The Meteorological Society's two branches--the orderly, detail-minded astrographers and the cosmologists, with their lofty philosophies--stand in steadfast unity on the matter of observing the heavens, the significance of its many beautiful and mysterious bodies. The two houses share a passion for the brilliance of the stars, the awesome majesty of the night sky, and the absolute importance of its study and cataloguing.
On most everything else, however, they are bitterly divided.
The astrographers prize meticulous record-keeping, staunchly dedicated to what can be measured, repeated, and proven; their discipline is mathematical and consistent, easily transmissible. The cosmologists look up and see a tableau of divine mystery; to them, the celestial realm is poetry in light, and they cultivate wisdom and insight in their observing this overwhelming beauty and the feelings, sensations, and experiences it creates in them.
A pawful of beasts stand astride this dividing line, acting as coordinators and facilitators when tensions between the Society's most influential leaders threaten to boil over. Constance Maribel is one such beast: a member of the auspices, having received instruction and forged bonds of friendship and academic development among both the astrographers and cosmologists. A daughter of dispossessed Vulpinsulan nobility, Constance is a cat of luxurious tastes and few pretenses: she knows that her fine clothes, powerful connections and expansive education are advantages afforded only to a few, but has no qualms about leveraging any of those resources. If she is aware of what the name Maribel once meant, her family's former apartments in Amarone and investiture of favor from the Imperial court, it does not show in her demeanor.
Her fur is uniformly charcoal, save for a stark white stripe running from her chin to her clavicle. Her pale green eyes stand out against that dark complexion, watchful, ever-curious. In public she can most often be found wearing the raiments of an auspex, a long coat dyed midnight blue and embroidered with symbols astronomical in silver and gold, a cane topped with a crescent moon grip in brass. The hardship of travel from the colonies has tattered her coat, and her cane last saw a polish some seasons ago--she has been on her way to Bouillabaise Harbor for some time, and her path has clearly not always been clear or direct.
Constance is a talented communicator and analyst, a poet and a diplomat, with experience finding her way and place among different echelons of society. She can discuss the predictable movements and appearances of planets and constellations, mend a seam, write a few pages about how life and love change as the phases of the moon, argue for (or against) public investment in the arts or sciences or the military, and the flick of her wrist has sent many a dart squarely into the center of the board (a skill honed in pursuit of free drinks at the university alehouses she frequented).
Sent by the Meteorological Society to make direct contact with the Ministry of Niceties, a sheaf of recommendations and seals of passage in her satchel, Constance spent her last gilders on the voyage from Downell to Bully and was very nearly claimed by the Sea of Calamities on that voyage. Once ashore and confronted with the Harbor's perils and possibilities, she quickly developed a sense of the grander opportunity her assignment presents--there is only the matter of how she might establish herself in the city's unfolding schemes and dramas.
On most everything else, however, they are bitterly divided.
The astrographers prize meticulous record-keeping, staunchly dedicated to what can be measured, repeated, and proven; their discipline is mathematical and consistent, easily transmissible. The cosmologists look up and see a tableau of divine mystery; to them, the celestial realm is poetry in light, and they cultivate wisdom and insight in their observing this overwhelming beauty and the feelings, sensations, and experiences it creates in them.
A pawful of beasts stand astride this dividing line, acting as coordinators and facilitators when tensions between the Society's most influential leaders threaten to boil over. Constance Maribel is one such beast: a member of the auspices, having received instruction and forged bonds of friendship and academic development among both the astrographers and cosmologists. A daughter of dispossessed Vulpinsulan nobility, Constance is a cat of luxurious tastes and few pretenses: she knows that her fine clothes, powerful connections and expansive education are advantages afforded only to a few, but has no qualms about leveraging any of those resources. If she is aware of what the name Maribel once meant, her family's former apartments in Amarone and investiture of favor from the Imperial court, it does not show in her demeanor.
Her fur is uniformly charcoal, save for a stark white stripe running from her chin to her clavicle. Her pale green eyes stand out against that dark complexion, watchful, ever-curious. In public she can most often be found wearing the raiments of an auspex, a long coat dyed midnight blue and embroidered with symbols astronomical in silver and gold, a cane topped with a crescent moon grip in brass. The hardship of travel from the colonies has tattered her coat, and her cane last saw a polish some seasons ago--she has been on her way to Bouillabaise Harbor for some time, and her path has clearly not always been clear or direct.
Constance is a talented communicator and analyst, a poet and a diplomat, with experience finding her way and place among different echelons of society. She can discuss the predictable movements and appearances of planets and constellations, mend a seam, write a few pages about how life and love change as the phases of the moon, argue for (or against) public investment in the arts or sciences or the military, and the flick of her wrist has sent many a dart squarely into the center of the board (a skill honed in pursuit of free drinks at the university alehouses she frequented).
Sent by the Meteorological Society to make direct contact with the Ministry of Niceties, a sheaf of recommendations and seals of passage in her satchel, Constance spent her last gilders on the voyage from Downell to Bully and was very nearly claimed by the Sea of Calamities on that voyage. Once ashore and confronted with the Harbor's perils and possibilities, she quickly developed a sense of the grander opportunity her assignment presents--there is only the matter of how she might establish herself in the city's unfolding schemes and dramas.
