• PM To Join • [Venora] The Morning After (András)

[Valeria Burhan]

70 Zi'da 717

When she woke, the first thing the blonde did was groan. The drapes were closed but the light was still too much, her head ached and it wasn't the only thing, and her stomach was... she didn't even know what her stomach was doing!

The previous night was a jumble of memories that came back to her slowly and disjointedly, making her mood sink lower as she was left with a pile of things to regret. If she could have had a meeting with her past self then she'd probably have strangled her. If her parents heard anything- Who was she kidding? The whole kingdom would probably hear of her antics, never mind her parents! Still, they were probably the most important, the most likely to be shamed by her actions rather than enjoying the juicy gossip surrounding them. By Zanik, perhaps she could simply die first - she certainly felt awful enough.

If she didn't know better then the Burhan would have been certain that she'd eaten her cat over the course of the night, her tongue and throat dry and furred. She actually reached fingers into her mouth to check that her tongue wasn't actually coated in fur but the simple touch was almost enough to set her gagging. By the Fates, was she sick! By Ilaren, she would never touch wine again, no alcohol in fact. If a drop of it appeared in her vicinity, she swore that she'd bolt the other way. Although not right now. The idea of walking was enough to set her stomach into a more precarious state. Honestly, the desire to curl up into a ball was strong but she needed water. The blonde could have rung for it, she supposed but the mere idea of sound was enough to make her want to cry so instead, she all but crawled from the bed, groaning and cursing at the fire along her torso.

That was another thing. The noblewoman didn't think she ever wanted to see a corset ever again, never mind wear one! Even now, her lungs felt more constrained than normal and as she shifted, she coughed, the sound unpleasantly wet as if she had a build-up of fluid.

Making it to her bag, Valeria sought her mirror and regretted it instantly, another item to go on the growing list. She had remembered to take off her make-up, which was good, although it was quite possible that she'd actually managed to smear a great deal of it on Tristan Venora before she'd finally gone to bed. Still, her skin seemed to have a sickly tinge to it and her eyes looked as if they might fall out of her head, the irises a mix of very dark blue and grey, barely visible around her dilated pupils. Honestly, she looked as bad as she felt.

Dragging clothes out of her bag and a hairbrush, she did her best to make herself somewhat presentable, even managing to wash her face in a basin of water that was provided. The water had been sitting there for an unknown length of time but desperate though she was, she couldn't stoop to drinking out of it. Mess she might be, trollop even if her actions the previous evening were taken into consideration, but she still had some semblance of dignity.

By the time she was done, she wasn't altogether terrible although she'd briefly assessed the bruising along her torso before swiftly covering it, unable to deal with the sight right now; she didn't want to contemplate the damage she'd done to her own body. Thus, she simply hid it from sight beneath her white blouse, which she smoothed down over her black skirt. Not bothering with shoes, or even stockings, the blonde padded quietly from the room, wincing as she penetrated the brighter chambers beyond. She squinted, raising a hand to her face as the pounding in her head increased. Seven save her! How much had she drank during her time with Tristan? She didn't have an inkling but it had clearly been too much, far too much.

Moving from her room, she sought somewhere that she might be able to get some water, treading an uncertain path through the house, hoping that she wouldn't meet anyone in the process. Granted, a servant might have been useful, but the idea of any interaction, no matter how brief or necessary, seemed insurmountable. Hence, she pursued her quest alone until she finally came across a jug of water, dropping gratefully into a seat as she poured a glass and sipped it cautiously, worried that even that plain liquid would send her over the edge. It was necessary to nurse it, cradling the glass in one hand, her head in the other, blonde hair falling in a curtain about her in a way that relieved some of the light. The time was unknown to her, the light itself giving nothing away to the unobservant Burhan.

"Oh bogs," Valeria moaned, her voice a hoarse whisper. "I'm going to kill that Venora."

[Andráska Venora]

70th of Zi’da, Arc 717

"Oh bogs."

Green eyes lifted from the murky tea at the sound of another voice. He sat in the sill of a bay window, partially hidden by the thick red curtain, and leaned forward to try and peer at the owner of the voice. He blinked and rubbed sleep from his eyes, having been watching the day's events transpire from the window. Most nobles who had spent the night had left in their carriages, one by one in the early morn. It seemed some still lingered.

A woman sat, nursing a jug of water and he could physically feel her hangover. A wry smile curved the corners of his lips, having spent his entire teens in a similar state, and idly turned the page of a book that he had been perusing.

A curtain of blonde hair hide her face, and he arched a brow at her next words, "I'm going to kill that Venora."

Now, wasn't that interesting?

"Well, that's not very nice." his deep voice spoke casually, seemingly out of nowhere. He kept his words low and gentle, knowing just how painful sound could be the morning after, "Which one? There's not many left, you know."

He could see her turning towards the window, and his hand pulled the curtain aside, revealing the rather tall Venora lounging comfortably. His dark hair was wild, tousled from restless sleep, and he took a long sip from his drink, watching her from above the rim. She was blonde and tired, but pretty. For a moment he scourged his memory, and when he was sure he hadn't met this woman in shared circumstance, offered a sleepy smile in greeting.

He had drank the night before, but had essentially cut himself off later in the evening. His mind still felt muddled, and his limbs ached from dehydration, but he was not nearly in the state of the poor woman. A brief moment of wistful admiration and then he was gracefully sliding from the sill and rising to his full height.

The sun illuminated him from behind and he took a step and then, he paused to remember. Turning, he closed the curtain, so that the room was dimmed in respect, finished his drink and glided towards the table to set in on the strong wood.

He seemed comfortable in his environment - strangely so for anyone who wasn't of his political stature. His shirt, a soft blue, was unbuttoned, exposing a glimpse of his torso, and his pants were loose and comfortable. Not quite the attire for someone who planned to head home anytime soon, but couldn't he argue that Venora was his home? He would soon own it, after all.

Leaning against the table, he got a better look at the woman who had muttered a threat to his family, but felt no sincere animosity. How amusing to find that it wasn't him upsetting a woman. His record was still spotless, "Speaking from experience, you should eat to settle your stomach," he glanced towards the door, watching as a servant scurried past to the kitchen without giving them a glance.

What had he done in those mornings he had woken up sick and needing a boost to his morale? Drugs.... Company. He pulled his eyes away from the hungover woman before his thoughts followed that path and chose his next words carefully, "Among other things."

[Valeria Burhan]

.

A voice, deeply masculine, sounded from somewhere close by, the sonorous tone sending a slight shiver up her spine. Turning her head in the direction of the source, squinting against the light that came through the window as a figure revealed itself from where it had been partly hidden by the curtain. She couldn't see very well, the brightness seeming to stab at her eyeballs, sending her irises shimmering with a sickly mix of violet and green that was exceedingly unpleasant against the backdrop of bloodshot white. It made it difficult and exceedingly painful to try to discern what she could of the man who was obviously watching her, perhaps drawing amusement from her clear misery. Whoever it was, she didn't recognise the voice although that didn't mean that she didn't know him to see - if only she could bloody well catch a proper glimpse of him! He was basically in silhouette, little for her to discern except hair that seemed to stick out in a haphazard way and broad, strong looking shoulders.

"Oh, I- Tristan Venora convinced me to drink me more than I should have. The Duke of Oakleigh, I mean," she explained, correcting herself belatedly. She'd been slow in answering his question and now her brain was proving too slow to stop her tongue from tripping over itself.

When he stood, she gained a sense of his height and his overall form, the intense light behind him allowing his shape to stand out quite starkly. A fine figure of a man, almost enough to make her brave staring in his direction a little longer. However, she'd reached her limit, only able to endure so much as her eyes watered and stung uncomfortably. The blonde turned her head aside, squeezing the lids shut tightly in an effort to bring relief in darkness and audibly sighing with relief when she saw the light dim through the thin layer of skin. She opened her eyes again, blinking furiously to clear her vision and then examined the man who was now clear for her to see.

The face was familiar, very familiar and she knew that someone had pointed him out to her during a bout of idle conversation the night before. It had been in an almost awed manner, voice full of admiration and yet the ladies in question hadn't lingered on him as a topic, perhaps frightened at the idea of what might be said about him. It seemed that she had a tendency of ending up in interesting situations with very powerful men in House Venora.

"Baron Andráska Venora," she murmured, eyes a little wide as the irises took on a brown hue, the blonde feeling quite satisfied with herself for remembering. He was the future duke of the entire Venora duchy.

And he'd just heard her declare that she was feeling rather disgruntled towards his cousin. Oh, how she'd laugh if she didn't think that it might make her throw up. Instead, she reddened, a fleeting smile crossing her lips as she brushed hair from her forehead, fingers moving almost automatically to start curling one of the locks except that she stopped herself. Thank Zanik that she'd had the sense to brush it or she'd look like something that had been dragged backwards through a hedge rather than simply feeling it. This was not the time to be flirtatious, especially given the events of the previous evening but she was tempted all the same, so very tempted. He probably noticed the way that her gaze moved down his form, finding herself lingering briefly on the unusually loose-fitting pants that he wore. He looked incredibly at ease, quite at home in this place but then that probably wasn't all that surprising; this had probably been like another home to him growing up as he came to visit cousins.

The Burhan was quick to turn her gaze back to his face, knowing that she was nowhere near as subtle as she'd normally be and hating her hungover body and mind for it. She probably even allowed the guilt to show in her expression, expecting that she'd been caught and feeling that it was impossible that she hadn't been. Still, any hint of embarrassment or awkwardness was forgotten about at the mention of food, the young woman fixing him with a look of miserable incredulity while the mere idea of it made her feel queasy.

"Ugh, by the Seven, the thought of food! I couldn't," she groaned, shaking her head while her mouth twisted in disgust. "I'd take other things if I'm honest. Anything but that. Except... I probably couldn't touch alcohol. I know some people say that it'll take the edge off to drink more of what got you into a state in the first place but... no, thank you. I think I might cry at the sight of another glass of wine, either red or white. I seem to remember drinking too much of both."