05.15.2013: The Glass Fortress
Summary: Lyrienne and Godric meet and claim a table by building a fortress of glass in the Violet Siren. They are joined by Raisa.
Date: 05.15.2013
Related: None
Lyrienne Godric Raisa 


The Violet Siren
The entrance into the Violet Siren gives the illusion of a squat, round building with very little character or flair. It is only when one walks through the ellipse-shaped tunnel, under the glowing black lights, do they realize that the Violet Siren is far more than it seems. The foyer is at the top level of a vast silo that tunnels underground for several stories. Its transparent-composite floors look down through the various mezzanines ringing the interior of silo all the way to the expansive dance floor at the bottom. A series of staircases hug the walls of the cylinder, leading patrons past balconies that supply seating away from the loud thumping and madness of the dance floor and a series of bars to wet ones whistle.

The entire lower level is nothing but dance floor with platforms to provide varied elevation to the bumping, grinding, and thrashing of the vigorous dancers. Scantly-clad waitresses maneuver carefully through the dancers with shotglass vials of neon-colored liquor.

May 15, 3013

Like the heartbeat of some neon beast, the one constant in the Violet Siren is the relentless beat of its music. It drives everything in this place, pumping people through its corridors, making them spend their money, making them writhe. And the place is packed this evening.

Still, there are places where the blood eddies and collects away from the thrum. One such corner is an area of table largely reserved for the nobility and it is there that Godric sits. A couple of empty shot glasses can be seen on an elliptical drinks table in front of his knees, but his eyes look lucid as he stares into the distance. He might be looking at the gyrating ass of one of the dancers, but it is difficult to tell.

What better way to celebrate recovery from injuries than leaving the kids with someone else and heading out on the town for the night?
Lyrienne has been on the floor, feeling the beat with the best of them, but even she eventually needs to step away from the worst of the noise and the crowd, twisting fair curls up off the back of her neck and into an artless chignon as she escapes the floor. As she comes within sight of the bar, she raises a hand, smile flashing toward the bartender. For a few seconds, her eyes blank out and an aura flares, a shimmering aurora of teal, gold, and pale pink. It's enough to catch the bartender's eye and perhaps convey an order, as the man behind the counter grins and raises a thumbs up to the young woman as Lyrienne drops herself into the nearest seat - Godric's booth, by chance.

"Beautiful, that," comes a deep masculine voice. Godric's attention has been pulled from its previous subject and has now settled squarely on the woman seated at his booth. "The woman, too," he concedes with a small half-smile. "But the aura. Like dawn on a beach." With a grunt, he pushes himself to his feet. He seems steady enough. "Allow me to buy your drink…lady…?" For a lady she must be if her clothing is any indication.

"Oh! Sorry, I didn't realize this booth was taken." Lyrienne grins swiftly when she catches sight of Godric, flushing slightly at the compliment. Or maybe it's just the exertion of the dancing. "But I never turn down drinks when someone else is buying," she adds lightly, reaching over the table to offer a hand, palm down. "Lady Lyrienne Orelle," she introduces herself. "And the Awakened masters I trained with would faint if they knew I was using my gifts to order drinks, but it's never failed me yet. It's hard to ignore a drink order inside your head when it comes with a light show," she laughs.

"And I'm sure being beautiful, rich and a noble doesn't hurt either, Lady Lyrienne." Godric flashes a smile before bowing his head over the hand, and pressing it gently between thumb and forefinger. After that, he settles the matter of the drink which takes little time. As he waves one of the scantily clad waitresses over with her tray of neon-colored shots, he resumes his seat. "Lord Sir Godric Leonnida," he finally offers, completing the circuit of the introduction. "Are you out dancing by yourself?"

"It never does," Lyrienne laughs, taking one of the glowing drinks and tossing it back with a practiced air. "And it is a pleasure to meet you, Sir Godric. But yes, I'm afraid I'm out dancing on my own tonight. With the unexpected arrival of the Hostiles, Cedric and the fleet are suddenly on high alert. Not that he's much for this sort of scene anyhow," she adds with a wry twist of her lips. "What about you? Surely you're holding this table for someone. Or were you claiming it in the name of Leonnida?" She grins, teasing. She and Godric are at one of the tables within sight of the bar, as the music and dancing get into swing for the evening around them.

"I was going to claim it, but I seem to have run out of flags," Godric confesses to Lyrienne. He has one of those voices that carries easily, even in this rich, thrumming atmosphere. "It's been a busy week," he says, lifting his shot of neon blue and pounding it back. He looks vaguely disappointed when he glances at the empty glass before putting it on the table top. "But I, too, am here alone. The music helps me think. If you can believe that." He is silent for a moment, then nods again. "Of course. Lord Captain Cedric Orelle. I knew I remembered your name. I hope your husband fares well in the coming battles."

"You don't carry spare flags just in case?" Lyrienne tsks, shaking her head. "I'm disappointed. We'll have to build you a tower instead. Of beakers," she decides cheerfully, turning her own upside down and picking a spot on the table to start building it. "It won't be particularly defensible, but it should do to claim territory. And music is good for working things out," she adds, looking up as she reaches to add his empty beaker to the construction. "I compose. And write lyrics. And play, and sing, for that matter. There's something special about the way music turns math into soul."

"As I said, it's been a busy week," Godric offers with a mock-defensive tone. He does not hide the smile, however, that springs to his lips at the flag-in-process. One hand moves to the other empties there and he slides them over for easier access. "I think we may need more for an appropriately grand flag." His hand signals for the waitress once more. "And while we wait for her, I have to admit," he says somewhat confidentially, "you lost me after 'math'. But music…/that/, I love. What are you songs about, then?"

"What are all songs about?" Lyrienne starts to arrange the beakers, looking up with a flicker of a smile. "Love, of course. And loss. But love's at the root of all the best music. And the math part is interesting, actually. It wasn't until I was spending more time on Orelle that I started to look into the more technical aspects of composition. But the relation of one note to another is essentially mathematical. And particular chords and their progressions and the emotions they evoke can /technically/ be broken down to it as well. But it can't catch everything. Heart has to fill in the gaps." She pauses as she stacks a few beakers, considering the castle in progress. "Godric, I think we are going to have to get very drunk if we're going to claim this table."

Godric sighs explosively and lifts a large hand to rub at the bridge of his nose with a thumb and forefinger. "If we must, we must. Flags are…intensely serious business. As is this table. As I am already /intensely/ jealous of Lord Captain Cedric, I am not inclined in the least to share it with anyone but you. Ah…" The waitress is here! Four more shots are soon arrayed on the table in various colors. Godric takes a moment to sniff each in turn before placing it down. Then, "You must carry a great deal of love to share so much of it with the world."

Lyrienne plucks a shot at random out of the lineup, tossing it back before considering the glass to decide where it should fit in the fortress. "I think I remember that being a headline sometime around when news of my marriage came out," she muses, though she seems to have a sense of humor about it at least, smile tugging at one corner of her lips. "Though it might have been phrased in a somewhat less flattering manner." She lifts a beaker, using the shorter shot glass as a foundation piece beneath it. "It's not hard to love the world when it's been kind to you, though," she continues, looking up with a small smile. "I've been accused of being spiteful when it doesn't."

Godric has a big, free laugh, the kind that might belong to a drunk farmer. It earns a few looks from the bar. Swiping at one eye, he gets control of his mirth soon enough, however, and offers, "I cannot imagine you being spiteful, though I've only known you for a few heartbeats." Lifting a glass in silent toast, he drains it and then sets it down with a little thump. "And I think you are generous when you say life has been kind to you." He looks at her as if daring he lady to contradict him.

"Very spiteful," Lyrienne assures with a somber nod, though she can't help but grin at his laughter, ruining the effect. "Granted, I think my sort of spiteful is usually limited to saying hurtful things, for the most part." She reaches for another shot, though she holds this one up to the light first, inspecting it curiously. "How would you say life has been less than kind to me?" she asks, arching a brow at Godric. "Aside from the Hostile axing. That was sort of an exception. But surprisingly not considerably worse than giving birth, and it was actually over much more quickly."

That last earns a snort of mirth from Godric as well, though it is short lived. It seems her questions have left him with heavy thoughts and he chews on them for a moment before speaking again. "I only know what I've read of your scandalous life," the s-word offered with enough color to make it feel less solid, somehow. "But it seems to me you were forced away from home at a young age, sent to marry a man you did not know, one who inspired you to spite him, ran away, got pregnant and then were railroaded into marrying a man with whom you'd had a one night stand. A man whose family stood at odds with the family you'd been promised to, making you a pawn in a much larger, longer battle. That would be knocks aplenty for most," he concludes with a shrug. "Songs about loss, I could get. But…love?"

"Well, when you put it that way, it does sound less than pleasant." Lyrienne takes a smaller sip from the shot glass this time, not quite finishing it. "But Declan wasn't exactly a horrible old man," she points out, smile crooked. "He was all of three years older than I. And there are scads of Arborens. High Lady Eryn was like a mother to me, and Tris, Eilara, Brennart? Like siblings. To be honest, Declan was like a sibling for a long time, too. And then he was more." Her smile lingers as though on a fond memory. "He wasn't to blame for what sent me off. That…might have had something to do with being a pawn. But I fell for it. I chose how to react to it. And if Cedric isn't the man I thought I'd marry, he's still a good man. I can't regret my children." A beat. "Well. Not seriously, at least. I won't lie and say I don't miss these sorts of nights," she grins.

"You've made family where you've found it," Godric observes softly. "I suppose you deserve your happiness. And I truly hope you are…happy. Well and truly." He picks up the last of the four shots, then downs it. "Funny that we're talking about happiness and building a glass fortress, isn't it?" He muses laconically, delicately placing the shot glass in the highest and most precarious position he can find. "I think Cedric is a very lucky man," he finishes, removing his fingers. The glass wobbles but stays.

"Cedric is an exceptionally lucky man," Lyrienne agrees, drinking the rest of the shot. "Not least because neither my father nor my brother, nor any of the Arborens decided to kill him when they found out what happened," she winks, carefully angling her empty glass into place to help support the spire in progress. She sets an elbow on the table, propping her chin up on one fist as she considers the man across from her. "To be fair, though," she murmurs, "I can't say anyone has ever /targeted/ me."

"Well. That, beautiful woman, is a matter of perspective." Godric taps his forehead with a thick forefinger, his eyes finally starting to glaze ever so slightly. There's truly no telling how long he's been here. "My life is just more…bald than most. Really." He seems to mean it and gives a pointed look to underscore that intention. "In many ways, I'm very lucky. I know where things stand and I've learned to take life by the short and curlies. I smell my shots, but there are plenty of poisons that have no scent. It's mostly to silence the panicked bird fluttering in the cage—" He cuts off with a loud sharp laugh. "Sorry. Am I keeping you from dancing?"

Lyrienne eyes the remaining shot, bemused. "I can't say I actually thought about poison," she admits. "That seems like it would be exhausting." She waves off his question with a flicker of a smile, apparently reaching the warm and fuzzy stage of intoxication. "You're more interesting than dancing," she declares. "Truthfully, I was never much for the club scene even before things changed. I've always preferred venues where I can actually hear the music."

Godric Leonnida nods slowly. "That's understandable. Finding me more interesting than dancing." He pauses for a moment, then shakes his head and laughs. "Sorry. Kidding. I mean, about /hearing/ music. Do you ever play? Publically?" His hand goes to the shot glass and he slides it with a rasping noise toward Lyrienne. "I imagine with the coming chaos the opportunities will be few and far between. Which is a shame. It's always good to be reminded of why you fight." He and Lyrienne are seated at a booth near the bar, a calm eddy in the music and bar patrons thrumming all around them. On the table before them, they seem to be creating a…construct of glass shot glasses, a miniature fortress that is starting to get precariously high.

"I do, actually. I have a couple of albums out, and I've been working on another," Lyrienne answers, taking the glass with an exaggerated look of suspicion, sniffing at it before drinking with a grin. "It's almost ready. But you're not exactly my usual target audience," she laughs, the corners of her eyes crinkling with amusement. "Usually it's teenage girls. Young teenage girls. The new album is a little more serious, though. A little more genuine, a little more Arboren than Landing. Less about fun and more about remembering what we're fighting for."

A figure cuts through the dance floor, gliding and weaving through the throngs of people. Each movement is graceful, almost a dance in itself, a ready smile curving the lips of Raisa Lorellio as her green eyes keep steady watch on those all around her. A soft sheen of sweat glistens against her pale skin, perhaps evidence of having been out on the floor for a while with one of the virile young men who have frequented the area. As she moves away from the floor, she's headed for the bar, rapping her knuckles on the counter to try and gather the attention of the bartender.

"One of my sisters is bound to have one. If I can make it in and out alive, I'll try to snag a copy of the ones that's out. I'll have to be fast. They're like piranhas." He /may/ be joking. His voice is starting to slur ever so slightly. "You can't like…read my thoughts can you," he asks, a touch of color coming up to his cheeks. "Because—oh!" He blinks, his eyes refocusing at a point over Lyrienne's right shoulder. "There's a woman here I was hitting on earlier," he says frankly. "Raisa!," his voice, when he lets it loose, cuts even through the throbbing music.

"It doesn't quite work that way," Lyrienne laughs, taking a sip from the shot. "Well. Not in detail, at least. And I can't really go /digging/ in your head so much as pick up on what's already there." She turns toward where he's looking at the call, grin flashing when she catches sight of the other woman. "Probably just as well I'm not trying. I've a suspicion the neighborhood just took a turn for the gutter," she teases.

Raisa takes her time at the bar to order her drink and indulge in a lengthy sip. Only after she's appeased her thirst do her eyes swivel to identify the source of the shout, focusing in on Godric, followed by Lyrienne. Hands take a moment to smooth down any wrinkles and folds in her clothing - gauzy material that hints at the delicious curves of her body as they wrap themselves against each contour. Her skirts flash pale leg, bodice dipping low enough to entice. They are certainly not clothes to visit the Chantry in, but perfect for a dance club to gather the attention of men. Her lips finally curve into a lazy smile - one that could almost be called satisfied beyond just a good day at work - and she makes her way over toward the pair, steps long and fluid, hips swaying. She could have had too much to drink, even if her eyes still shine sharply.

"Oh, trust me," Godric says with a laugh to Lyrienne, "it was already there." He blinks then roughly clears his throat. "Erm. Not that…um. Yes." His knuckles rap the tabletop, making a few of those shot glasses quiver ominously. "Awkward." Fortunately, perhaps, Raisa is suddenly on the scene, so the Leonnida lord rises to welcome her to the table. "Lady Lyrienne Orelle, may I introduce you to Raisa. A recent acquaintance and a lover of rain and bare feet. Raisa, the Lady Lyrienne Orelle. Musician. Mother. Optimist."

Lyrienne giggles at Godric's awkward comment, deep enough into her cups to let the laughter free without worrying about broader implications. "Raisa," she echoes, smile bright as she looks up to the other woman. "A pleasure to meet you, Raisa." She shifts in the booth, gesturing grandly toward the glass castle underway in the center. "Welcome to the sovereign table of Leonnida," she declares. "It's really just an embassy sort of territory at the moment."

As she appears at the table, Raisa dips down into a bow to both nobles. "Sir Godric is her first greeting, paired with an overly bright smile. And then to Lyrienne her smile is more sedate but genuinely warm. "Lady Lyrienne, it is a pleasure. I must express an admiration to your music." She glances down at the table before back to its occupants. "In a club such as this, the table is always an embassy that can make or break all sorts of deals by my experience."

Godric grins, the expression oddly boyish, at both Lyrienne's embassy comment and Raisa's reply. "I fear, however," he confides, wobbling a touch unsteadily, "that diplomacy will fail and an invasion will be inevitable. Only time will tell." He gestures to the booth. "Please join us. I fear I'm not too much longer for the club. Lady Lyrienne has shamelessly got me drunk, you see. But your company would be most welcome in the meanwhile.

"/I/ got you drunk?" Lyrienne protests to Godric. "Oh no, my friend. This is all of your making. You're the one who forgot to bring a flag. You brought this on yourself, with your territorial ambitions and your lack of proper preparation." She wags a finger, though the effect is somewhat ruined by a silly grin and bright laughter. "And thank you, Raisa. Maybe you can lend Sir Godric a copy, so he doesn't have to brave the dangers of his younger sisters."

With the invitation, Raisa slides in to the booth on Godric's side, wiggling right up to the Leonnida heir with a sweet smile. "What a shame that you would depart so soon after inviting me to join you, Sir Godric," she laments. She looks between the two, amusement dancing in her eyes. "For shame, Lady Lyrienne," she chides mildly and with nothing really behind the words. "You must be ever so frightening and dangerous if you somehow forced the good knight into drinking more than he wanted."

"Piranhas, I tell you," Godric slurs pleasantly of his sisters, throwing a large and heavy arm around Rasia as she sidles up to him. "I wanted to drink much more," he confides in Raisa's ear, though he's loud enough to be heard across the table. ""Tis a testament to my will that I was able to resist. Partially. And if I stay, I shall succumb completely. So I fear the time for my departure is nigh. Ladies…you are both far too beautiful for a night like tonight. And I wish you well."

"Cedric says I can be terrifying, but I think he just doesn't know how to react to the whole Awakened thing," Lyrienne dismisses with a flick of her fingers, looking over the glass tower with a certain satisfaction. "I'm afraid if you leave, this becomes the sovereign territory of Orelle," she warns Godric. "For the five minutes remaining before I surrender as well. I'll outlast you on a point of pride, though."

As Godric announces his intentions of leaving, Raisa leans in even closer to the Leonnida Knight, her eyes laying on him a look with smoldering intent. "That would hardly be knightly of you," she half-purrs out. "To abandon two ladies all on alone in such a frightful state. I don't believe I could ever forgive you, Sir." Her voice is kept low, to the confines of the table, even as she flashes a grin toward Lyrienne from the side.

Godric frowns, first at Lyrienne and then at Raisa. "This…beset on all sides!" He looks truly at a loss for a moment, then adopts an expression that might solemn and pious were it not for the glazed eyes. "You shall have to trust me that remaining here would be—" The knight abruptly cuts off and shoots Raisa a quick look. "Erm…what was I saying? Yes! Staying…here would be…" He closes his eyes, and then opens them once more. "Much worse for all parties involved than my apparent faithlessness. You must trust me that it is a, um…/hard/ decision to make. But a necessary one!"

Lyrienne arches a brow, turning a conspiratorial look on Raisa. Before she can comment on the next plan to foil Godric, though, there's a discreet beeping from the device at her ear, which brings a pause and a slight frown. "That's not promising," she sighs, turning away for a moment to focus on whatever the message is.

"I'm quite certain this is a very hard decision for you, Sir Godric," Raisa replies solemnly. "But you must be strong, My Lord. I fear I shall never speak to you again for abandoning me in such a fashion." She tsks but does slide over to allow Godric an exit. "Farewell, Sir. I hope you night remains eventful."

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