;; the clover siren @caitria-blackbar - Tumblr Blog

caitria’s smile deepened, her lips curving in quiet delight as he spoke. tion peake. she knew the name well—had tucked it away along with a dozen others, each belonging to a man of ambition, power, or proximity to both. but tion had always stood out.

not just because he held a seat on the council, though that was reason enough to pay attention. but because he watched. and that set him apart from the louder, hungrier sort of men who tended to gather like flies around court. tonight he seemed to be the kind of man who didn’t often seek out the center of a room, but who noticed everyone in it. she had been waiting for the moment his gaze found her.

and now that it had, she wasn’t about to waste it.

cait tilted her head just slightly, enough for a few rye stalks woven into her crown to shift with the movement. her hand slid away from her goblet and came to rest gently at her waist, the gesture fluid, practiced—meant to draw the eye without appearing to try. "a partner worth dancing with," she echoed, as if tasting the phrase on her tongue. "that’s a high bar you’ve set for the evening, my lord. i do hope i live up to it."

there was a playful lilt to her words, but her eyes stayed locked with his, warm and steady. she extended her hand toward him, not with hesitation but with a measured grace, a flicker of anticipation threading through her chest.

her smile was warm, genuine as she followed him out to the dance floor. stepping in beside him, the distance between them closing like it had been always meant to.

"so tell me, lord peake," she asked, as they joined the others near the fires and fiddles, "are you the kind of man who dances for luck… or for something else entirely?"

tionpeake

he took her hand with more familiarity than formality, despite not knowing her beyond her name and her face. the clover siren, they called her, and looking at her now it was hard not to see the merit to the epithet. she was undoubtedly a good looking woman, clad in a gown that flattered her perfectly, her movements graceful and poised. exactly the type of woman he had always given a second glance, and now had he had made a name for himself, could ask to dance in the assurance she would accept.

he let out a low chuckle as he led her to the dancefloor, the sound rich, coming from deep in his chest. "you'll do your best, i'm sure," he shot her a look that held in it a hint of playfulness. "but it's a bar i'm certain you can clear with ease." a misplaced confidence, perhaps. he had never seen caitria blackbar dance, after all.

they began to dance, and for a moment, the conversation paused as they attempted to find rhythm with one another, his free hand settling on her waist as they took to the dancefloor. his had cocked as he looked at her, taking a moment to consider how to answer her question. "i suppose that depends on the night. sometimes luck is all a man can ask for."

he released her waist briefly, holding their arms aloft so she could spin underneath them. "but i didn't come here tonight for luck." he had come here because he had agreed on an alliance with lady seffora, but he didn't say that aloud. "if luck is what you're after, i hear the rye stalks are brimming with the stuff. you might have stacked the deck in your favour already," he nodded to her choice of headwear.

caitria-blackbar

caitria laughed, her head tipping back slightly as she twirled beneath his hand, the silk of her gown catching the firelight like liquid gold. when she returned to his side, her palm met his once again, fingers light, but not tentative. she danced like someone who understood rhythm not just with her body, but with her whole being. timing, cadence, knowing when to lean in and when to hold something back.

"so you didn’t come for luck." she echoed, her voice velvet-smooth over the swell of the strings. "now... that is an answer that invites more questions than it answers, lord peake."

her gaze lingered on his, thoughtful now, not teasing…but not entirely sincere, either. the clover siren knew how to balance the illusion of openness with the art of withholding. it was part of the game. still, there was a curious tilt to her head as she studied him.

her lips quirked. "maybe you came here hoping to be charmed by women in rye and silk. there certainly are plenty here"

she let the beat pass before adding, "though if it was the headpiece that drew you in, i’ll be sure to wear wheat next time we meet and see what might happen" she joked with him

cait’s tone was light, but her fingers tightened just slightly in his as they spun once more, drawing closer than before. her voice softened, and though it was still warm, there was a flicker of sincerity beneath it now. "but i could give you a piece of rye…for luck if you need it"

#;;tion

calculatedtwilight

setting: the verdant concord, sabiha met caitria blackbar many years ago, and the two got on well enough to exchange letters over the years. caitria had sent sabiha a portrait of what she looked like now upon learning sabiha was traveling to westeros for an extended visit ; starter for @caitria-blackbar

the soft murmur of the crowd drifted through the air like a thousand whispers, the scent of blooming flowers mingling with the faint salt of the sea carried on the breeze. sabiha moved through the gathering with quiet grace, her eyes scanning the sea of faces, each one caught in the ebb and flow of the verdant concord. it was a place of promises, of intellectual exchange, and of hidden tensions. still, her mind was elsewhere, distracted by a puzzle she had long since set aside.

she moved closer to a small cluster near a stand of silver-flecked sculptures, her gaze landing on a woman whose portrait she could see clearly in her mind's eye just by look upon her face now. a flash of recognition flickered in her chest, but she hesitated.

sabiha paused just near the woman, standing still for a moment. the rustle of her skirts was nearly swallowed by the sounds of the festival, but the soft press of her pendant against her chest seemed to steady her.

"lady blackbar?" sabiha's voice was soft, measured, yet there was a quiet uncertainty that clung to the edges of the words. her eyes flickered over the woman's features, searching for confirmation in the curve of her cheek, the tilt of her chin. "caitria blackbar? i hope i haven’t mistaken you, but... it has been some time since we last saw one another face to face."

she straightened, her posture as composed, but the slight furrow in her brow betrayed her uncertainty. "though forgive me, if i am mistaken."

caitria-blackbar

caitria was finding the concord fascinating. she stood near the silver-flecked sculptures, idly running a finger along the rim of a carved leaf, listening half-heartedly to a conversation about dornish irrigation. her mind wandered, distracted by the steady thrum of the crowd and the salt-laced breeze threading through her curls.

caitria turned at the sound of her name, the low murmur of conversation and soft trill of music fading behind the sudden stillness that settled in her chest.

the voice was unfamiliar in tone, but not in sentiment. she had imagined hearing it again a hundred different ways over the years, written words into paper, careful script wrapped in all her thoughts and feelings. letters that had found her across distance and seasons, and lingered in her desk drawers like secret treasures.

now, that voice had a face once again.

"sabiha." caitria said, not as a question but as a certainty, the smile blooming across her lips slow and sincere. “you could never be mistaken.”

she stepped forward, reaching out with a graceful familiarity that felt almost instinctive despite the many years apart. her fingers brushed sabiha’s hand lightly, warmly, grounding them both in this long-overdue moment.

"years of ink and parchment after seeing you, and i was beginning to think you weren’t real." she teased gently, just grateful to be seeing her once again.

she took in the sight of her properly: the grace, the intellect visible in her eyes, the subtle elegance with which she held herself. yes this was exactly the woman caitria had gotten to know all those years ago. and now was getting to see again

"you’ve gotten taller" she added with a grin, tilting her head slightly, "but the rest? perfectly you."

caitria stepped aside slightly, gesturing to the shaded edge of the sculpture garden where vines curled overhead and a quieter peace lingered.

"come. let’s find a corner where i don’t have to share you with diplomats and dull lords." her voice softened as she met sabiha’s eyes again. "i want to hear it all! what you’ve seen, what you’ve read, what the portrait didn’t capture. there is so much to catch up on that letters cannot do justice."

a pause. then gently she added." i’m very glad you came.”

#no need to match length #wanted to set up cait #;;sabiha

fiadhvance

closed starter for @caitria-blackbar context: fiadh has travelled from the riverlands to attend the rye festival at longtable with caitria, but has been held up on the road and arrived very late

fiadh's skirts swirled around her ankles, her copper-gold curls dishevelled and the scent of the road clinging to her. the festival was already in full swing - she was far beyond fashionably late. it was a small miracle she had managed to get here at all. of course she had found herself waylaid on the road, of course a broken cartwheel, a shepherd who wanted to tell her about a goat who could predict the weather, and a short cut that was anything but short had all conspired against her arriving on time, as she had assured caitria she would.

still, she was here, even if she looked a little worse for wear. the same could not be said of caitria, who fiadh caught sight of when the crowd thinned slightly. in contrast to fiadh, she looked pristine as ever, utterly lovely in her gown of green and gold. where she had been stressed before she had seen her, now, fiadh could not help but laugh. "gods, look at you," the look she gave her was nothing short of admiring. "you look like something out of a song, cait. and i looklike i've been dragged through a hedge backwards," she laughed again, but wondered if her words were an exaggeration, or if she was truly rumpled enough to look like she'd lost a fight with a bush.

"i was going to make a wreath for my hair on the way down. i brought all these flowers with me to wrap around it. only, when the cart wheel came off, it went everywhere, and all my flowers got a bit battered," she gestured vaguely to her head, as though that explained everything. "and of course, there wasn't time to get the creases out of my dress. i've even still got my boots on under it, look." she stuck her foot out so caitria could see the boots, where one might expect a far prettier shoe.

she looped her arm through caitria's, the gesture easy and familiar. "i've given up trying to make myself look presentable, i think. any longer and i'll miss the festival entirely. speaking of, what have a i missed? any excitement?"

caitria-blackbar

caitria's smile bloomed the moment she spotted fiadh through the crowd, radiant and immediate. the late hour, the muddied hems of her, the rumpled curls, none of it mattered. not in the slightest. all that mattered was that she was here. that’s what she really wanted tonight

"you’re here," she said, as if that was all the world needed to be right again. and to cait, it was. she slipped her free hand gently beneath her friend’s arm, holding her closer as she leaned in. "you could’ve come riding in on a pig with a goose under your arm and i’d still be glad to see you fia. honestly i think it would be rather entertaining”

with practiced care, cait reached up to adjust a stubborn curl near fiadh’s temple, tucking it back into place before smoothing a few others. something she had done dozens of times and would do a dozen more. the scent of travel clung to her—dust and wind and something wild—but cait only smiled more fondly at it. “i’ve always liked your curls best when they’re a little unruly anyway. it’s very riverlands wanderer meets festival enchantress.” she smiled.

then, after a heartbeat, she plucked a single bloom from the crown resting on her own dark waves. it was a pale violet woven between the rye and now she nestled it carefully into fiadh’s hair. "there. perfect. the purple looks perfect with your curls”

she took a small step back to admire her work, then gave a quick, decisive nod. "now no one will even notice your boots, except to envy how comfortable you must be. plus the darker it gets out here the harder it is for anyone to notice those things” she said with a simple wave of her hand.

with a tug of affection on fiadh’s arm, cait guided her deeper into the festival, her voice lowering conspiratorially. trying to think through the best gossip to catch her friend up on. her eyes giving small glances to those who she was talking about. she was very practiced in speaking about people while they stood so close. "you’ve missed an ill-tuned fiddle, two very bad attempts at poetry, and one lord nearly tripping into the cider barrel. but the ale is flowing, the fire’s still high, and i haven’t danced myself into exhaustion yet because i was waiting for you."

she gave her friends arm a squeeze, her grin a little wicked. "so tell me, fia, are your boots good enough for a dance… or should we start with a drink instead? actually i think you need a drink after what you just told me."

#;;fidah #sorry this took so long

caitria-blackbar

open starter: 0/3 location: set at the RYE SOWING FESTIVAL at longtable in the reach during the celebration. open to anyone who would like to attend

the scent of freshly tilled earth and spiced rye ale filled the air as caitria blackbar moved through the festival grounds, the hum of laughter and lively music weaving around her like a familiar melody. the chill of winter had not yet fully loosened its grip, but the warmth of the bonfires and the energy of the celebration were enough to chase away the last remnants of the cold.

dressed in a gown the color of spring leaves, embroidered with delicate golden wheat along the bodice, she fit seamlessly into the festivities. a crown of woven rye and wildflowers rested upon her dark hair, though a few loose strands had already begun to slip free in the evening breeze.

she lingered near a long wooden table laden with food and drink, watching as ribbons tied with blessings fluttered in the wind, attached to the great horn of plenty being paraded through the square. there was something about the festival’s traditions that fascinated her,a celebration of life starting again after the winter. it was always a joyous party and one that she looked forward to each cold season.

lifting a goblet of rye ale to her lips, she cast a glance over the crowd—familiar faces and strangers alike, each lost in their own revelry. it was the kind of gathering that encouraged all types conversation.

a slow smile played at her lips as she turned slightly, tilting her head in curiosity at the approaching figure. "tell me," she mused, voice smooth and inviting, “will you be dancing tonight? it’s supposed to bring you good luck if you do”

gael-hightower

It was an odd thing, to find himself at Longtable for celebrations. The city and its surrounding fields were filled with laughter, music and the scent of rye. Once, years ago, this place had been a part of the battlefield —a place for a brutal siege led by his own family. Despite such bitter history, Seffora Merryweather had extended her invitation to House Hightower too. Surrounded by the revelry, seeing bright banners and listening to music, Gael couldn't quite believe it was all in the past and forgotten. He just hadn't figured out the angle the ruling lady of Longtable played.

The warmth of the fires and the music had a way of lulling one into ease. The Master of the Arts wasn't quite there yet, but he was trying, at the very least, to calm his tension and have a good time.

He had not been searching for the Blackbars, not intentionally. But perhaps the subconscious wish for familiar faces led him to her. He was not as close to Caitria as he was to Con, but having paid a fair share of visits to the Blackbar lord meant he felt quite at ease around her. “Ah, so that's the secret,” he mused with a smile. “And here I thought luck required enough prayer, or perhaps a coin in the right hand”.

His gaze flickered to the great horn of plenty being paraded through the square, ribbons with blessings fluttering in the evening air. He could appreciate having such traditions to celebrate the cycle of life and the seasons. Of beginning again. He turned back to Caitria then, offering a playful smile to his friend's sister. “But if all it takes is a dance, I suppose it would be foolish to waste the opportunity,” he said as he held out his hand for the lady to take. “And your brother would never forgive me if I doomed you to bad luck, Cait”.

caitria-blackbar

caitria’s laugh was soft, but genuine, carried on the wind between flickering torchlight and the rising swell of festival song. she regarded gael with a warmth reserved for those whom she knew well.perhaps it was the ease of his presence, or the gentle way his words settled between them. maybe it was the comfort of familiarity in a place where so many felt like strangers draped in garlands.

"haven’t you heard gael?" she teased lightly, slipping her hand into his with a graceful ease she always seemed to carry. "that the gods of spring and seed are more easily favorable for today. a simple dance will do the trick. though dont count on that for the rest of the year."

her tone was playful, but her fingers curled around his just enough to steady the touch. she wondered if he’d hav calluses on his palm that so many high lords seemed to have these says. it wouldnt surprise her. gael had always struck her as someone who bore the weight of things, quietly. didnt seem like someone who sat and let others do the work for him.

“still.” she went on, stepping in beside him, the wildflowers in her hair brushing his shoulder as they moved toward the dancing square, “if luck is being handed out on the rhythm of a fiddle, i’d rather not tempt fate.”

she tilted her head to glance up at him, her smile touched with something gentler now. “and besides, i think you’ve earned a moment of levity.”

the music swelled around them, laughter pealing through the courtyard like bells. for a moment, she allowed herself to be part of it. not the planner, not the observer, not the lady with ambitions woven into her hems. but just cait, dancing with a man who had known her brother, who had not yet tried to read too far into her.

"you’ll have to tell me, after all this is done," she said as they stepped into the dance, her voice lighter now, "if we managed to bring in the good luck… or just gave the gods a good laugh."

#;;gael

tionpeake

it was against his better judgement that tion had left starpike tonight. the issues he was facing at home were pressing, a matter that was still unresolved. he had come as a show of agreement with seffora merryweather, to show her that an alliance with her house was one he took seriously. as it went, attending a festival wasn't the most trying of tasks.

he had not expected to enjoy himself, fully prepared for his mind to be too fixed upon his ruined granaries to relax, and yet, he could feel some of the tension easing from his shoulders. he finished his mug of rye ale, making a face that made it plain he was still trying to decide if he liked the taste, and set the cup to the side.

it was then that he noticed caitria blackbar, her gown an eye-catching swath of green and gold splendour, rye and wildflowers standing out starkly against her dark hair, and his eyes lingered for a little longer than intended. when her gaze lowered to survey the crowd, he still had not looked away, and neither did she.

he took it as an invitation, moving forward to approach her, and it was caitria that spoke first. tion let out a chuckle, the sound warm and rich. "i might do, lady blackbar." they had never been formally introduced, but he made it his business to know the faces of those who he was likely to cross paths with at court when he had taken his seat upon the council.

"though i think the true luck comes with finding a partner worth dancing with," he noted, casting her a pointed look. "so i suppose the real question is, will you be dancing with me?"

caitria-blackbar

and now that it had, she wasn’t about to waste it.

her smile was warm, genuine as she followed him out to the dance floor. stepping in beside him, the distance between them closing like it had been always meant to.

"so tell me, lord peake," she asked, as they joined the others near the fires and fiddles, "are you the kind of man who dances for luck… or for something else entirely?"

#;;tion

open starter: 0/3 location: set at the RYE SOWING FESTIVAL at longtable in the reach during the celebration. open to anyone who would like to attend

#;;open starter

tiriusrowan

| who: @caitria-blackbar | | where: tirius has come to the florent apartments at highgarden to join their yule celebrations because the children enjoy the Yule with the clover folk. Tirius finds them loud. |

Tirius Rowan stood in the doorway of the Florent apartments, his gaze drawn to the celebration unfolding before him. The air was thick with laughter, bright voices, and the jarring clamor of the Clover folk, their songs and dances filling the hall with an energy he found both intrusive and strangely captivating.

He adjusted the voluminous sleeves of his tunic, its deep emerald fabric embroidered with intricate gold thread. The Old Way clothing fit him as it always did—both stiff and comfortable—its richness a silent reminder of his station and his journey. A short, dark coat draped over his shoulders, lined with a soft fur trim that kept the chill of the evening air at bay. A fez rested on his head, the delicate tassel swaying as he moved. His boots, polished to a gleam, made little sound as he stepped further into the room, though his eyes never fully left the swirling crowd.

It was a scene of warmth, of familial joy, the children running and playing among the revelers, each moment a celebration of the season. Yet, the noise—laughter so loud it threatened to crack the very walls—felt like an assault on his senses. His people, they could be a collective sound turning into one hum but this, well, the common tongue always seemed harsh and ugly to him.

His eyes drifted to Lady Cait Blackbar, standing with a group of women near the edge of the festivities. He found himself drawn to her, perhaps it were the boredom or the Brightwater whisky, though the truth of it confused him. She was Clover, and yet, there was something in the curve of her lips, the way she held herself, that made him wonder if his usual taste for women would survive this strange divide of bloodlines.

Tirius stepped toward her with a quiet, measured gait. "Lady Cait," he began, his voice steady, "might I steal you away for a moment? It seems I am still not accustomed to the noise of such gatherings."

He didn’t know what he wanted from her, not yet. But as he spoke, his gaze lingered just a moment too long as he weighed the chances of hearing a yes if he invited her to his bed.

caitria-blackbar

the stone walls. it was the kind of celebration she thrived in, where voices blended into song and fine wine flowed as freely as their conversations.

she was mid-laugh when she felt eyes on her. not the fleeting glances she often drew, but something more measured. she didn’t have to look to know who it belonged to. tirius rowan had always been a presence—steady, composed, watchful in a way that set him apart from the revelry.

she turned toward him just as he reached her side, the emerald silk of her gown shifting like water over her frame. a deliberate choice, the color—rich, striking, a statement of its own.

"steal me away?" she echoed, her lips curving in amusement as she lifted her goblet to her lips, taking a slow sip before setting it aside. "you are our guest here at the yule celebration. i would hate for any guest to not enjoy themselves on such a celebratory night."

her tone was light, teasing, but beneath it lay something more deliberate. tirius was not just any man; he was important, a figure of power, and caitria blackbar had never been one to overlook opportunity.

still, she let the moment linger before stepping forward in way that was naturally efforftless, closing just enough distance to remain proper but close enough to perhaps allow the scent of her perfume—a hint of jasmine, subtle but unmistakable—carry between them. "but if i am to be stolen by someone, i am happy that i will have good company”

her gaze flickered up to his, warm with curiosity, but tempered by decorum. she would flirt, she would intrigue, but she would not make herself a spectacle—not here, not now. if tirius rowan wanted her attention, then she would be glad to give it. cait followed beside him as he led her to a quieter space, one that offered both respite from the revelry and the comfort of a little more privacy. she cast a glance back at the celebration, the warmth of the firelight flickering against the stone walls, before turning her attention back to him with an easy smile.

"as much as i love the noise and revelry of the clovers, even i can appreciate a brief escape," she admitted, amusement lacing her tone. "sometimes, i wonder if we even realize just how loud we all are." she laughed softly, the sound light.

tilting her head slightly, she regarded him with open curiosity. "i can’t say i’ve been to many old way celebrations. are they as boisterously as we are here?" there was a genuine interest in her question to learn more.

#sorry got a little carried away!#;;tirius

conallblackbar

conall blackbar had lied to his sister.

he missed caitria when she was not here, wanted to spend as much time with her as she would allow him before returning to bandallon. he had made his home on oakenshield, but it were a keep made for a family. when she was not there, it was far too large and far too empty, the silence of it stretching long enough to drive a man mad.

and yet, he had insisted that he had business in lord hewett's town, because he had wanted a drink. he loved his sister, but the pull of the bottle had been too much to ignore that night, and so he had eschewed her company to drown his sorrows in a comfort that was far more destructive.

conall blackbar had lied to his sister, but the guilt of it had not outlasted the first glass of whiskey.

but somewhere near the bottom of the bottle, it had returned. it was that which brought him back to the keep while the night was still young, rather than tumbling in as the sun rose. he stood with his back pressed against the stone archway at the top of the stairs, because the room was beginning to sway around him, and he felt a bit like he might be sick.

wouldn't it be funny if he fell?

and then there she was, his little sister, and he grinned easily when he saw her, hand still on the wall to steady himself, he held out the other to help her up the last few steps. "cait. caitie." the nickname he had called her since childhood slipped out, warped by the slur in his voice.

"came back to see you, didn't i?" he laughed, a little too loudly, the sound echoing harshly. "to have dinner. come on, let's... let's have dinner." it was far too late for dinner, the hour more suited to a mug of something warm before retiring to the bed, but conall had not seemed to notice.

caitria-blackbar

the smile on her face for her brother falter the moment she stepped close., the scent of whiskey hit her—thick, cloying, unmistakable. it soured the salt air, turned her stomach in a way she had not been prepared for. caitria stilled, her fingers tightening where they had idly smoothed over her skirts. the warmth in her chest—the easy fondness she always felt upon seeing conall—twisted into something tighter, something uneasy. anxiety twisted in her stomach seeing him like this

his grin was easy, but the slur in his voice was not. it was the kind of slur she had once been too young to understand, but not too young to recognize. the kind that had once sent her scrambling to find ross and conall, to hide behind the safety of her brothers while their father drowned himself in drink.

she should have been used to it by now. this was not the first time she had seen conall like this. but it still hit her the same way every time—a dull, aching thing, like pressing against an old bruise.

her gaze flickered down to the hand he held out, steady despite the way he leaned against the archway for balance. she did not take it. instead, she exhaled slowly, willing herself to keep her voice level.

"dinner?" she echoed, arching a brow. the hour was far past dinner. he had to know that. she fought the urge to brush past him this time, stepping lightly onto the final stair before turning to face him fully. in the moonlight, she could see it—the slight unfocus in his eyes, the telltale flush of drink against his cheekbones.

"did you even eat today?" her voice was softer now, laced with something quieter, something careful. she didn’t want to fight with him. she hated fighting with him. but she hated seeing him like this more. she bite back the words she wanted to say. she didnt want to ruin the trip, she could fix this. “what has you….celebrating tonight” she couldn’t say the word. cowardly maybe. but she wanted the truth. the words weren’t an accusation. they were a truth, a plea, one she wasn’t sure he would hear through the haze of whatever alcohol he had poured down his throat tonight. a breeze swept in from the cliffs, cold against her damp skin. she wrapped her arms loosely around herself, tilting her head as she studied him.

#this already hurts #;;conall

location: one of the many yule celebrations happening for the clover folks. cait has insisted that bri gets ready with her tonight

@briannabrackens

the yule fire crackled in the hearth, its warmth spilling across the room as caitria spun in front of the mirror, the latest gown draped over her form. emerald silk clung to her waist and hips, dipping just low enough across her back. she ran her hands down the fabric, smoothing it as she turned to bri with a grin that could have melted the frost on the windowpanes.

"too much?" cait asked, arching a brow as she posed theatrically, one hand resting on her hip as she looked at herself over in the mirror. she lost count of how many she tried on. all of them flung onto the bed to be put back on or tried on once again.

cait stepped closer towards her friend, bare feet padding across the fur-lined rug, and leaned down slightly to meet bri’s gaze who was sitting in front of a vanity. "come now, bri. it’s yule. if you don’t dress like the gods themselves might take notice, then when will you?"

straightening, cait gestured toward the trunk of gowns she had brought for bri, her smile playful but her voice earnest. "look at these! silk, satin, velvet, I have worked on them myself trust me they will be perfect. there’s no rule that says you have to hide behind those modest cuts. try this one." she plucked a deep burgundy gown from the pile, holding it out to bri with both hands.

she took a step back, as if imagining the sight already, and her grin grew. "oh with your skin tone and hair you would look stunning you’d look like a dream in it. and trust me, no one will be thinking of anyone else the moment you walk into that hall.”

#;;bri #girliessssss

location: the shield islands, during one of caitria's many visits to see her brothers at his new residence there.

@conallblackbar

the stone stairs were still warm beneath caitria’s bare feet, despite how the last rays of the sun had set a while ago. the moon was rising in the sky casting the sea spray clinging to her skin in celestial light. her gown, heavy and damp from her swim, clung to her legs as she ascended, the exertion a welcome distraction. strands of her wet hair dripped onto her shoulders, water trailing down her arms in cool rivulets.

the breeze picked up as she reached the top, carrying with it the briny tang of the ocean and tugging insistently at her gown. she paused for a moment, her breath steadying, as she wrung out her hair and twisted it over one shoulder. from here, the sea stretched endlessly behind her, its waves crashing rhythmically against the cliffs below.

as she looked ahead, her eyes caught on a familiar figure leaning against the archway at the top of the stairs. she stilled, warmth creeping into her chest even as she fought to suppress the smile tugging at her lips. her fingers idly smoothed over the damp fabric of her skirt as she closed the remaining distance, lifting her chin with a practiced grace that contrasted with the disheveled state of her appearance.

the words she wanted to say danced on her tongue, teasing, perhaps playful, but the sight of her brother—standing there as if he’d been waiting—softened her. instead, caitria simply stepped forward, as if to brush past him with a faint tilt of her head, the ocean’s calm still laced in her voice. “i didn’t think you’d be here. thought you said you were busy for the night you liar"