“Listen,” The mechanized voice stated grumpily some time after they were in the kitchen. Naturally, everyone else fled for their lives, giving them a wide berth, “I don’t understand why you need to add ingredients beyond just the cheese. You are complicating a perfectly good dish.”
However, he also made no move to step in, looming by the grills and stoves with his arms folded menacingly over his chest. Having cheese grilled or whatever for the first time was a profound experience. Now that he was drunk and spiced, nothing sounded more exquisite.
He stepped away for a moment to scavenge around for other food, taking out a bag of baby carrots with glee. The Sith Lord opened the bag, lowering the helmet flap as he began to pop them like candy.
Montague, butler to the Aufreisser household, had never been to Serenno. As such, it was to be expected that he would be lost whilst trying to find his way in search of Castle Wessex, but even a toddler would be able to find their way over a castle practically seated atop a hill... mountain? Towering slab of rock and earth?
Perhaps it was unfair to compare his sense of direction and common sense with a toddler's. He had never been a child, after all.
Snow crunched beneath his heel as he made his way over to the castle, accompanied by a droid that carried his Mistress' gifts to the Acolytes who now attained the rank of Marauder. Montague's Mistress was pleased to have learned that her student had finally ascended in rank, and was quite insistent that Xeno would be steadily on the path of becoming a Sith Lord should he keep up with his progress in the Order.
Personally, Montague did not share his Mistress' opinion. Xeno still had a lot to learn, more so when it came to manners and right conduct. The Zabrak was... uncouth? Uncultured? Unrefined? Ah, but who was he to speak of his own opinions when they were not needed? The Mistress liked him, sure, but he was simply a lowly butler. Who knew when he would run out of her favors and end up as another corpse, replaced by another butler with a simple flick of the wrist.
Castle Wessex soon came in sight, and Montague the butler was prepared to see some form of carnage around the castle grounds. This was a Sith party, after all, and in all his years of service to the Aufreissers he had gotten used with such barbarism even if it went against his gentlemanly sensibilites.
A broken, red body clad in a suit soon caught his attention, and he motioned for the droid to stop. Montague approached the body, brows rising at the sight of his Mistress' student– former student, bloody and unconscious, sprawled on the snow. Golden eyes swept upwards, spotting broken branches that he was sure broke the Zabrak's fall, then upwards still towards the castle itself. They swept down once more, studying the new Marauder and nodded once at small signs of life indicating that Xeno was yet to relinquish his hold on the mortal plane.
"What caused this, I wonder– oh. Oh. Disgusting."
...those were loafers. The Zabrak was wearing loafers, and with that suit?
Montague pressed a gloved hand to his forehead to stave the incoming headache. The butler took the small crate from the droid, scratching off the gift-giving off of his list as he saw fit, and ordered it to carry the unconscious Xeno back to the ship.
Renfry was quite oblivious to the silent conversation that had happened between Tia and Emryc, but they started to wander off. She was also blissfully unaware of how angry with her Tia was. After all, she was with Emryc now, so surely she would be fine.
Weird. Maybe she won't be so grumpy now that she's getting some attention from him, she thought to herself.
Her eyes flicked back toward the man who had come over to speak to her, eyebrows rising at what he said. Well, you're quite forward, she said. It wasn't entirely clear whether she was pleased or displeased with what he had said.
In truth, her mind had somewhat gone to what the other two had wandered off to do.
Do you approach all members of the Council so brazenly? she asked, her eyes flicking back to him with an almost predatory glint to them now.
And did you expect I would simply fall into your arms? she asked directly. Despite her rather direct tone, it wasn't entirely clear if she was actually angry with him or not.
Malou had acquired a knife to spread cheese onto her bread by the time Tiamat and Raze materialized on the other side of the room. They stayed over by the cook and prep area, away from where she was in storage. She was a little peeved that every time she'd sought solitude someone from the party had shown up, but whatever. She would just blend into the servants in her burgundy satin gown and golden headpiece.
That didn't last long.
The servants made excuses to leave soon after Raze started speaking, leaving her awkwardly standing in a corner angerly spreading cheese on bread while the Sith lord who had pissed her off earlier stood eating baby carrots out of the fridge. It was actually kind of funny seeing someone as intimidating as him casually popping vegetables like candy. What are they even doing? Making grilled cheese?
Whatever. Malou continued to spread the soft cheese she had chosen on the bread, feeling a bit woozy from both the alcohol she'd consumed and the whirlwind of emotions running marathons around her mind. She was still angry, but the source of it had changed. She'd gone from being angry at the Sith Lord currently three to four meters away, to herself for being weak, to her father for being irrational, to Jackson for being insensitive ...and dismissive and patronizing and... ugh!Malou strangled the handle of the knife in her hand until her knuckles turned a warmer shade of brown. How is he going to go from 'Oh, I don't know if I can survive this!' to 'Wow, you'd take an innocent life?' to 'Hey, can you help me commit to something I don't even seem sure about?' Come! On!Now done spreading the cheese, Malou went to slam the knife down on the counter, caught herself at the last second, and then set it down quietly. Did it make her a bad person if she thought she could kill someone? She would never "kill innocent civilians," because why would she? What would the point in expending energy against someone so much weaker than her be?
Everything came full circle back to what had originally sent her out of the party to quell her anger. She saw no purpose in using force or violence against those weaker than her just because she could; she just wanted to be strong enough that no one could ever do that to her. Malou had joined the Sith for her own personal gain. So what? If nothing I do is with purpose, then what am I doing it for? He just didn't understand. What was he scared of? Her father had once told her that morality was subjective. That there was power, and those too weak to seek it. Why would he join the Sith if he didn't want to be here?
Ugh. Malou looked down at the bread and cheese, her appetite disappearing from sight. She put a hand to her temple to steady herself, again feeling the affects of the champagne she'd consumed. Between all the anger, self-discovery, wine and seething, she really just needed to take a chill pill. I should've eaten before hand.
"Perhaps I do. At least good to know," Morgan replied to Artorigas without further hint or elaboration. More interesting that way. That Sah'ra hadn't spotted the Zabrak on her way in was a little less fun and he could already feel himself getting a little bored. The commentary around someone somewhere having a private dance brought him back for a moment out of mild curiosity but it was his ear directed toward the woman rather than his eyes. Morgan sipped at his drink.
Until she directly asked who Stolas was and his eyes moved back to Sah'ra. "You'd like my name?" The game was no fun if she played it like that. Morgan clicked his tongue in irritation, lips curling downward. And just like that they returned upward, head tilting again. The Firrerreo's grin flashed fangs in a dangerous sort of way, his movement languid and lazy as he adjusted his seated position at the bar.
"Bow. Ask properly." In clipped and formal tones he issued his command and the Force echoed his will and his voice, golden eyes flashing with the power of a Councilor he wielded. The urge to obey, for the woman to bend herself over at the waist and repeat her question, would weigh lead heavy on her mind and body.
Those same eyes narrowed as Artorigas mentioned Raze's armour. Whether it was the set he wore to war, or the antique plate of Siris he wore now, both were considered Raze's. Morgan's expression abruptly became sharp, gaze hawk-like and snapping to focus on the other man. He leaned slightly toward him and allowed his presence in the Force to wash over the man for a tense moment. Even as a joke, the implication of what he'd said was absolutely not appreciated for numerous reasons Artorigas likely wasn't aware of.
"You couldn't afford the price." If anything was a warning not to bring up something like that again, this was it. The look in Morgan's eyes was not friendly.
"Shhh...shh..sh..shhh..." Tia shushed as she felt herself concentrating extra hard on what she needed to do next while she watched the various grilled cheeses on the large griddle. Her brow furrowed as she tried to piece together the next step, the amount of alcohol that was coursing through her body seriously slowed down her mental processes. It even took her a moment to ugh at herself for feeling like a Palpatine Era processor.
She carefully eyed the sandwich and then flipped it over, but next to it were several others with various toppings, and then of course were the various grilled cheese without bread. Emryc made it known what he wanted, a classic and Tiamat watched as the cheese begun to goop out of the sandwich. She grabbed a nearby plate and used the flipper to pick it up and then its edge to cut it in half. "The classic, as you like it, my Lord." she hummed picked a carrot for herself as payment. She paused to take a long drink from the wine bottle before she carried on with her experimental grilling. Carefully, she flipped over the other sandwiches that had different cheeses, herbs and spreads, before deciding the non-bread options were a crime and scraped them off the griddle.
Tiamat was certainly liking this aspect of a party and wasn't sure why more don't have grilled cheese as an option. The redhead stacked the rest of the sandwiches on a plate and hoisted herself up on an adjacent countertop to sit and eat her sammich.
Yes, yes he is quite forward. Though in most circumstances you have to be forward for anything to get done or to be respected. Should Lucifer go against his code and lie? Never, no matter what the circumstance was. He must be honest. After all, it was the last vow he made to his mother before her passing. The half blood was going to explain himself but before he could the questioning he feared had begun.
"Well not exa-"
Then Lady Andruil continued to question him.. was she mad? It was difficult to tell. All he knew was he wanted to start over. Maybe don't flirt with someone that could kill him as easy as he just witnessed. Especially since the very edge was like.. right next to he and her.
"If I am being honest what I expected and what I was hoping for were two completely different things.. Expectations are starting to come to play.. my hopes on the other hand were for just conversation. I do believe in getting to know someone for something beyond their exterior. You have power, and you have leadership capabilities. Everything I know about you so far intrigues me.. I was just hoping to make a decent enough impression that you choose to speak more, and hopefully not launch me to oblivion like the red one."
Jitters ran up his spine and chills back down. It was so intimidating speaking to this woman. Though he wasn't being disrespectful so maybe he can come out of this safely enough. A hint of nervousness crept into his voice at times though he was trying to remain calm.
Violet eyes sparked with a defiant smile. When he ground against her, she gripped at his hip, the grin turning into a baring of teeth, and she eyed his throat a moment as though tempted to spare a nibble. "You talk bold for a man..." when he pulled her back in from her spin, her hand slid from his hips and across, sliding across his ass and towards his lower back, "...who loves the fire."
Her brows waggled at him once, a low rumbling laugh on her throat. So he wanted to put on a show, did he?
"Want to show them that there's more to dancing than the bump and grind?" she purred back into his ear, eyes half-shuttered. "It's lucky you met a woman who has flexible tastes," she continued to murmur, the other hand tugging on his laces again before shifting her own hips forward. The hand on his lower back released, skimming to his waist as she would shift her weight, forcing him to either adjust to her lead or adapt to the music, her steps strong sure as she kept a firm grip on his laces.
He liked it when someone had a firm hand on him? Very well then.
Renfry watched him, but more than that, she sensed what was going on inside his mind. He was flustered and she could hear the shaking in his voice. She glanced over the ledge to her side as he mentioned the red one, as if contemplating hurling him down there herself.
You didn't get off to a good start, she stated bluntly. At least not a bad enough start to warrant any sort of violence. That wasn't typically her style, though the thought crossed her mind.
For a moment, she debated whether to give him a second chance to restart, but ultimately decided on something else.
Here's your word of advice then. Be careful interacting with the Lords. They're not all as forgiving as I am, she said before turning and heading back inside. And she wasn't lying to him. She could think of individuals who would have done far worse to him. For that matter, with the mood Tia was in perhaps she would have.
In the meantime, she was going to go searching for another glass of wine.
Raze set the bag of carrots down when Tiamat announced his cheese grilled was finished. He eagerly walked over, grabbing a set of napkins so he didn’t have to touch the greasy food with even his gloves. He turned away and quickly began eating the sandwich, almost groaning in satisfaction as if he were in the throes of carnal release.
It took him seconds to finish the sandwich, feeling hints of his sobriety coming back but nearly not enough. He wasn’t quite yet aware of an acolyte in their presence or watching them. Raze finished up and tossed back a glass of water before turning to regard Tiamat. While the music at the party was still a bit on the raunchy side, there were speakers lined around the corridors and rooms that still played more traditional music.
Raze said nothing as he used the Force to clear tables and chairs out of the way, not explaining himself. He still didn’t notice the acolyte, his mind focused on what he was doing.
“Come on,” He said quietly as he extended a hand to Tiamat after she was done eating. As another classical song came on, Raze stepped back, grasping her hand and putting them into a closed waltz poise as he began the dance. He stepped forth with the left foot, sliding to the right and then back in an elongated box, leading her into it.
The man that moved now was worlds apart from the man that danced around the others at the party. As far as Raze knew, it was just him and Tiamat here. He guided her through spins and twirls, his movements fluid and legato as if he barely touched the ground. The stark, utilitarian tiles of the kitchen transformed suddenly into the lacquered sheen of a ballroom, with both Sith elegantly spinning as if a top had been released across the smooth surface.
The taller Sith Lord shifted with the music, tilting his torso out and stepping into a promenade to lead along with the notes. His grasp of her adjusted and moved, limbs gracefully tearing through the air with perfect rhythm with his feet. Fingers grazed along the curve of her spine but barely touched, the two entwined and moving as one. For this moment there was no Sith, there was no Marauder or Darth or good or evil. It was nothing but beauty in its most pristine form, an homage paid to music that tugged at passions and sang to despair. It was a story being told in the way he tilted Tiamat, the way she extended an arm or swayed languidly as if she were pirouetting underwater.
If there was malice, it was not present here. If there was chaos, it was dormant. If there was rage or anger, it laid down to rest. For there was nothing but the music, their feet barely touching the ground, the brush of his cloak against the floor, the glimpses of the shocks of her vibrant hair and the reflection of light off the armor.
A twirl out and he nudged her into an outside partner, pausing there as the music heightened to an accelerando. He pulled her back in, one sweeping step taking him close as his hands found her hips to lift her up to the wave of the connective tune, carrying her to the end before setting her down.
There was nothing sexual or belligerent about the dance, nothing forced or provoked. It was something he spared only for a few, entirely unconcerned with the perceptions of the majority. It was a tamer side to the monster. A beautiful side. A side that almost made one forget about the beast, about the beast’s claws and the fangs. There was just the quiet magnificence of an impeccable beauty to admire from afar, roses with thorns still hidden.
He led her throughout the entire space, dancing right by the acolyte several times to where she would have felt the brush of the red cloak during a particularly close spin. And still he did not notice anyone, his focus fixated on his dance partner.
He led her towards the middle of the floor, shifting his foot back to lower her gently into a graceful dip. The helmeted head glanced down, but lowered no further. He took that moment to regard her, to study her face, to search for the emotions good or bad, “I swear I don’t do this on purpose,” He said simply as amusement seeped into that baritone without further elaboration. He gave her no time to process before tugging her up to lead the dance towards its end.
The air around the man before her suddenly snapped to life like a storm laden with lightning and terror, Sah’ra immediately recognizing that she had crossed a line. Her unfamiliarity, it seemed, was something that could not be simply ignored. As the wave of extraordinarily powerful energy began to wreak it’s influence over both her body and mind, it soon became clear as to why; this was no ordinary Sith Lord but one that belonged to only the loftiest of heights within their ranks.
”You have my sincerest apologies, Lord,” the words escaped Sah’ra’s lips but they were not of her own choosing though if she had been given the opportunity to correct herself, she certainly would have. Simultaneously, she would soon begin bending at the waist into a deep and respectful bow, also beyond her control. It was clear to her that this man was demonstrating his capabilities and she recognized that this wasn’t even the tip of the tip of the iceberg. His power far exceeded her own and she had spent years honing her skills at controlling the minds and bodies of others. Had it been someone of a similar skill level, perhaps even a lesser Lord of their Order, she may have been able to overcome the influence. Instead, she knew it was within her best interest to not fight this. ”It’s undoubtedly an honor to make your acquaintance…” The words that had been chosen for her trailed off, leaving the choice of a formal introduction up to interpretation by the man who had demonstrated his ire.
Finally released from his hold, Sah’ra would find herself left with a bone-chilling effect of Stolas’ influence. Indeed, a lesson had been learned and she silently vowed to not only come to such occasions better prepared but to accelerate her own training. She would need to if she wanted to earn her place amongst the respected of the Sith.
As she recovered her faculties, she was able to witness the Sith Lord turn his attention to Artorigas. While his actions against her had been forceful, they did not bear the same seething anger that existed in his direct addressment to Wessex’ comment. At least she wasn’t the only one...
What had she expected? Not this. If anything, it was for Tiamat and Raze to finish making their food and to return back to the party. Instead, they began to dance. Their movements were graceful as they twirled about in a waltz, fluid and floating in rhythm with the music. It was so utterly different from the way they’d conducted themselves outside of this room. She felt as if she was witnessing something private. She probably was.
It seemed she had two options here: leave, or stay. If she left, it might be considered rude of her to reappear at the party with food when there was already some available to the guests. So, if she left, she would need to leave it. She didn't really want to do that, so the other option was to stay. If she stayed, she risked whatever awkward interaction might occur once the two realized they weren't alone. However, neither had specifically made the servants leave, and she technically lived in this castle. Malou decided to stay, for the moment.
Though she was watching them, Malou faced the food in front of her. Her surprise at their dancing had momentarily chased her anger away, so her appetite had returned. The acolyte quietly ate the bread she’d cut, doing her best to appear as if she did not notice the two. She kept flipping between actively watching them and actively ignoring them, not sure which was worse. A couple times they spun incredibly close to her, making her wonder how the hell they hadn’t noticed her. Or maybe they have, and they’re ignoring me? Which is worse? At least the bread was good, and she hoped it would absorb any remaining alcohol in her stomach so she might feel a bit better.
Jaikus kept the woman close as he grinded his hips against hers, torso tilted back ever-so-slightly as his hips rolled in waves. The drag of fingers across his rear did not go unnoticed, enough for Jaikus to grin down at her facetiously. “Bold indeed.” He whispered against her ear, his words laced with a hint of amusement. The Marauder decided he liked this new side to the woman, one which felt far more natural than what had come before.
Unlike the previous bump-and-grind which had dominated the dancefloor, this new song which opened their routine was elegant and grandiose in nature – more befitting the traditional dances which had started off the night. As a result, he loosened his grip on her lapel - his left hand shifting from her torso to cradle against her shoulder blade, while his right hand which had hung at his side slithered up her thigh, fingers dragging lightly across fabric until they came to splay wide on her hip. Whether she realized it or not, he subtly made a point not to reach for her hand as one traditionally might, having zeroed in on her previous moment of discomfort.
When Deva took hold the laces of Jaikus’ vest tight, now that was a surprise. The Marauder instinctively straightened his back like a soldier at attention, a small gasp inadvertently rolling up his throat. Slowly but surely, his lips upturned into a wicked grin, citrine eyes glinting with delight. “Now that is more like it.” If the events of the night had proven anything, it was that Jaikus did not mind when others took control. Infact, the Marauder almost seemed to relish it. His hips swayed slower and brushed against her own, feet carrying them in broad steps across the dancefloor - as if challenging her claimed desire of giving the rest of those in attendance a show. Jaikus moved fluidly in sync with his fellow Marauder, dipping and spinning whenever indicated by the woman, allowing her move him as she desired.
No amount of wine compared to the comfort Tiamat found in her own grilled cheese sandwich. She savored each bite, her head slowly tilting from side to side as she listened to the orchestral music over the speakers in the kitchen. Tia closed her eyes and sighed out a long breath, feeling her shoulders relax and never minding what Emryc was doing to the table and chairs until one particular heavy piece of furniture scratched along the floor. She opened her eyes as she felt goosebumps climb up her back and down her arms, and she nearly said something about the unease it caused, but paused when he extended a hand to her.
Tiamat quickly grabbed a handful of napkins to ensure she didn't get grease on his gloves from her own fingers and then took his hand, the music switching to a waltz. Quietly, she moved with him, allowing him to lead her in the movements. Simple, methodical, a repetition of movements that were nearly hypnotizing for the dancers as well as those who laid their gaze upon them. Tia's steps were light and fluid, no longer in the pout she had been in for a majority of the night, but instead she was in her peace.
She became lost in it, allowing herself to just feel, the moment was more than just the peace she felt in the dance, but a comfort as they seemed to climb onto a new plane where time ceased to continue. Tiamat twirled out, and came back in when she felt the gentle nudge of Emryc. Any remaining detest seemed to roll off the woman as they continued through the music and through the entirety of the kitchen, paying no heed to the acolyte who observed.
Tiamat felt her back arched, her red hair falling behind her head as she remained in the dip. Tia closed her eyes as she felt him hold her there for a brief moment, feeling herself relax in the trust she held that he would never drop her. Then he spoke of course, her attention drew her gaze to his visor, but he pulled her up before she could answer.
His response was vague, which was never a surprise anymore. Uncertainty would have ate at her for a while, but while she was still full of wine, Tiamat felt those apprehensions dwindle away. Only to be replaced by the love she continued to feel for him regardless of how angry she may be at some of the things he said or done. Tia didn't press it, the music was slowing, his steps slowing and she wished it could go on longer. Though, there was still the party that was still carrying on and their, or at least, his presence would certainly be missed by others. When the music did end, Tiamat felt herself slow to allow him to release her, pulling his palm to her cheek for a brief moment, feeling the warmth of his hand, "I love you." she softly whispered before eventually stepping back, cheeks red from allowing herself to fall into such a moment of vulnerability even with him.
Stolas had released his hold on Sah'ra and his attention quickly moved on from Artorigas. Like a switch was flipped his mood seemed to mellow, an impish grin returning to his fine features as if he'd never been annoyed at all. It was the slight narrowing off his eyes and small tightness around his jaw that would give away that it hadn't entirely faded.
"Apology accepted," the Firrerreo informed Sah'ra as he stood up from his seat at the bar. He dipped his head just a little in response to the woman's deep bow. "I am Lord Stolas." And with that introduction he finished his strong wine and decided to switch back to brandy. His drinks seemed to be helping his attempts to relax quite a bit as over the next moments even the small signs of irritation were quickly fading.
Morgan's eyes glanced over to the two Marauders who were still dancing, then briefly around the room. He tutted softly to himself and remained standing. "You have good taste in party wear," he commented to Sah'ra in a conversational tone. Her style of dress was vaguely related to some styles originating in the Pacanth Reach. It was a good interpretation.
"What do you think, Artorigas? Suited for dancing?"
At physical touch, many would have begun to get lost in sensation. Chemicals would flare brightly along synapses, senses would become attuned. But at his hips pressed against hers, the physical warmth, she felt practically nothing. No desire. No lust. Nothing. But watching him straighten with a small gasp, feeling the laces tighten in her fingers and the delicious struggle of him against her hand... she let out a small, wicked grin of her own, violet eyes narrowed.
She felt this rush before. At the height of her power as a Czerka Executive. When men would bow and practically kiss her shoes where she walked. When they would be forced to submit. She missed that. She missed this.
As the music changed, so did she. She released the laces, but the Force curled around his throat, a subtle, demanding pressure. Like fingers, resting over his pulse. Her hand splayed on his lower back, the other arm wrapping around his neck. She tightened a bit further at his words, violet eyes glittering with a brief pulse of gold before it faded. "Be careful, you might just get what you wish for," she murmured low, then released his throat.
Despite the height difference, he was a good partner. She stepped forward smoothly, then back, guiding him patiently with thighs, hips, releasing him to spin before catching back with him before he could complete a full one in one fluid step. One hand splayed on his hip again, the other curling around his lower back, chest to chest.
Dancing? Sure. She'd already felt as if she was intruding on a somewhat private moment, but when Tiamat muttered those words to Raze Malou picked up her plate and slipped right out the nearest door. The last thing she wanted to was witness some mushy-gushy back and forth between the two.
The acolyte slipped back into the hallway and took a moment to collect herself. On one hand, the bread and cheese had definitely helped to clear her head and witnessing whatever was going on between Raze and Tiamat had, for now at least, shooed away her anger in favor of... something. On the other hand, she didn't exactly feel like returning to the party. She was tired, tipsy, and she was sure her master would begin to wrap things up sooner or later. Thus, her mind was made up.
Malou, plate in hand, spun her her heels and headed away from the party and towards her room. She had a lot of think about, and it would be much easier to do so if she wasn't in an evening gown.
The Sith Lord felt his hand clutched when he moved to release Tiamat. He didn’t resist, feeling the contour of her face against a gloved palm. When those words were uttered, the Sith Lord did not react immediately. He felt her step away, the helmet staring at her with the same frozen stoic beneath it. There was a small measure of distance between them, and Raze did not move to close it.
Those words. They were so simple and yet so profound. They had the power to give him pause regardless of who uttered them. He saw the flush of her cheeks, both from her words and the dance itself. His own mind was slightly addled from the effects of spice and drink both. She had said those words to him before, and she had seen him stand across from her just as he was doing now.
They were words that could be honey just as easily as they could be the most bitter poison. They could bring warmth and comfort as easily as they could bitter cold. The tall half Sephi didn’t move to close the distance still. His hand slowly returned to his side from where it had been against her cheek even after she had stepped away.
“Shall we return to the party?” The voice said at last after seconds passed. With that, he took steps back and away from Tiamat, his mind and thoughts as closed off as always.
The acolyte, before she left, would know very quickly that there would be no ‘mushy-gushy’. There was just the return to being a cold suit of armor after there had been the smallest glimpse into something more.
He stood in silence and Tiamat expected as much, though she knew he listened to those words every time she spoke them. Tia wondered if he understood them the way she said them, the way she thought of them and how she thought of him. Her sincerity and genuineness when she said them were rare and reserved, and quickly she would fall back into a role of a displeased Sith Lord. The idea of returning to the party seemed to sting uncomfortably as she would have to continue the façade and watch others do the same.
She heard Raze suggest for them to return to the party, but she wasn't ready. "Go on, I'll return shortly." she said grabbing the last half of her sandwich and sat upon the counter again. Taking a large bite, she watched him disappeared back into the halls, surely to emerge in moments back on the dance floor. The redhead sat quietly, chewing just as slowly as the thoughts she focused on to break down and process. Luckily the kitchen remained in its silence except for the orchestral music that was soon overshadowed by the upbeats of bass from the ballroom.
As she came to the last bite of her grilled cheese, she had far from made up her mind about the evening. Nearly having wiped her hands on her dress, she paused and grabbed a few napkins and slid off the counter. She decided now was as good as any to duck out of the party and return to a place where she found more comfort.
It seemed as if Artorigas had touched a nerve when it came to the armour Raze wore, though he guessed that it was less about the Armour itself but the person wearing it when it came to Lord Stolas. Artorigas would be sensible and take a small step back and nod his head slightly to understand that he had perhaps stepped over the line, even if he was not fully apologising to the Sith Councillor the gesture would hopefully soothe his temper.
The conversation quickly moved on focusing on the pair in front of him, this gave a nearby servant the opportunity to whisper into Arotrigas' ear, it seemed as if the final event of the evening was ready. He turned back to the conversation just in time to hear the question from Lord Stolas. "I would have to agree with your sense of taste and style Lord Stolas. My own eye seems to only pick out good architecture, I normally falter in other things." He gave them both a simple smile before continuing. "As much as I would like too, I have something else for us all to enjoy instead. If I may?" He asked before moving between them and up onto the Dais were he started the evening.
Opening up his chest to help project his voice, he nodded to the DJ who quietened the music. "Ladies and Gentleman, Lords and Ladies, I would ask that you all please join me on the terrace outside for the crescendo of this evenings festivities." Artorigas called out pointing towards a fair of large doors between the pillars to the South side, this would lead them down a small flight of stairs to the large terrace which wrapped around the top of the walls of Castle Wessex.