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Neutral
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♠︎ Skinbound
Starting Post Info ↓ Morning comes quietly to the Conclave Inn. Pale light slips through high windows as doors open along the upper halls and servants begin their rounds. Below, the courtyard is already stirring — stone being swept, veiled frames set in place, braziers checked with steady hands. The heirs wake slowly. The beds are unfamiliar, the rooms shared, the walls close enough to carry the sounds of other families rising around them. Footsteps in the halls, voices on the stairs — reminders of where they are and who else is there. Some awaken with their skin stored nearby, folded or set within reach. Others wake without one, aware of the space it might occupy soon and what this Gathering may demand. Bonded or not, preparation should come easily — dressing, gathering thoughts, settling into restraint. By the time the smell of fresh bread and hot tea drifts upstairs, its clear no one will be sleeping much longer. Breakfast is being served in the lower hall. Attendance isn't required, but it will be noticed. This evening, ceremonies begin. For now, the day starts peacefully...
Conclave Details ↓ • Location: The Conclave Inn, Veilfall Conclave A neutral stronghold of pale stone and open courtyards, built to house rival bloodlines under one roof. With three levels, the highest being the sleeping quarters, the hallways are narrow, purposely. Its windows overlook shared spaces, encouraging proximity and observation. • Time: Early morning, just after dawn. • Season: Late Autumn • Temperature: Cool and crisp; the stone still holds the previous nights chill • Week Day: #1, Sunday
To Note • Sleeping Arrangements - All of the sleeping quarters are based off of the families themselves. Proper rugs, family colors, etc. However, the layout of the quarters themselves makes it possible for another line could be straight across the hall. This idea was shared by leaders a while back and simply wasn't changed. Maybe because it actually helped certain years, or maybe because they simply like watching over the drama that unfolds every they're used. Please use the following format when posting - Character Name | Age | Bonded? | House + Role | Mentions:
Important Links: Sign Ups Discussion Thread |
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Neutral
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Eirdis Veyloria Kol Bramblefen 23 | Not Bound | Bramblefen's Youngest Heiress | Mentions: Brynhildr, Greyholt Family (Indirectly) Eirdis stood quietly, her gaze searching across the horizon as dawn had faded. She was dressed in teh color of grief; black. Layered in dark wool, a nightly cloak lined with faux fur wrapped around her shoulders. Her eyes were rimmed red from another night of tossing and turning, her feet placed in flat black shoes, her legs covered in dark under garments. Her hair was wildly pulled together with golden rings, her hands wrapped in fresh bandages. Birds twittered amongst the browning leaves and the sounds of the other families awakening filled her ears. She imagined her child, a young boy with vibrantly blonde hair and her eyes, running around the room refusing to keep himself composed in an eager impatience to meet everyone. Her lips turned downwards as she wiped her eyes and went to exit her room. The room was adorned and suited to the Bramblefen family, it's emblem woven into every fabric. As she exited her room servants quickly passed by, her gaze narrowing at them. Her eyes wandered tot he door next to hers. She wondered if her elder sister had yet to awaken. She stopped a servant and ordered herself a cup of tea, making her way to the lower floors. When she recieved her tea, she gently sipped it as she walked. The scent of dog wafetr into her nose as she passed other rooms. She sniffled, a sneeze building up. She gave a quiet distastful sigh, covering ehr nose with her hankerchief. She was not pleased with this meeting, yet duty called. She scowled at her reflection in her cup, her eyes wandering out one of the windows yet again in thought. Her heart briefly lightened at the sight of the people bustling about, before she saw a small child. Her lips tightened into a fine line, and she turned away from the window making her way downteh various steps. |
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Neutral
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Mordecai G. Nightcoil | 28 | Not Bound | Nightcoil High Prince | M: His Sisters (ind), Open.
Sleep never really came. The prince had always experienced the difficulty reality of letting his mind rest. Cai had closed his eyes at some point — he remembers doing that much — but whatever passed for rest was thin and restless, broken by the unfamiliar sounds of the Inn settling around him. Stone expands differently here. Wood creaks where it shouldn't. Even the silence felt occupied. He lies awake long before dawn, staring at a ceiling he doesn't recognize, counting his breaths out of habit rather than need. In. Out. Still awake. His body carries the exhaustion poorly. He can feel it in the tightness behind his eyes, the dull ache at the base of his skull. Hes known worse nights — camps before battle, weeks spent sleeping in armour — but this is a kind of fatigue that comes from waiting. From knowing the day ahead has already decided whether it will break you or not. Four years presses in whether he invites it or not. He pushes himself upright, bare feet meeting cold stone, the chill sharp enough to clear the last of the fog from his head. Movement carries faintly through the adjoining quarters — familiar, restrained. His sisters, awake or close to it. Close enough. The thought settles something low in his chest as he stands. Below, Veilfall stirs. Footsteps echo. Stone is swept clean. Preparations begin without ceremony or mercy. Tonight, he'll kneel again. The thought lands without ceremony, heavy and familiar. This time it'll be his great-grandfathers skin — old, powerful, stubborn if the records are to be believed. The elders are confident. They always are. Cai isn't. Four refusals have taught him better than faith ever could. If it turns him away again, thats it. No more ceremonies. No more kneeling. The border is honest in a way the Conclave will never be. Steel doesn't pretend to care whether your worthy. Cai dresses without thinking, hands moving on memory rather than care. A dark linen shirt first, fitted close through the shoulders and arms, its collar left open and unadorned. Trousers of heavy black wool follow, tailored for movement rather than display, secured with a simple black belt worn with age. He pulls on a long, structured coat in deep charcoal, the cut sharp and militaristic, falling to mid-calf when he stands. No embroidery. No lineage markings. Just clean likes and purpose. The boots are polished and practical, worn leather models to his stride. He pauses long enough to fasten a single silver clasp at his throat, subtle, serpent-shaped if one were to look closely — the only concession to House Nightcoil he allows himself this morning. There is no skin waiting for him. No folded weight at the edge of the room. Just his own body, his owns strength. Earned. Tested. Enough for war if not for tradition. His reflection stares back at him from the narrow mirror, expression already settling into something unreadable. The face the soldiers know. The one the Conclave expects. He adjusts his collar, fingers steady despite the restless energy under his skin. Without the ancestral weight pressing against him - everything feels sharper - smells, sounds, awareness - and he doesn't entirely hate it. The scent of fresh baked bread and hot tea drifts up from below, the kitchens, he remembered. Carried through the halls by open doors and bustling servants. Breakfast. A courtesy disguised as a choice. He'll attend. He always does. Not for the food, obviously, but for the listening. The Gathering has a way of loosening tongues before people remember to keep their walls up. For a moment, brief and unwanted, his thoughts stray. A familiar presence, warma nd dangerous in equal measure. Something he keeps carefully contained, especially here. Especially now. He cuts the thought off without ceremony, the same way he learned to cut off fear before before a battle. There will be times for mistakes later. This morning isn't one of those times. Cai straightens, shoulders settling into their usual set, turned towards the door. Another day at the Conclave. Another attempt waiting in the dark. He doesn't choose to linger. |
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Darkseeker
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Reverie Yua Nightcoil | 20 | Yes | Nightcoil, Youngest | Mentions: Siblings (indirect), Open! -
Reverie's dark amber eyes fluttered awake at the sound of footsteps and voices echoing through the halls and stairways to get breakfast. She slid out of the unfamiliar creaky bed and widened her eyes at the realization that she couldn't see her skin. She opened a drawer that was next to the bed, empty at first sight, but as she slid her hand into the drawer she felt the smooth surface of the silver ring. Reverie slid it on her right index finger, light reflected off of the glass dome on top of the dark green skin, and the shining scales as well.
She grabbed a cream colored dress with a layered lace skirt and a tight top with cap sleeves of the same color. She felt a need to dress nicely the best she could, today was the day of the gathering, was what she had pieced together, and everyone was in the Conclave Inn. She grabbed a pair of calf length black boots with black laces. She wove her dark hair into her usual braids and stepped over to the window at the back of the room. She watched as people prepared for the upcoming ceremony, walking around in the cold courtyard, Reverie walked out of the room and headed down the winding staircase to get some food. She had just noticed how hungry she was, and she wondered if Cai or Seraphina were awake. |
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Neutral
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Clarissa Marayena Ardor Whitethorn | 18 | Not bound | Youngest Whitethorn heiress | Mentions: Whitethorn heirs (ind.), Daria, NPC servants (open) Mara awoke to an unforgiving stream of light beaming directly into her eyes. She turned her head out of its direct path and pressed her face into her pillow, limbs aching with sleepiness. The bed she lay in was odd and unfamiliar, overly cushy, and she sank deeper into it with every movement. She opened her eyes and closed them again, feeling sluggish. Although she often awoke early at home, she and her siblings had arrived somewhat late yesterday—late enough that she had found herself finishing her dinner at an ungodly hour, and indeed, late enough that she did not fall asleep at a sufficient time. No matter. She would have plenty of late nights over the next few days, so she would simply have to accept waking up later, if need be. Perhaps she would not have time for her usual early morning ride so often, but there was much else to do and much more excitement to enjoy instead. Well, she had time this morning, at any rate. Mara stretched under the thick woolen blankets swallowing her, yawning ferociously. After a moment, she sat up, blankets falling off of her and exposing her to the chill in the air. She shivered, fighting the urge to dive back into bed. Her room at Whitethorn Manor was never this cold. Mara slid begrudgingly out of bed, letting out an audible hiss as her feet touched the cold stone floor. She darted to her wardrobe and dug out her slippers, breathing a relieved sigh as she slid them onto her feet. These would stay by her bed for the rest of her time here. Rescued from the freezing floor, but still shivering in the chilled air—Mara thought she could even see her breath!—Mara once again dug through her wardrobe for clothing. Finding a warm pair of brown riding pants and long-sleeved tunic, she changed out of her nightgown, breathing another sign (yes, she could definitely see her breath) at the extra covering. She added a thick riding jacket over top, a white one with golden-embroidered embellishments she was quite partial to in the winter. It was a touch worn, no longer the crisp white it had been when she first acquired it, and Mara found the jacket even cosier for it. Mara swept her hair into a tight, low ponytail and finished with a woolen cloak and tall leather boots. She stepped out of her room, closing the heavy door gently behind her so as not to awaken her siblings (or any heirs sleeping in nearby rooms—the walls were quite thin). After a quick stop the washroom she and Daria had elected to share to freshen up, she made a quiet path through the shared living area. The room was white and gilded, all too bright, and both Mara and Daria had turned their noses up at it upon seeing it. Mara supposed the decorators had attempted to design it to be reminiscent of her family home, and it certainly was, but only of those parts reserved for guests. She couldn't fault them—they had no way of knowing any better, truly. Mara slipped from the living space into the hall quietly, closing that door gently as well, and began her path out of the house. The halls were thin, and multiple times, Mara had to squish over to avoid running into groups of servants bustling around, sweeping and tidying and lighting lamps. It was clearly still quite early. Mara hadn't gotten a good look out her window before rushing out to the stables, but it seemed her room was directly in line of the sunrise. Mara reached the first floor and spent a moment orienting herself. She had found her way to the stables last night, but now found herself slightly lost. She hailed the nearest servant, who pointed her out a side door. She thanked the servant and hurried out the door, which opened into a small courtyard. The sounds of fidgeting hooves and shifting hay reached her ears and she couldn't help but smile. The cobblestones beneath her feet were tipped with frost, and distant trees shed reddish-brown leaves in a light, chilly wind. Mara entered the stable through a small door and breathed in the familiar smell of horses. A couple stablehands hurried around, feeding and watering and sweeping, and other than the occasional curious glance, paying Mara no mind as she moved down the aisle. Her horse greeted her with a gentle nicker around a mouthful of hay, and Mara's smile grew. "Hello, my love." Mara's horse, Rosy, was a well-built, spotted grey mare on the smaller side, with reddish points and a stark white blaze down her face. That blaze Mara kissed softly, stroking the mare's pink nose, before brushing her down and tacking up. She threw a deer-hide blanket over Rosy's hindquarters to keep her warm and affixed it to the saddle before taking the reins and departing into the chilly morning fog. |
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Daria Malory Annora Whitethorn | 21 | Bound | Second-youngest Whitethorn heiress | Mentions: Mara, NPC servants (open) Daria first stirred when her sister awoke, faintly registering the shuffle of Mara preparing for her usual dawn ride. She truly awoke over an hour later, blinking out of yet another unsettling dream. Daria grasped for the memory, but the dream slipped away, light as morning air. The Conclave Inn was much colder than her home, and Daria felt a pang of amused pity at the thought of her sister sleepily grumbling over the stone floors. Clearly Mara had made it out alright, though, considering she had not yet returned to bury herself in a layer of blankets as she often did after riding in the colder seasons. Daria sat up and stretched lithely, twisting her body back and forth and reaching her arms over her head. She had chosen a warm nightdress last night, all too familiar with the freezing nights characteristic of the Gathering. It was this nightdress she shedded, folding neatly and hanging over the door of her wardrobe, before donning a simple blue dress and white furred cloak. She slid her skinbound gloves into an inner pocket of the cloak. Daria made her way into the hall, passing briskly by a few other heirs with a brief, polite nod to each. The smell of fresh bread wafted up the corridor and her stomach rumbled in anticipation—having gotten in quite late last night, she had not had time for a large meal. Eager for breakfast, she picked up her pace, cloak rippling faintly behind her. The dining room itself was thus far empty, unlike the rest of the waking house. Daria settled at a corner table, and a servant appeared almost instantly to take her breakfast order. "Some of that bread would be wonderful," Daria requested. "With a side of jam—what do you have?" "Apple, blackberry, and fig," the servant offered. "Apple, please. And a bowl of oatmeal topped with a teaspoon of brown sugar." "Of course, your grace," the servant said with a dip of his chin before returning in the direction he had come from. Daria folded her hands in her lap and settled back in her chair, gaze drifting out the window. Servants bustled around an open courtyard, some sweeping, others carrying bundles to an unknown destination. The dining room peeked out into the sunrise, the sky stained rosy pink and pale blue. Autumn fog settled lightly over the grounds. Another Gathering, and another reminder of the fragile, turbulent relationships between Families. Daria was already exhausted at the prospect of soothing harsh words and curbing conflicts. Perhaps she would steal away to the Inn's library for some time this morning, before the real work began. The Masked Ball would take place tonight, and then it would be days of Bindings, worry, and faintly veiled threats. Daria did not look forward with great anticipation. The servant returned to place Daria's breakfast in front of her, and she smiled at him as he did so. He dipped his chin and vanished once again, leaving Daria alone again with her thoughts. She was ready for this Gathering to be over. |
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Lightbringer
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Manjushri Delwyn-Kallinikos. Whitethorn | 24 | M | Bound | Second Eldest Heir | Mentions : His Siblings , Ophelia, Mordecai ( All Indirectly. )
The young man groaned slightly as he woke up , the light finding a way to his irritable eyes. Pale lashes fluttered at the unwelcomed intrusion, and he slowly rose up from the bed. The bed was subpar and not comfortable as the one at home, and he huffed his annoyance as the aches of sleeping in an inadequate bed made him more aware of the morning chill. He shivered slightly as his teeth clattered , he turned gracefully to slip on his morning shoes that he had placed by his bed strategically. He didn't care to have his feet touch the cool marble floors , there was no telling what germs were on the floor. He could hear the sounds of movement, and the scents of his sisters were flitting about . It seems they were awake and readying themselves for the day.
He sighed, stretching lazily, he would be doing the same. He sighed as he got up to his wardrobe, and he assessed the items he had packed to wear in this colder weather . He grabbed his collar-like skin and placed it around his neck. He put on a pristine white linen tunic, and then a high collared doublet, the doublet was a deep burgundy color with black and intricate golden stitching . He then placed on some silk hosiery on his legs and adjusted his garter so they wouldn't slip. He then got into some thick black wool trousers lined with leather and silk for extra warmth and put on a pair of leather boots that finished the look nicely . He polished them, making sure they shined , and he then proceeded to look in the mirror and plucked a few stray hairs on his eyebrows. He placed a slight touch of rouge to his lips and then placed some dangling gold earrings with pearls on his ears . He was satisfied with how he looked , and then he took his hair and meticulously combed through it , and then kept it together by a lovely burgundy ribbon. He then found a cape lined with ermine fur and dyed burgundy and placed it around him. And finally, he adorned his hands with some black leather gloves lined with ermine fur. He walked out of his room with his head held high and a purposeful walk. This was the time that people would either be Bonded or Rejected , and it was very stressful for those who weren't bound yet. It was also a time to mingle and find out the latest about the families. And that's when he paused, this would be the first time others found out about his engagement, it was rather new - should he wait for Ophelia ? It would be kind of a bad look for them to not show up together , though the young lady didn't have his heart , she was still dear to him as a friend. And he wouldn't dare ruin her reputation, purposefully. He had been frank and upfront with her about not wanting to be in this situation, and he had even revealed a secret to her that even his siblings weren't privy to ( though he was sure they suspected something ) , that he wasn't into women romantically , and was into well . . . men. He decided the best play would be to find them seats together, he needed to keep up the facade of a loving engagement - or else he wouldn't hear the last of it from their parents . He wish he wasn't afraid to tell them of his taste, but he was sure it would have them sending him away . He shuddered at the thought. The air was particularly nippy this morning and his pale skin was already turning shades of red due to it . He found servants bustling to get things done and ready, and so he made his way where the scent of breakfast caught his nose . And his stomach rumbled involuntarily. He saw that his sister was already eating some food, and he sent her a soft smile. And he found himself a spot, where a servant came to him . "May I have some of that cinnamon bread with butter and some scrambled eggs and sausage with orange juice. " he spoke, his tone refined and poised as he did so, and the servant dutifully nodded as they took the order . Not much longer the servant came back with his orange juice and scurried off to fix his order . He sipped his juice gently, eyes lazily looking over his surroundings. That's when his eyes landed on Mordecai. The man seemingly having just come in. He couldn't help if his eyes lingered on the man longer than normal, he was a handsome specimen to look at. And he took a sip of his drink to that statement . |
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Neutral
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Mordecai G. Nightcoil | 28 | Not Bound | Nightcoil High Prince | M: Servant NPCs (dir), Manjushri (ind), His Sisters (ind) The corridor is already awake, light slipping in through the high windows and stretching across the stone floor. Sound carries easily here it seemed — footsteps, voices that were meant to be low or unheard (ultimately failing this time of day), and the quiet clatter of trays somewhere down below. Mordecai closed his door with a quiet click and started down the hall. Throughout the years he's been able to attend the Gathering, he's made himself more than a little familiar with his quarters relations to other rooms. The layout had found itself settled in his head by his second year. It was a bit of a habit, naturally recalling the spaces or... places he's been in. He slowed reflexively when his legs nearly carried him past a particular door. The room beyond the door wasn't yet familiar to him in the way maps and layout usually were... And I highlight the phrase "yet". The resident however - no, thats another matter entirely. The thought lands uninvited, earning a brief huff of breath through his nose, that was sharpened out just as quickly. His tongue flicked out, wetting his lips quickly and unaware, before he continued his way down the hall, pace steady, expression unchanged. The stairwell was busier than expected. A servant rounded the corner too quickly, skirts brushing his leg as they both hesitate a fraction too late. He steps back at once, straightening instinctively. "Sorry," he spoke, tone low and even. The maid flushed, head ducking quickly as she muttered something in return and hurried past, nearly tripping over the hem of her apron in her rush to escape. The prince continued on without comment or question, boots clipped against the stone as he descended. The smell of breakfast grew stronger with every step — baked goods, herbal teas, and something warm and spiced. By the time he reached the first floor, the hall had begun to fill, long tables partially occupied, servants weaving through the space with practiced efficiency. A few eyes lifted as he stepped through the large wooden doors, some lingering longer than others. Cai let his gaze linger about the room without a hurry, stepping aside slightly to let a few others enter the hall. Exits. Corners. Who was seated early, who was obviously not there at all. Where conversations clustered and where silence held. His shoulders settle, forcing his rigid posture to relax a bit. He was about to continue to the line for breakfast, when his attention caught. Across the room, near one of the long tables, a familiar figure stands — long-limbed, willowy, dressed in colors and lines that marked him as separate from Cai's own day to day interactions. Mordecai doesn't need more than a moment to recognize him. But he also doesn't miss the fact that the young man is already watching him. That earns a pause. The princes brow lifts — just barely, a single sharp notch of interest, maybe even challenge cracking through that cool facade. The corner of his mouth threatens something that isn't quite a smile before he reins it back in, suddenly all too aware that he was in fact not meant familiarizing himself with... Yeah. Mhm. The mans gaze lingered a fraction too long to be mistaken for an accident. Its gone as quickly as it appeared, his expression smoothing back into something akin to disinterest as he looks away. He approaches the serving table where a male servant waits with a ledger tucked under his arm. Mordecai stopped within reach, posture relaxed, voice low - still a bit husky from the poor attempt at sleep earlier. "Black tea," he says. "Bread. Whatevers hot." The servant nods and moves off at once. Mordecai stepped aside to clear the path, attention drifting briefly back to that table — not enough to stare, just enough to check — before he redirects it elsewhere. He chose a seat along the wall, tucked into a corner where he could easily look over the rest of the hall without being swallowed by it. It wasn't meant to be permanent — just somewhere to wait. His sisters should come down soon enough, and he planned on joining them when they did. So long as they didn't move to a quieter space, then he'd most likely just stay put. From the satchel at his side, he retrieved a folded pamphlet — schedules, ceremony notices, summaries meant for political consumption. Official. Neat. Useful enough. He opened it and began to reach, leaning back into his seat to cross a leg over his knee, eyes moving steadily across the page. The hall grows louder as more people arrive. Chairs shift, cutlery clinks, conversations deepen. Mordecai remains where he is, attention divided between the paper in his hands and the movement around him. When the servant returns with his tea and toasted bread, Mordecai nods once in acknowledgement and draws the cup closer, warmth seeping through his palms. |
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Darkseeker
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Viktor Ri Greyholt | 23 | Yes | Second Oldest Heir of the Greyholt Line| Mentions: His siblings (ind.), Mara (Ind.), NPC servant, Open! - Viktor awoke from his short sleep. He hadn't slept much, most of his night he was thinking about strategies for chess among other things. He stepped out of bed, and grabbed the small brown neck cloak from the edge of the bed, folded neatly. He put on a long sleeved white shirt and a dark brown vest, the same color as his skin. He put on a black choker over the skin and put on black pants. He tied the black boots and wondered if his siblings were awake yet. They probably were, or close to it at least. He combed his brown hair and set off down the long staircase, the smell of tea creeping its way through the halls.
Viktor smiled slightly at the thought of a warm cup of tea. He didn't want to stop a servant on the stairs, that would block the stairways, and the servants were probably already doing something. As he neared the last floor, he locked eyes with a brown-haired woman from across the room. She was small, probably a Whitethorn. The woman didn't seem to carry a skin, she was probably not bound yet. Viktor's small grin turned into a short, yetnoticeable, sneer. He turned away and sat down a long ways away from the woman, his sneer faded. Viktor called a servant over to where he sat and ordered a tea and a croissant. He sat as he watched the other people flood into the lower floor. - Reverie Yua Nightcoil | 20 | Yes | Nightcoil, Youngest | Mentions: Erie, Open! - Reverie's lace skirt grazed the ground behind her as she walked down the stairs. She heard another person behind her, turning around, startled at the sound of footsteps. Her amber eyes widened at the different, yet familiar face behind her. She recognized the dark hair framing the woman's tanned face. When Reverie had whipped around, one of the silver bands holding her braids had fallen out and clattered down the stairs. Reverie barely noticed. "E-Erie?!" She asked shakily, looking up at the older woman. "Why didn't you answer my messages? Where were you?" She asked frantically to the woman she had once looked up to. |
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Neutral
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Clarissa Marayena Ardor Whitethorn | 18 | Not bound | Youngest Whitethorn heiress | Mentions: Mordecai (ind), Viktor (ind), Daria, heirs, (open) Mara returned from her ride flushed and bright, and once her mare was settled into her stall, she made her way back into the main house. It took a few minutes to return to her room and change into more suitable dining attire—a soft yellow dress and a fine, yet warm, white cloak to accompany it. She unbound her hair, letting in tumble in waves down her back, and checked her reflection in the wardrobe mirror. The yellow complimented her fair complexion beautifully, her cheeks still pink from her ride. She patted down a few wayward strands of hair and smiled at her reflection before returning the way she came. Instead of exiting through the side door to the stables, Mara turned into the dining room. Her sister already sat at a table by one of the large windows, looking as though she was experiencing mild ennui. Mara started toward her, pausing to nod in greeting to a severe man with a serious expression and papers in his hands, as well as another man wearing a brown neck cloak who was watching the hall carefully. Best to start off on good terms. Mara took a seat across from Daria. "Morning!" she offered brightly. Daria smiled in return. "Good morning. Did you have a nice ride?" "I did! The grounds are quite lovely. Rosy seems to have settled in nicely." "I'm glad," said Daria. She gestured to the table. "I already ate, but I had a plate of eggs and toast brought out for you. It should still be warm." Indeed, steam rose gently from the plate. It smelled delicious. "Thank you," said Mara gratefully, digging in. After a few moments of amicable silence, Daria spoke again. "How did you sleep?" "Gods, the beds here are like quicksand," said Mara, shaking her head—Daria laughed and nodded in agreement. "I did sleep well, but not much," Mara added. "The cold air woke me right up, though." Daria's eyebrow twitched upward in amusement. "And the cold floors?" Mara groaned and flattened herself on the table, forehead pressing into the wood. "And the cold floors." She sat up. "Okay, so I have a question." "What's that?" "How does this..." Mara gestured blithely to the rapidly filling hall "...all work? Should I go introduce myself to people? Should I wait for them to come to me? Do people talk at all? What's the protocol?" Daria sighed, deflating slightly, and Mara regretted asking. "If you don't want to-" "No, no," said Daria. "I'm sorry." She placed her clasped hands on the table between them. "It used to be that we all chatted quite a bit. Many of the heirs spent a significant amount of the Gathering by each other's side. I considered some of them my friends." Mara glanced around. "Clearly not anymore." "Not anymore," Daria echoed. "You know there's some dissent between Houses these days. None of us quite trust each other, and besides, we don't all get along very well anymore. Things are much more tense."
"So..." "So, be careful what you say and do. I know you know that, but truly. People are itching for a reason to distrust, even to blacklist. You're quite free to introduce yourself, but remain polite and represent our House well." Daria glanced down at the table, jaw tightening. "Fulfill your duties as a Whitethorn. And do not underestimate anyone." "Oh," said Mara. She felt a fresh rush of worry surge through her. She often got along well with new acquaintances, but Daria didn't have a penchant to exaggerate, and if the heirs were truly as distrusting as she said... Daria, clearly noticing Mara's deer-in-lights expression, nudged her leg under the table. "You'll be wonderful. Don't worry." She smiled and nodded to Mara's eggs and toast, half untouched despite Mara's rumbling stomach. "You should eat that before it goes cold." |
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Spring Month: 2 
Day 
Heavy Rain
