xf-celcstialflcme

[xf-celcstialflcme]

axdently·:

the lack of candor makes Seraphim feel at her absolute worst. she feels as if an invisible wisteria vine snakes it’s way up her spine, like the ones in her most haunted of dreams. it eerily wraps itself around her throat, restricting any sense of frankness or sincerity. but the unseen creeping and trailing plant prefects her posture– pulls at the crown of her head to its proper place, and positions shoulders in a far more regal stance. it also clenches tightly with tiny pulsing squeezes. it’s suffocating. it strangles, and in front of her many guests, the Head of House Fraser can do nothing but sit with a pacifying and placating smile. she is meant to deceive guests into thinking their soon to be marriage is a happy one– a good move for House Fraser, and stronger than any other union in the other competing houses. as always the dutiful daughter does what she’s taught. she carries on with an artifice of grace. 

brows remained carefully trained upon the expressionless fiancee at her side. her insecurities flourish as her smile wavers. a trembling lip pairs with an explanation for the gift. “I’ve been diving a bit into some research on chivalry and knighthood.” –along with studying the woman she was meant to spend the rest of her life with. isn’t that what dutiful wives do? a nervous chuckle breaks her sentences. “Regrettably I’ve taken a liking to the silly western themes and motifs in the romances.” she continues to wane into that validation-seeking school girl trope, all that is missing is the plaid skirt and the twirl in her hair. 

 Lady Sif isn’t fully aware that she’s diminishing any of her worth by trying to connect with her fiancee. in fact, the loneliness she irrevocably feels is what truly drives her into speaking so candidly with the other, as if they were friends which is hardly the case, “I’ve found many of the lais of Marie de France to be quite entertaining.” 

yet she feels as if she is talking to an empty room, a blank canvass, a wall of dried paint where the corners are chipping and the ugly outdated wallpaper bleeds through, of which she can’t rid herself of. there is a fundamental question resting deep within her bosom along with a string of concerns. who is this creature I’m meant to marry? these sentiments beat to the tune of both an excitable sparrow’s song and a melancholy lark’s lamentations. her smile continues to slip away as her mind travels to those forbidden and probing inquiries she wishes to impose. did Lady Cinder study up on her chivalric knighthood as well? was it a source of inspiration for her career? what did she like most about execution-ing others? did she always wish to be a knight? and did she feel as trapped in a future as Seraphim did? but even if she were to ask these questions, she fears she will be met with silence, or worse taciturn and mundane expressions hidden behind a goblet of whiskey or ale. her sentences trail off. a blank stare fogs over a pair of otherwise upbeat amber irises. she’s failed in wooing her knight, hasn’t she?  “I especially loved the subversion of gender roles in Lanval… when the fairy queen rescues the knight in the ironic twist in exposition…” she’d practiced her most charming smile with that sentence in the mirror before that dinner a hundred of times, and yet her lips rise in none of their corners. her time and efforts had clearly been wasted.

she continues to murmur in her ramblings, finding herself less and less enthusiastic about their predicament. though one of her points is finally emerging, “I suppose I took a little too much inspiration from those romances.” Lady Sif has never been so amorously inspired– and yet, just when she feels she is making a breakthrough it seems all for naught. “Token-giving was a bit of a tradition in those days.” she unfolds her hands into her lap as she sits tall and straight ignoring the plates, goblets, and fancy dining napkins on the oakwood surface before her. her expressions may be failing, but her intentions will remain as transparent as she can be. there is a point and method to her temporary lovesick madness. she quotes back her findings with a forlorn break in her tone, “Knights who participated in tournaments and jousts followed this tradition– of wearing tokens of their beloved ladies while performing– a ring, or a sleeve, or a pennon…” as if it wasn’t obvious, “I chose to gift you an orchid, since we haven’t yet discussed rings… or other dowries… “ 

she interrupts herself almost immediately, “Not that I expect to discuss those matters at dinner.” 

she’s at the part of her speech where she expected to be most unheard– that if she hadn’t lost Shayne somewhere in her long-winded expounding, she would very soon. “I’ve put more than enough thought into my token, and I hope you will treasure it for years to come.” though something tells her that her gift will remain on the table for the attendants to clear away with deboned meat and leftover vegetables. 

she hasn’t known Shayne for long, but it’s even harder to get to know another when they appear so closed off and especially with wandering eyes that travel upon other women in the room. how would Shayne feel if the roles were to reverse and Sif were checked out of their stunted relationship? would she find it more agreeable if Sif ceased her attempts? the Head of House Fraser asks herself, what kind of a woman is she marrying– that after all the things she has done to make her feel good– she still walks away from it all? is she not defeated? and is Shayne not ungrateful? if given a partner– if having been assigned a marriage meant she would continue to feel so alone, then what was the point of it all? was she expected to resign into such dejection and despondency, and did her advisors really expect her to continue to retreat within her own self? 

she finds herself coiling and recoiling into that imprisonment of intrusive thoughts. but she can’t help it. when she thinks of that fiancee of hers, all she can ever think about is the back of her head– which as evidenced by the display of manners ( at least Shayne excused herself from the table ) once she rises from the table will be the vision to honor her within seconds– Shayne’s back to her. and Seraphim imagines herself with the bluntest of objects, swiping and cracking that lovely skull wide open. and as her fiancee falls to the ground she kneels on a bed of unspooling brain matter and rot to pick apart veins and lobes to find the answers. perhaps then, and only then would Sif find resolution to her questions: what is she thinking? what is she feeling? 

but instead her fantasies are left unfulfilled, and she’s braced herself for when Shayne presumably walks away showing nothing but the back of her head.

her face turns hot to the touch. she takes a sip of her rice wine, and after a large gulp she nods, “Of course, you’re excused.” 

in its own way, watching her opposing company struggle to maintain their airs and meet supposed expectation when the knight's response isn't quite what they desire draws far more interest from the executioner. perhaps because it feels more honest, despite the actual attempts in play. it's something that can keep her eye for a time, as she gradually downs her weight in liquor. she minds the words that slip into place to fill the distance and quiet between them, noting their details, how desperate they seem to connect. shayne herself had rarely felt such a thing save for when it came to her father and that feeling, the emotion it might summon, isn't one she wishes to indulge in front of others. it occurs to her in that time, however, how easy it is for her to brush aside her betrothed — due to her views on impracticalities, or whatever else she may perceive in the woman as less than ideal. how worthless she might make the other feel. and despite having little to no intention of seeing the marriage to actual fruition, it may not be the worst thing to offer the woman a bit of kindness.

particularly when her intentions regarding the orchid are made plain, something shayne is certain sif believed would go unnoticed. contrary to how she may appear, lady cinder was little else if not attentive enough.

"actually, you may join me if you wish." she speaks just after rising, allowing herself time to consider all that sif had permitted and given and the interest still held in the stories she mentioned. “i merely wished to procure more drink without all these eyes boring into every facet of my being. you seem as though you could use a bit yourself.” she notes, given the gulp of wine just then. the words themselves don’t travel farther than just above a whisper, keeping the conversation between them as much as possible. “we can continue discussing the matter of dowries and other such things that are never meant for the dinner table. and perhaps, what i may do with your gift.” there’s little in the way of an actual pause between her final parting word and her stepping away, though there is also no assumption that sif may follow her lead, given how things have gone thus far. lady cinder would have little trouble filling the space at her side should it become necessary, however — of this she had no doubt.

and she continues on her way with such matters in mind, making pleasantries as beelines are made for quieter spaces where drinks are plentiful and without distraction.

[xf-celcstialflcme]

&. LADY SIF ⸻

@xf-celcstialflcme· // HOUSE FRASER: DINNING HALL

she was escorted in by one of the Fraser Roses, hours ago, but the stifling dinner party, it seemed, would never end. the main course was finally served, yet many of the guests were still pushing chatter around their platters– entertaining gossip instead of chewing their food. she wonders just how much longer she has to placate the masses. perhaps after dinner they wouldn’t ask for the lovely couple to play a string melody together– Sif with her harp, and Shayne, her violin– if they were to exchange gifts. and despite living most of her life in the eyes of many, Sif wishes she was protected by the hundreds of eyes feasting with her. but no, Sif wore no armor as she sat at in the dining hall of Fraser Cottage save for the gilded breastplate strewn over her silken scarlet gown. it reflects against the candlelit dining table and sometimes when she moves, it’s reflective surface shines into the eyes of her fiancee ( for which Lady Sif had apologized on more than one occasion ) the corset-like piece further, makes it hard for her to enjoy her meal- the rainbow carrots and watercress have been picked upon but the roast pheasant in oyster sauce still has yet to be sliced with her dining utensils. Sif, instead, grips her rice wine as she tries to sneak eye-contact with her contractually obligated. “I have a gift for you.”

she leaves the words upon the table, waiting for a reaction. she knows how awkward their situation is. she knows that she isn’t the best of choices to be locked into a marriage with, and for that she’s trying to make the arrangement a bit more… believable to the audience at present. “Would you accept a token of my adoration?” though Seraphim understands that the never ending barrels of Scorpionweed Reserve were enough to keep her soon-to-be-wife happy. still, she slides the velvet box over to Lady Cinder, with a blush in her cheeks. “I know it’s one of the many arguments we’ll have in our presumably long marriage– your antipathy for florals– but this gift– is customized with you in mind. Perhaps like me, you’ll learn to love flowers as much as I do…” 

doe-like eyes peer up to Shayne, begging for an inch of validation. the woman makes her feel like a child again, asking if she’s done a good job with the black orchid ( expertly picked due to its minimal pollen ) and magical charm. she hopes its new fragrance, bewitched with honeyed whiskey will forever remind her fiancee that Seraphim is willing to be a home she’s more than welcome to stay with. 

it didn’t matter how many occasions she found herself wandering through them, shayne could never be anything but uncomfortable in fraser halls. she knew of course, in some altered verse, the house would serve her well and perhaps be considered a better welcome than even beltran. but entertaining such notions in present times would do her little good, and she found it an entirely pointless exercise. in its place, she finds herself preoccupied with the dinner she must sit through, and being among the many honored guests escorted in.

it takes little time for her to busy herself with any alcohol on hand. or pass glaring gazes to the shimmering breastplate her fiancee chose for the evening’s wear.

should the reflection deem it necessary to assault her views in any form, though, there's quick work made of the goblet in her seemingly permanent grasp — tilting the drink forward to prevent the shine from further intruding, mostly. or, in the very least, there's efforts made by raven-like tresses to veil and protect her wandering gaze, which more often than not found sly distraction in other women aside from the one sat directly across from her.

this was, at least, until the deathly silence between the pair found life again with words that were likely meant to, among other apparent things, seek appeasement from the knight herself. as shifting vermilion hues eventually lock on to her supposed bride-to-be though, shayne finds herself wishing she hadn’t, taking immediate notice of how the woman presents and stalls for attention. it isn’t new, by any means, with the executioner hardly a stranger to how hesitant sif could seem in her presence. yet, for the life of her, there's little the knight can manage to glean as to why this running theme of supposed absurdity in manner rarely wavers with the other — and after all this time, it’s still nauseating to witness at best. particularly when one considered the power lady sif’s presence typically summoned in any other circumstance that didn’t directly involve shayne — if rumor were to be believed. it isn’t something lady cinder herself could admit to bearing witness to, after all, as the fraser head was little more than a crushing schoolgirl whenever she happened to be nearby.

so, despite obvious intentions, there isn't much that shayne offers her fiancee in return, at first, at the mention of a present she never asked for. in fact, her still gaze remains ever dim at the prospect of what her fiancee may have brought — she isn’t someone who favors surprises, really. there are questions that circle her mind on the worth of such a needless display for the masses, as she assumes this now might be upon allowing further thought, given the booze and tastefully exposed skin in her peripheral. should that not have served them well enough? divert enough focus? she feels there’s a twinge of annoyance gradually souring her better mood. still, folded fingers with half-gloved knuckles find gentle placement against defined cheeks, shayne leaning into a closed fist and resting an elbow against the table as a vague curiosity finally colors her features and forces parting lips. "really, now? i suppose that might depend." and, as seraphim goes on to explain where this inspiration arose, it occurs to the holy knight that there was certainly a time where dwindling self-control would cause her to immediately roll her eyes straight into the back of her head at such presumed nonsense. … perhaps she was growing as a person.

or .. more likely, having a mostly foreign crowd in the house of her hated father had her enough on edge as it is and painting a shameful target on her back by rejecting their head of house so blatantly would do less to reasonably save the evening.

probably.

as she moves to grab the velvet box, it takes a beat or three before any form of recognition slips forth from the depths of her throat or etches across hardened features — and it’s less in surprise and more in just … well. mostly subtly hinted at confusion. the scent was actually pleasant, which would be surprising from anyone else who wasn’t her betrothed — you couldn’t actually convince shayne that sif hadn’t made it a point to study as much as she could about the woman she was meant to marry in derivative detail. the color of the rose was actually .. fine too. a bit on the nose, but fine. and the fact that she wasn’t having an immediate reaction to the plant was probably a sign that steps were actually taken to ensure her comfort, in some measure.

… but what did she do with it now?

this wasn’t a practical thing or something actually useful, like another dagger or magical cure for a common ailment she’d cross in the road. part of the reason she never asked for gifts is because situations like this were more of a headache than they were worth, specifically because of the needless attention. shayne could feel far too many eyes piercing into her own exposed skin without bothering to look up. and while that normally wouldn’t be the worst issue, there was something unsettling in the expectation dormant in their endless gazes. .. what should she say?

again, initially, she chooses nothing.

a pause too long trails her seamless motions of sealing the box shut again and placing it carefully aside. and, contrary to how it may at first seem to any onlooker, she doesn’t despise the gesture or even think it entirely silly. just impractical. and frankly, she doesn’t have much experience with these sorts of things, her gaze returning to her fiancee in a manner that seemed far less giddy in joy ( as expecting anything of the sort from her was hilarious in itself ) though not entirely absent of feeling, as it typically might. “ .. thank you. i can tell you put your share of thought into this.” she stops short of saying it’s entirely appreciated, because she isn’t certain it is and she would not be made a liar of in that way. the velvet box would remain clear of any obstacle or potential for damage as one of her own aids carries the gift away quietly of their own accord. and in time, there is needless chatter and eventual parting filling the hall before long once more.

"if you'll excuse me." shayne would eventually take advantage of the given opportunity to stand and remove herself from the table as others soon had, seeking air herself with goblet still well in hand.

[xf-celcstialflcme]

( dai si, she/her, spirit warrior ) to SHAYNE KADIR, the whole world looks like an open page. with a leap of faith, their ability of DIVINE FLAME grows a little stronger. they’re pledged to the HOUSE OF BELTRAN to defend the enchanted lands of cagliostro with their ENCHANTED SAI. for THIRTY-TWO years, they have survived a world of magic with both their CALM and CYNICISM. they work as a ROYAL EXECUTIONER, but if they could change their fate, they’d want to CLEANSE THE WORLD.

hello, hello! eva here again with probably my final character for awhile. her inspo includes the likes of the following, though by no means is this list exhaustive because again, i had a lot: shane mccutcheon of l word, cassandra pentaghast of dragon age: inquisition, also cassandra gothel of tangled, mai of avatar: the last airbender, geralt of rivia of the witcher series, erza scarlet of fairy tail, juri arisugawa of revolutionary girl utena, shizuru kuwabara of yu yu hakusho, and of course, elektra natchios of marvel.

&. ⸻ LINKS

doc ( maybe one day ) | pinterest

&. ⸻ BASICS

aliases — the holy knight, knight of the holy flame, lady cinder

birthdate — january 7, 1990

zodiac — capricorn

birthplace — norad town

sexuality — biromantic bisexual

alignment — lawful neutral

temperament — melancholy

element — fire

primary vice — pride

primary virtue — justice

house — beltran ( out of spite towards her father )

occupation — royal executioner and exorcist

markings — her back has a curse mark similar to this

&. ⸻ HEADCANONS

loves money. monetary compensation stands as the main reason she does any ‘good deed’ by choice, particularly while traveling as much as she has as of late

as the boundary curses spread and as a consequence of her position and the rumors circling her abilities, she finds herself regularly holding audience with any variation of cursed strangers. most don’t realize her ‘cure’ is temporary and she feels she’s under no obligation to tell them so, even if they pay her hefty sum. purposely killing their hope in that way seems rather cruel, even by her standards. she also can’t help if no one directly asks

most of her attire leans towards a feeling of ‘pirate wench’ with reds, whites, and blacks serving as her predominant colors. the armor she wears is easily the only exception: a bright silver typically. she also has no trouble being entirely naked when permitted, and tends to prefer it when combat isn’t an immediate concern

liquor is her life’s blood. coffee follows rather closely behind

the sea is her second love

she has a mixed opinion of the royal court and guard these days, though tends to lean more towards indifference so long as they don’t make her job unbearable

she’s broken precisely twenty-three bones in her body throughout her life. some more than once, and mostly on account of accidents she’s had little to do with initially rather than actual combat

she is allergic to pollen and tends to hate most floral arrangements, bees, bugs, or anything that has the capacity to be annoying, frankly

while she’s defected from the dragon priesthood, she still commits to praying for those she slays. old habits die hard and all

speaking of kills, her count, to date, ranges somewhere well above the upper 300s while in the role of an official executioner. unofficially, the count is unknown, though one must also bear in mind her time among the guard in general, being among the youngest ever present

her love life is an absolute mess. her string of exes either want her dead or in the very least, wouldn’t mind seeing her step on a lego or two, barefoot. she has no capacity for proper commitment, prone to balancing more than one person at a time, and her eventually getting caught has resulted in a number of awkward situations that she tends to brush off. she’s more recently been forced into an arrangement of marriage, of which she’s entirely against, and tends to act as such. but since she’s rejected a string of offers, the court felt it was the most logical move to ensure traditions are maintained and she has little room to disobey

she has a talent for the violin and the tambourine, both of which were in use during her street urchin days. she also tends to hum when she believes she’s alone. most of the time she’s not

she has a white, armored horse named jaken, who remains a constant companion on the road. she also has a skill for motorbikes, but this is a rare thing to witness her mounting

despite being a crack shot, firearms are her least favorite weapons

she is terrible gambler, despite her love of it, and enjoys hearing haunted tales, even at the risk of being haunted herself 

she is a minimalist, through and through

shayne is, quite sincerely, the most petty person on the planet

&. ⸻ CURSES

to date, the knight is plagued by any number of ongoing curses, including:

the madman ( or unnatural bloodlust and inability to forgive ) — gifted from her hometown of norad and muted since her leave. that said, traces still remain of the curse in itself, and are most prominent in moments of combat, be they physical or verbal.

the flame keeper — a familial gift as well as a curse in which every first born heir is subjected to a version of flame ability that imprints itself onto the skin and soul. no one knows who within the family bore responsibility or how this came to be, but the flame itself, regardless of type or manner, will eventually consume the heir, utilizing their very life energy to burn so brightly. her father was a 'living forge', capable of custom weaponry and consuming ore, hence his main occupation as a blacksmith. shayne is known as the 'holy knight', her version of flame being blessed and pure, but still deadly.

the ring of maleficarum — a supposed curse negating object, however, the effects are more detrimental to the user than initially realized, with shayne inheriting the very essence of this curse and its malevolent host after her father bargained with the dimensional witch in return for his soul upon death ( unknowingly ). the ring, or essence of it rather, essentially stockpiles negative or cursed energy, resulting in legions of bad luck for the user rather than relieving them. it tends to work against her divine flame naturally, causing far more injury and issue than may typically occur when the abilities are in use. for instance, the ring is the reason the curses she ‘breaks’ or absorbs do not stay as such, why she always tends to fall into regular accidents, is always broke ( despite any accumulated funds ), is always at the mercy of hovering birds and other animals literally biting at her heels, and among the reasons for her poor love life, as it were. she is a natural jinx, the bad energy tempered and only partly sealed by enchanted, purified bandages she’d been gifted by a royal clergyman. they regularly encase her body so as not to cause unwarranted destruction around her and she has them regularly re-upped in enchantments by various healing sorts when she notices her luck going more awry than usual. breaking this curse is rumored to require the lives or pure energy of hordes of men, to balance the scales as it were, but shayne has yet to manage to do so. despite her obvious efforts and choice in occupation.

the absorbed — any curse she pulls from another being stays with her for no more than four hours, though the timing may vary. similar to rogue of x-men, this talent draws on the lifeforce of her chosen victim and surrenders the negative energy into herself. the effects of this may either be to her immediate benefit or detriment, though given how the essence of the maleficarum tends to operate, shayne has no way of telling before doing so. most of the time, however, it is less of an aid to her in the moment. if we’re not including any monetary gain, of course. the beings drawn from will be forced into a state of exhaustion themselves for a time as well.

&. ⸻ MOTIVATIONS AND FEARS

she will never allow herself to get close to anyone these days, really, having seen the effects her poor luck may have on those that dare to be. her tendency to self-sabotage and pull away is driven by her fears of hurting those nearest, and her commitment phobia is similarly drawn from this.

part of the reason she’s so money hungry stems from her growing up in an environment that offered so little, having no wish to end up similarly when she eventually retires. it doesn’t help, of course, that her capacity to maintain her funding is severely limited naturally and her apparent gambling problem tends to lend itself poorly to her intended future. 

being cursed as she is, is the same as breathing or having a heartbeat for anyone else. as such, trying to remove her curses forcefully would be the same as killing her. her primary goal, aside from seeing an end to all shades, is to find a cure that won't kill her. and despite her poorer approach, she wishes to see the world cleansed of similarly cursed fates.

&. ⸻ TREASURED POSSESSIONS

enchanted twin sai with chains

purifying bandages

butterfly daggers and throwing knives

&. ⸻ FAMILY

her biological father — a man renown in his own right for his alchemic work as well as his talents with weaponry, he holds a greed and selfishness that is unparalleled. or held, at any rate. he would meet his end by a cursed blood, the villain consuming his body whole, mostly, in their wish to claim what lied within. prior to his sudden death, however, he would make a bargain with the dimensional witch to see his daughter take on the host and malevolent energy of the cursed ring he thought could cure him. shayne has always held mixed feelings towards the man in part because of his choices. his death, of course, has brought her little in the way of actual relief. she has sworn to slay his killer at any cost, though this is less to do with any deeply personal reason and more to see justice wrought.

her biological mother — a woman who studied cursed objects for a fair portion of her life, she was an archaeologist determined to see the life of the dragon goddess renewed. a devout follower herself, she was responsible for introducing her daughter to the failing religion and upholding the practices in their household, despite her husband’s disapproval. she would see her life cut short by the very same man, then determined to relieve himself of his cursed and partly self-inflicted woes. 

her adoptive father — the man responsible for plucking young shayne from the bloodied streets of norad town after being abandoned by her birth father, he would serve as a guide in her new life and would lead her to her current station. as a member of the royal guard himself, he holds a fair bit of pride in his daughter’s work and efforts for the crown, though he does often wish she’d settle down properly and drank just a little less. he is among the few who know her well, at this stage in her life.

&. ⸻ WANTED

any and all things, though fellow royal guards would be most lovely. come at me, bruh

[xf-celcstialflcme]

⸻ XF-CELCSTIALFLCME a dependent blog of cagliostrohq. as penned by eva.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻ SHAYNE KADIR ⸻ the charlatan " a fraud, through pretense or deception " ( dai si , cisgender woman , spirit warrior ) ⸻⸻ intro. interactions. visual. musings. answered. tasks.