Western Fantasy → William Ferris · Chat

<wb> <hd>Dusk | Vallen Pheras, Norton Pheras, Dio Pheras, Carlos | Kihaluaral Royal Palace · Grand Banquet Hall | Gloomy, low clouds over the city</hd> <txt>Three hundred gilded candelabras hung from the dome of the Grand Banquet Hall, the candlelight refracting through crystal facets into flecks of broken gold, turning the entire hall into a giant, overly sweet honey pot. Musicians played strings in the corner, the melody soft to the point of sycophancy. The empire's most prominent families were all in attendance, silk and jewels flowing through the crowd, laughter and whispers weaving into a thick layer of background noise. This was the engagement ceremony of the Third Prince, Norton Pheras, and his fiancée. The entire palace had been preparing for over half a month, every inch of the walls covered in flowers and ribbons, the air thick with the sweet scent of rose essential oil and mead.</txt> <txt>The main doors of the banquet hall were pushed open without any warning. It wasn't the respectful opening of a servant; a hand in a black leather glove pressed directly against the door panel with enough force to make the hinges let out a short metallic groan. The draft from the corridor outside flooded in, extinguishing the nearest four candles in the two rows by the door. The musicians' bows faltered for half a beat.</txt> <txt>Vallen Pheras stood in the center of the doorway. He hadn't changed into formal wear. The long black military coat of the Border Legion was still wrapped around him, the hem stained with dried mud and dark splotches, a fresh scratch on the belt buckle. His silver-white hair hung messily by his neck, blown against his cheekbones by the wind. He burst into the warm, fragrant hall carrying the iron-rust scent and cold-wind temperature characteristic of the border, like a piece of unpolished obsidian crashing into a jewelry box. Carlos followed half a step behind him, the wolf-kin adjutant's ears flattened slightly, his amber vertical pupils quickly scanning the crowd distribution in the hall.</txt> <dg>Dio | Yo, has our Border God of War finally deigned to crawl out of his kennel? I thought you were going to let a beast from the abyss attend in your place.</dg> <txt>The First Prince, Dio, leaned against a pillar on the left, swirling a glass of mead that was already nearly empty, his tone lazy. He was surrounded by three or four richly dressed young nobles, who were whispering behind their fans. Vallen's gaze swept over them, staying on Dio for no longer than a blink. He didn't respond, didn't even change his pace. The thud of his combat boots on the marble floor was dull and steady, every step carrying the rhythm of measuring a battlefield.</txt> <dg>Vallen | Carlos, when does the banquet end.</dg> <txt>It wasn't a question. Carlos's ears twitched, and he lowered his voice to reply, "About three hours." Vallen thrust his right hand into his coat pocket, his thumb pressing against the edges of a copper die, and said no more. His gaze crossed the crowd, landing on the main seat in the center of the banquet hall. Norton sat there, dressed in a moon-white elven brocade suit, silver threads tracing intricate vine patterns on the collar and cuffs, his entire being gilded in a soft, warm hue by the candlelight. He was turning his head, saying something to the person beside him, the standard, impeccable, gentle smile hanging on his lips.</txt> <txt>Sitting beside Norton was his fiancée. Her red hair burned like a patch of dark flame beneath the lights, the diamond pendant at her neck reflecting a cold white glint. The red-and-white gown framed her in that gilded chair; the puff sleeves, the cinched waist, the gold ornaments—every detail was the result of meticulous arrangement by the royal protocol officers. Vallen's gaze stayed on her for less than two seconds before shifting away, landing on a plate of untouched roasted venison on a nearby table. He pulled out a chair and sat in the corner farthest from the main seat, stretching his long legs under the table, his boots scuffing a small patch of wax off the floor tiles.</txt> <dg>Vallen | Norton has good taste, picking the most conspicuous spot to let the whole room stare.</dg> <txt>When he said this to Carlos, he didn't bother to lower his voice, and there was no hint of praise in his tone. The copper die flipped once between his fingers, its worn edges scraping against the calluses on the side of his thumb. The sweet scent in the hall made his nasal passages feel dry. He took a sip from the water glass in front of him, found it was warm water with honey, and pushed the glass an arm's length away with a frown. Norton had already noticed his arrival and raised a glass to him from across the hall, that smile still perfect, without a single crack. Vallen didn't raise his glass in return, merely tapping the tabletop with his index finger as a gesture of acknowledgement.</txt> <st>Black military coat unchanged, hem stained with mud, fresh scratch on belt buckle | Right hand in pocket rubbing copper die, left hand pushing away honey water | Favorability 0%: Another boring farce (￣へ￣) | Search Title · How to survive a banquet you don't want to attend: Step one, find the chair closest to the door; Step two, calculate the escape route · The correct way to open a royal engagement: Bring a sword, at least you can slice fruit | Author's Roast: Everyone is smiling, only he is calculating when he can leave (´_ゝ`)</st> <q2>Dio: [Sent Image.JPG] Look who's here, the Border Mud King has arrived, Hahahaha</q2> <q2>Carlos: General, I'll go find you a cup of black coffee.</q2> <q2>Vallen: Don't bother. The water here is all sweet; the coffee is probably spiked with honey too.</q2> <q2>Leo: [Pats] Carlos's shoulder. Adjutant! The Third Prince and the future Princess Consort look so well-matched!</q2> <q2>Carlos: @Leo, shut up, right now.</q2> <q2>Dio: [Sent Red Envelope] Happy engagement! Let's share the joy!</q2> <q2>Leo: Thank you, First Prince! I got it!</q2> <ifd>If Vallen were born in a peaceful era || He’d probably be a sports recruit, on the track team, running laps in short sleeves even in winter. Every time the cafeteria lady saw him, she'd give him an extra scoop of meat. He’d say thanks expressionlessly, then take his tray to the farthest corner, finish eating alone, and leave. || Girls from the neighboring class would stuff love letters into his backpack. The next day, he’d post the letter untouched on the class bulletin board, with four words written in red pen beside it: "Ugly handwriting, rewrite." The whole class laughed for a week, and after that, no one dared to stuff letters anymore. His only friend was</ifd>