[Soirée] The Game

[Zane]

49th of Zi'da, arc 717

He walked pointlessly, meaninglessly and purposelessly, moving from one corner of the room to the next, playing the game of avoiding the nobles' feet as he moved. You want that promotion son, don't get drunk tonight. The older, grey-haired man told him when he asked how the night was going. The general was rather clear with his words, and Zane understood that. He understood that there was a time for play, and then there was a time for seriousness. Him disliking the time for seriousness made nothing change though, thus he accepted his sober fate and left the cup of wine at the table. He had nothing to do, nobody to talk to, and absolutely nothing. To. Do. Most of his friends at this time were tavern-visitors, the sort that you'd never see at a noble's event, and the others were military-men, again, those you'd never see at this sort of event, except if they acted as guards, in which case he couldn't make banter with them, because of dumb guard rules. Apparently, even skyriders were required to show that they could manage in a civilian's life, and show that they understand the game of politics, and Zane was so close to actually becoming a true skyrider, he believed that if he only stayed at this dumb event for a little longer, he would achieve his goal, and go on to conquer the skies and fly on the back of a fearsome beast. Adjusting his jacket, he moved his eyes from his feet onto the people around him, only to notice a thousand of the same suits and dresses, only in different colours. Were they really different items of clothing? Surely not, the youth thought as he stopped for a moment behind a table, to get some energy back. He had been walking for Vri knows how long, only moving from one end of the room to the other.

He was going to be a figure in the military. And each military across the world, at least each that he knew of, served its purpose in war. And wars, they meant death and destruction, he would know, for he was taught by his father many arcs ago. What purpose, then, would knowing proper etiquette, and how to mingle in ballrooms, serve in a war. Unless there was something he was missing. Military's purpose is war, he would be a figure in the military, meaning his purpose would be war, and these nobles couldn't know war even if it shot them in the face. Logic would dictate, then, that he shouldn't have anything to do with nobles whatsoever, instead of learning how to address them or how to play their games. Of course, that was the boy's logic, which would constantly go against the old people logic he was so unfond of. He thought about this, slowly moving his legs forward, barely noticing the people around him, much like he had been doing for the longest time. Could any of them fight? He wondered as he brushed the shoulder of one of the persons, and quickly followed it up with an apology, which was, unsurprisingly, met with an apology from them. He had, by now, thought about the same topic twelve times, mostly because he couldn't think of anything more entertaining to think about. He wanted to shoot a bow, oh did he wish for a bow right now. He would shoot whoever decided this event would be a good idea straight in the eye, putting a sharp stone into their brain, and ending their miserable existence. No, that might actually be too merciful, considering the evil one must have in their heart to start an event such as this.

"Apologies, me'lord." He said quickly as he brushed another shoulder, this time it was dressed in white, but he didn't bother to look towards whoever it was he touched, only because if he had looked at everyone he made contact with during this evening, his eyes would've fallen out. Only then did it hit him, the guy who organised this was wearing white. Oliver Venora, the general pointed towards him when he first arrived. The young man of messy hair moved his head slightly, adjusting his eyes to the light of the chandelier, as he gazed into the noble's eyes. How convenient, he brushed the shoulder of the man he wanted to torture and slowly destroy. "My apologies once again, lord Venora, I hadn't recognised you. My name is Zane, Zane Black, honoured to be here." He said, bowing his head just as much as was required of him, if he remembered anything he was taught correctly. As he moved his foot backwards, to increase the respect shown in his bow, he could feel the shoe of a woman's foot hitting his heel, and he quickly turned around to hold the woman's back as she regained balance. "My apologies, me'lady." He would say with a low sigh, as he looked back towards the noble rose after returning the woman to her path. She wasn't a noblewoman, that much was clear, considering she wasn't wearing a corset beneath her dress, but he still addressed her as one, to hopefully receive more respect from the host, who would then talk to his superiors about what an impression the boy must have made.

[Oliver Venora]

Oliver Sebastian Venora

Shark-black eyes turned as he bumped into someone, his glass held aloft and steady so as to not spill the dark amber liquid filling its volume. A smile broad on his face, Oliver spun around, still holding the glass high to avoid slamming it into someone's head. The gala was a roaring success thus far, and Oliver found that he was losing himself to the tempo of the night. Not that it was a bad thing. Genne had kept his glass full of oaky whisky from the South, and he'd been enjoying himself since. Charlotte was off, being the Warrick daughter that she was, which left Oliver to mingle and greet some of the guests he'd not. Most of them were not gentry, but that did not stop him from being as charming and open as usual.

"Oh, pardon me." Oliver said, looking at the younger man. He smiled brightly when he realized he had not met the young man before, and quickly assumed his noble composure, though the whisky was coursing through him and causing his cheeks to flush. He held out a manicured hand, strong but unblemished, to shake Zane's.

"Zane Black, pleasure to meet you. Please, call me Oliver. This night is about reaching out to those who do not know me, and becoming familiar with them," Oliver explained, taking another small sip of his whisky. Noticing the younger man conspicuously without drink, Oliver motioned for Genne to make her way over. In her hand was a silver serving platter, adorned with a rose, with all matter of drinks upon it. Alcoholic beverages, every one of them, Oliver had it displayed to Zane.

"Thank you, Genne. Mr. Black, may I offer you a refreshment?" The words were light, merely a question, though many took those to mean insistence in his world. Not Oliver, though. Comfort was the theme of the night, and should Zane wish, he could abstain. Very, very few had throughout the night, but Oliver would not be surprised if some did. He was sure a few of the more devout Rynlists in the room would stick to a closely guarded glass of wine, and others, such as Valeria, may find themselves deep into the cask early on.

"And what do you do, Mr. Black?" Oliver asked him, trying to keep the conversation concentrated on the younger man. Though he was not the most known Venora, especially as of late, Oliver was sure that he was recognized by many in the room. He wanted to get to know those that he himself did not recognize, and Zane fit that bill perfectly.

From the corner of his eye, Oliver noticed the brazen red of Charlotte's dress, and she was heading straight towards him. Perfect, he could introduce his new acquaintance to Charlotte. Smiling, Oliver held an arm out for the woman to grab onto. He still did not speak, allowing Zane to do so before he would comment on anything, or introduce Charlotte.

Diplomacy was a delicate balance.

[Zane]

Was it achieved through nature, or through nurturing, the smugness in the eyes of nobles as they gazed upon the lesser men known as the common folk. Each time he took a moment to glance at the eyes of a noble, there would be a certain smugness in them, unlike any other he'd ever seen. Nobles, without exception, viewed themselves as above those that served them, and Zane wondered if that was because their parents, and their parents' parents did it, or because they were taught to do so. Lord Venora, no, Oliver here, seemed no different at first glance. He shined with the smugness and confidence of nobles, being a prime example of a man with a superiority complex. It was that, or Zane was slowly catching on to the paranoia most military men that mingle amongst nobles have. Playing a game you were not born to play, that brings a certain fear into a man's soul, and a certain chill in his veins. The glorious Venora-born man here, his words painted an image of a man that cared for others, and while that could've even been true, his face was showing signs of caring for all the wrong reason. He did not care to introduce himself to Zane because he believed they might become friends, he didn't care to allow the boy the use of his first name because he didn't care for his last name. He did both of those things so he could draw Zane closer, earn his trust, and make himself seem a better man than he actually was. At least that was what Zane's father would've said, had he been there. The young man of messy hair, however, spoke not after the nobleman's introduction, knowing that philosophical and all-in-all deep thoughts were not well received by men of a position of authority that had alcohol in their blood. He'd rather not be thrown out of the gala for offending the host, after all, thus he simply smiled and nodded, only to be interrupted by the serving lady, with whom Oliver seemed rather familiar with. She, unlike the young man, was not showing the subtlest signs of disliking the man when he spoke to her.

"Of course, Lord Venora." The young skyrider said as he gently picked up the glass of fine wine, and nodding thankfully to the lady that held the platter with the liquids. He was being extra careful, considering he had an unbeatable record of spilling wine in one of the taverns he frequently visited in Andaris. Wine, probably his favourite beverage, one that he was often so eager to taste that he would forget about the rest of the world. Much like at that moment, he had forgotten his promise of not getting drunk. But what could one glass do though? He thought as he took the first sip, and flew into the heavens for he had forgotten the taste of beautiful Venoran wine. If the nobles were good at anything, it was making fine expensive products the common folk wouldn't get to drink but a couple times in their lowly lives. It came with the smugness, Zane assumed as he listened to the question from the nobleman. Now, it was a tricky situation he was in, for if he really decided to play the game, he would have to weave words around his profession in such a way that it made him seem like more than just a squire, because essentially, he was just a squire. And not even an experienced one, either, considering he'd only been doing this job for a season and a half. Was it really worth it, giving so many thoughts to placing his letters in a pattern that the nobleman couldn't decipher, when he could just admit that his position was among the lower ones, and be proud of achieving even as much as he had, given his genes came from a supposed traitor and a whore.

"I recently joined the military," the boy said, pacing his words so that he didn't seem neither too eager to share his profession, nor too ashamed of it. "as a skyrider, though I have yet to take my oath." He said truthfully, choosing to forego the game and all the horsecrap that came with it. He was a proud being, at his core, and he had no issues with being looked down upon by some smug noble. That was, of course, if the nobleman decided to look down upon him for choosing to fight for his kingdom. If he really wanted to seem down to earth, and unsmug, Zane supposed he would act like choosing to defend his homeland was an honourable profession that was worth praising, even at such a low level. At least that was his interpretation of how the game should go, while Oliver would've surely had his own.

[Charlie Warrick]

Charlotte Warrick

"Oliver," Charlie laughed delightedly, latching on to the open arm that he offered her. Slightly tipsy from the delicious ale that he had thought to provide, she did not notice that he had someone else with him. "Can you believe that Lady Talia actually thought that being born in the Eternal Empire meant that you were literally immortal?" she laughed, shaking her head, before realising that there was someone else with her lover. "Oh! Hello."

She flushed, about to apologise, before she took a good look at the man before her. He was young, yes, but there was something about them that rang familiar. "I know you!" she gasped, before bringing the hand that was not holding onto Oliver to her lips. Water. It was definitely time for water. Her cheeks flushed red, looking at Oliver with a glance of apology, before curtsying towards the man.

"My apologies. Lord Venora was kind enough to supply amber ale, and well, it's my favourite. But us Skyriders know the draw of a good ale, don't we?" Charlie winked at the man, laughing delightedly, turning towards Oliver. "Oliver, I am not sure if Zane knows me, but I know him. He is an Airman in the Skyriders, and I've heard nothing but good reports," she said, smiling kindly towards the younger man.

"I am Sergeant Charlie Warrick," she explained to the man, smiling genuinely. Knowing Oliver would not mind if she broke decorum for a moment - Fates knew she already had - she leaned in and winked towards the man. "Seven knows it's good to have another military man here. While I enjoy the dressing up and the dancing, it's nice to just let loose with your comrades every so often, isn't it?"

"I did not realise you were attending tonight, Airman Black," Charlie said, truthfully, "otherwise I would have made an effort to seek you out." For all Charlie did not mind these noble gatherings, it was good to see someone else here who had the same ambitions she did.