handwringing: (no wait that's actually terrible)
Queen Elsa ([personal profile] handwringing) wrote in [community profile] livinglot 2017-03-26 08:34 pm (UTC)

Queen Elsa | Frozen | Veteran/Treasurer possibly?

[Feel free to respond with action tags!]

A: Return (closed to vets/characters apped prior to Celebration)

A young woman has arrived at the carnival, though she seems rather familiar with the place. She looks human, or like she was at one time, but now her skin nearly translucent blue, like thick ice, peppered with darker blue gemstones. Her eyes have no pupils or whites to speak of, but are instead solid dark blue, and appear to be faceted up close. Snowflakes trail behind the train of her dress, and patches of ice glitter behind her footsteps before melting away.

Elsa doesn't know what's happened, but she knows something has gone wrong. There's a depressive feeling hanging over the Carnival that she doesn't like.

When she sees someone she doesn't know but is obviously from a Carnival worker, she comes up to them, gesturing around at the Carnival grounds with a hand. "I'm sorry, but it seems like I've missed a bit of... excitement?"

When she sees someone she does know, she's much less polite, hurrying up with more urgency. "What happened!?"

B: Do Your Job

The Treasurer's "office" only exists when Elsa wants it to. Right now, it's off to the side of the supervisor grove, a little hut made of ice. Usually she likes to make the outside a bit more ornamental, but she's so behind on work that it's just thrown together right now.

If someone comes in, they'll find Elsa bent over a desk of ice, writing figures on a scroll with a pen and inkwell. It's absurdly oldschool, but it's how she works. When she hears someone walk in, she looks up, a bit surprised.

"Ah, were you looking for me?" She waves a hand, and a small chair made of ice sprouts out of the ground in front of her desk. "Have a seat."

C: Taking a Break

Elsa really shouldn't get any chocolate.

She shouldn't, but it smells so good, and it's right there. She can't help but gravitate that way. Within a minute, she has a plate full of desserts, and she's reaching for another when her hand bumps into another's.

"Oh! Excuse me."

At least she doesn't panic when people touch her hands anymore.

[OOC: since I'm looking to app Elsa as a veteran, if you want to work out established CR you can contact me at [plurk.com profile] dandywonderous or PM this journal.]

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