[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/clIHoiY.png[/img][img]https://i.imgur.com/3wGoS7n.png[/img] [color=red][h3]WARNING: This scene contains suggestive material, including references to sexual fantasies, objectification, and power dynamics in a sexualized context.[/h3][/color] [/center] [color=lightgray] [color=DDB775]Time:[/color] 12pm by the end [color=a187be]Location:[/color] Edin Theater [color=DDB775]Interaction:[/color] [@Helo] Callum [@Silverpaw] Wulfric [@JJ Doe] Morrigan[/color] [color=a187be]Mention:[/color] [@FunnyGuy] Lorenzo [hr][color=lightgray] Edin's laughter boomed through the banquet hall, loud and obnoxious as if Callum had just uttered the most profound wisdom ever spoken. [color=DDB775]“Ah! Now that is a thought, boy!”[/color] he guffawed, slapping his meaty hand on the table hard enough to make some napkins fall on the floor. [color=DDB775]“A dancer and a jester, all in one! Entertaining and obedient! And people say you’re useless, Callum! Ha! Not today, not today!”[/color] Meanwhile, Alibeth grimaced, her expression tightening. She had no interest in the so-called jester, nor did she appreciate Callum's amusement at the idea. [color=a187be]“Must you encourage him?”[/color] she muttered under her breath [color=ab274f]“I wonder how long [i]this one[/i] can last before he lands himself on the execution block.”[/color] Edin’s laughter faltered, his goblet pausing mid-air. His drunken amusement dimmed just slightly, a flicker of irritation flashing through his glazed-over eyes. For a brief moment, the air around him seemed to shift as if he might turn his ire toward Wulfric. But then, just as quickly, he scoffed and threw back the rest of his wine in a single, gluttonous gulp. [color=DDB775]“Hah! You say that as if half this court isn’t already skating on thin ice,”[/color] he muttered, setting his goblet down with an audible [b][i]clunk[/i][/b]. His fingers drummed against the table, his amusement returning, [color=DDB775]“But I must admit, that would be an entertaining way to end the show. Imagine the grand finale—"[/color] he smirked and flicked his wrist theatrically, [color=DDB775]“a lovely little dance… right off the edge of the gallows!”[/color] He roared with laughter again, as if his own jest had brought him back to life. Meanwhile, Alibeth’s lips pressed into a thin line, her expression momentarily unreadable. As Lorenzo then took the stage, Edin let out a deep, exasperated sigh, already bracing himself for whatever nonsense was about to unfold. His fingers drummed against the armrest. [color=DDB775]“Oh, great. This idiot again,”[/color] he muttered, barely bothering to lower his voice. His patience for Lorenzo Vikena was thinner than the strings holding up Kazumin Nagasa’s puppet earlier. At first, Edin was delighted as Lorenzo summoned an entire marching band from the audience. His eyes lit up, his grin stretching wide as he clapped his buttery fingers together. His amusement only grew as the ribbon dancers came on stage, and the poppy petals rained down upon Lorenzo like a self-proclaimed war hero. [i] Then he heard them. [/i] The instant the trumpets blared, Edin’s fingers went rigid around his goblet, his knuckles whitening. His entire body stiffened, his breath caught mid-sip. It was as if the very walls of the theater had collapsed, and suddenly, he was not here. Edin’s jaw clenched as his breathing grew shallower. His grip on the goblet tightened, then he slammed it down onto the armrest with a force that sent wine sloshing over the edges. Alibeth, already irritated by Lorenzo’s display, turned at the sound of his goblet slamming down. [color=a187be]“Edin?”[/color] [color=DDB775]“...A Danrose does not flinch.”[/color] Edin exhaled sharply and shoved the handful of popcorn into his mouth with force, chewing with exaggerated enthusiasm. His jaw worked harder than necessary, his fingers drummed against the chair’s armrest. However, he finally did turn his attention to his family with a look of fury. [color=DDB775]“Who in the hell allowed those damnable trumpets?! Who approved this?!”[/color] He began to rise, looming like a storm about to break. His body vibrated with unchecked fury, his nostrils flaring as his dark eyes burned with something nearly unhinged. The trumpets still rang in his ears. [color=DDB775]“I will [i]not[/i] sit here and be subjected to this assault on my ears! My court deserves [i]better[/i]! My kingdom deserves [i]better[/i]! I deserve—”[/color] His hand lashed out, goblet nearly flying from his grip, but before he could send it crashing onto the floor below— Alibeth’s hand shot out, gripping his wrist with surprising force. Her amber eyes burned into his, and her grip was firm. For a moment, he looked at her as if he might fight it. But then, something in her expression made him hesitate. His chest heaved, his lip curled, but he did not pull away. Instead, he yanked his arm back with a huff, slamming himself against his seat. [color=DDB775]“Damn trumpets,”[/color] he muttered under his breath, shoving a handful of popcorn into his mouth. Grumbling, he crossed his arms, shifting uncomfortably as the wretched music continued. Every time a trumpet sounded, he flinched slightly, his fingers tightening around the chair. Finally, the infernal noise stopped. Edin exhaled, far too loudly, as if he had just survived an ordeal. And then Lorenzo opened his mouth. [color=DDB775]“‘The Duke of Vermillion is here!”[/color] Edin mocked under his breath, sneering. [color=DDB775]“Like anyone gives a damn.”[/color] His eyes flicked to Wulfric, as if seeking confirmation that he wasn’t the only one witnessing this absurd display. Then, Lorenzo dared to mock the Varians and Alidasht! Edin’s eyes widened slightly before he barked out a short, humorless laugh. [color=DDB775]“Oh, this will go well,”[/color] he muttered. [color=DDB775]“Although… He’s right, for once. We are much better than them.”[/color] [color=A187BE]“Does… Does he think this volunteer charity event is a [i]competition[/i]?”[/color] Alibeth’s tone was light, almost amused—almost—but the slight tilt of her chin and the flicker of irritation in her amber eyes made it clear she was certainly anything but amused. As soon as Lorenzo dared to summon Anastasia as though she were some common musician at his beck and call, Alibeth’s lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes narrowing into cold, piercing slits. [color=A187BE]“How [i]dare[/i] he,”[/color] she murmured icily. Edin, still muttering about Lorenzo’s idiocy, seemed surprised by her sudden intensity. Then, without looking at him, she spoke again, louder this time. [color=A187BE]“Anastasia is a [i]princess[/i], not some performer to be summoned at a fool’s whim.”[/color] She exhaled, though irritation flickered in her gaze as she scanned the stage. [color=A187BE]“If she indulges him in front of everyone—”[/color] she shook her head, unwilling to finish the thought. The disgrace of it was unthinkable. Instead, she turned to Edin, her voice deceptively light yet laced with frost. [color=A187BE]“Tell me, Edin, how much longer must we tolerate this [i]fool[/i]? Is it [i]really[/i] all that necessary to keep the tradition of the Vikena family as members of the nobility considering the risk they present? ”[/color] [color=DDB775]“Until he dies, I suppose.”[/color] And then, right on cue, Anastasia took the stage. Alibeth exhaled slowly, her gaze darkening. [color=A187BE]“Of course she went up.”[/color] The words left her lips in a cold murmur, more to herself than anyone else. Edin scoffed loudly before Lorenzo could even start his poem, leaning forward with a self-satisfied smirk. [color=DDB775]“Love? I’ll tell you what it is—expensive.”[/color] He gestured broadly, nearly knocking over his goblet again. [color=DDB775]“Costs a man his coin, his freedom, and if he’s really unlucky—his peace of mind.”[/color] Then after the first few lines of Lorenzo’s poem, Edin spoke up once more, [color=DDB775]“Love this, love that—where’s the part where he trips over his own feet and makes this worth my time?”[/color] He lazily gestured toward the stage. [color=DDB775]“I say we speed things up. Someone toss a banana peel in his path.”[/color] The king then let out a long, exaggerated yawn, stretching his arms dramatically before slumping further into his chair. [color=DDB775]“This is getting dreary. Someone wake me up if he starts making sense… or if he actually throws himself off the stage or something.”[/color] As the words [color=salmon]“wipes her juices from his chin”[/color] rang through the theater, Edin’s half-lidded eyes shot open. A slow, lecherous smirk crept onto his face, and he suddenly sat up straighter, one brow arching with interest. [color=DDB775]“Well, well, well…”[/color] he murmured, his voice a deep purr as he leaned forward, fingers lazily tapping against his knee. His mind began to drift—no, plummet—into a vivid daydream, his expression shifting to something disturbingly pleased. The theater faded from his senses as a sultry haze overtook his mind, transporting him to his bed chamber filled with his adoring concubines. In his vision, they surrounded him, their hands tracing over his body, their voices breathy and eager. [color=pink]“Oh, my King… our god among men,”[/color] one whispered breathlessly against his ear. Another trailed fingers down his chest, tracing patterns through the remnants of oil smeared across his skin. [color=pink]“Your Majesty is perfection… untouchable… desired by all…”[/color] she purred. Edin grinned lazily, arms stretching over the pillows beneath him, letting his women fawn over him. [color=DDB775]“Of course I am,”[/color] he murmured, licking his lips as one of them placed a grape between his teeth. [color=DDB775]“The greatest king who ever lived… the most powerful… the most [i]needed.[/i]”[/color] One of his favorites settled beside him, pressing a kiss to his temple. [color=pink]“No man could ever compare, Your Majesty.”[/color] [color=DDB775]“Mmm… Say it again,”[/color] he groaned, his grip tightening in her hair as he tugged her closer. [color=pink]“You are the only King… the only one we could ever love… ever [i]serve[/i],”[/color] she whispered. This was where he belonged, where he [i]deserved[/i] to be—adored, worshipped, exalted. Every sigh, every touch, every desperate murmur of devotion fed his insatiable hunger for admiration. The women giggled, scrambling to please, hands smoothing oils into his skin, lips brushing along his knuckles, down his arms, over the slope of his belly. His head lolled back against the pillows, a satisfied chuckle escaping him as he basked in the overwhelming adulation. [color=DDB775]“Yes, yes… that’s it…”[/color] he murmured. But then a sharp voice through the haze. [color=A187BE]“Edin.”[/color] His eyes snapped open. Edin groaned in frustration, rubbing his temples as reality crashed down. He shot a sour glance at his wife before huffing and slouching back into his chair, arms crossed over his chest like a spoiled child. [color=DDB775]“Ridiculous poetry,”[/color] he muttered under his breath. Alibeth, however, had been listening intently the entire time. The poetry itself was competent, perhaps even moving, but what truly fascinated her was what it revealed. Lorenzo’s so-called [i]art[/i] was nothing more than a self-indulgent confession, a carefully veiled lament of a man who did not lose to love, but destroyed it. A man who had no control over his vices, no self-awareness, no accountability. And yet, he stood before them, holding power, speaking as if his suffering were profound rather than predictable. Her fingers tapped idly against her glass. [color=A187BE]“A tragic tale,”[/color] she mused, voice cool, detached. [color=A187BE]“Though I wonder if the woman in it would agree.”[/color] She took a slow sip of wine before continuing, her words precise, razor-sharp. [color=A187BE]“A Duke who romanticizes his own ruin. Who stands before his King and people, not only admitting to drowning in drink but reveling in it—as if self-destruction is something to be applauded.”[/color] Her gaze slid over them all and she presented a smile devoid of actual joy. [color=A187BE] “Forgive me if I don’t weep.”[/color] Finally it was time for Anastasia to perform. Her voice carried through the theater with anything but the grace of a princess. Alibeth’s lips pressed into a thin line as she watched her bring up the Darryn dilemma. [color=A187BE]“In front of everyone,”[/color] she murmured. Meanwhile, Edin, who had been half-lost in his own thoughts (and, perhaps, his daydreams), initially paid little mind to the performance. But as the music swelled, something strange happened. His chewing slowed, his expression shifting from vague amusement to something harder to define. He stared at the stage, and for the first time in a long while, he was silent. [color=A187BE][i]She is just like her father—impulsive, indulgent, driven by whatever feeling seizes them in the moment.[/i][/color] Alibeth felt naive to have thought she might be impressed tonight, that perhaps Anastasia would at least wield her artistry with dignity. She was talented but what use was talent if it was wielded with such disgraceful abandon? She exhaled slowly, setting her glass down with measured grace. [color=A187BE]“Weak,”[/color] she murmured to no one in particular, watching as her daughter let herself unravel for all of Sorian to see. [color=A187BE]“She makes herself look weak. And worse—she makes [i]us[/i] look weak.”[/color][/color] [center][img]https://i.imgur.com/65cBsSs.png[/img][/center]