#◜ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐄 — ( to act selflessly is anathema. ) / arc. our lady of prophecy. ◞

[orexias]

 she is a flirtatious thing, a wretched little creature whose favorite activities seem to be harassing the local guard with her mischief. all too often is it necessary for one, if not many, of the city watch, or the flaming fist, or a combination of the two are always putting her back where she belongs, inside the iron-fenced walls of the d'angelis estate, if only because it is what mother and father have bade them to do. still, this does not stop her mischevious nature, and she wanders out relatively frequently to test the waters, and the limits.

alas. perhaps this would be a fun game of cat and mouse if it weren't for... him.

@zilmdat , " it looks like you've found me again. "

she turns over her shoulder, sensing his presence, eyes rolling briefly as she looks him over. her arms cross over her chest as she adorns baldur's gate's newest fashions - this dress in particular has a high slit, and a snake motif around the midsection. she is never caught in comfortable clothing, it seems, and it's uncertain at the moment as to whether or not the good mr. barnes is being given an expression of amusement or annoyance.

she is dramatic, here, her wrists extended with the most incredulous sigh, as if to imply he needs to put invisibile handcuffs on her, to return her to her mother and father's suffocating grip. when he doesn't immediately do such a thing, her wrists drop, and she approaches, hands on her back. her hair is longer, here, than it would be in the future, dancing across her shoulders, and falling over one as she tilts her head. " hello, james, " she laughs softly. " must you take me back to the estate? can't we bargain for... oh, an escorted walk? " never make a deal with a warlock, bucky; they're always on the verge of turning it in their favor. (or do - you might have fun in the interim.)

[orexias]

the closer that he gets to her, the more apparent it is that he has no hesitation in approaching the viper's nest. she smiles a wicked little grin up at him, her head tilting in confusion as if she has no idea what it was he could mean. still, she is eclipsed by his figure, hiding in his shadow so that no other, less-inclined-to-play-her-game, guard sees them speaking and reprimands him for not immediately bringing her back to the gilded cell that was the d'angelis estate. no one could really afford to disobey the d'angelis family, else they choked the financial powers of baldur's gate and watched whoever had wronged them gasp for air. the flaming fist, in particular, were a bit hesitant to allow that to happen.

" i want to go to market, " she says honestly, gaze dropping to her own wrists where he would find a coinpurse hanging elegantly off the wrist attached to a manicured hand. " i have the most wretched craving for a sweetroll, but i want to pick out the one that i eat. i want to pick the one with the most frosting from the baker, and i want to eat it by that little fountain next to lorrokan's place. but no, i am not to even so much as lift a finger, not when there is someone who would be willing to do it for me. quite frustrating, isn't it, how i've been told i could have whatever i want, and then be told i can't have something when it doesn't align with the needs of those who are paid to take care of me? " a little head tilt returns their gaze, and she chuckles softly-- until he asks that question, of course, and her face sobers.

she can't leave. this is everything she has ever known, and yog'sogoth's grip on her shoulder is still omnipresent. if she were a bit older, here, a more attuned to the needs of her lord, she may even go so far as to hear him chuckle in the back of her mind at an outsider's question. but she's not been laid to waste with the needs of trauma yet. a tadpole does not fight her lord for dominion of the mind, yet. " there are people here who need me, " she says softly, her smile wistful, " there are people who want me to protect them from the things they do not understand. i don't quite believe they've learned yet, that going out of my home to collect a sweetroll will not kill me. so i sneak out. to just.. feel the sun. smell the air. you understand duty, don't you, james? "

it is his duty to do as he's been assigned - and for the most part james has no issues with following this doctrine. that was, unless it involved nesta d'angelis. she was prone to pushing his buttons, and even more so causing a ruckus within baldur's gate with her lack of compliancy. however, really he couldn't blame her. he can't say he wouldn't find being chained too kind a thought. after all - even a gilded cage was still a cage. so perhaps he skirts around his directives, if not just for a bit of entertainment and time spent with the woman. he's a vision of maroon and gold, arms crossing over his chest once they're eye to eye. " it's not as though you make it hard to find you, nesta. and you know my orders as well as i do by now, so i'll let you deduce the answer to that. " he returns gruffly, but makes no move to usher her one way or another. " though i could be persuaded, if you have something to offer. " his tone tinges on flirtatious, shoulder bumping against city wall where it leans. " care to tell me what has you gunning for freedom today? " the paladin's brows raise, gaze sweeping the alleyway as they speak, trained yet cautious, always on guard. " it escapes me why you don't just.. leave. "

[orexias]

presenting : advisor enver gortash & lady nesta d'angelis.   ,  a pre-plotted thread featuring @banedicti .

one might expect someone of such noble upbringings to understand a modicum of decency, the conservatism that comes with the higher baldurian courts. the d'angelis family had investment hands in just about everything - banks, loans, development projects... political campaigns. and with lady rhiannon and lord owain always so invested in the needs of their inferiors, lady nesta was always not far by their side. this gala, in particular, was one of importance, one that nesta was very much so informed she did not have the option of attending. it is important, as members of a society that works in the darkness behind the scenes, to maintain a shiny exterior, for the brighter the light - the bigger the shadow becomes. and the measure of nesta's reach is that of her beliefs - all-encompassing and all-consuming.

the dress is beautiful: evening gown of stygian shade, golden epaulets, a cloak to hide her exposed back from mischief-makers who might be otherwise entitled to lay claim to the small of her flesh, to touch that which is not offered. a circlet adorns her head, golden jewelry shining against the white of her hair, of her skin, of her eyes - as if she is an angel, like the ones depicted by the lathanderian temples. but the glass of wine in her hand, the rose brooch, no - those are all effigies of her intention. that she is a rose with thorns, that bleeding is sanctimonious, and that parties like these pale in comparison to the indulgences beneath these very floorboards. still, it is a good, quiet night - until it becomes instead an interesting one.

to see him is to gaze upon roadkill, nesta thinks; to be enamored by the charisma he exudes and yet repulsed by the act that put him here. this is not the first time she has met him, nor will it be the last, but she is amused, regardless, at the intention with which he strides across the room, long before the first dance, to greet her. this must be kismet, nesta thinks, and not statistics, with the number of times they've interacted with one-another in the settings belonging to her mother and father. despite this, her voice is low and sultry even still, her hand already extended for him to shake, to kiss the back of her knuckles, to do as he pleased. in settings like this, women were objects to greet and examine as they pleased, though nesta's calculating demeanor often intimidated away those with low charismatic fiber.

enver gortash, unfortunately, was not one of those men.

" advisor gortash, " she hums, pale eyes hiding a concoction of amusement and annoyance as her dreams of a quiet night are all but dashed away in favor of a wretched game of thrones and crowns. " what a... well, how appropriate it is to see you here. lady whittnia throws quite the ball, no? "

[orexias]

tag set. new verse.

[orexias]

what a creature. to touch upon all those beneath him yet only know bare flesh to the touch of a hand - it is uncommon to treat a lady with such vapors, but nesta permits it this once, if only to prohibit herself from playing an unwilling role in enver gortash's play. " why, thank you, " she preens under the compliment; her perfume is that of musk and amber and vanilla - a sensual scent for a sensual girl. she is again an object on display, turning her head to the left, exposing bare neck, examining the waylay for those who may look upon them and twist their guts.

it would not be uncommon, or out of place, to see enver gortash and nesta d'angelis standing together - though a number of rumors could be felt spewing from such an interaction. despite, nesta does not move her own hand, instead waiting for the gentleman, if one could call him that, to release her. perhaps she is considering the funding of his campaigns, the rumors begin, and they end with, or perhaps he is seeking political favor to showcase the steel watch before the archduke. regardless, both the house of d'angelis and the infamous gortash have their roles in baldurian politics; she would bark out a laugh at the notion. he is, after all, the black king and she, the white queen - an important piece on one side, a powerful one on the other. 

" i must say the same for you. how... bizarre it must be to be outside of your normal attire. that heavy coat has all but become the trademark of your silhouette, no? " she observes, her glass-holding hand gesturing gently to all of enver. nesta's own daily attire, strikingly, is quite similar - a long, heavy cloak overtop of a half-barren chest, a dress with high slits, shockingly ornate jewelry. she purses red lips, shadowed eyes examining him further. perfectly polished, as the courts expects him to be. 

" and here i thought you would be... too busy to attend. has the role of an advisor gotten so boring that you must rub elbows with your lessers? it seems... anyone has been let into this function. " she nods her head to a few others, ones that the d'angelis family has not openly spoken against, but the curl of nesta's painted lip implies, perhaps, that they don't get along as well as the public believes they do.

the galas that bear Lady Whittnia's name, bright lighting and choice of guests are cordial in invitation alone; under the surface shine and glamour, they're equal parts battlefield and meeting of partners in depravity. Of course she would think to include Enver Gortash in her list of combatants to witness upon her polished floors, and of course he'd graciously accepted such a well - meaning invitation. There's always opportunity to be found, whether over a goblet of wine or within a single shared glance. He plans on making the most of it, regardless of whatever company he keeps or discards throughout the evening.

he walks into the ballroom with Lord Peregin at his side, who laughs and celebrates what is yet another reunion with fellow friends and socialites, but Enver knows full well the smile will be gone before the ball is halfway to its conclusion. [ He bids Peregrin farewell with a hand to the man's shoulder; much quicker than Enver would've given him credit for, Peregrin recovers from the abrupt departure, appeased by the promise of a dance. ] And as he turns, Gortash spies the rose among the lilies: luxurious, calculating and charismatic Lady Nesta D'Angelis.

meeting her is like approaching a hawk with the knowledge that it could blind you, or worse, at any given moment, but Gortash crosses the ballroom anyway. A smile here, a greeting there, touch, touchtouch ━━ He does everything in his power to keep his hand from twitching, only to scoop Nesta's outstretched hand underneath his own fingers.

just as easily as he tips Nesta's hand upwards in polite greeting, Enver leaves her knuckles untouched, devoid of the kiss she surely expected to feel pressed upon them. He knows better than that.

" If there is anything she knows how to do, it's lean into extravagance, " he agrees, quick and easy smile making its infamous appearance. " A pleasure to see you again, my dear! You look nothing short of dashing tonight. "