Douglas
Provincial Brandon Welles
The Newberry Festival (Night one), Erba.

Brandon brought the wine to his lips once Luther politely refused it. He laughed into the cup, "It's been quite a while since I've had a serious conversation this inebriated." He drank most of the contents of the cup in one long swallow then smiled over at Luther, "I'll do my best to keep a straight face." He handed the cup to the blonde who simply held it for him because she was still disturbed by Luther's addition to the circle. He wasn't overbearing, just a stranger she didn't feel comfortable letting loose with. He didn't seem the type to let loose with anyone, that was too sobering for people wearing feathers and painted masks while dancing around large fires at night. 

Brandon looked up at the woman on his lap when she was referred to as an ornament. He playfully raised his eyebrows, "I'm certain you've been called worse." She shrugged, "Not to my face." He nodded, "Fair enough." She laughed. He continued, "However, our friend here is absolutely right. You don't seem at home right now. Go enjoy yourself. I will find you later." She sighed, rubbed his face then walked away. He watched her go for a few seconds before he turned back to Luther, "She's a little shy of serious strangers, but not to worry. My fair ornement will come back, most likely with friends."

He laughed at the mention of High Bloom, "The gilded cage itself, I believe you're right. It was exactly three days before my... Departure. What a delightful way to phrase me being pruned from the family tree, not my phrasing but it stuck." He brought his wine to his lips one more time to finish the cup before he chucked it away from himself carelessly. Bran smirked when he said he didn't expect to see him back, "Believe me, my presence is a bigger shock to anyone that knows me." He wasn't foolish enough to tell him everything or what he was actually doing back, "The thought of me returning to Araedia from the glorious Southern Isles, a matter worth investigating, but I don't plan on reclaiming my former status here. I really just missed the wine." He laughed because clearly he'd enjoyed quite a bit of it. 
He sucked his teeth at the mention of his brother, "I haven't seen the man. I highly doubt he would grace us with his presence. He's hard at work, making High Bloom work exactly in his favor. He'll take no notice of my activities during the Newberry festival." He shook his head a bit, "Which begs the question, what brings you here tonight? You're not drinking, and surely you didn't come for the warmth of the fire." Frankly, it was a little overwhelming in the already warm weather, but it was a tradition.
Phyllis
**Provincial Luther De Beaulieu
The Newberry Festival (Night one), Erba.**

As Brandon's lap ornament scampered off, Luther's deep green eyes followed her intently. It wasn't a look of hunger, or lust, or anything of that sort. Perhaps it was jealousy. To shirk off responsibility and tradition so easily was a skill honed over time, and one Luther had no aptitude in.

The young De Beaulieu turned back to Brandon after a short moment, smiling that easy smile and trying his best to not seem a threat. In a world of liars, it was hard to be honest. He smiled much more genuinely with Brandon's mention of pruning, to which he was silently delighted. Pruning. That was the word he would use, assuredly, but even pruned leaves could be used for fertilizer. This wild Welles child may be the perfect thing to have pruned. 

"I apologize for the ornament comment, if it were cause for offence. She's one of the fairest I've seen. I hope her friends are the same." 

Luther said it in a sort of deadpan, but he hoped the words were polite enough. He probably stood out like a sore thumb, rigid and honest in a festival of freedom and tall tales. He didn't mind. What he did mind was potentially pissing another provincial off, if only because they were much harder to reach than a shitblood milling about the fields of Araedia. 

As Brandon spoke about his return from the Southern Isles, Luther nodded intently and tried to ignore the chaos that was surrounding the pair of them. The Newberry Festival at night was known for being unpredictable, and he could only hope that nothing too untoward would happen. He did have an image to maintain. Getting into a brawl wasn't necessarily the best way to elevate status in the courts. Luther was curious as to why Brandon seemingly found the Southern Isles so fun and charming, but that was a topic for another time. Perhaps a night where Brandon was a bit more sober and a bit less draped in inebriated women.

When Luther was asked why he found himself at the bonfire, he only pursed his lips and nodded for a moment. He leaned in closer to Brandon, still seated, hands clasped and forearms balanced on his knees. His voice was lowered below a conversational level, but it was easy enough to make out thanks to the difference between the low rumble (and sometimes high shriek) of the crowd and his voice.

"Business, I'm afraid. Erba is a bustling place this time of year. The Newberry Festival is a spectacular time to meet new friends, get reacquainted with old ones. It's also a spectacular time to settle disputes, don't you think? Shitbloods watching on as a provincial settles a disagreement in a way they understand. Violence, generally. Not that I intend on getting bloody tonight." 

Luther didn't mean to imply anything toward Brandon. Rather, his family had business to handle, and it just so happened that Luther was here to do the weeding. Slim down competition, take out the weak links in the industry. Strengthen the purity. By the look of his crooked nose and his scarred knuckles, it seemed Luther was seasoned enough at that sort of activity. His green eyes looked to the fire then, leaning back to his normal upright posture. He changed the subject to something more conversational, deciding not to dwell on his own affairs for too long.

"What do you figure I should get involved with tonight, Brandon? Consider yourself my guide. Any trouble you lavish getting into at the Newberry Festival?"
Douglas
Provincial Brandon Welles
The Newberry Festival (Night one), Erba.

Brandon truly harbored no ill thoughts of Luther, simply a curiosity of what could possibly motivate him to be on the beach in the first place. When Brandon was more actively involved in polite Araedian society, he made friends he could actually talk to. The ones that would sneak out of balls, steal carriages, pick the Queen's flowers, and make questionable decisions with very little care for their reputation. A group of typically second sons and daughters. While they all enjoyed a little fun, none of them went as far as Brandon. In fact, Brandon was often used an example of what would happen if they didn't behave after he was sent away. Luthor was never in that group of friends. He seemed to belong in one of Reyum's circles, serious, dedicated to his family, hellbent on improving things for everyone else below him. A noble cause that typically stripped them of any vestige the wildness and recklessness associated with Brandon's lot. 

He shook his head when he apologized for the ornament comment then laughed, "I take no offence, nor did she. Not to worry, you'll find it will take a great deal more than words to offend anyone you see here." The two conversed easily enough from there, and when Luther leaned in to explain what he was doing at the festival Brandon leaned forward to listen with a side smirk. Truly, sometimes he felt he missed his calling. He would have made a fantastic cleric. People often told him their sins and guilty pleasures because they assumed he'd done worse. It was always fascinating to hear, and Luther's secret was much more tame than he was expecting. "Business," Brandon repeated matching his volume. That was actually a little sobering, fascinating even.

Luther tried to change the subject, but Brandon didn't care who heard. He ignored his question to ask one of his own, "What business could possibly have you, a provincial, an upstanding member of Araedian society above all of these miserable wretches you see here," His voice raised a little the more he went on, "Including myself... I understand my place in this kingdom... But, I've gotten off track. Haven't I?" He laughed a little then started again. "What business could possibly have *You* Resorting to barbaric nature of such beasts as we?" He pointed at Luthor, head nodding a little.. "I judged you, I'll admit it. When you sat down I thought I'd hand you that cup, you'd look at me like I lost your mind then you'd remember what you are and go sleep in preparation for your social climbing at the more dignified festivities under the glorious Araedian sun tomorrow." He lowered his hand, "At no point did I believe you were a bit of a beast yourself." He playfully threw his hands up with a laugh, "I'm rarely surprised by your lot, Luther."
Phyllis
**Provincial Luther De Beaulieu
The Newberry Festival (Night one), Erba.**

Luther continued looking at the roaring bonfire, a few shitbloods tossing in a chair as he sat and pondered. What business did have him resorting to barbarism in Araedia? Was it even barbarism, really, or was it survival? Provincials, the Welles family included, seemed to have their lives cut out for them from lineage. Brandon was attempting to depart from that fated life, and Luther found that fair enough, but for Luther it was about building a lineage himself. The De Beaulieux were not an old or storied House, and they lacked any holdings rivalling Erba. Potierre was a small province without much development. The provincial family that governed it were much the same. 

Luther swept his green eyes to Brandon then, running a hand through his short black hair as the fellow provincial spoke. When Brandon called himself a wretch, Luther could only raise an eyebrow incredulously. He had been exiled, but he was far above most in this nation. Perhaps he meant to jest, but it brought no smile to Luther's face. He took Brandon's changing of topics in stride, assuming that eventually they'd be able to get around to it anyway. 

"I told you already, Brandon. Sometimes that sort of simple *Barbarism*, as you call it, is the most effective way of putting a point across. Communicating that you won't be pushed around, provincial heir or not. If you make some coin in the process, gain some respect with the shitbloods, that's all the better. That sort of respect won't manifest itself if you wear a mask."

Luther gestured to his face, plain as day next to the fire. His magnolia was still in his lap, carefully undamaged despite the movement of the conversation. He gestured to Brandon as well, a man who seemed to understand somewhat that infamy was better than obscurity. The women he surrounded himself with seemed to think so, anyway.

"To be straight and to the point with you, Brandon, I had a dispute that needed settling tonight between my family and a local one on the docks. Not the same social standing as our families, but a surprisingly prosperous merchant. I was lucky enough to handle it without getting myself dirty." 

Brandon had spoken of Luther perhaps going to sleep, feeling as if he'd lost his mind by coming here tonight. Brandon may have been the playboy rebel that partied with the shitbloods, but he wasn't the only one that understood how important they were. Not all of Araedia was High Bloom, after all. When Luther was called a beast, he smirked widely, not really sure if it was a compliment or an insult. He assumed the former, given the rest of the conversation.

Luther was still glancing about every so often, making sure that the shrieks of the crowd stayed directed away from him and his conversational partner. He wondered if Brandon had a bit of a following, what with his exile and consequential return. Signing parasols and breasts. That was an entertaining image.

"I'm curious as to what you think my lot exactly is, Brandon. We've never really spoke, and provincials carry with them swarms of rumors. It's hard to discern the true from the false most of the time. If someone had told me you'd washed up on the shores of Araedia again, I would've thought it a tall tale. Maybe a desperate effort to gain some clout. Further, why exactly *Did* You pick Araedia? You could've gone anywhere from the Southern Isles. I imagine South Feyshore is much more exciting than your old stomping grounds of Erba. Shit, maybe even Amoroth. So why are you back here, in the city you've grown up in your entire life?"
Douglas
Provincial Brandon Welles
The Newberry Festival (Night one), Erba.


Brandon once again shook his head, "If you have to ask what lot, you're not one of them." 

He nodded along as he explained the business between his family and the one on the docs, "I understand." He narrowed his eyes a little at Luther, but really he was just thinking. The man was beginning to come together, "What does this merchant sell? Anything my crew and I would be interested in for the long voyage back home?" He smiled, "Anything to make life a little more comfortable on a ship, I'd be willing to waste my fortune on." He looked over at his crew, "I was sent away from my family, so I hand selected a new one. A collection of brothers that have become more important to me than my own blood." He looked back over at Luther, "I accept them and all their vices." He shrugged, "I don't imagine you make your fortune on peddling silks." He shook his head, "Not around here." In general, the shitbloods didn't care for fabrics. They wore what was available to them for cheap. Silk, fur, linen, decorated leather... No one chose clothes over food. Opening a store like that on the Bendwater docks wouldn't have made a single gold coin. Those types of things were sold on the river Zacill, a famous trading post a little further north in Erba. 
 
"I can't imagine silks are worth a personal visit either, especially not the type of visit you were willing to pay." Brandon smiled, "Come on, speak to me." Once again, he ignored Luther's questions of why he picked Araedia to come back to. However he laughed when he mentioned South Feyshore, "Is South Feyshore a destination among Araedian Provincials now?" He blinked a little then scratched his head, "Five years truly seems a lifetime. I hardly know the place." He exhaled a bit, relaxed his shoulders as he looked over at Luther. "I'll level with you," He said as he tapped his fingers on his knee. "You tell me what you sell, I'll tell you why I'm here."