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Multiple Settings ð“£ð“±ð“® 𝓥𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓟𝓪𝓻𝓭 (Main Thread)

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StormWolf

Elder Member




Location: The Bishop Estate; Stables

Interactions: Saboona Saboona – Isolde

Mentions: —



Roland MacCann

Genuine happiness was a rare thing. Joy without strings, and the welcome warmth of peace and clarity were found few and far between in the world, and for a long while, Roland had thought such things far beyond his reach. His chance lost, left to revel in the hollowing, harrowing court of Wrath’s trappings.

Never in his life had Roland been happier in being proved wrong. Ironic, then, that the spark that rekindled this flare of poetic passion began with a bullet. Even now, there was still a dimple in his posterior where their most dangerous game had seen him in the role of the Fox, and her as the Hound. While that alone had garnered his respect, it was her effort to at the least try and understand him that earned his adoration, dare he say more, if he was so bold. While Roland’s own demons were far from abolished, seeing the sunlight on the ringlets of Isolde’s hair and the rosy flush of her cheeks drowned them out. She was a sweet salve for that which ailed him most.

Astride his ever-faithful warhorse, Celo, Roland rode just to the left of his lady with the casual ease of someone born to the saddle. From his position, he caught every glance and smile, which he repaid with interest, appreciating the curve of Isolde’s back, as well as
 well, everything else. Her riding habit was nothing if not complimentary to her figure. Roland himself was in his usual day-to-day attire — matched trousers and vest, New Columbian roper boots, and a wool frock coat. What stood out in stark contrast was the rich red scarf coiled around his neck, snapping softly in the breeze as they rode.

Trotting through the courtyard, passing through the shrinking shadows of the aging morning, Roland cast a glance up at the windows of the manor. Up there in his room was a long-overdue letter back home, telling his sister, as the acting head of the MacCann estate, that he’d met someone. There was a gnawing anxiety that had kept him from mailing it out, perhaps out of some sense of dread in making such an official proclamation, or that the letter would no doubt invite a cavalcade of invasive questions. God forbid a visit between the two families.

Roland felt the warmth of Isolde’s hand in his, then the silken heat of her cheek in the cup of his palm. Drawn away from hitching his horse after dismounting, he turned with her, gazing into those eyes like honied amber, he smiled and was resolved. Though her words bore the similar concerns he had — the fretting of the stricken — it was comforting to know that he was not alone. He would send the letter tomorrow, and that would be that.

“Come Hell or high water,” he said lowly, brushing the rosebud of her lips with his thumb. His stomach fluttered, giving Isolde a sober smile and nodded. His fingers trailed from the caress of her lips to the gentle slope of her jaw, brushing her ear and coming to rest at the nape of her neck. Pulling her in, he planted a kiss in the rich coils of her hair as his other hand found the small of her back.

“As long as you need, darlin’,” Roland said, his voice dark and rich, his chest rumbling gently against her. “I’ll take every second.”
 
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Hell0NHighWater

Queen of Hell



Ilya Zabolotsky & Arabella de Montagu
Character cannot be developed in ease and quiet.

COLLAB BTWN: Cashi Cashi & Hell0NHighWater Hell0NHighWater ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ WHERE: EN ROUTE > BARON BISHOP'S STUDY⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ MOOD MUSIC: KORN - RIGHT NOW ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀


It took Arabella three hours to finally achieve the motivation to crawl out of bed. Even with the frequent fencing and dancing lessons she had as a child, the amount of physical exertion in these last three weeks was almost too much for her muscles to take. While Bella did not enjoy the early morning runs, or any training before 9am, she would have to have been an idiot to take issue with something she signed herself up for.

Contemplating what she wanted to wear for the day, Bella leafed through her closet with a grimace. Now realizing that she had absolutely no concept of what she should wear, a small huff of air escaped her lips. Hat boxes came tumbling from the top shelf of the closet, her dresses had violently pressed themselves against the back of the closet wall, and her carefully stacked and categorized shoes became a heaping mess. Dragging a hand tiredly down her face, she almost sighed again but caught herself before she could do more damage to her closet. Annoyed with her own lack of control, Arabella snatched a dark red-wine silky chiffon and cappuccino satin evening dress from the hanger and rummaged for the matching hat and shoes.

Luckily getting ready hadn’t taken nearly as long as she feared. Upon one last inspection of herself in a full body mirror, Arabella took a deep breath and forced her features into practiced neutrality before turning on her heel and striding out of her room.

Ilya had anticipated the pain. He knew for a fact that the pain the day after a fight was nowhere near as bad as the pain on the second day. He lay in bed (at an angle to fit his whole frame), his eyes closed, mustering the willpower to get to his feet. After what seemed a small eternity, Ilya slowly pushed himself onto his elbows, then eased into a sitting position. His entire abdomen screamed, flames of pain licking up his sides, his back, his legs--everywhere. A bitter laugh rasped in his throat, but Ilya’s voice was completely shot. Standing up and hobbling to the mirror was one of the hardest things he’d done since arriving at the mansion. He lifted his shirt to analyze the damage, sucking in a breath. His chest, ribs, and stomach were mottled with purple and blue bruises, dark and splotchy. His left arm was similarly discoloured. He was covered head-to-toe in cuts and scrapes, his split lip scabbing over, and his nose bruised. Several blood vessels had broken under the sensitive skin near his left eye, shadowing the inner corner.
The worst wound, however, was the ligature mark on his neck. It was a thick, hideous, angry, red and purple mess of markings circling his neck, the skin scraped raw.
He looked like he’d fought a bear and lost.

His throat constricted painfully when he sighed. His right foot ached as he made his way to the closet in his room to get dressed. The Baron had summoned them to his office for 10am, So Ilya chose clothes that had slightly more class--meaning he chose the dress shirt from his first night meeting the Vanguard, clean and void of champagne, and a pair of black pants. He buttoned the shirt all the way up, adjusting the collar to try and hide more of the bruises around his neck, though it did little to help. Ilya tucked his shirt in and gave himself a once over in the mirror before tossing up a hand with a dismissive “bah!”
He stepped into his bathroom and washed his face and brushed his teeth, then slicked his hair back with water. It dripped down his nose and chin. Ilya dried his face with a towel, grabbed his tie off the back of a chair, and exited his room at a quick clip.

He almost bowled Arabella over. One minute the hallway was clear, the next she had appeared out of nowhere and Ilya slammed a hand into the wall beside him to steady himself, gripping Arabella’s upper arm lest she fall. She was, as per normal, immaculately put together, this time in a dark, elegant evening dress that flattered her figure in all the ways he was sure she intended. How women knew exactly what form of clothing looked best on them was beyond him.
He made the mistake of attempting to speak, intending to be chastising when he growled, “Not watching where we going?”
Instead, his ruined throat forced his voice to come out thin and reedy, barely a whisper.

Arabella bit her tongue to keep herself from cursing--or god forbid, screaming--as she latched onto the same arm that was keeping her upright as if it were a lifeline. The surprise that had seeped into her expression bled into irritation with a hint of indignation and it took her a moment to wrangle her features back into their impassive mask.

“Apparently not,” Bella snapped, yanking her arm away from him as she steadied herself, “if you had been paying attention then this wouldn’t have happened, my dear.” Narrowing her eyes, she had to tilt her head up to fix him with a glare that shimmered with barely contained anger. Bella took a couple deep breaths, careful to let the air out excruciatingly slow, and ran her hands across the silk of her skirt to flatten out any wrinkles. “Unless, of course, you’re presuming that I can see through doors. In which case, you are dreadfully incorrect.” She paused for a moment to look Ilya over, noticing the bruises poking out from under his collar, the split lip, and the discoloration on the bridge of his nose.

“Darling, you look as if you tried to fight a bear and lost.” Arabella was quiet for a second, tilting her head a bit to the side as she passively observed what almost looked like ligature marks on his neck, “Or won--I can’t tell for certain without seeing the other bear.” The corner of her mouth picked up in barely concealed amusement, “Nonetheless, you should get some ice, darling. It’ll help with the inflammation and bruising.”

Ilya returned her glare with a frosty one of his own, his mood immediately turning cantankerous.
“Where I’m from, we barge out of doors like we barge into traffic. We don’t barge into traffic.”
Her critical eye scoured him from head to toe, pausing on the bruises on his face and neck, and Ilya felt irritation prick him around the collar as he stood there being judged.
“Ice. Ha. Very funny.”
He gestured ahead of him down the hall, exaggerating a formal bow.
“After you, little tsaritsa.”

Arabella snickered, “Do not patronize me, my dear. I may be a Queen, but I am most certainly not little.”

Peering at him through narrowed eyes, Arabella folded her arms over her chest and ignored his gesture for her to keep walking--her temper flaring even further at the exaggerated bow. Clenching her jaw, she mentally cursed herself for not wearing a taller pair of heels. She hated not being able to glare down the bridge of her nose at him, in a show of polite disdain. But she hated his attitude even more.

“First of all, it wasn’t a joke. Ice will decrease the bruising and help with whatever pain I’m sure you’re experiencing. You should also disinfect that cut on your lip, if you haven’t already. And get a warm compress for your neck to help soothe the lymph nodes.” Bella gestured to the sides of her own throat to demonstrate the point. When she was sure he understood, she put one arm down and turned the other to point at him--poking him in the chest on beat with the first three words out of her mouth. “Second of all, I did not barge out of my door--I walked out of it. A Lady doesn’t barge.”

Each poke at his chest was pure agony, and Ilya was able to hide his reaction in everything but a twisting of his mouth and a harsh gritting of his teeth. He seethed, stepping around her and turning to walk backwards so he could say, “Oh ho!”, and look around dramatically to his left, then his right, wrenching the bruises on his torso.
“Lady? I am not seeing Lady.” He looked her up and down. “Just kikimora.”
He faced forward again, giving her a stunning view of his back, and looked down at her from over his shoulder. The motion stretched the bruises on his neck and he hissed in a breath, recovering quickly enough to make another snide remark.
“You will be late, little tsaritsa, if you are continuing to stand there and be
” He made a gesture to indicate all of her. “Huffy.”

Arabella’s hands curled into fists and she took a slow, deep, breath and held it. For a moment she contemplated knocking him over with a gale, but she wasn’t sure she had the control to do so without actually hurting him. So instead she let the air out in small increments, seething as she glared holes into his shoulder blades.

Bella begrudgingly followed after him, biting on the inside of her cheek to keep herself from swearing at him. “What, did you just call me?” She ground out, taking wider steps as she increased her pace. “I’m sorry, my dear, I don’t think I heard that correctly. But it almost sounded as if you insulted me.” The smile that stretched across her lips was just as pleasantly fake as her tone of voice, “Would you care to try that again, Mr. Zabolotsky?” Bella hissed, hating that she didn’t know what she was being compared to yet somehow still knowing it was bad.

“And I am not, ‘huffy’, darling. I assure you, you’ll know when I get to that point.” Arabella forced herself to walk faster in pursuit of getting to the bottom of the stairs before he did. She shot a glare over her shoulder as she passed, turning her head just enough to whip a bit of her hair in his face, “If I am late, it will be your fault--considering you’re the one who ran into me!”

“‘Not huffy’, she say, as she huff past me. Bah!” He clattered down the stairs after her, keeping stride with his long legs. Her hair, dark and perfumed, whipped him in the cheek as she turned sharply to throw words in his direction. Ilya’s temper flared as he pursued her across the foyer and into the next hall.
“Careful tsaritsa, would not want you falling and breaking royal neck.”
He surpassed her to reach the door ahead of them first and hold it open, knowing it would only serve to antagonize her more. Ilya had no idea why his mood had suddenly turned so sour, why she got under his skin and irritated him so much. Perhaps because he knew of no other woman who would toss her hair into his face for the sole purpose of being as irritating as possible.
They reached the door and Ilya caught up the handle first, shoving the heavy wood with his shoulder.

“Here, let me get door for you,” he all but spat with a sarcastic, saccharine sweetness, purposefully taking up most of the door frame and leaving only a small space for Arabella to squeeze by. Ilya closed the door behind them, perhaps with more force than necessary, and continued down the hallway after her towards the Baron’s office. As they got closer to the meeting place, Ilya began to count to ten to check his wrath before the meeting with the rest of the Vanguard. His bruises and contusions ached, and the pain he was in was certainly not helping him any in keeping his temper under control.

Red. Everything went red. Her vision blurred as a tornado spiraled in the pit of her stomach. Her fingers coiled into fists. The term anger was hardly an adequate enough name for the hurricane that she so clearly became at that moment. Arabella clenched her jaw so tightly that her teeth began to ache and her eyes narrowed on the impressive oak door at the end of the hall.

The last shred of her self-control advised against any untoward acts of violence, but that didn’t stop her from thinking about it. Uncomfortably aware of his towering presence skulking behind her, Bella threw open the door to the Baron’s study and strolled inside with the intent of letting it swing shut in Ilya’s face. Not even bothering to look over her shoulder, Arabella moved toward one of the loveseats at the center of the spacious room. Utterly intent on ignoring him, she sat with practiced elegance, plucked a random book from the coffee table, and forced her eyes to scan over the words.

Ilya almost couldn’t believe the door that slammed just inches from his nose as he approached the Baron’s office. Arabella had disappeared inside and Ilya almost walked straight into the thick, glossy wood. He took an abrupt step back in momentary disbelief--then his rage came crashing down upon him like a waterfall, sweeping him and most of his control away. Ilya stepped back from the door and put his hand against the wall, curling his fingers into fists against the plaster, nails scraping the paint. It took every bit of control not to punch something, but Ilya miraculously managed. After he’d counted to ten about three times, Ilya rolled his neck and reached out to open the door, tamping down his rage with as much frigidity as he could muster.

Arabella was seated comfortably on a loveseat and it took him another bout of self control not to flip the loveseat--with her on it--over. Instead, he prowled to the rightmost wall and leaned there, arms crossed, fixing his gaze upon a little statuette in the room and glowering at it while he waited for the meeting to begin, his quiet fury etched into every feature of his face.



Only through experience of trial and suffering can the soul be strengthened.
 

wickedlittlecritta

the once and future twink
Devin Murphy

Location: Bishop Manor; bedroom and baron's study
Interactions: Ilya Cashi Cashi and Arabella Hell0NHighWater Hell0NHighWater
Song Spells No 1: Cedarsmoke

Devin sat on the floor of his room at Bishop Manor, bathrobe pooled around him on the wood floor and throw rugs, shuffling his tarot deck. He set it in three mostly even piles on the floor, stacked them all together, and drew the top card from the deck.

What's the meeting about?

Two of cups. Devin frowned at it a moment.

"That can't be right," he muttered, tucking the two of cups back into the middle of the deck and shuffling it again, before repeating the ritual of cutting and restacking the deck. Then he spread out ten cards, six in a cross, four on the side. He looked down at the story spreading before him, tucking his hands under his chin, and frowned.

The center-most cards were the knight of swords, reversed, and the lovers. He had all the pieces to put this story together, but he just wasn't going to be able to, the reversed knight said, while the crossed lovers card promised the influence of, well, love--all consuming and powerful--moving into his life.

The next three--four of swords, seven of swords, and ace of wands reversed--painted a more understandable picture. Rest, strategy, self-destruction, leading into the anxiety of the reversed ace of coins. Not a particularly nice picture, but an understandable one--what was he but a self-destructive, manipulative bastard, caught in the calm before they dumped him into a trench?

The final four cards were all upright. His card for this reading was at the bottom, the seven of wands, and he felt tired just looking at it. He trailed his fingers up the line of cards, from the seven of wands to death to the two of coins to the hermit. It wasn't bad, really. He just couldn't put it all together into a story that made sense.

He looked back at the inverted knight of swords, and said, "If you're going to be cryptic you could at least not be smug about it," crossly, and swept the cards back up into a deck. He left them on the bedside table as he went to dress, trading his robe and pajamas for a suit. Since he wasn't sure what the baron had in mind, he opted for something conservatively colored, in case they were going to be crawling around in basements again, before tucking the deck into the pocket of his jacket before heading to the baron's study.

It turned out that he'd arrived just behind Ilya and Arabella, and the tension in the room was white cold, like only the knowledge that someone else was surely to enter and witness had kept them from murder. "Well, good morning," Devin said, closing the door behind him. "It's positively frigid in here, isn't it?" he asked, and settled into an armchair between them, smiling brightly.
 
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Hell0NHighWater

Queen of Hell



Vasilis Laskaris & Valentin Auclair
Character cannot be developed in ease and quiet.

COLLAB BTWN: L0ck0n L0ck0n & Hell0NHighWater Hell0NHighWater ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ WHERE: EN ROUTE > BARON BISHOP'S STUDY⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ MOOD MUSIC: TANK! - SEATBELTS ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀


Sleeping in for longer than they were usually allowed was a decent change to their schedule. Right when the sun rose to when the sun set was when they were training. Nonstop. It was rigorous, difficult, and draining. She wasn’t sure what her expectations were when joining the Vanguard, but she didn’t expect to be yelled at constantly. Granted, she was treated like shit as a mage, so what did she expect? Sil let a long sigh escape her lips as she contemplated what she was doing with her life. Propping herself up in the bed Sil rubbed her cheek as if it would help the wake up process.

Eventually deciding to get out of bed Sil tossed the covers off of her, and prepared for the meeting that they were going to have with the baron. While getting ready she wondered if they had done something wrong, or if the decision to go through with using mages to fight was revoked. Though they had a specific time to be there Sil wanted to see if she could drag someone along so as not to be alone. Going down the list of possible mages Sil went for the one who had a similar type of magic to hers: Val. He was difficult to read at first, but it only took a bit of time for her to understand that his angry face was just his regular face. Chuckling at the thought Sil finished getting ready, and went to go get Val. She knew where he stayed, but she had never gone into his room before, so this would be a first.

Only knocking twice Sil swung the door open without being accepted in. “Ay, wake the fuck up! It’s time to-” She could also admit with complete transparency that Valentin never ceased to surprise.

Foreign swears fell from his lips and he grunted, tugging at a mattress that was essentially twice as big as he was. Valentin had managed to pull it from the frame--with great difficulty--but his lack of balance coupled with the way his room was spinning, was not making this any easier. Val loosened the collar on his dress shirt and cuffed his sleeves, rolling his shoulders as he mentally hyped himself up to continue his task. The two sharp knocks at his door spooked him enough to send him tripping over his own two feet and spiraling to the ground.

"Merde sacrée!" Valentin yelped, clutching a hand to his chest as he scooted his ass to face the door. As soon as he saw Vasilis a grin lit up his face and he clambered to his feet--swaying a little as he leaned on the bed frame to keep himself upright. "Bonjour, chamallow!" Val slurred, running his fingers through his hair, "Are we going somewhere?"

Sil stood in the doorway unsure of how to proceed. "Uhh-" was all that came out of her mouth. She wasn't sure what she was expecting to see, but as Val stumbled before catching himself Sil knew one thing: Val was drunk. His slurring of words confirmed her on the spot assumption. Not to mention his enthusiastic tone to seeing her, or anyone for that matter. Cautiously walking in to close the door behind her Sil raised her brow. "Y-Yeah
Uh, what are you doing Val?" She asked with concern in her voice. From what she could see the mattress was practically fully off of the bed frame, but why? What was he planning to do with it?

Valentin didn't blink, the smile on his face unwavering, "Oh, I am
" he gestured to the mattress half off the bed frame, "doing some redecorating." He shrugged, stumbling away from the bed frame and toward the chastise lounge in front of the fireplace. “Merde...where did I put my socks?” He nearly fell over the back of the chair as he leaned over to check the seat, grumbling something else to himself before standing back up to scratch the top of his head. As if remembering that Vasilis was still in the room, he whirled toward her with a finger raised, “Ah, is this an occasion I need socks for?” His brows furrowed as he seemed to think about his own question for a moment, “Non, non, nevermind; If the Nouveau Colombien is there, I shall most likely need my fucking socks.”

He turned around so fast he almost tripped over himself as he moved to check his closet for a wearable pair of socks. While he was there he struggled into his shoes and snuck another shot before squirreling the rest of his whiskey away. “Alright!” He chirped, exiting the closet and strolling around the half off mattress to flash a grin at his fellow mage. “I am out and ready to go to a drag ball!” Valentin snorted, unable to suppress his snickering giggles. When he stopped laughing he drew a sigh, his smile faded, and his expression became subdued. Val crossed his arms over his chest and shifted a little, whining with a touch of outrage, “Do not worry, I know that is not where we are going. But it is a shame, non? That sounds like a good fucking time.”

Sil nervously chuckled as Valentin had mentioned needing socks for their meeting. Apparently, according to him, because Roland was going to be present then socks would be required. It was a funny, but random thing to consider. Looking down at her own shoes she wondered if he would notice, if that were possible, her wearing the wrong pair of socks. She had never matched socks, so it was food for thought since Valentin brought it up. “Whoa, carefu-” Sil stumbled over some of the mess in the room attempting to reach Val. “Dannazione!” she huffed. His room was worse than she had ever considered it to be. Papers and cigarettes all scattered around on the floor with not a thought in mind to pick them up, and a lingering veil of musty fog that had nowhere to go but out the door. Standing back up she narrowed her eyes at him as he was rummaging through his closet for socks. Somewhere, somehow, he had gotten his hands on booze. Valentin didn’t need to hide any of it as his demeanor told it all.

Kicking some of the debris out of the way Sil walked over to Val. “Ay, it’s a damn shame that we’re stuck going to a baron meeting, but ya’ know what’s a real shame?” she asked, but continued before letting Val answer. “Your room!” Going behind Val she nudged him in the direction of the door. “But that’s some shit for later. Dai, andiamo-” Sil pushed her fellow drunken mage towards the door. “Vieni, we need to go or we’re gonna be late, stupido.”

He stumbled over his own two feet, yet miraculously kept his face from being rudely introduced to the floor. An aloof giggle fluttered through him as he allowed Vasilis to guide him out of his room and into the hallway. “Se faire lech de ouf, chamallow. I am not stupid--only bored with existence.” Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he staggered down the hall as if the world had been tilted on a sharper axis.

“You know, I heard something about a liquor cabinet the size of a small closet. Apparently, the Baron has an appreciation for the finer alcohols.” Valentin nudged their shoulders together and wiggled his brows in drunken enticement, leaning in closer to whisper, “I think, Chamallow, it would be kind of us to relieve him of a few bottles, oui?”

“There there,” Sil pat Valentin’s shoulder as he talked about being bored with life. “If you’re bored I don’t mind sharing a few of my problems.” She chuckled while holding Valentin’s arm to prevent him from falling face first to the ground. They needed to make it to the meeting first, and if he wanted to then he could reunite with the floor there. This was anything but what she had in mind when she considered bringing Val with her, but a thought came to mind. If she hadn’t come for him then would he even have gone to the meeting at all? She didn’t have an answer, but patting his back Sil continued to help him. “Ay,” She wrinkled her nose. “Your breath smells, puzzone. But,” Letting a smirk spread across her face, Sil lowered her voice. “I like where you’re going with this.” For the Baron to have his own liquor cabinet was reasonable, but how posible would it be for them to get to it? “Do you know where it is? Or,” Sil raised a brow. “Have you already found it? Since you’re clearly enjoying yourself right now.”

Hitching giggles came in fits and bursts--loud to soft to nothing at all and back to loud again. He struggled to keep his balance as a conniving grin pulled at each corner of his mouth. "Non, I have not found it yet, but--" Val paused to place a finger to his chin in thought, eyes lifting toward the ceiling as if it would help him think faster. "I have...hm
soixante-dix
pour cent of a plan. I will let you know when I have details, oui?"


The banister was beautiful, delicately hand crafted from the finest oak. The finish: smooth and elegant. The poles: forged from steel swirled in the most enchanting way. It was simply perfection carved in dark wood. A voice in the back of Valentin’s mind argued that not sliding down such a masterpiece would be a disservice to himself and further aid to conform him to the world’s social constraints and expectations.
There was no rebuttal.
Inebriation had zapped Val of all the mediocre rationalization he possessed, and so he was free to sit his ass against the banister and slide down.

Everything had gone according to plan--sailing as smooth as silk--until he reached the curve of the grand staircase. Valentin’s muscles struggled to compensate for his already horrendous lack of balance, but the added weight of intoxication made correcting his trajectory all the more impossible. The foyer rushed past him in a blur, so incredibly fast yet slow at the same time--a suspension that infused weightlessness and the knot of dread in his stomach.
Then impact.

"Merdasse, that hurt." Val wheezed, groaning as he flopped over onto his side. It took him a moment to get to his feet, feeling like the world was spinning faster than a gramophone record--and he was the shitty needle that kept skipping tracks. His legs wouldn’t work in the way he wanted them to. Neither would his hands. Or his fingers. Somewhere, deep inside he knew his brain was sending the signals. Whether or not his body was listening was a completely different story. Val could feel himself zig-zag down the hall and toward the first door, but it was as if he were detached from the control of his own limbs. It took him two tries to get his hand to turn the handle correctly, but once he did he held the door open with a goofy grin. “After you, mon amie.”

“Merda,” Sil shook her head as she watched Val sit on the bannister with an intent to slide down. A terrible decision really. “Ay ya yai, one of these days he’s going to get himself killed.” she mumbled to herself while following behind. There was no reason to rush to go to the meeting. Val looked to be enjoying himself, and if she were honest so was she. Having Val’s nonchalant nature around even when drunk was a sort of breath of fresh air. She thought more than she wanted to, and each thought brought on a whole new set of thinking. It was a spiral of thinking that could lead anyone down a rabbit hole, and eventually get lost altogether. In a way, she compared her unwanted memories and emotions to how Val wanted nothing to do with ghosts. A liability to the user, but essentially their strongest asset. An irony, really.

Valentin seemed to be enjoying himself sliding down the bannister to his possible death. Death would be a massive exaggeration, but he was gliding down pretty fast. If she had the opportunity to get even a sip of what Val was having she would take it. Though, a sip would do her no good so a bottle would be better. Maybe two? Possibly. The fact that the baron had a secret stash all to himself had her considering what they could do to get some. How long did Val know? Long enough to start a plan for it apparently. According to him it was - what, soixante-dix pour cent of a plan? The hell was that? Either way, she wanted in. There was no doubt about that, though...now was not the best time to plot to steal booze from the baron. As she was thinking about the secret stash Val fell off the bannister with a thud. Unable to contain herself Sil abruptly burst out laughing. “What’s t-that about not being s-stupid, stupido?” She wheezed, and slapped her knee as laughter echoed down the hall. Grabbing onto the bannister to keep from falling to the floor like Val had done, Sil laughed while cautiously walking down the last few steps.

Making their way to the meeting Sil continued to laugh at Val as he struggled with the door. “Grazie, amico.” she said through a fit of laughter. Walking down another hallway before the study she turned to Val. "You good?"

He was painfully aware that she was laughing at him--hell, had he been sober enough he might have laughed at himself too--but Valentin was far too hammered to care. His stomach rolled and the hallway stretched out before him like a funhouse from hell. Valentin’s whole body leaned so sharply to the side that he stood at a forty-five degree angle, deceivingly defying gravity, before catching himself against the wall. A wave of nausea hit him with such intensity that he had to close his eyes as he used the wall to slowly guide him forward.

Vasilis’ words brought him out of his own head and back into the warbled funhouse bad-time, hellscape, of his current reality. Val struggled to swallow his own saliva, nodding a little sharper than necessary. “Do not worry, chamallow, I am gre--”

The nausea clawed at his throat, and he tried to force the bile down, but it was too late. Valentin forced his face over the opening of a nearby decorative vase, barely in time to catch the chunks of his partially digested breakfast spewing out of his coughing, choking mouth. His stomach continued to contract violently, squeezing his guts for all they were worth. The pungent stench invaded his nostrils and he heaved even though there was nothing left. Moving his pale, sweaty, face away from the very expensive porcelain vase, Val slumped back against the wall with a miserable groan, “Baise ma vie
”

Holding up a finger, he burped into his other hand as he wiggled a miniature blended whiskey bottle out of his suit jacket. Unscrewing the cap, he knocked the bottle back and took a large sip--swirling it around to get the taste of vomit out of his mouth. Holding the tiny bottle out, Val swung his indigo gaze back towards Sil with a thumbs up and a shaky smile, “Want the rest of this?”

“No no no-” Sil darted toward Valentin to try to stop him from vomiting inside the vase, but it was too late. Covering her own mouth with her hand Sil attempted to keep from throwing up. Swallowing down what she could feel coming back up Sil walked over to Valentin and pat his back. The smell alone caused her to gag, but she knew all too well how drinking was. Pinching her nose to keep from continuing to smell the strong stench of digested food and alcohol Sil felt bad for the vase. It was a shiny porcelain vase that had engravings of red and blue birds, clouds, and a red dragon. On the neck of the vase she saw flowers and shapes that were color coordinated to give the overall look of the vase a soft, but bold color scheme. It screamed money.

Glancing down the hall she hoped no one saw Val letting loose on the vase. The maid who would eventually have to polish it would be in for a horrible surprise. Letting out a soft chuckle at the thought she shook her head. “I’m not laughing at you.” Reassuring Val that she wasn’t laughing at him this time she stepped back as he finished in case Val were to vomit some more. She raised her brow at Val’s offer of alcohol, and walked over to grab the bottle. “Grazie for sharing.” Taking the bottle from his hand Sil raised the small container before drinking the rest. “Ahh, that hit the spot.” She raised the bottle for one more gesture of thank you before sliding it into her pocket. “So now,” Grabbing the collar of Val’s shirt Sil pulled him forward. “Let’s get to this meeting in one piece before the Baron finds out you just fucked up his vase!” Though he had thrown up Val didn’t seem too out of the normal range he lived in, so she dragged him along until they made it to the room where the meeting was to be held. Opening the door to let Val in first before going in herself Arabella Ilya and Devin were already waiting in the room. “Ah, Buongiorno.” Sil greeted them before grabbing a chair nearby for Val to sit on. “Dai, here, have a seat Val or you’re gonna kill yourself just by standing.”

Valentin slumped into the chair Vasilis had practically dropped him into as drunken, stuttering, laughs came pouring out of him. Theatrically raising his arms, he leaned back into the chair as if trying to get it to balance on the back two legs. “Life is a game of roulette, chamallow. I could die at any moment--from anything--especially when it involves standing.” A slick grin crawled across his face, ”But death has not claimed me thus far, oui? I might as well be immortal.”

“Mmm, is that so
” Sil replied as she grabbed the back of the chair Val was attempting to balance backwards on. Pulling it farther down she let go when it was already on its way to the floor, and let out a laugh as she watched Val go with it. “An immortal idiot.” Though, he did have a point. Nothing was certain in life, and nothing came without its price. That much was for sure.

Looking around the room Sil was surprised that there were only 5 mages in total present. “Ay, I wonder if the rest are going to be late.”




Only through experience of trial and suffering can the soul be strengthened.
 

Saboona

president thot




Location: Outside Manor - Stables && Outside -> in Manor
Interactions: Roland // all
Mentions: StormWolf StormWolf
Isolde Bishop // Kitty Maclerie

She sighed contentedly, nodding and resting her head against his chest. Eyes scanning the area around them, she let herself breathe a bit, relaxing into Roland's embrace. It was crazy how quickly she'd become assured in her feelings. Not too long ago she was fixed on the idea that nothing would ever come of it; that maybe, one of these days, it would have faded away. Perhaps it was selfish to indulge in these delights, she wondered with a worried grasp of Roland's jacket. Pulling back, she silently scanned his face. With eyebrows narrowed, she gingerly touched the barely healed bruises. Leftovers from his spar with Ilya, as it were. The notion of such an intense fight between the two men made her uneasy. Never an ultimate pacifist, Isolde did have her qualms with fighting. War, spats, all of it. She hated every last bit of it. But what else cold be done, anyway? Nitty, gritty training. Nitty gritty war.

"Okay. I think... I think that we should be okay. Should we go in together?" She asked, then quickly gasped and shook her head, pulling away to put her head in her hands. "I'm being silly, of course we should. We said we'd do it together, all the way." Betrayed self-confidence showed itself in the form a tight lipped smile, with desperate eyes searching for the ever present reassurance in Roland's.

It wasn't on purpose that she was feeling anxious about coming forward to her Uncle. She tried to stomach it, swallow it away, but the looming dread made her worry she'd have to fight to defend her love. Not love, but feelings. The Baron would make it economic, no doubt. What's the benefit? What are the costs?

Does it need to matter?

--

Kitty had spent most of the morning, internal clock set to wake early from the cowboy's trainings, outside. Bare feet in the chill, dewy field reminded her of home. Although it definitely made her seem more like a wildabeast to the English, no doubt, she liked feeling nature at its core. Part of her wondered if she'd have been better suited to be an earth mage (if it was possible to rig the inheritance of it). Maybe a fire mage. Definitely not the scot to blow smoke up people's asses, however. Devin was a good example of someone who sought to shake down the Brits for every reason that Kitty could get behind.

Yet she couldn't help but feel a bit isolate from the others. The last weeks had been a weird mixture of 'getting to know your fellow lads and lasses in arms' and 'bleed from your bones and sweat from your teeth or die trying'. Major feelings of uncomfortable insecurity had ran its course multiple times. She made excuses; feigning ignorance to avoid training, having more fun than serious encounters with people-- the like. The only constant that she found was nature. Britain was full of terrible, bitter people who smoked diesel engines. Scotland was home, and if she could credit the countryside for anything; it was being beautiful in the early morning.

Knowing that the Baron was holding a meeting made her annoyed, but hey, you did what you had to do. It was like what her mother always said. "Whit's fur ye no go past ye." Kitty was one to either fight the tide, or ride it all the way to shore. What the Baron and the Vanguard stood for? Well, it was at least somewhat honourable enough to garner her dedication. She'd ruffle feathers and tug legs for the hell of it. At the end of the day, well, she'd show up eventually for the social calls.

Counting the time by the change in light, she reasoned that it would be around the eve to try showing up. Although she as content as could be laying in the garden, soaking the grass with handfuls of water, she begrudgingly rose. The scot liked to move on her own time. Lackadaisical arms swinging by her sides, she took in the changing sky, noting a bit of grey in the distance. Rain, maybe.

Her eyes caught on a pair of figures by the stables. Kitty squinted, raising a lame hand. It looked to be Cowboy and Bishop, if her eyes hadn't deceived her. Although it didn't look like much, Kitty kept her eyes narrowed as she moved along. In no way was Kitty the most perceptive person-- preferring gut intuition above most for decisions-- but she already had little trust for the folks around her. Shaking off the feelings though, she opted to try and keep spirits high for the day. If it was going to be more shooting the shit with the others, she'd need a recharge to her brain before then.

The manor was only limply busy, though she noted the odd servant or two moving rather quickly through the halls. Heading to what she remembered may be the Baron's study, she delighted in seeing the passing figures of Val and Vasilis (in no particular order, based on the similar blurry shapes) heading to where she figured. Trailing in after them, she could only stare at the others with quirky eyebrows. Hearing a cane behind her she nodded plainly to Bernard, entering silently.

"Sev'n now, ah ken. I saw a keek at Cowboy and Miss Lady outside. Not the least timely people, so ah bit curious," Kitty said with a perplexed glance to the others. Crossing her arms she then noticed that she was still barefoot; damp feet on the Baron's rug.

She shrugged again. "Onybody ken what in hell's name Baron-man's got planned for us?"
 

SavannahSmiles

I Move The Stars For No One






Location: Hallways -> Barons Study

Interactions: Olivia / Roman -> All

Mentions: noonshine noonshine
Olivia Andersson & Roman Graves
‘I can’t believe I’m lost. I know I’ve only been here for three weeks, but one would think I would know my way around better than this! Though to be fair, I was only shown the way to the Baron’s office once, and I wasn’t really paying attention to the route we had used.’ Olivia fretted silently as she regarded the intersection before her. She had been in her room reading when a staff member had delivered a summons to the Baron’s office, one that required her presence there at ten o’clock on the dot. Unfortunately for Olivia, that staff member had disappeared by the time she had the wherewithal to poke her head out her door in order to ask for directions. Now here she stood, lost in the maze of hallways with no clue where to go or how to find someone she could acquire directions from. A passing glance at a nearby clock had her biting her lip nervously and feeling glad that she had left her room early; perhaps she had known that, deep down, she had a perchance for getting lost. But it wasn’t entirely her fault, who needed a house this large anyway?!

“Gudar ovan, why do they feel the need to make all the hallways look exactly the same?!” She exclaimed in exasperation to herself with a tiny frown adorning her features. Should she just pick a direction and hope for the best? What if that only made her lose her way more than she already has?

Oh this was a problem indeed.


Roman had been walking the manor halls, the group had been summoned, all of them, for ten. he was not looking forward to it after their group activities so far. Of course, he had no intention of being late regardless. With the manor nearly committed to memory, at least the parts permitted to them, he was on his way to the meeting after an anticipatory pace about to eliminate his anxieties (only somewhat fruitlessly).

The particular way in which he had gone about memorizing the halls was a game of seeing how few people he could see in a day, aside from the training in which he was around them or some of them all day. So, when he spotted Miss Andersson facing away from him, notable by her height, he was surprised. She was one of the mages that had not attended the party, and had more brief introductions with less fanfare. He didn’t envy her for that.

Her exclamation, one she likely meant to keep to herself was still heard, she was lost and that was so terribly charming.

“Miss Andersson,” he greeted, with a knowing little smile, “On your way to Baron Bishop’s study? Please, let me accompany you.” He was not about to out right tell her he knew she was lost, but assumed that she’d caught on.


If anyone were to ask, she would deny the startled squeak that escaped her as a voice spoke up suddenly from behind her. She whirled around with wide-eyes, having been too focused on mapping out a route that she completely failed to miss the set of footsteps that had approached her. As she stared up at the man before her, she was fairly certain he had been attending training these last few weeks, which meant that he was likely one of her fellow mages. She was so surprised and happy to see another person in these confusing hallways that a beaming smile quickly spread across her face. “Oh hello. You are Devin..no, no, Roman! You are Roman, yes?” Not surprising that she fumbled with his name; she had been introduced to so many people in such a short amount of time, that it was no wonder she became slightly befuddled.

“I would love for you to accompany me. I’m afraid I’m not accustomed to such a large place with so many hallways and rooms. I’m certain I could fit my entire house into one of the rooms here!”


The tossing about of Christian names was a surprise, and he was somewhat relieved that she recovered into the correct one. It was a displeasure to be confused with the Irishman, but one that could at least be tolerated. “Yes, Roman Graves,” he clarified, smile remaining, if anything just to be reassuring. The poor thing had been so startled by him- although that was somewhat intentional.

When she admitted to being lost his expression became more genuine, a chuckle escaped him, “into one of the rooms?” Nodding, he began to walk, in the direction she had been facing, “It is rather large, isn’t it? We’ll not be late.” The reassurance was an honest one, he knew he was going to be early, and she was not slowing him enough that he would have to worry. “Quite the maze, really.”


Olivia trailed behind Roman as he continued down one of the hallways she had been contemplating; so it seemed she had been slightly on the correct track, though that wasn’t to say she wouldn’t have gotten lost still past this point. She was a little relieved at his assurances that they wouldn’t be late; she would hate to think if there was a punishment for making the Baron and the rest of the Vanguard wait on them. It seemed quite fortuitous that she had run into Roman when she did and that he seemed to know his way around better than she did.

“What do you suppose this meeting is for?” She mused to Roman and to herself. It was three weeks into their training, so it could be a report about that, but she had a feeling that somehow, this summons was more than that.


Roman let himself slow to match her pace- entertaining the question he doubted either of them could know the answer to.
In his relentless optimism, even after nearly a month of excessive training, “Maybe a review of the past weeks?” It was the most hopeful idea he could offer without feeling ridiculous. The Baron was such a recluse he doubted it was a surprise tea- certainly it was even less likely to be some sort of vacation.

Briefly, he looked at his hand, turned over palm, where a scab had been a few days ago, it left behind a pinker flesh. Once more, he considered his disdain for Mr. Murphy.

A sharp turn down another hallway drew them closer to the study.

“What do you think, Miss. Andersson?”


Olivia made sure to keep close to Roman; she didn’t want to lose her only guide in the maze of hallways, besides they didn’t need her getting lost a second time when they were expected elsewhere. When Roman inquired on her opinion of the matter, she taped her chin thoughtfully. “It could perhaps be a summary of how our training is progressing, but I do not think that so important as to warrant a summons to the Barons office. Perhaps we’re being moved out somewhere to provide aid?”


“You may be right,” he muttered, resentful of the idea that they’d been training for weeks without much reprise. Nearing the office, he was displeased to see that the other mages were already there rather early. Regardless, Olivia and himself still seemed to be on time.
Roman found the majority of them to be, with as much respect as he could muster, completely vile.


As they walked down a hallway, Olivia was delighted to realize she recognized the door leading into the Barons study. Maybe there was hope for her after all. Maybe she could see if Roman could draw her a map of the estate and she could learn the hallways. Turning the handle, she opened the door, surprised to see that most of their fellow mages had already made their way to the meeting. “Oh, hello everyone! Sorry if we’re late, I somehow managed to lose my way in the confusing hallways; but Roman was nice enough to let me walk with him to the study.” She said as she stepped inside to allow Roman into the room.


Nice was rarely a word used to describe him, and it was rarely accompanied by his first name. He didn’t address the other mages, but his eyebrows shot up and an amused smile that crept at the corner of his lips. “It’s nothing, really, Miss. Andersson.” A funny choice of words on her part, at least to him in his reflections on himself.


“Well, I’m grateful all the same.” She told him as she studied the room. Most of the seats had been claimed already, with the exception being a few seats. Olivia moved towards an unoccupied love-seat and settled down, folding her hands in her lap as she waited for the meeting to start.
 

StormWolf

Elder Member





Location: The Bishop Estate, The Baron's Offices

Interactions: Saboona Saboona - Isolde, Cashi Cashi - Ilya, et all

Mentions:



Roland MacCann

Arms encircling, body flush with the transcendent warmth only a kindred spirit could muster, Roland’s fingers curled against Isolde’s back, clutching her close and tight as if a stiff breeze might carry her away. He knew she was made from tougher stuff, but in Roland’s experience, happiness was always a kick in the pants waiting to happen. He wanted to be wrong. He wanted to be proven the fool more than anything, at least in this. The smell of her, the velvet-soft and summer-sweet tone of her breath against his neck was all he needed. If he could have the silken caress of her hair and the rosebud kiss of her lips against his neck every morning, he’d swear off whiskey for the rest of his days.

Where whiskey warmed Roland and left him hollow, Isolde’s skin against his was sustenance for the soul.

“Shoulder to shoulder, arm in arm. Together,” Roland said, flashing one of his bright grins. Among the rest of the troupe, it might be a rare thing, but perhaps Isolde possessed a power beyond her elemental power, or merely knew how to make the New Columbian smile after getting to know him.

Even after the sordid reveal of Roland’s shame, branded on his back like a common animal, she didn’t think less of him. Standing abreast to her, Roland offered his arm, lacing fingers of his off-hand with hers as they walked together, the message intent.

The Socialite and the Soldier.

The display was overt, earning a few hushed whispers from the more seasoned staff of the estate. Let them gossip, Roland thought, but the perverse brand in his back twinged like a phantom limb. The way it always did before calamity.

Enough was enough! Roland had no supernatural power! He was not clairvoyant, and if the Lord chose him of all people to be a champion of divine power, then the world really was doomed. Roland knew it was just paranoia. Merely hypervigilance and hypercognition, conditioned and tempered in a lifelong crucible of torment and abuse. Just because Roland was happy, for once, didn’t mean that something horrible was going to happen.

Oaken-paneled halls and chambers gave way to the study, the air warmed by bodies already in attendance. Perhaps under different circumstances, Roland would have felt a pang of guilt fed by hypocrisy. He’d tried and tried to hammer on-point punctuality into them. To this day, Roland wasn’t terribly sure if he was successful or not. The whole ordeal had been an uphill battle, oftentimes leaving Roland exhausted and surrendered to the inevitability of saying last rites among one of their number. It was always said that one can lead a horse to water, but you can’t force it to drink.

Perhaps it was unkind to be drawn to Ilya first, but he was the tallest among them, and therefore stood out the most. Furthermore, every artist needs to appreciate his own handiwork every so often. If Roland didn’t comment first, he was certain the Russian would.

“‘Morning, Peril,” he said, Roland’s tone uncharacteristically pleasant. “Chamomile tea with lemon and honey.” Roland gestured to his throat briefly pulling back a baroque chair for Isolde, standing behind her as she settled in, fingers still knit together warmly. Roland didn’t provide any excuse to tardiness, nor his apparent good mood, but his ears still burned. He was a man, after all, not a soulless machine, despite what the rest of them might think. There he stood, all soldier and puritan-cowboy with a flash of devil-red in his scarf, a recent addition to his wardrobe.
 

L0ck0n

Your Friendly Neighborhood Weeb
Vasilis Laskaris
"I Malano Miau"


Watching Maclerie come in after them Sil was going to answer the question she asked when Graves and Andersson also walked in. “There’s 10 now
” They were all coming in at a steady pace, but it was strange that their trainer and the star of the group had not arrived yet. They were drilled early on in their training with being on the dot, and though they were about a minute late due to Val throwing up in a vase they were still on time compared to them. Interesting...

“Not one bit.” Sil inched her way to Maclerie while answering the question. The woman was not often seen working with the team like she should be, so Sil didn’t interact with her as much as she would like to. Sil wanted to get to know her, and see if they could maybe get along. Looking down at her feet she paused. “Uh, Maclerie, where are your shoes
?” Abruptly after that question Bishop and the trainer cowboy walked into the room, hand in hand, which caused Sil to raise her brow. “I malano miau, you’re late Signore McCann. Think you should run a lap or two when we’re done with the meeting.” Sil snorted.

Mood: Surprised, Calm| Location: Bishop Manor: Meeting Room | Tag:
Hell0NHighWater Hell0NHighWater
wickedlittlecritta wickedlittlecritta


coded by weldherwings.
 
Last edited:

Saboona

president thot




Location: in Manor
Interactions: Roland // Sil et. al
Mentions: StormWolf StormWolf L0ck0n L0ck0n
Isolde Bishop // Kitty Maclerie
Isolde shuddered out an 'okay', taking his arm in hers, and tried to will herself to move forward. She was lucky that Roland was much more confident in this than she, for it was his stride that was mostly carrying her own. She tried to avoid the odd gaze from a servant as soon as they entered the manor. Isolde thought she saw Adelaide rushing down a corridor, suddenly locking eyes with the other woman, but she shakily fought off the paranoia by keeping her chin up. She was Isolde Bishop, for heaven's sake. She had more dignity, class and strength than the Vanguard pooled together. Even Arabella, someone who Isolde enjoyed not thinking about as to compare herself. In her mind's eye, the woman was simply a figment of the mind (obviously real, but the less that Isolde had to think about someone one-upping her in both appearances and manners, the better).

This last bit of strength pooled into her spine, clutching Roland's hand with a sudden squeeze. She needed the last kick.

However, entering the Baron's study, she was absolutely distraught to see the entire room full of fellow soldiers. Her eyes widened, though she tried her best to maintain a face full of composure. She wanted out, now. Was there some memo she missed, calling for everyone's attendance in the spacious (yet seemingly claustrophobic) room? She itched her mind, searching the corners for some recollection.

Guided to a chair, Isolde all but collapsed into it. Yet, her spine was still erect (with leftover confidence, now transformed into a back-breaking terror). Sweat danced at the back of her neck, and she tightened her fingers around Roland's on her shoulder. She hoped he wouldn't feel the dampness on her collar.

---

Kitty snorted out a laugh, crossing her arms and regarding Sil with a narrow gaze. "Wouldn't ye care to know, bonnie. Maybe I like havin' me bare toes on the rich man's carpet," the red head said with a tell-tale grin, wiggling her toes in for emphasis. She looked to the others, and turned around completely to hear the door open. Half of her expected the Baron to walk in, probably to chastise the lot of them for just sitting around or to commend his dastardly niece and the menacing cowboy for not showing up. Rather, the two of them did. Striding in, thicker than thieves as it were. Isolde took a seat, with the great New Columbian behind her. Kitty raised a brow, gesturing to the two.

"What's this then? You two makin a bosie now? I dun recall hand-holdin' part of the curriculum, Cowboy," she teased. Dramatically snatching Sil's hand, she waved the interlocked fingers toward Roland and Isolde.

"Am I part of the club yet?" Kitty said in jest, although a bit of true anger soured her words. Isolde frowned, scoffing at the redhead.

"It's not... that's not what this is," Isolde said, fighting back a stammer. "I mean, it is. In a sense. But it's not some... bosie, whatever in God's name that is." The words were hard to come by, now confronted by everyone she had no intention of first revealing her relationship with. She was certain to hear Bernard giving her an ear full of it at any moment. Frowning, with her nose scrunched, she leaned back in the chair to grab Roland's hand tighter.

Kitty made a clucking noise, removing her hand from Vasilis'. Crossing her arms again, she made a face to the brunette.

"This better not be some fecked up form of extra-credit. What, no extra laps for the lady now?" Kitty asked pointedly, cocking her head at Roland.
 

SavannahSmiles

I Move The Stars For No One






Olivia Andersson

As Olivia gazed around the room, she had noticed that there were two of their number that had yet to show up, which was very out of character for the both of them. However, as if summoned by her thoughts, Isolde and Roland walked through the door together and settled themselves in. It seemed they were all accounted for the meeting, though the Baron had yet to show up let and inform them as to why he had gathered them together like this. Glancing around at all her fellow mages, a small frown over-took her face as she noticed one of them was sprawled out in a fallen chair, clearly having not moved from when his chair had fallen backwards. She assumed she had missed the sight when she had first stepped through the door.

Climbing to her feet, Olivia approached Val, stopping near his chair and peering down at him. "Are you okay?" She asked him in concern, extending a hand down to him so that she could help him up from the floor where he had fallen.








Location: Bishop Manor- The Barons Study
Mood: Calm, slightly Concerned
Tags: Hell0NHighWater Hell0NHighWater

code by RI.a
 

Hell0NHighWater

Queen of Hell


↜LOCATION⇁ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎↜MUSIC TO SET THE MOOD⇁
Baron Bishop's Study ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎ Rich, White, Straight, Men - Kesha

↜INTERACTIONS⇁ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎↜OOC⇁
wickedlittlecritta wickedlittlecritta | ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎More people are mentioned
| Saboona Saboona |etc. ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎I'm lazy ples forgive me


â«· Arabella de Montagu â«ž


“Good morning, Mr. Murphy.” Glancing over the brim of the novel whose contents she had been skimming, Arabella managed a politely frigid smile, “Thank you, as always, for the keen observation. I wouldn’t have noticed had you not brought it to my attention, perhaps the Baron is in need of better insulation--considering the chill found its way in, despite the precautions taken to keep it out.” Amber irises snapped from Devin to the man brooding against the wall. The smile on her lips flattened and she returned to the words on the page, doing her absolute best to ignore everything and everyone else.

It wasn’t until the commotion of more people entering the room that she looked up again, catching Ms. Maclerie’s question and, after taking a moment for her brain to unweave the accent from the words being said, decided to offer a plain response--void of any emotion other than cordial friendliness, “I’m sure it has something to do with the war, my dear. That is what we are all here for, after all. In case you’ve forgotten.”

The entrance of Ms. Andersson and Mr. Graves, and Ms. Bishop and Mr. MacCann not long thereafter, piqued Arabella’s curiosity enough to let the book sit idly in her lap. Her gaze bounced between the four before finally resting on the New Colombian and the discoloration of bruising on his features. Faint amusement curled the edges of her mouth and Bella settled back into her seat but not without casting an obnoxiously gloating look toward Ilya--as if she were now convinced he had lost and wanted to rub his nose in it.

Diverting her attention back to Kitty, she heard Vasilis’ comment about shoes and her gaze fell to the Scottish woman’s bare feet. Completely caught off guard by the site, Arabella didn’t realize she had gasped aloud as she twisted in her seat to appraise the woman’s outfit properly. “Ms. Maclerie, it is terribly uncivil to prance around without the proper footwear, especially when this is not your house.”

A frown settled across her lips, expression fixed in almost parental disappointment, “If you need shoes, darling, I have plenty to spare--provided we are the same size of course.”

The conversation diverted toward the rather interesting manner in which Isolde and Roland had presented themselves, and while Bella felt it rather uncouth to blatantly display affection in this particular public setting, it was really none of her business. “What people choose to do on their own time, is their own choice, Ladies. I’m sure Mr. MacCann is quite capable of remaining impartial and fair during the course of training. If he is not, then I’m sure the matter will be dealt with accordingly.” Her lips stretched into a tight smile and her gaze narrowed, drifting between Vasilis and Kitty for a moment before returning to her book. “Regardless, it is not your place to make such judgements.”





[/color]
 

Hell0NHighWater

Queen of Hell


↜LOCATION⇁‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎↜VIBES⇁
Baron Bishop's Study‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎‎Arctic Monkeys - She Looks Like Fun


↜INTERACTIONS⇁‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎↜OOC⇁
SavannahSmiles SavannahSmiles ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏‎ ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎Oop I tried
noonshine noonshine ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏‎ ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎
‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏‎‎‏




⑈ Valentin Auclair ⑈

Valentin had remained on his back, with his legs hanging over the side of the seat, even as Vasilis disappeared from his field of view. An overly dramatic sigh flew past his lips, gaze trained on the ceiling as it spun round and round and round--to the point where he thought he might throw up again if he stared at it for too much longer.

A shadow lurked across his features, catching his attention and forcing his gaze to the face that sprung into view a few seconds later--adorned with wide-eyed concern that struck him as unusually innocent for someone her age. She said something to him. He could tell from the way her lips moved, but the words they uttered sounded too foregin for his brain to process. Olivia extended a hand out to him, brimming with good intentions and a kindness that Valentin didn’t believe himself to be particularly deserving of.

“Oui--I am now that I have seen your enchanting beauty, cacahuÚte.” He slurred behind a comically large grin. A titter rumbled out of him, eyeing the earth mage with a flirtatious wiggle of his brow. “You are lucky to possess the kind of face people would sing ballads about, non?”

Reaching out to take Olivia’s hand, Valentin let her tug him to his feet with a force he hadn’t known she possessed. With his feet firmly planted on the ground and the entire room now edging in and out of focus, he stuck a hand out to balance himself against the back of a chair that had yet to be put upright. His entire body began to tilt backwards, at odds with his own equilibrium, and his feet shuffled with it. Miraculously recovering his balance and finally remembering how legs worked, Valentin stood like a newborn fawn--wobbling as if the ground beneath his feet shifted constantly and violently.

Lifting a hand to wildly gesture toward the man Olivia had walked in with, his mouth morphed into a lopsided smirk. “Most people are not fortunate enough to be made beautiful; I am sure Monsieur Graves can attest to that.” He snorted on the end of another drunken giggle, making the mistake of staggering backward and stumbling over the chair Olivia had just helped him out of. Cackling like a man with a couple screws missing, Valentin found himself back on the floor in nearly the same position he started in.



[/color]
 

Cashi

New Member
MOOD: Lotus Eater

LOCATION: The Baron's Office (Wall)
two
MENTIONS: Pretty much everyone but specifically Hell0NHighWater Hell0NHighWater & StormWolf StormWolf
two
TAGS:
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
two
TL;DR: Ilya has an icicle up his butt, what else is new?
two
Ilya

The rest of the Vanguard began sweeping through the doorway, and Ilya was mildly surprised that he and Arabella had been the first ones there--though at the clip they were taking down the stairs and halls, it shouldn’t have been that much of a revelation. She sat comfortably in the love seat, book in hand, reading away as though nothing bothered her.
Devin had the misfortune of arriving directly after them, his cheery mood poking a small hole of sunlight in the frosty silence of the Baron’s office, and then Sil and Val walked in. Well. Sil walked in--Valentin more like fell into the room.
Isolde and Roland arrived next, and even in his foul mood Ilya couldn’t help but twitch an eyebrow at the intertwined fingers of the pair. Ilya was not an expert in relationships by any means, but even he would be hard-pressed to not realise that there was something evidently going on between the two.
His eyes lit in acknowledgement as Roland addressed him, gesturing to his neck. “Chamomile tea with lemon and honey,” the Cowboy stated, before pulling out a chair with gentlemanly attention for Isolde to sit in. Ilya’s glacial stare could strip paint from walls.
What the fuck is chamomile.
Arabella’s grating voice caught his ear and his attention turned back to her as she lobbed a thinly disguised insult in his direction. He didn’t trust himself to answer, instead opting to close his eyes and grit his teeth, pretending he hadn’t heard. The absolute last thing he needed was to be stuck hanging around a vindictive mage.
The rest of the mages filed in one after the other, some together, some alone, until they were all assembled in the Baron’s neat and tastefully curated office, a ragtag crew of the world’s finest guinea pigs. Looking around the room at all of them, he wondered with some trepidation how in the hell Roland was going to turn this barnyard explosion into a well-oiled unit of magical destruction--if that was indeed the Baron’s plan. Some of them were inebriated, some twitchy, and some looked like they’d sooner punch themselves rather than anyone else. Ilya was no exception: he had his size going for him, but he knew nothing of fighting in a war, as untested as the uniform and gun he was sure would be assigned to him shortly.
He watched from his place against the wall, taciturn and unapproachable, arms crossed, his mood sinking lower the longer they waited for the Baron to arrive.
We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars
code by valen t.


The rest of the Vanguard began sweeping through the doorway, and Ilya was mildly surprised that he and Arabella had been the first ones there--though at the clip they were taking down the stairs and halls, it shouldn’t have been that much of a revelation. She sat comfortably in the love seat, book in hand, reading away as though nothing bothered her.
Devin had the misfortune of arriving directly after them, his cheery mood poking a small hole of sunlight in the frosty silence of the Baron’s office, and then Sil and Val walked in. Well. Sil walked in--Valentin more like fell into the room.
Isolde and Roland arrived next, and even in his foul mood Ilya couldn’t help but twitch an eyebrow at the intertwined fingers of the pair. Ilya was not an expert in relationships by any means, but even he would be hard-pressed to not realise that there was something evidently going on between the two.
His eyes lit in acknowledgement as Roland addressed him, gesturing to his neck. “Chamomile tea with lemon and honey,” the Cowboy stated, before pulling out a chair with gentlemanly attention for Isolde to sit in. Ilya’s glacial stare could strip paint from walls.
What the fuck is chamomile.
Arabella’s grating voice caught his ear and his attention turned back to her as she lobbed a thinly disguised insult in his direction. He didn’t trust himself to answer, instead opting to close his eyes and grit his teeth, pretending he hadn’t heard. The absolute last thing he needed was to be stuck hanging around a vindictive mage.
The rest of the mages filed in one after the other, some together, some alone, until they were all assembled in the Baron’s neat and tastefully curated office, a ragtag crew of the world’s finest guinea pigs. Looking around the room at all of them, he wondered with some trepidation how in the hell Roland was going to turn this barnyard explosion into a well-oiled unit of magical destruction--if that was indeed the Baron’s plan. Some of them were inebriated, some twitchy, and some looked like they’d sooner punch themselves rather than anyone else. Ilya was no exception: he had his size going for him, but he knew nothing of fighting in a war, as untested as the uniform and gun he was sure would be assigned to him shortly.
He watched from his place against the wall, taciturn and unapproachable, arms crossed, his mood sinking lower the longer they waited for the Baron to arrive.
 

SavannahSmiles

I Move The Stars For No One






Olivia Andersson

At first it seemed as if Val had not heard her speaking to him, if his blank staring up at her was any indication. Her brow furrowed slightly, her lips parting to ask once again if he was okay only to be stopped in her tracks when flirtatious words tumbled from Val's lips. Olivia was momentarily speechless at the unexpected compliments from her fellow mage, and she nearly missed him reaching out to grasp her hand. Holding onto him tightly, she heaved backwards with as much force as she could since it was made very clear that Val was not planning on providing her with any assistance in getting him vertical and off the ground.

She kept a tight grip on his hand, tugging him forward when he looked as if he was about to pitch backwards again. She only released him when he looked as steady on his feet as he could get. At first Olivia couldn't figure out what was causing the Frenchman to act in such a manner, but only a few seconds near him and she could smell the alcohol on his breath.

That did explain some things, though why he was this drunk at ten o'clock in the morning escaped her. The barb Val shot at Roman distracted her for just a few seconds, but it was enough for her to miss Val stumbling backwards over the chair. Gasp hitching in her throat, she shot forward to try and grab him, but her fingers barely brushed against his arm and down he went. Gaping down at the giggling man, she held back an exasperated sigh as she examined the situation before her.

Leaving him on the ground for a moment, she grabbed the knocked over chair and set it upright before turning her attention back to the inebriated mage. Reaching down, she grabbed his arm and pulled him back to his feet once more, staggering slightly under his weight. Wrapping her arms around his waist to steady him, she gently lowered him into the chair, hovering near him for a few moments just in case he pitched out of it.

"Sit right there for a few moments, okay?" She said gently but firmly before heading to the door. She poked her head out and managed to wave down a passing servant. She spoke briefly with them before stepping back inside to wait. Shortly there was a knock on the door and a servant stepped in to hand Olivia a glass. Thanking the servant, she marched back over to Val and forced the glass of water into his hands. "I think a little water will do you some good." She said with a sweet smile, the look in her eyes telling him that he really didn't have a choice in the matter.








Location: Bishop Manor- The Barons Study
Mood: Calm, slightly Concerned, and a little Exasperated
Tags: Hell0NHighWater Hell0NHighWater

code by RI.a
 
Last edited:

wickedlittlecritta

the once and future twink
Devin Murphy

Devin grinned at Arabella's response, utterly unrepentant and unchastised. "Truly a tragedy," he said, sliding lower down in his seat and throwing his arms out over the arms of the chair and taking up far more of the chair than a man his size reasonably ought to have. "All that money, and he can't even keep a nippy little breeze out."

He was still finding new and obnoxious ways to sprawl as the rest of the vanguard trickled in, crowned by the scandal of Isolde and Roland entering arm and arm.

"Oh, surely it's not our place," he said, because he was apparently keen on being in Miss de Montagu's bad graces today. He was now sideways in the chair, legs resting on one arm."But what else are us wee folk to do but gossip? How else to keep your ladyships and your lordships humble?"

He turned to watch Olivia pull Valentine upright a second time, arms crossed over the other arm of the chair and chin resting on them, and added, "It might be safer to leave him on the floor, love."
 

Hell0NHighWater

Queen of Hell


↜LOCATION⇁ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎↜MUSIC TO SET THE MOOD⇁
Baron Bishop's Study ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎ Rich, White, Straight, Men - Kesha

↜INTERACTIONS⇁ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎↜OOC⇁
wickedlittlecritta wickedlittlecritta ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ Oop Woop
‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎


â«· Arabella de Montagu â«ž


Humming a flat note, Bella lifted her gaze over the brim of the novel and assessed the man wiggling about in his chair. Could he not get comfortable? Watching with muted befuddlement, she clicked her tongue softly against the roof of her mouth, “Money isn’t a cure-all, darling. It can’t buy everything.” The corner of her mouth hitched a bit higher before she hid the smile behind the book in her hands, “Like love, personality, and the means to ‘’keep a nippy little breeze out’.”

Arabella was content to return to the novel, finding it oddly informative now that she was actually trying to read it, but the sound of Devin’s voice from the chair adjacent to her forced her back into a conversation. “You mistake me dear. I was not making a comment on wealth or social status--only that it is none of our business and particularly rude to get involved in personal affairs that clearly have nothing to do with us.”

Leveling the man with a dry stare, Bella pursed her lips before returning her gaze to the text. “If you have such limited options, darling, then might I suggest you ask Mr. Auclair what the French have done to
humble their nobility.” As soon as the words left her mouth, a commotion cut her gaze toward the bumbling fool previously mentioned--who also happened to be just as unable to properly sit in a chair as Mr. Murphy.

Bella rolled her eyes and sighed, “Unbelievable.”






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Hell0NHighWater

Queen of Hell


↜LOCATION⇁‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎↜VIBES⇁
Baron Bishop's Study‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎‎Arctic Monkeys - She Looks Like Fun


↜INTERACTIONS⇁‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎↜OOC⇁
SavannahSmiles SavannahSmiles ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏‎ ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎Someone needs their
‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏‎ ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ drinking privileges removed
‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏‎‎‏




⑈ Valentin Auclair ⑈

By divine intervention in the form of Olivia Andersson, Valentin’s ass found the seat cushion without incident. Hooking one leg over the arm of the chair, he slumped into the furniture at an odd angle. A grin split across his face just as askew as the rest of him and he raised both hands in an exaggerated thumbs up. “D'accord, I will not move.”

Val watched her turn her back and immediately began to slump back to the floor. Half hovering off the chair with his legs extended all the way in front of him, he burst into a volley of inebriated cackles. When Olivia came back with a glass, he sat up on instinct--thinking it to be more alcohol only to be sorely disappointed once the word ‘water’ came out of her mouth.

Crossing his arms, the Frenchman sunk back into the chair with a whine, “Non, non, non, I am allergic to water. You will kill me, cacahuÚte.”

The spitting image of a toddler pouting in an oversized chair, Valentin shook his head back and forth with enough force to tossle his hair out of it’s meticulous style. Sticking a finger out accusingly, he glared at the offending glass, “It is a foul beast! I am not to be tri--tri--trifl--merde, c’est des conneries! Je suis trop bourré pour parler anglais.” Rolling in his seat, Val pressed the side of his face into the back of the chair and pouted.


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wickedlittlecritta

the once and future twink
Devin Murphy

Location: Bishop Manor, the baron's study
Interactions: Arabella Hell0NHighWater Hell0NHighWater


Devin had anticipated several possible responses from Arabella, but the one he got made him sit up and place a hand on his chest like a shocked and gently bred lady, though he grinned in delight. "Miss de Montagu, are you proposing what I think you're proposing?" he asked. "And I thought the English didn't know how to have a good time."
 
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SavannahSmiles

I Move The Stars For No One






Olivia Andersson

Olivia was very taken aback when, instead of taking the glass of water she had offered to him, Valentin folded his arms across his chest, looking like a very petulant child that was refusing to eat their vegetables. She had expected to leave Val with the water and return to her seat before the Baron arrived, but it seemed that Val was not going to make it that easy. Resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose, she leaned down until she was able to meet his gaze, giving him a reassuring smile. "I promise the water won't kill you, in fact, it might make you feel a bit better." Extending the glass once again, she tried to coax Val to at least take a sip, feeling for all the world like a mother trying to wrangle a toddler.








Location: Bishop Manor- The Barons Study
Mood: Calm, slightly Concerned, and a little Exasperated
Tags: Hell0NHighWater Hell0NHighWater

code by RI.a
 

noonshine

Dingus McPingus


ROMAN GRAVES




Staying close by the door leant him a look at the room, and the strange pair that was entering. His eyes tracked his fellow fire mage with the New Coloumbian. Their hands wound together, and the boldness of the action in front of all of them was a baffling display of whatever quickly budding idiocy was in Miss. Bishops’s head. Who could blame Mr. MacCann for having interest in her, she was, after all, an objectively good match for anyone looking to have or maintain some sort of status. An absolute waste on someone who may not be interested in that.

She must have been pregnant. There was no other reason for them to be so close.



His eyes turned to Miss Maclerie, who was shoeless like a chimp and inquisitive with the same primitive fervor.



Surveying the room he found Miss. Anderson helping Mr. Auclair who then proceeded to take a swing at him verbally, to which he scoffed. The hurtful intent would be remembered, however he was a bit too involved with his own appearance to see any truth in it.

With some amusement he watched him return to the ground, and Roman decided to keep a snide comment to himself while the room was full. There was no need to add more to the noise. Instead he watched the man, considering what it must have been like to be so constantly out of control. Horrifying. He had little pity for him.



The fuss Miss. Anderson was making seemed completely unnecessary, but he would not speak to stop her, there was no point, she seemed intent on it and insisting otherwise would likely upset the little ditz.



TEMPLATE © BOKEH
 
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L0ck0n

Your Friendly Neighborhood Weeb
Vasilis Laskaris
"I Malano Miau"


Sil was flabbergasted as Kitty grabbed her hand, and waved their entwined fingers around. There wasn't a specific way she planned to address them holding hands, and honestly never expected it to ever happen. She opened her mouth to say something, but stopped as Maclerie let go. Staring at the palm of her hand she glanced up to Kitty, and then to Isolde who was still holding Roland's hand. Who knew those two would find interest in each other. Or, perhaps they were holding hands for fun, but that didn't seem to be the case considering how Isolde responded to Kitty.

Glancing back to Maclerie Sil put her hand in her pocket, and let the side of her mouth turn up into a smile. "Ay, Maclerie, take me to dinner next time." The oldest comment in the book, but she enjoyed saying it.

"I gotta agree though," Sil acted like she was thinking by placing her chin in the space between her thumb and index finger. "Isolde should do a lap or so for bein' late too." Sil then raised her brow as she smirked. "Holding hands while running a lap maybe?" The thought alone gave Sil a slight chuckle.

Mood: Shocked, low-key Happy, Chill | Location: Bishop Manor: Meeting Room | Tag:
Saboona Saboona
StormWolf StormWolf


coded by weldherwings.
 
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Saboona

president thot
» the study doors open
The Baron strides in, suit pressed and clean, face fixed into his usual grimace. He regards everyone with the ounce of respect that one can expect.

Isolde bursts from her seat, dropping Roland's hand, and rushes forward. "Uncle, I need to speak with you, privately--"

"Not now, Miss Bishop, did you gleefully forget the part where I expressed this was a group meeting?" He said, sparing her a side glance as he went to sit at his desk. She followed him around, looking to the others with a skittish gaze. She frowned, but only made an audible grumble; clearly used to her Uncle's patience. Placing her hands on his desk, her own grimace deepening, she leaned toward him. Opening her mouth to speak, he silenced her before any words could fall out with a simple hand raised. "Sit, please, Miss Bishop. This is important news for everyone."

Isolde bit the inside of her cheek, flexing her jaw and turned swiftly on her heel. Returning to her seat, she placed both hands in her lap. Bitterly, she twisted her fingers together.

"Anyway, good morning everyone. It's a pleasure to see you, and thank you all for arriving timely. I apologize for my lateness-- specific things have come up, needing to be done much faster than we'd like. The ideal plan was for this to happen in another few weeks or so, but things change and well, we ought to adapt to that. The way of war, isn't it?" He spoke with little emotion, simply exchanging glances with everyone in the room.

"I'll say it simply. One of the supply holds in France has been taken back by the Germans. They'd only managed to take it by the skins of their teeth, and it was a swift and brutal counter-attack. Many men have died, and they need our forces-- British forces. However, with what's been happening in France and le fantom, it's been decided that you will be heading in as well. A proper vanguard, no doubt," he said, but after sparing a look to Valentin he simply licked his lips with an exasperated glance. "Or at least, becoming. Right, Mr. MacCann?"

The Baron sighed this time, steepling his fingers beneath this chin. "Given that we're accelerating plans a bit, we're going to have to jump ahead with the bonding. Lord knows that you need the extra fire power."

Kitty perked up, raising her eyebrow and giving the Baron a quirked grin. "Bondin'? What are we, mechanics? Ye intend to make suits of us?"

He shook his head, regarding the Scot with a sigh of contempt. "No, nothing of the sort. I can't guarantee you'd be physically able to work a mech in this short of a time. No, this is something specific to the Vanguard. It's been in the process for a long time now, and you'll be the first large-scale trial of it. There's no side-effects to the bonding. Well, nothing that will kill you anyway."

Isolde frowned.

"Being mages, and having elemental abilities, it's quite trying to be restricted to the realm of your powers, correct? Blood Bonding is an ancient process, dating far back to the Celts. Essentially, two mages are... linked, by blood. This process ties them, emotionally and spiritually. You will share mana, can tap into each other's abilities, and create devastating-- powerful, in fact-- combinations. It's been decided to be a necessity, having you on board," he said, then swallowed with a pause. "I'll be frank with you lot, it's going to be a way of tracking you. Should anything go awry on the battlefield, and should you be taken as a Prisoner of War, this is one way that we can ensure you are returned safely. But, on the flip side, there is a whole realm of powers that you will have access to. Really, it's a win-win for both parties."

Not pausing to hear anyone out, he produced a piece of paper from his vest pocket. "The pairings will be as followed. Miss Bishop and Mr. King, Miss Andersson and Mr. Murphy, Miss de Montagu and Mr. Zabolotsky, Mr. Auclair and Mr. Graves, and finally Miss Maclerie and Miss Laskaris. It's going to be a whole affair, with the papers and everything. A big press movement for the Vanguard, so be on your best behaviour. Your blood bonding clothes can be found in your rooms, and I expect you all at the chapel at the edge of the property by eleven tonight."

Isolde, gripping her fingers to a point of nearly ripping the skin off, stood abruptly. "Uncle, this sounds like a wedding. You don't mean--"

He turned to his niece, nodding absently at the thought. "I suppose, yes. It is a blood wedding, of sorts. Anyway, that's what I needed you here for. Feel free to spend your day as you please. I will be here to answer questions."

Then, all at once, the room erupted in action.
code by @Nano
 

noonshine

Dingus McPingus


ROMAN GRAVES




Roman’s eyes turned to the Baron as he stepped through the door, his own greeting a nod accompanied by a simper. There was not much to be done in way of having an exchange with him, they were having a group meeting, hopefully he could catch him afterward to better ingratiate himself.



It was a relief to finally see the man step in, and a delight to watch Isolde make an ass out of herself almost immediately. His suspicions of her pregnancy only grew, his brows raised with more amusement than he’d felt since they’d arrived.



Once she had been seated, he listened in silence, an anticipatory chill creeping up his spine the more the man talked about the war efforts. The youngest of his family and so often ill, he had never seen battle, and had been grateful to be so sheltered from it- but as the only mage in the Graves family he was left with little choice once his father had found out about this rather niche part of the effort. The spiteful bastard would never let go of the incident in which he burned down one of their estates.



The bonding was unexpected, and suddenly he was appreciative that the Scot had asked for a better explanation. It was much worse than a mechanical affair- it was some invasive sounding primitive spellwork. Briefly, he glanced to Miss Anderson, the conversation they had had in the hall about their expectations surely could have never amounted to this he did not wonder what she was feeling- but did wish they had had more of an idea of what they had wandered into- and he regretted not leaving her lost in the hall.



Bonding, tracking, powers. He was at a loss for words completely- and then the pairings.



Lured so momentarily into a sense of comfort, he thought he would be placed with one of the two women left but then his name was said alongside Mr. Auclair’s.



Heat rose to his head, he sputtered out “Me? And
” he looked to the drunken Frenchman, wishing the man would disintegrate before him then his gaze turned back to Bishop. “There must be some- some sort of mistake, it seems you’ve
 A wedding?” he gestured to the two women who were placed together, mouth dry, “there must be some mistake,” looking again to Valentin, he shuddered. Media being present to witness their group humiliation only made it worse- as much as he enjoyed that kind of unnecessary attention it was a threat now, he was suddenly unable to trust himself, and the churning in his gut was a quick indication as to why. Swallowing the vile taste that built in his mouth with some force he curled his hands into tight fists stiff at his sides.



The temperature of the room seemed to rise around him.



At first he did not notice that the sleeves of his shirt were heating so much the edges began to brown, only when they smoldered and loosened at the cuff did he pat at them to little avail, the smell of burning cotton meeting his nostrils and not doing much in the way of calming his nerves.



“Me? With- with-” he stammered, "that?" Mouth failing to tack on the word 'man' he did not correct or add it on, it didn't feel right, Valentin was less of a person to him and more of an ongoing issue- and suddenly he was presented with the idea that that ongoing issue would be something he had to bond by blood with- whatever that entailed.



TEMPLATE © BOKEH
 
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wickedlittlecritta

the once and future twink
Devin Murphy

Location: Bishop Manor, the baron's study
Interactions: Olivia SavannahSmiles SavannahSmiles
I gotta get better, gotta get better and maybe we'll work it out
As the baron spoke, the meaning of Devin's earlier readings became clear at once. Ah. He sat there, still twisted oddly in the chair, while the baron continued explaining the blood bonding. He didn't buy the "ancient Celtic" bit--English occultists were fond of slapping that on anything they'd invented to make it seem more legitimate--but he was sure the spell was solid anyway.

He was so absolutely certain that he was going to wind up saddled to Roman Graves so that the two of them could go about making each other more miserable in peace that he almost didn't process his name following after Olivia's. When it did, all he could do was stare at the baron. It wasn't that he didn't like Olivia. That would have been easier. Simpler. The problem was that he did like her, and she absolutely did not deserve to be tied to someone like him, and especially not through something that sounded so invasive and permanent.

How many times was he going to be forced upon someone, unwanted and unwelcome?

Devin slouched back in the chair, and he desperately wanted to look at Olivia, and couldn't bear to look over and see her disappointed. Or worse, look over and see that she wasn't.

Not even Roman's absolute outrage made him feel better.

He thought about the lovers crossing the knight of swords. If they were going to be, well. Married. He was going to have to make sure he was somebody she deserved then, wasn't he?

Devin looked over at Olivia, trying to decide what exactly it was he was feeling and wondering if it was written on his face, and offered her a tiny, nervous smile.
 

Hell0NHighWater

Queen of Hell


↜LOCATION⇁‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎↜VIBES⇁
Baron Bishop's Study‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎P!ATD - King Of The Clouds


↜INTERACTIONS⇁‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎↜OOC⇁
noonshine noonshine | etc. ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏‎ ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎Sorry if this is lame ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏‎ ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎
‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏‎‎‏




⑈ Valentin Auclair ⑈

Staring into the cup of water Olivia had forced him to take, Valentin watched the surface ripple from his trembling hands. The entire world felt as if it had been submerged in that glass and he was straining to hear the words that were being said--but he couldn’t focus let alone bother to think. Rolling the ankle that dangled off the arm of his chair, his gaze lifted just high enough to look at one of the tiny decorative statues on a shelf.

Both of his legs felt spongy and his arms needed to move. There were eight cupboards that he could count and didn’t know what was in them. Curiosity burned in the back of his inebriated skull and if it weren’t for the fact that he couldn’t control his motor functions, he might have gotten up to look. There were beads on the curtains hanging just behind the Baron Bishop. Val wanted to flick them. The jello in his legs built like the energy in a compressed spring. He wanted to shout. He needed to shout. Mr. Graves was giving him the evil eye. Why? What did he do? He couldn’t recall--which meant that whatever it was, it was probably offensive and utterly hilarious. Valentin’s hands twitched in his lap. Eyes blinking, still lost in whatever alcoholic daydream was currently dominating his mind.

“The real mistake was your father forgetting to pull out, monsieur.” He grumbled behind a crooked smile that didn’t reach his eyes. Bringing the glass of water to his mouth, his nose crinkled against the stench of burning fabric. Having absolutely no concept of what was turning his fellow mage into an active volcano, Val watched the wisps of smoke billow out of his sleeves with childish glee.

He twisted in his seat, casting a glance behind him before turning back around with an expression of faux innocence. ‘Me?’ Val mouthed, pointing to himself with a shade of genuine confusion. For a second he almost wished he was sober enough to make sense of what was happening. His head fell against the back of the chair. Some of his hair fell in his face from the sudden movement, but he did not seem to notice or care. Val extended his glass of water out in front of him in a botched toast, “Enculer une mouche, face de cul!”

“Mr. Auclair,” The sound of his name being hissed with a chilling amount of anger pulled his attention right to Arabella. Val hadn’t noticed her stand nor had he noticed her remove herself from her seat to glare down at him. Scowling, he unconsciously slouched back into the chair and cradled the glass to his chest. “Pull yourself together. I will not have this conversation with you again.”

The moment she turned back to say something to the Baron, Valentin stuck his tongue out and flipped her off. With his high ruined and the alcohol beginning to make his stomach ache again, Valentin slid onto the floor and after struggling for a handful of minutes managed to get himself to his feet. “Avale mes couilles,” He spat, slurring his syllables to the point where they were almost incomprehensible, “I’ll do whatever the fuck I wan--”

A harsh slap of skin against skin punctured the rest of his sentence. Valentin’s head had snapped to the side from the force of the contact, cheek numb and hot and tingling all at the same time. His smouldering stare held onto the woman that had struck him. He could feel his thoughts all gnarl together as the temptation to hurt her poisoned his bloodstream. Val’s hand tightened around the glass he was holding, knuckles turning white from the force of his grip.

“You will go to your room and sober up.” Arabella seethed, towering over him in a manner that made him wholly uncomfortable. “And you will stop acting like a petulant child, or God help me, I’ll lock you in the barn with the bloody horses.”

A humourless chuckle blew past him and he glanced down at his hand to find water oozing from between his fingers--having cracked the glass just enough to render it useless. Valentin’s gaze drifted back up to her and a hollow smile pulled at the corners of his mouth in a manner that made him seem dangerously unhinged. “O-kay, madamosselle. You do that. Have your little imaginary chat and we’ll see how much help your ‘God’ gives you.” Grabbing her wrist, he forced the broken cup into her hands with a sardonic titter and leaned forward until his lips were at the shell of her ear. Deepening his voice, he purred, “Hit me like that again, Arabella.”

She jerked her arm away, but he wouldn’t let her go, “Unhand me you--you--animal!”

Valentin snickered softly, “That is not a very nice thing to say, Princesse. What would your mother say about that, hm?” Abruptly releasing her, he watched her stagger a few steps back with a smile.

“Excusez moi,” He drawled sarcastically, bending into a clumsy and exaggerated bow as he turned his attention to the Baron and the rest of the room, “It would seem I have a barn to go lock myself into.” Flashing a falsely chripper grin, Valentin blew a kiss to Arabella before turning on his heel and, without stumbling, marched out of the Baron’s study.



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