The streets were damp as the sky had recently opened up a light shower though had since subsided. Dark clouds still masked the sky streaked with a crimson as the sun began to disappear over the horizon. The stones underfoot were smooth as they marked the pathway to the large mansion of the Quinns. Nestled just outside the city limits of Lomedor, the house rose up a complete four stories above the ground, large carriages pulled up to the doors for the disembarking nobles who had arrived. It had been ten years since the Quinns had mysteriously died, and their only heir and a small fortune vanished into the night. No one knew what became of the boy, but the only ones who would have cared were the members of the other family which rivaled the Quinns, the Roscherwitzs.

Unfortunately their own child had disappeared leaving no one to worry over where Clayton had disappeared to. The young Triella had not been too keen on the betrothal in the first place, so even if she had been present surely she would not miss the self-centered child. Instead, the house had been disposed of on a family while the riches remaining were dispersed among the elite. But that was of little importance as the dark figure moved up the pathway on foot, the air clean and fresh from the previous rainfall. Still, none of this was of any concern as there was a party being thrown at the mansion, one which brought the families together to gloat as they put up the pretense of friendship. Who would have thought that on such a night, the undead son of the Quinns was returning.

Clayton moved with ease up the path, pushed aside by the carriage which was approaching, pulled by four white horses foaming at the mouths from the intense speed which they had been pushed by the driver. A stream of curses came from the driver as he passed swiftly by, the clamor of the horses continuing until they reached the door. The lich returned to the road, unmoved by the words as he had often been. His appearance was altered from when they had all last seen him; his face, then clean shaven was now covered with a well-trimmed beard, stylish of the times. His body was still in the same shape it had been when he had left, though this time it was with the assistance of a small shape shifting alteration.

Finally arriving, the mansion towering over him, standing sentinel on a large hill, the man would dip his head to the doorman as he moved into the entrance hall. Memories filled his mind of his childhood; the entrance hall was just as he remembered, the high ceilings lit with large chandeliers casting the delicate lighting across the occupants as they greeted each other pleasantly. Their honeyed voices filled the room with a dull roar as the group slowly made their way into the large ballroom. As the room opened through a high arched portal, the fantastical room came into view with twin spiral staircases up either side of the entrance leading to a large balcony where the elder Roscherwitzs stood to greet the families. Another unknown family, probably a recent addition to the elite stood by them. Around the large room, families were gathered, mingling with false enjoyment and recognition.

Clayton even had a few who claimed to recognize him, to whom he gave the name Edward. Not a single soul questioned his right to be there, as his attire was appropriate for the occasion; it was borrowed from a recent acquaintance who would no longer be needing it. He would watch the room of people with a bit of respect, their emotions carefully tucked away behind the masks as they interacted, feelings of superiority filling them as though they were the most important in the room. There were quite a few faces which were recognizable even if his did not appear so. It was not difficult for his pretense to continue as he found Isabella Roscherwitz. Or perhaps her name had been changed since he had last seen her... It did not matter, for as he approached with a low bow, he introduced himself as a friend of the family. Batting eyelashes and girlish giggles followed as she flirted using her fan in the appropriate fashion. She had been the oldest of the sisters, and his memory had not been faulty; she was exceedingly beautiful. Long blonde hair fell down in curls, and through the dialogue between the two, he could see she was single, her husband mysteriously dying of heart problems at a young age. The corners of his lips would turn upwards slightly, his assumption being that she had slowly poisoned the man to keep herself from an unwanted marriage. He had never been so thankful for the child, easily manipulated when she was shown a bit of kindness and the pretense of compassion. As a misunderstood child, she had been a prime subject for his initial plans. Though things had fallen through and he had not been shown her true potential, she was his beginning. He would never give Isabella a second thought, though for the moment her acquaintance in this group was irreplaceable.

As she offered to introduce him to her father, his eye caught sight of another female. With a gracious bow he would excuse himself, with a promise to meet her later. That agreement had been given with the slightest dip of his eyelid in a secretive wink before he slipped into the crowd, his dark eyes focused on a particular female who had no more right to be there than he did, being of the few dead to the families.

"Got it?"

Triella was hoping Robyn understood and remembered what she said. If not, things would get a bit...messy. And this was a night they intended to enjoy. At first, Triella hadn't even given the event a second glance. Just another group of the wealth reveling their woes away with drink and feed. It was actually LaPlace who probed with questions about their family. Or at least one of the families she remembers belonging to.

A few choice words, questions and thoughts were all he needed to utter. First he stoked her curiosity. Were they really once apart of this human-clan? If so would they recognize her as the conqueror they were? they didn't deserve this, why had there been a lack of people looking for them whenever they went missing? They were better than that, deserved more that that. So it's a good idea to go there, maybe make a few of them suffer, steal some stuff and leave.

Robyn had stuck around after the slight zombie-outbreak, and on whatever whim that had come and gone, Triella didn't mind to the point where it was just normal for the undead-child to be nearby. The past few weeks had actually been spent in preparation, as the remains of a handful of bodies attested to.

Robyn needed at least a cursory introduction to high-status manners, and thankfully Triella remembered most, or an odd hybrid of what she needed to know and what not to do. Some time was spent on dancing itself, maybe Robyn would find herself a young man and make another undead-friend. Or something like that, they were a weird lot. The first stages had been spent in acquiring some gowns, which required a bit of money.

So a few rich girls went missing, happened all the time. A young damsel gets swept off her feet by a rugged adventurer, the two run off in forbidden love and she probably ends up as a harem-girl somewhere while the "hero" gets a bit more wealthy. Either way their "volunteers" happily gave up their scalps to be dried out and cured to form a grotesque wig. Triella's hair was a bit too short for a proper lady, even though they'd end up covering it with a veil of some fashion.

Little Robyn-rin was a bit more of a challenge. She was cleaned from top-to-bottom, and she needed it. Quite badly. Granted any unsavory smell generated by her nature had faded away at this point, but just in case a few extra bags of flower-petals were laced around her garments. As well as making certain she didn't try eating or ripping the custom-made clothes. After all, with large portions of the tailor being inside Robyn and the rest dumped in a nearby river, it'd be quite difficult to get it repaired.

Little chunks of the bodies had been prepared and salted actually for Robyn, acting as "treats" when she had good behavior. And to hopefully prevent a freak-out, followed by cannibalization, at the party. Anybody asked, it was just some slated-boar or some such, no one would really ask questions beyond that. Or want to try some and unknowingly become a cannibal themselves.

They looked at themselves in a mirror, irritated at this style of dressing, but certain it'd pass inspection. She had taken to wearing an arabesque mantura with a closed black petticoat with a matching open-frotned bodice. the sleeves were normal cuffed, but they let the bell-shaped cloth hang down at her wrist, seeming to enjoy the soft ruffles at the opening. The only thing she disliked was the lack of their longsword. they strapped a dinner-knife the upper right arm, so at best she'd have a fairly small knife.

The sky was weeping, as if sensing what was to come and the anguish that would be dealt. Or perhaps fate was a bit more fickle tonight and the world was in woe at what would transpire from this night. Then again it could just be a weather-mage's apprentice practicing. Pulling on an overcoat made from snow-foxes, Triella pulled the hood over their head. a slight internal smile crossing her face as she felt the stolen-blonde hair shift to fall over their shoulders.

With that they departed, the coachman forced into servitude by the invitation they presented. Each bump, turn and pause made the growing curl of pain in her stomach become more focused. They were terrified at this prospect, going in with an unstable girl wasn't any help either. And if it hadn't been for some little daemonic-trick he did to keep herself focused, she'd have called this whole thing off. As they approached the mansion, that option rapidly dwindled to non-existent.

Looking across at the Robyn, who'd taken quite a radical change in appearance from their first meeting, she nodded and smiled. "Just remember what I said, and you'll get to play whatever games you want to later, okay?"

There wasn't really a chance to elaborate or respond, as the coach stopped and a servant opened the door. Their mind was a bit distracted as they thanked him and took his hand to get out. Triella was hoping Robyn didn't pick surgery or something else like that. Pushing that away they entered the grand place, feeling a bit of disgust at the opulence present.

They tried to get themselves blended into the crowd so as to "mingle" more effectively. That and she wanted to observe members of the Roscherwitz clan without directly meeting one. Yet at least. The thought that the elder patriarch of that family had a slight flicker of some emotion when they locked eyes troubled them. He made no move nor attempts at recognizing her after that, but did this mean others might notice them as well?

She'd taken a position near a flight of stairs, ready to duck up them should she spot a commotion that was linked to them in someway. Robyn was nearby...theoretically. Triella had lost site of the girl when a crowd of jubilant young-people swept through. Laughing about some new musical or play they had gone to, or marriage and children, or other insignificant things they loved to talk about.

Triella was making another glance over the sea of faces and clothes before they'd start talking one of her "siblings". If they were truly related at all. Until something made her pause. It was a man, one who was looking directly at her as well as moving with a forward purpose. Something gnawed at the back of her skull, and it wasn't Robyn. They recognized him, but his face didn't match up to anybody they remembered. something about him was the same though. a word echoed in her mind, but it lacked the memories associated with it, only the feelings.

Clayton.

"Got it?"

Robyn nodded. Robyn-rin did indeed have milk. She showed Alice-Mommy the glass, but Alice-Mommy seemed pre-occu-pied and didn't notice. Robyn pouted. Alice-mommy was doing that a lot lately, talking to Robyn but not noticing Robyn- or else noticing Robyn too much. All of the time now it was, 'hold the fork like this Robyn', or 'don't eat the neighbour's pets in the front yard Robyn' or 'make sure to kill things quietly Robyn.' Robyn was -almost- going to get sad. When she had found her Alice-Mommy she had thought that Alice-Mommy would be the coolest, superest, meanest and baaaddest (Poppa Bear said it was necessary trait) Alice-Mommy ever.

Which she was, Robyn-rin didn't doubt that. Only the cool mommies got Robyn clothies and a full-course meal in the same day. And only the cool mommies could borrow hair from other girls and eat their cakes and have a really, really, reaaaallly big wabbit friend that was oh-so luffly! He understood gameses so well!

Of course, Robyn wasn't exactly sure if a cool mommy needed to give Robyn the hot-water skulldrudgery (a word from the Chef!) but at least that experience was over. Robyn-rin had lost her Robyn-scent for a little while and had firmly promised that she'd only bathe in the blood of her enemies (a bunch of words from the shining lady in the Life Temple place thingy) and that had seemed to make Alice-Mommy really, really, really happy and she had started to say non-sense-ical things. It sounded a lot like squealing, but Robyn wasn't sure. She had never been squealed over before and Poppa Bear (after being consulted on this important event) had bolted and hadn't been heard from again until they started looking for the clothing-person-thing.

And even then, it was only when the munchies were fully under way that he deigned to join them. Even Momma Bear laughed at him four or five times and Momma Bear didn't laugh all that often. The chef laughed so hard he lost his brains for a good day but that was okay, the Chef found them in the end and put them back threw his nose. He did act a bit weird for a few days, but that was okay too- Alice-Mommy hadn't asked Alice to make mud pies for dinner yet so his skills weren't needed.

Not until they started the salting! Ahhh... that had been a good day. So scrumptious and tasty! She hadn't even had one relapse into thinking cap mode for days and days and days... it was so much fun being with Alice-Mommy!

When the day of the clothies came, Alice-Mommy had paraded them in front of a, gasp!, other Alice-mommy and other Robyn-rin that looked just like them except backwards, but not in the backwards-forwards direction but the lefty-righty direction. It made Robyn feel funny trying to think of it in her head but in the end, Alice Mommy seemed to be satisfied if somewhat un-happy (which was always fun because an un-happy Alice-Mommy meant lots more fun-fun things to do!) and they left the other Alice-Mommy and other Robyn-rin but Robyn-rin promised she'd be back. Both other Alice-Mommy and other Robyn-rin must be awfullllly lonely.

Then they went into a small house which moved (and was really cool!) and Robyn-rin spent her time looking out the windows at the non-moving houses and laughed at them while trying to get the moving house to talk back. It was obviously superior to the non-moving housies but alas, it too didn't seem to want to speak.

"Just remember what I said, and you'll get to play whatever games you want to later, okay?"

"Okay Alice-Mommy... oopsies, Robyn-rin meant, Alice. Okay Alice!" She gave Alice-Mommy a beaming smile which showed all of her white-white-yellow teethies.

Then the moving house stopped and they started entering a non-moving house. Waving bye-bye to the moving house Robyn followed Alice-mommy and tried to remember everythign Alice-Mommy had said.

No eating other friend-friend seemed to be an important rule that Alice-Mommy liked stressing so Robyn-rin quietly chanted it under her breath to make absolutely sure she'd remember. She had once asked Poppa Bear to remind her things but Poppa Bear was absolutely un-trustable and Momma Bear was... Robyn's brown puckered. Why hadn't she asked Momma Bear?

She was about to ask when Momma Bear started yelling at her and Robyn winced. Right, that was the reason.

"No eating other friend-friends, no eating other friend-friends, no eating other friend-friends, no eating..."

"Excuse me young lady, are you new to these parts?"

"No eating... hmm?" Robyn-rin glanced upwards, spotting a rather odd looking young friend-friend whose dress and speech reminded her of a big shiny bird. 'Peacock' the chef said and Robyn agreed, not knowing a peacock was but somehow deciding it was the right word. She stared inquisitively at him, and he seemed to take this as a sign of affirmation.

"I pardon the intrusion but I simply *must* find out-" He was halted in mid-sentence by an arm slapping his back. A rather more beefy friend-friend showed up laughing and eating what looked like something really, really tasty.

"Lord High-and Mighty," the beefy one said, introducing the peacock. "I'm Lord Not-So-High-and-Mighty."

"Pleased to meet you." Robyn said automatically and earnestly.

Lord High-And-Mighty turned bright red while Lord Not-So-High-And-Mighty laughed all the harder. His face was all red too though, but she hadn't noticed it before because she had only ever seen it red. How odd.

"Ro- I am Robyn-rin."

Robyn-rin could feel it, this was going to be the start of a bootiful friendship.

His movements would continue, as he wove through the nobles, some catching his arm to make introductions or to quietly state they had missed him at the last party. He had no doubt they were curious about his name and fortune so they could marry off yet another young girl to better themselves. Offering a simple smile, he would make his apologies and move further into the crowd, his destination clear in his mind. The woman he had spotted seemed not to have moved, and instead, met his gaze openly curious. Did she not recognize him either? Very little other than confusion flickered across her features. Perhaps he had changed more than he thought. Regardless, his dark eyes, appearing almost entirely onyx in the dim lighting, though they were naturally a rich chocolate, caught hers; from the distance he could not distinguish the color, but memories brought her face quite near his own. That lingered in his mind, hanging in the balance as he was transported to a different time.

The pristine image of a child with whom he was told he was to share his life filled all conscious thought. She had been maybe fourteen years old when he had learned of the engagement; there was little about her which attracted him, especially when his attraction had been bestowed on the curvy maid, Denise. She had been quite welcoming to his advances, but if the union between the families continued, his own nature was to be suppressed; his parents had been absolutely clear on that. The girl's features were slender, her form seeming even more slight in the presence of those around the table. Women were not allowed a say in the discussion, but they were present. Clayton took after his father, his height and size seeming monstrous in comparison. Large blue eyes kept darting towards him, and at times he caught a bit of emerald in her gaze; still her study of him did not go unnoticed though he made no mention of it at the time. She was of no importance in this discussion; neither was he, but he enjoyed the guise of his role. With his back held a bit straighter, he would turn to the discussion. This was a very advantageous marriage for the Roscherwitz. His own name in union with the girl's would surely carry both families to the highest position in the town. For the girl, she was merely a pawn in a much larger game. But that was many years ago...

Shaking away the memory, he had noticed his approach had fallen short, and he was unsure what was revealed on his face. He would work quickly to school his features, and continue his journey with fewer interruptions. His eyes never left the woman as he moved, his gaze seeming to command that she wait for him. Though even if she attempted to retreat, he would pursue until he was finally within reach.

At that moment, he would feel his arm pulled once more as he was directed to a small conference of people. He noticed the group was circled around a small child who he was soon introduced to. "Pleasure to meet you, Robyn. I am Edward" Though he was unsure if it really was a pleasure. Something about her caused him a moment's reprieve before he shrugged off the feeling. He would lift her hand to his lips, kissing the air right above her hand as if she were a lady. "But I have someone I need to speak with. Perhaps you will save me a dance for later" He would smile, though his intentions here had been altered the moment he had seen his betrothed. Turning abruptly, he would move the final couple of feet.

"Triella." His voice hung quietly in the air, as if it was a secret just for the two of them to share. The voice held only the slightest hint of an accent, as if he was out of place or perhaps superior to those present. The corner of his lip would upturn in the smallest of smirks as his hand reached; long slender fingers would brush hers, his hand, free from callouses as he had long ago given up the harsh work and weapon training. Though he could still wield a weapon, he was far from proficient; his talents lay in other powers. With calm reserved movements, he would slowly raise the small hand which remained in his grasp. Lifting it slowly, he would lower his face down to press a light kiss on the back of her knuckles, as elegant as if he had never disappeared from this life.

"You look lovely tonight." The comment made as he rose was honest, though the devious glint in his eye suggested otherwise. Perhaps it was merely his true nature shining through the guise of courtly manners and false smiles. The room seemed far too organized, and this man too perfect. There was too much pretense of balance while corruption lay just beneath the surface; the trap for those who fell too far. His fingers would allow hers to slip from his grasp, his hand falling to his side once more. His brows would raise slightly, almost challengingly; she had been manipulated by him prior to this meeting. In truth, she had been the reason for his extensive study of women.

"We're just their pawns. I'm in the same situation as you are. I understand. We need to get out of this." The statements filled his mind, his own voice having uttered them long ago in a very similar situation: the declaration of their betrothal. The event had been not unlike this one, which one could easily assume was why this gathering had been called. The two families which stood on the balcony were in discussions about something which appeared rather... business-like. The smirk would lift his lips a bit more as he allowed his gaze to travel down to her once more.

"Still playing their little pawn?" The statement was intended to be taken as a slight insult, something to flash recognition on her pretty little face.

Where as Clayton and Robyn attracted favorable attention, she did just the opposite. Maybe people were put off by her unblinking stares or awkward silences. Perhaps it was that she was slightly muttering to herself a little chant LaPlace had drilled into her. People naturally assumed she was just another member of some lesser noble house, Eccentricities were accepted, so long as they didn't cause embarrassment to others.

Their thoughts weren't on the slight clearing she had generated, but more so on the man she knew as Clayton who was rapidly approaching. They felt a malice towards him, but also pity and even hints of affection towards this being. They tried placing his face into people they remembered, but none of it quite seemed right. He could've been another officer in their brigade, or perhaps a husband to someone she killed before. Maybe the owner of this wig. None of these seemed...right though.

They watched him stop and say something to Robyn. Their blue-eyes seemed to gleam slightly with a deep-seated curiosity at this little interaction. Had he caught on
to the dead-child's disguise and seen through it? Did he know she was connected to them? Or was it pure coincidence? Perhaps he wanted them to think he knew these things in an attempt to get them to admit to it and prove his weak-suspicions right.

They suppressed the half-faced grin, which was generally only appropriate on those who had lost a few screws than upper nobility. What resulted, indirectly, was a more slight smile of honesty, with the edge curled ever slightly to hint at a devious nature, or an unhinged mind.

Triella

The word stayed within the air unnaturally, or within their head. It meant something, something very important. That name was one of two possibilities. And the one known as Clayton seemed to readily belong to memories associated with who people called Triella. So perhaps he was something from those nightmares and dreams...

"Clayton, you look in place with the other fae lords present. Mighty in demeanor, terrible in nature. That holds true to most doors and paths though..."

His name was the clearest spoken part, the rest she trailed off and half-mumbled to herself and those she imagined listening in on their conversation. Which of course there weren't any really, at least openly, but the wonders beheld in their eye's made the ball seem all the more grand and grotesque at the same time. Their agitation had decreased the effectiveness of LaPlace's trickery.

Looking up at him, they felt torn over the treatment. A part of them wanted to gut him like a pig where they stood, race around trailing his entrails like ribbons before feasting on the gluttonous elders. Another part felt satisfied, that this was how all beings should treat it, bowing on their hands and knees though of course. And a small voice, tiny and insignificant, but still there, felt a slight rush and a feeling of ease at his presence. What a confounding being he was! so many choices of how to deal with him!

They physically paused when he made the pawn-comment. Her eyes seemed to lose their gleam and her smile lost the slight curve and became more of a plastered expression. The combinations had been aligned, the locks opened and what seemed to be intact memories unfolded from the morass that was her consciousness.

The painfully loud sound of a solid smack to her face echoed out in the empty library. She had been taken back by the hit so much she didn't even notice that she'd fallen until her arms and knees sent a dull and hot ache through her bones. Later on if her caretaker asked how she dirtied her dress, she'd "fess up" to having been playing un-ladylike outside. Things would only get worse if she blamed him for it.

Looking up, she blinked rapidly, trying to hold back the upwelling tears. She hated them, hated herself for being that weak. It wasn't her fault they'd decide to cry by themselves, she couldn't control that! When things hurt, they watered up and she wouldn't cry. Hopefully Papa would be proud of her once she could take a hit and not cry at all. hopefully.

"Don't EVER do that again or your Mother and Father will find out just how naughty you've been. You'd probably be ostracized from the entire family before being left on the streets if that happened."

She cringed at the thought, she hated him so much and lived in constant fear of what he might do if she finally became useless to him.As much as she hated it though, it gave Triella a small sense of satisfaction that someone considered her to be of value. It was probably that more so than anything else, even the fact that they were betrothed, that got her into doing his little tasks at first...

They felt an eye flutter at the slight sense of wrath and longing. Perhaps they should should sever his head and carry it with them forever. That'd satisfy their feelings, theoretically. something stayed their hand though from resorting to the hidden knife, a high power perhaps, or some emotion she didn't notice somewhere else inside of them.

Her voice was soft and changed pitch, emphasizing a variety of words in an order without sense. "We're all pawns in fate's game, others just delude themselves into thinking they control the outcome."

Triella downcast her eyes before curtsying. He gave off a strange presence. Something that they felt was of a friendly, or at least common-interest nature, but potentially negative. Like that of someone who shared the same ethnicity or occupation. Potential friends, but potential enemies in the same leaf.

OOC: Is that good, or should I add some more for you to go off of? x.x

Robyn examined the crockery curiously. She had served tea, had prepared tea, had even drank tea... but she had never seen a completely intact set of tea utensils. It was a glorious sight. The perfect syme-syme-me... symemetrickleness- the perfect shape of each teacup and tea-pouring thingamagiggy ("Kettle," The Chef yawned) almost made her loose control of herself and Robyn had to exert a frightening amount of willpower to not gnaw and slobber over the pieces of fine dining as she might have if she had found a long-lost relative like her real Mommy or real Daddy.

A small trail of drool ran down her chin unheeded. Fortunately, her two friend-friends seemed not to notice and Momma Bear managed to wake her up enough to this fact and she hurriedly wiped it away leaving a small stain on the sleeve of her very expensive dress-shirt-thingy.

"Do you like it?"

Robyn would never know it, but the peacock- a lad of rather poor social standing trying to climb that devilish ladder known as hierarchy with wit and sense alone- was actually referring to the splendid view of the city that they had from the balcony and not the fairly mundane tea set. While tables had been prepared, no nobles had yet arrived- socializing took time after all. Who knew what this man-child had in mind though? All the best opportunities for advancement, or contacts, were taking place below and he was missing it.

"Robyn-rin quite enjoys it."

Lord not-so-high and mighty laughed. He was rather older than the peacock, not by much, but his eyes had a hardness that didn't belong in a noble. Or at least not in a noble pampered by illusions of grandeur, signing death warrants with a quill that was worth half of an average laborer's life earnings. Robyn noted with a start that his eyes were mismatched- one was grey the other one ever so slightly green. It was an odd combination and she was about to stand and take a closer look when the peacock grabbed her hand. She cocked a curious head towards him.

"I'm glad you do, Lady Robyn." The peacock said seriously.

V.V.V.V.V

Jeremiah stalked out of the balcony, his measured strides almost military and his countenance unreadable. Just shy of two dozen winters, his rise in power and social prestige had been odd and unpredictable. As an infant, he had been cast out of some royal lineage or another due to a smattering of demon blood that was probably came several generations back (he hadn't quite ruled out in-breeding) and gave him odd-looking horns that he had to file down to mere nubs every morning. They seemed to grow at midnight, an appropriate- but damnably awkward hour.

Discarded, like a rag used to wipe the bum, he had been adopted into a temple of Light dedicated warriors. Fifteen years of military training, daily abulitions, rituals and the odd cult massacre he had been knighted after accidentally saving the very family he had been cast out of.

A strong sword-arm and this measure of fame bought him the title of a minor nobility after he put down a few minor riots and quelled the odd orcish invasion. He had been content. Why should he be anything else? He wasn't one of the greater lords, as was his due, but he hadn't wanted the boredom that the mantle of command would bring him anyways.

Then he had been exposed. At the age of two-ten winters he was stripped of his titles, his lands and his people. And was cast out of the lands he had endeavored to protect for the second time in his life. After that he swore never to return.

And now he was playing strong-arm, a pretty-boy strong-arm for sure, but strong-arm nonetheless, to one of the most insipid characters of this sorry little gathering of nobles. The pay was poor, but at least they were willing to put up with his heritage. He no longer hid it from those he sought to be employed under though was discreet enough in the public eye. He was supposed to act the part of the country noble, rather poor company that could only serve to elevate Lord Andrew's position... it was a devising of the family that he had had no input in. It was beyond stupid, a family's faults belonged to the family but they had been admandant and he had played along, as humiliating as it had been.

What was Lord Andrew thinking, dragging along this half-wit? One could try to dress her up and hide her lack of brains in a vest of shimmering colors, but forty seconds of conversation and he had firmly been of the opinion that she had long ago lost all her playing marbles. If her reputation got out, Lord Andrew's would irreparably harmed...

Oh well, not it wasn't his business.

V.V.V.V.V

"So tell me Robyn... how did... 'Edward' know of you?"

================

OOC: Someone tells me if this makes sense. @_@

Had any attention been given, Clayton would have realized that there would be no more interruptions; at least none while the crowd remained parted around them. It was the reaction he would have expected if his body alteration had faltered, but a simple mental checklist assured him that he was complete and still human in appearance. Hushed whispers could be faintly heard around them, the voices uttering something about the peculiar appearance of the fresh faces found in the crowd today. Triella's voice captured his attention for a moment. In place... It was a ludicrous thought, as the lich was standing amidst the living; those nobles had killed all personality within him and pressured him into the mold they had created specifically for him. He was to be the most powerful noble when he grew older, but those were the days before his death.

Aye, he did belong here. This realm was his own, and he knew the sort of puppeteers who ran the show from behind the scenes. He had just been incorporated into that realm, the dark shadow which dictates all alliances among these elite who found themselves above their company. The unseen hand which wove the intricacies was not present at this function, but he had no doubt that his presence would not go unnoticed.

His lips turned upwards slightly at Triella, for though he had not heard all of her comment, he had enough to know she recognized him. Had he heard the words, he would have agreed as well, for his training had given him quite a basis for his dark and terrible nature. Her thoughts were not completely visible in her blue eyes, but he could see the distress and indecision in her. Perhaps her memory was failing slightly, for he had died and yet continued to live all in the course of a few years. Or perhaps it had been more than he dared to count. Time seemed irrelevant since that moment.

He had no inclination as to what was floating through her mind, for her blank stare had grown distant and then returned as she seemed to assess him in a light of partiality. As though she just saw him as the man who laughed at the rain thinking that others were drowning. Yes, he was the one who had twisted and manipulated the truth of an innocent child to give her thoughts of betrayal and revenge; the moment which was even sweeter was how he was able to convince her of her own guilt.

The memory was relished for many years, and even as the vivid imagery returned to him, he could not help but feel pleased with his own conquest. Books of dark magic, tales of death, instruments passed down the Roscherwitz family all taken with the help of a small girl, one who stood before him now. How had she grown since their departure? And would she once again rest under his guidance of deceit? That deceit bred chaos which was found in the enclosed room which seemed much too enclosed for what occurred beneath the high-vaulted ceilings.

"There are pawns and kings, my dear Triella." He would repeat, reinforcing the relationship they shared at one point. "And then the puppeteers who hold all the strings." He would repeat his previous thoughts more to himself than to another though they were far from muttered. Those words had been spoken to him previously, though many years had rolled over the memory. Faded and covered in dust, the image returned to his mind's eyes; a picture which had not been called upon for quite some time.

A man whose skin seemed the only thing keeping his body intact stood, back hunched almost disfigured as he poured over a large book. The edges of the pages were tattered, the gold which had lined the edges forcibly removed by the thieves whose hands it had passed through. Dark onyx and ruby gems were pried from the worn leather cover, the binding still holding quite strong regardless of the appearance of wear.

"Clayton" The voice was sharp and sturdy regardless of the man's physical appearance. He had proved many times over that he was more than capable of dealing with his young charge. The boy who had been summoned appeared in the portal, a lad no older than sixteen approached the book. The spell which was chosen was one of the more difficult, a well-placed milestone in the boy's training. A killing curse. And the poor unfortunate victim? He removed a cloth from the jar by the book; a venomous viper glared at him, tongue flickering out to catch the scent. Unruly treatment incensed the serpent, giving him enough rage to run the boy from the book as soon as the old man knocked the jar on its side.

Clayton had been so enraptured by the glorious creature that past the initial glance at the spell to be studied, he had not even realized what was to be done. His muscles ached for months from the venom which the old man had allowed to enter his tissue. Keeping his charge alive, Mazalo had allowed the student's failure to remain with him.

The conversation by his bedside while the poison from the many bites he sustained was allowed to clench and gnaw at his muscles had been the one where the statement had been first issued, and perhaps it was intended to motivate and grant determination. All talk from the tutor was spoken to push the boy's mindset to that of the "king". The reason now lost in all the years, the quote had remained, a priceless gift from the old man.

He needed her alone, so he could once again exert the power he once held. His grip was slipping and his desire for her awe was tightening his determination of fire. His hand would rest at the small of her back as he gently urged her towards another staircase leading through the mansion. His instincts returned though he did not remember where to detour, yet still he was capable of finding his way. But where to take her? If she followed his lead, he would guide them through the labyrinth of halls along the upper levels where a variety of rooms awaited use, collecting dust and giving work to the household staff.

"Please don't...I already gave you more than enough. If I keep doing this they'll see the marks and get suspicious..."

Her voice was cracking slightly, possibly from an illness or a raw throat, more likely from the ripples of fear. She was quiet and hushed, as if worried the walls themselves would swallow up her words and tell on what she was doing, what she had done already.

The empty study was normally warm and peaceful with its small, but well-designed, fireplace, rows of books and cushioned chairs. Over the past few years it'd become the equivalent to a torture chamber for Triella. A place where extortion was committed and the price was usually a little bit of her soul or morality and innocence just so she could maintain a facade of being a good daughter and a fantasy of being a valued Roscherwitz one day.

"No my Dear. Last time was just for a week. I still need more." A soft, cool hand caressed her cheek and she visibly flinched despite her efforts to control the reaction. He no longer needed to strike her to inflict pain, his growing knowledge had given him a number of tools capable of exerting his displeasure when necessary. and she'd found that a soft and quiet voice was worse than yelling, she could never know how close he was to punishing her for some slight.

"I-I've been having a hard time staying awake recently...what abou-"

Then he exercised his command. It was only a depression of the thumb and a whisper of a bizarre word, the effects were more difficult to ignore. A black lace-like pattern crawled up her arm, and with every inch she felt thousands of tiny teeth grinding away under skin. Rending apart her muscles to the very bone until she'd be nothing but an empty sac of skin.

Letting go, there was a red hand print mark where he'd gripped her forearm. With the withdrawal of his grasp came the fleeing sensation of agony to be filled with a familiar warm ache and a pained gasp as she held her throbbing arm close. She'd gotten better, no longer did she cry out like earlier times when he would try a new spell on her. She also had learned how to not weep either, but she couldn't stop the tears. The best she could do was to keep from trying to curl up and protect her arm and leave the tears be. He seemed to enjoy watching it, or at least she assumed he did.

"Just a little more is all..." his voice promised, much like it had a dozen times before...

They didn't resist or recoil at his touch. They were pliable for the moment, eager to unravel what this Clayton just was. He'd seemed to have left quite an impression on most of their memories, to the point that he was placed in ones where he didn't belong. He and LaPlace might be more alike, if not the same, than they'd like.

"Not every piece is tied down, nor do they all belong. The game itself changes overtime into something beyond master and slave." She had a guess as to what he meant, coupled with her polishing memories. Her reference was blatant, to them at least, in that things had changed. A bit more than either really knew or guessed, but the game hadn't actually changed much.

The stairs were empty, and only a young pair of lads were on the balcony overlooking the main event in the meeting hall. No doubt looking over potential one-time flings for tonight when things got a bit more...relaxed. Neither paid the pair coming up the stairs any attention, too engrossed with watching and discussing amongst each other in whispers.

The empty stone halls echoed with their steps occasionally, interrupted by the muffled footfalls as the floor would break from tradition into an animal skin or a foreign rug of an exceptional quality. Opulence wasted on gaudy appearances to mask the rotten core of this very place. What would that make them? Worms born of this decay now intent on devouring the fruit?

"Do you search for the center of the labyrinth? Or are you the minotaur itself, eager to glut upon the treasures of this household?" Her prattling didn't quite make sense to her, but it was something to do with him taking arcane knowledge from this place, or if he was here for some other purpose of a not-friendly nature.

Judging from the decor of the setting around them, lit only by torch light, she'd wager a guess they were in some part meant for entertaining guests. Balconies, small studies, musical rooms and other similar rooms meant just for entertainment. The dark natured rooms tended to be a bit below them, hiding their wondrous horrors from common sight until it was too late.

OOC: Only 830-ish T_T I tried!

"What, do, you, know, of, Edward?" The peacock asked, his tail feathers shaking and jiggling in a menacing manner. Robyn-rin watched as the rainbow suit of colors that the peacock wore slowly started changing and 'ahhhh'd' appreciatively. It wasn't every day, after all, that one got to see a peacock do something that chameleons did... Maybe this particular peacock was a cross-breed? A peacock-chameleon? Robyn peered even more closely, seeking evidence. She had never munched on a chameleon before. They just... sort of... disappeared. And stuff. And that wasn't good. It made catching delicious chameleons oh-so difficult!

Oh me oh my, the peacock was turning red. Robyn regarded the side-dish with something approaching concern. Robyn-rin didn't know much about peacocks or about peacock-chameleon hybrids (or about lizards or birds (except for cheekens of course) for that matter) but was fairly certain that they were supposed to stay green and blue and shimmery and_not_turn into other colors. Perhaps zis was yet more evidence that this particular peacock had an inquisitive chameleon in its ancestry. Or... or maybe this particular peacock just didn't like tea. It was possible. It was like that sometimes, Robyn-rin had noticed. Certain friend-friends just couldn't eat certain things.

Take Vanessa for instance. She had been awfully nice and excited and excitable during playtime but after eating a treatsy-peatsy had started making water-bubble-drool. And funny croaking noises. ANd lots of wild, random movement. Robyn-rin had tried to copy Vanessa friend-friend but only had had limited success. Vanessa was just too good and the game too obscure. Robyn didn't even know what the rules were! She had tried playing, as a matter of pride and course but it was just too difficult to understand.

Then Vanessa friend-friend disappeared. Alice-Mommy said that Vanessy had been called away- but she had left lots of lots of lots of treatsies behind as an apology so it was okay.

(She had even given Robyn-rin the dress she was wearing!)

"Edward?" Robyn chirped curiously. She poked her forehead, trying to rattle her brains around- get them to exercise a bit. They were far too focused on the cutlery and far too lazy. They didn't move around nearly enough! There were things to burn and do and there her brains were lazing away as it focused on the fine china. Even if it_was_an entire (ENTIRE!) tea set there were still manners and morals and... stuff to consider. Lots of stuff. Good stuff. Like...

Like answer the questio- oops! Robyn stopped poking her forehead. No need for new hole-holes.

Hastily turning and coughing (Alice-Mommy had said that coughing was an excellent social mecha-mechamism?-meachsism? mechanisti- social thingamaggiger to buy time and though Robyn was still looking for the vendor Robyn was pretty sure it was the right thing to do) she wiped the blood on her finger on her dress. Hopefully the hole in her forehead wasn't too big. It was dark. Maybe the peacock wouldn't notice.

The peacock patiently waited until her coughs subsided before giving her a meaningful look.

Robyn returned it.

The peacock raised its wings in exasperation before turning around and strutting towards the balcony. It wasn't surprising. Rather, what could be termed surprising was the fact that he had lasted as long as he had. Robyn's cranium now had four new sources of ventilation and it had been quite a long and painful process for each addition. In all likelihood, Robyn-rin was no longer presentable in 'good' company. Whether the peacock had noticed her physical oddities (he had surely noticed her mental deficiencies) none but he could tell and frankly, even if Robyn could tell she didn't care. She popped a treatsy in her mouth (furtively, of course), chewed vigorously and waited for the peacock to return. Which he did. He always did.

And he had apparently changed tactics.

"Who are you, Lady Robyn?" The peacock asked testily, his eyes trying to bore into her own. Robyn returned the glare with a complacent stare that revealed nothing more than curiosity mingled with just a hint of confusion. Which was what she honestly felt. No one, except maybe Alice-Mommy, had stared at her quite so much in such a short period of time. It was... odd. Flattering, but odd.

"Robyn-rin is Robyn-rin!" Robyn squeaked happily as she sipped her tea. "Robyn-rin has already explained this to Lord Peacock many, many times!" She continued, once she had finished her sip. He watched her intently as she drank the tea and still somewhat conffuzzled Robyn simply smiled in response.

"You shouldn't be standing..." The Lord murmured softly. For a moment he looked scared and then shrugged as if it didn't matter.

"Oh well. The... other one. Who was accompanying you. Was that your mother?"

===================

OOC: Sorry about quality. Apparently one week w/o posting and I get rusty. xD

Her reply would cause his lips to turn upwards for a moment as the two moved along the hallways, the rooms from his memories reconciled with the ones he found now. They were changed very little in all the years, and even with the altered ownership; the nobles had such similar taste. Turning his attention to the woman beside him, Clayton would allow his gaze to warm slightly at her appearance. The little girl has grown up.

"Has the game truly changed, my dear girl? Or are the players more proficient?" His words were playfully spoken, nearly echoing in the deserted hallways. The silence was so prominent that it was a bit of a shock when muffled voices came from a nearby room. He would halt almost immediately, picking up the voices that were sounding distantly near. His lip would turn upward slightly, his eyes returning to her memory as his own.

"Please don't...I already gave you more than enough. If I keep doing this they'll see the marks and get suspicious..."

Her pitiful voice was enough to keep him continuing. Her life was built to support him, and he was slowly molding her into his perfect little wife. If he was forced to marry, he may as well have some say in how she behaved. Her soft dismay at his actions seemed to thrill him though he was still holding on to the guise of sympathy. He would reach up, his fingers brushing her cheek.

He felt her skin beneath his fingers as his hand had once again risen of their own accord to brush her cheeks. The feel of her warmth beneath his fingers. Did he feel cold to her? His head would tilt slightly to the side, a single brow raising as he examined her face for a moment. It was almost as though he did not know who she was anymore. His life had changed. Hers had changed as a result. The corners of his lips lifted higher as he allowed his fingers to brush her cheek, running down to her jawbone and to slide off her chin. With his hand falling back to his side, he would remain still watching the woman, as if trying to reconcile the woman she was now with the child she had been in those days.

The image of another woman came to his mind. Her eyes were as dark as her soul, her mind refined and sensual. She had chosen him, brought him into life as it was meant to be enjoyed. Perhaps it had been this woman who had been the source of his principles in life. Her name... it had been changed so often he was unsure about what to call this memory.

Her hands ran over his chest, her life experiences having taught her how to lure men into her trap. Her age did not show on her face, but then, was it really her face? He body had been borrowed, one that was captured. Inspiration?

Words were not exchanged, she simply whispered in his ear, the soft sound of her voice as she paced around him like a predator taunting her prey. Her words were alluring as they instructed and guided. Life would be different in the days to come, and had he known it then, he would have followed her to the ends of the earth. His ties to his family had been strong them, and she had known the way to break such a bond. Her disappearance had come when he closed his eyes for only a moment, her image remaining burned in his memory.

Why now? Her disappearance had come in response to his betrothal, something he had no desire for. Yet in this moment, he stood staring at Triella, the woman who was quite beautiful, but that is not what drew him to her. Desire flooded him, but merely for the power he had once held over her. The memories she pulled from him reminded him of a life that seemed lost.

Slender fingers would clench tightly at his side, though his face remained reserved. Unclenching, the digits would reach out, brushing across her dress at her middle, splaying across her stomach as he moved around her slowly. His height caused him to tower over her as he pulled her back against his chest. With his hand at her stomach, he would lean over, his lips very near her ear as he whispered for only her.

"The labyrinth has always been my home." Curved into a delicate smile, his lips would remain there for a moment before continuing. "And you know the beast you accompany."