[Elmonton] Home, Where The Story Began

Charity and Rhys arrive in Elmonton, where the tall wick confronts his father.

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A wide stretch of farmland on the east coast known for the farming villages of Virthmore and Edmonton.

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Charity Valentin
Posts: 129
Joined: Mon Jul 09, 2018 5:41 pm
Topics: 23
Race: Galdor
Location: Vienda
: The voices aren't real, right?
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Thu Nov 29, 2018 5:48 am

42nd Yaris, 2718
ELMONTON | AROUND MIDDAY
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Elmonton.

It was a long trip to the farming town that Rhys had been born in, the place he’d lived out the first ten years of his life, but Charity hadn’t noticed. They’d cuddled together in the relative warmth of a small moa drawn carriage, finding comfort either in shared contemplative silence or in gentle discussion, their fields so belike that it felt naturally complete in their little nest. There was a lot to unravel, a lot to unpack and discuss. Since the 32nd of Yaris, Charity had seen nothing of the outside world, locked up in Rhy’s small apart in a welcome and strange sort of reprieve. She had hid in the soft covers of his bed during the times he was at work, afraid of every little sound outside the house, worried it was Damen or his men come to collect her up. When she slept the first night, she woke screaming, scrabbling at hands around her throat that faded as the nightmare dissipated. It felt so real.

But it never was, and on the 34th they departed for Elmonton.

As they rolled across the countryside, a weight lifted from the blonde, more and more the further they got from Vienda. The nightmares subsided, and she smiled more, and laughed. The yellow bruises on her face had faded by the time they reached the small township about a week later. As they approached the town proper, the galdor pulled the curtain aside to look over the quaint houses and sweeping fields of indigo.

“It’s so…small.” She said softly, almost unable to comprehend any place being so tiny. There were no soaring walls or grandiose tall buildings of brick and stone. There were no factories pumping smoke or churning through children like candy. It was small, and homely, and farmy. Her violet gaze swept across the fenced yard of what could have been a stock farm, gasping and looking back at Rhys with a grin that was almost bubbling with the trace of the young girl that had fallen in love with him so very long ago. She’d stopped the Crop completely, the withdrawals gone from her system, and it showed in her face. She looked healthier, felt healither. The world seemed more vibrant and wonderful, more than it had been in a long long time.

“Rhys look! Cows! There’s cows! Did you have cows? They are so cute, look at them! Like big puppies.” Sitting back in her seat, the petite woman lent over the man to point out of the other side.

“What the clock is that?” She exclaimed, pointing at a hand operated water pump, fascinated by the little things that she just didn’t see in the city. Drawing back, the woman breathed a soft wow as they rattled along, before looking over at Rhys and gently placing her hand on his.

“Are you okay?” She asked quietly, searching his face as they drew ever closer to his family estate. The trip wasn’t just a reason to escape Vienda for a while, it was a return home to confront his father about this ridiculous wick business. Whilst Charity accepted it, had made her peace with it, part her still didn't believe it. Yes, granted, Mister—Miss?—Saunders looked an awful lot like Rhys Valentin, but it felt too unbelievable. Far too unbelievable to be…unbelievable.

“Do you need to stop somewhere first? We could find a place to stay for the rest of the afternoon and evening, and see your home tomorrow if you prefer?” Her fingertips stroked a strand of rouge strawberry blonde hair from his face, and she offered an empathetic smile. The Seventen’s field was laced with his emotions, something that Charity found amazing given the truth of the matter (if it was at all the truth) that Rhys wasn’t a galdor. They’d always had such similar fields, so drenched in the same monic particles, it was impossible to put that together with her prior knowledge of wicks. They were always different, so far beyond proper magic and formal conversation. Yet, Rhys had known nothing else. He had learned and practised right along side the blonde, and they had shared perceptive connections as easily as breathing. The whole thing would be some scientists wet dream to investigate, but that would mean revealing Rhys for what he was, and Charity would die before she told a soul what she knew. For the man’s absolute safety, for his career and his actual life, the secret would live in her breast until her heart beat no more.

“Just tell me what you need Rhys, and I’ll do whatever it is.”


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Rhys Valentin
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Fri Nov 30, 2018 1:59 pm

47th of Yaris, 2718
RHYS' PODUNK BIRTHPLACE | MIDDAY-ISH
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The rush of adrenaline from standing up to Captain Damen D'Arthe had been short-lived in the face of post-riot trauma and physical exhaustion. Rhys had barely crawled home from filing his charges and explaining detailed truths to his own superior officer, Captain Arthur Haines. He was a broken thing, the not-galdor, and two days of paranoid, nightmare filled restlessness for both of them had been too long.

Which one of them had been more grateful to leave Vienda behind?

It was a toss up, perhaps, for while taking Charity far from the city where her father prowled like a chroven for her company and where too-fresh memories of blood and gunfire haunted him, the young Valentin was instead taking them both home. His real home. Elmonton. Where he hadn't been in years and where he had no interest in returning to, save for his insatiable need to know the origin of the lies, to hear from his father's own lips the nature of his heritage and birth. Was he really half human? Had his galdor life and his professional success been an act of brilliant rebellion for all of these years?

Plagued by vertigo, irritated by tinnitus, Rhys was forced to swallow his nervous fear and deal with the ugly reality of withdrawal while he traveled with his delicate pianist. The first few days of travel by boat down the Arova had been a welcome distraction, a breath of fresh air, and the exhausted pair could pretend for a few precious moments as Vienda faded from the horizon that they were safe, that they were simply on a much-needed vacation.

Confined to a carriage, however? Things had, at least for the tall Sergeant, been much more of a challenge than he'd entirely been able to let on. Motion sickness was a horrible travel companion, the after effects of his over-casting during the long riot lingering with a ferocity he could hardly fend off, desperate to distract himself and his lover from her own darker, deeper issues. They'd found comfort in each other, shedding heavy layers of emotional trauma and heartache as the Anaxi countryside rolled by through the windows of their little bubble while it bounced along the paved main roads that crossed so carefully through their troubled Kingdom.

It was difficult at first to distinguish Elmenton proper from any of the other much smaller, possibly unnamed hamlets they passed through, having stopped at an inn or two for a wash and a hot meal during their journey over land. Rhys was eager to stop moving, the weight of his revelation growing heavier the closer they approached the small farming village of his birth. Charity's excitement was endearing, a welcome light in the growing stormy darkness he attempted to hide from view.

"Small. Yes. Beautiful but boring." He smirked at her, teasing her as a whole side of Anaxas she'd never seen was revealed in the rolling landscape and tiny imitation of a downtown while they rolled through without stopping, "I'm nothing but rough lower class country stock, remember. Farmboy. That's me."

She laughed and smiled when he could not, and yet as she peered out the windows and crawled over his person, the young Valentin couldn't help but chuckle at her, hands moving over her familiar body while he followed her observations,

"Cows are a lot more stupid than puppies. More like kensers. We had a few cows, yes—I—they're kind of dirty, but—oh, that's a water pump. They have them in the Dives—haven't you seen one before?" His tongue was between his teeth and he was grinning at her, finally, amused but distracted. Her hand curled over his and he sighed, restlessly tempted by her offer to hide one more day from the truth while enjoying each other's private company in the one tiny inn that occupied Elmonton proper. It sounded nice, but he felt the closeness of everything far too heavily to enjoy putting off the inevitable.

"No, I'm not okay. I haven't been home in years. Not since, gods, I don't know, fifth form? Sixth? I didn't even clocking bother to send a letter ahead of us. What the clock for? I don't know what I'm going to say—how I'm going to ask—what he's going to be like, Ol' Theo—" Rhys didn't call the man father. He hadn't in a long, long time. Not since before his entrance to Brunnhold, and even then the word had only been used begrudgingly because Theodore had never truly showered his son with the kind of affection he'd heard other children received from some of their parents. He'd always just been a means to an end. Rhys knew that now.

And he was here to put an end to that forever.

"—I don't want to wait. It's not far from here, anyway. We'll just ... get things over with, and there's a guest house. Wait until you see the stars—" His blue eyes, still so tired, came into focus on Charity's face with a more definite smile, leaning into the brush of her hand and thankful for the comforting mingling of their fields, for their lack of need to entirely communicate with words. Like their childhood friendship all over again, their closeness was such an indescribable necessity, and while he made every attempt not to analyze their differences, not to focus now on what he was instead of who they were to each other, he couldn't help it. He'd been raised his whole life to believe a wick couldn't do what a galdor did in any way, shape, or form, and yet he defied every convention he'd been trained and uniformed to uphold and protect. He was, perhaps, a poor sorcerer for a galdor, but he was, instead, a powerful, dangerous creature as a wick.

That had been a strange, uncomfortable revelation.

"—I need to know and I'm tired of waiting. We're going to scare the shit out of Ol' Theo, though. He'll think I'm bringing my new wife home. You just wait." He laughed, then, quiet and knowing, giving her hand a squeeze, "Not that I'd mind such a thing, Charity, but still. He'll ask."

Shifting in his seat, he placed a kiss pointedly against her forehead, leaning to glance out the window and watch the bright green- and blue-flowered fields roll by.

The fields of his childhood: indigo.

The fields that dyed the uniform he wore.

The constant color of his life of lies.

Their carriage would eventually rumble up the rough gravel and dirt road that led to the estate of his birth, passing through the rich landscape of the Valentin plantation. It was large, impressive, and owned for several generations. There were other crops for food, a few cows and kenser and horses. Some pigs down by the stream. Ducks. Chickens. A dog or two. A handful of osta. Barns. The drying house to process the flowers into dye. The houses for the estate's workers: passives, mostly, but also humans. Humans like his mother had been.

Yelenn.

Her name in his mind always heard in Gale's voice.

"Well, here's where I was born." Rhys nodded in the direction of the large main house, rustic in it's Brayde County galdori splendor. It was still impressive, but with a country charm that didn't exist in Vienda at all. Immediately nervous at the sight of his childhood home, the tall Sergeant's hands strayed to the collar of his shirt, to the buttons of his vest, to his shoes, fussing and straightening until finally curling with exasperated fear into the unkempt length of his hair,

"Good Lady, I'm not ready."

He groaned, blue eyes reluctantly leaving Charity's face to see a servant emerge from the muted extravagance of the main house, ready to greet the obvious surprise of their moa-drawn carriage when it came to a stop. The young man rushed to greet them, wary eyes on the driver and Rhys heard his name on the old human's lips above them while he shifted toward the door, one hand reaching to open it while the other tangled his fingers with the blonde galdor next to him, "I'm sorry, but I don't see this going well."

"Welcome home, Mister Valentin." The young servant was too young to remember him, if he'd even been around the last time the tall Sergeant had visited, but he knew all the right words and hid any awkward surprise behind a well-trained servant's humility, "Master Theodore is not expecting you, is he?"

"No, no he's not. My apologies for arriving unannounced." The not-galdor faked formality with a shy smile, unfolding from the carriage with an unspoken gratitude and offering to help the delicate pianist out behind him instead of letting the young human do his job,

"Oh! And a guest." The servant beamed, obviously making assumptions by the way his gaze wandered over them both, "Someone will get your luggage, Sir and Madame. Let me take you inside and get you comfortable. Your father is in the drying house, I'm afraid. Someone will have to fetch him."

Rhys chewed on the inside of his cheek and nodded, nerves fraying his field and immediately regretting the decision to travel here the minute he was standing in front of his childhood home. His ears rang above his elevated pulse and his blue eyes struggled to focus on the building he now knew Theodore was busy overseeing in,

"Thank you." Managed the younger Valentin, following as indicated with an obvious reluctance.

Inside the Valentin estate was not at all extravagant or luxurious so much as minimalist and practical. It was painfully obvious Rhys' father was a preoccupied bachelor of advanced age, for everything was meticulously well kept, from the art on the walls depicting the landscapes of Brayde County at various times of the year to the choices of expensive but very useful furniture. The house was hardly bustling with servants, and the emptiness could be felt as the young man with dark hair and dark eyes in his khaki suit led the pair through the hall and toward a sitting room full of beautiful windows, a crackling hearth, and a view of more sweeping fields of indigo,

"Someone will bring you tea shortly, Mister Valentin. Theodore will join you shortly. Thank you for waiting, Missus Val—"

Rhys considered letting him finish, the hint of a sudden smile playing under the taut emotionless expression he'd let his aquiline features form into, arching a slim brow to let Charity correct for herself or not, taunting her simply for his own needful distraction and coy amusement.
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Charity Valentin
Posts: 129
Joined: Mon Jul 09, 2018 5:41 pm
Topics: 23
Race: Galdor
Location: Vienda
: The voices aren't real, right?
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Tue Dec 04, 2018 5:26 am

42nd Yaris, 2718
ELMONTON | AROUND MIDDAY
"Boring? No, don’t say that Rhys. It’s…” Her violet gaze scanned the countryside, looking for a word that wasn’t accidentally offensive, before smiling back at him.

“Quaint.” As they rolled on through the town, the young woman frowned and shook her head.

“Please, you’re a plantation owners son. There is a right clocking difference, and I clocking well told him that. Seems to be a lot better placed then being an insane ersehole.” Charity leaned over him, all full of curious excited wonder, pausing in her review of cows and waterpumps to look at the man and stick her tongue out with a grin.

“You’re making fun of me Rhys Valentin.” She said matter of factly as she sat back in her seat, hand on his and listening with care as the taller Seventen confessed his gnawing concerns about seeing his father again after so many years, and in the face of such a strange truth he needed to understand. The blonde let him vent, knowing when she could barely make sense of the world that sometimes just letting it go in a cascade of words could help. Her smile turned into a slightly confused frown, and she tilted her head.

“The stars? I see the stars every time I look up at the night sky in Vienda. Mostly its just darkness, but there’s stars there. Aren’t they the same stars all over Anaxas?” Whilst magic wasn’t Rhys’ strong point, basic logic was not hers. It was why they worked so well together, he complimented her weaknesses and she bolstered his strengths, regardless of what the wretch Mist—Miss Saunders had to say. Closing her eyes briefly as the blue eyed man kissed her forehead, Charity squeezed his hand in return and moved to lean against his chest to look at the passing flower fields.

“Maybe there’s no reason to correct him. Let the old kenser stew on thinking that perhaps his son married without his knowledge. It’s a lovely lie.” The pianist said softly, a smile small gracing her lips, heart beating just a little bit faster. Eventually though, they began up the gravel drive, and Charity couldn’t resist sitting a little straighter to stare through the window. More cows, kensers and horses. Pigs! Oh Alioe they were both ugly and adorable, but something told the brunette they would stink. The ducks were delightful, causing the blonde to grin and laugh at their curious fast waddle and the chickens were a lot different from the fowl that ended up on her dinner plate. Glancing back at Rhys as he spoke, her gold flecked gaze drifted to the manor house, before coming back to him with a concerned frown. Her hands took his own firmly from his hair, holding them tightly and seeking his crystalline eyes.

“Rhys. Hey, Rhys. Look here, look at me. You’re fine. I’m right here, and I’ll be right beside you the whole time. We can sit here for a moment, we can sit here for a house. We don’t have to move until you’re ready.” Delicate fingers brushed his hair smooth tenderly, moving to kiss his cheek softly. Her fingers tangled in his as the taller man shifted to move as the house staff approached them, whispering as the door opened.

“When has a discussion with either of our fathers ever gone well?” It was with a smile aimed at the young human that Charity exited the carriage behind her lover, refusing to relinquish his hand as they stood on the gravelled entryway. Slipping her arm into his, the petite creature followed the Seventen into the estate, her eyes looking over the rather modest interior. It wasn’t built for opulence, but more for practicality. That made sense of course, given the location. She looked over the simple, but rather telling artwork on the walls, before letting herself stare once again out the window at the fields of indigo. It was a strangely curious sight, not like looking at a blooming garden, but a literal field of flowers swaying gently with the wind. It was, for a city dweller, actually breathtaking.

Her musings were broken by the sound of the young human addressing them again, offering the returning prodigal son a pot of tea and mistaking Charity exactly as they had joked. She knew Rhys well enough to notice the slight change in his features, and with a lift of her chin as though to acknowledge his amusement, the small blonde nodded to the staff.

“Not at all, barely noticed the wait. Yes, tea would be acceptable. With honey, and a dash of milk, if it’s not too much trouble.” Her eyes shifted to Rhys, accepting the silent challenge with a smile, not at all unaware of the fact that she had in a round about way, let the tall Valentin know that the idea of marriage to him was not at all a distant childhood fantasy.

Perhaps though, he just thought it was a bit of a laugh.

Blushing slightly at her own internal thoughts, the not-Valentin smoothed the skirts of her flowing periwinkle lace and blue chiffon dress, using the action to still her own nerves. Of course, she had never met Theodore Valentin, but his reputation through Rhys proceeded him. It was bizarre, but she felt a moment of panic, as though the person who would walk through the doors would in fact be her own father. Taking a deep breath and stilling the flutter in her field, Charity moved back to Rhys and rested a hand on his arm.

“We can leave whenever you like, my dear.” She said quietly, looking up at the man with a small crease in her brow.

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Rhys Valentin
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Race: Wick
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Fri Dec 07, 2018 11:51 am

47th of Yaris, 2718
RHYS' PODUNK BIRTHPLACE | MIDDAY-ISH
"Quaint is just a fancier word for boring. I'm educated. I know these things." Rhys couldn't help but tease her, returning her taunting expression before offering a shake of his head, "The stars are the same, sure, but there are more of them. More than you can imagine when you're far from the phosphor glow of Vienda. I'll show you. Later."

Charity curled against him and her honesty caused him to gasp in surprise, blue eyes widening in real surprise instead of any mockery, "Considering my whole life has been a lie, what's one more? At least that one is pleasant." He hummed, blushing despite the fear that rattled around his narrow chest, still recovering from the realization that the delicate musician had just admitted she had no objections to the concept, had it been the truth instead. He hands took his and he laughed bitterly,

"Ol' Theo isn't a violent ersehole. I can probably look at him wrong and he'll cower." He squeezed her hands before moving to open the door, and the pair were led through the house to a sitting room as if it was a simple, normal, expected sort of visit on a simple, normal, expected sort of day.

The petite blonde didn't even miss a beat as the young servant offered them beverages, plowing through the assumption that she was now a Valentin instead of a D'Arthe as though it was the most natural thing in the world, the nervousness that gripped his insides warming ever so slightly when she smiled and requested how she'd like her tea.

"—entin. Excellent. And the Mister?" The human looked to Rhys, confused by the color that had graced his cheeks again, arching an eyebrow.

"No tea, thank you. Just some water is fine." He managed despite his heart being firmly lodged against the back of his throat like a burning hot coal. He attempted to keep his field from fraying at the edges, not wanting for it to pulse with his frustration. The servant nodded and disappeared, leaving them alone in the small room with the crackling hearth and the large windows that looked out across rolling fields of almost ready for harvest indigo, bright flowers blue in the sun. Rhys glanced at the chairs but found his feet didn't entirely desire to move, standing in the middle of the room with weak knees and Charity's hand on his arm.

Maybe he should have worn his uniform.

Fingers of his free hand nervously fussed with his collar, thumb seeking the familiar forms of his snaps only to remember they were missing with a hiss, "I have to know."

The servant didn't return with tea before the elder Valentin arrived, the weight of his field when he opened the doors announcing his presence instead of any voice. The man was tall for an Anaxi galdor, his once strawberry blond hair now a faded white, but clearly there were traits of his that Rhys had indeed taken after. Theodore was in his sixties now, but life in the sun and on the plantation had aged him instead of preserved him as if he'd been better suited for a life of books but refused. Lithe fingers were stained blue, as was some of his simple clothes, and the man didn't smile when he stepped into the room. Blue eyes rimmed with gold took in the pair, the man's field an unreadable barrier heavily laden with Living mona and curiosity,

"My Rhys returns. Welcome home son, and who is this? I didn't even get an invitation—" The elder Valentin might have been joking, but he finally reached not for Rhys' hand but for Charity's to embrace it in both of his own, the flicker of a smile on his face and a strange, confused light in his eyes. He may have even glanced downward, gaze traveling over her delicate person, as if half expecting to see her with child. It was rude and he didn't apologize, hands lingering before he finally offered a handshake to his own son,

"This is Charity, Theo. Charity, this is Theodore Valentin, my father." The Sergeant's handshake was brief, but he held the older man's gaze and refused to correct any of his assumptions, finding the idea of snubbing the old man out of a wedding so comforting that he was willing to exchange one lie for another.

"Well. I believe I've heard the name before. Congratulations. Is this what brings you here? It's been years and you've stopped writing, Rhys." The older man didn't even bother with tact or decorum, the three of them awkwardly standing in the small sitting room without sitting. His blue-dyed hands slipped into the pockets of his well-tailored trousers, the lanky galdor's field completely unreadable and his expression lacking the kind of excitement one should have expected from a parent seeing their child for the first time in years,

"I've been busy. Earning my snaps in the Seventen. I'm sorry I've not been more communicative of my successes." The tall blond offered almost lamely, feeling his chest tighten, his lungs refuse to take in the proper amount of breath. His jaw clenched and he stared at the man expectantly for a moment as if longing for him to say what he wanted to hear before being properly questioned, "And, no, I'm not here to introduce you to a wife. I'm here to ask a few questions."

"Questions? If this is about your inheritance, you know very well that the estate is yours when I'm gone." Theodore Valentin had so thoroughly lived the lie of who his son was that he didn't even think the wick could have found out a thing, and so there was no suspicion in his tone. He waved a hand toward the chairs and waited for everyone to sit, whether they wanted to or not, crossing his leg over the other and resting his hands so comfortably on one elevated knee, "But at the moment, there is nothing to give you—"

Rhys sat with reluctance, far too restless to be so still. He curled fingers into his knees to keep his legs from bouncing,

"—No, Theo. I don't care about my inheritance. As a Sergeant of the Seventen, I want for very little—"

The not-galdor paused, swallowing hard. He sat up straighter, he tightened his field, and he spoke very slowly,

"—I'm here to ask about Yelenn."

In the silence that filled the space between them, Ol' Theo's face didn't grow pale so much as red, his pupils dilating and a slow breath filling his lungs and emptying out again. His knuckles whitened, curled together as they were, and he blinked, "I'm sorry. Who?"

"Yelenn. My mother." Rhys emphasized the last words with a crack in his voice, tone wavering because he had no idea what to do with all the emotions he felt at once, "My human mother."

The elder Valentin's blue eyes flicked to Charity as if asking for her help before they settled on some spot on the floor, unwilling to meet his son's intense, ravenous gaze, "I don't know what you're talking about, Rhys. Your mother was a galdor and she died in childbirth. It's right there on your birth record. Her name was—"

"Yelenn. Her name was Yelenn and she was human and she lived. You let her live but you wouldn't let her take me with her when you let her go. When you let all the staff go from the year of my birth. Tell me the truth, old man, let me hear it from you."

Theo looked up, shoulders settling loosely, and his quiet voice was full of an impotent anger, a very deep fury that was barely contained, "But you know it all already, my boy. Why do I need to say it again? You're here to hear that—what for? You have everything any galdor could ever want: an education, a career, a beautiful wife—do you know? Did he tell you, young lady? Did you willingly marry a wick? How does that make you feel—"

"Stop." Rhys flexed his field then, powerful for his sullied blood, weak in the presence of two galdori, "Just stop."

"—your mother was a human. Her name was Yelenn. You'd be unwanted trash in some Soot District factory if it wasn't for me. Look at what you've become. A grand experiment. An anathema to our Kingdom, but not the first half-breed bastard to graduate from Brunnhold, I'm sure. I was so sure that I risked everything for you. Here you are. My son—"

The door swung open again and the young man stood awkwardly in the threshold, tray in his hands laden with tea and fresh fruit and other baked goods. Had he heard anything? Did it matter? The anger in the room washed over him like a wave, and he squeaked, "I've got your refreshments, Sir."
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Charity Valentin
Posts: 129
Joined: Mon Jul 09, 2018 5:41 pm
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Race: Galdor
Location: Vienda
: The voices aren't real, right?
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Tue Dec 11, 2018 5:16 am

42nd Yaris, 2718
ELMONTON | AROUND MIDDAY
The young woman frowned as Rhys fumbled with his collar, taking a breath to offer him some small measure of comforting words, when the doors opened and an older man strolled in with no introduction or greeting. He could have been someone’s grandfather, and it took Charity aback for a moment, her violent gaze briefly comparing between the two men. Rhys has his eyes, and definitely some qualities that were undeniably Theo’s. An onlooker could easily assume the two men were related.
​​
​​The elder spoke, his assumption as clearly made as the house staff’s, and with a slow smile the petite blonde allowed him to take her hand in his two indigo stained ones. The galdor made a small curtsy, not missing the roaming gaze of the man, causing her smile to disappear with a slight frown. When he finally let her hand go, the pianist couldn’t help but brush it against her skirt as though his touch left a taint on her skin. Once Rhys introduced them, the Captain’s daughter nodded.
​​
​​ “Perhaps you have. Rhys and I attended Brunnhold together, we were in the same graduating class.” Her lips pressed together, refusing to confirm or deny his assumption at their wedlock, standing somewhat awkwardly with her hands clasped before her and gaze roaming the room. Finally, Rhys made it clear they weren’t there just to show of his implied wife, and a wave of blue stained hands allowed them to take seats. It was clear there was no love lost between the Valentin’s, but all Charity could do was watch as the two men exchanged a terse exchange.
​​
​​Right up until Rhys said her name.
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​​Her violent eyes watched the older man carefully, just as interested in his reaction as Rhys, realising even before it was verbally confirmed that it was true. All of Gale’s clocking revelations were true.
​​
​​Oh dear.
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​​Theo looked at her, almost pleaded with her, and all she gave was a lift of her chin and a cool stare. Inside her heart hammered in her chest. It was true. Rhys really was a…a…
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​​A wick.
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​​The anger was palatable, too much for the trauma affected woman to feel safe or comfortable in, and she nervously curled her fingers into her skirts. Theo turned his angry questions onto her, and for the life of her the blonde floundered.
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​​Did he tell you, young lady? Did you willingly marry a wick? How does that make you feel—"
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​​Blushing furiously, her eyes flicked to Rhys, mouth opening to say something in her defence, closing when the Seventen flexed his field and snapped at the old man. The room crackled with the weight of three fields, one a glamour but a strong one at that. The way Theo continued, as though Rhys owed him dug at the wisp of a woman, and she suddenly rose to her feet.
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​​ “Enough! Your son, Mister Valentin, is no experiment. Nor is he a half-breed bastard. Not to me, not to those who care for him. You’ve no right to claim his success as your own. Have you even a clue what Rhys has done? What he has achieved? Perched here in your castle of loneliness and lies? This is Sergeant Rhys Valentin, youngest in the Seventen. He has done more good for Vienda in seven odd years than you have for anyone by the looks. I’m sorry Mister Valentin, but your son is a good man. A good officer. A good decent person. In here—“ Her finger tapped against her chest, before the doors opened and the dramatic confrontation between father and son was interrupted by tea and refreshments.
​​
​​ Wonderful. Tea and fruit and sugar. Thankyou. Leave the tray.” She said with a cool tone, daring the young man to defy her with an unnecessary flex of her own decently ramscott field. Sweeping to the tray, Charity picked up a cup of water and a sweet pastry, handing them to Rhys.
​​
​​ “Have some water dear. And a pasty. You’ve not eaten.” Picking up the other teacup and a muffin, the blonde seated herself with a crossing of legs and a sigh. Her frown gave her the intimidating skills of an angry kitten, but she bolstered her field so easily melded into Rhys’ beside her that it would be difficult to distinguish between the two.
​​
​​ “I am well aware of who I choose to love Mister Valentin, and I gladly accept all that comes with it. Openly, without shame. Which seems to be more than can be said for you.” Arching a brow as though predicting a fight, the small framed creature looked over at Rhys, pulse surging in her ears. She had overstepped, possibly, but it was wrong. Theo was wrong. And he was no Damen.
​​
​​And that made it so much easier to stand up beside her wick lover.
​​
​​ Wick.

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Rhys Valentin
Posts: 262
Joined: Sun Jul 08, 2018 5:06 pm
Topics: 19
Race: Wick
Location: Vienda
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Writer: Muse
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Thu Jan 03, 2019 2:26 pm

37th of Vortas, 2718
HOME | Late AFTERNOON
There was no denial from Ol' Theo when Rhys pressed further, insisted more firmly. No, instead, his father acted as though it had been the most brilliant decision in his life—forcing himself upon his own staff and keeping the half-bred bastard of the union to call his son—even going so far as to make sure that Charity knew exactly what she'd walked into when it came to their relationship.

Unwanted trash. The Sergeant winced at the words, a heat crawling up his spine and digging sharp claws into the base of his skull. A grand experiment. Is that all he was? His father's desperate gamble?

Oh gods.

Everything he'd ever said and done, everything he'd ever sworn to stand up for, everyone he'd ever attempted to serve—

an officer of galdori law, top of his class, successful Brunnhold graduate—

half human.

He wasn't a galdor. His whole life had been a lie.

Rhys sank in his seat a little, immediately longing to crawl away and hide in his favorite barn loft here in the estate of his childhood. Just when he thought he could form syllables, Charity spoke up. He couldn't even bring himself to look at her, already assuming her words would be of horror and disgust—finally. He held his breath when she began to berate Theodore Valentin, blinking as she spoke well of him, as she praised his accomplishments, as she called him a good man when she knew now, most definitely, that he was nothing more than a confused member of the lower races. His lungs burned, unable to breathe. He nearly jumped out of the chair when the door swung open, heart hammering against his chest at the surge of rage began to wash through his veins as his father rattled on.

The delicate pianist paused as if this was all perfectly normal while the tall blond sat in shocked silence, unable to at all respond to the servant and his treats, vision slowly coming back into focus on the face of the galdor he loved so much as she told him to drink and eat. As if he could if he wanted to. His hands moved of their own accord, selecting things without really looking, and the wash of her field, her strong, belike galdor field, brought a sudden sting of tears to his eyes that he refused to allow to happen in front of the glare of his own father.

Ol' Theo thanked his servant, much like Charity, and made himself tea and chose a sweet as if their conversation was the most normal thing in the world, "That's enough for now, Rylan. Please leave us be and close the doors behind you."

"Yes, sir."

There was only the sipping of tea and silence until the click of doors meant the three of them were alone once more.

The elder Valentin shifted in his chair then, setting his teacup down and placing his hands on his knees. There was a self-righteousness to his tone but also an edge of genuine fear, aware that sharing the truth to an officer of the Seventen could have consequences even though that officer was now at risk of losing everything, even his life, knowing that he was not, in fact, even a member of galdorkind. The young woman had snapped at him, revealing the depths of her feelings for his son, while Rhys had said nothing, revealing the depths of his hurt in the knowledge that he was, in fact, partly human,

"I have accepted the risks, Miss D'Arthe. I accepted them when I chose not to murder the consequences of my infatuation in Yelenn's womb. I accepted them when I took the boy to Brunnhold for testing and he passed with a 3.4—better than some galdori. I accepted them when I wrote out my will just a few years ago to make sure that all arrangements are proper for my passing from this life to the next. I have accepted the risks every year of his life, and I'm not ashamed either." He had the nerve to smirk, clearly judging Charity for her outspokenness instead of realizing how deserving he was of her harsh words. Looking to his wick of a son, he added, "I have given you every chance to be something, Rhys, when you shouldn't be anything at all. You have me to thank for all of your accomplishments, having proven every fiber of our Kingdom's hardened beliefs to be wrong, and here you are, ungrateful and foolish. You're not the only one who could lose everything, are you, should the truth be told? We're in this together, father and son."

"We are not in this together. At all. I could lose everything. Not just my career or even those I care about, but my very life. No one has any qualms about hanging a clocking wick. Gods, did you think I'd never find out? Did you think your secret would die with you?"

"Oh yes, I never thought you'd be clever enough to figure it out. I thought I was careful. Who told you your mother's name—" Theodore admitted with a seriousness that dug under the younger Valentin's skin and felt like someone had lit a match against his heart.

"—I certainly won't be sharing with you how I came to know what I know now, but I will tell you this: when you die, I will sell this godsbedamned estate to the lowest bidder lest I be tempted to burn it all to the blue-stained ground." Rhys hissed, setting his pastry and his small glass of water down with unnecessary roughness, the tremble in his glamour of a field matching the tremble in his hands. His ears rang with the tinnitus that had haunted him since the riot and as he stood, vertigo attempted to send him to the floor. He stopped himself, just barely, by gripping the high back of Charity's overstuffed chair,

"I don't know why I thought this was at all a sensible idea. Nothing good can come of this truth. I need—I need out of here before I do something stupid." Rhys' face twisted into a sneer in the direction of his father, steadying his sense of balance before he made toward the door.

Ol' Theo sipped his tea, sitting straight and comfortably, weathering his bastard child's restrained fury seemingly without a care in all of Vita. His blue eyes shifted to the petite blonde galdor, the hue of his gaze matching the permanent stain of his hands, "I don't recommend actually declaring your love for a wick in public, dear, but perhaps that's my personal experience in the matter. Most of our kind don't find relations with lower races at all savory."

The tall Sergeant growled, hands on the fancy knobs of the sitting room doors, bending to rest his forehead against the painted wood, clearly resisting the urge to hurt anyone, hesitating as if inviting his lover to leave the room with him if she wanted to, "That's enough. I have more to say, but I just can't."
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Charity Valentin
Posts: 129
Joined: Mon Jul 09, 2018 5:41 pm
Topics: 23
Race: Galdor
Location: Vienda
: The voices aren't real, right?
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Writer: Raksha
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Fri Feb 01, 2019 9:42 pm

42nd Yaris, 2718
ELMONTON | AROUND MIDDAY
Charity held her chin high, refusing to let Theo’s words dig at her, unafraid of his smirk nor his self righteous talk. She wanted to slap him, instead she gripped her tea cup tighter, field slanted with a quiet rage. She knew when she was being spoken down to, regardless of her passionate speech the older Valentin couldn’t care less. He saw himself as Rhys’ saviour, the reason he lived how he lived. He took credit for the younger man’s wins like a badge of heroism.

He was no hero.

Taking a breath, ready to raise her voice in defence, the blonde stopped as Rhys finally seemed to find himself. Charity looked at him, feeling the anger in his glamour and pride in her heart. He shouldn’t need to defend himself from this fool. As the taller man stood, she saw the slight waiver, moving to place her tea on the table and looking up at him behind her with a small twinge of concern. This was no time for the man to exert himself. She moved to stand as Rhys declared his need to escape the situation, more than happy to follow him. Smoothing her skirts, her eyes fell on Theo as the man addressed her again, giving her a moment to pause.

“I—” Her eyes turned to the taller blonde, leaning against the door with a kind of desperation, his breathed words weary. Stealing her heart, Charity turned back to narrow her gaze at the senior Valentin.

“I feel sorry for you, Mister Valentin. It must be such a lonely life here on your…quaint farm…away from the realities of the city. As far as my feelings or declarations of love, you sir, have absolutely no influence on what I do or don’t do. You are…well…you are nobody.” She looked down her nose at him, drawing on all the pompousness of galdori high society she could muster.

“If you are any example of our kind, then I would much rather spend my time with the half-breeds than spend a minute more with you. I sorely hope you grow old alone, loveless and pitied by those you assume are beneath you. No wonder you couldn’t find love in the arms of a galdor, no decent woman would drag themselves to your level. Thank you for the tea.” Turning on her heel, the petite creature curled her arm in Rhys, taking control and opening the door for them both. She led him, rather than being led, from the room and outside into the open air of the farmstead in relative silence.

Once outside, the blonde breathed out slowly, before looking at him.

“Don’t listen to him Rhys, do you hear? He is a sad, heartless old fool that will die with no one by his side to let him know he was loved. His heart has withered and in its place is a lifeless husk. You are better than him, understand? You are a better man than he has been or he will ever be. Galdor…or not…you are still you.” Frowning, she pressed a hand to his cheek, searching his crystalline gaze carefully.

“I love you, Rhys Valentin.” Smiling, she stepped back suddenly, taking a deep breath and yelling loudly.

“Do you hear me Elmonton?! I love Rhys Valentin!” Coming closer again, the galdor kissed the wick on the cheek and shook her head.

“It doesn’t matter what you are, because as far as anyone has ever known you’re a galdor. Imagine how Brunnhold would topple within itself should they discover the truth, the scandal would deeply impact Anaxas’ standing when the cycle turns in twenty seven twenty. And frankly, is that such a bad thing? The world should know that half breed or not, you are as much accepted by the mona as I am. One day, the world should know.” Lending the man her arm to lean on should he need to, Charity’s smile waned a little.

“Not yet, of course. But one day they’ll see that it doesn’t clocking matter. It really doesn’t.”

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