BlackRoseSiren
Echotech71
ampersand
Red Wizard
WhiteAngel25
amorphical
Play Misty
dragonpiece
Vampiretwilight
Ersa93
Event:Meet the Arslans | Location:Ersand'Enise
The weeks have been tense as Ayla has been frantically preparing. From questioning her friends, to trips out into the city upon Gina. It seems she is seeking something as she makes her way around the city. Her tension level appears to be even greater than the impending attack of the Royal Sand Wyrm.
In the morning, you are greeted with a knock on the door as a courtier brings a parchment to your attention.
The Manson de las Mil Ventanas, or commonly known as the Mansion of a Thousand Windows. This is a beautiful large property sheltered from the road, and known to be the residence of King Sancho of Torragon whilst he attends the Conclave of Thrones.
To be granted permission to enter as a guest would be viewed as an honour, especially for those on the other side of the alliance. As a guest, it is expected you will make a great effort in your appearance, adorning appropriate formal attire expected of one's station, with those below noble are expected to dress above their peers in order not to cause offence.
For those who accept the summons and present the letter, they will find their entrance into the grounds of the mansion. The area is filled with vibrant green, with flora transplanted from native Torragon and brought to root and carefully crafted. Green foliage adorning the tall white-washed walls as colourful flowers sprout from the buds. Tall Cork oak trees shade the mansion’s view from the road with a prominent purple Jacaranda tree in the centre of the courtyard. Smaller trees of almond, fig, and lemon laden with fruit give the impression of bountiful wealth. The outside of the building is surrounded by a well maintained pool, with archways to curtain-lined entrances for guests to use in hot weather to bathe. Columns rise up from the ground to the terracotta laden roof in Avincian classical style to denote learning and sophistication, with the round fort tower-like style of the halls as a subtle display of dominating power and strength. The key feature of what the Mansion is named after, the array of colourful stained glass windows, each depicting a picture of Tourrare history, from humble but strong steppe folk to the mighty empire they have founded today.
As the doors open to the entrance hall, the bright light of the sun shines through creating a rainbow effect which softens as the eyes adjust to the lighting inside. The biros will notice they are not the first to arrive, with staff already waiting upon other guests, and food travelling through to the main hall to ensure tables are laden with food, as the servants prepare a banquet. for those wishing to dine. Ayla is by the door, enthusiastically greeting her friends, and even guests they may have brought along with them. Beyond the initial greetings and settling down, there is a chime being rung against the glass.
A loud voice booms through the hall. “Presenting the host, Duquesa Azahara of House Arslan”.
Attention is focused on the one Ayla refers to as “Ma”, better known as Lady Azahara, mother of Ayla Arslan. Wearing a beautiful long gown of deep purple, the taller and older Arslan is adorned with jewellery and ornaments that overshadows the style typically worn by her daughter, as to give her a prominent regal appearance. If you were to compare the daughter and the mother, it would appear that Ayla is truly a ‘Mini-Me’.
Azahara greets the guests as they enter the room one by one, each guest has their name spoken aloud then formally greeted. Ayla takes a head-count of all those present. “Thank you for accepting my invitation, glad that so many of you were able to make it. When you go through, your name would be announced. Pay your respects to Ma, then walk in. They should be allowing you to dine shortly, free food, yay!”. She smiles widely, giggling, excited to be entering with some of the friends she has made during these weeks at the academy.
The loud voice booms. “Now presenting, Lady Ayla Arslan, and her guests, Biros from Academy of Thaumaturgy…”
“... Miss Ysilla Al-Nader…” @Pirouette
“... Miss Zarina Al-Nader…” @YummyYummy
“... Brother Yalen Castel…” @pantothenic
“... Lord Kaspar Elstrøm von Wentoft…” @Wolfieh
“... Lady Dorothea Hohnstein…” @jasbraq
“... Lady Jocasta Re…” @Force and Fury
“... Lady Ingrid Penderson…” @dragonpiece
"... Lord Manfred Hohenfelter..." @Force and Fury
As Ayla steps through, she is quietly exchanging a few words with her mother. A look of concern appears on Ayla’s face, as only the words which may be overheard: “... not the only one who is disappointed. Now make yourself presentable and settle your friends into their places.”
As each of the biros come forward to greet the host, they are each met in a pleasant and polite manner. “Thank you for being able to attend our banquet this evening”, the pleasant mask hides her true expression, and those who think they may perceive beyond it may be confused by the idea that it may be hiding a smile.
The guests continue to come through, various nobility and prominent figures in the area are announced and enter through the doors, a few of the names may be recognised and expected to attend such an gathering. Ayla supports the hostess, trying to settle her friends at a suitable table. “There are a few contacts around the room and opportunities, and there is fine food being served. Help yourselves to opportunities, though try not to do anything that may reflect badly upon myself.”
As the welcome starts to draw to the close, there is one last name being announced. The voice boomed, “Presenting Maura Mercador of Varrahasta”.
At the doorway is an auburn long-haired girl in a rollerchair, adorned in jewellery in the style of Ayla’s own, features enhanced with make-up, and wearing a beautiful gown dress which appeared perfectly groomed as if attended to like a doll.
The girl smiles as she makes her way towards the table the biros are at, the wheels moving akin to Jocasta’s own through the use of kinetic magic. There is an appearance of an eerie silence, akin to a calm before a storm, as she approaches the table, the spell broken as she speaks in a soft, sweet, sing-song manner. “Is there room for one more at this table?”
This was the moment the storm erupted, as Ayla cast herself towards Maura, almost diving upon the poor girl to give her best friend the biggest hug that could have been mustered in that moment. Even Maura looked shocked as she freezes for a moment, giving a moment to start curling her arms around the lion cub, holding her tightly in return as she strokes her arms upon her back. Ayla was sobbing hard as tears rolled down her cheeks as she was being comforted, gently being hushed and comforted by Maura. “... what kind of greeting is this, what has got you upset little cub. Are these friends of yours bullying you?” She gives a playful look at those gathered, her eyes focusing upon one of the group for a moment, whispering a tease into Ayla’s ear, “Need me to beat up the one with the dark hair for you? She wouldn’t stand a chance, this chair wouldn’t stop me.” Ayla couldn’t help but to offer a soft laugh at the idea of Maura even harming a fly, nevermind finding herself in a sparring match against Zarina. She uses the opportunity to gather her thoughts and emotions together after her embarrassing display. Maura whispers towards her as Ayla smoothes out the crumpled dress, turning around for introductions. “This is my best friend since childhood, Maura. Her family are merchants who operate from Varrahasta bringing in the northern ReTan trade from Virang and Malabash, then bringing it across the Ensolin sea to Revidia and Ersand'Enise.”
The Letter
Yalen
That morning Yalen had done something quite out of the ordinary for him: He took off his holy vestments. Carrying out the daily training prescribed to him by his sister was a burdensome task, and the heavy robes of the monastic order were beginning to get in the way. Dressed in only a linen shirt and a pair of drawstring pants, the young monk looked more like the son of a man-at-arms than a Brother of Sunset.
Colette had been called away to deal with an arrest warrant and wasn't able to accompany him today, so he was currently practising sword swings in front of his room. He had no intention of mastering the blade, but according to his sister it was an excellent upper body workout, so it became a kind of homework for him to do when she wasn't around. For a born and raised fighting man who handled such weapons since childhood, the 5 pound longsword may have felt like a natural extension of their body. For the sheltered boy known as Yalen Castel, it was anything but. After cutting the air repetitively for a good thirty minutes his shoulders were starting to ache, and the skin of his uncalloused hands was reddened and sore.
When he was finally too tired to raise the sword over his head, Yalen dumped the blunt practice weapon on the ground unceremoniously. It was time for a break. He picked up a bucket of water and thoroughly chilled it with arcane magic before dumping it over his head. His body had grown hot from exertion, so the warm outdoor breeze felt like ice when it touched his wet skin.
The sound of approaching footsteps caused Yalen's head to turn. A well dressed gentleman was on a direct approach with a sealed roll of parchment in hand.
"Hail fellow, well met! I apologise for interrupting your training, but might you be Brother Castel?" The courtier greeted him. Yalen swept his bangs away and wiped the water out of his eyes.
"I am. Is there something you need sir?"
The man held out the roll of paper, which the teen accepted after wiping his hand dry on his pants. "The honourable Duque Arslan invites Yalen Castel to the Manson de las Mil Ventanas for an audience."
Yalen's face twisted in confusion. Arslan...? It took a few seconds for him to suddenly perk up. Oh! That's Ayla's family.
"Thank you for delivering this message to me. If I may ask, where is this... manson?" The Miattan native questioned, unfamiliar with the words used by the courtier. The man gave a shallow bow.
"Pardon my hastiness Brother. Allow me to clarify. The young Lady has gained you entrance to the Mansion of a Thousand Windows. It is the residence owned by King Sancho of Torragon. You may have passed it several times while walking around the city - It's hard to miss all the stained glass."
Yalen crossed his arms and nodded. He did in fact know where the mansion was. He also knew that the property was heavily quarantined and surrounded by guards. Often he was too busy speed walking past the security to get a good look at the place.
"If I have been invited to such a prestigious gathering, then it would be above my station to refuse. Please let Lady Ayla know that I will be there."
Dory
The morning was rather ordinary for the young Feskan, taking some of her baked treats as her breakfast. Seeing her smile again was a sign or relief to everyone around her. Worsened as she found a letter among the mail she had received.
‘Dear Dorothea,
Your père and I have received your letters. I am writing this letter back as I am visiting Ersand’Enise soon. I must say that your choice in suitors is rather poor. To think ma fille would choose to be with someone of such low standing. I shall not accept such a thing!
Luckily for you, I was caring enough to find someone more suitable for you. I think you would be quite fond of him too. His name is Maurice de Arroux, heir to the duchy of Arroux. The Arroux have always been somewhat a thorn into the backs of the Herbeumont and with this we could make the family subservient towards ours.
And aside from that, I will bring Karl with me too to keep a better eye on you. I can’t have you cancel this important meeting after all. She will also be attending the school from now on.
All my care,
Marie de Herbeumont’
“Verdammt Mutti, can’t you at least let me choose my own suitor?” The Feskan was practically shaking from the news, to think she’d dare to ruin her school life this far from home. “Filthy puta-Agh!... Hure! I will have a word with her on how she should address Manfred.”
A soft knock could be heard as an apologetic voice came from the other side. “Bad time?”
Hearing an unfamiliar voice at the door snapped the Feskan back to reality. “No, not at all, I’ll be there in a moment.” walking towards the door and opening it to see what news would be awaiting her. In the opening would stand a well dressed fellow. “Good day to you, miss. I hope I was not interrupting something important.” The man bowed courteously
Dory let out a rather annoyed sigh. “No need to be so formal, I am barely a noble to begin with.” The girl could not handle the formal behaviour, although this might mostly be due to a small hangover from last night.
The courtier looked rather shocked. “No miss, I insist! It is proper etiquette to be formal.” The man quickly remembered why he was at the door to begin with and composed himself once more. “Ahem… Miss Hohnstein, the virtuous Duque Arslan has invited you for an audience at the Manson de las Mil Ventanas”
“Manson de le Mille Venta?” Dory could not help but chuckle upon hearing it. “It must be quite draughty then, at least if it truly has a thousand winds going through it.”
The courtier could not truly see the fun in it as he let out an unamused cough. “It is the residence of the great King Sancho of Torragon whenever he’s in the area.”
The word king rang a bell inside Dory’s mind; her eyes practically showed her intent. “Does that mean a lot of influential people will be attending too?”
The courtier, showing the parchment to her before answering. “There will be, however, the Arslan family will be the main focus, of course.” Giving the Feskan the Parchment. “Please be sure to wear your finest silk.” The courtier noted before bowing and leaving.
After closing the door, Dory quickly went towards her globe and looked for Torragon. “All the way over there?... What use will they serve me and my people? I guess having a friend in Duque Arslan might not be the worst thing…. Arslan?... Arslan…” After some thinking she finally realised. “Is this Ayla’s family?... Perhaps it might be best to go for her than for my own ends.”
Remembering all the things Ayla said during the sleepover made her selfish thoughts fade from her mind. “Bah! Guess I’ll have to pull out this stupid dress maman gave me..”
Manfred
Manfred rolled over in bed. The hours of Shune were at an end and those of Oraff beginning. Such had been his routine for the past week. It was all so empty, so pointless. How evil his parents truly were, how preoccupied with her own problems Dory was, and how useless he'd been as one who was supposed to protect her. She'd nearly died at the hands to that Eskandish beast. Eun-ji was gone too: called back to distant Tan Keoul on urgent business, and he could not help but feel so much had been lost along with her. Worst of all, though, was that ghastly little thing called 'Marceline' that had overwritten his dear Nina.
He reached for the stein of warm beer by his bedside and emptied it into his mouth, only a bit trickling down the stubble of his chin. He'd received a fancy invitation from Dory as her plus-one and it was still among the clutter on his nightstand. Manfred shook his head. Have some damned pride. Pull yourself together, you fool!
He stumbled over to his wash basin and splashed some cool water on his face, blinking a couple of times. There was a scratching at his door and Manfred padded over to open it. "Kurbis," he purred, and so did his cat. "Who's a big sucky pumpkin?" The large orange ragamuffin rubbed up against his leg, enjoying some scritches, before flopping onto his side and letting out a soft, "mrrrt." Manfred knelt and simply petted his cat for a little while, letting the time pass, just making some other living thing happy. I'm sorry your master is such a loser, little one, he thought. He could feel the ghost of some energy, some determination, trickle into your veins. I will try harder, he attempted to convince himself. I will do better.
So Manfred Hohenfelter von Meckelin-Thandau picked himself up off of the ground, cleaned himself up, and dressed in his very finest clothes. He'd been born the second son of a Markgraf, after all. He could be that for a few hours, for Dory, for her friend Ayla and, maybe, truly for himself.
Jocasta
It hadn't bothered Jocasta in the past. So many times, she'd worn a mask, literal or figurative. She'd always been what she'd needed to be... for others, and perhaps that was the problem. It had never been for herself, not until a few weeks ago, when she had returned to the Refuge. There, she could live for herself and not have a growing list of obligations. She cared for people, not for the responsibilities that they brought.
Sitting up in bed, she yawned and stretched, rolling her neck a couple of times. The morning warmth of Inner Torragon leeched in through the stone and the windows of San Agustin de las Arenas. There were some days when she stayed, but she didn't for most. It had also been a solid week since she had taken in some of a white aberration and, once again found herself greeted by the blessed lack of pins and needles at her sensation line. "Oh, blessed day," she breathed, calling upon the Gift to bypass most of the drudgery of waking, dressing, and general movement. Within five minutes, she was outside, on the terrace, letting the desert sun warm her and enjoying a cup of fresh-squeezed orange juice from Gran Naranja. Five more, and she was back in her room in Ersand'Enise.
Somebody was knocking. No sooner has Jocasta's wheels settled upon the floor, then there came a second knock, or perhaps it was well into the sequence. She raced to the door, taking the briefest of moments to collect herself before opening it. She looked out upon an empty hallway, but a twist of her head revealed a messenger, striding away from her room. "Sir!" she called out, "Sir, I'm here. Sorry for my tardiness. I was still dressing."
He twisted and, upon seeing her, hurried at back as quickly as decorum would allow. "My apologies, milady. Had I known of your... condition, I -"
She held up her hand. "No need, for you did not, and it is no excuse. I should have at least called out. I accept them anyhow, in the spirit they were intended." The letter bore the seal of Arslan.
Ingrid
Ingrid had been in her dorm running experiments on a wide variety of ores, minerals, ingots, stones, and all manner of things. She was carefully collecting data on things along the lines on density, heating, and cooling capabilities. And how they differ from other ores or refined metals from many different places. When suddenly there was a knock at her door. Eirik answered as Ingrid has been growing increasingly stressed and would rather her guard deal with people.
Eirik entered the room in the usual professional manner. He held a scroll to his side and opened it to read aloud to Ingrid. He rolled up the scroll and handed it to Ingrid
Ingrid grabbed it with some haste out of his hand, almost believing this to be a joke. A face of surprise and worry came over her face, "I really am being invited to the Mansion of a Thousand Windows…" her voice trailing off, seemingly already calculating the risks of going
Eirik disrupted Ingrid's thoughts by plainly stating, "Seems like your friend wants you to come to a party her family is hosting."
Ingrid shrugged like she was still indecisive, "But what would other Eskandish people say if I went to that party, and I made a muck of it then it would hurt Ayla's standing. And-"
Eirik raised his voice to overtake the conversation, "I'm sure she is well aware of the potential risks of inviting you. But she did. So go. Do not disappoint the little friends you have."
Eirik had taken advantage that Ingrid values his opinions and it worked to get Ingrid to agree to it. "Fine, I'll go for Ayla."
With that, the preparations for the event were underway. Ingrid practised a few things she believed could happen during the event. Practising her verbal sparring with the ever-sharp tongue of Ragnhild who knew way too much about Ingrid. Those spars with her almost left Ingrid in tears a few times. The dress she wore was a repurposed one that she would wear on a date but had been put in the closet since then. Ingrid kept it light on jewellery to not gather too much attention, her dress and other adornments should keep it enough. No glasses either as they usually detract from her when she is all dressed up as her mother said. And she wore some small hells only because as Ragnhild and Åsa put it, your backside fills out a good bit more. Luckily Ingrid had been training for the better part of a few months so she has a light toning to her but not nearly as shredded as she needed to be for her Fingersteepler's costume. Lastly came makeup and that needed to be prepared in advance because although Ingrid was talented in touch ups, she was nowhere near the mastery of her maid.
Ingrid chose not to give a gift to the hostess for many reasons but the biggest was to hopefully show she was only there as of a friend's request. She didn't want to gather any unwanted attention to herself nor did she want to stand out as it wasn't even 2 weeks ago from when she went crazy and made quite a scene. Ingrid still worried that her presence would lower Ayla's and her other guests standing. She can already imagine the partygoers talking behind her back to make themselves seem better the way they had done in Eskand. Sadly, the difference was Ingrid still felt brittle and not as capable of shrugging off their words. She didn't wish to bring anyone either for the same concern. "Everything will be okay as long as you keep to yourself," Ingrid repeated to herself in private a few times while preparing
Now for Ayla it was a different story for gifts. She had invited Ingrid although she had that big incident. Ingrid wanted to get her something reminiscent of when they first met. "I believed she played the flute so maybe a panpipe?" Ingrid said thinking out loud. She purchased a high-quality panpipe and prepared it to be Ayla's gift.
Trypano
She read over the letter that had arrived. An invitation to a party hosted by Ayla's family. It struck her as strange at first but she did overhear Jocasta mention a party she was recommended to attend. Could this be it?
With a deep sigh she set down the letter and turned to her armoire, opening it and checking through to find a dress suitably fancy enough for the occasion. She was rarely invited out, even less frequently to noble dinner parties. One of the main benefits of never making friends was that she had much more free time to dedicate to her studies and research. As a result however she was quite unprepared for such an outing. Not financially mind you, she had dresses that were more than expensive enough to blend in at a party with the nobility. She was neither mentally nor emotionally prepared however. It was strange territory for her, stepping out of her bounds like so.
She dwelled over her uncertainty whilst she dressed for the occasion, cladding herself in a red dress which flared out at the hip, coming down in a rippling pattern reminiscent to the head of a rose. It held a modestly deep plunging neckline, something that was coming into fashion, as well as loose red sleeves with jewel-embroidered red trim and an accompanying ruby necklace for good measure. With that and only a tiny amount of makeup given how pale her complexion already was she looked back in the mirror, neither impressed nor underwhelmed with what she saw. It had always felt unnatural to her, the feel of fabric on her skin. Clothing's texture had always provoked a well disguised disgust in her, even though if she had her way she wouldn't need skin either for it too clung to her most uncomfortably.
Zarina
~“Dreaming on the stars on high~”
Zarina sang in her quarters with her voice barely echoing out of the entrance door she kept locked shut. A banquet was to be held by those of higher stature and proper preparations were in order and opportunities were to be seized. As of yet, she was barely presentable with a mere nightgown and nothing below. No, dress-up was for last. Right now, it was time to prepare her tribute. On the large centre table of her abode was a box she was specifically crafting for the occasion. A third of a metre in height and two thirds in width, the main focus was not the box itself but rather making it presentable.
“~That speak to me in secret sighs~”
She continued to hum the tune rather than singing as she focused on the paintjob she was giving it. Green and white with a particularly well-drawn variation of the Zeno Bucks on the left side of the lid. On the right was a colour scheme that differed strongly from it: Red and gold with a flower-like pattern that held far more details than the business logo. The symbol of the Fire Lily - The Symbol of Al-Nader. The whole box was coated with two layers of white to be sure there were no obvious imperfections, and then was made to dry with the aid of a little magic.
“~Could it be the sacred wind~”
The offering was complete, next came the issue of dressing up. If she was invited, so was Ysilla, most likely, making dark clothes a no-go. White and gold, a marriage between Zeno Bucks and her Family’s colours while very much pulling a sneaky on her sister. The golden, embroidered patterns on her white dress contrasted with her not-so-pale skin and dark hair she brushed, straightened and tied. Her attire was overall far less layered than some other noble styles, even those in Virang, but they kept the flowiness that came with the size of these lavish getups. Not forgetting jewellery that rivalled her sister’s with a platinum Hexaic star hanging from her neck.
“~That’s calling me to now begin~”
That morning Yalen had done something quite out of the ordinary for him: He took off his holy vestments. Carrying out the daily training prescribed to him by his sister was a burdensome task, and the heavy robes of the monastic order were beginning to get in the way. Dressed in only a linen shirt and a pair of drawstring pants, the young monk looked more like the son of a man-at-arms than a Brother of Sunset.
Colette had been called away to deal with an arrest warrant and wasn't able to accompany him today, so he was currently practising sword swings in front of his room. He had no intention of mastering the blade, but according to his sister it was an excellent upper body workout, so it became a kind of homework for him to do when she wasn't around. For a born and raised fighting man who handled such weapons since childhood, the 5 pound longsword may have felt like a natural extension of their body. For the sheltered boy known as Yalen Castel, it was anything but. After cutting the air repetitively for a good thirty minutes his shoulders were starting to ache, and the skin of his uncalloused hands was reddened and sore.
When he was finally too tired to raise the sword over his head, Yalen dumped the blunt practice weapon on the ground unceremoniously. It was time for a break. He picked up a bucket of water and thoroughly chilled it with arcane magic before dumping it over his head. His body had grown hot from exertion, so the warm outdoor breeze felt like ice when it touched his wet skin.
The sound of approaching footsteps caused Yalen's head to turn. A well dressed gentleman was on a direct approach with a sealed roll of parchment in hand.
"Hail fellow, well met! I apologise for interrupting your training, but might you be Brother Castel?" The courtier greeted him. Yalen swept his bangs away and wiped the water out of his eyes.
"I am. Is there something you need sir?"
The man held out the roll of paper, which the teen accepted after wiping his hand dry on his pants. "The honourable Duque Arslan invites Yalen Castel to the Manson de las Mil Ventanas for an audience."
Yalen's face twisted in confusion. Arslan...? It took a few seconds for him to suddenly perk up. Oh! That's Ayla's family.
"Thank you for delivering this message to me. If I may ask, where is this... manson?" The Miattan native questioned, unfamiliar with the words used by the courtier. The man gave a shallow bow.
"Pardon my hastiness Brother. Allow me to clarify. The young Lady has gained you entrance to the Mansion of a Thousand Windows. It is the residence owned by King Sancho of Torragon. You may have passed it several times while walking around the city - It's hard to miss all the stained glass."
Yalen crossed his arms and nodded. He did in fact know where the mansion was. He also knew that the property was heavily quarantined and surrounded by guards. Often he was too busy speed walking past the security to get a good look at the place.
"If I have been invited to such a prestigious gathering, then it would be above my station to refuse. Please let Lady Ayla know that I will be there."
Dory
The morning was rather ordinary for the young Feskan, taking some of her baked treats as her breakfast. Seeing her smile again was a sign or relief to everyone around her. Worsened as she found a letter among the mail she had received.
‘Dear Dorothea,
Your père and I have received your letters. I am writing this letter back as I am visiting Ersand’Enise soon. I must say that your choice in suitors is rather poor. To think ma fille would choose to be with someone of such low standing. I shall not accept such a thing!
Luckily for you, I was caring enough to find someone more suitable for you. I think you would be quite fond of him too. His name is Maurice de Arroux, heir to the duchy of Arroux. The Arroux have always been somewhat a thorn into the backs of the Herbeumont and with this we could make the family subservient towards ours.
And aside from that, I will bring Karl with me too to keep a better eye on you. I can’t have you cancel this important meeting after all. She will also be attending the school from now on.
All my care,
Marie de Herbeumont’
“Verdammt Mutti, can’t you at least let me choose my own suitor?” The Feskan was practically shaking from the news, to think she’d dare to ruin her school life this far from home. “Filthy puta-Agh!... Hure! I will have a word with her on how she should address Manfred.”
A soft knock could be heard as an apologetic voice came from the other side. “Bad time?”
Hearing an unfamiliar voice at the door snapped the Feskan back to reality. “No, not at all, I’ll be there in a moment.” walking towards the door and opening it to see what news would be awaiting her. In the opening would stand a well dressed fellow. “Good day to you, miss. I hope I was not interrupting something important.” The man bowed courteously
Dory let out a rather annoyed sigh. “No need to be so formal, I am barely a noble to begin with.” The girl could not handle the formal behaviour, although this might mostly be due to a small hangover from last night.
The courtier looked rather shocked. “No miss, I insist! It is proper etiquette to be formal.” The man quickly remembered why he was at the door to begin with and composed himself once more. “Ahem… Miss Hohnstein, the virtuous Duque Arslan has invited you for an audience at the Manson de las Mil Ventanas”
“Manson de le Mille Venta?” Dory could not help but chuckle upon hearing it. “It must be quite draughty then, at least if it truly has a thousand winds going through it.”
The courtier could not truly see the fun in it as he let out an unamused cough. “It is the residence of the great King Sancho of Torragon whenever he’s in the area.”
The word king rang a bell inside Dory’s mind; her eyes practically showed her intent. “Does that mean a lot of influential people will be attending too?”
The courtier, showing the parchment to her before answering. “There will be, however, the Arslan family will be the main focus, of course.” Giving the Feskan the Parchment. “Please be sure to wear your finest silk.” The courtier noted before bowing and leaving.
After closing the door, Dory quickly went towards her globe and looked for Torragon. “All the way over there?... What use will they serve me and my people? I guess having a friend in Duque Arslan might not be the worst thing…. Arslan?... Arslan…” After some thinking she finally realised. “Is this Ayla’s family?... Perhaps it might be best to go for her than for my own ends.”
Remembering all the things Ayla said during the sleepover made her selfish thoughts fade from her mind. “Bah! Guess I’ll have to pull out this stupid dress maman gave me..”
Manfred
Manfred rolled over in bed. The hours of Shune were at an end and those of Oraff beginning. Such had been his routine for the past week. It was all so empty, so pointless. How evil his parents truly were, how preoccupied with her own problems Dory was, and how useless he'd been as one who was supposed to protect her. She'd nearly died at the hands to that Eskandish beast. Eun-ji was gone too: called back to distant Tan Keoul on urgent business, and he could not help but feel so much had been lost along with her. Worst of all, though, was that ghastly little thing called 'Marceline' that had overwritten his dear Nina.
He reached for the stein of warm beer by his bedside and emptied it into his mouth, only a bit trickling down the stubble of his chin. He'd received a fancy invitation from Dory as her plus-one and it was still among the clutter on his nightstand. Manfred shook his head. Have some damned pride. Pull yourself together, you fool!
He stumbled over to his wash basin and splashed some cool water on his face, blinking a couple of times. There was a scratching at his door and Manfred padded over to open it. "Kurbis," he purred, and so did his cat. "Who's a big sucky pumpkin?" The large orange ragamuffin rubbed up against his leg, enjoying some scritches, before flopping onto his side and letting out a soft, "mrrrt." Manfred knelt and simply petted his cat for a little while, letting the time pass, just making some other living thing happy. I'm sorry your master is such a loser, little one, he thought. He could feel the ghost of some energy, some determination, trickle into your veins. I will try harder, he attempted to convince himself. I will do better.
So Manfred Hohenfelter von Meckelin-Thandau picked himself up off of the ground, cleaned himself up, and dressed in his very finest clothes. He'd been born the second son of a Markgraf, after all. He could be that for a few hours, for Dory, for her friend Ayla and, maybe, truly for himself.
Jocasta
It hadn't bothered Jocasta in the past. So many times, she'd worn a mask, literal or figurative. She'd always been what she'd needed to be... for others, and perhaps that was the problem. It had never been for herself, not until a few weeks ago, when she had returned to the Refuge. There, she could live for herself and not have a growing list of obligations. She cared for people, not for the responsibilities that they brought.
Sitting up in bed, she yawned and stretched, rolling her neck a couple of times. The morning warmth of Inner Torragon leeched in through the stone and the windows of San Agustin de las Arenas. There were some days when she stayed, but she didn't for most. It had also been a solid week since she had taken in some of a white aberration and, once again found herself greeted by the blessed lack of pins and needles at her sensation line. "Oh, blessed day," she breathed, calling upon the Gift to bypass most of the drudgery of waking, dressing, and general movement. Within five minutes, she was outside, on the terrace, letting the desert sun warm her and enjoying a cup of fresh-squeezed orange juice from Gran Naranja. Five more, and she was back in her room in Ersand'Enise.
Somebody was knocking. No sooner has Jocasta's wheels settled upon the floor, then there came a second knock, or perhaps it was well into the sequence. She raced to the door, taking the briefest of moments to collect herself before opening it. She looked out upon an empty hallway, but a twist of her head revealed a messenger, striding away from her room. "Sir!" she called out, "Sir, I'm here. Sorry for my tardiness. I was still dressing."
He twisted and, upon seeing her, hurried at back as quickly as decorum would allow. "My apologies, milady. Had I known of your... condition, I -"
She held up her hand. "No need, for you did not, and it is no excuse. I should have at least called out. I accept them anyhow, in the spirit they were intended." The letter bore the seal of Arslan.
Ingrid
Ingrid had been in her dorm running experiments on a wide variety of ores, minerals, ingots, stones, and all manner of things. She was carefully collecting data on things along the lines on density, heating, and cooling capabilities. And how they differ from other ores or refined metals from many different places. When suddenly there was a knock at her door. Eirik answered as Ingrid has been growing increasingly stressed and would rather her guard deal with people.
Eirik entered the room in the usual professional manner. He held a scroll to his side and opened it to read aloud to Ingrid. He rolled up the scroll and handed it to Ingrid
Ingrid grabbed it with some haste out of his hand, almost believing this to be a joke. A face of surprise and worry came over her face, "I really am being invited to the Mansion of a Thousand Windows…" her voice trailing off, seemingly already calculating the risks of going
Eirik disrupted Ingrid's thoughts by plainly stating, "Seems like your friend wants you to come to a party her family is hosting."
Ingrid shrugged like she was still indecisive, "But what would other Eskandish people say if I went to that party, and I made a muck of it then it would hurt Ayla's standing. And-"
Eirik raised his voice to overtake the conversation, "I'm sure she is well aware of the potential risks of inviting you. But she did. So go. Do not disappoint the little friends you have."
Eirik had taken advantage that Ingrid values his opinions and it worked to get Ingrid to agree to it. "Fine, I'll go for Ayla."
With that, the preparations for the event were underway. Ingrid practised a few things she believed could happen during the event. Practising her verbal sparring with the ever-sharp tongue of Ragnhild who knew way too much about Ingrid. Those spars with her almost left Ingrid in tears a few times. The dress she wore was a repurposed one that she would wear on a date but had been put in the closet since then. Ingrid kept it light on jewellery to not gather too much attention, her dress and other adornments should keep it enough. No glasses either as they usually detract from her when she is all dressed up as her mother said. And she wore some small hells only because as Ragnhild and Åsa put it, your backside fills out a good bit more. Luckily Ingrid had been training for the better part of a few months so she has a light toning to her but not nearly as shredded as she needed to be for her Fingersteepler's costume. Lastly came makeup and that needed to be prepared in advance because although Ingrid was talented in touch ups, she was nowhere near the mastery of her maid.
Ingrid chose not to give a gift to the hostess for many reasons but the biggest was to hopefully show she was only there as of a friend's request. She didn't want to gather any unwanted attention to herself nor did she want to stand out as it wasn't even 2 weeks ago from when she went crazy and made quite a scene. Ingrid still worried that her presence would lower Ayla's and her other guests standing. She can already imagine the partygoers talking behind her back to make themselves seem better the way they had done in Eskand. Sadly, the difference was Ingrid still felt brittle and not as capable of shrugging off their words. She didn't wish to bring anyone either for the same concern. "Everything will be okay as long as you keep to yourself," Ingrid repeated to herself in private a few times while preparing
Now for Ayla it was a different story for gifts. She had invited Ingrid although she had that big incident. Ingrid wanted to get her something reminiscent of when they first met. "I believed she played the flute so maybe a panpipe?" Ingrid said thinking out loud. She purchased a high-quality panpipe and prepared it to be Ayla's gift.
Trypano
She read over the letter that had arrived. An invitation to a party hosted by Ayla's family. It struck her as strange at first but she did overhear Jocasta mention a party she was recommended to attend. Could this be it?
With a deep sigh she set down the letter and turned to her armoire, opening it and checking through to find a dress suitably fancy enough for the occasion. She was rarely invited out, even less frequently to noble dinner parties. One of the main benefits of never making friends was that she had much more free time to dedicate to her studies and research. As a result however she was quite unprepared for such an outing. Not financially mind you, she had dresses that were more than expensive enough to blend in at a party with the nobility. She was neither mentally nor emotionally prepared however. It was strange territory for her, stepping out of her bounds like so.
She dwelled over her uncertainty whilst she dressed for the occasion, cladding herself in a red dress which flared out at the hip, coming down in a rippling pattern reminiscent to the head of a rose. It held a modestly deep plunging neckline, something that was coming into fashion, as well as loose red sleeves with jewel-embroidered red trim and an accompanying ruby necklace for good measure. With that and only a tiny amount of makeup given how pale her complexion already was she looked back in the mirror, neither impressed nor underwhelmed with what she saw. It had always felt unnatural to her, the feel of fabric on her skin. Clothing's texture had always provoked a well disguised disgust in her, even though if she had her way she wouldn't need skin either for it too clung to her most uncomfortably.
Zarina
~“Dreaming on the stars on high~”
Zarina sang in her quarters with her voice barely echoing out of the entrance door she kept locked shut. A banquet was to be held by those of higher stature and proper preparations were in order and opportunities were to be seized. As of yet, she was barely presentable with a mere nightgown and nothing below. No, dress-up was for last. Right now, it was time to prepare her tribute. On the large centre table of her abode was a box she was specifically crafting for the occasion. A third of a metre in height and two thirds in width, the main focus was not the box itself but rather making it presentable.
“~That speak to me in secret sighs~”
She continued to hum the tune rather than singing as she focused on the paintjob she was giving it. Green and white with a particularly well-drawn variation of the Zeno Bucks on the left side of the lid. On the right was a colour scheme that differed strongly from it: Red and gold with a flower-like pattern that held far more details than the business logo. The symbol of the Fire Lily - The Symbol of Al-Nader. The whole box was coated with two layers of white to be sure there were no obvious imperfections, and then was made to dry with the aid of a little magic.
“~Could it be the sacred wind~”
The offering was complete, next came the issue of dressing up. If she was invited, so was Ysilla, most likely, making dark clothes a no-go. White and gold, a marriage between Zeno Bucks and her Family’s colours while very much pulling a sneaky on her sister. The golden, embroidered patterns on her white dress contrasted with her not-so-pale skin and dark hair she brushed, straightened and tied. Her attire was overall far less layered than some other noble styles, even those in Virang, but they kept the flowiness that came with the size of these lavish getups. Not forgetting jewellery that rivalled her sister’s with a platinum Hexaic star hanging from her neck.
“~That’s calling me to now begin~”
The Arrival
Yalen
Yalen's rented carriage dropped him off a short walk away from the outer gate. While the idea of walking a great distance no longer bothered him, he did not want to disrespect his friend by arriving late. After paying the driver his fee, the priest in training disembarked and smoothed the wrinkles out of his clothes. He was once again dressed in the ornate robes of the Dordian order, and while that alone might have sufficed for his status as a clergyman Yalen chose to add a little extra this for this event. Tucked under his collar was a silk stole, the long blue cloth decorated with ornamental gold trim and measuring seven feet long from end to end. Accompanying this piece was a maniple of similar appearance, which was wrapped around his left arm. Technically he was supposed to save this for when he completed his training, but he wanted to make a good impression for Ayla's sake.
One of the guards met Yalen halfway as he approached the gate of entry. The man bade him to halt with an armoured hand. "You stand before the residence of the King of Torragon. If you have no business here then please turn back sir. Otherwise, I shall now receive your invitation." The biro showed the guard the document from Duque Arslan. The soldier scrutinised the wax seal of the Arslan family rather closely, but he let Yalen pass without further harassment.
Dory
Dory’s carriage wasn’t all too noble-like as she truly did not wish to stand out too much. The one thing that did stand out was the small crate of something that looked like berries in it carried along. The Feskan came out of the carriage with finesse that was unlike her. The girl wore a purple dyed dress with patterns of obvious Perrench influence sewed into it. The jewellery however was a different story, being of Feskan origin. Family heirlooms worn by the women of the Hohnstein house for generations. Her hair was no longer the somewhat messy curls but had been styled just for this occasion.
Dory clicked her tongue as the guard stopped her after showing the invitation. “Miss, what is inside this box?” “Only the finest Spratz for the highest of occasions!” Dory proclaimed proudly. The guard after looking somewhat conflicted let Dorothea through with her box.
Zarina
Box ready, dress ready, horse primed: She was ready to go. Zaz would probably be the only one to travel without a carriage and opted to ride her trusted Riesco. Eager as ever to sniff out some treats, the young horse nearly stained the teen’s dress before it even had a chance to be shown off. With a gentle pat of his snout and a pacifying carrot, the Carmague Stallion was ready, and she trotted away. Unsurprisingly, she would arrive first due to the lack of extra preparation that came with a carriage. The whole way, she hummed.
“Miss Zarina Al-Nader …”
Gee, not lady-like enough for you?
Yalen's rented carriage dropped him off a short walk away from the outer gate. While the idea of walking a great distance no longer bothered him, he did not want to disrespect his friend by arriving late. After paying the driver his fee, the priest in training disembarked and smoothed the wrinkles out of his clothes. He was once again dressed in the ornate robes of the Dordian order, and while that alone might have sufficed for his status as a clergyman Yalen chose to add a little extra this for this event. Tucked under his collar was a silk stole, the long blue cloth decorated with ornamental gold trim and measuring seven feet long from end to end. Accompanying this piece was a maniple of similar appearance, which was wrapped around his left arm. Technically he was supposed to save this for when he completed his training, but he wanted to make a good impression for Ayla's sake.
One of the guards met Yalen halfway as he approached the gate of entry. The man bade him to halt with an armoured hand. "You stand before the residence of the King of Torragon. If you have no business here then please turn back sir. Otherwise, I shall now receive your invitation." The biro showed the guard the document from Duque Arslan. The soldier scrutinised the wax seal of the Arslan family rather closely, but he let Yalen pass without further harassment.
Dory
Dory’s carriage wasn’t all too noble-like as she truly did not wish to stand out too much. The one thing that did stand out was the small crate of something that looked like berries in it carried along. The Feskan came out of the carriage with finesse that was unlike her. The girl wore a purple dyed dress with patterns of obvious Perrench influence sewed into it. The jewellery however was a different story, being of Feskan origin. Family heirlooms worn by the women of the Hohnstein house for generations. Her hair was no longer the somewhat messy curls but had been styled just for this occasion.
Dory clicked her tongue as the guard stopped her after showing the invitation. “Miss, what is inside this box?” “Only the finest Spratz for the highest of occasions!” Dory proclaimed proudly. The guard after looking somewhat conflicted let Dorothea through with her box.
Zarina
Box ready, dress ready, horse primed: She was ready to go. Zaz would probably be the only one to travel without a carriage and opted to ride her trusted Riesco. Eager as ever to sniff out some treats, the young horse nearly stained the teen’s dress before it even had a chance to be shown off. With a gentle pat of his snout and a pacifying carrot, the Carmague Stallion was ready, and she trotted away. Unsurprisingly, she would arrive first due to the lack of extra preparation that came with a carriage. The whole way, she hummed.
“Miss Zarina Al-Nader …”
Gee, not lady-like enough for you?
The Welcome
Zarina
Riesco was trusted to one of the servants - And by trusted she meant giving a dirty look to the lad, making it clear any screw up could be dangerous. Azahara, the matriarch of the Arslans, greeted the guests. Zarina, poised for a proper greeting, raised the gift box as a humble offering to the Duquesa.
“Duquesa, es mi honor. Soy Zarina de la casa Al-Nader. Le pido que acepte este obsequio como una muestra de aprecio por usted excelencia. ” she kept her head down until the gift was accepted. Inside was a finely crafted Zeno Bucks marked ceramic pot, four large Zeno Bucks cups crafted at a higher quality than those commercialised, half a pound of top level Palapar coffee within a tightly closed leather bag, and a small set of homemade bambalounis.
The others then came, and Zarina made herself comfortable. Mingling was no issue to her, even if she was rough around the edges compared to many others. First, though, she offered a proper bow to Maura and winked over at her upon barely overhearing what was exchanged with Ayla. But what truly caught her attention was a specific, overly long name.
“Ah, this must be the brother.” she called out whilst directing her attention to Manfred, sat comfortably on her seat with a glass of wine held between her major and ring fingers, stirred semi-frequently, “Wha-” she squinted over at Ysilla, “Nice- Uhh, friend you got there.” she tilted her head and gave the metallic creation a concerned stare.
Azahara looked upon the novel gift offered by the tall girl. She looks at what appeared to be a ceramic drinking set and bag of produce. The ceramic set bears a striking resemblance of the girl's portrait upon them. Azahara pauses as she tries to decide the meaning of the gift, between it being very vain, or if there was some message behind it. She quickly deducts the intent with the gaudy gesture, and the sales pitch behind the warm welcome. “Señorita Al-Nader, ¿acaso es usted comerciante y comerciante de café? - do you trade in coffee?”, indicating the gift offered towards her. “impresionado, ya está buscando oportunidades de patrocinio - you are seeking patronage?”
Once she was relieved of the burden of holding the box, either by the Duquesa or a nearby servant, Zarina would straighten her posture and knead her hands together before her abdomen, “No, Duquesa Arslan. Este es un regalo.” she nodded toward the box, “A gift from my humble enterprise, Zeno Bucks. And an offering from house Al-Nader to your grace.” she continued in avincian with a noticeable accent, “The finest of our ceramic wares, desserts for the occasion and coffee beans freshly roasted from Palapar.”
Azahara simply nods with a polite smile, “Entonces aceptaremos este regalo y no como si fuerais Thalakonas trayendo regalos - Then we accept this gift sincerely and not as if you were Thalakonian bearing gifts”, the latter offered mischievously as a nod to the famous fable as a show of humour. “mi hija y sus amigas están sentadas en la esquina'' as she motions her hands towards prepared table in the corner.
Riesco was trusted to one of the servants - And by trusted she meant giving a dirty look to the lad, making it clear any screw up could be dangerous. Azahara, the matriarch of the Arslans, greeted the guests. Zarina, poised for a proper greeting, raised the gift box as a humble offering to the Duquesa.
“Duquesa, es mi honor. Soy Zarina de la casa Al-Nader. Le pido que acepte este obsequio como una muestra de aprecio por usted excelencia. ” she kept her head down until the gift was accepted. Inside was a finely crafted Zeno Bucks marked ceramic pot, four large Zeno Bucks cups crafted at a higher quality than those commercialised, half a pound of top level Palapar coffee within a tightly closed leather bag, and a small set of homemade bambalounis.
The others then came, and Zarina made herself comfortable. Mingling was no issue to her, even if she was rough around the edges compared to many others. First, though, she offered a proper bow to Maura and winked over at her upon barely overhearing what was exchanged with Ayla. But what truly caught her attention was a specific, overly long name.
“Ah, this must be the brother.” she called out whilst directing her attention to Manfred, sat comfortably on her seat with a glass of wine held between her major and ring fingers, stirred semi-frequently, “Wha-” she squinted over at Ysilla, “Nice- Uhh, friend you got there.” she tilted her head and gave the metallic creation a concerned stare.
Azahara looked upon the novel gift offered by the tall girl. She looks at what appeared to be a ceramic drinking set and bag of produce. The ceramic set bears a striking resemblance of the girl's portrait upon them. Azahara pauses as she tries to decide the meaning of the gift, between it being very vain, or if there was some message behind it. She quickly deducts the intent with the gaudy gesture, and the sales pitch behind the warm welcome. “Señorita Al-Nader, ¿acaso es usted comerciante y comerciante de café? - do you trade in coffee?”, indicating the gift offered towards her. “impresionado, ya está buscando oportunidades de patrocinio - you are seeking patronage?”
Once she was relieved of the burden of holding the box, either by the Duquesa or a nearby servant, Zarina would straighten her posture and knead her hands together before her abdomen, “No, Duquesa Arslan. Este es un regalo.” she nodded toward the box, “A gift from my humble enterprise, Zeno Bucks. And an offering from house Al-Nader to your grace.” she continued in avincian with a noticeable accent, “The finest of our ceramic wares, desserts for the occasion and coffee beans freshly roasted from Palapar.”
Azahara simply nods with a polite smile, “Entonces aceptaremos este regalo y no como si fuerais Thalakonas trayendo regalos - Then we accept this gift sincerely and not as if you were Thalakonian bearing gifts”, the latter offered mischievously as a nod to the famous fable as a show of humour. “mi hija y sus amigas están sentadas en la esquina'' as she motions her hands towards prepared table in the corner.
Yalen
It was Yalen's turn to enter the hall right behind Zarina. It would be a lie to say that he was not feeling somewhat out of place here. As a priest he was basically allowed to navigate social circles as he pleased, but he was a country boy at heart. While he was well spoken and polite, he didn't know much about the deeper etiquette of high society, and it was possible he might offend someone. Yalen hid it well, but there were butterflies in his stomach as he addressed Duquesa Azahara.
"Your Grace, thank you for allowing me to attend this banquet.” Yalen bowed at the waist until his head was nearly parallel to the floor. The duchess motioned for him to stand at ease.
"Thank you for your attendance Brother Castel." Lady Azahara spoke in a measured tone. "I understand that you suffer from a particular... condition. I am quite familiar with it. If you require any assistance you may ask one of the servants."
"I appreciate your concern madam.” Yalen once again showed his deference by bowing his head. He parted ways with the lady and allowed Ayla to show him to his seat at one of the banquet tables. Zarina was already at her seat, and the others slowly trickled in as their names were called by the crier. When the unfamiliar tethered girl joined the party as well, he made no comment at Ayla's embarrassing display of waterworks.
"Well met Maura, I am Yalen Castel. As a friend of a friend, I hope you'll treat me well.”
Maura smiles with some warmth as the priest boy welcomes her, extending her hand for it to be taken in greeting. “You must be our moral compass for this evening. It is good to know we are in good… and strong hands, Brother Castel.” She feels the strength when they touch, he must be the keeper of an impressive library.
It was Yalen's turn to enter the hall right behind Zarina. It would be a lie to say that he was not feeling somewhat out of place here. As a priest he was basically allowed to navigate social circles as he pleased, but he was a country boy at heart. While he was well spoken and polite, he didn't know much about the deeper etiquette of high society, and it was possible he might offend someone. Yalen hid it well, but there were butterflies in his stomach as he addressed Duquesa Azahara.
"Your Grace, thank you for allowing me to attend this banquet.” Yalen bowed at the waist until his head was nearly parallel to the floor. The duchess motioned for him to stand at ease.
"Thank you for your attendance Brother Castel." Lady Azahara spoke in a measured tone. "I understand that you suffer from a particular... condition. I am quite familiar with it. If you require any assistance you may ask one of the servants."
"I appreciate your concern madam.” Yalen once again showed his deference by bowing his head. He parted ways with the lady and allowed Ayla to show him to his seat at one of the banquet tables. Zarina was already at her seat, and the others slowly trickled in as their names were called by the crier. When the unfamiliar tethered girl joined the party as well, he made no comment at Ayla's embarrassing display of waterworks.
"Well met Maura, I am Yalen Castel. As a friend of a friend, I hope you'll treat me well.”
Maura smiles with some warmth as the priest boy welcomes her, extending her hand for it to be taken in greeting. “You must be our moral compass for this evening. It is good to know we are in good… and strong hands, Brother Castel.” She feels the strength when they touch, he must be the keeper of an impressive library.
Dory
Dory truly disliked these opulent festivities, rather spending this time at a beer hall. All of this reminds her of the meetings with the other Graf houses… especially those slimy Benraths… But nevertheless she could not back out now, it was for Ayla after all.
“Ta gráce, I thank you for inviting me to this joyous occasion.” Dorothea bowed towards the duchess.
“And I thank you for attending, Lady Hohnstein.” The Duchess replied. “Please enjoy this lovely Banquet.”
“I am certain a banquet like this will be enjoyable.” Once again showing respect towards the woman she thought was the hostess.The Feskan took a seat among her fellow students as she noticed an unfamiliar face sit with them. She soon smiled at the sight of the reunion, thinking how Karl has been doing these months. leaning in towards the Arslan's ear.
“Care if I take a moment of your time?”
Ayla smiled widely as Dory asked for her attention, moving to grab upon her hands, though seeing them occupied by a strange box. “You do look beautifully dressed up today, Dory. Manfred must be jealous of you being like this around all the boys.” She gives a giggle as her hands are placed over the girls in greeting as they hold upon the box together. “Did not realise that in Feska you adopted Perrench style dresses, always imagined to be more Drudguzean.”
Returning to the original question: “Oh, yes, you can have a moment of my time.”
Dory looked away with a rather troubled look. "Well, usually they do not... My mother didn't want me to have too much Feskan clothing..." The Feskan clicked her tongue.
Her mind quickly tried to go back on the original question. touching the other's hand softly as they both held the box, leaning in towards the other once again. "Oh, right. Is-" Ayla could hear the hesitance in Dory's voice as she halted her words for a second. "Are you feeling okay?... These festivities might look grand but usually have something else with them." Another pause as she tried to think of a better way to say it. "If there is something I can do, please tell me..." Dory let go of the box, leaving it to Ayla to open it.
Ayla looks down at surprise as Dory seems to have discretely left her holding the box in her hands. She blinks for a moment as if to suggest there had been some type of error, but realises it is a gift for her. Her curiosity does get the better of her as she lifts up the lid to take a peek inside, giving a gasp then putting her arms around to embrace her in a hug. “You spoiled me too much, Dorothea, going to cherish your gift later.” She raises her eyebrows towards Maura as if having some major to share, the other girl returns with a puzzled look of curiosity.
After the embrace with Dory, it seemed to have been good timing as Manfred turned up to reclaim his girlfriend, taking her hands and addressing her as “My love”. Ayla smiles warmly towards Manfred, “Good for you to have made it, been hoping to speak less to you less formally outside of our classes.” She politely makes her departure to allow the both of them to have a moment more private together.
Dory truly disliked these opulent festivities, rather spending this time at a beer hall. All of this reminds her of the meetings with the other Graf houses… especially those slimy Benraths… But nevertheless she could not back out now, it was for Ayla after all.
“Ta gráce, I thank you for inviting me to this joyous occasion.” Dorothea bowed towards the duchess.
“And I thank you for attending, Lady Hohnstein.” The Duchess replied. “Please enjoy this lovely Banquet.”
“I am certain a banquet like this will be enjoyable.” Once again showing respect towards the woman she thought was the hostess.The Feskan took a seat among her fellow students as she noticed an unfamiliar face sit with them. She soon smiled at the sight of the reunion, thinking how Karl has been doing these months. leaning in towards the Arslan's ear.
“Care if I take a moment of your time?”
Ayla smiled widely as Dory asked for her attention, moving to grab upon her hands, though seeing them occupied by a strange box. “You do look beautifully dressed up today, Dory. Manfred must be jealous of you being like this around all the boys.” She gives a giggle as her hands are placed over the girls in greeting as they hold upon the box together. “Did not realise that in Feska you adopted Perrench style dresses, always imagined to be more Drudguzean.”
Returning to the original question: “Oh, yes, you can have a moment of my time.”
Dory looked away with a rather troubled look. "Well, usually they do not... My mother didn't want me to have too much Feskan clothing..." The Feskan clicked her tongue.
Her mind quickly tried to go back on the original question. touching the other's hand softly as they both held the box, leaning in towards the other once again. "Oh, right. Is-" Ayla could hear the hesitance in Dory's voice as she halted her words for a second. "Are you feeling okay?... These festivities might look grand but usually have something else with them." Another pause as she tried to think of a better way to say it. "If there is something I can do, please tell me..." Dory let go of the box, leaving it to Ayla to open it.
Ayla looks down at surprise as Dory seems to have discretely left her holding the box in her hands. She blinks for a moment as if to suggest there had been some type of error, but realises it is a gift for her. Her curiosity does get the better of her as she lifts up the lid to take a peek inside, giving a gasp then putting her arms around to embrace her in a hug. “You spoiled me too much, Dorothea, going to cherish your gift later.” She raises her eyebrows towards Maura as if having some major to share, the other girl returns with a puzzled look of curiosity.
After the embrace with Dory, it seemed to have been good timing as Manfred turned up to reclaim his girlfriend, taking her hands and addressing her as “My love”. Ayla smiles warmly towards Manfred, “Good for you to have made it, been hoping to speak less to you less formally outside of our classes.” She politely makes her departure to allow the both of them to have a moment more private together.
Kaspar
Kaspar chose his outfit carefully, bearing in mind that it would reflect on Ayla as much as on himself. Despite his inner conflict with his noble standing and family name, the boy would do everything in his power to impress her family, for her sake. Willa had spent much of her time in his chambers helping him select the pieces and drilling basic etiquette into his mind, very much falling into the familiar role as his tutor.
The Manson de las Mil Ventanas was indeed a spectacular sight, and Kaspar viewed it with a stoic eye. Willa had made sure to impress upon him the art of admiring without awe; allow the respect for impressive architecture, without making yourself seem susceptible to shows of wealth. Politics are mind games, that much he knew.
His entrance was made shortly behind Yalen, and Kaspar walked with a confident cadence, spine straight and gaze level. His expression was notably unaffected, showcasing the distant, unemotional facet the boy was well-known for—and which would be a great asset at court.
Stopping in front of Azahara Arslan, he bowed with one arm stiff across his torso. “Thank you for the invitation to this event, Your Grace.” His voice was perhaps a touch stiffer than necessary, but Lady Azahara responded nevertheless.
“Thank you for your attendance, Lord Elstrøm.” As Kaspar straightened out of the bow she continued, “Please enjoy the festivities.”
He walked further into the room, ill at ease in such a scenario. Kaspar has little experience with social events, having inherited a reputation for being sickly from the boy now known as Felix. Much of his etiquette training had come within the past year, in expectation of his attendance to an academy for the Gift.
He was grateful to see a table arranged for those who were guests of Ayla, selecting a seat near those he was most familiar with. He listened to Ayla’s breakdown of the room and events, mulling over in his mind if he should try to approach any contacts. Perhaps not—the boy was not socially graced, and still felt distinctly uncertain of his future.
Seeing Ayla’s reaction to Maura, a smile slipped onto the nobleman’s face. As Ayla introduced her to those seated, he dipped his head politely, following Yalen’s lead and trying to exude some of the same warmth the priest had. “Well met. You may call me Kaspar; I look forward to your presence at our table.”
As Ayla introduces Maura to Kaspar, it wasn’t long till art was being brought up. Maura looks upon the boys hands for a telltale mark of charcoal, tugging upon Ayla’s sleeve to draw attention to it. “Looks like he is just like someone we know”, she looks up to give a knowing warm smile and wink towards Ayla. Ayla has her eyes widened for a moment, “Don’t you think we embarrassed ourselves already without you recounting that story?”, “it is we now and not you have?” came the teasing reply. After a few hush tones between the girls, Maura turns to address the question, “Thank you, Lord Elstrøm. It is good to find someone as well dressed as yourself in attendance. Red and Gold are my favourite colours.”
Kaspar chose his outfit carefully, bearing in mind that it would reflect on Ayla as much as on himself. Despite his inner conflict with his noble standing and family name, the boy would do everything in his power to impress her family, for her sake. Willa had spent much of her time in his chambers helping him select the pieces and drilling basic etiquette into his mind, very much falling into the familiar role as his tutor.
His doublet was a deep red, darker than drying blood and embroidered with thick golden threads. It was well-fitted but the silhouette narrowed his waist and broadened his shoulders, a V of fabric cutting downward beneath his waist. It lacked a high collar, instead drifting below his throat to frame the subtle edges of his collarbones and his smooth golden necklace. The sleeves tapered against his elbows, heavy brocade ending where a thinner linen of the same hue wrapped tightly against the forearms, threaded buttons lined and secured, a bare hint of a gap revealing black-dyed silk lining. Gold gleamed from his fingers, all four rings situated against his pale skin.
The breeches were closer-cut than standard fashion but still flared a bit before tightening and ending at the knee. The fabric was of the same black satin that lined his doublet, and blended smoothly into the dark stockings. His heeled shoes, shorter against his ankles than Kaspar was normally comfortable with, were of dark red-stained leather with brighter red rosettes that matched his eyes and cloak.
The cloak was hemmed in white mink fur that also lined the underside, brightly contrasted against his darker attire. The cloth, a brighter red so close to that of his eyes that it seemed near identical, was intercut with thin, intricate embroidery of white-gold thread that gleamed as the light hit it, confirming it to be metal-woven. The collar rose high, wrapping the back of his neck and leaving an inch or so gap from his skin to the fur, settling slightly below his jawline. Two brooches of gold with inlaid rubies held a golden chain in place as it secured just beneath the neck of his doublet. At a closer look, one could see gold within the center of the rubies, magically crafted and fully encased, displaying the Storm-and-Stream crest of the Elstrøm family.
The breeches were closer-cut than standard fashion but still flared a bit before tightening and ending at the knee. The fabric was of the same black satin that lined his doublet, and blended smoothly into the dark stockings. His heeled shoes, shorter against his ankles than Kaspar was normally comfortable with, were of dark red-stained leather with brighter red rosettes that matched his eyes and cloak.
The cloak was hemmed in white mink fur that also lined the underside, brightly contrasted against his darker attire. The cloth, a brighter red so close to that of his eyes that it seemed near identical, was intercut with thin, intricate embroidery of white-gold thread that gleamed as the light hit it, confirming it to be metal-woven. The collar rose high, wrapping the back of his neck and leaving an inch or so gap from his skin to the fur, settling slightly below his jawline. Two brooches of gold with inlaid rubies held a golden chain in place as it secured just beneath the neck of his doublet. At a closer look, one could see gold within the center of the rubies, magically crafted and fully encased, displaying the Storm-and-Stream crest of the Elstrøm family.
The Manson de las Mil Ventanas was indeed a spectacular sight, and Kaspar viewed it with a stoic eye. Willa had made sure to impress upon him the art of admiring without awe; allow the respect for impressive architecture, without making yourself seem susceptible to shows of wealth. Politics are mind games, that much he knew.
His entrance was made shortly behind Yalen, and Kaspar walked with a confident cadence, spine straight and gaze level. His expression was notably unaffected, showcasing the distant, unemotional facet the boy was well-known for—and which would be a great asset at court.
Stopping in front of Azahara Arslan, he bowed with one arm stiff across his torso. “Thank you for the invitation to this event, Your Grace.” His voice was perhaps a touch stiffer than necessary, but Lady Azahara responded nevertheless.
“Thank you for your attendance, Lord Elstrøm.” As Kaspar straightened out of the bow she continued, “Please enjoy the festivities.”
He walked further into the room, ill at ease in such a scenario. Kaspar has little experience with social events, having inherited a reputation for being sickly from the boy now known as Felix. Much of his etiquette training had come within the past year, in expectation of his attendance to an academy for the Gift.
He was grateful to see a table arranged for those who were guests of Ayla, selecting a seat near those he was most familiar with. He listened to Ayla’s breakdown of the room and events, mulling over in his mind if he should try to approach any contacts. Perhaps not—the boy was not socially graced, and still felt distinctly uncertain of his future.
Seeing Ayla’s reaction to Maura, a smile slipped onto the nobleman’s face. As Ayla introduced her to those seated, he dipped his head politely, following Yalen’s lead and trying to exude some of the same warmth the priest had. “Well met. You may call me Kaspar; I look forward to your presence at our table.”
As Ayla introduces Maura to Kaspar, it wasn’t long till art was being brought up. Maura looks upon the boys hands for a telltale mark of charcoal, tugging upon Ayla’s sleeve to draw attention to it. “Looks like he is just like someone we know”, she looks up to give a knowing warm smile and wink towards Ayla. Ayla has her eyes widened for a moment, “Don’t you think we embarrassed ourselves already without you recounting that story?”, “it is we now and not you have?” came the teasing reply. After a few hush tones between the girls, Maura turns to address the question, “Thank you, Lord Elstrøm. It is good to find someone as well dressed as yourself in attendance. Red and Gold are my favourite colours.”
Manfred
"Lord Manfred Hohenfelter of Meckelin-Thandau, son of Markgraf Heinrich Hohenfelter of Meckelin-Thandau and warden of Schulitz, Kolmsburg, and Mandelein."
He swept into the room, the perfect young prince: confident, finely dressed, and having arrived in a private carriage, attended to by his 'servants'. He had read the works of that Revidian, Oravaggio, and found some worth in them, whether or not they were actually satire. "Your Grace." He inclined his head respectfully in Lady Arslan's direction. "It is an honour." Manfred managed a polite smile that held just the right amount of warmth to it, and his eyes swept the room. "And I would be remiss if I did not apologise for my tardiness. An urgent matter that I could not be away from came up." Yes, he thought. Kurbis urgently needed pettins. "Please take this small gift as a token of my regret." He motioned imperiously with one hand and a servant girl - really, his washerwoman on extra pay - came up beside and behind him with a platter of Kerreman desserts that she uncovered as she bowed.
It worked the trick. Manfred's eyes settled on his hostess, a couple of tethered girls, and - most importantly - Dorothea. He has not been a very good companion to her, and it was very much time to amend that. He greeted his true hostess politely, made introductions with the others, and settled in beside Dory. "My love," he said, taking hold of her hand.
"Lord Manfred Hohenfelter of Meckelin-Thandau, son of Markgraf Heinrich Hohenfelter of Meckelin-Thandau and warden of Schulitz, Kolmsburg, and Mandelein."
He swept into the room, the perfect young prince: confident, finely dressed, and having arrived in a private carriage, attended to by his 'servants'. He had read the works of that Revidian, Oravaggio, and found some worth in them, whether or not they were actually satire. "Your Grace." He inclined his head respectfully in Lady Arslan's direction. "It is an honour." Manfred managed a polite smile that held just the right amount of warmth to it, and his eyes swept the room. "And I would be remiss if I did not apologise for my tardiness. An urgent matter that I could not be away from came up." Yes, he thought. Kurbis urgently needed pettins. "Please take this small gift as a token of my regret." He motioned imperiously with one hand and a servant girl - really, his washerwoman on extra pay - came up beside and behind him with a platter of Kerreman desserts that she uncovered as she bowed.
It worked the trick. Manfred's eyes settled on his hostess, a couple of tethered girls, and - most importantly - Dorothea. He has not been a very good companion to her, and it was very much time to amend that. He greeted his true hostess politely, made introductions with the others, and settled in beside Dory. "My love," he said, taking hold of her hand.
"And if you'd like I will try and bake anything you want whenever we both have the free time." She couldn't help but smile as her friend was happy with her gift.
And with that she felt a sudden touch on her hand as it was held by rough hands. "Ah, Lord Hohenfelter. What a delight to see that you could make it." She tried to be as polite as possible to confuse Kerreman a little. Closing in for a hug as it has truly been a while since they saw each other, whispering into the other's ear. "I am truly glad the invitation found it's way to you. I would have send it myself but getting all this together was a lot harder than I first imagined." Leaning back, inspecting his attire. The Feskan couldn't help but grin. "Never thought you were the type to dress this finely."
You're being passive-aggressive, Manfred thought, but he'd been wallowing lately, not there when they both could have used the other for support, and so he opted to nip it in the bud instead of responding in kind. He followed up on her concluding observation. "That, dearest, is because I am not," he replied almost impishly. "And neither are you." He leaned in close, catching a whiff of her perfume. "You smell like gardenias," he whispered, "lovely like the girl wearing them, but I know you'd rather be in a bierhalle right now wearing a dirndl. We should dance, my love, and teach these stuffy Torragoniese how to have some fun."
"Oh, baise toi." She whispered back before realising she was using the wrong tongue. "I am not against showing them what fun is, however I am here as a friend of Ayla and I do not wish to shame her for my actions.." The Feskan looked with her old determined look, pinching his side with a smirk. "And that is for saying that to me when I tried so hard to be fancy today, Arschloch." A little chuckle escaped the girl as she gripped firmly into Manfred's hand.
Manfred's only reaction was a slight grimace, but he smiled right through it, pulling Dorothea to her feet. "You tried" he teased, "and you look almost as good as me, my little schnucki. That is a hard thing for anyone to do. Now come," he concluded. "A little dancing to the quartet over there won't embarrass our host and, if it does, she isn't much of a host anyhow."
Dorothea completely lost her composure after the you tried tease, breaking out her more boorish speech. "Almost as good as you? Did you forget how to speak to a lady? But I can't deny that you finally took some effort into your appearance, my Schatz." She was still a little taken aback by his eagerness to dance, perhaps just because it's been quite a while for the two of them. "A dance really would not hurt but I have lost my touch with the more formal dances over time, care to show me the ropes?"
"Au contraire, mon cœur," Manfred responded in Perrench, "I never knew how in the first place." He winked. Leading her over close to where the chamber quartet was playing, he nodded and smiled in the bandmaster's direction and the music started to transition to something just slightly more upbeat but still respectable enough. The dancing in earnest would only begin after the dinner, of course, but it wouldn't hurt to get warmed up before the hostess called them all. Manfred spun Dory around and took hold of her other hand as well. "Just do what I do," he whispered. "This dance is a simple one: a mirror dance."
"Then perhaps I should teach you that." She let out a rather smug grin as she was lead. As the music became more upbeat, so did her and Manfred's attitude. A soft gasp could be heard from the Feskan as she was spun around by the Kerreman, smiling moments after. "Then I will follow your lead here as well."
Then, he heard an unexpected name. He was midway through his steps and, to his chagrin, broke them. "Lady Marceline Hohenfelter von Meckelin-Thandau." She's taken the family name!? Then, Nina made a fool of herself and his heart dropped. He glanced concernedly at Dory and held a hand up for them to stop dancing.
Dorothea felt a chill down her neck as she heard that name combined with the silence. It was a chilling scene, the poor girl. Then, the sight on Manfred's face only made her concerned too. "Your family?..." She tried to show a caring face. "Should we help her out?"
And with that she felt a sudden touch on her hand as it was held by rough hands. "Ah, Lord Hohenfelter. What a delight to see that you could make it." She tried to be as polite as possible to confuse Kerreman a little. Closing in for a hug as it has truly been a while since they saw each other, whispering into the other's ear. "I am truly glad the invitation found it's way to you. I would have send it myself but getting all this together was a lot harder than I first imagined." Leaning back, inspecting his attire. The Feskan couldn't help but grin. "Never thought you were the type to dress this finely."
You're being passive-aggressive, Manfred thought, but he'd been wallowing lately, not there when they both could have used the other for support, and so he opted to nip it in the bud instead of responding in kind. He followed up on her concluding observation. "That, dearest, is because I am not," he replied almost impishly. "And neither are you." He leaned in close, catching a whiff of her perfume. "You smell like gardenias," he whispered, "lovely like the girl wearing them, but I know you'd rather be in a bierhalle right now wearing a dirndl. We should dance, my love, and teach these stuffy Torragoniese how to have some fun."
"Oh, baise toi." She whispered back before realising she was using the wrong tongue. "I am not against showing them what fun is, however I am here as a friend of Ayla and I do not wish to shame her for my actions.." The Feskan looked with her old determined look, pinching his side with a smirk. "And that is for saying that to me when I tried so hard to be fancy today, Arschloch." A little chuckle escaped the girl as she gripped firmly into Manfred's hand.
Manfred's only reaction was a slight grimace, but he smiled right through it, pulling Dorothea to her feet. "You tried" he teased, "and you look almost as good as me, my little schnucki. That is a hard thing for anyone to do. Now come," he concluded. "A little dancing to the quartet over there won't embarrass our host and, if it does, she isn't much of a host anyhow."
Dorothea completely lost her composure after the you tried tease, breaking out her more boorish speech. "Almost as good as you? Did you forget how to speak to a lady? But I can't deny that you finally took some effort into your appearance, my Schatz." She was still a little taken aback by his eagerness to dance, perhaps just because it's been quite a while for the two of them. "A dance really would not hurt but I have lost my touch with the more formal dances over time, care to show me the ropes?"
"Au contraire, mon cœur," Manfred responded in Perrench, "I never knew how in the first place." He winked. Leading her over close to where the chamber quartet was playing, he nodded and smiled in the bandmaster's direction and the music started to transition to something just slightly more upbeat but still respectable enough. The dancing in earnest would only begin after the dinner, of course, but it wouldn't hurt to get warmed up before the hostess called them all. Manfred spun Dory around and took hold of her other hand as well. "Just do what I do," he whispered. "This dance is a simple one: a mirror dance."
"Then perhaps I should teach you that." She let out a rather smug grin as she was lead. As the music became more upbeat, so did her and Manfred's attitude. A soft gasp could be heard from the Feskan as she was spun around by the Kerreman, smiling moments after. "Then I will follow your lead here as well."
Then, he heard an unexpected name. He was midway through his steps and, to his chagrin, broke them. "Lady Marceline Hohenfelter von Meckelin-Thandau." She's taken the family name!? Then, Nina made a fool of herself and his heart dropped. He glanced concernedly at Dory and held a hand up for them to stop dancing.
Dorothea felt a chill down her neck as she heard that name combined with the silence. It was a chilling scene, the poor girl. Then, the sight on Manfred's face only made her concerned too. "Your family?..." She tried to show a caring face. "Should we help her out?"
Jocasta
Jocasta had managed that bare display of independence which she was generally allowed, despite everybody wishing to 'help' the 'poor invalid'. She had floated herself up the stairs, wheeled-chair and all, and now swept through the doors. "Lady Jocasta Re," the crier announced, and she flashed him a quick smile of gratitude. People in such jobs were so often asked to perform and so rarely thanked for it. She wheeled forward into a large open hall, for this house of a king was unabashedly opulent, and came upon Ayla's mother. "Lady Azahara," she greeted the woman, who looked uncannily like an older version of her daughter. "It is a pleasure to meet you. I hold Lady Ayla as one of my dearest friends and I now see where she has gotten her hospitality from."
It seemed to have sufficed. truth be told, she didn't entirely have a read on the Torragonese duchess yet, nor many of the people in this room, but one immediately caught her eye, aside from the familiar faces of Yalen, Zarina, Kaspar, and Ayla herself. There was another tethered: another 'on two'. It was a thing that one inevitably did in a world of bipeds. Their eyes met momentarily and Jocasta flashed a smile.
As Azahara thanked Jocasta for her pleasantries, though she cannot help smiling as her eyes move towards the side of the room, as if there is something, a thought that may have bemused her momentarily. “It does not come as a surprise to me.”
As Maura comes to the table and is hastily introduced to the others, she cannot help but notice the warm smile in her direction. She moves closer towards Jocasta, using the opportunity to speak to the other shy girl. “Are you Lady Re? The Duquesa has said you have been looking after Ayla for me.” her gentle smile attempting to cover the slight mischievous tone of her statement. “It is good that she is making friends. Been beset with worry about her, especially as she left without saying a word.”
Jocasta had managed that bare display of independence which she was generally allowed, despite everybody wishing to 'help' the 'poor invalid'. She had floated herself up the stairs, wheeled-chair and all, and now swept through the doors. "Lady Jocasta Re," the crier announced, and she flashed him a quick smile of gratitude. People in such jobs were so often asked to perform and so rarely thanked for it. She wheeled forward into a large open hall, for this house of a king was unabashedly opulent, and came upon Ayla's mother. "Lady Azahara," she greeted the woman, who looked uncannily like an older version of her daughter. "It is a pleasure to meet you. I hold Lady Ayla as one of my dearest friends and I now see where she has gotten her hospitality from."
It seemed to have sufficed. truth be told, she didn't entirely have a read on the Torragonese duchess yet, nor many of the people in this room, but one immediately caught her eye, aside from the familiar faces of Yalen, Zarina, Kaspar, and Ayla herself. There was another tethered: another 'on two'. It was a thing that one inevitably did in a world of bipeds. Their eyes met momentarily and Jocasta flashed a smile.
As Azahara thanked Jocasta for her pleasantries, though she cannot help smiling as her eyes move towards the side of the room, as if there is something, a thought that may have bemused her momentarily. “It does not come as a surprise to me.”
As Maura comes to the table and is hastily introduced to the others, she cannot help but notice the warm smile in her direction. She moves closer towards Jocasta, using the opportunity to speak to the other shy girl. “Are you Lady Re? The Duquesa has said you have been looking after Ayla for me.” her gentle smile attempting to cover the slight mischievous tone of her statement. “It is good that she is making friends. Been beset with worry about her, especially as she left without saying a word.”
It had been a polite gesture. When one ran into another tethered, it was all but certain that mutual recognition would be exchanged and, often, words. It was rare to find someone who understood an aspect of your life that almost nobody else did, who'd been shaped by at least one similar and very rare experience. There was a moment where both paused, hands on wheels as if to say, "am I coming over there, or are you?" Then, the other girl made the first move, introductions happened, and they were talking.
"Not sure about the 'lady' part," Jocasta snorted, "but Ayla and I have had a few interesting times together." There was an instinct that pushed her to go back to the way that she had been - the character she'd played for the past few years, but she resisted it. The tethered couldn't help but seize upon the last bit of Maura's sentence, however, for it seemed so unlike Ayla. "Left without saying a word?" She tilted her head to one side.
Maura blushed lightly, “Forgive me, not as ominous as that sounds.” She composed herself, especially as Ayla is distracted by the others, allowing the pair to talk more privately, “Her father thought to place her under house arrest, prior to sending her here. A joke as you probably gathered, she isn’t the most adventurous type. More likely to be found with dessert than the desert.” She forms a wide smile, imagining Ayla asking where the churros grew out in the desert.
“Had a surreal experience this morning though. Went to the admissions office to inquire about enrolment at the academy, and initially they treated me as if royalty when they saw me roll in and said about being from Torragon.” Her voice rang with pleasant surprise as it chirped from the events, she fidgeted a moment in her seat as it came with a characteristic ‘buttttt’ expression, “Their faces dropped when there had been a misunderstanding and was ushered out rather quickly…” she rolled her eyes a moment.
She looks down then smiles a little, as if looking like she entertained saying quite a number of things in the moment of her own quietness. “So… Jocasta? Jo? How did you end up with Ayla.”
Jocasta, thought... Jocasta. This girl seemed pleasant enough, though possessed of the same annoying verbal tic as Ayla, and there was always a shared kinship with fellow tethered. Yet, the Djamantese still had her secrets; they were many and deadly. It would not do to get too close to people whom she knew nothing about. Just because your legs are gimpy, doesn't make you a good-faith actor, Jocasta self-warned. If anything, she herself had long been the poster child for that. "Oh, she and I had a little adventure in the desert, ironically," she replied with a smirk. Unbidden, she found her voice dipping. "at a refuge for people like... us." The tethered eyes flashed for a moment. "Stairs to climb and doors closed in our faces are all part of the fun, as it sounds like you've just been reminded, but we were able to make things a little better." She shrugged, "so that's something."
Maura blinked in astonishment as Jocasta spoke about her and Ayla spending time in the Desert. Was the girl trying to test her in some way, or trying to prove some kind of point that she was somehow the better friend. Jealousy? She continued to listen as she brought her hands together, as the fingers interlocked. It got even more surprising when they suggested they were at a refuge together, but those are for the tethered… Ayla is actually tethered? Maura moves her eyes to look across to look towards Ayla happily talking to her other friends as nothing is amiss. It does make some kind of sense, Ayla has always been physically weak and there were always rumours and days she had to stay inside. Perhaps coming to the academy was a cover for the house arrest, if the Duque sent her to the refuge… perhaps that is why the admission staff were so confused. She holds upon her hands tightly, her eyes looking sad as she looks down towards them. “She never told me she was tethered… there were the rumours, but you know how they can be…” she breaks her hands to grab a napkin, to dab at her eyes, “Perhaps that is why she always looked out for me, she was always thinking she would be in this position herself.” She moves her hands upon Jocasta’s own, “Promise to take care of her. She is so innocent at heart.”
Jocasta merely blinked. Either this girl was messing with her or something about baking in the Torragonese sun all day really did strip people of some intelligence. For the sake of having even a shred of respect for Maura, she decided that it must be the former. "Ha!" she laughed. "Haha, you almost had me there for a second." She rolled her eyes. "Oraff knows she's a jellyfish, though, and I don't get paid enough to be her nursemaid. We should put her through her paces."
Maura seems to just grow more perplexed. Is this person trying to make a fool out of her with the whole tethered thing? She was conned so easily by such a simple ruse, too trusting of someone who claims to be one of Ayla’s dearest friends. Mocked for being deceived so easily, that it had to be a joke. The nerve of this one. “Your ruse about the refuge was a nice touch.” she sits there with that polite smile, as she looks towards the blonde, simply nodding as she discusses putting her through her paces. “It does seem Ayla has her work cut out for her here.”
Jocasta stopped and visibly shook her head to clear it. "Wait up, hold on a moment. Let's just reel this one back in." Truth be told, she was annoyed and she had spotted Augusto not so far away. Zarina was about as well, and Kaspar. It occurred to her that she could just tweak Maura's mood or perceptions a little bit and be done, but she'd been trying not to do things like that. Caring what people thought of her was much easier when she was only pretending to do it while playing a role. "Ayla didn't tell you that we were sent by the school to a refuge in Torragon?" She shook her head and rolled her eyes. "Shune, she's such an airhead sometimes. Also, come on." She reached down and slapped the tops of her thighs and gestured at Maura's. Her expression said the rest.
Maura seemed to look towards Jocasta incredulously as the situation was reeled in again. She did consider for a moment that maybe Ayla did have a tendency for an overly welcoming and emotional greeting, but she thought it was a given they haven’t conversed for some time, and it appears there was plenty to converse about. Ayla running off to refuges and deserts in Torragon when she was meant to be in class did sound very far fetched, it would be around a 4 week round trip at least by boat minimum, as a starting point, significantly greater if they were to cross to a river boat, sail up the Merapor River, then join a trade caravan to head to St Austin. It had only been over a month since Ayla first attended the school.
Maura could only blink, as she saw Jocasta’s motions and tilted her head, “Tethered?”
What was there to not understand? Had this stupid girl spent her entire life in a bubble or was she just getting her figurative kicks by playing this obtuse? Had not Ayla written to her supposed best friend at least once over the past month and a half about the wonders of Ersand'Enise? About how time itself had been paused on the very first day? About the Aberrations? The Forked Tower? Any of it? How did she seem so 'confused'?
Jocasta found her blood boiling as she looked at the pleasant, perplexed little face before her. Eshi, I wanna punch you, she thought, smiling agreeably back, brittle as it was. The thought occurred to her that this might be more Ayla's fault, but she was not about to indulge it, for friends, at least, were sacrosanct to a degree.
Without warning, she reached out and took Maura's hands, simultaneously grabbing the threads of time and space. Things froze: Manfred in the middle of hesitating in his dance with Dorothea, Marci being awkwardly introduced by Zarina, all manner of interactions, even Augusto's 'conversation' with Trypano, though he was not frozen and glanced her way wearily. "Do make it quick," he sighed. "Do cover for me?" she replied.
Then, two young women in wheelchairs appeared in the middle of the Dune Sea, on a plateau overlooking the refuge of St. Agustin de las Arenas. A hot, dusty wind swirled their hair as Jocasta released the other and backed up a few pushes. "Now, you were either being obtuse," she began, "trying to get your kicks out of me for some reason, or you really didn't know, in which case, sorry, and I need to have a conversation with Ayla about sharing a little better with her friends. Now, what is it?" she asked, voice slipping from too-sweet to flat. She studied Maura intently.
The walls around Maura seem to fall down around her as it is replaced by the sights of the Torragonese desert. The hot air blasting her unexpectedly as she physically jumps in her seat in the total shock of the experience. “Azúcar, miel y té helado. Hija de un escrupuloso recaudador de impuestos!” she swears out loud as she takes in the scenery around her. “Donde estamos nosotras”, takes a moment to calm down and settle, as the realisation of what Jocasta was trying to say turned into reality, a very confusing one where someone turned the world upside down for a good few moments and tried to shake out its contents.
Maura blinked for a moment as she listened to the question, “Of course one would be obtuse, no one expects the man from the docks claiming to be visited by little grey men from Yazan to be telling the truth… Do you know the implications of this? The ability to cross vast distances in a heartbeat…” she takes hold of Jocasta’s hands, squeezes upon them tightly. “You use this, and we can make some serious money. A partnership will cover the accounting, inventory, and stock, and you can deliver it with this ability.” As the excitement calmed down a tad, she expanded, “Not seen or heard of Ayla since we last met in Torragon. She doesn’t usually greet me that passionately… often.”
"We are in the desert of Inner Torragon," replied Jocasta to the other's rapid Torragonese. "I thought it best to simply show you, lest we continue being vexed by each other."
Jocasta set hands to wheels, turning to regard the refuge in the distance. "That is San Agustin de las Arenas," she announced, "the refuge where I grew up." She gestured in its direction. "It wasn't me who brought us here." Her eyes found Maura again. "It was the paradigm himself, if you'd believe it. We sure didn't at first. Well," she corrected, "most of us. The problem is that the Arch-Zenos and the Zenith keep knowledge of this kind of magic - Temporal magic under lock and key. It's slipped out in a few places and I'm one of those, but I can't be too brazen in its use or..." she trailed off and shrugged, leaving the rest implied. "Trust me, I'd be a rich woman otherwise."
Maura pondered the words as she looked upon the sands. She was dressed far too warm and was starting to heat up, but she did have an idea. “Temporal… that is a fancy word for time? So does this allow you to move both distance and time.” She looks towards Jocasta, and it can be seen that the grinders are turning in the girls’ head. “Does that mean we could visit Ayla during her house arrest, prior to arriving at the academy? Perhaps we could go and cheer her up before she gets sad!”
"She didn't strike me as 'sad'," Jocasta replied, still trying to get the measure of Maura, "but you know her better than I do and it was at least a few weeks into the term when I met her." She took a moment to sweep some hair from her face. It was decidedly windy out here. "Thing is, if we go back in time and change one thing, then what else would it change? I wanna help a friend out, but it's not without risk, you know..."
Maura did have this whole idea of visiting Ayla back at home, and cheerleading her to the academy, though she did consider Jo’s words for a good moment. “You’re right, it was a silly idea. Might end up in where she never met you due to it, which means we would not meet, then we wouldn’t go back in the first place…” The rabbit hole of temporal paradoxes begins in her mind, as she considers digging her nose into it, then running away screaming. “That’s too much thinking for one evening.”
"It gets... pretty tangled," Jocasta admitted. "But that doesn't mean we can't do our best to fix matters in the present, hmm?" She paused halfway through turning. Jocasta had always been a pacer, for as long as she could remember, unable to sit still once an idea took her. The gradual paralysis that had crept its way up nearly to her waistline had necessitated a change in means as opposed to habit, but it was tiring and cumbersome and she would be imposing to force a fellow invalid to follow along. "Say, if you don't mind me asking," she began, "you're not tethered, are you?" Maura's chair looked heavier and more solid, not the light wicker sort that they gave out in refuges and that Jocasta had sworn by for the six years since. "I mean, if you'd rather not say anymore, I understand it, and we should probably head back soon anyways, but I'd be lying if I didn't confess to some curiosity. Most every other invalid I know is tethered." She wrinkled her nose. "In truth, I dislike the term as well. Smacks of dismissiveness."
Maura winkles her nose in return when those terms were being used, though smiles at the question, “One is often called and referred to as a Tethered, even when you don’t have the disease. We live in a world where most things can be fixed by a binder and a ‘can do’ attitude at some expense, and if you happen to be poor or incurable, sometimes simply being abandoned is your fate. One is what you see of them.” She points towards the incline running along the plateau “The reality is, It is all about perspective. What if we said no one was invalid.”
She takes a moment for Jocasta to process the hypothetical before explaining. “How does one define being invalid. Being unable to use the stairs? Does that mean if there are no stairs, one is now not disabled?'' She goes along with the incline for emphasis. “If the stairs were a ramp like this incline, we could travel up and down as well. One thinks, if we are defined by our environment like so, perhaps what is broken is not us, but the environment we live in. In the world around you, did Oraff create stairs, or did we create the stairs?” She points to a froabase pointing in the distance, both in amazement at its splendour, but also to make another point, “There we have a dragon flying. Are we invalids to the dragon, because we cannot soar through the air on our wings? To it, that is normal, therefore we as humans must be broken.” “Some of us have crossed the twin-continents in the blink of an eye and a sassy attitude, does that make the ones who cannot invalid?” She couldn’t resist the tease, but wanted it to make the point, “It is perspective. You are not an invalid Jocasta. You are an amazing friend of a friend.”
In truth, Jocasta wasn't quite sure how to feel. She fell somewhere between being impressed by a good point and rolling her eyes. Nature didn't have stairs. It had mud and crags; roots, rocks, and steep inclines. A froabas was built to have wings that it could fly with. Humans were built to have legs that they could walk with. It was nice to think of a different world, though.
The temporal pressure was building, however. Augusto had been nice enough to cover for her. He was an intriguing one. She couldn't take advantage of his generosity any further, though. "An interesting thing to consider," she replied noncommittally, flashing a quick smile. Maura bore watching, for better or for worse. "Come now, take my hands! We should be back!"
When their world swirled and Jocasta returned, she took a moment to brush the dust from herself and recommended her acquaintance do the same. Augusto shot her a smirk and an eyeroll and the two girls returned to their places. It was little more than a minute later when the bell for dinner rang and, proper young lady that she was, Jocasta went through her paces.
Maura took those hands and ended up back where they started, without much notice of their disappearance. She took the opportunity to brush herself down as she cannot help but notice the direction Jo appeared to be looking towards, smiling politely towards the other with that knowing gaze.
She continued to converse with Jo for those last moments in a hushed tone before focusing attention upon the food. Afterall spending a good few moments in the desert makes one parched rather quickly. “Your skill will become very handy when we travel to Djamant. We need to remain in touch.”
"Not sure about the 'lady' part," Jocasta snorted, "but Ayla and I have had a few interesting times together." There was an instinct that pushed her to go back to the way that she had been - the character she'd played for the past few years, but she resisted it. The tethered couldn't help but seize upon the last bit of Maura's sentence, however, for it seemed so unlike Ayla. "Left without saying a word?" She tilted her head to one side.
Maura blushed lightly, “Forgive me, not as ominous as that sounds.” She composed herself, especially as Ayla is distracted by the others, allowing the pair to talk more privately, “Her father thought to place her under house arrest, prior to sending her here. A joke as you probably gathered, she isn’t the most adventurous type. More likely to be found with dessert than the desert.” She forms a wide smile, imagining Ayla asking where the churros grew out in the desert.
“Had a surreal experience this morning though. Went to the admissions office to inquire about enrolment at the academy, and initially they treated me as if royalty when they saw me roll in and said about being from Torragon.” Her voice rang with pleasant surprise as it chirped from the events, she fidgeted a moment in her seat as it came with a characteristic ‘buttttt’ expression, “Their faces dropped when there had been a misunderstanding and was ushered out rather quickly…” she rolled her eyes a moment.
She looks down then smiles a little, as if looking like she entertained saying quite a number of things in the moment of her own quietness. “So… Jocasta? Jo? How did you end up with Ayla.”
Jocasta, thought... Jocasta. This girl seemed pleasant enough, though possessed of the same annoying verbal tic as Ayla, and there was always a shared kinship with fellow tethered. Yet, the Djamantese still had her secrets; they were many and deadly. It would not do to get too close to people whom she knew nothing about. Just because your legs are gimpy, doesn't make you a good-faith actor, Jocasta self-warned. If anything, she herself had long been the poster child for that. "Oh, she and I had a little adventure in the desert, ironically," she replied with a smirk. Unbidden, she found her voice dipping. "at a refuge for people like... us." The tethered eyes flashed for a moment. "Stairs to climb and doors closed in our faces are all part of the fun, as it sounds like you've just been reminded, but we were able to make things a little better." She shrugged, "so that's something."
Maura blinked in astonishment as Jocasta spoke about her and Ayla spending time in the Desert. Was the girl trying to test her in some way, or trying to prove some kind of point that she was somehow the better friend. Jealousy? She continued to listen as she brought her hands together, as the fingers interlocked. It got even more surprising when they suggested they were at a refuge together, but those are for the tethered… Ayla is actually tethered? Maura moves her eyes to look across to look towards Ayla happily talking to her other friends as nothing is amiss. It does make some kind of sense, Ayla has always been physically weak and there were always rumours and days she had to stay inside. Perhaps coming to the academy was a cover for the house arrest, if the Duque sent her to the refuge… perhaps that is why the admission staff were so confused. She holds upon her hands tightly, her eyes looking sad as she looks down towards them. “She never told me she was tethered… there were the rumours, but you know how they can be…” she breaks her hands to grab a napkin, to dab at her eyes, “Perhaps that is why she always looked out for me, she was always thinking she would be in this position herself.” She moves her hands upon Jocasta’s own, “Promise to take care of her. She is so innocent at heart.”
Jocasta merely blinked. Either this girl was messing with her or something about baking in the Torragonese sun all day really did strip people of some intelligence. For the sake of having even a shred of respect for Maura, she decided that it must be the former. "Ha!" she laughed. "Haha, you almost had me there for a second." She rolled her eyes. "Oraff knows she's a jellyfish, though, and I don't get paid enough to be her nursemaid. We should put her through her paces."
Maura seems to just grow more perplexed. Is this person trying to make a fool out of her with the whole tethered thing? She was conned so easily by such a simple ruse, too trusting of someone who claims to be one of Ayla’s dearest friends. Mocked for being deceived so easily, that it had to be a joke. The nerve of this one. “Your ruse about the refuge was a nice touch.” she sits there with that polite smile, as she looks towards the blonde, simply nodding as she discusses putting her through her paces. “It does seem Ayla has her work cut out for her here.”
Jocasta stopped and visibly shook her head to clear it. "Wait up, hold on a moment. Let's just reel this one back in." Truth be told, she was annoyed and she had spotted Augusto not so far away. Zarina was about as well, and Kaspar. It occurred to her that she could just tweak Maura's mood or perceptions a little bit and be done, but she'd been trying not to do things like that. Caring what people thought of her was much easier when she was only pretending to do it while playing a role. "Ayla didn't tell you that we were sent by the school to a refuge in Torragon?" She shook her head and rolled her eyes. "Shune, she's such an airhead sometimes. Also, come on." She reached down and slapped the tops of her thighs and gestured at Maura's. Her expression said the rest.
Maura seemed to look towards Jocasta incredulously as the situation was reeled in again. She did consider for a moment that maybe Ayla did have a tendency for an overly welcoming and emotional greeting, but she thought it was a given they haven’t conversed for some time, and it appears there was plenty to converse about. Ayla running off to refuges and deserts in Torragon when she was meant to be in class did sound very far fetched, it would be around a 4 week round trip at least by boat minimum, as a starting point, significantly greater if they were to cross to a river boat, sail up the Merapor River, then join a trade caravan to head to St Austin. It had only been over a month since Ayla first attended the school.
Maura could only blink, as she saw Jocasta’s motions and tilted her head, “Tethered?”
What was there to not understand? Had this stupid girl spent her entire life in a bubble or was she just getting her figurative kicks by playing this obtuse? Had not Ayla written to her supposed best friend at least once over the past month and a half about the wonders of Ersand'Enise? About how time itself had been paused on the very first day? About the Aberrations? The Forked Tower? Any of it? How did she seem so 'confused'?
Jocasta found her blood boiling as she looked at the pleasant, perplexed little face before her. Eshi, I wanna punch you, she thought, smiling agreeably back, brittle as it was. The thought occurred to her that this might be more Ayla's fault, but she was not about to indulge it, for friends, at least, were sacrosanct to a degree.
Without warning, she reached out and took Maura's hands, simultaneously grabbing the threads of time and space. Things froze: Manfred in the middle of hesitating in his dance with Dorothea, Marci being awkwardly introduced by Zarina, all manner of interactions, even Augusto's 'conversation' with Trypano, though he was not frozen and glanced her way wearily. "Do make it quick," he sighed. "Do cover for me?" she replied.
Then, two young women in wheelchairs appeared in the middle of the Dune Sea, on a plateau overlooking the refuge of St. Agustin de las Arenas. A hot, dusty wind swirled their hair as Jocasta released the other and backed up a few pushes. "Now, you were either being obtuse," she began, "trying to get your kicks out of me for some reason, or you really didn't know, in which case, sorry, and I need to have a conversation with Ayla about sharing a little better with her friends. Now, what is it?" she asked, voice slipping from too-sweet to flat. She studied Maura intently.
The walls around Maura seem to fall down around her as it is replaced by the sights of the Torragonese desert. The hot air blasting her unexpectedly as she physically jumps in her seat in the total shock of the experience. “Azúcar, miel y té helado. Hija de un escrupuloso recaudador de impuestos!” she swears out loud as she takes in the scenery around her. “Donde estamos nosotras”, takes a moment to calm down and settle, as the realisation of what Jocasta was trying to say turned into reality, a very confusing one where someone turned the world upside down for a good few moments and tried to shake out its contents.
Maura blinked for a moment as she listened to the question, “Of course one would be obtuse, no one expects the man from the docks claiming to be visited by little grey men from Yazan to be telling the truth… Do you know the implications of this? The ability to cross vast distances in a heartbeat…” she takes hold of Jocasta’s hands, squeezes upon them tightly. “You use this, and we can make some serious money. A partnership will cover the accounting, inventory, and stock, and you can deliver it with this ability.” As the excitement calmed down a tad, she expanded, “Not seen or heard of Ayla since we last met in Torragon. She doesn’t usually greet me that passionately… often.”
"We are in the desert of Inner Torragon," replied Jocasta to the other's rapid Torragonese. "I thought it best to simply show you, lest we continue being vexed by each other."
Jocasta set hands to wheels, turning to regard the refuge in the distance. "That is San Agustin de las Arenas," she announced, "the refuge where I grew up." She gestured in its direction. "It wasn't me who brought us here." Her eyes found Maura again. "It was the paradigm himself, if you'd believe it. We sure didn't at first. Well," she corrected, "most of us. The problem is that the Arch-Zenos and the Zenith keep knowledge of this kind of magic - Temporal magic under lock and key. It's slipped out in a few places and I'm one of those, but I can't be too brazen in its use or..." she trailed off and shrugged, leaving the rest implied. "Trust me, I'd be a rich woman otherwise."
Maura pondered the words as she looked upon the sands. She was dressed far too warm and was starting to heat up, but she did have an idea. “Temporal… that is a fancy word for time? So does this allow you to move both distance and time.” She looks towards Jocasta, and it can be seen that the grinders are turning in the girls’ head. “Does that mean we could visit Ayla during her house arrest, prior to arriving at the academy? Perhaps we could go and cheer her up before she gets sad!”
"She didn't strike me as 'sad'," Jocasta replied, still trying to get the measure of Maura, "but you know her better than I do and it was at least a few weeks into the term when I met her." She took a moment to sweep some hair from her face. It was decidedly windy out here. "Thing is, if we go back in time and change one thing, then what else would it change? I wanna help a friend out, but it's not without risk, you know..."
Maura did have this whole idea of visiting Ayla back at home, and cheerleading her to the academy, though she did consider Jo’s words for a good moment. “You’re right, it was a silly idea. Might end up in where she never met you due to it, which means we would not meet, then we wouldn’t go back in the first place…” The rabbit hole of temporal paradoxes begins in her mind, as she considers digging her nose into it, then running away screaming. “That’s too much thinking for one evening.”
"It gets... pretty tangled," Jocasta admitted. "But that doesn't mean we can't do our best to fix matters in the present, hmm?" She paused halfway through turning. Jocasta had always been a pacer, for as long as she could remember, unable to sit still once an idea took her. The gradual paralysis that had crept its way up nearly to her waistline had necessitated a change in means as opposed to habit, but it was tiring and cumbersome and she would be imposing to force a fellow invalid to follow along. "Say, if you don't mind me asking," she began, "you're not tethered, are you?" Maura's chair looked heavier and more solid, not the light wicker sort that they gave out in refuges and that Jocasta had sworn by for the six years since. "I mean, if you'd rather not say anymore, I understand it, and we should probably head back soon anyways, but I'd be lying if I didn't confess to some curiosity. Most every other invalid I know is tethered." She wrinkled her nose. "In truth, I dislike the term as well. Smacks of dismissiveness."
Maura winkles her nose in return when those terms were being used, though smiles at the question, “One is often called and referred to as a Tethered, even when you don’t have the disease. We live in a world where most things can be fixed by a binder and a ‘can do’ attitude at some expense, and if you happen to be poor or incurable, sometimes simply being abandoned is your fate. One is what you see of them.” She points towards the incline running along the plateau “The reality is, It is all about perspective. What if we said no one was invalid.”
She takes a moment for Jocasta to process the hypothetical before explaining. “How does one define being invalid. Being unable to use the stairs? Does that mean if there are no stairs, one is now not disabled?'' She goes along with the incline for emphasis. “If the stairs were a ramp like this incline, we could travel up and down as well. One thinks, if we are defined by our environment like so, perhaps what is broken is not us, but the environment we live in. In the world around you, did Oraff create stairs, or did we create the stairs?” She points to a froabase pointing in the distance, both in amazement at its splendour, but also to make another point, “There we have a dragon flying. Are we invalids to the dragon, because we cannot soar through the air on our wings? To it, that is normal, therefore we as humans must be broken.” “Some of us have crossed the twin-continents in the blink of an eye and a sassy attitude, does that make the ones who cannot invalid?” She couldn’t resist the tease, but wanted it to make the point, “It is perspective. You are not an invalid Jocasta. You are an amazing friend of a friend.”
In truth, Jocasta wasn't quite sure how to feel. She fell somewhere between being impressed by a good point and rolling her eyes. Nature didn't have stairs. It had mud and crags; roots, rocks, and steep inclines. A froabas was built to have wings that it could fly with. Humans were built to have legs that they could walk with. It was nice to think of a different world, though.
The temporal pressure was building, however. Augusto had been nice enough to cover for her. He was an intriguing one. She couldn't take advantage of his generosity any further, though. "An interesting thing to consider," she replied noncommittally, flashing a quick smile. Maura bore watching, for better or for worse. "Come now, take my hands! We should be back!"
When their world swirled and Jocasta returned, she took a moment to brush the dust from herself and recommended her acquaintance do the same. Augusto shot her a smirk and an eyeroll and the two girls returned to their places. It was little more than a minute later when the bell for dinner rang and, proper young lady that she was, Jocasta went through her paces.
Maura took those hands and ended up back where they started, without much notice of their disappearance. She took the opportunity to brush herself down as she cannot help but notice the direction Jo appeared to be looking towards, smiling politely towards the other with that knowing gaze.
She continued to converse with Jo for those last moments in a hushed tone before focusing attention upon the food. Afterall spending a good few moments in the desert makes one parched rather quickly. “Your skill will become very handy when we travel to Djamant. We need to remain in touch.”
Ingrid
Ingrid had been anxious the night before but was able to go to sleep without the chemical helper known as ethanol. It took her maybe 2 hours to get ready before she even got into the carriage to take her to the party. She took some medicine beforehand to help dull her nerves before entering the party.
As Ingrid arrived the guards checked her invitation to make sure it was real and they let her in. Her height had made them specifically nervous as with how long her legs she could have easily stashed a weapon on her. But much to their surprise the Eskandish Amazonian said she bore no weapon, not even a focus. Many guards watched her enter and some checked with magnetism to see if anything registered and nothing did.
When it was time for Ingrid to greet the host of this fine banquet she went through the normal routine that noble so to greet each other. Thanks and pleasantries, all serving merely as a way to enter the party. She made her way to her table to sit and watch the event for a time to get a sense of what she should be doing. She isn't deeply tied with Torragon so she has only a rudimentary understanding of the nobility there. 'When in unfamiliar waters it is best to keep calm and play it safe' was what came to Ingrid's mind.
Ingrid was still nervous even with the assistance of the supposed inhibitor she had taken. I probably bought the wares of some fake alchemist. It was worth a shot though, I'll just have to level out on my own, Ingrid thought as she chose to stay mainly silent. She wasn't being a mute but wasn't starting any conversations yet as she tried to feel a bit more comfortable with the party.
When Ingrid found a moment to grab Ayla's attention she spoke out, "Ayla," Ingrid said a slight bit louder to have Ayla focus on her, "I have prepared a gift for you. It isn't anything too grand but I would like you to have it. I remember at the speed dating event you played a very wonderful flute. As I assure you know, this is an Esknadish Panflute. It isn't terribly complicated but I thought you could have fun with this." Ingrid was a little bit anxious to give the gift but that mostly came from Ingrid hoping she liked it.
Ayla smiles widely as she comes to see Ingrid. She was pleasantly surprised her friend came, especially as she heard she got in an argument with Dory the other day after an incident with an aberration, but it seems both have patched things up since. “Ingrid! Glad you made it. Good to get you out of your room, we thought we were going to need an intervention.” She takes the girl by the hands, and squeezes upon them. As Ingrid presents the gift, Ayla’s eyes widen in surprise and with a gentle smile, accepting the pan-pipes. She took the little box as she gave a toot over the holes, similar to the flute, and soon was able to get a little tune out of them. Definitely gifted when it comes to sound. “Thank you Ingrid, this was sweet of you. Portable too, so able to carry around when bringing it to your homeland with me. Marly said to see a rural practice there called… Kulling? In your tongue.”
Ingrid had tried to hide a look of complete confusion. Culling? Ingrid questioned. She couldn't tell if the sweet girl in front wanted to help cull a herd during a particularly tough winter. Ingrid thought hard and suddenly it became clear. Ingrid hid a small chuckle under her hand, "Lady Ayla, a kulning is something we mainly use to call our herds over great distances. It is a unique sound and if you have never heard it I can perform it for you on a later date if you would like."
"And thank you," Ingrid said abruptly in a much less joyful tone, "Like you said as a joke I had been keeping to myself as of late and as nervous as I am I shouldn't be staying in my room all the time." Ingrid set her hands on Ayla's, lightly grasping them, "So thank you."
Ingrid thanked Ayla and Ayla went on her way. Ingrid didn't have much to do. Ayla was bouncing from person to person and Dory was with her boyfriend. Ingrid was also invited by a man named Augusto. And he was talking to Trypano... Should I try and make my way into the conversation? I guess I'll stay to the outside and hope either of them notice and pull me in. Ingrid stood and made her way to a position that they should be able to notice her. With some well placed eye contact, she shouldn't be standing there too long.
"It's tough being a third wheel, isn't it?" Yalen whispered to Ingrid from behind. He had left the table moments ago to relieve himself and was on his way back to his seat, when he noticed the tall Eskandish girl standing around awkwardly. He beamed an innocent smile at her, seemingly unaware of her desire to speak with Trypano and Augusto. When it came to the dynamics of human pair bonding he was the most inexperienced person in the room, so Ingrid's nonverbal signals to the others had gone completely unnoticed by him.
"I was happy to receive the invitation, but I'll admit I really have no business here. Networking is more Zarina's speed. Perhaps Ayla just wanted some emotional support... What about you, what brings you here?"
Ingrid had been anxious the night before but was able to go to sleep without the chemical helper known as ethanol. It took her maybe 2 hours to get ready before she even got into the carriage to take her to the party. She took some medicine beforehand to help dull her nerves before entering the party.
As Ingrid arrived the guards checked her invitation to make sure it was real and they let her in. Her height had made them specifically nervous as with how long her legs she could have easily stashed a weapon on her. But much to their surprise the Eskandish Amazonian said she bore no weapon, not even a focus. Many guards watched her enter and some checked with magnetism to see if anything registered and nothing did.
When it was time for Ingrid to greet the host of this fine banquet she went through the normal routine that noble so to greet each other. Thanks and pleasantries, all serving merely as a way to enter the party. She made her way to her table to sit and watch the event for a time to get a sense of what she should be doing. She isn't deeply tied with Torragon so she has only a rudimentary understanding of the nobility there. 'When in unfamiliar waters it is best to keep calm and play it safe' was what came to Ingrid's mind.
Ingrid was still nervous even with the assistance of the supposed inhibitor she had taken. I probably bought the wares of some fake alchemist. It was worth a shot though, I'll just have to level out on my own, Ingrid thought as she chose to stay mainly silent. She wasn't being a mute but wasn't starting any conversations yet as she tried to feel a bit more comfortable with the party.
When Ingrid found a moment to grab Ayla's attention she spoke out, "Ayla," Ingrid said a slight bit louder to have Ayla focus on her, "I have prepared a gift for you. It isn't anything too grand but I would like you to have it. I remember at the speed dating event you played a very wonderful flute. As I assure you know, this is an Esknadish Panflute. It isn't terribly complicated but I thought you could have fun with this." Ingrid was a little bit anxious to give the gift but that mostly came from Ingrid hoping she liked it.
Ayla smiles widely as she comes to see Ingrid. She was pleasantly surprised her friend came, especially as she heard she got in an argument with Dory the other day after an incident with an aberration, but it seems both have patched things up since. “Ingrid! Glad you made it. Good to get you out of your room, we thought we were going to need an intervention.” She takes the girl by the hands, and squeezes upon them. As Ingrid presents the gift, Ayla’s eyes widen in surprise and with a gentle smile, accepting the pan-pipes. She took the little box as she gave a toot over the holes, similar to the flute, and soon was able to get a little tune out of them. Definitely gifted when it comes to sound. “Thank you Ingrid, this was sweet of you. Portable too, so able to carry around when bringing it to your homeland with me. Marly said to see a rural practice there called… Kulling? In your tongue.”
Ingrid had tried to hide a look of complete confusion. Culling? Ingrid questioned. She couldn't tell if the sweet girl in front wanted to help cull a herd during a particularly tough winter. Ingrid thought hard and suddenly it became clear. Ingrid hid a small chuckle under her hand, "Lady Ayla, a kulning is something we mainly use to call our herds over great distances. It is a unique sound and if you have never heard it I can perform it for you on a later date if you would like."
"And thank you," Ingrid said abruptly in a much less joyful tone, "Like you said as a joke I had been keeping to myself as of late and as nervous as I am I shouldn't be staying in my room all the time." Ingrid set her hands on Ayla's, lightly grasping them, "So thank you."
Ingrid thanked Ayla and Ayla went on her way. Ingrid didn't have much to do. Ayla was bouncing from person to person and Dory was with her boyfriend. Ingrid was also invited by a man named Augusto. And he was talking to Trypano... Should I try and make my way into the conversation? I guess I'll stay to the outside and hope either of them notice and pull me in. Ingrid stood and made her way to a position that they should be able to notice her. With some well placed eye contact, she shouldn't be standing there too long.
"It's tough being a third wheel, isn't it?" Yalen whispered to Ingrid from behind. He had left the table moments ago to relieve himself and was on his way back to his seat, when he noticed the tall Eskandish girl standing around awkwardly. He beamed an innocent smile at her, seemingly unaware of her desire to speak with Trypano and Augusto. When it came to the dynamics of human pair bonding he was the most inexperienced person in the room, so Ingrid's nonverbal signals to the others had gone completely unnoticed by him.
"I was happy to receive the invitation, but I'll admit I really have no business here. Networking is more Zarina's speed. Perhaps Ayla just wanted some emotional support... What about you, what brings you here?"
Trypano
Stepping up to the door her heart was in her throat, even if she stood a head or so taller than most of the people around. She presented her letter which, after some scrutiny, was deemed valid. After a quick search they were able to confirm that she was in fact unarmed too at which point she was cleared for entry.
If ever there was someone who stood out like a sore thumb she was that someone. With a clearly set colour pallet of red and more red with white skin she stuck out like a fire on the surface of a lake. Though her face was cold and placid her posture was tight, tense one might even say. She took care to heed the customs and paid her respects to the matron of the family before taking her seat amongst the others, some she recognized more than others.
So, was this the meeting of minds Jocasta invited me to? If so I hope it's purpose becomes clearer with time She wondered to herself in quiet thought as she took her seat. From there she glanced about the room, taking in who else was present and keeping track of things as they occurred without yet directly involving herself. In truth Trypano had no clue how to open a conversation with someone else, she'd be at a loss for words. Hence she adopted the silent observers position for the time being, acting natural even though she was anything but.
Ayla saw the impressive girl in red, and a paleness that rivals that of Kaspar. She offers a far more formal greeting towards her, taking the woman by her hands. “Lady Somia, good that you were able to come.” she squeezes and breaks the gesture. “We know we only met briefly, it is good that you are willing to attend even though we are acquaintances. Hope you were able to get my message, Lord Frannemas should be in attendance somewhere this evening, he was asking me if there was an opportunity for a personal introduction? Perhaps you may remember him from the Desert as well.” She smiles up towards the girl, that look that is hiding some giggly excitement at the idea of her playing some kind of matchmaking role. “Good looks, Good breeding, Status, high RAS, Very wealthy…” she says more quietly and softly towards Trypano, as if trying to persuade her to have some interest in talking to him, though speaking louder “To compensate, please enjoy the delicious food on offer today and take advantage of any opportunities you may encounter”.
Stepping up to the door her heart was in her throat, even if she stood a head or so taller than most of the people around. She presented her letter which, after some scrutiny, was deemed valid. After a quick search they were able to confirm that she was in fact unarmed too at which point she was cleared for entry.
If ever there was someone who stood out like a sore thumb she was that someone. With a clearly set colour pallet of red and more red with white skin she stuck out like a fire on the surface of a lake. Though her face was cold and placid her posture was tight, tense one might even say. She took care to heed the customs and paid her respects to the matron of the family before taking her seat amongst the others, some she recognized more than others.
So, was this the meeting of minds Jocasta invited me to? If so I hope it's purpose becomes clearer with time She wondered to herself in quiet thought as she took her seat. From there she glanced about the room, taking in who else was present and keeping track of things as they occurred without yet directly involving herself. In truth Trypano had no clue how to open a conversation with someone else, she'd be at a loss for words. Hence she adopted the silent observers position for the time being, acting natural even though she was anything but.
Ayla saw the impressive girl in red, and a paleness that rivals that of Kaspar. She offers a far more formal greeting towards her, taking the woman by her hands. “Lady Somia, good that you were able to come.” she squeezes and breaks the gesture. “We know we only met briefly, it is good that you are willing to attend even though we are acquaintances. Hope you were able to get my message, Lord Frannemas should be in attendance somewhere this evening, he was asking me if there was an opportunity for a personal introduction? Perhaps you may remember him from the Desert as well.” She smiles up towards the girl, that look that is hiding some giggly excitement at the idea of her playing some kind of matchmaking role. “Good looks, Good breeding, Status, high RAS, Very wealthy…” she says more quietly and softly towards Trypano, as if trying to persuade her to have some interest in talking to him, though speaking louder “To compensate, please enjoy the delicious food on offer today and take advantage of any opportunities you may encounter”.
Augusto had been holding himself aloof, busy about the city and then in his chambers, but he emerged when introduced and it was nice to be fawned over a little bit less than usual. There were, around him, all three women that he'd asked Ayla to introduce him to, and Trypano Somia looked to be the only one not otherwise engaged. RAS 8.28, possibly higher now, exceptional physical specimen, binder or more likely blood mage, cold and analytical by nature, socially awkward. Poor girl would be impressive if she didn't look so lost
He strode up to the Revidian, a small fluted wine glass in each hand, and offered her one. "You don't have to drink the swill, but you'll look more natural with one on your person." He smiled faintly, knowingly. "You fairly radiate anxiety, but you'll find these events are not so difficult. Just get stuck into one good conversation and milk it." The Torragonese held out a hand. "Augusto Frannemas, surprisingly. I believe we were to meet here."
"I did receive your letter regarding his invitation as well. I do recall seeing him back in the desert as well, though we never spoke." She replied to Ayla's greeting. Just as she was starting to get her bearings in this setting, more or less, her younger host proceeded to put her off her rhythm once more with talk of Augusto's qualities in... a relationship? She certainly wasn't precisely aware of the nature of their invitation but the way Ayla was leaning into it started to give her a bad feeling about this.
Speaking of devils the man himself emerged as if summoned by the mere utterance of his name. Accepting the drink as a party accoutrement she heard his advice. Spoken from experience it would seem but getting stuck into a good conversation first requires a good conversation to get stuck into.
"Trypano Somia. I recall you had sent me an invitation to meet, yes." She shook his offered hand, maintaining a formal exterior to mask her uncertainty. "Typically I'm only invited out to discuss matters of academia or business."
"Important matters," he agreed, "but I've found that your successes in those matters will wither quickly on the vine without some social acumen as well." He flashed a quick and professional but reassuring smile. "For the sake of brevity, however, I won't beat around the bush. I'm supposed to marry at the behest of my parents and, when in Ersand, I'm expected to make an effort to court any respectable lady who's both of an age with me and possessed of a capacity above eight-point-two." He shrugged. "Personally, I find marriage a disagreeable institution, as it gets in the way of both romance and other pursuits. I'm far more interested in hearing more about these academic pursuits of yours. I've heard only whispers to this point."
"Indeed. As my brother often reminds me, work done for the sake of humanity means I am unable to cut them from the equation." She responded, noting his smile but unable to return one of her own as she was focused on maintaining poise and decorum, a curse for one who stood out as much as she.
"I gather then you're approaching me with such an offer given I meet their criteria?" She noted. "I do agree that such matters come with caveats that can impede one's professional and personal life pursuits. As for my academic pursuits..." She adjusted her grip on the wine glass, snaking the stem between her index and ring finger as she held it off to one side.
"My main study is biology. I am looking to answer a question that has gone relatively unexplored aside from a few select minds throughout our past, the question being "What is Mana?"" Trypano took a step aside, blocking less of the room with her form as she stood perpendicularly from him to keep both him and most of the room's occupants in view.
"Given how important such a thing is to casters far and wide it's remarkable how little yet remains known of it. Just as all of our flesh ultimately breaks down into core elements which further break down into pure magical energy I suspect mana too must be composed from several core elements. Should I be able to decipher the exact nature of mana's form then from there I could start to see what elements in the blood draw the most mana. While I understand that many noble houses specifically breed for high RAS quantities in their children it is still an imprecise art, still well and far from the perfect science it could be."
"Sounds an ambitious plan," Augusto replied, "though mostly in regards to finding the right equipment and a starting line. Hard to build a tower without knowing what sort of foundation to lay, and other such idioms and metaphors." He sipped his wine.
"I will admit that I'm not much of a scientist. I only study magic, and the most practical aspects of it." He shrugged. "But it's an intriguing mystery. We could unlock much more, but then..." his eyes narrowed momentarily, perhaps indicating that he had sunk his teeth into something of interest, "does that devalue magic by removing its scarcity?" He had noticed a second unusually tall woman sliding in close to them and presumed that she might be Ingrid Penderson. Before she could join their conversation, however, she was accosted by an enthusiastic priest that Augusto recognized immediately as Yalen Castel: a man with whom he had vanishingly little in common, but a good man nonetheless. She appeared to want little to do with him.
"Ah, brother Castel!" Augusto greeted him cheerfully, "So sorry to cut your conversation short, but I was just about to ask Miss Somia here a question that occurred to me, and I thought that you might bring an interesting perspective to the matter as a man of the cloth." He nodded in Ingrid's direction as well. "Lady Penderson. Now, the notion is this: if we humans and yasoi, by virtue of our ingenuity and scientific discovery, should find a way to imbue all people with a high degree of magic capacity, is that necessarily a good thing? Should the Gift be widely available? Can all people be trusted to use it or only those whom the Gods have seen fit to bestow it upon from birth?”
Upon mention of her research's threat to scarcity her eyes sharpened. It was not a threatening look but rather she now had something to sink her teeth into. His subtle pushback bled out into a general debate aimed at both her and two others who had gravitated to their group. At this point it was time to rebuke this devil's advocate.
"Did the advent of the sword devalue the club?" Her point was made in general but her focus remained on him. "Many would say yes. Diehard upholders of the club disagreed but you don't see anyone modernly siding with classic club values over the rise of firearms and the ever-advancing exploration of magic's limits."
She now had her right hand behind her back, the other hand still holding the wine glass, tracing circles along the surface with her long red painted thumbnail.
"Any advancement to society comes with it's fair share of risk. It is always reasonable to assume that a percentage of people will abuse what they are allowed to have as it is human nature. We could decry that the discovery of fire was when humanity overstepped it's bounds, challenging the gods by banding together and forming tribes, crafting weapons of stone and wood before laying traps to hunt great beasts with the primitive tools that would become the ancestors of all weapons." Taking her free hand out from behind her back she gestured to the room at large in all it's opulence.
"This age of peace and erudition was bought with the sweat and blood of those who dared to dream of creating a better world for their fellow men and women alike. The very academy halls we walk we only walk because those with knowledge saw it fit to share that knowledge with others. Knowledge and it's proliferation across the modern world is what allowed us to rise up from the era where all but a few warlords wallowed in dirt suffering through disease and famine while the few gifted saw their talents cut short in endless conflict, the force and fury of powerful casters clashing with one another like territorial dragons waging brutal combat." She stopped to hear Ingrid's take on the philosophical quandary posed. She couldn't help but smirk, turning her focus to her.
"You claim those with high RAS would lead to catastrophe even though close to everyone Augusto invited to speak with him meets that condition, hm?" She cocked an eyebrow to accompany a wry smile. "I could make the case that even with as few mages that occur now as there are the risks of one reaching such powerful heights and dabbling with forces that present an existential threat to sapient-kind as we know it is not only likely, it's already happening."
Perhaps this was oversharing. Cased in the frame of a hypothetical she could play it off as a manner of speaking but she needed to be careful with what else she mentioned. Perhaps it was time to throw off the scent a little. A careful dance of words indeed.
"You recall the aberration that appeared, yes?" She left the rhetorical question open ended, letting Ingrid fill in the blanks. "You do also know that they are the result of improper tampering with the temporal fabric of reality. While ordinarily they are to be avoided or reported to the nearest authority on such magic, if they present a risk of being absorbed by less even-tempered parties then sometimes one must take containment into their own hands." While not specifically broadcasting this information she left the description vague enough not to purposefully out Ingrid's recent behaviour. Instead she turned the focus of her argument back over to Augusto.
"Even a 6.0 could, if inclined, abuse what knowledge they may possess on such magics and commit irreparable damage to this reality. What matters is not whether or not more people has access to magic, it's whether or not people have access to the knowledge needed to wield their magic. You see as much here at the academy, those with greater knowledge acting as safeguards against the exploitation of fundamentally dangerous secrets to magic." She lightly gestured to him with her free arm back out from behind her back.
"In an ultimately pragmatic argument entrepreneurship rewards seeing opportunity in rising trends and capitalising on it ahead of the rest. While one can stall progress it only serves them so long as there is guarantee that progress never occurs. Once it does, those who stood against it end up behind everyone else, struggling to keep up with the change while those who saw the trend on the rise and adopted it will see great rewards on their investment. History is full of noble houses who sat on their laurels only to find themselves dwindling as they lose territory and other such assets to their neighbours after all."
Thus she made her points. She spoke of historical precedent, of the gods, of the dangers of change and even business. This was not the first time those in positions of authority had questioned the radical nature of her research and it most certainly wasn't the first time she considered the greater implications of her work. Her whole life's effort was not born in a vacuum for life often challenged her on this effort both mentally, physically and philosophically still.
Augusto was right in saying that social acumen had a hand in her work's success. Despite her cold and sometimes awkward demeanour, she understood people well.
They were her greatest obstacles after all.
He strode up to the Revidian, a small fluted wine glass in each hand, and offered her one. "You don't have to drink the swill, but you'll look more natural with one on your person." He smiled faintly, knowingly. "You fairly radiate anxiety, but you'll find these events are not so difficult. Just get stuck into one good conversation and milk it." The Torragonese held out a hand. "Augusto Frannemas, surprisingly. I believe we were to meet here."
"I did receive your letter regarding his invitation as well. I do recall seeing him back in the desert as well, though we never spoke." She replied to Ayla's greeting. Just as she was starting to get her bearings in this setting, more or less, her younger host proceeded to put her off her rhythm once more with talk of Augusto's qualities in... a relationship? She certainly wasn't precisely aware of the nature of their invitation but the way Ayla was leaning into it started to give her a bad feeling about this.
Speaking of devils the man himself emerged as if summoned by the mere utterance of his name. Accepting the drink as a party accoutrement she heard his advice. Spoken from experience it would seem but getting stuck into a good conversation first requires a good conversation to get stuck into.
"Trypano Somia. I recall you had sent me an invitation to meet, yes." She shook his offered hand, maintaining a formal exterior to mask her uncertainty. "Typically I'm only invited out to discuss matters of academia or business."
"Important matters," he agreed, "but I've found that your successes in those matters will wither quickly on the vine without some social acumen as well." He flashed a quick and professional but reassuring smile. "For the sake of brevity, however, I won't beat around the bush. I'm supposed to marry at the behest of my parents and, when in Ersand, I'm expected to make an effort to court any respectable lady who's both of an age with me and possessed of a capacity above eight-point-two." He shrugged. "Personally, I find marriage a disagreeable institution, as it gets in the way of both romance and other pursuits. I'm far more interested in hearing more about these academic pursuits of yours. I've heard only whispers to this point."
"Indeed. As my brother often reminds me, work done for the sake of humanity means I am unable to cut them from the equation." She responded, noting his smile but unable to return one of her own as she was focused on maintaining poise and decorum, a curse for one who stood out as much as she.
"I gather then you're approaching me with such an offer given I meet their criteria?" She noted. "I do agree that such matters come with caveats that can impede one's professional and personal life pursuits. As for my academic pursuits..." She adjusted her grip on the wine glass, snaking the stem between her index and ring finger as she held it off to one side.
"My main study is biology. I am looking to answer a question that has gone relatively unexplored aside from a few select minds throughout our past, the question being "What is Mana?"" Trypano took a step aside, blocking less of the room with her form as she stood perpendicularly from him to keep both him and most of the room's occupants in view.
"Given how important such a thing is to casters far and wide it's remarkable how little yet remains known of it. Just as all of our flesh ultimately breaks down into core elements which further break down into pure magical energy I suspect mana too must be composed from several core elements. Should I be able to decipher the exact nature of mana's form then from there I could start to see what elements in the blood draw the most mana. While I understand that many noble houses specifically breed for high RAS quantities in their children it is still an imprecise art, still well and far from the perfect science it could be."
"Sounds an ambitious plan," Augusto replied, "though mostly in regards to finding the right equipment and a starting line. Hard to build a tower without knowing what sort of foundation to lay, and other such idioms and metaphors." He sipped his wine.
"I will admit that I'm not much of a scientist. I only study magic, and the most practical aspects of it." He shrugged. "But it's an intriguing mystery. We could unlock much more, but then..." his eyes narrowed momentarily, perhaps indicating that he had sunk his teeth into something of interest, "does that devalue magic by removing its scarcity?" He had noticed a second unusually tall woman sliding in close to them and presumed that she might be Ingrid Penderson. Before she could join their conversation, however, she was accosted by an enthusiastic priest that Augusto recognized immediately as Yalen Castel: a man with whom he had vanishingly little in common, but a good man nonetheless. She appeared to want little to do with him.
"Ah, brother Castel!" Augusto greeted him cheerfully, "So sorry to cut your conversation short, but I was just about to ask Miss Somia here a question that occurred to me, and I thought that you might bring an interesting perspective to the matter as a man of the cloth." He nodded in Ingrid's direction as well. "Lady Penderson. Now, the notion is this: if we humans and yasoi, by virtue of our ingenuity and scientific discovery, should find a way to imbue all people with a high degree of magic capacity, is that necessarily a good thing? Should the Gift be widely available? Can all people be trusted to use it or only those whom the Gods have seen fit to bestow it upon from birth?”
Upon mention of her research's threat to scarcity her eyes sharpened. It was not a threatening look but rather she now had something to sink her teeth into. His subtle pushback bled out into a general debate aimed at both her and two others who had gravitated to their group. At this point it was time to rebuke this devil's advocate.
"Did the advent of the sword devalue the club?" Her point was made in general but her focus remained on him. "Many would say yes. Diehard upholders of the club disagreed but you don't see anyone modernly siding with classic club values over the rise of firearms and the ever-advancing exploration of magic's limits."
She now had her right hand behind her back, the other hand still holding the wine glass, tracing circles along the surface with her long red painted thumbnail.
"Any advancement to society comes with it's fair share of risk. It is always reasonable to assume that a percentage of people will abuse what they are allowed to have as it is human nature. We could decry that the discovery of fire was when humanity overstepped it's bounds, challenging the gods by banding together and forming tribes, crafting weapons of stone and wood before laying traps to hunt great beasts with the primitive tools that would become the ancestors of all weapons." Taking her free hand out from behind her back she gestured to the room at large in all it's opulence.
"This age of peace and erudition was bought with the sweat and blood of those who dared to dream of creating a better world for their fellow men and women alike. The very academy halls we walk we only walk because those with knowledge saw it fit to share that knowledge with others. Knowledge and it's proliferation across the modern world is what allowed us to rise up from the era where all but a few warlords wallowed in dirt suffering through disease and famine while the few gifted saw their talents cut short in endless conflict, the force and fury of powerful casters clashing with one another like territorial dragons waging brutal combat." She stopped to hear Ingrid's take on the philosophical quandary posed. She couldn't help but smirk, turning her focus to her.
"You claim those with high RAS would lead to catastrophe even though close to everyone Augusto invited to speak with him meets that condition, hm?" She cocked an eyebrow to accompany a wry smile. "I could make the case that even with as few mages that occur now as there are the risks of one reaching such powerful heights and dabbling with forces that present an existential threat to sapient-kind as we know it is not only likely, it's already happening."
Perhaps this was oversharing. Cased in the frame of a hypothetical she could play it off as a manner of speaking but she needed to be careful with what else she mentioned. Perhaps it was time to throw off the scent a little. A careful dance of words indeed.
"You recall the aberration that appeared, yes?" She left the rhetorical question open ended, letting Ingrid fill in the blanks. "You do also know that they are the result of improper tampering with the temporal fabric of reality. While ordinarily they are to be avoided or reported to the nearest authority on such magic, if they present a risk of being absorbed by less even-tempered parties then sometimes one must take containment into their own hands." While not specifically broadcasting this information she left the description vague enough not to purposefully out Ingrid's recent behaviour. Instead she turned the focus of her argument back over to Augusto.
"Even a 6.0 could, if inclined, abuse what knowledge they may possess on such magics and commit irreparable damage to this reality. What matters is not whether or not more people has access to magic, it's whether or not people have access to the knowledge needed to wield their magic. You see as much here at the academy, those with greater knowledge acting as safeguards against the exploitation of fundamentally dangerous secrets to magic." She lightly gestured to him with her free arm back out from behind her back.
"In an ultimately pragmatic argument entrepreneurship rewards seeing opportunity in rising trends and capitalising on it ahead of the rest. While one can stall progress it only serves them so long as there is guarantee that progress never occurs. Once it does, those who stood against it end up behind everyone else, struggling to keep up with the change while those who saw the trend on the rise and adopted it will see great rewards on their investment. History is full of noble houses who sat on their laurels only to find themselves dwindling as they lose territory and other such assets to their neighbours after all."
Thus she made her points. She spoke of historical precedent, of the gods, of the dangers of change and even business. This was not the first time those in positions of authority had questioned the radical nature of her research and it most certainly wasn't the first time she considered the greater implications of her work. Her whole life's effort was not born in a vacuum for life often challenged her on this effort both mentally, physically and philosophically still.
Augusto was right in saying that social acumen had a hand in her work's success. Despite her cold and sometimes awkward demeanour, she understood people well.
They were her greatest obstacles after all.
Ysilla
“Lady Ysilla Al-Nader…”
The puppeteer pariah was hardly seen these days. Ysilla attended her classes and communed with the other puppeteers in their appropriately named student society. Time not outside was spent toiling away on her craft. There was always a new shape or inspiration for the Virangish eccentric.
Dressed in a midnight black dress with accompanying oversized witch’s hat, she kept herself nearly hidden aside from her face that often hid behind the brim of her hat. Despite the rather simple nature of her dress, she wore a variety of bracelets, rings, necklaces, and earrings with jewels of all colors mounted in silver to add a fine accent. Those that could manage to witness her face, her complex was pale having been spared the sun for so long. There was almost something sickly noticeable to the astute but easily concealed by the makeup applied.
“...and her guest…”
Tailing Ysilla was a six foot tall figure made of brass and steel with interlocking segments that made it clearly obvious it was one of her creations. Rostam, the Brass Dancer. She was quite proud of the work she put in and so not only was this party an event to show her support of Ayla, but also a chance to find donors. She needed a new medium and there are always bigger and better ideas…
Ysilla hovered across the Mansion with the bottom of her dress fanned out to conceal her small, silent steps across the floor. Rostam was just as silent, the joints well fitted and lightly oiled to prevent the intrusion of his sound. The pair moved over to who Ysilla considered the height of the party, Ayla.
She gave a quiet nod of greeting before finishing her approach. “Ayla…” It was at this point, Ysilla had silently panicked. She had run out of things to talk about! Or rather, wasn’t prepared at all!
“Your tastes for arrangements are exquisite.” Her tone, as always, was monotone not betraying a hint of emotion like a carefully created mask. There wasn’t a follow up as she stood there, silently watching Ayla and waiting for her response. Rostam, too, was watching her. Conversation was never her strong suit, relying on others to carry it.
Ayla smiles widely at the sight of Ysilla, though raises an eyebrow towards her companion. “Tick. Tock.” Her smile wide as it bares her teeth, taking to holding the girls hands warmly and giving them a good squeeze. “You were missed. So much so, they had to send three to replace you.” She had to fight the urge to hug Ysilla, giving an extra long squeeze of the hand had to do. She moved to look up towards Ysilla’s brass chauffeur, as she held out a hand towards it. “Do you have a name?”
“Lady Ysilla Al-Nader…”
The puppeteer pariah was hardly seen these days. Ysilla attended her classes and communed with the other puppeteers in their appropriately named student society. Time not outside was spent toiling away on her craft. There was always a new shape or inspiration for the Virangish eccentric.
Dressed in a midnight black dress with accompanying oversized witch’s hat, she kept herself nearly hidden aside from her face that often hid behind the brim of her hat. Despite the rather simple nature of her dress, she wore a variety of bracelets, rings, necklaces, and earrings with jewels of all colors mounted in silver to add a fine accent. Those that could manage to witness her face, her complex was pale having been spared the sun for so long. There was almost something sickly noticeable to the astute but easily concealed by the makeup applied.
“...and her guest…”
Tailing Ysilla was a six foot tall figure made of brass and steel with interlocking segments that made it clearly obvious it was one of her creations. Rostam, the Brass Dancer. She was quite proud of the work she put in and so not only was this party an event to show her support of Ayla, but also a chance to find donors. She needed a new medium and there are always bigger and better ideas…
Ysilla hovered across the Mansion with the bottom of her dress fanned out to conceal her small, silent steps across the floor. Rostam was just as silent, the joints well fitted and lightly oiled to prevent the intrusion of his sound. The pair moved over to who Ysilla considered the height of the party, Ayla.
She gave a quiet nod of greeting before finishing her approach. “Ayla…” It was at this point, Ysilla had silently panicked. She had run out of things to talk about! Or rather, wasn’t prepared at all!
“Your tastes for arrangements are exquisite.” Her tone, as always, was monotone not betraying a hint of emotion like a carefully created mask. There wasn’t a follow up as she stood there, silently watching Ayla and waiting for her response. Rostam, too, was watching her. Conversation was never her strong suit, relying on others to carry it.
Ayla smiles widely at the sight of Ysilla, though raises an eyebrow towards her companion. “Tick. Tock.” Her smile wide as it bares her teeth, taking to holding the girls hands warmly and giving them a good squeeze. “You were missed. So much so, they had to send three to replace you.” She had to fight the urge to hug Ysilla, giving an extra long squeeze of the hand had to do. She moved to look up towards Ysilla’s brass chauffeur, as she held out a hand towards it. “Do you have a name?”
Food is Served
After a slow start of awkward introductions, the party started to grow engaging as multiple people got into conversations. Various guests and students start to mingle. What was seen primarily as a social function for the Duquesa and her guests started to become overrun by the other Arslan’s friends. The crowd was impressed at the prestige of the students walking through the halls, the up and coming generation into the world of politics spanning the twin continents. The Duquesa continues to guide certain individuals into one of the back rooms for far more hushed discussions out of earshot from the rest as she makes her way to the front.
“Señoras y señores … …”, Azahara raises her arms up, her hands outstretched as she clicks her fingers loudly, calling to attention to those in the room, and the staff waiting in the wings.
In classic Torragon tradition, the food is brought out on trays which are allocated to the tables. Each try consists of multiple small plates, Ayla-sized portions of food being served up.
The reception is rather different for those from afar, as a few are already showing their eyes wide with insult at the stingy meals, hawking. Thankfully Ayla is able to explain to her friends before they embarrass themselves like some of the others in front of the host.
“Tapas! Great!”, she clapped her hands together as she explained for her friends. “It is a fun Torragonese tradition. Instead of one big meal, you have 4, 6 or even 8 meals! You get to taste a lot of everything. Really good to explore with your taste buds.” The dishes served some offerings from the other nations too, a rather multicultural Tapas buffet. “Please take a plate and dig in, there is always more.”
Ayla moves to one of the dishes, croqueta, using a fork to pick it up. “This is one of my favourites. Croqueta! Deep fried mix of veg, cheese and ham, crisp shell and yummy soft middle.” She looks upon those gathered, deciding to target Trypano, moving the fork up towards her mouth. “Take a bite, you won’t regret it!”
The banquet continues as the empty plates are taken away and the fresh ones brought. Ayla encourages more of her friends to eat as she convinces Kaspar to have chorizo sausage wrapped within a tortilla topped with guacamole and sour cream, even suggesting he can eat it with his fingers. Others who were busy talking and neglecting the food got similar treatment as she didn’t want her friends to go without. There are treats continuing from far and near, even the Djamantese Pastizzi were on the table reportedly baked by Ayla herself. There is no pallet unsatisfied on offer.
The backroom opens with a loud ruckus as further guests who secreted themselves earlier during the gathering make their way into the hall. There is much excitement and chatter, it seems that whatever has been discussed has resulted in a very positive ending and business is concluded. Even if the contents ended up becoming hushed as they entered the dining room, a few cannot help but continue conversations at their table as they wine and dine. The guests begin to take their places at the tables, ensuring the cooks and chefs at the Manson de las Mil Ventana were certainly receiving overtime pay and a bonus.
There was always one who was the last to enter and the gravitas was clear for those around to see. The Duquesa moves up towards the man, giving a bow and offering her arm as she leads him to the position at the head of the table, usually reserved for King Sancho himself.
It was the man most expected to make a presence, the one many have heard about. Duque Duerte of Casa Arslan del Torragon, Guardián del Varrahasta, Protector del Río Arapor, Warden del Reserva Natural de Arapor, Keeper de la Basílica la Llama Sagrada…
As he reaches the seat, the characteristic ring of the bell is done as the room falls into silence.
“Thank you all for attending.”
“It is with great pleasure that business has concluded on his happiest of occasions. Now, before my announcement later this evening, we wish only for this. Eat to your heart's content and indulge in this wine, for we shall celebrate well into the night.”
“Enjoy!”.
Duque Arslan gives the sign as he gestures for those to lower themselves and get comfortable. He is soon seated himself, sitting next to his wife as they chat. Ayla looks somewhat confused by the supposed announcement, but shrugs her shoulders.
She turns to her friends with a big smile. “Right, that can only mean one thing. Expect everything to be in generous portions. Help yourself to anything and everything, though don’t sneak too many bottles out in your bag, Ingrid” She gives her Eskandish friend a teasing wink, though certainly code for some of the others to help themselves this evening.
She also waves Dory down, hoping to cause an opportunity for Zaz and Marci to exchange a few words with the other pair.
Marceline was running late. She'd been at a meeting of one of the student clubs that she was part of and they were already... acting on their goals. The problem was that she now had to walk back from their rather remote location. Marci and 'walking long distances' had had something of a falling out around the time of her eleventh birthday and were unlikely to ever make amends until 'walking' was replaced with 'rolling'. She'd hired a pousse-pousse on her meagre allowance and made it back to her dormitory. She'd washed up a bit and then spent about thrice as long dressing as she usually did. Duque Frannemas had been generous enough to provide each of the five he had sponsored with one respectable dinner outfit and while Marceline's wasn't bad, it was rather plain. That 'brother' of hers would likely be there, for he was a high society type, dressed to the nines and looking down his nose at her for having refused to call herself a Hohenfelter again. Tonto, she thought of him purposely using Torragonese instead of Kerreman. She was Marcelina Escarra, after all.
It was a second rickshaw that took her up to the gates, and she clambered out of it and up the stairs with some assistance from Kinetic magic. Gods, you look stupid. What are you even doing here? You're not high society. You're embarrassing yourself. She was rather tardy on top of everything else and it was almost enough to make her turn on her heel and run the other way. She made it to the door instead, gathered herself, fixed her hair, and tightened a couple of ties on her dress. By Ipte, it was frilly. The sheer... diameter of the thing made it hard to use her cane. Then, came the announcement. "Lady Marceline Hohenfelter von Meckelin-Thandau."
"I-I'm not..." she stammered, running out of words.
More than a dozen faces turned her way curiously, including his: Manfred's.
“Marci~”
Called out the Virangishwoman to the rescue. There was a lot going on, notably with Maura dropping the ultimate query with but one word, but with things potentially getting a bit too hot, she had to act. Rising from her seat with her wine glass still between her fingers, she approached the lobby of this exquisite evening to greet her business partner, “Well don’t you just look grand!” she cheered, arms opened upon invitingly, though she quickly closed them with only her free, gold-decorated hand reaching for the tethered’s shoulder before turning herself toward the Matriarch of the Arslans,
“Duquesa, I have the great honour to introduce you to the great mind behind Zeno Bucks, and the heart behind this gift we so graciously offer to you. Marceline Hohenfelter!” she peered over toward Marceline and gave her a knowing smile, “We were to come together, but being that I just can’t help it with my old, roughian girl habits, I opted to just ride on my own and got a head start. Myyy baaaad~” she nodded over at the teen. They weren’t supposed to come together, but the others didn’t have to know that.
"I, uh... yes," replied Marci, finding her stride verbally again. "Though my partner is too kind and, since we're in the business, it was difficult not to share what we do best. I truly hope you like it."
For a moment, she prickled. Zarina had called her that name too and she had glanced away to see his eyes upon her, quickly averting her own. But you shouldn't be! she yelled at her inner self. He's just some rich bully who's used to getting his way and just wants to live in the past with some version of you that either doesn't exist anymore or never did! You don't let people like that push you around. He's no brother.
Then and there, she'd have glared back at him were it not so clearly socially inappropriate. Instead, she engaged her partner and the hostess in a brief, friendly conversation. Marceline found that she had vanishingly little in common with the latter, but the duchess was making an effort and she was a power player in any case and important to have onside. When matters were finished, She teetered over to a chair, feeling a good half-century older than her fourteen years, and all-but threw herself onto it. Ladylike, she scolded herself. "Thanks for the save," she remarked to Zarina, taking in and expelling a deep breath. The fitted nature of her dress compressed her ribcage and the plunging neckline squeezed her chest, giving her breasts like a matron and perhaps the constitution of one as well. "But now I find myself bound to a lie," she huffed, annoyed with her friend but trying to soften her expression. Zaz had been forced to think on her feet. "I am no Hohenfelter." She glared at Manfred's back as he went through the motions of a dance. A few other free-spirited young couples were out on the floor as well. "Nor do I wish to be." She grimaced and shook her head, eye sinking to her lap and fingers twining and untwining themselves. "Sorry. I don't mean to sound ungrateful."
Zarina clicked her tongue in response to Marci’s thanks and winked at her, “No sweat.” she sat by her business partner and gave a thorough checkout of the room, one leg over the other and her hands knitted together over her abdomen, “Why not?” she asked very casually, her attention still torn between Marceline and the other guests, “It’s a useful name. A tool. One does not need to feel attachment or pride over a mere tool.” her gaze converged with what the Tethered teen had been glaring at, prompting an smug chuckle to escape her, “And they can’t do anything to stop you from using it.”
The Virangishwoman stood up, wine still in hand though nearing emptiness, and oriented herself toward the assortment of wines she sought to serve herself with rather than wait to be served, only to have to wait even more for the servants to get the right bottle, “Anyway. Let’s not get too grumpy, Little bean. Now’s the time to make friends and make good impressions.” she gave a smile to her friend before going for some vintage indulging.
Ayla is getting through multiple people, almost getting lost in the crowd, especially as she is the little one. She ends up orentiating to Zazzy and Marci who she hasn’t greeted yet. She happily extends her arms as she gives Marci a light hug, “mi hermanita - my little sister”, a comment always amusing due to their heights.
“Glad you were both able to make it, and now on that note, we have something special to share.” Ayla puts her box upon the table, as she takes what looks to be a normal piece of bread, then gently sprinkles some of the contents upon it. She happily brings Zaz and Marci a piece, offering it to the pair. “Open wide and try this!”
Upon opening wide, they will find the spratz coated pieces of bread pushed within them mouth to devour and enjoy. “Dory gifted it to me, it is called Spratzpepper! It is grown in her homeland.”
Whatever Marci may have said was interrupted by the arrival of Ayla, who seemed to sense emotional distress like a shark could smell blood in the water and who seemed almost biologically compelled to do something about it. Something delicious was shoved into Marceline's face, protest or not, and her only option was more or less to chew or to choke. Swallowing, she held the bread out before herself. "Ipte, it's delicious," she remarked, glancing Zarina's way. "And, uh, thank you." the younger girl flashed a smile.
"You said it was from Dory?" She blinked incredulously and scanned the gathering, but Dorothea was nowhere to be seen, currently. In any event Marci didn't really know her that well. The few times that Marci had seen her, she'd assumed the Feskan had money, but gifting that much. "Zaz, this wouldn't be something we could introduce as a premium or prestige offering at 'Bucks, would it?"
Zarina returned from her self-serving of white wine, one arm open as she saw Ayla with her friendly associate. The tall Virangish girl scooped the little cub in for a brief but tight embrace, “Hey hey, Kitty cat. What’s this?” she leaned in to nab the piece of bread with her mouth and nommed away, “Mmm. MmmMmm …” then she stopped chewing, eyebrows furrowed.
“More.” she ordered with an intense glare in her eyes, “More.” for the first time this evening the wine glass was dropped as her hand sought out the delicious treat instead, “These are spratz, yeah? You’d be right to think that, Marci.” she spoke with her mouth full, because she wasn’t going to stop enjoying this so long as Ayla provided, “Issue is supply and prices. Every Joe that sells food wants this shit. And for good reason.”
Marceline nodded. "It's aspirational, so it's high prestige and low volume. Not worth it unless we can piggyback an existing supply chain." She furrowed her brow. "Does Dorothea's family already import to the city?"
Let out a playful squeal of growl as she is scooped up by the tall Virangish woman within that tight embrace. She pushes the piece of bread between her lips, the finger making sure it goes right inside as she chews upon it. As the over eager girl starts hunting for more, she playfully boops her on the nose, “Calm down Riesco. You can have more later when we have the treats to match,” giggling playfully towards her.
She answers Marci’s question. “Manfred took her off to the dance floor in a Kerremand style. She is eager to meet you though! May be willing to part with it on very favourable terms.” she smiles widely, "Perhaps we may get an opportunity for introductions."
Marci nodded. "One might hope, because this is divine." She blushed. "May I have another?" There was a mischievous grin after a moment. "I'm lil' and sad and need it so!"
The time came for the yums and Zarina was very much put in the mood by Ayla’s feeding of the spratz bread. Tapas in particular mader her salivate. It all looked so good that she couldn’t help herself! “Don’t mind if I do. Can’t go wrong with a Tosta Tomate.” she uttered with an accurate Torragonese accent. It was a long slice of baguette-like bread with tomato sauce/paste smeared over the surface where it was split in half. She would add bits of queso and jamon over the end of it and take one big bite, progressively eating down the bread with different toppings each bite, “Mmmm~ Try this, Marci.” she waved her topped bread to her friend.
“Nice coincidence, aye? The lady with the Spratz so happens to be the one with your, ahem, brother,” she chatted with Marci, quiet enough to not get any accidental eavesdroppers, “Wanna go and say hello to them?”
Marceline was busy stuffing her face. There had been occasional nice meals at San Agustin, but nothing like this, and not consistently. "So many choices!" she squealed, "and so little time and space in muh tummy." After a quick, wary glance around, she patted it in a most unladylike fashion, grinning.
She and Zarina continued to chat and scheme, until the latter just had to push again. It was bad enough that she insisted on calling Marci 'Hohenfelter' and had put it on the registration for their business. Now, when prodded to speak with that horse's ass, her face became stony. The fourteen-year-old shot her friend a warning glare. "I think it's best if you take the lead on that. I think I'm going to be sick."
Before Zarina could respond, however, she was saved by the bell: the dinner bell. Tapas were served and Marceline's stomach was magically cured. "Okay, nevermind, I'm better now," she chirped, gazing over the smorgasbord, eyes lighting up. "But seriously," she whispered, leaning in as Ayla waved Manfred and Dorothea to seats a good deal closer than Marci would have liked, "it'll only make things awkward if I go talk to them. We need to separate business and personal matters."
“I agree with both your statements.” Zarina replied, one leg over the other and her lips knowing only wine even as the main course was served. The lack of spratz in the food just made it a tad less appetising to a girl far more used to banquets than Marci ever has, “But it looks like business is going to hit close to home, my dear friend. I think the personal-professional separation mantra is one you’ll be learning sooner rather than later.” and then she took a sip, smiling at the two guests that were beckoned over by Ayla.
It was a second rickshaw that took her up to the gates, and she clambered out of it and up the stairs with some assistance from Kinetic magic. Gods, you look stupid. What are you even doing here? You're not high society. You're embarrassing yourself. She was rather tardy on top of everything else and it was almost enough to make her turn on her heel and run the other way. She made it to the door instead, gathered herself, fixed her hair, and tightened a couple of ties on her dress. By Ipte, it was frilly. The sheer... diameter of the thing made it hard to use her cane. Then, came the announcement. "Lady Marceline Hohenfelter von Meckelin-Thandau."
"I-I'm not..." she stammered, running out of words.
More than a dozen faces turned her way curiously, including his: Manfred's.
“Marci~”
Called out the Virangishwoman to the rescue. There was a lot going on, notably with Maura dropping the ultimate query with but one word, but with things potentially getting a bit too hot, she had to act. Rising from her seat with her wine glass still between her fingers, she approached the lobby of this exquisite evening to greet her business partner, “Well don’t you just look grand!” she cheered, arms opened upon invitingly, though she quickly closed them with only her free, gold-decorated hand reaching for the tethered’s shoulder before turning herself toward the Matriarch of the Arslans,
“Duquesa, I have the great honour to introduce you to the great mind behind Zeno Bucks, and the heart behind this gift we so graciously offer to you. Marceline Hohenfelter!” she peered over toward Marceline and gave her a knowing smile, “We were to come together, but being that I just can’t help it with my old, roughian girl habits, I opted to just ride on my own and got a head start. Myyy baaaad~” she nodded over at the teen. They weren’t supposed to come together, but the others didn’t have to know that.
"I, uh... yes," replied Marci, finding her stride verbally again. "Though my partner is too kind and, since we're in the business, it was difficult not to share what we do best. I truly hope you like it."
For a moment, she prickled. Zarina had called her that name too and she had glanced away to see his eyes upon her, quickly averting her own. But you shouldn't be! she yelled at her inner self. He's just some rich bully who's used to getting his way and just wants to live in the past with some version of you that either doesn't exist anymore or never did! You don't let people like that push you around. He's no brother.
Then and there, she'd have glared back at him were it not so clearly socially inappropriate. Instead, she engaged her partner and the hostess in a brief, friendly conversation. Marceline found that she had vanishingly little in common with the latter, but the duchess was making an effort and she was a power player in any case and important to have onside. When matters were finished, She teetered over to a chair, feeling a good half-century older than her fourteen years, and all-but threw herself onto it. Ladylike, she scolded herself. "Thanks for the save," she remarked to Zarina, taking in and expelling a deep breath. The fitted nature of her dress compressed her ribcage and the plunging neckline squeezed her chest, giving her breasts like a matron and perhaps the constitution of one as well. "But now I find myself bound to a lie," she huffed, annoyed with her friend but trying to soften her expression. Zaz had been forced to think on her feet. "I am no Hohenfelter." She glared at Manfred's back as he went through the motions of a dance. A few other free-spirited young couples were out on the floor as well. "Nor do I wish to be." She grimaced and shook her head, eye sinking to her lap and fingers twining and untwining themselves. "Sorry. I don't mean to sound ungrateful."
Zarina clicked her tongue in response to Marci’s thanks and winked at her, “No sweat.” she sat by her business partner and gave a thorough checkout of the room, one leg over the other and her hands knitted together over her abdomen, “Why not?” she asked very casually, her attention still torn between Marceline and the other guests, “It’s a useful name. A tool. One does not need to feel attachment or pride over a mere tool.” her gaze converged with what the Tethered teen had been glaring at, prompting an smug chuckle to escape her, “And they can’t do anything to stop you from using it.”
The Virangishwoman stood up, wine still in hand though nearing emptiness, and oriented herself toward the assortment of wines she sought to serve herself with rather than wait to be served, only to have to wait even more for the servants to get the right bottle, “Anyway. Let’s not get too grumpy, Little bean. Now’s the time to make friends and make good impressions.” she gave a smile to her friend before going for some vintage indulging.
Ayla is getting through multiple people, almost getting lost in the crowd, especially as she is the little one. She ends up orentiating to Zazzy and Marci who she hasn’t greeted yet. She happily extends her arms as she gives Marci a light hug, “mi hermanita - my little sister”, a comment always amusing due to their heights.
“Glad you were both able to make it, and now on that note, we have something special to share.” Ayla puts her box upon the table, as she takes what looks to be a normal piece of bread, then gently sprinkles some of the contents upon it. She happily brings Zaz and Marci a piece, offering it to the pair. “Open wide and try this!”
Upon opening wide, they will find the spratz coated pieces of bread pushed within them mouth to devour and enjoy. “Dory gifted it to me, it is called Spratzpepper! It is grown in her homeland.”
Whatever Marci may have said was interrupted by the arrival of Ayla, who seemed to sense emotional distress like a shark could smell blood in the water and who seemed almost biologically compelled to do something about it. Something delicious was shoved into Marceline's face, protest or not, and her only option was more or less to chew or to choke. Swallowing, she held the bread out before herself. "Ipte, it's delicious," she remarked, glancing Zarina's way. "And, uh, thank you." the younger girl flashed a smile.
"You said it was from Dory?" She blinked incredulously and scanned the gathering, but Dorothea was nowhere to be seen, currently. In any event Marci didn't really know her that well. The few times that Marci had seen her, she'd assumed the Feskan had money, but gifting that much. "Zaz, this wouldn't be something we could introduce as a premium or prestige offering at 'Bucks, would it?"
Zarina returned from her self-serving of white wine, one arm open as she saw Ayla with her friendly associate. The tall Virangish girl scooped the little cub in for a brief but tight embrace, “Hey hey, Kitty cat. What’s this?” she leaned in to nab the piece of bread with her mouth and nommed away, “Mmm. MmmMmm …” then she stopped chewing, eyebrows furrowed.
“More.” she ordered with an intense glare in her eyes, “More.” for the first time this evening the wine glass was dropped as her hand sought out the delicious treat instead, “These are spratz, yeah? You’d be right to think that, Marci.” she spoke with her mouth full, because she wasn’t going to stop enjoying this so long as Ayla provided, “Issue is supply and prices. Every Joe that sells food wants this shit. And for good reason.”
Marceline nodded. "It's aspirational, so it's high prestige and low volume. Not worth it unless we can piggyback an existing supply chain." She furrowed her brow. "Does Dorothea's family already import to the city?"
Let out a playful squeal of growl as she is scooped up by the tall Virangish woman within that tight embrace. She pushes the piece of bread between her lips, the finger making sure it goes right inside as she chews upon it. As the over eager girl starts hunting for more, she playfully boops her on the nose, “Calm down Riesco. You can have more later when we have the treats to match,” giggling playfully towards her.
She answers Marci’s question. “Manfred took her off to the dance floor in a Kerremand style. She is eager to meet you though! May be willing to part with it on very favourable terms.” she smiles widely, "Perhaps we may get an opportunity for introductions."
Marci nodded. "One might hope, because this is divine." She blushed. "May I have another?" There was a mischievous grin after a moment. "I'm lil' and sad and need it so!"
The time came for the yums and Zarina was very much put in the mood by Ayla’s feeding of the spratz bread. Tapas in particular mader her salivate. It all looked so good that she couldn’t help herself! “Don’t mind if I do. Can’t go wrong with a Tosta Tomate.” she uttered with an accurate Torragonese accent. It was a long slice of baguette-like bread with tomato sauce/paste smeared over the surface where it was split in half. She would add bits of queso and jamon over the end of it and take one big bite, progressively eating down the bread with different toppings each bite, “Mmmm~ Try this, Marci.” she waved her topped bread to her friend.
“Nice coincidence, aye? The lady with the Spratz so happens to be the one with your, ahem, brother,” she chatted with Marci, quiet enough to not get any accidental eavesdroppers, “Wanna go and say hello to them?”
Marceline was busy stuffing her face. There had been occasional nice meals at San Agustin, but nothing like this, and not consistently. "So many choices!" she squealed, "and so little time and space in muh tummy." After a quick, wary glance around, she patted it in a most unladylike fashion, grinning.
She and Zarina continued to chat and scheme, until the latter just had to push again. It was bad enough that she insisted on calling Marci 'Hohenfelter' and had put it on the registration for their business. Now, when prodded to speak with that horse's ass, her face became stony. The fourteen-year-old shot her friend a warning glare. "I think it's best if you take the lead on that. I think I'm going to be sick."
Before Zarina could respond, however, she was saved by the bell: the dinner bell. Tapas were served and Marceline's stomach was magically cured. "Okay, nevermind, I'm better now," she chirped, gazing over the smorgasbord, eyes lighting up. "But seriously," she whispered, leaning in as Ayla waved Manfred and Dorothea to seats a good deal closer than Marci would have liked, "it'll only make things awkward if I go talk to them. We need to separate business and personal matters."
“I agree with both your statements.” Zarina replied, one leg over the other and her lips knowing only wine even as the main course was served. The lack of spratz in the food just made it a tad less appetising to a girl far more used to banquets than Marci ever has, “But it looks like business is going to hit close to home, my dear friend. I think the personal-professional separation mantra is one you’ll be learning sooner rather than later.” and then she took a sip, smiling at the two guests that were beckoned over by Ayla.
"Your family...?" Dory inquired. "Should we help her out?"
There she was: Nina, his very best friend and closest confidante for most of his childhood, his beloved sister whose loss had gutted him empty, who he had searched for, whenever an opportunity arose, for years. The correspondence he had sent to so many refuges...
There she was: small and lost and scared. The girl had his sister's face and it broke his heart to see her like that. Yet, she was not his sister. Nina was gone, cruelly erased as a ten-year-old child by evil men in Torragon: alone, lost, and terrified. He could not imagine what her last thoughts might have been, but it filled him with the deepest, blackest rage to think about. This 'Marceline' was a stranger who occupied her body, who suppressed every shred or scrap of his sister that tried to rise to the surface and, much as he counselled himself not to, much as he told himself that it wasn't her fault and that some part of her was still Nina, he hated her for it. This false personality: it was an impostor, a parasite, an abomination and -
"Should we?"
His fists were clenched so tightly that his palms nearly bled. He took a deep breath as the Virangish girl - Zarina, maybe? - swept in to the rescue. "No, not family." He shook his head. "Must've been a name mixup or something. I think she was trying to correct it." He shrugged after a moment. "Anyhow, I think they'll call for dinner soon enough. We're almost into Eshi now. Until then, shall we?" He began to lead her once more through the steps.
"Not family? I don't think there would be a mixup in an event of this scale..."
Manfred wasn't telling her everything and she could not just see it through his expression, but the tone of his voice was something rang amiss in her head. It may just be a gut feeling... But the concept of family is too important to her. She once again held the Kerreman's clenched fist.
"Manfred, I can feel that this is bothering you... Be honest with me, is she family or not? I want to know the truth."
It seems that the Feskan will not let go of the subject matter until he tells her. Her hands tighten their grip on his fist with a determined look on her face.
"If need be, we can find a quiet place if you're not comfortable talking about it here.."
"Just go through the motions," Manfred said quietly, through clenched teeth. "Wait until the song is finished." She was being obnoxious, not knowing when to leave well enough alone, but it also meant that he was not the master of his face right now. Maybe she just cares. The thought struck him out of the blue and, much as he tried to dismiss it, it lingered. The music began to change and he pulled her off to a small adjoining room, where they sat down across from each other at a small table in the light of a large window. "Dorothea, my love," he began, "I mean it when I say that I care for you more deeply than you know, that I think you are a good, strong, beautiful woman. You are right o sense that there is more to this issue, but it is not one that I am prepared to talk about and it would be far better for you to not get involved."
Dorothea could barely get a word out as he made her wait, causing her to click her tongue. What's with his attitude today? There has to be more. Then as the music switched she was pulled away by him. As they sat down the words rang in her ears. "It may be better with me not knowing, but I am here for you... I can see how it is affecting you. Please Manfred, won't you tell me even?" Dory asked him with a reassured smile.
"I do not make it my business to cry over things that cannot be fixed." He shook his head, scowling off to the side. "That... Marceline girl is what they created in the refuge after they erased my sister Nina." He glanced back her way for a split second before taking some of his wine. He clapped the glass down on the table. "Ugh. Perrench swill," he spat. "Anyhow, she is not my sister: merely some little Torragonese beast eager to paint me with the same brush as my awful parents. She has made it quite clear that she wants nothing to do with me and the feeling is very much mutual. Her prickly reaction was because they didn't call her 'Escarra' or whatever she wants to be called." He downed the rest of his wine, grimacing. "Now, that is the last I will hear on the matter. I have spent the past week mulling it over and I admit that I have not been the best companion to you. It is a bitter disappointment, but it is finished and I wish to put it behind me."
"Erased your sister? I don't understand. How can they just erase a person?" Her mind was running all kinds of ways a person could perhaps be erased. If it was truly that easy wouldn't her mother have tried that? Perhaps it has already been done to her and she doesn't even know. "I don't want you to suffer like this again, okay? If you have these regrets, these feelings of sadness. Please talk to me about them, okay?"
Manfred waved her concerns away. He appreciated them, in a sense, but it was not his place to burden her with what were ultimately internal affairs. "They wipe the minds of children sent to those refuges." He shook his head, the moment - the moment it had happened to her - repeating itself in his mind's eye. Nina, precious Nina: witty, spunky, cute, adventurous Nina The last thing she'd known had been either fear or deception. "They take away all of their memories, their personalities, everything that makes them... them, and leave an empty husk that they fill with whatever they like." He shot an angry glance at the back of this 'Marceline'. "That little impostor is the result."
Whatever may have happened next - whatever response Dorothea may have given, it was interrupted by the dinner bell. "I thank you for your concern, my love." He flashed her a smile and took her by the hands. "And I am always here if you need to unburden yourself to me. Now come, let us not be late."
Dorothea's eyes clearly showed her fear at the thought of someone being able to take away their memories... their Self. "I am here for you if this ever starts making you feel like this again." Her lips were somewhat shaky as she tried to keep a warm smile for her partner. It can't be so easy to remove someone is it? And why would they even want a girl from a pretty standard duchy? Nothing added up in her head.
But before she could interject any further, the bell rang and was taken by her hand. "I will keep you at it... Better have some alcohol ready for me to dump all my burdens on you." She gave him a forced smile back.
There she was: Nina, his very best friend and closest confidante for most of his childhood, his beloved sister whose loss had gutted him empty, who he had searched for, whenever an opportunity arose, for years. The correspondence he had sent to so many refuges...
There she was: small and lost and scared. The girl had his sister's face and it broke his heart to see her like that. Yet, she was not his sister. Nina was gone, cruelly erased as a ten-year-old child by evil men in Torragon: alone, lost, and terrified. He could not imagine what her last thoughts might have been, but it filled him with the deepest, blackest rage to think about. This 'Marceline' was a stranger who occupied her body, who suppressed every shred or scrap of his sister that tried to rise to the surface and, much as he counselled himself not to, much as he told himself that it wasn't her fault and that some part of her was still Nina, he hated her for it. This false personality: it was an impostor, a parasite, an abomination and -
"Should we?"
His fists were clenched so tightly that his palms nearly bled. He took a deep breath as the Virangish girl - Zarina, maybe? - swept in to the rescue. "No, not family." He shook his head. "Must've been a name mixup or something. I think she was trying to correct it." He shrugged after a moment. "Anyhow, I think they'll call for dinner soon enough. We're almost into Eshi now. Until then, shall we?" He began to lead her once more through the steps.
"Not family? I don't think there would be a mixup in an event of this scale..."
Manfred wasn't telling her everything and she could not just see it through his expression, but the tone of his voice was something rang amiss in her head. It may just be a gut feeling... But the concept of family is too important to her. She once again held the Kerreman's clenched fist.
"Manfred, I can feel that this is bothering you... Be honest with me, is she family or not? I want to know the truth."
It seems that the Feskan will not let go of the subject matter until he tells her. Her hands tighten their grip on his fist with a determined look on her face.
"If need be, we can find a quiet place if you're not comfortable talking about it here.."
"Just go through the motions," Manfred said quietly, through clenched teeth. "Wait until the song is finished." She was being obnoxious, not knowing when to leave well enough alone, but it also meant that he was not the master of his face right now. Maybe she just cares. The thought struck him out of the blue and, much as he tried to dismiss it, it lingered. The music began to change and he pulled her off to a small adjoining room, where they sat down across from each other at a small table in the light of a large window. "Dorothea, my love," he began, "I mean it when I say that I care for you more deeply than you know, that I think you are a good, strong, beautiful woman. You are right o sense that there is more to this issue, but it is not one that I am prepared to talk about and it would be far better for you to not get involved."
Dorothea could barely get a word out as he made her wait, causing her to click her tongue. What's with his attitude today? There has to be more. Then as the music switched she was pulled away by him. As they sat down the words rang in her ears. "It may be better with me not knowing, but I am here for you... I can see how it is affecting you. Please Manfred, won't you tell me even?" Dory asked him with a reassured smile.
"I do not make it my business to cry over things that cannot be fixed." He shook his head, scowling off to the side. "That... Marceline girl is what they created in the refuge after they erased my sister Nina." He glanced back her way for a split second before taking some of his wine. He clapped the glass down on the table. "Ugh. Perrench swill," he spat. "Anyhow, she is not my sister: merely some little Torragonese beast eager to paint me with the same brush as my awful parents. She has made it quite clear that she wants nothing to do with me and the feeling is very much mutual. Her prickly reaction was because they didn't call her 'Escarra' or whatever she wants to be called." He downed the rest of his wine, grimacing. "Now, that is the last I will hear on the matter. I have spent the past week mulling it over and I admit that I have not been the best companion to you. It is a bitter disappointment, but it is finished and I wish to put it behind me."
"Erased your sister? I don't understand. How can they just erase a person?" Her mind was running all kinds of ways a person could perhaps be erased. If it was truly that easy wouldn't her mother have tried that? Perhaps it has already been done to her and she doesn't even know. "I don't want you to suffer like this again, okay? If you have these regrets, these feelings of sadness. Please talk to me about them, okay?"
Manfred waved her concerns away. He appreciated them, in a sense, but it was not his place to burden her with what were ultimately internal affairs. "They wipe the minds of children sent to those refuges." He shook his head, the moment - the moment it had happened to her - repeating itself in his mind's eye. Nina, precious Nina: witty, spunky, cute, adventurous Nina The last thing she'd known had been either fear or deception. "They take away all of their memories, their personalities, everything that makes them... them, and leave an empty husk that they fill with whatever they like." He shot an angry glance at the back of this 'Marceline'. "That little impostor is the result."
Whatever may have happened next - whatever response Dorothea may have given, it was interrupted by the dinner bell. "I thank you for your concern, my love." He flashed her a smile and took her by the hands. "And I am always here if you need to unburden yourself to me. Now come, let us not be late."
Dorothea's eyes clearly showed her fear at the thought of someone being able to take away their memories... their Self. "I am here for you if this ever starts making you feel like this again." Her lips were somewhat shaky as she tried to keep a warm smile for her partner. It can't be so easy to remove someone is it? And why would they even want a girl from a pretty standard duchy? Nothing added up in her head.
But before she could interject any further, the bell rang and was taken by her hand. "I will keep you at it... Better have some alcohol ready for me to dump all my burdens on you." She gave him a forced smile back.
The conversation with Augusto, Yalen, and Trypano was interrupted by Duquesa Azahara introducing food to the event. A momentary confusion took Ingrid when she looked at the size of the food. Luckily Ayla was quick to clear the confusion and created excitement for Ingrid. What could be more delightful than trying multiple different things from a far off land.
Ingrid turned to Augusto after Ayla had broken her way into the small circle, "Well Augusto, I believe that was all the time we had." She did a light lowering of her head as she made her way out of the group.
She turned to brother Yalen, "Yalen, would you like to explore these Torragonese dishes together?" Trying to help him pull away assuming he may be here for the food.
"Of course Ms. Penderson!" Yalen smiled at her from ear to ear. "The best way to thank our hosts is by taking what we're given. It wouldn't do to put their hard work to waste."
While the appearance of the dishes was something of a culture shock for Yalen, he didn't have any complaints. He'd already had a taste of Torragonese cuisine during the short time he visited the country, and his natural disposition was to be grateful for anything he received freely. Regardless of the amount of food available, each dish looked and smelled amazing. It was clear the chefs were passionate about their work.
"They served these shrimp to us when I visited the refuge, but I never got a chance to taste it." Yalen reached for a plate of the freshly grilled shrimp and held it at arm's length so Ingrid could take her share. Once the two had their portions in hand, he tore the head off his crustacean and sucked the juice straight out.
"Wow! You can really taste the garlic in these." Yalen commented after wiping his mouth with a cloth napkin. "I heard you're from Eskand, is that right? How does Torragon's seafood compare to home?"
Ingrid was familiar with some of these creatures that they were eating, though they seemed different probably due to their origin.
"Thank you for the shrimp," Ingrid said as she followed suit. Their was a strong garlic flavor, Ingrid had been growing use to it during her time at the school.
Ingrid was glad to answer Yalen, "Eskandish seafood is something to behold, maybe it was out of necessity since many cannot reliably grow food there but we rely a lot on the sea. Garlic isn't common in Eskand, we much prefer to use herbs and certain flowers for our flavours. And lots of butter. Torragonese seafood is good but I think I prefer the richer flavour of the sea that I get from my homeland."
"What of you Yalen? What Cuisine is common to your homeland," Ingrid inquired as she went to get some of the brined vegetables to help cut through the garlic, offering some to Yalen as he did the shrimp.
"My homeland?" Yalen thought the question over while cleansing his palette with a bite of pickled cucumber. "Miatto's culinary history is a mixed bag, I would say. Most of the food you see in Perrence is also common in Miatto, but that is only a part of the whole picture. Before Perrence's rise to power, our stretch of the continent was inhabited by many of the people who later became the Torragonese and Segonese. There is also a fair amount of Revidian influence, not just in our food but also our language. The Perrench crown is very sore about that point."
"As for what I grew up eating," Yalen continued, "lots of grain and meat. There's plenty of both in Miatto since most of it is farmland. We ate a ton of bread and pasta in the orphanage, and there was beef stew every week. Dairy too, since we had cows. Fishing is plentiful on the northern shores, but I lived in landlocked part of the country." He reached for a plate of fried sardines next, stopping to inhale the spices and citrus juice before biting into one. "Maybe that's why I love to eat fish now. I have to make up for lost time."
Ingrid wasn't the type to interrupt someone so she jut happily listened to Yalen talk about his countries unique cuisine. Ingrid understood that to a certain degree as well considering Eskand took some things they found up north and brought them down home. Now they are just part of the culture that people argue about where they came from.
Seeing that Yalen seemed to have a pretty robust knowledge of his own nations cuisine and a love of fish, "Well, if you are trying to make up for lost time, how about we set up a dinner party of our own? A small one that we each bring something from our homeland. I'm pretty confident in my cooking.”
"A dinner party?" Yalen raised an eyebrow. "That is an unexpected invitation I must say." To buy himself some time to answer he picked up his cup of water and took a long sip. It wasn't that he didn't want to, it was just a very sudden proposition from someone he'd only recently become acquainted with. However, if there was one thing someone could use to bait him into a social gathering it was the offering of food.
"Still, it would be rude of me not to accept. Who else were you thinking of inviting?"
Ingrid responded as Yalen sipped his drink, "I just want to share a meal with people I wouldn't otherwise." Ingrid waited to see what brother Yalen would say and Ingrid was excited. She thought for a moment and said, "Well, I have a close friend named Dory, she is also at this party. Ayla because she is great at making friends and should help if people have some schisms occur. My teammate Desmond since he loves food. And maybe Sven if he has the time." Ingrid has a lot of people she could invite but she should stop, "What about you Yalen? I think anyone would be fine and as many as you like since I'm already inviting so many."
"I would certainly like to see some of the guests here again, especially in a less formal setting." Yalen subtly pointed out a few familiar faces. "We five were sent to Torragon together: Zarina, Ayla, Kaspar, Jocasta, and I. We're not all in the same Zeno group, but we've gained a unique camaraderie thanks to our shared experiences. I've come to enjoy their company very much." After finishing his cup he set it on the table and continued to think. "My friend Isabella might want to come too. You may have seen her linking up with Zarina before. Pigtails. Glasses. A unique sense of... fashion."
Ingrid turned to Augusto after Ayla had broken her way into the small circle, "Well Augusto, I believe that was all the time we had." She did a light lowering of her head as she made her way out of the group.
She turned to brother Yalen, "Yalen, would you like to explore these Torragonese dishes together?" Trying to help him pull away assuming he may be here for the food.
"Of course Ms. Penderson!" Yalen smiled at her from ear to ear. "The best way to thank our hosts is by taking what we're given. It wouldn't do to put their hard work to waste."
While the appearance of the dishes was something of a culture shock for Yalen, he didn't have any complaints. He'd already had a taste of Torragonese cuisine during the short time he visited the country, and his natural disposition was to be grateful for anything he received freely. Regardless of the amount of food available, each dish looked and smelled amazing. It was clear the chefs were passionate about their work.
"They served these shrimp to us when I visited the refuge, but I never got a chance to taste it." Yalen reached for a plate of the freshly grilled shrimp and held it at arm's length so Ingrid could take her share. Once the two had their portions in hand, he tore the head off his crustacean and sucked the juice straight out.
"Wow! You can really taste the garlic in these." Yalen commented after wiping his mouth with a cloth napkin. "I heard you're from Eskand, is that right? How does Torragon's seafood compare to home?"
Ingrid was familiar with some of these creatures that they were eating, though they seemed different probably due to their origin.
"Thank you for the shrimp," Ingrid said as she followed suit. Their was a strong garlic flavor, Ingrid had been growing use to it during her time at the school.
Ingrid was glad to answer Yalen, "Eskandish seafood is something to behold, maybe it was out of necessity since many cannot reliably grow food there but we rely a lot on the sea. Garlic isn't common in Eskand, we much prefer to use herbs and certain flowers for our flavours. And lots of butter. Torragonese seafood is good but I think I prefer the richer flavour of the sea that I get from my homeland."
"What of you Yalen? What Cuisine is common to your homeland," Ingrid inquired as she went to get some of the brined vegetables to help cut through the garlic, offering some to Yalen as he did the shrimp.
"My homeland?" Yalen thought the question over while cleansing his palette with a bite of pickled cucumber. "Miatto's culinary history is a mixed bag, I would say. Most of the food you see in Perrence is also common in Miatto, but that is only a part of the whole picture. Before Perrence's rise to power, our stretch of the continent was inhabited by many of the people who later became the Torragonese and Segonese. There is also a fair amount of Revidian influence, not just in our food but also our language. The Perrench crown is very sore about that point."
"As for what I grew up eating," Yalen continued, "lots of grain and meat. There's plenty of both in Miatto since most of it is farmland. We ate a ton of bread and pasta in the orphanage, and there was beef stew every week. Dairy too, since we had cows. Fishing is plentiful on the northern shores, but I lived in landlocked part of the country." He reached for a plate of fried sardines next, stopping to inhale the spices and citrus juice before biting into one. "Maybe that's why I love to eat fish now. I have to make up for lost time."
Ingrid wasn't the type to interrupt someone so she jut happily listened to Yalen talk about his countries unique cuisine. Ingrid understood that to a certain degree as well considering Eskand took some things they found up north and brought them down home. Now they are just part of the culture that people argue about where they came from.
Seeing that Yalen seemed to have a pretty robust knowledge of his own nations cuisine and a love of fish, "Well, if you are trying to make up for lost time, how about we set up a dinner party of our own? A small one that we each bring something from our homeland. I'm pretty confident in my cooking.”
"A dinner party?" Yalen raised an eyebrow. "That is an unexpected invitation I must say." To buy himself some time to answer he picked up his cup of water and took a long sip. It wasn't that he didn't want to, it was just a very sudden proposition from someone he'd only recently become acquainted with. However, if there was one thing someone could use to bait him into a social gathering it was the offering of food.
"Still, it would be rude of me not to accept. Who else were you thinking of inviting?"
Ingrid responded as Yalen sipped his drink, "I just want to share a meal with people I wouldn't otherwise." Ingrid waited to see what brother Yalen would say and Ingrid was excited. She thought for a moment and said, "Well, I have a close friend named Dory, she is also at this party. Ayla because she is great at making friends and should help if people have some schisms occur. My teammate Desmond since he loves food. And maybe Sven if he has the time." Ingrid has a lot of people she could invite but she should stop, "What about you Yalen? I think anyone would be fine and as many as you like since I'm already inviting so many."
"I would certainly like to see some of the guests here again, especially in a less formal setting." Yalen subtly pointed out a few familiar faces. "We five were sent to Torragon together: Zarina, Ayla, Kaspar, Jocasta, and I. We're not all in the same Zeno group, but we've gained a unique camaraderie thanks to our shared experiences. I've come to enjoy their company very much." After finishing his cup he set it on the table and continued to think. "My friend Isabella might want to come too. You may have seen her linking up with Zarina before. Pigtails. Glasses. A unique sense of... fashion."
Kaspar's presence was subtle. He nodded, lips curved in something barely qualifying as a smile but still bright for his features as Ayla and Maura spoke to him about art, referencing an individual they both seemed to know who, from their gazes looking towards the faint charcoal stains on his fingers, shared a similar medium. His cheeks turned a bare shade or two pinker at their hushed words and giggles, but he allowed them space to speak to each other. Maura complimented his attire and he offered a polite thanks and nod, but both their attentions were shortly pulled elsewhere.
This was alright with the boy, who was not a particularly social creature. He simply observed his companions as they spoke and drifted around, himself taking a turn about the space to nod politely at nobles he didn't recognize out of the expectation that they should acknowledge each other. His parents had given him foundations and his etiquette class was building on it, but nothing could make the boy want to speak with these people.
He was seated again well before the tapas made their way out, and eyed the food in front of him curiously. He observed Ayla keenly as she spoke and then began to eat. Picking out a croqueta himself, he copied her motions near-exactly to ensure he ate it appropriately. He was pleased to find the crisp of the shell mixing expertly with the texture of the inside, flavours mixing in a near-familiar way with an unfamiliar weaving of spice the boy did not commonly eat. It was good, if small—and his eyes were already scanning for others who seemed to eat politely, studying the manner in which they did so for his own benefit.
Kaspar was more than pleased for a snack that could be eaten with hands rather than silverware. He ate the chorizo concoction, being sure to take more sophisticated bites than was his natural inclination.
The food was, of course, delicious. Kaspar was not one to limit his palate, though certain items were quite a bit more familiar. He’d enjoyed much of what he ate at San Agustin de las Arenas, and the chorizo seemed of a similar nature. But as the taste danced across his tongue it seemed to drag at different memories. Heavy shadow and painful brightness. Flashes of hot blood on hot Torragonese sand. Reaching out into the abyss and for the briefest of moments cradling what was found there.
The thoughts (or were they memories?) mixed with the meat and tang on his tongue, fading like distant humming before it was gone. For a moment it was perplexing, and a note of curiosity pulled down at his lips and brows, but there was much to be done here—and it seemed that the Duke was finally making his appearance.
An announcement? That brought a different sort of curiosity to the boy who knew little of his friend’s family or father. As he dined his eyes still often hovered on Ayla and her conversation partners, but darted towards the Duke with increasing frequency, trying to read the face and the body of the man for any sort of tell.
This was alright with the boy, who was not a particularly social creature. He simply observed his companions as they spoke and drifted around, himself taking a turn about the space to nod politely at nobles he didn't recognize out of the expectation that they should acknowledge each other. His parents had given him foundations and his etiquette class was building on it, but nothing could make the boy want to speak with these people.
He was seated again well before the tapas made their way out, and eyed the food in front of him curiously. He observed Ayla keenly as she spoke and then began to eat. Picking out a croqueta himself, he copied her motions near-exactly to ensure he ate it appropriately. He was pleased to find the crisp of the shell mixing expertly with the texture of the inside, flavours mixing in a near-familiar way with an unfamiliar weaving of spice the boy did not commonly eat. It was good, if small—and his eyes were already scanning for others who seemed to eat politely, studying the manner in which they did so for his own benefit.
Kaspar was more than pleased for a snack that could be eaten with hands rather than silverware. He ate the chorizo concoction, being sure to take more sophisticated bites than was his natural inclination.
The food was, of course, delicious. Kaspar was not one to limit his palate, though certain items were quite a bit more familiar. He’d enjoyed much of what he ate at San Agustin de las Arenas, and the chorizo seemed of a similar nature. But as the taste danced across his tongue it seemed to drag at different memories. Heavy shadow and painful brightness. Flashes of hot blood on hot Torragonese sand. Reaching out into the abyss and for the briefest of moments cradling what was found there.
The thoughts (or were they memories?) mixed with the meat and tang on his tongue, fading like distant humming before it was gone. For a moment it was perplexing, and a note of curiosity pulled down at his lips and brows, but there was much to be done here—and it seemed that the Duke was finally making his appearance.
An announcement? That brought a different sort of curiosity to the boy who knew little of his friend’s family or father. As he dined his eyes still often hovered on Ayla and her conversation partners, but darted towards the Duke with increasing frequency, trying to read the face and the body of the man for any sort of tell.
Zarina stood and politely bowed to the two, offering her hand to Manfred should he wish to take it for gentleman’s greeting, and then sat back down, “Dorothea and Manfred, enchanted. I’m Zarina. I’ve heard great things about you two.” her eyes were focused onto Dory in particular, “Your dress is something, love, but I don’t even have the vocabulary to describe how much I find your hair ravishingly beautiful.” and another sip down the Virangish drain, “So, Ayla tells me you’re both from down South. I must confess, I’ve never been but I hear the sea is truly something to behold there.”
Dory couldn't help but smile from the words from the woman addressing her. "Do you really think so?" Her smile disappeared somewhat as panic set in. Quickly leaning forward to not have to say it too loudly. "Ayla hasn't said too much embarrassing stuff about me, right?"
“Oh, Vashdal as my witness, I can safely say she would never say such things!” Zarina replied as Dory joined them. She let her wine sit on the surface before her and kept herself comfortable on her seat, “I just tasted some of those Spratz Ayla had on bread and, mmmm …” she formed an ‘OK’ sign with her hand, “I’ve rarely tasted better. Feskan delicacies are something. And she tells me you’re Feskan yourself! How lovely.” she smiled.
Manfred squeezed Dorothea's hand. "She is, indeed. Very Feskan, one could say. Dear..." he turned to her, "she has a demand; you have a supply. Might there be an opportunity here?"
Dory couldn't help but smile from the words from the woman addressing her. "Do you really think so?" Her smile disappeared somewhat as panic set in. Quickly leaning forward to not have to say it too loudly. "Ayla hasn't said too much embarrassing stuff about me, right?"
“Oh, Vashdal as my witness, I can safely say she would never say such things!” Zarina replied as Dory joined them. She let her wine sit on the surface before her and kept herself comfortable on her seat, “I just tasted some of those Spratz Ayla had on bread and, mmmm …” she formed an ‘OK’ sign with her hand, “I’ve rarely tasted better. Feskan delicacies are something. And she tells me you’re Feskan yourself! How lovely.” she smiled.
Manfred squeezed Dorothea's hand. "She is, indeed. Very Feskan, one could say. Dear..." he turned to her, "she has a demand; you have a supply. Might there be an opportunity here?"
"You're going to Djamant?" Jocasta knew she was from there. She had fragmented memories of the place: the arid, grassy fields full of wildflowers, the prickly pear cacti thrusting up into the sun, the gnarled olive and cypress trees overlooking the rocky coast and the squawk of gulls. "It's pretty, I've heard, but there isn't all that much there... aside from the honey, some jewellers, and a few old ruins."
Maura gives her a look as if expecting a different answer. However, before Maura would provide Jo an answer to her question, the Duque himself has weighed in with his words on the matter. "It seems we are finding out after the meal, but you didn't hear from me." She gives Jo a knowing wink, "We will be travelling there a lot, one would imagine. Let 's hope the beaches and festivals are as fun as they say they are."
Left rather clueless, Jocasta responded with a polite, "I'm sure you shall enjoy it greatly. I spent some of my early childhood there and it is beautiful indeed, if a bit small for a party of your eminence."
She tilted her head and regarded Maura in earnest. "But why ever might you be travelling there regularly?" she inquired. She glanced at Ayla's way, hoping for a rescue, but her friend seemed... oddly confused as well and, presently had busied herself with trying to wave down a pair of Kerremans who she was not well-acquainted with.
Maura offers a plate towards Jo which had a Pastizz upon it with a smile. She casually starts to indicate towards the other nobles in the room. There are a few of what you would expect in a gathering like this, primarily all from the Central Alliance and a few neutral countries, but there were an unexpected number of those who appeared to be Djamantese in a gathering of this size. Outside of Ayla and her friends, it looks like the others came with an entirely different purpose. "Though for ourselves, was meaning you and myself travelling together for an entirely different purpose, make sure you drink plenty of the wine."
Jocasta merely blinked, unsure what to make of the cryptic comment and none too comfortable with her future actions being spoken about with such certainty. "We shall see what adventure the future holds, I suppose." She smiled weakly back.
She couldn't help it. She wasn't sure why. There was just something about Maura - something calculated, calculating, despite her outward friendliness - that Jocasta all-but instinctually resisted warming to. Now, she would have to choke down a pastizz, because all Djamantese loved them.
There were a good dozen or so here: small, stout, and swarthy, stuffing their faces with the most fattening foods they could find and jabbering on in their annoying language. She barely spoke it anymore and their mere presence made her feel like a fraud. Play nice, she warned herself. People are watching.
Ayla seems to appear out of nowhere as she places her arms around the pair, embracing them. “Was about to introduce both my besties, good to see you have already met!”, she squeezes upon their shoulders as she whispers softly, “Don’t tell Zazzy that, she might get jealous” giving the pair a wink. She moves forward to take one of the Pastizzi, biting into the treat. “Mamá has given me a book on Djamantese cooking, so been serving up these treats as practice for the Pumpernickel clubbe, what do you both think?”
Maura bites into the pastry goodness, smiling as she looks towards Jo, “What do you think, would you take her as your housewife with this cooking?” Ayla gives Maura a look and a shh, “Don’t try to embarrass my baking”.
"You know," replied Jocasta, taking a bite and suppressing her gag reflex - they were just so fatty - she smiled and chewed, giving herself time to think. Surely, she wouldn't be expected to speak with food n her mouth. For what it was worth, Ayla had actually done a decent job with the vile dish. The pastizzi weren't greasy. Jocasta could not immediately feel the fat choking her arteries. Then, she had it: honesty!
"I'm going to to be honest," she continued belatedly. "It's blasphemy to say for a Djamantese, but I actually don't like pastizzi at all." She didn't have to fake her blush. "Never admitted it before now out of sheer embarrassment." She flashed her friend an apologetic look. "But, in the same spirit of honesty, I'll also admit that you somehow managed to make these little fat bombs palatable." Jocasta rolled her eyes. "Never thought I'd see the day." With a little smile, she took a second bite. "No chance you'd let me in on what the big secret is here, huh?" She gestured generally around the gathering.
Maura smiles, “That was a yes”, bringing forward a bottle to top their glasses up, as if doing an impromptu toast. Ayla ignores the teasing a moment as she looks around the room, not appearing to be overly concerned with what is going on, “Politics. Diplomacy. They want to secure the sea lanes if there is an outbreak of war, Djamante is the prize they are after. With them on side, the Virangish fleet will have a harder time entering the waters of the Central Alliance. Lots of platitudes. Announcement will be a promise or trade deal of some kind, sabre rattling.” she rolls her eyes a moment to the schemes afoot. “What is important was persuading the Duque to invite a ‘few’ friends over for a treat, and enjoy some good food for a change. So feel free to eat what you can! We need that energy for the trials”.
Maura gives her a look as if expecting a different answer. However, before Maura would provide Jo an answer to her question, the Duque himself has weighed in with his words on the matter. "It seems we are finding out after the meal, but you didn't hear from me." She gives Jo a knowing wink, "We will be travelling there a lot, one would imagine. Let 's hope the beaches and festivals are as fun as they say they are."
Left rather clueless, Jocasta responded with a polite, "I'm sure you shall enjoy it greatly. I spent some of my early childhood there and it is beautiful indeed, if a bit small for a party of your eminence."
She tilted her head and regarded Maura in earnest. "But why ever might you be travelling there regularly?" she inquired. She glanced at Ayla's way, hoping for a rescue, but her friend seemed... oddly confused as well and, presently had busied herself with trying to wave down a pair of Kerremans who she was not well-acquainted with.
Maura offers a plate towards Jo which had a Pastizz upon it with a smile. She casually starts to indicate towards the other nobles in the room. There are a few of what you would expect in a gathering like this, primarily all from the Central Alliance and a few neutral countries, but there were an unexpected number of those who appeared to be Djamantese in a gathering of this size. Outside of Ayla and her friends, it looks like the others came with an entirely different purpose. "Though for ourselves, was meaning you and myself travelling together for an entirely different purpose, make sure you drink plenty of the wine."
Jocasta merely blinked, unsure what to make of the cryptic comment and none too comfortable with her future actions being spoken about with such certainty. "We shall see what adventure the future holds, I suppose." She smiled weakly back.
She couldn't help it. She wasn't sure why. There was just something about Maura - something calculated, calculating, despite her outward friendliness - that Jocasta all-but instinctually resisted warming to. Now, she would have to choke down a pastizz, because all Djamantese loved them.
There were a good dozen or so here: small, stout, and swarthy, stuffing their faces with the most fattening foods they could find and jabbering on in their annoying language. She barely spoke it anymore and their mere presence made her feel like a fraud. Play nice, she warned herself. People are watching.
Ayla seems to appear out of nowhere as she places her arms around the pair, embracing them. “Was about to introduce both my besties, good to see you have already met!”, she squeezes upon their shoulders as she whispers softly, “Don’t tell Zazzy that, she might get jealous” giving the pair a wink. She moves forward to take one of the Pastizzi, biting into the treat. “Mamá has given me a book on Djamantese cooking, so been serving up these treats as practice for the Pumpernickel clubbe, what do you both think?”
Maura bites into the pastry goodness, smiling as she looks towards Jo, “What do you think, would you take her as your housewife with this cooking?” Ayla gives Maura a look and a shh, “Don’t try to embarrass my baking”.
"You know," replied Jocasta, taking a bite and suppressing her gag reflex - they were just so fatty - she smiled and chewed, giving herself time to think. Surely, she wouldn't be expected to speak with food n her mouth. For what it was worth, Ayla had actually done a decent job with the vile dish. The pastizzi weren't greasy. Jocasta could not immediately feel the fat choking her arteries. Then, she had it: honesty!
"I'm going to to be honest," she continued belatedly. "It's blasphemy to say for a Djamantese, but I actually don't like pastizzi at all." She didn't have to fake her blush. "Never admitted it before now out of sheer embarrassment." She flashed her friend an apologetic look. "But, in the same spirit of honesty, I'll also admit that you somehow managed to make these little fat bombs palatable." Jocasta rolled her eyes. "Never thought I'd see the day." With a little smile, she took a second bite. "No chance you'd let me in on what the big secret is here, huh?" She gestured generally around the gathering.
Maura smiles, “That was a yes”, bringing forward a bottle to top their glasses up, as if doing an impromptu toast. Ayla ignores the teasing a moment as she looks around the room, not appearing to be overly concerned with what is going on, “Politics. Diplomacy. They want to secure the sea lanes if there is an outbreak of war, Djamante is the prize they are after. With them on side, the Virangish fleet will have a harder time entering the waters of the Central Alliance. Lots of platitudes. Announcement will be a promise or trade deal of some kind, sabre rattling.” she rolls her eyes a moment to the schemes afoot. “What is important was persuading the Duque to invite a ‘few’ friends over for a treat, and enjoy some good food for a change. So feel free to eat what you can! We need that energy for the trials”.
The Announcement
The plates were being removed from the room as those present had dined well and the conversations started to die down. There was a buzz within the dining hall as the guests were starting to eagerly anticipate what is about to happen next. It was as if on cue, the Duque raises to his feet, the bell chiming as silence descends on the room.
“It is great to have so many gathered on such an auspicious occasion, having so many friends gathered under one roof, including half the academy.” A chuckle rings through the room as eyes gather to the table occupied by Ayla and her friends. “A warm thank you for the de la Mantoline family who travelled for this occasion as well.”
On the right-hand side of the Duque is a well-dressed gentleman of some apparent importance who nods, mouthing thank you to the gathered guests as a show before indicating something towards the Duque. Duarte appears to concede the floor to him as he indicates for Ayla, Azahara and the other Arslans to come to him at the head table. Ayla simply follows the instructions given
The gentleman stands up as he speaks to the room. “Hello hello, and I guess, welcome to the Banquet”, he gives a big but slightly awkward smile towards the crowd. “For you who don’t know me, my formal title is Marchesino Alexandre de la Mantoline, graduated from this academy as Alta Summa cum Laude. You know my writings on the subjects of the Twin-Continents, Callanst, Tarlon, and beyond.”
There is some whispering in the hall as a bonafide respected academic is being presented before them, the others who know him well pouring out more wine into their glasses.
Alexandre starts to bring out a map, presenting it as it is covered in various drawings and scrawling towards the room. “These routes are important for what we will deem merchant activities, and not forgetting the marine wildlife living along the coastlines, such as the Mihalu Striped Dugong who often pair for the mating season… oh, and over here is a nest of Kabus Al’ard which I discovered”, he continues to point and circle at various sections of the map, whatever the original topic was, it now gone on a tangent of the wildlife along the Virangish coastline.
After a few well placed coughs and muted comments, Alexandre ends up on track to the subject at hand. “Where were we? These shipping routes are important to those of Djamante, Varrahasta, and beyond. It is important that these be secured. It was an opportunity to be in a room of good faith actors who shared my concerns and agreed to work together to resolve these difficulties. In my discussions with Duque Arslan of Varrahasta, House De la Mantoline will fully cooperate on efforts to ensure the integrity of the coastal passage.”
There is a round of applause at both the positive conclusion and that a conclusion has been obtained. Duque Arslan moves alongside Alexandre, shaking his hand whilst putting his other hand upon his shoulder. “After an exchange of many letters, a great many, we of Casa Arslan have come to greatly appreciate the work and knowledge obtained for our future generations. It is when you get to know an enterprising man like this, you cannot help but think of him like a son”.
There is a muted silence as Duque Arslan holds his hand out towards Ayla. She looked puzzled as she tentatively placed her hand on his. It is at this moment that the Duque took Alexandre’s hand, combining the hands together as they were left holding upon each other.
“We would like to announce the joining of Casa Arslan with House de la Mantoline with the betrothal of Alexandre to my daughter, Ayla.”
Ayla herself looks shell shocked, looking around as if she was caught in some elaborate prank as Alexandre raises up her hand, “For all it is worth, this is the true prize of the announcement”
The room is filled with applause and cheers as the betrothal has been formally announced.
Dory
"Spratz on bread? I guess I should've brought some of my baked goods with me then." Dorothea couldn't help but chuckle from the thought of Spratz on bread being a delicacy, perhaps her taste buds have been spoiled by the access of Spratz. As her hand was squeezed, she looked at Manfred before smiling back at Zarina. "Well, I could ask for a bigger shipment if you wish to acquire some yourself. We'll just have to sort-..."
Dory's voice faded from the sheer silence that spread through the room. Soon enough her eyes were focussed on the Duque as his voice rang through the hall. Has the time truly past that quickly already that the main event has started?
De la Mantoline? I thought it was about Ayla and the Arslans? Perhaps they were a family well acquainted with the Arslan family or rather that young man a friend in and of itself of the Duque?
The announcement of a cooperation does not sound that bad but why does it come with such a weird feeling in the stomach? It wasn't long before the true part of this slimy party showed it's colours and a chill ran down her spine. Verdammt! Why this, of all things!? Her hand squeezed Manfred's rather tightly before leaning into his ear and whispering. "Do not let go of my hand or I will show that Flachwichser 'the true prize'..."
Kaspar
Kaspar listened to Alexandre with interest. Knowledge was of interest to him, though the noble was more partial to plants over maps. Much of what the scholar seemed to be speaking of related to trade routes—things that he would need to pay attention to, if he intended to take over the position of Marquis. As tenuous as that situation was… It wasn’t like the boy had anything else to do but listen.
It was the Duque’s response that made something in the boy’s stomach twist like sickness. The way he was speaking, the honey-sweet words of politics that he’d never acquired a taste for. But to say that he was like a son? And as his hand reached for Ayla’s… The heat roiled beneath his breastbone and burned against his skin. His mind registered the words though he wasn’t sure he could hear them through the ringing in his ears.
Arms wrapped around him from behind, cheek warm against his shoulder through the thin Refuge cloth. Naranja juice burning against a bloody palm. Sitting atop sandstone buildings gazing out across the desert. Screeching half-faced beasts swooping from above. Food and friendship, a gift and a promise and a familj.Hot blood on hot hands on hot Torragonese sand.
Something dug into the palm of his hand—had he always been holding the fork, or had he just grabbed it?—and a harsh bolt of rage shot through Kaspar. Two ends of a fork clattered quietly to the table, the middle utterly gone and a slight swell in his boiling blood. Red eyes stared straight ahead, past the Duque and his “son” and Ayla, unseeing and empty as her face played over and over in his mind, the surprise upon it… A chilling wind against his cold, stoic features, every muscle settled in place beneath the coating of frost.
Yalen
Yalen was familiar with the name Alexandre even if he didn't know the man personally. He was an avid reader of holy texts, but he did more general study on the side as well. Someone as famous as Mr. Mantoline had an entire shelf dedicated to him in Ersand'Enise's grand library, so his reputation preceded him. The young monk listened curiously as the scholar explained the significance of Djamante's trade routes, having never been in the same room as a bonafide celebrity before. He joined the positive round of applause as Duque Arslan and his protégé shook hands.
However, the announcement that followed stunned him into silence. He had not been warned that Ayla's engagement would be announced today. She hadn't even hinted at it. Was it meant to be a surprise to her friends? Yalen looked at her expecting her to return a knowing smile, to clap her hands and yell "Surprise!" However, what he saw instead was a look of terror and disbelief. That was enough for him to deduce that this was a plot by her family and had nothing to do with her opinions on marriage. Yalen was a priest, but he knew what Ayla was going through. His cousin Carol was forced to break up with her boyfriend last year after her father handed her off to a gentleman in the capital. He and his father Charles were only spared the politics of the Castel family thanks to their status as clergymen and their distance from the family's main estate.
Zarina
Business already? Zarina smirked at Dory's disposition, however any sort of progress that could be made in this exchange was dashed by the sudden announcement by the Patriarch of the Arslans himself. Zarina leaned back on her seat, wine back in hand and her head craned slightly toward Marci's direction, “I've seen this before. Always leaves a few shocked.” she whispered with confidence without spoiling the outcome.
The betrothal was announced just as Zarina had indulged in about half of the white in her drink, and then raised her glass at the occasion. Some were surprised, some distraught, others cheering. It was oddly neither hot nor cold for Zaz if one referred to her disposition and tone, “At least they didn't wait until she fell in love.” muttered the Virangishwoman, words as hollow as the glass she had guzzled down. Already she was seeking a refill, “She's going to need a few of these, probably.”
Ingrid
The party was becoming more prestigious with the new guests making appearance. Although Ingrid had little connection to Torragonesse noble circles, she could still recognize some of the affluent party goers. Nerves were building as Ingrid felt something was off but she has no idea why.
Marchesino Alexandre de la Mantoline, Ingrid was stunned by his appearance at the party. He was not only an Alta Summa cum Laude, something already deserving of immense respect, he was also an accomplished explorer. Ingrid of course knew of him, her own goal was to reach that title herself. But him being here was odd. This wasn't an academic environment, and although he did get to speak heavily on his own discoveries Ingrid could feel a twist in her stomach as she felt he was here for much more than a lesson dugongs.
Ingrid has seen this so many times, to her cousins, to her aunts, to the few friends she had. The normal disregard for this was filled with sympathy for Ayla. They were barely friends but Ingrid could see this was a terrible surprise for Ayla. Ingrid held her wine and simply watched. She would not clap for surprising your daughter with a betrothal. It didn't matter what she did right now anyways, Ingrid was just a noble girl from Eskand, she had no weight here.
"Spratz on bread? I guess I should've brought some of my baked goods with me then." Dorothea couldn't help but chuckle from the thought of Spratz on bread being a delicacy, perhaps her taste buds have been spoiled by the access of Spratz. As her hand was squeezed, she looked at Manfred before smiling back at Zarina. "Well, I could ask for a bigger shipment if you wish to acquire some yourself. We'll just have to sort-..."
Dory's voice faded from the sheer silence that spread through the room. Soon enough her eyes were focussed on the Duque as his voice rang through the hall. Has the time truly past that quickly already that the main event has started?
De la Mantoline? I thought it was about Ayla and the Arslans? Perhaps they were a family well acquainted with the Arslan family or rather that young man a friend in and of itself of the Duque?
The announcement of a cooperation does not sound that bad but why does it come with such a weird feeling in the stomach? It wasn't long before the true part of this slimy party showed it's colours and a chill ran down her spine. Verdammt! Why this, of all things!? Her hand squeezed Manfred's rather tightly before leaning into his ear and whispering. "Do not let go of my hand or I will show that Flachwichser 'the true prize'..."
Kaspar
Kaspar listened to Alexandre with interest. Knowledge was of interest to him, though the noble was more partial to plants over maps. Much of what the scholar seemed to be speaking of related to trade routes—things that he would need to pay attention to, if he intended to take over the position of Marquis. As tenuous as that situation was… It wasn’t like the boy had anything else to do but listen.
It was the Duque’s response that made something in the boy’s stomach twist like sickness. The way he was speaking, the honey-sweet words of politics that he’d never acquired a taste for. But to say that he was like a son? And as his hand reached for Ayla’s… The heat roiled beneath his breastbone and burned against his skin. His mind registered the words though he wasn’t sure he could hear them through the ringing in his ears.
Arms wrapped around him from behind, cheek warm against his shoulder through the thin Refuge cloth. Naranja juice burning against a bloody palm. Sitting atop sandstone buildings gazing out across the desert. Screeching half-faced beasts swooping from above. Food and friendship, a gift and a promise and a familj.Hot blood on hot hands on hot Torragonese sand.
Something dug into the palm of his hand—had he always been holding the fork, or had he just grabbed it?—and a harsh bolt of rage shot through Kaspar. Two ends of a fork clattered quietly to the table, the middle utterly gone and a slight swell in his boiling blood. Red eyes stared straight ahead, past the Duque and his “son” and Ayla, unseeing and empty as her face played over and over in his mind, the surprise upon it… A chilling wind against his cold, stoic features, every muscle settled in place beneath the coating of frost.
Yalen
Yalen was familiar with the name Alexandre even if he didn't know the man personally. He was an avid reader of holy texts, but he did more general study on the side as well. Someone as famous as Mr. Mantoline had an entire shelf dedicated to him in Ersand'Enise's grand library, so his reputation preceded him. The young monk listened curiously as the scholar explained the significance of Djamante's trade routes, having never been in the same room as a bonafide celebrity before. He joined the positive round of applause as Duque Arslan and his protégé shook hands.
However, the announcement that followed stunned him into silence. He had not been warned that Ayla's engagement would be announced today. She hadn't even hinted at it. Was it meant to be a surprise to her friends? Yalen looked at her expecting her to return a knowing smile, to clap her hands and yell "Surprise!" However, what he saw instead was a look of terror and disbelief. That was enough for him to deduce that this was a plot by her family and had nothing to do with her opinions on marriage. Yalen was a priest, but he knew what Ayla was going through. His cousin Carol was forced to break up with her boyfriend last year after her father handed her off to a gentleman in the capital. He and his father Charles were only spared the politics of the Castel family thanks to their status as clergymen and their distance from the family's main estate.
Zarina
Business already? Zarina smirked at Dory's disposition, however any sort of progress that could be made in this exchange was dashed by the sudden announcement by the Patriarch of the Arslans himself. Zarina leaned back on her seat, wine back in hand and her head craned slightly toward Marci's direction, “I've seen this before. Always leaves a few shocked.” she whispered with confidence without spoiling the outcome.
The betrothal was announced just as Zarina had indulged in about half of the white in her drink, and then raised her glass at the occasion. Some were surprised, some distraught, others cheering. It was oddly neither hot nor cold for Zaz if one referred to her disposition and tone, “At least they didn't wait until she fell in love.” muttered the Virangishwoman, words as hollow as the glass she had guzzled down. Already she was seeking a refill, “She's going to need a few of these, probably.”
Ingrid
The party was becoming more prestigious with the new guests making appearance. Although Ingrid had little connection to Torragonesse noble circles, she could still recognize some of the affluent party goers. Nerves were building as Ingrid felt something was off but she has no idea why.
Marchesino Alexandre de la Mantoline, Ingrid was stunned by his appearance at the party. He was not only an Alta Summa cum Laude, something already deserving of immense respect, he was also an accomplished explorer. Ingrid of course knew of him, her own goal was to reach that title herself. But him being here was odd. This wasn't an academic environment, and although he did get to speak heavily on his own discoveries Ingrid could feel a twist in her stomach as she felt he was here for much more than a lesson dugongs.
Ingrid has seen this so many times, to her cousins, to her aunts, to the few friends she had. The normal disregard for this was filled with sympathy for Ayla. They were barely friends but Ingrid could see this was a terrible surprise for Ayla. Ingrid held her wine and simply watched. She would not clap for surprising your daughter with a betrothal. It didn't matter what she did right now anyways, Ingrid was just a noble girl from Eskand, she had no weight here.
