#lullaby of woe (ladysunbite rp answers)

[ladysunbite]

“I am still committing crimes and genocide like this.” // from @fallesto

"Still the same dry sense of humour. It's amusing that your choice of wine is a sweet one, with such a tendency," the sun-eyed vampiress chuckled, enjoying the contents of her own goblet. But not before assessing that her guest's one was full. The prodigal temerian, back at her doorstep and back at her table.

And now they were savouring the past, as if the wolf, the man had never left. The same spot they both enjoyed, the same wine, even the moon basked the balcony in the same, everlasting pearly glow. Orianna lifted her face up, letting the light sink deeper than the smooth skin and the delicate cheekbones of the human mask. Mayhaps even revealing a shred too much in her languid revelry. She was in a good mood. After all, the mistress of Mandragora liked when her charges returned to her. "Now, cease playing the stalwart soldier, Vernon. I can sense blood dripping from your wound all over the chair. Another drink might help you to dull the pain, but will do very little in terms of healing," her nostrils quivered slightly, yet her voice remained even, as polished as the marble beneath their feet.

"Afterwards, you can tell me why you are here and what you desire. Besides, my delicious company," another little truce between them. Surely, he was not afraid that she would sink her teeth into his side, the beast beneath her heart crushing its chains. Such a small amount of blood was not even a tease, even if the taste belonged to an old, dear friend.

[crownedpetitebellette]

Out of the mouths of babes!

RP MEME - Send ‘out of the mouths of babes’ to receive a starter-line from one of the children from Orianna’s orphanage.

“Master Dettlaff,“ a lanky girl tags at their common guest’s sleeve. “Could you, PLEASE, add a pair of fangs to my toy fox? If it is not too much? It is VERY pretty and reminds me of our mistress, you see. Fangs there MUST be.“

[ladysunbite]

@fallesto || x

A broken heart? "Does it mean his beloved perished during the siege? Was she fatally wounded? Is Regis with him?" verily, it was easy to call her unfeeling and distant, yet she understood that particular pain. Especially, if it was not an end caused by nature, but a brutal, senseless one. Oh, Orianna wished bitterly, that that night of all nights she was a shallow, simple monster the witcher painted her to be. As for Dettlaff - he was a true culprit of her loss, not the maddened garkain they had just buried, along with six, small bodies.

She should have gone for garkain's head herself, to quench the blinding, bright anger - at her old friend, at her little ruva, at the foolish witcher at her side. "The garkain killed the children that were mine. For such an offence I was in the right to ask for his life. Even a human law would give me such satisfaction. So would have I claimed the head of that bastard, who abandoned those he was..." fighting the urge to massage her eyelids, the sun-eyed lowered her arms in front of herself, a gesture graceful and regal. "...but I smell his blood and that of his wife upon your clothes, witcher. Justice is triumphant and properly served." There was no reason for her to seek an approval of the famed white wolf, he was clearly much less endowed with an open, quick mind then Regis painted him to be. Yet their sharp and sour conversation provided her with another thing she was in need of, besides clarity. Stalling for time. Like a beggar. She did not want to return inside the ravaged house, she did not want to uphold justice, which she praised so highly in her stately speech. She must cease to be sentimental and weak. Law was law, it was one of the earliest, crucial ones and her children followed it, and were protected by it. "We clearly perceive a heart differently. I judge its presence by actions, not by hollow words," a hairpin into his side. How dared he to condemn her? How dared he to speak as if it was his right to decide Dettlaff's punishment? He himself was ignorant of laws and customs of the land. Deprived even of a collected, impartial, cold state of mind!

"I see, you must be worried about your payment. Follow me inside, and you shall get your coin for digging the graves, master witcher. As well as the fulfillment of my promise to you," politeness laced with poison. If not by the claws and fangs, let her ravenous wrath be sated by another, haughty kind of cruelty.

"But be quite. Antoine had just fallen asleep, and a good rest is essential for his recovery," another slip. Clearly, she was exhausted, in spite of her best efforts. Although, there was no reason why she should guard the names of her children from a stranger, who would not see the rising sun again. The white wolf was merely sniffing for a bigger pouch of gold, certainly promised to him by the Duchess. There was the true reason behind his offended virtious, kind heart. Was it the reason why Regis send his so called "friend" to a certain death?

[ladysunbite]

@fallesto || x

It was amusing to have a travelling companion, riding through such bleak lands. For all his brash and vainglorious ways, Olgierd von Everec was the generous benefactor of the rare von Rogh's and swore to bring her the witcher's head. A certain gut feeling made the sun-eyed believe that the mercenary meant it. The reasons were secondary. "Very well. The road home is rather long and I would also prefer to spent it in comfort." To put it bluntly, Orianna suspected the reason why the charming ataman made his promise and loathed to confess it. Olgierd was like a mirror of herself in her youth; he craved chaos and danced through the merriment of mayhem with grace. A certain part of Orianna missed those days where she could just...forget herself. Like a recovered addict longs for a scent of fisstech.

"I know where we can get a fresh, healthy body. If you are courageous enough to conduct the ritual in Novigrad... practically under king Radovid's nose?" the cold, noble demeanor slipped from the cultured vampiress' face for a glimpse. The smile she gave Olgierd was equally bright and savage...

***

They rode through the capital, following the route seemingly drawn by a madman. One would think that after a long, exasperating wait at the gates, aided by the pouring rain, which could not was away the rancid scent of many fires and the odour of burning flesh, the hedonistic vampiress would stop dead at the first establishment, clean and quite enough to accommodate them and do not kill the travellers for their horses. Yet they went to the southern part of the city, with its briny canals and worksmiths shops. Orianna halted her steed at the three-store house with the crimson curtains adorning the upper floor, smelled the air, pursed her lips and led the horse away. The same thing happened at the 5 similar houses in the richest and the poorest quarters alike. At last they arrived at the building, nor too luxurious, nor too meagre, similarly decorated with the blood-red curtains on all it's two floors. The laughter and squeals shamelessly floated through the open windows, and dissolved into the night air. Several dim lamps spilled blood-like light upon the cobblestones and wild roses hanged from the balconies in abundance. It was not necessary to name what kind of a house it was, especially since they saw all almost all 12 novigradian by now, led on the strange goose-chase.

"Something never changes...she could never deny a bit of garish," the low mutter was disapproving, once one would think she would be happy the end of their quest was reached. The horses clearly were. "Olgierd, before we enter I must ask you not to leave my side. Unless I explicitly order...ask you to." The horses were given to the groom, who smoothly appeared from the shadows. Upon closer inspection it turned out to be a young and rather pretty girl. Instead of being wary, as any lass would be with the full night creeping in, that one bowed to Orianna and grinned at Olgierd with a brazen cheer. That strange creature might be the only carefree soul they met in the whole Novigrad, the whole city eaten alive by truncated fear and suspense. "No matter what - let's say - flowers might tempt you. Especially if some will seem extremely delightful." The thug at the door was less accommodating, and eyed the charming ataman's weapons with a wary scowl. Until the sun-eyed produced a hairpin, that glittered gold in the firelight, and pinched her finger enough to draw blood. Unusually clumsy. The thug eyed the ornament greedily and agreed to take it to the Madame a bit too hastily. Yet one more miracle followed and the man returned, almost running, and breaking his spine in two, ushered "m'lady and m'lord" in with all the respectful flattery and fear he could master. They were left alone in a an empty, richly furnished chamber, with the same abundance of red, velvet and some strong herbs that made once head's spin. One corner contained the bed, but instead of being a place of rest and involuntary reminded of a ravenous mouth. Orianna lowered herself into a cushioned chair with a sigh. The chair was much more clean than their own cloth, worn out by the roads, yet it didn't save the piece of furniture from a contemptuous, dark glance from the sun-eyed.

"Did not you mention that your body parts can't grow anew, but rather it is necessary to bring...mmm...an original back? Is it different with the eyes?" such a tempting topic made the majority of spite evaporate from Orianna's voice. Hopefully, her own eyes did not betray the enthusiasm she truly felt. Magic was foreign to vampires, but such possibility as contacting the other world...the mere hope paid up with vengeance.

[ladysunbite]

@fallesto || x "Like what? Why, you did not expect me to doze upon a wooden bench...when I had such a luscious choice,"

The sun-eyed vampiress was drunk indeed. But not on the stolen wine. A part of her was of Toussaint, and letting the liquor get the best of her body or mind would be a sign of a slovenly inability to adapt. She was intoxicated upon the past, trying to fit on the skin of her careless old self, blissfully ignorant and blissfully cruel...and failing. "Cruel, no. I wanted to tear... out the tongue...But your pretty archer asked so politely... and I merely broke the wrist," the glasses were full to the brim, but Orianna, slipping out of her human mask held them steady without a thought, paying a deliberate attention to dress her whispers against his neck in a believable dose of intoxication. The problem was, her old self would have torn out both tongues and thought no more of it. Her present self was ever calculating, playing a game of chess with herself, counting the lies and the half-truths, counting the harm. Her old self would have grabbed the closest man and filled her glass from his throat with a laugh. Olgierd played well, and that was a small pleasure. The sun-eyed wondered what he was running from, what ghosts he tried to chase after, as they ascended the stairs, away from the chamber that turned into one sweating, slumbering body, full of unquiet dreams. "For a man, who tries to entice a woman... for his entertainment, a word 'monster' twirls inside you mind...alarmingly often. Unless..." Orianna placed a head inside the crook of his neck and sniffled. "...claws and fangs is something you enjoy?" the goblets clicked softly in the solemn solitude of the rest of the house. Both of them were artful liars, and who was she to spoil their fever-like fun and to spill the bitter truth into the wine. Were they both human, he would be fighting some war or another, dauntless, with the little trickster of a wife, who knew how to paint and masterfully deceived the guild regarding her personality, waiting for him at home. It seemed like a fairy-tale, not his present immortality.

"What do you think we would be if we were human?" the little thought that danced at the tip of his thoughts, back in the chamber, amidst all the clatter. For the sacred tiur she could not read the emotions of the charming ataman, she was not a horned temptress, but that little piece of reason she caught and followed the lead. Or tagged at the thread?

"You had your two wishes of me today. One is left,"

[ladysunbite]

@fallesto | x

The winter-eyed princess were right to choose the shadows. If she sat upon the sunny side of the table, her dazzling rays if rage would blind. It took all Orianna's temperance as a vampiress-in-hiding and a semi-courtier as not to frown at the sight. Abduction of power, bloodletting of the land...and no coherent plans for keeping, restoring, letting it all bloom anew in sight as far as her ears could catch. No reprimands, no calls to logic would help the lost little princess to return to the path. Not that the sun-eyed had any wish to mingle in politics. Was it what her little ruva found fascinating in that human? The ripe openness, the cutting sincerity, the dazzling passion that cut in half? That what made her dangerous to the dream-like peace of the Duchy, a peace Orianna valued higher than a prized glass of Sangreal. Sure, the fruit had its rotten parts, as any fruit would, but...to exchange it all for what? The Northern lands bloomed not with vines and songs, but with corpses and bones. It didn't improve locals at all, or the taste of their blood, or their understanding of fairness and justice, or the state of arts so sweet to the sun-eyed's throat. Her ancestors were right - calamity makes human blood impossible to drink, sour like a rotten apple. And...there was no use to tell anything of it to Sylvia Anna. Like her children, she was wallowing in grief, hungering to fill herself to the brim, anything as not to feel the void. Abandonment is the most terrible punishment, because it leaves a pestering, poisoned wound. That Orianna understood with both her cold head and the pulsing marrow of her bones. The little princess was named anathema, as far she had remembered. The gossips were murky, and gave no clue how to appease her. Something about the Curse. Blessed be the Unseen that bit remained false, Sylvia Anna didn't stink of unnatural magic, at least not now. Only a slight wisp of pears caught the vampiress' attention. Pears and leather and old blood, that nothing can wash away,

Orianna's prized human-like face froze in a pleasant, null mask. A statue in the sun. Let the little red princess project any emotion she desired upon it, be it a nod of remorse or a sigh of indignation at her horrible fate, or a secretive displeasure at her younger sibling. "Quite the opposite, I admire your sister. She has a loving heart and a good memory. You had no chance to visit Ducal Camerlengo's office, I presume? I highly suggest it, my lady," a confidential whisper, that hinted that something apart from the badly-guarded plump chest of gold was waiting for her there. Her children usually responded favorably to treats. That was the first one. "I wish you to show to you can both seize...the moment...and live in it," they were in a public place after all. It was enough that a prohibited names escaped Orianna's lips. That the red princess talked about a rebellion as nonchalantly as if choosing wine for her supper. Let the cultured vampiress get at least a pleasure of riddles out of it all.

"Hunt with me for that unnamed horror. It's a shame not being able to enjoy a proper royal hunt. You will have a chance to pass the news about my brother while we are at it. I miss him dearly." Mother Tuir blind Dettlaff, if he will not arrive soon and pacify his ravenous beauty. Royal blood was too thick upon one's hands, clawed or not.

[ladysunbite]

@fallesto || x

"ENOUGH!" The wolf, the man stepped aside and the cursed ataman dropped a knife he was holding in his left hand (probably aimed for the werewolf's eye). The shriek hurt even the cursed beings, it seems. Uncomfortable, but better than to resort to tearing limbs.

Oh, she was getting too distant from society, in her rural pleasures. Not to notice a werewolf approaching! Was it a previous hangover of black magic that made her deaf or her own negligence? The beast did not intend harm to her, and the sun-eyed kept her ears for the sounds of lesser life, such as ghouls from a near-by battle-field, brigands, hostile local athumicas, mages... At least it was her wolf indeed. And he might give her answers that she was musing over with such a blinding abandonment. "Greetings, Vernon. Always a pleasure to see you," for a better measure she put herself between two cursed men, who clearly started on not such a friendly foot. "The warning bite is done..." oh, how her temerian grew! a few years ago the beast inside him would make a feast out of the charming ataman as soon as the blood filled his nostrils, sweet and metallic. "...please, refer from any future violence. The gentleman is here is my companion," both were staring daggers at each other, it made her bare skin shiver with the malicious promise. Suddenly, the hungry tension was gone. Her back was turned to Olgierd, but Roche seemed to...lower his eyes? "Ah, this. You did not expect me to ruin a dress? You humans also put a special cloth while riding on a hunt, for a swifter movement and a wider range. This is merely mine," the sun-eyed vampiress gave the werewolf a warm crescent of a smile. Bad news or good news, it was pleasant to see him again, a memento of a homeland. After a quick glance she concluded that the only thing hurt was his strange, northern sensibilities. Or maybe he was trying to quite the instinct as he averted the eyes from the fallen enemy behind her back?

"My apologies, Olgierd," the werewolf was hers and she intended to point the charming ataman's rage at herself, if there was any left, mixed with the pain of a wound. "Are you hurt?" she put an effort to sound and look perfectly human as she turned to the other man; there was no need to jagg anyone's nerves any further with her true voice, her claws, or a fleet and shift body, with ribs protruding underneath the skin like pearls. The sun-eyed looked like an alabaster statue came to life, her body is naked as a moon, a hair a curtain of red, red blood against the drowning darkness of the woods.

[ladysunbite]

“Why didn’t you fight better, with more luck on your side?”

Orianna curves her lips in a crescent, a creature of a habit and less of a genuine emotion. There is no sadness in the smile of hers, but no bitterness either.

"That night was...terribly convoluted..." Ravens cawing dark prediction, carnage by the claws of the lesser vampires, murky gossips, a threat of a civil war and a new duchess - Anarietta was amusing, with her capricious ways of a beloved child and a slyness of a weasel where politics absolutely urged her to make a move. it was ceaselessly surprising how such a woman managed to rule a country into a charmed dream, being on paper the worst ruler imaginable. No wonder, she wanted no new duchess, - her mediator-friend that was nowhere to be found - when she needed his silver tongue and a bag of rumors the most! - her flippant seamstresses at the verge of loosing their pretty heads - in the most silly way, oh, she bet ...- her troubled little ruva supposedly ordering the bloodshed - tsk, tsk, what nonsense! if there was a striking example of meaningless violence, drowning the merry city in blood and agony was the most meaningless act of all, it made even her head hurt and her heart flinch - and as a crown of thorns at the head of that night...a witcher at her door. Speaking of ancient secrets that had maws, and fangs and claws with the blunt stubbornness, as if he was asking for an audience with a royal sommelier. Orianna should have ran him through once they were out of sight of Beauclair, amidst the wilderness of night roads. Night roads keep their stories close and grow lovely flowers where vile deeds took place. The tradition would look favorably at the act, all necessary excuses were in her hands like a neat draw of cards - he ate her her house, he was too closely connected to their passionate and prying duquessa... yet he crossed the line by knowing too much of what lied unseen. Even her children were kept ignorant...she would be able to coax Emiel to forgive her eventually. What made her hand stray then - a chiseled calculation? a virtue of care? a disease of fashion called humanism? the sun-eyed vampiress would never know to this day.

"My only surviving child was there - another death would be too much for him to witness," she didn't think of the rattled little soul at that moment, to be honest. The realization that he had committed an act - albeit unknowingly - of killing his own dawned upon Orianna later with a heaviness of a moonless night. According to her own rules, that mirrored the code of the vampire world, the boy ought to be put to death. Her orphans were prohibited to kill their own. Why else, by the Unseen, she drunk of him after the witcher was out of the door? The sun-eyed was not a pitiful, soled drunkard, but she needed her mind clean and her claws untrembling... "Would you truly kill Geralt of Rivia for me, then?"

[ladysunbite]

match made in heaven + Roche

send ‘match made in heaven’ + a name of a character for my muse’s reaction to yours recommending them a partner || open

ORIANNA ( sighs ) This is our dear Duchy of love and wine at its best. You have been seen with a foreigner thrice and the gossip flows like Est-Est at the Festival of The Vat. Vernon is a valuable and loyal ally. Wonderful at visiting local hostile witches or seedy dens of northern capitals, hiding a tail and claws in the middle of a fashionable party, solemnly standing up to my...mmm... death and the ravenous curiosity of my children. Yet he seems to be still holding a grudge at that minor incident when I tore his hand off. Imagine what a chaos would ensure if we add lust into the equation. Next time I err due to our cultural differences, he might refuse to speak to me not for months, but for a century, by which time he could ( frowns thoughtfully ) ... he could literally die.

[ladysunbite]

What was Orianna like during her youth? and if she has known Regis for a long time what was their first meeting like?

Warning! The following pov is strongly influenced by mun’s read and has no watertight proof in the games.

Since her birth Orianna was trained to be the next guardian of the gates, a duty of the Unseen Elder of Toussaint. Thusly, she was prohibited to leave Hen Gaidh until the ritual of adolescence; yet she interacted with other fledglings of her age, who returned to the designated part of the caves for rest and, generally, were raised up all together, similar to as bats raise their young. That was the time when she met Emiel Regis. Although, if asked directly, Orianna would confess, with a certain degree of annoyance - the sun-eyed did not like to dwell too deeply on her early times in Hen Gaidth - that she could not highlight any particular memory of their first meeting. It seemed that Regis had always been at her side - full of curiosity, practical jokes, and a craving to belong to...something. The time of their youth manifested those differences in a sharper manner - both were wild, unruly and driven by the desires they tried their best not to face alone, but rather drown in blood and thoughtless mayhem. Only Orianna longed to escape her role as the next Unseen, to 'un-belong' to the looming, sacred duty, while Emiel Regis would break his very fangs to be a part of something and feel at home. Neither were kind or wise enough to offer each other a way out, yet they found a certain connection, while hiding from their fears. While they could never understand each other, they developed a deep sense of trust, rare among cold and changeable immortality. No one ever judged another, however frightfully their claws crushed. They learned not to draw too much blood, never cut too deeply. They separated for what would seem an abyss of time that devour all old affections, during which there were shattered love affairs, being buried alive, stage performances, several wars, flowery toussaint coronations, an array of pretenses and self-lies - however, no matter what new ways of survival and moral dogmas they devoted themselves to, what new masks put on - Orianna and Emiel Regis realized they longed for each other's company more than ever - and began exchanging, in a classical sporadic manner of timeless beings, what would seem the most bizzare correspondence. Long, detailed travelling tales and memoir-like letters, full of sketches from one side and curt notes, accompanied by the works of art or common, mundane objects that fascinated the other. In the end, as with the poisonous desires that tore and their insides during their wild days, now they were connected with another kind of longing - a shy, budding love for the new, hostile and beautiful world.

[ladysunbite]

@fallesto || x A shadow of a fold appeared on Orianna's forehead - a subtle, but sure sign of displeasure. Only that time it was aimed not at the arrogant sorceress, but at herself. The red-haired vampiress scolded herself internally for growing too...emotional. Too lazy. In Toussaint everything humans - and other races - did, was reined by a heart or a pride. She had miscalculated one out of two points, regarding Sabrina Glevissig's interest. Reading her mind would be a safety latch, yet Orianna preferred not to perform any of her...mmm...natural activities, least the threat grew overly discomfortable. The lesse mages know about our kin - the better. The flame-haired sorceress behaved like a force of nature there - calculating and coldly-craving. Orianna was dissatisfied, verily, but... "You mean the wolves were not a grain of peasants' imagination?" the vampiress raised her eyebrows, the forehead wiped clean, a blank slate once again. "Very curious. Do you think they are the children of the curse too? That their magic is alien to yours, as is the magic of the maiden?" there was a certain treatise, buried underneath Tesham Mutna, an unfinished research that lured her attention once. Maybe her and Sabrina's interest were more closely aligned. At least she would get some use and pleasure out of her necessary visit. Yet showing any true keenness before that mortal would not do. "You can not face her? I was not aware. Hm...that is a pity, indeed," the crimson liquid in the goblet glowed dully in the flames. Orianna wondered if Sabrina could sense the iron pang - too heavy, too bitter, too gnawed-out by fear and age - as sharply as she did. "A prey is a pleasure when caught by your own hand, I understand". Oh, that was vexing, explaining the clear, common points. Yet after years and years the sun-eyed learned that talking to children softly often yielded a desired outcome much faster. Despite what she played at, her languide attitude and her usual habits, Orianna was pressed for time. "And yet, mistress Glevissig, that's what the boy is for. He can help you, can he not? Help you once and for all. And if you do not trust my little hint, I have a very real crumb for you," time was her enemy. A dark irony for a higher vampire, a predator not a prey of time. Scrabbling into dirty linen like that, appeasing a sad, yet boring political mess, that would mean naught in a century or two. No joy for delicate spider-mind of Orianna that partook of the intrigues mostly for the sake of wit. At last the goblet with its crude, lowly contents could be put away. A small gilded box she put between her and Sabrina. Attentive how the sorceress leaned forward without caution or fear, seemingly eager to touch her hand. Foolish eterau. "Inside you shall find a lock of hair. If I get it correctly, your kin can say whether a person is alive or dead, based on such bits," would the curse interfere? She did not expect such a turn. To be honest, he whole tale of the Black Sun seemed a romantic ballad at the best and a calculated slander, aimed at the change of ruling lines, at the worst. "Yet not enough to locate the girl, if such feat is even possible. Knowing her resistance to magic. That is what my second gift is for," Orianna procured an envelop out of the folds of her travelling cloak, all her actions at a measured, chisel-perfect, human speed. After all, it was her immense pride - being able to pretend what she was not. "Ah, that I can not give to you right away, my apologises. At first I am in need of your intervention, as a trusted advisor of your king," "the trusted advisor" sounded much more weighty and respectful between vampiress' lips. "A human life. Please, mistress, don't give me such a look. I would not trouble you if I was in need of lowly assistance," truly, it would have been much less troublesome to simply bribe an executioner, or slip as a mist past the guards.

"A certain prisoner is being held at the camp. A thief, nothing political, I assure you. The trouble is...my unlucky prisoner caught the attention of your unicorn. I want the girl out and safely on the road with me. After all, it is customary for a citizen of Toussaint to help another citizen of Toussaint."

[ladysunbite]

@fallesto || x There was one thing the sun-eyed vampiress found distasteful. Straightforwardness. It had an stale air of an unnecessary rush towards the inevitable. And the inevitable did not care very much about such details as who or when, its claws and teeth as sharp and indifferent as ever. Mayhapse, that was the reason why the fake homeland lured Orianna back again and again. No one spoke plainly in Toussaint, be it a welcome or a threat. "Why, mistress Glevissig. I did not realise the stray children of Toussaint are as precious as its wine. What is the failure of your own, local ones? " her crescent smile didn't get clouded over. No way she would show the sorceresses her fangs, even if the last threw the truth at her in such a rude manner. What did the woman take her for, a feral bruxa? "If you desire a rushed audience, be it so. I can not truly blame you. Vanity goes hand in hand with mortality," Orianna made sure she took her time unclasping the cloak much longer than it was necessary and slipped onto a chair in front of the flame-haired sorceress. No one could suspect a higher being behind the languid, lazy motions. Rather annoying, if one was accustomed to shout at the kings, the road-weary vampiress liked to imagine. "You are in err. It is I, who has something you crave. Unless, the Curse of the Black Sun and its maidens lost its appeal to you. You have cut open enough of them fit for a feast, mistress."

[ladysunbite]

@fallesto || continued from here  She saw only half the moons to her maturity and was too young, if not too reckless to taste any true fright. More than anything Orianna felt the intoxicating haughtiness. How she would tell her young, bored cryptmates about a new toy she had discovered; a challenge to their strength and stalwartness in a form of a cursed wolf. A new bit of land unclaimed and uncharted. Raiding local villages and scaring humans became too easy for her kin... Still...the crimson-haired vampiress was no fool. Yet it was no hive of glowing eyes that made her uneasy. Giving her blood was not a small favour... What if I gave too much and the human would die? Such an embarrassment. Or if she simply overindulge and...ugh, Emiel, I do not desire to see your copy in a human form. Thinking about Emiel Regis and his sarcastic laugh and disarming, shrewd half-smiles made Orianna hold herself with more inner calm, even if she would loose all her teeth and claws rather than to admit such an effect. “Very well, if you ask respectfully. Your attitude pleases me. I shall raise no hand to your unfortunate kin. You state that you can talk reason into them. I have never seen cursed being conversing before...” the words slipped easily from her mouth, her head held high as befitted a divinity. With the same languid benevolence she did...something not expected from a goddess. Purposefully tearing a bit of her tunic she soaked the rag in her blood, letting out a thin line from the tender wrist. The strange unfamiliar moon winked from the sky, while the crimson-haired choked any suspicions with a dizzying sensation that if her apa thunchultha knew that she was gracing a common eterau with her life force, her very essence, he would be enraged. Mayhapse THAT would make him leave the dunk cave at last and start discovering and changing the new world around him, rather than whining about the favours of the old homeland. A wave of anger made Orianna even braver. She extended the hand with the bloodied rag towards the woman, imperious. Verily, more than playing theatrics with no one familiar to share a laugh with, she would prefer to talk with this afflicted human in a settled privacy. When the wind lifted the slipping bandages, her sharp eyes have caught a definite sight of fur upon her skin... “Take this, healer. Thusly, you can sip the blood slowly and it will not get into your head,” or the scent would not be too rich and potent to drown the cursed in a frenzied crave... Orianna’s smile was smooth as the moon, yet her plan not exactly followed. It seemed one of the cursed had a keener senses than the rest. With the back of the neck the red-haired vampiress sensed the movement, a staccato of the paws upon the ground, a muzzle opened in a snarl just a breath from her arm. Instincts taking over, Orianna moved aside, even before her wrath screamed to reply to the challenge. The beast miss her by the inch, brought forward by the momentum of his rush. “You told me, you could control them, eterau!” the voice lost all its luxurious softness and left the aching echo in its wake. Vampiress’ own face turned bestial - fangs, nuzzle and eyes as scourging as the sun -  yet she controlled herself enough to attack the woman only with sharp accustations, not her claws. “Do something before I changed my mind and tore your kin to shreds!”

[ladysunbite]

” what takes for you to fall in love, trust someone ?”

send me a 🍻+ the question you want to ask my muse for a tipsy, drunken ( honest ) answer || open

ORIANNA To trust anyone is the first step to fall out of love with them, and a painful fall it would make. Look at my ru...Oh, I am reprimanded - no? "merely reminded"? - that I am not following the rules of our little game. If you absolutely insist upon an honest, blunt answer... ORIANNA I do not know. I have never loved anyone. Unless you count my dear children, whom I love in a way one enjoys a view of a freshly-chiseled moon, rising over Mount Gorgon. Or a sound of an expectant, murmuring crowd at the begging of an evening. A platonic feeling. Something that comes to you bypassing reason. ORIANNA Why, aren't you satisfied? Are you calling me a liar? ORIANNA ( sighs ) Very well. My horned seamstresses composed a list of traits, I find attractive in a potential lover. They worry for my reputation, they insist. It is unnatural to shun love in the land of love and wine. Otherwise you would be labelled a criminal, in the same way as if you asked for a mug of Mahakam ale in one of the local taverns. I have not had a chance to revise the list. But if one can not trust a professional, all is truly lost, m?

foreign origin, toussaint temperament

an arduous past and a dangerous occupation ( free-lance, including mercenary trade or art trade )

kills and cooks for you

talks less, acts more. Able to improvise a memorable date ( summoning a demon, crossing a witch, painting a secret commission for Her Belovedness The Duchess. Killing someone at the very least ).

Unseen Elder would definitely not approve

cursed men and women (?)

well-dressed and well-undressed

brave ( especially, with children )

doesn't mind sacrificing a heart and a hand for you ( literally )

mutual turn on: a potential betrayal ( that never comes! oh, dear Sunbite, you must, simply must learn to trust again! Painters are very easily distracted, it's natural for them to disappear without a word! It means nothing...)

doesn't judge your hobbies ( enjoying bitter young blood wine, disappearing at night without explanation, buying art at a black market, lavish parties, 3+ hours to draw perfect eye wrinkles in the morning, extravagant dresses )

immortal ( "through fame and glory" counts )

ORIANNA ( hissing through the fangs ) cursed be that day... when I let... succubi cross my threshold...

[ladysunbite]

match made in heaven + Hubert Rejk

send ‘match made in heaven’ + a name of a character for my muse’s reaction to yours recommending them a partner || open

ORIANNA Despite the general prejudice, I do not hold my lower kin in such a low regard. It would be hypocritical, least I pretend otherwise. Raw instincts and unbridled cravings can be tiresome, or can offer a certain level of ... relaxation. However, zealots have never been my cup of wine. Please, do not start me on the religious - ridiculous - underlining of the certain rumours, regarding that distant athumica. I am not Regis and partake no pleasure in lengthy philosophical discussions. If the story is true, and those led to a ruination of Callonetta's exquisite voice...To put it politely, any destruction of an object or a creature of art would be a - how would my pretty seamstress put it? - a definite turn off for me.

[ladysunbite]

match made in heaven + Dettlaff

send ‘match made in heaven’ + a name of a character for my muse’s reaction to yours recommending them a partner || open

ORIANNA ( the tale-telling fold appears across her forehead ) That would be highly incompatible. Even if the tedious fact that my little ruva is a few centuries younger than me is omitted. We share no common mother or father, but we share enough common past for the tie to be unethical. There are certain points of no return, that prevent any carnal or spiritual desire to emerge. It was my sarcophagus he chose as a canvas for his first grand work of art, when he was still growing out of his milk-fangs.

Despite the cold speech, the sun-eyed doesn't lie to herself when it comes to Dettlaff - her 'little brother' occupies a well-guarded soft spot in her heart, albeit not a romantic one. Any other - be it even a higher athumica - would have paid for the unfortunate carnage at La Compassion. A very steep price. Every law has a loop and the cultured vampiress enjoys her riddles enough to search for one, when it suits her needs.