Fantasy &nbsp; ´ 𝑷𝑨𝑿 𝑹𝑶𝒀𝑨𝑳𝑰𝑺 ` 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲

coded by xayah.ღ

Pepsionne · Aug 23, 2023

xan ahn

A

s to be expected of their most gracious hosts, timing of announcements fell in the middle of a breath, a thought, a step, the whiplash of such a sudden interruption leaving Xan cursing silently.

Lanky limbs hauled themselves upward, a marionette being forced to dance by the hands of another. He eyed the intense red orb that hovered near him. The utterance to make haste reverberated in his mind. Vikal stared at the orb with large, predatory eyes. A low rumble echoed in the panther’s chest, and Xan placed a flat palm onto the cat’s head, effectively silencing him. “Play nice, now,” he cooed, earning a reluctant grumble from his pet in response.

Xan eyed the expanse of the ballroom now that it had erupted into a flurry of movement. Light and body danced in a waltz as nobles found their rightful places. He didn’t care to hide the unwavering presence of his gaze once it landed upon a figure that towered above the rest of the representatives. Xan watched, gaze languid, as Tejara found their way to their respective table. Their limp seemed negligible if not present at all, something that tugged the ghost of a smile into a formerly apathetic façade.

“Please hurry to your table!” The orb tried Xan again, impatience beginning to lace its fingers through the disembodied voice. “Right--I’m going,” He grumbled, voice low in his chest.

The Bandiama representative gave a low bow to Miyu and Zhi Kui, eyes flicking up from under his lashes to observe the Tsusaye noble’s visage one last time. A momentary glance, like the brilliant streak of an ember before its glow was swallowed whole out by the heavy shade of night. A beat later, Xan shifted his body upright and followed the hazy red light away from them.

Now up close, Xan could see that the tables were set immaculately, to an almost dream-like degree. It was like a display, meant to treat the eyes rather than satisfy any human cravings. He tried to swallow back the acrid nausea that overcame him. Sweat prickled at his temple, mingling with the ends of black strands tousled carefully across unreadable features.

His gaze unfocused from Peace Hall while his feet continued to march him closer to the assigned table, red light that served as his guide fading out until it resembled the soft orange glow of a cigarette.

Mind no longer in Mirror Isle but instead bathed in a memory, an unwanted one, unable to pull himself from the image of his friend as he smoked soundlessly in the back alley of one of Bandiama’s immaculate ballrooms.

The light of the cigarette was warm against Niran’s skin, orange light offering a caress far too gentle for such soured features. “How does this not bother you?” He said, addressing an exhausted looking Xan, the latter having just exited from a side door. “Look how much they’re throwing away, it’s disgusting.” He gestured towards other workers in the process of wheeling out carts of unfinished food, dumping platter upon platter into a large garbage container.

Wordlessly, Xan took a cigarette from the carton in Niran’s hand. Thin stick placed between his lips, Xan leaned forward into Niran’s palms where his friend nursed a small flame. He looked up at Niran from under his lashes, onyx eyes dancing with the proximity of such a bright orange glow. Yet they remained unreadable. The sharp metallic click of the lighter ended the interaction as Niran cut the flame.

A haze of smoke filled the small space in between them as Xan exhaled. He ran a hand through his hair, disheveling the painstaking styling he endured hours before. “I’ve never really paid much attention to it,” the ex-noble admitted, resting his head against the hard wall behind him. His adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, honey flesh soured into a sickly pallor from the thin light that oozed towards them.

Niran’s gaze was intense as it bore into Xan, incredulous to his friend’s indifference towards the situation. “Do you know how many kids I see starving on my walk home every night? How many families I know that have to split even one bowl of rice?” He shook his head as he exhaled pointedly, smoke curling from his nostrils with a heavy sigh.

Niran threw his cigarette on the ground, snuffing out the burning end with his shoe. The weak hiss lingered in Xan’s mind. “This kind of stuff really should be bothering you Xan. It sure as hell bothers me.” He said, glancing once more from his peripheral before heading back inside to finish his shift.

Xan was silent, left staring at the empty spot that his friend had previously occupied. Wisping smoke now filled the space instead.

It was a curious, welcoming voice that pulled him from the heavy drug of his memories then. “Xan Ahn of Bandiama,” he responded after a clearing of his throat. “A pleasure to meet you, Anita of Sevyershina.” His gaze traced across Anita’s features briefly, from the curious gleam in her eyes to the sharp cut of a wooden mask placed across her jaw. Vikal peeked around from behind him, silent as yellow eyes observed the representatives assigned to their table.

A dark brow raised imperceptibly in response to Anita’s next comment, following the movement of her glance to a representative with cascading gold curls. “She’d be right in that assumption,” he smirked, canines gleaming in the lights of the hall. “I just groomed them this morning. They should be plenty soft.”

Xan took a seat after offering the representatives at his table a low bow. Mali and Vikal plopped onto the floor beside him with exasperated sighs, large paws skidding against cold tile as they made themselves comfortable.

MOOD

observant

OUTFIT

discord

LOCATION

peace hall

TAGS

ravensunset

myl

coded by xayah.ღ

erzulie · Oct 10, 2023

devana acindius

“Y

es, it seems as though our stroll has been cut short. We shall cross paths once again.” The porcelain of her mask reflected the twinkling light of blue before her, effectively pulling her attention away from her companions. She can only assume that the being squeaks with anger as she attempts to reach out and touch it. Devana can only move her head slightly back, blue light taking up her vision completely. “Follow me! Now! Now!” It says to her in a rather haughty tone. “How curious…” Devana finds herself looking forward to finding what other wonders the island had to offer. The little light moves fast, out of spite for her attempt at grabbing it she was sure, but her long strides kept her firmly behind it until she reached the hall once again.

The room had changed in the short time that she had been away, this she knew. What sort of magic did they wield to accomplish such a feat? Was it the same type of magic that allowed deers to walk on two legs and speak the human tongue? Or the type that allowed some women to soar through the cool night air? Devana had never been as curious as she had been since arriving on the island. Her little light led her to her new seating arrangements and disappeared from sight just as fast.

Dark eyes took in the only other person to arrive at their assigned table. The person was tall…no her fellow guest much more than that. They reminded Devana of the ancient trees of her home, standing mighty and powerful against the test of time. Her gaze traveled until they met onyx eyes, similar to the color of her own but not without the whites seen in “normal” individuals. Devana held their gaze, her interest only rising once she gazed upon the scars that adorned their body, finer than any jewel in her opinion. “I am Devana Acindius of Sevyershina. It is a good evening indeed. I find this arrangement most agreeable so far.” With a slight bow Devana seated herself, her gaze not straying from the person at the table with her.

Silence took hold for a few beats before she spoke once again. “When I gaze upon you I see a strength that reminds me of rigorous training and steadfast determination…am I wrong?” Her words held only a hint of admiration. For a moment she thought of her own time spent training with her family, body sore and heart bumping from the adrenaline of nearly losing a limb or being skewered. “Forgive me if this is forward…your scars, you wear them with pride no? I would enjoy hearing the story behind them, should you be willing to share. And perhaps I’d be willing to share something in return…”

MOOD

admiration/curious

OUTFIT

x x

LOCATION

peacehall.

TAGS

tejara

demonology

coded by xayah.ღ

Uxie · Oct 20, 2023

miyu of tsuyaye

"A

fter a certain amount of formal events, it gets quite hard to meet someone able to evoke such a feeling."

She paused, and alert eyes flicked to Xan as she offered a small, enigmatic smile.

"Is that so?"

Zhi Kui interjected again, this time with a tale of his own; an encounter with her country's esteemed prince, no doubt. He had been making waves! "I have heard tales of your land’s prowess in strategy even after all these years." Their gaze lifted to meet hers, and she wondered if she is imagining the gloat in his grin. "He gave quite the impression, as well. A good establishment of what I ought to expect."

Miyu's head cocked teasingly.

"I hope, then,"

she said, slowly, a hand reaching up to tuck a stray lock of silvery hair behind her ear,

"That I am living up to expectations."

Regrettably, they were given no room to continue their conversation as the announcement echoed throughout the hall, Miyu's own baby pink orb flitting by with an incessant chirp. What tables? It was with a twang of disappointment that she realised the tables had been set without her notice — fallen into place with presumed grace that she chided herself for not having witnessed.

Her eyes left her companions to glance around the hall, searching for a trace of their mysterious hosts; her search turned up empty.

To her side, she heard Xan's smooth voice, low as he muttered something inaudible, shifting her attention back just in time to return his own bow as he bade them farewell. Her gaze lingered on his form as he moved away, slinking across the floor like he was as feline as the two graceful cats curling around his legs.

Her orb, as if desperate for her attention, jumped right into her field of vision. It zipped about urgently as it cried, "Come along, quickly! Now!"

"Alright,"

Finally, she pushed herself to her feet, giving a careful bow to Zhi Kui.

"Let us continue our conversation next time."

With that, she moved off too, studying the orb wiggling about as it led her further into the hall. Magic beyond her comprehension, it seemed, and she reached out instinctively to try to touch it. It made what sounded like an alarmed squeak in response, dodging out of her fingertips.

"None of that! Keep following!"

Her eyes widened, marginally. She hadn't expected it to be sentient, and bemusement elicited the rise of a soft laugh, leaving behind a genuine smile sat lightly upon her lips.

"What might you be made of, pray tell?"

Miyu asked in a murmur. As expected, she received only further nagging for her to move faster, and she relented, stowing away her curiosity for a later occasion.

It finally stopped and fluttered around one particular table — seemingly no different than any of the others — and wordlessly, she reached for a chair. The orb reacted immediately, its shrill voice crying, "Wrong seat! Wrong!" Her smile faded. What a picky little thing; which only meant the hosts were just as picky. Had they arranged the seating with intent?

Their track record thus far gave her answer enough.

Another representative approached, conveniently, and she bowed curtly before taking her allocated seat. Her hands folded neatly into her lap, eyes passing over the table's arrangement before she fixed her gaze on them; a small smile.

"Good evening."

MOOD

hi :3

OUTFIT

discord :3c

LOCATION

peace hall

TAGS

???

coded by xayah.ღ

mother of sorrows · Oct 20, 2023

LOCATION: Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit

INTERACTIONS:

shell's call

an event.

The warrior passes on too late. Turning, the girl catches sight of open grave eyes and a face made for faded clay walls, skin like a polished brass figurine's. A form that could be painted unto an ancient vase and find nothing missing. They're lean and muscular, sad-faced. The girl makes to talk, her lips falling open as if in warning, but she is not quick enough for words. The dinner starts with a distracting noise, every representative drawn to their own goal for the night and the warrior that reminds her of a kicked little dog makes to leave.

With quickness you would not put to her, she grabs them by the wrist and does not let go. Her grip is bruising.

''My apologies, it seems we didn't have the chance to talk.'' The girl gives a smile soft like whipped cream, like finger imprints on corn flour. ''But I hope, after the meal, we will have enough time.'' There is something meaningful to the glint in her eye, an intelligence unspoken; and when Tejara leaves, her gaze sticks to them a minute longer.

No one notices the girl slip out of the room. After all, what is one plain Malisian girl, a whisp of fabric? The room towards the sea swings open behind her, drifting in a harsh smell of salt and the whipping of waves. There is no chair for her, it seems.

code by valen t.

mother of sorrows · Oct 21, 2023

LOCATION: Lyrat Table

INTERACTIONS: erzulie sollie demonology

a moth's memory

an event.

Servants have begin to twist around the tables like neurotic cats, carrying steaming plates of hares stuffed with herbs and little golden bowls filled with creamy soup. They bow to hear requests, they nod their heavy heads and bring more wine when asked. Flakey white fish in golden sauce, bread made to soak up the last of soup, white tofu cubes seared in vegetable sauce - the dishes pile up on the immaculate tables. A few of the servants walk around to offer hors d'oeuvre to representatives who have not yet started to eat - one of them is a woman, plain and pale-faced. Her knuckles are red from washing, her nails bitten, her hair an earthly brown like old clay.

Her eyes are turned to the floor beneath her when she approaches a table, her faded dress brushing against the pristine white table cloth. She carries a small plate of tiny sandwiches, slathered with vegetables and sweetly smelling sausage. ''May I offer some canapes?'' A rough, drawn out quality follows her words, whisper-quiet.

code by valen t.

neon reverie · Oct 25, 2023

LOCATION: the dining hall

INTERACTIONS: demonology

Mateo Ramos Ortiz

of Omuera

While other representatives may have felt their expectations crumble like ancient stone, Mateo fully reveled in the unpredictable whims of Mirror Isle. It was nothing like the mundane routine he first assumed it would be, having anticipated another endless maze of silver tongues and diamond eyes. The same boring politics holding each and every conversation hostage, blade of schemes in its right hand and shield of empty diplomacy in its left hand— yeah, he’d take playing hide and seek with a talking tree over sitting in a colorless room and debating all the things that mattered and didn’t.

Mateo enters the dining hall with steps as light and easy as a ghost, moving through the hall as though he could slip through walls as easily as the shadows kissed by moonlight. His smile sits lazily but bright on his lips while the corners of his eyes crinkle in merriment like the soft creases of a well read book. He greets every representative who passes with the tilt of a greeting and the arc of a compliment; flirtations rolling off of his tongue as if it was his second mother language. Excitement sparks off of him and buzzes in the air. He is a prince who looks forward to what the hosts have in store for them all today.

His gaze rests on the table, his table, and he immediately catches the sight of a lady with a name as brittle as the frost-kissed petals of a long forgotten flower. Izolda. He remembers her thin-veiled comments about Omuera, the condescension dripping from every word she uttered. It was an arrogance ill-suited for one who bore no noble title to her name, he thinks. It was an unfortunate first meeting, one where his charms remained lonesome in the space between. His bright smile never lost its spark, but his pride burned what could have stayed a harmless and fun sequence of exchanges. Why? Because Omuera is not one to forget, even when things have died.

There is always something that lingers, something that rots with immortality.

As Mateo approaches the table, he can’t resist the urge to indulge in a bit of pettiness. Fun, he decides, could very well be a taste of vexation, a game of sparks and embers. Luckily for him, he had witnessed Izolda take a rather undignified tumble during the last event when they were paired up. It’s a memory that inhabits an unforgettable spot in the recesses of his mind; a hidden treasure he now wields with gleeful determination.

"Ah, Izolda, nuestra rosa tambaleante, I see you have recovered quite well.” He takes his seat next to her, leaning back in his chair while his hand finds her shoulder to pat. His lips carry a grin, his eyes a spark colder than the dead. “Well, should you find yourself in need of a steadying hand this evening still, you can ask me anytime. After all, it would be a shame for such an elegant señora to suffer another.... how do you say…. unexpected encounter with gravity?"

code by valen t.

Stardust Galaxy · Oct 26, 2023

Zhu Xueqin

T

he views of the island were a mesmerizing scenery that Xueqin only knew about from the books she read growing up. But seeing them in person was a completely different experience from what she was told.

Perhaps people told her these stories of the island in a way to keep Auriche’s landscapes burned in her heart and mind. And while her homeland would always remain a significant part of who Zhu Xueqin was as a person, being a part of Pax Royalis signified a new beginning for the young princess.

When the letter arrived, it didn’t specify what or who she would encounter. While the secrecy of it all only flared up her desire to discover the unknown, the princess of Auriche was ready to take on this new challenge as gracefully as the Aurichians were known for.

And so far, the reception was what the princess expected. No, it was what she deserved, with attention and care that could be compared to the Auriche banquets that Xueqin was used to.

Perhaps that was the reason she was waiting for the rising of the moon, as it would signify that the other guests would be notified of her arrival. She knew her presence would cause a commotion among her peers. Her delicate and porcelain features would leave any eligible bachelor mesmerized just by her looks, and her sweet and graceful demeanor would charm anyone who would exchange a word with the princess.

When the time came, she was escorted to her table as soon as the banquet started. Xueqin made sure to wear one of her most elegant dresses, made from the finest silks that could be found in Auriche. She was accompanied by the most beautiful pearls to highlight her beauty even more.

There she was presented to three guests. Judging by their clothes and unfamiliar faces, the princess assumed they were not from her land. The young heir smiled at her companions and greeted them in the way Aurichians were taught.

“Just as the stars align to form the constellations, our paths have intertwined on this enchanting night. I am Princess Zhu Xueqin of Auriche, wishing all of you a good evening.”

MOOD

joyful

OUTFIT

here

LOCATION

here

TAGS

here

coded by xayah.ღ

sollie · Oct 30, 2023

Beatrice DuVall

P

erched in her corner, calculating eyes take in every detail of her fellow attendees as she can. If a Journal hadn’t looked too peculiar, Beatrice would’ve tucked it under her arm and been scribbling away as she observed more and more. But that oddity could not have been overlooked. Thankfully, the woman's hand was occupied with a half-full glass and the lacy edge of her attire.

As much as she enjoyed people-watching, the Mirror Isle was not a place for her to enjoy herself. There was work to be done, representatives to be introduced, information to be collected. Straightening herself up, Beatrice decided on a target– a woman, pale skin, brown hair twisting in delicate curls over her shoulders. There was an iciness to the woman that drew Beatrice to her. Perhaps interesting conversations were to be had between the two women. With her eyes locked onto her person of interest, Beatrice set out, weaving past bodies that didn’t matter to her.

Her brothers were ungraceful about moving through a party. Their towering forms would clumsily clamor through oceans of people, hands splayed on backs and shoulders as sorry apologies spilled through their wine-soaked lips. It was deeply humiliating for Beatrice, to watch them prance around with the grace of a newborn deer while she held herself poised and proper, being watched carefully for a slip-up. It seemed they always received more grace than she anyway, and yet the bumbling idiots needed five more lessons in etiquette than she. Memories of her brothers were distracting and useless– no matter how far she sailed, she could never escape them it seemed.

Beatrice would later chide her wandering mind for distracting her for the instant she returned to the Peacehall from her memory, contact was made with her side. Step. Contact. Blinding red irritation. The first words out of the perpetrator's mouth should have been; ‘Forgive me, please.’ but no such apology was uttered to soothe the bubbling annoyance that rose in her body like a kettle boiling too hot and threatening to spill over the edges. Collected as she was, Beatrice DuVall would not be blamed or stepped on by an insolent idiot unaware of their own mistakes.

“Excuse me?” Beatrice fought off the sour expression which dared sully her face. It was far more difficult than she anticipated. “I believe it was you who so clumsily crashed into me,” Pride clung to her words like a sickness, clutching onto her attitude for dear life. She stood tall and proud– Beatrice would not back down until this wrong had been righted with a heartfelt apology. Though, part of her missed Auriche. One would not dare bump into Beatrice DuVall without knowing the consequences of their actions. “Don’t worry, I will accept your apology. Go on…” A polite smile graced her lips as she gestured to the dark-haired stranger, a look of anticipation filling her eyes as if it were a threat. Go on… or else.

Not a soul on that island knew her and now her first soiree was expecting an apology from a man who seemed to look at her with disgust. A knife twisted in her gut at his expression, as if hounding her again for her status. Daughter of DuVall– nothing more. Just the disgraced spawn of a family too close to falling from the grace of the Royal Family, while the others… They had real power.

Clenching her fists, crescent-shaped nails dug into her hand, stinging the flesh and threatening to tear it. After a few seconds, it was clear to Beatrice this man had no intention of apologizing. “I won’t forget your face. I tire at the company of someone so discourteous and impertinent. I hope next time we meet you will have a proper apology prepared.” Bowing her head for only a few minutes, a rushed but polite departure, she shook her head, turning from the irritating stranger. What a sour way to start her socializing. Though, if their few seconds of encounter were any consolation, the dark-haired stranger would not be any help in her plans on the Mirror Isle.

Biting down softly on the inside of her mouth, that rusty taste of metal soon tainted her tongue. Eyes scanned the crowd and it appeared Beatrice lost the woman she’d been so keen on introducing herself to. Not only had she been scorned and jostled, but her plans were abruptly interrupted as well. An apology would just barely soothe the damage he’d done.

Her quest for the woman would be cut short– dinner was starting soon and the yapping ball of light chided her to be seated at her respective table. The yellow ball of light buzzed about, almost too quick for Beatrice to catch had she not been paying attention to it. Turning on her heel, she allowed herself to be led by the strange orb. Follow me! It chirped, receiving a sharp look from Beatrice. Faster, faster! Had the hosts somehow created an illusion that induced headaches quickly? The muscles in her right hand twitched, almost as if they were goading Beatrice into grabbing the little yellow ball of light out of the air and throwing it as far as her arm would allow. Instead, she opted for a tight-lipped smile, following silently as the yellow orb twisted her towards her table and those she would dine with for the evening.

As she approached the table, it seemed the company would be rather pleasant. Although, the woman certainly unnerved her a bit. She recognized her, at least the attire she wore. The veil masked whatever devious features hid beneath the fabric. Despite the crawling of her skin, Beatrice still adorned a polite smile, small and manicured but welcoming nonetheless.

“I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of making your acquaintances.” She bowed her head very slightly. “My name is Beatrice Sévérine Duvall– of Auriche. It is a pleasure to be in your presence. Have you two been waiting for long? The strange little orbs of light are quite a thrilling way to get to where you’re going,” Beatrice began as she settled herself at the table. This is where her years of table talk would make her shine– a conversation that wasn’t too dull but danced around the unseemingly things. Despite the foreboding start to her evening, it appeared she was in good company. Things would surely look up and all would go according to plan…

As the servants twisted around the tables, Beatrice couldn’t help but observe the pairings around the room. What care was given to the order in which individuals sat? At their table, an empty spot still remained, a guest still waiting to be seated. Perhaps they’d escaped dinner before it even began. She understood the complexity and intricacies behind seating arrangements– there was always reason behind why to seat certain people together. Ploys to be hatched by a simple sharing of a meal. What purpose was there to place these particular representatives together? Beatrice certainly hoped as the night unfolded, it would reveal the rhyme to the seeming randomness of their arrangement.

As the servant offered her food, Beatrice couldn’t help but decline, shaking her head and smiling at the girl. “I’m alright dear, thank you.” Dinner, while serving the purpose of satiating hungry stomachs, was not a time for eating. How could one talk and fraternize with a mouth full? Precisely. Beatrice opted for taking a small sip from the relatively untouched drink she’d been hauling around all evening. It was far more a prop than a drink.

MOOD

fading scorn

OUTFIT

discord!

LOCATION

peacehall.

TAGS

myl

iridescent.

coded by xayah.ღ

mother of sorrows · Oct 30, 2023

The woman snaps at him with more anger than he expected and it draws Leksei back an unnoticable inch, dark eyebrow arching in muted annoyance. Dangerously sharp pride dripped off her words like blood from a blade, a warning that even Leksei could pick through the words. But where pride meets pride, no one wins - his expression flattened into a wordless stare, giving the red-clad woman a look over as if she's a slightly displeasing stain upon his boots. It's not too late to apologize. He knows this. He didn't come here to make enemies, much less powerful ones from countries that are waiting for a single excuse to tear their teeth upon their shores. From her accent he takes her as Aurichean; a snake of a kingdom, all veiled diplomacy.

He should apologize. In the distant recesses of his mind, Leksei hears chanting. He is given a choice, at this very moment.

He chooses to turn away from the woman in the middle of her words, pretending not to hear.

''Great.''

He starts, sighing through his nose. If Xiaoran holds any opinion about the exchange, she doesn't express it aloud.

''One thing about the people here, they never know when to shut up.''

A small, vile part of him was satisfied, the part of him that has dragged its legs through the dark stomach of courts and has come back hungry for power; another part of him squirms with guilt, ashamed at his own arrogant behavior, clenching in his chest like an infected gun wound. The greater arrogance brushes away the threat spoken towards his back, but he is not so stupid as to forget it entirely. The woman with dark eyes leaves, reminiscent of a raw wound at the side of his vision - Leksei sighs through his nose, turning his attention back to his friend. The red-hot annoyance drifts away into something far more uncertain under her scrutiny, feeling as though he's back in their old schoolroom.

''Sorry.''

He squeezes Xiaoran's arm where they meet, looking at once far more tired.

''I'll take you to your table.''

Oh, Leksei. You have always apologized too much and too little… Xiaoran thinks, but doesn’t say. Silence between them falls the same way light through stained windows does; tenderly, in a litany of colours they are trying to name still. Heavy in its nothingness. So many things that can be said, but neither of them are grand speakers. Her loose grip on his arm tightens slightly, as does the line of her lips when she gives him another paper smile. “Perhaps after this dinner we can catch up some more. It has been so long that I have almost missed your galling self.”

That, finally, makes him laugh. It doesn't quite reach his eyes, but he draws her closer to walk together. There are no words that could make this heavy feeling easier - they both understand this.

''Almost? You wound me.''

The crowd has sailed towards their respective tables and Leksei knows he can't stay too long unless he wishes to be left with no dinner, but it would feel wrong to leave Xiaoran after they barely got to talk their entire time on this island. Her table appears into sight faster than expected, a fact that disappoints him; he lets her go with a nod, gesturing towards the almost filled seats. He stumbles to say something, anything, his gaze flickering away with some unspoken pain when an excuse to speak nothing appears.

A familiar face, one that makes him stop in his tracks.

''Anita!''

A genuine, if hesitant, smile flickers over his face, putting a gloved hand on her shoulder. She looks no worse for wear, invested in lively conversation with a man he doesn't recognise. There was a hint of mischief to his tone, features much more lively at her presence.

''You're not scaring the others, are you?''

Leksei's attention flickers to the man she is talking to, needing a double take at seeing the great cats laying so passively at his feet. His clothes were casual, though regal in their cut; and the man held the same grace as the cats, an inky reflection in his eyes that sparkled with intelligence. Leksei couldn't help the open surprise at the animals, giving them a look as if they fell through the ceiling.

''Good evening.''

He said, a bit hesitant. He didn't know the hosts allowed such big pets.

''I'll be out of your hair in a moment. I wanted to say goodbye to Xiaoran.''

the crown prince

Leksei.

filler tab!
interact

Pepsionne ravensunset sollie

hello

goodbye

♡coded by uxie♡

ravensunset · Oct 30, 2023

anita illeva

A

nita’s focus drew away from the cats and towards the man in front of her. He moved just as gracefully as his pets, his motions fluid in a way she wasn’t sure she’d ever seen before. And, he’d caught onto her words quickly.

Much as she didn’t appreciate some of their other tricks, the hosts had chosen an exceptional group of representatives, or at least knew how to pair her with someone interesting each time. Anita wondered whether he’d also been sent out to some uninhabited island corner last morning, and whether his cats had been any help.

“A pleasure,” She agreed, giving him a polite nod in response and taking a seat as well. Bandiama. Anita tried to remember what she knew about that kingdom. “This is far from home for us both, then.” She held back from mentioning she’d met another representative from there, figuring it would be silly to assume that they would know each other. Then again, she knew all the other Sevyershinians.

A hand came down gently on her shoulder. Anita turned in her seat to see who had joined them.

Since arriving on the island, it had become a rare event to see a familiar face. Leksei and Xiaoran, together, seemed impossible, plucked not just from another place but another time. She returned his smile, eyes bright.

“Leksei. Xiaoran.” She stood from her seat to greet them both, genuine in her pleasure to see them. “Me? Scaring others? You’ll find I don’t have the need to.” She grinned, and gave a look at the cats– Leskei’s gaze matched her own, and she laughed at his reaction. She turned to Xan, “He means to say they’re beautiful,” she assured him as she took her seat, now with Xiaoran beside her as well.

The last time she had sat by Xiaoran like this, dinner in front of them, felt like a lifetime ago, the memories muddled with time and the perception of youth. The last time, she had trusted Xiaoran wholeheartedly, before she even knew what the word meant and what weight should be given to it. The walk they shared two nights ago proved that something had changed, but Anita found it easy to slip back into just being next to her. Or, perhaps, just desperately wanted to.

“How have you both been finding your stay?” She asked, words neutral but tone especially friendly after the last encounter. As she spoke, her mind caught on something she’d nearly forgotten about in the commotion of a new event. “Actually, have either of you looked around your rooms much? I wasn’t even trying, but I found a couple hidden compartments under my floor tiles. Empty, of course, but maybe something was hidden in one of yours.” The half-lie came out easily, as if she was sharing nothing more than a silly rumor, even if she didn’t know why she was doing it. Anita kept an eye on their reactions. There was proof enough that this was somewhat more than a peace gathering, but with the amount of events happening, she didn’t at all know what details to focus on.

MOOD

dinner time

OUTFIT

discord!

LOCATION

the peacehall

TAGS

neon reverie

coded by xayah.ღ

neon reverie · Oct 30, 2023

xiaoran liumei

X

iaoran knows of laughter that carries holes deeper than the sea, can hear it fleeting away from a mouth so perfectly accustomed to thinning the heaviest things into something weightless. Leksei has always been a handful to manage sometimes — with antics far younger than himself — but he also remains one of the lightest to hold onto. And he keeps getting lighter every time she sees him again. Sometimes, she thinks, fears, he might float away; the lines of him fading right into the very air that has kept them and their unspoken words company. But perhaps they are both ghosts haunting the halls of their own existence, brushing against the edges of humanity but never fully embracing it.

Maybe, neither of them know how to be anything more.

Her hand on his arm stays until the table with its fellow guests is close enough to touch. Anita’s face is a welcome one, their walk in the gardens not having gone unforgotten by her mind. Having one near whose shared history stretches almost as far as the snow does in their cold lands comes as a slight relief, especially in an environment that often feels like shifting sands. She takes her seat next to Anita, finding its place fitting, moving from Seyvershina’s moon to its sun.

The other man at the table, a stranger to Xiaoran’s discerning eyes, sits with an air of quiet aristocracy, flanked by two majestic feline beasts that hold court at his feet. Interesting. Her eyes linger on him, studying the contours of his face as if they could unfurl like a flower and give her the core of his being with one mere glance. But the intelligent ones never show much, knowing what survival demands in the realm of ambition and politics. They know that the ammunition people keep is rarely made of steel.

Leksei mentions goodbye, and her gaze returns back to her friend. “Take care. And don’t get yourself into too much trouble.” the edge of her lips almost dares to lift into half a smirk. Almost. Leksei’s eyes travel sideways, perhaps hoping to conceal what creeps up like cold, but she sees it; the way sorrow pools like rainwater in the corners of his eyes. Petals wilt beneath a remorseless sun— his words so brief they could be swallowed by the space inbetween.

“I won’t.”

Xiaoran’s finger twitches slightly; a miniscule reflection of the urge inside. She wishes she could do so much. Still, the Crimson Daughter knows there is no power in either of their bodies to erase what time and life has made them and their friendship to be. And so she does nothing. But just as the lonesome wolf stalks away, the aggravating shadow of a crow inches closer. A crackle of tension pricks at her senses as her annoying pest of a half-brother once again manages to crawl from the deepest and darkest crevices of the earth, bringing fumes thicker than the ones hanging in Vexira’s grey skies.

Of fucking course did the hosts assign them to the same fucking table.

Her eyes pierce the human decay that gnaws at the root of their family tree, a coiling serpent of vexation slithering beneath her stoic visage. She steels herself for the impending intrusion, for the role she has to play so that the surface of the Liumei family remains unruffled, for it is the image they project that shapes the destiny of their dynasty. But first, she turns her attention back to her own table, choosing to pretend she hasn’t noticed Renshu’s approaching presence for a while longer. Some new introductions are in order after all. “I believe we had yet to cross paths.” She speaks, addressing the enigmatic cat owner. “My name is Xiaoran Liumei of Vexira.”

Anita’s words then ripple through the air, a pebble cast into the still pond of their conversation. She speaks of hidden compartments, and Xiaoran’s attention sharpens like a blade. It signifies a sentiment and suspicion she has had before; that the ancient manors on this isle hold more than meets the eye. She would share her earlier suspicions with Anita, but there, seated beside them, remains a guest who she doesn’t have a grasp on yet. The chasm of unfamiliarity churns, its gap wide enough to house a thousand hidden truths. And, again, the intelligent ones never tell. Not when you don’t know if you are speaking to silent or scheming minds. So, the cards remain close to her chest, right in the space between heart and bone.

“Hm. I can’t say I have. But maybe I will take a look in my own room tonight. See what happens when you go looking for something interesting.” her gaze shifts briefly to Xan, before slipping past him, right towards her unfortunate excuse of a sibling. Her greeting, honeyed with practiced warmth, brushes the air like a velvet glove, concealing the iron fist beneath. Her eyes glint with the essence of hidden daggers as Renshu arrives at the table.

“Renshu. I must say you have been gracing us with your presence quite frequently lately. Growing bored of yourself?”

MOOD

here comes the twat

OUTFIT

[discord]

LOCATION

dining hall

TAGS

ravensunset

Sear

coded by xayah.ღ

demonology · Oct 30, 2023

mpiady tejara

T

he party’s din was in contrast to the crystalline clarity above them. That was where they kept their eyes – trained upon the only sight they recognized. The stars twinkled back at them, and their heart slowed. The smells of the soup and the balming warmth emanating from the bread were apparent to them now. A voice lit out from the cacophony.

I am Devana Acindius of Sevyershina.

Their eyes focused in. Her face consisted of a haunting opaqueness, outfitted with an unnatural jaw that worked back and forth with her words. They barely understood what she said, though not for the obscurification of her speech. Her masked mien held their attention, bombarded with images of creatures more beleaguering than hers. Somehow, her smile seemed genuine. Immediately, they appreciated her boldness – the plaintive way she said her own name with a vibrancy that betrayed her countenance.

Their admiration ended with her gaze probing their own body. Self-consciously, he remarked with an awkward look downwards at the heavy-handedness of their own physique. ...your scars, you wear them with pride, no? They looked up and through Devana of Sevyershina, as though she were a phantom. It’s only ghosts that ask about Tejara of Menara.

As they opened their mouth to reply, a glittering figure of brocaded velvet and lace took her seat. She was a figure far easier to devour and understand, and despite the finery and the people they have met, her beauty shocked them nonetheless. A waterfall of midnight hair; a cascade of bloody fabric. She was even more self-assured than Devana of Sevyershina, and her words fell seamlessly from her lips:

My name is Beatrice Sévérine Duvall– of Auriche.

Two sets of dark eyes remarked upon him. They still haven’t replied to the first inquisition. For something in return? It’s rare more than fantasmas inquire upon Tejara of Menara, even rarer to be offered something in return for their vulnerability. When has anyone asked for more than their swords or their towering stature? They were reminded of the prior morning, stuck in a tomb, and their inability to reveal what lied deep within. Their exhaustion hit them now.

Have you two been waiting long? was the second bombardment. Have they? It felt as though several millennia had passed.

”Uhm. No?” Their eyes went to the imperceptible Devana, who sat straight-backed and assured. ”I was just answering Lady Acindinus of Sevyershina’s questions about my scars.”

Tejara bowed their head to the Lady DuVall, who was equally fortuitous. Their voice came out clear, almost booming in its robust quality. It was a voice that resounded off the stone of caves or the walls of abandoned towns well. ”I am Mpiady Tejara of Menara. You may have heard me referred to by lesser worn names. My Queen would refer to me as the Tompondrano.”

They finally allowed themself to tear a bit of bread and dip it into the golden sauce. Something in the strengthening flavors of the food or the confidence of the women beside them inspired an equal quality within Tejara.

Wiping their fingers on the nearby cotton cloth, they said, ”To answer your question, Devana – if you do not mind doing away with the formalities – this scar.” They indicate the one on their face, cutting their thumb from the corner of their lip and guiding it to the edge of their ear. The ridges of the injury. When trying to define oneself, Teja relied upon what they knew. ”I chipped a tooth because of this one. Won from the claw of a shapeshifting dune-demon attempt to swat away Lithe’s hilt from out my mouth.”

They smiled at both of the ladies, tentatively and with a warmth unlike the warrior just described. ”Lithe is, of course, one of my swords. I don’t believe I had the a fool’s fortune to meet either of you on the night of the first ball, but I’m sure you will meet her and her sister Maka soon.”

Their cheeks showed no sign of heating, though they felt feverish. Discussing their swords as though they were family. The back of their bottom lip replaced food for their teeth to grind on. ”But anyways. These marks.” They indicated to their chest, moving the lambda out of the way. ”Were for less pitiful reasons. To save someone of significance, not unlike my Princesa Kalala or –” The words should have been easy. ”This one was for my dear friend.”

Finally, they stopped rambling and graciously thanked the woman attending to them for a glass of spirit. ”I apologize – you did not come here to listen to my nostalgia.” Unsure of how to move the conversation along, they asked, ”Do any of you have any scars?”

Decorum fell from them as they pushed their fingers at the edge of their skull, cursing the tiredness that took any sense from them.

MOOD

theyre trying their best!!!

OUTFIT

in disc

LOCATION

the lyra table

TAGS

Sol

coded by xayah.ღ

erzulie · Oct 30, 2023

devana acindius

D

eep red glided into her field of vision, urging her to set her sights upon the woman whose body it adorned. Her mannerisms held all the same likeness to the nobles that she was used to. The woman, no, Beatrice carried herself with a grace that she would associate with someone of high status. Her smile was quite lovely, the type of smile that she often found drawn upon masked faces. Beatrice of Auriche was perfect…but rather dull upon first glance. Nevertheless Devana nodded her head in greeting. “The pleasure is mine. They were indeed. I found that mine possessed quite the personality…you’d think that I had attempted to crush it behind my palm…though that would have surely been thrilling as well.” A quiet laugh slipped from her mask then. It was no twinkling of chimes or ringing of bells, but instead it was something low and slightly sinister.

It was as though the heiress did not want to miss a single word that fell from his lips. The speed in which she turned her head from one companion to the other could be seen as rude to many of those in attendance. But as she saw it, why not give her undivided attention to who truly held it. It was nothing personal after all. Devana was aware that she was not without flaw. That her doubt towards the lady’s ability to interest her was based upon her own biased views of the subject.

Devana’s gaze was focused, intense enough to draw heat to the places in which she gazed at. It was as though she was trying to see the stories that Terjara spoke within them. “Your…swords?” There was breathlessness then, a slight narrowing of the eyes and a bearing of teeth. “I’m truly envious, I was not allowed to bring my own blade. Truthfully I feel as though a piece of me is missing. We’ve shed so much blood together…I would love nothing more than to meet the sisters. You are truly an individual most impressive. I do not know you, but I wish to, if you would have me.”

When she was asked in turn Devana felt her heartbeat pick up ever so slightly. Her largest scar lay behind her mask and her family were the only ones who had seen her without one. Some would call her paranoid and some would call her mad. But how was she to know that she was truly safe? Who could say that some nefarious being hadn’t boarded the ship in an attempt to snatch her face? “We all bear scars do we not? I’m afraid that my attire makes it difficult to see my own. I have come across many beasts and just as many people who have given me the scars that adorn my body.”

“Though you cannot see it, behind this mask is something left behind by a monster who wished to steal my face and take it as it’s own. I was only armed with a dagger, as is the way of my house, and managed to turn the beings skull into a fine trophy.” Devana sat straighter, her voice confident in clear pride of her story. Her black eyed gaze then slithered to Lady Beatrice. “And you my lady? What scars do you beat, if I may ask?”

MOOD

admiration/curious

OUTFIT

x x

LOCATION

peacehall.

TAGS

tejara

demonology beatrice

sollie

coded by xayah.ღ

sollie · Oct 31, 2023

Beatrice DuVall

T

he gentle murmur of socialization faded into the background of the Peacehall, washing away like hastily scribbled out words on sand being pulled in by the ocean's tide. As eager as Beatrice was to listen in to all the riveting conversations of the evening, her attention was focused on the two curious representatives sitting before her. Both were imposing in their own ways. The woman felt like the shadows lurking at the end of a dimly lit hallway at dawn, perturbing and otherworldly. She felt like the whisper sung in the wind, making someone question their own sanity as they twirled and turned in an attempt to find the owner of the haunting voice.

Most unsettling of all to Beatrice was the unreadable expression. Masked behind the veil, it was impossible for the woman to perceive anything about the other, however desperately she attempted to see past the veil which cloaked her intention, emotion, and reception to anything and everything Beatrice said. Lady Acindinus of Sevyershina, she quickly learned, was a haunting woman indeed.

The other, while imposing in their stature, didn’t unnerve her quite as much. Despite their sharp features and commanding appearance, there was a softness to the individual that felt nearly imperceivable to the eye. But Beatrice prided herself in her ability to see past illusions– after all, it was her particular talent. Still, giving away her first impressions too quickly would be impolite and could possibly put her at a disadvantage on the Mirror Isle. People didn’t much enjoy hearing about themselves through the eyes of strangers clamoring at understanding them.

“I look forward to sharing this evening with you, Mpiady Tejara of Menara.” She bowed her head yet again, lifting her glass ever so slightly as if gesturing for a silent toast. To friendship? At least, perceived friendship. Beatrice had a creeping feeling the sentiment of friendship would be lost on far too many representatives on the Mirror Isle. Ambition consumed all, and not a soul was safe from its clutches. Not even the sparkling individuals of important present at that evening's dinner.

Though feigning apt interest to the conversation between Lady Acindius and Tejara and her dinner, her attention was focused in, soaking up any piece of information the two shared freely. Everything was to be taken with a grain of salt, of course. No person could admit to being completely truthful– and if they even attempted so, it would be dishonest. The game of pleasantries was one played by every person in the Peacehall.

The adventures of Tejara of Menara seemed far grander than anything Beatrice had ever gotten into. Though she was not one violence and bloodshed, she was privy to reading tales of adventure and action in her youth. The memories were visceral; if she closed her eyes, maybe some part of her would return to her youth, curled up in piles of fine fabric and pillows, nose stuck in a book as eager eyes scanned the pages as quickly as they could.

Beatrice found Tejara a refreshing change in the pace of the evening. No longer would the event be soured by one disrespectful moment, but it would be colored by the entertaining nature of the representative from Menara. “Your blades have such charming names,” Beatrice remarked with a smile. “I would greatly enjoy to hear how such names were bestowed upon them one of these days,” Though part of Beatrice knew her words were in service of the social gain she received from learning more of the representatives, there was another part of the woman that craved to hear the tales of adventure from what seemed like such a seasoned warrior. In a way, she found the scars and tales admirable and thrilling.

The conversation crept along, clinging to the topic of scars. It ruffled Beatrice, though she kept her composure. Turning towards Devana, she couldn’t shake the feeling of discomfort elicited by the woman. It created a pit in her stomach that began eating away. Even in her words, though embracing of her introductions, indicated a disinterest towards Beatrice. A muscle in her face twitched– Beatrice was often used to being the most interesting person in a room, enthralling all those that had the pleasure of gracing her presence. But this Devana– Lady Acindius– was enraptured by another. Irritation seeped into Beatrice like poison in her veins, daring to go straight to her heart. But she could not blame the woman– Tejara was captivating in their own right. The stories they told of their scars would enthrall any with a taste for thrill and daring.

Turning her attention to the Devana, Beatrice felt her eyebrows pinch together. This was truly her first taste of all the representatives had to offer– and she was quite perplexed by their tales. While she couldn’t discern whether Devana’s scars had come about in a noble way or not, she felt greatly underwhelming in the presence of such warriors. Defending oneself from shapeshifting dune-demons and face-stealing monsters was quite the impressive feat, though there was a certain level of fierce nastiness that Beatrice couldn’t help but silently turn her nose up too.

And you my lady? What scars do you beat, if I may ask?

Beatrice’s lips tightened into a sharp smile, taking a small breath in. A memory clawed its way at her mind, trying to force itself down her throat and into her being. She fought it away, teeth sinking into the soft flesh of her mouth. She refused to think of such heinous things while at dinner. She refused to compromise herself so easily– how was Devana to know she was poking around in a dangerous area? After all, the three were just recounting tales of their scars.

Swallowing down the unpleasant evocation, Beatrice smiled properly, tilting her head back. “You can hardly tell,” She began, gesturing to the scar that began at her collarbone and traveled up her neck to the tip of her chin. Though the scar had once been much thicker, Beatrice took care to conceal it and minimize its appearance. Unlike Tejara or Devana, she did not wear such a scar with pride. “It’s barely visible– not by fault of mine. I’m afraid the tale of how I received this mark is nowhere near as riveting as the two of yours,” Stalling for more time? Perhaps. But Beatrice was a master of storytelling.

“When I was a young girl, I must have been eleven or twelve, I had dreams of being a mighty warrior. Of course, no woman in my station dared of dreaming such a thing. My brother’s and I adored creating elaborate stories– our mother used to tell us the most vivid of tales. Sword fights, battles, monsters. Quite like your own tales. My brother’s and I would recreate these tales in play format. Oftentimes, I would write the plays, direct them, and act them out. One evening, an accident occurred. My brother, Edwin, with the dullest of letter openers, made one misstep and had pierced me before I even knew what to do. My mother was in hysterics, my father– livid. But it only ripped the skin a bit. Nothing too terrible.” Beatrice chuckled a bit as if the memory were fond. But even in her best of performances, faults often lied and the twitching of the nerves in her cheek, while imperceivable to most, could give away the tiniest of hints to the truth behind her elaborate tale.

MOOD

intimidated?? mf freaked out??

OUTFIT

discord!

LOCATION

the lyra table.

TAGS

demonology

coded by xayah.ღ

Uxie · Oct 31, 2023

miyu of tsuyaye

F

rom a mere glance alone, Miyu could tell she was a delicate princess. Head to toe dressed in opulence, pretty little pearls decorating a high collar. The representative opened her mouth, and that quaint, haughty accent with which she spoke confirmed her origins. Where else but Auriche did they speak with such grandiosity?

She had a thing or two to learn from their etiquette, perhaps.

"I am Princess Zhu Xueqin of Auriche, wishing all of you a good evening.” Miyu rose from her seat, offering a small bow before taking a seat in synchrony with the other woman. From a sitting position, she was reminiscent of a hina-ningyō. It was her posture, straight and elegant, it was the porcelain white skin, with features painted on with the most careful stroke of a master craftsman, and it was the drape of silk against her petite form. A bisque doll that would not look out of place on a shelf back home, and as Xueqin lifted a slender wrist to reach for her glass, Miyu noted she might be just as fragile.

Then again, you could never tell with beauty — there was no discounting the possibility of a dagger in her embroidered sleeve or venom upon her peach-coloured lips. She thought, briefly but fondly, of her first acquaintance at Mirror Isle.

And then, a familiar face, came into view with a gleeful smile. How coincidental it was to come to meet them again. Her gaze passed over them impassively, offering a nod in greeting as they introduced themselves in every ounce of the same carefree cheeriness as they did the first time.

"I hail from Tsuyaye; please, call me Miyu."

she smiled, with the slightest forward tilt of her head,

"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Or, perhaps, honour is more befitting?"

She reached for her own drink, deft fingers experimenting in minuscule motions the best way to hold it before she offered it to clink glasses with her companions — Xueqin, and then Zhi Kui. This was custom in other countries, wasn't it?

"Has your time here been agreeable thus far? Such a soiree must be familiar for an Aurichian."

MOOD

hey princess

OUTFIT

discord :3c

LOCATION

peace hall

TAGS

Stardust Galaxy

FloatingAroundSpace

coded by xayah.ღ

Pepsionne · Oct 31, 2023

xan ahn

I

t seemed that only moments had taken their quiet stumble before Xan found himself in the full company of their table. Anita had uttered her reply only seconds before they were joined by, from what he could glean from body language and facial expressions, were two old acquaintances.

Dark eyes flitted over each noble before him with the silent intensity of a predator peering from the shadow of cover. There was a familiarity there that he could only imagine the taste of, too many years having passed since he had experienced such an interaction himself. Xan blinked, pulling his wine glass to his lips to wash the nostalgia down as red liquid sank bitter teeth into his throat. The last memory he had of such an interaction left far too sour a taste for him to recall it fondly.

Being the younger of the two, and still harboring the energy for curiosity, Vikal’s head rose at the arrival of new nobles. The panther could sense a spike of adrenaline electrify the air from the noble man’s hesitance, yellow eyes curious and unwavering as he took in dark features. Leksei.

"He means to say they’re beautiful," Anita had cut in, hastily covering for Leksei’s open surprise at the animals laying beneath Xan’s seat. He couldn’t help the tug of a smile that lifted at the corners of his mouth. A shallow nod of his head indicated his gratitude for Anita’s commentary before he added, “I’ve been told they grow on you.”

His attention turned towards Leksei then, eyes glinting with amusement as he studied the man’s face. He turned over each feature in his mind, moving from heavy brow to strong nose, until his journey ended at the gleam of Leksei's teeth. The noble was gone almost as soon as he had arrived however, leaving Xan’s eyes following his smooth stride as Leksei retreated from their table.

Innocently, a thought arose in Xan’s mind, a childish wonder if this kind of familiarity between those in nobility had ever been attainable for him. Maybe it had been before the revolt. Before he had begun to hear restless whispers of the shame and unfairness echoed from those lesser off. Before his name left an acrid taste whenever uttered. He swallowed down another heavy sip of wine.

Gaze beginning to grow glassy from the alcohol and a soft flush beginning to spread across his cheeks, Xan turned his attention to the two noble women seated before him.

“I believe we had yet to cross paths.” The woman who had just joined them said. Her tone was clear and confident, sucking him into an interaction with little effort.

Xiaoran Liumei of Vexira. There was intensity to her gaze that Xan was unused to being met with, a type of scrutiny that left him feeling undressed and studied. Vulnerable. He adjusted his posture under the brief brush of her gaze upon him, body sinking a bit further into the plush chair. He toyed with the stem of his wine glass absently. The glass spun in quarter rotations with each twist of deft fingers, yet he did not break her gaze when she looked upon him.

“Xan Ahn of Bandiama,” He replied. “I don’t believe we have, otherwise, I’m certain to have remembered you,” A smirk then, just barely, before he brought his glass back up for another sip.

"Actually, have either of you looked around your rooms much?"

Anita’s sudden turn of conversation triggered a wall to set up within Xan, his curiosity leaping out before him as the two women discussed such mysteries hidden within the large mansions.

His mouth straightened into a line, recalling the glass shard he had found in his own room the other day. As curious as he was, Xan was far too out of practice in polite society and international relations to know who to trust and who not. So he pocketed the information for another day, deciding to reply instead, “I haven’t spent much time in my room I’m afraid.” He gestured towards the cats at his feet. “They prefer the comforts of the island grounds.”

Servants dashed around them, nimble arms attached to silent bodies, presenting extravagant dinners so swiftly it was as if the representatives had simply wished them into existence.

His eyes were trained down onto the plate before him when he felt the shift at their table. The fluid lines of Xan’s body turned rigid, caught off guard from the violent intensity he felt seeping through a crack in Xiaoran’s previous demeanor. He glanced at Anita briefly to see if the other representative had noticed the shift, his hazy gaze lingering on hers for a beat before following the line of Xiaoran’s attention.

A severe figure stalked towards them, rigid posture and heavy brow. His expression was unreadable to Xan, yet he studied it nonetheless, looking for any hint of understanding to the violent response this stranger’s presence alone could rile within Xiaoran.

"Renshu. I must say you have been gracing us with your presence quite frequently lately."

Renshu, huh? Xan tilted his head to the side as he took another sip of wine, steady gaze unwavering. As out of practice as he was, the venom dipped words uttered so sweetly out of Xiaoran’s smiling facade did not go unnoticed by him. Xan blinked once, gaze finding Anita’s once more before he refilled his glass with more wine.

MOOD

observant

OUTFIT

discord

LOCATION

peace hall

TAGS

ravensunset

neon reverie

Sear

coded by xayah.ღ

demonology · Oct 31, 2023

mpiady tejara

T

hey looked to their plate, which laid now half-empty. Their hands were limp and useless, though they craved to manipulate something with them, to raise a bit of sand above the ground and let it drift through their fingers or to dig deep enough to find clay. These were the activities they fell to when boredom struck during the nights where they waited for the darkness to encroach them. But that wasn't the circumstances now, and they listened with rapt attention to Devana's commentary.

"Truthfully I feel as though a piece of me is missing." Tejara looked up, latching their gaze onto where they presumed Devana's to be. Their head ticked to one side, almost imperceptibly, and a smile pranced like funeral sprites across their lips. The pair bore teeth to one another, not unlike deserted beasts.

"I do not know you, but I wish to, if you would have me."

A legitimate smile bloomed liked a morning glory at the end of a long night. Before they could express a similar sentiment, Lady Beatrice caught their attention. Her own grin was equally infectious. Both of their dinner partners regarded Tejara with looks that garnered a newfound sensation. It was not unlike the respect bestowed upon them by Sebajan villagers or the citizens of Menara, but something about it was markedly different. On Devana, it read as mutual understanding, a platonic intimacy not unlike the kind shared with a similar denizen of Sevyershina, the Prince Leksei. On Beatrice, it conveyed as admiration, perhaps like the amazement Kalala could have when she wormed a story out of them, but still — neither expression on either lady was quite like anything they had encountered before.

"Your blades have such charming names. I would greatly enjoy to hear how such names were bestowed upon them one of these days," the Lady Beatrice said.

Their eyes went back towards the table, fingering the cloth on it as though there were a smudge. Tejara was not worthy of either cursory remark. "Thank you." They cleared their throat and lifted up their glass. "I would greatly appreciate any opportunity to share either of your companies."

Devana launched into her storied scars, and they marveled at the image of a monster upon a mantle, spotlit by the cool sun they grew familiar with during their stay in the country. They remarked her with their eyebrows tucked back in surprise, remarking at the strength within her stature. This was a person who knew how to survive — not just a soul who could deceive and play the game of global politics. She was more like Tejara than any person they had met on the Isle thus far.

"Impressive." They nodded demurely. "Perhaps one day I can visit Sevyershina again and see this beast for myself."

Whatever smirk was on their lips evaporated with the sudden sight of the Lady DuVall revealing her neck. She looked like a strange bird, such as an anhinga or another rare waterbird of Sebaja. Whereas earlier they felt as though they were sketched with a heavy hand, Beatrice was crafted with the egonomic lines of an artist. They watched her hand move across the almost-invisible scar, eyes pert and scrunched as their farsightedness was not as strong as their nearer one. She was a sight to behold, and her words were equally captivating. As the tale behind her own scars continued, Tejara watched the lady with a close eye, equal in admiration to the one they looked upon Devana with but with a different sense about it.

When she finished, her laughter rang a bit forced, as though she were performing rather than spinning a genuine yarn, but by then the comparison had been made. Tenderly, their heart connected her demeanor and its extravagence to Tojo, whose tales were of equal clarity and hidden depth. "You both remind me of home," they commented blithely. A grin filled with limerence greeted the bottom of their glass. Raising it in a small toast, they added "Thank you for sharing."

After taking a spi, they looked to Beatrice and asked, "Are there storytellers in Auriche?" Then, looking to Devana. "Or your home as well? I was there only briefly and became more familiar with the palace than the country itself." Across the room, they watched the other Sevyershina representatives; their glance falling upon Anita before returning to their dinner guests.

MOOD

theyre trying their best!!!

OUTFIT

in disc

LOCATION

the lyra table

TAGS

sollie

coded by xayah.ღ

FloatingAroundSpace · Oct 31, 2023

Peng Zhi Kui

A

ny assessment that Zhi Kui was attempting to build had to be put on hold as magic filled the air, their mouth dropping agape once more in wonder as orbs of various colors filled the room. It distracted them momentarily as the shapes zipped about, coming to hover before the crowd that had assembled, their eyes darting from light to light, the colors dancing before them a sight to behold. There was movement from the two that they had been speaking to, sharp enough that it drew their attention back and away from the new wonderment, gaze readjusting to the pair before them. They stood at attention, straight-laced for only a moment and following the other man’s bow— though they did not go nearly as low, permitting their eyeline to remain just a tad higher than the other’s so that they might be able to catch some sort of gesture— and indeed, there was a glance.

Hm, they thought idly. They turned to Miyu, who remained, and watched her gaze now, tracing her eye line with a slow slide of their own eyesight, head remaining still. Hm, repeated in their head, some sort of conclusion being drafted up in their mind as the representative from Tsuyaye stood. Their attention refocused, a bright, beaming grin crossing their features once more as they bowed as she did, extending an arm to gesture generally to the room in a mirror of their greeting and stating, “I look forward to doing so. May the opportunity come soon.”

Before they could pick back up the string of thoughts that was beginning to form— who here has spoken to one another, what happened before I got here, has there already been intent declared, or is everyone just repressed as all shit— a bright white orb zipped in front of their eyes. They blinked a few times, finding that it did not move, holding steady like the center of a candle’s flame.

“Well?”

it finally spoke, sounding irritated.

“Are you going to stand there forever or are you actually going to move?”

Zhi Kui bristled at the tone, stating indignantly,

“I’ve no idea where to go— that is your task, is it not, to show me?”

They swore the thing grumbled before it bobbed up and down a bit and darted a few inches away.

“I suppose, I suppose. Ah, come along then, come along then,”

it said, quick and high-pitched, in a way that would make a dog’s ears wince.

“Where are you even taking me?”

Zhi Kui asked with a frown, folding their arms over their chest and squinting at the bobbling light. It zipped back towards them, closer now to their face, causing them to lean back, concerned that it might make contact and potentially— what? Burn them?

“To your seat, your seat!”

it stated, bouncing up and down with greater intensity, as if to represent its impatience, almost like a person tapping its foot.

“Can you not tell that there is dinner and discussion to be had ‘round a table?”

“I was having my discussion,”

Zhi Kui said in an affronted tone.

“It was you lot who decided to appear and derail it!”

“Bah!”

the light declared, darting forward a few inches again.

“Just come along, why are you even arguing in this fashion? You may be late to the table!”

“I don’t just come along when commanded to,”

Zhi Kui snapped, though they made their feet move and followed the orb, finally. They were led to an empty table and the light seemed to hover in place for a second, oddly still like when it had first greeted them.

“It seems I am not late,”

Zhi Kui snarked at it, and they had the distinct feeling that if it had a face, it would have slowly rotated to gaze directly at them. As it were, it flitted off without another remark, leaving Zhi Kui to sigh heavily and seat themselves at the table, reaching into their pocket for the gift that they had put together for Hisoki and pulling it out to examine it, ensuring that there had been no new nicks or dents and that it functioned as intended as they waited for their tablemates.

As time wore on, they became enraptured in the mechanisms as they always did when left to their devices, enchanted by their own handiwork. The gears turned smoothly with each evenly spaced tic, the metal glinting in the light of the hall and—

“What are you doing here?!”

another high-pitched shriek by their ear, causing them to jerk upright in alarm and turn to see yet another orb, this time red.

“I was led here!”

“By whom?”

“One of your ilk. Had a bad sense of humor, terrible timing, and apparently, an even worse sense of direction if they’ve led me to the wrong table.”

The new orb seemed to vibrate violently in place for a moment before it spoke, shrill and quick,

“Well, come along then! This isn’t your seat and now you are most certainly late.”

With a heaving, dramatic sigh, complete with a head thrown backwards and declaration of,

“Will these wonders never cease to provide me woes,”

Zhi Kui stood up and once more followed the strange orb to what was apparently supposed to be their seat— actually this time.

There was a familiar face there, one that he had just departed, and a smile erupted over their face— more room to poke and prod it seemed. There was a new one, too, one that seemed to have an eager curiosity to it.

They listened to the greetings being exchanged before sitting down, pulling out a chair and dipping their head politely to the two women seated with them.

“I am Zhi Kui of Vexira. It would seem that the orbs are as scatterbrained as a person may be, else I would have arrived here in a far more timely manner. As it is, you will have to excuse my slight tardiness.”

They moved their hand to the bottom of their glass, shifting it forward to touch against Miyu’s, but did not pick it up— living amongst so many siblings vying for the throne had drilled some interesting senses of paranoia within them— food and beverages were guarded carefully lest someone slip poison in. Given how their luck was going, the crawling sense of reasonable dread was permitted to sit in their stomach, the smile still gentle and genial, but eyes a bit sharper, examining the figures before them and wondering what is it that you hold in your hand?

Miyu asked the question first, and so they demurred for a moment before turning to her,

“It would seem good fortune has placed us together again so we may continue our conversation, as promised. You must tell me, in what shape did my sister leave an impression on you?”

MOOD

intrigued > frustrated

OUTFIT

discord

LOCATION

table

TAGS

Uxie

Stardust Galaxy

coded by xayah.ღ

erzulie · Oct 31, 2023

devana acindius

D

evana had asked the question in an attempt to be polite and include Lady Duvall into their conversation. She had not done so with the expectation that their companion had any physical scars to bare to them. She turned her masked visage to gaze at Lady Duvall, her eyes following along her finger’s path over her clothes. “There is no scar that is not worth speaking about. Your tale does not speak of monsters but it is something that you experienced, that alone is reason to find it riveting. A gemstone is still valuable, no matter the fissures that adorn it’s surface.”

It was said that the Acindius family was blessed with eyes that saw too much and that was what sent many of its members into madness. Story told of pureblood voids that threatened to pick apart beings like predators who picked bones clean. A twitch was nothing to her but she made no comment on it because even she knew that calling attention to it would be rude. Instead Devana gazed at Lady Duvall, stared for what was a tad too long. “We all bear scars of some kind Lady Duvall. Be it the body or mind, they are all a testament to our strength.”

With that Devana began to enjoy the food placed before her, pausing as she continued to chat with her companions. Who would have thought that she would enjoy herself the way she was? For so long she was used to others gazing at her in fear and contempt. And while she enjoyed those feelings, these new ones were also…nice. “There are many storytellers within the duchy. But the best I find are within the forest. Only the brave and the foolish follow the voices and the faint shapes of something human. They tell the most interesting stories, ones of past ancestors, stories of eras that came and went, and my favorite of all…stories of how many they’ve lured and devoured.”

MOOD

admiration/curious

OUTFIT

x x

LOCATION

peacehall.

TAGS

tejara

demonology beatrice

sollie

coded by xayah.ღ

FloatingAroundSpace · Oct 31, 2023

Aadhya Chakma

A

adhya awoke as she always did by the light of the sun, by the light filtering through the gap in her blinds that she kept, to rise with the turn of the earth and the golden rays that descended upon its surface.

She began the steps to her full awakening— stretching out her arms away from her body to pull at some tension, to encourage wakefulness as the soft linen of her bed tried alternatively to pull her back towards sleep. Sitting up was the next step, alongside more stretching, moving her body as quickly as possible towards the great wooden doors to her room, full of carvings of the night sky and the blessed streaks of lights that had come to her oh-so many years ago, the ones that heralded her ascension into position as High Priestess. Opening them revealed a tray with a cup of coffee, fragrantly bitter, a smaller cup of cream next to it to cut through the acidity, and a little pot with a spoon beside it for the sugar that lay within. Her first sip was without any additives, the final jerk that pulled her out of her semi-conscious state into the realm of the waking. The cup would be set back down and the tray fully brought into her room now, settled on her vanity where she would assemble the actual drink she would consume as she began gathering her supplies to assemble her appearance for the day.

Today, she set to work with three spoonfuls of sugar and half of the small cup’s worth of cream, the coffee rising and rising and rising until it teetered dangerously near the lip of the cup. She brought it to her lips to breathe in first, filling her lungs with the scent and closing her eyes to let the taste rest on her tongue before she took in another drink. Her own private ceremony completed, her movements accelerated— a coarse bristled brush was pushed through her long hair over and over again, beginning near the bottom third and slowly starting its ascension towards her scalp. A separate brush was now picked up, one that had a long, thin handle that permitted her to divide her strands down the middle. She gathered up one half and divided this one even further, bundling up only half and pinning it to place meticulously before setting to do the same on the other side. Once this action was completed, her hands reached behind herself to assemble the last bundle of strands into a braid which was wrapped artfully around the two buns, linking them together.

Next— rouge on the cheeks, dabbed onto the lips, kohl dragged lightly across the top of her eyelid and smudged out slightly with her fingertips. This part was generally the quickest and simplest part of her routine, a brief lull that she permitted herself before the true work began.

There were layers, as there always were. Made of the finest silk, the most delicate of linen, sourced and chosen by her, for her. They were designed to be breathable, to offer her comfort in the beaten down heat of Wandukur while still permitting the elegance, the design of someone worthy to be selected by Nashatra herself. Today, they were largely white and cream in the beginning, to aid in reflecting the heat off of her skin. Quickly, though, the color began seeping in— gray blues that had elaborate beadings within, slivers of shells designed to look like feathers, navy glass beads to look like rivers or the falling rain that clinked against one another artfully with every step she took. The skirt billowed out from her, swaying in the unseen wind, floating behind her as she took her purposeful steps forward, picking up a golden headpiece to finalize her appearance, the gems that flared out from it sparkling in the sun.

She turned once more to the door and strode forward, leaving her tray to be picked up by whatever servants were meant to pass by that day, the ones that would straighten out her sheets and place back the combs and ties and pins that she had left scattered across her vanity.

One of them was awaiting her, bowing deeply and glancing downwards as she made her way towards the end of the hall.

“The ship awaits you, High Priestess,”

they murmured, more to the ground than to her. She did not deign to glance their way, offering a hum of acknowledgement as she continued forward, chin high as it always was, her path forward— as it always was.

- ☼ -

Some might have called her late. Indeed, on the surface of things, she had arrived after everyone else had. And yet, those people were not here alongside her and those people could not command her— and those people she would not bother showing up for at all.

Aadhya had not intended to arrive here at all, having been informed that others had taken up the task. She had bristled at one of the names— Anastius, the old worm. Hidden in the dirt, underfoot and barely visible but always working— if it had been her choice, they would have been thrown out long ago, tossed out with the trash to rot and bury themselves within it if they were so eager to do so. They would appear and give their grand speeches, ones that unsettled rather than placated, ones that stirred up cries of distress rather than sighs of resolution. They caused Aadhya more work, hurrying after them to see what sorts of chaos they had sewn, what sorts of rot that she would have to cut out with her own words, her own gestures.

Her only hope was that they had not caused that sort of chaos amongst those that were to meet them, the representatives of Wandukur, of the goddess herself. Her presence being called now insinuated that perhaps they had done something to necessitate her attendance. No matter— if it was anything like what happened back home amongst the temples and the shrines, she could provide a smile and a flick of her wrist to right it all.

There was someone waiting for her at the island, it seemed, an attendant that gazed steadily upon her. She offered a gentle smile, a polite inclination of the head and a bend of the knee in an almost-curtsy that did not sully the hem of her dress as she was beckoned forth towards a great hall. Her gaze turned to the night sky where she could almost see the streaks of light passing by, the drag of the goddess’ fingers across her realm guiding her forth as it always did, pointing towards where she was needed.

Stepping forth into the hall, she found a wide variety of people out and about, settling down into their seats, leaning forward to speak with one another. She was being guided forward by the attendant that had greeted her, presented with her own chair at an empty table that she slid into with yet another grateful smile before turning her head away— a silent dismissal. She balanced her elbows on the edge of the table, her chin atop her linked hands and waited for the others to arrive, eyes scanning the room for faces that she might recognize, presences she may have once known— people to start picking apart.

MOOD

serene

OUTFIT

description

LOCATION

table

TAGS

none

coded by xayah.ღ

mother of sorrows · Nov 1, 2023

LOCATION: Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit

INTERACTIONS:

izolda beausejour

of auriche

It is rare that Izolda finds herself alone enough to actually think.

There is always some little dog yapping at her feet, some cringing debutante hoping for a ticket up, a daughter of the duke or earl giggling into her ear, digging pristine nails into her arm in hopes of drawing blood. With her name comes constant surveillance. Izolda does not mind it, raised in Auriche as she is; the steps to this dance have been beaten into her, something quite literally with consequences. If she has to kick, so be it. But she is content to pet the chins of her little followers, to keep them at her heel like dogs that only wave their tails because she hides bits of flesh for them. Stupid, disloyal things, but they are hers.

As a sacrifice, Izolda never truly gets to listen to silence.

Her minds whirrs now, like a well-oiled machine; she sits at her table with the expression of one lost deep in thought, all charm tucked away for a trait far more realistic. In her heart's eye she thinks upon the future, and Auriche, and her mother and father. She thinks upon herself.

Beings of pure power, crushing the earth beneath their feet like gods, covered in thin filter of crumbly, pale sand...

Ah, Izolda, nuestra rosa tambaleante, I see you have recovered quite well.

Seriousness snaps out of her like water under the sun's attention, a flaccid smile pushed on her lips on half-instinct. Her gaze finds a dark one, lurking with all the things better left buried and dead. Mateo, his country's highest-performing idiot. He settles by her side like a spirit finding its haunt, a smile so mocking it makes her hair stand on her arm. The reminder of her fall is not appreciated, but she didn't expect anything more interesting from him than a petty insult. Izolda smiles back at him, wishing to squish him like a bug.

''If you're looking for an excuse to get closer, Mateo, then all you have to do is ask.'' She all but whispers, leaning close enough to show the sharp ends of her teeth. Mateo, to his credit, does not flinch. ''But I'm more capable than you think.''

Her fan snaps close with a sharp tsk, settling on her silk-clad knee. Her dress is the gold of autumn, a soft red lining the blushing yellow. The rest of their table is yet to arrive, and Izolda takes the opportunity to tilt her head, a far crueler smirk flickering out. It's gone in a blink, her face all innocent friendliness. ''It's alright, I understand why you might not think so. You must be overwhelmed, meeting so many bright minds. I suppose you've had no real chance to do so at home, have you?

code by valen t.

iridescent. · Nov 2, 2023

...

valen de malisio

Alcohol, though quite dangerous if consumed excessively, could do wondrous things. It could give courage that otherwise couldn’t be found on a daily basis. It could turn the shyest person into a loud, outgoing one. And most importantly, it could turn what originally looked like a terrible time into a fantastic one.

Scratch that. The human version of a terrible time had just sat in front of him.

Who was the human version of a terrible time, you might ask? Well, his very own half-brother, dearest Fae’an.

“It's a party, Valen. Why are you alone?”

The words probably weren’t intended to be condescending, but Valen took them as such. The prince of En Malis had half a mind to throw the alcoholic contents of his glass into his older brother’s face in retaliation, but somehow restrained his drunk self. “Why am I alone?” he repeated, downing the rest of the third glass and pouring himself a fourth. “I think you already know the answer to that, Fae’an, given how close we are and all…”

He nearly choked on the sip of champagne he had just taken when Fae’an made to sit down in the seat next to him, the seat ghost boy was currently occupying. Plump lips parted, ready to announce that that particular chair was broken and to find another, but found themselves sealing when the elder instead sat across from him. Good.

“It looks like this week has been hard on you.”

‘Yeah, no shit’ he thought, but a prince musn't curse! So that thought remained inside his head.

“Any new tales?”

“Well, other than nearly getting consumed by a three-storey tall man-eating spider yesterday, I can’t say there’s been anything new,” The fourth glass was set back down with a little more force than necessary, causing some of the liquid to slosh over the edges. “Bet you wish it did eat me though, that way your path to the throne would be clear. No more annoying little brother, no more crown prince standing in your way.”

"Oh?" A quiet reply, before a short laugh tore through the heavy beat of silence that almost settled between them. "You're not annoying, Valen," Fae'an consoled, eyes searching the table for something unknown, "not compared to most little brothers." though the casual demeanor stayed, his whisper gained a faint mocking shade. "And you're not particularly worrying as a crown prince either."

Valen had no issues picking up the mockery in the tone. Unlike before, when he wasn’t sure if Fae’an intended for his words to come out the way they did, this time he was positive they were intentional. His brother was mocking him. Whatever. Instead of saying anything, he watched a droplet travel down the stem of the glass in front of him.

Daftly, Fae'an picked up a handkerchief and used it to wipe the wine dripping off the side of Valen's glass, before taking it away to his side. "What you are is drunk," he said, in the tone of a conclusion, "you should stop for the night. The spider must've been terrible, but it's long since gone. No need to drown your fears with such vigor." Their gazes met, the man gave a placating smile. "Wine is a dangerous drink, after all."

He was already reaching across the table to try and take his glass back when he felt eyes on him, eyes that didn’t belong to his kin. Looking past Fae’an, warm brown eyes locked onto the gaze of a stranger. He’d never seen nor interacted with this person before and given how well he did with strangers, was honestly set on ignoring them entirely. Then he caught movement from the corner of his eye and looking down, he saw that this stranger had two giant cats. Two. Giant. Cats.

Valen was on his feet, albeit quite clumsily, ready to go cuddle the cats when balls of light suddenly appeared, causing him to fall back into his seat out of shock. And… what? Were there actually balls of light floating around the hall, or was he just that drunk? But given that people seemed to be following said balls of light, maybe they were real.

“I’d say it’s been a pleasure, dear brother, but that would just be an outright lie.”

"Well, how sad, it's been a pleasure for me," Fae'an laughed, "Go well, Valen."

A glare then, unsteadily, Valen rose to his feet and started stumbling after his ball of light (what a strange thought), ghost boy following.

The light led him over to a table, a table currently occupied by people he didn’t know. Great. Sober Valen would’ve sprinted for the sea upon seeing them—the idea of striking up a conversation with strangers too much for his mind to comprehend. But drunk Valen? Drunk Valen had no desire to do such.

Drunk Valen plopped into his seat with as much grace and dignity as a sack of potatoes. Nice. He didn’t reach for the alcohol, however, and instead choose his next words very carefully (not). “I’m hungry.”

MOOD

drunk n sassy

OUTFIT

this.

LOCATION

his table

TAGS

triples