farsickness | 🌿 Grow me a garden of roses, paint me the colours of sky and rain

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cassandra de rolo | critical role

🌿 Grow me a garden of roses, paint me the colours of sky and rain

WHO: Cassandra de Rolo (

ofwovenstone) and OPEN
WHEN: June!
WHAT: Stuff! Things! Horseback riding and getting into trouble.
WHERE: All over the place in and around Gazin; venturing further out
WARNINGS: None to start, probably. Save maybe the usual warnings that naturally come with a de Rolo. Because nightmares.
NOTES: Any prompts involving the use of her powers are reserved for her existing CR. Other than that, feel free to find her just about anywhere, exploring and observing and drawing and getting into trouble (attacked by bandits, creatures, go wild!).

Cassandra has finally settled into life in this new world. It’s not quite Rome, but it’s.... she’s finding that she likes it here. Has found a degree of happiness that had been lacking in the City. There’s a freedom here that she hadn’t had in... a very long time. Choice. She can live the life she chooses, here. And that is something she cannot help but cherish.

And indulge in at every turn.

Her freelancing for the herbarium and the apothecary has filled her pouches with gold well enough to allow her more than a little flexibility in purchases. (And allows her to not worry about such things anymore.) And her first major purchase (aside from clothes, other necessities, and art supplies) had been a horse. Rome had reminded her how much she enjoyed riding and she intended to take it up again. And horseback would make travel far quicker than making attempts on foot. Not that she’d mind; there’s something to be said for travelling on foot.

So she’d found herself a horse; a hot-blooded mare she named Melora. As soon as she’d caught sight of the mare there had been no other horse for her. So maybe the horse had chosen her, as well. They got on splendidly from the word go, with the sort of silent, wordless communication that comes with being horse and rider for ages, once they’d gotten used to each other.

She goes riding as often as she can (although she ventures out on foot just as often), enjoying the wind in her hair and the sense of freedom that wells in her chest. She can’t remember the last time she’s felt this way. Certainly she’d been far younger. And far more innocent.

She can be found at the stables with Melora frequently, talking softly to her as she cares for her and feeds her treats. While there might be someone there that tends to the horses, Melora is hers and she’s there as often as she can be.

(Yes, she talks to her horse. What of it?)

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Jon spends most of his time at the stables, because he tends to the horses there. It keeps him mostly out of whatever's happening in town, which is a relief after what's been going on at home, and the horses don't care who his parents were or weren't. He can tell them about what's on his mind and they won't interrupt.

He's leading a horse back to its stall, the soft clop of its hooves echoing. Suddenly there's a gentle scolding from Jon to the horse, "What have I told you? That is not food."

Cassandra is in Melora’s stall having a soft conversation with her horse and feeding her carrots when there’s the sound of footsteps and hoofbeats entering the stable. She looks up just in time to see the horse lip at his hair in an attempt to turn it into a snack, and his gentle scolding. She can’t help but huff a soft laugh.

“Somehow I don’t think they’ll listen,” she answers, sounding amused.

"He never does." Jon reaches up to stroke the horse's face fondly before leading him into an empty stall. "In we go. There are things in there you actually can eat." He gives the horse one more fond pat before leaving the stall and closing the door behind him.

He inclines his head at Melora. "She seems to be a good-natured one."

Wen Qing is looking frazzled as she steps out of the backroom of the apothecary, drawn to the store proper by the ringing of the bell above the door. She's wearing an apron over her dress and her face is flushed and sweaty from having worked over boiling pots in the back for hours.

"Oh! There you are!" Her face lights up with obvious relief and she wipes her forehead with the sleeve of her dress. "I had been hoping you would come by today. Some of our stashes are running out. Have you been able to make progress on the list I gave you?"

It's always nice to have Cassandra dropping by the apothecary, both for the herbs she is able to deliver, nobody can find rare herbs even out of season like she can, and for the company. And today, for the excuse to take a break from her work.

It’s always good to see Wen Qing. Cassandra enjoys her company, and it’s nice to have someone who doesn’t mind talking about plants and herbs. She gives her a grin, and holds up a rather full basket.

“Finished it, actually.” She likes working for the apothecary and the herbarium. She likes being able to put her powers to use.

Wen Qing's eyes widen just the slightest bit in surprise at that declaration.

"Already?" She accepts the basket, taking a quick look at its neatly organized contents and yes, it does look like she has covered everything from the list. "That's very impressive. You are the best supplier we have here in Gazin, I don't know how you do it."

Cassandra just laughs softly and lifts a slender shoulder in a half-shrug. “I have a knack for plants,” she replies with a grin. While she’s not always hiding what it is she can do, it’s certainly not something she advertises openly. There’s no telling who that’s ended up here is from a world with magic or powers like hers.

So she keeps them close to her chest for the time being.

[continued from here]

Cassandra kneels beside him, close enough to help him should he need it, but far enough away to give him space. The sound of his breathing makes her relax just a little. She’d been worried. The soft, barely audible thanks he whispers earns him a soft smile.

She doesn’t rush him, waiting for him as he gathers himself and manages to push himself to a sitting position. Giving him however long he needs. She’s not going anywhere. She’ll be here when he’s ready.

The first minute of Matt's arrival felt to him like a tornado, noise and wind bombarding him from every direction, spooling bigger and bigger, destroying him in its wake.

But as time starts to tick by, as Matt sits, as he regains control and has something — no, someone — to focus on, the winds start to dissipate, a tornado lifting back into a funnel cloud, then gradually and with great relief, disappearing into thin air as if there had never been anything there at all.

He can sense her there beside him, kneeled down with patience. Matt lifts his own head, vaguely attempting to look like he's looking generally toward her face. He can still feel his shaded glasses resting atop the bridge of his nose, and around his ears, but, well, he's making an effort.

"Where am I?" he finally asks, gently, like he's scared anything louder would shatter the newfound peace in his head.

He’s making an effort, but he doesn’t need to. She knows of his blindness. Not that he knows that, and she will say nothing about it. There’s no need. Cassandra waits, gives him as much times as he needs until he’s steadier.

She keeps her voice soft, gentle. She doesn’t wish to overwhelm him. “You find yourself near a town called Gazin. I’ve not yet learned this world’s name, but it’s not one you’re familiar with, nor I. None of us that have been brought here know this world. Save for learning about it after our arrival.”

That definitely isn't how people speak in New York City.

But Matt didn't exactly need her turns of phrase to tell him that. He can't even hear the sounds of an engine or the clicks inside electronics, or honestly, that annoying rubber against glass sound that happens a million times around him when people swipe on their phones.

"Gazin," he repeats. But the rest of what the woman says is incomprehensible. "This ... world?"

Not in the slightest. Besides the proper manner of speaking her voice carries what sounds like a rather proper English accent... if England, in fact, existed in Exandria.

"World, yes. I'm afraid you've found yourself in another world. There's a handful of us here that have." Not for the first time, in her case.

Honestly, the combination of her accent and her manner of speaking makes Matt feel like he's been found by some kind of royalty. Unlikely, he knows, but there aren't that many people walking around Hell's Kitchen who speak proper English. Maybe in the richer neighborhoods in Manhattan, but not where he's from.

As the concept of a whole other world settles into his chest, Matt can't help but start to connect the dots. First, it would make a lot of what he's hearing make sense. But second, he doesn't want to admit it, but ever since the Avengers tore the sky apart all those years ago, he has known that other worlds might exist. But Matt had always relegated those thoughts to not-his-problem, until the aliens started reigning down on Hell's Kitchen. But even after the rebuild, he's never stepped foot near the Avengers. He didn't want to be anywhere near the self-proclaiming heroes of Earth.

He swallows.

"Any idea how we all got here?" he asks, though the lack of hope in his voice says enough.

He would be correct in that feeling. It’s not something she mentions all that often (if at all, given her current feelings towards the city that had been her home ~~and her brother~~), but she is Cassandra Johanna von Musel Klossowski de Rolo, the youngest daughter of the ruling family of Whitestone.

“Not exactly,” she tells him. “But I do have a theory.” She hasn’t talked to enough of those that have found themselves here from somewhere else, yet, but she’s travelled between worlds enough by now to be wary of coincidences. “Before I found myself here.... I wanted deeply to be somewhere else. Anywhere else, except for where I was. And there I was, suddenly. Here. By a signpost pointing the way to a town called Gazin.”

She huffs a soft laugh. “I’ve never wished myself away before, but I suppose there is a first time for anything when it comes to moving between worlds.”

Honestly, Matt wouldn't fully know what to do with himself in the presence of royalty. There's the rational, for-the-people part of him that knows they're just regular people, but then there's the party of him that grew up on fairytales, and all the years he wished for his sight back, for a hero's journey, for a fairytale ending — a reverence that's still etched deeply inside him.

As she explains, Matt lightly reaches for her with an obvious motion: asking, gently, with her assistance to help him stand. He doesn't fully know why he's willing to ask for help in this moment, or why he feels so comfortable with a woman who is by all accounts a stranger, but there's something about the ease of her breath and the looseness of her muscles. Her body says she feels comfortable around him, and in turn, Matt feels that comfort ease into him as well. As she helps him up, he processes what she's saying.

He tilts his head downward, just slightly, as he asks himself whether he's wished to leave New York City recently. In some ways, no. It will forever be his home. But in another way, reluctantly, Matt realizes: yes.

"I think—" He wets his lips. "I think you're right." He'd been wishing for a fresh start. New York City was calm for the first time in years. No aliens. No crime bosses. The lull between the ending of one story and the beginning of another. The lull between power, changing hands, re-establishing itself, and for once, Matt wondered if there was something else he could do before the cycle started all over again.

That's what he'd been thinking about before he got here.

"I—" He shakes his head, not quite ready to really explain. "I'd wanted to be somewhere new." Existentially.

Another beat though, as he lifts his head back to up to his normal angle, even his sightline is always a little lower than people's eyes. "What's your name?" he asks.

Fortunately it’s nothing she speaks on often; there’s no need for it here. She’s more than her name, here. More than her nobility. More than her past and more than her family. So the likelihood of Matt learning that he is, in fact, in the presence of royalty is very small for the moment.

When he reaches for her she responds in kind; her hands are delicate but strong, with calluses that speak to her ease with wielding a weapon as she helps him up. She’s stronger than her slight stature might make her appear, as well. She doesn’t let go once he’s upright. She remains touching him. To keep him steady. And to ground him if necessary.

That he believes her theory so readily is something of a relief. Not everyone who arrives here has been so open to the reality of their situation of being someone else. Somewhere strange and very far from their home. It does make things easier.

“Cassandra de Rolo.”

It helps, probably, that Matt can sense so many changes at once. There's no faking this. No sounds of cameras rolling behind a hidden wall. No taps or clicks of smartphones just a few blocks away. The world is different. Matt can feel it for himself.

Just like he can feel the way that she doesn't let go, and he half-acquiesces half-welcomes it. When the world is a strange one, it's nice to have someone close.

"Matthew Murdock." This place, and Cassandra, are changing him already, he thinks, as his full name comes out. But he clarifies quickly: "Matt. And it's nice to meet you." A beat. "Thank you, for helping me. Though, I need to ask — do you ... find yourself helping strangers often?" The small curve of a smile appears on his face too, the first time since his arrival.

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🌿 Grow me a garden of roses, paint me the colours of sky and rain

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