wisely and slow; they stumble that run fast. MOONLIT RIVALS LOG 2, SCENE 1

[libraryassistants]

Who: Readers and Actors, everyone who is invited (and those who are not).
What: The event of the century, the Umbra Ball, is about to begin.
When: The night of the ball itself, and a slice of the morning after. [ooc timeline: Feb 6th - 19th]
Where: The city of Montica and the Umbra Mansion.
Content warnings: Please include any warnings in headers.


Waxing Gibbous Moon

The sun begins to set, and the city of Montica buzzes in anticipation. Vendors close their stalls early - the consensus being that there is no point in running a night market tonight. The streets empty, houses and shops shuttered as eager folk stream up to the mansion.

A few industrious salespeople can be found on the way up to the mansion, selling masks and accessories for any last-minute needs. There is a rumour filtering through the people that a dress code is being strictly enforced, and the clan are supplying masks of silver for anyone who does not bring their own - a concept that delights some and stirs trepidation in others.

The Umbra Mansion almost glows above the city, light spilling from its open doors onto its perfectly manicured lawns and drive. After the sun sets, the metal shutters on the windows are lifted and the curtains are drawn back; and the night sky, in its star-studded glory, paints a picturesque view for the party-goers inside.

The strings of a waltz ring clearly, echoing out into the streets in joyful invitation. Not everyone will be allowed in - some will remain out here, rejected by the doorstaff or content to create their own festivities.

[The Masquerade]

For those who make the cut, the masquerade itself is staffed by humans and vampires and is separated into 2 distinct parties.

The first, for the ‘common’ folk. Those without formal invitations, who are free to mingle and be awed. They are greeted at the doors to the main entry hall - doors that will remain open for the duration of the masquerade. Human doormen (and women) do cursory checks before bowing visitors through, doing their best to keep everyone in line. (No weapons, dress standards met, no obvious werewolves.) Anyone who hasn’t brought their own mask will be offered one here. Silver, of course, and the expectation is that you will wear it.

A pair of grand staircases awaits past the doors, framing a magnificent chandelier. Guarding each staircase is a well-dressed servant. They’re making no secret of their too-sharp teeth or the red tinting their irises, and to get upstairs you’ll have to present an invitation. Gilded in real silver, these invites are only for the elite or those favoured by the vampiric aristocracy. These stairs lead first to a mezzanine; one that encircles the grand ballroom below, framing the common people’s masquerade. Arched doorways connect the mezzanine further to the sprawl of the mansion - in particular, to the private sitting rooms where sensitive… ‘business’ can be conducted. So too does it connect to wide balconies that overlook the garden, providing entertainment for those above.

The downstairs ballroom, lined by this mezzanine, is where the band of musicians plays. Waitstaff roam the sides of the room, balancing trays of canapes and wine. The doors along one side of the ballroom have been opened, allowing attendees to slip away into the expansive garden.

[The Garden]

Intricate stonework lines paths through the gardens, weaving around precisely planned flowerbeds. Stone lanterns light the way along the paths, providing opportunities for self-guided strolls. There are many quiet areas to be found here; whether it’s in the shelter of a small gazebo surrounded by fragrant lavender, or on a bench nestled beneath an arch of wisteria.

But don’t get too comfortable in your perceived solitude. The balcony of the mezzanine overlooks these gardens almost in full - the risk of being seen is never zero.

Out here, in perfect view of those mezzanine balconies and completely accessible to those on the ground floor, is a raised platform that acts as a stage. Here it is planned for a performance from The Crystal Ermine Troupe to take place: ‘The Tin Soldier’s March, or the Tragedie of Ierico and his Harlequin.’ There is nothing stopping other would-be entertainers from taking to the stage when it is not in use - assuming, of course, that they are not put off by the dozens of sharp red eyes watching them from above.

[The Hedge Maze]

A large, complicated hedge maze sits centered in the garden; its width almost as vast as the mansion itself. Vines of moonflowers grow across it, almost seeming to glow in the moonlight. As the night goes on and the partygoers tire of dancing, they may find themselves filtering out here - where a sense of renewed excitement permeates the air.

There is a game that some vampires like to play. Its origins are obvious, but its modern iteration is - usually - a touch less gory than decades past.

It begins with a human. An eager competitor, a jibing friend, or a flustered lover. Someone who takes a head start into the maze, blood and adrenaline pumping as they race to find its centre before time is up.

And it then continues with the vampire who begins their pursuit through the thick hedges at the set time. Employing their senses to track their quarry, they seek to capture the human before they succeed in reaching the maze’s safe centre.

For some, this is a simple game played for fun. For others, it’s an opportunity to demonstrate their skills - for up on that balcony are the aristocracy. If one can prove their wit and skill, they may find themselves with offers for greater power than they currently possess.

[The Morning After]

As the sun begins to rise, the party winds down. The vampires begin to retire to their sun-secluded dens as the many coverings on the mansion windows are redrawn. There are some human guests that might stay a bit longer, but all visitors are ejected by the time that dawn truly breaks. The staff, however, still have clean-up ahead of them - and a few extra helpers certainly won’t be noticed. Any attempt to breach the vampire’s sleeping areas will draw attention, however; so best to keep to the mansion itself.

And while the ball has been underway… some werewolves have made some fun of their own.

[The day will continue in Log 3.]

[Info post here and most recent plotting post here!]

Comments

Claire Ryland > The Luna Purpure, Claire Ryefield, and The Blood Moon Troupe - Actor, and Actor

[keytarheroine]

I - The Play's The Thing - Shout out to the back, the lonely ones, at the end of the world now, their time has come.
A blonde woman who is very obviously not the redheaded Sara Iscandar is dressed in a tinkerer's smock with tools on her belt and a luxurious fake beard of the same blond as her hair - as a ravenblack haired woman who could not possibly be the famously green-haired Hannah Eldriver, with a mustache of the same black as the long hair she is NOT wearing in a ponytail, turns away a in dark military coat with epaulets.

Behind them, eyes closed, pretending to limpness, as a newly built clockwork harlequin, is Kara Churchland, who given her strawberry blond ponytail could not possibly be Claire Ryefield, waiting for her cue.

The woman playing Maester Ierico, who is not the Luna Gules let's pretend I always spelled it correctly without the I, okay? Okay. monologues:

Ierico's Lament

"Diligently digging for iron, my sire
Spent his life, til that coin was spent entire.
The mines did make of him a widower
And of his son, the orphan Ierico.
At his very grave I therefore did vow:
If I could set things right, I would learn how.
I learned the arts of forge and fired steel,
And how to set it spinning with a cogwheel,
And set her with armored plates and springs,
So she shrugged off the pits' infernal slings.
And accomplish with those iron gauntlets
What the strength of ten mortal men could not...

How long has Mankind waited for this day,
That one would take from Death his power to slay?
That no son would ever more have to say,
There lies my father, worked into his grave!"

At the end of the soliliquy, Claire twitches, as if dreaming and not inert.

It seems to be a story about two artificers, both obsessed with creating a race of clockworks: Maester Ierico would have them do dangerous or demanding jobs, but Maester Conkle would use them as the tin soldiers of the play's name - and Claire was playing Ierico's first creation, a latter day Galatea to his Pigmalion, the Clockwork Harlequin.

That it is called a tragedy implies it will end in blood, fire, and tears; with the death of Ierico and Conkle, and at least the dissolution of the Harlequin, if not her destruction.

2 - Interlude Mingling and Refreshments - What’s it like to be like you? What it’s like to be beautiful and true?
...this is hard work, hungry and thirsty, the makeup to make Claire look like a creature of tin and brass and steel is hot and she's glad of the ices and cordials and canapes. Hopefully the heavy clove and rose perfume she wears will mask the scent of a wolf on her. The moon is bright, but not yet full, thank the Gods.

And so, she mingles, trying to sniff out any other wolves or anyone she knows, well aware that she owes Sigrid Guidulf the explanation that Lady Amalia bid her give about the whereabouts of the mother they, in a sense, share...

3 - Music Requests - Join a band and play guitar, and play it loud it isn’t hard, being young is fun the second time around
Claire has her harp, and the rest of the party to do, and so she's busking as she's used to, taking requests. If you want to hear Shakespeare Does Flavor Foley that ditty about the German guy who' happy about the birdsong, don't ask about his ex, he's fine, he's fine one of the many songs in Claire's repertoire, you need only ask for something.

3 hope this works?

[angel_of_baal]

Sigwulf is out of place at the party. VERY out of place, but he had told his father he would attend to try to hopefully keep the tensions from the city outside into spilling over into this event.

He was not much of an authority figure, but he was the Guidulf second, and that carried some weight, at least.

It had been a great idea but the execution...less than great because he forgot how bad he was at large groups of people. So he gravitated to the familiar, partly because he knew her, and partly because listening to music meant not having to converse as much.

"Could you play something she liked?" No need to specify who 'she' was: his mother. Perhaps he could share some part of her through her musical taste.

OTA one very out of place werewolf

[angel_of_baal]

the Moon
The moon sure is mooning and he can already feel the call of the moon in his blood, and he knows the other werewolves can as well. It's why everyone's temper is so short, especially with the location of the planets in the zodiac.

It is a dangerous time. And he feels like a fool, knowing his brothers and sisters of the Fang and Claw are watching him as he crosses the market square, dressed in fancy dress--velvet breeches and a gold embroidered vest, the mask held loose in his hand, and two bone knives tucked, just in case, in his boots.

He could have brought the wooden weapons used against...their kind. He could have brought a vial of the special water they despise. But he was not, at heart, a killer, much to his father's eternal disappointment. He would fight, but avoid killing. And he hoped that his bone knives could stay sheathed. Unless someone tries something foolish....

Masquerade
They had let him enter, fearing, probably the repercussions of refusing the second child of the Guidulf family. He could feel more eyes upon him, curious, hostile, some mocking.

He's not trying to hide who or what he is--that would defeat the purpose and the message to other wolves who may have infiltrated this place. Still, he's glad for the cover of the wolf mask he wore, which covered most of his face, and hopefully most of the worried furrows of his brows.

Sigwulf holds a glass of wine without drinking it, giving it a cautious sniff. "Is this...just wine?" Because, you know, his hosts might prefer a, well, spiked beverage.

At another point, holding up the wall starts to feel conspicuous and hardly lets him see what's going on, so he reaches out a hand to whoever comes near. His father, if nothing else, had insisted he and his sister be taught manners. "Shall we dance?"

wildcard

((hit him up at any point, throw something at me! Or him, lol))

Based on “Second Time Around” by The Crystal Furs, CC NC BY

[keytarheroine]

Claire pauses, then nods.

“This was not about her, though it does rhyme,” she says. “Sara wrote it about herself, say sorry.”

And then her fingers find the harp and she begins to sing:

“Truly I lamented my misspent youth
All of us petty and cruel, that’s the truth
Striving to be all our folks desired,
Yet was not by their wish I’m inspired,

Stuck and mired, until I knew my own heart,
Now I know what my soul knew from the start,

Join the revels, and dancing, play thy harp
Loud enough to reach heaven, ‘tis not hard
Tis joyous to be young a second time,

Now feel the emotions you long denied,
A heart now quickened with your soaring pride,
Tis joyous to be young a second time…”

Nero (Nara'a) | Actor: Vampire Scion

[aetherweaver]

Before the Ball - limited to those in the Umbra household

Nero is anxious, more than he has been in his life or unlife. He isn't shaking, as much as he would like to - but he's clearly got a lot on his mind as he's flitting around, making sure all of the decorations are in place, the servants have their orders, those who need correcting are corrected.

All must be in place, because his sire is depending on it.

He stops occasionally to have a rest when it's insisted to him, but his mind is still clearly on the ball. He's never been to one before, so how is he supposed to know - forget it. He tries to put such thoughts from his mind as he continues to prepare, from early in the evening to just before the ball. He needs to get himself ready, as well.


The Masquerade

Having changed into a rather ornate jacket and handsome mask, Nero moves through the party, occasionally dipping down to the area of the common folk - but he spends much of his time up with those who have been specifically invited. They are the ones he needs to impress, after all. Those who have business with him will tell him, and he is occasionally pulled into a private sitting room by one representative of a clan or another.

He hates it. The only clan that need rule here is Umbra, and they know it. Trade agreements are more of his sire's thing, but there's plenty of reason to flatter the young heir, after all.

When he's not being dragged off for one reason or another he's... attempting to enjoy himself. It's rare that he gets to speak to so many different people from near and far, and there's plenty of people to speak to. Different voices, different dialects... all here for a ball that he put together.

He's got reason to be proud, and he tries to give himself room to feel it.


The Garden

Nero has little interest in the maze - he's got no one he has reason to hunt - but the garden paths allow a small respite. Small, despite him knowing he's being watched by the sharp eyes of those above, those with real power.

But the Umbra heir knows these paths, and knows them well. He knows what spots are hidden from view, if one is careful. How many times has he hidden himself in this place when he was panicked as a younger man? He could always be tracked down by those with better senses than himself at the time, but in the chaos of the ball he can allow himself a few moments to himself.

He breathes. Consciously, of course, but also metaphorically. He's done it, everyone has been having a good time. He's not seen a single thing out of place so far - which doesn't mean there isn't, but if it's not important enough to be brought to his attention it's probably fine, right? Right.

He's still listening, though - to the party, and to who might be wandering about.


Wildcard

[Nero's all over the party, so grab me on Discord or Plurk if you want something else!]

The Garden

[codeswitchcraft]

There is a girl in the garden with golden hair, dressed in a floaty white gown spangled with golden and silvery-grey stars. Her half-mask has more of those stars, as does her hairpiece. She's humming to herself a little, swaying to the music that those on the stage are playing, now that the play itself is over.

She turns and--

"Oh!" she says. "You startled me."

Laina Guthart > Armin The Fool - Actor, Jester

[terraboo]

[Quick Solo Scene-Setter]

It's showtime, Armin concludes. And she's got a lot of work to do, and so little time to do it. The Umbra Court's local fool cannot settle for anything less than maximum entertainment, cutting across class and kith.

First step, of course, is making sure her outfit is perect. Fortunately, she has most of what she needs for that already. (OOC: Custom art by ValkyriePyra) Freshly laundered, hat and poofs and tight in juuust the right spots to draw an extra kind of attention or two. One of the nicer parts of being a jester, is that with everyone above her, she can ignore standards of 'polite dress' basically freely.

Okay. Outfit's together. She rarely bothers with much makeup - she wants to be seen as a vamp, after all. Just a harmless one.

[Amidst The Setting Sun, Armin does a thing her player does at an actual IRL Renaissance Fair]

Even before the sun has fully set, there's shady spots. Armin the Fool knows them well, and regularly slips out among them. And on a day like this?"

"Greetings and hello! Hello and greetings, visitors, locals," Laina pauses a moment, glancing around, "and fine folk of the Umbra Court who art desperately clutching parasols as if they were pearls and got in this line by mistake!"

None were above Laina's mockery. A one-woman inversion festival was the most important part of her job. (Though on a night like this, she was going to be gentler toward Lord Umbra himself until exactly the correct moment.)

"I art Armin the Fool of the court, and given the revels and joy that exist within this party, I'd like to see thee in as quickly as possible!"

She mock looked around, shading her eyes with a hand, "Which is why I shouldst count the number of umbrellas, and guess how many of them belong not to people expecting rain today of all days, but to members of the court who should be taking the side entrance to thine right as thou face the manor!"

She unshades her eyes with a shrug. "Much harder to count are those with our special invitations, who should be going to the side entrance to thine LEFT as thou face the manor!"

Then, a deflated-sounding reminder, "And for the love of Montressor, if you're working the event this evening, get around back and get in already, sheesh."

Amd then it's time to promptly gallivant off from shadow to shadow to talk to the next segment of the line.... Or happily stop for whoever she happens to run into.

[The Masquerade Improper!]

Armin the Fool, obviously, had intensely planned her mask for the event proper to look hastily improvised. Sure, she had the purple and black going on a basic eye mask, but it had bits of cloth tied to it, looking almost more like the badly thought out mask of some common brigand.

With the two pointy cap. And much tighter leggings than anyone with untrained gams would ever dare consider. Again, it had to look like she was foolish enough that she forgot to get a mask until the very last moment before she slipped into the party.

Without actually getting in the way of her sliding around, a jape here at a blowhard, a bit of support for someone who could use a moment of confidence over there, occasionally talking up a snack that was underconsumed, or issuing more broad commentaries on whatever she saw - or broader observations about Montican society, which we all live in obviously! Well. Besides visitors. They're only living in it for a little bit until they scatter all and sundry after all!

[The Garden]

Of course, Armin dramatically speaks of fresh air and slips out to the garden every so often! Or to the balcony above.

On the right cue, she might even jump from the latter down to the former, rolling until she crashes into the wall of the hedge maze (so as not to hurt anyone or anything valuable), just to drop in on someone out of nowhere!

[The Hedge Maze]

... Or maybe you'll run into her tangled in the wall of the maze, looking every bit like she didn't plan to be there!

Of course, it is in fact planned - she knows how to walk atop the hedges safely - so if she is down near your level tangled up, it's every bit the plan - and she may have some special japes for those who say the wrong thing.

[Other]

Of course, with her going all and sundry, she could be found almost anywhere on the right cue. Or the most inconvenient moment you can plausibly think of. And at an event like this, there are a lot of inconvenient moments indeed...

Prior to the Event

[terraboo]

Well, one option for Nero's nervousness about the ball could be asking someone he knows for a fact has done at least a couple of these before, and who probably won't dare embarrass him in front of his father.

Unless his father would find it really. REALLY funny.

Meaning she's never dared try before so surely not tonight of all nights.

Seriously, though, Armin the Fool, after another round of line barking, slips in, and sees him fretting about.

"O wondrous scion, methinks you could use some scintillating conversation."

The Masquerade Wine

[terraboo]

"I mean, the alternative is that it's something that, if most swallow a lot of, would cause them to rather swiftly vomit."

Armin the Fool is probably someone Sigwulf's run into a time or two before. Remarks often pointed, always trying to be humorous.

"The condition of my tights is very pleased that it's not that sort of party, and that I'm pretty sure that sort of party doesn't exist. Also, vomitoriums are just places to exit, the idea that the highest of the Eldfolk literally vomited out food so they could eat more is fiction."

She's going into half-disconnected rambly thoughts trying to provoke a laugh or at least a bit of bafflement - which can be good for soothing some nerves. Notably, she seems disinterested in starting anything.

Mingling

[terraboo]

Armin the Fool, for much of the party, is intentionally trying to cut Claire a fair bit of berth - not because she doesn't want to be seen around her, but as so neither interrupts the other's performances.

Fortunately, eventually, she catches the actress while she's getting some much-needed water.

"Doth the night serve thee well, fair harlequinadierette?"

Oh she's up to constructing words now. Can Laina get drunk? Or is she just very, very good at faking it?

[aetherweaver]

He raises his hands apologetically, waving her off a little. "It's fine, it's fine. I apologize for skulking -"

Nero stops, staring at her. She's... radiant, bright in a way that he is dark. The sun, which he hasn't seen for decades. His eyes go wide, and he tries to calm himself. What is it that makes him feel this way, like his heart is beating for the first time in thirty years?

"I... ah. I don't believe we are acquainted. I am Nero Umbra." A name most all here know by reputation if not sight. He puts a hand to his chest and bows slightly. "Are you enjoying the party?"

[codeswitchcraft]

"Nero... Umbra?" the girl says, tasting the name like she is not entirely sure she likes it. Her eyes are wide and blue beneath her glittering mask. She dips into a curtsey in return to his bow.

"No," she says as she rises. "We would not be. And I am, yes, very much so. It is very different than the affairs I am used to. I am Sigrid," she adds, almost as an afterthought.

[aetherweaver]

He looks over at Armin and his shoulders sag slightly, tension draining out of it. He knows Armin's quite a bit older than him, though he's never asked how old. But Armin is one of the few people who he feels comfortable letting down his guard a little bit, even as he knows the Fool reports to his sire.

"Perhaps. I feel a bit out of practice, I suppose." He turns to face her more fully and rubs at his face, red eyes glancing down. "I know I've been trained in court manners, but many here are multiple times both my ages." He's afraid, but he's doing his best.

[terraboo]

"Fortunately, you've a few advantages many of those here lack. The power of rank can draw much forgiveness. Some may think this a chance to break your rank, sure... But that's where I come in. Or quite a few others who would prefer to see you succeed."

A bit of a chuckle. "Of course, there's more to it. My largest concern right now, would be your sheer nervousness. That is more likely to cause trouble than any lack of practice. Please do remember, we can still breathe, and it still helps."

Nero's success isn't necessarily her own... But she still wants it to happen regardless.

"You are the worthy scion of Clan Umbra. Carry yourself with the right mote of confidence, and you can force even your enemies to let you, oh what do the humans say? 'Fake it 'till you make it.'"

Re: Mingling

[keytarheroine]

"I think I now have just cause to revoke your privilege and artistic license to make up new words entire on the spot. But the night treats this player well enough."

Smiling, Claire raises her glass of cool water.

"Well met by moonlight, o wisest of fools."

Re: Mingling

[terraboo]

"Oh, come off it, the greatest of bards have mastered the craft of wordfaking for a reason now," she said with a chuckle.

"And what moonlight it is. Has the night treated you well so far?"

Re: Mingling

[keytarheroine]

“The audience has been most receptive - to a tale of cynical blood and fire.”

She sighs, slumping as if in retreat.

“I wish Nero thought Like Thee would do well.”

Mei Torioi > Amalia Hunter, The Rival, Werewolf Actor

[birdchasingecho]

sc. i -- A moment of Collusion (Claire, Sigrid, Sigwulf)
All a quiet, at first, as they pile into John Haycart.

"Now. Listen. As we arrive, you are stage-hands, until you can change and reach the dance-floor. The servants' entrance is an entrance, but one we must use carefully. And do try not to embarrass Lord Montica." Amalia's providing the cover and the way in, and, well. Favors made, favors exchanged. Amalia has a different charm to appear human-- a beautiful thing, of glass and sand, that glitters like a constellation, as well as a white gold pair of bracelets that sit upon her ungloved wrists. How odd, they are almost like shackles, merely missing their chains.

Lily, as well, sits, uncomfortably, in John Haycart. In truth, she's looking betwixt all and sundry, worried about the events of two nights past.

There are two costumes, as well-- the familiar of the Crystal Ermines' Argent, and one that evokes the night sky.

But, as they set up, Amalia helps the players into costumes and makeup, but her attention is partly absorbed, looking over at Lily performing the same purpose.

The tension could be cut with a knife. Another confrontation is brewing.

sc. ii-- A strange face at the party (Masquerade) [Lily]
And there she is, shining like the stars, in her charms and baubles, evinced in solid and shade. She is decked in black, with silver thread, marking herself as if the night sky. Dazzling, but hardly unusual, save for the color.

Her mask is green, but marked with those same silver dots, these sketched out in constellations bright. And what a scene she cuts!

She asks most anyone to dance, approaches them, bows, with a rogue's grin... and time on her side.

sc. iii-- Montica sleeps, yet trapped, inside clockwork, meant to make it breathe... (Gardens) [Amalia]
And as for who is left... She swallows what nerves she has, and bears the mask for Crystal Argent, and is swiftly re-reading her part while she waits.

Her hands shake.

The show must go on. It must. She has no other choice. And she will mingle amongst the others in the Garden, and do her level best to speak kindly.

2

[goodtobebad]

"I've never understood the thing with tragedies," Tony says nonchalantly, offering her a glass of punch. He's already got one of his own. He's slunk out from some shadow somewhere, keeping himself to the edges of the festivities, not making a spectacle. He didn't leave his employment on the best of terms with the Umbra family, but no one knows the grounds like he does, so it's not difficult for him to escape notice.

"Happy endings are more my style."

garden, probably

[goodtobebad]

Tony's not exactly welcome at the big parties, but he knows the grounds quite well, having been a gardener here for a long time. Which might explain why he melts out of the shadows to address the Heir.

"You don't look nearly as tired as you probably are," he comments mildly, perching on the edge of a nearby bench. Tony never looks truly comfortable, but he's doing his best not to appear like a deer in the headlights, ready to jump at the slightest hint of aggression.

He's got no beef with the Umbra Heir. Not really.

[angel_of_baal]

"That's...somewhat reassuring." He guesses. Though really he has no place to judge or gainsay anyone or their tastes. "I was just unsure if they prepared for, well, others to attend their ball." Others like his kind, with an entirely different sort of fang.

He's also disinterested in starting something--he's trying to do the opposite. "I admit, I could not see the entertainment in a party of that sort." Ew. Still, she's diverting, and talking to him.

masquerade -- hope this is cool?

[angel_of_baal]

It would be rude to attend a party at the Umbran palace without at least making himself known to the host family.

He's dressed in all black, wolf mask not at all hiding who he is, his hair flowing from the back like a wolf's mane.

The smile he gives is genuine, because he can see from the other's body language that he is just as uncomfortable here. "I bring you greetings of peace from Clan Guidulf." Can they both be done with the formalities?

[aetherweaver]

"Sigrid. What a lovely name, if I may be so bold." He steps towards her, then stops. No. Patience. Has he not learned enough? But oh, how he is itching, how those blue eyes captivate him.

The comment gets a smile out of him, though. His fangs are there, but he feels... more free than he has in a while. His voice isn't loud, out of fear of people hearing them - but... but...

She's a mortal, he knows that from the eyes and lack of obvious fangs when she speaks, but even still... even still he feels his heart swell at every word she says. "I take it you and yours are not quite so... formal? I imagine not many are, besides us..." But he barely remembers a life without it, without servants and manors and all sorts of wondrous things. "Lady Sigrid... I do hope you continue to have a good time here. It is... well, much of it is my own doing. The work of many hands, however - I would not wish to discount them."

[aetherweaver]

"... I do try." It does remind him of his younger days, where he was nervous but did not have the entire clan's expectations on his shoulders. He tries to take a deep breath, letting the air cycle in and out. "I suspect the anxiety will be a bit less when things are underway... court manners are a mask we've both worn for long enough."

It's just that Armin's are much less mannerly than his own. He's aware of her quick mind - and he appreciates it. "I do remember that saying. It was something that was told to me quite often back then." He straightens up and adjusts his jacket, looking a little bit more calm. "... Our lord will hopefully not have to do too much tonight. I know many will demand his attention..." Unless they get redirected to him.

"... You do think I have a chance of pulling this off successfully, then?"

[aetherweaver]

His mouth goes into a line - yes, he remembers Tony. He probably shouldn't be here, but... well. He's not in a mood to kick someone out unless they're causing trouble.

"That's the idea, yes." He rolls his eyes slightly, a bit childish. But it's fine, he's not actually upset. "... You've been well, then?" He doesn't wish for anyone to be hurt, not really...