gentle heart — joining

[imperia]

[align=center][div style="max-width: 600px; text-align: justify; font-family: verdana; font-size: 9pt;"]Muted hoof beats can be heard as small cloven hooves move across the soft ground is the only auditory clue to the creature’s arrival. Large, full-moon eyes the color of argentium gaze in wonder upon the sea of rolling hills, nostrils flaring as she breathes in the wonderful scent of earth and sky. Never before has she seen something so...so open. It is nothing like the cold, ancient atmosphere of the dark forest in which she was raised. Most creatures who inhabit this heavenly landscape must sport the colors of earth: browns and blacks, perhaps even greys or reddish hues. It makes sense that the natives blend into the golden grasses and the lush forests. But not she. Like a ghost, she drifts through the plains. Beautiful, graceful, and utterly silent. The doe’s soft white pelt contrasts starkly with the vibrant shades of surrounding landscape. Her eyes, which would be a rich chocolate brown for most deer, are sterling grey. Even the blood, some of which spills down her otherwise untainted pelt from various superficial wounds, gleams silver instead of crimson. It is as if the color has been washed from her, leaving only the nimble figure and snowy coloring of a mannequin. Or the moon personified.

Despite her wonderment, the young girl moves with trepidation. This is an unknown place full of unknown terrors and unknown people. Before she escaped the hunters which systematically tracked down and killed all the snowy white creatures native to that magical wood, she and her people moved in groups. She is unsure if any other forest spirits managed to survive, but something tells her that it would be foolish to let down her guard. There is no reason why the hunters would have just...let her escape. She is positive that if she is not careful, they will find her. Perhaps if she can find a new group of people to live with, it will offer a form of protection which she cannot provide for herself. All she has are legs and her mind—they are only good for running, not fighting.

The beautiful creature slows to a halt, her elegant neck barely rising over the tips of the blades. The grasses tickle her nose. She sneezes. An invisible border of scent markers begins just beyond the cloven points of her hooves. Friendly travelers who helped guide her here said that these people are called the Ascendents. An astrological term? Perhaps these are people of the stars? If so, then they may not be so different from she, who was born from essence of the forest. Like the moon, her people watched over the sacred lands, guarding the magical creatures who resided there. Her father is—was—the Hart. He was revered by all; humans, animals, and the supernatural. But he is gone now. They murdered him for his skin. She shakes her head, attempting to rid herself of the thought. No reason to dwell on that now. This is her new beginning. The past can wait. ”H-hello?” calls the young doe in a shaky voice, resembling a wind chime trembling in the wind. ”I..I would like to stay here if..if that’s alright.” for all she knows, she is talking to the air. But she has traveled too far, and she is tired. The girl cannot wait much longer before she collapses.

[Luciferr]

[imperia]

[align=center][div style="max-width: 600px; text-align: justify; font-family: verdana; font-size: 9pt;"]True, it is not her appearance that is strange. In a world of monsters and mythical beings, a strikingly alabaster doe is nothing shocking. Not in the least. Her pelt might shine like diamonds scattered in freshly fallen snow and her eyes might resemble silver dollars, but compared to dragons and vividly colored creatures, she falls short of amazing. Of course, beauty and shock-factor is not a competition. It certainly matters not to the dainty creature, for all she desires is to find somewhere safe. Silver blood drip, drip, drips ever so slowly down her lithe figure. Bullet wounds and claw marks. The final parting gift from people who used to love and revere the forest fae. Thankfully this body is more resilient than the average doe, lest she might now be mounted on the wall of a hunter. Those large, argentium eyes seem to mourn the loss of her people. Screams of the dying echo in her mind. Images of slaughtered friends and family burned on the back of her eyes. But she will not cry. Not yet, not now.

Emotionally compromised though she may be, the doe is not unaware to the approach of another. Rather than cringing away or fleeing, she freezes as soon as she detects the stranger. Most people perceive the deer-in-the-headlights reaction as a lack of intelligence or awareness, but the fact of the matter is that most predators respond to movement. There is a reason why people say to never run away from a bear. Otherworldly platinum grey eyes lock on the gold-striped tigress. It is clear that the doe is startled, but she manages not to yelp or cry out. Such a reaction would have been terribly embarrassing. She might have died from shame, then and there.

"That--that's good to hear," she stammers with a shy smile, swishing her little white tail behind her so to expel the nervous energy. Impossibly long eyelashes flutter as the timid creature observes the stranger who came to greet her. "My name is Imperia. Imperia Arceneau." Not that her people ever carried last names, but that was the surname of their patron family, the ones who guarded the magical lands from outsiders. It's a little thing that only she can possibly notice, for it is but a faint nod in acknowledgement to the past she is now leaving behind. She can never go back. Now that the initial fright has passed, the lovely albino doe speaks with a little more confidence. The smile she wore before is a little less fragile. "'Tis a pleasure to meet you, Mademoiselle Eternal," she continues, bowing her head in a respectful nod.

[Suiteheart]

[align=center][div style=" background-color: transparent; border: 0px solid black; width: 530px; min-height: 9px; font-family:; line-height: 110%; text-align: justify; padding: 20px"]A deer. And an albino one at that. Interesting.

Suite was suddenly very aware of how her appearance here might look. To begin, she was a rather large polar bear. She was huge, intimidating. She hated it. The last thing she wanted to do was scare away potential joiners, so the girl lingered back a few ticks, trying to compose herself in the best possible way.

Before she could enter the scene, Eternalwar beat her to it. The large tigress didn't seem to frighten the doe, so perhaps Suite's appearance would not affect her either. Well, here was hoping.

The Starstruck Guardian let a smile dance its way to her lips as she strode forward, halting at Eternal's side. She bumped her friend gently in greeting. When she heard the deer say a little something in French, her eyes lit up. Suite had always loved the language, but she only knew the most basic of things. "Quoi de neuf? Welcome to the Ascendants, Imperia. My name's Suiteheart. Suite works fine too." The polar bear hoped she'd said that correctly, but it had been almost two years since she had even tried to speak French. [color=#73B1B7][b]"Oh, and if you need a tour, let us know. Hell, if you ever need anything, my door's always open."

[Margaery]

Margaery pitted such a fragile, beautiful thing.

Not because of the wounds that littered her pelt or the sense of weariness, both emotional and physical, she carried with her, but rather because she was greeted by perhaps the two largest beings in the clan. The chocolate point knew that if she had been in a similar position, she would have wanted someone as dainty and beautiful (though Margaery was certain that she had never seen a more gorgeous creature... those platinum eyes and ghostly white fur was jaw-dropping and she, herself, had to be reminded to now simply stare in awe) as she to greet her first. She just hoped that her own arrival would offer some comfort against the beastly appearances of the great tiger and bear that she called her wife. Margaery was tall, yes, but she was a domestic feline and a pretty one at that. She had experienced much in her short life but her features were still soft and now, they extended a small smile in the direction of the doe. 

[color=#b14767]"Welcome, Imperia," She offered tenderly, observing the girl's very name was as otherworldly as she, [color=#b14767]"My name is Margaery Mikaelson. Would you like us to fetch a doctor?" Her stormy gray eyes had wandered to the injuries that Imperia carried with her and, concerned, knew that her words were not so much a question but a statement- a doctor was certainly needed.

She cursed herself for noticing the blood, for, though it lacked its typical crimson hue, the scent was all the same. Luckily, she maintained a clear head, the color of her eyes merely darkening rather than turning the shade of the substance she lived on. This was a deer and her body would not be sustained by the blood it had to offer her. So long as she thought rationally, there would be no danger- none at all.

[★ HAZEL]

★  WHEN MY HEART IS MADE FROM GOLD AND FORGIVENESS SEEMS TOO BOLD

By luck, Hazel had decided to bring Arion with her to this particular joining, having felt largely out of place by the size of her clanmates. Suite was a bear, Eternal a tiger, and Margy...Margy was simply bigger than Hazel as an older feline. But here, perched atop a - albeit, knobby-kneed - colt, she felt taller, and less like she wanted to shrink into the ground.

And oh - another hooved creature! Lightly tugging on Arion’s ear in indication to stop, Hazel took immediate interest in Imperia. The girl had never seen a doe before, but Deus, she looked equine in some regards. Softer, more slender and graceful with larger ears and a square nose instead of velvet muzzle, but equine. Hazel felt Arion’s ears flick upwards with the same sort of intrigue, and she wondered if he’d develop a crush on the pretty doe.

“Ave, Imperia.” Hazel greeted, the Latin slipping off her tongue without notice. “You’re very welcome here. I’m Hazel, and this is Arion.” She introduced. She wanted to say more, but held her tongue after hearing Margy’s question. Brows knit with concern, though she offered no elaboration without hearing the newcomer’s response first.

★ — hazel — "speech" — six months — the ascendants — tags — ★
c) miithers

[imperia]

[align=center][div style="max-width: 600px; text-align: justify; font-family: verdana; font-size: 9pt;"]Correct, Imperia did remain steadfast in spite of her residual terror upon Eternalwar’s arrival. Albeit, just barely. It is not to say that the tigress’ looks terrified the young fae, for Peri has gazed upon many a monster who resided within her forest, but the horrible memory of her people’s slaughter coupled with the instinctual fear of predators nearly overwhelmed her ability to reason. Only the sheer strength of the pure-hearted creature’s desire to see the good in everyone keeps her from shattering into a quivering mess. Granted, the appearance of Suiteheart certainly tested the fortitude of such inclinations. Peri nearly starts as the polar bear strides through the grasses, but the warm aura radiating from the creature calms her instaneously. Emotions are something she has always been sensitive to—perhaps “aware” is a better word? Regardless, the friendly smile and the attempt at French wins over the fear.

’Quoi de neuf?’ Another tentative smile, softening the worry lines from her angelic visage. ”S-salut,” she responds in kind, assuming the phrase was intended more of a greeting than anything else. It feels strange to use informal language, but Peri thinks it might feel even stranger to respond formally. Regardless, she enjoys speaking in her native language. Most days she only uses common tongue to communicate with others. ”Enchanté, Madame Suiteheart.” Her slender skull lowers in a respectful nod. ”I appreciate the offer—I will keep that in mind.” Imperia went back and forth in her head, debating whether or not to address Suite as ‘Madame’ or ‘Mademoiselle.’ She has a more mature aura than Eternalwar, so she went with the former. She is reassured in her choice when a lovely little cat named Margaery arrives, introducing herself as Suite’s spouse. Although the feline is still a predator, the reduction in size compared to the two imposing prior arrivals is quite welcome. There is no muting the voice I’m her head which constantly alarms whenever someone dangerous-looking is around, no matter how hard she’s tries to ignore it.

So distracted is Imperia by Margaery’s lovely appearance that she nearly misses the words spoken in her direction. Large ears prick forward attentively to listen before a bashful expression colors her ethereal visage, long lashes fluttered above a pair of silver eyes. ”Oh, no merci, Madame,” responds the forest fae in a soft voice. Oddly enough, her wintery pelt begins to emit a soft glow, akin to a distant star, in a sort of blushing response to the expression of concern. ”I do not wish to be a burden,” she continues, meeting Margaery’s blue-grey gaze. ”These wounds shall heal on their own soon enough.” like all immortals, her form is wonderfully resilient  to damage and quick to mend, but that does not reduce the pain. And while the physical scars fade, it is the emotional trauma which poses the most threat. Suddenly, a thoughtful expression flickers across Imperia’s innocent features. ”If I may,” she prepositions, ever polite. ”How long have you two been married?” the doe glances between Suiteheart and Margaery curiously.

A fourth and fifth arrival redirects her attention once more. Is that...a kitten riding a colt? The young horse, Arion, is a lovely buckskin color. She has seen humans ride steeds of coal black and stone grey and even a chestnut brown, but never such a delicate, almost sun-washed color. Arion is a much leaner breed than the equines she has encountered before, with the exception of a unicorn. Peri’s little white tail swishes back and forth with interest. Gone are the shivering knees and pinned ears of a terrified refugee. Imperia is far more at ease than she was even five minutes before. Perhaps she is too trusting, but she likes to think that the Ascendents are good people. ”‘Tis a pleasure to meet you both.” With all the introductions complete, the youthful creature is suddenly aware that she has no idea what to do next. Hopefully someone will offer some guidance because she has never done this sort of thing before.

[BASTILLEPAW]

[div style="background-color: white; width: 100%; font-family: Georgia; color: #576a6e; text-align: center; margin: auto"]BASTILLEPAW AURELIUS  ✧
the ascendants — kuiper corporal — tags

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Bastille's arrival was marked by a steady uptick of the wind, the air having been perfectly calm moments before he joined them. To his annoyance, pointedly thinking at it and hoping it would stop did nothing; his powers seemed unwilling to bend to his command. Sure, since the fucking elemental explosion he felt a million times better -- the headaches and restlessness had finally stopped, and the insomnia vanished. His powers, however, proved to be another issue entirely; Bastille had been born with perfect control over his powers, but the emergence of these news ones seemed to throw everything out of whack. He had never had to learn control before, and it was infuriating.

He did his best to ignore it, however, and instead came to a stop beside Suite. His gaze skimmed over Arion, before it flickered to this mythical looking doe and stayed there. She looked like the sort of creature that Grimm would love to question extensively, but Bastille ignored the impulse. Instead, he supplied idly, "Well, if she's staying, we might as well show her around now." He was always interested in getting things moving forward swiftly -- the dry, repetitiveness of welcoming newcomers was just... terrible, really.

[imperia]

[align=center][div style="max-width: 600px; text-align: justify; font-family: verdana; font-size: 9pt;"]Argentium eyes flicker over to the source of approaching pawsteps. Ah, another Ascendent. Except this one is male. And feline. The youthful doe notes that this clan seems to contain either small cats or large predators. With the exception of Arion, Imperia herself is the only grazer present. Perhaps there are more elsewhere? It seems stranger to her that only hunters enjoy life in these majestic plains. His soft, blue-grey pelt reminds her of the skies over Normandy; a haze of the palest greys accentuated with clouds of slate and washed-out blue. The reason as to why it reminds her of a place she cannot remember ever traveling to is another story. Sometimes it’s feels as though a plethora of knowledge is locked away behind some invisible door somewhere within her mind. She knows it’s there. She can feel it. But she can find out where, or what, it is.

”Ah, hello,” Imperia greets, her voice soft as an angel’s wing. She inclines her head so to meet the newcomer’s strikingly pale blue gaze and offers him a friendly smile. ”My name is Imperia.” And then she waits for his introduction. And she waits. And waits... the unfamiliar male only states that “they” ought to give her a tour. He uses “she” as if he wasn’t looking straight at her. The albino doe shifts awkwardly, otherworldly grey eyes searching the faces of the other Ascendents as if silently pleading for help. The male does not scare her, but his behavior radiates an unapproachable aura. Should I ask him? Will he feel annoyed? I don’t wish to bother him... Peri is quite the nervous, so even though she so desperately wants to ask his name, it takes several heartbeats to work up the courage.

And when she finds it...she panics, and hurries to respond to statement even though it was not addressed directly to her. The male was speaking about her, so it is not rude to assume she can respond, right? ”Um..I would enjoy a tour, if it’s not too much of a bother. Thank you..” Imperia trails off, hoping that perhaps the silence might prompt him to give her his name. A pair of large, velveteen ears stand erect atop her skull as she eagerly awaits some sort of response. Sterling eyes shine expectantly, a warm smile dancing upon her lips. It’s clear that she wants to be his friend, even if she is unsure how to go about it. The girl is hesitant, nervous that she might somehow annoy him. But she means well. As Imperia waits, she becomes distracted by something shining dangling around his neck. ”Is that a French coin?” she asks suddenly. Where there was only eagerness and hesitance in her expression before, there is now curiosity. It is another one of those instances where she knows something which she never knew that she knew. The make of the coin is familiar, and it inspires a feeling that perhaps there is a memory attached to the sight which she has yet to unlock.

[BASTILLEPAW]

[div style="background-color: white; width: 100%; font-family: Georgia; color: #576a6e; text-align: center; margin: auto"]BASTILLEPAW AURELIUS  ✧
the ascendants — kuiper corporal — tags

[div style="line-height: 110%; word-wrap: break-word; text-align: justify; color: black; padding-top: 10px; font-family: Georgia; text-size: 6pt"]
It wasn't so much that Bastille actively disliked newcomers. He did not really enjoy socialization that much, but he didn't hate people, honestly. At times he wanted nothing more than to be away from everyone, and he dreaded small talk, but he was shockingly personable once he felt used to people and would show up to group events when it involved a group he liked. He was just... not great with others, one might say. His poor, proper mother had tried so hard to train better manners into him, for those brief few months that a fragment of her soul clung to him. Alas, Bastille lacked significant social cues and had literally raised himself in the woods. All he had were three assholes of past lives as guidance, and a vague inclination to try to be a better person.

So, it took him a few moments to realize that she was talking to him. A lot of newcomers tended to just blanket introduce themselves, and Bast wasn't here to realize she'd been doing this individually. She was just... staring at him, and Bast stared back, and eventually realized what she was waiting on. Right. Smooth, he thought, and the wind whipped a little more violently in response to his vague flash on awkwardness. "Oh-- uh, I'm Bastille." There we go. Look, mom, he was a real boy.

She was very, very... nice. It was a little unnerving. She smiled in the face of nerves and awkwardness (he could sense the slight uncertainty in her aura, the traces of anxiety -- damn, he seemed to have that affect on people). She looked each of them in the eye and individually tried to make connections. She was... kind, or something. Bast did not know what to do in the face of her stare, her softness, her clear and utter attempt at friend making. Oh no. Frenchie's etiquette courses had never involved befriending strangers, and Bastille had the sudden impulse to censor himself. He usually swore every other word casually, lacking any heat, but somehow he felt like this doe would take it personally.

He glanced very briefly towards Suite, as if she was going to come to his rescue, before he said awkwardly, "Uh, yeah. No one would mind showing you around, really. We've got maps and shit--" oops "-- but I mean, we usually give newcomers tours, too." Why was she still smiling at him? Dear gods, Bastille was going to die. He was not meant for the pleasantries and kindness of welcoming strangers, but he had felt guilty enough for spooking Hazel on the border, and now felt morally obligated to be a better person when Imperia was staring straight into his fucking soul. Especially since Hazel was currently there to see if he was just a bad host towards everyone.

Her sudden question prompted him from his chaotic thoughts, and he blinked, before glancing down slightly. "Oh-- yes. It was my mother's," he supplied, glancing back up at the doe. He wondered idly if fate hated him; the last thing he needed was another reminder of his mother and the pout the dainty little princess would have given him in response to his complete lack of social grace. He couldn't begrudge her of it, though. It wasn't her fault that the bengal's only accessory happened to be tied to Frenchie.