G-gods, how...how stupid! [and humiliating! she'd been mid-negotiation with a very key player in a long game of musical chairs -- the chairs being thrones and the stop-and-go music being war, but. look. it's a metaphor. whatever. doesn't matter now that she's drenched and dragged half-drowned to shores unknown! thanks, mysterious watery woman! so helpful.
u g h.
Cecelia is way overdressed for a beach, all silks and layers of finery to suit the scene she'd been in. her hair had been magically bullied into a braid that now is just a thing of the past, with blazing-red curls already a matted mess while still dripping wet.
it takes a minute to get situated enough to sit upright (silks, layers, hair, etc.) and take stock of her surroundings, and, while wiping ruined makeup off her cheek, she finds quite the stupid spectacle. a grand stair, a smattering of strangers, a...giant beach-hand gingerly plucking up those who fall.
she grimaces. this may as well happen.
well, time to look for some signage, or...ugh, like. maybe make eye-contact with someone who looks remotely helpful and not as equally lost?]
===
o2. field research [we're going to bypass the H E A P S of prose required to cover exactly how bad it feels to not have connection to her sorcery and the panic that ensues, because that's more fun to play out than preamble about. instead, the focus is now on a Cecelia post-existential panic and currently in triage mode.
here in a place called Red Springs, she's starting to get more of her footing for the madness she's been swept up in. after all, this isn't the first time it's happened! it's just...weird that this time she can't use any magic whatsoever. that's. yes. okay. moving past that.
next thing: proper grounding. information. she needs the rules of this realm and the expectations one might find commonplace for a native, but perhaps not for herself. like...
...wait...]
...This is...familiar...
[she says so about the decor, the architecture, the...tone? the technology, too -- she'd been thrust into a world unawares and given a funny little device for chatting up people before! the realization makes her heart miss a beat and put her head on a swivel, far-away memories starting to surface out of the back of her mind.]
What did they call this place again? [and have i been here before...?]
===
o3. arcane study [Cecelia knows better than to openly complain, but...gods dammit, square one? she can't even get in on this realm's brand of magic without the base of her own? that's irritating. it'll make things tougher; she has centuries of study under her belt, all that may mean nothing at this point!
...but then again, it may give her an edge. she can't write this off as a complete farce just yet, and an opportunity to add new magics to her repertoire is something she'd be a fool to snub.
so it goes that the half-elf woman studies -- now less a washed-up piece of shipwreck, more a well-groomed, elegant extra from a Renaissance photoshoot -- and busies herself with note-taking within one of the meditation tents. she's not sure how anyone could meditate with such flimsy trappings that can't mask the noise of mulling-about outside, but...eh. humans. she's not sure they know what meditation really is, so. y'know bear with it.
she can hear whomever may approach quite easily, is the thing. that's why, whomever fate leads her way will see her arched brow, amber eyes peering up from the pages of the instructional tome in her lap.
cecelia ardenbury | an oc | ota
G-gods, how...how stupid! [and humiliating! she'd been mid-negotiation with a very key player in a long game of musical chairs -- the chairs being thrones and the stop-and-go music being war, but. look. it's a metaphor. whatever. doesn't matter now that she's drenched and dragged half-drowned to shores unknown! thanks, mysterious watery woman! so helpful.
u g h.
Cecelia is way overdressed for a beach, all silks and layers of finery to suit the scene she'd been in. her hair had been magically bullied into a braid that now is just a thing of the past, with blazing-red curls already a matted mess while still dripping wet.
it takes a minute to get situated enough to sit upright (silks, layers, hair, etc.) and take stock of her surroundings, and, while wiping ruined makeup off her cheek, she finds quite the stupid spectacle. a grand stair, a smattering of strangers, a...giant beach-hand gingerly plucking up those who fall.
she grimaces. this may as well happen.
well, time to look for some signage, or...ugh, like. maybe make eye-contact with someone who looks remotely helpful and not as equally lost?]
===
o2. field research
[we're going to bypass the H E A P S of prose required to cover exactly how bad it feels to not have connection to her sorcery and the panic that ensues, because that's more fun to play out than preamble about. instead, the focus is now on a Cecelia post-existential panic and currently in triage mode.
here in a place called Red Springs, she's starting to get more of her footing for the madness she's been swept up in. after all, this isn't the first time it's happened! it's just...weird that this time she can't use any magic whatsoever. that's. yes. okay. moving past that.
next thing: proper grounding. information. she needs the rules of this realm and the expectations one might find commonplace for a native, but perhaps not for herself. like...
...wait...]
...This is...familiar...
[she says so about the decor, the architecture, the...tone? the technology, too -- she'd been thrust into a world unawares and given a funny little device for chatting up people before! the realization makes her heart miss a beat and put her head on a swivel, far-away memories starting to surface out of the back of her mind.]
What did they call this place again? [and have i been here before...?]
===
o3. arcane study
[Cecelia knows better than to openly complain, but...gods dammit, square one? she can't even get in on this realm's brand of magic without the base of her own? that's irritating. it'll make things tougher; she has centuries of study under her belt, all that may mean nothing at this point!
...but then again, it may give her an edge. she can't write this off as a complete farce just yet, and an opportunity to add new magics to her repertoire is something she'd be a fool to snub.
so it goes that the half-elf woman studies -- now less a washed-up piece of shipwreck, more a well-groomed, elegant extra from a Renaissance photoshoot -- and busies herself with note-taking within one of the meditation tents. she's not sure how anyone could meditate with such flimsy trappings that can't mask the noise of mulling-about outside, but...eh. humans. she's not sure they know what meditation really is, so. y'know bear with it.
she can hear whomever may approach quite easily, is the thing. that's why, whomever fate leads her way will see her arched brow, amber eyes peering up from the pages of the instructional tome in her lap.
she waits just a beat before:] ...Yes?