from humble cloth

an IC blog for Efren Sorenze, character in GW2

[meiselr]

1000 Picspams Challenge | #926 Archetype Inspirations | Pyrokinesis

[wolfpack-calling]

[many-voices]

Unpleasantness

Professor Benedict made thirteen-year-old Efren Sorenze wait a full five minutes before she raised her gaze from her papers.  In the meantime, he sat with his back rigid and his hands on his thighs, as taught.  No fidgeting.  No magic.  No betraying how scared he was through cold or heat or the slightest puff of air.  

Her office reminded him of his father’s office at home, all dark woods and heavy books and a chair meant to resemble a throne.  The windows behind the professor looked out onto Alscara’s central courtyard, a place of serene rest that the students were only rarely allowed to enjoy.  A reward, as the Professor so often said.  Rewards were earned.

His palms itched.  A single bead of sweat seemed to be trickling down his back, beneath his uniform shirt and heavy coat.  Sweat made him think of heat, and of impatience, and how he had work to do for half a dozen other professors. Anger trickled in – no no no, breathe, stop that.  Stop.  Had the room warmed by a degree?  No.  He held it in.  He was sure he held it –

And that was when the Professor looked his way.  “Efren,” she said quietly, even sadly.  Rumor was, she’d lost a son to elementalist excesses, in a house that burned during furious, flaming dreams, and of all the professors, she seemed the most zealous.  “I think I’ve hit on the root of the problem.”

“Yes, ma’am?” he said.  His voice cracked, to his shame.

“Do you feel the cold, when you chill a room?  When you stand out in the snow, or the frigid rain?  In summer’s heat, or by a hearth-fire, do you feel the warmth?  The discomfort of it?”

“No, ma’am.”  Fires were beautiful.  Cold, refreshing.  Neither was painful.

She favored him with a tiny smile at his answer.  “Exactly.”  Smiles seemed odd on her seamed, solemn old-woman face, but he knew he had to smile back anyway, so he did.  

She laced her hands over her ample stomach.  “As I see it, there’s nothing uncomfortable associated with the expression of your magic.  Not for you, that is.” The smile faded.  “For others, oh yes.  Your magic does not care about the burns you offer others.  Or the searing chill.  Or the drowning, or the wind-storm.”

His eyes went wide.  “I’ve never-”

“It’s a matter of when, Master Sorenze.  Only of when.  So what we must do, as I see it, is link the expression of your magic with unpleasantness.  That way, you know in your bones what you do when you impose your magic on others.”

“Unpleasantness?”  And now the room was going cold, cold with his fright, with his need to get out of this place and away from this crazy woman, even if his only other option was his father’s moods and heavy hand at home.

Her breath misted the air.  “See?  Control, young sir.  We will teach you control.”

He’d half-stood before the Professor’s minions wrapped shadowy arms around him to slam him back into his seat.  Professor Benedict shook her head.  “The lesson begins now.”

( @efren-sorenze )

[odelynv]

Efren,

I feel terribly that it took me so long to reply to you. Truthfully, I did not know what to say. I feared I would respond in a way I did not mean to; and, so, I waited until I had time to think upon my words. I hope you do not think me cruel.

Keep reading

[liselle-violante]

Alscara Manor

((Image is actually of Cragside.))

Faculty, students, and benefactors simply call it, “Alscara.”  The academy is located in a sprawling mansion in far northeast Gendarran, not too far from Vigil Keep.  With jagged hills at its back and a broad stream separating the property from the rest of Gendarran, the school is defensible, discreet, and content to remain uninvolved with Krytan affairs as a whole.  It appears to many as simply the remote mansion of a reclusive noble, and the school’s supporters do their best to help reinforce that assumption.  Lord Otavio Alscara, after all, still lives in the house that bears his family’s name.

Entrance is by invitation only, and wealth - or lack of it - is no obstacle to attendance: Alscara’s benefactors generously provide for human students of all backgrounds, should they meet the school’s simple and narrow criteria. Should a young person be inflicted with a wayward excess of magic, uncontrollable and disruptive, Alscara will take them in.  They will not emerge unchanged.  

The faculty includes stern and persuasive people of every known magical persuasion, though one would find few of them listed in Priory rosters or the rolls of other institutions of learning.  Both faculty and students live on site, the better to concentrate on the mission of turning young would-be weapons into decent Krytan citizens.

[efren-sorenze]

((Just because Liselle didn’t work out doesn’t mean that I don’t love this setting.   Efren might have spent a few years there in his youth.))

[andreavitulano]

[efren-sorenze]

Love & Sorrow

The stationery bears a simple, elegant logo of a half-unrolled bolt of cloth, and in a restrained font beneath reads, “Braga Fine Cloth.”  By contrast, the handwriting below is spiky and sharp, far more hurried and less controlled than the script in which Efren usually writes his letters.

Dear Odelyn,

What words can I offer you, except that I’m sorry, beyond sorry, for ever having hurt you.  That arm, that injury -- I have nightmares still, with my face imposed on Father’s like a misty mask.  I am sorry.  No words are sufficient.

And what I said in the Brandstorm -- what I think I said in the Brandstorm -- that too is true, and insufficient.  Odelyn, you have to know, you have to realize how ardently I care for you, and how stupid I’ve been in burying it beneath anger and resentment.  You protected yourself when I couldn’t. You supported yourself when you had no idea if I could or would. 

I build the business.  I give you time.  Space.  I won’t storm you with letters, I won’t storm you at all.  I won’t pretend I know what you want, or if you want it from me.  But the words stand:  I’m sorry, and I love you.  What you make of them is entirely in your hands, but I couldn’t not say them and live with myself.

Whatever choice you make, whenever or if you choose to see me, Odelyn.  Odelyn.  My anger is gone entirely.  I only wish you joy.

Efren

@odelynv

[styleguy]

Michiel van Wyngaarden

[juilletdeux]

Dior | Spring/Summer 2018 Couture

[many-voices]

for @birbot-rp just because.  And also because it’s VERY VERY relevant to my @efren-sorenze and her @odelynv.

[cigarettes-and-effy]

[fantasysystem]

[efren-sorenze]

🔗 - What are your muse’s standards for meaningful relationships? How quickly do they form relationships like these?

“Useful,” he says in an irritable, distracted voice.  “No.  That’s …insulting.  I should have said practical.”  He pushes a half-filled ledger across his broad desk.  “Should I be even more cold-blooded?  Profitable.  That’s the way it is in high trades houses.  We possess no titles, no lands except the ones we’ve bought ourselves, but by the Gods do we have coin and resources, and what’s marriage except for enriching ourselves one way or the other?”  

“Meaningful means marriage.  Marriage means enhancing what we have.”  He grimaces. “…if everyone knows that.  If everyone’s willing to make that choice. It’s too easy for someone young, someone…vulnerable, to not know the repercussions of a business-minded arrangement.”

[meka-rp]

💭 Efren!

“'What do I see in him?’” Odelyn echoes back to the asker - her brother - brow furrowing. “I don’t see anything in Efren. Our…relationship, as it were, it- it isn’t something that I can escape from. So to imply that I refrain from engaging him should our paths cross, based on my feelings towards him one way or another, is ridiculous. His father is my late husband; we lived many years in each other’s lives. Like it or not, we’re family of a sort now.”

There is a catch in her voice after she says the word family, as if it both seems the right and wrong word all at once. “Besides, it would be petty of me to do so. He’s….he has done nothing but be kind to me. He is not his father.” 

Olias gives her a look she recognizes well. They are twins, after all - they can’t help but mirror expressions. They also can’t help but know what the other really means to say, and his expression reads plain as day: her voice – and its defensive, thin tone - lacks conviction. 

“All right,” he concedes. A beat; then, he leans forward, eyes narrowed. A ghost of a smile - of an arrogant, know it all smile - tugs at the corner of his mouth. “So who is it again you are trying to convince, Lyn?”

She sighs and looks off to the side. Her voice is snappish when she replies, “No one. Least of all you. I’ve no obligation to do so. In my heart I know what I say is true.”

Silence hangs heavy. He waits her out; he knows she will continue on, if only he lets her. If only the weight of the quiet has time to do its work. 

“But….” and there it is, “I will admit: I can’t help but see a bit of my husband every little familiar gesture, and word, and manner. Can’t stop thinking, ‘well, perhaps Javier was not unkind in his youth either. Perhaps a life of anger made him the way he was.’ And Efren, he…” her voice is sorrowful, now, “he holds onto so much of it. Keeps it with him as if it will keep him safe. But it is eating him alive; I can see it.” 

Odelyn sighs. Her shoulders have fallen, and she mirrors her brother’s posture, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees. “It’s just - I know what he thinks of me; I see how he looks at me. And I don’t…. I- I do not think I can be who he wishes me to be. And when he realizes what I’ve….“ her voice becomes quiet. Resigned. “Well, the thought frightens me. I hate to say it. But it does.”

(( @many-voices ))

[gentlemanstylestream]

<b><i>Showcase m_hoye </i></b>

[ceruleanmood]

[wnq-quotes]

@wnq-quotes | @wordsnquotes