A Party

[Esterlen 4499]

Sarkozy folded his arms across his chest, his narrowed eyes looking upon Artorus and his wife with an almost incomprehensible level of disdain. Leave it the Adunians to arrive uninvited and unwanted, he thought to himself.

 

Taking a sufficiently ornate goblet off the long table with a sense of callous disinterest, the Baron Hadrien de Sarkozy turned his wandering gaze to the party's guests.The Valois, the Hightowers...and, of course the prince's bastard and his Adunian 'wife' had arrived uninvited. Giving a scowl, he hurried off to the nearest guard he could find, taking an occasional sip out of his goblet.

 

The Valois wine was fine to taste. Rich and red, but no Leuvaarden Noir. Hadrien almost felt as if he had lowered his standards drinking wine produced in Auvergne, but he quickly got over the feeling. His steps short and brisk, he eventually made his way to an unmistakable sight - the ivory-haired half-elf, Adeon Fablenight. The Baron gave a nod of acknowledgement and leaned in, placing a hand on Adeon's left pauldron and lowering his voice to a whisper.

 

 

"Artorus Hightower and his wife Isabella Elendil are not on the guest list and thus not permitted to be here. Get Tresery and make your way to them, would you?"

[problematic z 477]

Adeon watched the Baron as he approached, seeing the man's rather disgruntled expression, he released a small sigh as Hadrien whispered to him, scanning the crowd for Tresery, upon seeing him, he nodded at Sarkozy and stood, joining the Wood Elf in his stride towards the Adunians.

 

With their fists clenched and their expressions firm, Adeon leaned forward, making sure his voice could be heard over the loud chatter of the event "Neither of you have been invited, and I don't want to make a scene..." he trailed off as Leric fiddled with his weaponry, as he almost always did, he smirked a bit as he turned back to the Adunians and continued, "I'm sure you don't either."

[Chikachu 402]

Seeing the look in Thomas' eye, Artorus followed his gaze silently, settling on Sarkozy and his smile faded. He turned back to Thomas with a look of his own, his eyes not focusing on Thomas, but not sad, or ashamed, more like... disappointed. He looked up at Thomas, his gaze firm. He felt the man at his back, and heard Adreon's words, a small smile crossed his face, though his eyes remained hard, "Have no worries Adeon. I will not embarrass you like that. I understand." He looked back at Thomas, his smile changing slightly, and his expressions softening slightly, looking almost sorrowful. "You used to be such a good man, Lord Chivay. I suppose I shouldn't have expected better. Power has corrupted you as surely as it does many." 

 

Artorus' smile returned to a polite one, and he nodded to the other company before proceeding out, leading Isabella with a warm smile on his face. "Such a pity," He muttered under his breath to Isabella, "I didn't want to have to pay a visit later, but I see now that it can't be avoided.  Thomas has failed the test."

[Leric 1097]

Mumbles, fiddling with the human arming sword at his side. Finally giving up on it and pointlessly smacking its hilt.  He growls, raising a fist towards his chest as he hears Artorus speak towards Thomas. He slowly unfurls his fist, and flexes his gauntleted hand, nearly wanting to hit him on the back of the head from how he spoke to Thomas. Mumbles a curse, letting his hand drop to his side and then look to Adeon and Thomas, waiting further instruction.

[Z3r05t4r 855]

Still sitting, Godwein has finished his meal in the meantime and sips on his goblet of Auvergnian wine once in a while, watching the people and listening to whatever he is able to catch up. Soon though his eyes go somewhat blurry, his focus of sight disturbed, still listening though and in thoughts.

[Esterlen 4499]

Sarkozy remained solemn and quiet as Artorus made his remarks, his head facing the ground. As the couple made their way out of the palace, he followed them, staying particularly far back in the crowd. He gave a smirk of bewilderment - almost as if he couldn't comprehend Artorus' words - and he downed the rest of his wine quickly, throwing his head back in a fluid motion. Looking at the archway that was the entrance to the palace, he brandished his goblet in a particularly threatening fashion.

 

As the noble couple was descending down the stairs at the entrance, a wealth of emotions overcame Hadrien de Sarkozy. He inhaled deeply and tossed the goblet down the stairs. 

 

It landed on one of the higher steps first and a resounding clank was heard within the party. And another, and another. The goblet bounced down the stairs, eventually slowing down to the point of a slow roll, what little residual wine that remained in the goblet having already spilled upon the descent. It came to rest upon the plaza below.

 

The Baron de Sarkozy gave a sneer that was all too appropriate.

 

"A gift for the Duchess."

 

He turned about-face as fast as possible and reentered the party, striding through the crowd briskly until he reached Ser Thomas once again. It had happened all to quickly for him to comprehend.

[Jarkarll 314]

Sipping silently from the goblet he watched the proceeding events with tacit disappointment, Artorus's words resounding within his head. Those same words were all too familiar to him, the same words of the man who had forsaken the Rose. Evidently the same fallacy of corruption once uttered by a man Bran respected had been spread to ignorant men.

With a stiff cough and a hitch of the body he slid the mostly empty goblet across a table, turning to face the others. "Excuse me, there's something ah need to attend to." Feeling compelled to explain himself he turned to face Rose with a concerned expression. "I'll just be a minute, no more, dear." Promptly afterward he turns about, taking even strides as he maneuvers between the haphazardly organized groups.

Having left the Keep the cold winds berated his formal wear, the chilling wind nipped at his visage. Ascending the steps to the guard room he peered over the battlements, seeing the faint figure of Artorus and lady. Snow began to fall from the heavens, dancing aimlessly with the wind. Scowling as a snowflake melted on his shoulder he continued his ascent.

Finally inside the guard room and addressing Temp, whispering vehemently. "Don't allow those two in, and if they come with an entourage, force them out."

Temp gave him a silent nod, not glancing his way. With an exaggerated toss of the frill of his coat he descended the steps and re-entered the keep. Smothering his beard the frost shook off, falling to his coat, which was now damp.

"I hope ah didn't take too long." he smiled coyly and scratched the back of his head in an anxious way.

[Stevie 1598]

Thomas grunted, showing a faint grin as he sips the last of the Leuvaarden Noir from his goblet, swallowing quickly and exasperating a chuckle, "I assume not wantin' uninvited guests to a parteh is showin' the powah gettin' to my 'ead. Soon enuff I'll be 'angin' criminals an' burnin' 'eretics." his grin widens now, eyeing about the small clique before him. With a patting of his coat and a quick nod, he gives the circle a half-bow, smiling to each as he speaks.

 

"Lady Chrestienne, Lady Rose, Ser Bran, Lord 'adrien. Please excuse me. I believe it is time for our main event." 

 

He spins about on a heel, the long coat swaying in a whirl around him. He makes his way off from the four, dancing in and out of the other cliques, exchanging smiles and rises of cups. Despite these small distractions and occasional detours to speak to a guest, he finds his way at the side door of the main hall. Disposing of his goblet to a passing servant, he brings his hands onto both nobs of the double doors. Giving an easy push, the hinges squeak a moment as he steps through, striding down the hall at a steady pace. He comes before another door, rising the back of his hand to the center of the wood, rapping his knuckles thrice, calling through the door.

 

"Lorin? Are ye ready?"

[Urahra 5777]

Lorin turned at the sound of her uncle's voice coming through the door. Clenching and unclenching her fists, she took a deep, slow breath. This was her time to shine. In a few minutes, she would be introduced to all the who's who in Oren. Glancing in the mirror, Lorin adjusted the barrette Thomas had given her a few days before. It was a gold sparrow, accentuated with a few perfect, shimmering white pearls. Looking at the bauble, Lorin couldn't help but smile. "I hope you're looking out for me tonight, Papa," Lorin whispered to the mirror, running her fingers over the small, golden sparrow. This gem was her Papa's last gift to her. Since Thomas had passed it on to her, Lorin had adopted it as a bit of a good luck charm. Though Cantious Chivay had never seen eye to eye with his daughter on most things, there was something they both loved. Cantious had adored seeing his daughter dressed up and looking beautiful. Little gifts like these - gems and dresses and baubles for Lorin to play with - had always been a secret sign of his affection for his little girl. Lorin smoothed out her dress, admiring the black and gold brocade on the bodice. Smiling into the mirror, Lorin turned and approached the door.

She turned the nob, opening the door just enough to allow Thomas to see her. She smiled, fiddling with her jewelry nervously. "How do I look, uncle?" she asked, doing a little turn for him. The gold fabric caught the light and glittered. Lorin looked down at her dress, still smiling sheepishly. "It fits well, right? And my jewelry isn't too much, is it? I don't want them to think I'm putting on airs...And what about the color? It's good too?" The questions flooded from her lips, dropping one after another. Realizing she was babbling, Lorin covered her mouth and blushed. "W-well, I mean, you picked it out, so it has to be perfect." She lowered her hand, managing to smile again. "I'm sorry, I'm just so nervous!"

Lorin let out a small giggle. "We'd better go before I lose my nerve."

[Cosmik 220]

     Oddly paced footsteps echo down a hallway leading to the main dining hall. Glancing sideways to a nearby window, a rather young man - appearing no older than 21 - glances over his murky reflection, adjusting his clothing with a grim visage of annoyance. As he runs a hand along his waistcoat, the wound concealed within that lies across his chest throbs in response. "If nothing else, my formal clothes have kept well and they'll function for the evening, now that my Sarkozy tabbard is nothing more than a dishrag...", he murmurs to himself. Turning to face the doors, Liam de Sarkozy lightly pulls one open and slips into the dining hall without trying to raise attention to himself, his tardiness, or the slight limp that plagues him.

 

 

     Forcing a polite grin onto his face, Liam snatches a goblet off of the tray of an unsuspecting servant and gravitates around a group or two of conversing guests. He eventually chameleons his way into a ring of party guests, glancing around at times while socializing with some of the other men and women. His mood slowly brightens as he begins finding old acquaintances and meeting new ones.

[meg 1994]

Elene stood in front of the mirror in the washroom, breathing deeply. She reaches into her purse, removing the jewellery box. Uthor had suggested she wait until the party to put it all on, wouldn't want it to be tarnished during the ride there. It was a good idea, and Elene was going through with it. She opened the box, revealing the items Uthor had made for her. Smiling as she began to put on the items. She started with the emerald and sapphire inlaid bracelets, sliding them on.

 

 

 

She then attaches the chain-linked necklace, made of silver, more sapphires and emeralds hanging as well as inlaid in them. 

 

 

 

Finally, she takes the circlet in her hands, observing the closely wrought silver, the emeralds hanging from the chains, the sapphires laid in the crossings of the silver. She nestles it between her hair, taking another deep breath as she closes the box, placing back into her purse. She heads out of the washroom, going and raising herself on her tiptoes, kissing Uthor on the cheek.

 

 

 

 

((The images aren't exactly what was described, just imagine a mix of what I described, and the pictures.))

[Urahra 5777]

 

Tanith sighs, putting the final touches on yet another plate of hors d'oeuvres. She scooped another helping of strawberries onto the bruschetta and looking approvingly over the platter. Where Thomas and Peter managed to find strawberries out of season, Tanith would never know. She knew that some farmers put their crops on ice to store them, but harvesting ice was an expensive and complicated business - not to mention ice tended to melt after a while. Picking up the plate of strawberry and spinach topped bruschetta, she presented it to one of the servants waiting outside the kitchen door. "Go hand those out and come back when the platter is mostly empty," she instructed. The servant nodded curtly and hurried off upstairs to mingle among the guests. Tanith turned to the over servant waiting by the door. "How are we doing on champagne? Are we running low on clean goblets?"

 

The servant shook his head. "No, ma'am. Though we are out of the salmon hors d'oeuvres. They're rather popular among the guests." Tanith let out a sigh, gently dabbing her forehead with a washcloth. The heat of the kitchen was making her sweat.

 

"Wouldn't you know it? I have all these exotic ingredients and the most popular dish so far is something ordinary." Tanith lets out a soft laugh. "Well, I'll have another platter ready in a moment. How is the party going? Do you think we'll need to start serving dinner soon?"

 

 

"No, ma'am. Lady Chivay hasn't been presented yet."

 

"Ah, good, that means I have a little time left." Tanith turns to her kitchen counter and picks up a tray of crystal snifters, each one filled with sugar dusted cubes of watermelon. Presenting the tray to the servant, she smiles. "I think something light and sweet will be popular, don't you? Go hand these out." The servant carefully takes the tray and bows, hurrying off to hand out the snifters.

[Stevie 1598]

Thomas chuckles, smiling in amusement at her enthusiasm, approaching her, "It's alright to be nervous, Lorin. This is a special occasion fer you, an' yer dress is testament to that. Beautiful as evah."

 

He extends a finger up, pointing to the ceiling between the two as he speaks, "I can see yer ready, so wait jus' a moment. I'll go gather the crowd's attention. Get out some last nerves, I'll be back."

 

He smiles widely, turning about to head quickly down the hall, the tapping of his boots clacking against the cold stone as he comes finally to the double doors, still open and flooding the otherwise quiet hall with the bustle of the party's many sounds; from a jeering laugh to a gentle strum of a lute. Thomas turned off to his left, making his way onto the dais where the two thrones sat, turning to face the active crowd. Nodding to the few guards stationed about and waving a hand to the troubadours to pause their calm rhythmic music, Thomas grunts heavily, clearing his throat before addressing the crowd, who were just noticing the bearded marshal, quieting down to hear his words.

 

"Ladies an' gentlemen. Guests, friends an' all, I'd like to fank you all fer attendin', an' I 'ope ye are all enjoyin' our festivities."

 

He pauses a moment, allowing the last amounts of chatter to die down, all attention focused on him.

 

"The Holy Oren Empire. A nation we've all given patronage, 'omage, loyalty, an' service too. We've bled on fields fer Oren, talked wiff diplomats fer Oren, an' ate at parties much like this'un fer our most illustrious Empire. An' frewout its existence, there 'as been the noble man and woman, comin' an' goin' an' bringin' along wiff them past or exiled 'ouses, all planting their mark in 'istory. The Chivays - 'ouse Chivay, as also set their mark in 'istory... but many ask jus' 'ow we came to be, an' where we came from. Well, to dismiss the rumor which 'ave become rather popular; no, we don't sprout from the ground like turnips, an' our 'eads aren't pulled out from the ground to reveal a bearded man." He pauses yet again, allowing the wave of laughs echo throughout the room, smiling himself in a playful manner.

 

"No no... the Chivays come from the womb of mothers, jus' the same as any ovah..." He trails off, and a shout comes from the crowd, a voice familiar to Thomas and his speech seeming almost scripted, planned, "But Lord Thomas! There's no such thing as Chivay women! They're a myth!"

 

"Oh, but there are... in fact, this evenin's party's guest of 'onor is none ovah then my niece...."

 

Another synchronized shout comes from the crowd, this time from the other side of the room, "Well, wot are you waitin' for! Go an' get 'er, m'lord!"

 

Thomas grins, nodding agreement as he turns, heading back to the hallway, the crowd exchanging a few mutters of chuckle and surprise, clearly enjoyed at the set up spectacle.

 

Another knock comes on the door to Lorin's bedroom, the same triple rapping of the bearded marshal's knuckles on the hard wood.

 

"It's time."

 

 

[Urahra 5777]

 

Lorin quickly opens the door. Her hands tremble and slide on the brass doorknob, but she pulls it to. Looking up at Thomas with an air of breathless anticipation, she puts on her most charming smile. "I hope everyone will like me," she says quietly. 

They'd rehearsed her introduction to society a bit the day before. She knew exactly what would happen. She would walk in on Thomas's arm, be announced to the assembled guests, and then go take her place atop the dais and sit in Thomas's throne to be admired by all. It was easy enough in practice, but the thought of all those eyes on her at once set Lorin's heart pounding against her rib cage as if it were trying to break it way out of her chest.

Lorin took another deep breath to steady her nerves. Thomas smiled, offering her his arm. Resting her hand on the crook of Thomas's elbow, Lorin nodded. Slowly, the two of them began walking down the hallway toward the main ballroom where all the guests waited. Lorin could feel her hands shaking as she gripped Thomas's elbow.

A high, clear voice - the voice of the child herald, rang out beyond the large double doors. "Presenting the Lady Lorin Chivay!" The doors opened slowly to reveal the glimmering decorations and twinkling lights. Lorin took a deep breath and put on her best smile.

Men in smart suits and ladies in beautiful ballgowns covered the floor, most of them holding wine glasses or sampling exotic hors d'oeuvres. Lorin's eyes swept the crowd. Most of the men and women were looking her way, but Lorin could barely read their expressions in the low light. Thomas took a step into the hall, leading her onward toward the dais where his and Peter's thrones stood. Lorin kept her head high, eyes forward and smile bright. Pausing at the foot of the dais, Thomas turned to her and gently kissed her hand. Releasing her hand, he stepped back. Lorin ascended the steps to the thrones by herself. She turned, looking out over the crowd once again. This is what a princess must feel like, she thought. Delicately lowering herself into the throne, she smiled again and nodded to her guests.

[Lynesse {Celia/Jazzy} 398]

 

Lynesse was just casually late. She leaned over the edge of the railing, outside the party. The party life had never been for her. She was always a quiet girl, not much for the hustle and bustle of yelling. Often, when her family had hosted their large and illustrious parties, she had found herself curled up in her room, enjoying the company of tea and a book much more over that of a goblet of wine and music.

 

She could tell that the party was starting. She pushed the door to the great hall with a small sense of timidness in her eyes. She glanced around the room. The invitation made no false claim, the Chivays had truly spared no piece of gold. She quietly made her way to her seat, beside the rest of her family and she patted her dress down, acknowledging Lorin afterwards.

 

Smiling, she allowed herself a small casual sip of her goblet, only to be interrupted by Garth, elbowing her in the arm.

 

"Where were you, Lynesse? We'd thought you went missing. I thought you were just going to the bathroom, not to the seven hells and back again." he said in a tone that you could sense a small shrewd of authority from.

 

"It doesn't matter. I'm back now, Garth." she said, casually sitting into her chair. 

 

It was an odd story, a member of the Hightower blood afraid of parties and gatherings.