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WELCOME TO THE SALTBURNT NETWORK
USERNAME:
LAURALAE
text β audio β video
WELCOME TO THE SALTBURNT NETWORK
USERNAME:
LAURALAE
text β audio β video
[ In the middle of the chaos, a little bottle (glass, with a delicate silver stopper, no bigger than her palm) appears outside of Lauralae's door. It's filled, as will be evident as soon as she tries opening it, with perfume. A black velvet ribbon has been tied around its neck, and upon one of its loose ends, embroidered in silver thread: NIGHT, DARK, WILD.
I like things that remind me of the forest, she'd said. Leaves, dirt, plants, bark. So the perfume the bottle carries smellsβ black, green, moss. Like the dampness of being alive, like the cycle of birth and decay. Certainly not an easy fragrance β not the type, anyway, to achieve any real commercial success β but one he's mixed to attempt to capture the sentiments she'd expressed. ]
I like things that remind me of the forest, she'd said. Leaves, dirt, plants, bark. So the perfume the bottle carries smellsβ black, green, moss. Like the dampness of being alive, like the cycle of birth and decay. Certainly not an easy fragrance β not the type, anyway, to achieve any real commercial success β but one he's mixed to attempt to capture the sentiments she'd expressed. ]
what do you want or need, little bird? iβm coming down with a care package
[ A regular visitor to the cells, Armand isn't unfamiliar with the sight of Lauralae turned in on herself, trying to hide from the world or her own memories. He can't blame her for it, as much as he doesn't like to see her that way.
One night, in the deepest and coldest hours before dawn, after he's spoken to Louis, he makes his way over to stand close by the place where she's huddled near Lucifer. Her protector earns a glance only; after a moment, he crouches down, studying Lauralae in the darkness. His vampire senses let him know she's not sleeping.
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a folded object, which he holds out to her through the bars -- a pair of long opera gloves like the ones she prefers, soft and old silk, but clean. He knows well how small luxuries can seem far more important when one is confined and heartbroken. ]
One night, in the deepest and coldest hours before dawn, after he's spoken to Louis, he makes his way over to stand close by the place where she's huddled near Lucifer. Her protector earns a glance only; after a moment, he crouches down, studying Lauralae in the darkness. His vampire senses let him know she's not sleeping.
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a folded object, which he holds out to her through the bars -- a pair of long opera gloves like the ones she prefers, soft and old silk, but clean. He knows well how small luxuries can seem far more important when one is confined and heartbroken. ]
[ At some point in the afternoon, just as Matt's last breath leaves his body, a small golden light appears in his room. It's about the size of a marble, and instantly, it flutters through the air as if on an errand it knows well. Walls and locked doors are no impediment to it, as it isn't strictly solid, and it leaves no trace behind it.
Eventually, the little bauble finds Lauralae. It winds and dances around her, gentle as a blown kiss but insistent all the same. If she follows it through the halls, the light will direct her to a folded slip of paper with her name on it.
Inside, there's a lock of wavy dark hair. And a message, written in the same hand as the last letter he sent her. ]
As long as you're alive, I'll be with you.
Eventually, the little bauble finds Lauralae. It winds and dances around her, gentle as a blown kiss but insistent all the same. If she follows it through the halls, the light will direct her to a folded slip of paper with her name on it.
Inside, there's a lock of wavy dark hair. And a message, written in the same hand as the last letter he sent her. ]
As long as you're alive, I'll be with you.
[ slipped under the door is a plain envelope with a simple invitation card, with a likewise direct message. on the back, written in legible print that is not aemond's handwriting, is a message: gifts not required! your presence is gift enough.
ooc | this is just for ic reference purposes! regarding the age: the hotd age timeline is a pain in the ass so he's just celebrating it twice. feel free to handwave or thread out as desired! π₯ ]
ooc | this is just for ic reference purposes! regarding the age: the hotd age timeline is a pain in the ass so he's just celebrating it twice. feel free to handwave or thread out as desired! π₯ ]
what's your favorite sweet? it's important. i need to know before i can even ask my second question.
[ this is a bit after dinner, as the plates are being cleared and guests have grouped together in the lobby to discuss plans for the evening. aemond himself has his plans, and he approaches lauralae with a quiet demeanor.
there is a cake waiting in his room, the last one of sanji's gifts that he's kept for himself. and for her, if she would have him. ]
Zaldrizives. Could I lure you away for a walk through the gardens?
there is a cake waiting in his room, the last one of sanji's gifts that he's kept for himself. and for her, if she would have him. ]
Zaldrizives. Could I lure you away for a walk through the gardens?
[ sometime during the holiday season, wrapped in red and gold paper, tidily and well done because grace enlisted some of the staff to help her, a small gift is delivered to lauralae's door. inside is a tiny acorn locket. whenever lauralae discovers it can be twisted open, she'll find that the coil of paper inside reads in grace's loopy cursive: I've forgiven you, it's time to forgive yourself.
the card with the box reads simply, ]
Happy Holidays
-Grace
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the card with the box reads simply, ]
Happy Holidays
-Grace
[ this gift he delivers personally, though he waits until lauralae has left her room before placing it within. perhaps not the best course of action, considering, but he remains averse to seeing how his gifts will be received.
he's gotten her a few items agonised overlong for days on end:
β first is a signet ring bearing his personal sigil, the targaryen three-headed dragon in black against a dark green field;
β a set of seven hairpins shaped like stars, each one different from the rest;
β a pair of soft leather gloves in muted green;
β and finally, a green dress with gold and black accents, with little dragons and wolves embroidered in subtle design.
he doesn't linger. he gives her his one exception: he leaves card signed in green ink, kisses the top of it before tucking it under the thick green ribbon securing the box.
Syt Zaldrizives, hen Draushum Gra'kul.
it's not quite a name, but it is his as much as hers. ]
he's gotten her a few items agonised overlong for days on end:
β first is a signet ring bearing his personal sigil, the targaryen three-headed dragon in black against a dark green field;
β a set of seven hairpins shaped like stars, each one different from the rest;
β a pair of soft leather gloves in muted green;
β and finally, a green dress with gold and black accents, with little dragons and wolves embroidered in subtle design.
he doesn't linger. he gives her his one exception: he leaves card signed in green ink, kisses the top of it before tucking it under the thick green ribbon securing the box.
Syt Zaldrizives, hen Draushum Gra'kul.
it's not quite a name, but it is his as much as hers. ]
Edited 2024-12-11 13:28 (UTC)
[ On Christmas Eve, a large box finds its way to Lauralae's door. The contents are wrapped with black paper and silver ribbon β an unwitting complement to her own choices, though perhaps one they ought to have expected. Inside, several other boxes have been wrapped in red paper, and the contents are as follows:
β A sheer white blouse with a black ribbon at the collar and pearl buttons, with her name carefully embroidered in silver thread upon the seam right underneath where the ribbon would typically fall.There's a letter as well, written in Astarion's neat hand (somewhat shorter than his first draft, but more to his satisfaction where levels of emotional vulnerability are concerned): ]
β A smaller set of clothes, practically matching, for the doll she so treasures.
β A perfume bottle containing a bolder, warmer floral fragrance. Around its neck, another velvet ribbon, this one embroidered with the words dove's nest.
β And, finally, a fine, pale grey feather, with a black satin ribbon tied around the bare shaft.
Little dove,
As a rule, I put very little stock in things like luck and divine providence. But how else to explain the circumstances of our meeting?
You know, I hope, how dear you are to me. That you are deserving of being held dear. Let no one make you think otherwise.
The feather, as you may have guessed, is a token from Shadowheart. She picked it herself.
Yours,
Astarion
[ She knocks on Lauralae's door, a bag with two wrapped presents inside. Cellar says she can't stay for long β she just wanted to bring these over, and asks Lauralae to open it only on Christmas day. She leaves with a kiss on her cheek.
The presents: a necklace, completely dark and textureless. It doesn't reflect light and doesn't cast a shadow, because it is made of shadows. The necklace will be indestructible for as long as Cellar is in Saltburn, or until she dies. The second present is a blank recipe book where she can write down her favorite recipes for posterity.
A little note says Merry X-mas Lauralae! Thank you for being you. π·οΈ ]
The presents: a necklace, completely dark and textureless. It doesn't reflect light and doesn't cast a shadow, because it is made of shadows. The necklace will be indestructible for as long as Cellar is in Saltburn, or until she dies. The second present is a blank recipe book where she can write down her favorite recipes for posterity.
A little note says Merry X-mas Lauralae! Thank you for being you. π·οΈ ]
[Delivered to Lae's room is a pastel blue box. Inside she'll find a long, olive colored coat, fur lined and with silver embroidery, including a wolves running along the bottom seam. With it are matching silver bows for her hair. There is a note within the box:]
Happy Christmas, Lae. I hope this finds you well, and keeps you warm if you should need it.
Thinking of you always,
Francesca
Happy Christmas, Lae. I hope this finds you well, and keeps you warm if you should need it.
Thinking of you always,
Francesca
[Aliaβs gift is wrapped somewhat clumsily in brown paper, likely taken from the kitchens, and taped excessively to ensure itβs secure. Inside, resting in sparkly, star-studded tissue paper: A midnight-black set of lingerie with matching gloves.
A smooth-polished rock from the lake (yes, everyone gets a rock) with the gift-receiverβs initials carefully carved into it (with what? Donβt worry about it.)
A business card for Sol & Scroll, because if you arenβt patronizing it, you should be.
Thereβs also a note, scribbled on notebook paper stolen from Alina (sorry, babe):]
Za'eb -
Nothing could make you lovelier than you are. This place does not deserve you, nor your light. If you ever begin to doubt your worth, seek me out.
I will remind you.
- Alia
Thereβs also a note, scribbled on notebook paper stolen from Alina (sorry, babe):]
Za'eb -
Nothing could make you lovelier than you are. This place does not deserve you, nor your light. If you ever begin to doubt your worth, seek me out.
I will remind you.
- Alia
[ In the words of Gandalf the Grey, a wizard arrives precisely when he means to. That includes his written letters, the likes of which will probably reach Lauralae during January There is a small item enclosed in the envelope. A small card reads: Handmade! It's tiger eye and lava rock, and is meant to warm you up. If the charm ever runs out, let me know.]
[ he still has daemon's scent when returns to lae's comforts, approaches her with scored lines on his back still heating his skin. his dear wife, his woman β aemond sits by her, respectful in keeping their spaces, and holds out a hand to her.
he's wiped the blood from his mouth, but not from the rest of him. ]
Wife, [ he greets her fondly, intent on kissing her knuckles if she offers a hand. ] I come with a confession.
he's wiped the blood from his mouth, but not from the rest of him. ]
Wife, [ he greets her fondly, intent on kissing her knuckles if she offers a hand. ] I come with a confession.
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