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Just a day. Twenty-four hours. In such a short span of time, Imperia already has made a place for herself here. She found an empty room in the bunker; a nice little room with a window and table space for her to arrange bundles of herbs and prepare different flower arrangements. There is even a couple bookshelves to store her ever-growing collection. Well, she only has her journal right now, but she is sure to begin growing her collection sometime soon. The point is that she feels more at home in her residence of little more than twenty-four hours than she ever felt in that Maker-forsaken place in the mountains.
Her old home was rampant with chaos and drama. Betrayal, abuse, punishment--all bad things, never good. Hearing news of another beaten into submission soon became similar to hearing the daily weather. It was not a matter of if, but when. For a young girl of her angelic disposition, Imperia quickly earned herself the status of an easy target. Other family units would gossip about her own, slandering her parents for raising a weak child, calling for Peri to be abandoned in the wilderness for she was just a waste of resources. her parents resisted for as long as they could, but her father, Pierre, eventually fell prey to gossip that because Peri looked nothing like her mother or her father, she must be the product of infidelity. Pierre ignored the knowledge that his own mother was a black wolf and instead channeled his anger into passionate beatings that could be predicted by the time. The later it was, the more violent it would be. Imperia believes the maker played a direct role in freeing her from that place, for only a god could so perfectly arranged that the worst of the pack members, including her father, would be gone four days for the first hunt of the summer. Mother was too sick to leave, but she managed to convince Imperia to flee without her in exchange for filling her old medics journal with updated sketches of herbs.
The girl cried for days, ashamed that she could not find someway to rescue Marguerite. But being alone in the wilds open her eyes, eventually allowing her to understand that if her mother had wanted to escape, she would have done it years ago. Both her mother and her god were telling her to take that final step, to free herself from all that burdened her, and become the person she is meant to be. Of course, that takes a lot more work than a simple "revelation." At present, the she-wolf is doing her utmost to get settled in. Decorate her room, make some friends, learn how things work--that sort of thing. However, Imperia is new here. And because of her freshly cut green status, the lovely young wolf is totally and wonderfully oblivious to all the current drama. On second thought, perhaps it is not that she is oblivious, for she is not so dense as to totally miss the subtle social cues; but young Miss Arceneau is definitely behind on recent events. Events that would explain why maybe it is not the smartest idea to approach both Bastille and Hazel and risk interrupting their "moment." But she is a sweet girl with the simple desire to make friends and they are little more than strangers chatting outside the building in which she resides.
"Ah, are you painting?" queries the sweet creature as she rounds the corner, sleek silver fur ruffled from a day spent out in the vast amber sea of grasses. She smells sweetly of flowers with the faintest aroma of herbs. Imperia approaches with the grace of a dancer; both tentative and elegant as if she were not walking but floating. A lovely smiles dances upon black lips, crinkling the corners of her brilliant silver eyes. "Pardon if I am overstepping my bounds, but I do not think you will be able to paint very well with that," she says with a soft laugh as soon as she observes the horrid clay mixture Bast is using. As charming as her mildly awkward and overtly polite manner of speaking may be, it evolved not out of the purity of her nature but her need to deescalate tension. Peri grew up on the receiving end of unwarranted beatings, and she quickly learned that groveling earned her mercy at least twenty-five percent of the time. Now, it is a habit when she wants to be friendly but also fears even the slightest probability of a rebuke. "Er, well, what I mean to say is that I can help you mix some more effective paint, if you both would like." She smiles. A "please-don't-hate-me-please" kind of smile. Peri finds herself growing nervous the longer she talks. She has got to stop herself somehow. "M-my name is Imperia Arceneau, by the way. I, uh, I just joined yesterday."
It is only after her nervous babbling does the pretty silver wolf recognize the intimate closeness between the two felines and the pregnant silence hanging in the air. Oh... Oh no. Did she just interrupt something? Did she overstep her place? Will they yell? Scream? Or just glare? Imperia hates the glaring the worst. She hates the inaction, because the longer the hatred is bottled up, the more powerful the outburst will be when it is finally released. The girl shuffles her paws nervously, fighting the urge to run.
Her old home was rampant with chaos and drama. Betrayal, abuse, punishment--all bad things, never good. Hearing news of another beaten into submission soon became similar to hearing the daily weather. It was not a matter of if, but when. For a young girl of her angelic disposition, Imperia quickly earned herself the status of an easy target. Other family units would gossip about her own, slandering her parents for raising a weak child, calling for Peri to be abandoned in the wilderness for she was just a waste of resources. her parents resisted for as long as they could, but her father, Pierre, eventually fell prey to gossip that because Peri looked nothing like her mother or her father, she must be the product of infidelity. Pierre ignored the knowledge that his own mother was a black wolf and instead channeled his anger into passionate beatings that could be predicted by the time. The later it was, the more violent it would be. Imperia believes the maker played a direct role in freeing her from that place, for only a god could so perfectly arranged that the worst of the pack members, including her father, would be gone four days for the first hunt of the summer. Mother was too sick to leave, but she managed to convince Imperia to flee without her in exchange for filling her old medics journal with updated sketches of herbs.
The girl cried for days, ashamed that she could not find someway to rescue Marguerite. But being alone in the wilds open her eyes, eventually allowing her to understand that if her mother had wanted to escape, she would have done it years ago. Both her mother and her god were telling her to take that final step, to free herself from all that burdened her, and become the person she is meant to be. Of course, that takes a lot more work than a simple "revelation." At present, the she-wolf is doing her utmost to get settled in. Decorate her room, make some friends, learn how things work--that sort of thing. However, Imperia is new here. And because of her freshly cut green status, the lovely young wolf is totally and wonderfully oblivious to all the current drama. On second thought, perhaps it is not that she is oblivious, for she is not so dense as to totally miss the subtle social cues; but young Miss Arceneau is definitely behind on recent events. Events that would explain why maybe it is not the smartest idea to approach both Bastille and Hazel and risk interrupting their "moment." But she is a sweet girl with the simple desire to make friends and they are little more than strangers chatting outside the building in which she resides.
"Ah, are you painting?" queries the sweet creature as she rounds the corner, sleek silver fur ruffled from a day spent out in the vast amber sea of grasses. She smells sweetly of flowers with the faintest aroma of herbs. Imperia approaches with the grace of a dancer; both tentative and elegant as if she were not walking but floating. A lovely smiles dances upon black lips, crinkling the corners of her brilliant silver eyes. "Pardon if I am overstepping my bounds, but I do not think you will be able to paint very well with that," she says with a soft laugh as soon as she observes the horrid clay mixture Bast is using. As charming as her mildly awkward and overtly polite manner of speaking may be, it evolved not out of the purity of her nature but her need to deescalate tension. Peri grew up on the receiving end of unwarranted beatings, and she quickly learned that groveling earned her mercy at least twenty-five percent of the time. Now, it is a habit when she wants to be friendly but also fears even the slightest probability of a rebuke. "Er, well, what I mean to say is that I can help you mix some more effective paint, if you both would like." She smiles. A "please-don't-hate-me-please" kind of smile. Peri finds herself growing nervous the longer she talks. She has got to stop herself somehow. "M-my name is Imperia Arceneau, by the way. I, uh, I just joined yesterday."
It is only after her nervous babbling does the pretty silver wolf recognize the intimate closeness between the two felines and the pregnant silence hanging in the air. Oh... Oh no. Did she just interrupt something? Did she overstep her place? Will they yell? Scream? Or just glare? Imperia hates the glaring the worst. She hates the inaction, because the longer the hatred is bottled up, the more powerful the outburst will be when it is finally released. The girl shuffles her paws nervously, fighting the urge to run.