[IC] 🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

[JJ Doe]

Peter

Time: Night
Location: Damien Estate Ballroom
Interaction(s): Cowlick @samreaper

Having sneaked into the Damien estate more than a few times at this point, the place was getting to be old hat. Peter knew exactly where to change into servant clothes and it was easy to figure out where certain supplies were being stored. Not that knowing all that made it a walk in the park to move through the Damien estate.

The security was tight, with strategic checkpoints and patrols, and occasional servants passing by forced him to stay on his toes. Peter’s servant outfit helped to some degree, but there was still a lot of waiting and watching involved. He had to carefully choose his moments to move, hide, or pretend he had every reason to be where he was whenever someone approached. But Peter lived for the thrill of it all. With each close call, his heart raced, and the risk only fueled his excitement.

He relished the chance to test his skills. It’s why he made the daredevil decision to be a little sh*t and take it further after he got his hands on a bag of gunpowder from the storage room. Since he was here, might as well snoop through C-Bert and Lili-A’s things.

Peter carefully made his way to the living area of the estate and randomly picked a room he could start his search in. While poking through various items, trying to find something remotely interesting, a sudden noise interrupted his explorations. He froze mid-motion, straining to listen. The sound grew louder. Without hesitation, Peter dropped to the floor and squeezed himself underneath the largest piece of furniture.

The door swung open, and a guard strode into the room, his boots thumping heavily on the floor. Peter watched intently as the guard’s feet paced around the room, eventually stopping right in front of his hiding spot.

Time seemed to crawl as the guard remained motionless, and Peter could feel beads of sweat forming on his brow. He was beginning to think that he’d have to fight his way out when the guard turned and exited the room. The door closed behind them with a soft click. Peter exhaled slowly and counted the seconds, waiting for what he thought would be a safe amount of time before attempting to emerge from his hiding place.

Just as he was about to move, muffled noises pricked up his ears. It was coming from the other room. Being the nosy bastard he was, the rogue listened good.

---

Back in the ballroom, Peter was just another faceless servant thanks to the servant-issued mask slapped on his face. But he had a harder time finding Olivia and Cowlick than he did with the gunpowder. Turned out Olivia bolted from the party a while ago. And after playing a few rounds of servant roulette with a crowd wearing the same drab uniforms and bland masks, Peter finally found the guy he was looking for.

“Hey Vincent,” Peter called out, “you dropped this.” He handed a leather pouch to Cowlick, then clapped him on the arm, putting a little extra oomph into it. “Next pint’s on you, and we’ll call it square.” Gunpowder delivered, Peter turned away, leaving the farmer boy to do whatever scheme he had cooking.

---

---

Ríoghnach "Riona"

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

Lordling Smithwood scurried away, his tail tucked so far up his ass you could barely see it. The sight should’ve filled her with a rush. But it was a hollow victory, and she knew it. Shehzadi Nahir’s presence was the only reason he backed down, not because of what Riona did or said.

A stark reminder of the true disparity of their power.

Riona’s grip tightened around the bracelet as a heavy weight of impotence settled in her guts. With each pounding beat, the sensation spread, a knife twisting deeper and deeper into her heart.

She drew a deep, steadying breath, then flagged down a passing servant. “Excuse me, a guest is missing a pocket watch, and he found this bracelet.” Her voice betrayed no emotion as she handed over the jewelry. “Could you see if anyone is searching for a lost bracelet? And if anyone comes across the missing watch, please see that it is returned to the man wearing a lion’s mask.” She pointed at the Lordling in the distance. “Yes, the one who’s laughing like a madman.” After thanking the servant, he immediately departed on his errand.

“Quite a handful, isn't he? Adorable.”

Riona didn’t bother to stifle a groan. “There… can be a certain charm to childish, even self-centered, behaviors in small, occasional doses, I will grant. But even you would not find him so endearing when it reaches King Edin’s level of petulance.” She gauged the Shehzadi’s reaction to her not-so-subtle jab at the King. “It is all good fun to watch from afar. Less so when one is made the brunt of it.”

She noticed the amusement playing across Shehzadi Nahir’s face as she watched the earlier exchange between Riona and Sh*tlord. People did so love a bit of drama, didn’t they? Especially when they could simply sit back and enjoy the show without risking a scratch themselves.

Her gaze drifted to Lordling Smithwood who was still cackling for some reason—seriously, what’s wrong with him? Then, back to her dance partner. “You could do better, My Lady.” A sigh escaped her. “Though it would be a great win for him. He would certainly benefit from having a partner as mature as you. I imagine your words would reshape him in a way mine never could.”

That sinking sensation of powerlessness returned. And with it, doubt.

… What was she even doing?

All of this is a distraction.
Only one thing matters, and it’s the reason why you still draw breath.
Do not forget. Do not falter.
Focus.
But I—

Shehzadi Nahir’s silken voice cut through Riona’s thoughts. “Well now, will my nameless and lovely dance partner finally introduce herself?”

“Far be it from me to point it out, My Lady, but you never introduced yourself either.” The most unladylike smirk appeared on her mouth. “Since Lord Smithwood offered but one name, Nahir, I will reciprocate and share only part of mine.” Riona paused for a moment, weighing the risks of it before saying, “Dantès.”

Riona gracefully dipped into a deep, sweeping curtsy. Her movements were fluid, her back straight and her head held high as she bent at the waist, one foot stepping back to support her weight. “From House Dantès.” After a moment, Riona slowly rose.

“You may have gleaned as much already, but I was not officially invited to this party. House Dantès has fallen somewhat out of favor with… certain families. I would be most obliged if you kept the knowledge of my attendance to yourself.”

TL;DR

Peter disguised himself as a servant, took some gunpowder, and looked through Calbert and Liliane’s things. On his way to the ballroom, he overheard something and hid to eavesdrop. Later, Peter handed off the gunpowder to Kazumin.

Riona introduced herself as “Dantès” to Nahir.

@Rodiak@samreaper

[Infinite Cosmos]

Location: The woods
Interactions: @TaeMina. With brief mentions of Farim/Roman/Torvi.

Their eyes met. When Mina would see, beyond the tears and surface emotions was that Munir was full present with her. His devotion and focus shone through what people would call the windows to their souls. He listened to her carefully, taking in every word and all the emotions she put behind them

"Then help me understand what is causing you such distress... And we will face it together. I am never letting you go. You fucked up Lady Mina Blackwood. You're stuck with me forever now."

His last words were said in an obvious jest, but yet they held such indisputable truths. Munir fully intend on remaining with Mina for the rest of his days, however many the Sun God sees fit to grant him. He does intend on facing whatever troubles his beloved so much with her together.

How Mina behaved subsequently cause Munir to back up slightly. Not to distance himself but to allow Mina the space and air to express what she needed to express. He observed her silently, feeling the fatigue from his overexertion starting to creep in. In the distance, he can hear various commotions, and someone he thought sounded like hiss dear cousin.

Letting out a small huff of breath, he stepped back up towards Mina and swept her into his arms. "We will. It seems like we're unwanted guests in these woods..." He noticed Mina's pained expression and it caused him nothing but anger and sadness. Anger from the fact that he cannot suffer in her stead and sadness because she is feeling any pain at all.

Munir moved as quickly and steadily as he could, keeping Mina close to him but not so tightly as to cause her more pain. On his way back through the woods, he met back up with Hakim. "My friend. As you can see, our night is at an end. I must ask you to do an unreasonable task for me. Return to the gather, and get me some sort of transportation. I care not if it is a carriage, a cart, a horse or a camel. Lady Blackwood needs to be out of here, as fast as possible and I feel the adrenaline leaving my body and I am unsure how fast I am going to be able to move." Munir said to his retainer with a small nod. The quiet man simply offered a small bow before dashing back in direction he had just been running from.

"I'll get you out of here, even if it kills me..." He said to Mina, with a small kiss to her forehead...

[princess]

Time: Night
Location: The edge of Lover's Lake
Attire:Dress, A crown of various flowers
Interaction: @Helo Callum @Conscripts John

---

"We HATE disrespect!" Princess Anastasia had added to her brother's speech. The guards had bowed their head in reaction and apologized, the lead one loudly ordering that they all leave the premises. Her gaze then slid to Callum and Ariella as his arm fell around her. "Distraction is my middle name, dude, no problem."

She cracked her knuckles thoughtfully, her gaze sliding to the guards on the sideline who were there to protect her and Callum. A devious grin slowly grew on her face as she locked eyes with them.

"Yoohoo! Hi, big boys!" she called out, her voice ringing with mischief. "The princess of all of Caesonia is about to embark on a daring adventure! Watch as I conquer that towering cliff over there and dive into the depths below! "

Her hands fell to her cheeks with feigned fear, "Oh no, I hope I don't fall!"

The guards stared at her in confusion, unsure of what game she was playing. But Anastasia wasn't finished yet. With a wink, she made a beeline for the lake, her steps unsteady as if she were struggling to maintain her balance.

Her movements were exaggerated, almost comically so, as she stumbled and staggered along the edge of the lake, feigning intoxication. With each exaggerated stumble, she glanced back at the guards, her grin widening with each step.

Reaching the base of the cliff, Anastasia paused for dramatic effect, swaying slightly as she looked up at its daunting height with mock apprehension. Then, theatrically, she began to ascend, her movements clumsy and uncoordinated as she clung to the rocks for support.

As she reached the top, the guards below watched in growing concern, their expressions shifting from confusion to alarm. Some shouted for her to get down, their voices filled with urgency and worry.

But Anastasia ignored their calls. With a reckless shout, she stumbled towards the edge of the cliff, her balance precarious as she teetered on the brink. The guards below rushed into action, some scrambling to climb the rocks to reach her while others leaped into the water, their arms outstretched to catch her if she fell.

The guards' shouts grew louder, their panic palpable as they feared for her safety. As she reached the edge, she opened her arms up and screamed, "LET'S GET THIS PARTY STARTED!!!" And then, she threw herself off the cliff, her form twisting and turning through the air as she plummeted towards the water below. The guards held their breath, their hearts pounding with fear as they watched her fall. But Anastasia executed a perfect dive into the water, disappearing beneath the surface with a resounding splash.

A crowd was drawn by her boisterous call and dozens rushed towards the water, their voices blending into a cacophony of excitement.

Emerging from the depths, Anastasia grinned triumphantly, her laughter echoing across the lake. As she swam back to shore, she glanced back at the guards with a playful wink, knowing that her performance had served its purpose: distracting them long enough for Callum to slip away unnoticed.

But now it was time for her to slip away as well. She climbed out of the lake, dripping wet. The enthusiasm of those around her was infectious and she had to high-five some of the eager swimmers as they shed their clothes. The crowd was growing and people were brushing past each other to get into the water, while others getting into some alcohol.

Amidst the chaos, Anastasia seized the opportunity. She threw herself into a run through the thick of the crowd and made her way into the shadows of the trees, dripping droplets on her way. Her hair was toulsed and damp, strands sticking to her cheeks and neck. Her dress now clung heavily to her body like a second skin. She knew the guards would notice her absence and be on her tail any moment, but that gave Callum more time at the least.

Right now, her goal was to find Farim and Roman. She wanted to make sure the both of them were alright. However, instead, she found herself accidentally ramming into two men in black coats.

"OOF!"

[Tpartywithzombi]

Violet & Fritz Part 1

---

From the balcony’s vantage, Ryn scanned the estate gardens, searching for any sign of Ms. Persephone. Pale moonlight filtered through the breaks in the clouds, casting long shadows between sculpted hedgerows and flower beds. A flicker of movement caught his attention. A figure, little more than a silhouette, stalked to and fro along the footpath before melting into the dark.

He leaned forward against the balustrade for another glimpse, but she was gone. Still, he had to check. Without a moment’s hesitation, Ryn was down the stairs, bursted through the courtyard doors, and stepped out into the night-cooled air. The summer wind teased at his clothes and hair, heavy with the green tang of newly sheared grass and wafts of perfume escaping from the ballroom. The nearby river’s murmurings joined the nighttime chorus—crickets’ rasping trills intertwined with leaves rustling in the breeze and muffled music. He paused, orienting himself to the direction the shadowed shape had taken, then set off at a purposeful stride.

Ripping the shoes from her feet, Violet tossed them to the side as she let out a soft relaxing sigh. Her feet were screaming from pain from the heels, she wondered how she could have ever worn those all night.

Violet continued pacing, her dress swishing amongst the blades of grass as she nibbled nervously on her fingers. He’s dead…I killed someone..So I could live.. but yet the strength she felt, her eyes… her strides. She felt herself again and yet she didn’t. Lost in her thoughts Violet didn’t notice the shadowed figure in the distance closing in on her location.

Ryn slowed his pace, shoes sinking into the soft grass. Ahead, something moved, the outline of a woman made distinct by the glow of the moonlight filtering through the trees. Not wishing to startle the lone walker, he gave voice to the evening quiet. “Good evening. A fine night for a stroll, is it not?”

Her foot hovered over the ground as the pacing ceased. She leaned her weight into her step as she turned to look at the masked man. The long horns stemming out like twisted branches. The voice was unrecognizable to her. As the moon painted his outline, Violet took a reluctant step back as his scent caught on the wind. She held in her breath as the familiar luring scent seductively called out to her.

As she turned towards him, the moon illuminated Lady Damien. Her pale skin seemed to glow, a porcelain canvas framed by flowing dark hair that cascaded over her shoulders. The deep red dress she wore hugged her figure with elegance, the plunging neckline and high leg slit adding a touch of glamor that left little to the imagination.

“Lady Damien!” Ryn called out, relief in his voice. “There you are. When I didn’t see you at the party, I feared you taken ill.”

Ignoring her complexion, she looked far from ill. Her ruby eyes burned with an intensity he had never witnessed before, sharp and aware, more alive and hungry than he had ever seen her. The way she looked at him sent an involuntary shiver down his spine, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on edge.

The beast grinned in anticipation.

“Are you feeling well?” He asked, even though he knew the answer. The red eyes of the woman looked the man up and down before returning a very forced smile.

“ I am well, thank you.” Her voice sounded stronger, even confident in its tone yet the cold delivery of it minced the chill in the air. As he continued to approach she broke eye contact attempting too ignore the allure of his scent as it catched on the wind again.

Violet took a step back offering him another forced smile too show everything was fine. Attempting to ease the tension in her face. ” Feel better then I have in a long time.” this time the smile that followed was genuine but it was as if a sick joke caused it. She could feel the darkness within her chest start to crawl slowly to the surface, that same feeling that consumed her as she fed on the boy in the stable. In an attempt to subdue it she spun around slowly on her heel before taking another step back.

Good, so she could still exert some control over the insistent thirst clawing at her insides. “That’s fantastic. The last we spoke at the park, you were not fully...present,” Ryn said, beginning to slowly circle around her.

Her shoulders pinched upwards slightly as he moved closer towards her. Her red eyes fixated on the masked man as he circled her like prey. Violet breath

He produced a coin identical to the one he had given that night, letting it flip and tumble across his knuckles. He hoped the metallic flash would jog her memory. However, considering her disoriented state back then and her current condition, he would not be surprised if she did not remember him or if she was not particularly concerned with who he was. All that mattered was that Ryn was living, breathing flesh with a heart steadily pumping warm blood.

“Now, you’re awake…” Ryn studied her closely. Her chest rose and fell with each breath, the flutter of her throat as she swallowed hard. “But you seem...distracted.”

The coin spun through the air before he snatched it back. “Are you...hungry?” A pause, weighted with significance. “Or is this… a craving?”

A subtle, yet crucial distinction—the former a natural, bodily need. The latter an insatiable mania, capable of twisting someone into unrecognizable contortions to sate it.

Swallowing hard, Violet offered him a reluctant smile. She locked her fingers together in front of her body, squeezing to distract. ” Lord..Fritz..” Violet managed to say. Her memories were shaky but she seemed to hold many of the ones she once lost. ” I hope you are well” she breathed pinching her lips together in another forced smile. She attempted to not play into his little game, her chin inching slightly higher as she continued to keep her eyes on him.

Ryn’s smile was less forced, softer. Considering the curse Udo had placed rendered introductions impossible the last they conversed, he was happy she was able to piece together “Fritz” from what fragments remained.

A wan chuckle flitted past his lips. “I wish I was.” He admitted. “A lot of things happened since then, not all bad, but… not all good either. A dear friend was taken from me, murdered and… I can’t stop wondering if things might have played out differently had I been stronger.”

The coin vanished from his hand as he stood in front of Lady Damien. “But what of you?” He gauged her response before removing a glove from one hand. “Are you doing well?”

“I’m sorry for your loss…that is awful. I hope-” she froze for a moment as the thoughts of her own demise tormented her. ” They are in a better place…” she added, her tone was more of a statement then a wish. ”I..’ she stuttered on her words but managed too pull herself back ” much better then our last meeting. That I can assure you at least. “ she played with her fingers nervously as she nearly bit back her grins attempting to hide the secrets that hid just beyond her lips. “ I’m sorry if my presence out here made you inquire as too who was out here…Wouldn’t want to pull you from such a lavish event after all.” Violets voice laced with desperation as the cravings he so casually mentioned continued to bite at her.

Torment twisted her features as she spoke, fighting the feverish want corroding her from within.

“You do not need to apologize. I chose to come here, and I choose to remain.” His bare hand lifted, fingers splayed so she could see them. “I’m going to check your vitals. If you wish me to stop at any point, say so and I will.” Inch by inch his hand advanced, giving her a chance to cry halt. When she remained mute, he pressed his fingers against her forehead.

Her skin shocked cold against his, her entire frame wracked by infinitesimal tremors. That should be reason enough to pull away, but his fingertips trailed down to the thrum of her pulse, counting out the erratic beat. No one had touched Violet with such a gentle touch before, other then Roman, that it quite literally shocked her. She felt herself freeze as he continued to count the beat of her heart.

“How bad is it? The urge.” Violet red eyes shifted slowly to his, staring for a moment. She was stunned slightly, unsure of what he was speaking on…did he know?”Urge? What do you mean…?” biting back a nervous smile. ”Something wrong with my pulse?” She wasn’t even sure she actually had one at this point.

Ryn met Lady Damien’s anxious gaze, considering for just a moment whether to feign ignorance. But what purpose would that serve? “The thirst for blood,” he answered her first question plainly. Any color that may have been left in Violet face dropped as those words left his lips. “That’s what you’re feeling, isn’t it?” He felt her pulse spike beneath his fingertips. As he answered her second question, Ryn favored her with a reassuring smile. “Your pulse is racing.”

He fell silent, giving her a moment to process his words before asking, “Have you ever drank blood?” Her red eyes, gleaming with an otherworldly intensity, traced every contour of his face, their gaze unsettling in its intensity. The smile he offered only deepened the unease that gripped her, its warmth a stark contrast to the cold feeling of her skin.

Words stumbled out of her mouth, disjointed and hesitant, as if struggling against an invisible force. She shook her head, trying to ward off the encroaching darkness that seemed to envelop her thoughts.

”I…” Her voice trailed off into a whisper, barely audible over the pounding of his own heartbeat, which echoed in her ears like a siren's call.

Her gaze fixated on the pulsing vein visible on his neck, a tantalizing invitation that beckoned her closer. With trembling hands, she reached out to touch it, her fingers grazing his skin as if drawn by some unseen compulsion. But as her touch made contact, a primal hunger surged within her, overwhelming reason and restraint.

Her eyes darted to his outstretched arm, still extended towards her, a lifeline offering solace in the darkness. But as his fingers brushed against her skin, she felt the coursing of his blood beneath, a symphony of temptation that threatened to consume her.

Lost in a haze of euphoria, she found herself drawn to his wrist, almost unconsciously, as if guided by some sinister force. His pulse pounded against her lips, each beat a seductive promise of ecstasy and danger.

Then the world turned into a monochrome of black and white.

[Tae]

Time: Night
Location: Deep in the forest
Interactions: @ReusableSword Roman @Lava Alckon Farim

---

As Torvi clung to Roman's back, her initial attempt to choke him out met with fierce resistance as he tried to shake her off. The sheer force of his movements made it difficult for her to maintain her grip, and as Farim's leg swept out to disrupt Roman's charge, the impact sent Torvi careening into the nearest tree with bone-crushing force.

The collision was brutal, the sound of breaking wood mingling with Torvi's pained gasp, breaking of bones accompanying it, as she was thrown from Roman's back. For a long moment, she lay dazed on the forest floor, her vision swimming as she fought to regain her bearings. At first glance, some may even wonder if she were alive as she lay there unmoving and not even breathing. Any normal person may have been crushed, the life leaving them, but Torvi wasn’t entirely normal. Despite the searing pain coursing through her body, she refused to yield, her determination burning bright amidst the chaos.

That’s when she felt her bones slowly snapping back into place and she sent a silent prayer of thanks up to her ancestors. While it would take time to heal fully, she at least could take a normal breath after a long minute of waiting. With a fierce growl, Torvi pushed herself to her feet, her eyes fixed on Roman, hoping his attention was now turned on Farim. As he would make his next move, she moved in turn with lightning speed, darting and ducking around him to avoid his grasp. With a swift motion, she reached out to grab hold of his bear skull, her fingers closing around the bone with a vise-like grip.

In a bold display of strength, Torvi attempted to wrench the skull from Roman's head and send it tumbling to the forest floor. Torvi then began chanting something in the old tongue, closing the distance between them, her heart pounding with adrenaline as she prepared to cast her spell.

As she drew near, she could feel the heat radiating from Roman's body, the raw power that pulsed beneath his skin. With a deep breath, Torvi finished her chanting and then pressed her lips against his, her kiss fierce and unyielding as she poured every ounce of her will into the calm emotions spell and passed it from her lips to his.

"It is time for you to sleep, friend," she whispered against his lips, her voice a low murmur amidst the chaos of the forest. She knew this was risky with another present, but it was her final option currently. Her wolf pendant around her neck glowed ever so slightly as the magic flared and she sent another silent prayer up, hoping this would work.

[Rodiak]

_{crown ♛ hair ♛ mask ♛}

_{D A M I E N E S T A T E , E V E N I N G
I n t e r a c t i o n s :
Riona, @JJ Doe
M e n t i o n s :}

“If we see him reach those heights I propose an alliance to bring him down. The world does not need more men with a similar disposition as the king parading around.” Nahir stated with a pat on her dance partner’s hand. She smiled, following her gaze to see Leo cackling. Strange, and from what she had seen in the past few days, unusual. She wondered if someone had played a jape on him, and what kind exactly. “I know I can do better, dear, and I will.”

That smirk. Cheeky. She grinned, almost delighted. Nahir watched her curtsy. Practiced, yet fluid and without effort. Had she been wrong in her assumptions about Miss Dantes? She certainly played the part well.

“Shehzadi Nahir Kadir, it is a pleasure to finally know part of your name, dear.” Nahir bowed her head slightly to her, “Although, as you and I well know, there was no need for an introduction on my part. You knew who I was the moment you laid eyes on me.” A similar smirk played at her lips behind the gold strings hanging from her mask. “But I am nothing if not polite.”

A falling house? Nahir could not ascertain if Miss Dantes were telling her the truth. She’d ask Lady Miha to search the records for a House of Dantes and see the reason for their fall from grace. “Not to worry, my dear Miss Dantes, your little secret is safe with me.” She shot her a quick wink.

Just then, a woman wearing an ornate silver and blue owl mask and a pair of pink heels in one hand approached. Her dark blue dress with draped sleeves and a head scarf that covered her hair gave her an air of mystery. Not a single inch of her skin was exposed, even her hands were adorned with silver gloves and rings. The woman leaned in, and Nahir mirrored her movement.

Nahir listened attentively, offering Miss Dantes a quick, unwavering smile as she learned of her sister's early departure. The Shehzadi nodded graciously, expressing her gratitude before dismissing the woman with a gentle wave. "Call for the palaquin." The woman bowed respectfully and gracefully exited the duo.

"I apologize for that, Miss Dantes," Nahir spoke with a touch of regret in her voice as she turned to her dance partner, a polite smile on her lips. "But it seems my night has come to an end." Taking her hand, Nahir brought it up to her face and pressed a gentle kiss on the back of Miss Dantes's hand. "I hope to see you in the future, dear. You've made my one wish for tonight come true, and for that, I thank you." With one last smile and a bow of her head, she turned to leave.

[Apex Sunburn]

Sjan-dehk & Kalliope

Time: Late Evening
(Thanks to @Tae for helping with this)

---

Sjan-dehk followed half-a-step behind Kalliope as she led him away from the docks. Most of these streets, with smoothened cobbles sheened by warm lantern-light, and narrow grouts coloured by stubborn mosses and hardy lichens, were familiar to him. Well, they were to his feet, in any case. His eyes recognised none of the buildings lining his flanks – even though he had trudged past them several times since he arrived to Sorian – but all the same, his legs seemed to remember his current course as one he had charted before.

Not that it mattered a great deal; Kalliope did most of the navigating. She kept a hand around his arm in a gentle hold, and used it to guide him through the thronging crowd and into the encroaching night.

And it was a pleasant night, he had to say. The fading light did plenty to hide away the few imperfections which day had been so unabashed in showing him. Dancing shadows, cast by murky lanterns swaying in a soft wind, concealed from sight the muck and grime which caked the ground in patches. Were it not for the not-so-occasional squelching of his boots, Sjan-dehk might have even completely forgotten about the disgusting, sticky stuff. Accentuated by the low light, every source of light – no matter how little – seemed all the more comforting and warm. Even the narrow side-streets leading off into the warrens of slums, with flickering lamps hanging precariously from doorways, managed to look inviting.

Of course, being in good company played a major part in keeping Sjan-dehk’s spirits buoyant.

Despite all of his earlier misgivings – about Cassius and Kalliope, about how he should conduct himself in her presence, about the entire masquerade itself, about why he even had such concerns – Sjan-dehk was strangely at ease as he walked with her through the city. Granted, the light and relaxing atmosphere surely helped him to push such thoughts aside, but there was something disarming about Kalliope herself. What it was exactly, he didn’t know. Maybe it was how she carried herself, or maybe it was her natural charm, or maybe it had been that long since he had a night out that wasn’t related to his duties. Either way, he found himself chatting with her about everything and nothing, all at once. Just simple small talk about their days, about what they had done, and yet it still brought smiles to his face and pulled quiet laughs from his lips.

“Stop, thief!”

The booming, angry shout – loud enough to rise high above the din of the crowd – interrupted Sjan-dehk’s retelling of his earlier adventure at sea. Looking away from Kalliope and further up the street, his eyes fell upon a diminutive figure clumsily weaving between surprised pedestrians. A woman yelped and tripped as she flung herself out of their way. “That boy’s a thief!” That same, booming voice bellowed. “Someone stop him!” A sharply-dressed man tried to do just that, and reached for the elusive darter, but his fingers found naught but air. The boy threw a glance over his shoulder, but continued scrambling ahead.

As the commotion unfolded, and the lively atmosphere of the pair’s conversation was brought to an abrupt stop, Kalliope’s instincts had her tighten her grip on Sjan-dehk’s arm. Keen eyes, sharp and green, tracked the accused thief as he flitted and stumbled through the crowd. A look of determination hardened her face, and a plan materialised in her mind. “Grab the boy, but try not to harm him,” she said. “There may be more to this than we realise. I’ll handle the man.” Glancing at Sjan-dehk, she swept a hand over her dress. “I’m better suited to deal with the pursuer currently, anyways.”

Sjan-dehk understood right away what she meant. He responded with a nod when she loosened her hold on his arm, but she didn’t notice. She was already taking action.

Kalliope dashed ahead, expertly navigating the sea of densely-packed people. Neither the fleeing boy nor the man chasing him expected her sudden appearance. Kalliope swiftly intercepted the former, positioning herself directly in his path. The boy let out a surprised yell as he collided with her. She left him little time to recover his bearings or even realise what was going on, however, as she skillfully redirected him towards Sjan-dehk. Unable to stop himself, the boy’s own momentum sent him crashing into the Viserjantan’s legs.

So waifish was the boy that Sjan-dehk felt little of an impact. It didn’t take much to restrain him, either – a firm grip on his shoulders was all it took to root him in place. “Let off!” The boy yelled through gritted teeth, his feet kicking against the ground as he struggled with all his might to break free. Sjan-dehk tightened his hold on the boy, but only slightly – the boy was so skinny that it felt as if his bones would snap with even a touch too much force. “Let off! I didn’t do anything!”

“Be calm,” Sjan-dehk said gently. Or at least, he tried to. The boy’s wild flailing – futile as they were – had annoyed him somewhat, and his words came out sounding like an order. Not surprisingly, they did little to assuage the boy, and he continued to struggle. “Be calm,” Sjan-dehk repeated. “Or we cannot help.”

The boy’s pursuer soon caught up. He was a rotund man, with a round face, and wearing a white shirt that was mottled with old stains. Sweat dripped from his brow and clung to him like a second skin. He glared at the boy – who glared back – but could do little else. Kalliope stood firm in his way, arms crossed over her chest and back straight. “Alright,” she began. The man almost looked small in her presence. “Let’s calm down for a moment, then you can explain the situation to me. My friend stopped the kid, but I’m not about to allow you near him till I know the full story here.”

“That boy stole from me,” was all the man managed to say between gasps and pants before he hunched over, hands braced against his knees. He drew in a deep breath and grunted as he righted himself. “A loaf of bread, would you bloody believe it? Now, I’m not looking for trouble. Have him return what he took, and I’ll consider the issue settled.”

Sjan-dehk immediately looked at the boy. “What he say, it is true?”

The boy bit his lip and stared at the ground for a moment. All Sjan-dehk could see of him was the shock of dirty, unkempt brown hair covering his head like a mass of seaweed washed upon shore. “So-So what if I did?” The boy said defiantly after some time, but there wasn’t as much of a fight in his voice as before. “It’s just bread, and it’s not like the old man’s selling much of it! I-I’m not hurting anyone!”

Sjan-dehk grimaced and looked at Kalliope. Regular thieves weren’t the sort to steal something as cheap and as worthless as stale bread. Such an act was that of the desperate, and the boy certainly looked as if he was in desperate need of just about everything.

Kalliope’s gaze shifted between the boy and the man a few times before she caught Sjan-dehk’s. Hearing the boy’s words ignited a burning fury within her, the sort which wouldn’t – couldn’t – be easily doused. In an instant, she rounded on the man. Her eyes burned with indignation, and disdain dripped from each and every one of her words when she spoke. “You chased this boy relentlessly and caused such a scene over a fucking loaf of bread?” The man shrunk before her, his earlier anger gone, replaced by worry and some amount of fear. His eyes looked to Sjan-dehk, as if asking for help. The Viserjantan merely responded with a grin and a shrug.

“Can’t you see this child is starving?” Kalliope’s voice rose, and she gestured vehemently at the boy, who by now had stopped struggling against Sjan-dehk’s grip. A disgusted smirk played across her lips as she leaned in towards the man. “But no,” she continued, her voice dropping to a threateningly low pitch. “Your fat ass has decided that your precious profit comes first, doesn’t it? One look at this boy, and anyone with a shred of decency would see that he’s desperate. Yet here you are, making a scene over a morsel.” She stepped forward, her eyes burning unabated. She looked the man up and down. “You’ve probably never missed a meal in your cushy life, have you? I can tell you haven’t! How about showing a bit of compassion for once? Or is your heart as bloated as your belly, filled with nothing but greed?”

Sjan-dehk said nothing as Kalliope verbally lacerated the man. What else was there to say that she hadn’t already said, and with far better words? And so, he simply listened and watched. It heartened him greatly to see Kalliope rebuke the man and defend the boy with such passion. That alone would have earned her his deep respect, but she managed to go even further. With each successive word, the man’s discomfort grew until it became impossible to hide. He shrank and looked as if he would rather be anywhere else but here. Kalliope was clearly not a lady to be trifled with.

But they couldn’t stay here forever. Neither of them could order the man to leave, and once he figured that out, he would likely recover some modicum of courage. And after that, things would simply devolve into a shouting match where nobody won. “Kali,” Sjan-dehk called out to her. “Can you get my coin pouch? Left side of my belt, on my back.”

Kalliope snapped off a few parting words – all of them dripping with acerbic contempt and accompanied by a withering glare – at the man before moving to Sjan-dehk. She plucked the pouch from his belt and gave it to him. “I am well aware that stealing is wrong,” she said in a voice low enough for just him to hear. “But I’d rather this boy steal food than starve to death. No one deserves that fate.”

“I agree,” Sjan-dehk said and fished a coin from the pouch. “And I honestly wouldn’t pay this man for a loaf of stale bread, but I don’t think he’s going to leave us be, otherwise. Could always use threats of violence, but…” He trailed off as he beckoned the man over. The man hesitantly approached, his eyes gazing at the ground, but glancing at Kalliope every so often. “Think of it as me paying him to piss off,” Sjan-dehk added and pressed the coin into the man’s palm. With a wide grin on his face, and keeping his gaze locked onto the man’s the entire time, Sjan-dehk said in a cheery voice, “Now kindly fuck off, thank you very much.”

The man eagerly turned and hurried back the way he came.

With that settled, Sjan-dehk turned his attention to the boy. “So why steal?”

“I told you, I–”

“Yes. You were hungry. I know.” Sjan-dehk released his hold on the boy, but he didn’t run. Kneeling to look him in the eye, Sjan-dehk continued, “You do not have money, yes? Not enough to buy food. What…Why is that?” The boy didn’t reply, and instead stared at the ground between his fidgeting feet. Sjan-dehk’s lips curved into a frown, but he had expected this. Here he was, a total stranger who couldn’t even speak the local tongue with any sort of fluency, questioning a child. Of course, the boy would be uncomfortable. But still, Sjan-dehk pressed on. “You tell us, and maybe we can help.”

“He’s not a bad person,” Kalliope added, and cast a sidelong glance at Sjan-dehk with a teasing smile. “A little rough, but he’s not bad. We want to help you, but we can’t if you don’t tell us anything.”

The boy looked up at her, then at Sjan-dehk, then back to her. He gulped. “T-There’s this gang,” he began, his eyes darting around as if he were worried that someone might be listening. “They-They’ve been askin’ my mother for money. Tellin’ her that she either pays or somethin’ bad’ll happen to us.” His lips trembled and he gulped once more, but he carried on. “So she’s been payin’ them most of what she earns, you see, and what’s left ain’t enough for us to buy anythin’. I just wanted to help, is all.”

Sjan-dehk sighed. He had heard this story – and many others like it – far too many times. In the immediate aftermath of the war, Iwa-Jafi’s poorer quarters had been rife with similar gangs attempting similar rackets and schemes. An unfortunate side effect of the chaos and confusion that came with the end of a conflict. It had been Shim-sen’s – one of Sjan-dehk’s brothers – to put an end to such criminal activities, and that he did with ruthless efficiency.

But Shim-sen wasn’t here now, and Sjan-dehk was. And so there was only one thing for him to do.

“This…Gang. You know where they are?” Sjan-dehk asked.

“Yeah.” The boy nodded, looking at Sjan-dehk momentarily before turning his gaze to Kalliope. “Everyone does. We’ve to go there to pay our dues.”

Sjan-dehk nodded slowly, then stood back up. “I can’t leave this,” he said with a heavy sigh and placed his hands on his hips. “Not as how it is. It’s not the Way. By the Abyssal Depths, it’s not even the right thing to do, Way or not.” He turned to Kalliope with an apologetic look on his face. “I know I promised to join you at the ball, and it’s not my intention to break my word, but…” He trailed off and nodded towards the boy. “This is something that must be fixed, and I need more guns and more swords to do that. Means I have to return to Sada Kurau before teaching some ruffians a lesson, and I think the ball will be long over by the time I’m done with everything.”

Kalliope reached out to gently touch his arm, her eyes soft with understanding. “Sjan-dehk, darling.” There was warmth in her words. “You don’t have to apologise to me. I would never expect you to turn a blind eye to injustice like this, especially when it’s right in front of us.” She spoke reassuringly and gently at first, but then her lips curled into a playful smirk. Twinkles of mischief lit up her eyes. “But you’re a damn fool if you think I’m going to stand aside and let you have all the fun, especially in my own city. I’m coming with you and you can’t stop me. First, though, I need to do one thing.”

She had been listening intently when the boy related his story earlier, and her heart had grown heavy with empathy for his struggles. The desperation that drove him to theft, the threats made by ruthless people far more stronger than him, she understood them all, all too well.

Crouching, she met the boy’s eyes with a compassionate gaze and smile. “Listen, sweetheart,” she began, her tone gentle but firm. Even so, the boy looked away, as if he were expecting a scolding or a lecture. But Kalliope continued anyway. “I understand why you had to steal, but stealing is dangerous, especially when you’re up against those gangs. You could get yourself or your family hurt, or even worse.”

She paused for a moment, a thoughtful expression painted across her face. “But I have another idea. How would you like to work for me?” She asked, her voice brightening with enthusiasm. In an instant, the boy’s attention returned to her, his eyes snapping back to her face. “You see, I need someone with sharp ears to keep me informed about what’s happening in the city. Just listen out for any interesting tidbits of information you come across and bring them to me. I’ll pay you weekly, no matter what, but I do expect you to keep me updated from time-to-time. Another thing I’ll occasionally need you to do is to deliver messages for me. Do you think you can do that?”

“Y-Yes,” the boy croaked, eyes wide in surprise at the generous offer. He quickly cleared his throat, and repeated in a clearer voice with a series of enthusiastic nods, “Yes! I can do that for you, miss!”

Kalliope smiled. “Perfect. Your first job will be to deliver a message to my sister who should be at the ball at Count Damien’s. I’ll write up the letter and give you the details on how to find her.”

She looked up at Sjan-dehk, her smile bright. “My dear captain, do you think you could spare some clothes, weapons, paper, and ink?” She asked, eyes sparkling with mischief as she stood back up. “I don’t think this dress, beautiful as it is, is quite suited for a fight.”

Sjan-dehk chuckled and nodded. In truth, he had been half-expecting Kalliope to come with him. Part of him wanted to turn her down – things could get quite rough, after all – but then there was something about her that made him feel as if she could handle herself. Something about the way she carried herself that reminded him of some women he knew. Women who were proper terrors on the field of battle. “Can’t say I’m not curious to see how you’d fight in that,” he teased with a grin. “But sure, there’s more than enough onboard Sada Kurau for the two of us.”

He turned around, facing the way they had come. “Let’s go.” It was difficult for him to hide the excitement in his voice, and so he didn’t. Who could blame him? This was far better than any ball. “We’ve got a long night ahead of us. Best not to keep it waiting.”

[CitrusArms]

Stratya Durmand

Time: 23rd, Evening
Location: The Masquerade
Interactions: Zarai @Rodiak, Drake @Lava Alckon
Mentions:
Mask & Masquerade
(Note: pants)

A fellow joined them as they went through their game. The strength of the drink was starting to hit her, but that was to say nothing of her latest companion taking perhaps very heavy swigs right from the bottle. That was no way to play a drinking game, pacing was very important. Go too hard and the night ends early.

Their new participant was, ah, impressive. He'd apparently managed to burn “a piece of bread?” She looked at the man, “i's really some’tin, t’way burnt food fills a place. Wha’d y’do, walk away? Easies’ way t’ burn a t’ing, ah tell y’wha’. The firs’ time ye do i’, ye’ll be thinkin’ i's ready, the firs’ scent y’catch is the smell o’ it bein’ done. As ye go to i’, though, ye get the smell of burnin’, and ye know i's too late. _{Aw, shite, I forgo’ abou’ tha’.}” Sip.

The fellow brought his own question to the table, and Stratya had to consider it. “‘til I was ill? N… naaay.” She had to think about that one. She could remember being hung over a few times, but never ill. Before anything else could happen, the devilish master of ceremonies for this game gave them a devilish question. The knight questioned, staring at the last of her glass, “does it really count if it was only just now..?” but sighed in easy defeat, finishing her glass. “Got me, ye ‘ave. My glass -” her tone shifted from one of theatrical defeat to surprise, “and the bo’le! - are empty! - my dear,” she slipped her arm around the woman's waist, steadying her and slipping the empty bottle from her hand, ”le’s ge’ y’some, ah,” the nearby table was full of booze, she caught the attention of a nearby servant, “wa’er and brea’ afore we carry on, ey? Y'll be grateful in the morning, I don' min’ sayin’. An' 'en we'll carry on with a foine ale or wine, yea? Somet’in’ a bi’ less of a punch t’ yer gut, maybe more flavorful, aye.” She gestured gratitude as the servant departed, and wondered if maybe they should try something else? Maybe something with a slower pace. A song, perhaps. Ah, but that would be so disruptive. And a ballroom was no place for physical drinking games. No throwing stones into buckets of water on the nice, expensive floor.

“Anyone know another game? Anythin’ I’ve go’ is more suited to, er, another environmen’. Unless we can use the courtyard..?” Well, she never imagined this was how she would break the ice with the upper class.

[Conscripts]

Time: Evening
Location: Edge of Lover's Lake
Interactions: Torvi/Mina @Tae, Roman @ReusableSword, Anatasia
Mentions:

---

"Of course nothing goes smoothly."

Without a beat, Frederick swung his hand on the back of Anastasia's head, strong but with tempered measure, very forcefully make her go as gently as possible into the dreamland.

"Wait, that's the princess." John just realized who their target was, as she fell on his arm unconscious. It sent a cold up his throat.

"That's why I acted. She does not need to know." Frederick cracked his knuckles. "We've seen enough. Let's move."

He did not hesitate to dash in already, not even waiting for John's readiness or observation. He was a military man, he trusted John to be right behind him with his syringes at the ready.

When John and Frederick emerged clear from the forest, entering the fight with Roman from the side, with Farim at one end and Torvi on a tug of war with him. They did not stop to consider what Torvi seemed to be doing, they jumped straight on Roman one at a time, who seemed to be more than distracted at the sight in front of him. Frederick was first, he stomped on Roman's knee joint from behind, then he would slam his fist on the back of his head. If it knocked him out here, all the merrier. John is right behind him, ready to detoxify him.

[Tae]

Time: Evening
Location: In the forest somewhere
Attire: Outfit
Interaction: @Infinite Cosmos Munir
Mentions:

As Munir enveloped her in his arms once again, Mina couldn't help but feel a sense of relief wash over her. Despite the chaos and uncertainty swirling around them, his presence was a comforting anchor, grounding her in the midst of her turmoil.

She leaned into his chest, seeking solace in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, a soothing counterpoint to the cacophony of voices still echoing in her mind. She barely even heard anything he said to Hakim with everything spinning in her head. Closing her eyes, she focused on the feeling of his arms around her, the warmth of his embrace chasing away the chill of her fear and uncertainty.

"I'm sorry, Munir," she murmured softly, her voice barely audible above the din of the forest. "I'm sorry for everything... for pushing you away, for not being able to explain that night... I just... I'm so scared of what you'll think once you know."

Her words were tinged with sorrow and regret, her heart heavy with the weight of her burdens. But as she listened to the sound of Munir's heartbeat, a sense of peace began to wash over her, easing the tension that had coiled tight within her chest.

"Thank you," she whispered as exhaustion from the magic and everything else that happened that night threatened to overtake her. "Thank you for being here... for never giving up on me… for loving me."

With each beat of his heart, Mina felt herself growing more and more drowsy, the comforting sound lulling her into a sense of security she hadn't felt in a long time. ”I love you, Munir…” Snuggling closer to Munir, she let out a contented sigh, her body relaxing against his as sleep finally claimed her.

[princess]

-

[Lava Alckon]

Farim

Location: Deep within the Forest by Lover's Lake
Time: Evening
Mentions: Torvi@Tae, Roman @Reusablesword, and John/Frederick @Conscripts

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

In the midst of the fight, there had been quite a few developments. Torvi latched onto Roman and gave him a fervent kiss, which at first puzzled Farim. "What in the-" He began to say out loud, but then he noticed the flicks of magical influence that began to work between the two. "So that is your game..." He finished his thought just as he saw the two men in black coats charging from the forest edge and began what could only be described as a dogpile on the man. The magic had already begun its influence on Roman - working to calm the raging man down from his frenzy. But once Farim saw the syringe, he sprung forward, calmly yet firmly gripping John's wrist before speaking to the man.

"Hello again, Doctor. It is fancy to be meeting you here. But I highly suggest we leave the artificial chemicals out of the equation here. Roman has drank something and we do not know how that might interact with it. I think that woman and her fancy little trick might be plenty - if not, your friend bludgeoning him on the back of the head might push it over the edge." He stood there and turned, waiting for the rampaging bear-man to cease his fight, but something felt wrong. Roman was calming down, but it was almost as if something was building in intensity. Something was growing in influence, the calm they experienced was merely before the storm that was about to erupt before their eyes.

As the strength and ferocity visibly left Roman's eyes and body, there were new forms that seemed to take shape. They were translucent, barely discernable to those that might not have partaken in the ritual prior, but still noticeable. Especially once they began their chorus of anguished screams and chastising. "Interlopers! Deceivers! Thieves! You are all standing upon stolen and soiled ground!" The specters swirled around the group, as if to address each and everyone present - including Roman who was merely a conduit for their emotional turmoil.

"You do not BELONG HERE! Mankind, who steal our homes, desecrate our sacred rites, and corrupt the very lands with your pig-filled notions of GREED AND GLUTTONY! The ancestors SHAME you all for your abhorrence. Leave this place! The ancestors wish to never see your kind again! REFLECT on your SORRY SELVES that you may learn the torment and anguish you inflict upon us all!"
It was then that those who are more attuned to the spirits of the dead would notice a figure standing before Farim - the shape of a lone man with arms outstretched as if to shield Farim from the unknown threat. Farim looked concerned at this figure, but kept his mouth shut in front of the oncoming tirade of the displeased souls.

Just then, the spirits began to writhe and swirl around in the clearing, prompting some more supernatural events to occur in the physical realm. Trees groaned as if being pushed by strong wind. The earth shook slightly from the fury of the dead. The wails of those past filled the ears of those who could hear. Then as their wrathful tempest reached its climax, they returned to the source of their increased hold on the living world - Roman - and returned through him back to the "other side". The man, now kneeling, would only stare agape at Torvi as the spirits flew into him, and as if they were taking his ferocious bear-like form with them, he began to return to his normal state before collapsing in a heap on the ground.

There was a palpable and almost gut-wrenching silence that followed as things began to finally settle. The apparition near Farim had vanished, and he walked over to Torvi and Frederick and sighed, his words that came next mainly directed to the woman. "Look. I am sorry to be rushing things. But I originally came looking for my cousin, if you know where he is, please tell me. Otherwise, I will go look for him so I can return to our lodging with our friends. I think we have had quite the night already." He looked at Dr. John, finally letting go of his hand and asking him a brief question as well. "And good doctor. Did you happen to see the state of things back at the ritual site? Annie and her friends were dealing with some guards - has everything settled? I would like to find her too and bring her back home if possible."

[princess]

Time:Evening
Location: Calbert's Estate
Attire: Mask, Dress/Wings

---

Charlotte carefully slipped through the dimly lit halls of the second floor of the Damien Estate, pressing herself to the wall. Fear gnawed at her insides, urging her to turn back and retreat to the safety of the ballroom. As she forged ahead, her heart hammered against her ribs at the sight of only one guard stationed per hallway, their weary posture betraying a lapse in vigilance as the night wore on. A silent prayer of gratitude escaped her lips as she skirted past a figure slumped against the wall, their face obscured by a curtain of unkempt hair, seemingly lost in slumber.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of nerve-wracking evasion, Charlotte arrived at the door to Calbert’s study. She reached the door to Calbert’s study and drew a steadying breath. She reached out with trembling fingers and gently pushed the door open, revealing the chamber beyond.

Stepping into the study, Charlotte felt her senses assaulted by the overwhelming intensity of the Count's possessions. Her gaze swept across the walls adorned with mounted animal heads, their glassy eyes seemingly following her every move with an unnerving intensity. However, it was the sight of the deceased gator lurking ominously in the corner that sent a chill down her spine, its monstrous form casting a foreboding shadow over the room.

Shutting the door quietly behind her, Charlotte made her way further into the room, her eyes fixating on the desk at the center. However, before she could even touch it, the sound of a throat clearing shattered the silence.

Frozen in place, Charlotte kept her gaze downward as she awaited the inevitable confrontation.

"I'd like to say when my guard informed me that a girl was sneaking into my study, I was surprised to find it was my beloved family friend Lady Charlotte Vikena..." Calbert mused, his voice carrying a tone of amused resignation. His steps were deliberate as he approached her, his fingers delicately tracing the edge of the desk as he came to stand before her. "Alas…”

The amusement left his voice as his tone shifted. "I'm not."

As Calbert's gaze met hers, Charlotte couldn't help but notice the seething fury that lurked behind his seemingly nonchalant facade. Despite his outward demeanor, the intensity in his eyes betrayed the storm raging within.

"You seem to have developed a penchant for betrayal," Calbert continued, his tone calculated. "Your recent actions speak volumes, Lady Charlotte. But what surprises me more is your willingness to align yourself with those who seek to harm my family."

Charlotte's silence lingered, which seemed to only stoke the flames of Calbert's anger. His brow furrowed, and he lowered his voice when he spoke next.

“I know you provided sanctuary to Kazumin and the blonde,” he revealed suddenly, relishing the shock that crossed her features.

"I suppose you must have a vendetta against me for how our little chat went that night at the ball, but really, Lottie? " Calbert's voice oozed with condescension as he leaned in closer, his gaze piercing. "I had always held the belief that your affections for Crystal ran deep, yet here you stand… in cohorts with her stalker."

There was a pause, a moment of silence that spoke volumes, as Calbert let his words hang in the air. "Your mother's tragic demise has undoubtedly left its mark upon you… Hasn’t it?" Calbert's tone shifted seamlessly from mock sympathy to cold indifference. "But let us not allow personal grievances to cloud our judgment, Charlotte. What you have done is very serious."

Calbert then slammed his fist on the table with a sudden, jarring motion, the sharp sound reverberating through the room. Charlotte recoiled at the outburst, but Calbert's smile remained chillingly calm as he leaned in closer, his eyes ablaze with calculated fury. "Do you understand that?" Calbert asked demandingly, "That I could have you hung for an assassination attempt with your two little peasant rats?"

With a languid grace, he circled the desk, his gaze never leaving Charlotte's trembling form. "What I have planned for you," he hissed, each syllable laced with icy venom, "is worse."

His lips curled into a wicked smile. “For one…” He paused, savoring the moment before delivering his decree. "You are hereby forbidden from any association with Crystal or Violet," he declared with an air of finality, "And as for my son," he continued, "the last thing he needs is a criminal like you tarnishing his name."

"Consider yourself warned, Charlotte," he purred, a twisted satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. "Cross me again, and you will regret it."

Charlotte's breath caught in her throat at his words, a sinking feeling settling in the pit of her stomach. She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms.

“What are you going to do?” Her voice trembled slightly as she dared to confront him, her gaze locked with his. From the gleam in his eyes, Calbert was overjoyed by the question. She could tell he had been prepping the answer for a long time, his twisted satisfaction evident in every word he spoke.

With a flick of his wrist, Calbert gestured toward a large globe positioned prominently in the corner of the study. He moved to stand by and pressed his hand against it. Its surface shimmered as it seemed to activate upon his touch. "Behold," he intoned.

As Charlotte approached cautiously, Calbert beckoned her closer. The map on the globe shifted and transformed before her eyes. Images of distant lands flickered into view, their names swirling and shifting in a mesmerizing dance. And then the map settled on a familiar sight: the sprawling city of Sorian. But what truly caught Charlotte's attention were the moving names that danced across the globe's surface. She felt a sudden chill run down her spine.

"The invitations..." she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Precisely," he confirmed, pressing his hand to the globe once more. The imagery dissipated, leaving the globe again a normal, innocuous object. "I am acutely aware of your conspiratorial machinations." he added with a cold certainty, his gaze locked onto hers, probing.

Suddenly, a chilling smile crept across Calbert's features like a spreading stain of darkness. “But worry not about me pursuing any prosecution of any of you… Though you may wish I had…” he drawled.

A hollow laugh, devoid of any semblance of humor, escaped his lips as he concluded, “You will wish that I had you all sent to your deaths. ” Leaning in closer, his eyes ablaze with vindictive satisfaction, Calbert continued with a twisted relish, "I have decided to take your punishment into my own hands."

His words hung in the air like a curse, heavy with impending doom. " You will not know when, or whom, or how, but each of you will find yourselves suffering in unimaginable ways, and no one will be able to trace it back to me. No one will even entertain your claims, Charlotte,”

Casually, he smiled once more and said, " You see, I have procured a copy of your records from your sojourn at the sanatorium,” Her eyes widened as if she were surprised such even existed. “Who will they believe? A woman plagued by insanity? Or one of the most esteemed figures in all of Caesonia?” His eyes bore into hers as he spoke, his speech quickening with each word, “I can tell you everything. I can tell you every little detail of what I am going to do and I will not lose an ounce of sleep… Because I know if you tell a single soul, I will ruin you.”

“ I will not tolerate further threat to my lineage. If ensuring your suffering is the necessary price to protect my family, then so be it.."

Charlotte clutched at the delicate fabric of her gown, her fingers trembling with urgency as she made a desperate dash for the door. Each step down the stairs felt clumsy, her panic escalating with every descent.

It had gone according to her plan. Everything.

Charlotte had played her part to perfection ever since the deliberate portrayal of vulnerability she had maintained since their encounter at the beach.

She had played the foolish amateur who dared to sneak into the villain’s study in a place.

She had even played the girl silly enough to utilize a motif within her costume that Calbert would recognize immediately.

Despite it all, Charlotte knew she had lost tonight.

No matter how she had undermined herself, it had been Calbert who had been underestimated.

Questions swirled in her mind, each one more ominous than the last. How had Calbert known that Persephone and Kazumin had been in her home? Was he bluffing about punishing everyone? And, more importantly, how would she protect them?

How would she even tell them?

The weight of these questions bore down on her as she found herself back in the foyer once more, the grandeur of the ballroom looming ahead. With a shaky breath, Charlotte ventured back into the crowd.

As she scanned the sea of people, searching for the familiar faces of her friends, a suffocating wave of panic threatened to engulf her. The air grew thick with the pulse of the music, the laughter and chatter of the guests echoing in her ears like a cacophony of raw noise.

Her chest tightened with each passing moment, her breaths coming in short, shallow gasps that were scarcely heard amongst the noise of the crowd. The room seemed to spin around her, blurring into a dizzying haze. Amidst the sea of unfamiliar faces, their familiar features remained elusive.

Tears welled in her eyes, blurring her vision as panic tightened its grip around her throat. Everything that had happened in the last few days seemed to overwhelm her brain all at once in flashes of imagery and echoes of voices.

I don’t want to lose them.

A sense of familiar helplessness washed over her, threatening to drown her as a sob escaped.

[Apex Sunburn]

A couple of days ago

Time: Night
Location: Somewhere around the Varsonian Strait
Interactions:
Mentions:
Attire:

Hider

Plain roughspun shirt (white) and trousers (brown)
Patched knee-length coat
Shoulder- and waist-belts
Old leather boots

For a man who was held at the points of several muskets, bayonets, and cutlasses, the Caesonian captain was remarkably calm. He stood with his back ramrod straight, his hands clasped behind his back, and his head tilted just enough to allow his frigid, blue eyes an imperious glare down his aquiline nose. Dressed in an immaculate uniform – with its yellow trimmings bright against the night and spotless fabric shimmering in the lamplight – his presence contrasted starkly with chaos unfolding around him.

Cynwaer met the captain’s contemptuous gaze with a mocking smile. The two men said nothing, with only the clamour of looting punctuating the extended silence. With a wave of his hand, Cynwaer dismissed the men guarding the captain. They hesitated for a brief moment, glancing at each other with uncertainty upon their grimey and sooty faces before nodding their acknowledgements and moving off to join their fellows in plundering the captured merchantman.

“So,” Cynwaer began and hooked his fingers into his sword-and-pistol belt. “Are yer gae’n– goin’ tae finally start talkin’, or do I ‘ave tae ‘elp yer find yer tongue?”

The Caesonian captain's eyes narrowed. Then, he exhaled sharply through his nose. “I am Captain Oscar Soderman, Captain of the Summer Evergreen.” Exasperation and impatience laced his words, and he did nothing to hide the scorn in his voice. He looked Cynwaer over, examining him as if he were nothing more than some strange specimen to be studied. “Surely, you are tired of hearing the same thing over and over again as I am of saying it…Captain.”

The Caesonian spat that final word out like it was some disgusting thing, clearly meaning for it to be taken as an insult. But Cynwaer instead chuckled. As much disdain as he had for anyone serving under any and all Caesonian flags, he had to give credit where it was due. Only a Caesonian officer could willingly strike his colours and surrender after the briefest of skirmishes, and still sound like an arrogant lordling. It was, if nothing else, highly amusing.

And Oscar – insufferable as he was – did have a point. Although Cynwaer was the captain of his own ship, he certainly didn’t look like one. At least, not one similar to his Caesonian counterpart. Where Oscar was refined, with clean features and holding himself with the airs of a gentleman, Cynwaer was rough, and not just around the edges. From his drab and roughspun clothes – over-patched and stained – to the shadow clinging to his chin and jaw, and to his unkempt mane of rusty hair, everything about Cynwaer spoke of a man who cared little about the elegance of higher society. And judging by the smirk on his face, and by the confidence in his mossy eyes, that was a source of pride for him.

“Aye, I am,” Cynwaer replied. “And I’m nae interested in any o’ that nonsense. ‘Tis yer cargo that I’m after knowin’ more about.”

Oscar stiffened – if that were even possible – and his thin lips cracked into a frown. “You know as well as I do that I cannot tell you that,” he said. “The Rule of the Sea is explicitly clear on such matters. The captain of any boarded merchantman is required to divulge only three things. His name, his ship’s name, and their destination. I have already told you all three, and I am under no obligation to tell you anything more. I trust that your…crew will undoubtedly discover all that you wish to know whilst ransacking my ship.” He paused for a moment before continuing, “And I do hope, captain, that you are aware of your obligations to myself and my crew, seeing as how you accepted our surrender under the white flag.”

Cynwaer shrugged. “Cannae say I dae, ta’ be honest.”

“You are to treat myself and my crew fairly, captain,” Oscar said pointedly.

“Aye, aye.” Cynwaer waved his hand dismissively in front of him. “I’m nae sure if you’ve noticed, cap’n, but we’re nae privateers. We’re feckin’ pirates. Yer rules mean piss-all ta’ us.” For the first time since boarding the merchantman, Cynwaer’s smile disappeared. “Aye, I’ll treat the lot o’ yer fairly, yersel’ and yer lads, but it’ll be what we consider ta’ be fair. Not what feckin’ moronic rules yer crown decided ta’ be fair.” The threat in his words were clear, but Oscar didn’t seem too perturbed by it. Perhaps he believed that Cynwaer was merely trying to sound tough. Perhaps he simply didn’t understand the gravity of the situation. Either way, Cynwaer decided to approach this in another way. He tilted his chin towards Oscar. “Soderman’s a strange name fae a Caesonian. Yer nae Varian, are yer? Or ‘ave yer got some Varian in yer?”

Oscar scoffed and folded his arms across his chest. “Of course not,” he replied, sounding almost offended and looking like he had just been slapped. “Montauppe has been my home all my life, and so it is our King Edin’s authority which you go against, should you decide to be…Unreasonable.” He fixed Cynwaer with a glare, and the corners of his lips twitched in a smug smile. “I am sure you know what the consequences of doing such a silly thing would be, captain.”

Cynwaer ignored everything Oscar said about the King. “Montauppe, aye. I’ve ‘eard good things about the place,” he remarked with a series of nods.

Then, very casually – as if it were the most natural thing in the world – he drew a pistol from its holster and pointed it squarely as Oscar’s chest. The Caesonian captain’s eyes widened. Panic broke his composure, and his face visibly paled. “Wha-what–” he stammered, holding up both hands in front of him.

“Oh, ‘tis simple, cap’n,” Cynwaer said with a shrug. “If yer nae wantin’ ta’ return ta’ Montauppe in a feckin’ box or barrel or whatever the feck we’ve got fae a coffin, then I suggest yer gee’s– give us aw’ that I want ta’ know.” He thumbed the pistol’s hammer. It locked into place with an ominous click.

“You–” Oscar began, his voice starting to crack and waver. “You would really shoot a man over grain? Are you mad?”

Cynwaer smiled darkly. “See? That was’nae so hard, aye?” He kept the pistol aimed at Oscar, and took in the look of realisation creeping over the Caesonian captain’s face. “Yer’ve almost a thousand tons burden o’ grain in yer hold, aye? An’ aw’ bound fae yer capital o’ Sorian, no less. ‘Tis a lot o’ grain ta’ take frae the common folk. Aw’ frae just one village, aye?” Oscar began to stammer something, but Cynwaer cut him off before he could even get one word out. “Surprised? Word o’ advice frae cap’n ta’ cap’n, make sure yer lads can ‘old their drink, an’ if they cannae, make sure they’re nae the sort ta’ get loose lips after just one drink. ‘Twas feckin’ embarrassin’ for aw’ involved, mysel’ included.”

“If you knew,” Oscar swallowed hard and hissed. “Then why do all this?”

“Just wanted ta’ ‘ear it frae yer, ta’ be honest,” Cynwaer replied with a nonchalant shrug. He briefly turned his eyes towards the deck. “So aw’ o’ this ‘neath our feet, ‘tis just grain ta’ yer, is it? Ne’er crossed yer wee mind that ‘tis what some folk need ta’ live, aye?”

“We didn’t take everything,” Oscar protested. “Just what is rightfully the crown’s by tax. Those people have enough to eat. You are making a mistake, captain.”

Cynwaer didn’t reply immediately, and instead raised his brows. “Are yer a farmin’ man, cap’n?” He asked, and when Oscar didn’t respond, chuckled. “I did’nae think so. Yer types ne’er are. But I s’pose I’m nae the person ta’ talk. I used ta’ fish fae a livin’, yer see, but I knew some farmin’ types. Want tae know somethin’ interestin’ I learned frae ‘em? See, aw’ the grain they ‘arvest duin’ ta’ season’s nae just fae eatin’. Some o’ it’s stored awa’, some turned ta’ feed fae livestock, an’ that livestock’s made ta’ salted meat ta’ last ‘em the winter.” He paused, and upon seeing no understanding on Oscar’s face, continued. “So if yer leave ‘em wi’ just enough fae them ta’ eat, then they’ve nothin’ ta’ feed the animals an’ nothin’ ta’ store. They’ve nothin’ ta’ feed the animals and nothin’ ta’ store, they’ve nae salt meat or stores to last ‘em o’er winter. An’ when they’ve nothin’ ta’ last ‘em o’er winter, then people start dyin’.”

He jabbed the pistol towards Oscar. “An’ everythin’, cap’n, starts wi’ yer takin’ their grain. Ta’ me, it sounds an awful lot like yer’ committin’ murder, aye.”

“That– That’s ridiculous!” Oscar protested loudly. “You can’t know–”

“Oh, but I dae, cap’n,” Cynwaer interrupted. “‘Tis a story I’ve ‘eard and seen many times, aye.” He stopped smiling, and gave Oscar a hard look, one discomforted the Caesonian captain greatly. “Normally, I’d shoot yer and be done wi’ it, but I’ve places ta’ be. More o’ yer bastard king’s ships ta’ rob, yer see. An’ I s’pose ‘tis yer lucky day, ‘cause I’m feelin’ particularly generous. I’ll let yer live, but only if yer turn this ship around and bring it back ta’ where yer came frae. Gee’s o’er the grain ta’ the village, gee’s ‘em an apology, an’ I’ll consider everythin’ o’er. That’s more than fair if yer ask me.”

Oscar baulked at the suggestion. “Th-That’s crazy! I will be branded a criminal–”

“Aye,” Cynwaer agreed. “Yer can join our wee club.”

“–the King will place a bounty on my head–” Oscar’s words tumbled and fell from his mouth, each melding into the next, in a semi-coherent ramble. He barely noticed Cynwaer’s interruptions.

“Again, we’ve a club for yer ta’ join.”

“–And I have a family–”

“So did I, pal. Yer’ll be fine.”

“–I need the money–”

“The people need ta’ eat.”

“–What will I do–”

“Yer free ta’ join us. Plenty o’ yer kind sailin’ wi’ me.”

“–No, I cannot do this. Please, you must understand–”

Cynwaer sighed heavily and shook his head. “Took yer own sweet time ta’ say that, did yer?” He grumbled with a huff. “Yer know what, feck it. I’ve nae the time ta’ reason wi’ the likes o’ yer. Yer bastard king’s grain ships’ nae gae’n ta’ wait.” He lowered the gun, and pulled the trigger. The frizzen flashed, flames shot from the muzzle, and the crack was deafening amidst the relative silence of the night. A bullet crashed through Oscar’s knee, snapping bones and cutting flesh as it sliced cleanly through the joint. The man immediately crashed to the deck, howling in pain and clutching his thigh.

“Y-You bastard!” He managed to shout through clenched teeth. “When my family finds you–”

“Oh, nae bother, pal. I’ll send ‘em aw’ yer way, don’t yer worry,” Cynwaer interjected and casually stepped over to Oscar. Kneeling beside his head, Cynwaer said, “Yer cannae blame everythin’ on me, aye? I gave yer a chance ta’ walk awa’ untouched, and yer did’nae take it.” He patted Oscar on the shoulder. “Learn ta’ take some responsibility fae yer decisions, aye?”

“Gods damn you,” Oscar hissed. His eyes were wide with both pain and rage. “Just kill me, pirate. You’ll be joining me soon enough. When the King’s forces find you, you will pay with your life, but only after days of suffering and pain. You will find no respite and no relief.”

Cynwaer shrugged. “Tell yer what, pal. I’m plenty damned as ‘tis, aye,” he said. He leaned over Oscar with a wicked grin pulling his lips wide across his face before continuing. “Nae need ta’ worry. I’ll be sendin’ yer on yer way in due time, but what’s it yer people say about me? Was it that I torture folks like yer until death seems merciful? Nae sure I like the sound o’ that, ta’ be very honest, but reputation’s reputation, aye? An’ I hate disappointin’ folk like yer, so I s’pose I’ve ta’ live up ta’ yer expectations. Pretty sure some o’ my lads would want ta’ ‘ave a go, too.” Oscar’s face paled even more. His lips trembled, as if he were trying to say something, but no words left his mouth.

“Take it as time ta’ reflect,” Cynwaer said and stood up. “I gave yer a chance ta’ show some compassion fae us lowborn folk, and yer chose ta’ be selfish. Kept thinkin’ about yerself, din’t yer? S’pose yer just bein’ what yer are. Dis’nae matter. You showed nae compassion. Yer kind ne’er showed compassion fae us little folk, and so now we will’nae show you any.” He nudged Oscar’s ruined knee with his boot, and that was all it took to get the man to start screaming once more. His pleas for mercy gradually turned incoherent, and his screams into nothing more than animalistic, blood-curdling shrieks.

“An’ we’re makin’ nae excuses fae our terror,” Cynwaer said and turned away. There was plenty of work to be done. By the time the night was over, Sorian would have a new taste of the Seahawk’s vengeance.

[Lava Alckon]

Drake

Attire: Mask, Jacket, and Pants/Shoes
Time: Evening of the 23rd
Location: Damien Estate -> Edwards Estate
Mentions: Zarai @Rodiak and Stratya @CitrusArms

---

The smirk on Drake's face was plain as day. This fun social game of this woman's design was rather alleviating and refreshing. Everyone present seemed to be getting on well, and for a short time the young duke forgot about the somber situation back home. He chuckled at Zarai's forbiddance from him entering her kitchens. "Well I suppose that is only fair!" He then turned to Stratya, whose banter about burnt food yet again caused the man to chuckle. "Burnt food is a smell that will ruin any kitchen for the week. I would know - considering my head of kitchen staff did not let it down for the rest of the month!"

Drake then raised his glass and began sipping the second glass of bourbon he had acquired since joining this group of nobles. "What a sly trick you played there, madam. You are quite the clever one~!" He spoke with a slight slur - the liquor finally hitting his system on more than just a surface level. Drake took a moment to ponder the question Stratya posed, but then found himself realizing just how late it had become. He saw people leave - and even a few faces hurrying out as if under duress or panic. It was an odd sight to say the least, but Drake figured that as much as he would love to continue on here for the night; he must eventually call an end to his fun little game.

Drake raised his glass and spoke to those present. "I know my arrival was abrupt, and my departure just as much so. But I am afraid your reminder of the morrow does make me recall just how late it is! Not that I wish to depart but I have to attend to some things in the morning. So as a parting gift for such a lovely experience with you all, I shall leave you with a new fun game to play, should you be interested." Drake paused for dramatic effect, stifling a little laughter as he gathered the confidence to brazenly speak his piece.

"I am a fan of a good mystery. Tis why I attended such an event in the first place. For those that share the same sentiment, I offer a challenge! If you would like to unmask the man behind The Musician, if you haven't already, one must simply ask me 'What time does the Angel's Trumpet bloom?' If the person you approach is indeed me, I shall be honor-bound to respond with 'Midnight.' No more words, and certainly no less! A fairly simple task. But the trick here lies in the execution, for you may go about asking just any other nobleman of such a thing and be deemed silly or mental. However therein lies the fun, no? But if no one is interested, I shall take no offense. Like I said, it is merely my attempt at a gift to you all for such a lovely night. For now, I bid you all adieu~!"

Drake took a long bow and finished his bourbon before turning to walk along the dance floor, cane clacking obnoxiously until he hit the cobblestone path that led out from the Damien Estate. The carriage he had left at the end of the road had arrived not too long ago and was patiently awaiting him. With no hesitation he gestured to his driver. "Straight home please. No shortcuts." The driver nodded, and off the young man went to return to his humble abode. He would arrive far before any of his immediate family, and with a disturbingly empty house, all Drake would do is meagerly walk its halls until he finally found his room. His sanctuary. He asked the nearby butler for a glass of water and some bread to be left outside his door, and for no one else to bother him for the evening.

---

With the nights events behind him, Drake slid behind the door to his quarters and leaned against it, locking it behind him as he finally let his body relax. He hadn't realized how tensed up he had been, and how much the alcohol had been impairing his coordination. Perhaps he was just lucky and only just now noticing his drunken stupor - or perhaps the thrill of the party made him act more coherent then he truly felt. None of it really mattered, however, as his hand shakingly gripped his mask and slowly pulled it off. Drake slowly and clumsily undid every last part of his ensemble, carefully draping it over a nearby chair to be properly sorted in the morning. Once he finally made it into his night clothes, he heard the distinct clink of a platter outside his door and a gentle knock, signalling his request had been met.

He took the water and bread with gratitude and nodded towards the kitchen-maid who brought it to him. "Thank you." was all his parched and tired throat could muster. Finally he stood by his window, the view of Sorian blessed with the dim moonlight adding a serene vibrance to his feelings as he sadly munched on the bread. The water was like a blessing to his throat, and he hadn't realized just how thirsty he was. Once the food and drink were consumed, and his needs sated. Drake would stare silently at the gardens that surrounded his home. The only other words he muttered were barely a whisper. "Why must I lose everything I love?" He had no answers. Only more contemplation as he reflected over the past few days, scanning and calculating how he could have done better. But it didn't matter anymore. For all intents and purposes, he was once again, alone in the world. With naught but his own thoughts to guide him. He shook off the intrusive thoughts that threatened to consume him, and shuffled into his bed. For tomorrow was another day, yet filled with opportunities...hopefully.

[PapaOso]

Cassius & Charlotte

---

As Cassius meandered through the ballroom, his gaze swept over the myriad of masked faces. He was searching…seeking something, anything to pique his interest. For all the amusement he had experienced so far this evening, he was beginning to grow restless.

He watched as the guests mingled, their laughter and chatter creating a backdrop of joviality that seemed worlds apart from the boredom brewing within him. He was unsure why he felt so disinterested when normally he would be reveling in such an atmosphere. Perhaps the source of this restlessness stemmed from the fact that subconsciously he was looking for something…someone in particular. His eyes flitted from one masquerade guest to the next, his mind churning with subtle anticipation.

Where was she?

There, by the edge of the dance floor, he spotted her just as she was stepping back into the ballroom…Almost divergent amidst the bustling crowd. Charlotte’s demeanor was tense, her eyes clouded with an emotion he couldn't quite decipher just yet. Despite the delicate butterfly mask adorning her face, he could see the turmoil etched in the lines of her expression.

A frown tugged at the corners of his own lips as he observed her from afar. What could possibly trouble her in a place filled with such merriment? What could have happened in the moments that passed since she ventured off on her own to leave her in such a state. The question gnawed at him, urging him forward…compelling him to move towards her.

With each step he took his stride was purposeful, his gaze fixed on Charlotte as he watched the subtleties of her beginning to fall apart..

As he drew nearer, he noticed the tears glistening in the corners of her eyes and the tremble of her lips as she struggled to contain the storm raging within her. His heart clenched at the sight as a familiar feeling coursed through him.

The emotion was akin to what had stirred within him when he witnessed Layla berate her at the beach. He couldn't help but continue to move towards her, his feet almost having a mind of their own as he was inexplicably drawn in her direction. His pace quickened as she grew closer and closer to losing herself to the panic.

Once he finished closing the distance, there was zero hesitation. He reached out to gently grasp her trembling hand in his. He could feel the warmth of Charlotte’s skin beneath his touch, the faint flutter of her pulse against his fingertips. It only served to deepen his resolve, building the urge to be the anchor she needed at that moment.

Taking but an instant to let her tear-filled gaze find his face, Cassius wore his most comforting and genuine smile that hid quite a bit of the concern in his eyes, but not all. Her frightened gaze betrayed her surprise. He was the last person she had expected to see at that moment.

However, before she could react…before the panic could consume her entirely, Cassius swept Charlotte into his arms in one fluid movement as he led her onto the dancefloor just as the music began to swell into a graceful waltz. He let his steps direct her with the skill of a practiced dancer, something that would certainly be unexpected of him.

He held her close against him as he guided her body in the waltz, allowing her to focus solely on overcoming the panic. Years of dance practice gave Charlotte enough muscle memory to keep up her footing even as she fell apart.

“You’re alright, Lottie, I have you….” Cassius stated calmly.

Her eyes widened as they met his.

“Don’t let it win. Ignore it all for a moment and just breathe. Focus on the sound of my heartbeat until the panic leaves you. “

Desperate gasps escaped her lips, each inhalation sharp and ragged, her body trembling with the effort of trying to regain control, but she did just as he asked, unable to process another way. Resting her head wearily against his chest, Charlotte listened to the rhythmic cadence of his heartbeat, its rapid tempo mirroring her own as sobs occasionally wracked her body.

His heart seemed to beat against his ribs with a fervent urgency, as if it were trying to break free from its confines. The slow waltz and the noise of the crowd faded into a distant murmur, their presence reduced to mere background noise. She could scarcely hear own breathing beginning to regulate.

For just a moment, his heartbeat became her world.

“...We'll dance until you’re okay, no matter how long it takes.”

As time went on, she could hear his heart rate gradually slow beneath her ear, its gentle rhythm lulling her into a sense of calm as she shut her eyes. After a few more minutes of rest, slowly, she lifted her tear-streaked face from his chest, meeting his gaze with uncertainty.

Charlotte couldn’t help but find irony in the situation, dancing with Calbert’s son after being warned only moments before to stay away from him. At the least, she could assume that he was not adhering to some vile order from his dear old father. He had approached her on his own accord.

As Charlotte rested her head against his chest, Cassius found himself conscious of the undeniable thrill that came with holding her close. A sense of peace came over him as her heartbeat gradually synced with his own. Yet, beneath the surface there was a nagging sense of curiosity and concern. Though, he brushed the feelings from his mind for the moment and focused on the task at hand, making sure that she was alright and that no one was the wiser of how close she had come to a breakdown.

With each step of the waltz, Cassius held her with adept ease, every one of his movements fluid and deliberate. His gaze softened as he watched her gradually find solace in the rhythm of his heart and their dance. He knew more than most the power of distraction, of losing oneself in the moment to escape the turmoil of the heart and mind. So, he just danced with her for a time, guiding her through the steps until her own impressive muscle memory kicked in and she matched his strides.

As the minutes carried on, Charlotte's tremors began to subside, and her breathing steadied against his chest. Cassius could feel the tension slowly melting away from her body, replaced by a fragile calm. She was not cured of the panic entirely but he could tell that he was helping. He continued to hold her close, his embrace a silent promise of safety amidst the chaos of the ballroom and her mind alike. As the music played on and the world around them fell into insignificance, Cassius couldn't ignore the burning questions that lingered in the air so heavy. What had happened to drive Charlotte to the heights of anxiety like that? Who had done that to her? And why had seeing her in such a state bothered him so?

As these thoughts circled in his mind, Charlotte found her strength to speak. . “Thank you…” Her voice was a soft whisper, barely rising above the hum of the ballroom.

With a gentle yet firm touch, Cassius moved Charlotte to a halt as she thanked him. His hand rested softly on her waist as he looked into the tear-streaked eyes behind her mask. There was a vulnerability in her gaze, a silent plea for understanding. He watched as her eyes searched his for answers, but to what questions?

“Wow…”He said with clear sarcasm.
“It’s not every day that one's skill on the dancefloor is so flawless that it merits a Thank You.” He laughed gently, his jest nothing more than a hopeful strategy to win a smile from his dance partner.

“But…really, no need for thanks. I wasn’t about to let you break one of the tried and true rules of revelry…” Cassius let a pause hang in the air for dramatic effect before continuing. “Na maskarade nel'zya plakat'…No crying allowed at the masquerade.” He reached a hand out and lifted her mask ever so slightly, gently wiping away the small streaks of tears and smeared mascara with his thumb in a caressing motion. “Plus, how could a man like me resist the opportunity to play the hero when so often I am cast in other roles?”

Charlotte's eyes held a soft gleam as she met his gaze, a subtle smile forming on her lips as he attended to her. With a flutter, her lashes lowered. "Ah," she eventually remarked, a trace of amusement coloring her voice, “ So that’s why you’re suddenly a gentleman tonight. Adhering strictly to the rules? ...Nа maskarade nel'zya byt' vulgarnym?”

Cas’s smile remained as he acknowledged her playful question with a wink. He slowly began to lead her in the waltz once more, but soon that smile faltered a bit, falling into a look of concern as his next thought was made into words. "What happened, Lottie?" His voice was low and velvet, laced with a hint of worry. "I'm a rather good listener... when I want to be." He flashed her a roguish grin, hoping to continue to lighten the mood even as his own curiosity gnawed at him.

As her smile faded, Charlotte's thoughtful gaze drifted downward, mulling over his words. Briefly meeting his eyes once more, she couldn't help but notice the subtle grin on his face. She could not help but ponder why this man always seemed adorned with an expression of amusement as if it were a part of his daily ensemble.

“...I had this gnawing suspicion that an individual, in particular, harbored ill intentions toward those dear to me…” " Her hold on him unwittingly tightened. “ Not only did I discover that I was correct, but I also learned the extent of their schemes... and it's far more sinister than I ever imagined.” Her expression began to falter as she spoke, the weight of her words visibly pressing down on her. “...and now, I can't help but feel that I have not done enough.”

Cas’s hand lifted once more as he watched her expression break. With a gentle touch, he lifted her chin slowly so that her fallen gaze met his once again. This time it was he that searched her eyes for answers as the information processed in his mind. He wondered who exactly it was that threatened her, that made her so afraid. For someone to do so in his father’s home was an insult to the Damien name…then a ping of curiosity struck him.

No… he wondered to himself as he noted where she had re-entered the ballroom from and what exactly that exit led to.

Calbert’s study.

Surely not…. He remembered his father’s warning about the Vikena family. He let his mind wander briefly to how the Count treated Charlotte at the beach, and the contempt he clearly held for her. His mind turned to the potential that she could be referring to his father. But he wouldn’t pry, and he wouldn’t push. If that was the case he understood that the truth would come out eventually, so instead he simply looked deep into her eyes and returned his focus to comforting her.

“Well…I’d say that’s definitely a cause for a bit of concern.” He exclaimed as he continued to process her words. “And I’m sorry, my lady. I’m sorry that someone is being so cruel to you.” His features softened and his smile faded as he continued. “I know what it means to have enemies, and I know just the feeling you speak of. The burden of feeling like you haven’t done enough.” Cas’s eyes fell to the floor momentarily as he let the weight of such a feeling wash over him. “I’m all too familiar with that one myself.”

Taking a deep breath, he let his thumb slip from under her chin and gently caressed her cheek. Her face reddened under his touch as their met again. Those gray-blue eyes of his may as well have been windows into a raging storm at sea as he leaned in closer, his voice lowering to a calm whisper. “Look…I don’t know you, at least not really, but I have an eye for people, Lottie, and I can tell you’re not the kind of girl who does anything but her best. I’m sure it’s enough, and even when it can’t be…we pick up the pieces and try again.”

There was a silence before she smiled faintly. “As long as life's rhythm flows through our veins, let us grasp onto the light of hope that persists, guiding us through the darkest of nights.” She quoted.

“Echoes of Eternity, right?” Cassius nodded in recognition of the quote, his expression displaying how impressed he was by her literary knowledge.

The dance continued, their bodies moving together in step as he spoke. “Alistair Veremond’s work in philosophy is one of those things that will always be underrated…no matter how popular it is. Honestly, it’s instrumental reading for anyone with a curious mind.” Cas briefly recalled learning of the man’s writing for the first time. “I had this commanding officer, Brant was his name…he was a monster in the field, but the man was a philosopher at heart. He made sure Veremond was required reading for the entire unit. Lot’s of complaints from some of the other Wolves, but personally I couldn’t get enough.”

Charlotte’s brows initially lifted at his words. Though she hadn’t expected him to recognize the quote, her surprise was mild. “He is certainly a wonderful philosopher…I’ve read Echoes of Eternity perhaps three times now…Veremond viewed the world in a beautiful way I wish I could see with my own eyes .” She smiled to herself as she spoke. Before she could delve deeper into her thoughts, his final statement registered in her mind and confusion crossed her expression. “Pardon me… Wolves?”

“The Iron Wolves.” Cassius clarified. “It’s a renowned company of sellswords from the Varian kingdom.” His smile grew more confident. “Many would go as far as to say they’re the premiere mercenary group in all of Eromora…and humbly, I was one of their best.”

Charlotte’s eyes lit as a thrill surged through her and she let go of Cassius mid- dance. Unable to contain her enthusiasm, she let out a delighted gasp. With a little hop of excitement, she clasped her hands together. “I can’t imagine the adventures you’ve been on! And how brave you must be…” Her voice trailed off as her thoughts raced ahead like a runaway train, trying to envision all his tales of daring escapades.

“You must have helped so many people… I think I would do almost anything to have the kind of strength where I could make a difference for others.” There was a sparkle in her eyes as she smiled. “What greater honor is there than the life of a hero.”

As Charlotte lit up with excitement, Cassius matched her energy with wide eyes and an elated grin…but after a moment, something about her words shifted his expression to something slightly more somber. As his arms settled down at his side upon her releasing him, his mind focused on that word, hero. A specific memory burned at the edges of his mind, but he brushed it away before it could fully manifest. He was no hero, but rather whatever he was paid to be. Though his eyes trailed away from hers and to the ground for a brief moment, he met her gaze once more with a feigned smile. ”The things I’ve seen over the last decade…adventure is barely enough to describe it. There is more beauty in this world than anyone will ever see with their own eyes. I’m honored to have experienced so much of it.”

Charlotte observed the subtle shift in Cassius's expression, sensing a hint of melancholy beneath his practiced smile. After some hesitation, she reached out to gently take his hand.

As their fingers intertwined, Charlotte met his eyes with a warm smile. "From what I've studied in books, the world sounds breathtakingly beautiful," she remarked softly. "Yet, I've only experienced a fraction of it firsthand. I would love nothing more than to hear about your adventures and the places you've explored someday."

Cassius felt a strange cocktail of emotions as Charlotte's hand found his, her warmth seeping into his skin, thawing the tendrils of past memories that threatened to creep back in. Her genuine curiosity and innocent enthusiasm were like a balm to his weary soul. As he looked into her eyes, so full of hope and wonder…There was a noticeable departure from the melancholy they often carried, and especially the panic that was present only moments ago. He was glad his little distraction was working.

Pondering her words, Cassius found himself torn by the truth of his experiences. The world she imagined, the one painted in the pages of her books, was often a far cry from the reality he had known. Though that did not deter him from seeking the beauty of the world around every corner, in fact it was likely the reason he sought it with such determination. As for now, it was easy to find beauty in this shared moment. His eyes briefly turned to the sight of her hand in his, and with a silent chuckle and a kind smile he responded.

"I’m nothing if not an open book…" he said softly. "And I’m sure you can tell by now that I’m never above a humble brag.” Cassius used their interlocked hands to gently pull her in closer as he spoke and led her back into the dance once more, allowing the music to drown out the whispers of his past, if only for a little while longer. His hand rested low on Charlotte’s waist as he studied her eyes with appreciation. ”But I’m sure you have your share of stories as well…Kings, Queens, and all the luxury that comes with a life of nobility. Surely you’ve known all kinds of beauty, albeit a different kind.”

Charlotte’s cheeks flushed, though she didn’t give any indication as to why. “I-I…” She stammered, her thoughts momentarily scattering as she became acutely aware of where his hands were placed. Despite this brief distraction, she quickly regained her composure and flashed a very broad smile. “ Yes… I have quite some lovely memories with wonderful people I’ve had the honor of meeting.”

Noticing the blush on her cheeks, Cassius made the connection and realized that his hand was lower on her waist than he had even registered. He would have moved it higher had she seemed uncomfortable with its placement, but instead he simply enjoyed each step of their continued waltz. I’m glad you have those wonderful memories. Do me a favor, Lottie…Hold onto them for dear life. This world has a way of trying to pull the good times into the mud with the bad. Don’t let it.” His tone was gentle, and his advice came from a heartfelt place. However, before he could continue or she could react, the music swelled to its crescendo and came to a stop.

Cas’s eyes broke away from Charlotte as he looked around the room at the other dancers parting ways. He did not rush to move his body away from hers, and even once he finally moved back a few inches, he allowed her hand to remain in his. ”Well…looks like this dance is over. Guess the stories and memories will have to wait until our next one. He jested. Not even the intensity of his lupine mask could obfuscate the warmth in his eyes or the sweetness of his smile. He pulled her hand up and pressed his lips to it gently. “No more tears, my lady. For the night is young and full of possibilities. All you have to do is seize them.”
Charlotte remained transfixed as he spoke, her feet rooted to the spot even as he leaned in to kiss her hand. As his lips brushed against her skin, her heart fluttered uncontrollably as her eyes met his, and his met hers. In that prolonged moment, the rest of the room dissolved into insignificance, the surroundings blurring into nothingness just as it had earlier, leaving only the two of them in a moment stuck in time.

Even as reality gradually seeped back into her awareness, the silence lingered. Her thoughts raced for a moment longer before finally finding the words to break it.

“...Thank you again, Lord Damien,” She expressed with genuine warmth in her tone, although her posture had subtly shifted to something more guarded. “I am grateful that tonight allowed for a more cordial exchange between us. Enjoy the remainder of your evening.” With a polite nod, she turned sharply, her figure swiftly swallowed up by the bustling crowd as it filled the space between them.

Before he could find the words to reply to Charlotte, she was gone. As the crowd swirled around him, Cassius took a moment to collect his thoughts. He couldn't deny the beating of excitement that danced in his chest at the prospect of getting to know Charlotte a little better. There was something about her innocence and curiosity that drew him in, offering a refreshing contrast to the shadows that often clouded his past. Mostly, though, he was simply glad to have helped her avoid such a public display of panic. Perhaps it was further atonement for his actions the other night, though still in this moment he couldn’t understand why he cared. At the very least, this felt better than the way things had played out that night.

With a sigh, he shook off his reverie and glanced around the ballroom, once again taking in the elaborate masks and elegant costumes that adorned the guests. The music started to play once more, rhythm weaving its way through the air like a whisper in the background of his mind. Cassius found himself moving towards the refreshment table, as he had already done multiple times tonight, and poured himself another glass of wine as he leaned against the marble countertop. He observed the other guests with a far more detached interest as his thoughts inevitably drifted back to Charlotte, the dance they shared, and the night’s masquerade which he certainly would never forget.

[Infinite Cosmos]

Location: The castle/Munir's room
Interactions: @TaeMina

"Hush my love... we will talk when you're ready..." was all that Munir whispered to Mina as he walked. He kknew she needed and wanted rest. And his attention was being given to simply holding on to her, and not causing her to fall from his arms. The adrenaline has definitely worn off now and Munir's body screamed in pain and fatigue from overexertion. "We will be back at the castle in no time..."

As soon as the pair reached a clearing, Hakim has arranged a carriage for them, and a horse for himself so that he can keep up with the pace of the carriage. "My lord, the carriage is ready for you and Lady Blackwood. I will accompany you on a horse." Munir nodded to his trusty retainer. With Hakim's help, Munir gently placed Mina on one of the bench seats inside the carriage while settling down next to her, resting her head on his thigh. With another small nod, Hakim stepped back and closed the door to the passenger compartment and ascended his horse. Without much commotion, the carriage set off, the lights that hung from either side of the driver swayed as they illuminated the path back to the castle grounds.

Munir finally allowed himself a moment of respite, the gentle rocking of the carriage and steady hoof beat of the horses soothed his mind. Nothing else mattered right now. All he wanted was to get Mina to safety. And sleep.

A slew of castle guards rushed out at the sight of a late arriving carriage. Hakim rode up and waved them all off, as to not disturb Munir and Mina. When the carriage made a full stop, Munir finally blinked awake from his momentary dreams. Without much of a word, he scooped Mina back into his arms and carefully climbed out of the carriage. His body being pushed forward by sheer will at this point. As the trio arrived at Munir's quarters, Munir gestured for Hakim to take his leave and rest with a turn of his head and gracious nod. Hakim bid his lord farewell and took his leave for the evening after that.

In the room, Munir placed Mina on his feathered bed and worked on undressing her for the evening. Munir took extra care to cause as little disturbance as possible as he took off whatever clothing Mina had on, save for her smallclothes. With a soft silk towel dipped in warm water, Munir did his best to wipe off any signs of dirt Mina had before slipping a long silken tonic of his over her, gently cinching it at her waist. Satisfied, he draped the fur blanket over Mina and walked softly over to the hearth in his room and added more wood to it to ensure the fire would last the evening.

Finally, without undressing or cleaning himself, Munir collapsed into a heap onto the floor next to his bed and a sleeping Mina and drifted off into the night...

[Rodiak]

_{dress ♖ crown ♖ mask ♖}

_{D A M I E N E S T A T E | E V E N I N G
I n t e r a c t i o n s :
@Lava Alckon@CitrusArms
M e n t i o n s :}

The world spun in all sorts of fun and dizzying ways, and Zarai struggled to make sense of the words swirling around her, particularly those from the nice Blue lady. She didn’t even feel the hand that had slipped around her waist as she pouted when the bottle was snatched away from her.

“I like your funny words, lady!” Zarai giggled, suddenly aware of the comforting touch. “What if we sneak outta here, hm? Play a game just the two of us?”

Before Blue could respond, a glass of water appeared, and Zarai wasted no time in downing it, offering a slurred ‘thank you’ as she handed it back to the servant.

'What time does the Angel's Trumpet bloom?’ The words floated around her, a puzzle she had no desire to solve in her current state. The man with the pretty hair seemed to speak in riddles, but Zarai dismissed it, knowing she would likely forget the encounter soon, especially after her unfortunate run-in with Lord Monet.

“Departing so soon?” Zarai called out as a man bid their group farewell. Her attention returned to Blue, ready to suggest they continue their fun elsewhere, but her words were abruptly cut off by hands grabbing her shoulders and pulling her away.

“Hey–!” She started to protest, ready to retaliate, until she recognized Sir Barrios in his plain silver mask. “Oh, I know youuu!” Her recognition was delayed, thanks to the alcohol and the distraction of the mask, but she eventually identified him by the scar on his cheek.

“My lady, it is time we depart. It is getting rather late; your mother will worry for you.” Sir Barrios bowed slightly, but his eyes conveyed his irritation, especially towards Blue. Zarai attempted to protest, but he simply excused himself, picked her up, and began their departure.

"Au Revoir! Arrivederci! Adios! Shall we meet again, my lovely players!"

He was ever so glad for these masks; they saved him the embarrassment of having Lady Zarai as his charge. Sir Barrios was already looking forward to a much-needed vacation after this year’s season.

[Tae]

Time: Night
Location: Deep in the forest
Interactions: @ReusableSword Roman @Lava Alckon Farim @Conscripts John & Frederick

---

Torvi's focus shifted swiftly as the chaos unfolded around her, her senses attuned to the shifting dynamics of the confrontation. As the newcomers, Frederick and John, joined the fray with Farim and herself, Torvi couldn't help but feel annoyance bubbling up in her. Did these people truly not understand the gravity of the situation? Had they been cut off from the spirits for so long to not realize the danger they posed? She had little time to dwell on her thoughts, though, as her spell began taking effect and the spirits began swirling around them. Her attention, however, was grabbed by something else, the figure standing before Farim, facing down the wrathful spirits. She made a mental note to investigate this man further at a later time, recognizing the potential significance of his presence.

However, her attention quickly returned to the immediate situation as the spirits unleashed their fury upon the group, their anguished screams echoing through the clearing. Torvi stood her ground, unaffected by their wrath, her resolve unwavering. This had not been the first time she’d experienced something like this and she was sure it wouldn’t be the last. She merely had to ignore the hurtful words about the ancestors for the time being and would reflect on that later.

When the spirits finally dissipated and Roman collapsed to the ground, Torvi wasted no time in addressing the three men who had joined the fight. Her voice was firm as she asserted her authority over the situation.

"This was my fight alone," she declared, her tone leaving no room for argument. "You had no right to intervene. I pulled him so far away from the crowd to protect everyone, as I knew the severity of the situation."

With a few muttered curses under her breath in her native tongue, Torvi turned her attention to Fenrys as he reappeared in the clearing. She exchanged a silent communication with her companion before refocusing on Farim's inquiries about the princess and his cousin. She could still scent the princess on the two newest additions to the fight and if she focused enough, she caught a faint trail leading further away from the same scent.

"The princess is nearby," she informed Farim, her eyes scanning the area as she recalled the princess, Anastasia, who had earlier been with Farim and they seemed close. She’d watched them briefly from a distance when she was merely observing the ritual. She also remembered the one she assumed to be Farim’s cousin being with them. "You are her lover, I suppose? Fenrys will lead you to her and then to your cousin. The redhead should be with your cousin as well, safe from harm. If I discover the princess was harmed by you, then I will be sure to hunt you down and remove your balls before serving them to you on a silver platter."

With that, Fenrys walked to Farim’s side, ready to lead the way. Torvi moved back to the unconscious form of Roman and knelt down next to him.

"I will ensure this man’s safety and bring him back to his people," she assured all of them. Torvi wasted no time in heaving Roman's unconscious form onto her shoulders with surprising ease. ”Now please excuse me.” She said with a nod and then began moving. With a determined stride, she began to make her way back in the direction of the ritual site, her mind already focused on returning him to his servant, Erik.

[JJ Doe]

Wulfric & Ryn Part 1

---

---

It was no tricky task to espy his magicae. Though faint, like the many in the room, his did not reach to commingle with magical energies nor flux in the same manner others did. Rather, it clung to him—a thin sheet of fluorite green, frigid and still as winter ice; a frosty bulwark that shielded the man from the world as it shielded the world from him.

Ice-olation. Ryn chuckled to himself at the perfectly terrible pun.

Soft-footed, Ryn drifted toward him, this man enshrouded in black, concealing himself from the revelers. But not from Ryn. Not whilst these bespelled lenses retained the power to peer beyond. As the dark-clad man made idle chatter Ryn stole up behind and leaned close to whisper his name—their name—“Adelard.”

The ice cracked; a hairline fissure. Something shifted below the frozen surface. Then Ryn saw Prince Wulfric’s sudden pivot just in time.

A glass of vermouth in hand, Wulfric was perusing the hors d’oeuvres available when he became aware of a certain sensation. A subconscious alert to something that he recognized only by the most minute of physiological reactions; the slight tensing of his muscles followed by an immediate relaxation, a subtle change in his heartbeat, the itching of his fingers urging him to reach for a weapon.

Was someone truly foolish enough to try and ambush him at a public event?

He angled his glass just so, attempting to catch a glimpse of the suspect in question. Unfortunately, the reflective surface did not provide anything of use. And then, they were there. A disturbance in the air indicated someone’s presence. It was now or never.

It wasn’t a cognizant decision, but a reflexive reaction – Wulfric turned around swiftly, his free hand reaching out aggressively, his mantle swishing in a rustle of feathers. As he acted on his desire to show them their mistake, what could only be described as killing intent surged, if merely for a second.

Oops.

He recognized his overreaction, reigned in the unwarranted bloodthirst, and shifted from attacking to intercepting. Which was when he finally registered a detail that had nearly escaped his notice. A familiar voice had called out to him, in the same beat he’d gone on the move. Thus, he stopped almost awkwardly mid-motion, the arm which had been ready to grab left to hang there, in between the space separating him and the count.

He sighed as he looked down at the other man. “You again?” he questioned. Slowly, he lowered his hand.
“What exactly–” he started. However, before he could even formulate the question, Hendrix upped the ante by proceeding to be even stranger.

Just as the limb intent on doing harm was raised, Ryn traced its path with his own digits. When the prince lowered his hand, Ryn was there to take it gently in his grasp. With an easy grace, he twirled underneath their joined hands before sweeping into a florid bow calculated to attract every eye nearby; bent deeply at the waist with one leg extended forward while he touched his forehead to the back of the prince’s knuckles and his free arm carved arabesques in the air.

“Oh, Adel!” Ryn sang, “I thought you’d never ask! Yes, let us dance.” He pitched his voice to reach the avid ears surrounding them. Ryn could only hope his little show would suffice to plant seeds of doubt regarding the violence the onlookers thought they were about to witness.

Even for a fleeting span, the prince allowed the depth of his lethal capacity to show, enough to nail the shoes of the most perceptive watchers to the floor, frozen by understanding.

With the air of someone utterly indifferent as to how his slip up may or may not have been perceived by those in the vicinity, Wulfric took his time watching the count’s impromptu performance. He closely tracked the man as he whirled and danced around, then flourished a bow. As he pondered on the oddity in front of him, he guessed at the likely intent behind the count’s eye-catching display. Bafflement gave way to amusement.

“Ha!” he barked a disbelieving laugh.

He had to admit, the sheer gall to try to sneak up on him was impressive. Moreover, Hendrix took being nearly attacked in stride, and even followed it up with a showy improvisation. The perfection of the count’s timing alone was deserving of applause.

“I knew you were an entertainer,” he mused.

In his opinion, the enactment was unnecessary; even if anyone noticed anything, at most, they would experience a brief unsettlement before going back about their business. After all, nothing had happened, and they would feel safe putting it out of their minds. People were rather prone to ignoring uncomfortable matters, and would often craft their own excuses to explain away any discrepancies.

However, he did appreciate the show for what it was.

“Very well.” He reversed their hand-hold, placing his underneath, in the leading position. “I suppose I can indulge you…Since it’s your win this time,” he conceded in a whisper. He drained his drink, and on their path to the dance floor, deposited the empty glass upon the tray of a passing servant.

He stood opposite Hendrix then, retaining an open facing position and the one-hand hold. “Shall we?” At the affirmation, he led them in time with the music, starting with something simple, then weaving in more and more intricate steps as they danced.

“Has anyone ever told you that you have the makings of an assassin?” he asked right away, ironically humorous.

Ryn had not expected the prince to take his lighthearted invitation seriously. In truth, he was ready to let it pass into politeness as soon as the onlookers’ attention scattered elsewhere. Yet, here they stood, vis-à-vis upon the dance floor.

The opening forms were simple enough—bend the knee here, slide the feet to and fro there, bow on cue. Lather, rinse, and repeat. The intricate steps ahead, however, required a proper lead. He rather doubted the habitually commanding prince would allow another to steer him, but then the man had already proven full of surprises. Perhaps he might do so again.

“Quite the opposite. As you can see, I’m not hard to catch.” Ryn cast a rueful glance at the prince. “My apologies for frightening you. I wished only to say hello.”

“Apologizing when you were the one endangered?” he pointed out. “You are already two for two in startling me. Even after I warned you earlier today. Tsk tsk,” he chastised lightly.

“By no means can your talents be underplayed,” his tone was low, forbidding, and strangely melodic. “Not with all these techniques in your arsenal.” He chuckled darkly.

“A stealthy approach,” light steps took him towards Hendrix before he re-established their distance. “Remaining obscured,” he raised an arm, black fabric and raven feathers swirling in front of him in an artistic sweep as he mimicked being hidden. “Breaking line of sight.” He led them into a mutual twirl, so for a moment, they were back to back. “Erasing your presence,” he continued when they were facing each other again. “Or simply blending in.” He raised his free hand, tracing the air in front of the count’s mask and costume. He followed the action with a natural bow, yet another part of their dance.

“Getting close to your target.” This time, when they drew together, Wulfric changed their position. As if it were the most natural thing in the world, he slotted his arm against the other man’s back, and laid his palm on the count’s shoulder blade. With his left hand, he grasped Hendrix’s right. Nimbly, he led them into turns and rotations.

“Familiarizing yourself with them.” Rising and falling, they revolved against the other as they traversed the area in graceful spins. “Observing.” An insidious whisper fell against the count’s ear. “Allowing them to become accustomed to your presence.” They pressed closer, until practically no space remained between them. Swift, tightly executed twists ensued. “Biding your time.” His fingers pushed against Hendrix’s back, then let go. They lingered scant millimeters away, still very much so in the other man’s personal space. “Until…” The hand moved a few inches higher. Cool metal claws alighted upon Hendrix’s neck; a mere whisper of a touch. “You strike,” he hissed. Only, his fingers withdrew, nary a scratch left behind.

Wulfric took several steps away, until they were back to the handhold. While he intended to resume leading the dance from a more respectful distance, the count soon drew him in for a re-enactment.

“Three,” Ryn corrected. “The first was at the palace entrance, when I presented you the bouquet of herbs and flowers.” His head tilted in curiosity, “Did you make use of them, or did they wither away in a bin?” It made sense for someone as cautious as Prince Wulfric to throw out any unexpected gifts for safety’s sake.

Wulfric uttered a noise of complaint at the correction. “If you are counting that one,” he grumbled. However, the following question produced a smirk. “Oh, I used them, alright.” There was an odd note of self-satisfaction as he gave the unexpected reply.

They flowed into another sequence of the dance, their bodies moving together effortlessly like two gears in a clock. However, people are not machines and even gears shift in time. Try as they might to resist, change comes to all things in the end. Sometimes, it arrives as a tempest, leaving everyone dazed in its wake; other times, it is a silent, creeping ivy, unnoticed until everything is different. Their seemingly predictable dance, too, was altering, bit by bit with each step and turn.

“Three times, you have marked me a threat,” he continued. “Of all those who’ve passed behind you tonight, all those shadows at your back, what made you greet me in that way?” A faint smile appeared. “I am flattered you hold me in such high regard. How much time did you spend imagining how I might try to undo you?”

Unbidden, a grin spread across his features, hidden as it was beneath his mask. “None at all,” he answered, a laugh in his voice. “Why, did you imagine the ways?” he countered slyly. He sighed audibly as he considered the question. “I should like to know…Why you indeed.”

“None at all? So you made that list on the spot?” That query was answered with a simple, if amused, “Yes.” To which he responded in a low, “... Really?”

Though the prince still led and the count still followed in their stately pavane, as the dance progressed, Wulfric found himself being on the receiving end of his own performance.

“The stealthy approach.” Ryn glided forward, then smoothly back. “Remaining obscured,” he raised an arm, but the effect lacked somewhat without the dramatic black cloak and feathers. “Breaking line of sight,” they spun together, “erasing my presence,” and when they faced each other again they were far closer than propriety deemed wise. “Or simply blending in.” He traced the edge of the raven’s beak and then swept into a bow.

“Getting close to my target.” As if sensing Ryn’s intention, Prince Wulfric moved to intercept, reasserting the lead in their choreography. A soft chuckle escaped Ryn as they spiraled into a series of dizzying turns.

“Familiarizing myself with them.” He leaned in close to whisper a less harsh, “observing,” as one might speak to a frightened creature startled into fight. “Allowing them to become accustomed to my presence. Biding my time.” His fingers reached up, past the mask, and into the hood to rest on the prince’s neck where the ghost of an old injury lingered. Tension gathered in the muscles at his touch. “Until…”

The music ceased; the moment hung suspended as some dance pairs parted and new pairs formed around them. Ryn felt the rapid pulse under his fingertips but he made no other move, the fingers merely stayed there. “So tense, like an instrument string wound too tight,” Ryn said lightly before his tone shifted to one of concern. “Breathe, Adelard. Relax. You need to be able to unwind when you can or risk snapping at the worst possible moment.”

“Presumptuous,” Wulfric growled. Of course he was tense. How could he not be, when it took so much effort to hold back? To stay still while Hendrix made his own point, prolonging the moment of tension—

—until it finally broke. He exhaled harshly. It was far from fear that gripped him; nay, he felt the coming of a familiar thrill. The excitement as someone matched and challenged him. So, yes, he did have to calm down. It was neither the time nor the place.

The hand on Prince Wulfric’s neck slid down and around his back. By the time the prince realized what the count was doing, Ryn had already lifted their clasped hands, settling them into the starting pose as the music swelled again. His hold remained light, easily broken should Prince Wulfric wish to escape. “Choose your battles, Adel. Save your strength for the fight that truly matters to you.” His gaze dropped momentarily in introspection. “If I do end up hurting you… it won’t be tonight.” Lifting his eyes to catch the prince’s gray blues, the slightest of smiles hovered about Ryn’s mouth. “But if it makes you feel any safer… for me to get close enough to strike you, I must also be near enough for you to strike me.”

Wulfric permitted Hendrix to keep the lead as he took the sensible advice, and simply breathed to regain his equilibrium.

The things he might do to this man if given half the chance…

A deep inhale. And exhale.

Best to leave it be.

The next piece was far slower, and the soothing music was enough to lull one into a sense of security, false or otherwise.

“I fight all the battles…” there was a hint of melancholy, even loss, and perhaps, an inkling of doubt. Yet, it was gone with the next words, replaced by surety. “Tonight or tomorrow, I am ready whenever.” Firmly, he met the count’s inky black gaze. “I will be waiting until so are you.”

TL;DR

Wulfric was startled by Ryn and was ready to attack him, but Ryn played it down, and this led them to dance.