[Hey there, ye! I'm a gigantic Legendia fan, and have been keeping this girl up for quite a few years now. She's a Ferines who was Walter's second-in-command since an early age and stepped up to his position after his passing during the Side Story half, and constantly struggles with not hating humans but fails miserably™.]
[ info. tldr; actress from the 1880's who's gone to painstaking, immoral lengths to get where she is and will go even further to keep moving ahead. ota for shipping and gen. ]
[ They doll her up in the prettiest dresses, style her hair and deck her in jewellery; she looks like royalty or some Parisian courtesan. Like that, the theatre manager has her photographed for perpetuity, to have evidence to pass among the patrons and the theatre-goers: it was Margrethe Clemmensen that we saw last night. In this or that role. She was overrated or she was a star, or perhaps both. Both is possible.
Stars are overrated, because they are, in reality, hardly even relevant to any normal life you could lead. They are too far away. Too removed.
Besides, stars fall.
And when the photograph is shown to her, she asks for a copy and the theatre manager doesn't think much of it, Margrethe is known for her vain, fickle nature, of course she would ask, and he gives it to her. It is a peerless photo. She looks peerless in it. So, she takes it to him, finding him in their usual spot, the restaurant behind the theatre where all the actors and actresses congragate after hours, and where she met him the first time, knowing nothing and caring even less.
Margrethe puts it on the table before him, pushing it in between them, like a wall or a bridge across the tabletop. Depending. Everything depends, are you falling or are you being raised up? She doesn't ask, do you see the soul in my eyes. What she does ask is, ]
[ This was the problem with managers and producers and directors and the hoity-toity folks who called the shots. They never really appreciated their actors aside from the fame they could make them, the money the could make them. And they seemed, at every oportunity, willing to expolit their talent for personal gain. It disgusted him, though he was a showman himself, at least he controlled his own fate.
Not that Copia held that against others - most didn't have the luxury. It was more that he wished he could extend it to more than he realistically could. He had to be selective, and that selection was not without personal bias. Perhaps someday it could be less exclusive, but for now, he felt it was something worth offering, at least.
She may care less now, fickle as she was - he was not dissimilar - but it was a game worth playing, and she was so very worth it. He smiles at the appearance of her gorgeous countenance and pretends he has no idea whatsoever where the photo came from.] I see a woman refined, constrained, who should not be. Whose beauty should be taking the world by storm if only they had the privilege of seeing her as I do. Whose talent pulls at the heartstrings of the living and possibly the dead [ he knows a few, to say the least ] and whose majesty extends beyond the stage.
[ The grossest part, if anything, is that he is not exaggerating his opinon at all.
He slowly sips his wine, pushing a bottle towards the empty glass conveniently in front of her. ] Are you accusing me of something or sincerely asking?
[ The glass is waiting, as if he, too, has been waiting for her, and she knows his habits, she has learned of his ways, although he remains a man shrouded in mystery - but who doesn't prefer a little mystery to the boredom of that which has been decided? Ugh, spare her. She fills her glass greedily, as she does most things in this world, and lets her eyes take in the sight of herself, flat and two-dimensional on the table. Her shape is curved in all the right places, her clothes accentuate this, but still she is only chemical reactions on photographic paper. There is no volume to her, not really.
Yet, he talks of beauty and majesty, refinement... Constraint, she thinks, may be the most fitting description. She lives for the stage, but the stage is a box even so, it has walls and blocking. The stage is not the world, regardless of what Shakespeare said.
He, on the other hand, opens portals and doors to unknown, secret places. There is no world to him, only open space, conquerable. How she wishes she could be like him.
What you can't be, own it, Margrethe has always thought. So she catches his eyes across the rim of her glass as she drinks, smiling slightly, just the curve of her lips. Her picture is flat, but he sees her in all her full-bodied glory.
As no one else does. ]
I never sincerely ask anything. [ She shrugs, putting the glass down, wiping at her lower lip with her thumb, careful not to smear her makeup. ] I look to be affirmed in my beliefs and if I am, I'll be devout. If I am not, I'll be devoutly petty about it. Consider it a due warning.
[ She laughs, like it's a joke. No one who has ever felt Margrethe Clemmensen's 'pettiness' would laugh along with her. ]
[ His heart races at the sight of her joining him, even though it seemed the most probable outcome that he had been willing to prepare for. What happened from there was anyone's guess, and that was something he sincerely adored about her. He never took it personally, only found more reasons to admire her.
But tonight he did not wish to see her leave in a dramatic display, though if she did, he would only prepare better for the next time. Because he was confident there was enough intrigue and allure to what he was, and enough yearning for more in herself, that there would always be a next time - so long as he didn't cross any particular boundaries. Which he would not. Another thing he did not have in common with the masters of the industry, and sought to change.
He sipped his wine in silent punctuation as she confessed what was known, that she never sincerely asked anything. No, my dear, that is my job. And he was perfectly fine with that.
Rather than assume or dare to define her beliefs for her, he preferred to inquire with the polite and eager sincerity lacking from, likely, many she was accustomed to. While this could easily work against him, the intensity of his expression conveyed no lie or deceit.
Copia knew a thing or seven about pettiness, and he would never laugh at her, though he did smile at her words. ] Tell me then, to what are your beliefs devoted?
[ The restaurant is a dark, shadow-filled place, always full of murmurs, the lowered voices of men talking to women or women talking to men, about secrets, affairs, desires and, if they are lucky, about how to sate them all. Before him, Margrethe never knew anyone who understood the art of sating. She has never felt herself simultaneously wanting everything and feeling as if everything had already been handed to her. That is his very own branch of magic, and she doesn't question it.
Because Margrethe doesn't care from where her answers come, as long as they are uttered, as long as they are given. There is a God who requires gratitude for giving her all she deserves, but she doesn't serve that God.
Copia knows this. He knows this.
Her shoulders tremble faintly as she draws in breath, raising her chin proudly and not looking away from him. Margrethe has been taught - and taught well - how to carry herself, how to bewitch and capture and never let go... So, she doesn't let go of him with her eyes, she clings and she holds and she embraces. ]
Myself. My own successes and my own satisfaction. Doesn't everyone want to throw themselves at the feet of whoever can give them those things? [ A tilt of her head. A smile. ] Or is that only me? No, I don't believe it.
[ Let the shadows watch and gossip - he is familiar - with far more interesting shadow murmurs than than those of the petty souls around them - who followed his every move and invested in everything with which he engaged himself. Sometimes it was annoying, but they always had their purpose. Copia never truly acted alone, though he did choose his engagements without regard for whom they pleased. That seemed to be what most gained the approval of those who watched him. ...Not that he had to answer to anyone.
A unique position he had - one he would delight to share in its liberation - though he was rarely entirely forthright about the extent of it to anyone. How could he be? He wanted to see how far someone could get, before he overly explained who and what he was, in various series of tests before that was necessary. Most failed so early on it was almost not worth bothering outside of his clergy. But this one - this one continued exceeding expectations spectacularly, and he could not be more pleased with that. Somehow every time he saw her perform and every answer she gave a question he asked of her managed to completely take his breath away. It was almost infuriating.
Mostly it was captivating, and though he downplayed it, responsible entirely for his stricken state of enamor. Not enough to dissuade his structured approach, but certainly enough to destroy him the very moment he lowered that necessary facade of control and mystery. It was almost even enough to let him dream of more. Almost. He knew better by now, or at least, he should. Not that this would diminish his hope, investment, or the sincerity of whatever he put out that came across as charm, and the controlled release of desire.
So many temptations around them, but none mattered, as he had honed in his focus exclusively to her arrival. The way she faintly trembled before boldly raising her chin and speaking her truth was enough to take him out, but somehow he managed to retain his collected appearance. Copia's eyes did not for one moment hesitate to cling back, however. As so much more of him ached to do.
The evenness of his tone became more difficult, but her unrelenting truth deserved the most he was capable of offering in return. She was good at what she did, but something in her soul as she uttered those words from her lips in response to his question seemed so genuine - even if it was only what perhaps she knew he wanted to hear - he did not believe that. Besides, he could not hide the slight husk in his voice or words that followed in escape. ] It is not only you, but it is only your answer that interests me. You owe me nothing, of course, but ...will you dance with me, Margrethe?
[ The directors and the managers and the men who owned everything, they would look at Margrethe and think, she desires fame, she desires money (as if her father's business didn't earn her enough to buy all she liked), she desires recognition and flattery, empty words that could change with the wind. Oh, they grossly understated her, because Margrethe wanted all of those things, yes, but more than anything she wanted power - not over the world, the world didn't matter to her, but over herself. And, of course, men couldn't fathom such a desire, because men always owned themselves, they did not have to give themselves up - to others, to societal structures, to God, country and family, to have what they wanted. Men simply did. Have it.
Oh, Margrethe longed to be like them, yet wanted nothing more than to be herself first and foremost.
However, Copia understood this. For some reason, be it magic or some higher mentality than most men, he understood. He looked at her and he saw through her, into the soft, innermost parts of her.
It almost makes her lose her breath. Laughing breathily, she raises both eyebrows in mock surprise, from him nothing truly surprises her, short of brutality and murder, she could perform those for him if needed, and extends her neck, straightening up in her chair, reaching for the glass but without drinking, simply letting the fine glass stem slip between her fingers, roll, softly. ]
Will you make the music for us, my dear? I will dance gladly to the sound of your voice.
[ She says it as an offer as much as a challenge. Giving herself to him, open arms, willing legs, but also to see him give a part of himself to her in return.
Margrethe doesn't trade herself for cheap. And she certainly doesn't give herself for free. ]
[ No worries it happens! I'm gucci with handwaving cr if you are, but that's not a hard pref so if you're feeling a first meeting scene more I'd be down for that too! ]
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Libra Sforza (MBCC Chief) | Path to Nowhere
Tessa | Tales of Legendia OC | OTA
no subject
no subject
Yata Misaki | K
Geto Suguru | Jujutsu Kaisen
princess serenity | sailor moon
Li Lianhua | Mysterious Lotus Casebook
margrethe clemmensen | original character | ota
no subject
let's do this.
Stars are overrated, because they are, in reality, hardly even relevant to any normal life you could lead. They are too far away. Too removed.
Besides, stars fall.
And when the photograph is shown to her, she asks for a copy and the theatre manager doesn't think much of it, Margrethe is known for her vain, fickle nature, of course she would ask, and he gives it to her. It is a peerless photo. She looks peerless in it. So, she takes it to him, finding him in their usual spot, the restaurant behind the theatre where all the actors and actresses congragate after hours, and where she met him the first time, knowing nothing and caring even less.
Margrethe puts it on the table before him, pushing it in between them, like a wall or a bridge across the tabletop. Depending. Everything depends, are you falling or are you being raised up? She doesn't ask, do you see the soul in my eyes. What she does ask is, ]
What do you see?
yes, good
Not that Copia held that against others - most didn't have the luxury. It was more that he wished he could extend it to more than he realistically could. He had to be selective, and that selection was not without personal bias. Perhaps someday it could be less exclusive, but for now, he felt it was something worth offering, at least.
She may care less now, fickle as she was - he was not dissimilar - but it was a game worth playing, and she was so very worth it. He smiles at the appearance of her gorgeous countenance and pretends he has no idea whatsoever where the photo came from.] I see a woman refined, constrained, who should not be. Whose beauty should be taking the world by storm if only they had the privilege of seeing her as I do. Whose talent pulls at the heartstrings of the living and possibly the dead [ he knows a few, to say the least ] and whose majesty extends beyond the stage.
[ The grossest part, if anything, is that he is not exaggerating his opinon at all.
He slowly sips his wine, pushing a bottle towards the empty glass conveniently in front of her. ] Are you accusing me of something or sincerely asking?
no subject
Yet, he talks of beauty and majesty, refinement... Constraint, she thinks, may be the most fitting description. She lives for the stage, but the stage is a box even so, it has walls and blocking. The stage is not the world, regardless of what Shakespeare said.
He, on the other hand, opens portals and doors to unknown, secret places. There is no world to him, only open space, conquerable. How she wishes she could be like him.
What you can't be, own it, Margrethe has always thought. So she catches his eyes across the rim of her glass as she drinks, smiling slightly, just the curve of her lips. Her picture is flat, but he sees her in all her full-bodied glory.
As no one else does. ]
I never sincerely ask anything. [ She shrugs, putting the glass down, wiping at her lower lip with her thumb, careful not to smear her makeup. ] I look to be affirmed in my beliefs and if I am, I'll be devout. If I am not, I'll be devoutly petty about it. Consider it a due warning.
[ She laughs, like it's a joke. No one who has ever felt Margrethe Clemmensen's 'pettiness' would laugh along with her. ]
no subject
But tonight he did not wish to see her leave in a dramatic display, though if she did, he would only prepare better for the next time. Because he was confident there was enough intrigue and allure to what he was, and enough yearning for more in herself, that there would always be a next time - so long as he didn't cross any particular boundaries. Which he would not. Another thing he did not have in common with the masters of the industry, and sought to change.
He sipped his wine in silent punctuation as she confessed what was known, that she never sincerely asked anything. No, my dear, that is my job. And he was perfectly fine with that.
Rather than assume or dare to define her beliefs for her, he preferred to inquire with the polite and eager sincerity lacking from, likely, many she was accustomed to. While this could easily work against him, the intensity of his expression conveyed no lie or deceit.
Copia knew a thing or seven about pettiness, and he would never laugh at her, though he did smile at her words. ] Tell me then, to what are your beliefs devoted?
no subject
Because Margrethe doesn't care from where her answers come, as long as they are uttered, as long as they are given. There is a God who requires gratitude for giving her all she deserves, but she doesn't serve that God.
Copia knows this. He knows this.
Her shoulders tremble faintly as she draws in breath, raising her chin proudly and not looking away from him. Margrethe has been taught - and taught well - how to carry herself, how to bewitch and capture and never let go... So, she doesn't let go of him with her eyes, she clings and she holds and she embraces. ]
Myself. My own successes and my own satisfaction. Doesn't everyone want to throw themselves at the feet of whoever can give them those things? [ A tilt of her head. A smile. ] Or is that only me? No, I don't believe it.
no subject
A unique position he had - one he would delight to share in its liberation - though he was rarely entirely forthright about the extent of it to anyone. How could he be? He wanted to see how far someone could get, before he overly explained who and what he was, in various series of tests before that was necessary. Most failed so early on it was almost not worth bothering outside of his clergy. But this one - this one continued exceeding expectations spectacularly, and he could not be more pleased with that. Somehow every time he saw her perform and every answer she gave a question he asked of her managed to completely take his breath away. It was almost infuriating.
Mostly it was captivating, and though he downplayed it, responsible entirely for his stricken state of enamor. Not enough to dissuade his structured approach, but certainly enough to destroy him the very moment he lowered that necessary facade of control and mystery. It was almost even enough to let him dream of more. Almost. He knew better by now, or at least, he should. Not that this would diminish his hope, investment, or the sincerity of whatever he put out that came across as charm, and the controlled release of desire.
So many temptations around them, but none mattered, as he had honed in his focus exclusively to her arrival. The way she faintly trembled before boldly raising her chin and speaking her truth was enough to take him out, but somehow he managed to retain his collected appearance. Copia's eyes did not for one moment hesitate to cling back, however. As so much more of him ached to do.
The evenness of his tone became more difficult, but her unrelenting truth deserved the most he was capable of offering in return. She was good at what she did, but something in her soul as she uttered those words from her lips in response to his question seemed so genuine - even if it was only what perhaps she knew he wanted to hear - he did not believe that. Besides, he could not hide the slight husk in his voice or words that followed in escape. ] It is not only you, but it is only your answer that interests me. You owe me nothing, of course, but ...will you dance with me, Margrethe?
no subject
Oh, Margrethe longed to be like them, yet wanted nothing more than to be herself first and foremost.
However, Copia understood this. For some reason, be it magic or some higher mentality than most men, he understood. He looked at her and he saw through her, into the soft, innermost parts of her.
It almost makes her lose her breath. Laughing breathily, she raises both eyebrows in mock surprise, from him nothing truly surprises her, short of brutality and murder, she could perform those for him if needed, and extends her neck, straightening up in her chair, reaching for the glass but without drinking, simply letting the fine glass stem slip between her fingers, roll, softly. ]
Will you make the music for us, my dear? I will dance gladly to the sound of your voice.
[ She says it as an offer as much as a challenge. Giving herself to him, open arms, willing legs, but also to see him give a part of himself to her in return.
Margrethe doesn't trade herself for cheap. And she certainly doesn't give herself for free. ]
Steve Rogers | MCU
no subject
no subject
no subject
Geto Suguru | Jujutsu Kaisen
Copia | Ghost | OTA
Himmel the Hero | Frieren at the End of the Journey | OTA
toji | jujutsu kaisen
Chrissy Cunningham | Stranger Things
abe no seimei | onmyoji (netflix) | ota
1, 2, 3 ]
Jason Todd/ Red Hood | Titans
no subject
Repliku | Kingdom Hearts: COM | OTA
Sister Imperator | Ghost
Patchouli Knowledge | Touhou Project | OTA
Kazuki Hihara | La Corda d'Oro Daigakusei-hen | OTA
sirius black | hp