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RP:Larket Quake Charity Benefit

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This is a Bard's Guild RP.


Part of the Larketian Fault Lines Arc


Concert Hall

A magnificent hall stands before you. Constructed of an elegant mahogany with tasteful gold trimmings, it is one of the marvels of Larket. Created a long time ago for the ruler of Larket and his court, it is now open to all who can afford the ticket price. Concerts usually play in the evening and are usually performed by grand orchestras. Sometimes however, more modern music is played, and the hall becomes a disco. The stage on which the orchestra performs is huge, necessary for the amount of musician in an orchestra. A large number of benches are set out on the floor with comfortable cushions on them. For those who really want to splash out, a number of balcony rooms are set into the rooms, heavy red curtains can be drawn around the box for a little more privacy, and the seats are luxuriously comfortable. The only way out is to the south.


Artia | Entering the Concert Hall, you move through a hall with silk draping along the ceiling down to the ground being fanned out. Lying inside the drapes are pieces of glowing stones, giving off a soft glimmer of light just enough to see. If wearing anything that reflects, you would look like you have tiny stars upon you. The gold trimming freshly polished, being one of the many marvels of Larket. Here before you can move further is where the entry fee’s are collected, each person name wrote down to be further thanked after the ball by a thank you card. By now can hear the soft playing of a small orchestra upon the stage to welcome those that are kind enough to attend to the benefit ball. Standing at the entrance into the Concert hall you will see Artia on one side and Brennia on the other. The Apothecary has her hair style in an up-do, with a braid over her crown, inside the braid rest lavender blossoms giving the smell of lavender for her tonight. So application of lip balm, giving her ruby plump lips a softer look, eye liner at her eyes to aid the cyan blue to pop out more. A mint green lace color about her neck, dangling from it is a rainbow moonstone, complementing the key-hole neck line. The dress is long, reaching to the floor in the back, in the front stopping at her ankles to show her crystalline heels making her a five foot nine for the evening. Forming fitting sleeves that open up at the wrist with wide lacey wrist holes, the dress is stitched in a way to compliment all her lady-like curves. The skirt gets less narrow the further down her form, glistening tiny purple gems, capturing any light making it sparkle. Back of the dress, open with a large trilobite embroidered covering the whole back in purple thread to show the brand of the gown, Kreekitika fashion. The green colors are pale, almost mint green but rather more a saturated green. The two females greeting everyone, with smiles, “Welcome.” Then told where they can place bids, or sign up, a limit of four females and four males. Artia had already volunteered herself on the sheet. The normally rows of benches have been replaced with tables, that surround a dance floor. Some of said rows are against the wall, for those too shy to sit in the open. Rests of the rows are placed in storage in the back, with care. The balconies upon the walls have been turned into galleries, painting of Larket and many sights that can be found in Larket, candles are lit here to show the paintings in perfect light. In the center back, remains a table where people can sign up to volunteer to help Larket. Beside that table stand four Larket humans, ready to let you sign up, and place a bid. Each person tells you, the gold will be collected from the winner once announced. If you do not win, the gold is returned or option to donate.


Brennia stands at the entrance opposite Artia giving warm welcomes, "And Merry Meet to you!"'s to the charitable guests with her hair pulled up into an elegant up-do, exposing those elongated pointed ears. Brennia is adorning a dress from the Kreekitaka's Collection. This piece is in the fashion of a waterfall dress with a deep v cut in the back, purposeful for her large onyx wings, and the silver color of it pops against her dark skin. The array of black polka dots upon it varies in size and orientation along the cascading ripples down the floor length dress, even more so on the part where it ombres to a more blush color of red. A mossy green shawl drapes over the arches of her wings with peep-toe stilettos to match and upon a closer inspection one could spot in a dot, the silver stitching of the famous trilobite symbol. The heels add to her natural six two height and she is able to help corral the crowd in and determine how well their charity benefit is going to turn out, the more heads those big blue eyes spot the more nervous is becoming internally. That ever present bright smile will never show it though and other than her height and her expansive tattoos, her regal posture demands attention. Once all of the donations are secure she would saunter over and take Artia's hand in her own so she may escort her to the stage in order to get the benefit off to a good start with a word from the hostess. While Artia conducts the formal introductions Brennia sets herself up at the table where she may assist benefactors to invite them over and place their bid on the Silent Stag Action.


Raphaline arrives with little fanfare in a strapless dress with no shoulders and an open back, covered only by a translucent purple fabric. With a sweet heart neck line, detailed in purple thread. The bottom is a wide, detail affair with layers of that translucent fabric on top of it to help fluff, so the dress isn't just straight. The whole dress is a deep royal purple. Embroidered along the skirt are organic squiggly circles emulating the texture of coral in a softly-glowing pink thread. The front of the top has its fabric folded and shaped artistically to form that ever present trilobite logo, though it's a three-dimensional folded shape. She is quick to greet the hostesses at the door with a simple nod of the head before making her way in and eyeing both the spread of drinks and food but also the auction table. She sweeps past, eyeing the table and the names, a grin spreading across her lips as she sees the name and places money on the table and says, “Hello Brennia.”

Sabrina arrived in elvish dress; the flowing black cloth is accompanied by strategically placed silver-chain lacing that hides most of her scars, and is floor length with slits on both sides. Her hair is up, intricate braids twist the unusually long tresses to the front of her form, proving she was not comfortable being seen in formal wear, but the charity event was noted to be black tie. Elbow length gloves cover her enough, considering her strength had waned during the events of the past week. For the second time in as many years she elects to wear makeup, though part of the reason is to camouflage a deep cut on her right cheek and take away from the sight of a foggy and blinded right eye. Her hair is adjusted again, pulling as much of it forward as she avoids eye contact with anyone in the crowd. She passes by with her entry fee, which is no more than a jingle of keys tossed and her head tipping back to a stack of crates that were left outside. Brennia is a familiar face, though they did not have a great first encounter, and she is offered a formal bow as the Healer passes through with the crowd of people. It was a rare opportunity to be in a state such as this, where mingling with the people did not put her on edge. She happens across the table with the Larketian volunteers and scribbles a bid on the sheet of parchment before turning it in to the tall tattooed woman who had taken a place at the end of the greeting tunnel.


Alan walks in through the front. After making it past the decorations and through the entrance he is surprised by the amount of people that have showed up for a party that he wasn't quite sure he himself would attend. Standing near the entrance he spotted Brennia and next to her was Artia. At least there would be two people here that he knew. After making his way through the bustling crowd he also saw Sabrina. Ok so that's three people I recognized. Carrying a box of goods as a gift over to Brennia, Alan kind of stumbles over his own feet when he sees her and what she's wearing. She looked a lot different than the last time they met. She didn't look the worrier he met much more laid back and casual. She looked beautiful. " Uh hi Brennia, thank you for the invite. I brought you some stuff. It's not much but I hope you like it." Making his way past he stopped and made some small talk with Artia as well. How could not stop and talk to a newest friend. She then pointed him to the table so sign up for the Silent Stag auction. Not quite sure how he talked into it he walks over and puts his name down. This was going to be a long night.


Chekhu isn't dressed for a typical ball. In fact, the foxkin is only here because of her innate curiosity. She saw a lot of people, heard a lot of noise, and decided to investigate. Her only concession to fashion is that she is far less rumpled-looking than usual. Leather breeches, some sort of cotton blouse, and utilitarian leather boots on her feet are the extent of her accoutrements. Her hair, though, is up in a fiery red ponytail, a condition it seems bound and determined to remedy; errant strands frizz out from it, and more seem to escape all the time. The little woman's head bobs restlessly as she sniffs the air, letting the crowd carry her along into the concert hall. She has never been here before, and all the people in fancy dress put her immediately on edge. Even when rising up on the balls of her feet, the little foxkin comes up short of five feet, and she feels decidedly outmatched. Perhaps a hasty retreat is in order.

Valen would enter the venue with a smile on his face, looking none too worse for wear after enough blood from his victory at the charity brawl, though as far as his face goes....this was a ruse. His Vampiric healing had taken precedence over everything, but his face. So it was that he would have skillfully, and with ingenuity, a rune underneath the back of his hair, to make his face look as it had been....an illusion if you will. Entering with arm linked with his date, a smile on his face, hair pulled back, nails perfectly manicured and painted to match his dress, they would enter. The dress is long and flowing. Its color moves in constant ripples like the waves of the ocean, with a deep red being the “valleys” between the waves and a bright ice blue being the “peaks”, and along the “slopes” of the waves the colors blend along the spectrum like a rainbow. The ripples move upward along the surface of the fabric, starting all the way down at the base and moving slowly all the way up to the neck. As light passes over the dress, it highlights a scene—a deep ocean reef with all types of coral, various fish and other creatures, one shark lurking somewhere near the top, and a trilobite on the hip, all embroidered in near-invisible silver thread which can only be seen in direct light. The dress has no shoulders or sleeves, but does cover the chest completely. Tight around the hips and waist, a little more relaxed towards the top. It isn’t backless, but the fabric running up the back is transparent. Attached to the back is an iridescent dorsal fin—not wings, as Kree had considered, but something to fit more with the oceanic theme of the dress’s changing colors. And not the aggressive fin of a shark, but the graceful fins of an angelfish. The dress comes with bracelets which attach to a pair of long, drooping loops of fabric which grow more transparent the closer it gets to the ends, to simulate the long, thin pectoral fins of the same animal. As he entered with York, that wonderful halfling at his side, he truly felt like the luckiest one at the ball. Face beaming, eyes shining an effervescent Emerald Green, he would lean in and kiss the side of his cheek before leading him to Brennia with a soft nod of his head. "Lady Brennia...It is so good to see you!" A kiss to both of her cheeks, as was custom of nobility, would be given. "You look absolutely -ravishing-." Then to Artia, the same type of greeting would be given before winking "And you my dear look absolutely stunning!" Finally, once York had a chance to introduce himself to each one, the Vampire would allow the male to take point, and lead them both to where he would like them to sit. Nothing else mattered this night, and his heart felt full of grace and thanks as he saw all that was being done for his city, and for it's people. Being Larketian, he had been told that he did not owe anything, but that did not mean he could not cover his date. Students from the Academy would start bringing in cloths with healing runes stitched in them, and begin to place them crate after crate (small ones) where the other donations were being placed.

Eirik 's lethargic stride is hindered, marred by a limp which might announce the wound on his right thigh. Though it is no longer a medical problem, it was still giving him trouble. The Northman's violent silver swirled eyes dart from one person to the next, he didn't think it would turn out like this. He moves with the practiced patience of a warrior, and only the scar upon his now shaven face, would be an instant announcement to his background. For once, Eirik dressed up but soon realized that even his choice still made him feel underdressed. For he only wore a white dress shirt, sleeves rolled up to the middle of his forearm, and that silly little black tie. Black dress boots covered his feet and black formal dress pants adorned his legs. Gods, he never had to do this back home, so why now? Upon both hands sit rings of his past, one is a rune inscribed thing, the other looked to be one of the simple silver variety. "Evening," the scarred individual states making his way past Artia and Brennia where he would find a spot in the distance to watch the nights events unfold.

Chisel l feels naked. It is rare for her to actually wear clothes. Normally she walks around wearing silk made from fine plant fibers that she herself have created as if it was the protective petals around a flower. Slightly annoyed. But is it because of the lack of clothes? Or maybe because she could never craft such beauty. She can transform her plant fibers into any silk, shape and form she desires but never she had the talent to create such beautiful gown, sleeveless dress with a form-fitting top, One shoulder has a lacy frill which extends out just a little while the other is shoulderless. The skirt is long and billowy and comes down to almost the floor, wide and loose at the bottom. A dark red dress, but it has narrow white stripes running in spirals down the length of the top, becoming straight vertical bands down along the bottom of the dress. Stitched in flowering, flowing designs in threads of golden light are vine-like patterns that seem to grow organically all over the dress. Each leaf is an intricately-crafted trilobite. It is gorgeous. She tries not to appear impressed by it. Why was I in this mess again? Oh right, I live here. Great. Shaking her head a little. At least she appeared for all to see, she doubts anyone is happy to see her though. Her 'exploits' are quite known. The Murderous Doll of Larket. Even if she wanted to her powers are currently limited right now, even with her lantern she doubts she'll be able to harm anyone today. She tore off her last arm the other day, gave it to someone for replication and upgrade, right now she is using vines, coiled upon itself to mimic human muscles then finally to a shape of an arm and coated with enough layers of silk till it appear human like. She wildly prefers her marionette arms, though right now it might be the best as she currently doesn't have doll joints which works perfectly with the sleeveless gown.

Lionel is representing Frostmaw and Queen Hildegarde tonight, which means seven carriages worth of provisions trail his horse a hundred leagues, down the mountainside, through the country, clear across forest trails, and into the city of his former enemies. Accompanying him tonight are several soldiers of the crown, although none wield weaponry beyond the piecemeal ornamental thin daggers visible at their hips -- decorations, really, but after the wedding one can never be too sure. Somewhere in this hubbub, Rorin is also here, although if asked, Lionel could not say quite where. There’s so much ruckus when a Frostmawian convoy pulls into town, especially a town like this one, and besides, they’ve needed to stop to fetch Alvina along the way. Of Lionel himself, there is not so much need to detail attire: it’s a regal red dress uniform, emblazoned with the symbols of Frostmaw, and a silvery vambrace is braced around his left arm to designate his position as Knight-Commander. Scarlet-tipped golden shoes accentuate the style his aides have made for him; Lionel would never spent time on such matters if left to his own devices. As the caravan unloads its riches of furs and silks and gems and silvers and umpteen foodstuffs, Lionel is greeted at the gate, and he exchanges pleasantries as best he can. Thanks are given where thanks are due, and he overhears something-or-other about an auction and dates and all manner of nonsense, but it’s in one ear and out the other. Lionel O’Connor is the Hero of Hellfire, not some opera floozy, and it is for this willful ignorance that he is left wholly unaware that not only will he be unable to simply deposit a proverbial blank check in Frostmaw’s honor, but someone has in fact entered his name into the bidding. Nearby, a soldier grins, proud that he has done his superior officer a fine service by submitting Lionel’s name without express permission. Oh, sweet summer child.

Kreekitaka wasn't in a coma. Miraculously, the parachute he'd transformed his kilt into mid-flight had slowed him down enough to make his impact with the ground slightly less fatal than it otherwise might have been. Still--he was a bad sight. Held together mostly with strips of adhesive, legs shattered into unrecognizable, twisted shapes, the crab was unable to hold himself upright--or even support the weight of his water tanks. Instead, ignoring the advice from his doctors, he'd ordered a Contraption built. Said contraption was a large transparent box, full of water, with various medical devices built into seashells hooked onto the edge. The texture was like that of hardened leather, yet it was still able to be seen through like glass. The box was anchored in place atop a squat, armored dinosaur with rather nasty-looking spikes all around its edges--an edmontonia, for those who knew such names. The creature had reins which were fed into the tank via pulleys and axles, and Kree was able to steer with small movements from his tentacles. He didn't look like he was going to be much help to anyone today, but he'd said he was going to be here so he was going to freaking be here, dang it. To help clear the way for the beast, and to make sure it was guided into a nice safe corner, and to make sure nobody got any ideas just because the King of Crabs wasn't quite in one piece, two large uyeer guards accompanied the dinosaur, each wearing additional armor over their exoskeletons. Their claws would have to suffice for weapons at this event, but they were going to keep their leader safe, dang it. Kreekitaka gazed absently over the crowd as he situated himself into a back corner, watching everyone with a strange feeling of detachment--he'd had so little to do with this particular event, and yet it was also somehow featuring his brand so heavily. There was a bit of pride here, as well--that which he'd created had now transcended him.

Valrae arrived late and a little frantic. She was supposed to be going with Valen but had forgotten to send a reply in time so she was alone. Her simple gown was clinging raw silk and because of the clever lighting the material sparkled like sunlight on water. The neck line sloped just under her collar bones, was cut artfully at the small of her back, and draped from her tanned shoulders. A slight flare started at the knee and flowed down fluidly to the floor. From below her shoulders the dress started the lightest shade of sea foam, darkening steadily in vibrant tones of blue-green all the way to the floor. The long sleeves were accented with shimmering pearl beading that curled halfway to her elbows. Her mossy eyes were lined with kohl and her lips stained red. Her honey and wheat hair was pinned delicately on one side, the other free and tumbling in careless waves over her shoulder to curl at the small of her waist. Crystals, shining clear quartz, dangled from her ears and neck on sparkling silver chains. The box she carried, heavy with non perishable food and a few other essentials she could spare, was bulky and she struggled with carrying it. A corner snagged on one of the pearls of her dress and as she tried to carefully maneuver herself free, while not dropping it, her dangling earring somehow managed to get caught between shifting supplies. There was cursing and a few pained squeals as one of the staff attempted to help her free. When she was finally released her pride was a little worse for the wear but her dress and ear was fine. The witch brushed at invisible dirt and introduced herself to Brennia, her traditional greeting making her heart sick over a missing Irenic, and then to Artia. After she said her hellos and thankyous she moved into the venue and searched for a drink, familiar face, and peruse the bidding options. In that order.

Kaori arrives at the concert hall absent of her armor and all weapons, dressed quite differently for a night like this. The young woman's hair is neatly banded up and she wears a one-piece red dress similar to a traditional qipao, form-fitting but only tastefully accentuating what curves she does possess. Giving a pleasant smile to the two unfamiliar ladies at the front, Kaori opens a coin purse at her side and reveals a decent sum of gold coins: these serve as her entry fee as a donation to those affected by the calamity that has taken Larket. Stepping inside the hall, Kaori finds most of the individuals inside quite foreign save for for Lionel and Sabrina. Both are given a bow of her head in greeting, the young woman quite relieved that the healer seems to have recovered well enough. She can't see any of Sabrina's wounds for the makeup and all, of course.

York arrived at Valen’s side, arm linked with the vampire’s. Compared to his date, the half-elf’s attire was far more plain, as a simple black tuxedo with an emerald-green waistcoat, cufflinks simple silver. His black hair wasn’t pulled back, but had been somewhat tamed. Overall, the look was elegant and classic, but York exuded discomfort, clearly unused to being in a place like this, surrounded by strangers and completely unsure what to do. But, at least he knew Valen, he thought with a glance to the man at his side, a bit comforted beautiful vampire’s presence. For the time, he simply followed Valen’s lead as they made their way in. Clearly uncertain how to greet the two women- should he do the same as Valen? That seemed a bit of a familiar way to greet strangers- he bowed slightly at the waist, stating a bit awkwardly that it was a pleasure to meet them both. He hated not being able to provide the entry fee himself and figured that, once he had the means, he would find a way to give back at a later time. At Valen’s prompting, he would lead them away to a table. Once there, he would turn to Valen and quietly ask “Was that alright?”

Rorin admired the drapery, the lighting, the- considerate- entry fee, and all the music and wonder of the ball. It was truly astounding for it gave him the not so subtle impression these people knew how to throw a party. The nearly 17 year old male wore something reminiscent of his wedding attire whereupon he had donned a dark eye mask with silver trim, as if he had been invited to a masquerade. His hair had been parted from the bangs up with the back tied into a short tail, though the light sparkled blue into his black locks. Grey eyes looked in wonderment from behind the mask, reflecting the grandeur, while he waved there and shook a hand here. The holy pilgrim was nigh unrecognizable to those who had known him only in armor though perhaps they who had attended the wedding would have a spark of memory culled from before the disaster swept. His torso bore an entirely black waistcoat, white vest, and strikingly blue doublet, with matching black slacks and shoes. Around his neck in bolo fashion the symbol of Arkhen hung while on his lapel several pins and badges were fashioned denoting him someone of military rank and high file within it indeed the ceremonial sword of Frostmaw Blue Steel agreed to such assumptions. A silver pocket chain on his slacks bore a token in which set a single blue-gray tinted diamond, an odd accessory the meaning of which was unknown. Rorin had signed the entry sheet, the sheet at the back of the room denoting a very peculiar addition to the donations, then spotted a third and fourth sheet, both of which he signed without looking. What exactly he was signing he wasn't sure but it all sounded well and good, and as he gave another couple of handshakes, his own hands in black gloves with silver trim, often followed by a polite half saying or schism of slangs, before finally he would grab a bit to eat and find a seat. Everything seemed to be going rather well. Lionel had cleared Rorins schedule for the surrounding few days of this event and had even taken care to teach a rather embarrassed Rorin how to dance. Why of course everyone seemed to insist on him going at least it was a nice night and a very swell looking ball. He just hoped to be found by someone he knew quickly so he wouldn't have to sit here by himself for the next couple of hours then find a way home. With no time to ask Raphaline and everyone insisting he come, Rorin went in stag, not certain what anyone's time of arrival was, and feeling rather frustrated at the chaotic nature of things right now. He had a lot on his mind but perhaps these very swell looking bottles could lighten him up. Maybe.

Alvina has the look of a rushed woman. Following an unusually terrible fight with Hudson, she's wearing her fashion show outfit because well...there just wasn't time to find anything else. The dress is at knee length, with a more casual stitch, not fitting tight nor does it hide the hourglass shape . Also, to help give more of a distinction between the top and bottom part the outfit boosts a belt made from brown leather with a trilobite buckle, the belt made from dark brown leather. The dress glows, pulsating between a golden light and the blue dots that cover it, each fading on and off in tandem, in waves down the length of the dress. It is mesmerizing to watch for some. Her hair is a loose set of curls to hide her back, just in the case the dress was tempted to show off the scarring along her left shoulder blade. The Knight-Commander has been so kind as to pick her up along the way to the ball, and she's struggling when her matching high heels once they arrive and are expected to deposit themselves into the growing crowd to separate among them. Alvina notices Valen first, that beautiful dress (clearly a Kree original) drawing many glances of the women around them. She stops to greet Lady Artia, Lady Brennia, Valen in his marvelous outfit and his date to be polite, though she'd never met this York fellow before. Kreekitaka will also get a passing "Hello, you look stunning as always." She'll kiss Emilia cheek gratefully if she can reach the woman responsible for bringing her children into this world and all others will receive a happy 'Good evening, oh no I'm so sorry Hudson couldn't make it. Last minute babysitters are impossible, I'll tell him you asked about him of course.' It's only now that Alvina realizes that Lionel is up for auction and he has not a clue about it yet. With a chuckle, she takes her place in the crowd, speaking with various guests until the festivities begin in full swing. She does not see Valrae at the present time and flows through the conversations ignorant and blissful.

Reinhardt Deveruex enters the concert hall among a small band of knights, all of whom are armed and at the ready. These men are extra security, a buff to those guards already present, but also a silent guarantee that tonight shall not end up like the charity brawl just a day prior. As for the Larketian nobleman, he is garbed in quite the attire. A sand colored three-piece suit, with two buttons on the jacket, though only one is done up. A charcoal grey tie is offset by the white button-up shirt underneath. His belt matches the tie, and sports metallic rivets that have a silver sheen along its length, with a buckle in the shape of the well-known trilobite, with matching cufflinks. His trousers have been modified to a bit longer length that the previous ankle high, to allow for a bit of extra fabric to rest atop his tan sharkskin loafers. His own additions to this attire, which was gifted by the creature he now knows as Kreekitaka, is of course is sword belt, an ever-present accessory, as well as a ring on his right hand, which bares the mark of the Deveruex sigil. His hair, a deep raven black, is slicked back in a neat fashion. The sides of his head seem shaved, while the top has grown out to a medium length that is kept smooth by a natural paste, which also adds a bit of shine to it. His beard has been trimmed to be a neat and closer length, runs up to connect flawlessly to his hair, faded well in by expert hands. It seems the man isn’t a stranger to fashion, having grown up a noble after all. Looking about, he exchanges greetings with other nobles, as well as locals who know him well, before he’d give a few orders to the knights to keep guard and be ready for anything. Here, the Larketian knight wanders off to face the growing mob of upper class types, the likes of which he has always dreaded dealing with, but has always run into during every stage of his life.


Emilia was the most prim and proper in this moment for this event than she had ever been before, Sabrina would be so proud of the icicle. The small woman accompanied the tall white-angelic winged avian, Thamalys to this community event. Tonight the Genasi wore a fitted in the chest and free flowing from waist down to just past her toes dark blue ombre to light blue gown that shimmered with the traces of spider silk woven into the fabric, a gift from her closest friend for the evening. Long white curls tamed back into a series of elegant elven braids, even such work the ends of the hair still reached the waist of the petite woman. Within the locks glimmers of fairy dust could be seen in the right light, the same glittering adorn her eyelids. For the most part the Icy Lady could clean herself up for the right occasion. The length of the gown hide the fact that even a Ball could not get shoes onto the feet of the healer. An arm was linked with that of the male in her company as she walked with the faintest of limp at his side. From entering the party the couple moved with a strange in sync pace, as if they’d walked alongside one another many a times. A pair of clumsy people managing to move gracefully from the first location to donate for the cause and then to the second table to make some bid. These two stops the woman allowed Thamalys to take the lead, she cared little for dealing with the money aspect of things. Having more than she knew what to do with a good reason behind that. Next stop? Dancing. Ah, this is the part she came for. Yet, it was this extra inch or so of fabric that caused a grander than she wanted entrance into the public view as the clumsy healer tripped over the hem of her attire, stumbling forward without any warning taking the winged man with her. It could be possible to say that if she had let go of his arm that his steps would not have faltered, but this would not be the case this night as she had instead gripped his arm tighter with her impending possible fall to be. Her cheeks alight with a bright shade of light blue at the sheer embarrassment of literally stumbling into the party. It was sheer luck that kept the tiny one from colliding face first into the floor of the room, if only because as the tumbling commenced there was a blur blue dress, blue tux, white braids, and white feathers that ultimately ended up in an avian-genasi pile on the ground. That blue blush taking up the entire white face of the Icy-one as she stared down at the Blue who she was presently laying atop of instead of the dirty floor. A half whisper, “I didn’t crush your wings or hurt you, did I?”

Ngirturong sighs as she lead into the ball by her date, a tall young half elf named Barnabas, one of the teens classmates from the Academy. He wear a fine tailored suit of pearl white, beneath the suit's jacket, a black collared shirt can be seen with a white bow tie. Ngirturong herself wears a sparkling pearl white dress, it's strapless and sort, conforming to the teen's slim frame and with it's skirt stopping mid thigh. Her hands are fits with gloves of the same sparkling white, and reaches pass her elbow to form sleeves, with a transparent white shawl draped over her shoulders. Transparent white stockings cover her legs and her feet are fitted with sparkling pearl white boot with thin heel that add four inches to the teen's height. Her hair braided back in a single neat and thick ponytail which its then wrapped into a bun that rests at the back of the teens head. A diamond circlet dawn her forehead, and a diamond choker rests around her neck. The teen hates her dress, not because of it's look, but the way it reacts to her body. With the teen's spells being easy to cast with shiny, reflective and most white surfaces, her aura bind with her attire jewels, making a unexpected glow of soft white light to surround the vampire's form. Bad enough she's nervous about being her, now she glows.

Ranok steps into the room, back straight and all at angles. Contrary to the popular clothier of choice in the aquatic Uyeer, Ranok instead chose his supplier from a much more sensible choice for his lifestyle. Taken at the advice of Cornelius, the rough and tumbled dandy before meeting an unfortunate end at the hands of Kuzial. For those of a more active lifestyle, as it were. Broad shoulders were clad in a precisely cut and high quality jacket, black as night. Golden piping, finely done, runs along the seams. The lapel was cut at an angle, done asymmetrically so as to reach further onto his right breast then the left, carrying it all the way down until it reached the cross seam at its bottom. His pants were of an equal make and held a golden blood stripe done in double down the length. Over his left shoulder, clasped to his neck, was a cape of white. Draped over his his left half, it trailed down and terminated at a point somewhere below where the hilt of his openly carried sword sat. His breast was bare of any medals or the like, and he seemed as home in this getup as he did in his armor and duster. Trailing behind in smooth movements was a tall and gangly accompanyment, garbed in a rough woolen covering that trailed upon the floor. His donation being several caravans of supplies and engineers, he bore no donation openly. Instead, the silent auction catches his interest. Fingers rest upon the table as he considers, then makes his bet. Afterwhich, he joints the throng upon the floor, like as not cutting through the crowd as a shark does a school.

Thamalys proceeded cautiously through the hall, the queer attire he boasted not exactly making him comfortable. For one time, his pearly white braids were all pulled into a massive ponytail, swaying gracelessly on his shoulders right between the huge wings - neatly furled and yet still impossibly cumbersome, much as the sails of a battleship mounted on a corvette’s mast. A long - even too long, in fact - silky robe of the deepest shade of blue, almost black one could have thought, wrapped the tall, willowy shapes of the Avian, the colour matching harmoniously that solid one of his eyes, nested into sharp, bony lineaments apparently carved out of marble. Thin, grey lips curved into a joyless grin, barely visible within the many, ivy-shaped tattoos covering his face - and indeed much of the body of the Blue as well. The same patterns of branches and leaves were embroidered in the robe, by means of a strange silvery thread. The Spellblade carried no weapons but for the ink on his very skin, the small features of the Icy One at his side instead of the usual blade. Acutely aware of the spectacular difference in height between the two, something along the lines of comparing a monumental fir with a tiny - if winsome - maple tree, the Avian would have offered indeed an elbow to the Genasi - if only she would have been tall enough. Thus, he limited himself to amble toward one of the humans taking care of the entry fee, producing meanwhile a not-so-tiny wooden box filled with no less that fifteen different spices, from saffron to turmeric, from ginger to pink pepper - after all, you need some of those as well to put together a proper hearty plate. A brisk nod would have followed, the Blue subsequently outstretching his arm toward the middle of the hall, as to paving the way for the Genasi to follow. Muttering something making very little sense, but definitely containing the words “silly” as well as “dress”, the Blue would have trudged till reaching the table where a fellow Avian sit, shortly after rummaging into his pockets to find and present a leathery purse, heavy with something - a timid dip of his head toward Brennia, no more than that. Very, very little notice would have been taken of the rest of the participants at this stage, the eyes of the Blue trying to avoid as many stares as possible. The Frostmawian Bard, he noticed, royal purple sort of standing out indeed; the rather bulky shapes of Alan and Eirik alike, he acknowledged; the formal attire of the Master Healer raised an eyebrow of his; the cautious moves of the fox kin raise the other one; the Shadowmaster made such a display the Avian would have dropped his jaw by a sizeable amount. The rest, he look upon from his towering stature. And yet, he only had words for Artia: “Such a stunning venue, ma’am….” he began, bowing clumsily, the move not exactly facilitated by the long robe. “I doubt Larket has ever seen anything like it, lately…” and with that he would conclude, a short gesture dripping gratitude following. Thus, having taken care of their duties, the odd couple would try to conquer a place somewhere across the mighty wall, waiting for things to develop - which happened rather quickly in fact, Genasi and Avian succeeding in putting together a mighty mess of blue sprawled right on the hall floor. The Spellblade would have tried to catch his breath, leaping to his feet with the Icy One in his arms, a swift move aimed at minimising the impact on the rest of the crowd by standing. “This one time, ma’am? No, not at all - but with these sodding dresses… oh, we are bound to bring some more havoc to the scene, I bet…” he whispered with something similar to a smile cracking within his lips.

Josleen arrives fashionably late with Macon. They’re both in formal wear, and yet somehow Josleen still looks overdressed in a too-glamorous full-length gown that was said to be hand beaded by pixies in a realm across the sea, or something equally ludicrous (and likely false, a marketing schtick). The Queen rarely wears any beading, and thus this shimmering dress was chosen to buck the public’s expectations and surprise fashionistas. Macon, as this is a formal state event, wears regal armor, though a slimmed down version of what he would wear in battle, something more suitable for enjoying a ball. King and Queen wear their crowns, of course, Macon’s made of 100% marble (behold those powerful neck muscles!). Josleen’s is more traditional and suited for her slight neck (less marble-tastic, though some pieces have been embedded). The Royal Couple travel with a larger entourage than usual in response to yesterday’s poisoning. As no suspects have yet been apprehended, the entourage includes cooks and personal servants who bring everything the Queen will consume tonight. Josleen insisted that Macon also only eat from this pre-prepared selection as well, and he acquiesced to put his wife’s mind at ease, though he suspects only she is the target. They sit wherever they are expected to sit and Josleen, still exhausted from yesterday, doesn’t move much from her spot. There are people she wants to say ‘Hello’ too, but she lacks the strength to roam the floor. Macon does leave briefly to say Hello and point and wave at citizens, but he doesn’t leave Josleen alone for long. Believing she could have died yesterday, he tends to hover closer than usual until the mystery of the poison is resolved.

The Concert

Artia | Once the doors are closed, Artia moved inside seating Brennia first, before she continued up stage taking a glass of wine. By now the waiters and waitresses are passing out glasses of beverages for a toast coming up, waiting on stage for everyone to be done with the bidding or volunteer sheets. “If everyone would, join me in a toast here soon. I would like to say some words.” A smile was given to everyone, giving them a few minutes to get settled, “As most of you all now, I am Artia Larket’s Apothecary. About three years ago a man saw me heading down the wrong path, but he saw what I could be. He sought me out one day, and asked me what my skill sets are. I told him, but he asked if I could make medicines. Well, yes of course I could but I usually made them for myself. Why would I want to heal anyone?” She looked into her glass, then back up, “But he went on and on, on how much my life would be better if I helped others instead what I use to do. So, I accepted the offer. Very quickly I found out, I had been missing my purpose all my life. Use my skill set to heal and help people, like everyone here is doing. Helping a city in need after so much has happened to it in a years’ time. I became the apothecary of Larket, and I never regret it. I love this city, it became my home. Everyone showing up like they have is amazing. The fact each of you want to come and help a city whether you live in Larket or you found the kindness in your heart to be here I thank you from the bottom of my heart. This charity ball is to help the families rebuild, to help Larket rebuild, each single one of you has a hand in this. If ever need a home, I suggest Larket. You should feel wonderful about this; you could be putting a roof back over a family’s head. Giving food to a starving child, you all are amazing.” Raising her glass up, “To everyone here, for loving Larket enough to come here and help. May Larket rebuild and rise back up. Thank you King Macon, and Queen Josleen for letting this happen. Cheers.” She took a sip of her wine, “If I may, introduce you all to the special guest and performed from her and the bard’s guild. The stunningly beautiful Lady Brennia, will you please join me on the stage.” Once Brennia was on the stage, she gave kiss to the avian’s cheek. Moving off the stage, to sit till she was needed upon stage again, excitedly awaiting for Brennia’s beautiful voice to fill the hall.

Brennia smiles warmly to Artia as she is called to the stage and if it weren't for her nerves she would be blushing at the flattery. She waits for Artia to have a seat and for the small chorale of bards to gather behind the piano that is rolled out on stage by their hand. Those royal blue eyes gradually take in the waiting faces before her bardic voice was able to easily be thrown throughout the concert hall, "Good Evening everyone and merry meet." Her large onyx wings slightly shift under the scrutiny as they are wanting to preen under the many gazes. "I have spent a short time here in Larket and I have seen my own share of loss within the faces of the many of you. The Bard's Guild and I have prepared a song in hopes to help heal those internal wounds… The deeper, unseen ones." She half bows to the crowd before taking her seat upon the pianists bench and the bards in the background give off a subtle hum. Brennia closes her eyes and hums in return and her hand reached out for a moment as if grasping at a ribbon and the bards of the room could feel their powers combining with Brennia's in this moment, amplifying everything. Some of the bards had an instrument to play along, but they let Brennia kick off the song from the elegant dance of her nimble fingers upon the ivory and black. It was a soft, slow ballad and her voice joins in the accompaniment, "It can be born anywhere, In the last place you'd expect, In a way you'd never dream…" Yes, she chose a song of love for love heals all and almost immediately all those within the concert hall would think on those they love, a mother, brother, sister, or lover; the bard not dare open her eyes for various reasons one of them being accidental eye contact. The bardic magic weaves through the lyrics and piano keys acting as a suture to those deep gouges on the soul and bind them shut if even for the evening. The song kicks up a little and something miraculous takes place here as the ink on her skin appears to siphon off her caramel complexion and gather into the shape of a familiar atop the piano sitting Indian style. Merry meet, Inky (or as she likes to be called "The Raven") and she sits atop Brennia's piano playing on Tabla drums softly, singing this now duet with her host. It all seems strange and sweet at the same time as they sing together, "Love has no fear, love has no reason," as of they poured the liquid of their heart and soul into the holes gaping into every soul occupying the concert hall. The short sweet ballad softly comes to an end and would leave a light feeling within her listeners as just at the end she sees The Raven, "My love is you, my love you are." A grin spreads across those plump lips just as the last chord was struck and the ink attracts back to Brennia's supple skin like a magnet. She would wait for any applause, if any, to stand and bow respectfully before addressing the crowd once more, "Many thanks and I merry part to you to introduce a very dear friend of mine for the grand finale performed by the bard's guild and… Raphaline." Another bright smile takes over her as she welcomed the famous bard on up and would help situate her before exiting the stage to sit with Artia.

Raphaline had been milling about speaking with those she knew from her time in Larket and drinking a few glasses choice of wine. When it was announced that it was time for the performances, she is quick to follow into the concert hall and seat herself among the people. While she listens to both speech and first performance, she is also listening to those around her. A mixture of sighs, comments and other non-verbal shows of emotion emanate from the people that even when she stands to make her way to the stage, she finds herself swept up into it. She had been mulling over what kind of song she might play for the ball, and it finally came to her. So, as she hears her name announced to the whole of the crowd, the bard ascends the stairs with violin in hand. Quietly, she retrieves the instrument from its leather casing, places it beneath her chin and then stands to her full height. At first it looks as if she might just stand there, but suddenly the bow in her other hand is called to dance across the strings, eliciting a beautiful melody. It is a song that rises as if being swept upward into the sky, wings spread wide to catch the winds. And then the notes change, and it is a melody of new growth. It twists and turn, both interweaving to create this sense of hope rising until the bard suddenly stops, bow hoisted up to point towards the sky. Is she done? No. As she brings the bow down, the violin is removed from beneath her chin as her voice takes the place of the instrument. It rings clear and true, the notes of the singular melody taking a back seat to the choice words she sings. Hope shall rise, form ash and soot and despair, hope always rises. And it is on that last thought that she finishes her performance, leaving her voice to echo across the concert hall.

Alan had found a seat somewhere towards the back as not to be noticed. In all honesty he really didn't like crowds or gatherings. They tend to remind him of the party's his family would have at back in his home land. Alan thought was in a unique opportunity. It wasn't often that he had access to so much food and him basically being a wanderer now for the most part he wanted to eat while he could. The thought of him being auctioned off hadn't really hit him yet. Then as if from nowhere he heard a voice that was unlike anything he's ever heard. As Alan sat there something felt as if it was invading his mind, body and soul. He felt a warmth come over him. It was comforting. Then something unexpected happened. Alan watched as the tattoo on Brennia's skin rose off and began to move as if it had a mind of its own. Feeling a slight tightness around his arms and chest as if his body had began to swell, Alan took another shot of a tequila slammer. He couldn't take his eyes off the ink though. It looked so vaguely familiar. Once the song end and the applause started Alan joined in as well. The performance was amazing but there was something peculiar about that ink.

Sabrina saw the grand entrance of Thamelia and cringed. She puts her palm to her face and slowly starts weaving through the crowd to get through to them. “At least you two dressed nice. Up we go.” She’d stand with them both but her sights were on Ranok and Draeta, her thoughts go to an unpleasant place and she is grateful to not be under any influences as she was the night before. There is a thankful break in her train of thought as the performers grace the stages with skills beyond those she’s heard in some time. She has a half smile, hopefully no one points it out else she be charged with not being a …what was it… frigid bitch. Her focus wanders when it is all over and she settles on staring at a man in a tan suit. She may have laughed out loud but the applause for Brennia and Raphaline surely drown it out.

Valen would look over at York, admiration in the Vampiric Elf's eyes, and would simply let his hand seek out one of the Half-Elf's own. "That was more than alright. You did wonderfully." He would have added more, but he was trying so hard to avoid feeling like he was treating him like glass, something that had come up recently. He had actually done well with that in the last couple days, but regardless of that he was simply happy to just be here with someone. As Brennia took the stage, he would look to York and give a soft grin "You just wait. She is phenomenal." As Brennia sang, his hand would yet again seek out York's and give a gentle squeeze, almost of it's own accord. He had seen all of those who were an acquaintance, or a friend enter, as well give as a most radiant smile. As Raphaline also took the stage, he would lean over and whisper "There's another phenomenal one. She can inspire even the most unbelievable emotions in others..." As he listened to Raphaline's performance tears would be streaming down his cheeks. A big softy, was Valen, but that was hardly a secret to those that knew him personally. Such emotions spoke more true to him than anything else, both the song and music that Brennia and Raphaline both played, and ultimately at the end he would stand...in that dress, and applaud his heart out as those tears continued to fall. "Brava! Brava!" he would say before sitting back down, regardless if anyone else gave a standing ovation.

Reinhardt is a fish out of water. He isn't the fancy get up type, talking about how wonderful everything is, and how grand it must be to be sooo fancy. He walks about, monitoring the situation, a careful eye always on alert. He knew there was much to be done, investigations to be looked into, raids to respond to, and the security of the kingdom to look after. But, here he was. Dressed in quite the outfit, made by a crab man he just met and fought against in yesterday's debacle of a charity event turned absolute chaos. Not to mention, his wound. Sabrina had done all she could, and he was more than grateful for that woman for numerous reasons, but the pain had come back and he was starting to feel stuffy. He hopes things kick off soon, but does think of getting some air. The dull roar of the numerous conversations is starting to get to him.

Chisel :: Music, something she herself enjoys. Quietly listening as she stand in a corner. A wall flower? Perhaps. She is not used to gathering such as this, She even doubts anyone wants her here. She is dangerous for the eyes of most. Even though her lantern is strapped on her waist, covered with layers of silk so it would not distract anyone, what if someone took away the lantern? Is she risking the lives of everyone here? Probably. But she is invited, she already assumed they have calculated the risks and taken precautions. She still feel naked, aside from the blood colored gown, she wore a black choker with a flower on it to hide the doll joints on her neck and some high heels. As if that would help the five foot tall doll. Listening quietly before finally clapping along side the crowd as soon as the performance is over. While everyone enjoys the entertainment and drinks, she wonders if she should mingle, barely knowing anyone. For now she wanders till she meet somebody, hopefully someone she knows.

Kreekitaka couldn't hear squat. Fortunately, one of his bodyguards this evening was fluent in Common, and managed to convey a translation to him. Quite lovely words, he supposed. He applauded lightly, even though nobody could really hear him from inside his tank. Kreekitaka happened to catch Rorin's reaction and attempted to send him a Look, something that read "If you have a better way to cart a ton or two of water around, I'm all ears, bub." Of course Rorin was no longer paying attention, and so the damaged crab remained unsatisfied for the time being.

Josleen and Macon try not to be too affectionate in public (though Josleen often breaks this rule as her focus on heir-making is singular and all-consuming), but Brennia’s song moves them to look into each other’s eyes. Josleen leans in and Macon is content to drape an arm along the back of her chair. Once the song is over, they separate a little again for drinks but the lingering effects of the love song affects them both. They converse in whispers and laugh at private jokes.

Ngirturong does indeed enjoy the performance, clasping soft with calm face, she can't help but feel nervous as she's never been to an event like this. She looks around the hall, admiring the attire of all who came. "People really came out in style tonight." She says quietly while glancing to Barnabas. The half elf grins as she turns to glance down at his smaller date. "Sure did, but yet, you're the only one who's actually shining." Ngirturong frowns. "Shut up. I didn't know wearing white does that for me, I don't like it." Barnabas does his best to make Ngirt feel better, but in the end, fails. He does get a laugh of of it all as leads the teen to a seating area not so close to the adults.

Thamalys tried to answer properly to the Icy One wording, while still holding her high enough to strain his arms ever so slightly, the feathery weight of the Genasi taking little toll on his stance. “My pleasure…” he stuttered, trying to position himself in order to be able to have a proper look at the stage near by, his tone possibly veiled by a hint of barely hidden effort. “Alas, you are probably right… and yet, I bet we are about to witness quite a performance…” he would have uttered the second Biennia took the stage. Some sort of Avian pride shifted something in his chest, those notes bringing back scattered pieces of memories still to far away. And then, the Frostmawian - how bewitching. He could not clap - not without letting the Genasi go, which happen in a single, smooth enough gesture shortly after Raphaline’s performance came to an end. “Why, surely…” he would have muttered, gently landing the Icy One safe and sound on the floor, a sigh of relief exhaling. Right after, he would have trudged along to reach the greeny shapes of the Master Healer, topping up the just received compliment. “Seconded - if I can be so bald, ma’am…”

Alvina mildly regrets complimenting Kreekitaka, but thought he might need a boost since he was a in a tank and all. Could he even hear her? "Jos..." The bard notes the Queen and gives her a wave, stops by and gets as close as the crowd of attendants will allow to tell her some little piece of gossip that doesn't really matter. Her friend Emily heard how grand the Royal wedding was and wants to use that color theme for her own wedding. Alvina shot it down, saying it would be rude...but honestly, Emily did not look great in light blue. We have all been there. Alvina is not sure her skin tone is right for this amazing dress. She makes a heart with her hands at the Queen and a formal, uncertain bow to Macon wondering if she should say a proper hello to him too? No time to reconsider! The event was starting. Everyone's performances and words have moved her. The earthquake had been terrible, Larket is so lucky to have the support of everyone here. It's a large crowd too, and she's seen all the trains of food and supplies outside (she'd been in part of one, but hadn't noticed because her shoes kept sliding off her feet on the way over, so she didn't have to make small talk with Lionel, who undoubtedly noticed her hair wasn't even fixed properly. Why wouldn't he notice, he was dressed so smartly!). During the performance, she catches sight of Ranok in the crowd and blinks in his direction. He didn't mention coming here. She felts a bit foolish, and refocuses her attention on the stage. This would have been better with Hudson here...even if they were fighting and he wouldn't hold her hand.

Chekhu moves quietly around the large concert hall, observing almost everyone in passing. A few faces she knows, most she doesn't. The foxkin is more and more feeling out of her depth; large gatherings, strange and formal dress, and music! The songs are both wonderful, but in the wilds where Chekhu is from, most music is natural, or else woven from the howls of a pack...a far more organic, far less conjured thing, a river of liquid spontaneity. She does not know how to feel in its wake. She surreptitiously snatches a piece of cheese when she thinks no one is looking, then pops it into her mouth. Despite all the finery and peculiarity surrounding her - the Uyeer in his tank, the two men who are apparently lovers, eht enormous avian paired with someone almost as small as Chekhu herself - it is, in fact, a duo of understated people to whom she is attracted most. First, the doll-like creature standing well back against a wall; the foxkin smells peculiar things whilst passing, and her shoulders tense, preparing for danger, but the feeling is gone before it has time to solidify. The next, Valrae - though Chekhu does not know her name - whose eyes seem sad, at least to this relatively untrained wilder's estimation. She stops her wandering near Valrae, who appears to have come alone, just as Chekhu herself has done; the little woman does not make a point of her proximity, but merely stands and observes.

Lionel || Tratt Milous is a bespectacled old dwarf with no great love for theater, but Artia’s speech brings an imperial tear upon his left cheek. “Beautiful,” he says, clapping wildly. Beside him, Delenn Minbari, another Catalian dwarf in Lionel’s command, claps in a more dignified fashion, smiling and fetching her companion fine beverage. They’re having a wonderful time. Not far away, some of Lionel’s soldiers are enjoying Brennia’s and Raphaline’s entertainment, piling the hors d'oeuvres and washing them down with great haste. Some have even become rather smitten with one-another, and whispers become proclamations when romantic coupling’s fresh-forged. How cute. It seems Frostmaw’s royal entourage is enjoying the evening, from the rawest recruit to the most grizzled veteran, every last one of them but Knight-Commander Lionel O’Connor himself. The din of this boisterous place is unnerving; there are ninety-nine problems in Lithrydel everyday, and sure, a ball probably ain’t one, but the merriment is a tough pill to swallow when Lionel remains deeply suspicious of the true goings-on in this country. One of his dear friends is in critical condition, and one of his subordinates is missing in action. Frostmaw’s problems have recently multiplied, he can’t shake the feeling some dark force is behind it all, and let’s not even get started on his feelings for Alvina. Let’s. Just. Not. And so it is that he kicks back -- as far back as possible -- and nurses some vintage wine from the year who-cares with a watchful azure gaze through a goblet ten times too fanciful. On occasion, folks crowd near him, asking after the queen’s health and his own exploits and the politics of Frostmaw and half a dozen other things. His answer are terse, but reasonably effective. “Yes.” “The queen is well and clever, and sends her regards with the convoy we’ve brought.” “No, Frostmaw is enjoying a period of peaceful prosperity, and we’re gladdened for the end to hostilities between our great country and King Macon’s.” It’s all rather rote, all trained and tense and seasoned, but it keeps them off his back, and thank the gods for that.

York smiled over at Valen, though still seemed a bit nervous at the crowd that was gathering quickly in the concert hall, and at those who would come over to greet them. He had been honored that Valen had even thought to ask him, and was trying his best to not be an embarrassment. At the vampire’s words he fell silent, looking up to the stage as the performances went on. Both were incredible, of course, better than anything the ranger had heard before. When Valen jumped up and began his applause, York looked up at him in surprise, seeing he had been moved to tears. Stifling a bit of a laugh at the vampire’s excitement, he too stood and applauded, albeit seeming more subdued than his date. Once they sat once more, he would agree, “You were right. They were /fantastic/.”

Dyraxdiin enters the concert hall with an easy gait, blue eyes to peer around at all the people who are dressed in their finest for tonights gathering. The sheer number of people is quite a daunting sight to the otherwise reclusive great wyrm. Such trivialties are left behind him, along with a small purse of coin as his donation to Larket. As acting liaison for the Mages Guild, he decided an appearance would suit the guild well - as well as perhaps help him gain some information on the recent happenings of Larket. Soon enough, Dyraxdiin strolls over to a nearby empty seat, the subtle 'click' of his few select armaments over halfrobes herald to his arrival. Once he seats himself, the casual gaze will loft to inspect the rest of the people here and of course, the events transpiring.

Eirik marched again, to a place where he could have a seat and get off his leg. The Lycan nearly sighed once sitting down. It was odd for the Lycan to not have to adjust his sword, noted by the fact that his left-hand clasps at nothing, to do just that. Finally, those silver eyes come to rest on the bards as they perform their craft. He listens in silence to each and applauds and hollers as he can, voice deep and like rocks being crushed beneath a weighted boot. His reaction nothing like Valens who seems to be hollering as loudly as possible. In these moments, he forgets the attire he wears, and probably for the rest of the night. When he is done giving applause, he leans back in his seat and relaxes, talking here and there with those few who are around him. Though his eyes never really leave the place of performance. Eirik was new here, and while this called his attention, he intended to learn all that he could.

Valrae found herself that drink, decided to make it two, and by the time she spotted Alvina's name on the bidding list she decided three and four wouldn't be far behind. Armed with two pretty flutes of bubbling champagne, yes both for her thank you, she weaved through the crowd. Valen was surrounded by a small following of older women who were eyeing his dress, a work of art really, so she settled for a little champagne wave. The witch turned away idly wondering who the man at the vampire's side was. The woman finished one of her drinks and managed to pull off the classic walk by drop on one of the wait staffs empty trays without any major disaster. Riding on that small wave of satisfaction she picked her way back through the crowd to snag herself a snack. A wide berth was given to the royals and their overly impressive entourage. Valrae passed Ranok, the man she'd met once on a beach and had been a little threatened by, so she gave a polite nod. Her spare glass was emptied and quickly replaced. Her quest for snacks was quickly abandoned when she spotted someone who maybe might have looked similar too or could have been Alvina. It was just as well though, as they were calling for a toast. She took her place and toasted with the rest of them while thinking of bolting for the door at the nearest convenient moment. Brennia's stunning performance made her grateful she didn't, even if the feeling might be fleeting. The witch felt the familiar caress of magic on her bruised heart. She thought of Quizzical, the boy who had lost his life to the quake, and she thought of the man who wept for him. The hidden grief of losing an unborn child was trying to resurface but she stamped it down. Bardic magic could neither heal or reach a wound so deep. Raphaline's performance was just as remarkable and a beautiful follow up to the first. Valrae applauded along with the crowd but remained in her seat. After such a moving performance her nerves were a little raw. Absorbed in her own inner musings, she misses the foxkin who so astutely observed her warring emotions.

Rorin shouted and tried not to scream. In his lonely little corner sitting with an idle smile and a bottle of the most wonderful champagne had tromped a dinosaur laboring a somehow more terrifying than before King. After fighting saurians so much it was enough to give someone nightmares. Rorin scooted some other way and gave the occasional wide eyed look between whole gulps of the avian liquor. Truth be told he was already feeling a bit bubbly himself but he calmed when the songs began. First his heart swelled and he stared deep into his glass while faces of those he cared for seemed to shimmer beneath its surface. Although most of them were dead he was perhaps uplifted and without grief as Raphaline continued the performance. What amazing songs, he thought to himself, before wanting to get a bit farther away from the horror show in the tank to his right. With a big ol' glass of the good stuff Rorin went to mingle with smiles and laughter. It appeared to be one of the only ways to loosen Rorins formal face though lately he'd been staying away from so much. Lionel is rather quickly found as Rorins spins about ungracefully then discovers somehow the knight commander managed to find the same corner as well. He seats himself with Lionel between the squire and the crabman, vaguely believing Chisel on his left is a lamp. Perhaps a bit unnoticed in the dark Rorin follows each of Lionels comments with a snide remark or bit of gossip even miming one of the nobles while their back was turned in a fair attempt to get Linoel to lighten up a bit.

Ranok was not in too dissimilar a boat as to Reinhardt, but spending years in Rynvale, rubbing elbows with hoity-toity elves gave him a bit of an edge. If a man can stay awake over the, with no exaggeration, two hundredth argument about the specific pricing and taxatation over a specific good...well, it was safe to say that Ranok had the perfect poker face by now. That said, he was not making a solid attempt at the mingle game like he had at Hildegarde's Coronation, and he'd missed a great many other Big Events. To be perfectly honest, he didn't belong. But when did that ever stop the old bastard? New circles, new horizons, and new friends. Or enemies. He was much better at making those, if honesty was still on the table. A good many faces he did manage to spot, Alvina, given a nod in return. Valrae, who earned herself a congratulations and a thanks, "Alvina liked your inspiration for the engravings on her arm." The crowd whirls and he's off elsewhere. Sabrina is regarded for a time, too, but in eventuality she earns herself a half bow. Elven formality, and all that. Perhaps she'd recognize the gesture. While he was hardly what could be called a patron of the arts, he could appreciate a performance, and he applauds with the rest in due time. Thereafter, he'd finally spot Kree's tank. An almost elven inspired sniff demonstrated what he thought of the craftsmenship. Hopefully no one took it for his response to the music.

Reinhardt has a drink in his hand, when did that happen? Either way, the knight still seems a little anxious, but seems to steady when Sabrina comes into view. A pretty woman, in a dress of high quality and obviously of noble birth, tries to introduce herself to the man. He pays her no mind in such a way that he hands her his drink and just leaves her there, in her shock of how she was just so snubbed. Never even registering the little duchess, Reinhardt is by Sabrina's side in mere moments, and he leans in, regardless who is nearby, and whispers in her ear.

The Kreekitaka Fashion Show

Brennia set the stage with the Bard's Guild members to play some up-beat music for the fashion show to transpire just as some stage hands set up some sturdy impromptu runway parts for the show. She strides with confidence, shoulders back, across the stage before walking up the middle of the run way and center to announce the next part of the show, "Is everyone ready for the next part of our event? Lets take up the seats beside the walk way while I update the situation on the bids for tonight's lovely prizes! Raphaline had 15,000 so far. Reinhardt 27,000. Chisel 10,000, Rorin 600, Artia 2,000, A certain Frostmaw Knight 51,000, Alvina 6,000 and Alan 1,000. Hmmm Maybe she should do this more often…" Again the bard's voice was easily heard as if she were talking from a microphone and she gives a flirty eye brow wiggle to the crowd. "Onto the least event and when the models are done we will announce the winners! Here are some very creative works from the talented Kreekitaka and you can get your own Kreekitaka creation from Kreekitaka's." She offers a little spin of her own outfit before moving back with the members of the bard's guild to sing and play softly with them during each individual strut.

Artia listened to Brennia’s words. Her song fully moved her, Brennia being her most close friend was beyond talented with her music. Her hands intertwined each other upon her lap. Once Brennia was back to sitting with Artia, she reached over and held her hand. Nodding to Raphaline and the other bards, a smile stuck upon those plump ruby lips. Leaning over to Brennia, placing a whisper to her about how beautiful she did and the ink. Giving a squeeze to her hand, she looked back to the stage to watch Raphaline’s performance now. She played the violin perfectly, how her voice made people feel they were in the sky and the feeling of hope. Brennia and Artia seeming to have a good performance going both planned and many papers tossed in frustration. So far, everything was going smoothly. Wiping a tear from her eye at such beautiful performances done, applause was called for. The witch of course gave it, standing up when it was time for her to go back to the stage. Moving up the steps, once more showing off her dress made by Kreekitaka, mint green lace color about her neck, dangling from it is a rainbow moonstone, complementing the key-hole neck line. The dress is long, reaching to the floor in the back, in the front stopping at her ankles to show her crystalline heels making her a five foot nine for the evening. Forming fitting sleeves that open up at the wrist with wide lacey wrist holes, the dress is stitched in a way to compliment all her lady-like curves. The skirt gets less narrow the further down her form, glistening tiny purple gems, capturing any light making it sparkle. Back of the dress, open with a large trilobite embroidered covering the whole back in purple thread to show the brand of the gown, Kreekitika fashion. The green colors are pale, almost mint green but rather more a saturated green. Moving off the stage for the moment, to allow for the rest of those being auction off to approach.

Sabrina catches Ranok’s bow and it is returned with the same formality, her hand from her heart to her head and to him a traditional gesture of peace for their people. Her attention then turned to the queen, a hopeful look that maybe her previous gesture was accepted in kind. A napkin is handed to her by the Guilded courier, William and her eyes find the Queen with a sigh of relief and a similar gesture, accepting the terms as they are written. Reinhardt can not go unnoticed as she turns from the crowd to not face him but the wall behind them.

Alan Makes his way from his table where he had been eating carefully so as not get food on his clothes. He was wearing a Navy blue three piece suit with each piece to represent the setting sun on a beach transitioning from navy blue on the suit, to a deep purple on the four button four pocket vest. Each button being a bright and shiny gold to reflect those few stars you see at dusk and that brings us to the undershirt being that of a burned apricot color. To complete the image of this  look there is a butterscotch colored tie and navy blue cloth loafers to match the outer pieces of the suit. To claim this look its marked with the trilobite symbol on the upper heal of the shoes. Getting up on the cat walk was a little intimidating. He knew it was for a good cause but he wasn't going to do anything extravagant. Going for a short stroll from one end and back was all he could muster. Hopefully that would suffice.

Alvina finds herself lost in the flood of people and faces without Hudson. It's jarring, she's trying to remember why they are fighting again while she makes her way towards the runway platform. In the midst of the people, the bard finds herself bumping shoulders with nonother than her ride to the event (and the person being auctioned with the highest present total, if only he was paying attention). "Congratulations," she says, with a half smile before climbing to the top of the platform to take her turn. The dress she's wearing is still at knee length, with a more casual stitch, not fitting tight nor does it hide the hourglass shape . Also, to help give more of a distinction between the top and bottom part the outfit boosts a belt made from brown leather with a trilobite buckle, the belt made from dark brown leather. The dress glows, pulsating between a golden light and the blue dots that cover it, each fading on and off in tandem, in waves down the length of the dress. It is mesmerizing to watch for some. Her hair is a loose set of curls to hide her back, just in the case the dress was tempted to show off the scarring along her left shoulder blade. Perfect for her 'I just had some babies and I'm a little thicker than I use to be' body type. She tries to make casual steps, but it's unnerving to think that people are watching you. She hates the attention and speeds down the runway and back before her gaze catches on anyone else.

Raphaline really wants to hop down to see her friends that are hear tonight, but as her obligations come first, after her performance she prepares to show off the deep purple dress she is wearing. Not her first choice in color, it is a beautiful piece the accentuates her body in a manner that leaves minds open to imagine. With the bustle of flowy material at the bottom and a strapless top. Her red hair is a mixture of wild curls, braids and gem encrusted ribbons woven into her hair to enhance the color and movement of said locks. She moves over the stage with the grace of a dancer, showing off the beautiful material as well as the movement that can be had by the cut of the dress. One turn to reveal as much before she turns and heads off the stage to allow someone else to show off their wares.

Rorin became attentive when someone said he had 600 of something. Hevaguely wondered 600 what, but didn't pay quite as much attention until he and Lionel were carted off in a matter of confusion- somewhat drunken confusion on Rorins part- and then he was thrust behind teh stage for a moment. After he caused a small ruckus something was sprayed in his face and he was explained even shown that his signature sat on the auction list. The alcohol drew more of a blush to his face but a quck make up team had him dressed and oriented. They tried to reassure the nervous anxious rather skittering boy but his face remained in slight panic before they thrust him on stage. Rorin's outfit had been changed exponentially, a two piece, one button suit dawned onto him. It was a white Kreekitaka piece of masterful make with a matching tie over a dark seaweed green formal shirt. Buttons and cufflinks were shaped into sheashells, glittering along with the shirt as if the stars had been suspended in starry green night. Even his shoes were some white type of material, dressed snazzy and straight, looking all the formal young man he ever could. A trilobite symbol finished the outfit on the lapel and Rorin was at first terrified when he took the stage. Slowly while he walked forward a shy smile grew on his face while he waved to the crowd and even posed with his hands running down the white suit. Tailor made one way or another the exact fit alighted his half elven frame, accentuating the lithe bits of muscle he had and smoothing out along his athletic body. Rorin waited until the rush met his head until he felt much less awkward though under a bit of make up he still blushed as he had never been in such a situation with so many... evaluating him. Not paralyzed by some miracle Rorin walked off with his head screaming about what was going on! For a paladin-squire he certainly was a shy one.

Chisel assumes that is her cue. She was provided these clothes by a crab. Of all things. Never thought something or someone would actually surprise her. She had seen numerous lifeforms in her life but never a walking, talking crab. Assuming the one in the tank is who made it, giving Kreekitaka a nod before placing herself by the stage steps, waiting for her turn to walk the isle. Finally taking a step forward before everyone's eyes. Something is odd however, Singing. The bard's guild has made their performance and maybe there is a few on the background playing melodies to entertain the guest but no one is singing and yet as the dryad walks forward heavenly voices filled the air. The doll's mouth remains close as she she walk with grace toward the center. If anyone knows Chisel, they would quickly realize it was the same trick she uses before... whenever she attempts to lure prey into the forest with cries of help or pain, children's laughter or mimicing people's voices. Though this time it was like a small choir singing, mostly humming. As she continue to walk, scents of alluring flowers began to scatter into the air, The blood-colored gown with its intricate design of stitched, vine like pattern, sleeveless and form-fitting top with one lacy shoulder and kept clean as the wide dress are kept away from the floor with her heels. Smiling as she finally bows before walking back to exit the stage.

Josleen || Violet Devereux, Reinhardt's mother and a prominent socialite from the Larketian noble class, keeps stealing inconspicuous glances at Sabrina and her son. She's quite proud her son seems to have charmed such a dignified lady, but is worried about the age difference and that Sabrina may be too wild for her serious son. Then it's Reinhardt's turn to strut his stuff and her chest puffs with a mother's pride as she watches the -most- handsome young man in Larket (nay, Lithrydel?!) take the stage for a good cause and in the spirit of levity and charity. He's perfect, her son. Any lady who vies for his heart will have to be of high stock.

Reinhardt looks to Sabrina, raising a brow and says. " You.. what?" He laughs, he can't help it. " Thats what that note was about? Dear Cyris. Alright!" The man snatches up a drink from a passing waiter, downs it and hands it to the closest person by to handle. Its Ranok. Shaking off a bit of nerves, the knight makes his way towards the stage to model the suit he is wearing. No clue what he is doing, he tries to mimic things he sees others do to hilarious effect. He cat walks, allowing the sand colored tan three piece suit to be angled from all sides, the man popping open the one shark-tooth button that held his jacket closed open, before he unlatches his sword-belt, to show off the entire collection. He is all fancy, Kree's work is top notch and made of the finest quality. Even his belt sports the image of the crab-thing, as do his cufflinks, if you can see that close. Nailing his performance, the knight tosses his jacket over one shoulder and walks back down the isle used, and off the stage. Where he promptly grabs another drink, laughing at himself as he relatches his sword-belt and makes his way back to Sabrina.

Josleen || Violet tells a bored table-mate, "Did you know Reinhardt's knight training commander told him he had the most natural talent of any soldier he's ever trained? Like polishing a diamond, I believe was the expression he used." There is no way a hardened knight would say something so effeminate. The bored table-mate wisely assumes that little poetic metaphor belongs to Violet. Violet applauds the loudest!

Sabrina can't even bring herself to watch Reinhardt's down-pact cat walk in that get up. She takes Emilia's shoulder and quietly makes silent fun of him to her cold ear. Plenty of time to compose herself before he comes back, where she'd give him a nod of approval.

Reinhardt isn't a model, nor was informed he was to model. But having done his part to aid Larket, the knight feels no shame in such an odd and very foreign practice as this. Besides, his mother was here, and she only made things even funnier, the way she proudly cheers. Seeing Sabrina whisper, and shoot him looks, he knows she makes fun of him. Tossing the jacket aside somewhere, the knight now untucks the vest and allows himself to breath. " Now that's over, I need a drink!" He looks about for another waiter.

Valrae had blanched at Ranok's words. He'd meant them as an honest compliment but considering the dirty laundry between her and the bard now, it made her feel awkward and itchy to hear it. She attempted a smile, muttered some generically happy comment to his retreating and well dressed figure. It had been strange to play a part, however small, to the design of the woman's arm. Stranger still that the witch had compulsively thrown down gold on the chance to win Alvina's.. Time? A date? She wasn't even sure why she'd done it and a creeping panic was itching behind her throat. Sure, someone else would out bid her? Right? Why did she put so much gold down again? She knocked back another glass of... She wasn't sure what she was drinking anymore but it was stronger than the champagne, thankfully. The night moved to the fashion portion of the evening and again the urge to bolt settled into her bones. But she was seated comfortably, had nothing else to do with her time, so she would stay and look at the beautiful things Kree had created. As with every time she spotted her, Valrae envied after the sight of Alvina, mommy curves and all. She made painstakingly detailed lists of their differences. Her own were all obviously flaws. Hudson had ceased to matter in her mental evaluation of Alvina and her superiority somehow. Also, alcohol was currently fermenting her better brain cells. The witch hiccuped cliche-ly while she pushed at the errant strands of gold curling in her dark eyes. One of her pearls caught in her earring, the same sore one that had previously been caught in a supply box, and suddenly she was cursing again. Val panicked, having been unsuccessful at her feeble and slightly drunken attempts to separate dress from jewelry, and gave a hard yank. There was a popping sound, some loss of blood as she ripped the crystals from her ear. The earring suddenly saw fit to untangle itself from her dress and fall to the floor, because obviously. She'd forgotten all about being at a nice place in the middle of a nice auction for a good cause when she touched her ear and her fingers came back bloody. She loudly blurted a word that rhymed with luck, as in of all the rotten kind, when she was announced the winner of Alvina's auction. Ah, well. The sentiment still applied.


And The Winners Are!

Brennia thanks each model and approaches each with a smile to comment how great they all look and she made her way back front and center, "For the part we are all waiting for… Your Winners for tonight." When she calls out the name she would motion them to come forward with her, "The first woman on tonight's auction is one of my favorite bards, Raphaline. She will light up your life just by a smile and the lucky winner for a date with Raphaline D'Lenge is Thamalys at 25,000 gold." She would wait for Raphaline to exit, "The first male of the night is Reinhardt . This good looking Knight is a detail of the Royal Guard, ladies." Brennia wiggles a brow, "Surely, he'd show you a 'royally' good time and the winner is… Anonymous at 27,000 gold!" She awaits for the roar of the crowd to die down once more as she shifts through her note cards, "Next is Chisel! This beautiful 'doll' is up next and she will steal your heart among other things, possibly. The winner for a date with Chisel is… Also Anonymous… You bashful lot." She offers a playful wink out to the crowd before moving on, "Onto Rorin. This young and eye candy Paladin Squire for all you half-elf lovers out there is Rorin. He's respectable and kind for this date night winner being, Artia!" She beans a bright smile to her friend while waiting for Rorin to exit. "Speaking of which, Artia is next. This enchanting woman will sweep you off your feet and offer you the world without asking for much in return… The lucky date winner is, me! Yes thank you!" She does a little bounce of excitement in her win, "Oh! It looks we have a special surprise guest on the list… Ladies, this hero will be your frosty knight in shining armor for your chivalrous night." She giggles lightly at the pun, "Our winner for a date with Lionel O'Connor is our very own Chisel!" She would wait for the roar of the audience to die down again, "Next we have Alvina Liandon, charming beautiful bard with a heart of gold and an arm made of something else! The lucky winner is, Valrae!" She was happy to see Artia and herself weren't the only female to female winners on the list. "Lastly, but certainly not least we have a handsome newcomer to these lands, Alan Brisbane. The strong silent type who is full of mystery and the fortunate winner is, Eloni!" She smiles sweetly to Alan and addresses the crown once more while motioning Artia up, "I would like to thank all of you generous souls. You can make your payments to the Kingdom of Larket." She would look to Artia for any last words.

Valrae had blanched at Ranok's words. He'd meant them as an honest compliment but considering the dirty laundry between her and the bard now, it made her feel awkward and itchy to hear it. She attempted a smile, muttered some generically happy comment to his retreating and well dressed figure. It had been strange to play a part, however small, to the design of the woman's arm. Stranger still that the witch had compulsively thrown down gold on the chance to win Alvina's.. Time? A date? She wasn't even sure why she'd done it and a creeping panic was itching behind her throat. Sure, someone else would out bid her? Right? Why did she put so much gold down again? She knocked back another glass of... She wasn't sure what she was drinking anymore but it was stronger than the champagne, thankfully. The night moved to the fashion portion of the evening and again the urge to bolt settled into her bones. But she was seated comfortably, had nothing else to do with her time, so she would stay and look at the beautiful things Kree had created. As with every time she spotted her, Valrae envied after the sight of Alvina, mommy curves and all. She made painstakingly detailed lists of their differences. Her own were all obviously flaws. Hudson had ceased to matter in her mental evaluation of Alvina and her superiority somehow. Also, alcohol was currently fermenting her better brain cells. The witch hiccupped cliche-ly while she pushed at the errant strands of gold curling in her dark eyes. One of her pearls caught in her earring, the same sore one that had previously been caught in a supply box, and suddenly she was cursing again. Val panicked, having been unsuccessful at her feeble and slightly drunken attempts to separate dress from jewelry, and gave a hard yank. There was a popping sound, some loss of blood as she ripped the crystals from her ear. The earring suddenly saw fit to untangle itself from her dress and fall to the floor, because obviously. She'd forgotten all about being at a nice place in the middle of a nice auction for a good cause when she touched her ear and her fingers came back bloody. She loudly blurted a word that rhymed with luck, as in of all the rotten kind, when she was announced the winner of Alvina's auction. Ah, well. The sentiment still applied.

Artia bite her lower lip, giving a soft giggle that she won Rorin. Clearing her throat, doing her best not to chuckle anymore, when her name was called and that Brennia had won her. Well, that was a surprise she did not expect. Hell, Brennia might as well be her best friend and she happily would hang out with Brennia. As well the cute, charming young male Rorin, now this part was over she would want a drink. But first, she would move beside Brennia. Locking arms with her, “Once again, I thank everyone especially our King and Queen for allowing us to put this together. Thank you to everyone, please enjoy your dates for the evening. May it bring you many laughs, and smiles tonight. Have a wonderful night!” Bending at the waist, bowing to everyone, waiting for Brennia to lead the hostess’s off stage. Once down off the stage, she would also wait for Rorin. Or head right to the drink table, right away taking a shot of the stronger liquor.

Kreekitaka would have announced the fashion show himself and perhaps made a bigger deal out of the fashion pieces worn. Alas, he's stuck here in this tiny leather bubble and it friggin' sucks. That twinge of annoyance grew into a headache, which brought on some full-on impotent anger--this was his brand, dang it. His chance to show off exactly how much of a friend to Larket he was. And here he was, stuck. Useless. Had to be someone's fault. The doctors had done their best. The organizers of the room couldn't have known the building was on fire... the fire. Valen! That jerk. If he'd been just a few feet to either side... but, thought Kree, calming himself down slowly, you were the one who tackled the guy, weren't you? If you hadn't pinned him down, you wouldn't have been in that position. Maybe he predicted it would happen this way! raged the angry part of his brain. Regardless, he eventually reasoned, I should say hello. Wouldn't do to simply lurk in a corner at a ball, and I'm sure a bit of conversation will soothe me. So he gestured for his interpreter to fetch Valen and the other person he was with, and the large armored crab shoved past people--gently, hopefully--and tapped the mage on the head. "King wan's see you," he burbled, trying to leave as many difficult noises out as possible.

Lionel is drunk. Oh, he is drunk. He is not so utterly drunk that he couldn’t feasibly fight a demon. Or a Dark Immortal. Or a ghost. Or a revenant. Or an army. Or a psychopathic vampire. Or any of the laundry list of things he has fought. But he is pretty. Damn. Drunk. It’s the only way to survive this ball, and survival of the fittest dictates that Lionel get his drink on. Perhaps his author is unclear. Perhaps you are thinking he is tipsy. Buzzed. Pre-gamed. Dear readers, Lionel is blitzed. He’s almost seeing doubles. Curse the day he ever donned the badge; back in his chaotic good era he’d never have had cause to be here. And then the winners are announced. It’s tiring -- can we go home now? He feels like he’s ten years old again. But wait. There’s more. Lionel’s name is listed. Why is Lionel’s name listed? This makes less than zero sense. This makes negative sense. He fidgets, stirs. Who the seven hells just bid on him? “What? Literally what?” It’s Chisel. Ah, yes, the crazy forest dryad he has nearly killed not once, ladies and gentlemen, but twice. The terror of Sage, the old oak monster, the feature pic for a one-off Supernatural episode. She has won a date with him. Well, it’s nice to know she’s alive -- that’s one plot thread no longer dangling. How peachy, but seriously, what?” In fact, let’s hear it straight from Lionel himself. “Seriously, what?” There, he’s said it, and his author has said it, and everyone has said it, and Lionel is not fine, no, no, he’s nearly dropped his glass, and his little crowd of political opportunists are gasping, and then more people are gasping, and everyone’s gasping, and Lionel is also gasping -- is there no longer any oxygen in this joint? “I can’t even. I just can’t.” Such dignified words. What a hero, this man. He’s lost this duel, my friends.

Thamalys witnessed that mighty display of fabric and frills with very, very little interest. In all fairness, not his cup of tea - at all. Those tempting bottles of Avian champagne, though… “Now we are talking… if you would excuse for a moment only…” he would have said chiefly to the Icy One, promptly covering the distance separating him from the heavenly vessels by means of long, purposefully strong strides. He darted those solid blue eyes, now with some veins of gold running through them, here and there to make sure his gesture would not raise too many eyebrows, then he just seized the bottle, hiding in some fold of that - for once - very useful silly robe and, together with some chalices in his left hand, he made a triumphant return to the ladies nearby. Waving the already uncorked bottle into the air, he would have ceremoniously offered a chalice each, a broad grin on his face. “May I interest you in some excellent champagne, ma’am? Avian’s original recipe, mind you!” he boasted, his quick, bony hands already dipping the neck of the bottle toward the closest of the glasses, most likely in the frozen hands - how handy indeed! - of the Genasi. Sabrina would have been next, although he would have proffered the glass with some caution indeed, the no-touching policy standing quite firmly as always. But then, he could have spared a glass more - and what better candidate than the knight nearby? Yes, he already had a drink, but then… “Excellent job up there! Nevertheless, you would probably be better off with a mouthful of this…” he would have uttered while inviting Reinhardt to grab the chalice - two drinks cannot be worse than one, after all. Then, he would have finally indulged in a tiny - or not - bit for himself, savoring the fruity note of the nectar with eyes closed, a split second before proposing a toast: “To Larket, may this wonderful occasion be a forewarning of hope for the whole city, for the Guild and Captains alike!” One big mouthful, that’s all the Blue needed to wolf down the bubbling ambrosia. That very moment, the winners were disclosed. Something similar to a smile surfaced onto the bony lineaments of the Avian, presently rising his - empty already! - glass high into the air, obviously indicating at the Bard. A split second after, he would dip is massive head - ponytail merrily following - toward the Icy One, whispering some words for her only. Something is lurking in those blueish shadows…

Raphaline plays her part, but is rather surprised by who won the bid for her. She had met the avian a total of once, but ever the socialite and cheerful woman, when she descends the stairs from the stage she does go looking for the avian. While she makes her way through the crowd, she stops by her friend Sabrina of whom she places a brief kiss to her cheek, having noticed earlier occurrences. Later they would speak. With the crowd swelling, the bard makes her way through the crowd, weaving until she stands before the very tall avian with a lofted brow and a rather curious grin on her lips as she says, “Well, I hadn’t thought I had made such a remarkable impression on you the one time we had talked.” Her tone is playful and modest with hands clasped before her, she looks up at him with those emerald eyes.

Chekhu is only half-aware of the models on the stage. Pageantry of this sort is even further outside of her sphere of knowledge than was the music. Her eyes rove to and fro, and in a moment of rather rare self-reflection, Chekhu realizes something. It is not precisely the crowd which has her ill at ease, although this many people in an enclosed space is something she still must grow accustomed to. No. It is a different thing entirely. Here she stands, alone in a room where almost everyone else knows all those gathered. She is the outsider, looking in. She is lonely. And loneliness makes her ashamed. She is dropping her head, making ready for a quick and stealthy getaway, when Valrae's earring dissaster occurs. Chekhu smells the blood at once, hears the woman's curse, and as is so often her wont, care trumps introspection. She scurries over, straightening her neck and trying to fashion a solicitous smile. "Hurt yourself?" she ass, only dimly aware that this is not precisely a polite way to introduce herself to someone new. Catching the glow of the offending earring, chekhu dives, snatches it, and offers it on the palm of one small hand. "Have this at least," she says. "And can I help the ear? I heal sometimes. I am Chekhu." She squints, looking more closely at the torn ear. "Don't think it looks too bad, me."

Valen would blink at all the goings on, upset he did not win Lionel to gift to a beautiful witch, but looked up to the Uyeer with a widened gaze. "I...uh...okay!" Looking to York, he would ask in a defensive but almost pleading gaze.../ come with me?/ look. Making his way towards Kreekitaka regardless of the males response, he would join Kreekitaka and clear his throat upon arrival *ahem* "You wished to see me Sir...?" The way it would be asked, those emerald green eyes, would look up at Kreekitaka and seem to press arrow bolts through his heart....if he were any sort of feeling individual. Valen knew how to play the game, and played it well. The question was...did Kreek? Or did he play a different game?

Emilia was glad to find her feet on the ground again. The view of the show for the bards was wonderful to actually see without being blocked by taller guests, but it was far too high for her comfort for a prolonged time. The Genasi was content with her not even five foot height. The fashion show was glanced at, but otherwise remained out of her interest as a new fellow had arrived to the little group to whisper away with Sabrina. He would get a glare of ‘hurt her and you die’ from where she stood before she attention was back on the stage for the announcement of the winners of the bidding thing. Then he was off to fetch some drinks. It was a good time for one the small woman was in more need of one than she thought she would be in need of. Once returned she would, ever not lady like, down the drink in one swift go. It was hard to see, but there was something different about the frozen lady tonight. If not just for the fact that she was cleaned up and in some fancy looking attire. Hard to place a finger on, or maybe it was nothing at all. She listened to the winners and turned toward Thamalys to give him a clap on the shoulder for having won a date with his bard friend, “Oh, you two will have such a wonderful time! She is ony of my most favorite people in all of Hollow.” There was a wink that followed her words as the little woman seemed nearly unphased by his winning a date with her bard friend. That look that was shared in the moment between the avian and Genasi as if something was or had been plotted prior to the bidding this evening. Leaning in the woman returned a whisper to the taller man before looking toward Sabrina with a frozen partial smile, “Lovely to see you tonight. I should be getting back...things to mend.” It was an odd departure phrasing, yet she turned toward the avian, “I want to thank you for this lovely evening, but both head healers cannot be away for long from duties. I shall let Sabrina here enjoy the evening and I will take my leave, but you know where to find me. Please do enjoy the Ball!” Then there was Raphaline approaching and she got a warm smile before the frozen one blew her a kiss. Then the Genasi turned to weave through the crowd to get out of this place before she entered a complete panic attack.

Chisel wanted to drink. But can't get drunk. These liquors are usually distilled fruits or vegetables which by context a part of nature, same reason why she can't be poisoned by anything that is crafted using natural elements. Dryads are quite immune to such and in turn, cannot get drunk as well. She smiles and walks toward her date but clearly he doesn't seem to be looking so well. The thought of actually pushing a vine into his gaping mouth and draining out the liquor came in mind but she had to appear decent tonight. She smiles and held the sides of her gown as she bows at him. "I haven't properly said my apologies and thanks to you Mr. Lionel. As it seems you are currently intoxicated, soon perhaps?" She tilts her head and smiles a bit, waiting for any response.

Rorin finds himself having been won for something. Or rather, he is won? Incredibly confused and just as lost as a a pup in its first month he looks to his drink- to Artia- to his drink. perhaps he'd need far far more of that than he thought and so began following someone, everyone, towards the drink table. The squire-paladin replaced whine in his glass with brandy and starting drinking it with nothing but a wide eyed expression and a strange feeling in hist gut from either too much cheese or perhaps too much fudge. Was there even fudge? Something about peanut butter. Rorin ate cake slowly as if he were some sort of strange gerbil who'd been annointed into a chair. Whatever was going on he was simultaneously overjoyed and hysteric.

Alvina took her place at the back of the runway with the other participants for the auction. She's wringing her hands, expecting to walk away with no one having bid on her. After all, she had a boyfriend, it might be odd for another guy to have a date with her. Thankfully, it looks like some of the girl friends are bidding on each other! How cute, if Jos had been up, maybe Alvina could have done that. If Macon didn't overbid on her. Good point, Alvina. Best to just let things wrap up. Winners continue to be announced, the bard's eyes scan the crowd for anyone she knows. Maybe Hudson got a sitter last minute and came to surprise her? She's hoping for too much. Alvina's turn comes up on the list, and the person responsible for the winning bid. Not Hudson, or any other male at this ball. "W-what...?" She repeats, looking at Brennia. This was a joke? Maybe this was Hudson getting back at her? Their fight earlier had been about Valrae, so how fitting for him to put a bid in under the witch's name...but Hudson isn't in the crowd. A panicked Alvina continues to scan for anyone or anything to make sense of this and at last, her gaze falls on Valrae, who is bleeding from her ear and looking a bit wobbly. I-Is this real life? How exactly are these two women supposed to talk to each other. Alvina looks to Jos, any words of wisdom here (?) before sucking up all the pride she thinks she still has and walking over to stand near where Valrae was, holding her bloody ear. How very Van Gogh of her. The bard tries to part her lips to say something but the words don't come. All she can do is stare, noting how perfect her dress looks on her, how elegant her hair looks...how everything about the witch was just how she remembered it; remarkably perfect and lithe to painful proportions of beautiful. "I..." she tries, stumbling. There really are no words for this and Alvina can't do anything but flop down in the nearest chair and snag the nearest waiter. Does it count as a date if they just get sauced right next to each other without saying anything? Maybe this was not the date, and it would have to come later. She offers two more flutes of some unknown liquid to Valrae, she looks a bit like she needs it, and takes two for herself. Sexy ladies can double fist at parties, calm down you nay sayers.

Lionel needs a few seconds to properly register Chisel’s arrival. Perhaps this does not sound so out of the ordinary, but one must understand that Lionel is a remarkably capable warrior, which might be his author’s boast but it’s also fact-checked. This is not fake news. So what would be a few seconds to others is a millisecond to him. Think Krice, basically. Anyway, she’s here. This is the first time he’s ever seen her outside of the battlefield, and we should maybe reiterate that they’ve always been on opposite sides. She isn’t a giant death tree, which is a bad look on anyone. “Y-yes,” he stumbles in reply, raising an emptied glass. When did he find occasion to empty it? Why, as soon as his name was announced, of course. “This is all very sudden. It is agreeable that you are not dead.” Lionel is a Vulcan, maybe, but Chisel will know what he means.

Josleen || Macon gets up and clears his throat, waiting for the room to come to attention. A hush ripples outwards from the King through the crowd, and once all attention is on him he announces in a strong orator’s voice that he too is bidding for a date. He bids on his Queen, Josleen, who had no idea he was planning this gesture. She laughs in surprise and looks up at him smittenly. She had secretly been planning to bid on him too, but he beat her to it. The King bids an amount higher than any other bid, because he can, and because it’s for a good cause, and who can be worth more than his Queen? There’s applause, and after that, silence. Macon glances about the crowd expectantly, his mood souring as no one else bids for his ‘smoking hot’ wife. He growls low, displeased that either people are cowards and won’t bid against him, or are in some way slighting Josleen. He assumes the former. Josleen, noticing Macon’s swift change in mood, places a hand on his arm and guides him to sit down so she can thank him and soothe him with her gratitude and attention.

York trailed behind Valen for the most part, as the vampire was far more sociable than he was. He would listen to conversations, partake minimally. And he would drink, but not much, seeming wary to even accept any alcohol offered. When he and Valen were called over by Kreekitaka, he did the same as he had, following Valen over at the crab’s beckoning. It wasn’t as though he would have refused, seeing as he still only had one person he actually knew here. The appearance of what seemed to be a giant talking crab… surprised him a bit, but he shrugged that off, instead watching the interaction unfold between Valen and Kreekitaka from close by.

Kaori finds this whole spectacle of harmless bidding on others a bit odd but amusing nonetheless. Once these men and women have presented themselves and the winners are announced the whole gathering seems to loosen up a bit: there are no more official announcement or displays it would appear. Now Kaori is free to greet those here she's familiar with and maybe become acquainted with others as well. Standing, the young woman smoothes out a perhaps imagined wrinkle in her qipao-like dress and goes to mingle, although not before depositing those coins from earlier for a decent donation to the recovery of Larket. Seeing that Reinhardt and Sabrina are a bit occupied, Kaori notices Ranok's presence for the first time tonight. She didn't expect him to come out this far. "Oh, Sir Ranok." She greets him with a bow of her head, "I didn't expect you to see you here."

Rorin jumped a bit, finding that Artia had approached. He gave a weak smile and downed his alcohol in an oddly smooth fashion for one so young. "Lady Artia," he chuckled at her nervous and half drunkenly. "

Ngirturong :Barnabas turns to Ngirturong as she smoothes out the back of her skirt before sitting. "Would you like a drink Milady?" The teen instintly frowns. "Stop with that milady s-" The teen swears, crossing her arms. "It makes me sound old. And unless they have a fruity flavored blood, I'll pass on a drink. "Barnabas presses his palm to his forehead. "Vampire, right. Well my apologies, but I'm just trying to show respect to my elder." Ngirturong gasps as her jaw drops. "How old do you think I am?!" Her voice raises, inciting a slight sense of fear in Barnabas as he jumps. "Well aren't you older than you appear? I know vampires don't age." He explains, forcing Ngirturong to scoff. "I've only been a vampire for a couple of months guy!" Barnabas blinks. "Then you're actually 15?! I thought you were... Oh man. The way you carry yourself, you just seemed..."Ngirturong lifts a hand to stop her dates statement, her face displaying a grin. "That for some reason made my night." She says while looking him over. "So... I hear you're good with plants." Barnabas gives Ngirt a smirk. "I am." He says. "Do you happen to know of a plant, that's..." Barnabas stops Ngirturong by reaching for her hand. "Follow me." With that, she takes his hand, allowing him to lead her for the indoor of the hall to outside the door. They stand on the side of the enterance as Barnabas reached into the inner pocket of his jacket, withdrawing two vials of liquid handing one to Ngirt. "Ah nice, you made it into tea." Barnabas nods as he takes a swig from his vial." I had a feeling you were into special plants, so I made sure to add a little of my blood to your vial. If that's ok with you..." Ngirt smiles as she takes a swing of her vial. "It's fine."

Rorin stuttered and gulped. What exactly had he been trying to say to this absurdly beautiful woman? Alcohol and nerves swam in his head. How exactly did Brennia fit into any of this?

Brennia leads Artia down to the drinks, picking up the special strawberry wine for her date and handing it to her. She glanced at Rorin and then back to Artia deciding to leave them have their date now. She leans in and places a sweet kiss on Artia's cheek and a whisper to her ear before making her way to the troupe of bards to play with them. Those Avian ears perk up at the king talking to the masses. When no one responds she projects that bardic voice and surely others in the concert hall will follow, "Long live the King! Long live the Queen!" She goes back to her bard duties.

Chisel did not. At all. It is quite awkward to tell someone that they aren't dead. Blinking couple of times as the thought of the liquor draining came into mind once again. But she refrained on doing so and simply smiled. "Yes. I am well. Sudden? Perhaps. I didn't exactly know who bid for me as well but it seems they only did so for charity and did not bother to show up and write up their name. Nonetheless it gave me the opportunity to date you." She smiles and extends her hand where slowly silk began growing from, quickly stitching itself into a handkerchief with floral design before she moved closer and placed it into Lionel's pocket. A reminder perhaps? The man is too drunk at the moment, he might forget about their date.

Thamalys stood tall in front of the approaching Bard, shapes and dress equally guilty of having him shifting his weight from foot to foot. A swift salutation dedicated to the departures of the Genasi, the Avian focused on the task ahead, offering his best smile match the mighty green of those eyes, standing in fairness not too far away already. “M’lady…” he would have voice in a soft, balanced tone while bowing slightly, the silk of his robe protesting loudly, “…of all the flowers within Frostmawian gardens, I could not find a single one matching your grace indeed. May I be so bold to ask you for a dance?” Right hand outstretched, every inch of his being covered in a faint blue aura dripping from his shapes as liquid fire, those eyes nestled in the middle of it, ready, oh, so ready, to snatch the Bard for that dance indeed.

Valrae is started by Chekhu's sudden appearance. She blinks at the foxkin, wide forest shadow eyes glassy from drink, and smiled. "Ah, I might have already had a bit to drink." She admitted sheepishly. A waiter had come to her aid as well and offered her a crisp white linen she was loath to press to her ear. "Ah, it's kind of you to offer but I wouldn't trouble you." In the back of her mind, the witch was panicking. Her hand shook as she took the earring from her new friend's hand. Chekhu was the last line of defense against the harsh reality that was Alvina standing beside her. "You should join us though!" Her tone was light, maybe a little slurred, but her eyes were pleading. She looked in Alvnna's direction for agreement but refused eye contact. "Well, that's settled!" She said as if it were and hoped that she would be followed to the table. There was drinks to be had and Val found herself grateful that Alvina had a sound enough mind to make them double. She drank the first before managing to look in her general direction again. "I've been doing a lot of things lately that I have absolutely no explanation for, this was one of them." Her earring was sitting before her and she turned her eyes back to it feeling foolish and sloppy.

Rorin is far too drunk and should not be allowed to hear the king let alone go near him lest he and Lionel rally ideas from eachother on things far worse than snooty insults.

Josleen notices that a woman bought Alvina, but she's never seen Valrae. She's heard the name, many many times from a sobbing Alvina, but never seen the witch. And thus, she has no idea that Alvina is under duress.

Artia chuckled at his reaction, after she whispered to him. The weak smile, caused her smile to leave. Hearing what Macon and Josleen said, disturbed her, she bowed at her knees to Rorin. “I will be right back, or can come with me. I can introduce you to some of my friends, if you would like?” Placing a kiss to Brennia’s cheek before she walks away, the two had plans after the ball anyways. They had a date with two wine bottles, and gossiping about the ball. Many laughs would be had later, “Brennia and I will have our date after the ball, for now if you want to keep it. This is our date, while the ball last. But I really need to go to some friends real quick, I feel I am needed with the King.” Turning quickly, she moved up to King Macon, and Queen Josleen. “King, and Queen, were you pleased with the event?” She said while her head is bowed, lifting it back up. If Rorin followed her, she would introduce them. “I have to say, you both look so amazing. Josleen, your beauty surpasses everyone here. I believe your beauty caused to many to be shy from bidding on you, afraid of getting turned down.” She places a hand to her plump ruby lips stifling a giggle. Ass kissing to keep Macon calm.

Dyraxdiin is perplexed by the going-ons of the event. A fashion show, a silent auction of people? What kind of person would willingly offer themselves as a unit of merchandise for purchase? It seems much has changed since his time, when all manner of creature was out for blood and kingdoms waged war at the drop of a hat... It seems, perhaps, that Lithrydel is not in as much trouble as previously anticipated. Perhaps. The tension between Frostmaw and Larket is still fresh on his mind, the earthquake and even the Sauriangate. Things have changed indeed. Diin's thoughts are abruptly brought to an end when a serving woman offers him a drink. He's at a ball and he didn't even get a drink? He feels very much like the party-pooper at this juncture, and so he accepts the glass of wine with a refined sense of nobility and rises from his seat to mingle with the people here. Lionel, despite being a margin or seven over the legal limit to ride a horse, is offered a nod of respect. Rorin, Eirik and Chekhu are given similar nods as he would brush past them, were they to meet his gaze in turn. As he winds his way through the throng of patrons, he finds himself face to face with Kaori, the interesting battlemaiden he met upon the road outside of Larket. She is regarded with a smile as he moves on to Macon and Josleen. Upon arrival, Dyraxdiin offers a deep bow, "If His Highness would not mind, I would like to place a bid for a chance to simply dance with his Queen, Josleen." Being a mage of very little means, Dyraxdiin produces a purse of coin, "I do not have much in the way of gold, but I offer five-thousand for the length of a dance." Blue-eyes to regard the King with the lofting of a brow in question.

Lionel stares at the grown silk until suddenly he is holding it. He is not entirely sure when he grabbed it, being that he is quite drunk, but he does indeed appear to have placed it in his pocket. “Right,” he answers. No, wait. That’s weak. “Right-o. Rightbackatcha. Frostmaw appreciates the mysterious donor.” There. That’s more like it. “We’ll enjoy a nice book-reading, or a wonderful pottery lesson, or a game of cards.” Suddenly, Lionel is Mr. Eclectic. “I should go. You know, I’m Frostmaw’s Knight-Commander. I gotta lead everyone back… you know. To Frostmaw.” He says it almost conspiratorially. My, he is wasted. “Anyway! It was a pleasure, and I will definitely, definitely, definitely keep a spot open on my schedule, and I look forward to… you know, whatever it is that people do on dates. I really don’t know.” He nods, faux-sagely.

Kreekitaka can't do much to directly speak to the man. The interpreter performs a very military gesture in Kree's direction--taking Valen's somewhat softer words and transforming them into 'reporting for duty, sir!' Kree gestured as well as he could to his interpreter, who does his best to carry across Kree's meaning. "My King wan's TAH!oo know if you receive prize money for fighTAH!."

Chekhu bobs her head along as Valrae speaks, listening closely. The woman smells of alcohol, and though Chekhu has never been drunk herself, she knows the condition, having observed it in others, and suspects that the witch is well on her way. The foxkin looks a little confused, however, when Valrae invites her to a table. "Me? Come with you? You and...Alvina? You must talk, yes?" The wilder is definitely out of her depth now, and her eyes flick restlessly toward the door. She wants to stay, to take up the simple request that Valrae has given, but the woman smells...almost afraid. There are subcurrents here, and while Chekhu has no idea what they might be, getting dragged into them seems a terrible idea. Still, she follows close enough to Valrae, for now at least, to hear and be heard. "Is a pretty earring you have, and a pretty woman to wear it. Very." Inane conversation, and the foxkin knows it, but what else is there to do? On impulse, Chekhu swipes a flute of some alcoholic beverage from a passing waiter, and without thinking twice, slams it. Bad, bad idea.

Alvina follows Valrae and Chekhu to a table and drinks both of her drinks, but she can't sit still. "I...can we...another time....?" Valrae doesn't look too put out by this offer. Alvina gave her word, so she has to follow through and see Valrae again at some point when they are both quite sober and willing to acknowledge something happened here for no real reason at all. There are no words to explain how nervous she was to offer over her office's information in Frostmaw to the witch. M-maybe nothing would come of it and they could all pretend it never happened. "I...have to...go.." And without talking to anyone else, because what could she say, Alvina picks herself up and finds the nearest exit to hitch the nearest carriage home to try and find a way to explain to her boyfriend that she had a date with his former lover.

Eirik in turn nods to Dyraxdiin and plucks a drink at random from a serving tray.

Raphaline caught the sight of the blown kiss and returns said gesture to her dear friend before gazing upon the avian with her full attention. With such a compliment directed at her, how was she to say no to such a request for a dance? So she slips a calloused hand into his, and with a soft smile answers, “You flatter me, and thusly, I would love a dance with you.” She allows him to lead her out onto the dance flower, and follows quite easily into the steps with a soft chuckle, having attended events such as these for as long as she remembers. Her feet move over the dance floor like a practiced dancer, so when she speaks again, it isn’t with a hitch missed. “I did not suspect of you a man of social gatherings. It is nice to see I have been proven wrong for the time being.”

Josleen || Macon grunts at Artia in the affirmative. Yes, he’s pleased. Josleen smiles graciously at the apothecary and says, “The ball is lovely. You and Lady Brennia have organized a wonderful events. We are enjoying ourselves marvelously.” Macon realizes a grunt isn’t enough and adds, “Yes, very good.” That’s when another noble, trying to please the King, decides to bid on Josleen, and shouts a counter-bid. Macon growls even surlier as he realizes, belatedly, he doesn’t want that either. How dare someone bid on -his- wife? Bid on her, don’t bid on her, it’s a lose-lose. Artia took the right approach. Macon outbids the noble swiftly and his tone makes it clear the bidding is over, thank you, good bye. Josleen weaves her fingers with the king’s on his knee but keeps her focus on Artia. “Don’t let us keep you, Lady Artia.” As good a dismissal as any, as Macon is perhaps not in an entertaining mood. Once Artia is gone, Josleen whispers to Macon that she cannot wait for the date, and other lines to soothe him.

Valen would blink for a moment at the speach before nodding graciosuly "I did indeed! Oh!" he would exclain greatly, before looking in Brennia and Artia's direction, then looking back at the Uyeer. "I plan on making it a donation tonight. The entire winnings! You fought admirably though..." he would say, soft gaze from the dreess that the Crab-man had made, looking almost like something out of a fairytale. "Are you alright? Are your injuries healing??" A glance would be given to York, thankfulnees that he had stayed by his side, along with an appreciative gaze that seemed to say /This is all a bit much even for me. Want to get out of here?/ before turning his face, again appreciatively back to Kreekitaka. It was a shame about Rafty, but then again...such was the proceedings of battle.

Chisel smiles and nods at Lionel, bowing at first before finally waving her farewell. She soon finds herself vanishing into the crowd and probably return to her garden.

Ranok was frowning after Reinhardt and Sabrina. Disrespect was something that barely registered. And besides, he wasn't going to risk a little to-do in a charity event. A hand slips into a pocket, fetching a pocket watch. Unremarkable, save that its back was see through, displaying its innards for all to see. That, and it didn't seem to just tell time. When it was slipped back in, then out came a cigar. This was lit with a lack of preamble, it having been pre cut. Tossing the used match, he was drifting doorwards when he was stopped. A pause, then a blin, as Kaori socially blindsides him. A long moment, with no recognition for the small woman he'd met in a Rynvalian alleyway. Then he places the face, "Oh. Uh. Yes. One must make the efforts to be..." A look around him, his mouth curling in true evidence as to what he saw for all of this. A display of extravagance in the face of disaster, with people on the streets, cold, hungry, or sick. Smoke curls equally, and he's getting ugly looks, "Social. Shake the hands and all of that. I can say the same to you. I honestly cannot say I expected you in a dress."

Valrae had nodded dumbly, conceding to the general feeling of flight that Alvina seemed to mirror. When the woman left, the witch all but deflated. Her shoulders relaxed, a sigh smelling heavily of alcohol escaped her, and she pressed a hand to her forehead. "Thanks Chekhu," She said suddenly dropping her hand again. She gave her a smile. "Though, it doesn't look like I'll be wearing them or any earrings anytime soon." She wrinkled her nose and pulled the cloth away from her torn ear. "Hey, do you want them?" She dropped the cloth and pulled the remaining earring out of her ear, matched it with the one that was already on the table. "You're more than welcome," She would wait for an answer before moving the conversation forward. "So, where you from?"

Artia | Once Artia felt the king and queen were back in happier spirits, she quickly moved over to Rorin. Picking up a shot herself, nudging him with her left hip if he didn’t know she was back again, slamming the shot back and placed on the table for the waitress to take away. “I would say, I would bid again and again for you. The outfit really flatters you, Rorin.”

Chekhu regards the earrings quizzically for a moment, then bends her head forward and turns it, displaying one vulpine ear. "You think these would look well with jewels in them? I think not, me. But you are kind for the offering." By this point, the two are at a table, Chekhu rather mystified at Alvina's sudden disappearance. She takes up a spare chair and perches on its front edge. "Me? I am Chekhu. I am from the south in Sage near where the pixies live. I am no pixie. I am foxkin." Her ears twitch, and as she chuckles, her frizzy red ponytail bounces on one shoulder. She is perhaps a little more free with her words than otherwise she might be, owing to the wonderful blossom of warmth in her belly; perhaps this alcohol stuff isn't so bad. "Don't come in out of wild places much, me. Only lately. And here I felt like...like outside somehow. All of you--" She gestures expansively with one lithe arm. "All so pretty. And me in leather and cotton with a tail that won't--" She gives it a distracted yank, and the weak little tie binding it simply gives up and spills the woman's mane of red hair down across her back. It is, in the foxkin's opinion at least, far nicer this way. "Ah, you see? Not for me. No."

Rorin chuckled to Artia and shuffled a bit shyly. Music played in the background and he wondered, "would you care for something to eat milady?' He asked her. Rorin wasn't entirely certain what to do around the ball though perhaps cricket was being played somewhere on the lawn. He recalled his manners though, "you look absolutely ravishing milady," he said it with a twinkle in his eye and a smile. Perhaps that seemed a bit forward but no matter. For one night at least he could be forward perhaps.

Thamalys followed, the Bard’s movements so fluid and consistent he only had to put very little effort into the dance at all. Right hand on her waist, left one in her right one - or indeed on her shoulder for the brief timing he needed to make a point and spin her around, that bewildering dress doing everything else and more. Bred by blades, broken by the latter, he did not falter, was it not a sparring as well, after all? Much more pleasant, that much he had to admit, trying to return Raphaline’s words taking advantage from a brief pause in the mounting music surrounding them, the crowd as if absent at all. “Oh, you were right all along… such a man I am not… does it really matter, though?” he would have asked without waiting for an answer, the rhythm madly accelerating to an apex where the two of them would have struggled to keep the pace, blue and purple mingling together in a harmonious mixture. He was panting loudly, now, desperately trying to accommodate the moving shapes of the Bard within a decent flow, closing his eyes as to savour the melody, to guide him till the very end. Eventually, with a last, powerful chord, it was over, the silence falling onto them like a cold rain in summer. Unmoving, his right hand still on her waist, he would have bowed again, this time a bit deeper. “I did not even know I could enjoy a dance this much… for that, I shall thank you…”

Kaori nods agreeably. She herself thought a ball a bit odd considering recent events, but at the very least the gold gathered would be put to good use. Gold that otherwise may not have been raised or counted. Ranok's comment on her dress brings a slight smile to her lips, almost a grin. "Well, it would not do to show up in armor. I may be a warrior, but I'm also a lady after all. One can't dance well in it either, although being so new to this realm I hardly expect the chance to dance."

Kreekitaka nodded slightly inside his tank and continued gesturing. Probably would have been a good idea to put the winnings of the charity brawl to charity, and the fact that Valen wasn't keeping any of it was a testament to his character. "King says 'Yes. I have potions which can... wi' hope... make me normoh again.'" Kree was vastly more confident about his chances than he let on.

Artia tucked a strand of red that came free from the hair style, behind her ear. “I will never turn down a biscuit or an apple, not in me to turn such items of food down. But, are you drunk Rorin?” She had to laugh, the compliment about her looks caused the female to blush red as a strawberry. Sucking her lips inwards, then released to smile bashfully. Artia was normal not bashful, or blush this much, but Rorin seemed to bring it out in her very well. “You look very outstanding handsome tonight as well Rorin, not that you didn’t look handsome before. But I can actually see your face, instead a mask over the visage.” The forward side of Rorin was welcomed, as it kept her cheerful.

Raphaline shakes her head no in accordance with his response before she answers, “None the less, it is still a pleasure.” She is quite happy to match the song quite well, and when it comes to an end and the avian is bowing to her, she cannot help but return the same gesture. “I am always happy to dance, no matter the partner as long as they are happy to learn.” The bard takes one step back as she cants her head and says, “Whenever you would like that date, send word to Frostmaw. I am spending a lot of my time there for now.” With as much divulged to the avian, she bows out, having a few others to speak with before she leaves. Into the crowd she disappears until she arrives upon one of the men from the warrior’s guild. Shaking her head, she approaches him with a lofted brow as she says to Eirik, “Goodness, this is a different sight to be seen.” Carefully, she leans in to add something.

Valrae studied Chekhu's ears thoughtfully. "I'm sure it would look beautiful!" She exclaimed, taking another drink. "Sage! I love Sage somuch." Those words were said confusingly close together. "It's my new favorite place now that I can't go home!" The witch left her useless earrings on the table and took another drink instead. She watched the foxkin shake out what she though was a glorious mane of hair and shook her head in disagreement. "No, no, no. Trust me, I have a nice dress on but I feel the same way!" She leaned in close, stage whispering to her, "I used to live on the streets! I belong here in as much as a tree does in this room!" The inebriated witch had been surprised to find her sentiments echoed so clearly in another person and easily returned the sudden honesty. Sure, she'd somehow gotten herself into a mess with Alvina and definitely wasn't wearing earrings for a while but she made a new friend! For someone with Val's luck, the night could still be considered a win. It would be good to end it on a high note. She took up her drink, drained it, and slapped it back down on the table. "Well, Chekhu of Sage! We should see more of each other. We can not belong more in places together. For now I'm going to stumble my way to an inn." The woman stood, offered the foxkin a wink.

Rorin thought about it for a moment and simply shrugged although it was a rather stylish one. He smirked and grinned and looked really nothing like his usual self, though on the point of a mask he gave a simple "ah," and fetched from his pocket a matching eye mask, white with dark green trim. He slipped it on and felt somehow... daring. The music began to kick up a bit and so he calmly offered one hand while extending the other towards the open floor. "Perhaps the spirits have fueled a bit of fire within me but time wanes as a candle dear, so I would ask for the little time we have," His grey eyes shined blue at her somewhat devilishly from under the mask, "shall we dance?

Ranok gives a knowing look, "One would be surprised what you can do in armor when you wear it enough. There is little promise as to the safety of your partner's toes, however. Perhaps I'll even show you sometime. However, that will have to be another time." Another glance at the watch, and then he's waving a hand, "I must be off. Farewell. And do try to stay out of trouble and dark alleys, hm?"

Ngirturong sips upon her tea, feeling it's calmy and relaxing effect almost instintly. She eyes her date more before speaking. " I thought there would be more people our age here." He nods in agreement as he takes a sip of tea as well. "Same, instead we have a building full of insane adults."Ngirt adds in. "And they don't understand us, well, right back at ya adults. "Barnabas bursts into laughter, forcing Ngirt to follow suit as they both take a sip of their tea. "You know, thinking about you have guts." The half elf lifts a brow and asks what she means. "Well, you thought I was older, and you still asked me to be your date. You didn't let that stop you, show you're kinda brave. "He nods. "You can say that." He grins. The two talk on about various things from their spells, projects, and home life. For the rest of the night, the two would stay here. Barnabas letting loose his bow tie as top bottons of his seats, and Ngirturong removing her boots,circlet and allowing her hair to free flow down pass her shoulders.

Dyraxdiin feels that his small appearance here has been enough. Besides, there are still plenty of people here to keep things lively, his presence is not needed he says to himself as justification for early departure. He finishes his drink while making his way through the throng of people, if only to place the glass on a nearby table before exiting.

Chekhu looks somewhat crestfallen as Valrae stands to leave. The woman is clearly intoxicated, but Chekhu, too, was enjoying the frankness of their discussion, even breaking into a sharp-toothed grin when the witch admits that she feels as out of place as the foxkin in these fancy surroundings. As Valrae departs, Chekhu takes up the woman's empty glass, sniffs it, stares into it, realizes there is at least a little left in the bottom, and unashamedly tips it down her own throat. "Oh!" she cries. "There are different kinds! Different kinds!" She stands in a blur, still clutching the cup, and chases after someone who appears to be offering more of the same. "Whatever this is," Chekhu blurts out, "I want more of it." A beat. "More. Please." The waiter, or whoever he is, replaces the empty glass with a full one, and Chekhu skitters off with it, now feeling remarkably better about the whole affair. At some point, she will have to track Valrae down, the better to get more well-acquainted. And this foxkin is good at finding. Things, people, dropped threads...all of it. Before she knows it, the drink is gone, and Chekhu's fetching scramble has turned decidedly less graceful.

Artia watched as he took the mask out, frowning slightly at him putting it back on. But if that is what makes him comfortable, so be it. She was and will never be one to ask someone to change, if they changed or wanted to do something that is them. “Awh, having to leave soon again? It seems time with you is always so limited.” Once the offer of a dance was asked, she took his hand to twirl herself up against him. Then she spun herself back out, obviously a skilled dancer. The way her eyes lit up, if picked up on it, would see she loved to dance. If one got lucky, they might capture her dancing around in ther living room at home. But lately she had not danced since the passing of her husband, “Lets go.”

York saw Valen’s expression and seemed to understand, stepping up beside him once Kreekitaka had answered. He looked to Uyeer (though he didn’t know that’s what he was called), gave a slight bow, and said “Excuse me, sir, Valen’s needed elsewhere at the moment. Sorry to intrude.” It was a bit abrupt but the ranger could think of no other way. So he looked to Valen once more and held out an arm as though to lead him away. Should the vampire accept it, the pair would, presumably, make their escape.

Thamalys curved those thin, grey lips into an expression halfway between the sneer of a bird of prey and the smile of an old man. “Thy will be done, m’lady…” he offered, watching the Bard disappearing into the crowd. Suddenly finding himself utterly alone on the dance floor, the Blue would have mustered all of his poise to try and exit the scene with the greatest dignity he could pull together - which is to say, not that much indeed. Yes, some Guild members were still standing there, but he had an errand to take care of - one that he dared not waiting for. Carving his way through the throng, painfully, so many of those little creatures catching the rims of his wings, the Avian would have left the hall, long, measured strides taking toward a destination he needed to reach soon enough. His duty, that he did - “… and some more!” he groaned to the Wind only, halfway through the corridor, those massive shapes vanishing into the distance already.

Eirik is quite literally unaware of the emerald eyed bard and her approach. So much so that he nearly spits the remnants of his drink out. Fortunately, he does not. That earlier awkwardness suddenly slips his mind and gaze sweeps Raphaline. The Northman grins at her private words and gives a knowing nod. That sounds great. Eirik, not being one to refuse such trinkets as drinks and snatches two more, one for her, the other for himself. The aforementioned is gulped down in a hurry before he places it aside and extends that elbow of his. "Shall we?" Eyes gaze about the room once more noting the last few familiar faces. Eirik then began his limping stride, hopefully with Raphaline in tow and places a bag of gold on the donation table. Somehow he had been admitted without the required fee. As for whisking Raphaline away. His aforementioned drinks are changing his attitude towards the public crowd. He then quite literally attempts scooping her up, no matter how embarrassing. A smile would be given to her, whether it succeeded or failed. Eirik was soon out the doors and away from the charity ball.

Rorin took one last drink before the dance. He was not skilled and in fact had only managed to learn in the last week from Lionel. But with enough liquid courage in his veins he would take Artia out onto the open floor and start with something simple as the band opneed up to something more of a waltz. Little steps, he reminded himself with his feet, having to look down at them frequently and then back up into the eyes of his partner. The last thing he wanted to do is make her loose a toe! He was blushed from drink or nerves it was hard to tell but he was having fun. "If I recall our date only lasts till the end of the ball when your next engagement picks up," About an hour as far as he could tell. Still he would try to have as nice a time as he could while it lasted. Especially since he seemed to have earned the interest of an extravagantly beautiful woman some way or how.

Artia moved like she was walking on air, a graceful side of her coming out. Placing her hands on the proper places, intertwining her fingers with his holding his outstretched hand moving with him into the waltz. Once he looked into her eyes, she began to blush causing her to look away from a moment to get a grip on herself. Once able to, she looked back into his eyes, “Actually we worked it out that as long as you are around tonight, I am yours. Brennia and I will have our date when we both our free, we owe each other a girls night out. “ The witch didn’t know how, but she seemed to have caught his attention. But being her, and as daft as she can be at times she took it as he was just being a friend.

Valen would take York's hand and be lead to wherever the male wanted. A look to Kreekitaka, while wearing the dress he designed would be given, though the look would be certainly apologetic. A look to York would be given now, into his eyes, one of apology for dragging him into such boring business but also one of the sincerest forms of grattitude. Close to the half-elf's ear, he would whisper something, before blushing heavily as he was lead away to wherever.

Chekhu is quite obviously not putting her best foot forward now. Unused to alcohol, and small to boot, the foxkin's formerly sure-footed gait has turned to a stagger. As she weaves through the room, it is a miracle that she does not upset a servant with a drink-tray, or interfere with one of the many dancing couples toward the middle of the floor. Her good luck ends, however, when she runs flush into Kaori's back after adroitly dodging a fellow with a tray of hors d'oeuvres. Immediately her hands clamp down on the woman's shoulders from behind, the better to keep her own balance. "Sorry. So sorry, me." The apology is a breathless little grunt almost directly into Kaori's ear, and the wilder tries to muster any shred of dignity she might once have had by hauling herself upright. "Think I will go now. Go now, far away in the trees, for sleeping."


The Party Goers Partied Unto The Dawn