Honoring the Andaris

A party for all to attend! Celebrate until Dawn!

The capital city of the of Rynmere, here is seated the only King in Idalos.
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Quincy Andaris
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Honoring the Andaris

Andaris Gala

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Arc 716, 64th Trial of Ashan

The eighteenth break struck, the sun having set, a cool breeze in the air that blew up towards the top tier of Andaris City. Elegant houses and tidy streets wound through the wealthy district, lights burning warmly throughout the quarter. It was the perfect evening for a celebration.


One, beautifully crafted home was alive with activity. No sign labeled the building, if one didn’t know where the Gala was located, then they most likely did not belong. Exclusivity only heightened the envy in those not invited. It made the event even more desirable. And the Andaris family was the definition of elitism.


On the break, two large oak doors swung outward, formally dressed servants milling about, two hired, armed guards placing themselves beside each door, the Andaris emblem of a Jacadon emblazed on their armor, deterring any party crashers or uninvited guests from entering. A valet stood ready to open the door of each carriage that came to the entrance and would offer hand to help the guests out.


A large staircase sat at the end of the small room inside the doors, servants lining the walls of the staircase as though carved of stone. At the top of the stairs, a few servants stood with silver trays with wine glasses to give to those who entered. A herald stood to the right and with a booming voice, announced each arrival, title and name before allowing them into the room.

The gala itself was just as impressive as the entrance made believe. Beautifully decorated floors and a high vaulted ceiling welcomed the guests in. A large room, filled with decorated tables and hand carved chairs off to the right, long tables covered with every food imaginable lined the left. A bar stocked with everything a guest could dream of was to the left of the herald. An empty square sat off in the back, reserved for dancing, five men sitting with instruments, cheery music playing in the background drifting pleasantly in the background.


Everything was ready for the evening to begin.

--

Quincy Andaris stood in the far back, away from the public eye, mulling over figures on a sheet of parchment and delegating jobs to servants that came to him with questions. He sighed, frequently wondered why he allowed himself to be placed in charge of events such as these.


“Waaaaaay to sober for this…”


The nobleman mumbled to himself as he felt a headache begin to form behind his brow, the lists of information beginning to swim before his eyes. His father, Benji, next in line to become the baron, had come to him a few months prior requesting the second eldest brother to host a party in their honor. Though the “request” had the undertone of a command in it. As usual. He insisted on the importance of the family remaining in the forefront of attention, a sediment the son could well understand. Though why it had to be his responsibility he continued to question.


“Lord Quincy, the doors have opened. Guests are arriving. The head cook has a question about the wine list that will be served, he wants to know…” Quincy nodded, half acknowledging the servant as he rambled on, but not looking up from the ledger. The Andaris wouldn’t be needed until a majority of the guests arrived. He could already hear the herald announcing guests, the room quickly filling up. Then he would give a welcoming speech and the first course would be brought out. Until then, he would remain where he was, making sure all the details were attended to and things ran smoothly, giving sufficient time for the guests to greet each other and get settled in.
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Last edited by Quincy Andaris on Mon Apr 18, 2016 3:22 am, edited 3 times in total. word count: 693
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Vivian Shiryu
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Vivian sighed irritably as she leaned back in her carriage, the soldier not fully comfortable in social functions. She supposed it meant that she had more in common with her cousins than most might guess, but she didn't count that as a bad thing exactly. When the carriage stopped, Vivian waited for the door to open and then stepped to the ground, nodding regally at the servant who had opened the door for her before she headed towards the building. Not having spent any money recently on fancy clothes, Vivian wore her usual clothes, as she had not yet attained the necessary rank for a more formal military uniform.

Stopping to let the herald announce her, Vivian was somewhat relieved to find that she had arrived not quite first, but without enough people to start feeling crowded. Taking a wine glass from one of the servants, Vivian took a light sip of the alcohol, noting that it was a good flavor. Someone in the Andaris family knew their wines pretty well. She wracked her brains for the members of House Andaris that had been drilled into her brain, but she didn't come up with any names. Shrugging it off for now, the Warrick soldier walked around for a bit, exchanging polite greetings with the other guests, stopping very briefly to have a short conversation with her youngest brother, who looked magnificently bored to have been forced into attending the party.

Once he wandered off to go track down some of his no doubt equally bored friends, Vivian found herself wandering again before turning to the door as the herald boomed out the next arrival. "Lady Pythera Venora and escort." And there was the treacherous rogue, with a dark-skinned, white-haired woman who had the all the signs of a Sev'ryn on her arm. The blonde ex-skyrider's nobility was apparently still keeping her safe enough from the repercussions of her criminal activity that she had merited an invitation to the party.

Gritting her teeth in irritation, Vivian deliberatly avoided Pythera and her escort, seeking out the few people she knew. She was briefly distracted again when the herald announced another name she knew. "Lady Madelyne Selene Endor." Vivian had never known Madelyne particularly well, but she had been friends with Pythera when they were younger, and it seemed that friendship still went strong, as the young Endor headed straight for Pythera and her companion. She doubted if Madelyne was a bandit as well, not when she was all soft curves and sweet sounding words.
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Elyna
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The gala. Another demand of recompense from Caelan. Elyna had agreed to attend, she had also agreed to attend to wear the ridiculous dress but she had put her foot down at arriving with her Mother. Caelan was spending a few rare trials in the capital and determined to find her wayward daughter a husband, quickly. It was safe to assume though that the Skyrider had other plans and she’d wasted no time in extending an invitation to Levinia. Levi was a perfect friend, beautiful, gentle, and Elyna could recognise, far more noble in her manners than the daughter of Burhan would ever be herself.

The borrowed dress was the colour of a deep red wine, though Elyna doubted she would be to enjoy much of anything, given that it was so tight around her waist and chest. It had a high neck and long sleeves, planned no doubt to hide the final traces of fading bruises. She’d agreed to put her hair up, and even to wear make-up, darkening the lids above her eyes. There had been a time in her teenage years when she’d experimented with dark khols and powders on a more regular basis and she still retained a fair amount of skill. Please with the overall effect she’d arrived at the Gala.

It looked busy inside. Elyna lifted her chin, collecting her skirts as she made a slow and deliberate ascent up the stairs. The room was a wash of people, noises, smells. She was offered a glass of wine which she collected. At least, she would know the organiser of the event, having met him at the start of the cycle. Her heart thudded in her chest and she wished that tonight of all nights, she could just run away and spend the evening in the stables. But no, she was expected to smile and socialise and drink and dance.

“Lady Elyna Burhan,” her name was announced and she paused for the moment before entering the room. She was sure her cheeks were burning, she looked around carefully, scanning for a place to hide. A statue, a tree, a floral arrangement. Anything. Anything had to be better than this.
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Levinia
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When Elyna invited Levinia to the Andaris Gala, she had found herself quite excited; that was until she realized she did not have a dress for such an occasion. A girl like her did not own Gala dresses nor did she go to such things as grand galas but that did not stop her.

Ever resourceful, Levinia had managed to borrow a gown and shoes pretty enough to pull off such a dress. Her dress was a simple affair of plain white silk and gold trim. The woman she borrowed it from thought that it would go perfect with Levinia’s hair. She hoped she didn’t look too out of place and relied on the uniqueness of her white locks to distract from that fact.

The hardest thing she had to control, however, was to not try to look wide eyed and out of place. It was difficult not to want to look around at all the pretty people and their glorious clothing. Levinia could stare at them all day and at the beautiful huge mansion that the gala was being hosted in. Could one family truly live in such a large place all by themselves? Levinia wondered if the family ever found themselves lost. She stifled a giggle at her silly thoughts and instead paid attention to what Ely was doing.

Taking her lead, Levinia also lifted her chin and pretended that she belonged there. She listened as Elyna was announced and intended to just follow her inside but realized that she needed to give a name as well. Levinia was not a lady, so she couldn’t claim that title. She sighed, and gave her name and tried not to cringe when her name was announced, “Miss Levinia Black!”

Again, she pretended not to be bothered by all this and in her mind she repeated the formula for some of her favorite potions. The white haired girl smiled as pretty as she could and then spoke to Ely through clenched teeth, “Let’s find a place out of the way quick.” Meanwhile, her heart banged hard against her chest as her violet blue eyes looked around the area suddenly wondering what she was doing in such a fancy place.
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Qaerris
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Three parties in the same season? My, my, Evelyn seems to be turning to the point of attachment. Not that it's a bad thing... I can very well enjoy these parties for as many times as they're thrown.

A chuckle parted Qaerris' lips as he received a message from the woman's servant, told to go and dress himself at her estate before accompanying her to the Gala. It seemed that in this case, Evelyn had sent for him on time, instead of seeking to solicit his other services for the interim between his arrival and their departure. Which was perfectly fine, for the Mortalborn intended to party and enjoy the festivities to the point where both would need their energy. When Qaerris arrived at Evelyn's estate, he dismissed her servant, by this point knowing the woman's home well enough to navigate it easily by himself.

However, before the servant left, she noted, "This time, Evelyn has arranged for you to dress in the guest room. She has a matter to attend to before the both of you leave."

Of course she does.

A breath filled Qaerris' lungs as he took the final turn, making his way into the allotted bedroom. In there, waiting for him, was his apparel for the evening. The Mortalborn donned it, adjusting the fit and stringing on his tie before making his way out and towards Evelyn's own bedroom half an hour later, where she was waiting for him. They did not speak, Qaerris instead flashing a smile at the woman before she approached, taking his arm to be led towards their carriage. From there, they departed to arrive at the party.
- - - - -
When Qaerris and Evelyn arrived, they were in time to meld into the slough of other guests for the evening. The Mortalborn could feel the stares tingling the back of his neck, both himself and his date, immaculately dressed, attracting the needless attention and whispers of the other patrons. Of course, it was nothing new. Two other parties had been similar, Qaerris' visage without fail catching the eye of those that would look at him, though it was moreso the company he kept and the fact that he, one without noble blood, continued to catch the arm and gaze of an Andaris (regardless of how important). The very feat was apparently worthy of chatter.

When the Mortalborn entered the Gala, his gaze immediately moved towards the bar, the man turning towards Evelyn as his eyebrows arched, the question asked without actually posing it. Beginning to make his way towards the bar once she seemingly acquiesced, she held her grip to his arm, instead accompanying the Mortalborn as both made their way to sit down. "Two glasses of Acripae, please," the woman asked the bartender, a smile placed upon her features.

Quincy's wine? Oh, my, how the tune has changed... The Mortalborn thought to himself, an amused grin cast upon his features as his arm slung around Evelyn's waist.

Qaerris' gaze cast about the Gala in search of familiar faces, catching three already that came to mind. A smirk caught upon his visage as he turned towards the bar and his date, lips clinging to his glass of wine and taking from it a sip as soon as it was handed to him.

Oh, this promises to be amusing, doesn't it? I wonder how long 'Quentin Alvina' will continue to exist.

Though, by the Mortalborn's expression, he clearly didn't care.
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Andráska Venora
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Arc 716, 64th Trial of Ashan

"What fresh hell is this?"

A figure stood outside the doors to the galla, green eyes running along the decorative details put into the night. Lights and candles were hung, the air smelled of excessive perfumes, and servants scurried like rats in the sewer. András, one hand in his pocket, the other searching for a drink was disappointed to find that those serving alcoholic beverages were inside the grand room. How selfish. The exasperated man pursed his lips in a slight frown, taking a deep breath and headed for entry, looking expectantly at the guards monitoring guests. They didn't move for him to enter, and András paused, raising an eyebrow.

"Look boys, I hate this as much as you, but... do you mind? I gotta show up to these things, important for political relations, etcetera etcetera." Andráska waved his hand about and watched as the men exchanged glances.

"I don't think so, sir."

This surprised him. He laughed and then looked down at himself, "Oh! The outfit, right. Thought something like this might happen. And you don't recognize me. Give me just a..." The wild eyed youth started digging in his pockets, yanking free a rather crumbled piece of folded paper and opening it, "Here we are. An invitation. How 'bout that?" A cheeky grin flashed on his face, but the guards didn't look so impressed.

Finally, András exhaled a deep sigh, his head falling back in frustration, "Normally I'd love this, but I can't deal with this tonight. You two are something else, ya? A young man, a noble just wants to do boring noble stuff, and yo-" He was cut off as some elegantly dressed couple headed towards the door and were allowed entry with no problem. They didn't even show their invitations! "Wow. Am I that bad?"

The guards stared at him, the other, a young ruddy faced guy, probably not much older than András shifted uncomfortably and leaned close to his compatriot, "C'mon, Ed. Look at him. He does have an invite. We could get in trouble if don't let him in."

The older guard blanched, but straightened his expression just in case the man in front of them, dressed in simple commoners clothes with untamed hair was actually someone important. He lowered his voice, but Andráska purposefully leaned in to eavesdrop, "We'll get in more trouble if we let in someone like him. Look at him. Lord Benji won't look too good if we're slack on the job."

While they were discussing matters, András tucked in his shirt, rolled down the sleeves that had been pulled to his elbows and tried to smooth his hair, "How about now, guardsmen? An invitation? A tucked in shirt. What more could you ask for? Go find a Venora if you need to. They'll know me, I'm sure. Andráska Venora? I'm sure someone from my family is already inside. They die for stuff like this." He lowered his voice, muttering under his breath, "A little sad, really."

The name Venora sparked recognition in the younger guard's face and he whispered something into the other's ear, this time too rushed for the noble to make it out. Finally, with a stiff back and none to happy exchange of looks, the older one requested András' invitation and looked it over. He even held it to the light, as if that mattered. Andráska had to stiffle a laugh, but nodded politely when they eventually allowed him entrance.

I should hire those for my family's next event. They can keep everyone out. It'd be perfect.

Once he arrived, András looked over everyone else who littered the ballroom. Dukes, and duchesses, lords and ladies. A bunch of sods who wanted power and had secrets. Plenty of fun. As he began scouting the room for servers, a great booming voice from a man in a frilly top shouted his name, "Lord Andráska Venora!"

András grinned, giving a playful bow to the room and strolled down the stairs and snatched a drink from a server's tray, "Thanks, love." As he strolled around the room, he heard mutterings. Most petty excuses for conversation starters. Some about how poor he looked. A few caught his attention. Rumors of a particular lady and-

Craning his ear and not his eyes, András found himself bumping into a another figure. A young woman with dark curls and blue eyes. She was taller than most women and he pulled away, careful and lucky to not have spilled anything on the lady. Get the rich messy and they threw a solid fit, "Forgive me," he muttered, shrugging his shoulders and taking a deep drink, "Not too graceful, apparently."
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Quincy Andaris
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Quincy Andaris

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It began to grow louder as guests began to arrive and mill about one another, polite laughter echoing against the high cathedral style ceiling, the sound of voices blending in with one another, a mass of sound filling the room.


Quincy grunted, rolling up the piece of parchment containing the ledger for the evening and held it out to a servant who stood beside him. Relieved to be done with logistics for now, he took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. It was game time.


The second oldest Andaris brother strode from the back of the room, slipping on his charming mask of nobility atop his features, polite smile touching his lips, his hair, bouncing about his face as he walked. Wearing his dark green chiffon doublet, black pants wrapped with a belt and shiny buckle, dark brown knee high boots clomping as they struck the polish wooden floor cloaked his figure.


Walking confidently, a slightly swagger in his step, to the small stage in front of the dance floor, the musicians off to the left, the host grabbed a glass of white wine that a servant carried on a tray in passing, lifting it to his nose and sniffing its contents.


Hmm, citrusy and... He took a small sip, swirling it in his mouth before swallowing it. …passionfruit? Ahh, the Sparkling White. That’s right, I’d have preferred to serve Appiden but it’s just not the right season…shame really.


Quincy shook his head, clearing his thoughts and returning to the task at hand. He had to get the evening started off. Nodding once to his assistant, the servant shot off towards the front entrance. Reaching the doorway to the staircase, he whispered into the ear of the herald. The messenger listened before marching regally towards the stadium where the Andaris stood, spine straight. Spinning on his heels and facing the crowd tilted his chin up. His voice boomed across the room, catching the attention of every person in the room.


“Nobility and guests! I present to ye on this eve, thee second born of Lord Benji Andaris, third in line for thee title Baron, thou host, Lord Quincy of thee Andaris family!”


Having finished his announcement, the herald marched back across the room, returning to his post at the staircase entrance.


Quincy smiled, tilting his head in acknowledgement of his introduction and began his speech. He gestured towards the crowd with his free hand.


“Lords and Ladies of Rynmere! I, Lord Quincy, on behalf of Baron Thomas Andaris, thank you for your presence here. The sacrifice of your valuable time to attend our simple celebration on this lovely eve touches us deeply. This most esteemed festivity may be to honor the Andaris for their contributions to the city and its people, but it is also to celebrate those responsible for carrying the weight of the kingdom upon their weary shoulders: the nobility.


“Without us, the city would crumble, left in shambles by those unable to lead with such charisma, fortitude and wisdom that we wield at our command. It is our leadership, our example that inspires the common people to rise up and better themselves. It is our image they strive to mold themselves to. We are the center of Rynmere and it is to you who make up the seven families, thus crafting the image all desire to be.”


Quincy lifted his glass of wine into the air.


“I would like to-”


He was cut off abruptly as a loud commotion suddenly broke out at the entrance of the gala, the sound of wine glasses shattering as a servant was knocked over. Heads turned in confusion, voices whispering quietly to one another. Quincy’s confident smile wilted slightly as the sound reached his ears. He craned his neck, looking out over the heads atop the stage, trying to see what was happening.


What the- Is that, oh hell no. Please don’t be…oh god…it is…I didn't think he would actually COME...


Dread filled the nobleman’s stomach, it's fiery grasp squeezing ruthlessly. He caught a glimpse of his worst nightmare. The event was about to take an unexpected and unwelcome turn for all present.

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Peake
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Peake was not a man of parties. Dressing fancy and having long conversation about the types of fertilizers that best suited the Ashan crops was out of his interests, that was for sure. Instead, his partying methods were a bit more extreme. For attire he preferred nothing but his bare flesh, and his conversations mostly revolved about which woman he was to penetrate next. Instead of glasses of punch, he preferred something more classic, like tubs of wine or kegs of whiskey in which to bathe and relish like a parasite. Few were able to keep up with his methods, especially the women, and so he made sure he sent off the used up whores and simply hire new ones for the remainder of the night. People did not understand just how much stress he had to handle on his life, and his only relief was to smother that stress with a proper intoxication. Unfortunately, his periods of intoxication made him a menace to pretty much the Kingdom itself, which is what brought him to the Gala this refined and elitist evening.

“Excuse me, sir. This event is very exclusive, and not only requires proper clothing, but also an invita---“Peake did not like the tone of the guard, nor his face. In fact, he didn’t like being spoken when someone spoke to him at all, especially when Peake hadn’t granted his permission. Just for the giggles, Peake raised the visor of his ceremonial helmet and revealed his features – and the beard that the guard immediately recognized. Despite the beard, Peake was still unpresentable, which did nothing but confuse the guard, sending him into a spiral of thought in which he pondered as to how to react. Peake didn’t bother to think, and instead he pushed the halberd away from his face, stepped closer to the guard and locked his head in his armpit. The guard complained, but did not resist too much. Before the other guard came to his aid, Peake turned sideways and pointed towards the other male. “Don’t you dare!” His voice was thunder, angry and aggressive despite the somewhat disgusting expression of joy in Peake’s bearded features. “This is MY house, and you work for ME. Stay there or you’ll wake up in the dungeon.” The herd of giggles exploded behind Peake, so contagious it even affected Peake himself. With the guard head locked, mumbling something under Peake’s pit, Peake proceeded forward.

It was about time to make an appearance at the family estate. His father, that manipulative bastard, must be worried sick about Peake, his investment. He must wonder where his heir is, where all that gold he invested in shaping that man is instead of looking for marriage. Well, today his father would be happy to know where his son is. Their relationship had been broken ever since Peake was born, yet in the last four arcs it had become much more than that. Soon enough, Peake was exposed to some of the lonesome guests that had not joined the rest in the theatre, most of them either too shy to join, couples that were working their way into their partner’s pants, or just the dates that preferred to relish on all the free food. Simpletons were everywhere these days. Peake’s assistants quickly raided the food, afterwards swarming the bartender and basically borrowing by force every bottle they could carry. He had thought them well, thought Peake as he advanced. They followed him, and soon enough the light grew dim as he approached the location. Someone was speaking, and by the tone of the voice, Peake already recognized his drunkard younger brother Quincy. His voice was always trembling when he drank, which is always.

Standing at the back of it all, Peake was still hidden by the public, which was a direct offense to his ego. He was the heir to the barony, and he had fucked the Queen. He deserved the attention. “Please, let go of me, Lord Andaris!” The guard’s muffled voice reached Peake’s ears, snuffed by the armpit. Being a merciful lord as he was, he obliged, and so when one of the servants was to cross Peake’s path without notice, Peake undid the headlock, pushed the guard forward and helped him down the stairs with a harsh stomp to his armored ass. Just like that, the guard flew down the stairs, knocking over the servant and the tray full of glasses, all two of them rolling down the stairs like the sack of spoiled meat they were. Soon enough, Peake felt the gazes starting to fix on him, as it should be. Removing his decorative helmet and handing it out to one of his assistants, Peake grinned widely, the aggressive demeanor very much present.

So drunk he was that he didn’t realize that half of his armor was missing. His bare chest, hairy and somewhat muscular as it was, shined proudly in the dim lights of the scene. His breastplate, gauntlets and pauldrons had been surely forgotten in one of the many brothels he had visited on this trial, yet thankfully they had their name and address carved on the inside, his value as a client guaranteeing their return to their owner. Sad, but true. His beard and hairy chest, magnificent and fabulous beyond measure, had spawned many rumors due to the envy of those that lacked said handsome attributes. One of them spoke of how the young King’s pubic hair grew on Peake’s beard, a rumor that Peake had always tried to ignore. As for his +1, instead of a woman he had chosen to bring along a horde of the finest prostitutes in town, all of them wasted like him, some with their breasts hanging out of their white dresses Peake had made them wear. He didn’t even have to pay them, but instead he promised them an entrance to the city’s most exclusive event. Free sex was double the fun. They were excited, even if the brothel gals didn't consume all the drugs they did.

“Look at all these hypocrites, girls. That’s what happens when you don’t fuck a man the way he deserves!” Peake pointed towards one of the oldest men he could see, a businessman of 70 arcs of age whose stern and tense face looked as if he had just eaten a lemon or was holding a nasty flatulence. Walking down the stairs, the giggle wagon composed of prostitutes followed behind Peake, like sheep to the shepherd, yet sheep that had apparently been fed testosterone as they presented themselves quite aggressively. They poked the guests, provoking them, spitting on them or flashing them with their bodies depending on the individual. Fights and conflicts broke out here and there, the prostitutes finding their way into trouble as easily as Peake did, apparently. It was only then when Peake decided to finally address the one person he did not want to see – Quincy Andaris, professional drunkard, host of the event. Peake was obviously mad that an invitation reached him, and the box of ‘Not attending’ was already marked. If it wasn’t for that detail, he would’ve marked the box itself and forgotten about it. Quincy had made this into something personal however. “Is that him?” Asked one of the girls that wasn't busy picking on the multiple guests, and like hens they all started repeating the same question, over and over again, until Peake nodded. Once the whores knew, they immediately helped Peake out, one of them handing him a watermelon whose rind was peeled off perfectly, the watermelon being a simple red ball made entirely out of fruit.

“I fucking hate you, you FUCK!” Yelled out Peake with all his might, and with that same terrifying might he gathered all his strength into a violent toss, the watermelon flying through the air, Peake having aimed directly for Quincy’s pale face. Peake, being the loving brother that he was, wished only to return some of that red shade onto his brother’s face.
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Vivian Shiryu
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Vivian watched quietly as others arrived, a few in even plainer clothes than her own. Shrugging, the noble sipped at her wine for a moment before someone bumped into her. She hadn't spilled her wine, but she did level the man a cold look before he apologized. He was one of those more plainly than even she was, but she couldn't fault him that. Fancy clothes were uncomfortable and unpleasant when they weren't just gaudy. "Quite all right, such things happen and no harm was done." she said, accepting his apology with the grace due her station. She had meant to comment further, but she was distracted by a new arrival, Lord Quincy Andaris. She listened politely to his speech, and raised her glass to toast when yet another new arrival appeared...one who seemed hell bent on making a scene.

The women accompanying him flooded into the room, making bold invitations to some of the men and even some of the women and harassing others. One in particular came over to where Vivian and the other plain dressed were standing and, after taking a glass of wine from a protesting servant, threw it on Vivian's face. Taking a deep, calming breath as the prostitute laughed drunkenly, Vivian beckoned over a servant with a wine tray. The servant, evidently expecting to bear the brunt of the noblewomans anger, approached her cautiously. However, Vivian just set her wine glass on the tray before she turned to the still laughing whore. Giving her a cold look, Vivian raised fist and delivered a crushing blow to the womans head, sending her to the ground. The prostitute began to rise angrily, but a sharp kick to the head prevented that. After straightening her jacket and using a cloth the servant handed to wipe her face clean, Vivian surveyed the gala.

A trio of the whores had apparently descended on Pythera, her escort, and Madelyne, but from the look of things they hadn't done much more than muss Madelyn's clothes and hair before they had been brutally dealt with by Pythera. The odd angles of their limbs and the blood running freely from their noses and mouths indicated that Pythere had been fair more brutal in her suppression than Vivian had, and the black anger on the traitor's face gave the Warrick Noblewoman a feeling that the trio would soon turn up either missing or dead. Vivian's brother appeared to be trying to pry one of the prostitutes off his arm, his face beet red as one of the servants assisted him.

Turning now to face the man who had brought this troublesome lot, Vivian just barely saw him hurl a watermelon at Lord Quincy. Scowling deeply, Vivian stalked to the middle of the ball room floor, taking the time to pause by her brother and help him with his own trouble by delivering a blow similar to the one she had used on her own assailant. That dealt with, Vivian stood in the middle of the floor and glared up at the new arrival. "And just who are you to be causing such trouble. I know not your name, but whether you be peasant or noble-born, you bring nothing but shame to your house." she called, insult clear in her tone.
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Elyna
Approved Character
Posts: 1190
Joined: Wed Mar 30, 2016 12:31 pm
Race: Naerikk
Profession: Official Troublemaker
Renown: 231
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Honoring the Andaris

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Well, that got violent fast. Elyna had been half-leaning against the walls, wishing she could sink back into the drapes and vanish; but that would have spoilt a potentially interesting night with her friend and she didn’t often convince Levinia to accompany her out that much. As the tiny white-haired woman had requested they’d shuffled quickly out of the way to watch the crowd from a safer distance. The Skyrider was quickly glad that she had done so.

Qaerris? She tilted her head to one side, watching as the unmistakable man sauntered past with a noble woman on his arm. She was pleased to recognise someone else here other than Levinia, but she hadn’t seen or spoken to the man since…She took a large gulp of wine, but chocked on it. So much for subtlety.

Elyna turned away from the crowd as she coughed, trying to get the liquid out of her lungs, smothering the sound with her hand as the Andaris’s son started to make his speech. Once she was able to breathe she tapped Lev on the shoulder, “I know him,” she whispered, sure he’d made his introduction to the crowd, but she’d met him earlier in the season “Quincy…some idiot was trying to mug him,” she explained beneath her breath, earning her a look from someone who was desperately trying to listen to his words, as though they were goldust.

Then it all went to hell, the whole room turned in astonishment as the Andaris elder son made his entrance. It was unavoidable. Elyna took a step closer to her petit friend as scenes of violence broke out across the room in reaction to unwelcome advances from the ladies of the night. Elyna wasn’t offended by the prostitutes, but she felt bad for Quincy, all his preparation and hard work undone by someone who patently needed their ass handing to them. And then the brunette woman strode forth and issued a challenge. Elyna groaned, “So… Lev…run or fight?” she asked her friend quietly, “I don’t think there will be much dancing tonight,” she scanned the crowd for the other familiar face. A group would be better.
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