ic contact. (karteria)

[reprisings]

@reprises

video ☙ voice ☙ text ☙ action

username

@reprises

name

Dorothea Arnault

age

25 26

hometown

Enbarr

codes by ♡ and ♡

Comments

Late September, at the Rowhouse

[bloodypath]

Hubert was intimately familiar with the idea that sometimes to further his goals, steep prices to be paid. It was beyond dramatic to compare his situation with such a concept, but it left a familiar feeling in his chest.

He'd dragged his feet long enough. The departure of summer made it clear he would soon wouldn't be able to rely on that black robe Patho-Gen had provided them, which... has unfortunately been one of the few things to fit his altered anatomy. There were offers, now. Avenues. Hubert just had to meet them halfway.

That required help.

This surely wasn't what Dorothea was expecting when she'd all but badgered him into promising to rely on the other Eagles more. 'This' being the tailor's measuring tape looped loosely in his offered fist.

"There is no way around it. I will need new clothing in the coming months. While other Augmented—" he was naming Mel right now, "—have secured the assistance of a tailor, my mutations are particularly challenging. I understand that the seamstress is still skittish around Augmented, let alone ones that look as I do."

Hubert takes a deep breath. "And as difficult as this is for me to ask, it is no less necessary for it."

Dorothea did want him to rely on her more. Please don't laugh at him.

[reprisings]

Judging by his demeanor, she truly thought it'd be something more dire when he requested assistance privately. Something to do with Dimitri, maybe, or concerns about Edelgard or Ferdinand. So when he explains, it takes her a few extra moments to understand the measuring tape is all he's indicating, that there's not some layered meaning to it or something extra.

No, he really just needs help with measurements. And this is...difficult for him to ask for help with? With how grave his expression is, she supposes that's true.

She takes the tape from him gently and smiles. "It's no trouble at all, Hubie. Let me get a pen and paper and we can get started." They should probably get some kind of curtain or partition for things like this, for even some small measure of modesty, especially now that sleeping arrangements are...haphazard these days.

"Is there a kind of garment you're looking for in particular?" she asks, as she goes to rummage in her things for the small notebook she keeps. Winter will likely require some kind of coat. Black, she's guessing, like usual. Something easy to move in. He's not wearing gloves anymore these days...

@lauralae

[rakta]

dorothea.
are you busy at the moment?

[reprisings]

I'm not!
How are you, Laurale? Is everything all right?

Oct 22nd, ~midnight, Eagle House

[bloodypath]

Sleep has been evasive for the last week, but tonight was particularly egregious. The broad strokes traded for a finer brush, etching details into the blurred swathes. A poison in his veins. The horrible cutting force of saw-like arms. The vivid chemical-scent of Jamil's abject terror. A large hand holding his head down as a sharp pain lanced in his neck. Dorothea attempting to hold him still.

No. No, distress was real, sharpest in the trichobothria on the back of his neck. Dorothea's warmth was unusually encompassing, pressed against his back and her arm secure around his torso. There's a sharp breath so faint Hubert isn't quite sure if he'd heard it or if it was a lingering dream, but the faint shudder that passes from her body to his and up his trichobothria confirms it. His heart sinks.

Hubert his head slightly but not enough to fully look over his shoulder, the sand shifting under his hair. "Dorothea...?" he ventures blearily in the darkness.

He desperately wanted to ask if she was okay. It'd been a learning curve for both of them in the last three months that it was both a terrible question to ask and answer given the nature of his other soul.

[reprisings]

The most frequent memory she dreams of is Hubert screaming. The torment he'd undergone in that room must have taken hours, or perhaps it's her imagination that's stretched the memory. Over the past several days, those details come back, little by little, interspersed with brief dreams of her other experiences. It all seems to come back to that room and the gurney. And there's a frequency at which she can hear him shouting but can't make out the words, if there are words at all, the thought always just on the edge of her awareness.

Until tonight, when she can hear it over and over, broken into pieces. It should be me. Not you. Not them. Not her. Even in sleep, she curls up tighter. Ten corpses. Ten—of them. Ten corpses. Even—even the Crestless.

Dorothea awakens to tears falling and the lingering echo of ...but not—me. Why not me...? It takes her too long to realize Hubert's breathing (still breathing), blurred vision unhelpful. It's somewhat instinctual to wind closer, press her forehead to the back of his head in her half-asleep jumbled thoughts. Her arm winds loosely around him, so she can feel the rise and fall of his breath. Relief is what makes her breathe again, and she almost drops right back into sleep when she hears his voice and she realizes he's awake.

Dorothea exhales, trying to grasp onto words when she has none. "I'm—" Fine. Okay. Not fine. She starts to lie but decides not to, sliding her arm off of him and back towards herself, tucked against her chest with the other one. "I'm here. Sorry," she whispers instead, turning her head to wipe her eyes.

Oct 27th

[bloodypath]

Let me know when you're free.

[reprisings]

[ Ominous... ]

I'll be on my way home shortly. What do you need?

10/31

[bloodypath]

[Between Dorothea's shifts appears a small brown paper bundle with her belongings, accompanied by a note in Hubert's neat handwriting.]

If I've been tracking the seasons correctly, it would have been Horsebow Moon recently. To a belated birthday.

[Strictly to the point, as always. Inside the paper is a choker, woven out of small jewel-tone beads, looking much like a Kelesian attempt to imitate Karteria fashions.]

[(And in Hubert's signature manner, it's very much a practical gift as soon as one scratched below the surface: he's noticed her attempts to cover her throat more than usual, it's in colors that compliment her work dresses, and just exotic enough to appeal to Karterian curiosity without being too foreign to repulse.)]

[reprisings]

[ She has to laugh on getting it. It isn't that she'd forgotten her birthday; she'd spent it out and having a drink on her own at the time, before everything fell apart. With all that's transpired, she hasn't even been bothered by it. They need to save money, after all.

Still, it gets her to smile. Of course she's going to wear it.

There's a note left for him in turn, in her neat script: ]

It's lovely. I know you didn't need to do that for me but I still appreciate it.

[ And she is going to wear it often, not just at work but at home, so he'll at least get to see that it looks nice and does, in fact, match her what she likes to wear. Nice choice, Hubert. ]

text. @lauralae

[rakta]

dorothea.
you are a woman.

[reprisings]

I am, last I checked.

[ that's...meant to be a joke. ]

@onestepforward, txt

[ignoreher]

Do 👏 ro 👏 thea!!! 👏👏👏

[ s

sorry ]

It's no Peacock Theater... but there's a number of smaller places that would welcome your talent, if you're willing to put yourself out there! Vines and all -- if you don't feel you can control them, then that's okay, but they aren't anything to fear and we're gonna show them that!

I'd love to see you on one of their stages, so invite me to your debut.

(I barely, barely got one night for 3kon at Peacock myself. And it's got some heavy stipulations/backing, so it's a delicate situation. But it's a start for all of us!)

[reprisings]

Wait, you mean these places won't mind? Who did you speak to?

[ Although reading about 3kon and the Peacock Theater.. That gets her attention. ]

That's fantastic for you and 3kon! I hope I can attend; I'd love to see them perform and see the reception. I really do think they'll love them. But what kind of stipulations are involved?

Dec 1st-ish, Rowhouse

[bloodypath]

Hubert reads the contract in complete silence.

He perhaps looks a little ridiculous while doing so, a woolen blanket wrapped around his shoulders even while the rowhouse's tired heater sputters in the vents. In the privacy of their house, he's begun to opt for something less dignified than his winter coat as the temperatures continue to slide further and further down. What gravitas he projected was further damaged by the way Hubert periodically flicked his head to toss his lengthening hair aside whenever it slid into his vision, or a hand rose to brush it back.

His face remains impassive as he scans the text, his silence only broken by the flipping of the pages as he goes. His emotions remain equally still until Hubert reaches the end, all judgment withheld until he'd absorbed all of the information.

Finally, he makes a light noise, a muddied thing between dull and bright. A tangled thing equally intrigued, exasperated, and satisfied fills this bond.

"I admit, it's better than I expected, but far short of my hopes. For as negligent landlords as they are, they should be thankful you're interested in that rotting building." A breath leaves him too gentle to be a sigh. "But I suppose I can't complain. It isn't extortion by any means."

[reprisings]

"I got the impression that whatever it was being used for before isn't popular any longer, or the resources to maintain the business fell through." She's been inside the space and can only guess it had something to do with craft work. Metal, wood, those pieces are lost, but the open space is what's important. The repairs won't need to be intensive which is the only other saving grace for the warehouse, otherwise she'd have had to look elsewhere. Getting soil in there, setting up some kind of irrigation system, getting enough seeds... Those are more important, at least for her.

Dorothea's equally quiet down the bond, trying (as ever) to at least bank her emotions and not make them so obvious or so loud if only to feel and hear his own. There's a glint of something glad when he seems satisfied enough, coming to sit beside him on the couch. She hasn't mentioned the blanket (she thinks it's kind of cute, actually) but she's been watching Hubert fuss with his longer hair for a bit now, and she's making every attempt not to let it show in how her gaze lingers on his face every so often.

"My concern is if they raise rent because it's been cleaned out and repaired. I can manage some leeway with the extra work I'm picking up, but I don't want to be taken advantage of, especially for such an important project."

text. @lauralae sorry bestie

[rakta]

dorothea. are you well?

[reprisings]

Lauralae! I'm just fine.

How are you? I hope the cold isn't bothering you too much.

Backdated to after October's event

[beenoble]

The disappearance of his friends and the other Augmented Ones who suffered the same fate had dominated Ferdinand's life to a worrying degree. Edelgard and him had been whetted into the same, singular purpose: find them; stop them. But confronting Patho-Gen directly had been fruitless, and no amount of searching could lead them to the metaphorical cage they were being kept in. Most distressingly, even if they were to embark upon their mission to liberate them from their suffering, what could they do in the face of their glaring weakness: their augmenters?

Try as he might, Ferdinand could not devise a strategy without too many elements of risk, of the unknown working against them. Even though they knew of their ability to turn ally against ally with too much ease, dealing with that problem would continue to corner them into a severe disadvantage. Even if they all banded together, against Patho-Gen, what could they do when their very lives here were in their hands? For a while, he had started to fear that they might never see Dorothea or Hubert again. Every minute spent without their return, he feared for what might be happening to them while he was forced into inaction, or even while his actions turned up no results. He hadn't been made to see exactly what was done to them, only how they fared after. And the imagination could be a terrible thing.

So, when the moment arrives when he catches her outside of the subconsciousness that had bridged them together, Ferdinand's heart could have leaped straight out of his throat. He doesn't think; his legs just pull him in her direction.

"Dorothea!" He seizes her by the backs of her shoulders, as though she might vanish or fall over if he doesn't... as if his own body craved the connection just to nurse what had afflicted his heart these past days. It's only then that he really looks her over to assess what sort of condition she might be in, the fear for her safety and well-being resuscitated and livelier than ever. "Oh, I am so glad to have you home! Dorothea..." Her name is like an invocation to keep her real before him. "Are you all right?"

[reprisings]

The return home had been a hazy one, just allowing her feet to walk her to the front doorstep. Her thoughts are a tangled mess of absent memories, a black hole where there once might have been thoughts or...something. Patho-Gen's workers explained her Augmenter needed adjusting but that doesn't seem right. Or if it was, then why doesn't she even remember going there? Her limbs ache, her body feels heavy and sluggish, her throat hurts. There are marks on her that she doesn't remember receiving and it only adds to the growing dread settled deep in her chest.

The sound of her name is quiet when it comes through, practically muffled. And when she lifts her head, she sees a flash of warm color a single moment before hands find her shoulders. Dorothea startles first, wide-eyed, hands moving up as though she might push him away — as a warmth settles into her from his touch, a promise a comfort from what feels like...

It's then that her thoughts catch up, her gaze finally registering his presence. "Ferdie?" A wave of relief hits her, dizzying. "I'm—" No. No, she's not all right. Words fail her; she doesn't know how she feels. "I'm not certain. I'm..." Lost. Terrified. But over what?

Her eyes find his own. "...How long have I been gone?"

a gift (dec 25)

[totalize]

[ New Eridu might not actually celebrate Christmas anymore, but the day itself is still the fun, meaningful one! So, as sneakily as Mr. Claus himself, there will be a quite beautifully wrapped gift waiting at Dorothea’s front door on the morning of December 25th.

Inside is a rather strange contraption, and it only gets stranger as she opens it, but luckily, a manual is included along with a personal note. ]

✦ Happy Holidays, Miss Dorothea! ✦
I’m sure that you’re puzzled upon opening this, just as I was when I found it, but! It’s a marvelous little curiosity that I absolutely had to get for you above anyone else. It’s a “Mikiphone” and while it’s not exactly the most elegant solution to this problem, it will still allow you to take music on the go—somewhat! That is, it’s a portable record player. It’s certainly easier to carry around than the full system, right?
May it bring you a way to enjoy music without having to be backstage~
(And, should you ever like to get a record pressed of your own performance, let me know! The shop I bought this from is able to do that sort of thing.)

after receiving her gift

[onereason]

[A few days after receiving her gift, she'll get a thank you card with a handwritten message in eloquent cursive. There's also a small wrapped bundle with it that contains a burgundy shawl.]

Many thanks for your thoughtful gift. I wish you a healthy and happy Midwinter as well.
~ Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd

delivery. post-revival.

[rakta]

[ A small package is left in the Greenhouse, with Dorothea's name on it in scratchy lettering. Inside, there are a series of gifts.

› A set of leather-bound notebooks and some pens.
› Some gloves, specially designed for garden work.
› Inside a small box, a series of vials, each labelled. One for pain, one for easier sleep, and one for protection.
› A dried flower, turned into a bookmark of sorts.

Left with it is a very simple note: Thank you for being my friend. - L. ]

@ mockingbird

[totalize]

Hello Miss Dorothea! This is Hugo, since I don't believe we've chatted online.

I have a bit of an odd question for you. And because it's a bit of a worrying one on its face, please let me say first not to worry! It's simply a quirk of a fellow Spectral who is too shy to seek help, thus nothing life-threatening.

But in short, do you have any ideas that might help stem bleeding or soak it up efficiently? Part of their curse involves seemingly eternal bleeding, so it's inconvenient, as you might imagine.

(And feel free to pass this along to the doctor if he might have ideas too!)

[reprisings]

[ Oh, that's quite a horrible curse to have. Eternal bleeding, even without threat to someone's life... She doesn't know if she'd be able to stomach such a thing. With a frown, she types back. ]

I'm sending this message along to Law as well to see what will help.

I did bring a potion with me from my home called a 'Vulnerary' which helps wounds. I've been working on replicating it for use at the clinic and while I've managed to make something similar, it doesn't take as quick of an effect. I could give you and your friend some and it would close the wounds, but it would likely be a temporary fix and something they would need to continue taking over time.

[ There's a pause in her typing, like she might leave it at that. But then another text comes in. ]

I do have something else that might work instead and quicker, or I can mix it in with the potion, but it might put you and your friend off.

@lauralae

[rakta]

[ The perks of being Lauralae's one real female friend: gossip. ]

something has happened.

[reprisings]

[ Uh oh. ]

Are you all right?