Post by Brighella on Nov 4, 2024 19:56:01 GMT
✪ 𝕭𝖗𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖊𝖑𝖑𝖆 ✪
[attr="class","hirepost"]
Name: Brighella (formerly: ███████)
Name meaning: 'bother' or 'contention' in italian
An affectionate, albeit mean-spirited, nickname granted by her crew members, alluding to her old habits of terrorizing them during her early days as an inexperienced deckhand. Her nickname Brig, refers to the jail of the ship — where Odila first kept her for an entire week before deciding not to throw her overboard. Though she never laughs anymore at the insider's joke, you may still catch a smile occasionally.
Gender: Female | She/her, cis
Age: 24 | late autumn
Current Residence: Unknown, unsettled
Occupation: Pirate | Information broker, merchant
Social Standing:Citizen? | Pirate [statusless]
By birthright, Brighella is entitled to a generous fortune, the fruits of countless generations of hard work by her ancestors. To this day, she's retained the need for propriety and manners...even if such fancy airs become more and more out of place with her ocean-bound surroundings.
Loyalty: Odila and co.
Faceclaim: Gemma Chan | Sersi, Eternals
Voiceclaim: Grey DeLisle | Ventress, clone wars
Height: 5'9''
Weight: 125 lbs
Fragrance: Sawdust, cinnamon, and a dash of pumpkin.
Despite the accumulation of years of grime and weathering that comes from years of hard work and combat, Brighella has retained much of her former dignity. She's is a lucky inheritor of Ocia traditional beauty, boasting looks genes and a little bit of luck created. She moves quickly like the wind, elegance blurring with the mix of jazzy flair and grace that comes with way too much confidence and a little rogueish bravado. Brighella comes in at an impressive 5'9" without heels, her open posture dissuading suspicion. With an ever-present smile, she radiates a warmth that captivates those around her, drawing them into her enchanting world.
Her russet hair, a playful fusion of brown and warm tones, flows in soft waves, reflecting her vibrant personality. Each strand catches the light, hinting at the original black that rusted at the roots from the sun's playful embrace. The pearl necklace — if they are truly pearls, as some have speculated she wears but a cheap knock off that befits her means — adds a touch of sophistication, perfectly complementing her preference for pale beige attire.
Brighella's style is weathered but unapologetically chic; she has an innate eye for luxury, often admiring the finer things in life even if she chooses not to indulge. Her youthful face belies her greed and cunning, leaving those around her guessing. With an extroverted charm, she flits from one person to another, making every interaction feel like a fleeting moment of magic. Brighella's foxy mien makes her a novelty among her crewmates; a playful reminder of the many identities she embodies in her journey.
The last tangible piece of her brother she has left, Brighella guards the dragon egg with a ferocity that borders on obsession. She carries it everywhere, tucked safely in a pack slung over her shoulder, her sharp gaze daring anyone to come too close. The shell is a deep, rusty hue, like the dying embers of a fire, its warmth a constant reminder of the life still growing within. Unlike most dragon eggs, the embryo inside is actually bonded to her—a fact that only heightens her protectiveness. After her brother's passing, Brighella vowed to hatch it herself. On the surface, her determination may seem selfish, driven by a desire for the dragon to grow up without any ill will toward her. But beneath that, her resolve runs deeper: she genuinely wishes to raise it right, to ensure it grows strong, free, and unbroken by the same failures that haunt her. Should you ever hear Brighella hissing in warning, heed it well. It means you’ve strayed too close to the egg—and her dagger is never far behind.
moral alignment: chaotic neu
zodiac: gemini
enneagram: 5w6
Cutthroat. Scourge, Gutter rat. Scoundrel. Brighella has had many ugly nicknames over the years. And rightfully so. She's a friend to few, and an enemy to those who are familiar with the uglier side of her character. She's a schemer by nature, constantly shifting, constantly analyzing her surroundings for the best deal. Brighella is as unscrupulous as they come, however, focusing on that which will serve her the best in the long-run, with little regard for those she tramples in the process. Innocence and idealism stripped from her soul, leaving something rotting and aching behind. Brighella is remarkably composed, for all her sins. There's a phrase that follows her around like her shadow; "Two drinks downed, one man bleeding." She's a quick draw, scathing in a verbal battle, and horribly pugnacious in a real fight. All in all, Brighella's first impressions are unattractive, her bedside manner more so. As far as redeeming traits go, Brighella is self-made, the result of grit and weathering protecting the delicate pearl within. Her mind is sharp — Brighella's agenda is meticulously ordered from dawn to dusk, so that by a day's endings she's achieved a great deal. Though her morals leave much to be desired, she has a good head for juggling numbers, names, and all manners of information. In fact, for a nomad, Brighella prides herself on organization and meticulousness. Though selfish and amoral at times, Brighella has been credited with never forgetting a deal or a favor.
Basic Fear(s): Of becoming someone truly unworthy of recognition or love due to failing to meet expectations
Basic Desire: To find a 'family' that will accept her for who she is. No matter the means to the end.
Motivation: ... get as much gold as possible and stay alive. also make her crazy pirate queen mom happy.
"I am the eyes and far-reaching talons of the Red Queen." ... Armed with a rapier and her sharp wit, Brighella is the Red Queen's ambitions embodied; she is avarice and lust and cunning. But a few years before, ███████ never imagined herself with this position. After leaving Pantalone's side, ███████ promised herself that she would never subjugate herself again. She was a stray back then, hungry and scheming, biting her way up from the gutter like a starved wolf. And now, she is the one who used others. She was the one who made deals, who pulled strings from the shadows, who sent people to their graves with the mere flick of her wrist. Brighella also serves as a procurer, of sorts, using her connections and wiles to get her mitts on whatever the Red Queen desires. There is very little Brighella is unwilling to do in pursuit of her goals, which — combined with her ornery tendencies and pragmatic worldview – often makes her a more disagreable character than the pirate queen herself.
Birthplace: Ocia
Family:Kiramen Shen [older brother] | Kaleb Shen [older brother]
Employer: Odila Rotheiche
███████'s first memories transport her back to the infirmary. The scent of dried herbs, antiseptic created a general atmosphere of malaise. Dreary curtains shielded her sicknes from prying eyes, and occasionally the whine or wail of the other children peetered through. Annoyed, she threw a pillow over her head, blocking out the outside world, and tried to catch a wink of sleep. The stench of sickness hung above everything like a spectre, waiting patiently in the wings. As month passed, it had become something of an old friend, gazing down on her.
The irony wasn't lost on her. So far, only her brother Kiramen had bothered to visit. Her parents, once again tied up with social obligations or business, had informed her after checking her into the hospital, that her brother would come to pick her up after she was discharged.
"Why don't you save your pretty words for mother's tea or one of father's business partners" She wanted to say to her brother. "Save it for the people who love you."
As the cries of the children around her diminished in volume, ███████ was finally allowed a modicum of silence. She extricated herself from the covers. The infirmary was scarcely a cheerful place; bare white walls adorned with frail curtains and blocking the sunlight from coming through. Feeling chills running down her spine, she drew the supplied blanket closer to her body as the door creaked open for the doctor. In his eyes, ███████ saw a trace of her reflection. She saw pity concealed behind professionalism and the weight of age, and it rankled her. ███████ averted her gaze, for the doctor reminded her of stressful things, like needles and bitter pills, and the scowls on her parents faces. He cleared his throat with a voice like old parchment. "Well, ███████. It's good to see you awake. How are you feeling?"
"Fine." She responded offhandedly. A lie. Her head was pounding again and her throat was almost certainly crammed with cotton balls. "No worse than usual actually."
She must've been very unconvincing, because the doctor looked at his clipboard again and made a few notes upon it with a frown. The girl disguised her scoff as a coughing fit behind her hand. Always with the same routine, a sort of disdain muffled behind practiced neutrality, his frown a mere courtesy. While Brighella had never been a social creature – far from it actually — even she could see through the excuse of professional detachment, that thin veneer disguising something barely akin to concern.
No patient chooses their doctor, even if the cure barely works. They only need the faintest hope of recovery.
"Are you sure, ███████?" The doctor inquired in a perfunctory tone. She barely refrained from rolling her eyes at this question. She'd heard it a dozen times, "You shouldn't push yourself past your limits if you're not ready. You'll only make your illness worse."
Spare me. Please "I'm sure. Can I go home now?" A cough rose up in her throat, and she swallowed it. The vibration only jolted her body a little. "See?"
She watched the doctor stand up and dust off his coat, discarding gloves in a wastebin near the door. Suddenly, she wondered if she'd been too harsh on the poor man, but she stuffed it down. This was his job. It's what he signed up for. "Your brother will be here soon to pick you up. I've informed him of your condition." She said nothing. "In the future, we'll have to schedule these checkups more often. We wouldn't want something to happen where we couldn't help you."
More hospital bills. More days in this miserable white box, without a cure in sight. Do you even know why I'm sick? Or maybe they were just milking her for all she was worth. It didn't seem unlikely at the time. But there weren't any other better options. "Of course." She replied. "Thank you." She stormed off in a fury, just missing his parting words that trailed ominously in the snow. Perhaps it's better we consider other pursuits.
"███████, are you paying attention?"
"Of course." Frigid hands turned the hilt of the rapier over in her hands. The light reflecting off the hilt was blinding. Rapiers were a gentlemans' trademark, but there wasn't a gender requirement. ███████ heard rumors among the nobility about competitions in Séla, promising prestige and wealth (she assumed) to it's victors. Alas, the luxury of travel was something she was denied admist concerns for her "delicate health." Servants tasked with wrangling the unfortunate sprite pleaded, scolded, coaxed, or passively restricted her activites to more menial tasks.
"Now as I was saying." The instructor huffed while adjusting his collar, “your grip on the hilt is far too loose. You must maintain a firm yet relaxed hold, or the blade will slip from your control at the slightest movement.”
███████ scoffed, "I wasn't aware that this thin sword had a mind of its own." She muttered before using a more "placating" tone, or so she believed, "Yes, yes, I know. Firm but relaxed like a handshake."
The instructor's eyes darkened perilously, "███████, do not mistake me! A firm grip on your blade can make the difference between a loss and a winning play in a real competition." His mustache quivered with the force of his words, "I understand you wish to get on to the fun of fencing, but I refuse to let you advance until you have fully mastered the basics. For your own sake, I suggest you pay attention."
███████ scowled. Picking herself off her metaphorical ass, her mind wandered to the rest of the day; she kept an ear open to the instructor's strict dictums. Much of her day so far had been filled with tasks, she noted darkly, that befitted a sickly, fragile wife who had no dragon, but not her; she was a proud and cunning creature, and like all things proud and cunning, she recognized the value in disguise. A wolf pulling the wool over everyone's eyes. The girl amended her stance, boots crunching in the snow and raised her rapier to waist height. "I want to try again. Once more, before I go inside." A hollow cough rose up in her throat, unbidden. And before this snow kills me.
The instructor straightened up to ramrod height, eyes settling into focus. Brighella eyed him cautiously, noting the ridigity in his stance and the white of his knuckles as he clutches his blade preparing to strike. Propriety. Discipline. Grace. All values she's grown up with, weign down on her like chains. They are the way of nobility and tradition the old ways. Not for the first time up until now, the girl wishes she could take her blade and carve the rot away.
Nobody wants to acknowledge that, for all our money, we really do bleed the same hue as everyone else.
███████ feigned a smirk, "Come at me, huh?" Her first landed in the snow releasing a cloud of white powder.
The tip of the opposing rapier retreated before lunging forward, a striking viper under the frigid sun. Caught a little off guard, Brighella caught the side with her own. The blades collided with a harsh screech. Holding her stance, she watched her own blade tip inexorably like a clock hand towards her. Her arms quivered with the weight it took to maintain her stance, and a red hot line snaked up her arm. She yielded one step, another, the silver serpent chasing her down as her footing faltered. Her heart hammered in her chest as the serpent nearly kissed her sides. She was losing ground, and her instructor was pressing the advantage.
"Blade up, ███████." He countered another futile jab at his ribcage. "You are not dancing with me. You must defend your upper body from the opportunistic!"
She gritted her teeth. "I know, I know, maintain your stance." She growled back. Catching sight of an opportunity, her blade thrusted forward, coming just short of making contact. He retreated, reluctantly it seemed, and her ground opened up once more. Anger fueled her dance with the viper - she grew brash in her movements. However, Brighella's tunnel vision detracted her from her environment.
Black ice gave way treacherously beneath her feet, causing ███████ to slip. A yelp tore from her throat as the world blurred between white and blues, a yelp that cut off when the hard earth slammed into her back. She propped herself up on her elbows, indignant, only to find the tip of the rapier nearly level with her chin. The faux-skirmish was over. In the moment, Brighella became gradually aware of her aching, burning muscles, burning like fire in the frost.
"Enough," he said flatly, lowering his weapon with the ease of someone who hadn’t been challenged in years. He shook his head, the lines of disapproval etched clearly into his face. She bristled. "You’ve lost focus. Your form is sloppy, and you’re too easily flustered when pressed. How do you expect to improve if you lose your composure so easily?"
███████ clenched her fists, her breath fogging in the cold air as she stared at her rapier lying in the snow. Her heart burned with frustration, but she bit back a retort, knowing it would do no good.
The instructor tossed her the fallen blade, his tone softening just slightly, though it was laced with resignation. "Go inside, Miss Shen. You’ve done enough for today. The cold will do you no favors, and we can’t afford for you to fall ill."
How dare he condescend me. Stooping down to pick up her rapier blade, ███████ felt herself seething in defeat. It was a bitter bile that tasted foul in her mouth, and fouler still going down her throat. "Fine," she said quietly, her voice steady but cold. Without another word, she turned and began walking back toward the estate, her steps heavy but determined.
███████ stamped snow off of her boots as she returned to the foyer. A few doors down, she caught the clink of glasses and the delicate mutter of voices.
"Ah! Back inside already, are we? I thought you loathed dear Mother's tea parties!!" Kiramen's sky-blue dress-shirt sleeves were rolled up irreverently near his elbows, cravat already wrinkled with 'boyish charm.' "And yet, here you are, just in time for the festiviites. How fortunate for Mother." Sullen golden eyes swung towards the owner of the voice just as her brother crossed the parlor. Ornate cufflinks - those definitely cost more than half his allowance - shone proudly beneath the hallway chandelier. A noble son's indulgence and pride, that pair was. As ███████ didn't reply immediately, he produced a silk handkerchief to dab at his already flawless silk attire. Like everything he did, this was purely for show.
███████ slipped off her gloves, "I do," She replied curtly, "What’s your excuse?"
Kiramen smirked, casually leaning against the wall. ███████ wanted to smack the grin off his lips. "I make my appearances, of course. Unlike some people, I know when to make my moves and when to retreat gracefully."
A scoff tugged her lips up, "Retreating gracefully, are we? You left the moment the small talk became boring didn't you?"
"But of course." Kiramen flashed her a reckless grin, his perfect teeth all aligned, "You're late by the way. Mother wants to know why you insist on playing traunt. I told her that you were warming up by the hearth. But here we are."
Her fingers paused on the last button of her coat, her shoulders tensing. "Of course she is," she muttered, her voice dripping with disdain. "Because nothing says ‘delicate health’ like enduring hours of gossip and feigned civility over lukewarm tea."
Her brother coughed into his handkerchief, "Careful sister. You almost sound rebellious. What would Mother say if she heard the kinds of venom you spew on the daily." ███████ couldn't help rolling her eyes. "I daresay she'll live." She retorted tartly.
Kiramen beamed. "I wouldn't put my money on it. Now go change. You'll want to look your best when greeting our dear mother." He gave an cheeky half-grimace, "The vultures are hungry today."
The parlor was suffocating, in part because of the rigid confines of her corset. The unforgiving fabric
In the coming years, ███████'s poor constitution would continue to plague her physically, limiting her activities to the point where she was forced to give up studying abroad, instead choosing to settle for a local boarding school attended by many other noble elites to say nothing of fencing. The disparaging reports from her fencing instructor hounded her even in the halls of her own home, only worsened by the dismissiveness of her parents. ███████ watched on in envy as Kiramen continued to curry the favor of their family, even bringing home a dragon egg as fruit of his efforts. ███████ found no commiseration with her brother Kaleb, either, whether out of resentment or preoccupation with his own affairs.
The other students at the boarding school saw her as an outsider, too sickly to compete, too sharp-tongued to endear. The social hierarchies of the elite were merciless, and her wit, though cutting, earned her more enemies than allies. Her efforts to establish herself among the noble circles often backfired, leaving her feeling like a specter drifting through their world, visible but never truly present. In the end, ███████ left the school with a bang; the inciting incident remains a pleasant memory to this day. Having caught word of malicious gossip concerning her academic limitations and lethargic disposition, ███████ plotted retribution in secret. This time, her underwhelming appearance served as a facade for cold revenge; walking up to the girls in the mess hall with a blank expression, she dropped a social bombshell. And whether it was due to paranoia or genuine doubt, the trap worked. The crown couple broke up within the week, each accusing the other of infidelity. ███████ was pulled out after following complaints from the other students, but no amount of scolding could faze her innocent expression.
███████ had learned a very important lesson that day: power was fickle, jumping from victim to master at the tip of a hat, or a stray remark. Ladies couldn't start fights, but as she'd learned today, they could end them.
Despite her hard feelings, ███████ attended the late bonding festival; the last of which would be occuring. It wasn't hard for her to feel out of place among the festivitites occuring, she found her eyes drawn to the various dragon-themed merchandise on display. Draconic banners and insignias were everywhere; a strange lightness entered the siblings' step as they remembered that beyond family and wealth, they were all Queyenese at heart. This was as much ███████'s birthright as her siblings, and as such, they saw no reason to overlook her for once. Kirraman was approached by a dragon named Apalala, her aquamarine dragon scales only just visible past the gaggle of teenagers fawning over her. Feeling strangely apprehensive, ███████ left most of the introductions
ooc account: Immortes
Preferred contact method: forum and discord
BASICS
Name: Brighella (formerly: ███████)
Name meaning: 'bother' or 'contention' in italian
An affectionate, albeit mean-spirited, nickname granted by her crew members, alluding to her old habits of terrorizing them during her early days as an inexperienced deckhand. Her nickname Brig, refers to the jail of the ship — where Odila first kept her for an entire week before deciding not to throw her overboard. Though she never laughs anymore at the insider's joke, you may still catch a smile occasionally.
Gender: Female | She/her, cis
Age: 24 | late autumn
Current Residence: Unknown, unsettled
Occupation: Pirate | Information broker, merchant
Social Standing:
By birthright, Brighella is entitled to a generous fortune, the fruits of countless generations of hard work by her ancestors. To this day, she's retained the need for propriety and manners...even if such fancy airs become more and more out of place with her ocean-bound surroundings.
Loyalty: Odila and co.
APPEARANCE
Faceclaim: Gemma Chan | Sersi, Eternals
Voiceclaim: Grey DeLisle | Ventress, clone wars
Height: 5'9''
Weight: 125 lbs
Fragrance: Sawdust, cinnamon, and a dash of pumpkin.
Despite the accumulation of years of grime and weathering that comes from years of hard work and combat, Brighella has retained much of her former dignity. She's is a lucky inheritor of Ocia traditional beauty, boasting looks genes and a little bit of luck created. She moves quickly like the wind, elegance blurring with the mix of jazzy flair and grace that comes with way too much confidence and a little rogueish bravado. Brighella comes in at an impressive 5'9" without heels, her open posture dissuading suspicion. With an ever-present smile, she radiates a warmth that captivates those around her, drawing them into her enchanting world.
Her russet hair, a playful fusion of brown and warm tones, flows in soft waves, reflecting her vibrant personality. Each strand catches the light, hinting at the original black that rusted at the roots from the sun's playful embrace. The pearl necklace — if they are truly pearls, as some have speculated she wears but a cheap knock off that befits her means — adds a touch of sophistication, perfectly complementing her preference for pale beige attire.
Brighella's style is weathered but unapologetically chic; she has an innate eye for luxury, often admiring the finer things in life even if she chooses not to indulge. Her youthful face belies her greed and cunning, leaving those around her guessing. With an extroverted charm, she flits from one person to another, making every interaction feel like a fleeting moment of magic. Brighella's foxy mien makes her a novelty among her crewmates; a playful reminder of the many identities she embodies in her journey.
About: The Egg
The last tangible piece of her brother she has left, Brighella guards the dragon egg with a ferocity that borders on obsession. She carries it everywhere, tucked safely in a pack slung over her shoulder, her sharp gaze daring anyone to come too close. The shell is a deep, rusty hue, like the dying embers of a fire, its warmth a constant reminder of the life still growing within. Unlike most dragon eggs, the embryo inside is actually bonded to her—a fact that only heightens her protectiveness. After her brother's passing, Brighella vowed to hatch it herself. On the surface, her determination may seem selfish, driven by a desire for the dragon to grow up without any ill will toward her. But beneath that, her resolve runs deeper: she genuinely wishes to raise it right, to ensure it grows strong, free, and unbroken by the same failures that haunt her. Should you ever hear Brighella hissing in warning, heed it well. It means you’ve strayed too close to the egg—and her dagger is never far behind.
BEHAVIOR
moral alignment: chaotic neu
zodiac: gemini
enneagram: 5w6
POS | NEG |
| insightful | opportunistic |
| composed | headstrong |
| sentimental | detached |
| meticulous | ambitious |
| painstaking | conniving |
| stubborn | ornery |
| intelligent | pragmatic |
Cutthroat. Scourge, Gutter rat. Scoundrel. Brighella has had many ugly nicknames over the years. And rightfully so. She's a friend to few, and an enemy to those who are familiar with the uglier side of her character. She's a schemer by nature, constantly shifting, constantly analyzing her surroundings for the best deal. Brighella is as unscrupulous as they come, however, focusing on that which will serve her the best in the long-run, with little regard for those she tramples in the process. Innocence and idealism stripped from her soul, leaving something rotting and aching behind. Brighella is remarkably composed, for all her sins. There's a phrase that follows her around like her shadow; "Two drinks downed, one man bleeding." She's a quick draw, scathing in a verbal battle, and horribly pugnacious in a real fight. All in all, Brighella's first impressions are unattractive, her bedside manner more so. As far as redeeming traits go, Brighella is self-made, the result of grit and weathering protecting the delicate pearl within. Her mind is sharp — Brighella's agenda is meticulously ordered from dawn to dusk, so that by a day's endings she's achieved a great deal. Though her morals leave much to be desired, she has a good head for juggling numbers, names, and all manners of information. In fact, for a nomad, Brighella prides herself on organization and meticulousness. Though selfish and amoral at times, Brighella has been credited with never forgetting a deal or a favor.
Basic Fear(s): Of becoming someone truly unworthy of recognition or love due to failing to meet expectations
Basic Desire: To find a 'family' that will accept her for who she is. No matter the means to the end.
Motivation: ... get as much gold as possible and stay alive. also make her crazy pirate queen mom happy.
— 𖥸 —
"I am the eyes and far-reaching talons of the Red Queen." ... Armed with a rapier and her sharp wit, Brighella is the Red Queen's ambitions embodied; she is avarice and lust and cunning. But a few years before, ███████ never imagined herself with this position. After leaving Pantalone's side, ███████ promised herself that she would never subjugate herself again. She was a stray back then, hungry and scheming, biting her way up from the gutter like a starved wolf. And now, she is the one who used others. She was the one who made deals, who pulled strings from the shadows, who sent people to their graves with the mere flick of her wrist. Brighella also serves as a procurer, of sorts, using her connections and wiles to get her mitts on whatever the Red Queen desires. There is very little Brighella is unwilling to do in pursuit of her goals, which — combined with her ornery tendencies and pragmatic worldview – often makes her a more disagreable character than the pirate queen herself.
HISTORY
Birthplace: Ocia
Family:
Employer: Odila Rotheiche
███████'s first memories transport her back to the infirmary. The scent of dried herbs, antiseptic created a general atmosphere of malaise. Dreary curtains shielded her sicknes from prying eyes, and occasionally the whine or wail of the other children peetered through. Annoyed, she threw a pillow over her head, blocking out the outside world, and tried to catch a wink of sleep. The stench of sickness hung above everything like a spectre, waiting patiently in the wings. As month passed, it had become something of an old friend, gazing down on her.
The irony wasn't lost on her. So far, only her brother Kiramen had bothered to visit. Her parents, once again tied up with social obligations or business, had informed her after checking her into the hospital, that her brother would come to pick her up after she was discharged.
"Why don't you save your pretty words for mother's tea or one of father's business partners" She wanted to say to her brother. "Save it for the people who love you."
As the cries of the children around her diminished in volume, ███████ was finally allowed a modicum of silence. She extricated herself from the covers. The infirmary was scarcely a cheerful place; bare white walls adorned with frail curtains and blocking the sunlight from coming through. Feeling chills running down her spine, she drew the supplied blanket closer to her body as the door creaked open for the doctor. In his eyes, ███████ saw a trace of her reflection. She saw pity concealed behind professionalism and the weight of age, and it rankled her. ███████ averted her gaze, for the doctor reminded her of stressful things, like needles and bitter pills, and the scowls on her parents faces. He cleared his throat with a voice like old parchment. "Well, ███████. It's good to see you awake. How are you feeling?"
"Fine." She responded offhandedly. A lie. Her head was pounding again and her throat was almost certainly crammed with cotton balls. "No worse than usual actually."
She must've been very unconvincing, because the doctor looked at his clipboard again and made a few notes upon it with a frown. The girl disguised her scoff as a coughing fit behind her hand. Always with the same routine, a sort of disdain muffled behind practiced neutrality, his frown a mere courtesy. While Brighella had never been a social creature – far from it actually — even she could see through the excuse of professional detachment, that thin veneer disguising something barely akin to concern.
No patient chooses their doctor, even if the cure barely works. They only need the faintest hope of recovery.
"Are you sure, ███████?" The doctor inquired in a perfunctory tone. She barely refrained from rolling her eyes at this question. She'd heard it a dozen times, "You shouldn't push yourself past your limits if you're not ready. You'll only make your illness worse."
Spare me. Please "I'm sure. Can I go home now?" A cough rose up in her throat, and she swallowed it. The vibration only jolted her body a little. "See?"
She watched the doctor stand up and dust off his coat, discarding gloves in a wastebin near the door. Suddenly, she wondered if she'd been too harsh on the poor man, but she stuffed it down. This was his job. It's what he signed up for. "Your brother will be here soon to pick you up. I've informed him of your condition." She said nothing. "In the future, we'll have to schedule these checkups more often. We wouldn't want something to happen where we couldn't help you."
More hospital bills. More days in this miserable white box, without a cure in sight. Do you even know why I'm sick? Or maybe they were just milking her for all she was worth. It didn't seem unlikely at the time. But there weren't any other better options. "Of course." She replied. "Thank you." She stormed off in a fury, just missing his parting words that trailed ominously in the snow. Perhaps it's better we consider other pursuits.
— 𖥸 —
"███████, are you paying attention?"
"Of course." Frigid hands turned the hilt of the rapier over in her hands. The light reflecting off the hilt was blinding. Rapiers were a gentlemans' trademark, but there wasn't a gender requirement. ███████ heard rumors among the nobility about competitions in Séla, promising prestige and wealth (she assumed) to it's victors. Alas, the luxury of travel was something she was denied admist concerns for her "delicate health." Servants tasked with wrangling the unfortunate sprite pleaded, scolded, coaxed, or passively restricted her activites to more menial tasks.
"Now as I was saying." The instructor huffed while adjusting his collar, “your grip on the hilt is far too loose. You must maintain a firm yet relaxed hold, or the blade will slip from your control at the slightest movement.”
███████ scoffed, "I wasn't aware that this thin sword had a mind of its own." She muttered before using a more "placating" tone, or so she believed, "Yes, yes, I know. Firm but relaxed like a handshake."
The instructor's eyes darkened perilously, "███████, do not mistake me! A firm grip on your blade can make the difference between a loss and a winning play in a real competition." His mustache quivered with the force of his words, "I understand you wish to get on to the fun of fencing, but I refuse to let you advance until you have fully mastered the basics. For your own sake, I suggest you pay attention."
███████ scowled. Picking herself off her metaphorical ass, her mind wandered to the rest of the day; she kept an ear open to the instructor's strict dictums. Much of her day so far had been filled with tasks, she noted darkly, that befitted a sickly, fragile wife who had no dragon, but not her; she was a proud and cunning creature, and like all things proud and cunning, she recognized the value in disguise. A wolf pulling the wool over everyone's eyes. The girl amended her stance, boots crunching in the snow and raised her rapier to waist height. "I want to try again. Once more, before I go inside." A hollow cough rose up in her throat, unbidden. And before this snow kills me.
The instructor straightened up to ramrod height, eyes settling into focus. Brighella eyed him cautiously, noting the ridigity in his stance and the white of his knuckles as he clutches his blade preparing to strike. Propriety. Discipline. Grace. All values she's grown up with, weign down on her like chains. They are the way of nobility and tradition the old ways. Not for the first time up until now, the girl wishes she could take her blade and carve the rot away.
Nobody wants to acknowledge that, for all our money, we really do bleed the same hue as everyone else.
███████ feigned a smirk, "Come at me, huh?" Her first landed in the snow releasing a cloud of white powder.
The tip of the opposing rapier retreated before lunging forward, a striking viper under the frigid sun. Caught a little off guard, Brighella caught the side with her own. The blades collided with a harsh screech. Holding her stance, she watched her own blade tip inexorably like a clock hand towards her. Her arms quivered with the weight it took to maintain her stance, and a red hot line snaked up her arm. She yielded one step, another, the silver serpent chasing her down as her footing faltered. Her heart hammered in her chest as the serpent nearly kissed her sides. She was losing ground, and her instructor was pressing the advantage.
"Blade up, ███████." He countered another futile jab at his ribcage. "You are not dancing with me. You must defend your upper body from the opportunistic!"
She gritted her teeth. "I know, I know, maintain your stance." She growled back. Catching sight of an opportunity, her blade thrusted forward, coming just short of making contact. He retreated, reluctantly it seemed, and her ground opened up once more. Anger fueled her dance with the viper - she grew brash in her movements. However, Brighella's tunnel vision detracted her from her environment.
Black ice gave way treacherously beneath her feet, causing ███████ to slip. A yelp tore from her throat as the world blurred between white and blues, a yelp that cut off when the hard earth slammed into her back. She propped herself up on her elbows, indignant, only to find the tip of the rapier nearly level with her chin. The faux-skirmish was over. In the moment, Brighella became gradually aware of her aching, burning muscles, burning like fire in the frost.
"Enough," he said flatly, lowering his weapon with the ease of someone who hadn’t been challenged in years. He shook his head, the lines of disapproval etched clearly into his face. She bristled. "You’ve lost focus. Your form is sloppy, and you’re too easily flustered when pressed. How do you expect to improve if you lose your composure so easily?"
███████ clenched her fists, her breath fogging in the cold air as she stared at her rapier lying in the snow. Her heart burned with frustration, but she bit back a retort, knowing it would do no good.
The instructor tossed her the fallen blade, his tone softening just slightly, though it was laced with resignation. "Go inside, Miss Shen. You’ve done enough for today. The cold will do you no favors, and we can’t afford for you to fall ill."
How dare he condescend me. Stooping down to pick up her rapier blade, ███████ felt herself seething in defeat. It was a bitter bile that tasted foul in her mouth, and fouler still going down her throat. "Fine," she said quietly, her voice steady but cold. Without another word, she turned and began walking back toward the estate, her steps heavy but determined.
— 𖥸 —
███████ stamped snow off of her boots as she returned to the foyer. A few doors down, she caught the clink of glasses and the delicate mutter of voices.
"Ah! Back inside already, are we? I thought you loathed dear Mother's tea parties!!" Kiramen's sky-blue dress-shirt sleeves were rolled up irreverently near his elbows, cravat already wrinkled with 'boyish charm.' "And yet, here you are, just in time for the festiviites. How fortunate for Mother." Sullen golden eyes swung towards the owner of the voice just as her brother crossed the parlor. Ornate cufflinks - those definitely cost more than half his allowance - shone proudly beneath the hallway chandelier. A noble son's indulgence and pride, that pair was. As ███████ didn't reply immediately, he produced a silk handkerchief to dab at his already flawless silk attire. Like everything he did, this was purely for show.
███████ slipped off her gloves, "I do," She replied curtly, "What’s your excuse?"
Kiramen smirked, casually leaning against the wall. ███████ wanted to smack the grin off his lips. "I make my appearances, of course. Unlike some people, I know when to make my moves and when to retreat gracefully."
A scoff tugged her lips up, "Retreating gracefully, are we? You left the moment the small talk became boring didn't you?"
"But of course." Kiramen flashed her a reckless grin, his perfect teeth all aligned, "You're late by the way. Mother wants to know why you insist on playing traunt. I told her that you were warming up by the hearth. But here we are."
Her fingers paused on the last button of her coat, her shoulders tensing. "Of course she is," she muttered, her voice dripping with disdain. "Because nothing says ‘delicate health’ like enduring hours of gossip and feigned civility over lukewarm tea."
Her brother coughed into his handkerchief, "Careful sister. You almost sound rebellious. What would Mother say if she heard the kinds of venom you spew on the daily." ███████ couldn't help rolling her eyes. "I daresay she'll live." She retorted tartly.
Kiramen beamed. "I wouldn't put my money on it. Now go change. You'll want to look your best when greeting our dear mother." He gave an cheeky half-grimace, "The vultures are hungry today."
The parlor was suffocating, in part because of the rigid confines of her corset. The unforgiving fabric
— 𖥸 —
author's note; in the interest of time I have decided to use a summary to get out these next events. Hopefully in the future, the truth of such records will be revealed...
In the coming years, ███████'s poor constitution would continue to plague her physically, limiting her activities to the point where she was forced to give up studying abroad, instead choosing to settle for a local boarding school attended by many other noble elites to say nothing of fencing. The disparaging reports from her fencing instructor hounded her even in the halls of her own home, only worsened by the dismissiveness of her parents. ███████ watched on in envy as Kiramen continued to curry the favor of their family, even bringing home a dragon egg as fruit of his efforts. ███████ found no commiseration with her brother Kaleb, either, whether out of resentment or preoccupation with his own affairs.
The other students at the boarding school saw her as an outsider, too sickly to compete, too sharp-tongued to endear. The social hierarchies of the elite were merciless, and her wit, though cutting, earned her more enemies than allies. Her efforts to establish herself among the noble circles often backfired, leaving her feeling like a specter drifting through their world, visible but never truly present. In the end, ███████ left the school with a bang; the inciting incident remains a pleasant memory to this day. Having caught word of malicious gossip concerning her academic limitations and lethargic disposition, ███████ plotted retribution in secret. This time, her underwhelming appearance served as a facade for cold revenge; walking up to the girls in the mess hall with a blank expression, she dropped a social bombshell. And whether it was due to paranoia or genuine doubt, the trap worked. The crown couple broke up within the week, each accusing the other of infidelity. ███████ was pulled out after following complaints from the other students, but no amount of scolding could faze her innocent expression.
███████ had learned a very important lesson that day: power was fickle, jumping from victim to master at the tip of a hat, or a stray remark. Ladies couldn't start fights, but as she'd learned today, they could end them.
Despite her hard feelings, ███████ attended the late bonding festival; the last of which would be occuring. It wasn't hard for her to feel out of place among the festivitites occuring, she found her eyes drawn to the various dragon-themed merchandise on display. Draconic banners and insignias were everywhere; a strange lightness entered the siblings' step as they remembered that beyond family and wealth, they were all Queyenese at heart. This was as much ███████'s birthright as her siblings, and as such, they saw no reason to overlook her for once. Kirraman was approached by a dragon named Apalala, her aquamarine dragon scales only just visible past the gaggle of teenagers fawning over her. Feeling strangely apprehensive, ███████ left most of the introductions
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Last Edit: Nov 22, 2024 23:56:20 GMT by Brighella