SilverPaw

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

	Attire: Outfit Date and Time: Sola 23rd, Late Morning Location: The Castle Gardens -> The Castle (interior) Mention(s): Interaction(s): @Tpartywithzombi Violet

At Violet's joke that he had caught her on a bad day, Wulfric’s lips quirked into a smile. “I suppose I did, at that,” he agreed, gentle amusement colouring his tone. “Perhaps on a better day, we can revisit the banter,” he suggested.

“Understandable,” he pitched in to her apology.

Not without its costs, he mused silently. Was it only because he’d recently learned about magic that the word costs reminded him of it? Though he’d ignored the strangeness of it as he conversed with Violet, when he’d first seen her, he had been struck by a terribly eerie possibility. Her changed appearance, demeanour, even her memories…He certainly noticed her mounting anger, her suddenly menacing tone, and the spike in bloodlust.

He could read the implication.

So, she wanted revenge. Like father, like daughter. If she did act on her own, as Calbert already had, that would be problematic. Hate and irrationality led to complications, and any resulting messes would be his to clear – as per the usual.

Then again, Violet had nothing to go off of at the moment. For now, whatever her intentions and desires, he didn’t expect her actions to be troublesome. Hopefully, he wouldn’t be proven wrong.

“Indeed, rest is paramount, especially after an injury.” It was still surprising to him she had managed as much as she had. By all rights, she should be bedbound at best. “I will attend the masquerade,” he affirmed. “Take care, Lady Violet. Until this evening.” He said his goodbye, and accompanied her to the carriage while her servant arranged what was needed for her departure.

Then, he made his rounds, and took the time to greet any nobles he had not yet, exchanging a few words with most guests.

His siblings were faring well from what he could see, though each was in the company of somewhat questionable individuals. He assured they would be watched by trusted guards, which he deemed a sufficient precaution.

He collected his weapons from the entry check point, and took an early leave from the Tea Party. The event was at its tail end, and he did not wish to engage anyone else in a longer conversation.

Avalia

Time: Morning Location: Port Vanarosa Mention(s): Tanithil @Lava Alckon, Ismael @Th3King0fChaos, Amisra @Tae Interaction(s): Fairy thug @princess Equipment Two short swords, two (concealed) daggers, two pistols, 445 amas.

Arlen's pupils widened with the adrenaline, a combative eagerness colouring his expression as he realized he’d badly wounded the fairy. However, the desire to finish his enemy off quickly made him impatient; too fast, and reckless.

Meanwhile, the blonde’s determination focused his frenzied energy. The fairy struck swiftly; once, twice. The first strike, Arlen blocked, if only partially; it earned him a gash on his upper arm. His right drooped due to the sudden sharp pain, and the fairy took advantage, quickly slicing at his wrist and making him drop one dagger.

He still had the other dagger however, and even though his opponent was now aiming for his neck, Arlen was faster. He utilized his injured right arm to smack the blonde in his injured stomach. The fairly let out a sharp cry, and in that second, Arlen brought his left dagger up into a horizontal slash right across the blonde’s neck. The fairy’s grimace of pain transformed into surprise – then remained frozen that way forever as his life was taken away from him.

Neck sliced, blood gushing out, the fairy’s body dropped to the ground, head mercifully not fully detached. Arlen breathed harshly, chest heaving up and down, snarl stretching his lips. It took him a moment to calm down. Then, he sheathed his dagger, crouched down to grab the one which had fallen, and stashed that one too.

While he was resting on his knee, he turned to the dead fairy. Though he was yet inflamed from the encounter, and the injuries he had been dealt, Arlen offered the unknown man the respect to close his lids. “If ya wasn’t such a fuckin’ idiot we could’a had other kinds of fun…” he ground out in a low, angry growl.

Exhaling sharply, he stood up, and went to the edge of the roof to check how his allies were doing. If they needed help, he could still lend them aid by shooting at any of the remaining opponents.

TLDR

Rushes the fairy, suffers one gash across the upper right arm and a slice across his wrist due to it. Flails his injured right to smack the fairy in the injured stomach. This startles the fairy, Arlen then slices across his neck. Has some parting words to the dead man, then edges across the roof to go check on his allies; ready to shoot if they need help.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

	Attire: Outfit Date and Time: Sola 23rd, Late Morning Location: The Castle Gardens: Tea Party Mention(s): @Helo Callum, @FunnyGuy Alexander Interaction(s): @Tpartywithzombi Violet

Wulfric rose a brow at Violet’s outburst, but was unaffected by her acridness. “Surely, your parents would prefer that you recuperate at home for the time being?” he queried, surprised. He sincerely doubted she had been made to attend this very event, and assumed she was generalizing.

As she went on to explain her current predicament in detail, his eyebrows climbed up slowly until they reached their summit. “I see…” he said. He smoothed out his expression and reassessed their conversation. If she genuinely remembered nothing, then her secretiveness was largely caused by her amnesia. While she had been capable of recognizing him, it did not seem that she could recall anything about her attack. Unfortunately.

He blinked when she accused him of laughing at her. When had he done that? His eyebrow twitched in annoyance, insulted that she presumed he was willfully mocking her. Was he supposed to walk on eggshells around her then, even as she wielded her caustic tongue as both a shield and a weapon?

However, a part of him knew the irritation was unwarranted. So, Wulfric took a deep breath, and reigned back the offense. It was true he had been pushing her with the questioning, all while she was a survivor of a harrowing attack. Even though it got him exactly what he wanted – information – that had been indelicate of him, and was deserving of an apology.

“It was not my intention to deride you nor the situation you find yourself in. I apologize for having distressed you,” he said earnestly. “As you say, I was focused on the investigation – so much so that I neglected your needs and concerns. For that, I am truly, deeply sorry,” he restated.

Since she had been relatively sincere with him, he decided to be frank in return. “I spoke with you because I believed you possessed some hint as to your attack, perhaps something that seemed innocuous to you, or perhaps which frightened you.” He paused for a moment, just in case she could or would pitch in with additional information.

“I assumed your memories were intact, and, well, since you were holding up rather well given the circumstances, I thought we were both enjoying a subtle exchange of clever, barbed comments…” He did not know how else to explain his dark sense of humour, but he supposed Violet wasn’t in want of excuses. “Clearly, I was mistaken. I hope you will be able to forgive me. Either way, I shall be more mindful in the future.”

Their conversation was interrupted by another person loudly announcing something. This tea party was turning into quite the forum, wasn’t it?

Wulfric’s impassive gaze moved over to a certain Alexander Deacon. So, Black Rose had had an agent of theirs infiltrate even here. A man ranking high enough within their organization that he could speak on its behalf. A man to be watched. Wulfric hadn’t been expecting one of Delronzo’s men to be here, but it surprised him none that Deacon took advantage of this situation. It was a good move, useful to his company in several ways.

Of course, Callum didn’t notice how easily he was letting himself be taken advantage of. He was apparently downright giddy to be consorting with Alexander’s ilk. After the younger prince’s brilliant opening move, he was exhibiting a woeful lack of cunning. One of Marek’s men said some pretty words, and because it wasn’t coming from Edin, his brother could easily believe all of it. How tragically naïve.

Keeping the sigh to himself, his expression giving away none of his thoughts, he turned back to Violet. Her request was heartfelt, and he did not mind indulging it. He couldn't guarantee that she would find out before her parents did, but he could do her the courtesy of letting her know before the general public learned of it.

“When I discover who attacked you, I will ensure you are among the first I tell. In fact – I am unsure if you are aware of this, but there is one suspect we had a bounty put on. Your father is certain it was some commoner woman who caused you harm, but the evidence is lacking. Besides, whoever injured you must hold a deep grudge either against you or against your father, and I do not see why a random peasant would have such a strong motive,” he confided. Wulfric was curious if her parents had told her anything at all, so he hoped his words would prompt a useful response.

He nodded at her assertion. “I believe you,” he replied easily. Truthfully, he suspected she was keeping some cards to herself, but that was to be expected. “If you happen to find out something on your own, or if your memories return to you, do recall I am available. Also, it may be wise for you to make your parents’ business yours,” he suggested. The prince would certainly be speaking to them, but as overprotective as the Damiens were of their children, Violet was possibly in a better position to learn what they knew.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

	Attire: Outfit Date and Time: Sola 23rd, Late Morning Location: The Castle Gardens: Tea Party Mention(s): Interaction(s): @Tpartywithzombi Violet

Family disruptions, she'd said. Related to her attack…?

Wulfric noted all of what Violet’s words, and analyzed them. Was the discomfort she supposedly ‘felt’ from others really based on what she’d overheard? Was it her own unease due to the attack and injuries she’d suffered? Or a self-centered if cynical presumptuousness? Yes, her presence had merited some gossip, but with all that was going on she certainly wasn’t the centerpiece of everyone’s attention like she seemed to think.

“You assume that you are the focus of every whisper and glance, all of them malicious,” he pointed out mildly. Despite what she’d said, he doubted she could hear that well. Then again, Violet had always struck him as inclined to brooding. Perhaps she fancied herself the tragic, darkly romantic heroine, shunned by society and its evils, with the only thing which could save her being true love. Her mention of Roman only solidified this impression.

“You detest the speculation, but you would be open to verbal prodding from a procession of strangers, well-meaning or otherwise?” He questioned, evidently finding it unlikely that she would. One the one hand, she accused people of a lack of sympathy for her, but on the other hand, she’d shown clear resentment at being approached.

“So far Charlotte and yourself have been brave enough to try and pull information out of me.”

A dry laugh escaped him at that line. Brave enough? What arrogance.

However, her statement revealed that there was indeed information that could be gained from her.

“Oh, you are indeed very much mistaken,” Wulfric countered with a smirk. “That you would believe Lady Charlotte to have unsavory motives…” he shook his head in disbelief. “No doubt she was simply checking in on her friend’s sister.” The sentence he’d uttered gave him pause. He’d been told Charlotte had been seen at the scene of the murder at one point. So, how much did she know?

“As for myself,” he then continued. “I believe I have said. There is an ongoing investigation, one I should like to see concluded soon.” Wulfric gazed into Violet’s blood red orbs thoughtfully. Based on what he’d intuited from her demeanour, he figured she might appreciate an appeal to retributive justice.

Thus, he added in a low, dark tone, “Your would-be murderer, or murderers…They are still out there, running free and happy. Perhaps thrilled and satisfied at having hurt you, perhaps eagerly waiting for a chance to do more.” He leaned closer as he spoke quietly, as if confessing a secret. “I want them to pay.” A viciously cold smile flashed across his expression, swift and sudden as a lightning. It was gone just as soon, and he leaned back into the chair.

“Don’t you?” He asked, as casually as if they were discussing the weather.

Dreaming Together With You - A Fading Memory Experiment - On Hiatus

Hm, sorry, man. It's been 'absent' for a while on my end.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

	Attire: Outfit Date and Time: Sola 23rd, Late Morning Location: The Castle Gardens: Tea Party Mention(s): @princess Edin Interaction(s): @Helo Callum, @Tpartywithzombi Violet

At Callum's disgruntled expression, Wulfric removed his hand. His brother was too slow, his arm flailing though the air ineffectively. Clearly, his brother was sulking about having his grand moment hijacked. “Energetic,” he repeated, chuckling lightly.

Really, didn’t he know this was for his own good?

Brotherly banter was all fine and good, but overt antagonism was terrible for public image. Never mind airing out personal grievances against the king. That hateful expression of his had had to go.

If he wanted to be taken seriously, his brother had to start paying attention. Not just to Edin; to all his audience, and to how he was perceived by it. After all, the only ones willing to back a fool would be those seeking to exploit him.

Callum still knew nothing about anything.

No doubt his brother imagined money could be conjured from nothing, or perhaps suckered entirely from overly idealistic entities who thought they had the gold to spare.

No matter.

If he did not know, he could learn. He could be taught.

Even if his vision was utterly naïve and nonsensical, he could see realized a more grounded version of it.

If he was finally taking an active interest in at least one part of governing, he could yet be made into a proper prince.

“Excellent.” Receiving his brother’s affirmative, Wulfric smiled sharply. His piercing gaze was as intent as ever, but something strangely akin to enthusiasm gleamed within.

“Now then…” He took a step towards his seating area when Callum had another choice remark for him.

Wulfric turned an amused, haughty look his brother’s way. “Cute.” Evidently, the insult didn’t bother him at all. “Whoever cannot appreciate my priorities is hardly worthwhile, however,” he commented.

Since they were apparently exchanging unwanted advice, he imparted some of his own. “And you should prioritize that charity of yours. I suggest you start by using this event to identify potential backers.” He took another step forward, eyes sweeping the crowd before settling on Callum one last time.

“You’d best tone down on the pledges given in another’s name. If you can’t ensure what you claim, it will be your responsibility. Not the king’s. If your promises are vain, you will appear unreliable at best, a malicious liar at worst,” he stated seriously. Only in part was this a rebuke for Callum having neglected the promise he had given him. Mostly, it was a warning not to underestimate Edin, nor to take politics lightly.

After a respectful bow in his father’s direction to excuse himself from the scene, he returned to Violet’s side. “Again, my apologies for the abrupt departure,” he told her with a smile she couldn’t see, and took a seat.

He motioned a nearby servant to pour him a cup of black tea. “You know, I did notice some guests giving you strange looks. Do you have a sixth sense for such things now?” he wondered, torn between curiosity and mild amusement.

“However, there is no need for you to pay them any mind. It is natural they would wonder, for there were no news nor public announcements of your attack. So, for you to suddenly appear injured is bound to rouse shock and speculation.” His cup had been prepared, so he dismissed the servant with a nod. He paused to sip at the tea, which was at the perfect temperature. He released a sigh of contentment, and after another sip, set the cup on its saucer.

“Returning to our previous topic…Do you have any suspects in mind? I am afraid that at the moment, there is mostly circumstantial evidence to base the investigation off of. So, if you can think of anything – anything at all – that would be helpful,” he cajoled.

Wulfric had the suspicion that her reticence was not due to distress. In fact, so far, Violet had barely shown emotion at all. It was certainly possible that her injury had caused a localized memory loss or confusion, but he wasn’t sure if that was quite right either. As he’d told her, she functioned surprisingly well. It was almost as if she was avoiding the topic of her attack for an entirely different reason.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

	Attire: Outfit Date and Time: Sola 23rd, Late Morning Location: The Castle Gardens: Tea Party Mention(s): @Potter Ezra, Sadie Interaction(s): @Tpartywithzombi Violet, @Tae Mina, @Helo Callum, @princess Edin

“Gossip can be useful, my lady,” Wulfric commented mildly. Her resentment of the concept did not go unnoticed. After the unsavory rumours concerning her (supposed) meeting with Lord Ravenwood on a balcony at the ball, that was understandable. Her new scars surely added to her caution – from what he’d gathered, she’d always been self-conscious about the ones she’d gained in her childhood. “However, my primary interest is in factual information,” he corrected.

He inclined his head at the provided explanation of her heightened hearing. “No doubt it will take time to adjust to. But you seem more than ready to tackle the challenge,” he complimented. He hadn’t expected for her to be out and about. Either she should still be recovering from her injuries…or else she ought to be dead.

But surely, as strange as the Damiens’ story was, surely the alternative that she had been killed was not viable?

“Well, he is only beginning to learn.” Regretfully, Wulfric suspected that this trumpet prank of Callum’s might become a favourite.

Before the two made even one step towards a table, Lady Mina turned to him with her cheeky remarks. “Wystan is on duty,” he noted, no-nonsense. He then decided to repay her banter in kind. “But if you are so liberal with your free time, perhaps you do not understand the notion?” Subtly, he needled her with the suggestion that her hedonistic tendencies often came in the way of the responsibilities she had as a future countess.

“Your approach of holding up the line is likelier a cause for further impatience,” he drawled dryly. Possibly, she did not realize, but exchanges of witticisms and barbed comments were one of his favoured pastimes.

Suddenly, chatter all around was silenced at the announcement of the king’s arrival. As dancers weaved in between the crowd, he gave Mina a knowing look. “Here is your much awaited excitement. Do enjoy.” She indicated that she would head to Sadie’s table, but Wulfric politely declined the invitation. “I will come by later to greet her.”

With that, he escorted Lady Violet to a table of her choice. In the background, his father was beginning a speech, one familiar enough the prince could afford to half-listen at best.

To Violet’s question, he gave an equally blunt answer. “Why, your father, of course.” He paused a moment for effect, and to see if she would react or respond in any way.

Then, he continued. “He was awfully distressed thinking you had died, of course. To the relief of all, you lived. However, someone is clearly intent on doing you ill.” Concise and a tad vague, he told her a bit of her parents’ story. He didn’t know if she’d been informed of the dead lookalike, but refrained from mentioning it. Violet herself was being scarce on the details of her attack. “If you can’t think of any enemies of yours, you might consider who your father’s are.” Calbert thought a peasant was the cause of it all, but that was highly questionable.

While they were conversing, the king’s speech had finally concluded. Callum passed his table with a smile promising trouble, and Wulfric arched an eyebrow at him. So, he wasn’t done for today yet.

He observed, curious. His initial wariness was soon replaced by surprise. No, he certainly hadn’t anticipated that. Especially not after Callum’s heartfelt and dramatic proclamations that he didn’t want to get involved in any of this.

But look at him now. Complimenting their father, and even having it seem genuine. Using the influence and opinion of everyone present to pressure the king. Making a show of it all.

Forceful, bold, ambitious, and boasting.

Wasn’t he quite the budding politician?

Concerned for welfare, are you?

Wulfric didn’t especially care one way or the other. While he was reluctant to admit it, as far as doing ‘something better’ went, this was applicable. He’d been thinking of finding such a thing for Callum, but his brother had shown unexpected initiative.

Usually, he’d simply let father and Callum resolve their little spat however they would.

Might as well take this opportunity. Wulfric sighed. He didn’t much favour it, but this would provide him an occasion to show his brother the actual work entailed in realizing even a fraction of his idea.

“Please excuse me, politics calls. I will return shortly.” He gave Violet his apologies, and stood up.

He began clapping, but rather than for the king, this was intended for Callum, even if no one else knew it. With slow, purposeful steps, he made his way to where his relatives faced off. “Your Majesty, how marvelous.” It was his father he addressed first, oozing charm. He wondered if his heir’s involvement would be startling to the old man.

Wulfric added onto Callum’s lie. “I recall you considered something similar to the Pancakes at the Park event, since that one suffered due to unfortunate outside interference.” This morning’s paper had blamed Lorenzo for the occurrence. So would many who had read it. Even Edin might be baited into wanting to show up the miserable duke. As for the unfortunate Vikena? Wulfric doubted his reputation could possibly be more damaged. He could take it.

“And to add even further iterations? That would be a good chance for anyone who wishes to showcase their work to a larger populace.”

Was that the why his brother had brought Ezra along? Why did it have to be him?

I should remove the menace before he shows his true colours. Ignoring his idle death wish for the baker, he turned to Callum with a challenging smile.

“You are very eager today, brother.” Since his youngest sibling was slipping into a ferocious scowl, Wulfric moved close enough to ruffle his hair. “If you have so much energy to spare, I expect you can take charge of the very next charity, hm?” Callum might think it was simple, but it wasn’t.

Quietly enough so only his brother would hear, he added, “I hope you are ready to delve into the intricacies of planning, management, financing, and politicking.” He tilted his head thoughtfully, then said, “Oh, and paperwork.”

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Ryn & Prince Wulfric
Part I

Date: Sola, 23^rd
Time: Early morning

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Wulfric's office was starting to show signs of chaos as numerous documents, notes, reports, and various other papers accumulated on his desk and coffee table. Thankfully, his couches and floors were free (for now). He’d spent a good chunk of the previous day meeting with the investigation team, whom he’d set to collecting the publicly available information on Black Rose. As expected, nothing obviously amiss had been discovered so far. Even so, it provided them with a good overview of the company’s ‘legal’ side of things, from its merchandise, to its travel routes and choice of transportation, to its profits and partners.

Pinned on a segment of his wall was a map of the kingdom where he’d marked the major areas of Black Rose’s activities. Mostly, it operated within their largest cities. It also dealt in international trade, but it was tricky getting reports beyond what happened in Caesonian ports. However, before dealing with any of the more remote areas, it seemed prudent to comb Sorian. Laid on his desk (under some more paperwork) was a veritable incident map, of all the incidents which had lately occurred in the city. There were two others potentially related to the party, or rather, to Delronzo. Those he’d designated to be thoroughly inquired into. Up to and including gathering rumors, as Hendrix had suggested.

Speaking of, he’d invited the man for a talk on business. It wasn’t purely for his personal interest anymore, given what had happened. Since he was going to be dealing with a successful merchant company, why not get the details on how such an institution operated from one of Delronzo’s rivals? With that in mind, he’d sent the count a letter last evening, requesting his presence this morning.

A gentle knock echoed through the room, interrupting the silence. On the opposite side of the door stood Ryn, cradling a towering heap of documents in his arms. Receiving no response, he tapped the door with his feet again.

“Yes?” there was the expected response, then. However, his visitor didn’t enter. Instead, there was another, firmer knock. Finding that slightly peculiar, the prince went ahead and opened the door himself. What greeted him was the sigh of Count Hendrix, though really, the man was mostly hidden behind his pile of papers.

“Good morning, Your Highness!” Ryn greeted the prince as soon as the door swung open. “I hope you’re in the mood for some ‘light’ reading.”

“Oh, how wonderful,” Wulfric greeted him, undeniably amused. “More documents,” there was a laugh in his voice as he said it. Despite the joke, though, he wasn’t put off; if anything, he was intrigued.

“Do come in,” he gestured the other man inside. He waited until he entered, then closed the doors behind them. Because apparently, they’d be dealing with more writing, he cleared the mess on his coffee table - just to give in to having one of his couches occupied, and creating another there. As haphazard as he appeared to be in moving over his collection, there was a system there, even if one that made sense just to him. One that changed and shifted as he reorganized, but it was there. “Feel free to use that,” he indicated the table he was swiftly clearing.

As Ryn shuffled into the room, he glanced around, absorbing the chaos that overtook Prince Wulfric’s study. It was a cluttered haven of papers, papers, and more papers. The sight both fascinated and overwhelmed him.

Cautiously, Ryn made his way toward the table that the prince had cleared for him. He deposited his own assortment of papers on the surface, causing the tower to teeter uneasily. “I see you have been very busy.” He picked up a few wayward leaflets with Black Rose’s name inscribed on it and handed them over. “Have you made any progress in the investigation?”

Wulfric turned around, narrowed gaze fixing on his work being handled by a near-stranger. Shortly, however, he relaxed his expression and accepted the papers. “Thank you.” He supposed they might be working together in some capacity, even if he did find the count dubious. To the second question, he merely said, “Not nearly as much as I would like.” He deposited the last few sheets, and gave the other man a thoughtful look.

“But you were questioning some of the party attendees,” he stated it as a fact, even though he lacked confirmation. “Is this investigation something which you intend to be actively involved in?” Yes, after providing Delronzo’s name, Hendrix had offered further help. But he hadn’t exactly expected the count to be so…proactive. It was strange that he was taking part in an unofficial inquiry with Leo and Charlotte.

Ryn blinked at the prince’s sudden glare, then chuckled, a smile accompanying the action. The situation reminded him of his sister’s cluttered office and her sharp reactions whenever he moved anything. “Please forgive me, Your Highness. My intention was to ensure that nothing goes missing by accident. I will refrain from touching anything else. I understand that there is order to this chaos.” Slightly shifting his weight, he straightened his posture and clasped his hands behind his back.

“However,” Ryn continued, keeping his tone respectful, “since you mentioned your interest in learning about business, if you can also find it in your heart to forgive my bluntness, I believe it’s crucial for you to develop the ability to handle minor setbacks with stride. Otherwise, you risk imploding and losing sight of what truly matters.” It was a lesson his sister learned the hard way when she ventured into her own fashion business, Cotten & Silk. It was an ability he too needed to refine.

At the initial apology, Wulfric had merely nodded. But as the count went on, his brows slowly raised in surprise. “You don’t happen to be looking for a position as an advisor, do you?” he questioned rhetorically. While he wouldn’t appoint someone so unknown on a whim, the prince could appreciate the incisiveness and the respectful delivery both.

“I could be persuaded.” Though that entirely hinged on who “Wulfric” was and who he might be as king. “Returning to your previous question, I have promised to aid Lord Smithwood and Lady Vikena, so yes, I will be actively involved in the investigation. I hope this does not pose a problem.”

Wulfric smirked, as there seemed to be an underlying ‘there better not’. “It does make for more people who could get themselves in trouble.” For his next words, he lost the levity. “If you three intend to do more, beyond relatively harmless chats, that is…You should be aware of the risks associated.” He arched an eyebrow pointedly, because he assumed that of the three, Hendrix was. “And if you still insist, there are precautions to be taken.” He rolled a shoulder in a minor shrug. “Which we can discuss whenever I have occasion to meet with your little unofficial team.” He waved away the topic, and laid a palm on the uneven tower of papers.

Ryn’s eyes flickered with a fleeting shadow, the light within them momentarily dimming, but he held onto his smile. He simply nodded in compliance.

“For now, I suggest we move onto what we’ve met for in the first place; your business.” He blinked as he realized something, and gave a polite smile on reflex. “But first things first. Would you like some tea? Coffee?…Breakfast?” It wouldn’t behoove him to slack on his host duties; he’d already been remiss in not asking prior, but he’d got somewhat distracted with their conversation.

The count canted his head. Instead of answering the rather straightforward question, he asked, “Have you eaten breakfast, Your Highness?”

For the shortest of moments, Wulfric pondered whether he had, or whether he’d only intended to have it without actualizing that. Then, something occurred to him, and he shot Hendrix a look. “Oh, you want to nag me if I haven’t, is that it?” he guessed, because the man was proving to be a veritable busybody. “Or are you concerned that you would be eating by your lonesome, thus creating an imaginary offense?” He didn’t know how well-versed the count was in the minutiae of the guest-host etiquette pertaining to being offered a meal when the invitation hadn’t specified that there would be one, given the man had formerly been a commoner. But somehow, it seemed less likely that this is what he was worried about.

“Yes,” was all Ryn said at first. Then, an idea struck him. He gleamed with newfound enthusiasm as he proposed, “In fact, this presents a splendid opportunity. Why not allow me the honor of showing you what my family business does firsthand?”

His gaze scanned the room, searching. “Might you possess an article of clothing or eyewear that you rarely wear?”

“Show me…what exactly?” The offer appeared spontaneous, but that did not necessarily mean it was merely a flight of fancy on the count’s part. It struck him as too unusual to be a trap, or rather, if it were one, it would be exceedingly unorthodox. A set-up for a scandal, perhaps? But there’d be at least a basic disguise involved. So, maybe it was just about putting him in different situations and seeing how he’d react.

While Wulfric was studying the count, Hendrix was taking an interest in his office. The prince didn’t know what the other man thought he’d found. Largely, what was around were filing cabinets, then a few bookshelves, then displays and/or storage cabinets for maps, alcohol, art, weapons, and some other memorabilia. If it was attire he owned which he was rarely seen in, then it would be, “...Armour?” he suggested reluctantly.

“I...” Ryn stifled a giggle as he imagined them doing what he planned to do while wearing armor. “I would recommend something a little more casual, but I understand why you would exercise caution. Would you like to bring your sword with you?”

“I will be armed,” Wulfric confirmed. “For a casual outfit, I suppose I could borrow it, if it doesn’t matter that it would be ill-fitting…” he trailed off, and gave the count another pointed stare. “But you haven’t answered my question. What exactly are we doing, and why?”

“Oh, but I have, Your Highness. I am going to show you what my family’s business does, and I am showing you because you expressed interest in it.”

Almost an hour later, the count and the heir apparent—an array of weapons on his person—stood side by side in the palace’s kitchen, sequestered from the hustle and bustle of the cooks, scullery maids, and kitchen helpers. “Now then, what shall we try to make for breakfast?”

Having donned his ill-fitting borrowed attire, Ryn led Prince Wulfric down to the kitchen, where low-ranking servants diligently carried out their assigned duties. These servants, largely confined to the kitchen area and prohibited from roaming the castle, had seldom crossed paths with Prince Wulfric or his portraits, rendering them unfamiliar with his appearance. Consequently, it never occurred to them that the “sellsword” accompanying the Varian merchant was, in fact, their own prince.

Upon catching sight of Ryn, those who had spent time with him at the taverns enthusiastically greeted him, reminiscing about the previous night and suggesting that they should meet up again sometime. Those who had sampled the products he had distributed the day before, gathered, eager to provide their honest review. He attentively listened to each of them, meticulously jotting down notes and expressing his gratitude for their valuable feedback. Satisfied customers promptly placed their next order.

Once he had concluded his conversation with the last servant, Ryn requested permission to utilize a section of the kitchen in order to prepare breakfast for themselves.

Ryn looked up at Prince Wulfric, smiling, as he waited for the prince’s answer.

Unexpectedly, it was their very own castle kitchen Hendrix had led them to. Wulfric had frankly expected they’d be going on an excursion somewhere outside.

He shadowed the count, observing him intently while he “guarded” him. Though, really, there wasn’t even any acting involved; all he was doing was to keep silent, not explicitly draw attention to himself, and let the other man handle everything else. Obviously, this situation being so unexpected played a large part in the prince being unrecognized. But was it really that simple?

He’d been certain he was universally recognizable - within Caesonia and the two neighbouring kingdoms, at least - but apparently, that wasn’t strictly true for commoners. True, he’d never seen any of these servants’ faces either. He was only familiar with the kitchen in general because he’d visited a few times as a child, for purely adventurous reasons. Despite that, he thought it remiss on the part of royal retainers for them to be unfamiliar with one of their employers. And no, he didn’t happen to believe that he should be putting forth the kind of effort Hendrix was demonstrating to ensure that they would recognize him. However, he was positive that if any of his siblings showed up here, they would be known on sight, strange clothes or not.

Either way, the count was proving to be remarkably thorough. Wulfric could immediately recognize that with his demeanor, it wasn’t only his business that would benefit. Potentially, the count could also use that kind of rapport for intel gathering, infiltration, or even to sway someone to his side. That, that was concerning.

At Hendrix’s question, the prince gave him a dubious expression. “Unless it involves skinning, cutting, dicing or slicing,” he withdrew a dagger to showcase, and after an unnecessarily showy twirl, sheathed it, “I don’t know what you’re expecting me to do here.” It went without saying, but he didn’t cook.

Ryn’s hands came together in an enthusiastic applause as he watched the prince display his impressive skills, marveling with words of admiration. However, as his gaze lingered on Prince Wulfric, the clapping gradually died down. He was too focused on Count Hendrix, not on what should matter to him more: his people. The only time he showed anything besides indifference towards them was when they did not instantly recognize him. But how could they? The divide between their worlds was vast; they were too out of touch from each other’s reality.

To these ordinary people, the royalty were akin to weather—an impersonal force of nature capable of bringing both prosperity and destruction. They were untouchable, unstoppable, and familiar only by the impact of their actions, but faceless in their essence. “To learn…” the count said solemnly before regaining his cheery demeanor. “And to cook breakfast, Adel! I’m famished! Aren’t you? What do you think we can make?” He extended his arms wide, gesturing animatedly to the surrounding environment and inviting “sellsword Adel” to consider the possibilities for their culinary endeavor.

The prince’s skepticism deepened as the count made a show of clapping, and of supreme delight. He had to wonder if the man had ever been a professional actor, or some other type of entertainer. He issued a prolonged sigh when it became clear Hendrix was determined to see through his idea of making breakfast together. And that despite his (perhaps too subtle) resistance so far. Admittedly, he was too curious to outright refuse, or to simply leave. He didn’t mind seeing through a demonstration, and besides-

-this was obviously not just about creating a meal.

“Learning, hm?” Wulfric tilted his head at the count. Fritz had fleeting moments of sober intensity, and that had been one of them. He turned around to take in the environment, leaning against the countertop as he did so.

That particular line of conversation reminded him of his meeting with Lady Saiya, of all things. She’d spoken on knowing one’s people, and letting them learn from one. They’d also briefly touched upon the different ways of caring for one’s subjects.

But what was it with the insistence that he form some sort of bond or familiarity or who knew what else with them?

“There is no nation without its people.”

“They’re your people, and you can’t even be bothered. Will you rule like him?”

“Won’t you try to see? Just…look.”

Well, if it was a simple observation, he supposed he could. His fingers tapped idly against the surface behind him in a nonsensical rhythm as he watched the servants go about their work.

The scullery maids cleaned, the assistants prepared ingredients, and the cooks handled the finer details while supervising and directing their helpers. The proceedings were smooth, and clearly well-practiced. Even subtle non-verbal communication was enough to convey meaning between them. Though, various orders often had to be barked over the din. The organization was slightly reminiscent of their knights’ and the militia’s, in a way, which was rather impressive. All in all, the servants were far too busy to mind the two outsiders amidst them - which was, in Wulfric’s opinion, a security concern - though the occasional glance their way proved that their invasion wouldn’t be tolerated indefinitely.

Eventually, he glanced back at Hendrix. Quite casually, as if he hadn’t been ignoring the count for the past fifteen minutes straight, he answered the question. “Eggs and bacon should be simple enough.”

It wasn’t. Just finding the cooking utensils - skillet, spatula, wooden spoon - took some searching. So did procuring the ingredients.

But finally, everything that would be needed was prepared.

Which was when Wulfric discovered that eggs were even more fragile than he remembered, and that small pieces of shell had this annoying habit of getting exactly where they weren’t supposed to. He even had to extract one or two bits out of their would-be meal. He gave up on the idea of his eggs being sunny-side up almost immediately, and scrambled them instead. He had absolutely no clue when they were cooked enough; he knew what the end result was supposed to look like, but the thing he was working on seemed practically alien. Far sooner than he expected, their colouration and texture went from ‘slightly orange, somewhat runny’ to ‘very yellow, unpleasantly gummy’. But it was what it was, and the prince took them out.

…The excess oil didn’t want to shed.

He salvaged the situation as best he could with some napkins. Still, these eggs were very pitiful compared to what he was used to, and that was only judging by their appearance. He almost didn’t dare taste them, but he wouldn’t let mere eggs daunt him. He forked a piece, and brought it to his mouth.

“…” He didn’t say it, but his conflicted expression, as minute as it was, was telling enough.

There was a reason why cooking was considered an art, after all.

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Part II coming soon...

Avalia

Time: Morning Location: Port Vanarosa Mention(s): Tanithil @Lava Alckon, Ismael @Th3King0fChaos, Amisra @Tae Interaction(s): Fairy thug @princess Equipment Two short swords, two (concealed) daggers, two pistols, 415 amas.

The party's warnings fell on deaf ears, and the thugs decided to attack regardless. Well, if that’s how it’s gonna be. The battle began to unfold, his allies sowing chaos beneath. Words exchanged were muted this far up, but he could still hear the fairy insult him.

Say whatever you like… Still, a sharp glint entered Arlen’s eyes. As if the flier could speak when he was trying to hide too. He’d show the thug; coward or not, he would be the one to make it out in the end.

From behind a chimney, he tracked the fairy as he melded into the shadows. But the blonde was no dark elf. He was hidden well enough to prevent an accurate shot, true. But his guns weren’t his only means of attack. As soon as the fairy hid, and before the other guy found him, Arlen prepared and launched a series of small light blasts at him. This should blind the fairy, and while the thug was disoriented, the light elf fired at him once more.

However, his opponent would now know where he was. Provided he survived his first attack of opportunity, the fairy could easily find him; there weren’t many good ways to hide now that they were both above. Of course, Arlen still made note of each such spot, both on this roof and of those from the nearby buildings.

But his main course of action now would be to close the distance before the fairy recovered, and either finish him off quick or else try and get another attack in while the thug was at a disadvantage. “Let’s dance, pretty boy!” he taunted once close enough. He’d secured his other weapons, and withdrawn his two daggers. With so little space to maneuver, the shorter blades would work best.

TLDR

Sees the fairy hide, attacks him with light blasts. Shoots at the thug with a pistol, then closes the distance into melee with his daggers.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

	Attire: Outfit Date and Time: Sola 23rd, Late Morning Location: The Castle Gardens: Tea Party Mention(s): @Helo Callum, @Tae Mina and Count Sebastian, @princess Anastasia Interaction(s): @Tpartywithzombi Violet

Does she know something?

He’d seen the thinning of her lips; perhaps memories of her attack haunted her, and she was attempting to repress them.

“I am well, and so is my family, thank you,” he replied. Yet, he didn’t intend to let her off the hook that easily. He would have to try being gentle while still prodding her to find out what he could from her. “I would ask you the same, but alas…I do hope this event grants you some respite,” he said softly. “However,” his tone was low, as if soothing a wounded animal. “I believe you will be most at ease once your attackers have been dealt with. Do you know who did this to you?” he questioned.

Their conversation was briefly interrupted by the arrival of his youngest brother. Wulfric eyed him, feeling slightly apathetic as Callum made his spectacular entrance.

So much about that promise.

But he had already known not to count on it. Callum had been retrieved late at night two days ago, beaten up. For some reason, he’d gone on to pick a fight. Now, he was, as per the usual, putting on his finely refined spoiled brat act, and making himself into as much of a nuisance as he could.

The trumpet, the claimed epithet, the serving of cakes, all for their father to notice and be upset at. Ezra…Just for the hell of it, maybe? The tea party certainly didn’t need any more confectionery. The tables were already laden with various treats; scones with a selection of fillings, brightly coloured macarons, the finest bite-sized cakes, and several samples of lokum.

Have you ever thought that you make everything about him as much as he does? Wulfric hoped his brother could feel the gaze burning into his back. They might need another chat.

Obviously, if this was what he resorted to just to annoy Edin, Callum needed something better to do.

Wulfric made a mental note of the idea, then locked eyes with the peasant baker. If nothing else, this ploy of Callum’s just might be enough for Edin to disregard Ezra.

But then again, knowing their father…

One glance at Ezra proved the menace knew exactly what he was doing. Wulfric narrowed his gaze at the man, but left him be for the moment.

His distraction had lasted for a few seconds at most, and he turned back to Violet. “I hope that did not startle you too badly,” he said, referring to the horrendous noise his brother had produced. “Callum’s idea of entertainment, I’m afraid,” he commented mildly by way of explanation.

“Shall we go take a seat?” He issued the invitation to Violet, then glanced at the nearby group. If Mina, her uncle, and Anastasia were done chatting to each other, he was including them too.