[color=lightgray][center][img]https://i.imgur.com/fp2QHJH.png[/img]
[color=#4C93C2]Location:[/color] Grand Ballroom
[color=#4C93C2]Time:[/color] Evening
[color=#4C93C2]Interactions:[/color] Olivia [@potter] 
[color=#4C93C2]Mentions:[/color] Lady Charlotte Vikena [@princess], Alexander Deacon [@FunnyGuy]
[color=#4C93C2]Outfit:[/color] [url=https://i.imgur.com/Mr1xTEl.png]Bro Be Looking SO DAMN GOOD oh maw gawd[/url][/center]

[hr]

It was a room full of people pretending that they had not just watched a woman burn alive earlier that day. 

It was a room full of people pretending to live their best lives, surrounded by all the glitz and glamour that Sorian had to offer. All that indulgence, all of that laughter, all of the pointless conversations and small talk that filled these noble endeavors. Like each and every one of them did have the ashes of the queen stained in their memory. 

Cassius knew what it was like to be haunted by flames. This was not the first time he had watched skin melt from bone, nor was it the first time he had been cursed to smell charred hair and boiling blood. You would think knowing that the room is filled with others that may now be haunted the same would bring him some solace. It did not. 

In fact, in that room filled with all of those people, Cassius may as well have been alone. 

Lost in the labyrinth that was his mind, Cassius navigated the last week of his life. The memories started the night he pulled Charlotte from the depths of that frigid lake. The emotions of that evening had been overwhelming for them both. The push and pull of heart and mind, the revelations laid bare by her that night would have left anyone reeling. For Cassius, he had seen crazier, experienced wilder, and endured just as dangerous realities as the one she admitted to facing. And yet, none of the conflicts he had survived felt as real to him as the fear he suffered for knowing what she was going through. Each time he thought of her words his heart broke again. A Witch Blood. A target of a multi-fronted cast of villains, opposition that seemed hellbent on tormenting her, using her, or worse. 

The witch hunters, if they truly knew about her lineage, terrified him. The Black Rose, whatever their machinations might be for her, terrified him. And his own blood boiled as he pictured the moment she described taking place at the art gallery; Alexander Deacon dominating her mind with his accursed powers… Attempting to force her to kiss him. Rage was not the word for how the act made Cassius feel. It was far too weak an emotion. What seared withing him was not just anger, it was hatred. 

That hatred had reached his eyes, as his expression hardened and twisted into a wrathful stare down at the table as his grip tightened around his drink to the point where he could almost feel the glass shatter in his hands. He held it at bay and forced control over his outward presentation. Not revealing his cards in his face had always been a skill of his, but that skill had faltered lately. When it came to matters of Charlotte Vikena, his restraint, his composure, his devil may care disposition had all been compromised. As had his heart. 

It was as though the control he had always possessed over himself had been taken from him. Not in a way like how Alexander manipulated his control at the banquet, nor how he tried to remove Charlotte’s control at the gallery, no… This was more like his own body surrendering the dominion he had over himself. It was not malignant, yet it terrified him all the same. 

Every time Cassius and Charlotte had met up since that night brought with it that same fear. Fear for all she went through but also fear of what being around her did to him. Despite the heavy circumstances of their meetings, the harrowing conversations and revelations that came along the way… Each time they met, they somehow ended up tangled in one another’s arms. Despite themselves, their lips had found their way to one another on more than one occasion since that evening, but with every ounce of restraint either of them had that was all that had been allowed to happen. 

And they never spoke of it. Not of the yearning of their bodies, nor the yearning of their hearts. They simply spoke of business. Charlotte went into details that she had not been able to that night. Details about what happened at the tavern, about how that filth had treated her and slammed her head into the table with such cruelty, details that added another man or two to the list of throats Cassius would gladly rip open if only the opportunity presented itself. In the case of the man from the tavern, work had already been done to find him. 

Even Cas had opened up, telling Lottie about how he thought Kira had died, about the events that led up to his exit from the Iron Wolves, and how he knew deep down that they would come for him. Cassius revealed to her that he was not simply one of their best sellswords, but that they had been grooming him for command. The elders of the organization had chosen him to lead, and his exit had been more than a spit in their face. There would be a reckoning for that choice. Add it to the rest of the reckonings waiting around the corner for them both. 

But what had stood out the most from all Charlotte had revealed that night was just how clearly she felt no one would miss her if she was gone. None of the dangers, none of the revelations had left him more shaken than those words. 

Yet what had shattered him even more was the moment his father handed him the paper that morning. The words he read there nearly destroyed him. 

[color=#4C93C2]“The woman is unhinged, son. She is not well. Do you see now why I…”[/color] 

Cassius had tuned the rest out. It was all he could do in that moment to avoid wrapping his hands around his own father’s throat for speaking of her that way. Instead, those hands clenched it fists so tight at his side that his own nail dug into his palms deep enough to draw blood. The small wounds were still tender beneath his gloves as he stood here in this ball. And even now, as the thought passed through his mind of how Charlotte must have felt if the gossip was true, the corners of his eyes welled up with tears. Not just out of sadness for Lottie, but out of rage for whoever printed these words. True or not, for the words to be spread at all in such a public display of disgrace was disgusting. 

Before his mind could turn to violence, a woman’s approach ripped him from his thoughts and forced him back into the reality of the moment. 

[color=#8FBC8B]“You look like you need a pick me up…Mind if I join? I can fuck off if you want.”[/color]

It was Olivia… Thank the gods. Cassius wasn’t sure if he could handle one of the polished, perfumed little parasites that pretended to be more important than everyone else just because of the status of their birth. Olivia was different, cut from a cloth that was much more familiar to him. 

Cassius took in the sight of her. Ms. Hawthorne’s deep emerald gown was beautiful to say the least, but the woman within it was clearly uncomfortable wearing it despite how flattering the dress truly was. Clocking that actually brought the faintest of smirks to his face. 

[color=lightsteelblue]“No need to fuck off… I’m just glad its you and not [i]one of those vultures[/i].”[/color] Cassius jested, motioning to the majority of the room. [color=lightsteelblue]“But how are Ms. Hawthorne? Or, Lady Hawthorne? I…I’m not sure I know which to use to be honest.”[/color] Cassius admitted, a puzzled expression on his has as he realized that her nobility, or lack thereof, had ever come up as far as he can remember. [/color]