((ooc: Reply either in prose or brackets, I have no preference one way or the other. Also feel free to apply effects and other prompts as you like.))
Millions of Mischiefs
[There are worse clothes she could have arrived in.
Ivy had been hard at work in her laboratory when this... thing happened, so fortunately she was not wearing her battle gear (though it might have been setting-appropriate if she did, honestly.) Wearing a simple (albeit voluptuous) lavender-colored gown and a dark gray hooded cloak, the striking white-haired woman wanders the Down looking like something from another time.
1591, to be precise.
Also of note is the sword on her back, trimmed in magenta at the hilt with a green jewel in the center. It can be seen, occasionally, to glow with a pale purple light. She can also be seen, occasionally, to speak to it.]
Be calm, pet. I am on my guard, but we needn't cause a scene.
[This place is indescribably strange, but the feel of a dangerous city transcends eras. But she is confident. She can take care of herself, and Valentine can take care of her. What she needs first is answers.]
I beg your pardon. [She stops someone on the street.] Might I trouble you a moment?
Last Week On
[She may be a countess, but that doesn't mean she's too good to work. (She hasn't had regular servants since her parents died, anyway. Someone has to keep the manor clean.) Particularly when she's stranded in a strange place for the foreseeable future, and they're offering the incentive of money in exchange. Money means survival, even if she's apparently unable to use it freely thanks to this damnable mark they've put to her.
It's a far better solution than the other one. Contracting herself to someone, of all things.
And the pay is better if they work in partners. Even Ivy isn't stubborn enough to turn down company with such stipulations.]
You, there.
[Another participant finds themselves approached by the imposing woman.]
You look useful. We may as well partner up for the money.
History of Looking
[She's been on boats before. Rowboats, on a lake, back in the summertime at her parents' estate in the country. Small ferries that go up and down the Thames. Even the grand ships that go back and forth between England and the European continent. Not her preferred method of travel, but necessary, in her new life.
This thing? A "train?" Absolutely intolerable. It moves so quickly, and seems to balance on little more than a rail. Every time it tilts and takes hairpin curves, the platinum-haired woman looks a little greener in complexion. It's probably meant to be a courtesy, a tour to show the newcomers the city, but Ivy's too busy clutching the railing beside her seat and looking increasingly harried to pay attention to any of that. Even her normally cold and stoic expression can't hide her discomfort.
At last, it's so upsetting she actually deigns to speak to those around her.]
Must we be subjected to this, on top of everything else?
Isabella "Ivy" Valentine | Soul Calibur | Submissive
Millions of Mischiefs
[There are worse clothes she could have arrived in.
Ivy had been hard at work in her laboratory when this... thing happened, so fortunately she was not wearing her battle gear (though it might have been setting-appropriate if she did, honestly.) Wearing a simple (albeit voluptuous) lavender-colored gown and a dark gray hooded cloak, the striking white-haired woman wanders the Down looking like something from another time.
1591, to be precise.
Also of note is the sword on her back, trimmed in magenta at the hilt with a green jewel in the center. It can be seen, occasionally, to glow with a pale purple light. She can also be seen, occasionally, to speak to it.]
Be calm, pet. I am on my guard, but we needn't cause a scene.
[This place is indescribably strange, but the feel of a dangerous city transcends eras. But she is confident. She can take care of herself, and Valentine can take care of her. What she needs first is answers.]
I beg your pardon. [She stops someone on the street.] Might I trouble you a moment?
Last Week On
[She may be a countess, but that doesn't mean she's too good to work. (She hasn't had regular servants since her parents died, anyway. Someone has to keep the manor clean.) Particularly when she's stranded in a strange place for the foreseeable future, and they're offering the incentive of money in exchange. Money means survival, even if she's apparently unable to use it freely thanks to this damnable mark they've put to her.
It's a far better solution than the other one. Contracting herself to someone, of all things.
And the pay is better if they work in partners. Even Ivy isn't stubborn enough to turn down company with such stipulations.]
You, there.
[Another participant finds themselves approached by the imposing woman.]
You look useful. We may as well partner up for the money.
History of Looking
[She's been on boats before. Rowboats, on a lake, back in the summertime at her parents' estate in the country. Small ferries that go up and down the Thames. Even the grand ships that go back and forth between England and the European continent. Not her preferred method of travel, but necessary, in her new life.
This thing? A "train?" Absolutely intolerable. It moves so quickly, and seems to balance on little more than a rail. Every time it tilts and takes hairpin curves, the platinum-haired woman looks a little greener in complexion. It's probably meant to be a courtesy, a tour to show the newcomers the city, but Ivy's too busy clutching the railing beside her seat and looking increasingly harried to pay attention to any of that. Even her normally cold and stoic expression can't hide her discomfort.
At last, it's so upsetting she actually deigns to speak to those around her.]
Must we be subjected to this, on top of everything else?