#roland1

Adrasia felt the finality of the moment drop on his chest like a stone when the guards first approached him with purpose beyond herding. Oh, it was inevitable, but as he was prepared for his appointment, the celestial could not help but remember vividly the first night he had spent in a castle such as this. He had fought viciously then and bled for it, but before his feet had even touched Krovs' floor, he had known it would be different this time. It had to be, he reminded himself as he was marched out of the Undercroft, willing his hands to unwind from their clenched fists. His overseers would expect the opposite and any slight sign of rebellion on his part would be taken as a sign that his lesson had not yet been learned. How now to take this?

That was the question that circled through his mind, eyes blind to the finery he was marched past, the curious looks that marked his passing, ever closer to the master's chambers. Adrasia was no seducer, no good at playing doe-eyed either, by his own estimations. None of this to answer what this master would expect from his prey -- the name he had not yet been told, but councilman was omen enough. That thought brought another thrill of adrenaline with no place to go: Adrasia knew sadists, knew gloating egotists, exhibitionists whose greatest pleasure was the shame they assigned to their mess. There was no strategy to please all of them (as if he had once even tried). And which would he be?

One of the guardsmen jostled the celestial from his churning thoughts and Adrasia realized they had finally stopped. It had not been for rudeness's sake either, they were prompting him to knock. A helpless little laugh nearly escaped the celestial at this, quickly choked back. Stoicism, perhaps, was all he had left to grasp for. The night would pass, whatever it would be, and when it was over, he himself would still be the same.

A small consolation, but Adrasia took it and used its strength to raise his hand and rap twice on that fine door behind which the rest of the evening lay. So be it.

With his rehearsed, perfectly white, million-dollar smile on his lips, he approached him with confident steps. “Quelle soirée magnifique, Monsieur de Rochefort.” he exclaimed cheerfully once he reached his side. “I thought I’d figured out what a real party was during the Valentine’s Ball, and yet the Council always finds a way to surpass every expectation. I shouldn’t be surprised, considering your elegance.” he said, with a honey-sweet affected voice, before extending a gloved hand in Roland’s direction. “I’m Gabriel. It’s an honor to make your acquaintance, Councilman. I do hope you’ll grant me a game of croquet tonight. It would be a great pleasure, even though I haven’t played in over a century.” He chuckled, his innocent and yet slightly coquettish signature attitude on full display.

@councillor-roland

Enrico whimpered in fear as his father’s belt struck his back repeatedly. He just tried to be quiet, making himself as small as possible, avoiding doing anything that might augment Jupiter’s rage. His father didn’t seem like he wanted to stop, though. He kept calling him weak, pathetic, an abomination, screaming and shouting until the Kresnik woke up in a cold sweat, trembling in his bed in the Undercroft. Ric looked around the dark dormitory, trying to get his bearings and breathing deeply to slow down his racing heart. Jupiter didn’t want to have anything to do with him anymore; he had been very adamant about that, but the years of abuse still haunted him in his dreams.

Most of the other slaves of the Undercroft were still asleep—what was the time? It was hard to tell for Ric, unable as he was to look at the sky—but he still decided to get up and get a hot shower. He let the warm water soothe his body, washing away most of the anxiety and the panic that formed a grip on his chest.

When he was done, he felt far from being in a cheery mood, but he was better. As he made his way out of the showers to go back to his bunk, his still slightly wet body covered by a towel tightly wrapped around his waist, he almost crashed into an unknown man. “Sorry, I didn’t see you, did I—“ he started apologizing, before suddenly finding himself unable to speak. As he looked at the man’s blond hair and the severe look in his eyes, the Kresnik couldn’t help but see flashes of his father. The stranger he ran into didn’t even look that much like Jupiter—he was slightly shorter, his facial features were less sharp and he was definitely dressed more elegantly than his father had ever been—but the similarities were significant enough to bring him back to his nightmare. He went pale, his green eyes wide and his breath stuck in his throat. “I—I—I am s-sorry, sir. I'd better get going. Please have a nice d-d-day.” He stuttered, trying to slip away before having a panic attack in front of the man. 

After a terribly time in a cell, Vrunir had finally been freed. Well, as free as he could get. He supposed having the entire Undercroft at his disposal was better than the small bird cage they called a holding cell, even if it wasn't his preferred option of freedom. Since he had been released, he had already explored every inch of the Undercroft he was allowed to, storing it in his memory, mapping it out in his mind. He needed to know the castle completely, but for now he had to keep his ambitions small.

After he was confident in his ability to navigate his new residence completely blind, he had taken to forming a plan. He found a cot, sprawled out, one leg hanging off the side with his arms propped under his head, and closed his eyes. Surely no one would bother him if they thought he was asleep, right? Not even close. Within an hour of his contemplation his ears were perking to the sound of approaching footsteps and the dragon was sighing loudly before dark eyes were opening to meet whoever it was.

Of everyone it could've been, he was not anticipating opening his eyes to a flash from the past. A good one, unlike the ghoul who had put him here. He rose his brows at the familiar face, the only thing unchanging about him since the last time they'd met being the neutral expression and dead eyes he always wore. "Well, look who it is," He mused, remaining in his position on the bed as he gave him a small grin, "Roland. You look handsome as always."