Erik
Head Advisor Dimitri Novikov
Meros Balcony

"You can watch, you know?" He scrunched up his face, sending sparks flying across the tips of his fingers. He let out a hard exhale, before placing his hand in his pocket. "If you still believe in magic, anyways." He leaned hard away from her, performing a tight, casual pirouette to retrieve his handkerchief with his free hand. He tucked it tight into his cummerbund, then motioned with a shoulder for her to follow. 

They had reached the castle gates by the time Dimitri had switched the conversation to Terresol, and the matter at hand. "Lord Python. A slaver in the islands off of Sol. Terrible man. Absolutely awful. Even worse when we went to his island and bought him with a false promise. We brought him home to the Isles and did what we had to do to change his mind." Dimitri gave a nod of his head, smiling softly. A group of children ran past them, briefly illuminating his face. "Dead." He said, giving her the quick side eye. "Obviously." 

"Well, that delightful Brandon Welles, you met? Getting a Mainlander to promise something, well, he'll do it in a heartbeat. Getting a Mainlander to deliver on that promise? Hah, _well let me tell you_, it won't happen unless you make them. And he was very happy to sell out Daddy, the one that bought his boat and his last name for him." He scoffed, waving the Maith guards off to open the gates. They more or less held the gate at bolt-point until everyone was through. They were walking through the countryside, now. The fertile verdant hills and dark, ashy mounds of dirt. He kicked one with a tapered shoes, shaking the crumbs into the gravel.

"He was equally quickly to sell himself out, to us, after we gave him the body." As they rounded the hill, a single, creme canvas tent could be seen in the middle of the vineyards, all but one of which, the very same plot, planted. It was surrounded by a surging crowd of Islanders, all with their own bonfire pits, with wild game roasting on the spit. A rough outline of a fighting pit was drawn off to the side, and to its right, a full band, complete with accordion and violin. 

"This is our festival. The Araedians can have their traditions, Thalia. We have ours. Not the Isles, no, not the Clans. House Maith. This?" He held an outstretched hand, "This is a House _Maith_ party. Ever partied on the body of a Terresolian slaver on an Araedian Provincial farming land? I could hardly imagine a girl from the Isles doing _tha_ —" He stifled a laugh. "Look alive, Thalia. It is our _King._" Sure enough, Bradai-Daran, first of his name, came up the side of the hill, adjacent the path they were walking down. 

"Thalia!" The Pirate King shouted, arms outstretched, as if greeting an old friend. "Fuckin' 'ell, luff, you're fuckin' late!" He shook his hands in the hair and faced the sky. His hat fell from his head, rolling down the hill, allowing the moonlight to illuminate his tanned face and bright red cheeks. He soaked it in and exhaled. "We _took_ vhis fucking town tonight. Did my men get you at tha gate? See 'ow vhey just fuckin—" He pursed his lips, forming a tight smile behind his bronze colored beard. "Opened it for you. Fink I'll get vhem to fly tha Poppy next week." He shook his head, "I fink I'll be in tha library.", he mimicked in a near perfect, if not slurred, Araedian accent.

It earned a chuckle from Dimitri, and quickly reached inside Bradai's coat to snatch at his flask. "I haven't had a drink all day, and all I've talked about is brandy. I knew you'd find the field. Did he _really_ bury it in the _only_ open field out here? 

The Pirate King grabbed his wrist before he could get to the flask. "What do you _mean_ you 'aven't 'ad a drink all day? Where is _your_ work flask? Tha _gift._"

Dimitri cleared his throat, quickly straightening his back and wrenched his wrist from his husband's hand. "I have the flask, Bradai, but it's uh..." Unexpectedly, he sprinted off in the direction of the party, nicking Bradai's hat off from the bottom of the hill on his way down. "IT'S EMPTY, YOUR MAJESTY!"

The Pirate King sprinted after him, leaning forwards and swinging his arms. "IF I CATCH YOU, I WILL _KILL_ YOU, DIMITRI NOVIKOV." 

Thalia Alder had been brought to a private party, watched her Majesty's Chief Advisor and her very monarch sprint down a hill like schoolchildren, and the party they were sprinting to was in full swing.
Paul
Ser Edmund The Well Knight.
Streets of Erba/The jousting tourney.

After shooing off the parchment man, Edmund made his way down the street toward the main square. He had surely hoped that the tournament had not been started yet-He had been late to a tournament once before and he would not do it again. He hoped for a melee of some sort to test his skills, but jousting would be just as suitable for him. 

Once entering the square, he barely regarded the preparations being made for the play and made his way to the area where the jousting tournament would be occurring. It was a great tourney to attend, being that a large portion of the southern kingdoms nobility may be watching from the grand stands. He assumed the men of the southern isles were shat at horseriding, though it was the middlanders like himself that he wanted to see. He would declare himself for the tournament, then retreat to the recess where the other competitors were preparing themselves to get a look at his competition.
George
Elise Hagen 
Festival Market?
After a time Elise decided to set up in an open area where people passed. She didn't know if it was right, but she did see a few other people setting up their shops as well. Even then she did at least have a few wares. The swords and other goods are spread out on the ground in wooden buckets. Though the swords are laid out on soft carpets to protect their surfaces. For them she even has a few tests, and her family sword she had recently finished. After this she just stood waiting for customers.
Douglas
Rhiander Alder and Robin Swillwater
The Newberry Festival (Night One), Erba

Robin, though walking behind Rhiander and Brandon, narrowed his eyes at the Welles boy. He wondered how much Thalia had discussed with him, to know her fondness of her father's legacy. Minus the messy parts. Either way, it seemed the girl had liked him well enough. But then, Thalia was just that way with people. _At least one uff 'em is._

"Ah, he does. One of thah only good things about 'im," Rhiander said, stretching his arms casually above his head. "Despite the way I see 'im, in the end, he was just a pesky branch that needed tah be trimmed so that the Isles could grow inteh what it is, today. Sometimes, that trimmin' is painful, fah some. But, it will be always be good for yeh, and anyone else involved."

Rhiander smiled, placing a firm hand on Brandon's shoulder. His grip wasn't forceful or intimidating. Just strong enough to display his presence as a supportive one, should Brandon need it.

Robin could tell it was difficult for the lad to show such solidarity with a man who'd seemed to be getting rather cozy with his sister.

"Good that yeh mentioned her..." Rhiander said, glancing back. He scanned the comfortable band of people en route to the festival, surprised not to see, or rather, _hear_ Thalia join them already. Her chatter and laugh were identifiable enough... And she wasn't one for sea sickness. "Ya think she'll know her way to the festival?"

"That girl 'as a nose fer a good time. Now stop yer worryin', go enjoy yerselves," Robin urged, sensing that they wouldn't be seeing much of Thalia that night.

____________________

Thalia Alder
Meros Baclony

"Oh, I 'pologize fer starin'. Not that I don't believe, it's that.." Thalia frowned, her gaze distant. There was just no unseeing the magic circle fifteen years ago.. Littered with remnants of darkness that no child should ever see. No seemingly harmless blue spark of magic could make her unsee that monstrosity. "Don't really care fer magic, now."

Thalia listened with interest to the story of the Terresolian lord, her heels clicking deliberately across the floor as they made their way through the estate. She was glad for not having to witness what she assumed to be a gruesome end to the lord, especially in light of how eager Brandon seemed to want to prove his loyalty. The Welles lad may have been naturally eager, but Tobias had told her many tales of what being in The Pirate King's navy was like. Mercy wasn't a common word in the sailors' vocabulary. It surely wasn't one for the Pirate King, either. 

Still, she was glad to have found herself on the right side of his favor. As they walked, Thalia slipped out of her heels, walking barefoot through the gates and the fields sprawled out before them. She dangled the shoes carelessly from her fingers, breathing in the cool night air. It felt heavenly to be out of the stuffy keep.

Despite her tension about the Pirate King, Dimitri's words had ended up being more than enough to console her doubts. Even as the king, himself, approached, and stiffening in response she placed her fist on her chest, she felt relieved to see his good-natured smile. And standing there, with nothing else to do besides bask in the praise and gladness he bestowed upon her, she couldn't help but to wonder why her father wouldn't have wanted to yield to someone so powerful. To a house so kind to those who pledged themselves to what the Isles needed all along.

Thalia laughed, seeing him and Dimitri carry on like young playmates. She'd been carrying her heels up until this point, but she now abandoned them where she stood, running barefoot toward the party, the earth feeling oddly refreshing between her toes. 

She didn't know that something like this was what she'd been craving all along. And now, going to the festival with Brandon was the least of her concerns.

The Islander girl wove herself into the festivities, gravitating to the band, of course.

"May I 'ave a try at it, yea?" She asked, holding her hands out to the fiddler. He seemed hesitant at first, though with a tilt of her head and a widening of her smile, he relented. With glee, Thalia took up the instrument, resting it gently between her shoulder and chin. She swung the bow with great fervor, even playfully plucking at the strings at times. Her excitement was infectious, and the bare-footed Islander practically became a slave to the melodies, the shouts, the pure gladness in the air. This was a night that wouldn't soon be forgotten.