Oso

Dispatch RP Anyone?

God I'm so interested in this. There hasn't been a game to spark my imagination like this in so long.

Neo Genesis: Chronicles of Eberron

APPROVED!!!!!!

Neo Genesis: Chronicles of Eberron

APPROVED!!!!!!

Neo Genesis: Chronicles of Eberron

That you are

Neo Genesis: Chronicles of Eberron

My friend, Gina and I have both decided....

Neo Genesis: Chronicles of Eberron

Gears

FLASHBACK

First Day on the Stormrider

I remember the smell first.

Not gunpowder. Not oil or blood or the iron tang of rain on armor. Just… citrus cleaner and warm bread. The kind of smell that makes you think maybe, just maybe, you get to live a little longer than the war said you would.

The Stormrider’s galley was smaller than any mess hall I’d known, but brighter. Someone had painted the walls a soft teal. There were little glass bottles on the counter, each filled with dried herbs and flowers. Nothing tactical about ‘em. No purpose except to look pretty. I stared at them for a long time, like I was waiting for someone to tell me to line them up in formation.

Instead, a voice called from behind.

“Ah, so you must be my new bartender?”

I turned so fast I nearly knocked over a crate. The captain stood there...Cindralis, all slick grin and pretty green eyes. I saluted on instinct, arm snapping to my chestplate with a clang so loud half the crew looked up from their stew.

He blinked. Then laughed. “At ease, soldier. Old habits die hard, I’m learning as well.”

I froze. My arm didn’t know how to go down.

“Right,” I said, a little hiss of steam escaping my vents. “Apologies, Captain…Everything’s new these days. Not sure what to do, being a free girl and all.”

That got another round of laughter. I liked that sound, it was better than the sounds of war I had grown so used to.

They set me to cleaning glasses, which seemed simple enough. Turns out, I was terrible at it. My fingers are built for swords and rifles, not stemware. I broke three before lunch. One of the crew...a gnome engineer named Pell...handed me a rag and said, “Maybe just polish the counter, sweetheart.”

“Copy that.” I said, defeated.

By midafternoon, my nerves were buzzing. I couldn’t stop cataloguing exits, angles, headcounts. Every time a glass clinked too loud, my plating twitched. I caught my reflection in a mug...staring, unblinking, too sharp around the edges. I whispered under my breath, “You ain’t at the front no more, darlin’. Nobody’s dying here.”

And then a kid came in, as young as fifteen. He was a cabin hand. The poor fella couldn’t meet my eyes when he asked for cider. I poured it slow, careful not to break another glass.

When I set it in front of him, he whispered, “Ya know…You’re the first Warforged I ever met that smiled.”

Something clicked behind my ribs. A gear, maybe…or something softer.

I smiled wider. “Well then, sugar, you’ve been meetin’ the wrong ones.”

That night, after the ship rocked into the clouds and the crew started singing old sea shanties, I stood behind the bar and listened. My vents hummed soft. My fingers finally stopped shaking. For the first time in years, I didn’t feel like a weapon on standby.

I felt like… part of something.

And stars above, I promised myself right then...I was gonna make sure every soul that sat at my counter left a little lighter than they came in.

I might’ve been built for war.
But that night, I decided I’d live for peace.

Maybe I didn’t have to die like all the others, panicked…surrounded by chaos. Maybe I’d get to make friends, memories, and actually know what it means to live.

I could get used to this kind of peace.

Here's hoping it lasts.

Neo Genesis: Chronicles of Eberron

Bastion

FLASHBACK

---

☼ The Battle of the Brey River (919 YK) ☼

The river screamed.

Not with sound, but with motion. A thousand blades beating against its skin. Sunlight cracked across the surface as the Third Cyran Vanguard advanced through the shallows, shields locked, pikes thrust forward, swords ready to go. The water bit at their legs, cold and relentless, but not his…For the Warforged felt nothing as pathetic as cold

Bastion led the first rank.

He was a wall of bronze and ivory, eyes burning cyan in the gloom of the early dawn. Commands buzzed through his mind in coded pulses...march, hold, strike...and he obeyed each one without hesitation. He felt the thrum of the arcane heartbeat in his chest, the rhythm of his power core syncing with the drums of war.

To his right, spellfire bloomed. A Cyran battlemage unleashed a storm of emerald bolts that carved through the enemy trenches. To his left, a soldier screamed as divine light burst across the water. The was no fear in Bastion like there was in the others. Only purpose.

“Advance!!!!” came the order.

He moved, the Vanguard surging forward as a single organism of steel and flesh.

Across the riverbank, the banners of the Silver Flame rippled in the wind. Thrane zealots raised holy symbols toward the sky, chanting through the smoke. The air rippled, reality folding. A column of silver fire struck the water ahead of them, vaporizing men and fusing flesh and armor, bringing screams of terror from the survivors. Bastion just kept marching.

One step, two, three. Each strike of his foot sank deeper into the mud. Each movement burned brighter with the purpose stamped into his mind since creation: protect Cyre, destroy its enemies.

The first line of Thranes met them at the ford.

Steel hit steel and shields shuddered. Bastion’s glacium sword split through a paladin’s helm like butter, molten blood flashing in the light. He pivoted, driving his elbow into another’s throat, crushing the man’s trachea, and simply moved on before the body fell. The world was red and white and noise and chaos... This is what it meant to be Warforged.

A mage screamed incantations behind him, summoning a lightning arc that snapped across the water, lighting Bastion’s armor like glass. The smell of ozone mixed with rot. Bodies floated past his knees. Still he continued to fight as though it hadn’t even phased him.

Another of his kind was felled beside him fell, chest caved in by a hammer. Bastion caught the weapon mid-swing, tore it free from the assailant, and drove it through the man’s ribs.

For a heartbeat, he looked down at the corpse he’d made. Flesh peeled from the bone. Eyes wide. Lips moving in prayer as the life poured out of him.

He felt nothing.

The Thraneish broke rank for a moment under the counterstrike. Bastion saw opportunity, and drove forward alone…cutting through their weakened flank. Each strike was precise. Each kill was perfectly clean. This was a perfect soldier, with no hesitation, no conscience. Just purpose and instinct.

Behind him, the river boiled again.

A Thraneish cleric raised a sigil of silver flame the size of a tower. Light swallowed the sky. Bastion turned, shielding his eyes as the blast ripped across the battlefield. The bridge behind him folded inward, collapsing into fire and debris. A hundred Cyran soldiers vanished in an instant, torn between heat and gravity. The shockwave hurled him to his knees. His auditory systems rang.

He rose to see the ford gone. The water was dragging bodies downstream, armor flashing beneath sunlight in the current. Mages tried to mend the bridge, screaming arcane words through smoke, but the spells fractured mid cast. The air itself caught fire around the space.

Bastion waded forward, through corpses and ruin, until he stood knee-deep in the dead. His unit was scattered. They were losing this fight. This is where Humans, Elves, Dwarves, or any of the other races of Eberron would have questioned the moment. This is where their morale would have been tested. But not him. Not the Bastion that he was made to be.

He planted his sword and braced as the next wave came. Thraneish screaming their holy hymns, banners burning. Bastion met them with the fury of forged steel. Sparks burst from every impact. Holy blades cut into his plating, leaving bright scars of molten metal. But he tore them apart with relentless unyielding swings of his blade, one after another, until the mud turned red beneath his feet.

When the fighting finally stopped, the river had risen to his waist. The field was silent except for the distant cries of wounded men calling for their gods. He wondered if there was a God for him.

Bastion stood alone on the ford until reinforcements reached his side. He watched the bodies drift away in the current.

Roque appeared to his left, accompanied by the Warforged mage named Conduit, who rarely left their side.

“We got to get out of here, big guy…” Roque declared. Bastion took in the sight of the human man’s face. He had lost an eye in the battle, blood still dripping from the wound. “There are wyvern riders flying in from the South. If we don’t fall back, we’ll all be bodies in this fucking river by the end of the hour. It’s time, Bastion. We have no choice.”

They lived to fight another day, but the battle was lost.

They had failed…Bastion had failed. That was his first taste of such a thing, yet it would not be his last.

No, for his greatest failure was still to come.

Neo Genesis: Chronicles of Eberron

Beckett leaned against the city’s entrance as the last chains fell from the captive’s wrists, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. The sea breeze rolled in, thick with salt and smoke.

"Questions, questions," he said, spreading his arms like a man receiving applause. "You lot are nosy as gulls. But I did say I’d answer, didn’t I? So. Let’s make good on that."

He took a long breath, letting the silence drag before flashing a wolfish grin.

"You asked what grand ambition our Prince holds? Simple. He wants it all. This island..." he gestured toward the rough skyline of Port Verge, a crooked sprawl of sails and smoke, "...is just the start. Give him time and the rest of the Principalities will kneel or burn. The man’s got a taste for crowns, and lucky me, I get to be the one placing them on his head."

He turned at the next question, brow cocked.

"Now this one...this one’s fun. What’s my type?"

He started laughing. Real, hearty laughter that echoed off the stone wharf. Gnarly blinked in confusion, while Rory groaned loud enough to scare a seagull off its post.

"Oh for fuck’s sake, can I kill the cat bitch now?" she muttered.
Beckett wiped a tear from his eye and straightened, voice dripping with mock sincerity.

"My type is…" he pointed lazily toward Minerva. "You." Then his finger drifted to Phia. "And you."
Meiyu next. "Oh, definitely you." Arya. "And also you."

Finally, his finger landed on Menzai with an amused tilt of his head. "Can’t forget you, handsome." He let the pause hang until his gaze slid up Bastion’s towering frame. "As for you, big guy… I’ll try anything three times. Just make sure you don’t break me, aye?"

Rory buried her face in her hand. Gnarly just shook his head, laughing under his breath. Beckett seemed delighted with himself.

Then came the last question. He strolled closer, boots thudding lightly against the dock planks. He leaned in with a lazy smirk to Meiyu.

"Do I look like a man who plays games?"

A beat of silence. Then he broke into a sharp laugh once more.

"Course I do. But not this time. You’re not prisoners. Not yet. The bindings were just a precaution. Keeps the journey peaceful, you understand. As for your weapons..." he glanced back at Gnarly and Rory, "...we're not worried. This is Port Verge. Coming here unarmed’d be like fighting a Kraken in a canoe. Not fair. Not fun."

Beckett stepped forward, rolling his shoulders, his tone cooling just enough to demand attention. His eyes then met those of Arya.
"And finally, to answer your question, love..." He purred. "...I have no fucking idea what he wants with you. That's between my Prince and you poor, poor souls. Just know this...Ravic Dane is a man who get's what he wants." And with that, he moved the conversation along.

"Which brings me to the rules he's given you lot. Here’s how this works…once you step into the Verge, you’re free. Do whatever your wild little hearts desire. Drink, fight, buy, steal, bed whoever and whatever you bloody want. No one’s stopping you. But understand this..." he tapped his temple, "...Port Verge ain’t like the other nations. There’s no justice here. Only vengeance. Every action has a consequence."

He raised two fingers.

"Two rules. That’s it. Don’t leave the city. And stay alive. Break either one…"

He snapped his fingers. "You die."

Then the grin returned, charming and cruel in equal measure.

"When Prince Dane’s ready for you, we’ll come find you. Don’t worry, we’ve got our ways. For now..." he gave a mock bow, coat tails sweeping behind him, "...welcome to Port Verge. Try not to make me regret untying you."

Neo Genesis: Chronicles of Eberron

Captain Beckett, Rory, & Gnarly

The envoys from Port Verge listened as the few among the passengers and crew that were bold enough, stepped up to say their piece. Gnarly groaned in disgust at the sound of their voices, Rory made it clear with her bored expression that she couldn’t give a single fuck what any of these people had to say, and Beckett…well he simply chuckled at the unfolding of it all. Before he responded with words, he blew a kiss to Minerva and sweet Phia, as she had been called, then stepped forward to address the group of volunteers.

“I like the moxie on you lot.” He said, the amusement pouring from his words plain as day. “But, please, throw away any notion that there’ll be some kind of negotiation here…It’s just not in the books.” Beckett raised a hand and motioned to each of them with a finger as though he were counting them.

“Two Shifters, an Elf wearing leaves for clothes, a clanker, aaaaaand YOU.” He said, going from Minerva to Menzai, then Phia to Bastion…and finally pointing at Arya. “Pretty little Tiefling…you get to come too. Oh, and don’t worry, you can bring the little creature on your shoulder as well. It should be safe…unless we get hungry.” Beckett roared with laughter at his cruel little joke. Gnarly joined him, loving the bit of torment more than a sane man should. Once their laughter died down, Beckett continued.

“Everyone else stays put…Or else.” The joy of getting to say those diabolical, if not a bit cliche, final two words was palpable in his smirk as Beckett reached into his pocket, pulled out a neatly folded handkerchief, unfolded it and shook it out like a magician about to do some kind of parlor trick, and then looking back to Rory as she raised a hand, casting some kind of spell to make the handkerchief levitate from Beckett’s grasp higher and higher in the air until it was suspended above them all.

Beckett simply raised his hand to the sky, and the sound of several guns firing in the distance shattered the silence of the moment. In seconds, that perfectly pristine handkerchief levitating above them was torn to shreds by the hail of bullets.

“If you’re foolish enough to test us after that little display…well…my friends, you’re simply wishing for death. I imagine that makes things crystal clear, eh?”

---

And that was that.

Whether by volunteering, or by being volunteered, you now find yourselves as a part of this little expedition. You were escorted off the ship and away from the other civilians and crew members you chose to fight side by side with, and that endured the harsh landing alongside you. Your arms have been bound behind your backs, threats of injury or worse have been issued against you if you were to try anything. Your questions, comments, and concerns were ignored along the way as you traveled.

Oddly, however, each of you were allowed to keep your gear. Weapons, armor, nothing of the sort was taken from you as the three pirates began to lead you to your destination date with the Pirate Prince. Not even birds.

Beckett, Rory, and Gnarly the handsome Orc direct you through hot and humid forest, dangerous…crock infested wetlands, and more as you journey to Port Verge. In a matter of a couple of hours, you see it…the small town on the southern tip of the island. You feel the ocean breeze as you cross the threshold of the trees, and you can smell the salt of the sea on the air thick as could be. Stopping some hundred feet or so from the threshold of town, Beckett halts and finally addresses you all.

“There are some rules we should discuss before the next phase of our fun little adventure…but first, I’m curious, any questions you might have had before or things you wish to know now…here’s your chance. I’ll be as true as a priest, but just this once.”

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

FLASHBACK

Charlotte & Cassius

Time: Ignis 1 evening
Location: Tough Tavern

---

Cassius couldn’t stand the silence anymore. Two days in that gilded cage of a room and it was driving him mad. The bed smelled like blood, no matter how many times the sheets had been changed. Every creak in the floor reminded him of Kira’s knife sliding between his ribs. He tried to rest, tried to let the wound knit the way the mage said it would, but his head was worse than his body. The walls pressed in closer every hour. Every sleep was interrupted by nightmares of fire, of betrayal, of…love gone wrong.

He hated how he felt like a boy again. Sneaking out of his father’s estate like some teenage dirtbag instead of a grown man who would come and go as he pleased. Calbert would never allow it, not after what happened. For the first time since setting foot in Sorian, Cassius found himself hesitating…found himself thinking twice about defying his father.

Because Calbert had saved him, plain and simple.

He had truly risked it all. The same man who had once been nothing to him, had called in a mage when it could have damned him…and for a few heartbeats, lying broken and bleeding, Cassius had actually felt like a son. And Calbert had felt like a father. He hadn’t expected that. He wasn’t even sure he wanted it...but it was there now, gnawing at him as sharp as the wound in his side.

He touched the bandage beneath his shirt and felt the pulse of pain there, steady, accusing. Not as sharp as the memory of Charlotte’s nails tearing across his face. That argument still burned brighter than any knife. Her eyes wild, her voice full of venom. He knew that hatred wasn’t really directed at him, but to feel it at all hurt just the same. He could see it every time he closed his own eyes. He had battled and bested mercenaries, monsters, cultists, but nothing left him so shaken as the thought of her looking at him like that.

It was too much…The memories, the silence, the weight of it all. He needed release. He needed the burn of whiskey on his tongue, that drunken haze crawling up through his skull, something to make it all quiet. He needed that sweet, sweet oblivion.

Cassius lazily grabbed his coat and pushed open the window to slip into the night. Before long he was in his element; drink in hand, buzz going, center of attention, men and women alike fawning over him. He felt like him. However fleeting that might be.

Of course he’s here.
The door was still mid-groan as it shut behind Charlotte Vikena when her eyes laid on him.

Cassius Damien sat at the heart of the tavern, immediately within eyesight of all who entered. His entourage was gathered around him, orbiting like moths circling the flame. He looked every inch the man he wanted the world to believe him to be. Her chest gave the faintest jolt, but she refused to linger. She tore her eyes away as though the sight were nothing, lifting her chin as she strode forward.
She had not come here for him after all.

Her fingers worked at the clasp of her cloak as she made her way toward the bar. It slipped from her shoulders, pooling across the back of her stool. Beneath, she wore a modest buttoned blouse tucked neatly into a long indigo skirt. She was a far cry away from her usual finery, though a ribbon still tied her hair back behind her head. Nonetheless, Charlotte still stuck out like a sore thumb. A few of the regulars had grown warily accustomed to her presence after her earlier visits, but she remained an anomaly in their midst.

Meanwhile, the bartender Marcy, had propped her hip against the bar, her lips lathered in the darkest lipstick she could find, as always. She was pretending to listen to some drunk’s rambling. Her expression was unimpressed, but when her gaze snagged on Charlotte at the end of the counter, the edge in her eyes softened. With a flick of her hand, she cut the drunk off mid-sentence, muttering something under her breath, before pushing off the bar. She hurried over, elbows dropping onto the counter as she leaned in to engage in quiet conversation.

Cassius leaned his head back, downing his drink and laughing as he finished telling some half-true story about how he ended up with no pants in the middle of a pirate mutiny aboard a vessel off the shores of Kullwacht; the punchline being that he wasn’t even a bloody pirate. The table around him howled in their own drunken laughter.

The whiskey burned sweetly down his throat as the hand belonging to the blonde next to him kept wandering higher up his thigh under the table, her nails tracing the leather of his pants with intent. Cas shifted just as she was about to reach her destination, as he suddenly and conveniently realized he had drained every last drop from his cup and was in need of more.

Turning to catch Marcy’s eye for a refill, he raised the cup in the air so she’d know exactly what he wanted. As his gaze found her, the arrogant smile painted across his face faded even faster than the buzz he had been building as he saw who was standing next to her.

Charlotte

The sound of glass shattering filled the room, startling many. Cas’s hand, unbeknownst to him, had released its grip on the cup…which had made cruel and attention-grabbing impact with the floor by his feet. However, even as he flinched from the sound, his eyes never parted from Lottie’s face.

Charlotte herself especially had been startled, her body jolting in reaction to the sudden crash. Her shoulders snapped high as she went momentarily stiff, her breath catching in her throat as though someone had struck her. A shaky exhale slipped from her lips as her eyes darted over her shoulder, pupils widening.

Her gaze found the source of the noise quickly: the shards of glass glittering in the low light at Cassius’s feet. Initially, she still frowned, her expression wary as she processed it all.
But then her gaze lifted from the broken shards in his hand, from his arm up to his face.

He was looking at her. Only at her.

Her lips parted, the edges of her frown softening. Against her better judgment, the worry surged unbidden before she could smother it, swimming unmistakably in the blue pools of her eyes.

She should have turned away, but she didn’t.

And neither did he.

But those eyes.

The concern, the heart, the beauty.

They were inevitable.

Cassius felt his posture shift and his shoulders fall, for but a handful of milliseconds, he found himself lost. Lost in their last conversation, their first conversation as well…every moment they had shared all wrapped up in one instant and powerful memory.

But then he recovered.

His shoulders rose by force of will. His posture returned to that of the confidence that so naturally poured from his very presence. Just at the precipice of being lost in her…He found himself again. Or at least the worst parts.

“Oh wonderful…It’s you.”. The tone of his voice said more than words could.

Her gaze immediately darkened, and the beginnings of a grimace graced her features. Then, as quickly as she had turned around, she twisted her body back forward. “Marcy, a drink please… Something strong, if you do not mind.”

Marcy’s brows knit as her eyes flicked rapidly between Charlotte and Cassius, her confusion plain in the manner of her gaze. For a moment, she looked ready to inquire about the situation, but then Charlotte’s request cut through the moment.

“Yeah… right. Just how strong we talkin', lady?”

Charlotte exhaled and folded her arms loosely against the bar as if she had suddenly been burdened with weariness. Then, she forced a smile as she clarified softly, “ Strong.”

He should have let it go…should have drowned it with another drink and turned back to the others. Instead, the way she turned away lit him up. His smile turned sharp. His blood began to heat. She didn’t get to act like she was too good to look at him. Not after everything.

“Careful Marcy…Princess here is more of a lightweight than she lets on. The last time she drank, some handsome hero had to carry her home. Isn’t that right, Lottie?”

“ Oh, so that’s the story, huh? “ Marcy mused as she poured the drink, “ Thought nobles were supposed to hold their liquor better. Guess it’s improper for a prim girl like you to get plastered in public.”

Charlotte caught the drink in her palm as Marcy slid it over. “Plastered? Hardly. “ Despite her rising nerves, she rolled her eyes and leaned back with effortless grace, her gaze never wavering from Marcy. ”The drinks at places he frequents are…stronger than they should be.”
Cassius scoffed out a dry chuckle.

“Oooooh…careful now, Lottie. Our lovely pal Marcy might see that as an insult since THIS is my favorite haunt, after all. You hear that Marce? It appears little miss priss is questioning you and the credibility of this reputable establishment.”

He moved towards the side of the tavern where Charlotte and Marcy were gathered, making confident strides their way. The blonde from before accompanied him, lacing her arm with his as they reached the bar. Cassius looked to her, the woman’s eyes were full of desire. Desire that he was no longer in the mood for.

“Do me a favor, love. Run along and tell the others that the rest of tonight’s drinks are on me. I’ll be back over before you know it.”

She did as he said. Despite her playful little pout about having to leave his side, the girl was at the point of her night where she was barely anything other than drunken joy. Once she walked away, Cassius turned back to his favorite bartender and the girl he had hoped, and failed to avoid tonight.

Marcy hummed lowly and thoughtfully. She then let a crooked grin slip toward Charlotte.

“Doubt that. This priss has sharper things to throw than cheap shots at my place…”

Charlotte’s lips curved into a smug smile, eyes locked on Marcy as though Cassius wasn’t approaching with a woman at his side, who was undoubtedly just another name he would not bother to remember. She refused him the dignity of even a glance.

Even when he sought to provoke her.

Even when he dismissed the girl.

Even when her eyes burned with restraint.

Even when he was just strides away.

In fact, her gaze bore so intently into Marcy’s that it was as if the girl behind the bar were the only person in the room. The bartender’s grin faltered briefly, and her eyes softened into a moment of recognition, but just as quickly, her expression slid back into its usual place.

“The doctor and I did end up finding young Steven, by the way,” Charlotte said suddenly, as if in passing conversation, and straightened her posture. “Poor child had wandered off into the woods while playing hide and seek.”

Marcy’s grin sharpened as she glanced between them. “Ooooh, so it was you and the doctor, huh? “ Her eyes slid to Cassius with mischief glinting, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Careful, Lottie… folk might start to talk. But hey, glad you found him. Everyone was worried for a moment there.”

Charlotte’s smile lingered as she calmly stated. “Let them. It means nothing to me.” Her gaze slipped down to the bar, fingers brushing idly against the wood as though she were bored with the entire subject. Then she lifted her glass and took a sip of her drink, her eyes finally finding Cassius’s over the rim. “After all, I’ve no intention of letting anyone divide my focus.”

Cas leaned in, his hand claiming the space on the bar where Lottie’s drink had been. He was close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from his body and smell the sweet whiskey on his breath. Now that he had her gaze, he would be damned if she was going to refuse his existence.

“Oh, sweetheart…Is that what I was doing when you kissed me the other night?” His voice lowered to a deep and intimate tone that would melt most hearts with ease. One so quiet that only Charlotte and Marcy would be able to hear. “I was simply dividing your attention?”

He reached past her slowly, drawing his body even closer to hers, and wrapped his fingers around the bottle of bourbon within reach behind the bar. He lingered in that space.

“What a distraction I must have been.”

Charlotte lowered her gaze momentarily, her body stiffened as she felt the heat of his breath. His nearness startled her more than she cared to admit… His warmth, the scent of whiskey, the audacity of leaning so close in plain view. It sent a quick shiver of something she immediately smothered deep down into a place she hoped to never uncover.

She shifted, leaning back against the bar and deliberately eased her demeanor, as though she were perfectly at home in the cage he had built around her. When her eyes finally rose to meet his, there was not the fluster he might have expected.

“Yes,” she said, her lips curving into a smile. “I kissed you.” A pause followed the confession. Then her lashes lowered and she leaned in toward his face.

“But apparently I also wrecked you. “

Despite the anger she felt over the mere idea that he dared to come try to humiliate her unprovoked tonight… She couldn’t help but delight in the dark satisfaction she felt as she had spoken those words.

There was a pause between them as he simply stared down at her there, inches away. His gaze moved from her eyes to her lips, and he recalled the taste of her kiss with an arrogant smirk.

Then he laughed. What burst forth from him after that brief standstill was sudden, and it was loud. Visceral, raw, and unrestrained…the roar of laughter consumed him as though he had been holding it in for years. Cassius laughed so hard that tears filled his eyes and his stomach burned with pain from where he was stabbed. As he drew the bottle of whiskey, that he had grabbed behind her, back towards him, he wiped the tears with his other hand. Finally, as the laugh began to subside, that same hand pointed to the wounds on his face; the little gift she had left there for all to see.

“Wrecked me, huh?” Cas said, his tone shifting to a bit more serious. “Oh, darling…I, for one, would fucking say so.”

He let a finger trace down the biggest of the three cuts, the newest addition to his collection of scars, before dropping down to pop the cork on the bourbon and taking a long swig straight from the bottle. His eyes…they stayed locked on hers.

Charlotte froze, her eyes falling to the scars beneath his touch. His laughter still rang in her ears, but all she could hear was the echo of her own nails raking across his skin. The smile slipped from her lips, her throat tightening.

“I never meant…” The words nearly escaped before she bit them back. She swallowed hard, lowering her gaze to her glass.

Marcy let Cassius’s laughter die on the air before she cleared her throat LOUDLY. Then, she leaned her elbows on the counter, eyes narrowing on Charlotte “By the way… Remember that missing couple you wanted to look into? ”

Her grin thinned. “Well, turns out it wasn’t a runaway lovers’ story after all. They’ve been found. Both of ’em. Dead... Like really dead. Like blood all over the floor dead.”

She slid a fresh glass down to another patron at the bar as she continued, “So unless you’ve got a taste for sticking your nose into murder cases, I’d suggest leaving that one alone. Folks whisper it’s uglier than the papers will ever print.”

Charlotte’s gaze didn’t raise. She drummed her fingers on the table, the remnants of emotion still clouding her face. Finally, she replied, “I want to help. You’ll tell me what you know when you can.”

Only then did her eyes drift to Cassius. Despite the change in subject, he still seemed to haunt the corner of her vision throughout the entire conversation. She lifted her chin, her tone faintly wounded as she said, “You needn’t linger by me if you are so cross over the other night. From what I witnessed, you have no shortage of company.”

Damn.

Cassius…well, he hadn’t expected that. He realized that he didn’t actually know what he had expected from such a cutting statement to her, some defiance maybe, something to cut him back perhaps, but whatever it was his subconscious was hoping for…this was worse. Seeing her gaze fall in such a manner, bearing the weight of the sudden shift in her mood, it wasn’t what he wanted. But…to that point, what the hell did he want at all?

He wasn’t sure how to open that door right now, so old habits kicked in and he did what drunken fools do best.

“Thanks, but I’m fine right where I am, love.” He said, giving her an arrogant wink as he settled in. “But what’s this…you a detective now, Lottie? Oh you know what…maybe you could solve the mystery of who gutted me like a fish in the streets?” Cassius feigned excitement at the prospect. He knew damn well who attacked him, and would make them pay soon enough, but this…this wasn’t really about that at all.

“Speaking of…I guess you were too busy solving mysteries with the good doctor to even offer me well-wishes. Fair, seeing as how you’re trying to focus on more important things these days.”

Charlotte’s gaze faltered, her hands falling to her skirts, where she gripped the fabric until her knuckles whitened. When she did finally speak after a pause, her voice was leveled—perhaps even detached. “...I suppose I was too busy. I do hope you’re feeling better.”

I’m an asshole… Cassius admitted to himself as he watched the color change in her knuckles. The way she tightened her grip against her skirt meant his words had cut as they were meant to. But just because his words were meant as a way to lash out, did that mean this is really what he intended?

Asshole, careless, selfish, narcissist, jerk, prick, hypocrite, liar, disgrace, traitor, manipulator, failure, villain, bastard, killer, monster…scourge. These weren’t even all of the vile things he’d been called throughout his life. Some days he wondered which were true. All of them, maybe?

But asshole, that one was definitely true. At least at this moment. His shoulders fell, not quite as noticeably as before, but enough that he couldn’t quite hide it. He took another long drink of his whiskey. For the first time since approaching her, his gaze shifted to the floor as well.

“I’m feeling better than ever.” The words were jovial…His expression was not. But quickly, he changed the subject.
“And you…how are you feeling since, well, since you were ill the other night? He asked, noting to himself that the word “ill” was the understatement of the year considering the hex that had been placed on her. Unfortunately, despite the question coming from a genuine place, his tone had not softened enough to convey such a thing. Something about his words still sounded as though they were coming from somewhere worse.

Charlotte did not look up at him. Her eyes stayed fixed downward as though the floor held far more interest than he did.

“Just fine,” she said curtly. “Though I cannot imagine why it would concern you. Unless, of course, you simply hoped I’d collapse here at your feet to save you the trouble of finding new ways to amuse yourself.”

She took a slow sip of her drink as if to punctuate the remark then finally raised her gaze and furrowed her brows at him, irritation shifting her expression. “In fact, I cannot imagine why you insist on trying to irritate me tonight. Or perhaps this is merely your way of clinging to our past. If so, let me make myself perfectly clear: the very moment I saw you with Kalliope...” Tears threatened, though her gaze never faltered. “ I was done. … I should have been done.”

Though the pain was evident in her eyes, her voice grew steadier.“I ought never to have entertained romance at all, not when I have far more important matters at hand. And I certainly know better than to stoop so low as to entertain a rake.”

She lifted her chin, a brittle smile curving her lips. “I do hope that is direct enough for your inebriated mind.”

He knocked back another swallow of whiskey, the burn not nearly enough to drown the bite of her words. His grin stayed sharp, but it just couldn’t reach his eyes. Cas let his mind slip back to their date, to how perfect it felt to be in her presence that night…to the words she spoke to him then, and just how different things seemed.

The pause between her words and his response was a few beats too long, unnatural even…especially considering his reputation as a man who always has something to say. When he finally spoke, his instinct was to explain his situation with Kalliope; declare that she was just a friend now, and that it was clear her heart belonged to Sjan-dehk. But he didn’t. What was the point when she had so clearly made up her mind about him. The words that came out instead were completely out of his control. Cas’s voice was almost too quiet to be heard, but he was just close enough to her still for the words to meet her ear.

“If I have learned anything in the time I have spent with you, Cassius, it is that beneath all that bravado…you are kind.” His eyes met hers once, for an instant, but he couldn’t hold it, his gaze slipping back down to the bar. “Was I a fool for thinking those words meant something?”

Her lips parted, but for a moment no words came. His question had cut deeper than any jab he’d thrown all night. Deep in her heart she wanted to tell him just how much she had meant those words. How truly she had believed in him.

But belief was a luxury she could no longer afford.

Charlotte’s chin lifted, defiance pulling her upright even as her eyes shimmered with unshed tears.

“No, you were not,” she whispered, and her voice quivered with heat and emotion as she spoke. “I was the fool.”
Her hand clenched the bar until her knuckles ached as the next questions burst out of her with righteous anger. “Tell me, Lord Damien. Were you courting me? Were you falling in love with me? Were you planning, at the season’s end, to offer for me as any honest man would?”
Her gaze locked to his, fierce now, daring him to flinch. “I think we both know the answer to those questions. So what was it you truly wanted of me?”

Right then, she rose and stood before him, her stool scraping back against the floor.

“Because if you imagined I would be some silly girl to tumble into your bed…”
Her voice wavered at last, trembling with all the hurt she had tried to smother. The tears she had fought so fiercely to hide welled over, and her breath caught in a trembling inhale. “…then you are surely mistaken.”

The deep breath her words brought out of Cassius made him physically wince in pain; the remnants of his healing wounds still lingering in his abdomen. The pain, however, did not cut through what her words had done.

He knew she was not entirely wrong. His first impression was…well…what it was, and his intentions that evening had been nowhere close to innocent. However, each interaction, each moment shared with her had written a different story in him. One he understood less and less with each turn of the page.

Was he courting her? Could he even be the type of man who fell into such engagements? He had no idea how to even answer those questions himself. Was it all just one big seduction, though? No. Absolutely it was not.

Heightened emotions clouded the already drunken, confused mind of a man who had no idea what he wanted, yet he knew what he wished to say.
“Maybe I just wanted to know you, Lottie.”

If only he had left it there.

“But no…you so clearly know me, right? My intentions are so, bloody, obvious to you, it seems. Maybe you’re right…maybe a man like me would never really have anything to offer you. Yet you entertained me. And you said it yourself…you have far more important things to care about than me or matters of the heart.”

Cassius paused just long enough to bolster himself with one more drink.

“Perhaps I was using you, princess. But you’re no different from me, are you? If you’ve got no room in your heart for love, then what was I ever to you at all, huh?” His tone shifted harsher with every word, and at the end…his own stool scraped the wood as he forced himself up, now looking down at her tear-filled eyes. “I see it now, love. I was nothing”

Charlotte’s nails dug into her palms, fists trembling as her whole body leaned toward him. Her eyes blazed through an unrelenting wave of tears as she snapped back without hesitation.

“If you were nothing then, Cassius, it was by your own hand! You spat whatever it was we had in my face. ” Her voice caught for half a breath, but she forced it steady. “So now, indubitably so, you. mean. nothing. to me.”

His response was stern and simple as he pushed back the fire of emotions burning wildly through him.

“Yeah? I spat it in your face? Well at least you got to leave your mark on mine.” His hand raised once again to show her the wounds she left there. It was cheap and meant to cause hurt. He was disgusted with himself, but it was too late. There would be no sailing into safe harbor here. No gentle train ride home for them.

“I hope you’re happy with the pound of flesh you’ve taken, Charlotte. It’s the only thing you’ll ever get from me.”
Charlotte’s jaw clenched so tight it hurt, her eyes dropping despite herself.

“I don’t want anything from you, Cassius—nothing but for you to leave me alone.”

She swept past him hastily, her shaking fingers fumbling at the clasp of her cape that she had gathered in a rush as she strode for the door. Although her chin lifted once more at the last moment, refusing him the sight of her breaking.

Cassius raised the bottle sarcastically as a toast to her as she walked out the door.

“You won’t have to tell me twice, princess.” He said…but Charlotte was already gone by the time those words came out. They weren’t even really meant for her, but rather just pieces of what bravado he had left clinging to life out of habit.

His eyes simple stared at the empty space where she had been, chest burning from the whiskey, from her words…from all of it.
He forced a crooked smile that couldn’t manifest half the arrogance of his usual patented smirk and finally looked at Marcy.

“You’re the best customer I’ve ever had, Cassius Vael, spending more gold here a night than the whole crowd does. I appreciate that, and to be honest, I like you. I do. But…you’re a fool for that.”

Cas raised the bottle to his mouth and drank, his eyes resting on Marcy as the laughter and sounds of revery returned to the tavern. Those sounds had never stopped, but for Cassius, it had all disappeared for Charlotte. Now, the roar of the crowd was almost too much for him.
Shaking his head in agreement with Marcy’s words, Cassius raised a toast to her as well. The sarcasm in his gesture was lazy, and his eyes could never have reflected it.

“Thanks, Marce. That’s so…sweet.” He managed just enough playfulness to make the jest work, but barely. “Now do this bloody fool a favor and pour another round for the others. Just keep ‘em coming… We’re just getting started tonight.” He turned to walk away but looked back at her before he even took a single step. “Oh, and love…It’s not Vael…It’s Damien.”

With that, Cassius returned to the comfort of his adoring drunks, fools the lot of them. Fools just like him. By morning, if he was lucky, he would remember nothing of this night.