zairasamos-blog

[zairasamos-blog]

⌜ & heavy is the crown ⌟ ┋ interview.

Zaira composes herself by building a foundation of confidence around the iron of her spine — and when the interviewer takes his seat across from her, searching through his satchel for essentials and not returning the smile that she greets him with, she does not falter. She waits for the young man to finish, watching as he crosses one leg over the other with the clear intention of making himself comfortable. A smirk is all that graces her lips at the sight of his slow pace, having already cleared her schedule in preparation for the interview. 

Her entire life has been spent paving a concrete path to the crown, so she exudes nothing but patience and understanding. He looks up with a lazy grin before returning his gaze to the note cards in his hands, nodding along as he readies himself. Zaira plays with the idea of straightening her back and tensing her stance, but she chooses instead to match the man’s casual demeanor. Crossing her legs and leaning back in her chair, she nearly sighs in relief when he clears his throat. “Could you introduce yourself to the camera?”

She turns to face the machine, softening the expression of her features and pursing her lips. Her posture remains frozen until a signal is sent by the man to start the recording, and as soon as a red light begins to flash on the device, she draws in a breath. ❝ I am Zaira Anais of House Samos — twenty-one years of age. I am grateful for the chance to present myself to those that I have not had the opportunity to meet personally, and I sincerely hope that all of the viewers are doing well. I also wish the same to you. Thank you so much for giving me your time. ❞

No response is given to her kind words, and Zaira is quick to swallow any and all frustration as another question is spoken within seconds of giving her introductory statement. She had known better than to expect an easy conversation, and she cannot fault the man for doing his job by testing her emotions. Her ambition to become queen would be fruitless if she could not handle this minor obstacle, and it is not in her nature to fall short during public endeavors. Zaira is not phased, and she listens intently to all that he has to say, no matter how brief. “Why are you doing Crownstrial?” It is the simplest of questions, but also the most important. She tilts her head to the side, feigning a look of contemplation, before addressing the matter at hand. 

❝ As the heiress of my family, I am familiar with holding the weight of many expectations. My life has been spent becoming familiar with Nortan politics, positioning myself as not only a daughter of privilege, but one who is open to change. I hold nothing but love for my country and its people, and as someone who has so deeply sought the chance to find myself in a position of leadership, I am more than willing to admit to the flaws surrounding this kingdom. Our people are not wholly united; there is a line between Reds and Silvers that is not easily crossed, and considering the events that only just recently rocked our nation — something must be done to combat this. Voices must be heard and actions must be made, and although I do not consider myself a boastful woman, I know of my skills and what I have to offer. I am not here for love, and I am not here seeking glory. I am here for Norta, and for Norta alone. I would give anything for the opportunity to join our king on the journey of healing. ❞

A look almost close to disbelief crosses the interviewer’s face, and Zaira tightens her jaw at the display. She refuses to be caught off guard, and no matter how infuriating the smirk that plays on his lips might be, she holds back on the urge to challenge his authority. This is his field of mastery, and she will abide by his rules. “Are your words true? Do you mean what you say? Can we trust you?” Heaviness sets in, the interview taking a turn for the serious, but this is something that Zaira has practiced for throughout the years. The world will watch and they will judge every little slip of grace, so she shows no hesitation before facing the camera and replying with firmness. 

❝ I wouldn’t be here if they were not true. I’m not going to waste my time or the king’s. If I was not serious about my intentions, what would that make me? A fraud, for one, but also someone who would be setting themselves up to fail. I will do everything in my power to make it to the end of this competition, and if I see my goals realized, I do not plan to fall short of what I have promised. When I say that I will carry the torch of Norta into a new age, I mean it. I’m not afraid of being burned — but I certainly won’t set the flame myself. ❞

The sigh that rolls off of the interviewer’s tongue causes Zaira’s fists to clench, but her irritation is visible only in that single moment. The recording is paused as he gets up and heads for the door, and she waits for an explanation that is not spoken. She is left alone for ten minutes that are steadily counted within her head, and when the man returns with food and water, she only smiles and welcomes him back to the room. “Let us pick up where we left off,” he starts once seated, taking a bite from his plate and savouring the flavor as he reads through his note cards. 

He is too distracted by the task of swallowing his mouthful that he doesn’t have the chance to react to the cards that slip from his lap. They land on the floor with a thud, the ring holding them together making a clanking sound that causes him to flinch, and Zaira checks to make sure that the camera is still off when he sends her a look that seems to expect assistance. Once confirmed, she lifts a hand and controls the metal that binds the note cards together. They rise from the ground and land on the man’s lap within seconds, all without neither of them having to break a sweat.

The interview is resumed when the red light once again begins to flash, and he wastes no time with returning to his questions. “Do you agree with the ideals of our king?” Obviously this is meant to bring a reaction from the audience, something that will test the competitors’ ability to appease the opinions of all citizens, but there is only one that matters to Zaira. Let the Silvers whine and the Reds beg — she is here for the king to take notice of her.

❝ Of course. Orion is new to his title, and he should never be held to the standard that his father had been expected to meet. Our king is a new man, with new ideas and dreams for Norta’s future, and it is our duty as members of his kingdom to trust him. Whether I become queen does not matter — I must always believe in my king and have faith in his choices. We are young, he and I, and even in the span of empires, so is Norta. It is in our nature to grow and better ourselves, and I cannot fault him for having a vision. Hope is an important thing, something that must be had for a society to prosper, and I know without a doubt that Orion has that much. It is a beautiful, powerful thing — and I will never tire of it. I will always follow my king. ❞

She sees a glimpse of the cards in the man’s hands as he glances over them, feeling joy at the sight of one that touches on hobbies and passions, but he flips through it without even taking the time to consider it. Zaira’s warm expression holds steady, smiling at him as he makes his final choice, then she follows his finger when it points to the camera. “Now give a closing remark. Keep it short. I will cut whatever I do not like.” She is surprised that he is closing the interview so suddenly, but perhaps it’s for the best. The tone of superiority in his voice is noted, but Zaira submits to it without any resistance. 

❝ Thank you once more for this chance, and I would like to speak directly to the people of Norta. Know for the first time that power is not only in the hands of Silver citizens, but also the Reds. Our world is changing, and now we all have the chance to play a part in the making of history — and trust that this first Crownstrial will be remembered. I have prepared for this for the majority of my young life, and I will not fail Norta in its time of need. I am here for the burdens, for the trials and the moments of stress, and all of that will be worth seeing our kingdom finding its place in this new and uncertain future. Rest your faith on my shoulders, and know that I will carry it with grace. Good day. ❞

The interviewer grabs his things and leaves his seat, turning the camera off and walking to the exit of the room. Zaira stands and extends a hand, focusing on the heel of the man’s extravagant shoes, sensing the metal within the structure and bending it to a severe angle. He falls to his knees with a sudden squeak, hands catching the ground and shaking in an attempt of holding himself up, and she walks to his side while smoothing out the wrinkles of her dress. He looks up at her and she gives him the same false smile that she’d been wearing for the whole interview. 

❝ Learn your place. If any of that is corrupted or edited, I’ll know who to trace it back to. And I don’t waste time with pettiness. House Samos cuts, and those who get in our way? They bleed. ❞

[zairasamos-blog]

liability - lorde

[zairasamos-blog]

❨ caldergliacon ❩

DATE: March 20th TIME: 5:30pm LOCATION: Hospital OPEN: to any

     He didn’t remember much. There was the Samos girl, Nyssa, with his blood on her hands and tears her her throat. Then Rahul, with their arm twisted and set beneath his hands. They’d tried to help him, maybe, but things had quickly gone dark. He’d reopened one of the more major fault lines through his torso – the blood had dripped into his palms, warm and gun-metal grey. He lost time, only briefly opening his eyes to see flashes of light or hear snatches of conversation. When he did finally come to, he was alone.

     He’d been taken to the hospital, which seemed to Calder like a waste. With just a little patching he would be fine. When he tried to sit up, however, the pain laid him out once more, and the irritating sound of an alarm signaled a skin healer with reprimand across her face. ❝ Your body needs rest, ❞ she said, taking his arm until the pain subsided slightly. ❝ Don’t give us more work to do. ❞ 

     She was gone in a few moments, but she’d left him chagrined, and he shifted his head on the pillow, trying to gain the pretense of comfort. He knew nothing on the state of his sister, nor of Max, Sofiya and Evelina. Those he felt most responsible for and they were nowhere to be seen, no news accessible to him. He was alone in white halls and he thought he might be sick at the sensation. Worry clouded his thoughts, his vision, until all he could think of was the horrors that may have befallen those he loved.

     Perhaps, when he heard a voice from outside coming in, he should have asked for news. Instead, a far more frustrated tone crossed his mind. He spoke without thinking, still clouded and weak from the effects of losing so much blood, pain returning to him in the wake of the skin healer’s departure. ❝ Come to scold me, too? ❞ he bit out, sarcasm lacing his words. He thought perhaps it was another healer come to tell him he was being a burden. He could have done without that, thanks.

     She holds charity between her teeth until the once modest concept nearly cracks from the pressure of her selfish bite. A false kindness is draped across the bareness of her shoulders like a silken robe — and a halo forged from iron rests atop her head, cutting into her scalp and letting silver rivers flow down the length of her face. It’s all in an attempt of hiding her sins from the society that will now be watching her every move in the days leading up to Crownstrial. When she walks through the white halls of the hospital, listening to the pained hisses and guttural coughs of the wounded, she thinks herself an angel of the battlefield. Zaira is the patron saint of the damned and bloody, with wings that are black and skeletal unfurling from her back, but she’s a saving grace all the same.

     When warned that her requested meeting with the king would take quite a few hours to be processed, she saw the opportunity of moving to the next step of her preparations for the forthcoming competition. Regardless of the anonymous donations that she would soon personally make in Orion’s presence, none of it would even matter if she did not portray her chosen role while in the public eye. She arrived at the medical center as soon as she could be permitted entry as a visitor of no relation, earning the soft smiles of many a Skin Healer when they were informed of her intentions. She would give comfort to all survivors of the bombing, no matter the color coursing through their veins, and the Reds would never know of her desire to see them resting beneath the sharpness of heels. 

     ( An actress is not born — she is made. )

     She stops at the entrance to the holding room of a Silver patient, sighing in relief and whispering a word of gratitude at the name that is written on the information board provided. Calder Gliacon — the guard of the Calore princess. Gaining a connection with the protector of her future sister-in-law so quickly before Zaira’s inevitable coronation as queen? As far as she’s concerned, that’s just a much deserved bonus for all of her generosity. She rolls her shoulders and allows softness to wash across her features before opening the door, stepping inside and resisting the urge to roll her eyes and scoff at the words that he speaks to the sound of her arrival. When she appears to him, she laughs with a tone that is low and controlled. ❝ Scold you? I would never think of doing such a thing. ❞

     She gazes over the furnishing of the space, spotting a chair in the corner and making her way to it. She positions it at Calder’s bedside, sitting herself down and resting an elbow against her thigh. Her chin props itself on the expanse of her fist, and she grins at the Gliacon boy with such warmth that even his guarded treasure could never match the sheer extent of her heat. ❝ If you’re wondering why I’m here, I was lucky enough to avoid any injuries during the tragedy — and I thought it best to visit those who weren’t as fortunate. ❞ She stares into Calder’s eyes for as long as he will allow her, making a judge of his character while he’s in his current state of vulnerability, and she places her new assumptions over those that she had once viewed as truth when she perceived him as nothing more than simple brawn for hire. Zaira makes the choice to treat him not as a trained hound that’s been brought to its knees by a larger beast, but as a god that’s fallen from the heights of Olympus. He will surely rise from this, and she will show him no pity.

     ❝ Let me guess: you want to get out of here, but the nurses are being too strict to allow for that? I’d offer to help you make an escape, but we might as well take their advice and be sure that you get your rest. May I ask if there is anything troubling you, Calder? Is it fine for me to refer to you so casually? ❞ She nods to herself as she inwardly makes a guess of what he would most be seeking, something that she could she provide in this moment, and she wears a playful smirk when the answer is found. ❝ If you’re curious, I can tell you that the princess is fine. Shaken up, perhaps, but she is alive. Your sister, too. They were not listed on any reports of the deceased. ❞ Zaira will not leak the news of the lesser princess’ shocking death unless he requests it — because it is wrong to speak without respect for the dead, and because she has very few tears to shed over the loss of an illegitimate child. 

     ❝ I am here for as long as you wish me to be, Calder. Gather your strength and heal as best you can, but know that you do not need to walk this path alone. I can close no cuts, and it is not within my abilities to take away your pain, but I can listen. Tell me something good? I want to know what brings you joy. This place is too gloomy for my tastes, and we should brighten it during your stay. ❞

[zairasamos-blog]

date: march 20th time: 6:30 p.m. location: the king’s quarters; palace status: reserved for @bvrner

When she’s finally approached by an escort, Zaira holds back the urge to grit her teeth and spit in the man’s face. She had requested a meeting with the fledgling king in the early morning hours after her release from the bunkers, and although she cannot fault Orion for being preoccupied with the attack on his people that had occurred just the night prior, the heiress of House Samos is nothing if not spoiled. It is not often that her demands are not met within the moment of them being spoken, and patient as she might be when it comes to fanning the flames of her many ambitions, it is in a cat’s nature to play with its prey. The support of her family festers beneath the smoothness of her skin, taunting those who are lesser than her to take a step forward and eat of her false innocence, and they always do.

( She watches them choke on the aftertaste of her spite, wiping silver away from their chins with a curve of her red lips. )

❝ It took you long enough. I was starting to think that I’d have to make a complaint, ❞ she begins a few minutes after their journey, pausing a short distance away from the entrance to Orion’s chambers. The errand boy swallows, mouth opening to make an excuse, but she lifts her jaw in a motion that is meant to quiet him. ❝ Thank you, though, ❞ she goes on, straying from her normal threats and making her way to the door that waits for her. She opens it on her own and turns to look over her shoulder at the guide that she’s left behind, leaving a crack wide enough for Orion to hear what’s being said in the hallway. ❝ I’m grateful for your service, and there is no need for an apology of your lateness. Our king is a busy man, one weighed with tragedy, but I have no doubt that he’ll make something grow from the ashes of this destruction. The citizens of Norta will not have suffered for nothing. ❞

Once inside, she shuts out all distractions and turns to face her king. Her head inclines in a display of respect, bending her knees with one foot in front of the other. She rises from her curtsy, closing the space between the two of them, though she stops before impeding on his personal boundaries. She sends him a cautious smile, clasping her hands together and holding them in front of her waist. ❝ Your Majesty, I would like to thank you for accepting my request of council. I do not mean to get in the way of your schedule, so I will not skirt around my reason for coming to you. House Samos suffered very little causalities during the bombing, but your people are our people, and we hurt alongside you. As representative of my clan, I have offerings that I would like to make. ❞

Her fingers break their locked union when she reaches into a specialised fold of her dress that is meant to carry her belongings. She pulls out a wrap of documents, handing them to Orion and nodding in encouragement for him to accept them. ❝ You will find written proof of my charity on these papers, and I ask that my actions remain a private matter. I do this for no recognition. House Samos will hereby offer a monthly donation of finances to each family that lost someone — Silvers and Reds alike. Beyond that, my house has been ordered to aid the Skin Healers in their attempts to heal those in critical condition by cleansing their bodies of any shrapnel, and they will also be helping to repair all damages to the palace. It is the least that we can do to assist our kingdom. ❞

She draws in a breath, the softness of her voice growing even more thin as she wraps her arms around herself and looks away.  ❝ Orion, there is another matter. One more thing that I would like to do for you. First, may I ask how you’re coping with all of this? I cannot imagine the strain on your emotions, and I am sincerely sorry for your loss. Your ability to carry the pain of your people alongside your own amazes me, but — please. Do not think yourself Atlas. You don’t have to do this alone. ❞

[zairasamos-blog]

ZAIRA SAMOS

age: twenty-one

blood status: silver

occupation: aspirant

pronouns: she / her

sexuality: aromantic pansexual

House Samos was the pinnacle, and at their head was Zaira, with power that threatened to shake the foundations of their hierarchy even as a girl. She was born for nothing less than glory, her beauty irrefutable, her power immutable. She never glowed, never shone, she obliterated, so bright that she blinded as easily as the sun’s rays. She was not the most powerful Silver born to her generation, but she was convinced of it nonetheless, and she lived her life defined by this idea. Her parents encouraged it, wanting to help her growing conceit along and believing it to be the most royal of traits. They refused to have another child, focusing all of their attention, their hopes and dreams, on the little girl they had, the one who wanted so badly to rip power from the hands of anyone but herself. Zaira was a girl full of tantrums and vanity, yet she was so beautiful, so pristine, that the Red and Silver servants of the household were putty in her hands. She had always straddled the line between the beauty of an angel and the mind of a devil, but there was something charming in her selfishness that kept people coming back for more.

She only grew further into the darkness as an adult, knowing her place and knowing that everyone else’s was beneath her feet. Zaira Samos was a force to be reckoned with and a reckoning in and of itself, and few could weather the storm. If she wanted something, she took it, and if she took it from someone who refused, she bent them until they broke. In society she always danced on the edge of a knife, darting out of danger at the last moment with a sweet smile and a pretty compliment. Most didn’t know whether to fear her or worship her, and she cultivated that persona, until it was truth. She knew herself better than anyone, loved herself more than anyone could, and it was herself that she would always put first. There was nothing that could get in her way, and people learned not to after seeing what she’d do to those who disobeyed. 

It wasn’t always violent, though she loved the tang of it on the air. It was sometimes a cool and callous word, sometimes a luscious whisper in the ear that you were worth little more than the dirt beneath her shoes. She was seductive and decadent, brutal and sophisticated, savage and cruel and lovely all the same. Zaira drew others to her by sheer magnetism, not of her power but of her personality. She had such an unstoppable will, believed in her convictions with pure devotion, and it was a call to others to be near her. Most people are so unsure in their lives that they’ll cling to the first sign of confidence in someone else, and Zaira has always surrounded herself with those weaker than her. She was not a girl meant to be challenged, and as she grew in her abilities and grew in her connections, she allowed it less and less. Her decisions were not to be questioned, her vision more important than the backs of her subjugates. She was queen in truth long before she would be allowed to compete in a Queenstrial.

Zaira’s reputation was a whispered thing, filtering between the ears with a trembling voice and disappearing almost as soon as you heard it. She was not in the business of cultivating her violence within high society – the lower class were to be stepped upon, and the upper to be fooled. Shame on them if they found her soft, if they coveted the ripe curve of her mouth and their eyes lingered on the silk of her skin. If they thought her young, or foolish, or beyond her station, she would remember, and when the Bowl of Bones was hers to command she would strip them of their humanity and watch the Silver of their blood flash against the walls. She had never pretended to be anything else, the caged animal behind her eyes both regal and feral all at once. She prowls low and dangerous through the blind Elites that think to defeat her, those girls who pretend they have a chance at being queen. The crown was destined for her brow, the royal blood already soaking her veins – in all but name, she was a queen. It was only a matter of time until she got her way. No one had ever said no to her for long.

CONNECTIONS

ORION CALORE, interest; It’s not the face that interests her, not the man with his simplistic idealism and easy smile. It’s the power he wields, the blood in his veins that sings a siren song. Royal power is not given to women, it is earned, and Zaira has worked her whole life to make sure everyone knew it was hers. Why should it not be? There was no one on earth who compared to her, no one who could challenge her lead. She was born to be queen, born to be at Orion’s side, and in him, she sees someone she may yet manipulate. She was never meant to be a figurehead alone. She was meant to rule with iron claws and a crown of thorns, and once they are married ( for they will be married ), he will bow to her demands, or she will make him do so. There is no power for those who are not willing to snatch it from the hands of those undeserving.

NYSSA SAMOS, cousin; The lesser Samos lines have always fallen in with the head family’s decisions, and very early, it was decided that Zaira would elevate them all. Yet Nyssa will not bow her head, will not become malleable and controllable beneath her hands, and will not submit to society either. As a creature of war, Zaira can respect her, the girl who looks as breakable as glass but has a soul that will not be silenced. As a Samos, however, as heir, it is necessary that Nyssa be brought to heel. Why would Zaira want society to change, after all? It will reward her time and time again for what she’s become, for what she will grow into being, and all the while they will love and fear her in equal measure. Nyssa wants to change all the wrong things, and Zaira will only accept progression that moves in a favorable direction.

PRISHA ARVEN, fear; There is something positively unnerving about walking past an Arven. Perhaps it is because Zaira has always been a hurricane, sweeping past others without care, and using her power to enforce her will. With an Arven, her power would be meaningless, her body forced into baser defense tactics she’s long since forgotten. Why care for hitting things when she can do so much more? The elder Arven is a broken creature, an animal willingly controlled, but not Prisha. She does what she does because she likes it – Zaira recognized the quality easily as one familiar to her – and that makes her dangerous. If she loves stripping power from others, it’s not difficult to imagine a day where she may strip Zaira’s power, and if that happened, the world would see a crack in her armor for the very first time. That is inexcusable. Zaira would kill her if she could, just to rid herself of the weakness.

Her faceclaim is LUMA GROTHE and is SEMI-FLEXIBLE. She is TAKEN by TRIS.

[zairasamos-blog]

  We would like to formally introduce TRIS to Of Silver Blood as Zaira Samos. As you settle into society, please take a moment to look over the checklist that will help you transition into the Kingdom of Norta. You have forty-eight hours to set-up your account and send it into the main. Please let us know if you need an extension as we are more than happy to help our elite!

  Tris, I cannot believe you made me pretend that Zaira should go to anyone but you. You, the person who wrote her first, who grew this rose full of thorns and allowed me to care for her for a time. Your teaser for Zaira was so fun and so inspiring, and I have loved every moment of holding her since you left her to me. This app was such a treasure, from beginning to end – your grasp of her, of course, is so perfect – and more than that, your writing sample killed it. I cannot imagine a better person to take this role. You know the monster in the light with a crown of thorns and darkness so well and, as always, your writing pushes and inspires me. Welcome back! — Admin Rogue

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