• PM To Join • Sleep is for the Weak [Darcy]

Obligatory meeting thread.

The capital city of the of Rynmere, here is seated the only King in Idalos.
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Caius Gawyne
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Sleep is for the Weak [Darcy]

Music
For the thread, technically. Not JCB's band.
”Morning, I’d venture.” He shrugged, watching her watch him with a sideways sort of smile. Caius scoffed at her reminder that he was both armed and better dressed for the weather. The truth was he was more Aukari than Biqaj, more human than anything else, a far more strange mix of bloodlines than the first Gawyne, the Half God as his epithet was written in his family’s meticulous histories. Unlike her, he didn’t bother assuming the status of her birth—she was a student, articulate and from a family rich enough to afford educating a woman in the Arts without concern for her marriageable status with the expenditure. Merchant house, maybe. Noble, possibly. Not that it mattered, she was young and pretty, her grin contagious when she teased him for being a stranger walking her home.

The sound of the patrol caught them both off guard, it was true, and Caius’ rash move for a ruse swept her up by surprise, her hands moving to shove him as he expected she would. But she didn’t scream, catching on and complying with his irresponsibly inappropriate decision, fingers moving to curl into his shirt. When she pulled him closer to further hide them both, he couldn’t help but hum an unexpected noise that would have been some sound of approval had the heat the burned down his spine not been more fear than interest. For a trill, he tilted his head toward her ear again with unthinking, primal intentions tugged from his core by fading adrenaline, blood, and the brush of cold fingertips, distracted until the Knights spoke up and he smiled instead, closing his eyes to keep from laughing at the sound of coins—just a few copper nel as a rude dismissal—pinged against the cold cobblestones.

The young Gawyne’s breath was a hot cloud that mirrored his muddled thoughts when he finally leaned away and pretended not to be dizzy or confused, eyelids heavy and iris’ amber. He did laugh then, awkwardly, because she wanted to hold his gaze and he wanted desperately to look away, his pulse ringing in his ears. At least she was blushing, too. At least he didn’t feel like a complete rookid,

“Familiar. Well. There’s only so many of us who take the Institute of Art seriously, after all. I thought it was just me, to be honest—what are you studying?” Caius quipped, his tone curious and yet self-deprecating at the same time. Her arm in his felt different all of the sudden when she leaned against him as they walked. The northern noble didn’t bother picking up the knights’ coins. He didn’t want them. He shook his head and ran his free, ink- and blood-stained hand through his untamed hair, rolling his eyes at her hero comment,

“Bogs, no. I’m not—I don’t—this isn’t my usual form. At all.” His laugh was quieter, shier, and he didn’t look at her again for several more steps, their road now familiar and the dark shape of the campus’ buildings looming against the slowly lightening skies. Dawn was coming, damn it. Exhaling through his teeth and feeling the dull ache of his face and the sharper sting in his side, he tilted his head toward her, meeting the seriousness of her more sober gaze,

“I’m just an apprentice printmaker at the Gazette, and you were on my walk home from work. Headed back from a good party, I assume? Lower mid-town, no doubt. Why were you—why would someone like you be alone? I’m no one’s sarding hero. I just—“ Caius hesitated, jaw clenching again for a moment before he spoke with quiet levity to the blonde who still smelled of reevi and a tavern, whose occasional stumbling had suddenly become a little endearing instead of annoying, “—my sister ran away when we were kids. I wasn’t—I didn’t—awful things happened, and while she came home alive, no one was ever the same. I don’t wish that on anyone, strangers included.”

He smirked, clearly embarrassed by his own honesty and looked away again, their walk now most likely as familiar to her as it was to him. Did he slow his step a little, realizing their walk would end soon at her residence? Maybe. It was subtle, perhaps. Hopefully, anyway. She was wearing his coat for now, bloodied and ruined as it was, and so his free hand couldn’t find his pocket, listless and impatient at his side, he curled fingers into his hair again instead and was quiet for a bit or two.

“Please, call me Caius.” The northern noble finally looked back at her to offer an introduction, his expression softening, “I’m no more a good ser than I am a hero, but I’ll take it graciously with your smile. Just this once, though. I guess I’m finally living up to expectations as a Gawyne.”

He grinned, then, but it was more sarcastic than anything else, the warmth in his tone fading audibly. There was a sharp edge to his admission, somewhat aware of her curious glances. While part of him wondered if she just had decided he was enjoyable to look at—which was fine by him—he was aware that there were other reasons for curiosity, so he satisfied them. It was just obvious the weight of nobility wasn’t one he carried around with the same light-hearted pleasure as some of his peers—their peers had he known. Still, he turned it around with a wink, leaning a little into her arm in his,

“And you are? Not the expected damsel in distress, that’s for sure.”
word count: 975
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Darcyanna Venora
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Sleep is for the Weak [Darcy]

103rd Vhalar, 717


“Morning then.” Darcy said with a grimace. Sard it all, it really was later than she had intended, soft light starting to touch the sky. The tavern piano had just been far too enticing, far too distracting. Well, that and the reevi. As the boy laughed, the aristocratic girl found it endearing, not the cackle from before but a softer sound. She chose to hold her tongue, amused that he felt this wasn’t really him. Perhaps the Venora had accidently run into him on a good night.

“Music actually, I’m working towards my Letter and eventually my Degree. I play the piano, so it sort of came naturally to study music.” She didn’t bother to discuss her letter in Medicine, a secondary study as it were. As the taller stranger continued to speak, Darcy’s smile faded and she kept her now naturally sea blue eyes on the cobblestones. A printmakers apprentice, not entirely a job she’d expect for a noble house member, perhaps he was just a lower lord of some kind. Enough coin to attend the University at least. The blond scoffed a bitter laugh.

“Good party? Maybe, for those who were invited to attend. I just...”

I just get invited for the drugs? For the entertainment?

“I just tag along, better than staying home. Sleep is for the weak.” Glancing at the ink stained and bloodied man, the shorter woman smiled again.

“Someone like me? What ever do you mean by that? Can’t a girl enjoy her evening without an escort?” It was tongue in cheek, a cover up for the fact Darcy couldn’t answer that. She’d made her bed, or rather Pythera had made it for her arcs ago and the girl found the addiction to great to let go. It was hard to keep friends when you realised no one cared.

Well, some people cared. Just maybe too late.

Listening to the man tell of his sister, Darcyanna felt a sense of déjà vu, as though she’d heard this story before. Maybe a rumour, or a news article.

Awful things happened, and while she came home alive, no one was ever the same. It strummed a chord in her, a kinship through awful things to this sister of his. Ironic, given her sister was the cause of her own awful things. As they walked, the pianist lent against his arm, her feet a little less wobbly but not entirely so.

“I’m sorry, about your sister. I have a sister too. Awful things happen around her.” It was all she would share on that for now, hardly ready to have a therapy session with the rakishly attractive youth. Their footsteps had slowed, Darcy not entirely sure if that was her doing or his, almost not quite ready to go home yet. For once, for once in her life she was enjoying someone else’s company. For once, someone seemed to genuinely want to be in hers. Meeting his eyes, the mystery man finally revealed his name.

A Gawyne. Not just a lower lord after all, but one of the Half-God’s decendents. A House that her own respected and got along with rather swimmingly.

Impressive.

“Well, good to know my saviour is none other than a Gawyne. I might have some bragging rights there.” She teased Caius with another smile, blushing under his terribly gentlemanly introduction, turning another shade darker with the wink the tall printer shot her. There, in his eye, the deviousness that perhaps he’d eluded to earlier. The blond didn’t lean away from him as he came slightly closer, her heart fluttering with excitement, body remembering the press of his own just bits before with a warmth that touched her toes.

“Is there such a thing as an expected damsel in distress? Maybe I should have been wearing a silk gown and blubbering like a babe.” Rolling her blue eyes with a chuckle, the pale Venora stopped then and made a small curtsy, before resuming their walk.

“Darcyanna Venora, my good Ser Caius.” She said in a very put on voice, shooting Caius another smirk.

“But you can call me Darcy.”
word count: 704
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Caius Gawyne
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Sleep is for the Weak [Darcy]

“I’m only allowed to study printmaking because I’m also studying something more … academic. More respectable and useful for a future Baron.” Caius smirked, watching her smile fade. Perhaps she, too, was judging his choices once he admitted that he was also employed. He cleared his throat and spoke with obvious sarcasm, though he allowed his father’s name to fall from his bloodied lips with a hint of respect, “Baron Frederick Gawyne doesn’t feel it fitting of a Lord to make the focus of his life creative pursuits when our family name is known for its knowledge. I beg to differ. All knowledge is powerful, and too many ignore the expression of it. We still disagree. That said, Religion was somehow respectable, so I can’t complain.”

He may have once begrudged his father for keeping him home, but he understood him. Between Hunter and Ivy, the death of his younger brother Robert, and the convoluted politics of Rynmere nobility, Caius was somehow stuck in the undertow of expectation and necessity. He’d played the role of eldest son for several arcs, and when he was given his chance to escape from it all, even if something sharp lingered in his quietest of thoughts and told him it was only for a short time, that this lull in the chaos was just a single breath, he took it. Greedily, he clung to his freedom because he could already taste it was brief and he needed to be prepared for when the tide washed him back on that rocky shore again in Gawyne.

While the northern noble rolled his eyes at her comments about the intricacies of social events, her words on sleep drew out another laugh.

Weak, indeed.

“I don’t really get invited anywhere, but I suppose I never bothered to tag along, either.” Caius shrugged. He preferred the library. Or the print room. Or anywhere else but a gossiping crowd.

He didn’t mind that she leaned more than she needed to or that she slowed when he did, and he ran his stained hand through his hair again, exhaling a cloud of a sigh with a wry grin at her desire for bragging rights, at the color that rose to her cheeks, “I’m not the trophy son.”

Nor did he want to be, or so his tone implied. The young Gawyne wanted, in some ways, far more than that, but in an intellectual and creative way that often felt stifled and starved by political expectations he’d never properly bothered to wrap his busy mind around.

The young blonde paused then, her hands slipping from his arm and her expression mischievous. They both chuckled at her damsel comment before she curtsied, her tone becoming formal as she introduced herself.

A Venora.

“Well, Darcy, you’ve had a flaming fod-sack of an arc in your House, haven’t you? I work in the print room of the Gazette, mind you. Surrounded by gossip until these breaks before dawn.” Caius couldn’t help himself, really, but it was clear he meant it all in sarcastic sympathy instead of cruelty, his explanation almost a form of apology before he offered an exaggerated bow and his arm again, not in any more of a hurry than he had been before,

“The pleasure is mine, Lady Venora, especially that you’re not the blubbering type. Though, I can now say with experience that I don’t recommend wandering mid-town after the midnight break wasted on reevi and alone.” The young Gawyne was somewhat smug in his assumption, though the bruise on his face kept him a little tamer. With that, his free hand fumbled at his vest pockets for a moment before he realized what he was looking for was in his coat, which Darcy was wearing. Because it was sarding cold out now that the rush of it all had faded and their walk had brought them to campus grounds, organized sidewalks and neat piles of snow.

Caius leaned closer without attempting to move the blonde’s arm from his own, reaching to pluck something from the front pocket of his bloodied, clearly ruined but acceptably occupied coat. It was a small calling card of sorts. The momentary need of proximity tugged at the edges of his grin and he leaned away again lest he become more trouble than was acceptable to be,

“This has the Gazette’s address on it.” Maybe he should have been more demure, but instead the northern noble was warmly straightforward, forward even about his invitation, blue eyes intensely pale, “I work all night four trials on, two trials off.” He squinted at the sky that was becoming more blue and less black, the stars that had once been clear in the chilled darkness fading, “I’m off ... to-trial and the next, but if you want someone to walk you home, no matter what you’ve been up to, the door is open until I lock up—”

He looked away, then, letting his gaze wander over the buildings and the lanterns that lit the main paths, the Art Wing of residences not too much farther. Caius would let her lead him as far or as close to where she lived as she wanted, aware that they lived quite close to each other now,

“—if that pleases you, of course.”
word count: 900
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Darcyanna Venora
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Sleep is for the Weak [Darcy]

103rd Vhalar, 717


Darcyanna chuckled at the clear distain Caius had for his family’s view on his creative ventures, even if he seemed to hold respect for it. So, not even just a Gawyne by some muddled marriage association, but the Baron’s own son. The Venora raised an appreciative eyebrow.

“House Venora pride ourselves on the creativity of our family. Musicians, artists...fashionistas.” She said, looking down at her outfit with a smirk. Clearly this was not the highlight of her family’s sense of fashion, but it was Darcy’s own style. Her own brand of Venora.

“I think your studies in printmaking are valuable as much any academic ones.” Her lips pursed slightly at the mention of Religion. Everyone somehow got roped into that. They walked on, the steam hanging in the air from their breathing, Darcy smiling at the ground when he mentioned not getting invited to social events.

“Trust me, you’re not missing out. Mostly it’s just drunk giggling lords and ladies wanting to rebel against the doldrum of their daily routine.” The word rebel was emphasised with an air quote on her free hand and a roll of her magenta touched blue eyes. Caught off guard by the taller man’s sighed words, the blond turned to look up at him.

“That’s not what I...I’m not...” Lifting her chin Darcy fixed him with a cool look.

“I’m not the trophy daughter.” She said in return, her voice borderline offended. Clearly the idea she would even assume that struck a nerve, but not for long. She was too high to be mad. It was after all, common place to marry for political gain rather than emotions or feelings, and it sat uncomfortably with Darcyanna. All of it did.

“A flaming fod-sack...first time I’ve heard it called that before.” The pianist said quietly with a shake of her head and looking at their path again, waving her other hand to indicate she wasn’t in need of an explanation about how he knew that. Everyone knew by now, it was a stain on the Venora name, more-so perhaps than the Valkyr.

“It’s certainly not been a good arc. I would never have expected Alistair to...well none of it.” She sighed, before laughing at his over the top bow and taking his arm again with only a slight stumble. Her lingering smile faded slightly and her free hand lifted to brush her hair behind her ear, feigning idle disinterest at his sneaky reveal he knew what she’d been doing, when in fact her stomach turned over. Darcy’s habits weren’t necessarily a secret, but the young woman never went out of her way to let someone know unless she was certain they were looking to purchase.

The hand snaking before her shook the pale student from her dedicated focus on the ground, looking down at the stained hand as long fingers reached into the front pocket of Caius’ coat. Darcy followed the line of his arm to look at the apprentice with a confused smile, cheeks heated as Caius leaned close. Her head swam at the sudden closeness of his person, brain not quick enough to process the move.

It seemed the Gawyne first born had no issues with personal space. Fine, neither did she.

The hand drew back to reveal a small card. Darcy took it, holding the pale blue eyes of the printmaker as she did so, letting her smile turn wry. Raising her eyebrows, the aristocrat finally looked down at the card, nodding as she tucked it into her bag. There was no way she could read that right now.

“Careful what you offer Gawyne. I might form a habit of this damsel in distress business.” The blond said softly, looking up at the lanterns indicating they were close to home. Walking in companionable silence for a few bits, Darcy made a dramatic sigh as they reached the stairs of her own building.

“Well, here we are.” She said with a lazy flourish of her hand, releasing his arm to turn and face the taller nobleman with a wobbly spin.

“Thankyou, Ser Gawyne, for this evening.” Looking down past the jacket that covered her person, the Venora tutted and frowned up at him.

“These were my favourite stockings.” Darcy sighed, straightening with a raised finger.

“I’ll have this washed and returned to you by later this trial, consider it the least I can do after...well. After all of tonight.” Moving to go up to the doors, the blond pianist paused, before turning back and pressing a chaste peck on the uninjured cheek of the taller youth, leaning over from her higher spot on the staircase, resting a hand on his shoulder for balance.

“Goodnight Caius.” She said quickly, before taking the stairs to the building door. Resting a hand on the frame, the mixed blood noble born looked back at him with a smile.

“And yes, it would please me.” With that, she left the printers apprentice on the steps of the building, hugging herself tightly in the oversized warmth of his coat.
word count: 866
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Sleep is for the Weak [Darcy]

Darcyanna

Overview

What a fab character! I love her! I love how you write her, your descriptions are great and her speech is just awesome. Really enjoyed reading this - and I can't wait to read more!

Points

XP: 15

Fame: +8 (thugs, music, general stuffies)

Loot

Nope. Scrapes & Cuts and stuff.

Knowledge

Medicine: Reevi causes feelings of joy
Medicine: Reevi causes depth perception changes
Medicine: Narcotic intoxication can cause feelings of claustrophobia
Musical Instrument (Piano): How to check your instrument is in tune
Musical Instrument (Piano): Playing a melody
Musical Instrument (Piano): Natural composition without sheet music
Musical Instrument (Piano): Chord combinations and progressions
Politics: How to properly address your noble peers
Rhetoric: Making introductions
Resistance: Building tolerance to narcotic substances

Other Knowledge:
Location: Rynmere Mid Town
Location: Rynmere University
Caius Gawyne: Is pretty decent with a sword
Caius Gawyne: Isn’t backwards about coming forwards
Caius Gawyne: Works as a printmakers apprentice
Caius Gawyne: Is studying Religion at Rynmere University


Caius

Overview

Lots of fun here! And quite the hero too! Your writing is lovely, I really enjoy the little details you put in. Great collaborative thread and fame is totally deserved. I think what I love the most is that I feel like I can hear him speak - and that noble sneer is great.

Points

XP: 15

Fame: +10 (couldn't say it bet. Women rescued, drunks busted!)

Loot

Nope. Split lip, bruised ribs, bruises on the face. Poor you. Will take 10 trials to heal properly.

Knowledge

Blades: Saber: Steadying your grip when surprised
Blades: Saber: Slash to the face
Blades: Saber: Taking opportunities as they come
Blades: Saber: Quick slice under the ribs
Business Management: Cleaning up after the job is done
Business Management: Being the last to leave
Intimidation: That noble sneer
Politics: No delicate descriptors
Stealth: Pretending at intimacies to avoid consequences
Seduction: Knight in the dark
Seduction: More than just innocently protective
Unarmed Combat: When in doubt, put a knee to that groin

Other Knowledge:
Location: Rynmere University
Darcyanna Venora: Gets wasted at parties
Darcyanna Venora: Has a good set of lungs
Darcyanna Venora: Pianist and Student of Music
Darcyanna Venora: Sleep is for the weak
House Venora: A flaming fod-sack of an arc, politically
word count: 372
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~~Red in hoof and claw... ~~


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