Night Vigil

[rapperias]

🎲

.˖ ࣪ ⚔︎ kiss roulette (accepting) 25. A kiss that's an accident

She allowed her posture to relax, arms folded on the cool stone of the plaza’s upper balustrade, overlooking the city. The letter had been delivered, the requisite courtesies observed, and now, she was free until morning. What an odd thing that was, to be free. A breath of a laugh escaped her at the thought. Fitting, perhaps, that she should find herself temporarily freed from duties and the nosy press in the City of Freedom.

The visit to Mondstadt had been rather relaxing. Much more than Clorinde initially thought it would be, even, considering that she had come here to deliver a missive from the court. Mondstadt’s night air, carrying the faint, scent of dandelions, sweet wine, and apple, was a novelty. Quieter than the Fontainian nights. Quieter than the busy footsteps that often echo throughout the Palais well into the night. A sort of comforting silence that she could almost burrow herself into and sleep. Almost.

A sound. Not from the city below, but somewhere just close enough to nearly starter her. A soft intake of breath, the subtle scuff of a shoe on stone. A person. Her hand quickly reached for the hilt of her rapier, heels turning sharply, brow furrowed, a warning already forming on her tongue—

—had it not been for the sudden pain that came. Her own teeth caught the inside of her bottom lip. Archons, he was much closer than she’d anticipated. Improperly so. And with a forehead that was harder than steel, too, not that she would ever give such a rude remark voice, displeased she must be.

A gloved hand reached for her lip, testing to see if it had bled. There was no taste of iron, nor any traces of blood. Good. Hopefully, it won't bruise in the morning.

“I—” Her lips pursed, a fleeting grimace of concern tightening her brow. She hadn’t hurt him too much, she hoped. “I’m sorry. I reacted before properly taking in my surroundings. I hope I didn’t hurt you, erm,” she took stock of the man before her.

A member of the clergy, maybe? Although he dresses differently from the stern sisters and quiet acolytes she’d seen earlier. “I wasn’t expecting to find anyone else here at this hour. You have my apologies again.”

[prettythought]

kiss roulette

inspired by the infamous "i want the k" meme by deactivated tumblr user tastcful. send 🎲 to generate a kiss! potential suggestive/nsf.w themes may appear

A kiss on the cheek

A kiss on the nose

A kiss on the forehead

A kiss to the top of the head

A firm kiss

A gentle peck

A romantic kiss

A platonic kiss

A kiss to the eyelid

A kiss along the jawline

A kiss to the neck

A kiss along the collar bone

A kiss on the chest

A kiss to the stomach

A kiss along the hips

A kiss in the rain

An upside-down "Spider-Man" kiss

A kiss while laughing

A kiss underwater

A rough kiss

WILDCARD! Dealer's choice :)

A french kiss/kiss with tongue

A kiss influenced by alcohol/other substances

A sleepy kiss

A kiss that's an accident

A kiss while one or both parties are crying

A kiss in greeting

A kiss in parting

A kiss to the back of the hand

A kiss to the palm of the hand

A kiss to the inner thigh

A kiss while someone watches

A kiss to a scar, birthmark, injury, or other marking

A kiss after a bite

A kiss against a wall

A kiss to the shoulder

A kiss to the back of the neck

A kiss while one party is carried

A tentative kiss

An impulsive kiss

A kiss out of spite

A clumsy kiss

A bloody kiss

[iustitians]

"..." "..." "So Do We Kill Them Or What" || Neuvillette & Clorinde

Monster hunting; AU: pre-Fontaine AQ || @rapperias || Commission Season: Elation

[iustitians]

Few monsters ever had the nerve to try and encroach upon the Fontaine territory, and even fewer minions of the Abyss Order dared make such attempts. The water covering a large - and ever larger - portion of the nation created a hostile environment for creatures unable to swim, the close proximity of the Primordial Sea resulted in a rather unhealthy atmosphere for them, the large distance from the vast majority of almost all Khaenri'ahn ruins meant that, to put it bluntly, it was quite far away from any places where they could crawl out to the surface...

And not to mention, whenever they did actually come to Fontaine, they were swiftly and mercilessly hunted down.

The majority of the aforementioned hunting was taken care of by the descendants of the Marechaussee Hunters. Though their deeds had long since either passed into legends and myths or faded into obscurity, their arts had been inherited by some most devoted descendants across all those centuries, and their duties had never been truly and fully forgotten, even if the nature and meaning of said duties had changed somewhat.

Some of them, however, met their end by another hand entirely. It came in the form of a silent, pristine surface of the lake, clear and undisturbed like the purest jewel. It invited them with its tranquility, encouraged them to come and marvel at it, try to claim it, perhaps take a refreshing sip -

only for a surging torrent to emerge from the quiet waters akin to a crocodile leaping from hiding towards its unsuspecting prey, dragging them into the dark depths where all were equal in being at his mercy.

Just as the furious tide emerged, so too did it disappear, and before long, he was the only one still standing on the shore, watching silently as the surface calmed itself again, reflecting the stars and the moon just as it had a moment before.

Pointless.

Neuvillette watched the now once again quiet scene for a while, before he stirred as his elemental sense tugged suddenly at him, and turned - but the eyes that met his were not that of another prey, but rather, as it would seem, a fellow hunter. On the spot, his ice-cold glare softened, if only by a hint.

... Oh.

"Clorinde. Good evening," he greeted, as if nothing special happened just now. "I did not expect to meet you out here."

He said that, only to immediately realize afterwards that there were monsters here a moment ago. He probably should have expected her here. Hm. He did not think his words through, did he.

[rapperias]

One such descendant was she, carrying the duty and tradition into the present night, moving soundlessly through the woods with rapier and pistolet at the ready, eliminating any monster foolish enough to trespass upon Fontaine’s soil or waters. Her work, as it always had been, was efficient. Relentless. A flash of steel, a crack of thunder—where evil gathered, it was met with finality.

The crack of her pistol echoed through the evening air, sharp and absolute. There was little reason for her to toy with her hunt, no reason to prolong what was necessary. Mercy was a currency her prey had never dealt in, and so in turn, she, too, offered none. Her rapier lanced forward, precise, and the Hilichurl Rogue fell silent before its cry could leave its throat.

It made for a wonderful way to relieve some stress, this. The tightness in her shoulders eased; the line between her brows grew faint, each and every successful hunt spelling away the headaches that had weighted her after such a troubling day.

A hunt this deep into the night usually meant solitude. The woods were hers, and hers alone. So when a disturbance reached her ears—a rustle several stands of cypress away—Clorinde naturally assumed it was merely another band of hilichurls setting their camp, another knot of shadows to cut down. Pistol drawn, boots silent on the damp earth, she closed the distance between the trees, expecting a new threat, a rifthound perhaps, or maybe even an abyss mage, summoning more of its kind.

What she found instead was a gaze that snapped toward the slightest noise she made, as sharp as her own, inspecting, assessing, before softening almost imperceptibly upon meeting hers.

“Monsieur Neuvillette,” she replied with a nod, her gaze already scanning for traces of a struggle. To an untrained eye, there would be nothing to see. But to her, who knew these woods night after night, the signs were clear: grass pressed flat along the water’s edge by a sudden, heavy surge, and a shallow scuff in the damp soil, already being washed smooth by the eerily calm lake.

Finally, she looked back at the Iudex—her new superior, in a manner of speaking, though only by virtue of their respective roles.

“I share your surprise. I, too, was not anticipating company.” Part of her wished to ask why the Iudex would concern himself with creatures so mundane—monsters were, after all, in the grand order of Fontaine, a matter for her and her kind. Alas, before she could shape the question into something suitably deferential, the brief peace between them was cut short with the telltale growl of incoming hounds.

Her grip adjusted on her rapier, gaze shifting toward the treeline.

The hunt, it seemed, was not yet over, and the guttural growls weaving through the trees were only drawing nearer. Clorinde pursed her lips into a thin line, attention returning to the silent, dignified man before her. Would it be odd for her to suddenly leave and resume her hunt? Was she expected to invite him? Perhaps he was here to fulfill a duty as well… In which case, she should, indeed, offer an invitation. It would only be polite, if not proper.

“…They sound numerous.” A sigh through her nose. What an odd evening this was turning out to be. “Shall we clear the area, Monsieur Neuvillette?”

[rapperias]

⠀ ⠀In times of emergency, give your pistol to a child.

.˖ ࣪ ⚔︎ clorinde & aino

[rapperias]

Clorinde had very little she disliked.

One, she disliked those who had little to no honour. Those who think very little of their contracts, those who do not value the weight of their words and promises.

Two, she was not particularly fond of tabloids. Not for what they post about her—all rumours and speculations at best—but for their casual disregard for the truth in favour of profit.

And then, three. She disliked, above all, getting her hair wet.

Which explained, somewhat, the scowl still etched on her face. She had scrubbed her skin clean until it nearly burned, changed into a new set of dry clothing from her travel pack, discarding her saltwater-logged ones in the washer in the process, and meticulously wiped down every visible inch of her weapons. Yet still that awful, itchy feeling somewhere around her scalp persisted, no matter how many times she tried to wash it with soap.

The true reason behind her frown, however, was the object in her hand, held closely against her chest as though it were a wounded bird, gloved thumb brushing along its engravings, quietly hoping that in doing so, she might fix it. But the local blacksmith’s sigh and apologetic smile confirmed as much: her flintlock may as well be done for. It may survive a plunge in fresh water, the blacksmith mused, but for a pistol of such antique make to fall into saltwater? You ought to commission a new one instead.

Clorinde rejected the notion immediately. And the stranger must have noticed the way her lips only pulled into a tighter, deeper frown, because with another sigh, she was given a piece of paper. A clumsy attempt at a map to a place named Clink-Clank Krumkake Craftshop, just a few distance away from the town. The girl could fix anything, or so the blacksmith said. Or, well, almost anything. For a price.

Thus, there she stood now, before the odd… building would be a generous description of it, scrap metal walls filled with childlike chalk doodles. Above it was a gargantuan mechanical arm, gathering sheets of metal with a clank-SHHH, before depositing it somewhere above the workshop with another clank-SHHH.

This, then, must be the place. The ugly drawing—err—kind map seemed to indicate so, and this certainly looked like the best place for a genius able to repair anything—malfunctioning (corroding) flintlock included.

She approached the entrance, the door another thing of scrap metals, melded together and shaped into a heart, somewhat. Cute. She’d raised her hand to knock, but as if the genius was already expecting her arrival, the door sighed open before her knuckles could even touch it.

“Oh—” The duellist breathed out, curiously stepping inside. No one greeted her. Right. So perhaps she should knock still, then.

Walking deeper in, she did so against the nearest counter. “…Hello?”

[rapperias]

⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ .˖ ࣪ ⚔︎ PLOT CALL

Hi hi! I am still trying to put things together for Clorinde, but just to get things started, I would like to offer the crowd one (1) commission board prompt, dissected and reshaped into a Tabletop Troupe campaign! I might take a few to actually make some mechanics out of it, but if anyone is interested... pspsps.

Teyvat:

Hark! The solstice is upon Nod-Krai, and with it, travellers who come in search of the fabled Elysium of Adventurers! 

… Except, equipped with a single, cryptic map and riddle, purchased from a wandering merchant who swore it was just an old, unused asset for Tabletop Troupe, our so-called brave adventurers found it led only to ever-deeper peril. Erm. To begin with, was live-action role-playing really necessary all the way out here?

Welcome, Veteran Tabletop Troupe members and those who are interested in giving it a try! A new campaign from the guild is looking for more players, both old and new!

GM: Clorinde Players: 1. Bronya 2. Alhaitham 3. Layla 4. Robin 5. Wriothesley 6. Dahlia 7. Aventurine 8. Hyacine