#fc:astrid

[bornofbloodandwater]

FOR @fourmarksmage​

Makeup wiped off on the wool of her sleeve, soaked through with the pleasant chill of September rain. Navy blue silk dress beneath a grey houndstooth great coat, open toe heels laced up around her ankles, freezing in the icy wind.

Sebastian had probably figured out that she’d slipped out on him by now. The dinner had begun in disaster, there was no surprise she’d excused herself and dropped out from the women’s room window. 

Her home in the Upper West Side was still trashed from their fight before they’d left for dinner. Broken glass from the cabinet she’d punched when the frustration grew too fierce to control. He’d forced her out the door her hand still streaming blood to get into the taxi he’d called just before asking her support on his latest ‘venture’. She’d not given him a cent yet, near a year of her refusals were wearing her down, he didn’t even know what she did to earn that money. She dirties her hands, he claws for the riches that follow. In private his lust for her had been enough to keep her home alive, his body next to hers staving away most of her nightmares. His use could have been filled by anyone, and he was anyone. This is where anyone had gotten her. Too afraid to let him loose and too stubborn to hand him what he wanted. It was a matter of time.

His subservient role didn’t stop him being infuriatingly jealous and cruel. He’d learned her cues, known when and how to twist the knife. He knew she couldn’t stand being alone now, he’d seen to that. Going off for hours at a time when he wanted his way. Off without a word in the middle of the night so she’d sit restless in bed waiting on him, more likely to agree when he returned with some half-assed excuse she’d swallow for the comfort.

The sex is lifeless and short. Serving more to keep him at her side now than for pleasure, as it certainly did not fulfil that requirement. After meeting Yen, she’s been avoiding his desirous gaze at every turn. Unfortunately this was only serving to raise the tensions in her house.

Wandering with her thoughts, their inescapable noise pulling her from street to street. Looking up after an hour in the rain to find Yennefer’s building. She thought her path had been aimless but her memories knew where she’d rather be. Even just seeing the door had some of the tension melting from her shoulders.

A knock and a buzz at her door she only hoped and hoped and hoped that she was home, and that she actually wanted to see her. She’d grown to crave her attention so fast, hidden texts under dinner tables, photos taken in bathrooms, hushed calls from downstairs late at night, visits when she couldn’t stand being around Seb and needed to feel her, the desire to just be by her pervading her every day actions 

Trying to fix her sorry appearance as best she can, only so much you can do when you’re soaked to the bone. So wet, drops can be felt creeping under her hair, slipping down her neck. Her palm flat to the wood of the door in a plea.

“Please be home, Yen.”

[bornofbloodandwater]

Curiosity and Power

The breeze lifting the delicate grasses surrounding her secluded river-beach. A shirt of blue silk fluttering on one of the rocky platforms bordering the swell along with the boots, trousers and underthings of the siren dozing in the shallows.

There were little worries on Xiomara’s mind, water-dwelling creatures avoided her no matter where she travelled and humans were easily dealt with if posing a threat. She had taken well to becoming a ‘mythical’ vigilante for the people of Toussaint. Spending her days lounging in pools and rivers far enough from the roads that she didn’t often get visitors. Her nights enticing and drowning the abusers of power, people and wealth. Her small cottage home not so far from where she lounges brushing through her long hair in the clear water, humming in tune with the sweet melodies of the morning.

Prickling at a presence at her back, certainly closer than she was comfortable with, the siren slips beneath the water in a diving arc. Resurfacing behind a pier-like boulder close by. Only golden eyes and fingertips gripping the edge visible to the black and white woman approaching from the west. Her clothes far enough away that it would be foolish to attempt to retrieve them. Choosing to make herself known under her own terms. There was always the option to leave by the water or take a fight for some early morning entertainment.

“ Is there something you are looking for, Stranger? ”

@fourmarksmage​

[bornofbloodandwater]

@ofvergen​

A fair amount of coin for the head of an insurgent, half of the price already resting in her pack. The siren had considered refusing the emperor’s offer, preferring to keep herself removed from major political events. Attention brought scrutiny and enemies. Unfortunately her hesitation was met swiftly with the subtle threat that they know where and how she operates and can very easily let slip to the local lords who she is.

If she wanted to keep her pleasant life she’d have to accept, the florens weren’t enough to soothe the disdain for her employer, but a deal is a deal and Xiomara lies in wait for her target nonetheless.

Trailing their cavalcade through Upper Aedirn, the siren decides to make her approach in the deep forests between their recruitments in the villages. Less than a day’s march from the Dyfne. Tales of Saskia the Dragonslayer foretold her to be a kind and just leader, set on building equality between all races, the stories not settling her gut on the matter at hand. She’d hoped to hear of misdeeds, a foul temper, cruelty in her preachings but none came.

Suddenly her life of warm waters and sweet pastry was donning a thin veil of self-disgust, the knowledge of what life she is seeking to take will surely taint even the sweetest memories of her little paradise.

              What are you willing to give for your home?

                                          How many are you willing to sacrifice?

The thoughts interrupted by calls from the road, a flash of blonde and the dispersal of the ranks she followed here. Tearing through the silk of her shirt Xiomara takes her blade to her own side and lets out a yelp of pain, dispersing the knife and stumbling just close enough to the tree-line to catch the eyes of her target. Filling her eyes with pain and fear, easy enough to bring to the surface with certain memories of childhood.

Retreating after she’s certain she’s been seen, trailing herself out into a clearing away from the new camp, being sure to make small whimpers and stuttering breaths as she takes her place, collapsed in the centre of the meadow, tears dampening her cheeks she lies in wait. Hand pressed tight to her side, her shirt stained red and darkening by the second, the siren snaps her head up to meet the stranger’s eyes as they break the forest’s edge. Her voice shaking, golden eyes gazing up into deep blues from her place on her knees.

            “Please, I don’t want any more trouble.”

[bornofbloodandwater]

[ touch ] - forehead touch @fourmarksmage​ from this meme

Rolling up the sleeves of her shirt, cursing under her breath at the screams coming from upstairs as Sebastian sets about throwing his things in boxes. Running down the grand stairs, sweeping her hair from her face in irritation. “Fucking men, bane of my life.”

     “Yennefer?”

A shock at seeing the woman, the very one she has wished would grace her home with her presence, so unexpectedly. At a fairly unfortunate time, but all the frustration and anxiety fades as soon as she lays eyes on her lover. Nothing in the world could have caught her in this moment as wholly as dark curls in the night on her doorstep.

Gathering the dark haired woman into her home, distress clear in her body, in her violet eyes. Concerned but solid, wordless in her composure, Xiomara’s attention dedicated to her and only her. “Tell me what happened, Darling.” Closing the door behind her. Out from the cold of the New York winter seething against the windows and doors of her home.

A fireplace burning in the entrance hallway, another in the living room visible through to the right. The decor soft and pale colours, ancient books and vases full of blooms. Dark hardwood floors graced by enormous blue and white woven rugs. The home is immense yet warm, comforting and enveloping yet scholarly and opulent.

Fingertips seeking a pale darling cheek, meeting her eyes with soft distress. Settling her forehead against her mage’s, in comfort and in acceptance. To be so close to her an unending respite.

                                          “Who the fuck is this?”

A vile voice from a half descent of the staircase, snide and accusatory. Behind the siren stands a man of around six feet, weedy and bookish, faux money in his slouched and overly affected accent. Carrying a large brown leather duffel overflowing with his hastily packed belongings. If he wasn’t so clearly caught out in his act he might have been beautiful, sweeping blond waves cropped to his ears, a Grecian nose, full lips.

“Absolutely none of your business, Sebastian. Get out of my home. Now.” A darkening gravel to her voice as she refuses to turn to him, a deep sighing breath as she senses him continue. “I’d say it has everything to do with my business if this is the bitch you’ve been fucking when you don’t come home all night.” His bag thrown violently in rage at her as the facade cracks further, swatted away from herself and her visitor with ease and vexation. A gentle hand on Yennefer’s arm, in effort to communicate her solidity, and she snaps towards him. Ablaze.

Something in the presence of the dark haired woman by her side shifting her irritation with the man to a fury. Perhaps it was the addition of perspective, heightening the ridiculous nature of this predicament. I should have been rid of you long ago.  “How dare you even address her. You are nothing to me.” Voice echoing off the stone and strength growing in every word, despite her size, a terror in silk, she approaches him in two long strides. Her small yet rigid hand gripping him by the jaw with crushing force and wheeling him to the door. 

“I’d rather have her kill me than hear a single word against her, especially from you.” Door swung open wide to the walls. A reverberating slam to his chest to send him toppling down the marble steps afore her home, his bags tossed out atop him. “Return here to MY home ever again and I’ll be far more foul than you could ever imagine.”

As she leans back against a door slammed shut in the face of her most pressing problem, now solved, she seems slack, relaxed, eyes empty of their usual strain. The siren shaking herself after a brief moment and smiling to her company. “Come and sit down, tell me what’s been going on, I can make some dinner or I can just stay with you, whatever you’d prefer.” A hand slicked through her hair after locking the door behind them, keeping him out more so than keeping them in. 

[bornofbloodandwater]

❝ will you leave me here dying? ❞ - @oceanforged​

“ Of course not, Darlene. I would never. ” tears brimming in her eyes, furious at fragility. The corpse of the man that dared draw a weapon on her love not far from where she kneels, clutching the woman her heart beats for. A hand holding tight to the wound in her side.

“ Who draws a dagger in a fist fight, the coward. He just knew you were going to win, Darling. ” Brushing hair from her eyes, the pain in her blues unbearable to see. There was so much blood, Xiomara didn’t know how long someone who could die had before they were...gone. So ridiculous that now of all times she feels the ghost of her sister at her back, raising her shoulders, whispering to herself She doesn’t want you to die like she did, I won’t let you, I won’t let you.

“ I...This will be strange, I’m going to heal you. If you’ll let me. Please. ” 

[bornofbloodandwater]

Closed Starter for @blcckbrd​

It was rare to see such a ship in her waters. A monolith of steel and steam had appeared in the night, she was coloured curious to say the least. Enough to swim all the way out to the beast with a simple dress on and climb aboard through a porthole left slightly ajar. The silent and peaceful night above blessing her journey.

Admiring the ship from within, unlike anything that she has seen so far, awe in her golden eyes. A sated smile playing on her lips. Bare feet quiet on the metal, but little damp footprints left in her wake. Pale dress soaked through to the bone, waist length hair heavy with salt water. Most might have said she looked ghostly, the assumption wouldn’t be far off from the truth. “Beautiful...and confusing...” suddenly aware of how many turns she’d been making, taking stairs up and down in her little adventure she was now thoroughly lost.

[bornofbloodandwater]

℧ 👀 - @ofvergen​ asked for a randomly generated scenario!

Saskia and Xiomara get caught up in a storm and must stay sheltered together until it passes!

Preferring to go on her rounds with Saskia, since joining the fray, the night had set fully in and they were a mile or so from their encampment. There was no chance she was going to get a sound nights sleep in the din of camp anyway, may as well be productive and simultaneously close to the one person she cares to know. Attempting to learn what she can about this mysterious Goddess of a woman she’s accidentally become a loyal supporter and protector of. Not that she really needs protecting.

Their route coming across a few scattered abandoned homes, small and dilapidated, some caved in completely, others seemingly newly left to the wilds.

Dressed tightly in wools and leather, arms wrapped around her waist, Xiomara remains freezing. Cursing her breath drifting white in the air, the north is no place for a child accustomed to the warm waters of Toussaint. A perpetual pouting frown on her lips and red blush sweeping her nose and cheeks. Tonight the winds are howling fierce and savage. “How can you stand this chill so easily?” shouting over the roar, a shiver straightening her spine, eyes scanning the trees for signs of life.

The woods creaking around them, a growl of thunder preceding a crack of lightning close enough to raise the hairs on her arms. As golden eyes raise to the sky, the sky sighs itself upon them, half ice half rain, freezing and searing in how it whips the skin. Arms flung wide in exasperation she calls to the air “WHY DO PEOPLE LIVE HERE!?” as if in answer the nearest tree flings down a weighty branch for her, sending her dashing for cover in the nearest little home.

Shouldering the door open and shuffling inside. Muscles seizing in her legs from the cold she lets out a frustrated sigh “Saskia?” the tone a hinting warning as well as a question.

[bornofbloodandwater]

Tragedy's Blood

A young doe. A desolated creature of the ocean. A sham of the end of her people. Emaciated and pathetic to lay eyes upon.

Shaking hands raise the thin bolt of blood, tears burning her eyes she whips the bolt, whistling in the air through the slender neck of the doe. Her only method of gathering food for herself. She had been living in the towns but the only things that they had wanted her for were brothels. Nowhere else seemed willing to hire her, ghostly wisp of a creature that she was. She was a far cry from the beautiful, busty, jolly, joyful women who tended pubs and inns. In truth, she was a depressing sight, not one of mirth and light, but harrowed pain and starvation. So now she has begun to wander, setting herself a small camp each night and travelling each day.

A trembling approach to her kill. There should be health and power in a kill, but alas all Xiomara sees is her continued suffering. Perhaps even the fate she should have been dealt. The siren drops to her knees at its side, cradling its head in her hands.

“Why am I here, gentle one? I should be tearing the throats from my enemies. Avenging my friends. My kin. My future.” She leans down to press her forehead against its soft fur taking what small comfort she can. A deep settled regret at her own vile hunger, that she would have to take such a beautiful little life. When the delicate creature dies Xiomara bursts, hot searing tears and a scream. A furious, soul-wrenching cry of rage and bitterness. Her hair raising around her in a watery halo of bronze. The burning faces of her friends, her people, flickering behind her closed eyes. Her sweet sister’s cold, blueing body in a puddle of dark drying blood. The damned slayers, tearing her cousin limb from limb with axes and swords.

The deer’s body has cooled by the time she sighs and opens her eyes. Her hair sticking in its blood. She forges a dagger from her wrist, aiming to skin and bleed it before nightfall. Her hand stilled by the sensation of being watched, the hair on her forearms and neck standing in a wash of fear.

@inexhaustiblywild​