Fantasy 𝓐𝓵𝓵'𝓼 𝓕𝓪𝓲𝓻 𝓲𝓷 𝓛𝓸𝓿𝓮 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓦𝓪𝓻

peachiepalette · Feb 10, 2023

.
.

intro

je te laisserai des mots

patrick watson

opening.

I
t’s only been a short time since the war between the kingdoms has ended, bringing the Valoreum Empire together once more after five decades. It was ended by love, of all things. How fitting it might be that more love connections form at this Festival in an affair of star-crossed lovers.

The war was a hard time for everyone, to put things lightly. There was death, famine, treason, nobody was safe from the wages of war. Thankfully, the war has ended, by love of all things; Just six months since the end of the war and The Valoreum Empire has begun the healing process; becoming whole again. What better way to celebrate the end of suffering with the very love that was powerful enough to bring soldiers to lower their weapons. A Wedding! Better yet, the King of Platet has decided to host an entire festival for the happy couple, inviting any and everyone they could think of from the four different Kingdoms to celebrate the end of war.

Everyone that has received one of the countless invitations to the Finem Belli Festival is being welcomed into the Plains Kingdom, Platelet. Most have accommodations in the royal city or surrounding towns, but a very special few have been invited to stay in the Platet Palace. King Louis has made it known to his Platetian subjects that all festival guests will be receiving royal treatment and should be treated with the utmost respect. Upon arrival on the first day, guests will find a delicate flower on their pillow with the following note in perfectly lined script:

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *. ☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
We request the honor of your presence at the commencement event of the Finem Belli Festival -
a Masquerade Ball.

For many years, a war has waged and finally, it has come to an end. It is time to put aside our differences in the name of love, though not all of us may be ready to show our faces to our former enemies. As such, we give you a night to hide yourself but to intermingle with people once not on our same sides but now together nonetheless.

Please join us tonight for a spell of dancing and enjoying each other's company… Who knows, you might meet someone you wish to see again, this time without a mask.

Formal wear and a mask are required.
─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *. ☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

As soon as you step foot inside of the decadent Platetian palace, where the Festival is being hosted, ushers will guide guests to the ballroom to find grand splendor.

An ether under a roof with brilliant stars while the outside world is shrouded in nightveil as if Queen Mab herself created the scene. The scene is set inside the ballroom with drapery in hues of midnight blue, aubergine, and emerald green and candlelit romantics to offer lighting. Illumination is miniscule other than the flickering of flames and some lanterns lining the walls so one doesn’t completely take a spill, but what else could set our scene for a lovely masquerade? There’s music and laughter, dancing isencouraged, and of course, there’s wine if one so chooses a little liquid luck for this occasion.

If one desires to take their journey into the gardens, they will find themselves surrounded by vivids with stems and leaves lining, graphic florals making one know of their presence. Along with starlight to brighten up the walkways dense with flora, there are lanterns strung and well-lit to line the area. Past the easy-going paths of garden florals, hedges line to create and interesting maze. One might find themselves lost at first, but meeting someone in the tall greenery can prove to be a romantic setting. That, and if you feel too far gone, follow the brightest star to find your way back to the openings. On their adventure, one might see a soft to the touch patch of fur from the creatures that might be lurking around such as rabbits, squirrels, or any other small beings. They are welcome guests as well, joining us for a grand night.

Enter our Cast
cast

cast.

Platet

closed

arborious

Closed

Caelum

closed

pluvia

closed

non royals

closed

intro

cast

all's fair

in love

and war

time

dusk

event

festival opening - masquerade

location

platet palace - ballroom

status

closed

cs

lore

ooc

♡coded by uxie♡

sunshineysoul · Feb 13, 2023

scroll

Princess of Platet

Avileen.

mood

anxious, emptily optimistic

outfit

a lilac dress with a rose gold mask (aka i'm too lazy to link the picture)

location

The Platet Palace

interactions

Aurelia, Atticus & Anasticius

TAGS

ravenna -

a z u l a , lorelei - N nios

coded by xayah.ღ

gingersnaps · Feb 17, 2023

mood :

hopeful & annoyed

location :

the platet palace ballroom

outfit :

mentions :

ravenna, maia.

interactions :

ravenna

princess

delphine

A masquerade ball. Lords and ladies from all across the continent, in beautiful gowns and mysterious hidden away faces. Dancing the night away until her feet couldn't take the weight of her anymore. All of that, while plotting away and collecting dirty little secrets on all the future rulers of the neighboring kingdoms.

Oh, the gods did smile upon Delphine after all.

The entire celebration felt like a gift curated personally to her tastes, it felt like the make-believe games she used to play as a child: where she was the most beautiful girl in the most luxurious of dances, where a prince would fall madly in love with her, and whisk her away to a magical distant land, so she’d never have to set foot in rotten Arborious for the rest of her life.

It was nearly perfect. Nearly. There were two little problems stopping her fairytale to fulfill itself.

“I found it.” Came her sister’s voice from the door. Delphine whipped around to look at her, trying to decide whether to glare or smile.

Of course, her sisters.

Ravenna, elegant and dutiful Ravenna, the future queen of their godawful northern land. She had to be here, obviously, even if her tense shoulders betrayed the fact that she did not enjoy it in the slightest.

Ravenna’s presence, that she understood, even if she had no love for the prospect of being under her older sister's watchful eye all week long.

“Oh, I knew it, I knew I had not forgotten!” Delphine stood from her seat, a bright smile as she took the metal from her sister’s hand and stared at it lovingly: the silver flower details, the amethyst rocks…she had spent the last few days of their trip mourning the loss of her favorite piece of jewelry.

Well, no, that's not quite true. Delphine spent the last few days shouting and berating her little sister for stealing her necklace, accusing little Maia of dirty sabotage.

“Hiding it in your bags, that foul brat…” An annoyed, high-pitched voice left Delphine’s lips as she clasped the necklace around her long neck. “She’ll just do anything to get on my nerves!”

Little Maia- Delphine simply did not see the point of her. What was she there for, other than to annoy her and make a fool of herself, as she always did? Her best guess would be that her Queen Mother simply wanted an excuse to send the brat away and keep her busy.

“Ugh, no matter.” Smiling at her own reflection, Del could not have been more pleased with her vision “Perhaps you could use a little more time in front of a mirror, sister? We are meant to cause a good impression.”

She giggled, watching as the ever responsible Ravenna moved on to their little sister’s room. Somebody had to make sure she looked presentable, and not insane. But of course, not a soul would burden Delphine with that task- they all know she’d be much too mean about it.

Despite her sister’s words, she looked at herself. She was beautiful, and who could deny it? The pale blue dress almost blended into her ivory skin, with light purple flower petals covering her body.

And her mask…normally, she would’ve protested any attempts to cover up her fine features, but she simply had to make an exception for this mask- it looked as if a silver butterfly had landed on her face. She adored it from the moment she saw it.

Yes, she was beautiful. She simply had to be beautiful enough to find a knight in shining armor willing to take her away. The King and Queen had their agendas, and she had hers.

“It’ll be perfect.” She whispered to herself, until she believed it so. “It’ll be magical.”

It’ll be her best chance to live the rest of her short life in her own terms, not her parents’.

With a sweet smile, Delphine exited her chambers and entered the dance floor, delight filling her chest as she realized that this was truly happening.

coded by reveriee.

Gao · Feb 17, 2023

click! RAJAH “KING” & “WORSHIP”: MOOD

AM I THE DRAMAA??

LOCATION

Ballroom

OUTFIT

ATTIRE & MASK

TAGS

a z u l a

MASQUERADE.

In a fireplace of coals guarded by a dozing hill of rust-black canine, history survived like the ghost of Icarus. Flowering in waves of ceaseless cadence, a cacophonic harmony of his ocean-bound descent.

Where mountain wind gnawed like fish teeth flaying peels of skin and tissue from bone, a different strain of sovereignty lived. Where walls and closed doors rendered conversations clandestine, where an undercurrent of risk reeled like maelstrom; Aurelian coin spun between fingers, an oil lamp refracted shards of amber as threatening morse flickered against dark iris.

Leaned in chair with all the mannerism of a cat lounging a sunny ledge, he’d wear a smile that never quite reached lashes. Living a mimicry of pleasantry, splicing threads of fiction and sincerity as easy as lopping off fingers from unwelcome hands. They know how to speed through bone and its vein of marrow, for in sea-shark gaze lay miles of knavery, no glorified crown to rest his brow or heroic war medal to pin his chest; only pouches of gold, the chafe of boots and a whirl of snow uplifted by fistfight, a run of blood seeping through channels of palmar creases. Viscera and names to wire his origin, is an umbra bound by a margin of light or the darkness that swallows it?

He’d learned how to survive with uncertainty as his companion, learned when the sun descended below the scarlet basin of the sky, its hues could resemble hands stained with liquor. Even a burning home or garnet gem, how a spill of wine could contour itself to an echo in a drawl of seconds, dance upon the demarcation of his vision like a vignette of guilt. Familial eyes watch from a tomb of the dead, fringing memory with something incising.

The snow of Caelum streets resembled wet velvet, its cold hunger distilling restlessness. Unable to lay dormant under heel, there was nothing more maddening than the blight of unclean hands. Ambition called with a promise of eternity, an aphrodisiac of highest spirit. Assembling thought into theories and parchment into plans, a thrill to lead helm, inciting the hunt of a kingdom whose rigidity matched that of its climate.

He’d left part of himself in Caelum, and now was almost trying to outrun time itself.

Passing days in Platet proved to be no simple endeavour for Rajah, whose only felony against the crown and its people was letting his dogs steal people’s shoes. In the sun of summer and emerald sea of grass he’d pass leftovers from porcelain platter to canine, ponder if history was only a mirage, some aftermath of heatstroke delusion. Contemplate if time could exorcise it, scrape hollow what grainy hunger outlived him.

Writhed to life like a serpent nosing through gutters of bones, a shark forever after ruby-red waters.

He’d indulged with glutton appetite, the variety of diversions to try to stave it off. From flirting with particularly anyone that would give him the time of day (even those that would not), investing in estate (a brothel or two is a worthy purchase on behalf of those returned from war), another doberman (graced with the handsome name “Buttons” after taking a liking to ripping every clasp and stud from the Viscount’s closet), Rajah had even tried his hand with the King’s daughter, and received a sharp slap to the face in kind.

Avileen. A moment caught in amber resin, imperial tilt of a chin as she delivered red glow to the cheekbone. Mythological in her status, now a story archived away in the troves of Rajah’s bygone beauties. A stanza shaped by raconteur, there is a generous bend to reciting tales, yet how much can be changed before it is something else entirely is left undefined. Removing love separated the spine of its meaning, rendered formless and unrecognisable and something sacrificial.

Poseidon never chased Apollo, for the sun shouldn’t be held hostage beneath oil-black waves. To keep something that burns so brightly would extinguish its illuminance, reduce it to lukewarm ash and vapid cinders. Drawing shut a curtain between fondness and theatre, folded what could have been away from his mind's eye.

A shade amongst blue-blood swans, the Viscount would watch them enter in droves, pooling the palace in a chatter of glass and gem. War displaced in lieu of a wedding, he’d scorn if not for opportunistic nature rearing to possibility. Personalities all silk and velvet in spite of unspoken umbrage, guests that milled the ballroom ebbed and recurred like the tide.

A grapple of sycophants, Rajah had struggled to make headway through the crowd without being pulled into conversation after conversation. Bleeding like ink from pages to the next, nodding to the prattle of loans and renovations, the narrow pivot of cloistered lives devoted to kingdom and crown. He’d share in their zeal, if his serving to the crown was only to the ones he could pay with.

Gossip toiled, abuzz with equal portions of excitement and apprehension. Heads bent to hush of renown guests and rumours alike, in peripheral did attention catch the very source of their whispers. Not a trick of the light or hand of illusion, bestirring hybrid emotions of familiarity and dread.

Caelum.

Faelike thespians, dovelike and sired with stardust. The Viscount had intentions to turn and head a different direction, if not noticing the group fracturing and singling a certain individual. Flaring interest, tendrils of curiosity thinned out venom in exchange for opportunity. As a good, gracious, and very gentlemanly host, it was his obligation to welcome Kaeteryna to Platet.

There was nothing wrong with saying hello, he was allowed to do that.

Yes.

Foxlike, he’d steal away from conversation to weave through guests. Drifting to the woman’s side in a clashing contrast of charcoal and snow.

“I thought I noticed a chill.” Cloyed whiskey smooth and saccharine sweet, a pleasant shape fixed to the corners of his mouth. “How is our little lady of Caelum faring today? Beautiful as ever, I see.” Aphrodite would surely retch her existence, and such conversation from the likes of Rajah would lead nowhere good.

But there is a glimmer overcast by lashes, a drench of gold to be chewed and swallowed by aqua regia. If she was anything like the nobles of Caelum, polished and prim and encased in a glass coffin as an exhibit of everything unattainable, all he’d require was the right tap to fissure weakness through such casket.

“Whilst fortuitous to find you here, your insight, my pretty darling, would be terribly appreciated.” A sigh was drawn, butter-slick on the exhale. Languid eyes without calculation and soon to relish oncoming riposte, upturned with a mischievous smile.

“How do you expect to find a suitor when you brace yourself with all the rigidity of an iron door?”

now playing...

INDIGO NIGHT

TAMINO

♡coded by uxie♡

cavitea · Feb 19, 2023

arledge.

❝ What are we doing if not pretending? ❞

mood

oh.

outfit

x.

location

a corner-ish.

interactions

vaeron

.V1LLAINISM._

Somewhere the rosin-laden strings of a cello strung in melancholic tones, a weight in the feather light falsities of celebration. Horns had blown themselves in cacophonous brass, marking the end to something youth had only ever known. They were free, as if any of them had known a life of more. It felt wrong to claim the word, to act in a strutting peacock stance like life had turned from fish scales to pie and confectionary sweets.

Blood stained the water, pulled in handprints down the walls, in dragging patterns on the thresholds of every home till a pool swallowed down the throne of Pluvia; empty where it sat. An eldest prince stood nearby, captive to watch the feet trampling over soaked carpets and shout revelries to the heavens. He had helped place a marker where no bones lay resting and for that felt more ill than free.

𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦.

He couldn't blame his siblings or people alike, couldn't take from them in the strides that led him down boisterous hallways until only comforting nooks stood to ease an aching in his gut.
A doctor had blamed it on the stresses of upcoming celebrations, of a youthfulness that would tighten weathering skin and move a creak in a shoulder with ease. Promises they all were, empty in tone and lacking in the conviction Arledge sought.

Dressed in silks he was naked to his soul, picking along a collar tightly wound by silver cage as if a reminder of the political nonsense he faced to trudge through. A brother younger than he still argued for the resting title of a father gone, childish ploys created behind a smile he felt hopeless to perceive. Two sisters stood without the lively memories he felt a thief to own.

𝘈𝘩, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦.

So he busied his hands, followed in a lingering height, a mollusk stuck firmly to the side of ships in as stubborn an aura as he could muster. Stifling robes clung to him, hanging in a decorum that belonged to another in stiffened steps along ship decks to cobbled streets and carpet-strewn halls. There was only so much fussing he was allowed to the younger siblings that accompanied him. Opportunity struck for them all, a chance at newness and individuality from the others. Yes, perhaps he wasn't quite as accepting of that fact, a creaking smile on his face as he bid an eventual '𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘳' to all of them.

Crashing waves eroded on his own mentality at the loss of their presence, a whirlpool that settled into uncomfortable silence. Arledge wasn't used to the silence and it gnawed on the corners of an absent mind. Up and down he would pace instead, a rat to the gilded cage of a room provided until hours struck and a silver half-face mask slipped onto his face at the aide of servants. Lace was pulled over uneven tan, sea-stained fabric pulled over that until shoulders found themselves restricted to a neck pulled tight by cord.

All walks of life awaited the misplaced prince, twirling soldiers and princesses in bonds together as they celebrated a war felt still in empty chairs. 𝘼 𝙬𝙖𝙧 𝙛𝙚𝙡𝙩 𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝙞𝙣 𝙚𝙢𝙥𝙩𝙮 𝙩𝙝𝙧𝙤𝙣𝙚. Arledge was happy to slip into the event without the cries of pomp deserving of a prince, stick himself through the wading pool of a crowd until the reprieve of a refreshment table offered the enticement of not interacting. Fizzed flutes beckoned forward a hand and the expectant wish of a poison that would send him back to foreign sheets and uncomfortable silence.
It was loud, obnoxious, and the liquid that slipped past expectant lips and immediately soured an expression.

𝙎𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙬𝙗𝙚𝙧𝙧𝙮. A flavor befitting more of a younger sister than a man fixed more towards salt and smoke. It sat poorly on his tongue and enough was gone from the delicate glass that a replacement would be noticeable.

Brown hung against cheeks as a face swiveled briefly, eyes tracking in the panic of a man on a mission unbecoming of his stature, shuffled feet and careful steps taking him from table to corner, to carefully arranged plant. It wouldn't be noticeable, surely not in such a lapsed moment as a glass tipped to the side and the prince of Pluvia caught at the last moment the shoes that liquid spattered from plant leaves down and all over. Shoes he could've sworn weren't there a moment ago.

"Ah."

/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */

a z u l a · Feb 19, 2023

mood :

ready to kick ass and take names ---> why is this peasant speaking to me?

location :

the platet palace ballroom

outfit :

mentions :

vaeron, leo

interactions :

vaeron

.V1LLAINISM._ , leo

sunshineysoul , and a rat

Gao

lady

kaeteryna

From running with wolves to building castles of ice and snow, none of her adventures outside of the castle grounds could have prepared Kaeteryna for the beauty of Platet. Fear had built a wall taller than the sun in Caelum, even the mere mention of travel outside of their borders was swiftly shut down. The royal trio had always talked of one day travelling outside of their kingdom, and that grand day had finally come in the form of a wedding festival. Ironic, considering how much Kaeteryna was avoiding her own like the plague.

Emerald fields rolled as far as the eye could see, kissed by petals and serenaded by song birds whispering sonnets. Kaeteryna had demanded that the carriage stop, right in the middle of the rarely trodden road between kingdoms, rushing out of the carriage in a flurry of heavy skirts and bouncing blonde curls just to throw herself into the meadow feet first. Laughter burst forth like a babbling brook, a rosy coloring flushing the lady's cheeks as her cold demeanor melted in the Platet sun.

With little pleading, Kaeteryna dragged her loyal knight out into the grassy haven with her, leading him in a sloppy waltz that would have made her mother shriek with horror. Their statue of a prince leaned against the carriage with only a hint of a smirk at his cousin's antics, until she used her familial privileges to forcibly push him into the field, flinging blades of grass into his icy mane as she ran away like a thief not wanting to be caught.

Though the beauty of Platet was enough to woo her, Kaeteryna was not going to be so easily won over by it's people. The wolves had been at their door mere weeks ago, and now they had invited them to dine at their table and drink their wine. Unfortunately for them, the Caelumites had already been dining with knives behind their backs in their own kingdom. The weather was nothing compared to the harshness of their people, the cut-throat world that Keateryna had been raised in had sharpened her into the finest of knives, poised to strike anyone who dared get close enough.

A masquerade meant that Kaeteryna could scope out their enemies with a little more ease, though it also meant that she would have to search even harder for them. Playing the game was not something she was a natural at, but Caelum had molded her into a fine player, a heart wrapped in iron thorns and a diamond mind to match. She was a formidable opponent, as any wild animal backed into a corner was.

Standing in front of the mirror in her assigned room, Kaeteryna couldn't help but wonder if she would leave the same woman she'd arrived as. "Do not bring shame upon our family or our people." The words still rung in Kaeteryna's ears as her lady-in-waiting helped her slip on the white gown she'd selected for the opening event, silk meeting marble as it caressed her skin. The delicate fabric wrapped tightly around her figure, reminiscent of the ice that permanently hugged the vast mountains of Caelum. It was much warmer here in Platet, so the noble had opted for a much more risqué outfit than she could normally pull off in the frigid weather of her home.

"It certainly shows more skin than your mother would like." Her lady-in-waiting murmured as she smoothed down the end of the dress against the marble floor. It would only be a mere matter of moments before Kaeteryna had it bunched up again, but she let the woman do it anyways.

"Good." Appearance was something that she tried not to let bother her, but in Caelum appearance was everything. Especially to her mother. Kaeteryna would sneak off into the woods and return covered in branches and dirt, but that didn't mean she didn't take pride in her looks. Her mother's voice crept into her mind every time she looked into a mirror. Not skinny enough, not fair enough, sit up straight, hold your head up, smile more.

Steeling her features and looking away from the mirror, Kaeteryna pushed her shoulders back and headed for the door. The kingdom of Platet was not ready for the wolves of Caelum to knock at their door.

~~

All the wine in the world could not make Kaeteryna feel comfortable in a room full of adversaries, circling like vultures amongst the dance floor. Those who thought that a wedding was enough to bring peace were horrible fools, and those who had come to assess their supposedly former foes were just as traitorous as she. War did not always mean blood and canons, the whispers and dalliances of a gilded ballroom were just as dangerous.

Comfort only came in the form of two stoic men, the only people she trusted with her life and her fragile heart. To the ends of the Earth, Vaeron and Leo were her closest confidants and fiercest protectors. More like brothers than friends, they were bound by unbreakable trust and not duty to titles. With them by her side, Kaeteryna could handle any battle of words and wits. Once, long ago she'd been a frail little thing, unable to stand against her mother's constant critiques. Vaeron and Leo had made her brave, their support had turned her into a wolf of a woman instead of a trembling fawn.

Though the plan had been to divide and conquer all along, being left alone in a strange land among adversaries had Kaeteryna's skin prickled, a wolf's fur standing on edge, teeth bared and ready to bite. Venom dripped from her mouth the moment she was addressed, a tense smile hiding the feral rage begging to be released inside her small frame. Of all people, a Caelumite traitor was sure to find her when she was without protection.

"Perhaps if you weren't dressed like a harlot, you wouldn't have noticed." Biting winds were kinder than Kaeteryna when threatened, a useful trait she'd inherited from her dear sweet mother. A waltz of words, never a step too quick or too far behind, a battle of insults was an artform she had learned much too young.

"I didn't have high expectations for Platet, but I didn't think they'd stoop so low as to let rats fester in their castle." Falsified honey laced her caustic words, fangs gnashing around his inflated male ego. She took a sip of the wine permeating her glass, letting the warmth settle in her belly as she gazed around the room, searching to see who might be watching at the moment before turning back to him. Practiced, careful hands slipped just enough to slosh wine onto pristine leathered shoes, a less than shocked gasp leaving her smiling mouth.

"Oh dear, you'd better scurry along and clean those before they tarnish. However will the ladies know to run when they can't hear your shoes squeaking?" Satisfied lips puckered into a pout, the aggression not quite passive as mirth gleamed in merciless eyes.

coded by reveriee.

peachiepalette · Feb 21, 2023

mood.: despair. melancholy. woe. kissy faces at a window?

outfit.

tag.: N/A

Dread.

It had been creeping, lurking, lying in wait for the Prince as soon as the announcement had been made that there would be a Finem Belli Festival, particularly one to be hosted in his own home kingdom of Platet. God knows how many people shoved into the palace, under or around the same roof of the King of Platet, his father? Wandering eyes and prying fingers and grasps held on each other in desperate attempts to find love. It made his stomach roll, to say the least. A grimace had fallen almost permanently across his face in the months of planning. One might conclude him to be dramatic, but to him, this could very well be the end of everything good.

Despite the pressing fact that party goers were set to start arriving that morning, he has trashed his own chambers in the early hours of the set upon date. He'd done all the rioting and bargaining in the world to convince his father to let him travel during the time of the Festival. Just let him leave! Out of sight, out of mind? He had hoped the man would agree, finally decide that Atticus being the current face of the family was a horrible idea (because it truly was.)There was even a lovely plan to pretend he had fallen gravely ill and therefore could not attend any of the events, but the King would hear none of that. Atticus supposed it had been his first mistake to even suggest his little plan to the King, thinking that his father would possibly understand a thing about him and how much he lacked the resolve to put his best foot forward at this festival.

By the time that Avileen had opened his door that morning, the scene was surely something to behold. Books strewn about, even torn pages littering the floor - his more precious and cherished novels had survived, but the ones about leadership and warfare had been sacrificed - his pillows de-feathered, just a few glass pieces smashed to pieces on the floor, the works. And the man himself, standing blankly in the middle of it all as he stared out at his older sister. Of course, she wanted them on their best behavior. How many times had he heard that one before? Sometimes he did try, really! But this couldn't be one of those times. As chocolate brown eyes stared out into the hall, his vision went blank, zoned out entirely as he practiced bore a hole into Anastacius’ room from across the way. Surely his father had told Avileen that she was responsible for ensuring the twins found love matches at this Hellfire of an event, starting with the masquerade. Preferably women, at that, despite his sons’ preferences; because naturally, there needed to be an heir to take over when everyone was old and gray.

A King couldn’t take the throne without a partner to lead with them, that would just look painfully foolish. It would bring a sort of disgrace to King Louis, and therefore, Atticus had secured a plan. Either Anastacius would find someone by his own accord and could rise to the occasion to take the crown, or… his gaze trailed just down the hall. He’d invited someone particularly special to this event, and this actually brought a mischievous grin to his face, something that his siblings hadn’t seen in multiple days, perhaps even weeks due to his brooding. But this, this might just work. Avileen could find a certain someone. And he felt bad for her, truly, for having the weight of the world on her shoulders (in an entirely different way than him) because it shouldn’t be her job to try so hard with nothing in return if she would never get the crown… So he’d thought it all through! If she secured herself a love rather than focused on him- Well, he might just make it out with his head! His grin turned into something of a crazed beam and with these thoughts in mind, he let out a sharp giggle before slamming his door shut on the conversation.

Now, one might wonder why Atticus was taking this all so hard. The simple truth was that he had never wanted the crown, but it was practically being thrust upon him – and personally, if something were to be thrust, he preferred it not be a crown. Being the second son, the youngest son by a hair, most younger brothers would be devastated that they wouldn’t have some sort of birth right but even from a young age, Atticus had been quite thankful. That was, until he figured out that Avileen would never take the throne despite being the oldest - she was a woman and while he was a feminist, his Father was not - and Anastacius had practically flitted about however and that didn’t bode well for a crown prince’s appearance. That being said, the pressure fell to one person. Without going too far into dramatics, he was terrified. Atticus was not fit to lead the people of Platet and that felt plainly clear to see. Whether or not the young man wasn’t fit because he just wasn’t or whether it was because he had tried to force that nature upon himself, that was up in the air. He had so hoped that if he was a failure from the start, no one would expect anything from him; but at least he was present. That was more than Anstacius or even Aurelia could say. And he was male, which was unfortunately more than Avileen offered despite all her greats. His older sister was easily a philanthropist and was much more clear-headed, well-read, persistent, not a fool, the list went on– It would never be enough. In all his shortcomings, Atticus was a coward at his core. And a coward he wanted to remain.

━━━━━━━━ ✠ ━━━━━━━━

Even the children of the King hadn’t been skipped in their placement of a flower and an invitation card to the masquerade that night, and when Atticus had taken a stroll to finalize his devious plan and decided to come back in the afternoon only mere hours before what felt like the beginning of the end, his room has been precisely rearranged and put back together with the delicate flower on his pillow. For a moment, he hovered over it, scrutinizing. Then, he began pacing. Hands behind his back, steps moving so quickly that he might’ve burned a hole through the floor, the circles neat and tight as if he were partaking in a dance without a partner.

His brain tumbled with options. 'You might survive a fall from the window.’ Curiously, Atticus stopped his hurried stroll to peer out the window, hands pressed tightly on the sill, shoulders to cheeks as he peered over the edge. ’Actually, that would probably be an unpleasant fall, after all.’ He should’ve known, he had attempted an escape from his bedchamber’s window once before, and while he had survived, his body had been quite battered and bruised afterwards with an entirely sore being for weeks to come. Not again, he couldn’t do it- It was times like this that his mind waged war on itself for ways out. Yes, yes, he’d made his arrangements and his calculated plans, but–

But then!

He’d go! He would make an appearance at the Masquerade, after all. It’d be a short-lived one, though. He’d show and appease his father for five seconds and then slip off into the crowd. Outside the ballroom, well he knew this palace like the back of his hand, and there were windows that were just friendly enough to drop out of without dying. He’d climbed out those many times when trying to escape the wrath of a particular King, and they were in such a safe distance from the place of the party that surely he could make a quick getaway. If anyone asked later on where he was, he’d simply say that he’d gotten drunk and wandered off with someone! And all while this was happening, while he was nimbly making his climb to the gardens to run off somewhere else, Avileen would have found a mysterious yet familiar guest. And Ana… Anastacius could do his own work himself~

━━━━━━━━ ✠ ━━━━━━━━

That evening…

Atticus had strolled out of his room in a lace something or other, mask in hand. Probably a bit underdressed than the other men that were sure to make an appearance and with his purposely disheveled hair, Atticus looked just... fine. Adequate enough – maybe even passing as slightly pretty – considering he had no intentions of doing anything more than perhaps flirting with one or two others and being seen by Avileen to prove his presence before sneaking out. He’d part ways and make no true connections, all according to plan. As he had made his way down the hallway and slipped on his mask, nestling it into place on his nose, chocolate eyes made their way to the perfect window. Yes, that one. He had fond memories of that one. One would think the glass and the windowpanes and the curtains surrounding it to be boring, but Atticus felt quite smitten in this very moment with his future escape route. The man blew a quick kiss followed by a wink, a silent promise to return to his date for the evening (still the window–) and stepped foot into the darkened abyss of the ballroom.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

"It’s a lonely thing,
protecting a breakable heart"
- Atticus, the Poet

Prince Atticus of Platet

/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */

nios · Feb 22, 2023

lorelei

filler

home (filler tab)
mood

not a raging alcoholic, just bored, I swear

filler
outfit
click

filler
location

Platet, Finem Belli's Masquerade Ball

filler
interactions

pending...

filler
tags

minajesty (Diana), cavitea (Arledge)

filler
home (filler tab)

SUPER-Hi

following the sun

She was never the pessimistic sort. Quite the contrary, this was a young woman who danced with the harsh rock of a ship as its men battled the cacophony of splintering rain and wind. The journey from rocky shores to blossomed fields was unkind to the crew escorting Pluvia's youngest princess. Into the fray of wits and perseverance, they went— a challenge sorely unbeknown to these poor, unfortunate souls. For endless rounds of giggles often fell deaf to sharp-edged scolds to stay put and out of the way. It was a sure test to their sanity; a constant reminder to stay on the tips of their toes. Because, even as she dangled off the edge of the rig, held only by the scruff of her bodice. Nay did an apology slip past her lips. Instead, she would laugh without a crumb of hesitation and say,

“Let’s do that again!”

Yet, there she sat in silence— such dreadful silence— in an unfamiliar window seat, staring at the unfamiliar rooftops of an unfamiliar kingdom. She would have felt joyous as she did during the weeks spent traveling outside her home— a long awaited dream. However, she could not deny the bitterness in her thoughts. Such thoughts were indeed lead powder on her tongue— too thick to swallow, too difficult to fathom spitting out in a whisper, and thou must know whispers were not her way of speaking…

“So, this is the product after years of strife,”

she thought as she caught a glimpse of the townsfolk below. Quite an ominous statement for her character, thou might think. However, instead of yearning to join them as they waved ribbons and sang their melodies, Lorelei could only recall the darkness and the sunken faces of Pluvians— as if cursed for eternity to remember their faces smeared with war paint of soot and blood.

After all, it was all she knew. Indeed, it was all sweet Lorelei, whose finger traced connections between the stars in the night sky, knew. She, who chased for light, for warmth, for life throughout an everlasting grey. And now, thou is meaning to say mere sweetened words and eyes doused in longing are supposed to paint her horizons with pastels?

Such a task was easier said than done.

Struck by the depth of her thoughts, Lorelei turned away from the window in a struggle to gain breath— perhaps this was the consequence of countless nights scorned of slumber. Now, as she leaned against the wooden bedpost, she battled against the heaviness dragging her chest to the ground. The wildness she so proudly displayed to the world was dim and distant, but she would rather drown than allow others to witness her in this state. She would be damned to allow her efforts— composed of weeks of endless daydreams— lay to waste. Too stubborn to allow herself to crumble to this proclaimed dread. Indeed, she looked forward to this grand opportunity, and most certainly, she granted her siblings the pleasure of hearing every bit of it.

Lorelei took in her surroundings through fallen strands of hair. Sweated palms smacked against flushed petal cheeks. A frustrated squeal rose up her throat as an attempt to rid her of quivered breaths. It was a pitiful, desperate grasp for some form of solace until her gaze fell upon the moss tulle draped along velvet chaise. She bit her lip— contemplated, rejected, to finally she accepted her feud of thoughts.

“Haaa! Fine...”

In mild haste, she led herself out of her sleeping quarters with dress and hair ornaments in hand. The tip and tap of her bare feet echoed softly in the quiet corridor until she found herself in front of another door. With a knock, and then another, she called out,

“Diana? I don't know how to put this on...”

. . .

Upon entrance to the main ballroom, Lorelei found her partially shrouded gaze captivated by the ether of star dust.

“Ah...,”

slipped past Lorelei's lips in shameless wonder. The young Pluvian royal, with a hand grasped onto a single digit of her sister's manicured hand, quickly found it difficult to see through her mask (or rather, blindfold). A mere slit was all she was granted to see through, and every so often, a gloved hand reached to adjust its position. Perhaps, the young princess should have taken her older sister's advice to choose a different mask, but alas, Lorelei insisted with an,

“It will be fun! What could go wrong?”

It was a simple bid of farewell from Prince Arledge that gave Lorelei enough opportunity to make herself scarce. After all, as much as Lorelei adored her sibling, she was not keen to hear Princess Diana's warnings to behave. She released Princess Diana's finger and made for a successful escape from her radar. With mild curiosity, but low expectations nonetheless, Lorelei lingered around the ballroom. Nimble footsteps, weighted and strangled by her greatest foe, never settled for a single spot. Such an atmosphere was not up to par with Lorelei's taste. Pray tell, what was there to do for Lorelei's amusement to be perfectly amused. After all, boredom was an old friend and foe and remained hot on the young princess's tail. Ceaseless, it was. Relentless, it was. Without a doubt, it threatened to plague her sanity if she dared to make another round about the room.

But, sweet Lorelei, have thou considered a dance?

“I would rather hang.”

Lorelei contemplated on removing her heels just as an attendant innocently and diligently sported a tray of champagne flutes. A glint passed Lorelei's eyes and she licked her lips— both ominous signs which indicated bad decisions were not so far behind. Oh, but there was nay a soul who could forewarn the attendant, who only did as they were told. Never allow Lorelei a droplet on her tongue! For such a weapon would easily slash through the remains of her rationality like frayed threads... and pray to all who dared to stand in her way.

Lorelei was about to take a step toward them. Fervent beat of her heart rivaled crescendo of drums. A gloved hand outstretched to grasp her fated euphoria...

♡coded by uxie♡

.V1LLAINISM._ · Feb 22, 2023

Vaeron.

”Golden Child, Lion Boy;

Tell Me What It’s Like To Conquer.”

mood

wtf

location

Platet ballroom

oufit

Discord :3

tag

cavitea

a z u l a

sunshineysoul

‘The dance of kings‘ they whisper, slicing through a mountain of silence. Yet those who’d lived it knew the verity borne:

It was a war fought and a war lost by many.

Brothers betrayed brothers, sisters betrayed sisters and in their battles, blood drew a river past the city gates, washed up on cobblestone streets, karmic waves staining those with sorrow.
And, within the vast pools lay the bodies that would never return, souls that one could only hope would settle upon a finer resting place. It was no more a picture of grace than it was a painting of tragedy; for years they remained like frightened animals that had been forced into helpless corners, teeth bared and throats rumbling, threatening all vulnerability. For years, peace was never upon the horizon. Until one fateful day, it was.

Like a pendulum swaying from left to right, reality had drifted from one course onto the next. A wedding. A call to lay down their weapons, rise from their war tables and step foot onto the grasses of promise. Serenity beckoned each kingdom with the apparition of an invitation, an elegant beginning to a certain end.

“‘-It is time to put aside our differences in the name of love”’

Unassuming was the voice that tore holes in the air, spread the atmosphere with the tension of molasses. In the name of love? He felt in him a flame, stoked with the sight of foolish penmanship. Love? What does anything have to do with love? Prince Vaeron remained still as masks of shock and glee blurred from his presence. A room used for war, now filled with the announcement of wedding bells, how ironic.

Suddenly, the prince rose from his chair- and the chatter, as abruptly as it began, came to cease.

“Hm,” He pondered for a moment “direct more soldiers toward the northern border,”

Puzzled expressions, exchanged confusions, words caught in their throats, daring an escape. The high council had naturally grown accustomed to the heir’s sudden demands, though not quite like this. He’d always asserted himself in ways that failed all apparent reason, though with a wisdom that seemed an explosion of truth with his result.

“We must not sacrifice protection in the name of love.”

He explained, tossing the envelope onto the grand table, displaying an unbecoming lack of care. Prince Vaeron didn’t give a shit about love.

Swiftly the icey-maned prince turned on his heel before pausing in his tracks. Reluctant hand ready to push the doors that laid in between him and his freedom.

“A war is a war.”

— ❆❅❆ —

The bounty of Platet could never surpass Caelum’s, that much was certain. The kingdom carried with it an essence that would permit just about anyone to traipse through their borders, to frolic within their flowery fields. Inviting yet only in a seductive manner, Vaeron remained at bay for much of the journey. Deep within his thoughts he situated, hand drawn to rest at the hilt of his blade should the “ball” reveal itself as an attack. He himself, although grateful for an end to a decades’ worth of pain and misery, could not understand how love was able to undo what had already been done- because it could not.

Love could not bring back what was dead.

Love could not bring back what was lost.

So why have they been made to pretend?

Ghosts mark the path to his throne and he fears that they shall remain there forever.

— ❆❅❆ –

The regalia of Platet blossomed in and around every corner of the castle grounds. The atmosphere itself seemed to grant a liberty that did not require good measure, the self-restraint that he was so accustomed to, had imposed upon himself since his late childhood. He had no one watching him, so why did he feel compelled to act as such? No one knows, not even him.

In Caelum Vaeron possessed the title of crown prince, the arch of the sole surviving heir, with all eyes upon him he had silently carried about his duties, as if a showman in an overextended, exhaustive performance. He was to be both their anchor and their successor, a king when his father wasn’t and a consort when his mother found herself unable. He was to be everything at once and yet still, his courageous Initiative was overcast by an incident taking place years before his nameday.

His eye stared back at him tauntingly.

The colour of Midnight, it gleamed underneath any speck of light, though, blended ceremoniously with his mask and other iris. A mask that would do little to conceal his identity anyways.

Rejoining his entourage, Vaeron offered a once-over to them both, who unsurprisingly, were able to clean themselves up just as well after a certain someone’s sudden outburst. It seemed that his dear cousin had gotten her first taste of freedom and had already taken a liking to it; Leo being the most experienced of them all. Speaking of.

With one crucial wave, he dismissed the knight, the protector, the once-best friend.

“You are free to carry on as you please”

It was an announcement made for them both, yet exaggerated of course, unspoken as the fact was. He could not have them soiling Caelum’s reputation on their very first night.

And, off the triad dispersed, one to the dance floor, one to a stranger and one to the outskirts. A part of him worried for his cousin, as she so lacked the inhibition that he contained. Born a fighter, the Caelumite had come Into this world kicking and screaming and he was almost certain that she would leave it the same way.

Which was why, after his brief survey of the ballroom, the prince had decided on a station away from the drama of it all; Secluded enough such that no one would interfere, look too closely, and enough that she remained within his landscape.

Like a clock’s hand striking twelve, a Caelumite’s chin stands in the air, magnificence marking their very essence. Long white locks laid straight down the length of his back, and even as he marched, there remained not a hair or a stitch out of place. Vaeron was always particular in that manner, although he wasn’t so sure that everyone else shared the same sentiment.

Ah, there was Kaet, it was hardly difficult to spot her with what frost she had for hair, and there she stood, chatting nicely with a gentleman. A fond smile ghosted his lips, but left as soon as it’d appeared.
Something was wrong. Something felt wet.

A splash. And then another.
Glancing down Vaeron was met with a sight most unbecoming of a prince- his attire, more specifically his boot falling victim to the spillage of blood-red wine. Slowly, his gaze rose.
A man, not much older than he, with an expression as sheepish as a pup who knows it's done wrong, standing before him. Chalice tipped over mid air.

‘“Ah.”’

Ah, indeed. Vaeron studied him for a very long time, his good eye narrowing and un-narrowing, attempting to calculate a response in light of a bizarre situation. Ah. Was that all he had to say for himself?

Vaeron glanced down at his shoes once more, and then to the spindly plant that this ne'er-do-well stranger had been aiming for. And then to him.

“Hm,” he began, voice dangerously low. ‘’Did they never teach you how to apologise in your kingdom?” His eye glimmered. “Or are you simply daft?”

/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */

Gao · Feb 23, 2023

click! CESARE “LONG-HAIRED” & “SAINT”: MOOD

NERVOUS. HELP.

LOCATION

BALLROOM.

OUTFIT

ATTIRE & MASK

TAGS

N nios & qunqun (riv)

MASQUERADE.

Barbed with paranoia and lanced with grief that survived the voyage back to Pluvia, he’d retained a heart more like a moth trembling in lamp oil.

After watching vermillion flee cadaver cells and the vast erysipelas of dead that adorned the plains, shedding armour and weapon wasn’t as simple as excoriating the bitter rancour whittled bone-deep into his anatomy. It lived in him, crooked and quiet like the foundations of a house before its untimely collapse. Hallowed by bloody knuckles that thrum with percussion, an expendable body returned to pale shores under the insult of a truce.

Left with heavy arms and the spiralling quantities of dead, ceasefire tasted of gravedirt and saltwater. A rancid synesthesia seeping acrid, veil of good-intentioned treaty seen naught but a mockery to puticuli plots brimmed with putrefaction and grief.

A war ended by love, no less.

And the voice would follow him everywhere like the moon or loyal hound to converge its conviction;

But someone, somewhere, had always loved these sons.

From the first draft to the last, there was love. Apparently none so substantial to bring the empire peace, as cold chrome horseshoe crescents would plod from barracks to towns, the thorny sprig of a mother’s cry would grow fervid over a grave, already mourning someone not yet dead.

Field fodder, armed with steel over beds of amaryllis and eyes of rain. Faced with hydra cavalry, unable to conceive what head to cut first and what danger lay in hiding. Hate permeated, became all that he was, the grip of ice-cold waves threaded through river passages and salted hallways of his heart.

It was ended by love, a truth so sour it’d curdle behind his teeth. He’d always been loyal to Pluvia— be his fate that of servitude life or noose-bound death. The alliance of a wedding might be a greater finale than the aimless slaughter he’d grown so familiar with, and had since resigned himself to such an end, but the extended hand of salvation— one of love, was an unpremeditated one.

Without liberty to decipher friend or foe at whim, he felt a spectral lazarus. As milky doves were cast to air like love letters he could think only of shrapnel and fragments of bone, a spray of ocean foam, a slice of thunder to carve North and South. In deceptive sunbursts history would survive and plague like a glimpse to the afterlife.

The absence of war felt like an absence of himself. But when did an absence become all that he was?

Cesare grappled with this new way of life, one of a suffocating display. Thorny politics masquerading in flowers and lace as if ears still did not ring with aged cannonfire and eyes are not licked blind by fumes. He could’ve been in Pluvia, graced by tranquil and sea-wind climate, yet alas, atavistic concern had him reeled into Platet like a hooked trout.

It was arcane fatigue, yanking them by the scruff of their clothing before they tangoed with danger; the cliff-standing, sand-eating, table-dancing, glutton-drinking lot of Pluvian heirs. Scions of chaos, tirelessly did Cesare’s voice try to call them into line.

Stop hiding your shoes, a regular occurrence. Please get off the rigging. Put down the drink. Whose sword is that— return it right now. Quit dancing everywhere. Sit still. Get away from that cliff. No, I do not want to see how many pastries you can fit in your mouth. Don’t bite me what is wrong with you– stop. Stop biting.

Pluvia’s perennial parent of incapacitating wariness, enough to sink him like an anchor to the silt of the ocean. Bridled taught with panic it could sear skin with canyons, every inclination of a threat would ensnare him; that they stood not in the good graces of Platet hosts, but a warpath of steel traps. Thrown to their feet like a burlap of snakes, a gauntlet awaiting forthcoming clash.

And yet the mood was light. Haloed with intentions that’d appear, on all accounts, doe-eyed and summery. Calcifying syllables in politesse and a dizzying venom to slip between the ribs of an opponent, it was easier in battle where propriety and pretence mattered not. Defenceless to the siege of diplomats, Cesare had been left forsaken, marooned with only the insolence of his thoughts for company.

Shoulder blades to the solace of a wall and still to locate any royalty from Pluvia, tension gnarled his body with iron wrought foundation. Taking note of individuals with the scope of his irises, sweeping the length of the room in search for recognition. For such a recluse, isolation to the sidelines would not seem so terrible.

If not for the horrors.

Every glance in his vague direction twinged an anxious splinter of savage proportion: please don’t look at me. An accidental catch of eye-contact, I am so sorry. Paling inwardly to the idea of holding a conversation with anyone outside of Pluvia— do I appear strange? Storm-weathered eyes would dart from guests to focus on quiet crannies and a floor that had suddenly become so very interesting. Heels dug to polished timber in stubborn existence, perhaps with enough paranoid will he could cease to exist. Compound himself close enough to the dark to slip beneath observation,

Distraction circumvented his antisocial plan entirely.

For when sunlight slices a path through indigo night, he could care less about the uneasiness plaguing each tar-dredged second. Half attuned to the present and the mindless step he’d taken from the safety of his beloved wall, mindless to scar and ache and the flexing of worn muscles. Anticipating more than knowing, the drift of seafoam tulle accompanied with none other than mischief.

A name to lodge his throat like an opal stone, a very piece of his own rib; Lorelei.

One familiar presence to settle the frayed threads of his nerves, he’d rationalise there was no need to nip at her heels like a loyal hound. Remaining to the outskirts like a haunt, such sentiment was quick to expire.

“No,” Seeped with fear and quiet as a stage-cue. “No, no no no. No.”

For in a signature waltz of bad decisions, Lorelei went for a glass of blonde elixir. A peddler appealing child with the whimsy of a caramel sweet or lime apple, before Cesare could think to swallow it, heed some sense that not everyone was taloned and sharp-fanged, he’d obey the spur of panic to intervene.

“Lorelei–” A jerk from stagnancy to movement in her direction, flayed loose the temporary trust he’d bestowed upon the princess for little more than a moment. “My Lady don’t– do not drink that! It could be poisoned–!” Cutting through guests with little grace and a weighty accusation of tampered drinks (perhaps not the best to toss around in a place of very fresh alliances, yet Cesare was never known for his tact), the surge of approach and timbre of high strung panic was culled into something indecipherable.

A sudden collision.

Orbit sent off-kilter, he recalled his back hitting the floor and a rush of cold escaping eel-like down his torso. Ew. A flickering grimace of disgust before he could think to hide it, he’d slowly lift his head to look at the victim sharing the ground, and squint; both through ache and scrutiny of who’d come between his act of loyalty.

Clothed in sangria and sporting full anonymity, Cesare was unable to decipher Pluvian descent. Friend or foe unknown, albeit the bone white of their mask made him uncomfortable.

And if anything, this impact may have been purposeful. Bundled with ill-intent to spill wine on him, now on the floor in a way that must be malicious. Yes, Cesare would theorise, this feels dangerous. Like a thorn snagging clothing, it’d branch and bleed and pool in a cavern of paranoia.

They were up to something.

“What dastardly scheme is this?” He’d scramble to his feet— not without a small slip on spilled wine he’d hastily catch before another untimely fall, how classy, —and step to River’s personal space with all visage of confrontation.

“An attack?” He’d hush in exasperated whisper, as to not share their drama betwixt already judgemental onlookers, “is that what it was?”

now playing...

BURIED IN WATER

DEAD MAN'S BONES

♡coded by uxie♡

Jigajig · Feb 23, 2023

mood.: Brimming with nervous excitement

outfit.

tag.: N nios

Silence... not a single sound. Time itself had seemed to have slowed down. You could have heard a leaf gently dropping onto a puddle it was that quiet. However, that one small leaf would cause ripples. Ripples that would spread and carry with them knock on effects. It was at this moment in time that the ripples would be like ginormous waves, the effects everlasting as they crashed down upon all those who stood in their way... And just like time sped up again. As the Frigate crested the waves, the Lookout, perched atop the highest mast, cried out a word of warning. "Ships ahead!" A bell rung as the crew rushed to the forecastle and peered out into the sea, the waves rising high into the stormy sky, the view being blocked as a squall had suddenly blown in. Not one could make out the vessels they were warned of. "Friend or foe?" The Captain called up. "What flag do they fly?" "ALL BLACK!! ONE LARGE WHITE SKULL SIR" Estella looked to the King as he suddenly cried out drawing his sword and raising it to the sky. "TO ARMS! BATTLE STATIONS!"

At that moment, a rumble filled the air, followed by another and another. As the ship rose the front cutting through a wave they saw it. Ships making their way towards their own, plumes of smoke rising in the distance. The sudden chorus of rolling thunder boomed as the sound travelled across the water, cannons firing in a salvo.
"BROADSIDE! BROADSIDE!! RETURN FIRE!"" The air was suddenly filled with a cacophony of noise as the crew of the ship scrambled into their positions. Estella squinted trying to see how many ships were heading towards them but it was hard, the rolling waves crashing over one another, making the ship rock. She staggered slightly gripping onto the side railing as a wave slammed into their ship, just as the Broadside was fired, their own cannons adding to the choir. She turned around to look to her King who stood firm in the middle of the deck as chaos rained down all around. Sword drawn, he walked slowly forwards to the forecastle, wind whipping sharply all around. Sword still pointing up on high he brought it down in one quick motion. "FOR PLUVIA!"

Estella drew her own sword from it's sheathe upon her back and raised it to the sky joining in as the crew roared in defiance. Whoever these pirates were... they would rue they day they crossed paths with Pluvia. What followed next.. was the most harrowing and daunting experiences Estella has ever had and most likely will ever have. Everything happened so fast the battle raging all around her. One of their ships had been sunk, numerous chain and grapeshot having torn the mast to pieces like paper, the crew all but gone. The second ship had engaged in a ferocious battle not so far from their own. The Kings ship had been boarded and Estella was fighting with the ferocity of a wild Lion, cleaving anyone who got close to her or the King. She was battered, bruised and getting tired but still she stood firm, fighting against overwhelming odds. A glint of light to her left, she spun around just in time as a large great sword came crashing down upon her Zweihänder. Sparks flew as she glared at her opponent, a man who more or less rivalled her in height. The two locked blades in a contest of pure raw power, before Estella drew her head back and then headbutted the man quickly sending him back. She lashed out, spinning her blade in hand downwards, before bringing it back up in a deadly arc the attack only just being blocked by her rival. The two traded blow after blow, as the ship rocked in the turbulent sea, cannon fire thundering on, the waves crashing over the deck.

Estella gritted her teeth as she ducked down low and the drove forwards, driving her shoulder into the man. With a cry he fell back and slipped on some blood the man falling over the side of the ship. Watching for a moment as he plummeted into the icy water below that would be his, along with many others grave she turned back to the task at hand. To protect the king. She ran forwards, before she heard something. Cracking?... Her eyes widened as she head an explosion. She dove forwards pushing the King back, only to suddenly find herself flying through the air.. it was the most peculiar sensation. One moment she was on the deck, the next flying... Cannon fire had shredded some of the deck but had also hit a gunpowder barrel below deck causing it to explode. Said explosion had caused a chain reaction with some others and had torn a good chunk of the deck apart. This in turn had lead to Estella now flying though the air with all the grace of a wet sponge. And like a wet sponge she landed with a splat. She lay there in a daze as someone walked to her. Looking down they rose a large axe before swinging it down to her.

Estella woke with a start bolting upright, her head smacking into a wooden beam above her head. She cursed loudly rubbing her head before sighing. It had been a while since that day... and a while since the nightmare had plagued her mind. Shaking her head she rose slowly looking around her cabin, the soft gently creaking of the old wood putting her to ease. She was on a ship once more, but this one was heading for Platet. For the King of Platet was holding a festival for a wedding. A wedding.. It was crazy to think that no long ago the Kingdoms were at war with one another and yet somehow by some miracle it was love that had ended it all. Estella gazed at herself in her rooms mirror, staring at her reflection. She sighed running a hand through her short hair, before her gaze slowly went down as she traced a finger down her cheek, along the scar there. Lower her finger went tracing scar after scar upon her body. From her neck, to her arms, to her legs and torso. Some large some small. Prices she paid. Ones that she would pay again if it meant she could keep those close to her safe.
"Today is the day.."

…..

The sound of tweeting roused Estella from her slumber. It was early, very early. She yawned before sitting up and looking about her room. Her eyes scanned over her usual attire, her armour which stood proudly upon an armour stand. However... today was different. Today she would be wearing her attire for the event. The first event of Finem Belli was going to be a masquerade ball.

Her gaze turned to the other corner of her room where it was met with her outfit for the day. She smiled as she strode on over and began to get ready. Glancing in her mirror she, made sure her hair was neat and that her appearance was nothing but perfect. She WAS representing the kingdom after all and a sloppy visual would just not do. She turned her attention her attire and began to put it on, her eyes drifting over to the mask she had chosen. Sliding her legs into crisp white form fitting trousers followed by kneecap length boots, a crisp white shirt, a black button up military style waistcoat and then throwing her coat over her shoulders she nodded to herself. Picking up a ceremonial sword and sliding it into the sheathe on her hip she checked herself once more and nodded. With everything done she left her room and headed towards the main ballroom, mask for fixed to her face, her footsteps echoing along the hall way. For one of the few times in her life she felt nervous. Herself and the heirs of Pluvia had arrived not to long go and she had made sure everything was in order before leaving them to their own devices. She was there to watch over them as was her duty. However she did not want to stifle them.

Upon entering the ballroom she immediately spotted some familiar people amongst the crowd including the Royal Heirs. Smiling to herself she couldn't help but note some commotion to her side. She tuned just in time to see someone who looked an awful lot like a certain Lieutenant she knew rushing forwards only to crash to the floor. "Oh Cesare.." Eyes drifting over to who he was heading for Estella spotted another familiar looking person. Lorelei Pluvia's youngest princess. Striding forwards she stood behind her and leaned over the young princess. "Not starting the party without me are you?" Estella said grinning mischievously.

Royal Protectorate Estella Blackwood

/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */

sunshineysoul · Feb 23, 2023

click! CORDELIA “BAKER” & “SAILOR”: MOOD

giddy & flirty

LOCATION

seizing her moment

OUTFIT

suit & mask

TAGS

delphine gingersnaps

MASQUERADE.

All her life, Cordelia lived by the water. Her mother convinced her on a ship, the orphanage she grew up in was right next to the coast, even the bakery she now owned was within earshot of the gentle, melodic crashing of the waves on the Pluvian shores. The rhythm of the ocean has been with her for as long as she's had any sense of consciousness, like it was the blueprint for her own heart beat.

The deep blue waters always called to her whenever Cordelia needed to clear her mind; most days she would sit on the shore, letting the water come up and wash away any anxieties or frustrations that clogged up her mind. On extra bad days, she took her rinky-dink row boat out into the water and sit and think. The waves rocking her back and fourth, there were many times she fell asleep for a small while.

Safe to say, the steady rocking of the waves comforted her, their melodic rhythm as they crashed onto the shore was the one thing she would always count on. That said a lot, seeing how Cordelia never had a lot to rely on; Her own parents wanted nothing to do with her, she never had the chance to rely on them. Then there was the orphanage and Stella, who was her rock for as long as she could remember. Stella was the only family Cordelia had while growing up, she was an integral cog in Cordelia discovering who she was. And right as they were on the cusp on achieving their dream, Stella left. Suddenly Cordelia couldn't count on Stella anymore, and all she had was herself.

Herself and, the sea of course. As comforting as many would think that sentiment would be, there was always a bittersweet aftertaste. Stella was the one who named her "Cordelia", she said it meant "Heart of the Sea". Cordelia always loved it, she never once wanted to change her name or was upset that her name wasn't one her parents chose; Stella was her rock, she much preferred a name she chose. That was, until Stella up and left with all their money and a lousy explanation of feeling trapped.

Trapped? How did Stella feel trapped? She chose to take Cordelia in, she chose to start a bakery with her and she CHOSE to leave Cordelia behind.

If anyone was trapped it was Cordelia.

She had no way of leaving, even if she did, she had nowhere to go. All she had ever known was Pluvia. She wasn't like Levi, who came from a different kingdom and would probably just fine back in his home town; Cordelia was trapped in Pluvia. Trapped in her bakery.

All she had was the sea.

Well... That'd be rude to say outside of her own selfish and angsty mindset. For a good majority of her life, she had Levi Bishop. The small boy who walked into her shop one day, and convinced her and stella that he needed a job working there.

And since then, it's been history. Levi became the true best friend Cordelia always needed, the one the universe knew she deserved. He came into the bakery, is clothes were covered in dirt and tattered beyond repair, Cordelia would've never been able to guess he had natural curls in his hair as it was completely flat and straight due to not having the chance to properly wash his hair. Dark, baggy circles were under his sunken eyes, he almost looked like a zombie. If someone would've told her in that moment that the little zombie boy was going to become her best friend in the world, she would've laughed in their face and told the zombie boy to get lost.

But there was a voice in her saying to let him in, to let him work at the bakery; surely having such a cute face around would be good to attract in more customers, right?

Levi proved to be more than just a cute face. When Stella left, Levi was there, for both Cordelia and the bakery. He ran it himself for a few weeks, and made sure to take care of her however she needed. This isn't public information, but Cordelia considers Levi the only person she's truly been vulnerable with. He's the only person who has seen her at her lowest point, since she was never in a low point with Stella. Cordelia bore her soul to Levi, about Stella, about her parents, about any and everything she had never talked about before. And Levi stood by her side through the whole thing.

Cordelia used to think Stella leaving was the worst thing that could've ever happened to her, and maybe she still thinks that; but if Stella never left, Cordelia would've never appreciated Levi the way she does now, she'd never have anyone her knew her as well as Levi does.

Which is why she wouldn't want to travel to Platet for the Finem Belli Festival with anyone else.

~~

There was no significant change in the weather during their trip from Pluvia to Platet, the two kingdoms both being warm; Pluvia was more of a humid and wet warmth, coming from heat being trapped in the moisture that was stuck in the air. Platet was a dry and breeze-y warm, not as much moisture in the air allowed the sun to beam right down to them as they rode their carriages to Platet.

The bakery and other townsfolk that were on the way to Platet decided to travel in a large group, safety in numbers and all that. A caravan of carriages, horses, and even some that just decided to trail behind on foot. The Seven Seas Bakery had fallen closer to the front of the caravan, moving pretty quickly on the trails between kingdoms.

It had been a pleasant ride for Cordelia, a little less so for Levi, but Cordelia loved traveling. At least, that was the surface answer; it was a half truth, Cordelia loved travelling and seeing everything the world had to offer, experiencing new cultures and discovering new lands. However, she preferred to travel by sea, on a ship. Some people got sea sick, Cordelia feared getting "land sick". The further they travelled away from the ocean, the more anxious she became. But she grew experienced in hiding her anxieties. She talked with others in nearby carriages, cooed at the horses, and of course checked in to make sure Levi was okay.

It would've been impossible to miss the entrance into Platet. The days of travelling displayed only a seemingly infinite sea of waving amber and green blades, a spare tree here or there, maybe even some houses out in the country that were seemingly untouched by the war. Once they entered the kingdom, there was an explosion of color, the sea of grass was now one of flowers. Yellows and pinks, purples and oranges. Cordelia couldn't help her jaw falling open at the sight, she had never seen so much color all at once. She loved Pluvia with all her heart, but make no mistake, Pluvia was a bit drab on the regular.

There were frequent storms, most of their scenery was rocks and cliffs, and some sand to meet the waves with. When they were lucky, the clouds would part and shine some sun on their town, which Cordelia loved. Pluvia was her favorite place to be. But upon seeing Platet, she absolutely loved the burst of color her eyes were met with.

She couldn't wait to see everyone at the Festival.

~~

While Cordelia and Levi were not staying in the royal palace, they still had the opportunity to behold the majesty and glory that was the royal castle. She had never been inside any castle. She didn't live near where the Pluvian castle was, so she had never seen it. Cordelia was the exact opposite of royalty, which was absolutely fine with her. She had grown to love her lifestyle; baking, women, sailing, swimming, levi, more baking and even more women. She knew she would never be worthy of stepping foot in even the Pluvian palace courtyards, but at least she could revel in the Platetian ones.

Cordelia couldn't stop sharing her giddy smiles with Levi as they followed the stream of people into the palace. She kept pointing out the flowers, the structure, the trees, other people's dresses, nagging him asking if he could guess what kingdom they were from based on what they were wearing. Cordelia and Levi had decided to make it very obvious what kingdom they were from; wearing their kingdom pride proudly on their chest as they walked arm in arm amongst others of the Valoreum Empire.

Once inside, Cordelia couldn't hide the grin on her face. The ballroom was alive and bustling with people from all over the Empire, yet another explosion of color and culture. Sure, it was a masquerade so you couldn't see faces, but all you ever needed to see was the dresses. Different styles, different lengths, different colors, different fabrics, Cordelia had never imagined to see such diversity in a scene.

And she wasn't talking about just the clothes.

Her eyes quickly latched on to a woman in a lavender dress, which sparkled in a way that somehow reminded Cordelia of when the run rises over the Pluvian ocean. The romantic flicker of the candles helped her make out a silver butterfly mask that hid the face of someone with beautiful, long, white blonde curls. Cordelia never needed to see her face, she was going to go make the most of her night in the royal palace.

"Alright, so I will meet you back home, yea?" Cordelia unhooked her arm from Levi and patted him on the shoulder, never once looking at him. Levi began to object before Cordelia spoke again. "Oh come on Levi, we're in the Platet Royal Palace, I'm going to make the most of it! And so should you, this is a celebration! Let loose!" Her eyes finally looked over to Levi, giving her award winning smile. After adjusting her mask, she gave Levi one last friendly pat before making her way to the beautiful butterfly.

Delicately tapping the woman on the shoulder, she extended her hand "My lady, might I have this dance?"

now playing...

MATILDA

HARRY STYLES

[/b]

♡coded by uxie♡

qunqun · Feb 23, 2023

click! River Arborian Jester: MOOD

feelin silly feelin goofy.

LOCATION

Ballroom.

OUTFIT

ATTIRE & MASK

TAGS

Gao

MASQUERADE.

Whims of royalty were indeed a dangerous thing. And now was all the time where the butterflies flew down to the land of the plains in order to pretend that instead of circling vultures, they were actually doves.

What better amusement was there than to watch vultures pretend to be doves as they peacocked about? Quite honestly, River was half expecting a dick measuring contest to start between royalty within the first fifteen minutes.

But here she was, against a wall of the ballroom, a representative of the trees - a Lorax of sorts - as they watched royalty get drunk and make absolute fools of themselves. What would be more delightful?

Waiting about in the wings, though, was a rather boring affair, and they couldn’t wait to mingle amongst these starving rabid wolves ready to tear each other to shreds. Murky eyes alert and sharp, lined with thick black lines like the world’s worst representation of a raccoon, he observed what he could do to upset the status quo.

Oh the life of a jester, one of causing rich people problems on purpose and then calling it a joke afterwards.

Quickly pulling the mask over her eyes, she decided that mingling amongst guests would be the most interesting thing to do at this moment - get a feel for the crowd, and all of these small delights that came with riches beyond what was reasonable.

They poured themselves a wine glass that was much too full and stumbled about, the affected parties brushing off the crazed lunatic drunkard with slight disgruntlement as they sloshed it about with very little regard for exactly how expensive the tastes of royalty would have to be.

And then someone ran straight into them, and River managed to spill almost the entire wine glass all over the knight, falling over like a puppet whose strings were cut so that they were simply on the floor.

And then they sat straight up like someone had fully reanimated them to make direct eye contact with the nervous little nelly.

Porcelain mask of bone white, black, and gold. Surrounded by roses and red feathers, with painted blood red lips - the eye holes the only part which showed any kind of reflection of an actual human beneath the blank visage. There was a strong tilt of the head to the left as the knight glared and accused them of plotting… something.

Pluvian accent.

High strung.

Knight.

Royal guard?

It’d make sense, given the place where they were at.

“... Greetings.” They said. Had they blinked the entire time they’d sat directly up? “The fruits of Dionysian labor rests amongst the royal sailor’s donkey.”

Because that was a normal thing to say.

There was a tilt of the head to the other side. They had definitely not blinked since they’d started staring - murky hazel eyes piercing straight into Cesare’s from behind their mask.

“Ah but the Cassandra before the sailor - who has not been afflicted with the gaze of Mars - wishes for the aid in cleansing him of his filth.”

Which was also a completely normal thing to say. Long fingers and arms grasped at the soldier, using him to slowly clamber back up to their feet once more.

“What did she call the sailor?”

now playing...

BLA BLA BLA

Maneskin

♡coded by uxie♡

Harrowhark · Mar 4, 2023

click! Aurelia Princess of Platet: MOOD

If I close my eyes, maybe this will be over

LOCATION

Ballroom

OUTFIT

ATTIRE & MASK

TAGS

Avi sunshineysoul Atti peachiepalette & Ana sunnieside

MASQUERADE.

Looking in the mirror, Aurelia hardly recognized herself. It had been years since she’d been in a dress, since she’d even been feminine. This felt like wearing a costume of a person she barely remembered. Wearing pants underneath could only delay the feeling a skirt would give her. It felt wrong, everything felt wrong.

Reasonably, Aurelia knew it would take some time to get used to being a princess again, but her patience was wearing thin. Try as she might, there was no sea to move her here, no way to hide her calloused hands. After so much time away, home didn’t feel like home, but a stationary prison where she was cast as a part that wasn’t her own.

Pluvia may not have been her country, but her refuge, inside a dark but never forlorn ship where her identity was earned, not given. Birthrights only mattered to those who had nothing else to show for their years. What was a princess but a simple title, one only there to steal her life away. A gift from a family who she barely knew and who only knew a fraction of what she was.

Avi for example, always pushing for perfection, knowing Aurelia could not provide. Another enforcer to keep her in her cage.

“I’ll do my best.” A false promise as Aurelia already ached to take off her shoes as she tried to push back the force inside her that demanded she stay away from this ball. Behaving was one thing, not making a fool of herself in front of everyone was another. There was only the hope that this mask could hide any of her misgivings to keep her afloat.

At least Aurelia wasn’t a literal mess like Atticus. A glance into his room showed the chaos hiding inside. “Perhaps we’d be better off bringing a bull in his place.” A cow would certainly dance better.

~~

In the past few years, the only parties Aurelia had been to were those at pubs or on her ship. More beer than fancy clothes. No ballroom dancing, just dozens of drunken people doing whatever they wanted. This was nothing like that. Everything was pristine. No beer spilling to the floor, no brawls to win, no singing bad enough to scare a cat. Just… Rich people doing what rich people did.

Grabbing the closest drink, Aurelia tried to, at the very least, hide how fast she drank in. Yes, ladies sipped and never got drunk, but this was urgent! There was no way she could make it through this ball sober, not with the weight of expectations on her back.

Of course one little glass of champagne wasn’t enough. Aurelia was better off drinking the water a mile away from a vineyard. So much for mingling. If she wanted to make an effort and make her family proud, she needed to find another drink.

Perhaps her stay could be limited. Half an hour, just for appearances. Aurelia would stay where the drinks kept flowing, long enough to give people the impression that she was a princess worthy of her title. Once she snuck out, it would easily be smoother sailing from there.

now playing...

RUNAWAY

AURORA

♡coded by uxie♡

L3n · Mar 5, 2023

mood :

give me a drink

location :

platet palace ballroom

outfit :

mentions :

cesare, cordelia, delphine, river, vaeron, arledge (all barely)

interactions :

avileen (

sunshineysoul )

duke of pluvia

callahan

Callahan hovered his palms over a flickering fire made out of dried driftwood. He sat upon a log with his feet buried in sand. A steady salty breeze pushed and pulled the nearby waves. Each gentle gust washed over his body, giving him little goosebump kisses as the wind tussled his hair.

With a dragging hand he reached into his pocket. Out came a letter, well already opened and read. An invitation. From Platet. Callahan had analyzed every line, searching for a hidden message from the one who shall not be named. Surely, if invitations were up to them, he wouldn’t have received one. After all these years, after that fight, Callahan was likely the last person they wished to see. But perhaps he was wrong. Maybe this was the perfect event, the only event, that could justify reaching out. Could this letter be an olive branch after all these years of silence? The thought forced his chest to play tug-a-war between his emotions and his reason.

It could plainly be an invitation.

It could also be everything Callahan hated to admit he wanted.

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦

Callahan spun a wine glass, watching the sparkling liquid flow inside the cup. The way it pooled at the sides before wrapping back down in a loop kept his eyes from wandering too far. Every second a new person or pair trailed into the ballroom, their identities hidden behind decorated masks. To most this room was full of strangers. All who traveled far and wide to partake in the festivities. The Duke, however, had met his fair share of nobility and royals. His years of traveling before borders became hard to pass through had garnered him lots of bonds. Some he swore he could make out in the crowd already.

None of them were her.

Whether that made him more or less nervous was open for debate. He took a sip of his drink.

Callahan moved around his shoulders trying to shake off the tension. It was too late to go home to his ship. Plus, he was excited to reconnect with the friends he hasn’t gotten to see for years. He placed down his cup on a nearby table before stepping away to hopefully find a partner to dance with. Just as he made his way into the fray he was narrowly passed by man, dressed in black, speaking of poison. Callahan turned around for more context but the familiar stranger kept walking, getting lost in the crowd. The Duke stood there looking around as if silently asking anyone else if they heard it too before recovering.

Making his way across the room turned out to be quite the journey. Callahan had witnessed not one but two wine spills. A person had ended up on the floor, comically falling over like a doll after being slightly pushed. The other tussle looked like it would probably be broken up by security in the near future. Not all that he passed by was bad. As he reached the other side of the room Callahan overhead a lady asking another pretty woman to dance and nosily took his time walking past to hear whether she got her happily ever after. Before he knew it, though, he found himself back next to a wall. At least he wasn’t alone.

Callahan stood beside a lilac lady, her features hidden away by a simple rose gold mask. Her hair was pinned up in a bun with two curls framing the sides of her face. From what he could see, her eyes seemed deadset on the doorway to the ball. He couldn’t explain it but it looked like she was waiting for something. His first guess would be on a person. Or the right time to escape. Either or.

“Not one to dance?” Callahan casually made conversation, tilting his head at the stranger's rigid and poised posture. “Staying away from the floor is probably smart. It’s currently a splash zone.” The Duke’s smile sparkled in his eyes before returning his gaze to the crowd of people, attempting to catch glimpses of the drama he had passed through.

coded by reveriee.

weldherwings · Mar 11, 2023

princess maia of arborious.

twenty one years old. a wild fire of a child. not for a rebellious spirit, but rather for her curious nature and fascination of oddities. bruised knees, bare feet and calloused palms from climbing trees, her hair a wild nest as she finds comfort in placing strands into her mouth. the maids grumble over her mess, the knights frown as she attempts to ride their horses, and her parents live with the weight on their shoulders knowing their daughter would never be fit to be a queen

1
2

O

Maia loved her sisters with all her dear heart. Even when they made fun of her, calling her names and demeaning her existence, there was still an overwhelming sense of adoration and love for them. Well, maybe it was a bit harder to find it for Delphine - but for Ravenna! It was most certainly there. Being the youngest of the three, Maia had spent her days lurking in the shadows of the older two Princesses. A desire to follow in their footsteps and to be taken seriously as a royal for their Kingdom. It obviously didn’t help that she acted far from what you could call a Princess. The classic example being this morning as her sister found her still fast asleep, way beyond when they were meant to arise.

Revenna had torn her up from bed, taking away her from her safe space that she had created for herself in this time of anxiety, and begun to work her magic. Forced her to get out of her pyjamas and into this extravagant dress only worthy for royals. Prompted her to put makeup on her face to enhance the redness of her plump lips and the pink of her cheeks. Moulding her into a Princess worthy enough for the love of another. Her sister had come in like a rush of wind and, just like that, was gone again. Dressed and presented with elegance, Maia had stood before the mirror and gazed at her reflection. It was at the moment, as her eyes met their reflection, that she felt a weight drop upon her shoulders. Dragging her like an anchor, pulling a ship to the sea bed, making her knees wobble until she felt like they would give way.

So, she sat on the ground.

Feeling the weight of her siblings, who had pleaded with her not to be weird and to be on her best behaviour whilst away from home. Feeling the weight of her parents who had spoken about her in private, remarking how she was nothing more than a jester on the board of chess pieces for their future. And the feeling of the weight of her Kingdom, who spent every waking moment planning on how they could avoid her unless they needed her. It was never any fun walking into the village and having a sea of people automatically run in the opposite direction; a shark swimming through a school of flounders. But Maia never wanted to be the shark. She wanted to be the flounder, scurrying off with the others. The weight caused her shoulders to slouch and her stomach to turn. Thimble hands reached up, grabbing a lock of hair, pulling it and twirling it around her finger. And when that didn’t seem to stop the weight upon her chest, she placed it into her mouth. Sucking and chewing on it softly; a sigh of relief escaped her as her eyes slowly closed. She could feel it all starting to float away. She was in her happy place.

“Are you read-Maia”

The sound of her sister’s voice sent a shiver down her spine, automatically dropping the piece of hair from her hands and mouth as she looked at Revenna with wide, innocent eyes; as if to say I didn’t do it when she was quite clearly doing it. And just like that, she was torn away from the spot that she truly felt safe, and put through a manufacturing conveyer belt, ensuring that she was well presented to the public. She softly hissed under her breath with ows and ohs as she felt her sister’s grasp and brush comb through her tangled nest upon her crown. While she had been thankful that her sister had taken it upon herself to aid her with such a lovely hairstyle, there was something uncomforting about it.

Pinned back from her face, her hair now tucked within braids, Maia stood with less confidence than ever as they made their way to the ballroom. Unable to run her fingers through her locks, to twirl them around her index finger, she felt like her safety blanket had been ripped out from underneath her feet and she was now solely relying on her sisters. Of course, within their kingdom, Maia would attempt to talk to everyone and anybody who would listen. But this was different. Adorned with masks upon their faces, it was harder to make out what people’s true emotions were on their faces. And it petrified the girl.

“Please, try not to draw too much attention to yourselves”

Maia’s lips parted, about to voice her concerns and worries and to question how could she just leave her here?. But before any words could fall out, she was already gone. Her head turned to look at her other sister only to find that she was now standing alone, by herself, in this ballroom filled with people she didn’t know. Anxiety began to creep and crawl like bed bugs over her skin, and a voice inside her head told her to move to the side. Do you really think these people would consider you as a Princess? Swallowing thickly, Maia gracefully and cautiously walked to the side of the room, away from the chaos of the dance floor. She needed it. Hands rose to her hair, and in a moment of disgust and impatience, she managed to wrangle a long lock from her braided hair. A sigh of relief filled her body as she allowed it to nestle around her finger like a snake claiming it’s position on the branch of a tree. One arm crossed over her front, she lifted the hand that held onto that piece of lock and pressed it up against her mouth. She wasn’t chewing on it, but it was ready if needed. If anything, she could just say she was sniffing her hair. Because that was something Princesses did, right?

Right?
O

we will run and scream. you will dance with me
they'll fulfill our dreams and we'll be free

mood
anxious as all hell!

location
the platet palace ballroom

outfit
her stunning dress and princess crown (pic to the right), mask, and her hair in this cursed up do

mention
revenna and delphine

tags
gingersnaps a z u l a

not with haste - mumford and sons

There is a reason why they call it falling in love. There is no warning sings, nor time to think about what is happening. It’s inevitable. An event you can’t control. A crazy, heart-stopping, roller-coaster ride that just has to take its course. You free fall because you know there’s someone there to catch you on the other side. But, sometimes, the person you fall for isn’t always ready to catch you. Sometimes, they purposefully let you slip through their fingers.

story

info

sunshineysoul · Mar 12, 2023

click! LEVI “DANCER” & “SAILOR”: MOOD

peaceful

LOCATION

just outside the ballroom, technically in the gardens

OUTFIT

outfit & mask

TAGS

people

MASQUERADE.

Levi would be the first person to say he hasn't had a hard life. If ever brought up in a conversation, Levi would focus on his blessings over focusing on the hardships he'd endured. Most people would mention their trials and tribulations and then make some kind of comment about how "but you know what, in the end it was all worth it because of xyz." But Levi just mentions the good, he has never seen the point in bringing attention to his trials and his tribulations.

What good could come of talking about how he was from the coldest and cruelest of nations in the entire empire? What good could come of talking about how he had to travel through a seemingly infinite war zone at the age of ten years old? Stepping over dead bodies & pretending you can't smell the rotting of flesh of soldiers who had been dead for weeks? What good could come of talking about how he had watched, with his own eyes, his parents brutally shot and killed as they tried to get to him? Parents and everyone else he had ever known and loved in his one decade of life? What good could come of talking about how the Caelumite soldiers abandoned him in the enemy kingdom, to fend for himself when he didn't even speak the Pluvian language?

Levi had ruled absolutely nothing good could come from mentioning his trials and tribulations. So he didn't; when asked where he was from, he just said he grew up in an orphanage, that he didn't really know where he came from. Although, his hybrid accent gave him away to be a born Caelumite; Thankfully the people of Pluvia were nicer than the people of his birthtown. They seemed to understand the hardships of war and how the children always paid the price.

But he chose not to focus on that. Levi Bishop figured he had enough pain and heartbreak to last him at least three more lifetimes. He was determined to make the most of his life and get all the happiness and joy he knew he was owed. He had the world's greatest friend, Cordelia, who was kind enough to take him in when he was first dropped in Pluvia & then stuck with him from then until current. He had a great job at her bakery, helping to mix recipes and attract in customers. He was an up and becoming dancer, having already been invited to dance for the Royal Queen herself (even if that invitation fell through, it was certainly legit). And now, he and his best friend were invited to the Platet kingdom to celebrate the end of the war. He had too many things to be happy about to mope around about dead parents. Everyone that knew his story and saw how happy and kind he turned out to be; Called him resilient, brave, a good egg among the many bad eggs from the Caelumite coop.

~~

The journey to Platet was neither the best nor the worst thing in the world for Levi. For one, Levi never liked travelling across land, especially in the large carriages that his late family travelled in when he was a child. So, he stayed in the very back of the carriage, curled up in a ball, desperately trying to sleep through the trip. But that never seemed to work, every time he started to get comfortable; bump. Every time he started to doze off; bump. Every time he almost forgot that he was travelling across the empire to a festival that was packed full of people from all the kingdoms, including the kingdom that sent him and his family into the middle of a warzone to get killed; bump.

At least there was Cordelia. Cordelia may not have understood exactly how Levi felt when they travelled across the land, but she knew that it was hard for him. She never failed to check on him, reassure him whenever there was any kind of loud noise or stop in the road. Levi had always been eternally thankful for her, he knew that she didn't have to have him stick around, but she did. She was her little bit of calm in the storm of Levi's anxieties.

A few more hours and they finally crossed over into the Platet border. Levi noticed a chance in smell, immediately. While Pluvia smelled like sand, sea salt and fish, the first scent of Platet that he noticed was flowers. Confused, he built up the courage to peak out of the carriage, and sit next to Cordelia. And man, he did not regret it. The explosion of color as they crossed the border from all of Platet was breath taking. Suddenly, Levi felt better about this Finem Belli Festival.

~~

There were a LOT more people at the masquerade ball than Levi thought. Although, he didn't know what he was expecting, there were people from all over the empire that were coming. He wasn't as anxious as he thought, he was excited to meet new people with Cordelia by his side-

As soon as he thought the words Cordelia was GONE.

If there was one thing about Cordelia, it was that she was always going to take the chance to flirt with pretty women. And yes, this ballroom was FILLED with pretty women. But Levi didn't feel like trying to flirt on his own. The longer he watched Cordelia flirt with girls, the longer he tried to make sure he was out of stranger's way, the more claustrophobic he felt. He had to get some air.

He clung to the walls, trying to find a door, an exit, somewhere that led to wide, open spaces. He suddenly came across a giant archway and ducked through it. Looking around, it led out to the gardens. If Levi thought there were a lot of flowers on their way into Platet, then this was an astronomical amount of flowers. Hedges that towered well over himself, Levi felt like he was in another world.

Leaning against the wall, he simply breathed in and out, listening the to music inside, and enjoying the positive energy of everyone enjoying themselves that night.

now playing...

RUNAWAY

AURORA

♡coded by uxie♡

Gao · Mar 15, 2023

click! RAJAH “KING” & “WORSHIP”: MOOD

U WANT ME SO BAD.

LOCATION

Ballroom

OUTFIT

ATTIRE & MASK

TAGS

a z u l a

MASQUERADE.

One would expect a life of opulence to sculpt glass bones in a coat of parchment skin. Aristocrats accustomed to lustre and crumbled sugar, pulling close a fur blanket of wealth and class to hoard their warmth in a snowdrift.

Yet if luxury made someone soft-petalled and lily-livered, Rajah was yet to see it in Kaet.

A gaze that fissures rifts in warning of resurgence, her hostility lapped, grew steep and grew teeth, smoothed out into a volley of splinters.

Harlot.

A name anointed with neither blade nor grit, a wispy sobriquet for levity to thrive upon. He’d continue to smile, eyebrows raising in question, what could possibly be so lewd about his attire, what else was left to do when dished a mouthy ashet of impertinence?

It would’ve surprised anyone with higher expectation of Caelum nobles, but his jaunt of life bore a medley of personas. The good and the bad, the rich and the poor, cut from cloth to be folded in any which way. And here a perfect ivory shell turned brittle, fluttering cold and swarming with frigid blood. He recognises her, naught from Caelum visage of magnificence or dress of mythic grandeur. Distant yet synchronous, abrasive and overcast with a display of bared fang and hackled anger.

Some nervous dogs roll to their back and present soft underbelly in appeasement. Whereas some nervous dogs bite, pinch snarled warning like nettles lodged between gum and tooth. Her smile; a sharp-slicked crescent, he wasn't sure whether to brush aside or welcome to sink half-moon arcs into him.

Over the past decade he’d brought numerous canines to heel. What was the challenge of a white wolf turned friendly pooch?

The Viscount would claim hydra monsters and labyrinth beasts were all fictional and placeholder metaphors, that the real dangers haunting land was of hunger, dehydration, war or the surge of a tempest sea. But for the likes of an adaptable Rajah, only one threat applied.

A weakness for stubborn women.

Saccharine syllables gilt in gold bordeaux, an undercurrent of danger flared in waves from Kaeteryna. Her words bloom rivalry, a playmate fit for entertainment. As far as the Viscount was concerned, there was only one type of vermin amidst them.

“Humble as you are, there is no need for self deprecation,” a parry and a counter, “we will always welcome the plague of Caelum to our doorstep.”

A brief and intentional pause to let repartee stew, then arrived something that doesn’t become a man of tilted head and satin voice: a tone afflicted with fond concern. “Forgive my grievances dear, I shall arrange accommodation in the stables if one feels so out of place.”

Their meeting is a clash of swords, ice to flame, and his smile is languidly sweet, fringing a curve of wickedness. He’d indulge the first instinct to the lulling lure of a woman’s ire by annoying her more.

But the next act of her play is a sudden step through senses, something he should’ve sensed the moment her gaze wandered elsewhere. A fumble and tepid gasp, eyes would distract down to the careful precision of wine breaching demarcation of leather footwear.

With a moment's worth of study, a fleeting look of disgust slipped before features could be bridled back into moderation— a gruelling dislike of mess itched at a need for refinery. There was no doubt he’d be scrubbing at them like a scullery maid long before the night was over, but with the perpetrator afoot, to give inclination a splash bothered him so would be handing out currency.

“Ah,” a hum of understanding, colliding iris and a slow click of the tongue. “You seek reason to undress me.” Still he cavorts, as men of his nature do. There's a tangible shift to his stand, some discomfort quickly settled. See, Rajah was trying this new thing called behaving.

Another time, another kingdom, he may have taken the slight with considerably less mirth. But in light of this being Platet, he of good legal standing, and she of pretty face and good figure— that is what respectable gentlemen call, “birthing hips” (God bless), Kaeteryna’s presence appeared to be suitable collateral.

Her mouth formed the loveliest taunt, and phantom concern cast her like an eclipse.

“Oh, come now— there is no need for jealousy.” Deflecting mention of other women with a smile, he’d drift like the draw of a dark tide to starboard, standing at her other side in a search of recognition. A shadow not so easily banished, lingering periphery like tar.

He wouldn’t deign to flit hand over the waist or arm of a Caelum noble, especially not one of Kaeteryna’s thorny disposition. However, he would tiptoe upon the lines of unspoken boundaries. In spite of their little tango, Rajah still appeared to be in good spirits.

“Your Harlot,” laid claim to the special nickname, a hand taloned the rim of her wine flute, plucking it away before she had half the mind to empty the rest of its contents onto his face (or bite at him), “has all the time in the world for you.” Until something new appeared to pester.

“Just imagine how frighteningly busy your night will be if I leave you here alone.” Bleeding equal portions flippant and audacious, he’d smile, take a sip from her pilfered drink. Mild and lacking, he’d never been too fond of wine.

“So many people to speak with.” A forlorn sigh drifted lips, casting eyes over the milling of guests before back to Kaet in sly target. “So many enemies afoot.”

now playing...

INDIGO NIGHT

TAMINO

♡coded by uxie♡

cavitea · Mar 21, 2023

arledge.

❝ What are we doing if not pretending? ❞

mood

oh.

outfit

x.

location

a corner-ish.

interactions

vaeron

.V1LLAINISM._

‘’Did they never teach you how to apologise in your kingdom? Or are you simply daft?”

It was without a doubt that Arledge had made an error. Nerves fluttered in butterfly wings throughout the creaking, weathered boards of the ship that was he. Constantly he had reminded his siblings of the need to provide a good appearance and the proper manners of poise and discussion to other nobles. Respect, he insisted they must command.

Pluvian respect, and here he was, being called daft.

"Daft? No, good ser, certainly not that. I'm simply ..." 'Unaccustomed' might be a proper word for a situation like this; it was a thought the eldest prince of Pluvia only allowed a ballerina's grande jeté of a motion to consider, stepping aside from the stickiness of drink that now stared in a rather accusatory fashion off the shining floor of the ballroom.

"I suppose all the same introductions aren't going to fix this already sullied image I've given of myself." Every word seemed a hurdle to get over for the man, eyes avoidant of the staring that seemed to overpower so easily from one eye. He racked his brain over a hearth that whispered in strength, pictures and descriptions all he could use for the bleached hair that plagued the halls and a stance that commanded attention. The word 'Caelum' was as faintly scrawled in his mind as letters he remembered reading from the lap of a father, sounding out impossible names and locations under weary guidance.

Caelum and all of its commodities; snowcapped mountains with pristine paleness covering the pristine involvement in a war buried with bodies. On ocean floors and mountain peaks alike, briefly looked on in a mind that now lifted up the tilted stem of a glass emptied, clutching glass inside calloused hands.

"Prince Arledge, of Pluvia." Muscles in his arm twitched in the efforts to not allow a bow of a body, a smile hoisted on hooks along the threads of lips instead. "Perhaps it may be in bad taste but would you like a refreshment of sort? It may give us the chance to step further from the limelight and allow me to find someone to clean your shoes, if that's a thing they do around here." He looked as if his skin didn't fit quite at the seams on his flesh, a smile continuing to tug itself forcibly onto his face as a finger pulled along the suffocating fabric of a collar, both spelling out nerves unbecoming of the title he so confidently shared.

"I would not wish to make too much a fool of myself before the night has grown aged. Surely you also will have dancing to attend to and certainly wouldn't want my dalliance to lessen your ... chances with anyone." Somewhere a body rolled in its watery grave.

/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */

a z u l a · Mar 26, 2023

mood :

stressed, curious

location :

the platet palace ballroom

outfit :

mentions :

diana

interactions :

diana

minajesty

princess

ravenna

As cautious eyes scanned the ballroom, it wasn't long before someone was approaching her, maple colored curls bouncing as she turned to face the woman speaking to her. The woman was strikingly beautiful, a face perfect enough to be hung in castle halls, and Ravenna had a sneaking suspicion that it was indeed gracing the walls of someone's castle.

She hadn't expected to be signaled out as a royal so soon, but she supposed it couldn't be helped. Though they were a mysterious kingdom who didn't like to share much, Rae knew that the perfect posture, lingering guards, and elegant outfit were a less than subtle giveaway to her true identity.

No threat was apparent, a friendly noble making nothing more than conversation, and Rae let her shoulder's relax as a practiced smile melted onto her lips. "Why thank you, I must say the same goes for you. Whoever your designer is, I might need to give them a call." A lie wasn't even necessary as she appreciated the other woman's ethereal attire, long swooped sleeves and a green the color of fresh cut meadows to compliment hair the color of autumn leaves. "I would love to see the rest of your closet, dare I say green suits both of us well."

"I guess these masks don't work much after all. I'm Princess Ravenna, heir of Arborious." She curtseyed only slightly, certain that the observant woman was only at most equal in rank to her, for she was certainly too young to be any of the queens. Still, any nobility could gain her insight into the other kingdoms, especially a friendship with a fellow princess.

Speaking of princesses, her sharp eyes scanned the room for her sisters as she spoke, landing briefly on both of them in the crowd and taking note of their locations. They hadn't caused a scene quite yet, but the night was still young she she'd need to keep an eye out. Her eyes caught on one man in particular, quickly appraising him and pocketing his appearance away for later, a future dance partner.

"Are you here with family as well?" Something in the other woman's posture reminded Ravenna of herself, a weight that all older sisters seemed to carry.

coded by reveriee.

sunshineysoul · Mar 30, 2023

click! AVILEEN “PRINCESS” & “DUTIFUL”: MOOD

that's impossible....

LOCATION

being a wallflower in her own ballroom

OUTFIT

dress & mask

TAGS

the "strangers" L3n

MASQUERADE.

Avileen's cover for being surveillance was certainly blown. Someone had spilled a drink on another, and there seemed to be a small feud brewing. Truth be told, Avileen didn't want to out herself as the princess, nominate herself as the peace keeper of the festival just yet. No, she didn't want to do that over such a small instance. There were mostly royals, or at least people who were in regular company with royals, they all seemed to fight over the smallest of things.

No, she decided, not tonight. Tonight she wouldn't take on any responsibility that her title forced her to burden. That would start tomorrow, when the masks were off. But while the masks were on, she was just a lady watching the people of the festival dance.

If she ignored the people crying over spilled wine, and took her mind off a certain someone her eyes had been searching for, she was able to take in the pure splendor and beauty of the ballroom. The maids had done such a fantastic job at decorating, at setting the mood for the entire festival. Avi herself found herself helping the maids as best she could in the weeks leading up to the festival, but her father always found something else for her to do instead of help them. So this was truly the princess' first time seeing the ballroom in such glory.

With the war having gone on for longer than her lifespan, this was the first major event where she was able to be in the ballroom. The biggest events in the castle during the war were war meetings, there were seldom any parties or balls such as this, and whenever her father had his colleagues over, she was instructed to keep her siblings entertained and kept out of sight. Sure, she had wandered around the castle she lived in as she grew up, but to see the ballroom as anything other than empty and cold? It warmed her heart in a very strange and new way.

As Princess Avileen admired her ballroom and the hard work of the maids and servants of the castle, a stranger approached her. She didn't see him at first, but he made himself known as he spoke.
"Not one to dance?"

That voice. Her heart stopped. She knew that voice, she knew it better than even her own voice. He continued talking but Avileen felt like she couldn't breathe. She tried not to turn her head too quickly towards his voice as he spoke to her. Even though he wore a mask just like everyone else, she knew she would see right through the mask and see it was him, Callahan the Duke of Pluvia.

Her Calla...

Every fiber of her being wanted to run to him and throw her arms around him. To cry tears of joys as she was terrified she would never see him again, terrified that he somehow died in the war. The deepest and most selfish parts of her nature wanted nothing more than to hug him, grab his hand and run away to the garden, to catch up on everything they had missed.

The most selfish parts of her wanted to forgive him.

But she couldn't. Avileen knew that if she forgave him, she would have nothing stopping her from falling for him. Forgiving him for the past would be the equivalent to jumping off the stunning Pluvian cliffs into the depths of the ocean. Her fate would either be to be rescued by a nearby sailor, or to be eaten alive by sea creatures. And she whole heartedly believed she would be eaten alive in the face of love. It wasn't for her, she wasn't allowed to be selfish. Not when her brothers were both without suitors.

Fortunately, for her own sake, Avileen had convinced herself that Callahan had no idea it was her. There was no way that the Duke spent as much time as she thinking about their past. Remembering the cadence of his laugh, the rhythm of their footsteps as they ran to their special place, the smell of the cologne he wore when he came over to the castle. There was no way he remembered her the way she remembered him.

So she decided to stick with her persona. Again she decided to not reveal herself, her fear of responsibility got the best of her; she chose to stay in the bliss of being just one stranger talking to another, to not face the reality of being Princess Avileen, who was once best friends with Duke Callahan of Pluvia.

“I could be, perhaps with the right partner.” Avi tried to answer in a short way, without coming off as rude. He further mentioned something about the crowded floor turning into a splash zone. Her eyes glanced over to where the Duke mentioned, seeing many incidences of drinks being spilled and arguments brewing. Of course, one of the wine-spilling culprits was none other than Viscount Rajah.

Avileen and Rajah, her father swore they were a match made in the heavens. The Platetian king made an attempt to set up her daughter with someone, anyone to get her off his back. Apparently his first choice was the Viscount himself. The two started off well, Rajah treated her like the queen she always wanted to be. His mysterious aura seemed to draw her in like a moth to a sweet-smelling flame. But what happens when a moth flutters too close to a flame? No matter how sweet it smelled, the flame always burns the moth to a crisp. And Avi certainly felt like she was being burned alive when she caught Rajah with another woman. It was safe to say that the Princess wanted nothing more to do with a man that she thought as lower than the scum of the earth.

Once she saw Rajah on the dance floor, she knew she made the right choice by not trying to mingle, not trying to get unmasked by others. With Avi's luck, Rajah would come up to her and attempt to flirt with her, not remembering who she was by her figure.

Typical of the swine, they always wanted to fuck whatever they saw.

“The smartest of us stay away from the crowds,” After building up enough confidence, she actually turned to look at Callahan. While she felt her breath leave her at the mere sight of him, she did her best to keep her composure. “Only the fools and whores would carelessly head straight into a crowd filled with the kingdoms who have been at war for the past 50 years.” His face was covered by a mask, but she knew he had grown. A full and thick beard poked out from under his mask, she felt her heart skip a beat. She could see his kind brown eyes peering through his mask, her heart sped up. His shirt was open at the top, exposing more skin that Avi was used to seeing, her eyes wandered as she took in a deep breath. She quickly regained her composure as her eyes went back to his, waiting for him to say something.

now playing...

THE MAN

TAYLOR SWIFT

♡coded by uxie♡

L3n · Apr 6, 2023

mood :

enjoy the moment

location :

platet palace ballroom

outfit :

mentions :

xoxo

interactions :

"stranger" avileen

sunshineysoul

duke of pluvia

callahan

Callahan’s eyes wandered the ballroom taking note of all the ways the lighting sparkled off the scenery. Fancy glass drinking cups paired with jeweled fingers. Bright eyes met across the dancefloor beneath embellished masks, enticing strangers to take a closer look. Fabrics of all varieties draped and swept behind the silhouettes of elegant nobles and captivating townsfolk alike. The Ballrooms decorations were enchanting in their own right, brought to life by the hands of maids who must have poured hours into the design. It was only a tiny shame for it all to be drowned out by the guests.

Each person served their own unique look, creating a scene worthy of being solidified on a canvas. It had been fifty years since the war started. Five decades since folk of snowy paths, rolling plains, looming trees, and the ocean breeze had been thrown together in joyous spirits. Trying to piece together where he had seen patterns and designs before had become an interesting sort of game. With all the land he’s traveled and the sights he was privileged to see he could almost place where each individual had hailed from.

The mix of all these different cultures was otherworldly. When the war was announced as over it had never truly felt real. The reality of battles, swords, and controlled barriers was all he, and most of the other ball guests, had ever known. People had been raised to view the other lands as enemies and now they could be seen spinning together on a dance floor. He had never seen something like it but still his heart was filled with a strange sense of nostalgia. This was nothing he’d experienced before but it felt like everything that he should of had growing up. These were the peaceful times that he had dreamed of.

His childhood hopes for tranquility weren’t answered in time for him to still be a kid. It was bittersweet, but the poet in him knew this was bigger than any oneself. This would be the new world that todays youth would grow up getting to know. It started with this festival and if Callahan had a choice it would never end.

Every decision, little or big, had led their society to this day. The violence ended with a new beginning blooming not on the horizon but right in front of their very eyes. The universe had led him here so he could experience this moment. Maybe it had even brought him to speak to this stranger.

“I could be, perhaps with the right partner,” the woman courtly replied, her words politely distant. The stranger’s voice was rich, dipping into an accent that Callahan pretended not to notice. It was the same way he ignored the way her eyes took him in when she had turned to face him. The way his heart restricted, for how could it not when glimpsing at the one who might hold it. Might. Callahan couldn’t bring himself to piece the puzzle together for sure, to accept who the fates brought him to first. Plausible deniability.

The poet was not dense. It had been years since he had seen the princess but he could never fail to recognize her, even behind a mask. The way her hair fell long in its curls, waving down like the rolling plains of her land. Platet was known for its bountiful soil but it stole its color from the princess's eyes. They had both aged, but even though features changed he would have thought of her from the dress she picked alone. Lilac purple, decorated with flowers. Avileen’s favorite.

The longer he stayed from Platet the harder it was to come back, but that had not stopped him from thinking about her. No matter how unlikely it felt that they’d crossed paths again his brain had kept her memory polished and treasured. That meant even their last encounter as well. Of course, he longed to talk to her for all these years, but was he a fool enough to believe she had wished the same? It was too complicated.

For now, at least while they had their masks on, let them be strangers.

Callahan took a moment to soak in the woman's words as she spoke, unable to stifle a grin in disbelief when she dropped the word “whore.” Her vocabulary was as strong and direct as he recalled, but her voice had a soft waver to it.

“One might contest by saying the smartest would be out there,” Callahan gestured towards the crowd, “Enjoying the festivities as intended. For it would not be a ball if every soul distanced and watched. What a very sad party that would be, and dare I say, perhaps even a disgrace to the fine decor that’s been set for us.” While his mask covered most of his face, the tone of his voice carried his bantering smile.

The Duke’s eyes traveled from the “stranger” to watch the dancing. He paused for a beat and when he spoke again he sounded just a touch softer. “After fifty years of war, it’s hard to see their happiness as foolish. It’s a shame to think that this is what we could have had all along.” Where there were bumps, spills, and sharp tongues in the crowd of people there were also new bonds being made. That on its own was too beautiful for his poet heart to dismiss.

coded by reveriee.

peachiepalette · Apr 7, 2023

mood :

accidentally steam rolling a poor lady

location :

the platet palace ballroom

outfit :

mentions :

sunshineysoul

interactions :

crashing into cordelia

artist

Beatrix

To have gotten an invite to the Finem Belli Festival– Well, she considered it an honor! And what a surprise that they had been able to catch her on one of the occasions when she was home and not out traveling. While she had fully resettled back in Arborious, it didn’t mean she didn’t take mini trips out into the other lands despite the war. She just had to be careful, was all. One did not simply stroll into a battlefield and come out alive! Regardless, when the invitation had been delivered to her door, Beatrix Bardot took great advance in rushing about to gather most of her nicer clothes – the ones without too many paint splotches or worn out patches – and she couldn’t have left her home any quicker. Of course, along with her came her paints and some canvases, her materials needed for capturing exquisite sights.

While some might have found this festival to be the perfect conquest to find love, Beatrix didn’t see it that way at all. Love was often one of the last things on her mind. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to eventually find it! That wasn’t the case at all! But it was more of a hope that it would simply fall into her lap when the time was right. If it never did, then she was to assume that it wasn’t meant for her. Instead, the festival was a chance for her to prove herself as the artist she was invited to be. A chance to meet new people, paint some beautiful scapes, have some fun and shenanigans along the way.

⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹

Arriving at the masquerade, the decorations and the faces of glee (and some of drunkenness) told her that it was going to be just a lovely night. Of course, she was ever the optimist, and nothing seemed like it had potential to go wrong. Even as she witnessed some of the horrors of the floor such as spilled wine and name-calling, she took a glass of something bubbly off a tray and settled in for the festivities. Her eyes were glued to the rather sheepish looking dark-haired fellow and the blonde man that was seeming to go after the poor soul who made a mistake. Just as she was about to make her way over and attempt to prevent any further altercations, she crashed into a completely different warm body with a startled ‘oh.’ Substance from her own drink hit the floor with a splat, leaving the glass half full for her to take a quick sip of in time to prepare to apologize. Was everything going to repeat itself between partners? If everyone was like that blonde-haired tyrant, she didn’t want to risk getting off on the wrong foot with someone. Was this whole thing actually destined to create enemies, rather than bring them together?

Steeling herself for whatever interaction might take place, Beatrix’s eyes flicked up from underneath her mask to make contact with the person in front of her. Surely, they hadn’t been there prior, right? Or had she just about launched herself into this poor soul in her rescue attempt? Regardless, she needed to apologize, at the very least! ”I am terribly sorry, that was completely my mistake! I actually didn’t see you, or else I wouldn’t have run into you-” Now, was that a polite thing to say? Brows furrowed, covered by the plastic shielding her face, and Beatrix readjusted her statement. ”I think the mask doesn’t help with my field of vision…”

coded by reveriee.

Fantasy 𝓐𝓵𝓵'𝓼 𝓕𝓪𝓲𝓻 𝓲𝓷 𝓛𝓸𝓿𝓮 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓦𝓪𝓻

New Member

queen of bright-moon

these violent delights have violent ends.

𝘢𝘬𝘢 𝙈𝙄𝙉𝘼 !

actually viktoria >:)

[sad jester jingle noises]

𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐧

these violent delights have violent ends.

New Member

indefinite hiatus

𝘜 𝘕 𝘋 𝘌 𝘈 𝘋 ;;

[sad jester jingle noises]

Elder Member

queen of bright-moon

Give me your herbs, worm.

Yeah, I'm a gamer *plays solitaire for 5 hours*

your moms a hoe

(๏ᆺ๏υ)

queen of bright-moon

[sad jester jingle noises]

𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐧

these violent delights have violent ends.

queen of bright-moon

your moms a hoe

New Member

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