Multiple Settings — 物の哀れ .

[sox]

— 物の哀れ .

i.

— 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐥.

“𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥 𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘪𝘷𝘰𝘳𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘨𝘰𝘭𝘥. 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺.”

𝐚𝐜𝐭 𝐢. 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢.

your acceptance of the tight-lipped lady's challenge brings you here, at long last, to the frigid slopes of qutou, where you hesitantly leave behind your personal attendant to embark on a solo journey whose details continue to evade you even now as you stand before the estate's entrance with your neatly-packed belongings and the envelope carrying your official invitation in hand.

once the creaking front door slams shut behind you, however, your vision promptly fades to black and you find yourself stranded on an island of memories that do not live within your own psyche. the hallucination is brief, only a few minutes in totality, but the terror that settles into your chilled bones at the bloody scene you witnessed lives on as you return to the present, led to your chambers by a smirking butler who utters not a single word in consolation of your distress.

putting aside the unsettling experience, you are finally able to catch a glimpse of the notorious lady once the hour for dinner arrives and the guests rise to greet their host from their assigned seats, the glistening gold pendant and jewels adorning her elegant dress jarringly out of place against the deathlike pallor of her expression as she motions for all of you to be seated once again.

"welcome, heirs to the jewels,"

she drawls, swirling her wine glass without a speck of true interest in her gaze.

"please, dig in. i imagine you have yet to become accustomed to my humble manor. as you can see, it is far from large enough for you to each have your own rooms, so lady cesara will share with lady camille, as will lady lydianna with prince jiraiya, and lord sylvan with lady vaani— but do make yourself at home, i implore you. so long as you remain indoors and follow the lanterns you see along these walls, you will not lose your path."

the mundaneness of her greeting falls short of the typical standard for noble etiquette yet is completely overshadowed by the baffling familiarity of her hoarse, weathered tone. there is no mistaking that voice in your heart, not an ounce of uncertainty no matter how absurd the connection seems with having never spoken to her personally in the past.

'phuong,' cursed with infertility— the last surviving heir to chalcedony, the final child of her bloodline.

without a doubt, it was lady duyen's memories that you witnessed upon entering the foyer earlier this evening, and it is abundantly clear now more than ever that the first trial began the very moment you willingly stepped past the threshold of those intimidating double doors, offering your soul to the cursed confines of her isolated estate.

"now,"

she continues despite the palpable tension, the phantom of a smile dancing along her cherry lips as she seems to subtly delight in your reaction,

"tell me— why do you deserve to wield my precious 'rebirth' more than the person seated to your left? the lady from peridot shall begin."

—
tags:
Uxie triples iridescent.
Pepsionne yokai.

© pasta

Spoiler: MF

your acceptance of the tight-lipped lady's challenge brings you here, at long last, to the frigid slopes of qutou, where you hesitantly leave behind your personal attendant to embark on a solo journey whose details continue to evade you even now as you stand before the estate's entrance with your neatly-packed belongings and the envelope carrying your official invitation in hand.

once the creaking front door slams shut behind you, however, your vision promptly fades to black and you find yourself stranded on an island of memories that do not live within your own psyche. the hallucination is brief, only a few minutes in totality, but the terror that settles into your chilled bones at the bloody scene you witnessed lives on as you return to the present, led to your chambers by a smirking butler who utters not a single word in consolation of your distress.

putting aside the unsettling experience, you are finally able to catch a glimpse of the notorious lady once the hour for dinner arrives and the guests rise to greet their host from their assigned seats, the glistening gold pendant and jewels adorning her elegant dress jarringly out of place against the deathlike pallor of her expression as she motions for all of you to be seated once again.

"welcome, heirs to the jewels,"

she drawls, swirling her wine glass without a speck of true interest in her gaze.

"please, dig in. i imagine you have yet to become accustomed to my humble manor. as you can see, it is far from large enough for you to each have your own rooms, so lady cesara will share with lady camille, as will lady lydianna with prince jiraiya, and lord sylvan with lady vaani— but do make yourself at home, i implore you. so long as you remain indoors and follow the lanterns you see along these walls, you will not lose your path."

the mundaneness of her greeting falls short of the typical standard for noble etiquette yet is completely overshadowed by the baffling familiarity of her hoarse, weathered tone. there is no mistaking that voice in your heart, not an ounce of uncertainty no matter how absurd the connection seems with having never spoken to her personally in the past.

'phuong,' cursed with infertility— the last surviving heir to chalcedony, the final child of her bloodline.

without a doubt, it was lady duyen's memories that you witnessed upon entering the foyer earlier this evening, and it is abundantly clear now more than ever that the first trial began the very moment you willingly stepped past the threshold of those intimidating double doors, offering your soul to the cursed confines of her isolated estate.

"now,"

she continues despite the palpable tension, the phantom of a smile dancing along her cherry lips as she seems to subtly delight in your reaction,

"tell me— why do you deserve to wield my precious 'rebirth' more than the person seated to your left? the lady from peridot shall begin."

 

[Pepsionne]

sylvan kihara

aventurine

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  new mentions!

  
  tag! Cami Uxie , Vaani sox
  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

nervous, embarrassed

Chalcedony Estate

[/tab]

"suffering feels religious if you do it right" — Chelsea Hodson

“Lord Sylvan?” His escort’s tone was soft, but inquisitive, the sound stepping its way over to Sylvan with an unsure gait.

The sound pulled Sylvan from his empty stare, gaze drinking in the bone white estate while his body stiffened against cold gusts of air that ghosted down from the surrounding mountainscape.

“Sorry,” He breathed, gaze jetting over to the woman behind him. The look that settled into his honey brown eyes was infected with a sheepish pallor.

‘Sorry’ the last word he uttered when leaving the Aventurine estate, mirrored now in his first word at Chalcedony. Sorry. Like the word had been born into his mouth for him alone to say it. What was he even sorry for anymore? The image of his father bubbled forth. Everything. Then, the memory of his mother’s back as she led him into the forest, to a favored spot of the sika deer for the very first time. Nothing.

Wind chapped lips straightened into a thin line. “I can take it from here, thank you, Mei.”

Sylvan breathed out shakily when the woman nodded, her jet black hair like spilled ink as it brushed across the flush of her cheeks. She glanced at him warily once more, the hesitation of leaving him to the mystery and danger that swam murkily about the estate slowing her departure--but only momentarily. There was something about the intimidating building that gave an edge to the sharp clearing of her throat, something that pushed her down the winding path just a tad bit faster than the pace of having arrived. Sylvan watched her until the comfort of her figure was swallowed by the landscape.

He picked up the bags Mei had left in her place, expression straining momentarily from the weight of them, and pushed through the heavy doors of the Chalcedony estate. The bags hit plush carpets with a dulled thump the moment everything went black and he was swallowed in the vision of another’s memory.

The Aventurine heir looked down at his hands, breaths coming in sharp, short bursts once Sylvan regained himself from--whatever the hell that was.

"I knew you'd come around, phuong..."

Gasping words bubbled up from blood soaked lips. Fratricide. A gruesome, terrifying concept for Sylvan to wrap his head around. He thought of Aspen first, of his brother’s thick hands locked around his own neck, squeezing until bone crumpled within pale flesh.

Sylvan reached down for the discarded bags at his feet, wincing at the noticeable tremble of his hands. He didn’t know if he was more disturbed from this mysterious Phuong’s reluctance and trauma, or the thought that if put in her shoes, Sylvan was sure his brother would have none of it.

His father had been right. Sylvan coming here was a mistake. It should’ve been Aspen, maybe even Cedar. Any of them, truly, but who the sika deer had chosen. The young heir swallowed hard and with the aid of a butler, continued deeper into the estate.

---

His room, at the very least, felt like a breath of fresh air. Decor filled with deep, grounded greens that echoed the breath of the forests he found such comfort in. Found such divinity in.

Preparing for dinner came at no issue, the servants within the Chalcedony estate quick to unpack his belongings and provide aid while Sylvan bathed and dressed himself for dinner. He was hovering over the bed, the tips of his dark waves peeking over his eyes while he decided on attire, when the voice of one of the servants in the room caused his slender back to turn rigid.

“Greetings, Lady Vaani.”

Sylvan turned, the porcelain sea of his exposed chest leaving him in a state of vulnerability. “Vaani?” He echoed aloud. His eyes turned to bleached moons when none other than the heir to Peridot stood before him. What was she doing here? They hadn’t kept in touch since their academy days. Had she known of Sylvan’s arrival and decided to pop in and say hello for old time’s sake?

His stare rounded out to the side, finding solace on the clean planes of the bed. There, peeking in the corner to which he had failed to see before, were a set of bags that were certainly not the ones he had arrived with. What the fuck? Had there been some kind of mishap with the room assignments? Perhaps someone had gotten confused and penned two names to the same assignment.

“Vaani, hey,” Sylvan cleared his throat hurriedly, though the sound echoed through the room as a strangled choke. “What are you doing here? I’m-uh-uh. I must be in the wrong room. I’m so sorry.”

Gaze still glued to where his clothes splayed across the surface of the bed, his cheeks darkened into a deep wine stain of a blush. Not even ten minutes in and Sylvan was already choking on the grimace of his ineptitude.

"Sylvan!" Vaani exclaimed, tense expression brightening upon recognizing an old friend. Despite a soft flush initially coloring her cheeks upon walking in on an undressed man, she didn't seem to take offense to his half-clothed state at all, instead beelining straight to her side table to grab a tube of lipstick she'd forgotten to slip into her purse earlier. "No, no, it's my fault for barging in unannounced! I doubt either of us are in the wrong room." Vaani waved the lipstick in the air for emphasis before returning it to her clutch and clicking the bag shut. "I just came to grab this, so I'll give my roomie some privacy now. It's really nice to see you, though— let's catch up properly after all the formalities, yeah?"

Sylvan stuttered over his words, shock taking up the majority of space in his throat. “Uh--y--yeah that sounds great.”

He was left to stare dumbly after her retreating form, the emphasis she provided on the word roomie bouncing around in his head. The young Aventurine heir swiveled his wide gaze back to the bed behind him. Bed--singular. The red flush now began spreading down his neck at the notion of sharing a bed with Vaani. Although she was far from a stranger, Sylvan hadn’t shared a bed with anyone not since--well not since that summer.

Now the sole heir of Citrine, she was bound to be here, wasn’t she? Sylvan’s stomach dropped at the thought of seeing Cami again. Was it out of excitement, or fear? He swallowed hard and turned his attention back to his task before Vaani had entered. Right--dinner. Other crises could wait until later.

---

Sylvan’s trek through the Chalcedony estate’s hauntedly charming interior was brought to a brief pause when he caught sight of another guest stalled a ways down the hallway. Her head was slightly tilted back while she regarded the painting before her, rich black hair tumbling down her shoulder blades in a silky waterfall.

The young heir hadn’t seen the woman before him since their academy days, and even then he had only been allowed small, stolen glances through thickly crowded halls. But even here, in a foreign estate, her profile smudged by dim candlelight, he knew her--he knew her like a blind man knows the caress of the sun. The whisper of something that was once real. Camille Chung, sole heir to Citrine and--his fiancé.

Sylvan swallowed, his throat suddenly sticky. Fear and excitement joined hands and waltzed within him, his heart rate picking up with each of their combined steps. Does he greet her? Does he allow her to move forward without announcing himself? The young man shuffled from side to side while the internal turmoil surged within him, threatening to drown.

He couldn’t just trail behind awkwardly and pray she wouldn’t look back. Sylvan grimaced at the image in his mind. His fingers had absently begun pulling at the hem of his jacket. So he should simply--go up to her. Right?

Several moments slipped through his fingers while Sylvan stood rooted like that, frozen like a deer caught in the midst of a trap. He willed his feet to move but they had since turned to lead.

“Cami,” He said suddenly, the name feeling as though betraying fingers had ripped it from his throat. The pressure of having called her name so far away effectively eclipsed whatever reservations had gained control of his limbs, and Sylvan found himself walking in her direction.

The more space closed between them the more dread began to barge its way into the majority space within his chest, sucking up his oxygen and leaving him a tad breathless when he finally happened upon the Citrine heir. “Long time no see, huh?” He smiled softly, brown eyes daring a pass over her face only once before becoming fluid to the decor in the background.

Sylvan idly tugged on the softly curled strands of hair hovering near his eyes, “Surprised my family agreed to actually send me?” He laughed awkwardly, eyes pausing on her face for only several seconds before his nerves shook them away.

When Cami turned, the Aventurine heir could feel no shift in familiarity coat and lighten her features the way he had expected. No--not expected. The way he had hoped. What remained instead was an indifference, cold and lazy as it stretched across her expression.

"I'm sorry, but," she began, her voice saccharine but steady, save for the lilt of bemusement that crept into the end of her words, "Are we acquainted?"

The reality that sunk into Sylvan was a stone in his throat, unyielding and difficult to swallow. He dared his gaze upward, through his lashes to meet the inky gaze of Cami’s own as she bore into him. Her stare felt heavy, almost taking on a physical presence as it pressed him further into the floor. His breath caught in his throat when she leaned forward.

"Would you tell me which family you're from?"

“Oh! Um--Aventurine...” Sylvan trailed off, the strength of his voice having since whittled into the shape of something feeble. “Sylvan Kihara,” He bowed his head to hide the emotion that trembled in his brown eyes. So she didn't recognize him then--right.

He was glad for the dim lighting of the hallway, cheeks burning in embarrassment the longer the situation was able to sink in and process. They were engaged, had been for years, and she didn’t even know who he was. Sylvan’s features twitched momentarily in the attempt to shape themselves into a grimace. His siblings would find it hilarious--his father, well he guessed his father would harbor no surprise.

“Pardon my intrusion,” The young heir smiled softly, yet his eyes remained unaffected. He took a shallow breath before hurried steps shuffled him down the hall.

What a way to start this dreaded competition. He didn’t even want to think about whatever challenges lay ahead, if he was already struggling to survive just existing within the building.

Sylvan took a deep breath to steady his nerves after finally having reached the doors to the dining hall. He pushed in, and without a word, took his seat at the table.

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

© weldherwings.

 

[Uxie]

C.

love me

thank you, leave me

S

erpent

cami.

dining room

outfit

sylvan, eddie, (all)

Camille was never one to push and shove to get her way. Perhaps once upon a time, but as the sprightly heir of Citrine and to-be-owner of a fortune worth more than seven of these manors would not even come close to making up, she could not believe she was dealing with this. The trip this far up north had already been tedious to no end — she couldn't recall the last time she'd even stepped foot in the bordering forests of Tanhung.

"With all due respect, you're being ridiculous. I'm only bringing her bags in, for heaven's sake—"

The butler interrupted in a chillingly calm tone, his expression unwavering even against the youth's fussing. "The mistress will be allowing only invited guests onto her premises. No more, no less."

"That's enough, Jesse,"

A hand lifted to gesture her escort back, an easy smile spreading across her face as her gaze shifted to meet the butler's steely own.

"Rules are rules. It's not as if my host is particularly renowned for her hospitality."

Her head tilted lazily to the side, her words a snarl.

"You would afford me the courtesy of calling for a maid at least, yes?"

Cami was almost hoping for a delicious flicker of irritation on the butler's stoic features, but she would find no such gratification today. Instead, a curt nod and a retreat was all she was granted, and she scoffed before striding in through the doors.

No sooner had her second heel crossed the threshold of the manor did her step waver, just barely staying upright as her vision was overwhelmed by the weight of an intimate memory that was wholly not her own. Phuong, the lady of the house. Her gaze flickered to the butler, morphing into a glare as she noticed the trace of smugness in his expression —something she was meant to see, then. The realisation did not save her from the gasping shock, nor the irritation at his gloating.

He'd be the first to get it once she got a hold of that dagger. She'd swallow this entire wretched house.

It had been a conscious decision to arrive just before dusk swept over the lands, because god forbid she spent any extra time than necessary in this dilapidated manor. Nevertheless, she could admire the decor — her room had been well-furnished, though an eyebrow had raised at the single bed within, and the hallways were lined with distinctly gothic art.

She was poised in front of what she guessed was a lesser-known Fuseli when she heard the quiet shuffle of footsteps against the carpet, and then, surprisingly, her name. Upon unfamiliar lips, in a pitch she did not recognise.

"Long time no see, huh? Surprised my family agreed to actually send me?"

He spoke with a tenderness like they were old friends, and the laugh seemed to go stale as soon as it left his lips. She would've been blind not to catch the way his eyes fled from her face, and the corner of her lip curled upward into the slightest smirk.

In better situations, she might feign recognition if out of respect than anything else, but this event provided little need for good graces. It was a competition, after all, and she was sure, at least, she knew the faces she'd need to watch out for; the snake-eyed daughters of Iolite who'd scrambled for her company in the academy, or the square, petulant face of Aventurine's sorry excuse for an oldest child. At the very least, they would hold their heads up high — such was the nature of nobility, and she was no different.

Then, who in the world was this trembling thing before her?

"I'm sorry, but,"

she began, her voice saccharine but steady, save for the lilt of bemusement that crept into the end of her words,

"Are we acquainted?"

Dark eyes lingered on his fingers as if they might yearn a clue — slender, uncalloused, gentle fingertips that fiddled with his hair, hands half-shielding his eyes like she might raze him to the ground with a single look. The thought was amusing, and somewhat familiar. He'd called her Cami, hadn't he?

Her head cocked to the side as she regarded him again, curiously, and she leaned forward. The gaze that swept across his features was almost methodical, as if she were appraising him of his value. He, on the other hand, seemed to crumble beneath the weight of it. There was a memory there, a world away and just out of reach.

"Would you tell me which family you're from?"

"Oh! Um--Aventurine...” His voice faded, stolen by nervousness, no doubt, and she would've missed the mumble of his name had this dreary manor not been eerily void of sound. Sylvan — she turned the name over in her mouth, tasting its strange familiarity. "Pardon my intrusion."

And then he was off, scurrying away like a mouse in the direction of the dining room. Cami's gaze lingered on his back as it disappeared down the hallway, before letting out an amused huff. Her gaze slid back to the painting, and then to an approaching figure at the other side of the hallway, caught in her peripheral.

This one was a welcome sight.

"Eddie,"

she called, little effort made to disguise her joy at seeing her friend,

"Would you believe it if I told you presumptuousness runs in Aventurine's veins? I just had the oddest little interaction with their... champion."

"Aventurine? Who did they send? I hear it's not Aspen."

As the other woman reached her side, she fell into step with her, looping an arm through hers.

"One of that prick's countless siblings, though he was familiar in a very strange way! And,"

Cami laughed, with a roll of her eyes,

"He seemed to think we were friends. Is that not strange?"

The wide doors of the dining hall moved into sight, and she observed the lack of servants with distaste.

"This whole place is strange, honestly."

Indeed, there was a stench of something unnatural within the hallowed halls of Chalcedony, and she could not shake the discomfort it came with. It irritated her.

"It wouldn't be interesting if things were normal, I suppose," her friend shrugged, voice lowering as they neared the dimly lit hall. "Wouldn't feel like a never-before-seen event."

Cami pushed on the wood, its finish feeling aged beneath her fingertips.

"Well, she certainly spared no expense."

she drawled, mirroring Eddie's volume, though she cared less to hide the evident sarcasm in her words.

She allowed Eddie to enter before she followed suit, fingers tugging it shut immediately behind her. Her eyes flickered to take in the dining hall, an austere and somewhat ominous setting, and then to the boy already seated at the table. Her voice did drop to a whisper, then, leaning up to Eddie's ear,

"There he is."

A conspiratorial smile, before her arm slipped away and she all but sauntered over to her seat, so conveniently beside him.

"We meet again!"

Her head tipped forward, playfully, eyes going over his features again in search of that strand of familiarity to catch on to.

"So you're one of Aspen Kihara's younger brothers."

She did not miss the flicker of despair that crossed his features, and then his gaze was fleeing from hers once more. How very peculiar—

A memory surfaced then, of a scrawny little boy surrounded by nature, bangs shading eyes that always seemed on the verge of tears. Her smile faded, ever so slightly, and her gaze narrowed before she sat back into her chair — mischief replaced by contemplation.

 

[sox]

vaani arya.

deep down beneath the bravado, unbeknownst to her family and peers alike, vaani arya had always harbored a steadfast admiration for the unflinching confidence with which lady duyen carried herself. while the icy head of chalcedony had only ever graced the streets of the capital city with her presence on rare occasions, her last public visit being nearly half a decade ago for the youngest prince's debut into high society, she never failed to leave a lasting impression on the inquisitive peridot heir who'd become rather charmed by the lady's unruly demeanor and clipped expressions in response to any thinly veiled jab hurled her way.

too often did an adolescent vaani find herself wondering why she, too, could not act in a similar manner, unbothered by the stuffy euphemisms as she readily trampled on every perfumed bellend that dared make himself her enemy. time trudged on as did she, however, and the undeniable reality of her position blocked the path to freedom she'd so desperately craved as a naive, headstrong child facing the world on her own two ornately clad feet.

lady duyen could behave however she pleased solely because of the wealth of power simmering at her fingertips, irreplaceable in her station and unchecked by the royal powers in furumaki, and if vaani wished to achieve that privilege of indifference for which she so desperately yearned, she would need to become similarly untouchable from all angles, not a single weakness to be exposed nor exploited.

and while all of these aspirations continued to drive the successor of peridot's strategy regarding the political realm to the present day, sudden tests of her sanity that brought forth the unrefined language she stifled most times still slipped through the cracks here and there, whether they came in the form of a useless jiraiya failing to keep up with her anecdotes on the rather boring trip north (

"so because of that disaster, now devi isn't allowed to— hey, are you seriously falling asleep? wake the hell up, twat! we're almost there!"

) or a paralyzing vision that sneakily infiltrated while her focus was preoccupied, converting her curiosity to caution in the blink of an eye.

"what the fuck...?"

the hissed utterance slipped from her lips before she could register its manifestation, instinctually raising her guard at the bizarre memory that had invaded her psyche. according to the academy's covert research, this must have been the workings of a curse given the magenta glow that clouded her vision moments prior, but how could such a ritual have taken place right under her nose, at the very moment she entered the estate at that? a cursory glance around the foyer from between her trembling fingers revealed none of the necessary materials required for the process, and she was quite certain none of her blood had escaped her veins in the meantime to seal the deal...

when she pulled her hand away at long last from where it shielded her eyes to no avail, however, the subtle warmth of fresh tears coating the pads of her fingertips strangled the lingering breath in her lungs, far more rattled than she initially thought now that she had the space to process the gruesome scene she'd just witnessed. 'phuong'— not a name vaani was remotely familiar with, yet the weight of this faceless woman's sorrows threatened to swallow her like a tempestuous flood, overbearing and incomprehensible, before disappearing altogether, leaving behind only a shuddering chill deep within her bone marrow.

'is... the butler pretending not to notice? something is deeply amiss about this...'

a brief run-in with an old friend, however, lifted her spirits tremendously— sylvan kihara, the aventurine bookworm who'd reluctantly resigned to becoming her study-buddy back when she used to spend countless hours poring over tomes and compiling notes in the academy's bustling library. she tried her best to conceal the agitation in her expression as they exchanged pleasantries, a tint of rouge coloring her cheeks at having walked in on her roommate in a state of semi-undress, but she found that she need not try too hard in the first place.

readily found nestled inside the eye of the hurricane with a quaint smile amidst welcoming silence, sylvan kihara had always been a piece of peace for the ever-pressured lady of arya when the turmoil of her academy obligations broke past her fortifications to erode her weary spirit.

“vaani, hey. what are you doing here? i’m-uh-uh. i must be in the wrong room. i’m so sorry.”

flustered by the ill-timed revelation of her roommate's identity as well as quite cognizant of sylvan's discomfort towards her presence at the moment, vaani tossed out some half-baked excuse to scurry away as quickly as she'd entered and slammed the door shut behind her, ditching her initial plan of touching up her makeup in favor of exploring the halls of the estate to cool off her flushed countenance and kill time before dinner.

now, all that remained was dominating the battlefield before her in the shape of ornate bone china and crystalline champagne flutes, a familiar warzone for the jewel heirs with any sort of standing amongst high society. while camille and lydianna's participation in the competition hardly came as a surprise, the sight of vaani's ex-lover seated at the dining table directly next to her nearly elicited a double take from the peridot heir, who wordlessly kept her eyes trained on the stem of her wine glass as she stomped down on the wave of fond and not-so-fond memories gushing forth all at once.

'ha! of course she crawls out of the woodwork to stick her nose where it doesn't belong again, just in case this shit wasn't nauseating enough as is.'

as an eager student for perpetuity who absorbed novel information from the world and people around her like a dehydrated sponge, the list of names vaani could point towards as enriching lifelong companions in her extended circle stretched on for miles—

'cesara sayed' was no longer one of them.

"why do you deserve to wield my precious 'rebirth' more than the person seated to your left? the lady from peridot shall begin."

at the direct address, vaani's troubled gaze finally snapped over to their host whose striking obsidian hair sent a distinct chill of resemblance down her spine as the fragments began to piece together at long last. certainly, this was phuong duyen— she was as formidable as the rumors claimed, posture stick straight as she swirled her prosecco endlessly without taking a single sip, but beyond the regality of her stature hovered an air of intense sorrow wholly unexpected by the intrigued heir.

her pointed stare lacked the vitality of life, utterly hollow yet brimming over with something unkempt all the same, while her pale, manicured fingertips trembled under the weight of her jewelry. far beyond merely shirking it, lady duyen seemed to be altogether unaccustomed to noble etiquette, as though she hadn't entertained a single guest in years.

"a press house has no use for a famed relic,"

vaani answered resolutely after a brief moment of contemplation, tone firm and unwavering yet sharp in her delivery as she cut to the chase, uninterested in complacency in the form of olive branches.

"if 'rebirth' truly harbors some sort of innate blessing, i seek to understand its nature before it can be accurately reported on..."

she glanced over at cesara, steady gaze boring into her fox-like amber eyes before she continued,

"or worse— handed over to the temple to be locked away in some cellar collecting dust."

lady duyen offered no words of acknowledgment to vaani's response, only curtly nodding her head once before training her disarming stare onto the next heir in line to be questioned, the tense air buzzing with anticipation of cesara's answer as the peridot heir breathed a soft sigh of relief and sat back in her cushioned chair, finally relaxing the rigidity locking her tight shoulders in place.

interactions: jiji, sylvan, cesa
outfit | location: dining room

peridot.

© PASTA​

 

[yokai.]

mood :

L + ratio !!!

location :

dining room

outfit :

mentions :

cami, vaani

interactions :

jiraiya, lady duyen, all

i'll meet judgement by the hounds

⭒ cesara

The journey up to Qutou was a lonely one. The maid who greeted her at the edge of the main estate seemed momentarily surprised to see the Iolite heir's lack of service hands, before immediately bowing forward to catch a precariously-thrown suitcase at the nick of time.

Cesara couldn't help but roll her eyes at the maid's helpless look, something she would have found amusing if she weren’t so exhausted, leather gloved hands tightening their grip on horse's reins in irritation. “Cesara of Iolite,” was all she offered in introduction before tilting her head to gesture to her luggage, which the other woman was still struggling to grasp onto due to the weight of it. “Carry that up to my room, will you? I'm quite tired from travelling.”

Dismounting her horse in one swift motion, Cesara watched as the maid stumbled away with her luggage, relishing in being relieved of a weight she’d been carrying since disembarking from Haeje's overcrowded cityscape. Though she had made sure to limit her baggage to only what she could carry, the journey had indeed been long, with very few breaks in between and no one to rely on. Her uncle had always been a frugal man, and deemed it an unnecessary expense to provide her with an escort on top of lending her their most prized sport horse, a notion that she found simultaneously enraging as well as unsurprising. After all, Iolite's resources were scarce these days, and help was hard to come by even within the main estate, so why spare such a small mercy on a sacrificial lamb?

She rolled her shoulders, dark fur cloak billowing in the frigid breeze, already preparing to do an impromptu tour of the grounds in search of the stables when an austere voice called from behind her.

“Welcome, Lady Cesara.” She turned to see a man who promptly introduced himself as the estate’s butler, bowing mechanically as he did. “May I take your mount to the stables for you? The mistress has been expecting your presence at dinner, and your timely arrival would be very much appreciated.”

Cesara considered his careful choice of words before curtly nodding, begrudgingly grateful for the courtesy as she handed him the reins. “Very well, take care of Isra, I won’t tolerate less than the best for her.” She glanced at the butler briefly as he let Isra gingerly sniff at his hand, before continuing. “I wouldn’t want to keep Lady Duyen waiting any longer. And I’ll admit I am very curious to see what our esteemed host has planned for tonight.” She leered, staring him down with narrowed eyes. “You wouldn’t spare me the favour of telling me who my competition is, no? I would like to know if I’m entering a lion’s den before stepping into it, you see.”

The butler opened his mouth to speak, but the words failed to reach Cesara’s ears, her surroundings suddenly swirling into a magenta-hued vision that she struggled to shake herself from, to no avail. She was forced to bear witness to the horrible events that unfurled before her, watching Chalcedony’s heirs turn into puppets, murder orchestrated by unseen red strings. A piece of unspeakable history that had no place in the Academy’s sanitized curriculum, nor in Iolite's extensive print press codex. How hauntingly interesting.

“– will find out soon enough,” The butler continued on as if nothing had happened, indifferent to Cesara’s breathlessness and sudden white-knuckle tension, his demeanor as impassive as a glacial clifface. Before she knew it, he had already left, taking her horse with him while her mind had been occupied trying to process what she'd seen.

Though she had been angling for some kind of advantage in her earlier questioning, Cesara was certainly not expecting… whatever that was.

Profanities threatened to burst from her throat as she soldiered on towards the main estate entrance, certain she was being played for a fool by some unseen force.

—​

The hallowed halls of Chalcedony manor were imperiously dark and decorated with portraits of severe-looking muses, who stared in silent judgement as Cesara made her way from the Harvest room past the foyer. Her assigned room was an abrupt pastel reprieve from the rest of the manor's dreariness, though she still wasn't quite sure what to make of it, wondering if the contrast in decor was a purposeful gesture of good faith or something more patronising.

She'd left as soon as she was finished dressing, but not before noting the other set of expensive-looking bags at the foot of her bed and the soft, familiar scent that perfumed the air. Of course, she had already been expecting Camille to be a part of the competition roster, though she was somewhat caught off-guard by the fact that they were to share a room, and much more scandalously, a bed. In hindsight, she couldn’t complain, as it wasn’t like she was completely averse to the idea, having fallen into bed with the alluring heir of Citrine too many times to not miss rekindling this particular old flame. And if there was an advantage to be gained in doing so, then all the better. It was a competition, after all.

Cesara briefly stopped in front of a mirror, flicking off a piece of loose, carmine thread that had unspooled from the bunched up fabric near her wrist. The gold adorning her ears glinted dangerously in the dim candlelight, and the smudged kohl at the edge of her waterline made her gaze that much more intense, sharpening her visage in a way that made her feel like an elegant executioner’s axe. She preened for a few more heartbeats, carefully adjusting her suit this way and that so no one would be able to scrutinize its shoddy embroidery, hastily threaded by an unpracticed hand. Then, once she was satisfied, she headed for the dining room, stepping in beat to the war drums that echoed in her mind.

—​

Once all the jewel heirs were seated and Lady Duyen had made her introductions, Cesara was more than thrilled to find herself partaking in such an shameless demonstration of sabotage. The lady of the house had all but literally handed each of them a dagger and commanded them to start stabbing, a sentiment that Cesara couldn’t help but admire the brazenness of. It would have appealed to her more, if not for the presence of Peridot’s chosen heir, regrettably seated to her right.

As they exchanged a tense glance while Vaani gave her answer, Cesara searched within the other woman’s mercurial grey eyes to find–

Nothing. Only a detached steadiness that matched her machine-like words. It shouldn’t have hurt so much as it did to know that there was no love lost between them, even after everything they once were to each other. All that was left was the dull ache of something vital having long since been severed, like a phantom limb. Cesara sipped at her wine, letting the sweet-smelling mead dampen the bitterness rising within her chest.

“The astute heiress of Peridot has taken the coward’s route and attacked my house's character rather than my own,” She responded with a smirk that did not meet her eyes. “Lady Duyen, we could go on and on about the faults of each house, I truly doubt that that kind of uninspired drivel is what you are after. So, I will instead go on to say that Prince Jiraiya would never even be considered for our nation’s throne, much less the most important relic of our generation. I do not say this to be rude, merely stating an indisputable fact.” She raised a brow at the Neptunite heir in question, daring him to challenge her. Though he was once someone she would have considered a friend, even during those halcyon days she still held disdain for his lack of ambition and drive, unfit for his noble birthright, despite his cutting intellect.

“While I seek to shape and revitalize the future of Seimaya, he's content to watch from the sidelines in the ivory tower he was born in. It's no wonder his own mother looks to... outsiders for the strength and resolve he sorely lacks,” Cesara continued, smiling to herself before huffing out a hollow laugh. Perhaps she was treading on dangerous waters, but she was not about to back down now. Alea iacta est. “And I think you will find that the prince, himself, has no interest in competing.”

coded by reveriee.

 

[iridescent.]

wish i was jonah and could be swallowed whole

prince jiraiya

had it been up to him, jiraiya would not be attending this competition (“it’s a competition, right? or is it something else?”). nor would he be stuck in a car for hours, forced to listen to vaani drone on and on about whatever she was droning on about (he hadn’t listened for a single second) while faarong was stuck in a trailer behind.

instead, he would be at home doing research, listening to music, riding and doing whatever the fuck else he normally did. but for the very first time, tui and zenji weren’t at each other’s throats and actually agreed that neither of them were going to go, that it was jiraiya who’d be going in their place. why they had to pick this occasion as the first time to get along, no one knew, and now he was stuck here. he couldn’t even ride his horse, vaani insisting they be in the same place so he could listen to her gossip.

gossip bored him to tears and he tuned her out as they walked through the entrance of the mansion they’d be staying at, mind focused solely on wondering if the stables would be fit for a horse of faarong’s size. his musings of stables and faarong were soon interrupted by a particularly horrifying vision of a man he’d never seen, heard of or met before. “what the fuck was that?” jiji hissed as soon as it ended, wrapping his arms around himself for both comfort since he was scared shitless and to lessen the goosebumps that had spread all over his body.

wanting to get the hell away from this spot as quickly as possible, he left vaani where she was and hauled ass down the hall after the butler in front of him who was leading him presumably to the room he’d be staying in. slamming the door in the butler’s face in hopes that the action would wipe that ridiculous smirk off of mr. butler’s features, jiraiya turned to look at the room and saw eddie already there. well, that was unexpected.

“oh, uh. . . hey ‘cuz,” he began awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. it wasn’t awkward because he was sharing a room when he expected to have his own, but rather because they hadn’t seen each other in a long time. the houses of neptunite and aquamarine met frequently when jiraiya was growing up due to his mother being aquamarine, but as he grew older and was no longer forced to attend these family affairs (perks of being the forgotten 3rd prince), he rarely saw his cousins.

trying not to be his usual obnoxious self and comment on the awkwardness that hung in the air, he turned and bent down to open the bags he did not pack. knowing a dinner was next, he pulled out the very first formal attire his hands grabbed and put it on. without another word, he was off.

he didn’t head to the banquet hall right away, choosing instead to wander around a bit and get to know his surroundings. but before he could get lost, he turned around and retraced his steps back to his room and then headed down towards the dining doom room.

he wished he actually got lost.

there was one empty seat, presumably for him since he was the last to arrive. across from the seat was eddie, whom he’d already seen. to her left was camille, the girl who made it a point to pull his hair and terrorize the fuck out of him as a child (yes, he was still afraid of her). next to her was a boy who looked vaguely familiar, probably a classmate at the academy. then it was lady duyen, vaani and oh boy, directly next to him was cesara.

had this dinner been several years ago, he’d have loved the seating arrangements. jiraiya was the captain of the cesara-vaani ship and was with the two girls all the time. but now? now they were like two icebergs on a crash course for collision and he was the titanic.

bowing in apology to the lady, he made his way to his seat, half hoping a sink-hole would open up and swallow him whole. no such luck. he gingerly sat his ass in the seat and stared down at his plate as lady duyen spoke about sleeping arrangements that he already knew. however, his head snapped up when she posed the question about wielding whatever her rebirth was. what was he going to say? he didn’t know what rebirth was! he didn’t want to come here in the first place! maybe he could take a sip from the glass of wine in front of him and pretend to choke on it before his turn to go so he could be excused from the table, flee to the stables, grab faarong and get the hell out of here. that sounded like a plan.

as his hand was reaching for the stem of the glass, vaani began to speak. his hand paused and retreated back to his lap as he fought the urge to smirk slightly at her response. but when she finished, tension hung in the air, so thick that he could choke on it rather than the wine. perhaps he should burst out in song to reduce some of the tension? that seemed like a good idea. but the urge to burst out in song vanished like a wisp of smoke when cesara began to speak, tongue running along the front of his top teeth as his head tilted to the side. he didn’t give a fuck about what she said about him, in fact, it was entirely the truth, but he didn’t like how she spoke about vaani.

“a coward, by definition, is someone who shows disgraceful fear or timidity,” jiraiya began delicately, staring pointedly at the glass of wine in front of him, “and i think you’ll find that vaani has shown neither. the true cowards way out would be taking this opportunity to utterly destroy your reputation and spill all of the darkest secrets i know are known since you two had a very close relationship. instead of doing that, she went for your house. if i were you, i’d be grateful.”

he needed to steer this conversation away from vaani and now looked at lady duyen as he continued. “lady cesara is correct, however. i will never be considered for the throne and am immensely grateful for that. the idea of having the throne is appalling to me and just seems very exhausting; luckily it’s all on tui,” hopefully they all knew who tui was because he wasn't about to elaborate on that.

jiraiya let out a derisive chuckle under his breath at the comment about him doing nothing at home. “'watch from the sidelines'?” he repeated as if he couldn’t quite comprehend what he was hearing. “sure, if that’s what you’ve been telling yourself. while i’ve been —sorry how did you put it?— ‘watching from the sidelines’, i’ve become self taught in all of the main sciences and maths, know the history of our country and the world, practice veterinary medicine, can now play both piano and guitar, took up drawing and painting, spend much of my spare time doing research and taking notes on new findings and areas for improvement. tell me, lady cesara, do all non-trivial zeros of the riemann zeta function have their real parts equal to 1/2? and during aortic valve repair, do you separate any valve cusps that have fused or do you remove them?”

he then remembered he was supposed explain why he deserved the rebirth more than the person to his left which would be. . . eddie. since he didn’t even know what rebirth was besides some sword, any attempt to explain why he deserved it would be stupid. “lady lydianna is my cousin; i have nothing to say about why i deserve it more than she.”

jiji knew he wasn’t supposed to continue on, was supposed to end his spiel after this and let those to the left continue, but he just couldn’t resist having the last word. turning back to cesa, jiraiya raised a brow. “but to answer your earlier comment, my mother is a heartless bitch, that’s why she looks to outsiders,” the latter wasn’t true, but the former was.“apologies for the language, lady duyen,” he inclined his head in apology, “instead of heartless bitch, just call my mother charlotte— weaving her web around and around all of the juiciest victims who are stupid enough to believe her lies. though it is interesting that you brought my mother up and not my father, who’d be the one to look for outside help. is there a reason for that?”

he reached forward and grabbed the glass of wine and finally took a sip. “it is true that i don’t have any interest in competing. it was supposed to be tui or zenji here, but now it’s me. i don’t even know what we’re competing for, they didn’t tell me.” honestly, he wasn’t ashamed that he didn't know.

• .
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• outfit
• location

  
  

  banquet room
• tags

  sox yokai. triples mentions everyone

coded by reveriee.

 

[sox]

phuong

duyen

house chalcedony

the puppet host

out
of
sight
never
out
of
mind

with each enlightening response from the visibly rigid heirs dissolving further into verbal warfare with every passing second, their vitriolic banter and thinly-veiled alliances tickling lady duyen's eardrums like stray owl feathers atop the harrowing winter breeze, a ghost of a smile forms on her scarlet-tinted lips as the definitive clink of her wine glass on the table commands the room's attention once more.

"quite the burning sentiments running through your youthful veins," she cuts through the heated discussion, addressing the entire room though her gaze lands on the unexpectedly cutthroat prince jiraiya for a brief moment longer. her tone is neither scathing nor amused yet somehow a concoction of both, an unspoken chastisement and encouragement only palpable through a sixth sense. "for some more than others, evidently... we will hear lady lydianna's piece shortly, but since you all seem rather loathe to touch the drinks i've meticulously prepared for you, let us bring out the main course. mohd, if you will—"

another tense silence permeates the air as she motions for the butler to begin distributing the evening's entree of choice before each guest, comprised of rich, sizzling portions of sri lankan beetroot curry paired with aromatic jasmine rice and a variety of pickled greens. contrary to chalcedony's reputation as a brutish, formidable war house, the unique meal the lady has chosen to serve for the first night is surprisingly vegetarian, the deep magenta hue of the sweet-savory curry entirely devoid of wild game amidst its notes of cinnamon and coconut.

"isn't this color so splendidly vibrant?" she carries on amidst the maids' operation, dipping her finger into the scalding pink sauce on her plate and licking it slowly, unperturbed by the burning sensation on her skin as her expression contorts in delight at the flavor. "it closely resembles the shade of pink sapphire encrusted on the hilt of our prized dagger in question, so i deemed it fitting for the occasion."

the butler, mohd, places new silverware before each of the heirs as lady duyen prattles on for a moment longer not only to fill the silence of intermission, but also to give her guests a breath of reprieve lest the ever-so-charming contempt bubbling beneath the surface of their quips devolve prematurely into undue violence. incidentally, the ornate cutlery is adorned with the very same gems being described by the host, a myriad of blush, magenta, and salmon hues that form the most captivating gradient along the hefty tips of each handle as they catch the chandelier's light.

"while the gossip papers you lot are so fond of deign to call them 'pink sapphires,' a more accurate name for these gems used by the world's jewelers would be 'padparadscha,'" she drawls, her gaze seemingly lost in observing the blister beginning to form on the burnt patch of skin on her finger rather than facing her guests, "or 'padmaraga' as it is called in sanskrit— meaning lotus, and by extension, rebirth."

mohd clears his throat once to notify the lady that dinner arrangements are complete, and she instantly snaps out of her reverie, schooling her face back into one of disinterested nonchalance as she straightens her posture and motions for the heirs to take the reins once again.

"with no further interruptions, let us dine while we continue our discussion. lady lydianna, if you will..."