#classiqals

[thenxghtwemxt]

@classiqals | Ruby and Elias, The Matador Contest

"Red or black?" He asks his brother with a curious hum, chin tilted at the matadors priming for a bullfight. Every one with a color, to make betting easier - and more fun. Of course, as King, Elias doesn't partake in betting. What would it do to his image as Germany's benevolent King? Ruby, on the other hand... "Or did you bet they'll both get run over by a bull?" Which may be the safer bet, but when it comes to his younger brother, Elias knows better than to expect anything but the unexpected.

[bourgeoning]

she  falls  back  into  the  rhythm  with  ease  ;  contrasting  chaos  with  calm  ,  for  others'  benefit  .  in  spite  of  a  continuously  pounding  heart  ,  and  fear  gnawing  at  her  stomach  .  nails  rapping  against  the  table  ,  isra  replays  the  bedlam  in  the  grand  jury  hall  ,  hoping  to  achieve  any  sort  of  understanding  of  the  tangled  mess  left  in  its  wake  .  but  the  memory  ebbs  into  the  background  when  she  hears  approaching  footsteps  .  reflexively  ,  she  sits  up  ,  offering  a  warm  smile  to  @classiqals  @flcralhaze  @umitvar  @verenduss  @monarhrh    @whispcrings  , "  how  can  i  help  ?  don't  be  shy  now  .  "  almost  a  joke  ,  or  ,  rather  ,  an  attempt  at  bringing  levity  .

[thenxghtwemxt]

@classiqals | Haspira and Rahmi, During the Commotion of the Pre-Tribunal

The opportunity fails to present itself. When he is not at Lia's bedside, tending to the aches and residual pains. He is in the hearth of the Ratsifi's strategy room, uncovering the traces of poison (literal and figurative). But he knows there is only one person, one monster, to blame. The proof is in the stain of red wine, still haunting Rahmi's robes. Staring at the back of her head from his seat, his eye burn. Meryem was a central influence in Rahmi's life. The one who purred paranoia and goding thoughts, into both the Sultan and his wife's ears. Rahmi may be willing to let his part in his failings present itself. But Haspira?

No, the wicked wretch would do anything to protect her secrets.

He sees red as Meryem goes pale. It is not Madagascar's famed poisons, which leaves only one culprit. And amidst the mayhem, he storms towards his wife. Pushing past the colliding bodies, meeting the uneasy glances of guards once loyal to Rahmi himself. Without missing a beat, his large hands grasp on Haspira's shoulders, all but shaking her figure. "What have you done?" Rahmi demands thickly. "First Lia, now Meryem." His voice is raised, and he shouts into her face; "You are a disgusting woman!"

[umitvar]

𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: PAÇO IMPERIAL, CHINA'S CHAMBERS 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌: DAENG CHATRI SHINAWATRA 𝐓𝐎: ZHANG TIAN FENG ( @classiqals )

the meeting with angelo was scalding, though not for the reasons one might assume. it only made daeng's guilt more apparent, making it obvious how he failed to stop all of this from happening. they had information networks, informants, and so many men — yet they had a criminal just under their noses. the attack that happened today only made it all the worse, to know danger loomed so close, and they could have lost one of their own today. once they have a brief moment in between investigations and meetings, daeng is urged to catch up to tian feng where there are no prying ears. a hand is set on his friend's shoulder, his eyes looking at him up and down. "are you well? you didn't get hurt, did you?" there are only a few scars and bruises littering daeng's face and arms, the traces of battle- though he looks and fears to see if there are any on his friend's frame.

[thenxghtwemxt]

@classiqals | Ariyan and Ishani, The Maid's Quarters of the Mughal Empire's Apartments

This would not be their first action against authority, nor does Ishani expect it to be their last. But there is a sloppiness and second-rate spin to it that does not sit well. If they are to act in their own interests, they better win. Alas, it feels like anything but, and Ishani rounds the corner of the maid's quarters. A point of entry that, while guarded, could easily be bought with the same bloodied, Indian rupees as before. Ishani awaits her predecessor (though they do not concede yet). A dissatisfied scowl on her face as Ariyan finally approaches under the guise of cloaks and daggers.

"Those senseless, stupid mercenaries." Ishani nearly spits, arms crossed and brow furrowed. Dark, beady eyes dancing around them, ensuring no one can hear. "They were miserable failures. It was meant to be clean, seamless. Instead-" Her arms fly in exasperation. "I could have done better." In fact, Ishani has, and it's that knowledge that fuels her disenchantment with Ariyan as of late. When did she, the tortoise, begin outpacing the hare? "What of Rishabh, then? Still breathing?"

[thenxghtwemxt]

@classiqals | Midori and Tian Feng, Back Corner of the Bonaparte Queen's Memorial

Leave it to a small, velvet box to put her nearly thirty minutes late for the deceased, Queen's memorial. The weight of the ring; French design, with a simple band, heavy in importance and looming promise. After a prolonged reverie of heavy breathes and pulsating sweat, Midori speeds with haste to the Cathedral. But those in attendance were already seated, the Japanese contingent in too prominent a place to be discreet. Her eyes move to the back pews, filled to the rim, save for one spot.

Gods and their explicit irony.

Walking towards the corner, Midori is quick to cast a quick look at Tian Feng. Unseen beyond that grotesque display at the bath house, and several instance of flirtation with his new betrothed. Lashes long and cheeks high, Midori stares down at him. "Well?" She nods expectantly, at the only open place by his side. Without waiting, Midori settles into the seat. A feigned eye at the service, as if she cannot feel his breathing.

"My closest friend? Really? You could have fucked anyone." She whispers haughtily against Tian Feng's shoulder, eyes remaining steadfast on the altar.

[umitvar]

𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: PAÇO IMPERIAL PALACE, RUSSIAN CHAMBERS 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌: TSAR YURA STASOV 𝐓𝐎: TSAR ISAAK STASOV ( @classiqals )

it's later in the evening and yura has taken to reading in the main room lounging area, legs crossed underneath them, leaning into the arm of the sofa, a big book open in front. when the sounds of footsteps reach their ears, they look up, excited to see their brother. the book is closed shut with a thud as they jump up to meet him before he leaves their line of sight. "старший брат!" leaning against the door, tilting their head, yura takes him in. "how was your day? did anything exciting happen?" and after a pause, they raise an eyebrow in question. "which languages did you speak today?" it has been the topic of their studies lately, going over various languages, accents, and the colloquial versions of speech. "any comments on how well your accents have gotten?"

[opalnoble]

° • — CLOSED starter for maceon ( @classiqals ) ° • — outside the palace, under a tree.

aurora was sick of being inside the palace — if it wasn’t judgmental eyes on her due to the staggering number of french criminals; it was eyes that pitied her for the loss of her cousin. it was nauseating, being perceived in a land that wasn’t her own. she should be of little significance here and that was precisely what she wanted. giving excuses to her ladies, aurora ducked away — to the market streets. there, she was away from the drama and could perhaps pretend everything was normal.

though, even here — nothing felt normal. she found herself looking at various silks and fabrics, all in bright or deep tones of red; and still, she felt sick to her stomach. red, why red? it was the color of blood, and felt so garish to look at when dressing her deceased cousin — but she had promised elliott she would secure a red dress for martina’s memorial. gods, did she never want to do this again.

the princess walked away from the stall, back towards the palace until she found a tree close to the gates but still not inside palace grounds. she sat down— hoping to wait out this strange mood she was in. it was like a cloud over her, and that was so unlike her. aurora took out a pink journal from her silk bag, age clear on it’s spine. with it, she had a small, thin piece of charcoal she used to write it in when she was without ink. then she’d go over the charcoal later. the dyed leather cover and pages of the book were stained as such — it was clearly something she had taken great care of yet kept with her at all times. she had nothing to write in it as of today, but it brought her comfort, so aurora turned to a page she had counted days on, doodling small flowers and such in between the lines. a bit of cheer to an otherwise depressing record kept.

when she felt the presence of someone seated beside her, she did not look up; instead choosing to continue smudging her fingers with charcoal as she drew. “ — is it time for me to be dragged back already? “ aurora jested, knowing it was her cousin sitting there beside her. “ i believe this fresh air and nature is doing me good. “ she said softly, finally looking up from the somber journal. “ — and i think some time away could do you some good, oui? “ she had not hardly seen much of maceon since they arrived to brazil. he was surely busy, as many of them were — but she worried about him just as she worried about elliott. he was harder to track down, and her time was quite preoccupied these days. “ you look tired, maceon. “