TheMiraculousEC's Links
I hope Sam's okay... I can't even leave to go check on her. Should I send Tomino? Or maybe Gennie?
[This is the first time that Sam has been out of work this long without notice. This isn't like her. However, from what Veronica can glean from her older brother's correspondence, he's navigating the bureaucratic nightmare that is trying to get Samantha some emergency intervention without institutionalizing her outright. Hopefully she feels better soon.]
[Cimontton dreams of the tinkling sound of bells, the quiet rush of flipped book pages; he dreams of the powdery scent of a bird's feathers, the fluffy touch of fur; but he dreams of the crisp red skin of a juicy apple most of all. It's always a good dream when his devotee comes to gossip. He speaks through the cards, snoring with a smile on his snout.]
Our newest receptionist. She's a joy to have around and very popular with the patrons. She makes good recommendations, especially when it comes to romance novels. Although I wish she'd limit her fantasizing to the written word. [Veronica feels a little bad, lying to Gennie and letting the sigilwork effect her, but its better for everyone if the staff and patrons of Myrefall just... don't notice their respective differences.]
The Lady of the Library! Lady Argyle is always gracious to anyone who crosses the library's threshold, and I'm just as inclined to follow her example.
[The Dreamer dreams of stomach acid, The Dreamer dreams of a rabid coyote that lashes out blindly, The Dreamer dreams the air is as still and cold as reaper's cloth. No fingers of dawn can grasp the Vampyr from the pit which she descended willingly. Not even the Dreamer can wake her now.]
Hubris... Hubris...
[The Dreamer dozes, leaving the presence of the wretched, and dreams of something else.]
[Sortitio stays quiet as Cimontton walks through its cathedral. It's not scared of him, just curious and helpful. They move objects out of the way and carefully open doors for Cimon to walk through. In the midst of the dreamy journey through Sortitio's cathedral, the two pass by a clock engraved with all matter of creature - Moths perched on leaves, sheep roaming free, bats hanging upside down to rest... The clock face itself is held up by a pair of chalices pouring into each other.] ... [As Cimon finally leaves, Sortitio's voice is a gentle whisper.] Sleep well, friend.
[Cimontton dreams about a vast desert of endlessly moving sand in every color that flows over his hooves and through his fingers. The sun is round and yellow like a watching eye, but the Dream God isn't concerned. He watches sand flow down holes in the ground with interest. There's always so much gossip here; who's sick, who's dying, who's coming back. He likes visiting Sortitio.]
[Deidrix is so grand and encompassing that Sortitio doesn't quite know how to get a hold of its words! It's also not like it leaves the shelter of their cathedral all too often, so socializing is... Hard. They decide to talk about what comes the most obvious to them.] You-- You'll be pleased to know that your clock is just as grandiose as you, dear Deidrix! Every hour, much like a cuckoo clock, little figures come out and dance to a different tune. There's 12 songs in all, a-and I think I know them all by heart at this point. They're very catchy.
[Deidrix's Thespians laugh, the Femme high and echoing and the Masc loud and booming, delighted by this news. The Masc speaks.] OF COURSE! ALTHOUGH I AM NOT THERE, EVEN AN AUDIENCE OF ONE MUST BE ENTERTAINED. [The Femme speaks.] If you think those songs were catchy, you should come to my next musical. You'll have no excuse to be late, Timekeeper.
[Jessimae struggles to keep him engaged with more and more advanced classwork, but puts equal importance on him maturing socially with his peers. She wants to see him grow into a compassionate young man. That much perception could be a dangerous thing unchecked.] I, haha, um... It's complicated. Sometimes people like each other but... antagonistically? Which is fine, as long as all parties are okay and happy with it... [Jessimae clears her throat] Ask your papa. I wasn't expecting to have this conversation with you until you were a bit older.
[The younger godling is often prone to goofing off with older sibling Leonille often, but catches on to the both the outer and inner workings of all sorts of things rather quickly. He's sharply perceptive of the connections people make, even as a young godling.] ...Auntie Jessimae, do you have a crush on Untie Rika?
[Jessimae tries to accommodate Libret, but has to admit she's a bit out of her depth. A God of Knowledge translates into being a God of Teaching in many respects. A God of Childhood Development? Not so much. She encourages forming good social habits and only discourages, very gently, things that could harm Libret or people around them. A God has a right to being mercurial and eccentric to some extent, right?]
[Libret is very naturally intelligent, catching onto things quickly and noticing patterns keenly... But there's something a little 'off' about how they interact with their siblings and the other members of their godly family. They act much more formal than their siblings in social situations, but not in a self-aware way like how Erika does things... It is most definitely Autism.]
Deep breaths, sweetheart. [Jessimae mimes some deep breaths as she kneels down to Maria's level] You're right, it isn't fair and its okay to be angry about it. However, there are good and bad ways to express that anger. If we hit and scream we'll scare the baby, won't we? You don't want that: you're a good big sister. Its your turn next, I promise, and we'll talk to Leonille after, okay?
[A much younger Maria cries angry tears with little balled up fists.] It's not fair! It was /my/ turn to hold the new baby, but Leonille took everything over! I want to see them too...! [It's plain to see that she's having some big feelings right now.]
It's a shame that your dark task has brought you no closer to true understanding of the nature of divinity... but you'll have the rest of eternity to ponder it. The sleep of reason produces monsters, o' false devotee, and how unreasonably monstrous you've become! Was it worth it?
You...! [She gives Jessimae a horrid grin.] You finally show yourself to me! After I bested your guards! After I've made it to your well...! It's too late, my dear! I win! [She cups a drink of ichor in her hands, ignoring the steady chemical burns beginning to form on her skin.] I! /WIN/! [With that, she chugs down the ichor with a fervor, unaware of what's about to happen to her...]
[The scenery around Cimon dims, the shadows lengthen, and air grows cold. The Sleep Walker's slumber is troubled by visions of wide, maddened eyes; clawed hands tugging hair; straight, white teeth; the flutter of a bat wing. Endless, incomplete counting.] Owie...
Like a lamb to the slaughter...
NO AUDIENCE PARTICIPATION ALLOWED! DOWN IN FRONT! If you don't want your head loped off your shoulders, you shouldn't have interrupted my curtain call
[As she's dodging the Thespians--] Well /maybe/ if you don't want your ichor stolen, don't place it in super convenient drawers beneath your stage! Gods above!