LASHER EURONYMOUS GRAU.

location & time: the surrounding area of the holy sanctum , 2:15 pm.

with: open to all !

NERISSA WAS, TRUTHFULLY, RATHER AMUSED BY THE SITUATION. of course, the worry on her sister's face had been an added bonus, but... while she was thrilled at jessamine's feathers getting a bit clipped, she'd hate for something to have happened to claire. of course, she didn't really think something had happened to her niece - what could ever happen in this peaceful little town, where false smiles were as common as bouts of spring rain? there was nothing out of the ordinary in this town of netherbridge, but...

but she was still a bit uneasy.

"so, do you think we're going to find dear claire lounging atop her bed, reading letters & novels? perhaps that's what this is. just a bouts of forgetfulness even if it is inconceivable for one to forget their wedding day." she snickered. though, who was she to say? she was never married - never even proposed to, not until she'd inherited the pembury estate.

"I still think one of us should've remained behind, in case they appear at the sanctum's doorstep. it would be really odious to find I've done all this trek for nothing. I can think of better ways to exercise both my health & my patience."

THE DREAD MOUNTING IN THAT CHAPEL is not dispelled by the peaceful, sunny glow of netherbridge's woodlands beyond it, but once parties are formed and a search is underway, lasher finds the one source of calm in the storm raging around him. nerissa. ever since their quiet declarations, the kiss they shared in shadow, he's thought of little else but her. though he's no fool and recognizes he's leaning heavily into distraction in order to avoid the parallels between this very event and the accursed one looming in the corridors of his past, he can't discredit the value of the one truly comforting presence in his world.

she falls into conversation with him easily, as if there has never been a pause in their interactions. no breath, no interval. that is her way — forcing the world to fall away except in the stretches to which she brings clarity and focus.

in the presence of netherbridge society, he is discreet, but his hand does find the small of her back. a brief, weighted caress, a grounding. a reminder that he is there to protect her and comfort her if needed. lasher admires her careful composure — she sails like a skiff over raging seas, untouched by chaos, and yet he wonders if there is more beneath the surface she keeps hidden. meanwhile, he knows his presence looms like a cluster of dark clouds gathering overhead.

"an optimistic take, but i think that's needed. this town seems to run away with its delusions." a mutter as he looks away from her to survey the others whispering around him. to comfort any fears she's left unvoiced, he adds: "i'm sure all is well with her." a lie he's told himself these many years when his haunted mind turns to the well-being of his estranged sister.

"i tasked a good number to stay back and receive them if they should turn up at the sanctum." a soft & playful smile chases away the intensity that usually claims his countenance. "surely, a captain would not remain in her cabin while her crew is lost at sea. sharp eyes and sharper minds are needed for they are in short supply."

yourefished

☆ﾟ*·ﾟTHERE WERE A few things that poppy knew her family didn't want her owning too much of, and one of those things were books. she spent far too much time entranced in books, and she knew that, but it was what kept her sane. but the thing was that the books she really enjoyed were ones that dealt in horror, spook, the occult, and things that little ladies should not be so incredibly be fascinated by.

when she ran to the ship, poppy was excited. she knew that if anyone would find the books she wanted, it was lasher. bouncing up and down with excitement, she clapped excitedly. "you found them all?" poppy asked, overly excited. "i wasn't sure some of them even existed! you're the absolute best!"

leaning over, she looked at the boxes, now incredibly curious about all of it. "so, wait, how did you even find all of it?"

#lasher.#threads: lasher & poppy.

THE MASTER OF SHIPS never admits it, but seeking out rare treasures like art or books is a favorite pastime. it requires tact, networking, and long months at sea. since arriving a few weeks ago from his recent conquest, the fruits of his labor have rolled up to dock at netherbridge, one by one. each vessel bursting with an array of cargo ranging from rare plants, food, herbs, relics, books, clothing, metals, furnishings. all hand picked by him, all lovingly sailed around the world to its final destination.

seeing lady crowley light up is an emollient to the broken parts of him. he doesn't show it, but it's an act of validation — that he has done something right and brought happiness to another's life, however slight the gesture.

❝ every single one, ❞ he assures, handing her the slip of his inventory which details her requests — each one checked off with varying colors of smudges and ink. ❝ i'm glad you approve. ❞ while he doesn't smile brightly, he nurtures a rare sense of reserved accomplishment rising in his chest. ❝ three continents worth of travel, ❞ he answers, not keen to give away all of his secrets. ❝ and a lot of letters. there's a vast network of booksellers out there, and i've come to know a few masters since diversifying our imports. ❞ not to mention takeshi's contacts — which are less savory in character but too good at tracking to keep off the payroll.

❝ interesting titles, ❞ he hedges, lifting an eyebrow, wondering if she'll expound on her interests.

IF SOMEONE HAD TOLD HER SHE'D BE MAKING GOO GOO EYES AT LASHER GRAU, SHE'D HAVE PROBABLY HUMMED IN APPRECIATION. this had proven to be quite the dance between them - she'd wondered if he'd recoil from it & found herself pleasantly surprised that he didn't. in fact, he had nearly cut of her circulation as his biceps locked around her arm, but you know what? she wouldn't have it any other way. this was a game she'd started & nerissa ravenswood was not the one to back down - not ever, not when the reward of it had been so tempting & delicious. if one had believed in the concept of soulmates - he would have undoubtedly been hers.

her smile widened.

"it's their loss. I can't blame them for having poor intellect, but I can blame them for not having common courtesy. as if any of it had been your fault to begin with. so what your sister fled? perhaps there was a reason to it - I wouldn't be caught dead to marry someone like my cousin, either. I don't know how peony does it." she snickered, recoiling at the very thought. but, he spoke again & she lightly shrugged, beaming up at his golden eyes, a wide smile on her supple lips. "why not? I speak ill of him all the time. of both of them. naturally, I have every right to do so - as a blood relative - but, I give you full right to ill talk of them to your heart's content." she understood his plight.& his sorrow.

"I don't really know why, to be entirely frank with you." nerissa gently spoke, ever so slightly pressing closer to him. she really couldn't pinpoint why. "I just... for all my life I had had an uncanny sentiment about them. I can't put my finger on it. I just feel something amiss - but perhaps it is due to my lack of bond with them. jessamine & I were never close, she was always much closer to nathaniel. & so he & I never had a real chance to connect. perhaps it is all just deeply rooted resentment over bonds broken before they even formed." she softly sighed, but then shook her head.

his touch had soothed her.

it was a silly notion - that a man's touch could calm her so. & yet it did - he did. nerissa's lips stretch wider in response, her own pale gaze dipping lower to the sharp curve of his jaw. the gaze lingered for a moment, before his words drew back her attention & she returned his rasp chuckle with a matching one of her own. that very sound from the pit of his throat could be her damnation - & her salvation. "mn, then shall we do that? sail into the night & never come back? I would very much like that, but I'd hate to leave the pembury estate to fall to ruin." though... if he asks it of her.

& there it was, as well.

the soft lean, the return of the touch - his slender fingers curling around her equally slender wrist. her own petite frame presses closer unto his. "just as I won't let any harm come to you in the upcoming days. I hope you know that."

LASHER HAS TO CONSIDER that his draw to nerissa ( whose name still lingers on his tongue, tasting of ripe blackberries ) has always been there. a wire running through the heart of the earth, charged by strange, unfounded electricity, threading them together without rhyme or reason. but why, now, has he found the courage to accept her touch, embrace & return it, as he has? now that he feels the texture of her skin, felt her breath stirring against his cheek, leaned into the curve of her body as it gathers up against his own — it is as if he's always known it. had there ever been a time they weren't this familiar? it feels more like a moment from a dream, suspended. perhaps it's just another nightmare that will throw him awake at the stroke of 3AM as his nightmares so often do. only this time, it won't be dread or fear or even the sting of rejection and alienation burning him alive from the inside out. it will be an ache. the pang of losing something, someone he never dared to want in waking life.

he must consider all of these things, most importantly: why.

❝ i suppose i was so young, i didn't know her heart well enough to understand the reasons why she left. if she hated him so much, i never saw evidence of it. in fact, i thought her ..happy. at the very least, she was pleased. but — ❞ he shakes his head, and the clawing shapes that begin to gather dissipate. lasher knows the truth is locked in his mind somewhere, shut away with the rest of him in the gray halls of his childhood, but he hasn't the courage to look at it. doesn't have the strength, perhaps, to bear the weight of it. to think she abandoned him, her dear brother, just to get away from her betrothed? no, it has never added up. she would never have done that to him.

there's a faint, hesitant smile on his lips, but it dies quickly.

❝ you're kind to allow me that, but it does me no good to hate anyone without real justification. i.. i don't want to be that kind of man. ❞ it feels odd to speak so candidly with anyone, especially about his feelings. ❝ i'll stick to avoiding him at all costs. it's enough for me to know you and i share similar feelings on the matter. ❞ his own comfort is no longer the motivator in avoiding the lord of ashford. these days, lasher feels as if he's sparing nathaniel from a brand of rage too savage for lasher to wield. a monster trapped within him, too barbarous to tame.

the lord of chauncey understands the concept — resentment for what never was. in fact, it resounds like the ring of a true blade being drawn. his eyes fall, and he feels himself go tense. all he can offer is a nod; the words of affirmation don't come, because he'd choke on them.

he likes the way she looks at him — studying the features of his face as if she admires what she sees. and not because of what he owns, not because he's a fearsome creature of darkness worthy of study, but because she finds him desirable as he is in this moment. shirked of mantle and status, lingering at the dim edge of a bright room. the corner of his lips raises, a smile begging to bloom. ❝ the thought of abandoning chauncey and netherbridge often crosses my mind at sea. having you with me, i might not have the conviction to return. but there's no reason we can't disappear for a time. it's not like the world will open up and swallow our family estates while we're gone. ❞ that part of him which calls to run doesn't really care if it did. but something keeps him tied here, even beyond his growing affection for the woman pressed near to him.

when she promises to protect him, lasher's lips part in surprise. he's never known anyone to make such a pledge to the likes of him, and he feels his heart shake loose of vine and granite that have held it fast so many years. if she means what she says, then...

his fingers lift to trace upwards along the line of her throat — such a slender, breakable thing — then curl under her chin. the pad of his thumb brushes along her jaw, gentle pressure tipping her head back. his lips are a hairsbreadth from hers, but he stops himself. ❝ nerissa, ❞ he warns lowly, wondering if she tastes as sweet as her name. ❝ if we cross this line, there is no coming back. ❞ the disclaimer a monster must give to the woman that ventures too near.

though he beckons with everything he has, he leaves her the choice.

telopeakeres

ARYA HAD JOINED THE OWNER - A LONGTIME FRIEND - ON THE DOCKS. he was busy with his import-export business, but more so since the upcoming wedding had required quite a few exotic things brought up from abroad. coming to stand beside him just as he was discussing the goods with the blackwood bride, the blonde promptly leaving with a satisfied look on her pretty, excited face. oh, to be young & in love & getting married. well, she was young, but the other two things on that list, the lady asher certainly wasn't.

"having jitters, don't they?" she glided over to where he stood, a petite smirk on her face. she was comfortable around lasher - more comfortable than ever around her own family ( well, what's left of it after the illness claimed them ). they had a shared wound of being the forgotten ones, a serrated tear that never seemed to heal, only festered & ached.

a foolish notion, really.

"so, what did little claire want? a three tiered cake? you know it will take me a full day to do it & the wedding is in two days time. did she say anything about the drinks? oh! are you getting her one of your delicious imported scotch? we need a few crates of those for the bar."

#lasher.#threads: mira & lasher.

AS THE BRIDE scampers off, lasher watches the behavior of his men; so long at sea, and so many with dodgy pasts, they often lost their heads & threw themselves ( or vulgar remarks ) at the first bright bloom that traversed their line of site. thankfully, today, they are on their best behavior; too tired from the ragged sea; too focused on the task at hand. when the sun sets, they will have their evenings to chase skirts, eat well, and drink themselves into a stupor — but until the wedding, his men are conscripted to ensure lasher's part in it goes off without a hitch.

to fumble now would mean further derision, and every day, lasher loses more of that sad, little boy cowering in netherbridge's cruel shadow. every day, his fangs grow sharper, his blood more acidic. every day, he is closer to mirroring back the abyss into which he was cast.

❝ they're easy enough to please, ❞ he answers when he realizes mira's presence materializing at his side. ❝ or would be if i could deliver the whole continent in one pretty, little parcel. ❞ of those in netherbridge, she and a few of those employed at the typhon remain his closest allies. extended family, much like those that work his ships. orphaned & excommunicated from society as he was at such a young age, lasher's circles are diverse, surprising. but moreso loyal and welcoming, despite the shadows that follow him.

❝ i've offered the contents of my stores to the families, and they've taken freely, ❞ he coils the remaining bit of a rope he carries into a spool and fastens it to his belt, some irritation obvious in his movements. ❝ whatever they want, give it, but within reason. ❞ amber eyes level on mira, brows heavy with sincerity. ❝ there's no sense in fulfilling outlandish requests to your detriment. they'll never forget it and only want more. i won't have you abused. ❞

NERISSA CRACKED A GRIN. excellent. it was a perfect picture in her mind - the two of them, staring down the rest of the party with their uncanny gazes & equally eerie smiles. she could be eerie. she could be a thing of nightmares if she had wished so. many a times she scared her sister off - of course, it had been a childish play, an attempt to truly befriend her sister. but, jessamine's growls had put a stop to such dreams & then she begun to terrify her if only to feel a connection - any connection - between them. she was too old for such silly games, but...

but there were other ways.

"you are hardly a beast, lasher." she spoke with a soft chuckle, her grip upon his arm slightly tightening to cement her words. when did she abandon all honorifics with him? she couldn't tell - but, calling him by his given name rather than a title or a surname had felt... natural. perhaps one of the more natural things in this god forsaken place. "I can find a handful of others who are more suited to the moniker. my dearest sister, for one, & our equally dear cousin. & that is merely scratching the surface." she clicked her tongue.

indeed - they were beasts.

nerissa couldn't really say why she disliked her blood relatives ( sans her nieces ) so much. they haven't really done anything to vouch her distrust & distaste, & yet... yet there was some foul feeling she could not shake off. but, as he accepted the wager, her grin grew & she had to restrain herself from squealing in joy. instead, she tipped her head back & let out an airy laugh, her grip ever so slightly tightening upon his arm.

she wondered if he even felt that from all the muscle he sported.

"ah, I wouldn't have it any other way, though I must warn you. I am quite used to sewing, so mending sails will be but a laughing matter to me. & if I can tie a cravat..." nerissa trailed off, her pale gaze like phantom fingers crawling over his neck, "I doubt a knot will be any more difficult. as for the men... you obviously never had lunch with my sister." she snickered, though she was serious - she would love to be taught by him. he seemed patient.

he'll need it with her. "I may be a snack, lash, but have I not just threatened to knee my cousin - a very intimidating cousin - in the groin? do you think I couldn't get through a random sailor, if I had wanted to? though, perhaps you are right. perhaps I ought to hire a body to keep me safe on my voyages." a mischievous glint lit up her eyes.

"do you know anyone who could... come to my aid?"

WHEN THE LADY had taken his arm, he had steeled himself instinctively — not knowing that touch could be something gentle or kind, not believing he desired the nearness of another. but the feel of her sylphic arm weaving like a vine around his own was alarmingly welcome to his senses. he found her touch to be like the warmth of a campfire when the rest of the world had gone dark and cold, and he all but leaned into it, pressing her forearm against his ribcage with a flex of his bicep — as if the branches and roots of her might coil around the bone and stay with him.

now, she laughs, spindly fingers accompanying her familiar use of his name as she tightens her grip on him. when was the last time he heard his name spoken by another? it had been so long that the syllables felt private, a secret all his own. his lips part in surprise to hear it unearthed, life breathed into a flag long dead on its pole. ❝ i don't think the rest of netherbridge shares your perception of me, ❞ he said lowly, a ragged swallow following. ❝ for whatever reason. ❞ it was not discomforting being so near her, but he found himself unsure how to respond. keeping her arm pinned against him felt the only natural way to communicate that he approved of her breach of propinquity, that he wanted her to remain there, however long she wanted.

mention of her cousin, however, has his jaw clenching. muscles rippling as if he's chewing at words he won't dare sound. ❝ i don't know your sister, and i shouldn't speak ill of your cousin, ❞ he admits, always grasping at justification for the turn of his stomach when the lord is mentioned or comes too near. ❝ it was my sister that spurned him, not the other way around. whatever derision i feel for him is simply wound up in her calamitous abandonment of us all. it's unfair, but i can't untangle it. ❞ he lifts a curious eyebrow, tilting his head to get a broader view of the comely planes of her face. ❝ what is it about them that you detest so? ❞ did she know more than he did about what happened thirty years ago? or was it just their natures that averted her?

his umber eyes follow the distracting line of her neck when she laughs, coveting the glimpse of taut, white flesh in a way a gentleman shouldn't. he's not unaccustomed to women flirting with him — even his wealth & affluence overshadow his reputation to some degree — but he's never felt inclined to return the sentiment, never taken time to commit to memory the way shadows gathered beneath a woman's collarbones, nor tuned in to the melody of her laughter. before he can remember himself, his opposite hand drapes over the top of her wrist, the one captive against him. a rough thumb caresses just beneath the hem of her sleeve.

❝ if you've mastered the cravat, a devil's knot will be short work for you. ❞ he chuckles, a low, gravelly sound rarely mustered. ❝ i need no more convincing — there's no soul more worthy of captaining one of my vessels. whether you bring your cousin to his knees or not, there's a place for you among my fleet; i'd be lucky to have such a capable captain under my command, nerissa. ❞ the thought of commanding her to do anything might be his undoing were he in lesser control of himself — but that control is nearly lost when she lifts her crystalline gaze up at him slowly. he feels the breath in him go quiet like a field just before battle.

he feels himself leaning closer, his fingers collapsing completely around her wrist. ❝ i would never let harm come to you, ❞ he says quietly, eyes searching her own for some proof that he's not a wandered into a trap.

#occultusstarter #lasher.

setting: netherbridge docks, noon status: open starter (2/2)

AN ENDLESS PROCESSION of crates are carried up from the belly of his largest ship, insurgence, promenaded down the docks and loaded into wagons, one after the other. lasher looms over the proceedings, barking orders where needed, pleading for his men to mind the precious cargo they tow. he cuts a rather menacing figurehead at the end of the dock, towering over those that pass before him like an obsidian obelisk. his arms are crossed over his chest, the dark leathers he wears a stark contrast to the pale blue of a perfect day, and to top it all off, an intense, serious glare ensnares his features.

his men are accustomed to him, however, and do not jump when his growling voice targets them. to those that know him well enough ( that number being limited, mainly, to the men that work his ships ), he is a gentle sort of beast, and the imperious stature is but a first layer to his true manner. every one of them takes home a generous salary, only working the hours they're contracted, and afforded benefits and leave whenever needed. they are lasher's family — or the closest thing he has to it.

he's tying off a heavy rope when he spots one of his patrons hailing him. delegating the direction of his men to his first mate, he makes his way down the dock to join them near the wagons.

❝ everything you ordered is accounted for, ❞ he promises, bowing his head in greeting as he takes his place at their side. ❝ we will unload and take inventory at my storehouse, make sure everything survived the trip, but i expect to be making deliveries in a day's time. ❞

WHAT WAS a ghost but a lost thing, unable to find its way back to it's purpose? netherbridge was full of ghosts - of people lost in their backward way of thinking, of menace & ill wishing, of the malocchio & whatever other occult practices that never die in small villages. their priest can try to bring this flock under god's watchful gaze, but the devils of the land run free here - if one knew where to look & what to be alert for, one could feel it in the air. she felt the menace of past times in the air, creeping ever closer as the wedding is coming to it's due date. horrors unimaginable, things that sleep in the dark buried beneath their feet & within their polished walls - but, the polish is hiding the cracks & netherbridge is filled with them.

with dust & cobwebs & rot that oozes from the pores.

still, her lips tug into a smile as the lord grau caved in - & quite effortlessly. small victories, indeed. "excellent." nerissa softly chuckled, pleased by the acceptance, before she lightly shrugged at the latter. "they are worse than ghosts. ghosts have a tragic quality about them - something melancholic & honest. these scavengers of netherbridge? they're no ghosts. they're rotten ghouls." she clicked her tongue. they were ghouls. wailing aimlessly while refusing to see their own malice & deeply rooted ill natures. of course, not all of netherbride's society was like that, but... the majority was. & she was saddened by the thought.

still, she returned his laugh with one of her own. "now I ought to do it. tell me -" she started with a mischievous glint in her eyes, "how many ships do you have in your fleet? I don't require your assets, the lord himself knows what I'm going to do with so much of it - but, I would quite like to be a captain of a ship. shall we put in a wager?" she asked, head cocked to the side. "if I knee my cousin to the groin for whichever slight that will undoubtedly leave his lips, you appoint me a captain of one of your ships. if I fail to do so... then... I shall give you three casts of the freshly imported amontillado. or another liquor of your choice, of course." she proposed.

however, her grin softened to a smile at the latter & she looped her arm through his.

"if it's any consolation, I am a reviled wench in my own right. perhaps it hasn't been three decades, but it has been at least two & a half. my sister was always the prized jewel of the ravenswood brood. I was less radiant & more bookish, yet not scheming enough to land a bore like the poor, late blackwood. I have a foul tongue they simply abhor. did you know my very own, dear mother once dubbed me as a menace to society? I still laugh over the matter. in fact - " rissa paused, leaning in with a conspiratorial grin, "I quite like being a menace."

& she did.

the opinion of others was of no consequence to her. why should she fret over what some random lord thought of her? let them wag their tongues - if they had any brain in their skulls, idle gossip wouldn't be the entire meaning to their measly lives. "there are worse things to hold a grudge over, lasher." nerissa softly spoke. "petty souls of this measly town are not one of those. why should I care about what they say? they detest me for refusing to marry a random boy from one of the families. I laugh at their littleness. those who consider idle chitter-chatter to be the height of their lives have zero impact on my. they are a foolish bunch." the lady of pembury clicked her tongue in distaste before flashing the pale haired lord another smile.

"I never rescind my invitations. especially not the ones I've extended to you."

WHATEVER DARK MAGIC lives in the bones of this town, it is intrinsically a part of lasher, too, for better or for worse. with leagues between him and his ocean-side estate, the tendrils of black that sprout from cursed ground still manage to break through mental barriers, twisting, rooting, anchoring, polluting. perhaps he cannot live without the vile ichor that persists here, while it constantly pulls him back with the gravity of a black hole. he simply bides his time, waiting for the event horizon, the one slowly rising at his peripheral in shades of malice and undoing. waiting to become or be obliterated, whatever comes first.

perhaps the rot of netherbridge is what keeps him alive. perhaps he was born from it and it is all he will ever be — a warped creature tainted by a bitter lifeforce. roped into a game he cannot win. condemned to watch himself play a role he did not choose.

how nerissa can beam up at him now when such festering thoughts plague him — is she drawn to the darkness? to the pent up rage rising like a beast from the floor of its cave, hackles rising, growl hungry and feral. maybe a beast is just what she needs. one to control, to puppet, to own. a pawn on her chessboard to move about as she pleases, to savage her enemies and lie at her feet. if so, would that make him a stray wolf tamed by a kind word? would that be such a terrible fate for one as unworthy as himself?

melancholic & honest. is that how she sees him? ❝ and there we'll be at the center of the ghoulish horde, a shrouded beast and a ..most singular lady. they might feast on our reputations, but they'll never be fulfilled by what they can't covet or understand. our alliance will puzzle them into madness. a suitable fate, i think. ❞ lasher feels himself coming undone — at least, the armor that encases him. it cracks and golden light beams through, and it is much like the warmth of the sun. fleeting, chased away by cold moons all too soon.

he reminds himself that he is the cold, celestial body in this equation, and like the moon, he only shines when the sun deigns to spare its light on the pale, empty surface of his reality.

❝ dozens, ❞ he answers, tilting his head to ponder her request as she weaves it enticingly, like lace, about the windows of the room, dressing the light with more complexity, with whimsy. he finds himself smiling at her proposal, amused by the prospect of the lady manning one of his beloved vessels across the sea. a woman captain was not an unheard of thing, but it required a decade of training, of hardship and weathered hands. of sunburns and sea burials, outrunning storms and fending off pirates. lasher could see her there, despite her current setting. she had the firebrand will and confident steel that was required.

❝ i'll accept your wager on the condition that you allow me to teach you what it takes to captain a ship first, if you should win. it's not all standing at the forward bow and delegating, though there is a great deal of that. a captain must be able to carry out the tasks of any able-bodied seaman under her command. that includes tying knots, mending sails, and rationing to hungry men — men to whom you would look like a meal. ❞ he extends his hand, calloused and scarred. ❝ if you choose to take that on, i don't see how i could lose in this bargain. ❞ for it means time spent with nerissa or a cellar stocked with the finest spirits.

he nods — of course, she would not rescind her offer. a captain never would.

NERISSA CHUCKLES at the words, amusement evident in the soft sound that leaves her lips pulling at the corners. what is sanity but a play of shadows - one shadow smiles, hiding the violence of the other's nature. what was sanity but playing by the rules while wishing one could simply paint the town red as judgment of others' sins? were they both not mad in that sense? "& what a shield you'll make. are you wearing black, or shall we add a splash of color on you? I'm wearing gold. perhaps a silver cravat would look dashing on you." she suggested, the grin on her soft pink painted lips widening. "you speak of your lack of sanity, but I can find a great many others with even less of it." anyone who dares judge others for things that are not their fault re the most mad of them all.

she can count almost the entirety of netherbridge to fall under that category.

nerissa's chuckle turned to a laugh. "that is exactly why I need your shield, lord grau. the horses in my family's tree's stables are anything but stable. I'd hate to deal with them on my own - lest they make me even more mad." both in madness & anger. there was a deep sated fury within her - one that had longed to mete out punishments, a god painted in gold & red - divinity of blood & wrath. those things she'd never dare speak of that haunt her in the watchful hours of the night. had she been made a deity, she'd be the one of judgment, of punishment. she felt the sins of others though she had not power of discerning them.

still, the corners of her lips twitch once more.

"the ghostlord & the spindly spinster. our neighbours are in for a treat. there ought to be something worse than that to divert their attention. perhaps the groom's attire will be wrinkled. nothing beats raggedy looks in terms of a great scandal. even our monikers cannot compare to it." she snickered.

nerissa's smile widened at his acceptance.

"excellent! we shall have fun, I promise." she softly said, but at the latter, her pale gaze softened, as did her smile, & landed upon the golden hue of his irises. "I'll shield you with my life, if you wish it. in my early youth I was well known to pack up a good punch. my fencing skills might be a little rusty, but a knee to the groin never falters." her family was right to consider her a menace to society. it was only after inheriting the ravenswood name did she start to behave - & even that was only a scheme.

& she did love a good scheme.

#threads: nerissa & lasher.#lasher.

A SHIELD is poetic enough a metaphor considering he's allowed the rumors and whispers which followed him since his youth to lay one, brick by brick, stone by stone, all around him. and so it is that nothing, not even the sea breeze or the sun's obliterating rays, can get through. even the fearsome form of his body is designed to deflect, to frighten and impose. he is the epitome of aversion — too cold to touch, too fearsome to behold. those closest to him rarely dare meet his gaze, and yet this woman laughs easily and smiles in his presence, begs his attendance at her side if only for his company.

in the moment, her radiance keeps the paranoia at bay. but later this evening, when the silence is a presence all its own, lasher will battle the blackthorn venom of his thoughts — to what purpose is she using him? what motive drives her? why is she not afraid? why does she pretend? it is that very venom in his blood that turned him into the beast he is today. the reason he chooses the open sea to the familiar halls his family's spirit haunts. something still draws him back, keeps him tethered here. maybe it's fear, or the need for vengeance, but he's never left it all to ruin, abandoned it all as his sister had. he can offer no answer to himself when he wonders why.

a look down at his dark leathers, more weathered & utilitarian than a lord should wear, and he realizes he owns no silver, and the finery in his wardrobes is all motheaten. while he doesn't care what netherbridge thinks of his attire, the seed is planted that she would like to see him in silver, and it will be done. ❝ i will not argue, ❞ but he's glad to hear she does not find soundness in their sick, little society. ❝ so often, i feel like i am the last man alive in this town, lost in a sea of empty vessels drifting aimlessly. and yet they call me 'ghost'. ❞ there is a dry chuckle, his voice low and gravelly. seldom used.

❝ we'll be impenetrable, ❞ he conspires, though it is obvious he rarely banters. like a newborn wolf cub testing weight on its paws before committing to a step.

a real laugh leaves him, then: ❝ if you strike a noble in the groin at the wedding reception, i'll hand over everything i own to you on a silver platter. it would be worth that, easily. ❞ and despite the golden grace of her smile, he wilts. ❝ i think we are paying them too much credit to think they have anything better to talk about than you and me, ❞ he admits, looking down into crystal tumbler she handed him. ❝ they've reviled me for thirty years. if you spend your evening at my side, their derision will find you. and i would never forgive them for that. ❞ the haunted nightmare in him might take shape and drape the world in its abyssal fog.

❝ last chance to rescind, lady nerissa. ❞ he isn't sure what her invitation means to her ( and he will surely spend the evening churning over the worst possibilities ), but to him, it means almost everything.

AS USUAL, his silvery presence was indeed brooding in the corner. though her words were merely a figure of speech, nerissa found them a bit too descriptive of the lord of chauncey, truly lingering in the shadows of her parlour. the lady of pembury rose from her seat, delicate fingers curling around the crystal decanter of an amber-golden liquid. the finest vintage of her family's brandy, inherited along with the hefty dowry, estate & every other perk that followed with the title. at least the ravenswoods weren't destitute. their import-export business thrived, even more under nerissa's careful scrutiny.

as if she'd let her venomous sister anywhere near it.

for all the liberty & solitude she had gotten from her parents as her sister's beauty bloomed & led her to a fortuitous marriage, at least the estate & family business fell upon the second ravenswood. plucking two crystal glasses, nerissa poured a hefty amount of amber liquid for both of them, gliding over to where her friend stood.

"are you really going to condemn me to endure the saccharine smiles of my demonic sister & other relatives on my own? for hours on end? something will give & I fear it just may be my sanity." she spoke in an airy, light tone, lips naturally pulling into a teasing grin.

"now that's absolute poppycock. I'll miss you, greatly. who am I going to idly gossip with during the ceremony?" she softly pouted, coming to stand at his side.

"that simply won't do. besides - they'll notice your absence like a sore thumb. the love-doves might not care, but the tongues will wag. if not for the rumors sake, then at least come for mine. I'm sure we'll find some amusement to keep us occupied." for one, she is intending to side-eye everyone in her vicinity.

starting with her blood relatives - minus the nieces, of course.

"I ought to be there, though I wish I had your liberty at declining invitations. this wedding doesn't sound like the social call I'm inclined to enjoy."

#threads: nerissa & lasher.#lasher.

AS SHE DRAWS herself to his side, coming to linger at the edge of the light where the great monster wades in the deep, his arms instinctively raise to clamp over his middle. a guard wall — come too close and the black sap this pariah oozes might taint you. she's like sunlight, though, her warmth dispelling all those comforting, swaddling layers of night-velvet that somehow gather like a mantle and flow from the nape of his neck. he imagines himself somehow different from what she might see — or rather, she doesn't care, and calls him 'friend'. self-preservation is set aside for the moment, and though he casts his eyes down, he also smiles faintly at her refusal to accept what everyone else so easily believes to be true.

❝ am i to be a shield for you, then? ❞ he asks, a scant playfulness in his tone more rare than salitter bubbling up from the earth. ❝ if you're relying on me to keep you sane, i — and i'm sure all of netherbridge would, too — find great fault with this plot. especially when dealing with relatives. i've not one with which i have to contend, and you have a veritable legion. ❞ the worst of which is a great devil of ashford, the sight of whom blackens his insides and splinters the valves of his heart until every ugly thing in him pours over.

❝ or are you hoping a ghostlord at your side might frighten them all away? ❞ the ridiculous moniker had done its work on his psyche as a young man, but now it is his own shield. a warning. he has, over time, become the ominous presence he was once rumored to be.

❝ poppycock? ❞ he echoes quietly, eyebrows raising in mild amusement. but the words — i'll miss you — fall around him like feathers. the suggestion of a caress he doesn't dare wish held the weight of truth. she's simply being kind; there's no more to it. ❝ for you, then, ❞ he concedes with a sigh, his defenses caving. even his arms lower to his sides, exposing his underbelly to a cleave.

there's fear in him — not of the lord of ashford, for that resonates more like hate. bile churning in his belly, bitter on his tongue. it's of the wedding itself, for the memories of his sister's follow him like carrion birds to rot. he had been excited for the day as a young boy, but even recalling those fragments of anticipation and happiness bring only a sense of dread. that single day holds so much gravitas, it's affected every day of his life since, but it shouldn't. it's not logical. ❝ i'll be your shield if you be mine, ❞ he offers, reaching to take the second glass she'd brought to his side.

location & time: the pembury estate. unspecified time of day.

with: open to everyone.

NERISSA had rather enjoyed the vibrancy of netherbridge - now that it had turned vibrant, that is. who thought it would take a wedding to get the sleepy little town back on its feet, giddy about the upcoming fete. she was most certainly amused by it - the noble estates at array, running around like hens in the presence of a fox, the lesser nobles & commoners all praying & beseeching for an invitation to the illustrious wedding.

oh, how fun!

she wasn't entirely sure how fun it was for her eldest niece, but claire seemed to have been content enough to accept it. then again, it wasn't like she didn't know her mother - nerissa's own sister was a bloody menace. all the more reason for rissa to spend an obnoxious amount of time with her nieces - if only to further pester her elder sister.

" I'll say. " the lady of pembury spoke, a cunning grin on her face. " this whole ordeal will bring netherbridge to it's knees, if they keep up with this much giddiness & mirth. not to mention the incense that will simply choke the living & the dead, once our dear priest starts with the ritual. though, I am told he is not of the rigorous kind. who knows. we truly may come to enjoy the festivity. " she paused, taking a sip of jasmine tea.

" what do you say? are you inclined to enjoy it, or will you brood in the corner?" nerissa teased.

THE CONSTANT THRUM of the wedding resounds like nails over raw granite. it isn't his place, to be stuck in the middle of this maelstrom, and the phalanx of grinning faces that surround him feel like a violent horde come to call. lasher had only come to ensure that the elaborate and exotic orders he'd ferried across the sea for the event were delivered without injury. his empire wouldn't suffer because he couldn't stand the effervescent mood that preceded a wedding.

but, gods. what a nightmare.

it is lady nerissa that keeps lasher there, relegated to a dim corner where nothing can get by his ochre gaze, where shadow seems to pool even in the brightest hours of the day. her presence does not make him recoil as her cousin's; in fact, he finds her enchanting. a white doe in the gloaming woods. a music box in a din of roaring voids. a shaft of sunlight cutting through the ocean deep. it is enough to be adjacent to her for a time — as if her golden nature provides some sort of supplement to his own, scorched and tattered as it is.

still, he does not know what to say to her, how to relate to her. she strangles the maudlin words he might spit at another to death which leaves him oft with passive sidelong glances or formless grunts to offer.

❝ hn, ❞ he begins, shifting his weight and lifting his eyes her expressive countenance. ❝ i've no plans to attend, ❞ he answers honestly. it will only further confirm his strangeness, his aversion to good society, but he's grown fond of the armor that distance provides him.

❝ i'm sure i won't be missed. ❞ he flexes his jaw, daring her to challenge the truth of his words. who would want the cursed, living figurehead of tragic marriage stories haunting the back pews and watching over their blessed joining?