Open Chronicles Two-Faced Lover

[Tol]

The scene of the horse stealing the ogres drink was one of the best things Tol had ever seen. Maybe Tol should have challenged the horse instead since it clearly was superior to the ogre. It seemed one of Tol's friends decided to come and watch the fight but probably to Jakub's annoyance Tol actually didn't know the mans name and only knew him by what a certain dark elf had called him.
"Tol do great halberd man. Tol now beat ogre den challenge horse"

Tol put his elbow on the table grabbing the ogre's hand "Tol sorry if arm breaks" It was now time to find out which was stronger a swamp troll or a ogre.

 

[Amalia Rosethorn]

Bingo. The shell was broken. That was that for step one, at least. It was a bit of a pleasant surprise to meet a target who her petite frame and pretty get up didn't entice outright. So there'd be some chase to this even if it was minor. "So it goes." She replied with a sigh. Looking up at the ceiling to feign a sense of loss. Taking another swig to finish her glass off and switching her empty one with another from a passing waiter. Whoo. She was starting to feel it too. Perhaps she should slow down.

She giggled lightly at his words, offering him a pretty smile. Oh my. He was almost too precious to eat up. But she was absolutely famished. She watched him haphazardly place his goblet on something that he was most certainly not supposed to. The owners would be up in arms if they saw such a display. Beautiful. She was almost sad knowing she'd see the color of this mans entrails. She'd at least milk her time spent with him.

She took his hand and did end up stumbling a bit. She giggled again. "Maybe I could take it a little easier... But I should be okay." Her voice was delicate and sweet. She would follow Faurosk's lead. You know. For now...

Faurosk

 

[Faurosk]

As Amalia stumbled closer, her target actually recoiled away instead of making a move to catch her. Laughing off his knee-jerk response, Faurosk gave her hand a steady squeeze as if to say, Don't worry, I'll keep us stable. "Woah there, foxy," he soothed-- Referring to her kitsune mask, of course. Upon realizing how his diction may be misconstrued, the mage's jaw dropped open a moment as his brain sought out a suitable apology. None came to mind.

With words failing, Faurosk turned silently towards the dance floor and lead his impromptu date there on long but quite inelegant strides. "Sorry," came a mutter, almost like an afterthought - Meanwhile, his mind raced, trying to seek the easiest option to obliterate himself without being rude to his fellow guests...

None came to mind. Hell.

Amalia Rosethorn

 

[Raigryn Vayd]

"Oh my gosh! We're dress buddies!" Cleo squealed excitedly, shaking her hand rigorously. "Isn't that so amazing?! I mean, look at us!" She said, letting go just long enough to spin around, an immediately grabbing Fife's hand again. "You're so pretty in your dress! Which means I must be pretty in my dress, which means we are automatically the prettiest people here! Isn't that so awesome! We should totally dance to show off let's go!" Cleo squealed, dragging Fife off.

When he had explained to Fife that she would see entirely new sights, that was not exactly what he had in mind.

Fife was dragged away before he could even start on the explanation of her being mute. He looked around, decided this was a thing now and picked up a tiny, delicious cake.

As Fife looked back he used the two handed stick figures sign to try and indicate that he would stay fairly close.

 

[Zufar el Hassan]

It was quite remarkable watching his friend from across the ball room...the marble-like appearance of his mask was more of a mere coincidence then a consciousness decision...but the man certainly pulled it off. He certainly stood there like a marble statue...anyone passing by might have mistaken him for one, but those who looked...they'd probably be starring into those soulless eyes of his.

A chuckle was released, as this one finally turned his eyes elsewhere...particularly to one of the servants passing by with a tray of what-has-yous in glass goblets. As the servant passed by, this one would reach up and lift up a glass, bringing it up to his nose to take a whiff.

It had quiet the aroma...quite fitting for

Like many parties he had gone to in the past century, it was always for work related purposes. Might have been nice to go to a social gathering for leisurely purposes for once, but then again this wasn't exactly his scene...well, at least it was no longer his type of his scene...

Ah well, at least there was free alcohol...with any luck, it might not cause his liver to commit suicide. Taking a step forward, he found himself traveling along the edge of the ballroom, while his companion situated himself on the other end.

Not that many people could tell, but they were combing through the crowed at their own pace...he was the roamer in this operation. Once they found him, things were going to be moving a bit hard and fast, just the way he liked to play things...

In the meantime, he would just unwind with the flow of the crowed...sauntering by various, unique...individuals. Who knew

 

[Former and the Foal]

If only people knew how much a horse could down without even going tipsy.
It wasn't for the buzz, but dear lord was it tasty.

The horse downed it without a second thought and tipped over the keg under the table. Likely wehere some unfortunate soul could trip over.

 

[Thrukk Guldarp]

Tol
Roll: 6

Thrukk grinned. His grin was like the jagged cliff edge of a mountain. It looked as if it could fall and then people would die.

He flexed his fingers, deliberately popping the joints. Even his meaty fist looked small in the grasp of the troll.

The threat returned would have been quite empty. The troll's arms were so thick that Thrukk would have needed both arms to try and break one.

There was no arbiter; the whole bar called out a countdown. When they shouted 'go' very little happened. Thrukk's muscles bunched up, his face became a mask of grim determination. Their arms faintly trembled in a tentative start and Thrukk's hand retreated a little from the centre ground.

 

[Fife]

He laughed, which was a far improvement from their last adventure. And his response was well-earned, she supposed. Crimson blossomed across her cheeks beneath the mask and she bit her lip, conveniently finding other things more interesting to look at.

And there was plenty of that. There were all kinds of kinds as he led her further into the affair. Her dress, though bright, seemed to have been a relatively tame choice by comparison. One woman's gown looked like the transition between summer and autumn, the leaves trembling as she moved. Another fellow glimmered like a peacock, iridescent in the warm lighting.

She turned back to look sidelong up at him with the peace offering of tiny cakes. Placating her with sweets wouldn't make her any less arch. Well, it would, technically, since it required hands.

Raigryn apologized for how many times he would have to explain her silence, but Fife shrugged. She touched her slim fingers to her throat and shook her head, then looked up with another shrug and a small smile. She couldn't speak, but that wasn't so bad. Not anymore, at least. The world seemed a different place now, and she changed within it. Wandering across the continent and back again, forging strange new relationships in faraway places, she'd found freedom in releasing some of her fears of the world.

But those were heavy self-examinations she didn't want to think about this evening. She was thinking instead of tiny cakes, the sparkling drinks in people's hands, and the colorful and mysterious people present. How interesting they all seemed!

One on particular she only spotted because she had suddenly rushed up to her and seized her hand. Fife startled, jerking instinctively toward her mentor and turning wide eyes to what appeared to be both woman and dog. Deeply confused, Fife could really only stare at her as she spoke. A dog person could speak but she couldn't. Fate made jokes all the time.

Fife glanced up at Raigryn nervously, but smiled halfheartedly as the dog lady spun to show off her dress. She nodded. Dress buddies, whatever that meant. She took her hand again and started gushing about being pretty in their dresses and being the prettiest people here and... dancing?

The very friendly dog lady only gave her a heartbeat to process and Fife's eyes widened and her mouth opened. Dancing?! Before she could protest she was nearly yanked off her feet, and she stepped hurriedly after her so she didn't fall. Glancing back over her shoulder toward her mentor, her expression wholly begged to be saved.

But the traitor merely picked up a cake and gestured that he'd be keeping close, but not saving her. The betrayal!

Her pleading expression shifted to shock as she was pulled through the crowds to dance. She couldn't dance! Not with a stranger! Fife faced forward again, thoroughly on her own for this one. Her heart was racing as she was pulled past a room full of much taller figures. She was fine, she told herself. He wouldn't have let her go if he didn't really think she'd be alright.

// Raigryn Vayd // Cleo O'Conner //​

 

[Amalia Rosethorn]

She looked up at him with her eyes swung up as her head stayed low, giving Faurosk a look of shy longing. He was being quite kind despite her original introduction. He was likely a gentle soul, someone who shouldn't of been caught in a place like this. His clothes were nice. They looked brand new. To her, all that said was more money. Wondrous.

She carefully gripped his hand tighter aiming to make sure she didn't tear into it with her golden claws. Her other hand placed gently on his hip. She didn't know much about dancing either but she was a bit tipsy and going to enjoy the moment while it lasted. "Don't apologize. I'm lacking just as much grace at the moment." She mused.

Their makeshift dance moves carried them haphazardly across the ballroom, with the occasional bumping into other much more talented dancers. She'd offer a coy wink to anyone who decided to say anything or be upset by their lopsided traversing. "So do you live in the area? Or perhaps just work here?" She'd ask, trying to peruse any form of conversation she could grasp at. She needed this to flow naturally.

Faurosk

 

[Faurosk]

Faurosk couldn't help but grin as they cut an uneven caper throughout the ballroom, bumping into both one another and their fellow party-goers as their circuitous path sliced to and fro across the floor. Before long, his hand went to rest on her waist, though comparably maul-sized mitts were enough to have his fingertips trailing the small of her back. "I haven't lived anywhere for a long time, Amalia," came his answer through a half-hidden smile.

Some who wander claim, 'the road is my home,' but Faurosk himself had never bought into the concept. Home is where you hang your hat, or so people seemed to say, but he'd never once seen a hat hanging alongside the thoroughfare... Where was he? Oh, right, work.

"Can't say I work in Alliria, either, save for the odd job found in the Reach. Unbelievable the amount of tragedy that befalls those plains..." Realizing that it would only be polite to return a question in kind, the mage finds himself trailing off. Stars and stones, how do people maintain conversation like this?

"What about you? I mean no offense, of course, but you strike me as a noble. Are you one of the local merchant ladies?" It's a fair enough guess, he thought. They were at a ball, after all, and she didn't strike him as a scholarly guest-of-honor.

Amalia Rosethorn

 

[Fieravene]

Spoiler

"Many times Fi. And it is a constant delight how unpredictable you are in expressing either your loathing or delight at my presence. Often with the same breath."

"A shame that we can't stay and watch it burn all day. These drapes will go up a charm."

Raziel tried three times to tie a cravat and failed. He might have been suffering just a regular hangover but even that was proving taxing.

"Come on now, up!" Raziel called out. He did this from well beyond arm's reach. In the last two days he had been enticed into discovering some new fears. However, the reprimand of a hungover Fiera had already been placed on that list.

He only hoped she didn't notice the glasswear on the table.

"We really do need to get going."

"You are, without a doubt, undeniably the worst."

And that was the start to a very long night.

"Now fetch me my negligee and water. Lots of water. At least three glasses."

An hour later...

The carriage arrived at the ball with a line still trailing down the front entrance of the manor, a line in which Fiera and her ruby-skinned date had no intention of waiting in. The pair disembarked from their ride, wasting no time in commandeering the nearest position at the door, much to the distaste of those presently standing in it.

"Don't fuss, darling," Fiera eyed the woman presently scoffing at her and waved her off dismissively, "I'll save you some wine." The entryway cleared before them and in they went. Peering out from behind her raven mask, the dark elf considered her wardrobe as she took in the many flowing gowns of color and frill. Judging by the looks of the women they strode by, her selected outfit of fitted trousers and skirtcoat were a bit off-choice for the local scene. The particular presence of non-human race she and her date decided to arrive as wasn't helping the looks of disgust.

Oh, Alliria, may you never change in a thousand years.

"You're quite right, these masks will surely help us maintain anonymity. No one will notice a thing..." Fiera leaned into her date, fixing the tiefling with a sharp grin, her eyes dropped to his crooked cravat with a tsk, "Look at you, all creases and wrinkles. Hold still while I fix this."

Raziel

 

[Amorea Delarosa]

Spoiler

Attempting to fit Kishou into tight, form-fitting threads proved to be futile, much to the chagrin of the Priestess' confreres. Finding a suitable gown for Amore had been easy, as every option had complimented the Priestess' natural beauty. In the end, to the surprise of nobody, a vibrant red gown was selected.

Of course, the Priestess herself had little say in the matter and placed her trust in the so-called professionals that handled the subject of her appearance.

On the other hand, Kishou had vehemently refused the selection of fineries presented to him after trying on the first. It had been unbearably tight and suffocating, especially so around the more delicate spots of his body. They had, with a stroke of luck, found garbs imported from his homeland. Begrudgingly, the foreigner was allowed to wear the soft blue robes in place of the recommended finery.

If he were to spend the evening absorbed in the festivities, he would at least dress comfortably. Or, so was his adamant stance when arguing over the matter of his attire.

Kishou followed those in front of him, moving with the leisurely flow of traffic up the stairs. Behind him, several others did the same. Then, suddenly, Amore's gentle tone grabbed the foreigner's attention.

"That would make two of us," He responded, his tone falling somewhere between anxiety and excitement. "I'll apologize in advance, for I have all the comportment of a common man."

Warm mirth filtered over her face, a certain sense of comraderie could be had in sharing this new experience together.

"If that is so, then the common men of your country are noble indeed," Amore had spent time with common men and women and could not say that Kishou's composure was of any compare. The man held himself with dignity and commanded a quiet respect of both himself and those around him. She'd yet to hear him raise the tone of his voice above a smooth tamber.

"You said-" she began, pausing as she felt the presence of another couple brush by her shoulder and the sounds of a momentary confrontation a few spaces ahead of the line, "-the tailor found robes of your homeland. How fortunate," she smoothed her free hand over the fabric of the arm she held, "I have never felt material like it before. It seems so light. Are all robes like this where you come from?"

 

[Amalia Rosethorn]

No home, no ties to the city. Her date just grew more and more perfect. Who would miss you, handsome stranger? It seems like no one. She did get the feeling she might. As it had been who knows how long since anyone had shown her any civility let alone kindness. She only ever dealt with the worst of the worst. A kind soul was not what she was used to. What she feeling right now? Whatever. It was easily dismissed.

His answer put a worried smile on her face, with the impression she was too afraid to ask. Yet she had known that exact feeling too well. Nowhere for her to return to without it resulting in banishment anyways. How quaint. He began to speak of his work, but his words were airy and derailed from the topic almost instantaneously. Something must be on the poor bastards mind. It didn't bother her. She had something on her mind too. Didn't she? Oh right! Killing this man. Killing the only man who'd been nice to her in half a decade. Right...

Her eyes snapped up at his question as she let her mind drift a bit herself. The alcohol was a big factor in that. "Oh no, I hail from Shadokien originally. I was invited by a silver tongued noble, however. Promises of romance and of companionship. Of course I'm sure he found a more suitable arm to wear on his own. My family owns the Clocktower in my home so I'm used to being chosen and disregarded once they find out they can't have it in with my father. Though it stays tiresome to endure..." She spoke out of genuine pain. Though the place that pain came from was but another facade.

Faurosk

 

[Kishou]

A smile grew on the foreigner's face, though it was fleeting as the passing couple interrupted the Priestess without so much as batting an eye. During the pause in Amore's speech, Kishou had thought them to be shamelessly oblivious of others. The thought perished rather abruptly as the woman on his arm began to speak again.

"Yes," His response was chipper, "It was a timely stroke of luck, else I would have suffered the suffocating fineries that the seamstress had offered." Kishou let a soft chuckle flow, "No offense to her craft, but it was far from flattering on me."

The foreigner couldn't ignore the gentle touch that swept over his arm. "Yes, the materials used are generally from flax. It proves to be quite comfortable in the heat." Kishou raised his free arm, looking over the fabric quite closely. After a moment, he let his arm fall back to his side and tried to imagine how the Priestess would look in the attire.

Finally, the pair fully ascended the stairs and made their way into the ballroom. As Kishou had expected, many sets of eyes locked onto the Priestess at his side. He had expected a crowd yet still couldn't help but feel overwhelmed by the occasion.

 

[Tol]

Thrukk Guldarp
rolled: 7

Tol had easily beaten his previous opponents and didn't expect much of a fight from the smaller ogre but that wasn't to say Tol wasn't going to go all in. To honour the ogre Tol wasn't going to hold back and to Tol's surprise the ogre was alot stronger than Tol with Tol only slightly pushing the ogre's hand down but not enough to win this match.

"Ya strong. Tol give ya dat" Tol said with a grin on his face. As long as Tol kept slowly pushing down he was sure to win but who knows if this ogre can hold his ground long enough he might start gaining ground.

 

[Raziel]

Mask and Outfit
Fieravene Faurosk Amalia Rosethorn

The graceful curve of white gravel on which the carriages had been queueing had presented a surprising challenge for exhausted legs. Not that Raziel would admit to being worn out. He had the advantage in the hangover stakes because of good old fashioned cheating. Blood magic had more mundane uses than people expected. He was not going to offer to touch her blood, not for that. The fire, that raw unbridled power was not a temptation to handle lightly. No matter how enticing.

He smirked and stayed dutifully still for Fiera to re-tie his cravat. That she had ruined him for other woman by showing him that he did have limitations was a secret he would keep for some time.

"Perfect disguises," he mused. "I could simply swap my mask with another man and no one would be able to find me again. Stop that!" he admonished his own tail which had flicked against her shin.

"It means that at the end of the night when we leave everyone will remember it. Of course we won't have left."

Raziel needed to have a private conversation with Lord Harlington. Fiera was to ensure they were not interrupted.

"Let's make friends," he smirked. By that he did of course mean to find the guests most offended by a tiefling and a dark elf being present and ingratiate themselves. Watching high born humans writhe beneath their own skin always amused him. However, there were acquaintances on the dance floor who were likely to scupper such plans.

 

[Thrukk Guldarp]

Tol
Roll: 18

"Arrrrrrrrrrrrrr..." Thrukk growled, fixing the troll with a flat stare. He didn't like the idea that the brute was toying with him. Thrukk had been forced to fight all manner of beast in the fighting pits of Cerak at'thul and had learned the hard way that he could not rely on his size. Many an elf had thought to dance around the ogre and been fatally surprised to find out that he was not as slow as he looked.

There was no grace, no motion, no power here. Just raw, static strength. The amount being applied with so little movement was a sight to behold. Their hands trembled. A bead of sweat rolled over taut muscles. Power held in check by equilibrium, a pendulum held and ready to swing.

With sheer determination he slowly regained the centre ground and started to inch the troll's hand towards the table.

 

[Tol]

Thrukk Guldarp
roll: 3

It was only a matter of time till Tol would win. No ogre could match the pure strength of a full blooded swamp troll in its prime. The longer the ogre stood its ground the more Tol worried even against other trolls he hadn't had this much of a challenge in a long time.

While at first people were shouting and cheering on the side they wanted to win with those who may have betted on the ogre regretting their decision. Most of those watching went silent as they watched the ogre start to push back and move Tol's hand to the middle. Only a bit of luck thought Tol until he felt his hand going further down. The possibility of losing was now a true reality.

 

[Cleo O'Conner]

Cleo O'Conner was entirely oblivious to the shocked or dread filled expressions across Fife's face. They were wearing masks, of course Cleo couldn't see what Fife's face looked like as she dragged the girl through the crowd, stopping in the middle of the floor and facing her once again. "Alright, isn't this just a perfect spot to dance?" She asked, looking around exicitedly. "I mean, everyone can see us from here! So say go when you're ready to start!"

 

[Fife]

Dragged all the way to the center of the room, she had lost sight of Raigryn entirely. The dog lady stopped and faced her once more, holding both of her hands, and for a moment Fife looked around at the others gathered with a crimson face and wide gray eyes. Her heart thumped in her chest as hard as thunder that rattled glass, and though her eyes scanned, she really saw nothing.

Finally raising her attention to her companion, she pulled one of her hands free. She touched her lips then her throat while shaking her head quickly, short hair swishing about her shoulders. It had been a while since she'd tried speaking to someone who didn't know she was mute, but she was more confident now about conveying it and handling herself.

// Raigryn Vayd // Cleo O'Conner //​

 

[Raigryn Vayd]

Fife Phillipa Ebonheart

Raigryn had his fingers around the tiniest sweet treat. It was covered in something gelatinous and shiny. He could almost see his own reflection in it. Raigryn closed his eyes for a whole second as he enjoyed the lemony tang and when he opened then Fife had been dragged through the crowd.

"Damn."

It wasn't as if she could get dragged away very far, but he decided to follow. Raigryn circled around the dance floor, taking a champagne flute full of liquid gold from a tray without even slowing down.

"Ah there you are," he said catching sight of Fife. She probably couldn't see him back. "And you're talking to yourself..."

 

[Phillipa Ebonheart]

Felicia Ebonheart had been so kind as to allow her daughter to join her for the occasion of such a splendid evening. The older woman was tired of having her daughter be on disciplinary probation with the College for her lack of action in a situation that was well in hand. She had argued with the director of acquisitions for her daughters position, obtaining the lenient punishment. Her daughter had to be present as payment for her intervention however, watching the processions while adjusting her mask before plucking a drink from a passing plate with a smile.

Phillipa Ebonheart adjusted her own mask as she stole another drink from the same plate, passing the empty glass in its place as she watched her mother with a look that expressed her opinion of this event. She despised this place, the large gathering, even if it was meant to be fun.

Felicia cocked her head suddenly, a voice calling from behind her that she recognized from a time past. She slowly spun, her hat dipping low and forcibly pushing another body out of her space as her eyes found Raigryn Vayd walking behind her.

"Hark! An old soul to be gracing such an event as this, wouldn't you agree my darling daughter?" Felicia called to the old man.


Raigryn Vayd Fife

 

[Mathis Majister Mejeure]

Melody. Why, the young lady was positively giddy for the evening's jubilation, a stirring anthem to match a lyrical name. Bit of a drinker, curious and talkative, laughing and having a grand time by simply being in particular company. Oh the story of a rebellious girl breaking free from the constraints so placed upon her by family and home and simple yet boring ways of life. My, just how far down did this rebellious streak go, hmm?

Darla had waved back to her.

Hillby, when she solicited one of the serving girls for drink, said in the background, "Hey, feelin' generous, buy me one, shit," his pronouncing of shit as drawn out as it was beseeching.

Padre, also in the background, "Broke already, Hillby. Right on schedule for you." ("Man, fuck you and your dumb hat.")

Krull: "Hm. I do need a refill. Just the right amount of pleasant in the night."

And Majister, meanwhile, waited for Melody's laughter to subside before he answered her question with a smile and a sly slant of his brow. "Pointed persuasion, my dear. Where charm and wit fail, steel carries the day. Ah, the storied history of the sword. There never was a fortune worth talking about that was earned without one!"

The match between the troll and the ogre began. Majister, Hillby, Darla, Padre, and Krull all watched on. And to their collective surprise (Darla brimming with glee anticipation at the edges of her restrained expression) it was actually a good match. Far from the lopsided affair Majister had bet on it being.

He watched, his amused smirk constant, as the troll at first had the advantage and then as the ogre fought back and started turning the tide.

Rämna Sisters

 

[Cleo O'Conner]

Cleo stared at Fife as the small girls hands flailed about. The dog woman blinked several times, and then her mouth opened up in understanding. "Oooooh, I get it! You can't talk, and have spent your entire life trying to communicate using some kind of sign language. Given this socially debilitating disability you haven't been able to form many meaningful relationships, making you feel uncomfortable around new people, especially in large social gatherings, and, if I'm guessing right, you also dont know how to dance and this utterly terrifies you right?" She asked, staring at Fife with a stare that could burn through steel.

Cleo didn't give Fife any time to respond before grabbing her hands and smiling. "Well, I know one easy way to fix that! Face your fears! Let's dance!" She giggled, pulling fife along in a simple dance. "You're with Cleo O'Conner! Bard Extraordinaire! Just follow my feet, and I promise you'll be just fine!"

 

[Dearien Verook]

"Well, I do dabble in enchantment," Dearien flushed and looked off to the side with a light smile. "I would offer to enchant yours but seeing as I can't seem to get mine to work without an unpleasant pinching the offer would be premature." He chuckled under his breath and shrugged. He stared at the wooden feature for a moment contemplating how it might be possible to improve it's functioning without the painful consequences. However, he could not escape the fact that an arm was much more complicated than a leg. He really needed to pursue more knowledge on the subject. Dispight having practiced enchantment for several decades he had grown complacent. The college of Elbion might hold the knowledge he sought. He had kept a shop in Elbion and lived under the shadow of the college for many years. In all those years he had never had much of an interest in joining the college. Perhaps because of the college's bias towards instantaneous magical casting. Those who exclusively practiced formes of magic that took time and preparation such as enchantment or alchemy were seen as hacks, using the crutch of a medium to compensate for lack of skill. The college didn't know what they were talking about. But regardless they had one of the most extensive collections of magical research in the known world. They might have what he was looking for.

But that was not the purpose of the night. Dearien blinked and snapped himself out of his musings. He looked up at Ermengarde, "Well, I might not be able to do so much as to enchant your arm but I can at least do this," He said, his smile growing as he took a pearl out of his pocket and dropped it in his champagne flute. The liquid fizzed on contact and It floated to the bottom of the glass. Several illusory yellow-orange and black monarch butterflies fluttered from the drink and hung around him. He held out the drink to Ermengard and the butterflies moved to hover around her, some landing on her dress. "Would you like a drink? I think the butterflies look lovely with your dress."