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The evening was bitter and cold outside, however inside the lights sparkled and the people danced in revelry to music as if to fend off the Prague winters which were at it's core the stuff which superstition was made of. Inside the rather large and sumptuous townhome of Count Melichar there was a celebration of sorts; the Russians were known to be quite lively during the winter when all was cold, and the ambassadorship to the Austrian city did not curtail that in the slightest.

The Celebration was the birthday of his son, Valegny. And per usual, Valegny did not know what precisely to do with a celebration and normally he was able to fob off his father. He'd managed to forstall a party for various trips across the continent which his father readily allowed.

For someone as jovial as Count Melichar, he was almost at lost with how to deal with his quiet and somewhat austere son who prefereed culture and learning to parties and revelry; though at the very least he did understand fashion and dressed accordingly though there were many points in which the Count did not understand his son.

But to be perfectly honest, it was also to introduce his son to some of the eligible young Austrian ladies of good blood and lineage.

Perhaps Valegny did pick up the inner nuance, he was not thick of brain like his father was (which he blamed on the copious amounts of drinking that his father did at any given moment, but could be forgiven for because his father was not a violent drunk, more such a theatric one. Therefore, he nursed his own glass of wine as he moved about the room and made the rounds like a dutiful son who was merely pretending to enjoy himself. There had been a pause in the dancing as the musical guest had arrived and was expected to take to the stage any moment-- in the interim, the people were milling about, refilling glasses and nibbling from the large long table filled with delicacies of both Austrian and the Mother Country-- alongside the fair of a hired French Patisserie (since his father had heard french cuisine was all the rage, and the Count was a trend setter.)

Valegny was surrounded by girls, all of them giggling and simpering, and likely all with an eye on his eligibility, and a taste in their mouths for being a Countess. He was polite however, and managed to engage with them on the latest fashions and not just hunting (which was not to his taste, unlike his father who was quite renowned), girls tended to like his biting and witty remarks that were the hallmark of a learned noble.

Little did Valegny Kojac Melichar know that very soon his life would forever change.

aristopire

Valerian Ostell's life was fairly busy all things considered.

It was filled with meetings upon meetings, midnight brunches and forays with his best friend Cassandra into the Boston social scene, the world passed by in a whirl for him; was it how he expected his life to have gone? In some situations yes, he had expected he would always go to Harvard Business School, he had always expected he would take over the family business-- that he would take a wife for appearances, and a lover to his own preferences.

What he had not expected was being turned into a vampire at the age of 26, poised forever on the edge.

So some of those things came true, others did not. They were never mutually exclusive, he supposed.

Upon the death of his mother and father, some horrific accident that had been spread throughout the papers (it did not affect him, he had not been to terribly attached to them in the first place. They were largely neglectful as he did not require constant supervision to do what he needed to do, and that was get top grades and make it so his reputation was beyond reproach. No scandal in high school and none whatsoever in college, he was without blemish-- if a bit ruthless.

Ruthlessness was not necessarily a fault when it came to being rich, it was just part of the landscape.

Being a vampire and being a rich boy seemed like a fairly good combination, he knew how to invest his money to watch it grow throughout the adges; he'd cut his teeth on the Dow Jones and had a Swiss Bank account for as long as he could remember. He approached all of his with a calm efficiency that was in keeping with his core personality. Boston was his home turf but there was a part of him that called to Saintsmourn, it was perhaps memories-- he was still human enough where there was that lingering shadow of sentimentality within him.

It did not help that he sat on the Board of Directors for the Prepratory School and University, as his father had before him-- an inherited piece of baggage; ironic due to his vampiric nature though he could walk in churches as he had never been completely catholic in nature-- only catholic insofar as much as it figured that he would turn out gay in a all boy's school.

That was an exceedingly catholic thing to do.

He did enjoy the arts, for all of his practicalities. He had season tickets to the Met, to Broadway, he usually took off for New York Fashion week to cavort with Cassandra, and he sank down money into patronizing the arts in whatever form or fashion it took. If his eyes lingered a bit to long on a certain violinist in the Broadway orchestra, he made no true indication of his preference.

But it was true that Saintsmourn had one of the best choirs in Massachusetts, and he found himself drawn to them. Even as he sat there on the balcony watching the performance, he remembered one who had sung the most enchanting of all of the choir members, who would sneak out to play his violin in the empty gardens at midnight-- perhaps that had truly instilled the love of music within him, of all things beautiful in a world dominated by numbers and analytics.

Underneath his Dior shades, his eyes were closed as if he was feeling the music. His fingers tapping against the armrest lightly-- it was a spot that was reserved specifically for him, a little pocket which was a kickback to the board of directors but which only he untilized for attending a simple choir recital. Most thought it beneath them, but he did not.

But he would never willingly admit that he took time out of his schedule; no-- he was merely in the area.

dangernerd

Nicholas Kirkland (Nicky to those who he considered friends) was at this moment finishing up the last of his reading for his college classes. In the little dorm-room that himself and Patrick shared, it was a muddle of books and random objects that they'd collected. Not only that but also bits and bobs of their friendship tied into neat little nostalgic notes.

The last rays of the sun was streaming in through the window and he was poised, feet crossed on desk and balancing barely on the back two legs-- precarious yes, and honestly he knew that he should not really be doing this. Coordination be damned, he'd never worried about it before despite the bumps and bruises he regularly got because he was perennially distracted.

It was almost time for Patrick to come home from his late evening classes and then they'd start their foraging for dinner.

After that, well the evening was still young and there was trouble to be had. All of which he looked forward to, after all Patrick had for as long as he remembered, been his favorite partner in crime.. they had grown up together and they had a special bond.

As close as brothers, except not quite-- and honestly? Nicholas was glad for that.

giveanything

"Bless me father, for I have sinned," the words tumbled past his lips, ingrained in the well worn pathways of his memory from the years he'd spent in catechism and as an altar boy. Not that Liam was devout anymore -- how could he be, given what he'd become, given what he did and continued to do. The confessional booth was small and dark, light filtering in only dimly through the door and its screen that kept him hidden from the sanctuary beyond and from the priest he assumed would be on the other side.

"It has been... a very long time since my last confession."

What was he doing here? This was ridiculous. He couldn't possibly expect forgiveness and absolution. There had to be true repentance for that, real contrition, and Liam knew he couldn't manage either. He hated what he did, despised every moment of it, but he wouldn't stop. He couldn't stop. The price for disobeying was far too severe, and he would not be the one to pay it. The price for his disobedience and his failure would be paid by his brother, and he couldn't live with that.

So William had made his choice, made it again and again, putting that one life ahead of so many others. And oh he was good at what he did, talented at ruining people, in shattering whatever it was in a human being that kept their souls in place, until they were ready to throw it away. His watcher commended him for it, in a sick and sadistic sort of amusement.

Today's lost soul had been... fuck. It had been hard. She was young, barely nineteen, and her road had already been a hard one. He'd played the game with her for the past few weeks, insinuating darkness and doubt into the cracks of that already-battered soul. Today. Today she'd shattered, and there would be no recovering from it. Another soul for the demon who owned him.

He could feel the panic rising up in his chest, cold and hard and threatening to freeze his lungs so he couldn't draw in enough breath. In the dimness and silence of the confessional, all the carefully constructed walls and facades trembled and fell away. Gone were the easy smiles and quite literal devil-may-care attitude, all the charisma and charm that he relied on in his cursed excuse for a job. It was him and his breathing and the silence and the faceless priest in the chamber beside him. Liam wondered if he could hear the panic in his breathing.

"I... sorry. This was a mistake. I should go. I'm sorry, Father, for wasting your time."

internationalrelations

[The woods beyond the village were cursed. That was simple, clear fact. It had been true for as far back as anyone could remember -- which was strange in and of itself, really, the way that memory seemed to blur and fuzz at the edges when one tried to concentrate too closely on it. But that strangeness did not make the curse any less real, at least as far as the villagers were concerned. Alex had been raised on the stories and the warnings, that venturing too deeply into the woods would surely end in some horrible fate.

Even now, now that he was a grown man, venturing into the forest was entirely forbidden. His mother, who incidentally happened to be the mayor of their charming little village, had emphasized just how forbidden it was. Alex was well aware.

But god he was so fucking curious. What the hell was even out there in those dark shadowy woods? What was beyond that? He needed to get out of this town someday or he'd lose his mind. Maybe that was dramatic. He had his family. His mother and step-father. His actual father. And his sister. Really, June was his entire sanity, along with Nora. But he was still restless, made even more so by a particularly aggressive suitor who Alex was trying to diplomatically dodge.

Oh there were excuses and reasons, but the day that he finally said fuck it and headed into the woods, it was because something was calling to him. He didn't know what or who. He couldn't even really put words to the feeling, only that something out there needed him. Besides, he was only going to explore a little bit. Barely out of sight of the village outskirts.

That had been the plan at least. But plans did not always come to fruition, and in remarkably short space, Alex found himself turned around. No, no that wasn't right. Turned around was not a strong enough word. He was lost. Totally fucking lost. It felt like the paths were shifting beneath his feet, steering him towards a destination that it had in mind rather than him. Then the storm swept in, drenching, pouring, punishing rain soaking through every inch of him. The wind whipped through the trees, sending branches scraping against his skin. Lightning flashed through the sky, illuminating the silhouette of a castle looming ahead, breaking through the dense forest trees.

What the fuck. Was there supposed to be a castle out here? But whatever, Alex needed shelter, and it had presented itself. So he ran the rest of the way, eventually coming to the large doors of the dark and foreboding castle, run down like it was little more than ruins. How could Alex have known that this place was the source of the curse that had spread across the land? How could Alex know that inside was a handsome prince who had paid the price for his family's pride and offense to a sorcerer, transformed and cursed himself.

And like okay, the sorcerer was probably just trying to prove a point about how terrible it was to try to make someone stay in the closet and defy their heart. The sorcerer was definitely a yaoi shipper. So, the key to breaking the curse? Of course it was true love. That was how these things worked, after all.

But Alex, drenched, bedraggled, scratched and bleeding and looking much worse for the wear, stumbled his way into the seemingly abandoned castle.]

Hello? Is anyone here? I just... kind of need a place to ride out the storm? So I don't get fried by lightning?

zauberdecke

[ Essek Thelyss had been set up on a double date by his friend Jester.

He was not one who particularly enjoyed social interactions. He had enough of them both in his profession as a model, as well as his moonlight job as a spy for the Dynasty Government. Both sides of him did not have much in the way of time for such frivolities as dates. Certainly he was seen on the arm of quite a few men, but those were for publicity only and otherwise he eschewed any such interactions.

But Jester was Jester, and she was insistent.

Jester had caught him reading some tome on the intricacies of Dunamantic Technology and said that she knew just the man for him. To which case it became a Hurricane; Hurricane Jester coming in to whisk him away. So he decided to go and then at the end of the evening he would tell Jester's mystery man that he was not interested and thank you for his time. But that did not mean that he was going to show up being anything less than the model Essek.

So of course he would dress with care; even though he was sent on crushing this man's hopes he at least wanted it known that he was quite the prize, because he did have a bit of vanity to him.

A small local restaurant was selected on the seaside of Nicodranas, where he was currently on location for a beach shoot. One that specialized in fresh seafood. He wear tight white velvet pants and an off the shoulder slinky tunic, his hair was styled immaculately with little sparkly stars that still managed to hang in those waves.

Jester had told him to carry the book and so he had it tucked underneath his alongside his little beaded clutch. He walked into the cozy little seafood restaurant and glanced around as he surveyed the people to see if he could possibly guess who his date would be. That is, if his date had even arrived yet. ]

rosepaean

[ It was just another evening. Divinity had closed up for the evening, the rush was never so bad in the summer time when he did not have to deal with the Academy crowd-- and since it was a weekday, he did not go into Karma to perform drag. It was just a nice evening that would be spent at Swinglines, with a glass of Mystic Wine and some music.

He had been actually a bit sad since Gemlyn had left to go on adventures. Yes, he was happy for them, but he also missed them terribly; no more waking up to a faery launch.

Though he had been sent Remy to help out at the store, and the man was very nice but also very sad. And Kris was not sad by nature so it was a struggle to make pleasant conversation with him because he did not want to bestow any sort of false or toxic positivity on the other.

Cheer up was not going to do any good and he would rather not.

So he gave Remy excess cinnamon rolls to take to Lyra and paid him a decent wage where he could do whatever he wanted with it and did not ask any questions about his goings-ons. Wasn't needed.

He was turning the lights off for the evening, made sure that everything was clean and then of course there was the laying out of all of the ingredients for when he woke up at 3AM to start the baking. His hours he kept, well he was a mystic so he only required a spot of sleep-- going to bed at 11 would more than suffice to have him well rested in the morning. ]

zauberdecke

[ There was a very specific reason why Essek was here at this moment.

All around him was gathered components, and within his hand he held chalk with which he was drawing the familiar pentagram that would assist in his mission. For his entire life, he had been gatekept, he came from a long line of witches, all of them female; the power passed down through matriarchal laws and blood-- from woman to woman.

However he was the black sheep, the one who had been given far more power than was comfortable for the bloodline in which it had been strictly locked up. Because of this, no female line could inherit and even right now etched into his chest was a binding spell that was unbreakable though oh, how he had tried. It had been placed there by he who he had been given in marriage to; locked until at which point a female was conceived which would then continue the line downward.

There was nothing more vengeful than a cat who had been caged, and right now Essek Thelyss was out for blood and perhaps even a healthy dose of revenge. There was that intrinsic longing for freedom to do what he wanted, not wanting to be bound by tradition to a familial coven who cared more about the line than him. He wanted to put a stop to it, perhaps even get this angry scar of a sigil on his chest removed, wanting night upon night of assault to end.

He did not care what he summoned, the only thing he wanted was for whatever power he could bid to rise to invoke retribution, to free him. Logically he knew that he would be entrusting his fate into the devil he did not know-- but at this point in time, that seemed far preferrable.

And that was how he had roped Alex into this. Someone who was well versed in the rituals if not well practiced; he could not do this alone because there was so much that could go wrong. Best to have two hands in it, even though he knew that it was not Alex's job to intervene but rather to 'watch' but he was desperate, and Alex knew how much he hated Adeen.

Desperate times called for desperate measures, and it was then that Essek finished the circle and then set his chalk down gently. ]

The circle is complete, the components are gathered.. it is time.

ausgebrannt

[It was Caleb's first Winter's Crest in Rexxentrum, in the small cottage that he had taken to calling home now that the Nein had taken a step back from the more intense part of their adventuring. Lucien and Cognouza were dealt with. Trent Ikithon was imprisoned. The war between the Dynasty and the Empire ended. Jobs well done, he supposed.

He had Essek had plans to travel back to Aeor, to seek out the T-Dock and the other mysteries of magic that lingered there, but the trip had not yet been undertaken. After all, Caleb knew that the drow had to be careful. The eyes of the Dynasty and the Bright Queen would eventually fall on him in regards to the stolen beacon. But that didn't mean he didn't look forward to the evenings that Essek managed to drop by to spend time.

He treasured those times, when they'd discuss magic and theory. He'd make tea -- or sometimes break out something a bit stronger -- and they'd talk until all hours.

All that talking but some thing still remained unsaid, unspoken, and lingering on the tip of Caleb's tongue where he could taste the bittersweetness of it, of a longing and a desire that he genuinely believed he did not truly deserve to ever really satisfy. How could he? He was a tainted thing, hands still blood-covered, despite his continued attempts to atone.

But he was still too selfish not to want.

Tonight he was seated in his chair, glancing at the door with an undisguised anxious hope. It had been a while since Essek had come, and Caleb missed him. And with Winter's Crest upon them, well, he wanted to share that with the drow, to show him the traditions he had grown up with.]

zauberdecke

[ The Thelyss Twins were well known within the Pairs circuit, known for a mother who was rather pressing in her desire to win and which then translated toward her children. They had started early, training and training; gradually honing their talents over years. But they had never been precisely ready until this year's Winter Olympics in Whitestone and then they were sent to to represent the Dynasty and bring them glory.. for the Luxon of course.

With the Dynasty, it all seemed to come back to the Luxon.

The twins were given a room together, which was fine by them. They shared an apartment together in Rosohna, so a room would not be too out of the ordinary whatsoever. They also were not the most social of the competitors so it was likely they would keep to themselves.. likely. So when they arrived, they prepared for the long haul of two weeks in which they would reside while the games were running. Competitive ice skating was not the only sport and there would be a little bit of downtime in between practices, time enough to sightsee.

The day after their flight arrived, they headed into the pairs practice rink. With the many people who were set to practice, there were practice slots allocated, maintained hours around the clock-- the rink was a dual-affair so concurrent practices between the pairs happened. Essek and Estra took their positions and then started to do their warm ups as they skated around the rink arm in arm, and they did make a striking pair. It was genrally the normal for the woman to be the smaller of the pairs, to make for easier triple lutzes and salchows however the drow woman was a whisper taller than the male and did the majority of the lifting and leading, though the two of them did a portion of their concurrent jumps and spins in a masterful tapestry of shadow skating in which their syncronization was highlighted.

The already unique approach, genderbent though it be, was already gaining quite a bit of talk as the case may be. If they gave indication that they were paying attention to the whisperings, they did not let on; both holding themselves flawlessly and with perfect grace.

No matter what though, they would cause a stir among their fellow competitors though this was not precisely a love story about competition now was it? For it just so happened that the ice dancing pairs would share the practice rink as well. ]

zauberdecke

[ Essek Thelyss was used to being primped and petted.

He was a Lord and the Heir, but not an ideal one, after all Dynasty protocol favored women over men and always had. He had no real power and he would never have minded too terribly much if not for the fact that he was ultimately treated like a pawn by the Duchess Thelyss-- and with Essek desiring his studies more than society, he knew how to play the game albeit that he did not enjoy it and wished for the moments where he was left to his own devices.

There was a betrothal being brooked between himself and Lord Tasithar, handled by his mother.

It was not one that he particularly desired, but he had little say in the matter-- he merely had to be seen allowing the Lord to woo him, whereas the idea of it appeared distasteful to him. But as he stood there underneath the glimmering lights of the ballroom, holding his mask to his face, he found that there was a strange hollowness to this evening.

All of these people, they all meant very little to him.

Not that he did not have his share of dance partners, he would dance with them. But this was not something that he was well versed in, he did not enjoy the frivolous empty flirtations that was expected of him; cool politeness was the only thing that he could give and even that was as sparse as snow in the marquesian desert. And so he stood there in the corner, waiting for those to sign his dance card and ultimately realizing that he was nothing more than chattel for them.

He raised a glass of wine to his lips, and then ducked behind a potted plant once he saw Adeen approach. ]

windbursting

[ Jean hadn't been feeling very well for the longest time.

It had started with a little tickle that settled in her lungs; just the slightest tickle that caused her to cough and then scatter her mountains of Mondstadt paperwork everywhere. She was then forced to go around her office and gather it up. Then it progressed rather easily into little bits of white blossoms emerging from her mouth as she hiccupped uncontrollably.

Her best friend, Lisa would fuss over her which progressively made it feel better and also worse, if that was even possible to begin with. Tea was shoved at her which she dutifully drank, though she stoically said that it was probably just some sort of cold that was excessively hard to shove away-- but it was hard not to want to sink into Lisa's ministrations and just let her take care of it all.

A trip to Diluc had him calling her an idiot, which she had no real clue what he meant. Instead he'd shoved some fire whiskey at her and told her it may help ease it a little bit. She ignored of course the fact that she could catch some petals coming from his own lips.

Was what she had catching? ]

zauberdecke

"In the dark
I need to taste the blood
Go on, draw another line
We can cross this time."
- Blindfold by Sleeping Wolf

---

( The truth is, I'd rather be blind )