recorded  /  several days past the tourney with  /  open​

Tension tied knots around her spine, but Meraud refused to let it overtake her. The whispers hadn’t ceased in the court since the tourney, endless discussions of the day’s events, of the violent, abhorrent thing which had taken place. She’d not witnessed it, changing out of her soiled gown as she had been, but she’d hear of it, oh, far more times than she wished to count. It didn’t bear thinking of, frankly — she’d forbade the girl who tended her morning fire from speaking of it, and she just couldn’t understand why the court was so consumed with something so awful.

Even now, seated as they were scattered about the courtyard, morning sun peeking through clouds that’d plagued Tyrholm for weeks, she could hear tentative murmurs, of fire, of the King... She had little interest in any of it, vastly preferring far lighter, far less political topics — fashion, art, trade, none of which seemed to be to be of much interest to any of the groups around her, much to her disappointment. Well. She could certainly change that. Smoothing a furrowed grimace into a polite, neutral expression, Meraud turned to the person nearest her, offering them a polite topic that had nothing to do with that damned tourney. “I grow rather tired of such stressful topics in the morning, don’t you? The new shipment of fabrics they’ve received down at the docks, however... Simply gorgeous, and the needlework is exquisite. I attend the Tyrholm seamstresses’ new creations with them with baited breath, I must confess.”

tasmindeclair​

Tasmin had felt out of place amongst the mud and grime. She used to run around in the dirt, grass stains covering the hems of her dresses, but she had pulled away from that life as she grew older. She had spent more time indoors amongst the books and various lesson plans, and she found that that life had suited her more. The only time she got dirt on her clothes was when she would visit the greenhouse, but even then, she would spend more time admiring the flowers than planting them.

Her boots splashed the mud as she made her way around the area. Small talk had slipped from her lips as she wandered past various nobles and servants. Her eyes sought out those of interest to her— the royals, to impress them as the pressure for finding a spouse increases, Maiden, to have a friendly conversation with the favored healer— but her eyes are diverted to a different focal point. Meraud had been a constant presence in her childhood, but Tasmin pulled away from her in recent months. It wasn’t anything personal— she just had new discoveries that had shifted some of her old goals. Her time at court was supposed to be a time of celebration, impressing nobles with Meraud at her side, but instead, she only had fear as her companion. 

Her cheeks flushed as the noble pressed forward. Her eyes darted around for some kind of escape, but there were no familiar figures that could spare her from confrontation. Instead, she merely had to endure the burning questions that were sure to coat Meraud’s tongue. “Meraud.” Her voice was quiet, but she forced it to remain steadfast. “How are you enjoying tourney?”

Meraud smoothed her features into a practiced smile, trying to keep the full scope of her enthusiasm at catching Tamsin unawares hidden. In public, she’d feel compelled to stay rather than vanish down a long corridor as was her habit when Meraud found her in the castle — it was the perfect time for discussion. “Would that the weather had improved, I would find myself enjoying it more, but such is the season, I suppose.” She half-shrugged, an elegant motion that sent dark hair cascading over her shoulders. She was far more suited to sun and heat than rain and chill, but such was dreary Tyrholm. Her home, yes, but as the days grew cooler she dreamed of islands like those she’d heard of from traders, where the heat blistered even when the sun sank below the horizon.

“And you? It’s certainly a chance for the brave warriors of Tyrholm to prove themselves, a rather handsome display.” This, at least, would bring out the side of Tamsin she’d once known — or at least she hoped. The days where they’d giggled together seemed far behind them both, a fact that Meraud tried not to linger on for too long. She swept her skirt to the left, neatly avoiding the splatter of a pair of soldiers who stomped past, boisterous, and intent on joining a cluster of their fellows, with no regard for the cost of the clothes of those they passed. Frowning in their direction, she turned back to her once-friend, hopeful for the exchange of an exasperated look, but with more than a little expectation of a polite-yet-chilly look.

In a word, Meraud is livid. Blue gown, warm furs — now coated in a thick covering of mud. She’s filthy, disgusting, and, worst of all, humiliated. Blinking tears out of her eyes, both in frustration and in pain at the grit that stung, and Tasmin was gone. Damn. Her hands curled into fists, stock-still at the same point at the edge of the ring where she’d been when the knight had spattered them with mud. “This dullard! That — ugh, disgusting, sweaty, dirty clot, to be so careless with his actions that he dare damage my dress! The furs will clean but the cloth... What a foul, loathsome beast, clearly far too blundering to ride a horse properly, I — ” Her voice raises, in pitch and in volume, until she’s near shrieking, though blissfully drowned out by the crowd for all but those who are close to her. Blinded by rage (and mud), she doesn’t recognize the voice of Aurelia until the other draws closer to her, and Meraud finds herself shamed, just a little, at the princess’ polite tone.

 “It was not, a fact for which that knight, if he was even that, should be particularly greatful for!” Ever mindful of her tone when speaking to Aurelia, particularly in public, Meraud tries, tries, to restrain her voice from a yell, and manages far closer to a furious hiss. “I would be rather appreciative of that, particularly as the wind seems to have teeth of ice, now that I am soaked.” Her body trembles, both from the chill that froze her now-damp body to its bones, but also from anger, suppressed and furious. 

during jousting 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖌𝖗𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖙𝖔𝖚𝖗𝖓𝖊𝖞 with @meraudazenari​ 

       𝓜ore’s the pity, she thinks, hiding her smile as she watches Meraud being sprayed with mud. She plans to be more charitable, really, with Tasmin so nearby, but she’s gone by the time Aurelia finally finds her way over to Meraud herself. She isn’t smiling, but there’s laughter which dances in her eyes as she takes in the scene, her own servants ensuring no mud even so much as dusts her hem. ❝ Hope that wasn’t your prized favorite, ❞ she says, all politeness and honey were it not for that suspicious gleam in the corner of her gaze. Without saying a word or so much as a shoulder shake, it’s obvious to such a courtier as Lady Meraud that she must be laughing at her. Is she speaking of the rider, the horse, or the dress? 

No evidence toward laughter or condescension. That would be far too crass for those trained in such niceties as the two of them.

That said, where Aurelia stands conveniently blocks the crowd behind her from witnessing any more of Meraud’s humiliation. She may be here on purpose, but she makes sure that the woman before her won’t know it. There’s something about letting Meraud see the soft parts of her that twists her stomach, not always in unpleasant ways, but always strongly. Shaking her head, she looks morosely at the expanse of ruined fabric. ❝ Truly, ‘tis a shame. Would you like to go in? I would be happy to send one of my Ladies in with you, to help you change into something more… respectable. ❞

👀would you trade your beauty for your family's security?

She ducked her head, shame-faced, but far too aware of her answer even as it pained her. “I’d — I would not.”

👀+ thoughts on your ex-fiance :)

“She left me.” It slipped out before she could restrain herself, form hurt words into some semblance of propriety, and Meraud winced at the raw tone of her own voice. “I suppose I cannot begrudge her for changing her mind, though a position as, what was it, a member of the Guard? It seems rather low, in truth...” She sniffed, derision written all over her face, but unable to look the questioner in the eye.

👀 who's top on your list of marryable bachelors/bachelorettes?

“Marriageable people, well, that’s certainly a loaded question, isn’t it. Prince Reynaud, certainly ⁠— who could say no to a prince? And he is very handsome... In a similar vein, I do admire the princess a great deal, so I suppose, perhaps, Aurelia as well.”

Send my muse “👀 + a question” and they’ll have to answer with 100% honesty.

No deleting questions, either!

❣

  ❣  /  a memory that leaves them laughing

She’s six again, and her mother’s instructions on propriety haven’t quite yet begun to sink in. Little, slipper-clad feet thump across the stone floor of the Azenari manor home, childish shrieking coming from both Meraud and her pursuers — Kenver and Ruan. At nine and eight, her brothers are far faster, but at her height she can duck around servants, proving to be rather an advantage as they pass by with arms filled with silks and pottery. Behind the trio, intent on catching up to their respective charges and avoiding stern words from Nessa Azenari, are the boys’ fencing instructor, and Meraud’s nursemaid, the latter puffing with the endeavor. The boys catch Mer first, and immediately set upon her, knowing already that her weak point when it comes to tickling is her ribs. Their respective adults catch up eventually, and her brothers are dragged to their lesson, while Meraud is delivered a rather firm lecture about decorum — she spends the entire thing wiggling with impatience. But when her nursemaid informs Nessa of Meraud’s disobedience, the little girl receives no lecture, only her mother’s bell-like laugh, and a little more tickling.

rp-meme-glaceon​:

Peer into my muse's memories

❤️- A happy memory that makes them smile

💙- A sad memory that makes them cry

💛- A memory that makes them feel angry

💚- A memory that makes them feel guilty

💜- A memory about one of their loved ones, happy or sad

💔- A memory that leaves them feeling lonely

❣- A memory that leaves them laughing

💕- A memory about their significant other

💞- A memory about their children

💓- A memory about their friends

💗- A memory about a good deed they did

💖- A memory that made them feel special

💝- A memory that made them feel loved

💘- A memory that gets their heart pounding

💟- Wildcard!!!

HEADCANON ⁠ —  religion & death

Meraud is uncomfortable with death, and as a result, while she does attend the typical religious services along with the rest of the court, she shies away from anything further. She believes in the Undying God, yes, but she fears him far more than she worships him, fears the touch of death he’s said to carry, fears drawing too much of his attention close to her. There are those who would wish for the God’s hand upon them, marking them for glory or tragedy, but she wishes dearly for neither. And as for death itself, well, she closes her eyes to it on every possible occasion, starting at even the sight of a dead animal. It seems to her to be a disgusting thing, death, and the decay she knows will follow, tarnishing the beauty of the world. As she’s grown older, she’s found herself on occasion even disgusted at the sight of meat, knowing as she does that the stain of death has touched it, and favours the vegetables she’s served as a result.

This, too, ties to her perception of Necromancers. While she’s far too polite to hide from them as she may once have done in the court as a small child, she does fear them, a little and their gifts. Meraud respects their power, certainly, and those among their number are likely to be free even of the strongest of her petty rage, if only because she would rather avoid their notice altogether if at all possible. She’ll bring out the full strength of the courtly manners she was raised to while talking to them, even overcompensating — imaged focused as she is, Meraud would hate to demonstrate even the slightest of social faux pas, and being afraid of a Necromancer would certainly qualify.

recorded  /  the day of the grand tourney with  /  @tasmindeclair​

The rain was soft as she picked her way through the mud, wrinkling her nose in disdain at the way even gentle steps result in spatter — disgusting. At least the chill in the air didn’t seem to reach her beneath the fur-trimmed over-garment, but even so, she could feel her carefully pinned curls begin to frizz. There was little Meraud could do about either her hair or the mud, unfortunately, and it would look far poorly upon her if she was absent than if she looked a disheveled mess.

She had little interest in the tourney itself, in the muck and violence that boorish men cheered for, and her focus was far more on the observers, royalty mingling alongside merchant and servant, a few familiar faces from the docks greeting her with friendly nods. Meraud curtsied at some, turning up a pert nose at others, polite words dripping from her mouth like so much honey. There was little to interest her, though, no person worth her time or attention (even as Septimus himself crossed her path) at least, until she spotted a familiar face, dark eyes narrowing as she drew nearer to Tamsin, determined that the other would not escape a conversation, this time. She drew her skirts around her in a polite curtsy, murmuring the other’s name in tones that held far less warmth than they once would have had.

meraud azenari is a member of the nobility & socialite. she uses she/her pronouns & is 23 years old with many useless and frivolous abilities. she likes ripe berries, honey & intricate textiles but dislikes uncomfortable truths & crude language. she’s the youngest of the azenari family and its only daughter.

you could call her stubborn & childish but she’s really cute, so do any minor personality flaws even matter?

bio  &  skeleton

past

the azenari family has always been tied to the sea. with a heritage of sailors & pirates, merchants & smugglers, they gained wealth quickly, and were granted nobility by a greedy past king, who saw the benefit to the inclusion of such a cunning and prosperous family in his court.

centuries on, they continue to thrive, seen as ‘new money’ by only those who are particular sticklers to tradition. elazar azenari and nessa enys married more for love than any monetary gain, and the babies soon followed. first kenver, then ruan: two boys, boisterous and enthusiastic, one the perfect heir to the family’s title and the docks, the other a little more in favour of book learning, no doubt a scholar in the making. but they wanted a girl, a little dark haired angel to spoil — and in meraud, they got one.

with two incredibly protective older brothers, and parents who adored her, is it any wonder that she grew spoiled? delights from across the seas, little jeweled toys, and she never really learned the difference between wants and needs. she loves to indulge in the finer things in life (or, rather, if it isn’t a finer thing, she sees little use for it)

she’s not totally a snob, though, and the azenari family’s ties to merchants and pirates ensures a certain egalitarian (ish) outlook on things. she knows she’s better than the common people, but she doesn’t look down on them for it, assuming, of course, they don’t get in her way. 

she refuses to admit when things get to her in a sad way, but when she’s mad, look out! she loves mirrors (she knows her angles!!) and getting her own way, and is frankly far too wrapped up in herself to notice anything going on around her unless she deigns to care about it.

tidbits

she’s an enfp! a libra! a chinese zodiac fire snake!

her family calls her ‘mer’ as a nickname, and it is unlikely that any others would, however if a character wishes to do that to annoy her... go for it!

she has a little green bird from far away called ‘eme’ (for emerald. no-one said she was creative with names) and she adores eme with her whole! life! the azenari family also has a chunky black longhair called parceval and tbh he rules the household.

she’s pan but she’s also picky as fuck with ridiculous standards so good luck!

TEMPERANCE  /  MERAUD AZENARI  —  no, I’ve never understood / all the feeling was all or nothing / and i took everything I could

@dishonoredrpg