Welcome to Gaia! ::

Seven nights can sometimes feel a lot longer. As usual, the royal 'hotel', Regina's commandeered above ground residence in Four Fronds, sits displaying a mixture of both the inviting and uninviting. The open double doors and lit up grand foyer are tampered by the strong, silent, hemoanonymous drones that stand on either side of the entrance. Trolls mill about inside, hanging out in the swanky high class watering hole that connects to the entrance, but the crowds are exclusively highbloods, and the occasional decorated military official. Pull, repel, pull, repel. The side glances from the usual crowd, the inviting music, the high spiked gates, the relaxed chatter. No matter who you are, you're let in. No matter who you are, you're left wanting in the critical eyes of the trolls that watch you pass. Welcome to high society.

Past the crowds in the entrance, a black velvet rope marks where the royal poseurs, current shills, and favoured fighters of the sweep end, and where the true inner circle begins. The troll standing here, feet apart, shoulders squared, isn't a drone. There's no weapon on display, but like everything in the empress's world, the display of peaceful civility should never be taken at face value. They hold out a hand as you approach, eyes looking you up and down. "Invitation."

Sorry for the delay - please get your responses done within a week. Feel free to come in groups, smart talk the door troll, and generally bluster around. Quote me directly when you talk to the door drone for replies. Once everyone's arrived (everyone has posted or a week is up) your trolls will be ushered into the next area. If you can reply super-soon-just-not-a-week-give-me-like-one-more-day, lemme know and I will wait. This will be the general flow for the entire rp. Thanks!

[+] Kursha Vidari

Seven nights ago, Kursha would have shrunk under the lookstubs of the crowd that had gathered in the royal residence. Despite all his blustering, all his conceit, he had gone to the masquerade expecting the very worst: humiliation, ineptitude, and dismissal. And while it was true that he had seen all three, there were none that he could claim fault for. Sure, he might have bullied a couple of highblooded brats along the way, but he had found vindication. Any reason for failure had not a damn thing to do with him.

It was a good thing too, because the attendees gathered here would be a lot more critical than those at the ball. That had been the warm-up round. This was the real deal.

Dressed in nothing more than his usual attire and a bold camouflage jacket, Kursha strolled through the hive's entrance, rifle strapped over his back and heedless of any stares. He stood out. He knew he did. His blood colour only just made middle class, and amongst trolls who dressed to impress, he fell short of any unspoken dress code. Not that it mattered. He knew exactly where he stood and what he had to offer, and neither of those meant he had to pretend to be something he wasn't.

Moving at a steady pace and paying little mind to the other guests, Kursha worked his way through the last of the crowd and past a black velvet rope. Two trolls stood on the other side: one stiff and dour-faced and the other extravagantly albeit strangely dressed. Kursha studied the second a moment and then his face lit up.

“Tam! It is Tamiya, right?” he greeted the purpleblood, strolling up to meet her. “I gotta say, you look great! I'm diggin' the hairpin. Very mirthful. I'm glad to see you back on your strut pods. Pretty impressive considering that gut shot you took.”

As he chatted, he noticed the sharp look the first troll was giving him. He turned, grinning broadly. “You're looking for this, right?” he asked. Procuring his invitation from inside his jacket, he held it out for them to take. After a beat, he rolled his shoulders. “Also, you got a gun check? Or should I just leave this with you?”

With a jerk of his thumb, he indicated the muzzle of the rifle over his back. Hell if he knew whether bringing a weapon was impolite or not. After how the last event ended however, he had resolved to keep his close by. While there was such thing as common courtesy, there was also such thing as common sense. Someone had to understand that.

... And if not, there was always the combat knife concealed in his jacket.

7 nights.

It took that long for Zindel to be able to make his mind up on coming to Four Fronds on the appointed night.

As he had no real home, most of his official mail went through Chiara first before landing at his feet. Of course she'd take notice of the letter the moment it arrived-- He couldn't really understand it anyways, and any other troll he could've asked was currently a wanted criminal or wanted to kill him. (Or vanished off the face of Alternia.) Chiara translated and explained it to him, and though she was burning in emotions... Zindel wasn't quite as emotional. He did, however, feel a little stab of embarrassment in his chest, face red from the magenta words on the paper-- Considering he wasn't trying to get noticed and just help, he'd already messed up on that goal, and the evidence to prove that was known by the queen herself. She had nonetheless offered him an invitation. Just to talk, and... Possibly work for her? The troll was automatically skeptical of course, as a redblood, but Chiara knew immediately: She wanted him to go. Her reasons were mostly for money and fame, and if a slowly budding star gained attention from the military he'd probably rocket into it easy. But he never wanted this job in the first place.

Or... Did he? Did he really?

He knew from the beginning, from the time he was threatened into partnership that he didn't want to gain fame. Over time it just became something he was used to doing, something he could gain better money for as well as enjoy to some extent, when not considering the battle part of the event. Thankfully he was good at avoiding and dodging-- Slipping just out of the grasp of another was something he was basically trained to do since hatching. But it was only now that he was seriously starting to think about becoming more famous. His fanbase, while not large, was definitely not something to laugh at-- and he'd gained quite few more trolls betting on his moves than before. His achievements, even the though small, were gaining attention. Even by the Queen, he noted, remembering how even though she'd called his actions dumb, she'd noticed his work with the envelope. And sent him an invitation afterwards.

Truthfully, Zindel felt a slight amount of pride. As a kid, he'd have dismissed any idea of being something well known with a crude remark. Any possible comment would be brushed off. He wanted to stay low so no one could hurt him, so he wouldn't be noticed by the masses or maybe even culled. Zindel held the small belief that highbloods didn't like it when lowbloods gained positions of power. Huh... What he was actually curious of was what type of job the Queen would offer him, seeing as he was literally just a nice face on long legs. It was a weird concept to him, not unnatural but simply strange-- When Sir was offed, Zindel expected it from a mile away. She was powerful, too powerful, and she was dead because of it. Now, remembering the words of the small greenblood from 7 days ago-- Aconan, he dimly remembered-- Zindel was actually letting these hopeful thoughts of popularity slide into the back corners of his mind, something he didn't exactly want but had allowed himself to warm up towards.

Hope was becoming something he was actually allowing himself to believe in. Maybe it was because it arrived to him with magenta script on the letter. Maybe it was because this might've actually been a chance for greatness offered to him by a highblood. Maybe it was because it was happening to him, a slumwoofbeast. Either way, it brought him to the exclusive meeting with something a little better looking than his normal rags-- His black shirt with a black, shiny jacket and some nice pants Chiara managed to find for him in record time. His hair was tied back into it's normal pony, with a red scarf thrown on for appeal. His shoes clacked with every step he took, relaxing at the comfortable feeling of them, and the tall redblood was finally ready.

It felt awkward to be there without Chiara nearby. He felt like he was leaning on her as a crutch too much, but really, everything was so much simpler when she was around. As a redblood in a completely highblooded crowd, he stuck out like a sore thumb, especially with how tall he was. It took him a lot of time before he was finally able to begin to walk through the crowd, sidestepping the bumps of the popular, grip on the invitation tight as he felt his hands dampen with sweat. He managed to get through with minimum force, not pushing back on those who pushed him but merely allowing the current of the crowd take him to the black velvet rope that marked the entrance of what would be the rest of his night.

Zindel released a nervous breath before showing his invitation, glancing to the side before recognizing three trolls-- Teens, like him-- From the dinner. A purpleblooded juggalo, a stylish blueblood, and... the greenblooded commander. Kur... sha? That was what Aconan had said, right? Maybe. He wasn't really sure. They all seemed acquainted already, something Zindel didn't think he could deal with at that exact moment. He was already rattled enough that he'd be interacting with the Queen within the next few minutes. So he simply stayed quiet, keeping his face neutral, hands stuffed into his jacket pockets, hoping he didn't attract as much attention he probably already had by this point.

A familiar face – good. It was no other than the commanding officer of the rebel assault, Kursha Vidari. She felt a sort of kinship with him right away, finding his successes and failures in his campaign somehow similar to hers. She did follow his command, after all, and as far as she was concerned “killing them all” was a fine plan and the contingencies were set up to drive them into the swamp. They wouldn’t last long out there. It made her inwardly giddy, and she turned to him with a needly grin.

“Kursha Vidari. I do look great. You are also looking as netted and militaristic as usual, though I highly doubt you will be doing a significant amount of disguising and hiding in your environmentally secretive jacket. None the less, I survived and am here now, and so are you. Happy miracles.”

The brief conversation allowed her to settle. She folded her arms across her torso and scraped at her jacket sleeves. As his invitation was regarded, Tamiya spotted Eostre. She gave her a short wave.

“Eostre. I am lovely. I see you are also recovering – I should assume you have received no side effects from my healing touch.” She wiggled her metal fingers and replaced them on her arms. The unique injectors were practically magic to Tamiya, regardless of how aware she was of having to refill them with special healing substances with each charge. “I must say… It is quite something to see us all here. This, I’m sure, means greatness for us.”

She scanned the room. Sarcel was a notable newcomer, arriving with the redblood – Alifax? Who she had caught Sarcel canoodling with at the party. Also present was a practically invisible younger troll, another redblood. Her lips pursed. He was with Chiara; his motives were mysterious and his blood called him into question. He was not to be trusted.

Kursha:
The doorguard glances at your weapon, but seems uninterested in confiscating it, and tells you to "Carry your own stuff.".

Everyone else:
The doorguard checks your invitations, nodding you through (and giving Tamiya the side-eye for her creative moniker.)

--

After the arrival of the last trolls, the doorguard tucked the invitations away. "Follow me." Striding off down the hall they lead the party through a few grand hallways, up a large flight of stairs, and eventually to a large block on the third floor of the sprawling hive. While the highblood decorations cluttered together and fought for space in the lower floors, the third was as stark and bare as a lowblood's hive - clearly not intended for public reception. Pushing open the double doors leading into the room, the doorguard stepped back and nodded the party through.

Inside was a large circular table, with seven chairs ringing it. Sprawled in the one directly across from the door, Regina glanced up as they swung open, a small mountain of paper in front of and around her. Today it seemed the empress was in good spirits, as her smile threatened to split her face. After all, she thought to herself, this is what I've been waiting for. Here's where it pays off. About glubbing time. Shoving the document she was laboring over aside, she straightened herself up in her chair and beckoned the party over with both hands. "Hey hey hey! Good to see you all. Come in, sit down. Great that everyone's on time. We got so much to talk about."


Next give-or-take-a-day due date: the 19th. Or if everyone gets their posts in early, then whenever that is! I'll respond individually to any direct greetings to Regina beforehand, but she'll start her real talk on that day. If you need one-or-two-more-days to post when that comes around, please pm/im me to let me know! Thanks.

Zindel followed along the others, not really feeling in-place with the group but not saying much, eyes lowering as he pushed his hair away from his face and shuffled from foot to foot. Seeing the blueblood who'd tried to help him from before from the dinner party, Zindel felt a little better, but she seemed more occupied with the rest and Zindel wasn't sure if he could even approach her-- He didn't think she really meant it, anyways. As they entered the room, there was a large room with a big table, and 7 chairs other than the head-- Which was occupied with the very same person who'd sent the note. Zindel could feel his hands get damper. He tried to calm himself, but now he was actually thinking about why he was here in the first place. This type of place-- It just wasn't his scene, neither would it ever be. But he wanted to believe it could be. So he set his jaw and relaxed himself, offering a short wave to the Queen as well as a slight bow of his head. "Hello, Your Highness." He rubbed his elbow lightly before swallowing. He didn't really feel alright, but growing up around the leering gaze of a aggressive blueblood helped him with not shrinking as he spoke to the queen. "I-Thank you. Uh, for inviting me, that is. Surprising, but well received." He then moved to claim his place-- Not too near, not too far, next to no one so far. He kept quiet and trained his eyes on lap-- other than this, nothing. He was still nervous, of course, but less frazzled. His curiosity only grew from there...

Sarcel wasn't really surprised at the group that had gathered here, not entirely. Kursha was to be expected anyway, and Tamiya she could see—even Eostre. The other redblood? She narrowed her eyes, but didn't say anything. Regina had invited them all here for a reason, and she wasn't about to doubt Zindel's role in all of it, despite what happened at the party.

But she was silent while they took their seats, standing ridged by the door. Should have done what long ago? What should change? Questions, answers, questions, answers... or rather a lack of answers, but either way. She'd get them soon enough. At least it felt somewhat humbling to hear that from the Queen; the honor was all hers, huh?

Well, without further ado, Sarcel finally stepped forward, boldly taking one of the seats closest to the empress. Not good enough for an actual invitation, huh? Her arms were folded, posture having since relaxed, but decidedly defensive—for the moment, anyway. It was more personal than anything, really. She was just done being Pathetic.

Actually, most of her awkwardness came from her lack of words. What did you even say in moments like this? It felt strange addressing her as Your Highness, especially after Eostre refered to her by name—but were they really that chummy? Regina sure was acting like it.

"Regina Marian. A pleasure." truthful, cordial, formal, but still personal. A+ work there Cincil. "As is with the rest of you. I'm glad to see you in good health, Eo', Aiguma." aka rest of you as in not-Kursha-or-Zindel-but-mostly-Kursha-Vidari.

Tamiya pressed her lips into a line – an effect that was fairly unnoticeable considering her dramatic painted-on expression. She tread forward past the doorguard and observed the round table. Trolls were already making their way to their seats. As a circular planar device, this set-up had some sense of unity among the trolls. No one would be set last, farthest away, or overlooked. Regina herself was denoted by her paperwork, but it was a far cry from being “the head” of the table.

She was uncharacteristically quiet, not offering the queen anything but a sharp nod. After a brief moment, the greenblood spoke into her spongeclot. She turned to him and laced her hands in front of her mouth in turn.

“He is a lackey of the unpredictable spitejester, Chiara. As you may recall, he wrote unsavory ******** at the party and was thusly nubshamed. It is quite interesting as to why such a troll would be considered for a meeting of prestige such as this. I know nothing else about him other than his apparent appreciation for large pants.” Something she could, at least, appreciate.

Tamiya noticed the spot next to Kursha and sat down gingerly. She wondered if she too should take a mirthful approach to her sitting position.