a glissade en ar·rière

rp blog for olivia of fe:a associated with reier-magna

[arrieres]

the rp dash looks pretty dead but i'll be getting to my one draft to datarequiem shortly, just finishing up the drafts on my other rp blog

[arrieres]

at what point does tumblr stop popping up little tooltips every two seconds when you make a new blog--

[ambiter-deactivated20210320]

arrieres *✲ﾟ*

The uncomfortable chill that had first emerged with the autumn eventides was now beginning to permeate into the day in defiance of the sun’s valiant heat, seeping into the soil, deadening the leaves, and clothing the residents of this sparse kingdom. Winter’s character was something the exorcist was well acquainted with, but exposure to this seasonal range of temperature could not force his body to inure to its whip, and the most he had developed to withstand it was a thin membrane of distracting nostalgia. So with the money he had slowly (read: slowly) been aggregating (read: between paying his newly bestowed, monstrous debt) he bought himself a nifty black scarf.

However, upon taking to the streets between jobs, a distressing stimulus caught his eye, the occipital lobe performing the strange transduction of sight to sensation — this young woman was not nearly wearing enough to keep herself warm! He felt chilly just looking at her. So it is with altruism in his step that he quickly approached her, undoing his scarf as he did.

“Here, please use my scarf. You need it much more than I do.”

[arrieres]

   ✽ Having traveled her land many times over in scarcely anything aside from the loose garbs and bracelets she adorned, Olivia was rather accustom to the cold. Warming her body through the act of dance helped some. However, the winds of this Kingdom were different; as if every breath of nature was set on chilling her to her bones. Perhaps it was in partial due to not having comrades at her side to encourage her, speak with her, and nestle near a crackling fire with her. A bitter breeze sighed against her, raising goosebumps on bare arms and legs. Yes, definitely much more frigid.

Olivia rubbed rosy palms along her upper arms in a desperate attempt to ward off the cold spell. A quiet brr escaped pale lips. She quieted herself away under the hooded entrance of a café, not get giving up her search for familiar companionship. After all, she couldn't possibly be the only Shepherd wished away, could she?

Indigo eyes lingered away from the many passer-by's, only to be drawn back in by the sound of a gentle, male voice -- offering her a scarf, it seemed. Instinctively, she held out her hands to retrieve the scarf, though only blinked down at it then back up at the man.

"O - Oh, my, no ... I -- I couldn't take this, please. I'm fine, really! Don't worry about me," she insisted, attempting to return his scarf. Timid as a mouse, Olivia found it difficult to accept such kindness from someone she didn't know. Although -- that was quickly followed by a sneeze & a sniffle.

"..." A weak smile plastered itself to her face, knowing her words and involuntary actions were very much contradictory.

[arrieres]

   ✽ "A god?! No, I -- I couldn't possibly become a God! Someone such as myself is unfit for the title. I'm merely a dancer, and mediocre even in that respect. Oh, Gods ..."

Small hands pressed against either side of Olivia's face, covering a complexion of red. How could such misfortune befall one person? A shaky breath left trembling lips. A simple-minded dancer at heart, she had no right to place herself among deities. In such a strange place, no less; this certainly wasn't Ylisse any longer.

Besides the fact, where were the Shepherds? Last she remembered, Olivia was huddled around a bonfire with her fellow companions, sipping apple cider and listening to Maribelle pluck a gentle tune on a harp, ever sweet to the ears. Distress washed over her like a tidal wave, stormy waters flooding the planes of her mind.

Olivia started forward into the crowd, recognizing nary a face. Many gazed at her knowingly, as if her presence and purpose had been announced for all to hear. The flush enveloping her face deepened. 'Oh, please, let the Earth swallow me whole ...'

"Chrom; Robin; anyone? P - Please," she called out to the masses, every wavering syllable rung with a shed of hope.

[arrieres]

a demure but gifted dancer

a demure but gifted dancer a demure but gifted dancer a demure but gifted dancer

a demure but gifted dancer