02-04-2016, 02:26 AM
Ladies and gentlemen! The mo-ment you've allll been waiting for. The Hermetic of House Flambeau. One of them, anyway. Denver has three right now. (Bright Day, Red Sun, Black Night? Baba Yaga's three horsemen?)
The Portrait:
Pen's hair is a deep and bloody red with that rich shadow-bright quality burnished things have and worn tonight in a loose tangle of curls and wavelets Maenad-wild the thick bangs swept (an Elegant Swoop of Rakishness) to the side. Between car and front door, she is wearing a coat. The coat's got sweep, too. It's got swoop. It's royal blue. Under the coat is some long raw silk silver jacket, the colour of a sword-light on gray dawning, fog gone to smoke from heath-fire day, fog in with sea-witchery dragging in its wake. The royal blue coat'll come off in the warmth but not the sword silver jacket, which is part of the dashing ensemble, and underneath which is a neckline that leaves a lot of breastbone naked and plunges right on down past where the jacket is fastened. A lot of naked breastbone is a perfect frame for a dramatic necklace. Metal rings on every finger.
Penelope Mars looks like a Pre-Raphaelite painting, right. Modernized. Updated. Archaicism, the Golden Age - given new shift.
The Atmosphere:
Daring (not to be - but often is - confused with Recklessness. Daring is different. Bold, not careless.) is what Andrés Sepúlveda will remember from Years-Ago. Ardent (Passionate, Burning [Archaicism, again], A-Smouldering, Wholehearted [which connotes Heart]) and Resplendent have joined it. The notes of Pen's resonance balance one against the other.
The Action:
"Look, Nickelungenlied. The Tower." The 't' is capitalized. The nickname: worthy of a championship nicknamer. The tone of voice: alert, reflective. The comment: made when Nicholas is still parking the sedan, and Penelope is peering out the window at Supúlveda's home. She flashes Nick a glance and a half-smile when the car is fully parked, but remains with her elbow on the window-sill near the lock for a moment before dispelling languor to get on out.
It hadn't taken her very long to get ready, and she'd spent much of Nick's agonizing over to Tie or Not to Tie reading a book and, whenever quiet fretting seemed to be reaching a boiling point, helpfully saying such things as He's with the Society of Ether, they're notorious for their disheveled mode of dress - I mean, Mad Science! Exclamation mark! One cannot care about ties when one is being an Exclamation Mark!! You should wear a lab coat, I can wear my robes and You look hot like that (with the tie) and You look hot like that (without the tie) and Why don't you try a cravat? …I AM being serious!
Knock, knock.
If the invitation to enter comes in the form a hollered 'Its open!': Pen opens the door for Nicholas and follows him in after casting a glance over the street. Fishing-line kind of glance, a hook attached to it. What's hiding in the deeps, hm?
If the invitation to enter comes in the form of a certain Society of Ether man opening the door his ownself: well, she lets Nick speak first - shaping her own response to the Etherite's presence while Nick does so.
If the invitation to enter comes in the form of an apprentice: a smile like a spark goes flit-flying up through the eyes - reserved without being cold, a(n rather earnest) thoughtful cast to her eyes. "Hey. Where should we put the Scotch?"
All of these reactions are going to occur. The moment taken to shape a response to Sepúlveda's presence, let Nick sweep in to cover that - not hide it, just cover it. The smile like a spark, the where-should-we-put-the-Scotch, the Hello. But they're cards for now, shuffled at random.
The Portrait:
Pen's hair is a deep and bloody red with that rich shadow-bright quality burnished things have and worn tonight in a loose tangle of curls and wavelets Maenad-wild the thick bangs swept (an Elegant Swoop of Rakishness) to the side. Between car and front door, she is wearing a coat. The coat's got sweep, too. It's got swoop. It's royal blue. Under the coat is some long raw silk silver jacket, the colour of a sword-light on gray dawning, fog gone to smoke from heath-fire day, fog in with sea-witchery dragging in its wake. The royal blue coat'll come off in the warmth but not the sword silver jacket, which is part of the dashing ensemble, and underneath which is a neckline that leaves a lot of breastbone naked and plunges right on down past where the jacket is fastened. A lot of naked breastbone is a perfect frame for a dramatic necklace. Metal rings on every finger.
Penelope Mars looks like a Pre-Raphaelite painting, right. Modernized. Updated. Archaicism, the Golden Age - given new shift.
The Atmosphere:
Daring (not to be - but often is - confused with Recklessness. Daring is different. Bold, not careless.) is what Andrés Sepúlveda will remember from Years-Ago. Ardent (Passionate, Burning [Archaicism, again], A-Smouldering, Wholehearted [which connotes Heart]) and Resplendent have joined it. The notes of Pen's resonance balance one against the other.
The Action:
"Look, Nickelungenlied. The Tower." The 't' is capitalized. The nickname: worthy of a championship nicknamer. The tone of voice: alert, reflective. The comment: made when Nicholas is still parking the sedan, and Penelope is peering out the window at Supúlveda's home. She flashes Nick a glance and a half-smile when the car is fully parked, but remains with her elbow on the window-sill near the lock for a moment before dispelling languor to get on out.
It hadn't taken her very long to get ready, and she'd spent much of Nick's agonizing over to Tie or Not to Tie reading a book and, whenever quiet fretting seemed to be reaching a boiling point, helpfully saying such things as He's with the Society of Ether, they're notorious for their disheveled mode of dress - I mean, Mad Science! Exclamation mark! One cannot care about ties when one is being an Exclamation Mark!! You should wear a lab coat, I can wear my robes and You look hot like that (with the tie) and You look hot like that (without the tie) and Why don't you try a cravat? …I AM being serious!
Knock, knock.
If the invitation to enter comes in the form a hollered 'Its open!': Pen opens the door for Nicholas and follows him in after casting a glance over the street. Fishing-line kind of glance, a hook attached to it. What's hiding in the deeps, hm?
If the invitation to enter comes in the form of a certain Society of Ether man opening the door his ownself: well, she lets Nick speak first - shaping her own response to the Etherite's presence while Nick does so.
If the invitation to enter comes in the form of an apprentice: a smile like a spark goes flit-flying up through the eyes - reserved without being cold, a(n rather earnest) thoughtful cast to her eyes. "Hey. Where should we put the Scotch?"
All of these reactions are going to occur. The moment taken to shape a response to Sepúlveda's presence, let Nick sweep in to cover that - not hide it, just cover it. The smile like a spark, the where-should-we-put-the-Scotch, the Hello. But they're cards for now, shuffled at random.