In some form, in one way or another, you’ve always had a job. No -- not quite. When you went on the run, you gave up the job -- but responsibilities, never. You carried them as you tried to balance the clinic on your shoulders, both when it struggled and when it made you a profit it should not have, and they followed you into the manor when injury hit the others and you were the only one with the means to care for them effectively.
After a long set of years, you have employment. You are once again responsible for life, but...
This is different. Maybe you can do some good with it, this time.
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NAME: Emily Dyer.
PREFERRED POSITION(S): Gardener.
PRIOR EXPERIENCE (IF APPLICABLE): I have very little experience gardening, but I do know plants in a medicinal context. I don’t suppose that would be very useful to you, but I thought I would mention it.
WHY YOU ARE SUITED FOR THE ROLE / WHY YOU DESIRE THE POSITION: Flora is a form of life I never truly learned how to care for, but I would like to. You will find me a quick learner.
PROVIDE AN ICON BELOW FOR THE STAFF PAGE:
- ❁ -
❝ medicinal… i see. that shall prove beneficial. in that case, perhaps there is something we can teach each other then— i consider this an opportunity on both our parts. ❞
❝ nevertheless, welcome to florist mahabharata, emily dyer. ❞
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the bun option on this annoys me so here’s hair down <3
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timemarked:
❝ no ? ❞ a lazy inquiry in regards to her lack of attendance for social occasions such as these . joseph’s mouth takes to the edge of thin glass , does not sip the champagne so much as allow it to wet his lips . when he pulls away , the smile slips from his face as something altogether expressionless takes its place , as though trying to come to a decision regarding the survivor in front of him .
it doesn’t surprise the hunter , apprehension heavy in doctor’s tongue , obscured just behind the teeth , full & ready at her lungs . her stare almost entirely given to the alcoholic drink held between both hands , eyes only occasionally darting to meet his own . the frenchman parts his lips , PAUSES , then closes it again not long after . credit where credit is due , she bothers to mimic some sort of amiability , putting in the effort to , at the very least , treat him with common courtesy .
humorously , to a gentleman unhesitant to drop all pretense of good will when it suited him best , the photographer was — for the lack of a more apt description — grateful .
quietly , joseph lets aloud an amused chuckle , & with it departs kinder words , facing emily bright - grinned with all the silent understanding in the world . ❝ c'est dommage , they make for wonderful little breaks . although i guess it may not be everyone’s , how do you say … ah , cup of tea . ❞
before erstwhile count could inquire furthermore of the other’s happenings since they’ve last spoken , he’s interrupted by the beginnings of another melody . the orchestra swings its song , a mellifluous , gentle tune , brought about by grand piano’s ivories , woodwinds , & viola to resound through the ballroom .
hollow attire once again begin their round of partner - seeking , though this time joseph instead chooses to turn to the young lady stood beside himself . hand half outstretched & silver crown dipped in a polite ( enough ) bow , he asks the words she MUST have seen coming by then :
❝ say , do you happen to dance , mademoiselle dyer ? ❞
In the rare fleeting second you do look at him, you look closely; he is a man hard to read, and that sometimes makes you more nervous than the thought of a chase. If he chases you, at least you know you’ve never really left the game, and you know exactly what happens. Here, the guesswork -- the uncertainty, even as he promises you civility, even as they all do when you meet them -- has you just as cautious as though you were waiting for a match, if not more.
“No,” You confirm with a soft shake of your head, steadying your voice. “I find it hard enough to rest as it is, let alone among others-- it takes a certain type of people to enjoy them on the regular, and I am just not one of them. It is as you say -- not everyone’s cup of tea.”
The air around you shifts with the introduction of instruments, a sweet melody filling in the space with a quiet start before it begins to swell. He offers you a dance, a gesture that catches you a little bit off-guard, and every part of you screams decline. Make your excuses. Any words you could gather freeze on your tongue, feeling they’ll be incoherent if you loose them, and you change your response: a curtsy to his bow, and the ginger touch of your hand to his.
So many years since you’ve done this, and somehow your feet find the flow of the waltz with relative ease; a skill that has rusted, but you could never entirely forget. Muscle memory and common sense. He might mean nothing, with asking you -- he might mean everything -- but dance and music is not quite a form of art as much as it is a conversation, and you want to hear what he wants to convey.
What do you want him to hear? The question latches onto you and you cannot give it the answer it deserves. You are not friends, or on friendly terms as much as you pretend to be. Is it better to keep it that way or drop the pretense and risk what happens when you leave the courtesy you extend each-other? Is there a third option?
“Forgive me if I misstep. It -- it has been a long time.” There is apprehension, still, in eyes and a slight tremble to hands, but you retain your balance as you move. “I fear I might not match your ability.”
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timemarked:
GENTLE ORCHESTRA FADING OUT signals the end of yet another song , footsteps slowing to a halt as partners bow respectfully as a conclusion of their time together . joseph dips his head low , pressing a hand to his chest before turning on his heels . posture rigid & blade - straight , heading instead towards the champagne tower for a refreshment instead of busying himself with a fourth dance .
imagine his surprise then : a face entirely too familiar grazing by , cyan locking onto gentle hazel ones . a smile splits ,
❝ mademoiselle dyer ! i hadn’t expected to see you here , what a pleasant surprise ! ❞ a tone much too welcoming , a smile too enthusiastic , & words spoken too casually for the history between them . if it were not for this , joseph desuaIniers might have indulged himself with a chuckle at the ridiculousness of it all , but alas , all he offers for now is a bright SMILE & a mouthful of pleasantries – although not exactly untrue . ❝ your attire is most stunning , the design suits you wonderfully — a true , how do you say , la belle du bal ! ❞
his attention now taken to the beverages laid out along the counter , fingertips gently take two thin glasses up , lifting one over towards them , taking the survivor hostage for conversation .
❝ do tell me , how is your evening ? are you a fan of parties like these , mademoiselle ? ❞
@medelite / event: CANVAS
As one who works with medicine and all manners of messy work on the human it is imperative to be practical. Dress modestly, with fabric that doesn’t scream the height of fashion but is easy on the maintenance, for if you wore silks or bombazines in a clinic you would quickly mark them useless for a social setting. Not that you had the means to buy such luxuries, anyway; and now that you’ve been offered unrestricted access to anything, made as frivolous as your heart desires, it is an unfamiliar and uncomfortable experience. You are not at work -- you do not intend to be at work -- but you have been so detached that it feels wrong and this gown too precious for you to wear.
You quietly ignore it. Carry yourself with grace, circling the ballroom in a slow, cautious step and watching participants move to the lull of the music. It fades, then, and soon you stop -- your heart, having beaten with an unprecedented calm during this song, picks up the pace. This paranoia is familiar. You find the source in his face, cyan eyes finding yours before you have a chance to turn on your heel and leave.
That... would not be nice to do, now that he knows of your presence. None of the hunters you’ve met have shown any desire to chase you, and this one, in particular, is always amiable to you, even if he makes your skin crawl. “--Mr. Desaulniers,” You manage, and -- despite yourself, allow to feel a little shy at the compliment, if only with how excessive it feels. “You are too kind.”
You accept his offered drink -- with no intention to consume -- only tilt the flute, ever so gently, and watch the liquid swirl, if anything so you don’t have to watch him and make the unease on your face so blatant. “My -- my evening has been pleasant. Thank you. I don’t make it a habit to attend such affairs, really, um, just on occasion. You look well.”
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i really don’t like doing lineart
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Congrats! You've met all the requirements necessary to reach Subgiant rank! As a reward, you'll be able to use your Syringe up to 10 times a day. Keep reaching for the stars!
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stats thingy
“Well, now, I don’t know -- “
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hopeled:
the churches scattered about Archimedes were always a sight to behold. most laid in ruin, others having long since given up any hope or want of restoration, while a few remained intact and open by dedicated keepers. ( Jehanne’s comes to mind and she makes a mental note to visit her church later. she could find that quiet bubble of peace within those walls. ) but the number of those left empty outweighed the filled. she had….no particular reason for seeing them today, walking through them. there was always a sense of loneliness that surrounded ruins; an emptiness that goes beyond just that of a space that has been abandoned– forgotten.
the wild had taken over now. flowers and foliage crept up and around what remained of walls, covering chunks of break that lay scattered on the ground. it looked beautiful in a….melancholic sort of way. Ritsuka sighs quietly, turning at the sound of footsteps close by. she spots a woman and offers a small smile in greeting. “ I don’t see a lot of people out here. Did you come to look at the ruins? Or to gather some of the flowers that grow here? “
@medelite
You have long turned from religion; you believe in karmic retribution, to an extent, good things happening to good people and that the world has a way of balancing the scales, but nothing bigger than that, as of late. People turn to gods for blessings, for help, but you have prayed quietly by the Red Church in hiding, your heart beating against your ears, and found that whatever or whoever has been worshipped there does not care for prayers, or for you. Maybe both.
You feel a sense of discomfort by the churches still standing, and when you approach one in ruins it is not out of curiosity for what inhabited it, what or who watched over the building when it stood or if it watches now -- it is thinking back on what ruined it. So many places you have made to play in have been once lively, reduced to nothing more than a shell of what they used to be. You have hidden behind ruins and broken walls and half-working machinery more times than you can count. Something happened to those places, as it did with the ruins of this church, and you’re afraid to learn what.
“Oh, I--” Having not expected that you would be addressed, you start a little. Your mind hasn’t been all there, as of late. “I don’t know. I think... I came for something I know I won’t find.”
You shake your head. No matter. “This looks like fertile soil. Does nobody tend to it whatsoever? Is it truly abandoned?"
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divine-crossroads:
One of his notebooks was missing.
It was not as devastating as the loss of his notebooks upon his arrival here, but it was upsetting, nonetheless. A mix of journalling and notes on his observations of this strange new place…well, at least it wouldn’t be embarrassing if anyone found it. Maybe it’d just be interesting - a book full of observations on this strange world they would up in.
Yotsutsuji knew it could be replaced - but that would mean quite a bit of work, to redo all of his research.
…those had been his thoughts until he felt his phone vibrate, at least.
How odd. He didn’t think he had received a text here before - not until now, and how lucky he was that this was the first one he was getting.
[ txt to: Emily Dyer ] I have! Thank you so much for letting me know you’ve found it. Is there somewhere you’d like me to meet you so I can pick it up?
Replies are quick - you, in turn, not as much. You have worked on typewriters before, but the buttons on this thing are barely buttons as much as they are a part of this strange, thin display, and the transition is difficult. You delete a significant number of letters before you deem your message presentable -- read and reread it a number of times -- and send.
[txt to: Yotsutsuji Kannabi] I am presently by the gates of Spirale University, in the Golden Ward. I can move if you prefer that we meet elsewhere for convenience.
Kind Regards,
Emily Dyer
--
You wait. It is a strange feeling, trying to reconcile waiting somewhere you should (in theory) know for certain you’re safe versus waiting for danger to pass you by; by the time the journal’s owner has come to you, you are visibly restless, and some of your self-imposed self control has cracked. You meant to respect that this book might not be meant to be read by anyone other than the owner or an approved party, but against your own judgement, your fingers had drawn to the pages once again, and --
Interesting. A look through this world through the eye of another, almost as detailed as yours. You had diligently glossed over anything that could even look more personal than descriptive and made a mental note of a few things you’d missed in your tours of this city’s wards & surrounding branches. By the time he’s arrived, though, you have closed it back, your grip firm but careful over both sides of the cover.
“Forgive me -- I could not help reading,” You press it into his hands. “You have a good eye for detail and words. I have one of my own -- I would have wanted it returned, too. Did you walk far?”
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thanks i so needed more hunters in the city that’s great and fantastic
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FIVE SIMILARITIES BETWEEN MUSE &. MUN.
0. rescues without tide
1. somebody we dislike gets hurt? oh no. tragic. anyway
2. we care! we promise! it’s just kinda hard to tell sometimes
3. Anxiety Premium™️
4. resting tired face
5. just trying to make it in this bitch of a world......... we both like money and bills that are Paid
FIVE DIFFERENCES BETWEEN MUSE &. MUN.
1. i for one have not committed medical malpractice (i think)
2. i’m not THAT introverted and avoidant damn girl what the hell!!!!!!
3. pretty vague and secretive! while i will infodump my whole backstory and personalities and interests unprompted. did you know it all started in the summer of 2008 when i
4. i am out of the closet and not in continuous denial. this is a callout emily
5. actually a pretty musical soul! i have had a guitar collecting dust for over 5 years. no why would i know how to play it
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ask my muse a question and they’ll answer!
(1.) how they’d usually respond,
(2.) how they’d respond if they had to be entirely honest!
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what color are you?
black.
tell me about isolation, beloved. tell me about loneliness in a crowd of thousands, about painting yourself deaf, about becoming something nobody can hold in their hands without it stinging. you are still breathing, out of spite or otherwise. sing with me.
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@rebirthed wrote:
Chamomile Tea
Chamomile Tea ❧ If given the chance, would they return home? Why or why not?
Short answer: no.
Long answer: The concept of home in regards to Emily is a tricky topic. The possibilities are either the manor - and we all know how that’s going - or somewhere outside the manor, where she is still a wanted criminal and would struggle immensely trying to hold down an existence without the paranoia of being caught and trying to support herself as an independent woman under the law. She is resourceful, and would be able to survive, theoretically, but spending the rest of her life in fear (or prison) is not a good prospect.
Spirale is overwhelming, but at least here she has some comfort of knowing that her criminal past is not written on their records and she won’t be chased up for that -- and she will not be made to participate in matches. (That one’s still uncertain-- she won’t know for absolute sure she won’t be made to participate in manor-esque games unless the Stars tell her that themselves, so there will always be a little doubt until proven otherwise.)
Emily is tired, unhappy and very stressed. She just wants some space and opportunity to process everything and understand what she wants to do with her life going forward. As it is, although she currently isn’t in 24/7 survival mode regarding authorities or being targeted by hunters or fellow survivors, she is very aware it might change at any given moment and she could very well be sent back -- given some reassurance and her spending long enough being in the city, she could relax, in time, and make this home.
Going back to that mess by choice? Absurd.
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