1st Zi’da, 717, Midday
Darcyanna smiled politely at the socialites around her, untouched sparkling wine in hand and sea blue eyes scanning the room. By the Seven, she was not in any state for this. Someone’s favourite son had gotten himself engaged and they just had to celebrate with a lavish garden party, during the day, in Zi’da.
Outside.
“....and so you see, Bendeick had actually taken my glass of brandy instead of his. It was quite the riot when we chaps all found out!”
Offering a soft laugh to the jowled old gentleman who talked at her, not to her, the Venora smoothed the skirt of her long black gown. It was sheer over her arms and chest, slipping into a beaded black satin. Demure and elegant, everything Oliver would be so proud of. Her head throbbed mildly, the sun reflecting off the dusting of snow on the yard not at all helping her hang over. It was the fairydust, the minty drug was horrific for leaving her with a throbbing headache, perhaps more so when she over indulged.
Whilst she had no interest in mingling with the party guests, it was not appropriate for her to arrive and just hide inside. Besides, she was a Venora. The Ivory Rose, a walking representation of her house and name. What would people say if she didn’t at least attempt to wear the title.
By the Fates this old sod could talk.
The tinkle of a knife against expensive crystal was the out Darcy needed. Whilst the guests made their toasts she would get herself set up at the baby grand that had been dragged out onto the marble of the home’s vast rear patio.
“Well, it’s truly been a pleasure Ser...uh...good Ser, but I believe that is my queue.” Handing the crystal flute of wine to the old gossip with a slight curtsy, the shorter pianist made her way to the pine wood instrument. Not as good quality as the one the Tulburns owned, but this one looked used. Loved. Darcy smiled a little as she slipped in behind the keys. Sitting with her back straight and waiting as the speeches and such happened, the platinum Venora clapped gently when the gathering did, paying zero attention to the words. From the table of the groom to be, an older woman gestured to Darcy.
“A gift, for my son and future daughter. Please, Lady Venora, if you would?”
It was a beautiful piece, written by her own hand, and one that the older woman had requested. A sonnet, rich with dulcet tones of love and emotion. It built on itself, reminding Darcyanna of the way her heart seemed to sing when Caius was near. The thought of the Gawyne gave her reason to smile, swaying gently into the song. It wasn’t just love though, it spoke of the darkness that nipped at her heels, that threatened to consumer her every trial of every arc for the past four arcs.
But then, hope, a fleeting powerful turn of chords. The sun rising and with it a new trail. Another chance to live. Darcy’s lime eyes slipped shut with a broad smile, relishing the lively ending. And then it was done.
They clapped, ripping her from the sweet place her music had taken her like clawing hands, tugging her back to the here and now. She opened her eyes, smile gone, nodding to the audience. And such, the gift aside, she turned her hand to a waltz as the house guests took to the marble to dance. A song already written, notes set in stone, Darcy played them almost matter-of-factly. She rode through the scales and octaves, skipped around the key changes and three step arrangement.
From waltz to two-step, on she played, the music effortlessly blending from one song to another. Background music, accompaniment to the party rather than the shining centrepoint. Mid-trial turned to dusk as the breaks wore on, and still Darcy played. The dancers came and they went, but she played on. Simple songs, gently stoked on the keys, arrangements familiar to her or requested by the guests.
Finally, the sun had set, and that was her closing moment. Letting the last few notes ring from the piano, Darcy stood as the guests began to leave. The mother of the groom handed her a small coin purse with tipsy utterances of thanks and appreciation, to which the Venora smiled and nodded, before taking her leave.
Pulling her cloak around her and doing up the buttons even as she strode from the house, Darcyanna made her way home to bathe. She let loose her thick white blonde tresses and wiped off her make up.
Lifting a reevi cigarette to her lips, the young musician took a deep drag on the sweet plant. The smoke seared her throat and lungs like so much hot tar. It hurt, but it felt good. Standing naked before her mirror, the pale creature frowned, running her free hand over the scars on her stomach.
Disgusting.
Turning away from the mirror she made her way to the bed, falling on the end of it and taking another drag. The narcotic began to swim through her bloodstream and Darcy sighed, her muscles relaxing as she stared at the ceiling in the dark.
What would Oli think of the Ivory Rose if he could see her now?
Pathetic.
Outside.
“....and so you see, Bendeick had actually taken my glass of brandy instead of his. It was quite the riot when we chaps all found out!”
Offering a soft laugh to the jowled old gentleman who talked at her, not to her, the Venora smoothed the skirt of her long black gown. It was sheer over her arms and chest, slipping into a beaded black satin. Demure and elegant, everything Oliver would be so proud of. Her head throbbed mildly, the sun reflecting off the dusting of snow on the yard not at all helping her hang over. It was the fairydust, the minty drug was horrific for leaving her with a throbbing headache, perhaps more so when she over indulged.
Whilst she had no interest in mingling with the party guests, it was not appropriate for her to arrive and just hide inside. Besides, she was a Venora. The Ivory Rose, a walking representation of her house and name. What would people say if she didn’t at least attempt to wear the title.
By the Fates this old sod could talk.
The tinkle of a knife against expensive crystal was the out Darcy needed. Whilst the guests made their toasts she would get herself set up at the baby grand that had been dragged out onto the marble of the home’s vast rear patio.
“Well, it’s truly been a pleasure Ser...uh...good Ser, but I believe that is my queue.” Handing the crystal flute of wine to the old gossip with a slight curtsy, the shorter pianist made her way to the pine wood instrument. Not as good quality as the one the Tulburns owned, but this one looked used. Loved. Darcy smiled a little as she slipped in behind the keys. Sitting with her back straight and waiting as the speeches and such happened, the platinum Venora clapped gently when the gathering did, paying zero attention to the words. From the table of the groom to be, an older woman gestured to Darcy.
“A gift, for my son and future daughter. Please, Lady Venora, if you would?”
Goner
But then, hope, a fleeting powerful turn of chords. The sun rising and with it a new trail. Another chance to live. Darcy’s lime eyes slipped shut with a broad smile, relishing the lively ending. And then it was done.
They clapped, ripping her from the sweet place her music had taken her like clawing hands, tugging her back to the here and now. She opened her eyes, smile gone, nodding to the audience. And such, the gift aside, she turned her hand to a waltz as the house guests took to the marble to dance. A song already written, notes set in stone, Darcy played them almost matter-of-factly. She rode through the scales and octaves, skipped around the key changes and three step arrangement.
From waltz to two-step, on she played, the music effortlessly blending from one song to another. Background music, accompaniment to the party rather than the shining centrepoint. Mid-trial turned to dusk as the breaks wore on, and still Darcy played. The dancers came and they went, but she played on. Simple songs, gently stoked on the keys, arrangements familiar to her or requested by the guests.
Finally, the sun had set, and that was her closing moment. Letting the last few notes ring from the piano, Darcy stood as the guests began to leave. The mother of the groom handed her a small coin purse with tipsy utterances of thanks and appreciation, to which the Venora smiled and nodded, before taking her leave.
Pulling her cloak around her and doing up the buttons even as she strode from the house, Darcyanna made her way home to bathe. She let loose her thick white blonde tresses and wiped off her make up.
Lifting a reevi cigarette to her lips, the young musician took a deep drag on the sweet plant. The smoke seared her throat and lungs like so much hot tar. It hurt, but it felt good. Standing naked before her mirror, the pale creature frowned, running her free hand over the scars on her stomach.
Disgusting.
Turning away from the mirror she made her way to the bed, falling on the end of it and taking another drag. The narcotic began to swim through her bloodstream and Darcy sighed, her muscles relaxing as she stared at the ceiling in the dark.
What would Oli think of the Ivory Rose if he could see her now?
Pathetic.
