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Messages - Veizla

Pages: [1] 2
Chat & Games / Re: Waking up next to you...
« on: January 18, 2017, 01:43:01 PM »

"See you later, sugar."

Chat & Games / Re: Waking up next to you...
« on: January 17, 2017, 10:40:15 PM »

"I have to say, you're rather nice to look at."

Chat & Games / Re: Waking up next to you...
« on: December 31, 2016, 01:56:04 PM »

"Well, aren't you just the cutest thing.  Want me to walk you home?"

The Blue Mountains / Re: Nothing's Ever Locked
« on: February 09, 2016, 01:38:05 AM »
(OOC:  That works perfectly, nothing needs changed! <3  Hope this works too.  Nosy Veiz is nosy. XD)

Veizla had been serving in the Bettle and Chisel since that morning, her shift starting when the tavern was empty.  Well, empty save for those seemingly permanent fixtures who rarely left the bar, opting to sleep perched precariously on tall stools rather than in a bed’s warm embrace.  Their slumped and blear-eyed forms had barely stirred as she swept floors and polished glasses, dipping in and out of the kitchen to see what hearty dishes would be gracing their menu.  Her own lunch was cut much shorter than usual, unexpectedly inundated as they were with an entire crew of timberers.  The grizzled workers had surfaced from some deep part of the mountain, where they had been busy installing supportive beams to a new tunnel network down in the mines.  Veizla could hardly begrudge the extra work, not when they tipped so generously, and her mood was further improved when she wrangled an entire hour for her evening break.

By the time she was relieved of her duties, the barmaid’s feet were aching, the suddenly repugnant scents of tobacco smoke and ale clinging stubbornly to her blonde tresses.  With a wrinkle in her nose, Veizla was pulling her mane of hair back into a thick, high ponytail when she spotted Rian at the end of the street – and she wasn’t alone.  The presence of the blue-eyed man shouldn’t have surprised her, given that seeing him in the company of their tenant was hardly a rarity these days.  Kvasir, that’s what he goes by.  Slowing her stride as she crossed the road, Veizla watched the pair, a curious glint lighting eyes that had moments before been dull with weariness.  Her last impression was of them smiling at one another – things were just getting interesting! – and then, all too soon, she was at the door leading to the corridor off which were the rented rooms that her Great Aunt Lin leased.  The barmaid finished securing her hair, disobedient locks already springing free to frame her tired face, and stepped off the street.

A genuine desire to see Rian, as well as characteristically insatiable curiosity, caused her to slow her pace.  As expected, the green-eyed blonde followed not far behind, greeting her with a soot-smudged wave and nod of acknowledgement.  Veizla returned both in kind, her normally wicked smirk dulled by a day spent in servitude, while the fingers of her free hand probed her dress pocket for the familiar shape of her room key.  She admired Rian for taking up a male-dominated trade, or at least making steps towards doing so.  It was evident that she and Kvasir actually did spend their evenings working but that didn’t mean that was all there was to it…

Rian’s voice reached her then, pulling the barmaid from her thoughts as she hovered outside her own room.  “Hmm?  Yeah, sorry, I was just thinking.  It’s hard to manage even that after a full shift.”  The tinkle of Veizla’s quiet laughter echoed in the corridor.  In that moment she set her mind to something – to spend at least some small part of this day in company she had chosen rather than was forced to keep.  “You’re late home, I know, but if you fancy making it a bit later… you wanna come in?”  Her expression brightened as she regarded Rian, pushing some of those unruly strands out of her face and tipping her head towards her chamber door.  “I’ve got a little somethin’ that needs sharing, and it looks like your day has been about as long and tough as mine.”  A frown quickly threatened her features – and her plans – hands slipping into empty pockets before skimming down her frame.  Nothing.  She huffed a sigh of exasperation.  “Only it seems I’ve gone and lost my damn key.”

Abandoned Roleplay Threads / Re: Better Days
« on: January 29, 2016, 11:44:22 AM »
Veizla’s tilting smile widened, relieved that the punter wasn’t going to gift her with a tongue-lashing for allowing him to go dry.  Although the maiden could weather a scolding, with an acceptable degree of poise when necessary, she preferred quieter living wherever possible.  “Aw, thanks.  Staying busy keeps me out of mischief, for the most part.”  Chuckling softly, her gaze dropped briefly, watching as large hands rubbed and wiped against his breech-clad thighs in an effort to shift the worst of the charcoal’s dusty staining.  From that gesture alone, she deduced two things.  Firstly, that this Dwarf must stand taller than most when on his feet and, secondly, that he had good manners instilled in him.  Veizla had that latter fact pegged before he voiced appreciation for her compliment on his work, even if there was something in his tone that suggested he felt he still had improving to do.  Typical artist – typical Dwarf – always striving for better.  The barmaid admired that trait.  “Hey, no bother, I say things as I see ‘em.”

It was quickly revealed that her punter was an apprentice inker with an obvious talent for design.  “Amazing…”  Veizla murmured, cocking her head to better see the pages that he flipped slowly through.  Each design spoke volumes about the person it was sketched for and would be all the more beautiful when tattooed into a living canvas of skin.  Her appraising attention quickly shifted to admire his own body art, pleased that he had noticed hers.  “Oh, he’s good.  Those are some neat lines.”  That was worth remembering.  Might be that she would pay this man’s mentor a visit in future, her itch for another tattoo very real.  “I have this one too…”  Carefully setting the jugs down on the table, Veizla turned about and swept the thick curtain of her blonde hair out of the way.  Her dress was low enough at the back to reveal part of the rope tattooed along the length of her upper spine.  Blue eyes peeked at the man from over her shoulder.  “I’m guessing you can’t see the whole thing.  It’s a noose.  Seems awful morbid, I know, but my father’s a hangman.”

Clearing her throat quietly, Veizla allowed her wavy locks to tumble back into place and turned back around, filling her hands with the familiar weight of the jugs once more.  The delight she felt at the offer was made obvious by the flash of her eyes.  “Aye?  ‘Cause if you mean that, I do have an idea for my next…”  Reading the Dwarf as genuine – given he had already flicked to a new, blank page in his sketchbook – the blonde made a snap decision.  Looking towards the bar, she called out to catch the attention of a colleague.  “Here!  I’m taking my quarter hour now, yeah?  Come grab these jugs!”  The other barmaid seemed agreeable enough, nodding before making her way over, weaving between the tables.  As the other girl approached, Veizla refilled her companion’s tankard with ale.  “Espen?  Nice name.  I’m Veizla.  Mind if I join you for a bit?”  She nodded back in greeting, bending her knees in a fleeting and very relaxed half-curtsey, which was the best she could do with her hands full.  With the jugs handed over, the newly off-duty barmaid – for the next fifteen minutes, anyway – slipped into the seat opposite, adjusting her skirts about her.  “I hope this doesn’t seem too much like hard work to you…  I’m wanting a big piece.  Real big.”  The smirk was back, lighting up her face as she tucked a stray lock of hair behind an ear.  “I’m looking to get some vines – pretty ones, mind you – winding up the side of my body.  From foot to head and shoulder to wrist.”

The Blue Mountains / Further Ribbon-Ties Of Information
« on: July 30, 2015, 11:14:00 PM »
The girl took a couple of moments to consider the offer, Veizla entirely unfazed by the lull and seizing on the pause to brush back a stray lock of kinked blonde hair from her face as she waited.  Perhaps the maiden had other places to be – though it was soon revealed that this was not the case.  “Don’t mention it.”  Veizla responded cheerfully to the unanticipated thank you, taking that to be assent, delighted that she would now have company on her visit to the marketplace.

It was then that the blue-eyed maiden gestured to her basket and then the building, Veizla’s own pale gaze following.  Confusion briefly clouded her face, until realisation struck.  “Oh!  You want to leave the basket here?”  She waited for confirmation, it coming in the same moment that the muffin was offered.  Surprised and pleased in equal measure, the barmaid reached out to take the proffered cake.  “Aw, you’re so sweet – thank you!”  Dipping her head in thanks, she pondered briefly whether she ought to save the treat for later – but it was still warm from the oven and she could not resist breaking off a piece and popping it into her mouth.  It was delicious and laden with plump blueberries.  

Sighing happily as she chewed, Veizla gestured vaguely to the building before swallowing.  “I have my own room, we can leave it there.”  There was a degree of pride in those words, though Líknví wouldn’t hear it.  Veizla started to turn back the way she had come, briefly forgetting that the maiden was deaf.  “I live alone, so –”  She caught herself, of course the girl wouldn’t know what she was saying if she couldn’t see her mouth!  An apologetic smile and Veizla tried again, turning her head this time.  “Sorry.  I was just saying I live alone, so there isn’t anyone to eat these while we’re away.  They’re gorgeous muffins, you make ‘em yourself?”

Quiet steps took them to the door that led to Veizla’s quarters.  She set her empty basket on the ground, freeing her hands, and pulled out her key from where it hung around her neck on a length of silver-grey ribbon.  It turned in the lock with a metallic click, then the barmaid pushed the door open with a slender-fingered hand.  “Go ahead.  Set ‘em in.”  Veizla encouraged, nodding to the maiden, returning to nibbling delicately the blueberry muffin as she waited.  When the visitor chose a spot to set her basket of baked goods, it occurred to the barmaid they ought to exchange names.  “I’m Veizla, by the way.”  Unsure of whether saying her name would be enough for the girl to understand it, she chose to spell it out, a faint smile shaping her mouth.  “V-E-I-Z-L-A.  Veizla.  Who might you be?”

Once Upon a Time AU / Home Sweet Home
« on: July 30, 2015, 11:04:00 PM »
It didn’t take long for the door to open and, unsurprisingly, it was Ginger who stood behind it.  Victoria smiled at the warm greeting, stepping across the threshold and into the house, wiping her feet quickly on the welcome mat as she went.  “Yeah, that’s me, nice to meet you!”  She moved into the hall as the front door was closed, waiting to be directed.  It was a positive start so far, though it was early days yet – the house looked well cared for and Ginger struck Victoria as both friendly and practical.  

Pale blue eyes took in the piles of boxes even as Ginger apologised for their presence.  Someone is moving out, Victoria thought to herself, Or someone isn’t coming back.  She felt a distant sinking feeling of mounting suspicion.  What did it matter if this had been the missing girl’s home?  There was something vaguely morbid about it, sure, but it didn’t matter.  Unless of course Ginger was the murderer – which Victoria already felt to be a preposterous notion altogether.  

“Don’t worry about it.  I live with two guys at the moment and I’m driven half mad picking up after them all the time.”  Victoria smirked and rolled her eyes.  Oh to live with someone tidy, to live with someone who was neither unnecessarily loud or painfully withdrawn!  “At least this stuff is all tidied up into boxes.”  She added, glancing about.  With the containers gone, the place would be sitting pretty.  

While she didn’t want to ask directly, and certainly wouldn’t press – she wouldn’t allow any nosiness or curiosity on her part to cost her a move to a nice house in a nice part of town – Victoria did want to make conversation.  If Ginger happened to open up during it, that would only be a bonus.  “It’s just you living here, then?”

Other Archived Threads / Cass’ Wanted Ads
« on: July 22, 2015, 04:12:00 PM »

Dwarf.  The Blue Mountains.  Approximately 135 years old (equivalent of 45).
Face Claim: Anne Heche (negotiable)
Elka is the wife of Vallok and mother to Varrel and Veizla.  She enjoys a degree of independence from her husband, given that Vallok owns and operates his butcher shop but works as an executioner – a hangman – on the side.  His part-time work sees him leave the Blue Mountains for weeks or even months at a time as he visits other Dwarven strongholds to dispense with unwanted criminals.  Besides running the household, and raising their children, Elka operates a small pie stand attached to the butcher shop.  It was she who encouraged Veizla into architecture, arranging for the lass to go work at the Bettle & Chisel and learn from Great Aunt Lin.

Dwarf.  The Blue Mountains – Occasional Traveller.  Approximately 150 years old (equivalent of 50).
Face Claim: Thomas Kretschmann (negotiable)
Vallok is the husband of Elka, and father to both Varrel and Veizla.  He is a butcher with his own shop (the trade has existed on his side of the family for several generations) and works the rather unusual and well-paid part-time job of executioner. This takes him from home on occasion as he travels ‘the circuit’, visiting other Dwarf settlements to despatch criminals who have been sentenced to death. Vallok has a reputation as a particularly efficient and clean executioner, having only ever botched one hanging – his very first one – and he has an excellent head for numbers.  His son, Varrel, is learning both trades from him.

Dwarf.  The Blue Mountains – Occasional Traveller.  75 years old (equivalent of 25).
Face Claim: Garrett Hedlund (negotiable)
Varrel is the firstborn son of Vallok and Elka and is the older brother of Veizla by some ten years.  He enjoyed the freedom of being male growing up, exploring and playing with friends whenever he so pleased.  There was never really any question of what he would do with himself when he grew up – he always stood to inherit his father’s butcher shop, given that it has been in the family for generations, and to learn the trade of hanging from his part-time executioner father.  By T.A. 2941, he is a fully-fledged butcher and his father’s hangman apprentice.

Chat & Games / Waking up next to you...
« on: July 11, 2015, 01:08:00 PM »

"You're bold!  Don't worry, I shan't stop you."

Once Upon a Time AU / Home Sweet Home
« on: June 26, 2015, 12:51:00 AM »
Living out in the real world was tough, but Victoria wasn’t one to complain.  Despite landing on her feet in many respects, having swiftly found work as a bartender and later securing the tattooist apprenticeship, she had been forced to move around.  Her first apartment had been little more than a dingy basement bedsit, the low rent agreeable with her meagre budget.  It had been claustrophobic, lonely, and the rickety old boiler had surely been plotting to kill her.  Not that Victoria’s thoroughly disinterested landlord had been even remotely concerned about the possibility of his young, desperate tenant being snuffed out by carbon monoxide.  The damp seeping through the walls the final straw – as if she would compromise her lung capacity for the sake of saving a few measly pounds a week!

Victoria’s second home and current residence had been a step up the rental ladder but it remained far from ideal.  Her housemates included a rowdy personal trainer who insisted on having his buddies over at the weekends, to drink beer and set things on fire in a pit in the back garden, his broad-shouldered friends guffawing and chattering like apes, while the second was a quiet, book-reading sort, with thick-framed glasses, a job in IT and a habit of locking himself away in his room.  It was like a bloody soap opera – and a low-budgeted and badly written one at that.  A jock, a nerd and a feisty girl rent a house…  Only instead of humorous antics and lessons learned there were unwashed dishes and more dirty socks scattered about the place than Victoria could count.

Third time lucky, they said.

The advertisement, printed in the local paper, was for a house share with a young woman in a respectable enough part of town.  The address had snagged Victoria’s eye, stirring recent, shapeless memories.  It was somehow familiar but it wasn’t until she walked along the street – having called ahead to arrange a meeting with the advertiser, Ginger, who had sounded pleasant enough on the phone – that the pieces finally slid into place.  This was where that missing girl was from!  Ah, but what was her name again?

Victoria was still mulling it over when she pushed her tousled blonde locks back from her face, steely eyes searching for the right number.  Espying the house, noting that it looked nice and well enough kept, she pulled the headphones from her ears and made her way to the front door.  Cassandra Hestur.  The name drifted through Victoria’s mind as she shaped a hand into a fist and rapped four times.  That blonde and probably now dead girl smiled in the black and white photographs on the missing posters plastered all over town – they even had one pinned to the noticeboard in the bar she worked in – but Cassandra being from this street did not mean this had been her house.

Worrying her bottom lip with her teeth, Victoria took a step back from the door, and waited.

The Blue Mountains / Further Ribbon-Ties Of Information
« on: June 12, 2015, 11:34:00 AM »
At first, the visitor appeared to ignore her altogether, gaze focused only on the closed door.  Rude, Veizla thought impulsively, until she noticed the girl’s demeanour lacked the needlessly stiff and focused edge of one being willfully ignorant.  Wait...  Just then, the blue-eyed maiden turned her way, readjusting her grip on the basket and looking both surprised and uncertain.  Veizla immediately retracted her unvoiced mentally-made assumption of rudeness.  The girl was shy, perhaps made timid without the company of the blue-eyed man – her brother, her cousin?

A small and silently made gesture quickly brought in a piece of new information.  The visitor was deaf.  “Oh.”  Veizla breathed in understanding, feeling a distant stab of guilt.  The motion towards the building – do you live here perhaps? – had the barmaid flicking her cool gaze up at the familiar facade and nodding in confirmation.  Veizla was glad of these obvious signs, her understanding of iglishmêk restricted to a handful of phrases (not all of them suitable for polite company) gleaned from the tavern’s blacksmithing and mining clientele.  Unless the maiden planned to ask for a round of ale and mead, they were going to have difficulty.

Fortunately the deaf creature had another plan, pulling from her pocket a loose page and pencil, scribing a quick message.  Taking the piece of paper with a quiet thanks, Veizla bowed her head, steel blue eyes making short work of the words written there.  Lip-reading was another blessing; even the maiden had tried to retract those letters.  Pushing back the curtain of wavy locks that threatened to spill over her face, Veizla straightened and met the visitor’s eye, noticing then that there couldn’t be that many years between them.

“Yeah, I live here.  I work in the bar.  My great aunt owns this place.  Can’t say I know where Rian is, though.”  Veizla shrugged, speaking slower than usual, perhaps more slowly than was necessary, and deliberately keeping her sentences short.  It would take time, but eventually she would have a better handle their newest tenant’s routine – the way she and Lin had on all their boarders.  “At work, maybe?  Or shopping at the market?  I was about to head that way.”  A thought occurred to her then, showing in the smirk on her face.  “You could join me if you like?  At the market.  I wasn’t planning to be there long.”

The Blue Mountains / Prune the Grapevine
« on: June 07, 2015, 11:24:00 PM »
(OOC:  Hope this is all okay, if anything needs changed – particularly in relation to what Veizla knows – please don’t hesitate to tell me! ~)

At the end of her half-shift Veizla had chosen to linger in the tavern, taking a seat in a relatively private nook and bowing her head over her notebook to practice her freehand lines.  Returning to her room to expand on her architectural designs, or to pore over the heavy leather-bound books that she had inherited from her great aunt, was particularly tempting given the awkward presence of one of her old flames.  He lingered near the bar, nursing a tankard and occasionally shooting wounded glances her way.  Veizla ignored him, for the most part, and hoped he wouldn’t see the empty seat opposite her as an open invitation.  Fortunately, it was soon taken, the door of opportunity slamming shut in the young man’s face.

“Hello, you.”  Veizla’s expression brightened as she closed her notebook, returning Rian’s small wave with one of her own.  Grateful for the company – and not failing to notice how her spurned sweetheart had turned his back on them to order another drink, undoubtedly biding his time until she was alone again – Veizla quickly signalled one of the presently working barmaids.  Intent on detaining Rian for as long as she could, and thus allowing no room for refusal or protest, she unashamedly ordered a round of drinks for them both.  “Be a dear and bring us two pints of the honeyed mead, would you?”  

“Get off yer backside and fetch ‘em yourself.  You know where t’ find the tap.”  The barmaid’s brown hair was coming loose from its haphazard braids, framing her tired face as she narrowed her amber eyes teasingly.  Tired because she was spending her nights warming the bed of a machinist, Veizla had heard.  A married machinist.

“Ah, but I’m off-duty, sweetling.”  Veizla purred in response, her nose crinkling playfully, enjoying the banter.  “Don’t you live to serve?”

The barmaid huffed dramatically, gaze already darting across the room to a rowdy table of thirsty lumberjacks with tankards that needed topped up before they began bellowing.  “I have to do everything around here!”  Her smile belied her grumbling demeanour and, with a roll of her eyes, she retreated to fetch the requested drinks.

Then Veizla’s focus was shifted back to Rian, the corner of her mouth lifting into a smirk as her steel blue eyes skirted over the blonde lass.  “Safe travels?”  Rian came and went, on occasion.  That was the nature of running messages.  It was Lin who had mentioned earlier that day that their young tenant was currently away, no doubt having found employment in carrying words from one place to another.  Nothing seemed to get past Veizla’s watchful great aunt, who noticed almost every absence – and presence.  

The regular presence of a particular blue-eyed and shabbily dressed man was the one that interested Veizla most of all.  Kvasir, his name is Kvasir, she reminded herself, his identity having been plucked first from the silent lips of Líknví – his sister.  Working in a tavern, serving brews that loosened lips and lowered guards, it had been easy enough to learn that he was mute, that he was as much of an outsider as Rian was herself, and that the rumours that followed in his wake were generally unflattering and mostly pertained to his murky past.  Quite what he was to their boarder wasn’t entirely clear, but their relationship now seemingly involved linked hands and brief kisses.  Veizla’s smirk grew more pronounced as she leaned forward, casually propping her head up in her hand.  They were all stuck in a great web and half the fun was discovering which threads connected who to who, as well as why and how.

The Blue Mountains / Further Ribbon-Ties Of Information
« on: June 06, 2015, 02:45:00 AM »
(OOC:  Works perfectly, dear - let’s go with knows of Lí! ~)

Days off were a rare treat, and Veizla often spent these precious mornings lolling about in her bed, nibbling strawberries, drinking lukewarm tea and poring over some of her great aunt’s old architecture tomes.  While the accommodation was fairly basic, her bed was a magnificent piece of furniture, paid for out of her own pocket.  It was easily large enough for a married couple – or not married, as lovers would just as likely find it to their satisfaction – and it was almost obscene that she slept in it alone.  Its heavyset frame was decorated with geometric patterns, carved ornately into the headboard, and its mattress was thick and plush.  An investment, Veizla was quite sure.  Life was too short and too much time was spent in bed for it to be anything other than bliss.

Eventually she was able to pull herself away from the comfort of crisp sheets and soft furs, tugging on a pale dress of a simple cut, quietly grateful that today she would have no need to squash herself into a corset, content to instead tie the sash around her middle and into a bow at the back.  Moving at a leisurely pace, Veizla took a seat in front of an age-speckled looking glass, pausing to push her hair over and reveal the undercut, currently clean shaven with the tattooed vines clearly visible, and to weave some braids casually through her tousled blonde locks.  With little to do – her quarters were sitting pretty, Lin was otherwise occupied until the evening, and she had already enjoyed the company of her books – Veizla took the decision to head to the market.  She had a desire for peaches that demanded satisfying, as well as a need for charcoal and some new quills.

Hooking an empty basket over her arm, the off-duty barmaid stepped out.  Her route took her past the alcove that led to some of their boarders’ rooms and it was there, out of the corner of her eye, Veizla espied a figure lingering outside Rian’s door.  She slowed her pace, coming to a halt, squinting in an effort to identify the maiden.  The girl’s dress immediately placed her as one of the lower orders, though she was clean and well turned-out.  Taking a step closer, Veizla recognised her to be the blue-eyed girl that often walked alongside the quiet blue-eyed man – the same one who came sniffing around Rian’s door with some frequency.  The man and the girl were related, Veizla was almost certain, given that they sported both locks and irises of similar shades.

Evidently their tenant was not currently at home.  “You looking for Rian?”  Veizla called, frowning a little as her keen eyes dropped to the girl’s basket.  It was burdened with an array of muffins – she could tell they were fresh, their sweet scent greeted her nose even from several paces away – and was decorated prettily with ribbons.  A lot of love had gone into that gesture.  So just what was Rian to her?

OUaT Character Profiles / Victoria Cunningham
« on: May 14, 2015, 12:31:00 AM »

Name:  Victoria Cunningham

Age:  21

Occupation:  Part-time bartender and part-time receptionist/apprentice at Skin Deep tattoo parlour


Victoria hails from a hard-working middle class background, her parents' moderate wealth allowing her to have a comfortable and relatively privileged upbringing.  From an early age both she and her brother were under pressure to excel, to develop as many skills as possible, and throughout their youth the siblings were signed up for an aggressive campaign of seemingly compulsory extracurricular activities.  This for Victoria included singing, dancing, volleyball, learning the French language, cookery (pies became her specialty) and becoming a member of the Women's Institute at the age of eighteen.

After completing secondary education (as a straight-A student) Victoria was convinced by her parents to attend Finishing School, where she earned certificates in social, youth and business etiquette.  As pleasant as it is to have and understand the importance of good manners, Victoria doubts the qualifications are worth the paper they are printed on.  Perhaps as a result of this 'polishing', and having spent the majority of her teenage years making her parents happy, Victoria rebelled and took to careless spending, cavorting around town and generally celebrating her youth - even cutting her hair into an undercut.  Needless to say, this displeased her mother and father, and they made the decision to withdraw their financial support and ask Victoria to leave their plush home, to test their daughter's ability to look after herself and in a vaguely manipulative attempt to improve her behaviour.  

In many ways, this backfired.  Victoria was forced to immediately find a job, first working as a barista and then bartending.  Horrified at the possibility that this would be the sum of her career, she seized on her interest for art and began a tattoo apprenticeship (eventually she plans to specialise in Polynesian and Celtic designs).  She is now a master of burning the candle at both ends.  She studies hard and she works hard, spending much of her time wired on coffee and energy drinks, and yet she scarcely manages to pay her bills at the end of every month.  A very large part of Victoria feels she missed the boat, and that she ought to have enrolled at Middleton University.  To study architecture, perhaps...

First and foremost, Victoria is a hard worker, and in many ways is no different to as she was in Middle Earth.  Her friends are kept few and close, she harbours a love of rumour and gossip, she is observant with a keen eye for detail and she values her independence fiercely.  In terms of her appearance, she adopts a wide range of styles, and is forever experimenting with make-up, fashion and hairstyles - though at present the undercut is her favourite.

Victoria also has a number of tattoos - I may add these in due course.

Abandoned Roleplay Threads / Better Days
« on: May 13, 2015, 11:06:00 PM »
(OOC:  A perfect start, thanks dear! ~)

After four years of working at the Bettle and Chisel, Veizla knew the organised space behind the bar every bit as well as her own chambers, and had learned to serve with a fierce efficiency that appeared almost effortless.  Even when the tavern was at its busiest she found the time to smile and exchange the odd titbits of gossip with punters.  Many of them were locals who were fastidious about regular drinking, a continually morphing cast of characters who kept a shine on the counter with the sleeves of their tunics.

Having served an older Dwarf a large bowl of steaming stew with a side of thick, crusty bread and freshly churned salted butter – not missing how his gaze lingered briefly on her cleavage, or the copper slid across the rough wooden tabletop in gratuity – Veizla murmured her thanks as she pocketed the coin, eyes already scanning the tavern for other customers needing attention.

That was when she spotted him, a figure tucked into a quiet corner, away from the rowdier drinkers.  His focus was on an open book, his tankard pushed away and shunned – a sure sign that it was empty.  While she was grateful he had not attempted to grab her attention by raising his hand and rudely snapping his fingers, or whistling loud and shrill (she was no dog and loathed being summoned like such) it was bad service to allow a punter to reach the bottom of his tankard.  Veizla struck out for the bar, lifting from behind it two large jugs, immediately weaving a path through the merrymakers towards the lone Dwarf.

This was not someone she recognised.  He was new, to her at least.  That piqued her interest.  “Sorry, didn’t mean to let you go dry.”  Veizla apologised as she approached, blowing loose strands of hair back from her face.  “You on the ale or the mead?”  Inevitably her gaze was drawn from his face – his eyes were a striking shade of blue, she noticed, the sort that caused older women to coo and weak-minded maidens to sigh dreamily – and instead captured by the splayed pages of the book.  A book that had been in his possession for some time, judging by its weathered leather cover, flexible spine and the fact that it was almost out of blank pages.  “Oh.”  With this soft sound of pleasant surprise, Veizla drifted closer, standing alongside him and tilting her head.  There was an arrowhead depicted, amidst a sea of other sketches that she recognised as tattoo designs.  Perhaps he – or perhaps his customer – was a hunter?

“Looks good.”  The compliment sounded casual but it was meant sincerely.  Veizla’s mouth lifted into a smirk, cursed as she was with an inability to smile straight and even.  “You’re a tattooist, then?”

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