JJ Doe

Avalia

Vasco DeLuca

Vasco DeLuca ✠ 23 ✠ Male ✠ Human

✠✠✠✠✠

Appearance

Height:

174cm/5’9”

Build:

Fit

Hair Color:

Light Brown

Hair Length

Medium

Eye Color:

Hazel

Skin Tone:

Light

Distinguishing features:

Various scars here and there; partially missing ear

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Psychology

Likes:

✠ Thrill of risk-taking
✠ Teasing others
✠ Music (especially jazz, charleston, swing, and ragtime)

Dislikes:

✠ Being bored or still for too long
✠ Asking for help
✠ Strict rules

Fears:

✠ Emotional attachment
✠ Complete silence
✠ Losing his edge

Habits/Quirks

✠ Speaks with hands a lot
✠ Teases or flirts with almost anyone
✠ Whistles or hums to himself

Sexuality:

Closeted Bisexual

Personality:

Vasco is always looking out for number one. He ain’t afraid to get his hands dirty if it means coming out on top. The streets made him hard and cynical - keeps most everyone at arm’s length. But man, he sure loves to live it up - Vasco’s always looking for the next thrill or the next good time. Morals? Pshh, please, Vasco plays by his own rules. He flies off the handle quick as a jackrabbit and forgets just as fast. Plenty confident, maybe too much for his own good, but that’s Vasco DeLuca for you.

✠✠✠✠✠

Background

Occupation

Mobster Underling

Living Immediate Family Members:

Unknown (Orphan)

Dead Immediate Family Members:

Unknown (Orphan)

Current Companions:

Aurora; Rowan; Barrock

Current and Past Lover(s):

Doesn’t remember all their names

Current Equipment(Any weapons etc):

Unless you count the weights tied to him, literally brought nothing to Avalia but himself in his birthday suit.

History:

Let’s talk about Vasco DeLuca, yeah? He never knew his parents – dumped at some church doorstep. Typical sob story, but Vasco didn’t stick around crying about it. Nah, he bolted from that orphanage faster than a cat on a hot tin roof and took to the streets like a fish to water. This was during Prohibition, mind you, when the whole city was a speakeasy in disguise and the streets were as mean as they come. But Vasco, see, he was street-smart. Started with small-time swindles and thievery, to get by. Eventually, he joined up with the local toughs and, boy, did he find his calling. Before he knew it, he was making a name for himself with a pistol in hand and not a lick of fear in his heart.

Then came the big leagues: the mafia. They saw something in him, something useful. Promised him the world, and for a while, he got it. The life was sweet – money, dames, excitement, you name it. Vasco lived it up, thinking he was untouchable. That’s where things got dicey.

Vasco got too big for his britches. Pinched cash and goods right under the boss’s nose, started some side hustles. And like that wasn’t stupid enough, he bedded his boss’s daughter. Both of them. And his lady. Talk about playing with fire!

Of course, it all caught up with him. The family couldn’t let all that slide; made an example out of him. Stripped, weighed down, and given a one-way ticket to Davy Jones’ locker. Vasco DeLuca, the cautionary tale of what happens when you fly too high, too fast.

Now, there’s no denying that all that was true. Vasco got a big head, was dallying with the boss’s daughters and the missus, and yeah, he skimmed a pretty penny off the top. But the story left out bits. Like his romp with the boss’s nephew. Or how he found out he was going to be a daddy. Or that Vasco had Ménière’s disease; one ear was already kaput, and the other wasn’t far behind. The dizziness and headaches were getting worse and more frequent.

The writing was on the wall; his days of being the cat’s pajamas were numbered. Vasco had been angling for an exit, pocketing whatever he could on his way out. Just never imagined his exit would be as fish food.

✠✠✠✠✠

Combat and Magic Stat Creation

Fitness Level:

✠ Athletic (trained often if not daily)

Physical Strengths:

✠ Eagle eye
✠ Quick reflexes
✠ High pain tolerance

Physical Weaknesses:

✠ Alcohol & Drug Addict
✠ Ménière's Disease:

✠ Completely deaf in one ear
✠ Unpredictable episodes of vertigo and hearing problems
✠ Increasingly frequent headaches and tinnitus

Years of Experience:

Weapon(s):

✠ Knives for 13 years

✠ Knuckle dusters for 7 years

✠ Firearms for around 10 years

Hand-to-Hand Combat:

✠ Street fighting for 13 years

✠✠✠✠✠

Magical Abilities:

Ability on Avalia:

Hydrokinesis

I'm dying trying to find decent roleplay platfroms.

Welcome to the Guild! Total coincidence, but I made a character named Jun with the exact same image you used for your avatar XD

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Ríoghnach "Riona"

Time: Night
Location: Damien Estate Ballroom
Interaction(s): Shehzadi Nahir @Rodiak

Part of Riona wondered if the so-called “dragon who enjoys pouring sweet beverages on lovely women” was none other than Shehzadi Nahir herself—a warning, maybe, not to cross her—or an entirely different person.

Feeling soft lips brush her hand, she became acutely aware that Shehzadi Nahir and Shahzade Munir shared more than just a familial name; a penchant for flirtation ran deep in al-Kadir’s bloodline. Despite herself, Riona couldn’t help but smile in amusement at the thought. A smile which widened further when the Shehzadi asked Riona, of all people, to be her dance partner. Unexpected, to be sure, but…

Just then, Riona felt herself pushed forward, she reached out instinctively to catch her balance. Her hands found purchase not on the floor but on Shehzadi Nahir. Her arms wrapped tightly around the other woman and her fingers clenched handfuls of delicate roses. Heart pounding, Riona realized she was clinging to the Saltun’s daughter in a most improper embrace.

A thousand and one worries should’ve flooded her in that panic-stricken moment: the impropriety of touching the Shehzadi so, how any harm to her could spark a diplomatic incident, and so much more. Yet, what worried Riona the most was damaging the exquisite garment. What if she ripped out the roses or tore the gown from its seams? Would she be able to sew it back together? If not, how many years of her salary would it take to compensate for the ruined dress? Or would they demand retribution and chop off her hands instead? F**k.

The weasel-man who accidentally bumped into her offered his apologies and, after ensuring that no one was injured, swiftly departed with his date. All the while Riona remained fixed in place, unable to trust herself to move without messing up something. Only guided by the Shehzadi’s steadying hands did Riona disentangle herself, inch by wary inch.

Her cheeks aflame, Riona said, “I am rather accident-prone tonight. A dance with me might cost you dearly—a toe, perhaps, or your dignity, should we tumble for all to see.” With a curtsy, she added, “Knowing this, will you brave such risks, my lady?”

Riona extended her hand. “If you dare, then the dance is yours, surprises and all.”

TL;DR

One of the guests bumped into Riona and she collided with Nahir. Luckily Nahir caught them both and they didn’t fall. Riona asked if Nahir would still want to dance with her.
@Rodiak

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Peter

Time: Night
Location: Damien Estate Ballroom
Interaction(s): Persephone Olivia @Potter; Leon Lionheart @Helo; Pink lady @Rodiak

Peter’s chest puffed up like a balloon, pride and satisfaction fizzed within, as Olivia’s tension visibly eased. Each switcheroo he pulled off brightened her face, lighting it up with awe.

Eager to ride the momentum and end on a high note, Peter scanned the room for his next mark. A guy decked out in red and gold drew his attention. With the number of lion-themed accessories on him, you’d think he wanted to represent a whole Pride. The full-faced lion mask, tiny lion head cufflinks, and the most out-of-place (but also the most comfortable looking) lion slippers roared overcompensation. That or Leon Lionheart had a thing for lions.

A smirk curled his lip when he spotted the one anomaly in the man’s ensemble that didn’t roar: a sleek, un-lion-like pocket watch. Catching Olivia’s eye, he tapped his nose twice, pointed at his eyes, then flicked his gaze to the lion-man. Watch closely.

Peter smoothly closed the distance between him and Leon Lionheart, tracking the lion-man’s movements, the rhythm of his breathing, the sway of his posture. Timing was key. The second he got distracted, Peter slipped in. A quick flick and the watch was his, some other noble’s trinket in its place.

Job done. Now where to dump the loot? His eyes settled on two women, one swallowed in pink and the other in orange and gold. Guiding Olivia near them, Peter suddenly stopped and faced her. “A dance, m’lady?” Bowing deep, he rose with a wink. Play along, he mouthed.

When she accepted, Peter let out a dramatic sigh of relief, exclaiming, “Oh, you have no idea how—” His words broke off as he “accidentally” backed into the women. The bump was gentle, a fleeting contact, but either Orange was too plastered to stand or she was frail as a dried flower because that little bump sent Orange crashing into her pink friend.

A genuine “shit” escaped Peter and he reached out to catch her fall. Fortunately for all of them, Pink was made of sterner stuff than Orange. She steadied both herself and her friend before they tumbled onto the floor.

After some apologies and assurances that everyone was okay, Peter whisked Olivia away to the dance floor, leaving Leon Lionheart’s pocket watch dangling from the back of Orange’s golden waist piece.

As Peter assumed his position, he cleared his throat, shaking off the awkwardness. “And that,” he declared, “is how you do it.”

In the nick of time, too. A ripple of unrest was brewing among some of the guests. Most were just scratching their heads, puzzled at how in the world their stuff rearranged themselves. The handful who were the butt of Peter's swapping prank began to notice that they had something that wasn’t theirs. He savored the scene with no small amount of smugness. Then, he caught sight of Blue, the fife-wielding fighter, eyeing the crowd. A shiver of thrill raced through him. She looked like she was on the hunt.

TL;DR

Peter took a pocket watch from Leo. In the process of planting it onto Riona, he caused her to collide into Nahir. After all that, Peter led Olivia to the dance floor. He noticed Stratya on alert.
@Potter@Helo@Rodiak@CitrusArms

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Fritz "Ryn" Hendrix

Time: Evening
Location: Damien Estate’s Ballroom
Interaction(s): Mr. V @samreaper; Lady Charlotte Vikena @princess; Lord Leo Smithwood @Helo

“If possible, would you know where I could get ahold of a small pouch of gun powder?”

Ryn’s eyes widened at the request. Even a pinch of black powder could wreak havoc if mishandled. What mischief could Mr. V possibly have up his sleeve that required such a volatile substance? Before Ryn could inquire further, Lady Vikena approached. “Evening gentlemen. Having fun over here I hope?” The count inclined his head, a courteous bow, the antlers of his stag mask casting twisted shapes across the polished floor beneath their feet.

While Mr. V spoke, Ryn removed his spectacles and carefully swapped out the spent lens with a new one. With his enchanted eyewear back in place, Ryn scrutinized Lady Vikena’s magicae once more. Her natural hue and the unnatural presence that encased her—suffocating in its intensity—remained unchanged. For better or for worse, Ryn could not say. At the very least, Wayra’s reaction suggested that this was not a recent development.

A possibility struck him, Miss Delilah might’ve known about this. Not just her, but also—... He chewed his bottom lip, lost in contemplation. Could this be connected to the Vikena family’s current plight?

Ryn shifted his attention to Lord Smithwood, who stood at a distance. His magicae remained steady. The shadows still clung along the fringes, but their grip on him seemed to have weakened as the day wore on, appearing fainter than they had that morning.

“I see some seats over there,” the count remarked, gesturing toward an unoccupied corner of the ballroom. “Shall we?”

As they crossed the room, Ryn asked Mr. V in a hushed tone, “Do you intend to harm anyone?” He had to at least know that before he could consider handing the man black powder. Acknowledging Mr. V’s response with a subtle nod, Ryn continued on his path.

Waving in Lord Smithwood’s direction, Ryn indicated the corner and extended a silent invitation to join them if he wished. They were a team, after all. It would be remiss of Ryn to leave him out of their discussions.

Upon reaching the empty seats, he pulled out a chair for Lady Vikena and then another for Mr. V before realizing his misstep. Understanding the need to maintain Mr. V’s guise as a servant, he flashed an apologetic look and took the seat for himself.

Questions swirled within Ryn’s mind, many things to discuss and fill Lady Vikena in on—about the investigation, the items Ryn had left for her examination, his findings at the psychiatric institution, and far more besides. However, as Mr. V astutely pointed out, Lady Vikena’s “episode” took precedence. “It’s good to see you Lady Charlotte. I was beginning to worry that I somehow missed our very first CLF Detective Agency meeting. I hadn’t realized it would be quite so... clandestine.” He smiled, but concern was there. “How are you faring?”

TL;DR

Ryn double-checked Charlotte and Leo’s magicae and confirmed that they each still have a magical energy clinging to them that is not their own. While guiding the group to a place to sit, Ryn asked Mr. V if he intended to do harm with the gunpowder. He also signaled Leo where they would be. Once seated, Ryn picked up the conversation by asking Charlotte how she was doing.
@samreaper@princess@Helo

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Peter

Time: Night
Location: Damien Estate Ballroom
Interaction(s): Persephone Olivia @Potter

Even though she tried to hide it as best as she could, Peter got the sense Olivia was nervous as f**k. Might’ve been the way she clamped down on his hand hard enough to cut off circulation at the sight of C-Bert. Or how her big, anxious eyes peered up at him when asked, “Do you think he’ll recognize me?” Or heck, maybe it was the way she herded Peter around the room, giving C-Bert a wider berth than a country mile, her gaze darting back to keep tabs on his location every few seconds. That kind of attention could make a fella a wee bit jealous.

Peter eased Olivia’s chin his way till she was looking at him instead of C-Bert. He leaned in close, his lips just barely grazing her ear. “Keep avoiding him like that and he will,” he murmured. “You’ve gotta relax. He can smell fear. Only way to fool that nose is with brass.” As Peter straightened, he slid a steady hand around the dip of Olivia’s waist and gave what he hoped was a reassuring squeeze.

A fat lot of good that did. She was still coiled tight as a spring. He couldn’t really blame her, what with the gaggle of puffed-up nobles strutting about like they’re the cock of the walk. Their chatter was as shallow as their purses were deep, a relentless joust of who could piss higher up the wall. Flaunting baubles as if those alone proved their worth as people.

The garish light glinted off accessories cast mischievous sparks in Peter’s eyes. Then a grin sliced across his face as an idea brewed. He turned to Olivia. “Hey, watch this.”

Guiding Olivia through the sea of peacocks, Peter slipped into his own kind of dance as he relieved unsuspecting nobles of their fineries. He didn’t stop there, though. Oh no, he mixed it up, planting pilfered items on the wrong noble, or sneaking them back to their owners—but never where they expected. Was he showing off? Damn right. All to steal a smile from Olivia, push away her worries, and maybe even snatch a bit of admiration.

TL;DR

Peter showed off his sleight of hand skills by pickpocketing guests and returning the items back to them, or swapping it onto another guest. @Potter

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Ríoghnach "Riona"

Time: Night
Location: Damien Estate Ballroom
Interaction(s): Shehzadi Nahir @Rodiak

Riona drifted between groups, her ears perked for any scrap of conversation that might prove useful. She took a bitter pride in how easy it was to fade into the background. Years of being a maid ingrained stealth into her bones, but the thought of owing any of her skills to servitude soured in her mouth.

She shook the thought away. No more brooding. She was here on a mission, damn it. Riona squared her shoulders and stepped into the light, inserting herself into circles already mid-gossip. She listened close, interjecting where she could, mining each mundane exchange. Most discussions proved wanting, but Riona kept at it, sifting dross in search of gold—you never knew what little thing might turn out to be important. And, sometimes, she did catch pieces of promising intelligence the Thornbreakers would be interested in.

Which was great and all…

But Gods, these heels were killing her!

Pain gnawed, pinched, and nibbled away at her concentration; being a constant, nagging reminder she was out of place. Eventually, it became too much and Riona had to excuse herself. She retreated into the powder room where she yanked the shoes off and rubbed some life back into her poor, abused feet. There, she questioned every decision that led her to this point, mentally slapped herself for even thinking that, then got ready for round two.

Riona just returned to the ballroom when a burst of pink caught her eye. A bouquet of roses given human form approached, her filigree mask doing nothing to hide who she was: Shehzadi Nahir Aysun Ibn Raif Kadi. “Excuse me, my lady, what lovely dress you have there.”

Riona froze. Why did she approach her? The last time they crossed paths, Riona had been serving at the dinner hosted by the Sultan. After the drama that unfolded that night, she didn’t think the Shehzadi would’ve remembered Riona, much less recognize her.

Reflexively, her fingers flew up and traced the edges of the mask, which concealed the better part of her face. Assured that it was securely in place, she allowed herself a moment of relief.

“Trouble with the shoes?” asked Shehzadi Nahir, her voice like honeyed silk. “I wouldn’t want such a beauty to trip in the middle of a ball.” A flutter of nervousness stirred a mix of flattery and apprehension in Riona’s chest.

Riona’s gown, a burst of orange satin, made her feel empowered and exposed all at once. Its sweetheart neckline and golden accent piece that cinched waist drew the eye; the skirt’s asymmetrical hemline and low-cut back added a touch of daring. Detached sheer puff sleeves billowed from fitted gold bands at her mid-upper arms, then anchored at the wrists by bangles. Although Via’s skillful work hid her scars, Riona became conscious of them under the weight of the Shehzadi’s gaze.

“Thank you.” She took the offered hand to find her balance. This close, she detected subtle tells of ennui in the other woman. It could’ve just been her imagination, but she had seen that particular expression often enough. From experience, boredom among the nobility often spelled trouble for those less fortunate. Servants learned quickly to make themselves scarce until it passed. “Are you certain, my lady?” Riona asked, emboldened by the anonymity lent by masquerade masks. “You have the look of someone who’d welcome a mild diversion, even if it’s just ‘a beauty tripping in the middle of a ball.’”

TL;DR

Riona gathered as much intel as she could for Callum, but needed to take a break from her shoes. When she returned to the ballroom, Nahir approached her. Feeling bold, she asked Nahir if she truly didn’t want to see someone trip since she looked bored out of her mind.
@Helo@Rodiak

Avalia

Time: MORNING
Location: EXT. WOODS - RIVER PORT
Interactions/Mentions: The golden lion furry @Helo; The lady in a purple dress @Tae; The guy cosplaying as an elf @princess
Equipment:

[+]

⋆ Attire from Earth
⋆ Wallet and key
⋆ Zion's hunting knife
⋆ Wet shirt

---

Led by the kid, who navigated the forest like he had a GPS implant, Jun reached a river where they spotted some River Port locals. Jun rushed up and begged them to call an ambulance, but no matter how he phrased "call emergency services" —911, 999, 112, or 119—, they just stared back baffled.

It wasn't until Jun frantically explained that a lionman was gravely injured and in need of medical attention tout suite that the locals finally grasped the severity of the situation. They agreed to gather help to bring Zion to care, offering to take the kid too.

In the meantime, Jun needed water for Zion. Without any containers, he peeled off his shirt and soaked it up with as much water as the fabric could hold. Concerns about sanitation crossed his mind, but it had to be better than nothing.

Cradling the dripping bundle, Jun hotfooted back to where he left the others, only to find nobody there. Well, technically not "nobody" if you counted the giant spider carcasses. Everyone else—Malachi, purple lady, and most importantly Zion—vanished, leaving a half-naked loser standing alone in the woods with only the mangled arachnids for company.

Had they duped him? He doubted it—the raw terror and pain on Zion's face couldn't have been faked. Logic suggested the others carted Zion off for medical help the second Jun and the kid were out of eyeshot. The theory gave him some relief. But then a more chilling thought wormed its way in.

This LARPing community was even more unhinged than Jun realized. So hell-bent on preserving the illusion, they waited until Jun was gone to finally aid Zion when they had the option to quickly transport him any time. To them, fantasy eclipsed real harm. This crystallized Jun's growing fears about Avalia: the longer he stayed, the less likely he'd get back home in one piece.

Time to hit the road. Yesterday.

· · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · ·

Time: AFTERNOON
Location: INT./EXT. MAMA MALACHI'S SUMMERHOUSE - RIVER PORT
Interactions/Mentions: The golden lion furry @Helo; The lady in a purple dress @Tae; The guy cosplaying as an elf @princess
Equipment:

[+]

⋆ Attire from Earth
⋆ Backpack
⋆ Smartphone
⋆ Wallet and key
⋆ Computer
⋆ Headphones
⋆ Spare eyeglasses
⋆ Plastic bag
⋆ Letter
⋆ Zion's hunting knife
⋆ Damp shirt
⋆ Clothes and cloak "borrowed" from Malachi's
⋆ Canteen "borrowed" from Malachi's
⋆ Map "borrowed" from Malachi's
⋆ Kenia's housewarming gifts (bread)

---

Jun grabbed his stuff and crammed what he could into his backpack. A canteen for water—check. Questionable map—check. All the bread totally-just-a-friendly-neighbor-who-can-hold-her-own-in-a-fight brought—double check. There were probably more useful things he should've packed if he just took a moment to think, but there wasn't time. He needed to go before they noticed he was alone.

He struggled into an old shirt and pair of pants he found in the house, reasoning they would help him blend into the crowds better than his "Earth" garb (not to mention his own shirt still needed time to dry). At least the cloak covered the worst of the bad fit.

Jun could've just legged it then, but his conscience needled him to compensate for the "borrowed" goods and broken picture frame. Unsure of the value or exchange rate, he left a mishmash of cash and amas on the table he hoped would cover the cost.

He scribbled a hasty note to Zion (saying "I hope you get better soon"), then crumpled the sentiment into a ball and tossed it into the bin. What a waste. Pity be to the trees sacrificed to make the paper.

It wasn't as if his good wishes could change what happened or heal the big guy any better or faster. Zion had plenty of well-wishers and medical staff helping him. Jun would make no difference—he made no difference.

An anxious double-check later, Jun slipped out into the afternoon sun.

TLDR

The child led Jun to the closest river where they found locals who agreed to bring help to move Zion and take the child back to River Port. When Jun returned to the spot he left the group at, no one was there.

Taking advantage of the team's absence, Jun returned to the summerhouse. He gathered his belongings, took some things, and changed clothes before leaving.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Fritz "Ryn" Hendrix

Time: Evening
Location: Damien Estate’s Ballroom
Interaction(s): Mr. V @samreaper

“If you wish for a most grand spectacle the likes rivaling such parties that might be taboo.”

Black Rose’s afterparty crossed Ryn’s mind. Udo’s report had mentioned Baron Hugonin’s ward taking part, however, he had been absent at the group reprimand the following morning. As an attendee himself, Lord Smithwood must have known about Mr. V—though his poor opinion of commoners may have rendered Mr.V’s presence less memorable. Had he or Lady Vikena questioned him already?

“A night, unlike that like I assure to unforgettable,” Unlike the afterparty, Ryn hoped. “But as I am one man. Some help is needed and from you, I would ask for whatever you can/or willing to tell me about Calbert and the Damien household? And one more thing, but I suppose that can wait till after.”

Intrigue and concern wrestled briefly before curiosity gained the upper hand. While prudent enough to feel some disquiet, he could not deny the spark of excitement at Mr. V’s cryptic hints of bold, likely illicit, mischief to come.

“Certainly, if it helps, I’ll gladly share what I know. And maybe you could enlighten me on a few points as well.” Ryn opened with what was common knowledge to any Erwynn citizen as one of Montauppe’s closest Varian neighbors. He then recounted his own brushes with the count since coming to Sorian. Mindful of boundaries, Ryn withheld details he had no right to divulge, but he did relay the tension between Duke Vikena and Count Damien, including Lady Vikena’s views on the count.

This inevitably led to his little conversation with Ms. Olga from The Tough Tavern. Prior to stumbling upon Prince Callum sprawled on the ground in the alley, Ryn had paid a visit to the tavern to ask the one question that had been bothering him since his first visit: What did Ms. Olga owe Count Damien for? As it turned out, a great many things—enough to win the tavernkeeper’s loyalty.

By her account, he was a good man, no matter what others said.

As Ryn spoke, two masked figures, an owl and a weasel, slipped into the ballroom. Inwardly he sighed, recognizing Peter, openly defying the crew’s decision; there would be words about that later.

For now, Ryn angled his body towards Mr. V and nodded discreetly at the red-haired pair. “Do you see that striking couple over there? The gentleman wearing a weasel mask has been keeping a close eye on the Damiens for a few days now. His insights may better serve you.”

---

---

Evening Sola 21, 1739

Consciousness returned in fragments as the world came into focus. Ryn lay prone on the carpet floor, his body struggling to move a muscle. Echoes of pain pulsated through him and his skull pounded relentlessly.

He blinked several times before he could make out the figure kneeling in front of him—Peter, with his trademark bright red hair seeming ablaze in the dim light.

“Welcome back to the land of the living, Boss,” Peter said, a hint of relief lightening his tone. He slid a supportive hand under Ryn’s shoulder, eased him into a sitting position.

Ryn attempted to speak, to ask how long he had been unconscious, but his throat felt parched and swollen, his tongue like sandpaper in his mouth. All he could manage was a hoarse croak before launching into a bout of coughing that made his head spin.

Peter tightened his grip to keep Ryn upright. “Here.” He grabbed a glass of water that he had at the ready. “Small sips,” he advised, as he brought the cup to Ryn’s lips. The cool water was a balm to Ryn’s ragged throat. Clarity returned to his groggy head.

“Lots happened,” Peter said to fill the quiet. “Remember C-Bert’s dead daughter? Well, found out she’s not so dead anymore and a helluva lot more bloodthirsty, too.”

Ryn nodded mutely and continued drinking. Though by pure chance, he learned of Lady Damien’s resurrection from their encounter in the park during the fireworks.

“Lucky for Oscar and friends, her long-lost half-brother came to the rescue.”

At this, Ryn’s brow furrowed. There was so much to unpack in that single sentence, so many questions to ask. He did not even know where to begin.

“Didn’t you know? C-Bert has a bastard son! Another noble who pumps and dumps random girls cause he can? Shock! Gasp! Tell me it isn’t so!” Peter’s disgust was evident, and not without reason. After all, he too had been born out of wedlock, cast aside and forgotten.

“Think C-Bert was off screwing some side piece behind wifey’s back? I hope so—imagine the scandal.”

Ryn shook his head. Having witnessed the love Count Damien had for his wife and daughters, he doubted such betrayal.

“Eh, doesn’t matter I guess.” Peter shrugged. “I can live with him being a privileged jacka**, taking what he wanted from a commoner, then ditching her when things got inconvenient. Cause duty or some bullsh*t like that. Never checked on how she was doing, I bet.” A dangerous grin spread across Peter’s freckled face.

His lips peeled back to bare teeth clenched tight enough to crack. Though the resulting smile was wide, it never reached his eyes. They remained hard and pitiless like flint, glittering with malevolence in the dim light. Sunken shadows darkened the dimples that usually lent him an impish charm. It was the smile of someone who had suffered injustice, nursed grudges, and now sought any outlet to unleash that pent-up fury.

“You’re projecting.” Ryn rasped out.
Peter leaned in close, hackles raised. “And that’s none of your f**king business, now is it?”
Ryn gave a weak smile. “Just a little.”

With a derisive snort, Peter turned away. Something caught his eye, and he froze. Ryn followed his gaze to the shattered remnants of what was once a blue figurine scattered on the mantelpiece. A different kind of pain bloomed in his chest. A fist seemed to close around his heart, squeezing until he could scarcely draw breath. Grief rose in his throat, sharp and burning as bile. He swallowed against the lump, doing his best to suppress it from taking over.

“Wayra moved his body to a safe place,” Peter related flatly. “Karl’s taking the equipment over there now.” He stood and extended a hand down to Ryn. “We better get a move on if you wanna harvest fresh organs.”

While “want” was far too strong a word for such a grisly task, Ryn knew he could not allow Udo’s remains to go to waste—as much as he preferred granting his friend a proper sea burial without disturbing his corpse at all. With effort, he shoved aside his distaste, took a deep breath to steel himself, and accepted Peter’s outstretched hand.

---

---

Having imparted all he could, Ryn redirected the conversation to Mr. V’s mysterious “one more thing.” “What else might you need from me?”

TL;DR

Ryn tells Mr. V what he knows of Count Calbert and the Damiens, but points out that Peter (who just walked in with Olivia) might have more useful information. He asks what else Mr. V might need Ryn for.

Flashback: After being unconscious for an indeterminate amount of time, Ryn wakes up in the guest room. As Peter waits for Ryn to recover, he mentions Calbert, Violet, and Cassius. They leave the guesthouse together to carve out Udo’s body.

@samreaper@Princess@Potter@Tpartywithzombi@PapaOso

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Olivia & Peter

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Peter took a long, slow drag on the stump of his cigarillo, savoring the woody taste as the embers burned dangerously close to his fingertips. Leaning on the fence, he watched the thin stream of gray curl up into the night sky.

The rhythmic clip-clop of heels on pavement grew louder in the dark. With a casual flick, he tossed the spent cigarillo, letting it burn itself out. He blew the remaining smoke from his mouth and straightened just as she came near.

“Well, well,” Peter drawled. “Hey there, gorgeous. Back for more trouble?” A crooked grin played at the corner of his mouth. “Persephone.”

Olivia lingered at the Vikena Estate longer than Charlotte. Due to never attending a masquerade, she had taken longer to get ready. Unfamiliar with nobility, Olivia had taken more time deciding on her outfit. Once finished, she stared at herself with shock. A stranger stared back at her in the mirror as if taunting her. Never would she have imagined herself to look noble. She longed for her old clothes, her messy braids, and the biggest concern being if she would eat that day. Now - especially now - her main concern was whether or not she’d be burned at the stake the next day. The appearance in front of her and the delights she’d adorned for the evening was a stark reminder of how much pressure she had on her shoulders. Liv finally broke away from the mirror, braid her goodbye to Delilah, and then began her reluctant trip toward the masquerade ball.

Her hair lay in an elegant braid her back adorned with a silver owl clip. The owl mask obscured the makeup over her face - a feature she reluctantly allowed Charlotte and Delilah to use. The dress and accessories were unlike anything she had worn in her life. Instead of pearls over the cape, she’d sewed feathers into it to match her mask. The walk to the Damien Estate filled her with dread. Each step in the high heels was careful and precise, and she couldn’t help but wonder why women wore these torture filled shoes. Stumbling was going to be common; Olivia inhaled as she nearly collided with a tree.

With a groan, she pushed away from it and ignored the stares she was receiving. As she neared the Estate, visions of her assault filled her mind’s eye; the guard’s faces had been sown with fear and surprise; the looks of anger on Calbert’s expression, and the gun at Kazumin’s head… Butterflies rose inside her stomach as did bile; if she had been minutes later, would Kazumin have died? What would have happened to him? The unanswered questions, the dread and fear, coursed through Olivia as if it were a tidal wave coming to knock her down. A voice interrupted her reverie and forced all other thoughts out.

“Well, well,” The man drawled. “Hey there, gorgeous. Back for more trouble?” A crooked grin played at the corner of the stranger’s mouth. “Persephone.”

For a moment she paused, as if she’d been punched in the gut and the air had been lost. Olivia whirled around to find a man with ginger hair staring at her. Her gaze flickered to the cigar on the ground then back up at him. A scowl accompanied her expression, and then a sneer.

”You must have confused me with someone else.” She replied curtly. Then, she drew in a deep breath, not realizing she’d been holding it. Her lungs screamed for air as she pondered her next response. A dry laugh escaped her. ”You normally wait around to pick up women and call them by the wrong name?”

Peter chuckled a rough sound. “Nice try, Olivia,” the name rolled off his tongue with a touch of sarcasm. “But I’d recognize those eyes anywhere, no amount of makeup or costume can hide that spunk.” He took a step forward, the lamplight casting an uneven glow on his face. “I’ve been a fan since your first spat with Calbert at the castle. Remember? All that bread.” He took another step.

Olivia scowled at his chuckle. Why was this funny? How did he know about her? Though she was unarmed, she thought of different spells she could use. When he took a step forward, Olivia held her ground, and glared venomously at him. Her mind told her to run, yet she was captivated - upon why the hell he was interested in her.

“Gotta love how you broke into C-Bert’s house to save your pal. Ballsy move.” He shaped his hand into a pistol, pressed the finger-barrel to his temple and pulled the trigger, mimicking the dramatic recoil that followed. “Paid off though. How’s living with the Vikenas?”

Liv flinched at his recoil to the gun. In her mind’s eye she saw Kazumin’s head being blown off and shuddered. Questions raced through her mind, all vying for her attention. She glanced around to ensure they were alone. The less who saw her do magic, the better. Was this a prank from Calbert? She shook her head and took a step back. Her heel clicked on the ground and she knew she could not run from the madman in these devil shoes. Maybe she could knock him out with it?

He paused to let all that sink in. “But now you and cowlick are back. After all that sh*te. Why?” Peter leaned in a bit, voice dropping lower. “Come to finish him off?”

”You’ve done enough talking, stalker.” Olivia finally replied. ”Why do you know so much about me? Are you stalking me?” Olivia scowled at him and continued. ”Do you work for him or something? Get out of my fuckin’ face.” She attempted to side-step him to the left toward the estate. Maybe this was a bad idea, and it would be wiser if she went back to the house - then the thought of Charlotte being alone there caused her chest to ache. How could she leave Charlotte in that lion’s den? Was Charlotte being harassed by one of these pests too? What would that poor girl do, Liv wondered. She had to go find her. ”Stay out of my fuckin business.”

Peter scoffed. “Or else what? You’ll zap me with a spell? Do me in? Go ahead, give it your best shot. But don’t think I’ll make it easy on you.” He let “Olivia” slip past him and shadowed her closely, jamming his hands into his pockets.

Olivia glared daggers at the man. She watched his hand movement and was prepared to act if he had ill intent. With her back now to the estate, she folded her arms and scowled. Why was she wasting her time on him? Despite it, she found herself rooted to the spot; this man could be dangerous to Charlotte and her, and who knows who else. She couldn't let him leave with these memories.

“Let’s just say you do get rid of me,” he went on. “And let’s pretend I was working for C-Bert. What’s the point? I’d have already tipped him off about you, your magic, and your pals. He’d be ready and waiting to spring a trap when you prance right in there.”

”What the fuck do you want?” Olivia inquired. Her temper now flared and she was no longer playing his game. She slipped her devil heels off and assessed the man. In the back of her mind she wondered how much magic he knew, if any, and how prepared he was to fight. ”You have a fuckin minute to tell me what the hell it is you want or need and then you’ll get the fuck away from me. And why the hell are you stalking me - get a life.”

Peter watched Olivia intently, his gaze following her movements. She stood straight and steady, shoulders back, feet planted. Ready for a tussle. He didn’t blame her. The smart play was to come clean, explain everything. The kind of thing a reasonable man would do.

But when has Peter ever been accused of being reasonable? And he was itching to see what she could do.

A wolfish grin split his mug as he rolled his neck, and then his shoulders, to limber up. “Short answer: you.” He relaxed into an easy stance. “The longer version is gonna take more than a minute. So either extend that deadline or show me whatcha got.”

Olivia narrowed her gaze at him. Why was he beckoning her to fight? What the hell was going on? She growled her displeasure and glanced at the dress. Charlotte paid for this against her wishes and now she might muck it up? ”You are not worth this.” Liv sneered, but didn’t back down.

”You’re not a coward, Persephone. Why don’t you fry him? You do enjoy playing with fire…” ”Do it, Seph. Make him pay for stalking you.” ”We didn’t raise a fuckin coward so quit acting like one you little bitch.” ”He’s obviously a threat so why play games?”

She ignored the voices, much to her displeasure; her head was beginning to throb. Pain flickered across her expression but she didn’t move. The reasonable option was to hear him out; the shorter route? Kick his ass. Lottie and Delilah hadn’t gone through this much trouble to make her look presentable or house her to have her fuck it up the next day. She growled again with fury. ”Fine. You have five fuckin minutes before I rip your throat out. Start talking, stalker,”

While waiting for a response, whispered an incantation: ”Communicare in mente.” She focused on sending the message to Charlotte telepathically. ”Will be late. Do not worry. It’s Liv.” Then in the back of her mind, she thought of the next spell she’d use in case he didn’t fulfill her wish: Obice.

A whisper passed her lips. Communicare in mente. Who was she contacting? Had to be Lady Lottie or cowlick. What did I tell you, Udo? She’s not reckless.

The memory of Udo chortled. “Are you sure about that?”

Peter regarded the fugitive. Not completely reckless.

While Olivia sent out her message, Peter scooped up the heels she tossed. “Free tip, better not face someone directly when you’re casting. They might read lips,” without glancing back, he started down the road, “time how fast you can cast, and narrow down which spells you’re gonna use next.”

Olivia scowled at Peter. If looks could have killed, he would have died. This man was on her shit list and he was soon going to surpass Calbert if his shenanigans continued. Fury rushed through her veins, egging her on; however, the sense of whom she portrayed and her friend’s lives, kept her grounded.

He turned over his shoulder to see if she was following. “What are you standing there for? Your pals are expecting you. Or… Can’t you walk and chant at the same time?” He shot her a playful, taunting look. Always fun to poke at the dangerous ones.

Rooted to the spot, Liv didn’t move. She couldn't show up barefoot, and those devil shoes were expensive. With every ounce of patience and sheer will, did she begin reluctantly following the nuisance.

“So, introduction. Name’s Peter. No family name. I’m a bastard and a son of a whore… Literally. Pops was a noble who liked sampling mum’s wares. Left us high and dry, as they do. A**hole.” He spat the word out. “Anyways, I grew up hustling around the streets. Would’ve joined the Woodsmen given the chance, but that didn’t pan out. Found similar work in the end.”

Peter. Olivia glared at him as she hiked up her dress and soon fell into step beside him. She clamped her jaw shut stubbornly. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of caring, so she stared ahead with a scowl. So he had a bad background - boo hoo.

She would have remained silent - until he brought up the Woodsmen. Her gaze shot to him and nearly gave her whiplash in her hurried response. Realizing she’d given in emotion, she resumed her scowl and narrowed gaze at him while she continued holding her dress up so it wouldn't be dirty.

”What?” she inquired incredulously. Then she started to chortle once he mentioned ‘finding similar work in the end.’ ”So you're telling me you’re some kind of rat? Fits you. You are a rat for who now?” She tried to grab her shoes, but he evaded her and she let out a frustrated sigh. I will murder this man.

Peter barked out a sharp laugh as Olivia scrambled to snatch her shoes back. They danced around each other, nimble as cats, until she gave in.

He considered his words to her question carefully, then abruptly stopped to face Olivia. He met her gaze straight on, all smugness gone. He couldn’t reveal every detail, not unless she was on board, but she deserved the truth.

“... For folks who have a bone to pick with the Danroses,” Peter said. “That family hurt a lot of people. Ruined lives, taken lives. Then pretended that they had nothing to do with it. And they’re still at it. My employers are going to end their lies, drag the truth into the light.”

“They want justice, but they’ll settle for revenge,” He held her gaze a little longer, before turning away to continue down the road.

“To be clear, I was stalking C-Bert, not you. It looked like he has King Edin’s ear so we figured it wouldn’t hurt to find out more about him. You just kept popping up around him.” He glanced sidelong at Olivia, a brief smirk returned, “And each time, you impressed me. So much so I want to recruit you.” Peter sighed, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “Not that the others agree. Given your record so far, they think you’d be more of a liability than an asset. Me, I think with a little training you could make a damn fine scout and thief. Maybe even more, with your magic.”

“Boss didn’t want to get you into deeper sh*t than you already are in, but he did say to help you when necessary. Like, say, throwing the hounds off your scent after your first big escape.” Which hadn’t been as easy as Peter made it sound, not with two people leaving a literal blood trail to their hideout.

Olivia sighed loudly when he relented on giving back her shoes. A smartass retort made it to her lips, but she let it slide. He seemed like he would finally open up. Coldness enveloped her and it wasn’t from the night. The injustice the Danroses inflicted onto her family caused rage to boil to the surface. If she could have caught fire right then with it, she would have. While he spoke, she glanced around to ensure they were alone. Her eyebrows rose at those two words: scout and thief. Two things she was proud to be good at.

Once he finished, Olivia stared at him and then smirked with amusement. ”Well damn, I’m flattered.” She teased and then bit her lip. Could she do both and maintain her fake nobility status? What if it endangered Charlotte and Kazumin? Her heart couldn’t take losing either of them.

"However – with this new persona, I am trying to turn over a new leaf and blend in. That doesn’t mean you don’t have my attention. I am interested in helping take down the Danroses; in fact, they ruined my family’s life.” Bitterness weaved its way into her voice.

Then, she half-smiled kindly, offering the first sign of no longer wanting to murder him… yet. ”Thank you for your help so far, and your praise.” She chuckled and rubbed her arm and glanced away.

”I’ll think about it, how's that?” Olivia glanced toward the Damien Estate and then back to Peter. ”Maybe we can continue discussing our… arrangement at a certain masquerade? And who is your boss anyway?” Olivia shivered slightly, now aware of her bare feet on the dirt ground beneath them. ...Unless of course, you’re here for that specific reason and want to run off now?”

Peter leaned in close to Olivia, trying for a bit of charming roguishness. He didn’t have the allure that came naturally to Udo—the priest could’ve picked his damn nose and it still would’ve made people thirsty for him. Even Karl got more than a few appreciative looks without trying. Life just wasn’t fair that way. But a guy’s gotta try, right? He cocked a half-smile, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. “You asking me to be your date?”

Olivia tensed as he leaned closer, but couldn’t help but smirk. His eyes up close, were nicer than she had initially thought. Realizing she was thinking this, she scolded herself, and then focused elsewhere instead. ”Well, my fellow rogue, where else would we be going?” Liv mused and batted her eyelashes at him. ”I didn’t get dressed up to meander the city, did I? We’ll have access to C-Bert." Her voice dropped to a mysterious hush as she waited for his response.

“And looking fine doing it. Even avoid giving a straight answer like a proper noble.” Which, with the ladies, usually meant they were trying to let a guy down easy. Especially if they got all tense like that when you leaned in. So much for roguish charm. “I can take a hint.”

Peter pulled away, answering Olivia’s other question. “What I can’t do is tell you who the boss is. Not until you say ‘yes, I’m in.’ You get where I’m coming from, right?” He figured she wasn’t the type to rat Fritz out, but sometimes stuff slipped out at the wrong moment and suddenly details were out that couldn’t be taken back. Long as she was on the fence, he said all he could and he already said too much.

Olivia stared at Peter and a frown slowly encompassed her face. She recognized how her words had sounded, and her chest panged with guilt. She approached Peter again and gently took his hand. ”I understand.” Her voice was quiet and sincere, and Olivia stared at him long and hard for a minute. She was silent briefly, with the wind being the only noise and rustling of leaves disturbing the peace. Charlotte’s and Kazumin’s expression swam into her mind, but another one filled her too: her parent’s. Liv bit her lip and then took a deep breath. A weight lifted off her shoulders and she let out a relaxed sigh, as if she had her corset loosened.

”I accept your offer. You’re right that they ruined too many lives; including my own and who knows what Calbert’s up too and what else he might do.” Olivia then took his hand and grasped it loosely, allowing him the chance to let go of it if he so pleased.

”Yes, I do want to date. I’m not good with shit shit, I didn’t mean it to come off as though I didn’t, although I only did just meet you so it must be fate. Besides,” she smirked as she gazed at their reflection in a nearby puddle then back up at him. ”We may be the best-looking damn gingers in the room. Why deprive them of beauty?”

Olivia’s touch sent Peter’s heart racing. He watched her watching him, unsure what she was thinking. With little else to do, he indulged in the chance to admire her up close. He fought the urge to remove her mask for a better view.

Her “I accept” almost slipped right by. Peter blinked, digesting her words, then it clicked. He smacked his forehead. “Ah, sh*tf**kf**kdamn.” Crouching, he let his head droop but kept his other hand in hers. “Sorry, should’ve been clearer. Didn’t mean you had to give me your answer right now. It’s a big decision and it’ll be dangerous working with us.” He peered up. Even from this angle, she looked good. “Think about it more. Only if you’re sure, leave a copper piece by your window.”

Grin back, he said, “But for now, my fair maiden, we have a party to crash.” He wiped the grime from her feet and eased Olivia’s shoes back on.

“Give me a sec.” He swapped the bowtie for an ostentatious lace jabot and matching cuffs. The glinting jeweled cufflinks he nicked off some highborn fop completed the transformation from just another waiter to a nobleman who thought bibs were high fashion. With the weasel mask in place, he was ready.

“Let’s wow these stuffed shirts with our beauty.” Peter bared his gap-toothed smile.

”Oh - right. Yeah… I will think about it. I just... Never mind.” Her voice dropped and then she giggled. She shuffled her feet and adjusted her mask in the awkwardness that followed. Despite it, Peter grinned and the offer to go to the ball was back on. With a sigh of relief that the decision could be paused, Olivia relaxed.

Then as he wiped the grime off her feet and slipped her shoes back on, Liv was now glad for the mask. It covered the majority of her blush and she had to bite her lips to keep from grinning.

Next, she watched as he completed his costume and started laughing; a high-pitched musical laugh. ”A weasel?” She exclaimed with shock and amusement. ”Did you purposely try matching my costume?” Olivia shook her head. ”Stalker.” Olivia fought back a grin as she stared at him and offered him her arm. Together, they headed off to Calbert Damien’s Estate.