#||no need to match length!

[gwyndolence]

Part of Krovs' particular charm was its provenance, especially to a young fae hybrid with a... muddled opinion of the second war. Gwyn was deeply curious to see exactly what the vampires had done with the place since, expecting more of the same fancy, old-fashioned European aesthetic the undead seemed to favor. He was delighted to discover that the vampires had installed a strip club, of all things, instead. Diabolus Luxuriam had a decent crowd going for the late hour: wealthier townies playing tourist, a semi-circle of masters more intent on their conversation than the dancers, a few slaves who hadn't been bidden to get on stage nervously idling, either there as pretty set dressing or pathetically forgotten in favor of other distractions.

Gwyn bypassed ogling the gyrating under the spotlights; he'd go into Krovstown and do some real dancing if mood struck for that. No, the people-watching was the purpose of this exercise and Gwyn put himself in the best possible place for it -- right behind the bar. He'd learned centuries ago there were few places you couldn't access if you walked in with enough confidence. If any patrons had noticed their server was collarless, none had mentioned it yet. For their part, the staff seemed unable to decide if the young master's status forbade Gwyn the spot or gave them perfect excuse not to confront him about it. Either way, he'd been enjoying himself immensely tugging stories out of the chattier workers and sneaking any tips into the poor, confused barkeep's shirt pocket.

Gwyn had keen sense for anyone leaving an opening exposed for approach and he narrowed in on just a one now, leaning bodily over the bar top towards his target, the jumbled collection of necklaces around his neck glittering in the red and blue club lights.

"Someone looks thirsty. Want me to fix that for you?"

@krovscastlestarters

[flamesque]

₊❏❜ ⋮ i'll chase you to the ends of the earth. ⚬𓂂

@dolasach

He is used to it; however, that didn't mean he accepted it.

Rafayel sighed as he let his head rest against his palm, the same thing being drilled into his mind by the endless sea of words spewing the history of Lemuria and the world on the surface repeated like a broken record from the elders. He seemed to be falling asleep and was immediately scolded for not paying attention.

Evidently, something came up that had the elders leave the vicinity for the time being and this served as an opportunity for Rafayel to escape. He had attempted in doing so a few times, but he was sure that this time he would be able to be successful. 

A blue fish swam around him and held his hand out, allowing the fish to swim over his palm. 

"Shall we head to the surface? It's a little boring right now and I'm tired of hearing the elders saying the same thing over and over again." 

The fish continued swimming over his palm before seemingly directing him toward an opening to which he was able to squeeze through. It was then he realized that he was out of the city walls of Whalefall City and was able to swim to the surface.

He thanked the fish before it disappeared back through the city walls and Rafayel didn't have to think twice as he turned away from Whalefall City to swim up to the surface; however, before he allowed himself to fully come out, he swam slowly as the damn words from the elders rang in his head. 

"The world on the surface is dangerous, even if those people worship our Sea God, there is a chance that someone will try to capture him."

"As the previous Lemurians have..." 

"Rafayel, you must never venture out to the surface world. Your people are here, that is all that should concern you." 

And the annoying part of all. "The Sea God will one day meet the Goddess of the Forest, and when that day comes, should he fall in love with her, it will be the beginning of the downfall of Lemuria."

Rafayel always thought it to be those stories to be something a parent would tell to their child to make them listen. And besides, Rafayel had always been, not only a rebellious soul, but one of sheer curiosity. 

Once he peeked out from the water, he spotted a woman by the shore. And he had seen a few other humans before, but something about her was different and he couldn't help but to swim towards the shore, closer to her. Who could she be? For some reason... he needed to know and while he doesn't know why he needs to, he simply just has to try; in a way, it felt as though there were residual feelings, feelings that weren't from him and that in itself baffled him.

So without thinking, his mouth opened to speak.

"Who might you be? You don't seem... human to me, although you do appear to be." He tilted his head briefly before letting out a laugh. "Ah, apologies. This is bold of me, I will admit."

[fisheito]

this is what i was cookin up while on nu:vacation [avoiding event spoilers] my dream.....my hopes....... EVERYONE PUT ON THE PRINCESS GOWN🗡

[faithhearted]

@honorhearted said: "Can we speak of this another time? I'm busy." (for Mary!)

This was not how Mary envisioned her life unfolding. Ever since she was a child, she had strived to be proper, to be viewed as a good and Godly young lady. ‘Be kind’, her mother had told her, ‘kind and fair and devout and true. These are the makings of a desirable woman.’ and so she’d obeyed. Even now, over and over again Mary told herself to be kind, fair, devout, and true, and your husband will love you.

But she had not married the man to whom she’d been promised. Instead, she’d wed his brother, who had taken her hand out of some sense of duty or responsibility though he never spoke about why.

No matter how kind, fair, devout, and true she endeavored to be, her husband did not love her. He’d done his husbandly obligation and together they’d conceived and raised a child, but still, he did not spare her an ounce of affection.

Instead, Abe’s eyes lingered upon Anna Str.ong, the woman he had always loved and loved still. It tore at Mary until her heart was in tattered shreds. Anna was everything Mary was not.

Anna was inconsiderate, tempestuous, fickle, and irresponsible. She too was a married woman and yet Abe wanted her. In truth, Mary once utterly despised Anna for this, and that hatred ate at her gut until she was tired of the way that hatred felt. Instead, all her energy was now spent on ensuring her family's survival.

A fortnight ago, Mary had been brought to the Contin.ental Army’s New Wind.sor camp for her protection, and for her son’s, and Abe was off once again, in another covert plan to enlist in Arnold’s unit. While Mary supported her husband’s revenge against Sim.coe, she was once again left alone to wait for a man who did not want her and who might very well never want her.

Despite all this, Mary worried for his safety. Early that morning, she’d set out to Major Tall.madge’s tent to inquire about Abe’s well-being only to be met with unattentive indifference to her presence. It was something she was used to but refused to tolerate further.

"Can we speak of this another time? I'm busy."

“We will speak of this now,” she firmly insisted, snatching the quill from his hand if only to force him to look into her pleading eyes, “Please, Major, you must know something about how he’s fairing. Will you not permit even five minutes to ease a wife's concern?”

[xflashbastardx]

closed starter for @ofginjxints

When Aziraphale had left, naturally, Crowley had first tried to drown his heartbreak in alcohol. After all, he'd been using it to try to numb his feelings for the angel for centuries, why wouldn't he turn to it now? But apparently getting blackout drunk didn't help the way it used to. Before, he would drink and maybe pass out for a few days, but he'd always awaken with the knowledge that he could saunter into the bookshop and at least be near him. But now that he was gone, now that Crowley had well and truly lost him, that wasn't enough. And it certainly didn't help matters that he no longer had to only imagine the feel of the angel's lips; he knew it. He knew it and it drove him half mad with longing and heartache.

He needed to forget. And if booze wasn't going to do the trick, something else would have to.

At some point, his regular outings to bars and clubs had turned into desperate searches for someone, anyone, that could make him forget how miserably in love he was with someone who had left him behind with apparent ease. Easier said than done, it seemed. Oh, it was easy enough to find humans that wanted him. The hard part was achieving what he'd set out to do and forget. Even for a short time.

Rarely did it ever progress beyond wandering hands and clumsy, desperate lips, but even when it did, Crowley couldn't shake images of him from his mind. Maybe it would have been easier if he didn't keep choosing men with pale curls or soft, cherubic features. But he couldn't help it; he knew what he wanted, and if he couldn't have that, he'd take the closest thing available.

It never really worked, but bless it, Crowley was nothing if not persistent. Which was why he was once again in a dimly-lit booth in the back of one of Soho's many bars with a man who looked familiar but not familiar enough. With lips on his neck, a hand on his thigh, and nearly a full bottle's worth of whiskey in his bloodstream, he could almost make himself forget about the one he wished was touching him.

[sennenpharaoh]

@flamesignite

It had been a week since his burns have happened and now with the sudden jabbing pain to his side, he had to act. While he originally intended to just allow the burns to his face to heal naturally, for some reason they just... wouldn't go away. Maybe he was using the wrong ointment? Who knows, he was certainly not a doctor.

Alright, suppose he might as well try to heal them himself, or at the very least heal the burns. He did it to his hand a while back, surely it could work on his face as well. One would only hope.

Standing across from the mirror in his bedroom he took a look at his reflection, the burned marks on his face standing out now more than ever. Were they always this bad? He remembered that they were discomforting enough that he for some reason always felt the need to itch, but seeing it in front of him was... huh.

Okay, let's do this.

He pulled out a card from his deckbox. A healing card, one he had been using quite a bit often as of recently, and closed his eyes, preparing the spell. That's when he heard it.

"You IDIOT!!!"

Atem's eyes snapped wide open, immediately recognizing the voice. It was his Colonel's, filled with anger. Anger that he was looking for, but not for the reason he originally wanted.

That's right. The burns on his face were of his own doing, when he tricked-- no, manipulated Roy into snapping so that he could burn himself with his own card, seemingly catching Roy's "anger" for the events of Death Valley. He remembers that night vividly. The yelling, the fighting back and forth, but most of all... not just the anger in his Colonel's voice... but the pain.

That's right. I hurt him.

He lowered the hand holding his card to his side

I manipulated him. I forced him to attack me, all because I wanted him to punish me. I didn't want him to forgive me, I wanted him to be angry. But instead I hurt him. I'm no better than... than him.

He continued to look at the mirror, specifically the burns to his face, though it was obvious to anyone that he was starting to tremble.

I did the exact same thing Haga did to me... played with his emotions behind a false card. How could I have been so stupid?! I remember exactly how it felt when Haga did this to me, and yet I did the exact... same... thing... to Roy. He was right, you are an idiot!

A pause before he looked at the card in his hand.

I can't just... magic this away. I can't just magic these burns, and the hurt I did to him away! I can't! What I did wasn't okay! None of what I did was in any way okay! Actions. Have. Consequences!

Then his eyes trailed back to the mirror, although his vision seemed a bit... foggier than usual. A bit blurry, one might say--

Oh. Oh no you don't.

"You have no right." He scolded, though the only one in the room was himself. "All this time and now you decide you want to cry about it? The time to hide behind those tears left a long time ago when you felt his rage after what you did. Hell it took you to watch your duel against Haga for it to even stick, so don't you dare even try to cry about it now. You have no right. Not after what you've done. You hurt him. You did this to him."

He felt a sting to his cheeks, causing him to shut his eyes, which unfortunately allowed the tears that were building in his eyes to finally fall, making the skin sting even more as they ran over his burn. A horrible cycle. A punishing cycle, one could say. Fitting, as he hurt his Colonel's emotions with that foolish act, so should his emotions harm himself.

At least he was quiet enough, right? Maybe... no one would see him like this?

[bordercollieholland]

Holland sat on the floor of the first common room, the heavy silence pressing in around him as he stared at the checkpoint. The voices of the other slaves chatting and playing games nearby served as a soft and steady background noise that did little to ease the turmoil in his mind. His thoughts drifted in and out of focus, a hazy collage of memories that tugged him between the past and the present.

He was back in the lab, the sterile smell of antiseptic sharp in his nostrils, the cold metal of the operating table biting into his skin. The pain from the surgeries, the long hours under harsh lights, the feeling of being reduced to nothing more than a test subject—all of it flooded his senses. But then, just as quickly, Holland’s thoughts drifted to the small, quaint apartment he had shared with Cécilia. It was a modest place, tucked away in a quiet corner of the city, but it had been home. The tiny balcony was his favorite spot, just big enough for him to lounge and watch the world go by. He could almost feel the cool breeze on his face as he leaned over the railing, teasing the stray cats that wandered below. They’d hiss and arch their backs, and he’d bark back, amused by the simple, silly game.

That balcony had been his refuge, a place where he could relax and forget about the lab, the surgeries, and the pain. It was where he felt most at peace, with Cécilia nearby, her presence a constant comfort. Those moments felt so distant now, almost like they belonged to another life. She was gone now, and with her went any sense of safety he’d had.

The memory of the traders came next, the rough hands that had grabbed him, inspected him like he was no more than livestock. The humiliation burned in his chest as he recalled the way they’d forced him and the others into the truck. He could still hear the hushed conversation he had with the race horse shifter from Lyon, their shared fear masked by the familiarity of their native tongue. Where are they now? Did any of them end up here too? The question gnawed at him, but he shoved it aside, focusing instead on the discomfort in his hip. He shifted slightly, grimacing at the pain. The traders hadn’t been gentle, and his old injury flared up in protest.

Cécilia’s voice echoed in his mind, a reminder of the surgery she’d mentioned, something that might have helped if she’d had the time. But that was before… before everything had fallen apart and gone to merde. He gently touched his neck, instinctively feeling for his worn leather collar. Digits searching for the brass metal name plate and the worn vaccine tags. Instead, he found a different collar with no plate and no tags. He frowned, a pang of anxiety tightening in his gut.

A masculine voice cut through his thoughts, snapping him back to the present. Holland’s heart raced as he stiffened, his eyes darting up to meet those of the newcomer. For a moment, he was disoriented, the transition from memory to reality jarring. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear the fog from his mind, then mumbled an apology in French, his voice thick with the remnants of his reverie.

“Pardon… eh... d- do you want me to move?” His accent was heavy, the words coming out clumsily as he nervously licked his lips. His hand moved to his hair, fingers brushing against the messy strands as he fought to regain his composure. His ears, once twitching beneath his hair, vanished entirely as he shifted slightly, hiding the remnants of his other form. The memory of Cécilia’s comforting touch, the way she used to rub his ears, flashed through his mind, and a deep sense of loss welled up in his chest. He frowned, the grief threatening to pull him under once more, but he forced himself to focus on the present, on the person standing before him. His fingers fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve. He avoided eye contact, his voice barely above a mumble as he spoke, the words tinged with uncertainty. "Je ne connais pas les règles de cet endroit… ni même où je suis," he admitted in French, his accent thick with the weight of his confusion and unease. "I don't know the rules of this place… or even where I am."

[jasonmacavoy]

location: blackwell gala for: anyone! @thefallstart

This wasn't typically Jason's scene, too swanky and posh for his less refined and more barbaric tastes. He was more of a dive-bar kind of guy, perfectly content with a large pint of Pabst Blue Ribbon and a Marlboro Red stuck between his lips. If was going to go out, that's what he'd want. Nothing fancy, just a shit ton of cheap beer and a couple of smokes in his honor.

But tonight had nothing to do with him. He was simply on call, and for all intents and purposes working, positioned at the side of his gang like any good, little soilder would be. Jason didn’t ask questions either. He just did as he was told and carried out his 'errands' with pride and a sense of discipline — well it always started out that way anyway.

He hadn't lasted more than twenty minutes, a personal best for the ex-fighter, before all this being on his best behavior bullshit had earned him a drink. Jason had spotted an empty chair at the bar and just as he reached for the seat, another did the same.

"Yo, I was here first."

[councillor-roland]

closed starter for @adrasian

What had it been now, two weeks? A little more? It felt closer to three but then it also felt like an eternity since last he'd seen or held Rhys. The angry episodes were fewer and further between now, the rage mostly having spent itself and now there was just...emptiness. It wasn't numbness, not quite, that might have been welcomed. Instead it was like he existed in a sort of void where colours, sounds, sensations, everything was dulled. He had little motivation to do much of anything, though he was mechanically doing his job, making sure thing still ran, even if he took work calls with video turned off sitting in a robe at his desk. There were still meetings to attend and he dressed himself impeccably with far more effort than it should've taken. Roland felt weighted down, the sadness, the loneliness, and the longing seemed to have some sort of anchor in his chest that kept him pinned. Often times he found himself at the piano and there was a little brightness there, he still played with passion, he couldn't not. More often, though, he sat on one of the couches and put records on, smoking endless cigarettes and just listening to the music. He felt dulled and yet at the same time there were still sharp edges to the emotions if he got too close to them.

The suite was more in disarray than it had been as well. Normally, Roland kept everything tidy, or at least made sure to let the staff in to do their regular cleaning but no one had been allowed in his suite for some time outside of invitation. There were still shards of glass on the floor from where he'd thrown drinking glasses against the wall, broken pieces of porcelain, a scratched and blood stained couch that he'd at least pushed back into a corner but he hadn't cared to have it cleaned yet, if it could even be salvaged. Roland would probably just get rid of it. Overflowing ashtrays littered the surface of several tables beside dirty wine glasses. One of the things that helped, or sort of helped, was having the slaves come up as distractions. Even then, Roland was different with them, much less teasing, confident and playful than usual, just quieter, a little more needy and desperate. It disconcerted some to the point where they didn't even have sex, their behaviour influenced by his mood enough to turn Roland off and send them away though that was rare. He fed, if nothing else, even if he didn't end up sleeping with them, that was something. Still, he even had fewer slaves to his suite than he used to and hadn't been down to the Undercroft himself to pick them, having them sent up instead.

Tonight was one such night. Part of the distraction of having the slaves here was a kind of pretend companionship that helped ease the loneliness a little. The slaves that did stay, that he took to bed, Roland ended up keeping for some time afterwards just to hold them, just to be close. Adrasia hadn't allowed that last time but Roland wouldn't give him much choice tonight. Rather than wait at the door, he waited in his bedroom, clad in a robe, having told the guards to escort the celestial right to the bedroom and then leave. They'd just done that and were gone, the celestial standing before him as Roland looked at him, hands in his pockets, probably looking as dull as he felt but he forced a small smile anyway. "Hello." It was quiet, already a contrast to how he'd greeted Adrasia the last couple times he'd been in the suite. "It seemed easier to bring you straight here."

[kmadrigalsoto]

❛ ☾ ◟━ LOCATION: carriage falls country club / mayoral ball

❛ ☾ ◟━ TIME: during the blackout period

❛ ☾ ◟━ STATUS: open to those in the vicinity

One moment, it was nothing but chatter, laughter, music, and the clinking of glasses all around as the vast majority enjoyed the celebration. The next it was darkness all around with worrisome partygoers and brewing chaos. It didn't help that alcohol was served and surely enough would mean future injuries to come for those who had a little too much and weren't careful. Did she even hear some glasses break? At this rate, Kimberly's heart sank completely as soon as the blackout took place. To see her and her team's work go to ruins as she wasn't sure what to do next brought her anxieties to the forefront as she immediately reached for her phone to see if she was able to get signal for any news or incoming messages. Instead, she was met with nothing.

"Shit." she said outloud to whoever's next to her. "Okay don't panic...Surely there's a generator that needs to be up and running right? Why did it have to happen now!? I spent all day getting ready and I did not look this cute just for all this to not be seen." She used that as a front since it pained her to even comment on her and her team's hard work at this point and she was doing her best to not be on the verge of complete tears. "Like I'm sure you look cute too, but I can't even see shit to even determine that. And no, the phone's flashlight doesn't even count especially since it has crappy lighting and we should be conserving battery. Anyways, are you okay though? You didn't like trip over your own feet or anything like that?"

[lilacheavns]

closed starter for @tinkrbell.

a weekend getaway to her father’s lake house sounded like the perfect remedy for the stressful week she’d had. wedding planning had already begun and it was definitely taking a toll on her. her brain had been busy figuring out what aesthetic they wanted, what flowers would look best, what catering company to go with, what flavour cake they should pick—the list was endless. there was so much fuss about something she still didn’t completely know she was ready for. she hopes this trip will help with that and that the fresh pine scented air would ease her mind a little. it won’t be all pleasure though, she knows she still needs to let the cat out of the bag and finally tell alex about the engagement. she’d been putting it off for some time, she was so worried about how he’ll react to it. briar chews nervously on her bottom lip as she thinks about it, palms getting sweaty at just the thought. she’s pulled out of her thoughts by her fiancé’s voice, their car pulling into the driveway of the house. alex’s car is parked next to them, the familiar sight of it bringing a smile to her face. they hadn’t seen nearly as much of each other since she got into this relationship and she felt guilty about it—she never wanted him to feel like anything but her priority. her partner parks the car and she jumps out, eyes settling on her bestfriend. “well howdy there, stranger!” she cooes, rushing up to him to wrap him in a tight bear hug. “was the drive down okay?”

[bxllatrix]

OPEN STARTER — THE WEDDING.

Bella was on her best behaviour today, although the urge to scream, break into frustrated tears, or hex someone all threatened to suffocate her. The weather was, of course, perfect, her sister was stunning, and the overall ceremony had been... mind-numbingly heartwarming. Something she would think if she had a heart to warm, at least. Bella, obviously, wasn't jealous nor annoyed at all. She didn't care that love filled every nook and cranny of the blasted place. She didn't care about the ease at which Narcissa's friends chatted amongst themselves, always knowing exactly what to say and when to say it. She also did not care that everywhere she turned, she was forced to offer empty platitudes, greetings, and — merlin forbid — compliments.

Which is why after multiple hours of pointedly not caring, Bellatrix leans over and picks up a canapé, shoving it into her mouth and biting down so hard her teeth clack together. She sees the other person, but on theme for today, does not care. "Stop looking at me," she says calmly and slowly, "or I will snap your arm in half, and I won't use my wand to do it."

[moshebehar]

SETTING ― Latte Love, afternoon ! AVAILABILITY ― Open ! ( Capping at 4 ) !

It was peaceful. That had been Moshe’s initial impression of Blue Harbor when he’d finally taken the plunge that following Nilay halfway across the world had warranted. There was really no telling whether he'd make the decision to leave any time soon― he doubted his perpetual wanderlust would pull him away from Blue Harbor considering the fact that he seemed to find more and more reasons to stay with every passing day. It wasn’t as though he had a deep aversion to packing up and leaving if that was something that needed doing— it was more that his time in the United States had offered him a freedom he’d not yet allowed himself to experience in life and he was all too willing to take advantage of it as long as he possibly could. Freedom that had found him, at that present moment, shifting in a cafe chair outside of Latte Love, grading papers for the most recent assignment he'd given his first year students. 

“Ah, good try, mate,” Moshe found himself murmuring under his breath as he wrote a few detailed comments beneath the final paragraph of the paper in question. He admired the effort his students were willing to put into their work and hoped it was in part due to even the barest hint of respect they’d developed for him since he’d become their teacher. He found himself blinking owlishly at the sight of a phone number scribbled at the end of one of his student’s papers and shook his head firmly as an almost startled laugh erupted from him just loud enough to catch the attention of someone near him. He raised a hand and smiled sheepishly, “I’m sorry about that– I hope I didn’t startle you. Perhaps you can help me? What’s a fellow to do to turn a student down incredibly gently when they seem to have a crush on him? I’m really quite concerned I’ll accidentally reduce her to tears or something.”

[denverneumann]

It was with not just a little bit of trepidation that Denver took her first steps into the Tower since she'd been escorted out. It hadn't even been that long ago. Snow, what had it been, a week? Two? Time seemed to be in a state of flux, or else a kind of liminal stasis. In a world without Games there were no bookends to the seasons, no touchstones upon which to ground one's sense of reality. And what a painful reality it had been. But Denver had been promised it would be okay this time. She was going to be okay. She had walked in through the front door, and no one had arrested her yet. Besides, even if someone didn't believe she was here on business, she was still just a low-level loyalist. A rich girl without a rich name to back her up. She'd be safe.

Her kiosk was gone. Denver wondered idly as she passed where it had once stood if there had been any satisfaction in tearing it down. Her manager was dead, she was certain. As best as she'd been able to gather, all of the upper management for the Hunger Games Museum were dead.

She walked in nearly a straight line until she reached the back of the Tower, a window in one of the old lounges. No arrest. She was okay. She sighed at that, a mix of relief and sheer uncertainty, and took a seat. She pulled out her notebook and a pen, lucky finds from the BEEF gift shop, and started taking notes of the world around her. So wrapped up in her observations was she, so bent on mastering the art of recording history as it was actually happening, that she'd missed someone coming up to her until she felt the presence right by her side. She jolted up, startled.

"Hi," she said, resisting the urge to insist she was allowed to be there. "Sorry, I didn't realize anyone was there. You must have quiet feet or something." She gave a laugh and a smile, but gripped her pen tighter.

[apalestar]

@galefcrce plotted starter.

An eventful evening not for the soiree or clandestine deals Astarion had in store. No, tonight his palace played host to a friend of old. Admittedly, he and Gale had not ended off on the best of terms. A lover scorned and all. Already a small entourage of Baldur's Gate richest and finest had gathered. The palace had never been more livelier.

And many of Cazador's old clients and connections were all too eager to latch onto another influential person. The infamous moniker attached to his name: Hero of the Gate. Who could resist not coming to his social events? And how foolish Duke Ravengard had been to give him a noble's title! It made him respectable even if the eyes of those who knew him when he was but his slave.

This was the crux of why he even considered extending his lover of old an invitation. Gale wanted something from him; a deal. Something of import for him in exchange for magical tomes the late bastard Szarr kept in his collections. All were property of Lord Ancunín now, of course.

The musicians played a classical tune meant for partnered dancing. The wine and hors d'oeuvres flowed from the kitchens. A perfect evening for playing nobility's game.

Astarion's chamberlain, a slight thing of a woman, approached him. One of the few mortal servants in the household. Every vampire needed at least one for appearances. "My Lord, your guest of honor has arrived." She spoke quietly only once he signaled for her to do so.

"Splendid. The highlight of my evening barring any assassinations. Those always make for an entertaining affair." Astarion dismissed her. He weaved himself in and out of the crowd dodging conversations with a polite, well-practiced smile. His roguish tendencies hadn't diminished since the fall of the cult.

"Gale of Waterdeep." He greeted with the same fervor any good patriar would of an old friend; even one as estranged as him. "So pleased I am to—" A pause. "—see you. I'd fear you'd be half dead before you came to chat."

[catofblaviken]

starter for @maasmuse

This was a trap. Clearly it was. But, at least Hena had the foresight of knowing it was a trap. They sat down on the dingy little bed in a dingy little inn in a dingy little town and opened the letter.

Witcher,

They scoffed, he never bothered to learn their name. Then again, he never offered his in return. 

It is time to return to your rightful place at my side, enough with this folly of acting a monster killer. Of course, I am aware that my normal means of summons will not be effective, so I have procured additional insurance to provoke a speedy return. 

This was the hook, the plot, the blackmail. Not that it would be hard, the mage knew practically everything about them.

He hasn’t been the most talkative, but I did manage to get some words out. 

Do be quick, you are, after all, my favorite.

He didn’t even sign it, not that it was needed. From the parchment dropped a device, small and compact. They picked it up, it was warm and tingly, certainly magical. A xenovox.

There was a crackling before a piercing scream came from the device, causing the witcher to cover it with a hand. That was Aiden. Fuck, that was Aiden.

“ No, I’m not- don’t come looking for me! I’ll survive, don’t worry about me. ” His voice was thin, pained.

The mage only laughed, cutting off Aiden’s plea with a sharp noise followed by another scream from the captured witcher.

“ She will come. Do hurry, witcher, if you want him to live. ”

“ FUCK! ” They swore as the xeonvox shut off. Taking a deep breath, they recentered themself. The second most important rule of walking into a trap is doing the exact opposite of what the trap setter expects. The mage clearly expects them to come running with no plan. And alone. So they would do neither. 

Lambert was heading to Brugge, right? He would help. Packing everything back up they headed down to the stables, apologizing to Whiskers for the short rest as they saddled him and set on a brisk pace to Brugge. “ Just hold on, Aiden. If you die I’ll be really angry. ”