FLORA
COURT Seelie.
TITLES Stem of Life, Voice of the Sisters, Marchioness of the White Citadel, Shield of the Cothromach (canonly: Fairy of Nature, Guardian Fairy)
OCCUPATION Ambassador to the Sisterhood of nymphs for both courts, noblewoman that Actually Does Shit Stuff, Co-Head of the Vanguard of the Sun (Magical R&D), gardener, vintner, and proprietor Mandragora Estate Winery
ABLE TO FAST-TRAVEL AHAHAHA, that's a yes.
RESIDENCE IN 2,701 Caer Glaem, The White Citadel.
RESIDENCE IN 2,702 Everywhere. Everywhere. Okay, but really: Leathann, The White Citadel, Mandragora, sometimes Caer Glaem.
MAJOR EVENTS
NOW THAT'S WHAT I CALL GOING GREEN
She has used and trained with her Sirenix enough that she's mastered it, and has accessed her its unique power, The Flower of Sirenix, which she uses to great effect in restoring La Llorona to new, unhaunted glory
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THEY GROW UP SO FAST
Flora was granted a dryad seed as a boon some time ago. She's since planted it and after the year has passed, has quite literally plucked the babies from their trees when they were ready to be born, and is now a proud mother guardian of five: Lobelia, the twins Lycoris and Lasari, Linnaea, and Lunariel.
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STOP TELEPHONING ME-EH-EH-EH
Has gained no less that FOUR alternative means for non-locket communication from Rin Tohsaka, The Outsider, Hermione Granger, and, of course, her own means.
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RED, RED WINE
Yeah, so, she started a winery.
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BUILD YOU A HOUSE
Bought a loft in Leathann, too.
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MAJOR CHANGES
ENTER THE MEGANE
Following the use of the Completion sigil against Reynard in December 2,700, Flora has suffered from a great enjoyment of death and killing, and all they entail as a side effect. She's done her best to rein it in, or, at the very least, keep it secret and only let it out during battles, but after an encounter with one Edward Hyde that hit far too close to home for comfort, she was fiercely determined to cure herself of it. Unfortunately, while the ritual to undo it was performed correctly, Completion's effects were too powerful and too permanently etched into her to be removed, and so not only has she failed in what she set out to do, she has magically marred herself in the attempt. The sclera of her eyes are now black, her pupils a bloody red, and there are black tattoo-like marks that run down her face. The only way to be what she once was is with a pair of special glasses given to her by Alyosha. Using her conventional transformation spells doesn't work at all, instead it takes excruciatingly prepared magic without the use of her glasses. Even then, this is not a permanent solution, and she is likely to burn through stopgap measures faster or entirely during bouts of intense emotion.
[ ✿ ]
GOING THE FULL ANIME
Her tenure as a wolf has left much of her hair grown out (yes, even more so), particularly the blonde bits. Needing a change externally to reflect the ones internally ,she has opted to cut off nearly all her hair at the back, but has left her blonde bangs long at the front.
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HIGHLIGHT
Description
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PLANS les beans. (PENDING; but man, lauralae and grell and paloma tho)
Become a wolf for a month or two because of hart magic and get in touch with her wild side
come out of that with slight nudist tendencies
just slight, though
create locket alternatives for other cr that don't have any
kill a lot of people oops, and get some sort of reaper title?
get more titles in general tbh
work on and research the desert situation of the citadel, cry about it in the meantime
ruin ganon's day somehow s2g
grind dat influence, particularly with the sisterhood, secure financial independence
sigil training
punch monsters w/ friends
actually yeah keep up her weapons and hand-to-hand training, take up [SECRET]
TEAM STUFF!! NAKAMA!!1 YEAH!!
ADVENTUUUURES! ✓
ganon is still a HUGE JERK
don't get laid or kissed ever EFF YOU, EDWARD HYDE and also gilgamesh, a tiny bit, but mostly hyde.
have a baller birthday party maybe
drunkenly smack peeps w/ her wings at samhain. again.
grow dryad babbus by accident ✓
study other disciplines of magic, particularly mirrors and blood. maybe take up something new. ✓
do MAD SCIENCE! MAGIC! ✓
get people (read: kayneth) to yell at her about taking over communal research space with her plants
buy a house, develop SUPREME GARDEN in Leathann and/or Parrais
think of a name for the magical research group btw because seriously they need one ✓
use her light form, lumix, to wreck shit and see what comes of it
touch base with aly, and give her flowers
touch base with linn, to do the same
touch base with waver, but not to give him flowers
start a vineyard
j/k flowers are always necessary
get [MOAR SECRETS]
become a kawaii megane ✓✓✓
????
PROFIT
SUMMARY OF KNOWN DETAILS
If you think I'm kidding about the megane thing you clearly don't know me.
TIMELINE OF EVENTS
| SPRING IN 2,701 (Mar, Apr, May) |
- MARCH - Unfreeze some people.
- MARCH -Investigating the death of the Seven-Star Oracle w/ Nico and others
- MARCH - Moar Investigation (talking to flowers)
- MARCH - Still not done snooping (talking to Sylphs)
- MARCH - Still here (info dump)
- MARCH - Go fuck up some pillaging orcs.
- APRIL - Still fucking orcs up.
- APRIL - Build obstacle course for Diarmuid
- APRIL - Supervise Waver planting dryads
- APRIL - Regrow La Llorona VERY EMOTIONALLY
- APRIL - Start a Winery
- MAY - Work on winery
- MAY - adopt some swans.
Maybe make them into attack swans. They're already assholes. nvm, they have to die she needs dat dough
- MAY - Attend the opening of Dorian's Parrais gallery, the Mayfair
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| SUMMER IN 2,701 (Jun, Jul, Aug) |
- JUNE - Heal Jabberwhelp-ruined places with Aslan
- JUNE - Compete in IRON CHEF competition to raise money for the Station
- JUNE - Still working on Vineyard
- JUNE - Lose very badly in the tournament, talk to Lemina
- JUNE - Race with Gil, have nice conversation that dips into not-so-nice, and then nice again
- JUNE - Talk to Hyde SCREW THAT GUY, SERIOUSLY
- JUNE - BECOME THE KAWAII MEGANE but because of horrific reasons
- JULY - Continue healing places w/ Aslan; Take a break to wreck shit w/ Diarmuid
- JULY - Mandragora opens on the first!
- JULY - Grow many things
- AUGUST - World still needs healing! Attend the Festival of Lights
- AUGUST - Four dryad babies are born throughout the month!
- AUGUST - Found out what's up w/ the forest golems from Wan and devised a solution.
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| FALL IN 2,701 (Sept, Oct, Nov) |
- SEPTEMBER - grow stuff to donate to Treun, attend wreath festival, help put out fires in the garden district. Why is everything always on fire?
- SEPTEMBER - Last dryad baby is born.
- OCTOBER - SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS (Samhain)
- OCTOBER - Attend Dorian's opening. She's so proud of you, son!
- NOVEMBER - BAG SOME DANGEROUS CRIMINALS YEEE
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| WINTER IN 2,701/2,702 (Dec, Jan, Feb) |
- DECEMBER - Get transformed into a wolf, bum around w/ John
- JANUARY - Still a wolf.
- FEBRUARY - Epic haircut of epicness
- FEBRUARY - Not a wolf! Attend Ostara, maybe compete in dance and music. If not compete, just perform.
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| SPRING IN 2,702 (Mar, Apr) |
- MARCH - Fight in the SKELETON WAR
- APRIL - Get a charm from the creepy children because have you met her.
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![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
showmeyourwreath) wrote2015-01-24 04:36 am
SPRING
MARCH
Voicemail - > Action;
Flora was greeted with a video post of Lancer, absolutely nude, in the middle of bathing himself in a river.]
Yo, Flora. You busy?
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APRIL
MAY
SUMMER
JUNE
cw: blood, gore, disturbing shit, im sorry
But that isn't to say she's tired. Yes, she is relieved to be away, but also still very tense, still so very awake and aware and paranoid, because she was so close to snapping and even now his words keep ringing in her head, enough to drown out the music that is ever playing in her room, and she is so angry for it, so angry that he's gotten to her so deeply that what should be a place of refuge and comfort, isn't--not like it should be.
She wanders over to her full-length mirror, and why not, it's not her first mistake of the day.
All she wants is to just be free of this...this infection. Death is unavoidable and necessary, and sometimes, so is killing, but she doesn't want to be like this. To enjoy taking lives like it's a rare pleasure, made all the more wondrous for never losing its shine and novelty for its frequency. Never. Her hand comes up to press against the cool surface, and her eyes are lost. She doesn't regret her actions, not once has she ever thought that she should not have touched Completion, but why did it happen like this? Why must she carry this?
Why, if she can fix it?
The smug voice repeats 'You are very much like me', and the set of her eyes in her reflection is suddenly unyielding and alight with purpose.
"I am not like you."
And she'll prove it.
--
Like everyone else, she isn't perfect, she'll be the first to admit to her flaws, but she has never been rash, nor will ever be in her decisions. Her determination is dogged, and she will see this through but she'll do it properly. Thoroughly. Meticulously. She'll do it right. She can't afford to do anything else, and it's why she is in the library, pouring through book after book on the many ways to purify the self; cleansing auras and chakras, breaking curses, removing poisons, calming the mind, curing blights, she makes very stringent notes on all of these through the whole night and into the dawn. It's hard to stop, but she is not so far gone that she will forsake rest, and thus risk doing the same to herself with her negligence.
She returns to her rooms, and she sleeps. Her dreams are plaguing. There is blood everywhere, she is wading in it, and cannot transform to fly, nor use any magic to make it go away, make herself clean, make it stop. She cannot do anything but go forward. The worst of it is that it's all so very, very warm. She hears something soft and sees the shadow of a hill, and as she grows closer, she knows the sound is singing, and it tugs at her to the point of frustration with its familiarity, and she knows why when she is close enough.
She wants to scream or retch, but can only stare, madly.
The hill is not made of earth, but of corpses, and she recognises many of the faces from her past battles. They are all smiling at her in their various states of sickeningly sweet-smelling decay and ruin, and at the top, singing happily as she pleases as she guts someone with an elegant flourish to grow the pile higher is her. "High on high on high on high, I won't stop 'til I've kissed the skies." her voice is carefree and melodic and turns her stare below, smiling with the sweet serenity of the moon, wearing blood on her face like a happy child might wear dirt. Despite the distance, Flora sees her face like it's right in front of her. "But I think we should aim for the stars, don't you think?"
Her eyes are very sane, and the colour of the blood around her.
Flora is wrenched from sleep and sits up on her bed, trembling and breathing hard and fitful, the butts of her hands pressed to her eyes to steady herself and perhaps stop the tears that have beaded there. Whether she tries to lie to herself is one thing, but there is no lying to her plants, ever, and sensing her distress, vines reach down from above to gently press themselves to her and she leans into them, their comfort, and lets it all go.
--
She feels better and so much worse, both at once, nothing like a proper balance. She gets ready for the day without ever looking at her reflection, and the idea of eating is nauseating, so she only settles for tea at breakfast, but she does, strangely, feel a little lighter for crying. Still very wretched, but there is no painful pressing weight behind her eyes for the moment, and so she is grateful. It is out of the same gratitude that, over the coming days, she continues her studies outside, or in her greenhouses, surrounded by the nature she loves so much; the only thing she knows that will never, ever forsake or reject her.
There is something she finds in her reading of curses, in particular ones that act as parasites. The name in the text reads Insatiables, malicious works of magic that border on living. They infect their hosts to drive them to want whatever the user desires if they can manage it, and the more they have of it, the more they want it, until the victim is driven insane or destroys themselves.
In a rare, quiet moment of honesty, she admits: this is what she has, and what she is. It's not strictly a curse, but it certainly feels like it and many of the symptoms line up. There are ways to temporarily stave it off, but the method to break it for good is a little difficult, though still manageable and it's the most promising thing she's come across so far.
It will have to do.
--
To work new magic without practise or experimenting is foolish, and she is desperate, but that is exactly why she cannot afford to make mistakes. First, she needs to cast these spells in the first place to undo them. She cannot, obviously, use these on people, so she settles for some of her plants. She is connected to them, and so if need be, she will always know how far this will go and will be able to care for them. The spell requires blood, as does the counter, and Flora is silently solemn as she checks the stores of it. Jar, after jar, after jar, there is so very much of it from past battles that they will not want for it for a very long time. Each of them is a reminder of what her bloodlust has done and why she needs to fix it.
Before she involves her test plants, she practises the preparations for three days, over and over and over and over again, until she thinks she has it. On the last, she draws and prepares ritual circles, meticulously draws the runes, carefully chooses her symbols, and afflicts many plants with the want for more things: food, water, sun, touch. She knows the spells have worked when she can be feel dissatisfaction thrumming in her mind once she gives them what they want, because they only want more.
Flora is quick to dispel these; most of the plants she used are like the ones she uses to fight, more like constructs than living, but she doesn't want them to suffer all the same. She smiles when she realises that she is successful and waits several days, just to be sure there are not adverse effects, but they are as they were, all of them. She has the theory, the preparation, and the execution down.
It's her turn, now.
She chooses violets, bones, roses for death and adds blood for blood for her symbols, draws the circle with practised ease, and traces the right runes on her body. She feels nervous, but also cautiously confident. She's done her homework, and it's gone well. She needs to remember that did not excel at her subjects for nothing, and that she is not so new to blood magic, not any more, but it's easier to feel more secure when she is driven to overcome for her own sake, as well as prove something to another. She might have lost before, several times over, now, but she can pick herself back up and take it all back with this. 'I'll show you yet, Hyde.' But more importantly, she'll show herself. Her chest rises with a deep inhale, and she says, "It's now or never," to a chorus of well-wishes and good luck from her flowers. Glowing and emboldened, she speaks the incantation, and there is a pulse of magic.
And then pain, more than she can stand, and soon she is not standing any longer, but everything goes black before she hits the floor.
--
She finds her way back to consciousness and rolls on her back. The air is stagnant, but feels cool on her face and she realises it's because it's wet. Has she been crying...? Her body does feel sore, and she sits up, slightly dazed, and reaches to touch her face.
Her fingers come back black as sin.
Wide awake now, blood turned to ice, Flora conjures a mirror from somewhere--she doesn't know, doesn't care--and shouts, scrambling away from what stares back at her.
Immediately the image of her dreamself strikes her so hard she flinches and cries out. Her eyes--her eyes! They're bloody red against a black backdrop and stand out so much more for it. There are lines that run down her face from her eyes, like tear tracks, but they don't disappear no matter how much she rubs at them. This--this can't be right, and so she displaces another mirror and another and another, but they all show her the same thing, and she can't bear the sight of them any longer and flees, leaving them all to shatter on the floor.
--
She is at the villa, crying hideous black, bloodtears the whole while. And when Alyosha sees her, it's with her hands over her eyes, and she breaks down. Flora has never been loud with her crying and she isn't now. Her voice is quiet, a lost and broken child who has made a mess of their mistakes and does not know how to make it better. She doesn't know what she did wrong, she tells her, everything--everything went fine, she just wanted to fix it--please, she just wanted to fix it.
Alyosha lets her in, tells her she is beautiful, but all Flora hears is Hyde's voice telling her they're not so different, and she knows he is right.
JULY
AUGUST
second week of August
Hey, Flora! I was just looking for you.
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AUTUMN
SEPTEMBER
OCTOBER
NOVEMBER
last week of november.
Inside the box is a compass, one that matches the one she had made for herself and Kayneth, except the metal of Flora's is tinged with greens and has a gentle design of an F engraved along the back, decorated with soft carved flowers. She thinks it's something a little nicer than the standard ones that she makes and sells at Artefacta and she hopes it'll be appreciated, welcomed.
Pausing outside the door, Hermione shakes her head and lifts her hand, knocking at the door and nudging the door a little, peeking her head inside. ]
Flora?
still not sorry
never be sorry
be less gay hermione
so says you
das rite, it's my royal decree
i cannot stop laughing
ROLLS BACK IN HERE--HETEROSEXUALLY
so much heterosexuality
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still very heterosexual
i blame dorian
Blaming Dorian for everything is a good course of action, yes.
it's canon
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WINTER
DECEMBER
Yule 2701
JANUARY
FOR GIRUGAMUTT
She recalls the year previous and doesn't remember anyone being bespelled by the Hart's magic for this long, and she has to wonder if she'll ever change back. It's not something she wants, but the possibility gets easier and easier to admit to herself with every passing day, because if she must be something, this isn't so bad. It also gets harder, because of everything--everyone--she'd be leaving behind.
She thinks her friends are strong enough to go on without her, or wants to believe that, but her charges...her girls, are different. Two months is a long time to be without your mother when you're a young dryad and your childhood is three to five years long.
She is white as a ghost, and moves as one as she draws closer to the Citadel. The land is exceedingly familiar to her. She was here as it was being built, and cultivated the gardens herself, and then again, stubbornly, willing life to sprout anew after everything was turned to sand. She did not give up easily then, and would not now. There. Quietly, she creeps along the sides to where there is a cropping of exotic desert trees and flowers but she stops as she catches something on the wind.
Blood.
She digs her paws into the sand, and excitement rolls down her spine to make her fur stand on end. Blood, blood, blood, bloodbloodblood mingled with flowers, her favourite things, smelling all the sweeter to her sharper nose. They paint such vivid, lush, decadent colours in her mind. She used to hesitate at first, yes, it was difficult to let herself live and even harder to be honest with herself, but nature can be as cruel as it is kind and she needed to kill to survive, and so she had, until she was satisfied, and then did some more, and shared her spoils with those that could have used them. In time, it was no cruelty at all.
She moves faster now, but still just as silently as the sand swallows what little noise her footfalls make, and taking care to keep herself downwind so as not to be detected. Soon, she is upon them. Her darling, darling plants and flowers, how she's missed them so very, very much! She moves to sniff one, but makes a whuffing noise and instinctively rubbing it as she gets pollen on her snout. Oops. But let's see...wolves cannot climb trees, but she has no need to. Instead, she gently pushes over a bendy, tall plant before climbing along its stalk and standing on a wide top leaf that supports her weight. Eyes of blood against blackest night, with lines running down her face regard the scene below with interest.
Brazen of her? Perhaps, and yet it isn't at all, because this is her territory, in far more ways than one, but there is nothing in her body language that speaks of coveting his kill. ...Even if she is hungry.
late with starbucks etc.
i will forgive you if you brought me a brownie
FEBRUARY
SPRING
MARCH
APRIL