Felicia
``Cyprien de Lysse | Water Gardens``

Cyprien left the ball behind. There were still plenty of people to talk to, but his conversation with the Archon of Falsa had killed any desire for further human interaction. Knowedge of that Kolgrim woman flirting with his son had made no favours to his mood either. He knew her kind: soft voice and lowered head, but lips pressed and teeth clenched.

In any case, he'd had enough. He kept a hasty pace as he made his way out of the water gardens. Easier said than done. Islanders had little love for symmety. The gardens were a labyrinth of hedges and floral ponds designed to send it's visitors back towards the ballroom floor.
Annoyance soon turned to irritation. A hasty pace turned into a sprint. A sprint turned into a crash.

Surprise robbed him of the chance to apologize. The man he'd run into was strange, the likes of which Cyprien had never seen before.
He was tall, good looking, lithe, and sinewy; with long back hair and porcelain skin. The man also dressed with all sorts of finery. Notably, he wore a blue overcoat like those of the Islander King and his generals, but with some queer motifs embroidered.
Skulls and ivies, they were. In a way, they reminded him of Selene's obssesion with snakes and astrological patterns.

Noticing the icy glare the man was giving him, Cyprien snapped back to reality.
"Forgive me," He offered his hand to the stranger. "I did not see you."
Tom
"You keep bringing up my friendship with Lord De Lysse as if it's of some kind of offense towards you..." Chuckled her behind a delicate hand. It was honestly starting to bother her, how often Samsom had asked about it. Was he trying to protect Bastian in the oh so noble name of friendship or was he simply trying to get on the hottest gossip? The latter sounded quite unlikely but who knows...

But Calypso couldn't constantly dance around the subject. He had asked her important questions, and she needed to measure her answer without allowing too much of herself to come to the surface. "What do I want..." Her lashes lowered towards the liquid in the cup resting under her chin, as if to find the answer in her reflection. Manicured fingers pushed gently to the bottom of it, raising the cup she was not holding on to up to her lips, tilting it ever so slightly to get a sip. Onyx black eyes never leaving Samsom ice-cold stare as a satisfied sigh was released. 

Red wine-stained lips parted as the start of a world danced on her tongue- 

But right at that moment, Both their attention was taken from the hustle coming from where the main festivities were occurring. Many voices were raised all together but one above all announcing something that probably was not part of the initial plans of the pirate king.

"Sounds like History is happening..." Murmured Calypso calmly, before standing up, the dress's folds moving around her body, jewels catching into the light like stars. The temerre lady looked down at the knight, the amused smile she had welcomed him with now shining with more familiarity as if they were coming out of this private battle as friends. "Would be a shame to lose it." And held her hand out for him. "This had been a stimulating conversation, but I fear that some of your questions will remain unanswered..." Murmured her welcoming back that softness she had shown at the beginning. " But I hope you may find the answers by yourself, for the most important ones at least..."
Rhonda
The Sapphire Seneschal, Silas Asgarov
Flitting through the Water Gardens, the Maith Mansion

 Flying. He was flying across the courtyard on slippered feet. Off of one stone, to skip through a disguised hedge and to converse and curtsy with the torchbearers. He tiptoed through thick roots and under surly vines, all shouting the same thing. 

"The trial!" He called, but he had moved so quickly that it seemed as if it was the wind itself that was speaking for him. "Come to the trial! See the King's Judgement!"

 The gardens were be full tonight. None of the wives had decided to attend, and their many entourages would be in tow. Unlike their husband, the wives had no love for court. Granted, their jobs was not so exciting as being the King. They, being his wives would have to oversee everything with their court surrounding them, moving occasionally to weigh in on this matter or that. The wives had things to distract themselves when Bradai held court, from a simple harp player to a troupe of dancing bears. They would recline on grand lounges and be fed iced plums and warm grapes, smoke fat cigars and the occasional puff of poppy, drink the darkest rums and the sweetest wines, all to find that listening to their husband drone on and on about the cost of shipping oranges to Terresol being ridiculous was ridiculous itself. No pleasure could make the Court of Skulls a joy when the King was in the room. When he was away, one almost forgot the place was full of heads. He tolerated no silliness in his court, except on the occasional feast day, where he left it to his council to adjudicate while he walked among the people.

Almost at once, there was a clamor as the men and women spilled down from the double stairs and to the gardens.

Two Piercers from the Isle of Shrikes, never to be seen without their great butcherbirds, were the first to lead the partygoers to the cold pools of water. All at once, servants passed through the hedges and ferns, carrying kettles of piping hot steam. They dunked them into the pools, and the Islanders, bold as they pleased, began to dip in. It was truly no different than any bathhouse found in the Mainland, but Silas was beginning to suspect that the King had begun to put on these shows to make his Mainlander guests uneasy.

_Bathing in the gardens?_ Silas thought, _Tonight? Truly, Bradai?_ 

He watched as a wide woman from the Isle of Lanterns settled into one of the pools, tipping the water over the edge and sending a lily pad cresting on the wave and into an adjacent pool. He thought of Puckgordon, who would be sent to fish out whatever these revelers left in his pools tomorrow morning. 

For all the love he bore the King, there was surely no reason for such a display. There was no need to remind the Mainlanders where they were. The King had said himself that it was a very nice ball, and now the trial was going underway.

_The trial._ Silas felt blindsided by the memory. He had forgotten about the trial, and he had forgotten to keep telling people. But he was not going. He did not enjoy his King's court, not really. He enjoyed to perform, to beguile. Bradai Maith was a merchant, through and through. He was not so much a Pirate King as he was a Fishmonger King or a Butcher King. He killed problems, cut them apart, sold them to the highest bidder and then haggled it down to a fraction of what they had originally agreed to, opting to solve it himself whenever it whenever it was cheaper. 

It was just like him to stop a ball to fix this. Any other King would have imprisoned them for later, or let them go. But Bradai Maith was a merchant and he would not have been able to sleep if there was money wasting away in his dungeons. With the assassination and now this, there was little chance the King was getting any sleep anyways. _The war,_ Silas thought, _and Ilona._ He thought of her dying, but only just for one moment. 

"Neigh," He said aloud, taking a drag from his cigarette, "Truly, even tonight, there should be no reason for such a fearful attitude—"

Ambushed. Ambushed in the gardens. When he was pushed he fell with a hard thud, and the wind was driven out of his chest. He had run into his assailants, but it had seemed more like that they had run into him. One was grabbing at him now, in some vain attempt to strike at his face, to claw him, to rip out his eyes. Silas was smarter than him, quicker than him, and gripped at the man's hand before pressing himself against the rich black earth with a backstep and hoisting himself up to see his attacker. 

"Ah—" The Seneschal was breathless, his ivory cheeks flushed with only the dustiest hint of pink. His grip, within Cyrpien's palm, changed as if it had been ice melting and turning to steam. Where once there was the tight grasp of a soldier, there was now only the soft courtesy of a perfumed princeling. He was thankful that the man he had run into was similarly flustered.

Silas had been the one to greet Cyprien at the front of the estate, had sat near him in the Mizzen, and now was running into him at the gardens. It was clear to Silas that he did not look any more comfortable than when he arrived here. His hair was striking, the same pale color as his son's, and his purple eyes, so bright they bordered on pink. Silas thought they looked pretty, although that was probably not the word the man would have used for them. He had a pinched face, which marked him for a deceiver, lowered eyebrows which marked great and constant suspicion, and large ears, which Silas believed just looked silly. But he was dressed well enough, and certainly did have a regal quality to him. Stalwart might have been the word. He was a dutiful husband, you could tell the type with a glance after so many years in court.

Any semblance of disorder passed as Silas regained himself, sliding his other hand lightly over the top of his head, to assure that no hair had fallen out of place. Once he was finished, he let go of Cyprien and bowed lightly. 

"My lord, have you gotten lost?" The Seneschal beckoned around them, pillars of steam rising up from the newly made pools. A frog hopped past their feet. 

"In any case, I seem to have found you." The Senechal motioned to the conservatory, the great glass and copper building at the foot of the Water Gardens. In the torchlight, the glass shone black, red, orange, and white, but when the lamps were lit on the inside, the whole thing glowed a warm, twinkling yellow. 

"Shall we discuss somewhere that men are not undressing?" Silas offered the man a glance towards the greenhouse. "It seems a small courtesy, but one that seems lost in this part of the world." 

A silence hung between them.

"We do hope you and yours do not feel _so_ out of place here."
Felicia
``Cyprien de Lysse | Water Gardens``

"If I have to be honest, Seneschal? Lately, I feel out of place wherever I go."

Following Silas' suggestion, he began to march towards the conservatory. The sight of the islanders in their pools brought to mind the image of his daughter Jeanne, and her clique of good-for-nothing libertines.

"Do not worry about such displays of impudity, Seneschal. I'm unfortunately used to them. It seems that courtesy fades into the past, here and everywhere."
Rhonda
The Sapphire Seneschal, Silas Asgarov
The Conservatory, The Water Gardens

There was something about this Lord that was drawing him in. Silas wasn't exactly sure what it was. Pity was the first word to come to him, but he bat it away like a fly. Cyprien de Lysse was _sad_, but not pathetic. He watched as the man walked past him, but in the same direction of the conservatory. He looked at his little walked. 

_Marching,_ Silas thought. A true knight. Perhaps that was what it was. "We are only as good as our children, what we teach and what they choose to listen to."

The partygoers hailed to the both of them as they passed, and the servants stiffened when the Seneschal grew near. One handed them two flutes of brandy which were, miraculously, chilled. Silas took it in his grasp and held it under his nose. In the light of the moon, the thin orange liquid looked sumptuous. 

"You should drink," Silas said, spinning the liquid and admiring the sheen, "These parties often go easier after a few of these. I know what it is to miss home," He let the glass fall to his side. Although it did not spill, it was as good as if he had poured it out. He was not drinking it. "Or the past. I find I miss the past more than any _physical_ place." 

He paused, opening the door to the conservatory, the warm, humid air spilling out to disrupt the crisp of the night. Silas stood on the edge of the doorframe, his silhouette illuminated by the great walls of glowing yellow glass. 

"Are you familiar with a disease called nostalgia?"

With one long hand, he beckoned him in. The flute of brandy was still in his hand, the liquid turning in the flute. The frost remained on the glass, even where his fingers touched it.
Felicia
```Cyprien de Lysse | The Conservatory```

_"We are only as good as our children."_ The words echoed inside him. If true, what did that made him? The twins were proud but vain. Bastien was bright and noble. Sylvain was a runaway. Fleur had been neglected.

The glass was cold to the touch. A trick meant to impress him, product of some jealously guarded artifice. Selene was one fond of such smoke and mirrors. He did his best to show no surprise, and drank the brandy.

"Nostalgia... Perhaps. But the past is the past, and getting lost in there is unbefitting of us."

Cyprien had wondered as to the Seneschal's position in the Islander court. The one at the Keep Sempiternal held nowhere near the level of influence or authority that Maith allowed Asgarov to have.

"I say _us_ because your sway on the King's court is greater than your title suggests. I am intrigued by what you plan to propose."

More than intrigued he was hopeful. He had given up on dealing with the King as soon as he had witnessed his brashness. Maith belonged to a different world to the Lysses, one with different vitues and values. But his seneschal was a quieter, more pensive presence. One that could be reasoned with.
Elissa
Peraz Dumagne 
The Ball, Maith Mansion

It had felt like an aeon since Peraz had been in the company of her sister and in the heat of an argument she almost thought she was imagining her sister, swooping in to stop the argument and brighten the room.

But, when she turned her head to where she was sure Sun's voice had came from she was amazed to see her little sister hobbling towards them.

In a moment, Peraz stood and embraced her sister in a tight hold, mindful of their kemenikes."Sister! I though you intended to stay in the Abigreth?"

It was then that Peraz finally noticed the buzz in the room and a yell caused her to turn towards the high table, where a woman struggled to lift the seat of a Brass, and she was looking right at her. Recognising the woman as the king's sister, she decided not to disrespect her hosts.

"My apologies, Sister. I'll be back in a moment."

Leaving her sister, she walked to the table. Hyper aware of the attention she had been brought she made sure to play the part of the Dragon of Falsa with a confident stride and head held high. Upon reaching the chair, she bowed her head respectfully to Gitten Maith and grasped the chair along with Gitten and her men, helping hoist it up.