Syrenrei

Rise to The Top: Medieval Intrigue RP

One slender brow arched in amusement as he called her a 'complication.' Silke noted both the subtle and obvious flirtations interwoven in his response, though she was careful not to outwardly react. Galt was handsome and, paired with his heroic story of saving a duke from bandits, could have won over many women. Neither of those were what made him particularly dangerous to her. It was his wealth of charisma that would be her greatest challenge to gently rebuff. She liked what she had seen and heard from him thus far; he was direct, honest, witty, and humble. The newly appointed count was a man that deserved a woman that was still able to dream and hope for a future of marital bliss.

A wry smile twisted upon her lips at his assessment that she didn't seem to want anything of the nobles. He was both correct and incorrect. For the nobility, the vast majority of them assumed that she was secretly as selfish as they were, and was simply more adept at concealing her agenda than they were at uncovering it. They and Galt and were both wrong in very different ways. Silke did want something, just not for herself, and all of her manipulations were her orchestrations for the benefit of her father and brother. On a larger scale, they did impact her positively, though that was a side effect rather than the intention. One day she would be gone, her life at eternal rest, and she needed the peace of mind they would survive beyond.

"You're already playing in a great game," Silke asserted smoothly, unbothered by the fact he had refused her implied offer. "As the king's attention shifts off of you over in another fortnight or two, other men of the realm will increasingly invite you to dinners, hunts, and other such engagements. Nobility with riches and titles are almost engaged in form of politics. You could, of course, reject their social overtures and try to keep to yourself, but make no mistake, absolutely neutrality is not easily maintained. So long as you remain close to Valdemar, his unassailable duke title will protect you, though it will not be absolute." She didn't want to breed paranoia in her companion; however, she felt compelled to impart on him that being a count for the rest of his life wasn't as guaranteed as he might believe.

"You may also be required to turn a blind eye to those more like your seven-year-old self as well, and those in worse plights, to maintain that neutrality," she mused aloud casually. It was true she didn't understand the hardship he endured as a young child. Silke had been born into a loving family where all her needs and wants had been met. When her mother and second-eldest brother had died she learned how trauma could make one incredibly aware of similar suffering in others. She attended every funeral she went to and found herself hyper-aware of girls without maternal figures. She strongly suspected that Galt was the same way when he saw boys that reminded him of himself.

"You are still alive, are you not?" she then asked, without waiting for an answer. "Only the dead and buried are incapable of being taught. I suppose one could argue that an invalid also could not learn, but it's too late to be feigning stupidity, don't you think?" Silke teased.

Reaching over, she took hold of his reins with one hand, clicking her tongue to stop his mare as her own stood in place. She had an important point to make and she wanted to make absolutely certain he listened without the distraction of his horse. "We both know you didn't tell the whole story of the duke's rescue. Can you honestly tell me, and yourself, that escaping him with easier than saving just yourself? That in the moment you calculated for how Duke Valdemar would thank you, how the king would thank you, and that was your only motivation? I will concede I could be wrong, but I believe you acted on instinct," she said as her steady gaze locked onto his unflinchingly. "You took a risk. How many of your former friends would have done the same? How many of the men you met tonight?"

Silke released the reins and pushed a wisp of hair out of her face that had fallen across a cheek. She laughed lightly to herself with a hint of bitterness that bled through. "I assure you I am not what many men are looking for, though I thank you for thinking I am worthy of such attention. They want the idea of me, a wife because they have need, or a prize to be won in a challenge where all their friends have thus failed. If you think I am too severe, at the next social event ask any of them my favorite color, or flower, or constellation, or instrument, or hobby."

She was jaded before she was eligible for courtship and marriage. It became worse as time wore on. Men of lords, barons, counts, and dukes expected women to be enamored with the prestige of their upbringing, to be awed by the sheer consideration of someone of their status. Silke had been smitten with a few here and there that were handsome and charming like Galt, but her feelings usually faded as it became apparent any relationship would be her bending and yielding to their desires, and letting them make every decision without input.

Rise to The Top: Medieval Intrigue RP

The evening had proved to be quite productive and left Silke in good spirits by the time she was astride her mare. Admittedly she had drank more wine than she had eaten, which meant she would have quite the headache tomorrow if she didn't have an after-feast snack, but the business proposition from Count Schaude had bolstered her spirits after the spat with Vildraven. It was a shame neither her father nor her brother had any talent for diplomacy or negotiation. Her father was a brilliant, generous man, who was quite aware that he could be taken advantage of financially by manipulative persons, and so he had become relatively paranoid about engaging in new endeavors. By contrast, her brother was a shrewd man who understood the figures but did not possess the social graces to navigate more beneficial agreements. If it appeared too good to be true he dismissed it, and if if the numbers didn't rise to his high standards he dismissed it, without even attempting to broker a better trade.

Thoughts of precious stones, investments, and laborers were chased out of her mind as Galt cleared his throat, presumably to gain her attention. Silke had been leading the way and politely ignoring the poor horsemanship of her companion. It would have been more shocking if he was a skilled equestrian given his commoner background. Riding in her gown was a touch awkward, though it was a small price to pay for the freedom she enjoyed when it was her, a steed, and an empty road. She did did a cursory glance of her surroundings to ensure she knew where they were relative to her home.

The noblewoman reigned in her mare to slow its speed to a more comfortable trot when Galt started to speak and abruptly bolted ahead. Her horse seemed to be as confused as she was. They came to a brief stop before catching up to the newly christened count. Silke couldn't help but smile at his struggles. There was something decidedly refreshing about being in the presence of someone who was not a perfect veneer of composure. Much as she adored the courts in her own way, they could be taxing after a while, both emotionally and mentally. Here where the cool breeze stirred leaves in the trees, and where owls could be hooting a short distance away, it was easier to be human.

"I wouldn't be interested in any man who was won over by batting eyelashes and coy games," she said with amusement in her voice. "For your own sake, I do hope you're careful around the ladies. If you do anything more than have a nice conversation, their fathers will either hastily rush you to exchange vows, threaten your life, or both. One of my brothers, Alistair, came very close several times to being forced into a wedding," Silke added with a fond laugh at the memory.

Noticeably she didn't divulge anything regarding her romantic intentions. As much as she tried to be woman who was indifferent and distant to would-be suitors, she had feelings and wants when it came to affection; rather than act on them, however, she kept them suppressed. She noticed handsome men, such as Galt, as it would have been impossible to ignore them. Whenever an eligible bachelor (and some who were not) approached her that suited her ideals, her breath would catch in her throat and she would fight to bury the attraction. It wasn't always successful.

"As you know, titles are passed from father to son or, should he lack a son, to another male relative. To give credit where credit is due, there are many members of the nobility where there is some benefit to this system, or it at least doesn't create a sizeable issue. Heirs are groomed for the role and their peers, as well as the royalty, help hold fellow aristocrats accountable. That being said," she sighed, "there is definite room for improvement. I'm of the opinion that a new face or two could help effectuate certain changes. I also have personal reasons for wishing to forge strong allies where I see potential." Silke cast an appraising look at him, wondering not for the first time if he could be bolstered into a higher station than a count. More importantly, she considered whether he would reward her help and trust in the way she envisioned.

"I am intrigued to know how you find me impressive. Is it because I have the respect of Count Schaude or because of the extraordinary gossip the older duchesses enjoy spreading about me? A few years ago one dowager claimed my knowledge of commerce could only be explained through supernatural possession," she laughed.

Rise to The Top: Medieval Intrigue RP

The quip about a wise man elicited a singular, elegant raised brow from Silke. She wasn't quite certain if he was trying to flirt with her or not; honestly, the only consistent thing about men was how inconsistent they were with their overtures. More likely than not he was trying to sidestep the question with his considerable charm. There was no reason for him to have romantic interest in her: he had his choice of any number of excitable, curious, prettier younger ladies, and he wasn't competing with other nobleman to see who'd win a bet as to who could win her over. The fact his response hadn't been straightforward told her all she needed to know. Galt had a taste for more, although what precise ambition he held eluded her yet.

That he was not deterred by her jilted suitors was briefly fascinating- until he made a comparison to his life on the streets. Silke couldn't and wouldn't pretend she understood what it must be like to struggle to eat or be safe. That wasn't to say that she wasn't without her struggles. As a woman, she was a second class citizen in many ways, underestimated and passed over in favor of a man, and she had deep scars from the death of her mother and brother. While she didn't doubt he was cunning, he was ignorant of the cutthroat nature of the courts, and the stark contrast it had compared to other social circles. He was too cavalier about the threats all around him.

Silke gave no indication she heard Galt's words spoken into his cup. Valdemar interrupted before she could make any sort of reply and she somewhat relished the notion of leaving him hanging, wondering if he had scared her off with his glimpse of severity. Her countenance had been impassive, her eyes as clear and controlled as the rest of her, when he had lost his grin. Only an individual that valued themselves could be scared and, as someone who was apathetic to her future, she was difficult to frighten.

"Lady Silke, it is good to see you!" greeted a man in a slightly pompous tone as he approached their seats at the table. He was a handsome man just shy of his forties dressed in navy blue and burgundy, colors that were understated in the current environment. All of his perfectly coiffed hair was a pleasant hazelnut brown streaked with gray at the temples that only served to make him seem more refined. Galt may have taken care to remember Count Gregor Schaude in particular as he was the wealthiest of all the counts by a substantial margin. His family lineage had a reputation of creating shrewd, cunning men, who were ruthless when crossed. Rumors circulated that his grandfather and father had a habit of torturing any thieves caught on their lands.

It had been lamented by Count Schaude, in the presence of others, how cruel fate was that Lady Silke had not been born earlier or he later. He had wed years before she reached maturity and his sons had not begun puberty. The count had bemoaned his inability to bring Silke into his family. No one mistook his exclamations to mean he was in love with the younger woman; rather, he admired her silver tongue and business acumen and was deeply disappointed her genetics wouldn't contribute to future generations of Schaude.

"Count Schadue, may I introduce you to Count Harrowmark?" she said with a graceful gesture.

"Pleased to make your acquaintance," Count Schaude said to Galt with a small bow of the head. His flat, perfunctory tone and the small bow of his head were the bare minimum required by protocol. There was no malice from Count Schaude, he just did not care about any new nobleman unless there was something they could do for him, which Galt could not.

Turning back to Silke, Count Schaude smiled warmly, with as much professional affection as he showed anyone in the court. "May I borrow your company for a spell, Lady Silke? There is a business matter I intend to broach with Duke Deduan and your father, and it occurs to me I'd much benefit from your presence during those discussions." It was not the sort of conversation most women would be privy to and, if they were, they'd stand quietly and listen with idle minds. She was, however, quite astute in political and socioeconomic matters, and so she had been increasingly invited by more liberal aristocrats to partake, especially when her advice and help had proved advantageous.

For half a second Silke considered declining. If she were to depart Galt's company now, he'd be alone with Duke Valdemar and the king, without her knowledge or experience to smooth over any stumbles. Her mind flickered back to the confidence he had displayed when she had warned him about her previous would-be suitors. Since he was so certain of himself, she would let him sink, swim, or at least discover if he had any deficiencies. As the guest of honor, any mistakes he made would be overlooked for the most part, so it was his best opportunity to learn.

"Of course, Count Schaude. I'm sure Galt will manage spectacularly without me," she said. She hoped the other women of the court swarmed him with all their coy games, because he'd quickly find ladies would demand commitment for anything more than a kiss, if that. Silke had overheard her brother griping about how insufferable he found the teasing and flirting when nothing could be done without taking a wife. "Is this about that newly discovered gem mine?" she asked Count Schaude with a smile of her own.

"Ah, quick as always Lady Silke!" he grinned. "Your majesty, Duke Valdemar, Count Harrowmark," he added, bowing deeply before circling to Silke and taking her arm, leading her away with formal elegance.

"She's always been such an odd woman," an older lady a few seats down grumbled under her breath. Not everyone appreciated how Silke challenged the status quo.

Rise to The Top: Medieval Intrigue RP

"We all have our struggles," Silke said graciously towards Duke Valdemar in regards to his son, "and life lessons that must be taught to us several times over before we learn to honor the virtues." It was a truth that sounded a bit bizarre coming out of the lips of someone so young. Loss had aged her considerably. Without a mother, despite all the staff they had at their home, she had to step into the role of family matriarch. Much of the court had become gradually aware how much her steady hand guided Count Johann Kasper and Lord Vincent Kasper.

With the duke and king monetarily distracted, she leaned forward and spoke more quietly to Galt, allowing the ambient noise of the room to create a veil of privacy for them. "I'm curious what further ambition you have for yourself," she told the newly christened count. Her gaze was calm and steady as she studied him. Even if he elected not to answer, she hoped he might react, and through body language she might glean if he wished for more or if he was truly satisfied with his title, wanting nothing more. Silke wasn't absolutely confident she'd read him perfectly nor that he'd respond in a meaningful way; however, it was worth a try.

Out of the corner of her eye she caught more people staring at them. Not all of them were as obviously hostile as Vildraven, but it brought to mind she ought to warn Galt. It was a delicate topic to navigate. She was unwilling to delve into how many romantic overtures she had rejected outright. There were enough proud men that kept her refusal to herself that she was a court oddity without any negative connotation. If she were to allude to the true number, though, there was a chance she'd evolve from an endearing enigma to a troubled spinster. Silke had to thread the figurative needle as carefully as was possible.

"There's a confession I must make before we continue. Vildraven is not the only man I've rebuffed. Happy as I am to keep you company this evening and facilitate introductions to whomever you desire, my prolonged presence may make certain lords... displeased," she stated. Galt was a shrewd man. The hint ought to give him an inkling of what he was suggesting. If nothing else, it would make him more aware of the nature of the gazes upon his person, and why his peers may be less friendly than the ladies or older gentlemen of the aristocracy.

Royal staff stopped by their table to refill drinks. Silke had drained her wine and had another generous serving poured into her empty cup. For better or worse, she had learned to hold her liquor with her father and two elder brothers growing up. Her mother would have disapproved, but the combination of Silke's silver tongue, pragmatic approach to managing the Kasper family, and ability to men her age drink for drink had helped bridge a surprising amount of social divides.

Rise to The Top: Medieval Intrigue RP

The king's entrance did not draw her attention as much as perhaps it should have. She respected the man, and held his governance in high esteem, but she had seen him plenty of times before. Galt was comparatively much more interesting. He was an unknown quantity and she was keen to discern what rumors already circulating the court were based in truth and what were the result of wild speculation. There also little that the attention of their monarch could do for nor she for him; she was without ambition for higher status and he would not have granted it to her as a woman.

Having already resigned herself to a very short private conversation with Galt, Silke was disappointed but not surprised when they were interrupted by the king's summons, and was prepared to step back so the new count could present himself. The proffered arm, however, took her entirely by surprise. As a woman who prided herself on her powers of perception, she was ashamed to admit that she hadn't anticipated his reaction, and that his wish for her to accompany him was unexpected. Internally she cursed to herself. There was no opportunity to explain herself. If she rejected him at that moment, it would reflect badly on them both, but to accept could have far-reaching consequences personally and politically.

Silke hesitated. Taking his arm filled her with dread for the discussion they'd inevitably have later regarding their respective intentions. She didn't know how many times she had to gently refute a man's romantic overtures. Since being honest about her reasons was not an option, she would get to know a suitor long enough to find an excuse, one sturdy enough to dissuade further attempts, that she would then present as proof of incompatibility. Most titled lords had egos large enough to handle being turned away and she did not feel guilty for doing so. Arguably a lady telling them, 'No,' did them more good than harm. There were a few, though, that tugged at her heartstrings, genuinely distraught over what they believed was defects in their person.

They were greeted by the king, who said the same predictably pleasant things he always did, and Galt had the sense to bow when she curtsied. A smile was planted on her lips, face belying none of her inner turmoil. Out of the corner of her eye she could see less composed members of the court watching them. Older, more gossipy matrons were visibly smug in the knowledge that no one, not even the elusive Silke Kasper, could avoid potential matches. Her peers were besides themselves with glee at the exciting story of Count Harrowmark, a newcomer hero, making such an impression on their mysteriously unattached friend. It was the gaze of the younger gentleman, those who saw her as challenge to be conquered, or who were chafed at her rejections, that worried her. Fortunately, many men whom she had turned away had moved on and found their happiness, and some others never cared to make advances on her, but there were plenty that were glaring or barely concealing their contempt.

Galt asked if Silke could sit with him. If she hadn't been such an exemplary courtier, she would have either laughed, vomited, or fainted, hopefully not all at once. For half a second she fervently wished she could sink into the floor and disappear. It was equal parts amazing and terrifying that he unconsciously navigated from her from minor crisis to disaster, blissfully ignorant all the while, yet maintaining perfect precision for creating as much calamity as possible. Her arm stiffened against his as she tensed and braced herself for figurative impact.

Mentally a stream of very unladylike words described her feelings on the situation.

And then, because fortune itself must despise her with the intensity of a thousand suns, it came to bear that she was taking Vildraven's seat. The ducal son was not the sort that liked to share. Galt's appearance in his father's life in the form of a young, dashing savior, must have made him unsettled to say the least. As the eldest son, heir to a fortune and an enviable title, he had a rampaging sense of entitlement. Silke was confident that Vildraven would be wretchedly jealous of Galt for being so adored by the duke, having the praise of the king, and being touted as an icon of courage and selflessness.

As luck would have it, he was also someone whom Silke had rejected (twice since he did not take her first refusal seriously). She sucked in her breath as Vildraven's tantrum was cut off by the two men whose approval and affection he most craved, and their eyes met briefly before he retreated into the mass of well-dressed lords and ladies. It wasn't over. Everyone else might have considered the matter settled, but she knew Vildraven well enough to know that he would fight to the bitter end to take back what he believed had been stolen from him by Galt. Unfortunately, that included her, and there was nothing she could do to stop what had been started.

When they finally sat down at the table her stomach, which had lurched into her throat minutes earlier, had resettled. Silke recognized that Galt was not the best at small talk so she led the conversations with Valdemar and his majesty, all while managing not to seem as if she were doing so. For the duke she inquired about his recovery after his ordeal, congratulated him and his wife on a recent anniversary, and complimented on their taste in attire, admiring the duchess's exquisite jewelry. The king and she chatted about a hunt he held a fortnight ago and a couple pieces of artwork he had commissioned and placed in the royal gallery. She was going through the motions, smiling brilliantly, and being her charming self, and quietly trying to find a solution to her romantic predicament.

Picking up a piece of bread, Silke listened quietly as Galt was finally afforded an opportunity to answer her question from earlier. There was an intensity to her gaze and a sympathetic turn of her lips as he stumbled over his sentences. He was no master deceiver. The facts, as he presented them, didn't quite add up. As a man of poor, unremarkable background, there was no reason for the bandits to take him prisoner, and Galt failed to pro-actively insert rationale. Master manipulator that she was, she knew that for someone possessed of a sharp wit, this omission could damage him- it would be better to have a fabrication prepared if he came under a verbal interrogation. "Quite curious they'd tie you up," she remarked, leaning in, a playful twinkle in her eye conveying she'd caught the slip. "You may want to... polish that portion of your retelling before you recount it again," the noblewoman suggested.

As if on cue, that damnable Vildraven, who had been seated on the other side of her to preserve the seating arrangement to the best of the royal staff's ability, cleared his throat. He had not been eavesdropping since he didn't care about Galt. His interruption was merely to gain Silke's attention to aggressively reassert himself. Groaning under her breath (she was in close enough proximity to Galt he likely heard her), she leaned back in her chair and turned her head toward the insufferable ducal son, a more stiff smile plastered on her face than had been there a second prior.

"Lady Silke," he began, "I would be honored to be your escort for the rest of evening. Surely Count Galt had other ladies of the court he would like to meet after he's had a chance to dine." It sounded like a gracious gesture, advantageous to them both, but she wasn't naive enough to take the bait.

"How very generous of you, Lord Vildraven, but I must decline," she replied sweetly, though her eyes were as cold as ice. "I've already promised Count Galt to facilitate certain introductions." It was a bold-faced lie that she delivered with aplomb. There was no dip or flinch in her voice, her body language remained as still as when she was honest, and it was utterly indistinguishable to anyone other than herself and Galt as a falsehood. Silke realized she was taking a risk exposing her gift to her companion; however, being trapped with Vildraven as her escort was the least desirable outcome.

"How dare you-," he growled in a low tone that did not carry to the rest of the table.

"Careful," Silke chided cheerfully, "for my brother Vincent is watching, and I'd hate for him to misinterpret your actions as hostility. He has a short temper and is quite skilled with a blade," she added, feigning concern for his well-being so adeptly that Vildraven was unable to distinguish if she was sincerely worried about his health. "Why, he's looking over here right this moment," she said as she gave a small wave to her family.

Rise to The Top: Medieval Intrigue RP

When Silke saw her brother queue to speak with Galt, she had allowed the tiniest hint of a frown to tug at the corners of her mouth. It was not that he had done anything terribly unexpected; Vincent was a proper gentleman who took his courtly responsibilities very seriously. The ghost of displeasure had been at the notion that a new count might meet her brother before any other member of the aristocracy. In her opinion, it would have been a shame if the hero's first exposure to nobility (omitting the duke) was someone so impersonal. Vincent was exponentially worse with women, of course, but she couldn't remember anyone, male or female, complimenting her on his charms.

Thankfully, Lady Frescea was quick-witted and light on her feet as she seized the opportunity to approach Vincent Kasper and take him by the arm. From a short distance away, Silke could see her brother's lips open and close as he tried to articulate an argument. He had been figuratively cornered by the time he had regained his composure enough to speak. By then, the duke had wandered off, the line had dwindled to nothing, and there was no queue for him to return to. It was incredibly satisfying seeing her plan so perfectly executed. Even her group of count's daughters and baron's daughters intuitively understood what was happening and naturally melded away as she took her first strides away from them.

The room was a veritable kaleidoscope of colors. Silke wore a gown of deep cerulean blue, embroidered at its edges with delicate silver and white embroidery, that hugged her slim figure. The precise hemming of her skirt just above the floor, as well as her smooth, elegant gait, gave the illusion of her gliding rather than walking. Her hair, a deep chocolate brown that matched her eyes, had been swept back from her face into an elaborate braid for the occasion, then decorated with sapphire ribbons and tiny white flowers. While she could not compete with the most beautiful women in the room, she enjoyed dressing well. Clothes were both the weapons and armor of a courtier.

Silke had been watching and evaluating Galt silently before her approach. Everyone knew he had saved the duke's life, but she was interested in far more details than her peers. Her father, brother, and most of the people in the room were content to know he knew how to wield a sword, dismissing the rest as unnecessary. That answer did not satisfy Silke. Quietly she studied him and noted that he had a more fluid stride than a knight, that his gaze drifted away from the duchess's face when she spoke, and that when the conversation was not so stiff and formal, he had a palpable charisma.

"Vedrick," she said, her voice as warm as if she were greeting the oldest of friends, "I do hope you haven't been too hard on the count. The very best of us struggle to match your level of composure and refinement." From nearly anyone else in the room the comment would have sounded more akin to a passive-aggressive jibe than an earnest compliment, but Silke spoke with a sincerity that made it clear she was praising the royal aide.

Redirecting her attention towards Galt, Silke leaned forward and took the hand the hand that had just been withdrawn, clasped it, and gave a firm shake. "There is nothing wrong with a little deviation from protocol. It'll be our little secret," she added with a mischievous conspiratorial whisper. No one was looking their way other than Vedrick. Truth be told, even if someone had seen the gesture, they wouldn't have been scandalized. Since establishing herself as a darling of the court, her few eccentricities were overlooked, or they were acknowledged with a good-humored laugh and shake of the head.

For a lady of her station, Silke's grip was surprisingly strong. Similarly strange, whereas ladies had perfectly smooth skin from their luxurious lifestyle, her fingers had small callouses from her secret archery practice. The count's daughter kept the handshake brief, unwilling to discuss the abnormality he might discover, and flashed him another bright smile that was a sharp contrast to the other maidens in attendance. They saw him as an eligible bachelor and so they were coy and flirtatious. Silke had no intention of every wedding. Galt was a fine man, as far as she knew anyway, but she was not meant for grand things such as a happy marriage.

"It is nice to meet you, Count Galt," she greeted. "It must be quite overwhelming to have so many new faces and names to commit to memory all at once. My father is Count Johann Kasper," she added helpfully, pointing to where he stood across the room, waiting for the king's entrance and in close proximity to the duke. Silke was a blend of both her parents' physical traits, and it took a close look to see the resemblance between her and her father. Vincent Kasper, however, took after him heavily to the point their resemblance was remarked on frequently.

"I was hoping you might regale me with the story of your rescue of the duke." Her countenance, while still warm and inviting, had a soft intensity. Her request was not a flippant attempt at casual conversation. No matter how he answered, Silke would pay rapt attention to every word, every description, every detail, and analyze it thoroughly. She had her suspicions about this man. Perhaps if she asked a direct enough question, she might be led to a response that would tell her whether or not he was worthy of her cause.

Rise to The Top: Medieval Intrigue RP

"Rather easy on the eyes for a lowborn," Lady Margerie whispered with a giggle. There was a small group of young women, all of roughly the same marriageable age, gathered together to bear witness to the coronation. Despite being daughters of counts or barons, they were acutely aware they would only be granted a title if they took a husband with such stature. This fact made Galt an attractive prospect to all but one of the present company- not that she would admit it. Silke had become quite adept at feigning interest in male nobility to maintain the pretense of normality. She smiled and nodded in agreement, though her interest in the newly appointed man was not in the least romantic.

"What do you think of him, Silke?" inquired Lady Frescea. The entire group turned to look at Silke expectantly with anticipation of how she might respond, as they did every time there was a new man in the court.

To most of the aristocracy, she knew she was a beloved enigma, one they never tired of trying so solve. She was slightly taller than most of her sex and slender, but while she was beautiful in her right, she did not stand apart from her peers. There were ladies of her age and younger that were prettier, perhaps because they had brilliant blue eyes, golden blonde hair, or tiny button noses. It was her demeanor that drew attention to her more than her appearance ever would or could. She carried herself with a composed, elegant confidence, and listened with a patient intensity when duchesses prattled on about inane topics. Silke always seemed to remember details of the lives of her companions, paid meaningful compliments in most conversations, and picked up on subtle social cues, such as when a subject ought not to be discussed. Since her debut some years ago, she had become popular for her personality, and attracted a crowd wherever she went.

The curiosity about her, however, that Frescea, Margerie, and the rest wanted to solve was why she had not wed. Suitors had presented themselves to her, but she had declined their overtures both kindly and firmly. When pressed on the matter, she always sidestepped an answer, or gave a vague dismissive response. The ladies of the court were mystified and were excited by the challenge of finding her a match, especially since she had proven herself to be a matchmaker when she was so inclined, and helped facilitate at least three proposals.

"I think he's interesting," Silke said after a brief pause. "Anyone who earns the title of count is quite interesting, don't you think?" she explained with a smile. It was a bit of a non-answer, but to the ladies gathered around her, they took it as a sign of possible romantic interest, which had them quite excited.

After the king and the guest of honor left the grand hall of the palace, chatter had broken out among the congregation as they waited for the ceremony to conclude and the revelry to begin. While the arrangement during the coronation proper had been relaxed, allowing Silke the flexibility of standing or sitting with whomever she pleased, it would be more challenging to approach Galt during the feast. Protocol would dictate she sit with her father, Count Johann Kasper, and with her brother, Vincent Kasper. She chewed on the edge of her bottom lip as she was temporarily lost in thought. Ideally she'd talk to him without her family attached at her hip, neither of whom would be particularly friendly. Johann worried about any man that might 'steal' her away from the household while Vincent held all men to impossible standards and was endlessly abrasive to potential suitors.

"Frescea," Silke began sweetly. "Do you think that perhaps you could distract my brother long enough, should an opportunity arise, so I may speak with Galt? I promise to put a good word in for you if you do," she promised, knowing that the flaxen-haired woman was enamored with her brother. Vincent didn't reciprocate with her or anyone else; he was awkward and stilted when he spoke to women. When they were growing up, Vincent and Abelard had seen Silke one of them, an "almost boy" that could run just as fast as they did and scale any tree. Once the Kasper boys became men, they realized they couldn't treat ladies like they treated Silke, and the eldest Kasper still struggled with knowing how to relate to the fairer sex.

"I would be honored," Frescea replied quickly, "so long as you make an excuse to invite me to dinner in exchange."

Looking for Long Term Partner(s)! (FxM, MxM, 20+)

After a year, it is that time again. Looking for another partner, maybe two! Definitely interested in other folks' plots or making entirely new ones if none of the ideas here suit.

Hope to hear from some of you!

Looking for Long Term Partner(s)! (FxM, MxM, 20+)

Tentatively re-opening this thread because I am down to two active RPs and I'd like to have three!

If you are interested, please PM me and let me know what concept(s) intrigue you as well as what YOU are looking for in a RP. I'd love to have someone contributing their own ideas to our story, not chained to mine alone, and it's also better if we know what we both want so there isn't a conflict months later because there is a misalignment.

I'm also open to re-starting any RPs that have come to a stop for any reason, so let me know if you were a partner and our RP died.

Last note: I really flourish in interpersonal conflict and am not looking for anything TOO dark. I am not great a non-magical combat, so keep in mind a gritty, melee-heavy, action epic where every NPC is against us, nothing good happens, or we are struggling to survive is not at all my strength or area of expertise. I'm more interested in mystery, romance, drama, politics, and magical shenanigans!

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

In the time that Rene spent watching the space battle unfold, Solae had been giving greater context and detail to Bouardine and Bel'sian of what she knew about the conflict. The Kalderi woman had been shocked, horrified, and distressed to hear the lengths to which an ambitious duke and his minions might go in a quest for power. The diplomat considered withholding or sanitizing the more graphic recollections, yet she knew it wouldn't her audience any favors to gloss over or prune the abhorrent facts. It was for their own good that she swallowed her trauma and clinically discussed what had occurred with a level of detachment her mother would have been proud of. Bouradine was more eager, not out of interest in the self-styled emperor himself, but because he was trying to digest the nuances of their situation. The coup affected more than his personal life. Every merchant with any connection to the Eastern Cross would be affected by the conflict. With no indication the rebellion could be squashed anytime soon, he needed to brace himself for losing his livelihood, and possibly needing to shift temporarily into a new career.

Rosaria tired of the conversation quickly and excused herself. She was, after everything, still a grumpy teen who had her sleep interrupted. Once she was certain that the decision had made to return to Ranal Pindi, she found the rest of the discussing boring, a repetition of things she already knew or was ambivalent about until she was better rested. Mia promised to provide her a precise transcript and/or recording for her review in the morning. Solae swore she heard a touch of disappointment when the girl turned the offer down emphatically.

Yarue and Dasin remained, though she honestly couldn't suss out why they were reluctant to find a reason to return to their private quarters. Undoubtedly they knew from her dress and posture that she was still injured, as did Bel'sian and Bouradine, though the Syshin had more attachment to her and would have been more bothered. Mentally she wondered if they were actually intrigued by some new facet of her story, if they were uneasy because of her injury, or if they felt some misguided guilt in what they perceived to be a failure to keep her safe. Twice now she had a brush with death- and both were because of her own weakness and foolhardy choices. It seemed that she was a greater threat to herself than anything else in the known universe. She might have joked with her bodyguards if she thought they might see the humor rather than expressing annoyance and frustration.

"So these P-E-A..." Bel'sian started, glancing to Bouradine and Solae to confirm that she had the acronym correct, "they are what this man seeks? And he can not use them without you?" The expression on her face was one of confusion, more than when they had described their other perils and problems. The duchess could empathize that the 'alphabet soup' could be confusing for a non-native speaker as she herself had struggled with slang, abbreviations, and other linguistic hurdles unique to foreign tongues. Though they had not spent terribly long on Ranal Pandi, she also suspected that their technology was very different in how it was designed and what uses it served.

"Yes, as far as we know. I'm no expert," she admitted with a soft, congenial smile, "but to the best of my knowledge, there's no way to 'hack' a PEA, though there's been no lack of trying. There are hard-wired fail-safes that I was told my embassy superiors told me would make it melt down irreparably if it was compromised in any way or too many access failures were detected. It could have been hyperbole or it might have been true. The Stellar Empire has been known to take drastic actions with expensive and crucial assets." Solae could remember how excited she had been when she was approved to use the PEA. At the time of Tan's assault, she was still doing what almost everyone considered 'grunt' work in translating correspondence and helping ensure that missives made it to the appropriate recipient. No one had truly anticipated how precious they would be the the looming coup.

"I do not understand," the Kalderi confessed, perplexed.

"Communication is vital, and a PEA is the only way for anyone to send messages from the Sector without using ships, which I am sure you can imagine take much longer. They chased us- or rather I should say they chased me- because if I was captured, they could prevent word from spreading of their treason," Solae elaborated patiently. The Syshin were all too aware of how crippling a broken line of communication could be. Their race had never advanced sufficiently with their technology to be able to correspond with communities on planets within the same sector, and with the empire being so guarded, they had never been able to rally in a meaningful way. Those oppressed on Zatis had no way of reaching out to those on New Concordia, which was one of the many reasons that Dasin and Yarue had joined the Bonaventure's crew- so they would have the means to find and speak with those they had lost.

After a short pause, Rene still engaged with the terminal at which he said, the aristocrat inquired gently, "Is it not that way with your people? You mentioned they are slow to act?"

Bel'sian made a gesture with her hands that the others in the room intuitively understood to be akin to shaking the heads for humans to indicate this was not the case. "The Kalderi have ways to communicate with each other quickly," she said, purposefully vague since she was uncertain how much could be safely divulged. "Decisions are not so swift. Everything we do is communal, but there may be disagreements on what is best for our community, and so it takes much time to reach resolution. There are times when we are split evenly between choices and we must study an issue at length before a consensus can be reached."

"It is a different kind of bureaucracy," Bouradine added with a shrug and sheepish smile. "You see a bit of it with the art," he pointed out, so as not to make it seem he had gleamed a secret flaw of the Kalderi from Bel'sian alone. "Art's beauty is subjective because not everyone has the same taste. A lady might prefer a painting in muted tones, a gentleman impressionist jewel tones, and another only collect sculptures. If you have a husband and wife come to the shop to pick a decoration for their home, they have a different perception of what is best for their communal dwelling, and it's hard for them to articulate. Nuances, shades of grey where the right and wrong is less clear, or there isn't a clear right or wrong, gets them just as tangled up as us, they just aren't as selfish as our nobles, no offense your grace."

"I agree with you," Solae smiled, this time more genuine. "I take no offense because I know I am unconventional at best. I was born a marquise, but I honestly had never held the ambition to ever set foot in the Capella courts. Hopefully, this new station will afford me an opportunity to help the Syshin free themselves from the shackles of injustice." Rene stood at that moment and walked over to them briskly, his face betraying that something was very wrong, though only his lover seemed to notice the subtle clues of his anxiety. As he referred to matters to be discussed, she sighed rather heavily.

"We will rest. Thank you, Duchess Falia," Bouradine said with an awkward bow of his head. Taking Bel'sian's arm, he exited the room, whispering in her ear, perhaps trying to shed some light on the social insinuation of such an interruption or reassuring her. After the long day they had, somehow she felt that the Kalderi was the more calm one in the relationship compared to her human paramour.

"Are you healed?" Yarue asked pointedly.

"I need more time, but I'll recover," Solae promised with a charming smile under which she hid her pain. Yarue was dissatisfied and stretched his mouth into something akin to a frown but thought better of arguing. Without another word he and Dasin exited, the latter of which cast a concerned glance before they departed.

Rene summarized for Solae what he had learned, since neither of them believed it wise for her to watch the recreation of the battle itself. Proud and dignified as she was, she was still weak and weary from her ordeals, and the trauma was so fresh that they could not jeopardize her mental health spiraling further if she bore witness to the destruction of three battle ships. By the end of his synopsis, her shoulders sagged in discouragement, and she couldn't hide the despair that was painted across her delicate features. Since they first started running from the former Duke Tan, she had pinned all her hopes on getting to a PEA so that she could call the empress and be saved. The small flicker in her chest was snuffed with cold, dark reality that there was no one else that would be coming, no reinforcements, no one capable of raining retribution on the depraved, power-hungry man that had murdered everyone she ever knew and loved.

"We should consider staying with the Kalderi if they will shelter us," she finally said. There was no interest in the empress's locked correspondence. Whatever was sealed inside did not appeal to her in the present. She was no general, there were no soldiers, they had only enough arms to defend themselves, and their ship wouldn't win in firefight with a small, two-man fighter, much less anything more grand. It was hard to see how any information or advice the empress could impart would be of benefit. She had been buried alive hours ago, not yet a full day had passed, and now she was grappling with a future that was wretchedly bleak. "They are the only place we could be safe," Solae added softly. If Capella was compromised, there wasn't a world on which she could be confident they wouldn't face co-conspirators of Tan's.