Chronicles of The Omniverse Archived Lutetia City: Luskonios

Robert gave Florianne an apologetic look. "She means well, madame. My dear mother simply has a very... unique understanding of honor and tradition." He glanced around the room. "Truthfully, she was against my joining the Order in the first place. Believed it was the firstborn's duty to continue the Arodring bloodline. She's very conservative in that way." He spied his mother across the room, chatting with the Gesatias. "...though in other ways, she is surprisingly progressive..."

He looked down at his armor. "Ah. I should change." He sniffed. "...and... shower. Quickly. Thank you, demoiselle. I'll see you soon. Benson!" He waived at a passing server. "Would you get demoiselle Nuvellon a drink, please?" The paladin hurried off.

A mustachioed server approached the necromancer. "Happy Genarium, madame. May I get you something? I would suggest one of our ciders or cocoas if you're cold - we've imported dark chocolate from Hafirjan. Splendid stuff. Or, if you'd like something stronger, we have an exquisite Anaaran vodka martini."

Rober parted from Florianne, weaving his way through the throngs people as he tried to escape. The large paladin could have easily pushed his way through the crowds, but instead he took great care not to nudge anyone. He wasn't entirely successful.

One of those he bumped into was one of the mystery guests, wearing the mask.

"I apolo-" he turned to face them, brows furrowing, "oh. I beg your pardon Have..." His head cocked, looking between the two arrivals. "...have we met? I thought I knew most of those my mother invitated. Their names, at least."

---

"Wonderful," Bernadette smiled, beckoning over a passing server. He bore a platter filled with steaming mugs made of fine-crafted clay. "This is Iverian mill-pressed cider, with Caranhall honey. Delightful taste. The orchards were bountiful this year." She looked over at a guest trying to get her attention. "Ah, you must excuse me. Please, enjoy yourself. If you require anything, do not hesitate to ask. Happy Genarium."
 
"Er, thank you, I guess," Lachapelle shrugged, "though I'm not particularly sure what you want me to act like," a bit of a lie, while Abel knew what she meant, he had no experience doing so. He declined to comment on Coralie's uncle, even if he had some distaste for the man. Better to not make enemies out of it, he decided.

He achieved a brief moment free of scrutiny as the two mystery guests captured the attention of Absolon and Ghislain. He turned towards them with amazement, he could feel the presence, the magic that dripped from their every fiber. At some point, he needed to meet them.

Though, the time was not now, as he was suddenly addressed by another. Her massive influence was noted even among the younger and poorer members of the Order, at least those that paid attention in their studies. "I am proselyte Abel Lachapelle, madame Lessard," he bowed his head as far as was reasonable with a girl on his arm. The perks of acquainting with the Duval heiress were quickly becoming apparent. He liked Coralie well enough, she was becoming a close friend and was quite pretty, and even if an intimate relationship never bloomed, there was no denying the level of connections achieved from even being friends with her.


While there were many attendees and numerous questioning gazes coming towards the two unknown guests, the ravenette did notice the expression painted on Absolon's face. She smirked and leaned towards the masked one to whisper, "Do you see the look on the Duval priest's face?"

The latter guest turned her head slightly, though still not directly looking at him. "Perhaps there was a dress code that we didn't receive."

"Wait," the ravenette noticed a few more faces in the crowd, "I can see the Gesataias as well as Florianne Nuvellon. People I'd actually like to talk to here," she trailed off and broke away from the masked one to go towards Florianne first. She, however, kept her sidelong glances towards the Duval family. They caught her interest, namely the girl with the hair clip and the boy she clung to.

Pleasantries and seeing acquaintances could wait, at least for now. That is, until a paladin clad in plate bumped into her. She attempted to rebut his apology, though that was interrupted by him asking a question.

"I doubt we have met."
 
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To say he felt like a fish out of water was putting things lightly, but there he was, dressed quite dapper and in the company of a gorgeous woman. Thankfully he had a dark navy suit with a red tie that looked formal and something that would be worn by someone that meant something and he had even managed to keep from wrinkling it up, which was a huge thing for him. Jimmy had stumbled through his words much like the night of the rave, but this time he was very much sober. Strangely, the Proselyte was thankful when they got to their destination, only because he felt incredibly awkward in a vehicle with Élisabeth and her parents. It was difficult to keep from staring at her, but he managed, mostly. However, when they reached the end of the journey, he was not prepared with the number of cameras present. He kept from doing anything stupid and was glad when they made inside of the manor, just nodding at her comment.


“That’s putting it lightly.” He muttered, taking in a deep breath to try and calm his nerves. He

found himself studying Élisa once they were away from the main crowd, finding her breathtaking. Even though at the rave, she was beautiful, this knocked that look out of the water. Caught off-guard by her comment, Jimmy managed to keep his expression blank and just arched a brow in curiosity.


“Me too what? Arien’s gift?” He queried, hoping that he was convincing. He really needed to work on this kind of conversation, but he was already nervous because of his date.
 
Élisa laughed musically, folding her arms and giving Jimmy a sly smile. "Now, Jimmy, you don't have to play coy with me. We're in the same boat, you and I, so I think we can be trusted with one another's secrets. Don't you?" She paused, and shrugged her shoulders ever so slightly. "I'll forgive you for not wanting to discuss it. We don't know who might be listening, particularly at an Arodring party. Their walls don't just have ears, I'm fairly certain they have their own schemes, too."

Her eyes turned from Jimmy to sweep across the room, eyeing each of the arrivals as they came. "It's an interesting guest list, don't you think? I was surprised enough to hear the trouble-twins were invited, but it looks like they aren't the only ones from outside the usual crowd. Makes you wonder what the Arodrings' gameplan here is."
 
Jimmy's eyes widened a little at her words. Had Arien turned her too? Did he do it before the rave or after the rave and why would she let him? Nothing made sense to the Proselyte and he nervously ran his fingers through his black hair, head shaking a little in the process. Now was definitely not the time to discuss what had or hadn't happened and he found himself giddy at the prospect of talking about it later on with Élisa away from prying eyes or ears. "I would enjoy talking with you about things later, let's just leave it at that." Grinning, Jimmy rubbed the back of his neck and glanced over towards the arrivals each time the door opened. It certainly was an odd assortment that was for sure.

"Well, in truth, I don't know what's normal when it comes to these fancy parties, but the guest list is a bit curious. You don't think it's a nefarious gathering do you?" Paranoid? Not really, but Jimmy wasn't thinking naively any longer, not when he knew that there were true dangers out there.
 
Absolon turned to face Katherine Lessard with fire in his eyes. He held her gaze as he fought to quell it. "Right you are. Where are my manners?" He touched his fingers to his lips. "A pleasure, Katherine. I should have expected you to be here."

Ghislain repeated the motion. "And you are ever radiant, Mademoiselle Lessard. I can't imagine how you deal with the jealousy of those you keep company."

After Katherine and Abel became acquainted, Coralie smiled. "We met at the Aurellae. We have quite a bit in common."

___________________________________________

A sneer almost crept upon Elaine's face, but her mask was impregnable. "Iverian cider. Why, it's been quite a while," she replied, passing a mug to her husband. As Bernadette fussed, Elaine nodded. "of course, dear. Happy Genarium."

Once Bernadette was gone, Oriane and Ruben left their parents' side to explore the manor and find their way around. Ruben felt himself shrink the further they strayed. Oddly enough, most of the stares weren't in their direction. He looked right at the two women clad in black that strode in confidently. Beings with some kind of power surrounded him regularly, but these two...

... they were incredible.

"Oriane," he whispered to his sister. "Oriane, do you feel that?"

The young woman at his side nodded. "It's hard to mistake for even me."
 
"Explain to me one more time why you dragged me along on this farce, old man."

"Because, Swigelf, somebody has to be on guard tonight. Even if no one asked us to."

Keeping mostly to themselves, two large men stood clad in highly polished armor, one silvery steel, the other a bright, somewhat burnished copper. There was hardly anything festive about the two, rigid and imposing, looking more ready for war than eggnog and mistletoe. They stood just inside the main entrance, keeping a watchful eye of the guests that entered, and making sure the papparazi didn't suddenly decide that sneaking inside for a few candid shots of drunk celebrities would be a good idea. Neither seemed to be in a social mood at the moment. If someone approached, and Kurtrin noticed first, he'd dismiss them before they'd get close. Between the scars across the left side of his face, and the stern, somber look on his grizzled old features, it was obvious that The Golden wasn't here for pleasantries. Izaic was a tad less tactful in his reproaches. The far younger of the two Monastic knights gave sneers and hand waves, rather than the more subtle gestures used by his mentor.

The veteran of the Skirmishes couldn't believe the audacity of the Arodrings, and neither could his protegee. There was something out there that could turn this entire gathering into a blood and bone strewn massacre, and here they all were. Gathered in one place. At night, no less. Traditions be damned, this was no time for such frivolities.

Still, Kurtrin was keeping a tighter leash on his favored proselyte than was usual, much to the chocolate haired youth's chagrin. Thankfully, the bourbon the coot had brought along in his trusty ornate white-gold flask tasted good. There was at least that. Also, the eye candy here was to die for. For once, he was glad he'd listened to the old man's advice. He had shaved the stubble from his cheeks, combed and oiled his hair. His rugged good looks were replaced with a far more conventional, and dashing, appearance. And my, how those hazel-green eyes of his smoldered at any tasteful tart to pass by. Especially that archbishops daughter, rank and social standings be damned. That dark blue dress was just...well...

Wick. Be. Praised.
 
Katherine touched her fingers to her own lips in turn, smiling to them each. "A pleasure to meet you, Proselyte Lachapelle. I hope that young Coralie has not distracted you too greatly from your studies," she flashed an easy, teasing smile at the boy. "Though it is the Aurellae, after all. I should think you can be forgiven a little time off."

Her eyes slid over to Ghyslain, chuckling at his flattery. "If such sentiments are held my dear, then they are misplaced. There is little to be jealous of in a steadily ageing spinster," she remarked levelly. Then, she looked back to the trio of youngsters as a whole. "But I don't wish to keep you all from enjoying your night. I'm sure that you all have better things to do than listen to me. If I might borrow your ear alone, Absolon, there's no need to bore the young with our small-talk. Shall we get drinks?"

With that, and a final goodbye to Abel and the priest's family, she led him away towards the nearest drinks table to talk business.


"Nefarious? It depends in what way," Élisa laughed. "I doubt they've any malicious intent, at least not by the standards of this city, but doubtless this is a cog in their scheming. Might be that they're making some attempt at bringing the magical community and the church one closer together, even." She shrugged. "For all the good that'll do. If my father's attitude is anything to go by, the church isn't going to play ball anytime soon."

She sighed. "I hope the others get here soon. Right now we might as well have a party of two, for all the fucks I give about anyone else in this room."
 
Jimmy wasn't so sure whether or not the gathering was contrived under a nefarious purpose, but he wanted to be near friends if they showed up, just in case. He ended up shrugging a little, not quite sure whether or not bringing the magical community and church closer was a good idea or even doable. While he had no ill will towards anyone different, he wasn't stupid enough to believe others felt the same way. Those that were of the older thought such as her father wouldn't go for it, at least not in his opinion and even if they did, he doubted there would be much trust between them. It was a sad state, but that was where the community seemed to be like. His gaze shifted towards the door, noticing perhaps for the first time Izaic and Kurtin, wondering how they felt about this gathering.

"Yeah, it'd be nice if they showed. Maybe then I wouldn't feel so out of place. Not that I don't mind being with just you, but I uhh... I mean, that is... you a beautiful companion and I enjoy your company, but a party is always better with multiple friends." Great, there he went stumbling around his words again. Why couldn't he be suave for once in his life?
 
"I couldn't agree more, proselyte." A rich voice cut in. Jimmy and Elìsa might turn to see a well-dressed young man with wavy black hair and striking blue eyes. "No party is complete without good friends." He smirked - an expression both aggravatingly handsome and haughty. "Or at least, without good company. You should always strive for one of those two - preferably both."

Jimmy might recognize the man as Jean-Curas Taramon, a twenty-two year old Lutetian aristocrat. His father owned one of the largest shipping businesses in the city. Elìsa would, without question, know who he was.

"Always nice to see you, Elìsa," he would wait to see if she offered her hand - and would kiss it, if so. "You look beautiful, as always." He turned back to Jimmy. "As for you - I don't believe we've met. Jean-Curas Taramon. Call me John. Always a pleasure to meet one of the Order's finest." He perked a brow. "Well. Soon-to-be finest, anyway."

---

"Oh my, is that Sir Hayes?"

The words scarcely left the mouth of some half-drunk aristocrat than did a small crowd of four or five patrons swiftly surround the aged knight and his hapless protégée. The Golden Knight - whether he like it or not - was among the most celebrated still-living heroes in Lutetia city. The old man rarely made appearances. That he should come to this party was an occasion indeed. It wasn't quite the chaotic mess of questions and shouts that the paparazzi had been, but it was certainly disorienting.

"Sir Hayes, do you remember me?" an older woman smiled at him through a mask of makeup, "you waived to me from the arena at the Aurellae! It was about eleven years back-"

"Oh shove off Karen, he won't remember that," a mustachioed gentleman in a bowler hat approached the knight, "listen, Hayes, Walter Murkmire, pleased to meetcha! How'd you like to do commercials? Movies? I could getcha a contract for twenty million plus benefits tomorrow, you just say the word!"

"Sir Hayes, would you tutor my boy at fencing? He's over at Lacroix and he just can't seem to measure up to the other kids..."

As Kurtrin fended off a mob of hungry nobles, Izaic would be confronted with his own dragon to slay. A young man and woman approached him - both tall and thin with fiery red hair and soft, almost glowing white skin. They had similar facial structures as well - sleek and feminine with intense, hungry looking eyes. The girl wasn't endowed with any significant curves, but she wore her silk red dress with such grace that it was impossible not to call her lovely. The man wore a tailored suit with a vest and a red scarf.

"I told you it was him," she grinned, her lips red and viscous. "Proselyte Swigelf, is it? I'm Nara. This is Vincent. We heard about your performance at the Aurellae." She perked a brow, her tongue running along the inside of her bottom lip. "...is it true you felled the Bear with one stroke of your sword?

---

"Let me rectify that, then," Robert offered a smile, "Sir Robert Arodring. At your service. You are?"

The knight was all smiles and warmth, but he was still a paladin. Something about this woman tripped the instinctual alarm that ten plus years of Monastic training had instilled in him. He wasn't sure what it was - though the mask certainly didn't help.

"Consider me one of your hosts this evening. Should you need anything at all, do not hesitate to ask."
 
"And strive I do, John," Élisa replied with a coy smile, allowing the man to kiss her hand with more poise than might have been expected of her usual demeanour. "Any idea where I might find some more? Jimmy and I have been looking..."

She chuckled at her own playful barb, folding her arms in such a way as to ever-so-slightly emphasise her cleavage, without it being obviously intentional. "This is Jimmy O'Suaird," she gestured to her companion. "Jimmy, John's a rich playboy heir-apparent. A little like the twins, but at least slightly more respectable, albeit with a few digits less to his family's name. Something which irks him to no end, as I recall? Well, I'm sure he's gotten over it by now after all that personal growth overseas..."

It would seem that for all that Élisa's appearance had changed for the better, her habit of making fun at the expense of others was still very much intact.
 
Kurtrin visibly went crimson as the crowd approached. He knew this would happen, but it was the last thing the war hero could've possibly wanted. Damn it all, he wasn't here to answer the inane mooing of some aristocrats! With gritted teeth, the worn and weary veteran forced an obviously pained grin, trying to give Izaic a big enough hint to dash off before he got swept up in all this, not knowing his protegee was already being targeted.

So many faces. None of them familiar.

"Uh...One at a time, good folk. I'm sorry, but I have a problem keeping up if people talk too fast these days." A lie. A very bold faced lie. But these people weren't like those children from the festival grounds. He didn't have to humor them. He didn't have to play the part of the hero. "And please, move along once I've answered you. I'm unfortunately here on behalf of the Order, not because I so desperately craved attention." He had no duty to be polite, but damn it, the old man would try.

---

Izaic, meanwhile, found himself engaged just as he had begun to sneak off, hoping to take advantage of the old man being distracted. Instead, he found himself set upon by two ginger haired porcelain skinned...well, he didn't know what to call them.

At least the female looked decent. And the male was, at least, no Inarin. That much he was thankful for.

With a grimace on the border of a scowl, Swigelf locked eyes with the two, barely containing the usual confrontation fire and barbed tongue he was so well known for. At least they were asking him to brag. Much like his mentor, the proselyte found himself gritting his pearly whites during his response. "Hardly a single swing. I suffered my own fair bit of hurt. But if I did my job right, he won't be walking any time soon. Big bastard nearly broke my shoulder, so I did my best to break his future."
 
"That's true, yeah," Abel nodded once, "I didn't know Coralie had an interest in the arcane until she saw me reading something."

"A pleasure to meet you, madame Lessard- Oh no, she's been doing no such thing," Lachapelle waved away the idea as if a fly bothering his face, "if anything she's giving me much-needed respite from my study," he smirked a little and glanced towards Coralie. He never truly had a chance to notice how pretty she really was.

"My throat's parched, I need something to drink," the proselyte cleared his throat.


"Tethys Fabre," the masked guest bowed her head slightly, "and yes, I will keep that in mind." The witch's attention eventually drifted towards a younger male that stuck out like a sore thumb, namely the bag at his side. A sneaking suspicion entered Tethys' mind, that there might be something enchanted or similar within that bag.

The curiosity was killing her.



The other half of the mystery pair wove through the crowds, plucking a glass of red wine as she eventually stumbled upon Florianne Nuvellon.

"How long has it been since I saw you?" The ravenette smiled and took a sip of the beverage in her hand.
 
John offered a grin just as coy and confident. "Oh, I'm sure they're around here somewhere. Especially with this crowd. I think Bernadette's going for an 'A' in diversity tonight. To what end, though? Curious..."

"A little like the twins, but at least slightly more respectable, albeit with a few digits less to his family's name. Something which irks him to no end, as I recall? Well, I'm sure he's gotten over it by now after all that personal growth overseas..."

"Don't sell me short, Elise. I've had my share of scandals ... just not the foresight to profit on them quite as spectacularly as the Castellanes." He shrugged. "Of course, if you ever want to show me how it's done..."

---

Robert nodded. "A pleasure, then. Happy Genarium." His own attention was caught by another guest - none other than Kurtrin Hayes himself, the golden knight, swarmed by a mob of aristocrats. Oh dear. Robert had always dreamed of rescuing a knight like Kurtrin from some sort of danger. He'd never guessed that danger would be Lutetian nobility.

"Come come, friends, he just walked inside!" the burly knight easily squeezed through the crowds, offering Kurtrin an escape from his inquisitors. "Let the good ser have a drink first!" The paladin would attempt to take Kurtrin into the living room, touching two fingers to his lips in greeting and respect. "Sir, I'm honored you came. I apologize for all that." He grinned. "I suppose we're all a bit surprised you came. You rarely show up for these sorts of events."

---

Vincent frowned at Izaic. "Is that so? How positively... brutal." His pale face held little emotion, but his lips manage to twist downwards enough in a confused frown.

Nara grinned. "He's a warrior, Vince. What do you expect? Blood for blood, eye for eye. This is what he's been bred to do." She eyed the proselyte all over, as if she were inspecting a piece of meat at the deli. "Hm. A warrior indeed. Tell me, Sir Swigelf, are you finest fighter in your class? Does anyone else come close?" He was proud enough to boast but reasonable enough not to exaggerate, that much she could deduce. Now to test his limits.
 
There was nothing like a rich and haughty male to make him feel even more out of place and that was exactly how Jean-Curas Taramon made him through, though on the inside at least. He was poised as ever externally, watching as Elisa interact with him. Before he could introduce himself, she beat him to the punch and he just nodded a brief hello, not sure what else to say or do. He wished Inarin, Arien, Al, and Cal would hurry up and show, so at least he would have company that he was used to and ones he didn't feel awkward around. The conversation between him and Elisa regarding Arien was far from over, but until they were alone, it would have to be put on the back burner.

"Well, I suppose it's a pleasure to officially meet you. I've heard about you briefly and I'm sure my father interacted with yours in the past. How about you go get us some drinks?" Jimmy grinned at John, trying to shove him elsewhere at least for the moment.
 
Guests had been filing in for a while now, cars pulling up and departing with some regularity, but the flow of arrivals was slowly starting to peter off by the time one particularly conspicuous car came to a halt outside. Some of the more experienced reporters recognised the blacked-out limousine immediately, and their attention and their cameras were quickly pointed towards it in anticipation as the driver stepped out to open the passenger door.

The first figure to emerge was tall, broad and strapping. Damien Castellane was the very picture of impeccable style, clad in a sleek black suit that was contrasted by a white shirt and colourful mauve tie, with a matching handkerchief folded in his breast pocket. His chiselled features were framed by a full, expertly groomed beard, and his hair was similarly lush in spite of his age - having silvered gracefully, without balding. He ignored the photographers with the casual airs of someone well used to such nonsense, stepping away from the vehicle to allow the rest of the occupants to follow. Whilst he did, another figure stepped out of the passenger side of the front of the car. A sharp-looking man with short brown hair slicked back in a simple style, he silently paced across to stand a short distance to Damien's side. The suit he wore was more simplistic than the Castellane patriarch's, but not of lesser quality. What his relation was to the family was unclear, for he was an unfamiliar face to the press.

It was Alvère that was the next to emerge, dressed in a similarly exquisite suit - though his tie and pocket-square were a more standout red. The bolder of the twins flashed a cocky grin in the direction of the cameras before turning to offer a courteous hand to the next. Cameras flashed in earnest as he stepped into view, excitable murmurs going through the crowd. For this was another face that they were unfamiliar with. The boy that took Alvère's hand and stepped out into the night air was startlingly attractive, momentarily eclipsing his companion despite Al's own looks and celebrity. His hair was auburn, though a shade closer to brown than the reddish tones of the twins, and long, falling just past his ears and styled to sweep his fringe - which was normally left to hang loosely over his face - to one side in an arch that left his stunning emerald eyes fully visible. Arien smiled to the cameras without a hint of self-consciousness, and straightened fully. He was dressed in a suit just as lavish as his companion's, with a wine-red tie and square that complimented Al's.

They were shortly joined by Valère, dressed to match his brother entirely but for his adornments' holly-green colouring, who held out his hand for the vehicle's final occupant. By contrast to the other boys, when Inarin was confronted by the brilliant glow of the wall of photographers he almost fled back into the car, but a reassuring squeeze of his hand and a gentle smile from Val coaxed him all the way out. Inarin's outfit seemed to have, like Arien's, been coordinated to match his companion's - his tie and handkerchief a mint-green to Val's holly. The slight proselyte looked horribly self-conscious, and it was all he could do not to stare at the cameras like a rabbit in headlights.

"Don't worry," Val murmured to him, giving his hand another squeeze. "We'll be inside before you know it. There's nothing they can write to ruin our evening."

Inarin just nodded dumbly and let Val lead him along. The Castellanes - Evangeline, it seemed, being absent - and their companions made their way up the steps and into the main entrance... straight into the view of Izaic. The smaller proselyte's eyes widened slightly in surprise at seeing his older classmate here, but his expression quickly transitioned into a smile. He was surprised, yes, but still happy to see him. Sensing this, Val's eyes flicked between Inarin and Izaic for a moment before he gave them a subtle roll, and nudged the pair of them in his direction. As he passed Al and Arien, he caught his brother's eyes and gave an apologetic shrug, which was answered with a dismissively amused smile.

"Hey, Izaic!" Inarin waved as he and Val approached him and the redheaded siblings? Good grief. Inarin could only hope that this pair were a bit less full-on. "And ah... hi," he smiled shyly to Vincent and Nara. "I'm Inarin, uhm, one of Izaic's classmates."

"Valère," Val chipped in with a more poised smile.

"I ... wasn't ex-expecting to see you here," Inarin continued, looking back to Izaic with a bashful smile. "I didn't th-think this would be y-your kind of thing,"


Whilst Inarin and Val spoke with Izaic, the others made their way through into the main hall proper. It didn't take long for Arien to pick out Jimmy and Élisa in the crowd, and after Al gave his father a few parting words, the two drifted over to join them and Jean.

"I'm sure you'd enjoy that far too much, John," Élisa was saying with a smirk. "But speak of the wyrm..."

"My ears are burning," Al called in a singsong voice as he and Arien sauntered over. "I'm sure you were only singing my praises, but would you mind waiting till I'm in earshot to do so? It helps my ego."

"As if that needs any help," Élisa rolled her eyes, then turned a stunning smile on Arien, offering him her hand. "I'm glad you could make it, Arien."

He chuckled, taking her hand and kissing it. "Is it like me to miss a good party, Els? And you know I can't say no to Al." Releasing Élisa's hand, he turned his smile on Jimmy. "I hope you're enjoying it so far, Jimmy. Élisa's not been too much to handle, has she?" Only after greeting both the others did he turn his gaze onto John, fixing his enthralling emerald orbs upon the stranger with interest. "A friend of yours, Élisa?" he queried.

"Something like that," Élisa answered dismissively, barely taking her eyes off of Arien to gesture at the other aristocrat. "This is Jean-Curas Taramon, of Taramon Maritime fame. Or lack thereof, depending on who you ask. John, this is Arien, a friend of mine from overseas."


Across the hall, Florianne turned to face the woman who had approached her with a quirk of her eyebrow, a martini clasped in one hand. Upon recognising her, she returned the smile. "It must be almost a year, at least. You know me, Arianne. I'm a shut-in at heart, always have been." She chuckled, gesturing dismissively with her glass. "Gods know I'm not here tonight for the company."

She nodded towards the doorway, where Inarin was stood speaking with Izaic. "Alas for responsibility. My nephew is hopping from one minefield into another with every passing day..."
 
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Izaic's eyes went wide at Nara's prodding. He felt the little space between the bridge of his noses and his eyes twitch involuntarily, out of sheer annoyance no doubt. "There was one in my age group I considered my equal. But shes gone missing...and given the rack record of this city and missing women lately..." The wavy haired youth let himself trail off. Not intentionally, but he could help letting his mind wander. The various attacks. The Square. Inarin's parents. And now...the proselytes weren't being told about what really happened in the Phantom Quarter. Not the truth. Izaic wasn't nearly as stupid as he made himself out to be. As others thought he was. Between his own basic reasoning skills, and Kurtrin's not so subtle hints...

The old man's drinking was getting worse. That look was in his eyes much more often now. Replacing the stern but caring grandfather with the suffering war hero. Izaic had known the man since he'd been given to the Church. He was much more of a father than any he had ever truly known. Another thing he would never admit out loud, but it pained Swigelf to see the old paladin in such pain. He desperately hoped his mentor was wrong about what was coming back. He really, truly did.

Out of nowhere, he realized he'd gone silent. It was all he could do not to let his face flush with embarrassment. The fine looking proselyte somehow managed, as he always did, keeping up the veil of arrogance and macho oriented pride. Barely.

"But other than Proselyte Hogan, I can't say honestly that there is. Not within my specific rank of the Order, anyway. I am just a proselyte, after all. If an older one."

It would be halfway through the Iverian's response that he noticed Inarin walk in. Walk in with those damned twins, one of them practically clung to the young Nuvellon boy. Perhaps an exaggeration, but that's how he interpreted it. Clinging. Clung. Stuck. Like some sort of parasite. A flash of white hot anger shot across his face, quickly swallowed and quelled as Inarin approached. He'd hold up a hand, interrupting the lovely red head.

"Oh. Nuvellon. Its you." A look of disdain, aimed at Inarin, but not meant for him. "Hmm. Well. You're entirely correct. This is not my 'sort of thing'. Sir Golden wished for me to tag along however, as his plus one. He didn't want to come either, but some one has to take things in this city seriously. His words, not mine." A look over of that flashy black and jungle green suit. "But I see hes not incorrect."

A small part of him hoped the words would hurt.

----- ----- -----

The Golden was thankful for the rescue, truly more than he could express, but the steel did not leave his tired orange-brown eyes. "Oh, hello Robert. You mentioned a drink. Lets get to that, shall we? Before I return to my post? Hopefully by then, my being here won't be as much of a draw to these fine folk." It was clear from the bitterness in the old veteran's voice that he thought them anything but fine.

Following eagerly, Kurtrin could pray for nothing more than a class, or two, or several, of the strongest spirit the hosts might have to offer. "Anything brown. Whiskey, brandy, scotch. Cognac, if your expenses can spare it. Its not often I get out anymore, and I'd rather have some of the fancier stuff, if you don't mind. Who knows? Perhaps I'll get drunk enough and regale the party with tales of the war. A few battle stories. It seems thats all anyone ever wants out of this old man anyway."

For me to relive that night. Over and over. Over and over. Every day, people ask. Just once, I'd like to only be reminded of Her in my nightmares.

Even his thoughts gave the battle worn knight little rest. He could only hope the bottle would provide the solace he sought. The sooner Robert got him alone, away from the crowds, and liquor in his hands, the better. Perhaps then Kurtrin would be able to properly enjoy this gala. Even if that had not been his original intention in coming, he could only hope.
 
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"Few of us are, I'd wager," a half-truth from Arianne, yet still mostly accurate. Her elder had mentioned something about business when voicing her desire to come to the party, and the witch herself had largely come for social purposes. She needed to make sure her coven's presence wasn't completely forgotten.

"How has young Inarin been recently?" She looked towards the proselyte and the group he was associating with, the Castellanes and some other boys. "At the very least he's associating with others in the craft," a light chuckle spilled into her wine glass as she took another sip, "funny how that happens." It always seemed like the magically-inclined sought each other out whether they wanted to or not, made their communities often very insular and interconnected. In this case, it made Fabre's investigations much easier.
 
"Inarin. A pleasure," Nara smiled at the proselyte, giving him a once over. Her eyes turned back to Izaic. "I hope-"

Her brother touched her shoulder. Their eyes met, faces expressionless.

"Apologies," Nara looked back to Izaic, "I need to go. But if you're so inclined..." Two manicured fingers twirled a piece of paper with her phone number scribbled on it. She smiled. "...think about it."

---

Jean-Curas looked over at Élisa, his grin cool and amused. "Careful now, demoiselle Voclain. One more quip like that and I'll start to think you're flirting with me."

"Call me John," he met Arien's eye, offering his hand, "I hear you've been spending quite a lot of time with the twins. Hope they haven't been too bad of an influence. " His brows furrowed, lips parting. "My my, such green eyes. Where do you find them, Al?" He looked over Arien's shoulder at Inarin. "Or these monastics, for that matter. I think that's the third knight-in-training I've seen tonight. Has every noble worth their salt brought their own pet proselyte to this dinner? You'll have to show me where to pick up one of my own."

---

"You're a hero, ser," Robert replied, perhaps not fully grasping the depth of Kurtrin's words, "a savior. Light, I dreamed of being you when I was boy. Still do, in many ways. You can't fault people for putting their admiration in someone deserving of it."

They were in the living room now. Robert called over a server. "Brandon! Bring the Golden here some of that cognac we have in that back. Oh! And that aged Iverian malt whiskey we keep in the storeroom... what's it called..."

"McBain's, sir."

"McBain's! That's it. Bring that out, our good paladin is thir-"

"Robert Arodring." Bernadette's voice cut clean through the white noise of the room. She approached the two knights, straight faced. "You are forty-five minutes late, still in armor and unshowered."

Robert winced. "Mother, I-"

"Upstairs and wash. Now. I set out your clothes on your old bed."

The knight dashed away more quickly than if he'd seen a Caer, leaving Bernadette with Kurtrin.

"Sir Hayes, the Golden," she offered an honest smile, "welcome to my home. I'm pleased you could at last accept my invitation. If anyone is welcome at Arodring Manor, it is one of the Oathbound. I hope you will consider dining with us this evening. We've prepared a place for you and your proselyte."
 
as written by Ottoman and the damn avocado glmstr

The sight of the snow that lined the flanks of the streets was a welcome change to the wet and barren look that the city had adopted in the immediate approach of winter, that dreary time when the autumn had waned from its beauty and bounty, and gave way to the death that awaited all things, even if it was only temporary for the world around them. But the veil that the city now found itself clad it did a way of masking that death, that end, in a way that put hearts at ease, even that most troubled soul that tugged this way and that at the wheel of her lover's car, steering the vehicle through the turns and curves that she had come to learn quite well, albeit astride her Destrier. It was a good thing that it was Genari's Eve as the streets were sparsely filled, as the stores had closed early - what stores that dared to open today - and most were well on their way to seeing to family, friends and celebration.

But Aislin and Roxanne were, sadly, not in the majority, though at the very least, as Ash had stated before, apologetically, they were making good time. Certainly, she was speeding, likely more than she should, but who would pull over a paladin, much less one escorting a noble lady?

"Apologies, love." Lughadh murmured from where she sat in the driver's seat once again, having cost the both of them much needed time, and a seemly arrival.

"No no, it's fine," Roxanne, at the time watching the scenery roll by the passenger window, briefly rested a hand on the paladin's leg, "perhaps now we can slip in quietly, now that the festivities have already started."

As the noble's stately vehicle glided effortlessly towards Arodring manor, the undeniably gaudy vehicle of the Castellanes was pulling away. Thankfully they would be too busy to assail Allard or her companion with questions and cameras. Even then, some so-called 'journalists' already dared suggest that there was more to the pair's relationship than just simple guardianship, though over the years that angle had, at least temporarily, lost its scandal and relevancy.

The other's repeated reassurance brought a smile to the paladin's face, one hand slipping away from the wheel to place it atop the other's while it still rested upon her, before the knight saw the both of them to their destination. Ash was an apologetic sort, at least with Roxanne, and still it bothered the woman slightly that she'd caused them to be late, even if it was a non-issue on her better-half's part.

In short order Lughadh stepped out from the vehicle, careful of the longsword she wore on her side, a guiding hand placed upon it to make sure it left the car as gracefully as she, closing the door behind her as she looked towards the manor's door, then the crowds nearby. She was here, technically, as a guardian, and she wouldn't let that duty slip from her mind - both for appearances, and for practicality. There was some fear in the knight's heart concerning her love's safety in the wake of the Nuvellon massacre, perhaps even more so now that lady Allard might find herself in close proximity to other high value targets, but, as ever, she would place herself between evil and the one that she loved.

Rounding the car, the paladin soon took position at Roxanne's flank, her arm offered to the woman as proper, looking over to the reporters and their ilk as she scanned the crowd. She paid no heed to their jeering questions, only to their faces, careful of any that didn't bear the same spark of avarice as the others.

Luckily for Allard, her dress, while clearly tailored to her body and an unorthodox yet inoffensive shade of cream, helped project her long-held air of modesty. After almost obsessively making sure such garb would inspire little to no intrigue from the press or would-be suitors, the wave of flashbulbs and clicking shutters still followed the pair's every move. She simply kept her head and eyes directly forward, not even offering a glance to the cameras.

Inside the atmosphere at least felt more welcoming than the bitter cold and the predatory reporters, which felt odd for Roxanne to imagine anything related to the Arodrings in such a way.

Almost immediately a member of the waitstaff walked by, spurring her to beckon them towards her with an open palm.

"Glass of Allard red, please," the noble then glanced towards Ash to see if she would add anything.

Alongside the lady Allard, the paladin appeared, to a degree, equally humble, clad in her uniform that contrasted, at least somewhat, with the shirt she wore underneath, one that matched her charge's colors. The only mark of any degree of pride, beyond that of the sword on her hip, was her silver, worn over her tie not unlike a neck order, perched just below her neck, resting evenly just below her collar. Given, hers might not have been the appearance that the Arodrings had expected, especially with the boots she wore - albeit polished, quite nearly spit-shined, had Aislin forgotten just where they were going - but these were not her people, this was not her strata, and she would not find herself, or her capability to defend these folk, hindered by gaudy attire.

Breaking smoothly away from the latest glance over those in attendance, the knight looked to Roxanne, then to the server, her eyes having been drawn by the pause in conversation, lingering there silently for a moment before she realized that they were waiting on her to request something. A light hint of color crept into the Iverian's cheeks as she thought, quickly speaking her request. "Schnapps. Apple, if you have it."
 
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