[IC] 🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

[Lava Alckon]

Farim

Location: Edwards Estate
Time: Morning of the 25th
Attire: Robes
Mentions: Anastasia@princess, Zarai @Rodiak, Olivia @Potter, Fritz @JJ Doe, Stratya @CitrusArms, Rohit@Helo, Wulfric @SilverPaw and Nahir @Rodiak

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The playful banter between the two continued as Zarai compared each of them to culinary delights. This woman was certainly a fun one to interact with. He could see why her and Annie got along so well. For the time he decided it best to let their back and forth end. She had won the battle, but Farim would surely win the war - at least that is what he convinced himself he would do. ”Sharing is caring indeed…” He trailed off.

The man turned to address Anastasia. ”Back home this is merely how we flirt and play nice amongst our romantic interests. But here I am beginning to feel it is not as socially appropriate.” He still could not help but trace a finger along the fair skin of her arm, with his eyes moving to trace the movements before returning to meet the woman’s gaze.

But then her tone shifted. Her body relaxed but not out of comfort. The Shehzade’s brow furrowed as he tried to read her expressions - almost like the birth of a thousand yard stare. Had he been too much? Was his method of allure and romanticism too strong? Allaenat jamiean (Dammit all), Farim. She does not need someone flighty or unsure. Stick to your mantra - and be the man above the rest. You have to be, for her.

The brief moment of reflection was cut short as she seemed to be snapped back to her senses. ”Everything good, Annie? He asked. But she was already moving onto the next moment. Already seeking the next excitement. A slight melancholic look graced Farim’s features for but a moment. That is when the birthday boy himself took a rather big fall off the stage.

”What is with this city and causing great falls? The following spectacle was nothing new to him either. Families fight all the time. His mind flickered to the times his father would berate and abuse him in public similar to this - prompting Farim to say a silent prayer for Lord Drake. The situation only continued to grow weirder. As nobles around began to act aloof, Farim narrowed his gaze and scanned the surrounding tables. Everyone seemed to be having a little too much fun…

”Do not tell me….” He snatched a drink from a nearby platter as a waiter passed by. He raised the glass to his nose and gave the drink a cursory sniff-test. Nothing. He raised the glass to his lips and took a small sip - and immediately felt the potency of the beverage. ”Princess, do not partake in the beverages….I cannot say who did this and for what reason. But this is not a normal drink. I am afraid they have been tampered with.”

The man turned to the table, noticing that Zarai and Fritz had taken their leave. So he addressed those he remained. ”I do not know if I am being dramatic but I suggest you two do the same. Call it a hunch, or maybe I am just paranoid after the last time I drank at a party here.” Farim had learned to not always trust every drink or food placed before him - and the mistake he made the other night was one he would rather not repeat.

But who would invite so many people to an event to celebrate their prestige just to get them drunk and delirious? Farim pondered for a moment before casting his gaze across the yard towards his cousin. She seemed rather coherent. And so did her present company. And if she or any of them would look his way, he made sure to make it apparent to her that the drinks may not be what they seem. He placed the drink down while looking at Nahir, and pushed the drink away.

[SilverPaw]

Wulfric & Morrigan
Part I

FLASHBACK. Date and time: Sola 24th, morning. Following Wulfric's ruminations on his chat with Edin

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Wulfric was still traversing the space in his office, now merely pensive rather than resembling a caged and irritated tiger. He was deep in thought when there was a knock on his door followed by a prompt intrusion. “Morrigan,” he acknowledged her with a nod, stilling mid-step. “What brings you here?”

Morrigan floated across the room, her rosy cheeks rounded in a playful pout. “Since when do I need a reason to see my little wolf?” A subtle smell of lily of the valley and white musk swirled around Wulfric as Morrigan leaned in, planting a soft, wet kiss on his cheek. “We’ve hardly had a moment to catch up since the big ball. How’s the courting season treating you? Find anyone that strikes your fancy?”

Wulfric’s nose scrunched in reflexive disdain, but though he’d leaned his face away from the kiss, he held his cousin by the shoulders in a semi-hug. He patted her before releasing her. He didn’t bother protesting her treatment of him as a child; it had not worked whenever he had done so in the past, and it wouldn’t now. “That was only a few days ago,” he commented, but it was true much had happened since. “Take a seat if you like,” he told her. “Tea?” he inquired, to which she said yes.

He nodded, and with the press of an unobtrusive button, summoned a servant. Haynes, the slightly chubby ponytail and goatee bearing servant arrived rather quickly, and Wulfric placed an order of his cousin’s favoured tea.

“I have, but it was Shehzadi Mayet, who had to depart. I did like her spirit, even if she was a bit, well.” He took a seat only after Morrigan had. “I am curious about her sister Nahir.” It didn’t need to be said that at least half of the reason was to form a firmer alliance with Alidasht. “What have you been up to?” he raised an eyebrow at her.

Smiling an innocent smile, Morrigan said, “The usual,” and took a seat on the couch.

Her manicured fingers fluttered over the scattered documents on the table, daintily lifting corners and sliding papers apart to better peruse their contents. “Setting your sights on the Sultan’s daughters? What a splendid idea! Those people are absolutely salivating to expand their influence so it’ll be easy to arrange.” She plucked a page from the pile and brought it closer to her. “Of course, you’ll need to have a teensy-weensy chat with the Sultan himself first. Just to leave him with a better impression than your daddy did.”

“Naturally,” the prince agreed, used to taking care of Edin’s messes. It wasn’t as if doing so didn’t benefit him; leaving allies with an impression of the future king being so much more favourable was laughably simple. “You are aware I prefer to deal with my would-be targets personally, however?” he asked rhetorically.

“And I said it'll be easy, didn't I?”

“Have you familiarized yourself with Shehzadi Nahir then?”

“You know her type very well, my dear.”

“Her type is not the same as her,” Wulfric disagreed mildly.

Though, judging by her giggling, she was not talking about Nahir or “her type” in the way that Wulfric was imagining. Worse, she didn’t bother to correct him.

“There are always other factors to consider. Besides, who is to say that she and I would enjoy that about the other?”

“Ooh, what is this ‘that’ you’re not sure you’ll like about her?”

“She seems to be the type to enjoy playing games, so it is a question of whether we would be compatible in that respect, or bore each other,” a tiny twitch of a shoulder accompanied the explanation.

Morrigan made a sad face as she tutted. “Adelard, what happened to ‘her type is not the same as her’?”

Wulfric rolled his eyes. “I am saying I do not know her yet beyond my incredibly superficial assumptions of her. Which is why I mentioned becoming familiarized.”

“You could’ve just said that, sweetpea! But you chose not to. Pretend to have the moral high ground all you want, that ‘type’ ruffles your feathers well enough.” Morrigan tapped her chin. “It certainly doesn’t sound very promising…” His cousin suddenly stood up and perched right next to Wulfric. “Oh, well! I suppose it doesn’t really matter if you two like each other or not. You’ll both get what you want from the alliance.”

To her nitpicking, he merely answered with a, “We shall see.” However, he frowned at her sudden proximity. “I haven’t rebuked you for ruffling through my things, but you know I prefer my personal space unoccupied. Return to your seat, please, or at least detach yourself from my side.”

Wulfric’s disengagement from the conversation left Morrigan looking unimpressed, even disappointed. His poor performance in their verbal sparring seemed to be the only explanation for her next action. Rather than complying with his request, she defiantly pressed closer to him.

“My, oh, my. Since when did red herrings become your favorite animal?”

At that point, Haynes returned, bearing a tray of tea. Wulfric’s gaze pinned the usually nervy man, following his movements as he poured a cup for Morrigan. Despite the prince not requesting it, the man still made sure to check whether he’d happened to change his mind. Which he had not. “No, thank you. You may leave,” he kept watching him until he departed. For a moment longer, he stared at the closed door, apparently ruminating on something. Then, he returned his attention to Morrigan.

“If you’re that interested in him, you should invite him to stay.”

“I should invite a servant to join a familial conversation? I think not,” he shook his head. He paused, then reconsidered with three taps of a finger against his chin. “But a conversation in general? Perhaps in the future…”

A second passed before Morrigan called out, “Haynes! Come back in here, pup.”

Of course, the servant did not. Unimpressed, the prince took ahold of Morrigan by the waist, hoisted her across his shoulder, and promptly carried her out of his office where he set her down on the other side of the doors, laying both hands on her shoulders to lightly hold her in place. “If you are that interested in continuing our previous dull verbal spat, you need only ask. However, if you cannot honour my request, we are concluding this meeting.” He stared her down, studying her closely. “Do not think you can order around my servants, or try to contest my authority. If you believe you can get away with that, then perhaps you are the one who has grown too insolent and requires ‘discipline’, aren’t you?” After that pointed retort, he released her shoulders. “So, which will it be? Will you mind yourself so we can resume, or shall we try this again another time?”

Unshed tears glistened in violet eyes. “I see.” Morrigan breezed past Wulfric and retrieved the tea from the table. “Well, if that’s how matters stand, do be a dear and summon me when you remember the extent of my duties.”

Pausing at the study’s threshold, she turned slightly, “Your mother’s protection spells always had their limitations.”

There was another pause. “Do you know how many would-be assassins I’ve stopped, spies I’ve caught?”

She didn’t answer, she just left.

When Wulfric called for Haynes, he didn’t come.

Concerned both for his cousin and the wayward servant, the prince sought them urgently. He searched Morrigan’s usual hangouts by order of proximity, stopping any servants on the way to ask whether they had seen either of the people he was looking for. As expected, he had more luck when he found a pair of her guards patrolling.

“Good day,” he halted them with a brief greeting. “I am looking for Morrigan. If you know where she is, can you lead me to her?” There was absolutely no need for it, but he added an explanation, “I have upset her, so I wish to apologize. There is also a matter of importance I would like to discuss with her.”

The knights stared at Wulfric, stone-faced. At least the tongueless knight was. Bandages hid any expression of the swathed one’s face so it was impossible to tell. Both were quiet.

Slowly, the mummy knight extended a hand. The tongueless one sighed and surrendered a gold coin. “Follow us,” said the mummy knight.

They led Wulfric to the royal gardens. Morrigan and Haynes sat close together under the pergola. Sharing the tea Haynes had brought.

“Morrigan…” He hadn’t been entirely sure if his servant would have been with her, so he gave the man a brief look of surprise. “Haynes.” Not minding the others present, he gave Morrigan his full attention. “Cousin, may I speak with you? Please?”

Morrigan didn’t face Wulfric, instead she slid her arm around Haynes and leaned in closer to him. The servant twitched, but calmed himself with a resolute breath. “Is that not what you are doing right now?”

“If you prefer me to leave you alone, then I will do so.” At the corner of his periphery, he saw the tongueless knight slowly start to extend his hand out to the mummy knight.

“Is that really what you wanted to say to me? Because if it is, I’d like to continue tea time with Haynes here.” Her hand touched the man’s chin as she looked at him longingly. The man’s cheeks flushed lightly even as he tried to look anywhere but at her.

“It was not that, no. I want to apologize. I hurt you. I did not intend to do so, but I did.” He would have preferred to have ascertained if she was receptive to an apology, but they could both be stubborn when they wanted to be. “What I said to you - perhaps not those exact words, but certainly the sentiment behind them - can be applied to me, as well.” He began to walk across the vine shaded grounds, moving closer to Morrigan. She still refused to meet his gaze while Haynes seemed very unsure of what to do with himself. “Especially to me,” he stated. He was glad he had had some time to consider his words in advance, yet he still struggled how to convey all he wished.

“Given what I have recently learned, it strikes me as the height of irony that we make the pretense of ‘keeping order’, when what we do has no rhyme nor reason. It is because I am questioning myself that I lashed out at you, and I picked out one of the worst things to say to you. I am sorry.” Morrigan’s gaze remained on Haynes, her fingers tracing languid patterns across the fabric of his attire. Was it an attempt at seduction? Or perhaps it was merely a product of idle hands, a diversion to pass the time. And there was a third possibility: a pat-down, disguised beneath a veneer of coquetry.

Wulfric breathed in and out deeply, fully ready to outline in detail why he valued her, yet why he had begun to doubt how their family operated. “I do not know all that you have done for us, not even close. I expect I never will,” he started with something simple.

Morrigan turned away from Haynes to look at Wulfric, but she still clung to his manservant. “Go on,” she prompted.

“What I do know is that you have done your best to protect this family. Even when that protection did not extend to you,” he acknowledged solemnly.

“You have given over your body, mind, and soul to your task. You have done and experienced the kinds of things I wouldn’t wish on anyone. Certainly not on someone I love.” Even as he said it, he realized he had never before fully contemplated what Morrigan might have gone through. Because she had been such a constant in his life, had dwelled in the shadows since he could remember, he had never truly questioned what all she did and why. Some cousin he was.

“You have sacrificed…” he closed his eyes, and swayed his head, once to the left, and once to the right. “…Too much,” he concluded, locking gazes with her. This was the closest he would come to referencing his death without her bringing it up first.

“But do you know what I have appreciated the most?” he asked. “It wasn’t what you have done for our purported safety.” She visibly sighed and half her attention shifted back onto Haynes.

“Pup, your cup is empty! Why didn’t you tell me?” It was only as she filled Haynes cup with tea did Wulfric notice that Morrigan never touched hers.

“It was that you loved me and cherished me, even when I didn’t reciprocate.” When he was a child, when he had only the vaguest of notions that people cared for him, she had been one of the people who had persisted long enough for him to form a bond. Granted, given how they both were, it was an odd bond, but an existent one nonetheless.

“That you coddled me when I was weak, but showed me at least a hint of darker truths when I was ready.” A ghost of a smile formed. It wasn’t what most people would appreciate, or even deem appropriate for a child. However, he had glimpsed one aspect of human nature when she first taught him torture on the man who had assaulted him. That had been valuable in its own right.

“Because you permitted it, I gained my first friend – by choice.” Of course, she would have; he had been her son. But even so, Wulfric had treasured that friendship. “Because you welcomed me when I was certain I wouldn’t be – shouldn’t be.” Into their home.

“That you were there for me when I thought I might go mad.” He’d been 17, had once again inflicted violence on someone on instinct, had despaired over what he had done, told her that he didn’t want to be like this.

“It was when you took care of me, even when I did all I could to stop your meddling.” The sleepless nights when she found ever more novel and intricate ways to drug him to get him to bed.

“When you persisted, even after your loss.” A loss which had inevitably broken her. Morrigan’s countenance shifted at the words. The cheery airiness dissipated, leaving behind something concerningly quiet.

“Because to this day, you haven’t forsaken me.” He watched her closely. “So, I want to return that favour. Even when I am certain that you do some things which are really…truly…entirely unnecessary.”

There was a stretch of silence where Morrigan’s lips remained sealed. Just when he thought she wasn’t going to respond, she said, “I give it eighty-five points out of a hundred. It has its charms, but it could use a smidge of polishing.” Her hand patted the empty space beside her. “Sit.” Wulfric perched onto the bench beside her.

“Pup?” Morrigan cooed as she pressed her hand on Haynes’ chest. “Be a sweetheart and fetch us some more of that delightful tea, would you?” The servant left in a hurry. Wulfric gave him a brief glance, taking the opportunity to assess Morrigan’s knights as well. One knight followed Haynes while the other disappeared behind the garden bushes.

“Now then,” With Haynes gone, his cousin faced him. “Can you explain what you mean by ‘return the favor’? Use small words - so my poor little brain can understand.”

“Playing dumb doesn’t suit you,” he commented.

“Plenty of people would disagree with you.”

“Plenty of people are fools,” he snorted, then went on to answer her question.

“Simply put, I do not want to give up on you the way I have on him.” Him being his father. “I want to help you; I want you to help me.” He cocked his head. “Are you sickened by this world? By people? Have you given up on it all?” He circled a hand in an all-encompassing gesture. “Wouldn’t you, for once, like to see something different?”

Nothing in Morrigan’s demeanor obviously changed, yet Wulfric sensed the undercurrent of disdain at his offer to help her.

“Oh, honey,” she said with the affection of a mother listening to a child promising the impossible. “You’ve finally set your mind on dethroning daddy dearest, hmm? Bettie must be over the moon!”

“Oh, no, perish the thought,” he retorted flippantly. He sighed, sobering a tad. “It depends on him. If he is willing to cooperate...” he rolled a shoulder.

“So, how do you intend to ‘save’ me and ‘change’ the world?”

“Oh, so you can strive to protect, but if I do, that rubs you the wrong way?”

A finger pressed gently against his lips. “Adelard, ‘protecting’ and ‘helping’ are two very different things. It’s precious that you want to protect me and I wouldn’t say no to it. But help me? That, you cannot do. Not with all the power in the world.”

“True enough,” he admitted once she removed the finger. He didn’t know how he would go about saving her. “...Out of interest, how would you imagine being helped? Would you like to lead a different kind of life?” That was his best guess. That, or a world where Aiden was alive, but that truly was impossible.

“Unless you can wind back the clock and make sure none of us were ever born, there’s no point in talking about what ifs,” hair the color of rose gold cascaded over one shoulder as Morrigan tilted her head, “is there?”

“Of course the past cannot be changed.” It was an unexpectedly grim outlook, to believe there was no point if they couldn’t undo what had been done. “But the future?” He leaned closer, a quiet intensity brightening his irises even under the shade. “If you are so convinced we have committed such unforgivable sins, why not work to right those wrongs? Why not bring at least some good into the world? Create a kingdom where we don’t have to lose loved ones for power - or because of those who are in power?”

Again, there was a hint of disdain coming from her as she picked up the teacup, but he pressed on.

“To have a country held in check by the criminal underworld? Where our rule might as well be the same damn thing? Absurdity. Do you know what he said? That their ‘help’ is needed, and that it would be too dangerous to oppose them. Say, Morrigan, do you think it safe to be held hostage?”

“In most cases, I’d say yes: what’s the point of taking a hostage if you’re going to get rid of them so easily?” Morrigan said as if she spoke from experience - whether as victim, perpetrator, or perhaps both. “The only way to feel threatened is if there’s a good chance that ‘safety’ will be taken away. But how can that happen if there is no ‘safety’ to take?”

“There are enough cases where hostages are harmed during or after the fact. Besides, this is a case of a life-long country-wide hostage situation...How is that helpful or necessary? If there is no safety, where is that much vaunted protection?” A sigh escaped her lips as he seemed to miss the actual point. The teacup clinked as she set it back down.

“People march off to war, waving their shiny flags and singing pretty songs about peace, only to paint the earth crimson with each other’s blood.” She twirled a lock of hair around her finger. “And you, silly - you’ve done your fair share of terrible things. Her lilting tone carried a hint of reproach, soft as velvet yet sharp as a stiletto. “But tell me, how much good did those things really do? Was it truly as helpful or necessary as you’d like to believe?” She paused. “We could go round and round on this forever, couldn’t we?”

She arched her back in a leisurely stretch before arranging herself upon the bench with languid insouciance. “Seems to me, sweetie, what you’re really after is absolute power so nobody can take advantage of you. Then you can make your idyllic world, whatever that’s supposed to be.” Only his cousin could make the word “idyllic” sound like the filthiest word known to man, all the while speaking in a voice sweeter than sugar.

“There is no such thing as absolute power,” Wulfric denied. “If I only cared about myself, I would have killed him a decade ago, and to hell with it all.” He tilted his head back, gazing into the skies, obscured as they partially were by the overhead vine-bearing latticework. “I am not so optimistic that I would believe any idyllic state is achievable. There will always be suffering, strife, grief...Atrocities are an inevitable consequence of human existence.”

He turned back to her. “Should I take it all for granted, then? Should I accept that he had to die?” He wasn’t only referring to the person they had both lost, but it applied to Aiden too. “That it couldn’t be helped? That this is how it is, how it should be? That we must ally with Delronzo’s ilk? To what end? He raised both arms, shaking his head and shoulders, an expression of refusal and bafflement at once.

“My, my, my, you do go on so, don’t you? All those pretty words of yours, like butterflies flitting about. But Adelard, beneath all that flutter, you’re still singing the same old tune. You want absolute power. Total control. It’s not a question of whether such a thing exists - you can’t bear the thought of anyone else holding sway over this kingdom.”

Morrigan waved her hand dismissively. “Let’s not dress this up with fancy speeches. It’s plain as it is simple: you want the power to change things and there’s people in your way that you want to get rid of by any means you deem… what’s the word you used? Oh, yes. Necessary.”

“I suspected you had your little patricidal fantasies.” Her tone was as casual as if discussing the weather. “But don’t try to convince me - or yourself - that you stayed your hand because of altruism. No, you were waiting for just the right moment when it would serve you best.”

“The right moment? Is it now, was it years past, is it in the future, is it ever?” He wanted to kill Edin, yes, but if he thought it was better not to, he still wouldn’t. “He has his chances, does he not? As long as he is alive, he could change, he could recognize his folly,” he acknowledged bitterly. “Killing him is not the only option.”

Frustratingly, Morrigan had made several good points. “It is true, people do justify the most terrible actions with the grandest of causes. I have done the same in the past; I may do it in the future. I know I am no innocent,” he tossed his head to the side. “I used to believe it was all requisite, I may fall into the same trap again.” He exhaled sharply. “I told you, I am questioning myself. I do not know what is necessary.” He held her gaze. “However, I cannot find it in me to believe that allying with Black Rose is needed. Do you?” he asked pointedly. “Black Rose with its black markets, illicit drug peddling, ring fights, and who knows what else?” he paraphrased Edin with a heavy sneer.

“Nonsense, she said smiling. “I’m sure it’s not that hard to imagine what else.”

He stared off into the distance again, conflicted. “Maybe I will destroy more people than I could ever protect. I will aim to ensure otherwise, but I may fail. Even so, I consider it my duty to disentangle ourselves from the Black Rose and its ilk.” He directed a skewed smile at her. “Even if it ends with my death, and with someone else in charge.” Yes, he saw those two as conjoined, because she was right that it was difficult for him to imagine a feature where he didn’t end up as king if he lived.

“You’ve already set your heart on this little venture. So why fuss with all these pointless rhetorical questions? Just go on and do as you please with these people.” Morrigan plucked a fallen leaf from the fabric of her dress and blew it away. “We’ll see how it all unfolds.”

“Pointless? Then why do you do what you do? You seem convinced that everything you do is necessary. Or is it all the same as doing as you please? Who and what are you protecting? Why, when you claim we never should have been born?”

A warm hand patted his cheek. “Now you’re getting all scatterbrained and being very presumptuous. A Shehzadi might not find those qualities too endearing, my dear.” Her gaze flitted past Wulfric, alighting on something behind him. A smile bloomed on her lips. “Ooh, perfect! Place that right here, would you, pup?” Morrigan sat up straight, tapping the table with her finger.

“I am speaking with you, not with someone else. If you find me presumptuous, then feel free to correct me. I was inquiring after your beliefs and convictions, after all. Wulfric tilted his head to look at the servant when Morrigan did. Haynes had been gone during that whole conversation, accompanied by one of his cousin’s knights. From what he could see, the other man did not seem worse for wear. “I would not mind a cup of tea now,” he commented as he eyed the heavily laden tray. “But Morrigan, will you have any? You did not touch your cup before,” he arched an eyebrow at her. He looked down at her teacup to see that it was empty.

“Yes, I would love to have some.” As Wulfric did before, Morrigan watched Haynes’ movements while he served tea.

The knight who had followed Haynes appeared soon after. There was an exchange of looks from her and her mistress. The mummy knight nodded and was gone again.

[Helo]

Time: 10am
Location: Drake’s Birthday Bash
Interactions: Drake @Lava Alckon
Mentions: Ariella

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Callum stared at the ball of ice with a mix of confusion and disgust. Before the whiskey was poured he quickly snatched the ice from the glass and held it in his hand. His whiskey, the good stuff at that, was saved from being chilled and eventually, water downed by the unwanted addition that now dripped down his wrist. A wandering thought nearly made him sick, had Darryn melted slowly, like ice in the summer sun, or was it quick? Did he feel it happening?

“Oh um, no thank you. I prefer it neat.” He told the bartender as he awkwardly handed the ball of ice back to the man. Once the ice was disposed of, Cal wiped the cold remnants away on the back of his neck. He turned to look at Drake, trying to focus on his words but finding himself distracted.

He still saw Darryn. Or the illusion of Darryn, looking how Callum couldn’t stop picturing him looking. A beaten bloody mess that barely seemed human. Worse than that day he’d almost been executed, worse than Callum had looked fresh out of that alleyway. Tortured. Someone had probably tortured Darryn. After Alibeth had tortured Darryn. Cal couldn’t stop imagining it and the more he did the worse the illusion began to look. Cold, dead, eyes watched Callum from a head that sat atop melting flesh. Skin and muscle dripping onto the grass.

He looked away, into at his glass but the familiar amber had turned to something vicious and bloody. He couldn’t bring himself to lift the glass to his lips. He looked at Drake instead, realizing he'd been ignoring the man's question.

“Sorry, I found out a friend of mine died today. And I think...no I was, I was a pretty bad friend to him before…” Before someone turned him into a puddle. He didn’t give voice to the rest of his sentence. “Sorry, you asked about my intentions with Ari. I like spending time with her, it’s rare to meet genuinely kind people, without wanting anything from you. The way Ari is.” His eyes left Drake and with ease, he spotted Ari’s fiery hair as she spoke to a nervous-looking older man whose wig seemed to be slipping.

He watched her hold up an empty glass, her skin flushed from the glass’s contents, her laughter echoing freely through the garden. He smiled for a moment, happy to see her happy despite the interaction they’d all had with Victoria a moment ago. At the very least he intended to be a better friend to her than he was to Darryn.

“I know how people talk, and that we were alone in the woods together. Nothing scandalous,” Callum looked back at Drake, eye to eye before adding “I promise you that.” Then he looked down at his glass of whiskey, the illusion still lingering. “She brought me to a spot she found beautiful, peaceful, and I don’t often see that in the world. I just want to know her for who she is and try to see the things she sees. Be someone worth her time.” He closed his eyes and took a sip, savoring the comforting burn even as he wondered if he could be worth anyone’s time.

“How 'buot you Drake? Do you intend to be another person telling her how to spend her time, who to spend it with?” He asked, a genuine question rather than an accusation.

[Helo]

Time: Morning, 10am
Location: Edward’s home, for Drake’s party
Interactions: Nahir @Rodiak, Wulfric @Silverpaw, Farim @Lava Alckon, Anastasia @princess, Stratya @CitrusArms, Olivia @Potter

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Prince Wulfric did not disappoint, a list of suggestions rolled off the man’s tongue, each one sounding better than the last. Unending pasta! And a pool! Indugles paired with excise to both rekindle the appetite and work off all that pasta! Water slides! Gambling! An athletic area and a stadium! Everything the Prince mentioned packed the summer full of excitement, so much to do, so much to see.

Rohit’s grin widened as Prince Wulfric attempted to warn him off the highly potent cocktails. Guests rolling around in the grass, the birthday boy that had fallen from the stage, the loud insults hurled around by this city's nobles, and is that Farim with a woman in his lap who spoke loudly of a game of strip poker. He took a longer sip of his drink.

“I appreciate the warning, Your Majesty, but I’d hate to miss out on the fun.“ He stood, drink in hand, and bowed gracefully to the pair of royals. “But I will refrain from getting too sloppy, and let a pair of future rulers have their moment.” He took his leave and made his way to Farim’s table, it seemed to be where all the fun was at. Not that he didn’t enjoy speaking with the two very composed royals but a party was a time to let go and have fun.

He pulled a nearby chair over to the packed table. “This appears to be a meeting of beautiful people, and I am left wondering, where my invitation was.” He smiled with easy confidence before taking his seat. “Are all parties here so lively and joyous? Makes me wish I’d visited Sorian sooner. I’m Rohit.” He added.

[JJ Doe]

Wulfric & Morrigan
Part II

FLASHBACK. Date and time: Sola 24th, morning.

---

---

“Was this the only thing bothering you?” she asked.

“It was not,” he accepted a cup from Haynes. “However, would you first answer me what you consider your duty, and why?” he reiterated his previous question. He took a sip of tea, and after a beat, added, “Please?”

“To be beautiful, of course. People like pretty things. They especially like to own it. If they can’t, some want a chance to ruin it.” She took the cup in hand. “As for why, because that was all that was expected of me since I couldn’t bear children.” Morrigan smiled in Haynes’ direction, “What do you think, pup?”

“I-I c-couldn’t p-possibly…” Haynes stammered. He puttered with the tray and the tea set, trying to look everywhere else, then finally peeked at Morrigan. “I t-think you are b-beautiful.” Sweat lined his forehead, and he trembled in place.

Pleased by the answer or the way Haynes answered, Morrigan reached for the man servant’s hand. “And you are absolutely adorable.” Her thumb traced suggestive circles on his skin. “It makes me want to gobble you right up.” The man gulped.

“Leave us be, Haynes,” Wulfric sighed, because he didn’t have the patience for Morrigan to continue toying with the man. The servant nodded rapidly, and after assuring he would be available if needed, he departed. “Morrigan, you aren’t a thing. You are a person,” he told her firmly. “No one should own you, and no one should be permitted to try to ruin you.” He regarded her seriously. “Besides, you have taken up tasks of your own will beside the nonsense that was imposed upon you, have you not?”

He enjoyed his tea for a moment, then broached the subject he had intended to discuss since before meeting her today. “Why are you torturing our servants?” he asked plainly.

“Torturing? Nooo,” she drawled. “I’m disciplining the problematic ones. Some at the request of others.” She sipped her tea. “... And to smoke out the occasional rats and snakes that like to slip in from time to time.” Morrigan placed down the cup. “Speaking of, you really need to do something about the quality of the royal guards.”

“Try not to take this the wrong way, but do you differentiate discipline from torture?” He shook his head. “Other nobles do not get to dictate our servants’ punishments. Edin should be more mindful too, but to expect anything of him…” he scoffed. “You, however?” he tilted his head. “I believe you could choose less cruel methods. To treat the people under our employ similarly to how you might criminals is detrimental in the long run,” he opined.

“I suppose I could.” But she won’t. It was obvious by her complete disinterest in the subject.

“If you could, but do not, then you are choosing to do something which is unnecessary, are you not?

She covered her mouth and yawned. “Based on your logic, dear, even though you could eat or sleep, but choose not to, because they are unnecessary. Should see how long you’d actually last without eat or sleep to test that theory?”

“How is torturing them necessary for survival? I am aware there are would-be spies, assassins, traitors, but to ’discipline’ whoever you or someone else deems ’problematic’...” he trailed off, frowning. He did not need her reminding him that he had done and ordered the same in the past, but even so... “Surely there are better ways? Ways which would be less likely to lead to retaliation? Ways with which we might lessen the turnover? Ways with which we would inspire loyalty rather than fear?”

Morrigan looked thoughtful for a moment. Then, as if struck by a sudden revelation, she clasped her hands together, a smile blooming on her face. “Hypocrite, that’s the word.” she said. “Last I checked, when your life and your family’s lives are being threatened, that counts as a matter of survival.”

“I only mentioned eating and sleeping as examples I thought you’d relate to the most. You know, reductio ad absurdum and all that.” She waved a hand, brushing aside a triviality.

“There are plenty of things that people choose not to do, for all sorts of reasons, that by your logic would be considered ’unnecessary’: Exercising, studying, keeping clean, socializing...” She ticked each item off on her fingers, the list seeming carefully chosen to strike at the heart of what Wulfric valued. “I can keep going if you’d like.” When he didn’t respond, she said, “Just because you can choose not to do something, that doesn’t make it unnecessary.”

“My point is that in cases where protecting can be achieved without torture, torture is unnecessary. I am the last person to refute the usefulness of pain and violence as tools. Sacrifices are necessary at times,” that he recognized. “However, should we not strive for the least possible amount of sacrifices? The current practice is that we wave away any number of lives lost as necessary. I simply wish to minimize the suffering we induce because we never question if there are better alternatives. Alternatives which would still retain our lives while bettering the lives of our people. That is why I cannot agree to working with the Black Rose. I refuse to believe that is our best option.”

“Are we still on about this? I thought we’d moved past that silly business. Really darling, are you alright? Did you sleep enough? You keep coming back to this topic like a broken phonograph, thinking you’re going to get a different result this time around.”

“Why, yes, Morrigan, I have been engaging you in the same discussion, but you keep dismissing my points. You have not provided your reasoning when I have expounded mine. So, please tell me clearly: Could you negate or minimize your torture, disciplining, and harassment of our servants while safekeeping us? Do you approve of allying with Delronzo?”

Morrigan blinked, her doe eyes widening. “Goodness, if you’re having trouble picking up what I’m putting down, you must be terribly out of touch with the art of conversation.” Warmth appeared in her countenance as she smiled at a memory. “You never really liked those lessons involving diplomacy when you were younger.” She giggled. “Maybe we should arrange for your old tutor to pay a visit. Refresh your memory on the finer points of attentive listening and meaningful discourse.”

“I liked them just fine, Morrigan. You consider it pointless to act any differently from how we have so far. You are convinced that the only way you can accomplish your duty is to inflict endless brutality on others. You do not appear to trust that I could change, whether myself, anyone else, or the state of things. That there is no ’better’ and that it will always be the same. Are we - our family, or people in general - truly such a lost cause?”

Morrigan’s cheeks flushed pink, her lower lip jutting out in a perfect pout. “Now you’re lying to me? I very much remember how much you preferred swinging around a sword than spending even five minutes learning to butter people up, thank you very much.” With a dramatic huff, she folded her arms across her chest and turned away, nose in the air.

“Now you are mistaking me for Auguste,” he drawled. Granted, he found exchanges of false adulations tiresome. “Would you help me if I flattered you? As a favour to me? Or as a deal with me?”

The disappointment emanating from his cousin was tangible, a melancholic veil draping over her features and infusing her words. “... No, it’s you too. Because if you’d truly taken those lessons to heart, you’d know better than to say something like that.”

“Really, what sort of harlot do you take me for?” She placed her hands over her heart, as if to hold the pieces together. “I’ve always been there for you when you needed me. And as long as it doesn’t go against my job or my desires, I always will be. But now I see. You didn’t say all those nice things to me because you actually meant it.” She angled her face out of view as she sniffed and wiped her eyes.

“No, I was genuine. I can understand your doubt, however.” He gazed out at the overcast skies for a short moment. “I have always taken others for granted, even when I love them. Including you,” he recognized. He tilted his head towards her, and slowly extended a hand out to her. He raised his palm, moving it into her periphery, giving her all the time she needed to stop him or to express her discomfort at being touched right now. Finally, he settled his right hand atop her head, gently stroking her hair.

“I said what I did because I cannot affect change on my own, and you did not strike me as inclined to cooperation. I suppose…I should have asked first. Forgive me?”

Beneath his touch, Morrigan went still as a statue, so still she forgot to breathe. Disbelief colored her wide-eyed stare as she turned to face him. Not revulsion, Wulfric noted with relief. Just astonishment, pure and simple. She studied his face, lips parting as if to speak, but remaining silent.

As he withdrew his hand, her own hands shot out as if to catch it. She stopped short, fingertips barely grazing his skin. Slowly, Morrigan guided his hand to rest in her lap, cradling it between both of hers.

Seconds stretched into long minutes as she absently stroked his knuckles, gaze fixed on their hands.

Finally, softly, she broke the silence. “What is it you think I can do to help you deal with the Black Rose?”

Wulfric observed his cousin. At first, he had been puzzled by her reaction, but then…She appeared so vulnerable. “Say what you may about my diplomacy skills, but it would be in poor taste to ask you right now,” he huffed, only half-joking. An oddly melancholy smile formed as he bumped his shoulder into hers, light and amicable. He noticed that though he had probed if she could alter her approach with their servants, she offered to help with the Black Rose instead. He didn’t comment on her choice, however. Carefully, he turned his palm, lightly squeezing one of her hands, and let her keep it in her grasp as long as she liked.

That elicited a small smile from her. “Would it? If you’re trying to negotiate, isn’t this exactly the moment to tell me, when I’m at my sweetest? Besides, what if you ask me to do something that’s exactly the sort of thing I won’t do? Wouldn’t it be a crying shame if we both ended up all out of sorts later?”

Wulfric chuckled at that, and nodded once. “Then, will you aid me with obtaining information?” That was her forte, and he needed to find out as much as he could as quickly as possible. “Unless you think my father can be convinced to act,” he added, more so out of curiosity to hear her opinion than a belief that it could be done.

“I can manage that.” Morrigan tucked an errant curl behind her ear. “Now, about your daddy… have you ever thought about, you know, bending the truth? Just the tiniest little smidge?” She stretched out the word “tiniest”, letting it linger in the air like the last notes of a sweet melody.

“If you mean the truth that the Black Rose’s existence is more of a detriment than a merit to him, I can think of a few ways to make him realize it,” he drawled. “Though, I had hoped that miserable after-party would have clued him in,” he sighed. “If you have something concrete in mind, do share,” he quirked an eyebrow at her.

One of Morrigan’s hands reached up to caress his cheek. “You’re a clever boy, you’ll figure something out.” She pressed her lips against his other cheek, and received a huff in response.

“...You had mentioned the royal guards?” He addressed the topic she had brought up before. “I have a training session in mind for them. It will not be punitive in nature, and it will involve all those who are meant to protect us… I expect that those who complete the training will be appropriately competent, while those who do not will either be relegated to a lower position or leave the service entirely.”

“It’s going to have to be for some.” She snapped her fingers and the tongueless knight appeared, holding out a paper. “This is a partial copy of the report I have given to your parents. To summarize, Kalliope is unstable and not fit for her job. You did hear the ruckus she was causing at the restaurant, didn’t you?”

“Hm, thank you,” he accepted the paper and quickly scanned through them. Once done, he folded it twice, and stashed it within his tunic. “I have noticed your table’s disruptions. It is odd for Kalliope.” Had she changed? “Given she is working here contractually, she has never been loyal as such.” That had always been the issue with her, yet Edin kept her around because she was useful.

Arden and Morrigan had never seen eye to eye, however, despite the overlap in their jobs. “Did you needle her at all? I hold her responsible for her actions regardless, but I do recall you two did not get along.”

“Nonsense, we get along just fine… when it doesn’t involve certain people.”

Either way, Arden had shouted with unexpected abruptness. “I am sure Father will blame it all on Duke Vikena without our intervention. Do you recommend we get Kalliope fired instead?”

“That little fit she threw was over some boy she’s sweet on. What do you think? Can you really trust a girl who flies off the handle,” she snapped her fingers, “like that?”

“A boy she is sweet on? That is novel.” As far as he knew, Arden had a penchant for having fun with men, but that was all. “I have never seen much point keeping her employed here when it is clear she would rather not be. I will mention it to Edin, but do not hold out much hope. You know how he is.”

“For someone so jumpy, you’d think he’d spot a snake in the grass.” She let out a delicate sigh, her words trailing off into silence.

He arched an eyebrow at her. “Speaking of the duke, are you trying to make headway with Lorenzo, of all people?”

“Why ever not? He’s simply precious, isn’t he?”

Wulfric’s dubious expression made it clear what he thought about the duke. “What are you expecting to gain from this venture?”

“A bit of fun.” Morrigan looked at him quizzically, “I’ve flirted with plenty of other people before, why are you so concerned about who I do what with now?”

“Because I wish to understand you better.”

“Aww, how sweet!” Before Wulfric could dodge, she swept him into her arms, rubbing her cheek against him. His protests came out as muffled huffs, lost in the softness of her ample breasts. “But why now, hmm? You’ve had twenty-eight years to figure me out.”

Once released, he carefully carded through his mussed hair, neatly rearranging it. “I did not care to do so before now. I did not notice that I hadn’t.”

“It’s a family trait, I suppose. Danrose men. Always looking, never quite seeing.”

“I always considered my father especially blind, but…” He had not recognized it in himself.

“You’re not giving your daddy enough credit, my dear.” Morrigan watched Wulfric as she leaned her head on her hand. “Maybe you should put a little more effort into understanding him better too?”

“Him?” He showcased his complete and utter disdain with that one word. “No,” he flatly denied.

Morrigan tossed her head and laughed. “Why ever not?” she asked.

“Why?” A displeased frown set in. “Not to underestimate the potential for manipulation if I did, but is there anything worthwhile about him to understand?”

Morrigan practically sparkled with delight at his response. She savored the feeling a little bit longer before leaning in close. Her breath tickled Wulfric’s ear as she whispered, “Yes. Buuut… if that isn’t reason enough.” A pause, a breath. “If you want to understand me, you have to understand him. And once you do, all those questions that’ve been rattling in your head about House Danrose will finally make some sense. You’ll see why we’re all so... messed up.” From the corner of his eye, Wulfric caught a glimpse of an impossibly wide smile. But when he turned to face Morrigan directly, she was her usual, unassuming sweetness.

“I do not merely want to make sense of it, but fine.” It could be helpful in the long run, though it didn’t exactly strike him as a priority. “Do you love him?” he questioned. She did not refer to him positively, yet was dedicated to protecting him. Was it just a twisted sense of loyalty? That since they were ’all so messed up’ they had to stick together?

“Of course I do! He’s my Edipoo!” Morrigan wrapped her hands in the air to hug the image of his father that only she could see, “Why do you ask?”

“Then of course you would be invested…” he was about to prod further, but recalled something. “Because you want to be his hero.” There had been another part to that which he had said, though it was difficult to believe. “And he was yours? Did he manage to save you?”

Suddenly, her expression turned blank. The smile was there, but it was hollow. “What?”

He knew bringing up Aiden even indirectly was risky, but that reaction was concerning. “Is this not the case anymore?” he asked carefully.

It took awhile for her to find her voice again. “Nothing will change the fact that Edin saved me. He will always be my hero.”

“I see.” Nothing would change it, not even Aiden’s death had. “What did he do for you?” There was a hint of accusation there, not for her, but for Edin. If that man had the capacity for saving, then why had he doomed him? Wulfric had been certain that the question of why had ceased to matter to him, but the notion that his father could be different yet had chosen not to be was even more repulsive.

“More than anyone has ever done for me.” Wulfric felt the gentle brush of her thumb against his palm. “He heard my screams when not a soul paid me any mind.” Morrigan’s gaze drifted over the blooming flowers. “He freed me.”

“I was… am a person to him.”

“Just to him?”

“And Jane. To everyone else I was - a woman.” An innocent word on the surface, but he sensed the weight it carried and how much yet remained unsaid.

“So, Edin was once capable of something like that.” It was difficult to accept, but according to Morrigan, he had done good by her, and he believed her. Inquisitiveness prompted him to ask, “From your perspective, when was the last time he was…heroic?” He couldn’t help but spit out that last word scornfully; it was the only way he could say it in reference to his father. “Could he still…?” He frowned heavily, and shook his head. Even if Edin would, even if it were useful or good, it wouldn’t matter, not to him personally.

Morrigan’s lips curved into a gentle smile. “Honey, you can’t leave a girl hanging like that.” She patted his arm. “Finish the question.”

Wulfric shook his head. “I am glad he was by your side, cousin. You are dear to me, and he to you, but I cannot forgive him. Not ever, even if he changed,” he exhaled slowly. “Is it not similar with you and your father?”

Morrigan’s laughter bubbled up, light and airy as champagne. “Oh, Adelard! You’re so silly sometimes. Comparing Edin to Daddy? That’s just...” His cousin dismissed the very idea of it with the flick of her wrist. “Why, it’s like saying a rosebud is the same as a tumbleweed!”

“Bless your heart,” she said, though her smile did not quite reach her eyes. “Wherever did you get such a fanciful notion?”

“A rosebud which shouldn’t have sprung into existence?” he quipped, referencing her earlier ’if none of us were ever born’ statement. “I am comparing them because I hate mine, and you yours. So, Geoffrey is a worse piece of shit?” He indulged in some cursing. “And you are keeping him alive? Do you torture him much?” he inquired casually.

“Do you? Truly?” Morrigan’s finger traced a line across Wulfric’s neck, like a knife slicing through his throat. Then it stopped on an old, old scar. “If this is the extent of your hatred… You still care for him.” Her hand fluttered back down and landed onto their still intertwined hands.

A noise of surprise escaped him – not at the touch, but at the claim that he didn’t genuinely hate his father. He paused to consider it, then regarded his cousin. “Enlighten me, then,” he said after a while, “what is true hatred like?”

Fingers tapped a gentle rhythm against Wulfric’s hand as she pondered his question. “Well now, let me see… Without using that nasty H-word or anything like it, why don’t you tell me why you want to kill Edin.”

He hummed. “Oh, that is simple.” He had no intention of going into the specifics, but, “He betrayed me.” Even now, remembering that…Contrary to what his cousin said, there had been a time when he had been overtaken by hatred. Killing was all he had thought about. He’d spilled blood by the gallons in a futile attempt to wash away that one memory. As if the deaths of countless nameless people could overwrite that tragedy. Prisoners, bandits, spies, suspects…He had been losing himself in endless violence, the grief-driven cruelty and festering rage he had broken out of only after he got some innocents caught up in it all. Oh, how those unwitting victims had gnawed at him. But then - even then - he came to a realization. It could be all over with one single death. He would be free with one death. Edin’s. And so, for months he had plotted, utterly fixated on killing his father. If his mentor hadn’t stopped him…well.

“Just the one?” Amusement sparkled in Morrigan’s eyes, fully aware of what he was thinking about. “So after your little blood-soaked rampage, what did you think killing him would accomplish? Set you ’free’? Make everything ’right’?”

“Nothing could ever make it right.” She giggled. What she found so funny, Wulfric couldn’t tell.

“If that’s all there is to it, you don’t hate him half as much as you think you do. Oh sure, killing him haunted your thoughts, day and night, creeping into your dreams. You schemed and you plotted, and you counted down the days. But then…” She paused, letting the silence stretch taut. “Nothing. You didn’t go through with it.” Her eyes widened in mock surprise. “Because someone else told you not to.”

“Because I did not think it would change much.”

Morrigan shook her head, clicking her tongue. “You were angry, sad, and all kinds of upset because of Edin, lashing out at anyone who crossed your path. But hate?” She huffed a breath. “No darling, that is not ’true hatred.’ What you had was a temper tantrum.”

Suddenly, she pressed him against the bench, her face inches from his. “True hatred is an obsession. It becomes your everything. It’s the air you breathe, the blood in your veins. You can’t talk it away any more than you can talk away your own skin.”

Her eyes glazed over, lost in a world Wulfric couldn’t see. “True hatred is keeping him alive so that he can watch everything he cherishes turn to dust and ashes. Savoring his every tear like fine wine, each cry of anguish like music.” A shiver ran through her, eliciting a soft, breathy sound.

“But you never let him break completely,” she whispered, her voice thick with something that wasn’t quite desire. “Oh no no no. You want him to hurt, day in and day out. Death would be too kind, madness too merciful.”

Morrigan’s eyes refocused on Wulfric and she patted his cheek. “When you truly hate someone, sweetie… there is no escape. No freedom. Only peace in their misery.” Her warm body pulled away, leaving Wulfric oddly chilled. “So you do whatever it takes to keep that suffering going.”

“Including destroying everything someone you love might care about? If you even have the space for love with an obsession like yours.” He spoke as if he could rationalize emotion, as if logic and analysis could grant him the understanding he lacked, as if he could precisely dissect something as irrational as the force driving her.

A peal of laughter erupted up from Morrigan, rich and full-bodied, so unlike her usual airy titter. It rippled through her, setting her golden rose curls dancing. She dabbed at the corner of one eye. “Oh, honey, don’t let little old me interrupt. Do go on.”

“Is hatred your singular desire? Is keeping him suffering your only duty?”

“Heavens above, talk about obsession. Duty this, duty that - every chance you get, it’s duty, duty, duty. Adelard, darling, you desperately need to find yourself a new hobby. Or better yet, find someone who’ll tangle with you between the sheets so passionately, you’ll forget ’duty’ was ever in your vocabulary.” Morrigan winked at him before returning back to the topic. “You asked what ’true hatred’ is like, so I simply obliged with an answer.”

He snorted at her comment. “It is a hobby for me as much as his misery is a pet project for you,” he remarked. Fair enough, though, he had asked, and she had answered. “I am admittedly intrigued to see what you have devised for him sometime,” he arched an inquiring eyebrow.

“Him? Morrigan asked. It should’ve seemed obvious who Wulfric was referring to, yet she asked as if she either was that clueless or she wanted to make Wulfric say ’his’ name for some reason.

“Geoffrey.”

Nimble fingers danced through Wulfric’s perfectly coiffed hair, rearranging what needed no attention. “Arrange a refresher lesson with your old tutor,” this time it sounded less of a suggestion. “You keep asking the wrong questions on the basis of assumptions you’ve never even bothered to check if they are true.”

She lifted her hand, giving a languid wave that somehow managed to convey both nonchalance and command. It took a few moments until Haynes appeared. A cat-like smile of satisfaction curled at the corners of her lips. “Now, it’s true I’m not fond of Daddy. But the feelings I have for that man are nothing compared to who… what, I ’truly hate.’”

Her words were met by a barking laugh. “Oh, so you wouldn’t mind if I killed your father, and tied up that pesky loose end?” he grinned deviously. The servant, who came within hearing range just then, startled, stopped in his tracks, and blanched.

“Did…Your Highness call?” he asked cautiously.

“Did I?” Wulfric retorted ever so nonchalantly.

The man’s eyes widened in realization. He ducked his head, and went about the business of cleaning up the long forgotten tea. Soon, he was scurrying off, far away from the two predators he really wished hadn’t set their sights on him.

“So rude, Adelard, why did you send him away? I still wanted to talk to him.” She nodded at something in the distance. Looking over, Wulfric caught the movement of the bushes just before they went still.

“Who or what is it that you truly hate, and why?”

A gentle breeze stirred, carrying with it a dance of delicate petals and verdant leaves through the air around Morrigan as she turned to face Wulfric. The movement caused her golden rose hair to catch the sunlight, creating a halo-like effect around her face. Violet eyes shimmered beneath this aureate crown. Her white dress rippled softly and the fabric seemed to glow in the warm sunlight. All of it lent her an almost celestial presence. Her smile, radiant, completed the vision.

Her lips parted, and in a sweet voice filled with love, she uttered two simple words: “This kingdom.”

What juxtaposition.

“As for the why, you already heard part of the answer.” Her hand patted his. “But if you want to know more, shall we make a little deal? For every new tidbit you learn about Edin, you can ask me one.” She lifted a finger up to her lips and repeated, “One,” before continuing, “question about me.”

“Agreed,” he held out his hand, which she shook without hesitation.

“I will take it upon myself to visit your father one of these times.”

“It’s better that you don’t, but if you insist. Just know that he’ll try to kill you given the chance.”

“So, you leave him with that much freedom?” he drawled. “Noted.”

The decision of a future fun family meeting settled, he asked her, “Was there anything else you wished to discuss?” She shook her head in the negative.

He did have one request himself. “I am in need of covert agents as soon as possible. I have some contacts myself, but I would be much obliged if you sent any competent people my way.”

“The best kind of covert agents are the ones you don’t know about, honey. Tell me what you want and I’ll let you know if they find anything.”

“Two apiece to track Anastasia and Callum and protect them from themselves. As many as are available to deal with the Black Rose,” he requested.

When asked if there was anything else he had in mind, he hummed. “Now that you mention it…” he stretched. “Do we have existent records on which servants were punished when, how, and what for? I would prefer to systemize such practices.”

However, concerning this, his cousin was less helpful. Simply shrugging.

“Very well. But if you suspect any of my servants, please be courteous enough to inform me, Morrigan. I do not know if that is the case for Haynes, but if need be, I can assign a portion of his time to be spent with you. But believe me, I have my own ways of confirming the loyalty of those I hire, and I generally keep my employees busy during their working hours.”

[Tpartywithzombi]

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

Ariella smiled sweetly, though the corners of her lips twitched as she fought the urge to laugh. “Ah yes, those were the days,” she said airily. Her gaze slid toward Mathias, realizing now that it was him. She immediately caught the frantic look in his eyes. He was on the verge of cracking. But Ariella was nothing if not the perfect storm in moments like these.

Ariella's lips parted as she suppressed a laugh, her entire body trembling slightly from the effort. But instead of reacting with shock or laughter, she immediately swept forward, a dramatic gasp escaping her. “Oh, my dear Lord Wimsley!” she cried, stumbling purposefully, grabbing Mathias's arm to steady herself, and giving the impression of being utterly shocked by the entire ordeal. “What a brave soul you are! To continue enduring such, such... hair-raising moments!” She threw her head back, one hand clutching dramatically at her chest.

“Oh, you must forgive Lord Wimsley!” she insisted, voice laced with mock sympathy. “He’s been under such stress lately—why, his valet told me just last week that the poor man has been losing hair by the day! Why, it’s a wonder he has any left at all!”

Satisfied that the situation had been sufficiently derailed, Ariella gave Mathias's arm a gentle pat, turning back toward the old woman with a bright, if somewhat tipsy, smile. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, my dear lady,” she said sweetly, “I must steal Lord Wimsley away. We’ve pressing matters to discuss. Hair... loss and all.”

Before the old woman could react, Ariella tugged Mathias away, moving them away from the heavily awkward encounter. Her back straightened as she side-eyed behind her casually seeing if the elder woman was following or staying.

Turning her attention back to Mathias, Ariella’s arm remained loosely interlocked with his, her body vibrating with barely contained amusement. She tried to suppress the bubbling laughter that threatened to spill over, but a soft giggle escaped her lips. Her eyes darted around the garden, checking to see if any guests had noticed their absurd little escape.

" Mathias?" she whispered her voice light with mischief. She leaned down slightly, tilting her head to peer up at him from beneath the brim of his oversized top hat, her fiery red hair brushing against his sleeve. Her gaze sparkled with playful curiosity as she raised a brow. “Do you often attend these events dressed as an old man?”

With each word, Ariella’s voice trembled with the effort of holding back another giggle. Her lips quirked up in a grin, and she could feel the tremor of laughter bubbling in her chest. The absurdity of the situation—the fake mustache, the frantic escape—was almost too much to bear. She bit her bottom lip, trying to keep a straight face, but the corners of her mouth kept twitching with the overwhelming urge to laugh.

[FunnyGuy]

Edin Danrose & Alexander Deacon

---

It was yet another busy day for Alexander Deacon, a promised outcome for his position in the Black Rose. More trust meant more responsibility, and therefore more action. Duty amongst the highest rung of the organization was a far cry from the counts and dukes of the kingdoms that weren't required to work with so many layers of secrecy. On the other hand, Alexander was afforded far more freedoms than those below him. It was exactly why ventured into the royal domain of King Edin Danrose. There was far more resistance to be had in the form of guards and servants that questioned his intentions and made every effort to turn him away, but Alexander had a way with persuasiveness that was unmatched, unnatural.

It was not a gift he often flaunted due to his own pride for his gift of gab but its effectiveness was required here to pacify the obstacles that would keep him from having an unscheduled audience with King Edin.

Alexander walked, accompanied by a guard, through the corridors with grace while wondering what it might feel like if they were his own. How it might feel to be king. As he neared his destination, the drawing room, he could pick up the faint sound of the hushed voices of women. He motioned to knock but stopped up on noticing his ring still absent from his hand.

It's fine. He convinced himself, making a decision his wife, Lianna, might not be fond of. Still, he believed he could be just as charismatic as he was now. And so, following a form knock, Alexander entered the room.

What the fuck?

His eyes widened at the scene. King Edin was swaddled snuggly on a bed in a room full of consorts all dressed rather strangely yet there was some familiarity to their appearances. No… did he really? No. The more he discovered, the worse this scene appeared to be. There were painted footprints along the floor, oil and whip cream spilled about, a bucket of milk in the bed…

“Gods.” Alexander let out softly as he noticed one of Edin’s hands out from the swaddle and dunked into the bucket.

“Excuse me, sir, his majesty requires privacy, I-” The consort was cut off mid sentence as Alexander connected the appearances of the consorts in the room.


“Violet… Damien?” Identifying her so suddenly caused her to shamefully tug on the black wig she had been ordered to wear. Alexander briefly looked at each of the others, playing a mental matching game before shaking his head with a light chuckle.

“Apologies ladies. I hate to break up this party but I require an audience with his majesty. I’m sure you all don't mind cleaning yourselves up.” Alexander tried making himself seem like a convenient reason for the women to escape the confines of the room. He moved from in front of the doorway, being careful not to step in anything as he let the women out

“Wait. You, Queen Camilla, wake him for me, I don't wish to alarm the king.” Alexander requested from the consort depicting the Varian queen before she could make her exit.

As the consort gently shook Edin, trying to wake him from his slumber, he mumbled incoherently at first, his eyes still closed.

"Bring me the largest pillow in the kingdom…" he muttered, his voice soft and dreamy. "I will sit upon it... like a throne..." His words slurred, a slight grin forming on his lips as he continued, clearly lost in his fantastical dream.

The consort blinked in confusion but continued to shake him gently, trying to rouse him further.

"And then... throw all the other pillows at me... like I’m under siege..." Edin continued, his voice growing more dramatic in his sleep. "I must... defend my kingdom…" Alexander mentally noted Edin might have been intoxicated and still may be in such a state. Patience. That is what is required.

Finally, with another gentle shake, Edin’s bloodshot eyes snapped open fully, the remnants of his dream slowly fading as he blinked groggily up at the woman.

His expression darkened instantly, and he let out a groggy, frustrated growl, struggling against the swaddled blanket wrapped tightly around him. His movements were clumsy, almost frantic, as he tried to free himself, his face flushing red with anger.

"Who dares?!" he barked, his voice booming as he thrashed in the blanket. He glared at the woman who had disturbed him, his eyes wild. "You dare wake your king from his nap? And not a single one of you remembered to pleasure me!" He snapped his head toward the group of consorts, his voice sharp and cutting.

The women shrank back, exchanging fearful glances, unsure how to respond to his sudden outburst.

Edin huffed and continued struggling with the blanket like a man possessed, grumbling curses under his breath as he tried to get free. "Useless! Every last one of you! What am I paying you for?!" He spat, his anger growing with each passing second as his struggles made little progress.

“...You’re not…” came a mumble from one of the girls.

But then, suddenly, Edin froze, his bloodshot eyes locking on Alexander standing across the room. His demeanor shifted in an instant, the fire in his eyes extinguished as his expression morphed from rage to a forced calm.

"Ah... Mr. Deacon..." he said, his voice suddenly smooth, as if his previous outburst had never happened. He sat up straight, now desperately trying to compose himself, still half tangled in his blanket. "I, uh... wasn’t expecting company."

Alexander finally opened his mouth to speak but the sound dripping filled the room.

“Um… Your majesty…” Alexander motioned his hand toward the now overturned bucket. Fortunately, Edin had knocked it away from himself but now the milk was spilling onto the floor. “These consorts truly are useless. Queen Camilla, stay and clean that up for your king. That's something that should have been set aside.” Alexander ordered, almost matching the contempt Edin had for them when he first woke.

King Edin's face contorted with frustration as he noticed the milk spreading across the floor. His bloodshot eyes darted from the puddle to the consort Alexander had addressed. The sharpness returned to his voice as he barked, "Yes, you heard him, Queen Camilla! Clean it up at once!" The consort then hurried to clean the spill with haste.

Still tangled in the swaddle, Edin squirmed awkwardly, trying to free himself without much success. His movements were sharp and aggressive as he tugged at the blanket with a grunt, growing more flustered by the second. Two of the consorts hurried to help free him, sensing an upcoming meltdown. Alexander could only let loose a subtle sigh. I think I can see why Plannington is a bit touched in the head. It was either from tenure in experiencing the mess or one would have to be mad already

“You trapped me! It’s too tight!” He shouted. “This is… witchcraft!” he complained, kicking at the blanket furiously. Finally after an awkward moment, the king was freed with their assistance, his skin was noticeably oily.

“As I was saying,” he continued, attempting to smooth his disheveled appearance and failing miserably. He paused, scratching his stubbly chin as if trying to piece together a puzzle, “...Mister... Deecoo, how in the Primitus did you even get here? What are you doing in my chambers?" His questioning caused Alexander to briefly raise an eyebrow but only because his name was said incorrectly.

Before Alexander could respond, the king let out an impatient grunt, dismissing his own question with a wave of his hand. “Eh, forget it. More importantly, what brings you here? Were you perhaps hoping to, uh... enjoy the company of my women?”

He gestured lazily at the consorts, a crooked smile creeping onto his face. Meanwhile, the women, who had been edging slowly toward the door, froze in place, their eyes wide as if they’d been caught in the act. “You can feel free to take up to two of them home with you. Don’t even have to bring them back honestly.”

“Two? You spoil me, your highness. I'll be sure to keep the offer in mind. I do have a dating auction to run in a couple of days and put them to use.” Alexander turned to the women to grace them with a smile before facing Edin to continue speaking with him.

“What I'm truly here for is to fill the vacancy left by Alden Plannington, as your Royal Advisor. And to be frank…” Alexander briefly faced the women still lingering. “Leave.” The volume of his voice was but a hush yet his tone was sharp. The consorts scattered from the room like frightened birds, their hurried steps barely a whisper in the spacious chamber. Edin watched them go half heartedly, his expression shifting to something more serious. Once the door closed, silence settled over the room, heavy with unspoken tension. “You need it now more than ever,” Alexander continued.

Edin's smirk faltered, his face growing uneasy as he processed what Alexander had just said. He knew full well who he truly worked for: Marek Delronzo, a name that haunted his thoughts more often than he cared to admit.

For a brief moment, the king's eyes darted around, as if searching for an escape or perhaps calculating his next move. His usual bravado was replaced by a guardedness that rarely surfaced. He sat up straighter, his previous casual demeanor gone, replaced with something more cautious.

"Royal Advisor, huh?" Edin's voice was slower and edged with suspicion. His bloodshot eyes locked onto Alexander’s face, watching for any signs of deception or ulterior motives. The offer was too sudden, too bold, and Edin wasn’t foolish enough to believe it came without strings attached.

"I know you work for Marek," Edin finally said, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "So, why are you here, really? To spy on me? To control me like one of his puppets?"

“Control you? Me?” Alexander pointed to his chest, his face lacking the amusement he desired to show, yet a hint of it was carried by his tone. “Your highness, you mistake my intentions, and for you to believe someone of your stature could be manipulated… like a puppet?” Alexander narrowed his eyes slightly, peering deep into Edin’s with scrutiny. “Do you forget who you are, King Edin Danrose?”

Edin's eyes narrowed at Alexander's words, but then, as if flipping a switch, his entire demeanor changed. The unease that had clouded his face moments ago disappeared, replaced by a confident smirk that stretched wide across his lips. “A puppet?” Edin chuckled,“Let me tell you something—People think they can pull my strings, but in the end, I’m the one holding the marionette. Ask anyone.” He tapped his own chest with a grin. “I could never forget who I am!”

“And neither should anyone else!” Alexander encouraged with a proud fist but his excitement quickly died down as he gave the room another look. His expression morphed neutral. “Whether you accept me or not, I won't tell a soul what I discovered here. I won't allow anyone to doubt you. To know that you can be vulnerable, my king. Not even Marek. ” Alexander clasped his hands behind his back and took a step forward. “I may be the Vice President of the Black Rose but my loyalty will always place the Kingdom of Caesonia above all else, and what is the kingdom without its king?” Alexander raised his eyebrows anticipating a response.

Edin leaned back, watching Alexander carefully. “Loyalty is a dangerous word, Mr. Deecoons. You speak of devotion to me, yet your position with Marek... well, it’s not one to be overlooked. He must have sent you here after all.”

He paused, then added, “Tell me, how do you plan to serve as my advisor and still keep Marek happy? You think you’ll have time for us both?” He folded his arms, his eyes lighting up with realization. “And hey! If I am so great, why do I need an advisor in the first place?!”

Alexander chuckled, showing he wasn't intimidated by the logical questioning sent his way. The mispronunciation of his name did not phase him this time around.

“I admire your thoroughness… but you managed to figure out the answers to questions you have posed to me, your highness.” Alexander walked around the bed and knelt down beside it so as to not tower over Edin. “You are great, there's no doubt in that fact. You were born and raised to be nothing less… but being great isn't a fixed status. One can always be greater, ever closer to perfection. I’m sure you're aware of those who doubt you despite your accomplishments. As your advisor, I would aim to eliminate that doubt by flushing it away with nothing short of success.” He shook his head as he placed a firm palm on the surface of the bed. “I wouldn't even have to dedicate too much of my time. You're so close already. You just need a little push here and there. If you require more, I’ll deliver… Marek will understand. No one comes before your highness.”

Edin eyed Alexander with narrowed eyes. His fingers drummed idly on the bed as if contemplating the offer before him. For a moment, the room seemed to grow quieter, the king’s earlier bravado dimming ever so slightly as he mulled over the proposition.

“Hmm… quite the flattering speech,” he began, his voice slower this time, a touch of wariness lingering. “But you know… I’ve had offers before. Promises of greatness, of success. Advisors always wanting something. Always wanting a piece of this power...” Edin’s reluctance failed to shake Alexander who remained ever so stoic.

He shifted his weight, clearing his throat, and for a brief moment, a flicker of uncertainty crossed his face. The King rose, his oily skin glistening in the light.

An eyebrow rose at the sight, but still, Alexander maintained his composure. He had to if he was presenting himself as someone who could face whatever Edin threw his way.

Lubricated and inebriated, Edin stumbled around as he approached him. “I’m the king, you see? I’ve got everything I need. Why should I need a push from you?” He rubbed his chin, seemingly lost in thought. “Marek’s been in my ear, too. So, what makes you different?”

His eyes lit up as he came to stand before him with wide eyes. “But... greater, you say?” Edin’s grin returned, “I do like the sound of that. Perfection is always within reach, isn't it? Even for someone as naturally gifted as myself.” Alexander winced, wondering how Edin had simply talked himself out of his initial reluctance.

He suddenly laughed heartily in his face, the alcohol pungent on his breath. “Alright. I’ll give you a chance but if you’re going to push me, make sure it’s the right kind of push. No shoving, understand?” King Edin patted the man’s cheek with a milky, soft hand, “… You’ll report here every morning and I’ll keep you for a few hours. I am giving you a trial run.”

“Uh..” Alexander lowered his head in a deep bow. The act appeared to give thanks and reverence for Edin granting him the honor of being the Royal Advisor but in truth…

Alexander’s eyes bulged intensely as he grit his teeth, fighting the urge to say something unbefitting.

“Thank you, your highness. Really, thank you very much. I promise, you. I swear, you will not be disappointed.” A wicked grin spread across his face.

[Conscripts]

Time: 10 AM
Location: Sorian Temple
Interactions: The Perfumer
Mentions:

---

John's drastic on-the-spot solution to the hallucination worked, but the perfume hadn't shown its entire insidious nature yet. His visions often blurred intermittently - his eyes reddened like a man possessed - the visions continued to try to invade his senses and his mind and pain, ironically, was fighting back, meanwhile he stared down the perfumer. But then new visions became to come in taking place of the perpetrator, one in the form of a Sorian guard. His face was something John remembered vividly with helpless indignance. He was the one guard who dragged his mother out of the house by her hair and broke his father's nose while they sentenced the family to basically a death sentence in the mountain. And here he was, with his wretched smug smile looking right at John with malicious intent.

'Come on, I know you want to.'

An indiscernible voice whispered in his ears. Strike him. Break his nose. Punch his teeth down his throat. He hurt John's family.

John could feel the rising anger, and his fist tightening. He was about to give in when that one last glimmer of sanity left in him reminded him: this wasn't real. If he slit his throat right here, he'd be in prison. Everything he would be working towards would be gone. He had to resist this urge.

But then the guard's face looked unsatisfied. That malicious intent had escalated to a threat. He suddenly lunged at John, and the doctor had no conscience to speak against that. He was defending against a threat, and his first instinct was to immediately flee. He went in the direction of the northern forest, away from as many people as he could. He wasn't going to lash out against others, his former countrymen.

Away from the crowds, John sat down in a nearby tree and rolled up his sleeves. Trickles of red liquid were soaked up by the handkerchief, the knife he brought along with him that were supposed to be for an assassin dug into his skin. With the world around him still a blur between reality and dreams, John removed one of his shoes and used one of his socks as makeshift bandages. He then made a beeline back to the guesthouse. He would not see anyone else except for his doctor for the rest of the day.

Those assassins had their wins today.

[JJ Doe]

Evening Sola 21, 1739

◆◆◆◆◆ "△△△" ◆◆◆◆◆◆

△△△’s chair creaked a protest as he pushed away from his desk, muscles stiff from hours of stillness. Coaxing life back into his limbs, he stretched, then made his way to the sideboard where a porcelain teapot exhaled wisps of steam into the quiet room.

But the tea never touched his lips.

A chill raced down his spine, sharp and electric.

The room tilted on an unseen axis. The teacup slipped from his grasp, amber liquid spilling unheeded onto the carpet.

—Then came the pain.

It arrived in waves, each crest higher than the last. Invisible blades sliced his skin. Phantom bullets tore through muscle and sinew. His flesh felt as though it was being burned and torn apart. All without leaving a single mark on him. It took every ounce of his willpower to stifle the scream clawing its way up his throat.

Through vision blurred by pain, △△△’s gaze locked onto the fireplace mantle, where four colorful animal figurines stood in a row. The fish, hand-carved from lapis lazuli—began to crack. Hairline fissures spread like spider webs across its surface, and △△△ knew. The hourglass of fate had been upended. Udo’s time—the moment everyone, except Nnenne’s warrior himself, had all dreaded and prayed against—had come.

“W-wait,” he gasped, lurching toward the figurine as if his touch alone could mend the cracks.

His body betrayed him mid-motion, his left leg suddenly leaden and unresponsive. The paralysis spread like wildfire through his veins, stealing sensation from his limbs inch by agonizing inch. Yet the creeping numbness offered no reprieve from the agony that tore through him.

These were not his wounds. This torment was not truly his.

And that is why he did not try to block it out like he would have usually done. He would bear this. This was his penance, the barest fraction of what he owed to those who had given everything in service to their cause. Their faith, their sacrifice—he would honor it in the only way left to him.

A sound like splintering ice pierced the air.
The fractures deepened, spread.

△△△’s breath came in ragged gasps, his vision narrowing to a pinpoint. The figurine trembled on its perch, then, with a sound like a thunderclap, shattered.

His heart exploded in his chest, a maelstrom that obliterated all thought, all sensation. As the shards of blue rained down, darkness rose up to claim him. He crumpled to the floor, a marionette with cut strings, and knew no more.

---

---

Udo

The night sky erupted in bursts of light, each flare a fleeting star born and dying in the span of a breath. Streaks of gold and red split the darkness, cascading in shimmering arcs before fading into stardust as green flowered against the dark backdrop. The air thrummed with each boom, a deep vibration that Udo felt in his chest. Across the park, the thunderous heartbeats pulsed, eliciting the gasps and cheers of the crowd below.

In his hand, a half-eaten funnel cake left a dusting of powdered sugar on his fingertips as he stood transfixed. He had sampled nearly everything the festival had to offer and none of them suited his taste. The churros had been cloyingly sweet, the turkey legs overly salted, and the corn dogs... well, he still wasn’t entirely sure what to make of those. But he’d tried them all the same. Each new experience was a story to be collected and preserved; a fragment of this world to carry with him when the time came.

When Nnenne finally welcomed him home.

Eyes closed, Udo imagined himself by a fire on that distant beach. Long-lost family gathered close, eager to hear what he had seen and done in his long years of service. He would tell them of strange foods and stranger customs, of the lands he had walked, of lives saved and battles fought in Nnenne’s name. His tales would span centuries, recounting the wonders and horrors he had witnessed.

He had seen the rise and fall of empires, watched the Great Flood—a cataclysm that reshaped the Eastern Islands—transform from history into myth. “Home,” and hundreds of the surrounding islands, once vibrant and real, faded from the world’s memory like seafoam. But Udo remembered. He would always remember.

The scent of his wives’ cooking wafting through their modest hut. The laughter of children playing in the crystal-clear waters. His blood-father’s fishing spear, worn smooth. Stories shared by firelight. Everyone’s voices raised in song.

These small, everyday moments were as much a part of him as the crushing guilt. He’d survived only by chance, away at sea in prayer when the flood came. Returning to… nothing. No island, no village, no family.

Why?

Had he angered Nnenne somehow? Failed in his devotion? Was this divine punishment for some unknown transgression? These questions haunted Udo as he moved through life like a ghost, untethered and hollow. Days bled into years, years into decades, decades into centuries. The world moved on, but Udo remained trapped in an endless cycle of grief and longing. Until…

“Do you want to die?” Mercy came as a ⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎ ⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎ with ⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎ as ⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎ as ⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎ and ⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎ to match appeared before Udo while he was drowning his sorrows in cheap rum. A ⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎ ⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎ extended, a pact offered: “I promise to be the death of you.” Their hands met, and everything changed.

Traveling with ⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎, Udo’s world expanded. Color slowly seeped back into his grayscale existence. Joy found him—rare at first, then often—in life’s small wonders and great marvels.

Memories flickered through his mind. Peter’s crooked grin as they faced down a band of thieves, back-to-back despite their constant bickering. Karleen, radiant on the ballroom floor, finally herself in a gown that fit her masculine frame. And Wayra, whose chaotic magic turned a simple walk through the forest into a desperate escape from an army of enchanted flowers. Together, they had traversed sun-scorched deserts and scaled frost-capped mountains. They had fought monsters—human and inhuman—, solved mysteries, and saved each other more times than Udo could count. Each adventure, and countless moments in between, became treasured memories for him—the happiest times he’d known since losing Home.

Another firework’s crack drew Udo back to the present. The park bustled around him, a riot of sights and sounds. His gaze drifted to the gathering on the hill, where the Varian Princess had laid out an impressive array of picnic blankets and pillows. There, playing with a child, was... was… ⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎. Udo’s brow furrowed. Though he could describe every other person in perfect detail, everything about ⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎ remained frustratingly indistinct. ⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎ features blurred and shifted, refusing to solidify in Udo’s mind, and ⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎ name came out as a string of blanks.

The curse was working as intended. Udo should’ve felt relieved. Instead, a bittersweet ache settled in his chest. For it was ⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎ he wanted to tell his family about the most, the ⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎ who had saved him from an eternity of emptiness.

As fireworks lit the night, Udo made his decision. When he reunited with his family, he would tell them of these man-made stars, how they blazed against the darkness, leaving their mark despite their brief existence—just like ⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎.

Though name and appearance eluded him, perhaps in describing fireworks, Udo could capture ⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎’s essence: brilliant, powerful, and beautiful. They rekindled Udo’s dormant spirit, infusing his life with a vibrance he thought long lost. In his darkest moments, ⬜︎⬜︎ had been a guiding light, offering hope in the vast sea of endless years.

Perhaps that was enough. To carry the feeling, if not the memory.

Yes, he thought, watching a starburst of color ignite the sky. Fireworks would do nicely.

__________________________________________________________________________

Udo

Music Inspiration: K’Sante, The Pride of Nazumah | Champion Theme

Udo danced to the rhythm of the ocean. His body swayed with the strength of the deep. Each step, falling in time with crashing waves, traced bloodied patterns across rain-slick cobblestones. The spear in his hands became an extension of his body, cutting arcs through air and flesh alike. Every movement was a prayer, a warrior’s offering to Nnenne, Grandmother of All.

Her song swelled. Home beckoned across centuries—a siren’s call Udo answered with his entire being. For Nnenne, he danced, yes, but also for those who had made his endless life bearable. Harder. Faster. Though no mortal would live to speak of this performance, he poured himself into it all the same.

Steel bit. Arrows hissed. Bullets tore. Yet Udo felt nothing but the rhythm. Nnenne’s tears fell from the sky, cleansing him and the fallen, purifying the ground and washing away the carnage. One with the dance, one with the sea.

Even as poison from a coated blade seeped into his veins, making his movements sluggish, he refused to falter. Bodies crumpled in his wake until only one foe remained standing.

“Be seeing y’all in hell, motherf***ers,” Peter grinned, cocky and unrepentant.
Karleen shook her head and chided, “Too vulgar.”
“Agreed.” Udo chimed in.

Peter’s lower lip jutted out as he puffed up his chest like the man-child he was. “Yeah? What’d be your final words then, huh?”

Karleen straightened, a spark of challenge in her eyes. “Poetry... or a quote from one of my favorite novels.” She cleared her throat and began to recite:

“In the twilight of life’s grand play,
Where curtains fall and shadows sway,
I'll whisper to the fading light,
A verse to ease the coming night—”

“Karl,” Peter interrupted, “if you’ve got that much energy to deliver a soliloquy, you ain’t dying.”
Udo scoffed, “I’m shocked you know what a soliloquy is.”
“Shut up.”

⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎ looked thoughtful, in the way that usually preceded either profound wisdom or utter nonsense. “You know, if we’re operating under the ‘monologues can never be interrupted’ rule, perhaps a lengthy soliloquy wouldn’t be such a bad move. In theory, it would ward off death until the speaker finishes. I could recite the entire ‘The Infinite Chronicle’ while waiting for medical attention.”

“And you think you’d pull it off?” Peter asked.
“Oh no,” came the reply, “there’s an 80% chance my parting words will be something profoundly eloquent like ‘Well, that sucks.’”

Laughter erupted from the group. “What about the other 20%?”

“It depends. If it’s an accident or a friend who kills me, I’d probably say ‘I forgive you.’ But if it’s someone I don’t like—”
“There’s people you don’t like?” Karleen interjected, surprised.
“Oh, absolutely. Anyone who voluntarily eats black licorice is clearly in league with forces beyond mortal comprehension.” ⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎ chuckled. “If it’s someone I don’t like, then I’d try to say something ominous, like... ‘The antidote... is in the…’” ⬜︎⬜︎ trailed off with a series of dramatic gasps and wheezes before going limp.

Peter snorted beer out his nose. “Diabolical. And surprisingly petty coming from you.”
“If they’ve gone to the trouble of murdering me, I think I’ve earned the right to be a little petty. It’s only polite.”
Peter raised his hands in mock surrender. “No arguments here, Boss.”

Karleen turned to Udo. “What about you?”
“A prayer,” he answered simply. “If I have time left.”
“Oh, come on!” Peter groaned, throwing his hands up. “It’s literally the last thing you’re ever gonna say. Your last hurrah! Make it count! Go out with a bang, not a whimper.”

The memory receded, leaving Udo facing his final opponent in the rain-soaked present, chests heaving. Fine, he thought, how’s this then?

Udo’s gaze locked onto the man before him, past him, beyond him to the one pulling the strings. He leveled his spear, pointed it at the puppeteer.
The enemy raised his gun.
Udo smirked defiantly, his lips curling around his final words. “F**k you, Marek.”
The spear flew.
The gun fired.

As Udo’s spear pierced through the other man, the bullet shattered his heart. The sky blurred above him as he fell.
He was plummeting, down, down…
The street melted into seafoam.
He plunged past earth and stone, sank into the endless blue.

Bubbles, pearls of air, escape skyward,
A rush of swirling brine.
Udo sinks, weightless,
Into depths beyond time.

Above, a vast shadow looms,
Its gaze piercing the watery veil.
The dark sentience seeks his mind,
Tendrils probe, grasping for memories,
Only to find echoes and absence.

Fury ripples the boundary of worlds.
Nets descend, hooks glint, a final reach
To claim a soul that was not its to possess.

But Nnenne will not be denied her Grandson;
Her currents cradle him,
Pulling towards her heart,
Away from harm.

Wind’s emissaries dive,
Sleek arrows of feather and bone,
Slice through waves with righteous fury.
Beaks and talons flashing silver,
Sever threads of malevolent design.

Movement catches his eye—
A beast, familiar yet unknowable,
Wounded and struggling, sinks beside him.
Its mouth works, forming shapes without sound,
Again and again, a name lost to the depths.

△△△ △△△△△△△ △△△△△△△△

Udo’s heart aches with unspoken apologies,
For this one thing he cannot carry home.

The abyss swallows them both, darkness absolute.
Then—light.

Udo’s eyes flutter open to cloudless skies,
As wavelets lap at outstretched limbs,
Home’s music fills his ears.
His head cradled in grandmother’s lap,
Her weathered hands, etched with time,
Caress his cheeks with boundless love.

“Nno n’ụlọ, nwa nwa m nwoke. Anyị echeworo gị ọtụtụ.”
Welcome home, my dear grandson. We’ve deeply missed you.

“M na-atụ uche unu niile.” Udo breathes, his heart full.
I missed you all.

“Kedu ka njem gị mere?” she asks.
How was your journey?

A lifetime of stories press against his lips:
“Enwere m ọtụtụ ihe m ga-agwa unu.”
I have so much to tell you.

As if in answer, the sky erupts—
A blossom of fire and light,
Dazzling as Udo remembers.

Home at last, with tales to tell,
Of a world changed and changing still,
Of those left behind, and those who wait,
On this shore where all journeys end.

---

---

Wayra

A figure cloaked in feathers stepped carefully over the cooling bodies, ​​intent on reaching the one that mattered. Wayra’s keen senses picked up the coppery scent of blood mixed with the petrichor from the rain and the smell of spent magic hanging heavy in the air. Beneath it all, a familiar scent. They approached what they knew to be the vessel that once housed Udo’s spirit.

Wayra knelt beside the still form and reached out, tracing the contours of Udo’s face. A smile, frozen in death, greeted their touch. Something tight coiled in Wayra’s chest—regret, perhaps, or a flicker of an emotion they thought long buried. They closed the man’s unseeing eyes and, with unnatural ease granted by arcane might, lifted his body.

As they made their way out of the alley, Wayra paused to retrieve Udo's spear still lodged in the corpse it had felled. The weapon came free with a soft squelch. Wayra left the other bodies littering the ground undisturbed; they were not their concern.

Above, native corvids and birds less familiar to these lands descended, drawn by some unspoken call. Soon, the air filled with the wet sounds of tearing flesh, but Wayra paid them no heed.

Carrying Udo’s body and the spear resting easily in their grasp, they moved on. Behind them, the scavengers continued their grim work, and the rain cleansed what remained.

---

---

Fritz "Ryn" Hendrix

Consciousness returned in fragments as the world came into focus. Ryn lay prone on the carpet floor, his body struggling to move a muscle. Echoes of pain pulsated through him and his skull pounded relentlessly.

He blinked several times before he could make out the figure kneeling in front of him—Peter, with his trademark bright red hair seeming ablaze in the dim light.

“Welcome back to the land of the living, Boss,” Peter said.

Sola 22, 1739

_{Sola 22, 1739}

Rhythmic clopping accompanied by the steady sound of carriage wheels turning made for a calming ambiance as Ryn regaled Luz the tale of a holy man who wanted nothing more than to reunite with his deceased family. Far to the east of the Three Kingdoms there was an archipelago located in one of the most dangerous oceans in Eromora. Amongst the thousands of islands was a small island Udo called home. Home, where his tribe and family resided. Home, where his most precious treasures lived—his many grandparents, his fathers, his mothers, his siblings, his three gorgeous wives, and all nine of his beautiful children. Home, the place that no longer existed above the ocean surface.

Years ago, a great tsunami swallowed hundreds of islands. A majority of the islands were spat back out, but the "chosen" few sank deep into Nnenne's embrace, never to resurface. One of the chosen islands was Home. And Udo was the only one left behind.

For years, Udo wandered the seas, taking on one dangerous quest after another, fighting for those who asked him, searching for an “honorable death.” For Nnenne’s taught her grandchildren to never waste one’s life unless it was to save another life. He fought and fought and fought and fought. Until one night, Nnenne came to Udo in his dreams, telling him about a boy with the abyss for eyes who would grant him his wish.

“And he got what he wanted.” Ryn turned his head away from the carriage window to look at Luz sitting across from him. “We should be celebrating his death, the end of his long journey, for a dream finally fulfilled but…” He smiled as he usually did, “I know I’m being selfish when I say this… I wish he stayed with us longer, even if it was hard for him… I wanted him to live a long life as Udo.”

“It’s not selfish to wish a friend a long life,” Zarai had kept her hand on his, squeezing every now and then to show her support for Fritz as he told Udo’s tale. “And we will celebrate the end of his journey, but first we must grieve. Should we not?”

“When you are ready we will throw the kind of celebration he would have wanted, we’ll make his memory proud, yes? Whatever he is reincarnated into or not, Udo will be proud.” She smiled at him, “We’ll exchange stories about Udo, wild stories of his bravery, and his killer charms. About how much he meant to us.” Her nose prickled, and Zarai had to stop talking before her voice broke. It took her a few seconds to blink the wetness from her eyes. “But for now, we grieve.”

Ryn leaned in and rubbed his thumb under her eye, “Not very convincing when you’re holding back.”

“I’m sorry I don’t want to cry in front of people.” Zarai rolled her eyes, “Some of us aren’t pretty criers.”

“Oh? Only pretty criers are allowed to cry? That’s too bad, I’m not much of a pretty crier either.” He sighed in an exaggerated fashion. “I guess I’ll keep my tears to myself since it bothers you.”

“Worry not; I won’t judge if you are.” Zarai cracked a smile at him. “Maybe only a little.” But all she wanted to do right now was crawl into bed and cry until she could no more.

“LLliiiaaR!” the parrot shrieked beside Luz’s ear. Ryn looked up at them. They looked back. His gaze traveled over to Karleen, who had been sitting right next to him and was also staring back at him. Although Peter was driving, Ryn could sense the weight of his attention.

A persistent feeling gnawed at Ryn, as if his crew were nudging him in a particular direction. They wanted him to divulge more to Luz, to have at least one confidant who had access to the power to protect him—the Hendrix family, the employees of Crosswinds Trading Co., the Erwynn citizens—should circumstances take a turn for the worse.

He finally looked at Luz, his friend. Heir of Puerto Vira, Lady Zarai Lesdeman. Daughter of a duchess who wanted nothing more than House Hendrix’s downfall. Did he trust her? Yes, he absolutely did, as both Luz and Zarai Lesdeman. No question about it. That was exactly why he did not want to reveal everything to her.

Zarai could see a shift in his eyes. Her stomach fell, and her chest tightened, readying herself for what could be coming.

Ryn felt the gentle warmth of Luz’s hands as he tightly clasped hers, “Udo died in peace. He didn’t feel any pain or was truly alone in his final moments.”

“I’m not saying this to comfort you. I’m saying this because… We made sure no one who swore fealty to us would ever depart this world in agony or solitude.”

On cue, Karleen, with her impeccable timing, extended her hand towards Luz, revealing a broken fish statuette. Alongside it, there were three other animal figurines, each crafted from different colored stones. Luz’s brows furrowed at his words and leaned in to look at the figurines closely.

“Everyone has their own. If they pass away, their figurine breaks.” He patted Luz reassuringly when the hand that reached over to the statuettes retracted. “Don’t worry, they won’t die if it breaks first. But I will get an ear full from Wayra.” Their avian companion confirmed his statement with a whistle.

“That moment when death becomes inevitable… my body takes on the experience of their death and my mind links to theirs until they cross over.” Ryn watched Luz’s reaction cautiously. He had just admitted to being involved in magic. There was no telling how she would respond. “So… whatever pain Udo felt transferred to me and… well, I suppose I was with him to the very end. If not in body, in spirit.”

Her lips parted, and she drew a breath in but quickly closed it before saying anything. A weight settled in her chest, heavy with unanswered questions and an unsettling sense of dread.

“How—how are you able to do this?” The hand around his tightened, trembling with a mix of concern and fear. “Why?” Why would he willingly link himself to others’ suffering? To feel a life slip away? To linger in the depths of death without its release? The thought sent chills racing down her spine.

The corner of Ryn’s mouth curled upward. “Magic,” he confessed. There. He said it. The plainest answer he could ever give. An answer that could cost Ryn his life, the Hendrixes’ status, reputation, and their livelihood. “As for the specifics, you’d have to ask Wayra yourself. This one’s their handiwork.” The parrot fluffed out in pride.

Bewildered would be one of the words Zarai would use to describe what she was feeling. She stared between Fritz and the bird, grappling with the enormity of the secret that had just been laid bare before her. She blinked once, twice, three times, as if hoping the revelation would dissolve into smoke. “The bird did this?” The implication hung in the air, heavy and surreal. If the bird could wield such power, maybe she should start calling it by its name. Her name? His name? Their name? Each possibility felt like a new layer of complexity to an already intricate web.

“Not this one, no. The person… people? Behind the bird.”

Ryn glanced down at Luz’s tight grip and he drew circles against her skin with his thumb. “Have your parents ever ordered someone to risk their life for their own purpose? And not necessarily for the benefit of the person whose life is actually on the line?” he asked instead of directly answering Luz’s last question.

Zarai frowned down at their hands, her heart racing as doubt clawed at her. In truth, her knowledge of her parents' dealings was a mystery, a dark cloud hanging over her understanding of them. She knew they were involved in some shady transactions, always brushing aside her suspicions by attributing them to tax evasion or business as usual. Duchess Francesca was the one in charge of the family’s trading company finances, while her father busied himself with their newly obtained railroads. The disconnect between her perception and reality gnawed at her.
“It wouldn’t be above them to do so,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper, laced with bitterness and resignation.
“How easy—” Ryn reconsidered his words, “or hard, would you say it is for them to send someone to their death?” Though he was well aware of the lengths Luz’s parents went to ruin Ryn’s family, he decided to give them the benefit of the doubt: it was always possible that they put such effort because they only disliked the Hendrixes. Almost flattering, if that were the case.

Zarai looked down, the weight of her family’s legacy pressing heavily upon her shoulders. She doubted her father cared enough to kill someone; he mostly retreated to his office, absorbed in his work or pinning insects. But her mother? That was a different story. She ruled their household with an iron fist, her brand of “discipline” often bordering on cruelty. The memory of her mother’s cold, calculating gaze sent a shiver through Zarai.

“Easy,” Zarai finally answered, her voice steadier than she felt. Yet, a knot tightened in her stomach as she ventured to ask, “... but why are you asking me this?” Her heart twisted at her own question, a quiet terror settling in as she braced herself for Fritz’s response.

He essayed a smile in hopes that it might gentle Luz’s disquiet. “I don’t want to become that sort of person.” Ryn held her gaze so she would understand he meant it, at the very least. “Power’s a funny thing, isn’t it? The more you gain, the higher you rise, the smaller all the little people seem. Like ants. And crushing an ant starts to feel like a small price for the ‘greater good.’” The “greater good” chiefly being the ruling house and not the people they ruled over.

“I don’t ever want such a decision to be easy. I want it to twist me up inside, make me lose sleep. I want to fight it, find another way even when it’s obvious there’s no other way. Sacrificing another’s life or well-being must be the last resort, never the first choice.” He glanced at the statuettes, “Those are supposed to remind me not to take anyone for granted. My anchor to earth… so I don’t fly away.” One of which had shattered; he allowed the figurine to break. Had that truly been Udo’s own wish, or was it self-deceit on Ryn’s part, to gloss his creeping resemblance to the Lesdemans and the Danroses?

Ryn peered at her, brow troubled. “Does… any scrap of that make sense?” he asked.

History itself bore witness to his words, a chronicle of countless lives recklessly cast aside at the altar of power and wealth. Zarai couldn’t help but reflect on her own family, who had been guilty of the very transgressions that fueled Fritz’s fears. The Lesdeman ascent to power in Puerto Vira had left a grim trail of bodies in its wake. How many lives had been sacrificed for their ambitions? How much blood stained her parents’ hands? Her own?
Zarai nodded slowly, her voice barely above a whisper. “It makes sense.” She gazed at her hands, opening and closing them repeatedly as if expecting thick, red liquid to suddenly surface. “Heh, fuck. It makes perfect sense.”

In the half-light of the carriage, Ryn gently covered Luz’s hands. He said, “Their sins are not yours, Luz.” Though he understood how she might have felt she inherited them, as if they were woven into her very being. How could it not be? Families like his and Luz’s ingrained in their offspring the obligation to uphold the legacies of their forebears. Did that not include their sins as well?

The deeds of the past were like shadows—they followed them and could loom large over their present, but these shadows need not define their steps. Remember their forebears’ faults as lessons to learn from, but no more than that. For if they were to bear their forebears’ sins as their own, they would be doomed to a cycle where hate begets hate, an endless, sorrowful spiral. “Your hands aren’t dirty.” He brought her palms to his lips—with hands far from “clean”—to prove it.
Heat flushed her cheeks, a stark contrast to the weight pressing down on her chest, which grew heavier with each passing moment. It felt as though rocks were piled on top of her heart, rock after rock after rock, until she was on the verge of sinking beneath the earth, gasping for breath. Despite the flutter of her heart, the sensation was suffocating, a consuming tide of helplessness that threatened to pull her under.

"But they’re not clean," Zarai murmured, shaking her head in denial. It was her inheritance now, immutable and unchangeable; of that, she was certain. The burden of her family's legacy pressed down on her shoulders, a constant reminder of the choices and actions of those who came before her. She longed to break free from its grip, to carve out her own path untainted by the bloodbath of the past, but the weight of expectation felt like chains wrapped around her, anchoring her to a history she wished to escape.

Crushed under the invisible weight of her family’s name, deeds, and hopes, Luz seemed to appear smaller than usual. “Oh? I didn’t realize I was dealing with a master assassin,” Ryn smiled briefly before asking the real question. “Why do you think they’re not clean?” His thumbs rubbed circles around the places he kissed.

Zarai found solace in his ability to make her smile, even in situations such as these. It was like magic. “I’m not sure,” she confessed. It was a difficult matter that she could not entirely articulate, but Zarai could not deny that she had reaped the rewards of her family’s history. Though neither of them had directly participated in the violent events of the past, she had nonetheless benefited from them. Every dress she wore, every jewel she adorned herself with, was paid for with the lives of who knows how many individuals. How many souls had been sacrificed for the sake of the simple dress she wore now?

“We’ll figure it out later,” Zarai tried a smile, wanting to set the matter aside, at least for the time being. They were nearing the guest house, and she could sense the weariness in everyone. They had lost a dear friend, someone who had been like family to them. Zarai did not want to detract from that no more than she already had.

"You all need to rest," Luz insisted, taking Fritz's hands this time. "A full night's sleep, perhaps with the aid of some alcohol if need be." She turned her gaze to Fritz, her eyes pleading for him to agree. "That includes you, sir. No arguments, no excuses. Please." She pressed his knuckles into her lips, hoping her insistence would finally end the discussion.

A tightness gripped Ryn’s chest as Luz made a desperate bid to end the conversation. His hands moved slowly, fingers threaded through hers with utmost care. “Remember asking if I will help you?”

“And never forget, you’re not alone. Just reach out and someone will take your hand. You’re the only one who can save yourself, but it’s okay to ask for help.”

Luz nodded, wiping the corners of her eyes. “I didn't know you were some kind of wise man.” She sniffed and laughted weakly, “Fuck.” Tears spilled over and trailed down your face. Beautiful despite everything; beautiful because of everything. “Fine. I'll ask for help.” She took a deep breath, reached for his hand. “Will— oh fuck, this is hard.” She tried everything in her power not to sob, to stay strong because in the world they lived in, vulnerability was a weakness to exploit. “Will you help me? Please?”

“I want to help you, but I can’t if you don’t let me…” Ryn’s voice dropped to a plea laced with a need for understanding. “Please… Don’t push me away, Luz.”

Zarai felt her lips part as if to speak, but no words came out. She quickly closed them, pressing them into a thin line. Was she pushing him away? This was still uncharted territory for her. One wrong move and the world could fall apart right under her. But this was Fritz. The man she so desperately wanted to help, and how could he ask her if she did not in return? She nodded slowly, swallowing back the forming knot in her throat. "I won’t, I’ll try." Fritz gave her a bitter sweet smile in response, but a hint of sorrow clouded his eyes.

“Your hands are beautiful. Clean or dirty, flawless or marred, pure or tainted. You are beautiful, Zarai.” He leaned in close until their faces were a hairsbreadth apart, leaving no room for her to deny or deflect his words with one of her quips. “You are.”

Dark eyes held her transfixed, a deep pool she could drown in. The count did not release the future dutchess’s hands or look away, not until the carriage jerked to a halt.

Zarai felt the rush of blood in her ears, the pounding in her chest so loud she feared Karleen might hear it. And yet, she found herself lost in his eyes, drawn in as if they held some irresistible enchantment. A familiar sense rushed to her, deep inside her, that she didn’t know was there. Zarai was drowning in those eyes, letting the darkness envelop her all around until there was nothing else but the darkness itself. At that moment, nothing else mattered; there was only the warmth of his hands and the depth of his gaze. She allowed herself to be taken over by the calmness and peace, if only for a fleeting moment.

“I won’t stop you if you really want to rest… But you did promise we’d celebrate Udo’s departure together.” Ryn’s tone took on a teasing lilt. “Join us? How else are we to finish all this stuff we got?” He nodded at the picnic basket beside her on the seat, filled with what they brought from The Tough Tavern.

"Okay," Zarai's voice cracked slightly, but she cleared her throat and reached for the basket. "Let's celebrate and drink to him." Despite her mind urging her to retreat to her room and seek solace in solitude, she couldn't bear to leave them. None of them wanted to be alone.

“Stay close to me; I’ve got the perfect room,” Zarai announced, lifting the basket and waiting for everyone to gather around her before leading them inside. A guard posted by the front door began to protest at their attire, but quickly bowed down when he noted Count Hendrix and Lady Zarai were amongst the group.

Zarai guided them through a series of hallways, the walls becoming barer and lacking the Caesonian art that adorned the more populated guest wing. She pushed open a pair of dark wooden doors, revealing a drawing room. Most surfaces were covered in a thin layer of dust, except for two couches, a small bookcase, and a liquor cabinet. They all settled on the couches surrounding the basket as they passed out the various hearty foods.

Surrounded by heavy drapes that had not danced with the wind in years and dust-covered antiques, they shared stories and laughter, toasting to memories that would never fade and ate every scrap of food they brought. As the night deepened, the room, filled with the echo of their camaraderie, gently lulled them into a collective slumber, their bodies finding rest in a jumble of antique settees and floor cushions.

In the soft glow of dawn, Ryn stirred, half-awake, to find Luz curled up beside him on one of the couches, their bodies entwined in a comforting embrace. With a featherlight touch, he reached out and gently brushed away the strand of hair that had fallen across her face, tucking it behind her ear. His fingertips lingered for a moment, tracing the curve of her cheek with tenderness.

Her lips twitched, and her brows furrowed, a subtle flinch rippling through her muscles. Under her closed eyelids, her eyes moved rapidly; she was dreaming. Moments later, Zarai stirred but kept her eyes closed, a soft sigh escaping her lips. She nestled closer to the warmth surrounding her, seeking solace in its embrace.

“Morning already?” Her voice was a mere whisper, heavy with the remnants of sleep. Her mind swam in a haze, the lingering alcohol in her system and the vivid images of her dreams. Delicate snowflakes drifted down like a gentle cascade of white, the metallic taste of iron lingered in her mouth, the comforting darkness of the lake and the stark silhouette of the bare willow tree remained vivid in her mind.

“Yeah… We’d better get you back to your room before your mother summons the entire garrison to hunt you down.” Neither of them moved, however, content to remain where they were… as long as they could.

Ryn’s fingers found their way into Luz’s long locks, gently working through the tousled knots. “It looked like you were dreaming. Was it a nice one?”

Zarai groaned at the mention of her mother. "She'd do that, wouldn't she?" The woman's determination to control her was maddening. No matter the punishment, it only pushed Zarai further away. It felt like she was standing at the edge of the cliff. “I don’t remember, but there was a nice lake.” She sighed contently, relishing the warmth of Fritz's fingers in her hair.
He hummed and after few strokes of her hair said, “Luz? I know it’s not easy to let someone in, letting them see the real struggles—you’re brave for taking this step. Thank you for trusting me.”

Strong was the complete opposite of what she felt, but the seed had already taken root. There was no turning back now, for either of them. Zarai now had to brace for the worst if her mother happened to catch wind of this.

“We’ve made promises to each other, and I’m committed to keeping mine. But to help you the way you deserve, can I ask you to do something for me?”

“Take some time—just a little—to think about what you truly want. It doesn’t matter if it feels out of reach or if you or others might call it selfish. What do you wish for? What needs to change for you to feel happy? You don’t have to tell me right now… you can think about it first. And then let’s talk so we can make a plan together.”

Zarai didn’t need time to think. She knew her desires were selfish, but she had made peace with that. She knew exactly what would bring her happiness.

Suddenly, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed from outside, accompanied by not-so-hushed voices. A commanding woman’s voice issued sharp orders to her two ladies-in-waiting to open the doors to the empty hall.

“...must be here…!”
“Find her, or you…punished!”

Zarai recognized the voice just as the door swung open. She tried to scramble to her feet, but it was too late. Panic set in as she thought about how to protect Fritz from her mother’s wrath. Perhaps she could pretend to have fallen asleep on the floor instead of the couch beside him. Duchess Francesca stormed in, pushing past her trembling ladies-in-waiting, her lips pressed into a thin, unforgiving line.

“Good morning, Mo—” Zarai began, but the icy look in her mother’s eyes cut her off mid-greeting. What happened next, she half expected.

The ground rushed up to meet Zarai as she fell, the old carpet scraping her palms, but the sting was nothing compared to the sharp slap across her cheek. She felt like a little girl caught red-handed, trying to sneak a cookie from the kitchen. Above her, she heard the Duchess turn her fury toward Fritz as she struggled to rise.

“You. You did this to her,” Francesca spat at Fritz, her voice dripping with disdain. “Have you no compassion? My daughter is already damaged goods; she does not need another stain on her reputation. If you truly cared for her, you would steer her away from you. For her sake and her future.” Before he could utter a word in his defense, she seized Zarai's arm in a vice-like grip and dragged her out of the room.

A rare emotion flooded Ryn's body when he witnessed the Duchess strike her daughter across the face with such force that Luz crumpled to the ground.

Rage.

Red fury ignited within him, a wrath directed at both the Duchess and himself—at his own impotence, his failure to shield Luz from harm. The emotion swelled, poised to rupture through his flesh.

Then, nothing.

Swift and sudden as its arrival, the feeling fled, leaving the world drained of color, reduced to black and white. Hollowness replaced the overwhelming sensations.

This emotional neutrality was fortunate, as it allowed the count to handle the situation with the ladies-in-waiting more effectively. Based on their body language and facial expressions, the women exhibited signs of distress. Negative emotional reactions would be counterproductive in this scenario. The optimal course of action: maintain a calm disposition and leverage the opportunity to establish rapport and trust.

He went through the motions. Hitting the right notes, selecting words calculated to yield the most favorable results.

Color bled into Ryn’s world, sensation returned
—and with it, fear.

__________________________________________________________________________

Later, when Luz was alone for the briefest moments, Ryn appeared beside her. A carefully orchestrated encounter facilitated by the ladies-in-waiting. “I should’ve returned you to your room sooner.” He pressed his lips to the spot where Luz’s mother had struck her. “I regret not preventing this, but I cannot regret our time together.” His whisper tickled her ear. “Think about what I said,” he urged, a plea and a reminder all at once. “Take care of yourself.” Another kiss on her cheek, and he vanished, as if the count had never been there at all.

TLDR

Fritz confides in Zarai about Udo’s death, expressing deep grief and regret, wishing Udo had lived longer. Zarai comforts him as they discuss the burdens of power and the fear of corruption. Fritz reveals that the spell cast on him makes him feel the deaths of those loyal to him, in their place. Zarai is overwhelmed by this revelation but believes him.

As they discuss their families and legacies, Zarai admits feeling weighed down by her own family’s dark history. Fritz reassures her that she isn’t defined by her parents’ actions. Their conversation becomes emotional, with Fritz urging Zarai not to push him away. She reluctantly agrees to let him help her.

That night, the group settles in an old drawing room to grieve and celebrate together, and by morning, Fritz and Zarai wake in each other’s arms. However, Duchess Francesca storms in and upon seeing them, she slaps Zarai, and blames Fritz for further corrupting her daughter before dragging her away. Fritz, filled with anger and guilt, stays calm. Later, he secretly visits Zarai and asks her to think about what she truly wants in life before disappearing.

Fritz "Ryn" Hendrix

Time: Sola 25 1739; Daytime Hours
Location: Edwards Estate, Drake Edwards’ Birthday Party
Interaction(s)/Mention(s): Everyone around the tables; @Rodiak

“May I have a word, Count?” Luz asked. “In private.” She stood up and began walking away. To the others, she called over her shoulder, “Worry not; we will be back just in time for poker.”

Ryn blinked, taken aback by Luz’s abrupt request. He recovered swiftly, his features settling into a mask of casual amusement. As she announced they would return shortly, Ryn turned to the others with a grin. “Don’t start the fun without us!” He winked at them before pivoting to follow her retreating form.

He fell into step behind Luz, his stride easy while his eyes remained sharp. He could not help but notice the slight hitch in her gait.

Has she hurt herself? The thought flitted through his mind, chased by a darker one: Or has someone hurt her again?

A hot, prickling sensation skittered along his spine, an emotion he recognized yet refused to name. He tamped it down beneath layers of practiced nonchalance.

They emerged into a secluded corner of the garden. Here, the cacophony of the party dwindled to a distant murmur, replaced by the whisper of leaves.

“Strip poker might not be as entertaining with just two players, my lady.” Ryn joked, his tone light even as his eyes searched hers. “Although I’m flattered by the invitation.” He paused, then added more softly, “Are your feet giving you trouble?”

[Rodiak]

<sub>♖ the fit ♖

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 :
Ariella @Tpartywithzombi
M e n t i o n s :
Wulfric @SilverPaw</sub>

Mathias shot a glance back at the woman, praying she wouldn’t follow. To his relief, she was too preoccupied, watching the strands of his fallen mustache floating in the breeze. Up, up, and then—down. Down—right into Prince Wulfric’s plate. Mathias’s eyes widened in horror, and he quickly looked away, wiping any lingering bits of the mustache from his upper lip.

Once they were safely away from the elderly woman, who was now quietly giggling to herself, Mathias tried to conceal his embarrassment behind the oversized top hat. It only slipped further down his forehead, forcing him to remove it. As he finally turned to face his savior, Ariella looked like she was on the verge of bursting into laughter, her cheeks flushed with the effort of holding it in.

For a moment, Mathias couldn’t speak, just watched Ariella's arched brow and the quiver of her lips. The sight was enough to make him break. “No, I— it’s my first time,” he managed to say through his pressed lips before a snort escaped him. A second later, he was laughing uncontrollably, clamping a hand over his mouth to keep from drawing attention, but it was too late.

This was absurd! Ridiculous! He could’ve been caught and humiliated, but somehow, Ariella had saved him just in time. Tears welled in his eyes from laughing so hard, one hand clutching his stomach while the other gripped the top hat.

“Did I at least look good as an old man?” he asked between fits of laughter, still gasping for breath. “Gods, that mustache smelled horrible.” And somehow, he could still smell it! "Thank you Ari, for the rescue."

[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 :
Fritz @JJ Doe
M e n t i o n s :}

Zarai’s lips curled into a smirk at his joke, though her eyes lingered on him. "Oh, I don’t know, my Lord. You might find I’m more than enough competition," she teased with a familiar ease, but the moment he shifted the conversation to her feet, her expression faltered. The playfulness dimmed as she glanced away, trying to brush off the discomfort. “Trouble? Nothing I can’t handle,” she replied lightly, though the faint tightness in her smile betrayed her. "But if you’re offering a foot rub, I might be tempted to take you up on it."

“How are you?” she asked, her voice softening to match his. Her hand twitched as though to reach for him, but she kept it by her side. “Peter and Karleen doing alright? The bird too?” It was easier to ask about them, to avoid what truly weighed on her mind. She hadn’t seen them since their celebration, and she hoped this small talk might help ease into the real reason she’d asked to speak privately.

The silence between them grew, pressing down with an unbearable weight. They both knew this wasn’t why she had asked him to speak alone, but Zarai still needed to know about them. They had all lost someone dear to them.

Would Udo think her brave for what she was about to do?

No. He wouldn’t. It was cowardly, but she didn’t know what else to do. Fritz had asked what had to change for her to be happy, and no matter how selfish it was, he had promised to help her. And now, the answer sat at the tip of her tongue, heavy and vile. She couldn’t say it—not when it was the very thing Fritz feared becoming. And here she was, contemplating doing exactly that. But was it the same?

She didn't know.

The silence wrapped around her like ink-black tendrils, suffocating and cold, pulling her deeper into the dark lake of despair that threatened to swallow her whole. She felt trapped beneath its icy surface, unable to reach the warmth, the light. She couldn't say it. She couldn't turn him into that.

"I'm sorry. This was a mistake," Zarai murmured, shaking her head. She took a step back, her resolve crumbling under the weight of what she had almost asked. "It might be best to talk later. Away from prying ears." She needed time—time to figure out another way to make her wish come true without dragging him down with her.

"Shall we go back?" she asked, her smile returning with practiced ease. "We can't let them start without us!" It was easier to slip back into that mask, to pretend, just a little longer. She only hoped Fritz would allow her that.

[SilverPaw]

	Attire: Party fit (one brooch only) Date and Time: Sola 25th, Morning Location: The Edwards estate Mention(s): Drake Interaction(s): @Rodiak Nahir, @Helo Rohit, @Lava Alckon Farim

The Shehzadi was admirably inscrutable. Only the flicker of her gaze, the slightest pause here and there, and the calculation he could sense behind her actions betrayed her.

“If you wish to sample one, I shan’t stop you.” Lord Rohit hadn’t even hesitated, excusing himself from the table with a drink in hand. The Alidasht princess, on the other hand, was far more reserved. Having noticed how socially aware she was, he accompanied his words with a simple gesture. As if on a whim, he reached for one of the cocktails, and took a careful sip. The liquid was potent and sharp, its sting prickling him. Yet, it smoothly slid down his throat, coating his palate with its delicious taste. He could see why the guests had downed them with such reckless ease. “Whoever made this knew exactly what they were doing,” he commented, and set the drink back down. Now, if Nahir wished to indulge, she needn’t worry he would judge her too harshly for her curiosity.

He suspected the servants had created the concoctions, but if the Duchess didn’t notice, intervention wasn’t strictly necessary. Perhaps, this would only become known as a slightly wild birthday party, and that was that.

Wulfric smiled when Nahir agreed with his suggestion to relocate. “Indeed, she has handled this spectacle well.” Duchess Edwards’ challenge had been odd, but then, Captain Durmand and Duke Vikena heckling her had been strange in the first place. “This does mean that she has a better tolerance for alcohol than her own son,” he smirked. “I will not let Drake live down that one,” he chuckled.

Her assessment of the Duke Edwards was, once again, correct. “He is well practiced.” Nobles who lived in Caesonia, and especially in Sorian were quite familiar with the relationship between the two.

It was then that something floated in the air towards him, falling upon his plate. Wulfric blinked, eyeing the stray…was that hair? A bewildered look revealed an elderly woman gigglin nearby, but not the culprit, as it were. This was getting far too ridiculous. Thankfully, his conversation partner saved him the headache of contemplating the bizarre event with her next words. Nahir queried where he wished to go, and he was about to turn the question back on her when she quickly followed up with a location. Given her disposition so far, this was odd. He couldn’t determine the reason behind the change, however.

Nonetheless, she had accepted his proposition, so they could both spend a pleasanter, calmer time elsewhere. “The opera house is a most excellent suggestion, Shehzadi Nahir.” He stood up, positioning himself close enough that she could take him up on the subtle offer to escort her, yet far enough that she could instead choose to walk next to him without taking ahold of his arm.

“Shall we?” At her go-ahead, he led them on a preplanned path which just so happened to have them pass by his sister’s table. “A moment,” he told her. He stepped towards Farim, laid a single palm upon his shoulder, and leaned down to whisper in his ear. “I will expect you in my office at half past noon.” He gave the man a pleasant nod, but there was a hint of something far colder in his eyes as he did so. However, by the time he returned to Nahir, it was gone. He engaged the Shehzadi in light conversation, entertaining her as they hailed a carriage to the opera house. They enjoyed the performance in good company, then excused themselves to each other, as they both had other business to attend to.

[FunnyGuy]

Time: Morning
Location: Edward's Estate
Interaction: @princess @PapaOso @Lava Alckon Cassius, Charlotte, Drake
Mention:

For Lord Drake! For the Kingdom! For Furonia!

For Lord Drake! For the Kingdom! For Furonia!

For Lord Drake! For the Kingdom! For Furonia!

The pledge kept Lorenzo from slipping from his one and only focus now: presenting Drake Edwards’ gifts. Charlotte surprisingly appeared at his side as he thought she was going to work with Cassius to sort out the two gifts amongst the collection gathered at the party.

“Benjamiiin!” Lorenzo called as he approached the driver's carriage. Like clockwork, Benjamin rounded his carriage with a large off-white box riddled with countless tiny holes. “Lottie, please. Please, be careful with that, please,” Lorenzo begged with clasped hands.

For Lord Drake! For the Kingdom! For Furonia!

Lorenzo continued to burn the objective into his very spirit as he, Charlotte, and Cassius marched toward Drake. Lorenzo remained empty-handed, shirking the carrying of two boxes to Cassius while he focused on the full and complete delivery of gifts.

“Drake… Drake! DRAAAAKE!” He had to be sure the young man heard him with so many people around. “We, the Vikenas!” Lorenzo outstretched his hands before looking at Charlotte… and then Cassius. “AND the Damiens have splendid gifts for you, young man! And we want to make sure we see them delivered to you personally!” Lorenzo grabbed the red box from Cassius. “I won't open them, of course, no no no, I won't. I know you children treasure tearing at the wrapping papers.” Lorenzo chuckled.

“In this box… is some firepower I think you’d love to tote around this season! A brand new SINGLE ACTION REVOLVER! Ooh! I wish I could have gotten it myself but Drake Edwards… you are blessed this day! But wait! Don't react just yet! I have some more things to gift!” Lorenzo handed off the box to Drake and grabbed the white box Cassius held next.

“This! This will ensure you are nothing but successful this courting season! I made myself! You won't believe it! I call it a Courting Kit!” As Lorenzo handed over the box, he continued. “It has colognes, perfumes, scented and unscented candles, handkerchiefs, oils, letter-writing material, a book of poetry, a love potion, and of course plenty of… rubbers.” Lorenzo wore a mischievous smile with the last word. He stared at Drake for a little longer than normal in his drunken stupor before making way for Charlotte to present the third and final gift.

“And saving the best for last! I think every good man needs an even better companion. And do you know what's better than a better companion? Hmm? TWO! Drake Edwards, you are now the proud and lucky owner of TWO TWIN FERREEEEETS!” Lorenzo slightly opened the lid of the box, revealing the two black eyed white ferrets curiously staring up at Drake. “TWO TWIN FERRETS!”

[Helo]

Riona & Leo

part 1

Time: Morning
Location: Guest House

---

Martin Barnaby held a perpetually stern expression. When his intense amber eyes landed on the group of tittering servants that gathered outside his lordship’s room, they fell silent and returned to work. Ray followed behind him, frequently seen in the other man’s large shadow, lagging just a few paces behind the older man. Ray’s wiry frame was made smaller and unassuming by his proximity to the barrel-chested Martin.

“Told ya, gotta see it to believe it. Gone awry.” Ray spoke, clearly amused by the situation.

“Indeed.” Martin huffed out the word, unamused and annoyed. He brushed past the maid and lifted the chair Leo was stuck in without any sign of effort. “Pull him out.” He instructed his apprentice while holding the chair still.

“Martin!” Leo exclaimed with relief as he was finally pulled free from the world’s worst chair. “Look at this! The maid messed up my room. That is the opposite of what maids should do, right?”

“Correct, sir.” Martin said, eyes flickering to Riona. “Very childish.” He added even as Ray not so discreetly tried to hide a smirk by scratching at his face. “Raymond will see that it’s fixed.”

Ray’s smirk vanished as he gave Riona an annoyed look and mouthed, 'thanks for the extra work.'

Riona stared down Ray, her silent rebuke wiping the annoyance off his face. And being forced to redecorate because of the Lordling’s whim isn’t extra work? Really, Ray? Really? She wanted to scoff. This wasn’t even his own house.

Years of service helped keep Riona’s expression a mask of professional neutrality as she addressed Martin. Her spine straightened imperceptibly, chin lifting a fraction of an inch. “Lord Smithwood’s instructions were quite clear, sir,” she stated, her voice crisp and even. “He requested immediate redecoration. No specifics were provided regarding color schemes or themes.” Her eyes slid to Sh*tfaced-lord, “Given the constraints of time and direction, I selected from a diverse array of options.” Oh, how she wished she could drop Shehzade Farim’s name into the mix, to watch the shock ripple across Lord Smithwood’s face. But the prince’s desire for plausible deniability was clear enough.

Instead, Riona allowed herself the tiniest of smiles. “I must say, milord seemed to find great amusement in the new decor. Your laughter was quite... enthusiastic. It gave the impression that Your Lordship has an appreciation for the unexpected?”

“It is amusing…” Leo commented, begrudgingly as he looked around at the collection of comically small, ugly, and impractical furniture. “But incorrect. And it can’t stay like this.” He insisted. “I won’t stay in a room full of junk.”

“You knew better.” Martin’s statement was more of a detached fact than an accusation. Leo gestured to Martin and nodded his head, he and his bodyguard were always on the same page.

“The tales of the Varian Kingdom’s love for every art form, led me astray, it seems,” she said. “In the future, perhaps His Lordship could deign to be more specific about his desires. It would save us all the tedium of guesswork.” Martin’s only response was a barely audible snort.

The young lord brushed himself off and reached for the croissant he didn’t remember ordering. Martin cleared his throat and shook his head. Leo quickly sat the croissant back down.

“And I'm not drunk!” Leo remembered the accusation Riona had made when she’d first entered. “Don’t be ridiculous, it’s not even noon! I’m not Prince Callum.” The young lord chuckled at his own joke as Martin picked up and sniffed the empty coffee cup his lord had already finished. Although he caught no whiff of alcohol he eyed Riona with suspicion.

Some of the servants outside the door shifted uncomfortably at the casual slander against Caesonia’s royalty.

It was easy to ignore Martin, less so Sh*tlord. “Of course not, milord. I am sure it is merely the intoxicating effects of redecorating that have you in such high spirits this morning. Though your current state does bear a striking resemblance to His Highness’s ‘appreciation for interior design.’”

“No that’s not it.” Leo quickly dismissed Riona’s explanation. “It must be lingering effects from Count Landon’s gathering. I did drink there…and I bet that spa dehydrated me.” He fumbled his way around an explanation. He did feel intoxicated, but he was certain there hadn’t been alcohol in his coffee.

“Sounds like a proper breakfast is in order. Maybe a feast, huh, moving furniture is hungry work.” Ray suggested with an outstretched hand.

Leo moved a bag of coins from his pocket to Ray’s hand. “Coffee too.” Leo instructed.

“Can’t have breakfast without it!” He wasted no time sending a pair of the looky-loos who loitered in the doorway to pick up breakfast and coffee from someplace other than the palace.

Riona eyed the extra breakfast, her clasped hands tightening in front of her as she said, “If you intend to waste food, then perhaps it could be shared with those in need.”

“Right, Riona, where we moving all this stuff too? And where’s the lord’s proper furniture?” He asked walking back into the room. He looked to Martin, who gave him a single nod, to gauge how well he was doing.

“You mean the royal family’s proper furniture? The same furniture your lordship ordered us to move without asking if he was actually allowed to do it?” Riona didn’t say anything for a bit, just maintained direct eye contact with Ray before finally answering. Ray returned the look, unblinking as if this was a staring contest. “It’s in storage, of course.” She couldn’t give less of a damn where they took the new furniture, but since it technically wasn’t the guest house’s, the Smithwoods would have to deal with it themselves.

Ray kept staring waiting for the other half of his question to be answered. After a few beats, he realized he wasn’t getting an answer for where to take the unwanted furniture, so he turned to look at Leo.

“What?!” Leo asked, once he realized Martin’s apprentice was looking at him.

“Where you want all this moved to?” Ray asked, gesturing around the room. “Sir.” He added as an afterthought.

“Martin, why is he asking me this?” Leo asked as he searched the room for his belongings, which seemed to have disappeared alongside everything else familiar in the room.

“He’s still learning, milord. Raymond will fetch a horse and cart and get this all hulled down to the slums. Where junk belongs, eh.” Martin offered as Leo nodded in agreement.

Considering what kind of stores she purchased the decor from, Riona tried not to smirk.

“We can even make sure the papers hear of your charitable spirit.” He added.

“Yes, the high-end, respectable stores these came from would appreciate knowing your opinion about their products.”

“Riona, the thoughts of merchants on what I do with their products after purchase, are not a concern of mine. It’s a fine idea, do that.”

“...And the other nobles who make up most of their clientele.” She added quietly.

While Ray went to fetch a cart, Martin corralled any servants lingering outside Lord Smithwood’s door to help move all the furniture outside. Quick and efficient, by the time Ray returned all the furniture was neatly stacked outside waiting to be loaded up. A pair of servants were sent to hand out free furniture in the slums. Another was sent to ensure House Smithwood’s generosity got publicity; donating the results of a purchasing mishap to the destitute.

Meanwhile, Riona and the servants, both from House Smithwood and the castle, placed their bets.
“Copper says it all ends up as firewood by tomorrow.”
“Pansy. Ten coppers.”
“Sod that, loser scrubs privies for a week.” This suggestion was met with groans and nervous laughter.
“No, no, no. Did you see the quality of the material? It’d be too much of a waste to just burn it all. Fifty copper says people’ll strip them for parts.”
“If it’s worth that much, I’d say it’ll all be pawned off by the end of the week. One full silver.”

A collective ooh and ahh erupted from the gathered staff and others quickly piled on to the wager before another bet was made.

“One free drink at any tavern of choice for a month, that someone will give the Smithwoods rubbish as a ‘thank you for leaving your crap in our neighborhood’ present. Anyone want in?”
“Depends,” the servant scratched his chin, “where were they gonna leave the ‘donation’ again?”
“The slums.” A handful of servants nodded knowingly and placed their wagers.
“Are they going to mention His Lordship’s name?”
The butler grinned, “You bet.” A lot more people joined in this time.

---

The guest chamber sat empty, stripped bare, all furnishings gone save for the table and chair where Lordling Stuffypants was shoveling food into his face. Riona stood at attention nearby, bored out of her skull. The breakfast cart she’d wheeled up sulked in the corner and its contents grew colder by the minute.

Apparently she couldn’t be trusted to move so much as a footstool without supervision. So here she was, spending her morning doing her best impression of a statue while Smithwood chomped away, oblivious.

Riona wondered how long it would take His Lordlingship to notice the distinct lack of progress on the so-called “furniture rearrangement” he’d ordered.

Oh, his personal belongings had been hauled out by his own servants a while ago. But since then? Nothing. No one had returned, except for Sh*tlord’s bodyguards, and the room stayed barren. Only the rhythmic clink-scrape of fork against plate broke the silence.

“You know that’s creepy, right? Leo asked finishing a full plate of breakfast offerings, intentionally scraping fork against plate to see if it caused a reaction from Riona. He wondered how long she could stand there like a creepy too real statue, without a single perceptible movement. He leaned back in the chair, finishing a third cup of coffee but feeling worse than when he’d started his meal. Still, he got up, unsteadily, and looked around the hallway for someone to remove his dishes and the table and chair from the room.

“Milord has never complained before,” Riona answered flatly. Most people who employ servants almost always want them to blend into the background. She didn’t understand why this was bothering the Lordling now.

“Well, now it’s creepy.” He accused, looking down an empty hallway, annoyed at not seeing dutiful servants carrying furniture. “Where is everyone?” Leo asked stumbling back into the room. “It shouldn’t take this long.” He insisted, words beginning to slur together as he stared at Riona expectantly. Martin and Ray finished their own meals, having a quiet conversation on the other side of the room, occasionally glancing over as their lord bickered with Riona.

Her eyes glanced at the window. Based on the light and activity outside, she guessed the time. “They are likely taking a break or back doing their usual duties,” Riona answered.

“A break? When the job’s barely half-finished?” Leo rolled his eyes, this wasn’t how things were done in Stravy. Dad never had these problems. They’d all be scrambling to get everything done before he finished speaking. His father had a voice like absolute authority, Leo had no such roar.

“Well, go ahead.” He snapped at Riona. “Gloat about your meager victory. You’ve soured my day, I’ll be incredibly late to Lord Drake’s birthday, forced to deal with the issue you caused. Congratulations Riona, you are far more aggravating than an insect…untrained pet…beast of burden…whatever it was I called you that ruffled your feathers.” Leo paced, staggering about, as he spoke. Up and down the nearly empty room.

He didn’t hear Riona’s “... I already told you what my problem is with you.”

Martin cleared his throat. “Sir, is it worth the risk? Showing up to the lord’s birthday this-” Martin paused for the right word.

“Wasted!” Ray offered.
“Inebriated.” Martin continued, as a look of deep annoyance crossed his face.

“I’m not-” Leo stumbled and once he’d righted himself a look of concern flashed across his face. “I’m drunk.” He admitted, but he’d not had a drop since last night. “Pranked! Again! That solves it, Martin! The pranks are definitely happening in this guest house.” Leo excitedly shared the clue he’d found.

“Most likely.” Martin agreed.

“And you’re sure Verrick left?” Leo asked.

“I watched him leave with the Royals,” Ray confirmed. Leo only looked at Martin, who nodded.

“That settles it. I forgo the birthday party, we’ll spend the morning figuring out suspects, detective work. Once the room gets fixed.” Leo continued to wait for servants who continued to remain unaware of their lord’s need for urgency.

“If you intend to sit here all day, may I take my leave?” Because he was going to stay here all day if he waited for “this room to get fixed.” And even she couldn’t stand still for that long. She glanced at the breakfast cart and wondered if she should just eat that for lunch.

“Go ahead,” Leo gestured to the food cart that Riona kept eyeing, wondering why she seemed so concerned with an uneaten croissant when bigger problems were happening. “I am no longer eating anything prepared in the kitchens here.”

“I will inform the staff to never serve you food in this castle, or made from the castle kitchens, from this moment forward.” Riona walked over to the table. “Would you like to extend that request to drinks as well?”

“You will not! It’s a secret.” He insisted, he wasn’t risking insulting the crown like that.

A small smile appeared on the maid’s face. “Understood, drinks will be served as normal.”

Riona's reply went unheard as Leo did his best to ignore her input. “Now, we’re all going to the storage room and moving everything back.” Leo decided, it seemed that was the only way anything was getting done today. Leo didn’t wait for an answer, he headed out of the room and waited for someone to lead the way to the storage room. Ray headed past Smithwood, directing the lord toward the storage room.

“Has my watch been found?” Leo asked.

“Not yet.” Martin said.

Ray spun around and began walking backward as he spoke. “Right! Full report on the missing pocket watch. I canvassed the marketplace, shops on the up and up, sellers on the down low. Everything in between. No one’s tried to fence it, far as I can tell but, if anyone tries, we’ll know about it.” He turned back around. “Nothing on the thief. Hard to track someone down without a face or name.” Ray added.

“So we have nothing.” Leo stopped walking as he spoke, disappointment heavy in his words. “He’d be so disappointed in me.” He continued walking, mumbling as he did so. “I wasn’t careful enough, I just let some common thief swipe it.” Leo cleared his throat. “We have to find that watch.”

Riona listened into the conversation thoughtfully as she cleared up the Lordling breakfast mess and loaded it up on the cart.

They reached the storage room and began the arduous process of moving all the original furniture back into Leo’s guest room. The small upside to the few wasted morning hours was that his original intent, of the furniture being moved around in a way he found more favorable, was finally realized. The effects of the alcohol he hadn't even consumed were ebbing as well.

A servant emerged from the hallway and paused, clearly confused. “My lord? What are you doing with those furniture? They have not been properly refurbished yet. Did you not like the room we prepared for you?”

“Pardon?” Leo asked, confused. Of course, he didn’t like the empty room! He didn’t wait for the servant to repeat themselves. “I am being moved to a different room? Why wasn’t I told this?” He asked, then his attention flickered to Riona, who’d said nothing while they moved the wrong furniture, and was currently having her back turned to him as she swept the floor.

“A small misunderstanding.” Martin said, his hand clapping against the young lord’s shoulder. “A small pittance for a room upgrade.” His words drew the ire out of Leo’s tone.

“That’s true…excellent then. A better room. This one is unlucky.” Leo quickly decided he was glad to leave the room where misfortune so often struck him.

The look of confusion intensified on the servant. “I beg your pardon, my lord, but it’s exactly the same style of room you pre—” the servant began, but was immediately cut off.

Martin approached the servant, inquiring about the location of the new room and once that was settled dismissed them back to their duties. “We’ll get all this returned to storage, and if you need help restoring furniture, let me know.” Martin added before they left, sounding uncharacteristically chipper about fixing something more tangible than a lord’s minor inconveniences.

“You,” Leo wagged a finger at Riona. “Surprising me with terrible furnishing only to have me switched to a better room.” Leo chuckled as he finally got the joke. “This is an improvement. A stepping stone toward being a better servant! Once the childish antics cease I’ll have passed Lady Morrigan’s bizarre test. He thought about that for a moment.

“Could Lady Morrigan be my prankster? She does have an odd obsession with testing me...” He thought aloud.

The maid spun around—and it wasn’t Riona. Not even close. She cocked her head and seemed to give Leo’s question some serious thought. “I don’t believe so? I rarely hear her mention you, if at all.” Then she beamed at him and, with the energy of some delivering him great news, said, “She’s a very busy woman, so I doubt she’d waste time pranking Your Lordship.”

When the silence that followed stretched into awkwardness, the maid gasped, “Oh, did you need Riona? She’s having tea with your servants. If you will follow me, your lordship.” Without waiting for a response—or bothering to check if they were following—she marched out of the room, humming a jaunty tune.

The muffled sounds of laughter and animated conversation grew louder and clearer as they neared the guesthouse’s servant hall. Familiar voices drifted out into the hall as Smithwood servants let off steam.

“How long before he tasks one of us with getting his lion slippers groomed?” Ivan, Leo’s valet, said as the servants discussed some of their lord’s more absurd requests.

A footmen snorted. “Wouldn’t surprise me if the lad spent all his time in the woods pretending he was a lion.”

“Do you know how much his lordship spends on his hunting trips? On his mountain trips? Enough to feed a small village. And I ain’t seen a raise in years.” One of the Smithwood maids pointed out.

“A raise? When you still struggle with the simplest tasks? Outlandish! Remember the time my drink had far too many ice cubes?” There was a marked smugness to his tone as Ivan impersonated Leo.

“Noble’s have very delicate constitutions, Edith. An extra sliver of ice could send them into a chill.” Myrtle joked.

“How could I forget the time I attempted assassination by brain freeze, his lordship never fails to remind me. I bet he thinks my name is too much ice.” Edith said.

“No wonder he runs off so often, must be afraid of ya.” Abe joked.

“If I had Leo’s parents I'd be running off every chance I got too.” Myrtle said with a shrug. “I swear their arguments could be heard all through Stravy.” At the very least the carriagewoman had heard the pair from the stables more than a few times.

“Can’t say I miss cleaning up shattered dishes all night once the two o’ them were through.”

“Except now, the whole city hears” Ivan cleared his throat and raised the pitch of his voice. “Who allowed Thea near the liquor? Who let Leo track mud through the pallor? Why must my children test me?” Ivan mimicked the Dutchess while dramatically gesturing around him.

]“Like we got extra time to nanny her grown children!” Abe added, rolling his eyes.

“What’s she expect when she’s raised them thinkin' no’s a foreign word?” Edith shook her head.

“Didn’t seem to win her any favors, they both avoid her like the plague.” Myrtle pointed out.

“That I understand. Not even a year and remarried? Her children are a mess, you’d think she’d care a bit more about that.”

“At least the Duke’s gone.” There was a hushed murmur of agreement.

“Surely the worst of ‘em.” Abe whispered the statement. All heads somberly nodded as they all grew quiet for a moment.

“You think the Dutchess had him-” She didn’t need to finish her sentance.

“Good for her if she did. Probably the best thing she’s ever done. Ya know. If.” And then more silence. No one needed to say more on the subject but it was clear they all agreed on that too.

“You should see the kennels, nicer digs than any of us got. The hounds eat better than most merchants.” Ivan pivoted back to something lighter, regretting bringing up the subject.

“Oh what I wouldn’t give to be turned into one of them hounds. Now that’s a cushy life.”

“Pretty sure Lewis was fired ‘cause one of the hounds didn’t like him. Imagine, taking advice from a creature that licks its own ass.”

“If you cannot earn the trust of my hounds, how can I expect you to earn my trust?” Ivan slipped back into his Leo impersonation with such ease that it was clear how often he practiced it.

“Waiting for the day we all get meat scraps as a reward for a job well done.”

“That would require you to do a job well done and you are all more incompetent than a freshly weaned pup.”

“Joke’s on you, I was called an adequate carriage driver by the lad once.” Myrtle bragged.

“So, Riona, what’s it like working for Royal pricks? Any better than the standard variety?” Abe asked.

TLDR

Leo hates Riona's decorating choices, so with the help of his bodyguards (Martin and Ray) and some Smithwood servants, he has the unwanted furniture hulled off to the slums. As they move what they think is the original furniture back into the room they learn Leo's been moved to a different room, the furniture they moved belongs in storage for refurnishing, and Leo's daily misfortune has left him tipsy. Meanwhile, Riona enjoys a double helping of tea, both beverage and gossip, with Leo's unhappy servants.

[Helo]

Riona & Leo

part 2

Time: Morning
Location: Guest House

---

Leo had stopped a few paces before the entrance to the servant’s hall, just close enough to listen in on a good chunk of the conversation. Just as he’d heard enough, Martin placed a hand on his shoulder. “I suggest a breath, Sir.”

“My next breath will be to fire all of them. Did you hear them? They all hate me. Slanderous, disloyal, ungrateful, treacherous-” Leo hissed out a list of faults. Mockery was one thing, but to pick at every crack in the Smithwood house was a betrayal.

“Frustrated, milord. And provoked into venting. You have shared similar thoughts.” Martin pointed out.

“That’s different.”

“Is it?”

Leo thought about that brief time after he’d learned his father had gone missing but before that leach, Valerie, had started hanging around his mother. “We were all having dinner last night. Mom, Thea, me, and it was peaceful. No one was arguing, no weird tension, no one yelling. And I realized how quiet the house has been since I’ve been back. I liked it, it felt more like a home than it had in a while. Then I realized why. Now the quiet just makes me agitated.”

It hadn’t ever occurred to him that the servants had also weathered the tumultuous household. There was relief in the air once the Duke was gone, Leo was just the only one resentful of that feeling. But for the servants, much like his mother, it seems they only felt an oppressive weight being lifted.

There were also his unadmitted thoughts, nights spent wondering if his mother was involved in his father’s disappearance. It was the simplest explanation, it lined up with how his mother behaved. Flaunted her happiness, when even the maid seemed to notice that both he and Thea still suffered.

“I will not be surrounded by servants who hate me, Martin.” Leo said.

“You want to hire new servants? Here? Now?” Martin asked, knowing the answer. “Waste your summer or boost the morale? What’s more efficient? He calmly pointed out.

“Throw them a bone,” Leo said slowly. “Treat them more like my hounds and less like untrained mutts.”

“Not exactly,” Martin said but Leo had already made up his mind on how to fix this issue.

Riona nursed her coffee as she told the Smithwood servants about castle life. She painted broad strokes of her experiences, careful not to dip into the muck. Their sympathetic nods and encouraging words warmed her more than the drink in her hands.

Glancing down at the steaming liquid in her hands, Riona said, “It sounds like a tough household to grow up in. Plenty of people turn to vices because of that.” Unbidden, images of Cal and Anastasia flickered across her mind. A lot of good that did them. She exhaled slowly, “Can’t outrun your demons forever, though. Here’s hoping Lady Thea finds someone to lean on before she hits that wall.”

Her lips quirked into a wry grin. “Leo, needs a kick in the butt.” Ripple of snickers and muttered agreements swept through the group.

Once it died down, she added, “I think there’s still hope for him yet.” Shocked expressions greeted this declaration. Riona snorted. “Yeah, I know, I know. Hear me out.” She traced the rim of her cup. “First time I gave him a piece of my mind, he could’ve done any number of nasty things. Have me arrested, beat me, whatever his fancy noble ass felt entitled to. But he didn’t. He... talked. Mind you, he didn’t give two sh*ts about what I was saying, but still... it’s more than what some highborns would do.”

Riona met the gazes of the gathered servants. “If that numbskull ever learns how to listen—really listen, and see people as, well, people… he might just make a decent Duke someday.” She sighed, swirling the dregs of her coffee. “Getting him to pull his head out of his ass long enough to pay attention? That’s the real challenge.”

“... Why do you care so much about some spoiled Varian lord?”

Riona blinked. “I don’t—”

The maid who had been walking ahead of Leo stepped into the room, silencing whatever half-formed protest Riona had been about to voice.

"Attention Smithwood servants," Leo entered the room, head aloft as if he'd heard none of their gossip. "I have no need for any of you today, graciously I offer you an extra day off to enjoy Sorian. Martin’s apprentice will provide a stipe for your leisure.” He announced before quickly turning to leave to find his new room.

The best way to earn back favor was with gifts; he’d learn that from his father. That was how he’d gotten his first hound; the disappointment of a missed birthday swiftly replaced by the excitement of a puppy. The moment his father pulled a barking ball of wrinkles and fur from a carrier, Leo felt the sharp pangs of guilt for having scowled at his father for returning a few days late.

“You don’t actually take the time to communicate with your servants, do you?” Riona stepped into the Lordling’s new room, casting away formalities.

Leo didn’t answer at first, he only continued to flip through items in his closet, thinking over what he’d wear today. “I communicate my wishes, nothing else is required.” He said, after an extended silence.

“I pay them to do things and then they do those things. That’s how this works, how it has always worked. Are you meeting with the Queen for tea? Having deep heart to hearts with His Majesty?” He posed a rhetorical question, the very idea of it absurd. But he recalled catching the strange Count Hendrix washing dishes with the Vikena servants. How the Vikenas were oddly close, overly personable, with their servants, The Vikenas also held a poor reputation, and their eccentricities seemed unwise to replicate.

Riona’s brow furrowed as she watched Leo rifle through his closet, her lips pressed into a thin line. “I said communicate, not bark orders or hold one-sided conversations,” she said pointedly.

Striding over to the shoe rack cabinet, she pulled out several pairs and laid them out for the lordling’s perusal. “Paying them doesn’t earn you loyalty. Giving them wages is the bare minimum you do as their employer.” She glanced up at Leo, gauging his reaction. “As their future Duke, you need to be more than just the one signing their checks.”

Funny, he didn’t remember appointing a maid as his advisor. Leo only shrugged as a response. He selected a shirt and suit for the day, then silently looked over the shoes Riona had laid out.

His silence only fueled her. “Or else you’ll end up surrounded by people who won’t mourn you when you’re gone. Who’ll be willing to betray you for a single copper more than what you pay them. Worse, they’ll stab you in the back for even less—and smile while doing it.”

When Leo finally selected a pair, Riona scooped up the rejected options, returning them to their precise spots on the rack.

“You can’t honestly believe that buying affection is more effective than earning it, can you?” She softened her voice. “Haven’t you ever wished for... I don’t know, actual time with someone? Something more meaningful than another shiny distraction?”

Leo inspected the bottom of his shoes ensuring no slipper coating had been applied. It hadn’t.
“I spend enough of my time doing things I don’t want to do. Is it so unreasonable to expect them to do as they were hired? Without betrayal? They are fed, housed, paid; that should earn gratitude.” He countered, frustrated with the fact that even though it made perfect sense his servants were clearly disloyal.

Riona sighed as she unfolded the privacy screen, its ornate panels creaking softly. “With that attitude?” While Leo stepped behind it and she went to fetch the lint brush.

“Do you know how exhausting it is? Conversing with people I don’t like? Laughing at Count Hansen’s jokes? Listening to Count Mäkinen drone on about wine pairings? Smile at the same people who whisper that my mother is some sort of secret murderer behind our backs?” He continued, ignoring her comment.

“Sounds an awful lot like the average day of any servant working under someone they don’t particularly like.” She heard fabric rustling as Leo changed.

“Now I should do the same with servants? You expect me to believe they want quality time with me?” He snorted, shook his head, and draped discarding clothing over the top of the screen

“Let’s test that, you go ahead and say whatever else is on your mind, and then tell me if you’ve gained any loyalty towards me after this conversation.”

After a pause, he heard her say, “Okay.” Then take a breath.

“Loyalty is earned through mutual respect,” she explained as plain and simple as possible.

Riona busied herself with smoothing out a wrinkle on her dress, giving her hands something to do as she waited for Leo to finish dressing. “You say they should be grateful for feeding, housing, and paying them. Then why aren’t you grateful to them for cooking your meals, maintaining your house, paying their taxes—which, mind you, come back as part of their wage?”

She lifted her chin, staring at the folding screen. “Leo, I’m not suggesting you be their best friend. Just... treat them like people. With dignity. You might be surprised how far that goes.”

Leo said nothing as Riona addressed him far too casually. He let the privacy screen become a barrier, not unlike a confessional booth, one that let him imagine he was not considering taking advice from some maid. He chuckled at her words as he buttoned up his shirt, not because he found it funny but because he saw an unwanted point there. People were more loyal to those they liked.

“It’d be fake, just another thing I’d have to do for the results, to gain loyalty. I guess that is what everyone wants; royals, nobles, commoners, to watch everyone around them engaged in the same performance.” Maybe Riona had a point, there were no breaks from the performance, not on vacation and not even within one’s home. The last thing he needed was a house full of treacherous servants.

Riona couldn’t help it. The laugh burst out of her, sharp and sudden. It should’ve been bitter, all thorns and vinegar, but instead it charged with disbelief. “Gods,” she muttered, dragging her fingers through her hair. The motion sent her carefully crafted bun unraveling, dark curls tumbling free. Screw it. She was off-duty, more or less. “How full of yourself are you that treating folks like people is actually a job for you?”

Leo let out a heavy sigh at her laughter, it seemed foolish to expect a maid could understand how tiring the burden of nobility could get. “I will serve them one day, as their Duke. My whole life, my every action, every thought, dedicated to best serving Stravy. They are more than people, they are an obligation I am beholden to.” He admitted as he finished dressing.

That… was not what Riona expected to hear.

“Why do you care? About what I do, how I treat my servants? What’s your stake in this?” Leo asked, remaining behind the partition, inspecting his jacket for lint or loose threads.

The answer burned in Riona’s throat. She wanted to matter. To prove that she could make a difference, regardless of her bloodline. That she wasn’t still that helpless kid watching her world burn. How, even knowing vengeance led to only death and destruction, she craved to leave one good mark behind before her time was up.

She could’ve said all that and more but instead, she said, “Right, because you don’t treat people below your station, who aren’t your servants, with utter contempt?” The sarcasm dripped from her voice. “Please.”

“You chose to introduce yourself to me by scraping muck onto my shoes and calling me an idiot, by your own standards you did not invite respect. I do not go around provoking commoners for fun.” He answered.

“Nor do I expect you to,” Riona shot back, “I didn’t do that to gain your respect. I wanted to make damn sure you remembered what this ‘random commoner’ had to say.” She folded her arms over her chest. “That’s your problem. You provoke without even realizing it. You’re so sure you’re in the right, you can’t even see how much of a spoiled ass you can come across as.” Leo only rolled his eyes at that response, he had a different opinion on who was provoking whom.

Not hearing much movement from behind the screen, Riona rapped her knuckles against the panel. “I’m coming in,” she warned, giving Leo a heartbeat to object before she rounded the corner.

There he stood, neck craned at an awkward angle, trying to check out his backside. Riona stepped in, brandishing the lint brush. “Allow me,” she said and started at his back.

As she worked, methodically brushing away lint and loose threads, she continued. “How one treats their servants often reflects how they treat everyone else. It’s a pretty good indicator of what kind of leader you’ll be.”

Her hands moved efficiently, working their way around to his front. She just finished with his arms, a thought slipped out. “You know, the way you talk, it’s like you can’t stand a single person in Stravy.”

The offhand remark sparked something in her mind. A ridiculous thought. Completely absurd, given how much value he placed on being the next Duke of Stravy. And yet... The way he described dealing with people, nobility or not, as an exhausting performance…

Riona looked up at him, her brow furrowed. “Do you…” she hesitated, hardly believing she was asking this, “even want to be Duke?”

“I will be the next Duke, there is no use in wondering if I want that or not, it will happen. I want to do right by my family and by Stravy.” Leo answered, and never once had he ever thought about not becoming a duke. He often avoided thinking about his future but not stepping up when his time came was never an option.

That… wasn’t a yes. Which surprised her. “Leo…” she began to say as her gaze dropped to the floor.

“Riona,” He paused and offered a polite and hollow smile as he addressed her. “You have surprisingly good hair.” He added before circling back to the topic at hand.

Her head snapped up so fast she nearly gave herself whiplash. What the hells? Where did that come from? Riona’s fingers found their way to her hair, suddenly self-conscious. She took an involuntary step back, studying Leo’s face.

That smile. She recognized that particular brand of polite emptiness; it was the kind of mask she’d seen a thousand times. Her lips pursed.

“That’s how this all works, nobles get to live extravagant lives in exchange for caring for our land, and its people. Houses that fail to live up to that fall. Sometimes violently, sometimes they slowly crumble, but I will not allow my house to fall. I am required to see my people as a collective, not worry about the whims of individuals, but to meet the needs of the masses and keep Stravy progressing. It is not malicious, it is practical.” He kept still as he spoke, his posture impeccable, and his words coated in the smugness of someone who knew they were right.

“When creating policies, sure, you’ve got to look at the big picture,” she conceded. “But you can’t just lump people all together when it’s one-on-one. You’re dealing with flesh and blood, not the collective.”

She gave him a once-over, checking if she brushed every lint and stray hair off. “Look, if you insist on seeing everything as some grand machine, fine. But remember: even the tiniest gear can bring the whole thing crashing down.” She smoothed out a wrinkle in his lapel and adjusted his collar. “And like it or not, you, m’lord, are just as much a cog in the contraption as anyone else. Might want to oil those connections with your fellow parts before you break something you can’t fix.”

“I am not a cog, Riona, I operate the machine, I replace the faulty gears.” He corrected the analogy, choosing to leave out that problems also arose when the masses thought they were equals with nobility.

She shook her head. “You are. The machine is the dukedom. And you are just a cog.” A finger jabbed his chest with each word. “Just. Like. Us.” Riona smirked, “The collective.”

He lightly swatted her hand away from him. “Agree to disagree.” He shrugged, some things weren’t worth the argument. “And now that we have conversed like people, I have even asked you about yourself, although you avoided my questions, and I have said something nice to you. Do feel more loyalty toward me now?” He asked, expecting a resolute no from the maid.

“Compared to before?” She lifted her chin, held Leo’s gaze, almost defiantly and answered, “Yes.”

“I felt heard. I felt seen. I got to know a little about you and I respect the effort. You’ll get better with practice.” The privacy screen creaked as she folded it. “Since we’re building trust here, I’ll give you the short answer to the one question you asked: I care, because I’m selfish.”

“Selfish?” He repeated what he considered a nonanswer with a snort. “Your answer is you have the same motivation as everyone else? What kind of selfish are you? Just interested in venting your frustrations out on a random nobleman? Or is your interest in extortion? Hoping I’ll try and grease the faulty gear to behave so I can look good in front of Lady Morrigan?” Leo admired himself in the mirror, considering that might be the easiest remedy.

“... We could’ve ended on a high note too.” Riona sighed and put the lint brush away. “I don’t care about those things and I certainly don’t give a damn about Morrigan.”

“So it’s not money that you want?” He asked for clarification, disappointment evident that he could not simply pay the problem, known as Riona, to simply go away.

“No.” The maid answered flatly.

“You’d rather I keep talking to you instead of a bribe?” He looked away from the mirror and watched for any sign that monetary gain might tempt her away from whatever game she played. “And in exchange you will stop trying to make me look incompetent?” An annoying agreement but if it kept Morrigan off his case it might be worth it.

“I am not responsible for your competence.” Riona’s hand was inches from the doorknob when she stopped. She let out a long-suffering sigh and spun on her heel to face Leo. “But if you want to work on not being a total asshat then let’s practice talking and we’ll see where that takes us. Deal?” Her hand thrusted out, daring him to take it.

Leo looked at her hand as if he were being offered a dirty rag. He craned his neck to inspect it for cleanliness, remembering the dreadful horse muck incident.

Ah, so predictable. “It’s too late now. I already touched your clothes.”

“Fine, deal.” He said before stepping forward and shaking her hand. He could imagine Morrigan laughing at him for this, almost heard it in his head, but managed not to grimace as he pulled his hand back. “And name-calling is provoking, just so you know.” Leo added, unable to hold that one back, the beginning of a smile at the corners of his mouth.

Riona smirked back, “Didn’t say I won’t call you out when you need it.” she said, her hand already on the doorknob. “Till tomorrow, Leo.”

With that, she slipped out, the soft click of the latch punctuating her exit. In the corridor, Riona allowed herself a small, satisfied smile.

TLDR

Riona and Leo attempt to have a conversation like reasonable humans. It could've gone worse.

[Helo]

Lord Leo Smithwood

Time: Morning
Location: Guest House to the Casino

---

Leo made his way to the gambling hall on foot, Martin and Ray a pace behind him. It was the best option for the day, who would think twice about a gentleman being a bit inebriated at a gambling hall? No scandal there, not like showing up to a morning birthday party already drunk. He’d just stick to drinking water for the afternoon and be fine by his evening meeting with Charlotte and Count Hendrix.

“Martin, am I an asshat?” Leo asked once the crowds in the streets had thinned to sufficiently allow for some privacy.

Martin raised an eyebrow and shook his head.

“Riona called me an asshat.” Leo continued.

“And that bothers you?” Martin asked.

“No,” He answered too quickly. “Maybe a little.” He admitted. “I’m sure no one ever called my father an asshat.” He half mumbled.

“Yeah, not to his face.” Ray chimed in.

Leo stopped walking at the unexpected response. Martin paused as well but Ray continued for a few paces before realizing he’d said that aloud. “Sorry forgot my mouth was open there.”

“What?” Leo asked, before resuming the walk.

“I should go look for that watch,” Ray said looking to Martin to smooth things out. The larger man only shrugged.

“No, Ray, continue. What does that mean?” Leo pressed saying each word slowly. Ray ignored the condescension in Leo’s tone and simply looked excited that he’d been addressed by his name.

“Well, I never met the Duke myself,” Ray offered, thinking over his words. “But the others don’t seem to like him much. On account of the temper.” He explained carefully.

“Martin?” Leo asked, wanting confirmation that this was true. Not just a handful of servants provoked into gossip by a troublesome maid, but the whole household? Did people really think that poorly of his dad?

“He’s not wrong,” Martin said. “The Duke could be difficult.”

“You also hate my father?”

“I was never on his bad side.” Leo noted the vagueness of Martin’s answer, and that avoidance was answer enough.

“Riona said Morrigan was testing me. To see how alike I was to him, in temperament.” Leo added,

“Strange hobby,” Martin commented. There was a thoughtful pause before he continued. “Becoming your father won’t make his absence any easier.” He then glanced at Ray, and with a glance told him to head toward the markets. Another day of hunting for Leo’s missing watch.

“No, I don’t think it will,” Leo admitted. But who else was he supposed to be? His dad handled being a duke so well, never showed any doubts about anything he did, always in control of every situation. Like it was effortless. Leo was sure his dad had never once been troubled by an ill-mannered servant. “I think these strange pranks are a continued attempt, by Morrigan, to make me snap.” He steered the subject away from his father.

“Could be. Could be the same maid that takes advantage of vague instructions.”

“Riona?” Leo doubted she was capable of pranks more complex than greasing up shoes and buying impractical furniture. Unless, “Do you think she’d frame Morrigan like that?”

“I’d stay wary of both of them,” Martin said as they reached the gambling and games hall.

[JJ Doe]

Fritz "Ryn" Hendrix

Time: Sola 25 1739; Daytime Hours
Location: Edwards Estate, Drake Edwards’ Birthday Party
Interaction(s)/Mention(s): @Rodiak @Potter

Ryn’s hand touched Luz’s shoulder, barely a whisper of contact it might have been imagined, yet it was enough to halt her retreat. He tutted softly and teased, “Folding so soon? You need to up your game, Luz.”

The hand trailed down her arm, lifted her elbow upward before finding her hand. With a gentle tug, he guided her towards a particularly inviting lush patch of grass.

As they settled onto nature’s emerald cushion, Ryn coaxed her feet onto his lap. A hint of mischief danced in his eyes. “Since you’ve so graciously conceded this round, I believe the rules state that you have to remove one item of clothing.” His fingers hovered over her shoe, a silent question in the pause. At her slight nod, he eased it off.

Under the guise of a massage, Ryn examined the condition of her foot. His fingers mapped the landscape of it, noting each twitch, each sigh, as he tried to piece together the story written in skin and muscle.

Across the sole, parallel welts ran from heel to arch, like furrows in a field long fallow. Faded lines crisscrossed newer welts, their uniform width and spacing as deliberate as any craftsman’s work. The cane’s signature was unmistakable. Ryn’s breath caught, a hitch so slight it might have been mistaken for a sigh. He met Luz’s gaze, his eyes reflecting deep understanding. For now, he held his tongue, allowing his touch to convey what words could not.

“I’m... we’re all managing as best we can, each in our own way. Peter, though... he’s struggling. Antsy. So angry that it’s driving him to take unnecessary risks. I’m worried about him.” He had hoped Peter’s infatuation with Ms. Persephone might temper his recklessness, but her silence only seemed to fuel it. A heavy sigh escaped him as he continued his ministrations.

The quiet between them stretched, filled only by the distant party sounds and the occasional sharp intake of breath as Ryn’s fingers found tender spots.

When he spoke again, his voice was soft, earnest. “Don’t be afraid, Luz. Whatever it is you desire, whatever would bring you happiness—I want to hear it. I want to help.” Even as said these words, a niggling suspicion took root in the back of Ryn’s mind. Her reluctance, the weight of words unspoken… they hinted at a request he both dreaded and, in the darkest corners of his soul, anticipated.

[CitrusArms]

Stratya Durmand

Time: 25th, 10 am
Location: Edwards Estate
Attire: Officer’s Formal
Family Dirk + Crest
Interactions: Anastasia @princess, Farim @Lava Alckon, Rohit @Helo
Mentions: Lorenzo

The Royal Cushion seemed to take a larger issue with the drinks than anyone else had. Her giggles, already subsiding, were pushed aside as she considered what he said, slowly, in her drunken mind. She thought for a moment before repeating, “tampered with? Mmnn..” her lips tightened and her brow furrowed her, then she closed her eyes, took a deep breath and, with a sudden duty driving her, focused.

Stratya was used to being in this kind of state. More specifically, her training prepared her for an altered state of mind. It took a little doing, but she managed to gather herself and begin a mental check. Had she been drugged, or bespelled? Did she need to do something?

… No. She was just pretty drunk.

“'At's just a verry strrong drrink, I think.” Stratya’s eyes opened slowly as the alcohol reestablished itself in her mind. The giggles came back as it did, “too strrong fahrr yeh?” The knight started on some of the food she’d picked out for herself, savoring the meat and potatoes, when Rohit approached.

Captain Durmand looked up at the new voice and reached out for something to drink. Her hand found the familiar stems and she looked at it briefly, before setting it back down. “Rrohit, y’say?” Her movements were careful, if drunkenly clumsy. She was compensating by slowing down. ”Cap'n Strratya Durrmand. T’ pigeon wit’ y’r let’err musta’ got’en lost, I’m surre we sen’ one.” The captain offered a grin, slightly nudging the half-drained cocktail away from herself again before turning back to Rohit. One was enough, she didn’t need the second. The first, emptied one was back at the table she’d sat at with Ariella.

A pint of mead was placed in front of her hand. She accepted it and gave it a happy sip, ”aye, ‘at’s t’ mead, alright.” When she turned to see where it had come from, she found the servant she asked for chocolate-covered fruit setting down chocolate-covered fruit. She gasped and grinned, “you brough’ me mead~, ooh, you ‘earrd me, did yah? I’ll come by la’er wit’ a baske’ o’ goodies for t’ staff, aye? Thank ye.”

That wasn’t quite how the servant had wanted that to go. He thought she might tip more.. baked goods? They'd better be good.

Wulfric’s appearance drew her attention back to Anastasia and whomever she was sitting on. She’d received dossiers, but those cocktails were strong. She got the feeling like she should probably know who this man was.

If she thought about it, not just anyone could get Wulfric’s attention. And without even trying! She should really know who this guy was, huh? Time to find out. ”As fine a jab as it migh’ be, I ge’ t’ distinct feelin’ I shoul’nae go ‘rround callin’ ye t’ Rroyal Cushion?” There was the barest hint of disapproval, but humor took the front of her tone. She took a bite of food.

After Farim had a chance to responded, Stratya began to discover just why Lorenzo was so infamous. The Boisterous Duke. The Ruling Riot of Vermillion. Lorenzo! Who could have missed the “DRAAAAKE” he bellowed? “Oh, Gods, wha’s tha’ man doing now?” Like an onlooker at a horrible wreck, she felt compelled, and she turned to watch.

The First Item! “Revolver?” From what we was saying, it sounded like, “a gun?” She’d not heard of a r e v o l v e r before. She was used to the older firearms found in the rural countryside. If you loaded them wrong, you could really hurt yourself. Take of fingers, or a hand. Had they fixed that problem, with whatever this was?

The Second Item! A courting.. kit..? Oh, Drake. Being from Vermillion, she felt like she should apologize to Drake for the Duke. And that was before Lorenzo mentioned: rubbers?! And the way he said it! She pressed her hands over her mouth, trying not to burst out laughing again, _{”H-hhh-Duke Lorenz–"} the failure to contain a laugh caused her to make a coarse noise, _{"Lorenzo, I’m tryin’ ta ea’! You preposterous man!”}

The Third Item “F-ferrets?” She reigned in her laughter, thinking about, “twin ferrets?” Guns, cologne, condoms, ferrets. What a roller coaster! She didn’t have the energy to fawn over the ferrets, even, “is i’ ovehr? Can I e-hee hee-ea’? I’m hungrry. Duke Lorrenzo's nae gonna make me laugh again, is he,” she whined softly but had to stifle giggles and calm herself still. She chortled, and snickered, enjoying herself but also wanting to eat. She had to stop laughing to do that. After a few resurgences, she managed to calm herself and start eating.

[Lava Alckon]

Farim

Location: Edwards Estate
Time: Morning of the 25th
Attire: Robes
Mentions: Anastasia@princess, Stratya @CitrusArms, Rohit@Helo, and Wulfric @SilverPaw

________________________________________________________________________________________________________

“Depends on where you go and who you ask, Rohit.” Farim flashed a coy smile. ”Pleasure to meet you - I am familiar with your work, and it is a blessing to be seeing the progeny of Vali Amar here in Sorian this lovely season.” The Shehzade reached a hand out towards the man, while still supporting the woman on his lap. ”Farim Kadir.”

After a handshake, the man looked back to the inebriated Knight Captain with a smirk. ”Oh I am no stranger to strong drink. However I do not think getting wasted was the intent of a party with a family such as this - they seem more of the social drinking types.” Farim shot a sideways glance at Rohit. ”For one reason or another, they love to spike drinks here in Caessonia. Again, I am all for fun, but consent is a beautiful thing, is it not?” The wording was chosen carefully, and another slight squeeze on Anastasia’s hip would be his way of playing jokester with the woman as she maintained her bubbly giggling self.

It was then the audible announcement of Duke Vikena sounded throughout the courtyards - talking of firearms, perfumes, condoms, and last but not least, ferrets. Farim stifled a chuckle. ”I am glad I did not bring Thara - she would be stir crazy over seeing ferrets out in the open like that. I cannot help but mention how adorable that pair of animals are….But also is this Drake a collector of sorts? I could send for some rather fantastic beasts to fill his menagerie if this is the occasion.” The man mused aloud as the party came to a head. Any moment now and he felt the Edwards would simply kick everyone out. It was around then that the icy cold stare of disapproval was felt on the back of his neck.

“I will expect you in my office at half past noon.”

Farim was not often caught as off guard as he was. He nearly jumped in his chair when Wulfric placed a hand on his shoulder. Nothing the man said was outwardly threatening - but he knew that beneath the surface he would have to deal with an infuriated Wulfric later. This was a fate he would rather not have - but in brief retrospect, he had only himself to blame. Farim responded with a brief nod. ”I shall see you there.” The man knew when someone was going to pull him aside for “the talk”. He had seen it before in his father, in the sultan, and with his siblings once before - all people who wished to lecture him on how he was unbecoming and “not a good fit” for the role he was born to play. Nonetheless - it was a role he was going to fill one way or another, so he felt he should do it with as much panache, grace, and grandeur as one of his homeland would. He waited a good while for Wulfric to leave earshot before resuming any playful antics.

He gave Anastasia a soft pat. ”It would seem I shall have to skip out on this game of poker - but perhaps later this evening we can enjoy some more adventures of some kind, yes?” Farim glanced over to Rohit. “Speaking of hip happenings, I believe Annie over here is a sage in such things. There is never a party far from this woman. I believe she was already planning something on the horizon for this table - feel free to listen in on the details, Rohit.” He smiled. It was all he could do to ease the anxiety welling in his gut.

[Rodiak]

_{dress ♛ hair ♛}

_{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 :
Wulfric @SilverPaw , Farim @Lava Alckon
M e n t i o n s :}

Nahir blinked, watching Prince Wulfric sip the very drink he had just warned her against. A small, appreciative smile tugged at her lips, acknowledging his subtle gesture. In response, she hesitated briefly before bringing her own glass to her lips for a cautious taste. He had been right—the drink was tempered, its flavor smooth and enticing, but not overwhelming. The warmth of the alcohol settled in her stomach, but it was more of an afterthought, a fleeting sensation against the deeper, more persistent heaviness she had woken up with that morning.

She had felt it from the moment she rose—a sluggishness that clung to her limbs, making each movement a little harder to execute, as if her body were refusing to fully cooperate. Nahir suppressed a flicker of frustration, refusing to let it show now. She had no name for this strange, intermittent weight that sometimes settled into her bones, nor for the tremors that occasionally fluttered through her hands. Today, her body was simply slower, heavier. But she wouldn’t let anyone see that.

“He’s well practiced,” Wulfric had remarked. She didn’t doubt it for a second.

Taking his arm as he escorted her away from the table, Nahir leaned into his support ever so slightly, though her expression remained poised. Her legs felt like they were moving through water, her muscles unresponsive and reluctant. When they reached her cousin’s table, her gaze fell on him, and though she wanted to offer a polite smile, the effort felt too much. Instead, the twitch of her lips resembled something closer to a condescending smirk, the kind Layla wore so often. Perhaps it was the sight of the princess perched shamelessly on his lap. Or maybe it was simply because her body felt more like a burden today, and Nahir couldn't summon the energy to feign interest.

Her time at the opera with Wulfric had been enjoyable and distracting, though the heaviness in her limbs had lingered. The performance was beautiful, but the subtle strain of keeping her movements controlled, of masking her body's betrayal, left her slightly drained. The conversation had been light, though at times she found herself struggling to stay fully present, the fogginess creeping into her mind as the evening wore on.

Now, back in the guest house, Nahir could finally let her guard down. As she sank into the cushions of her chair, she allowed herself to exhale, feeling the weight of the day settle deeper into her body. She requested another bath, this time with steaming hot water epsom salt, mustard powder, and baking powder. She hoped that the heaviness would be gone by tomorrow morning for a few more days.