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Post by Sylva (RETIRED) on Feb 2, 2023 12:33:34 GMT -5
It’s all so different.
Foaming waves crash against the impenetrable sides of the Nin Hloth; and its solid surface beneath her roots tumbles and rolls with the battle against the ocean’s current. It’s taken her some time to grow used to the feeling of the movement since she hesitantly boarded with Mistress Veliky. In fact, the moment the ship had hit its first huge wave she had gone crashing onto the floor like a newborn fawn on trembling legs.
Surrounded by fallen leaves and cracked twigs as she pushed herself back to unsteady feet, she had felt the first waves of an overwhelming anxiety at all of the things she could not and did not know…
…and she is so very used to knowing…
She knows every detail of the Hauntwood; every tree, rock, and occupant has a name and a place. She always knew what to expect, whom to expect; and when she did not know, she still knew that they were in her home; they were at the beck and call of the Haunt itself.
She knew what they did not.
Here she stands far past her familiar borders on the surface of the Nin Hloth, which has a name, but which toils against the unnamed ocean beneath the unnamed sky. Unfamiliar seabirds follow the mast of the Nin Hloth, squawking and screeching; now and then, one braves the gargantuan ship to perch next to Sylva as she holds tight to the railing and looks at the foaming water— so very blue, and so very deep— as the sharp edge of the Nin Hloth cuts through an azure abyss.
The one who sits with her now is smaller than the rest of the seabirds above. Its white and gray wings are tucked close to its body; and she has called it Aiwynor after the place from which it has swooped down to greet her from.
There’s something comforting about simply knowing a name.
The marsh wren she had been with in the Hauntwood had decided to stay when she left; and she does not mind it, truly… if anything, she understands the little creature’s hesitance. The Hauntwood is its home; it has always been; and it does not want to leave.
That is okay.
It is her responsibility to guard the Haunt and to protect the mother as she so wishes to; and she will not force it upon the little wren… Although, she will admit, it is lonely without her familiar companions… which is perhaps part of why Mistress Veliky is such a relief to see when she comes about.
Through all of the strangeness of new territory and experience, it is the quarterling which brings her the most ease. Though her voice is cool and apathetic, her blue eyes mimicking the reflection of the sky itself, Mistress Veliky takes the time to answer most of her questions; and when she does not, she will explain something new to her, and Sylva will listen with a sense of anxious, child-like curiosity.
She still does not understand how the gargantuan form of the Nin Hloth cuts through the water; nor does she understand how it can float when even the seed pods of the Marsh Flats, so small and insignificant in comparison, will sink into the mud. She does not understand the workings of the ship, even when Mistress Veliky tries to explain it to her, and she feels… in awe of the fine details, yet so out of touch…
It’s such a strange feeling.
Her grip tightens on the railing of the Nin Hloth; in the cool spring air, the metal is cold against her palms. Beside her, she hears Aiwynor’s garbled call garnering her attention; she blinks, turning her verdant eyes to her; and she reaches out, curling her finger beneath the gull’s chin to rub gently beneath its beak.
The gull quiets, closing its eyes while she dotes on it.
A small smile finds its way to her lips for just a moment; but it disappears again as another wave rocks her where she stands. Sylva bumps against the railing when a wave causes the Nin Hloth to jostle; and she moves quickly to grab the railing. Uneasily, she looks from Aiwynor, who flutters her wings to keep her balance, to look worriedly towards the slowly approaching silhouette of the shore.
Sol City, Mistress Veliky had explained, was their destination.
From here, out in the waves and beneath the sky, Sylva can tell that the city is bigger than even the Nin Hloth. The shadows of its buildings reach far above even the most ancient of the trees in the Hauntwood; crowded, without room to breathe, and no room for the sky nor sea.
Sylva takes a breath; and an anticipatory anxiety settles deep in her limbs.
She truly does not know what to expect from such a place.
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Post by Veliky on Feb 3, 2023 14:50:50 GMT -5
"Sigh." A bit of fatigue, a bit of frustration. A bit of relief, a bit of dread. A bit of guilt, a bit of 'what next?'. Veliky releases a sigh of many profound, but ultimately mild emotions as she watches her arboreal passenger, from above. The sea-breeze brushes through her hair, in response, conveying no emotions of its own but the fleeting nip of Winter's end.
She's standing on the bridge, leaning casually (or perhaps just tiredly) on one of the railings. Of course, thanks to her stature, she leans with her shoulder instead of her hands, and she must peer between the rails in order to look down. Meanwhile, Sylva nearly has to hunch to grip the rail with such ferocity, as if the treant's life depends on it.
Veliky just looks on, tired and uncertain, as the chill wind ruffles her suit. She'd specifically ordered that the Sea Caller remain inactive for this trip, such that Sylva could grow accustomed to the rocking and unsteadiness of an ordinary vessel. But, seeing her now... perhaps this was a mistake. By now, she's probably scared Sylva off of sailing forever. It's strange; the 'emissary of the Haunt' had been so eloquent and graceful when they'd met in the hearth-moss light under the Hauntwood canopy. But as it turns out, nobody's really perfect when you remove them from where they're comfortable.
Luckily, Sylva won't need to bear the Luna Sea's fickle tides much longer. Looking fore, Veliky can spy the sky-scratching spires of Sol City that she's come to know so well, but which must be an arcane sight to Sylva. She can still remember when she first saw Sol City. She was amazed, astonished, awestruck. But that was because she hated her home. Sylva cherishes hers. Just what will she think?
Well, to a certain extent, it doesn't matter what she thinks. Whether she despises the city or grows to hate/love it as Veliky has, it's a necessary step on her journey. And to that end, it falls to Veliky to get her acquainted.
Still leaning on the oaken rail, Veliky closes her eyes and gathers her thoughts. She's devised a list which, in order of what should be done soonest, depicts several aspects of city life that Veliky will have to teach to Sylva. They're as mundane as someone like Veliky can imagine. But the longer she's watched Sylva, the more challenging she fears they may prove to be.
But, challenging or not, they're necessary. And the first item is coming up rather quickly: docking. She supposes that she should go over and brief Sylva on what's to come.
...
Yes, she definitely should.
"Sol City. Hell of a sight, isn't it?" A voice as mature as the sea itself marks the approach of Veliky, who would otherwise appear as youthful as the breeze. Even on her own ship, that diplomatic yet authoritative aura hasn't abandoned the little woman as she strides up beside Sylva. Posture straight, hands behind her back, eyes facing forward without waver; she's a pillar of formality at a time when formality is really quite juxtaposing.
"Biggest city in Charon. You won't find a more diverse blend of people, services, products and knowledge. Plus, it's a hell of a lot safer than Darkveil and many times warmer than the Pale City. There's no doubt about it; if we want info on how to fix your home, this is the best place to find it. Or, at least, something to point us in the right direction."
Still looking over the city that she technically calls home, her icy glare narrows. Silently, she urges the distant edifices with a command along the lines of 'Be good, we have guests over.' And then she turns that same gaze, albeit somewhat softer, to Sylva herself.
"I know this is all new to you. So I've decided that, for the first day, I'll just show you around and get you acclimated. We can talk about more critical things tomorrow. Understood?"
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Post by Sylva (RETIRED) on Feb 8, 2023 21:44:29 GMT -5
Amongst all that she cannot recognize in the sky and the sea and the distant silhouette of land, a familiar voice speaks over the gale of the ocean and brings her thoughts back to solid ground. Sylva feels a creeping shock travel up her spine; she blinks, looking down and over her shoulder as Mistress Veliky as the quarterling approaches. If this were the Hauntwood, she would have known about her arrival far before the little Mistress ever got so close. Sylva’s chest rises with a deep breath as Mistress Veliky joins her at the front of the ship. She follows her ice blue gaze towards the horizon, where the tall visage of the approaching city lies motionless; to her, like a predator in wait. “It is.” her voice comes softer than she intends it to be; out of her control like so many other things. She looks at the looming buildings on the horizon; they are shadows of behemoths, only lending to her silent anxieties of a civilized world that she has never stepped foot in before.
She listens quietly to the little Mistress; her lashes flutter at half as she considers the names she’s speaking. Darkveil, Pale City; she does not know either of these places, and it gives her little comfort… She looks back to Veliky, her verdant eyes uncertain but stalwart in the light of the sun as she mentions the marsh, but… she can’t help it. What could these people— no matter how diverse, how knowledgeable, how experienced— tell her about her own home that she does not already know? At the same time, what if they can? She closes her eyes, blocking out the silhouette of the source of her anxiety as Veliky mentions their plan for tomorrow. “ Yes,” she answers compliantly, her voice barely rising against the gale. She takes a slow breath and turns her eyes towards Sol City again. “ Thank you, Mistress Veliky, for your thoughtfulness.”
The sunrise sets aflame the horizon line as the Nin Hloth pulls into the shore of Sol City. Aiwynor has nested overnight on the bow, where Sylva did not sleep but instead watched the glimmer of lantern lights after sunset. As the stars shimmered in the sky, so too, did lanterns on their faraway outposts— one at a time, they lit up Sol City’s intimidating silhouette in a way that she dared to call beautiful. It reminded her of the hearth moss of the Hauntwood; glimmering warm and bright amongst the cool colours of the bog. Now, as she faces Sol City in its full grandeur as the sun rises beyond it, she is unsure how she feels. Sylva draws her gaze across stone streets and wooden docks; other ships have stopped here, but the Nin Hloth is by far the most impressive of them. She watches diverse individuals working together to load crates onto boats or to remove crates from boats onto wagons waiting nearby. Shouting, yelling, and the caw of gulls fills the air despite the morning having only begun. Sylva takes it all in with wide eyes; her hands grip the railing of the Nin Hloth with a mixture of anxiety, curiosity, and anticipation— but the first rises to the forefront when she locks eyes with a dwarven sailor, who murmurs something to a resting compatriot and points unsubtly in her direction. Is this normal? … She does not know. She frowns and steps away from the railing, fleeing from visual line of sight with the docks; Aiwynor follows, squawking as she flaps her wings and settles on Sylva’s shoulder. “Mistress Veliky?” she calls out over the sound of the docks, hoping to find the familiar quarterling sooner rather than later.
She wishes for something familiar to ground her in this new land.
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Post by Veliky on Feb 9, 2023 14:11:32 GMT -5
"Down here."
As it turns out, she's much closer than Sylva had thought. Unsettlingly, in fact, for Veliky, who'd very nearly been punted by the unaware treant. She had to move her foot, as well, to avoid being stepped on. Now, she just looks up, not allowing any of that semi-genuine fright to display on her heatless face...
Then, with a simple crick of her head, she gestures toward the bustling port.
"Come on. We should start now if we want to get everything done before dinner."
The streets of Sol City, valleys between ranges of mountainous edifices, are as busy and crowded as one might expect - as ever. Veliky seamlessly slips into its confluence. In fact, the streets are oddly river-like when one looks at them too long: hundreds of the most diverse people in the world flow down the main, but occasionally branch off into their various tributaries. And others join at various points, from whichever walk they came and to whatever destination they seek, whether to find or avoid. The dock-streets were like a delta, with sailors and their passengers flowing inward in dozens of little streams. Only, these rivers flow in both directions, sometimes more. And with some people not moving at all... When trying to understand it in this way, the analogy begins to fall apart. What are these structures? What is that tower in the distance? Why are some of the people yelling at one-another? Why are some of them staring at Sylva?
To Veliky, this is all as ordinary as a sniffle in the cold. Yes, even the last question is one she knows the answer to, and she loathes it. Fortunately, a glare from her is enough to divert most glances - most of these people know her, by reputation if not name. She doesn't need her Blixtbot™ entourage to send a smug-looking noble's son away before he even utters a word, and without uttering one herself.
'Is this really what pretty people have to deal with?' she wonders, beginning to feel rather fed-up as they cut a path through the crowds. 'Yeah, she's hot. Doesn't make her a tourist attraction.'
...She supposes she can't judge much. Luckily, she's leading the way. Less opportunity for distraction.
Gods, has it really only been five minutes? This is going to be a long day. Veliky feels that quiet pressure that comes from the lack of a solid schedule... May as well start that now.
"First on the list" she begins out of the blue, "is clothes shopping. I know clothes aren't the most common thing in the Hauntwood, but knowing how to shop in general is an essential part of city life." 'And covering you a bit will dissuade some of those looks' is an additional point that goes unspoken. "Don't worry; you'll get used to it quickly[1]." A blatant lie. Even Veliky had difficulty adjusting when she first came to Sol.
And even though it's on a list that she concocted and curated herself, Veliky can't help but doubt this plan already. Not the schedule itself; she still thinks that's an optimal solution for Sylva's inexperience. But...
'Finding clothes that fit her is gonna be a bitch... We'll definitely need to check the orcish section, but what about her horns? Or branches, or whatever they are? Maybe I should've asked Cantio for some regular clothes, too, when I...' Nope, not revisiting that memory. She cringes at every second of that recollection. Luckily, it's tucked away in the closet, out of even her own sight. She just needs to gather the will to burn the damn thing.
But that's a later issue, and she has enough prospective stress for today. As she walks, she looks over her shoulder to see the livien orn towering behind her.
"You doing alright?" This isn't the first check-in, and it won't be the last.
1. Smooth Talking
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Post by Sylva (RETIRED) on Feb 9, 2023 18:05:17 GMT -5
“Oh!” Shock sweeps through her at the unexpected monotone of a familiar voice; and Sylva jolts. She steps back, one hand moving to cover her mouth as she looks down at Mistress Veliky. A wave of unease passes over her at the simple realization that she had not heard the little mistress approach… she would have known every movement in the Hauntwood, and yet…
“My sincerest apologies, Mistress Veliky.”
Embarrassed, Sylva lowers her hand; her verdant gaze is apologetic, but Mistress Veliky completely forgoes her near mishap without even a mention of it. Instead, the quarterling gestures subtly towards the bustling port; and as Sylva follows her gaze, she feels a flutter of anxiety and anticipation over her following words.
“Yes… of course.” she agrees; though her voice holds hesitance, she trusts Mistress Veliky— if only because the Mother had trusted her— despite their short time knowing one another. “I will follow your lead.”
It is so… dreadfully unlike home.
The streets are congested with the bodies of different individuals, things, buildings, and creatures; so much so that Sylva feels she hardly has the room to breathe. She could reach out any which way and touch someone or something; empty space is a luxury. She feels claustrophobic, neck trapped in the jaws of some predator which will not bite down to end her anxious wait for the end.
Eyes on her cause her to divert her gaze; there’s shouting from every which way; and hushed murmurs like a babbling brook that ripple through the throngs of people. Sylva keeps as close to the quarterling as she possibly can without trampling the woman; and although she tries to maintain that otherworldly elegance she is so very used to possessing; it’s quite clear she’s out of her element.
It’s not all bad, though.
The buildings are massive but beautiful; so well-kept, brightly painted, and shaped so purposefully in order to use as much space as possible without waste. The cobblestone paths far past the wooden planks of the dock are like a dried riverbed; unique and charming, yet smooth enough for carts to pass by. The boats docked are massive, yet none as big as the Nin Hloth— all shaped in their own way, tumbling gently against the push of the waves…
Sylva watches a cart pass, quietly observing the dappled draft horse pulling it, when she hears the little Mistress’ voice. Naturally, her eyes lift and then lower to give Veliky her attention. “Clothes shopping?” she repeats, brows furrowing. She looks down at herself— at drapings of vines, leaves, and bark— of what she’s so very used to. As Veliky continues, she looks around at the people; her verdant gaze hesitant.
Despite their diversity, no one here looks quite like her...
“I see…” she murmurs, then realizes she can barely be heard over the shout of men loading crates onto a ship nearby. “I see.” she repeats a little louder this time, sheepishly casting them a side glance as they pass. She looks back to Mistress Veliky. “Do they… have clothing, for someone like me?”
Her eyes turn to the crowd; openly watching individuals with draping sleeves, and flowing robes; tight slacks, and loose tunics. She doesn't know if Sol City clothing will fit her. She feels a little out of place… but before she can dwell on the feeling longer, Mistress Veliky’s voice grounds her.
She looks from the curled palm of her hand, to the small woman. “Hm?” She fully curls her fingertips, lowering her hand to rest against her other. “Yes… yes, I’m just…” she trails off, eyes turning to watch a couple of chattering individuals pass by, holding hands as they set off towards the ships behind.
“There is so much, all the time… the streets, the people, the noise…” she trails off, lowering her eyes. “It is a lot; I hope you are right, that I will get used to it quickly.”
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Post by Veliky on Feb 10, 2023 13:24:46 GMT -5
Veliky stares a moment longer, searching the expression that adorns the orn's olive face. Sylva certainly seems more expressive than she ever had at the Haunt. Of course, this would be expected of anyone who's brought into such unfamiliar territory. In fact, it's the normalcy that's so surprising to Veliky. That this woodland entity could be just as clueless as any tourist is... What's the word? Not quite disillusioning, not quite relieving, but somewhere between.
The normalcy seems unfamiliar even to Sylva herself. Though her nebulous eyes are an opaque veil, her voice and face carry hints of bewilderment and its many symptoms. This honest emotion seems as unfamiliar to Sylva as it is for Veliky to see it upon her. It seems ill-processed, like a child's; awkward, like a new pair of shoes. Shoes...
Fuck, they'll need to get shoes too, won't they? Veliky's no stranger to buying clothes in odd sizes, but she's never had to go in the other direction. In fact, the only other person she's ever bought clothes for was Astrid, but her situation was solved by a visit to the child's section. This is going to be a nightmare...
Realizing that she's been staring a bit too long, she turns her attention forward again. Still, Sylva is in her thoughts. She may've been focusing on the orn's expression, but Veliky's a master of parsing - a skill developed over decades of business chatter. And so, only now does she really consider Sylva's questions.
They're still uncertain. Rightfully so; Veliky is too. How to give them some confidence...? This, Veliky wonders, and then wonders a bit more, just to the point that the question seems almost ignored - almost to the point that it is forgotten, until its answer surfaces.
"I wasn't raised here." she begins plainly, seemingly as a non-sequitur. But the relevance soon becomes clear. "I was born in this tiny place called Hlothshresh, leagues east of the Haunt. A village, sort of like Lilicors but less..." She hunts for a word. She gives up. "swampy. Barely more than twenty people lived there. It was as simple as life gets. Definitely simpler than your Haunt, at least as far as diversity is concerned. When I first came to Sol City, I was just a kid. And I was about as awestruck and confused as you are now."
She allows the words to sink in, albeit for a brief moment. She finds meanings are more easily digested on one's own. But then, if only to fight the odds of misunderstanding, she looks over her shoulder to see Sylva's face again.
"Get it? Now I'm here, guiding you through it. That confusion's just a memory. So believe me when I say that you'll get the hang of things."
With her piece said, she turns forward again. "And I know a thing or two about clothes-shopping in weird sizes. We'll find you something[1]." Another lie. Not a blatant one; just one spoken with far more certainty than Veliky actually possesses.
Ring-a-ling. The glass door swings open, begetting a little bell above the frame to ring and herald their entrance. And as if they'd just walked into the sunlight, out from the dungeon itself, their eyes have to adjust to the brightness. It's such a dazzling array of colours and fabrics that it threatens with a toothache, like some oversweet pastry. At least, that's what a cynic like Veliky would fear.
She also can't help but sneer at the sheer messiness of the place. Is this really the fairytale-shop that people so often rave about?
'Lilac's Eve:' Veliky knows it as one of the most high-end clothing stores in the Gold Port (admittedly not a grand achievement, but Lilac puts the rest to shame). Its prices are highway robbery, such that even Veliky prefers to avoid it. But, aside from having the best-quality clothes that one can find in the area, it also has the greatest variety by far. Here is where they're most likely to find something in Sylva's fit[1].
'Yup. Guess we should start."
Still struggling to blink away the shimmering lights, she turns back and up to Sylva, if only to make sure-
Ring-a-ling.
...What's she doing? She's still standing outside, for one, holding the door open with one arm. And with the other, she's just batting at the chime and watching it ring? It's fairly impressive that she can reach it so easily (impressive by Veliky's standards, at least), but she doesn't exactly look like she's showing off. Rather, she's eying it with all the fixated curiosity of a feline.
...
It's a little amusing to watch, actually. The Emissary of the Haunt, this mystical figure who bore such otherworldly sophistication is... doing this. Just playing around, like a house cat with a toy. If she had the ears and a tail, she'd be-
Nope. Veliky abandons that thought like she's jumping out of a moving wagon. She doesn't know where it's headed, but she gets a strange feeling that she's better off not knowing.
Having to shake the image away, she finally regains a clear conscience, stands straight, and clears her throat to get Sylva's attention.
"Alright, here we are. First step to buying clothes: just look around and see if there's something you like. I'll be here."
1. Smooth Talking
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Post by Sylva (RETIRED) on Feb 14, 2023 12:15:43 GMT -5
Silence is an overstatement; there’s a rumble, a murmuring chatter of vowels and syllables that Sylva cannot quite decipher. It rolls through the throngs of citizens like waves, growing distant as Sylva and Mistress Veliky depart from its sources; but not a sound comes from Mistress Veliky, herself.
The one person she wishes to hear.
A tiny thorn of anxiety pricks the centre of her chest as she looks back into her blue eyes; they’re icy, inquisitive, and pondering; glassy with thought until suddenly Mistress Veliky seems to return to her own mind. The thorn blooms into relief when Mistress Veliky turns away; her voice sounding over the shapeless murmur of a faceless crowd.
It’s not over her words; just the sound of her voice. It’s something familiar and comforting to latch onto in the heart of the city. The dryad cannot make herself any smaller, but she still tucks her arms close, loosely hugging herself as she walks behind Mistress Veliky. “You weren’t?” she prompts, her voice feels tiny; a droplet in the pond that is Sol City. She tries to recall a place called Hlothshresh as Mistress Veliky speaks of it, but she doesn't think she’s ever seen it in her lifetime… nor heard of it.
That is not surprising, she supposes.
Seeing Mistress Veliky stride through the crowds with her confidence now, it’s hard to imagine her as a child; smaller, maybe wide-eyed, in the midst of such a massive and crowded city… Now, the crowd parts for her like she’s a boulder in a river.
The dryad tilts her head, pursing her lips uneasily as she wanders with the quarterling; if Veliky is able to adjust as a child, then perhaps… ah, it all seems so very out of reach, though. She cannot imagine commanding a presence in Sol City the way that Mistress Veliky does; but perhaps she can learn to adjust.
She cannot remember a time where she felt the same in the Haunt…. It’s a blur.
She breathes a soft sigh, her expression gentling when Veliky turns forwards.
“Alright. Thank you, Mistress Veliky.”
A bell rings loud and clear above her head as the doors swing open; Sylva rears back in surprise, head tilting sharply towards where the bell sits and dangles harmlessly from its perch. She stares for a moment, one arm keeping the door ajar… and then she reaches up.
The bell jingles for a second time when she paws at it with a cat-like curiosity; her head tilts slightly as she watches the internal clapper jitter with the motion in the mouth of the bell. She snaps out of it when she hears Mistress Veliky’s voice; the dryad looks at her with an air of sheepishness, as though she’s been caught doing something she shouldn’t be.
She ducks her head through the doorframe to join Mistress Veliky in the interior of the shop, where she is greeted with the widest array of colours she has ever seen. It’s so bright she almost needs to narrow her eyes against its onslaught as she glances around, immediately overwhelmed by the saturation from within.
“....”
Sylva looks helplessly at Mistress Veliky when she suggests that she take a look around, but doesn’t object despite the clear uncertainty in her expression. The dryad turns her head to gaze out at the sea of colours; and for a moment, lips pursed, that’s all she does.
After a breadth of silence, she comes back to life; though her steps seem uncertain, she pushes herself down one of the aisles and gives it her best shot.
For a woman who has worn only leaves and moss for the past several centuries, finding something she likes is incredibly difficult.
She has pawed at and picked up so many pieces of clothing that she has regarded with a grimace and a tilt of her head; she cannot imagine herself wearing any of these pieces. There are flowing blouses and dresses which waterfall; sizes both large and comically small.
Some of their selection she paused on, but ultimately returned with an awkward clatter to the rack and a shameful duck of her head.
She just cannot imagine herself looking like the people outside.
By the time she reaches the end of the aisles, she’s holding nothing; she feels a wave of embarrassment, not wishing to wander back to Veliky empty-handed… but all of her worries and anxieties are quickly rerouted into curiosity. With a blink, the dryad wanders further from the aisles of clothing.
Fuzzy little faces peek out from between shelves in the back; their smiles are stitched, and their eyes are glittering; they’re lifeless like Veliky’s soldiers, yet friendlier. They don’t breathe, nor do they move. She reaches out to touch the forehead of an orange striped cat, head tilting as she picks the little thing up beneath its shoulders; it’s limp in her grasp, unmoving, yet perpetually smiling at her.
“Hi! Can I help you?”
Sylva starts, dropping the little cat like it’s suddenly become scorching in her grasp. She pulls her arms back, looking at a red-haired, freckle-faced woman who looks just as surprised as she does over her unexpected reaction.
The cat flops lifelessly and harmlessly onto the floor.
“Oh— um, sorry! I just thought you might need help?” the red-haired woman apologizes, stooping down to pick up the cat. She offers it back to Sylva with a smile. “I didn’t mean to spook you. Was this for your daughter?”
The dryad stares at her for a moment before looking down at the orange cat. “I do not have a daughter.” she states simply; she takes the cat back anyways. It’s soft and plush in her hands.
The woman beside her looks quizzical for a moment, glancing back towards the entrance where Mistress Veliky stands, before looking back to her. “Niece?”
By the confused look on Sylva’s face, she still hasn’t hit the mark.
Oh! Of course, what day is today? The little woman at the front must be a halfling, no wonder this poor soul is so confused. “Oh! I’m so sorry— are you on a date?” she asks, her voice hushed like it’s a secret.
“A date?”
“Yeah, you know! You’re out spending the day together; just a nice day in the town?”
Sylva thinks about it for a moment; then she nods with an air of hesitance. “Yes, we are having a day out in Sol City.” The woman’s hazel eyes soften, her hands clapping together in front of her with a bit of glee at having finally guessed correctly.
“Aw! So is this for your girlfriend, then? Does she like plushies?” She keeps her voice quiet.
Sylva stares at the woman for a moment longer, then looks at the cat in her hands.
Plushies…
“Because if she does, we have something fun she might like for Hearth Day!” There’s an excitement in the red-haired woman’s body language; when Sylva looks back up, she motions for Sylva to follow her; and after a moment’s hesitation, she complies. “Does your girlfriend travel a lot?” she starts asking, her voice quick as she wanders to the other corner in the back of the store with Sylva in tow.
“Mistress Veliky has a boat.”
The clerk nearly trips over her own feet; she makes a double take at Mistress Veliky from over the aisles of obnoxiously coloured clothing, then looks back at the Dryad. “Veliky?” she repeats in a hush; but surely, this couldn’t be the same Veliky, right? The CEO of Blixt™ Co?
The woman standing at the front entrance is barely taller than a cat! Certainly not.
She breathes a sheepish laugh and waves it off as coincidence. “Well! That sounds like she must travel to me.” she remarks, approaching the other wall, where Sylva looks at a contraption the same colour as the wall— which makes it a bit hard to see from the entrance.
There’s a crystal— some kind of orb— perched on a pedestal in front of it.
“We just got this in from the Mage’s Academy this morning! Top of the line magical construction! I know I certainly love it— and with so many families traveling to distant parts of the lands, sometimes it’s nice to have a reminder of your loved ones, don’t you think?” Sylva doesn’t respond; the clerk pats the side of the… thing. As unfamiliar with modern structures as she is, she doesn’t even know how to view it. The clerk is still talking while she's trying to process all of the magical-mechanical jargon happening; by the time she fades back into the conversation, the clerk is finishing up. “...for the sake of simplicity, what it does is it takes your blueprint, squishes it down, and makes a plushie out of it.”
She points at the cat in Sylva’s arms; the dryad looks down at it.
“You can give it to family, friends… your girlfriend.” The clerk nods towards the front of the store, “And they’ll always have something to remember you by when you’re away, or when they’re away. I think it’s a sweet gesture— it’s kind of nice that we got it in on Hearth Day.” She looks at the contraption proudly, then looks back at Sylva. “So! Maybe you and your girlfriend want a demonstration?”
Before she can answer, the clerk pops out and tries to flag Mistress Veliky to the back of the store with a friendly wave.
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Post by Veliky on Feb 15, 2023 16:20:00 GMT -5
Oh kahn, what's Sylva done?
It's been about three minutes. And Veliky's just been here, not far from the entrance, trying to find someplace to look that doesn't hurt her eyes. She'd say she was watching Sylva from afar, but she quickly lost the treant amidst the scintillating shelves. 'She should be fine,' Veliky inclined herself to believe. 'She might be out of her element, but she isn't dangerous. Or endangered, for that matter. And a bit of time to wander will be good for her, let her get used to the environment. It's a decent plan.'
In this, Veliky was generally quite confident. But a glimpse, and then a glance, and then a sight of one of the staff members flagging Veliky down has a way of diminishing confidence. Though she can't see Sylva from here, her hunch is telling her that Sylva's the culprit. She almost feels offended; not by the clerk's actions, but simply by the improbability that something went wrong. 'What could've possibly happened?'
Then again, the clerk doesn't seem particularly aggravated. In fact, she's smiling, and it isn't the fake smile that people tend to wear at stores like these. She actually seems... excited? Veliky's annoyance ebbs away, only to be replaced by dread. As much as an altercation would be unpreferable, someone *wanting* to speak to her is an entirely different story.
But it obviously involves her arboreal charge, so she can't just brush it off. So with a sigh, she moseys over to where the staff is beckoning, and the difference in their disposition becomes even more apparent, like the moon beside the sun. And here, she can also see Sylva, coming around the corner. What's she holding? Something orange and fuzzy-looking... Veliky tries to get a closer look, but is distracted by the clerk's peppy voice.
"So!" She claps her hands twice, as if to say 'here we go!' Her energy is making Veliky feel tired... and slightly old. "I was just talking to your girlfriend, and-"
"I'm sorry?" Veliky couldn't just let that slip by. Did she hear the clerk right? She was barely listening, but that word sticks out like a sore thumb, or a black sheep, or Mt.-fucking-Drakolt. And the bafflement, though understated, projects in her voice.
The objection comes as a surprise to the clerk; whose excited explanation came to a quick halt, as if it'd stepped on a rock. She's frozen there, hands still together and posture still straight and tidy.
"Umm..." The clerk quietly gestures to Sylva. There's a bit of nervous humour in her voice; she didn't expect the little woman's voice to be so... intimidating. "This *is* your girlfriend, right?"
Veliky doesn't use the word 'flabbergasted' often - partly because she doesn't know the word, but she wouldn't even if she did. But she would consider using it to describe her current mental state upon hearing the clerk's words. 'Girlfriend...?' she thinks to herself. 'How the hell did she come to think that?'
She looks to Sylva: the six-and-a-half-foot-tall tree-lady with the features of an elven queen, who only offers Veliky a quizzical expression. How could this clerk possibly think that Veliky, a dour-faced collar with the features of whatever the Common word for 'talikahn' is, could hook up with someone like Sylva? Is she stupid?
Whatever. All things considered, it's a much easier explanation than what the truth would be. And what does she care what some rando Lilac's employee believes?
She lets out a sigh. "Yeah. She's my..." She has trouble thinking of how to pronounce it; she certainly doesn't have to very often. "...girlfriend."
The clerk's eyes light up. 'At least that's over with...'
"I knew it! You two are SO cute together."
Something twinges in Veliky's chest, like she just went through all the stages of indigestion in one visceral heartbeat. She's perfectly fine with this person thinking that they're dating, but... do they really look that way? What if other people think so? How many of the people outside thought so?!
'Calm down. She's just making up compliments. It's what these people do[1].'
Right, of course. She isn't sure how this clerk came to this misunderstanding, but she's obviously the outlier. And they are most certainly NOT cute together.
...The clerk's smile veils a degree of concern, seeing Veliky's face. The little woman looks something in her stomach is disagreeing with her. Well, if that's the case, then it's best to get through this quickly!
"Anyways, I was just telling your girlfriend about this wonderful new device that we had delivered this morning!" She gestures openly, to the marvellous something that they stand before. A device... an innovation? That does spark some interest from Veliky - this can be told by the sudden seriousness in her eyes, which the clerk is not blind to. "Umm... L-Let me show you what it does."
Quick to avert her eyes from Veliky's, the clerk turns around and stands in front of the orb. She closes her eyes... and gently lays her hand on the orb.
"For the one I love beyond all measure..." As she speaks, a haze of pink mist begins to swirl within the orb! Veliky's eyes narrow; just what's happening here? "...Create something they can treasure."
Suddenly, that same mist exudes from the orb, rising above it before coalescing into a solid shape. And then there's a flash of light that has Veliky covering her eyes! "What the-!"
...Silence. Veliky uncovers her eyes to see what the magic begat. Now hovering above the orb is a stuffed toy, about two feet in height and with little arms and legs. But it doesn't borrow its image from a bear, cat, fox or any other beast. Rather, it wears red hair on its head and freckles upon its face. And as the clerk reaches forward and pulls it into a squishy embrace, red hair and freckled face herself... the resembling is uncanny, albeit stylized.
"Isn't it just the cutest?" she asks with a dreamy tone, rubbing her cheek against the plush's. "Well... then again, yours would probably be a heck of a lot cuter! Want to give it a try?"
'Yours...? Wait... Oh no.' With an expression of dire epiphany, she looks up to Sylva beside her. She finally realizes what Sylva's holding in her arms.
"Sylva?" Her voice as surprised as it is confused. "Did you really want to...?"
1. Smooth Talking
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Post by Sylva (RETIRED) on Mar 1, 2023 21:49:30 GMT -5
Veliky approaches, calling Sylva’s attention to the small woman as her stoic disposition becomes visible through shelves in rainbows of fabrics and linens. Sylva’s expression remains neutral. The treant’s verdant gaze returns to the chipper woman; and with the stuffed cat held gently between her crossed arms; she blinks. Interrupted suddenly by Veliky’s voice, holding just a hint of offense– or maybe confusion?
Sylva tries to place it, allowing Veliky and the clerk to banter; her only movement comes in a quizzical glance to Veliky when the clerk gestures towards her, asking her to clarify.
As prompted, Veliky does exactly that; but she won’t know that it was likely a mistake to confirm their status in Sylva’s presence until it’s much too late.
Sylva soaks up the information like dry moss dipped beneath the surface of the marsh; she cocks her head, placing the curved knuckle of one hand against her moss green lips as she ponders the meaning of the title that Veliky just confirmed to her.
Girlfriends.
Interesting; so that’s what they are?
She wonders what the significance of such a title is; it most certainly implies friendship of some kind. So, when the clerk proceeds to tell them her opinion on their girlfriendship, Sylva nods gratefully. “Thank you.” she responds with earnesty; she offers Veliky a glance, as if to confirm she has responded appropriately— but the little quarterling’s expression is indiscernible from this angle. She relinquishes the attempt with a blink; Sylva holds the stuffed cat while the assistant proceeds to show them what the machine does, and by the name of the Mother, herself… She is utterly charmed by it.
Before Veliky can speak her name, her voice giving way to her surprise and confusion; the question falls on deaf ears. Sylva has already stepped forwards to examine the doll that the orb had produced; a creature of sparkly black button eyes and soft edges, much like the cat in her arms. Its gaze is blank but friendly. “It looks just like you…” she marvels, reaching out to touch the plush-attendant’s red hair. "How does it do it?"
It’s soft beneath her fingertips just like the cat.
“Isn't it the cutest!?” the attendant nearly squeals, her green eyes alighting over Sylva’s apparent interest with the new machine. Her excitement does cause the treant to wince, however; and she pulls her hand back with a blink. The attendant quickly tries to regain her interest. “Sorry! It's, y'know, magic! Do you want to give it a try? It’ll make a plush that looks just like you!” She wiggles the little red-headed plush. “You said your girlfriend travels a lot, right? So it’s a really nice gift for Hearth's Day before you leave!”
Before Sylva has time to object, the attendant hops around to the other side of the machine and gestures for Sylva to place her hand on the orb. Sylva’s quizzical gaze follows her point. “Here, I can guide you through it and everything! It’s really easy, promise! You put your hand here,” she directs with a point at the orb. Sylva glances down at the orb; studying the way it sits and the mechanism it’s attached to; before hesitantly reaching out.
The orb is cold, but smooth; like a stone that’s spent ages tumbling in the riverbed.
“And you repeat after me, okay? So it’s: For the one I love beyond all measure—”
“... For the one I love beyond all measure.”
“Create something they can treasure!”
“Create something they can treasure.”
The attendant, plushie still snuggled between her side and her arm, claps her hands gleefully as a pink mist exudes from the orb. Sylva’s fingertips twitch, and she tries to draw back— but something keeps her palm clung to the orb.
In the flash that follows, Sylva blinks, then looks to the form of the plush that’s formed.
Its skin a soft olive green, and its smile subtle but present nonetheless, she finds herself looking at a doll-like reflection. Yarn and carefully crafted leaves tangle the replica’s hair and dress; and it stands taller than the attendant’s— perhaps three and a half feet in height. “Oh,” Sylva remarks; but her wonderment is drowned out by an excited caw from the attendant.
“Wuh! Gosh, that one’s big! I didn’t know it accounted for height…” She looks wondrously at it, “It came out so lovely! I was a little worried about how complicated… I mean, how accurate it could get! You know, with all the... Ahem, it looks great! Really!” Sylva’s not paying much attention, though; tucking the cat beneath the crook of her arm, she reaches out and takes the soft mimicry of herself.
“This is what I look like?”
The attendant looks puzzled, but her smile is omnipresent. “Of course! It’s actually pretty accurate!” Sylva blinks at her response, brushing a thumb across the soft, green-blushed cheeks of the plushie.
After years of seeing her reflection cast in bogwater and rippling ocean tide, she’s not sure what she had expected. She definitely doesn’t look like the attendant, nor does she look like Veliky; she looks nothing like the people on the street, as she had thought… but, it is cute.
Yes, the strange sphere has made her look awfully cute, no matter what she may think.
She jiggles the plushie experimentally, watching the stuff-filled body wave with the motion; a yarn-tangled vine falls from the plush-treant's hair; and a tiny smile graces Sylva's lips for the briefest of moments... before she remembers that Veliky hasn’t made hers yet.
If the ball can make someone like her look this cute, she wonders...
Sylva lowers the plush in her arm to glance at Veliky; she says nothing, but waiting expectation glitters behind her verdant eyes. The attendant follows her gaze, voicing what her expression seems to state, "You want me to walk you through it, too?"
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Post by Veliky on Mar 6, 2023 0:55:20 GMT -5
Veliky never would have guessed - not in a hundred years. Sure, Sylva's been living in a swamp for her whole life, having little to no contact with any form of civilization. Sure, she has exceedingly little comprehension of social cues, and absolutely no comprehension of the trappings of city life. Sure, this whole trip has been a mountain of damning evidence to the apparent fact that Sylva is far less sophisticated than she let on. And sure, her obliviousness - even Veliky would have to admit - has been sort of cute at times.
But to think that the mystical emissary of the haunt, as ancient as the forest itself (or so Veliky understands), would be into this sort of thing... Veliky can't help but look on in bewilderment as the dryad holds an effigy of herself condensed into concentrated chibi. She even smiled at one point! Veliky should have to believe that this is some sort of dream, but that belief would come with the terrifying implication that her own mind is capable of conjuring such a mosaic of sweetness to make a Blixtbot™ nauseous. No, the idea that this is real is far less dreadful than that.
But that notion changes rather quickly when Sylva turns to her. It isn't an observant stare; she isn't looking for details, and she certainly isn't being subtle. That twinkle in her verdant eyes... It takes Veliky a moment to process what exactly it means. But when she does, her eyes widen in horror.
"You want me to walk you through it, too?"
Veliky has to jerk her head to face the clerk who speaks with such chipper tune, as if the sound was that of some screaming barbarian or some other grievous danger. The clerk looks so expectant... they *both look so expectant! But why?! This can't be happening.
Veliky looks frantically between the two. However innocent their expressions may seem to an onlooker; in Veliky's eyes, the clerk's grin stretches from eye to eye with sadistic glee, and Sylva's eyes pierce her soul like the promise of the end. The fact that they both loom over her, does not aid this perception.
"Wha-" Veliky's first utterance is a failed attempt at verbalization. But she looks down and shakes her head, steeling her resolve. "N-No. No, no, no, no. No."
Sylva, who has no reason or understanding of why somebody would reject such an offer, is confused by Veliky's reluctance. "... Why not? Is it bad?"
A critical strike. It sends Veliky reeling. It's a question that does not merely request an answer, but *demands* one, as refusal to answer is just as damning. And Veliky can't use her usual tactic of going on the offensive, seeing as Sylva doesn't even realize what she's done. It's rare for a question to be asked that Veliky doesn't have an answer to, rarer still for such a question to leave her stammering and scrambling for an adequate response.
But the clerk is not confused, nor is she disarmed. No; her warm expression is that of understanding, and the plushie in her arms almost seems to wear the same knowing smile. She's seen it far too often, when someone's S/O is too embarrassed to buy something and... well, she'd be lying if she said she wasn't deriving some form of schadenfreude from seeing this stone-faced businesswoman so obviously flustered. It isn't long before her anticipation boils over into thinly-veiled teasing. "So you aren't going to get a gift for your girlfriend?"
'This person is a witch.' It's all Veliky can think, staring back in bafflement at the clerk's sly-faced wickedness. She has a person at either flank, both prying at her with different methods, overwhelming her with a tag-team combo of sinister coercion and innocent pleading. Being on the receiving end of such diabolical tactics... it's aggravatingly ironic.
'No... No! Veliky, you don't let people push you around. You are the quintessential girlboss. You're in control here.'
She opens her eyes with newfound resolve, in defiance of the pressure before her. She marches over to Sylva and hooks an arm around the willow's shin, gently (or perhaps forcefully; it's hard to tell with Veliky) pulling her away from the orb.
"Come on. We need to get you some clothes."
But Sylva doesn’t move; she is rooted to her position. "Oh..." She looks down at the quarterling's efforts to get her to budge for but a moment. “But I think yours would be quite cute,” she objects, slowly looking back at the plush in her arms; her expression is hard to read, but there’s an embarrassment— maybe a vague sense of disappointment— in the slight furrow of her brows. “We cannot do both?”
Veliky's lost for words. She wouldn't describe herself as a control freak (though another might), but she's undoubtedly very accustomed to having her command obeyed - her tone and demeanour ordinarily get her that much. And perhaps she shouldn't have expected Sylva to automatically follow her lead, but it's disconcerting nonetheless. And *then* to hear Sylva's insinuation that Veliky's doll would be cute? She can feel her face beginning to heat, which only embarrasses her further: a vicious cycle.
"Wh-" Veliky stutters: a rarity. "Why would you think that...?" Her effort to lead Sylva has faded. Only fluster remains.
"Isn't it obvious?" The voice has Veliky's head snapping to the clerk again. Every time Veliky looks, the clerk's smile seems to grow more unabashedly sadistic. Forget being a Lilac's Eve clerk; this woman should be hired as a torturer's assistant!
It's only then that Veliky realizes how she must look, tugging Sylva along like a child would tug at their parent's pant leg. Then, on instinct, she retracts her arm as if she'd just touched a heated pot. And at the sight, the clerk derives a devilish delight. And to think she'd been frightened by Veliky just earlier...
"Come on," she cajoles with innocent cheer, "we do discounts for couples!"
Couples, couples, couples... The word echoes in Veliky's mind like a shout from a cave. She crosses her arms in a huff, desperately trying to reattain some degree of dignity as the two other ladies loom over her. Her mind scrambles for cohesion - she wishes she could take a torch to the parts of her brain where thoughts are fluttering like vexsome butterflies.
...
Veliky's eyes are downcast. There's a strange silence, filled only with the sounds of the street outside, muffled through the luxury glass.
'It'd... It'd just be a second. It's worth a bit of expediency, right?'
With a shaky sigh, she gives a sideward and upward look to Sylva. "...If I do it, will you pick out some clothes?"
Sylva looks to Veliky; her verdant eyes half-lidded while the quarterling stumbles and objects… but she doesn’t really understand why. Isn’t it obvious? She opens her mouth to tell Veliky, but the words slip away when the attendant responds instead. She looks over to the redhead for a moment with a blink; her nod is subtle, but present, before she looks back to Veliky. Eventually, the blonde woman breathes a tiny sigh and starts to relinquish; so long as she picks out clothes in return.
Sylva looks over her head to the infinite rows of pastel colors… and nods, quickly answering. “I will.”
Veliky can't altogether tell if she was dreading or hoping for that response. Upon hearing it, the combination of relief and a pit in her stomach tells her that it may've been both. But regardless, it's an easy way out.
She turns to the clerk, ready to speak her approval. But; when she does; she sees that the clerk has already set aside her doll and brought out a wooden step-stool, and wears an expression of absolute glee. Veliky has no clue when the clerk found the time to do such a thing, but the sight only adds to her exasperation. She lets out another sigh, head downcast. "Alright... Let's get this over with."
No sooner have the words left her mouth than the clerk practically slams the step-stool onto the tiled floor, creating a dreaded staircase to Veliky's reckoning. "Great!" she exclaims with perhaps more joy than she intended. "I'll walk you through it; just come on up and we'll get started!"
It isn't long before she's standing at the top of that step-stool, face-to-face with that dreaded orb. In fact, she'd rather the ascent had lasted much longer. 'But no...' she wordlessly laments. 'This is actually happening...'
The clerk gestures for her to place her hand on the orb, which she does without much hesitation - this isn't the difficult step. Though she's somewhat startled by the clerk's reaction.
"Oh! No gloves. The magic only works if you're touching it with your skin."
'Of course it does.' Veliky thinks with some grief. It's a minor detail, but how it compounds with everything else makes it feel like an insult. Frustratedly, she pulls off her glove and replaces her left hand on the orb. It's cold and smooth under her touch.
"Alright!" The clerk claps her hands; it's an innocent gesture, but Veliky can't help but feel patronized. "Now repeat after me:"
Here it comes...
"For the one I love beyond all measure-"
"..."
"For the one I-"
"I heard you."
She lets out a final sigh of resignation. No more opportunity to stall, it seems.
"For the one I l-love beyond all measure-"
The clerk's grin widens, and a half-stifled giggle raises the heat in Veliky's cheeks.
"Create something they can treasure!"
"Create something they..." There's a twitch of absolute dejection in her brow, "can treasure..."
The clerk practically leaps with joy, but Veliky doesn't see it. She's already closed her eyes to brace for what's to come. The glass beneath her fingertips somehow grows colder, and she knows that the process has begun. That bright flash couldn't have come soon enough, but what follows? Does she even want to open her eyes, and see what the orb's magic begot? 'It can't be that bad, right?'
She opens her eyes with infinite apprehension... and comes face-to-face with the black eyes of a fabric reflection. For several seconds, she stands in dumbfounded silence, staring at the features that seem to be a caricature of her own: a disproportionately large head, wearing an utterly blank expression; a neat and proper suit of basil-coloured felt; little legs and arms that end in piteously minimalistic knobs; and a huge, curling clump of hair that stick directly upward from its head, leading Veliky to subconsciously feel above her own head whilst wondering 'Is it really that bad...?' And of course, just as Sylva's doll had been inordinately large, Veliky's is no taller than a foot; but even that insulting detail pales in comparison to the one that most has her attention.
"What are these little, pink squiggles on its cheeks...? What's that supposed to mean?" she asks righteously.
The clerk, who had previously been ecstatic at the sight of the doll, is standing on its other side. And so she needs to step forward to see its face, at which point she barely manages to contain a cackle (Veliky notices, and it does not please her).
"W-Well," she begins, struggling to maintain a straight face, "the orb copies your emotional state onto the doll it creates, so..."
Veliky is swift to interrupt. "Nevermind. We're done here." She's equally quick to hop off her place on the platform, landing with two tiny stamps on the tiled floor and trying to put as much distance between herself and the doll as is possible without leaving arm's reach of Sylva (and hiding her own face, which is growing more and more similar to the doll's with every passing second). "Come on, Sylva." she says hastily. "You got your dolls, let's find you some clothes."
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Post by Sylva (RETIRED) on Apr 19, 2023 9:59:58 GMT -5
She looks wondrously at the doll; it’s even smaller than Veliky, herself. Its cheeks are squiggled with pink, a stitched frown on its face matching the perfect, grumpy atmosphere of the quarterling. The similarity to Veliky as a whole, it’s… precious. The dryad’s verdant gaze softens, smile quirking her olive lips, when she hears two small stamps. She looks to Veliky, watching the woman start to walk away. “ Oh…” She looks away, gazing at the plush for a few more moments, before she reaches out to delicately take it. “ Let me know if you need anymore help!” The clerk calls as Sylva turns and follows Veliky. “ You do not want yours…?” Sylva asks, looking down at the little woman; her long strides in contrast to Veliky’s small bring her easily to the quarterling’s side, despite her desperation to get away. There’s a softness in her gaze as she looks at the plushies in her arms—a dryad, an orange cat, and a quarterling— squished against her bosom. “ It really is cute… it looks just like you, Mistress Veliky.” The little mogul huffs in flustered frustration, stiffening at Sylva’s words but hiding the embarrassment behind a layer of steam. But on the inside, of course, an inner turmoil continues. ‘Calm down, Veliky. She just means the doll is cute (1), idiot.’ And of that, she’s convinced herself — for now. Enough, at least, to carry a certain confidence as she looks backward and upward to meet Sylva’s eyes. And then she turns away, immediately. She’d prepared her denial like a chef prepares a gourmet meal… but then she saw the way that Sylva was holding the Veliky-plush to her chest and her will crumbled in an instant. Her eyes go wide, and she has to hide her face by any means necessary. “ It… It’d be weird to have a doll of myself.” Her delivery is leagues less composed than she’d planed. In fact, it was less of an orchestrated comeback and moreso the first thing that came to her mind. Sylva blinks in response. “ Weird…?” She repeats, her voice wondering and quizzical; tone light and airy, like a mockingbird perched upon the branches of the dead oaks in the Hauntwood. She looks down at the plushes, considering the true breadth of weirdness, before coming to the conclusion that Mistress Veliky may have a point… However, she has a solution to this problem. “ Would you like mine?” She asks, an edge of delight heightening her tone at her problem solving abilities. Her smile is small, olive-painted lips curled at the edges as she makes the offer to the quarterling; a soft laugh, a giggle soft as a dandelion seed drifting on the breeze, escapes between her lips. She tightens her hug on the plushies. “ It should not be weird then.” Veliky freezes in her tread, tensed as if her every muscle were pierced with a needle. She’s made a dreadful mistake, and she knows it well — well enough to feel a pang of shame that comes from any mistake. Indeed, based off what Veliky’s told her, Sylva’s offer would be the optimal outcome; Veliky has only herself to blame for this predicament, and she has only herself to rely on to be rescued from it. She’ll just need to avoid thinking about that inordinate hope in Sylva’s tone. She keeps her arms crossed, close to her chest. She can feel the treats expectant eyes, shining on her like the morning sun and reminding her of her waning time. But, after a momentary consideration… “ S-sure.” It’s all she can think to say, avoiding Sylva’s verdant eyes. Of course, she would never legitimately accept such an offer; she could never imagine herself owning such a thing. But telling Sylva that she’ll keep it should satisfy the native treat for now, and she can consider what to do with it later. For the time being, however: “ But you have to carry it for me. It’s too big for me to hold, even.” “ That is true…” Sylva considers this for a moment, then nods; her smile is subtle but present all the same. Her verdant eyes shift into gleeful crescents as she agrees, “ Okay.”
In the end, Sylva does make true to her word: after all is said and done, she wanders through aisles upon aisles of fabric and clothing. Her glee begins to fade as she does, transitioning into furrowed brows and pursed lips as she thumbs through racks of dresses, shawls, and robes. Every now and then, she offers Mistress Veliky a helpless look; but ultimately resigns herself to doing what she has sworn to do: finding clothes. It’s hard when she doesn’t exactly know much about it, but she does manage to find a small selection that catches her eye in texture, shape, or recollection, that she drapes over an arm. At some point, the clerk returns— offering to help her when she’s lingered long enough in the store to basically be considered a loiterer— and after one last helpless glance at Veliky, Sylva accepts her assistance. A few more outfits are added to her chosen pile with the clerk’s help— some which Sylva is not quite sure she would have picked out, herself— but which she accepts nonetheless. Then, like a kit ushered into their den, the clerk escorts Sylva into a changing room in the back and leaves her with an arm full of her chosen clothing before pulling back the curtains on her. “ I think you’re going to like some of those outfits!” The clerk chimes mischievously at Veliky, clapping her hands together with delight. “ I picked a few from our Spring Collection for her; granted, it’s not Spring yet, but I think they’ll be pretty!” At this point, Veliky's only just beginning to cool down from the previous humiliation. Despite the cool atmosphere, she feels as if she's developing heatstroke; and she also feels an oncoming headache, which makes the ring-a-ling of the clerk's voice an even less-welcomed song. Arms crossed, she offers the clerk a sidelong look of unparalleled suspicion. " Why're you looking at me like that?"
It takes Sylva a while to put each outfit on, but she does manage to survive the experience with the occasional help from the clerk on how to clasp buckles, fit corsets, or tie knots. The clerk is quite helpful, really; and Sylva is relieved for her help; but she is also quite enthusiastic to see each outfit as it’s put on— partially to help her with the loose ties and clasps that she can’t reach— and to offer her opinion on the fit. The first is a fine dress of near-silken quality; it is by far the lightest material of what has been chosen thus far; the train of which falls around her legs in waterfalls and eleoquent ribbons. She finds it the least offending in its weight, and the least restricting in the way the fabric splits, drifting up her right thigh to free her legs for movement. A rather complicated belt accentuates the waist of the dress as it splits into a generous halter top, which she requires the clerk to help her tie around the back of her neck. Beside a bench and not far away, Veliky stands, awaited to give her opinion. And yet there she is, looking rather like she's trying not to vomit, with one hand clasped over her mouth and nose. She looks almost to be in physical pain- - But then she merely, wordlessly flashes a thumbs-up, and quickly retreats out of sight to wipe away the blood that's still trickling from her nose. The second is a dress of a thicker quality; olive in hue; and of some quality of cotton that Sylva could not hope to name. She finds it the stuffiest, with its long sleeves fitting tight to the dryad’s wood-bled skin, and pinching in at her waist. A shawl of an equal hue accompanies the outfit, pooling over Sylva’s shoulders like a lichen wrap; and as the gown descends, it blooms into multiple petals, covering her in her entirety, and leaving very little free to the elements. Having only just returned (and only just recovered), Veliky has to pause rubbing her temple, stopped by the elegant sight before her. Sylva's new regal is the very image of refinedness, and the floral motif befits her in a way that seems almost starbound. Its as beautiful as the last, but its modesty allows Veliky to stare without a visceral reaction. In fact, she stares for so long that she doesn't notice the clerk creep up beside her with a grin. " Feeling better?" she asks a little too closely to Veliky's ear, leading the little woman to jolt in surprise. " I hope you weren't thinking they'd all be like the last one." Shocked, affronted, a rebuttal struggles to coalesce in Veliky's mind before sputtering like a Blixtbot's™ engine and giving out, until all she utters is " Just get the next one." The third is a gown of multiple hues; it’s not quite silken, but its texture is smooth and not heavy. Its colors transition from dandelion-seed whites, to chlorophyll greens which gradiate from the heart-shaped illusion into the mimicry of a ribbed corset sewn into the length of the gown itself. A loose belt with a decorative golden buckle hangs loosely around the outfit’s pinched waist, falling in ribbons to the floor just as the straight-lined sheath falls in gentle pleats around her figure. With the assistance of the clerk, she’s given a decorative collar; one which falls into sheer wings behind her back. Veliky isn't excellent at describing things in the Common tongue. If she were to try and describe it in Halfling, she'd say it's "Kat na tal za ah kapellon enatung aul na mim." But in Common, the only word that comes to mind is "mystique." The way the wings form a haze around her almost errs to focus the eye on Sylva, and only Sylva. It's mesmerizing... Wait, this seems familiar. Yanking her attention away, she looks to the left -- just in time to see the clerk's grinning face.
Immediately, she's soured, letting out a groan and waving her away.
The fourth is more simple than the rest; a lichen-hued cotton blouse, which drapes over her shoulders and bunches loosely around her wrists in ribbed patterns. A braided, brown belt accentuates her waist, where the blouse tucks into a draping, paneled skirt which ruffles at her ankles. Arguably, it is the second-most comfortable outfit out of the bunch— leaving her plenty of room in which to move without snagging her branchen joints against its delicate weaves. " ..." There's something about this outfit that has Veliky pondering. That is, actively ponder -- one hand at the chin, with the other supporting her elbow, and eyes narrowed to judicial slits. There's certainly great beauty to it (the skirt is especially captivating, its oaken hue contrasting in much the same way that Sylva's own branches contrast her skin), but Veliky can't help but feel that it's just criminal to hide Sylva's river hair under a hood. Everyone needs a hood every now and again, but a cloak could likely fulfill the purpose better. She shakes her head sagely. The fifth is… The fifth…. There’s a moment of pause behind the changing room curtain. “ Is this one complete?” She asks, a sheepishness tinting the sound of her voice as she pulls back the curtain. “ It does not much feel like the others, it is… very open. Is it meant to be like this?” The fifth is hard to call an outfit; it fits Sylva like a glove; a cotton-ribbed texture reminiscent of a sweater; which clings tightly to her neck like a collar, and follows her silhouette dutifully like a halter top, despite the lack of fabric on her back. The clerk makes a weird sound that seems a bit like a cough, “ M’hm!” She answers after a moment, hands clapping together in front of her. “ That’s the one from our spring collection; it’s real, top-of-the-line fashion… especially for a Hearth’s Day!” But as the clerk speaks, she looks over Sylva's bare, olive shoulder to realize that Veliky is nowhere to be seen. The little businesswoman isn't stood by that bench that she's been beside for almost the entire time. In truth, she had been there just a moment ago; but then she took one look at Sylva (specifically, Sylva's back, which is completely unobscured by this licentious attire) and thought that she'd somehow caught Sylva changing, and swiftly hid herself away. This is ridiculous, as Sylva couldn't be more revealing than she normally is; but, even knowing this herself, Veliky just can't bring herself to look. And so there she remains, hidden behind one of the shelves. “ Where did Mistress Veliky go?” Sylva blinks, looking at the clerk quizzically. The woman giggles, waving Sylva’s question away as though it had taken physical form. “ I think she likes it.” She whispers, but the playfulness hinting in her tone soars over Sylva’s branch-like antlers as though it were a bird. Despite her confusion, Sylva looks thoughtfully down at the gown for a moment, before she nods and disappears behind the curtain. In the end, she picks three different outfits, but re-emerges in the second; despite its stuffiness, it had seemed to catch Veliky’s attention for the longest, and was the closest to some of the outfits she had seen out on the streets. The first gown lays draped over her crossed arms— the one which Veliky had offered some gesture of approval upon— and the fifth outfit, which the clerk had mentioned Veliky may have liked. … although, upon sight of it, the quarterling seems shocked to see it in her arms in a way that doesn't seem necessarily positive; but she acquiesces with a hesitant agreement after shooting the clerk a furrowed glance… … but she cannot imagine why.
Something about the quizzicality of the situation and the expressive faces of a woman so in-expressive, causes a soft laugh to escape the dryad; one which is quickly covered by her fingertips.
She cannot deny despite the hiccups that this little outing, and her escort, both have their respective charms.
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Post by Veliky on Apr 25, 2023 23:06:41 GMT -5
That damned clerk... Her efforts, alone, turned this whole chore -- which could've been so simple -- into one of the longest in Veliky's life. As the devilish woman barely bothers to hide a smile and vanishes behind one of many satin-strewn shelves, Veliky hopes that it'll be the last encounter she has with both that woman and this establishment. Mocking her, intentionally misleading Sylva; and not to mention that, in all, the clothes ended up costing over a solar (not including the plushies, which were nearly two gold each). 'Trav syet ae donkerit aien.' she almost said. Veliky's never seen such price hikes, even in her own company.
But as they stand at the entrance and she lets out one last sigh that carries the residue of all her frustrations, she's distracted by an unmistakable sound that nevertheless almost escapes her ears. It's softer and warmer than a cleric's touch, and it comes from the oaken lady that's now draped in Sol's finest fabrics. She looks up to Sylva's face, and sees none of the apprehension that the treant held before.
Did she just giggle? Ultimately, it's a rhetorical question, yet it seems infeasible. It's the first time Veliky's heard her laugh since they met in the Marsh Flats, months ago. Veliky had come to assume that Sylva didn't experience such things -- or, at least, that she chose not to express them. So why would she do it now? Could it be that she...
'Stop!' she lashes back at her thoughts in internal panic as she feels her cheeks warming up again. 'This is professional. Business relationship. Besides, there's no way in hell she'd think something like that.'
She takes a deep breath as she faces the door. 'Business relationship.'
At least the weather's cleared up.
Back to the streets, only slightly less crowded than before. And Veliky's backfired -- badly. She'd hoped that covering Sylva up a little would deter some of these damned 'spectators.' But, in the end, it's only drawn more. Hell, as they cross over from the docks and approach the market district, Sylva's managed to draw in new demographics: not only cruddy sailors, but also some noblemen and noblewomen (many whom of the latter look at her more with jealousy than attraction, in fairness). And can Veliky blame a single one of them? No, not even remotely; Sylva outshines them all. And as far as envy goes, if Veliky gave a damn about looking pretty and if she wanted to destroy her own confidence, taking one look at Sylva would be a surefire method.
...But why are some of them looking at Veliky? If they were leering her the same way they were looking at Sylva, she'd just think they were creeps. But instead, they look bitter, giving her thinly veiled sneers and frowns...
'No way in hell they're thinking it too, right?!' The clerk's misunderstanding still buzzes around in her brain, like a dragonfly. She has to shake it away every few minutes. But something brings it back every time, whether it's another glare from the crowd or... Sylva's smile.
'Focus.'
The shopping trip took far longer than Veliky had expected or accounted for. In the end, they had to cut a couple things from the list, like using the bank and hiring the carriage (the latter was less about time and more about the unholy cost of Sylva's clothes). In all likelihood, the next stop will be one of their last.
"Next on the list is how to get food when you're in the city. You can obviously cook, but you'll need to find someone else to teach you that. Instead, we'll-"
plip. A little drop of rain lands on her cheek, stopping her in her sentence and in her tracks alike. She holds out a hand for a moment and-
plip, plip
Feels a couple more raindrops, falling onto the leather of her glove. The frequency builds, little by little, until a patch of rainfall has beset the area. It's strange, on such a sunny day.
"Ugh..." she groans. Around them, couples produce little parasols and raise them to the sky, holding close beneath them to shelter themselves and each-other. "Hopefully it doesn't keep up. We'll have to-"
Before Veliky can finish, the earth groans around them.
The patterned cobblestone surrounding their walkway to their next destination cracks. It rises, bidden, to shape itself around them, its motions serpent-like; portions stack themselves atop one another, the mortar loosens into paste to clasp and glue their stones into place. Shocked yelps and confused shrieks surround them from passing citizens; and before long, the sky over Veliky’s head darkens as a circular sun-patterned stone falls into place perfectly over her head[1].
Standing in the midst of it, Sylva stands with her arms outstretched and her verdant green eyes wide; her chest rises and falls with a quickened pace, as though she’s been spooked— but it’s hard to tell what the culprit may have been until the dryad woman slowly places a finger against her cheek and wipes away a single drop of water.
She looks at her damp fingers, her expression best described as perturbed, before looking quizzically at Veliky. But, as someone with slightly more social tact would expect, the face she sees is a befuddled one. Veliky's jaw hangs open while her brow is furrowed, and her forehead occasionally twitches as it struggles to find an expression that can aptly convey the perplexity of this situation.
Veliky has to regain her bearings, looking down for a reprieve before letting in a brisk breath.
"Sylva, what are you doing?"
A tall, arched doorway, carved into the cobble that's now been bent into walls and ceilings, welcomes rays of sunlight. But Veliky doesn't need to look outside to know that people would now be gathering and gawking at the veritable house that's appeared in the middle of the street.
Sylva is surprised to see the confusion on Mistress Veliky’s face; but it tells her something subtle even before she speaks; that her actions are not quite correct, or perhaps not understood.
Awkwardly, Sylva draws her hands in, intertwining her fingers together at the line of her waist. She feels a slight heat beneath the collar of the clothes only recently bought; and outside, she hears the confused murmurs of the Sol City residents.
“I…” she trails off, “The sky was falling; without the trees to hold it up, would we not be crushed?” Despite her confusion, the hint of heated embarrassment painted olive on her cheeks, the question is a genuine one despite its unusualness.
'My god.' Veliky isn't normally one to invoke a god, but she feels like she just needs *anyone* else to hear this. She's stunned; the only other time she's ever heard someone say that the sky was falling was in Ugol Ba, a fairytale that was supposed to teach children about courageousness.
Veliky can't help but sigh as she realizes that she's dealing with someone about as well-acclimated as a fictional chicken. "No, Sylva. It's okay." she explains wearily, before lightly tugging at the fabric of Sylva's new skirt, trying to lead her toward the doorway.
Veliky is met with slight resistance.
Although the quarterling pulls on her skirt, the wavering dryad looks down at her with pursed lips and furrowed brows; uncertainty painted across her face like the warning colors of a ladybug. She follows Veliky’s direction with only her eyes, looking warily at the archway of the door; she is not a dumb woman, all things considered; and she can tell that those outside are hardly affected by what she has called, ‘the sky falling’.
Where did that come from? Who told her that the trees held the sky like that? She can’t quite remember; but she feels acknowledgement of something at the tip of her tongue.
After a moment of hesitation, silence, and wavering glances, Sylva takes a hesitant step; and then another; allowing Veliky to pull her through the doorway by the pleats of her skirt.
Bitter and hot: it's just how Veliky likes it. No need to waste time with sugar or milk when one can tolerate the bitterness, and no time to spare to let it cool when you're on as busy a schedule as hers. It's simple, it's practical and it's efficient. And as she takes a scalding sip, Veliky knows that it's exactly the coffee for a woman like her.
She delicately places the mug back down onto the coaster, heedless of how even the handle outsizes her own hand. The oasic steam always has a way of soothing her, especially on a chilly day like this one. Despite that it's sunny, they can still hear the pitter-patter of raindrops falling on the umbrella that covers their table.
'...Why did we sit outside, again?' She finds herself asking it again, even though she clearly remembers the answer. It's because the woman now sitting across from her asked for it. It seems that Sylva's opinion on rain has completely reversed, or at least that she's curious enough to see past her superstitions. And so they're sat here, at a little four-person table in the outdoor dining area of the restaurant that Veliky had chosen for them before even arriving: a refined, but modest place called 'La Chance.' She can appreciate this place; it isn't as distractingly colourful as Lilac's, but it isn't lower-class either. Veliky would normally take the cheapest place she could find, but she'd prefer to give Sylva a decent first impression.
She did neglect to order any food for herself, though. She has to stay frugal somehow.
For now, they're just waiting. Veliky sits soberly, a contemplative expression on her face -- one that's contradicted by the booster seat she's been consigned to. Just to her left is a large, crystal-clear window, through which she can see the cafe's myriad patrons: elves, humans, dwarves and even a fellblood. A diverse cast from many walks of life.
But none of them are as interesting as Sylva; this much is obvious at a glance, seeing as Sylva stands well over most men's heights and has eyes that glow like Springlit grass in a field, but only becomes clearer as Veliky learns more about her. She's as regal as a queen, yet as declimatized as a fish in a tree; and for all her eloquence, she doesn't seem to know the first thing about social cues. Her beauty is undeniable, though; Veliky's met elves, astral blood and even angels, but there's something about Sylva that makes Veliky think she might just top them all.
Veliky just... really wishes that Sylva hadn't given the plushies their own chairs. Try as Veliky might to look any sort of dignified as she sips on her coffee, having a little toy imitation in the corner of either of her eyes is just utterly distracting. Not to mention that it's humiliating; Veliky couldn't bring herself to even look at the waiter as he took their orders. The dolls sit across from each-other in much the same way that Veliky and Sylva are, with the plush Veliky to Veliky's left and the plush Sylva to her right. In the time that they've been sat, Veliky's devoted a portion of her brain to finding some way to convince Sylva to put them away so they can both be saved the public ostracism that would come from participating in a literal tea party with dolls. But, try as she might, she can't think of any logical way to do so.
She isn't normally one to pray to any god. But she does pray in this moment, not even caring if it's Ziev that hears it. She just fervently, desperately hopes that nobody familiar sees her like this.
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Post by Sylva (RETIRED) on Apr 26, 2023 17:20:41 GMT -5
Rain patters softly; droplets plink across colorful sun-stone patterns in the street outside the cafe. The light rainfall creates a soft hush in the atmosphere; a misty gradient of desaturated golds, reds, and blues which Sylva had known to be so vibrant upon entry. Somehow, the world feels quieter; it’s as though Sol City itself has paused; transitioning from an overcrowded river to a trickling brook in a number of mere seconds, to make way for the downpour of the clouds overhead. It is hypnotizing in the strangest ways. She once believed that the clouds above grew so heavy that they descended from the sky, itself; their dense, cotton-like mist sloughing from their great weight between the branches of the barren trees which held them aloft, to cover the Hauntwood in a rolling fog. She knew the rain which fell between the branches; small droplets which slicked down the curves of deadwood, and plinked into the murky bog below; equal remnants of that weight which those clouds carried, squeezed from them by the trees, until they were light enough to float once again. She cannot remember why she thought such a thing; she only understands that the feeling of it, hazy as the far-off docks in the distance, remains within her soul as a meager reminder of something which she once may have been. Still, she is blissfully unaware of idle gazes and lingering glares; instead, her attention remains only for Veliky, the coffee, and the pitter-patter of the rain. “ Do you… prefer your… coffee that way…?” She asks, finally turning her eyes from the hazy city streets to gaze across the circular table at Mistress Veliky. She is not at all perturbed by their imitations— a druid and a cat on one side— and a quarterling on the other— which she had carefully placed beneath the umbrella to ensure their safety from the rain as they took their seats. “ It is awfully…” A hesitation. “ Bitter.” Truly, she cannot imagine willingly drinking it as it is; her first sip of the drink, in mimicry of Veliky’s timing, had her turning her nose up at the acidic taste on her tongue. The little woman, whose form isn't that much larger than the mug itself, still attempts to maintain a somber appearance, looking into the unreflecting ripples in the relatively oversized cup of black coffee. " I don't drink it for the taste." she answers. But then she adds " If you want, you could add some sugar or cream to sweeten it." as she gestures to a little plate of sugar-cubes and several little packets of cream on the table. Sylva’s brows furrow slightly; she looks to the little plate of sugar-cubes, before she looks at Veliky, her head tilting slightly. “ What do you drink it for, then?” she wonders aloud. It's a question she gives some thought to -- not because she doesn't know the answer, but as she considers how best to explain it to Sylva, who probably wouldn't understand how taxing a nine-to-five really is. She swirls the muddy fluid just slightly, reawakening the steam to serve as a helpful reminder. " My job can be... tiring. I wake up early, and usually stay up late. So mornings can be a pain to get through. As luck would have it, coffee has some sort of alchemical property that causes you to feel more awake. So I always have a cup before starting work." She neglects to mention that Blixt™ fills the same role, knowing that she should introduce these things one at a time if she doesn't want to overwhelm the fish-out-of-water of a treant. “Oh.” she mewls, her expression softening while Veliky explains; she supposes it makes sense from the standpoint of the small woman. "I see..." She has only known Veliky for a short time, and yet, the quarterling always seems… busy; or surrounded by business.
Does she ever rest?
Sylva nods hesitantly, accepting the explanation before she lowers her eyes to what sits on their table. The dryad’s motions are hesitant; clumsy and uncertain like the steps of a new born fawn. She tests out the small metal tongs accompanying their small plate of sugar cubes, accidentally crumbling one of the cubes, before she manages to grab two to drop into her coffee. She watches it plink into the hot liquid, causing the darkness to ripple out; they bob like square mounds of ice in the midst of it. She blinks, then takes a few more of the sugar cubes to put into her coffee, until she has a small army of five cubes floating about… or, four? Three? Wait, where have her first two gone? Sylva looks into her coffee with slightly furrowed brows for a moment, then takes her stirring spoon to sift through the liquid, as if searching for her missing sugar-cubes. When they cannot be found, she plucks two more off the plate, and drops them into the mug; making her drink astoundingly sweet, without really realizing it. She sets the tongs back onto the plate, before taking one of the packets of creamer; she plucks helplessly at the edges of it for a time. Seconds later, the Dryad’s expression grows further puzzled when she... cannot figure out how to open it. She looks at the packet in her hand, unscathed by her attempts, before offering Veliky a helpless look. “ Mistress Veliky… how do you… open it?” Veliky looks up to Sylva and her struggles, supposing it can't be helped; even many adult citizens she's met can't figure out how these little containers work. With a bit of effort and flexibility, she reaches just far enough across the table to grab another packet, and then sits back, holding it up where Sylva can see. " You see where the lid is folded away from the cup? Grab that part with your fingers, and peel the lid away. Then just pour the cream into the coffee." She demonstrates the first two steps with the finesse of someone who's done this a thousand times. Obviously she hasn't done so with cream, but she has with packets of jam when she's making herself a sandwich. Sylva watches with attentiveness; head tilted slightly as Veliky demonstrates the opening of the packet. She looks at the one in her hand, pawing at the top of it until she can find the same part that Veliky had demonstrated— and then she pulls. Pop!Sylva jumps; not from the noise, but from the sudden jolt that her motion had caused, paired with the feeling of tiny flecks of creamer that fly in a circle around the impact zone. By some miracle, when she pulls her hands back sharply and drops the creamer— the entire thing lands in her coffee anyways, causing the liquid to ripple ominously close to the rim of her cup. She blinks a few times, glancing at her white-flecked hands. “ Oh.” She remarks simply, without realizing she has sustained more than just those few specks on her face, as well. “ Does it open like that often…?” ...Figures. Really; it should've been expected. Just as Veliky's seen many an adult fail to understand the mechanisms, just as Sylva had, she's also seen many an adult have exactly this sort of accident. In hindsight, she would've been more surprised if it hadn't happened. Maybe she should've warned Sylva first... " No. Well, yes, it does if you're not careful... Here." Feeling slightly bad and more-slightly guilty for the whole catastrophe, Veliky steps up onto the table and walks to Sylva's side. Her bulk -- that is, the lack of it -- barely even causes ripples in the coffee as she steps along (and she was courteous enough to remove her shoes, of course). Now standing just in front of Sylva, she reaches into a pocket and pulls out a little handkerchief with which she begins to wipe the creamer off Sylva's olive cheeks. " You'll get used to it. Everyone starts off like this." she says, focusing on cleaning Sylva's face. " ...Well, not exactly like this. But, over time, it'll become like second nature." 'Second nature...' she didn't intend the pun, but it works pretty well. She finds herself a bit prideful of it, before looking up into Sylva's eye- Sylva is extremely close. The realization comes to Veliky like a knife to the heart. Immediately she freezes up, unsure of what to do. Did she just cross some sort of boundary?! Sylva, however surprised she may be by Veliky's action, doesn’t seem particularly perturbed in the end. Her disappointment over Veliky's answer transitions into a subtle sheepishness upon her closing distance; and she simply looks up at Veliky, remaining stationary while the quarterling brushes the handkerchief across her face. She breathes a slight sigh, an olive hue dusting her face unbidden of her wishes, “I hope you are right.” She murmurs, closing her eyes when Veliky’s attention wanders too close.
Her eyelashes flutter as she opens them again, brows furrowed slightly.
“Even though you have been so kind as to accommodate me, I feel… like a sapling in this place.”
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Post by Lady Astrid Stormstone on Apr 27, 2023 20:01:35 GMT -5
The hollow burbling of a straw sucking the last remnants of liquid from a cup accompanies Astrid’s every step through the drizzly streets of Sol City. In most of her experiences, the city has been sunny, which makes sense to her given the god it’s named for. As such, Astrid didn’t think to bring an umbrella or anything to protect from wet weather, so instead she’s just strolling with her hood pulled over her little red horns.
Beside her walks her adopted grandma Kamille, the Witch of Moonglade, and someone who would probably let Astrid get away with murder. That isn’t to say that most of Astrid’s newfound family wouldn’t let her get away with murder, but Kamille’s brand of parenting is a special kind of chaos incarnate. The two of them may have had too much to drink during their shopping trip in the city – Astrid is a caffeinated twelve-year-old, and Kamille could very well be drunk at any opportunity should she wanted to be.
In dwarven culture, not being able to hold one’s ale is laughable, but as far as Astrid can tell, Kamille enjoys the money saving ventures of not having to drink as much to feel the warmth of a good stout. Sometimes, Kamille even lets Astrid have a sip, which to Astrid is more akin to drinking water or juice than anything. It’s the rebellious nature of it that makes it fun, and Astrid quite enjoys having fun with Kamille.
With another bout of hollow ringing, Astrid tries to suck the last two drops of BlixtTM through the straw to no avail. It’s over, Astrid, give it up. As determined as she is, the half-dwarf pulls the cup away from her face and looks at the label. With all the times that she’s visited Sol City, she almost completely forgot that her new official boss even has a cafe in town. (And to be fair, Astrid avoids Sol City as often as possible.) Of course, she had to visit this time, but to her dismay, Veliky was nowhere to be found. Well, the businesswoman is especially busy, so it isn’t like she’s going to hang around a small business endeavor rather than being a See-Pee-Oh or whatever she calls herself.
Just as Astrid is about to ask Kamille what their next stop on this little trip will be, the girl stops in the middle of the street. Wait a second, there’s only one blond woman that impossibly small that Astrid knows of. Wait, why the heck is she on the table? Who’s the big tree-looking lady beside her? What is she– Oh, this is too good. Astrid pulls on Kamille’s sleeve and motions towards Veliky and Sylva, a signature, smarmy smile on her face.
Then with a stride full of confidence, Astrid strolls over to the table. “Well, if it ain’t Miss Veliky!” she says, throwing her hood off her head once she’s under the cover of the awning and umbrella. “Fancy seein’ ya here, aun- new boss!” She almost calls her auntie but holds off. For now. The half-dwarf makes a motion with her empty cup then leans her arms on the back of one of the “empty” chairs. “We were just at the BlixtTM cafe!”
Taking a quick glance at the table and seeing Veliky with her shoes off, Astrid struggles to maintain what little composure she has. One finger points at the unshod feet of the businesswoman. “I’d ask if we’re interruptin’ an important business meetin’, but I don’t think we are.”
Astrid looks at Sylva, a woman unlike anything she’s ever seen so far, which says a lot considering Astrid’s other mother figure is a literal ghost. “Nice ta meet ya, miss. I’m Astrid, an’ this is me gran, Kamille.”
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Post by Lady Kamille Verlithax on Apr 28, 2023 4:22:50 GMT -5
Sol City. Another place that she collected a couple of bittersweet memories, not only from her childhood as a failed apprenticeship, but also from the Marrowine Harvest Ball, where she and Bellighul shared their first public dance together. But this time her disposition was as sunny as the weather itself, despite the memories, and it may or may not have something to do with the fact Edgar followed them with a miserable expression, carrying their purchases behind them, nearly swallowed by the amount of boxes and bags. As always, Allan and Poe were somewhere around, trying to keep prying hands from their coin pouch and probably having a good laugh at their friend.
Kamille's own Blixt was gone already, and she glanced around idly, searching for the next store to raid most likely, while she could audibly hear Edgar sigh behind them. For someone so used to setting stakeouts and waiting for hours, the man's patience for a little shopping was nearly non-existant! The sun didn't seem to bother her, but of course she had found the biggest, most sparkling, heart-shaped sunglasses she could to swallow her face. They looked like walking targets for little thiefs, if not for the Black Quills. There was that idiot back there that tried to scare Astrid a couple of blocks behind, only to be unceremoniously falcon punched back into the alley by the prodigious child.
The Witch had been enjoying thoroughly Astrid's company, doing her best to be the best (or worst) grandmother she could - which, for her, meant teaching Astrid how to get into trouble. And out too, but that was a minor detail. The drinks and dragon fights were also part of it, but please don't tell your parents. Or Bellighul.
The city didn't seem ready for the amount of pettyness and trouble the two were about to bring forward, but right until then, Kamille wasn't even aware it was going to be one of those days. It was an unsuspecting, sunny, shinning day, one only proper for shopping and sightseeing and...
Then, Astrid tugged at her sleeve, and she followed her motion.
There, right at the outside tables of the coffee shop, she sees them.
Veliky. And she wasn't alone.
For a minute, Kamille stands still, looking fairly surprised at the scene, where the quarterling stood very close to a gorgeous tree woman, gently wiping the corner of her mouth.
If Veliky had the right timing, she could see Kamille's expression go from the wide eyed surprise poking out of the sparkly sunglasses, her mouth wide like an O - and slowly but surely her expression slide away to give place to the most shit eating grin she could muster.
Oh.
Oh... That was too good to let it slide.........
Astrid had already went ahead, so the Witch picked up the pace, approaching the table. Upon closer inspection, she saw the vacant chairs weren't actually vacant, but there were dolls...... that looked like them. Her grin got even wider, if that was possible. Oh dear. That was too perfect to be true.
"Good morning, beautiful ladies...", she started. Gods, they could hear the grin in her voice. She removed the sunglasses in a very theatrical way. "Fancy seeing you around, Veliky! Did you receive the Talking Head I sent you?"
It almost felt as she was taking that deep breath before diving - that long pause of feeling the scene and peacefulness..... before dropping in the chaos.
Kamille gently pat the head of Veliky plushie.
Oh......... She would never allow Veliky to forget that................
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