this is Salem, a land filled with magic and maladies. It is a place where witches and their elemental familiars gather, a home to legend and
lore that predates time itself. Yet of all the wicked and wonderful stories the past can tell us of, the most magical are the ones yet to happen.
This is Salem - this is the start of your very own journey. Welcome to starfall
Starfall is an animaga witch roleplay set in mostly modern times. Members play as witches in a world plagued by monsters, where the only safe spots are walled cities. Starfall strives to be a character-driven roleplay with expansive lore and a highly interactive plotline. We want to allow members to
create and look back on a magical journey, and mold the site and its plot as their characters grow.
Post by saoirse ó floinn on Sept 28, 2017 12:30:17 GMT
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be yourself; everyone else is already taken
[attr="class","jartoxpost"] The scent of the sea dissipates about her, its unmistakable flavour present on her tongue even if her mouth is sealed shut. The cry of seagulls intertwine with the cacophonous noise that is a melange of voices. It's a raucous place, this market, so inexplicably different to the one she is used to back near her residence. While her grocery shopping is a quiet affair with only soft exchanges between buyer and seller, this place seems to require more just shouting as a means to obtain items--if the heated conversation beside her about the price of tuna is any indication.
[break][break]It's not often she travels to the west, but today she is on an errand. An errand for herself, requested by herself (just under a different name). Word has it that Master Roscoe has docked at Sundial, bringing his latest round of goods. In most cases, she would not pay any mind to him, but this time he's brought back something she is highly intrigued by: Golden Sansam Ink. It's a rare pigment and there's no chance that will let this opportunity pass by.
[break][break]The bag of coins weighs a substantial amount when she held it in her hands earlier. There's a storage array in her pocket, keeping it safe from any thieves who might try and pick-pocket her. As for the amount of coins she has brought on, it's no myth that Master (Hah! Master! She scoffs at the absurdity of the title) Roscoe is notorious for squandering as much money as he can from those who purchase his goods. Today, she intends to negate this and spend as much as she thinks she needs to, but an extra bit of coin never hurt anyone.
[break][break]There's a pleasant smile on her face, displaying her excitement about shopping, but also for the fact that she has a companion for today. He will be the one negotiating today with Master Roscoe, purchasing the ink for their (or rather, just his) contractor, Máire Callaghan. She will simply reap the goods.
[break][break]Looking around, she sways slightly on her toes, thinking, 'He should be here soon.'
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ooc: rock it [break]MISSION PROMPT [break]items: [break]storage array [break]2 [break]3 [break]4 [break]5[break]
Post by kasimir burovski ✨ on Sept 28, 2017 12:58:16 GMT
blue moon
you saw me standing alone
it is, admittedly, a beautiful day - high skies shatterglass blue and breathless with daydream clouds, quicksilver chimes and children's laughter carried on the seasalt breeze. the port is not a place he frequents often, but it is hardly a place to avoid, either; in fact, there is an itch in his fingers and blood for a stick of charcoal and his heavy-paper sketchbook, for fine-tipped pens that ink jet dark against white. no, his presence at the port is most definitely not the reason for the slight frown reading his brow.
simply put, kasimir is unsure as to why he - kasimir burovski, he: novice, assassin, he: who should be relatively unknown even within his own coven - has been specifically requested to undertake this mission. this fledgling mission that could well be done by anyone, really. the only hint that this is something beyond an everyday standard task is that he was requested by mire callaghan - but what does such a famous author want with him?
or, as paranoia creeps cold through his blood, how does she even know of him? ( the suspicion that this is, in fact, a trap, a set up, weighs heavy on his mind - but that explanation does not feel correct either )
whatever the reason, whatever his suspicion, he has still accepted, and thus finds himself making his way towards where he will meet his mission partner, for good or for worse.
a familiar flash of pink, soft like azaleas - he recognises that face. kasimir's step falters in surprise. "saoirse?" he says, half in greeting, half in question.
Post by saoirse ó floinn on Sept 28, 2017 13:31:06 GMT
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[attr="class","jartoxpost"] "Saoirse?
[break][break]The calling of her name by a familiar voice has her beaming at its owner. Waving at the male, she moves forward to meet him, hands then moving to clasp behind her back. It's a pleasure to see him again, despite the sheer inelegance of their first meeting. One might think that it was far too spontaneous a move to request him for such a silly mission, but she saw it as an opportunity to get to know him better. Still smiling, she tilts her head slightly whilst greeting him warmly, "Hello, Kasimir."
[break][break]She takes a quick glimpse of her watch and notes the time. Ten minutes until their appointment with Master Roscoe. Licking her lips, she gives him a quick debrief of the situation, summarising it as best as she can. "It's not too difficult of a mission, I shouldn't think... Máire's not in that much of a hurry to get these inks, but she would like them at some stage. Two bottles will suffice." Laughing just a little more nervously, she says, "In case you're wondering, I-I asked Máire if you could come along with me for this, just for a bit of fun. I hope it's not too much trouble!"
[break][break]Turning to begin walking towards Master Roscoe's stall, she pauses for a few seconds when she realises that she left out the more troublesome detail of this whole mission (and perhaps the unspoken reason why she requested him in the first place). Out of habit when faced with something problematic, she puffs out her cheeks before saying, "How well can you bargain?"
[break][break]'Please say that you're efficient.'
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ooc: rock it [break]MISSION PROMPT [break]items: [break]storage array [break]2 [break]3 [break]4 [break]5[break]
Post by kasimir burovski ✨ on Sept 28, 2017 13:51:29 GMT
blue moon
you saw me standing alone
she looks up, beams at him like the sun bursting out from behind winter clouds; he ducks his head, a small smile creeping onto his lips in response. it has been... a long time, since anyone has met his company with such enthusiasm, his sister aside, and the foreign feeling is... warm, like soft glowing candlelight in his chest. even though they have met only a little while prior, even though they have only met once, he has already begun to like this dawn-kissed girl.
he does find it interesting, however, that saoirse speaks of callaghan so casually as if they were more than acquaintances, as if they were friends - high connections, he thinks. oh but it certainly explains his presence; the tension kasimir bears within the rigid line of his shoulders, the ramrod straight set of his spine, relaxes into something more natural, more loose. but what is most surprising, what draws happy shock in gold on his ribs, is that saoirse has asked for kasimir- wants his company.
"it is no trouble at all, i- i am honoured that you would invite me. thank you," he says, and his heart stutters where his words do not; sincerity, sterling silver, gilds his syllables.
falling in line with his mission partner's stride, he halts when she does, tilting his head slightly to the side in a silent question. "how well can you bargain?" she asks, and there seems to be something.. disgruntled(?) in her tone.
"... fairly well?" he replies hesitantly, never really having thought about it before. "i am adequate, for most endeavours."
Post by saoirse ó floinn on Sept 28, 2017 14:18:30 GMT
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[attr="class","jartoxpost"] His confirmation strikes a splash of relief in her belly and she breathes out a sigh she didn't know she was holding. Good, at least one of them will have the capabilities to deal with the wiles of Roscoe. She nods at him, pleased. "Master Roscoe is not known to be the fairest of merchants. While it is true that his goods are often those that are difficult to obtain, his prices are often...unsavoury." She pats her breast pocket, referring to the storage array still folded within, "Do not worry about money though. Máire's made sure that we shouldn't need to retrieve from our own savings even if Roscoe's about to strip us bare."
[break][break]She's confident in Kasimir's bargaining abilities, even if she's never seen it in action. He doesn't seem to be the type to lie about such small things; she can tell that much about him despite their brief encounter. There's an underlying thread of alleviation in her body language; the release of tension in her shoulders, the slight bounce in her steps, the faint but ever-present tilt of lips, all caused by his simple affirmation. (She thinks with no small amount of bashfulness that should Kasimir admitted to not having skill in bargaining, she did not have a back-up plan to counter Roscoe's prices).
[break][break]She sees Roscoe's stall up ahead, obnoxious and big as it takes up over space large enough to fit two smaller stalls. Rolling her eyes, she huffs out a breath as she spots the merchant himself, dashing from one side to the other, rearranging his items obsessively--a feat she didn't think was capable of a man his size. She doesn't move to approach the stall just yet and merely appraises the assortment of merchandise laid out upon silk. Indeed, she admits that there are other things amongst those on sale that have her fingers tingling to reach out for. But she would stay her hand, only to save her pride against inflating the ego of the merchant.
[break][break]The bottles of their desired ink sit on the left side of the stall, their numbers few with only six if her eyesight is reliable. With such a small stock, she can guess that the price will not be a pretty sight. She grips Kasimir's sleeve gently to get his attention before muttering to him, "How do you think we should go about doing this?"
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ooc: rock it [break]MISSION PROMPT [break]items: [break]storage array [break]2 [break]3 [break]4 [break]5[break]
Post by kasimir burovski ✨ on Sept 28, 2017 14:39:09 GMT
blue moon
you saw me standing alone
he blinks at her obvious relief, suppressing the instinctive confusion - perhaps, he thinks, his partner does not feel confidence in her ability to bargain, or simply wish not to. it is clear that he will be the one negotiating prices. ( quietly, he tucks this tidbit of information away into the recesses of his mind; should they ever cross paths again and encounter a need for bargaining, he resolves to undertake the task for her )
kasimir frowns at the explanation saoirse offers, green eyes drifting to the indicated stall and darkening with distaste. "he overprices?" he murmurs, more as a note himself than a question to his partner. cynic as he is, while he is inclined to believe that all merchants overprice their stock ( and he does not begrudge them of it most of the time, given the nature of humanity and the fact that they do need to earn a living ), the way saoirse had phrased her words implied that whatever this roscoe attempts to charge is completely unreasonable. personal experience, he thinks, eyes flickering to the pink haired witch.
he finds himself rather disliking the merchant already, and rather looking forwards to staring ( glaring ) him down. a tug on his sleeve- kasimir starts instinctively, aborting an automatic movement in reaching for his hidden daggers; he smooths himself back into composure and narrows his eyes at the displayed inkpots, then at his partner. "how much would you say is reasonable, for the ink?" he asks instead of answering her question. a slight pause. "would you happen to know what bargaining tactics he favours?"
Post by saoirse ó floinn on Sept 28, 2017 15:03:10 GMT
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[attr="class","jartoxpost"] Kasimir's small movement when her hand touched his sleeve does not go unnoticed by her, and as piqued as she is, she does not push to ask any questions. Eyes darting from the stall to Kasimir and back, she tosses a few numbers in her head, taking into account the rarity of Golden Sansam, the making of the ink and the overall infrequency of the ink itself. While having never bought any of the ink herself, she finds herself approximating a figure between six to eight thousand gold pieces. It's a hefty price, terrifying even for those who have a decent income, but for herself, while it is a price that she would hesitate most times before dishing it out, it's not something she'd struggle to regain over a few months. "I would think between 6000 to 8000 gold..."
[break][break]The greasy tone of Roscoe's voice suddenly slices through her thought process, his fat fingers gripping a bottle of the ink as he showcases it to passing strangers. "In my hand I hold a bottle of one of Salem's most coveted inks, made from the precious and rarely seen Golden Sansam and hours of meticulous craft. Only ten bottles exist of this ink, however by fortune, I have acquired six. Should you wish to purchase this elusive item, a mere 12000 gold will suffice this man."
[break][break]It's ridiculous and she has half the mind to retort and rebuke his claims. Lips pursed, her eyes flash in determination, she will definitely get those bottles for half of Roscoe's price each. Uttering to Kasimir, she says, tone low and almost menacing were it for the lack of malice in her voice, "I doubt he favours any bargaining at all...but one thing I know is that I'll have those bottles for half the price he claims they are worth each."
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ooc: rock it [break]MISSION PROMPT [break]items: [break]storage array [break]2 [break]3 [break]4 [break]5[break]
Post by kasimir burovski ✨ on Sept 29, 2017 1:59:15 GMT
blue moon
you saw me standing alone
"eight thousand gold?!" kasimir cannot halt the exclamation that slips from his tongue, eyes wide in complete disbelief. six to eight thousand gold for a mere bottle of ink - that is beyond ludicrous. though he does not struggle for coin nowadays, his childhood in the rough streets of the hovel and the circumstances that had led him to bind himself into the service of adoniya guerra have left frugality carved into the ivory of his bones- but even now, even with his ability to take on high ranked high paying missions, kasimir would never even consider spending so much on an item so little.
but who is he to judge, and who is he to project his own circumstances onto others. máire callaghan is undoubtedly, considering her fame and estimated sales figures, far richer than the average person - twelve to sixteen thousand gold is nothing to the money she must be making. whatever his own sensibilities, they will not impact the fulfilment of the mission.
his eyes flicker back to roscoe as the merchant begins to advertise his wares. there is a certain oily quality to his tone, that false-courteous honey-turned-poison undertone to his words that practically screams of corrupt politicians- or in this case, greedy merchants looking to cheat customers of a fair price. and perhaps his judgement is somewhat influenced by the information he has been presented, but kasimir cannot bring himself to care as the man announces his starting price at twelve thousand gold, double the amount dubbed reasonable by saoirse.
lips curling at the edges in disgust, eyes begonia-leaf dark, he turns to his partner ( who, as he notes with slight surprise, seems particularly personally invested in this- perhaps a result of negative previous interactions? ) and says, "two options: we could pursue a friendly solution-" a route of flattery and charm, "or, we could attempt a more unpleasant route." in other words, intimidation.
Post by saoirse ó floinn on Oct 1, 2017 11:24:34 GMT
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[attr="class","jartoxpost"] Her smile curls further at Kasimir's words, mischief slowly permeating through her expression. Both of his suggested ideas are suitable for their confrontation with Roscoe and she contemplates the outcomes of both, predicted scenes flickering through her mind. She weighs the pros and cons and finds that she cannot decide which method she would prefer nor how to go about it. Tilting her head slightly, it brushes lightly against Kasimir's shoulder as she continues her thought process. Hmm...
[break][break]Ah!
[break][break]"How about we do this?" Without warning, she loops her arm around her partner's, gently gripping the fabric of his sleeve with both hands. She lets her head fall further until it rests comfortably on his shoulder. She can tell they paint a pretty picture when she catches a stranger staring, before offering them a gracious smile. Yes, they would be presentable this way. Still holding onto Kasimir, she turns her head to look at him, "Let's attempt both, darling. If he doesn't fall for this, then perhaps a bit of...coercion can be used."
[break][break]( Somewhere within, she can feel the disgust of her familiar gnawing at the back of her mind. )
[break][break]Her eyes lock onto their target, who is unaware of what is to happen. Tugging slightly, she moves towards Roscoe's store, looking very much like the eager woman dragging her lover to peruse goods. Falling into her role easily, she says excitedly, "Darling, darling. Look at these. Aren't they lovely?" She mimics an interested customer, her eyes seemingly taking into account every over-priced item that the merchant has on display. She lingers on the bottles of ink far longer than anything else and as the experienced salesperson he is, Roscoe takes the bait eagerly.
[break][break]"Young miss, I take it you have your eye on these delightful bottles of ink. Twelve thousand gold and one of them can be yours." At those words, fire burns in her gut and there's a struggle to maintain the delicate smile on her lips befit of her character. Her grip on Kasi's arm just a little tighter, she flutters her lashes coquettishly at Roscoe, "But Mister Roscoe, can't you take it a little easy on us? Please?" To emphasise her point, she leans forward slightly, her lips pulled down in a pout.
[break][break]( Again, she feels the twinge of Marchosias, waiting to launch himself out. )
[break][break]Pulling back, she leans her head on Kasimir's shoulder once more, eyes sparkling with affection. "This is my fiancé, Francis Chevalier. Surely you've heard of his family? They're old blood, roots originating from beyond Salem. We're to be married this year and wanted to begin preparations for the celebration. We knew you were in town, Mister Roscoe and we couldn't miss out on seeing you because after all, everyone knows that you offer only the best in the continent." Her cheeks are pink from the blood that had rushed to her head in fabricating this backstory. To Roscoe, it would only seem that she loves 'Francis Chevalier' very much. "So, as much as Francis has the gold for your items, I do not think that his family would appreciate him squandering wealth on just two bottles of ink. I think of your wellbeing also, Mister Roscoe. Won't you do the same for me?"
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Post by kasimir burovski ✨ on Oct 5, 2017 8:43:27 GMT
blue moon
you saw me standing alone
saoirse smiles, something a shade darker than mischief threading through her eyes. he watches as thoughts flicker across her expression in stillwater ripples; darting glances to the merchant still extolling his products for exorbitant prices, tilt head- he stills as strands pink like kalanchoe blossoms brush against his skin. they are standing close, he thinks, too close- but before he can take the half-step back his feet itch to take, breathless inspiration sparks across her face and swells to sweep him away.
she takes his arm without warning, looping hers through the crook of his and pulling them close. a moment later, light weight on his shoulder and the soft tickle of azalea-pink hair- he freezes still, even the air in his lungs stopping for this completely unforeseen response. what is he meant to do? perhaps gently detach himself, perhaps ask an explanation; but she looks at him with carmine eyes and a smile ( he looks back with wide eyes, startled, deer-like ) and despite his reservations, the protests die on his tongue.
"let's attempt both, darling," saoirse says, and it is a singularly underwhelming warning to what proceeds to follow. she tugs him over and he follows willingly, if not slightly apprehensively; but then she falls into role and kasimir is suddenly completely and unreservedly out of his depth. she smiles, sparkles, flutters; presses close to him and spins a story in spiderweb silk; and roscoe, roscoe falls for the spell like a spellsung trance. they are engaged, she says, aristocratic, to be married, she says, along with a wealth of compliments that fall off her tongue like golden honey.
roscoe looks to him and kasimir regains enough control of himself to regulate his expression, straightening his posture and tilting his chin up and holding himself with the poise of a well-born, well-bred noble with all the subtle arrogance it includes. such a role is... not comfortable to him, but he sets his shoulders and lets a deliberate hint of displeasure seep through the quiet imperiousness of his facade's facade, narrowing his eyes at the merchant. the swift flash of nervousness across the man's face is both encouraging and disheartening.
"fleur, my dear," he begins, putting a hand on saoirse's shoulder while continuing to stare roscoe down. the words are bitter in his mouth and deception leaves an oily stain of sable against his skin even despite the deserving nature of the target ( but who is he to judge, kasimir who has ruined lives, sirius who has taken them so ), but he is committed to this course of action now, and he will not let his mission partner go forth alone. "i would for you to be happy, of course, but twelve thousand gold is rather... ridiculous for a mere bottle of ink, would you not say?"
he keeps his gaze unflinchingly on the merchant, curling the corner of his lip up in subtly communicated but infinitely clear disdain; roscoe shrinks back slightly before catching himself, opening his mouth to begin countering. kasimir does not give him the opportunity to interrupt. "now, i should hardly think myself authority to critique good merchant roscoe's prices," here, his tone and expression combined make it explicitly clear that that is exactly what he is doing, "there are better stalls, fleur, dear, with much more... reasonable prices. let us go peruse them, shall we?"
he angles himself as if to leave, eyes finally leaving the merchant as disinterest bleeds back into his face, aloof, dismissive as if the man were not worth his time. a touch on saoirse's elbow, he murmurs, just loud enough for roscoe to hear, "if your heart is set on ink, my good friend pierre has many connections within that industry. i am sure he will be able to provide a suitable alternate of the same quality for a much fairer price."
Post by saoirse ó floinn on Oct 7, 2017 3:05:01 GMT
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[attr="class","jartoxpost"] She leans forward in towards him, a semblance of affection and intimacy as Kasimir places a hand on her shoulder. Willing herself to blush in his presence, she blinks demurely as she listens intently on her fiancé's suggestion, completely taken by him. It becomes clear that they'll be playing a bit of cat and mouse with Roscoe and she hides a vexatious smile behind one conveying bashfulness. Her eyes flicker briefly over to Roscoe, seemingly casting a look of apology and no doubt, longing for the bottles. Sighing into Kasimir, she says, "I suppose you're right."
[break][break]When Kasimir whispers in her ear the fake ruse, her heart swells as a glitter enters her eye. Bait. Her mouth falls open slightly, displaying amazement and utter adoration. Reacting accordingly, she wraps her arms around her fiancé's neck, brushing petal-soft, her lips across his cheek and she breathes out, "I love you." For a moment, she thinks she's gone too far but a sly glance at Roscoe is enough to taper away her uncertainty, the merchant growing redder and redder by the second. She'll make it up to Kasimir later.
[break][break]The dam breaks not a second later. "My Lord! My Lady!" There's an urge to laugh but she smothers it in the faux embarrassment she exhibits when she lowers her arms, acting every part the bashful aristocrat who has displayed public indecency. The merchant's tone is careful, a defensive tinge present in his inflection. "I-I wouldn't tarnish the integrity of your friend, my Lord, but the quality of my ink has been preserved since the beginning. I can prove it to you here that my products are of the best condition." At that, Saoirse tilts her head upwards slightly, as if daring the merchant to go any further in insulting her fiancé's 'friend'. Roscoe, his beady eyes ever observant, catches onto this and wrings his hands together, his voice becoming increasingly apologetic. "I only say this because I will be clearing up my stall in two days, I cannot guarantee that the inks will be here when I next stop in Sundial. Would it not be best to buy your wedding features when they are at their peak?"
[break][break]Tilting her head in contemplation, she admits that the merchant is clever and well-versed in his wily ways. The man is an excellent salesperson. Pressing her cheek into Kasimir's shoulder, still maintaining character, she pretends to be in a dilemma, a pout forming on her lips. "It's tempting, but twelve thousand is too much. I have the intention to buy two bottles, you know."
[break][break]She can hear the cracks of the merchant's greed crumbling away, as he struggles between gaining influence by lowering his prices or selling two bottles at twenty-four thousand. To coax him, she mutters, "If only there were cheaper. I would buy them if they were under ten thousand. Surely, Pierre would sell them for less." Sighing, she follows Kasimir and makes to leave.
[break][break]"Wait! I'll sell them at nine thousand. That's a twenty-five percent discount."'Oh, darling. I want fifty.' Spinning around but still not walking back, she smiles. There we go... She purrs, "Seven thousand, Mister Roscoe."
Post by kasimir burovski ✨ on Oct 10, 2017 23:29:21 GMT
blue moon
you saw me standing alone
she leans closer, skin summersun-warm where the brushes against his, her every movement mired in false affection and duplicitous love. she leans in closer, closer still till her breath tickles a phantom touch ephemeral on his cheek; and then she leans in closer again, pulling herself against his body wrapping arms around his neck. ’i love you,’ she whispers and he-
( too close too much too breathless with a heartbeat knocking stutters against his ribs; splintering ivory bones as he is cast adrift with the ground falling away beneath his feet; lungs forgetting how to breathe and limbs forgetting how to move; what precedence what action what does he do )
roscoe breaks like shattered glass, defence crumbling as he watches the possibility of their patronage slip from his fingers in a tantalisingly slow fall. “my lord! my lady!” he cries, and it grounds kasimir, chains him to the present, to the material, to a goal and a purpose and a task. masks like layers of gossamer woven in tenebrous deceit; adjust his stance, lift his chin, eyes crystallising into cold seraphinite threaded with ice; kasimir drowns himself in the performance of his role: he glances back at the merchant with distain clear in his expression - he casts himself as the devil to saoirse’s angel and thinks it an exercise in humourless irony.
“if only there were cheaper,” she says, falsely wistful, falsely longing. “surely, pierre would sell them for less.”
kasimir inclines his head. “i have no doubt of it,” he responds warmly, but his eyes are cold, sharp like the edge of a sword settling on roscoe with haughty contempt tempered in their depths. ‘you will receive no gold of ours,’ he lets his expression convey.
( and he thinks, i hate this, this deceit that rests against his skin wrong in a way that has nothing to do with dirt- but he has an obligation, a contract, and he will not break his word )
“nine thousand,” roscoe offers, greed and desire warring on his face.
“seven thousand,” saoirse counters, something dark and predatory in her tone.
roscoe wavers, hesitation staining his countenance as his eyes flicker between saoirse, the ink, and kasimir. for his part, kasimir takes care to subtly glare at the merchant, an expression so cold and merciless that it could have been carved from ice. “h-how about eight thousand, my lady?” his tone is faltering, tongue stumbling over the syllables.
kasimir snorts a humourless, mocking laugh and turns away, movements sharp and dismissive. “come fleur, my dear,” he says, deliberately not deigning to address the pale-faced merchant. “we are wasting time here. let me take you to pierre, darling.” he offers his arm to saoirse, every inch of his posture screaming his intent to leave.
“wait!” roscoe’s panicked shout halts them in their actions. kasimir looks back, raises an eyebrow at the man. “seven thousand! i would be delighted to offer you these inks for seven thousand, my lady, my lord.” his posture has gained the slight slump of defeat, resignation and desperation underlying his words.
kasimir feels… absolutely no sense of satisfaction.
but the deed is done, and the mission is to be completed. “fleur, dear?” he murmurs, glancing at his partner.
Post by saoirse ó floinn on Oct 11, 2017 22:15:56 GMT
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[attr="class","jartoxpost"] She lets her head rest against Kasimir's shoulder again, his support in character flowing into her, as steady as a stream. She takes his arm and allows him to lead her off, but not before she hears the resolve of her merchant shattering and conceding. There's a supercilious sigh that deflates her body and she turns around to regard Roscoe once more, a pitying smile gently curled upon her lips. No words leave her for a few minutes when her companion takes over and she listens intently, appreciative of the way Kasimir slowly tears down the confidence of the merchant, smothering the other's attempts of relief.
[break][break]She makes one step when Roscoe blurts out a figure of seven thousand. Turning around to regard the merchant with a shrewd gaze, contemplating if the number was worth it. Kasimir's soft address has her exhaling; very well, she will conclude their battle. Slipping on a sweet smile, she allows Roscoe to feel at ease, despite the utter pressure she had placed upon him. Her voice just above a whisper, words articulate and eloquent, she says, "You are very kind, Mister Roscoe. It seems like I will be purchasing here, indeed."
[break][break]Pulling the rune square out of her pocket, she presses her palm against the paper, concentrating a small amount of mana into the array. Within seconds, her fingers sink in and she withdraws a bag of coins. Her eyes flicker over to Roscoe and watches with satisfaction the way his eyes widen at her 'magic trick'. "I would like two, please." She waits until he produces the bottles for her, hands shaking as he hands them over to Kasimir, before depositing the required amount of gold.
[break][break]With a final inhalation, she sighs softly, "It was a pleasure, Mister Roscoe. Francis." She looks to Kasimir fondly, returning back to her submissive demeanour and allows him to lead her away. Mission accomplished.
[break][break]Almost.
[break][break]As soon as they are out of seeing and hearing range, she turns to her companion, reverting back to the pleasant smile and congenial countenance. Storing her money away again, she holds her hands behind her back and breathes deeply. "A job well done, I assume. Not necessarily the way I would have expected, but we did it!" There's dissatisfaction for the loss of two thousand gold, but she's attained her inks so it was a success in the long run.
[break][break]Holding out a hand, she smiles at Kasimir, ready to relieve him of the bottles and thus his realisation of her identity. "You can give me those, if you want and I'll pass them onto Máire."
Post by kasimir burovski ✨ on Oct 12, 2017 9:32:51 GMT
blue moon
you saw me standing alone
saoirse lets out a soft sigh, a honey-sweet smile curling her lips where they do not reach her eyes as she turns back to regard the merchant. for an instant, kasimir gets the impression that she is not entirely satisfied with the extent of the price reduction and would want to bargain more - he is... uncomfortable, he admits, to tearing roscoe's prices down as such, even deserving as it may be - surely, somebody as rich as máire callaghan would not mind too much for the loss of two thousand gold, not when she is willing to spend over ten thousand on a mere two bottles of ink alone. thankfully, his mission partner concedes with pleasant words dressed in bright innocence as if they had not just finished intimidating and manipulating the merchant.
he, kasimir thinks, needs to reevaluate his knowledge of saoirse.
she takes out a pice of paper, and he watches with quietly hidden interest as she channels mana into it and receives a bag in return. runescripting? he wonders, glimpsing the array splayed out on the page. carefully not allowing any of his thoughts to flicker across his face, kasimir keeps up his aloof facade until the transaction is complete, whereupon he offers his arm to saoirse, inclines his head at roscoe, and begins to leave. "a pleasure, merchant roscoe," he says cooly.
and it is a relief, such a relief, to walk away, to leave. to drift to the mission's conclusion, though it is not done just yet. "we did it," he agrees quietly, eyes softening, though even saoirse's happiness cannot influence him to feel any pride, and satisfaction. ( subtly, slowly, he increases the distance between them to something more appropriate, less falsely intimate. )
kasimir hesitates as his partner holds out a hand for the ink. his automatic instinct is to see the completion of the mission through personally, to ensure that the ink makes it to his client - then he remembers that callaghan and saoirse are acquainted ( friends? ), and if the author trusts saoirse with her money, there is no reason for him not to trust her with the expensive ink. besides, the pink-haired witch hardly seems one to be a thief - even with his newfound knowledge of her darker streak. internally shaking his head, he passes the bottles over.
"it has been a pleasure working with you," he says, the conclusion of their mission heavy in the air around them. "thank you for requesting me."
Post by saoirse ó floinn on Oct 12, 2017 10:09:45 GMT
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be yourself; everyone else is already taken
[attr="class","jartoxpost"] There's a gratifying sense of relief that travels through her veins when Kasimir doesn't ask to accompany her back to their contractor's house, her house. It was only until the attaining of the ink when she had realised that her identity was at stake and her heart shook at the thought of revealing her greatest secret. While it can't be said that Kasimir isn't someone she trusted ( she holds a considerable amount of faith in him, actually ), but the circumstances surrounded just this affair of hers wasn't something that she could speak easily about.
[break][break]Her fingers close around the necks of the bottles, clenching tightly on the glass and she holds them close to her body. They're a comforting weight and she lets the tension in her muscles go, her body slumping from its rigid posture. There, done and dusted. Her progress on her newest novel could now resume.
[break][break]Believing it time to depart, she inclines her head towards Kasimir in gratitude, exclaiming happily, "The pleasure is all mine. Thank you for helping me buy my ink-" Her voice breaks, cutting off as she chokes on her words. She freezes, blinking owlishly as she is suddenly acutely aware of what she'd revealed. Dear god.
[break][break]Swallowing, she turns on her heel, the pitch of the voice just slightly higher as she gradually squashes the panic building in her gut. "I shall see you around. Goodbye!" And with that, she dashes into the crowd, melting into the throng of people.
