Shape Shifter

Sybil Marlowe / 40 / Actress

[gabrielxturner-deactivated20160]

Behind the Scenes || Gabriel & Sybil

[gabrielxturner-deactivated20160]

Gabriel blushed, trying not to trample through the crowd after her, rather slipping past the masses of people until, in what seemed to pass in no time whatsoever, he was seated once more by her dressing table. He struggled to take it all it; there were so many details to catch, little things that were either as he imagined or completely not. It was a dream to be here, just as much as it was a bit of an awkward situation. Gabriel had not the slightest idea of how to behave himself in this place, of what he might say if someone else came up, what to do.

“A costume?” he repeated at the suggestion that, admittedly, had never even entered his mind as a possibility; he’d never even worn a proper costume, as a matter of fact, not beyond anything he may have created as a child for his games. These days, staying warm was somewhat presentable was more a concern in his own shows than being particularly fancy. It was simply a matter of lacking means.

“I suppose that could be fun, yes.” Gabriel answered after a tentative moment of thought. His reluctance was more because of the fact that he feared breaking something; looking a complete fool didn’t even bother to cross his mind.

[sybil-marlowe]

“Wonderful!” Sybil proclaimed, rising to her feet once she had dressed herself properly. Turning a scrutinizing eye upon Gabriel, she immediately began to concoct just the right outfit for him to wear.

“Hm, now that to put you in,” she thought aloud, a smirk spread wide across her face. In an instant, an idea had struck the actress, and soon she was forcing Gabriel to stand once more.

“You got a thin, handsome face. You’d make a fine nobleman, or a King mayhaps!” she said excitedly. “I’m not sure how well the costumes we have will fit you, but at the very least, you can walk around with a crown for a little while.”

The actress seemed almost more excited than her friend. Taking his hand in hers, she pushed her way through the crowd to find the room where the Gyld’s costumes were stored. There were rows and rows of them, every color imaginable rolling out before them, but Sybil knew precisely where to go.

It was a brief scuffle with fabric before Sybil was presenting Gabriel with the flowing cape and crown they’d used for several plays. “This will do well for now, right?” she said, smiling. “Here, go ahead and put it on. Or would like me to assist you?”

[hart-in-training]

Oliver started instinctively to argue, opening his mouth to fire back at her with a remark, but what she said actually gave him pause - it was true, after all. Oliver wanted to be a guard, and he had practiced for years, but he never seemed to have any particular talent for it. Instead, he was better with his letters and numbers, a fact that irked at him more than once. Oliver glanced back in the direction of the performer, watching him before turning back.

“Yea, ‘spose I’ve heard worse. I guess. He could be like that old guy who just stands there wailing by the fish stalls. Even I know his…whatever it is he’s playing? It isn’t made right or something.” She continued on about broken hearts, and Oliver wrinkled his nose as he listened - he didn’t think he’d ever fall in love, and consequently, never have a broken heart. He wasn’t sure he could relate, not really. “Well, I guess,” he admitted, the subject making him slightly uncomfortable as he tried to move on with as much dignity as he could muster.

“Oh.” He listened, scowling slightly as he couldn’t help but feel rebuked. She wasn’t mean or rude about it, though, and Oliver tried to use his recently found civility to restrain himself. “Guess I never thought of someone singing as a tradesman. My father would’ve laughed in my face if I’d ever told him I wanted to be a singer,” he said.

[sybil-marlowe]

A little smile played at the corners of Sybil’s lips when her combative companion seemed to give pause. At least the lad wasn’t entirely deaf to reason. For that small blessing they were both lucky. It wouldn’t do for either of them to have a row in the middle of the Square.

The mention of the fish singer did have a laugh bubbling past her lips. “Oh, I know precisely who you’re talking about,” she said with a clap of her hands. “He’s been singing for years and he still hasn’t improved. Still, I suppose you have to admire his dedication.”

“Your father is a very practical man, then?” she quipped curiously. “My father never did live to see me upon the stage. But he was quite the romantic. I think he fancied himself a playwright, though he wrote some of the poetry I’ve ever heard.” Sybil couldn’t help but to snort at the memory. How her father had wooed his mother with that drivel she would never know. But as awful as he’d been at writing, Sybil could only look back upon the memories of her childhood with fondness.

“If you think the fish singer is bad, you would have hated my father.”

[hart-in-training]

“Not any lad could. I’d probably sound like a rabbit about to be slaughtered if you put me up there,” Oliver pointed out. So he put himself down a bit; winning the fledgling argument was much more important to him, though he had to admit she would know much more of broken hearts than he. That was the only thing that gave him pause - he had never been with someone, nor did he want to be, and it was a confusing subject he’d just decided to keep to himself even though. “And, bah, who needs a broken heart anyway? They seem like far too much trouble to dawdle on for as long as he is.”

Shrugging, Oliver turned to look at her. “Perhaps. I suppose? I just don’t see the point when there’s actual things to be done, like work. I don’t know. I don’t think it’s childish, just for people with enough money to not worry about other things. Why, are you a musician then?”

[sybil-marlowe]

Sybil gave an amused little laugh at his reply. He was as stubborn as herself, it seemed, but she didn’t find this fact entirely off-putting. “Just because you do something doesn’t necessarily imply that you’re good at it,” she answered with a shrug. “For every street performer blessed with talent, I’ve heart at least ten who sound like drowning cats. But that’s hardly the point.”

The point was that this performer was talented. Regardless of subject matter, he had a gift that not everyone could boast. Sybil didn’t see the harm in praising those with abilities she did not possess. From sewing to singing, all skills were valuable to Sybil’s eyes. This young man though did not seem to agree.

“Goodness me, you are very young, aren’t you?” Sybil said, laughing at the young boy’s latest reply. “No one wants a broken heart. But people like to relate to one another. It just seems that, unfortunately, that is a topic many can understand...”

“No, I’m not a musician,” she answered with a shake of her head. “The gods didn’t bestow me with the gift of song. But I am part of the Gyld Theater’s acting troupe, so I am rather sentimental towards my fellow performers. Though I do find it funny how you assume this man isn’t working,” she said with a gesture towards the performer. “Perhaps his trade is not one which you yourself are part of, but he is certainly working. His singing is just as important to his own livelihood as making knives is for the smith down the road. It isn’t fair to belittle him.”

[sybil-marlowe]

Too Close // Sybil & Xavier

[xavierxpiest-deactivated2016071]

Xavier loved the idea of love. The theory of caring for someone, of being special to one person, the thought of being protected and adored all the while doing the same for another. He consciously knew he one day wanted a family, a partner and perhaps a child or two to share his memories with. In secret, he thought of it often, and he pushed himself onward through a seemingly endless forest of fear if only for the hope that there was a clearing somewhere. A place to be comfortable. Xavier longed to feel truly relaxed.

Mina’s day only two eves away, reminders of the life he didn’t have were as common as icicles. Gifts being sold in the market, sweets being baked for lovers to exchange in the bakery. Tomorrow, he knew he’d be helping prepare them himself, and the next day, forcing a smile onto his face as he sold each sweet thing off. And it was not as though he was jealous of those with love in their lives, or upset with them somehow. It was just that the time made him as sad as it did happy.

Yet being alone was the least of his worries as he walked, empty handed, towards the shops and such that supplied the bakery’s smaller, more seasonal needs. He’d been moving quickly, left alone for the most part, and though it troubled him, he liked things that way. It spared the fear of being individually burdensome and annoying.

It was not until he stopped at the sight of something red in the snow (fallen flower petals, he suspected. Grown in fine greenhouses, he rationalized in the seconds he had to do so) that someone seemed to notice he was there.

He turned and within seconds, his relative, sad sense of not-panic disappeared. A drink? What? His voice caught in his throat and suddenly he found himself unable to turn down an offer that he’d never planned to accept. What if he turned it down? What if he did it wrong, and the one asking, someone didn’t recognize well, was cross with him? What if it was wrong to turn it down? Was it? There were only questions and no answers and for a good minute, Xavier was absolutely speechless.

When he did find his small voice, social courtesy ruled over his own wants. “Um… If y-you, er… If y-you insist?” He’d never even had a drink, for Norlan’s sake! Had accepting been the wrong choice? Oh, he could hear her in his ear, his mother scolding his weakness, the fact that he was not strong enough to refuse, not good enough to find the right reply to such an offer. Inwardly, he cringed. Outwardly, wide blue eyes tentatively tried to look the woman in the face, and to no one’s surprise, failed.

[sybil-marlowe]

The young man who she’d made her drinking partner was a little bit taller than herself, and quite handsome too. But he certainly didn’t hold any confidence about himself -- not in his manner of speaking or standing. Yes, he most decidedly needed a drink. It would help him to loosen up, whether he liked it or not. Beaming brightly, she took hold of his hand, leading him along like a lost pup.

“T’was a wise decision you made today, young man,” she said over her shoulder. “You won’t find a more generous drinking companion than myself, or a friendlier one for that matter. I’m Sybil Marlowe, a pleasure to make your acquaintance. And whatever shall I call you, dear?”

[sybil-marlowe]

Too Close // Sybil & Xavier

There was so much white. Too much white. It blinded her, eyes burning so furiously that she had to turn away. The kingdom was finally coming out of mourning, but her reprieve from that dreaded color had been brief. Frey’s Day was upon them, and with the holiday came memories that she scarcely wished to recall.

But there was Mina’s Day as well, and thoughts of love and affection had settled a fear within the actress’ chest. For the lover she had sought to hide her most private emotions from had shared his own, not only proclaiming his love but also asking for her hand in marriage.

She hadn’t been expecting it, though perhaps she should have. How many times had the man whispered love into her ear after their nights of passion? How many tokens of love must he bestow her with before she finally realized? But marriage meant leaving Nore behind. Her lover’s business was nearly finished in their wintry kingdom, and if she were to wed, she would be force to follow along. But how could she leave everything behind? The theater, her friends... And what of dear Tristan? The boy had grown leaps and bounds since he became sole owner of the Gyld, but...

She realized all to quickly that she was scared. For all her daydreaming of faraway places, she couldn’t imagine a life beyond the Nameless Mountains.

These thoughts plagued her as she wandered the crowded streets, growing louder and louder with every step she took. Though it had been her intent to restock her pantry this day, the allure of distraction and alcohol sounded far more appealing.

She made her way to the Checkpoint then, bypassing the stalls of food as if she had no need of them. Her errands could wait for another day. But Sybil had no desire to drink alone on this day, and when she came upon an individual who looked just as miserable as herself, she proclaimed, “Why, you look as if you’re in need of a drink! Lucky for you, I’ve got coin enough for two.”

[sybil-marlowe]

Birds of a Feather // Steve & Sybil

[flyforpeace-deactivated20160302]

Stephen’s face lit up and he laughed briefly. “I can only hope they do not ask you to become anything horrendous.” He could not imagine why anyone would want to humiliate his wonderful actress by making her turn into something to be jeered at. If he ever heard of anyone doing that he would… Well, he didn’t know what he would do, but something intimidating for sure. Most likely he would end up ordering his guards to do it for him, but he would still be the mind behind it and could therefor take some credit for the deed.

He caught himself thinking of the actress as his and felt ashamed. Of course she wasn’t a thing to collect, but a person in her own right. She was a beautiful, glowing spirit and a flower grown too tall for anyone to pluck. “We all do take things for granted. It might be the greatest flaw of our kind. Let’s make ourselves promise to get better at appreciating what we have,” he smiled, but suddenly cringed as he realized how his words must sound, “I do not mean to sound full of myself, the gods know I did not mean to this time. Although, if you would grace me with more of your time you would soon see that I can be very much so.

“Allow me to introduce myself. I am Stephen Bartolome, of Sol,” he proclaimed humbly. “Ah, and seeing as we share thoughts on so many topics I would also like us to share a drink or two. Don’t you agree?”

[sybil-marlowe]

Sybil took a moment to ponder, though a smile tickled at the corners of her lips. “No, nothing too dreadful. I haven’t the ability to change myself into anything too beastly. Though I was able to sprout fangs at will when I was younger. I haven’t tried that in a while though...”

The idea of transforming herself into something monstrous seemed to amuse her. Scaring the wits out of some unsuspecting stranger did sound like good fun. But she pushed this amusement aside when the little lord continued to speak. He seemed so horribly concerned with offending her. Little did he know, that was actually quite difficult to do.

“I think I would be considerably less fond of you if you spoke of your wealth as if it were paltry,” she replied. “Taking note of such privilege is certainly an admirable and rare trait in men such as yourself. And rest assured, It is a pleasure to meet you, my Lord Bartolome,” she said with a polite little curtsy.

“Ah! I hadn’t realized I’d forgotten to introduce myself. I’m Sybil Marlowe, if it pleases you. And if you are happy to spare your coin on a few drinks with me, I’d be a fool to decline, wouldn’t it?”

[hart-in-training]

Oliver was just trying to get across the city; he had completed his work for today and he’d told Benjamin that he’d visit him for supper today, so he figured a head start would be a good idea. Out of his brothers, Benjamin was probably the one he liked the most (with Thomas being the one he felt the least connection with; he held even Cillian in higher regard despite all the trouble he had caused), and for once, he was actually looking forward to something, seemingly oblivious to the world around him as he trudged through the streets.

The crowd was thin at first, and Oliver was able to slip past the individuals and couples standing and watching something (someone? Oliver looked over to see a street performer). Within moments, the crowd had somehow coalesced around him, and Oliver looked around for a way out, a scowl on his face. His search for an escape was interrupted by the sight of someone…crying?

“He sounds like all the other players around the city,” Oliver replied to her comment, a skeptical eyebrow raised. “I don’t know why everyone,” he said, grumbling as he was squeezed closer to the person by a couple scooting closer to see the lute playing man, “…why everyone is making such a fuss.”

[sybil-marlowe]

It was a skeptical young man she found herself in conversation with. The actress smiled somberly at him. She always pitied those with such dreadfully dull imaginations.

“Perhaps the topic is the same, but his voice is much more mature. Any lad can strum a few strings and put together a half-witted love story. But to sing of a broken heart with such earnestness if far more difficult.”

She turned to face the young man more fully, her smile widening just the slightest bit. “You are not one who fancies music, I presume? You seem a serious man, who regards such things as frivolities and child’s play. Am I correct in my assumption?”

[oh-tristan]

The last time Tristan had worn his white coat was ages past. He had been a child then, and Sybil Marlowe was all he had left. The first show he had put on as the owner of the theater had been in homage to the man who raised him, and she had helped him through it all.

Tristan’s white coat was not a thing of joy.

He walked through the streets solemnly, without his usual rancor and theatrics. No passers-by were romanced, no poems were sung. He simply walked, notebook in hand, filled with ideas but unopened and unread. He had been going home, but the sound of music led him astray. Tristan followed it until he found the crowd, and a familiar face among them.

He stood beside Sybil, saying nothing as she cried. What did one say at a time like this? What poem would work? So he stood in silence, until she spoke first.

“It is, isn’t it?” Tristan agreed. “He has a talent unmatched by many, many Norns.” But his praise was countered by the long face he wore, sorrowful and tired.

[sybil-marlowe]

It would figure that Tristan of all people would see her in such a state. She did so hate to for him to see her upset. How long had it been before he’d seen her shed even a single tear? It must have been years ago, perhaps only just after Robbard’s passing. Automatically, she forced a smile for him, disheartened to find her own melancholy mirrored in his expression.

“That is true, but we should be thankful he’s come all this way to share his talents with us, hm?” She turned to face the young man more directly, clapping as his somber song was brought to an end. “But you do look ever so tired, my darling. I do hope you’ve been remembering to take care of yourself, otherwise I shall have to start looking in on you again.”

[sybil-marlowe]

Over the years, Sybil had grown to dislike the color white. Though it could be striking and beautiful on occasions, too often it reminded her of death and all that she’d lost. Now, with Nore in mourning, the brilliant white decorations blending in with the snow, she couldn’t help but to feel somber as she strolled the streets. Green eyes cast downward to her feet, she made her way towards the theater in silence. Or rather, she would have if not for the sound of music filling her ears.

Lifting her head up, she saw a young gentleman seated upon a barrel. A lute in his lap, he sung of long lost love, every word hauntingly beautiful. It struck a chord with the actress, and as she joined the gathered crowd, she felt a single tear roll down her cheek.

Immediately she reached within her cloak, pulling forth a handkerchief to dab at her face. It wasn’t until then that she noticed another watching her, a blush of vibrant red decorating her face and neck. “Gods, I’m acting like a child half my age,” she scoffed, wiping the last of the tears away before offering the person a smile. “But he has a lovely voice, doesn’t he? The best I’ve heard in some time...”

[sybil-marlowe]

Birds of a Feather // Steve & Sybil

[flyforpeace-deactivated20160302]

“Ah, I understand now” Steve breathed while smiling and nodding. It did make sense, how the things that were part of you felt so natural they were almost forgotten. Forgotten but not abandoned. The magic was still there to do its work whenever you asked it. It made Steve think that maybe he should be more grateful for his own magic. How could he tell that he had no use of it if he didn’t know how he would have been without it?

“Interesting, very interesting. I have heard some transformations can be as painful as cutting knives… But the gods were kind to you,” he said, nodding slowly. “I wonder, if it had been painful, would you still have used it? Would you have loved it as much? If there’s no tingling, is there no reminder of the magic being there at all? No, don’t answer, I’m simply thinking out-loud…

“If something does not seem remarkable it does not mean it isn’t. One simply has to take a step back and look at it,” he said and felt himself sound wiser than ever. A laugh escaped him and he looked up at the actress with newfound gratitude, “You have showed me yet another new angle of the world. I think, if this goes on I will be a good man by the end of the day.” An uncertain smile played on his lips and he lowered his eyes, “I have spoken too long.” Suddenly he was afraid. He had felt so at easy talking to the actress, but although he was a lord and she so far below him he was intimidated by her performance, beauty and words. It touched him and he didn’t want her to dislike him, didn’t want her to see what a coward he was.

[sybil-marlowe]

Though Sybil had an answer for every single one of the curious little lord’s answers, she simply smiled as he pondered to himself. He seemed a good-natured sort of man, the kind that Sybil might find herself sitting and laughing with at the Muse’s Checkpoint. But his fine little furs were not to be ignored. Nobility, however kindly, were still nobility. And while Sybil held very few prejudices in her heart, men with the sort of money this man did always gave her pause.

“Your questions bring me no offense, my Lord,” she said, her grin widening. “In fact, it is rather nice to hear someone speak of my magic as if it is not merely commonplace. Why, I cannot tell you how many times I’ve been asked to change into this or that just within the last week. It’s so little of a spectacle to the others I sometimes forget how fascinating it can be for others.

“So I think I must thank you as well,” she said with a little curtsy. “For reminding me of my good fortune. I think I have a terrible penchant of taking things for granted -- my magic being most chief among those.”

[sybil-marlowe]

Birds of a Feather // Steve & Sybil

[flyforpeace-deactivated20160302]

Being knocked over was not something Steve enjoyed, yet he waved away her apology. He was too captured by her craft to want any apologies from her. “A man my height learns to accept these things. I did that once I was near being crushed by a giant of a man, who did not look where he sat,” he said, still with the same grin on his lips.

He had seen magic before. In great shows put on by traveling companies, in plays put up in Sol, even in the streets. But they had looked like simple tricks, nothing close to what he’d witnessed in Nore, especially not to what he had seen moments ago. And his own so called magic was nothing, it wasn’t even a trick you could get paid for. A complete change of appearance, gods, that was magnificent!

“Simply?” he repeated with disbelief. “How could something so complete be viewed so lightly? I… I don’t understand,” his expression was troubled. This woman was using a gift so magnificent only to stay off the streets. Was that as far as it could get her? Why was she not entertaining royals and wearing golden robes?

Stephen scratched his forehead while contemplating. “Does it…” he looked at the actress curiously, “How does it feel when you do it?” Then he suddenly hit himself in the head, “Forgive me, I’ve completely forgotten my manners. I don’t mean to intrude, I am only so damnably curious. Would you mind so awfully if I borrowed some more of your time?”, he asked, putting on his most charming smile.

[sybil-marlowe]

Sybil’s grin only widened at the troubled expression upon the lord’s face. Spending her time surrounded by her fellow actors and actresses, she often forgot the wonder people felt when they beheld her magic. But the feeling was certainly not unwelcome. In fact, it welled up a sense of pride and joy within her. Sybil loved her magic, cherished it as dearly as her next breath. She wouldn’t be a whole person without it. So when she next spoke, her words were purely to reassure her admirer. “I think you misunderstand, my Lord. My magic is as much apart of me as my arms or legs. But just because I can speak of it so lightly, does not mean I appreciate it any less.”

“Think of me like a blacksmith,” she said. “He uses his hands to forge his fine works, and therefore they are vastly important to his craft. But he has always had hands -- he was born with them and, if the gods are merciful, he will die with them. So sometimes he forgets to view his hands as the wondrous things that they are. Does that make sense?”

Granted, Sybil hadn’t always had her magic. It wasn’t until she was ten and three that her magic finally revealed itself. But her magic was part of her, it made her who she was. And sometimes she couldn’t help but to forget that she wouldn’t be the same person without it.

“How does it feel?” she repeated his question, brows furrowing as she thought how to respond. “Well, it isn’t painful in the least, not like most people imagine. It sort of... Well, the parts that change do tingle a little... And you can feel things moving about as your body configures into a different shape. But that’s just how it is for me. I can’t speak on the behalf of anyone else.”

[sybil-marlowe]

Birds of a Feather // Steve & Sybil

[flyforpeace-deactivated20160302]

During dark times nothing was better than to dream oneself away. Any good book or play could suffice, but the more magic in it the better. As the drums set the mood and the actors took their places Steve knew he had done right to come there today. He recognized the feeling of being pulled away from his own life and welcomed it whole-heartedly. This was what he had come for; to be swept off his feet and carried away by the tale.

Seated in the front row, mostly so he would not have anyone’s head in the way, Steve was as close as he could get to the magic. It was with a grin on his lips that he watched the plot unroll, until the end. By then his chin had dropped and he stared wide-eyed in awe at the heroines transformation. How was that even possible, he thought. He clapped frantically like the rest of the audience, he was moved to tears. The beauty of the tale was not only in the woman, but in the hero’s decision to help her before she was beautiful. It spoke to him, touched him deep in his heart, and the magical transformation was the perfect finish. When it was over one thing stood clear, he had to meet this actress.

“Stay here,” he instructed his guards, for once he would be just himself, and went into the theater. He did not really care if he was allowed there or not, his mind was so set on the task, and there was really no rule a little money could not blur. Finding the actress turned out to be easy, she found him. He felt her before he saw her, though, and as they collided he was so surprised he had no time to catch hold of anything. A pile of unused cloth broke his fall and he landed softly among them.

“Not to worry…” he grunted, still trying to regain his focus. “It’s a common occurrence,” he said and smiled while getting to his feet. Looking up he realized how tall the woman really was and he felt himself shrink in her presence. Struggling to remember what he had set out to do he said something before his staring became too odd. “I wanted to see you, to thank you… That was a beautiful play. The transformation, how did you do that? I’ve never seen anything quite like it.”

[sybil-marlowe]

When the man rose to his full height, Sybil’s eyes widened with surprise. A little lord, he was. A man full grown, but the crest of his head barely at her hip. She’d heard of little people before, even seen them in traveling troupes, but she’d never actually spoken to such a fellow. And she’d never realized they’d come in the more wealthy variety.

“Yes, I imagine it is,” she said with a small smile. “But I must apologize nonetheless. If someone had knocked me over as such, I don’t think my words would be quite so kind.”

In fact, Sybil could be quite verbose when she was angered. Foul words that should never see the light of day could find themselves upon her lips in such moments. But she realized, after a brief moment, that she was in the presence of an admirer. So those words would, thankfully, be saved for another day.

“I’m so glad you enjoyed it, my Lord,” she said with a little bow. “We work very hard to bring beauty and life to Nore, so it’s good to hear that we’ve been doing our job correctly.

“My transformation?” she repeated, sounding almost confused. “Ah, you mean my magic! Gods, I use it so often I nearly forget that it’s unusual to most. Yes, the transformation you witnessed was simply me using my magic. The gods saw fit to bless me with the ability to change my form at will. Some call it mirror magic, some call it witchcraft -- I call it a fine way to make a living,” she laughed. “But yes, both characters were portrayed by myself. It was no trick of the eyes which you saw.”

[sybil-marlowe]

Birds of a Feather // Steve & Sybil

It felt quite odd to be putting on such a light-hearted play during such a serious time. Since King Dominic’s passing, the swathes of white that blanketed Nore did put a bit of a damper on things. But Sybil was nothing if not a consummate performer, and despite any misgivings she felt, she kept them expertly hidden. And besides, if she could bring a smile to someone’s face this evening, it would be well worth the discomfort.

It was a folktale from the deserts that they put on this day, one that had Sybil playing the part of a shaman. Dressed from head to toe in feathers and bones, she was a rather intimidating sight -- but it was little more than deception.

The end of the play saw her costume falling away, revealing her to be a goddess in human form. The crowd was in awe of her magic in action, clapping thunderously as she changed from a humpbacked elder to a beautiful, young lady. She met the lips of the story’s hero, granting him the gift of the gods for helping her through countless trials. And when their story was finally at an end, she looked out to see countless, smiling faces.

It gave her great joy to see the happiness she brought the Norn people. Their homeland could be harsh, and she was glad to lessen their burden from time to time. And after the crowd began to thin, the actress took leave of the stage to change back into her usual attire -- a thing which did not take long, given her magic.

It took only the briefest of moments for Sybil’s form to shift back into its usual shape. Once, it had taken hours, but years of practice had made her swift. Throwing a cloak round her bare shoulders, she stepped from the backstage area to catch a glimpse of the remaining crowd. There was excited chatter among them, and she thought a quick greeting might be in order.

But as she walked, she came to stumble over something. And upon further inspection, she realized the thing she’d tripped over was a man. “Oh goodness!” she exclaimed, a hand clapping over her mouth. “By Alva’s beard, are you alright, my Lord? I hadn’t even seen you there!”

[gabrielxturner-deactivated20160]

Behind the Scenes || Gabriel & Sybil

[gabrielxturner-deactivated20160]

Was he ready? Was he ever. Gabriel felt as though he were a child let loose in a sweet shop, with as much coin as he needed to buy all the delicacies retired for a sore tummy afterwards. There was something about such joy that elevated the soul, that allowed it to bear up on a body that held it back, to threaten to grow wings and soar away from the mountainous weight that rested brutally upon his shoulders. A weight that stuck with him every day, one that grounded him, one he had to understand and live with. One that had changed the very fabric of who he was.

Yet he would forever be grateful for this moments, he could appreciate that. He didn’t think he’d ever be truly able to repay Sybil for allowing him this. For finding some way to bring him mindless delight, to, in a way, fulfill half a dream of his. Being backstage at the glorious Gyld.

“I am most certainly ready,” Gabriel promised, his exterior calm and collected, despite the light that shone through his eyes, through his smile. Forever the one to hide, he thought to himself, forever the one to be so cautious of emotion, whether it be good or bad. “Please, lead the way, if you’ll allow it… We won’t be intruding on anyone, if you take me, right? I should not wish to make a fuss…”

[sybil-marlowe]

As soon as he consented she was leading him back, a joyous expression upon her face. “Hm? Oh goodness, darling, no one is going to be offended if you’re back there. In fact, some of the ladies might even ask if you like what you see.” She giggled mischievously, pushing her way through the crowds and into the chaos backstage. There was a flurry of colors and sounds surrounding them, and Sybil seemed right at home among it.

Heading towards her own dressing table, Sybil gestured for him to take a seat. Working already to free herself from her costume, she simultaneously let her magic begin to slide away. The points upon her ears became more rounded, and her slim hips became fuller once more. In only a matter of minutes, she was wholly Sybil Marlowe again, prancing about merrily in her undergarments.

“Oh, you know what would be fun!” she said, turning to face Gabriel once more. “Would you like to wear a costume for a little while? I’m sure there’s one we can find to fit you.”

[leo-princeofsol-blog]

Whispered Words || Sybil & Leo

[leo-princeofsol-blog]

Leo very willingly followed her into her home. It was, of course, nothing like the noble houses back in Sol, but it was nicer than the Whorehouse by leaps and bounds. His eyes darted around the room, smiling at the trinkets and things she had in her home. He wondered if she lived alone. Did she have a suitor? A housemate? A husband? A wife?

He pushed the door shut behind him as he took a few steps into the home before remembering to take off his snow-covered boots. He didn’t want to track snow all over her home–it wasn’t a very polite thing to do. “You have a lovely home, Miss Sybil,” he told her, following her to her desk. “It’s been…Quite a long time since I saw a home as nice as this.”

Leo cleared his throat; he knew she couldn’t send the letter to the palace. Not only would it never be taken seriously, but it would likely never reach the King. No, she had to sent her letter to the King’s right hand man, his closest friend. Lord Haldron? Lord Marinatos? No, Lord Pierpoali. “Lord Tellis Pierpoali,” Leo told her. “That is who we shall send the letter to.”

[sybil-marlowe]

A knowing smile settled upon Sybil’s lips as he complimented her home. She imagined he was accustomed to much grander homes than the one she resided in, but for once she chose not to make comment.

“Tellis Pierpoali?” she repeated the name as she transcribed it upon the parchment. “Such an odd name. I’ve never heard anyone called that before.” But she stopped the movements of her quill after addressing the letter properly, surprised to find herself at a sudden loss for words.

“So how do we make sure that he opens it?” she asked, turning in her seat to gaze up at him. “Is there any way he might be able to identify you? The words from a song for...anything, really?”

[winterlocked-rp]

[sybil-marlowe]

winterlocked-rp:

—-  Sybil Marlowe ; Forty ; Actress ; Mirror

Taken: OC

FC: Tilda Swinton

Gif Hunt Directory: [x]

The Shape - Shifter

Sybil was born in the springtime, before spring had ceased to exist. A happy and exuberant child, Sybil spent her youngest years unaware of the strife her family suffered. But as she grew, it became more and more evident just how much the Marlowes did not have. The pairing of her mother — the daughter of a Norn merchant — and father — the son of Sol nobility — was not the ideal her father’s parents had hoped for.  Disinherited, the lack of support hurt the young family, but nothing so much as the pair’s lack of useful skills. Sybil’s father, determined to make a living as a poet, was only mediocre at best, and could never sustain his growing family’s needs. Sybil’s mother, having been taught in no other trade but having children, found little use outside of the house. So the family struggled, destitute and defamed, and neither parent had the gumption to better their situation. So Sybil took things into her own hands. At the age of twelve, Sybil began performing small plays on the streets of Nore. Sometimes she would cast her siblings as characters — much to their chagrin — and sometimes she would go it alone. While she never earned very much, her acting caught the attention of many, and a few of the more generous folk would pay her for the little performances.

Read the full biography under the cut.

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[sybil-marlowe]