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I’ll be following the masterlist shortly, but in the meantime I’ll put down a starter call ! Uncapped, but they’ll likely be short— one-liner to a small paragraph.
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hopeled:
“ They always said ‘ April showers bring May flowers’ but I figured the flowers would bloom in May only when I was little. “
the mage laughs softly, pausing to kneel down next to a small bush of flowers in the sand. fingers reach out to gently touch the petals– they were bright blue at the tips, fading into a gradient of white – head tilting as she glanced over the small bunch of flowers. “ I was always so amazed when they showed up in April. “ she laughs at the brief childhood memory, shaking her head as she leaned in closer to smell the flowers. ah, like rain. a comforting scent, she thinks, as she pulls back.
remaining low, she crosses her arms over her knees, turning back to look up at the one she dragged along on this nice day. Ophelia Phamrsolone. over the past year of her life here, she’s seen many familiar faces come and go, and surprise is no longer what she feels upon spotting one. instead, she prefers to simply help acclimate them to this place and Ophelia was no exception. in fact, the entire reason Ritsuka had invited her out was because when she ran across her a few days ago, she looked….stressed. worried.
and what better way to ease such a thing than a day at the beach?
“ You know, they kinda match your eyes.” turning back, she carefully plucks one of the flowers mid-stem, an idea having popped into her mind. standing back up, she turns to the other mage and reaches out to carefully tuck the flower behind Ophelia’s ear, careful to avoid getting it snagged in her hair but still making sure it would remain secure against the gentle breeze. “ There…we….go. Now you’re ready. “
@thybrilliance
❛ Hm— is that so ? ❜ AMUSEMENT colors her tone, exhaling sharply through her nose. Laughter, almost. Her smile makes up for it, though, visible eye bright as she tracks Ritsuka’s mannerisms. She’s such a lively kouhai, always eager to pad the silence with a story or a joke. It reminds her a bit of Pepe, if Pepe were a little more high-strung. It’s... a welcome distraction from all that’s plagued her mind since her arrival in this strange place.
Hell ? Purgatory ? She still hasn’t decided. Some days she thinks it’s all one grand experiment, run by mages that could run circles around she and Chaldea’s Master both. Some days she thinks maybe the bleaching of humanity, and the Crypter’s deeds along with it, were all part of that grand experiment. A fabrication, nothing more. But then she recalls the way Olga Marie Animusphere looked at her, or the tone of Kirschtaria’s voice, and she knows that’s wishful thinking at best. Escapism at worst. … But she supposes this brand of escapism is acceptable; a distraction in the sun and sand.
It’s far out of the old Ophelia’s comfort zone, but this “new” Ophelia was all the more excited because of it. The beach... She’s never seen it. She’s never even dressed appropriately for the summer until now, simply because she’s never experienced it quite like most girls her age. Ritsuka already has a sun-kissed glow, as if this were just another day in her long list of seasonal excursions. While Ophelia’s gaze lingers on the flowers, beautiful enough to inspire awe, she wonders if she’ll be able to come up with a suitably long list before summer’s end.
❛ Ah— I suppose they do... ❜ Startled out of her reverie, she trails off as Ritsuka’s fingers hook behind her ear. She did it as if it were the most natural thing in the world, as if they were already the closest of friends... Ironically, it somehow managed to put Ophelia further at ease. Her smile widens, reaching her own fingers back to fix the stem into the strap of her eye patch.
❛ Now it won’t budge, either. … Thank you. ❜
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❛ A summer festival ? I’ve never attended one... I would be far more excited if that museum... Experience weren’t so fresh on my mind. ❜
#isola mini#sorry but after that we've got some Trust Issues whenever the island offers us nice things
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animasphere:
when the statue first starting speaking, she had thought it was a prank. then the doors slammed shut and lights went out and it took no time at all for once peaceful halls to be filled with shouts of terror as creations clattered to the ground, subjects emerging like something from a horror movie. chaos was rampant and she did the only thing she could think of– run.
but then, somehow, she ended up in that hall, with that portrait, the light of her phone focused solely on it before she shut it off in haste. she could not move as she heard it slam against the floor, couldn’t scream as marble floors crack underneath nails digging into it, couldn’t breathe as she heard that woman take one step forward. lips parting but no sound coming out, as a hand dripping paint grips her wrist with enough force for her to possibly break bones. fear and adrenaline combined and she had done the only thing she could think of– run.
an hour passes until she finds a place to hide; a nook, tucked behind a large pillar. she stays there, ignoring the pain in her wrist and being grateful the darkness – suffocating and terrifying as it is – hides her from seeing the bruises she can feel there. but Olga Marie can still hear that woman looking, searching for her.
it draws closer to her location and her breath hitches to an almost stop. and then, though she can’t see, she can hear someone in front of her hiding spot speaking to herself. she knows that voice. rather than think, Olga acts. her arm reaches forwards, fingers wrapping around Ophelia’s elbow to pull her into the hiding spot. she only lets go to then press a hand over the former Crypters mouth, hushing her harshly. “ Shut up. She’ll hear you. “
the steps pause, followed by a stranger’s scream and something jabs at her heart.
@thybrilliance
SUNDAY again.
She’s focused so much of her energy into avoiding that inevitable malaise, and this wasn’t malaise so much as raw terror, but even so... She still felt paralyzed with inaction. Ophelia had merely come to appreciate the art, bake treats, finish off a content afternoon with a lovely party. But her gown was ripped to bits from the knees down, the lingering taste of pastries had long since turned ashen in her mouth, and now she could only wonder how much longer they would all be corralled like this.
Her legs ache from overuse, begging for a reprieve from running and crouching and running and sprinting and crouching and sprinting again. This hallway is desolate, and it possesses a distinct chill that the other hallways lack, and her breathing seems entirely too loud and heavy in such a desolate space. How did it come to this... ? Her jaw clenches at the thought; running had been so like Ophelia, not so much this newfound anger — no... Indignance. Were those in charge enjoying this ? This was either a grievous oversight or precisely according to plan, and she refuses to buy the former. Her knees tremble, but her clenched fists make up for it.
❛ … No more. No more running. Think. ❜ She may lack all her capabilities here, but she was still a Mage; resourceful, calculating, all those qualities that made for a halfway-decent Crypter. And as horrifying as these... Things were, they had an origin. And their origins were entirely destructible. ❛ Think. ❜ Her voice grows louder in frustration. ❛ Think, think, think... ! ❜ Ophelia lets out a shrill scream when something grabs at her elbow and yanks her downward; a scream that was mercifully muffled by a human palm. Olga Marie Animusphere’s palm. Her visible eye widens in shock, staring as if she’d grown a second head since their last less-than-amicable conversation. Understanding gradually follows, and the former Crypter nods stiffly. So much for taking a stand... … Wait.
❛ … 'She’ ? ❜
#animasphere#ANIMASPHERE * 02.#✧ event﹔canvas ii.#this isn't embarrassingly late what do you mean june's almost over what do you mean i mentally checked out for like a month
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frostnovas:
❅ FrostNova watches intently, ultimating giving a reassuring nod, filled with a tiny bit of pride at having taught someone properly. Whether it is something as simple as this does not matter, rather, it is the fact that she is reminded of old times and old companions, the ones she came here for to begin with. The atmosphere is different, and so is their relationship for that matter, but it still brings back fond memories. She knows as well as anyone else that clinging to the past will do her no good, but just for a moment, her mind stays there, content, with a sense of nostalgia, until the gentle, quiet voice of Ophelia plucks her from her daydream.
She lets out a defeated sigh in response and though she feels inclined to lie about it, she gives a terribly honest answer instead. “Someone special to me, I suppose. I am unsure of how to refer to him, really.” A thorn in her side, someone she could not rid herself of, even if she wanted to, for he has chosen this spot for himself. That kind of thing is rather difficult to convey to a stranger when you are uncertain and new to it yourself, is it not? Nonetheless, she finds herself drawn back to a comment about the very sun itself, a place even she could not reach yet. “A story worth telling, I surmise. I would like to hear it someday, in all its grandeur.” Perhaps over tea? That is how most things started for her. ( Sometimes beverages with strange ingredients, courtesy of one crazy mage. )
“This place has a tendency to make the impossible possible and brings about people you would have never expected to meet again. I wouldn’t be surprised if he turned up one day.” Granted, people vanish again just as easily, but she has chosen to omit this very fact for now. Turning her attention back to the task at hand, she points at her finished, crinkly lantern and the notes with instructions on them. “I think I’m supposed to light these inside, but I’m not really suited for that kind of thing, so I just left them as is. Did you want to write anything on it?”
She scribbles a name on her own with a marker. It’s barely readable as is, but she reminds herself that perfection plays no part in this. The name she wrote this time is not for someone that passed, but changed instead. It is for someone she could no longer recognize, whom she referred to as a traitor and vowed to take their life with her own hands, yet she wasn’t able to see that reckless plan through. That thing, too, is something departed. It is something she entrusted to someone else. “Someone keeps bringing me new flavors of tea, so I need to get rid of some anyway. You would be welcome.” Something to let go of, to be replaced with something new.
A tendency to make the impossible possible...
She’s already seen as much, albeit in a less pleasant way. The thought of that Archer turning up here... She wants to roll her eyes, but her lips impulsively twitch instead. She would like to have a chance to deliver her message in person... She’d like to see how he reacted to this or that modern convention, or how he conducted himself outside of dire situations. She’d like to hear more about Joséphine. Before Ophelia knew it, she was smiling broadly — and admittedly, some of FrostNova’s words had been little more than white noise. Her question eventually snapped her out of her thoughts, watching as the woman wrote down... Something with her marker. It may be a name... It’s difficult to decide without context.
❛ — Yes. I suppose I should write something. ❜ But what ? She shouldn’t write any particular names; there were far too many to write, and it was ridiculously inappropriate enough that she was the one honoring their memory. The last thing she needed was to further upset the dead. In that case, perhaps a message would be better... But the question repeats: what could she write ? ‘Sorry’ ? Too broad. Anything more specific would be too lengthy for a paper lantern. Ophelia traces her fingertips along the semi-crumpled paper, wafer-thin and fragile. So very fragile... Much like humanity. Humanity... What sort of message would humanity like to receive ?
The mage quietly takes up a marker, writing the answer carefully in her delicate script. She sets the lantern in her lap once finished, seemingly content with her choice. ❛ And the next step... Send them floating ? ❜ Ophelia asks, watching the lanterns already released bob along. Some have already floated out of view. How long has FrostNova been at this... ?
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volontedacier:
It seems she’s willing to cooperate in the manner he had hoped for. The circumstances are abnormal, and past conflicts of interest play no part in this game. “We are both restricted here, so we will proceed with caution. … If your mind will be at ease if you take the lead, then so be it.“ This will give the Count a better chance to study the Crypter as they traverse the maze.
Her pace is good enough for now, no need to rush through this ordeal. Avenger maintained a respectable distance behind the human, their footsteps mixing in with the various other ambient sounds of the maze. It could take a while before the first fork in the path presents itself. The walls make it difficult to fully comprehend how far ahead the next turns may be. … With this much time to spare, surely he can allow himself to indulge in some prying.
“… Tell me. Do you still feel burdened by the fate once laid out before you? Or has this second life given you a newfound sense of freedom?“
SHE isn’t sure how at ease she can feel under a Servant’s shrewd gaze; this one in particular felt as if he were boring holes straight through to her core. Ophelia found herself instinctively tense, knowing it was only a matter of time before he posed some sort of question. It was only when she finally began to feel preoccupied with their surroundings, studying the walls and foreboding sky as they continued down this long path, that he chose to speak.
The question itself felt as if it should be a straightforward one; her lips pursed as if in preparation to answer yes right away. In some ways — a lot of ways, actually — this was one long excursion down a new path in life. ❛ Yes... and no, ❜ the former Crypter ultimately replied, brows furrowed. ❛ Someone with my past responsibilities could never truly be shaken free of them, I think. Or at least of... Reminders. ❜ Reminders with distinct faces.
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voidsouled:
IT WOULD SEEM she too places little value in snuffing out so pathetic a flame. let it burn, the stranger seems to say without words, scrutinising its diminutive form now settled upon her shoulder for the time being. as if in answer to her presence, ulquiorra angles toward the other, returning his hand to a pocket. surely she must see how pathetic it is, and in the grander scope of things, it mattered not. most are born and die without ever knowing the rising sun— a meaningless existence.
it is then he notes her expression; the manner of which she regards the butterfly does not wreak of scorn, nor disdain, but… wonder. it were as if she is seeing it for the very first time. it whispers in her gaze, like shimmers in a pond, and he cannot fathom why. what possible attachment could she have to this creature, that she looks upon it with such sentiment? even when she speaks, he is unable to place her reasons.
… it bothers him.
❝ … ❞ the arrancar says nothing, but finds that, against his better judgement, he remains nonetheless.
how absurd.
SO unbelievably small — Ophelia couldn’t get over it.
For now, this mundane creature takes precedence in her mind over whatever manner of being she’s stumbled across originally. It was about as far from ideal behavior of a Mage as one could get; the thought startled her initially, but she came to revel in it. Too insignificant to even make a proper offering for most rituals... But the insect seemed ignorant of this fact, and fluttered on regardless. Literally in this one’s case, as it seemed renewed by its temporary rest and went on about its fleeting existence. The various hues in its wings caught the dwindling sunlight as it passed, as if to make her double down on her newfound sentiment. A moment could be fleeting, but it still had meaning. It was the same for people, too.
❛ I apologize if I disturbed you. ❜ In the absence of having a term to apply to this presence, it seemed a little foolish to not be polite. There was a slight tilt of her head, almost as if in acknowledgment. Curiosity, however, trumps manners. ❛ I wonder... Are you a familiar ? ❜ A pause, weighing the manner of creatures she’s seen in these woods. … Certainly not a pixie. ❛ A spirit, perhaps. ❜
#voidsouled#VOIDSOULED * 01.#i return days later to vibe w/ this some more#tfw when you look at butterflies with an arrancar on a tuesday afternoon
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I let the entangling grief flow like a black river in me.
Birhan Keskin, tr. by George Messo, from Selected Poems; “Instrumental,” (via violentwavesofemotion)
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volontedacier:
This quest should certainly turn out to be quite an interesting one… If trickery will hound the players at every turn, then the best countermeasure is a man of schemes to assess the situations. All he must wait for now is what should likely be his sole partner for this…
Ah, but what a peculiar twist. The one to approach him is one of the Crypters… Hm, perhaps former would be more fitting now? Regardless of the fact, the Count is familiar enough with this… Ophelia woman. The Master in charge of the Lostbelt for Scandinavia… She appears to be quite the sharp one, having already made the correct assumption regarding his allegiances. The black-clad figure stood in silence for now, his gaze fixated on nothing else but her.
Hm… Most certainly a child of nobility. Avenger can’t help but think back on the children of Paris so long ago…
“… You are correct on both counts, Ophelia Phamrsolone.“ A thoughtful nod was finally given to break the silence, a hand now outstretched past his cloak to direct her gaze to the maze around them. “This maze cannot be completed in solitude. So long as we take up this challenge, we must not split apart. And so long as this is the case, your past actions as a Crypter mean nothing to me. The only goal that matters is this: escape. … Are we in agreement thus far?”
WHEN he finally speaks, she’s slightly taken aback at how rich his voice is.
Another Frenchman. Interesting... But she banishes the thought as quickly as it came. There were far more pressing matters at hand. ❛ Ophelia is fine, ❜ she murmurs as her gaze flits back to the maze. This was definitely a two-person job, at minimum. It’s a relief that he doesn’t bear a grudge, and it makes her stiff shoulders slump ever so slightly. There was never any way to tell with Servants when it came to their Master’s conflicts... Then again, perhaps most of Fujimaru’s Servants were aware how little she carried herself as a Crypter in her final moments.
❛ We’re in agreement thus far. ❜ Another glance is spared to their surroundings, upward towards the canopy of the giant tree at this Ward’s center. ❛ If this is in the location I think it is, then I can’t be certain your Servant abilities won’t come into play. The pixies are crafty, and I imagine there may be more than one attempt to turn us around if we don’t tread carefully. ❜ Her Mystic Eye feels irritable beneath the fabric, as if the very thought of using it makes it balk. ❛ My abilities are limited here, but I’ll still assist however I can should that come to pass. … But we won’t get anywhere just standing here. ❜ She hopes a human’s speed isn’t too irritating for a Servant... But she’ll keep a quick stride regardless.
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frostnovas:
❅ Her eyes wander towards the distance, observing the way the afternoon sunlight hits the water, and how her previous lanterns continue drifting further away until they are mere specks on the horizon. The half-moon smile turns somewhat melancholic, momentarily distracted in silence. Then: “From time to time, he does. That person did keep me from jumping into an active volcano.” A pause, followed by muffled, mild laughter. “It’s a long story.” A long story that dates back quite some time ago now, but she has not forgotten a single second of what transpired then, even if she chose to never speak of it again.
Tearing her gaze away from the reflected sunlight, she returns to those materials on the ground, and the person beside her. She shuffles them around, seemingly looking for something she has misplaced, before offering a piece of paper to her newest friend. “You fold it like so,” she says, showing her, leading by example, albeit clumsily ( it’s all crinkled, regrettably ). Practice makes perfect, or something like that, she’s sure the dead won’t care for perfection anymore. “I’m actually not very good at it.” But she laughs, because it’s so, so silly.
“It seems we have both been blessed with ridiculous men in our lives, Ophelia.” Blessing or curse are quite similar to one another if you take a closer look, after all. In her case, she would ultimately call herself blessed, though admitting that openly is another story. In Ophelia’s case, she does not know the particular details, but her features betray a certain softness she has come to know personally. “But they might be on to something.” When she first called her a deer earlier, she had not expected something like this, so she quietly retracts the statement in her mind, with Ophelia none the wiser.
“You seem like you would get along with my– my someone.” Someone is not the correct word, but she is struggling for a replacement and it shows. The newness to everything hasn’t settled, even after some time. Holding up the crinkled lantern, her half-moon smile drops to a frown, but she carries on regardless. “I would invite you two over for tea, but asking this of a stranger is probably rude. We could all use some more friends here though. Of the living kind.”
There it is again, that tug on her heart, the hands of guilt coiled around it, but she ignores it all the same. ( It says, do you even deserve a friend? It says, do you even deserve kindness? ) But, he told her to live in their stead, and she would see that guilt defeated in the end.
❛ I see. ❜
FOLD it like so, she repeats internally as she follows her example. It irks her that her fold isn’t quite perfect; the crease is uneven, or else one edge of the paper wouldn’t poke out from the other like this. Redoing the fold, however, would only make it worse. How long had it been since she didn’t get something correct on her first try ? … No matter. Her family wasn’t here, nor was she tasked with saving the world — nor rewriting it. The dead wouldn’t berate her for her imperfections; if they were going to berate her, there’d be a long list of other things before that, to say the least. That thought shouldn’t amuse her, but it sounds so ridiculous in her mind that she can’t help but smile at her own foolishness.
FrostNova’s hesitation catches her attention, glancing up from the paper with a raised brow. Her someone... Did she mean that romantically ? How nice... She would’ve probably considered it ‘pedestrian’ or some other stuffy term before. What a relief that she can appreciate it now for what it is. ❛ ‘Your someone’ ? Ah... I like the sound of him already. … It’s a little funny; you were talked down from an active volcano, and I was coaxed into jumping off of the sun. ❜ A measured pause, and despite it all, she finds herself on the verge of laughing. ❛ Also a long story. ❜
She thinks that Archer would be insufferably pleased to know she still thought of him. Did Mash ever deliver her message ? She hopes so... ❛ It’s good to still have a ridiculous man nearby. The one I knew is far away... Which is probably for the best. ❜ She’s still quite sure he’s already married. … How nice it was to feel this content. She feels... lighter, despite the somber occasion for these paper lanterns. Ophelia watches a couple of the ones already sent floating; they bobbed gingerly against the occasional wave or ripple, but remained steadfast.
❛ … I do quite enjoy tea, ❜ she remarks after a brief silence. Friends were a great deal easier than cultivating love, weren’t they ? ❛ I can’t guarantee a great conversation, but you don’t have to discuss a great deal over tea. That’s part of why I enjoy it so much. ❜
#frostnovas#FROSTNOVAS * 01.#NO YOU'RE RIGHT AND YOU SAID IT#no please :))) invite your someone over to group tea :)))) it'll be so fun i promise come here
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grandorder:
Ten years worth of falsities and impassive looks comes tumbling back, completely unabated. It’s like falling back into something worn and perfectly fitting for him, but so deeply uncomfortable. It takes an impossible amount of effort to hold himself there and not crack and seep through the in-between. The smallest fissure is his half-formed smile and he’s certain if he gives any more, he’ll go to pieces. Kirschtaria Wodime does not waver, does not entertain the idea of uncertainty, but here he’s not sure which way to fall: back to into old habits, or those decidedly newer ones.
So, he sits somewhere in-between and tries to balance them both, if only to save a face that’s already faltering. “No, not very long at all.” If she were here any longer and he’d somehow turned a blind eye to it– There’d be shame atop of that distasteful guilt, and he’s already had his fill of flavours for today. “You could say something like that. I’ve been here long enough to get my bearings and then some.”
But that fragile balance tips and something emotive strikes across his face like lightning; a here and gone again frown and something deeper, but not quite dark. “Is that so? I see.” Oh yes, he sees perfectly, and resists the subtle pull to close his eyes at the thought. “I’ll surmise the unpleasantness of your encounter came from information I gave Olga, and not simply because she was being icy. In which case, I would think you have plenty of questions as a result. And answers to which you are very much owed at that, Ophelia.”
SHE was very much owed that, but she almost didn’t want the answers.
Despite bringing it up herself, despite thinking of little else prior to this meeting, now she only wants to turn back the clock. At the very least she’d like to turn back to a few moments ago, when he wore that half-smile that made her pulse skip slightly. Before she’d indicated she knew at least a fraction more than she’d known before, and for a split second, he’d looked as if he’d tasted something bitter. Perhaps he does taste something bitter, seeing as it lingers so thick in her own mouth.
❛ You’re correct. ❜ She cannot turn back the clock, not even with her Mystic Eye. No one can. ❛ Olga informed me right away that she knew about it all. About the Lostbelts, about the state of Proper Human History... ❜ She hesitates again, gritting her teeth. All she can do is keep moving, in any given direction, and embrace whatever fall came as a result.
❛ And she seems to know at least a little more than I do. … She mentioned... You had encountered Chaldea. ❜ Her mouth is filled with sand all over again. ❛ But she wouldn’t go into details. Through her omission or yours, I’m not sure. ❜ There isn’t a question in any of this. Surely he knows what she’s begging to know even if she doesn’t pose the question, even if she didn’t want to hear it. But there is... One additional question she could ask. ❛ … Mash Kyrielight. Did you encounter her as well ? ❜
#grandorder#GRANDORDER * 01.#oh? gonna smack it out of my hand?#better hope you don't miss. better hope it only takes one shot
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frostnovas:
❅ Calling her footsteps delicate before definitely was no mistake. The way she carries herself is exactly like that. Timid, perhaps, for lack of another word, but the cautus can find nothing wrong with that. It is not the way of the warrior ( or so she has learned ), but this is no battlefield either. The war is in the past and they will find no such thing here, save for the occasional incident within the city.
When she speaks, only sounds of uncertainty reach her fuzzy ears. Were it anyone else, she would scoff, but treating strangers the same as enemies is a thing of the past as well, something that has become unnecessary and more troublesome than helpful. ( And so, she tries. ) It is then that she finally turns her head to eye this deer that has crossed her path, only to find an amusing mirror of sorts. Like the autumnal version of herself. What an interesting coincidence, this place remains one full of surprises.
It is enough to draw out a simple smile from the usually cold woman, gesturing to the empty spot next to her with materials scattered across the floor. Were it anyone else, she would scoff, but this time she offers a joke, or a question, however one wishes to perceive it. “Really? Did you ask them? I’m sure it’s fine. Someone once told me we can never pick the right answer, but what’s important is what we do after. That’s why I’m doing something so stupid, too. So if you want to try it, I’ll show you how to make one of these.”
“Ah. Right, my name is… FrostNova.”
HER smile is a little infectious.
Ophelia can already feel the corners of her mouth sliding upward, and she doesn’t fight it. Something about this woman’s way of speaking puts her at ease; it’s simple, it’s honest. It sort of reminds her of Daybit Sem Void, even if he was a little difficult to converse with. ‘Did you ask them?’ … Fair enough. Maybe she should stop assuming she understands how anyone feels when she can barely understand her own feelings at any given time.
So she takes the spot offered to her, sliding down onto her knees; her movements are soft, graceful, barely making a sound compared to the noisy river. ❛ Whoever said that to you must have very good advice, ❜ Ophelia notes with a small nod. ‘What’s important is what we do after’... She would have to take that one to heart. It makes her feel nostalgic for a certain Servant, however brief their connection might have been. Her tone softens, visible eye focused on something far away as her hands rest on her stockings.
❛ A nosy man once told me that the only important thing for me to do was to move. To move, and not stop moving. ‘It doesn’t matter how you do it. You could stand up, fall any direction, and you’d still be beautiful.’ … How ridiculous is that ? ❜ Ridiculous, she says— but with a tenderness she would have never afforded herself before. Moments like these, she wonders how it would have felt to be able to reach out and touch him; how that connection would have felt if he hadn’t slipped through her fingers, like the most dazzling smoke.
❛ Ophelia, ❜ she finally offers, and after nodding once, ❛ Just Ophelia. That’s my name. ❜ Her gaze is focused again, flitting between the woman and her array of materials. FrostNova... What an interesting name. It should be easy to remember. ❛ I think I should take the collective advice of your someone and mine. I would love to learn. ❜
#frostnovas#FROSTNOVAS * 01.#LOADS MINE IN RETURN#'THE AUTUMNAL VERSION OF HERSELF' IS STILL FUCKING ME UP GOODBYE
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frostnovas:
❅ ‘You try your best. You face every day with something new, a little stronger. But what’s important is that you try, always. That’s what people are good at, after all.’
And so, she tries, and she keeps trying, until she thinks she can’t go on – and then some more. All because someone showed her the way, but that is neither here nor there. Today, he is not with her, in fact, she insisted on doing this alone. Said it was better that way, necessary that way. That is how she finds herself the same way she confronted the heroes of the story, alone, mind unwavering.
Here is one retired ( defeated ) villain, kneeling on the riverbank and cursing her crafts skills under her breath. The idea is simple; one small paper lantern for each departed friend, set it afloat and let it drift away as some form of closure. Much needed in her case, the guilt runs deep in her icy veins and it still hasn’t faded into a half-memory just yet. ( A chilling guilt. )
She’s already sent several lanterns on their way, ( though she intends on making more still ) when her ears twitch and pick up on delicate footsteps nearby, followed by a curious glance. Truthfully, she must look strange to anyone passing by, so maybe it’s best she gave a brief explanation? Not that it will be any less embarrassing with context.
“I’m making paper lanterns to honor my fallen comrades. I’m the only one who can, after all.” No one else will remember them, so it is her duty instead. ‘Do it for them’ he told her. And so, she tries, and she keeps trying. She speaks without moving from her spot, even though her knees are starting to feel sore. Instead, without another glance, she asks: “Do you want to make one too?” She insisted on doing this alone, until someone came by.
@thybrilliance
OPHELIA isn’t even sure how she got here.
But that sums up her experience in this city thus far; wandering idly, no purpose in sight, wondering what she possibly could have been summoned for. Several times she’s noted that this is likely how the Servant Brynhildr felt before she was sealed away; each time she realizes this, she winces as if it’s a new revelation. The riverbank is a welcome sight, enough to rouse her from her thoughts. Her first unrelated thought being: this woman is beautiful.
Beautiful, but sorrowful. Even without her snow-white hair, Ophelia thinks she would remind her of Brynhildr regardless. She stands at a distance from the woman even after she speaks, as her tone suggests she hadn’t expected to speak to anyone at all. Was it really all right for her to be here ? She felt as if she were... Intruding somehow. But even so, knowing that... ‘I’m making paper lanterns to honor my fallen comrades.’
What an earnest thought.
❛ Paper lanterns... ❜ Ophelia repeats, sapphire eye lingering on the lazy waters. ❛ … Perhaps this is too frank to tell a stranger, but... I don’t think the fallen would want offerings from me. ❜ Even so, she finds herself edging closer. ‘Comrades’ was too strong of a word, really... But if she took out that word, and focused only on the lives she’s seen snuffed out — all around her in that control room, or by her own ignorance in Scandinavia... Maybe they still deserved to be acknowledged, even if they would ask for someone else.
#frostnovas#FROSTNOVAS * 01.#thank you so much i'm die forever#I REALLY DO THINK THEY'LL VIBE WELL TOGETHER... CLENCHES MY FIST
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grandorder:
Truly, he could say the same for Ophelia. She should not be here, which is followed by the ghost of thoughts like she should not have been there either, and a number of insurmountable apologies that were never aired, but seem only fitting now. But he takes the blow of her presence and the obvious taste of guilt in his mouth with nothing but the smallest turn of his head and a careful, almost thoughtful, blink. “In all honesty, I’m not quite sure where ‘here’ is either.” Which is a very small truth, of which there will probably be many more in the coming hours ( minutes, seconds, now ). “Theories abound. None of which I’m certain on yet.”
Here, another truth: “Regardless, it’s good to see you again, Ophelia.” Even if she’s not meant to be here – not the Ward but the city, and deeper, here, next to him, caught in the unfortunate pull of his star-turned-blackhole. Because, beneath the guilt and the sound of something breaking inward, he is glad. Unfortunately and hopefully glad, deeply and terrible glad, to see her here; breathing and alive, a look of wonder still caught on her features. The taste of his guilt is offset by sudden sweet nostalgia, and then the quiet reminder that it’s faker than the tree they’re standing under.
But the face he wears does not crack. It’s an impossible, immovable thing, even before one of the very people he’d gladly suffered over ( with and for and would again and again ). “Quite good, actually.” And then, just like that, it softens marginally like melting snow caught by the sun, and something like a smile forms in its place. “I hope you’ve been well while you’ve been here, Ophelia.”
IT isn’t fair.
It doesn’t seem fair that he can still carry himself the same as always when, as soon as he speaks, even the tiniest of her mannerisms feels excessive. She would be content, she thinks, to just stay like this — unaware of all that’s changed them, staring at him as if she were looking at the sun itself. But it can’t stay like this, because she’s been tethered to one sun already; it can’t stay like this now that she’s encountered Olga Marie Animusphere. 'It’s good to see you again, Ophelia.’ Not fair. ‘Quite good, actually.’ Not fair. ‘I hope you’ve been well.’ Not at all.
❛ I haven’t been here very long. … A few days at most. ❜ And in that time, everything has been upended. ❛ But you seem familiar with this place, even if you’ve yet to settle on a theory. ❜ And she really would love to hear those theories. But before that…
She inhales suddenly, as if a thought has only just occurred to her. In actuality, it’s all she’s thought about since she and Olga spoke. Perhaps it’s a miracle that Ophelia is filled with such dread, as it helps to gradually lessen the color that always flares in her cheeks when he’s nearby. Normally she would never be upfront about something like this — or at least, her former self wouldn’t. But what was the sense in prolonging the inevitable ? So, with the distinct sensation of gravel in her mouth, she presses on.
❛ Actually, you aren’t the first familiar face I’ve seen. I saw Olga Marie Animusphere. ❜ A pause. She wants to gauge his own response before she presses further. ❛ It was... Unpleasant. ❜
#grandorder#GRANDORDER * 01.#my glock hand trembles#good to see you....... how's it hanging............
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thybrilliance:
IT might as well have taken years for Olga Marie to answer her.
The silence was tense, painful. Each extended moment was just another means of pulling at her, like a rubber band ready to be snapped. She can hear her own heartbeat in her ears, and the rhythm sounds uneven, but she still does her best to logically parse out what it is Olga’s really saying. She needs to think about this logically. Like a mage — like a former Crypter.
Kirschtaria Wodime was here, in this city ( unknown island ? bounded field ? one hell of a reality marble ? … purgatory ? ). This is assuming, of course, that Olga was telling the truth; she may be casually cruel, but she wouldn’t be so petty as to lie about something like this. And it makes sense, really. Ophelia had already been wondering how else she would come to know all of this… But Kirschtaria had been the last person she would have theorized. This is where her logical train of thought, however, comes to an abrupt stop. Because she was a Crypter, and she did have a Lostbelt of her own. And so she knew what happened to those Chaldea ‘stopped’.
It was difficult to describe the emotions that flitted across her face accurately, seeing as they changed so rapidly. At first, it almost seemed like… Relief. The relief she felt entirely went to Mash Kyrielight; it was wrong, unfair, it tugged on her weary heartstrings — but to know Mash had to be alright, the woman who held her hand when she didn’t deserve it… It gave her a bizarre sense of warmth to know she was still moving forward. But then the weight of it hits her, and the price of Mash’s path contorts her delicate features. It was the sort of chill that made even her blood run cold, the slow-moving horror that dawned on her bit by bit — one at a time. Kirschtaria was here. Kirschtaria wasn’t just ripped out of time, brought to a different ‘possibility,’ because he specifically mentioned Chaldea was the cause. Chaldea has no issue with taking prisoners, but have yet to do so. Kadoc’s mysterious whereabouts spoke for themselves, and Ophelia’s fate wasn’t much better. There was no telling how many Lostbelts they visited before or after Kirschtaria’s, but the likelihood of him escaping with his life… And the final realization, of course: this place was full of ghosts.
Ophelia dropped her trash.
She’d forgotten she’d even been holding it. That had been why she came out here in the first place, hadn’t it ? How did it wind up like this ? Why does her chest hurt so badly ? One hand absentmindedly slides across her chest, as if the pressure might abate this tightening feeling. They’re outside, but she feels like this space is too small; she may as well be in the study, like always, on her knees before her mother and father. And she does sink to the ground — but she refuses to let the ground meet her knees. She refuses to cower with this knowledge, busying herself instead with picking up her trash. In the face of overwhelming information, Ophelia reverts ever so slightly back to her old self — and denies, denies, denies.
❛ No. ❜ No, no, no. ❛ Enough. There’s no use in speculating. ❜ No, no, no ! ❛ If Chaldea and Kirschtaria met, there is no telling what really occurred. ❜ Kirschtaria, not Lord Kirschtaria. Lord Kirschtaria had goals of his own, dreams he needed to fulfill, but Kirschtaria was flexible. Lord Kirschtaria had been born from omitted truths, but Kirschtaria would evaluate the situation and do what was best for his allies. Yes, Kirschtaria could have come out of that encounter alive. How much trash was in this bin ? Was it always this much ?
for one moment, one small fraction of time, she feels regret.
she did not need to say it. she did not need to say the words ‘ Kirschtaria Wodime is dead ‘. for one, she wasn’t even sure if that was the case– vague is what he gave her. it was unfuriating. but judging by how viscerally Ophelia had reacted, she can only assume that it was as close to the truth as she will ever get. in their world. he was no more. Chaldea had stopped him, but how? was his death truly by their hands? she is skeptical– Fujimaru and Kyrielight were not murderers. ( but then again, she did not know the horrors of a Lostbelt. what they were forced to endure, to do. it was a possibility and it makes her insides twist. ) was he hiding something? so many questions, so little answers.
and then, she wonders; is this how she reacted? when Lev had revealed that plan to her, mere moments before she was no more? refusing to go on her knees, but still being shaken to the core. and the denial. the denial that what was happening really was, that it was all the truth and not some lie to inflict harm. as she looks down at the former Crypter, busying herself with picking up the trash that tumbled out of the bag when it was dropped (doing anything, anything to spare her that heart-wrenching realization from gripping her, like the claws of a beast digging into its prey ) a thought crosses her mind.
how sad.
her actions are slow as she drops to the same level as Ophelia, fingertips lightly pressing into the concrete below her– her own knees never touch the ground. no, she says. there’s no point in speculating, she insists. there’s no telling what really occurred, she says to convince herself. Olga had done that as well. denied the truth, even when it was right there. insisted that such was not possible. they were the same in that respect. same in so many more ( burned by the sun, hardly given a chance, a product of the world they were born into. ) they were the same and it makes that understanding from earlier sting all the more.
“ I am many things, Ophelia. Many, many things, but what good would lying do for a dead woman? Nothing. “
with one hand, she reaches out to pick up a crumpled piece of paper, dropping it into the bag. but not once does she take her eyes away from the other. “ If you don’t believe me, then go and find him. Ask him about what happened. But remember, Kirschtaria Wodime was Chaldea’s enemy. Someone standing in their way of completing their mission. Do you think he would come to a compromise with them? No. Not in the slightest. To restore proper history, his must be stopped. By any means necessary.” she stands up. she spares no other glance to the mage below her as she turns on her heel, intent to head back into the comforts of her bedroom. but– one last thing.
“ Ths is a city of ghosts, Miss Phamrsolone. And he is not above becoming one of them. “ and with that, she takes her leave, the only sound left being the fading tap of her heels against the pavement.
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animasphere:
it’s about you, isn’t it?
it wasn’t. it wasn’t is what she so clearly wishes to deny that it’s practically written all over her face. but what if it was? it’s a question she has no answer to, nor one she really…wants to answer. maybe it was about her. she doesn’t know. she can’t tell anymore and there’s something concerning about it. a part of her has always wanted something – anything – to be about her. for once, something focused on her. just her. but not like this– not like how things had happened, when everything that she knew had just faded away and she was not quick enough to reach out and take it back. she failed as Chaldea’s Director. she failed as a mage, she failed as one who carried the Animusphere name. she failed before she ever really had a chance. just like the Crypters, it was taken away from her.
but it is just as Ophelia had said. this sort of pain is reserved for mages only. maybe she was right. maybe Olga didn’t care about anything that her, or anyone else, could say. it didn’t change her mind, it didn’t change how she felt. it was pointless. but rather than say anything, rather than admit or refute, the former Director spares no more to it.
because what she has just said has snagged Ophelia’s attention in perhaps the worst of ways– but not for Olga. for herself.
“ So you have yet to see him then?”
there were many ways one might wish to learn of something. many preferred and less straining ways. ways that did not involve for it to be like someone just took a jackhammer to your heart. but unfortunately, this will not be something of an easy way. they don’t get easy.
“ How did you think I came to know all of this? By pure coincidence? No.” a hand lifts, palm facing upwards as she gestures out. out to nothing. “ He is the one that told me. Your Lord Kirschtaria is here, in this place. And he is the one who informed me of all that has happened since the start of Humanity’s Incineration.” but that is not what Ophelia cared about. how Olga came to know didn’t matter when in the face of what was let slipped.
“ He never specified. Just that Chalea had ‘ stopped ‘ him before he could fulfill what he seeked. But knowing him, theres more to it than just that. “
IT might as well have taken years for Olga Marie to answer her.
The silence was tense, painful. Each extended moment was just another means of pulling at her, like a rubber band ready to be snapped. She can hear her own heartbeat in her ears, and the rhythm sounds uneven, but she still does her best to logically parse out what it is Olga’s really saying. She needs to think about this logically. Like a mage — like a former Crypter.
Kirschtaria Wodime was here, in this city ( unknown island ? bounded field ? one hell of a reality marble ? … purgatory ? ). This is assuming, of course, that Olga was telling the truth; she may be casually cruel, but she wouldn’t be so petty as to lie about something like this. And it makes sense, really. Ophelia had already been wondering how else she would come to know all of this... But Kirschtaria had been the last person she would have theorized. This is where her logical train of thought, however, comes to an abrupt stop. Because she was a Crypter, and she did have a Lostbelt of her own. And so she knew what happened to those Chaldea ‘stopped’.
It was difficult to describe the emotions that flitted across her face accurately, seeing as they changed so rapidly. At first, it almost seemed like... Relief. The relief she felt entirely went to Mash Kyrielight; it was wrong, unfair, it tugged on her weary heartstrings — but to know Mash had to be alright, the woman who held her hand when she didn’t deserve it... It gave her a bizarre sense of warmth to know she was still moving forward. But then the weight of it hits her, and the price of Mash’s path contorts her delicate features. It was the sort of chill that made even her blood run cold, the slow-moving horror that dawned on her bit by bit — one at a time. Kirschtaria was here. Kirschtaria wasn’t just ripped out of time, brought to a different ‘possibility,’ because he specifically mentioned Chaldea was the cause. Chaldea has no issue with taking prisoners, but have yet to do so. Kadoc’s mysterious whereabouts spoke for themselves, and Ophelia’s fate wasn’t much better. There was no telling how many Lostbelts they visited before or after Kirschtaria’s, but the likelihood of him escaping with his life... And the final realization, of course: this place was full of ghosts.
Ophelia dropped her trash.
She’d forgotten she’d even been holding it. That had been why she came out here in the first place, hadn’t it ? How did it wind up like this ? Why does her chest hurt so badly ? One hand absentmindedly slides across her chest, as if the pressure might abate this tightening feeling. They’re outside, but she feels like this space is too small; she may as well be in the study, like always, on her knees before her mother and father. And she does sink to the ground — but she refuses to let the ground meet her knees. She refuses to cower with this knowledge, busying herself instead with picking up her trash. In the face of overwhelming information, Ophelia reverts ever so slightly back to her old self — and denies, denies, denies.
❛ No. ❜ No, no, no. ❛ Enough. There’s no use in speculating. ❜ No, no, no ! ❛ If Chaldea and Kirschtaria met, there is no telling what really occurred. ❜ Kirschtaria, not Lord Kirschtaria. Lord Kirschtaria had goals of his own, dreams he needed to fulfill, but Kirschtaria was flexible. Lord Kirschtaria had been born from omitted truths, but Kirschtaria would evaluate the situation and do what was best for his allies. Yes, Kirschtaria could have come out of that encounter alive. How much trash was in this bin ? Was it always this much ?
#i slept well before I SAW //THIS//#OLGA? OLGA???#GIRL HELP I AM IN THE WATER#ANIMASPHERE * 01.#animasphere
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WELL , this would teach her not to press terminal buttons out of curiosity anymore.
A maze towered over her. She recognized the smell and sounds to be that of the Forest of Airaisal, but beyond that, she had never encountered this landmark before. The atmosphere was surprisingly oppressive, but perhaps that was merely her own state of mind. She felt the briefest flicker of hope upon realizing she wasn’t alone — a man clad entirely in black stood nearby, a shock of white poking out from beneath his hat. That hope was dashed, however, when his energy washed over her. A Servant. … A Servant that, in all likelihood, was allied with Chaldea. That could... possibly complicate things.
❛ I realize that you likely have a contract with Chaldea’s Master, ❜ Ophelia began, ❛ which means you likely have some knowledge of who I am. ❜ It takes all her willpower to stop fidgeting with the inside of her sleeve, gripping it tightly above her elbow instead. ❛ Be that as it may, I can only assume there’s a reason the two of us appeared simultaneously. Just two out of all the people selecting this same exact option... It seems they want this maze handled in pairs. ❜
@volontedacier ﹔the amaze-ing challenge.
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