that raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling

POSTED: Thu Mar 14, 2019 10:09 pm

(476)

I need to update her wiki, but Wisteria is wearing what'll be her usual outfit of a long dark orange tunic, brown cowl (hood not up) and dark leggings she also has her bow and arrow. I am bad at clothes, so I only just recently figured out her look xD

Like a shadow, or dark spectre black wings descended from the overcast sky. The sharp bite of talons scraped at the fur of her forearm, abrasive but impervious. It was fast becoming a familiar sensation, and not entirely unwelcome. She ruffled the raven’s downy neck with an expression that was not quite a smile, but neither was it as cold as it had been. The bird had neglected to return to the outpost, where no doubt her maman was waiting. Instead, he had attached himself to the pale girl, never far and swift to return, hovering just out of sight.

<”And where have you gone today, Mort.”> The girl murmured, casting her sights out into the grey beyond, just watching with a keen hunter’s sight that sharpened as the days wore on. The raven bobbed his head but made no sound, not even a deep-throated quork. <”Not talking today, huh? You couldn’t shut up the day we met cousin Ankh.”> The bird turned it’s head to observe her, making the jerking movements that most birds did though his eyes remained transfixed, beady, piercing. <”You were grandfather’s. What was he like?”> Her maman said little, if anything, about the man that came before her- the one who gave her life. Whenever Wisteria asked, the few times she mentioned him there was always silence. And Wisteria for all her fleeting weeks of life could see in her maman a certain rigidity and her nose smelled fear. She didn’t know what answers she would find in a creature barely capable of canine speech, but she wondered. In her mind’s eye she saw only blue lights cold and formidable as a glacier but small and sharp as pinpricks. Eyes?

Though the air was warming Wisteria shivered. Mort ruffled his feathers and began to preen as pale Wisteria pondered. <”What kind of man would name his bird Mort?”> It had always unsettled her, and the teaching of D’Angelo maintained that only followers of Tak were friends of death. And though black as he may be, as all raven’s were, she could not bear the name. <”Wherever grandpa is he’s dead now, and you won’t leave me alone so I guess you’re mine. How about I give you a new name? What do you say, Mort? I mean…”>

“Name?” Crowed the raven, but instead of an unsettling mimicry of her own young voice the sound was deeper, quieter and it chilled her bones. Her gold brows furrowed and she blinked at a thought.

<”Whisper.”> She said. <”That’s your name.”> The raven gave no reply other than a croak as he unfurled his wings and flew skyward and Wisteria’s amber eyes spied the cream figure accented with russet, her hair kempt and form ever clothed in elegant shifts.

“Clem?” How long had she been here, why hadn’t Wisteria known she was coming? “Clementine!”

Last edited by Wisteria Valentine on Thu Mar 21, 2019 6:45 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Wisteria Valentine
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Stormie
Luperci In memoriam

POSTED: Sun Mar 17, 2019 10:01 pm

(300) man, the outfit struggle is real, so i feel you on that

Her wardrobe in its current state was a mean little thing as much out of neglect as it was her youth. Indra traded often – and found things – and Lilia’s family, known most widely for their involvement in political circles and social projects, were not unfamiliar with the concept of bartering for goods. That she had anything to call her own in the present moment was due to Salvador’s good will and the elation (presumably) at his daughter having made a love match with a member of one of Salsola’s most highly regarded families.

Nonetheless, she didn’t wear these things she owned with frivolity, not yet. There was no one on whom she wished to make a lasting impression, young as she was, and many were content thus far to simply remark that she was a relatively merry child and a possessing of a curious mind. Her current white shift was new to her, but second-or-third-hand, and most certainly made by the hands of some clever weaver in her ancestral homeland. For these reasons she overlooked the fact that it was not pure white (so very few things were, really) and had a faded, vintage cast.

The scarf was new though, and finely made, for all that it was raccoon fur.

Wrapping this closer about her neck, one end trailed behind her in a breeze that seemed to breathe of oncoming spring, the other down her front, clutched in her hands.

Clementine’s excitement at finally having arrived in Salsola had waned, and the realization that there were very few here who were even remarkably close to her own age had settled. Caught up in the small events of family, such as meeting those important members that were deemed most suitable to the continuing of her progress, she nonetheless felt immeasurably guilty at hearing her name on the breeze, realizing even in the moment to whom that voice belonged.

They were not boon companions, exactly, but girls of an age with one another who nonetheless found or made excuses to spend time in each other’s company simply because they were not family. It could become a tiring thing, after all, the expectations of those they held closest. Clem shied from this standard, this rebellion, always prepared to meet and exceed the expectations of others, but could empathize with it to some extent.

And so it was that she smiled genuinely when Wisteria caught up to her, named for some grandmother everyone had told her she resembled.

Wisteria! She answered, all sentiment and not falsity. Her clothes were new, or at least new to Clem, who hadn’t ever seen the amber-eyed girl wear them before.

Making new friends without me? She complained in jest, alluded to by her faint smile and a slight jerk of her chin toward the Valentine girl’s new feathered companion.

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Lorraine

POSTED: Thu Mar 21, 2019 2:52 pm

(304)

“I don’t think he’s anyone’s friend.” The pale girl replied, looking skyward, and added thoughtfully, quietly, “he belonged to my grandpère.”

Wisteria refocused on her friend as she neared, her dark lips splitting into an uncharacteristic grin that faded slowly as she tilted her head and made a soft sound just short of a giggle as she compared their statures. “You’re short.” In all honesty it was Wisteria who had changed the most. The pale older girl had grown a great deal in a short space of time- reinforcing the parallel between her and a grandmother long since passed. Her proportions were long and slender but gawky, an odd phase of growth not quite child but neither an adult. While it was doubtful whether Wisteria would grow any taller, her slight frame would benefit greatly from the formation of curves. And if she truly did take after her grandmother what a lovely creature she would be. Demeanor not withstanding.

“Aurelion, Sanguine, and I only came a month ago. When did you get here?” She asked, slightly perturbed that she hadn’t known of Clementine’s arrival beforehand. It registered in the backwards slant of an ear, her mind brimming with questions swifter than they could be answered. Her thoughts centered around a similar meeting with Víborg a couple weeks back. It was then she had first heard of the curse and the steps the Mafiosi chose to combat it. She wondered just how much Clementine knew, if it was more than Wisteria who did not have the benefit of such advantageous familial ties. That the Boss herself was her friend’s aunt might’ve bothered her- had she the appetite for political schemes. For now she was content beneath the mentorship of the Striker- a cousin of Valentine, and the endearing forthrightness of her uncle, Brocade.

Wisteria Valentine
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Stormie
Luperci In memoriam

POSTED: Fri Mar 22, 2019 3:08 am

(300)

Color me surprised, Clementine grinned, her voice both level and a little unkind. to find you failing to make friends. It was a testament to their natures, this mock-and-not-mock banter that might’ve cut others to the bone. They was not untrue, the things they said, and yet they were devoid of the mockery so often found in other girls. Boys would be boys; girls would be worse.

They were more or less of an age with one another, though Wisteria was and always would be nearly two months her elder. It explained, among other things, why the girl with jack-o-lantern eyes had attained her full height and Clem had not; it also explained the strange hinterland her friend found herself in, no longer a girl but not yet a woman grown.

The younger of the two was, without a doubt, still a child.

I might be short, Began the Salcedo, eyes flashing. but your height’s your only asset. Was her pithy response, eyes raking the other woman’s choice of attire. With that hair and those eyes she would have benefited from almost any other color; blue, perhaps, or even purple. Certainly not the orange tunic that drew attention from her eyes with its brightness. Fashion was not one of her friend’s strong points. This was something they’d have to work on someday when they’d both achieved the means to do.

Not long after you, I think, She was thinking now, maybe a moon? The Salcedo children had been intending to come once the weather was pleasant, but Magnus' death and Clementine's feelings about it had altered their carefully laid plans. Nonetheless, it was clear enough that she'd missed something of import, for nothing within the Thistle Kingdom was as calm as she’d thought it would be. Wisteria’s uncle was no longer the Director, but temporary styled as an Inquisitor; so were some few others, all of them Faction members.

Why? She asked, young enough still not to fear answers to her questions.

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Lorraine

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