#crimsonhalfbreed

[howprettyareyou]

crimsonhalfbreed replied to your photoset:((My mum bought me pretty dresses!! Excuse my face...

//Stunning, gorgeous, asdfghjkl!! You rock those dresses! :)

((agasfkhksfa thank you <3 <3 <3))

[idontstealpain]

"What's the matter?"

Your muse notices how my muse has been pretty quiet for a while. Send me “What’s the matter?” for my characters reaction

"The matter?” Cole turned his head curiously, looking for all the world like a floppy-eared puppy with his silly hat. “Oh, nothing. The stars are very bright.”

[vintdesserter-blog]

crimsonhalfbreed

“Scuse me, you wouldn’t mind settling the subject of a bet, would you? Only I figure you’re the person ‘round here who’d be able to.”

[chesthair-dontcare]

"Slurred Words"

Send “slurred words” to hear my muse describe yours whilst ridiculously drunk.

“I’ll be honest. I don’t know her. Never seen her. She’s a red head though; that’s nice. Not many of them around anymore; they’re all underground and hairy.. and men.”

[madamdefer]

"Slurred Words"

“Mmm. Those eyes. With that hair.” Vivienne lifts her hand as a flame appears over her thumb, and she dances it over her knuckles. “I can’t wait to see what she can do.”

[boundbythecircle]

"Slurred words"

Send “slurred words” to hear my muse describe yours whilst ridiculously drunk.

“Yummy elfish kind of woman who should hug me but... doesn’t care. Like most people. Oh Gods I’m alone.”

[madamdefer]

22

Send me a number and I’ll write a drabble about my muse’s past 

22 : DOES HONESTY MATTER?

She places the letter on Empress Celene’s desk. Though it’s only a bit of paper sealed with blue wax, it’s heavier than all the dragons of all the world combined. When it leaves her hands, the weight moves her from fingers and dances up her arms until it settles on her shoulders. 

It threatens to break her in two.

Empress Celene turns at her approach, a swish of royal blue skirts against a backdrop of golden furnishings. They are alone in the Empress’ private quarters and so she wears no mask, instead revealing herself as a tired, desperate old woman whose knuckles are white and hardened from clenching too hard on an empire that rapidly threatens to slip from her grasp.

“What’s this?” Empress Celene’s voice is paper-thin. 

Vivienne merely inclines her head towards the seal. 

Empress Celene steps forward. Takes the letter. Opens it. Begins to read.

As the fury begins to show in those ancient eyes, Vivienne bows her head and clasps her hands behind her back so the Empress will not see how they shake like leaves. The weight on her shoulders increases; it’s as though an unseen blacksmith is attempting to pound the Lady of Iron into nothing but dust and ashes.

“It’s from Comte Girard.” She frowns as she continues to read. The fury only grows with each new line, and soon the Empress’ hands, too, begin to shake. But not out of some unseen weight. Hers shake out of rage.

“I simply cannot believe this!” She throws the letter down and looks up at Vivienne, eyes smoldering like two hot coals. “He is planning to assassinate Briala?!”

Vivienne meets her eyes with a gaze so cool that it dampens the Empress’ fire. “The letter was intercepted by one of my acquaintances this morning,” she says softly, her own voice a stark contrast to  Celene’s bluster. 

“But he has been an ally of mine for years! Why would he—”

“Your Radiance, the contents of the letter suggest otherwise.” Behind her back, Vivienne’s hands tremble like two leaves amidst a winter storm.

Empress Celene whirls away from the desk and takes several steps before suddenly coming to a halt. Her spine is ramrod straight and all of her weariness is gone; after all, rage is a hell of an anesthetic. At last she turns to face Vivienne, shoulders drawn back and chin high.

“The Comte must die.” This is not a statement; it’s a fact.

Vivienne inclines her head respectfully. “I agree.” She pushes herself away from the desk and turns towards the door. “I will inform—”

“His wife and son, as well.”

Vivienne freezes in midstep and the weight on her shoulders triples. “Your Radiance?” She glances back over at Celene, confusion evident in her eyes. And fear evident in her heart.

Celene meets her gaze squarely. “All of them, Vivienne. They all must die. To threaten my spymaster is to threaten my rule; and with Gaspard nipping at my heels, you know we cannot have that.”

If Vivienne was made of flesh and blood she would have wept. But she is the Lady of Iron, and so her cheeks remain dry and her chin remains high. “Very well, Your Radiance. I shall make the necessary arrangements.”

“Do it discreetly, of course. Something tragic.”

“Yes, Your Radiance.”

“A housefire, perhaps.”

“Understood, Your Radiance.” 

With a wave of Celene’s hand, Vivienne is dismissed; she turns around so suddenly she almost trips on her dress. But just as her fingers touch the handle of the door, Celene’s voice stops her as surely as any spell.

"Before you go, First Enchanter, one last thing.”

Vivienne turns. Each movement is an agony.

“Is this information to be trusted?” Celene waves a hand at the letter.

Vivienne’s throat is drier than the Anderfels but somehow she manages to swallow and nod. “I can personally assure you of its authenticity.”

The lie is as flawless as the incriminating letter’s penmanship and forged signature. She’s always had a knack for forging signatures.

Celene pauses for the briefest of moments before nodding once. “Very good, then. Do what needs to be done.”

“As you desire, Your Radiance.” 

“Oh, and Vivienne?”

“Yes, Your Radiance?”

"Do make sure the housefire kills the whole family.”

“Yes, Your Radiance.”

Vivienne leaves as silently as a shadow, and with movements as graceful as any dancer, she condemns an innocent man and his family to die, all because once upon a time, many years ago, he made a comment about the color of her skin that she never, ever forgot. 

[crimsonhalfbreed]

“The— things were stopped before they made it here..” And what a relief that was. The horses had been nervous for a good amount of time before the attack, it was like they could sense them coming. Athenyla could not imagine what would have happened if they actually made it in here. “The horses were skittish, they’re doing a lot better now, they can sense that the threat is gone, i think.” “What is your name?” The half-blooded girl asked before several more questions spilled out. “I— what were they? —The men who attacked. They looked more like monsters, demons. What did they want?”

[emmahalam]

Solas shifted, listening to the sound of Master Dennett calming one of the last nervous beasts. A few moments and the horse gave a small whinny of what seemed to be appreciation.

“I am Solas, if you wish to know. I do not believe I caught your name.” At the questions, Solas only smiled some. It was natural to be curious about a thing that tried to kill you. He shook his head and held up a hand in a somewhat calming gesture.

“They were sent by enemies of the Inquisition. Beyond that, it is difficult to discer. There is no need to fear them, however. Our soldiers will see to it that they cannot find their way in again.”