Edd's relationship with the truth was flexible at the best of times. These weren't them. First, the whole idea of sneaking in under the guise of a servant fell through because the tusky overlord man stewarded way too keenly for anyone to slip by. Probably for the best. Servants weren't meant to be seen or heard, and he quite liked the sound of his voice. Made him look better when the clothes struggled to keep up.

Thought about presenting as a Lord next, but Orland Maximiliano Tuel the Third had already been burned and owed the locals some money. No go on that front. Instead, he found a happy compromise in dressing down (in his mind, anyway) to the role of a well off merchant looking for capital investments in a newest...er...venture. And that was the gods' honest truth. There really was a venture – just not the one he'd be signing people up for.

„Deep lies the strength.“ He'd repeat to himself in the mirror as he powdered his cheeks in a most gaudy fashion. Because merchants weren't meant to be men of taste – only of pockets. Speaking of those, he hoped the attendants would be able to dig into theirs. That they indeed went deep and spewed out a bunch of coin. Hoped not to get caught. Being a venture capitalist was all the rage.

A venture capitulist on the other hand...well.

He had foregone his gloves today. Let them see his shearedoff digits. Had four different stories ready about how he lost the valiantly defending his caravan from ruin. And there was truth to that – mainly in the word lost. More gambling and bad debts than an invading horde of bandits. But, ya know, different strokes.

Wasn't sure how he got in so easily. But he'd take it. Whoever said that cons were all preparation had clearly never had a lucky streak. And it was time to mine it until the vein ran dry. Three wines deep and snacks most thoroughly enjoyed – he wasn't even attempting to hide his gluttony. Nor lust. The people were dressed like...oof.

Goddamit, Edd. Focus.

Proceeded to the next group of potential suckers...uhm...investors like he was the hottest thing in silk. And in his mind, he absolutely was.
 
Caelia had never before been invited to attend an event quite like this. Even when she had resided in Crown's Hold before going to Astenvale, she had never attended for she had always been too young... but she remembered words of an old crone that would snap a cane over her hands.

You are too strange to be seen, girl.

Old wounds, ones she knew better than to dwell on for too long. She had made an escape from that awful childhood. Had found new family and friends in the environment she called home.

She smiled, seemingly to herself should anyone catch a glimpse of her. That smile broadened the moment an attendant approached her with a full tray of dainty sweets and rich chocolates. "Oh! Please!" Fingers gingerly took the offered linen napkin, and picked two sweets with equal apprehension.

Caelia had been preparing for this eve for weeks. Where some ladies would primp and perhaps plan their gown and jewels, Caelia had put herself through an awful week without treating herself to poisons. Nearing four weeks without, she knew she would be safe enough to others around her that was unaware of his ability to ingest them with no dire consequence. How guilty she would be if she caused someone to become sick, or worse, to die from her curiosity and experiment with the Pursuits.

And yet, it was worth all the withdrawals and cravings. For the first time in years, Caelia was able to detect more scents and taste more flavours than the time poisons had dulled such senses. The chocolate was the first to grace her tongue, and that first cracking under her bite flowed gave away the soft strawberry filling. Her eyes, a mess of hazel, widened at the experience.

"God's Teeth! That is lovely!" She fussed to the attendant, a hand covering her mouth as she proclaimed quickly.

He looked back at her, a nervous smile unable to meet his eyes before he turned away and continued to supply sweets to the guests in attendance.
 
The doublet was green and just velvety enough to suggest wealth without implying forgery. Looked the type of man that would buy an orchard just to spite a neighbor. A satchel on his hip to pretend it contained most important papers. Many rings glinted his fingers, but only one of them was real.

Was about the fifth sentence on market volatility when faith presented herself. A most interesting gift wrapped in simple blue linen. And it was easy to let go of all the money plans when pulled by a more compelling investment. The dress didn't need to shout – hells, Edd would do it.

Simple and unadorned. It could only mean one thing. Old money. The kind that didn't have to peacock because the bloodline had already done the heavy lifting. Would've drooled at that had he not been busy with...other stuff. And he hated how much it worked for him. Well – noticed. Appreciated more like.

Auburn haired and freckled. Gods! Of course there were freckles. His mouth caught mid word about quarterly returns. Who gave a shit. He was going over there. Waved the others away like he needed a moment.

„Tits came to rob me.“ Shaking his head in silent prayer as he closed the distance. „Came to steal, and now I'm the mark. Some world.“

Kept explaining to himself how it wasn't lust. Just... tactical interest. Had ideas to boot. No finery cause she had loads of gold. Dress cut just so, concealed a dagger. If there was a perfume, he needed to smell it in case it was poison. All perfectly reasonable precautions. Made him feel like less of an idiot.

Tourmalets always said strength lies deep, but needed it to surface now.

„Miss! My apologies, but would you mind terribly if I told you you've made my evening?“ Made sure his downsized hand was in full view as he bowed. Had four good stories about its valiant loss. But for her, he'd think of a fifth. „Saw you and couldn't help but notice your dress.“ Don't look at the tits, Edd. Eye contact. „Either bold or brilliant. I'm hoping both.“ A braver man might've winked. Might've looked down too. Not this guy.

Smiled wide. Posture straight. Edd, terrified.
 
Brows furrowed as she turned, a smile of apprehension that perhaps she was not the one the man was speaking to, but soon that smile turned sheepish when in fact, it had been her he was addressing. So quick to flatter her, Caelia stumbled on her words past the nervous laughter she made out.

"My dress?" What constituted it to be bold, she did wonder... perhaps the colour? For blue always made to stand out against her hair... "It is no fine gown like the other ladies are donning."

She peered around, as if to send signs for help without speaking such words. After all, Caelia was not so rude. Just... too polite.
Still, the man graced her with utmost pleasantry, she was sure he truly belonged to attend such an event. There he stood, posture perfect, attire speaking of his means, and yet he spotted her in the plain linen dress.

Oh...

Hurt welled up, swallowed by a gulp of realisation. Caelia ceased the easy smile and settled for something that bordered on a dejected pout. "Sir, are you...?" Hesitations flowed with the beat of her heart, embarrassment colouring her cheeks to a pink hue as she took a step back.

Something stirred in her chest. It was both weightless and such a force, she wondered how she could breath under the circumstance.

"Are you mocking me?"
 
Some confidence drained from his face, but the light touch of makeup made up the difference. Never let them see you sweat. Ruined the con. No one trusted a man who couldn't trust himself. Wanted to mutter apologies, but that was not the way ahead. That was the coward's way. And it fit him like a glove. But as his mangled hand stood in testament, it wasn't a thing you always donned.

So he stood his ground despite the fear he felt. Because it wasn't him that was caught, not yet. It was her that weaved a web of her own insecurities. In a way, that played into his hand. Guilt was a beast he occasionally shared glances with, but it was yet to bite him.

„Wouldn't dream of it, my Lady.“ Pulled the cloth at his own shoulders for emphasis. Stuck chest out to make sure he looked bigger. „Look at all I had to do simply to fit the room.“ Best lies were always laced with bits of truth. And truth be told, he hadn't done half the preparation a more careful person would've. If he wanted to be careful, would've been selling shoes or somesuch by the marketlanes. Would've had all ten digits, straighter nose and a better jaw. Would've also died of boredom by year three.

„And yet there you are.“ Flared his arms wide, nearly tore a button off. Fuck, Edd. Careful. Smiled wide enough to show teeth. Narrow enough to hide the bottom right premolar that'd been bounced off some years back. You didn't want to owe fucking dwarves money.

„Room full of people dressed to impress.“ Arms scooped back the air. Nearly knocked down a guest. A misstep – but weren't the rich supposed to be narroweyed fuckers? What fingers he still had pressed together, pointing at her, „And you're the one to make an impression.“

„And here I am.“ Bowed again. Hoping to catch a glance of tit on his way down. „Laurent of Garthvine. But a moth to your flame.“ Hoped he wouldn't end up like one of those nightbugs. Fire was nice and all – living was better.

Had he overdone it? Hard to tell with them shyfolk.
 
Left the Ceaxi dagger buried deep in the man's ribs. Hands still wreathed in shadow, reached out to grab about noble chin. Felt the squish of soft fat through the wreathed darkness he wore about his hands like velvet gloves.

"Open wide," the killer whispered through his teeth. Grabbed the fat pink thing there in the cave of the dead man's mouth. Pulled it taught. Ran the knife easy. Till it went snikt. Pouched his bloodied prize, tied the pouch shut, and tucked it under deep blue servant robes.

Mark Cedric til Tourmalet off the list.

Add another tongue to offer up to the Mother.

He rose. Looked about the windowless study he had lured the target into, and moved to the door. Spied some pools of shadow just beyond. Could walk into those. But all the glitter and refraction off those damn stones wouldn't make it easy.

Slipped out into the party. Moved like a servant would. Head low. Eyes to the legs and feet of people. Steps too ushered on by the weight of rank and the need to do.
 
Lysanne’s soft gaze was nothing to him. The words, if one knew anything of how this lot operated, were a friendly remark just as much as a possible threat. Seen, perceived, memorized. And that was without them ever having had neither great fondness nor actual animosity betwixt them, more a professional cordiality and what distance that posed. What he’d chosen to keep, that more than an arm’s length, for function and his own sake.

He suffered to keep playing the pretense of nonchalance and unaffected cordiality regardless. Niceties, appearance, decorum. Though Klaus gave his thanks to the compliments in a bend of the knees and an inclination of body, a half-bow half-curtsy, Rainer managed but a tense nod. A stiff mask of a smile and the slightest keel of a head.

The same was given to Lady Shard’s decision as for the First Alchemist’s emergency change of attire. Silver, so be it.

“ Yes. Side room. “ Rainer echoed sourly to the Alchemist’s wearisome remarks. “ I’ll send for the Master of Wardrobes, he’ll sort you both— “
“ I’ve equal expertise around a Grand Closet. And the advantage of being already present— “ Klaus interrupted from sidelong, smiling pleasantly. “ Shouldn’t I— “

“ No. “ It fell absolute, the bright aglets and white linen at the slashes of the steward’s sleeves flashing with the movement as he turned and gestured a servant over. Paused, realizing he didn’t recognize the man he was about to give orders to. And he should’ve.

“ You— “ He started, staring with the intent of an empty noose and taking a step closer as judgement did towards whom it should’ve been all too eager to convict.

“ Who are you? “
 
Edd said:
And you're the one to make an impression.
Click to expand...

Caelia plastered on a smile that wilted upon her facade. "Oh, crickets." She mumbled, noting the overwhelm that was settling upon her as if crawling down from silk made web. The sensation made her shudder, and Caelia's arms went to cross over her chest as if she had caught a chill. "Well, Sir Laurent... of... thank you for your, uh, kind words."

A smile troubled, cheeks twitching from the intensity in which she tried to keep it up. Her arms did not leave her until he was upright again, and Caelia took the moment to peer around.

"Do you... often attend parties as grand as this?" She usually did not mind attention, but there had been something off about his attention upon her. Whether it was the shroud giving her instinct or perhaps a party such as this was better enjoyed with wine, either way, Caelia resorted to moving on the subject from herself. "I expect there would be a party twice or thrice a week that nobility and honoured guests would be invited to."

@Edd
 
Crickets? Strange word choice, that. Troubling thoughts caught him unprepared.

Had he picked a dud?

No no – far too early to make such hasty judgements. Still, it was never a good sign when girls crossed their arms at the undertit. Meant you fucked up. Problem being... he couldn't quite pinpoint the issue. Had he gone overboard with the flattery? Couldn't be. If someone schmoozed him like that, it could well make the sweat on his back flow upwards.

Stole another glance. Shit. Textbook undertit cross.

Why were people so difficult? Compliments were a dying art. But here he was hoping to turn necromancy to neck romance.

Like a warrior in battle, he shifted to a new stance. A novel approach. Took the mercy question and spun new webs.

„Attend?“ Arms spread before her in open surrender, remaining fingers flared. „Haunted them like a proper spirit back when I still had all of the little ones.“ Twitched the stumps at that.

„Not always this classy, mind you. Some fun, but you're lucky if you don't get stabbed on the way out.“ Quieter, confidential. „And not the good kind.“

Smiled, watching for any sign to guide him for the lands of undertit.
 
Lysanne tilted her chin at the boldness, violet eyes glittering with amusement rather than offence. The softest twitch of a smile curved her painted mouth, half approval, half intrigued. So he had teeth under that polished shell, did he?

“I daresay even your undershirt carries more style than some flaunts at here tonight." Her eyes flicked toward a man dressed in greens that reminded her of boiled spinach. The fabric screamed of wealth freshly acquired, new, bright, and eager to impress, not the quiet, patient confidence of true fortune. Every stitch was designed to draw attention, to announce that he had arrived, rather than that he belonged.

She allowed herself a small, imperceptible smile. Lysanne was about to insist on Klaus being allowed to help them with the dressing. “Bu-" her tone soft, coaxing. The voice deliberately honeyed to draw the steward’s patience thin, a tone she had honed since girlhood. That same tone that had procured toys, favors, and indulgences when she had wanted something very badly.

“Who are you?“ Rainer's voice cuts off her sharply, slicing through the moment like a drawn blade. Lysanne’s violet eyes slid to the unknown young man, a stranger among the familiar ranks of the household. Her eyes narrowed slightly as they flicked back to the Steward. How could he not recognize his own staff?!

Then a scream tore through the corridors, another servant had found something they shouldn’t have...
 
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Whoever you was. It wasn't Diaz.

Maybe some noble noticed him. Maybe it was the guard captain. Voice was still far enough. Command not hot enough. You could have been any number of bodies in the same deep blue livery.

Come the scream. The snap of attention come frozen to the sound.

His lips rippled. Pride and glee fighting against training and conditioning that had beat it into him. Hide.

But how could he? With teeth so sharp, spread wide like a knife across belly fat.

Didn't run though. Never run. Just keep walking. Toward the shadows. Down the corridor. Had places to be, and he would let them all worry about what caused the scream.
 
„Attend?“ Arms spread before her in open surrender, remaining fingers flared. „Haunted them like a proper spirit back when I still had all of the little ones.“ Twitched the stumps at that.

„Not always this classy, mind you. Some fun, but you're lucky if you don't get stabbed on the way out.“ Quieter, confidential. „And not the good kind.“

Caelia's lips pressed and skewed, her eyes landing on the hand that was missing details of few. "What happened there? Bit unusual for..." The Knight smiled, stopping herself from thinking out loud. No need to give Laurent of Garthvine anymore reason to dole out the flattery to suspicious quantitied. "Your hand, I mean." Caelia corrected.

She took that moment to peer around. Should she pretend someone was calling for her? Make eyes that relay she needed saving from her politeness of letting this man down lightly?

"Doesn't faze me, anyhow. Plenty of my brother and sisters in-arms have things missing from them." Politeness quirked a smile on her lips, her head turning back to face the... lord? Gentleman?

@Edd
 
A scream echoed out from some other room, whatever other pleasantries forgotten in the urgency of it.

The servant that the steward called after did not stop. The young man slipped away with sure step, blending into the calm parts of the crowd, nearer to the conversations that had not been cut short by the cry of dismay. He could have just been a server focused on the task, taking a drink to some impatient noble. Nothing about his gait or his dress gave him away.

But, his hair. Dark tressed crawled ragged around the boy's shoulders. The other servants had theirs tied back, combed and tidy for the party. It was an irregularity the Steward would not have tolerated. And there, a purple stain bleeding out from jacket pocket, one that could not be wine.

Merle started moving before he could think to give an explanation to his hosts. He barely squeezed out an 'excuse me' before he was chasing after the suspicious servant. All the damn people in the way kept him from being able to run properly. Merle wove and shoved his past everyone, trying to keep an eye on the odd servant and finding it difficult.

Thick velvet drapes stirred across a hidden doorway, recently disturbed. Merle parted through them, and was met with a draft of cold air. The vibrancy and music of the grand hall fell away to bare stone. He found himself in narrow, undecorated spaces. The passageways and backrooms that servants used to navigate unseen. And, no servants to be seen. The strange figure had disappeared, not even the sound of footsteps to be heard.

"Shit, where did he go," Merle breathed out. Could one thing not go simply in his life?

He'd brought things with him to test the new mineral with, later. It irked him to waste the supplies now, but he had a hunch that needed testing. Merle undid the buttons of his ruined jacket, and reached for a pouch in an inner pocket. Within was an irridescent dust* that shifted with all the moons' soft colors - blue, then yellow, hints of green. He poured some out on his palm. Then with a puff of red cheeks, blew the dust into the hallway.

It drifted in the air, aimless at first. A trail of misty purple caught some invisible current, and turned to reaching tendril. It curled to the right, round a corner and down a steep staircase. His hunch had been right.

Remnants of shroud swirled behind the 'servant'. Merle hesitated at the threshold of the stair, peering into the darkness. Apprehension caught up to him, and settled into the base of his spine.

He was really getting too old to go chasing after rogue weavers.

*Eightmoon powder was the fine, shimmering scales that shed from the wings of the Eightmoon Moth. First cultivated in Aetochi, the moths were brought mainland by ambitious Cazadores, who wanted them for their silk.
 
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