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In 🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕 → 2 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Charlotte & Fritz




Charlotte led Fritz out of the bustling ballroom and into the expansive foyer of the Damien estate. The sudden emptiness that surrounded them was a welcome yet eerie contrast to the crowded room they had just left behind. Stepping onto the polished black and white tiles she turned to face Fritz, her expression gentle and concerned.

"Fritz," she began softly. She reached out a hand to gently rest on his arm, her touch light and reassuring. "I want you to know I am so, so grateful for all the help you’ve given me. You’re truly a wonderful friend and it deeply troubles me to think that my actions might have caused you even a modicum of discomfort. Please know that I am ready to listen.”

Ryn reciprocated the gesture with an equally gentle smile, a reflection of the sentiment offered. “I’m afraid I’ve done little to deserve such praise and gratitude. … Thank you.” The smile waned, a shadow of sadness creeping into his expression, as he continued, “But, if you genuinely consider me a friend, why did you say you were alright when we asked how you were doing?”

“Ah.” "she murmured softly, a flicker of understanding dawning in her eyes.

"I wanted to be..." she began, her voice trailing off slightly. "Alright that is. I may perhaps have been in a state of disarray more than I was willing to admit, not just to you… But also to myself. I had intended to share my experience and for some reason I simply did not. ”

After a momentary introspection, a soft sigh escaped her lips as she confessed, "The truth is, it's been a while since I've had consistent companionship from others besides those within my household. “

She paused, fumbling with a lock of her hair as she added, “ I suppose you could say I'm a bit out of practice. I apologize for not being forthright with you."

“... ‘Friendship is a double-edged sword.’” Ryn repeated the words he said to her a few days ago. “It takes courage to let someone in, especially after enduring heartbreak and disappointment.”

He gazed at Lady Vikena with empathy in his eyes. “I cannot fault you for being cautious. We all have our pasts, our scars that shape us. And Creators know that there are things I’m withholding from you too.” As he placed a hand over his heart, Ryn closed his eyes. “I am afraid of being hurt and hurting others.” When he opened his eyes, this time, he offered a bittersweet smile. “But… I also know I have to take the first step.”

Ryn extended his hand, an invitation. “Will you walk this path with me, Charlotte? It would mean a lot to me if we could learn to trust and confide in each other, knowing that we have each other’s best interests at heart… What do you say?”

Charlotte looked down at his hand, her gaze softening and a small smile forming. With a gentle yet decisive movement, she reached out and clasped his hand in hers, intertwining their fingers. “Of course, Fritz… I suppose I can then take the next step and tell you what was upsetting me earlier.” She freed his hand after the moment had passed.

Soothingly rubbing her own forearm all the while, she explained, “...Earlier, the ballroom seemed to visually change before my eyes. It was as if I was dreaming.” She paused to see his expression before continuing, "I-I don't know how to explain it," she began, her words faltering as she struggled to find the right description. "It was like... like I was transported to another time, another place. The room, the colors, the music—it all felt so vivid, so real. "

Her gaze drifted into the distance, as if she could still see the phantom figures twirling in the ballroom of her memory. "... This man looked at me with those familiar brown eyes... and for a moment, I felt like I was seeing a ghost. But he wasn't a ghost, he was right there…reaching out to me."

Charlotte's hand instinctively slid up to touch her own, as if to reassure herself that she was still anchored in the present. "But then, just as quickly as he appeared, he was gone and the ballroom was normal again."

Ryn’s thumb rubbed his upper lip as he listened to Lady Vikena’s—Charlotte’s account. “Has this ever happened before?”

She shook her head to indicate it had not.

His mind wandered down a list of possibilities for a few silent moments. The detail about the “familiar brown eyes” in particular drew his attention. She recognized the man and yet was not able to identify him. Implying that she did not actually know the man… or she had forgotten about him.

A sudden chill ran down Ryn’s spine at the word that had long haunted him seemed to be cropping up over the past few days. “Forgotten.” Was Black Rose here? It could explain the vision… If so, what did they want with Charlotte? Was it only Charlotte they wanted?

Ryn pulled out the small box from his pocket. “There’s something I need to show you.” He placed his hand over the lid while he stared at Charlotte straight in the eyes. “But before I do, you should know that when Ms. Delilah finds out I did exactly what she didn’t want me to do, she’ll chase me down and there’s a distinct possibility no one may ever find my body. I’d like you to ensure my epitaph is awe-inspiring.”

As Fritz's words hung in the air, Charlotte's brows furrowed in thought as she fixated on the box.
Her curiosity was evident in her expression. In reaction to his last comment, her lips curved into a wry smile, a glimmer of amusement dancing in her eyes. "Rest assured, Fritz," she replied, her voice tinged with determination," your epitaph will be so inspirational that even the gods themselves will envy it."

With a short laugh, Ryn took off his spectacles carefully and handed them over to her. “Put these on,” he instructed. He walked to the entrance of the ballroom and paused for Charlotte to follow after him. When she approached, he positioned himself behind her, leaning in to whisper, “Do you see anything out of the ordinary?” Shaking her head no, Ryn opened the small box he carried and extracted a single lens. The enchanted lens slid into place.

And the world changed.

The room erupted into a symphony of colors, each guest bathed in a unique aura that pulsed and shimmered with ethereal energy. Among the spectrum, she noticed that pink and white hues were the most prevalent colors enveloping their forms.

As her gaze wandered, Charlotte observed the subtle dance of shades, with yellows, blues, oranges, and greens emerging in a mesmerizing display. Each aura carried its own distinct character and appearance, even varying in size. Occasionally, she caught glimpses of red and purple, though they were far less common, lending an intriguing depth to the kaleidoscope of colors.

It was beautiful.

“Is this… a kaleidoscope of sorts?” She whispered in awe.

“I suppose, in a way it is. But unless I’m missing something, I wouldn’t think a simple kaleidoscope would make Ms. Delilah so worried for your well-being.” Combined with what he saw of Charlotte’s magicae, Ms. Delilah’s reaction to the topic of magic convinced Ryn that she not only knew more about the subject than she let on, but she also knew exactly what Charlotte was capable of. Something involving Charlotte must have happened to make Ms. Delilah so adamant about steering her mistress—her family—down a life untouched by magic.

Impossible.

Ryn gestured for Charlotte to look up at the ceiling above them. “Do you see how there are hardly any colors up there? That’s because the colors are coming from the people. What you’re seeing is magicae. Magical energy unique to each…” The count paused for a moment to choose the most accurate word. “…entity.” He studied Charlotte’s reaction to this information. “These lenses simply refracts it into a visible form.”

Charlotte’s gaze slid to her friends, picking them out one by one slowly and fixating on them for a brief moment. “I wonder if the colors signify something… Perhaps the amount of magicae?” She thoughtfully mused, eventually her eyes shifting toward him with curiosity—to see nothing. The world had gone back to normal.

Ryn’s expression lit up with excitement. “You’re very perceptive! It’s believed that hues represent a person’s ambitions. The only known exception is those with witchblood.” The words tumbled out faster than usual, but he was mindful to keep his voice no louder than a whisper. “There’s the imprint, or residue, of magicae you have to consider too, though. Did you see the darker-colored aura attached to Lord Smithwood? That’s most likely someone else’s magicae.”

“Their ambitions. “ Charlotte repeated thoughtfully and tapped her chin. “ I did. It does seem probable that someone did a spell on Leo so it makes sese. “ After a pause, she curiously asked, “What color is yours?”

“Currently? You’ll have to tell me that. Magicae can change. Over time and after an event that significantly impacts you as a person. I’ve only been paying attention to other’s magicae.” He jokingly posed for Charlotte while she checked, then he realized something. “Have you checked yours?”

“No, I did not get the chance.”

Glancing at his watch, he saw how much time had passed. “Oh, I’m sorry. I should’ve mentioned the enchantment’s limitation.” Not wanting to linger too long at the ballroom entrance, he led them back to a more secluded area. “The lenses can handle a certain amount of magicae exposure before turning into regular glass. If the magicae is too strong the enchantment barely lasts a second.” He pointed at the spectacles. “I can switch out that lens for a fresh one if you’d like.”

“Yes. I must admit I am awfully curious…”

He nodded. After exchanging the lenses Ryn took both of her hands and raised them so Charlotte could see both magicae at the same time.

Although to say “only both of their magicae” would be inaccurate.

For what surrounded the count was a menagerie of magicae. Distinctly different magical energies vied for dominance. The spells—curses or blessings—of others clung unyieldingly onto him.

Ryn remained silent as his black eyes remained fixed on Charlotte, full of worry. His grip on her hands tightened a little. “What… do you see?”

Charlotte’s eyes widened with surprise as her gaze locked on Fritz first, “Oh my… Yours has such a variety of colors… You must have many different ambitions I suppose or…” A frown slowly graced her face as she recalled what he had said about Leo’s aura. "Oh no, Fritz. I hope there isn't anyone trying to come after you, is there?" She anxiously squeezed his hand.

A “variety of colors”... not just one. They were still with him and he was still him. Relief rushed through Ryn, even as he confirmed Charlotte’s concern. “There is. Do you remember our conversation when I walked you home after the royal ball? You said that your mother warned you that it was too dangerous for you to wander about at night, and I said it can be difficult for certain people to walk out in the open, no matter the hour. For me, that place has always been Caesonia, especially here in Sorian, so close to the throne.”

Ryn studied his hand, imagining a myriad of magicae swarming his being. “As for these…These are the consequences of my choices both good and bad. All I can do is carry them with me, and try to make the choices mean something.” A sad half-smile tugged at his lips. “People might disagree, and it’s not like I have evidence, but I believe not all magical imprints come from spells. I think the intense sentiment of others, their spirit you can call it, can also leave a mark on you. And that holds as much power as any magic… I have an obligation to these people to press onward, no matter what.” Even if it means relinquishing the essence of Ryn. For Ryn, as a person, was inconsequential in the face of his people’s welfare.

Charlotte listened intently, her expression softening with compassion. “I hope you press on for the sake of yourself as well, Fritz. And whenever you’re comfortable, maybe you can share more about who would target you and why here in Sorian that is? If I can be of assistance, I will do what I can to help protect you.” Her attention then shifted to her own aura, and a subtle unease flickered across her features.

"There's something about mine that seems…” She hesitated, searching for the right word, but instead decided to pose a question.

"Do you happen to know what each color signifies?" She inquired, her tone tinged with curiosity and a hint of apprehension.

[color=9354FF]“I’m not comfortable going into the details here, so I’ll keep it short. People with white magicae aren’t proficient with magic. Some say that it’s because they ‘lack of ambition’ or are satisfied with their life. Pink magicae holders have mundane ambitions. Red magicae makes the person susceptible to magical addiction and their ambition tends to revolve around vengeance. Oranges’ ambition is related to feelings, like wanting to be loved. Yellows desire freedom. Greens crave power or wealth. Blues are… very unhappy.”

After listing the common magicae colors, he paused for a moment. “Witchbloods have purple magicae. They come from a bloodline of witches. It’s said the brighter the purple, the greater the power and longer the witch lineage.”

When Ryn paused again, he squeezed Charlotte’s hands, preemptively comforting her. “Dark witches have black magicae and are dangerously powerful. You have to be very careful with these people… they’re not well known for their kindness.”

“ Oh… “ Charlotte's voice trailed off as she absorbed Fritz's explanation. She glanced down at her hands, feeling a weight of uncertainty settling in her chest. The world she thought she knew was far more complex and nuanced than she had ever imagined.

Despite the feelings swirling within her, Charlotte turned her gaze back to Fritz, offering a tentative smile tinged with gratitude. "Thank you for sharing this with me," she said sincerely, her tone warm with appreciation. "It's… a lot to take in, but I'm glad to know more about it."

“Ms. Delilah may disagree with you on that.” Ryn hesitated. “Charlotte. I suspect Ms. Delilah and your parents knew about this in some capacity. In fact, it’s possible there are people outside of your household who know too. That vision you saw… could’ve been a magic user reaching out to you. What I’m worried about is if they’re with Black Rose.”

A frown creased Charlotte’s brow as she considered his words. She then asked with a tone laced with some apprehension, “ But what would the Black Rose want with me?”

“Well, based on what we know so far, I can only speculate.” Ryn shrugged his shoulders. “They could’ve caught wind of you asking around about their party. Perhaps they noticed how charming you are and they couldn’t resist extending an invitation to their mysterious and not at all shady party.”

“I am determined to attend the next one, invitation or not.”

“Not without me or Lord Smithwood, I hope.”

Charlotte nodded distractedly, continuing,“It could have less to do with you specifically, and more about who you are related to or have ties with… Maybe it’s about your parents. There’s also a chance you’ve forgotten something that happened to you which would explain their interest in you.” Ryn met Charlotte’s eyes. “Knowing what you know now... do you think the truth you’ve been searching for all this time might be magic-related?”

Charlotte crossed her arms thoughtfully. “I … I have no idea. I don’t remember my parents having anything to do with magic. This week’s really the first I’ve seen evidence of it. “ She said, her gaze lowering, “Given what’s happened, I’m almost sure the truth must have something to do with it.”

At first, he said nothing as he watched her movements. Then Ryn offered a measured nod, “Whatever the reason, if they are here, it’d be wise to stay alert and try to avoid being alone.” Though should they resort to magic the advantage of numbers might scarcely tip the scales in her favor.

When she said nothing in response, he took note of her silence. “Charlotte, can I ask a few favors?”

She frowned, drumming her fingers on her arm. Her eyes shifted to his and she replied with a smile, “Certainly.”

“Please don’t tell us everything’s okay if it isn’t.”

She took a deep breath, searching for the right words.

Finally, Charlotte decided to be more honest with him than she ever had been, silently hoping he’d understand her wish at the end of her statement, "I don't know if things are okay... Not yet, at least," she replied, her expression grave as she mulled over her thoughts. "Calbert's behavior this morning was... peculiar, to say the least. For instance, he handed out multiple invitations and then had his staff member Henry hand out three, four....? And the man seemed to have a mental list in his head come to think of it, the way he went from person to person without a second thought. Calbert’s certainly up to something and feeling smug of himself tonight. He made be hiding himself with a mask but that mask says what he’s feeling more than the expression behind it ever could.”

Her countenance grew apologetic as she confessed, “I have a plan to get him to spill the beans, however, it’s risky and it’s something I must do alone.”

Ryn’s eyes grew wide in surprise before he chuckled, “Every now and then you really surprise me, Charlotte.” The smile faded, but it lingered at the fringes. “Is this something you must do on your own or is it something you believe you must do alone?”

“I must do it alone.” She clarified with conviction.

“In which case.” Ryn extended his hand, palm upturned. “May I have a lock of your hair?” He knew how strange the request must seem. Or perhaps not, given Charlotte’s newfound openness about magic. “I trust you,” he continued, “but if I don’t see you leave this estate and get home safely, I will use it to find you and call in the cavalry.”

Charlotte was thoughtful for a moment before she plucked a hair from her head with a small wince. She offered it toward him. “Fair enough.“

“Thank you.” Ryn carefully wrapped her hair in a handkerchief before storing it away in his inner pocket.

“My second favor,” He reminded Charlotte. “Is that you don’t forget that we’re in this together. We might not be able to do what you must do alone, but we can support you so you successfully can. It would mean a lot to me, and I’m sure Lord Smithwood, if you relied on us more.”

“Really? … I do appreciate you two. I will keep you both looped in best I can.” She smiled faintly. Charlotte wasn’t so used to people so adamant about caring about her; it felt kind of nice. “I will be okay. I promise. I just truly believe it’s less risky for me rather than anyone else to go through with this plan.”

“Is there anything we can do for you in the meantime?”

“...Please look after Leo and Olivia in my brief absence.”

“You’re greatly overestimating my level of maturity if you believe Lord Smithwood and Ms. Olivia need looking after, but I don’t.” Ryn chuckled and nodded. “There are a few people I would like to talk to while I have the chance, but I will try to keep an eye on them as best as I can.”

“Be careful, Charlotte, and good luck.” He added, “If things go bad, don’t hesitate to scream for help.”
In 🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕 → 2 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Fritz "Ryn" Hendrix
Time: Evening
Location: Damien Estate’s Ballroom
Interaction(s): Lord Cassius Damien (Cassius Vael) @PapaOso

There was no denying the potent charm that emanated from Lord Damien—his calculated gaze from beneath hooded lids, rich velvet purr, and tactile approach held an allure. Ryn could only look on in admiration at such effortless magnetism, wishing he might bottle even a fraction of the lord’s self-assured charisma. Perhaps then, it would be easier for him to win people over.

Truly, there was much he could learn from this man.

Even while he savored the showmanship of Lord Damien’s florid flattery, some small part of Ryn’s mind remained coolly objective and analytical. He cataloged every detail to be dissected and assimilated into his own repertoire later. For Count Fritz Hendrix was but a studied composite of others’ idiosyncrasies.

However, when Lord Damien turned his compliments upon Ryn’s eyes, something shifted within. A surprised delight coupled with a dull, melancholic ache twisted in his heart. Seldom were his eyes the recipient of praise. More often, they inspired unease, revulsion, or worse—fear.

These bottomless grave-pits of darkness appeared soulless to some, hiding something monstrous to others. They were black mirrors reflecting whatever the viewer saw in themselves, including what they did not wish to see.

To have them called gentle felt… discordantly novel.

Ryn mustered a smile, a wobbly line at first until it steadied into a sturdier curve. “Thank you,” he managed, “you are too kind, my lord.” Channeling Lord Damien’s silver-spun eloquence would require far more practice and time for him, it seemed.

“Goodness,” he fanned himself with one hand, “is it just me, or did the temperature suddenly rise about twenty degrees? It’s a wonder you don’t have the entire ballroom swooning at your feet, Lord Damien. However is a mere mortal to withstand such devastating suavity in one go?”

Catching the pointed look Lord Damien sent in Lord Smithwood’s direction, Ryn remarked lightly, “Ah, but as the adage goes, ‘never judge a book by its cover alone.’ He has plenty of admirable qualities. He is one of Lady Vikena’s dearest friends, after all.” A conspiratorial wink. “If you truly want to steal her heart, as you’ve stolen mine, it wouldn’t go amiss to be on his good side.”

“Well, handsome,” Lord Damien announced, “I think it’s about time I go look for the watch over…there. Come ask me to dance in a bit, if you’re bold enough.”

This time, Lord Damien received a smile from Count Fritz Hendrix that was an uncanny impression of Cassius Vael’s mannerisms—from the heavy-lidded smolder to the teasing lilt in his tone. “Oh, I assure you, my lord, it’s not bravery I lack, but restraint.” He leaned in to trail his fingers along the other’s lapel. “Had I not needed to check on a friend, I’d ask you to dance with me this very moment.”

“Alas.” Stepping back, he withdrew his hand with exaggerated reluctance. “Should the fates prove so cruel as to deny us a turn about the dance floor tonight, maybe the next time our paths cross, you can show me the ‘irresistible Cassius Vael experience,’ not fit for polite company.” With a courtly half-bow, a piece of Cassius Vael slid into place. The count said, “À bientôt.”

RĂ­oghnach "Riona"
Time: Night
Location: Damien Estate Ballroom
Interaction(s): Lordling Smithwood @Helo; Shehzadi Nahir @Rodiak

Riona goggled at the nobleman as a high-pitched squeak piped from behind the lion mask. What in the hells was wrong with his voice? Had Cal and her botched potion caused this?

There’s no way Sh*tlord would’ve mingled with the cream of society sounding like a mouse without becoming the butt of every joke. He must’ve been forced to keep to himself all day. Oh, and how much that must’ve bothered the arrogant prat, unable to preen and suffocate others with his insufferable superiority. An unbearable blow to his ego. The thought of the prideful lion forced into sheepish silence tickled Riona to no end.

A snort of laughter broke free from her. “Excuse me, I am terribly sorry,” Riona pressed a hand against her smile and tamped it down. “Your voice is just...not quite what I imagined. Rather adorable, actually,” her gaze dropped to his furry feet. Honestly, she never expected he’d wear any of the replacement footwear. But there they were. Did it mean he liked them?

A distraction arrived in the form of a brown-suited figure. “Pardon me, but I must excuse myself.” Eyes hidden in the shadows of his mask, the man said, “I’ll make inquiries about the watch, see if anyone might’ve come across it. Should that prove fruitless, I’ll request Count Damien to reach out to the guests.” A reassuring hand rested briefly on Lordling Smithwood’s shoulder before the stag turned to Riona and Shehzadi Nahir with a deep bow. “Ladies.”

As he straightened, the light hit his face at the right angle and illuminated his eyes. Riona’s breath hitched. This man’s eyes were... black. Not dark brown, but pitch black. Only a few people had that eye color naturally, and they were very dead. Unless the Summer Solstice Ceremony involved raising the dead, she doubted the stag-masked gentleman was any of them… Could he? Was he a distant relative, oblivious to what happened? If so, she wouldn’t dream of putting his life in jeopardy out of curiosity. She kept silent as she watched him leave.

A shrill voice broke through her trance, drawing her attention to the lordling. He held up a bracelet, asking if it might be hers. Riona knew it wasn’t even before looking at it. “No, it is not mine,” she replied. Her accessories held her ensemble in place. Without them, her outfit would soon become a heap of fabric at her feet. A state which, she was pretty sure everyone, including herself, would’ve noticed.

Lordling Smithwood explained that someone switched out his pocketwatch for a bracelet and wanted to check if the same thing had happened to her. Shehzadi Nahir chimed in, reminding Riona of the weasel-man who bumped into her earlier and his owl-masked partner. “Could they have been thieves?”

“If thieves, they are an odd sort,” Riona mused, “leaving their loot behind like that.”

She did a visual sweep of her person, craning her neck over her shoulders to check behind. All she saw were the folds and layers of her dress. “Nothing appears out of place,” she concluded. “I suggest reporting the incident to a servant. They can assist in the search for your missing pocket watch.”

To the Shehzadi, Riona asked, “And you, My Lady? Has anything been added or taken from your person?”

“Your shoes?” Riona tried to catch a glimpse of her feet beneath the swath of pink fabric. She thought she saw Shehzadi Nahir carrying her shoes off the dance floor too, but she might’ve misremembered. “Given how long we left our shoes unattended while we danced, it is fortunate they were not spirited away.”

Which brought her thoughts circling back to Lord Squeakypants and his decidedly non-traditional party shoes.

“Although had they gone missing, it would have been the perfect excuse to borrow a pair or two from Lord Smithwood’s collection. I hear His Lordship’s selection is rather eclectic, everything from diamond-crusted pin heels to rustic clogs.” She met Lordling Smithwood’s eyes. “Is it true you have so many shoes that they spill out into the hallway? An acquaintance staying at the guest house said servants were gathering up scattered footwear outside your room.”

In 🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕 → 2 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Peter
Time: Night
Location: Damien Estate Ballroom
Interaction(s): Blue @CitrusArms; C-Bert’s Bastard Son @PapaOso; Zarai @Rodiak

Blue’s iron grip yanked Peter’s ass off the sidelines before he could blink. He didn’t resist, but he did clock how sturdy she was. Blue was a lot stronger than she looked. While not Karleen-strong (how many measured up to that anyway?), he still wouldn’t want to tangle with her barehanded.

The way she hauled him without so much as a by-your-leave, wanted to bring Olivia into the mix, and didn’t even bother hiding the fact she figured them both for thieves, her game was pretty clear. Either she’d get to make an arrest or she’d get to keep him in line. Pfft, fat f**king chance.

Going by how fast she was on their trail after the little fife swap, she sure hadn’t done much investigating. Sure, her gut had the right of it, but she had sh*tall for proof. Course, Pete knew the score. If things didn’t go her way, she could shove him in the brig for offending the nobility’s delicate sensibilities by just existing.

Peter scoffed, barely holding back the smirk. “Oooh, I get it now. This was just a roundabout way to tell me you’re cutting in on the girl I’ve been working, ain’t it? Damn, you’re shameless.”

He shook his head, “Claws off, Magpie, I had my eyes on her first.” Then he clucked his tongue. “If you’re so thirsty you gotta play dirty, maybe put in some actual effort picking up the ladies. I know hard work’s a foreign concept for Your Ladyship, but you can at least try.” Peter knew she was no blue blood, but he’d seen too many guards go crooked when they got a taste of what they could get (and get away with) by collaring themselves with the privileged. As the saying goes, pets start resembling their owners.

“Here, I’ll even help line up some more options for you.” Peter’s gaze swept the ballroom until he spotted a familiar figure already having a head start on the drinking.

Moving through the guests, he invited every man and woman he passed to the impromptu drinking contest, including C-Bert’s bastard son who was hanging by a wine station. Some sneered, others ignored him completely, but a handful were interested enough to gather around Blue.

The instant the glass left Zarai’s lips, Peter slipped his hands around the future Duchess, plucked the flute from her fingers, and knocked back what was left in one go. He let out a satisfied ahhh, before setting the empty glass on the table. He turned to Zarai. “Hey stranger, wanna help a friend?”

Without waiting for an answer, Peter steered her toward the gathering contestants. Leaning in, he whispered, “Need you to keep that lady in blue off my back. Think you can handle that?”

In 🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕 → 3 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Peter
Time: Night
Location: Damien Estate Ballroom
Interaction(s): Blue @CitrusArms

“righ’. No’ much to go missin’ in the first place, ah? I can relate. Most I've go’ is me fife.”

Truth be told, the nobles didn’t either. One thing Peter learned from these fancy parties was that the most valuable things on the guests were always out on full display. That’s the whole point, ain’t it? To show off? Most ladies’s dresses didn’t even have a pocket to pick. For the gents, if they carried anything, their pockets were usually reserved for watches, hankies, snuffboxes, and/or dance cards. (That’s what made Blue stick out with her fife.) It was the attendants who carried all their f**king crap like a damn pack mule.

Peter only showed Blue his empty pockets to prove he didn’t have any of the “stolen” stuff.

... Well, alright. He did lift his whole getup to blend in. But he didn’t steal anything from the guests here.

When Blue told him about the streak of mischief that was terrorizing a handful of the oh-so-poor-helpless-partygoers, it took a lot of willpower to smother a smirk. “Mischief?” Peter asked as he kept his face as innocent as a choirboy.

“Perhaps something in the air? Or the alcuhol.” Blue nodded in a direction. “There, see? Just what I'm talking about.”

He followed her gaze to see some drunkard stumbling around and flattening out his would-be helper against the wall. The party officially hit that hour when you could tell who could handle their liquor and who couldn’t just by the way they moved.

“‘ow much do ye think he's drank? Big guy like tha’ should be able to ‘old his drink.”

“Now that’s pigeonholing. Could be he’s got health issues. Or maybe he’s got demons haunting him, and he drinks to shut them up. Only it don’t work that way. Every sip just brings all the stuff he’s avoiding into sharper focus and that reminds him why he started drinking in the first place. He’s stuck in a loop. Wants the buzz but it makes him more miserable. He can only handle so much booze before it becomes too much and he has to stop...only to start it all over later.” After delivering that spiel, Peter paused for dramatic effect before grinning. “Or he’s just a two-sip chump.”

“Ye reck'n they're all ligh'weights? Naw, couldn't be.”

“Only one way to find out.” With a tilt of his head, Peter motioned toward the merry group the drunkard left. “Why don’t you try drinking them all under the table?”


In Avalia → 3 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay

Time: EVENING
Location: INT. THE TIPSY TAVERN - RIVER PORT
Interactions/Mentions: Zion @Helo



Malachi made his return to River Port soon enough, driven by both leads and his own deduction as he approached the bustling tavern. The absence of any nearby settlements indicated that Jun couldn't have ventured too far overnight so it stood to reason that, after traversing the woods, he sought refuge in the familiar safety of the town. Gathering information from the locals revealed accounts of a perplexed individual with distinctive ears who had eventually wandered into the Tipsy Tavern, simplifying the task of pinpointing Jun's whereabouts much more than expected.

As he pushed open the creaky door, the lively chaos of the tavern assaulted Malachi's senses. The air was thick with the smells he despised and te stickiness beneath his shoes arose a feeling of queasiness as he stepped inside. Inwardly, Malachi couldn't contain his disdain for the filth. The disarrayed tables and the questionable hygiene of the surroundings fueled a list of silent complaints within him. A subtle scoff escaped his lips as he navigated through the sea of people, pushing past them without concern for politeness as he scanned the room for his target.

At the tavern's rowdy center, a drinking contest was at full swing, its fervor capturing the attention of all present. Bets flew across the room as onlookers speculated who would triumph or falter in the next round. The vanquished lay around the table, some bodies draped across it, others slumped to the floor, their endurance bested by those who still drank.

In this commotion, Malachi's gaze locked onto a familiar cloak amidst the contestants. As the figure turned, a glimpse of Jun's face emerged from underneath the hood. Seeing how Jun's eyes widened, and his face lost its color, it was clear he recognized Malachi as well.

Jun snapped his head away and pulled his hood further down. Praying for a divine intervention that Malachi didn't (and wouldn't) notice him. No no no no no!

Malachi scowled in reaction. Seriously? He made a beeline for him immediately, pushing through the crowd. As he approached Jun, his typically cold expression seemed to intensify, revealing his frustration with the situation. He halted just a step away from Jun, his gaze piercing through the hood. He looked ready to snap on the human, but he paused, gritting his teeth.

Finally, Malachi's voice, usually sharp and biting, softened just a fraction as he spoke, "What are you doing here, Jun?" Leaning in, he pressed further, his tone low and weary, “This isn’t Earth and I think you realize that now. “ He gestured to the passed out patrons on the floor. “ Sure, you might be able to fool drunkards, but out there, when others catch on that you're a human, it's not going to end well. The dark elves who dictate this land won't be too kind to you. “ His eyes searched the young man’s for any possibility of sense, “What is your plan here, Jun?”The question hung in the air as the two locked gazes.

Jun angled himself away from Malachi, as if ignoring him long enough would magically make the other man disappear.

"Is this fellow causing you any bother?" Jun glanced up to find one of the patrons had materialized at Malachi's side, a hand firmly planted on his shoulder. A few of his buddies flanked them, watchful.

He blinked. Huh. He didn't expect this. Were these people going to help him or was this part of their roleplay?

Malachi sighed and shot a glance at the intervening patron, his irritation evident in the deep furrow of his brow. “Save the heroics. We’re talking and it’s not your business.” He leaned in once more and whispered, “Jun, what is it going to take to get you to return with me? …What do you want? … You won’t come to at least see that Zion’s okay at the least?”

Jun's heart hardened when he brought up Zion. Using Zion's condition as bait was a new low for Malachi. He avoided looking at the other man, fixing his gaze on the disgusting table instead.

And that was enough of an answer for the patron. "Think that's your answer, Mister." His grip on Malachi's shoulder tightened ever so slightly. "It's best time you leave." He tried to pull Malachi away from Jun, but the elf didn't budge.

"Come on, take a hint. He don't wanna get back together." One of the patron's buddies chimed in. "Move on. There's plenty of fish in the sea."

Malachi ignored them, “Please come talk to me outside. If we cannot come to any agreement, I will find a way to get you home or I’ll let you run amuck as you please. I’ll stop bothering you and you’ll never see me again.“

Jun remained rooted to his seat. Malachi had his chance to 'talk' this morning and nothing came out of it. All that stuff about 'trying to understand each other' and Malachi didn't even tell him a single thing about himself. He gaslighted Jun and that was that, end of discussion. If you were to summarize that 'heart-to-heart' in four words, it'd be: suck it up Jun.

“There’s been reasons to believe it’s real Jun. It’s just easier not to… It’s easier to believe this is all a game and everything here is an illusion than to accept that your reality has changed…” No, it wasn't. None of the possibilities, 'real' or 'fantasy', made Jun's current situation any easier to accept. Both made him scared and feel so… alone.

…

Oh… oh yeah.

… He's … alone.

It didn't matter if this was a LARP cult or a bonafide isekai-tensei. The only people who ever really cared about Jun Ibuki were back home. Too many worlds away to get in touch—not by phone, not by letter, not even smoke signals—, leaving him marooned in a kind of loneliness he never experienced before.

Clutching himself tight, Jun fought off the tremors. He shook away the thoughts and refocused.

It was obvious Malachi was saying all this to get Jun alone so it'd be easier to drag him away. And this time? He wouldn't put it past Malachi to lock him in an actual cage.

Even if what he said had an ounce of truth…
“You can’t go home, Jun…”
“... I will find a way to get you home…”
… then that meant Malachi really was the type who'd say just about anything.

Jun had been more than clear about wanting to go home: everyone knew that. How many times did they have to have the same pointless chat before Malachi heard him? Jun wasn't gonna back down this time. He had to put his foot down. Maybe then he'd get taken seriously.

"... No. I already told you… I just want to go home."

If Malachi meant what he said… then he'd find a way to get Jun home or, at the very least, let him go, no matter his answer.

Malachi silently stood there as he thought through his options, then finally slunk through the crowd and went outside the tavern.

In 🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕 → 3 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
RĂ­oghnach "Riona"
Time: Night
Location: Damien Estate Ballroom
Interaction(s): Shehzadi Nahir @Rodiak; Lordling Smithwood @Helo

Riona’s aching feet had just about reached their limit of discomfort when Via’s voice chimed in the back of her head. “... enjoy the festivities…” Since she’s here, she should, shouldn’t she?

As if she read her mind, Shehzadi Nahir suddenly asked after letting out an uncharacteristically hearty laugh, “Shall we dance do this without the heels, then? Proper dancing, this time, no tripping or stepping.” A second later, the Alidasht’s royal heels were set aside and her feet were bare, ready for what would come next. Riona gaped at the Shehzadi, surprised by the unexpected bold move before a slow grin fought its way onto her face.

Kicking off the pinching shoes brought instant relief. She glanced over at Shehzadi Nahir, who was watching her with renewed enthusiasm. Without a word, Riona grasped her hand, and together they launched into a dance that resembled nothing like the one that came before it. Gone were the awkward shuffling and steps dictated by shoes. With her bare feet on the cool marble floor, Riona felt more connected to the music, more in tune with Nahir’s movements. They twirled and glided across the polished floor, their bodies moving in perfect harmony. Their newfound comfort allowed them to switch leads effortlessly, each guiding the other with confidence and grace. They lost themselves in the music and the joy of the dance. And they danced until their heart’s content.

By the time the final chords faded, Riona beamed with satisfaction. An air of triumph followed her while she cruised off the dance floor with Nahir in one hand and her discarded shoes in the other. They made their way to the edge of the ballroom, finding a quiet corner where they could slip their shoes back on. Little did they know they had chosen the wrong time to be there.

From the crowd of partiers, a wasted guest staggered in their direction, flanked by less intoxicated friends struggling to guide his unsteady footsteps. The man was enormous, and it took more than a few people to keep him upright and escort him out of the ballroom.

But then gravity decided to yank him down, sending him crashing to the ground before the women. Moved by a mix of concern and reflex, Riona reached out to help him up, but he was much heavier than she imagined. And, coupled with his drunken momentum, when he leaned in on her, his massive bulk ended up pinning her against the wall. The force of the impact knocked the breath right out of her lungs, and she swore something cracked.

His companions rushed to her aid, pulling him off of her before he did any real damage. Once freed, Riona fixed herself, adjusting her skirt and not once noticing the warped pocket watch or how it vanished underneath the orange layers of her dress.

Shaking off the incident, Nahir and Riona continued to chat as they walked through the crowd toward a table. On their way there, a familiar pair of lion slippers caught her attention. Her steps halted before their owner, Sh*tlord.

A smirk hinted at mischief on her lips. “What lovely shoes,” she remarked in a subtly disguised voice. She then looked him over, pretending to have difficulty remembering which of the thousands of pompous nobles he was, before she announced, loud enough for bystanders and the Alidasht’s Royal Highness to catch, “Lord Leo Smithwood!” She curtsied. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

Fritz "Ryn" Hendrix
Time: Evening
Location: Damien Estate’s Ballroom
Interaction(s): Lord Cassius Damien (Cassius Vael) @PapaOso; Lady Charlotte Vikena @princess; Lord Leo Smithwood @Helo; Mr. V (Kazumin Nagasa) @samreaper

While the conversation continued, Ryn found his eyes drawn inexorably downwards, fixating on the hand that Lord Damien had shaken.

—Coated scarlet red.

When Lord Damien gripped his hand, Ryn sensed the warmth and stickiness of fresh blood. It seeped through the gloves and into his skin, the thick rivulets sluggishly winding down his wrist. He recognized the hand as belonging to someone who had claimed so many lives that it left a stain that not even time could wash away. There was a kinship in that.

Letting his hand fall, Ryn lifted his gaze in time to witness the son of Count Damien showering Lady Vikena with honeyed words. The way the man’s eyes caressed her and his dulcet tones made Ryn wonder if he was besotted with her and whether now was the appropriate time to express it.

Curious about her reception of such attention, Ryn stole a quick glance at Lady Vikena. When he shifted his focus back, Lord Damien’s eyes were on the three men, watching them closely. As if he wanted to ask what they made of his attempts to woo Lady Vikena. Was he assessing if they were competition, or was there another motive behind his gaze?

If Lord Damien wanted to gain insights subtly, it would be impolite of Ryn not to reciprocate. And if his intuition proved correct, the new lord was the type that appreciated a little banter. Though for Lord Smithwood’s sake, it would be brief, as they still must find his father’s watch.

He waited a few beats before gasping. “Lord Damien, I feel left out. Will you not tell us how beautiful and strong we are too?” He motioned toward Lord Smithwood. “Surely you’ve noticed how this distinguished gentleman would be the heart of any pride?” A breath more and he would have mentioned Mr. V as well, but prudence held him back. Try not to draw too much attention to him, Ryn reminded himself.

Observing Lord Damien’s reaction, Ryn smiled. Then returned to the case at hand. “About the watch, perhaps we should split—”

His words stilled as two women approached the group. One of them was Shehzadi Nahir, and the other wore a cat mask. “What lovely shoes,” the cat said to the lion.

However, Ryn’s gaze strayed past them to a worrisome sight. Behind the two, in the distance, stood Count Damien and Ms. Persephone, unaccompanied by Peter. “V. Charlotte.” Ryn’s voice dropped to a hush as he directed their attention to the potential storm brewing on the horizon. Tension clung to Ryn until Ms. Persephone extricated herself from the count’s vicinity, but the sense of unease lingered on.

In 🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕 → 3 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
King Edin & Lady Morrigan


“Why, there’s the handsome man I’ve been looking all over for,” Lady Morrigan announced when they entered the Princess’s room. There stood King Edin, planted firmly amidst the pink and looking absurdly out of place.

The Knight remained silent and still at the doorway as Lady Morrigan sauntered up to His Majesty. With a familiarity that made the Knight’s skin crawl, she pressed a tender kiss to one bearded cheek while her hand caressed the other.

When Her Ladyship drew back, she studied his face. Whatever she saw there gave her pause. She rubbed His Majesty’s arm in a gesture of comfort and concern. “However is my hero faring?” she asked.

King Edin had seemed as if he had been a lightyears away as he had stood about his daughter’s room. Sensing a new presence, he shifted his eyes down to find his cousin. He caught her hand and gently kissed the back of it. He presented her with a smile and greeted, “Ah, Morrigan. Everything is going according to plan of course, as per usual... When it comes to me, everything is always perfect. Just yesterday, I single-handedly solved the kingdom's pigeon infestation... Oh yes, and how are you faring? Do you enjoy your exciting position?”

“Never a dull moment.” Lady Morrigan suddenly pouted, an expression the Knight would’ve thought endearing if he hadn’t known she was decades too old for that. “As you should know from my daily reports… or…” She toyed with a lock of her hair, twisting it around her finger. “Maybe you were a little distracted?” She tilted her head with a coy smile and voice to match. The Knight suppressed another shudder. Truly, he deserved a medal for maintaining composure.

“And… You didn’t answer my real question.” Her Ladyship reached up, her fingers threading through his hair. “King Edin has my undying loyalty and love, but I want to know how Eddie’s doing.” She combed his hair through the silence before adding, “He’s usually not here on good days…”

The Knight’s gaze swept the chambers absent of the one inhabitant who should be here. What would bring His Majesty to his daughter’s room on any day, if not to see her? Did he secretly admire the decor? Or was there something more...?

King Edin's hand, adorned with rather ostentatious rings, performed the obligatory two pats on Morrigan's head. "I'm fine, dear," he remarked, his voice carrying a tone of detached assurance. A subtle furrow appeared on his forehead as he came to the realization that evasion was futile.

“Well, if you must know. This was …Jane’s… room. “ he confessed, his words trailing with a ghost of nostalgia. A fleeting vulnerability appeared in his eyes... His gaze shifted towards the window, lost momentarily.

The Knight’s brows furrowed at the same time the King’s did. It was strange that His Majesty felt the need to explain something to Lady Morrigan that the Knight was certain she already knew. If memory served, the cousins had lived in the castle together during their early childhood—Prince Callum’s room had once been Lady Morrigan’s, in fact. So why did the King bring up his sister? It was as if he were answering the Knight’s unvoiced questions, through Her Ladyship… or perhaps he truly believed her memory was that of a goldfish.

More curious still was the patronizing head pat and tone the King adopted. Granted, the Knight had formed some preconceptions about the cousins’ relationship, but something was off about it. If Lady Morrigan took offense to any of her cousin’s behavior, she gave no outward sign. Her smile remained an artfully crafted portrait of courtly refinement. Then again, she never did. Not in the open.

King Edin's features tightened , and he forcefully snapped himself back to the present with a vigorous shake of the head. "More importantly," he continued with a touch of theatrical disdain, "I've caught wind of rumors about Anastasia entertaining unwelcome men in this chamber… “ With a exaggerated grimace, he told Morrigan, “Apparently, she's letting in more peasants than a village fair. The audacity of these men, bringing their afflictions into the heart of the castle where Wulfric and I could be exposed to their filth. I won't have my sons and I falling victim to a commoner's cold. It's beneath our royal sinuses, you see." He punctuated his statement with a mockingly dramatic sniff.

But who cares if your daughter, wife, or cousin does? The Knight wondered as a faint gasp slipped from Lady Morrigan’s mouth. “Oh dear, how dreadful! Do you feel sick?” she fussed, placing a hand over his forehead to measure his temperature. “We most certainly cannot take any chances. I’ll have this room disinfected from top to bottom and post a guard at the door to dispose of any ‘unwanted filth’ that try to follow Anya into her room. How does that sound?”

King Edin had replied after a pause, with a haughty tilt of his head, “I am the epitome of health and vigor, as always…But the answer to a bath is always yes.”

There it was again. The feeling that something was off. The Knight’s mind skimmed through the words he knew and found one that could explain it all: A performance. They were performing for an audience of one—himself, the intruder who dared linger in this “sanctuary” of theirs.

His armor plates scraped against each other as he shuffled in place, the unseen eyes boring into the side of his face, spreading a cold unease within him. He kept his gaze forward, never turning towards the source of that violet stare.

“Pet,” she said, “prepare His Majesty a warm salt bath. And send someone to bring ginger tea with lemon and honey.” She flicked her fingers in dismissal.

“At once, my lady.” The Knight executed a brisk bow before turning on his heel. Eyes trailed after him, needling between his shoulders even as he retreated from the room.

Through the crack of the closing door, he saw Lady Morrigan reach up and remove the King’s crown just as the door clicked shut.


Prince Edin & Princess Morrigan & Princess Jane
1699


Princess Morrigan peered through the narrow gap of the door, her eyes scanning the castle library. Inside, Prince Edin sat alone, books and scrolls piled high around him. The room was silent save for the soft rustle of pages and the occasional sigh of frustration as Edin wrestled with the dense texts forced upon him. While studies bored her cousin to no end, Morrigan found fascination in every subject that dulled his eyes—math, history, all of it. But as a princess, Morrigan was groomed for a different path: to charm and be charming, to become the flawless jewel adorning the arm of whichever powerful man her father deemed a suitable match.

Time and time again, her parents—Prince Geoffrey and Princess Consort Igraine—reminded her that men sought wives who were young, lovely, and obedient, not ones possessing knowledge beyond manners. Why waste the fleeting commodity of her youth on studying topics women inherently lacked the mind for? If Morrigan must indulge in her intellectual pursuits, it would have to be after she had fulfilled her duty to marry and bear her husband an heir and a spare.

Once, the cousins were inseparable, their days filled with laughter and play, free from royal obligations. They had explored the castle grounds, invented wild adventures, and played all sorts of games. But lately, the pressures on Edin to fill his role as the future king had grown tremendously. He was expected to study more, to train more, with no time for frivolity. Morrigan’s presence was a ‘distraction’ hindering his progress, or so the adults claimed.

Not that that kept her away from him. If anything, seeing Edin so miserable strengthened her resolve to be the finest distraction he could ask for.

Tiptoeing into the room, Morrigan crept up behind her cousin unnoticed. In a swift, fluid motion, she snatched his crown right off his head and bolted across the library with a triumphant giggle. “Catch me, Eddie!”

“Hey! Give it back!”Edin's voice rang out, filled with playful exasperation as he rose from his seat, his chair skidding back with a slight scrape against the floor. He then chased after her, a scowl quickly turning into a grin. He jumped up on a table then launched himself at her, nearly grabbing her, but missing.“ I am going to kick your ass !” he exclaimed, his tone playful and filled with mock threat

With an exaggerated eye roll and a dramatic scoff, Morrigan taunted, “Not if you’re that sllllllllllllllllllloooooooooooooooooooooooooow!” The cousins ran round and round the library—dashing between bookshelves, threading through the obstacle course of tables and chairs—egging each other and laughing the entire time. Their game continued until the creak of the library door brought them to a sudden halt.

In the space between heartbeats, Morrigan passed Edin’s crown back to him. She smoothed out her dress just as the newcomer stepped into view.

As the door creaked open, a vision of beauty stepped into the library, casting a radiant glow upon the room with her presence alone. Princess Jane's blonde locks cascaded down her slender frame, framing her porcelain face adorned with captivating blue eyes that sparkled with affection as she smiled at the sight of the two young royals.

Despite being around twenty-three years young at the time, she was petite in stature, barely taller than the duo in front of her. Her delicate footsteps carried her gracefully across the room as she approached the cousins,“Edin, Morrigan... The sound of your laughter brings me so much joy…”

With a gentle but firm tone, Princess Jane continued, "However…A crown is not just an accessory—it symbolizes power, responsibility, and the trust of our people. Furthermore, it's worth a pretty penny. We must be mindful of the privileges bestowed upon us." With a tender touch, Princess Jane then caressed both of their cheeks. “...Let us find a different game to play.”

Edin stuck his tongue as he snatched the crown from Morrigan, swiftly restoring it to its rightful place atop his head. “Yeah Morrigan! Gosh! You should be more like me, Morrigan.”

When Jane walked in, the room seemed to brighten for her. The tightness in Morrigan’s muscles eased, and warmth returned to her complexion. She had braced for the entrance of King George or her father, but seeing Jane, those worries felt distant.

The crown meant little compared to Jane’s gentle touch on her cheek. It was an affection she seldom received from her own parents, a taste of the familial bond she craved, and she cherished every second, even if she was being scolded.

Her spirited self quickly resurfaced with Edin’s chiding. She stuck her tongue out back at him. “If it’s so important, then maybe you shouldn’t make it so easy to take, Eddie.” She swatted the crown off his head and crossed her arms as she turned her back on him, pouting.

Edin, momentarily taken aback by Morrigan's audacity, couldn't help but grin at her antics. Despite the weight of responsibility pressing down on his shoulders, her presence always managed to inject a spark of levity into his existence. He caught the crown in his fingers before it could fall and readjusted it on his head. “Ha. See! Didn’t get me that time! I could do this blindfolded and still outmaneuver you.” Then, he patted her on the head seeing her pout. “What are you grumpy for? You have all the free time in the world compared to me, you should be happy… I am too busy and much too popular to be idle.”

The pout dissolved beneath Edin’s touch, but her heart still ached within. His hand on her head seemed to amplify each beat of pain. “Being bored doesn’t make me happy.” Morrigan looked at him. “Spending less time with you doesn’t make me happy.” Then turning to Jane, “And you won’t be here forever.” One day duty would demand Jane wed and depart. As Edin took on more responsibilities, he would eventually have no time to spare for Morrigan. Without her sisters Elaine and Anna—taken too soon—she would have only solitude for company. Tears welled in her eyes at the sudden reminder of it all.

Edin frowned at her, the pain of their situation sending a pang of emotion coursing through him.

Spending less time with his beloved cousin didn’t make him happy either.

He didn’t even get to spend time with Jane nor any of his friends anymore.

But what his father did to him would do to him if he refused to listen, would bring him much more misery. He was about to express his feelings to Morrigan when her comment about Jane threw him off. Edin's frown deepened as Morrigan's words about Jane echoed in his mind. His sister, Jane, was his rock, his confidante, the one person who understood him better than anyone else. The mere thought of her departing sent a pang of anxiety coursing through him.

"Morrigan," Edin's tone was sharp, his blue eyes flashing with hurt. "What do you mean? Jane isn't going anywhere. She's always been here for us, for me.” His voice quivered with emotion, his usual calm demeanor momentarily shattered by the thought of losing his sister.

Morrigan stared back at Edin, confused. What did he mean? Didn’t he know what society expected of noble daughters? “She’s a princess. Princesses are supposed to get married to someone the Kingdom wants an alliance with and have babies.” This truth had been etched into her very being since the day she drew her first breath, reducing her and her sisters to mere pawns in their father’s game of thrones. It was this very logic that led Prince Geoffrey to openly question his brother’s decision—or rather, his apparent neglect—in not marrying off Jane sooner. ‘A waste of resources,’ she once heard him say.

However, that raised the question: why was Jane not married yet? Morrigan turned her gaze towards her older cousin, heart divided between an expectation for confirmation of their predetermined role and a flicker of hope for an alternative fate. If Jane, unmarried at twenty-three, was allowed to stay in the castle, could Morrigan too? Could she stay with them forever?

Jane smiled sadly at her and ran her fingers affectionately through her younger cousin’s hair. “Starting a family with someone you love can be a beautiful thing Morrigan. The idea may appeal to you when you’re grown.”

Edin suddenly interjected, “Well that’ll be the first thing to do when I’m King! You and Jane will not have to do anything you don’t want to… Then you girls will be free to bask in my glorious presence without a care in the world! Getting married is STUPID anyway. Like anyone would be good enough for me!”

Not according to her father. Love as grounds for marriage was unimaginable, ‘stupid’ even. As for marriage itself, it was one of the few contributions she could make to the kingdom. What use was she to Edin if she couldn’t give him allies?

Even so, Edin’s words meant a lot to her. “I hope you become king soon, Eddie.” Considering what needed to happen for that to become a reality, it was wrong to say or think it, but she couldn’t help but wish it to be true.

Morrigan’s violets watched Jane for a while before catching hold of her sleeve. “When you finally find someone you love… what will you do?” She hesitated. “Will you leave?”

“Oh, Morrigan,” Jane sighed softly, her smile masking her feelings within. She couldn’t bring herself to tell her beloved cousin the truth when it would only bring her pain. “I suppose... I’ll do what’s best for them. And for the kingdom, of course…” Her gaze flickered away from Morrigan, who looked down at the floor in resignation, to Edin, a glint of apprehension flashing in her eyes. “And of course, the choice of our future King’s marriage will hold immense importance and carry a great responsibility.”

Edin grumpily rolled his eyes, but Jane's touch on his shoulder softened his demeanor. "When the time comes, Edin," she said softly, her voice tinged with an almost ominous certainty, "you'll have to be more than just a King. You'll have to be our protector, a guardian against the shadows that haunt our family. It will demand everything from you—perfection, sacrifice, and unwavering resolve."

“Whatever Jane. You’re so dramatic!” A smaller hand pushed off his crown in response.

And it fell…
Down…
… Down…
… Down.
In 🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕 → 3 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Peter
Time: Night
Location: Damien Estate Ballroom
Interaction(s): Blue @CitrusArms

“Don’t flatter myself?” Peter slapped a hand against his chest, eyebrows shooting up in mock shock. “If I don’t, who’s gonna? World’s already done a bang-up job convincing us we’ll never be enough. But I know my worth and I’m gonna give credit where it’s due. So yeah, I am quite the looker alright.” His grin stretched into a full-on sh*t-eating display. “Enough to catch your eye and not let go even after the dance was done.” If Blue’s gaze could shoot daggers, he turned into a knife block in the time it took to browse the buffet spread. “No shame in owning up to it, you know?”

Satisfied with his assessment of Blue, he committed the location of her weapon to memory before signaling the passing server.

“Where'd y'learn a jig like tha', anyway?” she asked.

“Here and there.” He shrugged, trading his empty glass for a full one off the server’s tray without missing a beat. “But that ain’t what you’re really asking, is it?” As Peter took a sip, he eyed her over the rim of his glass.

He was ready for the usual crack about how “his kind” shouldn’t be rubbing elbows with the high and mighty. Except, her accent tipped him off that she didn’t exactly belong either. His guess? Blue got to hang here because she was cozy with someone who did.

Peter pretended not to notice the accusation behind Blue’s probing question about missing belongings. He just checked his pockets, turning it inside out for show, and patted himself down. “Yeah. Why?”

In 🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕 → 3 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
RĂ­oghnach "Riona"
Time: Night
Location: Damien Estate Ballroom
Interaction(s): Shehzadi Nahir @Rodiak

“What is a life worth living if not for the risks and surprises? Worry not, my dear, I'll be sure to keep you close and steady.” Possibly, more than Shehzadi Nahir bargained for.

To call whatever Riona was doing a “dance” would be, at best, charitable. She shuffled. Stumbled. Fought for purchase in stilts too slender to provide it. Each step was a balancing act, a gamble, as she did her best to not punch a hole in Shehzadi Nahir’s feet. Despite her efforts, the results were mixed. Every time her foot landed squarely on the Shehzadi’s toes, Riona winced. Thankfully, her full weight wasn’t behind the blunders to cause injury, but it didn’t make her any less mortified.

True to her word, Shehzadi Nahir kept her close and steady. With gentle hands, she corrected each fumble and kept Riona upright. She was, without a doubt, the only saving grace.

Around them, Riona sensed the eyes and barely concealed snickers of other guests as the pair tottered past. Heat rose to Riona’s cheeks under their amusement. She glared down at her feet, gleaming gold in the light, determined not to provide the vultures with further entertainment. That proved to be her undoing, as she should’ve known.

Too focused on her own feet, what little pattern the two built up to this point fell apart. A misplaced step threw Shehzadi Nahir off. Riona reacted, wrapping one hand around the woman while the other seized her arm to pull her up before she could fall.

For a fleeting moment, their eyes locked, faces near enough that Riona could breathe in her perfume and admire Shehzadi Nahir’s long lashes framing her golden brown eyes.

Once the Shehzadi regained her footing, Riona released her and a heavy sigh. “Please accept my apologies, my lady. I’m usually better at dancing than this.” Dancing had been one of her favorite pastimes since childhood. Something that felt as natural as breathing. It just never involved being strapped into torture devices.

“How does anyone manage in these heels?” she asked as they resumed their not-a-dance. The heels were beautiful, a testament to Via’s remarkable sense of style, but practicality was sacrificed at the altar of fashion. Riona glanced around at the other women who wore similar shoes, marveling at their poise. Why weren’t they limping or swan-diving onto the first chair in sight? Years of practice must’ve hardened their skin. Either that or she should never play cards with them because they were masters of stoicism. Both seemed equally likely to Riona.

Fritz "Ryn" Hendrix
Time: Evening
Location: Damien Estate’s Ballroom
Interaction(s): Lady Charlotte Vikena @princess; Mr. V (Kazumin Nagasa) @samreaper; Lord Leo Smithwood @Helo; Lord Cassius Damien (Cassius Vael) @PapaOso

Ryn stared at Lady Vikena's hand resting lightly on his own for some time before slowly turning his hand over to clasp hers, giving it a gentle, acknowledging squeeze.

“Please continue to tell me why you're disheartened,” she said.

A rueful smile tugged at his lips as he met her eyes. “By you, Charlotte.” With his free hand, Ryn reached to lay his palm over the back of Lady Vikena’s, sandwiching her hand between both of his own.

“I thought, now that we’re a team…” Ryn’s gaze flitted toward Mr. V, recalling the day when he and Ms. Persephone had stumbled unexpectedly into the Vikena estate, and how they had all agreed to harbor the wanted fugitives. What brings people closer than partaking in a bit of misdeeds together? “Partners in crime, as it were,” he winked at Mr. V and then focused on Lady Vikena again. “I thought you’d give us a more truthful answer than platitudes you’d offer strangers.”

Just as Ryn’s lips parted to speak further, a lion caught his eye, bearing down upon their little group. “Goo—” He got no further before Lord Smithwood thrust a bracelet upon the table before them.

“There is a thief wandering the ballroom,” he announced brusquely, “they have stolen my watch and left that in my pocket. We must solve this crime immediately.”

Ryn looked from the jewelry to Lord Smithwood and back, then turned to Lady Vikena once more, giving her hand one final, gentle pat. “I’d like to continue our conversation later, Charlotte. Is that okay with you?”

Redirecting his attention to Lord Smithwood, Ryn was about to ask a question when another nobleman approached the slowly growing congregation. “Excuse my interruption…” Lord Damien.

So this must be who Peter spoke of. Ryn studied the handsome man and noticed how intently the wolf’s gaze lingered on the butterfly. He smiled to himself, sensing the lord’s true motives for inserting himself here.

“And you’ll have to excuse me for drawing you away from the one who so captivates your interest.” Ryn rose from his seat. “Lord Cassius Damien, I presume? It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. My name is Fritz.” He bowed in greeting, paused, and extended a hand, seeing if Count Damien’s son was the kind of person to shake hands with “just Fritz.”

“If the others don’t mind, I think it would be heartening to have your assistance, Lord Damien. More the merrier, I say.” He flashed Lord Damien an amicable smile.

“Now then,” Ryn faced Lord Smithwood, “Detective, please describe what your watch looks like for me. When did you last see it?”

Peter
Time: Night
Location: Damien Estate Ballroom
Interaction(s): Persephone Olivia @Potter; Blue @CitrusArms

“What’s going on?” Olivia asked.

Contrary to Olivia’s obvious worry, Peter’s face lit up with a wide, reckless grin. Impish excitement glimmered in his eyes. “A real shindig.” Then his voice dropped lower, a hint of sharpness beneath his playful tone. “I’d take this chance to do what you came here to do, while the shifty weasel has people distracted.”

Said weasel guided Olivia smoothly into a spin so that when she stopped, she faced a particular direction. Lo and behold, across the ballroom, stood the lady in blue, her eyes sharp and focused on them. Once Olivia spun back to him, Peter continued. “Saw Blue Lady? She’s been checking us out for a while now. Think she has the hots for me… ” He smirked, “That and I wager she’s a guard.”

He heaved a deep, melodramatic sigh. “I’m too damn sexy for my own good. It’s just impossible to ignore me forever.”

Chuckling, he mused, “Too bad too. Was hoping we’d get to spend more time together.” Peter’s laughter tapered off as he found himself staring at Olivia, longer than he had intended.

“So, what do you wanna do?” Peter glanced at Cowlick and Lady Lottie’s direction. “You found your pals. No reason not to go to them.” He looked back at Olivia. “Especially when I’m about to go on a heist.”


Peter strolled down the buffet table, his eyes scanning the spread with mixed interest. He plopped any appetizers he could eat with his hands into his mouth and washed them down with a gulp from his sparkling drink. He grabbed a mini quiche before leaving the table behind.

Leaning back against the cool wall, he bit into the quiche. The buttery crust gave way to a creamy, smoky filling that hit all the right notes. As the sharp cheddar and rich bacon blended in his mouth, he let his eyes close and moaned.

The weasel glanced over at his blue neighbor. “Gotta say, the music’s a bore fest, but the food might just make up for it.” His gaze traveled up and down Blue’s body. On the surface, it came across as ogling. But really, he was sizing her up—muscle distribution, stance, the subtle tell of a favored limb, potential hidden weapon. When their eyes met, he smirked.

“You know,” Peter said, “I couldn’t help but notice you giving me the eye for a while. Like what you see?”

In Avalia → 4 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
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