• Memory • Don’t Cry Over Spilt Wine

The seven Duchies of Central Rynmere and their respective baronies, cities, towns, villages, and landmarks each overseen by a Duke of one of the seven noble families and ultimately controlled by the King of Rynmere.

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• Memory • Don’t Cry Over Spilt Wine

Postby Darcyanna Venora » Wed Dec 06, 2017 4:19 pm

52nd Day Of Ashan, 705

Darcyanna sat in the wide spanning courtyard, her pale blonde hair pulled back into tightly woven braids and her silk dress a bold shade of magenta. Behind her, inside the house, the laughter and music of her parents social event. It was some sort of ball, everyone dressed in perfect finery and the Sabassaint decorated in beautiful roses. Everywhere she looked, rose garlands adorned the property, all lit artfully in the evening light with pretty golden lanterns.

Darcy loved balls, they were ever so lovely and magical, and she got to wear her most favourite of dresses. The handmaidens had even put her best crystal hairpin in for her, and it sparkled in the light. She’d mingled with Warricks and Kromes, poised and perfect just like Mother, before dutifully playing a small piece on the piano as so requested by her parents. It was all so wonderful and magic.

Of course, then she was here too.

Pythera didn’t even want to go, she’d been so very awful to the handmaidens and her hair wasn’t done anywhere near as prettily as Darcy’s. The younger girl had bottled her sister up after the performance, cruelly pinching her arm as she backed her into a quiet corner of the room.

“Litte miss favourite Darcy. Playing your stupid piano and smiling your stupid smiles. You know, the Krome boy said he thinks you’re the ugliest here.” She taunted with a sneer. Darcyanna winced and pulled away, rubbing her arm.

“You’re just being mean Pythera. He didn’t say that.” To say the older girl hated her sister was couth, even if possibly true. She’d tried nice, truly she had, but the wild eyed blonde was just horrible. More to the point, she was a bully.

Pythera grinned and came up closer to the shorter girls face. How she lorded the fact she was bigger than her older sister.

“He did too, all of them did. No one wants to ever marry an ugly girl.” A surge of sudden anger caught Darcy and she pushed the taller girl away so she could walk past. There was a moment of shock that registered on Pythera’s features, before she turned and shoved back, much harder than the blondes feeble attempt.

Crash!

Glasses of expensive reds and whites from the Venora Estates tipped and smashed onto the polished floor as Darcy fell into one of the waiters, all arms and legs. She managed to avoid any of the sharp shards, but her beautiful magenta dress was ruined. People turned to stare, whilst Pythera turned on the water works.

“She pushed me first!” The vile girl wailed, whilst Darcyanna picked herself up with wide indigo eyes. It wasn’t untrue, but...but...

Face as red as the stains on her dress, Darcy fled the ballroom. The youngster hadn’t been sure where she was going at the time, just knowing that she had to get away. Eventually, after taking the servants entrances and weaving her way through the much unseen parts of the house, she’d popped out in the gardens.

Kicking at the grass with each deflated step, the short Venora dumped herself into one of the ornate garden seats, nestled under a beautiful gazebo practically exploding with flowers. She sighed and sniffed, wiping tears from her cheeks.

Stupid Pythera.
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Don’t Cry Over Spilt Wine

Postby Oliver Venora » Fri Dec 08, 2017 4:51 pm

Oliver Sebastian Venora

He stared at himself in the mirror, something about his appearance dissatisfying. His hair was perfectly parted, pushed back from his face, ever-so-slightly elegantly disheveled. The suit fit him well, expensive as it was, and the colours went well together. Dressed in a deep mulberry colour underneath the deep black of the suit jacket, he looked every bit the noble that he was. He ran a hand over his smooth jawline, silently begging the Seven to help him grow facial hair before the ball. Facial hair meant he was a man, and his parents and their friends would finally listen to him when he spoke.

Oliver was tired of being relegated to the status of a child. Darcy and Pythera were still kids, but he wasn't. He was becoming a man, and he thought that he deserved the respect that came with that distinction. Of course, his parents did not see it that way. While they were busy mingling and making appearances with the rest of the Ryn nobility over the age of adulthood, he was left behind to ensure that his appearance was adequate enough to represent the Venora name. As if he could ever rise to that.

Turning his back on the mirror, he sighed and straightened his spine. Chin high, he emerged from the small room and into the ball, already swarming with people. Gluing a smile to his face, he stopped every few metres and greeted a noble here, or nodded at one there. Very few of them actually stopped their socializing to pay attention to him, and he grew more and more irate as they ignored him. After the third or fourth, he gritted his teeth, smile no longer attached in its proper place. Eyes indigo with rage, Oliver stalked around the party, trying to find his mother or father. Of course, Manu and Kalani were absorbed in their own affairs for the party, and they could not be bothered with their son's incessant need for approval. Oliver was sure they'd retired to Manu's study, most likely with Duke Krome or someone of equal import.

Sarding party. The words crossed his mind before he had time to filter them, though he did refrain from whispering them aloud. Indigo eyes now angrily scanning the room for his mother's leather purse, sure he'd find what he was looking for in it. It was not far away, sitting atop a pile of coats taken from the other guests. Determined in his gait, Oliver set off towards it, thrusting a hand angrily inside. Finding the small silver tin, he opened to reveal immaculately hand-rolled cigarettes, their pungent-sweet smell emanating from the tin as soon as he opened the lid. Fumbling around again for the thin wooden sticks topped with flammable powder his mother called matches, he grasped one and the deed was done. The cigarette was pilfered from his mother, and now Oliver could retire to the garden and be invisible around nobody instead of everybody.

Taking the most direct route, Oliver exited through the large glass double doors, emerging onto a small stone patio. Deciding that he did not want to smoke in full view of the party, he jumped down the few feet and trodded through the grass to the small gazebo, exploding with flowers, starting to lift their pollen-covered heads towards the suns, when they were out. Hiding on the other side of the gazebo, Oliver struck the head of the match on the marble structure, eliciting a flame with a sulfurous scent. Touching it to the tip of the cigarette, he took a long drag and inhaled the smoke, resisting the urge to cough. It was not his first cigarette, and he held it back.

A few more drags, and he heard the loud crash of glass in the house. Smiling cynically, he turned around the marble pillar to look towards the house. He saw a few of the servants scrambling to clean the disaster up, but could see no source of the calamity. Reveling in malicious glee towards his parents' misfortune, he turned back around the pillar to finish his cigarette. He didn't see Darcy appear, but he recognized the sniffle immediately. His heart was crushed in his chest, and he took another drag, debating coming around the pillar. He did not want Darcy to see him smoking, as it set a terrible precedent, but he did not want her to be hurt and alone. Making his decision, he emerged from his hiding place.

"Darcy?" He asked, his voice soft and open. "Darcy, what happened?" He sat down next to her, the acrid smoke from his cigarette wafting around them into a cloud above their heads.
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Don’t Cry Over Spilt Wine

Postby Darcyanna Venora » Sat Dec 09, 2017 7:46 pm

52nd Day Of Ashan, 705

The young Venora looked up in surprise as the older boy made his presence known, not anticipating it and yet always grateful for it. She might hate her sister, but Oli was the bee’s knees as far as brothers went. The dark eyed aristocrat-in-the-making was her role model for how a noble should act. Their parents were far too busy with the important things such as politics and worldly affairs, therefore her influential mind turned to the next in line. Their age differences had seen Darcyanna growing up under his protective watch, his presence more than once her saving grace from the wild eyed Pythera.

Turning her eyes back to the ruined fabric of her gown, the budding musician pouted childishly and muttered her answer. It was an answer that would probably not surprise the taller Venora, one that he would have heard many times before.

“Pythera.” Sighing dejectedly, Darcy reached out to pull one of the ruby red roses from the gazebo and began plucking the petals.

“She was saying that the Krome boy thinks I’m ugly, that all of them said it. And she pinched me really hard! I got angry and I pushed her. I didn’t mean to but she was blocking me and I just wanted to get past. She pushed me over into one of the staff, and all the wine smashed on the floor and now my dress is ruined!” The upset youngster threw away her ruined flower and looked up at her brother with a frown. He looked so dashing and handsome in the dark wine shirt and black suit, the teenager a stark polar opposite to his younger sister. The Onyx Rose, so aptly named. Anyone who dared suggest Oliver was not the picture of Venora pride would never ever be friends with Darcyanna. That much, the blonde was sure of.

“Why is she so mean Oli?” She asked in a tone that spoke of her heavy heart. To Darcy, the younger girl’s incessant physical and emotional bullying were confusing and upsetting. Sisters were supposed to be the bestest of friends, yet Pythera just seemed to enjoy using Darcy as a punching bag.

It wasn’t fair.

Sniffling again, the girl took in the slow waft of cigarette smoke, her gaze dropping to the offending vice in Oliver’s hand with a wrinkle of her small nose.

“Is that Mothers? You shouldn’t smoke those Oli, they’re smelly and gross.” The little noble said without fear of retribution, resolute in her mind that she would never smoke. It was not pretty when her mother puffed on them, and Darcy imagined that no one would want to be married to a smelly smoky lady. A Lady must always present at her very very bestest.
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Don’t Cry Over Spilt Wine

Postby Oliver Venora » Sun Dec 10, 2017 4:16 pm

Oliver Sebastian Venora

Oliver's heart raced as he saw the tears on Darcy's face, made all the more apparent by the vibrant foliage around them. Reaching as Darcy did, they both plucked a luscious red rose from the same bunch, Oliver's lips curling into a small smile. He and Darcy had always had a connection, with the two just clicking more than with Pythera. Thera was hard and mean, spiteful for no apparent reason. They had all been given the same advantages, the same affections. If anything, Thera had received the most, and should have been the most spoiled, not the most spiteful. Still, though, Oliver recognized that his youngest sister had a malicious streak, and often that was directed at Darcy due to the closeness in their ages.

As Darcy began plucking the petals from her rose, Oliver twisted his in his hand. Raising it to his face, he sniffed, barely smelling the sweet scent over the tobacco from his mother's cigarette. Taking a final drag from it, he exhaled high so as to not blow it in Darcy's face, then crouched next to her, raising a well-manicured thumb to wipe away a stray tear that fell. Lifting her chin with his finger, he brushed her hair behind her left ear and placed his rose, ensuring no thorns were pressing into his sister's soft flesh. Smiling, he leaned back on his legs, getting comfortable.

"The thing you have to understand about Thera, DA, is that she is malicious for no reason. She likes to pick on those smaller than her because, in her heart, she is small. And you, you're not. You're sweet and ladylike, and she is jealous of that because she isn't. Don't let her upset you, little rose. The boys in Krome, if they do say you're ugly, probably only said it because Thera held them down and forced them to. You're the prettiest young noble in the Kingdom, and jealousy is the only colour Thera wears."

Rubbing Darcy's shoulder, he rolled forward and sat on the polished stone of the gazebo, his back against the bench upon which she sat. Sighing, he leaned his head back and took a deep breath, the smoky scent from the cigarette still lingering in his sensory organ. He rubbed soft hands on his pant legs, smoothing them down as he tilted his head to rest on his sister's ruined dress.

"I'll tell you what. Tonight, why don't you go put on the dress Mother got you for your birthtrial opera night, and tomorrow, just you and I will go out and find you another dress to replace this one? Is that agreeable to you?" Oliver smiled, craning his neck to look at her upside down. His hair fell over his face, and he blew it out with a gust from his mouth, sending it in a waterfall out of his eyes.

"I know they are gross, DA," he said, grinning sheepishly. "Sometimes, grown ups do smelly and gross things to appear more impressive to their friends. See, Mother's cigarettes have started a sort of fashion in Venora, and right now, smoking is all the rage. You, young lady, should never do it, but for now, I think I will. Perhaps Mother and Father will understand then that I am a man, and am not supposed to just sit outside the meetings and sulk. At least you and Thera are still kids. You're supposed to run around and giggle with roses in your hair. Not me..."

He sighed wistfully, before turning dark eyes back to Darcy with a small smile.

"Alright, you. Let's go change your dress, and we'll go back to the party together. I hear Malero is in there, and he plays quite the rendition of Merudda's Fifth. Maybe you'll dance with me?" He smiled, standing and offering a pristine but strong hand to his sister, waiting for her to accep before leaving the garden gazebo.
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Don’t Cry Over Spilt Wine

Postby Darcyanna Venora » Sun Dec 10, 2017 11:46 pm

52nd Day Of Ashan, 705

Looking up as Oliver came to her level and lifted her chin, Darcy smiled as he placed his own unblemished rose behind her ear. Crossing her ankles and swinging her legs a little in the space between them whilst he spoke, the youngster delighted as he used the nicknames that were just for them, names that meant more than all the formal titles in Idalos.

At the suggestion Pythera had held the boys down and forced them to say mean things, Darcy couldn’t help but giggle, even if it was probably entirely true. Thera wasn’t just mean to her sister, the girl just seemed to enjoy torturing her more than most. As the taller boy settled on the ground beside her, the blonde sighed as well. It seemed to her, things were awfully complicated and hard. Why couldn’t everyone just get along and eat cucumber sandwiches and sip tea? Life didn’t have to be so messy, surely. Her eyes grew wide as she looked down at Oliver with a gasp.

“Oh can we? Really truly Oli?! Just you and me, no Thera?” Her voice was full of genuine excited delight, enamoured with a day of shopping just with her and the teenager. No Pythera bothering her, no Mother telling her what to choose. She giggled again as her dark eyed sibling blew his hair away from his eyes, he looked funny upside-down.

Squaring her shoulders, Darcyanna lifted her chin a little further with a serious face.

“Well I think it’s a silly fashion and I will never do something like that.” Looking down again, she added quickly.

“Maybe it’s okay for you though Oli.” Frowning at his comments, Darcy swung her legs again and tilted her head.

“I agree, you should be with the adults talking about all the political things. I could talk to them for you, tell them that you’re not welcome with the children? I mean you are but maybe I could make it look like you aren’t. Then maybe they would see that you need to be with the adults.” It was a child’s logic, applied with her still small and yet to be expanded view of the world. It was important to Oliver, and therefore important to her that he was part of the Political Things.

Looking at the hand that the gentlemanly teen offered, Darcy smiled and took it with a little leap to get off the seat properly, flat shoes clicking on the stone ground.

“Oh I love the Fifth! I want to learn how to play it for my Saoire Trials recital.” As they strolled back, the short pale girl looked up – and up – to grin at Oliver with sibling adoration on her face.

“I would always dance with you.” She laughed, turning her delighted green eyes back to the house before them. At least with Oliver beside her Pythera would be less likely to harass her, he was bigger than even the wild eyed girl and if he wanted to be, scarier. Well, at least to other people maybe.

For her, he was just Oli.
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Don’t Cry Over Spilt Wine

Postby Oliver Venora » Mon Dec 11, 2017 3:02 pm

Oliver Sebastian Venora

Oliver's heart melted at Darcy's smile, the older boy ever grateful that he could bring that smile to her face. With her smaller hand in his, he gently led her back towards their familial estate. Pythera was off somewhere, likely punishing a servant for breathing too loudly, and Oliver made sure the could escort Darcy to her room without running into her assailant. As they got to the door, Oliver turned his back and leaned against the doorframe, smiling.

"Alright now, DA. You go put on that dress Mother bought you, and I'll stand guard out here and make sure Thera doesn't try to come up and spill any more wine on you." He smiled at her, rubbing her blonde hair with his hand. As she entered the room, he leaned his head back and sighed contentedly.

Oliver had always been a sort of protector for Darcy, but it was just as much for his benefit as hers. He always regretted not having a relationship with Pythera, but the girl did not need him like Darcy did. Nor did she pretend to. Pythera was powerful and cunning, strong and vile. She did not want a protector any more than she wanted to wear frilly dresses and learn to play piano. She was a warrior born, the stormy seas of her Biqaj ancestry roiling in her veins far more than the calm brook of her nobility could assuage. Oliver regretted it; he regretted that Pythera had chosen distance and hatred over closeness and family. But she had, and he was not going to lose a trill of sleep over it. Instead, it allowed Oliver to focus on protecting Darcy.

Tapping his fingers on his thighs while he waited, Oliver considered the gala going on below them. He knew his mother and father were entertaining now, probably on their fourth or fifth Scalv wine. Manu was a happy, boisterous drunk, channeling the best traits of his ancestry during his inebriation. Kalani, though, was a solemn and serious drunk, heavy of word and intent. She only ever spoke of prominent matters while inebriated, and Oliver was sure that she could persuade the King right out of his throne if plied with enough Rhakrosii Black. It was an interesting thought, and one that occupied him while his sister changed.

When she emerged, eyes and lips split into a smile. Kneeling down so he was closer to her height, Oliver looked into her pretty lime green eyes and nodded, his own lightening to a suns-baked golden brown.

"My Lady Venora. I think contrary to what those stupid Krome boys were coerced to say, you are the most radiant flower in this entire Kingdom's garden. It would be my absolute honour and delight if you would accompany me downstairs and grace me with a dance." He smiled, once again taking her hand in his. He stood and walked at her pace down to the gala, clacking the heels of his dress shoes loudly on each step to announce their arrival. After the first few steps, the music stopped, and nearly every eye in the main chamber looked at them coming down the stairs.

Intentionally slowing their walk so that those in attendance could catch the splendor of the young Lady Venora, Oliver stood behind her, only visible as he towered over her. A hush fell over the place, and Oliver's mouth split into a wide grin. All in attendance were focused on the pair, the young Venorans making a grand entrance. Even their mother and father poked their head out of the study, concerned by the lack of music and chatter. Staring at them, Manu's eyes turned a deep grey, swirling like clouds in amusement. Oliver took that as an affirmative to continue. In his loudest, clearest voice, he spoke.

"Ladies and Lords, Dukes and Duchesses. May I present to you the Lady Darcyanna Venora, daughter of your host and hostess. Wearing a le Flamberge classic dress, this young lady is accompanied by her brother, Lord Oliver Venora, and will be requesting that the pianist play Merudda's Fifth for her first dance." Brown eyes fell on Malero, whose grin was as wide as could be. It was not unlike Oliver to make such a raucous appearance for the benefit of his sister, and as they reached the marble floor, Malero's fingers began the pristine high notes of Merudda's Fifth Concerto. Stopping and bowing before the young blonde, Oliver held out his left hand.

"My Lady, may I be graced with this dance?" He asked, looking up to her with a wink. Every eye was still on them, and Oliver noticed Pythera standing inside the doorway with a rueful glare painted firmly on her slight face.
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Don’t Cry Over Spilt Wine

Postby Darcyanna Venora » Tue Dec 12, 2017 12:50 am

52nd Day Of Ashan, 705

Ever watchful for her sister, walking close to the taller boy, Darcy breathed a small sigh of relief when they reached her door. As Oliver released her hand, she looked back at him with a moment of concern, until his words affirmed that he would stay by the door and not leave her alone. With another grin of relief the blonde all but skipped into her room and shut the door.

Humming to herself however moving with urgency, the youngster quickly removed the soiled dress, throwing her wardrobe open and searching out the opera dress. It was a white silk gown, belted with a prim white bow around the waist. Simplistic in appearances, until she spun around to reveal bright magenta layers of pettycoats.

Struggling into the dress on her own, the young girl finished doing up the clasps before running back to open the door with a tug, smiling as her brother came down to her own height. He spoke just like a proper gentleman, much to Darcy’s delight.

“Why thankyou, Lord Venora. You are ever so kind.” She replied with her most grown up voice, before taking his hand. They walked together, and the little Lady felt her heart swell with excitement. Everyone was looking at them, not with judgemental stares but with what Darcy felt was awe. She lifted her chin and smiled just like Mother had taught her, allowing Oliver to guide her ahead. It was so quiet, even the music had stopped. Darcy saw her Fathers face, and resisted the urge to giggle. This was so wonderful she felt her heart might burst.

Oliver introduced them, with his rich voice, still a teenager maybe to others but to her all grown up and authorative. The wine incident was all but forgotten as they swept onto the floor, Darcyanna curtsying to his bow, before taking her dark haired siblings hand with a grin as the high notes of the beautiful piece began.

“Of course, my Lord.” She giggled softly, before turning into the first step of their dance, eyes adoringly on Oli and not seeing Pythera. Even if she had, it wouldn’t have mattered.

Her Oli, best friend in the whole of Idalos ever, best brother in the history of Idalos ever had made her evening. The blonde felt like the prettiest girl there, and she hoped the Krome boys all felt terrible.
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Don’t Cry Over Spilt Wine

Postby Zipper » Thu Dec 14, 2017 3:56 pm

Overview : Really enjoyed this thread of a big bro reassuring, building up, being a friend to his little sister. Just too bad it just wasn't enough for save her from *shudders* future Darcy's eyeliner.


@Gossip Girl's sister
Points : XP: 15/15
Loot/Injuries/Overstepping :  Nu
Knowledge : Skill Knowledge
Rhetoric: Questioning ones motives
Socialisation: Mingling in social gatherings
Socialisation: Making an entrance
Cosmetology: Venora high fashion
Resistance: Standing up to your bully
Resistance: Bouncing back after humiliation
Politics: Putting on your game face
Dancing: How to enter the dance floor
Dancing: How to hold your partner

Other Knowledge:
Oliver: Older brother
Oliver: You think he’s the bees knees
Oliver: Cheered you up
Oliver: Can command a room
Oliver: Role model
Oliver: You call him Oli, he calls you DA
Location: Bellesoir
Location: Venora

@Billy Russo
Points : XP: 15/15
Loot/Injuries/Overstepping : Nu
Knowledge : Skill Knowledges:
Dancing: Proper dance for a noble
Discipline: Maintaining calm when angry
Detection: Recognizing people by their sniffles
Etiquette: Being nice to someone to improve their mood
Persuasion: Using adult trends to appear more mature
Persuasion: Cheering up your sister by offering to take her shopping
Politics: Correctly announcing a Lady
Politics: Dressing for the occasion

Non-Skill Knowledge:
Darcyanna Venora: Picked on by Pythera
Darcyanna Venora: Your special pet name for her is DA
Darcyanna Venora: Calls you Oli
Darcyanna Venora: Younger sister
Darcyanna Venora: Enjoys dancing with you

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