GoldenCat/Sands

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Sands in the Hourglass

It had been a Long day.

Ever since the night before, facing undeath on the countryside of Windia. Seeing the pillars of ash on the horizon, knowing something to be burning it, walking over the remains of a temple of the Cult of the Illuminated, knowing an unholy crusade had gotten this far. Fight the undeath until the entrance of Windia, flooded with refugees to add t othe normal influx of merchants and visitors to an important city of the Threshold. Long hours in a line, tricks to escape a long line, sticky paint to disguise themselves, and get into the city.

Everything should have calmed down then, shouldn’t it?

Meeting a stranger at the gates of the Perfected Palace of Eventide was not even the beggining of the problems. For Alexander... after the murder of his family, the murder of his friends, the murder of his subjects, the his kingdom... after running for a week with her brother and his nanny, with creatures of darkness one step behind them... after being rescued and then imprisioned by two dark mistressess, and having to take a road safer, but full of death and desolation... Windia seemed like the end of his problems, a chance to relax, to be comfortable, to be safe, to have time to cry and grieve. In his dreams, at least. Getting into the Manse, nearly being killed by a misunderstanding with its guardian spirit, finding out his brother’s unconsciousness is of mystical origin... and being attacked by a Nemessary, which he quickly dispatched.

For Selina, the reception on her hometown was chilly, seeing her house taken over, her city and her people stolen from her.. mourning over her parent’s graves, moaning over her enemies’, but never far from danger. Never far frrom those who want her dead. Still having to fight her way back to the Inn... still having to fight every step of her life.

For Vorpal, the desolation and burnt cities of war are old acquaintances, nothing to trouble oneself with – more victims of the uncaring advance of war. The fights, another part of her life. But even for her, it has been a long day, and the ache on her ribs... remembering her she still has them, after feeling them break down, after feeling their splinters pierce her heart and her stomach... the pain is with her at every step she takes. And the embarassment of being saved by a mere boy, in front of that sniveling Windia, no less!

And for Domiel that long day began with the night of passion with the Baroness. He has not seen the burnt villages or the razed kingdom, but he did see the refugees, dirty and broken, swarming over the streets like rats, dirty and in packs... he had seen himself get dirty, his hair coarse, his more-than-perfect, dream-forged features tarnished by being on the street, laying low, knowing of the sword ready to come down at his head. It had been a long day for quite some time, now, but thankfully, it was finally over.

For finally, all of them were at The Hourglass, knowing that, anything that tried to touch them there would need enough power to raze half of the city in the process. Cleaned and siny, clothed in an attire fresh from the store, Domiel plays for an enthralled audience... and Alex, Selina and Vorpal can finally relax... the long day is finally over.

And the long night has just begun...

Domiel: Swaying, shifting, the Ashing Dove stands alone in the corner stage, doing one of the two things he had been placed into this world to do. His fingers are passionate to the strings, guiding the bow in a rampant gypsy jig. Sweat drips from his face, making him gleam and sparkle in the lamp light. Sweat stings his eyes even as he closes them tight in intense concentration. He sways his hips to the music, making love to the air, to the black fiddle against his neck, breathing soft gasps that are lost to the music. A glow alights his pale features, crimson streaks across his high cheeks.

The audience could never know the private celebration going on before them, how personal the exaltation in his flushed features truly was. Alive!

The strings sing in harmonious glory to the rallying cry, rising and falling in a madden crescendo. Live another day. Live another night. If he kept that cycle turning, he may even live to see the fools promise that a pair of pretty eyes had weaned out of him.

That was time away yet and tonight, he had an audience again. He was just a musician again, if only for tonight. So he poured himself into the air with abandon and filled the air with the music of Wyld passion. Called like a siren to the feat of the simple Windian folk and willed them to take to the floor. Young or old, the music told them, as it had for generations on the Winterwing lands. Fat or thin. Beautiful or wretched. No matter how clumsy or how graceful, we welcome you. We want you. Join us.

Hourglass: The music fills the common room, shaking hearts and flesh, making most guests of the inn stand up and dance... dancing taking up the hall, those lucky enough to secure a room before the refugee flood now even luckier to hear such a performance!

As the Celestials come into the Inn, they hear the sound of melodious, invinting music, and the laughs of those who surrender themselves to it... turning a common hall into a true party!

In front of Domiel, he sees the laugher, the abandon with which old and young alike give up to his music, all happy in letting go of worries and problems to just... have fun! Pairs are formed under the influence of the music, dancing and laughing as others, to shy or uninterested to get up, simply watch and smile. A nice night, and all around him, Domiel can simply feel the high spirits, the fun emotions like a sweet perfume to him....

Domiel: No wine could ever have such a bouquet. No meat as succulent. The scent of joy and happiness wafts into nostrils as he plays and deep into the pit of his belly, a gnawing hunger begins to form. Something cold and empty. Needful.

It has been a while since he shared his bed with anyone. Curling up beside Carina against Kitrain for warmth hardly counted. He measured the risk for a moment, then gave in. It shouldn't draw too much attention if the night became a little warmer.

The tempo of the music begins to shift. Slowing and drawing itself out. Still passionate, he'd die before the day came where his song was anything but that, but a lower passion. Less fervent in it's urging. His face soothed itself into a smile, A song that had drawn people to their feet now called them together. Husbands to wives, sweet-hearts to each other, strangers into one another's arms. Giving them leave to grace one another with the touches he yearned for. There were always those left out in the cold. He would find them later.

Hourglass: Faces flush, noses touch.... the air in the room seems slower now, warmer, more moist.... some couples live, others rub each other more as music slows down, others cuddling lovingly on the corners of the room, watching the others dance dreamy-eyed... the music transforming their mood as actors following the script of a play....

Domiel: The mood was set. Domiel could taste the change in the air even before he opened his eyes to witness the growing closeness of the room. Another world from the darkness peeking through the window. Jealous, dark world, longing for the luxurious heat within. A sad, silly place he was happy not to be.

A conflict of urges was filling him now. He could have kept playing for a while yet, fanning the smoldering looks that passed between the couples around him. But he wanted to share those looks as well, not simply feed them. In the end, like most men, he sided with the baser of the urges.

The song slowly drifted away and the Ashing Dove let the fiddle down from it's perch. A glass of wine first, he decided, mopping the sweat from his brow with the edge of his scarf as he edged his way through the crowd towards the bar. Then he would see about company.

Alex Holysword: The boy was... confused.

Smiling as he watched the Fae-Blooded play, enjoying the music quite a bit...

I judged him wrong... someone who plays like that can't possibly be bad!

Shouldn't have been so wary, should I?

Of course, before the Ashen Dove had came down, the Red-skinned girl took his arms, and pushed him to dance, as he yelped and struggled. Yes, yes, it was a dance. But he didn't feel like dancing, and didn't really feel like... all she proposed him, in hot whispers. Not that he didn't want that, or didn't like that. A few weeks back, that would be his wet dream.

Unfortunately, he was now worried, busy, and wanting to talk with the fae-blooded. That, and when yone is his age, things so sudden, you just blush, step down, and try to go away. Not knowing quite what to do, not quite feeling like it right now, but, but... he kinda was. What made him want to move away even more, ein embarassment.

If only she would let him, as she led the dance!

Aliset: Clap.Clap.Clap.Clap! Domiel hears the clapping all around him, but one specifically calls for attention, as he gets close to the bar.

Aliset's

The receptionist claps and laughs as he approaches, smiling with some irony, over the situation and even herself. A true smile, now. True and real, not like the rehearsed mask Domiel had met on the reception. "Why, why I was wrong about you, after all! I apologize... you really play beautifully! And who would know, you go from a Hungry Ghost to a Fair one when properly washed..." She giggles.

Domiel: It took Domiel a moment to place the girl smiling at him. The smile had lead him astray. Ali... something. Alison? Alister? The receptionist, whatever her name had been. He looked her over inconspicuously. Pretty enough, on a night he wasn't feeling picky regardless.

"Ah, no, no... you flatter me too much miss," he returned her smile, waving the compliment off and making sure to look flustered with false modesty. "I'm only lucky I didn't embarrass myself as much as you thought I may. The last time I tried that song, my fingers caught in the strings. The audience was... less than impressed."

Aliset: "Why, you deserve it, mister Gasper. On the performance and looks, definatly..." She says, short dirty blonde hair falling slightly over her face, hazel eyes eyeing him curiously, her tongue almost slipping under Sweet Lover's Sigh influence... the tinge of pink in her cheeks showing how she was taken by it.

So much she paid a boy to keep to the reception, she needed to see it, to listen to it, to bask in it... and was about to diddle herself to the same music. "Hard to be believe someone like you was dressed like... that! What happened that got you in such a state, hmmm?"

Domiel: "Poor fortune, as many have had. A boring and embarrassing story, to say the least." That blush was promising. Promising what, he couldn't say yet. Domiel looked her over again, deliberately obvious this time; lingering on the swell of her hip, the roundness of her bosom, before meeting her gaze. "Hardly a suitable tale to tell in good company. Tell me about yourself, instead. How did you come to be here?"

"Wine, please..." Domiel asks in quite aside to the man behind the bar as the fellow draws close enough. "For the both of us."

Aliset: Aliet's face, slim, willowy in the way of those of the clan of the wing, tanned by a life outdoors, even if, so far in the north, it would be considered pale by sun-seared northerners, she'd nod to the Wine, "Please!"

"No fair! Come on, come on... running from someone?" She asks, coming closer, "Got into some debt to get that pretty instrument of yours?" and closer, "Or did you sleep with th wrong woman, hmmm?" She'd get that close... then throw her face back a bit and laugh,

"You know, if people come looking for you and make a mess here we'll make you work to make up for it... now, I do think you earned chances at two nice jobs tonite..."

She says, falling back onto the bank, "Hmmm me? No real story, really..." She sighs, "Just needed money, they were hiring, and I was always good feigning a smile while being codled by sloppy neighborhood boys. Turns out that pretending life is wonderful even when people are outright jerks and smiling at it is most of the job, so I had alot of practice in it already..."

Domiel: She was close for a moment. Close enough that he could taste her. Her scent was in him for a moment, that sweet mix of cheap perfume and clean feathers. He stood impassively as she leaned ever closer, teasing him with the accusations, bringing a faint, yearning blush back to his cheeks.

"Take your pick," he shrugged. "Any of those will do for now. And perhaps tomorrow I'll be a prince in hiding as well. It's just the same, isn't it?"

She moved away. He followed, leaning closer to her, resting an arm against the counter top. She took to the field first, he wasn't about to let her leave it so soon.

"Mmm still, I don't believe that. That you have no story to tell. Perhaps you're the one hiding here. Perhaps you're the princess to my prince, fled from an evil stepmother? A concubine who ran from a jilted lover?" His voice softened as his breath caressed across the skin of her neck. "You could be anything you wanted to be right now, couldn't you?"

Aliset: Face flushed, Aliset looks at the beautiful faerie in disbelief, almost in irony...

A princess, me? Yeah, right...

Not like she isn't pretty. Not like many men around her, and whom she went out with, called her 'their princess', but yet, she was acutely aware that was just cheap romanticism, the sort of thing the poor ones get, the same one in every village, the same neighborhood....

The bartender brings the Wine, nice enough one for Domiel's coin, good enough for the Inn, but not exceptional by these standards... and she just takes it and gulps her goblet down as soon as it is filled, in one gulp. "Who knows...?" She looks the other way, trying to avoid his glance, face flushed... "Who knows...?"

Do I still remember what I could be..?

Domiel: Warmth spread through him as he watched the girl down her glass, the motions of her throat holding him rapt at attention. He waited calmly, patiently as she finished the drink and turned whatever thoughts spun through her head into that evasive question. He reached for her slowly, his fingers brushing her hand in a deliberate accident. Taking the empty glass from her hands, he replaced it with the full one that had been left for him and motioned for her to drink again.

"I don't know, for one," he answers her softly. "And I'm feeling very gullible tonight. Tell me who you want to be."

Aliset: "I.... I..... I.....!"

What would I want to be?A princess. A warrior. An Exalted. A Dynast taming the elements, being the Air, laughing as her anima roars around her. A Far priness, taking what she wills, drinking their souls on her bed. A goddess! So many things, she had imagined on her youth. Playing at being a faerie, 'drinking the souls' of those she touched, then out of the game. Afterwards, 'draining the soul' of some guys when she felt like playing fairy, going out with them and leaving afterwards, out of her life because she had 'killed' them... so many plays, so many make-believes.... so long ago. On her teens, and she was already old. Twenty-two years old, ot a teen anymore...

I'm Aliset. I've always been Aliset, you are Aliset, the waitress...

"I..."

She fill her goblet, gulping it down and looking at him at long last, so close, so close, making her flush in embarassment, in the wine, into the effect of the fiddle...."I... what would you want me to be? What do you see when you look at me?"

Domiel: "What would I want you to be? Warm, flushed, smiling, close" his eyes sparkling teasingly and he smiles at her with a flash of perfect white teeth, as though to give her an example to go by. "But then you're asking a selfish man that question. And what do I see? I see a woman who needs to be distracted. A woman who needs a chance to forget about what life is like every day."

A line. Not quite a practiced routine, but something he has said before, that girls like this one want to have said to them. And part of him means it, enough of him that there is nothing forced in the sincerity of his voice or that the finger he caresses her ear with is gentle and warm. "I have some need for pretending tonight too, to forget my life as well" Trailing from her face and down her arm, he wrapped his slim fingers around hers. "Come with me."

Aliset: "Yes..."

"Yes!" She says, entwining her fingers with his', her other hand letting go of the goblet and taking his face in her hand, coming close and kissing him.... warm, red, hot kiss, wine and woman as one single taste on his mouth, so close, so invasive....

Heaven.

Alex Holysword: Unfortunately, a short-lived heaven, as his arm is pushed aside out of her lips, and into the cold. Cold, cold air, and it seemed so warm, before. So warm, when one hadn't noticed such a greater warmth....the fingers tightening around his arm, pushing him away.

"Excuse me, milady, but I have some bussiness with him before you can continue." Comes the voice, soft, sincere. So young. "Right, Gasper? You would tell me of my sister."

His eyes narrow. His tone would brook no argument, besides being so young. His father had him practice that. Something a ruler should know how to do.

"Now?"

Aliset lets out a quasi-moan of frustration, not knowing if to stare in curiosity, punch the boy, or cover her face with her hands and run away, the mood broken...

Relaxing Angels...

Vorpal: Ouch. Ouch. Ouch.

Vorpal's face is kept carefully stoic and neutral, but her innards vince at every dab of the soaked rag, at every drop of water that trickles over her wounded ribs. Pain is not a problem in the middle of a battle - it is part of you then. From the dull aching of tired arms to the searing agony of a sword wound, you live and breathe pain when you fight, and you savor every moment. It is pain that keeps you alive, your reflexes ready, your soul burning with anger.

But outside fight, the pain becomes a hindrance and very much of an annoyance. This is what Vorpal is currently finding out, kneeling alone on the bath chambers' floor, cleaning her wounds and washing the gore and dirt from her entire being.

Dipping the rag into a bucket of water once more, she moves on to the next wound that mars her white flesh.

Ouch. Ouch. Ow. Ow.

Selina De Windia: Sitting in the room where she's finally getting to bathe properly after weeks of making do with streams and rivers under the threat of horrible punishment to any caravan goers who tried to peek, Selina's mind is occupied with...things.

With a full charge, it'd go right through the Imperial Manse...should at least.

Not bothering to actually wash herself for the moment, her blank gaze does seem to indicate a trance. In fact, her turquoise eyes do seem a bit far away. But it's more than that.

Which means the Fortress of Red Ice or that horrid thing near Thorns would get the same. With a full charge.

If someone used a defense inside the beam, it'd flow around him, so it'd take more than some fool to defend the place.

And a lower yield would take care of...no, no. Why haven't they kept it maintained? What did I create them for? I can't be there to hold their hands all the time! If that bastard Sidereal has been interfering with my servants I'll...erm...ah...

With a start, Selina jolts forward in the water, white wings fanning out behind her as most of what she was thinking about recedes.

"Erm...huh?" Blinking, she looks around the room, hearing the music elsewhere in the building.

Vorpal: Looking up at Selina's abrupt motion, then turning her head in the direction of the music, Vorpal listens to the frolicing fiddle for a moment, before turning back to the quickly-becoming-a-black-winged-assassin-once-more.

"He plays even better than he talks", she comments and dips the rag into the bucket once again. More blood mingles with water, coiling away from the rag like a tiny puff of crimson smoke.

Selina De Windia: "Indeed he does." Selina murmurs, looking over toward the source of the music, taking a cloth from the side of the basin. "Not that I've heard him talk yet."

Vorpal: "You will", Vorpal says and presses the rag gently against a bruise in her right arm.

Ow.

"Oh, you will. He is that sort of a person." Tossing the rag into the bucket, Vorpal pushes the container and its bloody contents away. After filling a new tub with fresh and untained water, she scoops several handfuls of it over her head and proceeds to wash her hair... for the second time that night.

"Tell me", she begins after a moment, running her fingers through the tangled strands. "When you drew the Second Breath, did you get a choice about it?"

Selina De Windia: "Nope." Beginning to scrub her skin clean, hair dangling down in a sopping mass, Selina bends down slightly to deal with her legs. "Not the first time anyway. The Lover gave me one in the beginning, but inside the Monstrance it doesn't really matter."

Vorpal: "Oh." Vorpal keeps her face carefully nonchalant about this. "So you were down there, eh."

She stops to stare absently at the wall for a moment, water running freely down her hair, her wounds forgotten. "It seems that Solars do not get even that kind of choice about it."

Selina De Windia: "No no, I had a choice." Straightening herself and running a soapy hand through her fiery red dyed hair, Selina begins to wash that as well. "My choice began it. After that, any reservations were...not really important to my esteemed corrupter."

Scrubbing her hair a bit harder, she continues. "I did it all for revenge you know. But I guess...most Abyssals are created that way, hmm? But I'll have revenge on my terms. Not the Lover's, not the dead god's who holds both our leashes, and not any puffed up ghost's."

Vorpal: "Really?" Vorpal chuckles and resumes scrubbing her own hair. There is an honest twinge of mirth in her laughter, a twinkle in her red eyes. Perhaps it is the nihilistic sense of humor typical for a Ghost-Blooded, perhaps she sees the bright side of the situation, but she seems to be genuinely amused by what the Dark Angel is saying.

Perhaps I shouldn't tell her about it after all...

"Who's the victim of your revenge, then?"

Selina De Windia: "Oh, there are a lot of people. First and foremost, whoever spelled me to kill my own family. After that..." She shrugs, continuing on her hair almost mechanically. "There are a few other things I need to level."

Whenever they come about.

Pausing in her activity, Selina eyes the other deathknight with a sudden intent. "And you?"

Vorpal: "A few", Vorpal responds with a shrug, setting the tub aside. Pausing to reflect for a moment, the Ghost-Blooded continues absently: "Although, in my case, I'd rather call it a temporary retreat and re-grouping instead of plotting for a revenge."

Casting a mild flicker of smile in Selina's way, she adds: "It won't do to make them think I'd go down meekly like a sheep, hmm?"

Selina De Windia: "They always think we will. Too bad for them." Snorting at the thought of rolling over like so many people would doubtless like her to do, Selina finishes with her hair and begins to scrub her torso and back. "Did the Lover have her bit of 'fun' with you too? It's almost frightening how over-heated the dead can get."

Vorpal: Her eyes lingering for a moment at the Dark Angel's ample curves, Vorpal grimaces inwardly at the implication. And on the top of that, the winged woman had asked about it so... casually.

"Heh", she forces herself to reply as nonchalantly as possible. "She burns hot, but cools quickly. You cannot believe what kind of a racket all those love-sick ghosts all around the Fortress make. Begging her to take them in for another night, just one more night, just one more chance to please her."

A slight edge of revulsion sneaking its way into her voice, Vorpal rises to her feet and stalks towards the rack holding several towels. "Clad in Rainment of Tears fits her well."

Selina De Windia: "Oh, I know all about that. It's one reason I'm a renegade. Having to stay around the brainless sycophants of your deathlord is quite...tiresome." Finally done with her bath, Selina takes a full bucket of water, and upends it over her head, spreading her wings as she does so. As the curtain of clean, cold water sheets down her form, her eyes glance over Vorpal's again, through the watery haze.

Albinos...hmm.

Flapping her wings lightly as if to shake the water off of them, Selina chuckles and reaches for a towel herself as she gets out of the bathwater. "At least she doesn't preach. I could never abide a preacher."

Vorpal: My deathlord?

Her face turned away from Selina, she is free to let the slanted grin momentarily dominate her lips.

My deathlord?

The reply threatens to come to her tongue again, but she bites it back, waiting for a better moment.

"Actually, I don't visit the Fortress too often", she says. White hair and white skin mingles with white towel as she rubs her head fiercely, hints of muscle flickering in her deceptively slim arms with every movement. "Too much to do..."

Selina De Windia: "Buh!" Selina dries her hair, moving the towel back and forth quickly as she arches her wings straight back from her so they don't get in the way. "Prince of Shadows -- does he? Maybe she doesn't give him enough attention. He looked at me too intently the last time I saw him." Looking heavenward for a moment, the assassin finishes her hair and begins to dry her body, stretching with a yawn as she does so. "So much to do, hmm? Too much work dulls the mind."

Vorpal: "Oh, I have hobbies, too, just like everone else." Focusing her attention to her own towel, Vorpal moves to dry her arms, taking care to avoid touching her wounds. "But Prince of Shadows, hmm? I don't know which he is more interested in, women or power. Maybe both. I hear he often goes down to the Labyrinth for long periods of time... Must be important to him, if he is willing to stay lonely for so long."

Selina De Windia: "Maybe he's interested in the Malfeans." Selina throws the comment in with almost careless abandon, finishing up with her towel briskly, tone still casually conversational. "We all need our hobbies, after all. I like to dance. The southern styles as well, like they practice in Chiaroscuro and Yane. All movement and gauzy veils and cheap gems, that. And not much clothing."

"I like to think the Dragons didn't give me this body for nothing." Putting the towel aside, Selina gives Vorpal an indulged smirk. "Once in awhile, it's fun to be looked at."

Vorpal: "I have been looked at every since I was born", Vorpal says, tossing her own towel aside and turning to face Selina. She stands straight, the wounds from the spear red, the bruises from the goremaul dark purple against her natural milky tones. She makes a point of keeping her face neutral, her manner impassive as she meets the turqoise eyes and holds the gaze. "Some of them looked in hatred."

"Most of them in fear."

Selina De Windia: "When it suits the mood, that's fine." Selina shrugs, moving over to some expensive lotions on a counter, skin feeling the cold more acutely with all the water gone. "But the mood isn't always to be a tyrant, now is it?"

Not even for me.

Daubing some of the stuff into the palm of one hand, the Windian spreads it onto herself, beginning to rub it into her skin. "I've had my share of that, and after awhile, it gets to be a bore. Occasionally I want admiration."

Vorpal: "Doesn't that ever bore you then?" Vorpal asks and turns away as well, picking up a handful of bandages she had laid out onto a bench just for this purpose and begins to cover her wounds. "Admiration?"

Selina De Windia: "Anything can be boring in large quantities." Selina purrs, rubbing the lotion into her body until she's satisfied her skin will recover from the long weeks of travel in the wilderness. Moving over to where some clothing she brought in is, Selina slips into some undergarments, then holds up a sleek, black silken gown. Far less heavy than her previous, more suitable as evening attire than something to travel in -- but then she is supposed to be playing that role. "Anything at all. Including death."

Vorpal: "It is too bad there has been large quanities of death around lately", Vorpal states dryly from the opposite end of the room, where she is currently putting on another, cleaner change of her usual garments. "Did you already pay for the rooms?"

Selina De Windia: "Mmmhmmm, I did. I paid for all of this. Cost me a pretty penny." Selina replies, putting the gown on and looking admiringly at herself in a mirror. Her tone becomes a bit weary as she adds "Don't tell me you want to go to sleep already."

The Windian smiles for a moment into the mirror, flashing her teeth at herself, almost a razored smile. "The night's just beginning."

Vorpal: "Rather, I wanted to clear up an escape route", Vorpal shrugs as she fastens the brooch of her cloak. A quick push of the elbows sends the garment folding nicely around her form. Not waiting for Selina to finish her own preparations, she picks up her Daiklave by the scabbard and heads for the door. Leaning the sword's hilt against her shoulder and pushing the portal open with her free hand, she adds: "For the moment when I decide that I have had a too great quanity of vanity for tonight, that is."

Selina De Windia: "Oh, let it all out. Who cares what the Malfeans intended for us?" Selina chuckles in a low, throaty tone, quickly slipping on some satin gloves and shoes suitable for the occasion, then putting her old clothing in the bag and heading out herself, free hand combing her artifically curly red hair into some semblance of neatness. "We're the angels of the night afterall -- it is our time. And we will live forever."

Vorpal: "Have fun." Vorpal throws a glance at Selina over her shoulder, but does not slow down to let the other Abyssal to catch up.

Hourglass: The common hall is expansive and luxurious - quite like one would expect of such a classy place on Upper Windia, and in many ways different from its matrix... covered in a red, fine carpet, tables of well-oiled wood covered in white towels trimmed in red, the symbol of a hourglass over each of them, all of them circling its East end, where the place for performers is, as well as a clean room to dance... on its southwestern end, there is the bar, wall filled with drinks from all around Creation... a couple of expensive ones which comes from... otherworldly... sources.

Filled with people, everybody who could taking their places there as the city fills up, one can see lesser nobility, craftsmen, concubines, guild merchants, wealthy merchants, their families, and even mercernaries all around - a multiplicity rare to find in the Threshold, specially in a place so fine in it, aside from its greatest capitals.

The mood is light and merry - someone took the stage to play, someone skilled enough, although nothing special - but all she needed to do was keep the mood after Domiel's spell, the mood of merryment and passion, the noses touching and bodies rubbing...

Selina De Windia: Have it your way, Vorpie.

Selina stops as the other woman's back retreats down the hallway, and she hurries to her room, putting her bag somewhere in a corner, and strapping her sword on. While she may not have her leotard on this time, Selina will at least not be without her weapon in case she's attacked.

Ah, I almost forgot!

Reaching back into the bag for a moment, Selina releases her faceted green hearthstone from her leotard, connecting it to a fine silver chain, and putting it on. The large gem dangles right down into the exposed top of her cleavage. Not activated, that'd be mean to do in crowd when she just wants to have a good time, but touching skin -- very much nested against the skin. Selina was not going to take any chances with her essence.

And now I will go show them all what kind of predator I can be. She thinks, looking into the mirror and grinning rapaciously at the image of a white-winged, fiery redhead cloaked in a black silken evening gown, then sweeping out of the room and closing the door behind her, heading toward the common room.

Vorpal: Vorpal slips into the common hall, moving quietly yet not especially trying to be too inconspicuous about her presence. Her stride is calm yet determined, without a hint of pain from the wounds that mar her flesh underneath all those clothes. She slows down for a moment, letting the warmth of the atmosphere wash over her, enjoying the sight despite herself, before setting off again.

Moving carefully along the line between the couples dancing in the middle of the hall and the couples who have withdrawn to the walls and quiet corners for a little more private sort of celebrating, she scans the crowd as she walks.

Locating Alex and Domiel is not difficult - the young prince and his white robes hardly blend into the crowd, and although the minstrel has gone through quite a transformation since the last time she saw him, but this new version of him stands out from the surroundings just as easily as the previous one did.

Selina De Windia: "Mmmm..." Selina hums to herself in the portal to the room, then walks out of the cover. Composed as any ruler she glides through the crowd as her turquoise eyes catch the light and throw it back almost as well as her hearthstone. And drinking in attention -- not outwardly of course, that would never do.

Denied balls in her young adult years, after her exile, denied the chance to shine as she was born to do, Selina takes this small morsel of her due with relish. As much a part of her as her wings and her Exaltation.

Hourglass: All around Selina and Vorpal, looks and whispers pass, talking of the red-haired and the pale beauties, easily the center of attention even amongst those of wealth... looks and whispers, no invitation yet, but young and old, they look at the way their bodies sway, both on the fine redhair and the estatuesque albino....

Vorpal: Vorpal follows the exchange without interfering, her eyes trailing after Aliset as the girl makes her exit. The Ghost-Blooded is too far to actually hear the words that are being said, but the receptionist's offended manner lets her make an educated guess about what has just happened.

Shaking her head silently, she continues her way towards the counter to drop her order for a hot meal... and becomes aware of the eyes all around her.

Oh dear.

Perhaps it is the passionate atmosphere, perhaps the warmth of her cloak in the already warm room that is giving her such a heady feeling. Or perhaps it is even the sauntering form of the Dark Angel who is collecting gazes as well... Who knows, but the Pale Angel suddenly feels like strutting a bit herself, moving towards the counter with the swaying, dignified march she liked to tease her soldiers with back in the other life she once led.

Hourglass: "Beautiful lady of fire..." Speaks a man on a table close to her, thin moustaches and dreamy eyes on clear-colored features as she lifts a chalice to her,

"Going to let your wings sway a bit, honey?" Asks a bulky man on the dance hall, letting go of his dance parner and approaching her with an invitation...

"Who is she? Do you know? Redhead... but isn't she? But, wouldn't we know...?" Speak a bunch of lesser nobility on a table nearby, watching her intently, envy and lust tinting the features of men and women alike, there, as they watch Selina...

And Vorpal receives no less looks, in fact more, due to the exoticism of her features, the cold look on her face and how it doesn't match with her movements....

"Pretty like snow... oh, I would love to paint you!" Says a young man on a table close to her, receiving mean looks from the young, willowy windian he is painting....

"Hmm, queen of ice, eh?" "Walking like that? No way!" "Well, it's... weird, though... so, going to try your luck?" Speak two boys, not too far from Vorpal, sitting at the bar, barely men....

"Wow, she looks so... unique!" "Now, that would be something to have..." Speak a group, three couples making out and touch each other on a table not too far from her, close to the wall and the bar, all looking at her lustfully and giggling....

Selina De Windia: "Hmm." Throwing her gaze about the room, looking for the man she saw for a few minutes hours ago, Selina smiles at the compliments, but doesn't take any of them. Yet. Vorpal said this man could talk, well, she wants to find out what he talks about, being near Alex's manse as he was. Even preening under attention doesn't take priority over that, yet.

Ruining the Night...

Alex Holysword: And amidst all the passion, there is one chosen of the sun, and one question.

"So," the prince asks as he hops into the bank close to Domiel, ordering a juice, "Just exactly do you know of my sister?" The voice is cutting, down-to-bussiness. In his father's court, he had seen people wasting their time with lies and fakes more than once... and even the despair didn't take that possibility out of his mind.

Domiel: The Ashing Dove smacks his lips slowly, still tasting the sweetness of the kiss, the taste of wine on Alistan's breath. He turns his gaze down to Alex with a measuredly droll expression.

"Nothing that could not have waited until tomorrow," he answers the Prince in a tone of strained politeness. "I thank you kindly for breaking the mood of the night, impatient one. The tavern is filled with merriment and you choose now of all times to assault me with this?" Domiel flings in hand out to encompass the whole of the tavern, the smiles and laughter and daring caresses, then he holds his palm to the boy, offering him the joy there. Pleading with him to take it. "Go find a woman, young Alex. There are many around here more than willing. Luna knows a lad in your position should appreciate a heated bed while he still has the chance."

Thus said, Domiel pointedly turns his back to the young prince, taking the empty wine glass from the table top and stirring his finger around in it to hunt down the droplets sticking to the side. "Answers now won't hasten what can't be done until tomorrow anyway."

Alex Holysword: Can't be done...

Fear. Despair. His heart sank into itself, heavy as lead.

"Tell me!" He says, grabbing Domiel's arm and pushing the man back to face him.

Domiel: "Easy!" the Ashing Dove yelps, grabbing for the boys arm. His slim fingers dig in but unable to pry himself free from the hand grasping. Not for the first time in his life, Domiel wished he were a bit more strong man and far less artist. "Fair skin and bruises don't mix well."

Teeth grating, ire at the little pecks instance upon ruining his night, Domiel bobs his head and lowers his voice to a pained whisper. "And if you had not noticed, we are in a bit too public a setting to holding such a dialog. Now if you would kindly let me go and stop screeching our business for all the world to hear, we can go speak in my room and speak like civilized folk."

Aliset: "Hmmm, see... you.. then, Domiel." Aliset, says, a little embarassed, not knowing what to say or be, "Since you have other bussiness to attend to.... I'll see you... around, then?"

Alex Holysword: "Fine..."

"Fine." He says, his eyes growing suspicious, urgent, "We go now, then?"

Hourglass: Selina arrives to see almost half of the room occupying the dancing part, a blast of warmth hitting her face as she comes in. The half isn't too accurate - if everyone on the hall decided to sit down, there wouldn't be space for everyone at the tables - but still, enough tables free, and enough people around, dancing... most of the dancers are younger people, although many middle-aged couples and a few of those alone are also shaking their bodies, whereas most of those at the tables are the middle-aged and the old...

Domiel: Oh hells

He had forgotten she was even there.

"My apologies, milday," he answers softly to the girl. "I was not aware that certain people," a glare for Alex out of the corner of the pale musicians eye. "Had the patience and good sense of a gnat. I assumed this business could have waited until tomorrow. It seems that I was mistaken. I'll find you," he assures her as he begins to slowly back away from the bar. "If you have not taken company already by the time I'm finished with... this."

He waves distainfully at Alex, then bows his head to Aliset polietly before turning away. "Come, my little keeper. Lets get this over with, shall we?"

Alex Holysword: "My sister might be such an unimportant bussiness for you, Gasper."

Fingers dig on his flesh, the prince's eyes narrow, then let go. "Don't make the mistake of thinking it's the same to me. I would storm into a Royal Ball to know where she is."

Aliset: "It's not like company is easy to come by..."

She says, sighing and looking deep within the wine goblet. "Least not a nice one..."

"And I am not about to offer myself to the first person who comes around." She says, taking off and walking with hard steps, if slightly trippy ones, towards the reception.

Domiel: "How very nice for you," Domiel hisses, but he waits. Waits until they step out from the crowded commons, then suddenly turns upon Alex. He has no strength to push the Solar child back, but brings himself down to eye level and pushes forward, noses practically touches. Anger boils in the Changeling's face, the flush of pain turning his pale skin unnaturally red.

"Do not make the mistake of thinking you're the only one who cares, boy. You seem to forget that you're in the position of ignorance here, Alex. Do you really think I would tary if she were in danger? That I'd have come as far as I can just to shrug the matter off as inconsequential?" Domiel claws at the chest of his tunic, a shudder overcoming his breath. "My life is trapped in the pledge I made to her, you foolish little child. That means nothing to you, but it's something I hold dear and I wanted a night at least to forget the weight of that promise. You've already stolen that from me, princeling. Don't seek to pain me further than you already have."

Alex Holysword: "........"

"I didn't know...."

He looks the other way, seeming every bit the child he is now.

"How could I know? All I saw was you too busy flirting.... she is... out of harm's way, you say?"

Domiel: The anger can only hold for a few moments, before Domiel turns his eyes to the floor and his shoulders slump as the frustration vents itself from him in a long sigh. "No, I suppose you couldn't have known, could you?" he says after a moment. Gently this time, Domiel prys at Alex's fingers and takes the boy's hand instead. "And I suppose it is important you find out. I would be worried if it were my kin, as well. Come. We'll talk about it further in my room. I think we've both made enough noise for the time being."

Selina De Windia: Looking about...she sees Alex, with someone. Seeing as how Alex should have gone back to his manse... Selina makes her way toward the two swiftly, parting the crowd before her with the strength of her presence and striking looks.

"Going somewhere, little one, when you're supposed to be at home?" She calls, voice rich and throaty as she flickers her gaze about to see if anyone else takes note.

Alex Holysword: "Alright... I'm sorry, Domiel." His eyes show he really means it. And for a moment, seem about to cry.

"Really sorry. Shouldn't have doubted..."

As Selina catches them, right out of the Commons, he turns around, "I was going upstairs with him... he has something to tell me. This is Gasper, he might... know things about my sister. Things I need to know..."

Selina De Windia: "So you can...what?" Selina asks in a low tone, voice almost seeming to vibrate the air as she grates the next sentence out. "Tonight is not the night for running after anyone."

Alex Holysword: "I would have run after her a week ago, if I knew she was alive!" He lets out,

"And I would tonight, yes, if need be..."

The effect of Sweet Lover's Whisper can be felt by Alex when she comes in, one he had felt so accutely before with the red-tinted lady, but... he knew his jailor was beautiful, yes, and at times she was even more so, but this.... desirable!.

"Oh yeah, and... Gasper Van Regis, this is... Nellens Adrianna" He says the name almost as a joke.

Domiel: "As I have attempted to explain to him," Domiel interjects, smiling pleasantly. "He was adamant however, milady. Thus I fear the night has been hijacked by youthful enthusiasm."

His gaze sketched her form as she drew closer. Surprise from her initial approach wore off quickly, replaced in a moment by a familiar warmth. He remembered this one. The predator. The dangerous one.

At the introduction, he steps forward and takes the ladies hand, bending at the waist to touch her knuckles with a passing kiss. "Charmed, madam Nellens. You are one of his companions. I saw you earlier today, at the gates of the estate," the Ashing Dove tipped his head and touched his brow. "I'm pleased to see you were able to finish your business join us here after all."

Vorpal: Over at the counter, making a point of not paying any kind of heed at the talk around her, Vorpal makes a quick order for some hot food and a mug of ale. The foaming pint in one hand, she turns around to look for a free table to sit in.

It is then that she notes the Dark Angel speaking with the prince and the minstrel by the common hall's entrance. A shrug and a quick decision later, she adds to the bartender: "On a second thought, have that meal sent over to my room - the name is Lilith."

Sipping from the mug, the Ghost-Blooded strides back across the hall towards the other three, not bothering to saunter this time.

Selina De Windia: "You will do no such thing, Alex." Selina purrs as she extends one satin-gloved hand for the newcomer to kiss, deceptively idle and reasonable sounding with the command. When really, Selina doesn't intend there to be any other choice. "Not without my express permission." None at all.

"As am I... -- ser? Lord? -- Von Regis. Is Alex being a trouble?" Looking indulgently to the boy, Selina gives a smile that almost should be adorned with her Abyssal canines.

Domiel: Domiel shakes his head a little, then suddenly feeling more aware of his appearance, sweeps away an errant strand of storm-gray hair from his face. "Gasper is fine, if it pleases you madam. I hold no rank of consequence"

A pause, and the bard gives Alex an almost enviable look as the young prince is the recipient of that smile. He had to wonder if the boy even knew what such looks could often mean.

"And he was being no more trouble than was undue to his rank and situation. As it was, we were going to attended to a place more private to discuss the affairs of state, as they are at the moment." His fingers suddenly tightened their grip on Alex's hand as hard as they could. "It would please us greatly to have your company for this."

Alex Holysword: "... And are you going to stop me?"

My jailor.

Yes, I have only gained my freedom with the other, yes...

"Are you, now?" Pretty purple eyes narrow in defiance.

"All yours afterwards, your prisioner, but on my sister I will not wait. And that's that."

Selina De Windia: "Am I? Ask yourself that, Alex." Selina says off-handedly, looking straight back at him.

Alex Holysword: "Going to try, yes. I'm not going to let you."

The air between both windians becomes solid like earth.

Domiel: "Prisoner?" Domiel's brows lift curiously, but he questions no further. For now. There was confrontation brewing here and the last thing he desired was to be caught in the middle of it.

He stepped between the fiery haired woman and the defiant silvery prince, lowering himself to one knee. "Alex, child," your concern for your sister's wellfare is admirable and whatever troubles you are facing that involve your companion here, I am certain, are desperate, but this is not the time to act upon them."

Craning his neck to look over his shoulder at Adrianna, he gave her an earnest, pleading look. "Madam Nellens, I humbly ask we let this go no further. Please, simply come with us instead of seeking to bar his path." a smile touched his too-perfect lips. "You draw the attention of the room simply by standing there. Let us keep that impression a good one by not engaging in a verbal sparring match with the boy."

Vorpal: Halting to stand a few steps behind Selina, as fits her role as the lady's hired guard, Vorpal shifts her weight to one foot (and tries to not to look as if she'd be regretting it, as her bruised ribs complain at the movement.) One hand resting on her hip and the other lifting the pint casually to her lips, she listens to the conversation with apparent disinterest.

Selina De Windia: She could have worded it better -- annoying enough, that little brat managed to pull it off better than her! -- but that Gasper managed to defuse it before she had to resort to..other things.

And that is what leaving the art of statehood for a few years will do to your skills.

"I suppose you are correct." She says in a humming, considering tone, not acknowleding Alex's reply. "But there will be no hare-brained chases tonight."

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