during : at the stark hunting lodge, the morning before the hunt begins
holding onto her sleeping child, the lioness turned lady dondarrion watches as the nobles converse. some speaking about what had occurred the day prior while others about who they think will come back with the biggest prize during the hunt. all myrcella can do is think about what happened. the child only ten years older than her own and she cannot help but feel for the family. it only makes her want to leave back home yet they could not leave. not when she still had yet had time to speak to her family after what has happened.
" If you've not yet found a spot to sit, you are more than welcome here to sit here." she gestures to the chair near her as she watched the noble wondering if they were lost. "it seems it is only a matter of time before many leave for the hunt."
it seemed odd to continue on as if nothing had changed. as though a child was not gone. that the already tense relations between the north and south were at the edge where a single spark could erupt into a fire that'd consume them all. they'd already survived one war. was another on the horizon? when wylla agreed to participate in the hunt, it was already with enough reluctance. but she could not afford to remain completely isolated, not if she were to gain enough respect to one day inherit breakstone hill as their father's true heir.
her body remained too tense for her liking. sleep had not come easy and it clouded her mind. wylla managed a polite smile at the noble with a sleeping little one. "thank you." she sat, hammering her fist rhythmically over her shoulder to relax the muscle. "i believe i ought to be joining them but i cannot find it in me to find the motivation. not after..." she searched for a better word but cannot find any. "are you looking forward to the hunt?"
closed starter to @drgnsfyre (for hallis)
setting: in the evening of the 4th night
the drink weighs heavy in wylla's hand. no words to describe the tension that swallows winterfell and the distain that sits uneasy in her stomach. a child gone. the southerners' displeasure palatable as if they had not witnessed the same horrors. when she spots her younger sibling, there's a moment that her mind thinks what if it was hallis, what would she have done to protect him? the answer matters not. the sun will rise tomorrow and this charade will continue.
wylla takes the open seat beside hallis, offers to pour him more drink.
[Ā kong xue er.Ā Ā florent b.Ā Ā 27.Ā Ā cisĀ woman.Ā Ā she/her.Ā ]Ā theĀ kingĀ welcomesĀ shuyingĀ ofĀ houseĀ florentĀ ofĀ brightwaterĀ !Ā allĀ ofĀ courtĀ hasĀ heardĀ thatĀ theyĀ areĀ charismaticĀ andĀ compassionate,Ā butĀ whispersĀ claimĀ thatĀ theyĀ areĀ alsoĀ secretive andĀ sharp-tongued whenĀ noĀ oneĀ isĀ lookingĀ ā¦Ā howĀ muchĀ ofĀ thatĀ isĀ true,Ā weĀ willĀ soonĀ findĀ out.Ā askingĀ around,Ā weĀ areĀ toldĀ thatĀ theyĀ remindĀ peopleĀ ofĀ a cunning and beautiful nine-tailed fox /Ā a crown of blue roses concealing thornsĀ /Ā aĀ dagger tucked beneath silk robes and luxurious furs Ā āĀ thatĀ shouldĀ giveĀ theĀ bardsĀ somethingĀ toĀ singĀ aboutĀ !Ā unbeknownĀ byĀ most,Ā working as one of princex akshayās spies to secure her own survival (and that of her house)Ā isĀ theĀ realĀ reasonĀ whyĀ theyĀ answeredĀ theĀ callĀ ofĀ theĀ king,Ā butĀ withĀ soĀ manyĀ rumorsĀ flyingĀ around,Ā whoĀ isĀ toĀ sayĀ whatĀ theĀ truthĀ isĀ ?
i.Ā statistics
name:Ā shuying florentĀ Ā alternatively:Ā ēę·č± (hu shuying) Ā nickname(s):Ā ying. snow fox of brightwater.Ā age:Ā twenty7.Ā Ā dateĀ ofĀ birth:Ā date.Ā 153ac.Ā placeĀ ofĀ birth:Ā brightwater hall, the reach.Ā Ā gender:Ā female.Ā Ā pronouns:Ā she/her.Ā Ā sexualĀ orientation:Ā pansexual.Ā Ā religion:Ā the old gods.Ā title:Ā lady of brightwater hall.Ā Ā languages:Ā the common tongue. some phrases in valyrian.Ā Ā affiliation:Ā house florent. house tyrell. house martell.
faceclaim:Ā kong xue er.Ā Ā hairĀ color:Ā black.Ā Ā hairĀ style:Ā some sort of braid (simple or elaborate) adorned with a red ribbon.Ā Ā eyeĀ color:Ā dark brown.Ā Ā height:Ā 168 cmĀ Ā bodyĀ modifications:Ā pierced ears.Ā Ā clothingĀ style:Ā beautiful gowns either in westerosi or essosi styles, usually in blue hues.Ā Ā distinguishingĀ characteristics:Ā typically has a snow white pelt wrapped around her shoulders.Ā Ā a 'huadian' on the center of her forehead, usually a small blue flower to symbolize her house. signatureĀ scent:Ā a type of perfume that smells of rum-soaked pears and jasmine.
disorders:Ā bouts of melancholy.Ā Ā allergies:Ā bee stings.Ā Ā sleepingĀ habits:Ā does not sleep well. Insomniac. always has a dagger within reach.Ā Ā eatingĀ habits:Ā paranoid about food and tests for poisons.Ā Ā sociability:Ā social butterfly.Ā Ā addictions:Ā tba..Ā Ā alcoholĀ use:Ā frequent. high tolerance.Ā Ā drugĀ use:Ā moderate.
likes:Ā tba.Ā Ā dislikes:Ā tba.Ā Ā fears:Ā losing the remaining members of her family.Ā Ā habits:Ā tests all her food for poison. carries a few vials of protective poisons.Ā Ā weaponĀ ofĀ choice:Ā dagger. poisons.Ā Ā Ā color:Ā soft colors. blues.Ā Ā beverage:Ā wines.Ā Ā food:Ā sweets.Ā Ā animal:Ā here.Ā Ā season:Ā spring.
mother:Ā lady jiayi florent (d. 179 ac).Ā Ā father:Ā lord shan florent (d. 171ac)Ā sibling(s):Ā ruling liege florent a (fourth eldest sibling). liege jianhong florent (āeldest sibling, d. 174acā), lady ansha florent (eldest sister, d. 177ac), lord junxi florent (third older brother, d.176ac).Ā Ā significantĀ other(s):Ā n/a.Ā Ā children:Ā n/a.Ā Ā others:Ā lady florent c (maternal aunt)Ā pets:Ā tba.
ii.Ā backgroundĀ (death tw, illness tw, blood tw)
you're the youngest of five children. youngest is the role that follows you around for more than half your life. just a little too young to be privy to conversations behind closed doors, too young to know the horrors of war that scar the older florents who left home one way and came back emptier, harder, more secretive.
your mother focuses her attention on both your oldest brother and sister. they are taught how to one day govern a house, manage the finances, understand the delicacy of trade and managing the fields. you prefer to trail after your father and older brother junxi on their inspections in the fields, to know the land, the crops, the people. you enjoy the gentle arts enough but where you excel is how you connect with people. you are astute, you have compassion, and you absorb information like a sponge.
after the war, you feel a distance with the family members who return. something keeps you apart because they have survived an ordeal you could never understand. you follow your father and junxi in their travels to trade partners, supposedly, typically remaining in the reach spending time in highgarden or oldtown but occasionally going beyond.
it's on one such journey to dorne when you and junxi are told to remain at an inn while the convoy travels ahead through the red mountains. your father comments that a storm is coming and that he'll send word for when you and your brother can join. there's a tension in the air you could not grasp. your father hugs you tighter and longer, shares a hushed conversation with junxi before departing. you never see him again. the sun shines bright the next day and before evening falls, a raven arrives claiming there had been a wheelhouse accident, the remains nothing more than splintered wood and carnage at the bottom of a steep hill. a broken wheel or something. you can't recall the rest of the conversation when your mind disconnects. the only tether is junxi's hand tightly grasping your shoulder.
tragedy strikes again and again. your eldest brother jianhong dies not a year later. a sickness that comes on so quick he does not last a fortnight. the maesters never find a cause. you cannot help the budding paranoia. you made it home from a visit to highgarden in time to say goodbye. grief keeps you grounded for a time in brightwater hall. it takes nearly two years for you to begin joining junxi in his travels and aiding in business matters. you entertain the spouses and offer tea with disarming conversations while family business is conducted behind closed doors. junxi shoves a vial into your hands when departing home and tells you that if you suspect any harm would come to you to throw it in your attacker's face.
you assume its an older brother's overprotectiveness and think nothing of it. that is until you are on board a ship with junxi and a few members of your household from oldtown to plankytown. perhaps father's accident is why you travel to dorne via sea and not land, and take such an indirect path. you are a few days into the journey when seasickness takes hold of him. in his feverish ramblings, he starts telling you about the war in non-linear stories that don't make sense. you suggest changing course to turn back and find a maester but he insists the ship makes way to sunspear. he whispers in the last morning of his life that if all goes wrong to trust princex akshay and you think the fever has broken his mind.
there's a distinct before and after in your life. one would think it starts with the death of your father. no. the distinct before and after is when you come upon a man looming over your brother's bed in the great cabin, blood dripping from a blade, red line across his throat who turns on you before you can run. for your trouble, you'll carry a scar along your side from where the blade grazes you and a distaste for nightshade because you lose consciousness and wake up in some abandoned room on land interrogated on matters you had no knowledge. they never searched your person and it's their fatal mistake because that vial your brother gifted you enables you to blind your attacker and make an escape.
you're delirious from poison and in a city you've only visited a handful of times. you are found by the princex guard and told a truth you could hardly believe if not for the events that unfolded. you learn about your father's change of loyalty in the war, the pledge he made to dorne to prince akshay, the pledge junxi continued. the story the realm is told is that the ship was "lost at sea" across the dangerous shores. and though your family was prepared to mourn two more members, you were rescued after the shipwreck through some coincidental miracle. hardly chance when you're given an antidote and the same offer is made to you, now with an additional promise... protection for you, skills, training. assistance in unraveling the culprit behind the murders. the dornish swear their innocence and you have no proof to counter.
you agree and find yourself a spy for a princex. you remain in sunspear for your recovery and some training before making a return to brightwater hall for brief goodbyes. it's not a moon later you venture to king's landing to join queen consort coryanne martell as a new lady-in-waiting.
you remain at court for the next four years. you are unable to stop as tragedy befalls your house. there are more reunions at funerals than pleasant visits. you think your mother dies of a broken heart but who can say?
the realm gathers for lord cregan stark's last rites. you have one sibling left to you and a desperation to keep them alive and well. you've played your role well these years, eyes and ears at the keep, making friends, allies, channels of information. you hope it'll be enough.
iii.Ā headcanons
timeline
173 ac - ruling lord consort shan florent dies.
174 ac - liege jianhong florent (eldest sibling & heir) dies, lady ansha becomes heir
176 ac - lord junxi florent (third older brother) dies, shuying becomes a spy for akshay
177 ac - lady ansha florent (second elder sister) dies, liege florent a becomes heir
179 ac - ruling lady jiayi florent (mother) dies, liege florent a becomes ruling liege
iv.Ā wantedĀ connections
shuyingĀ ofĀ houseĀ florent isĀ searchingĀ highĀ andĀ lowĀ forĀ theirĀ older sibling (Ā ruling liege florent a ).Ā theyĀ seemĀ toĀ beĀ 28 - 32Ā andĀ resembleĀ ao ruipeng,Ā bai lu, liu yuning, any chinese fc, andĀ someĀ tellĀ theirĀ storyĀ goesĀ somethingĀ likeĀ thisĀ :Ā over the past decade beginning with the loss of their father, one after another their mother's heirs have died under suspicious enough circumstances. accidents and ailments that could be concealing something more nefarious. as the youngest sibling, even shuying was not spared possible tragedy when taken captive after the shipwreck that takes the life of of the third-born sibling. can one family be followed by such tragedy or is foul play amiss? it seems certain members of house florent have been working as spies for dorne. your character could potentially be aware or not aware of their father's loyalty during the war. it is still unclear if the deaths are related to the political missteps by the late ruling lord consort or has there been another political game afoot. your character could be the one behind the deaths out of ambition to become ruling liege or perhaps you are equally paranoid and are doing what you can to help keep your house afloat and the few remaining members alive. if not you or your sister, then the only remaining suspect would be your aunt... youĀ canĀ contactĀ ashĀ atĀ @cfashes.Ā
it could not be more evident how many southerners were among them. the impractical fashions, the chattering teeth and shaky hands, but most notably, the way the moved about the town as though they were better than what the north had to offer when they were the blood of the first men, traditions going back hundreds of years. it was severely dampening the experience of finally visiting wintertown once more when it'd been far too long since wylla allowed themselves to leave breakstone hill. she walked through the stalls remembering times when she accompanied her lady mother here as a child when an awful screech cut through the buzz of bustling merchants and patrons. wylla draws close to take a look and has to bite back a laugh.
"seems you've stepped in some dung. you'll be able to wipe it off easier if you stood still."
the affectionate touch does not come with ease between them ā gilliane remembers lingering by wylla's bed as she haunted the halls of the flint's keep, wondering what it would be like to slip underneath her sister's furs, but she can not remember give in to the temptation. she is glad for the embrace now, however, as wylla still smells of pine and snow and smoke, all scents so familiar to her and so grounding, something she much required in this time. "there is black beer, and even dornish red, if you'd like." the tip of her nose scrunches up. winterfell's stock has never been so full, all at the behest of the king. "we have finally been deemed worthy of southern crops." she says, the bitterness strong in her otherwise placid tone.
"but come, they will not see it missing from when they arrive. there is still plenty of time." a week or two, it did not matter. gilliane ushers a horse keeper to take wylla's horse, so they may begin to walk and walk. "tell me of your travels. does father send something other than his regret not to be here?"
it is a rather odd occurrence when reunions between siblings come so few and far between. you start life knowing someone from birth as they slowly become a person, then comes the day when chicks grow wings and fly the nest. the past remains only in memory with a rosy tint of nostalgia. but for wylla, she has remained frozen in the halls of breakstone hill. the days of monotony rolling into one and the older flint wonders if they prefer the routine or rather incapable of another path. with the death of cregan stark, change was upon them regardless of want. "black beer is good enough."
as they begin to walk, wylla can't help but laugh. their father's pestering had only grown more fevered the days closer to her departure. "our travel was easy. it's been a long while since i've personally made the journey. it was nice to see more of the north. as for father..." she let out a laugh. "he is as expected. ask gilly about their dreams. send them my best."
"how have you been? this must be a lot hosting what seems to be the entirety of the kingdom."
setting: the stables, minutes after wylla's arrival to winterfell, w. @cfashes
the horses come as foretold. she recognizes the snout of the one that is being unmounted, as she recognizes its rider too well. "i was told you would come." perhaps the gods' whispers are not to be wasted on such trivial matter ā every vassal would present themselves to the gathering demanded by the southern king, even if they had already paid their respects when cregan was actually emtumbled. "come, is it a hug that i must offer you or you would be gladder with mead? it has been long since i've played hostess." the behavior is intrisic within those of the mountains, welcoming of weary travelers and eager of tales, but she has been a stark for so long now she has all but forgotten their customs.
"i would not miss this opportunity." for more reasons than simply missing her siblings. the journey wasn't too difficult even if wylla found their mind wandering to worries and complicated matters involving their houses and the north's future. constant nagging worries in the back of her mind, the duty of it all, the need to give specific impressions to the guests from the south when wylla yearned for the solitude of the mountains. still, a smile graces her face as she dismounts. "both are welcomed," she reassures, taking the initiative to draw gilliane into an embrace. "though perhaps something a touch stronger than mead would not be ill-advised."
[Ā zoĆ« robins.Ā Ā flint a.Ā Ā 33.Ā Ā cis woman.Ā Ā she/her.Ā ]Ā theĀ kingĀ welcomesĀ wylla ofĀ houseĀ flint ofĀ breakstone hillĀ !Ā allĀ ofĀ courtĀ hasĀ heardĀ thatĀ theyĀ areĀ pragmatic andĀ generous butĀ whispersĀ claimĀ thatĀ theyĀ areĀ alsoĀ stubborn andĀ superstitiousĀ whenĀ noĀ oneĀ isĀ lookingĀ ā¦Ā howĀ muchĀ ofĀ thatĀ isĀ true,Ā weĀ willĀ soonĀ findĀ out.Ā askingĀ around,Ā weĀ areĀ toldĀ thatĀ theyĀ remindĀ peopleĀ ofĀ crunch of snow beneath well-worn boots / the sparks from a flintstone about to strike flame / the burden of a never ending to-do list that could never measure worth to nameĀ āĀ thatĀ shouldĀ giveĀ theĀ bardsĀ somethingĀ toĀ singĀ aboutĀ !Ā unbeknownĀ byĀ most,Ā finding their place as her fatherās actual heir isĀ theĀ realĀ reasonĀ whyĀ theyĀ answeredĀ theĀ callĀ ofĀ theĀ king,Ā butĀ withĀ soĀ manyĀ rumorsĀ flyingĀ around,Ā whoĀ isĀ toĀ sayĀ whatĀ theĀ truthĀ isĀ ?
i.Ā statistics
name:Ā wylla flint.Ā Ā nickname(s):Ā wyl. willow. weeping willow (as a child)Ā Ā age:Ā thirty3.Ā Ā dateĀ ofĀ birth:Ā ??? 148acĀ Ā placeĀ ofĀ birth:Ā breakstone hill, northern mountains.Ā Ā gender:Ā female.Ā Ā pronouns:Ā pronouns.Ā Ā sexualĀ orientation:Ā demisexual.Ā Ā religion:Ā the old gods.Ā Ā title:Ā lady wylla flint of breakstone hill, heir to breakstone hill languages:Ā common tongue Ā affiliation:Ā house stark. house flint.
faceclaim:Ā zoĆ« robins.Ā Ā hairĀ color:Ā black.Ā Ā hairĀ style:Ā usually pulled back in a simple braid Ā eyeĀ color:Ā dark brown.Ā Ā height:Ā 171 cm.Ā Ā bodyĀ modifications:Ā piercings.Ā Ā clothingĀ style:Ā muted colors. beige and green are preferences.Ā plain wool clothing lined with furs. Ā distinguishingĀ characteristics:Ā a large scar across her clavicle from an injury in her teens.Ā Ā signatureĀ scent:Ā tba.
mbti:Ā tba.Ā Ā characterĀ alignment:Ā lawful good (but in the sense she follows a pretty strong internal code)Ā positiveĀ traits:Ā pragmatic, generous, diligent, contemplative.Ā Ā negativeĀ traits:Ā stubborn, superstitious, ruminates, emotionally guarded.Ā Ā primaryĀ vice:Ā hyper-independence.Ā Ā primaryĀ virtue:Ā kind hearted.Ā Ā characterĀ parallels:Ā tba.
disorders:Ā tba.Ā Ā allergies:Ā tba.Ā Ā sleepingĀ habits:Ā sleeps very little. one of the earliest to rise, one of the last to sleep.Ā Ā eatingĀ habits:Ā Ā hearty meals to keep up energy, especially in the mornings. never been a picky eater but does prefer meats Ā sociability:Ā most would always recall wylla flint as someone pleasant, dependable, but not someone who comes to mind at first consideration.Ā their actions speak more than their words. a learned silence from childhood when it seemed she'd always be spoken over. tends to keep thoughts to herself but listens and watches. Ā addictions:Ā tba.Ā Ā alcoholĀ use:Ā will drink but rarely to the extent of drunkenness Ā drugĀ use:Ā if suggested by the healers and spiritualist.
likes:Ā solitude in the mountains. excellent tracker and hunter. a soft spot for gardening. dislikes:Ā loud celebrations. boastful ignorant people.Ā Ā fears:Ā not being able to be a good ruling lady.Ā Ā habits:Ā tba.Ā Ā weaponĀ ofĀ choice:Ā long sword. archery is a close second.Ā Ā weather:Ā tba.Ā Ā color:Ā tba.Ā Ā beverage:Ā tba.Ā Ā food:Ā tba.Ā Ā animal:Ā tba.Ā season:Ā tba.Ā
you have the blood of the first men in your veins. you are the daughter of the ruling lord and his true wife. you have yet to take first steps when your father brings his wildling healer to bed and you are to be an older sister. an odd upbringing when the faith of the old gods so imbued into every day life. your mother shares the faith and in so, she does not fight for her place. you watch and you learn. you admire but also begin to question. not a matter of customs and traditions of the wilding ways, rather you wonder at a young age where your place is in the world when you do not share the gifts of ĆØibhlin nor your half-siblings.
you mold yourself into the proper heir, find solace in the mountains, in what you can do with your hands and own abilities. you are not one to make grand speeches nor gestures. you are steady as the soldier pines that cover the mountains. you love your siblings as though they are trueblood. you care for your house, your people, swear your allegiance to the wardens of the north.
the old gods test you in various ways. the wound that never heals is when you lose the young lord elric dustin to the war. he marched south to never return and you fear your heart died with him. the youthful thirst for adventure, for more. you instead settle into quiet routines. the acceptance of destiny as you labor on through the day to day.
your sister is wed and has a family of her own. yet father still depends on her in ways you cannot fathom when you are the guardian of breakstone hill. your brother spends his time doing gods know what but he seems happy and you think to yourself, sure enough, leave him be. there's a freedom there too, you suppose.
the days drag on. your father grows ill. the weight of responsibility an encroaching curse. you do not feel ready. do not feel worthy. but you persevere nonetheless. now the old man of the north is dead. trouble that's been brewing for decades may spill over. whether you will it or not, the gods seem determined it be time for a change.
(āļ¾ć®ļ¾)ā click on the source link of this post to find #117 gifs of zoĆ« robinsĀ from season six, episode one the television series the brokenwood mysteries(2019), as well as the rules you must abide by in order to use them. all gifs included were made by me and are size 268 x 170. content warnings include: alcohol/drinking, fire, kissing. an alternative zipped file download can be found on the page. ā(ļ¾ć®ļ¾ā)
ENG: šššššššššš š In the SOURCE LINK you'll find 878 gifs (268x150) of ZoĆ« Robins in The Wheel of Time (season 1). All of these gifs were made from scratch by me for rp purposes, so please do NOT claim them as your own, repost, or add them to your gif hunts. Edit as you wish, but please give me some form of credit or tag me if you post it. LIKE or REBLOG if youāre using! If you're interested in a commission, feel free to check my blog!
Note: this gif pack was previously private but the owner changed her mind and asked me to share it with all of you. So it's now public. Enjoy! š
ššš šššššš. by clicking theĀ SOURCE LINK, you will findĀ 177Ā gifs ofĀ zoĆ« robinsĀ inĀ the wheel of time, season 2, episodes 1 & 2.Ā all gifs were made by me and are for roleplaying purposes only. *this pack will be updated
ššš ššš ššš:Ā repost, claim as your own, edit in any way, include in gif hunts ( though you are welcome to link back to them ) or use in crackship gifs.
šš ššš ššš šš ššš š šš :Ā you have me blocked, youāre an adult roleplaying a minor, you whitewash/racebend, you write in smut, taboo, slave or in real life celebrity roleplays or partake in plots that include, but are not limited to, ab*se, inc*st, ass*ult.
please šššššš this post if you use any of the gifs or if you find them useful, if you appreciate my resources, pleaseĀ considerĀ buying me a šš-š š ( lugifs ) or consider my ššššššššššš.
junho raised his eyebrows as he saw the amount of sugar and creamer she took out of her pockets though he didn't really say anything about it. he let out a small chuckle when he was told that she in fact already had quite a bit more coffee. he wondered if the effects of having that much coffee would be the same here as it was when they were alive. "you sound like someone i knew. but hey less than ten of this size coffee," he gave a nod towards one of the mug he just took from her, "that's not too bad." he closed the diary to see how many packs of sugar she would actually put in her coffee. "what brought you to the library this time?"
Velma appreciated the lack of judgement (or at least she'd willfully be in denial if he was judging) and popped open two creamer pots and added both into her mug. "Just looking into the town's history and catching up on some recent events." She tore open one pack, then two pack, and a final third pack as she continued talking. "I mean, jeepers, it's a lot to process you know? The whole being dead thing. What brings you to the library? Got any good recs?"
ā no one expects me to accomplish anything. ā ā daphne to velma @bewitchcs
Sometimes there were moments when Velma felt that the outside world underestimate her and Daphne's contributions to the gang. Blame it on the patriarchy and Freddie's charisma as their designated spokesperson. It baffled her how someone as incredible and brilliant as Daphne would doubt herself.
"Did someone say something?" Not a vengeful person by nature, she'd like to think, Velma was pragmatic and was determined to handle anyone who'd be stupid enough to make Daphne feel less than. "As Shaggy would say, ignore the haters, Daph."
"C'mon. Not only are you a femme fatale kick ass, you are a PI who produces her own show and does her own research and investigation. You were out there seeing the world and solving mysteries while I was back at home running a silly little bookshop."
The customer's 'of course' soothed the tension coiled up in Cora. Even if it was a platitude, the werewolf could sense emotion through instinct and sixth senses rather than logic, she'd learn to take things at face value.
There were definitely moments when she wondered if it was worth a stressful job in the afterlife. "Yeah chocolate cake with vanilla cream, I can do." She jotted down the details on her notepad. "Do you prefer a lighter, airy cake base, or something more rich? For the vanilla cream, would you like something like a buttercream or we could go for a Swiss meringue buttercream? I can also make adjustments to the frosting depending on the type of chocolate cake you prefer."
A sheepish, apologetic smile. Maybe this was asking for too many specifics. "Sorry, I'm just not the strongest decorator but I'll keep practicing. Creating a flavor that suits your taste though, that I can do."
apart from decking the mayor in the town cemetery, emma can't say she's stayed in sparring shape ; storybrooke had been too quaint seaside town to have its own fitness center ( and henry would probably say something about the evil queen wanting to keep her subjects weak and powerless, or something like that. ) so she's off her game - but she doesn't care about form so much as blowing off steam. emma huffs and spins off from the trainer to land a frustrated kick on the post. ' i'm feeling great, ' she grits out, wincing and hobbling as the arch of her foot reminds her what a great idea that outlet was. ' not like it matters anymore. are you usually talking your clients into a therapy session ? '
Cassandra shrugged, rolling her shoulder to loosen some of the tension building. She doubted anyone from home could ever be convinced that she'd talk anyone into anything. Though Barbara and Steph had observed that she supposedly always had a way of cracking people open with a single knowing look. Miss Swan oozed pent up frustration, a fighting spirit unsupported by its body that needed to unlock its buried potential. She felt like a spring wound too tight that would either snap or bend out of shape. Not too surprising, Cass empathized, truly. What was the proper way to mourn your own death? "You risk injury. Makes it worse on body and mind."
junho found a diary from a previous resident, had been reading it through to learn what kind of life the person had while they were in renata hollow. he wasn't surprised to read about dreams and regrets but was glad to read, so far anyway, that most of the diary was filled with things they enjoyed doing and people they got to know. tearing his attention away, he was greeted with two of what he assumed to be coffee-filled mugs and someone who might've regretted having two at once. "sure. although, if those are your only two so far, i think you'll be just fine. coffee, right? not one of those fancy drink that's a mix of a lot of things that also includes coffee."
"Yeah it's just coffee." Velma gestured the mug. She dug through her pockets to retrieve the packs of brown sugar and a handful of creamer pots. She liked to put as much of pure coffee in the mug and sugarify it once she got to her desk. Seemed the most efficient way instead of lingering by the coffee pot embarrassing herself with a gluttonous display of two mugs at a time. "I may or may not have already had over three cups and less than ten n the past 24 hours but you will never find any proof of it."
