Havelock Verdant - Tumblr Posts
"Unbind me" for Eimear. --> feel free to write what you want!
They were hot, sweaty, and Havelock was so close. The ropes at her wrists, the way she squirmed so sweetly away from and then toward him, it drove him mad.
But then, she cried, “No, no, pumpkin, pumpkin!”
He stopped, unlooped the knots from the bedpost, pulled her into his arms. “Shhh,” he soothed Eimear, holding her close, stroking that fine red hair. “It’s okay, you’re free now, see?” He drew one of her freshly unbound hands in front of her face so that she could know it to be true.
"I spoke true: when you say stop, we stop."
Three Things: Havelock from Dexten
“Bittersweet spite, words with spice, and bright blue eyes that are oh so nice”
Havelock Verdant
Wit
Charisma
Patience
Mix the first two thoroughly and dapple with dimples and seductive smiles. Cultivate the third properly, in the dark corners where there's nothing but time.
[9:49:40 AM] Liv: Omg what if eimear brings have back as a zombie [9:49:59 AM] Milli: That'll be the most awkward reunion ever. [9:50:13 AM] Milli: He did always love her for her braaaaaaaaaains
All of your characters! Rose, Daisy, Jasmine, Magnolia.
Milli
Rose - Too much and too often. Milli is in love with Jack and Tom both, still. She was close to love with Cia and Ains, but both relationships ended too soon to fully come to fruition. Now, Milli sees that as something of a blessing. Love has been cruel to her of late.
Daisy - Thirteen years old. And he was far too old to be a boy.
Jasmine - Whether it looks best on her or not, she prefers browns and dark purples.
Magnolia - Apple suckers. She just doesn’t indulge anymore. For reasons.
Havelock
Rose - He doesn’t admit it even to himself, but he’s in love with Livinia.
Daisy - When he was seventeen. Yes, a boy.
Jasmine - Blue and black, light the highlights of his hair.
Magnolia - Black licorice. It’s strong and covered the scent of gunpowder and blood very well when he was a soldier. He still prefers it when he’s nervous or stressed.
Caoimhe
Rose - Nope, never been in love. Sounds like fun. Good for a laugh!
Daisy - She was nine and she stole a kiss from a boy in a tavern. She also nicked his coin purse.
Jasmine - Blues and greens that bring out her aqua eyes.
Magnolia - Peppermints. Sweet and fresh.
Aurie
Rose - Not in love at this time.
Daisy - Fourteen years old. He was older and of noble blood. It was the latter that made it exciting.
Jasmine - Right now? Nothing looks good on her. Her skin is too wan and covered in freckles, her hair a wretched shade of orange that clashes with everything.
Magnolia - Flavored ices, the kind served at noble gatherings.
Orange blossom - Havelock
From Livinia
If Havelock could pick his child's gender and appearance he would make it male, with a blend of his and Livinia's features. Dark hair and golden eyes, Livinia's pale, creamy skin, his own drive and need for power.
He pulled her closer, pressed a kiss to her lips. "Then do it," he urged her. "Marry me, Livinia." He had no ring, no gold band with which to make a promise, but he drew forth a necklace from within his shirt. At the end of the silver chain hung a silver charm shaped like a dog whistle. Carefully, reverently, he unclasped the chain and placed it around her neck. Then he kissed her. "This will have to do until I can get you a proper ring." He looked into her eyes, deadly serious now. "Do you wish to do this now? We can find a priest, make it official. And then all Voros has is a piece of paper. He will not have you."
Whistle Necklace with Love Charm
In a swirl of dark green silks and white lace, Countess Claire Norrington swept into her home, handing off her muff and mittens to one servant as another took her cloak, barely slowing down as she headed for her parlor. But there was a note on the silver serving tray underneath the large mirror. With a sigh, the widow went to see what her butler had thought demanded her attention instead of settling in for a hot cup of tea and a book.
‘Your brother to see you. With guests.’
Well, that was likely sufficiently pressing, she supposed. Taking a moment, the countess smoothed her hair back into its braided bun, its distinctive shining black catching blue highlights from the high windows letting in the autumn sunlight.
Satisfied that she looked dignified enough to talk her brother out of whatever odd or outlandish scheme he was set to put the family funds toward, Claire turned and opened the door to the small green parlor where guests were received. She smiled brightly at her brother, extending her arms toward him. “Dear Thierry, how are you, my sweet?” she asked.
Even as she did so and her brother rose to embrace her, Claire was looking at the other guest. A woman of sun-bleached hair and crisp blue eyes who, despite the high quality of her gown, had the look of a commoner, wind burned face and scarred fingers, sat rigidly straight upon the couch beside Theirry, who replied warmly, “Better than ever, Claire, better than ever.” He gestured for the woman to stand. “This is Prentice Degan and we have pleasant news to announce?”
“Oh?” Claire asked, brow raised. She could see the tumblers of bad decisions turning in the recent past and had absolutely no doubt who this woman was or what her brother was about to tell her. Despite a profitable and lovely match with a woman of noble rank and good standing, Thierry was about to throw it all away for a love match with this common whore who, now that Claire was closer, smelled distinctly of animals.
Thierry did not disappoint. “Prentice and I,” he paused for dramatic effect that was neither dramatic nor effective, “married!” He clasped the woman to him and though she smiled brightly, Claire could tell the poor girl was already lost in the sea of noble politics. Why did he do this to the woman instead of just making her his mistress?
But Claire didn’t ask the obvious questions, just smiled pleasantly. “That is wonderful, Thierry, Prentice.” She reached out to embrace the other woman, much more muscular than most noblewomen. A stable hand, perhaps? Claire wasn’t sure and really, did it matter? Thierry was marrying into the help. She needed to get him alone, to talk him out of this business before Lady Arient, his current wife, got wind of all this and all hell broke loose.
That’s when she heard the cry. It was the high-pitched squeals of a child and both her brother and his new conquest cringed at the sound. That seemed to be coming from behind the couch.
Claire made it around the couch first and was treated to the sight of a small bassinet, kept out of sight, holding a squalling black-haired baby. Prentice picked him up and hushed the baby gently, rocking it until it quieted.
Waiting for silence, Claire turned an arched brow at her brother. “Explain,” she said simply, ice in her voice.
Thierry led her to the window and spoke softly, whether to keep the child quiet or to spare Prentice’s feelings, Claire didn’t know and, frankly, didn’t much care at that point. “I had to make certain she could provide me with an heir,” he said quietly, as though that explained all of this. “Once the boy was born, I knew Prentice and I could marry without a problem. But there were...complications with Arient.”
Claire pressed a hand to her forehead and sighed. She looked up at her brother, the head of her family’s holdings by virtue of what dangled between his legs. And he’d run it into the ground at this rate. “Of course there were complications with Arient,” Claire hissed, leaving off, ‘you idiot’ for the sake of the woman in the room. Thierry could get downright petulant when embarrassed. “It was a marriage of political gains! If you break the marriage, you must give back what you’ve gained! And as much of what we gained was either ephemeral or already spent, they will require some sort of restitution.” Shaking her head, Claire asked, “Can Prentice be sent away with the child? Perhaps this can be salvaged.”
But Thierry was already shaking his head. “The marriage with Arient has been annulled--”
“Annulled?” Claire gasped, appalled. The specter of divorce was bad enough, but to expunge the marriage completely, say it had never happened...the level of disrespect implied was atrocious.
“Yes, Claire,” Thierry said, clearly becoming agitated at her continued disbelief of his stupidity. “But it’s done. We had to make a great deal of sacrifices, as you said, and one of them...was Havelock.”
Frowning, Claire asked, “Havelock? Our great-grandfather? He’s long dead.”
Prentice stepped closer with the sleeping baby, “This is Havelock,” she said, showing off the child like any proud mother.
“Havelock Thierry Greenbriar,” Thierry finished, equally proud.
“What do you mean by sacrifice?” Claire asked, looking down at the child. Dark locks capped his tiny head and as she watched, bright blue eyes, like his mother’s, opened to look at the world around him. He seemed to look at Claire when he grinned and began to gurgle. She remembered how her own children, both full grown, had looked at this age. How dear and darling they were to her.
“Would you like to hold him, sister?” Thierry asked, practically shoving his soon-to-be wife toward her with the baby.
“I suppose,” Claire murmured, reaching for the child.
She should have known better. But Thierry had enough of their father’s blood to understand how to manipulate her on occasion. Havelock settled into her arms and Claire immediately began the gentle swaying that had soothed her own two turtledoves. She smiled down at the pink-cheeked little boy. She had missed so much of their childhood, too busy running her dead husband’s businesses and consolidating the estate. She had missed this.
“Arient is insisting he be disowned,” Theirry said quietly, almost slipping in below the sound of the baby’s breathing. “We’ll have another, but Havelock needs to be raised right.”
The baby’s hand reached out and Claire placed her finger near for him to grab. When he did, she smiled.
Thierry nudged Prentice. “He ought to be raised with family,” she said, like a classically trained parrot, delivering its lines on cue, Claire thought.
She could see where this was going. And frankly, she wasn’t that displeased. “Fine,” Claire said quietly, tracing the tiny cheek as bright blue eyes slipped shut once again. “I’ll take care of him. You get your house in order, though, Thierry. Or this one will be coming after you with all the fire I can muster within him.”
The second day out and already he knew it wouldn't last long. A week at most and he'd be leading her back to civilization. His worries centered around finding shelter, finding food, keeping her going.
He should have worried about the guards and dogs on their trail, the threats that neither miles nor terrain could erase. And because of that he was bound and bleeding in the snow, his oldest companion laying dead, her whines ringing in his ears as his wife bled and pleaded for his life behind him. There would be no rest now. There would be no peace.
Havelock had taken his chances and had failed. His grief was a bitter pill.
Voros Valister waved a dismissive hand, keeping his unwavering gaze fixed upon her—regardless of whether she met it with her own eyes or not. When he spoke, it was in his usual, inflectionless tone, absent of almost entirely of any form of caring. “Wear whatever you wish, Livinia. White for feigned innocence. Red for the blood spilled because of your choices. Black—to show the world who you truly belong to now. It requires little thought from me.”
Green to show where her heart lies...
Nothing about the house had changed, but something was different. Vases were more likely not to have flowers and those flowers that were tended were of a darker hue. The servants, always inobtrusive, seemed to bristle with an unknown emotion, perhaps anger or even fear. And there was a sort of silence, not that of muffled shoes on thick carpet, but of a -lack- of sound: the chortle of a young man and the playful, gruff noises of a faithful hound. Though she didn't know it, Lady Valister was escorted into the same parlor where Claire Norrington had first met Havelock, a child his parents couldn't keep. There was a certain amount of poetry to it, that his presence in her life ended where it had began. She had been informed that the pair of them had left, had read Havelock's hasty, vague note. Had been told, later, of Livinia's marriage to the man they had been running from. Claire Norrington was not a woman who deluded herself. She knew what was coming. The parlor was a shining place, placed at a corner where windows in each wall could catch the afternoon light. The flowers in the vase on the central table were lilies. The couches and chairs were white with small flower patterns embroidered carefully in silk, meant to be admired more than occupied. Claire was the dark spot in the room, her dress a dark shade of green highlighted in blue. She sat on the couch, her saucer in one hand, teacup in the other, watching the world through the window. Claire looked up when Livinia was announced. She did not smile. "Lady Livinia."
Reblog if you've ever experienced this in RP or any kind of writing
Your eyes shine with the torrent of the sky, and I am breathless by the loss of your presence, forever to be gone beyond mine eye. I’ve lost my heart, my soul, and all my sense. And in the soundless moments between heartbeats, I inhale the memory of your love, and thus I expel the pain that creeps. Gone, gone, too soon! My fallen, broken, dove. Come back to me, and heal this pang! May death not steal your lips, your touch, your fire! Your brandied words that you sang, of love and life, heed not my husband’s venom’d ire! So I’m left, no love for my veins, without you, you who belongs to the pyre. May Grenth sing sweet, and take my pains. I die alone, bereaved.
By Livinia Valister
(OOC: I was bored and watching poetry at the Melee event. So I wrote my own for Liv’s lost love)
