IC CLOSED ANACHRONISTIC Orion's Court || IC

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Isaac Harcourt
Isaac was not good at celebrations. He didn't know how to wear jubilation, and was perhaps a dour man. A quiet evening alone with a book held far more appeal to him than the swirl of skirts and sway of strings. But the Magi would be found dead before he missed such an important gathering. Therefore, he dressed in uniform, braided his hair back, and arrived promptly. Isaac wished he'd been stationed that night, but instead he choked on the free rein he was given. The bright-eyed man lingered around the edges of the room, watching the party with a blank expression, his arms across his chest. He wasn't the only one, but he was certain he stood out among the vivacious crowd.

Sharpened grey eyes already rested on the king when he gathered the attention of the crowd. King Orion praised his sons, Prince Julian and Prince Cain, both of whom had returned from successful campaigns, and had earned their accolades. But the night was for more than just them — it was for Cervia in its entirety. The king's speech was short, and at the end he bid his guests resume their merriment, with the promise of a future surprise. Isaac remained pressed against the wall, neither drinking nor dancing. He wanted to do as his king commanded, yet the spirit of the evening did not reach him. Instead, he watched. He watched as Magi were brought out as food for the Vampir. His eyes lingered on one of the girls, and she stared back at him through a vacant expression. Isaac blinked, and looked away. And then he left his wall to venture outside, away from the predictable scene and the crowded room.

King Orion summoned the attention of his guests again as he began a secondary speech. This time, the dangerously enchanting Vampir focused on the rebels. He spoke of the harm they wished upon Cervia.

Isaac took pride in his loyalty. He never uttered a word of insurgence and always carried out orders without hesitation. It was his duty, and he never moved with doubt. But uncertainty visited him some nights. A legacy gnawed at his mind, along with visions of a beautiful but cruel king. Isaac always bit the doubts down, swallowing them until they were trapped in the pit of his stomach. But he could not stop himself from pondering the ruthlessness of his king, who spoke of ending subversives with all the care of killing flies. But Orion was his king, and the Were were rebels. It was their choice to bend or break, and while Isaac could admire their tenacity, they were fighting a war that had ended before he was born. And gentle hands rarely broke sticks. King Orion knew that. He knew many things that made him an apt ruler.

Amazing, was the first thought that crossed Isaac's mind as King Orion declared a sunlit execution. Terrifying, was the second. The Vampir were creatures of the night. That was where they belonged. How could they live in the light? And how magnificent would the king look beneath the overwhelming brightness of the sun?

King Orion finished his secondary speech with his promised surprise. Dazzling lights, loud and bright, coloured the stars. Delight filled the faces of the crowd as the king was joined by a woman who'd kept his company for much of the evening. Isaac did not know her, but his lingered upon the two until the king and his companion were out of sight.
 
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~ Octavia ~

LOCATION | INTERACTIONS | MENTIONS

She couldn't help the smirk that grew on her face at the annoyance she drew from Hector. It wasn't like she wanted to annoy him, rather it was fun! Octavia does this with many people actually. He's anything special when it comes to interactions and if she could Octavtia would be talking to someone else. But as it is, Hector was the first relative her gaze landed on…that wasn't one of the honored guests that is.

Rolling her eyes at his obvious lie she went to retort when their father called for attention. The speech was elegant and each word was used effectively. Octavia wanted to be able to talk like her father can, draw in a crowd like him, and have the confidence he wore every day. Who knew if she would be able to achieve that goal, it's not like she'll inherit much. Hell, she might not end up being useful to the family at all.

Cutting from her line of thoughts Octavia watched as her father raised his glass in her older brother's direction. She couldn't help the pang of envy that shot her in the heart. This was their party so it was to be expected but that didn't stop the envious gaze she shot her brothers before the speech concluded and the sky was lit up with various different colors. Octavia looked in awe at the colors in the sky and, even before Hector mentioned getting a closer look, she began wandering toward the courtyard to get a better look.

Once her feet touched the ground of the courtyard her eyes widened even more and a childlike smile was plastered on her face. It was amazing! "It's beautiful," Octavia almost whispered in awe. "Who knew father had this planned." Her gaze left the sky to look over at Hector, amazed by the fireworks.


 
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Hector Penrose
Hector didn't look over his shoulder to see if Octavia followed him out of the ballroom as he crossed the threshold into the courtyard, passing more than a few equally awe-struck partygoers. His gaze barely slipped from the sky, and he bumped into more than one person, but none of them seemed too troubled. The young Vampir came to a stop in the courtyard, marvelling at the fireworks which swooped down and danced through the sky. Then he heard his half-sister speak beside him. So she had followed him. Her whispered tone as she spoke echoed his own wonder.

"It's amazing," Hector returned, still focused on the sky. "I've never seen anything like this…" His words lingered, his eyes unwavering as he went through the colours in his head — trying to guess which one would come next. The blue ones were his favourite. Hector lost himself to the spectacle for a moment before the dark-haired Vampir remembered himself. It was a surprise to delight and amaze, and it had done just that. But with his lips slightly parted, he felt as if he'd been gawking. Hector swallowed, and looked over to Octavia. She was already looking at him. He scratched his neck.

"You didn't know?" Hector asked. He expected his royal half-siblings to know things that others didn't, but he supposed if the king wanted it to truly be a surprise, it made sense that he hadn't told Octavia. The young Vampir wondered if he'd told any of them. "Have you ever seen them before?" He further inquired, a hint of awe still in his voice, as the lights coloured the courtyard around them. He felt his heart pounding enthusiastically in his chest.

 
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~ Octavia ~

LOCATION | INTERACTIONS | MENTIONS

It was the look of awe on Hector's face that Octavia quicker her lip in a half smile. She'd never seen such a look on his face, and for a moment she wanted to tease him for gawking like a child but something held the comment back. Maybe it was because even she found the spectacle to be amazing. While she has seen fireworks, she's never seen ones like these. The colors were vibrant and entertaining to watch. It was almost hypnotizing.

Father really went all out for her older brothers…

Another pang of jealousy came as she began to compare herself to them. Why did it seem like father plays favorites? She couldn't remember the last time she's gotten any kind of praise or affection.

Snapping away from those thoughts quickly, Octavia scoffed, "As if I get told anything important." There was a sense of sadness to her tone as she did want to help out in the family more. However it looks like father has other plans. "It was likely a secret from everyone for the surprise factor ," She mused in thought for a moment. No, that's not right. Someone else in the family has to have been aware of his surprise.

Shaking her head at Hector's question she explained, "I've seen fireworks at a festival before but nothing compares to these." Turning to fully face her half brother Octavia gave him a teasing half smile, "And from the look of your face earlier, you've haven't either." And there's the more tame teasing comment slipping out.


 
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Hector Penrose
Octavia sounded somber as she claimed she wasn't told anything important, but somehow Hector doubted that. It wasn't as if these fireworks were the most important thing, and she was likely right when she suggested that they had been kept a secret as a surprise for everyone. Including her. Hector imagined the king wanted to dazzle his daughter as much as he did the rest of his guests. The younger vampir's cheeks flushed slightly as she teased him for his earlier expression, and he crossed his arms in front of his chest, casting an aside glance to the ground. But he couldn't hide the hint of awe he felt as he replied.

"No, nothing like these." His eyes flickered briefly back to the colourful sky before settling once more upon his half-sister. Hector hadn't seen fireworks before, not even the mundane kind, and he imagined he would always find those to be a disappointment after seeing these ones. The sky started to dim, and the crowd started to mingle around them once more, and Hector wondered when he would see something like that again. Next time, he wouldn't be caught gawking. The young vampir shifted. Sometimes he wasn't sure what to say in situations with his royal half-siblings. But saying nothing would be a thousand times more awkward. Part of him wanted to ditch her and be done with it, but after the fireworks, Hector did feel more sociable, the unpleasant encounter with his mother fading to the back of his mind.

"Danced with many suitors tonight?" He asked. Octavia was one of the most desirable women there, even if she'd only had her status, she would've been, but Hector would've had to have been blind to not acknowledge Octavia's beauty. "Or have you managed to avoid them?" With that, Hector did feel like he was talking to Vanessa. It was the kind of jovial jest he always shared with her. But as he said it to Octavia, his words were a little sharper. A hint more pointed.

 
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Lycus Cale
Skin contact as brief and casual as the brush of Rosary's fingers against his as he took his drink from him shouldn't be considered noteworthy. But it was because it was Rosary that as short as the moment of time was spent touching him, it still sent a shock through Lycus's body. The shock wasn't painful, nothing was ever painful with Rosary, instead it was ticklish and warm and sat in his belly long after the moment passed. There was a time that he recoiled at touch, and even now he was still cautious of others, but Rosary had broken down so many of his walls. Perhaps he would never truly know just how deeply he touched him beyond physicality.

And if Lycus could do something for him, little or small, he would in a heartbeat.

Though for a moment, the warmth in him went cold at the mention of others. His brows furrowed and his teeth slightly set. "They whisper because they know they're wrong for their hateful attitudes. Jealous too that you can do so much from here." Lycus's head swivel left and right, looking around the room for the verbal assaulters of Prince Rosary. How dare they? "You're too good for them," he huffed.

There were some things his status did not allow him, such as telling off the nobles who dared to speak ill of his master. But Rosary, as kind as he was, brushed off the topic despite still looking melancholic. Lycus, already prepared to abandon post, held his arm out for the prince. "It's a little crowded, this way we won't get separated as we head out." He explained, allowing Rosary to approach him first.

"Where to, your highness?"

 
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Judas Morningstar
There was that kindness that had once saved Judas. It seemed to be part of the Red Blood Vampir's very core, and he was entirely unaware of how its light touched those around him, how it made their entire lives, gave it meaning when there was nothing there before. It - he filled the space more than the flashing and banging lights in the sky, or the luxurious and rich food served on platters, more than the blood that was their very lifeline. It was no wonder why Judas struggled to look away from him when he made him feel so full, so warm, and so content.

The questions he asked in turn were nearly muted by the sound of the booming fireworks, but Judas could hear his Lord's voice in a screaming crowd. And the dulcet sound of his speech became clearer as he finished his last words. Judas remained silent for a moment, to recollect all he had said and understand the meaning behind his tone. He was polite, it felt a little distant, more than when he expressed his displeasure which made him felt nearer because it meant he cared enough, was comfortable enough with him to express his thoughts.

He also knew it could be Lord Abendroth's way of avoiding confrontation, wanting to spend a nicer to with Judas rather than an argumentative time. So, Judas's smile widened and he went along with it. If it was something he could give the older Vampir, then he would do it in a heartbeat.

"It's my first time seeing them," he admitted, breaking his eyes away from him briefly to watch them once more. The burst of sparks and colors were mesmerizing, but they were brief and fizzled out almost as soon as they shot into the sky. "I like them, but I like the quiet night more." Because he liked it more.

Judas was slow to turning his gaze back to Lord Abendroth's, and even slower in answering him next. "I don't know." He replied softly, but truthfully. "I haven't been given a new assignment yet, but our achievements are great, so I believe we'll be here for quite a while."

He pinched his lips together, hesitant to ask his next question. "Do you mind if I visit you while I am here?"

 
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Moss Tavaris
"Oh, Azzie. So sensible," Moss chuckled overly pretentiously as his sipped once more from his wine glass, pinky up. And once more, he let the thick, warm liquid pour out of his mouth and back into the glass. Though he didn't miss a single beat in continuing his thoughts, doing well not to make any contorted faces despite the unpleasant flavor of his drink lingering on his tongue. "No wonder you made such a well-defined life for yourself. Why, if you can advise the king, you can certainly advise the low class likes of me. Though I warn you, I am not very easily steered." He winked and again lifted his glass to drink from.

This time, however, against everything he had just said, he did listen to his friend's wisdom and lowered the glass from his lips. It was then that he was ready to toss the glass onto the floor, but he knew the servants charged with cleaning it up. And while the people there who would find it entertainment wouldn't mind, he would rather not be chased with brooms down corridors again by the people who shared rooms and meals with. So, he held onto it like the perfect gentleman he occasionally pretended to be.

He quirked a brow at Azriel, with the corner of his lips upturned. "You should know that these are one of my most prized possessions. These balls have entertained many, flew through foreign skies and smiled upon by his majesty himself." He gestured his glass in the direction of his pretty decorated balls of various colors and patterns. As dramatic as an answer it was, it was not a dishonest answer. These balls were made by him, and it was him who repaired them, repainting their curves and sewing on their new fabrics. They weren't just his tools, but another instrument he took care and pride in having. And he also loved how silly and awkward Azriel looked holding them with his tall and elegant physique. Where his aura could be considered cold and intimidating before, he now looked off kilter and funny.

Moss knew better than to mention it.

"Here," he gripped his glass tighter as he used his free hand to turn the satchel around his body. He was the furthest thing from careful to undo the top button and open his satchel, somewhere in the process he did spill his drink over. "Just toss them in here. And then maybe we can grab some better drinks for our kind."

 
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Oskar Abendroth
Judas did not respond to the dull support Oskar offered to his ambition. Truly, it was not something which required a response, and the Redblood was glad to not dwell upon it. More so when Judas' smile broadened at the change of topic. When the young knight wore that expression, Oskar could almost forget the things he did not have to ask to know. When Judas smiled like that, he looked… Beautiful. The thought came unbidden, and it caused the elder Vampir to pause. This was not the same beauty of youth Oskar had bestowed upon him before. No, this was a peculiar feeling, all too familiar and yet strange. Oskar could have easily lost himself to his thoughts, however, the conversation carried on, and he moved with it, marking to be mused another day.

"Fireworks are in celebration, stars are intimate with many meanings," he posited. Oskar paused a moment before adding, "And some of this celebration is for you." Although his voice carried his usual softness, it did not sound pleased, although neither did it sound entirely displeased. It mixed the praise he offered Judas with the condemnation of his actions. Perhaps Orion could forget all but his sons, however, each soldier had done his part, cruel as his role might have been.

"Mm," Oskar hummed a quiet response to Judas' uncertainty of his future. It was often the case for those who chose such a path, at least for those who did not sit at the head of the table. His silver-lashed gaze met the icy eyes which fell upon him. Judas tread carefully, perhaps concerned he might upset the conversation. Nevertheless, after a moment of hesitation, the Silverblood asked a question. It was not one which surprised Oskar, for little surprised him anymore, still he had not entirely expected it. He gave the younger Vampir a subdued smile, not withheld, only reserved.

"I would be delighted if you visited me. Perhaps we might stargaze? I have a lovely courtyard of my own," he said, eyes drifting briefly from his companion to their surroundings. Not so lovely, however, as the forests of Austria, or even those which surrounded the Black City.

 
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MALACHI
Malachi is familiar with pity. It has haunted him his whole life like a sour stench he can't seem to get out of his clothes no matter how often he washes them. He saw it in the faces of his nannies, the maids, even the cooks. "The poor sick lad, too pathetic for the dukedom, passed over for his younger brother," they would say.

Then he was the lonely child, more interested in books than people, always a little too odd to be charming. It was in his brother's eyes when he would say something strange during playdates or become a little too pale, in the gentle grasp of his hand on Malachi's shoulder, in his voice softly telling him that he should return to his reading.

Now, he sees it in the eyes of everyone. A poor young man burdened by the death of his twin, too sickly for the duties ahead of him. Is the pity better than the doubt? Better than the sharp disapproval in the eyes of his parents? It's hard to discern which sickens him more.

The pity in Sorena's eyes does not surprise him, but it does make his back straighten even further and his teeth bite down on his tongue just shy of breaking skin. What is unprecedented, however, is how the princess grabs his arm and hauls him deeper into the crowd toward the center of the ballroom.

Despite the sea of people, Sorena's roguish smile and her inspiring words feel private, Malachi's senses narrowing down to focus entirely on her. Although he's never cared for women, he can admit that Princess Sorena is a bewitching person, despite her suspicious motivations and clear cunning. Perhaps because of them.

He can't help his smile as he nods, stepping closer to put his hand on her waist once more, taking her slender hand in his own. "I like that idea."

They barely get more than three steps in to their next dance before the startlingly loud clinking of glass and the abrupt silencing of the music draws all eyes up to King Orion standing, well, regally upon his balcony. He can see now where Sorena gets her good looks, but more importantly, her serpentine wiles. The man they all call king is remarkably elegant and commands the room effortlessly, but even from such a distance, he can see the menace lacing every fiber of him. A snake always ready to strike as soon as someone gives it a reason. For good or ill, it is evident why he is the most suitable to lead their kind.

"My apologies," he murmurs to Sorena, releasing his grasp on her that he'd been too distracted to remember. Turning more bodily towards Orion, he takes in the impassioned speech with quiet hums of agreement.

While he'd describe himself as a pacifist, he can concede the importance of war in keeping them all safe. As their king says; there will never be equality between the races, only a fight for dominance. If they don't maintain their power over the rest, they will undoubtedly suffer at their hands. The mention of the public executions makes him cringe, though he tries not to let his discomfort show. Is such a display of violence truly necessary? The battle has already been won.

When King Orion finishes and the crowd erupts into cheers, Malachi claps his hands politely, wincing at the noise. Fortunately, it dies down as the king leads them all out of the castle and into the gardens toward some mysterious "gift." After the man's speech, he can't help but be a little apprehensive. Hopefully it isn't some poor Lycan's head on a spike.

The sudden burst of color in the sky soothes his concerns, a smile rising to his lips as the fireworks dance around in the air, clearly guided by magic as they transform from one thing to another. He spots a purple horse trotting, a golden couple dancing, a red dog running — then there are so many things, it's hard to keep track. A turquoise swan flies overhead nearby, spooking a couple who promptly begin laughing as it pops above them, showering them in harmless sparks like snowflakes.

He weaves through the crowd as it spreads out, doing his best to avoid tripping on any of the guests who have chosen to sit down for the show, eyes nearly glued to the sky. While the fireworks are beautiful, yes, the stars are even more so, filling up the sky like a million tiny crystals. The fireworks are merely a complimentary addition to the earth's ancient beauty.

Is that Venus?

He squints at an especially bright star, his mind running through his textbooks and his celestial charts to calculate the positioning.

Suddenly, his vision is filled with cyan blue, and he jumps back with an embarrassing yelp. It's one of the fireworks, shaped like a butterfly, fluttering innocently in front of him. Curious, he extends his index finger. To his delight, it settles on the tip of it before bursting, leaving a warm tingling sensation where it had touched him. His laughter is quiet, but it's a warmer and more genuine sound than he's heard himself make in a long time.
@rissa
LOCATION | INTERACTIONS | MENTIONS
 
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GALEN
It's a subtle change of expression, but Galen can see the grin that Julian wants to give him in the brief twitch at the corners of his mouth and the mischievous twinkle in his eye. As subtly as possible, he settles one hand on the man's hip, drawing him an inch closer, their bodies turning toward each other like sunflowers turn toward the sun. Julian's pink lips look so inviting... Surely no one would notice if he kisses him for just a moment? Even if they did, what would they do about it?

Before he can make his decision, though, Orion's booming voice throws cold water on the rapid spread of fire building in him. He jumps away from Julian, returning to his proper pose with a quiet curse under his breath. Nearly as difficult as keeping his hands off of his prince is the impulse to glare daggers through Orion's skull at any given moment, but that is at least an impulse he has grown adept at suppressing.

It is at least a comfort to feel Julian's disapproval so acutely beside his own, the both of them rarely alone in their opinion when it comes to one another. A humorous outcome, really, given how violently he'd despised the man when they first met. He would have rather cut out his own eyes than try to see eye-to-eye with him.

Julian was always so patient and compassionate toward him, but his rage kept him from accepting the man's peace offering for a very long time. He was still hurting from the blow that had been dealt to him and his fellow humans, unable to accept his new reality, and therefore incapable of shaping it for the better. He never expected to have anything in common with a Vampir.

Although he cannot read Julian's mind, he's certain that they are sharing thoughts: a public execution of the Lycan rebels will only serve to enrage their Lycan citizens more than it will instill the fear that Orion hopes it will. Even the Darklings, who wound up with far more prestige after helping the Vampir win the war, still had their rebels who would never be satisfied until they completely dethroned Vampiric reign.

He's thankful for the performance of stoicism that keeps him from having to cheer with the crowd at their king's theatrics, and even more grateful that they are finally reaching the end of them. With everyone distracted in the gardens, surely now he and Julian can sneak off —

Boom!

Galen is startled, but not so much due to the loud fireworks, but rather the way that Julian suddenly crumples to the ground beside him, his earlier displeasure replaced by cold fear. "Julian!" It is instinctive when he drops to his knees, resting a hand on the man's back, rapidly scanning him for signs of a bullet wound or something similarly sinister. It is hard to tell how much of the fear he feels is his own and what is his lover's.

There is no physical damage that he can see, and when Julian straightens up with a breath, it becomes evident that the man is suffering a panic attack. "Hey, it's okay," he starts, but he doesn't get far before Julian is on his feet and pulling him to his, marching them through the castle halls toward the sleeping quarters. Toward his bedroom, probably. He says nothing, letting Julian focus on breathing and navigating him, simply squeezing his beloved's hand to ground him. He can practically feel the prince's heart racing next to his own.

He chokes out a confused noise when Julian takes an unexpected turn. Perhaps they're going somewhere else?

No, Julian is just confused.

"I know," he murmurs, rubbing the man's pale knuckles as he waits for his breathing to even out. When his anxiety subsides to a more manageable degree, he finally steps forward, slowly pulling the other man into a hug. He cradles his head on his shoulder, keeping his grip loose so Julian doesn't feel trapped. "I'm here. You're safe. So am I." He kisses his temple, scratching his nails against his scalp. "All of that is over. It's just us again in this moment of well-earned peace."

He holds Julian in silence until his muscles have relaxed and his breathing has evened out, then releases him, hands settling on his waist. The last of the fireworks illuminate the side of his face from a nearby window, highlighting it in a beautiful rainbow. Smiling softly, he strokes his cheek. "I don't want you to wear a costume tonight," he murmurs, harkening back to their earlier flirting. "I want you to take this off so I can get a proper look at my beautiful, brave man. Then I want to dance with you, just like you said. Once you've had enough of me stepping on your feet, I'm going to lay you down on your bed and make you forget what pain feels like."
@MaryGold
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~ Augustus ~

LOCATION | INTERACTIONS | MENTIONS

He hated parties: the loud music, overly boisterous guests, the alcohol, all of it. It disgusted him to no end watching all the royals and nobles drink and brag about their riches. All the while he stands here serving them, a simple peasant trying to climb to the top. Only Augustus has reached the top of his line of work. Being the head butler wasn't an easy task after all. Everyday there was something new going on that he had to deal with. It's not the job for a normal man and he took it in stride.

The only reason why he's actively watching the goers of the party is to find his sister. He would rather spend the evening with her than be bugged by anyone…maybe other than Rosary. While he would never voice this, Augustus did view the young prince as an acquaintance. That was all though, nothing more. Rosary often annoyed him to no end but it seemed all in good fun. He never annoyed Augustus to the point of wanting nothing to do with the Prince.

A soft huff passed his pale, cracked lips as he scanned the crowd gawking at the sky. Yes it was an extravagant show that caught his attention too but he wasn't a fan of fireworks. Turning in place he walked inside, maybe they hadn't been so easily entertained by some flashing lights.

 
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ALISTAIR
It is a talent, the way Cain is able to weave the mannerisms of an angry child with the stern voice of a disappointed father. Alistair can't help his impish grin as he clasps his hands behind his back, turning to face the crowd like a proper attendant. "The doctors are being entirely too strict because they don't want to face your ire. I am perfectly fine, as you can see. They were perfectly diligent in their care. More than they ought to have been." The side eye he gives his prince finishes his thoughts for him: any other servant would have been condemned to die. I live only because you want me alive.

It is a weighty thought, one that is far too solemn for an evening of celebration and far too dangerous to entertain. Their fondness for one another is a weakness that can be exploited, not to mention a blight on Cain's reputation. It is better to acknowledge it as little as possible. Still, Cain deserves his gratitude for saving his life.

If Cain picks up on his implication, he doesn't comment, instead focusing on the teasing Alistair had thrown at him. It's like that stern parent has melted away, replaced by a proud child seeking approval. It's a version of his friend that he knows more intimately than he should, that is far more endearing than it ought to be, and one that immediately sets him at ease as much as it makes his heart throb with a painful fondness.

He can't help his soft smile in return. Unable to resist humoring him, he simply replies, "Is that so? I'm glad."

The king's voice silences the rest of Cain's inevitable complaints along with the rest of the ballroom, his theatrical speech and showmanship as dazzling as ever. While he loathes everything else about the man, his elegant sense of style and easy charm are exemplary.

He follows King Orion's hand as he gestures to Cain beside him, barely suppressing his smile when Cain's 'eager child' look returns tenfold under his father's proud stare. Three thoughts occur to him in quick succession: how horrifying it would be to see that sweet face turn ashen and cold with death, how glad he is to have reacted in time to shield him, and how he would take a thousand more blades if need be.

He swallows all three down like alcohol, burning but intoxicating and not at all good for him, averting his eyes back to the king in time to see the man join arms with his current lover. He ushers everyone into the gardens to watch (what Alistair assumes to be) the fireworks he'd had prepared for the evening. Sure enough, the resounding booming emanating from outside, followed by the multicolor lights that filter in through the opened backdoor, confirm his suspicion.

Following movement out of the corner of his eye, he finds Prince Julian crumpled on a balcony as though in pain. Galen is already attending to him as expected, leaving him superfluous in assisting, but he keeps an eye on the prince until they have both disappeared from the room. It didn't seem like the prince was bleeding, and he is prone to moments of mania on occasion.

Cain addresses him again, pulling him out of his eavesdropping, surprisingly giving him permission to enjoy the festivities. Realizing his face has grown much too grim over the last several minutes, he relaxes into a grin. "Well, of course, my prince," he simpers, batting his eyelashes playfully. "It would be a shame to stain this outfit with blood, don't you think?" Holding his arms out at his sides, he twirls around for Cain to properly inspect his attire. "Especially when you were so kind to buy it for me."

With most of the guests now outside, he feels little need for decorum, crossing his arms and leaning against their own balcony railing. He's seen fireworks before. "Hm? Oh, the woman on his arm, you mean?" he clarifies, then waves his hand dismissively. "Just his la coqueluche du moment." He snorts. "He began bedding her not long before my return here, so I suppose it's been about a month. Her name is Lady Rosanna Collier; her father is a marquis from England but their family fled to Cervia to avoid the war. She's a Vampir known best for her beauty. She's not particularly intelligent, but her harp-playing is impressive. I give it another two weeks at most before she's thrown away."
@TerraBooma
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Azriel Mirsa
Moss, as he often did, looked silly drinking from the wine glass full of blood. Sillier for letting the dark liquid roll down his chin, where it trickled back to its host. He was a fool, through and through. It was an unseemly display, and Azriel would've preferred not to stand next to Moss at that moment, especially no looking so foolish as he did with his arms full of coloured balls. Despite himself, however, the corner of a smile touched Azriel's lips at Moss' comment regarding his nature. His childhood friend had always been incorrigible. It had led to many adventures at the time, but it was a trait better suited to children.

Azriel was less amused by his antics about his balls. The Darkling's answer was heavy and melodramatic — ill-fitting what were essentially toys. Even if Azriel could acknowledge that care had gone into their craft, Moss' balls were just props, and each second they remained in the Fae's arms, he grew more annoyed. Nobody that he noticed seemed to be staring, yet, but he didn't want to give them the opportunity to do so. Enough was enough. Thankfully, Moss seemed to understand that. The Darkling adjusted, and opened his bag, encouraging Azriel to toss the balls in.

Azriel was a well-coordinated man, and he was not yet drunk, even if drinking had glazed the world in a slight haze. He was sure he could make the toss, despite a small nagging part of his brain which mocked his future failure. He would have preferred if Moss took them directly, but that was not the situation. To the best of his ability, Azriel shifted all the balls onto his left arm, where they balanced precariously, and then he used his right to toss them individually into the sack. Each landed atop the other with a hard noise, which he barely heard over the party. To the Fae's relief, he did not miss. Azriel exhaled the moment his arms were freed — it was foolish of him to think he would've missed such an easy toss, even under the faint cloud of inebriation.

"Alright," he breathed, relieved to be done with the ordeal. Azriel stepped slightly back and straightened. "You should discard that first," the redhead said with a gesture to the glass, thick red no longer neatly contained in the glass, but dripping from a portion of the rim — it had left slight residue on the Darkling's chin as well, an appearance which reminded the Fae of a messy child.

"Whenever is convenient," he added with a dismissive wave before allowing his hand to fall down to his side. Azriel's eyes drifted from Moss, searching the crowd for his desired prize. The nearest tray of drinks, wines both dark and light, was some distance away. "There," he said, eyes watching the servant who drifted toward them. He took several steps in that direction, although not so many as to leave his companion behind, as to some degree he did enjoy the company. The Fae paused. "Shall we?"

A bottle would have been quicker.

 
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~ Octavia ~

LOCATION | INTERACTIONS | MENTIONS

The smirk that adorned her face upon seeing the blush on her half siblings face was one to behold. She had caught him in an off guard state. Maybe she can have some fun with that? Might as well, the party would become boring if she couldn't find entertainment soon. Flickering her gaze briefly to the fireworks to marvel in their beauty once again before her pale eyes darted back to Hector. But how should she go about this?

Giving a short, haughty laugh Octavia rolled her eyes. "As if, I have higher standards than the likes of the people that are even daring to ask me," Her tone was boastful as she truly believed she was better than any of the men that have approached her. Then again she barely gave them a chance. The moment she stepped into the ballroom and spotted Hector sulking, well she had already decided to bug him by then.

"But I am curious as to your friend, what was her name…Vanessa? How's she doing?" Octavia pried, giving her sibling a look of curiosity. Of course she wasn't just curious. No, Octavia was trying to ruffle a few feathers and see what kind of chaos she could cause. She didn't know what the relationship between him and the woman was, but something told her there was a little romance going on…maybe.


 
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KLAUS
Klaus's grin grows at his friend's cheek. "I wasn't looking for anything, per se, but I'm glad that I found you," he admits, "I've been getting awfully bored." When no one knows that you are the king's son and only know you as the royal riding instructor, most people don't deign to speak with you. Honestly, he's rather glad for that fact — no doubt the small talk and schmoozing that his siblings have to put up with are insufferable. He prefers being invisible.

"Perhaps we could head elsewhere? I was going to check on the horses, if you'd like to come with m —"

He cuts himself off as his father's voice suddenly rings out above the crowd, bringing the entire ballroom to a standstill. After a disappointed click of his tongue, he turns toward his father to endure the long speech he's prepared for the evening. He's never been one for politics, but he's at least relieved to see his brothers alive and well. That's why he can smile and clap with everyone else, though he can't help the concerned glance he spares Mercy when Orion brings up the public executions. While he isn't a fan of violence either, Mercy has had to deal with far more than his fair share of it.

When Orion pulls his little teleportation act and leads them all into the gardens, Klaus offers Mercy a crooked smile and a shrug before following the crowd, curiosity getting the better of him. The night air is chilly, especially in comparison to the body heat that has accumulated in the crowded ballroom, and he can't suppress a shiver. The discomfort is forgotten, though, when the fireworks begin, lighting the sky in rainbow lights.

"How pretty," he murmurs with a grin, watching the lights dance in a multitude of illusions. Orange tigers jump through hoops, green ballerinas twirl through the air, a white hunter shoots a hawk —

Leaning toward his friend so he can hear him over the exclamations of the mystified crowd, he points toward a purple galloping horse. "I like that one," he smirks. "Have you seen fireworks before, Mercy?"
LOCATION | INTERACTIONS | MENTIONS
 
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TAUREAN
The look in her eye is hard to place, but it's disquieting, making Taurean purse his lips as he tries and fails to analyze it. Giving up, he accepts another pastry and pops it in his mouth, chewing and swallowing before he speaks. "As fun as stealing from the king sounds," he begins, "He will always get his fill first. I would just be taking food away from the servants and the soldiers." It's not like Orion keeps them all well-fed to begin with; there's a constant struggle to keep one's belly full.

Plucking another pastry from the plate, he holds it toward Zuleika's lips. "Would you like one? You labored so hard, you deserve to at least try the fruits of that labor, don't you? If you're getting tired, too, I can take over for you." It would be a bit demeaning for his position, but it's not like there is any honor in serving the bastard they call a king. Plus, it gives him something to do other than stand on the sidelines and scowling.

Before Zulieka can respond, King Orion demands everyone's attention, strutting around his balcony like a self-satisfied peacock. It takes him a moment to realize he's started growling, the sound soft and instinctive. He chokes it back, clenching his teeth instead. The headache it gives him is satisfyingly grounding.

The king's talk of traitors and executions is chilling, conjuring up far too vivid memories of his own battle against the Vampir. While he'd fought valiantly and can be proud of that fact at the very least, the memory of his defeat leaves his mouth sour despite the delicious spiced meat of Zuleika's pastries. Those poor Lycans, no doubt stewing in their own filth in their cells below them all, must be feeling a similar disgust. Not to mention the rage. It's enough to make Taurean's heart wince.

He has no interest in whatever the king has planned, so he doesn't bother following the crowd into the gardens, though the sound of the fireworks is thunderous and distinct and impossible to ignore. "Such a show off," he snorts.
LOCATION | INTERACTIONS | [abbr="ORION]MENTIONS[/abbr]
 
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Hector Penrose
Octavia's smile was not the lovely sort. It was the kind of twisted expression which meant she was far from done harassing him. Hector wore an appropriately sour expression for the occasion, his arms still crossed loosely in front of his chest. He shrugged slightly at her retort, he had hoped to hit a nerve, but it seemed he'd failed.

"I'm not surprised you have unreasonable standards," he came back. There was some jest there, but also a touch of sincerity. His half-sister was a princess, but there were more than enough suitable suitors there — and Hector couldn't imagine at least one of them hadn't offered to dance with her. Everyone wanted to dance with the royals. Still, it was a comment which reminded him of Vanessa, and the younger Vampir found himself annoyed to be making the comparison again. Octavia was not like Vanessa, even if there were similarities.

"Vanessa?"

Hector blinked.

"Vanessa Penrose," he said, "Is my sister." My better sister, he wanted to say, but thought that was probably pushing it too far. "Shouldn't you know that? Or do you think we're beneath you, too?" His brows crinkled as he spoke, and there was a hint of hostility in his tone.

"Why are you even talking to me? Don't you have someone better to annoy?" Accusation filled his voice as he shifted and uncrossed his arms.

 
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A figure emerged among the others gathered – though many eyes were turned toward the king, or toward their social circles. His presence was something sturdy and ominous, self-assured and well-poised. His fashionably tailored black and gray attire bore accents of polished, silvery metal at his shoulders and wrists - fashioned akin to layered feathers.

A single metal feather framed against his temple, emerging from the length of his contusion-toned hair. It was a symbol of his status as a prince without excessive demonstration, though he'd not need it to prove who or what he was. For the formality of his father's evening, and the court at large, there was no question about whether it would be utilized or not.

Unseen around these prestigious outward appearances were other elements of character, too. He was intangibly adorned in grief in shades of blood, in tinges of despair, and veiled in horror. These wafted in his wake like a hellish haunt unseen, though his presence contrasted against the echoes of his earlier deeds – a stoic, dignified Ruslan had finally arrived.

There had been an agreement with his father that the grim deeds he would undertake were not worthy of song. Even in a court bathed in victorious blood; even wearing a name as conqueringly ruthless as 'Blacke.'

By standards of chivalry and ethics in war, nothing Ruslan had accomplished that day satisfied any lofty ideals. It was all pure terror, meant to break the wills of remnant rebels. For Ruslan, though, whatever saw the nation continue into the future whole and along King Orion's vision was worth doing. Even the most ignoble things. Especially the most ignoble things – it took grit to see certain things through for the greater scheme. He knew that. He would be his father's deathly sickle in terrible places when necessary.

He was proud to see that his brothers had followed through on their difficult tasks, too. Praise on their names was glory to all of the Blackes, including himself. Collectively, different arms of their family had accomplished terrible greatness. The people deserved their opportunity to celebrate that – and to shine their devotions all the brighter toward various Blacke offspring.

If Ruslan had been of weaker temperament, he might have suffered by the memories of young voices and motherly horror shrieking in cacophonous choir. The echoes of their faded songs did not follow him.

The stoical prince stepped beside a familiar presence in court – one he'd come to accept for how he served the continuity of the nation. A mage and a knight. The two stood more toward the outskirts of the gathering, which suited Ruslan for the moment to survey the atmosphere – and those within it.

Along with everyone else, Ruslan's face was turned toward the bright colors accompanying King Orion's surprise gift to the court. Lights warmed streaks of fading color across Ruslan's calm expression. While taking in the sight, he spoke toward Isaac beside him.

"Triumph." He murmured quietly enough that it might have been imagined.

He gave no other details, nor wished to be prodded with questions for explanation. It could have meant anything – it might have been in regard to what the public knew through King Orion's declarations that evening.

But certainly, those most loyal to the cause knew the carnage that lay beneath all of their feet, forgotten in moments of bright lights and celebration. As intended.

|| Tag: @Reverie ||​
 
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Isaac Harcourt
Isaac did not move from his position as the fireworks dazzled those around him, but his eyes were not without awe as the colours dipped and danced — descending to greet the guests who startled and delighted at once. They were a human invention, enhanced by the magic of their descendants to enchant a court of hundreds, a task they performed admirable as the reactions of those around him displayed. The colourful display was quickly pressed from the Magi's mind when Prince Ruslan, second of Orion's sons, took position beside him. Isaac had good posture, but he straightened beside the other man nonetheless, uncrossing his arms and bowing his head in deference.

Prince Ruslan had not been at the celebration when Isaac had arrived, the Magi knew. He had looked for him among the crowd of people, and the tall man with a presence reminiscent of his father's was not somebody to miss. Surely, he must have just arrived. And he had chosen to stand next to him. Inside his chest, he felt his heart quicken, if only slightly. The dark-haired Magi remained quiet, allowing the prince to lead the conversation, if he so chose, feeling as though it was not his place to breach the silence.

Triumph was what Prince Ruslan said. A whisper, barely audible above the crackle of the sky. It was a good word. Triumph. Whatever endeavour the prince had been on, he had found success, which was all the Magi could ever hope he found. Nothing about the word invited conversation, and Isaac was not under the impression that the prince desired to elaborate on whatever triumph he had found, so all said was: "Congratulations," before once again letting quiet cloak them.

He avoided looking at the prince by watching the light display, even as he would've preferred to cast his gaze aside. Isaac wanted to see the reflection of light on his face — the various hues which glowed in shifting colours. He allowed his gaze to slip only once, catching the man only in his periphery. Dark hair, and lavender eyes, which did not appear their natural colour in the light. Still, Isaac imagined them with perfect clarity.

"Do you enjoy them, your grace?" Isaac asked carefully, in regard to the fireworks, eyes to the sky to make his point. He considered that Prince Ruslan would not see him, and he did not wish for the prince to misunderstand him and look like a fool, so the Magi clarified. "The fireworks are a lovely gift from our king."

Isaac desperately wanted to hear the prince speak — even if he would've been happy to spend eternity standing silently beside him.

 
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