slight of hand

[luckyenigma-blog]

decadentlonging:

luckyenigma

“I’m trying to keep it contained, and not wring it anywhere, quit overre–” But the rest of the thought died muffled in the towel that had been shoved at his face, hiding the smile that had widened at Rahul’s obvious once over, and wider still at the immediate frustration that followed.  Well, at least I’ve still got that going for me.  The thought caused the smile to linger as he set to task at drying himself, running the fluffy terrycloth over his face and hair first before running it over his arms and chest.  He made a point not to check to see if Rahul was watching, clearly it frustrated them that the attraction was still there.  The action had been entirely innocent, but they’d never believe that, so he let the topic drop.

Their next words had surprised him.  Too long he’d been separated from his ex-lover, it seemed, as he’d fully anticipated a backlash for the jab at the king.  Agreement was the last thing he expected, but he was never one to linger on the unexpected.  Particularly when they’d managed to go this entire time without their conversation deteriorating into a fight– so he wasn’t about to be the one squander such a gift. “You took the words right out of my mouth.” He finally admitted, balling the shirt up inside the towel, and bending to wipe the floor were it and he had dripped.  “It’s been hard enough, lately, doing what I do.  The atmosphere for tricks and deception just got much more difficult.”

He eyed the clothes as Rahul selected each piece, face twisting into a confused expression. It was a clothing shop, sure, but most things were made specific to each guest– and he was hardly the same size as his host reluctant host.  “I’m surprised you’d still have something that’d fit me.” He commented, eyeing Rahul carefully and pulling the on the shirt.  It felt soft and warm against his still clammy skin, the sensation sending gooseflesh up his arms.  Or was that the fault of the company?

“Trust me, if I was hoping to relive the past, I’d not have wasted so much time with all this needless conversation.”  He smiled again, though he didn’t try to bury the sadness that came with it.  Reminiscing their past dalliances were hardly what he wanted to be doing.  Being here with all the familiar smells and sounds of the shop were difficult enough.  “In truth, I thought you’d turn me away– for more than one reason.  I don’t want to put you in danger, I just… I’ve not been in Archeon for so long with an announcement like this, I just couldn’t think of anywhere else to go.”

The simpler subjects were somehow much more complicated to address than the somewhat sharp-tongued criticisms they had led with; Rahul should have known better than to attempt to grapple with things such as compliments and feelings. It never ended well, certainly not when this particular shadow from a former life was involved. How were they to explain that they had designed several new pieces only to decide one man alone would ever deserve to wear them, and then proceeded to make them anyway? What would it mean to tell Azariah they could never forget his measurements–how could he hear that and react in any positive manner?

Instead, the response was clipped, accentuated by a quick flick of their wrist that sent every open drawer snapping shut. “I have plenty that will fit you.” They refrained from editorializing on how well the clothes in question would suit such a beautifully sculpted body, and from adding snide commentary about Az knowing full well where the dressing rooms were located and still choosing to change right in the middle of the room. Both would only clue him in to their lingering attraction yet again, and that was a small humiliation they refused to endure.

Yet, in some ways the subject came up anyway. Rahul eyed him silently as he brushed against their shared past and quickly moved on, yet managed to not quite leave it behind. Briefly they wondered what the moment would have been without the needless conversation he described, but only briefly. It was too dangerous a rabbit hole to follow. Instead they found themself caught on the rest of his words and how jarring they were to hear. “Put me in danger?” they asked as they turned to face him, unable to move past the words. “That should be the least of your concerns. I am at nowhere near the sort of risk you are in this situation, and I can offer some amount of relief from that risk because of it.” They hesitated for a fraction of a second–somehow, extending help made them feel raw, like their throat had been scrubbed relentlessly of all reluctance to be generous–before adding: “So of course I will offer that to you, regardless of…other factors. However heartless you believe me to be, I would not turn you out.” Loaded words between the two of them, but it felt necessary to get them out of the way.

Naturally, it was easier to breeze past that topic and back into criticism of current events, so in the interest of protecting themself as always, they did just that. “Even if you are a lawless scoundrel,” they said, their voice utterly soaked in deadpan sardonicism, “you ought to have the freedom to be as much of one as you like, without an entire subgroup of the population hunting you down because of one incredibly poorly thought out decree.” Just the thought made them roll their eyes; what had the king been thinking, really? That all of society could be magically changed with some pretty words and promises? “I always expect the worst of his idiocy is over, and then he throws another party or makes another announcement, and the downward spiral continues in spectacular fashion.”

There it was.  The words hung in the air like a stagnant smell, like something that you wanted to ignore but simply couldn’t moved past.  Az wasn’t sure what he was expecting, coming here like this, and imagining they could get by the whole evening without some sort of passive attack at one another, despite how well-behaved he’d promised himself he’d be.  A small voice in the back of his mind whispered Rahul hadn’t intended it to be a jab, that they hadn’t meant it to pick a fight, but the sensitivity of freshly re-opened wound didn’t allow him to listen to something like logic or reason and move past it quickly enough for the damage to go unnoticed.

He looked anywhere but at Rahul, who, he’d forgotten had the ability to make him feel enamored and furious all in the same moment.  Arms crossed, all he could illicit was a sigh as he chewed on the other’s words.  However heartless you believe me to be.  Az never once thought they were heartless he simply wished-- well, it didn’t matter what he wished.  He had learned years and years ago to not dwell on useless things like wishes or dreams-- and his....adventure...with Rahul had only cemented that belief system.  He kicked himself for letting himself think, even for as brief as a moment as it was, that things between them might be different.  No matter the political environment, no matter what magic powers Az’s body had decided to develop, Rahul was still Rahul.  

“Well, I’m sorry for concerning myself for putting you in a situation you might not rather be in.”  He finally clipped, shifting his weight uncomfortably and staring intently at his feet.  He suddenly felt far more exposed than he had moments ago-- all the confidence he’d had wiped away the instant they’d put words in his mouth.  He yearned to correct them, but what was the point?  He wasn’t staying long, after all, and once he was gone again he probably wouldn’t be welcomed back.  “I supposed I’d forgotten about your addiction to taking in strays.”

It should have been a joke, a well-mannered poke at the kindness and sincerity Rahul carried that made Az fall--- care for them in the first place, but he’d never gotten around to adjusting the tone of his voice, or even casting them a smile.  “Sorry,”  he tacked on, forcing himself to relax even slightly, for he didn’t want to make his stay unbearable for either of them.  “It’s been a...taxing few days since I’ve been back.” The implication of their fight of the ball was included in that statement but he decided to let that stay unspoken. “I’ll take whatever you have laying around and then I’ll stay out of your hair.  I’m sure I interrupted.”

[luckyenigma-blog]

decadentlonging:

Resisting the urge to whip around at the maddening sound of wet shoes on hardwood, Rahul led the way through the entrance room and up the double steps to the dais their display table sat atop. It was a moot point, taking the lead at all; unless he had somehow forgotten the past couple of years, Azariah knew where the dressing rooms were. He still knew where everything was, in all likelihood, since he had spent so many lazy hours loitering around looking for amusement.

Easier days, those had been. At least at first.

They paused momentarily when he brought up the subject hanging over their heads of his own accord–Azariah, a newblood? Apparently he was admitting to it. Did that mean they could ask? How would one even inquire about such a thing? So what do you do, exactly– It felt so abrupt. They turned to him, mistakenly assuming the right words might come if they attempted to play nice, but instead came face to face with a water-slick and very bare torso. A very pleasing torso it was; their eyes roamed its angles unabashed, a spectator alone in a fine art gallery, until they remembered who it was standing before them. Then the scowl reappeared.

“I thought I was very clear about the water,” they said, eyes flicking to the shirt in Az’s hand, then back to his, highlighting their point. “If you could simply wait two seconds, you wouldn’t feel the need to wring your clothes out all over my floor.” Hissing a breath from between their teeth they turned away again, rolling their eyes at his words and his gall and his infuriatingly beautiful body. Whatever you are trying to do, it will not work on me. The words never left their mind, however; instead, as they tracked down the drawer they wanted, a cabinet above their head opened as if of its own accord, and a towel plucked by an invisible hand was tossed unceremoniously at Az’s smug face.

His last words did not miss their mark, however, and Rahul’s ire turned yet again to the king. “Not so much mayhem as the beginning of something sinister,” they muttered, sifting through silks as they spoke. “King Orion certainly loves his ham-fisted decisions. It is as if he is somehow unaware of how cruel and sadistic Silvers can be, or perhaps blissfully ignorant of the fact that his royal decrees mean nothing without a contingency plan.” Finding the suit they wanted, they lifted it from its resting place with gentle hands, scanning the soft linen shirt and rich plum jacket before shooting a look over their shoulder at their newest ward. “Do you want clothes, or was your plan to waltz in and disrobe as if we have traveled backwards in time?”

"I’m trying to keep it contained, and not wring it anywhere, quit overre--” But the rest of the thought died muffled in the towel that had been shoved at his face, hiding the smile that had widened at Rahul’s obvious once over, and wider still at the immediate frustration that followed.  Well, at least I’ve still got that going for me.  The thought caused the smile to linger as he set to task at drying himself, running the fluffy terrycloth over his face and hair first before running it over his arms and chest.  He made a point not to check to see if Rahul was watching, clearly it frustrated them that the attraction was still there.  The action had been entirely innocent, but they’d never believe that, so he let the topic drop.

Their next words had surprised him.  Too long he’d been separated from his ex-lover, it seemed, as he’d fully anticipated a backlash for the jab at the king.  Agreement was the last thing he expected, but he was never one to linger on the unexpected.  Particularly when they’d managed to go this entire time without their conversation deteriorating into a fight-- so he wasn’t about to be the one squander such a gift.  “You took the words right out of my mouth.”  He finally admitted, balling the shirt up inside the towel, and bending to wipe the floor were it and he had dripped.  “It’s been hard enough, lately, doing what I do.  The atmosphere for tricks and deception just got much more difficult.”

He eyed the clothes as Rahul selected each piece, face twisting into a confused expression. It was a clothing shop, sure, but most things were made specific to each guest-- and he was hardly the same size as his host reluctant host.  “I’m surprised you’d still have something that’d fit me.”  He commented, eyeing Rahul carefully and pulling the on the shirt.  It felt soft and warm against his still clammy skin, the sensation sending gooseflesh up his arms.  Or was that the fault of the company?

“Trust me, if I was hoping to relive the past, I’d not have wasted so much time with all this needless conversation.”  He smiled again, though he didn’t try to bury the sadness that came with it.  Reminiscing their past dalliances were hardly what he wanted to be doing.  Being here with all the familiar smells and sounds of the shop were difficult enough.  “In truth, I thought you’d turn me away-- for more than one reason.  I don’t want to put you in danger, I just... I’ve not been in Archeon for so long with an announcement like this, I just couldn’t think of anywhere else to go.”

[luckyenigma-blog]

decadentlonging:

As if it sensed the turmoil that would no doubt descend over Archeon in the wake of the king’s words, the sky had opened up, spilling its discontent as profusely as the people did their words. Rahul understood the gray gloom in the air perfectly. It kept them somewhat trapped in the atelier, as they were loathe to subject themself to rain lest it harm their clothing, but that was hardly an issue when they were in need of distraction anyway.

Distraction they would get, but not how they predicted. After they had left the palace and been assured Diem was safe where she was, they’d escaped to their workshop. Sketching or sewing or something–anything that kept them busy would be better than chattering with the other astonished Silvers or succumbing to pessimism about the announcement. Yet, somehow the news seemed so overwhelming that the only thing that seemed urgent was sending news of it along to Sofiya. Though she would probably know long before their correspondence found her, they would want to know her opinion as soon as possible. Besides, their letters were entirely too few and far between as it was.

The dainty bell over the door chimed as someone entered, but, bent over a table meant to showcase in-progress designs, they did not look up. Their gaze was intent on the paper beneath their fingers, pen skating across the page or hovering while they considered their words. It was only the intruder’s voice that shook them back into reality; immediately their jaw tensed, smoldering eyes flicking up to take in the sight of a very soaked Azariah tracking rain into their shop. They almost ordered him out on sight, until the day’s events caught up with them.

Azariah Xiao, newblood. It seemed implausible. He had always been something else, something special, but to wield powers the likes of which only Silvers ever had–or perhaps, never had? Secrets were his currency and yet something like this… It was bigger. It was dangerous. Turning him away now, no matter how infuriating he could be, was too callous even for Rahul. Exhaling in a huff, just to make their annoyance evident, they relented. “Fine.” They nearly asked how he had known to find them at their atelier before realization of the obvious overtook the thought; instead, they stood, gesturing for him to follow. “You are an utter mess,” they muttered, unable to contain their ire over that particular detail. “Touch nothing. If anything other than the floor is wet, I will make you take a towel to it.”

Az certainly hadn’t know what to expect when he’d made the conscious decision to go the shop-- in fact he focused very hard on not playing out the multiple bad outcomes that could have occurred-- so when all he received was a curt fine he immediately relaxed.  Coming here had been a last ditch effort to at least attempt to control some bits of his world from completely falling apart-- he couldn’t help but be relieved that he didn’t make his night worse.

He smiled to himself at the threat, knowing full well it was anything but idle.  He moved to follow as instructed but the squelch of his boots on the ornate flooring made him cringe.  Before taking another, he bent to pull them both off, along with his hooded jacket which he balled and propped on top of them to minimize the spread of puddle that was already forming.  He skipped a bit after Rahul in an attempt to catch up, peeling the shirt that felt painted on from his chest and up over his head.  

“Yes, sorry, unfortunately my no longer secret and quite blasphemous powers do not involve being a human sponge.”  He laughed proudly at his own jest to masking the malice that boiled in his stomach at the king’s announcement.  As if he needed a reason to hate the man more-- well, he certainly wasn’t doubting his current rebellious entanglements today.  Though a voice in the back of his mind questioned that, asking him why he’d run to a Silver for aid when he had a whole rebellion that could, and would protect him. He shoved the question aside, as he did most of his self-doubts.

“I assume you were at the palace?”  He asked, balling up the stripped and soaked shirt into a tight ball in a sad attempt to control the dripping.  Catching a passing glance at himself in a mounted mirror he frowned at his sad appearance, pausing to run a hand through his damp hair.  Mussing it up in stiff spikes than looking at it matted to his forehead like a stray mutt.   It was the best he was going to be able to work with at the moment, so he turned his attentions back to Rahul.  “Was it absolute mayhem?  Must be hard to discover those metallic veins don’t mean much anymore.”  The snide comment wasn’t meant for present company, but just to ensure that point was received he quickly changed the moved on.   “Your royal highness is out of his mind.”

[luckyenigma-blog]

DATE || april 23rd LOCATION || rahul’s shop STATUS || Closed to @decadentlonging

   Az has always hated the rain.  Everyone he had known seemed to adore the wet weather for one reason or another-- the smell, the ambiance, the sounds-- he just found it to be a nuisance more than anything.  Especially now, on top of everything else.  On top of having his name-- his real name-- broadcast nationally on television.  On top of becoming a target to every passerby on the street.  On top of having to dress like a Red errand boy with his hood pulled low over his face to blend in among the mayhem that he’d hear through the open doors of every tavern and pub he passed.

   He found his destination by instinct rather than sight.  This time, however, hesitation didn’t stop him from crossing the threshold, nor did the late hour or closed sign on the door.  The room was dim but as beautifully lit as he remembered it, and he did his best not to plop puddles wherever he stepped--though he quickly discovered that was probably a lost cause. He’d made sure not to rush through the heavy drips-- no need to make himself appear more suspicious.  But as a result his clothes and boots were entirely soaked through.

   With a sigh, he braced the for the worst and pushed his hood back, turning his attentions to the shop owner perched behind the counter.  His lips turned into an honest and somewhat sad smile-- despite the fight conversation they’d had at the ball, Az knew he’d be able to come here for safe harbor.  To them.  “Storm’s bad out there-- and I don’t just mean the rain.  What are the chances you’ll tolerate me for a night?  Two at most, I promise.”

[luckyenigma-blog]

rosafowler:

Rosa, like many of her creed, could ill-afford beauty. It was such a floating, fanciful concept, like the unicorns from storybooks and silver princesses with fire burning from their palms. And yet, somehow, they felt as if they had reached that status tonight, almost accidentally. Demure enough to slip into the middle of the crowd and fit in - not that they had ever possessed the dazzle to draw attention, they past unnoticed, a ghost who had come to life. Where reality had once been constructed from little more than dull greys and the ever contrasting black and white, they had stepped into a spectacle of colour, of fire and ice and everything in between, slipping through the middle of it. The fact their attendance was illicit only served to thrill.

The palms of their hand still warm from the touch of a flame, adrenaline continuing to course through their veins, Rosa’s steeled eyes hunted out refreshment - their throat parched, drained from excitement. Although this wasn’t their first mission and they had often embodied the banners of the Scarlet Guard, tasked with importance, tonight felt different. Perhaps it was because of the potential for exposure, for they walked among the silvers as near equals, with a mission almost holy in purpose. Or perhaps it was the sheer potential of it all. She almost felt immortal, as if anything could happen. As if she could be anyone. 

And really, wasn’t that the attraction of the Scarlet Guard? It was a chance to start over, to forge yourself anew, to bind yourself to likeminded people and march side by side towards a better tomorrow. It held a beauty far beyond the ones displayed tonight, less flashy, less commodified - pure and raw. Perhaps one day, events like these would become their everyday. But for now, they would continue to look upon in awe, to avoid eye-contact with those who might identify them at a later stage and wait to be called upon. For the night was young - and there was lots to be done.

Approaching the bar, Rosa leaned over the mahogany counter, fingertips electrified at its smoothness. Absorbed in their own mind, they only snapped out and returned to reality with the sound of a familiar, bouncy, voice. They had heard it many times before, gone from stranger to an almost friend. “Maybe it’s a blessing in disguise. I don’t think intoxication makes for good company on a night like this.” Words innocent enough to evade suspicion from those around them, Rosa shot him a pointed look, lips curling into a teasing smile.

“On the contrary, love, intoxication makes for great company on any night, especially one such as this.”   He tossed the smirking Rosa a wink and a smile of his own from its safe place behind his mask.  He took a lingering sip of his own drink as he scanned the room once more.  There was no sight of them, yet anyway, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t crop up eventually, as prominent in this kind of social circle as they were.

Rosa and himself had shared far more, now, than a fear of bumping into an old lover.  Az was grateful for their presence in the Guard-- with Isla gone there were few he could count as an honest confidant, but they were certainly one.  It wasn’t hard to get into Az’s good graces-- a pretty smile and a quick wit were plenty-- but he favored Rosa’s company more than most he’d met within the rest of this paltry excuse for a rebellion.

“All these Silvers, flamboyantly traipsing about fishing for praise?  I can’t think of a better reason not to be of sound mind.”  He enjoyed another gulp, a longer and deeper one this time, enough to signal a request to the distant bartender.  By the time the poor Red servant could get to him he’d be long since done with his drink.  He could hardly complain, though, knowing full well how hard the help here was worked.

“What you need, my dear, is a little bit more liquid courage.”  He finally faced them head on, catching their eyes with his own and leaning sideways against the sturdy wood.  “We both do, if I’m being entirely too honest.  There’s practically more people here that we don’t want to see rather than do, I’d wager.  Maybe we can disappear into one of these unnecessarily fancy rooms for some peace and quiet.”

[luckyenigma-blog]

decadentlonging:

Rahul, rarely without control over at least themself in any given situation and never one to allow others to walk all over them without a rousing retaliation, felt more than experienced their own eyes narrowing with every new word that dropped from Azariah’s lips. That smirk, his holier-than-thou attitude—they were not about to put up with that, not when consequences seemed an entirely contrived concept to their wandering self-awareness. Who cared if they made a scene? Tonight was entirely the wrong night to test their patience.

“Just as I was thinking of making my escape,” they responded, settling into a guise of cool detachment, “here you are, unexpectedly accosting me in an attempt to provoke a flattering reaction. Why would I be surprised at that?” Their voice, always their best ally beside their mind in contests of wit, betrayed none of the anxiety struggling beneath their now-frosty surface. Why, why did the universe seem intent on beating the horse of their loneliness, of emphasizing the profound weight of their fear of abandonment? “Now I feel inclined to point out the sheer irony of staying to converse with you. But then again, if I try you may not linger long enough to listen.”

No matter how sharp their words became, how effective their barbs could be, they could not shake the sensation that the ballroom was beginning to spin again, all those twirling skirts behind Ri’s still, looming figure—

Ri. What a childish petname. They had almost had the luck to forget it. Luck never did seem to be on their side, certainly not where Azariah was concerned.

With a brusque wave of their hand, they gestured off to their left, into the crowd. It was as much a dismissal of his presence as a tool for their next slight. “The Room of Darkness is that way. I assume you have some tittering Silver convinced of your endless charm to drag there for some mindless fun before you disappear and leave them guessing for as long as you fancy.” Simply because they knew it would affect him, they kept their words clipped in the timbre of someone who could not possibly care any less than they already did.

So what if they did care? If they did want to ask where he had been all this time, what he had been doing, what opinion he held of them? Something in them begged not to be left alone, lest the stresses of the night finally win out and cause a real scene.

But, they couldn’t beg for his company any more than they could stand not to get the last word, so instead they speared him on the end of their gaze, desperate in equal measure to get away from all the ball’s continuing nonsense and to hook him into something deeper than shallow insults. Even deeper insults had their merits; they were already suffering tonight. Why not engage? “Perhaps I will make my way there myself, with a doting admirer or two. So many have been vying for my attention all night, I seem to have lost track of my current favorites.”

There was more than one time that Az’s mouth opened, retort at the ready, but Rahul beat them to the punch each time.  Punch being a literal interpretation in every case, with every word they uttered.  Admittedly, he deserved each as every one-- though he was too stubborn to concede the point allowed.  Sure, he was bitter at them-- several reasons over-- but he was not faultless.  He ran, like he always had, as if their relationship had been any other game.  Except, it wasn’t.  Not truly, because in any of this other games, he came out leaving them wondering where they went wrong, not the other way around.

He did manage to sneak in one or two aptly timed eye rolls, fixing them with a bemused stare that came complete with two raised eyebrows.  They certainly had a lot to say for someone who had found their words alluding them when Az had only loving things to say.  “I have no need for your extravagant rooms.  I can work my magic anywhere.  In fact, doing it in crowded places like this with so many witnesses only makes the challenge that much more fun.”  He was talking nonsense-- mostly, anyway-- any of the connections he’d made tonight for the Guard would need to be nursed and massaged like any good informant.  He had trust to gain first.

“Is that where your bouquet came from?  These doting admirers nipping at your heels?”  He gestured to the flowers they clutched, beautiful as they were he couldn’t imagine them being an intentioned part of their outfit.  Rahul was always one for a gossip-inducing visual show, but even that seemed a little much for them.  

“I’d wish you luck-- with a mingled crowd like this, and masked to boot-- but you never were one that needed that kind of things.  Things just always seem to go your way, don’t they?”  He exaggerated a dreamy sigh, shoulders relaxing with it as he clutched his hands in front of himself.  “The life of a Silver, one can only dream.”  The irony of his statement would be lost on them-- they had no idea that these....powers...of his had surfaced.  Even he still didn’t fully understand it, or necessarily even believe it at this point.  

“Perhaps we could go back there together?  For old time’s sake?  You know, do what we used to do.  Do me first to get you warmed up for you favorites?”

[absentlyabbie]

Raise Hell - Dorothy

–

Young blood, heaven need a sinner You can’t raise hell with a saint

[luckyenigma-blog]

praetextum:

The voice was masked but still just barely recognizable but they felt his playful aura and wanted to engulf themself in it after a busy and stressful night behind the bar. They decided to play along and pretend they didn’t recognize their oldest friend. “Too bad, pal, seats taken, move along.” She struggled to be as rude to him as she would to a stranger, the ruse was going to give her away quickly. and her brows furrowed in annoyance at her inability to lie to him well.

“You’re a jerk, Az.” She shoved his favorite drink toward him, sloshing it a bit as payback. “Are you calling me sweet?” she lifted a brow as she wiped the mess she’d made. “I hold it because you practically live here and I’d rather deal with the annoyance of others than listen to you whine about your stool.” 

The suggestion of her attending that ball made her skin crawl for more than one reason. “I never lied, I told you I didn’t want to go, not that I couldn’t.”

Quick and practiced hands caught the rebel glass, liquid spilling onto the cuffs of his shirt unapologetically.  He sighed, casting a look at his oldest friend and tutting, setting to pulling off the plush, violet blazer and tossing it behind the bar for her to catch and stow for him.  He’d planned to camp for the rest of the night--- there was little else that could sooth a broken soul like a night a place like this and someone like Ryn.  He rolled up the wet cuffs; out of sight, out of mind.

“A jerk, yes, perhaps.  But you love me so really-- who’s the faulted one here?”  He laughed warmly and took a lengthy swig from his glass, nearly draining the thing in one swift gulp.  He wiggled it at her, a silent question for more.  “And I never whine.”  He accused, pointing with his free hand.

“I blocked that part out, I think.  Who wouldn’t want to go to a party like that?  Free booze, that you don’t have to serve, even, fancy dresses, wild hair, quirky masks.  You could have been my date. I certainly need one.  It’s been ages.”

[luckyenigma-blog]

lerolcns:

          The entire hall was melting, melting, melting. Sparkling chandeliers over champagne walls, women in dresses like soft golden oceans over men in dark suits, ornate masks over the faces hidden beneath them. And yet, there he stood, stone cold between it all. There was a moment in which his facade faltered, a flicker of shattered marble beneath his exterior, quick enough to blink and miss. He was breaking himself down in an entirely different way; a way much less glamorous than melting. A rough hand curled around the whiskey he’d been nursing, ill-matched eyes trained on the ice cubes leaning against each other. There was no match for the sting of badly brewed beer on the front lines, the burn of alcohol and adrenaline settling somewhere in your gut. In the sickest way, he missed it. He raised it to his lips and took a sip.

          Cassius only took a second look at the man when he started speaking, low and soft and accompanied by what seemed to be some sort of humming, or perhaps that was just the dull thrum of the party around them. He stole his gaze back to the towering shelves of liquor in front of him and took another sip of his drink, lips curling into a smile against the edge of the glass. He let and elbow drop against the bar, glass still suspended as he swirled the ice cubes around and returned his attention to the one who spoke. 

                     ❛  i suppose the organizers’ creative energy                       was sucked up by the room made entirely                       out of mirrors. not an excuse for shit cocktails,                       though, i must agree.  ❜  cassius put down the                       whiskey and extended a hand .  ❛  cassius                      lerolan.  ❜

          " I’ve seen more creative displays of confusion from traveling performers, but I will give them points for trying. ”  Az laughed out a scoff at the idea of the rooms in general-- the king likely found himself clever with the homage to his competitors but it was hardly original.  It seemed more and more the Silvers attempts at fanciful and edgy extravagance was stolen from their lessers, but far be it from him to complain.  He borrowed more from other people than anyone.  “ And you’re too right, they certainly skimped where the booze is concerned.”

      Az eyed the extended hand, what painted his face was friendly smile, but what was hidden behind it was more mired amusement.  There had been days not that long ago Rahul had ranted for ages about the man in front of him-- though they always had plenty to say about many of those at court-- Az had humored their gossiping if for no other reason than he enjoyed watching them get all riled.  He never assumed he’d actually meet the man.

          “Z.”  He replied simply, falling back on one of his favored aliases and finally taking Cassius’ hand with a firm grip.  “It’s just much easier to pronounce than the full thing, trust me.”  A wink punctuated the sentence before he nodded at the man’s drink.  “You’d don’t exactly read like a cocktail fellow, though.  Let me guess, top shelf only for a lordly, upstanding Silver such as yourself?”

[luckyenigma-blog]

jacob-riley:

The palace was a site, that much could not be argued, but as the festivities wore on, he found himself wondering precisely who was to be expected to clear away the mess that would surely be left, much less tear down the extensive, shall he call them, remodeling of various rooms. Somehow when he looked around the expansive hall, where others saw exotic animals and acrobats, Jacob only saw another job that would be done. 

Cleaning up after Silvers? Well that he had grown accustomed to. Never pleased with, never accepting of, but accustomed to. Knowing there were Reds mixed into this party and that he’d be cleaning up after them as well? It left his already bittered tongue that much harsher. It was hard enough being a servant to those everyone considered superior, but being the garbage man for those supposed to be on his own level? It felt like a slap to the face.

He adjusted his red and black mask, having been worn far too long for it to be comfortable any longer, before smoothing his hands over the fabric of his suit. It had been made for him specially by Rahul Provos and it seemed most he had spoken to had taken note of it. He still couldn’t work out precisely why they had plucked him from the laundry room and given him a suit, but it still didn’t sit well with him. He was not used to things being given without something expected in return and he hated to think what they may ask of him. 

But a drink at least could put all of that behind him for a bit. Even if only a short bit. He had snuck his way into enough Silver parties to know exactly which kind he preferred and as he slouched against the bar, drink in hand he over heard someone begin a conversation. “It’s free alcohol. I hardly think anyone has the right to complain. And if the victors already have entire rooms dedicated to them, why one thing more? It’s not even a guarantee that simply because they’ve won the first round of the first portion of Crownstrial that any of them will be the next royal.”

Az had to shrug at the boy’s point.  The rooms did have an overly extravagant flare to them-- something he was sure was a bane to more than enough red servants in the palace.  That really was the problem with the king’s pathetic attempt to make this little soiree about intermingling and equal co-existence when it was still the Reds that would have to carry the brunt of the work.  He was even willing to put money down that no one even brought up that point while it was in the planning phase.

“I can always find something to complain about.”  Az responded finally with a a widening smile.  “It’s one of my many talents.”  The once-over he gave the stranger would have been more noticeable without the mask’s protection, so he let himself linger on the outfit they wore-- the red accents were anything but subtle.  Which he was sure was the point.  He hated himself for it, but he could recognize Rahul’s designs anywhere, and he’d seen far too many of them tonight, following him around like decorative hauntings of his ex-lover.

“You seem awfully bitter for the topic of the festivities.”  He noted, taking a sip of his drink. “I take it you’re not a fan of the Crownstrial?  I’m not either, I find the whole thing rather...primal, if you ask me.”  Perhaps he far too often romanticized the concept of true love, or perhaps he envied those with real, tangible powers-- but the idea of women-- or people now-- tossing around their weight for a simple political title exhausted him.   “But if you’re not interested in the outcome, why are you here?”

[luckyenigma-blog]

praetextum:

Date: April 16th Location: El Corazon Open to: All

It was late, or early depending on context but the place was busier than usual. Ryn could only attribute the boost in traffic to the event taking place at the palace, once the party ended there were plenty that wanted it to continue and they found themselves at El Corazon. eyes roamed the patrons, searching for those that were uncouth, for new and old faces alike, as they cleaned glasses and refilled them, monotonous work that made them feel grounded as the stars twinkled through the window in the back. 

The door opened and another influx of people feel within, silver or red didn’t matter here and once she had seen their faces she turned away, continuing her tasks. A new patron took a seat at the stool third from her left and she moved to them like a fish in a stream, all glides and streamlines. “excuse me, but that stool is taken.” She kept it open for one person and one person alone but she loathed the idea of using her—-powers of persuasion to keep it that way. Waiting for their response she was willing to offer them a free beverage to vacate, if only to save herself from further measures.

"Is i'?”  He still bore his mask from the party-- it made it easier to traverse the crowded streets, and in itself was a symbol of import since it meant he was lucky enough to be invited to the ball in the first place.  The voice he picked to speak with to toy with his oldest friend was a high-pitched one with clipped syllables and missing consonants.  He’d picked it up somewhere near the war-front years ago-- though the person he’d borrowed it from had long since been forgotten.  “Seems lik-a shite move ta block a couppla seats, crowded nigh’ as is.”

He laughed at her predictably annoyed expression, pulling off the ornate jester’s mask and setting it on the bar, donning her with a wink and clearing his throat to leave the stranger’s voice as quickly as he’d picked it up.  “It’s sweet for you to hold my seat even when you don’t know I’m in town.”  He held out a hand expectantly for his token drink.  After the sobering meeting with Rahul he needed a proper distraction-- and Ryn always knew the best way to garner his attentions enough to think about anything but them.  “You could have come, you know.  Don’t tell me you had to work--- that’s a puny excuse and I know when you’re lying.”

[luckyenigma-blog]

diemhynson:

Diem rarely drank. It was partly because she grew up in a small village and was never introduced to the ways of alcohol by her mother, and partly because she was too busy after she found out about the vice to really venture into it herself. It wasn’t like she could really drink a lot of alcohol when Isla had her creating dresses, fetching fabrics, and doing fittings all day. No, she remained sober while listening to others tell their tales about their drunken escapades and day after regrets.

Maybe it was the overwhelming nature of the event or the fact that Isla wasn’t around to stop her and Diem felt a pain for her lost mentor that she tried so hard to get rid of, but Diem now found herself at the bar. She stared at all of the names on the menu and must’ve looked like a deer in headlights because she had no idea what anything meant. She was about to leave when she heard someone next to her speak.

Diem knew that voice anywhere. She recognized it from Isla’s shop and many hours spent listening to their tales. A smile began to gather on her face as she turned around to see none other than Azaraiah Xiao back in the flesh.

“Well, for a first timer like me this is pretty extravagant.” She stated, pointing at the menu that very well could’ve been one of the multiple languages lost to the past. “I like your mask, by the way. It suits you, as does the no tie.” She pointed out, hoping he recognized her and didn’t just think she was a stranger making odd comments. 

“Oh, Diem, sweetie, your sincere innocence will never stop enamoring me.”  He grasped the menu from her fingers and gave it another quick scan.  He had every intention of sampling as much as possible-- it wasn’t often he was sent to open-bar parties by a group threatening to overthrown a monarchy, so he was more than determined to take full advantage.  He waved down the bartender and ordered for her rather than make her drudge through the guessing game.

“Something fruity-- perfect for a first timer, you’ll love it.”  He wink behind the mask and patted her hand, discarding the overwhelming menu beside him for someone else to fret over.  Once her drink arrived, brightly colored and garnished with fruit he slid it in front of her.  “You know me-- not really an overly formal kind of gentleman.  Besides--”  he turned his back to the bar and leaned against it, scanning the room.  “I need some way to stand out from all these stuffy-shirt Silvers traipsing about as if they own the place.”  He took a sip, pondering the words for a second.  “Okay, I supposed they do own the place but-- you know what I meant.”

He passed a glance at Diem, taking in her outfit for the night.  “Isla’s design?”  He asked quietly, an honest sympathy in his voice with the question.  The woman was the reason he was here, of course, but he couldn’t imagine his sadness even came close to matching Diem’s.  He’d spent far less time with the seamstress.  He actually felt a little guilty for not checking in more often than he had-- but he wasn’t one to answer to a superior, and that took some getting used to.  “You still have a place to sleep, I hope?  You know I always love company.”

[luckyenigma-blog]

decadentlonging:

Some time in the gardens, away from almost everyone and with only a person as keen as they ever were for smalltalk (so, not at all) for company, had helped bridge the gap between Rahul’s body and mind; they no longer felt quite like they had a bird’s eye view of themself wading through the bustle of the ball. Re-entering would be an inevitable pull, they knew that, but emerging back into the noise of the Gathering Hall… It was so draining. How were they meant to keep this up for the rest of the night?

What a terrible way and terrible time to break terrible news. But then, Sofiya had never been one to save her words for others’ sakes.

They caught someone’s gaze, some fool behind a jester’s mask, and felt suspended on the end of it before the crowd blurred before them. Needing an escape from the dizzying motion, they looked down, right to the long-stalked blossoms held gracefully in their fingers. The white chrysanthemums and pale lilies calmed them. The single red, red, red rose hooked and held their attention. Of course a crimson rose in their hands would mean sorrow and enduring love for the long gone. How very fitting.

Their heart ached, thumping out the beat behind the words I miss Isla. I miss Sofiya.

Looking up into the crowd again they were lucky enough to catch a glass of something as it zipped past, but it only rose to touch their lips before stuttering to a halt. They were simply too caught up in their own mind. Planning a funeral for Isla was one thing, one awful thing, but they could not shake the fear that there would be more funerals to come in the near future. Isla, next Sofiya, then Prisha, then Diem–

A hand on their arm startled them stiff. They would typically shake such a grip off, unused as they were to being touched by strangers without even implied permission, but their mind and body were out of sync as it was. 

The voice that caressed their ear, soft as a breath, did little to loosen them up–something about the tibre of the voice rattled them. They were used to flirtation such as this, of course, but tonight they were out of sorts. They turned to face the man behind them, catching sight of that same jester’s mask from before. “I have never been shy about discussing the shallow personalities of my fellows,” they replied, gaze sweeping over the newcomer with some of their usual sharpness. They could be reeling with grief, but no one need know, and they were twice as smart as anyone else in the room even only at half their usual capacity.

Gold shot through with delicate black detailing, his pocket square caught their eye, standing out from the eggplant violet of his suit, and something icy settled into their bones. At first it did not connect in their mind. What were they seeing? But in a matter of moments, their eyes widened as they realized just who was standing before them, talking to and touching them as casually as if they were strangers. They looked up into eyes that suddenly felt more familiar than their own, and yet utterly foreign.

Just like that, their everyday mask of elegant indifference cracked like ice under too great a weight to bear, and it was just that–Azaraiah’s return was the graceless tearing of a seam, revealing raw flesh beneath in a matter of seconds.

Perhaps, in almost all ways, they were complete strangers.

“Azariah? What-” But they did not go on, no other words that came to them adequate enough to express the flurry of confusion and revulsion and attraction and guilt that roiled in their chest. They simply shook their head instead, heavy earrings jangling with the motion. Lose one, gain another, and yet the night continued only to become much, much worse. What is he doing here?

He thought he’d steeled himself for this-- the amount of drinks he’d had was apparently enough to encourage him to approach and even touch Rahul, but it hadn’t been enough to prepare him for hearing the sound of his name drip so elegantly from their lips.  His name, one such a limited few even knew.  But it was less about the name itself and more about the sound of the voice that uttered it.  It was a quiet but clear and smooth tone the made him feel like he’d jumped straight into a pool of ice cold water.  Whatever he’d imbibed was gone the instant they opened their mouth-- sobering him better than any good night’s sleep ever could.

But that was just the start of it.  Their dark eyes had locked with his own and he was frozen in place-- his normally composed and statuesque face that often bore practiced expressions and calmed patience betrayed him, he was sure, even with the mask.  Their close proximity didn’t help, either, with the delectable smell of fresh flowers wafting around them like an invitation to step even closer rather than to give them the space their eyes were screaming that they needed.  Hell, he needed it, but he’d been brash enough to start this challenge so he’d be damned if he was the one that was going back down first.

The only solace came when he registered the flustered look on their face-- a look that Az was certainly not used to seeing.  If anyone gave him a run for his money with a mask of casual indifference, it was them.  Something he once upon a time had admired, not it only served to drudge up old wounds.  Despite their time apart, he could still read his ex’s body language life a book.  He could read anyone, true, but Rahul had been different in so many ways.  Their tense shoulders, straightened back, taught face--- there was more eating at their mind than Az re-inserting himself so crudely into their lives.  But he wasn’t going to fall prey to the sympathies that tugged at his heart no matter how much he wanted to plant a hand on their face for comfort as he may have once done.

Instead he pushed a smiled into the corner of his lips, brightening his face with a casual and cool tone to his voice, his true voice-- no point in hiding it now.  “What am I doing here?”  He finished Rahul’s question for him, it seemed the best way to assert his dominance and control over the situation before it ran away from him.  “I know, shocking, isn’t it?  With all the negative things you had to say about these little gatherings you people throw, I never really thought much of sneaking into them but this--”  he waved around him with a laugh that could be taken sarcastically to the right set of ears “--this is simply impressive.  Even for me.”  He used the gesture to take a step back, for his own sanity, but he didn’t drift far.  Being close to them again was intoxicating-- more so than any of the drinks he’d sampled tonight.  

“I’d half-expected you’d have found a way to skip it, so when I saw you I just had to give you a little surprise.  I mean, it’s rude to just...not say anything-----                                                                                                                     ----isn’t it?”

[luckyenigma-blog]

Date: April 15th Time: 1am Location: Grand Hall Availability: @decadentlonging  

He’d indulged too much.  He knew his limit-- better than most, for sure, but tonight he’d chosen not to care.  He was on a mission, after all, and what better way to ensure it’s success than by drinking a little too much.  It had been, in his defense, people were most talkative when they assumed their conversation partner was as far gone as they were-- because then they were less likely to repeat it.

Unfortunately for them, Az had a spectacular memory, regardless of how much he’d imbibed. Plus, as of right now he needed a new target.  He took hold of his new drink (he’d lost count now of how many exactly it’d been, but what did it really matter) scanning the room for a more enticing victim.  But he nearly choked on his drink when he found it.  They caught eyes with him, barely for a breath before they’d moved onto something else.

Rahul didn’t recognize him, that much was clear.  He’d have the mask to thank for that but he couldn’t help but be slightly bitter.  They had had a few elegant flowers clutched in their hands and their face was longer than he remembered seeing  Something was off.  What do you care?  He asked himself as he took another sip, but he couldn’t muster a response beyond why don’t we have some fun?

He inhaled the rest of the drink-- for courage more than anything else-- and weaved his way across the crowd towards the most intoxicating thing in the room.  The one person that could bring a stubborn man such as him straight to his knees with the bat of their eyes.  They had their back to him, so he gripped their arm and whispered in their ear.  

❝ Do you come here often, or do you find these fake little lemmings as dull as I do? ❞

[luckyenigma-blog]

Date: April 15th Time: 11pm Location: Grand Hall Availability: Open

Az was no stranger to exuberant decadence, and yet somehow the hall still managed to impress him.  Still reeling, perhaps, from Alura’s travel habits, he couldn’t help but take in the extravagance that surrounded.  Somehow with all his travels and dealings, he had never managed to work his way into the famed palace (whether by intention or excuse) until now.  Maybe his association with the rebellion would pay off after all-- no one ad ever said anything about parties.  Maybe if they had he’d have joined up far sooner.

He made a personal and internal promise to stay focused on his assigned task-- the one he’d been recruited for in the first place.  Coaxing viable information from ignorant but well-gossiped people was, of course, his specialty and this was the perfect environment for such a task.  He excelled particularly at getting even the least gullible to talk with his tempting smile and flirtatious friendly demeanor.  Perhaps that’s why they’d wanted him, why Isla had reached out.

But he’d never been one for following orders, and that’s why he didn’t stop his eyes from scanning the room.  Scanning for them.  He had, in all honesty, no idea what he’d do if he’d actually found them-- coming face to face (or mask to mask) with the one person who’d hurt them most, especially on their turf, so instead he resigned to finding someone a little less dramatic to sink his teeth into.

Adjusting his mask-- a favorite he’d picked up years ago on one of his more memorable cons-- and tugging on the stiff shirt underneath his suit, he set his sights on the one thing he knew would never disappoint: the bar.  While waiting for his drink, he draped himself casually against the bar, ad relaxed as much as anyone could be in a situation such as this.  Finally, with drink in hand and the liquid courage running warmly down his throat, he painted his face with a practiced smile and fixed his attention on the nearest warm body.

❝  You’d think a shindig like this would have something a little more extravagant at the bar besides the usual fare.  Perhaps something themed for the current champions?  They went through all the troubles of the rooms, they could at least spice up their drinks.  ❞

[pervcialgraves]

[smilefortheliving]

Favorite Magnus Bane moments: [2/?]