blackbird

Eideard looked around in mild surprise, trying to think of the last time he had played a game of chance. He had played such games all the time at the court in Scotland, but that had been a raucous place where such things seemed more common. It seemed to him rather out of place in staid Bern. With the opportunity presented to him, though, he couldn’t resist. He bowed and took the seat, smiling at the young man in front of him. “I would love a game, my lord. Are we playing lanterloo once more, or perhaps a different game?” He gathered the cards and shuffled with deft fingers, waiting for an answer.

The fact that a prince was now seated before him ( one who sorely held an opinion like most did on the lord ) was not enough to deter him from the prospect of a game. He never learned his lesson, it seemed. ❛ Ah, superb! ❜  The rather loud remark sounded through the room as he topped up his tankard with more wine ( as if he needed it ), before filling one for his new company while the other shuffled the cards. Eyes of others in the room were now trained on the fair haired lord - though they were silent ( but who needed words when their gazes said it all?) : the lord was not one of them, not anymore - he was a disgrace, a carouser better suited to a tavern than a royal palace. ❛ Shall we play something else? I do believe my luck with lanterloo has reached an end for the eve. ❜ 

The tanned woman feigned hesitation then ( of course it was pretend, Angelina never hesitated, everything she did was with conviction, everything a well thought out move, from the way she placed her hands, to the tilt of her head ) before she sat in the offered seat. “I do not believe in luck, your grace. I think we reap what we sew, and so perhaps you are being harsh on your abilities and you have more skill than you think.” Angie smiled gently, offering the sweet and trusting governess facade she had perfected so long ago. She smoothed her grey linen skirts then, dark eyes pretending to take in the game but she heard the rattle of an empty tankard, the corners of her lips twitching. Oh she knew how to play, and even if she could garner nothing useful, at the very least she might win more earnings to send home to her family. “Angelina, please. Maybe we play an open practice hand? To at least jog my memory.” She suggested, brown eyes wide with crafted innocence.

❛ Alas, I do not think it is that simple. ❜ Lips tugging upwards, he plucked a loose thread from his sleeve, fidgeting a little in his seat, an ill-fitting waistcoat too tight on his shoulders and too loose on its front ( worn garbs usually forgotten with the hazy gaze of liquor, though, indeed, when one looked close enough, the signs of age and wear were not as easily concealed ). ❛ –––– But yes, I suppose we shall. ❜ He’d learned over the years to not to offer his name unless asked, and never to mention his name in its entirety - though, to what end, he was uncertain: like clockwork, they would uncover it, and like clockwork, they would leave. Three chips in the centre, he shuffled the cards in his hand ( they were worn, too - it seemed everything the lord touched lost it’s shine, but what of the golden boy himself? ), before dealing the cards in a nimble movement: he had once wielded lances and swords the same way. ❛ ––Though, I must inquire as to the nature of prior engagements I’m surely keeping you from - then, at least, I know who to apologise to, Lady Angelina. ❜ 

Making her way through clouds of thick smoke, Cordelia remembered just how much she enjoyed nights such as these. She had never smoked of course, but games of cards and many glasses of wine were things she knew much about. Hearing a familiar voice, Cordelia made her way through the people until she stood in front of the blonde duke, a smirk on her mouth. “Only if you are not a sore loser when I win.” She teased before taking a seat down beside him, legs crossing as she shook her head. “Of all the people to turn up in Bern, I certainly did not expect you to be one of them, Felipe.” She teased, both her brows raising in interest before she takes a sip of wine from her cup. It’s been many years since she last saw him, and not for the first time she’s glad that the plan between their father’s had ended up falling through. 

Only upon hearing their voice did the others features morph into those of vague familiarity, even if it had been a lifetime ago since they’d known one another ( and even then, it had only been after receiving some rather undesirable news ). ❛ Nay - haven’t you heard? I’m in a constant state of despair on account of losing too often. ❜ Delivered with a boyish simper, one might think it a mere witticism, when he really was both in a state of despair and prone to loss. Though it could easily be blamed on the wine or the warm room, a flush shades deeper rose high on his cheeks, and he bowed his head both in greeting and in shame, worn garbs suddenly feeling tighter, and he was certain she’d notice. Her words struck a chord, even if it was not her intended meaning – it was yet another a reminder that he did not have a place in royal court: not anymore. ❛ Whereas I can’t say the same of you - are you supposing I’m not of much use here? ❜ 

LOVER AND/OR AFFAIR ( preferably male )

Though sensitive, Felipe isn’t the most sensible of souls. Engaging in a love affair with another high ranking individual would put their positions and relationships on the line- thank God ( or maybe don’t ) they know how to keep a secret. 

OLD COMPANION

This person knew Felipe well, and his family, in their prime. With the war, they went their separate ways, only to be reunited now. The pair have changed - what is to happen, when old relationships cannot be so easily rekindled?

COMRADE ( must be coalition )

Put in the same squadron, this person was there to witness Felipe, a skilled swordsman but one whose prior experience had been reserved solely for show, come to grips with the harsh realities of war - and was also at his side when he returned to find his relatives slain. Stuck out the good and bad together, but for whatever reason, their comradeship ended bitterly ( on account of Felipe’s growing negligence and change in character, a decision with dire consequences for the other in battle, etc. ). 

DRUNKEN TRYST

If Felipe had a crown, it would be as king of bad decision making. He does not consider himself overly charming, as he once was in his youth, but their encounter happened in only recent years, or while they’ve been at Bern. Lovers alike of parties, they were in attendance at one and met, before slipping discreetly away. While his own reputation isn’t in much need of protection ( what is there to protect? ), they must act as though it never happened, with this secret lying between them now. How long can they keep up the charade or will history repeat itself? ( They are a lover of parties after all ).

BENEFACTOR ( preferably coalition )

The one that ultimately prompted Felipe’s demise. Was there in the weeks/months following his relatives deaths. Just when the lord was about to give up and surrender himself to the war and inevitable death - this person appeared and offered ( at least seemed to ) a helping hand, picking him off his feet, bringing him out of his grieving haze. But this dangerous person influenced him to forgo his responsibilities, introduced him to a life of parties and drink and gambling, and watched on as the lord slowly ruined himself. He is blind to their poisonous agenda and thinks they are his friend. Felipe readily defends their name, even with rumour and warning from others. Whether they are doing it for personal gain ( having made away with a fair amount of winnings aka. the Monteiro fortune ), wants to see the Monteiro boy destroyed - or just likes the game of it, is uncertain.

GOOD INFLUENCE

she had known that her betrothal to demetrios would garner her enemies. josie was many things, but she was not a fool, was not nearly as stupid as her soft looks made her seem to be. ( engaged to a bastard, vying for a throne in a dying kingdom with three other heirs behind him? only a blind man could not see how such a situation would land any woman in a tenuous postion. ) falling into the greek queen’s line of fire, however, was something josie perhaps, naively thought she could avoid. even now, making her way to the audience with the queen, she couldn’t help but hope this was all just a horrible fever dream.

( not likely. her father had gotten her into this mess and the last thing he seemingly wanted to do was to get her out of it; or help at all. )

“my apologies, your majesty. i had my lady to attend to before arriving.” josie explained, dipping into a respectful curtsey. she slipped delicately into the seat offered, but made no move for the cup that sat in front of her. she had just come from tea with charlotte — but more than that, she had no desire to find out if the rumours about the greek court were true and poison somehow found its way into her glass. “i trust your journey here was well?”

❛ ...And how is your lady? ❜ A polished finger traced the rim of the teacup thoughtfully as the other took a seat. Though her expression remained neutral, her tone implied the queen’s interest on the matter indeed fell short. She tilted her head, assessing the other with piercing eyes. ❛ I imagine it must be tiring, waiting on another. One has to wonder how you manage. ❜ Agáta was well-practiced in minor jabs and digs at others, to wear one’s confidence and disposition down ( her daughters could attest to that ), but she saw no reason in killing the girl ( and perhaps, that, in itself, was insult enough ). She’d also had enough of the relayed pleasantries upon her arrival, asking after her journey - idle small talk, it seemed, was not her forte. ❛ QUITE... ❜ She took a sip of her tea, before brow furrowed slightly as though she were deep in thought or remembering some horrific detail. ❛ Well, that was until I received some rather concerning news...❜ A long pause stirred between them. Eyes still locked on the other, smile still pulling porcelain skin taut, she plucked a grape from a plate and began peeling the green skin with claw-like nails ( they were a family of wolves, after all ). ❛ ––––Engaged to our very own Demetrios. What a curious notion – I do wonder how the people of Athens will react. ❜

Angelina arched a fine brow, dark eyes landing on the man. Perhaps this was more Isabela’s territory, her uses were better placed in environments such as this, whilst she was the governess. There to charm parents, to garner information from children. But this, oh, it was too big of an opportunity to pass up on. A drunken Portuguese Duke, and a ruined one at that. “I am afraid I wouldn’t be much competition, your grace.” The woman bowed her head, fixing a sheepish smile on her face. “The last time I played was with my Grandfather, God rest his soul, and I was but a girl of nine. I’m not sure I even remember the rules.” A hesitant laugh left her lips, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. So good at facades, so unsuspecting. The daughter of a traitor, yes, but who would ever suspect her, with such angelic features, to be capable of something as awful as a lie? She had been pardoned afterall…

Had he known the woman’s position ( and her ties with the Spanish crown ), he likely would have silently ( staggered ) off on his way, maybe with a tight-lipped smile to pair. Yet, the lord had no reason to doubt the woman's manner, and that, in itself, was one of Felipe’s fatal flaws bred from early sheltered years ( too unsuspecting, too complacent ). Golden hair and rosy cheeks hid years of bedrugement for the cowardice and murder which had begun his downward spiral ( it was the ways of war, but it still stung ). ❛ Alas, I have found - at least in my case - it is a game of luck before it is one of skill. Then again, maybe I’m not playing it right. ❜ Shrugging, he downed what amber liquid remained in his tankard - before irking his head in the direction of the seat opposite. ❛ But that is a shame, meu senhora. I could refresh your memory, though if you saw me losing five minutes ago, you might object.❜ 

Constance watched the play from afar, from her favorite spot in the tavern. Her eyes twinkling as she saw another bite the dust in a game of cards. One of her father’s crewmembers next to her mumbling something about ‘cheating’, though she knew well enough that it was just jealousy that made him utter the words. Jealousy of not being as good at games, jealousy of not catching any ladies’ eyes. Because even though the man perhaps did not notice, slightly intoxicated by many glasses of wine like herself, quite a few eyes were upon him. “Shut your trap, coward.” the redhead snapped at the man beside her as she hopped off the barstool, leaving behind a frustratingly grumbling man who went back to busying himself with his drink. It didn’t take long for the man to notice her, studying the cards on the table as well as his own apprearance in an attempt to determine who this man was exactly. “Perhaps. I must warn you though, dear lord, I was raised by a bunch of half pirates. Gambling runs in my blood.” she mused teasingly as her hand reached out to pick up one of the cards on the table. Queen of spades, which she flicked casually between her fingertips. “What’s your game, my lord?”

He didn’t notice the audience he’d gained, though they hid their interest with timed glances and shadowy corners. Any whom knew the lord in his prime would hardly recognise him today. He himself strained to remember his prior self - a boy with a family, suitors at his door, money in the treasury. It was easy to forget pirates and the like existed too, when wrapped up in the naivety of the aristocracy, or for him, whose current life rarely consisted of matters outside of drink and cards and parties. But he did not fit in anywhere it seemed - in royal court he was looked down upon ( his only worth, it seemed, was in attendance of parties ), and here, he was seen as too pristine, too privileged. ❛ A warning? Another might take offence at the haste with which you doubt their abilities. ❜ He watched as a card was plucked up from the table, his own fingers moving to trace the rim of his glass ( empty, much to his disappointment ). ❛ Reversis, lanterloo, karnöffel, piquet: depends on the person I’m playing. ❜

The sensation that an icy hand had plunged into her through her ribs to squeeze her lungs was prominent. Choking the air from her and leaving her with nothing but the ice cold feeling of dread sitting uncomfortably in her stomach. Not that this was a new feeling to the Princess, for it had played an everyday part of her youth. But it had been so long since she’d been made to feel that way again, that reliving it now stole every word and confidence from her. So she stood in silence, hand fidgeting with a loose thread on her dress, picking, unravelling, until Artemis nudged her nose against her hand and instead, Meg’s hands settled in the snow white fur. This, at least, brought some comfort. “That must have been a lonely journey for you then, mother.” She commented ( more mumbled ), forcing herself to keep eye contact with the other, no matter how much her smile frightened her. Wolves, they were a family of wolves and her mother’s smile only hid sharp, sharp teeth. Ready to tear into any sign of weakness. “Of course not, I’ve longed to see you after so many years and miles of distance. I would never put off such a wanted reunion but duty comes before family. I had matters to discuss.” Megaira reassured the other in a gentle voice. See, she wanted to add, I have learned to lie now too mother. And she was so very good at it. The silver haired girl glanced down at her dress quickly before wetting her lips, “It is the fashion here at Bern. I thought it best to fit in with the others, to make it easier to strike up alliances if they see me as one of them.” But she wasn’t, she never would be. Megaira was a wild soul, not made for the primness of court thanks to her decade or so away from it. She was nothing like them.

As Agáta stood from her seat, the edges of her lips pulled up: movements sharp and quick as she clicked her back and angled her neck - like some wild beast confined to a small human form, straining for comfort or rearing to be unleashed. With slow movements, the woman silently circled her daughter and the dog, as though assessing a prized horse, hand pulling at the fabric of the others garbs, sharp nails dragging along the others shoulder - before picking up a long, white lock of hair, and twirling it around her finger. She tutted, eyes piercing into a set identical to her own. ❛ –––––Don’t mumble, Megaira. ❜ Always judging, always criticising - picking at every chance. It was a cruel contradiction – adamant about having her daughter on the throne, yet never satisfied, always doubtful of her resolve as a woman and as a queen ( would she be satisfied once a crown was atop her daughter’s head? ). She may have been born of foreign blood, but the situation in Greece, the matter of the Empire was for her to resolve, and an embarrassing predicament for a monarchy to be in – as was the lack of a husband at her daughter’s side. Yet, Agáta didn’t want to admit their dire circumstances, to resort to desperation, to superficial attempts to smooth ties over. About all that maintained the country’s fearsome demeanour, earned them a sliver of respect, was the Constantinou’s themselves: a pack of wolves, wild, undomesticated - the like of which was safer as an ALLY rather than an enemy. But lost years left much to be garnered and while she did not fear her daughter, she should have. Maybe, if she wasn’t indifferent, she’d notice how others spoke of the silver-haired princess, hear the whispers which passed around the servants quarters: ‘like mother, like daughter’. Her daughters reassuring words fell on empty ears, but at the mention of her attire, Agáta let the silvery curl fall from her hand, inhaling sharply. ❛ How proactive of you. And has your little charade worked? ❜ 

@rosccte​

Despite all the very many people he knew he could charm and dazzle with a sweet smile here and a well-timed compliment there, his father’s wife was definitely one person he could never win over. Ever since he’d been nothing but a child with scuffed knees and a lilting laugh, running after his father or playing with his half-sisters, all he’d ever known of the woman was her armour: cold and sharp to the touch, her gaze icy and her rage unrelenting. She was formidable. And Demetrios had spent most of his time at Bern trying to stay as far away from her as possible. 

Noticing her in the hall, he gathered himself to his full height, plastering an almost too convincing smile on his face. “Your Majesty,” Demetrios greeted, bowing lowly. No matter what his ambitions were ( no matter what his mother’s ambitions were ), and no matter how she had treated his once favourite sister, she was still his Queen and he was still her husband’s bastard son. And so he bowed to the woman who would have him executed if she could. “I hope you had a safe journey.”

At the sound of HIS voice, Agáta’s back instantly straightened, her poise more like that of a sword than a person, though her expression remained unreadable. For as long as one could remember, the pair had seemingly been on some silent - though mutual - agreement to AVOID one another. It was true, she could have him executed with the wave of a hand ––––– but that was a card she would bide her time in playing, one did not build their empire by being foolish and impulsive, by getting blood on another’s hands. She sat her chalice down before her grip could tighten around it, and arched her head, looking the bastard boy square in the eyes. Even with the wine which she hungrily consumed, never once would she slip her composure. ❛ Demetrios...How very gallant of you to visit. ❜ Her words were timed, and she rolled her shoulders. Mayhap he wanted something, wished to offer her sweetened words before she could crumble down whatever facade he had built for himself here. She pointedly tilted her head, sharp nail carving into the wood of the table, and a hum ( that might’ve been laughter ) slipping past her lips. ❛ ...I was fortunate enough to encounter your betrothed, waif of a girl. Still, I suppose she’ll suit you quite well. ❜ 

As always, if you’d like to plot with either Felipe or Agáta let me know, and I’ll be sending in a couple of wanted connections for them! 

     she’d witnessed many coronations in her life – from her father, to her brothers, to her friends, to her sister-in-law. they all seemed to blur together at this point in her life. gripping her fingers tightly over the glass of wine, charlotte refrained from drinking too much as she looked around the ballroom.

          ‘ perhaps this is a sign of new beginnings. ’

The lord stuck out like a sore thumb. Most, if not all, knew the misfortunes of the Monteiro’s - but he was accustomed to the way people retreated their steps with his own, how their circles huddled tighter together, always shut out like an unwelcome visitor. He supposed he was, but he endured it, drink in hand ( one he’d long since lost the taste for ) and chin high, brushing aside perceived slights and approaching another in the room – as he’d learned to by the one whom had saved him from absolute ruin. 

THE HOUSE OF CONSTANTINOU ––– ‘ the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives ’