Cupcake, a cookie girl arrives, following Mabelle.

Anne, a dangerously alluring Seraceni first mate, Owen, a meticulous Seraceni scholar arrive, following Dio.

Ballard, a Blackshore Servant arrives, following Romulius.

Rocco, the rascally assistant arrives, following Thea.

2 Valardin Knights arrives, following Cristoph.

1 Inverno Ensign, 1 Inverno Captain, Cornelius, a studious looking attendant, Cristoph arrive, following Tyche.

3 Ivory Shields arrives, following Patrizio.

Nox, a kitten black as pitch with star-dappled fur arrives, following Ophira.

Music in the room seemed to shift and waft through the open windows from somewhere else, dreamily floating as to not entirely dominate the space where so many dear and treasured are gathered. Fashionably late, knowing that Romulius and Dycard no doubt tried their best to keep everyone entertained whilst the married pair took their time in sharing binding vows at the Shrine of Mangata, they arrive none the less. Simple is Ophira, dazzling in an aeterna gown that brought out the brightest light in a darkened sky as it rippled and hugged lithe curvature. Sun kissed skin shimmered as if dusted by something pearlescent, a dance of starlight with each step. Hair unadorned and allowed to keep it's wild curls at hip was tossed over a shoulder, kohl lined eyes in a delicate sweep shift to rest on Aedric with a hidden depth of curious perusing before he carries her in further to the space where hazel eyes can alight on all with cherished affection.

"I apologize for making you all wait!" Radiant smile flourishing, "Lord Aedric had to help me secure my gown as it had gotten caught on a rock." And indeed, there was a little snag in the trail of sea foam silk, "Please help yourselves to food, drink, and conversation! Dancing will find your feet soon enough as the music shifts."

3 Ivory Shields leaves, following Patrizio.

Walking around together, would be Marquessa Tyche Inverno escorted by Duke Cristoph Laurent. There's a bit of a height difference here so occasionally he leans over to catch something that she says if the volume around them is too loud. They seem to be mid-conversation about something unimportant when they enter and he straightens up with a laugh and replies, "I guess so. It certainly does seem like it, doesn't it?" When Ophira and Aedric make their grand and fashionably late entrance, his eyes switch in that direction, taking the couple in. He leans over to say something quickly and quietly to Tyche before he gestures over to one of the tables. "Did you want to say congratulations to them or get something to drink and wait for the crowds around them to break?"

Having entered the dining hall a few minutes earlier, Romulius is clad in steel plate armor, ornamented in a grim enough manner to suit the manse's normal decor and his family's reputation - though, it seems, that Ophira's influence is already felt at the estate, the Ischian colors a stark contrast to the manor's normal dark blues and blacks. A cloak of ebon fur trails behind him, and above that flows a mane of equally dark locks that falls just below the shoulders, tamed more than they typically would be. At his arm is a naturally beautiful Lycene woman, dressed in silks, recognizable to those who have met her as Princess Renata Pravus. They stand by the refreshment table, where Romulius has been engaging whatever guests he was able to and offering polite nods to those he wasn't.

Mabelle arrives to the occasion right on time, setting a basket of Laurent goodies on the gift table. Clad in darkest black with colorful dawnstone, she arrives to the event escorted only by her girl in waiting. She tosses some smiles around, bowing her head in greeting to her Duke Cristoph. She beelines to scan the dessert table before trying to catch the groom and bride for a greeting.

Trailing the others comes Thea. She's been off mingling with a drink in hand, awaiting the couple of course. They're allowed to be late, who says they can't! Spying them when they eventually make their entrance, Thea offers a wink to both Ophira and Aedric. A slight smile on her lips.

Positioned near the door and having been acting as a sort of usher and doorman, Dycard deflates at the couples entrance and almost immediately drifts back into the crowds to sidle toward his brother and the booze laden table. He pours himself a drink before appearing at Romulius's side with narrowed eyes glancing about the room as he idly sipped at his drink. "Rom. Princess. I was starting to get a little anxious there - coming back from sailing just to get tossed to the wolves as a greeter again," he quipped with a grin.

Cornelius slunk out from the billowing shade of the dining room, nearest the beverage cart and serving tables to peer along at all the guests fondly and with a curious gaze as glass of brandy reached his mouth to grace his lips. He stole a look to his brother Aedric before whisking forward to see if he could gain audience with the lovely couple.

When Cristoph laughs at whatever quip was shared in their walk along the way, the redheaded Marquessa smiles, tilting her head to watch the crinkle of his eyes. But she, too, is distracted by the main event - the couple finally crossing the threshold. She takes them in, listening to the many options Cristoph poses for her. "Let's get a drink. There will be plenty of time to offer congratulations to Lady Ophira, and to /meet/ her new husband." She finds some amusement in the fact that she doesn't know one half of this joining. With a small arching to capture the whisper, both brows rise slowly. "Yes, a drink first. Then you can share." She draws her hand to his arm, giving the slightest tug to lead them toward a servant proffering beverages for the partygoers. She plucks one, hands it to Cristoph, and then takes another, and in the process of turning she spies Mabelle. "One of yours," she remarks to the Laurent Duke, in case he didn't realize his family was here! "I wonder if she brought them cookies."

Dio turns as Ophira enters, smiling with a rare, undisguised display of brotherly affection. The marquis, dressed in an elegant waistcoat displaying the unmistakable artistry of Whisper Selene, raises a glass of wine in toast to his sister and her new husband. Dio remains however in the back of the dinning room, while the newlyweds speak with their guests.

Perhaps not the most expected guest at the wedding, but Gaspar did his very best to fit in amongst sailors of all variety. Yes, there was still the Lycene flair to it all, but gone were the form-fitting silks and instead found loose fabrics whipping about in the slightest breeze. At his arm, the Blackshore admiral who he made very certain was just a half-step ahead of him all the way down to their seat, in order to properly show her off in that dazzling gown. The marquis wore that all too usual smile, roguish and subtle while he leaned down to whisper to his companion.

"Thank you again for the invitation," Renata says to Romulius, her hand tucked loosely in the curve of his elbow. "It's sad that it takes something like this to drag my nose out of my work." She's dressed in typical Lycene fashion for the gathering, a flowing dress of stained silk that starts just beneath the bust and falls in a gradient of the palest blue to a fair seafoam at its base. Her hair falls in a sheet of silk without kink or curl to the small of her back, and her eyes sparkle a little as she takes in the arrangement of the room. "I love the garlands hung from the chandeliers. A wonderful touch." She doesn't touch either the food or the drink as yet, but smiles when Dycard approaches. "You look very fine today, Lord Dycard, and look, there are the newlyweds." Her eyes skip to where Aedric and Ophira have entered.

<GM>
The room glitters with the fading light of the sunset a breeze coming from the sea to waft the spring air into the dining room and gently tug at loose dresses, long hair, and the linens hanging from the tables. The late arrival of Aedric and Ophira mean they are missing the majority of the setting sun but the final rays are lancing from the horizon as the sky shifts from red to purples and heavy blues. Whether the sight of the arriving newly weds or the well framed spectacle of the sunset gains the attention of the guests is mixed. Those that do watch the sunset though see a flash of green almost like a wink of light just before the last of the warm rays dip away and dusk begins.

Meanwhile the music had shifted with the couples arrival, one of the musicians must have missed a note because there is a souring flat note amongst the more melodical and pleasing symphony of background noise like a scratch in the ear of attentive listeners some of the conversation in the room pausing as if briefly stuttered by the distraction only to pick up once more. How could such minor burrs in the blanket ruin such a special day though, who could even notice?

Aedric, clean shaven and perhaps a shade less anemic than the evening before, arrives in Ophira's shadow. The mariner had been tasked with ensuring that the tail of her dress didn't catch on any additional stones or limbs en route from the shrine to the manor. Seemingly satisfied with himself, he lowers the fabric onto the floor and turns his attention to those assembled. The heavy bandage around his neck appears freshly changed, at least based upon the coloration, and though expression is somewhat dampened by dark circles beneath his eyes, the man's contentedness seems genuine. "Thank you all for joining us in celebration," he mutters, offering a small smile.

"I am grateful you could attend on such short notice, Your Highness, and that we might have saved you from being swallowed whole in the maw of a book on gardening." A nod is given to Dycard as he approaches, prompting Romulius to reach behind him for his own drink. "I will be glad to let uncle and Ophira to deal with the ravenous masses, for now." Then, to Renata, a laugh and a wry grin. "You should have seen what it looked like a week ago."

"Are you and Lady Ophira good friends?" Cristoph wonders as they make their way through the guests, some small amusement playing over his lips as she leads the way to the servant with drinks. "Thank you," he murmurs and accepts the glass, lifting it to his lips and taking a moderate swallow of the contents. "Ah, yes! That's Lady Mabelle, my cousin." His friend hand is lifted so that he can wave to her in passing, a dry laugh escaping him at Tyche's last words. "Possibly. She's always very generous with dessert treats." While they stand and enjoy their drink, there's the minor musical issues. He makes a bit of a face and puts one hand hand to his ear and rubs it before glancing in the direction of the musicians.

Scylla stands as still as a statue beside Marquis Gaspar, hands sheathed in soft black silk folded loosely in front of long, iridescent duskweave skirts. Pale pewter eyes shift to the left to behold the newlyweds, their coloration all the more striking lined by an application of stygian kohl over the lids. The brief flash of a smile is mildly tinged by some amusement at Lady Ophira's professed reason for being fashionably late, but otherwise her pale face reveals little else in the way of emotion. When at last the Blackshores of the hour complete their walk across the room and dismiss everyone to drinking and dancing, the admiral turns her attention to the man standing at her side, and just in time, too. Whispered words tickle her ear, and she inclines her head further to better listen to his voice beneath the din of conversation. A stray whip of wind rustles her loose skirts and tousles the strands of her brushed and styled umber hair, sending cascades of shiny waves billowing about her black-clad presence. A strand or two of hair obfuscates her vision, rousing some irritation as she raises hands to smooth them away.

Being present by the table not so far from Tyche, Mabelle remarks to her with a smile, "Of course there are cookies in there, among other things", she winks as she catches Tyche's quip and adds, "Marquessa Inverno. It has been far too long. I pray you have been well?". A glance is cast in the direction of Cristoph with a playful smile before her ear twitch at that missed note. When the groom and bride pass in her viccinity she turns, pressing a soft kiss to Ophira's cheek, "Congratualtions, my friend", a smile is cast to Aedric as well.

Thea shifts over to people she knows. Marquis Gaspar, Lord Dycard. Lady Maebelle." She nods her head as she takes a drink, a smile appearing,"How are?"

Thea casts a glance at the band at the odd note, really not sure if that was on purpose or not. Really, what does she know about such.

"I am more acquainted with her Marquis than with her," Tyche admits, but then corrects herself, "Her /old/ Marquis. I know the Blackshores little. I just enjoy watching individuals pledge themselves to a life of commitment." There's humor in her voice, but maybe she's telling the truth? Some people really like weddings! Mabelle hears her cookie remark, and this brings her attention to the magnanimous Laurent. "Lady Mabelle," she smiles warmly to her. "It has been ages. I still remember in my first weeks in the city, you accosted me with cookies and made certain I would crave them always. I was very impressed with the hooks you got in me." She grins up to Cristoph, her hand still resting at the crook of his arm. "I actually know your cousin better than I know the bride or her groom." The little musical foible has her glance toward the musicians, but it passes, and so she takes a sip of her drink and returns her attention to the pair of honeyed nobility by her side.

"I can quite imagine what it must have looked like," Renata laughs to Romulius, though that flash of green light caught in the periphery of her vision has her laughter fading quite quickly. It's gone before she can focus upon it however, and it could have been a reflection or a thousand other things so she doesn't make mention of it, nor does she make mention of the discordant strike of a note that just catches her ear. Instead she lifts her chin in Aedric and Ophira's direction. "You'll have to introduce me to your uncle when they mingle this way. Lady Ophira too, since I've only known her from a distance."

Gaspar checks perception and performance at normal. Gaspar is successful.

Scowling as he glances toward the band, Dycard's hand tightens about the glass clutched as if in a gnarled talon. He offered a shrug to Romulius as his eyes drifted toward the door before making another cursory pass over the crowds as if looking for someone. "I think i'm with you. Already I tire of these crowds and hope to return to The Intrepid," he offered. Turning toward the refreshment table he refilled his glass - a bit more than three fingers - and ran his free hand to brush some hair from his eyes. "General. About ready for the fun to start I bet, huh?"

<GM>
One of the servants tending to the desserts makes their way towards the spot Mabelle is examining. The younger man perhaps in his early twenties and dark (it is blackshore afterall) linen attire tries to slip beside the Lady of sweets and take almost a half-dozen cookies from the platter to put into a napkin as discreetly as he can manage. He is trying to avoid eye contact with any of the guests near Mabelle or the dessert table as the last cookie is tucked into the napkin and he tries to bundle it up.

<GM>
As Thea (and some of the other guests) look to the band they see that one of the stringed instrument players is furrowing their brow, not playing at all as they are trying to tune their instrument with hushed plucks and fiddling with the string to tighten at loosen it. For some reason they seem unable to get the pitch correct but these are performers for the wedding of someone from the Bard's College and so they are so skilled and professional the others continue on without missing a beat.

Mabelle twitches her lips behind a glass of rum she has collected and mentions to Tyche, "I'm not sure my hooks got in well enough if I've not seen you in a year. Perhaps it is a family thing, though? I've not seen your uncle in long either". At the mention of which cousin she knows better, she teases Cristoph, "Was she talking about you or me?". At some point, she turns to scan the room, wiggling her fingers to Dio in the back with a bow of her head, but the servant distracts her a little with his cookie-monstering. She lowers her voice to him, "Are they have sugar deficiancy? because juice would work faster". Busted. But Mabelle would never stop someone on their path to sweets.

There is a cant of head, a piqued interest at the music as Ophira who is an instructor at the Bard's College debates whether she needs to have words but it flow sover her quickly as attention shifts towards the subdued Aedric at her side. The smile on her lips does not falter, however, as gliding with stride and purpose does the Siren of Setarco collects herself a goblet of wine. Thea is met with a laugh, sweet and musical with a kiss blown in the Malvici's direction before being swept up by the presence of Mabelle, leaning in to gift a press of lips to cheek in kind, "I'm thankful you were able to make it."

Then Scylla enters with Gaspar, thick lashes flutter wide in deliciously surprised shock, "Look at you!" Is exclaimed aloud before Ophira drifts away for a moment towards her brother, the quiet Pirate Lord met with a sweeping hug of arms, eyes shimmering as a kiss is swept adoringly to his cheek.

Romulius offers a nod to Renata. "Of course - I am sure that my father would be thrilled to meet you, as well." Mention of Cornelius changes the tone to one of mild exasperation, though a smile quickly forms back on his face. A hand falls to the small of the Princess's back, as he makes to lead her towards a part of the reception less busy than by the newly married couple. A look is shot towards the band, but his stride doesn't break as they make their way towards Scylla and Gaspar, offering a nod of greeting. "Marquis Tessere. Admiral. If I might introduce Princess Renata Pravus." He takes a half step back so that she might be at the forefront during the introduction.

"I don't think that I've actually met her or anyone from her house," he admits when Tyche say that she knows one person more than another. "That absolutely sounds like my cousin," Cristoph replies with a laugh as he glances to his cousin and the conversation swings in that general direction. He shifts somewhat, so that he can more easily face the two women as they talk. When Mabelle mentions she hasn't seen Tyche in a year, his eyebrows lift up and he turns to the Marquessa with what can only be described as a look. "Perhaps it's a familial trait," he comments vaguely.

"Lady Ophira's plan did work," says Dio to an attending Blackshore mariner, "but it took me two weeks to wash the tar from my hair."

"Three," chimes in Anne. A sudden jarring note from the music causes Dio to raise his head, just as Tyche mentions his sister's /old/ marquis. Dio scoffs loudly. "I'm not old," he adds in a low voice, as Anne, Owen and the Blackshore mariner laugh. Shaking his head, Dio then offers a bow to Mabelle, and takes another much need drink of wine.

When Ophira kisses him, Dio beams, and holds his sister affectionately a moment. "Congratulations, Ophira," he says warmly. "You look divine."

<GM>
The uninterrupted confiscation of a half-dozen cookies leads to the most curious outcome as the servant bundled them up in a napkin and proceeds to throw them away. Right out the window, just toss and flap the napkin and the cookies go flying. It's so quick and the servant so non-chalant about it than one might think it never happened at all. After the deed is done he begins to fold the napkin back up with a frown.

Meanwhile the violinist (or the fiddler?) manages to get the string to a point they accept and rejoin the quartet of musicians. There is a subtle shift in the melody and rhythm an almost forlorn sense enters the otherwise lively song. Some of the guests conversations proceed a bit slower, some bright smiles seem a bit dimmer, but it's such a perfect day. Who could notice?

The marquis was quiet and watchful, delighting in the colors--though..mostly blacks and those associated with Thrax--out and about. With the missed note from the musicians, a brow arched and a slight expression of distaste was found on his features. There were a great number of faces he recognized and perhaps a lingering look and a smile was given to those not spoken to in some time. To each greeting his way, it was returned politely and with a nod and smile, ever proper but just as casual and cordial. He clasped his hands behind his back as Ophira's shocked expression turned his way to settle on Scylla. "Dazzling, isn't she, my lady?"

"Lord Romulius--" A genuine smile again, bright and airy as he dipped his head and turned to Renata. "--a pleasure. Your highness, a pleasure to see you again." Another bow. "This is Admiral Scylla, leader of the much-heralded Blackshore fleet."

Taking cookies is one thing. Throwing them away is another. Nova steps out from an errant shadow and slides up to the Defenestrater of Cookies. "Why?" says she in a low tone to the man.

And while Rowenova is questioning the man, Mabelle is just staring, mouth agape. That is not ladylike. Cupcake pushes a finger under her jaw to shut it.

4 Redoubt Buccaneers, Luna, the Darkwater Assistant arrive, following Carita.

When the servant just throws cookies out the window, Cristoph watches. He starts to laugh. AH HEM. He covers his mouth with one hand.

Tyche laughs, perhaps too loudly, at the mention of not seeing someone in a year. "I was just going to make that observation," she remarks to the duke beside her when that laughter dies down. "I suppose we can make some observations about honey running slowly or something?" A beat, and then a confession, "I know very little about the properties of honey." She spies the servant with the cookies, but makes no effort to stop him, because she understands the draw. She doesn't, however, notice the tossing of cookies. A few murmured words are shared with Cristoph, which are interrupted by Dio being rather upset with her characterization of him. "Old as in former, Marquis! I would never suggest you were old as in years." She flashes a grin, and then returns her attention to Cristoph because he's laughing. "What?" she asks, but she doesn't really expect a response.

"Marquis Tessere, it's lovely to see you again. Admiral." Renata greets the pair at Romulius' introduction. "I'm afraid that I know so few faces here today. At least it has the advantage of showing me just how much of a hermit I've been." She's smiling, but that smile starts to falter, as does the conversation. Consternation furrows her brow since she never usually finds herself at a loss for words. "How strange..." she murmurs, more to herself than anyone else. "Perhaps I need a drink."

Cornelius glanced curiously as the servant, sharing a glance with Cristoph as he shook his head before stepping a bit more forward in the procession to where the couple were hosting guests. His cerulean gaze cast off in the distance to spy a familiar Marquis and the Admiral, followed by his son and a familiar Princess.

With a scowl, Dycard continues to sip at his drink while sulking near his brother. Following Mabelle's gaze he allows his head to list to the side to observe the servant before making his way over to the man. "Is there a problem here, my lady?" he asked pointedly of Rowe, glowering at the accosted servant, "I can have the man dealt with in short order if he's offended,"

Mabelle points her thumb at the window to Cristoph, "That is not funny. I'm going to have words with his Baroness." She shakes her head for a moment and regards Tyche, "I'm going to hold honey trials soon, perhaps if you can attend, you'll learn a thing a two, like how its flammable". Now where is the anticipated glare from Cristoph? Cornelius and Thea both receive a flash of a greeting as she lingers by, watching the cookie wars on the side.

There's a nod to Dycard as she chuckles at him,"Yes. Im afraid Im still not great with crowds,"nodding as her rum is refilled. Taking a drink, the Malvici makes a slight face. Hiding it behind the glass. Did she drink too much already--or?

<GM>
The young serving man looks at Rowenova with a blank expression than glances to the nobility and grabs the fellow commoners arm to draw her to the window and their backs to the nobility. Just commoner talk here no need to eaves drop. The napkin is unfolded and amongst the cookie crumbs in the linen is sickly green and blackish mold. How freshly baked cookies for this very day could have spoiled so thoroughly is a mystery but he murmurs back, "Don't want one of the nobles to see spoilt food. Don't even know how spoilt so quick."

Dio shakes his head at Tyche with a dark frown completely overpowered by his devilish grin. He takes another sip of wine and sighs. "Let me try another glass of rum, Mate," he says to a passing servant, handing him the unfinished wine with a look of disappointment in its flavor.

The familiar faces in the crowd are quickly outnumbered by the unfamiliar. Rather than initiate conversation or introductions, Aedric deflects these duties onto the better equipped Seraceni. His attention shifts to the band, whose musicians play a tune that he recognizes but cannot identify by name. It's there, though -- on the tip of his tongue. A clouded memory.

Mabelle checks composure at normal. Mabelle is successful.

Whatever it is that Gaspar whispers into the admiral's ear, it provokes her face to flush in response. A smile tugs at only one corner of her lips, painted blood red for the occasion, half-gracious for the paid compliment, half-dismissive of whatever truth there may be within it. And then Lady Ophira remarks upon her appearance in what can only be described as a drive-by exclamation, words loud enough to perhaps draw further undue attention to her change in attire this evening. A small sigh slips from between parted lips, but whatever exasperation she feels is summarily pushed deep, deep down so that she can properly address Lord Romulius and his date as they approach. "A pleasure to meet you, Your Highness. You both lovely," she murmurs politely, all the while bending to curtsey. When Gaspar introduces her in kind, she smiles up at him gratefully, then turns back to the couple. "I share your feelings, princess. I have all but clung to my date, here, hoping that he might carry all conversation for me." When talk rounds back out to her attire, the smile on her face fades only slightly, detectable by only the most perceptive of people. "I did not think wearing a dress would elicit such praise. Ah, thank you," she adds on, and then her pewter eyes dart away, anywhere else, so that she can recover some of her composure.

Cristoph has dipped down to quietly explain the situation to Tyche, but when he straightens up and Mabelle is pointing her thumb at him and telling him that it's not funny? He has to put his hand over his mouth, eyebrows raised upwards as he keeps his amusement at this bizarre situation underwraps. He clears his throat a time or two and then has it under control. "You could ask my sister Jael about the properties of honey. She once put out a proclamation begging people not to try and use it as a kind of fuel for fire." He catches Cornelius looking at him and lifts his hand in a quick wave of polite greeting. Even if they've never met.

Once introductions are made, Romulius gives a playful smile to Scylla and a nod towards her attire. "You look lovely, Admiral - I'm glad to see you enjoying the evening." At mention of a drink, Romulius is well capable of taking the hint, and disengages his arm from Renata. "Of course - a preference?" A tongue escapes to wet his lips, a look of displeasure shot at his own drink, still full in hand - little more than a sip taken from it.

Dio gets a kraken driftwood keepsake box from a white wooden daisy chest.

Cristoph takes a kraken driftwood keepsake box from a white wooden daisy chest.

Renata gets a kraken driftwood keepsake box from a white wooden daisy chest.

Tyche gets a kraken driftwood keepsake box from a white wooden daisy chest.

Thea takes a kraken driftwood keepsake box from a white wooden daisy chest.

<GM>
As some guests throughout the reception ask for different drinks or ask for a glass of whatever they were served earlier the servants are in a hurry to reply. Some of them look a little worried by the sudden requests and likely someone in the kitchens is checking the bottle or barrel for the cause. In moments replacements or changes in drink are proferred but to those that drink them they are still left unsatisfied. The new drinks are undeniably better, great really, but they aren't like the first round. There is a subtle and easily resistable craving for that earlier satisfaction in drink or perhaps food will do?

Mabelle's cheeks turn utterly red with the accusation of spoiled food. But when she turns around to see the basket was still sealed, the color comes down from her cheeks and she just observed the scene. She does look back at the platter, lifting a cookie, sniffing and tasting it. Seems fine to her.

Nova turns with her fellow servant and looks to the cloth and hmms quietly before up nodding her wolf-framed countenance. "I see. You did well. Thanks. That is really weird." She glances back to the party with furrowed brows, twitching just enough that they can be seen more without coverage from her lupine headdress. She eases up on that, though, turning back to the man. "Ok, well, we better go see if there is anything else. I will help you with the streamlined extraction if there is." And with that, she seems to team up with the other servant, even if this is not her House, to help out here and now.

Quirking a brow at the pair, Dycard shakes his head before drifting back toward Romulius. He takes another sip of his drink and fixes it with a curious, almost irritated, look before setting the glass down on the refreshment table and selecting a whiskey to sample before resuming his perch off to the side of his older brother, exchanging words with some of the serving staff about the goings on in the kitchens and the like.

An exchange of looks between Renata and Scylla for a moment and there was a fond touch, light as it was, to Scylla's elbow as he nodded to Romulius as well. "Admiral? Rum?" He made to move with the Blackshore lord to fetch more drinks for himself and his companion, but those words came out raspy and almost raw, as though his throat was dry and a distaste found its way into his move. Thankfully, his features were smooth and masked.

Mabelle takes a kraken driftwood keepsake box from a white wooden daisy chest.

Cornelius reached along to his brother first, grasping Aedric's shoulder with a fond smile as his brow marginally rose to meet the expression on his face, "And how are you feeling? Many congratulations and in such a whirlwind of time from last evening. I had wondered when you were to retire last evening. Given such circumstances, I could not find myself catching much sleep. So much to be done than commit thyself to slumber on the eve of a grand occasion." His gaze turned along to Ophira, giving her a cordial bow as if it had been a natural reflex of a life seeped in tradition, "My lady, such a resplendent gem amongst the jewels this eve."

Gaspar takes a kraken driftwood keepsake box from a white wooden daisy chest.

When Cristoph explains in a whisper what happened, Tyche looks to the window and exhales a disbelieving sound. Mabelle's reaction has her humor tempered just a touch. Then they're both offering up ways for her to learn about honey, and she looks between the pair with clear amusement. "Thank you. After I pursue this with as much passion and vigor as I do everything in life, I will be the most knowledgeable on honey." Will she actually, though? Probably not. Her own drink is casually sipped, no great need to indulge in glass after glass. "I still have some of that honey mead I snatched from a party you threw. I will set a torch to it to test for myself." Mabelle has turned to inspect her cookies, and with this small moment's privacy, the Marquessa whispers quietly to Cristoph.

Rowenova gets a kraken driftwood keepsake box from a white wooden daisy chest.

Renata shoots a look of thanks to Romulis. "Just a simple white wine. Chilled if possible. Thank you." She's not had anything to drink as yet, so isn't aware of anything untoward happening. One of the keepsake boxes is pressend into her hands and she looks down at it in delight. But it's a look that quickly fades when she sees whats etched on the lid. She hastily hands it back, as if the wood itself had burned her hands.

Renata puts a kraken driftwood keepsake box in a white wooden daisy chest.

When drinks are mentioned, Scylla makes note of her conspicuously empty hands. Just as she is about to turn and begin hunting down a servant with a drink-laden serving tray, Gaspar reads her mind. "Rum," she says, nodding once in affirmation. Whenever the glass is returned to her, she sips it gingerly, thinking perhaps it might be rude to toss the whole amount back as she might normally consider doing. However, the taste of it is...wrong, off. "Thank you, my lord, but...hm. Maybe this is an off-brand," she says, a hand waving off her distaste for the alcohol dismissively. Rum is rum, and with all of the attention she is eliciting this evening, some liquid confidence is much desired, no matter how off-putting the taste. It is in this moment that she takes note of Princess Renata's sudden return of that gift box, a gesture which draws Scylla to step forward and inquire, "Is everything okay? The servants didn't tamper with the gifts, did they? I'll hang 'em for it."

In the throes of a very excitable discussion with Anne about blade dancing, the Bride's drink is plucked from what appeared to be battered fingers to be replaced with something entirely different. There is a check of brow, gaze narrowing a fraction but upon testing the new brew Ophira gives it an approving nod of head - it's surprisingly delicious! Aedric's arm is given a squeeze, pausing a fraction to fix Cornelius with a curious stare but lips are curled in a friendly smile none the less, "Thank you, Lord Cornelius. I'm looking forward to dazzling further in Blackshore."

Gliding by does Ophira guide Aedric towards Tyche and her mysterious companion, "Marquessa Inverno! I thought I spied your fiery self and I'm so honored you could make it. Who did you drag with you this evening?" A teasing smirk nestled impish at the corners of mouth now, verdant speckled gaze drifting to Cristoph.

Mabelle smirks aside to Tyche, "We make it our lives goal to educate people on honey. Its such a fun topic, dont you think?", and at that she excuses herself of the pair, making her way toward the back of the room toward Dio, lowering her voice in greeting, "Marquis Seraceni. Welcome back to the city".

Scylla takes a kraken driftwood keepsake box from a white wooden daisy chest.

<GM>
Who hired Rowenova to help? How did she even get in this room? The world may never know and really does the nobility notice a commoner just going about their business loading up a plate with food? It's free food right... She is selecting a rather odd assort of seafood, meats, cheese, even desserts and then a second plate. She hasn't eaten a bit of it and that cookie throwing servant from earlier meets up with her at the end of a pass taking the plates and just leaves the room with them. Commoners sure are weird.

Dycard has a brief exchange with a serving girl and as the darkly clothed woman leaves a less presentable and more working clothed man comes from the door. His hair is fair blonde with a balding spot and he has on the apron of a chef with a little hat too though that hat is likely for the benefit of the guests the kind of hat a cook might wear if an eater wished to discuss a dish with them. The knuckles of the cook are white as he rubs his hands together and approaches Dycard with a wane smile and a hushed word.

Romulius makes his way towards the refreshment table with Gaspar, handing his own full glass to a servant to discard. He collects two glasses of wine, turning to the Marquis and indicating towards his brother nearby. "My brother, Dycard, if you've not yet had the fortune of meeting him, Marquis Tessere." The cook speaking to him draws a curious look and a tilted head, though the elder of the brothers makes his way back towards where Renata and Scylla were left to hand off one of the glasses to the Princess. He apparently did not see her reaction to the keepsake, as no mention is made of it. "It looks as though the crowd may allow for an introduction to my uncle, and to Lady Ophira, soon."

Cornelius smiled gently to Ophira, nodding as his body fixed back to a resting posture, "And I await such a time, Lady Ophira...now Blackshore, I take it? I have gained such a staunch ally of my brother. And a sister-by-marriage in such a swoop. Welcome to the family, my dear."

"Don't let Lady Jael hear you, Marquessa. Or my sister will emerge from her training and have a word with you about wasting good mead," Cristoph jokes. He's listening to some more of her quieter words as he glances in the direction the servant threw out the cookies. The hand that isn't holding a glass of wine touches her on the arm as he replies. When Ophira arrives by them, he straighens and nods his head to the bride. "Duke Cristoph Laurent of Artshall. Your wedding is really very well done, congratulations to you and Lord Aedric."

Carita's appearance isn't entirely unexpected, perhaps, but as she arrives and pauses, there are a few little fingerwaves offered here and there before she finds the wedding couple to make her way towards Aedric and Ophira. "Your gown is absolutely stunning, Lady Ophira." As she turns Aedric's way, there's a little tilt of her head, her smile reappearing as she dips her head his way, "Very dashing," she asides with a cheeky smile. "I hope your union will be a fruitful one, or whatever one says at these affairs." Have her cheeks reddened? "I just mean, before I was married recently, I avoided them like the plague. This is an entirely new experience." Leaning in, she gives both Ophira and Aedrick a few airy kisses to their cheeks before stepping back.

Dio listens to Ophira and Anne discuss the fabled knife dance of Ischia. In his eyes there lingers a glimmer of sorrow that such conversations will likely be far less frequent. At Mabelle's approach, Dio straightens as a servant offers him a glass of rum. "Thank you, My Lady. You are, as always, a vision. I hope you and your faithful dogs are well, and I thank you for coming to celebrate with Ophira."

Spinning from his conversation with the chef, Dycard leans in toward his brother. He flashes a smile at the introduction made on his behalf and offers a quick "My lord," to the Marquis as he clasped a hand on his brother's shoulder. Exchanging a whisper with him, the hand that would normally clutch a glass in hand instead dropped to the pommel of his sword, fingers drumming against the hilt as he settled back down and rocked on his heels.

When the Ophira nears, calling Cristoph /mysterious/, Tyche's grin grows wider. The man introduces himself, erasing all mystery, and she offers in place, "Congratulations. You look absolutely lovely, and a shame you tore your dress on a rock," she speaks the words so innocently that only the flicker of mischief in her eyes gives way to her thoughts. "Lord Aedric," she turns to the man next, a brief glance to the bandage around his neck, a look at Ophira, and then she introduces herself, "Marquissa Tyche Inverno. A pleasure to meet you on such an auspicious day." A beat. "Did your new wife give that to you? The women of the Lycene can be quite hungry at times." She gestures to his neck. Talk of honey is left to the side for the moment in favor of these pleasantries.

Even the exchange between Gaspar and Romulius was brief, but the marquis grinned a bit. "It's been some time, my lord, but we know of each other. We had a point of contention some months back. I doubt he remembers what it was even all about." He returned to Scylla's side and arched a brow even higher at her threat to the servants, but he said nothing. The rum was handed over and he took a drink of what he believed to be Lenosan Red, but it...certainly wasn't. Was it? Again, he worked his lips together but now, however, the confusion was visible despite his continued silence. And with Dycard's attention, he returned it with a bow of his own, "Lord Dycard, it's been some time. You've been well, I hope?"

After the first set of plates is passed to the server, Nova moves to the window and peeks out to the sky and takes mental note of what heavenly bodies are currently seen and where exactly they are. She momentarily excuses herself, doing so for a few minutes before she means to return.

Mabelle lowers her voice to Dio as she notices his expression, "We still all live in the same city, you know", a gentle nudge of her elbow as she stands beside him. "Your words are kind. I am well as well as my dogs. I am actually getting a new dog for my birthday next week. Its a BEE dog. I do not know what that means, but he does", she indicates Cristoph with her glass from afar.

<GM>
What could be more normal than Lady Mabelle Laurent enjoying a cookie? How many White's and how many idle conversations have centered around a love for sweets and desserts when it comes to the Laurent Lady? Given the cookie was from her own supply brought especially for the wedding who could be surprised that she gobbles it up as if it were the most perfect and delicious cookie she's had all day?

"We've listened to this before," Aedric murmurs to Cornelius, but his train of thought is interrupted by Ophira's interjection. "Listen," he says before being whisked away, "can't you hear it?" More idle conversation. "Good evening, Duke Cristoph, Marquessa Inverno -- and Countess Darkwater," he says all at once, straightening his back and shoulders. "Thank you for attending the celebration, and for your congratulations. No, Ophira has never once raised a finger to me. This was an accident," the sailor concludes only half-convincingly, gauntlet raising to ensure that his wound had not bled through. "Please enjoy yourselves. There's plenty of drink and food to go around."

Mabelle checks willpower and etiquette at daunting. Mabelle is successful.

Rocco, the rascally assistant have been dismissed.

Renata accepts the wine from Romulius and takes her first sip. "Mm. That's... different." The observant would see the wrinkle of her nose and way in which she simply holds it in her hand rather than immediately take a larger mouthful. "I see your father is here," a tilt of her head in Cornelius' direction. "I happened to meet him in Bold Espressions a few days back. He's an interesting conversationalist."

After returning, Nova slides closer to Mabelle before whispering to her.

Nodding again, Dycard waves his free hand about dismissively, "No, my lord, I don't if you can forgive me - but i'm willing to call it moot if you are," he offered with a dry laugh. "I've been well enough - I just returned from a trip about the sea on my new caravel and here I am. Somehow I am always dragged into these massive affairs on behalf of Blackshore," he quipped.

The Lady Trueth Redreef enters quietly and stays to the walls, like the flower she is. She looks about the crowd of people and nods to those whom she knows while smiling upon the happy couple before she finds an out of the way seat and crosses her legs daintily.

Cornelius suddenly glanced to Aedric, his entire expression loosening into something disconcerting. His eyes perused up Aedric from head to toe, casting his head to the side as if to hear what his brother was hearing. His arms retreated along to the highly informal ironwool longcoat he wore, catching his breath with a sudden heave as he attempted to catch another glance from Aedric before he had been whisked off.

A slow smile spreads over Dio's features. "Aye, My Lady, but it won't be the same," he says softly of Ophira. "She'll have plenty to hold her attention with her new House." A low chuckle rises from the Pirate Lord as Mabelle speaks of the bee dog. "I will admit I am intrigued . . ." says Dio slowly, glancing toward Cristoph. "I shall have to find you a suitable gift. Something that gleams."

Scylla checks perception at normal. Scylla is marginally successful.

Carita's presence caused Ophira's smile to brighten, a hand lifting to brush against his hand in a squeeze, "I know what you mean, thank you." A nod of head as the kisses are returned before attention returns towards the unexpected Oathlander in their midst, "A pleasure to meet you, Duke Laurent. I've heard nothing but fantastic things about your military efforts in helping to keep the Oathlands secure." There is a twinkle of intrigue, eyes resting on Tyche for a moment as voice dips in a playful murmur, "Well, I figured this dress was going to be ripped off later anyway." A lithe shrug of shoulders, gracefully when graceless as eyes dance with mirth. Sidelong does attention slide towards Aedric, brows furrowing a fraction before smoothing out the moment lips meet her wine glass or whatever was swirling in the depths.

<GM>
The sunset was a short timing ago the drinks have been changed and while they no longer cause a souring of expression and a quick request for replacement they are not as delightful as they were earlier in the reception. They are simply excellent but excellent isn't enough for some of the guests. Not after earlier, they seem unsatisfied but one can only request a new drink so many times before it becomes uncouth and so many lament silently with their fate.

The happy couple though Ophira and Aedric seem a beacon of pleasantry amongst the periphal oddities of their reception. The pleasant spring breeze of the new evening wafts through the room and the music takes a pleasant turn for the better the dour and dragging notes of one musician picking up and a sort of second breath in the livity of the conversation and demeanor of the guests rising. The scent of the sea if invigorating though why it is so strong here in the upper wards far from the sea one might wonder.

Ophira checks willpower at hard. Ophira fails.

Trueth checks Willpower at hard. Trueth is marginally successful.

Scylla checks willpower at hard. Scylla marginally fails.

Dycard checks willpower at hard. Dycard fails.

Thea checks willpower at hard. Thea is successful.

Aedric checks willpower at hard. Critical Success! Aedric is spectacularly successful.

Romulius checks willpower at hard. Romulius is marginally successful.

Cornelius checks willpower at hard. Cornelius is successful.

Mabelle glances down at her hand once the cookie vanishes. How did she eat it that fast? That is NOT ladylike. She reaches out for another cookie but it does not taste the same. She still eats it though its a cookie. She resists however, the need to tear apart the entire basket, since she brought it as a gift. Her craving however, almost makes her hands tremor. Mabelle glances at Rowenova as she speaks to her, "Evil? No its not evil, I just had a small lunch". So many lies.

She turns to Dio and smiles, "Well, you will just have to find reasons for business with that house. And yes, I am so curious too. If its a dog that makes honey, I will be so amazed. And confused". Mabelle's hand then reaches to squeeze Dio's forearm, "I hope you will be able to much the cake luncheon."

"Lord Aedric, congratulations," Cristoph replies easily as the conversation moves around. When he hears talk of the bee dog, his attention shifts over to Dio and Mabelle. A curious look is given for the Marquis before he says, "It's simple a wirehaired pointer that's use in hunting. They come from a village known as Beesborough." His smile is turned back onto Ophira and he nods once at the compliment, "Thank you. This is the first time I've been in the Blackshore estate. It's a lovely home, I hope that you're happy here in your marriage." That hand touches Tyche's arm again briefly as he looks toward the crowd briefly.

"Fair point," Tyche grins to Ophira's cheeky comment on the tearing of dresses. "Enjoy your evening, and congratulations." She's clearly not looking to monopolize the couple from their duties of greeting all around. The strangeness unfolding seems mostly lost on the petite Marquessa. Maybe down here things are all normal? Or perhaps being so close to Cristoph allows her some semblance of ignorance. She's also not downing the wine, or eating the cookies, or any of the weird pulses of energy going through some of the guests.

Carita's smile lifts again for the pair, her head dipped as she inhales a sigh expecting more polite commentary from the wedding pair, but Ophira's comment makes her laughter bubble up. "I'm sure it'll look just as lovely shredded on the floor," a hand waved dismissively, "or, you know, where ever." She turns then to go and allow others to find the couple, a small wink over her shoulder, and then clears her throat and quietly begins to make her way towards Dycard.

After another whisper to Mabelle, Nova slinks away and goes to keep trying to help out in case there are any other issues with the good food spoiling now.

Trueth gets up from her seat to roam around again, mostly moving to pick at the available food. She does notice Carita, however, not having seen her since near the Blood Moon. She raises her hand and waves merrily - though somehow shyly even then, before she takes a glass of wine and starts drinking abundantly.

Sensing that Renata perhaps desires to keep her reasons for discarding the gift to herself, the admiral takes the hint and moves on. The glass of rum needs some serious nursing. Pewter eyes roam around the room, and just happen to espy the very moment that Dycard places his hand quite deliberately upon the pommel of his sword, and thereafter a rush of adrenaline rushes Scylla's veins. Immediately, the drink in her hand is gripped with white-knuckled intensity, though of course hidden beneath black silk gloves. It takes every ounce of composure she possesses to not overreact, but she manages, and merely slinks closer to Lord Dycard with the intention of, well, not eavesdropping per se...

"Lord Dycard," she murmurs conversationally, and though her lips are smiling, the expression does not reach the intensity of her stygian-lined eyes. "I find it hard to believe that you are not inclined toward social events, as socially adept as you seem to be. You look very nice." The compliment is delivered honestly, though lacking any deeper inflection. After this rousing conversation, Scylla lapses into her usual silence, but this time a deep furrowing of her brows distorts and shadows her beauty. A gloved hand raises to pass over her forehead.

Dio laughs at Mabelle's invitation. "Yes, well, I shall spare your guests the horror," he says with a wry grin. Nodding at Cristoph's explanation of the bee dog, Dio says, "It sounds like a fine animal, and I should imagine it will be well loved." He takes a sip of rum, but gazes down at his glass with obvious frustration. "This rum is awful," he mutters, and looks to track down another servant.

With a frown and a slight clouding in his eyes, Dycard's brow wrinkles in thought as his eyes drift toward the door again. He startles slightly at Scylla's interruption of whatever occupied his thoughts and he shrugged in an almost reactionary fashion, "You look much better than I do, Admiral - though I never thought i'd catch you in a dress," he half-joked. Catching sight of Carita's course across the room, the man's back stiffened slightly and he offered a slight bow to the countess while trying to brush his hair from his face. "My lady - it's lovely to see you, i'm sorry for not writing" he offered, though his tone still seemed strained or otherwise distracted.

Scylla checks composure at normal. Scylla is successful.

Thea has completely given up on the rum and reaches for her flask. Is that rude? She's not entirely sure but she needed a drink, so she hurriedly and discreetly takes a drink. The Malvici finds herself looking a bit reminiscent now, a slight smile on her lips, her gold-flecked green eyes glazed over.

Gaspar's gaze slipped around those gathered. Clearly, something was afoot, affecting a few of the Blackshore and while he had no clue what it was, the air felt all the thicker for it. A glance to Dycard was coupled with a polite smile. "Moot indeed, my lord." With Scylla's stepping away, Gaspar took one more drink of the wine and coughed after swallowing it. Still, there was no distasteful expression on his features. The glass was handed off to a passing servant while hands came to clasp together behind his back in half-regal pose, glance curiously around the room to seek out any further signs of discomfort.

Rolling closer to Carita and Dycard, Nova looks to the Countess with a smile before she turns to Dycard and tells him something, motioning to where the food is. Maybe she is asking permission to take some home? Not likely, though.

"Truly, I wish to be away from it and back out on my ship." There is a dreamy smile, lashes lowered in a sultry stare grown languid with want and need, "There is very little purpose elsewhere if my feet are not skimming about the deck. But the Blackshore Manse will have to do for now." It is an odd and rather startling admittance from the Bride, who looks upon Aedric with a mischievous curve now to lush lips, "It is a good thing you're of the sea." Is uttered in a hissing slither of velvet that borders on a line between sensual and threatening, a hand dragging along his forearm as shapely legs carry the Siren towards Scylla as if drawn for a moment by a tether. There is a sashaying sway to steps, as if she were indeed being rocked on a rough swell, pausing is that silky head dipped in a nod towards Gaspar before resting on Dycard, "Where have you been hiding?"

Mabelle sighs audibly at Cristoph, "So it does not have wings?", she grins at him, knowing better, "I wonder if honey will untangle his wiry hair", she muses aloud and then looks at Dio, "Horror? Well, if you will not attend, you must offer an alternative", what is in those cookies?

Trueth makes her way toward Dycard and Carita, stopping somewhere between the two in a triangle formation. She smiles at Carita and exchanges a quiet word with her, nodding reassuringly. "It is a pleasure to see you again, Lord Dycard. Your brother was quite kind to me and told me I was welcome any time... I did not know if that extended to weddings, but I felt good tidings were in order." She licks her lips and sips from her glass of wine, taking a bit easier since she's around the civilized crowd.

Gone is any mirth that may have played upon Romulius's face, replaced by a furrowed brow and a clenched jaw. A servant is called over for a hushed whisper, the man gives a nod to the lord before making his way out of the dining room towards the foyer. Romulius, meanwhile, turns his eyes back towards the close company. Ophira's approach prompts him to look towards her and manage what smile he can, though he waits for her to finish addressing Dycard. Eyes back towards Renata, he leans forward to whisper something in her ear.

"Yes, this dog will join my cousin's ever growing pack of animals," Cristoph comments to Dio good naturedly. He /does/ have a glass of wine but he hasn't really had much to drink of it and he's been so involved in this conversation, that he never moved for food. Oathlanders, what can you do? "I'm sorry cousin, it doesn't have any wings. Have you considered getting a pet bird?" he wonders. "Wait, no. I'm flashing back to the time Celine sent all those exotic birds from Setarco to the manse. It took me forever to get rid of them, please don't get one."

Eyes slowly, almost painfully ease shut as she fights off the urge to scream. The glass in her hand is held in a vice, shaking somewhat. Had any a little more raw strength to spare, it might shatter in a million pieces under the pressure. Eyes open at the moment she says, "You know, I'm beginning to share your distaste for large social gatherings, my lord. Excuse me." The woman inclines her head as politely as she can, and then starts toward a window, any window which commands a direct view of the brilliant blue sea. As she steps closer to the fresh air, the scent of salt fills her senses and her pace quickens to a near-run. She almost makes it there, heart racing, but Ophira waylays her first. Whatever possessed the admiral to dart with all haste to that window is subdued, now, in favor of returning the hostess' inquiry. The expression on her face betrays some remorse, and maybe a little surprise. "Ah...nowhere, my lady. I've been in the same spot. Well, until now." The hand holding her drink shifts around, as though gesturing to her present surroundings.

<GM>
The chef has gone through the room and inspected everything and it is all where it should be. It seems any oddities in the quality of the food have ended. Well any -visible- oddities. Things are picking up that sea breeze seems to have invigorated some of the guests while others look contemplative. The drinks aren't amazing but the disappointment is purely in the taste of the drinker as they are objectively quite excellent. There is a loud *sssssrp* sound as the entire rooms lighting seems to drop and rise at the same time! As the pinpricks of light from the chandlier change angles the central chandlier over the seems to have slipped almost a full foot lower and then jerked to a stop with a tinkling clinking sound as it rotates gently and all the fine bits of crystal and glass wobble and sway. There is a nervous and awkward laugh from the servants door as the chef looks at the chandlier after its sudden slip and it seems to settle no cause for concern as he announces, "From the servants for the happy couple we have prepared a dessert surprise, please step back from the table and we will perform for you and delight your tastes."

How fortunate for the wedding that it is in this moment of awkward tension and surprise that Ophira chooses to give a little flair to her steps a little sass to her presentation and truly display the wedding attire that settles on her curves. With such a happy day and such a happy bride who could care about a chandlier? Everything's fine.

Mabelle wrinkles her nose at Cristoph, "Ew. No birds, they are... messy", she notes. Certainly she had a better arguement for that or maybe defending her portable mangerie but someone said something about dessert surprise and he lost her.

"The Duke doesn't enjoy exotic birds," Tyche makes a mental note, as if she's compiling some list with Cristoph as the subject. Her thoughts are stolen, however, by the chandelier. She sucks in a breath, taking a small step into the Laurent, but the thing does not come crashing down. "Did you see that?" she asks of him, a small laugh. "Someone must have tripped the chain," she comes up with an excuse easily for the ALMSOT DEATH BY CHANDELIER.

The Pirate Lord's dark eyes shine with amusement at Mabelle's banter with Cristoph. "Indeed, My Lord," says Dio to Cristoph, "she has quite a menagerie." To Mabelle's demand of finding an alternative, he replies, "I will, My Lady," and smiles, offering a respectful bow. Turning to find Ophira, Dio lays a hand on her shoulder and whispers a brief word to her, amid her swirling crowd of fashionable admirers. "I must depart, Sister. Congratulations to you and Lord Aedric." Finding the Blackshore lord, Dio offers kind words and a respectful bow, before turning to make his way from the dinning room.

Renata touches her hand lightly to Romulius' arm, and she shakes her head to something he whispers. She murmurs something quietly back, standing on the tips of her toes so it's delivered as closely as possible to his ear.

There's a brief moment where Trueth looks at the chandelier, stumbles back a few steps, and hiccups. "Oh God, not again," she mutters, looking panicked. The rest of the wine goes down, however, and she goes to find more rather abruptly.

Cornelius centered his gaze back to his brother's eerie warning, starting in his step before he glancing upward rather quickly; narrowing his brow as the shift up above at the chandelier brought immediate consternation to his actions. The lord started with a fiery step as his coat billowed out before him, stomping with some fervor toward the entryway of the room where the servants were pouring in and out; right hand hanging rather loosely to the holstered whip at his side.

With a nod to Rowe and a quiet word, Dycard allows a momentary grimace to marr his features before turning his attention back to the women about him. "Lady Trueth, as far as i'm concerned you're welcome just about anywhere you'd like. Did you leave your boy about the Redreef estate? If The Intrepid is ever at port you're welcome to bring him about to see a caravel," he offered with an almost forced quality, as if trying to dispel whatever grim mood seems to have seized him. His eyes darted up only momentarily to the chandelier before drifting back toward Carita and sidling toward her a step.

After seeing the chandelier slip, Nova nabs ahold of Carita's hand and then Dycard's hand and attempts to sweep the Darkwater and Blackshore out of the danger zone!

Having had a house collapse at her once, Mabelle is not having any of that again, not in these shoes. As Dio departs from her side she wanders toward the couple, so very carefully, offering her goodbyes. She also passes by Tyche and Cristoph, murmuring to the Marquessa, "We need to gang up on him more", before she makes her way out.

Gaspar excused himself politely from Dycard, Renata and Romulius as Scylla began her move to the window. With Opphira's approach, he smiled and nodded, "My lady, you look as beautiful as any bride could possibly be on her wedding day. You know, I heard a definition of 'wedding' once..." He faded as the chandelier shook and the marquis took a half-step back, though far enough away now not to be in any danger. The marquis returned to Scylla's side again, briefly whispering in her ear before turning to keep himself between her at the crowd. "You must be so thrilled to gave this new manor your home, my lady." A slow sweep of his gaze lifted to the lighting fixture that nearly killed them all.

Aedric does as the head chef instructs, giving the servants ample space to conduct whatever (presumably embarrassing) performance they've prepared.

Cupcake, a cookie girl leaves, following Mabelle.

The chandelier draws a noticable recoil from Romulius, who offers a nod to Renata after their hushed conversation. He makes his way towards the foyer, a hand clasping his brother's shoulder as he passes. To Aedric, a nod is offered as Romulius slides out the door of the dining room, towards the foyer.

Ballard, a Blackshore Servant leaves, following Romulius.

Anne, a dangerously alluring Seraceni first mate, Owen, a meticulous Seraceni scholar leave, following Dio.

Ballard, a Blackshore Servant arrives, following Romulius.

Trueth finally steps back more toward Dycard and nods, smiling. "Yes, he's with a nanny at the moment. One who I'm not sure will stay past the day," she says, sipping from her renewed glass of wine. "I would be interested in seeing the caravel, and perhaps he would too!" She looks at Carita and smiles nervously before looking toward whatever the servants may be doing.

With Mabelle and Dio seeming to depart their general company, Cristoph is midway to saying something else to Tyche when the chandelier suddenly drops. He puts a hand to her lower back when she steps closer to him and urges her another step forward as he leads them away from the faulty lighting feature. "Someone should probably look at that," he murmurs to her. Then he finishes off his glass of wine and sets it down somewhere.

Aedric is overheard praising Carita.

Aedric is overheard praising Gaspar.

Cornelius is overheard praising Carita.

Scylla is overheard praising Aedric.

Dycard is overheard praising Aedric.

Scylla is overheard praising Ophira.

Dycard is overheard praising Ophira.

Cornelius is overheard praising Dycard.

Renata is overheard praising Aedric.

Cornelius is overheard praising Scylla.

Dycard is overheard praising Cornelius.

Renata is overheard praising Ophira.

Cornelius is overheard praising Aedric.

Moments after leaving, Romulius returns to the dining hall, eyes steeled as he returns to his earlier haunt. To those who paying attention, there is an obvious change - he now wears a rather large sword, strapped into a scabbard on his back.

<GM>
If the beauty of the bride were not enough to assure the guests everything was okay they have but to look to the sun or the stars embodied by the Countess Darkwater and Lady Blackshore. Perhaps near death is the best time to enjoy the beauty of life or perhaps the flush of adrenaline and quicker breath makes one more noticable. Even the Lord Dycard in his dour sea lord garb provides if not beauty than the surety of reliability. Blackshore, black garb, everything is right with the world.

As the guests look amongst themselves (mostly at the stunning ones with stunning clothes) the servants wheel out carts thirteen to be exact with silver trays on them and candles resting beside them. Each of the silver trays is positioned infront of a pair or more of guests and then all at once they lift the lids, tip the candles and *FWOOSH* flames lick up and dance in the silver where crepes are being folded and cooked and the scent of the most delicious rum fills the air. It's the same scent of rum as the earlier vintage which inspired so much disappointment with its followers. The perfect drink, they must have been holding out for this so they would have enough. The servants all do fairly well at playing with the fire as they fold and cook the crepes for the wedding dessert. The flames are so hot they burn blue... or green, they dance and waver seducing the assembled audience to finally leave the beauty of the bribe and guests to look into the mystery of the flames.

"I saw you flit by and then got swept up in the crowd." Is uttered softly to Scylla as her gaze seems to be momentarily locked on the same distant line of churning sea. As Dio whispers in her ear, hand to shoulder there is a look of sorrow that highlights briefly lovely features before a kiss is set to his cheek as he departs - a trepidatious lingering stuffed down beneath all that newly wedded bliss. Whatever she was in the middle of saying to Gaspar, the departing Romulius, or the elsewhere Dycard is snatched by the odd quiver of the chandelier. Searching for Aedric, her groom is found and the duo wait for whatever spectacle is about to take place.

Carita is overheard praising Blackshore: Mawwiage is wat bwings us togeder today.

Ophira checks willpower and etiquette at hard. Ophira fails.

Tyche checks willpower and etiquette at hard. Botch! Tyche is simply outclassed. This is monumentally beyond them and the result is ruinous.

Romulius checks willpower at hard. Romulius is marginally successful.

Carita checks willpower and etiquette at hard. Carita is successful.

Dycard checks willpower and etiquette at hard. Dycard fails.

Rowenova checks willpower and etiquette at hard. Rowenova marginally fails.

Scylla checks willpower at hard. Botch! Scylla is simply outclassed. This is monumentally beyond them and the result is ruinous.

Aedric checks willpower at hard. Aedric is marginally successful.

Trueth checks Willpower at hard. Trueth fails.

Cornelius checks willpower and etiquette at hard. Cornelius fails.

Tyche allows herself to be drawn away from the dangers of the chandelier with Cristoph, and she turns to watch the dessert display, the flames licking and all of that. Quiet words are exchanged with the man, their closeness from her momentary fear not erased.

Renata checks willpower and etiquette at hard. Renata marginally fails.

Gaspar checks willpower and etiquette at hard. Gaspar marginally fails.

Cristoph checks willpower and etiquette at hard. Cristoph is marginally successful.

Thea checks willpower and etiquette at hard. Thea marginally fails.

After ensuring safety, Nova lets go then suddenly flees the whole scene... or, almost... the rainbow fire suddenly draws her to a slow down then full stop, after which she curiously regards the crazy flames, glancing back over the direwolf fur on her right shoulder..

Scylla shakes her head once, the dangling crystalline earrings reflecting the light as they sway, and then she loops her lithe arm into Gaspar's own. With slow, deliberate steps, she returns them back to their earlier group, comprised of Romulius, Renata, Dycard, and perhaps still Lady Ophira, unless she is otherwise preoccupied with desserts. When they arrive back to the group, Scylla has the good grace to look somewhat shameful as she says, "Apologies for, ah, running off like that. I don't know what came over me. Oh --" she says, distracted at once by the unveiling of flame and the sudden waft of delicious smelling rum as it pummels her senses. "Well, it seems they saved the best drink for last." The empty glass she holds is handed off to a passing servant, freeing her hand up for a new one when the time is right.

Gaspar is overheard praising Ophira: A lovely bride joining a flourishing house. Here's to her union!

To say that Aedric was impressed would be an understatement. As he gazes silently into the flames, he makes a mental note to reward the manor's servants for orchestrating something so magnificent -- and with no incentive beyond their earnest desire to impress the reception's guests.

Gaspar is overheard praising Aedric: A powerful Voice of a growing family. We have a much to do together, I suspect.

Gaspar is overheard praising Scylla: I could not have asked for a better companion to such an esteemed event.

Renata's head turns from the conversation she's enjoying with the arrival of the silver trays. "How impressive!" She watches the flames flicker and dance and sets her glass down on one of the tables. She waves aside Scylla's apology. "I think we're all a little infected with the spirit of the moment tonight," she tells her with a smile, then turns to look at the flames again, quite mesmerised by the queerly coloured flames.

A slim battered hand grasps at Aedric's for a moment as Ophira takes in the brightened lights, the shimmering myriad of colors somehow not bringing the smile it might expect on the newly acquired Blackshore's lips.

Trueth stares at the little performance that is put on, her eyes widening. "Oh, dear," she simply murmurs, in that soft, gentle voice before she moves to sit down, looking like she needs some reprieve from the pageantry of the wedding.

Trueth has joined the a comfortable ivory leather and mahogany wooden sofa.

"What--,"Thea is starting to ask at the catastrophic events starting to take place around her. But when the flames errupt, Thea looks intruiged. "For a moment there, I was worried.."

Thea is overheard praising Ophira: Beautiful bride

Cornelius was halted in his vehement, venomous swagger by the introduction of the trays. His head picked up toward the entryway to the dining room before the lids were unleashed and settled before the ceremony's guests.

"Rowenova, darling, I didn't expect to see you here." Carita's smile produces that rarely seen dimple in her cheek this time which is then turned on Trueth as she sidles near, offering that nervous smile. "I'm glad to see you, Lady Trueth, you look wonderful in pin--" the dessert is wheeled out and set aflame, capturing her attention. "It's good that Prince Galen isn't here, he sent flame dancers once for a party that had the staff sanding out char from the floors afterwards."

Thea is overheard praising Aedric: Congratulations!

When the crepes roll out, Cristoph's attention is momentarily taken by them. His eyes linger on the flames but he eventually draws his attention back to the woman in front of him. Whatever conversation they're having seems to result in him twisting his hand briefly and then looping his fingers around her wrist, an intent look on his face as he continues to speak.

Perks up at the scent of good booze that may satisfy an itch but is otherwise still tensed ever so slightly near Carita and Rowe.

<GM>
Blue... Green... Blue... Green... The flames dance and seduce the viewers with their mysterious nature. Perhaps the rum was giving it some flashy change of color. Maybe it was the sugar in the crepes? Maybe it was some performing trick? Does anyone know, know anyone care? The scent of carmelizing sugar and burning rum fills the room not just the room but the guests the aroma infusing their hair, their clothing, their skin. Their senses are enveloped in the allure of the flame... the rum... the food. Some are able to simply enjoy the moment and spectacle with reservation and decorum.

Some are not able to restrain themselves as the *need* for satisfaction is compelling to an overwhelming degree. When did they step forward? Did anyone see them approach the flames in the silver trays? Did the person standing beside them, some of them arm in arm even feel them slip away? Is anyone going to stop... their... hands? Tcyhe and Scylla both reach their hands out to the flame as if it were a lover or a mystery or a secret, their fingers curl back in the merest bit of hesitation from instinct warning against the fire. Even this instinctive warning is overcome by the hunger for satisfaction and their fingers curl in the flame. Green and black (when did it turn black) flame lick up their hands to the wrist. Holy shit! The reverie is broken and they instinctively pull away and without the fuel of liquor the flame quickly burning off the vapors of rum not enough to fuel it and their bodies providing poor tinder. Both are unharmed save the potential shock from the fwoosh of flame crawling over their skin... Some others in the crowd are drawn closer but instead of reaching out they just look into the flames with a kind of longing. Not to taste the crepes or enjoy the rum anymore but a longing to see the flames consume everything on the tray. There is something primal and dark in the blue now black flames as they burn and could continue to burn and turn all to ash.

Between Tyche and Scylla's little scare and the factor liquor doesn't burn forever the show is over in minutes and the servants (those who didn't see the near disaster) begin to serve the crepe. For those brave enough to enjoy the crepe despite all the oddities of the evening it is amazing. Some might say better than sex. Addictive really... Wait did he just take to pieces? Is she trying to claim an extra bite of crepe from her companion? All of a sudden there is an intense air of this is mine eat your own even amongst the courteous nobles the protective enjoyment of their crepe suzette is obvious. It's so sad that if they gobble it up quickly to protect it they feel as if they didn't fully enjoy it. If they draw it out they are increasingly pressed by others to share. Family gatherings it's always memorable right?

With the admiral taking the initiative to return to the group, Gaspar rejoined and seemed very much unfazed by the oddities going on about. "Your Highness, what brings you to Arx? If rumor serves me well as it usually does, you've come not all /that/ long ago, is that--" And then, he found himself without Scylla at his side. True, his attentions were stolen as well to the flames, but he didn't follow. In fact, when he called out to Scylla as she reached, it was..almost hollow, half-hearted words. "...Admiral..." The marquis watched, and Tyche, closely in obvious confusion while the crepes were being served.

"Stop," the sailor asserts, snatching Ophira's wrist before her hand can reach the flames. He, too, had felt an urge to test the heat of the blaze. Fortunately, Aedric is no stranger to recognizing and controlling impulsivity.

Carita is overheard praising Aedric: ...that bwessed awwangement, that dweam wifin a dream..

There is a momentary delay to Tyche's bewitching by fire, because Cristoph has her by the wrist. She looks down to where his fingers trap her, then up into his dark eyes. Words fall from her lips, audible only to him, but the flames catch her attention. If anything could draw her away from the Laurent Duke, it is the flames of dessert. She does not try to free herself from his grasp, but she separates her body from him by a few feet, her arm extending back if he keeps hold. Her other hand? She cannot /not/ touch. Her pale fingers dance through the flame, her hand engulfed, and she is transfixed completely. Is this a surprise to any who know her well? She cannot resist temptation! When she blinks herself back to reality, there is an audible gasp, a shaking of her arm, and a step back. "Did I just...?" she asks, her eyes darting back to the man presumably behind her. The confusion on Gaspar's face is noted in her turning away, but she does not have an answer for it - because what in the world was she thinking? Her chest rises and falls with a quickened pace against pink silk, and she draws her tongue over her lips. "Ow?" she questions, because really, that should have hurt.

Carita is overheard praising Ophira: ...And wuv, twue wuv, will fowwow you foweva..

Rocco, the rascally assistant leaves, following Thea.

When Scylla snaps out of her dangerous reverie, she's standing before the blazing metal tray with her one unscathed hand held out in front of her face. Where did the glove go? She looks left, right, and down. Oh, there it is. It's on the floor, now, a lazy trail of smoke curling upward as flame consumes the black silk and turns it to ash. She steps away with some startlement, her mind now processing what just took place, and without her express knowledge of it. The admiral blanches, skin turning pale and icy to the touch, all blood draining from her face. Even the usual hue of warmth visible on her cheeks is sapped away. The woman all but runs back to her former position, as far away from the fire as she can possible be. And is it any wonder? The melted skin so clearly visible along her neck and down the shoulder betrays some previous encounters with fire on a very intimate level, at least once in her life.

Carita is overheard praising Arik: Skip to the end!

Trueth stares in horror as the two women reach out for the fire, but oh, isn't it so pretty? The flames are beautiful! And... they do have Trueth staring at them rather moon-eyed after a moment. She looks toward Carita, nodding at something the other woman has said discreetly to her. "Aye. Well, no need in worrying about it now when we've got dancing pretty flames and crepes!" The widow stands and makes her way over to the crepes, looking at Tyche - then to Scylla - then back to the crepes before she takes a plate and begins to dig in, letting out an /indecent/ moan.

Tensing up, the knuckles of the hand draped over the pommel of his sword turning white, Dycard's eyes flashed dangerously as he regarded the scene. He stared off as if in a hypnotic trance, before suddenly seizing one of the servants and indicating the crepes, "Bring me whatever rum was used for those, immediately" he demanded sharply, standing rigid as if fighting a compulsion to feast and instead resorting to stern anger. To the family it almost looked as if a younger Cornelius had assumed Dycard's place, rife with the flaws of the father in his younger days.

Romulius is transfixed by the blue-green flames, so much so that he does not notice either woman's hand reaching towards the flame until other guests draw attention to it, eyes still drawn to the strange trick in his peripheral. Scylla's reaction draws a look of concern, but his attention is directed instead towards Renata to ensure that no similar fascination with the flames befalls her.

Yes, yes she did try to go towards the shimmering lights that reminded Ophira of a dancing sea beneath piercing daylight, entrancing her to want to catch salty sunbeams but that tug at her hand and the deepened command in which Aedric intones caused her to halt. That hand squeezes tighter for a moment as is if the need to smother herself in that delicious crepe, letting it drip in a tantalizing glaze down her throat was almost too much to handle. Head turns, forehead resting against Aedric's shoulder and for all the world it looked as if she were being affectionately sweet.

Cornelius gazed along into a particular tray, transfixed with a sullen expression as he began to fill his hand that was set to fill to his plate. His hand shook with a violent, silent rage as his face began to trip and turn with a mix of emotion. His mouth parted as he looked to gasp for air to himself, eyes alight in the glower of the flames.

Cornelius checks composure at hard. Botch! Cornelius is simply outclassed. This is monumentally beyond them and the result is ruinous.

<GM>
Unfortunately the rum for the crepes appears to have been all used up but when the unlabeled and non-descript bottles are brought up the Steward informs Cornelius, "A merchant delivered them. Had a receipt m'lord." the bottle is a reddish glass (how odd) and there were thirteen of them all empty now from the first rounds and the crepe show.

Cornelius glanced upward as he gritted his teeth, before he let loose an agonized yell; fist slamming into the tray repeatedly with a blind rage that was unlike anything he had ever displayed to his children. His eyes hung glassed in an absolute cloud, consumed by the flame. The fist continued to pummel until bloodied, then a bone crack here or there. The entire Hell of the sea descended down upon the Steward that decided to step up to him.

With a little nod Trueth's way, Carita's head is dipped as she motions toward her plate, "I will leave you with my portion," and though she was about to snag the sleeve of Dycard when his attention is diverted, there's a smile offered that way, and a small shrug instead.

Ophira checks composure at hard. Ophira marginally fails.


*** Romulius has called for an opposing check with Cornelius. ***
Romulius checks strength and brawl at easy. Romulius is successful.
Cornelius checks strength and brawl at easy. Cornelius is successful.
*** The rolls are tied. ***

<GM>
An audible hush falls under the guests as Cornelius yells and begins to beat the silver tray into a misshapen bent husk the scent of blood and the spray of the juices from the crepes fling up messily. With the silence come gasps of shock and astonishment.

4 Redoubt Buccaneers, Luna, the Darkwater Assistant leave, following Carita.

It was only proper, of course, to sample the food being offered. A small bite was taken at first, warded from anything more by the reactions both seen /and/ heard from those around. But it was quite clear he was not immune to its effects either. Gaspar's nostrils flared just slightly and as he went to take a second bite--but then a melee had begun and he paused, arching a brow again.

Renata stares at the elder Blackshore. She's a plate of crepes herself, though the piece loaded onto her fork is left hanging twixt plate and mouth at the sudden display of violence. Her shoulders hunch to her ears and she backs a safe distance away.

<GM>
The steward is shaking visibly and completely silent as he holds out the reddish glass bottle... As if it will spare his life.

Trueth watches Cornelius beat the HELL out of a silver tray, and she takes Carita's crepes too. She's eating in a carnal frenzy that looks like a damned near pagan ritual, the glaze staining her lips and chin. As soon as she finishes both plates, she lets out a moan that's accompanied by an quiver. She's still looking at Cornelius though - so it's hard to say whether it's his pure testosterone that's got her going or the crepes.

Moving to place himself between Trueth and the display of his father as if expecting the man to round on the woman, Dycard's cold fury seems to finally find a target as he approaches his father from behind amidst his struggle with Romulius, attempting to pull the man from the steward, or else get his attention, "Come along now, -father-, it's time for you to go bed," he intoned, a hand dropping onto Cornelius's shoulder.

When Tyche begins to pull away from him so she can stick her hand in FIRE, Cristoph looks noticeably alarmed. "What are you doing?" he asks plainly, but before he can tug her back, she's already sticking her hand in the fire. "/Tyche/," he says, this his voice sounds very serious and he does try to pull her away. It's just in time for her to remove her own hand and stare at it. He pulls her closer and further away from the flames, lest she get the idea to set herself on fire again. He looks down on her with concern, "Why?" The sudden onslaught of violent behavior only sets the duke's nerves on greater edge and he looks between the Blackshore and, uh, all the other Blackshores. He firms up that grip on Tyche and begins to drag them both further on back from whatever is happening there.

Romulius in a flash, Romulius parts from his guest towards his father to restrain Cornelius. Massive, relative to his father, and blessed by the vigor of youth, it should be an easy feat, but Cornelius's rage somehow makes the prospect dubious. Fortunately, Dycard's intervention seems to give the brothers the upper hand in the endeavor.

From her corner of the room, and standing in Marquis Gaspar's shadow cast by the precariously hung chandelier, Scylla begins to recover some of her lost composure. Everyone is deeply enjoying their crepes, perhaps a bit too much, but then again they did look particularly appetizing from where she was standing earlier. She steps forward, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with her date, and then turns to watch him impatiently devour the dessert, looking about as intense as everyone else while doing it. "My lord," she accosts him, a bout of laughter stifled behind the back of her hand. Then, whatever amusement bubbles up is immediately dispersed when the senior Blackshore lord starts taking all of his rage out against the metal tray. The hand absently drops away just when pale pewter eyes, wide with concern, focus intently on the events to follow.

Sir Floppington the Soulful Hound leaves, following Rowenova.

Tyche is very small and easily pulled away, but it seems nothing could stop her from sticking her hand in the fire that one time. This will become a story in the future. Hey, remember when...? For now, it probably has Cristoph wondering why he agreed to attend a wedding of people he doesn't know with a woman crazy enough to tempt the flames. "I don't know," she admits openly. "I was telling you that I wanted..." she doesn't finish that, instead offering, "And then I couldn't stop myself. I was being pulled toward it. I needed it." She doesn't seem horrified by this feeling either. When the violence breaks out, and he is almost scooping her up to get her out of harms way, she cannot help but ask, "Still think I bring you to the best parties?" Whatever more she says is spoken quietly, shared as they separate themselves from the insanity of weddings.

There was a clear show of distaste on Ophira's features, gaze blazing absolutely furious as her hand tugged at Aedric as if she was going to start forward to apprehend Cornelius herself but thankfully Dycard along with Romulius seem to be on it.

Cornelius shared a venomous glance to the steward as the bottle was held up just enough to catch the glimmering, distorted reflection of his face; unrecognizable. Others dwarfed it as he felt weight on his side from intervention of Dycard; his head snapping to reach out again with his bloodied and broken hand to the mangled crepe. Rage turned to exasperated defeat as his bottom lip was taken between his teeth as he continued to grasp for the dessert. Romulius seized his arm in a position that made him immobile, a heave of breath coming to him as he seemed dissonant and his eyes sullen as the only thing he could do in this moment was nod at the voice of his youngest son.

Trueth slowly comes back to her senses and blinks a few times, pushing her plates aside as she licks her lips clean and then wipes her chin with her sleeve. "Oh," she says dully, looking between Dycard, Romulius, and Cornelius. "I should get going... congratulations, Aedric and Lady Ophira," she says, her voice a tiny squeak as she gets to her feet and starts edging her way out the door, slowly.

Aedric checks composure at hard. Aedric marginally fails.

Without releasing his father's arm from the compromising position, Romulius grabs the fabric of his shirt by the back to usher him along, aided by his younger brother as he forces his father along, towards the foyer and out of the dining hall. To a servant, he lets out a snarl of a command. "Call a Mercy to the library."

Trueth has left the a comfortable ivory leather and mahogany wooden sofa.

At the gentle bit of chastising from Scylla, Gaspar simply arched a dark brow and grinned, moving to offer her a bite of it from his fork which was..quite presumptive. But the scuffle, once more, took his focus away and he simply helped himself to another bite. There was a deep, baritone growl that rumbled slightly from deep in his chest, but what caused it was anyone's guess.

"Thank you for attending, Lady Trueth," the sailor murmurs, managing a small smile. "Ophira, please take our remaining guests to the library." The tone he'd used was best described as authoritative -- reserved usually for misbehaving sailors or drunken marines.

Ophira checks charm and performance at hard. Ophira is successful.

"The rest of you will stay," Aedric clarifies, perhaps recognizing the confusion produced by his command. Gaze settles upon nephews and brothers.

Off to the side, Cristoph and Tyche are having a hushed conversation. Though at one point, he takes her hand that was in the fire and looks at it with a concern and also no small amount of confusion.

With the party starting to break up, Renata looks at the plate in her hands. Somehow she's ate all of her crepe without realising it. She drags the tip of one finger through a little of the sauce that remains, and sucks it off as she watches Romulius and Dycard escort their father from the room. She turns to leave herself, though does just manage to catch Ophira in the midst of the chaos. "Congratulations, Lady Ophira. You make a very beautiful bride." She passes her plate off to one of the staff, murmuring her thanks, then heads out.

With a nod to his uncle, Romulius elects to drag Cornelius out of the way of the departing guests, a look of disgust on his face as looks down towards his father.

When people are being ordered to the library, Tyche glances to the chaos. "We should go," she echoes something she had whispered more quietly. "Before we are forced to read books for the rest of the evening," she murmurs dryly, a touch of her humor returning. She looks for Ophira, perhaps to make her farewells, but in the hubbub of the night, she decides it is best to slip out without trying to disturb her. She has more to deal with, clearly. Not daring to separate herself from the Duke of Laurent, she allows him to guide them out, because if things start flying, he's totally the perfect size for a shield!

Charming, her husband is with the sort of authoritative tone that leaves one questioning where they truly stand, however Ophira tries her best to school features. Glancing towards those still assembled, voice raising with musical lilt equipped with lycene dipped purr, "While we let the Blackshore males tend to their deeply rooted issues, would you all like to join me in the library?"

Cornelius was almost more of a weight than he had been, shuffling off in the grasp as his eyes lay transfixed on the tray that used to be, a distant stare as he gasped a bit for air in his distant reverie.

Cristoph is going to carefully navigate the departing guests, guiding himself and Tyche out of the room without getting too near anyone that might need to be escorted to the library. Like Cornelius. That's rough, buddy.