[IC] 🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

[PapaOso]

Duke Gideon Edwards & Duchess Victoria Edwards

Time: 10am
Location: Drake Edwards Birthday Party at the Edwards Estate Backyard
Mentions/Interactions:@FunnyGuy Lorenzo @Helo Callum @PapaOso Cassius @princess Charlotte @Tpartywithzombi Ariella

---

The sun bathed the sprawling lawn of the Edwards estate in warmth, highlighting the luxurious decorations Duchess Victoria had painstakingly arranged for Drake's birthday. Tables draped in fine linen were filling with guests, and now that the drama of the previous moment had become smoke beginning to settle…the air grew slightly less tense.

Duke Gideon swirled the cocktail in his hand as his eyes took in the craftmanship of the beverage. Taking a sip, he relished its taste, letting the rich flavors linger on his palate. Victoria sat beside him; her eyes alight with mischief as she aimed a teasing remark at Count Calbert Damien. "It seems your son has quite the taste, doesn’t he, Calbert?" she cooed, her lips curling into a sly smile. "Fancying Lady Charlotte, of all people. I do hope the boy knows what he’s getting himself into. Poor girls always seemed a bit... unhinged to me. And we all know what they say about women of her type. I mean just look to the newspapers…if what they say about her is true, is she even worth your son’s time, Calbert?"

Gideon stiffened slightly; his gaze fixed on the pair in question. The conversation around him became naught but a distant hum as he looked to Cassius, who had his arm draped casually around Charlotte. The man’s posture was effortlessly confident, while Charlotte, with that striking dark hair and quiet grace, seemed to brighten at his presence. Despite Victoria's dismissive words, Gideon saw something in Charlotte that Victoria refused to acknowledge…a resilience, a strength. She was, after all, Walter’s daughter.

He studied Cassius more carefully. The man’s brash charm and the way he commanded attention was strikingly familiar. It was something Walter himself had too, though Walter’s confidence had been more tempered, less raw. For better or worse, the similarities were unmistakable. Gideon sighed quietly, unsure of how to feel. A Vikena and a Damien… That’ll be the day.

Victoria’s voice broke his thoughts. "I mean, Charlotte always had a knack for drawing attention, didn't she? It’s just a shame it’s never for the right reasons. And Lorenzo! Don’t get me started on that fool again, but that was quite the display… I fear the lessons he is instilling in Charlotte with outbursts like that will only make her even more intolerable.” Her words came out brimming with disdain as she reached for her own drink and took quite the sip. “Oh and speaking of drawing attention…Seems like Callum is going to fit right in at the table with those Vikena freaks. Don’t worry, Calbert, your son will surely see what we see in no time."

Gideon’s jaw tightened, though he said nothing, unwilling to ignite another pointless argument on the matter. Instead, his attention shifted, as out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a familiar figure approaching. Ariella.

His heart clenched.

He had been so worried about her. After all, spending the night in the royal dungeon was no small matter, and her latest rebellion had left Gideon in a storm of concern.

"Excuse me," he murmured to Victoria, who was too absorbed in her conversation to even notice his departure.

Gideon strode across the lawn toward his daughter, his tall frame cutting a path through the festivities. His voice was low but filled with fatherly concern when he reached her.

"Ariella…" he said, his hand resting gently on her shoulder, "Are you alright, my sweet?"

[SilverPaw]

	Attire: Party fit (one brooch only) Date and Time: Sola 25th, Morning Location: The Edwards estate Mention(s): Lorenzo, Charlotte, Cassius, Fritz, Zarai, Callum, Anastasia Interaction(s): @princess Duchess Edwards and co., @Rodiak Nahir, @Helo Rohit

Wulfric petted Apollon one last time, bringing their heads together for the briefest of nuzzles. His coat was soft and smooth, his mane like the finest of silks. Warmth radiated from him, fueled by his body heat, and enhanced by the sun’s rays. The royal breathed in, the distinctive animal scent as familiar as it was comforting. “You will be in good hands here,” he murmured.

Finally, he stepped away, admiring the handsome colt. Apollon appeared as if he were suffused with a muted glow, like a field of wheat at high noon. It would be a joy to see him race as he was born and bred to do, and he hoped Drake could utilize him to his full potential.

The prince gave a nod in farewell, turned on his heel, and left the animal behind.

The moment he returned to the party proper, it became clear much had transpired in his absence. The guests were all atwitter, hushed whispers cavorting in the breeze. Wulfric went about the business of greeting the guests. Coincidentally, that provided him with plenty of opportunity to listen in on the rumours.

“Oh, that Duke Vikena!” a lady fanned herself, scandalized, while her husband offered futile now, now, dears.

“He cannot go one event without making a fool of himself,” exclaimed another.

“But a bastard?” queried a gentlemen. “Is it true?”

The group became more hushed, and a lord added cautiously, “It was…a surprise.”

“It was, was it not?” Wulfric pitched in just then, casual as you please. But that one phrase was enough to embolden the group. They clustered closely together as they continued their discussion.

“I never would have thought–”

“Well, even the esteemed count could have made a youthful mistake–”

“He is taking responsibility…”

“What if he was blackmailed?”

Of course, even the existence of a bastard wasn’t enough to blacken Count Damien’s reputation. But it created a dent, it rose doubt, it made people question him, at least a little.

The prince moved to another group.

“Look at that minx,” hissed someone, glaring daggers at Lady Vikena, who was being held by the waist. The culprit none other than the infamous bastard.

“Or is he the rake?” chuckled another. “Ah, how I miss the virility of youth.” A few ladies grumbled at the coarse comment, while his fellows gave each other knowing glances.

Does he know whom his playing around will hurt? The royal wondered. A rogue the likes of that incessant flirt was unlikely to care, he supposed.

Speculations run amok on the chances of elopement versus a broken heart. So preoccupied the crowds were with the blatant, they failed to witness a moment of subdued affection elsewhere.

Wulfric did not miss it.

Count Hendrix caressed Zarai’s cheek. A single touch, tender and sweet. Blink, and you miss it.

Just a friend, Zarai? There was potential for more, he sensed, and decided he would keep an eye on them.

He traversed the gardens, learning a few other interesting tid-bits via made idle chatter. A helpful servant let him know Anastasia had brought in a stray cat as one of Drake’s gifts. The lord had accepted, and the cat was already in professional hands. Meanwhile, Callum had added to the chaos Lorenzo had caused. He had irritated Count Damien, however, so Wulfric deemed it a positive.

Speaking of, the count was sitting with one of the hosts. The prince approached, gracious smile in place. “Good morning,” he gave a nod to the collective nobles. “Duchess Edwards, I greatly appreciate the obvious care with which you organized this event. The splendid arrangements, strategic placement, and delicate balance are all the hallmarks of your touch.” When she offered her hand, he grasped it gently, and kissed the air above her knuckles. He would have greeted the Duke as well, but he had gone to attend to his daughter. So, instead, he offered the words he would have to the man to his wife instead. “I am fortunate to count your son as my friend. You have raised him well, and I am heartened he is such a reliable man.”

Next, he turned to the Damiens. “A good morning to you as well, Count Damien, Countess Damien, Lady Crystal.”

He exchanged pleasantries, giving them time to bring anything to his attention if they so wished before he excused himself.

Wulfric strolled through the garden, making two stops before approaching his designated table. “Good morning, Shehzadi Nahir,” since it was not their first meeting, he bowed to her in the Caesonian fashion. The subtle crinkling in the corners of his eyes indicated genuine delight; he was glad to sit with her. There was a stranger present too. Intrigued, he turned to the new face. “Well met. I am Prince Wulfric Danrose.” He bowed to the man, as well.

Introductions over with, he sat down. “I ordered for this table an assortment of delicacies, so I invite you to join me for a sampling.” As he said so, a servant wheeled over an elegant glass cart which bore a selection of food and drinks. The dishes were distributed at their table. As a final touch, a bouquet of light pink magnolias and purple tulips was carefully placed into the empty vase. “A mere trifle, my lady, but I thought this might suit,” smiling, he caressed one of the petals gently.

Nonchalantly, he then started on the hors d’oeuvres, enjoying the blend of tastes brought by altering between the seared scallops, devilled eggs, seasoned jerky, and stuffed mushrooms. “How has Sorian treated you two so far?” he inquired. Perhaps, the recent arrival would have little to say, but he was curious to hear Nahir’s opinion, if she were inclined to share it.

[Potter]

Olivia

_Persephone

Time: 10am
Location: Edwards estate
Interactions: @Rodiak Zarai ♞ @Lava Alckon Farim ♞ @JJ Doe Ryn ♞ @princess Annie/Lottie
Mentions: @PapaOso Cassius
Aesthetic:
♞ Dress+Hair+Earrings
♞ Flats

---

“And let us not forget, Duke, that while you so freely label my son a ‘bastard,’ you have long played the role of father to an orphan girl who isn’t even your own flesh and blood. Yet, I don’t see you making that fact public at every opportunity. Perhaps, out of respect for her, you should refrain from using such terms when speaking of a man who carries my lineage.”

Olivia’s head whipped to the side upon hearing the tussle between the nobles. Her gaze slid into slits, as if she were imitating a snake. Orphan/ The word repeated in her mind over and over like a tape she couldn’t cut off. She gritted her teeth and clenched her fists, and a snarl nearly escaped her. Her gaze moved between Lorenzo, Charlotte, Casisus, and Calbert, but she sought not to intervene publicly.

No, she had bigger plans, and one she’d address later when there were more attendees. She took deep breaths and steadied her temper. She knew it would be fruitless, and Lorenzo had stood up for her already. The situation deescalated, thankfully, but Olivia promised not to let it go. She turned back to the party and took deep breaths.

Olivia’s smile brightened upon seeing Zarai’s. A flutter in her chest caused her to pause. It was as if she were back on the rollercoaster. She took a deep breath and ignored it. She swiftly sat beside Zarai and nodded empathetically. ”Dear me, you know how to run a party, don’t you? Food is the number one key to enjoying one, after all. No issues here,”

She giggled and grinned back mischievously. Her voice lowered to a whisper. ”Yeah that was fuckin’ awesome, one of the best nights of my life.” Then, she grinned and nodded in agreement. ”All the food was delicious. Ugh! I wish I could bring some home with me.”

A familiar voice greeted her next. She raised her gaze and grinned when she recognized Shehzade Farim. ”Well well well, aren’t we lucky? Long time to see!” Olivia stood up with Zarai and bowed as well, then paused, because she noticed Princess Anastasia. Her voice caught in her throat. Oh Gods. What did she say? What did she do? She smiled politely at her, and noticed her heart skipped a beat. She wtatched the familiarity between Zarai and her and took a deep breath. ”H-h-honoured to meet you, Princess An… Anastasia!” Amusement sparkled in her eyes watching her sit on Farim’s lap

As the Princes spoke, her cheeks flushed deeper than her hair color. ”Oh, I thought you’d never ask,” Olivia quipped back and leaned over with her trademark mischievous smile. ”But only if I can touch your hair! It’s beautiful.”

Laughter bubbled inside of her, but caught once she noticed Ryn. Her smile returned and she greeted him politely with a bow as well. His words and emphasis on her name caused her to narrow her eyes briefly. ”It’s nice to see you too,” She replied courteously and nodded in response to his question.

As he greeted Zarai, she watched closely. Something inside of her growled, but she didn’t react. Thankfully, Charlie’s voice interrupted her train of thought. She turned and grinned broadly. ”Well hello stranger,” Olivia greeted, and hugged her back. Her gaze moved to Cassius and the arrangement of his arms, and she frowned at him. What is this man doing with Charlie? She looked at him with concern. Since this was public, Olivia held her tongue, and nodded to Charlie.

”We’ll be here!” Olivia waved and turned back to her table.

[princess]

Count Calbert Damien

Location:Edwards Estate Backyard
Time: Morning
Mentions:@PapaOso Cassius @Potter Olivia @FunnyGuy Lorenzo @Silverpaw Wulfric @JJ Doe Ryn
Flashback Mentions:@ReusableSword Roman @Potter Olivia @Samreaper Kazumin @Conscripts John @Helo Leo @FunnyGuy Lorenzo @Silverpaw Wulfric @JJ Doe Ryn

---

Calbert could feel the slow burn of anger intensifying as Lorenzo’s words reverberated in his mind. His hands gripped the armrests of his chair so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

What stung the most was Lorenzo's audacity to bring up the one thing Calbert had no control over—his lack of time with Cassius. Since when did Lorenzo dare to speak back to him, let alone in front of the likes of the Duke of Soralia? To point out, so publicly, that Calbert had been separated from his son for most of his life, as though that diminished their bond? It did not matter if he had been apart from Cassius for fifty years, he'd love him just as fiercely as he did now. It made Calbert seethe that Lorenzo so boldly had drawn attention to that wound in front of everyone, to question Calbert’s role in his son’s life... It was an attack on his pride, his authority, and everything he had worked to build. And for that, Lorenzo would pay.

But it could wait. Calbert was not a man driven by impulse. His ambitions ran deeper than that.

As Lorenzo and Charlotte retreated, Calbert’s eyes flicked to Cassius. As his son moved his arm around the girl, the very sight of it churned his stomach. Charlotte Vikena, a criminal by Calbert’s estimation, had no place near his son. And yet, Cassius was putting an arm around her as if he had not cautioned him to avoid her within the last week. And it was certainly not the first time. He had not missed that little dance at the ball where he watched the criminal bury her face into her son's chest.

Cassius wasn’t just being careless, he was doing this to spite him.

The realization only stoked Calbert’s anger further. Cassius was defying him, deliberately ignoring his warnings as though testing the limits of his father’s control. Before he could react to the scene, Prince Callum’s voice broke through. Calbert’s eyes flicked to Callum, his expression unchanging, though the slightest twitch of his jaw betrayed the simmering irritation beneath the surface. His lips curled into a thin, polite smile as his mind refocused. As directed, Calbert remained silent and redirected his attention back to Cassius. For a moment, it seemed Lorenzo was actually unhappy as well with the situation given his facial expression and Cassius had reacted with seeming indifference. His son had put his arm back around Charlotte as they had sat down at the table. It seemed Cassius was going to continue the temper tantrum then.

Calbert’s attention snapped to Victoria as her words. He could feel the familiar burn of irritation rising once again, but he kept his expression calm, his features set in a neutral mask. "Indeed, my son has a flair for the dramatic," he replied smoothly, his voice carrying none of the tension that lurked just beneath. "Though I must confess, Cassius’s current…attachment is less a matter of his own choice and more an act of rebellion." He paused, allowing his gaze to linger on Cassius and Charlotte, his eyes darkening slightly as his true feelings on the matter simmered below the surface.

"I cautioned him recently quite strongly to stay clear of Lady Vikena." His tone remained calm, though there was a deliberate edge to it. "It seems, however, that my son is keen on making his own decisions—if only to spite me. Charlotte—" He broke off, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips, though it was devoid of warmth. "Let’s just say, I’ve made my stance quite clear regarding her." Calbert had noticed that Victoria's sly smile had deepened, clearly enjoying the revelation. "He'll be done using her when his tantrum ends." He paused as he noticing Prince Wulfric approaching.

“Good morning,” came the prince's greeting. “Duchess Edwards, I greatly appreciate the obvious care with which you organized this event. The splendid arrangements, strategic placement, and delicate balance are all the hallmarks of your touch.”

Victoria’s eyes had sparkled with delight, her earlier smugness replaced with the warmth of a noblewoman receiving such praise. She extended her hand, which Wulfric took gently, kissing the air above her knuckles.

Calbert stood, offering a deep nod to the prince, his demeanor composed but respectful.

"Your Highness," he greeted smoothly, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. "It is always a pleasure to be in your company, and as ever, I admire your keen eye for the finer details. You honor us with your presence." His voice carried the practiced elegance of a man who knew the importance of every interaction.

As the pleasantries hung in the air, Calbert's gaze shifted, and he let it travel across the scene in front of him. His eyes landed on Cassius, arm still around Charlotte, and a flicker of displeasure crossed his face. From Cassius, his attention drifted to Charlotte, then to Ryn, and finally to Olivia, where it lingered.

His gaze narrowed slightly as he studied Olivia, the wheels of his mind turning.

Everything I want will come into place. And you'll see just why you should always listen to your father, Cassius.

Saturday Night - Sola 22

Calbert felt the familiar shift in the air—the transition from the city above to the cold, quiet depths below. His polished shoes clicked softly against the worn stone steps as he made his way down, the faint echo of his footsteps filling the narrow passage. The cold dampness of the tunnels immediately wrapped around him, but he barely noticed. His mind was consumed with thoughts of vengeance.

The tunnel walls had a damp sheen from the underground moisture. A torch flickered as Calbert's hand, its light reflecting in the cold glint of his eyes. He walked with purpose, his long coat brushing against the stone as he moved swiftly through the winding pathways, retracing a route he had come to know well.

The air grew colder, and the faint, distant sound of dripping water echoed off the walls. The walls were lined with ancient glyphs, and Calbert’s eyes skimmed them with disinterest—he knew their power, but tonight, they were irrelevant. His thoughts were elsewhere.

As he walked deeper into the network, the atmosphere felt heavier here, as if the very walls whispered warnings of what was ahead. Finally, he reached the large underground chamber that served as the last stop before the mansion’s entrance. The chamber was dimly lit by lanterns casting long shadows across the walls, but Calbert’s eyes focused on the ornate door ahead. It stood at the far end of the room, embedded into the stone like a secret waiting to be revealed.

The Black Rose’s symbol was etched into the surface of the door, and as Calbert reached into his coat to retrieve a pendant. His fingers closed around the it, and as soon as it came into contact with the door, the magic activated.

The door shimmered briefly before swinging open with a soft creak, revealing the darkened interior of the Black Rose mansion. Calbert stepped through without hesitation, the tension in his posture only growing.

He had come with a purpose—to see those who had crossed him and his family suffer.

The tunnel sealed behind him with a quiet hiss, leaving only darkness and silence in its wake and Calbert followed the familiar route to Marek's office. Instead of knocking, he simply barged through the huge wooden doors. The faint scent of burning mingled with the musty aroma of ancient tomes and parchment, filling the air with an oppressive atmosphere as he stepped into the room.

Shelves lined the walls, crammed with thick, leather-bound books that bore no titles, their spines etched with cryptic symbols. A few ancient scrolls, crumbling with age, were carefully placed in glass cases. Skulls of various sizes—human and otherwise—adorned the shelves, their empty eye sockets gazing out into the room, silently watching.

The large mahogany desk at the center of the room was the focal point, immaculate and orderly except for a few scattered documents, and a single candle flickering near the edge. Behind the desk, Marek sat in a tall, high-backed leather chair, his hands folded and his gaze fixated on Calbert.

"Count Damien," Marek greeted as he spun around in his chair to face him, his voice smooth as silk as he spoke."A late-night visit... I assume this isn't a social call?" The dim light cast heavy shadows across his face, accentuating the hard lines of his features. His dark, unruly hair framed an intense expression, his piercing eyes glinting.

Calbert stepped into the room, his jaw set as he approached Marek’s desk. "I need your help, Marek. There are people—criminals—who need to be reminded of their place." he began, his tone low but vibrating with restrained malice. "They've crossed me, my family, and I want them broken. Not arrested, not brought to justice. I want them to live in fear—unrelenting fear. I want them to dread every flicker of a shadow, every creak of a floorboard, every whisper in the dark. I want to drive them into the corners of their homes, terrified, trapped, curled up in terror, unable to even breathe without wondering what comes next."

Marek’s smile widened, a slow, predatory curve as he gestured for Calbert to sit. His voice dripped with sinister amusement as he spoke, the flickering candlelight casting deep shadows across his face. "Ah, revenge. Such a lovely thing. Tell me, Calbert, who are these individuals that have dared to cross the great Count Damien?"

"Kazumin Nagasa... A crazed psychopath with no emotions. He laughed in the face of a gun, and dared to stalk my innocent Crystal." Calbert's disgust was palpable. "And a blonde woman... unidentified, but I need that rectified. She had the audacity to attack my home, firing arrows at me while I was dealing with Nagasa. Then, as if that weren't enough, she had the gall to cast an invisibility spell to escape. I am certain the blonde woman is the one who tried to murder Violet." He paused, his gaze hardening as he continued, the intensity of his anger growing with each name.

"Next, I want Dr. John Williamson dealt with. If killing him isn’t an option, then silence him permanently. He saw Violet with that axe in her head before she was cursed. And finally, Roman Ravenwood... I know he's involved as well. He needs to be kept far, far away from my daughter."

Marek raised an eyebrow, amusement barely concealed. Calbert watched Marek intently, awaiting acknowledgment. "I trust you can handle it quietly." He said, his tone authoritative.

"Of course." He replied with sinister amusement. "Fear works best when it whispers through the shadows, doesn’t it? Rest assured, they will all be reminded of their place. Consider it done." He grinned devilishly, before adding, "But... there is something else you may want to know."

Calbert raised an eyebrow, glancing over his shoulder. "Go on."

Marek took a step closer, his voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper, relishing every word. "That blonde woman you spoke of... She’s casting more than just invisibility spells."

Calbert's eyes narrowed, his mind already racing to fill in the gaps. "What are you getting at?"

Marek’s grin widened, clearly enjoying the suspense. "She’s now parading around as someone else entirely. A red-haired girl. She calls herself Olivia."

Calbert’s breath hitched. "And how exactly do you know this?"

Marek grinned. "Kazumin and the girl did not go very far to find a hiding place... They went into the Vikena estate. "

"The guards searched the estate," he ground out, though his anger was palpable.

"Yes... but Lorenzo deterred them from going inside. They’ve been spending time with Charlotte. The stepdaughter," Marek added with a chilling smirk, his voice heavy with implication.

Everything clicked into place.

His fists slammed onto Marek's desk with a thunderous crack, his face contorted in rage.

"That girl—she’s harboring them... shielding these criminals! After everything!"

Charlotte was leading them, rallying against him, seeking vengeance. She was scheming, playing a far deeper game than he had anticipated.

"She’s behind all of this... They’re all working together against me." The revelation dripped with fury as he paced.

Marek leaned back, a smile playing on his lips as he watched Calbert unravel before him.

Calbert’s fury had only begun to take shape as he continued, his voice a dangerous growl. "It’s not just her... I want Count Fritz Hendrix and Lord Leo Smithwood included in this."

"They’ve been spending too much time with her. It’s no coincidence. They’re all part of this scheme. They’re working against me... against my family. They need to be reminded of their place." His tone was thick with venom, his paranoia evident. He leaned in toward Marek, his fists still pressing hard against the desk.

"Make them understand the price. I want them isolated, terrified. Count Fritz, Lord Leo... no one gets off easy. They’re in this just as much as Kazumin and the girl."

"As you wish, Count Damien," Marek replied, "Count Fritz Hendrix and Lord Leo will know the weight of your wrath. They, too, will learn to fear the shadows, to question every step they take. Their punishment will be as thorough as you desire."

Calbert nodded, his anger still simmering but satisfied with Marek’s assurances.

"Good. Make them suffer. Let them regret ever thinking they could cross me."

Marek leaned back in his chair as he studied Calbert’s furious demeanor. He allowed a moment of silence to pass, letting the weight of their conversation settle in the dimly lit room. Then, with a casual air, he leaned forward again, his fingers steepling beneath his chin.

"Tell me, Count Damien," Marek began, his voice smooth and almost curious, "Do you still have the globe?"

Calbert's eyes flicked toward Marek; his response was immediate. "Yes, I still have it."

Marek's grin widened. "Good..." he said, "I have a plan."

[princess]

Seraphina Duval

Location:Sorian Beach
Time: Morning
Mentions:@Apex Sunburn Sada Kurau

---

Seraphina Duval stood at the edge of the dock, her keen brown eyes narrowing as they focused on a foreign ship. There had been a look about them she had seen thus far—undeniably from distant lands. A calculating smile crept across her lips as she considered the implications.

Beside her, a few lackeys lingered, their expressions a mix of anxiety and anticipation as they awaited her instructions.

“ We need to test their capabilities and, more importantly, their weaknesses.”

She paced slowly along the wooden planks, her heels clicking against the surface. “Word from Yola is that their trade has been thriving with pirates not succeeding lately, especially with the recent rise in demand for ‘Harvest of the Sea.’ If we allow their operations to succeed unchecked, they could easily become our competitors, threatening the very foundation of our drug empire.”

Marvin, another lackey, chimed in, “What does this have to do with that ship?”

“From what we've gathered, it seems they've taken pirates captive before, which leads me to believe they’re pirate hunters. Possibly capable ones at that, and they’ve been in Sorian for days now. That alone makes them worth watching.” Seraphina's her gaze fixed on the ship. “However, we still know far too little about them. And that is a vulnerability I won’t tolerate.”

She paused, her eyes narrowing as a plan formed in her mind. “But fortunately, I have someone in mind for this task.” A cold smile tugged at her lips. “A spy—a disposable asset who’s already slated for death. She’s resourceful, sly, and has proven herself useful before. I'll send her to sneak on, gather what intel she can. If she succeeds, we'll know what we’re dealing with. If she fails...” Seraphina shrugged with casual indifference. “Then, we’ll escalate. A mage can be sent to slip through their defenses and see what they’re hiding.”

The tension was palpable as her lackeys exchanged wary glances. It was always a question of who was next to be sent on a suicide mission. “In addition to this, we must leverage our connections with the local pirates. They have been loyal allies to the Black Rose, and their expertise in these waters is invaluable. By engaging with them, we can orchestrate strikes against shipments of ‘Harvest of the Sea’ coming from Yola.”

“And what if they turn on us?” He asked, his brow furrowed.

“They won’t,” Seraphina replied firmly. “Their survival is intertwined with ours. We provide them with opportunities they can't resist, and in return, they’ll help us keep our rivals at bay. If we disrupt Yola’s trade routes, we’ll not only diminish their profits but also send a clear message to any other would-be competitors.”

She looked out at the port, the bustling activity reflecting her ambition. “Yola is a smuggling capital at this point. If we can weaken their hold on the drug trade, we will maintain our dominance over the market.”

With her final words, Seraphina turned her gaze back to her lackeys, her eyes blazing with determination. “I want to know everything about those on that ship. Their capabilities, their intentions, and how they plan to position themselves against us. Failure is not an option, and neither is complacency.”

[Apex Sunburn]

Riona / Sjan-dehk / Dai-sehk the Surgeon

Flashback: The Previous Night

---

Flickering shadows danced on the cluttered desk. The pungent smell of dried herbs and steeping infusions filled the cramped and stuffy cabin. An oil lantern squeaked as it swung from an steel hook punched into the wall by the door.

Hunched over the desk, Dai-sehk did his best to ignore the rolling floor as he picked up a dried leaf with a pair of forceps. With great caution, he dropped it into a small vial of water. Almost immediately, wispy trails of green wafted from the leaf. Dai-sehk paid it no further attention – he would run further tests of the newly brewed mixture once it had time to rest – and instead focused on the other leaves and herbs arranged in neat rows on the pages of an open book. Its pages were covered in illustrations and sketches of various plants found throughout the Commonwealth and its closest neighbours. Dai-sehk’s own handwritten notes decorated the margins and between paragraphs.

One-by-one, he compared the appearance of each herb and leaf to what was in his book. And with each, his lips pressed tighter and tighter together until his mouth was a mere crack cutting across his face. None of what he had bought matched either illustration or description. Not enough for him to be able to ascertain their use and purpose with confidence, at least. He had plenty of experiments to look forward to, it would seem. Normally, he wouldn’t mind – it might even bring him some modicum of joy – but he needed to find a reliable way to replace his supply of medicine. And the sooner he could do that, the better.

He slid his glasses up his nose. With a muted grumble, he picked up another leaf with his forceps.

The rap of knuckles against his door interrupted him. “Dai-sehk? You in there?” It was the Captain’s voice.

Dai-sehk huffed, carefully placed the leaf back onto the book, and shut it. He placed the heavy tome on a pile of yet more of his day’s bounty from Sorian’s markets. Only then did he call out a response. “Yes, I am here, Captain. The door is unlocked.”

The door creaked open and the Captain stepped into the cabin. Dai-sehk didn’t bother to stand, nor did he salute. He had served with Sjan-dehk long enough to know that Sada Kurau’s Captain didn’t like standing on ceremony. If anything, the man actively avoided it. Dai-sehk did, however, offer him a nod as a show of respect. It was the least he could do for the person who had once snatched him from death’s door. Behind the Captain came a young woman. A local Caesonian, Dai-sehk guessed from her curled tresses, tanned skin, and generally non-Viserjantan appearance. He glanced at her, then at the Captain. “Who is she?”

Riona couldn’t stop her eyes from darting about the doctor’s cabin. Everything was new, from the creak of wood to the sway of the floor beneath her feet. The unfamiliar motion sent a thrill through her stomach.

“She is…” Sjan-dehk began. He furrowed his brow as he thought about how to introduce her. “Rehn-ah is probably the closest we’ll get to her name. Anyway, she has wounds I want you to look at.” He ushered the woman into the cabin, which was quickly becoming even more cramped. “Been lashed recently, from what I understand, and she hasn’t seen an actual doctor yet. I would’ve gone to Rasehndah or Sazarin, but they looked like they were busy with many things.”

Dai-sehk nodded slowly. “Yes. I told them to study and practice.” He looked at Riona and Sjan-dehk in turn with scrying eyes. The Captain had clearly just stepped back aboard not long ago – he was still dressed in armour, and his weapons still hung from his belts. Wherever he had come from, it couldn’t be too friendly a place. The woman – Riona – however, was dressed simply in a dress. It was unlikely the Captain met her anywhere near a fight, as his attire would suggest.

With a mental shrug, Dai-sehk decided not to dwell on the matter any longer. There was no point. It wasn’t his place to decide who could come aboard Sada Kurau and who couldn’t. All he needed to know was that the Captain had personally asked for his help, and Dai-sehk wasn’t about to decline. Dai-sehk reached for a stool and dragged it over. Then, he twisted around and reached under his desk to pull out a leather bag, the very same one he had taken with him on his trip around Sorian that very same day. “Well, have her sit and lift up her shirt. There should be something around for her to cover her chest if she wants to.”

Sjan-dehk looked around a few times. Then, he grabbed a used tunic hanging from a hook punched into a nearby wall. Dai-sehk saw him do it, but didn’t voice any complaint. And so, the Captain turned to Riona, handing her the shirt and stepping aside to let her pass. He pressed himself almost flush against the hull of Sada Kurau. “There, you sit,” he said, pointing to the stool. “Face away from Dai-sehk. Then you show your back and if you need, use this–” he tilted his chin towards the tunic “–to cover your front.”

Sjan-dehk and the doctor’s conversation washed over her in alien syllables, but her nose twitched at familiar scents. The sharp bite of silvermist—good stuff for lowering fevers—mingled with moonbloom’s sweetness. Strange, moonbloom petals were normally used for soaps, not medicine. And was that—yep, bloodroot. Poison, but useful if you knew how.

“There.” Sjan-dehk’s voice drew her attention, and she turned to see the offered shirt. With a nod, she accepted it. “So, uh, I’m not sure what you told him, but a simple check-up is fine. It’s been…” she trailed off, fatigue suddenly leaden in her bones, “a rough couple of days.”

Sjan-dehk blinked once, as if not fully understanding what she was saying. “But you are still injured, that is correct? Better to be safe than sorry, like your people say, yes?”

True. Riona began to remove the layers of her clothing, carefully folding each piece and stacking them on the nearest table. “I used some home remedies on myself, so my injuries shouldn’t be too bad.” With a final tug, Riona pulled her cotton dress over her head, leaving in her undergarments. “I got into a scrap yesterday. Nasty one. Took a knock to the head, nearly got my windpipe crushed, and the guy dosed me… something. I want to make sure there’s no permanent damage.”

As she bent to deal with her shoes, the light caught the myriad of scars that criss crossed her exposed skin. Each mark told a story, some faded with time, others looked more recent. But one... one old silvery line demanded attention like a shout in a silent room.

When Riona turned around, a matching scar on her abdomen completed the horrifying picture: they were the entry and exit wounds from a blade that should’ve been fatal.

The wounds, distinct and almost crying for attention with their pale glows, immediately captured Dai-sehk’s attention. Whatever blade that had pierced her had to have been well-sharpened, and used by someone who knew what they were about, judging by how clean the scars were. Riona was either a very lucky, or a very unlucky woman to have suffered and survived such an injury. On the one hand, she had been inches away from death. But on the other, that she had kept her life by such a close margin meant that she had to be possessed of no small amount of fortune. That, or she had caught the fancy of a Deity, Spirit, or some other supernatural force of some kind.

Sjan-dehk cleared his throat. “You are lucky,” he commented, surprise tinting his words.

Suspecting he was referring to the oldest scar on her body, Riona shook her head. “Not lucky.” Her fingers traced the line. Flashes of that fateful day crossed her mind, “Just a mother’s love.”

“What did she say?” Dai-sehk asked.

“She got into a fight yesterday,” Sjan-dehk replied, translating only what he knew Dai-sehk was interested in hearing. “Took a hit to her throat and her head. Sounds like she got drugged as well.” He chewed on his lip and looked in Dai-sehk’s direction. “Just make sure there’re no lasting wounds. Treat what you can, do something for what you can’t.”

Dai-sehk nodded. “As you say, Captain.”

Riona’s feet, bearing the kind of marks you get from dancing in fire some time ago, padded softly across the floorboards to the waiting chair. In the low light of the cabin, those wounds went unnoticed by either man, although Dai-sehk did note that there was something odd about the sound her feet made. But, he didn’t think too much about it. There were more pressing wounds for him to see.

Words seemed pretty useless when you couldn’t understand each other, so Riona settled for a polite smile-nod combo that she hoped were universal gestures before settling into the seat, back turned to him.

Dai-sehk leaned forward and examined the scars criss-crossing Riona’s back. And right away, he knew for a fact that she had been lashed many, many times. Fresh scars – still red and angry – cut into old, faded ones, and those rested upon scars that had long since turned into fleshy ridges on her flesh. He grimaced; there was nothing he could do about the latter two, and even the new ones were already starting to scab, a sign that they too would soon become immutable scars. Spots and lines of dark crimson marked where the scabs were tearing, and it were those areas where Dai-sehk focused his attention.

He twisted in his seat and swept his eyes over the desk, quickly finding a murky, glass jar half-filled with a green paste. “This, it sting,” he said matter-of-factly, his voice dull and devoid of any warmth. “Stay still. Do not move. Otherwise, will be difficult.” He dipped his fingers into the jar, scooping up a generous amount of the paste and daubing it onto Riona’s weeping scars.

Riona flinched—not from the cool paste or the sting, but the unfamiliar contact against her skin. Breathe, she reminded herself. Just a doctor doing his job. No threat here. She fixed her gaze on the far wall, willing her muscles to unclench.

If Dai-sehk noticed her reaction, he either didn’t show it, or didn’t care. With him, it could easily be either of the two. Or both. “Do not worry about throat,” he said as he worked. “If there is injured, you would know by now. Also for drugs. You say you it happen last night? Then already one full day. Most drugs, they already affect you by now also. Just be careful. You feel normal? Is okay. You feel different? Then worry.”

Sjan-dehk let out a sigh. “Dai-sehk has own way of talking,” he said and glanced at the surgeon. The man merely responded with a shrug. Despite himself, Sjan-dehk chuckled as he shook his head. He supposed that a warship wasn’t the best place for Dai-sehk to develop his bedside manners, even if it did give him a place to polish his already exemplary skills. “But he is good surgeon.”

“Too kind, Captain,” Dai-sehk murmured.

A half-laugh escaped Riona. The doctor’s bluntness was refreshing. No sugar-coating, no bullsh*t. Just the facts, raw and unfiltered. This one, at least, wouldn’t dance around the truth or pat her hand while lying through his teeth. She met the man’s eyes, noting the sharp intelligence there, and nodded. Yeah, she could work with this.

For several moments, Dai-sehk continued his work in silence, punctuated only by the occasional grumble whenever he found a spot he had missed. Meanwhile, Sjan-dehk leaned against the door frame with arms folded across his chest. He looked over Riona, taking in the sheer number of scars on her person. It didn’t take long for him to give voice to the question that gnawed at his mind. “You have many scars,” he started a touch more awkwardly than he intended. “They are…No, what I mean is, the people, the ones you work for, they do this to you a lot? Flogging?”

Riona’s lips quirked in a half-smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “That’d be giving them too much credit.” She shook her head, “No, not all of these were because of them.” Her hands absently rubbed the raised lines on her forearm. “Some are from accidents. Some happened during training. And some…” She flexed her work-worn hands, gaze catching on the ruins of her once-pristine manicure—remnants of a rare moment of vanity, “Some are… self-inflicted, in a sense. To remind myself. To…” The words “punish myself” hung unspoken in the air.

There wasn’t any need for Riona to complete her sentence. Neither Sjan-dehk nor Dai-sehk needed much thought to guess what she had meant to say. Self-flagellation and self-mutilation were common practices of certain sects which existed in the darker corners of the Commonwealth. They had flourished during the War, and had persisted for months after its conclusion. Dai-sehk never quite understood the theory behind their actions – and he had no desire to learn – but he knew enough to know that adherents of such beliefs got it into their heads that they had to punish themselves to appease some Deity or Spirit. And that once they were appeased enough, they would put an end to all pain and suffering.

It was all idiocy, as far as Dai-sehk was concerned. Of course, he was all too aware that there was nothing about Riona that indicated she was the same brand of idiot as those cultists, but it would be a lie if he said that he didn’t think of her as a silly person for doing what she had done. Words formed on his tongue, but a very sharp, very stern, and uncharacteristically severe look from the Captain made him swallow them.

Sjan-dehk breathed in deeply through his nose. “Well,” he said. “No matter where they come from, you still have wounds. They must be looked after.”

“It is done,” Dai-sehk said and slid the jar back onto his desk. He wiped his hands on his trousers, reached into the leather bag, and pulled out a white bandage, folded into a neat square. For the first time since he started treating Riona, his actions were gentle as he pressed the fabric against her wounds, making sure they were covered completely. “Scars will heal. But will leave mark. If you want to remove them, you go to Sudah. Find Sehja. She can do that better.”

“Sehja, she is healer,” Sjan-dehk explained. “Not doctor. She heals with arcane ways. Can do many, many things. Strange and interesting things.”

Riona’s eyes widened at the casual mention of arcane healing. “You shouldn’t talk about that so openly,” she cautioned. “Magic is... it’s not exactly welcomed in these parts. So, be careful.”

That was news to Sjan-dehk, and it was news he stored away with a note to pass it on to Sudah as quickly as possible. There were more than a few magic-users aboard the larger vessel. It would be troublesome if any of them were to run afoul of Caesonian authorities. And if things got to the point where Sjan-dehk had to invoke Jafi’s long-standing promise to offer all magic-users protection, it could get very, very messy.

“Thank you,” he said to Riona with a nod.

Her gaze drifted down to her scarred flesh. There was a time, not so long ago, when she’d considered erasing every mark, every reminder of her past. The thought had become particularly tempting after things with Dan had shifted, blossoming into something more than friendship. She’d wanted to be beautiful for him, unblemished.

But Dan... he’d seen past the scars, told her she was lovely just as she was. That there was no need to hide the story written on her skin. Riona’s lips quirked in a bittersweet smile at the memory.

It wasn’t just for Dan that she’d kept the scars, though. Deep down, in a place she rarely examined too closely, she didn’t believe she deserved to be free of them.

“Do you think I should erase them?” The question slipped out without thought. She looked up, meeting first the doctor’s eyes, then Sjan-dehk’s. “I... get myself hurt so that I don’t forget what was done to my home. So that I can keep…” She paused, weighing her words carefully. How much could she reveal without saying too much? “Keep the feeling I had then, alive.” The spell needed that energy to feed on, lest it withered and faded before having the chance to properly activate.

Riona’s gaze flicked between the two men, searching their faces. “What... would it mean if I let my scars fade into nothing?”

“Means they go away,” Dai-sehk replied flatly. What other answer was she expecting? With deft and skillful hands, he wrapped the bandage around Riona’s body, taking care to avoid touching or even brushing his fingers against anywhere sensitive. He finished it off with a secure knot on her back. “You want scars to go away? You can. But only ones on body. Ones in mind? Not easy to go away.”

He fell silent for a moment. Then, he shook his head slightly. He didn’t know what it was that Riona wanted to always remember, but he knew that it wasn’t his place to tell her to do anything. “What you do, it is your choice. But if you do not let yourself, you never forget.”

Riona nodded slowly, feeling a faint flush of shame creep up her neck. The question had tumbled out before she could stop it, and now she wished she could snatch the words back from the air. These people were strangers. What right did she have to burden them with something so personal, so weighty?

Objectively speaking, the doctor was right: a scar was just a scar. Lines on skin, nothing more. It was her mind that gave it power, her memories that imbued it with significance. There was no reason for these people, or anyone really, to care about what it meant to her.

Sjan-dehk noticed the flush on Riona’s cheeks. He sighed, looked at Dai-sehk, then at her. “So your home, it is no more?” He probed cautiously, and even as those words left his lips, he realised that it likely wasn’t the best question to ask. Not now, in any case. “No need to answer,” he added quickly. Clearing his throat, he continued, “What Dai-sehk mean is that your scars, the one on your body, they are not what you should worry about. They are there, they are not there, they do not affect what you remember. You want to forget, you will forget. You want to remember, you will remember. Scars only…Only form.”

“... I almost did once,” she muttered. She’d never make that mistake again. Quickly, Riona lifted her head and forced a smile, “Thank you for the offer. I’ll carry them with me… to the very end.” And beyond, she thought, if there was a beyond for someone like her.

“You can wear back your clothes now. All is done,” Dai-sehk said as he leaned over to snatch a satchel off the desk. “Do not let bandages become wet. Otherwise, infection. Take off when you wash. Replace if you need. Can use any clean cloth. If not sure, boil water. Soak cloth. Let dry.” He handed her the satchel. “For pain and itch. If need, crush, mix with water. Make paste. Apply to wound and cover again. If wound start to smell like fish, start to worry. Find doctor, or find the Captain again.”

Riona bowed her head slightly as she accepted the satchel. “Thank you, Doctor Dai-sehk,” she said. As she dressed, her mind wandered to the satchel’s contents, anticipation building at the thought of discovering unfamiliar remedies.

Back with the physician, Riona caught a glimpse of dried leaves peeking out from beneath a leather-bound book. Curiosity got the better of her, and she gently lifted the book, revealing an assortment of herbs scattered across the wooden surface.

“You–” Dai-sehk began. Despite the mess Riona had made, and what she had done with his work, he only sounded somewhat annoyed. The rest of his irate words, however, died on his tongue when he saw what Riona was doing.

Setting the book aside, she scrutinised the plants. Her hands moved swiftly, sorting them into distinct piles. Before long, three neat stacks lay before her.

Riona pointed to each in turn. “Poisonous,” she said, indicating the first pile. Her finger moved to the second. “Can make things smell and taste nice, but doesn’t do much aside from that.” Finally, she gestured to the last group. “Has medicinal benefits.”

Dai-sehk blinked. She had worked fast. Much, much faster than what he would expect from someone with no professional knowledge. He looked at the neatly organised piles. Riona had likely saved him countless hours and even days of work and trouble. And as much as he wanted to know more about her, particularly how she knew so much about herbs and poisons, his itch to get back to work was stronger.

“Thank you,” he said to her with a slight bow of his head. His eyes glanced at the pile Riona had said was composed of poisonous leaves. That was certainly very useful information. “Very helpful,” he added. Then, he promptly turned back to face his desk. He pushed his glasses further up his nose, picked up a pen, and returned to his work. “All is done, yes? Then you can go. Close the door.”

Pride glimmered in her eyes. Adjusting the satchel’s strap, Riona said, “Thank you again. Have a good night.”

Dai-sehk didn’t look up. He didn’t even say anything, and simply waved his hand.

Sjan-dehk sighed and gestured for Riona to leave. He followed behind her, quietly closing the door behind him. “Do not mind him,” he said as he led the way back up to Sada Kurau’s main deck. “Dai-sehk, he likes to work. But he is good man. Most of the time. Other times, even we feel like throwing him overboard.” He looked over his shoulder at Riona with a grin to make it clear that it was a joke.

The crisp, night air, light with ocean salt, greeted them as they emerged from Sada Kurau’s lower decks. A cooling breeze washed over the deck, rustling sails and ropes. Roosting seafowl cooed and cawed above, from where they sat on the mast tops and rigging.

“Wait,” Sjan-dehk told Riona, and quickly swept his eyes across the deck. His gaze soon rested on a pair of sailors standing by the gunwale, their rifles slung over their shoulders, hats atop their heads, and eyes fixed on the pier. “You two,” the Captain called out to them. They both let out a yelp of surprise and turned around, snapping to haphazard salutes. Sjan-dehk regarded them with a smirk. “I’ll pretend I didn’t see or hear that, but I expect better from both of you next time.”

“Y-Yes, Captain!” The shorter of the two replied.

Sjan-dehk pointed to Riona. “Our guest is going home. Go with her, make sure she’s safe, then come back as quickly–” He stopped himself, thought about it a little more, and shook his head. “Belay that. Escort her home, make sure you’re with her until she’s physically through the door, then the two of you can spend a little time in the city if you like. Just don’t do what Yehn-tai did and get into a fight, otherwise I’ll personally see to it that you’re both scrubbing latrines till your hands bleed. And make sure you’re both back before midnight, otherwise it’s Master Kai-dahn who’ll do that. Understood?”

The taller one nodded. “Understood, Captain. Thank you, Captain.”

Sjan-dehk turned his attention back to Riona. “Ahn-seh and Izayan will send you home,” he said, walking her to the gangplank as he did so. “Lead, and they follow.”

“Thanks for your help and hospitality, Captain Sjan-dehk. I’m glad I was able to finally talk to you in person.” Riona smiled at him. “My sister talked about you with such enthusiasm. I’ve been curious.” She nodded a greeting to her escorts as her fingers traced the outline of the medicinal satchel at her hip. The unexpected kindness she’d received tonight settled warm in her chest.

One foot on the gangplank, Riona paused. The night air carried the scent of salt and possibility. She turned, “Hey, crazy thought, what if we—you, me, my sister—get together sometime? Nothing fancy, just... I don’t know, grab a drink, have a meal, or something?”

Sister? Sjan-dehk couldn’t think of a reason as to why Riona would invite him to meet with her. Maybe she was someone he had met before? But he couldn’t recall meeting anyone who looked similar to Riona. Or maybe he did, and it was his memory that was once again failing him. Regardless, he couldn’t think of any reason to refuse. He was going to have to get used to Caesonian society as soon as possible, and getting to know another Caesonian would surely help with that.

“Okay,” he replied. “But we eat somewhere…Not like today, yes? This afternoon. That was strange place.”

Riona barked a laugh, “Agreed.”

With that, he stepped back from the gangplank and waved Riona off. “Will be very late soon. Can talk next time. Goodnight, and be safe.”

[PapaOso]

The Help

Location: Edwards Estate Backyard
Time: Morning
Mentions: EVERYONE AT THE PARTY @Rodiak Nahir/Zarai @Tpartywithzombi Ariella @Silverpaw Wulfric @princess Charlotte, @PapaOso Bastard @Helo Callum/Rohit @CitrusArms Stratya @Funnyguy Lorenzo @Lava Alckon Drake/Farim @Potter Olivia @JJ Doe Ryn

The clatter of trays and the hum of idle conversation filled the air as the servants flitted back and forth across the lawn, weaving between the finely dressed guests. Amid the sea of flowing gowns and tailored suits, three young waitresses found brief moments to huddle near the refreshments table, their arms laden with empty glasses and half-eaten plates.

“I swear, if she makes one more comment about how uneven the napkins are folded, I’ll scream,” the first servant, a brunette with tired eyes, grumbled under her breath. She shifted a tray of champagne glasses, her back aching from all of the bending and carrying. “It’s like she thinks we’re her personal slaves, not just staff.”

“You’re telling me,” the second woman, a fiery redhead, muttered as she arranged another platter of hors d'oeuvres. “Duchess Victoria is always like this. ‘Do this, do that. Not fast enough. Not good enough.’” Her voice pitched higher, mimicking the Duchess's haughty tone. “She doesn’t even look at us half the time, like we’re beneath her precious gaze.”

“She’s a bitch, is what she is,” the third, a petite blonde, said with a smirk. “Remember that time she made me redo the entire dessert table because the color of the plates didn’t match her dress? She didn’t even notice when I changed it!”

The three women shared a quiet laugh, but their amusement quickly faded as the reality of the situation set back in. Their eyes darted back to the party, where Victoria was gliding among the guests, her chin held high, surveying the event with the same cold superiority she always did.

“I’m so sick of her,” the brunette muttered darkly. “We work our asses off for what? A few silver coins and her acting like we’re dirt beneath her heels.”

“Yeah, while she throws around her jewels and diamonds, pretending she’s some queen,” the redhead added, her voice dripping with disdain. “Meanwhile, we’re lucky if we get leftovers.”

The blonde bit her lip, glancing toward the table of drinks where trays of expensive wines and liquors were being passed around. An idea flickered in her eyes, and she leaned in closer to her companions, her voice dropping to a whisper. “You know… we could do something about it.”

The other two looked at her, confused. “What do you mean?” the brunette asked.

“I mean,” the blonde said, a sly grin creeping onto her face, “we could give her and all these rich assholes a little surprise. In their drinks.”

The redhead raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Go on…”

“We just… mix things up a little. Make the drinks a little stronger. Or maybe… a lot stronger. ” The blonde’s eyes gleamed with mischief as she glanced toward the untouched bottles of liquor.

"Won't they be able to tell?" the redhead asked curiously.

“Not with the tricks I have up my sleeve, trust me...I have my ways. the blonde promised with a wink.

The brunette let out a low whistle, catching on. “Oh, I like the sound of that. Imagine Duchess Victoria stumbling around, making a fool of herself. It’d be poetic justice.”

“Not just her,” the redhead added with a wicked grin. “All of them. Let’s make them all regret treating us like dirt.”

As they straightened up, trays once again in hand, the blonde gave one final glance toward the liquor table, a secret smile playing on her lips.

“Let’s get to work.”

WARNING ALL PREMADE COCKTAILS HAVE HIGH INCREASED INTOXICATION EFFECTS! GO TO BAR FOR FRESH COCKTAIL OR DRINK WINE/BEER/ETC IF YOU DO NOT WANT TO PARTICIPATE

[Tpartywithzombi]

Time: 10am
Location: Drakes Birthday Party
Mention: @Helo
Interactions:@CitrusArms@Papaoso
Appearance: No shoes | Blue summer gown with butterflies embroidered on gown

Ariella reached for the cocktail a server had placed in front of her, its tall glass reflecting the vibrant colors of Drake's favorite shades. The drink was as elegant as it was extravagant, layered in hues of green and gold, with delicate sprigs of mint and a sugared rim. She raised it to her lips, sipping through the straw, and was immediately struck by the sweetness that danced on her tongue. The flavor was rich, almost indulgent, and she savored it for a moment, letting the taste linger before greedily sipping more.

As she drank, her attention remained on Captain Stratya. The woman’s stories were charming, full of nostalgia and warmth, yet Ariella couldn’t help but let her mind wander. Stratya’s fond memories contrasted with Ariella’s childhood, which had been shaped by discipline and rigid expectations. Etiquette lessons, needlework, and endless demands had left little room for joy. The only bright spot had been Ana, her beloved friend, and the secret alcove Ana had gifted her — a sanctuary where she could escape the pressures of her upbringing.

She nodded and smiled at the appropriate moments in the conversation, but her mind was elsewhere, fixated on the events of the previous night. Callum's words echoed in her head: the secret room, the dangerous magic, and the shadowy stranger he’d fought. Surely, he didn’t face it alone… Her eyes flickered to Stratya, assessing the captain’s strength. Could she have been the one to accompany Callum? Ariella doubted her friend would’ve taken on such a dangerous task by himself, and Stratya looked more than capable.

Ariella’s thoughts drifted again, this time to her growing connection with magic. Recently, her bond with the earth had become more intense, almost overwhelming. There was a heat to it now, an intoxicating pull that she couldn’t quite explain. She wondered if it had anything to do with the magic Callum had uncovered. Was something dark lurking nearby, stirring the elements? Perhaps it wasn’t her own power growing stronger, but the presence of some external force.

Her green eyes trailed to Callum across the party, watching him laugh and take shots at the other table. She felt a pang of sadness, remembering the weight of his tale. He had faced so much, and yet she felt powerless to help him. Her life had been full of lessons meant to shape her into a perfect lady, but none of those lessons had prepared her for this. I want to protect him, to protect my friends. I don’t want to be a wallflower anymore... I want to be a wolf.

The captain’s voice brought her back to the present, just as Ariella finished her drink without realizing it. The alcohol had begun to take effect, a soft buzz relaxing her shoulders as she turned back to Stratya with a bright smile. When the captain complimented her hair, Ariella felt her cheeks flush, whether from the drink or the memory of a similar comment from Callum, she couldn’t tell.

“Thank you!”she replied with genuine enthusiasm. “You know, you're not the first person who’s said that. I always hated it growing up, but I suppose I do look more like my father than my mother, and for that, I’m grateful.” She laughed, a bit louder than intended, the alcohol loosening her tongue. “I used to loathe it, but lately... I’ve grown to appreciate it.”

She made to take another sip from her empty glass before realizing it was gone, setting it down with a small pout. Standing up suddenly, she lifted the hem of her dress and kicked out her foot, showing Stratya her bare toes with a playful wiggle. “I love camping! I love the outdoors!” she declared, her voice brimming with excitement. “I hate shoes, always have. If I could, I’d live in a treehouse or a cabin, somewhere deep in the woods.” She wobbled slightly as she nearly fell back into her seat, giggling at her clumsiness.

Ariella leaned forward conspiratorially, lowering her voice. “Captain… you’re a woman,” she stated as if revealing a great secret. “You must know how to use a sword, right?” Her eyes drifted to the blade at Stratya’s hip, filled with a sudden, reckless curiosity. “Could I hold it?” she whispered with a mischievous grin. “I’ve never held a sword before…”

Before Stratya could respond, Ariella felt a large hand on her shoulder. She jumped slightly, her heart racing until she looked up to see her father standing beside her. “Oh! Father…” she exhaled, placing a hand over her chest with a wide smile. “You startled me.” She quickly glanced between him and Stratya, her cheeks flushed from the drink. “I was just talking to the captain here about chocolate and mead,” she added with a laugh, leaving out her more embarrassing request.

[princess]

Time:10am
Location: Edwards Estate - Drake's Party
Attire: Dress, Amulet
Interaction: @PapaOso Cassius @FunnyGuy Lorenzo @Helo Callum

---

"Yes! I'd like to make a toast to all of you!" came Lottie's voice as she made her way over to the table. Her enthusiasm was almost infectious as she gazed at the vibrant drinks a servant had just left on the table. The assortment of bright, jewel-toned cocktails, with little garnishes of citrus and mint, sparkled like a rainbow across the table.

As she approached, Cassius rose from his seat with a sweet bow, pulling her chair out for her with such charm that it made her blush ever so slightly. "Thank you, Cassius," she said softly, settling into her chair as he placed an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close once again. She felt her heart flutter for a moment at the touch, but her attention was quickly stolen by Callum’s booming voice before her thoughts could even race.

When Callum rejoined the group, she met his lingering gaze with curiosity, but it didn’t make her uncomfortable. "Oh! Shots, yes—how thrilling!" she said with a little laugh, her hand instinctively reaching for one of the cocktails. But then, Callum’s remarks about Cassius and his father made her pause.

Her eyes shifted between Cassius and Callum. The directness of Callum’s statement caught her off guard. It was her turn for her gaze to linger on Callum. As she mulled over her thoughts, emotions of sadness and even moments of anger swam in her eyes.

Prince Callum had always been different from his siblings. His short, tousled black hair and deep blue eyes rarely mirrored the familiar features of the royal family. Naturally, rumors had swirled around the kingdom when he was born; whispers of an illegitimate child with no place in the line could be heard in every corner. But to Charlotte, he bore a striking resemblance to the late King George, and she reasoned that King Edin must have simply passed down the recessive trait of those piercing blue eyes.

Yet, it wasn't his appearance that set Callum apart the most—it was the ever-present undercurrent of anger and melancholy she had seen in his gaze from time to time. Beneath that handsome face, there was always a trace of something darker, something unspoken. That bitterness undoubtedly had festered from years of living with a monster like King Edin. The way the King had spoken of him, the way he had treated his children in general, had not ever gone unnoticed by Charlotte, and certainly not by Duke Walter Vikena years ago. She could remember nights of him wistfully speaking of how sorry he felt for the royal children, and particularly for Callum. Raised by a man as venomous as Edin, it was no wonder he could recognize a snake like Calbert from a mile away.

She could still remember the quiet nights when her father, with a far-off look in his eyes, would sigh and say, "That boy carries a burden far too heavy for most, one that I know all too well. He could use a friend like you someday, Lottie, someone to remind that his life has worth despite all that has been said. "

Lottie thought back to what she had seen in the church and her shoulders slumped. Walter, who had suffered under the harsh cruelty of his own father, had seen in himself in Callum. She wished she could go back in time and hug her father just a little tighter, just one more time... Alas, she could not.

But she could do today what she should have done a long time ago and show the Prince some much-needed kindness. Finally, she glanced at Lorenzo and smiled, the love she felt for him clear in her gaze. "He is rather splendid, isn’t he?" she agreed.

When Callum raised his shot glass in their direction, Charlotte’s cheeks flushed pink once more. "To us?" she repeated, glancing at Cassius. They certainly were not a couple but with his arm around her the way it was, she understood why Callum had mistaken them for one.

"Well, Cassius and I are just—" she began, her voice light with a hint of objection. But despite her words, she found herself instinctively raising her glass, the motion so natural it almost escaped her own awareness.

As her sentence hung in the air, she froze, mid-gesture, her eyes widening slightly as she realized that the dynamic of the room had subtly shifted.

She was surrounded by completely different company.

A Memory

Everything looked almost the same—perhaps there were less green decorations everywhere, but still, it was as if the world had been gently muted by time. Her gaze swept across the gathering and then froze. Sitting across from her was a boy who looked no older than sixteen, his brown curls tousled in a way she knew all too well.

Father.

Her breath caught in her throat as she recognized the young man immediately—Walter Vikena. And sitting beside him, with a face so eerily similar, was a girl she had only seen pictures of-Aunt Willow. She had curled brown hair, loosely gathered, giving her a soft appearance. The hazel-eyed twins stood as near perfect reflections of each other.

Walter was effortlessly entertaining the table, his laughter filling the air like music. Young Duke Gideon sat with him, looking as if he hadn’t changed much over the years, though his face was a touch softer, more boyish. And to her surprise, seated among them was a younger version of Calbert Damien, his usually sharp features softened by youth and an unfamiliar short haircut. Even Duke Laurent Petit was present, immersed in his religious reading, his demeanor serene amidst the lively gathering.

But it was Walter who drew her in completely. His vibrant energy was magnetic, and she couldn’t help but smile as he playfully teased Willow.

"If you were any more girly," Walter said, twirling a worm on a stick and waving it in her face, "you’d start vomiting flowers."

Willow squealed, laughter bubbling up as she swatted at him in mock indignation. “This is why our parents never let you out!” she shot back, her voice a blend of exasperation and amusement. Calbert moved a hand toward her, as though to shield her from the worm. “Honestly, Walter, some of us prefer not to be pelted with wildlife.”

Walter grinned mischievously and turned to Calbert, offering the worm with a cheeky flourish. "Care to meet Gerald, Bert? He’s very well-behaved, I promise."

Calbert’s expression soured, his lips curling in distaste as he swatted Walter’s hand away, though Charlotte noticed the faintest twitch of amusement at the corners of his mouth. Walter shifted his attention to Gideon.

"Here, Giddy! Meet Gerald the Worm," Walter teased, thrusting the worm toward him with a laugh.

Gideon, with a dramatic roll of his eyes, caught the worm and played along with a wide grin. “Oh, Gerald’s mine now. I think I’ll marry him.” He winked, holding the worm as if it were a priceless treasure.

Walter raised an eyebrow, his grin widening as he leaned forward, eyes gleaming with mischief. "No, don’t you dare marry that worm, Giddy! He’s too good for you!"

Gideon, never one to miss a beat, clutched the worm close to his chest with a mock gasp. "How could you say that, Walter? Gerald and I are in love! We’re eloping at dawn, and there's nothing you can do about it!"

Calbert, shaking his head, muttered under his breath, “You two act like children.”

Walter, quick on his feet, stood up with a theatrical flair, wagging a finger at his best friend. "You’ll have to pry him out of my cold, dead hands, Giddy. Gerald deserves better! You’d just tie him down with all your gods. damn. bullshit." He was chaotically sneering at the end by the end of his statement.

Willow, stifling giggles behind her hand, couldn’t resist joining the fray. She dramatically clasped her hands together as if in prayer, her eyes wide with mock desperation. "Please, Giddy, I’m begging you. Make me your maid of honor!"

Walter, aghast, spun on his heel and turned his accusatory finger toward his twin, his jaw-dropping in exaggerated betrayal. "Traitor!" he cried, his voice loud enough to startle the birds in the trees. "My own twin! How could you do this to me, Willow? My flesh and blood! How will I ever recover from this vile betrayal?"

He placed his hand over his heart as if mortally wounded, staggering back with a melodramatic sigh, and then shot a glare at Gideon. "This is all your fault, Giddy. You’ve corrupted my sister!"

At that moment, Laurent Petit, finally lifting his gaze from his reading, furrowed his brow and hissed, "For Primitus's sake, will you shut up? You're attracting the attention of everyone! Even Prince Edin is staring."

Undeterred, Walter lunged forward, snatching the worm from Gideon’s hand. "Gimme that worm!"

Before anyone could say another word, Walter’s eyes landed on a group of girls giggling and whispering nearby, clearly watching the spectacle. Without missing a beat, Walter flashed them a charming grin and waved flirtatiously despite the worm in his hand. "Ladies, don’t worry—there’s enough of me to go around." He winked, causing the girls to erupt into even more giggles.He turned back to the table. Calbert and Laurent looked incredibly confused, meanwhile, Gideon and Willow remained amused. "What can I say? They love me."

Without missing a beat, Gideon shot up from his seat, flinging his arm out dramatically. "Back off, ladies!" he hollered in mock possessiveness. "He's mine!"

Then suddenly, everything changed again. Charlotte blinked, finding herself back in the present. Lorenzo sat nearby in his pink suit, and the warmth of Cassius's arm around her waist returned, grounding her. Her gaze found Callum's piercing blue eyes once more

I'm never going to get used to these sudden shifts in reality, she thought to herself. her brows knitting in thought. Even if it was rather amazing to see everyone so young... She glanced down at the drink in her hand, her fingers lightly brushing the glass. If I was shown that for a reason, it’s beyond me. Still… it did bring some comfort.

Charlotte cleared her throat as she awkwardly realized she must have spent a good amount of time spacing out. She quickly raised her glass, hoping to smooth over the strange moment. "Right! A toast!" she exclaimed, her voice filled with a forced brightness. Her gaze flickered to those around her as she offered them a wide, warm smile.

"To wonderful company and a long life of prosperity for Lord Drake Edwards!" she declared, raising her glass high.

In her effort to quickly move past it all, she lifted the drink to her lips and began to sip. Caught up in her nerves and racing thoughts, she realized a moment too late that she had downed the entire glass in one go, gulping away. Eyes widening slightly, she lowered the empty glass and stared into it sheepishly.

[Rodiak]

_{dress ♛ hair ♛}

_{D A M I E N E S T A T E || M O R N I N G
I n t e r a c t i o n s :
Wulfric @SilverPaw , Rohit @Helo
M e n t i o n s :
Cassius, Charlotte, and Farim}

So engrossed in the scene unfolding between Calbert’s bastard and Lorenzo, Nahir hadn’t noticed the son of Vali Amar slip into the seat beside her. She masked her surprise with a practiced smile, though her attention lingered on the two men. Calbert should have warned his son of the nuances of high society, for every misstep Cassius made would send ripples through his father’s reputation, tarnishing the Damien name. Already, she could feel the stir of whispers circulating through the garden, the nobles’ sharp gazes heavy with judgment. The rumors were spreading swiftly, like wildfire, and Nahir knew the consequences always fell heavier on the woman. In this world, etiquette wasn’t merely a formality—it was a weapon, and if Cassius intended to remain part of it, he would need to learn how to wield it with precision.

“Since my arrival, Calbert Damien has seemed perpetually angry, particularly with the gentleman in pink,” Nahir remarked, her smile curling into a knowing smirk. “It’s been quite entertaining, but I must admit, I’m glad Lord Vikena has finally begun to stand up for his family. In his own… eccentric way.”

Only then did she turn her gaze to Rohit, studying him for a brief moment. The glint of gold adorning him caught her eye, forcing her to blink and glance away. Creators, she thought. If anyone accused Nahir of indulging in an obsession with gold, they hadn’t met Rohit. Wherever his vibrant silks ended, gleaming gold took over. His jewelry—elaborate chains, heavy earrings—looked weightier than her own.

“A season in Caesonia already feels worlds apart from the usual diplomatic affairs,” she mused, “but I am still perfectly intact, thank you.”

Her smile reappeared, inviting yet sharp, as she redirected the conversation. “And you, Rohit? How was your voyage? Did you come across anything of interest on your way here?”

Just as Rohit began to speak, Prince Wulfric approached, drawing Nahir's attention. Her smile remained intact, though a subtle warmth softened her expression. She met his gaze, rising to her feet and offering a brief but elegant curtsy before settling back, her eyes lingering on him for a moment longer.“Good morning, Prince Wulfric.”

When the servant arrived with a cart bearing a selection of food and drinks, Nahir's gaze shifted momentarily to the carefully arranged bouquet of light pink magnolias and purple tulips that had been placed in the vase. “A lovely touch,” she remarked, her tone appreciative as she reached to grace her finger tips over one of the tulips. "It suits the setting perfectly."

As Wulfric began sampling the hors d’oeuvres, Nahir maintained her poise as she picked up a devilled egg with graceful precision, she could feel her mouth watering from the sight of the food. His question about their experience in Sorian drew her gaze toward her cousin, shamelessly lounging with a princess on his lap.

“Sorian has been... as vibrant as I expected. Perhaps even more so,” Nahir mused looking back to the prince, “It has tested my endurance in ways I did not anticipate, but there is much to admire about your kingdom’s spirit. And much more to explore. Don't you agree, Rohit?”

[Lava Alckon]

Farim

Location: Edwards Estate
Time: Morning of the 25th
Attire: Robes
Mentions: Anastasia/Charlotte @princess, Olivia @Potter, Zarai @Rodiak, and Fritz @JJ Doe


__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Upon entering the scene with Annie in tow, Farim noticed the demeanor of Lady Zarai and couldn’t help but offer a sly smirk - as if he knew just what the connotation behind those words would mean. He joined her in laughter and softly hummed the words she had just spoke. ”My my, mi princesita - that is an awfully adorable name for you.” His eyes moved to meet Zarai’s ”Dare I see some competition for the hand of the princess in such a place as this?” Farim turned to look at Anastasia ”Am I to be worried about your Rai of sunshine? Where might my kiss be?” His hand waved idly and he paused in a similar show of sarcastic seriousness before chuckling.

”I tease, I tease. It is good to be seeing you. And you as well, Miss Olivia it was, right? I remember you from the beach the other day.” His demeanor was unfazed despite the Princess’ promiscuous choice of seat. He decided to play along with this dance of casual debauchery in such a refined place of high society. He figured the stuffy individuals who take such events so seriously could always lighten up a little - so he decided to play himself a little game of sensual chicken. While he gestured with his hand and spoke to the others, Farim adjusted himself and pulled his arm around her. His arm rested comfortably across her lap as his hand delicately brushed along her hip - almost tickling along her sides as he continued speaking.

It was then Count Fritz came to address the table and offer his sincere greetings. With as much grace as he could, he maintained a slight bow while seated. ”Forgive my sir for not rising at the moment. Once a lady like Annie takes her seat it is best not to disturb her.” He winked and rose in his seat, his arm reflexively pulling her just a smidge closer. ”Peace be upon you as well - my friend.” The man had mentioned a concert - and Farim made a mental note to remind himself to find a way to secure an invitation to such an event. His mind briefly flickered to the miniature concerts that he and his half-sister Saya would hold in the empty halls of the palace when they were children - and Farim found himself desiring to hear just what kind of musical arrangement Annie had in store for the public.

Another familiar face joined the occasion, one Charlotte Vikena. Farim smiled warmly and gave a gentle wave of his hand. ”Best of mornings to you, Lady Charlotte!” She appeared to whisper something in her ear then join her previous group in the festivities at their own table. It was rather pleasant to see her again, and he hoped that despite the drama at the beach that she hadn’t had any more trouble.

There were a few exchanged glances between involved parties that had Farim curious, but he wouldn’t dare intervene on matters he knew little of - unless he felt like being in a bratty mood of course. But one particular thing he noticed was how nervous she was around the Princess - perhaps she is guilty of something? But then again, are we not all guilty of something? He reflected. That’s when he decided to stroke a few locks of her hair, and nodded approvingly. ”You do have quite the soft hair! I admire how well you take care of it.

After he was finished flirting like the playboy at heart he was, he fixed his demeanor and addressed the two ladies once more. ”I apologize for my antics - I must say it is quite fun to be here in another land rich with such festivities. How have you both been enjoying your week? I hope it has been interesting?”

[CitrusArms]

Stratya Durmand

Time: 25th, 10 am
Location: Edwards Estate
Attire: Officer’s Formal
Family Dirk + Crest
Interactions: Ariella @Tpartywithzombi, Duke Gideon @princess
Mentions:

Stratya had gotten for ‘erself one of the glasses o’ mead that were goin’ ‘round, as she was regaling Ariella a bit abou’ ‘er youth. Baking with her mother, bullish figh’s wit’ the local boys, hunting, playing in t’ woods, fishing wit’ her father. There was much to tell that might be novel to a young upper class lady like Ariella. Even if it seemed mundane, but no less cherished, to Stratya.

“Loathe it? Ooh, swee’ thing, full glad ye’ve got’en ovah tha’. T'is beau’y tae be’old.” Stratya watched Ariella go f’r more from an empty glass and the knight halfed the smile that tried to overtake her. An empty glass that was supposed to be full was not unfamiliar to her.

Goin’ tae ‘igh class par’ies without proper shoes or any shoes a’tall was certainly something she’d na’er done, “ooh~! if t’ese boo’s werenae such a pain in t’ arse, I migh’ join ya. I be’ yer grrass is soft, it’d feel good ‘tween me toes.” The rural woman smiled, get’in’ a feel for Ariella’s interests, ”you’d like t’ Vermillion coun’rryside. Nothin’ bu’ plains and fahrrests and farrms as farr as t’ eye c’n see. There’s an ‘ole big lake surrounded by forrest near wh’rre I grrew up, too.”

When Arriella leaned in, Strratya mimicked ‘er motion and brrough’ herself closer, smilin’, “aye am, and aye ken.” It felt a little like Ariella was building up to a weird joke until she asked about holding her weapon, eyeing ‘er dirk. Stratya ‘ad been about tae give ‘er rresponse, the grin on ‘er face shifting to something less cerrtain, and then Duke Gideon showed up.

Stratya Durmand, Fifteen (1728), Rural Vermillion

Stratya held the beautiful, generations old thing in her hands, still not believing that something so nice was now hers. A dirk, adorned with a crest. She fastened it to her waistband, almost feeling bad about the idea of going out to use it. Almost.

Fifteen, and going out on her first big hunt with her father. To go with the occasion, her first, real blade and armor. She’d held real weapons before, under supervision, and used knives in the kitchen, but this one was hers. No one could take it from her. She had been taught to treat it as part of her body, a trusted thing that she could use to safeguard herself and those she loves. She ran her fingers over the crest engraved in the hilt. The crest was here and there throughout her home, but never on anything big or obvious. It was always this little piece of metal on the end of something, for example. She'd never thought anything of it before, and she couldn’t step back from herself enough to figure out why it seemed strange.

“Kiddo! Arre ya rready, lass?” A man’s voice called from outside, patient and warm.

Stratya ran to window and called, ”I’ll be righ’ ou’, Pa!” The girl turned and made for the door of her room, checking herself over once as she did, making sure all her armor was secured correctly and that her dirk would not go anywhere. Satisfied, she nodded to herself and ran from the house, past her mother, whom she hugged and kissed, ”bye, Ma, love you! I'll be back with a good hunt!”

“Just make sure you come back, luv.”

Young Stratya was excited to put her training to use for something besides the inter-village skirmishes between festivals, for the kids. They used softwood swords for the skirmishes, and lucky kids got bits of leather armor, but mostly the armor was a very strict rule about serious injuries. Often, older kids would act as judges of combat, and sometimes even the Baron’s son would observe. When you turn fifteen, you’re too old to participate, and it’s time for you to go around between the villages and find your trade, instead. For her, though, she stayed here. She was a fine hand for baking, but also, there was her father's training to continue. He'd always told her she could quit, stick to baking or whatever else took her fancy.

“Hah, there’s t’ lass.” The girl’s father placed a hand on her shoulder as she ran up to him. “Looks good on ya. Rready ta go hun’in’?”

“aye, aye!” She knew she liked meat, anyway, and fresh meat was best. Full of energy and excitement, a young Stratya could hardly contain herself.

The man grinned and turned to lead the way, “then let’s quit faffin’ abou’!”

---

They joined a pair of hunters in the woods, a man and a woman. Stratya got a professional but couple-y vibe from them. Were they married? Their cloaks looked very well made. Was that chainmail? Her father greeted them, “Maximilian, Analise, good ta see ya, frriends. My daugh’er, Stratya,” and motioned to his side, where Stratya stood.

“Ah, yes. She certainly looks comfortable in her gear. It seems you’ve trained her well,” there was something unsettling about how he looked at her, like a merchant looking over offered goods. “Let us find our quarry, then.” Stratya also wasn’t a fan of being so ignored when she was right there. Talked about but not to.

The four of them went deeper into the forest, stalking carefully through the shade. Stratya had used traps for rabbits before, but she understood they were after something bigger, this time. After a while, Analise crouched to the ground and raised her hand, “hold on. Here.” She examined something, what looked like a snapped twig, and looked around to find footprints left in the mud, “boar prints.”

Stratya found herself suddenly hesitant. She'd run into boars before, during the village fights. She and the others had to climb trees to get away. That's what they were here hunting? Well, at least she had adults with her.

Before she realized, she was face-to-face with the beast. She stopped, staring back at its tiny eyes. It seemed like she stared the beast down for some time, before she looked to either side of her, looking for the adults she had been with.

Gone.

“Uuh..” Stratya was suddenly very nervous. The boar must have smelled her fear, and it took a step forward. She took a step back, and then the chase was on.

Where had they gone? As she ran, Stratya ducked behind trees or leapt over fallen logs to stop the creature from coming at her in a straight line. They were with her just a moment ago, couldn't be far. Where had her father gone?! She began to run a careful circle as she searched, threatening tusks at her heels. She called, only once or twice.

No time to find them. She needed to handle this on her own.

She couldn't stop its charge head-on, no way. Stratya had to stop it some other way, or get around it. There were plenty of obstacles about, but she found it wasn't dumb enough to charge into any of them. The girl did, however, spot a low-hanging branch she should just be able to jump and reach. When she went for it, her fingers only brushed against it. Just too short.

Damn! Her face contorted with frustration.

Once tumbled upright, into a crouch, she looked back to see the beast just there, bearing down on her.

Jus’ make sure you c’me back, luv. The worry that had been in her mother's voice was apparent to her now.

Stratya threw herself aside in time, and the beast became confused. It hadn't gored or trampled anything. While it tried to locate her, she saw what she could do. That tree she tried to use just then may yet be useful.

The beast was starting to turn toward her.

Her fingers dug into the terrain and she pulled herself up into a run. After a short sprint, she used the tree as a platform to redirect her body into the air and back at the boar before it could fully turn on her. She grabbed that damn branch and swung forward to land backwards on the creature.

The boar had the time to turn and face her fully, but it didn’t matter anymore. She was above it, and came crashing down on top.

Trigger: Violence

Her weight was not enough to force the stout creature to the ground, and it started bucking and thrashing. Stratya drew her knife and drove it into the rear flank of the creature, piercing deeply into the muscle and abdomen. Shrieks and squeals accompanied its fall to the ground, the leg disabled. Distressed young Stratya spun herself around on the boar’s back and drove her blade into the neck next. The head thumped to the ground, the creature now silent.

Stratya found herself out of breath as she pulled herself off the still creature and onto the shaded, grassy ground, staring up through the forest canopy. There was blood smeared across her arms and legs. She stared at her hand holding the knife for a moment, trembling with the exertion, strain, and vanishing adrenaline. Her hand, and the dirk, were covered in a slowly dripping crimson.

She could hear a voice from not far off, “you’ve trained her very well, excellent work, Mr. Durmand.”

Angus Donald Durmand kept himself from glaring at the hunting man. Instead, he simply approached his daughter and knelt over her, looking into her eyes. “‘ey Kid– nae, ‘at’s wrong. Strratya,” suddenly, he had her full focus. “You’re an adul’, nao, y’ken. Nae many kiddos are ‘is successful on t’eir firs’ ‘un’, le’ alone make t’ kill. I am prroud of you, Strratya Gwendolyn Durmand."

He didn’t often use her name. Usually, it was to scold her, instead he’d address her with some pet name. But this time, there was a deep respect behind it, reinforced as he addressed her with her full name. She felt like she could count on her hands the number of times she’d heard her middle name. She had thought about how many names she had before, but had no mind to pay it at this moment. ”You..” she was still quite out of breath and unsteady as her hand lifted to point at him. It fell again shortly, ”lef’ me.. y’ bastard..” Her message delivered, the girl resigned herself to just trying to steady her breathing.

The man just laughed, the insult rolling off him like water from a duck. “Haha, per’aps I am, per’aps nae. Strratya, you ‘ave passed this phase o’ yourr trrainin’ - with grran’ colours - and now we come ta t’ last. We will ‘ave a feast, with the beast you killed prepared at t’ cen’er.” Angus paused meaningfully, “you will ‘ave firs’ choice o’ meat.”

Stratya took a slow gasp, her fatigue momentarily forgotten. The first choice of meat?! It was like a dream. She'd always watched the adults take their pick of food first, the hunters first among them, then the cooks. She spoke between breaths, ”I’ve ne.. ne’er got’en.. any o’ t’.. t’ ribs.. before..”

The knight no’iced Arriella had got’en rrather drrunk off o’ - was that ‘er firrst drrink? Strratya’s own drink ‘ad been rather strrong, but she didn’t think it had been like tha’. (Stratya her gotten hers fresh from the barkeep, after all.) Perr’aps Arriella was not accustomed to alcohol? It didn’t seem like that happened in this layer of the social ladder. She was jus’ a ligh’weigh’?

Ariella had omitted her asking to hold her weapon from her description to her father, ”aye, aye, t’ choc’la’e’s reyt fine, i’tis. I was jus’ sayin’ I’ll ‘ave tae try an’ pu’ a choc’la’e swirrl in m’ nex’ batch o’ sweet brreads.” Stratya discovered she had finished the porrtion of mead tha’ was smaller than wha’ she knew and brrough’ ‘er cocktail back in, though she didnae drrink from it ye’. ”T’ mead is me brud’ers passion, aye. He made anot’er flavorr by using ‘oney from an area rrich in berries. Clever ba-” she looked over at the Cassius table for a second, ”er.. guy.”

The knigh’ saw an arrm around Lady Charlotte, and therre, t' Princess was in someone's lap. Huh. She didn't think these cirrcles were so flirtatious. She'd only read about stuffy decorum and how to cur'sey properly. Strra’ya took a sip of her cocktail, - there was Prince W’lfric, back from t’ stables - and then anot’er as she turned back tae t’ table at hand. Ooh, what a good drink. Those colorful ones the servants just brought looked good, too. She'd have to try one in a minute.

[FunnyGuy]

Time: Morning
Location: Edward's Estate
Interaction: @princess Cassius, Callum, Charlotte
Mention:

Lorenzo was wearing a warm smile of glee on his face. How could he not? He had just confronted Cassius about his slightly inappropriate behavior with Charlotte, using the appropriate amount of tact without ruining a potential new relationship between himself and Cassius. Now he and the rest of the members of his table could enjoy some spirits to improve the already positive environment further. Or so he thought… It always seemed to play out that way for the duke but this was… Let’s say this was unique to other times. Pay attention.

“Are you finished?” Lorenzo turned to face Cassius again, wondering what he might say. He only hoped Cassius did not mean to apologize. It might have been nice but it would lay things on a little too thick. Lorenzo only wished to reach a mutual understanding between himself and Cassius that he could truly treasure from now onward. It was unfortunate that this was something Lorenzo and Calbert never reached and possibly never would. At least here, there seemed to be hope. He felt the soft brush of Cassius’ hand on his shoulder and welcomed the kind gesture with a smile. He almost gave thanks but something about how he said his previous words stayed his tongue. Something was very wrong, and it took a hair too long to realize it.

“I’m truly not sure what I’ve done to earn such ire, your grace, but you are fortunate that I am a man forgiving of such…outbursts. Insults, threats…all in the span a moment, really. Is that how a man of your status…a father...should conduct himself?”

“Eh.” Lorenzo nervously let out as he was a bit confused about Cassius’ defensiveness. Saying I would treat you harshly for treating my daughter harshly is ire? What? In Lorenzo’s perplexity, he allowed Cassius to continue, hoping there was a dark-humored punch-line ready to be delivered. Instead…

“How amusing, the thought of a street-rat bastard such as myself lecturing a Duke in the art of decorum. I mean look at you…”

Maybe he… Perhaps he is joking… Yes, he doesn’t seem angry… but that doesn’t mean he isn’t. Lorenzo gulped as the sharpness of Cassius’s words pressed against him. Not with lethality but only to continue applying pressure onto him. As Cassius adjusted his outfit, the intention of his words became clearer and clearer until it rivaled the clarity of a window pane.

“What comes next, are you going to strike me? No? Then I suggest you pull yourself together and act like a real father for a moment.”

Lorenzo’s moment of confusion came to a full stop the moment Cassius questioned his parentage. He questioned his legitimacy. Lorenzo’s eyebrows furrowed as the young man who shared little in appearance with his father somehow appeared identical. Was this his play for this party? To pretend to be offended by slight words of warning so he could spout terrible words directed at him. To wound him deeply without leaving a scar. It would be crazy to think Calbert would subject his son to a vile familial initiation ceremony consisting of humiliating him but it was far easier than believing this young man who had little influence from his father inherited his evil.

“And to suggest that your own daughter may be nothing more than an hors d'oeuvre. How belittling. Plus, maybe I don’t want just a little taste? Maybe what I want is the full meal?”

Lorenzo’s left eye twitched as he attempted to contain himself for the very person Cassius was speaking of. He could have defended her, Charlotte. With words? With rage? Perhaps madness could take the reins? Maybe wailing and screaming to get it all out so he wouldn’t have to point his feelings toward anyone. Or maybe that was the answer? Action. Throw something? Break something… someone? Violence… that is what that would be, right? Is that what he resorted to that evening as his late wife struck him with her balled hands and all manner of things? That terrible evening of Emina’s death. Was it him? Did he snap? Did he…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

Did he ruin his daughter’s life?

Why not? Is that not what he always does? Is that not what he’s about to do right now?

Lorenzo was truly torn. He wanted to fight for Charlotte so badly, at this very moment in any way he could! He wanted to argue! He wanted to scream! He wanted to break something! He wanted to break someone!

He wanted to cry.

Yet despite it all, he just sat there.

Lorenzo shook his head, took a deep breath, adjusted himself in his seat, and just sat there.

Ignore him. This is not the time nor the place for tears, anguish, or rage. This is Lottie’s time, this is her season, this is her age… Endure, Lorenzo. Keep her safe. Keep her happy. You promised.

“It’s an honor to sit with the best-dressed Duke in Caesonia,” said Prince Callum as arrived at the table.

"He is rather splendid, isn’t he?" Charlotte agreed.

The grand compliment from royalty at that, but the words did not seem to register completely. To appear polite, Lorenzo forced a short-lived smile. Keeping his expressions light held back the tears that yearned to escape and bring him to express how he felt. Even as Charlotte sat in the seat between himself and Cassius with excitement and ignorance, he sat calmly. It was what he wanted, right? For Lottie to make friends and socialize with her peers. To not be shackled by his poor judgment and decision-making.

“Oh, look! Shots are here!” Callum announced.

"Oh! Shots, yes—how thrilling!" Charlotte laughed delightfully. To believe something so soft and delicate could help hold himself together, to even summon that was more genuine than the last. Still…

“To the two of you, a stunning couple. And to Lord Drake, of course.” It stung, to see and hear Callum present that toast, but the swig he took from his cocktail did well in rivaling it. He noticed its potency. Perhaps he was one of the few who could scrutinize the barely noticeable unevenness of the cocktail’s mixture. A dangerous concoction he was more than willing to welcome.

Lorenzo stood up with a feigned smile and grabbed a second beverage from the server before returning to his seat. In front of Lorenzo sat his lone shot for the toast. With a slight shrug, he dumped its contents into his current cocktail.

[Rodiak]

_{dress ♖}

_{D A M I E N E S T A T E | E V E N I N G
I n t e r a c t i o n s :
Anastasia / Charlotte @princess , Olivia @Potter , Fritz @JJ Doe , Farim @Lava Alckon
M e n t i o n s :}

"If it was a competition," Zarai flashed Farim a cocky smirk, all in good fun. "Ya habría ganado el corazón de mi princesa." With a dramatic flourish, she tossed her hair off her shoulder, chin lifted high in another display of mock seriousness. The facade quickly melted away, however, as her focus shifted to the pretty lady beside her, her expression softening.

“Annie is right! You’re stunning from every angle.” Zarai gasped in excitement, her eyes gleaming as she glanced back at Sir Barrios with an enthusiastic grin before turning back to Olivia. “You must let me paint you! Every beautiful person deserves to be immortalized on canvas. Then…” she paused, tapping her chin thoughtfully, “I suppose I’ll have to paint this whole table! Sir Barrios included, of course. He is the most handsome knight in all of Puerto Vira,” she added, her tone playful yet matter-of-fact. Sir Barrios coughed quietly into his hand.

The sight of a familiar figure approaching the table immediately drew Zarai’s attention.

Fritz.

She watched as he twirled Anastasia and greeted Olivia and Farim with ease, his charm as effortless as ever. She’d spent restless nights rehearsing what she might say to him after her mother’s outburst, but the moment his touch grazed her skin, every word was thrown out the window.

“My Lord.” Zarai greeted him, smile faltering just for half a second, a brief pause she hoped went unnoticed. His hand brushed her cheek, and though the touch was gentle, her breath caught for a moment. Heat rose from her neck up to her cheeks as she glanced up, meeting his eyes—those deep, dark, and inviting depths of warmth as he silently asked if she was okay. In response, she smiled, offering silent reassurance.

Behind her, she sensed Sir Barrios's unease, the subtle shift of his posture giving away his discomfort. No doubt, he had been instructed by her mother to minimize her interactions with the count, and Zarai didn’t wish to make things harder for him. Still, it would be unthinkably rude to ignore him, and such behavior would certainly not be tolerated by the Duchess of Puerto Vira!

“Join us, Count Hendrix—Fritz,” Zarai grinned up at him,. “You’d be a delightful addition to our table! And… consider yourself added to the list of beautiful people whose portraits must be painted!”

Zarai's smile widened as Charlotte wrapped her arms around her and Olivia. She gently returned the hug, “It’s wonderful to see you too, Charlotte,” she said warmly before waving as Charlotte departed to join Cassius and Lorenzo.

“The week has been…” Zarai hesitated, the weight of recent events pulling at her thoughts. Too much. Too much had happened in such a short span of time it felt overwhelming. Her gaze drifted briefly to Fritz. “Interesting,” she finally said, though the word barely scratched the surface of what she truly felt about everything or anything or anyone.

[Rodiak]

<sub>♖ the fit ♖
and a shitty mustache :p

E D W A R D S E S T A T E | M O R N I N G
I n t e r a c t i o n s :
M e n t i o n s :</sub>

“Oh, don’t be such a worrywart, Lord Wimsley!”

“What if I get caught?”

“You won’t, I assure you. This disguise is flawless!”

“Mary, I really don’t think this is a good idea,” Mathias muttered, fiddling with the fake mustache glued to his upper lip. “If I'm found out, it’ll be in the papers, and somehow it’ll make its way back to Varian and—"

“—and if you keep fretting like a scared child, you’ll give yourself away!” Mary interrupted, rolling her eyes. “Now, chest out! Own that mustache like you grew it yourself! Farewell, Lord Wimsley.” She gave an exaggerated bow, her smirk teasing him.

“Bye bye, Lord Wim—Lord Wim...ley!” Lukas added, laughing as he waved from the carriage window.

Mathias watched as both Mary and Lukas waved him goodbye from the comfort of the carriage. His gaze following them as they disappear around the corner, their laughter trailing behind. Left alone in front of the entrance to the garden, he felt utterly foolish. How did he end up here? Why?

He hadn’t been invited to Lord Drake’s Birthday Bash, of course. He wasn’t a lord, after all. And there was no connection between his father's family and the Edwards... but here he was, masquerading as a Lord Wimsley, complete with a ridiculous mustache fashioned from horsehair and a top hat that sat far too high on his head. The cane in his hand had been a last-minute addition, purchased when they realized the real Lord Wimsley always carried one.

“One more week, Mathias. One more week, and she’ll be gone,” he muttered to himself as he approached the entrance of the garden.

With a forced smile under his fake mustache, he tipped the absurdly tall hat at the footman stationed by the gate. “Lord Wimsley,” he said in a hoarse voice, too exaggerated to sound even remotely natural.

The footman eyed him suspiciously, his gaze lingering on the ill-fitting hat and awkward stance. Mathias stiffened, trying to mimic the arrogance he remembered from his father, standing with both hands resting on the cane, as if he owned the world. Arrogant. Conceited. And so far up his own ass, just like the real Wimsley.

To his surprise, the footman merely shrugged, bowed respectfully, and handed him the complimentary bracelet before ushering him in.

Not paid enough to care, eh?’

Now standing amid the lush gardens, surrounded by lords and ladies who looked effortlessly elegant, Mathias felt utterly ridiculous. Horsehair clung to his upper lip, the hat casting a silly shadow over his face.

“What in the gods’s names am I doing here?” he muttered under his breath, scanning the crowd for familiar faces. He spotted Lady Vikena and Lord Vikena with Crystal’s brother… Casss… Cassand… No. Cass… Cassius! That was it.

His gaze drifted to another group—Lady Zarai, Lord Hendrix, Sir Barrios, Princess Anastasia, and two more he did not know. One was clearly from the Alidasht delegation, but he wasn’t sure who he was.

At another table, Prince Wulfric sat in conversation with two Alidashtians. Mathias spotted at least two people he wanted to greet, but showing up before the prince in this ridiculous disguise would only guarantee he'd become the evening's laughingstock. He doubted Zander’s brother would care much about his charade, but Prince Wulfric didn’t strike him as the kind of man who would appreciate someone sneaking into a nobleman’s birthday celebration with such a disguise.

No, he needed to shed this ridiculous disguise before he embarrassed himself further. Now all he had to do was find a quiet corner where no one would see him…

“Lord Wimsley!” Mathias’s head snapped toward the voice, and he saw an older woman approaching him. Her eyes were framed by soft wrinkles, and the laughter lines around her mouth deepened as she smiled warmly. “I thought you wouldn’t make it! Oh, come closer, dear boy—my eyesight isn’t what it used to be.”

Oh no… Panic gripped him as he scanned the area, desperate for a way to escape before his flimsy disguise crumbled as quickly as it had been thrown together.

[Potter]

The Swords

Time: Morning
Location: Black Rose Mansion
Mention: @PapaOso Cassius @Samreaper Kazumin @JJ Doe Fritz @Helo Leo

---

Kira sat in a rocking chair, a loosely draped blanket around her shoulders. Damp curls framed her face softly, offering a delicate contrast to her dark attire—black pants and top—giving her a striking yet subdued presence.
A book lay open in her hands, though her eyes weren't really following the words. Sometimes she wished she could disappear into the pages and bring her family with her, leaving everything behind.

Nearby, subtle noises filled the air, but Kira remained still, blending effortlessly into the background. Her fox, Liam, lay curled beside the chair, while Maggie, her raven, perched silently on her shoulder. Rue’s cat, Daisy, rested at her feet, purring softly as Kira absently stroked the fox and cat in turns.

The peaceful moment was interrupted by the sound of footsteps approaching, pulling Kira from her thoughts. She glanced up just as Felix and Yuka emerged from the mansion, the playful pair breaking the quiet. Felix wore his usual mischievous grin, while Yuka clung to his back in a piggy-back, her laughter muffled as she whispered something in his ear that only made his grin widen.

“Kira is studying for her test at school,” Felix teased in a hushed tone, glancing back at Yuka. “She’s aiming to get the highest grade so she can be crowned the queen of recess.”

“Oh, oh, don’t want to disturb the total nerd...” Yuka added with mock seriousness, her snicker betraying her playful intent. Sliding off Felix’s back with exaggerated stealth, she crept toward Kira as though their presence wasn’t already obvious. With sudden exuberance, Yuka snatched Kira’s book, flinging herself dramatically onto her lap, a wide grin plastered on her face. “Kira!! I want attention!” she whined playfully, her voice carrying a sing-song tone.

Kira tried to ignore them, despite being fully aware of their antics. She caught a glimpse of Yuka clinging to Felix, like a child being carried by their parents, and couldn’t suppress a quiet chuckle. Recess? The thought amused her—she hadn’t had time for something as trivial as recess in years. The “nerd” comment made her bite her tongue, pretending she hadn’t heard it.

Around her, the animals stirred. Liam, her fox, lifted his head, ears pricked with mild annoyance, while Maggie, indignant, flew off Kira’s shoulder with an irritated squawk, landing on a nearby shelf to glare at Yuka. Daisy darted beneath the chair, seeking refuge from the sudden chaos.

Despite the commotion, Kira shut her eyes briefly, stifling a laugh before opening them again. She smiled at Yuka, a mixture of amusement and patience. “Why, my little black cat, of course, you deserve nothing less.” Kira purred to Yuka, her fingers threading through her hair. Liam, her fox, wagged his tail cautiously at Yuka, a mix of affection and wariness.

“Do you want the nerd’s attention, or can I go back to reigning over my nonexistent recess?” She shot Felix a teasing smirk, shaking her head in amused exasperation. “What do I owe the pleasure, my Sword King?”

Yuka, still snuggled into Kira’s shoulder, whined dramatically. “I deserve all your attention right now! Annnddddd you need to tell me who this Cassius boy is!” She lifted her head, eyes gleaming with mock jealousy. “He’s not prettier than me, is he? Are you leaving me for him?”

Kira's laughter started but quickly died in her throat. The mention of Cassius made her skin prickle, her jaw clenching for just a moment. Still, she smiled down at Yuka, though a sharp glint of anger flashed briefly in her eyes. “You have my undivided attention, kitty,” she reassured smoothly.

“I’d never leave you for anyone. Who else would I go hunting with?” Her fingers stroked Yuka's hair once again, though her gaze shifted toward Felix, her smile now tighter.

Felix, hands stuffed in his pockets, leaned against the house, his posture casual but his eyes sharp as they met Kira’s. “I’d been hoping to catch you to talk about the meeting, Kiki. I actually have the same question as Yuka for once… It’s interesting that you were apparently friends with someone like the Scourge of Eisenholm.”

The old nickname “Kiki” softened her a bit, a flicker of amusement surfacing in her expression. She continued absentmindedly stroking Yuka’s hair, her attention fully on Felix now. “Ask away, Sword King, and I’ll answer however I see fit.” A sigh escaped her lips as she realized there was no dodging this conversation.

“Well, considering I was high up in the Iron Wolves, I knew almost everyone in that circle. I wasn’t exactly known for my mercy, either. Cas...well, we were close friends.” Bitterness crept into her voice, her hand briefly stilling in Yuka’s hair as her fists clenched.

“The bastard thinks I’m dead, and we’re keeping it that way until Marek gives the all-clear. For now, he’s being watched from a distance. He’s gaining some infamy as the so-called ‘Damien’—bastard noble and all. I can’t just waltz up to him. Like father, like son, I guess.” Kira forced her fists to relax, resuming the comforting strokes through Yuka’s hair as if it would steady her own rising tension.

Yuka’s eyes glittered with twisted glee, soaking up Kira's attention. “Kiki, if this Cassius guy is a problem, I can help… rearrange his insides. We’ll start with his entrails—make him scream like old times.” Her voice purred, the promise of violence barely concealed beneath her playful tone.

Felix chuckled, moving to lean casually on the armrest of the rocking chair, his eyes alight with a different kind of mischief. “Entrails? Yuka, let’s start with his mind. Break him down first. Make him beg for it. No room in the world for someone stupid enough to cross our Kiki, and definitely no space for another Damien. Their egos alone take up too much.”

Yuka, the dramatist, grabbed her throat, making exaggerated choking sounds. “CAN’T. BREATHE... THICK… Damien... SMOG.” She collapsed into giggles, her face lighting up with unrestrained delight. “Oh, wait, it sounds like Chairman Felix has a plan!” she added in a singsong voice after her laughter had subsided.

Felix’s smirk deepened. “Oh, I’ve got a plan, alright. Imagine this: Kira befriends him, makes him think everything’s forgiven. We let him believe he's safe, let him get comfortable, and figure out what matters to him most.” He paused, letting the suspense build, his voice dipping into a darker, more menacing tone.

“Then, when he’s drowning in his own delusions, Kiki shows him just how little she cares. We tear him apart—slowly. Crush him from the inside out.”

Yuka’s laughter bubbled up, sultry and twisted, almost a purr. “You’re wicked, Felix.” Her eyes gleamed with a mix of admiration and excitement.

Felix shot Kira a wink, his grin widening. “But before we get to that, I’d like to test his physical mettle first. Let’s see what the so-called ‘Scourge of Asshole’ is really made of.”

Kira’s laughter rang out, harsh and full of dark humor. Maggie, her raven, echoed the sound with an indignant squawk, only causing her to laugh harder.

Once she composed herself, she kissed Yuka’s head affectionately and looked up at Felix, her smirk returning. “The man with the plan, and our Black Cat with her beauty and violence.” She reached out, placing her hand over Felix’s, her voice laced with amusement. “I wonder if Cassius will discard his newfound nobility and show everyone the monster lurking underneath. Though, I suppose I’m no better.” Her smirk shifted, venom slipping into her words.

“Apparently, there’s a newspaper spreading lies about these clueless citizens. I’ll use that. Drop hints—things only I’d know. Make him squirm a little, push him toward a late-night meeting where Daddy’s influence can’t save his bastard ass. You two will watch from the shadows, just in case our dear Bastard decides to act like the coward he is.” The words dripped with calculated malice, her eyes gleaming with the promise of revenge.

As Kira spoke, Yuka sat up to kiss both her cheeks with exaggerated affection. “Mwah. Mwah. So badass and smart, Kiki.” Her giggles followed, chaotic and unstable. Then, with wide, eager eyes, she leaned back dramatically over Kira’s lap. “Fefe! What about the other people in the book? Let’s look at them!”

Kira’s laughter softened as she returned the cheek kisses, Yuka’s unstable giggles now familiar, almost comforting. She glanced at Felix expectantly, waiting for his response.

“Mmmm... I suppose I can show you now,” Felix mused, his grin still firmly in place. He then moved to the door, his voice raising as he called back into the house. “Zane! Get outside... and bring the others!”

Kira folded her hands neatly, a smirk tugging at her lips. To her, these targets—these things—were nothing but toys, and she was eager to dismantle each and every one of them.

Rue entered as silently as ever, her stealth rivaling Yuka’s. Her soft blonde hair was pulled back into a strict bun, framing her delicate face. Her cool blue gaze flickered over the group before she glanced over her shoulder, waiting for Zane. Taking a seat beside Kira, her cat quickly jumped into her lap, settling comfortably as if it belonged there.

The sound of loud, maniacal laughter filled the air as Torie, the group's torturer's and newest member, danced her way in. Dressed in a skin-tight uniform, her blonde ponytail bounced with every movement, her blue eyes gleaming with excitement—and madness. “Pain! I want to inflict pain!” she sang, her voice filled with glee.

“Yes, Torie! Pain!!” Yuka's voice rang out with gleeful enthusiasm.

Xavier entered next, his usual disheveled black hair falling into his cold, gray eyes. He was another of the group's torturer's. His dark uniform matched his mood, a perfect reflection of his perpetual indifference. “God, you’re loud,” he mumbled as he leaned against the wall, arms crossed. Torie stuck her tongue out at him in response, unbothered by his grumbling.

Rue, ever quiet, patted the spot beside her for Zane, as if it were second nature. Kira rarely saw them apart. For someone so soft-spoken and sweet, Rue's place among them was still a mystery, though Kira had long learned the answer was in her uncanny agility and ruthless efficiency when it came to combat.

Zane entered with his usual quiet grace, his intense yet calm aura enveloping the vicinity. His white, messy hair stood in stark contrast to his dark attire, his pale eyes scanning the group with quiet observation. His nearly translucent eyelashes gave him an ethereal, almost haunting appearance, as though the magic that had drained the color from his features still lingered in his presence. Without a word, Zane sat beside Rue, offering her a gentle smile that she returned without hesitation.

Felix, watching as the group settled in, clasped his hands together and exhaled heavily, a wicked smile playing on his lips. “You’re all still fucking crazy... Excellent!”

Kira couldn’t contain herself and snorted into her hands, biting her cheeks to stifle her laughter. Torie cackled wildly in response, while Xavier chuckled under his breath. Rue glanced at Zane, her expression as if to say why are we here again? for what must have been the hundredth time.

“Except for the ghosts,” Xavier muttered dryly toward Torie, and the two of them broke down into quiet laughter, the joke shared between them.

Felix rolled his eyes, waving his book like a teacher trying to restore order in a classroom.
“Right. Okay. Shut up, you nutcases. Daddy’s talking.” He stepped up onto a chair to stand above the group, grinning down at them as he waved the book again for emphasis. Torie bit her lip to suppress another giggle. “In here, I have some targets and some information about them. I am going to read out loud what we know about each. Our goal is to frighten and torment them-”

Before he could continue, Yuka's hand shot into the air, waving wildly. Kira stifled her laughter into her hands but gave up moments later, snickering as she already anticipated Yuka’s interruption. “Can we kill them? Pleeease?!” Yuka’s exaggerated whining carried through the air.

Rue sighed quietly, while Torie clapped her hands in delight, responding with gleeful enthusiasm. “Death! Violence! Gore! Entrails and guts everywhere!!” she cheered, bouncing in place as if it were a festival chant. Kira's fox, and Rue's cat, both dispersed from the chaos with alarm and annoyance.

Xavier shook his head with a smirk, snorting with laughter at Torie’s unhinged excitement.

Felix shot Yuka and Torie a bemused look, then pointed a finger at Torie as though reprimanding a child. “Yeah, no. We can’t kill them.” He quickly turned his head toward Torie, narrowing his eyes. “Torie, love, shut it, will you? Dial it back a notch.”

Torie stuck her tongue out at Felix in defiance, but ultimately flopped down onto Kira’s lap, resting her head on Yuka’s legs as well. Yuka began absentmindedly tangling her fingers into Torie’s hair, her reasoning beyond anyone’s comprehension. Kira gazed down at the pair with a mix of amusement and affection, idly petting both their heads as if she were indulging her favorite pets.

The crowd exploded in protests and groans of disappointment at the no-kill rule. Rue glanced at Felix, her eyes pleading silently for an early dismissal. Kira, meanwhile, buried her head in her Kira buried her head in her hands, exasperated, horrified, and amused all at once by the sheer madness surrounding her.

“Bloodthirsty demons, the lot of you,” Felix commented with a bemused look, smirking as he flipped open the book. “First guy is…” He squinted, holding the book at arm's length, as if the absurdity of what he was about to say needed distance. “Kazumin Nagasa. He’s 6’2”, a psychotic who apparently laughs in the face of guns. A real farm boy turned Baron Asteroth Hugonin’s ward. He—”

Before he could finish, they all exploded in laughter, Yuka’s mocking voice ringing out loudest of all.

“Gotta stop the FARM BOYS before we’re drowning in corn!” Yuka howled, nearly doubling over with laughter. The absurdity of the description seemed to hit everyone at once. Even Kira, though remaining composed, couldn't help but watch the chaos with quiet amusement. Torie, on the other hand, laughed so hard she slipped off their laps and hit the floor, still cackling. Xavier, normally more reserved, chuckled under his breath, struggling to maintain his usual stoicism. Even Rue, always the quiet observer, pulled her knees to her chest and glanced outside, clearly contemplating her escape from this madness.

In one swift motion, Felix slammed the book shut with a force that echoed, silencing everyone. His playful mischief was replaced by a chilling, cold fury as his eyes swept over the group. The weight of his glare was oppressive, pinning each of them into silence. Yuka’s laughter cut off mid-chuckle, her grin faltering, while Xavier straightened, quickly composing himself. Torie, still giggling, was quickly kicked in the leg by Kira, who helped her snap back to attention.

“It doesn’t matter who he is or what he’s done,” Felix growled, his voice icy. “We have orders. You have orders.” A twisted smirk slowly returned to his face, but this time it carried a dark edge. “Don’t make me remind you what happens when I am not obeyed... Next person to laugh spends the night with Lady Valeria.”

Rue visibly shuddered, burying her head into her lap. Zane, seated beside her, gently stroked her hair in a comforting gesture, whispering softly, “It’ll be okay, Rue. Just stay quiet.” She nodded, clutching his hand tightly, drawing reassurance from his calm presence.

Kira, her usual composed self, straightened and gave Felix a salute, her eyes locking with his in a silent agreement. “Aye. Consider it done. Who’s next?” Her tone carried a quiet intensity, showing Felix she was back on track, ready to execute whatever was asked of her.

Felix, satisfied with the shift in mood, flicked the book open again, his eyes sharp as a blade. “Now, let’s get serious. We’ve uncovered a few things about Kazumin that are... peculiar. And don’t even think about laughing.” His warning hung in the air, dark and heavy. “Pudding. He frequents Penelope’s Pudding Palace almost daily. Seems harmless, but who knows what the fool is hiding there.” His gaze swept over everyone again, daring anyone to chuckle.

Torie remained silent as the grave by staring at the floor intently, as if admiring the new shine. Xavier focused his gaze elsewhere, and Kira petted Yuka’s hair to quell her insanity.

“When it comes to people, there are two names of interest. Olivia, our next target—he values her a lot, seemingly. Then there’s Ruby, the girl with mismatched eyes who works at the Tough Tavern. Keep your eyes on her. But most importantly...” Felix paused, letting the tension linger. His next words dripped with malice. “He cares for his younger siblings as well. That’s where we’ll hit him hardest.” His tone darkened, the weight of his words settling over the group like a heavy cloud.

“...Zane.”

Zane's pale gaze shifted, focusing on a spot near Felix. The air seemed to ripple as a strange energy gathered around the area, thickening until it coalesced into a ghostly figure. Tall, with blonde hair, freckles, and tan skin, the figure took the form of Kazumin, grinning as if he were standing there in the flesh. His smile was unsettling, too alive for a mere projection.

Rue squeezed Zane’s hand, her eyes never leaving the illusion, her unease evident.

“Next is Olivia. We don’t know much about her, but she’s attractive—auburn hair that’s nearly red. She’s taken residence in the Vikena household. What we do know is she’s skilled in magic and isn’t afraid to use it, so we’ll need to approach her with caution. She also knows her way around a bow and hand-to-hand combat. She seems to care for Kazumin and Charlotte Vikena most. I’ve heard she and Lady Charlotte spent some quality time with Lady Zarai Lesdesman last night.”

Felix snapped his fingers, and Zane conjured another apparition, this time of Olivia in a flowing green dress. Her image flickered for a moment before stabilizing, looking eerily lifelike.

“What a hottie,” Yuka commented, glancing up at Kira with a grin. Kira raised an amused eyebrow at Yuka, stifling her laughter.

Kira nodded, focusing on the apparitions with interest. Torie, now seated with her back pressed against Yuka and Kira’s legs, stared at the projections, completely absorbed, as though they held the secrets of the universe. Rue glanced over briefly but soon looked away, her gaze drifting back toward the window, while Xavier rolled his eyes at the scene unfolding before him.

Felix snapped his fingers again, and this time two new figures appeared—Count Fritz Hendrix and Lord Leo Smithwood. Felix gestured first to the man with dark hair. “These two gentlemen hail from the Varian Kingdom. Count Fritz Hendrix,” he gestured toward the red-haired figure next, “and Lord Leo Smithwood.”

“Ah, yes,” Kira muttered under her breath, her gaze fixated on the new projections.

“We’re keeping a close watch on Hendrix. He’s rising fast, even within the Varian Kingdom, though we don’t know much about his connections yet. He’s been spotted with Lady Vikena and some of the others listed here, but it’s unclear how deeply tied he is to them.”

Felix’s expression darkened as he continued. “As for Lord Leo Smithwood, he’s still dealing with the loss of his father last year. There are whispers—rumors—that his mother might’ve had a hand in it, all to be with her new girlfriend. Then there’s his mentally unstable sister, Thea. She’s the one he holds dearest.” He paused, letting the implications of his words hang in the air like a dagger. “That could prove to be our leverage.”

“Ooooh, I love dramatic backstories! The redheads are mine! Mine! Mine!” Torie cackled, smacking the floor in a fit of excitement. Xavier, shaking his head, chuckled at her outburst.

“Soooo... what are we supposed to do with these people?” Yuka asked, her voice lilting in a singsong manner, as though the answer were already obvious.

“We’re going to scare the shit out of them.”

[princess]

Time: 10am
Location: Small drawing room on second floor
Mention: @Helo Callum @Silverpaw Wulfric

---

But the man sitting in the room now was a shadow of the king in the painting. King Edin Danrose slumped in a grand armchair, his broad shoulders hunched and his once sharp eyes dulled by a fog of intoxication. His golden crown sat crooked on his head, and the royal attire he wore was disheveled. His face, weathered, was flushed red, either from the brandy he clutched in his trembling hand or the mounting weight of secrets.

He took a long, slow sip of brandy, the glass in his hand shaking slightly. The room, despite its grandeur, felt suffocatingly small to him. His father’s voice rang in his ears, mocking him from the shadows, always demanding more, more, more.

The door creaked open behind him, and Edin barely lifted his head. The faint rustle of fabric and the soft clink of elegant heels announced Queen Alibeth’s arrival. Her long chestnut hair cascaded down her back, topped with a tiara of diamonds. Her enchanting features reflected her cool composure. But beneath her beauty was the unshakable presence of a woman who was never easily fooled. Her sharp, amber eyes locked onto Edin’s figure, her lips pressed into a thin line, betraying the storm of thoughts swirling in her mind. She stepped further into the room, the gentle rustle of her gown the only sound for a moment.

“Edin,” she spoke softly, her voice cutting through the heavy silence. “We need to talk.”

Edin raised his head slowly, his bleary eyes fixing on her with irritation and weariness. He downed the rest of his brandy, grimacing as it burned its way down his throat. “Not now, Alibeth,” he spat, his voice dripping with impatience. “I’m busy waiting for my consorts, and I certainly don’t need you hovering around, nagging like you do. Your place is to keep quiet, not to meddle in men’s affairs.” His eyes, bloodshot, flicked over to the door as if expecting his “entertainment” to walk through any moment.

Alibeth’s lips twitched in a faint, cold smile. “How utterly predictable,” she mused softly, taking a few measured steps closer. “But as your queen—your wife—I’d say this matter takes precedence over your usual indulgences.”

Edin’s irritation flared. “You women always think you can fix everything with your little schemes. But you don’t understand what’s going on—Wulfric is handling things. Everything is under control.” He struggled to stand, eager to get away, “You wouldn’t understand these matters, Alibeth."

“Is that what you tell yourself?” Alibeth asked coolly, her eyes narrowing slightly. “That Wulfric will solve everything? Because from where I stand, you’ve abandoned your responsibilities and left the weight of the kingdom entirely on his shoulders.”

Edin shot her a glare, his jaw tightening. “Wulfric is the heir, Alibeth. He has to learn how to handle these matters. It’s his duty. You women would never understand the pressure of ruling—leave it to the men, as it should be.”

After only a moment, Edin spoke again before Alibeth could, “With that topic in mind, you are to halt your meetings with my sons without my presence. Yes, I know your secret, so don't try to lie!"

Alibeth’s eyes darkened, “Speaking of secrets, Wulfric has told me quite a bit about your conversation yesterday,” she began, “He told me how you advised him to stay away from Marek Delronzo. How Marek and his Black Rose are behind forced fighting rings, drug trafficking, abductions, enslavement—all of it.” Her voice dropped to a dangerously soft tone. “He said you find Marek… useful, helpful even.”

Edin froze in place, his face hardening, though a flicker of panic flashed in his eyes. “It’s not that simple,” he muttered, looking away. “Marek… he has his uses. Keeping him on our side is smarter than making an enemy of him. These are the types of decisions you wouldn’t be able to comprehend.”

Alibeth’s lips curled into a cold, humorless smile. “Is that what you believe? That by allying with criminals, by letting your kingdom be tainted by the filth of men like Marek, you’re protecting us?” Her voice cut through the room like a blade. “Wulfric was right to laugh at the absurdity of it. You’ve sunk so low, Edin, that you’ve convinced yourself that a man who runs forced fights and drug rings is an asset to the crown.”

Edin’s face flushed with anger, but he faltered. “You wouldn’t understand. Marek is more dangerous than you realize. If we cut ties, he’ll turn against us.” He glanced toward the door, his paranoia bubbling up.

Alibeth stepped even closer, her voice dropping to a venomous whisper. “And whose fault is that, Edin? Who let this monster into our midst? Who gave him the power to blackmail you, to turn you into his puppet?” She tilted her head, her gaze piercing. “This is all your doing. You’ve let yourself become weak, and now you’ve dragged the rest of us down with you.”

Edin turned away from her, his fingers gripping the back of his chair tightly. “You wouldn’t understand the sacrifices I’ve made to keep this kingdom safe. A woman like you wouldn’t know what it means to carry the weight of a crown.”

Alibeth let out a low, bitter laugh, her amber eyes gleaming with barely contained contempt. “Sacrifices? Don’t make me laugh. You’ve sacrificed nothing but your dignity. All you've done is clutch at power while others clean up after you.” She crossed her arms, her tone growing colder. “Marek has you in his grasp because you were too arrogant, too foolish to see the danger until it was too late.”

Edin stiffened, his voice dropping to a growl. “It’s not too late.”

Alibeth’s eyes glinted. “Then prove it.” Her words were a challenge. “Let Wulfric and me handle Marek. You’ve made a mess of this, but it doesn’t have to be the end of the Danrose name.”

She paused, her voice growing colder, “And speaking of messes, what happened to Alden? Your trusted advisor? He’s missing and there was blood in his chamber. Did Marek have something to do with that too?”

Edin flinched, his eyes narrowing as he waved a dismissive hand, trying to brush off the subject. “Alden was a fool. He’s gone, and that’s all there is to it. You don’t need to know more. Leave it.”

But Alibeth wasn’t easily deterred. “Gone? You expect me to believe that’s all? No, Edin, there’s more to this.” She knelt down and met him eye to eye.

For a long moment, Edin remained silent, his face pale and drawn. Finally, he muttered, “You don’t know what you’re asking for.” Even through his severe intoxication, Edin was confused. He had always believed Alibeth to be predictable—soft, malleable, even if at times annoyingly sharp in her own way. But this…this was different. His eyes darted toward her, narrowing, suspicion rising in his mind.

“Why are you acting like this, Alibeth?” he demanded, his tone sharper now. “Usually, you stand there, all sweet words and sympathy, telling me how things will be alright. But today…” He shook his head, trying to make sense of the cold, calculating energy radiating from his queen. “You’re different. What is this?”

Alibeth’s sharp gaze softened, but only slightly, like a mother masking her disappointment with a thin veil of understanding.“Why, Edin, because I see you slipping,” she murmured softly as she brushed some damp hair from his forehead, her tone laced with something far deeper than the usual warmth she used to soothe him. “I’ve spent years at your side, watching, supporting, and cleaning up behind the scenes while you indulged yourself with your pleasures, your consorts, your power.” Her voice dropped to an almost predatory softness. “But now, you are faltering.”

The silence stretched between them, the tension in the room thick enough to cut. Edin’s gaze flickered, his grip tightening around the glass he still held. He looked away, trying to maintain the facade of indifference, but Alibeth could see the cracks. “I won’t let you endanger my children. That man's already hurt Anastasia and Callum once...” Alibeth’s voice cut through the thick silence. “I won’t let you endanger Wulfric by leaving him in the clutches of that vile man and having to clean your mess.”

“...You think you know what’s going on? You don't. So shut your mouth, Alibeth! " Edin looked upon his wife with rage, "...Before I shut it for good.”

Her gaze didn’t waver. “I know more than you think, Edin. Wulfric told me enough and I've suspected enough for some time.” She leaned in slightly, her eyes burning into his. “But I want to hear it from you. What does this Marek have on you? On us?”

For a moment, Edin said nothing, his eyes darkening.“...Things you can’t understand. Things you don’t need to know.” He waved his hand dismissively again, trying to push the topic away.

But Alibeth didn’t relent. “You owe it to Wulfric, to Auguste, to Callum and Anastasia... You owe it to this kingdom to tell me.”

Edin’s hand twitched, and for a brief moment. There was something in his eyes—fear, shame, something deeper. But just as quickly as it appeared, it was gone. He straightened up fully out of the seat and stood before her, his face hardening once more. “We're done here Alibeth... As the King, I command you to leave."

Alibeth’s smile returned, soft but her voice a deadly calm. “Of course, Edin. You are the King,” she said smoothly, her fingers lightly brushing the edge of his sleeve.

For a moment, Edin was silent, staring at her as if he didn’t recognize the woman standing before him.

She turned gracefully, beginning to leave the room. She paused to linger in the doorway with a narrowed, firey gaze, as she reminded him coolly. “But even kings fall.”

The words hung in the air like a guillotine, poised to strike. Edin's lips parted—How dare she—but the words died on his lips.. His fury choked in his throat as the door opened fully, revealing a crowd of beautiful, laughing women waiting to attend to him, their giggles jarringly out of place in the tension-filled room.

Alibeth offered one final glance before she disappeared into the corridor, leaving Edin surrounded by the hollow echoes of their laughter. Certainly won't be the last time you get fucked, you imbecile.

[princess]

Time: Morning
Location: Drakes Birthday Party
Attire:Dress
Interaction: @Lava Alckon Farim @Rodiak Zarai @Potter Olivia @JJ Doe Fritz

---

Anastasia's amber eyes turned her she noticed Olivia's flustered reaction and giggled as the girl stammered through her greeting. She leaned forward on Farim's lap, resting her elbow on the table, “Why, thank you, Olivia,” she said with a smile. “But you know, I don’t think you need my permission to touch my hair! I mean, how could I say no to a compliment like that?” She twirled a loose strand of her ashen blonde hair playfully around her finger and swung her head over to offer up her hair.

Her gaze subsequently shifted to Farim, hearing his words, “Oh, Farim,” she cooed, “You know you have nothing to worry about. You two can share me.” She giggled, clearly enjoying their teasing dynamic as she leaned back against him to peck his cheek sweetly. However, as Farim’s arm wrapped around her, his hand brushed teasingly against her hip, sending a delightful shiver up her spine. She couldn’t help but bite her lower lip, suppressing a giggle as his touch tickled her in the most delicious way. She leaned back against him, letting her body sink more comfortably into his, enjoying the warmth and closeness between them. Then, she placed her hand lightly over his, tracing slow circles along his wrist.

She then leaned back to whisper in his ear,"Farim, darling," she whispered, her voice laced with both amusement and sensuality, "If you keep that up, I might not be able to behave myself. We wouldn’t want to scandalize the whole party, would we?" With a soft, almost daring smile, she shifted slightly in his lap, the movement deliberate.

However, Farim did not get a chance to answer as Zarai spoke up about having them all painted, causing Annie to add excitedly,“Oh my Gods yes! I'd love to be painted with you guys and by my beautiful Rai! Please!”

Before Zarai could answer, the princess's face then lit up the moment she heard a familiar voice. “Fritz!” she exclaimed and rose up to greet him, her excitement bubbling over as he twirled her around. She clapped their hands together in rhythm, giggling at the playful spin. “Oh, you know how to make an entrance, cutie!” She rested her hands on her hips after the twirl, her gaze brimming with amusement.

"The music practice is going well! I picked a song I know really well since it's kind of short notice and I've been playing it late at night until my fingers hurt!" she added, her excitement practically radiating from her."I’m so nervous, but also super excited. It’s going to be the best concert ever!" As he turned his attention to the others, she returned to her comfy seat on Farim's lap. Anastasia took a moment to admire the easy grace with which Fritz interacted with everyone. It was so effortless for him—he had this way of making people feel special.

But as Zarai’s gaze found Fritz, and the unspoken emotions flickered between them, Anastasia’s couldn’t miss the subtle shift. Her lips quirked up in a soft, knowing smile as she watched her dear friend exchange glances with the charming count, “Ohhh, look at you two,” she whispered in a sing-song voice, leaning closer to Zarai as if sharing a secret. “There’s something interesting in the air today, isn’t there?” She gave her a playful nudge, her tone affectionate as ever. “You know, I’d love to include Fritz in the painting, but I think you might be painting more than just his face in that picture, darling.” Her eyes twinkled mischievously as she whispered in her ear.

However the fun didn't last. Anastasia's smile fell as noticed Charlotte approach. She seemed cuddled up to Cassius of all people. She had seen enough to know that there was more to that girl than her delicate appearance suggested, and it left her wary, even if she didn’t want to admit it to anyone. Her mind flashed back to that morning in the tea room with Callum, Wulfric, Stratya, and her mother. Magic wasn’t evil, Callum had reassured her, but that didn’t change the fact that Charlotte’s magic had been evil.

Her fingers curled slightly, resisting the urge to fidget with her dress. When Charlotte greeted her, there was no hug, no warm greeting like she had given the others. Just a smile. Anastasia forced herself to smile back, though it felt stiff. Inside, she couldn’t help but feel relieved that Charlotte didn’t offer a hug. It was easier to keep that distance between them, even if it felt awkward.

As Charlotte whispered something to Fritz, Anastasia felt an unwelcome pang of curiosity. Even Olivia, Farim, and Zarai all seemed to know and like her. Sometimes she wondered if she should warn people about her. Intrusively, Darryn crept back into her mind and she quickly pushed it away all her might. She hastily turned her attention to hyper fixate on other emotions swimming inside her. Anastasia turned her gaze to the table, suddenly beaming as she addressed the group rather boldly, "I just have to say, I absolutely adore every single one of you here!"

She leaned back instinctively into Farim, tracing a finger idly down his jaw as she continued, "Honestly, you’re all so beautiful, so fun, and I’m having the best time. I can't help but think... why not continue the party later? I’d love to invite all of you back to my bedroom sometime..." Her gaze shifted back to the table and she smiled as she declared, "We could play strip poker."

[PapaOso]

Duke Gideon Edwards

Time: 10am
Location: Drake Edwards Birthday Party at the Edwards Estate Backyard
Mentions/Interactions: @Tpartywithzombi Ariella, @CitrusArms Stratya

---

Gideon approached with a calm, paternal grace, watching Ariella’s gleeful exchange with Captain Stratya. Despite his initial worry, seeing his daughter’s flushed cheeks and the slight wobble in her stance made him relax somewhat. It wasn’t ideal, of course...his daughter was clearly drunk...but there was something reassuring about her carefree, unfiltered state. And to be fair, if he had been forced to stay in the dungeon for a night like his poor daughter, he’d need a stiff drink himself.

He smiled down at her as she jumped in surprise, clearly not expecting him.

"Father..." Ariella gasped, placing a hand over her chest as if to calm her racing heart. Her laugh, light and unrestrained, made him chuckle softly.

"You startled me…I was just talking to the captain here about chocolate and mead."

Gideon raised an eyebrow, both amused and intrigued.

"Chocolate and mead, is it?" His voice was warm, filled with the affectionate humor of a father who relished in his daughter’s presence.

Stratya, however, responded in her heavy accent.

"'Aye, aye, t' choc'la’e’s reyt fine, i’tis. I was jus' sayin’ I’ll ‘ave tae try an’ pu’ a choc’la’e swirrl in m’ nex’ batch o’ sweet brreads..."

Gideon blinked, trying his best to keep up with what Stratya was saying. Her accent was one he had trouble with despite his best efforts. It was to the point where it might as well have been another language entirely. His mind sifted through the syllables like trying to catch leaves in a storm...something about bread and... mead? Chocolate?

He nodded along anyway, a kind smile plastered on his face as he made a mental note not to ask too many questions. He didn’t want to offend the knight, and honestly, he found the whole situation rather amusing. His daughter, freshly released from the dungeon, chatting merrily about sweets while clearly intoxicated, and here he was pretending he understood a word of what was being said, all the while they were all gathered at a party for his very own son. What better way to spend the day.

"Ah, yes. Sounds delicious." He replied, his tone easy and warm. He wasn’t sure if that was the right response, but it seemed polite enough.

As Stratya continued, Gideon’s attention flickered back to Ariella, whose cheeks were glowing from more than just the alcohol. Her animated expression, the way she leaned forward with a playful grin, reminded him of the little girl who used to climb trees and tear through the garden barefoot. That untamed spirit of hers had always been both a joy and a challenge, and it seemed even now, despite her recent troublemaking, it was alive and well. How proud he was to see that spark in her continue to burn bright, it was something he adored about his daughter, despite the complications it sometimes came with.

His lips twitched into a fond smile as he reached for one of the colorful cocktails a passing server offered, glancing at the vibrant drink for a moment before taking a sip. The flavor was unexpectedly incredible, and smoother than he had anticipated. So good in fact, that he took another…even larger swig of the beverage, and then one more to finish off the glass. He paused, brow furrowing slightly as the alcohol hit his senses more sharply and way more quickly than it should have. Strange. He could hold his liquor well enough, but this was... something else. It mattered not, as what could he do about it now other than be careful. Perhaps just one more? Surely that would be fine.

There was an undeniable affection in his eyes as he turned back to his daughter with now flushed cheeks that matched her own. A quiet pride lingered in his expression that softened the edges of his smile. His daughter, for all her antics, was the light of his life, and he was simply grateful that she still found joy in cutting it up with her old man.

Leaning closer to her, he placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, giving it a light squeeze.

“You look like you’re enjoying yourself, my dear." He said, his voice full of warmth despite the slight teasing.

"But perhaps you should slow down with those drinks, hmm?” He winked.

He cast a glance back at Stratya, who was still talking...about what, he couldn’t be sure. But her enthusiasm was unmistakable. Whatever the topic, she was clearly passionate about it. He gave her another smile, nodding along with what he hoped was an appropriate amount of interest, while internally trying not to laugh at the absurdity of the situation.

For all of the misfortune in not being able to understand the Captain, he found her quite admirable and honestly endearing. Of course, he had also heard just how competent she was at her job, and given the nature of the world lately…he had to admit he was happy to know that she was here. It’s good to have someone like her around at an event like this. Everyone was that much safer with the addition of her presence.

His eyes briefly moved to the ground below as he acknowledged internally how much more enjoyable the company of these two were than those at his table. Noticing his daughters bare feet, Gideon couldn’t help but chuckle under his breath.

“Shoes never were your favorite, were they?” He mused, shaking his head slightly. His tone was teasing, but there was an unmistakable undertone of affection. He was proud of her, for better or worse, and he wouldn’t have changed a thing about her wild spirit.

[PapaOso]

---

Time: 10am
Location: Edwards Estate / Drake’s Party
Interaction: @princess Lottie, @Helo Callum, @FunnyGuy Lorenzo

---

As Cassius leaned back in his chair, his arm was still draped casually around Charlotte’s shoulders as Callum’s remarks hung in the air. He chuckled at the Prince’s sudden arrival, his voice smooth and teasing.

“Ah, Your Highness. I do not yet know you well, but I might have guessed that shots would bring you running.”

His charming eyes sparkled with mischief as he raised his glass to acknowledge Callum, though his attention lingered for a moment on the odd expression Callum wore as he stared at Charlotte.

Hmm. Interesting. Cassius wasn’t blind to the curiosity—and perhaps something more—that flickered in Callum’s eyes. Not that it mattered. Everyone had their secrets, and Cassius wasn’t one to judge based on idle glances. But the brief moment of curiosity made him wonder just what it was about Charlotte that seemed to draw out such a gaze from the man.

His smirk widened at Callum’s apology for the "bastard" comment. Cassius waved it off with a dismissive hand, having never been offended by the satire.

“Oh, don’t worry about it, Your Highness. ‘Bastard’ is hardly an insult in my world. In fact, I’d say it’s a term of endearment for someone like me.”

His gaze darkened slightly, though the smirk never left his face.

“And as for my father—” he paused, letting the weight of that word settle between them, “—let’s just say that so far it seems we share similar tastes in wine… and little else.”

The tension broke when the waiter appeared with a tray of cocktails and shots, and Callum seized the opportunity to raise a toast. Cassius watched with a bemused expression as the prince lifted his glass toward both him and Lottie, insinuating that the two of them were an item.

A couple? Cassius thought, hiding his amusement behind a sip of his drink. He glanced down at Charlotte, her blush deepening as she instinctively raised her glass in response. The sight was enough to make him grin. There was something oddly endearing about the way she flushed at the slightest provocation, even when she clearly disagreed with the assumption. Cassius leaned closer to her, his voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper as she began her objection.

“Well, Princess, it seems we’ve fooled him. Who knew two days of you even tolerating me would make us look so… believable?”

He winked at her, enjoying the playful tension, but his amusement was short-lived when he felt her stiffen beneath his arm. His banter faded as he noticed the distant look in her eyes. Charlotte had frozen mid-toast, her hand hovering in the air as if she’d forgotten where she was. It was subtle, but Cassius was attuned enough to recognize when someone was slipping away, trapped in some memory or emotion far beyond the present moment.

His grip on her shoulder tightened ever so slightly, not enough to be alarming, but enough to hopefully ground her. His eyes softened, watching her carefully. There you are… somewhere far away. But were? He studied her face, noting the tension in her features, the way her gaze seemed to drift beyond the room.

Cassius had seen that look before—mostly on the battlefield, or rather in the aftermath of one. It was a look he would see in the eyes of comrades who had stared too long into the abyss. He didn’t know where she had gone, but Charlotte, for the moment at least, was gone. When her gaze finally flickered back to the present, her shoulders slumped slightly as if she had returned from a long journey.

Charlotte cleared her throat, her attempt at recovery almost painfully awkward as she raised her glass to the group with forced brightness.

“Right! A toast!” she exclaimed.

Cassius didn’t let the moment linger. He kept his arm around her, offering her a small, knowing smile.

“Well, well,” he drawled, raising his own glass with exaggerated enthusiasm. “To wonderful company and to Lord Drake, indeed.” He tipped his head toward Charlotte with a smirk. “And to your impressive ability to down an entire cocktail like an absolute legend.”

He grinned as her eyes widened in realization; the empty glass still clutched in her hand.

“I’ve never seen someone drink with such… gusto, my lady.” The teasing note in his voice was unmistakable, but it was softened by a hint of admiration. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to keep up with me.”

Cassius downed his own cocktail in one smooth motion, setting the empty glass on the table with a sharp clink.

“But, I suppose if anyone here is going to match me drink for drink, I’d be honored if it were you.”

He leaned in a little closer, voice lowering to something more private.

“Though, if you keep that pace, I’ll be the one carrying you out of here by the end of this little shindig.”

Cassius gave her shoulder another light squeeze, offering her a moment of reprieve before he turned his attention back to the group. With a swift, fluid motion, he reached for another cocktail from the tray and took a long sip, savoring the burn of the alcohol as it slid down his throat.

“Now,” he said, his voice more animated as he addressed the group, “If we’re all done with the toasts and pleasantries, how about we get to the real fun? Because as much as I enjoy the conversation…” He grabbed one of the shots that had been delivered along with the cocktails and swirled it gently in his hand, watching the liquid catch the light. “I’m far more interested in finding out which of you can actually hold your liquor.”

His challenge hung in the air, playful and provocative. Cassius’s smirk returned, that signature roguish grin that seemed to invite trouble. But even as he shifted the energy of the table, his arm remained around Charlotte, his touch steady and reassuring.

He downed the second cocktail with a flourish, setting the glass aside as his gaze swept the table. His attention briefly flicked to Lorenzo, a subtle reminder that the man was still very much a part of this tense little gathering, despite the earlier spat. But for now, Cassius was content to let the moment breathe, the sting of his earlier words fading beneath the alcohol and the company. In fact, the drinks had already begun to loosen him up… quite a bit, in fact.

“Well then,” he said, his voice light and teasing as his eyes flicked between Callum and Charlotte. There was somehow already the slightest hint of slurring in his words, an effect of the extra special cocktails they had been provided. “Shall we see who can keep up?”