Revelations In The Rain

The capital city of Anaxas and the seat of the government.
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Gideon Madison
Posts: 14
Joined: Mon Jan 07, 2019 8:17 pm
Topics: 4
Location: Vienda, Anaxas
Race: Galdor
: Patron of the Arts
Character Sheet: Character Sheet
Writer: Fermin
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Sun Jan 13, 2019 12:36 am

Loshis 15, 2718
The Moon Beach | Midday
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Loshis in Vienda was determined to do nothing more than sully plans, it seemed, as rain fell from the gray skies above and dusted fog across the streets, hazy clouds resting at eye-level and leaving it difficult to navigate through the city for any that, for some reason, still hadn't memorized each and every path. How the ambassador had spent nine years of his life here and still not have predicted the day's rainy weather was quite honestly beyond him.

In any case, it wasn't Gideon who had made the day's plans. He hadn't scheduled a date that everyone knew full well would be full of rain, as almost every day since its planning had been, and he certainly hadn't planned the event to take place in Crosstown Court. Fortunately a passive was sent to his Viendan home early in the morning to inform him of the fundraiser's new location, the delightful gazebo on Doyle Island, and though he did hold nature dear to his heart, he had almost been hoping the event would simply be rescheduled. Cancelled. Whatever it took so that he wouldn't have to dredge himself up and out of bed today, but his quiet hopes had been dashed and he wasn't one to linger.

The Bastian had reluctantly gotten ready hours in advance. A half hour of exercise began his day: a routine his Gioran assistant had devised to suit his needs and keep him fit in lieu of a physically active career. A lengthy shower came next, a steady stream of hot water to push the last bit of sleepy hesitance from his mind. Dark hair, unkempt from a night spent tossing and turning in the silken red sheets, was washed and combed in an effort to look less like some common streetrat; the scent of floral soap clinging to the strands. A quick look in the mirror at himself and he decided against shaving; he preferred the hint of a beard he displayed, well-kept and groomed just as everything else about the man.

A blue button-up was tucked neatly into dark gray trousers, a matching blazer tailor-fitted to his lithe form added next, and fine-polished shoes to complete his outfit. For a while he debated the notion of a tie, but decided against it; he wanted to look nice, not like he was on his way to his second wedding. Speaking of weddings, a silver band decorated his ringfinger, with the image of flowers etched into the metal and dancing around the curvature of the ring.

Such hard work put into such a meaningless little thing.

Gideon left his home a full hour before the event was set to start, knowing himself and knowing that he'd likely find himself turned around in the rain. He had the option of taking his carriage, he knew, but the ambassador was defiant and set in his ways; he wanted to get there himself. For all the luxuries and wondrous opportunities his position brought, sometimes the galdor missed the feeling of being on his own and having to do everything himself. He missed the independence that living as an architect had provided, the rewarding feeling he used to get when he achieved something because he worked for it, and not because it was given.

Still, today was not the best of days to be adamant, and the rain proved more of a difficulty than he had first imagined. Despite the use of a dark umbrella, the water collecting on the cobblestone streets still splashed onto his shoes and the hem of his trousers; the breeze still whipped his walking form and messed with the hair he'd so carefully combed. Crosstown Court would have been an absolute nightmare, he decided, but the walk to the narrow strip that made up the Moon Beach was hardly any better.

He passed only a few on his walk across the city, his assistant at his side; the majority of the human population probably hard at work by now while his fellow galdori likely stowed away in their apartments in favor of being doused by the clouds. He envied them, those lucky men and women that didn't have to attend the fundraisers and meetings and other political rendezvous, not because he held any hatred in his heart for the events themselves, but because of the energy he had to expel in an effort to stay well-liked and in good standing with everyone he met. Even his trips home to Florne were often overrun with letters and requests and dinners with diplomats, and Gideon wondered with a drawn-out sigh if he would ever be able to relax in the company of another. Not without fear of making himself and his kingdom appear anything less than excellent.

"There," directed Gideon, gesturing with his umbrella to the covered dock as it came into view, wet sand underfoot and sticking to the bottoms of his shoes, he noticed with a frown.

"I will get the boat," said his assistant, the pale, looming figure of a man taking off ahead of the ambassador to dash through the rain and under the covered boathouse. This left the Bastian about twenty feet behind, holding his umbrella with the edge of annoyance creeping onto his features, even as his field remained a steady force of nonchalance and Static mona around him.

By Hurte, this fundraiser had better be of some importance, to drag them all out to an island in the rain. He had barely been informed of what it was even for, but he had been personally invited and wasn't known for turning things down, no matter how little he cared or how little he knew of it. It would be some attempt at raising funds to procure some new and exotic creature for the Zoological Gardens, his assistant had thrown out, or perhaps nothing more than an empty meeting to gauge the ever-changing and flighty minds of both foreign and local figures of status. He couldn't decipher the truth from the vague invitation, but nonetheless, he wouldn't be making it to the island to figure it out at all at this rate.

How independent and strong he was, finding himself with a foot stuck in the wet, heavy sand, dark eyes darting downwards as he struggled slightly against the pull of the ground. Was he really so dependent on servants and assistants to keep him from missteps now? By the Circle, Gideon would've just sat down and accepted defeat if he wasn't a godsdamned ambassador, and that really wasn't a good sign for his resolution at the moment.

"Dear Hurte," sighed the galdor, waiting with his shoe stuck in the sand for his assistant to notice his absence.
word count: 1168

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Corwynn
Posts: 73
Joined: Fri Apr 20, 2018 10:03 am
Topics: 7
Location: Ol' Rose
Race: Galdor
: The Taxman
Character Sheet: Character Sheet
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Plot Notes: Plot Notes
Writer: Muse
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Thu Jan 17, 2019 3:42 pm

15th of Loshis, 2718
Moon Beach | Midday
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Gods, even the rain was more bearable in the Harbor than it was in this Kingdom's godsforsaken capital! The stain of industry and progress was even on the fanciful buildings of Uptown and the chill of spring lingered between the buildings instead of being washed away by the sea breeze, and while Vienda had a very specific sort of charm to it, Corwynn was convinced he'd grown immune to its siren song decades ago, if he'd ever been enticed by it at all. Not to say he didn't have his favorite haunts or particular pleasures in this city on the Arova, but he couldn't say that fundraisers full of his fellow galdori peers were at all high on his list.

He'd come alone from Old Rose by aeroship, specifically for the evening's gathering as well as to check on two associates and their illicit shipments arriving in the Soot District, which he'd be inspecting at his own family factory tomorrow morning. The flight had been long but relaxing, the quiet allowing the busy galdor to clear his mind while in the clouds and yet leaving him restless. While he could have taken a carriage or a rickshaw, the Bad Brother instead chose to walk.

He'd worn his comfortable Turga crocodile boots (always a conversation starter in Anaxas) and a very dark almost charcoal suit that seemed to match the overcast weather just so that it would contrast with the soft blush of his Hoxian silk shirt and the darker hue of his cravat. Tucked so comfortably at his side beneath his coat was, as always, the smaller of his many firearms, his Songbird, pressed with familiarity in its soft leather holster against his ribs.

As fancy as the fundraiser was expected to be, the older galdor was in no hurry to be on time, and so he'd taken the leisurely stroll through the zoological gardens to let his crystalline gaze wander over the sad representations of wildlife from across the Six Kingdoms before heading out to trudge through the sand up Moon Beach toward the Boathouse to select his means of transportation to Doyle's Island in order to rub elbows with far too many drunk, stuffy gollies talking social change and concords. It was a strange position to find himself in—Hawke's face among the privileged—when he'd made nearly every other effort in his life to not live near his own kind in any professional or political fashion.

He supposed he did well enough, considering the current position of success of the King of the Underworld and his Bad Brothers. If nothing else, he at least made it all look good.

The wet sand was hardly an obstacle for the experienced sailor, the rain falling down in its typical Loshis constant drizzle and making its noise on his umbrella before he reached the Boathouse and its tin awning. Unconcerned by the weight of wet trousers, he read the sign that had been left for those invited:

Ferry from Moon Beach to Doyle's Isle: Every Hour
Paddle boats: Free for Use Today*

*For galdori invitees only.
Smirking, his crystalline gaze swept over the corralled collection of paddle boats set aside by fancy velvet rope while his four-fingered once dominant hand reached for his pocket watch in order to asses the next arrival of the ferry. He could wait another half an hour or he could transport himself in ten minutes or less—

The steady patter of someone running over wet sand, puddles, and cobblestone caught Corwynn's attention, the blond gunman far too used to the dangers that lurked in the less than savory parts of the Harbor than the Seventen-maintained illusion of safety that Vienda preferred to wear. His other hand began to stray to his coat and he tensed, glancing up to see a pale, lanky figure jogging in his direction and behind him through the grey haze of rain a dark-haired, well-dressed man and his umbrella.

Ah, another guest. Perhaps he recognized the galdor, but his immediate response was directed to the wet, huffing servant: "Good afternoon. Are you in charge of the boats to Doyle's Isle, sir?"

"Me? Oh, tocks, no. Do I look like a sailor to you?"

Corinth Wynngate III's grin was full of wry wit, the too tan for a local older man not at all ashamed of what he really was but not about to admit that he was an experienced pirate and criminal in so-called polite company. Not yet, anyway. With a flash of white teeth and a sly glint in his sharp blue eyes, he tilted his head toward the sign, unsure of if the human could read or not, "There'll be a ferry in half an hour. Or you and your man there can take a paddleboat—" He glanced over the other selection of passenger vessels available as if sizing up a beast of burden for the task, tucking away his pocket watch as he did so and readjusting the way his long, currently very on-trend coat settled over his broad shoulders, "—though I'm just enough of a hobby boat enthusiast to be able to take all three of us in that rowboat if you'd rather."

Shifting his attention to the fashionable—clearly so very Bastian—and undeniably easy on the eyes dark-haired galdor as he approached, Corwynn nodded his greeting, the rich baritone of his voice laden with a conspiratory sort of mischief, "It appears we're both fancied up for the same soggy get-together and not at all sorry for being a little late. I'm certain I've seen your face before, but perhaps we'll have to remind each other of our names."
word count: 1033
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