Dreadlords Dance for all that we've been through

[Houri]

The halls of the Academy had been full of the sounds of students celebrating; exams were over.

Before the revolution the written exams had barely mattered. All that anyone had thought about was the Tower and the final test that would determine whether or not an initiate was worthy of the title Dreadlord. After last year's graduation saw half the class vanish into exile, the Proctors had been more careful planning this years finals. There would still be a physically demanding test that pushed them all to their limits and tested their abilities, but it would be done closer to home and under much stricter controls. But that was still months away.

Tonight, however, was a slice of freedom.

A night to dress up, dance, and be... what was the word Proctor Petros had used? Ah, yes. Be children. Or young adults, as Jiya had corrected when she had brought over her dress.

You definitely look like a young lady, Mithrine said proudly and Houri self consciously brushed her hands down the front of her dress. She'd simply told Jiya she needed one for the dance and her sister had obliged. The Sisters only knew what her mother would have picked out, but Jiya was far more understated preferring practicality to lace and frills, for which Houri was glad. A deep emerald green in colour the dress was a simple corseted ballgown with a sweetheart neckline and short sleeves that framed her upper arms. Gold detailing in swirling patterns that reminded Houri of a rainforest decorated the bodice and were echoed on the trim of the skirt. Jiya had also shown her the interesting feature of how to remove the skirt quickly if needed; Jiya didn't seem wholly convinced the Academy had been purged of its taint and she and Maz wouldn't end up in a similar death match to the year above.

Her hair had grown significantly since her time in the Asylum so she left it loose in it's natural waves and ringlets pinned back only with a single flowery clip on one side.

As she entered the large hall which was only usually reserved for important occasions, she paused to stare at what the 'dance committee' had done to the place. Streamers were elegantly draped about columns and pretty flower arrangements stood on pedestals. Her favourite, however, was the thousands of floating candles above their heads which made it look as though the stars themselves were inside.

"Wow," she whispered beneath her breath.

 

[Livia Quinnick]

It had taken her days leading up to this night debating if she should attend or not, having every excuse to go have fun but the doubt in her mind was constantly nagging at her not to go. If her mother had dressed her, Livia would be in light blue satin, and her hair styled and tucked so that none of the colourless ends could be seen. She would look presentable.

But Livia Quinnick caught sight of her reflection in a window on her way to the hall. Her mother would hate this dress. The bodice was slimming to her figure, the cap sleeves offering her arm movement than whatever long sleeved design her mother would have stuck her with. The skirt fell to mid calf to show the velvet shoes that also tied above her ankles. Livia felt herself, excited that she picked out something she did not thing would be to her liking, but the mix of silvers, golds, and white embroidery were exquisite details that she could not overlook. The most important note in her whole appearance was that the ends of her hair simply blended in with the dress, no need to pin them away and remain hidden.

This glimpse of herself gave her the motivation to carry on into the hall, peering around with a small smile at the festivities already in motion. Her eyes scanned the crowd, and soon enough that smile faltered. She didn't know anyone there.

Well, that was her fault. Livia was not known for being sociable outside of classes and training. This was her first dance here, the first time she convinced herself that she would not ruin it with her corrupted power. Perhaps she should return later, when the night is already underway.

She was thankful no one had spied her or called her over, giving her the chance to turn around and quietly slip out the doors. Maybe this was a mistake... maybe she should go back to her room and or take advantage of having most of the Academy to herself with the numbers most likely attending the dance tonight.

Livia was chewing her lip, lost in thought and unaware of her whereabouts until she walked straight into someone. An apology was at the ready, until her eyes looked up into the face of the last person she wanted to see this night in particular.

"Thought you would be inside already, Leander."

 

[Leander Urahil]

Leander hadn’t wanted to come to a dance after the written exams. He had missed the first two days of the written exams by being on a mission that had taken much longer than it should have. Which meant he hadn’t had much preparation in studying. He had found himself feeling overwhelmed with not only studying for the exams scheduled but having to catch up and study for the exams he had missed.

He wasn’t sure how he had actually done. But the pit in his stomach was all the reassurance he needed: Leander Urahil had done poorly on the exams. He was certain of it. He’d have to take remedial lessons at this rate, especially with graduation being much different.

Why couldn’t he have graduated last year? Why did Felix insist for him to be held back? If it had been last year, if the rebels had take him to the Blackwood….

Once the scores came out, he was certain he’d be getting a visit from his eldest brother. Felix had alluded needing to speak to him on a important matter soon enough, which already stressed Leander out. Speak about what? About Odessa or Oraya? Speak about his performance or father’s plans? Or was it to remind Leander that all of this and all his time here was for one thing: being a bodyguard and forgoing his dreams to please the family?

“Ouch.” Leander looked down at Willow, a girl who matched her name by being tall and svelte, with sharp cheekbones and straight nose that made her above average. The limp black hair that couldn’t hold a curl or too-white skin didn’t suit the color of the dress she wore, making her look washed out, but Leander was hardly picky when it came girls who would listen to his every word.

Not like he hadn’t fucked down before.

“You’re squeezing my arm really tight.” She said, scowling at his large hand gripping her bicep clothed in pastel yellow chiffon. Yellow really wasn’t Willow’s color. He’d tell Odessa about the egregious tastes of the commoners later.

“Sorry about that.”

“So let go of me then.”

“What?”

“Then let go. You’re still hurting me.”

“Oh.” He let go of her. Willow was glowering at him, huffing and crossing her arms over her chest. Leander looked over at her, grimacing. Maybe he just hated yellow?

“You’re not going to apologize?”

“I already did.”

“You’re not going to ask me if I’m okay?”

“Why would I? You’re still standing, aren’t you?” Willow huffed, turning her nose up at him. “If I wanted to hurt you, I would’ve. Not like you can stop me.” She went to slap him and he grabbed her wrist. “See? Can’t stop me.”

“URAHIL! BRADIO! Hands off each other!” A proctor warned them both. Leander didn’t bother looking at him, letting go of Willow’s wrist.

“You’re a total ass, Leander. Don’t talk to me until you can apologize like a real man.” She stormed off, clearly wanting Leander to follow after her. As if the glance over her shoulder wasn’t obvious enough. Shoving his hands in his navy suit pockets, Leander turned, heading back to the door. He was leaving. Screw this dance and screw the Academy for screwing him over with those written tests.

In his silent seething, Leander made sure to knock his shoulders into the weaker initiates who were too stupid to get in his way. Almost at the door, Leander was about to get the relief he so desired when he felt some idiot thump right into him. He paused, exhaling a long heated breath through his nostrils and turned to look at the face of Livia Quinnick.

“Some of us like to follow through on the duties of nobility.” His pale gold eyes went from her face to her dress. “Or wearing our House colors. You could look worse, though. At least you’re not wearing yellow.”

Livia Quinnick

 

[Zaire]

He looked at his red eye. He looked over the pale scar that stood out on his deep skin. Slowly, or maybe fastly (fastly? was that a word? Did he say it out loud?), he raised a hand to brush his calloused fingers over the shaved side of his head.

Zaire wouldn’t want to admit it, but when he had found out about the dance after the written exams, he had finally written home, apologizing to his mother and asking her for help. She had prepared for him a suit that suited the agricultural Glaive name. The pants, waistcoat, and jacket were olive green, just like the olives harvested from the groves back home.

Espresso colored tie and shoes (his mother had been kind enough to comply with his request to have the dress shoes have a inch-thick sole to add to his abysmal height) complimented his complexion. The white button up, freshly starched and iron was uncomfortable, but as Zaire stared at himself in the mirror, he wasn’t sure he saw himself but some other young man completely. His mother would have gotten teary-eyed if she saw him.

The initiate looked over to the empty side belonging to his twin.

He’d be attending this dance without his brother at his side. Dakarai would look better in this suit than he would.

“Just one more,” Zaire said, ignoring the fact that the whites of his eyes were totally red. “One more and that’s it for tonight.” He went to his bed, lifting up his mattress to gather his stash.

---

It hadn’t been one more. It had been three more. Yet somehow, Zaire realized that as he stepped inside the decorated room, he seemed on time. At least, on time enough. Others were in here.

“Initiate Glaive.” Zaire looked over, seeing Proctor Palahniuk and was too slow to run and hide. The proctor’s hand was on his shoulder, keeping him righted. “What’s wrong with your eyes?”

“What?”

“What’s wrong with your eyes?” Zaire looked at the proctor, dark brows furrowed together as he tried to piece together what exactly the proctor was saying. His eyes? What was wrong with his eyes? Was he talking about one being red and the other brown? Or maybe… oh, shit. He’d forgotten to use eye drops, didn’t he?

“Oh, it’s allergies.”

“You’re allergic to what exactly?”

“To cats. All those stray cats around here, yanno, because Kalix kept feeding them and Chasmine was always talking about Dandy. I stopped and petted one of them and must’ve rubbed my eyes. Is it that bad?” Zaire lied easily, and went to rubbing his brown eye and sniffing.

“It’s bad.” Proctor Palahniuk said and then shrugged. “Wait here, I’ll go and get you some eye drops.” Zaire nodded his head, waiting a few seconds as Proctor Palahniuk stalked off. He sighed in relief. Thank Kress it was Proctor Palahniuk and not Proctor D’Amour. Despite having agreed to wait for the proctor to return, Zaire was quick to scuttle away, lowering his head and keeping his gaze on the ground before him, not realizing until it was too late that he had slammed himself into a sweet smelling sea of emerald.

“Shit. Sorry. I wasn’t paying attention…” he looked up, seeing Houri. The flower hair clips sparkled. Zaire couldn’t stop looking at them. “Those are cool.”

Houri

 

[Everleigh Ebersol]

“Watch over this punch bowl.”

“Repeat that one more time.”

“Did I stuttered Ebersol? You’re going to stand here and when the initiates come over, you’ll pour them a glass of punch. Don’t let anyone try to put alcohol in here. Or drugs. Or whatever it is the kids are doing nowadays.”

Violet brows furrowed together.

“You know I could spit alcohol into here, right? Way worse than anything the initiates could get their hands on.”

Proctor Palahniuk had laughed. “If you want to lose your position here then by all means, please do. Marianne Goetsch is on maternity. You don’t have a single person on your side right now.” He leaned forward, looking down his nose at her. “Everyone here is against you. If I were you, Ebersol, I’d be very, very concerned.”

“You’re looking down my shirt.” Everleigh said. Proctor Palahniuk took a step back as his face contorted from mild annoyance to being confused before settling on utter disdain.

“Do you not have any modicum of decency?” He hissed before he turned away. “As if I’d look at you. As if anyone is looking at you. But if you feel so assaulted then button it up all the way up to the collar.” Proctor Palahniuk began to walk away, grumbling and shaking his head.

And that was how Everleigh ended up on Punch Bowl Duty with a fully buttoned up shirt and serving the initiates juice.

 

[Trix]

"Tsk tsk tsk tsk tsk."

A pair of heels clipped across the still vacant dancefloor towards the punchbowl.

Beatrix Umbra didn't agree with the Guards stupid decree all serving men and women should spend five days of the year helping at the Academy. They claimed it was to create a greater sense of unity between Dreadlords and the Guard so that those still in the fucked up system would find it an easier transition to the army. In her opinion the 'we're one big happy family' mantra was a load of fucking propaganda bullshit. Still, it was a requirement and so Trix had tried to find events which would involve minimal effort or actual interaction with the little shits. Prom seemed like the perfect solution. What with all this love and hugging nonsense going on the darlings would probably be so busy trying not to sweat from the nerves of asking a crush to dance they'd be incapable of causing any other drama.

Then she'd seen the list of others also helping out and the night had gotten sweeter.

"Now who did you piss off to get this delightful job?" Trix all but purred as she leaned against the table, eyes bright with amusement as she watched Evie ladle out another cup to kid with far too many pimples to even hope to be offered a dance.

 

[Oryyn Black]

Rowley stepped through the door into the hallway with a large grin on his face as he took in the scenery. The past months had been super hectic, a combination of written exams and a quick mission into the Falwood. As much as beating elves at their own game did bring some joy to his life, it would be nice to relax a little.

The one area Ro was lacking was in the clothing department, he did not have the fancy connections the others had. Calling a few favors, he had managed to get a nice pair of forest green slacks, and a simple white button-up shirt, all held up by black suspenders. The only thing that stood out was Ro was wearing several pieces of jewelry, all made from wood.

As he stepped inside, most people just moved around him, given his large stature. He winked at a few of the girls that walked by him, most simply rolling their eyes at him. Ro had a reputation as a playboy, and if you got burned by him then you only had to blame yourself.

He looked over and spotted two people he knew, overhearing a small bit of their conversation, and could not help but but in for the joke.

"Oh c'mon, Urahil. Just because yellow doesn't work for your pasty ass doesn't mean it is not a good color."

 

[Livia Quinnick]

With a scowl, an expression she often wore in the presence of Leander, she smoothed her hands over the embroidered skirt of her dress. Amusement came to life in her olive eyes as Rowley piped in. "The Quinnick name isn't as important as others and I really did not want to wear Quinnick cornflower blue ever again." Well... if she can help it. She was here at the Academy for herself and not to do the Quinnick name proudly. "Although the jury is still out if I do want to bother attending the dance now that I see who is currently in attendance." Livia quirked a brow up at Leander before saving a knowing smile to Stone. She better not stand out here all night in the company of these two giants, else she would have to nurse a stiff neck having to stare up at these oak trees.

After a quick scan of the hall, she could see the various Proctors chaperoning and unfamiliar faces also patrolling the crowds, ensuring everyone was having a safe and appropriate night. Spying a certain Proctor manning the punch bowl, Livia looped her arms around each of Leander's and Rowley's and tugged them along back inside the hall. "Right. I need to show that I am present, made some friends, and drink some punch before I sneak out of here, so smile and wave boys." Livia put on a charming smile, keeping it shy for appearances as her hand waved from it's spot on Leander's side. Something in her did not want to disappoint the Proctor that encouraged her to have fun tonight.

 

[Silas Artesto]

The last time he'd gotten an invite to some silly Proctor-led event, it had led to some good food and a couple new connections. Maz and Houri weren't people that Silas worked with incredibly often, but he found them reliable friends, ones who were usually there when he did end up needing their support.

It had also led to his interest in a certain Dragon-Girl that hadn't been seen in months, a loss that he'd had a part in, and that still caused him pain despite himself. It had been a stupid idea, plotting to run away just to help some strange girl. He was a soldier, an Initiate, not some lovestruck kid seeking affection and approval.

Even so, the more he asked around, the more it seemed that the lion's share of his peers would be at least checking things out. While Silas would never admit it, inside all that bravado about being a fighter was a teenager who was seriously lacking in his social life, the only casual conversation he usually had coming from Vicky Von Fleet, which raised even more concerns.

So, begrudgingly, Silas had donned some finer wear. A pristine black button up underneath a dark emerald vest laden with serpent like patterns, along with dark green pants to match, a lone chain hanging from his left pocket, attached to a heirloom within.

It was his father's suit, something he'd worn in his own youth. As Artesto stood before a mirror, there was actually no shortage of emotion welling up within him. For the first time, the clothes fit him.

Would his father be proud of him, he wondered? He spoke to him often in the privacy of his room, though he knew it was heard by none. There was some level of comfort in confiding in the person he idolized most. "I'm sorry, I won't let myself get sidetracked again, father."

---

The hard white tips of his otherwise coal black shoes tapped against the floor of the hallway as he lagged behind what appeared to be Livia Quinnick and... two men? Leander and Stone... Well, Silas supposed he could see Stone appealing to the ladies, but Urahil? He didn't think Livia the type...

"Livia, you look nice. Good to see you out and about."

Always the faster one, Silas stepped to the side of the trio walked in time with them, offering a hint of a smirk with his greeting as he matched their pace. "Rowley, if you'd needed some decent dress clothes, you could have asked. Not that you tend to need it much, admittedly." He jokes, nodding to the other boy.

Silas paused for a moment to admire the adornments spread about the Hall. In typical Academy fashion, they'd spared no expense once they'd decided this was a good idea. "Gods... How much did they spend on all this? Better question, why? Have you three ever heard what happened last time they tried this?"

Zaire and Houri were already here, and a few Dreadlord chaperones to boot. It didn't seem as though the dance had been as popular a destination as he'd been informed. Least, not yet.

"Hope more people show, or they're going to expect one of us to dance with Urahil."

 

[Caeso Diemut]

Caeso Diemut arrived into the Hall with his arm linked to Alice Crentor—the last of her line, the Forlorn Lady.

This had been at the insistence of his father Sabian Diemut, but Caeso truly did not need any convincing on his father's part. Sabian Diemut had nevertheless written him a long letter before the Dance detailing everything in this effort: that this was a good match, Alice being a year younger than Caeso and, as a matter of fact, the two of them sharing the same birthday; that the House of Crentor, though having been befallen of terrible hardship for the past several years from the affair with the murderous Alyssia Crentor (something Garron Banick had a hand in, but that is a story already told) to the horrific losses suffered during the Revolution to the illness which swept through the family and left but young Alice standing, yes, all of this woe, that the House of Crentor and Lady Alice who now owned it all still had assets of not insignificant consideration; and finally that if by chance Alice Crentor somehow displeased him, he could simply bid her farewell—this was not an arranged marriage.

So far, Caeso was far from displeased.

He had waited patiently outside the Academy's gates for her carriage to arrive. And when it did, when the driver opened the door for her, when Caeso laid his eyes on her, he found his surprise to be pleasantly boundless. Alice Crentor was of a very slight stature, scarcely five feet in height, and the hand he took in his own to help her down from the carriage was strikingly, beautifully tiny. So used was he to the soldiery about the Academy, to the peaks of both male and female musculature and physique always so readily on display, that he was taken aback. Her grip was gentle and graceful, and her hand, he knew, beneath that glove she wore would be soft as silk, unbroken by the rigors of battle and grueling work.

The hand he held was the hand of a Lady. Father was right.

"My Lady Crentor," he said with a smile.

"My Lord Diemut," she said, a natural timidity in her voice. This disposition was further amplified by her eyes shyly downcast, her effort to smile meek but earnest.

He kissed the back of her hand and then offered his arm. Together they walked across the Academy grounds and toward the Hall, each in their lavish noble finery. Mild pleasantries were exchanged on the walk, light conversation; they'd time not for anything substantial yet, but Caeso found himself charmed by Alice's demure nature. Kress, the impression came upon him that she was a thing most fragile! That he had to be as careful, as gentle, as could be, that his own natural strength, not even Enhanced through his magic, might bring her harm if he wasn't thoughtful. All this endeared him further to her, and this was before they'd even stepped through the doors.

But through those doors they stepped, arms linked, and here they were. In years past Caeso would have scorned a Dance like this in the Academy; now, he couldn't hold anticipation any more pronounced.

By the doors stood a number of other recent arrivals, Leander Urahil and Silas Artesto among them. Many of their number were taken by the grand sight of all the decorations, the stark transformation of the Hall for this event. Caeso guided Alice past his fellow Initiates, leaving them to their already well-engaged conversations.

"Has the journey left you parched?" Caeso asked of Alice.

"A refreshment would be nice," she said, her small voice slightly more enlivened by the stunning views of the Hall and of the fine attire worn all round.

"Splendid, we—"

Caeso got a look then of just who was standing close to the punch bowl. He immediately thought better of it, thinking the punch was surely tainted.

"Might I suggest..." he looked around, quickly, for an alternative, and found one, "...some of the wines yonder?"

 

[Houri]

Houri smothered the flash of irritation when somebody walked into her; she had been standing practically in the middle of the entranceway. An entranceway that was beginning to get quite crowded. Her eyes flickered down towards who had bumped into her ready to apologise for taking up space when she spotted two familiar eyes. Or at least, kind of familiar. It was hard to see the beauty of his mismatched eyes when they were so swollen. Taking him by the arm she tugged him out of the way clearing the entranceway once more.

"What's wrong with your eyes?" she asked with concern, her gaze flickering between his as if she could somehow see it written in his eyes. If she had been a bit more wise to the world then Houri might have been able to do just that but as it was she only frowned deeper.

Those are cool.

Houri's hand leapt immediately to her hair and as her fingers brushed the series of flowery clips she realised what he was referring to. Without thinking she took one from her unruly curls and slotted it neatly through Zaire's with a bright smile.

"Now you look cool too," she proclaimed and then caught sight of Silas as he wandered past, waving him over. "Silas! Look at his eyes," she demanded. "Do you think we should take him to the medic bay?"

Zaire Silas ​

 

[Lumen]

It was beautiful. It reminded her of Friendsgiving.

How could she feel so different between then and now?

So many different missions. Trials and errors. Mistakes and losses. Tawny-eyes swept around the room. A moment on Everleigh Ebersol. Weight shifted as she took a step toward the young proctor who seemed to be getting berated, almost bullied, by Proctor P...but then she paused as Trix joined her.

A not-quite lingering gaze on Caeso with who he truly belonged with, a noblewoman perhaps? She wasn't sure if it was a pang of sadness or something else.

Now Zaire and Houri. The pair of them together gave her no mixed feelings. It just felt...right. Though knowing Zaire, he was probably higher than a Noon-day festival kite.

Lumen wasn't too familiar with Livia Quinnick and Silas Artesto looked different. Perhaps as different as Lumen felt.

Barely a glance at Leander Urahil with her eyes landing mostly on Rowley Stone. Sure, he had a reputation. But at least he stood up to Leander.

Tilting her gaze upward as the floating candles, she wondered if this would be the sky at camp later tonight. She couldn't stay. She was leaving for a mission within the hour. But she had to stop in to see some of her classmates. Some her friends. Seeing their faces one last time was important because she didn't know if she'd come back from this one.

With one more breath and one last look, she left the hall.

 

[Zinnia]

Lumen had been so kind. Zinnia had been torn; on one hand, the dance represented possibly her greatest challenge: a large-scale, formal, social situation...possibly her second worst nightmare. On the other, she did want to go, to make her presence known. This was also an opportunity for her to try and come out of her proverbial shell, after all.

She hadn't expected anyone to ask her to the event, of course. Most people barely knew who she was, and the ones that did knew that she lived up to her nickname as the eternal 'wallflower.' A few weeks ago Zinnia might've held hope that one individual in particular might stoop to ask her, but...well, that was a fanciful dream.

It had been Lumen, the friend that Zinnia was still in disbelief that she'd made given their difference in social status, that had pushed the gold-eyed girl to attend. When Zinnia had attested that she didn't know the first thing about what to wear or how to do her hair, Lumen had been the one to help Zinnia find a dress. She'd tried to do her hair as well, but the wallflower insisted she just show her how on a wig mannequin instead. The brunette did her own hair, a surprisingly elegant updo that she'd pinned in place with a gold accessory that resembled laurels.

Zinnia walked into the hall in her new dress, arms folded neatly in front of her, and breathed deeply. In, then out. She could do this. She could do this. Tonight was going to be fun and great and totally not a disaster at all. Her golden eyes scanned the room for familiar faces. Ah! Silas, Houri, and Zaire had already formed a little group. The visual sweep continued on until she spotted...ah, of course.

Caeso. With someone on his arm. Of course...

Even in spite of how things had gone at Cerak At'Thul, Zinnia felt her heart sink a meter. Why some part of her expected any different, she didn't know, but she was here to have fun. She shook herself, forced a smile, and moved to the group she believed she could get along best with.

"S-Silas! Houri! Zaire!"

And into the fray she leapt.

 

[Evangeline]

Once more, Proctor D'Amour found herself attending a dance that had been organized for the young students of the Academy. Truthfully it was miraculous that the powers that be allowed such a thing to occur after the disaster that was the previous one, but just as before, Evangeline had advocated for the dance with gusto. This time she would not be watching idly from the stage as she played her violin, but would instead be a direct overseer for the night's events. It was just about the only way she could ensure a unanimous approval for the decision.

She was not in standard proctor attire nor any sort of ball gown for the evening, but her old Pirian ceremonial dress uniform. Nostalgia and pride pooled in her chest even as she'd put it on earlier in the day.

Looking out over the early set-up of the evening's festivities filled her with an eerie deja vu. Eyeing the punch bowl, she'd hoped that sense would not escalate to the levels of the ball from two or three years prior. What caught her eye and ear at present, however, was the apparent lambasting her fellow proctor had laid into Miss Ebersol. As Palahniuk stepped away from the punch table she'd caught his arm.

"Proctor, you and I will speak later about your conduct towards students, former and otherwise."

Her tone was soft, but firm, and while the former Second Level wore a genial smile, her cold gaze expressed the malice behind the guise quite aptly. With nothing else to say to the man, Evangeline lowered her hand and brushed past him.

Some time later and after a few observatory rounds, Proctor D'Amour joined Everleigh and Trix at the punch table.

"Now, now, Miss Umbra. This might not be the most illustrious task on Arethil, but it is quite integral to the evening's proceedings," Evangeline interjected, sweeping up from behind. Her expression quickly curled into a jovial one. "After all, Initiate Glaive was allowed to attend tonight and Kress knows what might happen if this bowl is left unattended."

 

[Everleigh Ebersol]

“You should be asking who I haven’t pissed off,” Everleigh said plainly, keeping her face and tone neutral. She hadn’t expected to see Bellatrix Umbra here, the one graduate of that false graduation who seemed to have ended up in a place and situation much better than everyone else.

It made her feel foolish. It made her think of Liliana. Would Trix know about Liliana and how she was doing? Not like she could ask her.

“So is this stuff… you know?” The teen asked her.

“Put the good stuff in it?” His eyes lit up. Everleigh sighed. “Is that why everyone keeps lining up over here? Just go get some wine. You don’t eat and it’ll hit you twice as hard.” Everleigh said with exasperation, and thankfully just before Proctor D’Amour arrived.

Violet eyes skittered over the hall, more and more of the initiates seeming to arrive.

“I dunno, I missed the Winter Solstice dance.” Everleigh said, seeing the line of hopeful initiates disperse and begin to head over to where wine was being served. It was then that she caught sight of the cowardly giant and… a child? She looked back at Trix and the Second level dreadlord in front of her. “But I heard it was a shit show.” And she doubted her on punch duty would prevent a disaster like that.

Trix Evangeline

 

[Zaire]

Was it really that obvious? Zaire suddenly couldn’t look at Houri, staring straight down at his dark shoes and blinking profusely. Or was the trick to hold them wide open? What would make them less puffy and red and like he was about to fall asleep?

He felt Houri place the clip in his dense, springy hair. Had he asked for a clip in his hair? Was he really that stupid to do something like that? He lifted his head, ready to say something, but Houri was already calling for Silas. And then Zinnia showed up.

Zaire squinted at the two newcomers, hoping that by clearing his throat, they would understand he wanted some time alone with Houri. Unfortunately, all Zaire did was cough as if he had just smoked a bunch of cigars. Which, surprising to most, he’d never do. That sort of stuff killed you!

“H-hey Zinnnie. Silas.” Zaire lifted his head and smiled so wide that he couldn’t see a thing. His eyes were closed. “Can you tell Houri I’m like… super allergic to cats?”

Silas Zinnia Houri

 

[Leander Urahil]

“I look good in yellow.” Leander objected towards Rowley. “You may have forgotten, but the Urahil crest is blue and yellow. I happen to look good in both.” Well, depending on which sort of yellow it was. The pastel yellow always made Leander feel like a duckling. Maybe that was why he had hated it on Willow so much? No, no, no, it was because she genuinely looked horrible in it and was ruining his reputation by thinking such a awful thing looked good on her.

“I do look better in nothing at all, though.” Livia began leading them away and Leander just so happened to hear Silas’ slight towards his sister! Like the mammoth of muscle that he was, Leander was able to stand in place easily as he turned his head to glare at Silas. “If you insult my sister again just wait for our next mission together. She doesn’t have two left feet like most of the girls here and,” he pointed a finger right at the space between Silas’ eyes. “If you somehow win the opportunity to dance with her, if you step on a single toe, I promise you your speed will do little to evade my rage.”

With all the insulting out of the way, Leander let Livia began leading the two male initiates away. He was fuming regardless.

“Since when does everyone think they can insult a Great House?” He mumbled mostly to himself.

Livia Quinnick Rowley Stone

 

[Caeso Diemut]

Caeso guided Alice toward the wine table, and along the way they spoke.

"I would not have imagined such grandeur," Alice said, the awe in her voice still apparent.

"Nor would I." Again, he was of dual minds for the transformed look of the Hall, but for tonight he settled comfortably on the more charitable opinion. "It is not the Academy's place to foster civility—nor should it be. What we see here tonight is but a small break from the standard."

What happiness there was in the Forlorn Lady's expression began to fade away. Her eyes became sullen and frightened as memories of the Revolution intruded. Quietly, as if to utter these words would be to summon again the tormentors from her past, she said, "I thought...Dreadlords...were merely monsters."

Pause was given to Caeso, for the truth of it was plain. There were among their number what Alice called monsters, what Caeso would call defective weapons. He didn't want to lie to her, but he also did not want to unduly cause her more anxiety.

Alice, catching on quickly to Caeso's pause, said with something like alarm, "O-oh, I am so sorry! I beg your pardon, I beg your pardon, I did not mean to insinuate—"

"No, Alice, you have not caused me any offense. It is not the Academy's place to foster civility, but it is mine to ensure civility's cultivation within myself, and therefore I have. Others of my Initiate compatriots may allow themselves to be wretched, broken and misshapen, but not I."

They arrived by the wine table, and it was here that their arms unlinked and Caeso turned to face Alice.

"But your impression is not unwarranted. House Crentor suffered greatly during the Rebellion."

Alice held her hands in a tight, nervous bundle in front of herself, head slightly dipped and eyes downcast. She was trying to maintain good composure and only just succeeding. Caeso could see in her shoulders a slight tremble, and if he could have traded all the might of his Force magic for just a simple spell to quell her fears then in that moment he would have done so.

"May I...may I speak candidly?" she asked.

"Of course."

She looked up at him apologetically. It took her a while to confess. "I was so very afraid of agreeing to this...I was so very afraid of you, because you are a Dreadlord." She did not know the difference between Initiates and Dreadlords, but correcting her was not important to Caeso—assuaging her troubles was all that concerned him. He listened.

Her face paled to a degree as she recalled that day, the day the Revolution began, and she seemed to look through Caeso and directly into the past. "They were killing everyone...one by one...my mother told me to hide under the bed...I did...she hid by the door with a fire stoker in her hands...then they came in and they just...my mother...they killed her with their magic...they had killed everyone in the Estate...and then they found me...they dragged me out from under the bed...one of them suggested im...im...impaling me on the gates, and the rest agreed, saying that this is what a noble b—— deserved...they dragged me by my foot...across the hall...down the stairs...outside...they lifted me up...pressed my back to the spike atop one of the gate bars...held me by my arms, my legs, and prepared to...to..."

Tears had gathered all about her eyes, and finally she seemed able to focus on Caeso again. "Then someone came...I do not know who...but it was commanded that they let me down and let me go...and this is the only reason I am alive today."

Caeso said nothing at first. Propriety advised against such forwardness in doing what he was about to do only so soon after knowing her, but to hell propriety could go in this case; Caeso simply took Alice into his embrace and gently held her there. In time she came to return his embrace. In time her trembling ceased entirely, and in his arms she was made calm.

"Here," he said, "you are safe. I shall see to it."

 

[Oryyn Black]

Ro just laughed at Leander's explanation, completely expected from his confident friend. He allowed himself to be guided along by Livia, but was quick to urge the Urahil not to start any fights.

"C'mon now Leander. If your beautiful sister chooses to dance with anyone then it will certainly be me. Besides, he meant nothing by it. Let's enjoy the night."

As he was pulled away further, he shot back a winning smile at Silas before calling back.

"I like to keep it simple. That way I know the ladies are admiring me before the clothes."

To emphasize, Rowley reached down and unbuttoned another button to the shirt exposing more of his muscular chest to the world, and then shot Silas a wink before turning back to Liv.

"The best way to make sure the Proctor's notice you is to just have some fun, so who is dancing with me first?"

He asked his two companions but spoke the question loud enough for those in the nearby vicinity to also be able to hear his offer.

Livia Quinnick Leander Urahil Silas Artesto

 

[Livia Quinnick]

What pleasure she had in stepping onto Leander Urahil's shoe as he held his ground and pulled Livia and Rowley back, the small winning smile on her lips not even faltering at it was made clear she would have to do more than just talking and drinking tonight. She was the kind to keep to herself, to not go out of her way to make friends, and so Quinnick had a lot of catching up to do. It was defintely not part of her evening plans to dance, but perhaps it was a good idea to make the time go by and witness anything else amusing that may appear.

Livia was certainly seeing the appeal to the dance now.

"If I am to be seen with either of you, it is best you keep your clothes on." She gave each of them a pointed stare, and the slight quirk of her brows only deepened the severity of her words. There was to be no funny business for her tonight. Just a couple of hours of fun before she can safely return to her bed and take the rest of the night and day to recuperate from the socialising she will no doubt endure.

At the invitation to dance, she scrunched her nose delicately and threw a doubtful look at Leander as she unwound her arms from each of theirs. "Well I am not dancing with this idiot. Just look at us!" A finger pointed at herself then her thumb jerked to the male beside her, standing much taller than the rest of those in attendance. The top of her head just made it to the shoulders belonging to Leander. "If you cannot find a dance partner, then I guess I will make space on my dance card for you, Stone." At least she could see over his shoulder...

Leander Urahil Rowley Stone

 

[Salak]

He was going to be late but he refused to care.
Punctuality was for meetings, appointments and assassinations. Tonight was none of these things.
His assignment had been simple enough.
"Just be seen and keep an eye out for trouble."
He felt like a buffoon. A shaved beast forced into a cage all too small for his size.
It was not that his dress did not fit with its sharp shoulders tucked waist and moonlight grey that matched his hair. It was that when you wore loose fitting robes for years then anything resembling a "fit" felt like a noose.
The one saving grace was the actual dress which allowed him plenty of room for his bad leg to move. He fingered the high collar again and tried in vain to get comfortable.
Without a hood he felt oddly naked. His face was never much to write home about but he felt exposed now and the pock marked scars on his right side looked uncouth against the well tailored gown he found himself in.
He decided to commit to his look and fastened his hair back with black hairpins then picked up the silver half-mask that he had prepared and put it on.
He felt like a damned clown as he looked at his eyes through the mirror.
The night was not going to get any shorter by him waiting and duty was duty whether he liked it or not.
He did not entertain the idea of having "fun" tonight as his cane beat his approach into the stones.
*clack, clack, clack.*
In front of him two Initiates, drunk on each others company stumbled out of a closet into the corridor in front of him and did their best to not look guilty. Their appearance surprised him but he didn't let it show, much.
"Really? It is not even Midnight." He chided them. They had the decency to look contrite in their fine get ups and both managed to mumble apologies that sounded sincere at least.
Salak quickly realised that love fools and misdemeanors were not in fact what could be counted as "trouble" on a night like tonight and so decided to let them off lightly.
"Master Gult, Master Heinrickson. If you're going to be doing... this," his cane pointed vaguely at their loosened kerchiefs and hastily buttoned shirts "then do find somewhere more out of the way please. That closet has seen more action than the Vel Anir frontline."
It was true, even in his day it was used by Initiates to hide all manner of indiscretions. Still he was always a stickler for tradition and he supposed in its own way these two were upholding that tradition.
The thought amused him as he made his way to the Academy's main halls.

 

[Caeso Diemut]

They separated at Caeso's gentle prompting, and he held both of Alice's hands in his as he said, "My appraisal of you, Alice, is not diminished in the slightest. This fear that vexes you is wholly understandable, and for all that it is within my power to do I shall alleviate you of it."

"You are too kind," Alice said. "May I borrow your handkerchief?"

"Indeed you may." He gave it to her and she dabbed at her eyes, afterward handing it back to him.

Alice took in a breath, let it out slowly, and said, "Times more recent have been little better. As I am the last of the Crentor name, and further as I am a young woman caught alone atop what wealth of my House remains, all that I have known are those who would call themselves 'friends', 'benefactors', and 'advisors' who all seek nothing more than to use me for their own gain. In their eyes I see reflected how they perceive me: a gaudy trinket to be acquired and worn for their own aggrandizement."

Caeso bowed his head some, for it was impossible—and unseemly—to hide the truth of their meeting. "Then you'll allow me to apologize on behalf of my father Sabian Diemut. His primary intention was to introduce the possibility of a flourishing acquaintance between us, and yet your inheritance played a heavy influence on his decision. I should hope that this flaw in the arrangement of our meeting does not cast a pall over us."

"N-no, I should say not. I do not attribute to you that which is your father's alone."

"I thank you, Alice, for your gracious consideration in this regard." Caeso smiled. "Even so, I feel it proper that tonight should be about you. For all those so-called friends and benefactors and advisors who see you as a trinket, who treat you as less than the worthy woman that you are, I shall not be one among their disgraceful company. If I am able to offer you a reprieve from these woeful men who seek their own advantage at your expense, then that alone will be enough for me. For you I wish to make tonight a treasure."

Alice blushed immensely, shyly unable to meet Caeso's eyes, though her minute smile was delightful to behold. At last she said, "Shall we start with the wine?"

Caeso nodded. "Yes, we shall indeed."

And he uncorked a fresh bottle and began to pour glasses for the two of them.

 

[Soleil Verdane]

Joel Schmidt sat miserably in the outhouse. Just his fucking luck that all the privy rooms in the Dance Hall were occupied! He barely made it to one of the nearby outhouses on the Academy grounds before he became the laughing stock of the whole Dance! Kress, that would have been awful, hobbling out of the Hall with slicks of buttmud soiling his pants, streaming down his legs, making a little trail of shameful splatters all the way to the outhouse. But he made it. Goddamn, he made it. What the hell did he eat, though?

He couldn't know that he had fallen victim to a little trick likewise suffered by a fellow Initiate, Flavien, during a sly sabotage.

So Joel sat in the outhouse, dress pants around his ankles, pretty much hoping this bout would be the first and the last of it. He allowed his mind to wonder to better topics. At the last Dance—Ball, whatever—they had apparently paired up Initiates with one another. Were they going to do the same here? The prospect of it was both thrilling and a little terrifying. If so, who would he be paired with? He found a number of the female Initiates to be quite pretty. And honestly, though a lot of Initiates in general seemed to hate the direction the Guard was taking the Academy, Joel was looking forward to tonight. He just wanted to forget everything about being an Initiate. He just wanted to have a nice night. If he got to kiss a girl, then that...oh man, talk about thrilling and a little terrifying again.

Joel didn't notice the grains of sand filtering in through the tiny ventilation slits near the outhouse's ceiling. He didn't notice until Soleil was fully formed inside of the outhouse, standing right in front of him.

"Hello."

Joel jerked in utter surprise, limbs flailing. He looked up wildly to Soleil. He didn't particularly like her, oh no, not after what happened when last they were with each other. "What the fuck are you doing here!?"

Soleil smiled. Said again, as if nothing was wrong with this whole situation, "Hi."

Joel, now with a explosive bloom of irritation, said, "Can't you see I'm a little busy? Hello? Um, get the fuck out of here?? What are you even doing here, aren't you supposed to be out on a mission?"

Voice low and husky, Soleil said, "Need you."

"W-what?"

Soleil leaned forward and down. She cradled his cheeks in her hands (the strange feel of her hands!). And then she kissed him.

Joel was shocked. His mind just went blank for a moment. He didn't know how to process this. In the first moment he was merely aware of the raw sensation: her lips had a strange coarseness to them, this draped like a slightly unpleasant veil over their delicateness. Yet for everything, his dislike of Soleil, the surprise of her appearance, the odd feel of her lips, he eventually found that he actually liked this—and it was thrilling, was a little terrifying, this latter quality accentuating the former to sublime heights. His initial shock abated, he discarded all else, and he found that he was kissing her back.

This was when he felt the first intrusion of sand spilling into his mouth from hers. It rushed like a tide over his tongue, raced like an army ordered to charge down his throat, and invaded like a swarm of locusts the open fields of his lungs. Joel struggled in sharp terror and alarm, kicked his legs though his pants constricted them, slapped furiously at Soleil with his frantically swinging hands. He managed actually to shove her body away, yet her hands and her head remained, floating there whilst holding his cheeks and locking him into the intimate and deadly kiss. Her body bounced back off of the locked outhouse door and reattached itself to her head and hands.

Panic. Fear. The weight in his chest grew, his screams were suppressed. He tried his magic, his pitiful gift of sensory deprivation, but something was wrong. He was using it, but he didn't feel that familiar connection to his target. It felt like his magic was being absorbed by something; like it was being redirected from Soleil and into something else.

Joel couldn't breathe! HE COULDN'T BREATHE! He was drowning in sand. The entirety of his lungs were now filled to the brim. His eyes bulged desperately. The whole of his body burned like an inferno in its demand for air.

Then all ceased, his struggles and his thoughts and his hopes of being paired with a pretty girl at the Dance. Joel perished.

Soleil broke the kiss then, standing back up straight. Joel's body slumped on the outhouse bench. She smiled blissfully. Whispered to herself, "One of many."

All the sand in his lungs came gliding out of his orifices, coalescing again into the whole that was Soleil. The Academy would think what it would, but Soleil left no trace of her action. The door to the outhouse would remained locked, and people would just think for a long time that it was occupied, paying it no mind until it was too late. The Dance was full of formidable opponents to the plan—Proctor Ebersol, Proctor D'Amour, Dreadlord Salak, to name just three—so this was where patience and care would reveal the best opportunity.

Slowly, Soleil's body dissolved into a string of sand, and she disappeared from the outhouse, the dark of the night her cover.

 

[Trix]

Once, Trix has harboured a healthy amount of both respect and fear for Proctors. Since the graduation she had neither.

"Evangeline," she folded her arms over her chest and leaned her hip against the table with a nod of greeting. Her smile was pleasant on the surface but there was something else beneath. Blame? Anger? Where was she when my class were being put to death? She hadn't brought her cousin's bullshit about nobody else knowing. She certainly hadn't agreed with her nominating this woman to run the whole bloody Academy. Oh, D'Amour had done nothing to her personally. But it was that she had done nothing that Trix had issue with.

With all of them.

She had no idea how Evie could stand herself becoming one of them.

"Is that what all the extra support has been called in for?" Trix raised a brow in disbelief. "Chas isn't here to have a little meltdown this time. I think the biggest worry you're going to have tonight is making sure someone doesn't get pregnant," she mused and watched two students sneak off together.

 

[Evangeline]

“But I heard it was a shit show.”

Evangeline let out a sigh.
"I wouldn't use that language with our current crowd, but that is an accurate description, yes," the proctor's eyes traveled up to where a chandelier once hung, now replaced with a temporary but far safer sphere of illumination magic. "I had to take quite a few extra precautions just to make this night happen..."

Trix's use of Evangeline's given name made her bristle for a moment, but she didn't drop the polite smile she wore.
"Unless you'd like to gain that level of familiarity with me over a few dozen drills and sparring sessions, Miss D'Amour will be fine, young lady," she scolded light-heartedly before turning her eyes across the sea of initiates once more. "That said, we really can't be too careful. I want this sort of thing to be able to happen again in the future, and there are a lot of very powerful eyes on we proctors right now...disasters have to be kept to a minimum."