07.31.3013: Bombs Away
Summary: Anabethe plays mad social bomber. Telekinesis and punches are thrown.
Date: 31 July 2013
Related: The whole Devon / Nitrim affair. The whole Nitrim / Soleil affair. The whole Devon / Victor affair.
Jarek Devon Reena Victor Nitrim Soleil Anabethe 

Living Quarters Greatroom, Volkan, The Crescent
This room, as the entry to the living quarters of the Khournas family, is about as sumptuous as things get in the Blackspyre. The floor is sheathed in black tile, heated from below by veins of magma running through the tower itself. Deep red carpets have been layered over the tile across most of the expanse of the room, softening footfalls and providing a visual sense of warmth to go along with the physical one. One wall of the greatroom is taken up by a large 'fireplace' where one of the heat-proof transparent tubes filled with lava can be seen pulsing and roiling its way up the tower. Around the other walls are a scattering of drakeskins, paintings of battle and hunt, and shelves of holobooks. Several couches and chairs are gathered in clumps around the room, providing seating for twenty or so with ease. Opposite the lift is a corridor that leads back into the actual living quarters and a private drawing room, with the entrance to the corridor guarded by two men-at-arms at all times.
31 July 3013

This is where my log picks up. If anyone has previous poses and wants to add them, that would be great. Note: Added what I had in the beginning (Reena)

Victor grimaces, running one hand back over his shaven scalp, "Trust me. There's plenty of fuckin' ways a woman can let you know she's not gonna take whatever you're shoveling out without hitting you. Trust me." He goes back to the still-tangled end of the climbing cord that's taken over a corner of the greatroom, going back to prying out the knots, "And if she wants to hit me, that's just fine. I'd rather take a godsdamned punch than another fucking argument."

Jarek finishes his beer, and gets another two bottles out. Takes of the caps from each using a hand on the edge of the countertop before walking over and setting one down on the table for Victor. "Sorry to hear it's all fights and arguements Vic. No one deserves that all the time… but have you considered she's just as scared and confused at all this as you are? I made the offer to her, so I'll let you know of it even though she feels you two are at that stage just yet. If there is ever a time either of you feels you need someone to mediate a sit down, let me know and I'm there." he walks over to another one of the metal chairs, not minding the heat of it at all, "I feel guilty that I might be able to get away with a match to a dear friend and someone I could fall in love with easily. Sure we'll have arguments in the future, unavoidable, but we work well together enough as it is."

Reena steps out of her apartments in a simple dressing gown of flowing red and gold fabrics, belted at the waist. Her feet are bare, and her hair is in a loose braid hanging over one shoulder. She may have been napping from the looks of it. She yawns and stretches languidly and then eyes the men. "Mediation? We Khourni mediate with our fists typically."

Victor shrugs helplessly, "Naw, it ain't all arguments and fights." He continues to work the end of the climbing cable loose of its own knots, then shakes out the loose end. "We're just fine when neither of us opens our big yaps." When Jarek approaches, he snags his previous beer bottle, drains off the dregs, then accepts the new one, setting the empty back on the side-table. Reena's response to Jarek's words draws a laugh and a nod, "Fuck that. I let booze be my mediator. Everyone's easier to deal with when they're drunk. And if you punch them in the throat, they're less likely to remember. But thanks, Jay, for the offer. And don't feel bad. Reena and I were already commisserating. We can bitch to each other without draggin' you down."

Jarek chuckles at Reena's reply before giving her a polite nod. "Reena, it's been a while. I would offer congratulations to you, but from what Vic just said that doesn't seem appropriate now." he looks back to Vic, "Beer is a good way to deal with people, and like I said Devon doesn't feel you two need, so that should be some encouragement to you Vic." he looks from one to the other, "Hey, don't worry about making me feel bad for getting lucky. I haven't technically won yet, there's still the answers from both Heads of house to be had, so I might just need to come and join your comisserating if one or the other doesn't agree. I'm mostly worried Trentin will say no."

"Am I correct in that congratulations are in order for you as well, Jay?" Reena asks Jarek with a small smile. She finds a perch near Victor and automatically begins helping unravel the knots. "Well, that makes for two happy matches beneath the umbrella of the Paramount at least. Too bad it's all vassals and none of us," she snorts.

Victor nods to Reena as she starts helping out, taking another slug of his beer and then getting back to his own work, "I'd be more worried that Lord Saimhann doesn't already have a match in mind for you, Jay." He gestures over to Reena, "Getting hitched to an Heir's always a victory." At his soon-to-be-sister-in-law's comment about unhappiness, he shrugs, "Uncle Magnus seems fine with his match, even if Her Highness is a raging political bitch." A smirk twists his lips, "No offense to political bitches."

"I hope he hasn't, I know I've avoided him on the subject for a while now, but I hope handing him a match that I want will impress on him my seriousness about it." he looks to Reena with a shrug, "You could congratulate that she said yes at least, even if we must wait for the okay from elsewhere. I'm almost content now, knowing she would." then he offers a slight 'I'm sorry to hear that' frown to them both, "So much for not making me feel bad… you know, you can talk to Jevon about this. You have the right to pose reason why it isn't a good match, if there are any that is."

Speaking of unhappy matches, the lift arrives on the residence floor wtih the softest whisper of hydralics, the doors opening with a whoosh to yield the young Grantham widow. Her hair has taken on a soft orange hue, which strangely matches the gradient violet silk that falls around her frame. Devon steps inside after just a moment, as if centering herself before she enters the drake den.

"I resemble that remark, Cueball," Reena quips at her soon-to-be brother-cousin. "Your father is not one to make hasty decisions, is he, Jarek?" she asks, eluding to her father's rather quick work at getting her and Victor married off. As the lift opens, she hushes up a bit and returns to helping with the knots in the rope. "Lady Devon, you look lovely today."

Victor shakes his head to Jarek, gesturing to himself and Reena, "They're both good matches, politically." He nods decisively at Reena's response, jerking a thumb over his shoulder, "Jay's up if Khournas' top political bitch is awake enough for a beer." And then the doors of the lift whisk open, and Victor bows his head, something a little wary in his voice as he greets her, "Devon." He picks up his beer bottle, points to Reena, takes a swig, and adds, "What she said."

Jarek shrugs slightly in his chair, "No he doesn't make hasty decisions, unless it's a sign from the Six." then he looks over to Devon, "Lady Devon, good to see you again and I'll make up for my slower cousin by saying orange and violet is a great color combination for you." then he takes a swig of beer which keeps him from saying more.

Devon strides toward the gathering once her name is heard, and she starts to smile toward Reena at her greeting and compliment. "Thank you, Lady Reena," she returns with a slight incline of her head, though her expression goes a touch haughty as she regards Victor with those glass-colored eyes. "Victor." Then she steps forward to take a seat, hoping for one that has her all on her own rather than seated by anyone. She pointedly regards Reena again, saying for a second time, "Thank you, Lady Reena, for saying so." Then she smiles a bit more genuinely toward Jarek. "I will have to remember that, Sir Jarek… I enjoy playing with colors."

"Have I ever been not awake enough for a beer, Vic?" Reena quips with a chuckle. "Hand me a beer, Jay." At Victor's grand bellyflop of a comment to Devon she elbows him in the ribs. "I see you've now received your daily dose of my beloved cousin's charming small talk, Devon. I assure you he means well. He just used to sleep through etiquette lessons when we were little. Clearly." She grins and beckons the woman over. "He still thinks he's supposed to pull the pigtails of the girl he likes best. How are you with untying knots?" she tips her chin at the mess they're unraveling.

Victor half-turns his head away from Devon toward Jarek, a hint of an upward curl spreading into one corner of his lips. It blossoms into a full-on smirk as he finally turns his head toward the Saimhann, "Oh, D — " again, there's that slight hesitation to naming the Volen-born woman, "Devon knows just how good the orange and lavender look on her." He takes a swig of his beer, then sets it down once more, going back to working the knots out, "Pulling pigtails leaves your ribs and kidneys open." He flashes another smirk at his cousin, then offers up a smile to Devon, "It's in your best interest, really. The cord's for the climbing trip we talked about."

"Vic, just because she may know a truth, doesn't preclude you from speaking it aloud. There are a great number of women who enjoy hearing such truths spoken for all to hear." Jarek stands from his metal chair, makes his way to the wetbar and gets out a beer for Reena. Then he gets a wine glass and pours a glass for Devon. Walking across the room to hand them over to the women in turn.

Devon hesitates a bit at Victor's words, but then she releases a bit of a sigh before she sweeps back up on her feet so that she may sit closer to the knots of rope. She pauses to accept the glass of wine from the Young Lord, and she holds up a hand as if to stall him. "It's alright," she says tiredly as she lowers herself beside Victor. She pulls some of the knotted ropes her way. She takes a thick swallow of wine before she sets it aside and starts in on the chaos of cords.

"I sincerely hope someone plans to carry me up these climbs," Reena notes with a smirk. "I can embroider a mean handkerchief, but scaling rocks is not my forte." She shrugs as her fingers worry at one of the rope knots carefully. She pauses to take her beer from the Saimhann and takes a long pull from it before setting it on an end table. "Oh yes, we do appreciate being appreciated and told such," she note, with her smile fading. Apparently she is not getting much on that end either.

Victor turns a scowl over toward Jarek, shaking his head but not speaking further on the matter of compliments. He scoots his chair in a little as Devon pulls one up, then settles back into his own seat, "Apparently, whatever godsdamned squire put these away just threw them into a pile. I could get another one to fix it, but if I'm gonna be hangin' from one," he looks over to Reena and grins crookedly, "And draggin' Reena up at the end of one… there's a rope chair over there.." he jerks his head behind him, "then I want to know they're knotted where they're supposed to be and not where they ain't." With three people working at the knots, they're fading quickly, and Vic stands up to wine more of the cordage around the back of the chair that's serving as the spool for untangled length. "You've heard Young Lord Volen's here, Devon? Seems a bit… business-oriented." Might as well not call him 'her brother' when he's… sort of insulting the Young Lord.

For all that Jarek offers to the conversation now, he returns to his chair with the wine in hand. Having finished his beer, he sips the wine instead. "Squires… right. You know, I've offered to take on Mikhail as my squire, to Anabethe. Said she'd consider it, I'll have to plan a time to take the boy hunting in normal Saimhann pre-squiring tradition. See if he has the drive for it."

Devon is quiet for a moment as she works through a few knots, showing that Granthams do know how to do some things. She does not seem to immediately respond to the news that Kadmus is here before she straightens back her shoulders and offers out a slow exhale. "I heard something about that…" She glances toward Reena. "I hear my brother was not the warmest intended." There is a touch of uncertainty there. "I'm afraid that I might not have much insight, though. Last I really saw my brother, he was eight and I was six."

"Oh even better, I get to be carted up in style," Reena drawls with a grin. Then Vic has to go and mention Kadmus and her mood goes sour. She scowls and takes another long drink of beer. Jarek's words are a pleasant change of topic though. "Just don't send him on a snipe hunt. I got him with that when he was five." Devon's words have her cheeks coloring a little bit. "I have to confess that I don't know what to make of your brother. He is intelligent, handsome, and well-mannered, but he did not seem at all," she struggles for the right word, "pleased to be in my presence. I am concerned that maybe there was someone he wished to marry and that this betrothal has ruined that for him."

Victor blinks at Jarek, "Holy shit. Has it really been eight years?" He blinks again, rubbing a hand back across his scalp, "Damn. Yeah, Mickey'll need watching out for." He settles back into his chair, one hand touching Devon's near knee unconsciously, and then he's back to work on the ropes, "Send him after an ID-10T drone." Reena'd description causes him to chuckle and shake his head, "Naw. He's just seen too many mermaids, and not enough women with some fire in their veins. Not everyone knows what to do with that kind." His eyes flicker over to Devon, and he chuckles dryly, "Including me."

Jarek shrugs slightly, "It might be? I've lost track, but I know he's getting close to the right age. Anabethe likes the idea of him going on a hunt, and obviously the lad won't get seriously hurt. However, drones are out. If he's to be squired he'll need to hunt down a mountain cat like I did, doesn't need to kill the thing if he can't manage but he's got to try at least." Jarek doesn't offer much on the rest of the topic though.

"As the heir to the House of Volen," Devon says, her voice sounding slightly detatched from the very House of her birth, "I'm sure that his mind is occupied by the Hostiles that are now in the Mare Maris oceans." There is something a touch distant in her voice all the sudden as her thoughts turn inward. She starts to frown. "New Atlantis and its other settlements are not invunerable to Hostile attack despite our…" And she hesitates a bit before continuing onward. "Our oceans." She does not shy away from the touch to her knee, glancing over to him at the touch before she offers him a small smile, looking a touch proud at those words. She looks back down at her hands as she worries at a knot.

"I can help with Mikhael's training in regards to being an heir, administrative work and etiquette, social niceties," Reena notes. She's likely been doing so since he was born anyway, while Beth was out killing things and drinking. "With the Ways making visiting convenient, of course. Otherwise it'll be a very long trip from Mare Maris to Imperius." A reason why those gates have to stay open. She nods to Devon. "Of course. I suppose I am being childish in that regard. I'll do my best to not put any more stress on your brother."

Victor chuckles at Jarek, "Write it out, Jay. ID-10T." He pulls out his comm unit, typing the letters and numbers out to spell 'idiot.' The smile from Devon seems to surprise him a little, but he nods, "In the Second System War, they proved they could move underwater without much trouble." He lays out that fact with utter certainty. Of course, there's exactly one subject that Victor will sit down and study willingly, and it's Hostiles. "So you might see Khourni in the streets of New Atlantis to help out at some point." Reena's offer catches a nod, "Might suggest Devon for some of that too, when you're busy playing Queen of the Waves. She got all the training to marry an Heir herself." Once more, he nods to the Grantham woman, but as he starts to tuck his comm away, it buzzes, and he rises, "Shit. Gotta take this." And then he's off toward the adjacent Drawing Room to answer the call.

"I wouldn't want to presume," Devon says in regard to her possibly teaching the future Young Lord of Khournas. She frowns a bit as she worries at her lavender dress momentarily. Her gaze lifts to Victor as he takes his leave, and her frown just seems to settle in for the long haul. She glances over toward Reena now, and she shakes her head a bit. "There is perhaps some natural… tension there. I'm told that Kadmus has not yet forgiven Grantham for the situation that I was placed in, and our father has built within him a disdain for the Ouroboros House. The close association that House Khournas has with House Grantham may also be a source of his distance." She hesitates. "Perhaps I will try to help mend that, which may relieve some of the tension."

"I am looking forward to visiting New Atlantis soon," Reena says quietly. "I have no idea what things I will require living there. It's completely underwater, correct? Even the settlements? Not even islands or beaches?" she asks Devon curiously. "I also hope I can convince both of you," she looks between the Grantham and the Saimhann, "to contribute to a charity project I'll be starting soon. Time, skills, funds, all will be welcome." Devon's words cause her to nod. "Yes, yes he mentioned as much some time ago when we spoke once. I was hoping that having your freedom achieved would help with that. You do realize you're free now, Devon? Yes, you are wedding my cousin, but no one will stop you from traveling or doing as you wish. We will be sisters, you and I, and I will ensure that you are happy and above all things, free, if it's the last thing I do." Her words have conviction and sincerity to them.

Jarek continued to sip at the wine until it was empty. He now stands up to move to the wetbar and take another beer for himself. "Either of you need anything?" he offers over to them, "Reena, you'll need to borrow Anabethe's bikinis." he states plainly about the move to New Atlantis.

Devon turns a bit more toward Reena at her questions. "There are actually floating settlements on the surface of the ocean. They aren't beaches in the most common definition, but they do provide a place to bask in the sun and enjoy the water. There are also various fishing drones and sea-faring vessels. I have memories of my father taking us on a ship to the North Pole when I was young… it was quite lovely." She offers her a gentle smile as she starts to talk about her project. She glances toward where Victor has gone before she settles her eyes back on the Khourni woman. "I'm certain I can find some way to help," she replies, and then she then releases her shoulders a bit. "I did not feel like a hostage growing up in The Pit, Lady Reena… I have grown to love the Granthams like they are my own family. Even now, I worry about my Uncle, Sir Flint Grantham. Perhaps I am free, but… I was not unhappy. I loved my husband, and I love his family." She offers her the faintest crack of a smile. "But, the Gods have seen fit to send me here, to the Crescent and to Victor. I'm sure that I will… find happiness here."

"Mead," she finally says to Jarek, finishing off her cup of wine.

Reena finishes unknotting her length of rope and stands to coil it around another chair back. Her loose dressing gown flows around her like crimson and gold flames as she moves. She snorts softly at Jarek. "I think at the depth of the city it's more likely I'd need a pressure suit. Unless I'm thoroughly mistaken. I'm good for now with my beer." She smiles and nods at Devon. "Oh good, I was worried about not seeing the sun or such. I've gotten used to it in Landings." She grimaces at her words. "Your brother needs to hear this, Devon. He is so very angry. And I worry that it's less about your state and more about the slight he feels was dealt to Volen by Grantham. I don't know how to heal that."

Jarek nods to the both of them, and moves back handing a mead to Devon. He takes up his chair again and listens. The snort from Reena gets a smirk, "If you go to Mare Maris, I think Niveus would melt if you wore one of Bethe's bikinis, let alone your Young Lord Icicle." with a follow up glance at Devon, "No offence, Devon."

Devon narrows her mouth a bit at Reena's words about her brother, and she breathes out a slow exhale before she offers a nod. "I will try to find the time to speak with him." Then she looks up to accept the glass of mead from Jarek. She nods her thanks before she sinks back into her chair, finished with her collection of knots. She takes a sip of the caramel, sweet liquid, closing her eyes a bit to relish in it. Then she shrugs her shoulders a bit at Jarek's apology, opening her eyes once more. "No offense taken."

Reena resumes her seat, and plucks up her beer again. "I suppose I'll find out eventually, but thank you, Devon. I would appreciate it. I'm not used to having such, difficulty, interesting a man." She chuckles at Jarek. "I'm not built like Anabethe is, Jay."

Victor comes back into the greatroom, tucking away his comm unit, "I'm parched." Because he left his beer on the table. He collects it again, standing between Reena and Devon, "No one is, Reena." Apparently, he caught the end of the discussion. There are climbing ropes draped over a chair and a couple of tables, but they seem to be all in order now. "Nothing broken? Good. Figured I could leave everyone alone for a bit. Just confirming the climbing expedition."

Jarek laughs, "Wouldn't know Reena, wouldn't know." his words more just to give an answer than anything else, "I wonder if I could get Agnes to wear a bikini at least once… just for me." he seems to ponder this over for a while as he goes quiet, even at Vic's return.

There is a small cluster of Khourni and the lone Grantham around a bit of recently unknotted rope. They conversation ebs and flows between light and heavy topics, and Devon at least looks to be a bit more at ease in this public setting. The glass of mead in her hand might be helping this situation. She looks up as Victor re-enters the room, and she casts him a curious look before she returns to the conversation at hand. She offers a bit of a smile toward Reena. "I will do what I can."

The lift opens, announcing the arrival of new, fresh bodies for the Khourni adjoined sitting room. Clad in his long, black coat, Nitrim Khournas comes through. All dark fabrics, copper-jacketed rings, and a drake-emblazoned scabbard hanging from his hip, he's chosen to wear his typical go-to style for a visit back to the motherland. Heavy boots crushing the carpet underfoot, he's got a tablet in his hand and seems lost in thought. Eyebrows scrunching together, he looks back to the elevator and points to the tablet. "Do you think it'll even fit, or am I going to have to get a new one? I can move all of the shit inside of the habitat to Landing, but if we can't grab-and-go Daliah's place, I'm going to have to put down the cash to have a new one made…"

Following him out of the lift, the slightly dour-faced Soleil, busy reminding herself that it could be worse. She could be moving into the snake's room rather than the snake moving into hers. "We'll just have a new one made, it's not like we're on a budget," she says, tucking her hands behind her neck, up under her hair. "There's no point going to so much trouble, she'll adjust to the new digs just like you and I have to." Her own outfit is the simple black robe-dress she often wears, but this time it's a bit longer, covering the tops of her high black boots.

There is a long sip from her beer and a bit of a handwaving at Jarek's comment. Reena points at Victor at his agreement with her about Beth's build. She swallows down the brew, "And thank you Devon." The lift arriving has her tilting her head. "Little brother," she greets. "Lady Soleil." She smiles.

Victor takes a chug of his beer, finishing it up and neatly fixing the 'I'm parched' problem. He shakes his head at Jarek's pondering, "I think 'baby-steps,' Jay." Taking the unknotted ropes, he turns them slowly around the top of a chair, using it to straighten the cords. As Nitrim and his new betrothed appear from the lift, he nods his head upward, "Hey, 'Trim." There's a pause, and then he rumbles, "Lady Soleil."

As the lift opens, Devon naturally turns her attention toward it. Her chin immediately drops, and her shoulders straighten back a bit. She looks down into the caramel liquid in her glass, swishing the mead around thoughtfully. She glances over toward Reena at her thanks, and she offers the woman a gentle nod of her pale orange head. She brushes her fingers down her lavender silk dress vaguely, as if smoothing out any hint of wrinkles. She does not verbally greet Soleil and Nitrim, instead taking a swallow of mead.

"Alright, then we're gonna have to figure out the dimensions and how much room she's gonna have. Maybe if we put her right next to your tank, that might just make it a cordonned-off area that just makes sense. We just want to get the right fucking cage so that Delilah doesn't get out and start eating things. She will." Nitrim laughs, looking up from his tablet. "Hey guys I—" Devon dips her head. Oh shit. With a quick glance to Soleil, he leads her further in the room and gives Victor and Jarek a manly salute. "Crowded house this time of year. What's even better is that I get to dog on all of you for being in the tabloids."

Ohhhh hey. People, which shouldn't be unexpected in a busy noble house. But Soleil wasn't expecting them. And she wasn't expecting some very specific members of it, at that.
Her muted smile is all she can summon to greet them, and a bow of her head toward Reena, Victor, and Jarek. As to Devon— she looks from her to Nitrim, face inscrutable. Painfully inscrutable.

Reena takes note of Devon's sudden discomfort, then looks to Nitrim and Soleil. When her brother cuts off mid-sentence, she arches a brow curiously. She looks back to Devon. Then back to Nitrim. There was a rumor some time ago but surely, no? She clears her throat. "We were just preparing the ropes for the climb tomorrow. The bar is stocked, brother."

Victor tilts his head slightly at Devon's reaction, looking down at the woman and arching an eyebrow. His left hand slips forward to touch her shoulder, then he steps aside to gather up the loops of rope, pulling them off where they're wrapped around the back of the chair and hanging it over one corner of the chair back. Victor looks between Devon, Nitrim, and Soleil, frowning. Over Devon's head, he shrugs slightly at Reena, a quizzical tilt to his head. Still, he gestures to his female cousin, "That. Headed up to Obsidia. Showing Devon what she's marrying into."

There is a faint chill that settles it around Devon's shoulders, perhaps even a touch of uneasiness. She lifts her eyes toward Nitrim and Soleil once more before she manages a bit of a cool and serene, "Lord Nitrim, Lady Soleil." She nods gently to the pair before she takes another swallow of mead. She casts a smile up to Victor vaguely at the touch to her shoulder before she nods at his explanation. "As if I don't already know by now," she says quietly.

Jarek had been just sitting, watching and listening this whole time. The unease shown by Devon and then felt in the room is broken when Jarek clears his throat loudly. "Right, introductions over with… who wants a drink? I think I need something fresh. Vic?" he asks getting up and moving to the wetbar.

Brushing a hand over the top of his head, Nitrim smoothes into the sudden awkwardness the only way he knows how; by pretending it doesn't exist. Sensing Soleil's eyes on him, he looks over to her and gives her a wink with the eye that is shielded by the other half of his face so that the room can't see. Offering her his arm, he takes a step in the direction of the bar.
"I hate to say it but I'm just dropping in to have a few beers, get some stuff from the room, and maybe check in with Father before heading back to Landing. I won't be able to make it to the climb, Victor, but good luck to you all. Those climbs I hear are a pain in the ass." He's never climbed. He's too Awakend-y to climb up the side of a mountain. He travels over to the bar where he pours himself a cocktail, glancing back to Soleil to offer her one. He looks back over his shoulder to Reena and Devon, nodding upwards to them. "You going to be climbing, too, Reena? What about you, Lady Devon?"
At the bar, he nudges Jarek in the side, giving him a little laugh. "I've heard a lot about you lately, Lord Jarek."

"Because he's my friend, and he's our ally, and you'd do the same for any Drake in the same situation, so quit smirking at me like that and start letting people know," Anabethe grumbles at one of the Drakes as she steps into the hall, waving the man off only to stop short when she sees people already gathered. "Uh. Hi. Did I miss something?" Given how much time she's been spending locked up in the library of late, plus a few rumored visits to the hospital in Landing, it's not exactly beyond the realm of possibility.

"Tabloid all-stars reunion." Nitrim murmurs under his breath. Oh, hey, rum! He'll get in his shots while he can.

"No, I'm making Victor haul me up the side of all those mountains on the rope chair," Reena replies to her brother, even as she is arching a brow at Victor and sliding her eyes between Devon and Nitrim questioningly. "Hey Beth," she greets her sister. "You've met Lady Devon, and her betrothed, my soon to be brother-cousin?" she grins.

Victor looks down at Devon at her quiet words, a bit of annoyance cutting onto his features. Looking up, he shakes his head at Jarek, "Two's good enough before dinner, Jay." He pulls his previous chair over, turning it around so he can straddle the back of it. Snorting at Nitrim's commentary on the climb, he shakes his head again, "Yeah. If I'm going to haul Reena up the side after, it ain't gonna be a hard climb. Just something to check out the Falls." Anabethe's arrival causes him to nod his head upward, "Just planning a climb tomorrow, Bethe. And hanging out before dinner." One hand gestures to Devon, "She got all dressed up, which makes me feel like a fuckin' heel." He says it with a grin, however. The teasing of Jarek causes him to nod sharply, definitely approving.

Jarek swats at the nudging, "I've heard more about you, Nitrim. A Valen? Really?" he gives a faint frown, "As for me, no word yet from the father, but I can have my fingers crossed right? I did get a sign from the Six that I'm supposed to marry, and Agnes was the only person on my mind at the time… so I put three and three together." Jarek gets out a glass and fills it with water. Downing it quickly before refilling it again. He nods to Bethe when she enters but for now doesn't offer anything her direction save lifting a beer at her as if in question.

Devon looks up toward Anabethe as she enters, and the Grantham widow casts her a lingering look. She seems to be on the brink of asking her something, but she suddenly changes her mind. She shakes her head a bit. "I've met Anabethe… I was the one who approached her about Lord Nitrim's squiring with the Granthams." She glances toward Nitrim as he starts for the bar, and then she turns her gaze back toward Reena. "But thank you all the same, Lady Reena." Then she looks up toward Victor at his flash of annoyance, which is matched with one of her own. Her jaw tightens a touch before she finishes off her mead. She would go get more, but Nitrim is at the bar.

"I know Lady Devon. And her heel of a fianc," Anabethe smiles crookedly to Reena, absently rubbing a hand at the back of her neck as she looks around. "You are a heel, Vic. You're just, you know. Our heel. Who brings the beer. Which would be great, thanks, Jarek," she adds with a sigh of relief, moving toward the Saimhann heir. "Hey, people should go and visit Flint in the hospital," she adds once she has the bottle. "He's feeling kind of shitty right about now."

"Best of luck to you, Lord Jarek. The best you can do is just wait it out and hope your father points you in the direction you hope to go." Nitrim replies to the man, clapping a hand over his back as he turns to face the rest of the room. Taking a sip, he moves to lean against the wall and scan their faces the best he can. Awkward is everywhere. Everyone sees it. "After I leave here, Anabethe, I'm going to visit Flint." Nevermind the fact that Nitrim should have been there. Frowning into his drink, he looks to Reena and widens his eyes. She knows. She's the lifeline; gods help him. Losing the look, he turns to the others. "So do any of you have the slightest idea when your weddings will be taking place? I don't think Father's negotiated that yet for ours."

Victor shakes his head at Jarek's question to Nitrim, "No, the last one…" he cuts off, looking over to Soleil and ducking his head, "…was a good while back." The news that Nitrim knows Devon already draws his eyebrows up, and then he's getting an annoyed look back from her, and he rubs at his at his temple with one hand, "Hey… Jay… maybe I will take another beer." Hey look, more awkward! And then Bethes calls him a heel, "Wait, what?" He straightens up in his seat, pointing two fingers at his chest, "What me? Why am I a heel?" There's a pause, "This time." The question from Nitrim causes him to shake his head, "Not a clue."

Soleil is as silent as a glacier. Awkwardness can't touch her. She is the bringer of awkwardness, and, as a power of hers, she is impervious to it. She lets the others feel it while she observes its affects like a scientist of the mind.
Fixing her own drink while counting the layers of meaning in the various looks crossing from person to person, she continues her absolute silence. The only noise from her is the clink of ice in crystal.

"Perhaps, since we're all going to be family and I, for one, truly dislike having nothing but awkward at get-togethers, there is some air to be cleared here?" Reena says, looking pointedly at her little brother. She at least starts off with, "I have no idea when or if this wedding to Young Lord Kadmus will occur. He seems less than thrilled at the banns." She shrugs. "But I quite like his sister, and am glad that she may be my own sister soon."

"There's no air to clear here." Nitrim says to Reena with a shake of his head, eyeballing her over the rim of his cup. Grimmacing into his pull of the rum and cola, he looks over to Soleil and tries to establish some manner of eye contact. As the drink comes down, he pats his chest and looks for his pack of cigarettes. "I should probably get to indexing things in my room for the move."

"What do you mean, he's less than thrilled?" Anabethe arches a brow at Reena, picking that particular thread out of the conversation as she takes a swig of beer. "He's marrying you. You're, like. The perfect wife," she adds, gesturing vaguely with her bottle. "And hot. And Khournas."

Guilt gently touches Devon's expression at the words of Flint. "I have tried to see him, but the Gods must be against me as each time I went to Willowtree, I was told he was resting. I will try again tomorrow." She taps at her empty glass as her gaze flickers toward Nitrim at the bar, and she tightens her lips. Then she meets Victor's annoyed look once more, and her glass-colored eyes narrow slightly before she sits ever taller in her seat as she rolls her shoulders back. Armor is in place, though it is unseen. Though then Reena asks the sixty-four thousand dollar question, and she tenses — if she wasn't already tense enough. She has no response for the question inquiring on their wedding date. Some would say sooner the better… maybe a good wedding night is what these two need…

Soleil doesn't give Nitrim the satisfaction, because she's a sadist.
"Every last one of us was brought up to marry whom we're told and not give shit about it," she says inelegantly in her elegant accent. "Stiff upper lip." She drops something in her glass, a bead or pill of some sort that fizzes violently.

"Apparently our association with House Grantham of late has soured that, Beth. With Ash in the mix, fire and water seems to make ice instead of steam," Reena says with a pursing of her lips. "He is being polite, utterly, completely, and frustratingly polite and nothing more." She gives Nitrim and disappointed look. He was supposed to try being a better person, one would think not lying would be part of that. She doesn't push though.

Jarek totally passed out the beers like requested, cause that's just Jarek. To Nitrim he'd said. "Thanks." simply put before reclaiming his chair and listening to the conversation.

Victor nods to Anabethe, looking down to Devon, "Sorry, but," and then he's looking back to the Young Lady Khournas, "He's a fuckin' idiot. Or playin' it real cool." He lets out a breath, finally looking over to Devon. This time when he reaches out to put a hand on her shoulder, it's intentional. He even squeezes lightly, because the only time these two seems to get along is when they're not talking to one another. He nods to Soleil, "That's how it's supposed to go. Yup." He takes the beer from Jarek, nodding his head, "Thanks." He takes a pull that he desperately needs.

"What, so he's pissed that we're making nice with Grantham and with him? What is he, twelve?" Anabethe takes another swig, perching on the arm of a couch. "You can't be friends with me if you're friends with them!" she says in falsetto. "Well, he's an idiot if he thinks he's going to find anyone better than you, and if you want me to punch him until he gets that, I totally can."

Stepping back over to Soleil, Nitrim turns his back to the room and swirls the liquor in his cup of ice. Claw-ringed fingertips tapping against the glass, he murmurs something to his blonde betrothed and pauses for another sip. When he turns back to the room, it's just in time to see Reena's guilt-blaming look. His lips come together in a scowl, as if to say come on, give me a break. He slips a cigarette into his lip and lights it with a pair of white-clouded eyes and a flash of fire. "Yeah, that's how it's supposed to go. We get placed where our Father's see best and that's where we will go." He finally speaks up, eyes tilting over to Anabethe. "We should pay Lord Kadmus a visit. Loosen him up a bit for Reena."

Soleil murmurs back to Nitrim, very bland.

"I don't think punching is necessary, Beth. He and I will just need to figure out how to make things work, regardless of the past of our Houses, or one another," Reena says, smiling faintly. "Whatever has come before our betrothal has made us who we are. We need to understand that, before we can understand each other." She sips her beer.

The hand to her bare shoulder draws her eyes to meet Victor's. Devon has learned that words just tend to complicate interacts she has with the meathead Khourni, so she merely offers him a bit of a smile before she looks down at her empty glass once more. She taps idly at the cut crystal surface before she glances up at the words about her Volen brother. A touch of protectiveness touches her eyes, but she refrains from speaking on that emotion. What is she going to say, stop bullying the brother she hasn't seen since she was six? She decides for a more diplomatic approach. "I've already told Lady Reena I would attempt to speak with Kadmus, perhaps with the help of my sister Eirene."

Soleil finally cracks a smile toward Nitrim, and she seems to murmur to him, "Just a little, nothing that can't be reassembled." Ah, see? The worst sadist— or the best sadist— always tops off the pain with a little pleasure. "
More audibly, "The entire system is having dreams about drakes eating eagles but you don't see me whining about all the Sauveurs being fed to them. Lord Kadmus should relax and be glad he's not getting an old maid or a hideous hag for a wife. Really, if the worst he has to complain about is that Reena's house is friendly with his worst enemy, may a rock fall on his head."

Jarek just looks on at they chatter away about the same thing over and over and over. Making him very smug that his constantly taking about Agnes has been out done in the matter of minutes. He doesn't have anything to say on any of the one topic currently being had at like it was meal time in the mess hall. Once more he considers the bathhouse, and then Agnes in a bikini… then her visiting the bathhouse… Khournas style… he remains quiet.

Victor snorts at Anabethe, "I already offered to give him an all-expenses trip off the top of the 'Spyre." Nitrim gets an easy chuckle, "Hey, you're gettin' thrown to the purple and gold, 'Trim. What the hell are you complainin' about?" He shakes his head in amusement, nodding at the words to Anabethe, "I was going to suggest we take him out drinking, the three of us, maybe Jay and Ana too." Reena's words draw one eyebrow up, and he chortles, "Really?" His hand at Devon's shoulder squeezes lightly, and then he adds, "Between a good night drinking and some talking to from his sisters… Reena'll have plenty of chances to use her wiles." Soleil's mention of drakes eating eagles cause him to blink sharply, "Woah. Drakes eating eagles? Great…" The last comes with a snort of wry amusement.

"Punching may not be necessary, but it's fun sometimes," Anabethe notes lightly, though she sobers as the dream is mentioned. "Aidan Peake came to see me about that dream. Warn me what it looks like," she says, grimacing. "Which is not a great sign, but at least he came and said something rather than jumping to conclusions."

"That doesn't sound good for anyone," Reena notes about the dream. "There is already too much talk about our family making power plays of one sort or another when most of these arrangements have just been the stumblings of Jevon's children."

Devon glances toward Nitrim as Soleil brings up the dream, and her eyes narrow just a touch. She inclines her chin toward Victor gently at his squeeze. Then she finally commits herself to it, and she sweeps to her feet, that lovely fall of gradient lavender collapsing around her feet and whispering about her as she moves. She steps toward the bar so that she can refill her glass of mead.

Nitrim can't help but laugh at what Soleil says, eyes narrowing in a feral grin at her dry, macabre sense of humor. There's genuine affection there, something he tries to let out in small doses in front of the room. "It's because eagle is tasty, Soleil, and what a drake wants a drake gets. All this snapping, clawing, crowing, and push-and-shove is just going to make for more interesting times. Though, to be fair, Reena? You're going to get a pretty constant access to a beach, you should have fun with that, even if your husband-to-be is going to need some learning." Nitrim finishes, eyes back on Reena's. Stumblings of Jevon's children? Nitrim coughs into his drink and growls, unable to hold it back this time, assuming that was meant for him.
Catching Devon's look about the dream, there's a brief moment of eye contact before Nitrim looks to Victor, considering something he's not telling the room about. Ashing his cigarette into a nearby tray, he speaks up. "Didn't Thalo perform a power grab on you in the fighting pit once, Victor?" Yeah…change the subject.

"No real beaches to speak of, Nitrim," Reena notes. "Mare Maris has no landmasses, it's all ocean and manmade platforms and underwater cities like New Atlantis." She finishes her beer and crosses to set it on the bar.

"You know what I meant. Water. Bikinis. Splashing." Nitrim harrumphs and a dismissive wave of his hand. "The opposite of Detrius."

"Stumbling, huh?" Anabethe smirks at Reena, then pushes up off the arm of the chair. "Okay. I hope you'll all excuse me, but I need to steal Nitrim, Devon, and Vic for a minute."

Soleil arches a brow at Anabethe. "What a peculiar group," she notes, before tilting her head at Nitrim.

"Oh I include myself in the stumbling. I may have asked Father to referee the Grantham/Volen conflict a little, and wound up betrothed as a result," Reena notes to Anabethe.

Devon finishes pouring her mead, but then Bethe's words cause the Witch to blink. She glances over toward the woman quite reluctantly, but there isn't enough resources at hand to create a proper escape. So she takes a rather large swallow of mead before she glances over toward Nitrim, and then to Victor, and then finally to Soleil. She casts the woman a serene smile, nodding her head gently. "Of course, Anabethe…" And she starts to step toward where the Young Lady bids.

Victor lets his hand drop to hang off the front of his chairback as Devon stands. He nods to Nitrim, "That's what I keep tellin' her. She can work on her tan, work on her causes, and look at her pretty husband." He nods again at Reena's rejoinder, "Besides, it is her fault." His dark eyes shift over to Devon, and he smirks, "All of it." Chuckling softly, he nods to Nitrim, "And yeah, thanks for the reminder. Damn near gave me a concussion. What, three years ago?" Anabethe's request, Soleil's arched brow, and Devon's gulp of mead cause him to frown a touch, gathering up his beer bottle, "Sure, Bethe, what's up? Drawing Room?" and he gestures toward the small private room off the main sitting room.

Peculiar group indeed. With a dark look in his eye as he knows what's coming, Nitrim looks to Soleil and his eyes flash over in white for just a second. Reaching out, he brushes his hand over her shoulder and then tips the last of his drink back. Eyes washing back over to green, he and Devon do the same thing, scanning Anabethe, Victor, and Devon's faces before he stubs out his cigarette. With a quiet look to his father's drawing room, he turns on his heel and heads that way in silence.

Jarek looks up at the converstion's change to nothing new… right and more and more do they mention bikinis. Damn. He's seriously going to need to try and convince his Agnes to wear one for him… just once if never again. Of course, they would need to be at a point where that wouldn't be awkward too. Granted, how much more awkward can it be? He just kissed her, then proposed to her… and then wrote letters about her… The SIX! He needs a cold bath, and perhaps another beer… and something to hit. He needs something to hit… wait, lets think back on the conversation, it there any reason I can hit Nitrim? Has he said anything to warrant that? What about Vic? He said anything? I'd punch Anabethe, but she's too cool right now for that…. Right, throw a punch at Vic, seems about right. So Jarek stands up, walks over to Vic just as he's starting to leave… and punches his arm. Nah. That wasn't it… alright. "Okay, I think I should head out… got a lot on my mind."

"Yeah, well. I've got an awkward limit for the day, and the last five minutes totally busted it," Anabethe drawls to Soleil, taking another drink and nodding toward the drawing room. "Let's get this out of the way so we can stop with the weird looks." Jarek's punch gets a curious arch of her brow, but she doesn't ask, instead starting to herd people toward the drawing room with little shooing motions.

Victor looks down at his arm as Jarek slugs him, and snorts, reaching up to rub his arm, "Yeah, just remember to use your left hand sometimes. Take care, Jay." And then he's out, his humor fading away. He's pretty obviously the odd man out here, what with the comments and looks being thrown around.

Reena claims another beer, and grabs one for Soleil as well, moving to hand the blonde the beverage as the others retreat. "Let me know if you need anything stronger. Or earplugs," she notes to her brother's betrothed as she closes the drawing room door behind the quartet. "Take care, Jay. And let us know when the news comes back."
You head towards Drawing Room

Soleil takes the beer, but she's looking perturbed qand directing that look like a laser at Nitrim's back. "I call bullshit," she says, which means whatever it means.

Drawing Room, Volkan, The Crescent
Tucked high amidst the residential floors of the Blackspyre, this little room is set aside for meetings that do not require the use of the Great Hall. There are a half dozen tall, wing-backed leather chairs scattered around the room, clustered here and there around small side-tables. One wall bears a preserved drake's head, one of the largest ever killed, while the others are decorated with paintings, scenes from the First and Second System War. Several hand-held holoprojectors rest unobtrusively on tables around the room, allowing for the reading of books, watching of movies, or showing of presentations.
Moments later.

Victor moves over to the drake's head, scritching the ferocious beast under the chin, "Hey there Sweetums." And then he turns back to the others, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms, beer bottle hanging from the fingers of one hand, "So. What am I missing? 'Cause you all obviously know something that I don't."

"Okay. So, I was all for letting bygones be bygones, but you all are just…making my skin crawl," Anabethe says once they're in the drawing room. "So we're going to get this done, because, seriously, it's really not that important. And if anyone gets pissy about it, I'm punching them. Or something." She drinks, giving Nitrim and Devon a Look, before she turns back to Victor. "Vic, Nitrim and Devon had a thing. Months ago. That went nowhere. The end. Why you would care, I don't know, because Nitrim is clearly stupid silly over blondie in there for some strange reason, so it's not like he's going to get in the way, and she's a widow, so it's not like you expected her to be a virgin, but now we can all move on with our lives, right?"

Devon sweeps to a portion of the room that segregates her a little bit from the other Khourni. She doesn't clasp her hands or avert her eyes, but she does lift her chin a bit as Anabethe starts to speak. It isn't like she wasn't expecting this the moment Bethe asked them back here, but she still finds herself tensing under the announcement. She doesn't look at Nitrim or Victor, though at Nitrim being stupid for Soleil does deepen her frown a bit.

"So we're not in here to talk about the climbing expedition tomorrow?" Nitrim asks flatly, coming to a stop against the non-windowed wall on the other side of the table from Victor. You know, the one he's less likely to get thrown out of. Casting a sardonic look to Anabethe, he folds his arms and turns his gaze to look to Devon and Victor, gauging their reactions. Fingertips drumming on his arm, he breaks his gaze to look back at Anabethe. "This is awkward enough, Anabethe, you don't have to insult Soleil or myself." He clears his throat then looks back to Victor. "If you're going to blame anyone, Victor, blame me. I did what you all know I do. I lie and misuse." Head swiveling back to Anabethe. "Are we done here?"

Victor blinks at Anabethe's words, his brows furrowing even before she gets to the point. And then she does, and he blinks again, looking over to Devon, then Nitrim, then back. Slowly uncrossing his arms, he takes a pull of his beer, then lowers it again. His dark eyes shift back to Nitrim then, and he growls, "Shut the fuck up, 'Trim. Lady Devon's an adult." And now he's back to 'Lady Devon.' "You can get the fuck out, thanks." And then he looks over to Anabethe, "You too."

"I'm not insulting you or Soleil. Much." Anabethe sighs, eyeing the others. "Seriously, you're all being weird about this. It's not weird. Why are you making it weird?" Victor gets an even longer look, eyes narrowing. "I'm not leaving here so you can yell at her, Vic. She's going to be one of us, and that means I'm going to stand with her just as much as I'll stand with you."

Nitrim looks over to his sister, eyes glossing over into white to communicate with gods-know-who. With a shake of his head, he glances towards the door. "I'm not making it weird, I'm just not trying to make anything difficult about it. Devon and I have reconciled, we're friends, and her betrothed shouldn't talk to her like a household servant." Nitrim looks back over to Victor and nods his head. "I'll be out of your ha" He frowns. "personal space in a few weeks, Victor. Deal with me until then, alright?" He pushes off of the wall and turns, starting to walk for the door.

Devon draws herself up even taller, shoulders meeting her spine in a neat and precise alignment. The only change in her calm expression is the tightening of her jaw at being reduced all the way to 'Lady Devon' — all that progress, dashed away in a simple flick of a wrist. She glances over toward Nitrim, and her gaze is as pale and cold as ice itself. She gently sets her glass of mead down on the nearest surface, not speaking a word. When Anabethe swears to stand by her, though, she blinks a little at her. She starts to frown a bit. "Thank you, Anabethe but…" She looks toward Victor and then Nitrim. "I should talk to Sir Victor." She is quiet for a long moment, looking after Nitrim before she looks to Anabethe.

Victor rolls his shoulders away from the wall, stepping forward to set the beer bottle down on the table with a slamming thump. "Bethe, I love you like a sister, but you need to butt your nose the fuck out of shit that isn't your business." Turning his head back to Nitrim, he shakes his head, leaning forward to press his knuckled fists to the surface of the table, "I know you'll fuck anything that moves, 'Trim. But if you tell me how to talk to Lady Devon again, I'll shove your head so far up your ass that you'll gargle your own balls." Looking over to Devon, he studies her a moment, then nods his head in agreement with her simple statement.

"You're family. Nitrim's family. Devon's a friend who's about to become family. That makes it my business." Anabethe tips her chin up stubbornly, taking a step toward Victor in turn. "Be nice, Vic," she says sternly, reaching out to poke a finger at his shoulder. "She's smart, she's beautiful, she can hold her own in a fight, she can patch you up when you're broken, she doesn't think Volkan's the worst place ever, and maybe you didn't want to get married, but you couldn't possibly do better, so please. Try to think about her for a minute, okay? Try."

The door opens, and in comes Soleil, her expression dark. "Really, I think, enough with the soap opera already." The young woman crosses the room and holds Nitrim's tablet out to him. She then turns to Devon. "Lady Grantham, I am sure you didn't mean to cause so much drama, but the drama unfolds, and now I had three questions for you. One, did Nitrim ever tell you he wished to marry you? Two, did Nitrim tell you about his relationship with me? And three, did you not realize that Nitrim was going to marry whomever his father told him to marry? A bonus question, did you know he had asked me before he was ever squired to Flint? So I am just wondering…why the fuck does everyone think Nitrim played around with your heart and ruined your life, because I don't think you're a frail innocent little girl who had no clue what you were doing when you slept with him. And I /really/ think it's inconsiderate to /me/, the girl he's marrying, and the girl he was fucking around with before he even met you, to have this mess thrown in our faces."

Nitrim, walking towards the door, slows as Victor insults him. Casting a sidelong glance to Anabethe. A cold layer of ice water washes over Nitrim's features as he listens to his sister's retort. Rolling his eyes, he pulls out a new cigarette and lights it, turning his attention to Victor. He stares. Nitrim is angry in a cold, vicious way. "Say something nice to her, Vi—" Nitrim gets out before Soleil walks into his room. He coughs a cloud of cigarette smoke as the bomb gets dropped. He chews his lip. "Yeah, Anabethe, this was a wonderful fucking idea." His eyes gloss back from white to green, and it all makes sense. He's been talking to Soleil, too, with his MIND. Rubbing his hand over the side of his face, his eyes scan the room. "This issue needs to end tonight."

<FS3> Devon rolls Psychometry: Good Success.

The door opens and Devon turns toward it with a bit of a blink. Then her pale eyes alight on the sight of none other than Soleil Sauveur walking into the room. The prompt tirade that follows causes those glass-colored darken like storm clouds in a window pane. All that serenity and grace evaporates, exposing pure rage at the intrusion into this room. She advances forward immediately, that gradient lavender silk dancing around her footfalls like dark thunderheads. Her eyes become nothing but white orbs as she moves, her aura bursting like angelic fire around her balletic frame with ribbons of light crafting white wings off her shoulders. "GET. OUT." Her amplified voice literally shakes the very room, books shaking in their shelves and that glass of forgotten mead vibrating right off the table she had set it down on, shattering glass and spilling liquid caramel across the floor.

Victor doesn't move from his pose leaning against the table on the knuckles of his balled fists, "Bethe." And then Soleil barges in, says her peace, and Victor growls again, "Lady Soleil. I've told 'Trim this, I've told 'Bethe this, now I'm gonna tell you too. Get. The. Fuck. Ou — " And Devon is saying the same thing with a great deal more volume, and Victor flinches away from the sudden roar, the sheer volume reverberating in the little room. And look, Nitrim, Anabethe, and Soleil have gotten Devon and Victor on the same side, because he rounds on the trio as well. Although he doesn't have the angelic wings spreading out behind him, he does have clenched fists at his side, and he's a good deal bigger than his betrothed.

Anabethe winces at the boom of sound, reaching up to rub at her ear. "Really not about you, sweetheart," she drawls into the ringing echo afterwards with a dry look at Soleil. "I know, not something you hear a lot of. See, I'm going on the assumption that whatever went down between you three has been taken care of. Mostly because you're all more or less adults and I don't really care who sleeps with whom as long as everyone's willing. So I actually came in here to talk to my cousin and my friend so they could figure shit out between themselves. Since it involved my brother, I figured he should be here. It didn't actually involve you, though." She looks to Devon and Victor, then tips her head toward the door with a glance to Nitrim. "So. Much as I enjoy a good fight, I think it's time Devon and Victor continue this on their own. Because really, it's about them."

Soleil's just not the sort to be cowed— not by someone whom she's already angry at, not by mere Awakened flarings, and not by some guy she doesn't know. Not after the things she has seen. Her own anger may be less of a show but it runs just as deep.
"There are only two people in this room who have /any/ business telling me to get out, and one of them only because it's her future house. While I am fucking sure she'll oblige you by repeating your demand any moment, I will repeat what Nitrim said. Enough is fucking enough. The man doesn't belong /to you/. he didn't force you to do anything and he didn't promise you anything to get you to do it. And I am not about to let this bullshit interfere in my peace of mind /ever again/. YOU are marrying /that/ man. Nitrim is marrying /me/. That's how it is. All of you need to fucking accept that and just /let the past go/. Everyone made mistakes. It doesn't fucking matter now. THIS LITTLE MEETING was UNNECESSARY."
She looks at Anabethe. "Obviously it didn't involve me. Obviously it involved Nitrim and all the hearts he broke and all the promises he made. You didn't need to pull him back into this. What involves him— that now involves me. Because I have his back. Because when someone accuses him of shit, I am going to be there to defend him. Because I fucking love him and loved him before this woman ever even met him."

At the booming, the deafening, and the newly Khourni betrothed taking near arms and storming over to the entry-end of the Drawing Room, Nitrim doesn't flinch. He knows the skill, he's used it before, and he knows what it will do. What it will not do is hurt him…unless Devon does something else. Without flashing his aura, Nitrim turns his side to Devon…and then steps in between her and Soleil. His green eyes look to her whites and her flaring aura, and he forms a wall. It's a simple statement: No. He won't let this turn into a fight without getting in the way of it. Then…Soleil drops the L-bomb and his jaw slackens just a little. He reaches out to her to try to guide her back towards the door. Tiiiiime to go.

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Devon=psychometry Vs Soleil=7
< Devon: Amazing Success Soleil: Good Success
< Net Result: Devon wins - Crushing Victory

It is a bit too late for Nitrim's attempt at a valiant rescue. Whatever it is that sets Devon off clouds her ears from anything else that might be said, and she stomps her foot solidly into the ground as a shockwave of telekinetic energy explodes around Soleil like a charging bull. The thick ribbons of light that make her celestial wings swarm around her in the wake of the strike, and her lips curl back to reveal the interior of a white, glowing mouth.

Victor starts to relax a bit at Anabethe's words, if only relaxing from 'wanting to punch someone in the throat' to 'wanting to yell at someone very loudly.' And then Soleil speaks up again, and Victor starts to speak right over her, starting at 'enough is fucking enough.' "Lady Soliel. And I'm being as polite as I can possibly be here. Get. The. Fuck. Out. Now. All of you. This is a private fucking matter between me and Lady Devon." Yes, he keeps right on going, his gravelly voice rising slowly from its starting growl. "Now I don't come to your fucking tower and stick my nose in the private fucking shit that you get into. You've been told by everyone here to get the fuck out." Not entirely true. Nitrim didn't, and Anabethe suggested that everyone but Victor and Devon leave. "So get. The fuck." And once again he is interrupted by a flare of white light from Devon, and his head whips around to follow the telekinetic boom.

"Hey!" Anabethe turns toward Devon at the latest boom, pointing. "Get your shit together. Let go of the Awakened shit and sit your ass down. Not okay." Her eyes narrow, a glimmer of actual frustration showing in her features. "In fact, everybody sit your asses down. Sit down, and shut up. You're in my house. I get the last word."

Soleil would probably have more to say to Victor about private matters not involving her soon-to-be-husband, but she's knocked clean off her feet, back a yard or so, where she ends up on her back with a whimpered yowl. Because it hurts being smacked ass backwards.
Unfiortunately, despite Anabethe's demand, and despite Soleil's years of carefully burying all urges, instincts, and psychometric habits, the girl on the floor is suddenly engulfed in inky tendrils of void black smoke.

Anabethe has full control of things. This is made apparent as Nitrim gnashes his teeth towards Devon and his own aura flares to life. Like an apparation tearing through his skin, the head of the flaming serpent roils through his jacket and starts to swim around the light haze of flame and heat crackles around Nitrim's body. He extends his hand, palm-out, to Devon and lowers his voice. "You will not do that again." He says with no lack of promise. His eyebrows, not his eyes because they're clouded over, tilt to Victor and then to Devon again. It's a suggestion. But he can feel the tendrils forming to life behind him. His eyelids blink slowly and he gives Devon a dark look. He trusts she will stop. "Anabethe, I know you are law but…" This is going to get worse. He takes a step back towards Soleil and reaches for her, moving to help her stand.

Celestial fire and wings retract quickly at the command of the Young Lady. She steps back as her eyes fade into those glass-hued orbs that look into a hurricane of dark, spiraling clouds. Gradient lavender silk collapses back around her feet and her pale orange locks settle in windswept waves around her shoulders and down her spine. She takes another step back, though she appears to remain on edge as Soleil summons up her own aura and then as Nitrim does as well. His words cause her voice to snap out in a firm and unwavering alto, "You have no place to order me, Lord Nitrim Khournas of the Crescent. My liege is Lord Esiah Orelle of The Ring, and from him King Regnant Emund Sauveur. Not you." And she points a finger at Soleil. "And not her."

Victor is saved from having to decide if he's going to step forward to face his betrothed or his cousin by Anabethe's words. He doesn't exactly sit down, but he does step back, then sideways, around the other side of the table, keeping his eyes on Nitrim and Soleil and trusting to Devon's bright-ass aura to warn him if she's going to restart some shit, "Bethe, I don't want a godsdamned fight with either of those two. I don't want some fucking counseling session with everyone and their fucking mother sitting in. I just want to have a godsdamned private talk with the woman I'm supposed to fucking marry. In a private room, in my Uncle's godsdamned fortress." There's no shouting from him now, just a rock-grindingly low growl.

"I said SHUT UP." Anabethe may not have Awakened powers to amplify her voice, but she does have years of battlefield experience. "Don't start," she warns when Soleil and Nitrim both light up. "Soleil, since you seem to think you should've been included, here's what was said. Devon and Nitrim had a thing, and it's over. Period. Grand sum total of what I intended to convey here. Nobody came in here to vilify you. So chill the fuck out. Nobody came in here to vilify you either, Nitrim. So chill the fuck out. There was a thing. People feel weird about it. It's. Mother-fucking. Over." She pauses in silence for a moment, looking from person to person. "Nitrim and Soleil, out. Devon and Vic, be nice to each other. The end. Good bye." And then she points toward the door with an expectant look at her brother and his betrothed. She will herd them out if necessary, it says.

Unfortunately, Soleil is totally not going to remember she dropped the L word. She was mad, and then she got smacked upside the head. She's on her feet again in a few dizzy moments, with the help of Nitrim's hand which she takes. The inky, evil-looking curls of smoke continue to thicken and twist, caressing her slender form.
"King Emund is my cousin. High Lord Esiah is my uncle. Move on with your life. Be happy. Your woes with Nitrim never should have reached my ears. That they did— that they /continue/ to be thrown in my face— is in your hands to end. END IT."
From the smoke bursts a dozen small black shadow-birds, which fly from her in all directions and dissolve, taking with them the tendrils of smoke. Soleil, faded back to normal, draws away toward the door.

Glancing back over his shoulder, Nitrim watches Soleil in silence as she speaks, curls her aura back in, and turns to leave. The rumors are in fact true that Nitrim has grown up a bit, because as Devon yells to him, he looks back to her and curls his own aura away, eyes flushing back over to green. Straightening his back, he adjusts the front of his coat and looks over to Anabethe, giving her a stark, mature nod, which is a rarity for Nitrim. He doesn't speak, he doesn't continue it, he simply does what she says. Without another look to Victor, lest it spark more trouble, he turns and follows Soleil out the door.

Okay. Anabethe did tell Devon to shut up, but Soleil continues to poke. "Your right, my woes with Nitrim should have never reached your ears. You will need to take that up with your husband-to-be, who felt it was necessary to share those details when they could have stayed safely in this room." The Witch casts a dangerous look at Nitrim. "I kept it to myself, I would have kept it within these very walls, but he decided to share it with you rather than keeping it in this room. Therefore, he threw it in your face." The Grantham flashes her teeth. "And if you knew where not to stick your face, perhaps you would find less unsavory things thrown in it."

Victor snarls at Soleil, "His Majesty would have the fucking decency to leave a private conversation fucking private." He looks over at Devon, nodding sharply, then realizes that he's angry with her too. Once again, he arms fold over his chest, and he just waits for Nitrim and Soleil to depart, rumbling to Anabethe, "I'll apologize to you later, 'Bethe. After I get done kicking your ass for bringing this shit up in the first place." It's not really a threat, or at least it doesn't have the sound of a physical one.

Anabethe rubs a hand at her brow, forcing a breath out through her nose. "I hate everyone who doesn't understand the concept of shut up, and I swear by the Knight, I will punch anyone who speaks before Nitrim, Soleil, and I are out that fucking door," she says in a low, weary tone that's much more threatening than any yelling. "Nitrim, you win the maturity contest of the night. Thank you. Maiden's tits, I'm strangling Mikhail in his sleep before he hits his teens." And with that, she interposes herself between the two parties, pushing her way toward the door to herd people out.

Soleil rounds about. "YOU told Flint. Who decided to take it out on Nitrim. Flint told Nitrim's sister. SHE brought it up at a fucking bachelor party. You kept your mouth shut? NO, you didn't. But you'd better LEARN TO. One more time. Everything that involves this man now involves me. I have his back. You drag him somewhere, be fucking sure I'll follow." Or she says as much of that as she can before Anabethe punches her in the teeth.

Nitrim doesn't want this anymore. Though it's clear he is in the Soleil corner, and there's a dark cast to his eyes that borders on a level of his own personal shame, he knows damned good and well that Anabethe will hit him. Besides, he's won the maturity contest, and the man has just enough ego to want to continue to claim that prize.
As Soleil spins around, Nitrim wraps an arm around her slender hip and presses his chest softly against hers, trying to urge her out the door. There's no admonishment, no shaming, merely a desire to do what they set out to do: end this. However, he does position his head onto Soleil's shoulder on the side that's furthest away from Anabethe, unknowingly leaving the blonde open for a haymaker. Sometimes love means letting your sister punch her.

Devon eyes flash white, a touch of glow hinting along her skin as she narrows her eyes after Nitrim. Though she doesn't say anything more, allowing Soleil to suffer the punishment of demanding to get the last word.

Victor's head jerks over toward Devon at the start of that glow, taking one step around the table toward her and starting to uncross his arms. He's saved from having to pull a Nitrim by the fact that Devon doesn't actually burst into full aura or open her mouth, and he subsides, just turning to watch the fracas at the door over his right shoulder.

Anabethe made a threat, and Dad says you have to follow through on those or no one believes you. Though she does at least look just the slightest bit regretful when she steps forward and pops Soleil once on the cheek on the way out the door. She's skilled enough with this sort of thing to make it hurt without doing serious damage, but she doesn't entirely hold back, either. "You got several warnings." And that's all the explanation there is before the heir stalks off to get something nice and strong to drink.

Soleil's hellcat past came with a temper. Oh, she knew Anabethe was serious. She just didn't give a shit. She probably won't even be pissed at Anabethe. It /is/ her house, after all. Soleil would deck her if they were in the palace, hell yeah!

Victor watches the others head out, and once they're well clear of the door, he stalks over to it, hitting the override switch on the door to lock it from the inside. That done, he turns around to face Devon, snarling, "Sage's drooping balls. What a self-important little bitch." That out of the way, he draws in a long, slow breath, refocusing on the problem — and person — at hand. "So. When were you going to tell me you fucked my cousin?" All things considered, it's actually relatively calmly asked, although in this case relatively is a relative turn. There's still a touch of a snarl to the words, but his voice isn't elevated.

Devon has turned away from the door, her aura fading away once the trio has gone. Her body is tense, wrapped up in an undeniable anger. The relatively calm question causes her eyes to close, and she listens to the roaring thumping of her heart for a few moments. "Never," she finally says. "I was never going to tell you." She doesn't look at him, refusing to meet his eyes as she looks out the grand window that looks over Volkan below.

Victor blinks at a response he didn't actually expect, half-turning his head to look toward the door as if to ask the non-existent people watching if she really just said that. And then his anger flares again. He steps up to the side of the window, jabbing the control with one blunt finger to polarize the transparent composite and blacken the view. "You can at least have the fucking decency to look at me when you say you were going to keep the fact that you fucked my cousin from me. I knew I wasn't your first. You had a fucking husband. But I thought I might've been your first gods. Damned. Khournas." The last word comes out as a roar, although he quiets again as he continues, going back to that inexorable sort of rock-slide of flat rumbling, "You didn't think that maybe someone would mention it? In passing? You thought it'd be better coming from someone else?"

The Khourni's harsh words spurs that anger again, and Devon turns sharply to him. Her own voice elevates to match his, and she advances a step toward him. Her hands curl into fists that bury her fingernails into her palms to the point that the tension will leave tiny red semicircles on her pale skin. "Nitrim had been betrothed to Soleil, and I then was betrothed to you! I thought that I was acting in the proper social grace, keeping something that didn't need to be known a fucking secret. Besides, how fucking perfect would it have been to walk up to you and tell you that I fucked Nitrim?" She then turns in a flurry to walk away from him, trying to get some space between them.

Victor reaches out in an attempt to grab Devon's wrist when she starts to walk away, "Hey!" Whether she evades him, pulls free, or stops, he continues harshly, "You didn't think that that little fucking pissant wouldn't have said something when he was drunk, or wanted to hurt you? Or that Bethe wouldn't decide to… clear the fucking air, brilliant godsdamned idea that that was? Or any one of the who-the-fuck-knows-how-many people who've been told about it wouldn't let something slip?" He shakes his head angrily, "Fuck… I don't fucking care that you fucked him, although I don't know why in the hell you'd fuck such an obvious fucking manwhore, or why you thought fucking another noble was a good idea in the first place." He finally takes a breath, letting it expand his shoulders and chest as well as his abdomen, "What I'm pissed about, besides all the bullshit those three were saying, is that you didn't have the balls to tell me your own damn self."

Devon stops when he grabs her slender wrist, and she turns sharply around toward him again. "I don't know," she snarls at him. "I don't know why I fucked him or why I didn't tell you… maybe I was ashamed to admit that I thought… perhaps… that Nitrim would have become something greater under the Granthams. That's what we fucking do… take something that is faltering, failing, becoming lost, and transform it! Do you know what I was before I joined the Ash Legion? I was grief and sorrow. I saw Nitrim and I thought…" Then her voice falters. "It doesn't matter. He's off to the Sauveurs, where he will find he is just a little speck of dust amongst them." Then she turns her gaze away from him, though she does not attempt to walk away again. Then she flares her nostrils, taking in a sharp breath.

Victor keeps a grip on her wrist, his hand tight, but not to the point of pain. "Yeah. He coulda become something more than a worthless manwhore. Was becoming." His other hand points out toward… somewhere that's not here, he's not being particular at the moment, "Sir Flint was doing that, taking him to squire." For all that his voice remains at its normal low register now, his jaw tightens, "Or were you going to fix him by fucking him into something worthwhile?" His hand explodes off her wrist, his arms flying to the sides, "Is that the match you were looking for with the Khournas? Have you been snapping at me this entire fucking time because you'd rather be fucking my cousin, but he got snapped up by some skinny Sauveur bitch?"

His verbal blows land, and her pale eyes reflect the wounds they inflict. "I had reconciled with Nitrim!" Devon snaps back, though there is a terrible ache in her voice that she cannot mask no matter how much she tries. "He had hoped that I would have sought a match with him, but I said that I was not ready! So he went back to her. Perhaps I considered it, perhaps I wanted to move on, but I needed more time… time he could not provide." She steps back now. "Now he has chosen his fate, and he will be a Sauveur whipping boy until his dying days." She finally rounds herself on the question at hand. "The shit that that skinny bitch, as you call her, was spouting just now was her own dellusions about a situation she knows nothing of!"

Victor pales a little under his tan as she confirms… more than just part of his accusations. And oddly enough, that lands as a blow, hurt coiling behind the anger in his dark eyes. "Fine. Fuck it. I always knew I was just some damned stranger. If he's the type you were… considering…" the word has a growling sneer attached to it, "making a match with, I doubt we'll ever work out." He snorts, "And bullshit you'd reconciled with him. I may be a dumb fucking Khourni, but even I'm not that fucking dense. You too tore into each other almost as well as she tore into every fucking person around, and you're still aching for him." Okay, so maybe he is that fucking dense.

The Ash Witch actually looks shocked by his works, but the shock is quickly transformed into anger once more — anger and a touch of desperate despair. "I'm not aching for him, Victor Khournas," Devon snarls as she advances on him once more, hardly afraid of their nearly nine inches of height difference. "I'm aching to make a connection with my fucking husband-to-be… I'm aching to understand what you want from me." She is almost trembling now as the emotions wash over her. "I'm fucking aching for you, you idiot! I snap at you because of us, not because of him… we fight because of us, not because I have some secret longing for a man who is an infant most of the fucking time."

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