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🌺 open post
character info here!!
setting agnostic prompts
byojj (bring your own jamjar) (or make it a canonmates thing idc)
i. capitalism? i don't know her
[A thing one must understand about fae culture is that they don't really have a grasp on the idea of capitalism. Everything is bartered, traded, favors; one gives from their own abundance and expects the same in return.
And here is how Bryony has found herself in an increasingly dire conversation with the owner of a market stall.]
—favor, when you need it, [she can be heard saying, somewhat frantic against the stall owner's rising indignation, as she's passed by] or...
[She pats at the pockets of her dress with the hand that doesn't hold a bitten apple, and little tears spring to her eyes as she explains,] It's just that I'm new here, so I don't have very much to trade right now, but if there's something I can do for you...
[Ah. She's straight up stolen an apple and has no idea.
Someone please save her.]
ii. party tank
[One couldn't be blamed for assuming Bryony to be a delicate thing, what for her stature and all her weeping. It wouldn't be wrong to call her soft—she wouldn't disagree. But delicate? Maybe up until now, while she's throwing herself between you and an upcoming blow.
And one would think the weapon or claws or magic would rend right through her, here only in her swishy dress. But then there's light, and it forms into a breastplate around her that looks almost made of glass even though it deflects the blow as well as any armor. Magic, clear and crystalized and reflecting iridescence like her wings only as long as it takes to take the strike. It fades and all at once a gauntlet appears on her arm in the same way when she raises it to push away another blow.]
[Over her shoulder, she calls,] Are you okay?!
iii. flower crowns
[Either you are Bryony's friend, or she has simply decided this is the case. She tends to do that.
Regardless of what you're doing right now, you're promptly interrupted by a cheerful-sounding,] I've made something for you! [and behold, there's Bryony right behind you, reaching up (probably up; she's 4'5") in either an attempt to rest a lovely little flower crown on your head or to encroach you to lean down so she can actually reach and do so. Probably the latter.]
prompts for canonmates
but if you find a way to swing them as au/jamjar prompts that's fine too
i. dumb bitch doesn't know the first rule about camping
[Tonight, the party makes camp in the woods—you can't win them all, as it were, and it's another day or two's travel until they'll make it to a town with proper sleeping arrangements. While Bryony has never lacked for comfort in the forest, she cheerfully does her part preparing the campsite for the others—and then moves on to ruin it.
As the sun begins going down, the question, "Wait, where did Bryony go?" might occur to the party before turning around and looking not twenty feet down, where a blur of pink and iridescence is partway up a low-branched tree, hand extended towards a fucking raccoon in a nest.]
There, there... It's okay. Which one would you like?
[It chitters back in what one can only hope isn't understanding, and Bryony takes her hand back only to reach it out again to offer the raccoon some of her food from tonight's dinner. The raccoon gleefully eats it up and lets Bryony scratch behind its ears, even as she giggles.]
You're welcome! There's some more, too, if your friends are hungry.
[DON'T INVITE WILD ANIMALS INTO THE CAMPSITE]
ii. self indulgent dramatic sadgirl option
[It isn't the first time the party has come to blows with imperial soldiers, not monsters, but men. Bryony begged, as she always does, for them to lay down their arms, to choose peace today so that no lives need be lost. Sometimes that works; she has a way with these things, not like Fiore does, but simply by virtue of being small and delicate and weepy. But it isn't the first time it hasn't.
It isn't the first time they've had to kill their opponents, certainly not the first time Bryony has—her lance, built of light reflecting like glass, drove right through this one's breastplate and out the other side when he raised a sword against one of her friends and Bryony, not for the first time, realized there was no other option but to stop him.
The lance is gone, now, and so is the soldier, but the body remains in the aftermath of the fight while the party licks their wounds. Bryony doesn't sob herself blind, but her tears flow freely where she kneels over the corpse. She sniffs and hiccups and doesn't wipe them away.
And the earth around the body does something curious when Bryony puts her hand in the dirt. First, it's growth, grass and flowers rapidly sprouting to come up and around the body and overtake it. In seconds there's only a mound of plant life and it pulls, earth shifting in a way barely seen, hardly felt, except that the mound of the body—doesn't flatten entirely, but comes quite close. Still, the suitably-sized patch of green remains.
Her tears haven't stopped. Bryony clasps her hands into her lap, dirt from one to the other and onto her dress, and hangs her head. The words she murmurs come too quiet for the others to hear but it is not the first time she's offered a quiet prayer of mourning for lost enemies.
The process is not a long one, but she doesn't rush it, either. Bryony raises her head and stands, clasping her hands to her chest. Another hiccup, and a sniff, and she'll move on to bury the next fallen foe.]
setting agnostic prompts
byojj (bring your own jamjar) (or make it a canonmates thing idc)
i. capitalism? i don't know her
[A thing one must understand about fae culture is that they don't really have a grasp on the idea of capitalism. Everything is bartered, traded, favors; one gives from their own abundance and expects the same in return.
And here is how Bryony has found herself in an increasingly dire conversation with the owner of a market stall.]
—favor, when you need it, [she can be heard saying, somewhat frantic against the stall owner's rising indignation, as she's passed by] or...
[She pats at the pockets of her dress with the hand that doesn't hold a bitten apple, and little tears spring to her eyes as she explains,] It's just that I'm new here, so I don't have very much to trade right now, but if there's something I can do for you...
[Ah. She's straight up stolen an apple and has no idea.
Someone please save her.]
ii. party tank
[One couldn't be blamed for assuming Bryony to be a delicate thing, what for her stature and all her weeping. It wouldn't be wrong to call her soft—she wouldn't disagree. But delicate? Maybe up until now, while she's throwing herself between you and an upcoming blow.
And one would think the weapon or claws or magic would rend right through her, here only in her swishy dress. But then there's light, and it forms into a breastplate around her that looks almost made of glass even though it deflects the blow as well as any armor. Magic, clear and crystalized and reflecting iridescence like her wings only as long as it takes to take the strike. It fades and all at once a gauntlet appears on her arm in the same way when she raises it to push away another blow.]
[Over her shoulder, she calls,] Are you okay?!
iii. flower crowns
[Either you are Bryony's friend, or she has simply decided this is the case. She tends to do that.
Regardless of what you're doing right now, you're promptly interrupted by a cheerful-sounding,] I've made something for you! [and behold, there's Bryony right behind you, reaching up (probably up; she's 4'5") in either an attempt to rest a lovely little flower crown on your head or to encroach you to lean down so she can actually reach and do so. Probably the latter.]
prompts for canonmates
but if you find a way to swing them as au/jamjar prompts that's fine too
i. dumb bitch doesn't know the first rule about camping
[Tonight, the party makes camp in the woods—you can't win them all, as it were, and it's another day or two's travel until they'll make it to a town with proper sleeping arrangements. While Bryony has never lacked for comfort in the forest, she cheerfully does her part preparing the campsite for the others—and then moves on to ruin it.
As the sun begins going down, the question, "Wait, where did Bryony go?" might occur to the party before turning around and looking not twenty feet down, where a blur of pink and iridescence is partway up a low-branched tree, hand extended towards a fucking raccoon in a nest.]
There, there... It's okay. Which one would you like?
[It chitters back in what one can only hope isn't understanding, and Bryony takes her hand back only to reach it out again to offer the raccoon some of her food from tonight's dinner. The raccoon gleefully eats it up and lets Bryony scratch behind its ears, even as she giggles.]
You're welcome! There's some more, too, if your friends are hungry.
[DON'T INVITE WILD ANIMALS INTO THE CAMPSITE]
ii. self indulgent dramatic sadgirl option
[It isn't the first time the party has come to blows with imperial soldiers, not monsters, but men. Bryony begged, as she always does, for them to lay down their arms, to choose peace today so that no lives need be lost. Sometimes that works; she has a way with these things, not like Fiore does, but simply by virtue of being small and delicate and weepy. But it isn't the first time it hasn't.
It isn't the first time they've had to kill their opponents, certainly not the first time Bryony has—her lance, built of light reflecting like glass, drove right through this one's breastplate and out the other side when he raised a sword against one of her friends and Bryony, not for the first time, realized there was no other option but to stop him.
The lance is gone, now, and so is the soldier, but the body remains in the aftermath of the fight while the party licks their wounds. Bryony doesn't sob herself blind, but her tears flow freely where she kneels over the corpse. She sniffs and hiccups and doesn't wipe them away.
And the earth around the body does something curious when Bryony puts her hand in the dirt. First, it's growth, grass and flowers rapidly sprouting to come up and around the body and overtake it. In seconds there's only a mound of plant life and it pulls, earth shifting in a way barely seen, hardly felt, except that the mound of the body—doesn't flatten entirely, but comes quite close. Still, the suitably-sized patch of green remains.
Her tears haven't stopped. Bryony clasps her hands into her lap, dirt from one to the other and onto her dress, and hangs her head. The words she murmurs come too quiet for the others to hear but it is not the first time she's offered a quiet prayer of mourning for lost enemies.
The process is not a long one, but she doesn't rush it, either. Bryony raises her head and stands, clasping her hands to her chest. Another hiccup, and a sniff, and she'll move on to bury the next fallen foe.]
I'm losing it at the racoons a;kdah;sdhfk
What Timir does know is nature. Not that Bryony doesn't, but there's a difference between a young, tender-hearted fairy's knowledge and a literal force of nature personified.
They don't scale the tree, not wanting to set the raccoon off, calling up to their small friend instead.]
That may not be a wise offer.
[Not that they couldn't just devour any who got it in their head that taking too much from their friends was a good idea, but that would probably be upsetting if they were caught doing it. Best avoid the problem altogether.]
I LOST THIS NOTIF I'M SORRY!!!
No? What's wrong? We have extra provisions, I think...
[The raccoon, meanwhile, crawls into her lap like a goddamn puppy. She contorts her sitting position into a sort of crouch that looks uncomfortable, but certainly keeps the raccoon safe from falling.]
ii, i'm hoppin' on the sad girl aux cable AND THERE'S NOTHING YOU CAN DO TO STOP ME
Of course, it's very different when Amaya doesn't have her friends with her, but--she's always been a social butterfly. Easy to make friends with and easy to befriend, it's no surprise that Amaya glommed onto Bryony easily and befriended the faerie. There were plenty of things to like about her; she's kind, she's gentle, she makes so many pretty things, and in general, Amaya likes her. She kind of reminds her of Rie, though Rie never cried this much.
That she knows of, at least, which...would probably unnerve Amaya if she thought for more than five seconds on it. Still, they make good buddies, in Amaya's eyes, the small girl always endeavoring to bring Bryony something to eat whenever Amaya's done volunteering for the day around town, having tissues on hand at all times for Bryony to wipe her face if needed, and just in general staying by the faerie because Amaya likes being in her presence.
But it's today that something different happens. They're called upon to fight, and while Amaya isn't...unused to fighting people, it still makes her entirely uneasy. Amaya's own pacifistic nature in battle is something that she held dear as well, trying to tell the soldiers to put down their arms, and even disarm them with her arrows, but...it's all for naught, in the end, and they all die. They're gone, and while the people on the mission lick their wounds before they inevitably return tomorrow as heroes, Amaya feels a pang of something painful in her chest.
She's known happiness all of her life in Mosaic, and for a large portion of her time in the Kaybladers. But now, with this foreign emotion lodged in her heart and not leaving, that eternal smile even in the face of adversity falters.
...And furthermore, Amaya hasn't seen Bryony return to the encampment. Once she's done helping prepare dinner for the masses, Amaya sneaks off with an extra plate and goes to where she's certain Bryony will be. It's hard to deal with the sight of the dead--Amaya's never had to deal with it prior, but she forces up a smile and speaks up.]
Hey...Bryony? Um, do you have a second or two?
"sad girl aux cable" is my new FAVORITE turn of phrase
(Bryony does, too, under the laughter and little acts of whimsy she orchestrates in their downtime. People like Amaya, though, make it easier.)
She's been in this place longer than Amaya. This is not her first fight here—far from her first fight before this world's revolution demanded her service, far from her first life taken. One wouldn't know it with the way she weeps.
Her tears don't stop when Amaya calls her as she stands, but she smiles, if weakly, in greeting when she turns and meets her.]
There are still a few more I need to bury. [What a tragic thing to have to say, and what a tragic look on little Bryony's face.] But I have a minute if you need something.
bows. i'm glad to provide
[Amaya pauses a bit, the dish in her hand clamoring a bit when she thinks--Amaya makes sure it doesn't fall, at least, but it seems...rude to intrude now, but...]
It's, um, not something too important, but, [Amaya looks upon the graves, the soldiers, and tries not to flinch.] we made dinner, and I hadn't seen you around the camp...I wanted to make sure you got something to eat. That's all.
[Amaya walks closer, though.]
And I wanted to see how you were doing...it was really, really hard to, um--well, today was really hard? But it's really nice that you're doing this for these people. I think, anyway.
[Now she's just rambling...]