The darkening sky spread over Sorian harbour, and with it came a scattering of ships seeking safer waters for the night within the city’s breakwaters. In the diminishing light, even weather-beaten and tarnished sails appeared to be wavering slivers of luminescent white. They fluttered furiously against the nightly seaward winds, but still flagged more than they billowed. Pushing their hulls towards the docks at a torpid pace was all they could do.

From the waterfront, Sjan-dehk watched with crossed arms and in amusement. Beneath the lopsided grin, the occasional snicker – particularly when a ship found itself in irons – and the less-occasional thoughts of how his Sada Kurau would be the superior vessel in similar conditions, he felt some sympathy for the crew aboard those ships. Really, he did; to spend a day of toil at sea, only to be delayed by something the fickle winds so close to home was frustrating, to say the very least.

Granted, that wasn’t something Sjan-dehk had ever personally experienced – the sea was both his closest companion and second home – but he had observed his crew enough to understand it, somewhat.

“That’s not good,” he murmured and drew in a sharp breath through his teeth. A sizeable ship – a freighter, judging by its size and heft – had lurched into a lumbering turn, only to have her sails immediately deflated and pressed flat against her masts by the headwind. She lost what scant speed she had in an instant, and drifted slowly and aimlessly to a complete stop. There was little her crew could do aside from trimming her sails every which way in vain hopes of catching some form of wind. Such a position was unenviable; even Sada Kurau would be hard-pressed to get out of such a situation – she could sail much closer to the wind than most, but she could not sail directly into it. No ship could.

Or rather, no sailing ship could. A steamer wouldn’t have cared which way the winds blew.

Sjan-dehk grunted and leaned forwards, resting his forearms on the salt-pitted guardrail stretching across the length of the waterfront. It felt surreal – wrong, almost – how quickly those machines of iron and steam took to the seas. When the War began just over half-a-decade ago, they were mere theories dreamt up by shipwrights and engineers. Two years into the fighting, and the first wooden frigates to be fitted with steam engines were put into service. The following year, those very same ships were coated in thin plates of iron and sent to the front. And by War’s end, there were ships leaving the slipways that looked completely alien to Sjan-dehk.

He recalled seeing one such vessel, the Sadhakan Ai-kai. It had been during the final days of the War, and Sada Kurau had happened to pass her whilst underway to the Viserjantan capital, Mersawas. Her hull had gleamed in the sunlight, and she had sailed into the wind with naked masts and funnels belching clouds of dark smoke and white vapour. It had been a strange sight, and to this day Sjan-dehk was still uncertain as to what he thought of it. On the one hand, being able to sail without paying heed to the wind was a dream of every captain. And yet on the other, that very same dream made real sapped the magic from sailing. As if it turned something that called for talent and imagination into something colder, and more clinical.

Well, he supposed it didn’t quite matter what he thought. If it ever came to a day when he would be forced to leave his Sada Kurau to take command of one of those newer ships, then he could either simply accept the decision without fuss, or fight tooth-and-nail to remain aboard the ship that had taken him to countless victories. And he already knew which option he would choose.

A familiar voice from behind quickly dispelled whatever daydreams he had of a probable future, and pulled him back to his senses. “Captain, I hope you don't mind a siren's company for the night's festivities.”

“You know, sirens–” Sjan-dehk began with a chuckle as he turned around. And as soon as he laid eyes on Kalliope, whatever words he had left to say vanished from his tongue. Without thinking – or even knowing, for that matter – he swept his gaze over her form before resting it on her face. Her verdant eyes gleamed with mischief, but also shone with the waning twilight.

"Shall we dance in the realm of arrogance and pompous asses?"

Sjan-dehk cleared his throat, coughing into a fist, and nodded in response to her question. “When you put it that way, it almost sounds like it’d be fun,” he said with a quiet laugh.

Once again, he couldn’t help but take in the sight of her. The gown she wore was the exact one which she had bought days ago, so it wasn’t as if he was looking at anything new. And yet, he was captivated all the same. Blue fabric, soft and fine, flowed from her like the rolling waves of the gentle sea, and pooled at her feet in ruffles reminiscent of swirling eddies. And just like the sea, it was broken up by golden accents that reminded him of the vibrant hues painted by a setting sun. Intricately woven to look like scales, they made her look like a merrowfolk from ancient legends.

And it was around that time when Sjan-dehk realised that if she hadn’t noticed him ogling her before, she certainly must have, now. “Sorry,” he said sheepishly, and carefully considered his words. A not-so-small part of him just wanted to call her ‘beautiful’ and be done with it, but knowing what he now knew about her relationship with Cassius, he knew he had to establish and maintain a respectful distance. He may as well get started – and get used to it – sooner rather than later.

“You look…Wonderful.” That was the most neutral word he could think of while still retaining some form of honesty. “It’s a beautiful dress, and it suits you well.” He should have stopped there. That would have been the wise thing to do, but he couldn’t stop himself from continuing with, “I mean, the rest of you is…Well, it’s easy on the eyes as well.” He paused, and tapped his finger on a scabbard. “You dressed up well, is what I’m trying to say. Almost makes me feel a little underdressed.”

Sjan-dehk spoke the last sentence as a half-joke. Compared to Kalliope, he looked remarkably plain. That wasn’t the seamstress’ fault, however, but rather his own. The poor woman had tried to convince him to at least try some of the more fanciful and eye-catching clothes she had to offer. Consummate soldier that he was, Sjan-dehk naturally refused. He eventually settled on something that was as close to his usual attire as possible, albeit with some flair in the form of elaborate patterns embroidered with golden thread. Even that was something the seamstress had to talk him into accepting. She had pointed out – and rightfully so, in hindsight – that without them, he may as well wear his own uniform. And that was hardly fitting for what seemed to be an elegant and grand event.

“Anyway,” he said, taking a step back from her and tilting his head to one side. Whether that was the right way to go was unknown to him. “Shall we go? I don’t know where this count makes his home, so I’m afraid you have to lead. Not unless you don’t mind us ending up some place where we shouldn’t.”

Time:Evening
Location: Calbert's Estate
Interaction: @Helo Leo @JJ Doe Count Fritz @Samreaper Kazumin
Mention: @Rodiak Nahir

---

Charlotte blinked, seemingly snapped out of her reverie, and turned her gaze towards Leo. Her arm, which had been suspended mid-motion, dropped to her side as she regained self-awareness. Leo's words, initially registering as mere background noise, now began to process in her mind. "... Uh! Yes! I'm..." she stammered. Then, with genuine confusion in her eyes, she whispered, "What did you say about lettuce nobles?"

The truth was Charlotte could not invest much emotional weight into that question. Her mind was too busy trying to unravel the sudden shift in her reality.

... What in Primitius's name just happened? Was... Was I dreaming!? Keeping the storm of emotions swirling within beneath the surface was a challenge as she attempted to remain calm on the outside. However, on the inside, she was a mess. Unbeknownst to Charlotte, her nervous disposition was obvious to anyone with eyeballs. Did someone cast a spell on me? And now Leo must think I have lost my mind. How long was I standing there? Considering Olivia had telepathically spoke to her earlier in the evening, magic could not be ruled out. For better or worse, magic was real.

She had no idea if Leo would just shrug that off; the same way she had been unable to let go of the topic of his strange change in pitch. Certainly, if she told him what had happened, he would think she was crazy... But there was someone here who might not. Her gaze slid over to Count Hendrix and the "mysterious" waiter. She was supposed to meet by the pillar after all but she by no means wanted to ditch Leo alone. Her gaze lingered about as she scrambled through her head for a solution until she was distracted by the sight of a certain Alidasht princess. "I h-have, well, uh, a quick question for Count Fritz about his findings... I think the girl you like is just over yonder by the way if you wanna say hello, otherwise, I'll be back in a moment."

She hesitated before moving. With a warm smile, she took his hand and squeezed it, "Hey...Save me a dance?"
Though her wish was to avoid Leo figuring out the attendant's identity, she couldn't stop him from following her if he so decided and she'd have to simply try to keep the situation handled if that was the case. Without waiting, Charlotte turned around and approached the duo she had intended to, her unease still written on her face.

Greeting the two with an elegant curtsy that ended with a clumsy misstep, she said, "Evening gentlemen. Having fun over here I hope?"

She decided to perhaps just lead with the greeting for now, but her eyes did fall questioningly on the man who invited her to the pillar.

Time: Evening
Location: Lover's Lake
Interactions: Callum @Helo Ari @Tpartywithzombi
Mentions:

---

He's been late, but John wanted to give the false impression that he was busy with his work. It was somewhat true that he was in meeting with some of the physicians and servants, but it was not for direct work purposes. No, it was far more important under the current situation.

John was accompanied by another man, an individual of rugged features by the name of Frederick. A doctor with merits just as credible as John was concerned, but his military background contrasted John's extensive civilian services, and his grey balding hair contrasted John's youthful brown. But their demeanour with each other was one of casual politeness and professionalism, cloaked under a cryptic invisible veil of common agenda. And both today wore matching black asymmetrical jackets, the collar ornamented in gold flower imagery. A pin sat on the upper right side of the jacket, the prestigious symbol of the medical world, but a strange one for medical doctors to be wearing them publicly. The only ones who wore them would be Alina and Hunter.

"I would not have considered her a member just yet." His voice had a commanding firm to it that gave him an aura of authority. "She is Caesonian, and from the cursory description, it seems like your research has been shallow."

"She need not be. A partnership of information is just as valuable." John reassured, with similar calm. "Especially as we will operate on the heart of the snake."

"How can we trust that she will not leak the antidote to the snake himself?" Frederick raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

"Her master has been a victim of the snake." John replied.

"From my research, she's also made inauspicious remarks towards her master as well."

"And you are able to see that. What does that say about the man she chose to serve?"

Frederick slowed his paces, and John slowed to match his too.

"Her intel has already come in on the first movement of the snake, so we, or rather I, can expect the poison."

"So you've already locked hands with her. I trust that you know what you're doing." The old man worded, half with trust, and half with warning. "Am I expecting to have to lift a finger for you?"

"For this one? No." John shook his head firmly. "It is only a matter of what message should we send to him."

As the two doctors trotted peacefully through the park, their boots clanged on the cobblestone under the ever-increasing starry sky, the rugged doctor looked at the woods in the distance.

"Xenophobia." Frederick said, and John looked over at a peculiar choice of word. "He's a puppeteer. Let's introduce him to the scissors."

"It will be done." John nodded, as they both entered the forest. They had a ceremony to attend.

The alluring symphony was the two's compass in the calm woods. Once again among the religious traditional attire, the black jackets would be a step outside the curve. If anything, it made them look a bit ominous how the jackets look exactly the same. Especially to one of the guest who seemed to have drank a bit too much. The man who'd point and make this bird mimic gesture would actually be pointing straight at the two black-jacket men, who were approaching him from the trees. If he looked close, he might see something strange...

Time: Evening
Location: Damien Estate
Interactions: Fritz @JJ Doe Charlotte @Princess
Mentions: Olivia @Potter
Attire: ???

---

The masked gentleman graciously bowed." Anything offered shall be greatly appreciated." He listened to anything Fritz was willing to tell him regarding the Damien family and other such matters that may be related. Some things he knew, but most of it new to him and with each tidbit the woefully put together puzzle regarding Calbert and Violet's death took on some discernable picture in his head though still lacked far too much.

All the while, his gaze would roam over the party trying to take notice of any recognizable faces; at times checking back on Charlotte, concerned, but nothing he could do but wait on that end. With the vile count doing his own thing, he left him be though would try to keep his location in the back of his mind.

His search had him discover the icy prince and honored queen. Two guests that certainly had him nervous; a part of him hesitant to continue with his plans, but for the group and Percy's stake... besides he already knew this whole thing was stupidly risky.

What made it even more frustrating was the peculiar lack of Violet. In fact, none of the Damien family besides Lord Calbert had announced themselves. Any chance of making things up with Crystal clearly not an option; worse yet, no way for any of them to try get the most crucial intel only she knew.

Irritating and very strange; from what he had read and taught, events hosted by big named families never wasted opportunities to wag their amazing family and wealth in everyone's faces.

After thinking on it a bit longer, taking into consideration the fact that, if Violet had indeed died and been brought back and her lack of presence. Mr. V's body tensed as the worse possibility came to his mind. And yet, that piece of shit Count is wasting his time trying to screw over two peasants.

Thankful to have the metal tray clutched in his right hand lest he found himself stalking straight over to Calbert and knock some of that deluded view out of him.

Mention of Olga's name was just the trick to help pull Mr. V from his dark and frustrating ruminations. Fritz's voice and words provided him the reprieve to calm down. A good thing he forbade the mistress touch of liquor or he may have lost himself. And with it a small smile to his lips; happy to hear Olga was doing well.

Then his companion shifted closer; a sign what he had to say next to more important and sensitive and acted in kind by leaning close, his full attention given this time.

“Do you see that striking couple over there? The gentleman wearing a weasel mask has been keeping a close eye on the Damiens for a few days now. His insights may better serve you.”

Turning his attention as guided to the couple mentioned, where he saw the weasel-mask wearing individual named Peter. Something about the guy seemed a bit off; at first, he figured the mask to blame, but...

Not that he could dwell on it long for he soon caught sight of the woman hanging onto his arm. The uncomfortable tingling turning into a rumble in his gut upon realizing who it was. Even beneath her multi-layered disguise, he recognized her easily now that his beloved booze mistress did not addle his thoughts.

His childhood friend looked absolutely stunning and elegant. While her being with this Peter did not sit well with him, he only wished she could be free to enjoy herself. How they all could have spent the night dancing away.

If only circumstances for this party had been of genuine fun. Alas.

Seeking her out would have to wait for the moment as he caught sight of Charlotte who was beginning to make her way to them. That on top of Fritz seemingly finishing up.

” “What else might you need from me?”

The question made him chuckle as the other favor he had in mind slipped away after the onslaught of information and concerns." First, of course I must give my thanks for all that you were willing to give." Another respectful bow as his or the staff's way of showing his thanks at least." As for the matter of request." This time it was his turn to lean in close.

" If possible, would you know where I could get ahold of a small pouch of gun powder?" His left hand gently resting on his shoulder having leaned to whisper it." I- " Opening his mouth as if to elaborate onto his request and with quite the big grin as if proud of the ideas he had in mind.

"Evening gentlemen. Having fun over here I hope?"

Upon hearing Charlotte greeting words, his relaxed postured straightened and he stepped back, but not before dusting off the shoulder he had been lightly leaning against." Ah! You grace us with your presence, Lady Charlotte!" Turning partially with a partial bow of his head in turn." Your timing has been proven most fortuitous for Sir Fritz had just finished regaling me with his *tales*." Slipping the tray now sporting slight bending under his arm to give Fritz brief little clap.

" Most compelling with much gleaned from it, that I can certainly attest." His little applause ended, he then stepped closer to Charlotte where he would check her over." But what of you, Lady Butterfly? That... little episode you recently demonstrated?" Mr. V asked still in his disguised manner, worry easily evident in his tone, however." Before anything, I must ask If the lady requires a drink or a seat, please let me know as it is our duty to keep all guests happy." It annoyed and bothered him having to talk in such an eloquent manner made only possible due to those blasted lessons.

The thought of Agatha's smug toad like face from taking pleasure in seeing him using her high society lessons made his skin crawl. He could not help but count down the seconds he could free him of this insulting ruse. Unfortunate for the others, this was their life, leaving him wishing a way to help them.

Riona drifted between groups, her ears perked for any scrap of conversation that might prove useful. She took a bitter pride in how easy it was to fade into the background. Years of being a maid ingrained stealth into her bones, but the thought of owing any of her skills to servitude soured in her mouth.

She shook the thought away. No more brooding. She was here on a mission, damn it. Riona squared her shoulders and stepped into the light, inserting herself into circles already mid-gossip. She listened close, interjecting where she could, mining each mundane exchange. Most discussions proved wanting, but Riona kept at it, sifting dross in search of gold—you never knew what little thing might turn out to be important. And, sometimes, she did catch pieces of promising intelligence the Thornbreakers would be interested in.

Which was great and all…

But Gods, these heels were killing her!

Pain gnawed, pinched, and nibbled away at her concentration; being a constant, nagging reminder she was out of place. Eventually, it became too much and Riona had to excuse herself. She retreated into the powder room where she yanked the shoes off and rubbed some life back into her poor, abused feet. There, she questioned every decision that led her to this point, mentally slapped herself for even thinking that, then got ready for round two.

Riona just returned to the ballroom when a burst of pink caught her eye. A bouquet of roses given human form approached, her filigree mask doing nothing to hide who she was: Shehzadi Nahir Aysun Ibn Raif Kadi. “Excuse me, my lady, what lovely dress you have there.”

Riona froze. Why did she approach her? The last time they crossed paths, Riona had been serving at the dinner hosted by the Sultan. After the drama that unfolded that night, she didn’t think the Shehzadi would’ve remembered Riona, much less recognize her.

Reflexively, her fingers flew up and traced the edges of the mask, which concealed the better part of her face. Assured that it was securely in place, she allowed herself a moment of relief.

“Trouble with the shoes?” asked Shehzadi Nahir, her voice like honeyed silk. “I wouldn’t want such a beauty to trip in the middle of a ball.” A flutter of nervousness stirred a mix of flattery and apprehension in Riona’s chest.

Riona’s gown, a burst of orange satin, made her feel empowered and exposed all at once. Its sweetheart neckline and golden accent piece that cinched waist drew the eye; the skirt’s asymmetrical hemline and low-cut back added a touch of daring. Detached sheer puff sleeves billowed from fitted gold bands at her mid-upper arms, then anchored at the wrists by bangles. Although Via’s skillful work hid her scars, Riona became conscious of them under the weight of the Shehzadi’s gaze.

“Thank you.” She took the offered hand to find her balance. This close, she detected subtle tells of ennui in the other woman. It could’ve just been her imagination, but she had seen that particular expression often enough. From experience, boredom among the nobility often spelled trouble for those less fortunate. Servants learned quickly to make themselves scarce until it passed. “Are you certain, my lady?” Riona asked, emboldened by the anonymity lent by masquerade masks. “You have the look of someone who’d welcome a mild diversion, even if it’s just ‘a beauty tripping in the middle of a ball.’”

Even though she tried to hide it as best as she could, Peter got the sense Olivia was nervous as f**k. Might’ve been the way she clamped down on his hand hard enough to cut off circulation at the sight of C-Bert. Or how her big, anxious eyes peered up at him when asked, “Do you think he’ll recognize me?” Or heck, maybe it was the way she herded Peter around the room, giving C-Bert a wider berth than a country mile, her gaze darting back to keep tabs on his location every few seconds. That kind of attention could make a fella a wee bit jealous.

Peter eased Olivia’s chin his way till she was looking at him instead of C-Bert. He leaned in close, his lips just barely grazing her ear. “Keep avoiding him like that and he will,” he murmured. “You’ve gotta relax. He can smell fear. Only way to fool that nose is with brass.” As Peter straightened, he slid a steady hand around the dip of Olivia’s waist and gave what he hoped was a reassuring squeeze.

A fat lot of good that did. She was still coiled tight as a spring. He couldn’t really blame her, what with the gaggle of puffed-up nobles strutting about like they’re the cock of the walk. Their chatter was as shallow as their purses were deep, a relentless joust of who could piss higher up the wall. Flaunting baubles as if those alone proved their worth as people.

The garish light glinted off accessories cast mischievous sparks in Peter’s eyes. Then a grin sliced across his face as an idea brewed. He turned to Olivia. “Hey, watch this.”

Guiding Olivia through the sea of peacocks, Peter slipped into his own kind of dance as he relieved unsuspecting nobles of their fineries. He didn’t stop there, though. Oh no, he mixed it up, planting pilfered items on the wrong noble, or sneaking them back to their owners—but never where they expected. Was he showing off? Damn right. All to steal a smile from Olivia, push away her worries, and maybe even snatch a bit of admiration.

“If possible, would you know where I could get ahold of a small pouch of gun powder?”

Ryn’s eyes widened at the request. Even a pinch of black powder could wreak havoc if mishandled. What mischief could Mr. V possibly have up his sleeve that required such a volatile substance? Before Ryn could inquire further, Lady Vikena approached. “Evening gentlemen. Having fun over here I hope?” The count inclined his head, a courteous bow, the antlers of his stag mask casting twisted shapes across the polished floor beneath their feet.

While Mr. V spoke, Ryn removed his spectacles and carefully swapped out the spent lens with a new one. With his enchanted eyewear back in place, Ryn scrutinized Lady Vikena’s magicae once more. Her natural hue and the unnatural presence that encased her—suffocating in its intensity—remained unchanged. For better or for worse, Ryn could not say. At the very least, Wayra’s reaction suggested that this was not a recent development.

A possibility struck him, Miss Delilah might’ve known about this. Not just her, but also—... He chewed his bottom lip, lost in contemplation. Could this be connected to the Vikena family’s current plight?

Ryn shifted his attention to Lord Smithwood, who stood at a distance. His magicae remained steady. The shadows still clung along the fringes, but their grip on him seemed to have weakened as the day wore on, appearing fainter than they had that morning.

“I see some seats over there,” the count remarked, gesturing toward an unoccupied corner of the ballroom. “Shall we?”

As they crossed the room, Ryn asked Mr. V in a hushed tone, “Do you intend to harm anyone?” He had to at least know that before he could consider handing the man black powder. Acknowledging Mr. V’s response with a subtle nod, Ryn continued on his path.

Waving in Lord Smithwood’s direction, Ryn indicated the corner and extended a silent invitation to join them if he wished. They were a team, after all. It would be remiss of Ryn to leave him out of their discussions.

Upon reaching the empty seats, he pulled out a chair for Lady Vikena and then another for Mr. V before realizing his misstep. Understanding the need to maintain Mr. V’s guise as a servant, he flashed an apologetic look and took the seat for himself.

Questions swirled within Ryn’s mind, many things to discuss and fill Lady Vikena in on—about the investigation, the items Ryn had left for her examination, his findings at the psychiatric institution, and far more besides. However, as Mr. V astutely pointed out, Lady Vikena’s “episode” took precedence. “It’s good to see you Lady Charlotte. I was beginning to worry that I somehow missed our very first CLF Detective Agency meeting. I hadn’t realized it would be quite so... clandestine.” He smiled, but concern was there. “How are you faring?”