— 𝑨𝑹𝑪𝑯𝑨𝑬𝑽𝑨𝑳 . an iconless, independent, and selective roleplay blog for THE LADY RUBY, based on original lore. Portrayal inspired by high fantasy, old faerie folklore, beauty and the beast, and slight horror. Verses include modern, D.ragon Age, L.ord of the Rings, C.lair Obscur, BG3, and more. Runs mostly on queue. Penned by Ree (they/them, 30+, PST).
— i. carrd — ii. open starters — iii. memes — iv. headcanons — v. verses — vi. plotting guide — vii. aesthetic sideblog —
𝑨 𝑺𝑻𝑼𝑫𝒀 𝑰𝑵 . . . the cyclical nature of folklore, fairy tale villains, monstrosity as armor, the costs of true immortality, gilded cages lovingly tended, knowledge both kept and forgotten, the vanity of beasts, hearts buried deep, ancient wounds not yet healed, curiosity and coldness that burn, and the monstrous things a mother would do for her child.
I am Ree, they/them, 30+ and live in the PST / GMT - 8 timezone.
BASICS
01. Basic roleplaying etiquette applies. No godmodding, meta-gaming, AI use, bigotry etc. Regarding meta-gaming, most muses can know about Ruby’s reputation ahead of time, if they are familiar with legends of the fair folk.
02. I am selective but not mutuals-exclusive. I am also multi/poly-ship, multi-verse, and crossover-friendly.
03. I don't tend to follow first, as I am already overwhelmed by my dash. If I follow you, I want to write with you, even if I don't reach out right away! Also, not following back doesn't mean I don't want to write with you; I'm simply trying to keep from getting even more overwhelmed. You're still more than welcome to come plot.
04. I’m also an inbox fiend! If you reblog an inbox/ask meme, I’ll try to send something in. Don’t feel pressured at all to get to all of them, it’s all just for fun. If you want me to send something and I miss the post, send it to me directly and I’ll gladly do so.
05. On the topic of fun, I try to keep things lighthearted around here, so if you’re nervous about reaching out for any reason, message me what your favorite animal is first.
06. While this is technically a dual-muse blog, Ruby is the default muse. Please let me know if you want to write with Jane.
07. Please feel free to remind me about replies if you’re concerned I missed it. I am scattered and busy, and it’s very possible I did just that.
DNI if you write muses from H.arry P.otter. I will soft-block you if you follow me, and hard-block if you keep trying to write with me.
TRIGGERS PRESENT ON THIS BLOG: Spiders, fantasy body horror, violence, past trauma (usually only hinted at, including grooming, abuse, family death, infant death, etc)
REGARDING ARACHNOPHOBIA: I never want to trigger someone’s arachnophobia. I rarely reblog spider imagery, and will always tag it with spider cw or spiders cw. I am also absolutely open to any number of verses and AU where Ruby takes a human form – even if it’s not a verse that currently exists on my page – so please let me know asap if that’s preferable. That being said, if you think you would be too uncomfortable regardless and don’t want to write with Ruby, I fully understand and hope you have a great day.
PLOTTING AND MEMES
I prefer to plot ahead of time and have an idea of what we’re thinking of, but I am open to playing it by ear.
I am also very open to pre-established relationships, but they must be discussed beforehand.
I am more than happy to write some darker plots, including abuse, violence, murder, etc. Ruby is not a good person, and is more than willing to hurt others if she feels it’s deserved. I’m also open to violence against Ruby in one form or another. To a far lesser extent, I am open to putting Jane in vague danger. All of this requires at least some pre-plotting so that we’re on the same page.
Memes can be sent in by mutuals and non-mutuals. It’s a great way to break the ice if we haven’t written together before.
If you want to continue a thread from a meme, please create a new post and tag me in it, rather than reblogging the original ask, or message me if you need me to do it for you.
Please respect the fact that I do not want to be used as a resource blog. When I post a meme for character building, please send something in before reblogging it from me, or reblog it from the source. Please try to make an effort with starter/in character memes as well, if you can, though I understand if you can’t find something that makes sense for your character.
Huh. Oooookay. Let's convene. What's the word for this feeling? Grace feels like he should know. He has a doctorate in molecular biology, after all — from UCFS, a top graduate! — and talks an innumerable count of science to some cantankerous teens. In theory, he should know all about attraction, from the Van der Waals, ionic, and that reliable covalent, but... Well, Austen up in England didn't write on science.
So, he's going in stupid. And stupid blind.
"Yeah, about that. Pretty sure it didn't start until you showed actually, so..." If she's taking him from anything: "I think the party's here." Wow. That, Dr. Grace, was a little bit daring! And that, he startles, should have ran him out. But, alas, in contrast to his awkwardly slabbed together flattery — from the heart; pasture raised and entirely organic; you're the party! you're the reason! — his hands and his vision feel a great deal surer. Always, there's deniability in his sweetness, a lifeboat of a fashion should he read things wrong, but her beauty and her company and those bees in belly? Very real, he shudders. Very flipping real.
What's wrong with him?! Grace sinks himself into playing. He can feel Ruby's gaze, tender, nonjudgmental, encouraging, and rabbit holes into piecemealed thoughts. Attraction! Attraction! A bond! She makes things — safe(????). "I kind of thought this went the other way. You go to all those really cool parties with, you know, big names." A-lister sorts. "You could have went for front row seats watching Brad Mehldau over a cover of Bill Withers." He crosses into her left. Close. Heck, you could have anything. "Sorry. The key's on your side..."
𝑯𝑬'𝑺 𝑭𝑳𝑨𝑻𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑯𝑬𝑹, 𝑺𝑼𝑹𝑬𝑳𝒀. So far as she could tell, Grace wasn't the type of man to tell someone outright if they were bothering him -- but he also wasn't capable of hiding anything he feels, not really. Despite herself, Ruby could feel her guard falling that much further until she almost believed that he meant it. Obviously he didn't -- Ruby was to parties as oil to water -- but it was nice to pretend. Nice to sit here, listening to Grace play, feeling his sleeve brush against her when a high note brought his arm just a little too close. "Still. Thank you."
Were this anyone else, she would be stiff, shoulders back, posture more rigid than usual. Each touch, however accidental, would set her on edge until she had to force herself to speak. Instead, it's easy to brush off Grace's apology, "You're fine." She knows him. He wouldn't do it on purpose -- and even if he was, it'd be far clumsier than this.
She shakes her head. "That's work. It's mostly publicity, networking, and flattering donors into giving more than they planned to that night." Einstein sighs significantly with the type of melancholy only a deeply contented dog could let out. It's enough to make her pause and consider what she's saying, unsure if it's wise to keep speaking. Compared to how she usually acts, simply sitting next to Grace like this was already giving away too much. Still, even if she had to avert her gaze to admit it, Ruby makes herself say, "This is preferable."
𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑴𝑶𝑴𝑬𝑵𝑻 𝑺𝑯𝑬 𝑺𝑨𝑻 𝑫𝑶𝑾𝑵 𝑾𝑶𝑼𝑳𝑫 𝑩𝑬 it for the night. Ruby's joints ached -- she really needed to speak to a specialist about that -- and she was exhausted, but momentum kept her moving enough to pull pins from her hair and chat away. "Did you not eat anything at all tonight?" Typical scientists, she thought -- perhaps unfairly, seeing as she had barely eaten herself. But nearly every expert she's met have gone too long between meals more time than they'd ever want to admit. "No wonder Einstein's all over you."
As soon as her hair was down, Ruby braided it back again, never one to leave it loose for long. "Jane doesn't often eat cereal, but I think we have a few options in the pantry. Do you want something more filling?" They always had something ready to heat up in the fridge, and a few heavier snacks to pick from. Jane was out of the house more often than not nowadays, spending nights at a friend's apartment or working late at school, but the kitchen was always fully stocked for any hour of night.
Dost he notice that delicate tightening of his Librarian's chitinous fingers, that twitch of a reflex onto his bicep, and dost Roland proudly and cheekily grin, without his sumptuous or his bawdy words besides.
He bounds and laughs brightly, the tips of his pointed ears pinkening with the fragrant luxury of this great dressing room. "How dost thou mind of the delicate lace?" inquires Roland, most seriously.
"The straps of silk and the latches of emeralds, diamonds, sapphires? Dost thou believe mine handsome face and pallor is worthy for all-shining opals? My Darling," comes Roland suddenly, brazenly, sweeping past the tough, wispy cornstalks to greet the sweet flesh beneath. "What is thine favored color?"
Dost Roland's handsome brows bounce in thrice to her, and he gleans to her, sealing the side of his Body blessedly with her own. "Art thou borne of thine lovely, lovely namesake?"
𝑰𝑭 𝑨𝑼𝑩𝑬𝑹𝑳𝑰𝑵 𝑰𝑺 𝑺𝑯𝑶𝑪𝑲𝑬𝑫 𝑩𝒀 𝑹𝑶𝑳𝑨𝑵𝑫'𝑺 𝑹𝑬𝑸𝑼𝑬𝑺𝑻, he does not show it. Indeed, the fae simply offers an indulgent nod. "Very good," he says and conjures up a book with all manner of delicates, the enchanted illustrations almost lifelike in their relaxed postures. All, of course, were of a similar body type to Roland's -- Auberlin was nothing if not accommodating, after all, and a man's body was worlds easier than his usual clientele.
"You will drown yourself in luxury," Ruby croons, brushing a knuckle against Roland's cheek. She pauses to shoot Auberlin a meaningful glance, at which he simply nods. His lips are sealed. "I would see you in any hue. Pale ivories, midnight pitch. A red as my name, if it pleases you."
Picky as she was, Ruby couldn't bring herself to choose just one. The idea of Roland posing and postulating in fine silk or wispy lace was enough to bring a hint of heat to the tips of her pointed ears. "The question is not what I would prefer, but simply what you will pick out first."
"When Sir is pleased with his selection," Auberlin added, "please step behind a curtain and present the illustration to the mirror. The illusion will cast itself."
03. I don't tend to follow first, as I am already overwhelmed by my dash. If I follow you, I want to write with you, even if I don't reach out right away! Also, not following back doesn't mean I don't want to write with you; I'm simply trying to keep from getting even more overwhelmed. You're still more than welcome to come plot.
"That's — good. I'd prefer that." Music might have made him more nervous. No way was he going to perform with any semblance of mental cognition with the Billboard Top 100. And anyway, the more pressing issue at hand (of which ten are currently warring for the spot), is whether or not he, his heartbeat rabbiting, should have probably shaved. In the past, Linda didn't mind it when it scratched her, his scruffy shadow scuppering her cheek in a way she'd liked, but, well, Linda was a spring girl and a 'very grounded Taurus (?).' Comparatively, Ruby hasn't yet asked for his star sign.
Grace peers up. Startled. Her fingers tap at his jaw, angling him just so, and his skin flushes. He's relieved. He wonders: would it be cruel to let her lead tonight, here when the pair of them are so well out of practice? He couldn't. But it isn't so bad peering up like this, he guesses. He opens his mouth. And then gapes.
"Really?" Ha. "Okay. Come on. Too easy." It's working. He's already smiling a little. He lets out a puff of air — slight, so, so warm — that makes him tug her in closer to burrow. "It's because he's Sirius. If we're going to work this like a pop quiz, I should probably warn you now that I sort of maybe wrote all of them already." Sure. He presses his cheek against her belly, fingertips slipping like butterfly-kisses to the sides of her panties. Innocent, Grace tilts into her skin then and allows the shape of every vowel to whittle her middle. He's going to combust. "Full disclosure? I never expected to get this far." And he didn't mean sex.
𝑳𝑰𝑵𝑫𝑨 𝑾𝑶𝑼𝑳𝑫 𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑩𝑨𝑩𝑳𝒀 𝑯𝑨𝑽𝑬 𝑩𝑬𝑬𝑵 𝑨𝑫𝑨𝑴𝑨𝑵𝑻 that Ruby was actually a Taurus cusp, which meant something about her personality. The secret rules of star signs was beyond her. "We can also stop at any time, if you need to. I don't want you to feel like you have to do anything you don't want to do." In all honesty, if not for the inevitable pain of standing for too long, Ruby would gladly stay here all night, holding Ryland close as he buries himself against her. His brief smile was enough to warm her up from the inside out and remind her why she was here with him in the first place.
Even still, the ache worsens with his mouth on her body, lips brushing against her skin with every syllable, and she lets out a quiet sigh. It takes more patience than she'd like to admit, letting Ryland put his hands where he's comfortable. It’s strange feeling this way after so long, to want someone so desperately that she has to hold herself back, though a part of Ruby knows all too well that rushing would be just as bad for herself as it would be for him.
She misunderstands, thinks hes talking about how closed off she is She's not the easiest person to get along with. It'd taken ages for Ruby to even realize they were friends, much less that she cared for him. "I'm sorry it took me so long to figure it out. You ought to get a Nobel prize for patience." Ruby plays with his hair again, one hand running through it while the other caresses the back of his neck, fingertips just starting to brush past his shirt collar. "Question two: can I touch you here? Also, three: what's the slowest species in the galaxy?"
As ever, Alan works himself to the bone, except this time, he has a new desk and office to do it from. Well, new to him. But that didn't matter. The room and all the furniture had been cleaned two weeks after the previous Expedition left, leaving Alan to take it over whenever he was ready. Were it his idea, he would have waited until they knew that the other Expedition succeeded or failed, yet there's no telling how long it would take for that to happen. No sign or warning that can be sent to tell Lumiere that status of their fight against the Paintress.
And so Alan has moved into the new office, bare of any personal touches that might have been left behind, save for the book packed tightly into the shelves lining the wall. Old records that had been found, details of past Expeditions and the people that went on them, amongst historical records of Lumiere since the Fracture.
Not even one full day of work, and already the desk has stacks of files on one end, while he puts together lists of supplies that might be needed. Early drafts that will be expanded on later, added to and removed as ideas blossom within their group. Gustave's Lumina converter is coming along nicely, and Alan hopes it will be ready in time for their Expedition.
So engrossed in his work is he that he doesn't hear the door open, but the footsteps reach his ears, his mind, and he glances up at whoever it might be. And oh, he is delighted to see Ruby, sweet and confident in the way she strides towards him - and it would take a blind man not to see that her nipples peak beneath her shirt. Usually, her breasts would be bound by a corset or brassiere, yet today they are not.
The way she leans against his desk tells him so very much, and he is but a simple man sometimes. "It's more than I expected," he says as she teases the lapel of his jacket. His hand rests on her thigh, thumb caressing her through her stockings. "The same goes for you. I thought I wouldn't see you until tonight. Tell me." His hand slips a little higher, gaze never leaving hers. "Does the desk meet your standards, or should I put in a request for a new one?"
𝑹𝑼𝑩𝒀 𝑳𝑬𝑻𝑺 𝑯𝑬𝑹 𝑮𝑨𝒁𝑬 𝑹𝑬𝑺𝑻 𝑯𝑬𝑨𝑽𝑰𝑳𝒀 𝑶𝑵 𝑨𝑳𝑨𝑵, admiring him even as he reaches out to touch her. Fire burns underneath her skin, set alight by his fingertips as much as his eyes on her. Make no mistake, Ruby could watch Alan work for hours on end, engrossed in this report or that register. But he'd run himself ragged, no doubt, if not for her generous assistance -- and surely no-one could resist the way he brightened when he looked up to see her.
As painfully private as she can be about showing affection, the idea of today has made her reckless. For all she knows, there are still people in the building milling about, who might need something from Alan and stop short of knocking as they overhear what's going on inside. The risk does not entice, per se, but it seems more than worth it all the same.
"I'm not sure yet," she answers, making a show of tearing her eyes from his and examining the wood grain. "It looks serviceable, of course, but is it sturdy enough to suit your needs?" Of that, Ruby has no doubt. It seems to be thick hardwood, built to last and varnished to a shine, but there's no harm in testing how it might stand up to a bit of abuse.
Ruby doesn't bother with much coyness today. There is no subtle brushing of her knee against his or a quiet hint of what's on her mind. Alan knows exactly why she's come, and he seems all to pleased to indulge her. Of course, one can't jump into things right away, but she shifts her leg to press against his hand, a silent suggestion to explore further up.
"I couldn't help but worry all day," she goes on with a hint of mirth, "if you were adjusting well enough, or if the desk left you somehow wanting." A single brow lifts -- a challenge as much as an invitation. How far is he willing to take this today? And would the answer change when he realizes she wore nothing but stockings under her clothes?
ooc. i think exposure to the sussur bloom would severely weaken ruby, make her physically struggle to stand and focus. She's a creature of the feywild, even if she doesn't know it at the time -- a creature made of magic. It's also possible though that her mental blocks may temporarily be affected while in range of a sussur bloom, allowing her to remember some of her past so it's a tradeoff.
ooc. watched per.fect blue with aqssa last night and I had to recreate the poster with ruby tbh...it's still a WIP But artblock has been so bad so anything drawn lately is a win in my book
It's better here, isn't it? It's safer. It's daubed lighting, pressed-straight-from-Florida lemonade, and the just-muffled Whitney Houston through plastered linoleum. At the very least, there are fewer folk to barrel into away from that gathering more a societal cooker. It's just her and Einstein and Jane's former teacher...
Former. That's right. That they're still talking on a Saturday is a heck of a thing.
"Admiring?" Grace's brows furrow. He smiles. He is a martini of surprise, heart-warming delight on the rocks, and a razzling of nerves like a rind on the rim. "I've barely even started," he answers. "What are we admiring?"
(Maybe every part. (Him.) Every thing.) Grace blinks. He feels a spike of heat immolate like so many splitting atoms under his skin. She — she is watching. Attentively. Holy shoot. Grace squirms to give his audience, his admirer, his-quick-dinners-when-he's-worked-too-long-companion as much room upon his stool as is humanly possible. In time, he'll be free-moving hydrogen with the energy that he's feeling. The way his jeans threaten her — a budding Chernobyl. "Okay. No pressure or anything, just, I'm starting to think I've got to nail it now." It's smooth. Braided. Grace can't help but bump their shoulders as he reaches over, her eyes capturing the lazy bob of the candles. "You're not exactly someone I, um, the 'general people' should let down. You've got gravity. Ever let down gravity?" Oh my god. Shut up.
𝑯𝑬 𝑨𝑺𝑲𝑺 𝑾𝑯𝑨𝑻 𝑻𝑯𝑬𝒀'𝑹𝑬 𝑨𝑫𝑴𝑰𝑹𝑰𝑵𝑮 as if it isn't clear. Doesn't he know? Ruby doesn't bother answering out loud. Instead, she lets her gaze rest on Grace's face a little while longer before looking back to his fingers dancing across the piano keys, keenly aware of every time his shoulder touches hers. Too many questions race through her mind -- does Grace notice? Does he mind? Should she lean in and rest her arm against his fully?
"You're giving me a private concert when you should be enjoying the party. It would be a poor show on my part to mind a few missed notes." She's looking up at him again. Ruby's height is in her legs, and it leaves her a few inches shorter than Grace when they sit together. It's not a bad view. He is, objectively speaking, an attractive man; it's not the first time Ruby's noted this. She's not blind -- just closed off and frigid -- but there's a different note to it tonight. Here she is, at a party, listening to a handsome man play piano just for her. One who wore joke shirts and cardigans and made silly hats, who lived half his life in front of a microscope, but for some reason looked up every now and then at her.
Gravity. She knows abstractly that the face she wore at work carried weight. People saw her and knew instantly she was not to be trifled with. But that was behind a desk, at a gala, on the phone -- this was here, on a boat, at the outskirts of a party she only attended because he asked. Maybe she wasn't the only one pulling people in. "Thank you for inviting me, by the way. That was very kind of you."
" not even a tiny , eensy beensy , little bit of chaos ?? " the disappointment in her voice is theatrical in a way that truly only jester can manage with blue hands clasped together beneath her chin as though she's pleading for something far grander than harmless mischief. she isn't asking for much , honest !! no one has to get hurt , promise. examples. she needs examples , that must be it !! hm.
slowly ( so very slowly ) she reaches toward the shelf beside them , fingers dragging across the row of spines until one book is chosen at random. all the while , her gaze never leaves ruby's. locked together in mounting anticipation. with immense and wholly unnecessary delicacy , the tiefling finally slips the book free , and then [ . . . ] instead of returning it properly , binding outward and sensible like any normal person would , jester rotates it so the pages face out instead.
and slides it neatly back into place. the wrongness of it sits there staring at the both of them. quiet. subtle. catastrophic. a beat passes. her lips purse tightly , struggling against the smile threatening to split across them as she straightens , doing her absolute best to mirror ruby's composure. dead serious. which is a near impossible feat if you know her well at all. " now you try. "
𝑨𝑺 𝑱𝑬𝑺𝑻𝑬𝑹'𝑺 𝑯𝑨𝑵𝑫 𝑵𝑬𝑨𝑹𝑺 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑩𝑶𝑶𝑲, Ruby feels her hackles rise in anticipation of disaster. Countless scenarios presented themselves -- Jester knocking the book to the floor, tearing out a few pages, setting it alight ... It's almost a relief when it's returned to its place on the shelf without incident. Almost. The pages of the book stare at her, a single column of white amidst a sea of colorful spines. It's unmissable. It makes her itch.
"To what end?" she asks, and reaches out to correct the mismatch. Her long, spidery fingers rest on the book's spine, now properly facing outward. Chronomancy: A Treatise. Not exactly a valuable tome, seeing as half the theories in it had been disproved decades if not centuries ago. But a book was a book, and all books had their place.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀it is odd to find comfort in the monster you were sent to slay. and yet, it is as though this is how it is supposed to be. it certainly makes him feel better than his fateful encounter with his first monster. and if this, too, shall leave a part of him in a shambles, then only his sentient mind, and not his heart, he is sure.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀he hums tiredly, readily consenting, and drags his body the last bit of distance to the waiting tub. how is it just prepared like this ? like set up by invisible servants . . . once at their destination siegfried leans against the side of the bathtub. there are still so many questions burning on his mind and on his tongue.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“ may i trade a piece of clothing for an answer ? you can keep it. and i'll leave this place without it when you let me leave. ”
𝑨𝑵𝑫 𝑺𝑻𝑰𝑳𝑳 𝑯𝑬 𝑨𝑺𝑲𝑺 𝑸𝑼𝑬𝑺𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵𝑺, 𝑾𝑯𝑰𝑪𝑯 demand bargains and deals to be struck. She withholds a sigh, and instead reminds Siegfried gently, ”As I said, make no more bargains tonight. You are in no state for it.” She helps him into the tub gently, mindful of her claws. Every touch is careful, meant to comfort and reassure rather than to hurt.
The water is warm, steam wafting gently up from its surface. On the far side, a plate of food has appeared as well: bits of meat and cheese, a simple fare accompanied by a glass and pitcher of cool, clear water. Two of Ruby's hands reach around to fill the glass and offer it to Siegfried. “May I?” She brushes hair gently out of his face with yet another hand, running her fingers through his locks and starting to untangle them.
As it turns out, Ryland Grace, thirty-seven years old, flecks of the meagerest greys nestled scruffily in his blondes, hadn't a need for drugs or comas to drift hopeless in the stars. Above them, the Hail Mary is searing through the cosmos, bulleting through the darkness for the heart of Tau Ceti, and in the hum of Ruby's bedroom with Jane at a friend's house, it is...
Grace swallows. Them. And them alone. And this cracking unknown.
Wow. There's no way she's nervous. He won't believe it. Last he checked (or last anyone has checked, really; seriously! it's an observable phenomenon), he's got nothing, less than nothing, that could rile the nerves. Heck, he rattles out facts like it's Jeopardy and wears denim on top of denim and says 'fudge' when he's frazzled! But this friend who is everything and genuine and everywhere... Oh, no. He's falling, tripping headfirst -- her event horizon.
"I do!" Really. "I just mean--" Grace frazzles. "How can't I? It's you." How sincere. Ruby steps toward the bed, her feet padding out of the pile of her clothes, and it's like her touch would pale some quintillion electrons. Undoubtedly, she electrifies. Grace bravely lets her take his hand, the intimacy of it upending him unto nigh on nausea, and he leans in. Hiding, his golden, fluffy fair flattens on her tummy, and his other palm, the twin-quaverer, finds her other hip. "Yeah. It's alright. Better than." He breathes. "But are you alright? I'm sorry. It's been a--um. It's been a long time, and--" I don't know how to want this. He's rambling again. Oh, no, oh, no, oh, no. / @archaeval, continued from here.
𝑴𝑨𝒀𝑩𝑬 𝑺𝑯𝑬 𝑺𝑯𝑶𝑼𝑳𝑫 𝑯𝑨𝑽𝑬 𝑷𝑼𝑻 𝑶𝑵 𝑴𝑼𝑺𝑰𝑪. The thought drifts past with a thousand more possibilities to make this easier on them both, but there was no way to know if any of them might work. "Hey." She runs a hand through his hair, tries not to think about how close his mouth is to her bare skin or what it would be like if he kissed her stomach while he was down there. "You're okay. It's been a while for me, too. We don't have to rush into it."
He's not running away, though, at least. Ryland has both hands on her hips, which is more than enough to hold her in place. Give him a moment to breathe, to brace himself and find his footing -- and in turn let her get accustomed to the heat radiating in her core. It's been years since she's wanted to do anything like this, much less with someone else, and a part of her needs to remember how to breathe. No doubt he's fighting with himself as well.
They're both getting stuck in their heads, overthinking things and forgetting themselves. If nothing else, they need to both relax. Ruby takes a moment to rifle through her mind for the right thing to say, and finds herself satisfied when it presents itself. "But maybe you could tell me something first?" She slips her fingers under Ryland's chin, gently guiding him to look back up at her as she asks quietly, "Why won't the dog star laugh at any of my jokes?"
❝ Yes, ❞ she smiles, docile as the wintering sun. ❝ Nothing was ever forced upon me. How lucky I am. ❞
Luck. Misanthropy. Honesty. These are all such funny words.
For a moment, longer than it took for Ruby to consider whether she ought to pry into Adelaide's jellied little head, she pauses, suspending her every ability to blink, or breathe, or exorcise the grin off her mouth. ❝ I just told you that I prefer to pickle children in vinegar than to play with them. What is there to love? ❞
𝑨𝑫𝑬𝑳𝑳𝑨 𝑪𝑬𝑹𝑻𝑨𝑰𝑵𝑳𝒀 𝑬𝑵𝑱𝑶𝒀𝑺 𝑻𝑾𝑰𝑺𝑻𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑹𝑼𝑩𝒀'𝑺 𝑾𝑶𝑹𝑫𝑺 into something far more encompassing than what they meant. Not for a second did she think Adelaide had nothing thrust upon her -- nobody could lay claim to such a thing -- and now she was asking if she had anything within her to love. How very much like a mortal.
"That is not what I asked." Ruby, for her part, reveled in her own wickedness, how she would viciously rend the limbs of good men and leave them to rot. She often delighted in the misery Adelaide brought to mortals, deserving or otherwise, and the madness in her porcelain doll head. Why else would she be here, playing with the woman's hair in the first place? "If you wish to know what there is to love, you must present me with a pearl forged in fire, as white as bone and cold as stars. A reasonable price, I am sure." Another braid completed and pinned in place. She took up yet more hair and continued on.
ooc. finally got my car back, still sitting in the muck mentally. apologies for hyperfixating on pr.oject hai.l mary things lately, i'm slowly working on the rest of my owed replies and putting them in the queue as usual. i hope everyone's having a good day and taking care of themselves and remember how cool you are!!
