PapaOso

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

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Time: 10:00 AM
Location:Sorian Gallery of Fine Arts
Mention:N/A
Attire:A Suit Fit For A True Artist

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Please Play This

The Sorian Gallery of Fine Arts shimmered under the morning glow, its marble facade illuminated by scarce golden sconces and lanterns, casting a warm halo against the intended dimly lit interior. Guests filtered into the grand foyer, an eclectic mix of noble elegance and avant-garde flair, their laughter and chatter creating a symphony of anticipation. The first hour of the gallery’s grand opening was reserved for the donors and other luminaries of the Sorian art community. Inside, the atmosphere pulsed with energy...a mingling of muted harp strings, the scent of truffle hors d’oeuvres, and the vibrant hues of Milo St. Claire’s latest masterpieces adorning the walls.

Milo himself was the centerpiece of the room, a vision of composed radiance. Draped in a tailored charcoal suit with golden accents that mirrored the gallery’s decor, he greeted every attendee with warmth and genuine interest. His blonde hair was immaculately swept back, and his hazel eyes glimmered with an almost otherworldly light. Each handshake lingered just enough to feel sincere, and his laughter resonated...deep, rich, and effortlessly charming.

“Ms. Vanderhall, you’ve outdone yourself,” he said, his voice smooth as velvet as he accepted a compliment on the gallery’s floral arrangements. “The lilies are poetry themselves, perfectly framing the elegance of my work.” He gestured toward a sprawling canvas titled Tempest’s Embrace, a cacophony of swirling blues and golds that seemed to undulate under the gallery’s soft lighting.

But Milo’s practiced composure faltered for a fraction of a second whenever he glanced at the centerpiece of the exhibit: The Mirror of Perception. The reflective installation occupied an entire alcove, its shifting surface distorting every onlooker’s image. It was mesmerizing, almost alive, drawing guests in with its haunting allure. Milo’s smile tightened every time someone praised its brilliance, though no one else seemed to notice the flicker of something darker in his eyes.

As the gallery’s pre-show hour unfolded, Milo moved through the crowd like a conductor orchestrating his symphony. At the Ivory Lounge, he leaned against the sleek bar, holding court with a group of critics and patrons. With a champagne flute in hand, he regaled them with a story about his travels in the far east, punctuating his tale with humorous asides that sent ripples of laughter through the group.

“But truly,” he said, lowering his voice to a more intimate tone, “I owe everything to you, my cherished guests. You’ve given my art a place to flourish, to truly be seen on such a grand scale. This morning belongs to each and every one of you as much as it does to me. Your presence breathes life into my chaos, transforming these pieces into something transcendent.” His words lingered, drawing the crowd closer, spellbound by his charm.

When the harpists transitioned to a delicate rendition of a familiar waltz, Milo excused himself, gliding toward the Portrait Gallery. This room was quieter, its subdued lighting casting a reverent glow over the gilded frames. He paused before a particularly striking portrait of Countess Diana Cristian, the strokes of his brush capturing both her regal poise and the vulnerability in her eyes.

“She’s stunning, isn’t she?” a voice interrupted, and Milo turned to face a young woman whose curiosity shone even brighter than her jewels.

“She is,” Milo replied with a soft smile. “A masterpiece in her own right. All I did was follow where her one of a kind essence led my hand.”

The interaction was brief but magnetic, leaving the woman lingering as Milo continued his journey through the gallery. Alone for the first time that morning, he found himself back at The Mirror of Perception. He stared into its warped surface, his reflection splitting and shifting with every subtle movement. His smile faded, replaced by an intensity that bordered on reverence. For a moment, the world around him seemed to quiet, the vibrant gallery dimming until only the mirror and his fractured image remained. His jaw tightened, and his hand clenched into a fist at his side.

Then, as if on cue, a voice from behind broke the spell. “Milo, darling! Everyone’s dying to hear about Reflections of Reverie.”

The mask slipped back into place, his golden smile returning as he turned to greet the guest. “Ah, but what’s art without a little mystery?” he teased, gesturing for them to lead the way. “Come, let us unravel it together.”

As he moved back into the crowd, the air of the gallery seemed lighter, the whispers and laughter of his guests filling the space once more. Yet the mirror remained, silently distorting the images of those who dared to look too closely.

Once the clock neared eleven, Milo was urged back to the entrance of his Portrait Gallery by the event’s esteemed organizers. Seeing as any moment now those doors would open and the rest of Sorian would flood into these halls, and the people of Caesonia would get the honored pleasure of laying their eyes on the blessings of his brilliance. Some would be awestruck by his works, others would critique them without the slightest idea of the actual majesties before them…But all would bear witness to what “Mr. Sunshine” was truly capable of.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Play Both!

You are cordially invited to an exclusive evening showcasing the remarkable works of the renowned artist Milo St. Claire. This gallery event promises to be an unforgettable experience of creativity, elegance, and mystery, all set within the captivating atmosphere of his private art studio. Join the crème de la crème of the art world for a night where beauty, emotion, and imagination collide.

📍 Location:Sorian Gallery of Fine Arts
🕰️ Date & Time: The exhibition opens at 11:00 a.m.

✨ What to Expect:

🎨 Exclusive Art Exhibit:
Wander through a maze of paintings, sculptures, and installations designed to evoke wonder and contemplation. Milo’s latest collection, "Reflections of Reverie," will be revealed for the first time, featuring works that explore the duality of light and darkness, chaos and tranquility, in human emotion. Guests will have the opportunity to discuss the deeper meanings behind each piece with the artist himself throughout the night.

🍷 Open Bar & Specialty Cocktails:
Enjoy an array of premium wines, fine champagne, and signature cocktails crafted just for the evening. Let your taste buds indulge while your eyes feast on the visual splendor. Drinks will be available at the Ivory Lounge, a cozy space adjacent to the gallery with plush seating and dim lighting for intimate conversations.

🍽️ Gourmet Hors d’Oeuvres:
Sample a curated selection of fine hors d'oeuvres that complement the artistic theme. Delicacies such as truffle-infused risotto bites, smoked salmon crostini, and mini tartlets with gold leaf accents will be served by elegant waitstaff. Milo personally selected these dishes to pair perfectly with the mood and tone of his works.

Hors d'Oeuvres

🖋️ Live Calligraphy & Sketching:
As a part of the artistic experience, a live calligrapher will create personalized nameplates for each guest upon entry, while a live sketch artist will capture candid moments from the night, allowing guests to take home a piece of the evening.

🎶 Ambient Music:
Immerse yourself in the delicate sounds of renowned harpists, playing soft classical and contemporary pieces throughout the night. The music will echo through the gallery, heightening the emotional impact of Milo’s work.

🖼️ Interactive Art Installation:
Guests are encouraged to interact with the featured piece, "The Mirror of Perception," a reflective installation that distorts images based on where you stand, symbolizing the ever-changing nature of self-awareness. This eerie, haunting work invites contemplation and personal reflection, a centerpiece that encapsulates Milo's vision for the evening.

💎 Limited Edition Keepsake:
Each guest will receive an exclusive commemorative print signed by Milo St. Claire himself, a memento of the night. These limited edition prints, specially designed for the gallery event, are a token of Milo's appreciation for those who come to celebrate art and its power to transform.

✨ Dress Code:

Formal or Avant-garde attire is encouraged. Let your wardrobe reflect your creative spirit and be part of the night’s artistry. (VIP Access comes with admittance into the “Clothing Optional” Areas of the exhibit.)

Don’t miss the chance to witness Milo St. Claire’s latest masterpiece collection in an atmosphere designed to captivate and inspire. Whether you are an art connoisseur or a casual admirer, this is an event not to be missed.

Exhibit Rooms:

📜 The Portrait Gallery:

Portrait Gallery

Admire large, gold-framed portraits of notable figures, including Countess Diana Cristian, Count Calbert Damien, Duchess Francesca Lesdeman, and more. The soft glow of chandeliers creates an intimate atmosphere.

Portrait Gallery - Featured Individuals:

• Countess Ella Bernard
• Countess Ada Mäkinen
• Countess Kasia Pawonska
• Countess Diana Cristian
• Count Calbert Damien
• Duchess Francesca Anne Lesdeman
• Count Gustav Hansen
• Pasha Mona Mostafa
• Pasha Faven Zulu
• Pasha Sunni Olufemi
• Pasha Tanaka Haru
• Pasha Zhao Mei
• Pasha Jasmine Chen

Portraits

Portrait Gallery - Featured Individuals

Countess Ella Bernard

Countess Ella Bernard

Countess Ada Mäkinen

Countess Ada Mäkinen

Countess Kasia Pawonska

Countess Kasia Pawonska

Countess Diana Cristian

Countess Diana Cristian

Count Calbert Damien

Count Calbert Damien

Duchess Francesca Lesdeman

Duchess Francesca Lesdeman

Count Gustav Hansen

Count Gustav Hansen

Pasha Mona Mostafa

Pasha Mona Mostafa

Pasha Faven Zulu

Pasha Faven Zulu

Pasha Sunni Olufemi

Pasha Sunni Olufemi

Pasha Tanaka Haru

Pasha Tanaka Haru

Pasha Zhao Mei

Pasha Zhao Mei

Pasha Jasmine Chen

Pasha Jasmine Chen

🎨 "Reflections of Reverie" Exhibit:

"Reflections of Reverie" Exhibit

This room is dedicated to Milo’s latest collection, "Reflections of Reverie." The works displayed here explore the duality of light and darkness, chaos and tranquility in human emotion. The paintings evoke a deep sense of contemplation, as guests have the opportunity to discuss the meanings behind each piece with the artist himself. The room is designed to be contemplative, with lighting that enhances the contrast between light and dark.

🪞 Interactive Art Installation - "The Mirror of Perception":

Mirror of Perception Exhibit

This interactive room features Milo’s installation, "The Mirror of Perception." Guests are encouraged to interact with the mirrors, which distort images based on where they stand. The installation invites personal reflection and exploration, symbolizing the ever-changing nature of self-awareness. The haunting and eerie reflections create a surreal experience."

🗿 The Sculpture Gallery:

Sculpture Gallery

Dedicated to Milo’s sculptures of women, this gallery showcases smooth marble statues that capture the beauty and elegance of the female form. The sculptures are presented on pedestals throughout the room, allowing guests to move around and admire their intricate details. The atmosphere is serene and refined, with soft lighting enhancing the gentle curves of the statues.

🍸 The Ivory Lounge:

Ivory Lounge

This cozy space adjacent to the gallery is where guests can relax and enjoy premium wines, champagne, and signature cocktails. The lounge features plush seating in soft cream tones, elegant Victorian-style furniture, and dim lighting for intimate conversations. It offers a perfect retreat for guests to indulge in fine drinks while reflecting on the art they’ve seen.

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🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

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Time: Evening
Location: Damien Estate
Mentions / Interactions: @princess Lottie, Calbert

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Cassius sprawled in the grass, his body stretched out beside Charlotte as the sun bathed the meadow in a warm, golden light. The world was a panorama of green beneath them, and the sky above, vast and endless, held drifting clouds like lazy white ships sailing across a sea of powder blue. Charlotte's voice broke through the silence, light and musical as she pointed toward the sky, her finger tracing the shapes of clouds with childlike joy.

“Look, Cassius! That one’s a wolf, and that one’s a heart!” She giggled, her laughter like the softest of songs, rising and falling with the breeze.

His gaze, however, was not on the clouds. It was on her. The way the light kissed her skin, turning her pale complexion into something luminous, something delicate. The way her hair, wind-tousled and dark as the midnight sky, framed her face in soft waves. She was a painting, an ethereal vision in the perfect moment...and for once, Cassius could feel the tumultuous storms inside him recede. There was no battle raging in his chest, no echoes of haunting days past that so often darkened his quiet moments. The world felt still, quiet in a way that was almost unnatural.

It was a peace he hadn’t known in years. Maybe never, really. And yet, despite the relief it brought, it felt...off. Unfamiliar. Jarring in its perfection. He could almost hear his own heartbeat as it thudded in his chest, the sound a sharp contrast to the stillness surrounding him.

Charlotte shifted, her hand finding his. She wrapped her fingers around his own, the simple act so small, yet it caused something inside him to flutter...something tender, something unspoken. She turned her head toward him, her bright blue eyes meeting his with an innocence that made his heart ache in a way he couldn’t explain.

“You're quiet,” she said, her lips curving into a teasing smile, but there was an undeniable warmth there, as if she knew exactly what was going on inside his mind. “Are you actually enjoying this?”

He managed a smirk, his fingers tightening around hers, and he shifted, propping himself up slightly on his elbow to look at her more fully.

“Charlotte,” he said, his voice half-mocking, half-serious, “have you been casting spells on me?”

She let out a soft laugh, the sound like a melody he wanted to memorize. But she didn’t answer him. Instead, her gaze flickered toward something behind him, something that caused her smile to falter ever so slightly.

Cassius turned, following her gaze. And that was when he saw it. At first, he thought it was more clouds, but no. The shapes were wrong...too thick, too heavy. It was smoke.

His stomach twisted, his pulse quickened. His breath hitched in his chest as the air around him seemed to grow heavier, thicker. Something was burning. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. But he couldn’t place it. His mind floundered, unable to make sense of the surge of dread that gripped him.

Before he could react, Charlotte sprang to her feet, her hand slipping from his grasp. “Come on, Cassius!” she called over her shoulder, her voice still light and carefree. “Let’s go see what it is!”

She dashed toward the smoke, her laughter echoing through the meadow like a bell ringing in the distance. But Cassius didn’t move. His body felt frozen, a strange and desperate panic starting to churn in his chest. He couldn’t breathe...couldn’t find air as his lungs began to seize. The sensation was suffocating, thick with smoke. His heart pounded in his ears.

“Charlotte!” he shouted, pushing himself up from the ground, his feet stumbling beneath him. He was panting now, desperate, his breaths shallow and ragged as the distance between them grew. “Lottie, wait!”

But she didn’t listen. She kept running, her form a blur ahead of him. The meadow, the peaceful sky, it all felt like it was closing in, narrowing down, folding into the darkened smoke that was rising in the distance.

And then...then it was like the world itself shifted.

The sky above them darkened, the clouds turning to billows of black smoke that twisted and swirled in unnatural patterns, choking the very air.

Cassius ran. He stumbled forward, his body shaking with a sense of urgency, of panic that was too raw, too primal to control. “Lottie, stop!” he shouted, but his voice was drowned out by the distant, deafening sound of crackling flames.

She turned back to him then, her smile wide and innocent, the way it had been when she’d first looked at him. But it wasn’t her smile that stopped him in his tracks...it was what happened next.

In the blink of an eye, Charlotte’s form was engulfed in flames.

Cassius screamed. It was a sound that tore from his throat, raw and jagged, as her body was consumed by the fire. Her pretty smile flickered out, replaced by a scream that broke his heart. She disintegrated before his very eyes, her skin and hair turning to ash as her figure vanished in a burst of smoke. The wind carried the remnants of her away.

His hands shook violently, reaching out for her, but there was nothing. Nothing but the ashes that stained his palms and the blood that rushed in his ears.

He was alone. And yet, somehow, he wasn’t.

The wind picked up, the ashes swirling in the air around him as the world transformed into an inferno. In the distance, beyond where Charlotte had stood, he could see the village. The snowy village. It was burning. A cascade of orange and red flames that spread through the streets, devouring everything in its path.

Screams. Screams were everywhere. People ran through the streets, their faces twisted in terror as they were consumed by the flames. The air shimmered with a strange, purple energy that clung to the smoke, a haunting and unnatural hue that sent a cold chill through his very soul.

Cassius couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe. The panic, the horror, the ghosts of his past...it all collapsed onto him at once, suffocating him. Then, through the cacophony, a voice pierced the void...a steady, familiar voice, firm and commanding yet tinged with concern.

“Cassius. Wake up.”

The voice called again, cutting through the haze of his nightmare like a beacon.

“Cassius, wake up. Now.”

The fire, the ash, the screams...they dissolved into darkness, leaving only the sound of his ragged breathing. His storm-gray eyes snapped open, and he found himself kneeling on the floor of his chambers, his palms pressed against the cool wood of the bed frame next to him. His heart pounded in his chest as if trying to escape, and the faint remnants of imaginary smoke lingered in his mind and lungs. He was absolutely drenched in sweat.

Above him, a figure loomed. Count Calbert Damien stood with a hand on Cas’s shoulder, his sharp features illuminated by the dim light of the room. His expression was utterly full of concern for his son..

“Are you alright?” Calbert asked, his tone calm but probing.

Cassius looked up at his father with confusion before piecing together the reality of his situation. He pushed himself to his feet, running a hand through his messy, sweat-dampened hair and forced a smirk to his lips, though it felt like a thin veneer over the turmoil beneath.

“Just a little dream,” he said with a shrug, brushing past his father’s concern. “Nothing serious.”

Calbert studied him for a moment, his calculating gaze lingering, but he nodded curtly, accepting the explanation for now without pressing further.

“Good. Because we need to talk.” He stepped back, motioning toward the chair near the window. “I was hoping we could discuss your conduct since arriving in Sorian.”

As Calbert spoke, Cassius moved with practiced nonchalance. Grabbing his shirt from the edge of his bed, he peeled it over his sweat-soaked body, the muscles of his back taut as he bent to pull on his boots. The Count’s voice droned on, clipped and precise, outlining his concerns with all the precision of a surgeon dissecting an ailment.

“Your disappearance after the party this morning, for example...what exactly do you think that signals to those that already question your legitimacy here? You can’t afford to appear unreliable, Cassius. You’re playing a dangerous game, and every misstep...”

Cassius ignored the rest, crossing the room to the small side table where a decanter of wine awaited. He grabbed a glass, poured the deep crimson liquid, and swirled it idly. The weight of his father’s words brushed against him, but his focus wavered, his gaze drifting toward the window.

And that’s when he saw it.

The column of smoke in the distance, rising against the twilight sky like a dark omen. His grip on the glass faltered as his eyes scanned the scene, landing on a familiar figure...a flash of black hair and a pale blue dress. Charlotte. She was moving with hurried determination toward the smoke, her lithe form disappearing into the haze of the evening.

The glass slipped from his fingers, shattering against the floor in a spray of wine and shards.

“Cassius?” Calbert’s voice sharpened with confusion, but Cassius had already turned on his heel, his pulse thundering in his ears.

“We’ll have to talk later,” he said, his voice clipped as he strode toward the door.

“Cassius, what...”

“It’s Charlotte.” His hand gripped the door handle as he cast a glance back at his father. “I have to go.”

And without waiting for a response, he was gone, the door slamming shut behind him as his boots echoed down the hallway.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Drake & Milo

Time: Evening of the 25th
Location: Milo’s Penthouse

It was beginning to be a rather calm evening. Slightly cloudy, the perfect amount of overcast to a serene night. But in the inner mind of Drake, the evening was anything but calm. There are scant talented artists in the city that could hold a candle to someone of Milo’s caliber - so when the young lord had the idea of gifting his beloved Lady Thea a portrait painted to capture her enchanting image, few came to mind. After a brief process of elimination it came down to either Lady Zarai, who had already seen him tumble like a fool earlier, or St. Milo, a man who had recently expressed his vehement disapproval of his sister - and caused a large debate over the destruction of his latest masterpiece.

So here Drake was, at the doorstep to the man’s penthouse, about to use the knocker to ask the man a favor that hopefully would turn out well. If not, well, he had other options he could always try and reach out to. He gave the knocker three solid clacks and stood back, waiting for any probable answer with baited breath.

The soft echo of the knocker faded into the stillness of the evening, leaving a palpable tension in the air. Moments later, the door creaked open to reveal a dark haired, rather beautiful woman in a tailored suit with her hand firmly resting on the handle of a pistol holstered at her hip.

Her striking presence was softened a bit by the gentle glow of the lanterns lining the corridor. With her hair pulled back in a neat braid and piercing gray eyes that scanned Drake with a mix of curiosity and caution, she exuded authority with a subtle sprinkling of grace.

“Good evening,” she said, her voice absolutely neutral. “Can I help you?”

Her gaze assessed him, a slight hint of intrigue in her expression as she noted the tension in his posture.

Drake met the gaze of the woman, slightly perplexed yet not fully surprised to find someone else answering the door. ”Hello. My name is Lord Drake Edwards, I am here to see St. Milo if he is available. Who might I have the pleasure of greeting this evening?” He bowed, and took a step back. He noticed her hand resting on her pistol and added. ”I assure you my visit is a peaceful one.”

Ms. Sharpe’s expression remained unchanged, her piercing gaze unwavering as she absorbed his introduction. A moment of silence lingered, the tension only emphasized by the stillness of her posture.

“Sir Drake Edwards,” she repeated, her tone calm and measured. She did not return the bow, but her hand eased slightly from the pistol's handle, acknowledging his reassurance. “My name is Ms. Sharpe, you can consider me Mr. St. Claire’s…problem solver.”

She stepped aside, opening the door wider with a smooth, practiced motion. “If your visit truly is a peaceful one, then you’re welcome to wait in the foyer. I’ll see if Mr. St. Claire is available.”

With a brief, appraising look, she turned and gestured for him to enter. “Please, make yourself comfortable,” she added, her voice devoid of any warmth yet not unkind. “I’ll be back shortly.”

Erika moved away with purpose, her footsteps nearly silent as she disappeared deeper into the penthouse, leaving Drake to take in the opulence of Milo's home.

Drake followed the woman inside, and a short but polite ”Thank you.” echoed into the foyer. There was much little he could do other than watch her fade into the darkness and await his host patiently. All the same he took the time to walk the room, slowly and deliberately. The clacking of his shoes could be heard, as he held his hands behind his back and eyed up the decor and feng shui of the man's home.

There was a myriad of works, ones he surmised were Milo’s or perhaps someone he aspired to be. The lavish furniture was equal parts pragmatic and stylish. There was a calculated luxury at play here - one that Drake respected. So much so that he couldn’t help but speak ever so subtly into the empty foyer. ”The man sure knows his way around interior design.” Drake straightened himself after the cursory inspection and stood in the center of the room awaiting St. Milo, or perhaps the return of Erika, or some other third party. Who truly knew with this man?

As Drake took in the elegance of Milo’s home, a gentle footfall broke the quiet, drawing his attention to the top of the staircase. Descending with unhurried grace, Milo St. Claire appeared, shirtless beneath a loosely tied silk robe that draped around him with effortless elegance. His hazel eyes glinted in the lantern light, a faint smile playing on his lips as he regarded his unexpected guest with a mix of curiosity and amusement.Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Milo came to a casual stop, his robe barely hugging his shoulders, revealing the surprisingly toned lines of his chest and abdomen.

“Lord Edwards,” he greeted, his tone warm and slightly surprised. “This is certainly a pleasure. It’s not every night that such an esteemed guest simply knocks on my door.” Tilting his head playfully as though he misspoke, Milo amended his statement with a teasing grin. “Well, perhaps it’s more common than I let on, but still, my good sir, your presence here is most surprising and welcome… especially given the events of our initial meeting. To what do I owe this honor?”

At the edge of the room, Ms. Sharpe reappeared, though strangely she did not come from the stairs, which seemed more than odd given she had ascended them just moments ago. Her gaze was watchful yet respectful, as she kept her silent vigil while Milo’s attention was fully given to Drake, awaiting his answer with an air of poised curiosity.

Drake smiled gently at the man—an air of amusement at the praise he was being thrown his way, yet he kept himself professional and poised all the same. “The candor is much appreciated, St. Milo. Tonight, I come to you with a bit of a proposition if you would like to hear it.” He paused, allowing for ample time to object, and after a few moments continued on, slowly pacing across the living space.

“I understand the altercation between us the other night wasn’t on the best of terms. I personally do not wish to carry ill wills—and I often subscribe my family to similar niceties. So today I come to you with a request, a commission, and a challenge. Which should interest a scholared artist such as yourself, shouldn’t it?” Drake grinned at the possibilities of Milo’s responses, but decided to provide more context. “You see, I am going to request of you, if you should choose to accept such a request, a portrait of someone who you can only see from a distance. No modeling session, no arranged meeting of any kind, but simply painting off of a memory of someone you’ve seen from afar. Am I catching your interest so far, my good man?” He turned and looked at the silken-robed individual, pivoting on his foot and clacking his shoes audibly on the polished floors.

Milo’s brow arched as he listened, intrigue sparking in his hazel eyes. He leaned casually against the arm of a nearby chair, folding his arms as a wry smile crept across his face.

“Quite the challenge, Lord Edwards,” he replied, his tone shifting to one of genuine fascination. “A portrait with only memory as my muse. You’ve certainly brought a succulent little proposal with you tonight, if I do say so.”

He tilted his head, considering the conditions. “And this portrait, of someone seen only from afar… fascinating. It requires a certain artistic liberty... an interpretation rather than pure representation.” A flicker of amusement lit his eyes as he added, “And I dare say, the intrigue surrounding your request sweetens the offer.”

Pausing, Milo’s gaze drifted a moment, as if envisioning the work itself, before settling back on Drake. “You’re aware that memory is a fickle thing, Lord Edwards. I can’t promise you an exact likeness, but what I can offer will be as close to the truth as art will allow. I am, after all, the best in the world at what I do.” He extended a hand toward one of the nearby chairs, inviting Drake to make himself comfortable. “Now, if you’d be so kind, tell me who this captivating figure is and why you’re willing to take such a… shall we say, unorthodox approach?”

Ms. Sharpe remained poised at the room’s edge, her expression unreadable, though a slight quirk of her brow suggested that even she found the arrangement intriguing.

Drake raised his hand and pointed a single finger in the ceiling as he spoke, as if revealing a grand revelation. ”Ah but my good man you are the best of the best. I shall not be too critical but I know artists tend to take painstaking efforts to achieve perfection in their works. So that shall not be taken lightly.” He smiled. ”As for the who and the why - allow me a moment of candor.”

Drake walked towards Milo, a slow and measured pace as to not set off any mental alarms in the mind of Ms. Sharpe diligently keeping watch. ”The short answer is, well, love. To put it plainly. I am a bit of a romantic and possibly even foolhardy - so I must confess there is someone as of late who has captured my attention rather fervently. So I wish to part onto her a gift - one capturing this radiant beauty I see so vividly every time our paths cross.” Drake turned on his heel and gestured to the wide array of art that adorned the walls of Milo’s welcoming room.

”My talents do not lie in the painted form - or any medium of drawing, sketching, sculpting, or what have you. But you, St. Milo, have a gift that not many possess. It is this gift I wish to request from you to show my appreciation of this womans natural beauty and charisma. And given the fact that I am a raging romantic, I am trying to do with so with upmost secrecy.” Drake began “talking” with his hands as if to demonstrate his enthusiasm in the idea. ”Imagine the look on her face when she sees a masterpiece in her image! I imagine that would inspire a cornucopia of emotions! Do you not think so?” The young lord took a pace back and motioned his hand in Milo’s direction, as if to physically hand him the conversation as he finally took a breath to pause.

The artist’s eyes gleamed toward Drake, an indulgent smile quirking at the edge of his lips. He leaned back, crossing his arms leisurely as he took in the young lord’s enthusiasm with a quiet chuckle.“Oh, my good Lord Edwards,” Milo murmured, letting each syllable carry a playful lilt. “A romantic, an admirer of beauty, and a man with a flair for grand gestures. I must say, it’s rather refreshing.” He tilted his head, his gaze alight with sly curiosity that was almost wicked. “But indulge me for a moment, won’t you? For there’s a question that always captivates me when these… romantic ventures come knocking at my door.”
With a flourish of his hand, he paced a few steps, then stopped to give Drake a conspiratorial glance. “What happens, good sir, if I paint this woman so beautifully… so vividly, that she falls quite in love with the painter rather than the patron?”
He raised a brow, his lips curving into a smile equal parts coy and mischievous. “You see, you wouldn’t be the first to commission a portrait, only to find that the poor muse, upon glimpsing my handiwork, is suddenly swept into a vision of the artist himself…” he placed a hand to his chest with mock humility, “and not of the gallant soul who originally held her fancy.”

He drew closer, his gaze never leaving Drake’s, his voice soft but with a lingering thrill of mischief. “Imagine her, gazing upon the portrait, her heart quickening at each brushstroke, her thoughts turning not to the one who commissioned it, but to the one who captured her likeness so perfectly.” Milo's smile widened, and his voice dropped to a whisper, as if sharing a tantalizing secret. “Are you quite certain you can bear that risk, Lord Edwards?”

With a final flourish, Milo straightened, his expression a mask of theatrical seriousness barely concealing his amusement. "Of course, I’m not guaranteeing that she'll find herself utterly captivated by my artistry. Only that such matters do have a way of... taking on lives of their own." He offered Drake a seat with a graceful gesture, his smile lingering as he awaited the lord’s response, eyes gleaming with playful delight.

Drake took a seat, and in a brief moment of inductive thought considered the possibility. The man nodded. ”You see, Fate does have quite the way of working things out I would say. Such a thing is certainly possible. And while I would resign myself to a tinge of regret - I would also like to believe the one I’m destined to meet would not fall for another in such a manner.” Drake crossed one leg over the other, resting his ankle on the opposite knee while holding his hands intertwined over the front of his shin in a dignified manner.

”If I were to be coy, sir. Would it not also fall upon the person who commissioned said piece to see the value in the beauty of a muse? If I am the one calling you to her, while you may be the talent that expresses her natural beauty - would the credit of seeing such radiance not fall onto me?” The man grinned. ”Plus I can be quite the charmer when I need to be. Although to answer your question plainly - should such a turn of events come to play without any direct intervention of your own…then I suppose I shall take such a risk. But do not consider such notions an invitation to go sweeping her off her feet. That would be my job.” Drake wagged his finger at the man. While his response was admittedly a little cheeky, there was a hint of genuine caution in the way he spoke about it.

Milo’s grin widened, his hazel eyes sparkling with coyness as he leaned back. “Well, my good Lord Edwards, if you’re so certain of your charms, who am I to stand in the way of such a noble vision?” He chuckled softly, clearly enjoying the game as he studied Drake’s every subtle movement with glee. “Now, tell me more about this radiant muse of yours. I must know what kind of beauty warrants such a gamble.”

A gentle cough to clear his throat, followed by a slow inhale. It was almost like watching a schoolboy confess his crush, yet with much more assuredness. ”Lady Thea Smithwood is the muse we are speaking of. I have grown quite fond of her as of late - and I plan to give this work of art for her up and coming birthday.” A quick raise of his hand prompted Milo to hold any reservations for the time being. ”I know it is rather short timing. You could consider it another facet of this challenge I have laid before you. But should it prove unreasonable I can still give such a gift later down the road - whatever you need to achieve that artistic perfection the creative mind strives for.” His hand lowered back into his lap, his legs now unfolding to rest comfortably next to one another.

“Lady Thea Smithwood, you say? Ah, even the name is beautiful.” He leaned forward, fingers steepled beneath his chin. “Short timing, indeed. Yet urgency often inspires the most delicious brilliance. Pressure, after all, is the crucible in which true artistry is forged. Diamonds are not forged through peace, as they say.”

He let the words hang for a moment, then added with a sly smirk, “But fear not, my good lord. Artistic perfection is a mistress I know well... and I don’t keep her waiting. Challenge accepted.” He extended a hand, a silent promise wrapped in a playful smirk.

”Wise words, Milo.” Drake pondered the nugget of wisdom as he shook his hand firmly. ”Such notions will not be unrewarded. I will make sure to assign some funds in the form of a paper cheque. Or if you prefer physical cash payment, then I will make arrangements with our treasurer.” Drake smiled.

”I know that our first meeting was not under the best of conditions. But my goal is to help make things amiable, and try to amend any ill will my sister may have done with her…ahem…creative endeavors.” Drake sighed. ”I am aware she is to meet with you. From one gentleman to another, knowing how much that piece meant to you… Drake’s gaze shifted, moving shyly off to the side in mild embarrassment before reaching back to meet Milo’s. ”…that if you could afford an extra dosage of patience and temperance for her, I would greatly appreciate it. She can be feisty, and albeit a little stubborn. But she’s a good person deep down, my sister.”

“Ah, a man who speaks of payments and amends in the same breath; truly, you are full of surprises, Lord Edwards. Paper, coin, or favor, I find all currencies... negotiable.” His voice dripped with playful insinuation, hazel eyes flickering with intrigue.

At the mention of Drake’s sister, Milo leaned back, lacing his fingers behind his head with a casual ease that somehow still seemed calculated. “Your sister, you say? Feisty, stubborn, and in need of patience? I love a challenge.” He chuckled, the sound low and smooth. “Consider your request noted. Temperance, after all, is just another form of art; one I’ve practiced in... fascinating ways.” His eyes glimmered with mischief, a flicker of past tales hinted at but left unsaid.
With a final, theatrically resigned sigh, he straightened, eyes locking onto Drake’s. “But worry not. Regardless of her sins against my art, she’ll find me the picture of civility. I am a professional, after all.”

There was a soft smile on the man’s face, and a charismatic glow to his features that softened at the thought of the man proposing his willingness to cooperate. Even if there was a hint of playful banter behind his demeanor, Milo seemed to present himself as any professional artisan would - if anything far more professional than what Drake had seen before. ”That you are. I suppose it is just the mewling of a worried older brother. I do tend to make sure that those within my circles are taken care of. To the best of my abilities of course.”

Fixing his posture, yet keeping that same calm complexion about his character, Drake took a moment to collect his thoughts and recounted the arrangement they had discussed. ”So it is settled then. A portrait of the lovely Lady Smithwood, and an agreement over the scheduled assembly with my sister. I daresay you have given me everything I could ask for and more tonight, Sir Milo. Is there nary a detail or request you have of me before I go to take my leave? I would hate to take up any more of your time this evening.”

“Ah, Lord Edwards, you’ve been nothing short of entertaining yourself. I’ve no demands, no requests... only the assurance that I’ll bring brilliance to both your muse’s portrait and your sister’s penance.” His tone dipped with an unmistakable playfulness. “And don’t worry, I’ll take good care of Lady Ariella.”

As he stood, brushing an invisible speck of dust from his sleeve, the quiet presence of Ms. Sharpe entered the room. She stood near the doorway, her gaze scanning the scene like an ever-watchful hawk. Though she said nothing, her arrival carried a clear intent: the evening’s business was coming to an end.

Milo extended a hand toward Drake, a polished smile gracing his lips. “Now, my good lord, rest easy knowing that all is in motion. Consider the Lady Smithwood’s radiance and your sister’s fiery nature equally inspiring challenges for a man of my talents.” His handshake was firm yet elegant, the unspoken confidence of a man accustomed to sealing deals in style.

He gestured lightly toward Ms. Sharpe without looking. “It seems the evening is ready to part us, though if you’ve any further details or musings, Lord Edwards, I’m all ears before you take your leave.”

Drake took the extended hand, feeling equal parts hopeful and refreshed that such a negotiation would go off with little to no issues. ”I haven’t any further requests, my good man. I shall leave you to the night's affairs. If all goes well maybe we could even share a spot of brandy to congratulate artistic visions being given physical form - and for the creative endeavors of men such as yourself.” He paused, and stood up, pacing towards the door as he gave the decor one final glance over. Drake pivoted on his foot and gave the man and Ms. Sharpe two distinct and individual bows. ”Good evening to you both, and thank you for your hospitality this fine night.” The young lord took his paces and left, his figure slowly fading into the growing darkness from the long set sun.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

The Arrival at Pinebrook's Campsite

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the first shades of twilight, carriages began to roll into the heart of Pinebrook. The comforting clatter of hooves against the earth and the soft murmurs of noble guests eager for the camping retreat filled the crisp evening air. As the carriages arrived, the guests were greeted by the warm glow of lanterns scattered across the campsite.

Set amidst towering trees that seemed to stretch endlessly into the night sky, the campsite was a breathtaking sight to behold. A large, circular pavilion stood at the center, its warm lights casting a golden glow over the scene. The pavilion housed beautifully arranged tables, where guests would gather later to dine under the stars. Surrounding the pavilion were elegant tents, each one illuminated by soft lanterns that gave the area an almost magical feel. These tents were thoughtfully arranged in a semi-circle around a central fire pit, where logs and wooden chairs waited to invite guests for a cozy fireside evening.

In the center of the camp, the crackling fire pit provided warmth and a rustic charm, with comfortable chairs and benches circling the flames. The air smelled of burning wood and fresh pine, heightening the serene atmosphere of the forested retreat. Above them, a full moon hung in the sky, casting a silver glow through the branches, and the twinkling stars seemed to dance in the deep night.

The guests were welcomed by camp staff, each dressed in simple yet neat attire. Among them, one particular staff member stood out: a man with brown hair, who might seem vaguely familiar to those who had known Darryn Fletcher. His features were eerily similar—especially the scar running across his neck. Some might wonder if this could be a relative, or perhaps something more mysterious, as the resemblance was uncanny enough to draw whispers from those who recognized him.

As the campers stepped out of their carriages, their senses were immediately greeted by the blend of nature’s tranquil beauty and the subtle luxury curated by the royal family for this special event. The evening was just beginning, and already, the magic of Pinebrook’s Courting Season Camping Event was in full bloom.

Soon, two senior camp staffers hurriedly approached with bright, welcoming smiles. The first, a bubbly young woman with a mass of curly auburn hair, waved enthusiastically at the guests as they descended. Her green eyes sparkled with excitement, and she adjusted her forest-green tunic before calling out, “Welcome to Pinebrook, everyone! We are so excited to have you here!” Her cheerful voice carried easily across the campsite.

Beside her, a tall, gangly young man with tousled blonde hair and round spectacles tried his best to look official while nervously clutching a clipboard. He offered a bashful grin, his cheeks flushed as he spoke up, “Yes, yes! We’ll be getting started just as soon as everyone’s gathered. In the meantime, feel free to stretch your legs and take in the beauty of Pinebrook.” He gestured awkwardly around him, clearly not as accustomed to the role as his counterpart.

The woman beamed and clapped her hands together. “Once everyone gathers 'round, we’ll start handing out your tent assignments! And,” she added with a playful wink, “you’ll be assigned your partner for the evening. So stay close! It’s going to be an unforgettable night!” The two exchanged a quick look of shared excitement before guiding the guests towards the pavilion with friendly gestures.

Dream RP?

@The Elvenqueen@Shu@Foster

Thank y'all for answering! I'm always so curious to see people's visions.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

---

Flashback: Cassius Vael

The City of Erwynn; 13 years ago

---

The warm, sunlit streets of Erwynn buzzed with life, filled with vendors hawking their goods, children playing, and the scent of spices hanging thick in the air. It was the kind of place that set Cassius’s blood on fire, the kind of place where freedom felt tangible. The city seemed to hum with energy, inviting him to explore its corners and crevices. Cassius, all lanky limbs and restless energy, stood at the mouth of the alley with his back against the wall, his storm-gray eyes scanning the crowd with excitement.

But that excitement faded fast as his mother approached, her soft voice pulling him out of his daydream.

“Little Bear,” Meredith’s tone was gentle but firm, her fingers brushing through his hair, trying to tame the wild mess as best she could. Cassius rolled his eyes, ducking his head a little to avoid the fussing, but there was a small smile on his lips. He loved his mother, but he wasn’t a child anymore.

“I need you to take Dom with you today,” she said, her words slicing through his excitement like a blade. “He’s younger, and his mother needs help with him while the rest of us are setting up for the show.”

Cassius groaned, already seeing the day slipping away from him. “But Mom, I..."

“No buts, Cassius,” she interrupted, her voice softening as she cupped his face in her hands, her thumb brushing over the scar forming across his brow. “You’re getting older now. It’s time you started looking out for others, not just yourself. I know it’s not always fun, but responsibility isn’t always supposed to be fun.” She smiled at him, warmth in her eyes. "You’re rough around the edges, you know that as well as I do, but we both know that you're a good boy. I trust you to keep him safe. That means something, son."

He huffed, still not thrilled, but there was something about the way she said it that made him straighten his back a little, even if he didn’t want to admit it. “Fine, fine. I’ll take him. But if he can’t keep up, it’s on him.”

Meredith chuckled and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before turning to leave. Cassius ran a hand through his already messy hair, muttering under his breath as he made his way toward where little Domino was playing, his small form crouched over, examining a line of ants on the ground.

"Dom!" Cassius called out, a hint of impatience in his voice. "Let’s go. You’re coming with me."

Domino, the little Alidasht boy with dark, eager eyes and a smile too big for his face, practically jumped up, running over with his sandals flopping against the cobblestones. “Where we go, Cas?” His thick accent twisted the words, but the excitement was more than clear in his voice as he looked up at the older boy.

"Wherever I go, kid. But you better keep up, alright?" Cassius shot him a half-hearted glare, already turning to stride off into the crowd. Dom practically danced after him, struggling to match his pace, his small legs pumping hard to keep up.

Cassius tried to act annoyed, but there was a part of him that found the kid’s boundless enthusiasm amusing, if not a little endearing. Dom didn’t speak much of the common tongue, but he managed to talk Cassius’s ear off about anything and everything as they walked. Each new sight and sound seemed to fill him with wonder...every stall, every shout from a vendor, every new corner they turned.

"Stop lagging behind, Dom," Cassius grumbled when Dom paused to look at a stray cat slinking through the shadows. He kept walking, his long legs carrying him swiftly ahead, though he couldn’t stop the small smirk that tugged at his lips when Dom scampered after him, almost tripping over his own feet.

They wandered through the city’s winding streets, Cassius showing Dom how to move through the crowds without drawing attention, how to swipe a piece of fruit from a stand when the vendor wasn’t looking. It was a game to Cas, one he’d perfected over the years. Dom tried to mimic him, his small hands clumsy at first, but his determination shone through. After a few attempts, he managed to snag an apple without anyone noticing, and Cassius clapped him on the back, more proud than he let on.

"I do good, Cas?" The kid asked, obviously eager for Cas's approval

"Not bad, Dom," Cassius said, biting into his own stolen fruit. "You might just survive the day after all."

Dom grinned, beaming up at him like he’d just won the biggest prize in the world.

But just as they turned into a narrow alley, the tone of their day shifted. It was subtle at first, the way the shadows seemed to grow longer, the air colder despite the sun still hanging high. Cassius noticed a figure standing at the other end of the alley, waiting. A man with dark eyes and a twisted smile.

"There’s my boy!" the man called out to Dom, his voice sickly sweet. "It’s time to come home, son."

Cassius froze, his stomach turning. He didn't know Dom's family well, but he knew that the kid’s dad had died a few years back, and that his mother had been raising him on her own. The man stepped forward, his gaze locked on Dom.

Cassius’s instincts flared, and he shifted in front of Dom, his voice low and urgent. "We need to go. Now."

He grabbed Dom's hand, pulling him back the way they’d come, but the man followed. “Hey! Stop!” he barked, his voice harsh now, the sweetness gone. "That’s my son!"

They spun, ready to flee…but another figure loomed in their path. This man was broader, his face shadowed by a cruel grin.

Trapped.

Cassius’s pulse quickened as he realized they were boxed in. His grip tightened on Dom's hand as fear coursed through him. They were cornered, the weight of responsibility crashing down on him with brutal clarity.

"Let the kid go," one of the men snarled, stepping forward. "You can walk away. No need for anyone to get hurt."

Cassius swallowed hard, his body trembling. "No," he said, his voice weak but defiant. "He’s not going with you."

Dom was clinging to him now, his small hands shaking. Cassius looked down at the boy’s wide, terrified eyes, his mind racing.

One of the men pulled a knife, and Cassius's breath caught in his throat. "Last chance." The man said, the blade glinting in the low light.

Cassius’s hands shook as they clenched into fists, his whole body trembling from fear and adrenaline. "You... you’re not taking him." He stammered, his voice cracking. He wasn’t even sure if he could fight, not with his legs trembling like this, but he couldn’t back down. His body was telling him to run, but something else…something desperate and terrified kept him rooted to the spot. Please... please go away… He begged in his mind.

And just like that, Cas bolted, holding on to Dom's hand for dear life. But before they could get far, the men lunged. The next moments were a blur of chaos and violence. One man grabbed for Dom, but Cassius shoved him back, kicking and punching wildly. The other man swung his knife, catching Cassius across the arm, the sharp sting of the blade barely registering through the haze of panic.

Cassius flailed with desperation, arms swinging, legs kicking, barely aiming his strikes. His breaths came in ragged gasps, each one sharper than the last as he scrambled to find anything…anything…to fight them off. His hand latched onto a broken bottle, and he swung it clumsily, more out of panic than skill.

His heart pounded in his ears, his vision narrowing. Don’t let them get you…don’t let them take him! He kicked a loose barrel, sending it crashing into one man’s legs. He grabbed a broken piece of wood, swinging it at the other man’s face. But they kept coming, the knife flashing again, cutting across his chest, then his side.

Blood smeared his shirt, and pain throbbed through his ribs with every shaky breath, but he couldn’t stop. I can’t... I can’t let them win. Tears pricked the edges of his vision, blurring everything around him as he swung chaotically, fighting more like a wild animal than a human. His hands stung from where his knuckles had split open, but he barely noticed it. His whole world was a blur of panic and blood, his body moving on its own. Please... let this end…I don’t want them to take the kid.

One of the men tackled him to the ground, pinning him down, the knife raised high. Cassius struggled, his arms shaking as he held the man’s wrist, trying to keep the blade away from his throat. Tears burned in his eyes, terror clawing at his insides as he felt his strength slipping.

Then, by some stroke of fate, the man’s grip on the knife faltered. It clattered to the ground beside Cassius’s head. Desperation surged through him. With a scream, he grabbed the knife, and as the man lunged again, Cassius thrust the blade upward, driving it into the man’s chest.

Time seemed to stop.

The man’s eyes widened in shock, his body convulsing before going still, slumping forward onto Cassius. The weight of the man, of what he’d just done, pressed down on him, suffocating him. Cassius struggled to push the man off, his hands slick with blood...both his own and the man’s.

The second man, realizing what had happened, took one look at the bloodied scene and bolted, disappearing into the shadows without a word.

Cassius was left panting, trembling, his body aching. Every inch of him shook uncontrollably as he shoved the limp body off him. He stared at his bloodied hands for a moment, blinking in disbelief. Did I really just…

A sob choked out of him, and he quickly wiped his face with the back of his arm. Get up. Get up! He forced himself to crawl toward Dom, who was curled up in the corner, trembling just as badly as he was. “It’s... it’s over,” Cassius whispered, though his own voice wavered, as if saying the words would make them true.

"Dom," Cassius rasped, his voice hoarse. "You... okay?"

The boy nodded, tears streaming down his face. Cassius pulled him into his arms, holding him tightly, the weight of what he’d just done pressing down on him. He was bleeding, exhausted, terrified.

But Dom was safe.

And that was all that mattered.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

---

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

---

Cassius laid there, feeling the cool earth beneath his back and the warm sun above. But the real warmth, the kind that spread through him like a slow-burning fire, came from Charlotte. Her laughter, the way her eyes sparkled with life as she teased him... it made his chest feel oddly tight. A part of him wanted to dismiss it, to lean on his usual tricks…a grin, a playful quip, but when she took his hand, that same hand that had taken lives and spilled blood, he froze. It wasn’t the touch of a princess to a knight. No, it was even softer, more delicate. Too tender for a man like him.

For a moment, his heart did something unfamiliar…it skipped, maybe. And, to his confusion, a blush crept up his neck. Shit... I think I'm blushing. He glanced at their joined hands, trying to mask the way his breath had caught in his lungs. Her touch sent warmth into his chest, spreading through his veins and settling somewhere deeper, somewhere dangerous. He felt his throat tighten, the weight of her simple, earnest words crashing over him like a wave.

"...And I’m glad it’s with you."

He tried to grin, to let some cocky remark slip from his lips. But nothing came. All he could do was look at her, that easy smile faltering for the first time in longer than he could remember. His storm-gray eyes softened, taking in every detail of Charlotte...how the sunlight danced in her dark hair, the way she seemed to shine against the chaos of the world around them. Gods… she’s beautiful. The thought took him by surprise, knocking him sideways in his mind.

Cassius forced a chuckle to break the silence, though it sounded almost nervous to his own ears. Nervous...him, of all people. “Well, that makes two of us.” he said lightly, though his voice had a rougher edge to it than before. His eyes lingered on her, watching as she sank deeper into the grass, her contentment palpable. The moment was soft, sweet… too sweet.

And that’s when the doubt crept in.

The rogue in him, the man who had spent his life chasing thrills and experiencing all the beauty in the world, felt a tug to pull away. His instincts kicked in, like they always did in a fight, but this wasn’t a battlefield he recognized. This was something else entirely, something that made the back of his neck heat up and his pulse quicken in ways that had nothing to do with enemies charging to take his life.

He could feel it now...something shifting deep inside him, as if the ground he stood on was no longer solid. His thoughts, though always a storm, usually sharp and focused, began to race in a thousand different directions at once. He wasn’t in control. What is this? he wondered, the confusion creeping in, unsettling him in ways no threat or enemy ever had. But he didn’t understand it. He was supposed to be good at this...reading situations, keeping control, predicting the next move, or at least reacting to whatever move could come with poise and always a dash of confidence. Yet when it came to her, to this moment, all he could feel was that unfamiliar heat coursing through him, a war raging inside that he had no idea how to fight.

Before he could dwell on it, Lorenzo’s bizarre mumbling cut through the air, dragging him back to reality. Pieces of him felt relief, a small smirk curling at the corners of his mouth as Charlotte scrambled to her feet, tipsy but resolute. She was so endearing in her determination, commanding the scene with that familiar fire in her eyes...a fire he was unsure she even knew she had. It was a good distraction, a reprieve from the uncertainty that had settled in the pit of his stomach.

Still on the ground, Cassius pushed himself up onto his elbows, watching her with that familiar, cocky grin. But even now, there was something softer in his gaze as he followed her movements, something that hadn’t even been there before.

He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head as she announced the alcohol ban and took charge of the situation. His heart warmed at the sight of her rallying behind Lorenzo, even as the man, who moments ago had threatened him, rambled on about ferrets and feet.

Life is so fucking weird, sometimes.

When Lottie turned to him with that bright smile, asking for his help with Lorenzo’s gifts, Cassius gave her a wink, slipping back into his usual charm. “Of course, anything for you, Princess.”

But even as he said it, his mind kept circling back to the moment before...the touch of her hand, the look in her eyes. Part of him wanted to laugh it off, to pretend none of it mattered. But deep down, he knew better. Something was shifting in him, and no amount of teasing or bravado could keep it at bay forever.

You’re in trouble, Cassius. A voice rang out in his mind’s eye, though this time it was not his. This voice came from a deeper place, one built on memories and days gone by. It was the voice of his mother, the voice of Meredith Vael.

Dream RP?

I'm curious to know what your dream RP would be. In your eyes, what would be the perfect roleplay for you?

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Duke Gideon Edwards

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

---

Gideon’s attempt to continue his conversation with his daughter was interrupted when his son took to the stage for his performance. He watched with joy as Drake played to the crowd so elegantly, pride swelling up within him. However, as the performance concluded…things would go awry.

His heart sank as he watched Drake stumble and fall, the laughter of the crowd cutting through the air like a dagger. Drake had been drinking, sure, but it was unlike him to reach such a level of inebriation. He felt the way the few cocktails he had enjoyed were affecting him and wondered what in the world was making them so damned strong.

His gaze shifted to Victoria, whose voice rang out across the garden with sharp, biting words directed at their son. The familiar disdain twisted in his stomach, made all the worse by the drink coursing through his veins, loosening his grip on his usual patience. This wasn’t just a party; it was a showcase for Victoria’s grandeur, and it seemed to come at the expense of their children’s dignity. Watching her berate Ariella just moments prior left him feeling disillusioned. How could she be so cruel to the very children she was supposed to nurture?

“Stop making a scene,” he muttered under his breath, the words directed at no one in particular but laced with an urgency that dripped from his voice. He could feel the tension in the air, thick with laughter and mockery aimed at Victoria, and he knew this could spiral out of control. He had seen his wife wield her sharp tongue with reckless abandon, and surely the alcohol wasn’t helping that matter… it was as if she had forgotten the very essence of mothering.

He caught a glimpse of Stratya’s audacious heckle, the words ringing in his ears like a siren call. Gideon felt a flicker of approval mixed with incredulity; if anyone could draw the line against Victoria’s reign of judgment, it would be the Knight Captain. But the laughter that erupted only added fuel to the fire, and he could sense the atmosphere shifting dangerously.

With a resolute breath, he made his way toward Victoria, trying to intercept her before the situation escalated further. He sidestepped the revelry of the crowd, feeling the collective energy swell and shift around him.

“Victoria,” he called gently, his voice firm yet coaxing. “Why don’t you come back and sit with Lily and I? We’re all supposed to be celebrating together.” He placed a hand on her arm, a silent plea to draw her back from the precipice of confrontation. “Today is about our children, about Drake. Let’s not give him and Ariella any more reason to feel ashamed.”

He knew he was treading on thin ice, but as he looked into Victoria’s eyes, he hoped she would see the sincerity in his own. “It’s not worth it. We’re better than this.” The words felt hollow even as he spoke them, but Gideon clung to the belief that they could at least attempt to restore some semblance of decorum amid the chaos.