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starter: closed for @glittxeringgold @ofchrysalism @sacrificeys
"All this fuss and a fight over a few fussy words? I thought that perhaps someone had actually gotten hurt. Maybe even lost a limb or two." Dominic said as he mulled over his food. Maybe he should be wise with his words but he found it funny. "This was just a small scuffle I compare it to two children fighting one another."
marissa had scarcely settled into her seat before the man beside her spoke, his amusement carrying far more easily than it ought to after everything that had transpired. what fortune she had, it seemed, to find herself seated beside dominic harlaw. "perhaps," she said evenly, setting her goblet back upon the table with measured care, "though i have found children quarrel because they expect tomorrow to come all the same. lords and ladies do not always have that luxury." the words offered were neither pointed nor unkind.
amira had been making her way back toward the feast with considerably more care than haste, a small plate of sugared fruits forgotten in one hand as her attention lingered on the musicians gathered near the dais. the evening possessed a softness she had always loved, the sort that coaxed laughter from even the most reserved of guests and bathed the palace in honeyed light.
the collision caught her by surprise, though she scarcely staggered more than a step.
her gaze fell instinctively to the front of her gown at the other's worried question. there, just near the edge of one embroidered sleeve, rested a single amber droplet of wine. she looked back up, the corners of her mouth already lifting into an easy smile.
"i believe i've survived the ordeal," she said lightly, brushing the spot away with little ceremony. "you came dangerously close to robbing me of my dignity, but fortunately not my dress." a laugh escaped her then, light enough to dissolve whatever embarrassment still lingered between them.
"please don't trouble yourself over it. i ought to have been paying closer attention as well." her eyes flickered toward the goblet still remarkably secure in the woman's hand, amusement warming her features. "though i confess i'm far more impressed that you managed to save your wine than i am concerned for my sleeve."
cerelle's eyes followed the other's hand as the stray drop of wine disappeared with little more than a brush of embroidered silk, and only then did the tightness she hadn't quite realized she'd been holding slip quietly away. she had never minded making an entrance. making one by ruining another lady's gown, however, seemed considerably less appealing. there were some first impressions that even charm struggled to recover from. "only your sleeve?" she echoed, a smile already tugging at the corners of her mouth. "then i shall consider the evening an undeniable success."
the laugh that escaped the other woman drew one from cerelle in return, light and entirely unforced. she lifted her own goblet almost instinctively at the remark, turning it ever so slightly between slender fingers as though examining the wine herself. perhaps years of navigating crowded feasts had simply taught her body to protect perfectly good arbor gold before anything else. there was something vaguely embarrassing about that realization. she decided not to dwell on it.
"cerelle lannister," she introduced herself, inclining her head just enough to acknowledge the rather unconventional circumstances of their meeting. "and seeing as i've already quite literally run into you, it seems terribly unfair if i remain the only one properly introduced."
luceryn kept an eye on the platters of food, content to eat more than his share of roasted meats. dornish wine was renowned for its strength and palatability, and he was careful to resist its temptation until his stomach was well-lined. he wasn’t particularly eager to wake with a headache.
as the night pressed on, his resolve began to dwindle. he had just risen from the table to seek the serving boy carrying a flagon when someone collided with him.
he reflexively raised a hand to steady them, recognition bringing a smile to his lips. “lady lannister.” he dipped his head in a small bow. the formality of the feast wasn’t lost on him, and he was quick to fall back on his manners. he followed her gaze down, spotting a faint splash of wine across the front of his vest. “only a few drops.”
he smoothed a hand over the fabric, satisfied when most of the wine wiped off. “it won’t be fatal.” he smiled. “are you enjoying yourself?”
the familiar voice drew an altogether brighter smile from cerelle than the apology had. "cousin!" she greeted with a beam. the title escaped her almost immediately, warm with easy affection despite the technicality of it all. step-cousin or not, it seemed an awfully tedious distinction to make. family had always been far more than blood alone, at least where she was concerned.
her gaze followed his to the faint stain upon his vest. relief settled across her features when he brushed most of it away with little effort. "only a few drops?" she repeated, feigning solemn consideration. "how fortunate for us both." the corners of her mouth curved upward again, unable to sustain the seriousness for more than a heartbeat. "i'm enjoying myself immensely," she admitted without hesitation. "dorne has entirely lived up to its reputation. the food is wonderful and i suspect half the hall has already found itself tangled in one scandal or another."
she tipped her head ever so slightly, studying him with open curiosity. "what about you? how have you been?" the question lingered only briefly before another followed in its wake. "more importantly," cerelle leaned in just enough for her voice to become conspiratorial. "have you seen anything interesting? or anyone interesting?"
It was safe to say that aemma had not started too much away from her family, even if alloweded she wondered if her father would let dissappear from his sight. Dorne had feeling many mix of emotions, though the thought lingered of what happened ten years prior and what it means for them to be here now.
Still she cannot deny that the festivities were going to be something. This alone showed her what thought the great house of Martell had been putting into the feast alone and wondered what it meant for her cousin's nuptials.
Still as her eyes gazed over between nobles she knew and those she did not, her concentration was broken when a familiar lioness sat next to her and a smile appeared on her face. "I had only been able to try a fewnsips but even then it was definitely a different taste to what I thought. Though its the food that is currently having most of my attention." She answered.
A laughed escaped her. "I pity the lord eho thinks that conversation was intriguing on its own. I would have been bored that I might have fallen asleep if i were in your shoes." Aemma teased before looking around. "I had not seen him. I assume he is either with my father or off trying to not melt from the heat." She joked.
cerelle's expression brightened at once, as though aemma had just confirmed something of great importance. "see? everyone keeps praising the wine, but i've been thinking about the food since we arrived." she leaned back against the stone ledge with the sort of satisfaction reserved for people who had just won an argument no one else realized they were having. beyond them, another burst of applause rose from the feast hall as yet another performances concluded. cerelle's gaze flickered briefly toward the sound, intrigued, before returning to aemma.
a laugh escaped her at aemma's teasing, warm and entirely unoffended. "i kept waiting for the conversation to become interesting." cerelle admitted, shaking her head as she lifted her goblet for another sip. the memory alone seemed enough to amuse her all over again. "surely no one begins speaking about irrigation unless there's a fascinating story hiding somewhere beneath it -- there wasn't."
the mention of luceryn drew an exaggerated sigh from her. "he does have an unfortunate talent for disappearing whenever i decide i'd like to find him." whether coincidence or deliberate avoidance remained a mystery, though cerelle privately suspected the latter. after all, every conversation between them seemed to end with him cautioning her against one scheme or another while she insisted they were perfectly reasonable ideas. "perhaps he's hiding from me." she considered that possibility for a brief moment before dismissing it with a small wave of her hand. "it wouldn't surprise me. your brother seems to think my best ideas are terrible ones, which is terribly unfair considering i've had plenty of good ones."
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Location: The morning after the events at Lemonwood, in a hallway as guests are preparing to return to Sunspear.
Andrik had no ties to Dorne, other than doing what the Crown had asked all of them to do, in the name of peace and betterment of the realm. What tension he could sense within the halls of Lemonwood the morn after the ridiculous spectacle that had unfolded within silk tents and one too many a cup of red, did not trouble him. In truth, he rather believed that dissent would always follow their endeavour, and they were naive to think that gilded displays would suffice to deflect from deep-rooted rancour. Even so, he kept his mouth shut, and harboured little more than weariness that even Gyles and Luceryn had forsaken all common sense.
"Cerelle." Her golden halo coaxed a brief smile from him. "You look as if you escaped the frenzy unscathed." It was a momentary relief, but not enough so to smooth the crease from his forehead. "There has been some talk." Of how Alyssia had fared. He had not been near the fray, but now he had begun to wonder where her lord betrothed was, when she had required a shield. "Your sister. Is she alright?"
cerelle looked up at the sound of her name, relief already blooming across her face before she'd properly seen who it belonged to. "andrik." the greeting came easily, though whatever composure she had intended to maintain dissolved almost immediately at his remark.
"unscathed?" she echoed with theatrical disbelief, one hand lifting instinctively to her golden hair, now finally coaxed back into place. "you should have seen me -- my hair was beyond saving, my dress had been thoroughly ruined, and i am quite certain there's still dust on me from last night." it was said with more resignation than humor, the sort reserved for inconveniences that could not be undone.
whatever frustration she felt over her appearance vanished almost immediately at the mention of her sister. "wait, what's wrong with my sister?" the question came before she could stop it, quieter now, uncertainty creeping into her voice. concern settled across her features all at once. "i haven't seen alyssia since last night. everyone was shouting and -- gods, it was chaos."
Their footsteps softened as they came closer, a wall between them. What was once anger simmered into shame. Who else would come up to Menyce and receive such a response? Only her.
Could Marissa not hear Rhogar’s heart beating like a war drum as they found comfort against the wall? Even if she couldn’t, it was all they could hear in their eardrums.
She had laughed. Even they had heard it. Their breath hitched in their throat, tears threatening to erupt. They bit them back, hating that they hadn't heard that sound come from her in years. So, why would she come looking for him? All he had done was cause her strife. The thought to turn in the other direction overwhelmed him, but his body betrayed him. Or perhaps, it was his heart. Feet fall on loose straw that’d been forgotten, crunching beneath their feet. Cautious eyes traced the silhouettes before him - his eager steed with his wife.
Yet, they linger on Marissa, at the happiness leaving her. Ever since their marriage had been announced, they had wanted nothing more than to see that happiness in her.
“Marissa?” Her name is a breathy word, always seeming to roll off of their tongue like a eulogy. “Is something wrong for you to come find me?”
the sound of her name drew her back before she had the chance to linger any longer in the quiet. marissa turned at once, the softness that had settled so naturally across her features retreating almost as quickly as it had arrived. by the time her gaze found rhogar, the faint smile had already been folded neatly away behind the familiar composure she wore so effortlessly. only after a brief pause did she summon another in its place, smaller this time, careful enough to pass for reassuring without ever quite reaching her eyes.
"ah." the syllable escaped quietly, as though she had not expected them to be standing there at all. "i came to wish you good luck." the words sounded thinner once spoken. insufficient, somehow. she found herself wondering whether she ought to have brought them something instead. a favor.
that was what wives did before tourneys and races, wasn't it? a ribbon tied around the arm, a token fastened to a saddle, some small piece of themselves entrusted to be carried into victory. her thought drifted towards one of the pins nestled amongst the dark coils of her hair. would it seem strange, after years spent standing carefully apart from one another? instead, she kept her hands where they were. folding it neatly before her as though the thought had never crossed her mind at all.
"i had thought…" she began, only to trail off for the briefest moment, her eyes flickering toward menyce before returning to them. "i had thought i might find you before the race began." a pause settled between the words that followed. "though i imagine there are many who have already wished you victory."
location: the old palace's feasting hall
open starter for ( 0 / 3 )
the feast had only grown more animated with the coming of night. where the dornish sun had dominated the celebrations earlier in the day, lanternlight now claimed the old palace instead, casting everything in shades of amber and gold. music drifted effortlessly through the feasting hall, accompanied by the steady murmur of conversation and the occasional burst of laughter that seemed to ripple from one end of the room to the other. servants moved gracefully between tables carrying silver platters laden with roasted meats, sugared fruits, and wine that never seemed to stop flowing.
cerelle found herself rather fond of it all. perhaps a little too fond. it had been impossible to remain seated for long. she'd already wandered from one end of the hall to the other twice over, stopping to admire embroidered tapestries, exchange pleasantries with unfamiliar nobles, and shamelessly sample enough desserts to warrant at least a small amount of guilt. not enough to stop, of course, but enough to acknowledge it.
with another goblet of arbor gold balanced carelessly in one hand and her attention fixed upon a particularly elaborate arrangement of blood oranges and pomegranates decorating the high table, cerelle continued onward without so much as a glance in front of her. which proved to be a spectacular mistake.
she collided rather unceremoniously with someone rounding the corner from the opposite direction. the impact wasn't enough to send either of them sprawling, though it did slosh wine dangerously close to the rim of her goblet. "oh!" she exclaimed, blinking once before looking up, the surprise lasting all of a heartbeat before dissolving into an apologetic smile.
"well." she glanced briefly at her still-full goblet, then back at the unfortunate soul she'd nearly barreled into. "that could have gone considerably worse -- unless, of course, i've just spilled wine down the front of you." her expression shifted into one of genuine concern as she leaned ever so slightly to inspect the damage. "...have i?"
location: at the stables in the afternoon, a day before the race -- day nine
closed starter for @gildedheirs's rhogar qoherys
marissa had long since learned that there were expectations attached to being a wife. she could not remember the occasion itself, only the words. an older noblewoman at riverrun had laughed as she said them, dismissive enough that the answer seemed almost irrelevant. "all wives must cheer for their husbands, don't they?"
the memory returned to her now, unbidden, as she crossed the sun-drenched courtyards of sunspear. the dornish heat settled heavily against her shoulders despite the lightness of her gown, warm winds lifting loose strands of dark hair that had escaped their pins hours ago. around her, voices rose and fell with easy excitement as preparations for the desert race continued, though she found herself paying little attention to any of it.
she had spent the better part of the morning looking for rhogar. not because they were the sort of couple who sought one another's company. they were anything but. whatever existed between them had always felt measured, restrained, as though each conversation took place across the surface of a frozen lake neither wished to disturb. still, the race was dangerous enough that even pride seemed an inadequate excuse to remain absent.
yet instead, she found his horse. menyce stood beneath the sparse shade with the quiet patience horses seemed uniquely capable of possessing. at the sound of approaching footsteps, the palfrey lifted her head, ears twitching forward in recognition.
"there you are," marissa murmured, unable to keep the softness from her voice. she produced the half apple she had quietly taken from one of the grazing tables earlier that morning, offering it piece by piece. menyce accepted each bite with obvious enthusiasm, warm breath brushing against her fingers before nudging insistently for more. a smile found its way onto marissa's face as her free hand drifted along the mare's neck, smoothing absent circles through her coat. it was an expression few people ever saw from her -- unguarded, fleeting enough that it disappeared almost as quickly as it had come.
"i was hoping you might tell me where he's gone." the palfrey answered only by nosing at her sleeve, searching for another piece of apple, and marissa exhaled something that was almost a laugh. "i thought as much."
lucky creature. at least she seemed to understand rhogar better than their own wife ever had.
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HARK! i believe the heralds are announcing the arrival of MARISSA QOHERYS nee TULLY, the THIRTY-TWO year old, LADY of HARRENHAL. they are known to hold loyalty towards THEIR HOUSE / FAMILY and little birds sing of them being HONORABLE and STEADFAST. when one dreams of them, images of “ breath turning to mist in the quiet dawn, hands clasped in unwavering resolve, and the weight of duty carried in quiet glances ” comes to mind. however their GUARDED and PROUD nature can make for difficult times. time will only tell what their true intentions are.
i. ⎯⎯ basics.
full name: marissa qoherys ( nee tully ). nicknames and moniker: rissa ( by family and family only ), no moniker whatsoever. titles: lady of harrenhal. age: thirty-two. date of birth: blank. gender + pronouns: cis woman, she/they. orientation: greyromantic, demisexual. ethnicity: first men, westerosi. birthplace: unknown, somewhere on the riverlands. residence: harrenhal, riverlands. languages: common tongue ( native ), knows songs in the old tongue. religion: the faith of the seven, clings onto it even though she’s unsure of her own faith. affiliation: house tully, house qoherys
ii. ⎯⎯ physical
faceclaim: anna sawai. eyes: dark brown, so dark that they seemed black. hair: straight, black hair that reaches her waist ( often worn loosely or in a simple braid ). height: 5’1” / 155 cm. build: lean and sturdy thanks to her training. scars + marks: faint callouses along her palms, many scars on her body from years of swordsmanship. notable features: a perpetually unreadable, deadpan expression. style: practical, understated gowns in muted blues, greys, forest greens, and rich burgundies. scent: soft florals, spiced wine, and polished wood. accent: riverlands westerosi, even and measured. dominant hand: ambidextrous. allergies: none of note
fears: failing the people who placed their faith in her, making the wrong moral choice. pet peeves: indecisiveness, incompetence. mannerisms: clasps her hands together while thinking, subtle tension settling in her jaw whenever she’s frustrated, measured speech. hobbies + interests: overseeing household affairs, repairing worn equipment herself whenever she can, taking morning walks around the god’s eye. skills + abilities: exceptional discipline, swordsmanship, archery… she’s the eldest daughter, the question should be what can’t she do. weapon of choice: a longsword, though she's equally proficient with a bow
iv. ⎯⎯ connections
birth parents: unknown †. adopted mother: danelle tully †. adopted mother: tba velaryon. siblings: four, including oswyck tully and casella tully. spouse: rhogar qoherys. children: none. other affiliations: house velaryon, house florent
location: alyssia's quarters at the old palace, shortly after she arrived -- days before the event started
closed starter for @sword-born's alyssia lannister
news seemed to travel the old palace with remarkable efficiency. servants whispered to one another in corridors, guards mentioned it in passing, and before long someone had let slip the one thing capable of derailing cerelle's entire afternoon. her sister had arrived, and whatever whatever sensible plans she'd intended to keep were abandoned without ceremony.
the lady lannister swept through the corridors in a flurry of pale gold silk, scarcely acknowledging the startled greetings offered by passing attendants. she had been away from her sister for far too long and propriety suddenly seemed like a terribly inconvenient invention. surely alyssia wouldn't mind.
the doors to alyssia's quarters flew open with considerably more enthusiasm than elegance. "why didn't you come and see me first?" she huffed. never mind that her sister's trunks were still unopened and her quarters had that unmistakable disorder that always accompanied someone's first hour after arriving.
cerelle crossed the room in quick strides before wrapping her sister in an embrace that left little room for objection, laughing quietly all the while. "i missed you," she admitted into the hug, the words escaping with surprising ease. then, just as quickly, she leaned back to inspect alyssia as though searching for signs that time apart had altered something fundamental. a thoughtful hum escaped her lips, followed by a thoughtful tilt of her head. "you look lovely -- a little travel-worn, perhaps, nothing irredeemable."
without waiting for permission, cerelle reached up to smooth an imaginary crease from alyssia's sleeve. "now," she continued brightly, already making herself entirely at home, "tell me absolutely everything i've missed from casterly rock."
location: somewhere in the grand bazaar during the afternoon -- day two
closed starter for @ofrottenruin's roryn harlaw
the bazaars had proven dangerous to both her coins and her sense of time. cerelle had long since abandoned any notion of restraint, drifting from one merchant to the next with an armful of purchases and another dozen things she was trying very hard to convince herself she did not need. it was while absentmindedly admiring a collection of finely carved ivory combs that she saw him.
there was something familiar about his face. not enough to place immediately, only enough to tug insistently at the edges of memory. laughter softened by far too much wine. a room warm enough to blur the passing hours. hands at her waist. a pounding headache and the certainty that she'd made at least one questionable decision.
before she could place him, another man clapped him firmly upon the shoulder. then another. cerelle's gaze lingered a second longer than intended before it drifted, almost instinctively, toward the collection of sigils adorning cloaks and doublets alike. a couple of ironborn, it seemed. and the sudden realization seemed to hit her all at once. oh fuck. her lips parted, though nothing came out. for a long moment, she simply stood there, staring far longer than common sense allowed. her eyes moved from the men beside him, back to his face, then once again to the unmistakable sigils they bore, as though repeating the exercise might somehow produce a different answer. of all the people in westeros.
she scarcely noticed she'd stopped moving until his gaze found hers across the crowd. there was no time to recover, no opportunity to pretend she hadn't been staring. cerelle blinked once. then, with all the indignation of someone who had personally been wronged by fate itself, she lifted a hand in his direction. "you!"
location: somewhere on the sunspear's old palace, just outside of the feasting hall -- day one
closed starter for @shambleslily's aemma arryn
the dornish certainly knew how to host a feast. cerelle had decided that within the first few hours of arriving, somewhere between the third platter of honeyed figs and the musicians who seemed determined to outplay one another long into the evening. the air itself felt different here -- warmer, fragrant with citrus and spices instead of the familiar scent of salt and dragonfire that perpetually lingered over dragonstone. she rather liked it. perhaps a bit too much.
it was only after making an embarrassingly thorough circuit of the feast that she found aemma lingering against the stone-carved colonnade just beyond the hall, spared from the crush of dancers and overly enthusiastic lords. the lannister drifted into the empty seat beside her without invitation, setting a half-forgotten goblet upon the stone ledge before turning as though they'd been in the middle of a conversation all along.
"the wine is sweeter. have you tried them yet, lady aemma?" without waiting for an answer, she continued, "i've also been told i ought to stop accepting every dessert offered to me, but i fail to see why that's my problem rather than everyone else's."
a brief pause followed -- one occupied solely by cerelle taking a leisurely sip from her goblet. "oh, and i think some fool tried to woo me by explaining irrigation." cerelle frowned thoughtfully before she added, "i listened far longer than i should have."
silence settled for all of three heartbeats before curiosity inevitably won. "where is your brother?" she leaned against the stone, resting her chin in her hand. "i haven't seen him all evening, which is disappointing because i'd intended to find him before someone else managed to convince him to spend the entire night looking terribly responsible."
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HARK! i believe the heralds are announcing the arrival of CERELLE LANNISTER, the TWENTY-FOUR year old, LADY of CASTERLY ROCK. they are known to hold loyalty towards THE ASHEN PROMISE / HERSELF and little birds sing of them being COMPASSIONATE and ASTUTE. when one dreams of them, images of “ rosy perfumes lingering in the air, gowns abandoned over carved chairs, the comforting weight of inherited jewels, and balconies warmed by the afternoon sun ” comes to mind. however their SPOILED and HEADSTRONG nature can make for difficult times. time will only tell what their true intentions are.
i. ⎯⎯ basics.
full name: cerelle lannister. nicknames and moniker: ceri ( by close friends and family ), gilded cub ( by her father and his court when she was younger ). titles: lady of casterly rock. age: twenty-four. date of birth: the twenty-third of the ninth month. gender + pronouns: cis woman, she/her. orientation: biromantic, bisexual. ethnicity: andal ( with first men ancestry ), westerosi. birthplace: casterly rock, westerlands. residence: the red keep, king’s landing. languages: common tongue ( native ), high valyrian ( fluent ). religion: the faith of the seven, though not particularly devout. affiliation: house lannister, house targaryen ( step family ), the ashen promise ( through her uncle )
ii. ⎯⎯ physical
faceclaim: elle fanning. eyes: pale blue with hints of grey. hair: long, blond hair ( usually worn with intricate braids adorned with ribbons, jewels, and sometimes even pearls ). height: 5’7” / 173 cm. build: elegant, with a deceptively delicate frame. scars + marks: none of note. notable features: pretty asf!!! straight up a doll comes to life tbh, naturally blushed cheeks, expressive features, and all that stuff. style: lots of richly embroidered, lightweight gowns in gold and ivory, often paired with tasteful gold adornments. scent: honey, rose, and bergamot. accent: westerlands westerosi, has become refined throughout her years as a ward. dominant hand: right. allergies: dust mites, nothing too excessive though
iii. ⎯⎯ personality
positive traits: astute, compassionate, quick-witted, curious, engaging. negative traits: spoiled, headstrong, proud, meddlesome. mbti: enfp. enneagram: 7w8 ( the opportunist ). moral alignment: chaotic good. heavenly virtue: charity. deadly sin: pride. character inspirations: emma woodhouse ( emma ), jane grey ( my lady jane ), blair waldorf ( gossip girl )
fears: mediocrity, being caged into a life she did not choose. pet peeves: unnecessary tradition, being spoken down to. mannerisms: paces while thinking, habitually rearranges objects that feel aesthetically displeasing. hobbies + interests: collecting foreign curiosities, reading, starting a debate between people engaging in discussions. skills + abilities: i mean… being as annoying as her is a skill of its own. weapon of choice: a jeweled rondel dagger
iv. ⎯⎯ connections
father: loren lannister. mother: tba lannister †. stepmother: visenya lannister. siblings: two, including allysia lannister and maegor lannister ( 🍅🍅🍅 ). spouse: none. children: none. other affiliations: house lannister of lannisport
v. ⎯⎯ background
✱ … coming soon after plottings !
vi. ⎯⎯ extra tidbits.
✱ … also coming soon bye my brain is fried
vii. ⎯⎯ wanted connections.
✱ partner in crime (open) ... essentially, the harriet to her emma. someone who never tells cerelle no. together they've wandered into places they absolutely shouldn't be, chased rumors through castle corridors, and somehow always found themselves at the center of trouble. common sense is noticeably absent whenever they're together.
✱ complicated romance (open) ... ex-lovers, former flings, almost-lovers, mutual pining, political betrothals, or someone she's hopelessly entangled with now. perhaps it ended because of pride, politics, or unfortunate timing -- or perhaps it hasn't ended at all. i'm an absolute sucker for Angst with a capital A
✱ voice of reason (open) … the poor soul tasked with reminding cerelle that every intriguing idea should not immediately be acted upon. they have likely stopped counting how many disasters they've prevented simply by saying, "absolutely not."
✱ friendly rival (open) … someone equally intelligent and competitive. every conversation becomes a contest, every game of cyvasse a battle of egos, and every achievement something the other quietly resolves to surpass.
✱ "i can fix your life." (open) … cerelle has decided your character has a problem and, whether you asked for it or not, she intends to solve it. perhaps she's trying to mend your family, improve your reputation, or orchestrate a romance. the results... vary.
✱ mutual annoyance (open) … someone who cannot stand cerelle's habit of asking too many questions, meddling where she doesn't belong, or assuming she knows best. fortunately for them, cerelle finds their irritation just as irritating.
✱ open to more including … exes, cousins, penpals, people she's accidentally offended, fellow book lovers, westerori equivalents to shopping buddy, anyone willing to indulge (or survive) her, enemies disguised as friends, enemies... point blank period? just gimme anything and everything !
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