Knights of Anathaeum A Pretty Night for Himbo Knights (After Dark)

[Faramund]

'A part of my team? Boy, aren't I lucky.' Rolling his eyes somewhat theatrically, Faramund welcomed Monroe with a smile and a peck on the cheek. To see her in such high spirits was a blessing, though, he would never tell her as much. Can't let them know I've gone soft in my old age, he mused, dreading the moment they decided to team up against him.

Which, given the circumstances, likely wouldn't be long at all.

'The competition this year was fierce, the judges... biased, if I didn't know any better.' Sharing a look with Aarno, the dawnling's eyes narrowed in suspicion as the orc bandied words with the brunette nestled between them.

'Please, pay Princess Latva little mind. She has a habit of causing mischief, wherever she turns.' Feigning disinterest in the conversation, Mund held the shirt he had been awarded up for inspection. 'What do you reckon, should I cut out a few letters? "Not Him" gets the point across clearer, I feel. Yes? Yes, let's go with that.' Now, to find someone willing to part with their dagger.

Monroe? No, too risky. Hector? Too... uh, exposed.

'Hmm...'

Monroe Aarno

 

[Arbok]

Of course she was going to be seen and of course it was Byanka.
"Hokay!"
With her hair patted down to somewhat reasonable degrees Arbok began to keep figeting with it. Making a series of small braids in it. The typical way she wore it misled its true length as it made its way to the small of her back.
She plonked herself down on the seat next to Byanka and tried not to loom.
"Hey Byanka. Thanks again for saving me."
Even she thought she was starting to wear it thin by now but again it had become a kind of habit and in this state habit was a hard river to swim against.
"Hi Julian, congratulations."
Fingers weaved hair right to the end and rather than face the panic of sitting still she immediately reached behind her ear for more as her voice became smaller with each word she spoke.
"I didn't know this was happening, that's uh, why I didn't get dressed!"

Byanka Valkas
Julian Benavide

 

[Monroe]

“Figure it’s fatal? Tell me fast, Syr Cathmore–“

"How long would you give me?"

Monroe pouted sadly to Aarno, as if he were on his death bed. "Oh good Syr! It is a life sentence to be on the team of Far—"

But the handsome male in question spoke of his shirt, and undoing some of the embroidery that Saskia had worked on this past week for every shirt. She could part with one of the daggers on her person just to see Saskia's wrath upon him, but Monroe took the couple of steps between herself and Faramund to snatch his shirt from him and pulled it over her head. It was clearly much too big on her frame, but slightly too small for Faramund, (a suggestion on Petra's part that made Saskia and Monroe snicker and scheme at the time) but that would be the case for every handsome participant.

She turned around to Aarno, fashioning herself in this stolen short with a curtsy. "The choice is yours, Syr Aarno. Remain on Faramund's team or jump ship and be on my team." Monroe turned her head to smirk at Fara, "I think the real competition is whether or not you or I are the better Himbo." Of course, there was another word for a female, but Monroe liked to challenge a man tenfold whilst clearly not sober.


Aarno Faramund

 

[Rupaka]

Something in the back room popped. Splashed. Gluggluglugged. And an amber liquid started spreading out from the door.

"Blithering, fumbling, scrive-fingered bipedal... pigmonkey!" came a sharp, whispered hiss from Rupaka's throat. His voice, lilting and shrill, startled a jump from him as he shook froth and beer from his hands. At the last words failed him, and he could manage only a scowl leveled the squire's way. It crinkled at his brow, an unfamiliar gesture as if to spite its severity.

The knight, swathed in yellow silks belted tight to his frame with a linen sash, had stumbled his way behind the bar; happenstance, perhaps, brought him here, and ill fate had since doused his clothes in a puddle of wasted ale.

Leaning against the bartop, pressing a thumb to temple and massaging away the frown, he took a number of calming breaths. Steadied himself against the sway of his ankles, against the barren scathe of anger that swelled beneath his breast.

"No," he said, not daring look at the squire again lest those contortions return to his brow, "I apologize. Truly, I must have accosted you in some manner? Some churlish motion of mine prompted hostility in retort? Surely."

He directed his eyes to the knight behind the bar.

"Syr, a tankard if you would. Something to make me laugh at the mess I've made of myself."


Matvi Iramene

 

[Farren Lóthlindor]

The beat that played out from beneath the bard's fingertips and into his lute, lilted into a warm chorus. Farren's heart raced to match as she spun in the arms of an Astevalian man who had asked her to dance two songs before.

The fact that her enthusiasm and the pink in her cheeks may have been influenced by one too many emptied cups this evening, was another matter. Besides, they were all there to celebrate the money they had raised for such an excellent cause.

And it didn't hurt that she had been captured by the rogue grin of the handsome new bartender. My, my, my, could he pour a clean foam top.

A hand that tucked into her lower back had Farren returning to the moment with her red-bearded dance partner. He was a shop keep of some kind in Astenvale. But she couldn't remember anything he had murmured into her ear as they danced. In fact, for the most part, she allowed him to carry her along while she closed her eyes and followed his lead. Happy to celebrate in her own little world. Although she could do without his canvasing for her interest.

Especially since his callousless hands didn't fit quite right in her own. They were too soft from a lack of sword practice and workmanship. From something like blacksmithing, or... perhaps a stonesmith.

That unbidden thought had her tripping up on herself mid-twirl, the swirling skirts of her blue dress wrapping around her and she stumbled sideways.

And one would think, that as someone who was viscerally aware of where he stood in this room, really any room, all evening, Farren would have been capable of not smashing into him. But oh, how fickle and tampering a mistress doth the hand of Fate play.

And so, Farren, ever light of foot when they bore the shape of hoof and paw, except when hampered by drink, tripped and fell right into an immovable brick wall of a man. Her hands having reached out to catch herself, briefly conformed to the broad valleys of his back and shoulders.

"Oof." She exclaimed. Slightly breathless, she righted herself with a flourish and pushed the loose hair out of her face, before smoothing down the wrinkles of her dress. The memory of his back under her palms had her cheeks grow impossibly pinker, although her grey eyes glittered with mirth. "Aarno, I am soooo sorry! My gods, I should watch my feet better, or my eyes. I mean. What I mean is, I didn't see you! Are you alright?!"

Aarno Matvi Iramene

 

[Gunner Valenntyne]

The coy smile Gunner wore so proudly as Caelia stood and circled him seemed to suggest maybe the strange barrel-chested foreigner wasn't as obvious and thick as he seemed. He knew very well that the shirt didn't fit him, and that he looked like an absolute mook.

But she was still looking at him, and the book had been put away. Whether she meant for it or not, Gunner had stolen all her attention for himself.

A feigned look of hurt washed over his face as she derided him, but it turned to playful laughter as soon as he met her eyes again and his hands came down to his sides, stretching out the design on the shirt to the point of unrecognizeability. "Oh, come on now, you don't mean that, Miss!" Gunner pretended to whine as he grasped the hem of the shirt and pulled it back up over his head, with some struggle.

"It's the color, isn't it? Clashes with my eyes? Oh, I knew I should have gotten dolled up before the games!" The playful banter didn't stop as he successfully avoided suffocating himself with the shirt and extricated it from his head, tossing it back over his shoulder as she made him the offer of a lifetime.

"Well, usually I don't do pity parties." Gunner tilted his head, searching in Caelia's eyes for something more than she was letting on. She didn't seem the type to feel too bad for him, so he couldn't help but wonder if maybe she was hoping he could nail her little test. "But for a cute lass like you? I'd be a fool not to take you up on the offer. One drink comin' up!"


Caelia

 

[Aarno]

Princess Latva–

While the man babbled on, the titular character himself considered carefully just how flattered he should’ve been for that his entire name had been so competently memorized. Despite plenty retorts upon his mind, more or less insufferably flirtatious each and every one, he kept his tongue for the pity in his heart. And, as it happened, for the fact he was being none so subtly coaxed to alter his allegiance.

Switch teams. One had to suppose both wasn’t an option here. Only so much dusker to go around betwixt two dawnlings.

“ A better Himbo– “ He mused, watching as Monroe curtsied, freshly robed in the shirt she’d saved from sure defacement. “ Isn’t it the mark of a great Himbo to welcome every challenge? The apparel might’ve posed the largest one yet to the other participants, which you conquered in stride, Syr Cathmore. “

And without alteration. Had their premise been different, he well might’ve pursued Faramund’s reasoning for such a thing, the remark that had rung out as unpleasant at best and sad at worst. But alas–

“ And I am nothing, if not a fickle Princess, easily swayed by impressive feats.. “ One hand on his hip, he tossed the other in the dramatic fashion of an amateur mummer. “ If only my darling Prince had loved m– eh! “

Clowning halted by impact, he rotated stiffly on heel to meet eyes with whomever had laid hands on him, in that unprompted and sudden manner that was becoming a pattern for the eve. A familiar face and all too many words caught him even further off-guard, his brows climbing higher with surprise.

“ Farren. “ He mumbled amidst her apologies, landing his palms on her shoulders. “ I was quite alright. But I’m excellent now. “ He responded with callous banality, breaking into a sly smile.

“ You might’ve not seen me, but I definitely saw you. Twirling around. You dance well. “ He flicked his index beneath her chin, eyeing the bits of untethered blonde wisps about her temples. Behind her, someone loomed, but he wouldn’t look at him..

“ You’ve a shadow, Syr Lóthlindor. One appearing rather desperate to have you back. “

Farren Lóthlindor Monroe Faramund

 

[Julian Benavide]

Julian's smile never faltered as Byanka waved over Arbok. He could not help but being glad she was more outgoing. Or at least more outgoing than she had been when they had first met.

"Thank you," he replied to Arbok, nodding his head at her. He noticed she was fidgeting incessantly with her hair and seemed nervous and small in Byanka's presence. And he knew it was mostly Byanka- he had heard the stories- Byanka had saved plenty of her fellow knights' lives the entire time she'd been in the order and had added Arbok to the number.

"You're dressed, aren't you? You've got clothes on," he replied casually, taking another sip of lemonade. He had considered saying something else but figured it would be distateful, especially considering Byanka was there.

"Would you like something to drink, Arbok?" He asked before either Byanka or Arbok could say anything else.

Arbok

 

[Byanka Valkas]

Byanka shook her head at Arbok, but she was still smiling. "You don't have to keep thanking me," she replied. It had been some time now since she had saved Arbok, and even still the she-bear still gave Byanka a flustered thank you every time their paths crossed.

She was about to say something else but Julian beat her to it. She pinned him with a firm stare that was rare coming from her. She was about to say something else about how he really ought to be respectful but he offered to get Arbok a drink before she could.

She huffed a breath almost unwillingly, still keeping her stare pinned on Julian. He was pretending he couldn't see her as he drank his lemonade.

Arbok

 

[Faramund]

The shirt vanished from his hands before he found the dagger he was looking for. Turning, perplexed, he scowled down at Monroe as she tried on his shirt. Hers now, he figured. 'Good fit?' He asked, snorting in amusement. Fool-ass! Everyone and their mothers could see it was too big for her, the hem falling to just above her knees. But the smile she was wearing suited her.

Rarer than diamonds, that.

'I know which team I'm on,' Faramund grinned, laying his big hands on Monroe's shoulders. 'Now, if you don't mind-' There was a bump and a grunt. Looking over the top of his dawn-sister's head, Faramund's eyes widened in surprise. Farren?

Grinning, he watched as Aarno became suddenly animated. It was strange, seeing him flirt. Totally, utterly strange. And yet, Faramund was forced to admit, the man had game. It would have been rude to interrupt. 'Farren!' Waiting for a lull in the conversation, the dawnling nodded his head in greeting. 'For once, I find myself agreeing with the guy. You dance well. Dress well, too!' There was movement, beyond and behind.

A villager whom Faramund half-recognised. Was that... dye staining his nails? Or dirt?

Glancing between Aarno, Farren and the mystery bloke, Faramund cleared his throat. 'Well, I suppose I'd best be about it, before the bar runs dry.' With a smile and a pat on the back, he turned to offer his arm to Monroe. 'Accompany me to the bar, O' himboess mine?'

Monroe Farren Lóthlindor Aarno

 

[Arbok]

"Um, is that lemonade?"
Despite the assurances Arbok was unable to shake her nerves just yet.
"I'll have some of that, if there is any left."
She did not particularly disagree with Julian, except that he was wrong because night clothes were not the same, no matter what was covered.
"I'm sorry Byanka, Syr. I just, I don't know how to thank you properly."
As she finished a third braid she began a fourth. patting her hair down as she did.

Julian Benavide
Byanka Valkas

 

[Monroe]

'Accompany me to the bar, O' himboess mine?'

Monroe grinned triumphant up at Faramund. To her ears, he did not ask for his shirt back, and so Monroe took his arm. "That's a good boy." She cooed and tapped his cheek with her hand, turning back to blow kisses to Aarno and Farren, completely missing the bearded man behind Farren. She knew Faramund wouldn't have put up much fight against her stealing his consolation prize, but she would placate him by buying him a drink. After all, she probably owed him plenty over the years.

"Well would you look at that!" Her voice, loud and clear over the music and conversation. "If it isn't the rat responsible for revoking my right to be behind the bar." Monroe had more than two bottles of wine through the day, had a decent meal, and still was downing drinks given her way. But none of that did anything to dampen her displeasure at seeing Matvi Iramene behind the bar she once stood behind. Of course, the Grumpy Knight was allowed to pour drinks, she had to stick to the usual menu and not be adventurous after the challenge she made her fellow Knights and squires participate. If only Matvi had been around for her to make witness the Ogre's Piss.

"You... do the talking." Monroe stood on her toes to whisper conspiratorially at Faramund's ear. "I'm mad at him." Which was laughable of her to say as her face was not as grumpy or formidable as she was capable of. "Nothing fancy, Fara."

 

[Caelia]

It felt criminal to lead on someone like this, but Caelia's face was painted with innocence and good manners as she let the man believe it was such an easy task. He did not know her, did not know that she could lie through her teeth and smile like she was some pageant princess. That she could ingest the deadliest of poisons and be unaffected, but such a diet had ruined her idea of taste. There were days she did not like a drink she normally liked, that she found a meal foul halfway through eating it.

And so, Caelia continued to smile like a spider weaving it's web of a trap.

"Do your best, I think you need a win after not making the top runners up today."

Gunner Valenntyne

 

[Matvi Iramene]

Knowing how to listen, without listening too keenly. A management of the energies.

It was one of the many talents needed by a bartender. With personalities of every ilk lining up and hollering for drinks, a bit of, situational awareness and triage did wonders.

A quick scan towards the crowd saw a couple of eager faces. Familiar and new alike. Shoulders and hips angling towards the bar as chests rose and fell with the labor of breath, and hands rolled and mimed words unheard through the din.

A lemonade. He heard through the chatter. A glance found the vial marked with a lemon shaped stopper. Cute bit of ceramic work that-

Pigmonkey.

Matvi's spine went rigid, and he looked over to see the large Ruthiford staring down in confusion at one Syr Rupaka mysteriously behind the bar.

"Urm, my apologies, Syr," said Ruthiford.

Matvi's brow quirked, and his eyes narrowed some. What in the hells-

An order for a drink came soon after.

"Certainly," Matvi said with a crisp cut to his voice. "As soon as you get on the other side of the bar, Syr Rupaka," the Medicant turned bartender smiled sharp as a peeling knife, just as careful as his hand motioned to an empty seat on the patron's side of the service.

But before he could watch the next step, a familiar voice cut over the din.

Well would you look at taht.

Matvi's brows scrunched, and his eyes narrowed to pick points. "Shit," he hissed. His eyes went back to Rupaka, and he smacked the bar twice. "Other side, Paper Knight, let's go!" he said with a firm familiarity behind his grin.

Quick steps saw him over the puddle from the keg spill, and he vanished into the storage a moment.

Ruthiford blinked. Large as a doorframe, the curly haired squire just stared at Rupaka and then to those around the bar.

 

[Faramund]

'How come? Did he catch you drinking on the job... again?' It was a serious question, posed by a not-so-serious person. 'I'd listen to him, if I were you!' Snagging a spot at the bar, Faramund waggled his fingers in Matvi's direction as the bartender ousted Rupaka, or tried to at least.

'Two beers, please, if you'd be so kind.'

Glancing at Monroe, the dawnling watched on as the Paper Knight lingered in the danger zone. 'Pushing his luck a bit, ain't he?' Faramund whispered quietly into his dawn-sister's ear. 'Risky business, pissin' off the bloke pouring the drinks.' He had made the same mistake once. In the same place, too. Never again.

'Hell of a night, ey, Mister Iramene, Syr!' Faramund smiled across at the bartender. Subtly, he motioned for Roe to cough up the coin. 'Ruthi, m'lad! How goes?' So many people, he thought, all gathered into one place to celebrate the day's events. It was chaos, pure and simple.

Faramund wouldn't have had it any other way.

Monroe Matvi Iramene Rupaka

 

[Byanka Valkas]

Julian nodded at Arbok with a smile and left to get her glass of lemonade. Byanka looked back at Arbok and her gaze softened.

"I promise, you have thanked me more than properly," Byanka replied. "I didn't do it so that you could thank me every time you saw me,"

Byanka was quiet a moment before she spoke up again. "I like what you've done with your hair. I've been thinking about cutting mine," she added, hoping the compliment would help the girl relax. Arbok's fingers were nearly wild as they fluttered about her hair.

Arbok

 

[Arbok]

Arbok's red cheeks went a shade more red as she continued to nervously braid. Nerves ebbed a bit but only a bit, the scene was still feeling a bit much.
"Thank you. It's eh, I've always had a lot so, I like to style it."
Her trademark braids came in two distinct forms, the single braid that hung low and the more exotic thick side braids she sometimes wore ornamental weights from.
Compared to Byanka, Arbok's hair was very long though there were some who rivaled her for length.
"Really? Like, a bobcut or something?"
Through it all Arbok's eyes tried to rest somewhere but no matter where she looked she felt like she was staring. Still, she was listening.

Byanka Valkas

 

[Julian Benavide]

Julian fetched the lemonade for Arbok. Unfortunately, it was a ways off, but it gave Byanka time to catch up with Arbok, which he was glad for. However, he had been approached by an eager looking young woman who had asked if he would please sign her face with her lipstick. He might have said yes, but there was something about the request- how temporary the lipstick was, and how she would just wash it off a few hours later and move on with her life. It struck a little too close to home, especially considering all of his experiences with women.

He had shaken the moment off and pulled his smile back on. He had politely declined and suggested she find Syr Bebin. He assured her that Bebin would do whatever she asked him if she just told him Syr Julian had sent her. She nodded excitedly, her brief disappointment forgotten as she went in search of the turbaned knight.

Chuckling to himself, he walked back to the table where Byanka and Arbok were. He handed Arbok her lemonade just as Arbok was mentioning something about Byanka getting a bob.

"I think it would be very tasteful indeed," he said as he reclaimed his seat beside Byanka. Only his tone was teasing, mocking the overly formal and prissy talk of noble ladies, but he meant what he said, however formally put. When she turned to look at him and her ears and cheeks went red he was only the more glad he had turned the girl with the lipstick away.

Arbok

 

[Byanka Valkas]

Byanka turned back around when Julian reappeared with Arbok's lemonade. She could tell he was teasing by the glint in his eyes but there was something behind that trademark glint and she focused her attention on her lemonade, not letting herself look too long lest she find something she liked.

Vaguely, she patted her hair, in a manner not unlike what Arbok was doing to her own hair- just less haried.

"It would certainly be easier to handle in battle," she replied, but her voice was softer. She swallowed hard and looked back up at Arbok, waiting for the girl's response.

Arbok

 

[Arbok]

"Thank you."
The lemonade was most welcome and though Julian was known to Arbok she could not help but wonder if he was friends with Byanka or if he was after something.
We're it anyone she thought incapable in any way she might feel protective but Byanka was anything but.
"It does make wearing helmets easier."
She agreed.
"But is that the only reason you want it short?"
It was beautiful and Arbok knew that hair could be very important to some people. A drastic change in a style could be a tell of deeper changes.

Byanka Valkas
Julian Benavide

 

[Monroe]

Monroe simply scowled at Faramund's jest, not moving to take a seat and stayed where she was, standing behind Faramund's shoulder as her honeyed brown eyes were fixed on the bartender. Iramene. He who had to hear about the Ogre's Piss challenge for weeks after, who had to walk into the Knoll and see the aftermath of the contestants, and then suffer through an account of what ingredients Monroe used.

It wasn't until Fara ordered her a beer did she move a few steps to the left and dragged a seat slowly and loudly to be sat beside her drinking companion.

"You know I drank on the job." She muttered, grumbled. What she thought was scowling and being menacing about it, in fact was an inebriated version of a sulking pout. "In fact, you often drank with me. And countless others here."

It was one of those bar tending shifts that Monroe saw the bottom of a gin bottle and came up with the idea of today's festivities.

 

[Byanka Valkas]

Byanka thought a moment before responding to Arbok. She knew practicality wasn't the only reason she wanted to cut her hair. "I guess... it's a big change, and I hope... people might notice me more," her voice got smaller towards the end of her sentence, but she was at least being honest. She got the feeling Arbok thought she wanted to cut her hair for Julian which could not be further from the truth. She wanted to cut it for completely selfish reasons, reasons that were perhaps foolish.

She intentionally did not look to her other side to meet Julian's gaze. She was certain she'd find pity there, and he would try to comfort her, and she knew exactly where that would lead if she let him comfort her and let herself feel comforted by him.

Arbok

 

[Arbok]

For Arbok, the idea that Byanka Valkas could ever be ignored or not noticed was insane but she did admit to herself that part of that (possibly a big part) was due to her personal experience with her but all the same. She was strong and determined and even amongst the order Arbok had a hard time thinking of who Byanka may WANT to notice her that would be resistant.
"Forgive me but, do you mean people in general or are there, specific people you want to notice you?"
She took a hasty sip of lemonade, it was nice, refreshing.
"Not that it's my beeswax or anything."
Arbok added, her hands returning to her hair.

Byanka Valkas

 

[Julian Benavide]

Julian stilled as he listened to Byanka reply to Arbok. He knew Byanka was shy and self-conscious, but the idea that she wanted entirely to cut her hair to get other people to notice her made him unbelievably sad. It made a little bit more sense now why she seemed to flourish under his attention.

He tried to think of something to say but Arbok spoke up first. He realized her question was a good one. Was Byanka cutting her hair to get a certain someone to notice her? His selfish first thought was that it was him, but then he kicked himself. She didn't need to cut her hair to get his attention, and she knew that very well.

As he and Arbok waited for Byanka's response, he settled for watching the back of her head, since she seemed determined not to look at him.

 

[Byanka Valkas]

Byanka's hand stilled on her glass. A simple discussion of hair styles had turned into a deeper and more depressing topic of conversation.

She would be lying if she said there wasn't specific people she wanted to notice, but she did want people in general to maybe see her more than they did now.

"Both, I guess," she finally replied to Arbok. She was suddenly quite uncomfortable and embarrassed and made a shoddy attempt at hiding it by drinking her lemonade. It was nearly gone.

Arbok