| Mason Volkov
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It’s just how things are.
That was exactly the same attitude that got people into this kind of mess in the first place.
If the peasants could simply sit back and accept their own oppression, then how could things ever change? If everyone could just lie down and let the so-called aristocrats walk all over them, then what hope did anyone ever have for the future? For change? It was impossible for society to change unless the people willed it. Obviously, the upper class wasn’t going to give up their power and wealth anytime soon. Therefore, the ability and the responsibility to change the world rested in the hands of the oppressed class, of the peasant, serving, working class.
And what were they doing with it? Throwing it down on the ground and stepping on it.
It wasn’t exactly a secret that Mason Volkov would not hesitate to incite rebellion if he thought that there was even a minute chance of overthrowing the new monarchy—at least among the servants. Though, come to think of it, the king himself probably even knew; that man knew everything. Mason had grown up hearing stories about the glory of democracy and the freedom of the old world. Unlike most of the people who had somehow survived the nuclear holocaust, Mason knew what things had been like before Lucien. Maybe he hadn’t experienced it firsthand, but his parents had, and they spoke about the old days like they had been living in heaven.
If people didn’t know anything better, then they wouldn’t see any kind of problem with the current system. Lucien and his fellow nobles had all been gifted with supernatural abilities—wasn’t that a sign of their superiority? Clearly they were just meant to live this way, with the normal folks to do their bidding and make sure that they were always comfortable and never wanted for anything.
But this was not how things were supposed to be, and Mason knew it. Something about Lucien’s regime just didn’t sit right in his soul… there was something fundamentally evil and unnatural about the whole system.
Mason, however, could do nothing without the support of the people. They had accepted their positions as servants and secondary citizens, and he didn’t see them changing their minds anytime soon. So what could he do? Nothing but sit back and try to stay alive… which was how he came to be in the service of the king himself, the very man whom he hated most. Life was ironic, wasn’t it?
“We’re not going to get anywhere with that kind of attitude, now are we?” he murmured, more to himself than to Arcadia, who may or may not have even heard him. He sighed heavily and forced a smile. “Such extravagant wealth… how do you justify their abuse of it, Arcadia?” he wondered aloud. It was a rhetorical question, one he didn’t expect an answer to.
No sooner had he arrived than he was making to turn away and resume his duties. The longer he stood around, the more likely it was that someone would notice that he was slacking off. “Nice chatting with you, dahling,” he said to the handmaiden. “Perhaps I shall talk to you again as the night progresses. For now, however, I see some nice young aristocrats who haven’t had enough to drink.”
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| Erin Taren
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I am excited to announce two new characters! High Queen Alexandra and Lady Francoise van Brammerhaussen will both be played by hidden.trick (Alex), a good friend of mine.
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| Alexandra Winters
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« 06 November 2010, 11:56:13 »
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The High Queen had been watching the events of the still youthful night unfold her from a distance. Though she did not possess the qualities of her only son, who could control an atmosphere to the highest degree, she preferred to watch from afar, observing. It was through observation that she could precisely calculate how to create her entrance.
She had known, without doubt, that there were subjects in the kingdom that saw her as frivolous, a mere trophy wife, if you will. And to an extent, this was an image Alexandra wanted to portray. If she only appeared as flimsy as a piece of straw, when the time came to strike, her target would be taken so completely aback and off guard that they would fall surrendering with the utmost of ease.
Some had skills through touches, and senses. But her eyes did all the seeing. While people would gaze upon the illustrious and grand ball that was to celebrate her husband's birthday, her eyes saw strength, moral fibre. It was a skill she had not divulged to anyone, and would not. These secrets were not worth giving away.
She had coyly glanced in the direction of her King so politely conversing with the Duchess Elaine of Rautha. The queen needed not even to look into the eyes of the duchess, but merely her dress to know what she was up to. Long, long ago, before the nuclear war, toward the creation of the power of film, there had been a motion picture well studied. In this movie, there was a lady famous for wearing red redress. Inappropriate, far from modesty or matronly qualities, the Duchess of Rautha had tried to play the role of Scarlett O'Hara. What the poor, unfortunate girl didn't know was that it was the High Queen that was the author of this novel tonight, and she would most happily rewrite the scene in any way she saw fit. And that could very well exclude this dainty prospect.
Now, in hindsight, Alexandra knew that if the King was even passing this woman a second glance, it was for the very reason that he could obtain something from her. The man was far from sexual, and so she saw no fear in that. But still, there clung a pang of an old femininity she had long let go of: while the King and Queen's emotions to each other had yet to be honestly revealed, she would not entertain anyone else courting the idea they could replace in any way shape or form, the role that only Alexandra would ever possess.
After all, by definition her name meant "defender of mankind". So, she would spin it to her favour. "Defender of her kind."
She stepped out of the background, and made her grand, yet sly, entrance. Enrobed in a gold gown that fitted her form, she walked down the steps blanketed in red velvet carpet and into the crowd. The dress had the faintest of a sweetheart neckline, with a gentle rouching that became more dramatic toward her waist. At this point the dress wrapped around so that it looked eternal - a constant spiral in the right direction. Jewels were not necessary to impress, and she wore her hair in a beautifully down ponytail that was curled if only to prove to everyone that jewels did not make the queen, no matter how much you dressed her up.
Call her look classy yet humble, for her subjects.
My King, would you care to take a break from your delightful guests to open some gifts?
Her hand waved to the mountain of flowing presents, but what she had really meant all along, was the opening of her gift to the King. Something, she had hoped he would enjoy.

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Francoise van B.
Played by hidden.trick
The Royal Victoria & Albert MuseumHistorical Curator
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« 06 November 2010, 14:23:07 »
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Call it fashionably late, but if Francoise could help it, she would never arrive on time for these ghastly functions. She had never understood the purpose of rejoicing in the King's birth with such riches as these. He was already far more well-endowed than any other creature walking, what could his minions possibly give him other than tokens of their false gratitude? Personally, it made her sick inside.
To prevent herself from gagging, she ran quickly to one of the kitchens staff to pick up a morsel of food. Francoise could tell that from the way that she was looked at, the servant seemed confused. Don't worry about it dear, I missed the formal dinner. My morning sickness usually comes around dinner time.
Seeing the poor boy's face turn from a poised complexion to the palest of whites, she let out a soft laugh. 'Twas nothing but a joke, darling. That's what birthday parties are for - lightheartedness. Now give me a glass of champagne and show me where the action is.
In all honesty, she felt sorry for all the working staff here. While there was the odd courtier who treated their butlers and maidens as actual people, the rank and file of the kingdom simply were just another statistic and strategic ploy for most nobility. So, keeping up with appearances, Francoise was forced to be a little less than kind with them, however, if one paid close attention, they would notice she spent more time passing small talk and pleasantries with them, than she did her own class. She had the greatest of empathy for them, and oftentimes regarded herself as an orphan who was given a title simply out of pity's sake. To the others, she appeared a bit eclectic, eccentric, if you will. That's what they liked to call crazy rich people anyways. But simply because her dress did not touch the floor, but rather draped her knees, and her back was bare for all to see was not entirely out of character for anyone. If anything, she was one of the few openly honest noblewomen around.
Her eyes flitted across the hall to see Prince William. Almost instantly a fury brewed inside her that she may or may not be forced into marriage with him, and then she looked at him more closely. She could not deny his warm countenance and dashing looks. If she wasn't possibly pushed into marriage, he might have been the only nobility she could have ever fallen for. But as such, she did not want to be like the High Queen, merely a figurehead rather than a team player in the proper and careful ruling of a still much troubled world. There was still a very large part of her that loved the evening gowns, orchestra and fine dining that came with being noble, but when she realised that outside of fairy tales, these events were not as prim-rosed as they seemed, her heart would sink a little. Torn between rebellion and obedience, Francoise was much more dangerous than she appeared, for her emotions could be easily swung in either direction. Fortunately for her, to keep her in line, a mere touch of someone's hand could guide her straight. The key word being, of course, "could".
Noticing that the Queen has just graced her presence to her dominion, Francoise tucked out of the spotlight and hurried across the hall more toward the music. Her eyes had caught vision of someone that appeared familiar, but was unable to put her finger on whom he was. She had most definitely seen his face before, but was he a courtier or a commoner? Why was he, someone not so immediate to the royal blood line invited to such an event? Her curiosity piqued, she waited by the sidelines of the game of love and dance for him to finish with her cousin, Princess Olivia.

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Bright Shadows
Anonymous
set by burnt_toast
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« 07 November 2010, 18:07:53 »
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Elaine knew it didn’t make complete sense that she felt absolutely safe with the King. After all, though no one dared speak of it, they all knew he’d been responsible for countless deaths, not even beginning to consider his actions during the war. Many people likely considered him one of the most dangerous people alive today. But she couldn’t. Marcellus was rather the same way, and although she knew that she ought to fear them both, she couldn’t. She simply didn’t have the energy.
She was constantly in a state of fear – constantly worried that someone would trip and knock over one of the suits of armor and causing it weapon to strike her or that the cooks might have done something wrong with the food and they were all going to get severe food poisoning or that one of the stupid little peasants would decide now was the time for an ill-fated rebellion and she would be caught in the crossfire. At every turn, there was some new idea of disaster or misfortune or violence. Everything she saw somehow reminded her of death. She never felt safe.
She would have gone mad if there wasn’t a way to relieve that stress, if only for the briefest moment and if only at events as rare as these. She had to have someone to make her feel safe, and it was somehow the two most deadly men she knew that served that purpose. It made no logical sense, but she didn’t care. She simply couldn’t allow herself to fear them.
So it was that she was suddenly without worry and suddenly feeling like a foolish schoolgirl instead of her usual, ever aware, ever worried self. Right now, she was perfectly content to do nothing but stand there and speak with the handsome King for the rest of the night, or longer if he allowed. The longer she remained in his presence, the longer these feelings of bliss and peace would last. At his side, she was perfectly happy, like anyone else at the ball, free to enjoy the excitement and the color and the beauty of it all.
At the use of her first name, she couldn’t help but feel a surge of hope. The lack of title or anything else formal seemed to indicate a familiarity that could mean he took a certain interest in her. And when he took her hand in his and brought his lips against her skin, she felt her heart leap, a shiver running down her spine at the feeling. From a man who typically settled for shaking hands with his subjects, she couldn’t help but feel that this special attention must mean something.
Was there really a chance that he might have taken interest in her, that he might be willing to spend more time with her? It seemed too much to hope for, but the idea that she might be able to retain some of this peace and freedom from fear was more than she’d thought would ever be possible. She instantly began searching for something to talk about – some topic of conversation that could catch his interest and prompt him to stay at her side longer. But he continued only a moment after releasing her hand. I hope you enjoy the ball, Duchess.
And then he was gone.
At once, all the color seemed to fade from the room. Happy faces turned into dangerous facades, hiding their true intentions. The music became foreboding rather than cheerful. The decorations seemed ominous. The building seemed unstable. The people crowding close around her all turned again into assassins and murders. The world was a threat once again. She felt faint for a moment, distraught by being so suddenly plunged back into her usual darkness after that moment of relief.
But she couldn’t let herself fall apart. She knew she couldn’t. She had survived too long in this world of fear to give up now. She put on a gentle smile, raising her head high as she walked away, moving slowly towards the side of the room, trying to get out of the crowd of people without looking like she was trying to escape their presence. Trying not to look like she thought they were about to kill her.
They can die, she reminded herself. They can be injured and scarred and disabled and I cannot. They are mortal. With that thought in mind, she tried to reassure herself by thinking of a way each person she passed could perish. The thought was enough to get her to the side of the room without going into a complete panic. Once she was standing with her back against the stone wall, she was at least able to breathe again, although she still didn’t feel much better. Still, she at least couldn’t get a knife plunged into her back while she was standing like this.
She shouldn’t be hiding at the side. She had enough status that she really ought to be mingling, meeting with others and the like. Not only was it something she should be doing as a lady of the court, but there was perhaps a chance that if people knew her better, they would like her better and therefore be less inclined to try to kill her. Or perhaps they would simply find some way to take offence at her words and be more inclined to seek her demise.
Either way, she needed a moment to herself to regain her composure. As she leaned against the wall, she let her eyes wander out over the crowd, keeping up the necessary smile as she tried to slow the beating of her heart. She tried not to let her gaze linger too long on any one person, though, or else her mind would begin to wander to how many deaths that person was responsible for or what hidden abilities they might have or how long it would take them to find a way to kill her.
But there was one face that she couldn’t quite ignore. Queen Alexandra. Her eyes lingered on the woman, clad in an elegant gold dress that neither stood out overly much nor faded into the background. Elaine sighed slightly as the woman disappeared into the crowd, surely off to join her husband. Alexandra just seemed so... pointless. She was there, but she never seemed to do much of anything, from what Elaine could tell. And Elaine hadn’t the slightest idea what her power was. There again was that fear of the unknown that seemed to define the Duchess.
She sometimes wondered if she would be better off if no one knew her power. She had never actually told anyone in words, but it was still known to all. For years, her healing ability had remained a secret. She had never been quite sure if the ability would make her less of a target because it would mean she was believed to be untouchable, or if it would make her more of one because a potential attacker would want to know just how far her abilities protected her. Not knowing, she had chosen not to tell anyone and her power had remained a mystery.
Until the accident. She still couldn’t be sure if the brakes in the car had gone out on their own or if the vehicle had been tampered with, but the fact remained that her driver had suddenly been unable to slow the car down. They’d gone off the road, the Bentley rolling sideways to the bottom of the embankment before crashing into a clump of trees at the bottom. The driver was still alive, though badly injured, and Elaine had found herself trapped, the side of the car crushed down onto her legs so that she had been unable to get out of the car.
The driver had barely survived the accident, with his head bloodied from hitting the side window and cuts covering his face from broken glass. At the very least, Elaine’s legs should have been crushed, and if she had been anyone else, her face and arms should have also borne cuts and bruises. But once the metal had been pulled away, she’d stepped from the wreckage completely unscathed and it instantly became obvious that she could heal herself.
So now, whether she wanted it or not, everyone knew what she could do. Everyone else knew about her, and yet there were so many that she was uncertain of. The Queen was just one of hundreds of nobles whose special abilities remained unknown. One of hundreds whom Elaine had no method of gauging just how much of a threat they posed to her. So many unknowns. Was it any wonder she was worried? She couldn’t be certain of anything.

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Katniss Everdeen
Played by Lillian_Potter
The Royal FamilyHandmaiden
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« 08 November 2010, 02:11:33 »
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Arcadia knew that Mason wasn’t content with the current state of the world. He was not afraid to let his opinions be known, and the palace servants, at the very least, all knew that he felt that the aristocrats had overstepped their bounds. He had never tried to actually act on that outlook, thank heavens, or she had little doubt that he wouldn’t be alive today. Still, it worried her that he even considered the ideas of rebellion and that he thought that some sort of upheaval of the current system might be a good thing.
Arcadia didn’t agree. For one thing, she couldn’t. She couldn’t allow herself to have any ill-feelings towards the royal family or the other nobles because Eden would know. She had to be able to say that she agreed with her employers if any controversial subject ever came up when she was with the princess, and she had to be able to say so truthfully. There was no chance of hiding her true feelings and she therefore had to be sure that her own opinions were not something that she would need to try to hide.
But it wasn’t just that. Arcadia had never known anything other than life as a secondary being. When she was very little, she had been with her parents who had truly loved her, but they most certainly hadn’t been wealthy. Her father had been a carpenter, but what good was it to be able to carve wood when there was a count who could manipulate plants that could grow wood into any shape that was desired? It was only because of the high prices that the count charged for his work that her father had any customers at all. The peasants who couldn’t afford the count’s work still had to come to someone who had no special powers.
So they’d scraped by, her father’s customers barely able to pay more for their goods than it cost to obtain the materials with which to create them. But if it hadn’t been for the divide in the classes, the count would have been the one supplying furniture to everyone, and her father would have had no one coming to him. In a way, it was only the nobleman’s elitism that kept her father in business at all. Perhaps it was a poor excuse, but Arcadia had to find some way to justify it all.
And it wasn’t as though her family had been unhappy. Quite the opposite. She knew without a doubt that her mother and father had loved each other, and that they had loved her. Late at night, she had occasionally overheard her parents discussing how little money they had in worried tones, thinking that Arcadia was asleep. But they had always made it through in the end. They had missed a few meals every once in a while, but overall, they’d been content with their lives. Before the fire, at least.
When the blaze destroyed their home, Arcadia and her father had lost everything. Her mother was gone, their home had been turned to ashes, her father’s supplies, equipment, and current commissions had all been utterly destroyed. They had nothing left – no way to survive. And with the scars marring her face, any hope that Arcadia might have had of being married off to a well-off merchant when she came of age had probably also been erased.
If she hadn’t been sent to the castle, she and her father would both have starved, left with no source of income or support. Arcadia didn’t know if her father had been granted a single payment when she was sent to the royal palace or if he had been receiving some sort of salary from her work over time. Either way, she liked to think that he’d been able to restart his business and that he was doing well. If Mason’s strange ideas of equality were in effect, though, there would be no richer aristocrats who could have paid for her work, and there would have been no way for her father to regain his business.
She had never known anything other than this life. The stories that she read in the library weren’t often very specific on the political structures of their worlds, but a vast majority of them did feature royalty and aristocracy. It had never occurred to her, of course, that the library might be intentionally devoid of books that spoke of equality. All she knew was that everything she’d ever read and everything she’d ever experienced all fell under the same system. Mason’s ideas were completely unfamiliar, and she couldn’t see how they would actually work out in real life.
Not that she had been able to talk with him long enough to ask questions or know any of the precise details of the pre-war era he spoke of. She only knew vaguely that he was unhappy with the system of aristocrats and royalty that now ruled, and she couldn’t understand his discontent. Perhaps she could get him to explain it all to her properly at some point. But then, maybe it would be better if he didn’t. It was rare for her mistress to ask her anything about her own life, but if Eden did happen to ask what she had been doing, she would have to explain what she’d been talking to Mason about truthfully. And she most certainly did not want to get the young man into trouble.
Such extravagant wealth... how do you justify their abuse of it, Arcadia? She frowned, not sure how to reply. She wasn’t even sure what he meant by abuse. She supposed he was most likely referring to the dresses, given the previous portions of their conversation. But with such beauty before her, she couldn’t bring herself to find fault with it. When the Princess seemed so perfect, how could Arcadia try to blame her of wrongdoing? She was so much like something out of a fairy tale, the girl couldn’t help but take some happiness from the sight of her there on the dance floor.
Besides, even if the money given for the price of the gown could have been used more charitably, Arcadia still preferred this part of the night, with the Princess decorated so elaborately, to what she knew would come later. Even if it meant a thousand such dresses, Arcadia couldn’t help but wish that the ball could last forever. Even if Eden’s family was abusing their wealth, as Mason said, Arcadia was still far happier while they were showing off their wealth to the world than she was once the guests went away and the Princess was done with her expensive gown. She was dreading the events that would come after the ball, and so she wanted to enjoy this part as much as possible while it lasted. She didn’t want to be worried about excessive spending and power systems when she had so much more personal to be worried about later.
Nice chatting with you, darling. Perhaps I shall talk to you again as the night progresses. Arcadia nodded, smiling politely. She wasn’t opposed to this idea. She did wish for more opportunities to speak with the young man, and she typically enjoyed spending time with him on the rare occasions that she got the chance. And a part of her was still curious about what he wanted for the country. But another part hoped that if they did get the chance to meet again that he would steer clear of discussions over politics. She just didn’t want to have to worry any more than she already had to tonight. With that, he made his departure and Arcadia was left once again standing to one side, all but invisible to the crowds of guests as she was supposed to be.
« Last Edit: 17 March 2011, 09:58:12 » |
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| OcclumenSpy
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« 08 November 2010, 10:00:44 »
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Marcellus unfolded his legs, still forcing himself to breathe deeply and calm down. Leaning against the wall in the quiet hallway, he knew he could handle the crowd. But he just didn't want to. He couldn't help hoping that someone would come find him instead of him having to go out there. Someone like Elaine. Surely, she'd wondered why he ran off! But the longer he sat here, the more obvious it became that she hadn't. How could she not have noticed? He'd had a very public near-meltdown. The people he'd run past to get here had shrunk out of his way like he was some deadly beast loose in the room.
He groped for something, anything to give him hope. Maybe . . . maybe she'd not seen him. Somehow. Maybe when they'd turned to face the king, she'd been at an angle that meant she couldn't see him. But he knew she hadn't been. Not really. Not completely. And then she should've still seen him running off. And if she'd cared, she'd have come. But no! He refused to believe she didn't care about him at all. He could count the people he thought might care about him at all on one hand, and the idea of taking someone off that already short list was devastating.
Maybe she was just scared. Everyone, whether they cared about him or not, was at least a little scared of him sometimes. He knew that with every fiber of his being. Because he was afraid of himself. And if he was afraid of himself, how could anyone else not be. That was probably it. Elaine was probably just waiting for him inside because she was afraid to come find him without other people around to protect her. Everyone knew she was paranoid, which was weird since she was probably immortal. Or at least difficult to kill, with the speed she healed up.
But what if she wasn't waiting? What if someone else had shown up and taken her attention away? What if at this very moment, some new interesting nobleman was sweeping her off her feet, dancing with her more gracefully than he ever could, telling her happy stories that didn't involve death, charming her and stealing her heart? What if she wasn't following him because she didn't want to follow him? What if she liked someone else better? He got up and glanced out the door, but he couldn't see her from this limited vantage point. Maybe he should wait here a little longer. Just in case. Maybe his valet would come find him and he could send the boy out to see how safe it was for him to go out there.
Marcellus liked Logan in spite of himself. Liking your own servants was a dangerous business, especially when you were prone to random outbursts of violence. Marcellus usually made a point of not liking anyone. If you didn't like people, they couldn't betray you. If you didn't like them, it wouldn't be hard to kill them if you were ordered to. And if you didn't like them, it didn't hurt nearly as much if you killed them without meaning to. If they got caught in the crossfire and died or showed up in the wrong place when he was in one of his moods, his servants could and did die quite easily. And finding a replacement every time was harder and harder. But the very poor people, the ones at the very bottom, they were usually too poor to care. Eventually, people needed the money and the lodging and the food more than they did the distance from him.
But Logan was different. Logan was charming and kind and determined to see the best in people. He didn't shy away every time Marcellus looked in his direction. He didn't try to avoid dangerous situations if he knew he could help. He didn't let his master stay at parties like this once he was too drunk to be safe. But he didn't act like he hated Marcellus, either. He didn't glare or mutter under his breath or say dark things to the other servants when he thought his master wasn't listening. But he didn't come, either. Marcellus supposed the boy probably just didn't think Marcellus needed him.
Fine. He'd go out there himself. He couldn't keep hiding away in servants' corridors, not with the king at the party. It would look bad, and while Lucien might not have realized Marcellus was missing yet, he was sure to notice it eventually. Lucien noticed everything. Taking a deep breath, Marcellus pulled his shoulders back, sucked his gut in, and walked back into the ballroom, trying to look solid and unafraid, when he was really terrified, as the voices in his head got louder again around the other people, that he would lose control. What if Elaine was falling in love with someone else? What if she was about to break his heart? He couldn't have a broken heart. Not here. Not now. Not in a place like this, with so many people. He couldn't handle it.
But then he spotted her, leaning against a wall and looking as beautiful and alone as ever. He grabbed two glasses of champagne from a nearby servant and drank half of his in one gulp. He probably shouldn't be drinking, and he knew he probably shouldn't be drinking, but he could be this tense the whole night, either. People would notice and some of them would read it as him being his usual freakazoid insane-murderer self, but some of them would take it to mean he was angry with Lucien or something like that, and then he'd be in trouble. And if he didn't loosen up some, he'd just mess up with Elaine. He'd say something dumb or not say something he should say, or she'd just get mad at him for being stiff and cold and controlled instead of saying nice things or being genuine. He'd discovered from Logan that he liked genuine people, and he was pretty sure other people felt the same way.
Walking up to Elaine, he offered her the second glass. Would you like a drink? It wasn't the suavest thing anyone had ever said, but even the voices in his head couldn't fault him too much for it. He was being polite. Polite was good. Polite was manageable, usually. Until he got really drunk, and he wasn't planning on doing that. Then again, he never did. But if Elaine was here - he could be good. He could be better than he usually was, at any rate. It would be enough. At least, he hoped it would. It was all he could do.
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Lucien
Anonymous
Ruling the Kingdom
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« 08 November 2010, 12:43:49 »
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Deiter held Olivia’s dainty, gloved hand in his own and led her around the floor with all the polite forcefulness of a man who knew precisely how to manage the unruly princess. A step here, a bow there, a twirl around the floor and there- the flash of a red dress standing next to the unmistakable figure of King Lucien. Deiter effortlessly changed the trajectory of his dance with Olivia to keep an eye on the exchange between his master and the Duchess of Rautha. He saw the kiss and blinked passively as he acknowledged the signal Lucien nodded to him over the Duchess’ sloping shoulder. He stepped on Olivia’s foot in a moment of distraction- and forgive him, because he was thinking about how he was going to commit a murder later that night- but recovered quickly with a whispered “Sorry, princess,” and one last beautiful swirl of Olivia’s fuchsia dress, after which the music stopped and all the dancers scrambled to reorganize themselves with more desirable partners.
The factotum bowed before his master’s daughter and kissed her hand in an awkward gesture reminiscent of Lucien’s. The image of the king kissing the woman who he had ordered to die had stuck in Deiter’s mind and disturbed him to the point of preoccupation. He looked back at where Lucien had been standing and unsurprisingly saw no one. He would be moving on, forgetting for the moment that only seconds ago he was flirting with a dead lady. Deiter felt bile rise up in the throat and all of his mounting hatreds against the King and his coldness made his head spin with a temporary, but potent rage. It happened sometimes, when his calm, collected demeanor broke in the face of some unspeakable cruelty on the part of his master. When the occasional disorganized rabble of revolutionaries were brought the palace to be executed or transformed into slaves like him, the way they looked up at him- the famous, dashing, daring revolutionary who had gotten the closest, reached the deepest into the heart of the tyrant’s power- they looked at him with eyes that begged for help. They wanted him to leap down and cut their bonds with a sword he didn’t carry, to retake the reigns of the cause he had started and lead them in a bloody castle battle that ended with some grand reorganization of the rule.
There were those who had thought to make Deiter king. That was the new rumor. Those who had fallen so far out of touch with the ideals of freedom that their idea of making a positive change was to change the face of their tyrant into something that was easier to rally around. It was in these moments that Deiter realized what a coward he was, and it was this realization that made him sick to his stomach. He had chosen life for seven years while his compatriots died before him. He hadn’t committed suicide yet (and there was nothing to stop him) and was perfectly happy to let his entire life be dictated by the man he hated most in the world. Why did he hang on, then? Why did he carry on with the duties and the humiliation and the constant fear of Lucien’s tenuous mercy? Was it possible that after all this time he still had hope? He was still holding Olivia’s hand. A quick glance to his side revealed the red of Elaine’s dress disappearing behind a small group of courtiers. In a moment of impassioned self-pity, Deiter drew the younger princess, the nice one, the one he could almost (almost!) trust, close to him and whispered: “Whatever I do, Olivia, remember that I’m only ever doing what I’m told. Please.” With that, he surrendered the princess to whatever eager partner wished to dance with her next and walked out into the crowd miserably. Despite the moment of brief closeness, he didn’t bother to look back at Olivia. She was a silly thing; she would forget about what he said and lose herself in the sparkles and beauty of the ball. Must be nice.
On his way away from the dance floor, Deiter took a few deep breaths and cleared his head of whatever nonsense he had been thinking before. No point in dwelling on the impossible, no point in painting yourself as a hero when you’re the worst kind of coward. The Queen had arrived, a woman with whom Deiter had very little contact. Lucien had reserved his services for personal use and didn’t like his wife to interact with most of the prisoner-slaves. It was Deiter who stayed with the King into the late hours of the night, who guarded his room while he slept and often forwent his own bed for a comfortable chair at the slumbering King’s bedside. He had no idea why Lucien valued his sleep so highly- how dangerous could walking into other people’s dreams be?- but there were rules that he was meant to obey. If Lucien cried out in his sleep, wait until a second cry and wake him up. Make sure no one disturbed him. Remove all traces of familiar scent and noise from the bedroom for the duration of the night. It was weird, Deiter had always thought so, and it had never sat right with him that he was the one who spent all night with the King while the Queen slept in in a separate chamber, never once sharing her husband’s bed.
The Queen never got to see what Lucien got up to in his bed. The cries of pain, the tossing, the writhing, the talking, the whispering. It was eerie, like a man possessed. It was something only Deiter was allowed to see and he was sure that it had something to do with Lucien trying to scare the pants off of him. It worked.
Deiter rolled his shoulders back and snatched a flute of champagne off of a nearby servant’s tray. Only it wasn’t a servant, it was Mason Volkov. The Chauffer. Deiter was intimately familiar with the man, as he had been riding shotgun in Lucien’s limousines for years now. He often chatted with Mason and had developed something of a rapport with him. He was an apathetic sort, not a revolutionary at heart or a deeply disgruntled peon. A safe acquaintance to have. “On booze duty, then?” he smiled amicably and took a tip of the world’s most expensive champagne. “Not a bad place to be, I think. All those unattended beverages once the guests have filed out must come in handy-well! Not for a driver, mind you.” He feigned a scowl of disapproval at the idea of the King’s chauffer joyriding drunk in the royal Bentley or something similarly ridiculous.
When he unfurrowed his wide brow, he noticed a lady who hadn’t been present only fifteen minutes ago. Her name escaped him, which was something new to the factotum. He knew everybody. And everybody knew him. Why was she looking at him like that? Another sip of champagne brought clarity to the situation. No, he still didn’t know who that lady was but Eden had just crossed his line of sight and god…if his heart didn’t just melt in his chest he didn’t know what had just happened…
Meanwhile...
Lucien received his queen with a perfect smile and a sweetly romantic kiss on the lips. His wife was a beautiful woman, younger than he was in years but similarly made in mind. She felt like humans did, and wept and had a heart that beat and loved, but her method of dealing with all of life’s complications was not so different from the cold King’s. She was a conniving, manipulative harpy and if he could have loved anyone in his life, he probably would have loved her. She was aesthetically pleasing to look at, so beautiful as to produce the good-looking children he’d desired to maintain his rule (although he held, in his own narcissistic way that Eden, in his opinion the most beautiful of the three, took after him physically).
Alexandra was elegant and physically stimulating enough to make most men in the kingdom call their King a lucky sod for having married her. Stoic enough to cope with his obvious emotional deficiencies. He recalled the first night after their honeymoon, where he had shown the Queen where her bedroom was and make the point that it was to be completely separate from his bedroom. His awkward reassurance that he wasn’t gay (although he later found himself under the amused impression that she wouldn’t have cared a fig if he was) and her stoic acceptance of the situation. She served her purpose well, she lived his lies and spouted a few of her own. A fitting partner for a King.
And so he kissed her in front of his court and noticed the assembled nobles sighing and whispering their approval of their holy union. What a team, two in one, pals for life. “My gifts?” he looked up at the pile of treasures taking up space on the floor of the ballroom and feigned surprise. “Is it my birthday?”he joked and lovingly allowed his wife to show him to the allotted gift-space, where he stood with no expression of expectation on his face. He simply looked happy, appeared thrilled to be there and cast the occasional practiced look of longing and overflowing, heart-wrenching adoration for the gold-swathed creature called Alexandra. People do so get attached to their pets.
just a p.u.p.p.e.t on a lonely string oh, who would ever want to be [king]?
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| Erin Taren
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Why was it that every single courtier of an age similar to hers was infinitely more boring than the one before him?
Maybe it was because they were incapable of lying to her that they seemed even more droll and uninteresting than everyone else seemed to think that they were. Most of the time, in social situations, people lied to make themselves seem more interesting, especially when they were trying to impress someone like her. However, most of these young men had been warned by their eager, power hungry parents that lying to Princess Eden would be like picking up a rattlesnake and shaking it around. It wasn’t something that would end well.
And they were right of course… Eden, like every other human being out there, was not fond of being lied to. Few people realized how out of control she was capable of getting if something set her off in just the wrong way, but they were wise to be wary of her wrath. Though they didn’t know that she was prone to mental breakdowns, they did suspect that something chilling and dangerous was lurking beneath her calm, oh-so perfect exterior. Plus, nobody wanted to find themselves out of favor with any member of the royal family—with perhaps the exception of Olivia, all of them were capable of dealing a deadly blow.
Yet, as she listened to her particularly voluble dance partner prattle on about the state of his family’s farm—they apparently grew tomatoes—Eden couldn’t help but wonder if she wouldn’t rather be lied to. Sometimes, the truth was just so boring.
But what could she do but smile coyly and pretend to be interested? She had an image to uphold; Princess Eden was not only beautiful and poised, but she was also perfect in every other way, meaning that she had to be charming as well.
When at last the song ended and etiquette dictated that her current partner pass her along to her next hopeful suitor, Eden smiled indulgingly at him as he kissed her gloved hand. Truth be told, she couldn’t even recall his name. As he walked away—no doubt realizing that he had danced with the most beautiful girl in the room first and that he couldn’t hope to improve on his first choice—she spied another young man, one particularly notorious for being painfully uninteresting, coming toward her. Eden turned almost abruptly and surveyed the rest of the room quickly in hopes of getting out of another dreadfully dull dance.
As she had been distracted, she had completely missed her father’s encounter with Duchess Elaine as well as Count Marcellus’s brief disappearance. Now, she saw him offering her a drink, and the small part of her heart that hadn’t yet let go of her childhood infatuation with Marcellus ached a bit before she moved on. Her mother had arrived, heartless creature that she was. Mysterious and interesting Dieter Gatsby was chatting with her father’s chauffeur. She also spied her cousin, Lady Francoise, lingering on the edge of the crowd… the perfect excuse.
Pretending to have not even seen her incoming suitor, Eden made her way over to her cousin. They weren’t particularly close, but they were friendly enough to have a conversation, and Eden would take any excuse to avoid this particular young man. “Francoise,” she greeted her. “It’s so nice to see you. How long has it been?”

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| Mason Volkov
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It should not have been surprising that two of the king’s most valued servants had grown to be rather close friends over the course of their servitude. Dieter had become King Lucien’s right hand, and Mason… well, Mason was the man trusted to safely transport his Majesty from one place to the other.
Of course, it had crossed the chauffeur’s mind many times that he could very easily kill the king. Crash a plane or a car… and poor old Lucien would be history—unless the sly fox had immortality tucked up his sleeve. You know, Mason wouldn’t have been surprised if he happened to witness the king regenerating his body after the entire thing had been shredded in nothing more than confetti. Of course, such a horrific accident would probably mean that Mason would die as well.
Still, he seriously considered it several times. It was true that Mason was a survivor by nature, someone who would do almost anything to stay alive, but that didn’t stop him from weighing the pros and cons of killing himself along with the king. Sure, he would get rid of the man who was perhaps the biggest and baddest tyrant to have ever walked the earth, but then what would happen? Getting rid of Lucien was unlikely to lead to a regime change if it was an isolated incident caused by a single man acting alone. They would simply put his son William on the throne and things would continue as before.
In that way, Dieter was right and wise to describe Mason as apathetic. He wasn’t at all happy with the situation that the world found itself in, but he knew that there was absolutely nothing that he could do about it. So he would sit back and enjoy the ride—literally—while working as the monster’s chauffeur. He was paid relatively well, and events like this provided him with as much free alcohol as he could hold down… once they were finished of course. He couldn’t afford to get drunk during such a party. When the lights went down, however…
“Come on now, Dieter,” he told his friend, laughing good-naturedly as he spoke. “We both know it’ll take more than a few drinks to make me lose my control. Besides, don’t think I haven’t noticed that his Majesty is already home. I doubt I’ll be called upon to drive anything tonight.”
That being said, Mason turned to examine the crowd with a heavy sigh. What he had said to Arcadia was still bothering him… this excessive display of wealth was sickening to him. His eyes caught glimpses of all of the aristocrats dressed with obscene extravagance. A flash of scarlet from the Duchess of Rautha, the gold fabric of the High Queen herself, Princess Olivia’s pink dress… and the crown jewel of all of those decorated women: the Princess Eden. Honestly, Mason shuddered to think about how much money was spent on making that dress.
“How many people do you think the diamonds on that dress could feed for a year?” he commented, nudging Dieter and gesturing toward Eden as she went over to talk to a lady whose name Mason didn’t know. Sure, the princess was stunning, but at what cost?
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| Wayward Son
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« 09 November 2010, 16:10:49 »
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And I'm going to go ahead and fill up the last character spot as well...
Duke Cygnus Leonas of Eriwynne, the twin brother of King Lucien, has always felt that Lucien was unfairly blessed, and hasn’t given up on getting even with his twin. When they were very young, Cygnus was as close as anyone had ever been to Lucien, and the two had seemed to have their own way of communicating without even speaking aloud. As they grew older, they quickly grew apart, Cygnus having no patience for his brother’s lack of emotion. During one of the earliest battles in the war, well before the bombs were dropped, Cygnus lost a leg acting under Lucien’s command. And while he was recovering from that injury, he also lost his chance to woo the lady Alexandra. Lucien caused him to lose everything that was important to him, and he intends to get his revenge when the opportunity arises. Cygnus is telekinetic and can move nearby objects with a simple thought. He is also somewhat telepathic, able to protect his mind from psychic intrusions.Lucien’s birthday ball. Well, there was a laugh. Cygnus stood in a doorway at the side of the room, leaning against the doorframe as he gazed out at the crowd of foolish nobles who had gathered here, thinking that they were celebrating the birthday of the king. It was rubbish, of course, but who would want to venture outside to go to a party in the dead of winter? No, it was much more convenient for Lucien to have a birthday in a better part of the year. And what the king wanted, the king got.
And, of course, it didn’t matter a bit that this also changed Cygnus’ birthday. He supposed he could at least be grateful that he didn’t actually share the birth date of his twin brother. Lucien had been born in the last few moments of one day and Cygnus entered the world less than an hour later, at the very start of the next morning. Still, he had to go along with this particular plan of his brother’s, pretending to anyone who bothered to recall that they were twins that he was celebrating a new age as well.
To add insult to injury, Lucien wasn’t even showing his age properly. Cygnus had the beginnings of silver entering his hair and the wrinkles developing around his eyes betrayed the fact that he was getting older. Which ought to mean that Lucien was as well. But the king couldn’t even be bothered to show that slight weakness. Some way or another, Lucien had managed to slow the process of his aging, looking years younger than his twin. As with everything else that had ever happened between the two of them, it wasn’t fair.
With a sigh, Cygnus stood upright again and stepped away from the doorway, his permanent limp from his artificial left leg almost completely disguised. He’d lost his leg years ago in the war, while he was acting on plans made by, who else, Lucien himself. The prosthetic was the best that money could buy, but it still couldn’t quite match the caliber of a real limb. Still, he was used to it, so unless someone was specifically looking for it, they wouldn’t see any signs of distorted movement.
And hopefully no one would be looking. He was hoping not to have any excess attention aimed in his direction tonight. He’d slicked his hair back, taming his usually identifying curls, and he was wearing a suit of a simple grey, with a plain black vest beneath: just elegant enough for the party, but nothing that would catch anyone’s eye. Then again, it might not even have been necessary to try to make himself less interesting.
With Lucien around, Cygnus was rarely given much notice. Even when he’d looked his actual age, Lucien had still been the more handsome of the two fraternal twins. Still, Cygnus had never understood how his brother could hold the attention of anyone in conversation when he had never seemed to have any real emotions about much of anything. He’d gotten better at pretending, of course, but Cygnus couldn’t forget that, even as a child, Lucien had failed to register the normal range of emotions. Nor could he forget how unconcerned he had seemed when he and Cygnus had been informed of their parents’ deaths.
Somehow, in spite of all that, though, the people adored him. For some reason that Cygnus had never understood, the world had the highest regard for their king. He would like to think that it was simply because they feared him. Fear could be overcome. If it was only fear that they felt, things would be able to change if they realized he could be conquered, or perhaps if they found someone that they feared more.
But that wasn’t the only cause for their dedication to the ruler. Oh, sure, there were plenty who feared the king, and rightfully so, Cygnus supposed. After all, merciful and kind were not among the list of traits usually attributed to Lucien by any means. Still, there were many who honestly seemed to think that Lucien was the best leader they could have. They were most certainly wrong – Cygnus could think of quite a few men who would do an infinitely better job – yes, himself included. But no one else seemed to realize that. And it wasn’t as though he could just change all their minds all at once.
In all honesty, though, even if he couldn’t get the general populace to see Lucien’s faults, he’d still be happy if he could change just one person’s opinion. Alexandra. He’d never understood what the queen saw in her husband, or why she’d agreed to marry Lucien in the first place. Cygnus couldn’t believe his brother possible of love, and he couldn’t imagine that he gave Alexandra any sort of personal pleasure to be with.
Cygnus had been desperate to win Alexandra’s affection when he was a young man. But before he’d had the chance to actually propose a courtship, he’d had to go off to fight in the war. Every night, he’d written a little or a poem to her, pledging his devotion and adoration. But he hadn’t sent a single one, feeling that he should speak to her about his emotions in person first. And then he’d had his leg blasted off and he’d been in the hospital for ages, and unable to walk on his own for months afterwards, and by the time he’d gotten a proper prosthetic and been able to see her again, she and Lucien were already announcing their plans to be wed.
Everything else about his brother, Cygnus might have been willing to forgive, but this was the worst offense. He’d stolen away the woman of his dreams, the one person the he’d wanted to spend the rest of his life with. And Lucien didn’t even begin to deserve her. How could he when he was so uncaring and empty-hearted. He saw them now, across the room, standing at each other’s side, appearing to be a happy couple for the sake of the crowd. But Cygnus just couldn’t believe that. He couldn’t imagine for a moment that Lucien might have true feelings for Alexandra, certainly not anything that could begin to rival Cygnus’ devotion to the woman.
But he would find a way to change it all. Someday, somehow, he would find a way to avenge himself against his brother. Lucien would lose the crown, and he would lose Alexandra. And, if he was feeling poetic enough when it came time, he might even take his brother’s leg before he took his life. However he did it, though, he would have his revenge. He would find a way.
« Last Edit: 09 November 2010, 16:32:52 » |
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Summer Linde
Played by summerlinde
Hogwarts StudentSeventh YearRavenclaw
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« 10 November 2010, 00:03:21 »
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Dieter said nothing about the insults or the fact that she'd stepped on his foot, and Olivia couldn't help feeling relieved. But then she wondered why he hadn't said anything. Dieter was one of the very few people at the castle who could tell her off without getting in trouble from either her or her father. As her tutor, it had been his job for years, and as her closest confidant, she was sure he knew he could say anything to her and she wouldn't sweat it too much. After all, she told him everything. But Dieter didn't seem to care that she'd messed up.
Curious, Olivia made a point of getting onto the wrong foot for a while, just to see if he'd correct her, but Dieter was clearly off in another world. Whatever he was thinking about, it must be pretty big to distract him like this. Dieter always had a million things going on, but he was usually not distracted by it. He always seemed to put everything he had into whatever he was doing, no matter how many other things he had to do afterward. She wasn't sure how he did that, either. It was just more of Dieter being Dieter, she supposed.
Looking around, she tried to find the distraction, glancing toward the stairs just in time to see her gorgeous, golden mother walking down the stairs. Her heart beat faster and she stepped closer to Dieter, glad again that he was the one she was dancing with right now. Her mother didn't feel. Not much, anyway. The lines that went outward from the Queen were almost entirely grey ones. Ice cold, emotionless grey ones, or nearly emotionless mostly-grey ones tinged with barely-there hints of color. Grey meant there was some kind of political or social connection. But nothing that meant anything. There was a blue line between Alexandra and William that said she loved her son, and a brown one between Olivia's parents that she'd never been able to explain or define, and never seen anywhere else. Between her mother and her sister - grey. And between her mother and herself? Olivia didn't even need to see that line to know her mother didn't love her. If she didn't love perfect, sparkling, brilliant Eden, how could she possibly love the awkward, bumbling, improper, rule-breaking daughter?
She knew it was silly to be afraid of her own mother, but she was. Deathly, deathly afraid. There were days when Olivia felt like no one loved her. Like no one would ever love her. But there were also days when it seemed like surely, at least some of the people who seemed to care about her were genuine rather than pretending. She never wondered if her mother loved her, because in private, when Olivia couldn't manage to avoid her in the huge castle, her mother made little effort even to pretend to love her. And that was terrifying. Her mother could do anything. And it wouldn't even be surprising. None of the motivations that Olivia usually read around people applied to her mother, at least not the vast majority of the time. And if she couldn't read what was driving her, she couldn't guess what she would do.
Dieter seemed not to notice that Olivia was suddenly dancing a little too close to him, or maybe he just didn't care. It wasn't like she didn't run to him with all her problems or expect him to take care of her when she needed him. Maybe he was just so used to having to clean up her messes and deal with her drama that one more minor freakout was just water under the bridge. Maybe he was so jaded by her constant neediness that he didn't even want to talk to her anymore. Olivia could feel herself spiraling out of control. She could feel herself losing her grip on logic and sinking into the depression that said she'd never be good enough for anyone, no one would ever love her, and everyone would be happy if she just died and got out of their hair. She didn't want to be spiraling again, but she just couldn't help it. Even Dieter didn't care enough to pay attention to her. And paying attention to her was practically his job half the time.
When Dieter stepped on her foot, it drew her back out of her head, at least for a moment. Sorry, Princess. Princess. Dieter never called her just Princess. Not unless he absolutely had to, at least. It was usually just "Olivia" when he could get away with it, or "Princess Olivia" when he couldn't. Looking straight at him, rather than past him as she thought about other things, Olivia was jolted out of her spiral by the realization that something was wrong. Not wrong enough for Dieter to have to leave the dance to fix it, or wrong enough for him to have to pull her away into safety, or wrong enough for everyone else to be freaking out. But something was still wrong. He wasn't just mad at her for making fun of him, and he hadn't suddenly decided to stop liking her (or pretending to like her, at any rate.) Something was actually wrong. She could see it on his face. If there was anyone she knew, it was Dieter.
He spun her out and she thought he might know she'd figured out something was up. Twirls like this were usually her favorite dance move. They let her skirts whirl out into gorgeous ripples of silk and the air flutter through her hair like she was flying. But at the moment, it just annoyed her, because it kept her from asking him what was wrong. As she whirled back toward him, the music stopped, and he bowed again, kissing her hand. He didn't usually do that, and it just seemed to confirm her certainty that something was dreadfully wrong.
Dieter seemed upset. Maybe even sad. He was too quiet. He was kissing her hand like he wasn't just her tutor, like he was her friend or something. Suddenly, she put the pieces together. He was going to die. Her father had finally snapped. He was finally going to kill Dieter. She felt cold to her core, like the world had suddenly been drained of warmth. Dad couldn't kill Dieter. He couldn't. Because Eden and William still thought of her as a little girl, the lame younger sibling they didn't want to hang out with, and the servants were afraid to be her friend because they could get in trouble, and she couldn't trust the people her own age and class to be her friend because she just didn't see them often enough. Dieter was all she had. He was the only one she could count on. She couldn't know how he really felt about her, any more than she could know how anyone else felt about her, but she could count on him because it was his job to be reliable. It was what he did. It was what he was good at. And after all these years, she couldn't not believe he cared about her, at least a little. It would hurt too much.
And he couldn't get killed. She refused to accept it. Dieter. . . she said quietly, trying her best not to embarrass him or draw attention to their conversation for fear of messing everything up. Before she could figure out what else to say, he pulled her close to him, so close that if she wanted to, she could put her arms around his neck like she was hugging him goodbye. It was only the words he whispered that stopped her. Whatever I do, Olivia, remember that I’m only ever doing what I’m told. Please. What did that mean? Those seemed like awfully weird last words for someone who was about to die. But what else could be happening?
Before she could even start to work out what it meant, or ask what was going on, or tell him goodbye, Dieter passed her off to a nearby boy she'd always liked dancing with and vanished into the crowd, weaving through it more quickly than she could follow him without totally ignoring her dance partner. Thomas was the youngest son of a nearby earl, and he was one of the few noble children who'd been almost as wild as she had when they were children. She'd had a crush on him for a while, but he was in love with her sister, and he wasn't quite high enough socially to be a real suitor anyway, so she'd let it die off. Now he was just fun to dance with.
But he still wasn't as interesting as whatever was going on with Dieter. What if her father had ordered him to kill himself? That made sense, she supposed. It would certainly be a cruel enough end to please her father. Yeah. That had to be it. As she and Thomas whirled through the dance, she peered through the crowd, looking for Dieter. If she could stop him, maybe she could buy enough time to convince her father to change his mind. She nearly stepped on Thomas's foot several times until she found Dieter again, talking to Mason Valkov. That was good. She knew where he was. Now that she could keep an eye on him and make sure he didn't die, Olivia went back to focusing on her dance partner, who looked confused. Are you ok, Olivia? Yeah! she said, flashing him a big smile, Yeah, sorry. I'm just distracted tonight, I guess. She'd have to pay more attention to what she was doing if she didn't want to get Dieter in trouble for letting her know what was going on. Or if she didn't want her dad figuring out that she was trying to find a way to save him.
« Last Edit: 02 December 2010, 22:16:46 » |
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Bright Shadows
Anonymous
set by burnt_toast
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« 10 November 2010, 12:05:07 »
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Elaine had only just gotten her heartbeat to return to an acceptable speed when she was again surprised by the sudden presence of someone beside her. She looked up sharply, her heart rate jumping again, expecting an attack until she realized that, for the second time tonight, it was Marcellus that had just approached her. Nothing to worry about. Marcellus was the only other person that she’d decided to lay aside her anxieties for. At the very least, he wasn’t there to kill her.
Marcellus – I’d wondered where you’d wandered off to. Well, no, that wasn’t exactly true. She hadn’t quite noticed his disappearance at all at the time. But now, she realized that he’d been missing for a fair amount of time now. Certainly he’d not been at her side since a while before she spoke with the king. Are you all right? Likely, he’d just been off to get a drink, but it was best to be polite and make sure that nothing was wrong.
Ah, yes, he was holding two glasses of champagne in his hands – he had just been off for refreshments. Nothing at all to worry about. Would you like a drink? Oh... She hesitated for a moment, knowing she shouldn’t turn him down, but still not entirely pleased with the idea of taking the drink. She never liked drinking anything unless she had seen the servants pour it directly from the bottle and someone else had already tested it first. It would be far too easy to slip a bit of poison into a glass of wine.
But she wasn’t worried about Marcellus killing her. He was one of the two people she didn’t fear, despite the fact that she probably ought to. Still, she’d found that she trusted him, and she wasn’t going to change that now. She needed someone she could trust. She smiled, accepting the glass from him. Thank you. She still was a bit hesitant. Even if Marcellus wasn’t trying to poison her, that didn’t mean someone else couldn’t have put something in the glass before he got it.
But that was silly, she reminded herself. Whoever poured the champagne would have had no idea who each glass would go to. And they clearly hadn’t just poisoned the whole lot of it, for Marcellus had already had a drink from his and he was still just fine. For a moment, she considered the idea that perhaps Marcellus shouldn’t be drinking at all. He had been known to have poor reactions to too much alcohol. Ah, but she wasn’t going to judge him. She sometimes wondered if she wouldn’t enjoy overindulging herself every now and then. The only thing that kept her from getting drunk, even in her own home, was the thought that she’d have a far greater chance of missing the fact that someone was trying to kill her. She couldn’t let her judgment get so far impaired that someone might be able to slip something into her drink without her noticing.
This was only champagne, though. And just one little glass. It wasn’t going to cause her to lose control of herself, and Marcellus certainly wasn’t going to be set off by this little alcohol when he usually consumed much more before his outbursts. Everything would be all right. Slowly, she raised the glass to her lips and took a small sip. It did taste quite nice – it was precisely the right temperature and she was sure the king had ensured only the best brand be used for the party. And she detected nothing that would indicate that it had been tampered with, which was the most important thing.
That is lovely. She took another small sip, knowing that it was now her duty to suggest something to talk about. She wasn’t the most sociable of people, since she was so afraid of everyone else, but she knew at least how to avoid being completely rude. She thought back, trying to remember if they’d been talking about anything specific before he’d left and she’d turned her attention to King Lucien. But, no, they really hadn’t gotten beyond greeting each other, she was fairly certain.
There was plenty that Elaine would love to talk to Marcellus about. Unfortunately, it really wasn’t the sort of thing that they could be acceptable for conversation in this sort of environment. What fascinated Elaine most about Marcellus was his affinity with death. He had killed far more often than most, and rumor had it that he went to extra lengths to ensure that his victims remained dead. She was sure he’d seen more deaths than all but a very few others in attendance tonight.
There was so much that she wanted to know about death. The more she knew, the less frightening it would be, she hoped. She knew that what scared her most had always been the unknown. She didn’t know how far her powers extended, so she was afraid of being attacked. She didn’t know if she could die, so she was terrified about what might happen. But if she knew more, if she better understood what actually happened when a person died, she might not be quite as afraid. Of course, there was no guarantee that it would free her from her paranoia, and it probably wouldn’t, in all honesty. But it was worth a try.
Unfortunately, now was not the time. They were at a party. A party celebrating the birthday of the king. They were supposed to be talking about things that were pleasant and cheerful and encouraging. Death was not a subject that fit those categories in any stretch of the imagination. So she would have to think of something else. Something that wouldn’t cause the more “delicate” ladies to faint if they were overheard talking about it.
Was your journey here pleasant enough? Inwardly, she sighed. Asking how his travels had been was not the most engaging of subjects by any means. But she had to say something, and this was at least a starting point. And hopefully, something in his answer would suggest another topic with which they could continue the conversation. And if not, she could just come up with something else, she supposed. At the very least, she’d managed to say something that wasn’t entirely depressing, so it was still better than what she usually managed to come up with.
« Last Edit: 07 December 2010, 17:29:07 » |
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| Alexandra Winters
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« 10 November 2010, 21:31:02 »
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The High Queen received the kiss sweetly and tenderly, though inside she could never determine whether or not it was surprise or shock whenever she was given one. It felt and it looked real, and yet she knew it wasn't. It didn't bother her that much, but it was an odd sort of emotion to have. It was like having a sugar substitute in your coffee. It tasted and it looked the same, but slowly, those chemicals would either kill you inside or make you numb.
Unfortunately, those were the only two paths Alexandra had to choose, and for the most part, she teetered to numbness. Emotions were for people who could be controlled, who could not step up to the plate and take command of what was rightfully theirs. She had age on her side, a decade younger than her husband, and for what he was beginning to falter (only when compared to his twin), she more than doubly compensated. That was why the two were there for each other. The minute one began to even show the faintest signs of slipping, the other would quickly push their double image back up. Alexandra often thought to herself, what would the King be regarded as, if he had remained a solitary man? He wasn't the playboy type by any stretch of the imagination, and without a soft femininity that only she could forge, would he be as highly esteemed? Would the kingdom be what it is today?
Perish the thought, woman. You are Queen and that is all that matters. Sometimes, she had to force herself from overthinking. Just because she could judge moral character better than any living soul on this planet, didn't mean she had to go moulding and melting it in her mind. It was something you simply could not sculpt.
Before responding to her husband, she glanced over at her children. To show her public that they themselves were gifts of nature. Now that brought a smirk to Alexandra's un-aged lips. She could tell that the King held affection for them, at the very least for Eden. Alexandra, perhaps liked Eden least of all for this reason. She had power, she had beauty, and she didn't use it properly for one second. In her mind, Eden was a flake who lost all hope a long time ago when she chose to live the so-called fairy-tale life that most princesses are fed to believe. No, if there was one of the three children Alexandra could possibly love, (that is to say, if Alexandra truly understood the definition of the word love), it would be William. He was equally Alexandra and Lucien's son, and that was what made him hauntingly special. There was a finesse about him that made him worth while, at least, worth while enough for Alexandra to sleep in her own bedroom away from the mysterious noises she would hear in her husband's chambers. Bless him, he thinks I'm sleeping she would think to herself, when the noises grew loud, or some of his men came round. But she could never bring herself to admit what she heard. It was better to hold onto power until it was ready to be released as public knowledge. For the tentative moment, she held a small, upper hand.
The High Queen enfurled her arm around her King's and took him to the mountain of presents, and nodded. Please, my King. If I may show you mine first.
She led him to his throne where two man servants were making their way toward him. After the nuclear war, many of the world's finest possessions were left to ruination. The House of Windsor though kept a secret on two of their most precious items. And here they are, for you to brandish: The Jewelled Sword and the Sword of Mercy from the Crown Jewels of England.
To use a pun, it was a double-edged sword. And a mighty clever one at that. With a steel blade, finely etched in gold, diamonds, rubies and emeralds, this sword was once the personal sword of every English Sovereign. In and out of battle. It is familiarly called the sword of Offering for this very purpose.
"Receive this kingly Sword, brought now from the Altar of God, and delivered to you by the hands of us the Bishops and servants of God, though unworthy. With this sword do justice, stop the growth of iniquity, protect the Holy Church of God, help and defend widows and orphans, restore the things that are gone to decay, maintain the things that are restored, punish and reform what is amiss, and confirm what is in good order"
That is what was etched onto it, and it all sounded good. But the sheer history and magic of the sword far outweighed any do-good feelings Lucien might have possessed. Thus, with such great power bestowed on him from the Sword of Offering, she gave him the Sword of Mercy. The Sword of Mercy was a broken sword, it's blade cut off in a square symbolically to rightfully keep an angel from killing wrongfully. By giving the Sword of Mercy, Alexandra would permanently safe. She would make sure that she, and whoever held it would keep the King in check, should his power corrupt him to the point of personal danger. Again, Alexandra loved power, she married the King for it. But she wanted it securely, so that she may slumber peacefully at night. Hence, the sword of mercy.
It had taken a lot of searching, and a lot of thinking. But, it wasn't easy pretending to be a loving wife, when you had other more pressing things on your agenda.

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Francoise van B.
Played by hidden.trick
The Royal Victoria & Albert MuseumHistorical Curator
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« 10 November 2010, 21:52:59 »
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Francoise had initially been waiting to speak to the man Olivia was dancing with. But she didn't make it a point to interrupt conversation or dance, nor stand too closely to imply such a desire. She waited closer to where she could her gentlemen complain of dresses and their prices which made her quietly snort inside. The dress she wore she had made herself, and so while the fabric couldn't have been more than a hundred dollars, emotionally it was priceless. Something which, if she had stouted off to Eden or Olivia, would have resulted in a bold scoffing.
But there was something about who Olivia was dancing with. Beyond his dashing good looks, his complexion seemed warm, and unlike those of nobility that she had known. She couldn't quite peg if he was an aristocrat or not, but the point was he had been invited to such a grand birthday party, and so it was needless to doubt he was a figure of importance. Riches didn't seem to matter to him, because he was emotionally rich inside, she could feel it. She just wanted to speak to him so much, or at the very least, be able to grace his hand so that she may better read his thoughts.
Alas, to no avail. Princess Eden had curtailed her. She turned her attention swiftly to the perfect young maiden and greeted her. Eden! You are more radiant with each time I see you. It must be at least three months since our last visit. We should really see each other beyond such formal parties.
She held the girl's hand and leaned in for a kiss on the cheek when she felt a rush of thoughts swim into her head from the princess. Eden was avoiding someone. Quickly in mid-kiss her eyes opened to search the crowd, and she could only place her guess on Count Marcellus. Eden had always seemed to favour him in the most subtle of ways.
But more pressingly, Eden seemed bored. And Francoise didn't need to touch Eden to sense that. Everyone knew that the royal cousins were never so fortunate to intimately meet beyond formal gatherings, so they had no level of comfort to share between each other. Everything between her and Eden, and presumably between Eden and most guests, would be cordial and cold. And it seemed Eden was looking for a friend. Perhaps, Francoise would lead her onto the slightly more fun, rebellious side, if only she would allow herself to commit such a task.
So Francoise immediately aborted any pretty formalities for a second, and tried to make the topic of discussion more juicy. So who is our little Olivia dancing with? Francoise said with a wink.
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