#fiatri

“Uh!” Eyes rounded, she puts her fork down with a clatter. “Nnnooo. Thank you! One’s enough for me. Haha. Hahaha.” When she takes up her fork again it seems like she’s done talking, but, quite unprompted, she continues. “You know, I had the chance once, but—well, I don’t know! How does all that even work?” She waves a hand as if dispelling a sour smell. “Not for me!”

—

“Of course! Who doesn’t?” She marches through the grassy field with a spray of wildflowers spilling from her apron. “A long time ago I had a friend who awoke on the same day as me and we never spent any time apart, ever. We did everything together.” Her cheeks are round with a smile. “Eventually we went our separate ways, though, and now I’ve not seen her in…errr.” Although she can be heard counting under her breath she eventually finishes, “Years!” Lastly she adds, “Her name was Nelphe and I hope she’s happy as can be in some beautiful place.”

—

My favorite ship for Arvanna is answered here.

I think the best relationship I’ve ever gotten to RP with Fiatri was with her now former lover Alyrion (@valderamand). They’re both airheads on the surface and their shared preference for happiness over dignity meant they got to have a lot of fun together. They also understood each other (in spite of their apparent levels of intellect) and loved each other very much. Fiatri got to be her truest self with Alyrion.

Lemongrass - What is your favorite comforting scent?

“We bathe our youngest,” starts Fiatri without a shred of explanation, “in lavender soap before bed. It’s become such a calming ritual for me—most nights, obviously. The smell of lavender usually means everything’s done and everyone’s about to be tucked into their little beds snoozing peacefully away, and I have a little time to be alone with my love in our quiet little house or maybe catch up on reading.”

—

“Lie? For sex?” She pulls a bewildered face which clears abruptly when she slams her head on an open cabinet door. “Even if I had to—” she starts, rubbing her forehead, “which I don’t—I wouldn’t. Iiit just wouldn’t be important enough for me to lie about, I guess.”

—

Currently, Fiatri is my oldest character and, being a sylvari, she didn’t effectively “lose” ten or more years on growing up. She left the Grove early to explore and learn, and always sought ought whatever big things were happening. Directly or indirectly, she’s been involved in almost every major event that’s happened since she awoke. That’s a lot for me to keep track of and process, so any time I’m writing her I have to pause and wonder how her myriad experiences might affect what she thinks, how she feels, and the ways she responds.

I love her though, the big doofus.

“I know it is!” huffed a frazzled, upset Fiatri. Days like this made her glad she had plenty of dried herbs to crush up. She slammed the pestle into the mortar vigorously. “Mordremoth hasn’t even been alive in…how many years now? It’s dead! So what’s the problem?”

“I think they’re just—”

“Senseless! You said it best. I’ve delivered all of their neighbors’ babies without incident! Perfectly! And yet here we all are, happy as clams!” Fia paused to sulk before deciding, “I don’t like people sometimes.”

Thanks Lily!

“Melandru’s mercy, Luke, I almost didn’t recognize you! What are you now, six, seven feet tall?” As she cradled the boy’s head against her ribs the thought flitted through her mind that Zarek might need to need to find a way to explain her pregnancy to his son. Hopefully he had already. Luke had a little sister, after all.

Once the door was shut behind her she eased her bag down onto the floor and embraced her brother as tightly as her present state allowed. She pulled back, her hands planted on his shoulders, and smiled at him.

Arvanna didn’t look quite the same as she did when they last saw one another. Her skin had grown a little darker and her hair wasn’t cropped so closely anymore; instead it fell around her shoulders in neat, inky braids; nor did she look quite so forlorn. The Crystal Desert had been good to her, apparently.

Zarek departed for the kitchen, but Arvanna remained in the sitting room to eventually quiz Luke about his studies. “I’m all right,” she pitched her voice up to ensure. “Just a few changes of clothes.” (Of course, “a few changes of clothes” for Arvanna meant an entire wardrobe.)

“Mary, Mary, quite contrary,” started a feminine voice. A lily white hand reached to snip a yellow daisy at its stem. “How does your garden grow?”

Still clumsily forming words, a child answered, “With silver bells and cockle shells…”

“And pretty maids all in a row,” finished Fiatri as she set a finished daisy chain around little Arvanna’s ears. “I think we should make up a rhyme with your name. Who even is Mary?” she titters. “What do you think?”

“I like rhymes,” the child answered as articulately as could be expected.

Fia laughed. “Maybe we could ask your aunt if she knows any, when she gets here. She does have the same name as you, after all.”

“Aunt?” Her little face scrunched in confusion.

“Daddy’s sister. Just like you’re Luke’s sister. Big Arvanna,” she explained as she set the girl on her hip. “The last time you saw her you were thiiis big.” Her forefinger hovered above her thumb to indicate tiny. Arvanna giggled.

“Come on, then. She should be here any old minute now.” She closed the greenhouse door behind her and looked out on the lane to spot an outbound carriage. “And I think she’s beaten us home,” she thought aloud as she ambled toward the house.