The Cerulean Brigade, Ch. 1

[PyrosNine]

Faze fell into Aishiel's arms. At first it just took him awhile to figure out he wasn't in midair, and then it took him awhile to figure where he was besides not being in mid air. He looked up into the face of his rescuer to see a blurred face. He couldn't make sense of it at first, but then his beergoggles got to working and it became obvious who it was.

"Tank you mum, itsits ben so loong since ah've had teh chance to see yoush." Faze gripped Aishiel in a hug befitting his 'Mum', except of course with the fact he'd grown considerably since the last time he saw his 'mum'. And now the light hug that his tiny body had been able to muster was now a mighty bear hug.

"Ah'm soory mum that I dwink, but it juss that after you went 'way, Dad took meh to a pub....By the wayss haf you seen hem? Oh noes matter, I suppose..." Faze then proceeded to pass out and slump over Aishiel, and began to drool on her.

[Astral Harmony]

Aishel fell on her butt as Faze passed out. Faze's face planted itself in her lap. Aishel felt the drool but didn't think she could do anything about it until she set the comatose man somewhere. "Good grief. Reminds me of this one guy who used to hit on me back in Duvashnia."
Aishel turned Faze around, then dragged him over against a nearby wall. "That's a pretty crappy pick up line, though." Aishel commented. "Sorry, but I prefer my men to be clean shaven and not have breath that smells like an open air cesspool with week-old stagnant water."
After setting him down and making sure he wouldn't drown in his own vomit in the sitting position, Aishel returned to the buffet table and wiped the patches of discolored saliva off with a few napkins. She checked the plate that she dropped and found that the cake hadn't fallen off and touched the floor. She picked it back up, got a new fork, and began to eat again.

[mauve]

Curua was ignoring the ruckus going on around him, what with drunks flying around and people getting ready to kill one another. As far as he was concerned, they could all kill themselves and save him the trouble of having to accompany them on whatever bloody-stupid mission the king had in mind. That was, of course, the only reason why Curua would be summoned here, unless the King finally planned on freeing him, which was highly unlikely.

He closed his eyes and sighed haggardly, trying to get comfortable on the floor. He was almost asleep again when a sharp whistle shook him from his respite. His eyes popped open and his lips curled back slightly in irritation.

Originally Posted by Skyshot

"Here boy! C'mere!" he said, extending his hand to offer petting.

Curua stiffened at the sound. Slowly, very slowly, his reddish-brown head rose from the cool tiles of the floor and swiveled around to face the old man who had addressed him. His triangular ears flattened against his skull.

"If you expect me to scurry over there, tail wagging merrily, to sit at your feet and be petted by an old man, you're sorely mistaken," Curua said dourly. "I still cling tightly to what little dignity I have left, thank you."

[Lumaes]

With a bounce and a rattle the carriage came to rest in the courtyard of the castle.
From the front of the vehicle a handsomely liveried servant dismounted gracefully, opening the door with the faintest of irrepressible flourishes.

With the faint creak of springs a petite foot, shod in simple, silver buckled shoes found its place on the side step of the cab. Taking the servant’s hand in her own for balance Pinchette emerged in full. She was a vision! It was not everyday that one was invited to the heartland of the country, even rarer to be brought into the company of the king and she had spared no expense in preparation.

Her dress was of the finest make, a delicate blue thing that fell to the ankle and ballooned out in all directions in the style which Pinchette favoured. The silken bower was trimmed expensively with spun lace and bunting in a vibrant sienna (an expensive colour). She had purchased new gloves for the occasion as well; they were pristinely white (as the fashion at the moment demanded) and, here defying the trends in a declaration of individuality, reached just barely past the wrist. She smiled brightly, turning and setting the skirt in motion – she was incredibly happy with the effect, even her bonnet-bound pigeon cooed its appreciation.

Settling herself and smoothing any creases which might have formed during her ride she set off, using her folded parasol as another might use a cane. She was determined to use the main entrance; even if it meant tackling the stairwell on foot – it was not every day that one was received with enough importance to demand access through the grand doors. The temptation of dramatics was not one that Pinchette could easily pass up.
She took them slowly, thinking it safe to risk the hitching up of her skirts to take the rising platforms better – the sole guard was fixed with such an imperious glare as she hoisted up the wired contraption that was her dress that he looked away, blushing profusely.

Arriving at the top she waggled her nose mischievously at the soldier who was still averting his eyes and held out her hand to receive the summons from her escort.
“Sir, my summons”
She thrust it towards the guard with such a gleeful gesture that he almost laughed at the diminutive woman’s exuberance. Restraining himself he nodded very seriously, indicating the open doors with a severe, military gesture.
“Yes Madame…” he hesitated here, glancing sidelong at her for approval, “...Miss?” that seemed to suit her taste better, “The king will attend to you in the Grand Hall immediately ahead. Would you be in need of an escort?” he rather hoped that she would accept his offer, she was very pretty and apparently well-enough-off for a carriage and court-man. Pinchette considered the guard closely; he was handsome enough, with a square cut jaw. She couldn’t help thinking however, that he could afford to pass a razor over his chin more often. She also imagined that he was an upstanding gentleman and had a dear-ole-mum he supported on his meagre salary; his mother of course would be a smart and charming old battle-axe who would like Pinchette enormously. She was sorely tempted, pickings were slim with so many away at the wars, but she simply could not resist the grandiosity of arriving singularly with her own court-man in tow.
“I should think not, Sir but I am indebted to your generosity,” she treated him to such and infectious grin that he could not help but have it suffuse his own demeanour.

Pinchette was still smiling whimsically as she entered the hall. With an impeccable taste for drama she paused, silhouetted in the doorway with one arm upheld and her weight balanced gracefully on one foot and the barest toe of the next. It was then that she was greatly disappointed by what passed for a rabble currently infesting the great-hall.
“Oh…”
Barely missing a beat Pinchette downgraded her flare, thinking that without the king it was hardly a worthwhile audience. She waved one hand to her manservant unloading the parasol to him as she stepped gingerly into the mix, deciding to avoid the animals for the moment; they were too grating on her sensibilities. One hardly thought that it was the proper place for beasts.

[Skyshot]

"If you expect me to scurry over there, tail wagging merrily, to sit at your feet and be petted by an old man, you're sorely mistaken. I still cling tightly to what little dignity I have left, thank you."

Hunpher froze a moment in his position. He'd worked with animals before, and was pretty sure that was unusual behavior. He tried to think up some clever response, but settled for getting up and walking away.

He chose instead to study the others in the room. One scarred, white-armored, clearly irritated young lady claiming her share of the buffet table. She'd probably be the last to beg him for medical assistance.

One blue-haired lady, apparently younger than the first, with...what was with her nails? She'd need to get those looked at.

One very-uncomfortable looking fellow, perhaps due to those wolves flanking him. No, he was passing them food, that couldn't be it. He didn't look like he spent much time in the better parts of town, so he was probably just nervous about meeting the king.

One man in rather rich armor and an expensive-looking cape, muttering about something. Those people usually asked him for something nonsensical, like pulling fish out of their ears or something.

One man with angel wings. That was a new one on him. He looked like the most comfortable one there. Hunpher wasn't sure what to make of him.

Another young lady, this one rather pale. That couldn't be healthy. Of course, if he had a dragon sitting right next to him, he'd be rather pale, too. Aside from that, she didn't look like she'd ask for much.

One drunkard sitting in the corner. Typical.

One woman was arriving now. Hunpher took one look at her and winced. If she found out about his profession, she'd likely expect him to attend to her every ache and pain. For free.

He sighed. This group was definately going to require his unapproachable-old-man role.

[GARUD]

Garud stood with his head bowed... waiting for something... anything. It was dead silent. Something is wrong. One of the guards finally scurried up to him and told him the protocol. HIs draw dropped and his eyes went very wide. His skin went pale. He rose to his feet, head bowed in shame muttering virtually incoherent apologies over and over again before fleeing the room as fast as ge could to head to the grand hall... whatever that was. The summoner could hear the laughing of the nobles in the throne room, and he thought he had made an absolute fool of himself. He walked over to a wall and headbutted it softly a few times. A man in a red robe approached.

"Could I help you young man?"

"Oh, I guess so. Y'see I got this message..."

And the summoner rambled on about the whole situation while the man had a look of mirth on his face.

"You must be an out of towner then, eh son? Don't know how things work around here?"

"No sir."

"Well, I'll show you to the grand hall. It's the least help I can do to make up for a bad day."

"Thank you sir."

Eventually he made it to the grand hall, and he entered quickly and sat down in a corner, a very isolated position. He put his head down and kept his thoughts to himself. He did not want to become a laughing stock again by embarrasing himself like that.

[PhoenixFlame]

Raine arrived shortly behind Sulme, and without any of the same pizazz. In fact, few would even notice her entry as the half-demon slipped past the doorway and made her way to the table to sit down and remain silent.

Unlike everyone else.

Now, Mrs. Silvermane was the last person on earth to understand honour and dignity, but she did have the slightest inkling of what "Summons from the King" meant, and despite her smart-elecky jesting way of doing things, the demonhunter knew that the king was not to be trifled with.

Strangely, she felt more as if she had been invited to a public execution than a grievous call, as... Just what was that drunken man doing to that knight, anyway? Certainly this couldn't be the same meeting hall that she had been escorted to.

However, given her extreme distaste for talking to guards, Raine simply elected to sit back, draw the brim of her hat down over her eyes, and tap her fingers idly on the table.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Certainly someone would go insane, sooner or later. Then everything would be better. Either that, or her claws would eventually chew through the tabletop.

[Astral Harmony]

Aishel finished the one slice of cake and sighed. "Geez," she said, sighing. "Maybe I should go back to the inn. I get the feeling His Majesty won't be able to see us today."
Aishel saw a guard at the door and motioned for him to come over. "Hey, do you think I can practice my swordplay here?"
The guard shrugged helplessly. "Knock yourself out, my lady. With the beasts and the drunk and the guy who already went into the throne room, I highly doubt it'll get any worse with you swinging your sword around."
Aishel frowned, shrugged, and drew her sword. "Maybe His Majesty will get tired of all the shinanigans and give us our mission just to get us the hell out of his castle."
-----(Meanwhile, back in the Kingdom of Duvashnia)-----
"Father!"
Foxmourne turned away from the soldiers attacking the training dummies and swung his warhammer towards his son, missing him by less than a foot. The blonde youth bounced back from the broad swing, his blue eyes alight with terror.
"How many times do I have to tell you 'do not be so familiar when we're around the other soldiers' before it sinks into your thick skull?"
"Ah...my humblest apologies, Supreme Commander."
Foxmourne spared a glance at the training soldiers. "That'll be enough. You're done for today. Go and call the next squad."
The soldiers put their swords away, rendered sharp salutes to Foxmourne, and quickly exited the room. "Okay, what brings you here, Riven. You look like you just survived an encounter with death."
"Father, I've looked everywhere but I can't find her."
"Her? Oh, you mean Commanding Knight Aishel. Well, she's not here."
"She usually leaves the castle to train against monsters, father. I've never seen her in here."
Foxmourne sighed. "No, when I say 'here', I mean Duvashnia. Aishel left the kingdom four days ago."
Riven blinked. The seconds passed. And then..."WHAT?! She's not in the kingdom? When did this happen?"
"Calm down. Remember when you were leading that ruins expedition? A summons from the king of Gillnor came just right after your squad departed."
Riven looked thoughtful. "I remember that. I saw the messenger with the royal crest of Gillnor on my way out."
"I don't know what happened between then and before Aishel departed, but chances are that the Princess Guard knows. You know how they usually can be seen with her."
"Right, I guess I'll go talk to High Guardian Tsubasa, then."
Riven was just about to leave before Foxmourne called out to him. "Yes, father?"
"Report back to me once you find out what you can. I've got my suspicions and that's all I can say."
Riven didn't understand, but nodded quickly and left. Foxmourne sat down and poured himself a drink of his favorite bourbon. "King Bahlar...just what the hell is going on? Ever since the princess died, you've never been the same."

[lazy man]

OOC: God damn it, laziness and RO make a horrifyingly tragic situation when this is concerned... So, I'll post something of him entering and ignoring everything.

IC: Dirk walked into the meeting room, noting some of the people that were already here. Not much of a meshing bunch, but this did promise good money. Or so the summons had said. If he couldn't get money... Well, he could always negotiate.

Leaning against a wall, afraid that the chairs might collapse under his weight, Dirk watched some of them, hoping being made of metal wouldn't attract TOO much attention, like it always did.

OOC: I swear I'll read everything that comes after this post. I'm just way too lazy right now...

[Lumaes]

Pinchette was deeply offended; this was supposed to be a grand day out full of splendour and grace. Instead what she found was these jackinapes ruining the quiet civility of their oppulent surrounds. Their behaviour was entirely unfitting amongst anyone with the least amount of manners or respect, this she wholly believed.

Lun, her servant, who recognised the expression that came across his lady's face retreated a step, holding out her parasol at arms length.
Taking the sleek bumbershoot Pinchette set of determinedly across the hall, her shoes clacking forebodingly on the palace floor. She was headed directly for the young lady who was currently insisting on waving her sword about, Lun crept along behind, a cringe in his posture.

"Madame you will not!"
Her voice rung with the histrionics of every offended society-matron, as the parasol swept up to point accusingly at the unmannered creature. She was an intimidating figure when her blood was up.
"This is no place for swordsplay as one should well know." she treated the soldier who had allowed this to a scalding glare, to which he responded by wincing awkwardly.
"You will discontinue such un-beffitting behaviour immediately!" here her voice ran threadbare with passion - a move which never failed to shift an audience to her cause. The tip of the parasol dropped, clacking on the floor in emphasis.

"This is all wrong! Those things" she waved a hand at the brutish wolves, "shouldn't be here. Neither should he! One should never treat themselves to the buffet without the allowance of the host either!" she indicated the comatose drunkard and the dwindling food.
"You should all quiet down and behave immediately!"

Here she began to sniffle, one hand resting on top of the other demurely as she was overtaken by dissapointment. A large, plump tear rolled down her face, a distillation of sadness. She turns away from the crowd, taking the handkercheif her manservant offered and wiping her eyes.
"This was supposed to be a lovely day - a day for nice, polite discourse and nice polite ladies and gentleman gathered together for the advancement of our nation's peace" she sniffles again, her face shielded by the pristine white fabric. Lun stands awkwardly at her side, wanting to offer comfort but disallowed by his role here as courtman.

Pinchette couldn't help but think it would have made a fine tableu.