[Exposition] Bellesoir Charity Soirée

[Oliver Venora]

49 Zi'da 717

Sixty-four bits of sleep. Yawning, Oliver did the maths in his head, and he came to the solution: Sixty-four bits. A man could not live on that kind of sleep, not for very long. Sighing, he looked at the plans laid out before him, the large parlour in front of him devoid of any clutter. Nodding, he turned to both Gustauv and Lennard, holding his arms out wide.

"You have seen the plans. Let's get to work." Lennard and Gustauv sprung into motion, each man going through a separate door to gather the materials. Oliver rolled up the sleevs on his pristine white shirt, allowing the chill of the early morning Zi'da air to cause the hairs on his forearms to stand on end. Moving languidly through the parlour, he stepped through double doors to a stone patio that was loaded with banquet tables and chairs. Nodding again, this time to himself, Oliver grabbed a chair in each hand and hefted them back through the doors, standing them against one wall. It took nearly fifteen bits to gather all the chairs and bring them into the parlour, but that was the easy part. The hardest part was going to be getting the heavy banquet tables in through the doors.

As he strode into the estate, the smell of honeyed bread filled his nose, causing his empty stomach to rumble. Lennard appeared from the left, a sweet pastry in his hand and his mouth chewing furiously. Stopping as he saw Oliver, he offered a sheepish grin. Gustauv entered from the other side, a sweet pastry also in his hand, but whole and intact. Glaring at Lennard, Gustauv offered the breakfast tart to Oliver, who graciously accepted.

"For you, my Lord. Some of us remember our manners, even when told we do not have to." Gustauv shot a pointed glance at Lennard, who shrugged and happily consumed another bite of flaky crust. Oliver took a bite, allowing the sweetness of the honey and apples to fill his mouth before smiling awkwardly and chewing. It was delicious, and though he knew it would not be served at the party, he wished it would. Jirelle had done a spectacular job with them, and Oliver wanted to commend her. As if reading his mind, Gustauv nodded and turned.

"I'll tell her, my Lord." Oliver nodded appreciatively, mouth still full of delicious sweet goodness. Swallowing, he pointed out the open doors, through the cold breeze that caused both remaining men to shiver. Lennard eyes followed Oliver's finger, and his countenance slumped as he saw the size and heft of the banquet tables. Oliver could only chuckle.

"You thought this would be easy, Lennard?" He grinned at the man as the guard raised his eyebrows. "Do you know me?" The question came light-heartedly, and Lennard just laughed. They walked towards the table, each taking a side. Oliver opted to walk backwards into the house, choosing to shoulder the most responsibility. Fingers gripped the thin lip underneath the table's edge, offering a small but useable area with which to carry the table. Looking at Lennard, Oliver nodded. "On three."

He counted down, both men grunting with effort as they lifted the long, heavywood table from the ground and over the threshold of the estate. Muscles taut and corded from the weight, Oliver passed through the doorway and carried the table, half-step by half-step to where it was going. Looking to his right, Oliver looked directly into Gustauv's face, a smirk planted on the older man's visage. Chuckling, he half-bowed.

"Have you got it, my Lord?" He grinned cheekily, and Oliver almost dropped the table in laughter. However, he maintained his composure until they had placed the table, and then laughter overtook him. The three men shared a laugh, and then went further about setting up the party. Stopping every now and then to examine the layout he'd cobbled together, Oliver both pulled his weight and directed Lennard Gustauv. In just a few breaks, most of the parlour had been set up, and Oliver smiled. There were still ten breaks until the gala, and he was starting to feel less unprepared. The speed with which they'd set up the main area was heartening, and Oliver clapped both men on the shoulder.

"Feel free to eat, my friends. I'm going to check in with Jirelle," the Lord offered, nodding and slipping off through a hallway towards the kitchens. When he left the two servants, they were joking between. The thought brought a smile to his face, and as he entered the kitchen, the rich smells of butter and raw beef entered his nostrils. Examining the setup, Oliver nodded approvingly, and a sharp voice behind him alerted him to the head chef's presence.

"Everything is satisfactory so far, my Lord?" Jirelle asked, perking an eyebrow. Turning, Oliver smiled and leaned in, kissing the aging chef on the cheek. Warmly, he gripped her forearm, and she smiled in return.

"It looks great, Jirelle. Truly. I trust that you'll deliver exactly as you always do. I just wanted to ensure that I was fulfilling my end of the deal. So, I have come with a list. Let's see." He looked down at the paper in his hand, nodding. We're expecting around three hundred bodies in attendance. I sent for one hundred and fifty pounds of beef, thirty ducks, thirty chickens and thirty geese, along with vegetables and cheese. I can smell the bread baking, and after that delicious pastry this morning, my heart accelerates with excitement."

Jiselle was a wonderful cook, but she was a legend in the duchies for her ability to bake artisanal breads. She could make them sweet, savory, spicy... Whatever she wanted, and the bread always turned out immaculately. She smiled at the lord's compliment, offering a tight curtsy that was more formality than desire.

"Yes, my Lord. And the wines are all in their appropriate places. Have faith, Oliver. The Seven smile on the house today." Jiselle smiled, finally referring to Oliver by his given name. She often did, but only when reassuring the boy. Squeezing her forearm again, Oliver nodded and turned, just in time for Lennard to pop his head back through.

"My Lord. Ser Jericho Rose is here for you." Lennard's face was alit, and Oliver grinned. For nearly a cycle, the budding knight and the Venora house guard had been building a secret relationship. Ser Jericho was a common-born citizen of Venora who was plucked by Oliver's now-exiled cousin Alistair from an orphange in Rynmere and offered a squireship. The young red-head had been one of the most successful squires in recent years, excelling to knighthood quickly. Even more impressive was the fact that he was partially Aukari, which often would hinder lesser forces of nature.

Kissing Jirelle on the cheek, Oliver swooped from the room, Ser Jericho being his last stop before he could allow the house servants to finish setting up the gala so that he could get ready. Smiling as he entered the parlour, Ser Jericho's armour glinted in the growing sunslight. He turned to see Oliver and immediately dropped into a bow.

"My Lord." He greeted Oliver with his face pointed downward, a sign of respect. Oliver slapped his armour on pauldron and caused Jericho to rise.

"Ser Jericho. It is great to see you again. It's a shame about Alistair, isn't it?" Oliver nodded solemnly, and Jericho's cheeks flushed.

"It's a shame that being what one is is a crime that overshadows all the good you've done. Lord Alistair is a good man. Being a mage does not change that." Jericho shrugged, quelling the rising emotions in his stomach. Oliver could feel the heat beginning to radiate from his skin, and he smiled.

"A shame indeed, Ser. Thank you for coming, Jericho. I trust you've been granted the proper contingent--" Oliver began, but Ser Jericho cut him off.

"Actually, my Lord. That is why I am here. With the recent events, and the attacks of the RCA, the Crown could not spare as many men as I had asked for. Rather than thirty well trained soldiers, we have sixteen of us, and four squires. However, I can guarantee the safety of your guests, even if it means my life, my Lord." The knight nodded seriously, always willing to lay down his life for the Rose. Oliver smiled and shook his head.

"I'm sure it will be fine, Jericho. Please, you and your knights are welcome to food and drink. Jirelle in the kitchens will direct you in the right direction. The baths are in the fourth and seventh rooms, on the left and right respectively, when you travel down the main hallway. If you need anything, I am sure Lennard is begging for a chance to help." The Lord Venora winked and allowed Lennard to step forward, blushing furiously under blonde hair and whiskers. Ser Jericho smiled and Oliver headed back up to his room, hoping to sleep a few more breaks before he had to get ready.
Refreshed and clean, Oliver stared at himself in the mirror, his form clad in a white suit, snow-pure and clean. His hair was coifed perfectly, and he smelled of pine needles and rose petals, an intoxicating combination made for the Venora by a local perfumery. Nodding, Oliver traipsed downstair, getting ready to welcome the first guests. He knew Darcy and Caius were already in the estate, but he'd not yet seen them. As he eclipsed the stairs, the scents of roasted beef and fowl greeting him, eliciting a grin. Lennard and Gustauv stood together, staring at the table of food as Jirelle finished setting the dishes on it. Garlic mashed potatoes, roast beef, fire-roasted chicken, duck and goose. There were whole cranberries simmered in sugar and natural juice, and the wine was presented and opened. More than a few kegs stood ready to be opened, and Oliver found himself wholly happy.

"It'll feed over three hundred, Oliver." Jirelle said, the first to see him approaching. Oliver paused and looked at the three Venora houseworkers before him. He hugged each in turn, smiling at the trio when he released them.

"It's perfect. It will be a massive success. Shall we?" He nodded as to affirm his own question, then sauntered off to the door to monitor the arrivals. It would soon be time. The gala was to begin in half a break.

Off Topic

You may post your arrival in this thread. Anything after that must be done in separate threads.

[Nathaniel Endor]

He had been confined to a carriage for three terribly long trials by himself with no one aside from Marshall to converse with. Even then he had found himself spending only the first trial talking about business that would need to occur before he went into the mines searching for an answer to this strange disease that had overcome his sector of the mines. His waking thoughts had been plagued by screeching worms, hazardous gas, and the prospect of hallucinations. The business had carried him straight to Andaris City. One family after another were informed of the passing of their husbands, fathers, brothers, and sons. Many tears were shed as he presented small bags of nel for the men's service. All personal belongings had been returned.

He had been slapped more times than he wanted to recount.

Getting into the carriage the final time had been exhausting. Marshall had tried to console him but he had shrugged it off. Instead, he drank himself into a stupor for the first day and half. Then his manservant had to take the alcohol away so that he could sober up before he had to present himself at Lord Venora's charity gala.

His parents had wanted him to attend the charity gala on behalf of their direct house. Nathaniel suspected that other Endors would be in attendance. When was the last time he had seen Alice? Not since the incident with the body. Unconsciously, he ran a hand up his face and through his hair. Velaine was supposed to be there as well. Would the dance lessons pay off? Was he capable of not making an ass out of himself? Marshall would at least see to the preemptive aspect of that.

They had arrived early enough to get situated in their rooms. Marshall would be sharing with Nathiel given that they were traveling together as one set of guests. Neither of them minded; Marshall would be taking the couch anyways. While his manservant made himself comfortable to wind down, Nathaniel had dressed in his best armless doublet with the golden embroidery of the Endor sigil. The bear was walking deliberately across his torso. He had taken his signet ring with him and pulled the floppy, feathered hat over his head to finish off the pompous attire. Maderson had insisted he look the part of luxury and nobility. He personally hated this outfit. The lord left his cloak behind as he went downstairs.

The guests were greeted by a handsome, well poised gentleman. Nathaniel lowered his chin in a polite nod, touching his hat politely. "Lord Nathaniel Endor. I will be paying the entrance fee for myself and my future bride, Lady Titania Velaine Krome," he stated calmly, handing over the previously portioned 40 nel to the man. The entrance fee of 20 nel had been explicitly outlined on the back of their invitation. He felt it appropriate for him to pay for his betrothed. Was it not good form?

Although his lessons had suggested he should pay his respect to their host, Lord Oliver Venora, he waited close to the entrance for his date to arrive. He could imagine his mother reprimanding him if he permitted her to sweep about the room without him. It was bad enough he would be announced without her. Hopefully, their royal ball entrance would not be as much of a disaster as this one.

OOC Funds

Minus 40 GN for Nathaniel and Velaine to enter the charity gala.

[Velaine Krome]

When she received the invitation for the charity gala, Velaine had wondered if she would have the time to traipse to Venora for a party. With the trouble brewing in her own land. She never expected to use it as a convenient excuse to leave and distance herself from the dangers she had gotten herself into. It would also serve as a chance to wonder if she was in over her head.

As a result, the female Krome had arrived somewhat early to the ball. She brought two maids with her to help all her preparations. It was not like she needed much help donning her dress, but her mother had insisted. Admittedly, it did feel good, getting pampered. Perhaps for a night, the young woman would be able to forget all her responsibilities.

By the time she was making her away toward the grand entrance, Velaine could not help noting how lavish the dresses most of the noblewomen wear. There were bright colors and gems and silk everywhere. The Krome’s dress was much more simplistic, reflective of her house – some might say it looked almost militaristic. Her double-breasted dress was made of black velvet, flowering at her waist until it trailed on the floor behind her. The only ornaments were the golden threads embroidered across her torso and long sleeves. It was easily one of her favorite dresses.

After she handed over her invitation in front of the doors, the Krome reached for the nel she had prepared for the fee. The man by the door seemed to notice her gesture and suddenly cleared his throat. “Your entrance has been paid for, my lady. By Lord Nathaniel Endor.”

Thanking the man, Velaine slipped inside swiftly. It was fortunate for her that the Endor had arrived – that meant she did not need to wander around alone. She did have some acquaintances among the nobility, but most of them she hadn’t talked to for a long time. Nathaniel was easy enough to spot, standing not too far from the entrance. It seemed like he was waiting for her.

The polite smile slowly turned into an amused grin as the young woman took in her betrothed’s attire. He looked handsome enough, but there was one thing bothering her. “Do you really need the hat?” Playfully, Velaine flicked the feathers up with her fingers. It had been a long time since she had seen anyone dressed so formally and she had forgotten how pompous how nobility can look when they wanted to. “And thank you, for the entrance fee. I’ll make sure it’s worth it.”

OOC

Velvet Dress = -40 GN

[Tristan Venora]

Tristan used to really hate charity events. They were full of stuck-up conservative nobles that did boring stuff together and bragged about how much money they were giving to the poor. He had changed his mind a little since then though. He still disliked the stuck-up conservative nobles, but he loved spending some of his nels on those that didn’t have any because he had too much money anyway – as long as said nels really reached the poor and those donating them made sure that the poor used them to improve their lives and not get drunk or high. Not there was anything wrong with getting drunk or high per se – as long as you didn’t do so all the time and had other hobbies besides that.

Anyway, since the trip from Oakleigh to Venora and back would take several trials, he had taken a couple of guards and his baby daughter Ayla with him because he didn’t want to be without her for such a long time. She would of course not attend the charity gala, but stay in a room with one of his guards because the gala would probably only exhaust her. There was also a second reason for him bringing his daughter to Venora: He wanted his relatives to get to know her, and he was determined to make them love her in spite of her illegitimate birth because they weren’t going to get any other children from him anytime soon (unless Ilaren agreed to marry him. He wanted to have a lot of children with her!).

He had of course put on his best clothes for the charity gala because anything else would have been unacceptable, besides he loved to impress other people and make them envious. He was wearing a fine dark suit, cut after the newest fashion and a blue silk shirt that was the exact color of his eyes, and his black leather shoes had been polished until they shone. He had also put a coat on that was trimmed with fur because it was winter, and he had no interest in getting to cold and possibly freezing to death at the moment.

At the door he presented his invitation and introduced himself, smiling proudly because he really liked his new position in moments like these (even though all the politics were often getting on his nerves otherwise). “Duke Tristan Venora of Oakleigh. Here’s the entrance fee. Twenty nels, isn’t it?” He handed the money over, secretly thinking they should have demanded more because most of the guests were really rich, and then he walked inside, handed a huge purse filled with two thousand nels to whoever accepted the donations and took a look around. He needed to greet his cousin Oliver – and make sure that everybody noticed that he was there – and he really needed to sample some of that food as well. He really hoped that it would be good because he was hungry!

[Charlie Warrick]

Charlotte Warrick

Charlie looked at herself in the mirror, uncharacteristically nervous. Always one to charge into unfamiliar situations, here she was with chest aflutter. She had to keep reminding herself not to pull at her nails, lest the polish she and Darcy had so carefully applied chip. The polish was a deep red, perfectly matched with her dress. It was lace and figure-hugging, and Charlie knew she looked good. As well as she could, really.

But why was she so nervous? She had attended hundreds of such balls - such was the life of a noble. But as she stared at herself with her hair framing her cheeks perfectly, she knew why. It was because, for the first time, Charlie had a date. One that she cared about. She wanted to look good for him, to make him smile, to see his cheeks curve and his eyes sparkle as he took her in. She took a deep breath, before leaving Darcyanna's bedroom, drinking the last of the water she had before carefully reapplying her lipstick.

Darcyanna had already gone to find Caius, and as she walked towards the staircase, she wished she hadn't. Because there at the bottom of the staircase, looking dashing in his white suit, hugging his servants, she couldn't help but flush and want to run. But no. She was Sergeant Charlie Warrick. She could do this, even if the feeling was so ... unfamiliar to her.

She began to step down the stairs, slowly, taking care of the high black shoes Darcy had forced her into. She held onto the railing, but it was more for balance than elegance. She could see Oliver's back, talking with his servants, but before she had a chance to call his attention, he turned and moved into the ballroom. Swallowing her disappointment, Charlie took a deep breath, before moving into the ballroom herself.

► Show Spoiler

-500gn for donation.

[Valeria Burhan]

Ordinarily, Valeria would have been delighted to go to any sort of party but tonight, the prospect made her feel miserable. Just trials before it had been something that she'd been eagerly anticipating but that had been prior to the arrival of the letter from Burhan. That particular communique had shattered all her happy plans and left her more miserable than she could have believed possible. The young woman had been playing the long game. She'd been allowed to come to Andaris and had been allowed to stay here for the past four arcs on one condition: that she find a suitable match.

The blonde had had high ambitions and had proven them to her parents. She'd made it quite clear to them that she would ensnare a man and end up with a match that would make them proud. Unfortunately, the freedom that being away from home brought had made her reluctant to do anything immediately. It wasn't a crime to want to enjoy herself, especially when she'd been learning so many things about herself, like that fact that she was far from being exclusively interested in men. Her visits had become less frequent, her excuses more common but it seemed that her parents' patience had finally worn thin.

The letter she'd received had been short but perfectly clear. So clear in fact that there was no room for misinterpretation. She was to find a suitable match for herself by Saun or one would be arranged for her. Needless to say, she'd been left more than a little upset. Now that the night of the gala had arrived, the blonde knew that there was a sizeable amount of pressure on her shoulders. This event was an opportunity but going to it also felt oddly akin to a death sentence. However, that didn't mean that she hadn't made an effort. In fact, she'd pulled out all the stops.

Valeria had splurged on a ball gown that possibly bordered on the scandalous. The dress was a tight-fitting, floor-length one made of black taffeta but with a slit up one side that exposed her leg to a point well up her thigh. It was strapless with gossamer sleeves that began low on her shoulders and went down to her wrists, hardly visible save for the light lace decoration that had been affixed to them. The bodice was covered in further lace work and it also traced along the edges of the scandalous slit. With the edition of some fine black beads, the gown had set her back far more than she would have liked but she needed to be noticed tonight. It was why she'd laced herself into her black corset so tightly that she struggled to breathe in order to make her figure appear as appealing as possible.

Given the eye-catching nature of her dress, she didn't want to do anything to detract from the leg that was on show or her breasts so she'd tied her hair up, weaving three pieces together to form a plait to go across the crown of her head, something that had taken more than a few attempts and while the results had been a tiny bit untidy, she'd tucked as much of the unruly mass of waves as she could. It didn't look too bad and could probably be passed off as being purposely a little on the messy side. To complete her appearance, she'd added light shadows to her eyelids and barely traced her cheekbones with rouge. The young woman couldn't guarantee that she'd achieve anything this evening but she could certainly make herself noticeable and memorable.

When she actually arrived at Bellesoir, Valeria was feeling a little on the faint side, which could have been due to nerves or her overly restrictive corset. Still, she managed to approach the entrance with considerable grace considering that the world around her felt a little unbalanced, although that might have been the heels. She swayed her way up to the guard who was taking the entrance fee, gratified that she was earning some appraising looks.

"Lady Valeria Burhan. Here's your charitable fee," she announced, handing the amount over nonchalantly despite the pain of parting with such a sum. She really didn't need this sort of drain on her purse. She favoured the guard with a dazzling smile, resisting the urge to use her abilities to boost the effect. She had bigger fish to fry tonight and she needed all her best assets at her disposal for far more noble targets.

Stepping through the entrance, she found herself scanning the place for the sight of a familiar face while trying to ignore the sensation that she was about to faint.

OOC

-20 GN entrance fee. I'll miss you, money!

[Darcyanna Venora]

49th Zi’da, 717

Pretty In Pink

Charlie had left the pink room, full of girlish discussion and victoriously painted nails much to Darcy’s delight, and now it was the Venora’s turn. The blonde hovered by the window, sipping her second glass of moscato as she watched the guests arrive, the light beverage not so bad with food in her stomach. Her head felt fine, perhaps a touch funny but no where near at all enough to impact her mentally or physically.

Smoothing our the skirt of her gown, she turned to the floor to ceiling mirror that adorned her wardrobe door, checking her platinum hair again as it fell in long soft waves around her shoulders and down her back. Her make up was simple, almost nude lips, dark eyeshadow and lashings of mascara. It could appear effortless...unless one knew how much effort ‘effortless’ actually took.

Her dress was a long, dusky pale pink gown that belted in the middle and swept to the floor in soft folds of taffeta and silk. It was not sleeved, but the sheer upper half did well enough in covering the scars seared into her skin. On the outer layer there were small flowers of silk sewn onto the dress, her proud expression of the beautiful floral agricultural scene that Venora was known for. On her feet she wore a pair of matching dusky pink heels that were lavishly accented on the heel with a gold leaf filigree. The young musician wanted to be absolutely sure that when she made an entrance, when she played for the guests, that everyone knew exactly what house she was from and that Oli could be proud of his sister.

To-trial at least finally, he could be proud of her.

Of course, there was another at Notreveré that the pale skinned pianist was eager to impress. A one Lord Caius Gawyne. Darcyanna nervously checked her appearance again, worrying over the finer details of her outfit. Sure, Caius had seen her without clothing, but this was different. This was the first time she had been able to dress up, to hopefully embody the beauty that Venora was supposed to be renounced for.

To-trial, she was The Ivory Rose.

Turning away from the mirror Darcy placed her fine crystal glass on the piano and sat down before the familiar white instrument. Her heart felt as though it was a flutter from the nerves the gala stirred; nervous to see Caius in such a formal setting, nervous about making her brother proud, nervous about performing for the first time in a long time in the family home.

Fates what she wouldn’t give for her reevi right now.

No. No, that’s not the solution Darcy.

Stroking the keys gently with one hand, Lady Venora moved to play a few soft notes. It helped a little to quell the hot flush and nausea that threatened to over take her, and with a sigh Darcy moved to play quietly, eyes and fingers dancing over the keys in a therapeutic release of tension.

Ahhh relaxing...

Letting the last note ring, she swivelled in the chair, standing one last time to check herself and finish her wine. Caius had asked her to wait for him, to allow them to enter as a couple, and true to form, the taller noble was late.

Darcy couldn’t help but smile at the fact, hoping Oli didn’t take offence to the tardy arrival of his sister and Lord Gawyne, for no good reason at all.

It was a way to make an entrance at least.

[Caius Gawyne]

He would have been early for once—just this once—in probably his entire adult life had he not run into Nathaniel Endor. It was fine, really, mostly, for by now Darcyanna would have expected no less of him. It was worthwhile, too, for it'd given him a chance to introduce Nadia Harwyn and hand over her employment to the older man as well as be pleasantly surprised by some thoughtful gifts. Still, he then had to pause by his room to drop off everything he received from the other Lord, setting things down carefully and pausing to fuss with his elegant outfit one more sarding time. With a hiss of annoyance, Caius let his ink-stained fingers slip away from the buttons of his House purple velvet vest, straightening his long, matching coat before loosening, just a little, the small silver chain that stretched over the cravat that brushed fashionably above his vest.

House Gawyne Formal Attire

Darker purple. Actually velvet. Silver buttons. Slightly rebelliously informal, but still amazing:

He sarding hated parties, social events, and most of the required trappings of nobility. He had no interest in pretense and political maneuvering, at least not in any of the traditional, acceptable ways. And yet, in spite of his general preferences, here he was, not only dressed the part of a Lord of Gawyne but also bordering on the eager to be seen, if only because he knew he wasn't going to be seen alone to-trial.

No, anyone in attendance would most definitively see him arrive with Darcyanna Venora and that was just fine with him.

More than fine, honestly, for Caius was aware of the statement he would be making in front of both nobility and commoners alike with the Ivory Rose at his side and he had no qualms about the consequences of all the possible assumptions. A handful of people who mattered knew already, but this was the really public, really obvious reveal of their not-so-casual relationship—Sard them all. He knew exactly what he was doing.

Everything else in place, he struck a less disheveled, more elegant than usual sort of creature, fidgeting for a moment with his signet ring before he knew he’d made himself late enough. The northern noble finally made his way out of his room and down the hall to the room he knew was Darcy’s. Despite being aware of their relationship, Oliver had made it clear that their sleeping arrangements were to be separate so long as they were both his guests. While this was obviously the proper thing to do, it wasn’t necessarily at all the northern noble’s preference, but he respected the older Venora as both a friend as a brother, even if the latter had certainly not come to official fruition … yet.

The last notes of a piano’s melody drifted from behind the door and Caius paused selfishly, leaning forward to listen with a brief closing of his eyes before knocking, too-warm palm pressed against the wood with a foolish, lopsided smile creasing its way into his aquiline features. He waited for silence, holding his breath and savoring the sound, quiet for just a trill or two to quell the flutter of nerves that danced in the cavity of his chest. Then, after running fingers through the slightly less unkempt than usual mess of his hair, he knocked, straightening and stepping back just enough so that it wasn’t as terribly suspect for hovering outside her door for too long.

And when the door opened, Lord Caius Gawyne’s smile was nothing if not stupid. Only for a bit too many did the northern noble stand without speaking, studying the platinum blonde vision before him in his insatiable, curious way and committing every dizzying, stunning detail to memory,

“I’m late—” He announced the obvious without apology, grin warming with his irises into something golden and mischievous, not even hesitating one trill in order to lean for a needful, lingering, shameless kiss. Offering his arm and pretending he didn’t at all feel nervous, that he could take on an entire crowd of his own noblekind so long as she was by his side, he added quietly, sincerely: “—and you’re beautiful, Darcyanna. But those are two of the sarding most obvious constants in all of Idalos, so let’s do something new. Shall we?”

With that, Caius would happily offer his arm and lead the way for the pair of them, practically beaming in the glow of the loveliest rose in all of Venora for whoever wanted to see.

Ledger

I need to record this somewhere:
Gala Entrance Fee = 20gn
Gala Donation (sorry, I’m a poor student) = 300gn
Violet velvet long jacket = 120gn
Violet velvet vest = 40gn
Black satin pants = 67gn 50sn
White silk shirt = 1gn 50 sn
Leather knee boots = 60sn
Total = 549gn 50sn

This noble and his sarding expensive tastes. What a brat.

❦

[Zane]

Bathing, clothing, cleaning, shaving and managing oneself, all of those things had something in common. The young skyrider would rather avoid them. And still, he did all of them. His mother always said it was important to look up to the occasion, or rather up to the people you will be seeing on that occasion, and thus her son listened and made himself look a thousand times prettier than usual just for this event. What did they call it, a souree? It was something like that, and if Zane was being honest with himself, which he most often would, he didn't really care. The only reason he was going was that some of his superiors in the Iron Hand mentioned it, and thus he needed to be there. Usually, he would avoid these events made by stuck-up nobles to seem charitable and nice, just because of the sheer amount of douchebaggery present during them, but this time he was forced by something he couldn't change to attend. Of course, he could say screw the superiors and just not come, but that wouldn't get him any closer to riding a jacadon, now would it? Oh, why was his brain like this, seeing a goal and doing all things, even ones as boring and unappealing as this, only to achieve it. There was just a touch of sarcasm in his thoughts, as he knew it wouldn't be that bad, and he could probably get away with just saying hi to the men above him on the chain of command and spending the rest of the time eating through everything the nobles had prepared.

One of his first memories echoed in his mind as he neared the doors of the estate, where he would pay the entrance fee. 'The nobles, all they care about is their face, so if you ever fight one, punch them in the stomach, not the face'. His father was a funny man, probably more so because there were so few memories of him, but Zane had no doubt that if he had stayed alive, he would've kept up his funny behaviour until his inevitable death. The row of commoners that wanted to enter the room was rather long, longer than usual for these events, at least for those Zane had witnessed. Although he didn't really have much experience with them. It could've been that the ones he had seen from the outside, in Andaris City, were just smaller ones. Now, he was finally at the entrance, and he gave over the one golden coin he was required to pay, not intending to pay any more money than he had already spent on clothing to this noble. The noble, Oliver Venora, just sounded like a stuck-up arse that had no care in the world for the common folk, and only held this soirée to impress his noble friends, or to suck up to his noble superiors. If he was being perfectly honest, Zane didn't have a clue as to how the whole chain of command worked for nobles, beyond knowing that the Duke and Duchess were on top, and he didn't intend to learn. He had learned a little too much about nobles during school, and he was done with it.

Stepping into the ballroom, the sounds of his new boots moving on top of the ground echoed in the boy's ears, probably because he was trying to focus on anything but the endless chatter that was coming from everyone and everywhere in the room. He moved his new jacket closer to his skin after he removed his coat, only to warm himself against the new income of chill Zi'da air that crashed against him. He gracefully moved through the people, not stepping on anyone's toes, unlike the first time he attended a public event. He had learned since then that people intentionally put their feet further apart from one another to catch commoners like him unaware, only to then yell out their anger and frustration at them for gently squeezing their toes between the boot and the ground. This place had nothing for him, he thought as he traversed it and made himself known to his superiors, some of which were on guard duty, while others attended for pleasure. Well, not exactly nothing, he thought as he looked at an empty cup and quickly filled it with wine. He had been there for about a bit and a half, and he was already drinking. That had to be a record, right?

The boy's face tightened as he drank, adjusting to the taste of fine Venoran wine instead of the cheap knock-offs he was used to. What was even more impressive than his momentary facial expression, was the fact that there was no dirt on his face, in fact, there was no dirt anywhere on his body. He didn't like appearing dirty and ragged all the time, but it was the easier route, and while he certainly could've tried to enter this event without changing his usual appearance, it wasn't advised, considering he doubted a guy called Oliver Venora would be pleased with someone entering his home with stains on their shirt, and an unnaturally tanned face helped by dirt. He would drink a couple more cups of wine, maybe have something to eat, he probably hadn't eaten anything as good as what they served here ever in his life, and thus it would be a shame to miss it, and he would say goodbye to the nobles and their chit-chat. Zane didn't dislike nobles, not in particular, but he also wasn't a fan of them either. He preferred people who did things over talking about them, and people who didn't care about getting their hands dirty. There weren't any of those kinds of people here, at least to his knowledge. And if there were, they were on the path of corruption. Honestly, Zane would've loved to meet someone such as himself at these sorts of events, he just believed it closer to impossible for that to happen. And why wouldn't he, wasn't this a gala for the nobles after all?

Money spending

Shirt - 12sn
Boots (ankle) - 8sn
Velvet black jacket - 12gn
Trousers - 5gn
Gala entrance - 1gn
Total - 20gn (that's a lot in commoner terms)

[Xander Andaris]

There was no lying that when Xander put the effort in he was more than attractive. So though he hated spending money on things as trivial as unecessary fine clothing he had decided for once to acquire something higher end. Not to mention his usual formal attire was not in the best shape after fighting the Warrick boy in it. Finally the new Andaris had taken the time to actually buy something new and he had done so with the hope of not doing so again for some time.

Therefore, when he arrived at the entrance to the Soirée, with his wife on his arm, he was dressed better than most would be used to seeing him. A perfectly tailored black doublet embroidered with white threads sat over a satin shirt running down into a pair of wool black and white pinstriped trousers. To complete the outfit were a pair of ankle boots and round feathered hat.

Fiddling with his collar slightly as he approached he whispered to his wife. "I feel like a pompous idiot." She knew how he was with the formalities of nobility, his distaste for the culture. The truth was he'd rather walk around dressed like a worker than a man of his social rank. "Maybe I can lose the hat?" He looked at her with an eyebrow raised, knowing what the answer would be.

He removed his hat at the door as they approached the guards and smiled, the round hat pressed against his chest. "Baron Xander and Baroness Celeste Andaris, here is our entrance." He removed the coin purse from his pocket and handed it over to the man. The 40 gold nels for their entrance contained inside.

After recent events he was glad to see there was something pertaining to security at the event. It helped him feel more comfortable with Celeste being here while pregnant. Of course she would tell not to be silly but he knew how dangerous the world was and it fell to him in the end to keep her and their child from harm.

Once admitted he kept a close hold to his pregnant wife. "I suppose it would be proper that we seek out our host and thank him for the invitation." Xander put in his politics face, the warm inviting smile and pleasant eyes that were quite out of place if you knew him well. "Not to mention this donation is quite heavy to carry around for long." The Baron raised the wooden box that was in his other hand, filled with the Nel they had brought for the even to be given to charity.

Expenses

Entrance: 40 GN
Large Satin Shirt: 18 GN
Large Embroided Velvet Doublet: 36 GN
Large Wool Trousers: 14 GN
Ankle Boots: 8 SN
Round Hat with Feather: 1 GN 6 SN