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In 🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕 → 23 hrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay

Riona & Wulfric Part 2

TLDR for the flashback: Jonathan’s birthday party goes on, and the children end up playing football. Lacking a referee, the game devolves into a free-for-all brawl towards the end. As the adults are informed, the fight is broken up. However, Wulfric happens upon the parents arguing soon after. Then, Lord Desmond Dantès speaks to him. The prince is impressed, but unfortunately has to leave. On the way home he saw Lord Dantès holding hands with the castle’s royal gardener, Gardner Haywood. Lady Dantès was holding hands with two other adults he didn’t recognize.



“Fake?” Wulfric mused half-absentmindedly as mostly forgotten memories had been partially reawakened, and now sluggishly gathered at the forefront of his mind. “I resent that,” he noted, though he sounded almost– tickled, if meriness could ever be ascribed to the crown prince. “However, yes. It is I, Prince Wulfric. What a…thoroughly unexpected surprise.” It was largely a pleasant one, he thought, even if he and the Lady Dantès had never got along the one time they’d met. Recalling her name had also reminded him of the - sadly - deceased Lord Desmond Dantès. Yet another man who had been too good to die so early, to have been slain so horrendously.

“Quite.” Riona said, her tone brazen though her heart thundered in her chest. “No wonder I found you so irritating.” Truth be told, half of her wanted nothing more than to turn on her heel and flee, putting as much distance between herself and the Heir Apparent as possible. Why in the hells was Prince Wulfric here? Did he recognize the maidservant she had become too? No. After all these years working in that castle, he never so much as spared her a glance (not that she gave him a chance to, either). So he couldn’t have. Then why now? With a gods damn mask on no less? Was it the expensive dress? “It’s… been a while.” No, it hasn’t. “What are you doing here being a creepy crow when you should be… socializing with your prospective wives?”

“An evocative costume, is it not?” he agreed. To demonstrate, he swept an arm to the side in a dramatic gesture, feathers rustling in a riotous swirl of black, chains rattling against each other. “Hmm, well,” he smirked as she questioned him on his prospects. Notably, Lady Dantès had rescinded her decision to depart. Was it nostalgia, or was she trying to find out something specific now that she knew who he was? “It would be in bad taste if, immediately after Shehzadi Mayet’s departure, I would begin pursuing her sister.”

So his sights were set on Shehzadi Nahir or Shehzadi Layla? Interesting. Either would make a very powerful alliance if it came to fruition. All the more reason to find the evidence as soon as possible and expose them.

… Or else there’d only be one thing left to do.

“Besides,” a hint of slyness crept into his tone, “who is to say I am not socializing with a prospective wife at this very moment?” He laughed at the absurdity of the idea, longer than was strictly polite. After a moment, he cut off with a sigh.

Her body reacted—feet stepping a few steps back, arms wrapping around her to shield herself from the Prince’s very presence—before the familiar triad flared hot and bright. Anger. Repulsion. Hate. They seared through her veins.

She pierced him with eyes flint cold while he laughed at a joke that only he found funny. “You’d gain little from such an arrangement,” she said, “I have nothing left for you to take from me.”

‘Nothing left for you to take’ was a peculiar manner of phrasing on the lady’s part. Her reaction, too, had been worrying. It gave him pause, frankly. It was a reflexive loathing on her part - but what had caused it, exactly? While he chose not to comment on it, he had certainly noticed. “And yourself? What have you been up to?” he asked eventually.

“Do you care?” she repeated the question little Lady Dantès asked years back.

“Yes.” It was a simple assurance, but truthful. He wanted to know the cause of her abhorrence, of her hatred. He had to know. If his family had been involved in any way - if his past suspicions were more than just that - he ought to know.

A handful of breaths slipped by before Riona finally shaped the words. “What have I been up to? For fourteen years, I’ve endured a waking nightmare. One where the man and woman who slaughtered my home go unchallenged, unpunished.” Her fingers knotted in the fabric of her dress. “Did you know there’s no record left of the town or House Dantès? They’ve erased it all. Redacted from history. Convenient, right? It’s only a matter of time before we’ll be forgotten altogether as if we never existed at all…” Her knuckles become pale against the orange color. “Those monsters grow fat on the spoils of their atrocities.” She hissed, “Just as you reap the rewards sown at the expense of others, False Prince.”

“I see…” Well, he did in part. “I have noticed the suspicious lack of records,” he affirmed. In fact, it was that which had led him to believe that something other than ‘a bandit attack’ had been at play. But how could he have confirmed, when the king and queen never acknowledged such inconsistencies? There were several other instances where a lack of evidence was the only evidence. “I remember,” he informed her. “If only the two of you.”

She rolled her eyes. Not enough to recognize her as a maid. “How much of that memory surfaced only because we bumped into each other?”

“A fair amount,” he acknowledged, tone even. But the memories he spoke of were not merely the result of this happenstance. Why did she think he’d noticed the erasure of her family from official records in the first place? “However, Lord Desmond Dantès is not the sort of man I would simply forget about.”

The way Lady Dantès spoke of her family members’ deaths, it was as if the Danroses had had something to gain by killing them. He had always thought his parents’ reasons to be preventative in nature; to eliminate danger - or rather, suspected danger, or political inconveniences, as the case may be. “Do you know what happened there, exactly?”

Revulsion clawed its way up her throat. “You want the details of how everyone was butchered? Gods…” Riona shook her head. “No, why am I surprised? You were always like this...”

Wulfric blinked at her slowly, once, twice. “No, of course not.” That had been certainly unusually careless phrasing on his part. “I meant, why were they killed?”

“Why? You should know better than anyone why those monsters do the things they do.”

She wasn’t far off the mark; he knew his parents well. And yet… “I do not see what we could have gained by killing your family.” He said ‘we’ rather than ‘they’; he wasn’t that naive. “Were they – what, determined to be dissidents?” he questioned, highly doubtful. Even if they had been, that would never merit slaughtering a whole town, like she’d implied had been done.

“‘Determined to be dissidents’?” she half spat, half scoffed, the sentence out. “Perhaps you don’t remember much of Lord Dantès as you claim.” Of everyone, he had fought hardest against any whisper of conflict with the Danroses.

The Lord accepted every insult, every cutting barb from the preening Caesonian aristocrats, believing this self-abasement would keep their town safe, preserve the peace across the country. The naive fool even dreamed that one day, their kind might exist without living in fear. How disastrously wrong he had been. He underestimated the bottomless greed of those monsters and what fear could do to them.

“Then what?” Wulfric bit out, finally showing some of his own frustration.

“I’m ‘just some stupid lying girl.’ You won’t believe a thing I say because it’ll tarnish your family’s reputation and shatter every illusion you’ve had of yourself.”

“Have I not demonstrated that I am inclined to believe, or at the very least, to listen to your assertions?” he pointed out. “I am not someone who would cling to illusions, no matter how fanciful or entrenched.” He knew very well that reputation was a construct of lies, hopeful beliefs, and the occasional sprinkle of truth to tie it all in.

Riona’s defensive posture relaxed slightly. “If you do care… swear to me.”

“Swear what?” He inquired a tad cautiously. “I can swear that I care, because I do not wish to mistake convenience for necessity.” The difference between the two was something he had been mulling over lately. But he had no idea what Lady Dantès actually wanted or expected. All that was clear was that she hated him.

“If you actually care, find out for yourself.” She straightened up and faced Prince Wulfric properly. “And when you do, swear to me you’d publicly reveal what your family has done in order to stay in power. Every last one.”

“Oh, I shall most certainly find out.” He shook his head though he did not immediately deny the second part of her request. “In order to stay in power…” he ruminated on her words. How much of it was ruling through fear, how much a force of habit? Did she mean any and all executed criminals as well? He could believe there had been unjust killings, but equally, he was convinced that some deaths were necessary.

However, seeking out and rectifying those which had not been necessary, those which had been unjust was agreeable. Yet, it was very much a matter of finesse in how such a thing was to be done. “Total transparency with the hope that it would bring about appropriate accountability?” He had to wonder what results she wished for. Given her hostility, vengeance was easily believable. Perhaps she plotted for his family’s downfall, or for another to take the Danroses’ place. “You have a surprisingly naive and optimistic outlook of humanity. We are prone to excusing the unforgivable, and to turning a blind eye to the unjust.”

There were two ‘worst case’ scenarios he could foresee coming from her request. One, the complete disintegration of trust in the government followed by years of unquenchable rebellions and violent social unrest. Two, he or other parties could present all that had been done as if it had been inevitable - as regrettable yet crucial sacrifices. If the latter happened, then nothing would change, or worse yet, ever greater atrocities could be committed.

Personally, he wished for neither of those; it was a matter of finding a third path, then. “Very well. You ought to keep in mind, however, that I shall do it on my own terms.” Even if it was doing ‘the right thing’, he would certainly do it in a manner that would benefit him, if not necessarily his parents. “Too, if I ever come across something too dangerous to reveal,” such as magic, “it will be my prerogative whether I do, in fact, reveal it. Believe it or not, there are truths the general public is not ready for – not at the present time, and perhaps, not until many years in the future.”

Riona stood motionless, catching every syllable, reading between each carefully crafted line. It was a roundabout way of saying things, but clearly the answer was no. Never, to be exact. Because in the end, all of Danroses’ crimes were exactly that, “too dangerous to reveal.” The truth was a threat to their reign. And a Danrose would never act against their own interests. Nothing would change. Not under this “Prince.”

When the abomination’s spawn finished mimicking human speech, there was silence. Strangely, the lack of a face made it easier to see the thing for what it really was. “Greed and fear,” she murmured.

“Good to know you intend to follow in your parents’ footsteps, Edin the Second.” She would’ve used a different name that suited it better, but she knew that its sire’s name would cut deepest. “They must be proud. How many of your own people will you kill to ‘maintain order’? Was tormenting that servant at age seven ‘for the greater good’ too? Ah! But of course!” She threw her hands up. Her words dripped with caustic sarcasm. “You’re protecting the people from the monstrosities that are yourselves. How very noble! … Too bad you’re doing a gods awful job at it.”

Her hands dropped to her sides. “Is that ‘the truth the general public is not ready for?’... Huh. I wonder why anyone would find any of that upsetting.”

Despite the anger, she was surprisingly composed. Maybe because the thing confirmed what she’d already known, strengthening her resolve. “We have nothing more to discuss. Thank you for reaffirming that talking to you is and always will be a colossal waste of time.”

Rather than turn on her heel, Riona stepped into the thing’s space, thrusting the stupid crow mask up high enough to meet its gaze directly. “I pray your reign shall never come. But if it must, may we be fortunate that it is mercifully brief.” Her eyes blazed with a hatred that could choke the breath out of anyone. She held that smoldering look a beat longer before shoving the mask back into place.
Even as she raged and stormed, however, he stood there still and silent, as unaffected as a cliffside weathering a tempest, as calm as the proverbial eye of a hurricane he happened to find himself in the middle of. Even as she ever so rudely removed his mask, he faced her unflinchingly, his lack of expression only reinforcing the impression of featureless, insensate stone. Their gazes met, and if hers was an inextinguishable wildfire, then his was as inexorably, hauntingly serene and inscrutable as an ocean whose surface was wrapped in heavily lingering mists.

“How unfortunate.” It was a flat, toneless utterance, as uncaring to her pain as the universe was to them all.

Brimming with all that barely contained wrath, overfilled with it to the point of bursting, Lady Dantès was incapable of nuance. She wanted an immediate resolution, she expected a clear-cut outcome. Her desire for justice – for vengeance - would not be satisfied until he and his family were all six feet under. Her volatile nature would not stop at mere prayers and wishes for his death, would it?

How unfortunate then, that the last Dantès would have to be slain at the hands of yet another Danrose.

Just or unjust, good or evil, fair or not – what did it matter in the face of pure survival?

He watched her leave without another word. If you must be an enemy, then so be it.
In 🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕 → 1 day ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
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.”

In Avalia → 1 day ago Forum: Casual Roleplay



Time: MORNING
Location: EXT. DOCK
Interactions/Mentions: Another guy affiliated with The New Dawn @SilverPaw; Zion @Helo; Guy affiliated with The New Dawn @Lava Alckon
Equipment:




Jun gaped as the nimble vampire-esque elf launched himself off the ship, executing a perfect leap and landing smoothly on the docks below. Part of him wanted to applaud the impressive display of agility, but he tamped it down. Instead, Jun took a tiny step back and sort of half-hid behind Zion's broader frame.

"Think you fellers can tell me your experience with sea-faring?" The dark elf asked once he returned. "Have ya swam before? Been on a ship? Dug up treasure? Any sort of anything you'd like to share with me?"

Treasure hunting. Despite his current circumstances as a reluctant passenger on this voyage, Jun felt a spark of excitement ignite within, enough for his eyes to briefly twinkle with piqued interest.

He had traveled by ship before, but only as a passenger. As for swimming, well, that was hardly his territory. He could muster little beyond a frantic doggy paddle before resigning himself to the dead man's float — that buoyancy trick never failed to elicit alarmed shrieks from onlookers.

When Tanithil's eyes found and pierced his own, Jun hurriedly averted his gaze to the safety of his own shuffling feet. To ignore the questions after locking eyes felt painfully, excruciatingly awkward. But he wasn't about to give up the silent treatment. So Jun gave a small head-shake as an answer.



Time: A.M.
Location: River Port
Interactions/Mentions: @mole@Conscripts
Equipment: Knife, drugs, and wallet looted from dope peddler
✠✠✠✠✠

Vasco came to in the grime of a narrow back alley, still reeking of giggle water, dope, and perfumed company from the night before. A groan rattled from his throat as he peeled himself up off the cobbles. He staggered around to get his bearings straight. Every inch of his body felt like it had gone a few rounds with a heavyweight champ.

Something squished underfoot and Vasco blinked blearily at a pint-sized fellow, battered black and blue with streaks of crimson. But the little runt was still pulling air. Vasco racked his brain, trying to piece together the jigsaw of last night’s escapades.

Ever since rolling into Avalia, he’d been aching to paint the town for cheating the reaper, but his minders were tough nuts to crack. After several attempts, Vasco slipped their watchful eyes and he hit the juice joints hard, toasting to life with every riff-raff in sight. Fists flew in a smoky haze of music and hooch, and somewhere between a left hook and a line of joy powder, the night had spiraled.

Whatever was in the powder must’ve been some good stuff too, cause the next thing Vasco knew, Barrock was dragging his keister back to their digs. But how’d he end up back out on the street?

A familiar wave of dizziness crashed over him, the world spinning like a broken top. He slumped down and dug through his pockets, pulling out the little packet of powder from last night. With a lick of his thumb, he dusted the powder across his upper lip and snorted it up. Vasco gazed upward, watching the sky run circles until it tired itself into a calm blue.

He exhaled and eyed the rumpled form next to him. Ah, that’s right. The guy was some two-bit dope peddler. They were meant to do some business, but then the meet-up turned sideways when this squirt flipped his lid over Vasco being human. They ended up beating the stuffing out of each other.

Chuckling, Vasco made sure to frisk the unconscious runt of his valuables before he took off. Good start to the day: a workout and a windfall.

When he returned to Barrock, the big green looked sorer than a boiled owl. Rowan was stewing even worse. Aurora was still wearing a long face, down in the dumps.

Vasco scratched his scruffy mug, aggravating a raw nick on his jaw, then smeared the blood off on his shirt. “Yeah, morning to you lovely dames, too. So, what’s the caper today?”
In 🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕 → 12 days ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
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.

RĂ­oghnach "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.”

In Avalia → 18 days ago Forum: Casual Roleplay



Time: MORNING
Location: EXT. DOCK
Interactions/Mentions: The guy who got fed up with Jun @princess; Zion @Helo; Guy affiliated with The New Dawn @Lava Alckon
Equipment:




Was it weird that he felt betrayed? That, despite everything, Jun hoped against hope that maybe, just maybe, Malachi would let him free, one way or another? For a few short hours, Jun had believed he was.

But nope, not a chance. The New Dawn snuffed out that tiny flicker of optimism he'd allowed himself to feel for a hot second and shoved him into another cage.

That's when the walls started going up again, higher and thicker than ever before.

In the days that followed, Jun withdrew even deeper into his shell. He refused to talk to any New Dawn affiliates (save for Zion).

Escape. That was the thought looping endlessly in his mind. Even while he sulked. Even as he helped Zion's rehab in whatever small ways he could. Even when they got sent off to the docks, to be relinquished into the custody of Jun's next jailors.

A great big boat bobbed and swayed in the waves. Was the idea to make it harder for Jun to run? Sticking him on a floating prison with nothing but open water for miles around? Like Alcatraz.

Jun answered the man's greeting with nothing but silence—distrust doing all the talking.

In 🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕 → 18 days ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
RĂ­oghnach "Riona"
Time: Night
Location: Damien Estate Ballroom
Interaction(s): Shehzadi Nahir @Rodiak; Lordling Smithwood @Helo

Riona mouthed the words over and over, tasting their curious combination. Count Hendrix. Her mind ran through the list of nobility for a match, but that particular combination of appellations didn’t immediately ring a bell. A newly-minted noble, perhaps?

She shook her head at the offered introduction, dismissing it with a polite, “Thank you, but it is unnecessary.” Getting a name was a prize enough. Besides, other things had to be addressed.

Three times Sh*tlord struck a nerve with Riona.

First was his cavalier treatment of the bracelet, tossing it aside like worthless rubbish. “That bracelet may mean little to you, sir,” she chided, gingerly retrieving the jewelry to have a servant return it to its rightful owner. “But to another, it could hold the same sentimental value as the pocketwatch does to you. Pray handle it with more care.” She knew how little he thought of lowborns, but apparently, his callousness extended far beyond, touching all with equal disregard.

Next came his scathing critique of the servants, the overgrown brat snapping that they were “entirely useless” at their duties. Riona felt annoyance prickle her skin. “As you have no doubt noticed, the servants must attend to a great many needs at once. It would be impossible for them to stand sentry over each guest’s belongings. Nor can they be expected to locate what is not reported missing.”

And again when he spoke of her shoe-shopping errand as some grand act of “graciousness” on his part. Like she was supposed to feel gratitude for the chance to repent for his shortcomings.

As Riona parted her lips to deliver a biting retort, she caught herself. Something about Lord Sh*tewood’s behavior seemed off—restrained. His usual haughtiness tempered (even if it was just by a margin), his actions measured.

Following his gaze, Riona realized why: Shehzadi Nahir. The Lordling was putting on his best face for her, hoping to leave a good impression.

An idea struck Riona. She looped her arm boldly through the Shehzadi’s in a show of easy familiarity. With the regal woman as her talisman to ward off the worst of his attitude, Riona rounded on the Lordling again.

“So you deliberately hurled out shoes into the common area… in a temper tantrum?” She let the question hang in the air, her gaze shifted meaningfully from the Shehzadi to Lord Smithwood.

Riona knew the two were acquainted but not how well. As fun as it was spending time with Shehzadi Nahir, what if it was only because she believed Riona to be of exalted birth? If the Shehzadi thought she was keeping company with a commoner, would her demeanor sour like curdled milk? Her fingers around the Shehzadi’s arm tightened fractionally. Gods, Riona hoped not.

“You must enjoy singularly exalted favor with the crown, Lord Smithwood, to treat their esteemed guest house as your own nursery.”

In 🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕 → 26 days ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Peter
Time: Night
Location: Damien Estate Ballroom
Interaction(s): Blue @CitrusArms; Zarai @Rodiak

Well looky there, a pretty face was enough to distract the fife wielding former baker. Maybe it wouldn’t be that hard to get away from her surveillance. Should he just leave without a word? … Nah.

As the drinking game commenced, he scanned the contestants, looking for any signs that the drink was getting to them. Eventually his focus narrowed to a pink-faced gent who swayed back and forth in an unsteady rhythm fueled by alcohol. Peter sidled up close, readying himself for the right moment.

Next round came around and Peter tapped the man’s shoulder. He turned clumsy-like and - wham! - his drink went flying right into Peter, soaking his duds clean through.

Poor fella’s so soused it took him a minute to realize what happened, but the look on his face when it hit? Priceless.

“Welp.” Peter gave the man a pat on the shoulder. “Reckon it’s time for you to head home and for me to get myself cleaned up.” Calling out to one of C-Bert’s servants, he said, “Gotta borrow the washroom.” He didn’t have to say why, they understood well enough and hurried Peter out of the ballroom without further ado.

In 🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕 → 29 days ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Charlotte & Fritz




Charlotte led Fritz out of the bustling ballroom and into the expansive foyer of the Damien estate. The sudden emptiness that surrounded them was a welcome yet eerie contrast to the crowded room they had just left behind. Stepping onto the polished black and white tiles she turned to face Fritz, her expression gentle and concerned.

"Fritz," she began softly. She reached out a hand to gently rest on his arm, her touch light and reassuring. "I want you to know I am so, so grateful for all the help you’ve given me. You’re truly a wonderful friend and it deeply troubles me to think that my actions might have caused you even a modicum of discomfort. Please know that I am ready to listen.”

Ryn reciprocated the gesture with an equally gentle smile, a reflection of the sentiment offered. “I’m afraid I’ve done little to deserve such praise and gratitude. … Thank you.” The smile waned, a shadow of sadness creeping into his expression, as he continued, “But, if you genuinely consider me a friend, why did you say you were alright when we asked how you were doing?”

“Ah.” "she murmured softly, a flicker of understanding dawning in her eyes.

"I wanted to be..." she began, her voice trailing off slightly. "Alright that is. I may perhaps have been in a state of disarray more than I was willing to admit, not just to you… But also to myself. I had intended to share my experience and for some reason I simply did not. ”

After a momentary introspection, a soft sigh escaped her lips as she confessed, "The truth is, it's been a while since I've had consistent companionship from others besides those within my household. “

She paused, fumbling with a lock of her hair as she added, “ I suppose you could say I'm a bit out of practice. I apologize for not being forthright with you."

“... ‘Friendship is a double-edged sword.’” Ryn repeated the words he said to her a few days ago. “It takes courage to let someone in, especially after enduring heartbreak and disappointment.”

He gazed at Lady Vikena with empathy in his eyes. “I cannot fault you for being cautious. We all have our pasts, our scars that shape us. And Creators know that there are things I’m withholding from you too.” As he placed a hand over his heart, Ryn closed his eyes. “I am afraid of being hurt and hurting others.” When he opened his eyes, this time, he offered a bittersweet smile. “But… I also know I have to take the first step.”

Ryn extended his hand, an invitation. “Will you walk this path with me, Charlotte? It would mean a lot to me if we could learn to trust and confide in each other, knowing that we have each other’s best interests at heart… What do you say?”

Charlotte looked down at his hand, her gaze softening and a small smile forming. With a gentle yet decisive movement, she reached out and clasped his hand in hers, intertwining their fingers. “Of course, Fritz… I suppose I can then take the next step and tell you what was upsetting me earlier.” She freed his hand after the moment had passed.

Soothingly rubbing her own forearm all the while, she explained, “...Earlier, the ballroom seemed to visually change before my eyes. It was as if I was dreaming.” She paused to see his expression before continuing, "I-I don't know how to explain it," she began, her words faltering as she struggled to find the right description. "It was like... like I was transported to another time, another place. The room, the colors, the music—it all felt so vivid, so real. "

Her gaze drifted into the distance, as if she could still see the phantom figures twirling in the ballroom of her memory. "... This man looked at me with those familiar brown eyes... and for a moment, I felt like I was seeing a ghost. But he wasn't a ghost, he was right there…reaching out to me."

Charlotte's hand instinctively slid up to touch her own, as if to reassure herself that she was still anchored in the present. "But then, just as quickly as he appeared, he was gone and the ballroom was normal again."

Ryn’s thumb rubbed his upper lip as he listened to Lady Vikena’s—Charlotte’s account. “Has this ever happened before?”

She shook her head to indicate it had not.

His mind wandered down a list of possibilities for a few silent moments. The detail about the “familiar brown eyes” in particular drew his attention. She recognized the man and yet was not able to identify him. Implying that she did not actually know the man… or she had forgotten about him.

A sudden chill ran down Ryn’s spine at the word that had long haunted him seemed to be cropping up over the past few days. “Forgotten.” Was Black Rose here? It could explain the vision… If so, what did they want with Charlotte? Was it only Charlotte they wanted?

Ryn pulled out the small box from his pocket. “There’s something I need to show you.” He placed his hand over the lid while he stared at Charlotte straight in the eyes. “But before I do, you should know that when Ms. Delilah finds out I did exactly what she didn’t want me to do, she’ll chase me down and there’s a distinct possibility no one may ever find my body. I’d like you to ensure my epitaph is awe-inspiring.”

As Fritz's words hung in the air, Charlotte's brows furrowed in thought as she fixated on the box.
Her curiosity was evident in her expression. In reaction to his last comment, her lips curved into a wry smile, a glimmer of amusement dancing in her eyes. "Rest assured, Fritz," she replied, her voice tinged with determination," your epitaph will be so inspirational that even the gods themselves will envy it."

With a short laugh, Ryn took off his spectacles carefully and handed them over to her. “Put these on,” he instructed. He walked to the entrance of the ballroom and paused for Charlotte to follow after him. When she approached, he positioned himself behind her, leaning in to whisper, “Do you see anything out of the ordinary?” Shaking her head no, Ryn opened the small box he carried and extracted a single lens. The enchanted lens slid into place.

And the world changed.

The room erupted into a symphony of colors, each guest bathed in a unique aura that pulsed and shimmered with ethereal energy. Among the spectrum, she noticed that pink and white hues were the most prevalent colors enveloping their forms.

As her gaze wandered, Charlotte observed the subtle dance of shades, with yellows, blues, oranges, and greens emerging in a mesmerizing display. Each aura carried its own distinct character and appearance, even varying in size. Occasionally, she caught glimpses of red and purple, though they were far less common, lending an intriguing depth to the kaleidoscope of colors.

It was beautiful.

“Is this… a kaleidoscope of sorts?” She whispered in awe.

“I suppose, in a way it is. But unless I’m missing something, I wouldn’t think a simple kaleidoscope would make Ms. Delilah so worried for your well-being.” Combined with what he saw of Charlotte’s magicae, Ms. Delilah’s reaction to the topic of magic convinced Ryn that she not only knew more about the subject than she let on, but she also knew exactly what Charlotte was capable of. Something involving Charlotte must have happened to make Ms. Delilah so adamant about steering her mistress—her family—down a life untouched by magic.

Impossible.

Ryn gestured for Charlotte to look up at the ceiling above them. “Do you see how there are hardly any colors up there? That’s because the colors are coming from the people. What you’re seeing is magicae. Magical energy unique to each…” The count paused for a moment to choose the most accurate word. “…entity.” He studied Charlotte’s reaction to this information. “These lenses simply refracts it into a visible form.”

Charlotte’s gaze slid to her friends, picking them out one by one slowly and fixating on them for a brief moment. “I wonder if the colors signify something… Perhaps the amount of magicae?” She thoughtfully mused, eventually her eyes shifting toward him with curiosity—to see nothing. The world had gone back to normal.

Ryn’s expression lit up with excitement. “You’re very perceptive! It’s believed that hues represent a person’s ambitions. The only known exception is those with witchblood.” The words tumbled out faster than usual, but he was mindful to keep his voice no louder than a whisper. “There’s the imprint, or residue, of magicae you have to consider too, though. Did you see the darker-colored aura attached to Lord Smithwood? That’s most likely someone else’s magicae.”

“Their ambitions. “ Charlotte repeated thoughtfully and tapped her chin. “ I did. It does seem probable that someone did a spell on Leo so it makes sese. “ After a pause, she curiously asked, “What color is yours?”

“Currently? You’ll have to tell me that. Magicae can change. Over time and after an event that significantly impacts you as a person. I’ve only been paying attention to other’s magicae.” He jokingly posed for Charlotte while she checked, then he realized something. “Have you checked yours?”

“No, I did not get the chance.”

Glancing at his watch, he saw how much time had passed. “Oh, I’m sorry. I should’ve mentioned the enchantment’s limitation.” Not wanting to linger too long at the ballroom entrance, he led them back to a more secluded area. “The lenses can handle a certain amount of magicae exposure before turning into regular glass. If the magicae is too strong the enchantment barely lasts a second.” He pointed at the spectacles. “I can switch out that lens for a fresh one if you’d like.”

“Yes. I must admit I am awfully curious…”

He nodded. After exchanging the lenses Ryn took both of her hands and raised them so Charlotte could see both magicae at the same time.

Although to say “only both of their magicae” would be inaccurate.

For what surrounded the count was a menagerie of magicae. Distinctly different magical energies vied for dominance. The spells—curses or blessings—of others clung unyieldingly onto him.

Ryn remained silent as his black eyes remained fixed on Charlotte, full of worry. His grip on her hands tightened a little. “What… do you see?”

Charlotte’s eyes widened with surprise as her gaze locked on Fritz first, “Oh my… Yours has such a variety of colors… You must have many different ambitions I suppose or…” A frown slowly graced her face as she recalled what he had said about Leo’s aura. "Oh no, Fritz. I hope there isn't anyone trying to come after you, is there?" She anxiously squeezed his hand.

A “variety of colors”... not just one. They were still with him and he was still him. Relief rushed through Ryn, even as he confirmed Charlotte’s concern. “There is. Do you remember our conversation when I walked you home after the royal ball? You said that your mother warned you that it was too dangerous for you to wander about at night, and I said it can be difficult for certain people to walk out in the open, no matter the hour. For me, that place has always been Caesonia, especially here in Sorian, so close to the throne.”

Ryn studied his hand, imagining a myriad of magicae swarming his being. “As for these…These are the consequences of my choices both good and bad. All I can do is carry them with me, and try to make the choices mean something.” A sad half-smile tugged at his lips. “People might disagree, and it’s not like I have evidence, but I believe not all magical imprints come from spells. I think the intense sentiment of others, their spirit you can call it, can also leave a mark on you. And that holds as much power as any magic… I have an obligation to these people to press onward, no matter what.” Even if it means relinquishing the essence of Ryn. For Ryn, as a person, was inconsequential in the face of his people’s welfare.

Charlotte listened intently, her expression softening with compassion. “I hope you press on for the sake of yourself as well, Fritz. And whenever you’re comfortable, maybe you can share more about who would target you and why here in Sorian that is? If I can be of assistance, I will do what I can to help protect you.” Her attention then shifted to her own aura, and a subtle unease flickered across her features.

"There's something about mine that seems…” She hesitated, searching for the right word, but instead decided to pose a question.

"Do you happen to know what each color signifies?" She inquired, her tone tinged with curiosity and a hint of apprehension.

[color=9354FF]“I’m not comfortable going into the details here, so I’ll keep it short. People with white magicae aren’t proficient with magic. Some say that it’s because they ‘lack of ambition’ or are satisfied with their life. Pink magicae holders have mundane ambitions. Red magicae makes the person susceptible to magical addiction and their ambition tends to revolve around vengeance. Oranges’ ambition is related to feelings, like wanting to be loved. Yellows desire freedom. Greens crave power or wealth. Blues are… very unhappy.”

After listing the common magicae colors, he paused for a moment. “Witchbloods have purple magicae. They come from a bloodline of witches. It’s said the brighter the purple, the greater the power and longer the witch lineage.”

When Ryn paused again, he squeezed Charlotte’s hands, preemptively comforting her. “Dark witches have black magicae and are dangerously powerful. You have to be very careful with these people… they’re not well known for their kindness.”

“ Oh… “ Charlotte's voice trailed off as she absorbed Fritz's explanation. She glanced down at her hands, feeling a weight of uncertainty settling in her chest. The world she thought she knew was far more complex and nuanced than she had ever imagined.

Despite the feelings swirling within her, Charlotte turned her gaze back to Fritz, offering a tentative smile tinged with gratitude. "Thank you for sharing this with me," she said sincerely, her tone warm with appreciation. "It's… a lot to take in, but I'm glad to know more about it."

“Ms. Delilah may disagree with you on that.” Ryn hesitated. “Charlotte. I suspect Ms. Delilah and your parents knew about this in some capacity. In fact, it’s possible there are people outside of your household who know too. That vision you saw… could’ve been a magic user reaching out to you. What I’m worried about is if they’re with Black Rose.”

A frown creased Charlotte’s brow as she considered his words. She then asked with a tone laced with some apprehension, “ But what would the Black Rose want with me?”

“Well, based on what we know so far, I can only speculate.” Ryn shrugged his shoulders. “They could’ve caught wind of you asking around about their party. Perhaps they noticed how charming you are and they couldn’t resist extending an invitation to their mysterious and not at all shady party.”

“I am determined to attend the next one, invitation or not.”

“Not without me or Lord Smithwood, I hope.”

Charlotte nodded distractedly, continuing,“It could have less to do with you specifically, and more about who you are related to or have ties with… Maybe it’s about your parents. There’s also a chance you’ve forgotten something that happened to you which would explain their interest in you.” Ryn met Charlotte’s eyes. “Knowing what you know now... do you think the truth you’ve been searching for all this time might be magic-related?”

Charlotte crossed her arms thoughtfully. “I … I have no idea. I don’t remember my parents having anything to do with magic. This week’s really the first I’ve seen evidence of it. “ She said, her gaze lowering, “Given what’s happened, I’m almost sure the truth must have something to do with it.”

At first, he said nothing as he watched her movements. Then Ryn offered a measured nod, “Whatever the reason, if they are here, it’d be wise to stay alert and try to avoid being alone.” Though should they resort to magic the advantage of numbers might scarcely tip the scales in her favor.

When she said nothing in response, he took note of her silence. “Charlotte, can I ask a few favors?”

She frowned, drumming her fingers on her arm. Her eyes shifted to his and she replied with a smile, “Certainly.”

“Please don’t tell us everything’s okay if it isn’t.”

She took a deep breath, searching for the right words.

Finally, Charlotte decided to be more honest with him than she ever had been, silently hoping he’d understand her wish at the end of her statement, "I don't know if things are okay... Not yet, at least," she replied, her expression grave as she mulled over her thoughts. "Calbert's behavior this morning was... peculiar, to say the least. For instance, he handed out multiple invitations and then had his staff member Henry hand out three, four....? And the man seemed to have a mental list in his head come to think of it, the way he went from person to person without a second thought. Calbert’s certainly up to something and feeling smug of himself tonight. He made be hiding himself with a mask but that mask says what he’s feeling more than the expression behind it ever could.”

Her countenance grew apologetic as she confessed, “I have a plan to get him to spill the beans, however, it’s risky and it’s something I must do alone.”

Ryn’s eyes grew wide in surprise before he chuckled, “Every now and then you really surprise me, Charlotte.” The smile faded, but it lingered at the fringes. “Is this something you must do on your own or is it something you believe you must do alone?”

“I must do it alone.” She clarified with conviction.

“In which case.” Ryn extended his hand, palm upturned. “May I have a lock of your hair?” He knew how strange the request must seem. Or perhaps not, given Charlotte’s newfound openness about magic. “I trust you,” he continued, “but if I don’t see you leave this estate and get home safely, I will use it to find you and call in the cavalry.”

Charlotte was thoughtful for a moment before she plucked a hair from her head with a small wince. She offered it toward him. “Fair enough.“

“Thank you.” Ryn carefully wrapped her hair in a handkerchief before storing it away in his inner pocket.

“My second favor,” He reminded Charlotte. “Is that you don’t forget that we’re in this together. We might not be able to do what you must do alone, but we can support you so you successfully can. It would mean a lot to me, and I’m sure Lord Smithwood, if you relied on us more.”

“Really? … I do appreciate you two. I will keep you both looped in best I can.” She smiled faintly. Charlotte wasn’t so used to people so adamant about caring about her; it felt kind of nice. “I will be okay. I promise. I just truly believe it’s less risky for me rather than anyone else to go through with this plan.”

“Is there anything we can do for you in the meantime?”

“...Please look after Leo and Olivia in my brief absence.”

“You’re greatly overestimating my level of maturity if you believe Lord Smithwood and Ms. Olivia need looking after, but I don’t.” Ryn chuckled and nodded. “There are a few people I would like to talk to while I have the chance, but I will try to keep an eye on them as best as I can.”

“Be careful, Charlotte, and good luck.” He added, “If things go bad, don’t hesitate to scream for help.”
In 🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕 → 1 mo ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Fritz "Ryn" Hendrix
Time: Evening
Location: Damien Estate’s Ballroom
Interaction(s): Lord Cassius Damien (Cassius Vael) @PapaOso

There was no denying the potent charm that emanated from Lord Damien—his calculated gaze from beneath hooded lids, rich velvet purr, and tactile approach held an allure. Ryn could only look on in admiration at such effortless magnetism, wishing he might bottle even a fraction of the lord’s self-assured charisma. Perhaps then, it would be easier for him to win people over.

Truly, there was much he could learn from this man.

Even while he savored the showmanship of Lord Damien’s florid flattery, some small part of Ryn’s mind remained coolly objective and analytical. He cataloged every detail to be dissected and assimilated into his own repertoire later. For Count Fritz Hendrix was but a studied composite of others’ idiosyncrasies.

However, when Lord Damien turned his compliments upon Ryn’s eyes, something shifted within. A surprised delight coupled with a dull, melancholic ache twisted in his heart. Seldom were his eyes the recipient of praise. More often, they inspired unease, revulsion, or worse—fear.

These bottomless grave-pits of darkness appeared soulless to some, hiding something monstrous to others. They were black mirrors reflecting whatever the viewer saw in themselves, including what they did not wish to see.

To have them called gentle felt… discordantly novel.

Ryn mustered a smile, a wobbly line at first until it steadied into a sturdier curve. “Thank you,” he managed, “you are too kind, my lord.” Channeling Lord Damien’s silver-spun eloquence would require far more practice and time for him, it seemed.

“Goodness,” he fanned himself with one hand, “is it just me, or did the temperature suddenly rise about twenty degrees? It’s a wonder you don’t have the entire ballroom swooning at your feet, Lord Damien. However is a mere mortal to withstand such devastating suavity in one go?”

Catching the pointed look Lord Damien sent in Lord Smithwood’s direction, Ryn remarked lightly, “Ah, but as the adage goes, ‘never judge a book by its cover alone.’ He has plenty of admirable qualities. He is one of Lady Vikena’s dearest friends, after all.” A conspiratorial wink. “If you truly want to steal her heart, as you’ve stolen mine, it wouldn’t go amiss to be on his good side.”

“Well, handsome,” Lord Damien announced, “I think it’s about time I go look for the watch over…there. Come ask me to dance in a bit, if you’re bold enough.”

This time, Lord Damien received a smile from Count Fritz Hendrix that was an uncanny impression of Cassius Vael’s mannerisms—from the heavy-lidded smolder to the teasing lilt in his tone. “Oh, I assure you, my lord, it’s not bravery I lack, but restraint.” He leaned in to trail his fingers along the other’s lapel. “Had I not needed to check on a friend, I’d ask you to dance with me this very moment.”

“Alas.” Stepping back, he withdrew his hand with exaggerated reluctance. “Should the fates prove so cruel as to deny us a turn about the dance floor tonight, maybe the next time our paths cross, you can show me the ‘irresistible Cassius Vael experience,’ not fit for polite company.” With a courtly half-bow, a piece of Cassius Vael slid into place. The count said, “À bientôt.”

RĂ­oghnach "Riona"
Time: Night
Location: Damien Estate Ballroom
Interaction(s): Lordling Smithwood @Helo; Shehzadi Nahir @Rodiak

Riona goggled at the nobleman as a high-pitched squeak piped from behind the lion mask. What in the hells was wrong with his voice? Had Cal and her botched potion caused this?

There’s no way Sh*tlord would’ve mingled with the cream of society sounding like a mouse without becoming the butt of every joke. He must’ve been forced to keep to himself all day. Oh, and how much that must’ve bothered the arrogant prat, unable to preen and suffocate others with his insufferable superiority. An unbearable blow to his ego. The thought of the prideful lion forced into sheepish silence tickled Riona to no end.

A snort of laughter broke free from her. “Excuse me, I am terribly sorry,” Riona pressed a hand against her smile and tamped it down. “Your voice is just...not quite what I imagined. Rather adorable, actually,” her gaze dropped to his furry feet. Honestly, she never expected he’d wear any of the replacement footwear. But there they were. Did it mean he liked them?

A distraction arrived in the form of a brown-suited figure. “Pardon me, but I must excuse myself.” Eyes hidden in the shadows of his mask, the man said, “I’ll make inquiries about the watch, see if anyone might’ve come across it. Should that prove fruitless, I’ll request Count Damien to reach out to the guests.” A reassuring hand rested briefly on Lordling Smithwood’s shoulder before the stag turned to Riona and Shehzadi Nahir with a deep bow. “Ladies.”

As he straightened, the light hit his face at the right angle and illuminated his eyes. Riona’s breath hitched. This man’s eyes were... black. Not dark brown, but pitch black. Only a few people had that eye color naturally, and they were very dead. Unless the Summer Solstice Ceremony involved raising the dead, she doubted the stag-masked gentleman was any of them… Could he? Was he a distant relative, oblivious to what happened? If so, she wouldn’t dream of putting his life in jeopardy out of curiosity. She kept silent as she watched him leave.

A shrill voice broke through her trance, drawing her attention to the lordling. He held up a bracelet, asking if it might be hers. Riona knew it wasn’t even before looking at it. “No, it is not mine,” she replied. Her accessories held her ensemble in place. Without them, her outfit would soon become a heap of fabric at her feet. A state which, she was pretty sure everyone, including herself, would’ve noticed.

Lordling Smithwood explained that someone switched out his pocketwatch for a bracelet and wanted to check if the same thing had happened to her. Shehzadi Nahir chimed in, reminding Riona of the weasel-man who bumped into her earlier and his owl-masked partner. “Could they have been thieves?”

“If thieves, they are an odd sort,” Riona mused, “leaving their loot behind like that.”

She did a visual sweep of her person, craning her neck over her shoulders to check behind. All she saw were the folds and layers of her dress. “Nothing appears out of place,” she concluded. “I suggest reporting the incident to a servant. They can assist in the search for your missing pocket watch.”

To the Shehzadi, Riona asked, “And you, My Lady? Has anything been added or taken from your person?”

“Your shoes?” Riona tried to catch a glimpse of her feet beneath the swath of pink fabric. She thought she saw Shehzadi Nahir carrying her shoes off the dance floor too, but she might’ve misremembered. “Given how long we left our shoes unattended while we danced, it is fortunate they were not spirited away.”

Which brought her thoughts circling back to Lord Squeakypants and his decidedly non-traditional party shoes.

“Although had they gone missing, it would have been the perfect excuse to borrow a pair or two from Lord Smithwood’s collection. I hear His Lordship’s selection is rather eclectic, everything from diamond-crusted pin heels to rustic clogs.” She met Lordling Smithwood’s eyes. “Is it true you have so many shoes that they spill out into the hallway? An acquaintance staying at the guest house said servants were gathering up scattered footwear outside your room.”

In 🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕 → 1 mo ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Peter
Time: Night
Location: Damien Estate Ballroom
Interaction(s): Blue @CitrusArms; C-Bert’s Bastard Son @PapaOso; Zarai @Rodiak

Blue’s iron grip yanked Peter’s ass off the sidelines before he could blink. He didn’t resist, but he did clock how sturdy she was. Blue was a lot stronger than she looked. While not Karleen-strong (how many measured up to that anyway?), he still wouldn’t want to tangle with her barehanded.

The way she hauled him without so much as a by-your-leave, wanted to bring Olivia into the mix, and didn’t even bother hiding the fact she figured them both for thieves, her game was pretty clear. Either she’d get to make an arrest or she’d get to keep him in line. Pfft, fat f**king chance.

Going by how fast she was on their trail after the little fife swap, she sure hadn’t done much investigating. Sure, her gut had the right of it, but she had sh*tall for proof. Course, Pete knew the score. If things didn’t go her way, she could shove him in the brig for offending the nobility’s delicate sensibilities by just existing.

Peter scoffed, barely holding back the smirk. “Oooh, I get it now. This was just a roundabout way to tell me you’re cutting in on the girl I’ve been working, ain’t it? Damn, you’re shameless.”

He shook his head, “Claws off, Magpie, I had my eyes on her first.” Then he clucked his tongue. “If you’re so thirsty you gotta play dirty, maybe put in some actual effort picking up the ladies. I know hard work’s a foreign concept for Your Ladyship, but you can at least try.” Peter knew she was no blue blood, but he’d seen too many guards go crooked when they got a taste of what they could get (and get away with) by collaring themselves with the privileged. As the saying goes, pets start resembling their owners.

“Here, I’ll even help line up some more options for you.” Peter’s gaze swept the ballroom until he spotted a familiar figure already having a head start on the drinking.

Moving through the guests, he invited every man and woman he passed to the impromptu drinking contest, including C-Bert’s bastard son who was hanging by a wine station. Some sneered, others ignored him completely, but a handful were interested enough to gather around Blue.

The instant the glass left Zarai’s lips, Peter slipped his hands around the future Duchess, plucked the flute from her fingers, and knocked back what was left in one go. He let out a satisfied ahhh, before setting the empty glass on the table. He turned to Zarai. “Hey stranger, wanna help a friend?”

Without waiting for an answer, Peter steered her toward the gathering contestants. Leaning in, he whispered, “Need you to keep that lady in blue off my back. Think you can handle that?”

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