[ it turns out channelling leandra while surrounded by 2 - 3 year olds doesn’t help the urge to tear your hair out
on that note i’ve been eyebrow deep in working and trying not to drown in anxiety thAT IS ENTIRELY BASED AROUND SMALL CHILDREN RUNNING WITH SCISSORS HOLY SHIT so that’s why i’ve been 100% dead ]
ily kiss kiss =3=
HONHONHON, TRÈS BIEN. B]
Starter For nutrimentum: First Meetings.
Mingling with nobility is something of a sport for him; a game of lies played with charming smiles and eloquent diction-all in the hopes of perhaps wooing a young noble woman before his friend-Ser Carver. It is a game Malcolm Hawk is all too good at-it is not his first time in such a function, and he knows it will not be the last.
He has skulked his way in under a guise, as he did most often: a junior enchanter in the Kirkwall circle preforming with the circle mages at the Viscounts little party. Of course, he does not perform-no he takes to mingling among the nobility; shaking hands and delving into gossip lined discussion of this, and that.
That is when he sees her, no more than ten paces away; beautiful is the only word that comes to mind while he glances her over, and he finds it hard not to keep an eye on her for a better part of the night. He does not approach, something very un-like him, and instead he watches, intrigued-and if anything a little star struck.
She had been raised to know when eyes followed her, when her actions were being scrutinized. It came part and parcel with her lineage; if you couldn't tell, you might as well open your neck up to the wolves.
So she knew, of course, that there were many eyes on her now -- at these parties, there always were. Lord Aristide Amell's promising daughter, newly engaged to the young Comte de Launcet; she didn't even have to strain to hear the murmurs.
But his eyes were not familiar.
She kept him in her sight from the moment she'd caught him looking - subtly, of course; it wouldn't do for a young lady to gawk - and wondered. She didn't know him, and she had been thoroughly taught every name and every face in Hightown and about half of those beyond; his name was a mystery and so was his standing - where was he from? If not Kirkwall, then where?
It occurred to her, after an hour of peeking from beneath darkened lashes and watching through her peripheral vision that she could, of course, simply ask. Nobody could fault her for speaking with him, surely.
That's how she finds herself face to face with this stranger, acting for all the world as if she hadn't noticed his eyes on her, as if she hadn't been watching him just as intently. She smiles.
"Are you enjoying the festivities, Serah?"
[ walk into the club like what up i'm incapable of managing rp blogs ]
"Hey mom I think I got a rash from that pirate at that bar."
There’s not enough alcohol in the Free Marches to comfort her.
i bet leandra's the type of mom to look at how badly her kids messed up and j ust mutter ' son of a bitch ' an d TH EY'RE ALL LIKE ' MOM........ '
leandra’s the kind of mother who celebrates her children’s small accomplishments. leandra’s the kind of mother who, even when her children disappoint themselves - bethany thinks she’s taking too long to learn a spell and cries a little harder than she’d like to admit, carver accidentally cuts himself on his blade and angrily swears that he’ll never try to pick it up again - finds herself proud that they’ve tried…. and then encourages them to take another shot.
leandra is the kind of mother who wants to hold on a little too long to her children who have grown up into respectable adults (some of whom make not-so-respectable jokes); the kind of mother who is more afraid to have let her babies venture into the real world than she ever says.
leandra is the kind of mother who will occasionally say the things she doesn’t mean, and will spend the rest of her life regretting it.
except for when she’s kinda drunk and they tell her ‘hey mom i got a rash from that pirate i met at the bar' and then she whispers 'son of a bitch' and downs the entire glass BC WHAT DID I TELL YOU ABOUT PEOPLE AT BARS except for varric that is a very nice respectable man please have random drunken sex with more people like varric
[ mom bought dresses and spent the day humming and hawing over prices. mom is now going to do replies. mom is not going to get distracted and forget that she said she'd do replies. mom is going to write things and she is going to like it. ]
whenever ppl insist that leandra actually blamed hawke for the twins' death it hurts my heart
hey mom, do you ever hear things from my room at night. dont ask why im asking. does the estate have soundproofed walls. i need to know mom.
we’ll not speak of the things i’ve heard
//SLOWLY LIFTS BOOK 2 COVER FACE
okay but what if i can't stop carver from getting punched can i laugh.
no
what the fuck is going on i can't even turn away for 5 minutes to read my books and everyone's picking fights you're all grounded
i think the better question is "when doesn't mom participate in wrestling?"
Is mom coming to the grand tourney
mom goes to the grand tourney just to tut at everyone for being reckless
"what do you mean no moms allowed?? who’s going to kiss all of the booboos???!?"
she knows when things change, when blood is no longer just a substance that runs through her child's veins.
she also knows that malcolm can't tell, not anymore, not while he can barely make it through the day without coughing up his own.
so it's easier to turn a blind eye to it, to pretend that she hasn't the slightest idea what her eldest is doing when the doors are left ajar in the middle of the night and their bed is cold. it's not the right choice, she knows, not when it's her child's life on the line, but her family is falling apart at the seams and another rift in the fabric might be all it takes for it to become irreparable.
the days slip by quietly, silence interrupted only by heaving breaths and wet coughs, and leandra can only hope that she has not allowed this to go too far.
but then her husband is dead, and it doesn't go over her head that her oldest child has slipped through the cracks somewhere along the line.
she holds her youngest children close to her side - their fingers twisting into her dress, bethany pressing her face into her shoulder and carver's cheek ruffling her hair - and ignores the smell of charred flesh while she wonders where the last twenty two years of her life have gone.
where did i go wrong
