((Taken from the end of Act 2. There should be no spoilers in the TL and I will be trying to avoid any active spoilers for people, but warning one prompt that would almost certainly lead to them. Happy to change style to action tags if preferred!))
The Party
It takes time for her to actually heed the urging to eat. Everything is almost an overwhelming blur for Maelle, who did not expect to open her eyes to anything like this. There's so many people, she never sees such bustle unless it is time to gather for another Gommage. How strange, to celebrate without painted death hanging over everyone's heads. For a time, she lingers to the side, one hand grasping the opposite elbow, uncertain what to think. Your loved ones are likely dead, your problems have likely played out - oh, none of that is news. Adoption, again - that one she doesn't want to think about right now.
But it's alluring, isn't it? Pasta, breads, an assortment of delicious-looking offerings that she would never see on the expedition. Maelle thought she'd never see such foods again. When she drifts along to peruse the options, her fingers brush the edge of a plate - Pâtes à la Ratatouille, she thinks. Real. Not a dream. In the end, it's a baguette in her hands, and she offers a ghost of a smile to the person next to her.
"Well," she says, a hint of dark humor in her voice. "I don't think anyone is starving around here."
Feeling on Hedge Shots: Maelle frowns at the table, murmuring a doubtful, "Liquid courage?"
At this point it's not a suspicion about consuming offerings, but rather the fact that the teen is quite certain any of those colors is some sort of alcohol or another. Bitter stuff, Maelle assumes, something she has no interest in consuming. Yes, there is sound to be wary of coming from the hedge, but offer her a drink, and she'll still pull a short grimace and come back with:
"Isn't there any juice?"
Two rights: (Spoilers likely to come up) Even after the beach, Maelle has never let things stop her from exploring. If she has friends at her back, so much the better, but she knows she can go out and face danger on her own. We continue, she knows. And apparently, she is.
Until she takes two rights in a row.
Maelle sits in the middle of the path, knees drawn up to her chest as she directs a peaceful smile at empty air, nodding along to a musical beat that only the expeditioner can hear. Whatever she sees, oh, this is something she could stay in. Lose herself in.
She doesn't turn her head to acknowledge when someone approaches, for fear that the scene will dissolve into so many petals on the wind. Maelle only tells them, "Shh, don't interrupt. It's only their first chance to play together."
Can't Unseelie It: La Llorona Finding the weeping woman fills Maelle with dread, and her empty hand is raised as though she might transition into a dueling stance at any moment. Yet she never does. She is slowly taking step after step toward the figure, indulging curiosity and the strangely familiar grief. The weeping woman is grieving, just like the Paintress always looked sad and lonely at the base of the distant Monolith.
Who doesn't know grief? Who can't sympathize with it? What moves this figure to cry, Maelle wonders. Is there a blazing rage laced through that grief, as there is in Maelle's own?
She is nearly within the weeping woman's reach. Another step, and the woman will whirl into motion, eliciting a surprised shout from Maelle as she tries to flinch back and away from the grasping hand. There isn't long to intervene.
Maelle | Clair Obscur: Expedition 33
The Party
It takes time for her to actually heed the urging to eat. Everything is almost an overwhelming blur for Maelle, who did not expect to open her eyes to anything like this. There's so many people, she never sees such bustle unless it is time to gather for another Gommage. How strange, to celebrate without painted death hanging over everyone's heads. For a time, she lingers to the side, one hand grasping the opposite elbow, uncertain what to think. Your loved ones are likely dead, your problems have likely played out - oh, none of that is news. Adoption, again - that one she doesn't want to think about right now.
But it's alluring, isn't it? Pasta, breads, an assortment of delicious-looking offerings that she would never see on the expedition. Maelle thought she'd never see such foods again. When she drifts along to peruse the options, her fingers brush the edge of a plate - Pâtes à la Ratatouille, she thinks. Real. Not a dream. In the end, it's a baguette in her hands, and she offers a ghost of a smile to the person next to her.
"Well," she says, a hint of dark humor in her voice. "I don't think anyone is starving around here."
Feeling on Hedge
Shots:
Maelle frowns at the table, murmuring a doubtful, "Liquid courage?"
At this point it's not a suspicion about consuming offerings, but rather the fact that the teen is quite certain any of those colors is some sort of alcohol or another. Bitter stuff, Maelle assumes, something she has no interest in consuming. Yes, there is sound to be wary of coming from the hedge, but offer her a drink, and she'll still pull a short grimace and come back with:
"Isn't there any juice?"
Two rights: (Spoilers likely to come up)
Even after the beach, Maelle has never let things stop her from exploring. If she has friends at her back, so much the better, but she knows she can go out and face danger on her own. We continue, she knows. And apparently, she is.
Until she takes two rights in a row.
Maelle sits in the middle of the path, knees drawn up to her chest as she directs a peaceful smile at empty air, nodding along to a musical beat that only the expeditioner can hear. Whatever she sees, oh, this is something she could stay in. Lose herself in.
She doesn't turn her head to acknowledge when someone approaches, for fear that the scene will dissolve into so many petals on the wind. Maelle only tells them, "Shh, don't interrupt. It's only their first chance to play together."
Can't Unseelie It: La Llorona
Finding the weeping woman fills Maelle with dread, and her empty hand is raised as though she might transition into a dueling stance at any moment. Yet she never does. She is slowly taking step after step toward the figure, indulging curiosity and the strangely familiar grief. The weeping woman is grieving, just like the Paintress always looked sad and lonely at the base of the distant Monolith.
Who doesn't know grief? Who can't sympathize with it? What moves this figure to cry, Maelle wonders. Is there a blazing rage laced through that grief, as there is in Maelle's own?
She is nearly within the weeping woman's reach. Another step, and the woman will whirl into motion, eliciting a surprised shout from Maelle as she tries to flinch back and away from the grasping hand. There isn't long to intervene.