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Post by Jonarth Dabrezzio on Jan 16, 2019 22:42:50 GMT
Laenar appeared to give up and find someone else to torment. "...why are you still talking to me, Master Dabrezzio?" Asked an exasperated Rhaenys. "Honestly. I am no one special. I have nothing of quality to contribute to any match you may be envisioning in your head. I am not even a real noblewoman. I will inherit an empty title the Archon gave my grandfather for service in the war." Jon shrugged. “My family have fancy titles back home,” he said, “and I can’t abide them.” His tone had taken on the laconic sort of drawl of someone either tired or almost distracted. “I’m talking to you because it’s a party and you seemed like you could use someone to talk to, and I’ve never much fancied drinking alone?” He looked at where the raison d’etre for the party had entered. “It’s not like a title or power has ever made anyone good company,” he waved vaguely towards the Maltolos clan. “I don’t need anything from you.” He winked then realized the tic is wasted behind the damned mask. “But you do look quite lovely and for tonight I’d say that that was enough. Do you dance?”
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Post by Aelyx Caltarys on Jan 22, 2019 17:36:28 GMT
His mood changed from doting to dour in an instant. "...yes. I was present on that expedition. But Maltalos stayed at the camp for that trip. He preferred to play paymaster..." He finished his glass and refilled it himself. “Hardly seems fair does it?” She asked him, “when those who risk least gain most?”
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Post by Helaena Caltarys on Jan 24, 2019 14:32:32 GMT
Illora laughed. "If your implication is that there are lovers wearing their masks and nothing else, I have no objections as long as long as none of them look like Viserys Faekaeryen or Aenys Maltalos. I worry there's only so much horror the Lord of Light can expunge from us." Hel let out a small chuckle in response, though her features remained mostly flat. Not that anyone could see. "Something like that," she said, twitching as the eye-watering stench of burning flesh suddenly infiltrated her mask. She heard the familiar crackle of fire and turned slowly towards maze, expecting to find it engulfed in flames. It wasn't. She looked to Illora once more and touched her arm before taking a step back. "You should go," she said. "To avoid these undesirables, perhaps you ought to keep left. I find small-minded people generally tend to go right." She offered the priestess a respectful nod and turned to leave for the manse, the crackling growing louder in her ears as she did so.
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Post by The Terror on Jan 25, 2019 0:52:07 GMT
Laenar appeared to give up and find someone else to torment. "...why are you still talking to me, Master Dabrezzio?" Asked an exasperated Rhaenys. "Honestly. I am no one special. I have nothing of quality to contribute to any match you may be envisioning in your head. I am not even a real noblewoman. I will inherit an empty title the Archon gave my grandfather for service in the war." Jon shrugged. “My family have fancy titles back home,” he said, “and I can’t abide them.” His tone had taken on the laconic sort of drawl of someone either tired or almost distracted. “I’m talking to you because it’s a party and you seemed like you could use someone to talk to, and I’ve never much fancied drinking alone?” He looked at where the raison d’etre for the party had entered. “It’s not like a title or power has ever made anyone good company,” he waved vaguely towards the Maltolos clan. “I don’t need anything from you.” He winked then realized the tic is wasted behind the damned mask. “But you do look quite lovely and for tonight I’d say that that was enough. Do you dance?” "'Lovely' is a peculiar compliment at a masquerade. I could be riddled with the pox beneath this mask." Rhaenys's plain mask was so slim, Jonarth could see her raised eyebrow. If she was at all disfigured, it clearly didn't concern her fine cheek bones or her pale neck. She wasn't quite thin though and it was obvious that she was no stranger to mundane labor, perhaps some martial training. Aegon and her deceased father had been warrior gods, so it was no surprise she had had some preparation in that particular craft. She was still conventionally attractive, if not quite the Valyrian ideal personified.
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Post by The Terror on Jan 25, 2019 0:56:59 GMT
“Hardly seems fair does it?” She asked him, “when those who risk least gain most?” "Aye, but Lord Maltalos remembers his friends at least." When most of the crowd cheered at the Lord Governor's entrance, the Captain merely sipped his drink and glowered at the old man.
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Post by Jonarth Dabrezzio on Jan 26, 2019 17:55:00 GMT
“That’s a bet I would be willing to make,” Jon drawled as he brushed his hair back from his mask, his breath hot and damp on the inside of the ceramic. “I’m getting another drink then I’m going to head into this labyrinth,” he added. “Care to join me?”
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