• Placeholder • Daddy's Home

At last, Peake introduces his fiancé to his father.

The capital city of the of Rynmere, here is seated the only King in Idalos.
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Peake
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Daddy's Home

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70th of Ymiden
8th Break

“Are you nailing your coffin!? GO FASTER!”

The challenging roar from Don did not go unnoticed, certainly not when his thin wooden stick landed on the sweaty nobleman’s back. His mind as long ago forgotten just how much the wood resembled a whip, for it certainly ached like one whenever it landed on his bare back. A loud grunt of annoyance, pain, and frustration escaped him, as the sledgehammer was risen onto the air once more. With all his strength and might, whatever that may be as nothing was nearby to compare, the sledgehammer unloaded it’s now brutal weight upon the massive and dry wooden log. Swinging the hammer wasn’t nearly as terrible as controlling the bounce or absorbing all the vibration with his arms. Despite wearing thick gloves to protect his hands from bleeding or excessive strain, his body still believed it was being beaten.

Another smack on his back urged him to repeat the motion, again and again, until the sledgehammer’s wooden handle finally broke. Peake’s satisfaction and completed task was announced not only by the twin’s loud yells of satisfaction, but also by his own terrible growl of dominance. Tossing the remains of the handle along with the gloves on the spot, Peake stepped forward towards the following stage.

Despite the pain and exhaustion from some intense workout, Peake had been wise to visit the Bone Pit this morning. Soon after the twins began treating him like a donkey that only loft weights, any nervousness that remained inside was converted to rage, and the rage fueled his body in each of the challenges they presented him. In spite of being a nobleman, and a certain requirement of his body being softer and almost delicate, Peake had no ways of conserving it in such a shape. His youthful days had brought along severe rage issues, and considering that today there needed to be no alcohol in his diet, the Bone Pit was the only location in which his rage was to found release. Ironic how it was Peake’s father what initially triggered his attacks, and then it was that very man the one that brought him here for the first time.

“Get under that barbell, snail! Be a man for a trial in your life!”

It was Duro the one that yelled this time, Peake being double-teamed by this pair of muscular giants. Gathering some breath proved to be unnecessary, mostly because the stick from both brothers landed on Peake’s back. Mixing pain and determination, the nobleman crouched down and gripped the metallic instrument. Composed from a single piece of metal, shaped into a sort of dog-bone for an even distribution and stretching to a length of approximately six feet, it certainly weighted far more than what it appeared. Taking a hold of the thin section of the handle was the first step, tipping the barbell onto one of its sides being the second. From then, Peake slid underneath the bar, resting it on the base of his trapezius before his free arm went to also grip the barbell. Twisting his closed palms against the metal ensured his grip would tighten to the point of becoming painful, at last Peake tightened his core to tip the barbell and, effectively, the barbell was loft from the ground as it now rested on the top of his back.

“Until you can’t move your legs! As lower as you can!”


After another harmful stick to the back, and a pained grunt slipping through Peake’s panting, his feet automatically prepared their stance before the squatting began. Keeping his back straight and making sure his knees opened outwards the more his rear pulled back, Peake began squatting as his breath was held in. The first couple of repetitions were easy and almost unnoticed, yet his legs began losing strength with great haste. Each repetition became painful, his body often freezing either on the top of the movement or at the very bottom, wishing to rest for at least one bit. Each stick to the back, however, discouraged him. His vision turned fuzzy, and soon enough he saw nothing no matter how wide open his eyes were. Whenever he found himself at the bottom of the movement, he felt the blood in his body try to find a way out, almost giving him the sensation he would explode from within.

“Don’t close your eyes or you’ll be crushed like your puny little dreams!”

That was true, thought Peake. Even if he couldn’t see due to the blood pressure, the eyes had to remain open to prevent the body from shutting down. The capillaries inside his nose gave to the pressure, blood being ejected with every breath the man exhaled, almost like mucus would from a crying child. At some point, his body and mind must’ve given up, for Peake recovered consciousness with the barbell rolling through the stone ground, and him panting like a newborn. Losing consciousness for a lapse shorter than a bit was a great satisfaction, both to the nobleman and the giant twins. They wouldn’t show it, though, and did not stop flailing their hellish sticks on Peake’s back until he was back up.

“Do you want to live forever!? Deadlifts, now!”

--

12th Break

Broken would be an appropriate word to describe his current condition. Barely able to walk, Peake opened the brothel doors with pained groans. If he hadn’t ask for a few free days, he would be passed out somewhere on the road to be robbed, kidnapped, or just murdered by just about every hater out there. The taxman was short on friend, but here he’d find some. No matter how tired he felt, his head rose and a smirk was present when he gazed towards the other side of the distant bar. The brunette behind it took notice of the new customer, and some amused joy awoke within her.

“Look who decided to visit, girls!” The brunette, along with some other girls made their way towards Peake in the same manner they would greet an old friend they hadn’t seen in ages. Friendly hugs and a few more-than-friendly slaps on the rear were received by Peake with a pained chuckle, grinning to each of the girls. “No wonder the birds went quiet! The taxman has arrived!” The brunette, after her hug, quickly noticed just how sweaty the man was, to which she took measures.

“Let’s get you on the tub, you fool. Girls, gather the coldest water you can find.” With the help from two friendly girls that escorted him to their living quarters, as soon as they reached the off-limits section of the rather exclusive and high-class brothel, Peake’s clothes were stripped from him before he was seated in the wooden tub. The buckets of cold water came shortly after, and bucket after bucket, the tub slowly began to fill. The cold not only served to soothe the pain, which would’ve been better accomplished by hot water, but also to preserve the swollen muscles of Peake’s body. It wasn’t until the brunette from behind the counter arrived that the silence was broken.

“Well, well. We don’t see you for such a long time and you come here looking like this? Shame on you, mister taxman…” She leaned in for a kiss in Peake’s bearded cheek. “Where have you been?”
“Just busy. I meant to come visit but it’s been impossible lately.” In return for her kiss, Peake kissed her cheek as well. “You don’t want to know.”
“No, I don’t want to.” She snickered. “How can we serve you today, hmm?”
“Actually, I was hoping you girls could help me sharpen up. Special occasion tonight, and I need to look perfect. Obviously, I thought about you.”
“Hmpf. First you get engaged, then you stop visiting… Should we be worried?” Another snicker, before she shook her head. “Wait here, I’ll see if the gang finished working. They’ve missed you a lot, and you don’t even write.”

--

13th Break

The bath continued, and after some scrubbing by one of the girls, now Peake’s four limbs hanged out from the wooden tub, a manicure and a pedicure being performed at the same time. Most whores were very talented women, and despite selling their bodies for a living, many of them were very talented. Sex, however, paid better. Peake had befriended many of them, and despite thrusting many of them every once in a while, he trusted all of them.

“So yes, we’re now waiting to see what the doctor says. We don’t know anything yet, but we believe she’ll get better.” Said Mazia, the brunette girl in charge of Peake’s right hand, currently polishing his nails.
“Did you get the flowers I sent you?” Peake, although still awake, was deeply relaxed as he laid in the cold waters.
“Yes, we did! My mother keeps asking me to bring you along for tea, so come on down someday. She’d love to – stop moving! – see you. I think she misses you.”
“Heh, no wonder. A stud like me…” Peake’s joke caused laughter in the company around him, including himself. However, the girls laughed while they also protested, many of them smacking the limb they were in charge of, and one of them even splashing him on the face. “Alright, alright!”

A moment of silence befell on the group, each focused on their tasks and Peake focusing on getting rest from his workout. Despite his wealth, or origin, or anything achieved in his life, his home was still nothing but a filthy shack. Living in House Andaris being out of the question, sometimes he felt quite lonely living on his own. Like such, he preferred to spent life in various places. In a brothel where he made friendships, on the Andaris Gala where he ate (for free!), and on his cottage where he slept. It was easier this way, too.

“Is the redhead we read about in the papers going with you tonight?” After Mazia’s question, she protested. “I told you to stop moving!”
“Maybe, yes.” The nobleman peaked through his eyelids, the girls holding their laughter as they glanced between one another. “What?”
“Oh, nothing, nothing. I mean, you don’t visit anymore, so… I guess Lord Andaris will soon have a Lady—Peake, I told you to stop moving!” With that, Mazia slapped Peake’s hand, which broke his rest and forced him to look at his hand. It was shaking, the tremors unnoticed by Peake until this very instant. Peering up at the girl, she immediately read the guilt in his eyes.

Silence.

“Peake… Do you want some wine?” It was almost as if she was worried, never before having to ask the nobleman for a drink.
“No… I can’t. Not today.” Peake remained quiet for a moment. “Do you think you can give me some pills? Just to keep this under control for the day.”

Mazia gave him a stern look, a silent reproach that she eventually ceased. Standing up, she left the room for mere bits before she came back. In her palm, three small pills rested, being shown to Peake before they were dumped in his agape mouth. “This stuff will kill you, we’ve talked about this. And you always promised you’d stop drinking. How many arcs have I known you? And here you are, still trying to convince me of something that you have no interest in doing.”
“I can stop anytime I want, you know that. But right now, I’ve got a lot on my mind to deal with it, so It’ll have to wait.” Not wishing to dwell on it, Peake swallowed the pills before he leaned his head back and enjoyed himself some more.

“Alright, alright. I trust you’ll wise up, you furry fiend… We’re almost done here, so afterwards we’ll cut your hair, sharpen your beard, and go see that suit you’ve bought. We’ve got to make sure that redhead knows what man she got.” Splashing the nobleman’s face with the cold water, it was her own little way of revenge.

--

17th Break

Peake was nervous.

The morning routine and the moments of pleasure found in actual free time had faded the closer the meeting approached. The reason for his summoning was not only to officially name him Baron, but also to try and steer him towards a desired road. It was disgusting to think his father could be such a control freak, even after Peake had become his own man many arcs ago. How hard did he have to yell? How far should he rise to finally gain some peace or respect from his father? It was never enough, an infinite stairwell he was tired of climbing. Sometimes it seemed dire to even try to please that man, and whenever Peake believed he had done something remotely positive for the interests of his family, he was spat in the face.

Exiting the carriage in his tailored suit brought him some surprise. ‘So this is how not wearing armor feels…’ he thought, having grown used to carrying around the heavy, and heavily ornate, armor of his current profession. The Iron Hand’s leather armor was somewhat missed, as it was at least easier to carry no matter how much he sweated underneath. The Ouroboro armor had no qualities for the well-being of the man trapped within. Even if the intimidating plates were not on him, the morning workout still made him feel confident in the power of his frame. The servant handed him his black satin cloak, which Peake hung over one of his shoulders, the top hat placed on his head, and the sword cane safely in his hand.

With a sharp inhale, the nobleman proceeded towards the shop’s door.
Last edited by Peake on Thu Jul 28, 2016 2:17 pm, edited 1 time in total. word count: 2353
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Syhera Ki'hadi
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"Born of water, there is fire in her veins."
  • There was a sharp knock on the door and after a moment, it was cracked, a pair of gold eyes peeking out from the shadows of the shop. Waiting outside was a youthful figure, red faced and covered in sweat from the heat. He had obviously been outside for sometime and with a dry mouth, cleared his throat and wiped his slick hands on dark pants, "Uh, I'm looking for Syhera Ki'hadi?" A horse waited in the street behind him.

    "Who asks?" The door did not budge, and the eyes narrowed slightly, suspiciously. The wrong answer would no doubt end in the door being slammed and the visitor ignored.

    The boy ran a hand through sandy hair and chewed his lip,searching for the best answer, "Peake Andaris,"

    Another set of eyes, identical shape and size, appeared beside the first and stared out at the squire, scoffing, "Liar," The door started slamming with much power but the determined squire threw his foot forward, his boot getting crushed mercilessly. He grimaced in pain knowing it would be worse if Peake found out he had failed, and the eyes that were turning away snapped back to him and a hiss from inside sounded. Sunlight flashed as a blade was being jutted out through the opening and stopping short of the boy's neck, "We have heard of Peake Andaris. You are not him. Leave, now."

    "Wait," the squire begged, "I have a letter from him. Please." A tense silence weighed upon the group and finally a hand shout out snatching the envelope before he could protest. It was turned over in her tattooed hand and the thief whispered something in the other's ear. A wax seal with a dragon insignia was displayed and the door opened fully, revealing who the eyes belonged too.

    Twins.

    Both identical women, tattooed on nearly every limb, with piercings decorating their lips and nose. They wore traditional sailor's wear, the scabbard of a sword hanging from one's hip. The other had dual daggers and a number of buckles on her belt. Both of their heads were adorned with strips of fabric and scraps of metal, locks of hair twisted into long brown dreads and around their hips hung sailor's sashes. Women of the sea, hardened by a life on the waters. One reached into her pocket and flipped a coin towards the messenger, who missed catching it and had to bend over to pick it up from the dirt.

    "It is done," One said, and the door slammed shut and locked, even as the squire's cries of protest sounded outside.

    Footsteps sounded coming down the stairs and a red headed woman, dressed in clean skirts and holding a naked cat, eyed the two wearily, "Who was that?"

    "Peake Andaris' dog. For you,"

    Hera reached out with a careful hand and broke the seal to the letter. The twins moved to stand side by side and a smile began to rise on her lips, and she even laughed as she mentally read the correspondence. It wasn't till she was halfway through it that her eyes turned purple and widened as they read the words. She was being summoned. The pair of women tensed at their cousin's reaction and they spoke in unison, "What does he want?"

    Taking a deep breath and folding the letter slowly, Hera looked up to meet their eyes, "I am to meet his father."
    ***
    Ten trials.

    Ten trials to turn a pauper into something short of a princess. There was no time to have a new dress made, not that they had the money. Peake was asking for a miracle, but the Ki'hadi family loved a challenge. Each hour, something was being stressed by either her mother or family, who had postponed their leave of the city to help their sweet cousin. She was to walk straight, sit straight, be poise, but dangerous. Elegant. Savage. But most important, interesting. These were nobles and she had to play the part.

    'Don't dare show weakness!' Gwynthera lectured every day, 'If they try to bite, go for their throats! You are Peake's fiance. You have every right to be there as they do!'

    Hera wasn't sure about that, and she had reread the letter a number of times. When Sasha and Roxanna had handed the paper to her, she had partially expected him to have cut her off. To tell her that their time together was done, that the ruse was up and she could continue life as normal. But... now she was to meet his father. A request, she reminded herself, despite knowing she wouldn't back down. Doing so would make her appear weak, or give Benji more reason to torment his son. Sleep was brushed from her eyes and Hera hummed as Sasha striped her naked and yanked her towards an enormous tub that had been brought in. They were to take no chances.

    Once she was bare, the twins seemed to communicate telepathecally, and Hera was shoved into the water. And immediately tried to jump out. Her makeshift handmaidens, who looked more like seafaring smugglers or pirates, had not warmed the bath and in the early morning. It shocked her very core. Hera gasped loudly, and would have shouted had the water not stolen the rest of her breath. Straight from the well.

    Before she could protest, Roxanna grabbed her limbs and stood her up, taking a hardened sea sponge and racking it along every exposed part of her. They scrubbed until her skin turned tender and pink, lathering her with a thick soap. Shivering and covered in goosebumps, Hera focused on not hyperventilating and was dunked in the water once more. When she rose, Sasha held a razor and a pair of tweezers in her hands, smirking.

    The naked Biqaj audibly groaned.

    Syhera was a woman who kept very good care of herself, but she realized that by the time they were done with her, not a hair would be out of place. Not a spec of impurity. And so they attacked, shaving, plucking, trimming and exfoliating until Hera felt like a newly prepped chicken. Her scalp was shampooed and conditioned, the dead ends cut free and they tugged her from the water, patting her down with a fresh towel. Her outfit, which would be simple, would be a statement. She didn't need to hide behind money. She wasn't scared. Benji would know she had nothing to offer financially, there was no point in trying to prove him wrong. He would or could use it against her. She would go as herself.

    Albeit, her best self.

    The rest of the morning was spent trimming her nails, painting them, and rubbing her in oils that softened her skin and left her smelling faintly like cinnamon. Throughout the primping, they drilled her on what each fork and spoon was used for what, and how to avoid particularly touchy subjects. By noon, she was exhausted.

    "Every lord there will want to leave his wife in a heartbeat," Roxanna said, snapping her fingers as she fussed over Hera's hair and went to grab her outfit, "Your fiance is lucky to have such a good wife... Is he good to you?"

    "He's fine," Hera muttered, stomach growling. If they were referring to bedroom exploits, Hera didn't feel like entertaining them at the moment. They had made her flawless, but had sapped the energy from her, "When can I eat?"

    "When we finish your hair," Sasha snapped, and quickly added, "No bread. No sugar. It will make you look fat," Then, she started yanking at Hera's hair, a comb poised like a viper in her dark hands. Hera's face must have shown her growing irritation because her cousin continued her explanation, "They will look for anything to use against you. If you are not stunning, you will be dull. If you are dull, you are just an uneducated girl unworthy of their table, see? Be better than all of them."

    As Sasha's nimble fingers worked free of any knots in the red strands, Roxanna appeared with a plate of wilting celery sticks and shrugged apologetically. In her other hand were a pair of shoes that looked more like weapons than footwear. "You know how to use these?"

    Hera stared at them for a moment and nodded slowly. They were new. Black pumps with heels as thin as stiletto blades, they would no doubt add at least four inches to her height. Hera could see the words in Roxanna's dark eyes, 'Intimidate them. Romance them. Destroy them.'

    Her hair took a trial in itself to be completed, an intricate updo with braids and layers, covering the tips of her pointed ears but allowing for her gold earrings to be displayed. When one of the girls pulled out a canvas bag, Hera knew they were to paint her face as well. She settled deeper into her chair with the towel wrapped around her and bitterly chewed on the celery stalks. She hated celery.

    To her right, a stick of kohl was being sharpened and lit with a match until it smoked. Blowing on it, Roxanna approached while Sasha had a pomade stain for her lips. And they pounced, telling her to open her mouth, close her mouth, stop blinking. "So," one of the girls began, "the Andaris lord..."

    "Which one?"

    "Peake, obviously," Sasha pulled back, examining her handiwork and cocking her head, "Is he the jealous type?"

    Hera had no idea, but couldn't very well say that. She recalled the sharp comment he had given her about "fish sticks" but shrugged, "No."

    "He will be." Sasha was grinning and she nodded, satisfied with her work. Roxanna finished shortly afterwards and they threw her clothes at her, "Get dressed. Show us our miracle."

    Hera laughed at their light insult, more than happy to put on clothes. First went her undergarments followed by her blouse, a deep blue silk, and a black skirt that hugged the curves of her hips and rear, stopping just above her knee. The last were the shoes, which had to be carefully put on, least she fell over when she stood. She tucked in her top and loosened it a bit, undoing a button or two to give her chest some breathing room. Once she had completed the ensemble, she turned and both cousins grinned like devils, "Oh, yes." They held up a mirror and every doubt Hera had about their methods vanished. For such rough women, they were gifted at beautifying others. The wings on her eyes were sharp enough to cut someone. Dramatic. Demanding.

    When her mother arrived seconds later, Hera was given another compliment, but her pleasure was short lived. The rest of the day was spent on walking and posture, but by the end of it, she had a power walk. She was fierce. Snap snap.

    "He's here,"

    "What?" Hera's head jerked to the window that Roxanna and Sasha both peeked out of, the hands poised over their weapons relaxing.

    "Move," About to scurry to the window, the curtains were thrown back and Hera blinked, realizing just how much time had passed already. Frozen, the Biqaj took a deep breath and reached for the door handle. Gwynthera jumped forward and removed two thin gold bangles from her wrist and slid them onto her daughter. 'For luck,' she said.

    When Hera opened the door, a coy smile lifted her lips and she raised her head high.

    It was time to impress the world.

    ooc: Will calculate and deduct expenses for epic shoes. See's Hera's Closet on page 2 of her CS for details on the outfit worn here.
word count: 1980
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Peake
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Daddy's Home

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The daylight was still present up in the skies as he approached the shop. Fading, yes, but still glowing with that crimson light of the sunset, glowing in the waters beyond the masts and sails that tried to cover up the wild beauty in the horizon. The Hot Cycle stretched the days and shortened the nights, which often meant prolonged schedules for many of the workers in the city. Like such, the port was still full of activity, although clearly declining with each passing bit. The last bells of ongoing ships rang by the waters, accompanied by the usual yells from one or two sailors that hurried to retreat into the darkness of the night. Alas, the laughter and joyous increases of volume in the inhabitants was slowly rising, prepared to face yet another night of good weather, drinks, lust and that particular joy experienced only this season. Many of those lustful inhabitants were engaged, couples prepared to take marriage on the oncoming season as, by both tradition and superstition, marrying into a season with uneven days brought only misfortune.

Peake advanced with heart in hand through the dry cobblestone below his feet. The heat of the day was definitely present on them, feeling his shoes (with a golden heel, as yellow was a fashionable color this season) sticking with every step onward. Unlike the colorful urban paradise around him, his presence was slightly blander. Save for the shirt below, his suit, shoes, cape, and every complement that adorned him were dark, black like the colors of his family. Whether it gave him a sense of pride or a sensation of funerary sorrow due to the relationships with his bloodline was unknown, now able to allocate the time to think about it these moments. Many of the inhabitants glanced towards him, either impressed by his obviously royal attire, or disgusted by the presence of an Andaris nobleman in their home. It was only natural that some people blamed their misfortune on the men and women responsible for their area, as if unemployment or a lack of happiness in general was to be blamed upon them. Thus, Peake paid them no mind.

At last, Peake stopped before the shop’s door. He would’ve knocked, if he hadn’t promise that he would not pressure Syhera to attend to this aristocratic slaughterhouse. Would she join him? His guts told him that she most definitely would, the female herself not giving him the impression of being weak under pressure in their past meetings. Past was an appropriate word, as in the time they’ve been ‘together’, they had only seen each other twice, and always with huge gaps in between. Who was to tell if she still played her part whenever she was on her own? She could have moved on with her life and left him to discover his failed play on his own, something the hosts and guests of the court would surely rub in his face. With this last thought, he became very nervous.

To his surprise, the door was opened shortly after he arrived – as if he was expected. That was good. Immediately he corrected his already presentable stance, pushed to the extreme limits of righteousness by keeping chest and head raised, shoulders driven back and the sword cane firmly rested on the ground. One could say he was waiting for a painter to immortalize his image in a canvas. For once, no armor or casual clothing was covering him. On this occasion, a proper suit, freshly tailored to his size, awaited the gaze of whoever gaped upon him. Despite the formality, a red tulip had made its way onto his jacket’s pocket, replacing any possible handkerchief with a more lively imagine, advice from one of the girls in the brothel in which his transformation – or metamorphosis, as the worm had now become a sort of butterfly – had taken place.

On the other side of the door was her. Syhera Ki’hadi, a beautiful woman even when the occasion did not call for, was waiting with a smile on her lips. This once, however, it was a different kind of beauty. Excluding the occasion in which they met for the first time, the previous two meetings had been a surprise to her, as Peake arrived rudely unannounced. When he met her mother, Syhera was already shining in beauty with an appropriate dress and some light touches of make-up. On their last date, she had been unprepared to meet with a man, although not for that the somewhat messy hair and simplistic dress had made her less of a temptation to lose one’s gaze at.

Now, however, her appearance was completely different. It was as if all the natural, wild and savage allure had been compressed, tightened with a figurative corset onto her being, and instead making her very being shine her charm for miles to witness. Her eyes were the first thing Peake noticed, for they stood out almost like two lonely stars in the darkest nights due to the fairness of her flesh, and his own gaze was trapped in their enchantment for more than just a moment. Her hair, although obviously stylized for the occasion, was a mystery as it was still hidden behind her. However, its red halo was there, once again exploited with the use of a well-fit blue blouse. Men and women would pay to simply stare at her, and the fortunes spilled would fill the oceans just to be looked right back as she did.

The astonished chevalier needed more than just a moment to escape the almost hypnotic sight. Old enough to have some considerable experience with women, he had witness many ladies and businesswomen that, even with the biggest pampers, did nothing but chase the shadow that Syhera projected now. Some sounds, only audible to himself or anything that was trapped in his body, escaped his throat, which awoke him from the trance. The top had was removed and displaced to the left hand, as the right subtly cued for a wish to receive her hand into his. If it was accepted, the nobleman would gently turn over her delicate palm, and as he bowed to her grace, he would confidently –but discreetly- lick her palm. In higher society, such an action was associated with an extreme adoration of a lady’s beauty and implied a desire for further intimacy in the relationship with the addressed. If it worked, that is, for if the lady took offense, Peake would need to apologize over and over and remain forever with a brand of ‘uncultured boor’. If she was not to offer her hand, however, Peake would carry on the motion to perform a more gallant version of his bow.

Whatever happened, he would nonetheless peer up to her from above, at the bottom of his vow, and address the lady. “On this trial, words fail to describe your beauty, my Great Ladyship.”

It was on that moment that Peake seriously doubted if he was merely playing the game, or if the game was playing him. Whatever it was, he was glad he was a part of it.

Off Topic
Will deduct the price of Peake's attire whenever I feel like doing maths.

Not today.
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Syhera Ki'hadi
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"Born of water, there is fire in her veins."
  • Peake was walking on the sun, the golden heels of his shoes catching rays of setting sun and glittering as he walked towards her. A dashing figure in fresh pressed pants and a fitted vest that accentuated the strong lines of his shoulders, Peake looked... good. So much so that Hera momentarily felt surprise at his appearance and had to remind herself that this - not the great suit of armor, or the simplistic shirt that liked to display his chest hair -- was common to him. It was how he was raised... How he must have attended a dozen family events before this. Even his beard was trimmed and tamed, it's dark curls strengthening his jawline and maturing his features.

    And here she was. A pretty actress playing a part.

    "Hello, Peake." Hera's bright eyes washed over him with an extension of her hand. She took in his clean hair, the shine of his shoes, the way he bent his long legs to bow ceremoniously. This was the second time he had lowered himself before her, and not the first compliment he had given. But it was the first time she felt embarrassed when a tongue ran across her hand.

    When he released her palm, she stared at it for a moment, a perplexed smile tugging at her lips. What was that? Hera could confidently say that no man had ever done that before, but refused to miss a beat, "I like your vest," Hera admitted, poking one of it's shiny buttons and winking at him, "And your suit... You're like an early birthday present, all wrapped up and pretty." In truth, she liked it more than the ornate armor he had been wearing the first time they had met. Then he had an intimidating air, and had he not made a fool of himself, Hera might not have ever approached him. Now, his figure displayed wealth, fitting him in such a way that turned every head on the street. It was intimidating in a different way, but Hera liked it. Her hand found its way running across his jacket and the expensive fabric it must have been stitched from.

    She smirked, "I'd unwrap you, but I believe we have quite the evening planned for us," The letter played in her mind, and her nerves stirred, "And, of course, I have to make sure you get to bed on time. No desk napping tonight," Hera reached a manicured hand out to take his hand and pull him towards the waiting carriage, "Come along, I don't want to be late." Mostly she was antsy, afraid that if they stayed too long, her mother would pop out and give her another lecture. Maybe even fawn over the couple, with the twins smirking behind her. She didn't need any more pressure. Not to mention - the hunger. The celery sticks sat uncomfortably in her stomach, and she began to climb into the carriage, settling into it carefully.

    With a nervous exhale, she fussed over her outfit and crossed her legs at the ankles. She impatiently waited for Peake to follow and made sure he had plenty of room to be comfortable, "So," she began after the door had been closed, lowering her eyes to the floor of the vehicle, "If your father knows me better than you do, I think it's time your learned about me and vice versa. I'm good at many things but selling an engagement based on three meetings is a challenge, even for me."

    "So," Hera was suddenly embarrassed again, not sure where to start, "My mother is Gwynthera, my father is Manuel, who I haven't seen since I was ten arcs. I was born on the 25th of Saun, I'm twenty-five. My favorite color, and wine, is red. When I'm in town, I help mama with her shop, which I keep from failing," Hera hated to admit that, but it would be used against her, "I have no land to my name, no titles, and I've been engaged once..." she hesitated, realizing her mistake with a deep frown, "Twice before. The first my mother refused, the second... didn't work out." She glanced up to meet his eyes, preferring not to elaborate on the last bit of information, "Your turn."

    The carriage jerked and rolled to life. Hera worried she had made the wrong choice and wondered if Peake felt the same.
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As usual, the well dressed and extremely presentable Peake managed to barge even further into a female’s deepest desires. It was obvious that Syhera craved him badly, a thought that his already bloated ego managed to use to shatter his previous hypnosis. Just like he was, Syhera too reached new layers of beauty when she was prepared, Peake still bearing witness to her beauty as he rose from his kneeling position. Locking eyes with the redhead, he hoped that his plain brown eyes were good enough to distract her from her trembling legs, which were far too weak from the morning’s workout. He couldn’t allow the thought of his legs going soft like butter because of love or something like that. Women liked attributing things to love.
Only when he stood at full height again his eyes managed to leave the female, and instead briefly glance at the two gals before the redhead. Unlike her, the Biqaj were dressed in a vastly different style that demonstrated their origins. Syhera, however, dressed appropriately and elegantly, without any visible tattoos in her body. Peake would need to inspect further, though, to conclude the lack of ink in her flesh. Furthermore, no pieces of jewelry in brows, nose, lips, or the ear’s pinna were distinct on Syhera like her silent bodyguards behind her. The contrast was great, a sort of like ‘before and after’ montage that explained the effects of living in a ship and living in a city. Syhera had much more future than the two women behind her, especially by his side.

When the introspection and comparison between the three women ended, and Syhera’s actions once again drew the nobleman back into reality, Peake indeed returned his full attention to the seductress before him. Remarkably beautiful ladies that teased with sensuality, like Syhera did these very moments, were immediately considered a special kind of woman for Peake’s psyche.
“If you unwarp me, I’d have to unwrap you too… As much as I’d like to, though, we’ll have to wait,” said Peake at last, his smile drawing under his beard as it usually did when he spoke with the Seductress. “Fairytales are usually witnessed at bed time, are they not?”

Taking her hand and following along, soon he synched his footsteps with hers as they approached the elegant carriage. It was important for Peake that they seemed to be in touch with everything, from physical contact to a matching rhythm in their gaits. Nobody should be able to deny the unreal truth about their relationship. Being a gentleman, at least for the evening, Peake helped his lady up into the vehicle before following along himself, the tight clothing not being a fan of his body flexing or bending in any way – they were designed for a mannequin that did no move, as Peake had witnessed that any other action caused great discomfort in him. Whatever it may be, Peake would endure. At least, he would tonight.

The journey began as the carriage gently started moving through the cobblestone street of the capital. The trot of the horses and their rhythmic pace served as the improvised soundtrack for the otherwise silent interior of the carriage, except perhaps the occasional sigh and gulp from the worried giant. Instead of focusing his gaze towards the female and leer at her curves, his eyes set themselves past the window, staring into the nothingness almost as if meditating. In truth, his mind was almost unable to process anything that wasn’t the repetitive sounds of either the sojourn or the ambient, feeling the pressure and stress accumulating into him. If stress acted instantly, he knew his hair would fall out like ripe fruit from his scalp. No matter how stubborn he was, he knew just how much he dreaded meeting his father, be it casually or formally like tonight.

Thankfully for his mental wellbeing, Syhera snapped him out of thought once again, eyes darting towards her as he listened. Immediately he thanked her, at least mentally, for what she said was right: they had to get to know each other. They were still strangers, and so the new data was well received by the male. Nodding at last, he asked no questions nor demanded explanations about her information.

“Your birthday is soon. I’ll have to get you something,” was Peake’s only comment, accompanied with a rather faked smirk that did not cover his worry. Clearing his throat, he shared his own information. “Peake Maxos Andaris. Twenty-eight arcs old, born the 33rd of Vahlar. Oldest siblings from House Andaris. Three immediate siblings in order of birth: Quincy Andaris, a drunk, Leeson Andaris, an altruist, and Celeste Andaris, my dearest sister. Son of Benji Andaris and the deceased Mary Andaris, Grandson of the Duke Thomas Andaris and the deceased Duchess Hellen Andaris.” Peake took a breath, as he continued his tale as simplistically as he could. Noblemen usually carried a lot of resume on their backs, so cutting it short was not easy. “Joined the ranks of the Iron Hand as a squire and began working with the Rynmere Treasury when I turned sixteen. Currently working in the Ouroboro Guard as Commander, serving directly under the King. Graduated Rynmere University with merits, having studied Finance with a minor in History. Engaged more times than I can count, blah, blah, blah.”
Peake shook his head, and leaned forward as he rubbed his hands.
“None of this matters, alright? We’ll stick together and cover each other. First thing we’ll do is head in and greet my father. Short and simple, you understand? Afterwards, we’ll head to the table, toast and whatever, and leave as soon as possible. We don’t want to share a conversation with the hyenas.” Peake sighed, glancing out the window for a second. He knew they were close already, for his heart raced within his chest. “Are you okay?”
A few sharp exhales escaped him, as he mentally prepared to assume his disguise. He longed in secret for a drink, for some other substance that released the building pressure within him like alcohol did, but he could afford none of it. Today, and tonight, he had to be absolutely perfect. A closed mind, impenetrable by words. An iron heart, logical and calm. Things he lacked but needed to have to make it through the night. Go in, officially become Baron, and get out. As simple as that.
“One more thing… The people you’re going to meet in there are going to try to make you feel unworthy. They’re going to try to drag your face through the mud, or ignore you in ways you never imagined before. Do not let them. You belong there. You are my fiancé. You are above them.” If Peake could ever deliver an inspiring speech, this was it. “You are by my side, when others fight to reach my heels. Show them their place.” Just then, the carriage stopped.


A last sigh and a glance towards the beautiful redhead, which once again received one of Peake’s infamous winks, and the night began to unravel. Although the light was still present in the skies, Peake’s mentality changed to fit the luxurious evening before the pair. Being the first one to exit the carriage, it was clear in his motions that he was now another man: not a brute that barged into people’s homes and got his way with the women, but a man of class and motions as soft as clouds. His gaze was no longer a predators, instead being a charming spear that pierced through women’s hearts. His hands no longer seemed instruments of a strangler, but instead tools of greatness now being offered for the female, to aid her leave the carriage. Past the carriage’s door opened the great scenery of Andaris Manor, lit up entirely as the special occasion brought forward noble and business personalities alike. Despite the couple being the focus of all gazes for the night, such circumstance did not meant a bypass of the rules, which stated the couple had to walk their way through the twenty five yards that separated their carriage to the entrance of the gigantic manor.

Pushing his shoulders back, and standing as straight as a man could, Peake offered his arm to his lady as he kept his chin high, a peacock ready to walk into the slaughterhouse, still confident that he would keep both head and fiance by his side on his way out. If there was a way out.
“My Baroness…” said Peake, as he glanced over his shoulder towards the redhead, offering a coy smile to his partner in crime. He would never forget how thankful he was that Syhera was here, with him, on this day.

Today, he became more than his father. It was all a signature away. He would be Baron, and his father would be nothing.
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"Born of water, there is fire in her veins."

  • None of it mattered, not really.

    Hera had counted on Peake's information about himself to calm her; soothe her anxiety. She hated being unprepared, unable to predict the future of events. Instead, the length of his titles and impressive feats only stirred her nerves and had he known her better, he could see plainly the thin line of her full red lips and the determined glare at the window revealed her strained fears. She shifted in her seat, manicured crimson fingernails scratching at the stitching of the plush cushions, before she nodded at his inquiry of her wellbeing and turned her gaze towards his face, "It's been awhile," she admitted with a soft purr of her voice at the end of Peake's inspiring speech, "since I had to set a bitch straight."

    Memories of matches and flames licking a blind girl's home begat a devious smile that began curving upwards, a certain impression of assurance relaxing the Biqaj's features, "I hope they can give me a challenge."

    Syhera reached upwards to touch a stray curl that had fallen forward, tucking the auburn lock behind an ear and when she caught Peake's dark eyes again, he flashed her a wink. A small chuckle left her lips, and then a soft sigh. He would lead tonight, and in favor, she would play protector -- a role she was quite well versed, in fact. Hera would defend herself, her reputation, and their engagement. And if necessary, those of her fiance, whose... charming endeavors far exceeded her own in interest. She had only heard whispers of the taxman's sins, but what kind of loving wife-to-be would let her "love" be roasted like a pig on a spit? No. They would have to be a team. There was no doubt there. No matter the lack of the legitimacy of their relationship, tonight they would need one another.

    When the carriage stopped, Peake's long legs stretched outward and suddenly the confined space felt too small for a man of his stature. He exited, and through the doorway, he turned, transforming before her eyes. It was a type of magic, how refined he could become. Hera waited, admiring for a moment, not quite joining him just yet. And for good reason.

    There would be servants, slaves perhaps. Every eager eye would be a quick mouth to gossip. Her introduction - Nay -- her first impression, would have to be perfect. She couldn't be too eager, or too nervous. They would be curious, intrigued, judgemental. And she would be a blooming flower from a frost, warming them, awing them. That was the only way. The words of her mother so long ago played in her mind like a distant lullaby:

    "Syhera, you are so beautiful... What are you to do about it?... They will already be weak... But if you are smart? You can conquer land and sea."


    Peake's fiance took a slow breath, rising. She could feel the resolve seep into her veins like a drug, steadying her weak legs and pushing her shoulder back. Her spine straightened and the anticipation of her exit was realized. Freeing herself from the confines of her seat, the lovely redhead took the giant's hand and floated from the carriage like a dream realized. The sharp heels of her shoes kept her tall and elegant, and when both feet were safely on the ground, her face rose to display to the world. Long lashes lifted to display starlight eyes - silver, swirling, and bright. Hera did not smile, did not allow herself to show anything but cool intest. Her gaze did not rest on anything too long, lest an onlooker accuse her of being a poor girl floored by the lustrous extravagance of the manor sprawling before her.

    In truth, she was.

    Everything was breathtaking, but she remained composed, cocking her head upwards to catch her fiance's eye. She gave a sly wink of her own, so fluid it was almost missed, and tucked her hand into the crook of his offered arm. "My baroness," he offered with a smile.

    Hera smirked giving him a reassuring squeeze of his bicep and turned to face forward, "My baron."
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And so the team was deployed into field.

Andaris Manor was a masterpiece of old, one of the few sights in Andaris that inspired fear and respect alike without the need of a throne or a cheap crown. Those of enough intellect knew what the real power looked like, and just where it lied within the Kingdom. It was then when those men gazed towards the heart of Andaris city, where the tall walls of House Andaris rose amidst the private gardens that surrounded it. Like a forest, gigantic windows of extravagant cost stared in every direction, from north to south, keeping watch over the city all around like its silent protector. Built in the shape of an arc, similar to the letter ‘U’, the palace was truly overwhelming for those approaching through the main entrance, located obviously in the heart of the arc. Its dark stone, of origin unknown, was aglow with the red glint of dusk. Like molten lava, the house became the beating heart of not only Andaris, but Rynmere.

On ground level, however, it was slightly less intimidating, mostly due to lack of sculpted monsters on every finial. The gardens, an oasis of pleasure to those attracted by botany, had been especially prepared for the occasion by the addition of further decorations outside the usually cultivated area. Like such, white peonies were laced between a new set of border fences, which further gave the manor a celebratory air instead of the traditional funerary and pending death theme. A few guests stood here and there, most of them gathered around the entrance of the manor itself save for the few that were looking for extreme confidentiality. The gravel below, currently being racked into its usual perfections by a group of servants. Most of House Andaris’ servants were slaves, of course, as the capital liked its slave businesses alive and well.

Peake Andaris, now donned not only with a top hat, a sword cane, and a black cloak, but also with the tactful seductress Syhera Ki’hadi, whom clearly blended in with the luxury. However, none of them blended in with the crowds, as each of them shined their own beauty, be it the golden heels or the captivating colors.
A moment, and a choked sigh was all it took for Peake to begin guiding Syhera through the courtyard. Pace slow and deliberate, careful but confident, he did his best for Syhera to guess the tempo of their strides so that the orchestra their motions were synchronized. Peake himself did not bother to admire any of the newly laid details in the courtyard, other than the minimal fraction of a trill that was needed to address the new additions to the usual scene. His brown eyes looked forward, beyond the flight of stairs they were arriving to, beyond the crowds and beyond the walls, but instead somewhere further than that still. The kind of look those unprepared to witness would confuse for the gaze of a dreamer, when instead it was but the gaze of a well-raised man.

There wasn’t much difference between those. The child first becomes a philosopher, so that he can distinguish right from wrong. The child then becomes a scholar, so that he can gain the knowledge to further right and diminish wrong. The scholar then becomes a soldier, so that the child can learn how to protect what’s right and defeat what’s wrong. Afterwards, the child becomes a politician, so that he can realistically know which good could be preserved, and which evil could not be defeated. It was then, and only then, when the child grows up, and what was first a philosopher, a scholar, a soldier and a politician became a man – and a King that knew how to rule over good and evil. Peake knew this, for that is how he was raised, and that is what he was to become. If the crown ever fell on his scalp, it would fall on the head of a man that knew how to rule with absolute certainty. Today he received no crown, but instead he received the first piece of the Kingdom: a Barony.
Came the flight of steps to the feet of the main guests of this event, and so Peake gently but surely began the ascension towards the entrance, guiding his fiancé with extreme care. When their heads managed to escape the sight of more incoming stairs, it was only then when the inside of the mansion was seen for the very first time.

It was as if the sun had been shattered into a thousand pieces, the world bereft in darkness as the fireflies gleamed and glowed within. Everywhere one’s eyes laid, one could see the intimidating shine of the black marble, color of House Andaris, with the pleasant contrast of color silver, color representative of the Royalty and the Crown. Before them stood the great Andaris Entryway, a room so big and glorious that it is valued like a treasure – for it was a treasure. Every wall, every column, and every free space was filled with art, most of them white marble sculptures of graceful men, perfect women, and curiously innocent children, which overlooked either over guests or the finer details sculpted into the stone. Each column was marked by expert hands, dragons wrapping around the stone cylinders permanently as sculptors had printed the Andaris banner onto the very stone. And when the eye went closer, trying to see if there was an end to the detail, another hint of silver color would shyly appear within the trace, which at the same time branched into shallower traces barely visible by the naked eye. All of it combined with the golden details, the flickering fires of candles and lanterns that hung from chandeliers or mere chains, looming over the guests like a locust of fireflies that invaded the darkest of nights. It was no wonder Peake's dreams often involved this place.

The beauty gathered in this place was so great, so ancient that one needed not only his eyes to witness it, but also both hands to truly admire the arrogance of House Andaris. Perhaps the true masterpiece of the Hall was the stairwell, massive in size and colossal in detail, connecting the ground floor to the five other floors in the manor. All the twists and curves brought the image of the dragon to one’s mind, for the dragon truly lived within these halls and its rightful descendants. House Venora may spawn the most beautiful people in the Kingdom, along with the finest artists, but House Andaris was the only one with enough power, enough wealth and enough pride to steal them all and have them make something as majestic as this, unmatched by anything else in the Kingdom.

To top it all off, and trample all the fanciness in attires, every architectural masterpiece, and every servant that stood ready to serve every need of the guests, a small orchestra gathered in one of the corners of the room along with a small choir. All of the members were slaves, the musicians being composed of properly dressed females while the choir was formed exclusively by young boys of ages no more than 14 arcs. They sang in conjunction as the string quartet accompanied the ethereal sounds that gently filled the great hall, a slow tempo perfectly timed to inspire not only the glory one had to feel within these walls, but also the sensation that time did not run, that one needed not to hurry and that the world outside had stopped for this event. It was, after all, the very beginning of an event that would last all night, and as such the music would remain calm until the times for celebrations arrived.

All the guests were gathered in the hall, and every gaze turned around towards the gigantic doors Peake and Syhera. Their guests’ claps soon came through, delicate in form and weak in volume, nothing but a refined version of a true round of applause. Before them, almost three dozen individuals gathered and watched from their respective spots, business men and women, noble men and women, all friends of the Andaris family. Strangely enough, despite this being an event based around Peake, he was not allowed to invite anyone save for Syhera. If one thought about it, however, it would be immediately concluded that such was a wise decision, as Peake’s friendships were often topless, and they would not take long to turn this elegant and refined party into savage orgy. Peake removed his top hat, and with his elegance he offered a respectful and unhurried bow to the applauding guests, afterwards standing aside as his hand gently rose Syhera’s, presenting her to the public in silence and glancing towards her to witness her own bow.

Now that he looked at her, she truly shined. Her red hair contrasted with the blue blouse so pleasantly and naturally, mixed with the paleness and smoothness of her flesh. Here, in the dark halls of House Andaris, her choice of attire made her stand out like blood on the snow. In a good way, if Peake had to guess. The other guests, especially the females, stood no chance. Whenever Peake felt they were ready, he would once again plant himself by Syhera’s side just like before, and setting his eyes forward, he would gulp before he exhaled.

A guest entering another man’s mansion, especially a man deserving of respect and praise like Benji, was to immediately seek the host and thank him. Everyone else was to be ignored, for they did not matter. Peake knew this, because his eyes were focused on one of the distant scalps, the one of the man he hated beyond words, black as the walls and floors, and the objective of his feet. That silhouette of the 5’9 man he called father, whose posture was so excellent one could sculpt it and capture a masterpiece. That was the man he had to face tonight.

Peake began walking, without any hurry whatsoever. He had no confidence, but he faked it. He used his fancy mannerisms to hide his nervousness, as those guests around them now began leaning into each other’s ears and starting their gossiping. Be it about Peake, Syhera, or something else entirely, Peake’s roaring heart told him both of them were now alone, jumping and dancing on the dragon’s teeth, and wondering just when would the dragon tire of them. And just like that, the dragon caught the scent of the foolish prey, breaking its conversation with the businessman to instead slowly spin on his heels and, finally, face his own blood.

Benji Andaris’s frame was shorter than his heir’s, but his presence was far greater. Upon first glance from any mortal in this world, the first thing one would notice was the absolute and undeniable perfection of the man’s body. It wasn’t a genetic question, nor a question of beauty. It was his posture, his motions, his body language, what spoke louder than any word could ever try to. Every movement, every action and every posture was absolutely perfect, refined so much one could stare for centuries and never be able to shut their mouth in amazement. Benji Andaris, even if squatting in the forest, would make an amazing sculpture if his refinement could be captured well enough by its sculptor. Along this perfection in body, Benji’s hardened features were as cold as the stone below, enforced with an aura of confidence which, combined with those piercing eyes of his, could instantly break any weak will. Whenever his father laid his eyes on him, Peake felt that there was no secret, no knowledge, which Benji was ignorant about. With just a glance, Benji became omnipotent, and it was for that reason Peake feared this man above all else.

A glass dramatically laid in the soon-to-be former Baron’s hand as he directly faced his son, Peake immediately feeling the pressure building up within him and his faked confidence dissipating in the bitterness of his father’s silence. How does a man unlock such power of intimidation? His expression was devoid of emotion, devoid of anything that wasn’t just plain confidence and self-esteem that overpowered any other meaning, thus leaving Peake to tremble in the speculation, trying to predict just what his father was thinking before it was too late.
“Maxos.” Said Benji, in a soft tenor very similar to Peake’s.
“F-Father… Thank you for having us.” Peake bowed royally, as slowly as possible without considered sluggish, before his predecessor. He did not bow as a son before that man – he bowed as a servant, or a slave. That was Benji’s power. “Father, I would like to introduce you to Syhera Ki’hadi.” Peake felt sorry for Syhera, for having to even mention her, for now she would be the one suffering under Benji’s penetrating gaze.
“Ah, we meet at last. The Biqaj that stole my son.” Benji faced Syhera, with the same controlled apathy as the one shown to his son, but now directly looking towards her. He would return the couple’s bow with his own light version of it.

A few tense moments passed, in which Benji stared directly towards Syhera while Peake avoided looking in his father’s general direction. Peake did not want to lure his father, not in any way, which unfortunately made him leave his fiancé to suffer Benji’s deafening silence. Benji, at last, looked somewhere behind the couple, spotting more guests to greet, more people to entertain with small talk, and thus he nodded towards the couple while he gestured them towards the hall. “Enjoy the party. We’ll talk later, Maxos.”

And with that, he was gone. Peake breathed at last, glancing down towards Syhera with clear guilt, unable to show just how uncomfortable he was. So uncomfortable that he almost looked scared.
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"Born of water, there is fire in her veins."
  • Their entrance was every bit as dramatic as intended. Each eye fell upon them, sizing them up and the whispers began, softly at first, and then growing in intensity like a floating symphony. The hands of guests and slaves alike began to clap, a general approval. Or were they just being polite? Hera returned their glances with a few of her own, her orbs of silver regarding them with cautious paranoia, masked by indifference. She readjusted her grip on Peake's arm, thankful for his attentive pace and rubbed his hand reassuringly. For herself or for her fiance, she wasn't quite sure.

    Hera was careful to follow Peake's lead, looking at him enough to follow where his eyes fell and imitate adoration to those interested. When she saw his brown eyes settle on the target, a strange calm swept over her. She turned her head and tried to spot the host, but the search was short lived. Immediately the figure of Benji Andaris separated itself from the crowd, all the other guests fading away into unimportance. This man moved like Hera would imagine one of the seven walking, with each footstep claiming the land it stepped on with utmost certainty. The breath threatened to leave her but she glanced at Peake once more and began to understand just how much power this man had. This much control.

    The giant beside her resembled something like a deer petrified, and a strange protectiveness grabbed at Hera's heart, and having a target to latch onto, to pull the setting into focus, allowed the Biqaj to relax. 'This man was dangerous', she reminded herself when Benji approached, 'Don't do anything stupid, Syhera.' Peake bowed and Hera, following every instruction her family drilled into her that morning, gave an elegant curtsy of her own - a difficult talk given her choice in footwear.

    The father greeted the son and the son introduced her. Hera felt faint, but produced such a feminine and lovely smile, she almost would have believed it herself, had she not refused to shrink under her faux father-in-law's drilling stare. Instead they both watched one another with the same, heartless expression.

    Was that disgust in Benji's eyes? "Syhera Ki'hadi. The Biqaj that stole my son." His remark on her race was not lost on deaf ears and Hera's sweet smile turned sweeter. So, the Andaris family didn't care for her people. 'Interesting.' No doubt making her an excellent choice as a spouse when it came to infuriating the father. In her mind, she heard every warning Peake had ever relayed to the Ki'hadi family about the man. About the day they told her mother of the engagement and of the letter she received such a short time ago. 'I'm sure I'll be paying for him sooner or later,' she wanted to say, meaning she would one day come to regret her decision of loyalty. What she would pay, she did not know. Instead she finally looked away and patted Peake's arm affectionately, "Yes. I'm honored to finally meet you." There was little else to the conversation.

    She watched him go, and when enough space had seperated from the couple and the powerful monster that owned it, Peake turned to her and Hera was drained of her energy, "Love," Hera soothed, lowering her voice and interlocking her fingers with his own, "What does the mountain fear?" she asked, pretending to be her mother, with a tilt of her head. She began to repeat a lesson a wise man once told her, "The people you’re going to meet here are going to try to make you feel unworthy. They’re going to try to drag your face through the mud, or ignore you in ways you never imagined before. Do not let them. You belong here. You are my fiancé. You are above them."

    She smiled at her stolen speech, repeated with such assurance to him, Hera was surprised she was able to recall it so clearly, "Remember?" she released his hand and motioned over her shoulder, "I am looking at the most powerful man in this room," she smirked, the sound of footsteps slowly approaching, "And it isn't Benji Andaris."

    The redhead turned looking up at the beautiful candles that hung so precariously above them all. The room was bright and wavering only slightly from shadow. Her attention switched to a tray of something a slave was carrying through the crowd, and she pressed a hand to her abdomen to keep it from growling. Hera nearly honed in on the delicacies when a deep voice caressed her to attention, "Hello. Syhera, is it?"

    The voice belonged to a man, shorter in stature than Peake, but commanding just the same. His eyes were dark, almost completely black and unlike her fiance his facial hair was trimmed very close to his jaw, barely more than a shadow. Each line of his face was sharp and groomed to perfection, and he moved so similarly to Benji Andaris, Hera wondered if this man was one of Peake's brothers. Before he could be considered rude, he spared a small bow for the giant beside her, "My Lord." but his eyes quickly returned to Hera and he reached out to take her hand.

    "Have we met?" Hera asked, eyes narrowing in suspicion. The way he walked was serpentine, graceful and somewhat unsettling. His hands were ice when they took her own and a chill of warning shot up her spine. If Benji Andaris was someone to look out for, so was this man. Immediately, she decided she didn't like him.

    "No, where are my manners? I am Vincent Devore. I've recently began working alongside Lord Benji. He's mentioned the engagement, but it was only recently that I learned of your name. A pleasure," he lifted Hera's hand to place a kiss on her fingers, and at the slightest opening of his lips, Hera's eyes widened and she snatched her palm from his grasp before his tongue could slide across it. He hesitated, surprised to find himself denied and straightened up casually. The palm lick was a custom unfamiliar to Hera, but it felt like such blatant disrespect to do so in front of Peake that she kept her beautiful face unapologetic.

    "Recently?...My love," she purred with distaste at the newest introduction, sidestepping to show off her bearded date and remind mister Vincent who she was engaged to, "Have you two had a chance to acquaint yourself? I'm sure my fiance is a more interesting man than I am. Perhaps later?"

    Later. Later they could talk, but more than likely not. Hera's tone was so pleasant, but the underlying tones screamed dismissal. Vincent was no idiot, and he smiled, but there was something threatening in his eyes, "I can barely wait."

    His eyes bore into Hera's frame and he chuckled softly, turning gracefully and floating away on an air of cockiness. Hera already hated him, grumpy with hunger and fear.
word count: 1196
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Peake
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Daddy's Home

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Syhera was, once again, a source of constant surprise in Peake’s eyes. Not only she moved with the swagger of the finest ladies, but she also displayed the fire of a true politician – the ability to perform under pressure and rub off anything that came her way. He held on to her just as tightly as she did to him, unsure of just whom was in charge of their defenses. Certainly thankful for her presence beside him, Peake imagined how naked and defenseless he’d feel without Syhera’s support. The negativity sort of retreated just as Benji did, but it lingered for much longer than Peake would’ve liked to admit.
It was disturbing. A moment of staring and a couple of words coming from his father had reduced him to nothing but a peasant, an insecure and fearful individual set to fail. Those piercing eyes had stripped him from his pride, from his power, and the judgement they carried ripped right through Peake’s resolve. They usually did that, making him feel just as powerless as he was when just a child. No… He was a child whenever he had to face that man. What can a child do against an Emperor?
“Love,” Syhera said, interrupting Peake’s negativity and snatching his attention. “What does the mountain fear?”

A shy smile escaped him as Syhera repeated his own words back at him, almost moved by the encouragement coming from the actress. The tempting ideas to raid the servants’ trays and chug down a dozen glasses of Andaris’ wine faded away, instead his thoughts returning to the actual facts Syhera was exposing. It was true. Once Peake signed the document, he would be Baron, and his father would be nothing but a Former Lord with no power. He would not qualify for a Duchy, and he would have no right to claim the title while Peake still breathed. This was the moment to proudly raise one’s chest and be proud of oneself – posture Peake had already assumed from the moment they left their carriage. As a return to Syhera’s encouragement, he rose a hand to gently stroke the tip of her nose and – surprise – wink at her like he apparently liked to do.
“That makes you the most powerful woman in this place. Not only in title.” Peake said, slightly amused, but still doubtful.

It was then when the so-called Vincent came along, interrupting the couple with his unearned bravado. As Peake laid his eyes on him, he did so with contained fury, truly bothered by the lack of manners of the male. The ‘Lord’ part he could forgive, as Peake was not officially the Baron until he signed the document, but what he would not forgive was the lack of a courtesy bow by his part. Not only that, but he immediately addressed the female rather than Peake, which was highly irregular, for none of them had met before. Because of this, Peake did not follow Syhera’s lead, and no bow was spared by Peake’s part. Peake’s mood declined further at the attempted lick – one always given to single women that one is certain are interested in a romantic relationship. Might’ve just jumped in their bed and tried to hump Syhera’s leg, as Peake thought of it as basically the same. Because of that, this individual that couldn’t even gather the courage to grow a proper beard got Peake’s death stare – which was just a basic stare, but induced with his classical frown.
“No, certainly haven’t met this individual yet.” Said Peake at last, when he was invited into the conversation. “And I have no interest in doing so. Excuse yourself, if you will.”

There was no time to observe the male’s reaction, as instead a metallic utensil banged against the fine glass held in Benji’s hand, the minuscule ruckus still being enough to draw the attention of every guest as the music faded in the background. Like everyone else, Peake turned towards the delicate and refined frame of Benji. After leaving the utensil aside, Benji ran his cold eyes over the crowd before he took a deep breath and began his speech.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he spoke in his carefully-tuned tenor. “Now that we’re all gathered in these, the great walls of House Andaris, I would like to remind you the reason as to why we are gathered here on this day.”
Peake looked around him, at the many guests whose name he was ignorant about, and wondered for a brief moment just why this was made into such an event.

“It seems like only yesterday when my own father called me here, right in this spot I’m standing, to tell me about the passing of my grandfather. As my eyes filled with tears, I felt the weight of responsibility falling on my shoulders, slowly realizing I was appointed Baron because of a tragedy.” A pause. “It took me many years to clear the guilt from my title, as whenever I recalled just what I was, I could only see the black gravestone of my grandfather. If I was slightly less foolish, I would’ve realized Grandfather was probably happy to leave the responsibility and stress to hang on someone else’s shoulders.”
Soft laughter escaped the vultures, Peake not bothering to even fake it.

“Many arcs, many nights of stress, and four beautiful children later, I find myself here, before you. And as I recall what happened on that day, twenty-five arcs later, I can almost taste how bitter it was to become Baron at the expense of my Grandfather’s death. That is why we’re here on this beautiful night of Saun.”
Benji stopped addressing the crowd, as instead he nailed his eyes onto his son and his fiancé. It was as cold as ever, no matter what emotions he was faking – his eyes were never good actors.
“I have no intention of making my eldest son miserable by giving him a title bathed in blood. That is why, on this day, I will officially retire and leave the port-side Barony to Maxos, my eldest son, and his lovely fiancé.”
All of a sudden, the whole room looked towards the giant and his seductress. Peake already felt how they were trying to devour him and not even leave the bones, but nevertheless he offered a confident smirk and a light bow of his head to address the public. His eyes, trembling, remained glued to Benji’s.

“I have utmost trust in my son, flesh of my flesh, and I know he will make us proud – not only me or his deceased mother, not only House Andaris or the City of Andaris, but the whole Kingdom.” Benji smiled for the first time in the evening. “That is why we’re here tonight, and that is why we’re going to toast in his honor.”
A group of servant came along with trays loaded with glasses of wine, be it red or white, offering an obligatory glass to every guest that lacked one. Peake chose red wine, and his gaze was lost in the crimson liquid, tempted to down it entirely. Considering Benji’s knowledge of Peake’s alcoholism, and the disapproval that went along, Peake wondered if this was some sort of test.
“To Maxos!”

First by Benji, then by the small crowd, the toast was repeated until the words drowned in the wine. Peake drank too, expecting to be able to withhold himself with a mere sip. However, his temptation and his looming problem of alcoholism caused the whole glass to be depleted before he could even realize it. Another soft round of applause came, Peake glancing down to Syhera to check in on her, certain he’d found her strong and resilient no matter the pressure, hoping to leech from her strength to fuel his own.

“Now!” Said Benji with a loud clap. “Allow me to steal our guests of honor to complete this transaction. I know my father promised me I’d become Duke one day, but as I never signed, I’m afraid it won’t happen. For the rest of you, enjoy the drinks, enjoy the food, enjoy the music, and, lastly, enjoy the hospitality of House Andaris. Thank you.”
With the last hints of laughter fading away, and the beautiful voices returning in a more joyous song, the night had just begun. Peake, still feeling guilty by his reckless consumption of alcohol and just how quickly he was becoming tipsy, disposed of the glass by leaving it onto the tray carried by yet another slave. As he looked up, he found Benji’s eyes staring from a distance, a hand gesturing towards him before he turned around and proceeded down the hall towards one of the doors.
"… alright. I sign the documents and we leave, as simple as that.” Peake whispered. “We’re almost done.”

And with such, Peake lead the way after his father, chasing after the man he dreamed of running away from.
word count: 1525
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Syhera Ki'hadi
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Daddy's Home

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"Born of water, there is fire in her veins."

  • The snake known as Vincent was smiling when he slinked off, dismissed but not disheartened. Peake's evident wrath, which was now thick in the air like a murderous musk, hung around him even as the acquaintance turned to walk away. There were no words she could say to calm the man beside her, none that she could think of, as she herself was upset. Less so at the disrespect, more so at how eager Vincent had been to scorn the future baron like it was child's play. She searched the crowd for Benji, the only one she could find responsible, and the only man she could imagine would have the authority to protect him now. Vincent had to have some sort of insurance, and if Peake didn't know of him, it was unlikely he was a noteble powerhouse. Where did his significance lay? What was special about this puppet?

    Benji. Benji. Benji. The name rolled around in her mind, trying to piece together a reasoning, and the loud clinking of a glass silenced the room. The man in question began a speech, one that even Hera had to admit was delivered beautifully, but no joy reached Peake's eyes, nor his father's. Biqaj always pay attention to the eyes. Peake was staring at his father with an emotion Hera could quite pin, but it was not joyous. It was... challenging.

    And then the wine came.

    Servants swirled around the room, passing out wine and when one materialized before the couple, Hera took a glass of red. She brought it to her lips to drink, and when she looked over, Peake's own was empty. She blinked, glancing up at the giant whose eyes were focused on something else. Benji, again. Hera released a long sigh, thinking of the time she had left him and he had taken the bottle of wine, and now, how he so quickly devoured the glass. So, the rumors were true. What other ones were as well?

    Peake's empty glass vanished on another tray and Hera set hers down, uninterested. Across the room, she caught Vincent watching and she scoffed. A few women motioned her way, whispering and giggling into another's ear. Peake spoke up, reassuring her the night would soon be over, but she wasn't quite sure if he believed the words himself. She nodded gravely, "They are trying to bait us," A flailing fish tossed on board a ship deck flashed in her mind, and she looked sternly up at her fiance, "It is almost over," she repeated, rubbing her hands together, "We sign, we go home. You, in a nice bed, and me, answering every question from mama for the next hour," she smiled genuinely at the thought, "I'm sure she would appreciate a visit from you too. If you find some free time. She's been asking about you, you know."

    The pair followed Benji, each footstep seeming to take longer to make, with Peake's reluctance growing the further they went. Hera was finding it difficult to remain calm, half expecting guards to leap out and attack her by the way her fiance was acting. Down a hallway and before a room, Benji halted them, and when she began to pull away from her date, found that he was not joining her.

    "I would like to speak with Syhera first. Privately."

    The young woman paused, light eyes clashing with Benji's dark ones. The two had a small staring contest, the air suddenly becoming thick with tension. 'Why?' she wanted to ask, not yet letting go of Peake's arm. 'What do you want?'

    Separating them was what he wanted, Hera knew that. It would be easier to exploit weaknesses in each other, use their nerves against them. If Hera went through that door, what was waiting for her? What was waiting for Peake outside? Denying the man would make her appear weak, or worse, Peake. The calculations tumbling around in her mind, a bright smile lit up her face, "I would love nothing more." She gave a small delighted laugh that drained the life from her, even as it fell from her lips.

    Her stomach leaped and she reluctantly let her hand slide down from Peake's arm. Taking a step away from him, Hera turned to face the man that had brought her to this point in her life, and tried to mentally calm him, "I'll be fine," she soothed, the tempo of her heart beat betraying her, "Be good, be strong, be patient." She lifted herself and gave a quick kiss to Peake's bearded cheek and faded into the offered room. Benji's darkness followed after her, and the door slammed shut.
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