Atharen, A Fantasy Roleplay Forum

Posted: **Sun Jun 19, 2022 10:15 am**

ASH XIX, MMMMDCXIV

A crow, sprawled out, one leg bent forward, its talons still twitching. Its left wing was bashed, crushed with enough force that it was nearly glued to the cement beneath it. Alistair had the option to save it, to mend it -- it would've required a trifling amount of Vitescence, but the energy he would have expended would have been recovered over time; a few days, perhaps a week. The real danger had little to do with what he could or could not do practically, but the eyes around him. People walked by, moving through the streets of Starkwayte by the hundreds, thousands, millions. Some of them even stepped on the crow as they passed, carelessly, despite the fact that it was still evidently alive. Those eyes were the reason he could not save the bird's life, even though some strange, looming feeling in him begged him to. Even though he wanted to.

It was this sort of thing -- a reminder of his limitations; a reminder of the good things he would never be allowed to do -- that fomented a sort of hatred for the nation that surrounded him. To essentialize all things as good or bad, without acknowledging where they intersected with the other half, without acknowledging the greys and onyxes and the light beige... it was so blind, to him.

He stepped on the bird's skull, crushing the life out of it with the twist of his boot. Then, the man carried on, briefcase and all. It was better that way -- the black-feathered bird wouldn't need to live another moment of suffering, and he wouldn't need to tempt himself to destroy his own life for the sake of an ailing crow.

Alistair carried a briefcase, filled with various belongings; clothes, dranari bank notes, a bottle and flask, and a few medical necessities. He was wearing a white button-up shirt with a brown vest above, his cuffs rolled slightly back and buttoned, with a watch on his left wrist; he had on a red tie and long brown slacks, the same color as his vest. His shoes were simple derby business shoes, the laces immaculately tied. Everything about him said high class, from the quality of his fabrics to the way he stood. There was a sort of pretense where it came to the more middle-class businessmen -- many of them went the extra mile, but in a way that betrayed their esteem. They wore ridiculous hats, overdressed in the heat, tried far too much to appear perfect and poised at all times. Alistair's wealth was casual, which made it authentic. He wore the stride of the experienced rich.

The man turned into a quieter district, and then a quieter one, until he was on Vincent Row on 3rd, an area commonly known among the upper class to be a place of anonymous glories. Some of the people there surely would have recognized him had he not been masked. Either way, he was far from worried. No one spoke out about the proclivities of the other; even House Fairfax had some frequenters of the nearby clubs, though they all delved into very different things. Alistair's favored place of gathering was the Silver Sunset Society, a place where that crow wouldn't have needed to become carrion; a place where the upper-class could defy the Pillar of Modernity in peace.

He stepped in through a less-obvious entrance, along the broad wall beside the shuttered opening. Once emerging through the door, he adjusted his eyes to the dimly lit darkness, squinting towards a young man who stood there to receive him, examining his platinum medallion before nodding him in. At some point before entering, he'd slipped on his mask, which he doubted was very effective at concealing him regardless. He was easily the tallest Griscian High Lord, and that meant there was little he could do to reasonably hide. His anonymity was protected more by mutual destruction than by his features being obscured.

Moving through a narrow corridor, the man opened his briefcase before him, pulling out his flask and taking a swig. It was whiskey, infused with absinthe; he'd drank so much of it, though, that the hallucinogenic had little effect on him now. It would distort or adjust things to his proclivities in subtle ways, but mostly just served to make him less anxious. Few Corvo had a typical relationship with their chosen poison.

"Excuse me," a man muttered, shoving past him and stepping into a room along the hall. He left the door open, and as Alistair passed, he failed to resist the curiosity to peek inside. The man approached a young man -- or a boy -- who he'd seen before, a face that occasionally met his, only to embarrassingly look away. Rather than appearing flustered as he did while peering towards the man he crushed on, he looked subtly immiserated, withholding the bare features of pure malice and disgust. The taller man paused in the doorway, clutching the leather grip of his briefcase and lingering over an action; a next step. He contemplated, and considered.

The man -- of the same sort that liked to dress over-well to look classier than they were -- approached the young gentleman, reaching out to touch him, stroking along his forearm, then the backside of his palm. Alistair stepped through the door, clearing his throat.

"Excuse me," he said, repeating the same words muttered to him. "I have business with this gentleman, tonight, and for the remainder of my stay here. Leave us, if you would." Alistair flashed his rank, lifting an ornamented stopwatch from his pocket with a golden-encrusted insignia. XVII, the highest level one could achieve outside of direct leadership. All it meant was that he'd donated a great deal to the club, but that did not matter. Class ruled in every corridor of Griscian society, even here.

Posted: **Sun Jun 19, 2022 2:48 pm**

~20:00, 19th Ash, 4514

If Thomas were a different sort of person, one who had not been recently homeless, perhaps, he would think that the Silver Sunset Society was turning out to be less than a good deal. His sets of clothing materialized: hand-me-downs, as was standard when nobles had to part with anything for servants. This didn't bother him, though, as he'd never owned anything that was new. His wages came out of the general coffers, and once he hit on asking the cook to get them for him along with all the other servants' wages, he no longer had to deal with the inherent awkwardness of talking to the toffs about such undignified things as money.

The look of embarrassment on their face when things so crass such as commerce were discussed both amused and infuriated him. It was fun to make them uncomfortable in a societally acceptable way, but the fact that they were so awkward talking about the small sums of money he used to buy things like a sliver of soap to keep his face clean just showed him that none of these people had ever bought anything in their lives. Sure, they shopped for fripperies and emptied their family's accounts gambling or investing, which seemed to be quite similar as far as he could tell, but the minute someone mentioned needing some coin for food to eat or a hairbrush to keep the shine distributed, it was as if all the air left the room. Still, on the whole, they were tolerable company.

Bar one, of course. Lord Collier had come calling again, silly mask in place. He was wearing fine gloves today, but ones that Thomas knew from serving in Lord Ashley's house staff were a few seasons out of date, and the cut of his suit suggested it had been made for someone else and then tailored. A tailor could only do so much when re-cutting a man's suit that had been made for one of Lord Collier's older brothers, though and Lord Collier himself was not quite so broad of shoulder. Perhaps it would be a better fit if he spent more time hunting foxes in the forest and less time hunting serving boys at his club.

Thomas knew that he was not the first so targeted, but the staff said usually Lord Collier would get bored in a few weeks and his eye would rove to someone else. If anything, though, he seemed fixated on Thomas. Perhaps because there was so little Thomas could do to escape him. He was supposed to be out here every night to entertain the members and let the other staff take breaks from fetching wine or shuffling cards as needed. Besides, he was willing to put up with the Lordling's flirtations and occasional gropings. The opportunity to be immersed in nobles was simply too good. He'd already learned so much about how they talked (languid yet loquacious, terse when angered but never rude, apologetic and polite to a fault), how they moved (stiff upper body, neck back, shoulders squared, legs either like crooked walking sticks or twin battering rams depending on temperament), and what their interests were (fashion, business, gossip about other nobles), how to namedrop properly, how to bid at cards. Some of this would surely be useful when he had his wardrobe together and coiffure together enough that he could resume acting. It was true that he'd never landed more than bit parts, but being able to imitate a noble perfectly would surely be worth quite a bit. He could put up with the occasional hand on his thigh for this.

There were other perks, too. For one thing, Thomas got to look at Lord Shrike, the object of his hopefully secret affections. Tall, broad, impeccably dressed, and impeccably mannered, Thomas started watching him simply out of curiosity and interest. He held himself differently than most of the people in the room, and Thomas quickly inferred that he was more important than almost everyone else in regular attendance. Lord and Lady alike deferred to him. Once, Thomas watched him step on another Lord's foot, who then apologized for being in his way. It was fascinating to watch nobles behave like servants. Increasingly, though, it was just that the man was handsome and a had a pleasing, resonant voice.

So he tried to play it cool as the Lord Himself came over to Lord Collier and firmly told him to get fucked. Once the apoplectic Lordling had been sent packing, Thomas shifted his body slightly without making eye contact to make it nonetheless clear he was paying attention to Lord Shrike and Lord Shrike alone.

"Thank you, Ser, for that. If there is anything you need, I am of course at your disposal." Thomas said in what he hoped sounded smooth and not at all like the blushing, stuttering mess he felt like internally.

Posted: **Sun Jun 19, 2022 5:46 pm**

ASH XIX, MMMMDCXIV

The other man scowled a moment, though not long enough for Alistair to see it. By the time he turned around, he equipped a pleasant smile, nodding his head and speaking the Lord's name courteously. "Lord Shrike," he whispered, before excusing himself. Once he was gone from the room, Alistair stepped back and turned to face the door, slowly drawing it by the back-side of its frame and closing it. As it shut, he faced Thomas, bowing the way one would towards a treasured guest, or even their liege.

"It wouldn't be proper for me to wrest you from one Lord's service only to subdue you into another's, would it?" he asked, smiling smoothly. Thomas was clearly nervous from the way his body seemed to withhold any movement, frozen still in space; Alistair knew why. It was perhaps an open secret between them that he knew of Thomas' crush, from the very few mutual glances they had shared, most of which the other shied away from. He was glad, though, that he wasn't acting a fumbling mess now. That... would have disappointed him.

The man placed one arm behind his back, while the other reached to grip his mask, pulling it from his features to reveal a rugged, but well-kept face. He set the accessory on the table nearest to him, circling through half of the circumference of the room, his rich shoes clapping with the floor as the man turned to examine paintings and furniture. He almost stalked Thomas like prey, occasionally eyeing him, attempting to appear totally nonchalant. Thomas would not have been mad to simply excuse himself, then, but he did not. Alistair clearly still wanted his company; there was something in the ambient footfalls of each step that told that story.

"Your name is Thomas Worth," he stated as fact. "You are from here, yes? What brought a young man like you to the Society? I've heard the leadership offers their servants a better life, though I've yet to confirm the veracity of that claim. Are you doing well, here, lad?"

Alistair stopped along the beginning of a bookcase, turning fully to face the other, his light green eyes set on him.

"You may call me Alistair, by the way." It was clear at that moment that he did not bother to really obscure himself. Everyone there already knew who he was.

Posted: **Sun Jun 19, 2022 7:27 pm**

~20:00, 19th Ash, 4514

Thomas wasn't quite sure what Lord Shrike was doing. For one thing, he removed his mask, which Thomas understood to be very much against the rules of the Silver Sunset Society. Then again, he was quite important from how the others acted, and nobles often flouted rules if they felt they could get away with it, which they often could. Then, after assuring Thomas that he wasn't about to be raped, he turned away for a time. Thomas wasn't sure what this was about, but his best guess was it was some kind of test to see if he'd timidly ask to excuse himself. To do so would have been okay if he could come up with a suitable excuse, but none came to mind. Besides, Lord Collier would be lurking in the corridors outside. Better to stay with Lord Shrike -- Alistair -- who seemed severe and intimidating but also courteous and almost friendly.

Or as friendly as nobles knew how to be, at any rate. Lady Ashley would do this sometimes when she popped by the orphanage. She'd usually spend time with the younger boys and girls, the kind that still had hope in their hearts for being picked by some nice family who wanted nothing more than to raise some guttersnipe. It worked out for some of them, too, something that Thomas had mostly forgiven then for with a bit of distance and time.

"I assure you, Lord Alistair, I am well taken care of here at the Silver Sunset Society," he said politely. "I've had worse posts, As for what brought me here, m'Lord: I was looking for a place to sleep, and landed in the cellar," he looked down and away during that admission. "It was cold that night, and I had nowhere else to go. I am fortunate it worked out as it did. And it's okay if there is no career progression beyond the Society for me. I have no great interest in making a career of being downstairs, although if it were to happen, I would consider myself lucky and gratefully accept what was offered, of course."

He said the last part more out of politeness. He wasn't really fishing for a position in the Lord's household, or on personal staff. For one thing, it would be quite presumptuous, as this was the first time they'd properly spoken. His main aim was to ensure that Lord Alistair to think he was ungrateful for his position, as there were dozens of people who would be happy to take it off his hands, and all it would take is a word from the other man to turn him out.

Posted: **Sun Jun 19, 2022 10:48 pm**

ASH XIX, MMMMDCXIV

As the other man spoke, Alistair quietly listened, bringing his hands back together before him while he observed the other with a discerning gaze. There was something particularly clinical about the way Alistair stared -- it would have been, he was certain, creepy if performed by a gnarled, hunch-backed geezer like so many that frequented the club, but somehow others ignored his audacious glances due to his attractiveness. Alistair viewed most people the way he did the cadavers he liked to examine, and reanimate into pain.

In truth, he did not particularly care or mind whether Thomas was fishing for a position or not. A young man in his position had the right to -- he had a sorry lot in life, born to the right nation but the very worst heritage. From what he understood, he had effectively been made homeless, which made little sense given what appeared to be an acceptable Griscian work ethic. He was, also, handsome himself, which made his previous position all the more curious. Thomas must have been downtrodden beyond the degree of most. Alistair examined him further, looking for any further indications of class or history, though none were clearly visible. He even spoke quite well.

"I am glad that they elected to hire you here, instead of the alternative," Alistair stated, tipping his head in a small nod. "I do recommend you get out of this place eventually, though. These, ah... societies, they tend to have a limited shelf life. They fall out of fashion, or they're shut down by the authorities. Few of the Lords ever face any reprimand for indulging in actions that defy the Pillars, but the institution itself is made into yet another example of the sinful debauchery of the upper class. A way for the Emperor to threaten us, to reel us back. It even sort of works."

He paused, considering what to do with the other -- where to go from where they were. He was interested in Thomas, curious even, but strangely did not want to overreach. There was risk in making real, personal attachments in these societies, especially with those who had the most to gain from betrayal.

"How did you manage to become a... vagrant, for lack of a better word? That life does not seem to suit you, and I am curious. A handsome fellow like you deserves quite a bit better than that."

Posted: **Sun Jun 19, 2022 11:50 pm**

~20:00, 19th Ash, 4514

Thomas couldn't contain an involuntary shiver at the mention of the Imperium's inexorable grasp. Stealing, tricking, and performing two-man jobs with Humble on unsuspecting rubes was one thing. If he were caught doing any of those things, he'd just go to jail. He'd even ended up in jail, once or twice, but never for more than two days before Humble bailed him out and he just laid low for a few weeks until what passed for Starkwayte's police force moved on to the next scandalous serial killer wreaking havoc in the slums. The fact of the matter was, no one could keep track of the common sort of criminal who mostly minded his own business and mostly didn't get caught. There were a lot of people in Starkwayte, and the police were mostly interested in catching the ones who were in the business of killing others. Otherwise, they were lazy hound dogs, sniffing around the tables of their betters and begging for scraps.

The one time those self-same hounds had almost turned on him had been the whole mess that ended up with Ned dead in the street.

He bit the inside of his cheek none too gently to jolt himself back to reality. Lord Alistair had asked him a question. He should answer this question, but carefully. Indiscretion with his own secrets would make the Lord worry he may be indiscreet in general.

"I don't wish to tell you a story of self-pity and tragedy, my Lord, so I will try to stick to facts. It is an all too common story, really. I grew up without a family, not smart enough for the trades, not strong enough for labor. I found work as a servant, a bit like what I am doing now. I lived with the only person I really had -- a dear friend, or perhaps like a brother to me." Ned had been much more than that, but he wasn't about to admit that to a man who could choose any minute to be panicked about having a catamite in his midst. "He got caught up in something, not something evil, but something criminal, and he was killed. I was turned out from my post because they knew I knew him, and my belongings were confiscated from the boardinghouse for what he'd done. So in the span of a few days, I became penniless, jobless, and homeless. I suppose this sounds unbelievable to you, Ser, but when one is on the lower rungs, it does not take much to knock one off the ladder entirely."

"So when I say that the Silver Sunset Society is a great post for me, I do mean it. I'm aware it must be temporary, but I have found that most things are."

Posted: **Wed Jun 22, 2022 6:20 pm**

ASH XIX, MMMMDCXIV

Thomas' story was not one that was all too surprising to hear. It was, in truth, roughly what he expected -- there was little chance that a handsome, well-spoken young man would end up with the lot he had without some degree of turmoil in the origin point of his life. He was born without parentage, placed into one of the government boarding homes, and was removed due to an association with trouble. All of this made more than enough sense to the Lord, who had encountered similar boys and men in the past. The ones like Thomas -- resilient enough not to end up falling for the promises of organized crime -- were often dangerously clever, and resourceful. By his judgment, though, Thomas was largely well-meaning and humble. He hadn't yet been broken in by the world, but inevitably he would be.

Unless someone intervened.

"I see," Alistair replied, seemingly lost in thought for a moment. "This boy -- the one you lost your security because of your association with . . . he was a young love of yours, I suspect? Brother-like or not."

It was a daring assertion to make, but he felt relatively certain of it. Thomas was obviously enamored with him, and to take such a fall he must've had deeply intimate feelings for the other, particularly given what must have been their age at the time. To him, that seemed the most sensible of their possibilities. "If so, I offer you my condolences for his loss. I have never really loved, so I have never lost a love, either. I imagine it is... difficult, though strangely I long for it. We have a rather romantic tradition, we Gilded." Alistair effectively admitted to being a High Lord, but did not attempt to cover up his words, nor did he claim to have misspoken. "I think, growing up with little care or worry, we fantasize not about warmth or bread but about finding our 'truest, deepest' love. There is even some beauty to having that stripped away -- a sort of solemn joy, like becoming molded into a piece of art, living and breathing and forlorn."

He smiled, softly, glancing off towards one of the paintings along the edges of the room.

"I should be going soon," Alistair added, sighing. "Perhaps you might visit me, though, in Praetoria? I reside in the Dunwich Rook. Maybe I'll treat you to a holiday, there, where you'll learn the luxury of being served yourself. Would that appeal to you, Ser Worth?"

Posted: **Wed Jun 22, 2022 9:16 pm**

~20:00, 19th Ash, 4514

Thomas didn't answer Lord Alistair's question, just inclined his head and looked down and away. Ned had indeed been more than a friend or a brother, but saying it aloud was too much to bear. The fact that he was thinking about Ned at all was unfortunate, because it brought back memories of how it all ended, and how he'd ended up where he had. He had a feeling he'd probably end up crying that night, after the Lordlings had left for their estates, when he was alone and could sleep on the green divan in the lounge.

Nor did he miss Lord Alistair's next statement. Thomas had thought that Alistair was someone important within the secret society, perhaps, but not so important to Griscian society in general. He was more familiar with the sorts of Lords and Ladies who schemed for months to get an hour alone with someone of this particular Lord's rank. Which was all the more puzzling: what was someone so important doing all the way down here? A society like this was just about the peak of what someone like Thomas could hope for, but it was well below the nadir of someone like Lord Alistair.

This coupled with the man being so polite to him indicated that he must be something of an eccentric. If Thomas had rank and status of his own, that would be reason enough to keep the man as a powerful acquaintance -- but he didn't, and he knew that this invitation would most likely not materialize anyhow, so there was no point in turning it down.

"While I believe I am meant to decline your invitation out of politeness, Ser, in truth I would be honored and humbled to accept. I am unsure I have ever left Starkwayte, so I know not how I would find myself in Praetoria, but I would like nothing more than to see what there is to see there."

Posted: **Wed Jun 22, 2022 11:08 pm**

ASH XIX, MMMMDCXIV

It was clear that Thomas did not wish to discuss his lost love, but his silence was a confirmation if nothing else. Alistair nodded quietly, allowing silence to settle between them for a moment, before the topic inevitably changed. He was glad that the young man wished to attend to his invitation, and the thought did not cross that his admission to being a Gilded meant that the other likely felt he did not have a choice. Alistair pondered for a moment as he accepted, trying to conceive of how they would get it all done. He thought to simply hand the other a large bill, informing him on how he might get there, but there was too much that could go wrong. Some other rube could attack him for the money, or he could get lost. Navigating one's way between Starkwayte and Praetoria wasn't entirely easy for someone with inexperience -- he'd have to board a train, and somehow find his way into Praetoria's upper city. Even if Alistair handed him some sort of proof of invitation, the guards presiding over transit between the two might not take it as authentic.

And so, he lifted his shoulders and sighed out, before settling them.

"We will go together, then," Alistair nodded. "The Victoria -- the, ah, train -- goes back and forth between Fairfax and Morghent on a constant, rotating schedule. The trip takes around three days each way, and I just got here yesterday, so... we can probably board it again by the twenty-fourth, or so. The Victoria's a new model; a sightseeing passenger train. The windows are larger facets of glass, allowing for viewing of the country-side. You must see it, Thomas. Fairfax is lovely, but no land can match Morghent's crystalline beauty. Our vineyards and flower fields are the envy of the Emperor."

Alistair maintained his smile, before it flattened as he stroked along his beard. "I'll inform the club that you'll be coming with me, tonight. My family doesn't care much for me or who I spend my time with, so you won't need to worry much about being scrutinized. Even so... prepare a cover story. You'd do best to lie and claim you're some sort of upperclassman -- a Lord, if you will."

The Gilded were the only true nobles, but coming from a family of money still meant quite a lot. An orphaned layman like Thomas, according to most, had no place by the side of a man like Lord Reid.

"Meet me on the morning of the twenty-forth, here, and bring your best clothes. I'll look forward to your company eagerly, my dear."

Posted: **Thu Jun 23, 2022 12:03 am**

~20:15, 19th Ash, 4514

Thomas' eyes widened and he couldn't help but actually smile as Lord Alistair went through the actual logistics of how this would work. This was not mere wind. It was actually the Lord's intention to bring him to his estate. Sure, it was the whim of a noble, and whims came and went, but he would be a fool not to take the Lord at his word, at least for now. Still, part of him, a small, sad part that had believed Ned would save him and now wanted Alistair to pick up where his dead boyfriend had left off, imagined a life of luxury and ease in Praetoria: champagne, chilled fruits, enjoying or even starring in evening performances at the theatre, fine jewelry, fine suits, and a room all of his own with a lock. Despite the events of the last few years, Ned had lit a fire that summoned the dreamer in him, and circumstances had not yet snuffed it out.

"I will do my best, Ser, to mimic someone worthy of your company."

So saying, he closed his eyes and thought of the younger Lord Ashley: his poncy walk, his upright bearing, his polite but supercilious smile, his impossibly shiny shoes. He also stopped doing his best to fade into the background and instead did the opposite, projecting a presence outward. When he opened them, he met Lord Alistair's eyes for the first time since the man had entered the room.

"Someone like this may suit, I think," he said, vowels perceptibly shifting from someone who served Lords to someone who was one. Then he took a deep breath and let it out, letting the illusion collapse as quickly as it had come in. He was back to being Thomas Worth, polite and passive servant.

"While you are in Starkwayte, Ser, is there anything I can do for you? Anything you are looking to procure, perhaps? If it is something that someone of your status may have difficulty finding, I am happy to help, as I can."

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