lcstblood ➵ WE LOOK UP AT THE SAME STARS AND SEE SUCH DIFFERENT THINGS
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LADY ESTRISS UMBER ➵ 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐮𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 . 𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭
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@lcstblood
lcstblood ➵ WE LOOK UP AT THE SAME STARS AND SEE SUCH DIFFERENT THINGS
a dependent blog for westeroslive written by beca ( she + her , thirty - 2 , aest ) do not interact if not affiliated .
LADY ESTRISS UMBER ➵ 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐮𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 . 𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭

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"The truly marvellous part of every royal celebration is not the decorations, or the music, or the court in their fineries. No. It is, of course, the wine that never seems to end." As though summoned, she plucks a fresh glass from a passing servant with a pleased twist to her lips. She preferred Dornish red to Arbor gold, but any wine that she did not have to purchase and attend to was of course her favourite of the evening. "Another cup or two, and I might even be convinced to make my way to the dance floor. What of you, my liege? Are you intending to prop up the wall all night, or can you be enticed?"
There's something to say about the huff of laughter that barely skims the flesh of her lips. Gysella is certainly not alone in her proclamation, a great many of the familiar have found themselves tempted more times than not by the seemingly endless flow of drink. "It's any wonder they've found room to store it all, though I suppose if any place were to have a large enough cellar, it would be this one. Do you think they've truly considered how parched some of us northeners are in this heat?" As if to further prove such a premise, her goblet is quickly drained of the golden liquid. She'd never enjoyed the sweet taste of wine, it left a taste on her tongue that lingered too long and left her mind far foggier than she enjoyed. "I'm afraid not even the Targaryens would have enough wine at hand to entice me to dance."
𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗍𝖾𝗋 ›› @lcstblood , @heavnle + accepting 2/5 replies
the clink of goblets muffled by orchestral notes echoing through the hall and various surrounding conversations, little thought given to fragments that reached their ears, focus, for now, on noble before them. ❝ the royal family shows their expertise for planning a celebration once again. ❞ cup raised to their lips, arbor red delighting the tastebuds. ❝ and their excellent taste in wine as well. ❞
"And they certainly do like reminding us all of such expertise," never one to favor court all too much, Astriss could still find it within her to agree with him. The royals certainly did it far beyond what could otherwise be conceived as agreeable. "Tell me, what would yours look like, Lord Grafton? Gone all the pretenses and damn all tradition. Would your celebration differ?" Hers certainly would - the fanfare to begin with and all that followed. The goblet within her hand held close to chest, "I think I'd begin with something a little stronger." Though, she supposed a warm mead held no place in the warmth of kings landing. "
@steelfyre, @nevcrmine, @lcstblood, @unscng, @eclipt1cs, @crueltied, 0/2 open
“ Moonlight, ” he murmured aloud to no one in particular, voice low as he took in the the hall bloomed to silver. “ The gods have a poet’s sense of timing for the princess. ” He steps away from the wall then, eager to get closer to the spectacle that the crown had illumed for the court. Not for power. Never that. But for the symbolism that sparked the poet in him. " Shall we find a drink? " he grins, turning with a boyish lightness to his companion at his left; tonight's mood was infectious. His smile curls genuine. " It feels terribly ungracious not to toast a moonchild’s beginning, don’t you think? "
Too bright, too warm and amongst every discomfort she felt rather naked in the silver abomination she adorned. Far be it from her to offend so openly as to attend in something that encouraged her own comfort. As it were, Astriss had long since retreated to find solace from the noise of court. The voice of another drawing her from such reverie, "Would the same not be said were it a prince? Gods and their poetry." Not her Gods. There is little to be said for the effort it takes not to roll her eyes at the spectacle. "Overindulgence perhaps just as ungracious; an easy feat when faced with so many familiar faces, don't you think?"
the flutter of a cats third eyelid, a screech of ravens in the night, the skinning of a fresh animal carcass, the faintest hue of blood upon fresh snow, days old poultice, dried herbs hung limp from every window, the sing of a newly open wound, dark hallways and incessant whispers, the flicker of a lit candle, the must of dusty old books, the twang of a loosed arrow, a clink of empty vials,

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