#tempesttragedy celia

[miss-polly]

Incorrect Quotes // @tempesttragedy for Celia

Send me 🗣️ (talking) for an incorrect quote of our muses ;;

[miss-polly]

@tempesttragedy please don't kill everyone theyre in enough trouble as it is

[miss-polly]

@tempesttragedy for celia ;

The one day a week Polly didn't open the cafe still managed to somehow be filled with work. She spent the day cleaning her apartment, running errands, and, most importantly, browsing the farmer's market. Though she had restaurant-grade suppliers for most of her ingredients, nothing beat the locally-grown ingredients. Unique flavors of honey, specially-mixed tea blends. Polly filled her bags quickly, making conversation, stopping to let people pet Marius, and treating to herself to something sweet.

She paused at a booth filled with plants. Flowers bloomed merrily in the late-morning sun, cacti and succulents lined up in neat rows. The owner must have stepped away for a moment, however. Instead, Polly picked up a pot of lovely pink blooms, and turned to the woman besides her. "Sorry -- do you know about this one? Does it do well in partial sunlight?"

[miss-polly]

"your hands might be small, but they feel like the entire Atlantic ocean on my coastline skin..." Celia

Lost the meme ; @tempesttragedy

The world was quiet here, the door closed, curtains drawn, the yellow wash of sunset painting the world gold. They were halfway covered by the bedsheets. Somewhere beyond these walls, the city played its unending song of cars and industry, too far away to care.

"You are too beautiful not to touch," Polly whispered. Celia lay in her lap as Polly brushed dark hair out of her face and traced shapes along the lines of her body. Her jaw, the tendons of her neck, the dip between her collarbones. "Sometimes I think I can memorize how you feel, but it's never quite right. I always miss something." A pause as she circles a freckle on Celia's shoulder. "Right here. I missed this last time. I'm sure I'm sorry if I forget it again."

[miss-polly]

“Go ahead and take a shower. I’ll fix you something to eat.” - celia

hurt/comfort ; @tempesttragedy

Another month, another event far beyond Polly's understanding has led Celia to relocating her once again. The impermanence of the safe houses almost put her in the mind of her late teens, lying about her age and wandering into the homes of anyone who would have her, paying whatever they asked for in exchange for a roof over her head for the night. 

But Celia isn't anything like the people she pursued back then. She's smart. She's careful. And more than anything she cares about Polly's safety. Despite the isolation, the unavoidable days of idle waiting, Celia has been nothing but honest about her motivations. And though exhaustion sat heavy in Polly's bones, there was no avoiding the instinct to offer to cook instead. Celia had done plenty for the day. Surely deserved a hot dinner.

"I can cook," she protests. But... Polly sighed. She reached up subconsciously, feeling the grease in her curls. A shower would feel good. She'd be able to think at least a little more clearly once her hair was clean. "After...After a shower, though, maybe."

[miss-polly]

“Tell me where it hurts.” - circ'e

hurt/comfort ; @tempesttragedy

She's still shaking.. It's a fight to even make herself move her arms, trying to raise a hand and push her hair out of her face. She's a mess. She's making a scene. She's drawing attention to herself and forcing Celia to step away from more important things to tend to her. Initially, Polly shakes her head -- nothing's wrong. She's just fine, and she's so sorry for causing trouble.

But it hurts. God, it hurts. Ultimately, it's a superficial wound, but the pain burns worse than any kitchen wound. "I-I'm..." She begins, and falters, turning her head to the side, fighting against the urge to hyperventilate. Slowly, a trembling hand makes its way down to her side. "It's nothing, I'm sure..." It hurt. Everything hurt.

[leatherfangs]

@tempesttragedy ;

A hush fell over the ballroom as the next guest was announced. Lady Rosall had come down from her castle in the mountains, dispelling the rumors yet again that she was not yet dead in her grave. Lydia wore full mourning, as always, a rich black velvet coat to match the half-mask on her face. She had been invited to the masque out of propriety more than anything, and it came at a surprise when she actually showed up that night.

She moved through the crowd like a silent wraith, intimidating and unavoidable, partygoers moving to the side to make way, and whispers followed in her wake. "Don't stop on my account," she said, her deep voice echoing off the marble. Lydia took a glass of wine off an offered tray, and raised it. 

"A toast to our most gracious hosts, for remembering my good self up in my lonely hall." She sipped almost delicately, a shocking contrast to her overpowering, mannish figure, and stepped aside. For nearly an hour, she kept politely to the sidelines, enjoying the heady scent of life and wine, but made her way towards the only other woman here who seemed as out of place as herself. "Good lady," she crooned, with a bow. "Have you no-one here to entertain you tonight?"

[leatherfangs]

stop smiling at me like that. - celia

not used to kindness ;

"Make me." Liddy's fang-toothed grin was as bright as it was smug, with her brow cocked just so. She very nearly winked, but thought better of it at the last second. Celia might go up in flames with indignation and repression. "I'm sorry to tell you, but I'm not about to be driven off just because you refuse to admit you're into me. Trust me, I've seen way worse." Liddy shimmied her shoulders, making the chains on her jacket jingle.