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[Toaster]

Jim, you'll always be my pretty princess.

[birdy51]

Aloft in the rafters, a plump pigeon who had snuck into the castle uninvited peered down upon the princesses, watching them with beady eyes of madness. It cooed softly as it watched from on high, awaiting the madness that would surely unfold. Thirteen women of noble birth competing for the heart of one man! How exciting!

He shifted and settled in for the long haul. It was a good day to be a pigeon.

[Vector]

. . . Maybe I should run The Lonely Prince: Hatoful Edition next.

[birdy51]

...

Hatoful Boyfriend may now become one of the most fantastic things I have discovered on the internet. :O

[Tiruin]

. . . Maybe I should run The Lonely Prince: Hatoful Edition next.

((Oh gods I loved that game XD

If there will be pics, then do it. ))

"I don't know if I can wait any longer, Tiruin! There's just so much I want to show the Prince." She exhales loudly. "Gah! I need something to busy myself with!" She marches off to look at the various art displays.

'So much indeed to show the Prince. Why, if it was me I would-...'

A smile crept upon Tiruin's face as her fantasies too hold of her thoughts. The Prince had all one could ask for--possessions, protection, and even good looks--though the only thing which attracted her was a different thing.

His personality.

Indeed, Webadict was right. There was so much to show to this splendid man. One of a caring heart and of sincere devotion that his reputation was known throughout the lands and kingdoms.

She pulled up a chair and fanned herself, intrigued by his many tastes decorating the area.

"I wonder how he sees us all. Gathered here, awaiting his presence."

The more you knew...

[webadict]

. . . Maybe I should run The Lonely Prince: Hatoful Edition next.

((Let me give you a story of the last minute.

*typing typing typing Enter*

*Pause.*

"What the..."

*Click*

"..."

*facepalm*

"Why?!?"))


Webadict fiddles with her fan. "Stupid... dumb... fan." She takes the fan and snaps it in half before realizing the others might be watching. She quickly looks behind her, but it doesn't appear anyone has seen her break her fan.

She had taken her attention away from a pot... or an urn or something. She was really only sure that it wasn't helping her keep her mind off the wait. Now she kind of wishes she still had her fan to keep her hands busy.

Then a thought creeps into her mind, and she froze because she knew it was true.

'They're watching you, dear.' She rolls her focus along the wall, looking for anything. Her eyes briefly cross a mirror and... wait, was that a bird? She quickly turns towards the rafters, but the bird wasn't where she had seen it. When she looks back at the reflection, the bird is gone. She shivers a bit, goosebumps growing on her arms.

She quickly rejoins the others. She wouldn't want to give off a bad impression to the Prince.

[Jim Groovester]

Jim, you'll always be my pretty princess.

<3

[Vector]

The Prince's castle is a little bit empty, as though it were a canvas awaiting something to be painted on it.  This must be due to a certain uncertainty--after all, his elder brother the Crown Prince died recently, and he is preparing to take his title, as he has the castle.  The old decor has been removed; the new is awaiting a woman's opinion.  He dislikes retracting his decisions, which is perhaps why he has kept the current entourage despite rumors of plotted murder.

Perhaps he doesn't want to disappoint anyone.  Perhaps he is simply too lazy or sad to look for another thirteen; lonely enough to keep around the knife that would kill him.

But what you know of him is that he is kind, if naive; both cheerful and melancholy by turns, if sweetly so; and easily given to distant transports of imagination.  These dreams fling him across time and space, and he is inattentive in those moments, save to those who would deepen the illusion.

All of you peeked into his bedchambers once when he was away (red drapes, white sheets), and saw that his wall was covered with a magnificent tapestry depicting a man feeding some creatures, which were half-bird, half-woman; his bedside table was bedecked with spring flowers; and he was in the possession of some printed books.  Some of you recognize The Bible and Euclid's Elements... and a copy of Le Chasteau de Labour.  Before long, the word spreads, though opinion is divided on whether he is a lover of humor or of allegorical poetry.

The man himself dresses in black, as is proper, but his mien is comely and he smiles often enough, at no one in particular.


[Game to start tonight, once I finish figuring out just how insane it's going to be; expect it up in a couple hours]

[Vector]

It is spring.  The snows have cleared and the heavy rains have come.  The days are growing longer and Vektor can feel the heat in the earth begin to rise, bringing with it a smell he can almost savor in his mouth--the promise of green growing things.

New life!

His supplies are running low and the customers know it, so even though he has made no small amount of coin telling "The Legend of the Bleeding Nine" to those who love gawking at bloody misfortune--the tale required no embellishment to please their appetites, even as its telling turned his (but a living is a living, a living is. . .)--even so, he will be glad when the crops, and his pack of drunken ruffians, begin to roll back in.  Hops, barley, oats.  It will be a while yet, but Aureliusz Vektor has learned to look ahead.

A man knocks on the tavern door.  After a moment, he opens it, and steps over the threshold.  His clothes are plain black.  Ash whitens his hair.

"Have you any mead, bartender?"  His mien is comely, but furtive.

"None," says Vektor.  He is lying, of course, but he has learned to see sorrow drifting in.  It drifts in on wings of ash and nervous tongues.  It drifts in on men coming to drink alone late at night, shamefaced, hands trembling, no work to take their minds despite the new season.

"No matter," says the man, sitting at the bar.  Vektor will have to wipe it clean again after he is gone.  He is not sure if he should place his bet on tears or vomit, tonight.  The man licks his lips.  "I would tell you a tale."

"Have you no aunts or whores or sisters?"

"Give me some of the vodka you have there and I shall tell you whence I have none."

This Vektor likes a little better.  He shoes the fat cat, Mischka from her perch on the cask and draws out the beginning of the last.  The stranger watches him with red-rimmed eyes, as though he has never seen a man pour a drink.  He examines the way the lamplight makes the trembling liquid surface glow buttery gold.  Then Vektor hands it over.

The stranger turns the glass in his hands, swirling the liquid, then takes a sniff.  He winces and puts the glass down.

"I never said it was good," says Vektor.

"I imagine most of your clientele don't care," the man remarks.  "I--I don't either."

"Spit it out or drink it up."

"I am a prince," says the Prince.  Vektor snorts.  "And my father died.  Assassination.  And then my elder brother, the Crown Prince, went on a voyage as my uncle sat on the throne, which killed him, and my younger brother left me--it was only myself and the men and women of the castle, and if I did not assume power soon I feared for my life and property.  There would be nothing left of my father's holdings, the land would fragment. . . it was both my obligation and pleasure.

So I called young beauties from across the land to my castle and of their number chose thirteen, the most beautiful, the most clever, the kindest, the--"

"Every woman is all of those things to the man who loves her," Vektor interrupts.  This usually shuts up the drunks who attempt this tack, and moves them from telling tall tales to sobbing, which is a easier sorry state to push out the door.

"They were fairest throughout the land!" says the Prince, banging his fist on the bar.  "The very most perfect!  And you would not believe what they did, no.  They filed in, some amongst them poor serfs' daughters but the ladies in waiting provided them with flowers and fans and hair ribbons, everything a girl would want to be pretty.  They had soft eyes and full mouths and, oh, you should have seen them dance, and heard them sing.  Would that you had been there."

"Well then--what happened?"

"They tried to kill each other, of course," says the Prince.  "In this sordid world, how could you expect anything better?  She comes stealing in under veils and tresses, Mother Death, and turns cream sour, and burns roses to ash."

Vektor steals a sip of the Prince's vodka before setting it firmly in the young man's pale hand.

"Tell on," he says.

You have until Noon on Wednesday (-8 GMT) to decide what happened on the First Day.  Begin.

Man, I really hope this works out okay.

[Vector]

Mod note: three more roles need to be sent out and I can't stay up any longer to wait for them to clear the 1-hour flood limit.

I'll get up early tomorrow morning to make sure they get out there.  Sorry about that Tiruin, Jim Groovester, and Griffionday.

[Tiruin]

I will now stare intently and love what happens in the meantime

In this meantime, I love that flavor.

...Darn am I giddy.

[webadict]

Mod note: three more roles need to be sent out and I can't stay up any longer to wait for them to clear the 1-hour flood limit.

I'll get up early tomorrow morning to make sure they get out there.  Sorry about that Tiruin, Jim Groovester, and Griffionday.

((That limit will get you every time.

And I shall think no more on it.))


Things had fallen to small chat since the girls' arrivals. Webadict might have found patience any other day, but today there was a fair Prince to be married. She would show to him... No. She would simply let the Prince decide for himself whom he found fairest and most delightful. She was simply happy to be among the fairest.

Webadict found herself seated next to a young woman by the name of Toaster. She had remained quiet for some time, and so Webadict spoke to her, if only to get Toaster talking and alleviate her own failure of patience.

"I am quite fond of your hair. Am I to assume that lavender perfume belongs to you, or am I to be mistaken? Because I find it to be wonderful."

[RangerCado]

RangerCado was quite calm about the whole ceremony despite most around her seeming to be all arguing about whos hands were fairest, or whos walk was more dainty. There were a few souls who appeared to think of more than just outer beauty however, which pleased her greatly. A kind and caring personality was a much better thing than how one looked. And although she looked quite pretty herself with her fair complextion and normal form, she rarely thought of it.

If this prince could help those needing it aid in the villages and farms, then she'd do all she could to help make him hers fairly, for fighting about it would do little good.

She turned to look at all those around again, taking in the sight. This would take many days, may even a week. But in the end, whoever was chosen will have been picked by the gods and goddesses of old.

[Vector]

Phew, they're sent.  Up and at 'em~

[Solifuge]

((It begins! Glad to see that Aureliusz is making another appearance too. :3))

Lady Solifuge leaned against a wall, the dagged sleeves of her frock folded akimbo. She looked out idly at the goings-on in the chamber, as Sir Shepherd's tale at last came to a close. The Prince did seem to like fanciful stories, but she supposed this one wasn't all bad; preserving the realms against the Reaper Tribes, at a tragic but necessary cost. For a moment, she wondered how else the tale may have turned out, had events gone differently. Had she been in Shepherd's shoes, she would surely have done things differently.

Her attentions returned to the chamber. Save for a few quiet conversations, things had fallen silent. Lady Solifuge had expected to hear a proclamation by the Prince, perhaps a formal welcome ceremony or some other kind of event. Instead, perhaps he just meant for them to... mingle? Mingling wasn't her strongest skill, but what must be done must be done.

Though, perhaps with a little conversation, she might root out one of the less... desirable ladies who had worked their way into the Prince's good graces. Perhaps then, she might do something about them.

...

Lady Lenglon, correct? How are you finding the party so far? I recall you voicing some concerns about feeling out of place here. Are you anxious about being among ladies with more experience in such settings than you?

Oh... and if we pretended you had some less-than-honest intention regarding the Prince, are there any here whom you would choose as your co-conspirators?