@tryckthebard Made The Fatal Mistake Of Befriending Me.

@tryckthebard made the fatal mistake of befriending me. 😈

The moment Tryck followed her off the ship and into the streets of Nassau, Anne knew she was done for. It was one thing to speak plans into the air while at sea, drunk on intimacy and affection, but quite another to act on them in the full light of day on unsure shores. Every man she’d made the mistake of before (and now with) Tryck was a good talker. But a good doer? He would be the first.

And she would hang herself by his violin strings before admitting that she’d only learned the literal truth of being made weak in the knees at the thought of him now.

“Thyself shalt see the act. For, as thou urgest justice, be assured Thou shalt have justice more than thou desir’st,” Anne reads. It would appear she’s most ways through the thin book in her hands, and from the shine in her eyes, it’s clear there’s conflict afoot in the plot. It’s one of Anne’s favorite plays, having often been called dubbed Portia—and Kate, and Viola, and a few other notables—by her father in her youth. It isn’t hard to guess why. The trickiest bit of this scheme, Anne’s favorite meting out of true justice, is mere lines away when the bed creaks again.

As before, she glances up at check it; very much not as before, the occupant in it is clearly awake. Anne does a double take before removing her feet from the frame of the bed, the front two legs of her chair slamming back down on the floor.

On anon or not, tell me who you ship my character with.

who up feeling like an open wound that will never heal

Who do I gotta bribe for things?

Someone letting Anne seduce their muse during a rehearsal/performance for her band when? Whomst?

@sharransepulchre forgot that only sith deal in absolutes. Continued from ✨ .

Anne actually snorts when Shadowheart, prickly and defensive, tries to cast aspersions onto her. Here all she’s said is the world isn’t as against the cleric as she thinks, simply is not in love with her, and her hackles have gone up! What in the hells is in the water these religious types drink? Anne levels a look that says you really should have seen this coming before she replies.

“Oh, the world’s fucking against me, have no doubt! Hates me. Made me what I am and rejects me, don’t matter a whit. I live on spite and audacity alone.” That’s at least mostly true. Anne shrugs and falls silent.

They share an inability to express vulnerability, but Anne’s found that to be standard in those who would take on a life of adventure. The burdened few, ignoring their burdens by facing the burdens of others. Anne’s known their type, her type, all her life. She’s been surrounded by them since birth.

“I only meant to say that the world hasn’t proved half so hostile to ye as ye act it does. Just ‘cause the world don’t love ye don’t mean it hates ye.”