#( I also made this on the beta text editor so lmk if you want that changed as well! )

[sharp-teeth-and-archived]

( Cassie Roosevelt ; closed starter )

        𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞, 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫. In the small corners of her mind, in her thoughts that run carelessly through her mind, her past called to her. What ifs, wonderments of what once was, and speculation on if she could’ve changed the tide of her future, but she tried to depress those thoughts to the back of her mind. Into the dark, murky shadows and waters, being buried deep within the fabrics of her memory and only recalled when it served her. So far, the thought of the past hadn’t been useful to her. In fact, it only made her tension worse. To ease this tension for her sanity’s sake, she tried to focus on the here and now. The present moment. Not on the next day, the week ahead, or the month after that. She learned how quickly her life could change in a day, in a month, and in a week that arranging in advance and fretting over the what if’s and the dreadful possibilities that await her could be for naught. The life she imagined she was guaranteed slipped through her fingers before she could truly grasp it.

        Then the past called again. Not in her mind, but in the people around her. The gossip hanging on the wind, what she overheard from those that knew her or did not know her. Vocally, she went by a different name, but legally, she still was tied to the Roosevelt name. She hasn’t been gifted with matrimony yet, to change her name for the better. So, when the past whispered into her ear again, the name that was intertwined so deeply in her past and set her for her current circumstance: she willingly pulled herself back to the name Casse Roosevelt. She shined a light on the shadows and on the rogue waves she purposely avoided. The past whispered that of Patriots being spotted near the Roosevelt home and how ironic it was with William Jr’s affiliation. The home still bore the sinful name of her father after its buyer sold it to another. Thus, the name of her father had been in the mouths of others again for what Cassie assumed wouldn’t be the last time.

        The home looked as if it was frozen in time. Her father ensured for the money he paid for its construction that the home would last for a long time, longer than his own lifespan. Once, she foolishly assumed he meant its longevity was meant for her, but what she thought she knew of her father was all a lie. By her own intention, she had been kept in the dark regarding the home. She had no idea what Washington had done with it or the owner before him, but she imagined the paint and wallpaper remained as it was still in fashion. The engravings were still intact on every archway and along the staircase railing. It was a respectable home for a respectable family full of dignity and honor--their own little palace--but looks were always deceiving. 

        As Cassie paid the man on the wagon a few shillings, she stepped forward up to the house. She walked its familiar porch steps, lifting the skirt of her dress to not step on it, but her eyes didn’t need to look down to watch over her steps. Even after being away from it for what felt like years rather than months, the layout of her childhood home with every step was embedded in her mind. She knew it as well as she knew formal dances and she assumed she wouldn’t partake in either now with her falling reputation. As she approached, she was met with the stony faces of the guards. They looked close to her age, but she wasn’t used to the sight of blue being so close to her home.

        As she spoke, she leveled her voice and made sure to soften its intonation. She acted as if she spoke with a royal officer, her cheeks flushed from the outside chill and politeness in her tone. But as she continued, she paused and cut herself off when she saw one of the guards curl their lips into a smirk with a bounce of their brows.

        ❝ My apologies, madam, but we don’t tolerate tories or turncoats. ❞

        ❝ Turncoats? ❞ Cassie questioned, leaving behind that polite and refined tone for a confused, spirited one. He had practically knocked her off kilter with a singular sentence. ❝ I’m not a-- ❞ Was he assuming she was as double-crossing as her father that she was now begging for the aid of the Patriots? For now, confusion blanketed any anger and she stepped back when the man reached for her arm. ❝ I had no part in this war. ❞ Her father certainly did with his perceived loyalty to the Crown, but as if with everything in her life, it seemed as if Cassie was left with little freedom of her own and pigeonholed into a place that made her useful for others. Not by choice.

@honorhearted

[bladedwoe]

( Astrid ; continued )

        𝐒𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐦 𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐠𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐧’𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐀𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬, 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐧𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭.

        ❝ This man is dead, ❞ she states simply, trying to rein back the humor lingering on her tongue at the man’s naivety. Her hand extended towards the corpse below for a reference of who they were talking about. ❝ Your magic will be in vain if you persist. Well, of course, unless that was your goal all along. ❞ A selfless and honorable endeavor, sure, to try to help the stranger, but the trained assassin can tell a passed-out man from a dead one. With his slack form, his stomach at rest under his jacket, and the paling skin around the exposed bits of his gloved hands -- this man was far from living.

        For once, it wasn’t her hand that aided this man in his death. In fact, the blood that once stained her hands was washed off a day ago. She was simply on her way back to the contract to make the entire trip worth it and the sight of this man halted her in her travel.

        ❝ Are you traveling to the college, my dear friend? ❞ They weren’t too far from Winterhold, the snowy mountain peaks are just overhead and she knew the air would grow more chilly the more she would travel to the other side of it. ❝ Was this man traveling with you? ❞ As her eyes scan over the body, she assumes it’s a courier and usually they traveled on their own with a sense of urgency that would tenfold if they had a companion along to slow them down. But perhaps this man was different and he enjoyed the presence of another over being left alone in the cold, but the stranger before her doesn’t seem saddened by the body.

@eritvita