Everything I learnt about NFTs have been non-consensual
2
likes
5 yrs ago
while(inDream=true) {otaku.salary()+=}
5 yrs ago
I don't know who this Boltzmann fella is but he owes me a physics test and a whole lotta trouble
5 yrs ago
Can someone please explain why my discords are on fire about this forum right now? I just woke up and I don't have enough coffee to read a bazillion status updates
Location: The Royal Ball Interactions: Tyaethe @Raineh Daze Fionn @The Otter Fleuri @Crimson Paladin "Oh? And who's to say that what you see before you is not the genuine article? If you'd the mind to, please pay dear old me a visit after this ball. I might surprise you with aspects of me you'd never even believe." Of course, it was in full knowledge that the vampire would sooner overthrow the crown than turn up anywhere near Lein's usual haunts. Nonetheless, with a slight bow as a gesture of goodwill, Lein let Fionn guide him back to the main hall.
"And the same offer goes to you, my good knight, your recourse is much appreciated. Please, allow me a chance to repay you at the Lonely Frame. And do keep yourself safe? There are far more sinister figures present here than just this one." Lein said to Fionn, with a sly look of knowing on his face as he gave a playful squeeze of the site of the teeth mark. You'd better get used to that. His departing expression seemed to say, as the Hundi 'noblewoman' stepped into the crowd.
Lein moved swiftly, hearing the announcement of the princess into the hall. Characters like those usually took up most of the attention in the room, and if he wanted to get a dance out of Fleuri, he'll have to captivate his attention before the Knights were summoned to show off their spoils. He weft through the rumbling crowd to see the Champion of the North watching Renar's conversation. He stepped up with a fresh glass of fruit punch in hand, placing himself next to the Champion. "It's always entertaining to see such clashes between colorful personalities. Quite intoxicating to listen to, wouldn't you say?" Lein said, watching the Crown Knight and Renar bicker at each other. Lein wasn't present to catch most of the conversation, only hearing fragments about ogres and fibbage. But the way the two puffed up their chests and threw a slurry of disdainful looks? That was a very familiar sight. Lein had kept tabs on the 'Bastard of Brias', even goading the archivist to spill a couple words about House Brias. What Lein had just caught Fleuri watching - this was just old blood being spilled.
Lein smiled at Fleuri behind his fan in apparent gladness, though the tone of his address was a little odd. A little too loud for a mere private conversation. "Herr Fleuri, I wanted to thank you for your wonderful company last night. Your presence was... quite unforgettable. It brings me much joy to be able to make your acquaintance yet again in this fine setting." Lein looked up and down at Fleuri's sharp dress. It was a marked difference from the figure he met at the bar indeed, complete with the crest of what Lein guessed was his House. Though why did it look like Fleuri was much more ready for a breakout clash of arms than a ball? "Looking at you groomed so well, it's a wonder why you are not being swarmed by adoring waifs asking your hand for a dance."
Lein's head spun as he too what felt like his first proper breath in the day, blood finally being allowed to rush into his head. It felt like all his arteries decided to flow the wrong way, and he gave an involuntary shiver like a dog that was just doused with cold water. Not pulling this trick again, if it meant he had to wear a corset like that. Or was it Cecil pulling one over him? "You're a real one, Fionn." Lein mumbled in Veltian. "You guessed right the first time, I only break out these clown outfits for special foolery like these."
The Hundi's tail wagged as he watched for Fionn's reaction with an almost childish style of mischief. "Really would rather just leave with the whole banquet table - but it's better than staring at a wine glass all day waiting to be harangued by some pretentious old melter, yeah?"
Lein squirmed just to make sure his dress was on properly. The corset loosening alone puffed Lein up, though it still preserved a decent exaggeration of Lein's figure. He briefly pulled out a stretch of fabric hidden tightly within the folds of his dress - a piece of rich navy seafarer's jacket - and tucked it right back in. All good. Pretty would never use it now, but a good magician always needed an exit plan.
Lein mulled Fionn's suggestion over. Fleuri? Didn't get to talk with him much at the Frame, and Fionn here seemed pretty much... well, he kind of bricked any sort of teasing. Helpful? Certainly - but not roused to quite the degree he was aiming for. He was more the master of ceremonies than the audience. Patting on Fionn's alarmingly solid chest, Lein's accent shifting gears back into character indicated that he had already accepted Fionn's directions. "My, and what if I wanted to dance with you, handsome? You would pass up such an opportunity to a fellow man of faith instead? What camaraderie. Very well - my mode of vengeance would be to make you regret passing up such a fine opportunity."
Whatever nerve Tyaethe tried to pull or ward him against in her glare, Lein's expression belied nothing. Instead, he was merely pleasant, cordiality reflecting none of the cheek directed at him. "I am pleased to see I am entertaining enough to warrant such concerns from you, Dame Tyaethe. But given our mutual distaste for high gossip, you needn't worry any further trouble from me. I truly do wish you have a wonderful evening tonight."
| Twenty-something? | Female | No Thoughts Head Empty |
| Appearance |
Though she's appeared in many department positions, she's always returned to the Crisis Resolution department as a high impact field operative. No matter wherever she appears or how serious her office is however, she is consistently breaking dress codes and turning up to work in tardy and casual clothes, trying to catch up on whatever is considered 'trendy' by modern standards. The only consistent article of clothing is a simple rain jacket she dons whenever she gets into a combat situation. Combined with her aloof and awkward nature, she always looks out of depth despite being one of the longest serving operatives.
| WEAPON |
A lantern made out of old corrugated iron and glass, housing a luminescent orb within. When powered, it projects a field of heavy illusory rain that supresses all sources of light in all nearby surroundings except for those near the lantern. Since most of Nine's spells draw strength from relative luminosity, Nine's arrival at a combat scene is usually heralded by the sound of storms.
| MAGIC: RADIANCE |
Refract - A simple spoken spell that upon invocation temporarily speeds up the user's physical movement. When in effect, observers will see both the user that was sped up and a translucent after-image that move in regular speed. Though its effects can be extended through concentration, its resource draw also increases rapidly - thus it is usually employed in short, quick bursts.
Recall - A written spell that draws upon a subject's memory to create hardlight mimics of an object. Hardlight does not copy the original properties of the object, and always takes a luminescent shimmering yellow. The accuracy of the spell is dependent on how detailed the memory of the object is - the more detailed or recent the memory is, the better the mimic captures the finer details. Within the range of the light source, the object can be controlled remotely by the person recalling. Hardlight is incredibly durable, inflexible and persists for a long duration until it is dispelled or the original source of the light it was summoned from is snuffed out. The spell is most often used to recall Nine's sword in a combat situation.
Cleanse - A spoken spell that shoots a large beam of concentrated light towards a target, designed to punch through defenses and incinerate the target. Unlike more elegant methods of anti-magic that deconstructs the components of a spell, the beam seeks to crush all defenses through sheer overwhelming firepower, effectively challenging Nine's opponents into a duel of raw arcane strength.
Drown - A written spell chanted to a steady rhythm, enveloping an area in a fog of complete darkness. Those outside will see a storm that steadily thickens until nothing is visible in front of them. Those caught inside will find it impossible to sense anything outside of their immediate radius, and without a special magic resistance will have difficulty moving or breathing. Often reserved for high priority targets since it draws too much attention and even after being dispelled, leaves after-effects of lowering local luminosity.
| TALES |
"Do you want to go for a walk?"
It's something I used to say. I know it's my whole job, but I've never really got good at talking to people. Especially if they're freshly on the other side and are freaking out, so I tried to give them space and let them figure it out on their own.
Not this kid though. The whole room was a mess. A tiny one room apartment that was molded over by a leak from somewhere and you couldn't step anywhere without bumping into some pile of trash or overdue bills. The windows were all taped over and the gas faucet was open. You get the point. Was never easy the first time, and never got easier since.
This kid was barely anything more than skin and bones with some dirty cloth over him. Think he might have been somewhere near the ball park of 10 to 14, but it might have been that he hadn't eaten anything for a long time and shrunk him. Maybe years ago, way too far for a kid like him, his face may have been free of bruises, his hands free of cuts, but it was impossible to know. When I found him, he was sitting on what little free ground in that tiny hole of a place was still left, staring up at the rafters.
We stared at each other for a while. It was like staring into a mirror. And we just understood. He knew who I was. I had a feeling he knew that I was coming way before I did. When I offered, he just nodded. So without anything else, I took out my lantern and took his hand and led him into the gentle night rain.
I've always liked the rain. The way the hazy white streaks just wash everything away, the way the noise of the whole world quiets itself just to listen to the rain drizzle on. It gets lonely to walk alone in the rain, following the barely lit streets, but at least it's a good way to let people figure themselves out on their own. The kid sure enjoyed sticking his hand out in the rain, so it worked in a way.
As we turned through the exit of the city and out into a park, I asked him if he had anything he wanted to do before we finished our walk. The way his eyes widened, I think I was the first person to ask him that. We sat down under an awning somewhere and watched the rain jump across the lantern light.
After a bit, he finally said something.
"Will I meet my mom?"
I don't... what am I supposed to say? I've checked what was on those bills. I didn't mean to pry, but, their last names were different. She had cut contact years ago.
Sorry, I still don't know what else I could have done.
I lied. I said I met his mother a couple years back. That she told me how proud of her son she was. That she loved him, and she can't wait to meet him. Just a few steps into the After, and he'll be in her arms.
I think he knew I was lying, because he didn't ask anything else. We walked on silently, all the way to the Rail. No words. Just the rain. He got on, and he smiled at me for what must have been the first time ever.
Miss Death, please consider this as my request for transfer from the Deliverance department. I am far too simple for this line of work, and I am afraid I am but a blunt instrument.
Lein is possibly the furthest you can get from the stereotype of the honourable Hundi. He's sarcastic, disquiet and arrogant, holding no true reverence to no creed nor code and an open displeasure at notions of romantic chivalry. Although he knows when to shut up and sit still when it counts, there's always an undercurrent of wild mischievousness to much of what he does. As soon as Lein's superiors look the other direction, he's always looking for ways to tug the end of his chain, make a quick pocket of coins and slack off when he can't do either.
Despite this usual mischief, Lein does have a strong sense of kinship, however, and though in rather unconventional, round-about ways, Lein always strives to return a favour when he is granted one. He's likely to deflect with a cynical remark when pressed about his loyal side.
In a rather odd turn, he has a strange obsession about always having enough food to eat, even willing to carry more than his fair share of cargo if it means they are well-supplied.
| BACKSTORY |
Of the many banners that adorned the Hundi castles, the blue and gold banner of House Estouls was once counted as among the greatest. Following a strict code of traditionalism and ceremony, those who held its crest were seen as exceptional combatants that frequently 'conquered' smaller Houses through duel-marriage pacts. But this was a long time ago, and decades of political sabotage, mismanagement and inflexibility led to the pitiful decline of the Estouls name.
Lenivicus ves Estouls was the youngest of the House, but for his exceptional talents in marksmanship, was regarded as the future of the House. So it was impressed upon him the value of holding honor above all else, and the weight of his life would be measured in the laurels of the Estouls banner. But as his many siblings were 'conquered' by other Houses one by one, Lenivicus also taught himself the price of that honor, slowly eating away at his family.
And so Lenivicus developed different ideas. He spent much of his nights looking up at the skies and dreaming of claiming dominion over the stars that had thus far been so maligned for his family. His aloofness conflicted with his family's priorities of preservation and tradition, and no amount of cajoling or berating could stop Lein from sneaking out from his training grounds to watch the stars. Ceremonies often devolved to arguments between Lein and the few remaining House members over the point of all the empty seats at the table. When Lenivicus was denied his Rite of Passage and was ordered to remain within the House grounds to train, Lenivicus was outraged at this display of hypocrisy from the 'traditionalist' Estouls. He renounced his House and stormed off in a Rite of his own declaration.
In the next couple of years, 'Lein' made his way through the world, eventually resorting to thievery with the occasional piracy. At this point, Lein's retelling of his next couple of years before he was impressed into the Roses become... messy. On some days, he regales locals about how he fought bears for a living, others he describes in flush detail how he took up work as the bodyguard of a mysterious elven lord. None of these tales explain how he lost his right arm, nor where he even got the prosthetic to replace said arm. Some way or another, he showed up in front of the Knights' keep one day and asked to be taken in, claiming he "lost a bet". After showing off his marksmanship skills, he was inducted into the Knights (though some might say suspiciously too hastily).
Ever since, Lein had become quite good at performative brinkmanship; lax just enough to annoy his superiors but never enough to be kicked off.
| EQUIPMENT |
Enchanted scarf: An enchanted scarf with a series of bells attached to the end of it. Given to Lein as per tribal custom, it has natural cleansing wards that filters any air passed through it. The bells chime at the presence of significant wind in a distinct pattern attributable for each scarf.
Fancy tail brush: For the sophisticated and vain.
Worn Estouls crest: Lein keeps this hidden away, even if he's always tempted to throw it away.
Ironripping shortbow: A reflex bow with high tensile strength, designed for fast knocking and incredible penetrative power at short ranges. Operated with a thumb ring, it can either be loaded with regular arrows or steel darts to further enhance its short-range potential.
Advanced steel arm prosthetic: An astoundingly intricate invention of artificery. Composed of carefully shaped iron and encased in enchanted steel, it is quite durable and only slightly heavier than a regular arm, whilst its rope operated ivory fingers allow for accurate dexterity. It seems far too expensive for some common rogue to get their hands on, but any sign of its maker has been long since scratched off. Hidden compartments contain a few spare steel darts and a small blade.
| SKILLS |
Having been raised as an heir to the Estouls, Lein's not too bad at the standard knightly affairs, being familiar with the ins and outs of horse riding and courtly manners (though it's been quite the while since he's bothered), as well as some familiarity with swords and shields. If someone were to force him to act the part, he probably could.
Lein's marksmanship make quite clear why he was laden with so much expectation from his House; he can knock and fire arrows at a frightening pace, pelting his enemies while maintaining a taunting distance with alacritous dodges. Though his accuracy falls off quickly outside of optimal ranges, Lein's adaptability in grabbing whatever weapons he can improvise with helps mitigate his weaknesses in most bar brawls.
During his wandering days, Lein also picked up some odd connections and skills here and there - though none of these he makes apparent right up until he takes advantage of them. As a regular bar patron at the local haunt the Lonely Frame, Lein's quite good at dice games, especially cheating at them.
| TALES |
A worn crest, threaded with royal embroidery. Smudged with finger grime.
A piece of a Veltan fishing hook.
Three weighted coins, one with both sides as 'heads'.
A complex looking gear from an unknown artificer.
A stub of a whale oil candle.
A reference paper for a cipher, with a symbol of Mayon imprinted in the corner.
A can of a balm for leprosy.
Three quills fashioned from griffin feathers.
A torn ledger of his 'stakes' and 'tabs' at local bars.
Two pieces of dried jerky, from unknown meat substance.
A roll of bandage, stained slightly from old blood.
Adalia is less a person but a ball of anxiety shaped in the vague suggestion of a person. She's highly motivated to perform well in her given assignments and has a strong sense of moral alignment, but it may also be due to a certain naivete. Due to her long times in isolation, she doesn't have a good sense of interpersonal skills and tend to be lonely most of the time.
| ANIMA |
A pistol that fires bolts of energy that when hitting a target, covers them in a blue stasis field and freezes them for a variable duration. The field is powerful enough to stop most small arms fire, though targetting larger objects than the average human will decrease both the strength and duration of the stasis field. It also has a secondary effect of assisting the aim and accuracy of its user, especially when targetting those perceived as allies. Expensively furbished, whoever initially procured this gun was quite the opulent type indeed.
| BACKGROUND |
Adalia's childhood memories are mostly of isolation. She was told that she was sick, and meeting other people was dangerous to both the public and herself. Her parents were never around, and Adalia's only companions were the attendants that were rather unwilling to converse with her. Adalia's abode in a secluded mansion in the 4th Pillar was quite opulent indeed, with luxuries and comforts that most inhabitants of the Metropolis could only ever dream of.
Her apparent sickness was however, only a small part of the reason behind her quarantine. She was really the illegitimate child of a wealthy casino business family, and though her existence to the family wasn't shunned, Adalia was kept out of polite discussion. Left on the sidelines, Adalia was left to her own devices, as long as she didn't make a scene and avoided public scrutiny.
Adalia did cultivate an academic career over her time being stuck inside, however, as well becoming familiar with handling Anima after a brief look into the less legal practices of her family business. In recognition of her surprisingly strong affinities in dealing with destructive Anima, Adalia was inducted into a small research institute in the 7th pillar exploring the effects of the Fog on Anima usage (with her caretaker's begrudging approval). With an aversion to social interactions Adalia's work was mostly solitary and Adalia's clumsiness and general unfamiliarity with anywhere outside her comfortable mansion didn't help, but Adalia found a mentor and her first parental figure in the elderly head of institute Dr. Romanov.
Such times didn't last long. As after a disastrous attack from an Entity, Romanov was removed from the institute after allegations of illegal experimentation, disappearing from the public eye without a word. Apart from a couple of encrypted datapads that Adalia managed to recover before the Agents swooped in, Adalia was left with no trace to where her mentor had gone and even little guidance. With nowhere else to go and refusing to simply return to a silent life within her family mansion, she applied to being an Agent in a vague hope of finding any more leads on Romanov's whereabouts.
| ADDITIONAL INFORMATION |
Sometimes seen with a gas mask rebreather to help with her weak lungs, as well as bandages all across her body. It has been confirmed that Adalia is indeed sick with a chronic illness of some kind that leaves her skin prone to scarring, but whether or not it is infectious or as serious as Adalia's parents have impressed on her is yet unknown. Nonetheless, it is not debilitating, and Adalia remains operable for the time being.
In a quiet corner of a cafe, there was a curious pile of clothes. There wasn't anything peculiar about the clothes themselves, really. An ordinary hoodie laid outstretched over an empty table, its frayed logo on the chest boasting some obscure rock band from decades ago. Its sleeves were stained with the occasional coffee spill, scrunched up haphazardly around its current obsession, a paper cup that had the colorful label of the "SunStags". On top rested a similarly rugged rain jacket that was two-timing as a blanket over a misshapen mass, its stripes fading against age and making peculiarly good match with the cheap off-brand pants that hung over the plastic bench. Like most other piles of clothes, this one was inert, barely moving against the gusts of the air conditioner that occasionally looked over to check if the pile of clothes were still there. And for a long time, indeed it was, contentedly shifting slightly as the lone attendant of the cafe lazily shuffled around the arrangements, straightening napkins and chatting up the few patrons for no other reason than to kill the time.
No, what made this pile of clothes peculiar was that there was a hand sticking out of it. It held a pen in its hand, the ink dribbling across charts that professed some fancy words to do with genealogy, the ink disregarding the pretentious wording as it marched over the letters. Still, this hand and the pile of clothes looked to be perfectly content with being left well enough alone to continue to bleed the pen dry until the end of eternity. Alas, this happy medium would have a tragic ending, for underneath the sheaves of paper was yet another peculiar object. A battered old pager whose digital screen lit up with a set of blocky green symbols. In the case of the pager, its peculiarity was expressed in its sudden insistence that whoever's job it was to acknowledge those blocky green symbols needed to look at them now.
BRRRT.
The hand freed the pen from its grasp, letting it jump down to its freedom on the cafe floor. The hand then proceeded to tap blindly around the table, nearly knocking the paper cup also off from the table before reaching further through the pages that now shuffled around to cover the whole table. The mass under the jacket released a deep groan, a sigh, then something incomprehensible to the mortal mind. With a cascade of unkempt pink hair, the mass made itself known as something approximating a woman, though distinguished by the utter lack of animation in its eyes as it took time to blankly stare ahead at the opposing chair, the table, the pieces of paper moist with drool before it, and finally, at its own hand.
What was it called? Ah, right. Nine. Nines. Comprehension crawled into her mind piece by piece. She commanded her hand to lift up the pager two inches before her eyes, still squinting to block out the light. A croak recited what was lit up on the tiny screen, breath sour with a hint of coffee. "Lucema Regini. Sigrun."
An old feeling of disappointment calmly put on its coat and walked out of Nine's mind. Another job. It was beyond routine, at this point, but Nines couldn't help pressing the right arrow key hoping there was some kind of message appended afterwards. Nines creakily gathered her body, her few belongings, and finally the strength to get up from the table that had hosted her for the past...however long she had roosted in this place for. Jacket in hand, she stepped out of the cafe and took her last sip of the congealed coffee in her cup. Though her mind still ran at a slovenly pace, she still pieced together the one constant signified by the pager. Back to work.
~??? | DECIBITUS | LUCEMA REGINI
Nines' punctuality was only really thanks to the early forewarning of her pager. There were a quite a number of procedures that Nines had to go through in the Arch. The first was to dump the cup into the recycling bin. The second was to say hello to the clerk that hurried to catch her from skulking off handing her a letter of disciplinary action for wandering off into "locations without prior authorization". The third was to empty her mailbox of other letters of disciplinary action, all equally worded and all equally looking pretty dejected next to the SunStags cup.
Her face, still sporting the squashed impression of the table edge, barely changed from her blank stare even as Siggy's voice brightly chirped from the sticker. Something about Dakota. And Missy PP. Weird name, Nines dully thought. It was again time for the creature named Nines to slowly revert to a pile of clothes on a chair at the waiting room, a fresh cup of cappuccino barely clinging unto its dear life in her loosening hands.
"How scandalous, Herr Fionn!" Lein said in a veiled blush, eyes glinting at the opportunity. "If you seek to loosen a lady's laces, then surely we should move to a more proper venue? My word, the Knights are truly a ravenous company."
Lein shook his head. His disguise may have been impressive enough to fool the unfamiliar, the unwise or the unaware, there were still few in the crowd that had made the connection between the rambunctious barfly and the refined baroness. Was it his walk, his posture, his rolling Ithillin accent, all exaggerated in their refinement? After all, it was only natural that years of wandering across the land without recourse to royal comfort would degrade one's remembrance in noble conduct. Or perhaps it was merely a difference of intent; that playfulness and mischievous delight of the parodier was in some way mismatched - and any genuine article would merely pose a sense of true malice, a predatory gaze that sought to twist words not for a good tale to recall, but to expose tender veins for parasitic succor.
This smell though... Tch. Ty. What was to say about Tyaethe? A lot of colorful choice words that went something along the synonyms of 'decrepit' and 'crone'. Although she had been one of the first Knights that Lein had met, she was also the first that went up on Lein's 'To Avoid' list. Perhaps it was a one-sided rivalry, perhaps not. Either way, it was one that was built upon a foundation of several busted attempts at smuggling food out the Castle, and it overcame Lein's usual aversion to spitefulness. Had Lein been in any setting other than a ball, he would have openly scoffed at the old hag's remarks. But he was confined by the eyes of the uninitiated, and if Tyaethe had been expecting the usual bite-back that the Hundi offered whenever he was caught with something, she wouldn't hear any hint of snarkiness in his voice. "Guten Tag, Dame Tyaethe! What a pleasant surprise! I heard you were wronged to be barred from these occasion - another agreeable face is sure to light up our company."
Lein groaned a little as he watched others help themselves more and more to the opulent furnishings at the banquet table. "Though you are right. I can scare believe the endurance of some of these noblefolk to wear such outrageously tight dresses. A day's preparation gets a day's show, I suppose. Please, Herr Fionn, if you would do me the honor." He pulled back his hair and presented the corset laces to Fionn.
Lein's expression contained multitudes. It was a combination of a polite smile, a faint trace of the disappointed indignation, and a mask of that ever-present obtuseness; though his eyes seemed to look too distantly for him to be looking at anyone within the ball. Any chances to interpret his expression however, would be swept away as he launched into another lilting address. "Ah, what a shame. I thought to pick the grand dress especially for a delightful occasion such as this, but it seems my efforts were misplaced in the eyes of our dear leader." He crooked his head, as if Fanilly had outright insulted his dress and the 'Baroness' was barely keeping a sense of polite dignity.
This expression crystallized into a more defined fanged smile, a tell-tale sign to anyone familiar with his antics that very little of what he had just said was genuine. If Fanilly couldn't catch on, though, little would help her discern which sentiments of the strange Hundi 'noble' was dramatized. "Don't worry, mein kapitan, we are all estranged in this little ball, and a bit of nervousness is only natural. Regardless of dress or title, we're all the same fools in gilded clothes, so please do remember to enjoy yourself. But my, look at us, letting this banquet go to the cold!"
Would that be an assurance that Lein intended it to be, or add to the list of worries on Fanilly's mind? Who knew. Lein didn't bother to check and simply flitted away. He stepped through the strings of conversation, taking account of all those who stepped through. Cecilia was flirting with some elves and an arachni. Sergio and Gerard was already tied down by a thong of overexcited ladies. Renar and Fleuri was having some sort of amicable confrontation. Hmm. He was down to a couple of options. Lein did toy with the idea of haunting the old hag Ty the entire time and spooking her company the entire night - but Lein would definitely be pushing his luck there. Besides, he was getting awful hungry. There was probably no way Lein could fit anything down his throat while he was still in this stranglehold of a corset, so a few more people to accost, then he'll change into something more comfortable.
The first of these would be Fionn, the Veltan swordsman. Lein had avoided this Knight the same way he avoided Sergio - never fond of the churchy types. Besides, between Lein's regular patrols keeping tabs on his compatriots always simply noted Fionn down as being at either the training yard or the chapel, and such a simplicity signaled to Lein that Fionn was either very good at hiding a scam or just a very straight cutter. Lein leaned into the latter interpretation; the man looked thoroughly out of focus in the glitz of the ball, seemingly more concerned about the glass in his hand than the dresses and suits that milled about him. Perhaps it should be up to Lein to make him feel more welcome.
Lein strutted up, fan in hand and approached Fionn from the back, lightly tapping him on the shoulder. His tail swayed gently behind him, with an expression of excited curiosity (and should one catch on, a touch of malice) as he addressed Fionn. "Guten tag, Herr Fionn! I heard from the gossip of the vines that you must simply the man to talk to! I confess - your sense of fashion is quite remarkable! Pray tell, are these blades the very same you used to dispatch those horrid Bandit King crooks?"
Location: Outside Backstreets Interactions: Julius @pkken
Just as the rest of the group was regrouping outside, Adalia scrambled out of the car. To say that she looked like a disaster...well, it wouldn't give enough credit to the fact that she already looked like a disaster, but Rokkit's ambitious riding techniques had doubled up on how disheveled she looked. Her belt was untangled, her rebreather somehow ending up dangling off her sleeves. Thankfully, between her 'Eep!'s and her 'I'm so sorry!'s as the cat had bounced around in the transport, she did not have time to comprehend that she was heading head-first into the bad part of town to capture a dangerous terrorist suspect. Unfortunately, it also meant that whoever was coming out of the van was still unsure if the surface that her feet was touching was indeed the ground.
Against all odds, Adalia managed to still make her way to the rest of the team gathering up to discuss their break-in, breathless and legs shivering from the aftershock. Okayokayokay get it together dont look dumb dont look dumb.
"I-I'm ready!" Adalia said. She was going to be brave. She needed to support her team... by clinging tightly to be back of Julius, poking her head out from behind his shoulder and her Anima gun raised. "Okay! Uh, w-what are we doing?"
Location: The Royal Ball Interactions: Fanilly @VitaVitaAR
The reaction was far better than Lein had expected. He had thought the Knight-Captain would see right through the disguise and call it. Or perhaps Fanilly was too anxious to draw the connection so brazenly. Most definitely a fruitful venture... but it stirred an unsatisfying feeling in the Hundi 'noblelady'. Of course, Lein had seen her in the storming of the Bandit King, and dismissed her rashness in battle for childish headiness and a thirst to claim glory at the cost of restraint. But indeed here she was, standing before him with a frightful politeness. There was a practiced cordiality to her mannerisms, no doubt a result of countless practice, the slight unsure delays in her responses confided a core of unsteadiness to anyone who could recognize it. He remembered wearing the exact same expression a countless times, guts wrenched up and wanting desperately to hold the weight of his name before the unshakeable eyes of scrutiny. Every single one of these people in the gilded halls out to measure just how much they could exploit each other under the veneer of civilization.
It was a moment where Lein released what he was actually looking at before him: A Keen-less girl wearing a dress full of nails, facing down a room full of so called 'honorable nobles' who would eat her alive given half a chance.
Lein gave a dramatic sigh, holding his fan to the chest and tail drooping in a sign of dejected indignation. "Ah, you wound me ever so deeply my dear, I thought I had made quite the impression on you as we met. Very well. Though it may be improper of my stature to introduce myself, my name is Lenivicus Cteline ves Estouls, Baroness of Chateau les Roseaux". (A title that was half-true, just enough to still any questions to 'her' claim). With a shift of his gloves he displayed the glint of silver hidden under his dress' right shoulder. "Though specially for you, my dear, you may simply refer to me as 'Lein'".
It was far from Lein to drop the game so early - he had set a whole show up, dazzling both colleges and guests alike with a confusing sequence of guess the difference. It was all even going to end in a spectacular scene of a knight-Lein being chased out the ballroom by a baroness-Lein. Well, he still had plenty of chances to pull one up on someone with less to lose and a stiffer spine spine like that grouch Renar or even Tyaethe. The Knight-Captain was the wrong target for the 'Baroness's' affections.
Lein leaned in a little, voice dropping just enough to make sure others won't notice the shift into the decidedly un-ladylike candor and the lofty rolling accent of the north Ithillin becoming the usual brusque western Veltian. "Just checking up on you, Cap'n. Nerves getting you?"
As he spoke, he kept an eye on the new entrances to the scene. Veilena Cazt. The Traitor-Apparent, as he had learned her described by a couple of drunk Thaln 'patriots'. Lein had tried to study for the ball just to perfect his act - but the exact details of why she was the Traitor-Apparent escaped him. Judging by the way she captured the subjects of murmurs around them, it was clear she was a figure of controversy. Best be on guard. This ball may prove to be more than a playground for Baroness Cteline.
