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Post by Cyran Fenastra-Asiliari on Feb 24, 2024 18:55:15 GMT -5
Marlow bent over to peek at the drill’s schematics, eyes wide behind her spectacles. It was a marvel of engineering, to be sure. “That’s incredible.” She praised, her mind already reeling a mile a minute about the applications of such a machine. In her youth she’d once devised a piece of equipment which spat out acid to melt through solid surfaces, intended to improve mining operations of some of their clients, but it had never made it past the beta-testing stage, due to the fact that she’d burnt her hands and nearly melted her face off when she used it, and Papa had…
Well, she couldn’t quite remember what he’d done, the impression faded with time and absence. Either way, the imperfect machine was shoved on the shelf and never touched again.
“And practical, too.” She nodded. “I suppose it would be ideal for insect chitin - oh! Have you ever tried it on a suit of armor?” She asked, her curiosity getting the best of her, an almost childlike excitement she hadn’t experienced in years…
But she was here for something specific, and she couldn’t lose sight of that. So Marlow clamped her mouth shut and remembered her grandpapa’s voice chiding her that she ought to listen instead of speak; and now was the time to do so, if she wanted answers.
“I’m not going to steal it.” She scoffed, almost indignant as she spoke - perhaps just a touch of her noble upbringing shining through. “I’m no thief.” But no matter. She’d been allowed to hold it, and so she would take the opportunity to learn all she could. The young elf traced her fingers along the grooves etched into the material. It seemed to be some sort of part to one whole symbol. But what was it? An equation? A ritual circle, inlaid into a sphere? The possibilities were endless. While Astrid told her story, Marlow sat down in front of her notebook and listened intently while she sketched out a schematic of the piece she’d been given.
Marlow asked for everything.
And Astrid certainly complied.
Any doubt that Astrid might be lying evaporated from the heiress’s head the longer the child spoke. Astrid knew far too much. She could recall details about the Sol Stone and the hunt for it, and parts about Scern and Ziev that aligned with the story the crown had been trying so desperately to suppress. Perhaps it was a good thing Astrid didn’t go into detail about the battle with Vulcadreus, too, because as she finished, Marlow’s head was stuffed with so much information it felt light, and she might have collapsed if she weren’t already sitting down.
A millennia old cultist… a god himself… how did Marlow ever think she could begin to fix this? She was just a tinkerer, a basement chemist for God’s sakes. Or - well, she couldn’t even use that as an expletive now because they were dead!
She stared down at the Sol Stone shard, still in her hands because Astrid didn’t seem to even care about the divine artifact she’d just so callously dropped into Marlow’s hands.
“And the rest is… recent history, of course.” She muttered, as if this, too, was no big deal.
She was in over her head.
Marlow smoothed her skirt out, gathered her composure, because a Fenastra didn’t get swept up in impractical emotions, and forced herself to think.
“Well, I can’t say this isn’t what I asked for.” She stopped sketching the Sol stone piece and started jotting down notes. Shorthand for everything Astrid had said and divulged. It was a child’s perspective, which didn’t contain the same breadth of wisdom Marlow might obtain from adults who’d been present, but this was just the tip of the iceberg Marlow had uncovered. “And who else was there? Any leads I could follow to learn more?”
It was perhaps a fool’s endeavor to think that science could fix what had been broken; but Marlow Fenastra had never backed down from a challenge. And she’d never met a problem she couldn’t eventually solve.
She rapped her fingers against the table before turning her attention to Cypress. The young satyr hadn’t seemed to be present at the events themselves, but her input would still be valuable. “I gather you live here in Sol City, yes? What has the public’s reception been to these events? I can imagine there’s been much instability.” She wanted to learn what the crown was reacting to, what they were smothering and what they allowed to run wild. Because if Scern’s story was true…
Then the sun elves held no god-granted right to rule, and if people started truly believing that, then they’d have regicide on their hands.
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Post by Lady Astrid Stormstone on Feb 25, 2024 0:50:18 GMT -5
With a proud grin, Astrid says, “Thanks!” in response to Marlow’s praise. She finds herself appreciating that she finds the device practical too because the same cannot be said for everyone who has seen this drill. Technically, it’s still a prototype, and Astrid hasn’t made a ton of use of it being that she’s not very practiced with weapons like it to make any improvements. For now, anyway. “A’ course I tested it on armor. I made a couple sets specifically ta test it.”
Even if Marlow wanted to steal it, even if Astrid hadn’t accidentally insulted her by suggesting that she might, Astrid does not take back her statement and only smirks a little at the interaction. Then she looks at Cypress, and her smirk turns into a more reassuring smile accompanied by a nod that tells her that she means what she said. The satyr will get into the Consortium in time.
And then, with Marlow hyper-fixated on the piece of the Sol Stone, Astrid goes into great details with her story of what happened. At the end of it all, she takes a deep breath and wishes she had something to drink. Or eat. Darn these library rules about both of those things. In the following silence, while Marlow scribbles her notes, something occurs to Astrid as Marlow asks to know who else was there.
“Wait, we didn’t get yer name,” she says. Somehow the half-dwarf looks especially serious, a stark difference from her smugness only a few minutes ago. The piece of the Sol Stone disappears from Marlow’s possession and appears in Astrid’s hand below the table.[1] “How do I know I didn’t just tell all this stuff ta someone workin’ fer the folks that wanna bury the information? Maybe ya wanna know who else is there just ta go hunt ‘em down an’ take ‘em out.” There's a small flash of bluish light beneath the table followed by a light thunk and cold radiating mist near their legs as Astrid summons her hammer in her other hand.[2]
Granted, she probably should have considered the danger before wantonly providing all of the information that she has, but she didn’t. That puts her at risk, and Astrid can handle risks to herself, but she won’t put anyone else who was there at risk. Some of those people are her friends and people she cares deeply about. To neither her nor Marlow’s knowledge, one of those people is Marlow’s father.
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Post by Cypress Springleap on Feb 25, 2024 17:46:53 GMT -5
“That’s exactly what a good thief might say.” Cypress comments with a giggle; it’s not meant to infer that the woman could be a thief necessarily; but Cypress had gotten away with quite a bit by acting like she definitely was not a thief.
She learned pretty quickly that if you acted like a street urchin, people treated you like one.
Her manners— the oft standing at attention, folding her hands over her lap, keeping straight-laced posture— all of that was adapted from watching and listening to the older nobility’s expectations of the youth in Sol City. Shopkeepers kept less of an eye on her if she looked like someone’s wandering kid quietly thumbing through their inventory, rather than some rabble-rouser living in the alleys behind the Gold Port. It didn’t always work once someone caught on, but it gave her a little bit of an edge before they could.
When she meets Astrid’s gaze, there’s a genuine smile there that comforts her somewhat; and she listens to the full story of everything said with appreciation and interest. Frankly, she doesn’t actually think about how this could be a danger while Astrid tells her complex stories to the woman at the table; and she definitely should, because she’s lived in Sol City for a long time. She sees how nobility treats people; hell, she’s been treated pretty badly by the people of Sol City at times.
“Oh… um, well I don’t live in Sol City anymore. When I did though, it wasn’t good…” She admits. “There were some riots at the Temple of the Sun; guards went to calm the people down, but—” It isn’t until Astrid’s expression suddenly flickers; and more notably, that the Sol Stone vanishes from the woman’s hands; that something occurs to her, as well.
They… don’t know her.
And Cypress never saw some of those people who were involved with the religious riots again; several stalls in the market shut down inexplicably. That’s something that’s pretty clear in hindsight; but as Cypress had considered earlier; pretending to be something that you’re not is the easiest way to catch people off guard.
She glances at Astrid with a mild look of concern; this isn’t going to hurt her, somehow, is it? Hunt them down?
Cypress clams up, glancing at Marlow with wide doe-eyes when the thought crosses her mind. A chill from beneath the table emanates from Astrid’s war hammer, and Cypress hesitantly shifts her hooves away to leave room for Astrid to move quickly if she needs to. “You can do that thing you did when we met if you need to.” She whispers, glancing sidelong at Astrid.
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Post by Cyran Fenastra-Asiliari on Feb 28, 2024 10:15:13 GMT -5
It was unfortunate, really, that Marlow’s near-sightedness had made her neglect the most important part of an introduction. Her own name.
Oh, the folly of science.
Marlow didn’t see the hammer below the table but she certainly felt the sudden sharpness in the air and the emptiness where there had once been a divine weight in her palm. The warmth of excitement that they’d been conversing in evaporated as quickly as it had been cultivated, the outside world’s troubles popping the bubble they’d built.
Marlow swallowed, feeling even more put out of her league. Her eyes were wide behind round-rimmed spectacles, mind moving rapidly to figure out where she’d went wrong, what she could do if something happened; she had her knuckle knives in her pocket in the event this came to fisticuffs, and a few emergency potions if it came to that, but what good would that do against a young woman who’d so readily confessed to going toe to toe with not one, but two ancient deities who’d shaped Charon as it was?
Well. She was an alchemist first and foremost, but she hadn’t been trained in negotiation for nothing.
With one hand Marlow pushed her spectacles back up on her nose where they’d been knocked askew, and the other, she held up her hand so Astrid could see the signet ring of the Fenastra clan. A single band of light surrounded by ocean waves. Luna Eclipsin Solem.
“That is my error, and for that, I apologize. I am Marlow, scion of house Fenastra. We are a middling merchant company from Eclipse City. I don’t - I mean…” She stammered, smoothing out her skirt once more, a nervous habit. “It’s true my family might stand to gain political standing from these revelations. If my grandfather learned of the king’s false divine lineage, I guarantee you he certainly would.”
She bit her lip and stared down at her notes. The pipe dreams of a little girl who thought that she could help make change for once.
“But Grandpapa doesn’t know I’m here, you have to believe me. Everything I do for my family is for a reason; to further our family’s name, for influence, for money. But then, as I was working on a potion for Grandmama’s health, I noticed something odd in my readings. Fluctuations in ambient magic have been throwing the entire world into disarray… and I believe it’s only going to grow more chaotic the more it’s left unchecked.”
Marlow took a deep breath.
“I took my findings to my grandfather and he scoffed at me. He said he tolerated my hobby because it helped the family, but I couldn’t waste my precious study chasing poppycock and dreams.” Or something to that effect. “But I… I’m not quite sure why I thought I could help, but there’s one thing I know for certain. The era of magic is changing. And if there’s anything I can contribute, it’s science. That’s why I need to know more about the Sol Stone. I want to help build technology that can stabilize Charon, and help us recover. I’ve never been quite good at magic, but this time, the solution lies in science. I can feel it.”
Though it was spoken with a quiet, trembling conviction - a woman who’d so rarely left her shell and had little idea what the outside world looked like - Marlow meant every word.
She couldn’t do everything. Hell, at this point, she wasn’t even sure what she could offer in terms of her engineering prowess.
But she had to try.
her gaze flicked towards Cypress, suddenly dreading whatever the young satyr was referring to. Despite her scientist’s curiosity, she didn’t want to find out. “Um. There’s no need to do… any of that. I mean you no harm; I mean, I’d have to be a monster to attack kids, but I’m not trying to hunt you down. Or anyone that was involved. I just seek answers.”
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Post by Lady Astrid Stormstone on Feb 28, 2024 19:32:25 GMT -5
With her hand loosely gripping her hammer under the table, Astrid watches Marlow carefully, though her Very Serious Face nearly breaks when Cypress makes mention of the time she decked a guy and gaslit him into leaving them alone. The corner of her mouth twitches, trying not to pull into a smile, and she presses her lips together to avoid it, though the furrow on her brow just looks something akin to constipated.
Marlow seems genuine in her answers. Just a girl trying to find the truth for selfish or unselfish reasons. Admittedly, Astrid hasn’t gotten the feeling that she’s anything but curious the whole time they’ve been talking, which is what kind of led to her getting her guard down. (This is not the truth. Astrid got into a boastful mindset when a twinge of unexplained jealousy prodded at her chest. How very dwarvish of her.) With her own curious eyes, she looks at the signet ring, which is something that someone would have to go through a lot of effort to fake just to happen upon some kids in the library with this very specific information.
Shrugging her shoulders a little, Astrid pulls the massive war hammer out from under the table and sets it on the floor beside her, lifting the thing as if it were just another book. The floor creaks under its weight. “Eh, if ya were tryna do somethin’ ta me, it ain’t like anyone would believe that ya happened upon this information from some kid in the library, huh?” Her eyes sparkle with deviousness when she smiles at Marlow.
“Marlow Fenastra, nice ta meet ya. Lady Astrid Stormstone, but just Astrid’s fine,” Astrid says, holding her hand out and offering a proper shake. Her other hand sets the piece of the Sol Stone back on the table. “Yer name’s a bit familiar, but I can’t place it. Maybe I’ve seen yer family’s company around Eclipse City.” Come to think of it, Marlow herself seems familiar, but it’s a vague familiarity that Astrid can’t come up with the reason for. Maybe she just has one of those faces?
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Post by Cypress Springleap on Apr 5, 2024 23:25:28 GMT -5
To Marlow’s credit, she very quickly starts to correct herself. The satyr remains quiet while she does, holding onto the knowledge that everything that she says could be a lie. ... Except, Cypress can’t help but feel that her words are genuine: maybe it’s the way she smooths out her skirt, or the way she stammers; or maybe it’s the way she stares at her notes as if they’re her very last lifeline. Cypress has been there- she recognizes the body language, she recognizes the nerves in the way that Marlow fidgets- if only because it’s so relatable to the way that she finds herself picking at the layers of her skirt, staring at her hooves, or saying ‘um’ too many times. Her shoulders relax minutely when the empathy stirs in her chest, but there’s something about Marlow that makes her furrow her brows: it’s a strange sense of deja-vu, as if she’s seen her in a dream or in another lifetime. A vague recollection of something, or someone; even the way she speaks about her dream, her goals, holds a gentle but firm cadence to it that feels strangely reminiscent. Why...? She blinks her trailing thoughts away and glances at Astrid when the girl swings her hammer from under the table; she giggles before looking at Marlow. “I believe you… Sorry for suggesting we bop you.” she apologizes, ears lowering while she dips her head. “I’m… Cypress- just Cypress, no Lady.” she chuckles, a slight softness where there had been skepticism before. “Um- I hope that you can find all of your answers and prove your grandpapa wrong about how he thinks of your dreams.”
She offers Marlow a wide smile before glancing at Astrid when she mentions that Marlow seems familiar; the satyr’s expression changes to one of mild confusion. Was Astrid thinking the same thing she was thinking earlier? That something about Marlow seems a whole lot like- -!! A soft slap reverberates as Cypress wordlessly reaches out and smacks Astrid’s arm (a miscalculation while trying to grab her). Should Astrid allow her to do so, the satyr pulls her closer and whispers, “ Doesn’t she look a whole lot like that picture mister Cyran keeps on his desk?”
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Post by Cyran Fenastra-Asiliari on Apr 8, 2024 7:50:28 GMT -5
Marlow was very unused to being vulnerable.
She’d been trained in the school of Fenastra business; emotion was weakness and rationality was king. Perhaps she was slipping, in that her time away from home had made her forget the core principles of her family’s creed. Or perhaps Astrid’s threats had rattled her enough to bring forth all the unease and uncertainty she had been repressing the past few months. Either way, here she was… a single woman at the edge of humanity’s last dying breaths, practically breaking down in front of two adolescents she did not know. What was more starting was that it seemed to work. Both Astrid and Cypress believed her, the tension slowly releasing like an uncoiled muscle.
Marlow let out a sigh and readjusted her glasses once more.
“You are… very right.” Marlow replied, cracking as wide a smile as she could muster; revealing an imperfect gap between her two front teeth. A trait she normally kept hidden, though around these children, her guard had dropped, too. She was no stone-cold heiress, here. She was just a girl amongst peers… or as close as someone as antisocial as her could come to them. “I can scarcely believe it myself – I wouldn’t, if I hadn’t seen the evidence with my own two eyes.”
She gestured towards the Sol Stone, which Astrid was now setting on the table.
The elven woman accepted Astrid’s handshake. At this point, not even tangentially surprised that Astrid also held a noble title. A child of many hats, she was. “In that case, just Marlow is fine, as well. I’d hate to stand on ceremony where it is not necessary.” At least Cypress wasn’t hiding any secret titles Marlow should know about. She shook her head and offered one more small, wobbly smile, the fear still yet to fully abate from her system.
“No need for apologies. I’m often told that my curiosity gets the better of me… including when it comes to simple things, such as offering my own name.” She was touched by Cypress’s hopes that she might convince Grandpapa otherwise. “I’m not so sure. He’s almost a millennia old by now. If there is anyone who could change his worldview it would certainly not be me. I do this for myself.” She paused and cleared her throat. “And Charon, of course.”
It was a little curiosity that Astrid found her name familiar. Secretly, Marlow hoped Astrid had no dealings with their business. She presented herself and her family as merchants, but that was just a fancy way of saying loan shark. If Astrid had any inkling of their dealings, it did not bode well.
“It is… possible?” She shrugged. There was her family’s controversy, of course… but Astrid did not seem old enough to be privy to the rumors surrounding her father’s excommunication and the public embarrassment it brought to her grandfather’s name.
Any further insights she might have offered were squashed as Cypress leaned over and grabbed Astrid, whispering something in her ear. Nerves crept back into Marlow’s system; a shiver up her spine, unbidden.
“… Is something the matter? I can leave if I’ve made the both of you uncomfortable.”
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Post by Lady Astrid Stormstone on Apr 9, 2024 18:06:23 GMT -5
“I can understand that,” Astrid says, sympathetic to Marlow’s plight with a stubborn old person. For Astrid, she of course relates more to her experiences with the superstitious and unwavering opinions of old dwarves than she does to having a stubborn grandparent. While Kamille and Bellighul can be stubborn in their own rights, they’re not archaic, crusty old people with nothing better to do than complain about ‘kids these days.’ “Best thin’ anyone can do is ta do it fer themselves. Charon’s a close second, I s’pose. Actually, maybe like.. A third or fourth. Do it fer yerself, then fer people ya care about, then fer the rest a’ folks who might just get all up in arms if ya do it the wrong way or whatever.” She gives a little shrug, having done plenty of things for people that ultimately benefited them even if they didn’t appreciate it at first.
Suddenly, Astrid feels her arm get bapped and then she gets pulled close to Cypress (which, while unexpected, is not necessarily something to complain about). When Cypress points out that Marlow looks like the picture on the desk, Astrid’s brow furrows, yet her eyes remain wide open, and she sort of stares at Marlow for a long minute before her eyebrows shoot up. “Yer right!!” she says a little too loudly.
Sitting upright, Astrid reaches over and snatches her magical parchment back[1] and holds it up between her and Cypress, trying her best to imagine the image on Cyran’s desk, a portrait, if she recalls correctly. Ink manifests on the parchment and starts to take on the qualities of the image, as best as Astrid can remember. She then offers it to Cypress to try to finalize it and turn some of the fuzziness of the image into something more clear. Once they're both satisfied with the details, she sets the paper on the table before Marlow.
“Is this familiar? Do ya know a guy named Cyran?” she asks with great interest, not at all considering that Cyran would be someone that shouldn’t be name-dropped. She even makes a little image of Cyran presently, as she knows him, appear in the upper corner of the paper. The guy showed up as himself to a pretty public noble event where they first met, after all!
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Post by Cypress Springleap on Apr 13, 2024 12:35:24 GMT -5
Cypress smiles while Astrid and Marlow shake hands in an agreeable truce- no bops or baps given upon this day, likely to the relief of the poor elven woman dealing with these children. “ You should do it for yourself,” she agrees, her voice growing quieter while she continues; she glances sidelong at Astrid before looking sheepishly at her hooves. “ But… it’s still nice when someone believes in you.” She takes a small breath and glances up at Marlow, “ It might not mean as much from a stranger, but I believe in you.” Then, of course… It's while Cypress is looking at Marlow that she starts making connections. She bops Astrid on the arm and pulls her close to whisper, glancing sideways at Marlow while the young woman asks if something’s the matter.
She could not possibly fathom how Marlow thinks something is wrong. Astrid suddenly agrees- very loudly- about her comparison to the picture on Cyran’s desk, which Cypress giggles despite wincing at the volume. While Astrid scrambles for whatever she’s pulling out of her bag, the satyr smiles apologetically at Marlow and waves her hands. “ No! No, it’s okay! I just thought, maybe, I might know why you feel so familiar. You look a lot like -” Astrid suddenly cuts in, in all of her enthusiasm, by pulling the poster between them. She looks quizzically at the other girl before she catches on with what Astrid’s trying to do. “ - Um, one sec.” She excuses herself without thinking once about possibly adding context to her bout of silence. She closes her eyes, quietly picturing Cyran’s office; the portraits he had on his desk, but specifically the one of that girl with just a bit of a gap-toothed smile… a lot like Marlow. She opens her eyes, offering the poster back to Astrid with a small gesture, before watching Astrid set the paper on the table. She chuckles, “ Um, he’s my… foster dad, I guess?” Cypress scratches sheepishly at the back of her neck; she’s not entirely sure what to call Cyran, sometimes. “ He runs the orphanage that I live in... he’s got a portrait that reminds us of you on his desk, but I never thought to ask who it was. Astrid doesn’t live there, but she comes to visit me sometimes, so she's seen it, too.”
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Post by Cyran Fenastra-Asiliari on Apr 15, 2024 9:00:55 GMT -5
Perhaps Cypress and Astrid were not entirely aware that the impact of their words. Cypress said it succinctly - one never knew how the words of strangers might matter to another person. The heiress was a guarded person because she had to be. Friends were people who desired to use her for her status and fortune, or those whom her grandpapa had bought. It was an existence she’d allowed herself to become accustomed to because it was the safe choice… there was no point in trying otherwise when you knew the end result; you were simply testing the same hypothesis over and over again with no variables and getting surprised when your findings were the same. Yet these girls, Astrid and Cypress - they hadn’t treated her differently since learning her name or heritage, as if they did not even care.
For a moment she thought she could allow herself to believe that they meant it.
She curled her fingers around her quill, thoughtful in her silence while the two friends conferred with one another in hushed tones. Marlow opened her mouth to say something else, perhaps insist she would leave anyways if she was causing a scene, when Astrid showed her an image that made the blood drain out of her face. The first image was what she could only assume was herself - it looked nearly identical, save the spectacles she’d started wearing in recent years as her vision degenerated from too many hours reading in the dark of night. But it was not that part that attracted her attention. No. That would be the ghost in the corner.
He looked different than she remembered - not that she had a clear image in the first place, as fuzzy as her memory was. His hair was different, and there was a patch over one eye… she’d spent her youth looking up at his kind smiles, the softness in the way he treated her - as if he were bound and determined to give her as much warmth as he could in such a cold home - and thought him immortal. Distantly, as she stared at that single picture, unblinking, Marlow could not help but think he looked as if he was constructed of glass. The foggy mental image she’d cobbled together of him from her youth might have been shattered, then… if it hadn’t already been broken years ago. When he left her.
And yet.
“He kept a picture of me?”
Her voice was a broken whisper; as fragile as hope. Had he really -?
No, it was impossible. Because if he’d truly cared about her that much, even after all these years, then he would not have disappeared without so much as a word. Or… or he would have taken her with him. Or he would have written her letters, at the very least. Because it didn’t make sense for him to love her
Marlow cleared her throat, a desperate attempt to buy her a scant few more seconds of time. Astrid and Cypress were still staring at her, expectant, excited. And - and they seemed to know this stranger so well, too, enough to look genuinely excited at the prospect that she would know him. But it couldn’t be the same man. It simply couldn’t. And what were they saying about an orphanage? A foster father? Would that make her and Cypress -
No, it wouldn’t, because that couldn’t be the same person.
Marlow’s lower lip wobbled. She inhaled sharply, and shook her head, expression hardening until it was as cold and untouchable as ice, as if she could merely freeze the awful thoughts if she tried hard enough. Ironically, a look so hauntingly reminiscent of the man in the corner of the picture in the rare instances he was truly upset.
“No. No, that must be a different Cyran.” She tried, desperate. “That - that was my father’s name, yes, and they look remarkably similar… but he was a deadbeat who nearly ruined grandpapa’s business before disappearing without a word. He wasn’t the kind of man to open orphanages or keep pictures of people he cared about, because he didn’t care about anyone but himself.” Her words were so harsh that they did not even sound like her own; like a mantra that had been ingrained into her mind until it became truth. It was the only truth that made sense. Not… not this.
“Sorry. You must be mistaken. This is all probably some… some bad coincidence.”
No matter how much that small child still waiting at the door for her papa to return wished otherwise.
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Post by Lady Astrid Stormstone on Apr 15, 2024 13:22:58 GMT -5
Excited at the prospect of having made a wild coincidental discovery, Astrid’s face beams with pride as she presents the image recreating the portrait of Marlow and the recreation of Cyran’s face. But rather than excitement, Marlow looks… torn. The smile on Astrid’s face starts to fade, turning more to something of concern upon hearing that broken whisper, and it occurs to her that maybe this was a bad idea. But why? She can’t parse that together – she doesn’t have enough context. She doesn’t know Cyran well enough to know why he has a portrait that looks suspiciously like Marlow or why Marlow looks so upset. But then again, she also knows that she’s never met Marlow, and neither has Cypress before today. So what happened? What are they missing?
Suddenly, Marlow collects herself, putting on the same stoney face that Astrid recognizes as one in denial – she’s made similar faces. Pretending to be alright, insisting that nothing is wrong or maybe that something isn’t right. Astrid’s brow really furrows as Marlow explains that her dad is a deadbeat who abandoned her, and her expression softens to one of understanding. How would Astrid feel upon hearing that her mother, who left her on a bench in Sky Peak Village, had gone off and opened an orphanage? That she loved and cared for other children but not even her own? Would she be relieved to know that her mother is alive and well, or would she be angry and jealous? She doesn’t know how she would react, but something tells her it might be similar to what she’s experiencing from Marlow.
Astrid’s eyes drift down to look at the poster with the pictures of Cyran and Marlow. Marlow recognized Cyran in some way. She recognized the portrait. She really is in denial, or at least, Astrid is convinced of it. Denial is a powerful tool for protecting oneself. But it doesn’t solve anything.
“Well,” Astrid starts, her voice soft and full of understanding. It's a characteristic that doesn't come out often, but it's always genuine when it does, a juxtaposition of the loud confidence she often exudes. “The Cyran we know is a real nice guy. He cares a lot about other folks.” She looks to Cypress for a moment as if to confirm that. “Seems like he’s got stuff in his past that he don’t speak openly about. He ain’t exactly gonna tell a bunch a’ kids about all the stuff he’s been through. I think he’s like…three centuries old or somethin’, an’ honestly, I can’t imagine goin’ through life fer that long.”
Turning her gaze back to Marlow, Astrid continues, “I honestly can’t say if I hope it’s the same Cyran or not. I’m real sorry fer gettin’ yer hopes up if it’s not or hurtin’ ya if it is.” Her eyes fall, looking at the table, tracing the texture in the grain of the wood. “I um… I understand the hurt, I s’pose. I ain’t seen me ma in a real long time, an’ I definitely got a bunch a’ mixed feelin’s when I think about her.”
Then she looks at Marlow again, this time with some hint of optimism. “If it is the same guy, then I’m sure he’d be happy ta see ya. I’m sure he’s changed a lot since ya last saw him. If that picture really is a’ ya, then I’d gander he probably thinks about ya a lot. Sometimes adults do weird stuff that don’t make sense ta us. I’m findin’ the best way ta figure it out is just ta ask.”
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