dust, noise, a culture of excess

POSTED: Sat Jan 18, 2020 11:18 am

Set during The Call to Court.

227 words

With the mock-battle concluded, and the feast underway, Grievous did his best to enjoy himself. He was careful to be contentious of their hosts' limited wealth, though Salsola had brought its own supply of foodstuffs to help feed themselves. It was only proper, good manners. Besides, they had come in such number it would have been dreadfully rude to demand so much so soon. Undoubtedly, that would come later.

Though he did not gorge himself as he so often did at Salsola's Suppers, Grievous was comfortably full and keeping warm with a cider that he suspected had come from their cache. Heating the drink up had been a nice touch, and with things clearing up he was content to observe the goings-on of the gathering.

All of these people looked like a motley assortment. They had not been together long enough to properly assimilate, and figuring out the who's-who of the Caledonians was made easier by this. Grievous imagined this was just as true for their envoy. It's highest ranking members were not always the most well dressed. The King and Lord Reagent had made themselves known earlier, and Grievous often looked for them in the crowd. He cold see Iomair engaged with one of his subjects.

Grievous made the unfortunate mistake of meeting Athras' eyes and soon saw the dark-haired man make his way towards him.


masks beneath masks until suddenly
the bare bloodless skull
Salsola
The Equinest
User avatar
Mel
Luperci
supernova
the fire rises

POSTED: Fri Feb 14, 2020 5:09 pm

[465]

Nursing the contents of a second cup the Lord-Regent at last found a moment of respite. He had not withdrawn from the crowd so much as paused to observe it, the faces Caledonian and Salsolan set apart by the latter’s expressions of circumspection. He weighed them from person to person cataloguing faces for future reference and made guesses at the ranks and importance of each based on how they interacted with one another. It became something of a game for he was in a merry mood.

His belly was warmed by drink and better than average fair, his head pleasantly light. He could not risk another Casa di Cavalieri, as the New Caledonian town square was sadly bereft of a fountain on which to drape his addled, over-indulgent self. How his stomach churned at the thought. Never again.

Instead he occupied himself with a swirl of his cup, its bouquet sickly sweet in his nostrils, but nonetheless tempting. What thoughts he had he kept to himself, silently assessing all and everyone with too-bright eyes, an enigma in the throng, the “half-shadow” of House Eryn.

It was inevitable that his gaze would fall upon the Equinist, a towering glacier of a man with uncanny eyes that seemed to be looking at him from across the room. This was as good an opportunity as any and Athras seized it with interest, making his way across the room with practiced grace. The Lord-Regent moved like a cat, each step placed with the utmost care and yet he made it look effortless. It wasn’t necessary in a crowded room, his steps could not be heard over the din regardless and he had no reason for stealth, but he couldn’t seem to turn it off. The cloth of his newly tailored robe whispered behind him, designed for his height and build- it was opulent, if not quite as decorative as he would have liked. He closed the distance at last, keeping his cup angled away from himself so as to prevent it from splashing on the fabric on the off chance that an unpracticed dancer bumped into him. He simply had too few to spare.

“I imagine this is a sight more modest than you’re accustomed to.” He said, sidling up to the man, his front kept open to passers-by. “It would not be possible without your Queen’s exceedingly generous donations to our welfare, and I am personally grateful for her patronage.” ‘It was a shame she could not be here,’ was a sentiment felt rather than said. And for a moment, a brief suspended second in time, his gaze was mildly wistful. “How fare your charges? Have they settled in?” He referred to the horses the Salsolans had brought with them, creatures in excellent health and in satisfying colors.

New Caledonia
The Lord-Regent
User avatar
Stormie
Luperci Priest I, Diplomat I, Rogue I
you'll be mine

POSTED: Thu Feb 20, 2020 10:26 am

The Lord Regent (an auspicious title, Grievous thought) was very much the mouthpiece of this whole thing – he seemed like the sort of man who enjoyed spectacle. What else might one call that display from his fighters?

People would talk about it. They would remember this event, even if the lesser details slipped away. They might forget about the horrible weather and simple housing. Salsola would remember what it had given, of course. Grievous would remember each horse they left here. Given that this decision had fallen upon his shoulders, he felt the weight of it keenly.

The wolf made an effort not to look down upon the New Caledonian leader, finding interest in his clothing, his hands, even the ever-moving throng of people spread out before them.

I will let her know, Grievous said. Elphaba would get reports from every single member of the Faction, he thought. He spotted a familiar face in the crowd, but lost them a moment later. Given how many people are here, I would say this is a fair feast. As far as the horses go, they seemed to have taken to your pasture well enough. They aren't my charges anymore, he added a breath later, thinking the rogue might be testing him. So I suppose you'll need to ask your own Horsemaster, when you appoint one.

I saw your horse earlier, Grievous went on, hastily changing the subject. He's tall – he looks hot blooded. The Oriental characteristics in the stallion's face had been obvious to Grievous, who had several horses in his charge of similar make. They were flighty, spirited animals, fast, and more headstrong than something so small ought to be.


masks beneath masks until suddenly
the bare bloodless skull
Salsola
The Equinest
User avatar
Mel
Luperci
supernova
the fire rises

New Caledonia