#hellwrath

ASK ME ABOUT MY OC!

13: Do they have any favourite foods? Would they eat it all the time if they had the chance? What do they hate to eat?

Valentina doesn’t have a particular favourite food for she values all foods for what they are worth. As someone who grew up poor, she doesn’t discriminate between soups or sweets; all of it is a pleasure to eat. 

14: Pet peeves. Tell us what would really tick them off. Do they have a Berserk Button?

Anything that really gets on Valentina’s nerves pertains to her work as she holds it at high importance. If there are rude customers that are bad-mouthing her girls in her lobby, she will not hesitate to snap at them. If her girls are brought back damaged, she will not hesitate to express her anger by hunting down their clients and giving them a taste of their own medicine.

What really angers her though is any misconception of her industry. Sure, she knows it is not the best industry to be a part of, but the common idea that all the girls who work in it do it because they are nothing but greedy whores angers her to no end.

17: Do they have any guilty pleasures? They embarrassed about them? Do they flaunt them?

Even with hard work, there was only so much you could achieve alone. And truly alone she was, for even the most loyal followers believed they should remain as such. The lack of a peer to aid in her conquest had finally shown its bearing; the work that piled took a toll and in her focus to solve the plethora of issues that arose from the people she had forgotten some of the most important things that kept this nation together.

It was clear that she had what it took to reunite this nation, but not alone. She wasn’t looking for comfort - she was looking for help - in places that people thought would never show in a million years.

“And what do you want me to do about it?”

She doesn’t know why she has opened up to Tryndamere of all people, at dinner of all places. Her eyes are fixed upon the fork that only made it half way to her mouth, as though the venison skewered on it could possibly have any answers for her. And perhaps, she thinks bitterly, a dead deer would be more prized than her attempts to unite her people. She cannot suggest this to Tryndamere. He wouldn’t understand, she thinks (perhaps it is her who does not understand him). 

“I don’t know,” she whispers, as though she can take back her previous words if he can’t hear her now. “I don’t know what to do.” 

      a soft sigh will play along the edge of her lips, carrying ‘neath it’s shudder a faint reminder of the burdens a Queen carries. Again, dark realms cast their shadow over her dreams. It seemed to be almost every other night on their travels——–perhaps it was the worry she felt, leaving her people behind without officially appointing a Leader in her stead. Was following her gut the right choice? What if … something happened, while she was away? These thoughts haunted her, and images of a war long past ran like stop-motion through her mind in slumber. Yet, alas, she had no choice but to continue, with how far Tryndamere and herself had come already; Avarosa tried, so terribly hard, to convince herself of this, as if it would make her feel better.

Pallor digits curl into palm and rub at an eye hooded with exhaustion. This is followed by a deep yawn, felt from the depths of her chest. Almost whisper-like, “ I can’t … “ And she will roll over on the cold, hard ground, tucking hands beneath her cheek and facing the large, broad back of her companion, whom slept facing away from her, some feet apart. “ I’m sorry. “

     had she really fallen asleep for so long? last Avarosa remembered, she had been indulging in a particularly interesting and long-winded classic novel, and next thing she knew … it was five in the evening, the setting sun and a fresh snow fall peering through the foggy window of the book store’s front entrance. Well … it was her own fault for falling asleep. Again. And here she was, caught in a short-sleeve and a skirt, hugging a thick novel to her chest in anticipation of facing the frigid cold; it was closing time, after all. Slender digits brush away stray strands of a rather bedhead ponytail, reluctance across sharp features.

It’s only when a deep, rough voice speaks up behind her that Avarosa is drawn from her internal musings of impending doom. Brows risen, she turns to meet him: the young man who’s been, well … ‘commanding’ the front desk for quite some time. They’d never properly met, only chatting in passing or offering a simple greeting upon her entrance. And yet he offered his jacket to her? Stricken with surprise, she will take the much-too-large leather jacket from his hand.

Soft gaze looks to it, then up, up, up to him. “ I———Thank you. “

His jacket is promptly shrugged over shoulders, and she can still feel his warmth inside of it; a heat creeps upon her face at the realization. It will not stay the smile Avarosa offers him, however. “ I’ll bring it back tomorrow. “