Ora
Arin Cragton
Mizzen Market 


"Akno? I don't believe I've ever heard of it." Arin said, looking over at the cat gorging on the stew sitting on the floor. He looked back up and glanced into his own bowl, before yawning and looking over at Vik. 

"Though maybe your idea can be used. Their heads, a gift. A gift to a Captain who should owe me a conversation." He said, before looking over at Vik and grinning widely, driving the knife in his hand into the table. 

"Two heads, one for each bone that was broken. It's only fair." He said, a maniacal grin now stretched across his features. It wasn't revenge he was after, but he did love the fight. After two bitter defeats, he was eager to fight again. As the smile disappeared from his face, he opened his eyes again. 

"I need a blade." He said, unfolding another burlap scar that was tied at his back, before looking down at Tiddlewinks. 

"What? You don't carry something with you to carry other things? You never know what valuables you may come across at any point." He said, before scratching the cat's ears, groaning as he bent over.
Rhonda
The Pirate King Bradai Maith
The Water Gardens

Bradai watched through smiling eyes as the skull slid across the table, back into the hands of the Vortigerns. He also watched as Lutur spun around, looking as his bastard half-brother concerned himself with the Kings and Princesses as he himself was squabbling with his own vassal. For an brief instant he caught the Lord's eyes, gave him a small, fatherly smile, and returned his attention to Samsom.

"Vhat is great!" The King responded happily, grinning as he handed over a cup of rum to the bastard boy. "It is warriors we need! You seem just tha sort." It was as if he had not heard the rest. 

"As for the Seneschal..." Bradai-Daran waved a hand at the boy, "You do not need to search for 'im. 'e appears when—" Suddenly exasperated, the Pirate King sighed, rolling his eyes and walking back to his table.

Seneschal Silas Asgarov
The Water Gardens

"I appear when I mean to appear, Samsom of Falsa." The Sapphire Seneschal, dressed now in an outfit completely dissimilar to the one in which he had started the ball, appeared as if from thin air. Where as the last outfit had been subdued, a dark overcoat thrown simply over a muted azure tunic, now he was resplendent, due with all of the fineries one might prescribe to a renown Azaryan mage in exile. 

Like his King and First Admiral, the Seneschal of House Maith also wore an overcoat, but cerulean instead of inky black. The jacket's sleeves were hemmed with thread of sliver sewn to resemble the vines, leaves and buds. While it bared some similarity of his King's standard, the plants bore strange fruit: skulls. They budded off the ends of branches and vines to combine the both the symbols of House Maith, the poppy flower, and that of the Family Asgarov: a hanging tree. Above that was a simple linen cloak thrown over one arm, revealing that the right shoulder of his jacket was cut away, to reveal alabaster white skin without blemish, mark, or scar.

His long raven hair was pulled back tight, so tight that not a single strand moved as Silas inspected the boy, wordlessly leaning from left to right to see every good angle of him. His hair, which had remained uncut for near sixteen years, was fastened with two sticks of solid ivory, capped with sapphires no larger then his finely maintained blue fingernails. Twice the size of those gems was the one he wore on his right hand, a ring from the Academy of Azarya. It marked him as a mage, which meant death on the Mainland and free service in the Southern Isles. 

His left hand, covered in a fine white glove, slid out from behind his back, to rest upon his chin and to tap idly at his bottom lip. Through eyeslids lined with dark black kohl, wide black pupils flit back and forth, from hair and jaw to arm and back. The Seneschal even once placed a hand against the boy's chin and tilted his head upwards, so that he might get a better glance at him.

"Yes, you are a bastard," He sucked at his teeth. His breath smelt like clove, as if the wintery scent of Azarya still resided within him. "But that was never in doubt. It is what you are _not_ that is of interest to me. And you are no Asgarov." 

A smile crossed over his face at that, "And _WHAT _ a relief that is, my boy." He shook his head, crossing his arms against his back as he straightened.

"I would have either had to kill you or lie to you, and I am in _no_ mood to lie. And it is _so_ utterly rare to meet someone of my own country, even if they've never been, and likely never will be. You'll find that the Azaryans have less love for bastards then your other half does." He tittered at that, high snickering through closed lips. 

"But then of course, you can be exiled for never having been a bastard at all." There was a hint of bitterness to his tone, but when he took a deep breath of the night air, he felt reinvigorated.

"Who was your mother?" He turned to Samsom proudly, giving him only the most perfunctory of glances. "Do you even _have_ the gift?"
Elissa
Peraz Dumagne
The Ball, Maith Mansion

"No, I-" Peraz began as if to answer the lord of House De Lysse, only for her brother to begin throwing one of his fits again.

"Brother, I'm certain they are the true Vortigerns. I met Caderyn once when I was very little and I recognise his face." She told him, keeping a polite smile fixed to her features, trying not to scold him for so nonchalantly calling their bastard brother a bastard.

"Their place of exile has been a mystery to the entire house of Dumagne, Lord Cyprien, as I'm sure you can surmise. I admit, I find myself *Quite* At a loss for words for them."
Marguerite
Catarina Tanner
The Ball, Maith Mansion

The sleeve on Alva's dress pulled a little up her arm as she extended her hand to Catarina, exposing a little more of the fleshy, mottled scars. Cat just now noticed the damage done to Alva's hands and arms, though she didn't show it. Everyone bore their own scars, whether they were inside or outside. Her poor little Miri, so badly scarred for all her mother's sins... 

A sharp pang shot through her heart, but she hid it with a smile as she traced the soft lines of Alva's palm. One of the thicker lines seemed to travel out from the heavy scarring on the side of Alva's hand, near her pinky, passing through the scar and out of it. Someone who had survived trauma and agony, yet still soldiered on. Someone strong and determined. The line that spoke to Alva's heart. 

Her life line was split at the beginning, as if Alva lived two lives. It could be that she was pretending to be someone she was not, or it could speak to the trauma she must have experienced. A new life after that moment. Thankfully, the line continued far across her palm with no splitting. A long, good life.

The head and the fate lines were both split, running far across the palm until they intersected. Someone who would face a mental challenge that would shape their destiny. The line was deep and wide, a path through a dark valley, then shallowed past the split. One way was jagged and tapered into nothing, and one was straight and true, deepening back into the flesh of her hands.

Cat took a deep breath before raising her gaze to meet Alva's once more. "The gods have given you an interesting future, one heavily determined by your own choices. What you choose will determine your fate... Lucky for you, you have a long life ahead of you, but how that life will look..." Cat shook her head. "I see a journey for you in the future, seeking after something. A journey soon. Be very wise with your choices, and be careful who you trust. The gods may place tricksters in your path to tempt your fate, but you will always have the power to choose. Choose wisely and you will find what you seek. A treasure of your heart's desire. Choose wrong... And your journey will peter out, unfruitful. A rough and jagged road to nowhere."
Cedric
Bastien de Lysse
On the grand balcony of Maith mansion

Unwanted attention was something Bastien had dealt with previously before, but never to this large a degree. He got up from the table shortly after his drink (Claude being careful to guard his fingers), knowing that the inevitability of socialization was dawning and he might as well begin now to end sooner.

He quickly learned it was not a wise course of action.

Never before had Bastien been approached by so many people, namely *Women*, in such a short time, all insinuating various topics of wanting a dance to... Far more promiscuous acts. He gave a silent prayer of thanks to the gods that he had drunk a good bit of wine before arriving at the ball, and more after arriving. It made him generally more amicable and friendly, so he politely sidestepped each woman's invitation instead of sending them shuddering with one of his signature ghastly glares.

People flocked to him, bothering him for what seemed like an hour, perhaps even more. Person after person after person. It was still as exhausting as ever to have to deal with so many people trying to talk to him. He'd like a break, perhaps on the dance floor. But not with some random woman bothering him, talking his ear off. Besides, he didn't like touching people or people touching him. At least most of the time. Hence why he wasn't seen dancing all too often.
** **

There was a good bit of dancing, much more than he had expected. Ladies wore elegant gowns and intricate hair twists and braids, and men were dressed smartly. He looked down at his own attire. A tailor-fit, white tunic with puffed-sleeved topped with a deep blue vest embellished with silver here and there. A black belt cinched it at the waist. His deep blue pants were loose and flowing, tucked into his silver-embellished black leather boots. A silver, embroidered cape was hung over one shoulder, and a few various silver rings were on various fingers. 

His eyes skimmed over the crowd. He noticed Peraz by her tall statue and wide hat, talking to his father. He thought better of approaching her. With her, his feelings were still confused and muddled. He hadn't seen her in so long, and her unexpected presence had brought out a vulnerable part of him he had almost forgotten and would have liked to forget. Besides, she was accompanied by her toad of a brother.

Fleur was most likely enjoying herself, wherever she was, though he would seek her out later. He didn't imagine she wanted her eldest brother hovering over her for the entire duration of the ball: Cyprien was most likely already doing that.

As he continued to glance at the guests, he noticed a flash of deep red and his eyes landed on his youngest sister's lady-in-waiting.
Tom
Calypso Kolgrim 
On the grand balcony of Maith mansion
 
Calypso had not touched one drop of alcohol yet. Although she was keeping a crystal Glass between her manicured fingers, it was only to keep her lips wet in the dry heat of the night. Thank goodness the light silk of her dress spared her the bath of sweat she would have had to endure in one of her Temerre dresses. It made the constant staring almost worth it. Almost.

Up until now the exposing nature of the dress made her only slightly uncomfortable. She was nearly hating it now. Without the protective shadow of The Admiral, many didn't seem to find any problem to simply ogle at her. She did her best to ignore the furtive fingers that would at times gosh over her exposed back, or how eyes seemed to be drawn to her cleavage. She had made her best attempts to make it look more tasteful, decorating her neck and ears with jewels, trying to take attention away from the clinginess of the red silk. 

The Temmerre lady had the suspicion that Bastian must have known how the dress would have looked, considering how meticulously he had chosen it from the stand. Maybe he had been looking forward to taking advantage of the exposed skin and let his eyes wander to his heart's content, that pig. Well so be it. She was not going to give him the satisfaction of looking embarrassed or even disturbed. Following Flewr around, keeping herself busy with conversation. Dancing with many of the men who had asked her. 

But now the young Lady was requested to remain by her father's side, Leaving Calypso to wander, admiring the beauty of the event. Charcoal eyes scanning the area, studying the people around her. Her gaze met that of some other guest from time to time. Until Amethyst's eyes met hers. The young lord was staring at her from the opposite side of her room. Calypso held his gaze, taking a small sip from the drink in her hand as if to challenge him to get near her.
Cedric
Bastien de Lysse
On the grand balcony of Maith mansion

Their eyes met, and he took note that she currently wasn't minding Fleur. She was by herself. It would be refreshing to talk to someone who wouldn't try to speak politics, or grab his arm, or stare at him as if he were some exotic spectacle. Turning briefly to grab a profiterole, he took a bite as he wove between masses of people, giving courteous bowing nods to those who addressed him but didn't stay to give them the chance to ensnare him in idle chat. He was tired of keeping up the friendly talkative facade. Wiping a bit of cream off the corner of his lip, he finally made it to Calypso.

"Hello," He said pleasantly enough. The alcohol made him seem much more at ease, as well as slightly softened his usually harsh expression. "Enjoying the party?" He took another bite of his pastry as he looked down at her, and it was at that moment that he seemed to notice her exotic choice of clothing. It seemed to register, after a few moments, that the fabric she was donned in was the same as the one he had bought her earlier that day. And yet the dress now looked entirely different than it had appeared at the stall.

He swallowed his bite, then gave her an incredulous half-smile as he leaned down to be heard over the sound of the dull roar of the crowd and music. "What on earth did you do to your new dress?"
Tom
Calypso Kolgrim 
On the grand balcony of Maith mansion

 Calypso blinked up at him in disbelief, staring up at the man with fire behind her black eyes. "What *I* Did to the dress?" Hissed her curling her free hand into a fist, stabbing her palm with her nails, clenching her jaw impossibly tight. It took her a couple of seconds to recompose herself, "First of all that's no way to comment on a woman's appearance, do better my lord." Spoke her coldly. "But I regret to inform you that *I* Did *Nothing* To the dress, this-" And gestured to the garment "-Is *Exactly* How it is supposed to look." Annoyance was clear in her voice as she took another small sip in the hope it would cool her temper. 

She turned around, her pearl head chain jingling with the movement. Fixing her eyes on a random point in front of her, everything but to have to look at this idiot of a man in the eyes. "I had to call an islander maid to understand how to wear it..." Only then her eyes shot up to give Bastian a very harsh glare "I forbid you from gifting me anything ever again." Calypso was fuming.

She should feel relieved that the man had no idea what he had bought that day, but unfortunately, the idea that he just so superficially had chosen something to have her wear only fed into her anger. What if the garment had been even more revealing? Was he playing dumb? Trying to wash his hands of her predicament?
Cedric
Bastien de Lysse
On the grand balcony of Maith mansion

As soon as she turned to face him, he could almost physically feel the anger rising off of her. Her hissing tone and dark eyes, crackling with a glare at him, was more than enough evidence. Perhaps it was the alcohol that made his defenses lowered, for when she glared and forbade him to buy her another gift, the expression he wore (despite his attempts to hide it) showed faint traces of hurt.

"...I see," He said, and his voice was quiet. Disappointed. He bought the dress simply because of the color and its high-quality fabric. Because he saw that she had wanted one, and he wanted to do something nice. He had no idea how to tell silhouettes or cuts for women's clothing. And yet despite his intentions, it had of course backfired. He had learned his lesson. As always, he did something incorrectly.

He reached over and took off the gleaming silver cape that hung over his shoulder, then draped it over her shoulders into a makeshift shawl. It was large enough to cover her exposed back, as well as cover up her front if she so wished. He adjusted it, carefully to keep his hands from touching her directly. He glanced down at her then looked away, taking a step back. He imagined she most likely did not wish to be bothered by the likes of him for the rest of the evening.

If not longer.
Tom
Calypso Kolgrim 
On the grand balcony of Maith mansion

Calypso's frown was deeper than the sea outside of the walls. She could feel the energy of the man beside her shift but refused to look at him. Oh, was he feeling bad now? Was he hurt? Serves him as a lesson. She brought the still full drink to her lips once more when a foreign weight settled on her shoulders, making her jump before realizing it was just a cape. Bastian's cape. 

She looked at the silver piece of cloth and then up at the silver-haired man, who moped behind her. Her frown did not falter for a moment. Actually, she rolled her eyes. What was this? An attempt to fix his mistake? This man's problem-solving skills were the same as an 8-year-old. She hummed low and it might as well be a growl as she put down her drink and snatched the cape off her shoulders, stepping with determination into Bastian's space.

"Don't." Said her firm, stretching her arms to drape the cape back in its place. "The damage is done already. Everyone has already seen my skin and some had the pleasure to touch it for a brief moment." Skilled fingers worked with the knots securing the cloth to the young lord's shoulders. "If I am to look like a prostitute I'll do it with my head held high. " She stepped back checking her work before looking up at Bastien with intensity "I do not need your clumsy attempts to fix it or your pity to keep my integrity afloat." Calypso's voice was not loud, but the coldness in her voice she was sure would reach the De Lysse men's ears just fine. 

"And the colors would clash terribly," Added her with a more relaxed demeanor. "Now stop moping, I'm sure many here between the guests would thank you for your innocent mistake, if their stares are anything to be taken seriously." She added this last part with a bitter chuckle but kept her head high.