Fantasy ´ 𝑷𝑨𝑿 𝑹𝑶𝒀𝑨𝑳𝑰𝑺 ` 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲

[sollie]

Beatrice DuVall

C

onversation flowed freely between the three occupants of the table– while each held their card in their own way, it seemed as though openness appeared in each of their demeanors. Tejara, most of all, appeared to wear their heart on their sleeve. While beneficial for whatever Beatrice wanted to gain from her cooperation with them, part of her ached. Though Tejara seemed armored and protected, whether beyond layers of armor and guard, or from the impressive stature and appearance they held, they were most easily pierced. Beatrice did not know all their weaknesses, but the bleeding heart that beat so steadily could be squeezed until no life remained.

“Perhaps we will get another opportunity to share a meal together,” Beatrice encouraged with a sweet smile, eyes scanning her plate. She picked through it with heavy judgment before popping a piece of fruit in her mouth. “The two of you make very fine company, I have to say. I am sure my friends back home would be quite jealous I am sharing this time with such brave warriors. I can only dream of being so courageous.”

Devana, on the other hand… Her heart was a secret garden and her walls were very, very high. No vines flowed down the cracked stone that guarded her very being. There was no entry point. Only a peculiar sense of strangeness floated around her otherworldly persona. Devana was a puzzle and Beatrice DuVall adored puzzles. She was very good at solving puzzles. She may have worn that mask, but Beatrice was certain she could shatter it into a million pieces if she needed to.

“A touch of home is what we all need at times,” Beatrice regarded Tejara with her glass, raising it as if silently proclaiming their newfound friendship. “I eagerly await the day I can hear about both of your homes.” Sipping the fizzing liquid until she was satisfied, Beatrice settled the cup back onto the table. Home was a strange thing to the young woman– a skewed concept poisoned from years of unsavory tastes in her mouth. Thankfully, she’d built up an immunity to the poison but that wasn’t to say it didn’t taste vile on her tongue. Brushing a hand against the scar she’d just revealed, she brushed her dark tresses over her shoulders. While it didn’t mask the ugly ghost, the act alone brought an invisible relief.

“My brother would be tickled pink if he knew his childish accident inspired such kind words. I mustn’t ever allow him to know of your beautifully poetic words, lest I wish for his head to become even larger than it already is.” Beatrice did not share the same sentiment– the jagged mark was a constant reminder of the monsters that wanted to fill her lungs with water and sink her to the bottom of the deepest ocean. It induced whispers in the back of her mind in the most isolated of places. That scar tarnished not only her skin but her very spirit. She greatly doubted Devana or Tejara could understand the suffering it brought the Daughter of DuVall.

Are there storytellers in Auriche? She silently thanked Tejara.

Of course, there were– though Devana caught her attention and enrapt her. Like every aspect of Devana, even her recounting of the storytellers of her home was haunting and unsettling. Creeping in her mind was the ghoulish image of fiends luring the innocent with tales of history and ancestors. “It sounds as though you have first hand experience with these storytellers, Lady Acindus.” Beatrice remarked, curious eyes locking onto Devana’s face– or at least the uncanny mask that hid her face.

Below the table, her hand twitched, as if begging her to grab the skull-like mask and smash it to the ground. Lacing her fingers together, she continued. “These sound like admirable and fearsome storytellers– Forest performers– how fascinating. Auriche storytellers are not so fond of…” Beatrice offered a small smile as she readjusted her body. “Luring and devouring their audience.”

“To answer your question,” The Aurichian turned back to Tejara– they were far easier to digest than Devana. Beatrice commended herself for putting on such a great show of indifference to the woman. “Auriche has hundreds of storytellers. It is so deeply ingrained in our culture– Magnificent shows of light, illusion, heartache, joy, catharsis. Theatre is greatly enjoyed by every Aurichian with sense.”

A melodic laugh slipped from her lips. “Oh, how I wish you two could experience the magnificence of Auriche performance. I recall one summer in my youth– My mother took me to see Fome O Sede– simply incredible. The story was so rich and the actors were awe inspiring. I won’t bore you two over a review of a play– But Auriche storytellers are unlike any in this world.” Beatrice indulged in another piece of fruit, letting a small sigh pass her lips. A curiosity clattered in her mind, like a coin purse with pieces of gold bumping around.

“How have you been finding your stay? The rooms are quite lavish. I’ve found many beautiful things to busy myself with. Have either of you found anything most curious during your stay?” The memory of the faint footsteps in her rooms simply would not be shaken from her mind. There were many mysteries to uncover on the Mirror Isle, and the inhabitants, while rich in mystery and intrigue, had done nothing to prove as worthy of her time as the enigma in her room.

MOOD

resisting the urges

OUTFIT

discord!

LOCATION

the lyra table.

TAGS

erzulie demonology

coded by xayah.ღ

 

[demonology]

mpiady tejara

T

his is where I leave you, androgito. The voice was of their beloved friend and it invaded Tejara's mind now. Their face was warm and splendid. The fizzy beverage had done more than enough to their head. It hadn't made them woozy, but they could tell it was playing tricks on them. For a moment, they went preternaturally still and watched the corners of their eyes. Hearing mimicry of the dead was often a warning. Their chest felt heavy.

"It sounds as though you have first hand experience with these storytellers, Lady Acindus," Beatrice offered with a smile. They half-grinned and half-nodded, taking a half-sip from the tall glass of water.
"Yes," was all they added, taking a sip and allowing her to continue. Her words came out peppered with what they thought was sincerity, though they conveyed an element of superiority. "Auriche storytellers are not so fond of... Luring and devouring their audience."

A better representative of Sebaja would have tactfully shifted subjects with that comment. A better member of Menara would have dutifully explained nature's wisdom, however horrific its hands be. The moment passed. Lady Duvall let off a honeyed laugh and launched into the semantics of Aurichean theatre. With the ringing of Tojo's death knell in their ears — a bitter, bitter laught — they reminded themself that they are no longer a Menaran. Not technically.

"But Auriche storytellers are unlike any in this world."

Her pride in her home butted heads with theirs. It shouldn't have, not really, but the energy of the evening was infectous. While Devana's myths and legends were more familiar and reminiscent of his own, Tejara saw the pomp and circumstance Beatrice held over her own. With Menara having been made to feel so small — amongst the Queen's consults, here amongst the other dignitaries — Tejara went back to the earlier feeling regarding home and the nexus between the myriad of identities that have been forged for them. Their fingers went to the spiral on their chin. A gravelly puff of air, easy to be mistaken for a gruff laugh, erupted from Tejara. "I heartedly disagree." They considered leaving it at that, but homesickness kept their mouth a breast. "In Menara, my family — my clan — we have a storyteller called the Mpandray. They preserve our time-honored fables and traditions, and they're historians too."
A much more jovial laugh came from them. A competitive edge took over them, and pride fully infused itself in their voice. "Of course, we don't have forest sirens or large-scale plays, but the Mpandray ensures we all know the stories of our clan, and in that way, I have a part of home with me everywhere I go. And that I wouldn't exchange for anything." They studied their hands and their nails, clearing their throat. Once again, they were reminded of their role as a representative. "Though, I suppose we'd all say that about our homes, for their stories are that which define us. To that end —" Their eyes went to Devana. "I hope I'm invited back one day to your home, so I learn from your forests."

To Beatrice: "And with you as well. Maybe one day you can show me Fome O Sede. We don't practice much theater in Sebaja." Their smile to both was genuine, albeit tinged with sadness and nostalgia.

Relief came in the subject change provided by Duvall, though it offered no comfort. Their chest felt heavy once more. Still, Tejara tried to keep a brave face. "The rooms are extravagent — to me, at least. I don't mean to complain by any means, but I've found it hard to sleep in there."

Leaving the question of curious objects unanswered, their attention went to the other guest. "And what about you, Lady Devana?"

MOOD

theyre trying their best!!!

OUTFIT

in disc

LOCATION

the lyra table

TAGS

erzulie @Sol

coded by xayah.ღ

 

[FloatingAroundSpace]

Aadhya Chakma

A

adhya watched the orbs as they flited about the room, guiding those that had already been milling about towards their appropriate tables. Her eyes searched for the worm, interested to know if they would be placed at her table— though she was uncertain whether she would want them there. On the one hand, having Anastius close would mean she could keep an eye on them, ensure appropriate behavior and representation of Wandukur and all her glory, assessing what potential damage they had done with their dreary words and pinched expression. On the other hand, this would almost certainly mean having one of their usual arguments about Nashatra, about the glory that the goddess brought to their land, the glory that Aadhya, as the goddess’ true vessel, brought to the desert. They would be attempting to cut her down at every turn, and while she knew that back in their native land of sun and heat her words carried far and wide, here, they may have already spread roots that she would need to upend.

Before she could locate Anastius, another figure was approaching the table, stumbling as she had seen so many after they had far too much to drink. She did not hide her distaste for this— her chin tilted upwards so that she could gaze at him past her nose, even as he stood (and swayed) and she sat. The wobble in his steps bellied how drunk he had already gotten— how did he intend to have a conversation with her? Was no one here interested in presenting themselves in a proper manner, in one befitting of meeting royalty, much less the divinity that she carried? She almost pulled one of the many servants flitting about towards her, demanding an explanation to the expectation of decorum that was to be enforced— she barely tolerated the debauchery that she was forced to witness whenever she was asked to attend a soiree in Wandukur, one where her presence was meant as a symbol of blessings and tiding to come for the union or treaty or whatever it was.

Her attitude soured only further when the man dumped himself into a seat at her table, her chin lowering so she could glower through her lashes at him instead now. She folded her hands neatly over top one another, elongating her neck and straightening her back so that she may gaze at him at her full height, her eyes filled with distaste for his presentation. Her mouth dipped further into displeasure as he opened his own to give a childish demand, one that made her eye twitch in irritation. He had not provided his name nor, more crucially, asked for her own.

“I am Aadhya Chakma,”

she stated, voice firmer than perhaps her usual introductions,

“High Priestess of the great goddess Nashatra, her vessel in this realm, here to walk the earth in her stead so that her words and blessings may be spread to all those that lay before her dominion.”

She turned her head sharply to the right, her gaze landing on a servant with a tray filled with hearty seafood— open-shelled oysters surrounding red lobsters that had been cut open to reveal the delicate white meat that lay within, scallops whose mouths were delicately open to show the cream puck of flesh within, pink shrimp with beady eyes and their many legs lying limply as garnish.

She glanced down at the servant’s feet flat on the ground as they stood still, waiting for a command. She saw the pull of gravity rooting them to the spot, the press of the floor beneath keeping them upright, saw the thin thread of friction between the sole of their shoe and that floor. She picked up her right hand from where it lay, turning her wrist elegantly and slowly so her palm faced upwards. She unfurled her fingers one by one until her hand lay stiffly flat. The nail of her pointer finger met the nail of her thumb as she seized the thread of friction and pulled it towards them, the servant giving a sharp yelp in surprise as they slid across the floor as if it had turned to ice. She let go a few steps away from the table with a flick of her wrist, as if tossing the thread away, landing the servant a few steps from the man who had so rudely arrived and had made demands of her already.

“Your food,”

she said icily to him, her head slowly turning to stare at him, her displeasure radiating from the downturn of her lips, the furrow of her brow, the overly-manufactured rigidity of her figure.

The servant was gawping, glancing between her and the man who had demanded sustenance. Aadhya begun to turn back to the servant to ask if they had any demands as well, when—

“No,”

she said, the stiff posture she had been maintaining melting away in horror as she recognized the unmistakable scent of oak and sweet honey, her eyes widening and her mouth parting in shock, her hands slamming down onto the table and making everything jump. She stood up suddenly, the scrape of the chair sharp and startling, enough so that she could excuse the noise of shock that came from the servant she had dragged to their table. Her hands balled into fists briefly before she unfurled them just as quickly, resting fingertips on the table before her and curling her other hand around the back of her chair. Her head turned slowly, as if trying to delay the inevitable, delay what she knew— who the fuck had invited him and why wasn’t she told?

Grinning, smirking, grating, with a tongue she wanted cut out, with a rancid wit that was better suited for the brothels than for negotiations and council meetings and yet he was always fucking there. He had no respect for her, no respect for the great goddess. He had the audacity to gaze upon her unflinchingly, to always somehow manifest nearby whenever she least expected it, sarcasm and mockery coating every word he tried to coo her way.

There was a knife on the table, set delicately next to a pair of forks. On the other side of the plate was a spoon. She could stab him with any of the utensils.

“Who permitted him to come here, to sully this gathering with his presence,”

she seethed, the words harsh and tumbling out of her mouth, her head turning in the direction of the entrance, spotting a glowing orb and then—

Dark curled hair, a face that was having the opposite journey as hers, transforming from shock to glee to something almost like affection, wearing flowing white fabric just like her.

Aadhya turned even more so that she may face him head on, the hand gripping the back of her chair scraping it against the floor even more as the most fitting descriptor she could give him tumbled from her mouth—

“Whore.”

MOOD

irritated > furious

OUTFIT

discord

LOCATION

table

TAGS

iridescent. , sox

coded by xayah.ღ

 

[ravensunset]

anita illeva

A

nita had waited as long as she could to unmask, but as Xan took another sip of his wine and food was served to their table, she knew refusing to partake in dinner would be a worse offense. The painted fox was pulled off her jaw and carefully placed on the table next to her, and Anita gave both her companions a smile, as though the action didn’t bother her in the slightest. She raised her own wine glass to her lips, as well as breaking off a piece of bread from her plate.

Both Xiaoran and Xan’s responses to her question were uninformative, unsatisfying. Anita wondered if she had overthought the note she’d found, perhaps still jumpy from the ghost encountered a day before. Or maybe they simply weren’t sharing. Xiaoran had only gotten better at concealing emotion with age, that much was clear. Xan appeared friendly— he watched both her and Xiaoran carefully, and she’d caught the smile and nod he’d given her, even if it had melted away at her question.

It felt small, admittedly. A letter with a name, nothing more. But it wouldn’t be the first, or even the second time she’d found an impossible seeming note that had turned out to be correct, and Anita knew better, had been raised much better than to dismiss omens. Her fingers almost went towards her mask, again, but she willed them to remain still.

She didn’t have long to dwell on the moment.

Renshu’s form was only barely familiar to her, though Anita’s insides twisted at the thought of their last encounter. She looked, first, to Xiaoran. Her expression had changed, eyes narrowed, an ice-cold, heart-stopping look that Anita was deeply grateful she had never been subjected to. It was enough to quench any of Anita’s worries— She had Xiaoran on her side, after all.

“Renshu. I must say you have been gracing us with your presence quite frequently lately. Growing bored of yourself?” Anita pressed her lips together to hold in a laugh at Xiaoran’s words. She considered giving a greeting herself, but thought twice of it. She’d wait to see his move first.

Anita caught Xan's eyes on her once more. He didn't say it, but it wasn't a leap to guess what he might have been wondering. Xiaoran's reaction was telling, after all.

“Siblings,” Anita decided to not hold his lack of room-searching against him. It wasn’t much information, but if she was right, he’d understand the rest the moment Renshu replied. She kept her voice to a whisper, even though she didn't mind either of them hearing. It was something unfamiliar to Anita, who had no siblings of her own. Leksei and his family were the closest thing she had to cousins, and she liked them all intensely, no matter how much they bickered among themselves.

Before she could continue, a commotion sounded from another table. A woman, dressed so impeccably she stood out awfully among the masses of sleepwear had slammed down on her table and was glaring daggers at an incoming figure. Anita’s eyebrows raised in curiosity, even though she turned back to Xan to avoid staring. “Not as bad a relationship as that, at least,” She whispered, “It seems our hosts have been enjoying their games.”

MOOD

dinner time

OUTFIT

discord!

LOCATION

the peacehall

TAGS

neon reverie Pepsionne Sear

coded by xayah.ღ

 

[sox]

dayyaan bakshi

A

s inconspicuously as can be tucked away in the frigate's raucous yet cozy kitchen, unbeknownst to wandukur's beloved high priestess lounging the journey away on the upper decks, a particularly fickle colleague of hers had slipped through the cracks of the royal temple's ironclad schedule to cackle and reminisce over pitchers of stout with the crew's seasoned line cooks well into the late hours of the night.

had he lied to the maharani to gain access to an itinerary of the next departure to mirror isle? a debatable case, depending on whether the report outlining a detailed reconnaissance mission to investigate "promising intel" on the island had safely made it onto the monarch's desk that morning. in the last half-decade of acting as her highness' key public policy strategist in charge of revitalizing malnourished slums on the fringes of wandukuran society and bringing a new era of prosperity to their temperamental economy, an immeasurable level of trust in his abilities meant free reign to bend the rules here and there to his liking, particularly in areas inconsequential to the temple's daily affairs such as a last-minute vacation out to sea.

so all things considered, yes, perhaps he had— dayyaan bakshi was a man of many virtues among his myriad of redeeming qualities, but honesty had never been one of them.

to his meager defense, the chief ambassador hadn't a clue towards the identity of his travel partner when he originally peeped the date and time of the ship's departure, nor did he allocate any headspace to pondering any such matter as he roamed the glistening coastline of mirror isle, brimming with that signature brand of shameless serenity that only showed its face upon dumping one's personal workload unannounced on a poor, passing subordinate. at first glance, the island seemed to be nothing more than a mystic paradise, the kind of getaway oasis that promised simmering romances under a brazen sun's sweltering rays; dayyaan, however, was hardly that naive— it would take far more than a few impeccable scenic views for him to be impressed this soon.

but dayyaan didn't need to think too hard about all that just yet, not until the impending nighttime hours stretched on silently along his unending horizon, wordlessly ticking by as the world dozed on in its own unattainable dreamscape and left his weary soul behind, waiting.

he'd always had enough time.

despite the initial hassle of hunting down his designated room amidst the identical winding hallways, the payoff once the distinct fragrances of his hometown hit his senses nearly knocked the air clean from his lungs— an heartwarmingly impressive welcome in his tired eyes.

with a promised feast at the peacehall rapidly approaching its due date, dayyaan made quick work of bathing off the travel grime and dressed himself in a silky white ensemble, cinched at the waist and wrists with golden cuffs to complement the delicate embroidery twirling along its neckline. completing the look with ivory dress shoes and authentic gold studs, the ambassador spritzed on a subtlely oak-fragranced cologne and departed for the venue, drinking in the scenes around him like a much-yearned-for dose of overstimulation in a world of bleakness and monotony.

as he strolled into the immaculately decorated hall following the glowing orb guide without a single lasting concern in his perpetually ticking brain, nothing could have prepared dayyaan for the sight of one strikingly familiar hothead staring directly at him across the array of cream tables, piercing gaze honed in on him like a torpedo ready to strike at the most miniscule of provocations. while the morbid one's departure from wandukur had long become old news back in the homeland, the head priestess' participation in this mission came as a joyous surprise to the aloof ambassador who all but reveled in witnessing aadhya's seasonal hissing fits.

lips curling up into a fond smile, dayyaan wasted no time in striding right on over to the table bearing the unfortunate brunt of his dearest comrade's fury, disbelief and animosity radiating off her expensively clad figure in near-palpable waves. though the ensemble of faces seated around her rang no particularly fond bells in his memory, he desperately wished he could mentally capture the panorama of their expressions at that particular moment.

"whore."

apt name-calling far from undeserved, a pleased, ear-to-ear grin tugged at his lips. ah, how cathartic.

"my, not even the decency of 'escort' or 'harlot'? i like to get paid for my labor, too, you know."

despite the teasing lilt to his reply, dayyaan knew better than to undermine the high priestess'— and subsequently wandukur's— authority in front of the entire hall, regardless of how he actually felt about her holiness. at the end of the day, she was a revered figurehead handpicked by the greater goddess herself, worshipped like a second-rate deity by the devout, and what more was he than an overly-concerned citizen slaving away for the sake of his beloved homeland?

careful not to let the adrenaline rush his movements any further, dayyaan bowed down at the waist as he approached aadhya and lightly touched the tip of her shoes, a traditional sign of respect all but expected towards one so generously blessed by nashatra as her holiness. to not on a stage such as this one could run him the risk of being labelled a heretic, god forbid, a risk he dared not take regardless of how unfamiliar their customs likely seemed to the present crowd anyways.

"i bow to you, for i see divinity in you,"

he extended in good faith contrary to the formal bow, a wandursi prayer used second-nature in casual greeting across several of the southern provinces including the one from which his own family hailed.

"i hope i'm not crashing your party, high priestess— i would've loved an invitation to whatever... hazing ritual you seem to be conducting here."

his eyes flickered over to the half-lucid boy teetering on the edge of his seat, a concerned grimace creasing his brow for a brief moment before returning his attention to aadhya with a single clap of excitement.

"well then... shall we sit?"

MOOD

pto is a beautiful thing!

OUTFIT

click!

LOCATION

the peacehall

TAGS

FloatingAroundSpace iridescent.

coded by xayah.ღ

 

[mother of sorrows]

''Come with me, come with me... Quickly, please, I am in a bit of a hurry...''

The small fluff of light bobs before his head, a curving up and down like a hand gesturing him along. Leksei gives a bewildered blink , unsure of who's being spoken to; the little thing's voice drifts like a long-held sigh, asking for attention as if would rather not be a bother. He straightens up, feeling a bit embarrassed at the thought of being seen conversing with a disembodied voice.

''Do you mean me?''

He thinks to point at himself but stops at vaguely raising his hand, stuck in the air without any real intent. The ball seems to grow brighter still, bobbing closer. Leksei gains the odd impression that it might be nodding.

''Yes, yes... Please, come with me, I have much to do...''

''Of course. I apologize.''

Leksei gives one last look over his shoulder to where he sees the hint of Anita and Xiaoran, fading away into their own private conversation. Lord Renshu must also be at their table; he sees the man, looking as utterly miserable as ever. His stomach squirms with a premonition, hoping that there won't be an argument. The mysterious man he's met seems to not be involved in the tension, set aside yet not excluded.

''Show the way.''

Representatives slide into his vision and leave it just as quick until he's at his own, recognising the golden shine of Tejara from where he walked.; shining like a big fish, lost in the murk of a river, eyes always a bit shiny with stagnant waters. They are woven into conversation with a woman he does not see at first, but he is unpleasantly aware of a pulsing red dress, the color of soaked bandages. Leksei twists his face, suddenly a lot more unsure about this evening - what a strike of fate, that they were put together for a dinner. He hopes she will ignore him, or that he will ignore her.

''Here, here, I must be on my way... farewell...'' Like wind losing itself in the tangled branches outside, the little light disappears for better tables, one where the company is much more likeable, Leksei assumes. The prince takes his seat without another word, expression much refined and boring; the table has been in a bustling conversation when he'd been walking, and he wasn't sure he wanted to be included. He settles into his chair with a polite, confident, if a bit stiffled grace. Kind of like a mole whose dirt house has just been turned over, but it didn't want to look surprised.

He nets a look over the others, his brain working with a ringing sense that he has seen the other woman before; he catches sight of a mask - Sevyershina in design, the mask of his kingdom - and eyes that make even the shining chandeliers seem devoid of light. A bit dumbly, he squints at her over the steam of fresh dishes, before recognition settles and he blurts out in a voice far too loud for such a small space;

''Devana? Since when are you here?''

the crown prince

Leksei.

• aaaaaaaaa
• aaaaaaaaa

• filler tab!
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  interacting

  
  
  
  

  demonology erzulie sollie

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  hello

  
  
  
  

  goodbye

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[sollie]

Beatrice DuVall

A

lcohol kissed Tejara’s lips and it was all but too evident that the liquid was working its way past their mouth and through their body, like a leaf on a river being guided down rushing water with very little control over which way the twisted water would lead it next. The corners of her mouth twitched, daring to raise into the tiniest of smiles, but resisted out of politeness. Her observations were to be kept to herself but as the evening crept by, Beatrice became more and more pleased with the outcome of the night. Underneath the glittering astral theme, on the first evening of splendid social pageantry, the seeds of friendship were blossoming under moonlight.

Contrary to most, there were a select few flowers that could only be viewed in full bloom under the cold beams of the moon. The Ipomoea alba, Moonflower. Of all the flowers, it was certainly her favorite. It was a gift to witness the spectacle of birth from the Moonflower. White petals burst from a clasped bud, slowly unfurling minute by minute to reveal the twisted petals. Strangely, the swirling pattern of the flower reminded her of a strange pattern she’d seen hidden inside Heartmoor Mansion.

Much like the Moonflower, this peculiar sleepover gave birth to unique sights only illuminated by the night.

Pride of their home oozed from Tejara like sap from a tree. Perhaps her enthusiasm for the great storytellers and performers of Auriche had struck a nerve. There was no doubt that each representative boasted their homes with pride and honor, but Beatrice suspected that Tejara’s seemingly gentler nature would deter them from comparing apples to oranges– and yet, as they opened their mouth to speak, opposition came out. Perfect. Beatrice was thoroughly amused. Oh, how she loved a bit of resistance. While social etiquette was necessary for pleasantries to be exchanged, the most thrilling conversations came from disagreements.

“Mpandray,” Beatrice repeated, the word sounding foreign on her lips. “It sounds as though these Mpandray might hold up even against the best of Auriche’s performers,” Beatrice swirled the liquid in her cup, leaning back in her chair. Her attention was locked on Tejara, expression reminiscent of a siren, luring Tejara to continue to push against her– almost taunting them to do so. Despite her expression, her words held curiosity and admiration as they told of their storytelling tradition. “I am almost envious. Our history is documented so clinically in books that are dull to read. Though plays thrill, I await the day when I can indulge in your people’s stories– Thank you for sharing. I find it riveting to learn more and more from others– if you think about it though…despite their differences, we each share in the ritual of performance. I find that beautiful.”

Beatrice smiled at Tejara, sweet and inviting. “Auriche would love to welcome you. I’m sure you would find great pleasure in witnessing the spectacle of theatre in my home.”

Their answer to her question was utterly unsatisfying. She would likely need to probe elsewhere to find answers to her questions– and if she didn’t… If she was an outlier among the representatives…? Well, that presented a curious path– one that she wasn’t sure she wanted to walk down alone. The Mirror Isle, while not wholly unsettling, left Beatrice feeling strange. There were moments when the woman felt uneasy as if she were a passenger aboard a ship during stormy weather. Though it would pass, each time, it left curiosity floating about her very being.

“I find comfort in the room– their extravagance isn’t unlike my room back home. I must agree with you, though, finding rest has been admittedly difficult since arriving…” Beatrice suspected her insomnia lived in a different place than Tejara’s. She was often cursed with restless nights, lying awake, scrubbing her hands and body until the flesh was pink and irritated. The Mirror Isle hadn’t soothed that habit and she doubted it would be cured anytime soon. “Perhaps it’s something in the island air. Or maybe it’s simply the excitement of being around so many strangers at any given moment. It shall remain a mystery for now, I fear. Unless, of course, Lady Devana has found anything of interest lying in her room?”

Maybe this masked woman held the answers to her curiosity? Beatrice highly doubted it. Devana spoke strangely, her words like twisted roots buried deep in the ground. One perhaps would have a chance to understand the great network of intricacies between her words if they had a shovel and all the time in the world but Beatrice didn’t want to get her hands too dirty yet.

The new arrival at the table did not go unnoticed by Beatrice DuVall. The rich conversation momentarily distracted her from the unsavory run-in she’d had with the unnamed man, but gazing upon his face as he settled in, she was quickly reminded of the foul taste he’d left in her mouth. The dark eyes that left her so abandoned after prying for the apology that he owed her. She would not forget his face her entire time on the Mirror Isle until he paid his dues for scorning her so. She raised her gaze from Devana to the dark-haired man who quickly called attention to the masked woman. Of course, the two of them were acquainted with each other. Like calls to like– Beatrice’s uneasiness around Devana felt warranted now.

“You,” Beatrice breathed out as if she'd seen a wicked ghost, lifting a sharp glance at the stranger. For a moment, her voice sounded as though it had turned into a dagger, ready to pierce through his flesh at any moment. “I don’t believe we’ve had a formal introduction,” She smiled at the man, no hint of disdain or resentment hiding behind her chestnut eyes. In fact, she seemed delighted to see him. “My name is Beatrice DuVall of Auriche. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

MOOD

the whole gangs here

OUTFIT

discord!

LOCATION

the lyra table.

TAGS

erzulie demonology @svetnica

coded by xayah.ღ

 

[neon reverie]

LOCATION: the dining hall

INTERACTIONS: demonology

Mateo Ramos Ortiz

of Omuera

Mateo knows of people like Izolda; those who sip red wine from the pristine glasses and spill something else far less savory from their lips, even if it's coated in the same sweetness. Izolda is a pretty flower who thinks herself immune to the passing of seasons, a diamond who can't be scratched, least of all by other gems of far lesser worth. But even the sturdiest gems can be chipped if the clash is hard enough. And Mateo, despite his overall happy go lucky mien, doesn't mind crossing lines. In fact, he will very much take it one step further, just to make the other be forced to take a step back.

Birthed in a nation that celebrates death as much as life, the prince is not afraid of meeting possible endings face to face. For him it is a memory. A chant of connection between two realms that come to meet for just a moment, only to drift apart again. It is a rite of mortality and the immortality of one's footprint in the sands of time. It is the eyes of a mother too frail to clasp his hand in return, telling him; "Te veré de nuevo, mi niño. " It is knowing that she is right. They will see each other again, always. For death is not the end.

At least not for him.

Izolda wishes to immortalize herself while she is alive. Probably because her character is so easy to forget the moment her physical presence is gone. She can fight for those footnotes in history if she wishes; Mateo would like to see her try. Her cruel smirk is an amusement, a glimpse of thorns closer to her roots than the petals she flaunts with. He regards her with a grin of his own, all white teeth, seemingly unbothered by her display and thinly veiled insult.

“You are right Izora. Me and my people rarely find themselves around minds like yours. We prefer to have fun.” He replies with a meaningless wink. His gaze snaps towards the glasses with wine on the table. “Like getting a bit of alcohol in the system before the party gets started.” His hand grabs one.“How about a toast–” he begins, while swinging the glass wildly towards her. A bit too wildly, he knows. The gesture sends the scarlet wine cascading onto her exquisite dress; the fabric, once a canvas of opulence, now bears a mark of a rogue stain. Oh, whoopsies. That’s a shame. So unfortunate.

“Whoops. Culpa mía, Izolda.” he spreads his arms apologetically, his tone exaggerated. “That’s my clumsiness. Ancestral quirks, they always have ways of surprising us when we least expect it– can’t help it, can I? But hey, a bright mind like yours understands that life’s full of little accidentes, right?”

code by valen t.

 

[erzulie]

devana acindius

L

ady Devana could not remember a time where she talked at such length. She had long given up on keeping up with the social scene. It was rare for her to go out save for a hunting trip there and an imperial event here. Her peers had learned to keep away from The Dark Maiden, less they become victims of the madness that plagued her. When they thought her to be too far to hear, words of nightmares and her dark figure looming overhead were spoken from behind hands and decorative fans. It had not and did not bother her…but the change that her current companions brought was surprisingly pleasant.

“If you think yourself resilient enough to brave our wilds, I will welcome you with open arms. The forest is tolerant of those who listen.” Devana took a sip of her own wine then, the rich color staining her lips. She was quiet for a spell, enjoying the sound of her fellow quest as they talked. Her body went still, almost unnaturally so. Lady Duvall’s words seemed to breathe life into her, giving the impression of a statue coming to life. “Our hosts have truly outdone themself. It reminds me of home in a way that feels like a sweet illusion. Familiar and unfamiliar in the way that leaves me on edge and comforted. The wisterias inside are breathtaking.” Devana thought of the gift left inside of her room but decided to keep it to herself.

Again she went silent, but not for long. It was his lack of mask that drew her attention first. Though Leksei did not favor wearing one as often as she did, it was always customary to wear one in the presence of strangers. As she gazed at his lovely features and thought of home, something dark and fond sent a chill through her. Devana let him notice her first but her eyes never left him. The way they narrowed in a lazy sort of pleasure was not unlike that of a wild feline, eyeing a bird caught under its paw. “Leksei, I’ve only just arrived. I’m so pleased to see you.”

Her dear cousin was one of the few who could withstand the Acindius family and their ways. Devana thought back to gatherings, stalking her cousin through corridors and staying just outside of where the light touched. The chuckle she let slip was a tad sinister then. It was then that she looked between Lady Duvall and Leksei, her head tilted in curiosity. “You’ve met before…”

MOOD

admiration/curious

OUTFIT

x x

LOCATION

peacehall.

TAGS

tejara demonology beatrice sollie leksei mother of sorrows

coded by xayah.ღ

 

[demonology]

mpiady tejara

I

t quickly became difficult to maintain the conversation. At first, they were smiling and enraptured in Beatrice's kinds words and Devana's invitation. Suddenly, Tejara felt the hot hand of the lights around him and the stars above him. A soft caress, the tucking of their hair back, and a and reaching up to fist the thin fabric of their shirt. That's where the world goes when they close their eyes, start to trick themself into feeling safe: the hugs by each of their family and Dalià's palm against their cheek as she dug the needle in deep to their chin. This is home.

They extended gratitude to both of the women. Open hands laid against the dining table. The coarse cotton of the tablecloth against their knuckles. It was a sign of respect. They made promises they couldn't keep. They didn't have time to explain the significance of such a gesture before a low voice asked, "Devana? Since when are you here?"

Their eyes focused on Leksei. A welcomed face to which they grinned. Then, Beatrice glowed with the paleness of a person who'd seen an unfriendly spirit, calling out You as though it were a banishing spell. Meanwhile, Devana seemed friendly as ever. More than before, the two guests were in star contrast to each other. Tey looked to Leksei with a confused, pleading expression. I am utterly lost, it seemed to say.

"Leksei, dear friend! Please." Tejara stood up. They didn't know where to put the napkin that had laid across their lap, so they tossed it inelegantly to their chair before pulling out the one that sat next to them. "Take a seat."

MOOD

theyre trying their best!!!

OUTFIT

in disc

LOCATION

the lyra table

TAGS

erzulie sollie mother of sorrows

coded by xayah.ღ

 

[mother of sorrows]

Her dress reminded of a golden bell, its wide berth tumbling right and left. Kalala wandered around quite happily, or rather bobbed like an apple in water, in search for conversation. What a glum crowd - no one smiled back at her, and the wine was far too sour for her tastes. Only after a few minutes of lingering by sparsely populated tables did she spot a figure that she recognised.

Alone, like a divine sight, bathed in the dreamy candlelight (or maybe a sacrifice. One such as Kalala doesn’t see the difference.). Anastius wears the same gold as she, though a more mournful shade; a quiet elegance sat in their posture, the resigned grace of one that’s carried a role for far too long. Kalala bounces over in delight, obviously excited about meeting them again. She waved to them all the way over to their chair, a bit out of breath when she finally stopped by them.

‘’Anastius!’’ The princess gives them a genuine smile, hand reaching out to squeeze theirs. ‘’Hello! It’s me, Kalala! We got chased by crabs yesterday!’’

Wine that tastes like moldy fruit, Anastius politely dismissed the extended silver tray— not wanting to waste or be left holding an untouched glass all evening.

“Why yes it is, my dear, I’m pleased to see you again.'' Their voice was both soft yet earnest, a tone they have spent decades upholding. Eyes of molten chocolate pierced back at the princess, ones that have seen a plethora of ordeals and yet still hold a softness— a smile perhaps within those depths as they stared back at her. “The absence of crabs makes this event a little more bearable, wouldn’t you say Ms. Kalala?” They said honestly as they reached out their own hand and squeezed her own.

It was true, they had been chased around by hundreds of crabs, all being controlled by the little devil that was Sharmila. The devious little fur ball got her hands upon something that wasn’t hers and caused a scene you’d hear in a made up story, but for once today she has learned the meaning of sitting down when she’s told. Underneath their long, golden sleeve sat the small animal as she was cradled in their hand, softly snoring through dinner.

Kalala lets out a delighted coo, lowering her head to get a better peek at the little beast. She looks like a small batch of flower soil, and Kalala wanted to pet her rough pelt. ‘’Yes! I couldn’t get the sand out of my shoes for hours.’’ She chirps, clasping their hand in hers in a friendly display. ‘’I’m glad you were there with me. I would still be stuck on that palm tree if I were alone.’’ She shivers, giving a tough face as if she had just bitten into a sour plum. Anastius has shown great bravery in the face of a thousand crustaceans, and she couldn’t help but admire them a little bit. They must be an important person back in Wandukur.

Before Kalala could even get another word out, a small ball of light popped in between them. It screamed like a miniature warrior, loud enough to make Kalala jump back in surprise.

‘’ENOUGH! I have been trying to get your attention for ten minutes now, and I won’t stand for this any longer!’’

Kalala’s eyes widen into the size of soup bowls. She had noticed what she thought was a smidge of dust flying around, but she always waved it off with her hand. She feels a bit embarrassed, now that it turns out the dust is sentient and mostly likely has been getting beat up by her on accident.

‘’What -’’

She tries to start, but the ball of light doesn’t care to listen.

‘’Follow me this instant! Your table is already waiting!’’

‘’But I -’’

The little light roars as if about to bite her and Kalala finally gives a small nod, speechless for probably the first time in her entire life. She still wants to talk further with Anastius, but the dinner has already started; with a sincerely disappointed expression, she takes their hand again to squeeze it. ‘’I have to go, but I hope we can talk after this again!’’ She will look for them later, she promises herself; and for the man she danced with and Tejara too, if luck is on her side! She gives Anastius a wide smile full of excitement, walking after the furious ball with a bounce to her step.

She finds her table already occupied. First, by a woman lonely and cold as the moon, clad in gold and finery carved out of the ancient, dark earths. A man that carries confidence like a feather, his expression openly charming and handsome. And then another man, sun-haired and red faced as though he is barely holding himself back from falling off the chair and onto the floor.

Kalala bows before them like a small, round bird, her eyes sparkling with the chandelier lights. ‘’Good evening. I’m princess Kalala of Sebaja. I’m honored to share this dinner with you.’’ She slips onto the seat happily enough, giving them each a private smile. ‘’How are you all?’’

the princess

kalala.

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  FloatingAroundSpace sox iridescent.
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  hello

  
  
  
  

  goodbye

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[mother of sorrows]

Half still in shock, Leksei reaches out a gloved hand to shake Devana's, her fingers cold like the icy, treacherous forests she calls her home. He has not seen her in - well, since he has left for Mirror Island. Their family is a close one, but they are no longer the children drawn to his aunt's laps, to be told fairytales by firelight. Duties have drawn both Leksei and Devana to their respective roles, though he tries to visit as often as possible. She is a strange, grave-eyed sort, like all those from his mother's side; but it is a strangeness that he is used to, one that is comforting so far from home.

''Devana, dear sestrichna! I had no idea you were here.''

Cousin. A superstitious part of him that has seen women walk on mangled wolves' legs lets out a nervous breath. He clings to the familial title like a child clutching their blanket, convinced it can protect from curses and spirits.

''How are you? And your family?''

He retreats and his gloomy, solemn face melts into an almost smile, eyes lighting up at her presence. The hesitant cheerfulness only rises at the sight of Tejara, and he reaches out to shake their hand too; warm and rough with scars from beasts unknown, animals spat out from bowels of the earth. They look a bit nervously baffled, eyes round like a lost lamb's and Leksei takes pity on them. He gives an excited pat on his friend's shoulder, genuinely pleased by their presence. Have they been drinking? Leksei gives them an appraising squint, wondering if they are truly as off-balance as they seem in his eyes right now.

''Thank you, Tejara. And how are you? Enjoying the night?''

Well, Devana must have provided Tejara with interesting conversation. Leksei would pay to be a fly on the wall and see just what kind of topics these two would come up with. He gives a tiny, beaming smile to both of them, some of the stiffness in his shoulders disappearing.

For only a moment, that is.

Distracted as he was, he barely noticed a third presence by the table; bloodied in silk, reflective like the sea at the end of days. The woman that has stumbled into him before. The smile drops as if was never there, his expression polite and disinterested again. He casts a cold eye over her, not at all convinced by her saccharine display.

''Ah. Auriche?''

Leksei's dark eyes narrow, the barest hint of a smirk in his voice. That makes an awful sort of sense. The courts there are no more than a pit of snakes; Beatrice, then, might be similar. He already does not hold a high opinion of running into people and insulting them, but now he knows to be wary of the threat she spat at him before.

''My name is Leksei.''

He says no more to her, some of his good mood dampened.

the crown prince

Leksei.

• aaaaaaaaa
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  interact

  
  
  
  

  demonology erzulie sollie

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  hello

  
  
  
  

  goodbye

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[FloatingAroundSpace]

Aadhya Chakma

I

f they were in Wandukur, Aadhya would have more words for Dayyaan. Words coated in venom, in bitterness, in chewed off edges barely eeking past her tongue— what is your purpose here, you fool? What right have you to sully my presence with yours? Why is your presence always in tandem with mine? As it were, however, there was another party privy to their interaction, even if that party was severely inebriated. As such, she kept her mouth shut as he greeted her properly, touching the crown of his head after he spoke to murmur her own response, the completion of the greeting ritual;

“Rise, for my divinity is yours to ask for.”

A muscle tensed in her neck briefly as she resisted the urge to scowl at his insinuation. While she appeared at some of the parties that he was also at, she hardly partook in such acts of depravity, standing as the only bit of sanctity in the room. (A bit of a lie that she told herself— as much as she embraced her godhood, there was still the flesh beneath it all, and it faltered at times. The lavish parties did have the most delectable morsels to snack on and she was partial to seafood, a true delicacy in their arid home. Wine flowed freely, tart and bitter and crisp and often placed in her hand, offered up as a greeting, an ask for a boon— please, grant me a blessing, and a click of their glass against hers.)

“I have performed no ritual that has not been asked for,”

she remarked, a reference to their formal greetings to one another, rather than her remark on his character.

“He appeared in this condition and demanded food.”

She swept a hand towards the server, who was making a valiant attempt to stare forward as if they were not listening to the conversation the two were having,

“I provided to the best of my ability.”

She pulled her head back when the other man clapped, her next blink mildly extended as she gathered herself to sit and eat next to one of her greatest irritants. Pearls were created in the mouths of oysters as a form of protection against sand and grit that filtered in— she could poise herself next to the pest that had followed her as well.

“Let us,”

she said loftily, pulling out a chair and sliding into the seat, glancing over at Dayyaan one final time before fixing her attention on the stranger at their table. She took in his state of dress, wondering where he was from;

“How should I greet you?”

she asked him.

Yet another arrived at their table, this time with some manners, offering a name, a greeting, a bow. Aadhya inclined her head to the newcomer, keeping her eyes on the other's face— she was young and exuberant it would seem, from a land similar yet so different from Wandukur itself, a land that sat as evidence of what could be without the goddess’ blessing. The yawning desert could have been hostile to them, too, but it instead had presented a thousand offerings of a million colors.

“A pleasure to meet you,”

Aadhya said,

“I am Aadhya Chakma, High Priestess of Wandukur and am grateful for your presence.”

A polite greeting with a backhanded remark wrapped up within towards the two others that sat with them, though if their intoxicated table mate could tell was difficult.

Whether or not Dayyaan caught the remark and its implications was not of great concern to her.

“I have only just arrived on this Isle and as such this is the first event where I am in attendance. I am hoping for a pleasant evening. When did you arrive? Have you found the company to be amicable?”

Her tone was softer when she spoke to the younger woman, almost gentle. Her eyes, though, remained sharp and transfixed on Kalala’s face, her posture, searching for a morsel to sharpen and begin the dissection of all that were present.

MOOD

irritated > politicking

OUTFIT

discord

LOCATION

the draco table

TAGS

iridescent. , sox , mother of sorrows

coded by xayah.ღ

 

[Stardust Galaxy]

Zhu Xueqin

A

t first glance, Xueqin knew none of these people were from Auriche, their clothes, their accent, and their mannerisms were not the ones that you saw back at home, and while the young princess was more than prepared on how to act for this kind of meeting, it was still a bit of nerve-wracking having to accommodate with so vast cultures.

The first person who introduced herself to the princess was none other than Miyu, a representative from Tsuyaye. If the young princess had to describe Miyu, just her mere appearance seemed like the first snow in winter, the one that was pure white and chill everyone with just their presence. But despite the delicate features that Miyu was graced with. If something Xueqin knew was that Tsuyaye was a land known for its army and right now the princess could be in front of a dutiful but still lethal warrior.

“Has your time here been agreeable thus far? Such a soiree must be familiar for an Aurichian.” Miyu asked and a faint smile appeared on the face of the princess.

“My experience so far has been mesmerizing, and while this kind of gathering is completely different from the ones I attend in Auriche, I must admit the work put into it has left me satisfied so far.”

When the Vexira representative made their entrance, Xueqin felt a slight annoyance at the sudden ignorance they had for the princess. If this was Auriche, the young princess would have already ordered her court of guards to make them kneel in front of her as they begged for forgiveness for a blatantly disrespectful act. But perhaps this was the Vexira culture one without manners if someone asked Xueqin.

"Zhi Kui, I know you are interested in continuing your discussion with Miss Miyu, but even though this isn't Auriche I was taught leaving someone out of a conversation is such a disrespectful act, so I am assuming that isn't the case in Vexira, so I'll let it slide this time."

The young princess said as she took a sip of her glass,

"I am so sorry Miyu, for my sudden change in manner. I hope this doesn't make you perceive me in a bad light for you."

MOOD

joyful

OUTFIT

here

LOCATION

here

TAGS

Uxie FloatingAroundSpace

coded by xayah.ღ

 

[Uxie]

miyu of tsuyaye

X

ueqin's voice reminded Miyu of a spring breeze flitting through a rose garden; delicate, elegant, carefully maintained. "I must admit the work put into it has left me satisfied so far." She smiled, tepidly — what had the Aurichians stepped over to gain such wealth? At least the princess before her didn't seem quite as materialistic as the worst merchants she has had the displeasure of meeting.

Zhi Kui cut in, as if they'd finally had it with waiting their turn. "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?"

Her gaze stiffened, the corners of her lips falling imperceptibly.

"As promised,"

she echoed dryly.

Did they fancy themselves sly when their intentions were bared clean? Then again, she could call it a refreshing change of pace from those old snakes back home, despite their dulled fangs. This one might have more of a bite.

"Even though this isn't Auriche I was taught leaving someone out of a conversation is such a disrespectful act," Ill-disguised surprise flitted across Miyu's features — so even royally kept roses held thorns — and she bit back a laugh. "So I am assuming that isn't the case in Vexira, so I'll let it slide this time." She turned an apologetic gaze upon her, and the Tsuyayen's smile widened.

"I am so sorry Miyu, for my sudden change in manner. I hope this doesn't make you perceive me in a bad light for you."

A bad light was the opposite of what illuminated her. She allowed the laugh to slip through, this time. Unknowingly, the Aurichian guest's outburst had eased the tension in her shoulders.

"Of course not,"

she said, waving a hand loosely,

"You speak objectively; it would be quite unkind to leave anyone out."

Nonetheless, there were things she needed to know if she wanted to greet Hisoki comfortably — her gaze passed around the table, a glint in her eye as it came to rest on Zhi Kui — that she might only glean from the Vexiran seated across her.

"It was a pleasant one, if you must know,"

she began lightly, tagging on without room for interjection,

"Maybe, instead, we should all trade stories? Fairly. Of stories from home, or childhood,"

She paused, pointedly.

"Or, perhaps, our adventures on the Isle, thus far?"

Tiresome, tiresome to skirt around meanings. She longed for the day she might finally be free of such petty things, but she couldn't think of a realm on this earth where she might escape it. She'd laid down her sword for such a life, after all.

Perhaps she might do most well around Vexira with their straightforward way of speaking — then again, she had met only two representatives and none of the others. Miyu wasn't sure she could tolerate a lifetime with Zhi Kui.

"Anything interesting,"

she finished, reaching again for her glass,

"Though I am confident your tales will all be ones worth hearing."

MOOD

funny little things

OUTFIT

discord :3c

LOCATION

peace hall

TAGS

Stardust Galaxy FloatingAroundSpace

coded by xayah.ღ

 

[FloatingAroundSpace]

Peng Zhi Kui

Z

hi Kui’s head turned as soon as they heard themselves being addressed, gaze fixating on Xueqin as the young woman scolded them for wanting to continue on the conversation they had been having earlier. For the first time since they had stepped foot onto the island, their usual jovial and lighthearted attitude faded away; the smile they wore falling into a sharpened frown, their eyes darkened as they took in the holier-than-thou posture of the princess as she took such a dainty sip from her glass, their posture shifting to be stiffer and more guarded, arms folding in front of their chest.

“You’re right,”

they said, their voice no longer light or airy but instead firm, as iron steel as the machinery that they came from,

“this isn’t Auriche.”

Their mother had little respect for the land, always sniffing and turning up her own nose at those who were blinded solely and only by magic. It was difficult to strike up alliances and conversations when there were snide remarks about the fact that there were no sparks leaping from fingertips, no elements being manipulated at a moment’s notice. The clamor of gears turning, the heavy thud of machinery raging on and on and on meant nothing to a land where flashy displays (with no substance beneath them) were the expectation and representation of power. Zhi Kui’s own magic was so very hidden, a guarded secret, a leg up over their brethren, and so the idea that the only potential one had was within whatever boon (or curse) they had been born with never sat right with them.

They leaned forward now, saying,

“The manners you hold are for those that you deem worthy of them. If we were in Auriche, you would have no respect for me to begin with.”

They showed her one of their hands, their fingertips calloused and a myriad of cuts dancing up and down at various angles,

“I’ve no magic to garner your favor with, no shadows or flames or illusions that can make you take another glance my way. If we were to follow the rules of your land, I would have no reason to garner your notice, and so I will not clamor for attention that you would never provide in the first place.”

Miyu spoke next, depositing praise on the other princess and causing Zhi Kui to roll their eyes. They supposed that a representative from Tsuyaye would be willing to entertain someone from Auriche— a nation looking for any ally would take any ally, even one that might never see them as an equal.

“No such thing as fair,”

Zhi Kui informed Miyu with a raised eyebrow— it was one of the only truths of Vexira. Siblings were rivals to fight and kill, allies were clamoring for every scrap of information to turn into a knife, father was some bastard that had finally bothered to recognize mother’s elegance and wisdom and extended a hand towards Zhi Kui, a hand that they knew could turn into a fist at any given moment.

Their gaze turned once again to Xueqin,

“How about you begin, then, if you are so intent in wanting our attention on you?”

MOOD

frustrated > pissed

OUTFIT

discord

LOCATION

table

TAGS

Uxie Stardust Galaxy

coded by xayah.ღ

 

[Pepsionne]

xan ahn

“Not as bad a relationship as that, at least,” Anita whispered, “It seems our hosts have been enjoying their games.”

Xan’s thick brows raised briefly, a short lived grimace to serve as the extent of his empathy for those seated at such an--eventful table. If there was anything he had learned from his first event on the island, it was that the hosts certainly did enjoy their games. The thick, damp smell of earth filled his nostrils in memory of that fact.

A whispered call--was it longing that hit his chest just now? A silence he hadn’t known before, he discovered in that tomb buried far beneath the ground. Simply soil--and the soft breaths trembled from his lips.

Xan cleared his throat. He offered Anita a shallow smile before responding, “And I’ll take what breaks I can get from them.”

His glass now nearly empty once more, and a spreading flush of pink across his cheeks to prove it, Xan let his eyes survey the representatives thrown into lively chatter around them. It had been awhile since he had attended something like this. So formal and stiff, like little puppets being worked through their evening on tight strings.

The Bandiama representative fiddled mindlessly with one of the utensils still laid untouched before him, fingers twisting the metal back and forth while the black of his irises drank in the gleaming splendor dancing across its surface.

It was quite a funny thing to him, how such a restrained and passive dinner could close up his throat in such a way. Nausea, he would call it, if only he could generate the physical symptoms of the sickness. The dinners he had grown to know involved the violence and graphic intensity of a successful hunt. Whiskers slicked back against stained fur in a sticky red gleam. Cream fangs baring themselves as they split through sinew and bone. A funny thing indeed, how even feasting with beasts felt more humane to him than this.

Xan finished off the rest of his wine. He set the glass down almost sharply, but a silver lining of grace still cut through to ensure the glass landed with little more than a damp thump. Judging by the way the room’s lights began to grow brighter and more amusing, Xan thought it best to take a pause before his next drink. He could drink himself stupid in his room later. First--he thought it best to end the awkward clinking of cutlery that filled their table. The hosts brought them together for a reason, did they not?

“Anita, if you don’t mind me asking. What brought you here, to Mirror Isle?” He looked up from the glass he fiddled with, settling a heavy gaze on her expression. “Is it love you seek? Adventure? Or simply a noble duty you aim to fulfill?” There was a brief pause that Xan left at their table, his pointed question airing out between the representatives, before he added. “An open question, if Xiaoran or the new gentleman would like to reply of course.”

MOOD

observant

OUTFIT

discord

LOCATION

peace hall

TAGS

ravensunset neon reverie Sear

coded by xayah.ღ

 

[mother of sorrows]

LOCATION: Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit

INTERACTIONS:

izolda beausejour

of auriche

Izolda does not have time to react. A second before she is sitting, humane as a knife, and the second Mateo is swinging his glass in a wild spray; redness spills over her in a wave, soaking through her dress in an instant. She lets out a shocked gasp, her chair yanking backwards as she erupts from it. Humiliation burns through her in a hot rush, worse than if he had slapped her. Impossible violence can be forgiven in Auriche - but never weakness. Cold rage grips her ribs and crushes them until her breathing comes out in short puffs, cheeks dark with blood.

He is revolting. Utterly despicable. Smiling like the disgusting gods they worship and before Izolda can calm down, she tilts back a wine cup just as red over his head; stupid, stupid, she knows, the trailing gazes from other tables now sticking to her. But intelligent as she is, ambitious as her dreams are, manners beaten with pinches under tables and tight smiles - she is but a woman.

And she hates, Beausejour or not.

''A toast to your mother, Mateo.'' Izolda offers the words like an insult, a challenge that he has started. Too loud to not draw attention from the others, too low to be anything but venom; she will deeply regret this later, but in this moment, she only sees his eyes like the color of hatred.

I will crush you into dust. I will stomp your miserable country into memory.

No.

Not just you...

code by valen t.

 

[sox]

dayyaan bakshi

S

parks of unbridled satisfaction and hearty amusement glimmered in dayyaan's obsidian eyes as aadhya's silent fury emanated in palpable vibrations, threatening to throttle him without mercy the longer he lingered in her holy presence. while wandukuran nobility's perception of the advisor as a sociable yet private casanova didn't deviate too far from reality, the same could hardly be said for their beloved high priestess; headstrong to the point of obstinacy, fickle like the wind on the waves, goddess forbid he utter a word of her indiscriminate temper to the devout masses who kissed the floor upon which she tread. dutily bound to maintaining her impeccable reputation as a seatholder of public office, day cherished the rare moments behind closed doors where her nostrils flared without reserve, teeth bared and heart racing in an exhilarating display of picturesque rage reserved only for him.

all of these analytical ruminations simmered down to a single pleased smile on dayyaan's full lips as he took his place in the doomed seat between aadhya and the miffed drunkard who'd had the immense displeasure of interacting with the priestess moments prior. he had half a mind to check in on the young lad now that the tension in the air had settled somewhat to allow for small talk, but between the tantalizing plate of delicacies sitting before him and the ever-attentive wait staff milling about, he was quite positive the kid would be just fine even without his unsolicited intervention.

instead, dayyaan's unoccupied gaze landed on an effervescent cloud of gold and onyx hues floating across the banquet hall, radiant and alluring in moderate doses as her contagious vitality dared to shower down upon even the stoic anastius of all people. a sheltered princess overcome with wonder or perhaps the fearless daughter of a wealthy merchant, she spoke to them with comfortable ease as though they were a dear companion of many years, and the warm smile that mirrored her exuberant one lit up the high priest's unreadable expression like the sizzling embers of a humble fireplace against the harrowing chill of a late-winter snow.

'so anastius made a friend while i wasn't looking.' a fleeting sense of relief swathed his heart at the cursory observation. they deserved at least this much, surely, no? a momentary respite from the solitary fate woven for them by the merciless hands of their station back in wandukur— dayyaan wished nothing less for the high priest during their extended stay at the isle.

"good evening. i'm princess kalala of sebaja. i'm honored to share this dinner with you."

the lady of gold offered a concise introduction upon approaching his disharmonious table that proved to be nothing short of flawless, exactly the prestige one might expect from the luminous crown of sebaja. had dayyaan not personally visited the nation's religious and academic institutions several times over his years of counsel on behalf of the maharani, he might have mistaken her for a divine priestess herself with how her mere presence effortlessly softened the previously electrifying atmosphere.

but alas, she was royalty. how untoward of him to speculate so presumptuously.

"the honor is mine, your highness."

day stood and greeted with a polite bow to match the jovial princess' etiquette.

"i am dayyaan bakshi, an ambassador from wandukur and chief advisor to the maharani, but feel free to call me 'day.' the one-of-a-kind views i encountered during my travels in sebaja were simply unmatched— i look forward to discussing them with you further over tea someday, if you find the time."

in typical aadhya fashion, however, the high priestess wasted not a moment in monopolozing princess kalala's attention as soon as an opportunity arose from the shadows to avoid paying her arch nemesis any further mind in this blissful dreamscape of carefully curated novelty. all in all, he preferred things this way as well; though he held many curiosities towards sebaja's affluent royal family, his line of questioning could wait until after the walking surveillance state graced some other table with her worthy presence.

"pardon my coworker's name-calling habit, her manners are quite lacking— pleased to make your acquaintance, sir...?"

dayyaan extended a hand in greeting to the younger man beside him and waited patiently for his name, though the fuscia flush to his cheeks and subtle discomfort in his fiery gaze led him to believe the poor fellow might rather prefer to have nothing to do with such a troublesome concoction of strangers at all. not that he blamed him, of course; being treated with open condescension at a gathering of elites was hardly the dream vacation any noble could hope for. quite the shoddy representation of wandukuran values their high priestess had become.

MOOD

what novel company!

OUTFIT

click!

LOCATION

the peacehall

TAGS

FloatingAroundSpace iridescent. mother of sorrows arthur morgan.

coded by xayah.ღ

 

[arthur morgan.]

anastius goswami

A

s they watched the young princess make her leave, eyes plastered towards that annoying ball of light that took away their small glimpse of friendship away. anastius never seemed the type to take this place as seriously as others have, perhaps it’s the reason they have yet to make many impressions upon the others— perhaps it had been a mistake to send them that letter, it would have been best to keep them back home? riddled with self doubt about their position here, whether they were truly interesting or simply picked out of pity. they felt second best, both here and back home— but they would be damned to let themselves appear weak, snarl and bite at those that wished to feast upon their broken bones and bruised skin. a seasoned individual knew not to show weakness, but knew when to let ones guard down and ana had yet to understand that point but perhaps this place was meant to help and lift the elephant that sat upon their chest. it’s a different game then they are used to playing, but for the greater good of their country and to feel somewhat okay— they were willing to play, and perhaps get mucky in the process.

but maybe they were making it a little to easy for ana, maybe ana wasn’t getting the ball rolling fast enough— either way, they were in for a surprise and not a good one.

soon enough they began to feel a disturbance pierced through their core, the pit of their stomach curdled like milk in the sun. the scent of rotten garbage filled their nose, holding back the need to dry heave as they allowed their eyes to fall upon a figure they wished they hadn’t— aadhya, their fellow high priestess. what a… wonderful surprise, though if they weren’t so molded into the flesh of religion ana would have a much colorful vocabulary to spew. the gods must be testing my patience, have i not given you decades of obedience and grace? they said to themselves, unable to hide the face of disgust that grew upon their features. the same kind of look you’d get when biting into rotten fruit, but the taste subsided as they stole a glass of wine from a passing servant and drank it one full swing— while it was a small amount, was it a sight befitting of a high priest? at the moment, ana had no care as to how they appeared.

watching as kalala made greeting, they felt sorry for her, wondering how long it will be before aadhya proclaims she’s a goddess reborn— a tale they’ve heard for the past five years, a tale that’s ever so boring and ever so tiring to hear. while she might do her job well and gives their people someone else to bug, her arrogance and temperament is as rotten as grey flesh. ana tries their best to stay away from her, keeping busy with their own full schedule— and yet, she seems to be obsessed with seeing them slip, nipping at their heels like a hound… what was that saying? hard to control a hound when you put a crown on its head? she believes to be a goddess reborn, the picture of perfection while ana is the black cloud that dulls her sun. she might not be able to get rid of them so easily, but she sure can make their life a misery and yet she’ll never breakdown their tower.

anastius ayan anu goswami, high priest of wandakur, speaker of the gods, will not and shall not be stomped on or forced into submission— a reigning priest of over 20 years will not give their fellow high priestess any form of satisfaction, they shall never fear her wrath or venomous tongue. she may not see them as a powerful individual, but it was because they wanted her too. did she think they were fucking around for the past twenty years? she do well to remember the path they paved for her, the gravel they poured to not let her feet dirty— they’ve paved the way for others to cross, tending the soil so others can pick the fruit of their labor. it is wise to remember where they stood, the wrath of god at the tips of their fingers and certain favoritism’s within the royal halls. as they sat in their chair, debating on whether or not they wanted to sneak away and hide within the chambers of their room, ana let out an annoyed sigh as they pushed themselves up from said chair. taking their hands once again and clasping them together, keeping a sleeping sharmila trapped within as to keep her at bay— but she wouldn’t be much of an issue, considering the trouble she put her parent into she has kept herself quite. before they could even change their mind, ana shifted their feet and began walking, going head first into the spitting cobras nest.

"aadhya, what a lovely surprise.’"

they spoke of lies dressed in pretty bows and lavish golds, to the ears of others it sounded genuine— but she knew better then that.

"the gods were gracious to grant you a safe voyage, if i had known i also would have prayed for you."

they said snidely, expressions cold as ice as they stared deep into her soul, a powerful presence that could smother out an active fire, eyes of onyx that could blackout the sun.

"i hope you are making kindly with princess kalala, a gentle and kind soul— a light bright as our goddess Drarulla’s torch, used to light the way for our people to find what is now Wandakur.”

they said with kindness, dipping their head slightly as they walked around the young princess.

"what brings you here, as i never received…”

they trailed off, as if they grew bored of aadhya’s presence, like a child with an old toy. their powerful gaze landing upon a familiar face, but nothing about their expression made it clear as to whether they appreciated to see them or not— unwelcome company often leaves ana in an unforgiving mood.

"two representatives perhaps, but three? my the gods have blessed me with such… colorful company.”

a crack of a grin appeared on their face, their words wrapped in a sweetness that was just enough to hide the sour center of their true feelings. coating one’s throat to the point of suffocation, ana let their gaze dip between the two of them— both curious yet unimpressed, if that was even possible.

"how ever will wandukur survive without Nashatra reincarnate? and how will she live without their lips pressed against her feet?”

they said nonchalantly, their tongue nearly as sharp as their monstrous bite. while they played nice within the walls of their great country, they were free from its suffocating grasp and could say just about whatever they wanted— perhaps there was some good to coming here after all, though it would be been nicer without the annoying sound of aadhya breath so near.

MOOD

annoyance but also ready to start a cat fight lol

OUTFIT

here

LOCATION

here

TAGS

mother of sorrows
sox
FloatingAroundSpace

coded by xayah.ღ

 

[mother of sorrows]

Luck is on her side tonight. Her fellows at the table greet her with unambigious charm that instantly draws her admiration, the dark embers of Kalala's eyes dancing. The first impression of the woman as a distant moon proves correct, her words cool like its reflection in a lake; she does not trip over her words, precise, a divine surgeon. If there is danger to be had to her, Kalala joyously misses it and takes to her like a sister.

"Oh, I arrived at the first night!"

The princess gives a beaming smile, clasping her two hands together.

"The company is just great. Well, there's one or two sour eggs, but the rest are all sorts of personalities."

Aadhya, a beating heart of their gods - is she perhaps feeling awkward, being a new-comer? Priestess or not, no one likes to stand out as a stranger. Kalala makes it a decision to be as friendly as possible to set her at ease, giving her a private nod.

It is the older man that reminds her of a gaze-drawing sun. Where Aadhya restrains, he alleviates; there is such an easiness to his smile that Kalala observes with the awed look of a sparrow watching a hawk flying overhead. Chief advisor to the Maharani, a man that does not seem at all like his shoulders are slumped by weight of a nation. The compliment to her land instantly makes Kalala sit a bit straighter, smile growing wider in genuine delight.

"Yes, of course!"

She chirps, glancing between the two of them.

"It would be an honor. I have been to Wandukur myself, but only briefly, unfortunately. The arhitecture and artwork is breathtaking."

She dreams, sometimes, of those arched, needle-thin towers, tall enough to pierce the heavens. She had been too young for any real memory to remain, but the sanctity of that divine kingdom stuck with her even through the years.

Aadhya and Day. They both look a bit older than her, and this makes Kalala feel a bit more trusting. She is about to speak more when a presence behind her makes her turn around, finding a familiar face.

Anastius. Stormy-faced, a tension whipping behind their eyes. What are they doing here?

Kalala, in a rare fit of wit, decides wisely to not intrude as words are exhanged. Anastius gives her a gentle gesture that somehow does not soften the odd darkness in their face, and the princess' gleeful smile drains away into polite hesitation, whatever was open in her features snapping shut immediately. Even she could see that there is something not quite right here, hands twitching to her lap, golden bracelets giving nervous clanks. Ah, so they all know each other? Not a surprise, but the undercut, honeyed hostility makes Kalala feel like a fish caught between sharks. Desperate to not be dragged into such focus, she turns to the one member of their jolly group she has not talked to yet.

A man, around her age, of flushed sand hair and cheeks filled with wine. He seems to not be interested in the happenings here or there, looking blissfully out of it all. Kalala envies him that fact, trying to hook his attention with a tiny wave.

"And you? How are you finding the company?"

She starts, giving a tiny smile in greeting.

the princess

kalala.

• aaaaaaaaa
• aaaaaaaaa

• filler tab!
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  interact

  
  
  
  

  FloatingAroundSpace sox iridescent. arthur morgan.
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  hello

  
  
  
  

  goodbye

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[neon reverie]

xiaoran liumei

T

he rusted chain in both their bloods clanks, its echo a crack in the air. Xiaoran looks at her half-sibling as if he is a relentless barnacle clinging to the underbelly of the family, seeking to erode everything with his disdain. She is sure he thinks of her as their father’s fist, tightening around his slippery frame till it fractures ribs and bleeds just the perfect red that brings fortune.

Pestilence in human form, he is. A shadow that keeps intruding where he shouldn’t, always bringing a puff of smoke and the prickling uncertainty whether he is there to deliver omens of doom or the glint of ill-gotten gains. Tendrils of resentment curl within as the festering sore in their midst twists his tongue into equal cold syllables.

“I see your wit is absent as ever, Xiaoran. I at least provide engaging company, unlike some.”

He goes down to sit beside her, blows smoke close enough that it has no other way but to pollute her nostrils. Fucking twat. A pair of black curtains tighten slightly, pulling the fabric thin enough to show the blinking hatred behind them for the briefest of moments. Muscles tense in the hands, betraying the images woven whenever his face unwelcomely appears before her. Xiaoran hates him. Hates him for his existence, for having wrangled himself a bit more free from the grip that is around each of their throats. To have escaped and come back to taunt her so as the ghostly fingers of a dynasty dig further and further into her already pale flesh.

“Your attempt at being engaging is as feeble as your grasp on reality, it seems." Xiaoran scoffs. Not even a burning country could flicker awake any warmth between them. But even with all the words lined up like bullets in a gun, restraint loosens the finger on the trigger. They are not in Vexira after all, and it would not do well to draw blood with possible predators around.

Xiaoran lets her attention be captured by the enigmatic beast owner; her gaze engaging with his once more. What brings them to Mirror Isle? What a silly yet entertaining question. As if one’s motives would be so easily shared. In this game of politics, it is never about what you show; it’s about what you keep hidden. And Xiaoran, her father’s fist, parts her lips to speak for them both.

“We are simply here to represent Vexira as best as we can to those unfamiliar with our country and inventions.” She waves away some of the fucking smoke from her face, leans forward slightly with her chin on her hand. “Can’t call it noble duty as much as bloody politics. But who knows? Perhaps Mirror Isle can bring the right people together for something….worthwhile.” Eyes grapple features like vines, tangled with something close to meaning. “And what about you?” the voice hums, but intention crawls. Xiaoran wonders what the Bandiama representative will say— is most curious if he learned to be naive or a liar.

Tell her.

Just how interesting are you, Xan Ahn of Bandiama?

MOOD

well?

OUTFIT

[discord]

LOCATION

dining hall

TAGS

Pepsionne ravensunset Sear

coded by xayah.ღ

 

[iridescent.]

...

valen de malisio

Valen could count on the fingers of one hand just how many times he’d been this drunk. The first was on his sixteenth birthday, when a prince from another land had come to En Malis for one thing or another and he and the prince had broken into the cellar “just to try” the wine and ended up completely belligerent. The second was when he was forced to sit through days of political bullshit; a constant stream of alcohol was the only way to get through it. The third was this.

Had he realized there was someone else at the table, he wouldn’t have made the proclamation about being hungry. Drunk him (shockingly) always managed to hold onto a meager amount of politeness. Now, he wasn’t drunk all that often and in fact, rarely consumed alcohol, but the times he was he was always cordial. This time, he’d approached the table making sure ghost boy was following him and when sat, it was to check that ghost boy was there. He didn’t bother to look around and check if anyone else was there before he made his announcement.

The formal greeting from the other person caused him to jump in his chair and look wildly around until his unfocused eyes came to a rest on a woman sitting at the table. He’d completely missed her name but managed to hear the start of her incredibly long spiel of being the high priestess of a goddess and something about being in a realm before he tuned out the rest. There was only so much he could do with the alcohol running rampant in his veins.

Valen knew she’d probably expect a similar greeting in return, but wouldn’t give her as such. One, because his title wasn’t remotely close to that and he was also kind of drunk. And two, he’d already made a fool of himself when he yelled about being hungry and didn’t want that embarrassment connected to his country. “I’m Valen,” was all he said in way of a greeting, purposely leaving out ‘Prince of En Malis’.

The sudden twists and turns of the woman’s wrists instantly captured his attention and he turned his head to follow her gaze, eyes landing on a servant carrying a tray of food. Why was she looking at the servant? He got his answer shortly thereafter in the form of said servant being pulled across the floor by an invisible string. Letting out a yelp akin to the one the servant let out, Valen glanced back at the woman and determined she was the cause of the sudden pull.

“Your food.”

What? No. Guilt instantly flooded him. He was hungry, yes, but didn’t want this– didn’t want anyone dragged here against their will just to serve him food. He hadn’t noticed it before but there was already bread on the table which would do just fine.

Valen jumped up and after a moments unsteadiness, grabbed the tray and relieved the servant of their burden. “Are you okay?” he questioned after setting the tray on the table. Only when he received a nod in confirmation did he sit back down, dragging a hand down his face. Apparently guilt could cause instant sobriety. Who knew.

Like everyone else in the vicinity, he jumped at the sudden slamming noise. What brought that about? He pushed the tray to the side, unwilling to take a single morsel of food off of it, and reached for the bread. He’d just taken a bite when he heard ‘whore’. Oh gosh. Was the guy who’d called him a whore the other night back again? But an upwards glance told him it was the priestess. A interesting word choice for one who said she was a priestess. Who was she calling a whore though? Him?

Then another man showed up. Ah, this must be who she was talking about. Bickering started up instantly and his eyes darted back and forth between the newcomer and the priestess as if he were watching a shuttlecock travel over a net, the bite of bread all but forgotten in his mouth. Then he realized they were discussing him.

“I have performed no ritual that has not been asked for. He appeared in this condition and demanded food. I provided to the best of my ability.”

He shook himself out of his stupor to reply. “Yes, but you didn’t need to drag someone completely across the room in order to ‘provide’. I didn't want that,” he muttered, exasperated. He finished his current bit of bread before reaching for another, making a show of ignoring the food she “provided” and eating only bread.

“How should I greet you?”

Again, he was unwilling to let her know he was a prince from En Malis. “Just call me Valen.”

Silence stretched across the table after that, only broken by the arrival of a new presence. “I’m Princess Kalala of Sebaja,” she’d greeted. Valen just stared at her. She seemed to be around his age, perhaps a few years older, but he sensed an ally of sorts in her. Before he could get a word in, the two women began talking.

Sensing a sort of dismissal, he turned toward the man now sat next to him. One glance told him that this man enjoyed angering the high priestess, and that alone caused his lips to twitch slightly. He listened to the greetings, munching on even more bread even though he knew he should stop.

"Pardon my coworker's name-calling habit, her manners are quite lacking…”

He chuckled at the apology, waving it off. “It’s okay,” Valen started, “I was actually called a ‘fucking whore’ the other day, so I’m quite used to the word by now.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, sir...?"

“Valen,” he started as he rose and shook the man’s hand. After sitting back down and checking that the women at the table were engaged in conversation, he leaned towards the man and dropped his voice. “Well, if we’re being technically correct, it’s Prince Valen of En Malis, but I don’t really enjoy going by titles,” The truth. “If you have any connections or business in my country, I’d er— appreciate it if you didn’t mention my encounter with alcohol this evening.”

Why he told this man his formal title, he wasn’t sure. There was just an air of trustworthiness and amicability surrounding him that made Valen feel okay with spilling even his darkest secrets. “You said your name was Dayyaan?” He prayed he said the right name. “I hope you also don’t engage in the art of magically dragging people across the floor?” A brow was raised in question.

Before they could continue the conversation, someone else arrived at the table, another man. After a minute or so, it became obvious that Valen was completely invisible to the stranger so he downed a full glass of water and ate another bite of bread, feeling a headache coming on.

"And you? How are you finding the company?"

He was snapped out of his musings by Princess Kalala, presumably speaking to him since everyone else was engaged in conversation. “You mean the company of my stay so far?” he asked. It had been fine, though he’d only really met a few people. Certainly good (and good looking) company, but some of it had been marred by nearly getting eaten by a giant arachnid. “Or tonight?” Well, she and Dayyaan were good company, the priestess he wasn’t so sure. He didn’t like the way she’d spoken to him and treated that servant.

“It’s been good,” was all he said. “How about yourself? How are you liking the company and your stay on Mirror Isle so far?”

MOOD

is this real

OUTFIT

this.

LOCATION

his table

TAGS

FloatingAroundSpace sox mother of sorrows

coded by xayah.ღ

 

[neon reverie]

PAX ROYALIS

iii. THE STAR SHIFT

Stars shift like water in glass skies while the moon slowly crawls from sea bottoms. A golden clock ticks impatiently, before chiming a tune reminiscent of a twinkling time. And just like that, the dinner ends with an invisible snap of the finger; every bit of food and drink disappears, uncaring whether one was still in the middle of consuming it. Whispers are barely able to cling to the empty air before the grand set of doors open again, beckoning the representatives to abandon the tables and enter the main room of the Peace Hall once more.

A room wholly redecorated for a purpose that could seem juvenile in the eyes of those who had to grow up before they could ever grow tall.

A mesmerising arrangement of king and queen-sized beds encircle the center like loyal subjects gathered around a throne, each adorned with luxurious linens and plump pillows. At the heart of the room, a small elevated island stands as a podium; perhaps for a a later performance, you can guess —not one you have to do yourself, you can only hope. The walls shimmer with the soft glow light while cerulean drenches everyone in the essence of sea foam reveries. There is many to gaze upon, and little to slip past your scanning eyes. Yes, you will find out quickly enough that the beds are less empty than you expect.

Welcoming you are also a pair of cards laying neatly on the sheets, all bearing a cursive name that bleeds identities.

 

[Pepsionne]

xan ahn

“We are simply here to represent Vexira as best as we can to those unfamiliar with our country and inventions... And what about you?”

Xan pressed his lips into a thin line. Xiaoran's question seemed innocent enough, but from the heaviness her body language stirred within him, he knew it was anything so. She was prodding him, testing him to see what kind of reaction she could evoke.

And what was he to say? ‘Oh yes, Xiaoran, glad you asked. I’m here as a reminder of Bandiama’s corrected sins. A festering scar, built from mottled and unsightly flesh--layers of trauma woven over a barely healed wound.’ It didn’t quite make for a proper dinner conversation after all, and he hadn’t been within Bandiama’s newly formed political scene in years. So instead he simply responded, “Duty.”

Xan picked up his nearly empty glass once more, tilting his head back as he finished the rest of the contents. To hell with waiting until his room. He’d drink himself stupid now. The last of the deep red liquid drained against pristine glass--a river of crimson disappearing into plush lips and a tanned throat.

Thankfully, mercifully, their hosts saw it fit to end the tense clatter of cutlery and neatly poised threats. The feast before them disappeared without so much of a shift in air, and Xan blinked several times as he wondered if any of it had even been there at all.

He sucked his tongue against his teeth in a sharp tsk to find the wine glass absent from his grip. A somber sacrifice for the relief of being released from that sharp prying of Xiaoran’s gaze. Her deep eyes, as alluring as they were, felt all seeing. Like she could gaze past the mask he worked so ardently to uphold.

A fluid movement of dark silk had Xan standing from his chair. He offered a swift bow to the group, gaze lingering on Xiaoran with one last, hesitant glance before he and his beasts slipped from the table with an unnerving level of placidity.

The hosts had fashioned the hall into some kind of--sleepover. Beds clustered in the center of the room around a podium. The main room glittered in the soft haze of a daydream. A perfect place to relax were it not for the haunting suspicion that there was more to expect than a good night’s rest.

It didn’t take him long to find his name, the scrawling black ink of it condemning him to whatever fate the hosts had in store.

“Guys come on,” Xan huffed a laugh as the two large predators settled into the bed with him. Mali, whose large paws thumped on his chest as she nuzzled her nose into his neck, and Vikal, who began rolling his back onto the smooth sheets. He rubbed behind Mali’s ears, earning an appreciative chuff from the feline.

There was another name penned eloquently on the paper formerly set pristine at the foot of the bed, now wrinkled and tangled in between the silken sheets and crushing force of Vikal’s rear paw as he dug himself further into the pillows. Xan cursed silently. He pushed up, nudging Mali to the side so he could righten the pseudo name card.

Zhu Xueqin. An Auriche representative. If he remembered correctly, Auriche was a land of aesthetics and pristine facades. Xan--and the newly reformed Bandiama, were a far cry away from what he was sure nobility would view as pristine.

Wine thrumming through his veins and flushing heat into his cheeks, Xan shed the outer silken robe of his attire. He rolled onto his side, nuzzling into the fur of Mali’s neck and breathing in deeply. “Well--Xueqin,” he thought. “I hope you don’t mind a bit of feline company.”

At the very least, his companions served to soften the discomfort of sharing a bed with a complete stranger. Xan cursed under his breath. What were the hosts thinking? A space tinged with such intimacy--especially among those that grew up with the luxury of never having to share a bed.

The awkward encounter would be too suffocating to allow sleep for anyone. Luckily, the near bottle of wine and empty stomach he nursed served as a hushing lullaby. Xan’s breathing began to even out the longer he laid there, sleep waiting with bated breath for a chance to pounce.

MOOD

hesitant, annoyed

OUTFIT

discord

LOCATION

peace hall

TAGS

neon reverie Stardust Galaxy

coded by xayah.ღ