses @megandaisy9 @starryeyes2000 @asirensrage @arrthurpendragon @residentdormouse.

If you would like me to include in the fanfiction friends list, please don't hesitate to tell me.

I most likely will be completing this for the entire cast of Cold as Ice. I believe this exercise helps to really get in the head of your characters. With that said, let's start off with the protagonist: Cyras Covelli.

picrew: TTRP Portrait Token

1. Are you named after anyone?

Hello. The fair-haired woman does a slight curtsey. I am Stewardess Cyras Giovanna Teresa Covelli of the Olessan Empire. No. I am not named after anyone. Did you know that Cyras is not even my real name. It is a name that my foster father chose for me. He thinks that it would be more appropriate than Clara. I say a name is a name.

2. When was the last time you cried?

This is a really personal question: one that I do not feel comfortable answering. I do not nor do I have time to cry. The best action when you feel sad is to swallow the emotion. Push it down deep within you until you no longer feel that way.

If a person is distracted by their emotions, they are neither a use to me, the Imperial Family, or the Empire, as a whole. We all face hardships every day.

3. Do you have kids?

I have two children: twins. Both of them are on the path that life has carved out for them. My son is a squire for a Knight of Agosto, and word has reached me that he may take his vows at the end of the Season.

My daughter is studying from a wonderful viscountess: Lady Augustus. Camila will have her first Season in Olessa in the coming years to attend the societal balls and secure herself a worthy match.

4. Do you use sarcasm?

She chuckles airly. Sarcasm is the sign of a quick mind and a touch of creativity. Some of the greatest minds we know often cut down people with their wry sarcasm.

5. What's the first thing you notice about people?

Hmm. She places her hands in her lap and interlocks her fingers. I have always noticed when our noblemen show up at our societal balls with their natural hair as opposed to. . . She pauses . . . say a wig. It is a tradition that the Olessan gentry should embrace more.

6. What's your eye color?

Ah. Green. Once a gentleman caller called my eyes a heavenly olive. He seemed to be particularly interested in my eye color, as if he was sizing up a brood mare and buying me based upon that.

When I call upon my magick, my eyes will have a powder blue miasma surrounding the iris. I have often been compared to a witch during those moments.

7. Scary movies or happy endings?

Life is full of scary, horrific moments. There are no shortages of them in Olessa, especially in our poorer areas. Happy endings often mask and, sometimes, provide hope for the downtrodden and oppressed.

As for the nobles, stories of chivalrous knights often keep them company through the harsher realities of their stations.

8. Any special talents?

I am talented in the use of body magick. Specifically, I could be called a master healer as I can exchange my life force and repair the wounds of another.

I also love to paint. This is a talent among many others that many noblewomen are encouraged to pursue.

9. Where were you born?

She cocks her head. This may shock you. I am not a native Olessan. I come from over the mountains and from our neighboring kingdom: Glorendt. I know we have been at war with them for one-hundred years, and many think that I am loyal to them, but my allegiance lies to the Empire.

An Olessan took my sister and I off the streets, and I will be forever grateful to my foster father. We no longer have to steal for food and are surrounded by such luxuries we never would have had in Glorendt.

10. What are your hobbies?

I have the typical hobbies of my station. I have learned to play the piano, paint, and am quite talented with the lyre.

In fact, after the Crowned Prince and I see to the business of the Empire, we will often retire to the parlor while I play for him. He will often sing. He has such a beautiful voice which is unusual for someone like him.

11. Have you any pets?

Oh, yes. She smiles softly. I have a beautiful harpy eagle. When I was young and my father had a fox hunt, his hounds cornered this eaglet. I suffered great injury rescuing her.

Aquilina and I are inseparble now. She will often hunt and bring me back shiny trinkets and other things that are important to her. Each gift is treasured.

12. What sports do you play/have played?

No. It is unladylike to play sports. These physical activities are reserved for men, and as a woman, the only thing you have is your reputation.

I can imagine the gossip at the next soiree that would fly around if the Stewardess participated in such an activity. It would be shocking to say the least.

13. How tall are you?

We don't really measure how tall we are as there are other things to worry about. She frowns slightly, crinkling the bridge of her nose. If I had to make a guess, and this is only a guess, I would say that I stand at about five foot two inches.

14. Favourite subject in school?

I went to a finishing school. The teachers were often strict and would dictate when we would rise and retire for the night. The entire point of such a school was to get us ready to be placed before placing us into a noblewoman's household, so she and her hired tutors could instruct us on how to behave and the arts through one-on-one learning.

My favorite subject in the finishing school was the very basics of painting. We were not to draw or paint any indecent figures. The human body was off limits to us. Women are expected to paint still life or landscapes. We decorate our own homes for that personal touch, but I still prefer to patron the artists.

15. Dream job?

Hm. She pauses for a moment. I do not have a dream job. While a lady may dream of courtly love, she is encouraged to not pursue a career outside of the home. Her career would be homemaker. She is expected to see to the household and manage any servants that the family might have.

You may be asking how I became a Stewardess. I simply am filling the vacant role that my deceased husband left. Amés rest his soul. When I wed again, my status as the Stewardess will be passed on to my new husband.