Mavelle giggled when Railtus jested about becoming perfect. “I thought you were perfect already,” she answered, only half teasing. “So handsome, and brave, and strong. A knight in shining armor.”
Shifting closer to Railtus, Mavelle leaned her body against his. The armor, which had been such a pleasing novelty at first, now poked her in uncomfortable places, and created a frustrating level of separation. But that didn’t stop her from shivering with delight as Railtus stroked the sensitive skin along the side of her neck.
“I don’t know,” Mavelle sighed, in response to Railtus’s question about how to proceed. “Any formal declaration of intention on your part would not be welcomed by my father. He has his own plans for me. You are a guest in his house...and I am his daughter...it would not be right for either of us to go against his wishes.”
At the same moment that Railtus stooped, Mavelle raised her face, allowing their eyes to meet as waves of hair fell aside like the parting of a pale gold sea. “I have always respected the desires of my family. But the thought of losing you makes me want to die inside. No choice seems like the right one.”
In Mavelle’s romantic dreams, everything had been perfect. But now, in the real world, she suddenly glimpsed the obstacles that lay before them.
“I know deceit is not in your blood,” Mavelle conceded, after a long moment’s thought. “And yet, perhaps it would be best to proceed in secret for the time being, if you can bear it. Until we’re more sure of what we feel for each other. Until we’re certain what sacrifices we’re willing to make, what authority we’re willing to defy.”
Again, Mavelle bowed her head, this time so that her brow rested against Railtus’s, her breath an ethereal caress. “Would you remove your armor?” she pleaded. “And hold me like a man holds a woman?”
Family Affairs
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Sir Karsimir
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Many wants churned inside Railtus at the moment, like the turmoil of a burning storm. Wants which conflicted, and screamed bloody vengeance against the abomination of compromise. All at once came the longings in his heart for Mavelle, the desire to fulfill her wishes, and yet the will to act well towards both her and her father.
It would not be right for either of us to...
That settled it. Better to do right and die than to do wrong and prosper. All the wants raging inside Railtus at the moment, they did not mean a damn thing. It would not be right, and that was the end of it. Railtus was a guest, sheltering under the generosity of his host. Seducing his daughter would be a poor way to repay him. Another thought, what of Julen or Rosemary? Again, through Lord Kendall's authority Railtus kept Julen in his service. To go with his heart would be to leave a good man in the cold, one whom a good woman was depending on. They had an equal right to the happiness of love as he did. That was a joy he would not take away from them.
This was not the way.
More, for all the darkness in Lord Kendall's heart, there was a glimmer of kindness in how he had looked out for his daughter. Take Mavelle away from him, and his redemption would never be at hand.
The concept of secrecy sent mournful pangs through Railtus, cutting painfully through the turmoil like a surgeon's blade, bringing the certainty of Heaven with them. To proceed in secrecy would be no other than to look on Mavelle with shame. She deserved better. Far better.
Her last request shocked him. Hardly an offence. In many ways it was a pleasant surprise. However, it was a luxury not granted to Railtus. Such a desire of the moment could easily be regretted by either party.
"And how is that?" Railtus answered, having a vague idea about the idea but unsure in context. "What was wrong with how I held you before?" His voice was soft, caring.
Then addressing her earlier ideas, "I will not act as if ashamed, though I can show discretion for your sake." An idle thought wondered if showing discretion was a contradiction in terms. "We only have the right to take this so far if we mean to keep this a secret."
Growing in certainty, Railtus continued without stopping. "Think carefully, if this is your wish. I have no lands, nor titles, so far no knighthood. As of yet, there is very little I can offer you. So if this is your wish, truly your wish, then in proving myself worthy for knighthood, I shall also strive to earn the right to court you."
Deceit was very much in the blood of Railtus. Only not in his nature.
For to him, the path of truth and honesty was the right path. The path that would bring the most good. Deceit would not do such a thing.
It would not be right for either of us to...
That settled it. Better to do right and die than to do wrong and prosper. All the wants raging inside Railtus at the moment, they did not mean a damn thing. It would not be right, and that was the end of it. Railtus was a guest, sheltering under the generosity of his host. Seducing his daughter would be a poor way to repay him. Another thought, what of Julen or Rosemary? Again, through Lord Kendall's authority Railtus kept Julen in his service. To go with his heart would be to leave a good man in the cold, one whom a good woman was depending on. They had an equal right to the happiness of love as he did. That was a joy he would not take away from them.
This was not the way.
More, for all the darkness in Lord Kendall's heart, there was a glimmer of kindness in how he had looked out for his daughter. Take Mavelle away from him, and his redemption would never be at hand.
The concept of secrecy sent mournful pangs through Railtus, cutting painfully through the turmoil like a surgeon's blade, bringing the certainty of Heaven with them. To proceed in secrecy would be no other than to look on Mavelle with shame. She deserved better. Far better.
Her last request shocked him. Hardly an offence. In many ways it was a pleasant surprise. However, it was a luxury not granted to Railtus. Such a desire of the moment could easily be regretted by either party.
"And how is that?" Railtus answered, having a vague idea about the idea but unsure in context. "What was wrong with how I held you before?" His voice was soft, caring.
Then addressing her earlier ideas, "I will not act as if ashamed, though I can show discretion for your sake." An idle thought wondered if showing discretion was a contradiction in terms. "We only have the right to take this so far if we mean to keep this a secret."
Growing in certainty, Railtus continued without stopping. "Think carefully, if this is your wish. I have no lands, nor titles, so far no knighthood. As of yet, there is very little I can offer you. So if this is your wish, truly your wish, then in proving myself worthy for knighthood, I shall also strive to earn the right to court you."
Deceit was very much in the blood of Railtus. Only not in his nature.
For to him, the path of truth and honesty was the right path. The path that would bring the most good. Deceit would not do such a thing.
My faith protects me, my kevlar helps.
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Sir Karsimir
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(NPC POST)
"Some women can really surprise you." Phelan remarked dryly, transferring the blame away from himself to where it truly belonged - anywhere other than him.
How the servent averted his gaze was interesting. A tactic which Phelan would have to work his way around. All he could think of at the moment was to casually shift himself towards the area where Julen was gazing. Of course, if the man was staring straight down there was only so much Phelan could feasibly do.
Aside from force the man to make a real effort to look away.
Of course, the peasant could not keep this up forever. Already he was looking for ways to fight back, testing, but would not dare risk a confrontation with Phelan Anstrun. Who would, after all? The fool was weak, and too weak to admit it.
Time for a reminder of place.
"Well, to be honest, I was curious as to what you were doing in my House. Here. In Marn." Gradually Phelan narrowed the implications. "What happened? Did you grow tired of your strumpet back in Shim?"
"Some women can really surprise you." Phelan remarked dryly, transferring the blame away from himself to where it truly belonged - anywhere other than him.
How the servent averted his gaze was interesting. A tactic which Phelan would have to work his way around. All he could think of at the moment was to casually shift himself towards the area where Julen was gazing. Of course, if the man was staring straight down there was only so much Phelan could feasibly do.
Aside from force the man to make a real effort to look away.
Of course, the peasant could not keep this up forever. Already he was looking for ways to fight back, testing, but would not dare risk a confrontation with Phelan Anstrun. Who would, after all? The fool was weak, and too weak to admit it.
Time for a reminder of place.
"Well, to be honest, I was curious as to what you were doing in my House. Here. In Marn." Gradually Phelan narrowed the implications. "What happened? Did you grow tired of your strumpet back in Shim?"
My faith protects me, my kevlar helps.
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Falcon Bertille
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“There was nothing wrong with the way you held me in the garden,” Mavelle assured, raising her head to meet Railtus’s gaze. “It was a most fine embrace. But with all this armor between us...I feel a little like I’m hugging a turtle.” Again, she giggled, and light danced in her blue eyes like sunshine tossed on the ripples of twin lakes. “Of course, you’re exceedingly handsome for a turtle. But I think you take my point?”
The giggling died away, and a more serious note entered Mavelle’s voice. While her concern still seemed to be the physical armor, she sensed she was really groping to speak of something deeper than that, although she would have been hard pressed to explain exactly what. “Surely you don’t feel that you need to protect yourself from me.” With a sweep of her hand, Mavelle gestured to the flowing softness of her blue dress. “I sit beside you, unshielded and unarmed. Will you not do the same for me?”
Then, Mavelle fell silent again, listening to Railtus outline his thoughts about how they should proceed. His vow to pursue knighthood in order to win the right of courtship touched her deeply. When he’d finished, she nodded. “I trust your judgment in this. My own thoughts are like confused sheep, running first one way, and then the other. For the moment, your wisdom will have to keep us both safe.”
“But I do wish it. Of that, I’m absolutely certain. The offer of your heart means more to me than lands or titles ever could.” Affectionately, Mavelle brushed a few cascading strands of white-blonde hair from Railtus’s forehead, before pressing a kiss to his brow. “And I’m so honored that you would do this thing for me. So you must tell me what I can do to prove myself worthy of you.”
The giggling died away, and a more serious note entered Mavelle’s voice. While her concern still seemed to be the physical armor, she sensed she was really groping to speak of something deeper than that, although she would have been hard pressed to explain exactly what. “Surely you don’t feel that you need to protect yourself from me.” With a sweep of her hand, Mavelle gestured to the flowing softness of her blue dress. “I sit beside you, unshielded and unarmed. Will you not do the same for me?”
Then, Mavelle fell silent again, listening to Railtus outline his thoughts about how they should proceed. His vow to pursue knighthood in order to win the right of courtship touched her deeply. When he’d finished, she nodded. “I trust your judgment in this. My own thoughts are like confused sheep, running first one way, and then the other. For the moment, your wisdom will have to keep us both safe.”
“But I do wish it. Of that, I’m absolutely certain. The offer of your heart means more to me than lands or titles ever could.” Affectionately, Mavelle brushed a few cascading strands of white-blonde hair from Railtus’s forehead, before pressing a kiss to his brow. “And I’m so honored that you would do this thing for me. So you must tell me what I can do to prove myself worthy of you.”
That hit too close to home. If he’d had a few moments to think it over, Julen would have realized that Phelan still hadn’t proven any specific remembrance. After all, Julen’s rustic clothing made it easy enough to deduce that he was from Shim, and it wasn’t a giant leap to guess that a sweetheart might await him back in the village. But Julen didn’t have the luxury of time. In that instant, all he knew was that someone seemed to have called his wife, his beloved Rosemary, a strumpet.
Julen’s head jerked up, his face twisted by shock and rage. Only the bitter triumph of will over instinct kept a pestle from being hurled at Phelan. Instead, Julen clutched the edge of the table where he’d been working, gripping it with both hands until his knuckles turned white from the strain. For nearly a minute, he didn’t trust himself to speak.
“A strumpet, M’Lord?” Julen managed, when he could finally force out words. Anger made his voice tremble beneath him, like a nervous horse that might rear up at any moment and throw its rider to the ground. “Is that your pet name for the women you court? Is that what you whisper in their ears when you take them on trips to Marn? By the gods, no wonder she threw your gifts in my face when I suggested that she wear them on our wedding day.”
Another triumph of will allowed Julen to release his grip on the table. Moving slowly, so that Phelan could not interpret it as an attack, he walked forward until nothing separated him from the noble. Julen did not want Phelan to think that fear of his sword was what held him back.
“I am here in the service of your kinsman. Because of the kindness he’s shown me, I won’t embarrass him by giving your insult the response it deserves. But if we ever meet outside the walls of this house, you will not...” Julen swallowed hard, and his hands curled into fists. “You will not call Rosemary a strumpet.”
Julen’s head jerked up, his face twisted by shock and rage. Only the bitter triumph of will over instinct kept a pestle from being hurled at Phelan. Instead, Julen clutched the edge of the table where he’d been working, gripping it with both hands until his knuckles turned white from the strain. For nearly a minute, he didn’t trust himself to speak.
“A strumpet, M’Lord?” Julen managed, when he could finally force out words. Anger made his voice tremble beneath him, like a nervous horse that might rear up at any moment and throw its rider to the ground. “Is that your pet name for the women you court? Is that what you whisper in their ears when you take them on trips to Marn? By the gods, no wonder she threw your gifts in my face when I suggested that she wear them on our wedding day.”
Another triumph of will allowed Julen to release his grip on the table. Moving slowly, so that Phelan could not interpret it as an attack, he walked forward until nothing separated him from the noble. Julen did not want Phelan to think that fear of his sword was what held him back.
“I am here in the service of your kinsman. Because of the kindness he’s shown me, I won’t embarrass him by giving your insult the response it deserves. But if we ever meet outside the walls of this house, you will not...” Julen swallowed hard, and his hands curled into fists. “You will not call Rosemary a strumpet.”
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Sir Karsimir
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"Prove? My dear Mavelle, don't be silly. You have nothing to prove to me."
No comment was made about her more... physical intentions, although the quip about the turtle did draw a chuckle. The other suggestion, the one about being protected, was merely observed... as much as possible. Of course he did not wear his armour for that, and of course Mavelle knew that, but the irony was that the armour was indeed protecting him somewhat. The layer of separation a partial ward against temptation.
Witnessing how she gestured towards her flowing dress, Railtus was painfully conscious of the contours of her body. Such a figure beneath the dress pulled in his senses, offering for him to drink in her presence, and drink in deeply at that. Fighting that thought, he pulled his eyes back towards her face.
Aware that he was catching his breath, Railtus summoned up his focus and tried to remain unperturbed. "I know how your thoughts run against each other. That much is clear to see. Knowing that, some of what you ask me to do would mean taking advantage of you, which would not be an act of love. You deserve better. So do not think of my caution as rejection."
Once more, Railtus took Mavelle's hands in his own. "Should this still be what you want after consideration, then you may wish to think of what would be needed for your father to approve of our courtship."
No comment was made about her more... physical intentions, although the quip about the turtle did draw a chuckle. The other suggestion, the one about being protected, was merely observed... as much as possible. Of course he did not wear his armour for that, and of course Mavelle knew that, but the irony was that the armour was indeed protecting him somewhat. The layer of separation a partial ward against temptation.
Witnessing how she gestured towards her flowing dress, Railtus was painfully conscious of the contours of her body. Such a figure beneath the dress pulled in his senses, offering for him to drink in her presence, and drink in deeply at that. Fighting that thought, he pulled his eyes back towards her face.
Aware that he was catching his breath, Railtus summoned up his focus and tried to remain unperturbed. "I know how your thoughts run against each other. That much is clear to see. Knowing that, some of what you ask me to do would mean taking advantage of you, which would not be an act of love. You deserve better. So do not think of my caution as rejection."
Once more, Railtus took Mavelle's hands in his own. "Should this still be what you want after consideration, then you may wish to think of what would be needed for your father to approve of our courtship."
My faith protects me, my kevlar helps.
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Sir Karsimir
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- Name: Karsimir Von Greyssen
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(NPC POST)
Vile laughter travelled through the kitchen, which was full of open-mouthed stares from the staff. No one dared speak to Phelan that way. Gazes were fixed in shock... in horror... in admiration. Some showed pity. While so many envied the bravery shown by this stranger, there was a reason they feared to do so themselves.
"And you will do what?" Phelan jeered, relishing in his near-legendary reputation as a warrior. "No. I don't call my women strumpets." Phelan lied, "Rosemary was an exception. I was quite shocked with how she went about earning that title. You would not believe some of the things she did." A wide smirk split his face, while his eyes glanced upwards in mock innocence.
As Julen walked closer, Phelan decided to let him, seeing as the height difference was fairly dramatic. Truthfully, being so caught up in the triumph of scoring a reaction, Phelan paid no heed to the part about a kinsman.
Among the horrorfied faces was the dark-haired girl, who bit her lip nervously. At least one good thing may have come from this...
"I look forward to meeting you outside these walls." Phelan sneered.
Vile laughter travelled through the kitchen, which was full of open-mouthed stares from the staff. No one dared speak to Phelan that way. Gazes were fixed in shock... in horror... in admiration. Some showed pity. While so many envied the bravery shown by this stranger, there was a reason they feared to do so themselves.
"And you will do what?" Phelan jeered, relishing in his near-legendary reputation as a warrior. "No. I don't call my women strumpets." Phelan lied, "Rosemary was an exception. I was quite shocked with how she went about earning that title. You would not believe some of the things she did." A wide smirk split his face, while his eyes glanced upwards in mock innocence.
As Julen walked closer, Phelan decided to let him, seeing as the height difference was fairly dramatic. Truthfully, being so caught up in the triumph of scoring a reaction, Phelan paid no heed to the part about a kinsman.
Among the horrorfied faces was the dark-haired girl, who bit her lip nervously. At least one good thing may have come from this...
"I look forward to meeting you outside these walls." Phelan sneered.
My faith protects me, my kevlar helps.
When Phelan spoke about Rosemary’s alleged exploits, Julen started to raise his fist, determined to knock that leer off the noble’s face -- even if it was just for one satisfying moment. But before he could throw the punch, a flurry of half-remembered images swirled through his head like dead leaves caught on a chill wind. The angel he’d confronted in his dream. The bloody slipper. The words, scrawled in his own writing.
Tell her that I’m never coming home.
Julen’s fist dropped back to his side, and his fingers went limp. If he hit Phelan, that would give the noble all the excuse he needed to draw his sword, and Phelan’s skill with his weapon was legendary. It would take him no more than a second to impale an unarmed opponent. And then, instead of a footman, Railtus would have a corpse, along with the thankless task of telling Rosemary that her husband was dead.
Again, Julen lifted his hand, but this time there was no intention to strike. Instead, he closed his fingers around the silver locket Rosemary had given him. No. I will see you again. And when I do, when I once again know the joy of holding you in my arms, then neither of us will care about what this man said here today.
“You’re quite correct, M’lord,” Julen conceded. “I would not believe some of the things she did. I doubt that I would believe any of the things she did, even if you told me about them in great detail. I must be cursed with a very skeptical nature.”
Tell her that I’m never coming home.
Julen’s fist dropped back to his side, and his fingers went limp. If he hit Phelan, that would give the noble all the excuse he needed to draw his sword, and Phelan’s skill with his weapon was legendary. It would take him no more than a second to impale an unarmed opponent. And then, instead of a footman, Railtus would have a corpse, along with the thankless task of telling Rosemary that her husband was dead.
Again, Julen lifted his hand, but this time there was no intention to strike. Instead, he closed his fingers around the silver locket Rosemary had given him. No. I will see you again. And when I do, when I once again know the joy of holding you in my arms, then neither of us will care about what this man said here today.
“You’re quite correct, M’lord,” Julen conceded. “I would not believe some of the things she did. I doubt that I would believe any of the things she did, even if you told me about them in great detail. I must be cursed with a very skeptical nature.”
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Falcon Bertille
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“Don’t I?” Mavelle queried, challenging Railtus’s assurance that she didn’t have anything to prove. “You’ll be off risking your life to earn your knighthood. I feel like I should do something other than...other than sitting around looking pretty. Isn’t there anything that you’d ask of me?”
As it became apparent that Railtus was not going to remove his armor, Mavelle felt a ripple of disappointment. She could only imagine the body which lay beneath it -- muscular, toned by his training, untouched by a woman’s hands. How she ached to feel him press against her without any barriers separating them! To have him this close, yet to be so limited in their touch, was like being offered some succulent fruit and then being told she couldn’t peel it. Part of Mavelle wanted to grab the nearest piece of armor and begin trying to yank it off.
But Mavelle trusted Railtus. Thus far, everything he’d done showed that he truly cared about her. So when he took her hands in his, and spoke to her in his gentle way, she did her best to push aside her own desires and truly listen.
“There are things I would dearly like to do in this moment,” Mavelle confessed. “And in this moment, they do not feel like being taken advantage of. But you may be right. Perhaps, given time, we might both regret actions taken with too little thought. I would prefer that our relationship be without any regrets at all.”
Leaning forward, Mavelle pressed her lips against Railtus’s, gifting him with a slow, sensuous kiss. Then, reluctantly, she stood. Her body felt like it was on fire, and to stay any longer was torment. And yet, even then, she couldn’t find the willpower to tear her hands away from Railtus. “I should go,” she whispered, although it sounded more like a plea than a statement. “I’m not strong like you are.”
As it became apparent that Railtus was not going to remove his armor, Mavelle felt a ripple of disappointment. She could only imagine the body which lay beneath it -- muscular, toned by his training, untouched by a woman’s hands. How she ached to feel him press against her without any barriers separating them! To have him this close, yet to be so limited in their touch, was like being offered some succulent fruit and then being told she couldn’t peel it. Part of Mavelle wanted to grab the nearest piece of armor and begin trying to yank it off.
But Mavelle trusted Railtus. Thus far, everything he’d done showed that he truly cared about her. So when he took her hands in his, and spoke to her in his gentle way, she did her best to push aside her own desires and truly listen.
“There are things I would dearly like to do in this moment,” Mavelle confessed. “And in this moment, they do not feel like being taken advantage of. But you may be right. Perhaps, given time, we might both regret actions taken with too little thought. I would prefer that our relationship be without any regrets at all.”
Leaning forward, Mavelle pressed her lips against Railtus’s, gifting him with a slow, sensuous kiss. Then, reluctantly, she stood. Her body felt like it was on fire, and to stay any longer was torment. And yet, even then, she couldn’t find the willpower to tear her hands away from Railtus. “I should go,” she whispered, although it sounded more like a plea than a statement. “I’m not strong like you are.”
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Sir Karsimir
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Wow. His first kiss.
And it was amazing.
A thrill shot through Railtus like electricity, only so much better. The taste of Mavelle's kiss was overwhelmingly sweet, tingling every nerve alight with joy. The sweet scent intensified to intoxicating levels. Already Railtus was unable to think clearly, nor did he want to. Such a flood of sensation was unlike anything Railtus had ever known. An unseen force tugged inside his chest, drawing his heart further towards Mavelle.
At that moment he resented his armour as much as she did.
And then, it was over.
Mavelle was speaking, but Railtus was only barely aware of the words. As she stood, he stood. As before in the garden, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her to him.
Then he kissed her.
That kiss was no disappointment. A kiss both deep and tender, in that moment every part of him, body, heart, mind & soul, felt more alive than ever before. All joys were heightened, the weight of his armour felt like nothing. His arms craved for the feeling of Mavelle inside them.
His second kiss.
Eventually, sadly, the kiss ended. Still, he leaned forwards into her, aware of how pleasant he found the smell of her hair. Breath came raggedly, drawn in by effort and yet forced out by emotion. Blissful dizziness slowly began to clear. Railtus had no idea of the direction in which his will was pulling him.
Lightly nuzzling into her neck, Railtus tried to recover some semblance of awareness to have a conversation. "I am so glad we met." he told her, his heart in his voice.
And it was amazing.
A thrill shot through Railtus like electricity, only so much better. The taste of Mavelle's kiss was overwhelmingly sweet, tingling every nerve alight with joy. The sweet scent intensified to intoxicating levels. Already Railtus was unable to think clearly, nor did he want to. Such a flood of sensation was unlike anything Railtus had ever known. An unseen force tugged inside his chest, drawing his heart further towards Mavelle.
At that moment he resented his armour as much as she did.
And then, it was over.
Mavelle was speaking, but Railtus was only barely aware of the words. As she stood, he stood. As before in the garden, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her to him.
Then he kissed her.
That kiss was no disappointment. A kiss both deep and tender, in that moment every part of him, body, heart, mind & soul, felt more alive than ever before. All joys were heightened, the weight of his armour felt like nothing. His arms craved for the feeling of Mavelle inside them.
His second kiss.
Eventually, sadly, the kiss ended. Still, he leaned forwards into her, aware of how pleasant he found the smell of her hair. Breath came raggedly, drawn in by effort and yet forced out by emotion. Blissful dizziness slowly began to clear. Railtus had no idea of the direction in which his will was pulling him.
Lightly nuzzling into her neck, Railtus tried to recover some semblance of awareness to have a conversation. "I am so glad we met." he told her, his heart in his voice.
My faith protects me, my kevlar helps.
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Sir Karsimir
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(NPC POST)
Of course, Phelan was waiting for that. Seeing Julen struggle to control himself was something to enjoy. Again, of course, Julen would not throw that punch. No one ever had the nerve.
What was that locket? An opportunity? In his usual mature manner, Phelan attempted to snatch for it. Julen's hand in the way prevented the aristocrat from making a grab. Phelan's fingers bounced off from the failed grab and he grimaced with annoyance, making as much effort as possible to cover the grimace immediately.
"So you would accuse me of lying?" For a moment Phelan considered adding a comment about Julen's fist almost raising, but guessed that no one else was able to see it. Hopefully he could bait the young man into doing something more clear.
Almost immediately, the leer returned in full-force.
Thunk.
That was a door slamming.
Of course, Phelan was waiting for that. Seeing Julen struggle to control himself was something to enjoy. Again, of course, Julen would not throw that punch. No one ever had the nerve.
What was that locket? An opportunity? In his usual mature manner, Phelan attempted to snatch for it. Julen's hand in the way prevented the aristocrat from making a grab. Phelan's fingers bounced off from the failed grab and he grimaced with annoyance, making as much effort as possible to cover the grimace immediately.
"So you would accuse me of lying?" For a moment Phelan considered adding a comment about Julen's fist almost raising, but guessed that no one else was able to see it. Hopefully he could bait the young man into doing something more clear.
Almost immediately, the leer returned in full-force.
Thunk.
That was a door slamming.
My faith protects me, my kevlar helps.
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Falcon Bertille
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- Joined: Tue Feb 13, 2007 4:15 pm
Mavelle nearly swooned when Railtus swept her into his arms and kissed her. It was not her first kiss. But it pushed aside those that had come before it, unmasking them as nothing more than feeble imposters of the real thing. All Mavelle’s resolve, all her hastily gathered willpower, rushed out of her like water squeezed from a sponge. Now there was no more question of leaving. Why had she ever wanted to? How had she even thought it was possible? Railtus’s embrace was her whole world. For the love of him, she would live and die in it. Reaching up, Mavelle slid her fingers into Railtus’s white-blonde hair, determined to never let him go.
As the kiss continued, Mavelle’s lips parted. Feeling Railtus’s breath brush against them, she drank it in as if was her own, as if all other air would now taste sour by comparison. Her heart beat in her chest like a maddened bird trying to escape from a bone cage. Dizzily, Mavelle pressed herself against the cruel separation of Railtus’s armor, overwhelmed by desire, joy, and bliss. In that moment, she didn’t give a damn about her father. Didn’t give a damn about honor. She just wanted Railtus to lower her down onto the bed, and touch her, and touch her, and touch her, until all this sensation finally burst into some sort of release.
And then, just when Mavelle could take no more, Railtus ended the kiss. Suddenly, she was aware of the room once more -- could hear the songs of birds singing in the trees outside. Sucking in a ragged breath, she caressed the rose Railtus still wore tucked in the laces of his vambrace, trying to draw some calm from its cool, smooth petals.
“Yes,” she murmured, in response to Railtus’s statement. “I think your angel must have brought us together.”
As the kiss continued, Mavelle’s lips parted. Feeling Railtus’s breath brush against them, she drank it in as if was her own, as if all other air would now taste sour by comparison. Her heart beat in her chest like a maddened bird trying to escape from a bone cage. Dizzily, Mavelle pressed herself against the cruel separation of Railtus’s armor, overwhelmed by desire, joy, and bliss. In that moment, she didn’t give a damn about her father. Didn’t give a damn about honor. She just wanted Railtus to lower her down onto the bed, and touch her, and touch her, and touch her, until all this sensation finally burst into some sort of release.
And then, just when Mavelle could take no more, Railtus ended the kiss. Suddenly, she was aware of the room once more -- could hear the songs of birds singing in the trees outside. Sucking in a ragged breath, she caressed the rose Railtus still wore tucked in the laces of his vambrace, trying to draw some calm from its cool, smooth petals.
“Yes,” she murmured, in response to Railtus’s statement. “I think your angel must have brought us together.”
Julen still remembered the moment when Rosemary had given him that locket. On the day he left for Marn, she’d accompanied him to the very outskirts of Shim. And, when she could go no further, she drew it from her pocket. Tears streaming down her face, she opened it, showing him the lock of hair inside, light brown like the crust on freshly baked bread. So you’ll remember me, she whispered. As if he could ever forget. So that I’ll always be with you. As if he could ever truly leave her behind. When she started to close the locket, one of her tears dropped into its silver cage. Then she fastened it around his neck, kissed him, and watched him walk down the road, standing there for so long that Julen saw her every time he glanced over his shoulder, until finally the tears in his own eyes kept him from seeing anything at all.
On nights when the loneliness felt like being drowned in something chill and viscous, when he hadn’t spoken for so long that he’d nearly forgotten the sound of his own voice, Julen cradled the locket in the palm of his hand. Murmured softly to it. Told it about his small disappointments, his even smaller triumphs. For the last four months, it was all he had of his wife -- to Julen, it almost was his wife. So when Phelan reached for it, Julen didn’t think. He just reacted, knocking Phelan’s hand away with the same intensity as if Phelan had been attempting to grab Rosemary herself.
Only afterwards did Julen realize what he’d done. Horrified, he heard the voice of reason cry out inside his head. Apologize. Tell him it was an accident. Tell him you didn’t mean it. Call him “Lord”, call him “Master”, call him whatever he wants to hear. Get down your knees if you have to. Let him humiliate you and put and end to this. Because if you don’t, he’s going to kill you.
Julen’s mouth opened. He knew the voice was right. He knew it. And yet, he couldn’t make himself follow its advice. If he groveled, he might live to see Rosemary again, that was true. But he would never again be the same man she married. Part of him would be forever destroyed, crushed beneath Phelan’s heel. Would that be any better for either of them than if he never came home at all?
“Lying?” Julen’s voice was steady now, spoken with the calm of someone who has nothing left to lose. “No, M’lord. I was just congratulating you on your keen perception of my incredulous nature.”
Somewhere, in the corner of his awareness, Julen heard the door slam. But he was too focused on Phelan to even wonder about it.
On nights when the loneliness felt like being drowned in something chill and viscous, when he hadn’t spoken for so long that he’d nearly forgotten the sound of his own voice, Julen cradled the locket in the palm of his hand. Murmured softly to it. Told it about his small disappointments, his even smaller triumphs. For the last four months, it was all he had of his wife -- to Julen, it almost was his wife. So when Phelan reached for it, Julen didn’t think. He just reacted, knocking Phelan’s hand away with the same intensity as if Phelan had been attempting to grab Rosemary herself.
Only afterwards did Julen realize what he’d done. Horrified, he heard the voice of reason cry out inside his head. Apologize. Tell him it was an accident. Tell him you didn’t mean it. Call him “Lord”, call him “Master”, call him whatever he wants to hear. Get down your knees if you have to. Let him humiliate you and put and end to this. Because if you don’t, he’s going to kill you.
Julen’s mouth opened. He knew the voice was right. He knew it. And yet, he couldn’t make himself follow its advice. If he groveled, he might live to see Rosemary again, that was true. But he would never again be the same man she married. Part of him would be forever destroyed, crushed beneath Phelan’s heel. Would that be any better for either of them than if he never came home at all?
“Lying?” Julen’s voice was steady now, spoken with the calm of someone who has nothing left to lose. “No, M’lord. I was just congratulating you on your keen perception of my incredulous nature.”
Somewhere, in the corner of his awareness, Julen heard the door slam. But he was too focused on Phelan to even wonder about it.
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Sir Karsimir
- Citizen
- Posts: 714
- Joined: Wed Jan 10, 2007 8:12 pm
- Name: Karsimir Von Greyssen
- Race: Reichvolk human
Leaning his face into her neck, Railtus could think of no reason whatsoever to move. At all. When he kissed her, he had reacted to the moment of her kiss, and was somehow still expecting her to leave afterwards. Modesty being as rediculous as it was with Railtus, he never considered that the kiss would give Mavelle so much reason to stay.
Ydren surely had better things to do than play matchmaker, a thought making Railtus twitch his lips in amusement. From their position on Mavelle's neck, they were unlikely to be seen.
So his first clear thought had to be sardonic.
The finest command of language, and diplomacy, was to say nothing.
Conscious of the thumping of his heart, at that moment he felt as though his ribs had left him, and that the heavy breastplate was all that kept his heart inside.
Now, for a request made by the lady.
Reaching around, trying to reach as far as his other elbow while still with his arms encircling Mavelle, which was easy enough considering how slender she was, Railtus plucked the rose from the vambrace. Keeping one arm tight around Mavelle's waist, Railtus laid the rose upon the pillow.
Admittedly, a large part of this was Railtus not having the faintest idea what to do with a flower. Keeping it with him would destroy it in short order, and there was some pain from keeping it in his vambrace.
Stopping once more to eagerly nuzzle into Mavelle's neck, Railtus then let go, his hands trailing on Mavelle's arms in his reluctance to break contact.
Ydren surely had better things to do than play matchmaker, a thought making Railtus twitch his lips in amusement. From their position on Mavelle's neck, they were unlikely to be seen.
So his first clear thought had to be sardonic.
The finest command of language, and diplomacy, was to say nothing.
Conscious of the thumping of his heart, at that moment he felt as though his ribs had left him, and that the heavy breastplate was all that kept his heart inside.
Now, for a request made by the lady.
Reaching around, trying to reach as far as his other elbow while still with his arms encircling Mavelle, which was easy enough considering how slender she was, Railtus plucked the rose from the vambrace. Keeping one arm tight around Mavelle's waist, Railtus laid the rose upon the pillow.
Admittedly, a large part of this was Railtus not having the faintest idea what to do with a flower. Keeping it with him would destroy it in short order, and there was some pain from keeping it in his vambrace.
Stopping once more to eagerly nuzzle into Mavelle's neck, Railtus then let go, his hands trailing on Mavelle's arms in his reluctance to break contact.
My faith protects me, my kevlar helps.
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Sir Karsimir
- Citizen
- Posts: 714
- Joined: Wed Jan 10, 2007 8:12 pm
- Name: Karsimir Von Greyssen
- Race: Reichvolk human
(NPC POST)
An expression of shock crossed Phelan's face as his hand was struck aside. Next was a moment spent flexing the hand, a reaction to the unexpected pain of the blow.
Holding Phelan back, most of all, was the contrasting calm in Julen's steady voice, as though all fear had left him. That sudden shift in attitude adjusted the balance of power in the room dramatically.
Now more than ever, Phelan needed to put this upstart in his place. People were watching, and Phelan had been stood up to by one of his lessers. Just like Rosemary had done. Would this country bumpkin never cease making a fool of him?
Well, Phelan would not be defeated so easily. The challenge would not go unanswered.
Even more infuriating was the fact that Julen had done nothing wrong. This held a long period of silence as Phelan contemplated killing him. A broad-daylight murder would be too much, Lord Kendall would not stand for that. Impregnating random servants was one thing, servants could easily be replaced and abandoned. Investigation from the Guard, specifically that damnable, incorruptable Camulous, would spell disaster for the House.
Not that Phelan cared for the well-being of the House, only his glory and priviledge.
Before that, he thought that killing Julen was not enough, that first he must be hurt. Deeply. Profoundly. Again and again. The upstart must be utterly broken.
Then he thought what news of Julen's death would do to Rosemary. A wide grin split Phelan's face, cutting through his reverie like a singing blade. Provoking this young man would give him the opportunity to bring about just that.
"What is that?" Phelan asked, referring to the locket. "A trophy from your strumpet?" Deliberately treading dangerous ground, Phelan continued. "Give it to me. I demand it."
An expression of shock crossed Phelan's face as his hand was struck aside. Next was a moment spent flexing the hand, a reaction to the unexpected pain of the blow.
Holding Phelan back, most of all, was the contrasting calm in Julen's steady voice, as though all fear had left him. That sudden shift in attitude adjusted the balance of power in the room dramatically.
Now more than ever, Phelan needed to put this upstart in his place. People were watching, and Phelan had been stood up to by one of his lessers. Just like Rosemary had done. Would this country bumpkin never cease making a fool of him?
Well, Phelan would not be defeated so easily. The challenge would not go unanswered.
Even more infuriating was the fact that Julen had done nothing wrong. This held a long period of silence as Phelan contemplated killing him. A broad-daylight murder would be too much, Lord Kendall would not stand for that. Impregnating random servants was one thing, servants could easily be replaced and abandoned. Investigation from the Guard, specifically that damnable, incorruptable Camulous, would spell disaster for the House.
Not that Phelan cared for the well-being of the House, only his glory and priviledge.
Before that, he thought that killing Julen was not enough, that first he must be hurt. Deeply. Profoundly. Again and again. The upstart must be utterly broken.
Then he thought what news of Julen's death would do to Rosemary. A wide grin split Phelan's face, cutting through his reverie like a singing blade. Provoking this young man would give him the opportunity to bring about just that.
"What is that?" Phelan asked, referring to the locket. "A trophy from your strumpet?" Deliberately treading dangerous ground, Phelan continued. "Give it to me. I demand it."
My faith protects me, my kevlar helps.