#rose from ashes

[morganaux]

@rose-from-ashes (Continued from here!)

Heart skipping a beat as he heard footsteps approaching from the hallway, Morganaux closed his eyes, drawing in a slow breath as he tried to calm himself. There had been plenty of times when he had dealt with potential suitors on his rare visits home, but never had he been faced with such a serious arrangement before. He had tried to think nothing of it in the days that led up to this meeting. He had spent little time dwelling upon this mystery man and what his intentions might have been, planning to playfully dismiss him like all the others who had once tried to win his heart, but in that moment, he wasn't sure what he felt.

Before his visitor set foot into the sunroom, he did what he always did whenever his anger, his sorrow, his fears began to slip out from beneath the surface— and with a gentle fwoosh of aether, he wove a glamoured smile on his face. By the time ser Forgettable de Durendaire stepped into the doorway, Morganaux was the very picture of serenity, leisurely popping a macaron into his mouth as he looked the man over from head to toe.

"That would be me," he answered, gaze locking onto the bouquet the other held. Curiosity, light, and friendly intentions was the meaning the man had intended to convey, from the looks of it. Either that, or he had simply gotten lucky with the flowers he chose and just so happened to put together a somewhat thoughtful-sounding meaning with it. But then again, most of the men who brought him flowers without care for their meaning would have chosen the simple route of bringing red roses. The message that the bouquet conveyed was far too fitting to be a matter of coincidence, and the choice of flowers far too unique, and so, Morganaux supposed he would give this man a chance instead of outright dismissing him.

Eyelashes fluttering, he lifted up a hand to beckon the other over, though he made no move to make room for Emelian to sit beside him. There were many subtle ways he could judge a man's character before they revealed their true colors, and this would be one of a few tricks he had learned to test the waters. Would he be a gentleman and ask to sit with him, or would he push his skirt out of the way and make room? Or, Halone forbid, would he be oafish enough to sit down on his skirt, crushing his favorite petticoat in the process?

"'Tis a pleasure to finally meet you, Emelian," Morganaux greeted, reaching up to adjust the hairpin— a cluster of peach blossoms— that adorned his head. "It seems I might be in the presence of another fluent in the language of flowers. Tell me, what sort of flower am I wearing, and what meaning have you gathered from it?"

[vierandancer]

@rose-from-ashes | Y'shtola

“M'glad you’re all right.”

It was taking all of Meiko’s willpower not to outright apologize. If she had acted more quickly, she could have stopped Ranjit from attacking his own. From knocking the antidote for the Night’s Blessed from his hands and forcing Y'shtola to make a split-second decision that could have very well cost her her life.

It sort of had, actually. In a way. Meiko did not like being indebted to Emet-Selch, nor did she trust his dramatic monologues – but she could admit he had assisted them. And what mattered was that Y'shtola was back with them, safe and sound now in the Crystarium.

Safe and sound…for now.

“Not feelin’ too out o'sorts after your second trip to the Lifestream?”

She knew better than to overly dote on Y'shtola of all people, but Meiko wanted to let her know she cared. She had been far too intimidated by the Archon to properly communicate her admiration for her until that emotional revolution of hers, forced to fight Elidibus – “Zenos” – alone. She could only do her best now to bridge the gap. Or try.

[morganaux]

@rose-from-ashes

Rare were the times when the Troian court entertained guests from other lands, and even rarer were the times that Mephisto would be permitted to meet with them. Today would not be one of those elusive occasions that the prince had longed for, but even if the queen and her epopts forbade him from meeting with their visitor for fear that the matters they were to discuss were far too heavy for his young, innocent mind, he would find a way.

He would, for he was no child, and would no longer stand to be seen that way. If he were to one day rule this kingdom, he could no longer be ignorant to its affairs, no matter what anyone said otherwise.

It had only taken a simple sleeping spell— a little trick he had learned from a book he had stolen from one of his physickers a few months ago— to allow him a moment to slip away from his evening history lessons undetected. From there, all he needed to do was act natural and walk as though he was meant to wherever he was, and most importantly, pray that he would not cross paths with his dearest, doting mother.

Fate was on his side that day, it seemed, as Mephisto would arrive in the guest wing without incident, albeit with aching legs from traveling from one end of the castle to the other. Using his magicks to lull the guard stationed there to sleep just long enough for him to go about his business, the prince hastily poked his head into each of the guest rooms, looking for one that looked fit for a visiting royal to rest their head. And once he had found the room he was looking for, he closed the door behind him as quietly as he could, pointed ears giving a nervous twitch as he crawled under the bed.

And now, he would wait.

[the27percent]

@rose-from-ashes

[x]

"It has been some time. I apologize for being absent.. my travels, they tend to take up a lot of room for me." They offered a little bit of a slight smile towards him.

"I do hope that you have been managing well. I have.. thought about you in my time away. "

[morganaux]

⛓ From either Emet or Vukmir, if you want!

All Morganaux had wanted was some time to mourn— just enough time for him to come to terms with the truth that the man he longed for was gone, and to find some small way to even begin to atone for his role in it. This was, however, apparently too much for him to ask of the Count de Dzemael, who had so eagerly taken the opportunity to arrange for him a betrothal to the first High House nobleman who had sought his hand in marriage, all without his knowledge.

The arrangement was only meant to help him, his adoptive father had insisted. Instead of wasting away, locked in his room and weeping over a dead man, it was time for him to move on. The best cure for a broken heart was to be loved, after all. But more importantly, now that it became known that the High Houses' noble bloodlines were not as unique as they claimed them to be, it was now more necessary than ever for the them to band together and protect their right to remain at the top of the social ladder.

And so, the count had promised Morganaux's hand in marriage to a man of House Durendaire, whose name had quickly been forgotten after the first few times he had been told it. Morganaux wasn't too concerned with having forgotten it, though. If such an offense would be enough to make this Whoever de Durendaire call off their betrothal, then he would be glad to hear it, but something gave him a feeling that this suitor would not be so easily deterred.

He would find out soon enough, he supposed. This Durendaire fellow was due to arrive any moment for their first meeting, and though Morganaux was not happy about the arrangement, he had to admit he was at least curious to see how it would all unfold. Within the sunroom of the Dzemael Manor he would await his aspiring husband-to-be, lounging on a bench with his massive, heavily-petticoated skirt taking up all of the empty space on either side of him, and a tray of sweets just big enough for himself sitting upon his lap.