[SE] our chaos goddess

Contemplatin', beg your pardon

The Blood Moon Festival doesn't come and go like the previous, mundane events of Caido. It hits hard, leaving Thal thrumming with the aftereffects of sex and alcohol. She might still be drunk, running on a high that's giving her thoughts a pleasant blurring intensity as they race by, pushing aside aches or exhaustion for the thrill of a new day, and leaving her unbothered by tomorrow's consequences.

Thal has never been an optimist (*gag*), but she can't deny that there's a lighter clip to her confident steps, a curiosity and lightness drawing her forward into the Temple. She's heard of this 'priestess,' and even seen her at Kia's wedding, but having never met her, Thal is curious to see what she's missing out on.

Pausing in the middle of the towering ceilings, she glances around at the alcoves and doorways that she's never explored. "Charlie?" Her voice echoes in the space, the question bouncing off each glistening surface to project farther and louder than she'd intended, but Thal doesn't flinch, tail swaying languidly behind her as she stands ready for whatever she may find.

Thalassa

But there's a part of me that recognizes you

Every whiskey that you're drinking

Charlie hears her name and does not turn toward it so much as she pivots through space itself, her dart! carrying her in a shimmer of shadows and rose-coloured light until she’s suddenly right there in front of Thalassa, close enough that her perfume—warm spiced honey and something deeper, like starlight trapped in obsidian—reaches the other woman before her voice does. Her smile is already stretching wide, the kind that lights her whole face and invites the rest of the world to keep up if it dares, and her tail sways behind her in a delighted figure-eight that mirrors the thrill running down her spine. She has never met Thalassa before, not really, but of course she knows of her—everyone who pays even an ounce of attention to the Grounds knows her—and the recognition sparks like firecrackers in her mind as she takes in the sight of her with unabashed appreciation.

Her gown is a black-silk declaration of confidence that clings to every curve as if chosen specifically to make the Temple’s candlelight behave itself in her presence, and her hands and forearms are smeared with drying blood from whatever she was very cheerfully occupied with moments ago. She doesn’t try to hide it; it is simply part of her aesthetic as she lifts those stained fingers in an airy little flutter of greeting.

"Hiiii!" she sings, the sound bubbling up like champagne spilling over its rim as she beams at Thalassa, the expression bright enough to feel like a small sunrise blooming in the shadowed hush of the Temple. "I knew we’d bump into each other here eventually!"

Charlie

You'll be thinking how I burn like that

Coding obviously stolen from the queen, Sky <3

Contemplatin', beg your pardon

Something warm and ancient touches her nose, mixed with the copper scent of blood as Charlie appears like a flicker of rosy firelight through red and yellow stained glass. Thal doesn't startle or balk but leans slightly back and blinks to adjust her vision, taking in the static hum of the woman's bubbly energy like she would a blinding light. The bright chime of her voice rings in Thal's ears, musical in a way that's surprisingly pleasant for the early morning, the alcohol not yet amplifying the sound. 

She takes a second to absorb it all, the bouncing blonde curls and beaming smile. Charlie is exactly what she'd expected, friendly and boisterous in all the ways she isn't, and yet moving with a dangerous carelessness that Thal knows not to underestimate, that she respects. Even the silly little wave of her fingers is a reminder, Charlie wearing the blood like some people might wear rings. It's a fashion choice Thal can get behind, one she regrets not adding to her own black ensemble today. She nearly smirks at the thought, the motion unusually tempted by the high still thrumming her veins, only amplified by the guarantee from others that she'd get along with this woman who feels very much her opposite.

Tilting her head, Thal gives a fleeting shrug of her shoulders, not quite surprised that Charlie knows of her considering their connections with Asta and Danta. Instead, she agrees, "It's surprising we haven't until now." Her eyes shimmer, a stormy blue that highlights the amusement threatening to break into a smile as they flicker to the blood. "Did I interrupt something?"

Thalassa

But there's a part of me that recognizes you

Every whiskey that you're drinking

Charlie’s grin brightens with a feline sort of delight, the kind that curls up from her lips all the way into the tilt of her shoulders, and she lifts her blood-slick hands as if presenting some lovely little prize rather than her own gore-smeared forearms. "Oh, this?" she chirps, the innocence in her voice so airy and seamless that it could almost pass for sincerity if not for the unmistakable wicked sparkle in her eyes. "I’ve just been making candles."

The words float out honey-sweet, absolutely untroubled, as though she were talking about lavender wax melts and not—well. Her fingers glisten a little as she moves them, and her tail swishes behind her in a pleased, languid arc that betrays just how much fun she’s been having.

She tilts her head then, blonde curls spilling in a shimmering cascade over one shoulder, and her brows lift in a dramatic, delighted arch. Her blue eyes widen as though she’s just had the most wonderful idea, and the fanged grin she flashes Thalassa is bright enough to light the alcoves themselves. "Want to help?" she asks, voice bubbling like something carbonated and just on the edge of sinful. "I could absolutely use someone else to keep the fat hot enough to mix with."

Charlie

You'll be thinking how I burn like that

Coding obviously stolen from the queen, Sky <3

Contemplatin', beg your pardon

"Candles?" Thal repeats the word, her tone trading Charlie's bubbly excitement for something smoother and contemplative, a wave lapping curiously against the shore. Her head tilts, wondering how candles could involve blood, and all the more intrigued by the process - even if she hadn't been expecting to join in until the woman is practically bursting at the seams. 

Pursing her lips and narrowing her eyes, she considers the request, not quite sure she wants to spend the rest of her buzz working, but equally as motivated to see what Charlie is up to. Thal's tail flicks behind her, humming through the conflicting decisions before her gaze is landing back on the priestess, sharp and assessing as she lays out her terms. "Only if I get to keep one."

Thalassa

But there's a part of me that recognizes you

Every whiskey that you're drinking

Charlie’s answering grin is bright enough to qualify as its own minor sunburst, her tail giving a delighted whip through the air as if it has personally approved the bargain. "Of course you can keep one!" she laughs, the sound bubbling up in a fizz of excitement as she sweeps an arm toward one of the side doors. "Come on, it’s this way!"

She turns with a flourish of silk and the swagger of someone who lives inside her own private spotlight, leading Thalassa down a short stone corridor and into one of the smaller workrooms tucked behind the shrine. The moment the door swings open, the air inside carries a warm, heavy scent that isn’t quite unpleasant; something like smoke, iron, and the buttery richness of rendered fat. The room itself looks, at first glance, exactly like a candle-maker’s nook: racks for cooling moulds, shallow trays dusted with ash, wicks hanging in neat little rows, a brazier glowing with steady heat, and shelves of bottles containing herbs, resin, and coloured oils.

And then there are the differences.

On a sturdy table draped in oilcloth lies a freshly killed deer, already opened cleanly along the stomach. A bowl is positioned beneath the slit throat to catch the dripping blood; it’s cooling to a thickened, syrupy consistency that Charlie clearly intends to treat like dye or binder rather than fuel. Beside the carcass sits a deep iron vat, gently boiling down chunks of the animal’s fat. The rendering process has turned it into something thicker and far more waxlike; soft, pale, and workable once cooled. And near the vat, Charlie has lined up several small vials of salts and ashes that can be mixed into the rendered fat to stabilize it, helping it burn cleaner and more like a traditional candle.

Charlie snaps her fingers, sending a ribbon of fire curling through the air like a beckoning serpent. It winds toward the vat in a graceful arc, illuminating the pale, glossy fat within. "So!" she chirps, cheerfully bloodstained arms lifting as if she’s unveiling a piece of performance art. "You can help keep the fat at a rolling simmer—it needs heat to stay smooth enough to mix with the binding salts—or..."
The fire coils toward the deer carcass, brushing close enough to gleam along exposed bone. "...you can pull a few of the straighter bones for me. They make the best candle cores. Way sturdier than plant wicks, and they burn so beautifully when the fat cools evenly around them."

Charlie

You'll be thinking how I burn like that

Coding obviously stolen from the queen, Sky <3

Contemplatin', beg your pardon

It takes a moment to realize that Charlie hasn't genuinely combusted on the spot, although the blinding smile and exploding energy are a close second. Both make Thal wonder if she's going to regret this decision, but she follows regardless, skirting the familiar slab of obsidian to enter an alcove she's never noticed before. It turns into a corridor that leads to a wooden door acting as a barrier to contain the warm air and fatty scents. 

She steps cautiously inside, eyes scanning the space with open interest, snagging hungrily on the deer in the same way she might admire a delicious looking cake. The rest of the materials are foreign and less intriguing to her, although she takes in the waxy substance in a vat and vials of things she couldn't even guess at. Candle-making isn't a process she's wondered about, making it all the more overwhelming to see so much she doesn't understand, not even sure where to stand in the space. 

Watching Charlie's tendril of flame, Thal's feet are already moving towards the blood, not even hesitating in her response. "Bones." She doesn't add that she has no idea how to keep something at a 'boiling simmer.' Instead, she pulls out a wickedly sharp dagger, slicing into the joint of the deer's hind leg to expose the straighter bones. Her slender fingers slip between blood and muscle to clutch at the bone, twisting it in a savage motion that echoes of cartilage and ripping tendons. "What are you making so many for?"

Thalassa

But there's a part of me that recognizes you

Every whiskey that you're drinking

Charlie’s grin flares into something incandescent the moment Thal chooses bones, as if the entire setup has merely been waiting—patiently, theatrically—for this exact pairing. "Perfect," she purrs, delighted in a way that carries all the glittering warmth of applause breaking open inside her chest.

She gestures lazily and the ribbon of fire she’d conjured earlier unfurls into a broader, steadier sheet of heat beneath the vat. The fat inside responds instantly, trembling into a glossy simmer that holds its temperature with all the precision of a jeweller’s torch. With her other hand she begins scooping and stirring in a graceful, practiced rhythm, adding pinches of powdered salts and a swirl of resin that blooms across the surface like smoke trapped under glass. Bit by bit, the mixture thickens into something that behaves very much like wax; heavier, richer, but smooth enough to pour in layered waves.

"Here," she says, plucking up one of the wicks and offering it with a flourish before indicating a narrow metal holder meant to grip the bottom few inches of whatever core Thal pulls free. "Just slot your bone right into that—only the lower portion needs to sit steady—and then I’ll start layering this over it. The tallow settles between pours like stone in water, so the whole thing grows into itself."

Her voice lilts with theatrical enthusiasm as she leans in to watch Thal prise the bone free with viscous satisfaction, the sound of cartilage being severed met with Charlie’s soft, pleased hum. She begins pouring the first silky wave of rendered fat over the set bone, letting it slip down the length in slow, mesmerizing trickles. "I’m making so many," she says, nose wrinkling in an adorable contrast to the gore on her arms, "because people are much more honest under candlelight, instead of big bright lights." She tips the bowl slightly, letting a rivulet of red-stained mixture catch the light. "Blood and fire light makes everything feel a little more daring. A little more like truth."

Her smile widens as she looks up, fangs catching the warm glow.

"Half the people who come to me for worship already know exactly what they want to do," she confides, her tone still bright but threaded with wicked amusement. “"But they get all shy or breathless about saying it out loud." Another pour, another layer. "So I give them a little ritual ambience. Fire and blood loosen tongues beautifully."

Charlie

You'll be thinking how I burn like that

Coding obviously stolen from the queen, Sky <3

Contemplatin', beg your pardon

She doesn't know half of what Charlie is saying about 'tallow' or how it 'grows into itself,' although she can feel the excitement radiating from the priestess and she at least understands that the bone goes in the middle of the metal thing. Sounds simple enough. About as simple as pulling bone from a cooling body. Gritting her teeth with effort, Thal lets out a small grunt, half in acknowledgement and half in effort to rip the piece out. 

It finally gives with a sucking slurp of a sound, still wet and slimy with gore when she pulls it from the deer's leg to inspect. Although not perfectly straight, she assumes the tibia will do the trick, dangling it from her fingertips to settle in the center of the mold while Charlie flits and hums through the space like she was made for this. 

The waxy layers begin to build, slowly solidifying to support the base of the bone, a rich coppery scent engulfing her. It's not hard to see why the candles are enjoyable, although not to the extent of divulging everything to the bloodied priestess flashing her a wicked grin. She might be devout to Dygra, but that doesn't mean Thal is dumb enough to trust her without any hesitation just because of some lighting. 

Her eyebrow raises in her usual manner of skepticism. "So all you do is give them the right ambiance and they spill all their secrets?" A small hint of a smirk tugs at her lips, conspiratorial and suspicious all the same. "Is it ever anything interesting? Or just complaints about how hard life is?"

Thalassa

But there's a part of me that recognizes you

Every whiskey that you're drinking

Charlie wrinkles her nose in a way that is almost scandalously cute for someone wrist-deep in gore, her smile curling bright and playful as she watches the bone settle exactly where it needs to be. The motion makes her curls bounce, her tail giving an indulgent little swish that sends a ripple of shadow-sparkle across the stone floor.

"Oh, pretty much," she chirps, as if emotional alchemy were as simple as placing flowers in a vase. "Most people don’t actually need much more than the right atmosphere to feel safe. Though..." She lifts a finger, the gesture delicate despite the blood smeared along her skin. "The right ambiance isn’t the same for everyone. Some need soft warmth. Some need heat. Some need to fight." Her shoulders rise in a dramatic shrug, silk shifting like living ink across her body. "But give someone exactly what makes their pulse slip a little faster, and they will absolutely talk eventually."

Thal’s smirk earns a trill of laughter from Charlie, bright enough to make the vat shimmer. She pours another slow ribbon of tallow over the bone, watching it thicken and cool into soft, layered folds. "Mmm, there can be, yeah," she admits with theatrical exasperation. "Lots of complaints about responsibility and expectations and cousins being awful or lovers being confusing. Honestly it’s like a very gory version of confession sometimes."

But then her shoulders soften, the brightness gentling rather than dimming. Her blue eyes lift to Thal, and for a moment the energy around her settles into something warm and startlingly sincere. "I don’t mind, though," she says, voice smoothing into honey. "Finding someone who actually wants to listen, someone who doesn’t already have a plan for them or an agenda tucked behind their teeth? That’s rare for most people." Her smile curves, a slow blooming thing edged with mischief. "If they need to use me for that, I don’t mind at all." Just as she didn't mind being used for other activities.

Then, with a delighted flick of her tail and a flutter of lashes that glints like candle flame catching crystal, Charlie’s grin snaps back into wicked brilliance. "And," she adds, sing-song and sinful, "once they get all that out of their systems, they’re usually so much more fun to worship with."

Charlie

You'll be thinking how I burn like that

Coding obviously stolen from the queen, Sky <3

Contemplatin', beg your pardon

Charlie's flippant display of blood doesn't even faze Thal, who actually likes to be elbow deep in gore whenever she can - as evidenced by the blood coating her own hands, the bone balanced by her finger as the wax stabilizes around it. That didn't mean she 'opened up' whenever blood was on her hands. It makes her all the more skeptical about people just divulging their secrets to a stranger. 

A teasing look forms in her eyes, looking up from the pooling mixture of substances. "And you can tell what someone needs just by looking at them?" There's a quiet intensity there, a question she's not sure even she knows the answer to, but one she's curious to know how Charlie will answer - if she dares.

The sudden warmth she finds in return is strange, the sincerity rare enough to be a surprise, a discomfort she doesn't let show beyond a slight twitch of her tail. Pulling her own delicate finger away from the bone sticking upright, Thal chuckles as she moves to retrieve another bone. "You mean to tell me you don't have an agenda?" Her eyebrow raises, the playful accusation clear on her face. Everyone has an agenda, even if it's just to feel good about themselves or convince someone their deity is superior or, apparently, make them 'more fun to worship with.' 

Turning away, she reaches back into the deer, grabbing the second bone and twisting it out in another symphony of tearing fibers, a hum of satisfaction joining the music. "Hm. Maybe I should visit here more often."

Thalassa

But there's a part of me that recognizes you

Every whiskey that you're drinking

Charlie doesn’t flinch from the question or dress it in false mystery; she just lifts one blood-glossed shoulder in an easy little shrug that makes her curls bounce. "Not always," she chirps, utterly unbothered by imperfection or her shortcomings. "I mean, I make my educated guesses, sure, but half the fun is asking or trying a few things to see what people actually respond to." Her fire coils a little brighter under the vat, the simmer settling into perfect, velvety rhythm. "I’ve been doing this for hundreds of years, though," she adds with a wrinkled nose, as if the number is both too large and too funny to take seriously. "Patterns pop out eventually."

Thal’s playful accusation draws a bright trill of laughter, warm as a hearth and sharp as a spark, and Charlie’s grin widens with unabashed delight. "If I do have an agenda," she says, fanged smile glinting, "it’s not one I ever try to hide." She leans in just enough for the candlefire to catch her blue eyes, letting that strange, earnest warmth slip back into her voice. "I’m here to serve Dygra in whatever capacity she requires of me. That’s it." It is an agenda in some ways, sure, but the transparency softens it, turns it into an invitation rather than a veiled trap. At least, that’s how she’s always seen it.

The priestess gestures with a flourish toward another of the metal holders, its little clamp ready for the next bone Thal has just worked free. "Slide it right in there," she encourages, humming appreciatively at the slick, satisfying sound of bone separating from tendon. "And yes, you absolutely should visit more often." Then she laughs, a warm, lilting sound that twines through the shadows like music. "Though I don’t just work out of the Temple," she adds, leaning back with playful pride. "I’ve been spending a bunch of time at the Dusklight lately. Have you been?"

Charlie

You'll be thinking how I burn like that

Coding obviously stolen from the queen, Sky <3

Contemplatin', beg your pardon

"'Hundreds of years'?" It's not quite disbelief, although the unspoken curiosities give depth to the words: wonders of how she looks so young, where she came from, what she did with so much time. The only question that she gives breath is the one that makes her laugh, head tilting to cast her hair in inky ripples over her shoulder. "And you're not bored yet?" There's no doubt that the world is vast and unpredictable, but she'd think that living for hundreds of years would suck the excitement out of it all. Hell, she was starting to get bored and she could only remember the past five years. 

The warmth continues to permeate Charlie's voice as she leans in, singing like a dangerous siren song of truth that Thal resists through pure instinct. Trust doesn't come easy, but where she often finds shadowed corners or veiled traps, Charlie illuminates with honesty and sincerity, so bright and simple that it's hard to believe any hidden skeletons are there for reasons other than worship to Dygra. It casts an eerie quiet on the alarm bells that often scream through her head, agendas and experience be damned.

There are no witty quips or sarcasm this time, Thal only responding with a silent dip of her head; but the lack of words reveals more than anything she could have said aloud. There's a silver thread of jealousy in her gaze as she stares intently at the bone, a hunger for the same devotion, for a similar ironclad purpose - even if she refuses to voice those desires. She hides them in the turn of her head, focusing on the bone ripping free. 

When she spins again, the emotion is gone, the steely humor back in the cold blue of her eyes. The Dusklight is a safe topic, one she clings to as she sets the bone into the new metal holder. She chuckles, giving Charlie a mischievous grin. "More than most people." Her finger steadies the ivory for the wax, arm propping on the table with interest while her tail swishes behind her. "How exactly do you work from there?"

Thalassa

But there's a part of me that recognizes you

Every whiskey that you're drinking

Charlie hums thoughtfully at the question, the sound warm and pleased as she nods, her fingers still lazily guiding the fire beneath the vat to keep everything exactly where it should be. "Before I was stoned," she says lightly, as if discussing a past address rather than an era long buried beneath history, "I was alive back when all the Ancients lived together in the Climb, when Dygra walked freely among us and nothing felt quite so...fracturerd the way it does now." Her eyes brighten with the memory, blue and sparkling as she beams, clearly delighted by it rather than weighed down by the acknowledgement that the golden age of Ancients, at least as it was back then, was over.

Charlie laughs then, bright and musical, shaking her head so her curls bounce. "Bored? Oh, no. Never. Everything changes constantly—people, cities, desires—how could I ever get bored?" Her grin widens, unapologetic and radiant, as if the idea itself is faintly absurd.

Charlie’s gaze flicks back to Thal’s mischievous grin, her brows lifting with unmistakable approval as she watches the bone settle neatly into its holder. She doesn’t comment on the subtle shifts beneath the humour, choosing instead to meet that look with a conspiratorial smile of her own. "Mmm, well, unsurprisingly sex is one of people’s favourite ways to worship Dygra." She shrugs, utterly at ease with the statement, scooping another ladle of thickened tallow and letting it pour in a slow, glossy ribbon around the bone. "It makes sense. Your body goes a little feral. Heart racing, senses sharpening, desire taking over in ways that aren’t all that different from hunting or giving in to bloodlust." Her smile turns knowingly wicked. "And then it ends with something that feels very good."

Another easy shrug follows, shoulders lifting beneath black silk. "Plenty still come to the Temple, especially with the rage room," she adds, "but there’s something to be said for being available where people already are...and when they’re most in the mood."

Charlie

You'll be thinking how I burn like that

Coding obviously stolen from the queen, Sky <3