Erik
**Galt-Drake Geare
Maith Mansion, Southern Isles**

Galt-Drake looked between the two war criminals and their continued silent conversation. By this point, he was mostly content with just sipping his ale. He had to make it at least look like he was conversing with somebody so that his lads wouldn't rag on him too much for not getting a dance yet. He was slightly caught off guard by the sudden question from Cecilia. However, Galt-Drake wasn't one to keep a conversation stagnant, so he responded quickly.

"Ah, my bad," Galt-Drake calmly began to state, "I never really did tell ya my name. It's Galt-Drake. Pleasure to meet ya."

Then, Galt-Drake was hit with a much less courteous question from the Kingslayer. Galt-Drake wasn't in the mood to be much more of an asshat towards the Captain of the Guard in Tonate, so he answered Valkrin in a straightforward manner.

"I was mainly here to talk to ye, Valkrin. Rumor has it we're both bein' kept back from the war efforts," Galt-Drake calmly replied, before taking another quiet sip of his mug of booze. Galt-Drake himself couldn't really think of a reason why King Bradaí kept him and Valkrin back when they were both better suited for offensive privateering, but he wasn't going to try doubting or questioning Bradaí's methods.
Harvey
Captain Valkrin Farensun
Maith Mansion

"And do you typically put your faith in rumors and idle talk?" Valkrin asked as he lit a cigar, taking a long drag. "Pity, here I'd hoped for a captain that might've been worth his salt." 

After a bit of silence, and a good long look at the noblewomen that were dancing nearby, Valkrin turned his attention back to Galt-Drake. "As for the war effort, it's got nothing to do with me. Though I live here, the Isles are not my home, merely a sanctuary. Terresol isn't my home either, and all my business there ended with Kelwynd's head in my hands." 

He scanned the room again and stood, turning his attention to Cecilia.

*Keep him busy, I want a dance with the Dragon of Falsa.*

The Captain made his way across the room, servants ducked out of his way, and most lesser nobles avoided him entirely. Upon approaching the pair he found dancing, he spoke with a loud voice. "Excuse me, Lord Bastien, but I've got to cut in. You don't mind, do ya boy?"
Cedric
Bastien de Lysse
The Ball, Maith Mansion

At Peraz's mention of writing him, Bastien turned his head to gaze at others dancing alongside them. His smile was bittersweet. If she had continued to write to him to him, would it have changed anything? Perhaps it would have only made him miss her more. Or perhaps things would be different now.

At the gentle dig of her elbow at his playful comment, he found his smile forming to something more genuine. And then they were interrupted.

 Valkrin Farensun. Bastien knew his name. The older man spoke loudly, and Bastien's face reset to its go-to expression: cold indifference. He turned to glance at the man. The gall, to call Bastien "Boy" And to claim that he "Got to cut in." Interesting (and rather poor) choice of wording. Though with the previous loud and attention-seeking scenes Valkrin made for himself that evening, such as dramatically revealing Vronti's skull, it didn't come as much of a surprise. The man didn't seem to have much class, nor tact. Though Bastien had to admit he was a brave man, a hero, on the battlefield. But it seemed to have gone to his head. And perhaps ego.

The heir of the de Lysse paused, but his hands remained holding Peraz's as he looked over at Valkrin. "I don't believe I should be the one you implore such a question to, Captian" He replied nonchalantly. He turned back to gaze at Lady Peraz. "She is the one whom you should *Ask* To dance." 

*'Not demand without giving her a chance to say no,'* He thought dryly.

He gently let go of Peraz's hands as he stayed standing beside her, his eyes were looking at her cooly, then back at Valkrin, then back to her. He wanted to be sure that Peraz wanted to dance with the other man and didn't do so only out of polite obligation or societal pressure. Especially in her current tipsy state.
Alice
**Katholou of Clan Drase
The Melee**

Katholou lunged back into the fray, enacting precise and careful strikes onto the warriors surrounding him on all sides, using his hammer and tower shield to their fullest most efficient effect. Not long after, either by yielding or getting smacked in the face by cold metal, most of the combatants had left the field, leaving a mess of blood and broken weapons to look over the three remaining contestants: Carac the Butcher, a mighty warrior of few words that more than made up for the lack of speech with pure battle prowess, Katholou, leader of Clan Drase and first anongst Bradai's bodyguards and finally Fabian the... Titleless, a relatively unknown mercenary who, surprising everyone, had fared incredibly well in the Melee, gaining himself great respect from Lord Drase. It was this young combatant that Katholou was now squaring off with whilst Carac finished off another minor lord whose name Kath had forgotten. Seeing that there was no other threat present, he figured that there was no harm in trying to speak real quick

"You have fared well mr...?"

He asked. 

"Ah Fabian. A fine name. You have fought well and that has not escaped my gaze. Perhaps after this is all over you might want to consider coming to my office to discuss a potential new job? I am always in need for fair new soldiers"
Matthew
|Fabian Ambrose|

|Sixteen Rings|

Fabian spun to see Katholou, which he recognized as a lord right away. Now faced with his dilemma, even though he was much to exhausted to win anyway from the string of duels he had just fought, he kept his sword low, tip almost touching the ground. As he examined the man's face he pondered on the situation, A man offering him a job in the midst of chaos, Fabian got a small smirk out of that.

"Well im glad someone saw, although I fear I cannot give you such a show now, my mind and body won't allow it. As for jobs, I would of course love to hear what you offer." Fabian kept his tone of voice measured- although it was accented with heaving breaths and the odd gasp. He always kept his words- tightly gripped around lords, he was, after all, a murderer to one, a Knight, but one nonetheless- even though this one couldn't possibly know that, it was a looming spectre that never escaped him- maybe because he never let it.