There is no guilty man left untried. Phanuel, she of judgement, will take your penance through ordeal weighting to your sins.
Amalie Dubois | 257 | Newcomer
– [ ♠ ] ; Despite the stranger’s smile, the psychic can’t help but feel a little uneasy. This, however, is no fault of the other but because of the blonde’s own anxiety acting up after a long time of being stable. How annoying, Kayenne thinks.
At the other girl’s explanation, however, Kayenne can’t help but raise a brow. Perhaps she has trouble seeing? Fortunately for her, the blonde’s eyesight is top tier… Unlike her height. While she is the same height as the other currently, this is only because of the heels she wears; surely if the psychic were to wear flats, she would be much shorter than the stranger.
❝ Unfortunately I can’t fly so I don’t think I can grab it for you unless you feel like hoisting me up, ❞ she jests dryly, a small smirk appearing onto her features.
❝ Reading it, however, is something I can do for you. Do you want me to read the whole thing or just give you the general jist? ❞
Amalie probably needs glasses. There’s a pride in her chest, something she struggles to let go of (perhaps unnecessary criticism), that leaves her leaving her eyesight alone. It’s fixable, probably, with a bit of manipulation and study. The eye is strange and a system of mirrors and lights. Physics of something like that are easy to figure out.
When that ability shows itself again, the manipulation of the body. Then she’ll take a crack at making things feel better.
“I’m not quite that strong. I think I’d just drop you if we tried.” Smile borderline nervous, Amalie clasps her hands, before nodding as Kayenne finishes up her sentence.
“Just the jist. I think it’s an advertisement about something for sale? I might be wrong, though. I’m trying to find something to make the apartment to feel less, hm, like that. Does that make sense?”
the smile siren returns has an almost comical amount of politeness to it. no. no, people really can’t. they can be good at a lot of things, sure, but never enough to really get any worthwhile amount of credit for it… not to mention that people that felt the need to brag were usually overcompensating. but he’s supposed to be nicer, so he keeps his thoughts to himself. it’s at least cute to try and familiarize yourself with the source material that much.
“ mhm~ whenever you don’t know what your lines are supposed to mean, it’s a lot harder to remember them, nee~? ” he doesn’t have a lot of experience with acting, he ran like… a season of a better than average sitcom but he knew it would’ve been harder if he didn’t have such a huge calculus background.
he doesn’t interrupt and lets them speak, smile only growing wider as he makes the connection that she’s far from a normal human. “ you have some special powers or something~? your secret will be safe with me~ ” siren’s aware it still sounds kind of creepy, but he’s been so desperate to find those of his kind since arriving. it’s less scary to know that he’s not on his own, being able to avoid discrimination by coordinating carefully as he did before.
siren does get up with her, paying careful attention and excited to find something unique.
Amalie, well trained in the art of spotting bullshit, tightens their smile at the edges when Siren starts up. Eventually, they do offer a thin laugh into their hand, and keep the barbs they have soft and small, the scrape of a rose branch rather than the gore of a fence.
Still, they’d rather just show them, melt something down and show the odd horror that they can conjure. It’s not there though, only a healing factor enhanced by rather strange mechanism. The more serious bits, the murder and kidnapping, while they might prompt belief, will attract a whole other attention Amalie does not want.
“Oh, you’re funny. There’s a whole psychology to it, learning things. Nothing I know much of, but there has to be someone who can explain it better than me.” It’s not a kind existence. In fact, Amalie’s upbringing and the efforts required to cultivate their talents was of an excess not considered fair to place upon a child (or a full grown adult, for that matter). They can do it though, and stubbornness makes their throat burn with wanting to prove it, and maybe making the other choke on his words just a bit.
“If you have good enough reason for me to play around, perhaps I can show you. But, I don’t like to share my oddity willy-nilly.” Amalie leads them back further into the library, to a shelf that had been interesting for a couple hours a week ago. “Or well, a reason to know that you’ll actually keep your mouth shut. Words are weak nowadays, at least with strangers.”
Amalie is aware of just how small they are when waking up inflicts a particular vertigo they have not experienced since they were very young. That had been a funnier moment, a small child in the midst of a king sized bed, lost in a sea of sheets, adrift to what would oftentimes be good dreams. This however, is dizzying, and Amalie feels a bit more like sinking through the floor this time.
The yawn is wrong, and Amalie is so surprised by the squeak that they stay still and quiet for a moment. What an interesting sound, if not unusable in this form. Perhaps there’s something around to write with- and perhaps these little hands work better than they’re hoping. The shock of it all is enough to make Amalie act a little too rationally. Emotional distress and overall numbness? That’ll kick in later, in about twenty minutes, probably.
Options dwindle the more they search, and eventually, Amalie is left with a pad of someone else’s sticky notes, and what appears to be a Sharpie Brand Marker. Better than this than nothing, better they try rather than dwell and fail. Those clutched to their person, Amalie goes next to tackle the door.
This, whatever they are, they must be able to do something to get around. After all, there’s no lower door or efforts to make reaching the knob easier. There is only inconvenience and the small blessing of powerful back legs. Okay, jump and grab. They could do this. Here goes nothing.
Thump! Amalie smacks their head on the door, but gets the knob nonetheless, the door opening and swinging them out into the hallway.
What a spectacle. Maybe someone with the capability to save them and be useful would be by.
Amalie Cyrille Dubois is a 32 year old something just parallel to human, by their own standards. After all, normal people don’t just make things rot like they do, and normal people don’t grow up like they do. There’s a lot of strange and interesting factoids to go through with her, so I’m going to do so in this post!
This is not a starter call, but feel free to contact me if you’d like to plot.
TWs for: Murder, Trauma
Basics:
- 5′2 and pear shaped, Amalie is faster and far more limber than she might otherwise appear. It’s kind of spooky.
- Congratulations! You have now obtained the ability to sprint in very tall high heels. Use this ability wisely! (Because that’s the only shoes you’ll have.)
- While Amalie often keeps her hair flat ironed, that won’t last! Her hair will begin curling, and will eventually end up at this texture. She’ll be very keen to see that you don’t ruin said hair.
- You’ll have access to a wardrobe of high fashion! It’s all very nice. Do note the perfectly tailored white suit, and the presence of a gas mask.
- Amalie speaks very deliberately, and doesn’t say things unintentionally. Your muse may find themselves searching for the right words more frequently, or spend more time doing so.
- Amalie speaks English, French, and Hebrew fluently! Your muse should feel at least a bit more familiar with texts in any of these languages, even if they can’t decipher it.
- Amalie keeps kosher, and will grow ill upon tasting pork. Keep this in mind for your muse!
Powers:
- Currently, Amalie only has access to their rot manipulation, which may only be used on small plants, and the energy from which may only be used for healing.
- These powers take a good deal of focus to use, and someone not used to channeling them will likely become exhausted quickly. It’s difficult to maintain the process of rotting without practice. Healing will be even more difficult to channel, and holding that extra energy for long periods may induce nausea and dizziness.
- Fits of intense emotions may cause unintentional acts of decomposition! Be careful!
Living Space:
- If you come across Amalie’s bedroom, note that it is a perfectly clean place, with an oddly cozy taste in decoration for someone who projects themselves so highly. Lots of knit fabric, warm colors, pretty curtains, and nice bed pillows.
- There is a stuffed rabbit doll on the bed. She’d prefer not to talk about it, but your muse should recognize it as a significant comfort item.
- The bathroom and closet, in stark contrast, are white walled, places with a notable lack of mirrors. There is one in the bathroom, and a small magnifying mirror. It looks like another mirror has been removed (you can find it in the back of the closet). The entire vibe is sterile and clinical.
- In the back of the closet, you may find a nondescript duffel back containing several knives, and a hacksaw. Don’t ask about it.
- Amalie keeps her section of the kitchen kosher! Meat and dairy are strictly separated, and she has no pork or shellfish present in her food. Please don’t change that!
Memories and Mannerisms:
- Amalie has killed people, both at home, and once in Isola. If your muse is in their body long enough, they’ll begin to realize this.
- The memories are frequently fuzzy and contain a great deal of anger and a strange amount of grief.
- Occasional flashbacks to traumatic events from childhood may occur. Amalie is particularly triggered by flashing lights, much like those of a camera.
- Putting on the gas mask will result in a distinct sense of separation from one’s original self. It’s an uncomfortable feeling that disperses several minutes after removal. The gas mask and the white suit will cause a more intense, uncomfortable feeling.
- Your muse will likely be particularly sensitive to violence, and as Amalie would, default to feeling angry over the situation.
- It’s difficult to talk about things, and even more so trying to discuss heavier emotions. Your muse may feel more like clamming up, and may withdraw instead of socializing with others.
- Amalie is an identical triplet! Most of her memories from being younger are either with her sisters, or being on set. It’s going to be strange to get snippets of, especially if your muse doesn’t know what television is (though it should feel ‘natural’, in a bitter sort of way).
“I, too, miss going to plays a great deal. However, the land which I come from is currently ravaged by war, which leaves little time to seek recreation. I believe some of our most famous playwrights and actors are even taking to the battlefield. It is of great relief not to see such conflict here… I would love to see a play again.”
…
“My apologies, miss. I suppose you did not need all that information. Tell me, have you any recommendations for a show?”
“Ah.” It’s all she can manage just then, a bit overwhelmed from the sudden influx of context. “No, no. It’s an understandable connection, you just had me surprised for a moment.”
Amalie clasps her hands, glancing at the other for a moment. “Compulsory military service has not been a thing for quite some time where I’m from. I’d consider myself quite lucky that I was never far removed from performing.” Things had changed, after all, but there was a looming memory of all the time spent before cameras.
“The shows.” Amalie turns back to that, and busies herself with something less distressing. “It depends on what you like. So tell me that, and I’ll offer you a recommendation.”
Asriel glances at their wound, slightly GRIMACING at the sight. “How’d that happen?” The curious child questions, giving an affirmative nod as they reached down to his bed of flowers. A small smile graced his lips. At least someone liked his flowers.
“You’re welcome!”
The boy leaned back on his legs, stretching after being bent over his plants. Her herbs were looking a little droopy in the cold weather, but the GOLDEN FLOWERS remained strong and bright among the tired trees and chilly air.
“Oh, you can heal? That’s so cool! I used to be able to heal. My mom can too. N-Now I can just do this.” Asriel clasped his hands together and slowly separated them. His tongue stuck out of his lips as he focused his energy into his fingertips. A little ball of fire started growing in his hands. “Ta-da!”
“I lost my balance.” It’s a shame, shoes like these, with long thin heels, tend to catch on every little divot they find. Their effort to save themselves on a wall had resulted in the contusion, as well as a distressed shirt sleeve they still didn’t quite know how to handle. It would be easy, normally, to regenerate cotton fabrics, given their organic nature. The limitations were taxing, even if the effort required for this meager level of ability was low.
Amalie beams, though the expression seems shaky. “Oh marvelous. Brilliant, really. I’ve never seen something quite like that before- do you know how it happens?” It’s worth knowing, even if they don’t know much of anything about their own powers. “What I do is more, the equal exchange of energies. Life energy, I suppose? It’s not well researched.” Nothing beyond their own personal experiments, at least. Their fingers curl around the plant, and Amalie hesitates to let them rot.
“I struggle to call it healing, but there just isn’t a clearer term.”
the hollering was a stark reminder as to why he preferred to keep his distance, getting involved in trivial scuffles was much more hassle than it was worth. and whatever drove the two to invade one another’s space, he had little doubt, was certainly not worth the trouble. rather than intervene and put up with the inevitable shrugging off as a kid who had no place interfering with so-called ‘grown-ups’, Kirito had taken the stance of lingering nearby, one of the scattered onlookers. but he was thankful that nothing further came of the shouting match and the two would separate.
from over his shoulder, another witness voiced their opinion, luring his sights away from the shoppers resuming their wanders and toward the source. « it’s normal for people to get too excited for the holidays, and well ahead of time. it’ll be worse in a few weeks’ time when it feels like the entire world is rushing to get everything sorted in time. it’s not a pleasant sight, nor to have to force your way through crowds that are jam-packed. unless you’re telling me it’s normally like this, in which case, we’d be better off hibernating through the winter. » his hands met his hips, letting loose a heavy exhale; just thinking about it was exhausting. and from what he had gathered of this island, there seemed to be personalities that wouldn’t need all that much to explode — it was a perfect cocktail for disaster.
Amalie is not a fighter. Not in a traditional sense, and not in the sense that would make up something like this. It’s obvious, given that she shrinks back from the noise and wrinkles her nose like there are a million other things she’d rather be doing. However, something about the energy draws a spectacle, and Amalie, human in many regards, watches despite her efforts to avoid.
There were no obvious powers, no obvious crimes. Nothing beyond ire and short tempers and all the things that come from that. Things Amalie would be keeping an eye on, even if these two weren’t worth following.
“Well, you’re not wrong. People get so damn excitable during the holidays- between groceries stores and gift shopping. You see a few incidents every year, it seems like.” At least ones that became her sort of problem. “Still, you think such a population being held against their will would inspire some apathy around the holidays.” There is an unsaid ‘what’s the point’ in there somewhere, Amalie’s own mind far from celebration.
“I intend not to contribute to it. You’d have to be mad to try wading in there.”
– [ ♠ ] ; Even with the change of scenery, some things still stay the same. The psychic’s mannerisms, personality, and even how she’s typically treated remain unchanged from how they were before Kayenne arrived within this city. So, when someone calls out to her the blonde can’t help but turn and give a few blinks in surprise at the stranger before taking a few steps forward.
❝ … Oh. Sure, ❞ she finally says quietly, looking to the stranger then to the bulletin board with a curious look.
❝ What do you need? ❞
“It’s not much, I promise.” Amalie speaks gently, smile slim and disarming. It’s something they do without thinking, a request from their mother at one point, that turned into an automatic habit somewhere around the age of eleven. Hopefully, it doesn’t come off as frightening, in a place where people don’t seem to know their name and story and every little piece of their world right off the bat. It’s comforting, if not a little eerie.
“I’m erm, not at the best angle to see the advertisement at the top of this billboard.” They’re too short, really, not something they’ll admit out loud.
“Could I trouble you to either grab it down, or read it for me?”
It was with attentive interest she watched her carefully pluck a few leaves and curl them up into her hand. A moment later and there’s nothing but dust and her fingers are glowing!
“Wha-”
“What was that?! Was that magic?! That was amazing! What did you do?”
“Practice.” That’s the easiest answer, and the one Amalie gives first, voice not quite sharp, but quick enough to suggest that she’s not about to go too far into the semantics of things. “It’s an innate ability that I’ve had since I was young. I don’t know much more than that.”
After all, the careful manipulation of life and its preservation is something difficult to practice with. Amalie has been careful, careful not to draw attention or to let things go all too wrong.
“I’d hesitate to say magic, but I suppose everyone wants an explanation for something.”
“JUST Amalie, got it!” It sucks, because Kachina did like giving nicknames. She’ll have to hold off, resist that temptation. She can do it! “It’s a pleasure to meet you too!” And her words are so opposite to Amalie’s. Kachina sure does enjoy meeting new people and this interaction isn’t anything new to her.
“I get you. I like figuring things out on my own, too~. I rarely get stumped on something.” But when she did, she asked questions. Kachina was a curious being by nature and usually found answers one way or another to something she questioned.
Her parents had not been one for nicknames. Once, her mother had mentioned that each of their names had been picked for a reason, and if they were meant to be anything else, she would have named them as such. It’s an odd feeling, and Amalie still doesn’t like how it settles. However, she’s known for a time that she’s not all that ready to accept nicknames into her life.
“I have faith in my own intelligence, you ought not worry about something like that.” It isn’t quite chiding, instead, a tired sort of delivery that suggests that Amalie would rather not delve further into such things. She’s a private sort of soul, after all, prone to brushing off the advances of others.
“Are you this enthusiastic with everyone, or am I a special exception?”
Though the Count himself was dead, to associate him with death alone would have been a mistake; indeed, many naive adventurers who sought to defeat him met their ends making that very error. The adage which resonated in the oldest places in Barovia – ‘He is the ancient; he is the land’ – spoke of his true connection to the very life of his homeland. Strahd von Zarovich was the land, and as such was bound to the earth, the plants, the skies, the weather, and all which existed in nature within his domain. It was for this reason, this bond, that he had found himself interested in what seemed to be a human cradling a small plant, ill and withering, in what appeared to be a melancholy trance.
“…I fear that if I knew the answer to that question, I would not exist to have this conversation with you.” There was little kindness in his voice, for the Devil had long forsaken such things as sympathy and goodness, but his tone was soft nonetheless; almost gentle. He observed as the stranger lowered the plant, as though setting down a child they knew they would not be able to save.
“…What do you believe would be the ‘good’ thing to do? Breathe life into the dying? Save the world, perhaps? I have lived long enough to know that such a thing is impossible.” Despite the harsh words, Strahd did not seem to be speaking cruelly so much as he did honestly. “There is no coming back to oneself. Only moving forward with the choices you have made, the world you are given. If you wish to expand your reach and force destiny’s hand, you may only find yourself disappointed.”
Admittedly, the strange events Amalie has conjured fall beyond the normal ideas of life magic. Even if it is magic. While they’ve pondered the nature of such things, whether it was rooted in scientific possibility, or something beyond the natural laws. The delicate nature and ethics of testing it meant that Amalie didn’t have much of the heart needed to go ahead and experiment, at least on those they deemed reasonable and fair in the eyes of themselves and the moral code of the world.
“I suppose that’s fair.” Amalie offers a thin smile, but does not laugh, unwilling to offer that much positive feedback in this moment. “It seems that applies to most, it’s just my hope that there’s an exception somewhere in this chaos. It seems that today isn’t that day.”
Something is wrong with the other, but Amalie has no true belief in the supernatural. There are ways to explain most everything in the world, and while they may tolerate the transient ghost story, the heavier veins of magic fall on deaf ears. So, they sit in quiet discomfort, and instead, try to search the other for something substantial to perceive.
“I can’t fix dead.” Their voice is soft, the words like a revelation. “There’s a loss at that point that is beyond my reach.” The living or the dead served in Amalie’s domains, though one never seemed to trifle with another.
Amalie has been awake a day or two too long. There is something messy and terrible about the type of justice they had given, and Amalie, who has often been set back from their own handiwork, is feeling the weight of it. So, they take to fitful cat naps throughout the day, and spend more and more time prowling about and trying not to stay in one place for too long. It draws too much.
After all, there is an intimacy in death that Amalie tries very hard not to be a part of. Imposing on it make them feel strange, and unwilling to bask in that, Amalie stays as detached as one can from the crime.
Tonight is a questionable high fashion night, curled hair piled into a bun and coat wrapped up like a shroud around their shoulders. What they’re hunting for is still up in the air, but Amalie feels a bit like fresh berries and staring at the wine aisle until inspiration strikes in the form of a pretty label.
All is well, until they get so far up in the clouds that they nearly get hit by someone on a motorbike, jumping back and stumbling in a way that’s pretty damn graceful for someone in heels that size.
Realizing they’re not quite alone, Amalie has it in them to look sheepish.
There’s a small spectacle beginning to erupt in the street. Just off of Pearl Street, Amalie has been intending to just spend time shopping, looking for little baubles that might catch their fancy, and make staying here a bit more worthwhile. There hadn’t been much there, outside of a few things that could arrange their hair, and a pair of tall heels that pulled a twinkle into their eye. Nothing worth buying though, and when the people outside got louder and louder, Amalie had wandered outside to see what was happening.
It’s not much, an argument that spills into shouting and yelling, two individuals in each other’s faces. Limited in ability, Amalie has no intentions of breaking this up, and stands on the edges to watch with keen eyes and a steel trap memory. And thankfully, the mess doesn’t last long, no one is hurt, and no blood is spilled in the name of being justified.
Eventually though, the wonder they have built up is near bursting, and Amalie offers a dry remark to the person who has been near them during the deescalation.
“Is there something in the air? Sometimes, it’s so calm, and other times, so volatile you half expect the entire place to ignite.”
