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Post by Deleted on Aug 5, 2013 6:23:33 GMT
When a Celandine woman thinks of darkness, she equates it to a shade of red. How red? How rich the beer? How ancient the blood on the sword? How kind the smile? The color drips like a shadow in her vision, the darkness deluded into a fierce shade of rouge. She wears a black coat trimmed in minimal gold thread, her eyes darting into the pools of darkness that encompass the commoner's tavern. She is colorblind - she thinks she is wearing red. Sore, brilliant red. She thinks all the rough beards and old pitchforks are sizing her up like a blister to pop, but she is only a shadow like the rest of them.
She isn't drinking - she doesn't trust any bottle but the silver tin beneath the phantom flames of her coat - but bread is in her hand. Cake, to be precise, white as an angel. She eat it to herself beside her servant, a fidgety girl one might mistake for a mule cursed to be human.
The crumbs cake her lips, and god, the sugar makes her thirsty, but she would rather save what she's got for now. She is removing a handkerchief to dab her lips when she sees the rabble. They are shouting numbers, lifting their hands into the air, some growling to borrow their neighbor's coin for a roll and others calling the table cursed or rigged. She gets up and approaches, curious as a lion. With a bored look, she pulls a man away and takes his spot, a nonchalant, yet commanding glare shot across the wood to a fair hand holding the dice.
"What is all this?" she asks with a haughty chirp. @garden
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Post by Deleted on Aug 5, 2013 7:02:13 GMT
She seems taller than she is but that's because she sits on a pillow and keeps her back straight, her eyes wide, and her smile large. She is dressed indecently. Her dress is too tight, too short, hugging her chest and emphasizing it for the pigs and deprived men that flock into the tavern. A portion is cut away to show off her cleavage and she leans forward and displays it for them to see because that way they don't notice if she cheats them. Darya laughs when one says something and she laughs when she takes their money, sometimes fairly and sometimes not at all. She has a drink beside her she hasn't touched, because she plays better when she's sober and the only other thing Darya likes (besides clothes and jewels) is gambling and winning.
"What are your bets?" she asks with a song to her voice and the men debate and look at their money and then at the bosom being presented to them. Darya knows they'll bet more, even though she's winning almost every game. You have to lose a few to keep them from knowing. One of them makes a noise of contempt when he's drawn away and Darya's bright eyes flash to the woman responsible. She smiles, bright and wide and sits straight, even though she's irritated by this.
She does not like to gamble against women, especially sober ones. They are harder to trick because they don't leer at your assets and don't pay mind to your honeyed words. And this woman - she looks so frightful and serious and Darya is spiteful towards her immediately.
"A game!" the half elf laughs and then sweeps her hand across the table, for some of the men have placed their money down, "Craps, if you want to be exact! Do you to attempt to play against me? These men will tell you I've barely lost a penny, madame! Go on, madame, put down a coin and join me! I promise I'll try to not take too much from you. Have a drink, even."
Darya smiles wide and pushes her drink forward, because she'd like it if the woman got just a little bit tipsy.
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Post by Deleted on Aug 5, 2013 17:27:15 GMT
"Craps," she says, tasting the words, her eyes flicking from the woman to the other men around the table. They are the haggard sort, cheap, their money dangling at their sleeves with the rest of their bad habits. The insults mutely ran behind her face like rats behind the walls. She realizes she is the only decent human at the table besides the waitress squeezing a glass of ale onto the table, and the lady with the dice.
One of the men pulls out a chair for her to sit, a goofy and interested look plastered on his face when their eyes meet. She takes it, growling a reluctant thank you under her breath. Where in Celandine chivalry is a dance, here, it is a bad joke, and she passes a dark look to the gem-like eyes before speaking again.
"So be it. I possess a coin to wager." They were all stupid creatures. Of course, they would lose. But not her. Not when the goddess leaned on her left shoulder like the weight of a pauldron. She removes a coin of gold, places it beside the liquor, and pushes it across the table. She is sincerely curious in the moment, and so, she watches. She doesn't take her eyes off the woman, even when she puts away the strong shot. Antonia accepts the liquid ease as she leans backs.
"I shall gamble against you. It is but a mere game. Quite a pity they should all lose, but who could allow themselves the delight of victory against such a fair lady," she replied with a clip in her voice. @garden
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Post by Deleted on Aug 5, 2013 17:46:46 GMT
The woman sets a coin down and Darya is unsure if that is good or bad but she smiles wide anyways and enjoys it. She likes to take risks and she likes a good chance, even if she would rather win. Besides, when she wins, she imagines she'll quite enjoy the look on this woman's face. She crosses her ankles and sits back, fondling the dice in her palm. With her empty hand, she pushes her own gold coin forward and the men frown to see what the wager is, for they are running low on money because Darya and alcohol have taken it from them.
"I agree! No one dares win against me," she sings, still rolling the dice in her palm. She examines the woman again, in her rigid classiness, and considers that she does not know how to play the game. Darya sets the dice down and holds her hand out to them.
"If you roll a seven or an eleven, you win the bet. If you roll a two, three, or twelve, you lose. Anything else and you roll again until you get the same number... or a seven. And if you get a seven in that case, you lose. Hopefully you understood that, madame!" she explains quickly, for she also imagines this woman is smart and doesn't need to be told twice or even slowly.
Darya picks the dice up and holds them out, smiling still with her white teeth and red lips. It's genuine, even. You can tell by the way her scarlet eyes are squinted up and there are crinkles around her gaze.
"You may roll first, madame."
She does not intend to cheat against the woman (not yet) but when the men roll, Darya will blink her eyes so prettily and the dice will hide themselves as something they are not.
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Post by Deleted on Aug 5, 2013 20:01:34 GMT
Antonia has never met a woman with such magnetism. She assumes she is someone of rank, but the Templar avoids the question. She sits like a cat as the numbers fall from the woman's mouth. She does not ask for them to be repeated. Her nose remains an enigmatic statue. Her gaze floats to the dice, and she sees their dimples. In a moment, she is the woman with the dice in her palm. Antonia holds them awkwardly, their glass shells clicking when they touch. She tries to remember the rules as she rolls.
"A six," she says, adding the one and five, "such an easy number, no?" For a moment, her head becomes more level with that of the cushion perched bird. It's easy - her smile is disarming. It's something you could wrap your arm around. She hesitates. She does not recall a rule for six, so she pretends to know in silence and lets the other speak. @garden
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Post by Deleted on Aug 6, 2013 18:19:00 GMT
A smile plays at her lips and dances in her eyes as she examines the dice and their number. "Place your bets," she coos to the pigs and they talk amongst themselves, wagering their money and who will win and lose. The game carries on. Dice hit the table and men swear and curse and shout with satisfaction, pound their fists against the table and sneer with disgust whenever one of the two women win. On and on, the wheel of fortune turns until Darya is the one left winning. Some of the men have left the table by now and a few new ones have sat down. In front of Darya rests a pile of pretty coins and she is still smiling, even now. She's lost only a few rolls and almost all of her wins have been fair (but not everyone's losses have been).
"I grow tired, gents and madame. Unless you have something worth betting that isn't just a pretty coin, I dare say I'll be collecting my winnings and be on my way," Darya speaks, drawing out her words with a tired edge and a disinterested but playful sigh at the end. She leans back, stretching her arms in front of her and her collection of coins. She eyes the woman with interest, quirking her lips at her in a smirk and a smile.
"Do you have anything of value? I don't imagine anyone would dare bet against me now," she laughs, clicking her nails against the table top.
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Post by Deleted on Aug 9, 2013 23:20:23 GMT
Antonia's arms are crossed, and she eyes the treasures the woman has wrung from the crowd. The templar hasn't lost enough games to think she is particularly unlucky, just enough for hope. With a finger, she hails her servant child.
"Amaryllis," she mutters, and her precious sword hidden in a wrap of cloth is handed too her from behind the crowd of men. Antonia stands up at the table, alone among a forest of eyes and beards, in the mist of ale and breath, her face is revealed by the dusky, moth-bitten light of the lamp. She lowers the cloth to show the hilt of blade. Silver, with brilliant blood rubies so deep they could be coal, the handle of of exquisite, intricate worksmanship. The three-hundred year old sword was still as untarnished and strong as the day it was forged. "One last game," she told the woman, memorizing the cunning in her face, and believing hers superior. She laid the sword on the table. @garden
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Post by Deleted on Aug 12, 2013 19:22:42 GMT
This woman is full of surprises! Darya looks at the final bet, scarlet eyes examining the sword carefully. She wonders if it's worth anything, for it looks certainly quite valuable, but why would the woman risk losing it? She looks across the table at the other, brows scrunched together as she appraises her. This isn't the sort of woman to take things lightly, Darya imagines. She looks at the sword again and moves a hand out to rub a jewel. She is a mage with no use for a sword, but oh, what a pretty penny it would fetch! And more than that, that dark little part of Darya would love to see the woman's face fall as she loses something so valuable looking. With that in mind, the half elf smiles brightly, creases forming around her eyes.
"Very well! I accept your offer," Darya sings and she looks over what she has to bet. Only coins. She has nothing else of real value and with that in mind, she pushes most of her treasure forward. She looks at the woman again, holding out the dice in a slender hand.
"Try to not be too upset when you lose, madame," Darya teases. "My name is Darya, by the way. I suppose you should know it should you ever want your sword back."
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Post by Deleted on Aug 13, 2013 22:49:14 GMT
Antonia lives in the moment. She will win. The mother-warrior has always blessed her. Her eyes are riveted upon the dice while her opponent takes a moment to look over what she has gambled. The pieces of Antonia that give a damn about the ornament, that would tell her to leave while she is ahead, cower behind her pride.
"Oh, there won't be anything to be upset over." Antonia confuses power with luck and power with cunning. "I am Captain Antonia Prenderghast, legate of the Order of the Rose. What a droll affair you have lead tonight, Darya, but I shall put it to rest. Soon there will be nothing to gamble, and we can all be on our way. Now will you roll already, or do I have to cut the dice from your hands?" @garden
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Post by Deleted on Aug 16, 2013 17:26:21 GMT
Antonia's threat earns a merry laugh from Darya. It is not the first time she has been threatened and it would not be the first time someone has taken a sword to her. She is tempted to challenge her further, see how terribly she can rile the so called captain up, but Darya minds herself and rolls the dice in her palm. "Well then, Miss Prenderghast!" she sings, looking over the sword again. Darya stands as she continues to roll the cubes in her hand. She is not exceptionally tall, despite how she presents herself.
"Best of luck," she says and throws the dice. They clatter against the table and tumble, stopping on a one and a three. Darya picks them up and rolls them six more times, before finally they land on a four once again. She looks at Antonia brightly.
"I win."
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Post by Deleted on Aug 16, 2013 23:22:59 GMT
The candle seems to flicker in the breath of Darya's words while Antonia's face hardens. The sensation of a carpet of darkness (red) growing beneath her boots, rushing from her strength, her pride collapsing inward and leaving but the shell of exterior. She gave a strained breath, glaring at the dice.
"Are you sure?" she asks, with a serpentine maleficence in throat. She is not asking about the dice as her gaze shifted from them, up past Darya's corset, skin, to her eyes. The eyes she has danced with all night.
"How certain are you?" she continues, her palm on the table now, fingers spread, and a madness growing on her face. @garden
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Post by Deleted on Aug 24, 2013 13:44:24 GMT
The look in Antonia's eyes gives Darya a giddy, mischievous feeling, as though she has stolen a thing of cookies from off the counter. She moves a slender hand up, pushing back strands of green hair. Her other hand grabs the sword and draws it towards her. Her scarlet eyes are locked onto Antonia's face and she continues to enjoy the growing desperation in her gaze. For a moment, Darya wonders if she should be worried. She thinks she has seen that look before.
"It's mine now, madame," she says cheerily. She pulls the sword to her and grabs a coin purse and begins to put the rest of her winnings away. "Perhaps I will let you win it from me another day?"
Darya eyes her and it is the first time all night there has been a look of apprehension in her gaze. She is still not sure if Antonia is going to harm her, for the look on the woman's face is entertaining, but crazed. She grabs the sword and holds it delicately in both hands, turning it this way and that. Darya wonders if she can push her luck further. She has never been a particularly kind person, has she? Always pushing at buttons, figuring out the best ways to get under someone's skin.
"How much do you think this would sell for, Miss Prenderghast?" Darya inquires with a teasing lilt to her voice.
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