#ic thread

The squeak that Azura makes is matched with a yelp from Hugh. Given the crowds and the darkness, maybe he should have expected something like this to happen. And maybe he did, just, not to him!

Fortunately, the outfit he wears is fairly dark. It'll be annoying to dry off, but nothing's ruined. The fact that its only water helps, too.

So, in the end, he ends up laughing with her. "Who's idea was it to provide drinks after the lights went down?" He jokes a little with her. "Man, I should've brought the torch staff. I could dry everything way faster that way."

But he doesn't have it with him, so he ends up searching for the next best thing. Plenty of napkins and the like are nearby the refreshments, so it's easy for him to grab some for him and Azura.

Poe herself traipses through the hallways of the Goddess Tower this very eve.

Being a member of the staff offers her some more flexibility to do so, especially under the justification that she's on the hunt for those who are where they ought not be. She soften her steps so that her heels won't click against stone. A floral scent already drifts through the air tonight, not just in her wake. Her dress trails behind her as she rounds the corner—

"Oh!" The sound that escapes her reflexively seems almost joyous. "I would recognize that silhouette anywhere!"

Throughout the night, she had wondered about the tower. For this year to have it barred away, protected and watched to ensure that no one heads up there? There had to be another reason for such extreme measures, and it bothered Niamh that she did not have the answers.

On top of that, as the highlight of the ball had started, and the curtains had rose on the shows, she found quite a number of people collecting around the various performances made with moving pictures. It was crowded, busy, and above all, noisy - she'd have to return to one of the later showings and take a look at the performance's magic then.

So, she ventures towards the tower. She uses the darkness to her advantage, tip-toeing towards the stairs...

Only to hear her voice.

"...no you don't." She reflexively responds. She ducks down, but she knows that she doesn't have the means to hide if the darkness does not aide her. Especially not if someone like her spots her.

Does she run? No, not yet.

"Ha! And to think, where we once hailed as the echelon of Adrestia's foremost houses, we may one day return in a fashion that even summers will crave." And a beat. "I am... glad, really." Really, truly. So much so, he leaned into it. Like a song off a gallery seat, elbows pressed against the balcony sidebox to crane his whole body in.

"That you went through a time so difficult and pulled yourself out of the wreckage."

Where one flame buried bright, the other laid dormant among the ashes, the stray embers flickering a feeble sign of life. Difficult, he says. Their meeting, a highlight to be praised and admired above all else! Her flame appears at first to have died out - but with a snap, it erupts into something far more deadly.

"Oh, ever so thankful for the reminder!" She scoffs; "That the single most dreadful, embarressing day of my entire life can be summed to you up as 'difficult.' Certainly, the 'noblest of nobles' has dived in plenty of valleys of his very own, and has quite an understanding about how deep they can surely get!"

Her sneer lowers, and exhaustion hides behind the more serious tone her expression takes. "…I lost everything, you know. My title. My place. My family."

Briefly, she meets eye to eye - just as quickly, she pulls away. "So, if all if you've come to do is remind me of those failings, then I hardly see the need for us to discuss any further."

It had been increasingly risky to venture home late at night since the crumbling of their way of life for a thousand years. A good number had not accepted it—a changing of a nation could not be dealt with in one night. The Church was outed for its lies and though Atticus was a Priest, he could not turn his back to those who still called out to him.

Sins of thy father…

He too felt betrayed by the holy scripture he religiously studied for years on end. How he memorized the stories told by the elders, written in the books of Ishgard. Those long grueling hours by candlelight that he traced each sentence word by word in order to memorize it.

How all those times he gritted his teeth and raised his lance to strike down the enemies of his nation. When all along it was their people who started it. Those heretics sought the truth, turned into dragons by the aid of the creature’s blood. Though their method was wrong—it seemingly was the only way to them.

He wasn’t expecting an Auri to clutch his garments and bring him down to her level. She was surprisingly strong and with the hat he wore he did not retaliate. The punch was searing, and a cut raced across his upper cheek. The actions were brought on by alcohol, he could smell the ale exhuming off of her skin.

As she crumpled to the ground and he regained his bearings, he took his hand and grasped her elbow lightly. “My child, I do not curse you for harboring these feelings.” He felt the warm trickle of his abrasion on his cheek, the stinging of the cold bitter winds. “We all were lied to. If I spend all my days healing and saving those that need it, I still will not be able to atone for what the Church did and for what I supported.”

from a position in the corner of the crowded foyer, emerald eyes survey various faces and their attached bodies massing in a pool of black and white. alone the uniformity looks strange, but together the attire creates a rather interesting hypnosis effect, like a living optical illusion. in her own stark white dress she adds to the ensemble, but one glance to her eldest sister donned in black on the other side of the room tells her she likely made the wrong choice in color. then again, meredith has always had a way with fashion and making any piece of clothing, no matter how old or out of style, look as fresh and new as it did the moment it was walked down a runway in some city much bigger than deadwood.

there has always been a part of her, no matter how small it has become with age, that envies her sisters and their unique and mature appearances. despite only a couple of years separating the three of them, she has always felt one step behind them in growing into her looks. when she was younger she would sit next to meredith at her vanity and learn how to apply mascara, in what order to apply concealer and foundation, and which shade of blush pink fit perfectly with her lip complexion. briefly she regrets the nude color she chose for this evening.

Whenever there's a party, there's really only one thing you have to do first. It's scouting the food! A good party has to have good food. It's what gathers people in the first place. It's what keeps the folks around who don't want to start a conversation. There's plenty of ways to start a conversation with the food, too: what'd you think of this one? Should I have this, or that? The perfect conversation starters for those who are pulling at straws to say, well, anything.

So of course Hugh's checking to see what's been rolled out so far. There's a few treats he can vaguely recall from the last time he's been to a venue like this, one being the trio of tiny, bite-sized buns.

Maybe it's the familiarity that other might share with the food, but it becomes apparent fast that there's only a few plates of the dish left. And by a few, there's actually only one plate of the buns left. They're selling out fast!

While it could be expected that the staff has more in the back, there's still a sense of urgency that has Hugh race towards them. He's about to secure the dish himself when someone else does - and boy, when his eyes wander to the person who now has them in his hands?

"You--!!"

He could ask to share. That's what any other person would do, wouldn't it? But between the dash over, and the sight of the man who has definitely noticed him? The man who probably has a word or two to say? Hugh decides that there's really only one actual answer to the problem at hand.