Macaroniminx

Ophelia Romanov couldn’t help but sing along softly to the harmonious sound of the instruments and vocals colliding into one beautiful song! “How stupendous that Oren has succeeded without even trying! Tis’ fun to hear of the goats fleeing from the wolves known as Orenian men! Quite delightful! Sad that it ended so soon though. . .”

Ophelia Romanov giggled at the words, seeing it first hand was truly the best. ”Gustaven got his arse beat and almost lost his arm. Maybe he shouldn’t cheat on his wife and this would’ve never occurred.”

Ophelia quickly opened the letter with a bright smile, as she read the written words, a tinge of blush began to form upon her pale cheeks. ”Oh my! I think I am in love with two men now! He has such a way with words! I must show him my affection by spitting on him!”

A bird would tap it’s tiny beak against the window of his bedroom, a letter attached to his foot. A letter written in formal cursive was within the contents of the wrapped up paper. The letter read. ”It is I, beautiful dominant Ophelia Romanov, I would like for you to be my submissive doggy! Let me spit on you and step on you then buy you treats with a bottle of ale afterwards. Here is my spit on this paper for you to enjoy. Your possible master, Ophelia Romanov.”

“Of course I have! You are a king in my eyes! King of the economists! I am madly in love with you!”

Overheard the man’s words, looking over to the gentleman with a foul smirk residing. ”I highly doubt anyone has heard your name either. Come to think of it, I’ve only heard prissy piss boy when other men refer to you. Ale for thought.” Ophelia just simply loved stirring the pot of drama and being a feline by heart. Whichever she felt was necessary. ”Men with such arrogance and the need to come off as rude to others whom you do not know is what I call, pish posh pussycat.”

Ophelia Romanov couldn’t agree more with all the things written upon this letter. A sly grin plastered upon her pale visage, her words were filled with excitement as she spoke. ”Oh my! I just love this! This will just add more fuel to the flames of Providence! I can’t wait to see another cat fight! Oh how I love watching the submissive hounds of the ISA bark and howl at anyone who opposes them! More entertainment for a lovely woman such as I!” The young woman had no care in the world, was unbiased entirely. She just simply loved conflict!

Ophelia Romanov smiled at the mans words. ”Oh my! Did I ever mention how I have an immense fetish for men whom are economists?!”

Ophelia Romanov shook her head, her words filled with sarcasm as she spoke. ”Wow! I would’ve had no idea the man would be executed! Such a surprise! I am so surprised and in awe at the outcome!”

Ophelia Romanov giggled at how exciting she found this to be. ”Oh how spicy! Such a wonderful portrait of this. . .Man? Thug? Whatever he is! Quite juicy, like a cherry! I cannot wait to see his head upon a pike! I wonder what that would smell like?” Yet again, the French accented woman was talking to herself in the Tavern, drinking wine as her daily routine.

A painted illustration of a young maiden and a man were under the hand written title of the poster which was plastered on various columns and pillars throughout Providence. The cursive letters of the poster were legible and clearly thoughtfully written. Each poster that hung were handmade copies of each other. Some of the paint was textured, giving a feeling of ridges if touched by fingertips. ___________________________________________________________________________________________________ I am Ophelia Romanov, I am a young maiden whom has educated herself within the arts, especially illustration. I create various paintings, sketches, and advertisements in my spare time and I yearn to create things such as propaganda for nations in need to boost citizen morale or soldiers morale! As you read my poster, I am sure you are asking yourself: "why would a woman such as myself enjoy the ideals of creating such posters and artwork." I indeed can provide that answer! I am a woman who admires art and a tinge of drama, as any woman with the artistic urges does! Rather than wasting my talents on boring advertisements of engagements, parties, or job offers I want my motivational statements and art to be seen and spark ones heart whether that may be fear or simply patriotism! With my upbringing and knowledge of how to understand men's mind I can create such pieces that could help a nation succeed within wars, political agendas, and ceremonies! I ask for no pay, I am merely yearning for a climb to the upper class within societal means. I am merely a creator ready to do a nation's bidding! A woman whom is neutral and unbiased, whom does not care for such black and white fallacies. If you need more citizen support, military morale boosts, or simply want to add some spice to gossip in your social circles look no further! Merely send me a bird and I shall be at your service! Before I create your beloved propaganda or scandalous gossip, I must meet you and inspect your intentions to provide me what type of tactics you desire, whom it is aimed for, and why you desire to set such fire! I also can write anonymous love letters to be displayed publicly to capture the attention of your beloved! Be sure to contact me for any type of services needed! the ending of the poster provided information on how to contact the young woman, as her signature was provided as well. The name ended with a small drawing of a heart, as if it was a personal letter. ___________________________________________________________________________________________________ ((OOC: For ways to contact me, my Discord is: Macaroniminx#0285))

“Is that so? I shall meet thee in the Café, although I will most likely get lost on my journey there given how every building in the Empire lacks individuality.”

“I think the goats do not believe that they are better than anyone else, rather Orenians are the true narcissists. From my experience, the men of Oren nobility use their maids as property and destroy every essence of who those women are while their incestuous wives shame and belittle those exact women due to their husbands lusting eye. Tis’ sad that the true narcissistic personalities cannot seem to realize how warped their perspectives truly are. Growing up as property to countless of noble families provides me with such a open mind to the horrors behind the walls of Oren.” Ophelia Romanov couldn’t help but speak those words to herself as she sipped on a bottle of white wine, her heart burdened by her past experiences. It was sad and pitiful to see everyone do the blame game when in reality, they are all at fault. No one else to blame but their own narcissism and fetish for power.

Ophelia Romanov’s attention reverted to J.Fizpeter, offering a sly smirk. A blonde brow arching higher than the other, her small hand waving at them.

The elf smiled at his words, offering a playful wink ”I would adore to see another battle! This time we shall drink wine together! Quite the polar opposites, you and I, but tis’ fun to converse with another who comes from a different world than I.”

Ophelia Romanov rolled her aqua-tinted eyes as she saw the “victory” letter. As a witness herself, she couldn’t agree. “I watched the battle myself and the rebels were outnumbered. It’s not a victory if one is outnumbered. I believe that these ISA hounds need to understand what a fair battle means. Maybe if I give them a little taste of rum and orcs lovely crafted powder, they’ll become my little hounds instead!” It was clear the women was drunk, or rather daft. Whichever one, she was neutral on this entire thing nor did she care who had won. She just loved fights.

Ophelia Romanov read these words over and over, a sly smirk appearing upon her face. Whomever wrote this was more than accurate! It’s like they were a witch who could read minds! “The only people who would ever disagree are the little submissive hounds that wear that hideous ISA uniform, who need to be stepped on until they submit to someone such as I! The incestuous women to gravel at their feet in those expensive dresses that cover their markings of the beast that is nobility! The white powders they wear to cover the shame of having relations with cousins and brothers, truly must be horrible for them which is why they would most likely snicker over these truthful statements.”

Ophelia Romanov looked at J. Fitzpeter with a sly grin, offering them a wave “I wouldn’t consider myself insane, I’d call myself rather strange and fun. Tis’ truly remarkable to have a fetish for crazed women, they’re usually the best kind of women.”

Ophelia Romanov began to laugh as she read those sentences. Her rosy cheeks began to redden due to how much laughter came from her figure. ”Oh how juvenile! How utterly adorable! These little hounds deem themselves competent enough to enforce such idiotic actions! It’ll be joyous to watch these submissive toys risk their lives for some lustful urge to control the civilians. Maybe their reasoning is to have more incestuous noble women at their feet. Maybe some sort of power fetish?”

Ophelia Romanov giggled at how accurate the poster was. “They seemed to capture how decrepit those old bastards look! How beautifully accurate!” Her laughter could echo across a large theater at the depictions of these ugly men. The elf couldn’t help but simply write her discovery into her leather bond booklet before slipping it into her foxskin satchel. ”How quaint! How joyous it is to see these haughty hounds be put in their place. Men like these do not even deserve the saliva from my mouth. Haughty and feeble men whom behave like vicious hounds, do not deserve a morsel of any support they receive from the incestuous noble women I see dragging beneath their wrinkled feet.” The woman’s French accent struggled at the word ‘wrinkled’, but the statement was well spoken overall despite her talking to herself.

Eris Bourdain shook her head as she read the pamphlet, letting out a disappointing sigh. “The ISA tend to frame so much without any proper evidence. Their cells that contain the innocent are not fit for anyone to be held inside! If they truly are as dutiful and honorable as they claim to be, why do all of these things happen? Why is everything swept under the rug out of fear of these so-called soldiers?” The young woman couldn’t help but speak to herself with an expression of disgust apparent upon her features. How disgusting. How utterly revolting.

Heinrich Gorbachev pauses while passing through Providence after taking notice of the posted treatise. Scanning it over quickly a grin develops on his face before he trots off happily muttering to himself, "Indeed brother, the time for change HAS come." His tone of expression was one of cheerfulness as he continued to read the paper repeatedly.