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Beyond The Time
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Posted: Sat Jun 15, 2024 4:41 pm

Characters: Alkmene and Mirabella
Prompt: After the night of the explosion, Lady Kallis and Lady Rousseau reconnect under better terms.

Posted: Wed Nov 27, 2024 10:22 am

ＭＩＲＡＢＥＬＬＡ ☀ ＲＯＵＳＳＥＡＵ
ＤＵＣＨＥＳＳＯＦＡＬＯＲＥ

To Mirabella, having a woman like Alkmene Kallis in her life was like actively inviting bull into your home while having eyes like Sera's; you never know when she'll start to see red. One day she's nearly crushing you and your chosen to death on a whim, and the next she was sending flowers about it. She was absolutely absurd. And while she'd only really known Lady Kallis for the two days, the warrior of light was already finding herself wary of a pattern forming with her.

Still, the duchess at least seemed keenly aware of how to make one hell of an apology. The flowers she'd left at Mirabella's doorstep were like none the Aloran duchess had ever seen before. And with the sheer size and quantity on them, on their own they could barely fit through her door. Thankfully the letter wasn't as much of a hassle to get into her quarters, but it was nonetheless beyond extravagant. From the wax used to embalm the envelope shut to the flawless handwriting that lay within, it was clear that the moon-fearing woman had a flair for the dramatic far beyond even Mirabella herself.

As for her words, whether they were genuine or not was difficult to decipher. Alkmene's choice in phrasing made even an apology sound like something you'd have to put your signature at the bottom of to validate it, but the fact that she'd done so to begin with seemed to be a far grander gesture than anything else that she'd seen the giantess do so far during her stay at Utopia. It was almost disarming. Almost.

But almost wasn't good enough, especially when her dear Avira was on the line. Mirabella cursed herself in her head for even thinking of putting one of her chosen in such potential danger, but it seemed like the best way to appease the monumental monstress she'd encountered that night. It wouldn't have even been an issue in the first place, but apparently she just had to poke the bear. Then again, it wasn't all bad; the look in Alkmene's eyes when she realized even the full weight of her ability wasn't enough to stop the warrior of light was a sight to behold. Perhaps that was why Lady Kallis chose to send her a gift instead of apologizing directly. It was easy to look down on those beneath you, but to experience your worldview shatter in an instant? It must have been so terrifying for her, and that was just at night. To imagine what Mirabella could do in daylight likely only added to the poor woman's fears.

And yet...in a way, the duchess of light hoped that her lunar counterpart hadn't come to fear her entirely. To ease up on the hypocritical life lessons, sure, but not to fear her. Mirabella couldn't put her finger on it quite yet, but fear wasn't the emotion she wanted her presence to elicit from Alkmene. It had to do with respect, but respect was not the whole of it either. It was...

Late. But despite Mirabella hating going out in the dreadful night, she figured it'd be easiest to arrange a meetup time during a time more agreeable to her precarious new business partner. She also made sure to have her letter sent at the crack of dawn so that the giantess would have at least a good ten hours to prepare herself should she wish to come, although she was unsure if even that was ample time for one such as Alkmene. Nonetheless, she was hoping that the two of them would be able to use this meeting as an opportunity to better understand one another. The warrior of light was far from the farmhand the giantess had tried reducing her to, after all, and it was clear as day that Lady Kallis had many layers to her. Mirabella only hoped that this layer wouldn't attempt to murder her again.

Luckily, she had afforded herself some countermeasures this time. Since Lady Kallis seemed so mortified from using her abilities on Mirabella, it was likely that she'd find it even worse to do so around people who would judge her poorly for it. As such, she had chosen for them an open balcony that, while private enough, was nonetheless able to be seen from those viewing the campus from below. She still wanted some privacy for the two of them, but she hoped that the potential threat of being witnessed in any capacity would be enough to quell Alkmene's fury.

If that wasn't enough, she was of course prepared to deal with her again; the warrior of light lost to no one, after all. Still, would it always have to be a win-lose situation between them? They might have only done it once, but the taste had already grown a bit stale. It'd be different if it was more of a rivalry than what could very well become a string of venomous encounters, but it was difficult for Mirabella to see the light at the end of the tunnel. The pair came from very different worlds, of day and night, respectively. Still, even if it came across as a tad facetious, it was Lady Kallis who was the first to note the strings that bound the sun and the moon together. Perhaps there was hope to be had yet.

Finishing her own preparations, Mirabella strode over to the balcony in confidence. Whether the giantess showed or not, there was a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon imported from Premier à l'aube with her name on it there. The school had shown that its own reserve of alcohol was lackluster at best, so she decided to treat herself tonight. She'd also arranged for a candlelit table to be prepared for them with that along with some small plates with help from a fiery head chef that she was looking forward to working with again. Mirabella might be best known for being a proud fighter, but she too possessed appreciation for the finer things in life. Whether they were to Alkmene's standards or liking was another thing entirely, but the duchess of light could only care so much about putting the whims of others over her own. The giantess had been catered to far enough; whether she chose to acknowledge that or not was her own issue to deal with.

Arriving at the designated spot a few minutes early, she was pleasantly surprised to see Lady Kallis walking opposite her. "Good, I was afraid I'd have to schedule months in advance to be graced with your presence." Smiling coyly as she approached the giantess, she stopped at the first entryway adjacent to both of them. As she stood in front of her Goliath, her features softened and warmed.

"I do appreciate you coming, Lady Kallis. As per my letter, I believe there are words to be said between the both of us that would be better spoken than written. I must say though, your uncompromising ways shined through even in your choice of stationery. The eclectic arrangement of flowers you sent were also quite lovely; I must thank you in kind for them."

Walking in front of Alkmene for a moment, she stopped to look back at her. Lifting her arm, she slowly offered her hand palm side up for the ever-stunning giantess to take hold of.

"Shall we, then?"

The warmth in her smile remained, and she meant it wholeheartedly. In a way, she wished for this to be a do-over for the two of them. What was done was done, but it did not have to cement how the two of them interacted moving forward. After all, despite being so slighted by Alkmene that night, she also got to see the full extent of her fury. And although she hadn't quite enjoyed it being directed at her, especially when she had only said things that were 100% true and correct that night, it was nonetheless astounding. It was clear enough that Alkmene did not think so, which was a shame, but perhaps she could teach the giantess that there was more to being powerful than dressing the part. But beyond that, what she really wanted was to have an at least somewhat cordial night together. Even after everything that had transpired between them, Alkmene's company was something she wished to have more of.

Location: Balcony
Company: Alkmene
OOC: Outfit

Beyond The Time
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Nebula Arisen

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Posted: Sun Jan 12, 2025 10:41 pm

In the aftermath of Menodora’s ghastly little temper tantrum, Alkmene had retired to her quarters and eventually gone to bed in the early morning with a strong, smug sense of righteous superiority.

She awoke half an hour later absolutely mortified.

What had she done?

What had she done?

She sat up, manicured nails digging into the silk sheets as her mind ran through the past several hours once, then twice, then three times, humiliation crawling up her throat to choke her and heat her face.

She had…she…had she truly? Done that? Used her magic like some insecure little cheat? And so blatantly! She had threatened to physically crush people as though she were a meatheaded savage! A cheap soldier for hire! Had been handled like some feral beast on a leash! And then returned fire on the princess!

Faux pas could not begin to encapsulate the errors she had committed last night! She had been lucky Rousseau hadn’t yanked her head right off her skull!

Goddess damned ******** that in front of a woman with one of the loudest mouths conceived! In front of the princess! To the princess! Who else had been–oh, of all the useless peons, plain jane Charlotte, too!

No, not Charlotte. Charlize? Charisse. Charia. No, that felt really wrong. Charlea. Charlene–Charlene!

Instructor Ded Morzo, who ran the one class Alkmene simply could not be bothered to attend.

Okay, what did she know about him? He was a decorated war veteran from Hyouden, which was notorious for their strict patriarchal values. Men were the worst gossips, but she felt there was a high chance he would keep her part in things confidential; Menodora had been the bigger offender, enough so that he had clapped her magic in chains. That was deserving of more attention. She didn’t believe he had any obvious connections in Luna anyway. No, Alkmene couldn’t imagine he would ******** her over in the Lunan way.

Had there been anyone else who had seen her? Who had seen what she did? Who could sully her reputation with but a few words? No faces came to mind. At the very least Menodora couldn’t speak out, she had used her powers even more flagrantly than Alkmene had, and so it was mutually assured destruction if word of last night slipped past Utopia’s dull walls.

Charlene…the most exciting thing she had ever done was beget some whelp out of wedlock, which by Lunan standards was low on the scale of scandal. Or, well, the Kallis scale. Anyone who spread their legs so easily was liable to spread their mouth, too. She was a risk…but perhaps her loyalty to Menodora would keep those lips shut. Surely there were enough brains in that vacant head of hers to realize the mutually assured destruction bit of flapping her face hole. Surely Balim wouldn’t be able to convince her to spread both legs and mouth for him with a bat of his hawkish eyes.

All right, she might be ******** there. The only way he’d ever ******** her. ******** control. She would have a word with Charlene. Maybe threaten her a little if need be, though nothing too obvious. Just a reminder of the mutually assured destruction bit, since Alkmene had no compunctions with dragging the Rowley heir down with her, too. Her child…was a daughter, wasn’t it? She hadn’t brought the girl to Utopia with her, but it wasn’t difficult to see that she adored the creature. Foolish of her to express any fondness for her at all when it could be exploited.

Which left Rousseau. Alkmene would have put her face in her hands if it would not have ruined her makeup. Just thinking of how she had acted around the woman…she wanted to shrivel up like a raisin. What had possessed her to lower herself to Rousseau’s level? To have expressed her anger so publicly, so physically? She should have ignored her, shown in her silence how much better than her she was! She should not have had to push even a pound of pressure upon her to best her!

And the worst, most frightening part was that the woman hadn’t buckled even beneath the weight of her magic. Had dipped her in some farcical recreation of a dance between two heavenly bodies. Had grasped her wrist like a manacle, her braids like a leash. Why had Alkmene thought she could take her on in a display of force? The tactile sense of her grip remained a brand on her skin. She mimicked the hold Rousseau had had upon her, hoping it would chase the feeling away, but her fingers were too long, too dagger pointed, too soft. She closed her eyes, remembering a gaze full of such potent rage that she could have burned. Should have burned.

Yet they had parted ways unharmed. Rousseau had offered one of her prized chosen to her. Had she gone to sleep thinking of Alkmene’s wrist, fragile and delicate and still unbruised?

A silly thought. Off topic. As much as she hated to admit it, Alkmene had wronged her by trying to crush her beneath her magic, and Rousseau had been in the right to defend herself. Alkmene had been a–a–a soldier in a surgical theater, wielding a sword where a scalpel would be better suited. That wasn’t her. That wasn’t what she could be.

Stars, to think Rousseau had had her questioning if grinding her mother and sister into a greasy smear would have been more satisfying than the process of slipping poison in their tea and watching every sip in mounting anticipation until their eyes bulged in realization! That was civilized! That was Alkmene!

Off topic again. Alkmene had to ensure Rousseau said nothing of what she had done in public. And she had to apologize for her behavior. Perhaps not in that order. What better way to apologize than with a formal letter and a bouquet? Perhaps even a polite turn of the head when her wretched little chosen servant botched up the task set before her. Punishing her at this point in time seemed…counterproductive. Better to praise the creature, send her scurrying off, and then toss aside whatever garbage she made.

What flowers, though? Obviously something that conveyed apology, regret…sunflowers were too on the nose, and implied that she desired reconciliation, which–what was there to reconcile? Tulips could work. Red, akin to the vibrancy of her eyes, the way her hair had glowed–but red indicated love, and, ha, that certainly wasn’t the message she wanted to intend! Alkmene pushed aside the sheer, gauzy curtains that hung around her bedside, getting up to gaze out the nearest window.

No, what seemed best suited for an apology for someone such as Rousseau were peonies. Elegant, yet bold. Red for regret, rather than love. They were out of season in Luna, but had to be in season somewhere. White diosma for the scent…pink daylilies to wish her prosperity…snapdragons to recognize her strength, and a fun little indication that the entire display was bullshit.

Would Rousseau appreciate it? Likely not, but Alkmene was no mannerless sow…not this morning.

With that decided, Alkmene took a seat at her desk, retrieving fresh paper to start drafting the perfect apology in as flowery a manner as possible. At some point Diana came to rest her head on her thigh, a silent entreaty for affection that Alkmene spared as she crumpled up another piece of paper to begin drafting anew. By the time the sun began to peek over the horizon her fingers were curled with cramps, but she had finished what she had set out to do. The envelope was sealed with a silver wax, stamped into place with an impression of her initials, and handed off to Calantha to deliver with the flowers Kacia had retrieved from the academy’s greenhouses. It was all very ostentatious, but a show had to be made, and Rousseau had yet to strike her as the sort to appreciate subtlety.

Then Rousseau had to send back a letter of her own to express a desire to speak face to face, arranging a time and place for it. Something anticipatory shivered up her spine. Something akin to dread made the small hairs on the back of her neck raise. If there was any lesson to be taken away from that night when they had cradled each other’s lives in their hands, it was that Alkmene could not back down in Rousseau’s wake, not unless it was in agreement. Mutually assured destruction. No weakness.

As soon as Alkmene had set the letter aside, she was snapping for her ladies-in-waiting to begin preparations. She was on a ten hour deadline, but they had worked under worse pressure. They undid her braids as they went through her closet for the perfect dress, and when asked how she would like to do her hair, she decided on leaving it loose. Let Rousseau see how little she feared the other woman grabbing her locks again. Dare her.

To further emphasize this point, polished moonstones were tied into her hair to catch and reflect the light, matching well with the gauzy purple gown she chose. The slit was perhaps a little high and the fabric a little thin for the cooling weather, but Alkmene was accustomed to enduring the cold in exchange for beauty. A pair of matching shoes not made by a certain fashion designer were fetched, and her makeup redone to better accent the entire look. They were done with little time to spare, and Alkmene made her way to the designated meeting place flanked by her maids.

Fashionable lateness was best suited for parties and business meetings, not for more casual arrangements, and so Alkmene made sure to arrive a few minutes early. Her ladies-in-waiting fell back when Rousseau strolled into view, and Alkmene regarded her with an arched brow as they stopped before the entryway.

"Perhaps were we not in Utopia, you would," she acknowledged. The academy was not the bustling social scene that the Kallis duchy was, particularly now that autumn was beginning to roll into winter. The feasts she was missing attending this place…

"I must say though, your uncompromising ways shined through even in your choice of stationery. The eclectic arrangement of flowers you sent were also quite lovely; I must thank you in kind for them."

Alkmene had to wonder if this meant Rousseau had any idea behind the symbolism of the entire bouquet, but nevertheless the praise settled warmly behind her chest. From anyone else, and she would have taken it as a backhanded compliment; some part of her still wished to, but the Aloran before her wore sincerity well. She regretted the snapdragons only a little.

"I did only as worth your due, but you’re quite welcome," was her gracious reply. When Rousseau offered her hand in escort, Alkmene ensured she did not hesitate to take it. The Aloran would see no fear from her this night.

Rousseau led her out to the balcony where a candlelit dinner and a good view of the moonlit grounds awaited them. Utopia’s gardens were a bit plain still, likely due to how little time was available to get the place situated for its purpose, and so its beauty was found far more in its untapped potential rather than what was directly before them. Alkmene did not mind it in this moment, not when the moon was only just waxing above them, adorned with the glittering veil of the evening.

Taking her seat while expertly arranging her skirt so that just the right amount of skin was revealed while she sat, Alkmene found herself face to face with Rousseau once more, the space between them an arm’s reach away. The atmosphere was a great deal different from what she was expecting, which put her on edge. The strange warmth on the other woman’s face reminded her of the heat of her hand, the firm grip of her fingers, now branded not just on her wrist but her palm as well. Alkmene threaded her fingers together in her lap, but her own touch again did little to erase the phantom sense.

"You’ve chosen the backdrop for our talk well. I must say, my curiosity is getting the best of me. What did you wish to discuss with me tonight?"

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location ☾ Balcony
accompanying ☾ Mirabella
wearing ☾ hair is loose, Wearing
ooc ☾

Posted: Sun Feb 09, 2025 1:18 pm

ＭＩＲＡＢＥＬＬＡ ☀ ＲＯＵＳＳＥＡＵ
ＤＵＣＨＥＳＳＯＦＡＬＯＲＥ

There were certain tells one gave away when they were afraid, and Mirabella had spent a lot of time getting familiar with a vast majority of them. The more obvious signs included such classics as stammering, shivering, and avoiding direct eye contact. These were moments that the warrior of light craved often in battle, especially when they came from complacent dumbasses that had the gall to underestimate her abilities. Of course, that only happened prior to the realization that they were indeed facing one of Alore's strongest soldiers at the break of dawn. Watching deluded dumbasses come to cower beneath her was quite the power trip, second only to the victories she had against the strongest warriors the world had to offer her.

But there were other ways one could show fear.

While some wore their sniveling hides bare, others tried, and often failed, to mask the terror that plagued them. Their fear was layered, with one bout of panic leading to another being formed atop it. The fear of being perceived as afraid. Mirabella understood to some extent, rarely showing her enemies an ounce of weakness. But such a mindset offered diminishing returns the further down the rabbit hole one went. And unfortunately, some people found themselves so buried under the weight of their multifaceted facades that they lost themselves completely.

And then there were people like Alkmene. Realistically, the giantess had no reason to fear Mirabella. Her power was mighty and, no doubt, bolstered by the moonlit night. If anyone should feel in charge of their get-together, it was her. She'd already shown the capacity for flattening her enemies into disks the first time they met, after all. So why did it feel like her every action was laced with dread?

From the moment she took Mirabella's hand, the warrior of light questioned the giantess's resolve. She was quick to engage, certainly, but there was a certain quality to it that could only be described as...artificial. Forced. Did it simply sicken her to her core to trade pleasantries with a mere "barn animal" again? I might've owned it in the moment, but I really must rid her of such comparisons. All it reminds me of now is Sera. Ick! With a spirited step, Mirabella led Alkmene to her seat. Releasing the moon hugger's hand from her merciful grip, the scarlet-eyed duchess walked around the round table and sat parallel to her lunar counterpart.

Mirabella had chosen a rather delicate arrangement for tonight's proceedings. Contrary to popular belief, not everything she did was loud and boisterous. Only what she wished to be so. An elegance that can only be found in deliberate simplicity was Premier à l'aube's forte, providing even the higher echelons of Aloran society the simple pleasures in their most refined form. In short, the warrior of light was a ******** goddess when it came to interior design.

The tablecloth was a linen that Mirabella had ensured lacked even the slightest crease. It was of a Somerset damask weave and an ecru tint, with a gold accent line five centimeters above the edge. The centerpiece was a quintet of votive candles born of amber beeswax, each perched perfectly centered upon a candelabra of deep bronze, formed like vines with a bird perched so that its gaze went out from the balcony and into the endless sky above. The candles didn't fill the space entirely, centered with just enough open metal for the melting wax to nestle into as the fires above them raged on.

Plates of ivory porcelain with a golden trim running along the edge sat atop placemats of a slightly denser weave, a champagne-colored border being separated from the inner ecru section with golden accent stitching. Atop the plates were napkins of an amber cloth, folded in the shape of a rose. To either side of the plate was brushed sterling silver cutlery of mild sheen, each piece placed in their standard spot: salad and dinner forks to the right, dinner knife and soup spoon to the left, and dessert spoon and fork placed in front. At the right intersection of the desert cutlery and the knife and spoon was a tall water glass, with a wine glass perched behind it on that diagonal.

Mirabella took a cursory glance at the setup she had put together. Let's see a ******** barn animal put something like this together. With a smirk on her face born of self-satisfaction, her scarlet gaze rose up to meet the silver eyes that she found herself constantly drawn to. "You’ve chosen the backdrop for our talk well. I must say, my curiosity is getting the best of me. What did you wish to discuss with me tonight?" asked the giantess, who was herself ever-so-careful with her posture. Thankfully, By comparison, the warrior of light held an air of comfort in how she maneuvered her form around this space. She held quite the advantage over Alkmene in regards to familiarity here, so she wouldn't hold it against her, but surely she knew that she wouldn't be reduced to rubble if she were so bold as to show even an ounce of nonchalance with a peer.

Then again, the land of the duplicitous moon likely had many games that the elite play with one another. While Mirabella cared little for what went on in less fortunate territories than Radiant Alore, it saddened the warrior of light to think that such a magnificent star could be made to think itself better off not freely shining in the light. It was her birthright, no? But for now, Mirabella chose to keep things grounded on more pertinent matters.

"Firstly, I wish to discuss our arrangement involving my Avira."

With a raised hand and the faintest flicker of her index finger, two servants arrived in unison to fill their inner glasses with the finest spring water available to her in this shithole. It was mildly chilled: cool enough to be pleasant, but not too cold as to condense and ruin the beautiful landscape Mirabella had constructed. It really was exquisite, only leaving a bad aftertaste in her mouth via its association with the traitorous heathen that was this school's headmistress. Mirabella's smile had faded to a neutral expression, with a hint of intensity emanating from her eyes. "She's spoken well enough of her time under your servitude so far, so now I'd much like to hear your point of view. Are her services not as astounding as I claimed them to be?" continued the sun-worshiping duchess, lifting the glass and taking a short sip of water.

After delicately placing the glass back down, a flick of her index and middle finger, followed by a flick of her index singularly, signaled the next pair of servants to arrive. They offered to place the golden roses from the plates onto their laps, which Mirabella agreed to. With a single flick of the wrist, the one by her unfurled the napkin to be placed on the warrior of light's lap. And here I thought I'd have to forever ruin their self-esteem for ******** up. Good on them for recognizing all that's on the line for them. They weren't perfect, however; neither of them could keep direct eye contact for long. That might've been preferable to Alkmene in her own way, but for Mirabella, it showed that there was a layer of fear that these two couldn't cover up. They really were doing such wonderful jobs this evening.

"Moreover, I'd like to discuss to some extent that brilliant display you showed me. Genuinely, I must sing my praises. I wouldn't have thought you had it in you."

Leaving the trance that Alkmene's arresting features left her in for a moment, Mirabella looked to the selfsame sky as the bird on the candelabra. "Is the masquerade really that much more enticing?" Returning her scarlet gaze to the giantess, the warrior of light offered her peer a curious brow lift and a smile. "Or whatever it is that actually goes on in the courts of night." With two flicks of her index, a singular servant came with a freshly opened bottle of Cabernet. Offering it to both of them with more confidence than the last two cowards, Mirabella beamed as her glass was poured for her.

"I'd like to be better acquainted with you, Lady Kallis. Of the moon you see and how it differs from my own. If not for my own curiosity, then for my chosen's sake. In exchange, I offer Alore's finest in her entirety. Speak openly, and you shall receive open responses."

Lifting the wine glass, she swirled the dark, burgundy liquid before letting it rest for a moment. Taking a sip, she closed her eyes and smiled as she savored the familiar taste that danced along her taste buds. Opening her eyes to look back at the giantess, greater warmth could be heard in her voice as she got to experience a small bit of home within the prized liquor.

"I've picked out an assortment of beverages that don't look like they were made for wagon trash, should this not be to your tastes. Tell this one what sort of dish you'd like prepared, and it shall be done, should you wish for it. I've acquired the best chefs this shithole has to offer for tonight, so here's hoping it rises above the usual slop."

Placing the glass back down, the warrior of light took in the full visage of Alkmene Kallis in all her nightly glory. As amusing as it was to mock the woman for the years she's likely spent getting some of her outfits together, Mirabella couldn't argue with the results of the giantess's dedication. The perfection that every aspect of her appearance was adorned in. Her hair and makeup were expertly done, with Mirabella noting how voluminous and well kept Alkmene's lengthy locks truly were. The dress of violet-blue aurora was stunning, with the gems trailing the hem being especially dazzling. No matter how she moved or sat, each one gleamed in the moonlight as if they were each getting direct lighting. Was she the herald of the stars themselves, much like Mirabella was to Mother Sun?

Whatever the case, Mirabella was dying to know more about this woman. About her truth. Her lies. All of it. For many years she'd brushed aside the people of the moon, thinking of them as little more than Shahitian adjacents with a more vague theme. But now that very same ambiguity was drawing her in. It might not hold a candle to the supreme brilliance that could only be found in Radiant Alore, but she had to admit that it offered greater competition than Mirabella would've expected with a woman like Alkmene in their corner. Perhaps all this intermingling wasn't as much of a waste of time as she had initially assumed.

Location: Balcony
Company: Alkmene
OOC: Outfit

Beyond The Time
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Posted: Mon Apr 21, 2025 9:58 pm

"Firstly, I wish to discuss our arrangement involving my Avira."

As though the strangeness of the evening thus far hadn’t been happening, Rousseau put forth business first, as straightforward as ever. Something within Alkmene relaxed a little even as she fortified herself. She had yet to meet someone who appreciated criticism when their pride was on the line, and Rousseau’s pride was shimmeringly apparent in her little Chosen. It was a weakness she bore too boastfully, and Alkmene felt some inclination to claw at it just enough to draw blood even as she knew Rousseau could easily tear her fingers off in the attempt.

Water was poured by dutiful servants from separate pitchers, and while she was aware that the woman opposite her likely would not have the stomach to poison an opponent, Alkmene still only made a show of sipping from her glass, hardly even wetting her lips before setting it down. Some things were too well ingrained, and Rousseau may still pleasantly surprise her yet.

"She's spoken well enough of her time under your servitude so far, so now I'd much like to hear your point of view. Are her services not as astounding as I claimed them to be?"

That was certainly a word she used just now. Alkmene acknowledged her with a faint smile, gaze glittering as she softened her posture the littlest bit, leaning back in her seat as a servant lifted one of the sweetly folded napkins to place it on her lap without touching her. They were well trained. More of Rousseau’s Chosen? Or in training to become one, vying for her regard? How eagerly would they step forward to fill in a slot were one of those special few to fall from grace? How would Rousseau handle such an occurrence? Would she allow it? Or would she test them first?

…well, Alkmene was unlikely to learn the answer this night.

"A strong word for a servant with not even a drop of blue in her veins," she drawled, unable to resist poking the bear a little. "I would sooner say that her services were…adequate."

A pause. She played at drinking from her water again.

"Which is more than I expected. She has enough promise that it is a shame she is not of the gentry."

In the time since that mortifying night, the girl had repaired her heels and had even displayed how they would hold up longer and more strongly than Lady Rockford’s. For someone who had not been apprenticed under some of Luna’s best designers, it was impressive; as it was, the shoes were fit for wear outside of her homeland, but not for display within it. Any of her peers familiar with Rockford’s work would be able to make out the minute differences with the repair work, and the ensuing twittering would be a bore to deal with. Alkmene would have to foist Rockford off her lofty pedestal first, which was currently in the process of being handled.

"Moreover, I'd like to discuss to some extent that brilliant display you showed me. Genuinely, I must sing my praises. I wouldn't have thought you had it in you."

Long lashes fluttered as Alkmene blinked rapidly in shocked confusion. Her display? Rousseau couldn’t mean what Alkmene thought she meant. Surely she was speaking of the bouquet Alkmene had gifted her, or her impeccable shows of fashion!

"Surely I don’t know what you mean," she demurred, tilting her head and sending ripples through her curls, jewels winking and glinting in the candlelight.

"Is the masquerade really that much more enticing? Or whatever it is that actually goes on in the courts of night."

Alkmene’s breath was arrested when Rousseau’s scarlet gaze met her own, that same blazing sincerity simmering within their depths. Or perhaps it was just the candlelight.

Let it just be the candlelight.

"I'd like to be better acquainted with you, Lady Kallis. Of the moon you see and how it differs from my own. If not for my own curiosity, then for my chosen's sake. In exchange, I offer Alore's finest in her entirety. Speak openly, and you shall receive open responses."

It was a trap, baited and ready to spring, to cut into her hand the moment she reached out to touch it. She knew it with every beat of her pulse, and yet she desired to do so anyway, if only to see how she would bleed. The memory of the heat under her palm, around her wrist…if she reached out to snatch the wine glass from Rousseau’s grasp, would the brush of their fingertips be just as hot?

Ridiculous.

Ridiculous.

Ridiculous how the delight that came alive upon the other woman’s face when she drank from her glass almost made the wine seem palatable. Ridiculous that it moved Alkmene to sip from her own even when she knew, she knew every bottle of wine she’s ever had has tasted the exact same as the last. Ridiculous that she still drank from it even when her experience proved itself correct once more.

Well, this was just…social mores. The heavens alone knew how many times she had partaken in wine simply to appease those around her over the years.

"I've acquired the best chefs this shithole has to offer for tonight, so here's hoping it rises above the usual slop."

The outright abrasiveness shocked a chuckle out of her, and her mind swirled with half formed thoughts as she ordered something fitting for the autumnal season: seared venison backstrap. With the Kallis duchy’s proximity to the sea, game meat was not as readily available as seafood, so it was nice to indulge. She also, quite simply, did not trust Utopia’s staff to handle seafood as expertly as her personal chefs at home did.

"A finger of the brandy, as well," she added, the liquor catching her eye among the offered bottles.

As she accepted a new glass, she settled further into her seat, the carefully sewn slit in her dress rising higher up her thigh. She had yet to find a chair in the academy that properly accommodated her towering height, but she had learned how to sit as elegantly as one could with such limitations even when the indignity threatened to tear at her restraint. Catching Rousseau’s eye, she sipped from her glass, enjoying the strong notes of vanilla that met her tongue.

Speak openly, hm?

Hm.

Ha.

"You confound me," she admitted, taking a break from the intensity of Rousseau’s gaze to catch her breath and regain control of her thoughts. "I can see clearly now how Luna and Alore could have engaged in such long warfare with one another if you are the typical example of your country. Yet, having observed who else was sent, I must believe you are not so typical even amongst your countrywomen."

Indeed, the Aloran princess she had seen in class had not impressed her; few of the women here did. Chiara in particular seemed pliable, easy to manipulate. Not wonderful qualities one would desire of their next ruler unless they desired to puppet her from behind the scenes. Were they qualities Rousseau saw use in, or spurned altogether?

The view truly was lovely when one ignored the garden. She took another sip, braced herself.

She could use this. She would use this.

"I, too, would like to be better acquainted with you."

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location ☾ Balcony
accompanying ☾ Mirabella
wearing ☾ hair is loose, Wearing
ooc ☾

Posted: Wed Jun 04, 2025 2:34 pm

ＭＩＲＡＢＥＬＬＡ ☀ ＲＯＵＳＳＥＡＵ
ＤＵＣＨＥＳＳＯＦＡＬＯＲＥ

As scarlet eyes continued to pick apart the aristocrat before her, Mirabella couldn't help but find her endlessly fascinating. Alkmene Kallis was a master class in meticulously crafted perfection; one could question her methods, but not her dedication to the act. The giantess displayed poise as naturally as she drew air. As a fellow perfectionist, the warrior of light couldn't complain. Still, did the woman before her never tire of it? Mirabella knew she could only wonder, as the giantess seemed so tangled in these habits that she likely couldn't tell fact from fiction. Or if she could, if the former held any value. To Mirabella, a life like that would be ever-so-suffocating. But to Alkmene? As far as she could tell, this was her element.

But it didn't have to be her only one. As someone who had experienced the full fury of a giantess scorned, the warrior of light struggled to see how the smoke and mirrors of the political world could give anyone anything close to that kind of rush. Raw, unencumbered power like that held as much value as any family crest, if not more to anyone who actually mattered; did it not feel satisfactory when she reduced the warrior of light herself to nothing? She certainly sounded like she enjoyed it. How could this be the better option for her?

The safer one, perhaps. Though she tried her best to hide it, the giantess came across as almost skittish tonight. The way she paused. This was not the almighty Alkmene she'd introduced herself to just days prior. Had the way Mirabella turned the tables on her been etched into the giantess's memory? Was it really so bad? Just as well, there was danger in it elsewhere. If Luna was anything like Alore, then there were surely certain expectations for noblewomen. That they had to be demure. "Proper." It wasn't like Mirabella didn't get it, nor could she ignore the worth of such practices. As much as she detested it sometimes, such skills served her well in her own courts.

Still, that Alkmene had chosen to go through with this engagement showed that she wasn't entirely afraid. Or was it just a different kind of fear that guided her step? There was much to discover, and Mirabella was finding herself to be quite the eager researcher. As the servant who took Alkmene's order came back with her brandy, a coy smirk rose up to meet Mirabella's cheeks. "Going for the heavy stuff already?" she asked, feigning shock. As this mischief left her face, her smile remained.

"Not that I can blame you, especially in a dump like this."

As the giantess spoke of Chiara and the most worthless healer in Aloran history, Mirabella took a cursory glance to curse the abysmal architecture all around them. With a long sip of her wine, her eyebrows furrowed as she saw nothing but wasted potential. Marie had designed this place to be as nonpartisan as possible but forgot to create any distinct design language of her own. As such, the entire compound ended up looking more uninspired than a plain white wall. On top of that, it meant that she once again shoved her own people to the side to push for ideals that wouldn't have been possible to enforce without all she had gained from the land of light. Did that hag have no shame? If it weren't for her being snapped out of her thoughts by the continuing drizzle of alluring nectar that was Alkmene's voice, the warrior of light may very well have crushed the glass in her hand.

"I, too, would like to be better acquainted with you."

Mirabella sharply turned her attention back to the giantess, noting the intensity that had grown in Alkmene's gaze as well. Perhaps there was still fear there, but for now she seemed...interested. But Alkmene Kallis was not the kind of woman to be interested in people; not in this way, at least. Did she have some form of angle? Mirabella laughed softly at the thought. "Would you now?" Looking towards her waiter for the evening, she asked for Confit d’Agneau and sent the peasant off. "I'm assuming you'd like me to begin with what distinguishes me from my peers, then?" Mirabella had talked s**t with people before, but she had high doubts that this was all the giantess was after. But this was a game that Mirabella knew the rules of as well; Alkmene did not have as much of an advantage as she thought she did. If it came down to it, Mirabella would make sure that her hubris would be her undoing.

"Let's see now...if I were to try and pinpoint one thing that separates myself and my lessers, it would be...devotion."

The warrior of light paused, setting her wine glass down. "That isn't to say that they haven't done their part. But their contributions to the land of light consist primarily of signatures and smiles. Less than that, in one case. And while I've done the same, I've also fought for my kingdom with my bare hands. I've signed my name in both ink and blood all across this continent. Done things that would certainly keep them up at night. But I've never lost a wink. Do you know why that is, Alkmene of Luna?" Scarlet eyes gained a subtle glow, bringing emphasis to her stern expression. "Because I am more than just a noblewoman. I am Mother Sun's chosen champion. I am her warrior of light." Though her voice remained composed, it was nonetheless teeming with pride. A small smile returned to Mirabella's face, wishing for Alkmene to know she meant no harm with her fervent speech. She simply didn't want to mince words on the matter.

"Now it's my turn to request information."

Casting aside the bullshit between them, Mirabella crossed her arms on the table and leaned forward. She stared up at Alkmene for a long moment, casually searching her flawless features. Hers had softened, the smirk on her face playful. "Hm..." She brought one hand up for her head to gently rest upon it as she pondered her next course of action. Raising a curious brow, she smiled upon finally settling on something to inquire about. "I'd much like to hear about your hair. It's truly stunning...assuming we remain comrades, I'll be more mindful of it moving forward. I'm curious, though: what best describes your relation to it? Is it a source of pride? A display of your devotion?" Her voice was gentle, soothing. Mother was both rage and serenity; Mirabella was no different. She was truly starstruck by the giantess's luxurious locks. And while she'd tug at it again without hesitation if the situation called for it, she'd much rather be an admirer for the time being. Assuming the giantess can keep her ego from inflating too much, that is.

It was just as likely that the giantess would only find things to fear in Mirabella's words, but the warrior of light couldn't concern herself with that. She was a fierce soldier who rampaged battlefields across Lomacht for years; if the giantess wanted something to fear from her, there was a long list of transgressions to choose from. That being said, Mirabella hoped that her peer would not let such fears consume her. One day she'd like to take a peek behind that mask, and the scarlet-eyed duchess hoped to find more than just the world's tallest scaredy-cat when she did.

Location: Balcony
Company: Alkmene
OOC: Outfit

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