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

[Arbok]

"Oh."
Arbok thought about it and decided that getting it done was fine as long as Byanka wanted it and of course, hair grew back so it wasn't like she'd live with it forever. She tried to imagine what Byanka would look like with shorter hair, then with bangs, then without bangs, then with a mohawk.
"You'd look good I think.How short were you thinking?"
Without really realising it Arbok had relaxed, now that the emphasis was not on her however she still fiddled with her hair.

Byanka Valkas

 

[Byanka Valkas]

Byanka was glad Arbok moved away from the deeper questions. She could answer the surface level ones. "To my chin, I think. Long enough I could still tie it back if I need to but short enough that it stays out of my way for the most part."

Without entirely meaning to, she turned to glance at Julian. She quickly looked back down at her drink. She could feel his sadness and also saw it reflected in his features. She felt bad for making him sad and was selfishly glad he cared enough for her to feel that sort of sadness when she talked about how lonely and invisible she felt.

Byanka drank the last of her lemonade and looked back over to Arbok. She looked to be relaxing a bit, and Byanka was glad.

Arbok

 

[Arbok]

"Hmm, that would look nice I think."
Arbok regarded Byanka and tried to imagine it but she didn't miss the look she shared with Julian though she did not understand the meaning.
"You know there is a tale, a myth really but it's still told, among my Mother's people, that if you never cut your hair and I mean never ever then you'll be invincible."
Her mother told it to her when Arbok had decided to stop cutting hers. It was nonsense but she thought it sweet.

Byanka Valkas

 

[Byanka Valkas]

Byanka smiled at Arbok's little story. "I'd believe that, too, if I hadn't had brushes with death because of my long hair." She replied. Her hair got in the way, even when she braided it.

"Is that why you're growing out your hair?" Byanka asked.

She had certainly not been expecting to discuss hair as if it were a serious matter but she was glad for it. She was glad for Arbok's company. And, she would admit to herself, she was glad for Julian's company.

Arbok

 

[Julian Benavide]

Julian was glad Byanka finally looked at him, though it wasn't for long. It occurred to him that she could likely get a bare sense of what he was thinking, and he reeled back the sadness and pity in case she didn't want any pity. Some people were particular about that sort of thing, and he didn't want to risk it.

Then the tone considerably lightened, something Julian was grateful for. Nevertheless, he still made a mental note to really make sure Byanka was ok before the night was over.

"Maybe that's why I'm so perfect," Julian said dramatically, tossing a lock of his own long, dark hair over his shoulder.

Arbok

 

[Arbok]

"I think it was for a while but I never believed it really. I think the imagery and the fantasy is just so grand."
Arbok was sometimes partial to her own brand of quick wit which generally picked on nobody but the target was so blatant she could not stop herself.
"You think yourself perfect Julian?"
For a moment she effected a serious face but could not keep it for long. Her face cracked into a smile as she took another drink of her lemonade.

Byanka Valkas
Julian Benavide

 

[Farren Lóthlindor]

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

Had Faramund waved to her? Said something? Farren couldn't quite remember between the slow agony of those long seconds where Aarno's hands dressed the mantle of her shoulders and strummed the pert edge of her chin.

She felt hot and cold, and overwhelmed in small bursts that dipped into a strange yearning that waited at the edge of its seat for more.

What in the fuck was wrong with her. Relax.

A deep inhale through the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, saw her back in the moment and caught in the twinkle of Aarno's eyes; but his gaze shifting to beyond her shoulder reminded her of the dance partner she had left behind with nary a second thought.

Thank goodness liquid courage bubbled in her veins and buoyed her courage. For Farren slid her hands up to secure Aarno's hands, smiling at his callouses that brushed her palm, and settled one hand at her waist, the other joined with hers at her eye level just as a new song began to play through the Knoll with a jovial tune.

"Unfortunately for him, it seems my dance card has been rather filled for the evening." She whispered coyly, before taking the lead onto the dance floor with a cat's grace and a woman's laughter, careful to dance them in a way that wouldn't strain Aarno's bad knee too badly.

Aarno Faramund

 

[Julian Benavide]

Julian's smirk stretched and he leaned forward towards the two girls a bit, his elbows resting on the table. "I don't think myself perfect, Arbok, I know,"

He leaned back, glad to see a smile on both Byanka's and Arbok's faces. Even if he hadn't gotten first, and even besides Byanka's sad moment, today had been a great day.

Some were even starting to dance, as if this were a ball instead of a wild, loud, and crowded party full of drunk knights. Save for the three of them, though. He wondered if they were now the last three sober knights in the Knoll. He chuckled to himself and drank more of his lemonade.

Arbok

 

[Arbok]

It was a bit of an obvious retort and Arbok did not have as ready a wit as Julian but that did not leave her without retorts of her own.
"Tchss"
Not exactly worthy of the Lord's prize but it did the job. Arbok did not think Julian was perfect and at the risk of being too direct made no bones about it.
"You know what IS perfect? This lemonade."
She raised her drink for emphasis.

Julian Benavide

 

[Gunner Valenntyne]

Gunner didn't know a soul here, not beyond a brief encounter. If anything, he was the one people should have been wary about; some outsider stumbling into their competition with nothing but a smile and some ill-fitting clothes to his name. Still, everybody had welcomed him with at least half-opened arms, and Valenntyne never turned down a good hug.

"Need a win?" He snorted as he smacked his big hand against the table a few times, turning around to find something with a little kick for them to drink. "Darling, I've got a bed to sleep in tonight, a few new drinking friends, and I worked up a hell of a sweat out there. I've won."

Some things were that simple.

What wasn't so simple was finding the bar in the ever-increasing crowd of people filling up The Knoll. Most of em' looked to have already paired up or found something to distract themselves with. He even saw that Monroe lass looking awfully doe-eyed at the winner of the competition, something he found just a wee bit funny.

No sour grapes, though. Gunner didn't buy into the whole jealousy schtick, especially when he had his sights set on somebody himself, even if she was just playing with him a little bit. Playing around was still company, after all!

"Barkeep!" Gunner flashed his brightest smile as he finally found the bar again, as though he hadn't already been there. "I need a drink for a lady, something with a kick, but sweet too. Maybe a little color in there?" He didn't know Caelia, or what she liked, but that was part of the game. He had to follow his gut, and see what came of it.

Just like he always did.

Caelia

 

[Faramund]

'Did I? I don't remember.' One night bled into the next around here, and Faramund knew for a fact his memory only extended so far. Still, if he could recall that little titbit of information, they must have been some fun nights indeed. 'Well, before you go pointing our accomplices out of a line-up, remember: no-one likes a grass!' He got it in the neck enough as was, so he sure as shit didn't need Monroe adding to his woes.

The drinks arrived sooner than expected.

Doffing his imaginary cap to Matvi, Faramund clapped tankards with Monroe. 'Cheers!' Tipping it back, Faramund sighed contentedly. 'Gods, doesn't that hit the spot.' Swivelling on his stool, the burly dawnling put his back to the bar, elbows up and resting.

Around them, the day's contestants and their myriad admirers chewed the fat. Some, more committed than others, were busy dancing the night away. Noting faces, Faramund caught a glimpse of Petra through the swirling crowd.

She looked like she was having a good time. Smiling, laughing, her arms were out and on full display as she wrestled with some bloke for all to see. The emerald scales covering her right arm up to the shoulder shimmered in the dancing loch- and flame light. And to think she used to be afraid of showing it off.

Catching her eye, Faramund gestured for her to "get on with it."

'Fancy trying your luck against her later?' Glancing at Monroe sidelong, he smiled, waved lazily across the room. 'Petra's managed to snare herself an unwitting victim. Arm-wrestling, see?' The dawnling grinned. 'Figure it's only right someone gives her a run for her money, sooner or later.'

Monroe Petra Darthinian

 

[Aarno]

All too pleased with how his night was developing, he spared merely a wider smile at Faramund and Monroe as they begun away, all compliments and blown kisses. To the latter, he gave a thriceover, knowing rise of the eyebrows and a broader grin.

Careful with that smooth bastard at your arm, Syr Cathmore. As for himself, he figured he ought to have been just as careful. considering the increasing rate at which he was being taken by the hand and pulled along. How he found it pleasant to be urged into a touch, despite the anxious lurch in the pit of his stomach. And for what – Don’t think about it overmuch, old man.

So think he wouldn’t, instead mustering some good old gall to address the poor man who’d tried to rival him and lost. A toss of the head, all posturing.

“ Sorry, buddy. Suppose the good Syr Lóthlindor prefers it slower for the rest of the eve. “ It was in a lamenting look and a shrug, the mock nature of both clear by his much too pleased of a smirk that remained through the gesture. Past Farren’s whispers and laughter, he found it too darn hard to have any actual sympathy for the defeated.

“ That’s twice now today you’ve led me away. “ He begun at her in turn, adjusting the hand that’d been settled at her waist, the fabric of her dress terribly smooth and warm for what lived and drew breath within it. Trying to gain some semblance of confidence, he gripped her a little more surely, steps coordinated to hers. A pattern he remembered from long ago, easy to fall into.

“ It’s quite charming, I’ll admit. You enjoy it, taking lead? “ He cocked his head to look at her, having avoided doing so for the valiant if meager total of the past two minutes. A daring, conspiratorial smirk came upon him as he continued in a whisper, closer.

“ Or would you rather I fought you more over it? “

Farren Lóthlindor

 

[Lorinna Astarel]

. "Woah, hey, you seem to be enjoying yourself," he smiled

"But of course!" Lori declared. Her words were slightly slurred.

"I have beer and...and I don't know if watching you win or watching how uncomfortable you are was the most fun."

"And, and, my shirt's still on," he looked to Lori. "Is it supposed to be on?"

"Who cares," she replied.

She leaned into Hector. Not because she was trying to be possessive, but because her steps were now just a little unsteady.

"To the bar!" she declared. "My champion needs to fetch us more ale!"

 

[Farren Lóthlindor]

Farren found she rather liked how sharp his teeth looked. Especially when they smiled at her with such dangerous whispers.

"And if I didn't know any better, I would wager that this isn't your first time following." Grinning, the Duskling continued to take them around the dance floor. Oblivious to the presence of other couples around them.

She was even lost for a beat where she saw nothing but the light of all the candles touching Aarno's hair like gilded moonlight. It reminded her of nights where she ran free, like a dark ghost under the eyes of the twin moons.

The buzzing that ignited beneath her skin when he tucked her closer egged her on.

"But if it pleases you, I'll even pretend to struggle a little." She quipped back with her own flash of teeth.

 

[Aarno]

Not his first time– No, it indeed was not. To reflect the fact, her grin was met in kind, an untethered glee crinkling the edges of his eyes. A fine sort of remark as for being more than true and for which she seemed not the least displeased. He could keep up a good habit.

“If it would please me. “ He repeated, tone dipping to the serious, considering sort as he tore his look away from her into an idle glance about, one that saw nothing.

“ Now perhaps it would. If my experience of playing passenger today proved anything, it was just how exquisite it is to be manhandled – lugged about, dragged along as it were. “ Despite all of Faramund’s trained strength, that was definitely what it had felt like, at the end of the day. Half of it must’ve been due to the attitude of the luggee.

“All that huffing and puffing. Makes a man rendered powerless feel less so, somehow. “ He continued, eyeing her more carefully, like he meant to size her up.

“ You’d do to that for me, Syr Lóthlindor? You, who is so formidable. “

Farren Lóthlindor

 

[Monroe]

It had been hard not to stop watching Faramund after their drinks arrived, they way his tongue caught some of his drink on his lip and the movement to lean back against the bar. She had hit that point in drinking that perhaps it was time to call it a night and ask her drinking companion whether or not if she would see him later at her door... but he began to ask her a question, she found herself blinking and averting her gaze as he continued speaking, clearing her throat before taking a sip of the beverage he had ordered for her.

Monroe liked taking bets, but only if she knew in her bones the favour would sway her way.

'Fancy trying your luck against her later?'

"Gods no." She snorted, shooting an incredulous look at Faramund.

'Figure it's only right someone gives her a run for her money, sooner or later.'

"Arm wrestling I would consider sober, funnily enough." She explained, but her wayward gaze settled on Petra. Monroe was quieter a moment much too long than she intended, and so had to tear her gaze from the demonstration of strength and tenacity that encompassed Petra. Shifting in her seat, she bumped her knees against Faramund's. "Besides, I have such a crush on that woman, if I am holding hands with her and feeling her muscles at work... no, oh gods, even seeing them..." Monroe silenced herself with another drink of her beer.

She had not been like this at the start of the day, but the wine Saskia had been pouring into her chalice all day had progressed Monroe into giggling and leaning onto Petra towards the end, cheeks flushed with drink and admiration for her fellow judge in the event.

"Do you ever get that feeling? You know, the one where you just want to stop what you are doing and hold that person's face and just pash them? I am definitely teetering close to that line, but I also know I should slow down and head back to bed and prepare for whatever ailment befalls me come dawn..."

Petra Darthinian Faramund

 

[Caelia]

"I need a drink for a lady, something with a kick, but sweet too. Maybe a little color in there?"

Caelia kept to the side as much as she could, so as to not be seen by a certain bartender that knew what drink she liked to order. Of course, she changed it every now and then, but over time, Syr Iramene began to learn her favourites. She certainly hoped he did not clue in that the drink Valenntyne was ordering was meant for her... but soon came to realise that she could lie through her teeth.

After all, she had been trained to be a liar and a poisoner before making her way here to the Valen Wilds.

"Ask for a little umbrella in my drink. I'm feeling festive."

Gunner Valenntyne

 

[Matvi Iramene]

Pouring the cups and tending to the guests was never a thoughtless act.

With Monroe around, however. Thoughts had a tendency to go out the window. Whether through smashed glass, broken doors, or passionate slams against the woodwork, only time could ever tell.

All Matvi knew was that the Dusker had a tendency to bring out the worst in him. His brow tense, his shoulders tight, and his easy smile all the sharper for it.

Still, he served the drinks. Ales, meads, and a special concoction for the paper knight. Tethi Rum with a bit of lime juice, and a fizzy drink that was the result of a bit of ginger fermentation. All in all, a spicy thing with a brightness to it that tickled the nose and prickled all the way down in that way of spicy delights.

A bit of fancy rune work carved into a granite box kept under the bar helped keep things... icy.

With a quick stir, he set the drink on its way. Staying out of the general chatter till most of the slam eased down.

A quick glance saw Ruthi still at work, mopping up the mess.

A nod.

"Barkeep!" Gunner flashed his brightest smile as he finally found the bar again, as though he hadn't already been there. "I need a drink for a lady, something with a kick, but sweet too. Maybe a little color in there?"

The order quirked the barkeep's brow. For a lady. With a kick and a bit of color. With a quick flick, his eyes scanned the Knoll beyond the bar.

His smile widened, and its edge softened some when he saw the familiar hint of auburn tresses, just poked out from behind the roguish man's brawn and beef.

"Certainly," he said with a cruel joy curling the smoke of his voice.

His hands moved quick. First a glass, kept with the ice, the clear crystal bell frosted over, steamed with the silent hiss of frosty mist before it twirled down onto the counter top. Next the shaker into witch he poured a large measure of clear spirit.

"Some Norden vodka," Then an amber colored glass, when uncorked, filled the area about them with the strong scent of orange oils and warm citrus. "A bit of Obanese orange liqueur," he added just before the stone jig tipped its contents neatly into the shaker. A shuffle of bits and bobs saw a fresh lemon half in his hand. "Fresh Valenntennian lemon juice," a firm squeeze saw the cloudy juice squirt and dripple full into the mix. "and last but not least," he took a small glass vial there before the kit. Uncorked it, and gently poured a sticky substance in, low to high, to stretch the viscous stream for show. "A touch of vanilla syrup," he corked the vial, and put it back.

He covered the shaker, and worked the cold tool hard and with precision, until the sides began to sweat. A sharp smack saw it pop open with a little o of a sound, and the froth of ice, sugar, and spirits within fizzed and whispered just before he poured the drink into the cold coupe.

A flick of the wrist ended the show, and he picked up the drink, and set if before the friendly face. "A lemon Valentinni," he took a little metal pick one of the squires had fashioned into a sword, skewered a sinfully red cherry, drenched in rouge syrup, straight through the plump. "With a Astenvale twist," he said as he let the sword down against the rim of the glass.

The tiniest bit of sweat dotted his brow, and his eyes were bright with a devilish excitement.

"For a lady," he said at last with a show of teeth.

 

[Faramund]

Faramund grinned knowingly. 'Quite the sight to behold, I do agree.' A man could die happy in those arms, the big dawnling thought, watching the show unfold. Apparently, Monroe was of a similar mind. Faramund couldn't decide whether that was a good or bad thing.

Sipping his beer contentedly, he turned his head towards her as she talked. Of pashing, and faces she would like to pash.

'I do.' Meeting her gaze, Faramund was surprised to find himself smiling. In truth, it made him happy to see Monroe happy. The drink helped, of course, but then it always did. Most of the time. Half the time. 'Not so sure about the slowing down thing, mind. The night is young, and going places.' He could feel it in his gut. The energy. The ebb and flow of the crowd as they made up for lost time.

'Sit a moment,' Faramund urged, throwing an arm around Monroe's shoulders. 'Take a load off. Who knows, I might just make it worth your while.'

Monroe (Petra Darthinian )

 

[Julian Benavide]

It was a bit of an obvious retort and Arbok did not have as ready a wit as Julian but that did not leave her without retorts of her own.
"Tchss"
Not exactly worthy of the Lord's prize but it did the job. Arbok did not think Julian was perfect and at the risk of being too direct made no bones about it.
"You know what IS perfect? This lemonade."
She raised her drink for emphasis.

Julian Benavide

Julian smiled at Arbok and Byanka. "Hear hear," he replied, raising his own glass of lemonade. Byanka raised hers as well and Julian would tap his glass to Arbok's and Byanka's.

While everyone else was getting drunk and toasting with booze, the three of them were toasting with perfect lemonade as if they were at some sort of tea party. Julian found rather amusing.

"Anyone need any more?" he asked, after finishing off his glass.

Arbok

 

[Byanka Valkas]

Byanka could not help but laugh into her lemonade when Julian claimed to be perfect. He certainly was on the outside, but Byanka knew better than most no one was ever as perfect on the inside as they were on the outside. Julian just did a lovely job of hiding it.

The lemonade was rather good, and Byanka was grateful no one was pressuring her to drink alcohol, when everyone else was. She clinked her glass with Arbok's and Julian's and felt as if she were in some strange tea party.

When Julian asked if they wanted any more lemonade, Byanka paused a moment. She didn't have a headache at the moment and so she thought coffee was rather unnecessary. So another lemonade couldn't hurt.

"I would," she replied, smiling at Julian.

Arbok

 

[Arbok]

"Me too."
Arbok said after downing her lemonade, not that she DIDN'T drink but being in her sleeping clothes made lemonade feel like the right drink.
As she watched Julian fetch more drinks she looked about and had not realized she was no longer fighting.
"How do I get one of those fancy looking shirts?"
She asked admiring some who already wore their "not himbo enough" prizes.

Byanka Valkas
Julian Benavide

 

[Byanka Valkas]

Byanka raised an eyebrow at Julian as he walked away, a rare look for her. "Julian has one that he seems to have forgotten he won because he still does not have a shirt on. So if you'd like one, I'm sure he'd give you his."

She paused, taking a moment to look around the Knoll. "Now I think about it, there are plenty of men who won who are not wearing their shirts. You could get one from them, maybe."

She was really smiling now. It had been a while since she had had a real girl friend (let alone any friends) and she found she was sliding into a comfortable rhythm with Arbok. She was glad for it.

Arbok

 

[Monroe]

There was something comforting about being in his embrace, but it was his words that made her grin widely, turn her face to look up at him and wait for Faramund to finish speaking.

'... I might just make it worth your while.'

"And that is why you fell so low on the leader board today, Fara? Saved all that charm for later when you cozied up to whomever?" For her, but Monroe still believed all of this was some sort of... well, they never really had chance to work out that. Even if their eyes found each other between competitor and judge, Monroe was still ignorant and blind.

But he would be assured in the way she leaned from her chair and allowed him to take her weight as she leaned into his side, her head resting at his shoulder and her eyes closing. "Alright. If we want the party version of me to last all night, I best switch back to wine after this beer." Cradled in both hands, balancing on her knee. She knew the trick to this game was to sip it slowly, allow herself to slow and catch up in the time between before moving onto her favoured drink, wine.

"Does Petra like wine?" She asked loudly. "I think I should take her some wine after." After all, winners deserved a drink. Even the runners up, the judges, but most certainly, her friend and one of her saving graces for helping organise and run this day. The drink had made her tongue loose, her desires spoken, and her grumpiness and impatience left behind after the second bottle of wine she started as the first event started.

But everyone knew and saw witness of this side of Syr Cathmore in these very walls.

Faramund Petra Darthinian

 

[Hector]

"I have beer and...and I don't know if watching you win or watching how uncomfortable you are was the most fun."

His smile widened the more, as did the warm tingle and ache about the round of his lips.

"Who cares," she replied.

He laughed, and took on her weight easy. "Feel a heap more comfortable with you here," he confessed, felt her sure arms wrap about him, as his eased about her. Long and strong across landscapes that felt more home to him than any brick house he had ever laid his head in.

Yet as his eyes wandered across gleaming slopes, and inviting swells, she bade for a drink.

Hector grinned, impish and bright. "As my lady commands," he played along, and pulled Lori toward the bar and through the crowd.

They thumped against the black oak countertop. "Syr Mund!" he half laughed. "Syr Cathmore!" he mocked a bow through breaths. "Enjoying the festivities?"

Faramund Monroe