[Giving] In the weeks leading up to Givingstide, Elsie can sometimes be glimpsed stalking people from above like a ninja on the roofs. She's watching people go to the market, and watching what they buy. She's mumbling to herself, too, something about colors and shapes. You might even be one of her targets. What's she doing up there?
If you don't get a chance to ask her in the moment, then the answer will at least become clear on the day of Givingstide itself. She's made small pendants from carved wood or stones in the shape of either a plant or animal, each hung from a leather cord. She's done her very best to judge what each of her friends might like, but it was harder to decide for some than others. She's too shy to pass them out herself, so she slips in through the shadows and leaves them among the rest of the gifts on the table. There's no note inside the small parcels of scrap fabric tied with twine to say who it's from, but the back of each pendant has a small "E" etched into it as a signature.
[ooc: Anyone with positive CR with Elsie of any kind is free to say they received a pendant from her. Please decide for yourself what the carving is. Handwaving is completely fine.]
[Mourning] She still doesn't know where she fits with most of the locals, even now, but she's here just the same. Because she wants to fit. She wants to be part of things. Still, she can't bring herself to do more than hover at the outskirts. This year, as she gazes out at the sea, it's a different kind of melancholy. It isn't her mother she's mourning, not now that she knows her true fate. However, knowing her mother has been alive but sleeping all this time doesn't stop the hurt. She's mourning the time lost, the conversations not had, and all the things she learned to do alone because there was no one else. The demons took it from her. The sea was their weapon. She's going to make them give it back. Somehow.
The expression she wears is uncharacteristically dark and brooding. She's rarely ever felt her own forehead wrinkle like this. She isn't sure if she likes this feeling or not, but it's powerful. It makes her feel driven in a way that's sharp like the edge of a knife. But that scares her, too. These demons hold so much sway. What if she isn't strong enough? What if she can't do it? Then... she'll just have to die trying.
Elsie || NPC || OTA!
In the weeks leading up to Givingstide, Elsie can sometimes be glimpsed stalking people from above like a ninja on the roofs. She's watching people go to the market, and watching what they buy. She's mumbling to herself, too, something about colors and shapes. You might even be one of her targets. What's she doing up there?
If you don't get a chance to ask her in the moment, then the answer will at least become clear on the day of Givingstide itself. She's made small pendants from carved wood or stones in the shape of either a plant or animal, each hung from a leather cord. She's done her very best to judge what each of her friends might like, but it was harder to decide for some than others. She's too shy to pass them out herself, so she slips in through the shadows and leaves them among the rest of the gifts on the table. There's no note inside the small parcels of scrap fabric tied with twine to say who it's from, but the back of each pendant has a small "E" etched into it as a signature.
[ooc: Anyone with positive CR with Elsie of any kind is free to say they received a pendant from her. Please decide for yourself what the carving is. Handwaving is completely fine.]
[Mourning]
She still doesn't know where she fits with most of the locals, even now, but she's here just the same. Because she wants to fit. She wants to be part of things. Still, she can't bring herself to do more than hover at the outskirts. This year, as she gazes out at the sea, it's a different kind of melancholy. It isn't her mother she's mourning, not now that she knows her true fate. However, knowing her mother has been alive but sleeping all this time doesn't stop the hurt. She's mourning the time lost, the conversations not had, and all the things she learned to do alone because there was no one else. The demons took it from her. The sea was their weapon. She's going to make them give it back. Somehow.
The expression she wears is uncharacteristically dark and brooding. She's rarely ever felt her own forehead wrinkle like this. She isn't sure if she likes this feeling or not, but it's powerful. It makes her feel driven in a way that's sharp like the edge of a knife. But that scares her, too. These demons hold so much sway. What if she isn't strong enough? What if she can't do it? Then... she'll just have to die trying.