(really quick, I think another time skip would be best since they’re no longer directly interacting! would you rather skip to the following day before the party, or would you like them to meet in the night at some point? I could start again either way, I just thought I’d ask which you would prefer)
(a timeskip sounds fine! Maybe at some point that night? idk whichever you prefer)
(night it is!)
Nightfall came early in the autumn. The crimson and gold trees, which had been lit like a fire in the bright evening sunlight, were now painted black with darkness. Their hushed shuffling in the wind sounded like a thousand overlapping whispers. Arquis, a lone shadow out on his balcony, briefly wondered what secrets they had to share.
The candle by his left elbow flickered wildly as a cold breeze blew through the area. Bright sparks fluttered up into the sky, burning nearly as brightly as the stars. He idly watched as a drop of wax spilled onto his sleeve. It soaked through the thin fabric onto his arm. Though was hot enough to hurt, he didn’t move his arm away.
There was a mug in his right hand, which was bare. His fingers had gone numb from the chilly weather; he could no longer feel the handle in his grip, but he could see the glint of the moonlight off the drink inside. The stuff had to be ice cold. He was kind of glad for that. He’d had coffee with Muria after sunset, and she’d already given him a lot to drink. He didn’t think more would do him any good.
Laughter from below brought him back to the moment. A group of guests was passing through the small courtyard. He couldn’t make them out from so high up, but they were likely part of the larger group that had arrived during dinner time. He had the sudden urge to drop the mug on them. Instead, he placed it aside, watching as some of the dark liquid splashed over the railing and dripped down like rain.
He suddenly wished that he wasn’t alone. There was no logic to it; he’d always lived a private life. But there was something about that laughter that made him want company of his own.
(wait do you want Rin to come to his room, or?)
(I was thinking so—would you rather me rewrite it so that it’s the other way around? I just thought it’d be a bit needy if Arquis went to his room twice in the same day lol but wasn’t sure what you’d be down with)
(lol idc which)
(if they came to Arquis’s room then that could give him a chance to look around, so that’s my vote!)
(alright!)
Rin left his bedroom, heading towards Arquis's. He had asked for directions from a maid; she had told him how to get there, and he was doing his best to find the correct room. The bard was dressed in a loose-fitting white shirt, paired with black, close-fitting pants. It was all very comfortable, not annoying, nor something that caused discomfort. He knocked on a door, hoping it was the correct one. He had looked around the halls as he walked, but hadn't poked into any of hte rooms, not wanting to intrude.
The knock startled Arquis, and he banged into the both balcony doors on his way into his room. Rubbing his hand over the fresh bruise on his hip made him realize that his glove was still off. He hurriedly tugged it on and gave himself a fast once over in the mirror. The double breasted vest he’d switched into for bed looked fine, but the top few buttons of his white undershirt were undone. His hands were too clumsy from drink to button them up, though he still tried for a second before ultimately deciding to leave it be. A strand of hair fell into his eyes and stayed there, no matter how many times he fixed it.
He swung open the door, expecting to see Quirisa or Marsiquia or—and the thought made his heart drop—Muria, but he was shocked to see Rinlos standing there instead. His mouth opened and closed for several seconds before he regained his composure.
“Is everything alright?” he hoped the slight slur to his words wasn’t obvious. “Has something happened?”
Rin blinked at him, suddenly questioning every decision that had led him here. This was vastly overstepping the boundaries, and Arquis would be well within his rights to make Rin leave for this. "Everything is perfectly alright." he said first, trying to think of what to say next. "I only thought that this is my only night here, and I should like to speak with you again. If I have misinterpreted things somehow, do tell me and I'll be on my way."
“No,” Arquis replied, far too quickly for his liking. His cheeks, already a little flushed, went bright red. “You haven’t misinterpreted a thing. Believe me, I want… well, ah, never mind. Come in.”
He became very aware of the state of his room as he stepped to the side. There wasn’t all that much in it. His bed was a four poster king with a navy canopy, but it only had one pillow. The only actual blanket on it was a scratchy decorative comforter that he rarely used. The sheets had been washed the previous night by a maid, and he’d put them on in a rush; the whole thing looked messy.
His bedside table was a small, beat up thing with locked drawer. The panel of the drawer was painted with a nighttime landscape. On top of the table was an array of candles, a tray of matchsticks, and a pitcher of water by an upturned stack of crystal cups. That was it. There were no keepsakes, nor baubles or jewelry.
The door to his wardrobe, which was beside several old bookshelves, was open wide. All of his suits, jackets, and vests, were fully on display. There were a ton of glove boxes lining the bottom of the main compartment, tucked just under the dangling legs of pants. A few were missing lids. Gloves of all designs and fabrics spilled out of them. One pair, a pearl-colored opera set, was laying on the floor.
Pale moonlight from the balcony illuminated a patch of carpet in the middle of the room. Standing on it was his pedal harp. The curve of it was outlined in white, and he thought it vaguely looked like the blade of a scythe. He averted his eyes from it—there was something about it that hurt to look at, like he was staring straight at the Sun—and instead gestured to Rinlos.
“My apologies. It’s a bit of a mess,” he murmured. It was a quiet admission, so quiet that it was nearly overpowered by the howl of the wind outside.
Rin shrugged his shoulders. "I don't mind a mess. I've stayed far too many places to mind." he replied, giving Arquis a soft smile. His eyes found the glove boxes, and he wondered why Arquis had so many. Why he wore them all the time like this. He didn't quite understand. "May I ask you something? Obviously you don't have to answer if you do not wish to, I don't want to pressure you, but…why do you own so many gloves?" he couldn't help but be curious about it. He hadn't seen the nobleman without them.
“It is often cold around here, and the gloves pair well with my outfits,” he answered instantly, suppressing a wince. It wasn’t that he couldn’t lie convincingly, but drink had loosened his tongue. His words sounded too practiced. He scrambled to change the topic, racking his brain for a new subject.
“You aren’t from this part of Anvillea, however, so I don’t blame you for not being too familiar with the weather. I believe you mentioned earlier that you were from Kevra. I visited there once, though it was so long ago that I don’t remember much. You’ll have to forgive me for that.” He wondered how far he should push the subject, feeling a little hypocritical. Hadn’t he scolded Marsiquia for trying to dig into Rinlos’s life? But he was so curious about the musician, and he’d hardly learned a thing about them.
Rin caught the fact that the words sounded very rehearsed and trite, but let it go, not wanting to dig too much. "Yes, I am from Kevra." he confirmed, inclining his head slightly. "There's nothing to forgive, I understand you would not necessarily have visited my home country in quite a while." they shot him a quick smile, not minding the change in subject. He knew how to talk about themself without giving away their true identity.
Arquis bit his bottom lip hard and wrung his hands together. The thumbs of this pair of gloves were just a smidgeon too small, and their seams felt tight against his skin.
“Your home country,” he repeated. “I don’t want to… well, I hope I am not being insensitive, but did you have family there?” He brought his voice down even further to a soft whisper. “I understand if you do not wish to talk about it. Family is complicated.”
(hey so I'm doing a small group RP (sci fi, found family) and was wondering if you'd be interested? I can link it)
"I do have family, and it is indeed complicated." he let out a quiet laugh. His family was more complicated than he could explain to Arquis. "It's…my mother died when I was young, and my father…" they trailed off, hsaking their head. "I cannot explain my father and the way he…behaves." he really could not explain, not without giving away too much of his identity. "My…father's wife does not like me." not his stepmother; his parents had never been married. His father had been married when Rin was conceived, which was a large portion of why the queen did not like him.
(that sounds really interesting, but I unfortunately only have time for this one at the moment!)
“Oh.” The mention of death brought a fresh wave of grief over Arquis. “I’m very sorry to hear about your mother, even if it happened when you were young. I can’t imagine how difficult that must have been for you. And then to have troubles with the other side of your family, well, it must have been quite taxing on you.”
More laughter drifted up from outside. He waited for it to pass and, in a moment of sudden courage, spoke again.
“My father passed recently as well.” His nerves seized him. He wanted to say more, but that was all he could get out.
(alright, no worries!)
Rin shrugged a little. "It's fine, I've moved on." however, at Arquis's words about his own father, he paused to think. He had heard some rumors about that, on his way here. He had mostly ignored them, but yet…some of them were disturbing. "I heard a bit about that." he said carefully, looking over at Arquis. "I'm so sorry that happened."
The implication that Rinlos had heard some of the rumors made Arquis go tense. He met the musician’s eyes and searched them, desperate to uncover what they knew. Was that why they had come to his room? Not out of a desire to know him, but out of curiosity? Had he been wrong to think that they were different? The possibility that they might be using him to get their fill of information—perhaps to even blackmail him later—sent a burst of panic through his system. He squeezed his eyes shut.
“It was in the past,” he gritted out, “and there isn’t any use thinking of it now. He is gone. There is nothing that can change that.”
Rin blinked. "I…just because something is in the past does not mean that it no longer can hurt." they said carefully, studying the nobleman again. "If you need to talk about it, I will listen." they knew the rumors, but also knew that Arquis seemed like a hurting young man. Rin didn't have the kind of personality to blackmail.
“I do not want… talking about what occurred is not necessary.”
He brought his hand up over his eyes, and in the darkness his mind brought up a memory of his father. Everyone had always said that they looked alike. The same black hair, the same blue eyes, the same strong jawline. They even had the same type of voice, deep and hushed and colored with that Anvillean accent.
The memory grew more vivid. He could hear his father talking to him in the back of a carriage on one of their trips—he wasn’t sure which—and smell the bitterness of his cologne. His father had been telling a story. Something about women and one of the times he’d visited Muria’s family. Arquis hadn’t been listening. He wished he had; it pained him that his memories weren’t complete.
A cool breeze from outside brought him back to the moment. He lowered his hand and looked to Rinlos, embarrassed despite the fact that he’d probably only zoned out for a few seconds. He wasn’t sure what expression he was wearing. He felt bone tired and much older than he had in a long time, as if by remembering his father he had stolen his years.
"Alright." Rin's voice was gentle and calm. He wasn't going to press Arquis for answers or for stories about his father; it wasn't his place to do so. He himself did not have many memories of his mother; she had died when he was 5 or 6, and even before that he had not seen her often. She hadn't really loved him very much. She had loved the pull it brought her with the king, to have bore him a son, even if the son was a secret. She loved how she could use him as a way to manipulate the king, but she didn't love him. Most of their memories of his mother were of her visiting him, every now and again, and then turning around and making some demand from the king.
Arquis let an uncomfortable silence fall over the room. Clearing his throat, he went to his bedside table and poured himself a glass of water, which he drank slowly. He’d already started to sober up. He drank another cup to reduce the chance of a headache, then set the glass down nervously.
“Rinlos,” he said. He didn’t think it was the first time he’d actually said the musician’s name, but it felt strangely significant nonetheless. “You’re in my room.” It wasn’t accusatory, more curious, like he was just now realizing what that might mean.
Rin blinked at him, cocking his head for just a moment. "Yes, I am." they replied slowly, unsure where Arquis was going with this. "Is that a problem?" he gave a quick smile, taking a step closer to Arquis, a step deeper into the room. This was…slightly unfamiliar territory, if he was honest. Usually he was on at least semi-even ground, normally, with whoever he was interacting with. Out wandering as a bard, everyone was a commoner and everyone treated each other the same. Back home, as the king's "nephew" he held a higher rank than most, and they were the ones bowing to him. This sort of thing, where he was, for all intents and purposes, the lower rank? It felt strange and unfamiliar.
He didn’t answer for a lengthy moment, instead shifting from one foot to the other. A thin patch of moonlight appeared on his right cheekbone, likely reflected off the glass of the balcony doors. His mouth twisted slightly to the side as he registered the musician’s step forward.
“It is nighttime, and we are alone in my room.” Subconsciously, his hand rubbed over his exposed neck, then ran down to try and close his shirt collar. He shivered. This time it was from nerves, not the cold. “If I have, ah, misled you in any way…”