Caught In the Middle [Closed]

by **Lazybones** on February 4th, 2012, 3:38 am

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Winter 70th
Half past the twelfth bell.

Everything was perfect.

Holding an auction at Reinhard Valdinox's birthday celebration had been a marvelous idea. Sadie Karpath, Reinhard's daughter-in-law, had been the one to think of it. She had also been the one to arrange catering, organize the guest list, select a color theme, and even had charmed one of the city guard captains to lend a small regiment to the event to help deter pickpockets and thieves. Her husband, Shannon, had barely needed to lift a finger. All he had to do was lift a flute of wine to his lips and toss the occasional scrap of wit to the party guests.

The enormous courtyard of Reinhard's residence was alive with revelry, the wrought-iron palisades barely holding some two-hundred guests. One of the fully human members of the otherwise half-Isur Valdinox family, he owned one of the larger manors in the Noble District: a grand alabaster structure with gilded pillars and ornate spindles to crown the rooftop. The house garden was well groomed. Ivy clung to trellis archways while blaze orchids lined the ravosala canal that split the yard in halves.

At the south end, guests herded around banquet tables lined with colorful banners and hot food, all colors of wine, and two choice ales. Toward the southwest, an Ethaefal slave was playing his lyre, providing the only music for the occasion. It was mainly the common folk who loitered in this area, dining on free food and socializing gladly whether they knew who Reinhard Valdinox was or not.

North, toward the manor itself on the other side of the canal, the higher caste of nobles was seated more civilly, exchanging gossip about other families within Ravok's aristocracy, talking trade or art, or merely complaining at each other through a veneer of bitter sarcasm. Nearby, several paintings were on display for the auction, all of them by Sadie Karpath herself. Other items on auction were on display as well, including a set of well-crafted rapiers, a silver ring that had been owned by the Druvin Valdinox herself, and not least of all, the deed for a small piece of property on the west end of the Noble district.

Shannon Valdinox and his wife were seated at one of the long tables at the north end, exchanging gossip with a Nitrozian, a Lark, several of his half-Isur Valdinox cousins, and a slew of other lesser known names of the aristocracy. Sadie was dressed in a regal crimson gown, black lace adorning the length of her sleeves and a white ruffle garnishing her wrists. Shannon was dressed to match, sporting a smart black top hat and a matching ebony cane, complimenting his deep red three-piece attire.

Despite being the guest of honor, Reinhard wasn't anywhere to be seen.

"Where is your father, Shannon?" Antessa Nitrozian asked him, her white gloved hand cradling a glass of scarlet. Her satin azure gown fit her like her own skin. "I brought a gift for him, but dared not leave it with the others. One of the guards told me there was thief lurking around."

"Mmh," Shannon hummed through a cocktail sandwich as he took a bite, stifling a smile in order to chew. Sadie watched him as the immediate company waited for his answer, a black-gloved finger against her lip. "Inside. Father isn't often one for social occasions."

Sadie lowered her hand, as if unlocking her lips. "It's his seventieth, isn't that right? This party was so much effort." She sent an acidic smile to Antessa. "The man doesn't have any friends. I had to make this open invitation just to get anyone to show up."

"That's because it's a Valdinox party," Lek Valdinox spoke up with the roll of his eyes. He was one of Valdinox's blooded sons, marked by the pronounced eye ridges of the Isur. "Even though my mother is a Druvin, cherished by Rhysol's Voice herself, the aristocracy still hates us."

"That's why we have these parties, cousin," Shannon interjected, leaning forward to pluck his flute from the table. "Ravok just needs to know that the Valdinoxes belong here more than most families do. My father and your mother are well revered within the Black Sun." He paused to stare at his drink, turning the glass's stem between his fingers. "And at the very least, we aren't Lazarins."

A controlled chorus of laughter fluttered surreptitiously from that end of the long table.

"I know your father has done well by Rhysol, especially down in… what was it, Ahnatep?" Lek flicked a cool look at Shannon. The human's dusky eyes darkened, knowing where this was headed. Lek was aware of this, and let a moment pass for the feeling to sink in before he continued. "What have you contributed to the Valdinox family, Shannon?"

Several sets of eyes swiveled to the younger Valdinox, still twisting his wine glass to and fro. It slowed to a stop. "Lek, cousin, try the ale, won't you? We're serving a variety called Syliran Dark. It's bitter and robust, though just a tad on the side of tasteless. You might like it."

At the south end of the courtyard, a Konti slave was cleaning up some of the dirtied plates from a vacated banquet table. Her white hair was cropped short, bringing more attention to her luminous, violet eyes. They were kept mostly downcast, however, as a ceramic stack grew between her slender hands.

OOCFeel free to place yourself anywhere in the party. You may interact with NPCs, or choose to interact with each other. If you have any problems with the date, or any other questions, please send a PM or contact me via AIM (WitandCandor). Thanks!

Quest NPCs

Shannon Valdinox :

Sadie Karpath-Valdinox :

Ares :

by **Keating Ash** on February 7th, 2012, 6:18 pm

Keating sat at the banquet table, stiff, formal, and very uncomfortable. He felt like he was at a wedding. Bala! This place looked like a wedding. A petchin’ wedding fancier than any the he’d ever been too. And really, it was just a party for some rich, old man. Gods! How he hated weddings with their matching colors and dressed up patrons. The farmer was a simple man, he couldn’t see the need for such excess, and the esthetics of design were wasted upon his eyes. It had to be a woman’s idea, everything was just too… precise. Keating knew men didn’t think like that… For the hundredth time Keating wondered why he was even here, sandwiched between the elite of Ravok and the commoners bribed with food and drink. Keating knew he was no better than the other rabble of the city… but he was not one of them, and would never be. Soon, the dark man thought, soon he’d be gone from this hell of a city.

That they had guards, Keating couldn’t help but notice. It didn’t rightly matter that he was an honest man, and had nothing to hide, he was still on edge when they were near. In Ravok, he learned, the smart kept their guard up, lest someone confuse the innocent with the guilty. And too often the difference between the two didn’t come into play under Rysol’s eye. Like that Konti clearing dishes, he thought, most likely she was a slave. Probably didn’t deserve to be one… but she was. Once Keating had seen another Konti brought through the docks, looking genuinely forlorn… but petch, she was pretty. And then there were lots of other human type slaves too that came through. His heart was hardened to it, as it was to most situations and besides, it weren’t none of his concern. This Konti though was closer to him, and his dark eyes appraised her form as she moved, lighting her scales with the exotic quality of her being. If she’d been his property, the girl would not be carting dishes like some common wash-maid… Some folk’s were filled with stupidity, but then… he wondered… if this one was a lowly kitchen-maid, what did the girl who stayed up in the mansion bedchamber look like?

Roughly Keating pushed back from banquet table and even the dockworker had to admit the food was good, fine even… Wiping his lips and chin, Keating winked at the Konti woman as he moved past. Her amazing eyes made him want to stop and talk to her, but with guards all around, he would take no chance of overstepping his welcome. Instead, he walked to the edge of the courtyard and looked out over the garden and the orchard separating the canal. He was silent and still; this place was beyond him with wealth he couldn’t begin to imagine. Thick calloused hands and fingers touched at a manicured flower, and slid along its soft petal with a gentleness that belied his course exterior. Admiration filled his gaze, for the greenery and the gardeners both. Heavily, Keating’s hand dropped away… he felt dirty here and looked down upon, like the unkempt farm boy he once had been… reverently he touched the sleeve that covered Bala’s gnosis mark.

Darkness crossed Keating’s brow, and wrinkled his face. Damn it Rose! He didn’t want to be here… not in this stuffy, fancy farce of a home, or a yard with some multi-armed fop playing a lyre. Or even in Ravok! Who was he fooling? Against his better judgment he’d agreed to come with another dock worker, who was now nowhere to be found. Standing straighter, Keating’s chest lifted proudly, he didn’t need charity. But a chorus of laughter erupted from the north tables and caused the dock worker to search for the sound. The revelers sat across the way, too important to mingle with the likes of him, with their finery… and their manners no doubt. Almost he turned away then, but one woman caught his impassioned gaze. She had dark hair, almost the color of Rose’s, though he couldn’t be sure. What he was sure of, was that she was poured impressively into a red dress. Keating stared blatantly and safely from the distance. It was impossible to know who she was, but one look and Keating knew she was beyond him… though he doubted any of those embellished, extravagant men really knew what to do with a woman that filled out a dress like that… Shaking his large head at the loss, he turned and said to no one in particular, “One more ale… then good riddance.”

by **Cassandra Coven** on February 8th, 2012, 2:43 am

Cassandra was hardly surprised when Mama asked her to help out in the party. The caterers were short on servers and rather than hire new people for a one-time thing, they sought help from the local food establishments. Being a favorite among the regulars in the Silver Sliver, Cassandra was a natural choice when the tavern owners were approached. Mama explained everything to her; she wouldn't be paid her wage for the day but the caterers themselves would cover the loss of income. Might even earn a little bit more coin than she usually did though she wouldn't really know for sure - the arrangement had been made in private between the caterer's spokesperson and Papa.

The dark-haired barmaid expected it all, of course. From the moment she heard the news of the event down - an auction/birthday party for some fancy Ravokian elite with a fancy title along with his fancy name - to when Silver Sliver folks found out which caterer was picked among the dozens in the Merchants Ring, Cassandra just knew that they would outsource servers for the party. They caterer simply did not have enough people to manage a party that large.

And so here she was, wearing a scandalizing uniform provided by the caterer that the organizers must have insisted the female servers wear, if only to show off to everyone that they could make women squeeze into them because they could afford to make them do so. Cassandra had nightdresses that covered her more than her current get up. She would swear people would see her soul if she so much as bent over to pick up something.

But she was being paid for this, so Cassandra did her job with an open smile stamped on her lips, enduring the unabashed stares of the men of the common folk while being somewhat thankful that the rich and powerful hardly spared the garish scrap she wore a glance as she drifted from each dining area carrying a tray and offering drink to any whose throat was parched (ale for the rabble, wine for the frilly-dressed fops, naturally).

Or what do they call it...Bubbly? she wondered as she handed a thin-stemmed glass of the stuff to a lady whose nose was stuck so far up the air that Cassandra hoped that the woman would trip on the hem of her own dress. Silly rich people...

Suddenly finding her tray empty of beverages, Cassandra worked her way over to the bar to refill it. A man distancing himself from the thickest part of the crowd of the commoners' area caught her eye, and she did a double take when she recognized who it was. Keating! That rascal, what was he doing here? She should have expected to find him here, though - she had been wondering where he took his meals ever since she had banned him from staying in her apartment. Those who knew of their strange relationship had more than once hinted that the man was a parasite, that he was after nothing more than her body, but by the gods, she missed having his strong arms around her... on her...

For a brief moment, Cassandra was tempted to forget her duties and walk over to the man, chat him up, maybe get back what they had before...? She almost did too, until she saw the way he stared at one of the highborn ladies in the northern part of the courtyard.

The one in the red, Cassandra guessed darkly. The dark-haired one. It's always the dark-haired one! She knew, since the first time they met, that Keating was haunted by some woman in his past, one with long, dark hair. Just like hers, no doubt. She had tried, before, but she knew she could never fill that woman's shoes.

Inexplicably angry, not sure if it was at Keating or at herself, Cassandra stormed off towards the bar to get more drinks as she had originally intended.

OOCEhh...Fan service.

by **Crismento Miren** on February 8th, 2012, 5:43 pm

An auction, a celebration, a party, a banquet - Cris had been finding these words on many people lips the past days. He didn’t care for the sentiments with which they were spoken, since only the promised opportunity was important. Some cautiousness tried to warn that the perceived glamour of the event might have risen to many hopes, but it was not difficult to dismiss these thoughts when at the very least he would be getting a free meal there. However, it seemed that this same lure had attracted quite a few Ravokians, making the table at which he was seating not much different from one at the Silver Sliver during the peak hours. Crismento’s company did not show much interest outside the food they were eating and even if some short conversation derailed from that topic it would not go anywhere further than a remark about the weather or urging to look at all these people that had turned up.

Few of the people he met at the table had arrived alone and it was not easy to come in between them and their friends, though it was certainly not helped by the mutual disinterest. These were not the individuals Cris had wanted to get to know better, it was not for them that he had paid extra attention at the state of his clothes and appearance before stepping out of the Tarsin's Boardhouse. This lot was much easier to talk to at the tavern when they had enjoyed a few drinks or at the Immortal Pleasure after they had a good shag. No, it was not them that he was excited to see when he woke up that morning.

Cris excused himself from the table, nodding back at the few polite goodbyes he received, and moved north across the banquet area passing the tables buzzing with chatter, laughter and, most loudly, the clanging of plates. The last bite of a pastry roll, which, he had to admit, was delicious enough to justify coming to this event on its own, disappeared from his fingers before he had reached the railings. Leaning against it the swindler looked over to the other side of the canal. There sat the people that had to be separated by water from the simple folk. Misguided that rising higher above made them different from the rest of the miserable crowd they engaged in what Crismento could have only assumed were mutually satiating praises and reassurances, with some self-worth protecting poisonous words and looks darted at each other. Even from afar he could see them for what they were. In fact, he did not even have to see them. From where he was standing, everybody here were pathetically blind and the same, only those higher up on the social ladder had more to give to satisfy themselves and more to lose for their mistakes.

Looking down at the water he could barely make out his own silhouette in the reflection. ’And how about you, my friend? What makes you so different from the monkeys when you don’t even have a shiny gold collar to show off? Do you still see where you are going?’ A smile curved on his lips in response to the sudden confrontation. He was different – he knew the way. And even though the view of what was waiting for him at the end of the path was still misty, Cris knew that eventually he would claim what he deserved.

by **Murmur** on February 8th, 2012, 7:53 pm

"I'd rather petch a jamoura."

There was a shuffling of boots against the cobblestone, the lilting slap of water against stone. Two men garbed in elegant, solid black ensembles stood before the gates of a Valdinox family estate, the wrought iron bars the only thing separating Murmur from the witless denizens unworthy of his precious time.

"You go to this, or I'll see fit to ban you from every brothel in the city." A black, gloved hand adjusted the collar of his sleek attire while the paladin's veridian gaze bore into his son's.

A smile twitched on his lips. "You drive a hard bargain, father."

They entered, wading between passing patrons, mostly common folk and the occasional servant. He knew where his father was headed: across the canal and into the arms of the nobles. Such was the effect of Jartu, charming and persuasive, and ever unreadable. By this time, Murmur was several paces behind him, finding himself in no hurry to be caught in the banter of the rich. Fortunately, he noticed a conveniently placed bar nearby, laden with liquor.

"Father, I've need for some wine, shall I bring you some?"

Jartu ignored him, or he simply hadn't heard over the chorus of inane chatter. Eager to speak with the Valdinox's no doubt. He smirked, shoving aside a gasping woman swathed in pale green fabrics. Of course, the bar was far from unoccupied. Beside it stood a lady whose attire would put even the raunchiest whore to shame, that is, until she turned her head.

"If it isn't Miss Cassandra Coven. What a pleasure to find you here," His words dripped with a sickening sweetness, the gap between them closed in several strides. "Have you been hired to be some fat noble's slattern for a day?" Murmur smiled that brilliant white smile, a hand darting out to pull her in by the waist, until his lips touched her ear and his roving, free hand clutched between her legs. "I have not forgotten that favor."

Abruptly, he released her, his attention diverted to the array of alcohol so generously placed for his pleasure. "Have you tried the wine?"

by **Zvi** on February 21st, 2012, 3:18 am

He had learned to keep his eyes down and his mouth shut.

Zvi's skilled fingers danced along the strings of his lyre, the music tinkling and archaic. While men and women who had their freedom chattered and gossiped, he lost himself to his work. He did not speak. He did not move other than to play. The sunlight glinted off of his smooth skin, and the dusky hue of his tired eyes seemed oddly dim, despite the sunlight.

He could feel familiar eyes on him, eyes that knew too many inches of his flesh. He felt himself tensing, anxious. He did not wish to play here, where any might lay their hands or eyes upon him, subject him to the judgment of their prejudice. How many of these men and women had paid a visit to the shop where once he'd played? How many knew exactly what he had done? He self-consciously fretted over his appearance. Ares had dressed him, as he had no sense for that sort of thing, and he felt ridiculous and bare with the smoothness of the material against his skin.

A soft sigh managed to escape him between songs. He turned his eyes heavenward, his countenance marked by unmistakable longing. This place was, to him, no better than the hovel of a shop where his former Master had sold his body to whomever threw coin his way.

At least Shannon didn't touch him, though he wasn't sure if being used as a visual aid was any better than being simply used. He shifted in discomfort at this thought, and prayed simply to be left alone. That Shannon would not need him or want him to tend to Ares tonight. That he could simply slip into the small bed he had and stay there until the next day.

by **Lazybones** on February 21st, 2012, 5:04 am

OOCSorry for the delay guys. <Life> happened, and also I was being lenient toward some characters who hadn't posted, but enough is enough. This quest needs to move. Quinn and Lunae, you've been kicked out of the quest. You can still rejoin if you post in this next round, but if you don't post in the next week, I'm gonna have to count you out for good. :/ If you'd like to work something gelse out, please get in touch with me. ^_^;
UpdateQuinn has posted in this round, so he's back! Lunae seems to have disappeared, so unfortunately she's still gone. I may look into replacing her. :3

Once again, Sadie lost her turn to speak. To distract his cousin Lek from his sore lack of worth to the family, Shannon was now regaling the guests with some story about his father in Ahnatep. He and Shannon had been slaves there once, but Reinhard was charismatic, as well as gifted with some of Rhysol's power. Beguiling their way into freedom was impressive. However, Shannon had told this story dozens of times. By now it was more fabrication than truth.

"…but she didn't see the knife my father had concealed in his sleeve. His Eypharian master was holding a weapon in each hand, but—"

"Don't Eypharians have four arms?"

"This one had six."

Cue a clucking round of impressed coos. Sadie rolled her eyes, drawing a fat sip of wine from her glass as she leaned back in her seat and allowed her husband his precious spotlight. Of course he'd steal all the glory, after she'd gone through all this work to put the party together. All these guests were dining on her blood and sweat, but who cared?

In what started as a passing glance, Sadie caught Keating's eyes from across the way. Not a pair she recognized, but she wasn't as socially adept as Shannon was. Curious, and bored, she watched the stranger until he would eventually look away and find something else to be interested in—but he didn't look away. At least not at first.

Sadie arced an eyebrow in cold amusement as silent, ambivalent communication occurred between them. Was he serious, staring like that? Rhysol's Mercy, the commoner looked like he'd plucked his clothes from a vagrant's corpse fished from the canals. A ruffian, she thought, these are the party guests attending Reinhard Valdinox's birthday celebration. That old codger was in dire need of some actual friends if Sadie had needed to fill the courtyard with this sort of rubbish.

He finally looked away, but Sadie was still watching.

On the other hand…

"Shannon?"

Her vibrant eyes rolled to the side, back to Shannon's handsome features. It seemed he hadn't heard her. He was fully engrossed in his story now, and the other guests at the table were more or less interested. She didn't exist to him in this moment. What else was new?

Steam might have hissed from her nostrils as she exhaled a vexed sigh. Sadie set down her wineglass and rose to her feet, muttering some flippant remark under her breath as she turned and left the table. The high, pointed heels of her dress shoes tocked loudly upon the cobblestone path as she began to disappear into the courtyard's crowd.

Shannon, finally seeming to snap from his reverie, paused his story to watch her.

Keating Ash

The red dress parted the mingling throngs, feeling a little lighter on her feet after two glasses of wine. Emboldened by wine-soaked bitterness, she approached the man from earlier. Examining the curious crop of Keating's hair from behind, she picked a mug from the nearby banquet table and opened the tap on one of the kegs.

"Try the dark. It's imported from Syliras." She raised a full, foaming glass to her lip, then wiped the froth away from under her nose. "Sadie Karpath. What in God's name are you doing in a place like this? Shouldn't you be tilling earth somewhere? You must be bored." This was said with a smirk, and a dangerous spark in her eye.

Cassandra and Murmur

"Where is she going?" Shannon asked the guests at his table, as if they would know.

"I think she saw someone." This made the younger Valdinox rise to his feet. "Does that concern you?"

"I love my wife," Shannon supplied arbitrarily, finishing off his wine and discarding the glass, "but Sadie is the sort of woman who never does something without an ulterior motive. I can't ever trust her. If you'll excuse me."

Lek tossed some half-hearted farewell in his direction as Shannon disappeared from earshot, confident that the discussion would shift to the rumors of Sadie's many love affairs and Shannon's carnal escapades involving his slaves, Ares and Zvi. Let them talk and distract themselves with petty scandals and minor politics within the aristocracy.

Sadie's red dress was easy to spot on the far side of the courtyard, standing near the bar. Shannon could have approached her then, but instead he set his eyes on the barmaid, whom he knew was named Cassandra Coven. Two could play Sadie's sly little game, and Shannon was eager to start the duel.

However, another man accosted her before Shannon could get close. An Ebonstryfe, he knew. The name was on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn't quite remember. The handsome face was too familiar, and all Shannon could recall at first was that he had a peculiar moniker. He was currently manhandling the help, which gave Shannon a perfect opportunity to play social paladin and subtly step in to her defense.

"The wine is shyke," Shannon introduced himself with an obnoxious laugh, clapping his hand on the Ebonstryfe's shoulder. He sent the Apprentice an acidic smile set below a knowing, half-cocked glare. Shannon was an inch or two shorter, but he felt safe in his regal clothing and surrounded by the city guard. "My poor wife does lack in taste, but at least she hired decent service. Afternoon, Miss Coven. And… Murmur, isn't that it? Glad to see an Ebonstryfe enjoying himself at my father's party. How are things? Fighting the good fight?"

He turned to Cassandra, sliding his hand from Murmur's shoulder. "I've received several compliments about you, Miss Coven. I'll send a word to Sadie to double whatever it is she's paying you."

Zvi and Crismento

Ares could feel eyes upon her, but she let the sensation roll off like so many droplets of water. None of these people mattered. Not even she mattered. An arm full of dirtied plates, she carried then along the courtyard past a lavishly dressed Sadie, and later an over-friendly Shannon. It was only to make a note of their location, so that she'd know whether or not she was being watched. What they were doing was of no concern to her. It never was.

After offloading the fine ceramic ware into a large trough of water, she began cleaning her hands on a towel. The damp cloth passed over her fingers and dabbed moisture away from the black half-sun mark burned into the back of her hand. She turned then to watch Zvi playing his lyre. The music he played was always beautiful, delivering some melancholy, celestial message she could never understand. She had no fear of meeting his eyes, but Zvi's gilded blue eyes were turned skyward. He didn't notice her.

Smiling to herself, entertained by some hidden thought, she hesitated for a lingering moment before approaching him. Gently, she robbed some of his attention by placing her hand on his knee. "Zvi," she greeted, her voice like a light, trickling brook. "You look lovely today in the sunlight. Will you come with me? There is a keg that has emptied and I need help lifting it."

There were other slaves she could ask, even hired hands or kind guards who might offer her help, but she asked Zvi in particular. They shared a torment, the two of them, a forced bond. Really though, she mainly asked because Zvi was the only one here who did not exhaust her. "The Master won't mind."

As she turned to lead him to the emptied keg, Ares almost immediately collided with Crismento Miren. This threw her well off her balance, catching her completely off guard, so she stumbled badly. She didn't think to reach for the man's hand, never asking help from those above her. She only gave him an apologetic glance as she began to fall into the canal.

by **Keating Ash** on February 22nd, 2012, 7:11 am

The woman’s voice behind him carried the tone of wealth and privilege, and slowly Keating turned his body around to face her. His eyebrows rose to see who it was that stood there. He did not answer right away, as she was most likely accustomed to, but instead the man silently watched her, the way her mouth moved as she spoke and how her eyes sparkled dangerously. “You’re probably right.” Keating finally answered, his voice deep and rich, dangerous in its own way, “Seems I left my ruffled shirt back home…” but the look on his face conveyed that he didn’t think much of men who wore such feminine things.

Swallowing a drought of ale, Keating exuded a primal masculinity not often found on the other side of the canal. His dark eyes studied the woman, and crinkled in a half smile. He didn’t know who she was, “I imagine you’re someone important… or at least you should be… dressed like that. But here you are – on the other side. Could it be… you’re a bit weary of good manners and polite society?” Sadie belonged to someone, Keating knew that. Women like her always did - not that it would stop him… and it probably should, especially the company this one kept. Had they been elsewhere, the dock worker would have touched her, her face, an arm or the light curve of her lower back. And though he held himself back with an easy control, his black eyes touched upon those very compelling places. The woman had a spark he wished to see more of…

“I’m Keating…” He took half a step closer; a roughness shown about the edges of the dock worker, a visceral component that clung to both to his body and personality. Yet a deep sadness also resided in his gaze, as if having lost so much already, nothing could truly touch him again – though he was always willing to forget for awhile with the right girl…

by **Cassandra Coven** on February 23rd, 2012, 8:47 am

Caught up in her annoyance at Keating and her own weakness for the touch of the tall, brooding man, Cassandra did not notice one of the guests come up beside her as she placed mugs of ale and long-stemmed glasses of wine on her tray until the man had wrapped an arm around her waist. She let out a surprised yelp before her gaze fell on the man's features. All thoughts of Keating left her then.

Him!

She could not remember his name. She wasn't even sure if he even mentioned it the one and only time they met. But she could never forget who he was, nor could she forget the pain and humiliation she had to endure because of him.

Cassandra tensed instantly as she found herself in his clutches, her body involuntarily turning rigid, as if suddenly frozen by a chill winter wind. Her thighs - bare flesh exposed so much as to border being obscene - tightened together even as the man's fingers crawled teasingly and threateningly between them. But the action only caused the offending digits to be stuck near the place where she never wanted him to ever come close to.

Not after what he did to it the last time.

Realizing this, the dark-haired woman forced herself to relax, if only a little, just enough to release the man's trapped fingers. The man smoothly let her go at the same time. Incoherently, Cassandra stammered some kind of reply to his questions, avoiding his eyes at all cost. The man might take it as a sign of aggression, of defiance, and that was the last thing she wanted.

"N-n-no, sir, just...work. Working. Serving drinks...we're not allowed to..."

She didn't get to finish as another of the guests - no, it was actually one of the hosts! - injected himself between them. Cassandra momentarily caught his eye and gave the man a slight but grateful smile, even as she heard him address her assailant.

...Murmur?

Her curiosity for the Ebonstryfe's strange appellation did not hold her attention for long, as the newcomer turned his attention towards her.

A real talker, this one, she thought, noting the fact after only hearing him speak a few words between herself and Murmur. That brief exchange, from the way he moved to how he modulated his voice, led her to conclude that the man was used to speaking before an audience. A gift of gab. Her eyes flickered back to meet his gaze, wondering if it was all an act for her benefit or if that was how he truly was to everyone. More importantly, she wondered what kind of hold he had over Murmur, to be able to speak to the Ebonstryfe so casually.

His declaration of increasing her pay did not escape Cassandra's notice either.

Rich, maybe even powerful, the man was intriguing. He wasn't unattractive either, if a bit too much of a dandy for her taste. He was nowhere near the likes of the common rabble she had to deal with day in and day out serving tables in the tavern, and that made him a person of interest for her. Could he be swayed to be more than just her temporary employer, she wondered? She could use knowing someone who could keep her from receiving the less than pleasant treatment she was sure to get at the hands of the Ebonstryfe across her.

"If it pleases you, m'lord," Cassandra said, bowing. "Is there anything his lordship would have of me?"

Her tone was innocent and neutral, perfectly delivered from the lips of one who was eager to please the person paying for her services. Certainly she wasn't suggesting anything indecent, no sir.

After all, Murmur was still watching.

by **Crismento Miren** on February 23rd, 2012, 11:35 am

His brief honest conversation, one that Cris could only have with himself, was rudely interrupted and the interruption made the man take a few steps to the side to keep his balance. Surprised he turned his head only to see his accidental assailant stumble back towards the edge. The swindler’s hand shot out to grab her but he was too slow and in a matter of brief moments the Konti was out of his reach. He just watched how she fell and her short white hair submerged beneath the waters of the canal while his mind tried to catch up with the events.

Surely he could not be expected to go after her, he thought slowly leaning back with his arm still extended forward. Crismento turned to the side not knowing for sure what he had hoped to find. Help, a witness, someone who acknowledged and justified his inaction? From the brief look at the woman’s face, he guessed that she appeared to be more concerned about inconveniencing him than her embarrassing fate. What he saw nearby was an outlandish tall man, who had been providing melodious tunes for the guests that day, but like those who only came to the banquet only for the treats Cris did not notice the one responsible for the music. His appearance stood out clearly from the rest for the better, but in the con artist’s mind the green horns made the creature somewhat closer to an exceptionally pretty animal than a human. ”Do you know how to swim by any chance?” Crismento asked with slight confusion still on his face and immediately felt a bit strange about this invitation to swim in the canal’s waters, since in that situation he was the one looking like a rugged commoner in comparison.