Post #2606037 in Birthstone Spirits: The Great Escape, a roleplay on RPG

[EDITED 07/09/15]

The ballroom of Ve Marie's castle was one of the most beautiful places they had ever been in. Certainly Mildred's decorating skills had not put to shame the rocky grotto of fine, shining marble, but had enhanced the natural beauty of the stonework with the graceful streams of delicate ribbons, the addition of excessive amounts of the freshest cut flowers, and candles and lamps casting luminous color over tables and the ballroom floor alike, and the colors constantly, slowly seemed to shift and changed from hue to hue. Soft, instrumental music supported the welcoming, celebratory atmosphere, drifting through the crowd with no evident source.

And... Falke couldn't bring himself to enjoy it much at all. Not to sound cliche, of course. As he knew that most of the group wasn't thrilled with the amount of attention they were gathering, or keeping the faces and situation awareness (by a thread, if that at times, from a few certain individuals) they needed to uphold in front of highly important public figures to keep their heads attached to their necks, literally and figuratively as it were. Nor did it help that almost half of the month warriors had vanished from the ballroom proper, leaving the few still left (which included himself) with double or triple the attention to receive and react with.

He'd long since lost any sense of Autumn (or the others, for that matter) after they'd split in the crowd. However, Autumn's occasional power created cold-spots could be accidentally wandered through-out the ballroom floor, leaving him in the mix of all the sheer mental pressure of the swirling crowd having an uncomfortable shiver up his spine and the distasteful remembrance of the constant hissing indeterminable voices surrounding the other warrior's mental aura. It left him weary to even attempt to connect to her again, just to have someone more familiar to talk with, if only briefly. Even though a respite as it would be, especially over the static, white noise rattling around his noggin, being in such a cramped environment of mental activity, Falke doubted she would ever hear his minor, chipped complaints of her ghostly 'baggage' leaving too many cold-spots around. Seriously, though... Couldn't they give her, or anyone for that matter, a rest, for the night?

It was then to his genuine surprise, if not relief per say, to run into a trio of people he really /knew/ - Princess Morgan, Mori, and Karma. His entire sense of Morgan was filled with brimming excitement and mirth that he'd felt in her since... Falke drew in a sharp breath. Since the start of this week. Crows. It had already felt like ages since the battle of the flock, another near week of separation as they healed and political arrangements had been made, and then being forced into the show-and-tell poster child game of this parade, or mass, or that party or this celebration for another almost week after that. They hadn't known the Princess very long, but as far as he could reckon, she'd always been brimming excitement and mirth over something, no matter how small. Mori and Karma, however had their own interesting ups and downs that were more relatable to a common childish mischief, and had been busily indulging the Princess with their presence and company.

A thin genuine smile rested easily on his lips, as Falke dipped his head slightly in greeting, musing softly, "Good evening."

---

Lillian did not seem to mind that Harper had ignored her advice. Or, for that matter, she had not even pretended to notice the appearance of Xabier as if on cue. Nor was her feather's ruffled that both boy's readily ignored her nearby presence in the wake of emotional and physical turmoil with - louder than whispers, half-sobbed, and mild attempts of comforting - conversation. She remained silent, watchful, and pensive at the window overlooking the dusky lit sky. Looking as she always did - distant, golden, and difficult to read. She had the fair, paled honey skin characteristic of the folk of the People's caravan, and her curly, thick hair was a deep shade of gold (tied in an delicate up-do for the moment), giving her, in stillness, the appearance of a statue, some work dedicated to a huntress figure, lean and intense and dangerous. This, however, was only part of the September guardian's personality. As her true beauty could best be seen in motion, as she walked or flew. And the rest of her personality was well polished and hidden on a high shelf, or well, more or less...

Nikita's quick appearance out one of the nearby ballroom door's, in a great movement of rustling cloth, brought the attention of a watchful peripheral glance, and the chance of the beginnings of a perched lip upon Lillian's own thin mouth. The poor dame, rushing about, likely looking for her young'ling Kyle or the annoyed Haru, needed to take a breather sometimes. Things happened, it would be best to wait for a calmer time to get information. Not everyone needed to bear the headache, or heart-attack, if it was already, mostly, properly managed. Too many hands, would be pointless... She did not need to be worried, however, as Nikita's attention seemed to have caught something else further down the passageway, towards the balcony, in deeper shadows and off-placed torches. With a slow blink, Lillian returned to her peaceful gazing.

It was not much longer until another disturbance of the door, caught her reluctant attention, this time being yet another Guardian (apparently the ceremony party-goers, and hopefully most of the warriors, except the two nearby obviously; where still 'enjoying' themselves in the ball-room proper) wandered drearily away from the festivities. This time it was Kit, who had been for the most part rather obnoxiously cheery lately due to apparently being "home", and was looking more like, well himself, his regular self she'd come to know in oh, the One be bothered, far longer than any of them had hoped. Tired, grumpy, and potentially drunkenly depressed of course. This seemed the proper time to garner more than the glance of an eye or pursed lip.

"Love," Lilian sighed; softly but sharply enough to be heard, or listened to at the very least one could hope. Tossing her head like a indignant horse, a good natured, but coyish eye-roll, as she half-turned her body towards the red-head walking almost dejectedly towards her. She continued with a snort, "You look like you're about to fall over..."

Snippet #2606037

located in Aires, a part of Birthstone Spirits: The Great Escape, one of the many universes on RPG.

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