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Ethnicity Northern Irish, Italian
Height 6'0"
Weight 163 lbs
Hair colour Black
Eye colour BrownFull name Eric A. Orr (né Eric Alessandro Negri)
Nickname N/A
Age 35
Birthdate 12 August
Sex Male
Sexuality Heterosexual
Role Foreign Right Hand

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Spending most of his life being brought up in and working for Europe's ruling house has moulded Eric into a skilful, decisive, and dedicated worker, though his job as Helena's right hand man and trusted confidant has taken up too much of his time to allow him to associate freely with the opulence of royal society. Not one for sharing the spotlight with the people he works for, he elects to work behind the scenes which advantageously offers him a glimpse of the politics of the monarchy and, consequently, greater insight into the goings-on of court. He works as fastidiously and cleanly as he can, and takes a proactive stance towards curbing trouble (or, at the very least, lessening any instances should they arise) knowing the potential effects missteps on the part of Helena’s council and other attendants below her. He believes the less murmurs float around court, the better chance she has of surviving and maintaining her position on the throne.
Outside of court duties, he mostly keeps to himself and maintains a relatively austere existence due to the hardship he endured as a child post nuclear. Though he occasionally enjoys alcohol and cigarettes, he doesn’t indulge in the same decadent levels he knows most others in court do (and more). Only at his lady’s behest does he consent to doing such things as getting a new suit or mingling with any of their kind as he doesn’t care much for it. The advantage of having a roof over his head, food on the table, and a more-or-less stable position is more than enough.
His allegiance, however, does not change simply by offering job perks. He is dedicated to causes he belongs to, and continues to stay until he can't in good conscience stay with them.

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Before the mess the war had created, he lived in Turin with his mother Romola, who simultaneously juggled the imminent coming whilst struggling to make ends meet and raise her child in a decent environment.
As a little boy, he would watch her watch the news and see the abject fear in her eyes that stayed even as she tried to put a smile on for him. There was never a father in the equation—at least, none that he knew of. It was simply irrelevant at the time. Though they didn’t have as much as she would’ve liked—a nice private school for Eric, any place bigger and better than their small two-bedroom flat, and a job where she would be taken more seriously that paid better—it was all they had. To complain was to waste the precious time they had left as people with their liberties intact.
The first bombs hit when he was a teen. The mountain views and the bustle of the city that he had lived in, studied in, and loved had to be exchanged for the bleak, metallic, yet safe environment of the fallout shelters. They lived for several years trying to find a way to get back on their feet in the midst of the panic, resource hoarding, and paranoia. When it was determined that both him and his mother had the ability to mutate to accommodate the spike in radiation without much harm and, later on, develop powers he could only really envision in comic books or movies, certain eyes were trained on them. They managed to evade them for a year before they were taken, blindfolded to avoid their knowing who was escorting them and where they were being taken. People like them were probably rare. He had anticipated that perhaps they would be both exploited, tortured, or even killed by virtue of their being different. To his surprise, when the blindfolds were removed, they were they were treated as guests.
His experience with this newly established monarchy shook him. All the opulence was in stark contrast to the life he had led as a 'commoner'. Before all that, he had no idea that an entire world had been built from the rubble and kept from them. Distrustful of the environment he had been brought in, he took the time to get to know everything he could about their captor. Their captor was one Malcolm Orr, a successful barrister and politician who ruled over Northern Ireland as a duke. He later found out that he and his mother had a history, that he was the product of it, and that part of the reason they had been whisked away was because of the aforementioned. He was later recognised as his child, given all the luxuries due a duke's child, but his status as a bastard prevented him from being able to inherit. As a result, he took advantage of the opportunities afforded him to work on improving himself and sought his station elsewhere.
In this case, it was through the much larger European Provincial court. He worked hard to rise through the ranks until he found himself in the good graces of the king of the European Province. He later served as adviser to him, one of the youngest in the court, and, after his untimely death, did the same for his adoptive daughter Helena Tobin.

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Other abilities Diplomacy • Martial arts training • Riot control • Weapon smithing/improvising
Likes His 'holy trinity' (coffee, cigarettes, and alcohol) • Rare downtime • Working • Tricks • Pre-nuclear life and artefacts from that era
Dislikes Disturbed rare downtimes • Too much of anything 'too rich for his blood' • His Queen at her most cut-throat
Passions

So begins...

Eric Orr's Story

Seen 7 Times • Page 1 of 1

Setting

Modern Washington D.C

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#2016-06-29 20:27:18, as written by wednesdaysun

It had grown difficult to concentrate with the hushed whispers he heard as he passed through the opulent halls in the wing of the United Province Palace. Whispers were insidious. Dangerous. Whispers undermined days, months, years of work with one pull of the tapestry thread. He willed himself to keep his eyes forward and march on into an agreed meeting chamber, though he instinctively listened to every single bit he could take as he went anyway.

To an extent, he understood why they did so. Much of the news from across the pond was not often relevant to members of their court unless it had a direct impact on their way of life or unless they were faced with the looming threat of yet another war between provinces, and vice versa. He was sure people had questions about this newcomer Helena, and speculated amongst themselves what she had in store for all of them. One particular rumour, however, was consistent to those in the European Province: stories of the High King of the United Province, Marcello Giovanni, and his notorious methods. Today, they would exact one of them on a woman named Valarie Townsend, the leader of the rebellion—the leader whose name he heard chanted by the many thousands in the near distance. He wasn't there physically in favour of attending to a few loose ends with the United Province liaisons regarding Queen Helena's safety, and no matter how beautiful or sturdy the well-polished palatial floors beneath them were, he knew they were really standing on bloodstained and unsteady ground. It didn't take a genius to realise that it was only a matter of time before the people decided to act even if they didn't possess the capability for the Supremes's abilities.

All Eric could do was bide his time and try to hold it off for as long as he could.

Executions in the European Province were normally done as swiftly as possible. It was still kept in public to quell the possibility of rebellion through fear, though it didn't make as much of a blatant mockery of the person executed as the one taking place between the Assembly buildings. It was a recent development under Queen Helena's rule, mostly because to have the kin be present at the executions were detrimental to her ability to focus and properly lead. She knew who they were just by looking at them. Attachment led to bias, and that was the last thing anyone really needed.
Being in the United Province reminded him of his days as a teenager attempting to navigate the ups and downs of the selfsame society he had been thrust into. One would, perhaps, call it culture, but what kind of culture was this? He was currently sure about one thing: this was a culture in which the purposeful setting up of the chamber in the midst of fecundity, of plenty—an image of death in the midst of all the splendour and lavishness—left an unsettling feeling in his gut that he couldn’t quite shake off.

However, he hadn't allowed that gut feeling to overwhelm him. There simply was no time to waste on sentiment where his duty as Queen Helena's right hand was concerned.
Uneasy, he looked out at the window from the meeting chamber and listened to the echo of the remainder of the High King's speech.
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"... a scourge that must be eliminated to consider the United Provinces, the world safe. Consider this a rebirth of peace. A rebirth of freedom."
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By the time the crowds were dispersed and rounded up by the police, the meeting was adjourned. He immediately set off to find Queen Helena to provide a report on the proceedings. Once he found her, he presented himself and bowed his head in greeting.

"Your Majesty." He frowned slightly at her disquieted state but didn't remark on it. "I apologise for the non-attendance. I met with the High King's adviser and a few of the king's other men. You should be able to view the official minutes and full transcript by tomorrow. "

Setting

Modern Washington D.C

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#2016-07-02 04:03:38, as written by supertoastgirl

Helena’s hands struck together at a slow, but nonetheless respectable, rate. Her bold green eyes finally left the horizon of the ruined city and looked upon the pale body of Valarie. There was no tingling, no sense, no soul or emotion left in the poor girl’s body. Perhaps that was another skill Helena could attribute to her ability, she could tell when someone was truly dead inside. Her eyes fluttered to Marcello and the sensation returned, the tingling that Helena could transform into the ability to feel his emotions and sense his past. Helena was not sentimental of commoners, but she did feel deeply for all creatures that possessed emotion by default. She wondered briefly if her ancestors had felt the same way that she did while watching an execution, they had been lofted above the commonfolk like herself, but had they felt connected to these other humans? They were indeed the same species. Weren’t they? Helena didn’t know the answer to this. So much of human history had been “revised” by Supreme scholars that she feared she would never know what the past was truly like.

Her pale hands dropped many beats before the rest of the elite quieted themselves. The border of the sea of commoners ebbed and flowed in rebellion. The police were shoving back desperate individuals who wanted to get their hands on the High King. The buzz of tasers grew present as one by one the policemen began to turn them on. Helena turned away from the scene, ready to leave it behind. If only she didn’t have to attend another political gathering. This wasn’t Helena’s land though, and she had to follow to customs instilled by the High King. It was a tradition for the most powerful to have a small party after an execution, as a sort of celebration she presumed.

The weight of distraction was too heavy for Helena to strike up conversation with those around her, and she slyly moved through the chipper mob of her own people. A couple of Senators tried to stop and speak to her Highness but Helena ignored all attempts of communication. It wasn’t until she was burrowing her way down a crowded hall that she was stopped by Eric. “There you are,” she said as an informal greeting. Listening to his words the weight lifted, her mind was able to focus on something substantial, something without emotional... business.

“Thank you,” Helena said curtly, remembering where she was to be. The gathering would be starting soon and she would have to pretend to be fully supportive of the High King. Helena started walking again and gestured for Eric to follow. “Escort me to the gathering?” she asked gently, as if it were an invitation and not an order.

“You’re proper enough,” she remarked at his attire while giving him a good pat on the shoulder. The slender brunette was well aware that her lanky footman had better things to do, but she was tired of being a constant orb of attention.“You do remember what happened last time, don’t you?” Helena asked this with playful eyes and a small laugh, like she actually needed to convince him. Maybe if Eric came with her the men of the United Province would get the hint. Not that Eric was King material, nor was he the least bit interesting to her in that way, but rather that none of them were King materiel. Social gatherings were like a hunting ground and with the young European Queen in residence it was almost pathetic how forward the men were. It was expected that the European Queen get married expediently, seeing as it would affix her and her future family to the throne, but Helena had no such desire.

Tugging at Eric's arm to remind him that she was to be escorted like a proper lady Helena continued with a “come along then,” and entered into the small hall made entirely of glass. The floor looked down into a deep tank that was filled with what Helena believed to the remainder of the rare and beautiful fish on this planet. The ceiling was curved and water gushed from the top, making the view of outside wavy and distorted. This was the only formal hall on the ground level and the water on the exterior of it was their best tactic at flushing out the other world. The furniture was also made of glass with accents of silver. It was as if Helena had stepped into a magnificent glass marble that held the world's most terrible people.

When she entered the beautiful hall she was handed a flute of champagne and her fur coat was removed. The High King or High Queen would surely toast about their success in finding the commoners leader and deflating their rebel cause. “Well, I think they’re just barbaric,” said Justice Peter Daniels, a red faced man with a portly stomach and legs that bowed out to support his weight. Despite his failing body his genetically modified cells made his face look strong and appealing, young even. If Mr. Daniels had been a man of his size and unsavory personality before the war, only his wealth would have been worthy bargaining chips. Helena kept walking, leading Eric as far as he would dare go (without actually looking like she was leading him). A tall blond man, whose name she thought was Jess Coulson, greeted her with two kisses upon the cheek like a Parisian. “Helena,” he had said in the most deliciously languid tone. At first she was lost in his pearly white smile and cool brown eyes but only a moment passed before she retorted. “It’s your Highness to you.” Jess straightened up, no longer slowly swooping down on what he thought was his prey. Her green eyes dared him to say another suggestive word. Unsure how to recover, Jess Coulson left without so much as a goodbye to the European Queen.

Helena shook her head before continuing her aimless strolling. She glided effortlessly amongst the people and only offered short nods and remarks of greeting for conversation after that. It wasn’t until she was approached by the flocking young Senator by the name of Camille Van Bueren that Helena felt tired.

Setting

Modern Washington D.C

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#2016-07-06 16:44:28, as written by supertoastgirl

The brown orbs in Camille’s head eagerly preyed over the High King, soaking in every last inch of his body and wishing they were nearer to him. This concentration was broken by the not to subtle looks of the High Queen. The blonde woman obviously had a wandering eye that needing correcting. Perhaps a sucker punch, or maybe a clumsy spoon, would do the trick. A flash of violence leapt through Camille’s mind. She rolled her eyes at herself and chuckled before settling farther in her seat.

The ceremony was over way too soon for Camille. She would have liked to revel in glory of a little torture, but the High King had his reasons for each and every execution. God, Marcello was a brilliant man, she thought. Just thinking about his creative process when it came to planning executions made Camille excited.

The young European Queen brushed past Camille, she noted that the Queen was rather nervous and eager to flee the scene. Camille watched her for a moment before turning her attention back to Marcello. At this point he was fawning over Katelyn, loving her as a loyal husband ought to. If only the High Queen knew.

Bent out of shape, Camille surrendered to escorting herself to the gathering. Her large yellow coat was gracefully taken from her when she entered the large glass hall. Her curious eyes glanced around the small crowd that had gathered. There was no one that Camille found particularly interesting, so she resorted to standing with a flute of champagne and sipping at it while watching the door.

When the Queen Helena entered the hall there was a stirring. The painted lips of the Supreme flapped with rumors and truths, stimulating a low buzz of voices. There was plenty to speculate about the dear European Queen, but it was especially interesting that she should choose to have her right hand man escort her to such an event. Camille’s vicious eyes scanned over the odd couple, gathering just enough information to create believable gossip. Camille was not acquainted with either of the two but she knew the man’s name was Eric. It was then that Camille decided to make herself known to them.

Standing at the sidelines she waited for the perfect opportunity to approach the Queen and her escort. “Truly a beautiful display,” Camille said referring to the execution. “Though I dare say that you, Queen Helena, have been blessed with beauty yourself.” Helena looked Camille over before nodding her head in thanks and smiling half-heartedly. Helena was not in the mood for such empty displays of affection. “Thank you,” Helena finally said in response. Camille had expected the Queen to return the compliment, hearing of the Queen’s personable politeness. A slight frown captured Camille’s face as she moved on to the man. “It doesn’t hurt that her Highness has a scrumptious fellow at her side.” As Camille said this her wild eyes inappropriately scanned over Eric Orr, appreciating him.

Helena clenched her jaw, starting to feel uncomfortable about Camille’s unforgivable boldness. Just before an odd silence would have washed over them the High King Marcello joined their small band. He went on to introduce Camille, looking at her with respectable affection. A flash of a passionate past rushed through Helena as she made eye contact with Camille. Helena didn’t like to pry into such things so she gave them the benefit of the doubt and assumed they worked closely together and thus had a dear friendship.

“Oh yes. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Senator. I’ve heard good things about your work,” Helena said. This was a lie of course, Helena had never actually heard of Camille Van Bueran. But the Queen’s instincts told her that this woman needed positive attention in order to be a friendly ally. Pleased with the compliment, Camille bowed her head in thanks. “And this is Eric Orr, my right hand man,” Helena added in politely.

“A handy man he must be,” Camille said with a suggestive brow and a slight giggle. Helena ignored Camille’s comment and stretched a hand out to rest on Marcello’s elbow before sincerely saying “A grand ceremony, your Highness.” Helena didn’t want to go so far as to compliment the brutality of it, but she wasn’t lying when she said that it was grand.

From the other side of the room Helena heard the wailing sounds of the dance music begin. Soon the Supreme would be bubbled up and dancing with the gleeful heat of alcohol in their faces. Helena caught sight of the High Queen Katelyn and looked back at Marcello. “I suppose your wife doesn’t like being ill attended to,” Helena noted, seeing that the High Queen had taken the first dance with another Supreme. From what Helena could remember it was customary to give the first dance to your spouse or loved one, but she could have been mistaken.

“Perhaps you should take the lovely Camille out,” Helena suggested only so that the King wouldn’t ask her to dance. Helena truly enjoyed these events, including the dancing, but she was far too moody to be a pleasant dance partner. A prick of suspicion tapped Camille and she shook her head. "Oh, I beg to differ. The two royals are a much better match for this dance. I'm more suited for the handsome Eric here, or even that war hero Damian everyone keeps talking about."

Setting

Modern Washington D.C

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#2016-07-06 22:30:36, as written by SuperfluousBuns

No execution would be complete without champagne and finger foods to wash the blood down. It was an extravagant chaser suitable for the king, though not really agreeable to the stomach of the strongest man in the room. Following the execution, the man had gone gladly to change into a darker, more subtle suit. Bright colors are demanded at the main event, but for dessert people are free to dress in any way they please. If only there had been time for a shower- he feels a striking need for one that burns hot enough to sear skin. On days such as this, he almost regrets not taking up the offer to join the Alphas, to distance himself from this gilded zoo. At least on the battlefield the consequences of such a lifestyle are not hidden behind pretty baubles.

But he can be of little use there, not to the party that he swears genuine allegiance to. No matter how many times the king's general, the intimidating Damian Marciano, calls him a coward for remaining in the capitol and rubbing elbows with the pomp and circumstance crowd, Theo knows that running to the battlefields would be a greater act of cowardice. Here, he is surrounded by enemies. There, he'd at least have a few brothers in arm about him, and very few foes of actual consequence against his supernatural strength.

As he enters, Theo actually catches sight of the King's man, probably back from another bloody battle over another pointless square on the king's chessboard. How could he fail to notice him- muscles and a look of discomfort, the man sticks out like a sore thumb against the white-palmed patricians. Theodore may be the strongest man alive, but Damian does a much better job of looking the part. He even manages to look taller than Theo, who in reality stands two inches over him. It's not a man that anyone would do well to get on the bad side of- not that Theo isn't already a card carrying member of that lot. Without a doubt, he'll have one eye on Damian throughout the night with the intention of keeping him at a two yard radius. Theodore isn't in the mood for being called spineless yet again.

He's going to have to find a way to confront the champion eventually, of course. Mel is adamant that he is an important piece to her movement for equalization, and is somehow convinced that he may be convinced to join the rebellion against the king. Theo, less inclined towards the belief that people change, is certain that they could never engage Damian in yet another war. The general may not always be the king's biggest fan, and he may have a gym that unites royals and commoners alike, but these are different things entirely from taking part in the usurping of an empire.

Theo walks quickly away from Damian's line of sight, now on the lookout for Queen Helena and her guard. He's doing a rather shoddy job of liaison to foreign diplomats at the moment, given that he hasn't spoken to the foreigners all day. He finds her standing between Camille Van Bueren and the king- a very precarious place to be, if certain whispers he's heard around the palace are to be believed. The royals are inclined to forget that the staff are little more than moving furniture, making them fountains of information.

Putting on a large, easy smile, he walks up to the frightening trio (there is a notable gap of room allowed between them and the other patricians). "Your Majesty, Your Majesty, My good sir, My Lady" he greets them each respectfully, still smiling with all the sincerity in the world. To the outside eye, he may seem completely ignorant to the thin layer of tension simmering between some of the world's most powerful players. There will always be some when such people come together. "I realize I'm not very good at my job if I don't say hello at least once tonight- ah, am I interrupting something?"

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Modern Washington D.C

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#2016-07-13 10:28:03, as written by wednesdaysun

Eric had grown accustomed to Helena's way of forcing him out of the normally spartan lifestyle he kept. It hadn't been met with much pleasure when he had started out at the Palace, but there was not much he could do with him being passed onto her as her adviser.
She had done that with his living quarters back in the European Provincial Palace (he settled for her idea of austere) and the way he dressed (she won on three occasions, convincing him to have bespoke suits made that he could wear to royal functions). There was no coercion, no blackmail, and no threats in the way she did it. The both of them knew each other too well, worked together for too long for that. All protests he might have made, friendly or not, died on his lips and made his tongue their graveyard. Yet, the way she asked somehow eased the discomfort.
He let out a sigh and smirked at her, a mix of resignation and familiarity on his face that in lieu of its verbalisation behind closed doors.
"Of course, ma'am. But please give credit where it's due. Hayes was on your detail that day. You have him to thank for escorting him from your presence." He gave her a nod, swiftly took her arm as if he were the one to initiate, and reluctantly made their way into the grand hall.

As per his duty to protect her, he made it a point to do a more-than-once-over on anyone who interacted with his Queen. There were those among the well dressed crowd that were familiar, some of them people who had interacted with her more than once during her state visits. Others he had been acquainted with through his background checks. Members of the legislation, judiciary, and military were in attendance, all dressed in their gowns and suits and livery (or barely, in the case of the unfortunate inflated fellows who appeared to have underestimated their portliness). To help ease through the event, he ordered a snifter of whisky and a flute of champagne for him and his Queen respectively, thanking the waiter quietly after.
A particularly interesting character had come up to them. Not entirely unexpected at functions like these, he thought to himself, and took a brief sip from his glass to steel himself for this one. Camille Van Bueren, senator. There were (extremely faint) whispers in the palace about her questionable placement in the Senate, and about her much deeper connection to the High King. Scanning through the crowd, he had noticed her glancing in the direction of the High King and Queen, though didn't think it a particularly important detail unless he could confirm all speculation. Carefully, he readjusted his gentle hold on Helena, occasionally glancing towards her as Camille initiated conversation.

Helena was distant throughout, as she did when she had no patience for concealing the emotional burden, and didn't receive Senator Van Bueren's niceties with the same finesse as she normally would have. The public execution had worked its way into her skin even worse than he had anticipated.
He shifted his jaw slightly at Senator Van Bueren's too-blunt remarks about him. Whilst he could ignore them and enjoy his drink and mutually commiserate with Helena about not wanting to attend this farce of a victory party, it was the way the remarks were given, almost as if he merely existed as Helena's plaything. The masquerade-like interaction could only intensify with the arrival of the High King. He gave a polite bow in his direction and watched the exchanges with wary eyes.
"Thank you for the consideration. However, I'm sure there are..." He paused to better word his response and offered her a small smile. "I'm sure there are finer specimens for you among the guests, Senator." He lightly and discreetly tapped Helena on the wrist. "That, and I promised ma'am a dance."

Just then, a man who should have come to the meeting earlier that day during the execution joined them—one Theodore Wilkins— and he greeted him accordingly.
"Not at all. Mr McCarthy informed us you would not be coming to the meeting." He shook his hand. "Introductions were made. It seems there's room for one more. Ma'am, this is Theodore Wilkins. He works for the High King's council. Foreign liaison. I'm Eric Orr. Right hand man. I work mainly to prevent her from developing frown lines."
Before further conversation could be made, the ensemble were preparing for their next song.
"Excuse us. A dance was promised." He gave them all a polite nod, letting go of Helena's arm to proffer his hand to her, and led her to the dance floor. Just as she led him gracefully into the hall, he led her gracefully across the dance floor, exuding a sort of finesse of his own despite his status.

"You were bound to give yourself away. You needed a distraction," he said quietly, using the sound of the music to mask his comment. "Pleasant woman, Camille Van Bueren. I'm sure you'll be fast friends." He chuckled lowly. "That aside, did you see anything in her of note?"

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Modern Washington D.C

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#2016-07-19 01:24:20, as written by Scarlet Loup

He smiled to himself, watching as the two women exchanged pleasantries before him. Marcello slipped his right hand into his pocket as he sipped at the champagne in his left, keeping himself out of the conversation so that he had a moment to let his eyes wander over Camille once more. He wished for, longed for, her in that moment perhaps more so than ever before. He could have closed the gaps between them in just a few steps, taken her in his arms and --

Marcello cut himself off now, blinking quickly for a moment as he refocused himself. He needed to stay focused, damn it. No one else would do it for him. In fact, he knew that many were just waiting for him to lose his focus, to give them the opportunity to strike. Marcello couldn't, wouldn't, give it to them.

He came back into the conversation suddenly at Camille's remark as he nearly choked on the champagne in his throat. A soft cough cleared his throat, and he looked away now from his mistress, focusing instead on Helena as the woman touched his elbow.

"Thank you very much," he returned, placing his right hand over her hand now, smiling back. "I am glad you could be here for something so...significant to the people of the United Province." Marcello's expression soured quickly, however, as she spoke of his wife, and he pulled his hand away while a harsh frown crossed his lips.

"I had no idea you were familiar with married life," retorted Marcello. "My wife knows how to care for herself. I trust she will approach me if she requires me." He looked over his shoulder now, following her gaze. "And it appears she is quite content with her dance partner."

After her remark, he hadn't even considered asking her, but now he wondered if he ought to.

He heard another voice now, that of Theodore Wilkins. "Oh no, not at all," he replied, his tone changing very quickly as he let his hand fall once more to his side. He voided his face of expression, and instead, Marcello smiled quickly with a corner of his mouth. "It is a pleasure to see you here."

Marcello gave an obligatory chuff of laughter at Orr's remark, but otherwise, he showed little sign that he had noticed anything Helena's right hand man said. Instead, he finished his champagne and placed it on a passing tray. He didn't insert himself into the conversation until Eric whisked Helena away. And now he, Theodore, and Camille were left. "Well, again, it is always a pleasure to see you, Theodore." He took Theodore's hand in his and shook it firmly, clasping over the back of his hand with his left hand in a showy, overly-friendly manner.

"I, however, am ever obligated elsewhere." Marcello looked to Camille now, dropping Theodore's hand as he stepped towards the woman, keeping his expression one of civility rather than the love and passion he wanted to show. "Would you give me this dance, Senator?" He had already seized her hand and placed his left hand on her waist, finding the curve of her waist almost too quickly, too familiarly.

But he didn't care now, he couldn't care. Marcello busied himself in leading her on to the dance floor, spinning her about gracefully. "How did it look?" he asked, referring to the day's display of power. He used the opportunity to look at her again, hoping he would meet her eyes. And now he pulled her in, moving in a way that seemed natural with the music. "I want to see you tonight, my dearest." Almost as quickly as they had pressed together, they now drew apart again. An outsider wouldn't have noticed any change. They would have been too busy reacting to the sudden blasts.

"Fuck!" he cried as a chunk of ceiling fell next to him and the glass at his feet began to crack. The crack spread now, and the sound of it must have been deafening, but it was drowned out but the sound of water cascading on to the floor and the assembled Supreme screeching. He gripped Camille and pulled her away from the cracked floor, but Marcello began to slide on the wet glass. His hair had fallen in front of his eyes now, and he brushed it back, giving him an almost crazed look as he moved towards the walls.

But then he stopped, standing in a slight crouch as he looked about the Supreme, searching in particular for his wife. "Katelyn!" Marcello skirted around the edge of the room now, calling for his wife until he found her. And then he moved quickly off of the wall and grabbed her by the forearm, yanking her far-too-forcefully towards him.

Setting

Modern Washington D.C

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#2016-07-21 01:57:27, as written by supertoastgirl

If Eric Orr wasn’t a God sent Helena wasn’t sure what was.. Eric spent the time to really understand Helena and that’s what she appreciated about him. Friendship is what Helena would have liked to call their relationship, but Eric was far too professional to blur those lines. This was another trait in him that Helena respected. He was just gentle and wise enough to attend to her needs without groveling at her feet. Mr. Orr was a rare find in these days and Helena intended on keeping him.

Helena left without so much as word to the small group. A simple tired nod is all that she could offer as Eric whisked her away, whispering concerns. Finding a comfortable dancing position Helena was distracted by the roaring laughter and blaring music. Her eyes wandered like a lost puppy, searching for something she was afraid she would never find. Her attention was refocused when Eric began to speak again.

A smirk appeared on Helena’s mouth as she regained the humor she normally wielded. As far as she was concerned Camille Van Bueren was the last woman she wanted to make alliances with. The woman seemed shallow and twisted beyond repair. Helena could tell that Camille had a good upbringing but the woman was never entirely taught right from wrong. There was something dark and perverted about Camille, but it was masked by a pretty face and a willingness to be the center of attention. Helena eased into the familiar conversation with Eric and allowed herself to chuckle at his remark.

“Well,” she began, acutely aware of those around her, “I think she may be in love with the High-”

Her words were cut short by the sounds of a bomb blast. A couple of medium sized glass chucks hurdled down and hit the Queen’s shoulder. A moment of confusion lead to anger, then it transformed into dread. It was only a matter of time before something like this would happen. Helena knew the stories well, but she had refused to believe them.

It was like a nightmare had materialized before her very eyes. Blood stained guests panicked toward the only available exit while the floor began to sink. Helena clutched Eric’s forearms and looked down at the crack in the floor between her legs. She was so overwhelmed by the chaos that she thought she might vomit. Just behind her the floor was beginning to seep into the water. The cracked pieces glass giving up strength and betraying those who were standing on them. After Helena was stabilized she realized that she needed to move. Like a mechanism that was forced open she unclenched her hands and looked up. There was only one way out and floor was disappearing, one wrong move and you would be swimming with the fishes. Helena made eye contact with Eric before signalling that she was going to move.

Her green eyes dated back and forth, collecting enough information to make the next step a successful one. Pieces of the floor were now beginning to drop in like rocks. Sudden splashes of entire bodies were plummeting into the water below. At this point she had no idea where Eric was. She assumed that he would be close enough to intervene, but far enough to get himself out safely. Helena caught the an eye of Camille’s madness, plowing a chair recklessly into the glass wall. The sight made her stop. Helena pushed the stray hairs that were clinging to her eyelashes away.

“Camille!” Helena bellowed against her better judgement. Helena knew that her life was more valuable than Camille’s but she also couldn’t let the fool kill herself in good conscious. Helena stepped forward, trying to get Camille’s attention once more.

When she opened in her mouth again it was filled with water. Panic set in as Helena realized she was enveloped in salt water. She gasped for air, startled by the sudden change in temperature and surroundings. Helena’s dark head of hair bobbed up and down in the water as her blue dress swayed in the commotion of the fish and folk.

Aware of what she needed to do to get out of the water Helena tried to approach a sturdy edge. There was no way to get out of the water by herself. Even the most promising bit of flooring was jagged, more damage would be done then saved, and the possibility of recovering from the water was slim. In a blitz of confusion Helena tried to find the only person in the room who was sworn to protect her. Had she lost him? Every face looked the same, shadowed and full of contempt. Hundreds of feet trampled past her face making it impossible to see any farther than the people directly in front of her. Helena felt as small as an ant, unnoticed and literally below the feet of her subordinates.

The feeling of gills and scales skim across her bare skin Helena looked down. The fish were fleeing upon the approach of sharks. Looking around her Helena noticed that many of the Supreme in the water had injuries. Helena suddenly hated every person who was less astute than she. Her green eyes were glued on the pack of sharks that were emerging from the deepest parts of the tank. Of course it had been past the High king’s mental ability to think that the floor might give. No, he needed the biggest and the best, anything to feed his insecure egomania.

Helena could barely stabilize her swimming because of the frantic splashing and waves, she looked around quickly trying to find anything or anyone that could help her. A wrong glance and Helena was witnessing the fatal blow of young Jess Coulson. A shark had attacked from behind, first removing the poor man’s arm and then chomping into the his side. Helena knew what that certain fear of dying was like by tuning into those around her, but she herself had never had produced that same feeling until now. In a flash she worried about what would become of the European Province and its unstable throne. Surely the High King, a feeble ally, would take such an opportunity of conquest.

Helena caught sight of shark that was weaving its way toward her. It's long grey back swept back and forth as it accelerated toward her. Overwhelmed with adrenaline Helena kicked at the water beast. It's mouth was wide open and coming a speed unfathomable. It was a sheer miracle that Helena just swiftly enough to avoid contact. The sharked sped past her and curved back around, ready to finish the business it had started. Knowing that there was certain points of weakness in a shark, Helena quickly planned to harm the animal. She aimed her golden heel into the creature’s bulging eye as it attacked her a second time. The shark withered back, but didn’t give up the fight. However, Helena's efforts were not in vain. What would have been her leg torn off turned out to be the lower half of her silk dress.

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Eric Orr

0 · 667 views · located in Modern Washington D.C

a character in “The Supreme”, as played by wednesdaysun

Description

So begins...

Eric Orr's Story

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