Welcome to Gaia! ::

Name: Viltre
Race: Pure-blood Leaf
Gender: Male
3 Base Traits: Quick-tongued, sly, well-meaning.
Personality (Mask): A friendly, outgoing young man, if just a tad shifty. Like many used car salesmen in the distant past, he mirrors others and strives to leave them smiling, if not bubbling over with mirth. After all, people busy laughing aren't usually taking the time to read a contract. To more savvy individuals, Viltre seems like the sort of young rascal that will pay with gold that goes green after a week, though not the sort to let people get hurt. This is a mask to set people at their ease, or at least make them uncomfortable for different reasons than his real face would.
3 Base Traits: Quiet, devoted, pragmatic
Personality (Face):He works very hard at his 'mask' persona. Without it, he has difficulty expressing any sort of strong emotion, rare as that has become. Viltre was raised to believe himself an asset of his family, and thus that his own well-being is of no more importance than, say, his hand. Of great use, certainly, but in no way vital to his survival. To be sacrificed without hesitation if the need arises. Protective by nature and by nurture dreadfully practical, there is very little he would not do to ensure his family's well-being. Swindling, burglary, forgery, libel... even the occasional spot of violence doesn't ruffle his sensibilities, if it's necessary and smoothly done.

Description: Reddish-brown hair, green eyes, slightly darker of skin and crystal than most Leaf folk. The family crystal arrangement developed on his forehead, vaguely reminescent of a paw. Hair is kept short, no lower than the nape of his neck at any time. Large, especially for an earthling, standing around 5'7 and rather slender, despite a wide frame. When wearing his mask, keeps a look of chirpy mischief about him.
Clothing: Loose brown trews, sandals, a pale green sleeveless shirt, a yellow scarf. Nothing restrictive, and importance is placed upon ease of movement. At night, dons a reed cloak for warmth.
Accessories: Wears a red sash hiding a pair of knives, for practical purposes. Keeps the family pendant around his neck at all times, as a reminder.
History: Second (and illegitimate) son of the Kavensei line, he has grown up with responsibilities. At about five years, his mother, Jenesa, died in childbirth. As she was his father's mistress, that left his raising up to the man's wife. Though she hated his mother and held her get in contempt, she wasted little time in molding this vulnerable, quiet little boy into a tool for her son's advancement. He was taught that he was only a piece of the living thing that was his family. A hand, perhaps, or an arm. Working on him quietly, she instilled fierce loyalty to the family, along with tricks to lying and keeping secrets. Viltre learned these tricks well, and by the time he was ten, she had him running 'errands' of a shady nature for her.

To the rest of the family, he went through a short period of mourning, after which he began learning the trade of a scribe. It looked to help, as he began smiling again. Whenever his siblings needed a smile and someone to listen, they would find him. And if they needed help, he would be only too happy, even if he was busy. The kindness, the regard, these were not ruses to gain trust, as he quickly became fond of every sibling born, even if they didn't much care for him. Mask or no mask, he remained especially close with Acyn, being only two months apart in age.

In this way, years passed. He became more deeply involved in the seamier side of the family's business. The backroom deals, theft, forgery, blackmail... Even 'accidents' weren't out of the question, though only at great need. These have taken their toll on the young man, though the mask only grew more believable. On paper, he is the family scribe, keeping records in good order. Papers lie more smoothly than tongues. By his 18th year, he's become an adept in a few less-than-honorable skills, such as deception, disguise and going unnoticed. At present, there isn't much that his siblings would recognize if ever he took off his mask. He is a dutiful son and brother, and there is little he will not do for his family.

Rp thread log

A lesson in people.
Aelyn/Viltre
Link.
5 pts

Take it easy.
Niiemh/Viltre
Link.
5 pts

Tendaji Tricks
Niiemh/Viltre
Link.
5 pts

Thanks for the assist.
Tiam/Viltre
Link
5 pts

Solo: 1200+ words
4 pts
Link

Class choice solo: 300+ words.
1 pt.
Link

Growth solo to stage 2.
500+ words.
Link.

-‐-----------------------
Of Cloth and Caravanners.
Faylen/Viltre
Link.

New Years 2020 pts (4)

Friends and Waves
Solo, 1042 words

Fortune, Fortune, Smiling Fate.
Sarnai/Viltre
Link
5 pts

Old Lessons
Solo, 975 words

Repercussions, Revisionisms
Solo: 1278 words

Comings and Goings
Sarnai/Viltre
Link.
5 pts.

Spin, Spider, Spin
Fajra/Viltre
Link.

Runs in the Family
Terrwyn/Viltre
Link.
5 pts.

Miscalculation
Sarnai/Thalassa/Viltre
Link.
5 pts

Conflict of Conditioning
Solo, +Merle: 1840 words.

Of Kin and Kindnesses
(Niiemh/Viltre)
Link.
5 pts.

Mail Call (for help)!
Solo, 548 words

Aftermath
Solo, 326 words

‐-------------------------------------------------------

Like He Never Left (Sorin, Viltre), Tale
Link.
5 pts.

New Ground (Variel, Viltre), Sauti
Link.
5 pts.

A Local Disaster (Variel, Viltre), Sauti
Link.
5 pts

[WE]Leads and Lacerations (Variel, Viltre), Sauti
Link.
5 pts.

The Hangover (Variel, Viltre), Zena
Link.
5 pts.

Sink My Teeth In (Variel, Viltre), Matori
Link.
5 pts.

Loading the Dice (Solo), Matori
Link.
1 pt

Velvet Rain, (Viltre, Variel, Einsol, Ushiwa) Matori
Link
5 pts

Velvet Green (Einsol, Variel, Viltre) Matori
Link.
5 pts

Ova Excludi (Einsol, Variel, Viltre) Matori
Link.
5 pts
Ill Litany (Einsol, Variel, Viltre) Matori
Link.
5 pts.

Long Expected Postmarks (Solo)
2 pts

Target Inbound (Alizeh, Einsol, Elaxi, Saeruin, Ushiwa, Variel, Viltre), Oban/Matori
Link.

(Current solo count: 1271 )

Solo.

Viltre slipped airily through the halls, smiling his sly smile. Other smiles had other uses, a shining grin for brightening someone’s day or letting someone know they screwed up somewhere with a smirk. This one communicated in no uncertain terms that he was plotting his next big trick. Someone had got too full of themselves, or done something that crossed a line where he could see it, and the secondboy of the House was going to make his play at balancing whatever scales he saw askew. For all his impish mischief, there was a fairness to him. Might well have come from his work as a scribe. Figures failing to add up tended to spark investigation and words finding their way to the right ears. As he passed, servants of the house stood aside, perhaps looking after him, examining their own recent actions. Other, braver employees might roll their eyes and get back to work. The pranks never caused harm, never went so far as to injure or irreparably break something. No no no no. The next-eldest child was never cruel without need, and even then only so far as served to make his statement. Balance. That was the key thing.

Broadly speaking, this was all rather close to correct. Most of it even true! The tiny thing that turned truth to lie here could be called ‘context’. The door to his tiny scriptorium closed behind him, heavily insulated against sound, as were the walls. The room itself wasn’t that small, only there were so many records, ledgers and assorted papers taking all the room that little remained for occupants. That suited its’ usual occupant right down to the ground. The less space, the less other people wanted to come in and root through it all. The less people dug through the Kavensei ledgers, the less chance they would discover the little discrepancies here and there. All accorded in other ledgers or records, of course, under close-to-correct names and dates. No fool, their bookkeeper. He’d merely asked himself: “If I wanted to ask awkward questions about our finances, where would I look?” There remained earmarks, for them as knew what they would want to find, to be sure. Nobody was perfect, let alone the hand manipulating the numbers. He wasn’t even a man grown yet! Not legally, anyhow. Viltre hadn’t committed everything to memory. That would have been dangerous. Not only for the value of that sort of knowledge, but because he was expendable.

Right now, he was fishing through the northeast sections, wherein lay the service books. His cute little siblings needed teaching, and merchants couldn’t teach everything. But a skilled tradesman’s time was valuable. They deserved fair compensation, as did any employee or contractor. His mother, Merle, saw to it that the expenses for the House were laid atop his desk every week, at the most. In this case, he needed to check something specific. Dates, potentially specific times. Anything to pin something down, a nagging doubt in his head. This was the secondboy’s own filing system. It didn’t take long. The thick volume under his fingers soon blossomed into something shy of secrets. Not knowledge that could hurt, just things that certain people didn’t want others looking into. People like Merle. Viltre himself wouldn’t have looked twice, saving that Tiam lad who’d brought the results to his attention. Dancing instructors, when Merle hadn’t the time to see to it personally. Dates here, here, down to the approximate time of day. And the frequency of these sessions… His little sister would be sent off soon, and this confirmed the suspicions. A nod to himself, and he shut this ledger, replacing it and retrieving a smaller one. Here, he took up his reed pen and set a fresh sheet of paper atop the desk. Numbers needed copying down. Names. Dates and items.

That little bit took the better part of an hour. The tall young man’s chores had ended earlier, so he had the free time necessary. Paper, wax, a seal. Paper, wax, a seal. Paper, wax, a seal. Several copies came into being before evening bell rang over the House, calling the residents to the last meal of the day. Supper ran unusually quiet, with Father off and Noamh trying to get as much time with his twin as possible. Their elder brother did what he could to ease that difficulty, even if Merle rapped his knuckles at one point in his stoogery-routine. It reeled back a bit, less in fear for his hands than attracting her attention afterwards. The boy had places to be after dark, and she no business in tracking him. None at all, knowing what he now knew. It hadn’t gone too far yet. But he knew his mother. It wouldn’t be too long.

Tale got up there in temperature during the day, shade or no shade. If you lacked cookware, you could fry eggs on a nice flat rock once it hit midday. At night, now, things went the other way. Heat dropped like a stone, just shy of a snap-freeze because there wasn’t enough moisture in summer. Winter, at least, was bearable in either the dark or day. Even if you were sometimes living in a warm fog when it didn’t pour down rain. In either main season, the woven-grass cloak Viltre donned had a practical purpose. More to the point, it obscured the outline of a person, making it more difficult to tell exactly what someone might have been looking at in the dark. The hood he wore beneath it helped, as did his scarf. So swathed, he might have been anyone walking the creaking bridges at night. No particular wish to be spotted and interrogated had the wanderer, so he ducked through alleys, taking the less visible routes he’d studied. Once or twice, care needed taking to avoid a ruffian or two, out late for late pickings. No time to get into a scrap; there were deliveries that needed making.

First, a humble wagoneer’s station, down by the roots of the trees. The city winding around them made for a uniquely 3D web for traffic. People were supposed to use the stairs or ladders, sure. Then logically, someone nimble could very nearly climb all the way up or down, with a good sense of direction and a little luck. Wasn’t flying, but for all intents and practical purposes, it might as well have been in this sort of town. A knock on a certain door produced a bleary-eyed man by the name of Shank. Not the most reputable title, but he’d come by it honestly. A letter was handed him, and instructions in a low voice. It was the tone that got the career wagoneer to straighten up and take notice. Unlike always, there was no jest in Viltre’s familiar voice. No laughter in focused green eyes. There was a light in the boy. That was clear to anyone that dealt with him. It was snuffed now, and one could almost feel colder next to him. The only conclusion wary Shank could draw was that something had set his usual contact near to murderous. If it got him taken seriously, Viltre didn’t mind leaving that impression at all. He had other stops to make. A pouch of coin changed hands, and a calm young man left the wagoneer to sleep, debauchery, or whatever took his fancy. Viltre had places to be, blackmail to arrange, and siblings to protect.

Growth Solo.

Viltre is doing all that he can to help his family prosper. Even if that prosperity needs to come at the expense of someone else's happiness. Or in this case, potential happiness.

Aelyn had only delayed his errands. It was in no way wasted time. His cute little sister was always worth a few hours delay, by her elder brother's reckoning. She'd been working so hard to sneak up on him, too! An admirable effort, by any measure; she'd actually kept up with him on a market day. While he was crowdweaving, even! Viltre might have been disappointed professionally, but she hadn't been at this half as long as he. Wouldn't have been fair to hold her to the same standards. Of course, had she been trying now, the whole thing could easily go to pot for the both of them. Aelyn might get lost looking for him, and draw inconvenient attention in the process. A seam in a tree-limb had never been the best place to draw attention to oneself. Especially if one happened to be climbing somewhere one might be unwelcome. Like, for example, someone else's house while they slept.

Not to steal anything, no no no no. Not tonight. Tonight, he had a gift to deliver, discretion being key in the delivery. Nothing harmful, nothing even stolen. Well, perhaps borrowed, as the owner would certainly get it back before long. The mark slept in the room next door, these days. Someone the intruder's father had been in heated discussion with, mere days before. His wife, a handsome shifter woman of admirable repute, would deliver it. A good reputation, yes, and high temper. Green eyes swept the room as their owner slipped in. Her breathing hadn't changed, and no shifts in the air... yes, all was clear. Her habit was to grab the toiletries from a small roof-hung hammock, have a wash, and come back to dress for the day. She and the rich merchant she'd had the bad taste to wed slept separately now, their chemistry frozen. A note, addressed to his mistress, and the ring his wife had 'lost' weeks back, just happening to fall to the floor when she woke... And from her own bed, even... Just the sort of spark the house needed to go up in flames. Evidence planted, the boy sidled back up against the window, watching, waiting, and, when the landing had cleared, slipping out without a sound.

The seam held all the way down, and once the Kavansei scribe's feet his bridge again, he strolled off into dry, chilly night. The work was done, and they'd hear the results come morning. The neighborhood would hear, come to that. There had remained a chance that this sordid little affair might stay quiet, even that the official divorce might be amicable if this revelation came naturally. That would not do. And just as negotiations for further trade deals had tilted against Viltre's house, too... Ah, me. If Father can't close a deal with a distracted man, then there's only so much I can do.

Old Lessons.

The matriarch of the Kavensei family was ill disposed to her husband's illegitimate children. This was no secret feeling. Their mother had been a usurper, a thief stealing her mate's affections! That she'd died birthing Terrwyn only robbed the faithful wife further! Now there were no proper targets on which to vent her hate, only children. And they might share her blame, but it had to spread out amongst them, diluted, the razor's edge rolled and dulled by lacking a single mark! She still demonstrated it openly, only holding her tongue around their father. As much as she disliked them, she loved her mate Vulir, in her way. He was not often about, but he looked, and he noticed things while he was home. So she took her revenge slowly, subtly.

Soon after Jenessa's passing, she took little Viltre aside and began whispering to him. Nothing to harm him, nothing to hurt. Vindicated as she was at the time, even she had some pity for a little boy who'd lost his mother. She told him to dry his tears, that his Da and Acyn needed him. That his little sisters and little brothers would need him. That he needed to be strong for the family. That the family needed him. Soft words, encouraging words, calming words, and the occasional token of affection. A hug here and there, murmured reassurances, nothing more than necessary, as he was still her child. From such seeds grew her hold over the secondboy, and from her lingering malice and icy hate came much else.

People are much less solid than they like to pretend. It's simple to break even tested warriors and the wise. Keep a man awake long enough, feed him the right drugs, tell him the right things, and you can get him to say anything, believe anything. All it takes then is patience and care. Children are softer, easier to mold. The young bend long before breaking, and can be kept that way to grow bent. Or crooked, if you like. Merle needed another hand, one she could trust. And for that, she realized, she needed someone she could sculpt from near the ground up. With a little boy clinging to her in place of his mother, she had one to hand, didn't she? And she needn't be cruel to him. No, no no. She needed merely nurture certain growths of personality, discourage others, trim those messy emotions… So it was that she raised Viltre, tending him as a gardener might a bonsai tree. Instructed him in things he would need to know. Writing, reading, arithmetics, forgery, speaking, body language, how to lie on every level. Soon he was making his father, siblings and half-siblings smile again, and smiling himself. Soon she had a neatly shaped tool that she never needed to fear. Merle was pleased when those messy emotions of adolescence smoothed over. Stronger measures had been required in trimming those, and it made no sense to be cruel to a loyal beast. She'd stolen the thief's firstborn from her, stolen who he might have been from him. And wasn't that a fine revenge on its own?

The trouble was, though she little realized it going forward, that the shaping scribe wasn't specifically loyal to her. True, she'd brought him up to do what needed doing for the family. She'd taught him how to keep it secret, layering lies and anchoring them to layers of truths. She'd taught him to read people, to find their levers and understand how all of their actions rippled out, caused others, even if he didn’t see them all at once. He'd had a fell practicality beaten into him as she took stronger measures in pruning traits she deemed undesirable, and cared for his own well-being as much as a craftsman might favor a particularly well-made tool. His loss would come as a detriment to the family, and it was to be avoided if possible. But that was just it. The chill fanaticism inlaid in his bones served the Kavansei family.
Not Merle herself.

She bade him watch and listen, so he saw and heard everything she did. Saw the marks from Niiemh's dance lessons, the flinch of self-loathing Noamh bore whenever she took his brother's misdeeds out on the girl. Heard the disdain she whispered into her own children for their half-siblings, did what he could to offset it with misdirection and foolish trickery. Reviewed her selections of marriage, noting the reputation and rumours surrounding each suitor and compiling blackmail against them. Just in case. The worse she got, the more Viltre looked at his 'Mother'. And he saw clearly, as he'd been taught. He'd been making Friends on his own time, and had been trading favors to have bundles of paper slipped here and there, or kept hither and thither. All awaiting a word, and words would overflow, drowning the matriarch under the weight of her own sins. Black marketeering, underhanded deals, threats, false evidence, scandals, muggings, even a few murders and worse. All under her order. All over his desk, and some at his hands. Slim fingers shuffled another bundle of woodpulp paper on his desk, the copies beautifully made. The redhead allowed himself a flicker of pride in a bit of work well-done, before slipping the originals back into their little black ledger. Soon it would come time to burn the thing; better not to leave evidence lying around where anybody could read it. Everything was in place, and several blinds up to obscure the tracks, should she come sniffing. Now all he needed to do was watch, and wait. She would go too far before long. She would harm the family, and the tall secondboy would protect it. It was what he was for.

Just like she'd taught him.
(Count: 975 words.)

Conflict of Conditioning.

It was an early twilight that evening. He passed through the crowds as though he were a passing wisp of smoke, some commonplace odor. Up and through the city of Yera he passed, stopping every so often to chat with someone at random, sometimes leaving a small gift in their hands, sometimes a friendly clap or pat on the shoulder. All he spoke to left smiling or with the serious faces of one with a job ahead of them. And jobs there were to be done, 'ere he reached his destination. His journey home, therefore, was unhurried, savoring its own sweet pace. Even despite the recent surprise, the house itself proved no barrier. Here was the secondboy, surely here to deliver the happy news to Merle. His sister’s children were safely delivered, and all was well. No one impeded him on this errand; who would? He strode into her office, the door closing behind him. More than one guard in the Kavensei house was a Friend, and with Friends at the door, he could take what time proved necessary. By happy chance, he’d caught her at rest from her work administrating the house’s affairs. His matriarch looked expectantly up from her tea, brows raised and mouth pursed. Viltre wore a smile, his mask perfectly painted on his flesh and speech.
"I heard a joke recently, Mother. Thought you might appreciate it. There once were two men. One rich, one poor. They both walk into the counting house. The poor man, why, he's turned away at the door. Lost everything, you see. The rich man gets everything he wants and no questions. So the poor man goes out and acquires a repeater crossbow. He comes back to the counting house. Now they're falling over themselves to do as he says. But not the rich man. He still thinks he's better than everyone. So he gets a bolt. Right. Between. The eyes." By the time his joke had finished, he stood before her desk, hands clasped behind his back. The woman blinked, blinked again, and narrowed her gaze, scrutinizing her living tool. When she spoke, her voice bore a chill.
“...That's not a particularly funny joke, Viltre.” The younger’s smile sharpened at the edges. "Well you know, Mother. Not all jokes are funny."
“Would you care to report, or are you expecting an attempt at humor from me also?” A sharp nod, and the smiling man took the seat meant for business discussion, for guests. He folded neatly into it, one hand atop the other in his lap, comfortable as a cat. “Certainly.

Terrwyn has given birth safely, and is in good condition. She’s had three sons, all fine and healthy. I’m told the whole thing went smoothly, all things considered. They are all on their way out of the country by now. You may want to send someone to tend to Finley, by the way; he’s come down with an unfortunate case of Invader’s Complaint.” Merle’s eyes blazed, cup clacking down on the saucer and both to the table. “WHAT? How could this happen?! And you allowed this? To your own sister, no less!?” “Of course I did. I arranged it. You set her up in a marriage with-” ”With an advantageous match!” “With an abusive wretch, who would teach his sons the same, and his daughters fear. She took steps to set herself a better suitor, and I to be sure their escape with their children would be neither endangered nor interrupted.” As they were alone, Viltre finally allowed the mask to fall away, his own expression going empty. “Your grudge is going too far, Mother. Father’s other children have, to this point, done nothing to warrant your hatred but exist. I will ask once, and only once. Let this go, and leave them be. If there cannot be love between us, let there instead be peace.”

”Just let it go. Just let that slattern’s get go as they will, rutting and stealing anyone they please. You’re too much like your parents.” Merle no longer bothered to hide her scorn, slithering through every word spat. Her graceful face had gone blank, eerily similar to her agent’s. Devoid of anything but an icy wrath. “After everything I’ve done. All the work I put into you, just to keep you from turning out like your father. Of course it would be your sister to disgrace the family first. Born from thieves and rootless scoundrels, how could your kin be anything else? To think my children call you brother. And now here we are, traitor. All my work for nothing. What is your next betrayal, then? How else are you wretches going to harm the Kavensei family?”

Like so many times before, Merle’s tool just stood there and took it. The words passed clean through, giving every detail that could be given. This time, though, not from any emptiness or placidity. The roiling of conflicting programming against programming and his own unfamiliar will gave birth to a rushing tide of responses. There were so many words fighting one another for control of his voice. So many hands grasping that they strangled the rest, choked the potential from his lips. Slowly, a smaller urge crept up past the invisible throng, sneaking right through the crowd of its brother sentiments. It sounded a cough, at first. Some sign of sickness, growing as it sought to dislodge. No, not a cough. A sob? Was it all too much, was he cracking? Twice wrong, twice and more. Little huffs of breath pushed themselves from his lungs, faster now, stronger now, and now properly shaped. Viltre laughed.

He laughed at the parallels, so obvious now. He laughed at the offense on her face, her incomprehension of the grand joke. He laughed at the patterns he could see clearly, going back before she’d even moulded him. The tall man hung onto the chair, face flushed and his hands knuckled white ‘round the armrest. He’d nearly bent double, it struck him so. There was no stopping this outpouring of mirth, he could barely breathe for it. The regal woman stared down her nose at the display, but took no step to stem it, all too aware that this suddenly unstable man was armed, somewhere about his person. As it wasn’t in her nature to keep silent in the face of mockery forever, however… “What new insolence are you on about? Hasn’t this been enough? If you’re too pleased with yourself to speak, perhaps I’ll go and retrieve Nii-” The chair crashing abruptly to the floor cut her off.
“O-hohoho no. Nohohoo… No this is too rich.” Another fit of giggles overtook her relative for a moment before he mastered himself, got a little more breath with which to form words. “You don’t get it a-at all, do you? What you did to me? What I am?” The mirth was slowing, steadily releasing his deep voice from its’ stranglehold. “I’m your son, Mother. Don’t deny it. I’m you. You made as close to yourself as anyone ever could be.”

Merle rose from her seat, tensing to run before he might do something foolish. The situation was deteriorating, and she no longer had the feel for anything but danger. Three quick steps to the side, around her desk, and- he was in her space. He matched the steps in perfect synch. The window behind her, the long drop down. The knife to her collar, green eyes wide and fixed on her own. No hesitation, no remorse, just cold calculation and freezing wrath behind them, a mirror to her own. The emptiness was full filled with it, from tooth to nail. In a voice steadier than anything felt here, he all but whispered to his maker. “Do not mistake me. I am furious. For the first time I can remember. I am still weighing your life against my siblings' happiness. Make any move, and that scale will tip.”

There was silence.

There was stillness.

Very softly, he spoke again. “Here is how our arrangement shall stand. Listen. You will not do harm to those I consider my siblings, by direct or indirect action again. You will continue to work and administrate our family’s assets and dealings, as you have. I will assist, nothing need change in that. You will not pursue Terrwyn or her children, nor send any ill. I know this, as I’ve just spent the evening fouling up our communications for the next month. We suffer a loss, but one easily recouped, which I count as cheap against my sister’s future. I know our systems. I know our deals. I know our contacts. I know our records front to back. And I have certain copies in other places, ready for delivery to the Chief and the Guard, should you disappoint me in this. Undoctored copies. And if by some means or accident they fail, I will drag you before man and spirit and cut your throat myself. You made me to be a tool for the success of this family, to guard it from ills. You have become such an ill, and I will protect it from you at need. I will have your word of assent on this deal, or you will die here, from an unfortunate fall.” His free hand slipped a piece of parchment from his sash, while the other swept down and knicked the pad of her thumb. Before she could relax, the knifepoint was again at the hollow of her collarbone. Parchment unrolled, revealing a contract to those specifications, prepared long in advance. “Make your mark on the line.”

Her back all but to the glass, and a blade to silence any cry, Kavensei’s matriarch could only stare hatefully. She resisted a moment, but soon pressed her bloody thumb to the line. Her son set it aside, stayed still a few moments longer, to let it dry. “Thank you. I am glad you can be reasonable about this. I would not seek immediate reprisals, either. The guards of the House are on my side. The servants are likewise in my camp. I’m the one that sees them paid on time. I’m the one that they come to when a relative is sick, when they need leave from the House. You gave me everything I needed to check you. You outplayed yourself.”

And tall Viltre stepped away, his mask rising to fill the space between them. The contract slipped back into his red sash along with the knife. “But where’s your smile, Mother? We’re never fully dressed without our smile, remember? Here. Let me tell you a joke, to get you started. Ahem! If you’d looked beyond yourself and your grudge for just a moment here, I could still have loved you. You’re the only mother I can even remember. And instead, you finally made someone understand exactly how you feel. Is this joke funny?”

(Word count: 1840.)

Aftermath

Not too long ago…

After hammering out new terms and stipulations to his deal with Merle, the scribe retired to his scriptorum. Ostensibly to get some work done, but that wasn't happening today. The backlog in the paper lake could wait. Its' usual occupant needed time to think, to process. Shoving it all away was no longer an option in the immediate sense. For the first time he could remember, Viltre had been angry. Really angry. Enough that his mask had cracked. I do not let my mask crack- …That's something she put in my head. That's one of her thoughts! Thanks to her I can't …! To no great effect, his fist thudded into smooth wood, their house being of the higher class style. Like many of the wealthy homes, this and other rooms had been built up against the trunk of the tree itself.

A few more blows to inoffensive plantlife did little more than bark his knuckles, but it gave the eldest Kavensei illegitimate something to focus on. Pain remained an effective tool for grounding the mind in the now. Not one he normally sought out, but the turmoil in his head wasn't shutting up on its own. Helped him get back to thinking more than curses. Alright, yes, she did my siblings a bigger disservice than I'd thought. Don't even have an equivalent for how petty her whole stupid grudge is. …But she wasn't teaching nonsense. Just driving herself with it. Need to go over my fundamentals. Reexamine what I know, what's useful, and what might hold me back. knuckles pressed to his sash, red smearing on red cloth. She'd turned him into a tool for the family. While she'd influenced him he'd likely have been inclined to help anyway. Viltre found himself in possession of skill; why argue with that? All that needed change was the misunderstanding that he was for Merle's good, not the family's…

(Word count, 326.)