scientia pennae.

closed/affiliated miriel 🕮 reason professor w/ the golden deer.

[bibliophiliacs]

rapier intellect.

closed and affiliated miriel mobile links: application | affiliation | mun info | muse info | stats page | thread tracker profile photo credit: thank you sepfish :))))

[contempenitent]

colonel mustard with the candlestick

Mauvier & Miriel - Mission Board: Infamous - [Sword +1]

[contempenitent]

Mauvier had hoped that his calm demeanor might lower Miriel's hackles and help her grow comfortable with him, but she seems to be testing him. Why would she goad him like this, asking him to be wary of ruling her out? He wants to be the voice of mercy, yet her behavior feels like a slap in the face.

Miriel's story holds both too little and too much information. Mauvier does not wish to hear about the status of her vesica urinaria; at some point, all mortal men must use the lavatory.

"That would make the window of opportunity very small, indeed," says Mauvier, pointedly not commenting on Miriel's other strange asides. "A couple of minutes, perhaps? Did the Viscount have any enemies, Miriel, that might be hawkishly watching for any opportunity to slip into the residence, murder him with his own weapon, and leave no trace?"

The possibility that she's lying remains unspoken. Mauvier does not want to believe it, least of all because it would mean his own judgment is faulty. But her answer might give him a broader scope of the Church, and of Fodlan in general: what was the Viscount being protected from?

[bibliophiliacs]

   Miriel, garish as the gesture may be, simply shrugs and shakes her head at Mauvier’s probing question. 

   “I was not privy to such proclivities. I was merely to be his guardian, and it is presumed that the Viscount was all-around mistrusting so as to divorce himself from any such information regarding the adversarial sort.” Though, as she says this aloud, that itself may lend itself to more information. Frankly, this interrogation was doing wonders for Miriel by way of putting together something resemblant of a culprit. How peculiar. 

   If she was treated with mistrust by the Viscount, how may that fare for those under his retinue? “How utterly curious…” She says aloud, to no one in particular, as if briefly forgetting that she had been under suspicion from the get go. 

   “Ah-” And, just as suddenly, she remembered her present state of affairs. As such, Miriel leans in; it would do better to clue Mauvier on her line of thought, rather than leave him in the dark. Whether it stirred suspicion away from her, Miriel could hardly find it in herself to care. This was an interesting mystery, and she wished to solve it. “Do you not find it curious that his trust was so hard-pressed?”

   Clearing her throat, Miriel gestures to nothing in particular. “It is reasonable to assume that the Viscount would not trust me with such information. I am an outsider, an otherwise pariah if not for my rank amongst Garreg Mach’s faculty. Yet, if he were the disquieting sort to even garner a few enemies, perhaps it is possible that even he showed similar scorn to his own retinue? At the very least, his executioner had to have been one to presume that my visit to the facilities would have had to have been long enough that it was a perfect window-of-murder.”

[nyxanthemums]

This is why we shouldn't let our kids play with Mr. Potato Head

Mission Board (Decrypted Letter) || Miriel

[nyxanthemums]

"Replace each part of a body, and what do you get?" That's all the message reads. A joke? A threat? A moral quandary? To discern the nature of the message is an arduous task. Perhaps that is why Nyx was summoned to investigate. Nyx and this professor that exudes intelligence; perhaps due to the large hat.

A cough escapes as she clears her throat and turns to face professor, "For better or for worse, it seems that we are partners in this investigation. You may refer to me as Nyx."

Soon after her introduction, Nyx's attention turns back to the letter. The message was encoded. An obvious sign that the content of the message was to be hidden. Meaning that the puzzle is merely a second layer of defense for whatever information is to be concealed.

"What do you think of the message?" A simple question yes, but a very useful one. Questions like such are often used to gauge one's capabilities, just as Nyx is now, primed to scrutinize whatever thoughts leave the big hat's mouth. After all an incompetent ally is more dangerous than a competent enemy.

@bibliophiliacs

[bibliophiliacs]

   ‘Replace each part of a body, and what do you get?’

   Miriel’s expression may have been odd to any passerby, let alone to the woman of shorter stature she found herself in allyship with, but such a cipher (simple as it may have been) was something exciting. Something truly thought provoking, because there were as many potential answers as there were potential red herrings. 

   As such, Miriel was smiling, as her eyes remained closed. 

   Until her ally calls out to her, it too is when Miriel’s smile drops. Her thoughts? “There are innumerable possibilities.” She speaks directly, some level of excitement in her voice all the same. “My hypothesis determines that this inquiry is as much one of philosophy as it is a clue. For example,” Miriel adjusts her glasses before diving into her line of thought.

   “Taking the inquiry at face value, one must presume that the victims have been butchered, and that itself is what we are to glean from this missive. However, the philosophical nature of the question is as follows: ‘is the victim the same after all of their parts have been replaced?’ It’s paradoxical. And such a paradox may also bear fruit by way of any sort of hint.”

   She clears her throat, and adjusts her glasses once more. Hopefully this young woman would find some insight within Miriel’s words. “Ah,” Miriel forgot to offer an introduction in return. “You may call me Miriel.” 

[bibliophiliacs]

paint me like one of your thracian girls.

mission-board: infamous | flying +1 | miriel // travant

[thracianblood]

It would be no exaggeration to say that this is definitely not a place Travant expects to be in. The Fine Arts Division had been... lenient enough to allow people aside from students, but he had figured this would apply to the staff of the Officer's Academy, rather than an open invitation for anyone with an artistic hand to join.

Alas, despite his fondness for appreciating all forms of art, he's well aware that his actual skill leaves much to be desired. Still, the reward money that might come from this tempts him, and it was hard to turn a blind eye knowing the subject matter is one he actually cares for.

Conveying the likeness of a wyvern without directly using one as a reference...

Does he really need to use a real person to be able to capture that? He had tamed and ridden wyverns for most of his life – raised and fed Amalia by his own hand even amidst Thracia's more severe food shortages. If there's a living soul in this room who knows every possible way to describe just how magnificent they are, it would be him. Even if the type found in Fodlan lack front legs like the ones at home, if others ride them into battle in the same fashion, then the two breeds shouldn't be so different.

Yet as he picks up the pencil, mind consumed by contemplation as to what concept he shall go for, Travant is soon approached by a woman in mage's robes. And she wants to become his muse... for the sake of research?

"What sort of pose are you thinking of, exactly? I don't normally draw people–" he doesn't normally draw at all, really– "but if you're willing to be my subject..."

[bibliophiliacs]

   Lucky she was, that someone was willing to abide by what most may consider an absurd request. And ever so willing to get right to working, at that. Miriel was pleased that she needn’t explain herself to any unnecessary sort of degree. 

   The matter of what her pose had to be was a question unlike any other. An experienced scientist should have answers to these sorts of questions welcomed and ready at the back of her mind. Yet, uncharacteristically, Miriel met with nothing in immediate response. Perhaps this exercise itself would be something noteworthy in her research. 

   A few more moments of quiet pondering, until, wordlessly, Miriel assumes a pose reminiscent of a perched gargoyle. It was something simple, and easy for her to assume as well. 

   Others within the room gave idle stares, taking into question the confidence of the mage to assume such a pose so readily. Or even judging her choice as far too divorced from what a wyvern may assume. Whatever the case may have been, Miriel hardly gave a damn, all she needed to do was present herself as the best possible subject for he who would paint her. 

   “Would this gargoyle-esque mien be sufficient enough for your artistic purposes?” She asks directly, as though the young mage had been prepared to take a different pose if requested. “Lest you’ve another to consider…?”

[mercenarymage]

Yeah, food's good, but it's only a 4/5 on account of The Poison

[Mission Thread: Poisoned Food]

[mercenarymage]

When Hugh had picked up this odd gig, all he had considered at the time was the amount of awesome food he'd be trying. With the passion that the chefs displayed as they crafted their meals, he expected nothing less than perfection, their hearts etched into their prized meals in their attempts to gain favor towards the Baile's daughter.

Hugh himself wasn't exactly a gourmet, though. Well-travelled, he had told them, and that had been enough for them to believe that he had experience trying new and adventurous foods and lived to tell the tale.

Which, clearly, as Hugh found himself suddenly stumbling for footing, really emphasized on the surviving portion of his supposed talents!

He doesn't feel his body land on floor. He's still cognizant, but if he's injured himself in any way from the fall, he has no idea. Can he move? A glance to one of them tells him that he can stretch his fingers, but it's disorienting to do so.

"He...hello?"

The last thing he should be doing is try and fake a smile, but the uncertainly of the situation pulls that mask over his face. Is there anyone who can help here? Would any of the chefs care to help? Was this planned all along? What did he actually sign up for?

Among the various people, he spots someone unfamiliar. Not one of the chefs - someone that, in this moment, he's got to trust.

No words spill out yet, but his stare says it all. He definitely needs help. At least help him get back up?

That'll make the weird numbness go away, right?

@bibliophiliacs

[bibliophiliacs]

   Even the most inexperienced of mages could understand when one has found themselves the unwitting victim of poisoning. As Miriel’s gaze focuses on the man sprawled along the ground, pathetically trying to convey his woes, she draws a most obvious conclusion.

   ‘Poisoning. A perfect opportunity.’

   Of course, it was obvious that whatever this man had consumed was poisoned, though for whatever reason still remained to be seen. Perhaps it could’ve been an accident, an innocent act based upon a misunderstood ingredient. Or perhaps it was malintent, hopes of that unsightly dish reaching the mouth of the mayor’s daughter. Whatever the reason, none mattered to Miriel in that moment, so much as the subject before her had. She was no cleric, but perhaps this would be far ample of a reason for the scientist to curate an antidote. It would be yet another skill to add atop her already vast repertoire. 

   “Arise, if you can.” Her command is simple, though after a few moments pass, Miriel understands that the task may prove difficult. To that, with what little strength she carries, Miriel helps the man to his feet, offering herself as support. This was not the environment for experiment. Though, a thought passes; perhaps it would be unwise if her subject were to pass away before she could study the poison’s effects. 

   Thus, Miriel sets him in a nearby chair, then, with a hand, Miriel cups the stranger’s face; her eyes study his expression, trying to ascertain any obvious sort of symptoms. “Speak your ailments. Assist me in your aid.” She needed to know whether or not the stranger could be provided water. “Do you feel irritation? Or perhaps inflamed? Or even something caustic within you?”

[tomatotactician]

Burning the Ballroom

[ START ] 　 Ethereal Ball: Week 1 　⧸⧸ 　Leo   &   Miriel

[tomatotactician]

        Leo returns to the table of popped corn, intent on sampling some more without making a fool of himself. He has a drink in hand, now, and has pinpointed the location of the extra spicy flavor—— The prince's mission is interrupted when he stumbles over a woman in elegant black-and-gold garb who seems intent on her task.         His lips part, an apology already at the ready, but she barely seems to notice. Leo follows her steady gaze to... a magical blaze scattered across the floor, steadily consuming small kernels of corn. The aroma of singed grain drifts upward in gentle wisps of smoke.

        Normally, Leo would make some kind of exclamation, but he's already in action, tossing his drink across the main body of flame and grabbing the long draped tablecloth as the flames lick its edge. "It's catching fire! Quick, now!"         His instincts tell him to move it, right away, and so he does, yanking the cloth out of reach. Bowls tumble and corn scatters across the floor, followed by a startled scream or two. Though the cloth is saved, this creates a new problem: fresh fuel for the flame on the ground, which slowly dances across the soft puffs, turning them into blackened husks.         Oh, gods. Leo tosses the linen back onto the table. "Do you have water? Hurry!"

[bibliophiliacs]

   The flames caused her use of borrowed magic do scary little to change the expression on Miriel’s face. She was calm, collected as she ever was. Yet the man she requested help from seemed to be anything but. A sigh escapes her lips, one that only seems to grow increasingly exacerbated when he suggests water as the immediate option. 

   “It is a magical flame,” Miriel responds flatly, as she begins to stamp a foot down on the flame, fires suffocating beneath her as she does, with its embers licking against her skin ever so slightly. It was a small one, but an example all the same. “Simply find some sort of implement to enswathe the increasing blaze. And do hurry,” she practically hisses this part, an uncharacteristic command leaving her lips to the unfamiliar man. “Lest you wish for our merriment to be set ablaze?”

   Miriel begins to do the same, trying to find a tablecloth not in use, or something similar to do just what she demands. Whatever flame is there grows steadily, and it is becoming ever clearer that the more time spent doing absolutely nothing in the way of solving the issue, the more likely it would be that the Ethereal Ball would become remembered for another reason. A far less joyful one, at that.

   “And please do be hasteful regarding!” Miriel speaks once more, ready to rip an occupied tablecloth without concern.

[bibliophiliacs]

Sitting here listening to this lecture has been a pain in the ass— and he’s sat through a lot, mind you. This sorta thing has never been something he enjoys, but there’s also nothin’ he wouldn’t do for a pretty lady… and that’s the exact reason why he’s still here, chin propped in his hand.

Can’t blame a guy for putting his best effort forth, at least. By the time it’s all over, he stifles a yawn before swaggering up to the front of the classroom, hands shoved into the pockets of his uniform pants. She definitely has the whole librarian look down, but you know what that means? It means she’s got the vibe of an older gal. Just what he likes, and he leans his hip against the edge of her desk as he grins with a smolder.

“Well, teach, you’re awfully good at—“ Um. Teaching? “— explainin’ all of…. That.” He honestly doesn’t even know what this lecture was about, and he certainly hopes she doesn’t ask.

“Name’s Balthus. I’m not usually around these parts, but I guess it was just my luck to run into you today.” At that, he clicks his tongue before offering a wink. “Make a guy’s day and share a nice, hot, free meal with me in the dining hall?”

   Miriel finishes her lesson, and as she begins to erase her handiwork, so that whichever professor has claim over the room next would have nothing in the way of extra work in cleaning, a lingering student calls out to her.

   Turning to give her attention, prepared to answer whatever question may have still hung in the air, Miriel’s otherwise neutral expression turns into something reminiscent of a scowl; of all the students to approach her, the one who seemed least interested had to. Sighing, she crosses her arms, allowing the student to speak his mind.

   A mistake, rare for one such as Miriel to make. 

   The only noteworthy thing he offers is an introduction, yet even that was laced in unimportant drivel. Not only did Balthus make it rather evident that he hadn’t paid an iota of attention to Miriel’s lesson, his words were laced with something lecherous in nature. Clearly he was leering rather than giving any sort of mind to Miriel’s reason lesson, so much so that even someone as mostly uninterested as her could realize it. So of course this means that Miriel must run a little social experiment. 

   Adjusting her spectacles, Miriel places a hand on her desk. “Okay. Cite the first Fundamental Theorem of Reason, from memory and subsequently backwards in tow, and perhaps your proposition will be considered.” She leans in, her expression unchanging, though a glint in Miriel’s eyes carried something chiding. “Lest your focus had been far away from that of today’s lesson, Balthus?”

[bibliophiliacs]

This professor DEFINITELY knows her literature! Not that Tsubaki makes a habit of defining others solely by appearances, but he does pay particular attention to his fellow faculty.

"Say," he speaks to her one day at the cafeteria, tome in hand, as if to subliminally signal themselves as a fellow scholar. "How far does your breadth of knowledge reach? If I were to quiz you on another genre outside the arcane-- take for example, intercontinental romance fiction-- could you answer?"

Tsubaki smiles.

"My students would like to host a book club, you see." He lies, "But they've already burned through our library shelves end-to-end. With so many kingdoms represented at the monastery, they'd thought it'd be brilliant opportunity to familiarize themselves with novels beyond Fodlan's borders… And so here I am, honoring their unquenchable thirst for knowledge and leading the search."

   Miriel doesn’t hold any obvious reaction to her meal being interrupted. She wants to reject the professor’s request, disinterested in any sort of discussion in the midst of her luncheon. However, the mention of a book club piques her interest.

   As such, Miriel taps her fork against her lips in consideration. Of course, her expertise lies more in books of the scientific and arcane, however the idea of reading for the sake of was not outside of her wheelhouse. Plus, Miriel parsed through as many of the books available within the Halidom as she could, though of course nothing beat the writings of her mother’s work. 

   “Mmm… works of a romantic nature… Whilst I am able to say that I have perused such readings, my expertise lies more within scientific, historical, and perchance even arcane accounts much like you presumed…” Miriel drifts off before she pauses, allowing her answer to sink in potential disappointment within the professor’s face, “I can still recommend a fair few romantic texts. And other such scriptures of various genres as well.”

   Leaning in, Miriel forms an uncharacteristic yet excited all the same smile clear as day forms on her face. Evidently, this suggestion has the young scientist beyond intrigued. “The Familiar Taste of Ruin is a riveting tale of two arcane assassins – one from Ylisse, another from Plegia – attempting to claim the life of one another. Cliched as it is in name and concept, I found the exploration of magic within this particular yarn to be incredible. Might I share other such parables with you?”

[of-pherae]

you ever dance with the devil in the pale moonlight?

infamous || sleepwalking

[of-pherae]

Sleepwalking - a poorly understood phenomenon steeped in superstition. There are rumors lately about the killer possessing arcane, mind-control powers. It’s the only way these well-protected noble men and women could possibly be killed inside their own homes. You don’t believe these rumors at first… not until you catch one of your allies stumbling around outside one night, covered in blood.

How…did he get here? Eliwood cannot remember. Scattered images flash through his thoughts. The monastery halls. His office, dimly lit with a flickering candle. Night falling faster than he expects. He thought to return to his quarters after a moment's rest.

So how had he ended up here?

He's leaned against a wall, breathless as if he's just been in the thick of battle, and with a sinking, all too familiar feeling twisting in his the pit of his stomach. He leans his head back against stone to the cold light of the moon. Something bad has happened. He doesn't know what or how or when, but he's sure of it.

This is not the first time this has happened. Even now, her lifeless body still rests in his arms.

He breathes deep, gulping breaths of still night air and wills his racing heart to calm. He must find help. He has to find whose blood is on his hands this time.

Eliwood struggles to his feet with an elbow propped against the wall to steady him. His thoughts are swimming, racing, too fast to hold, but it's the quick, precise steps echoing through the air that earns his attention.

"Hello?" His voice comes out near a whisper. He gathers himself and tries again. "Hello, is someone there? I-I'm in need of help."

—@bibliophiliacs !!

[bibliophiliacs]

   “Oh, you’re awake.”

   Miriel rounds the corner to find a man trying to stand up once more. A new hire, much like she had been; a fellow Golden Deer at that. How horrible it was that he would have to cope with sleepwalking merely days after arriving at the Academy. Or would he handle it well? How curious.

   She approaches him, Miriel’s thumb and forefinger pressed to her own chin as she begins to closely analyze the man. It was obvious he had been out of sorts; after all, Miriel had been analyzing his sleepwalking throughout the night. Unfortunately, she only caught the tail end of this little affair. 

   Otherwise, she would be able to explain the blood.

   Miriel mumbles to herself, “hm, the subject is in a precarious state. He’s panting, breathless. Likely due to the somnambulance…” She presses the back of her hand against the man’s forehead. “Warm, perhaps feverish?” Backing up, Miriel crosses her arms. 

   “Were you aware that you were paramulating throughout the night? And that you are covered in the blood of another? Good morning, by the way.”

   Wonderful way to breach the topic; surely this man would be reasonable enough so as to not shout first thing in the morning. 

[contempenitent]

colonel mustard with the candlestick

Mauvier & Miriel - Mission Board: Infamous - [Sword +1]

[contempenitent]

Normally, Mauvier is actually quite skilled at interrogation - he's level-headed, knows what questions to ask, and he doesn't entertain poor excuses or mindgames.

Now, though…it's different, because it feels like a waste of time. As wary as he may be, Mauvier is fairly certain that the bespectacled woman across the table from him has not killed anyone. (Or, at least not Viscount Burgundy. What she's done in her previous days is not his business at the moment.)

But the fact remains, things don't look good for her. She had been the Viscount's only security detail on the night of his murder, in which he'd suffered a single stab wound through the back with one of his own swords.

Mauvier sighs, dreading needing to speak. "Miss Miriel," he says, cold but not harsh, "while I am here on behalf of the Church, I have no intention of throwing the book at you. I don't want to think that you were involved, but it is currently difficult to distance you from the events of the night of the murder. So, please…" He looks into her eyes, the light catching the regret, the softness in his own. "Tell me what happened. From the moment you arrived, to your holding."

(No, this is not how he would normally begin a line of questioning, letting the suspect take the lead. But surely, this is all a terrible misunderstanding…)

@bibliophiliacs

[bibliophiliacs]

   The death of Viscount Burgundy was quite the unfortunate event, for innumerable reasons; most of which was the means by which everyone surrounding was so… ignorant as to fervently pin the blame upon Miriel without a moment of hesitation. 

   Of course, things did not look good for her; being the last one to bear witness to the victim typically was a sign of guilt. The issue was, was such a belief had been… elementary. It was easy to believe that the last person close by to the victim was, in fact, the perpetrator themselves. Miriel was aware of that fact, and the fact that everyone seemed to believe it as possible without further questioning only served to annoy her further. Are these people stupid? Or just willfully ignorant?

   Yet when encountered by one who seemed to teeter on the edge of belief and disregard… Miriel couldn’t help but sigh and offer devil’s advocate. “Mauvier…” she opens, her tone as flat as it always was despite the precarious situation, “while I hold appreciation for your hesitation, must you so immediately draw up a possibility where it wasn’t me?” After all, just as there was no conclusive proof that Miriel had been the perpetrator, there was also no conclusive proof that it wasn’t her. “For all you know, my explanation of events could be mere fabrication as my means of escape.” Though it wouldn’t be; Mauvier had no way to know that. 

   So she sighs; he asked, so it would be idiotic for Miriel to not cooperate. “As you have already implied; I was to observe the Viscount’s condition over the prior night. The night itself was rather humdrum, murder notwithstanding. Prior to the Viscount’s demise, I had informed him of my intention to utilize the facilities, for my vesica urinaria had been far overwhelmed. Far too much water in my system, I presume. In the moments between my meandering to the facilities, and my return, it would appear as though the culprit sought to manipulate the blindspot. Thus, the Viscount was found to have perished.”

   Miriel clears her throat, realizing that after such a lengthy explanation, more water could be of use. “But, as I have said; such an explanation could be merely a falsehood. You should try to ascertain falsities in my tale.”

[bibliophiliacs]

"Oh, pardon me. I just wanted to ask---how did you cut them so straight?"

Silque nearly reaches out to trace the sharp angular line of the woman's hair, before she remembers herself and gestures at her own bangs instead. "I mean to say that it looks great on you. Your glasses match the style so well, too!"

   An eyebrow raises as Miriel is approached by a curious sort. Her arms cross as the young woman hesitates to trace a hand along her hair with a question. Curiosity was a wondrous virtue to have, though over something as simple as her hair was… questionable, suffice to say.

   No matter. Miriel steps forward, closing whatever gap there was between herself and whoever this woman may have been. Where she may have shown restraint, Miriel expresses a lack thereof, as she analyzes the other woman’s style of hair; her own hand traces along the young woman’s hair carefully, so as to not leave a single strand out of place. She’s expert in this, as any scientist would be when taking careful study of their subject. “Exemplary,” she mutters, though she’s close enough that it comes out as clear as day. Then, she steps back once again. “Your hair is exemplary, you needn’t request guidance to nurture your own. However,”

   Miriel takes a flower from her bouquet, and though it is purple the way in which it clashes against the young woman’s blue was picturesque. ‘Magnificent’, she thinks to herself as she carefully sets the flower to rest within her hair once more. “This accessory should highlight your tresses favorably.”

[bibliophiliacs]

[ NETWORK ] - One of your fellow ball-goers is being accosted, and getting into earshot, you realize it’s by someone who claims to be one of the scouts looking for talent. But they’re being a little pushy, aren’t they? And are you sure they’re really who they say they are?

   Rather than continuing to allow one of the student body of the Academy be so horribly accosted, Miriel took to spooking the perpetrator with dark magics; darkness coalesced into her hand, as utterances of an incantation left her lips. When the spell is all but at completion, Miriel mutters, loud enough for the perpetrator to hear- 

   “Leave, for even the most vile and dire of wyrms will not save you from mine sunder.”

   Fearstruck, the color left the perpetrator’s face, and just as soon as he accosted the young student, he had left them alone. Sighing, Miriel clasps her book shut, stopping the incantation altogether. To think that such dark magics could be threatening… Gods, Miriel had the makings of a Sorceress yet, without ever daring to cross the boundary. Wonderful, as it was a sign of her studies bearing fruit. 

   Shaking her head, she turns to face the student. “Student, are you of adequate condition? That knave hadn’t badgered you to a point of inconsolable return?” Ah! Perhaps a trinket would offer the student comfort in potential distress? Miriel hands them one of her hyacinths. “I hope this is sufficient.” And with a bow, she too leaves just as quickly as she had appeared.

   Hopefully this wouldn’t bring about any dire side effects. 

[corvusi]

Oh, it's— "Miriel!" he chirps. And it's then, too, when he notices the bigger mess of fire — honestly, he really didn't think too much about the heat until she pointed it out as a problem. A blink, and two, and he walks up to the fire to put his face mere inches away from the lick of flames. "Have you tried blowing on it?"

And as if to demonstrate, he takes a biiiiiig inhale, flooding his lungs with smoke and ash. Alongside this, his hands glow gold as they raise upwards to cup his mouth; shadow clusters under his feet and dissipates when he pulls his lips into an 'oh' and sends a thin stream of air at the flames.

That, to no surprise, does little. But Henry laughs regardless as the air around the fire goes dark, pointing upwards at the ceiling.

"Look, the moon!"

And the moon it is, indeed, rising above the flames in the ballroom and suspended in dark smoke. It flickers away into a void shortly thereafter, pulling flame into its gravity before vanishing altogether — and although it doesn't get rid of everything: "Hope that helped! Kinda. You can try it yourself, too! Juuuuust breathe," another inhale to demonstrate, "and let it alllllll go. Easy-peasy!"

[bibliophiliacs]

   Miriel’s eyes widen when Henry illustrates an impressive display of magic before her. As quickly as the fires began, they are dispersed; and with the impressive visage of a moon to follow suit. She stares in awe, uncertain of how to reply. 

   But once she gathers herself, she turns to face Henry, dusting off her dress in the process. “Henry, what an astounding display of magical prowess.” There is a clear tone of amazement in her otherwise deadpan voice. Weren’t they at the Ball now, Miriel would take Henry by the hand and rush off to her laboratory post-haste. This was something that she needed to study with more intricacy than provided before. 

   Unfortunately, her confines were to that of the Ethereal Ball. She chose to participate, and participate she would. 

   But that wouldn’t stop her from still taking Henry by the hands. “When this night is over, I behoove you, demonstrate to me how you projected such incredible magics.” Her voice is clear with eager desperation for the pursuit of knowledge and science. She had to see and understand just what strength Henry had attained in the time Miriel saw him last, and what other merits such lunar magic could pose within the field of science. Tonight was snuffing out flames from a popped corn incident. Tomorrow could be something even greater. 

   Miriel clears her throat, letting go of Henry’s hand and adjusting herself accordingly. “Please take my request into ample consideration.”

[bibliophiliacs]

[ CORN ] Now that's an idea — clutching a cob in each hand, Henry shuts his eyes and casts. His palms erupt with heat and flame as they engulf the corn... aaaaand do nothing. The corn turns to ash. There is no popcorn.

He opens his eyes and pauses, then laughs to himself. "Aw, still smells edible!"

   Her eyes are still focused on the fire, steadily taking her time and effort to extinguish the flames. A voice calls out to her, and it's familiar; familiar enough to drag Miriel from her focus on the flame.

   “Ah, Henry. Salutations.” Miriel’s voice is as deadpan as ever, but even still there is a noticeable lilt when greeting her compatriot and former companion of war. Seeing an old companion still elicits positive reactions even if it had been far long since doing so. Something Miriel would have to research later. 

   She stamps on the flames, and then her gaze narrows onto the now ash of popped corns. There is a sigh, then she shifts her focus back unto Henry. “Would you wish to offer your assistance in this conundrum? Or do you plan to study it, that would be fine too.” Miriel stamps on the ground a few more times, before she continues. “I hope that my hyacinth would be enough of a prize to convince you, but I would be all the more willing to offer proper recourse for your assistance in this most vexatious matter, Henry.”

   It would be a horrible inconvenience, both for Miriel herself, and other Ball-goers, if this flame expanded in far more dangerous a way than it already had begun to.

[bibliophiliacs]

[ CORN ] - A new strain of corn has been bred in Bergliez with a curious trait—it pops when exposed to heat, becoming light and fluffy! Help yourself to a bag; it's a little bland on its own, but you get the feeling you could find something to spice it up.

   Miriel’s gaze was focused on a flame that she, for a brief amount of time, borrowed from another Ball-goer. This mysterious phenomenon of ‘popped corn’ was something of incredible intrigue to her; of course she would have to see how it would work. Even with someone else’s use of fire, and someone else’s tastebuds at stake. 

   Miriel, as she is wont to, is caught up; her eyes are sharp, focused on the steady popping of little corns. The crowd of people is loud, and perhaps to some overwhelming, yet the only sounds that play in Miriel’s ears are the steady repetition of popping.

   That is, until she is bumped into by another Ball-goer, trying to maneuver his way around the surrounding area. 

   Subsequently, it is also when her control over the flame sparks out of such; the flame leaps from her borrowed tome, onto the ground nearby as it begins to steadily and slowly creep and spread. Miriel calmly places her tome down, as well as the popped corn (of which only half were successfully popped) to stare at the now spreading flame. Her face is blank, and she blinks twice as she instinctively goes to adjust a hat that isn’t there.

   Then, she turns to the Ball-goer that bumped into her, and calmly speaks. “Would you care to help me alleviate this conundrum?” Miriel points to the spreading flame lackadaisically. “If you do, I’ll offer you a hyacinth of mine in return for your duties.”

[bibliophiliacs]

miriel's arrival to toachella....

   “Thank you, but I do not-”     Before Miriel could give the flowers back to the mysterious benefactor, they were gone. What a nuisance; an unnecessary issue on top of other unnecessary issues. She stares at the bouquet, purple hyacinths, the lot of them, and sighs. She needs to give them away by any means necessary. Though, it wouldn’t hurt to keep a few for herself.     Perhaps after the ball’s end, Miriel could test if they could weather the storm against the strength of her myriad spells. 

Miriel has arrived to celebrate her first ever Ethereal Ball! Don't be nice to her, she will most likely not be nice to you. She carries with her hyacinths! Though she does not want the excess she has :( care to help her fix that?

BLOOM TRACKER

ROSE: ORCHID: LILY: HYACINTH (She has one!): TULIP:

page break to post her ball fit!!!! i said it in server already but thank you thank you thank you to rosie for drawing miriel's ball fit!!! she looks so good i can scream into a pillow and kick my feet in the air 🥺

[landsbluod]

hasten off into the dark, don't waste another heartbeat

[landsbluod]

There are copycats trying to capitalize on the fear stirred up within the nobility, and one letter sends you straight to a "fun house" full of swinging blades, hidden traps, and pits filled with acid. You fell into this trap because the lead you received was too enticing, but maybe you and your ally can work together to escape unscathed. If you don't kill each other for this blunder first. [Grants Axe +1]  (starter for @bibliophiliacs)

Before her sat a box, and inside the box sat a card. 

It was not the first of the little games that this house had to offer – indeed, even entering had been a trial in its own right, a riddle that she had needed to piece together before the great oak door would grant her ingress to the glimmering foyer, painted garish red and mirrored on all sides, and flanked by doors bearing stark spiral patters, or blocky and geometric colors. And, Lachesis suspected, it would not be the last. 

For all its innocence, just a little windup music box on an inornate wooden table in the center of an otherwise empty room, it bridled Lachesis' irritation, and she narrowed her eyes down at it, before flicking her gaze up to the doors to rooms that they could branch into from here. 

"I don't suppose that taking the card will allow us a choice," she bit out, finally, turning to her companion, a new professor of magic at the Academy. "In fact, I believe that our steps have been predetermined from the moment we set foot within this ridiculous manor." 

She could not have not come here, though. The dark rumors that clung to the manor like a foul smoke, the people who had disappeared within, and the figure that had been seen skulking about when there was no daylight for corroboration. 

"Regardless, we must move forward. Shall you open it, or shall I?" 

[bibliophiliacs]

   As her companion set her eyes on that which lay before them, Miriel couldn’t help but scoff at the elementary nature of the events that brought the two women to this seemingly abandoned house. 

   Everything about the present situation was foolish, child’s play, and Miriel’s every thought surrounding her decision to arrive at this location is met with imminent disappointment, less because she fell for some sort of ‘trap’; obviously this was some sort of trap made of parlor tricks and elementary riddles, but the possibility that there was more than meets the eye to its presentation was what gave Miriel a modicum of hope in investigation.

   And her choice in ally; a woman she’s seen wandering around Garreg Mach in the few days Miriel had been present here. Perhaps there was more than meets the eye to her; at the very least, Miriel was more hopeful that this companion of hers was far more interesting than the trap they found themselves within. 

   “Loathesome as it is to say, you’re most correct.” Miriel’s response was as deadpan as ever; she began to peer through her own journal, having written down the note that led the two women to the present location. When she gets to what she had written, another sigh escapes her lips. Reading the note all but confirms with absolute certainty that the young woman is correct in regard to their present circumstances. “I request,” Miriel begins, as she puts her journal away to then take her tome of Mire to arms, “that you open the door. Should anyone take to attacking you, I will ensure that ample damage is brought unto them.”

   It would be a waste if Miriel didn’t see to it the effectiveness of Plegian magic on an able body; though despite her words, she stands close (or as close as Miriel is willing to be) to Lachesis, illprepared to allow her entrapped companion in arms face any sort of danger entirely alone. “Ready to advance when you are.”