#ikepri suitors

[dicenete]

IkePri Suitors!

I shaded these quite quickly o.o I just wanted to get this out of my system xDD

But here we are ^^ I tried to color pick the skin colors from the sprites, and well there aren't much diversity here.

[pawnkyyy]

I made quick chevbert before going to bed.

Feel great.

I’m just gonna place it here. Quietly.

🧎

[matchasilver]

I FINALLY started IkePri Clavis' route, and am realizing how much I love Belle in this route so far! She is so snarky and yet cunning and composed?

I'd flip my shit if I were in her shoes, cry, and call for Rio. Now, Clavis is absolutely one of my faves, BUT in chapter 1, Belle only knows she can't trust him at his word.

The Cybrid MCs all seem to hate murder for any and all reasons (even to save her own life fbfbfhf), but unlike Ikesen Mai, Belle has the sense to not just trust everyone at their word as readily. 😂👏

[floydsteeth]

aide moi

Edit: i cant seem to correct myself, i meant "next" not yet

[violetshideout]

To be completely honest in the past I couldn’t care less about shipping suitors. I was closer to the side of not really liking it so I typically just ignored anything to do with suitor x suitor posts. Then I started playing Ikepri and was introduced to Chevalier and Gilbert. It was like the floodgates opened and all of a sudden I was shipping these two together. Cause how can I not when they have THIS much tension. I wonder if it’s just Gilbert?

[aquagirl1978]

I'm posting this here because I'm getting a few messages about it.

So far, Chevalier is the only one with an art book - it was the merch prize for him winning last year's JP election. There are copies listed on JP Mercari, if anyone wanted to buy one. It would be very nice if they made one for the series with all suitors in it (hint, hint).

The book is mostly photos of his cgs - all from his main and sequel route, and most of his gacha cards. There was the two pages of his outfits I posted earlier, and a 3 page story about his daily routine at the end.

@keithsandwich @celiciaa

[flowrx-lu]

CYBIRD🗣️🗣️ MAKE A QUEER DATING SIMULATOR WITH WOMEN AND MY LIFE IS YOURS 🫶

[acreattaviacco]

Gilbert Von Obsidian

I did it!...and I am really sorry Gilbert I just wanted to do you justice. I didn't intend for you to be my last suitor to draw but you are one of my favorites okay? ...He's still mad at me.

Also this...well he is good at making clothes and dressing us up

[violettduchess]

A/N: An entry into my own One Suitor, One Prompt Content Creation Challenge as well as fulfilling a request for my Broken Heartstrings series

Prompts: Water from the first, Only One Bed from the second.

WC: 3.5 k

The King of Benitoite slowly lowers his crystal flute bubbling with rose-colored prosecco. Carlo is by his ear, mumbling something but Silvio isn’t paying attention. His sharp blue eyes are on the gray marbled dance floor of the ballroom where couples are passing by the raised dais in dazzling displays of glittering jewels and shiny, flowing gowns. One couple in particular has caught his attention: the third prince of Rhodolite and you, former Belle and newly-minted ambassador. Silvio tilts his head, his crown sliding ever so slightly forward over his silvery hair. Clavis is smiling, that guy is always smiling, but somehow this is different. There is a certain softness around his mouth, a brightness in his golden eyes that Silvio can observe even from here. And you, lady, are no different. Your hand is gripping Clavis’s tightly, your face tilted up towards him like a flower to the sunshine. You two dance like you are the only people in the ballroom, like the orchestra is playing just for you.

Hmm. Silvio takes a long sip from his glass.  Suddenly he turns his head, snapping his fingers and stopping the flow of Carlo’s litany on the various nobles in attendance.

“Tell the band-”

“The orchestra, your Majesty.”

“Whatever. Tell ‘em to play ‘Moonlight on Water.’ That slow-ass song you told me about last week.”

Carlo frowns slightly. “But the guests seem to be enjoying the Almain.” It is indeed a lively dance that has people throwing back their heads and laughing a bit too loudly, gliding through the steps buzzing with wine and fast tempo.

“Do it.”

Carlo scurries off and Silvio watches out of the corner of his eye as the conductor bends his head, listening as the dark-haired man delivers the king’s orders.

It takes only a few minutes for the music to shift and what was a cheerful, energetic dance slows to something softer. Couples step closer together, arms winding around waists, bodies almost touching. He watches as you and Clavis come to a stop, taking in the way the dance floor has changed moods. Your blush paints your cheeks with the sweetest heat. Clavis drops your hand, stepping back as he looks around, his smile in place but his eyes move too quickly to be as calm as he is trying to seem. He says something to you and Silvio doesn’t need to hear the words because they don’t matter. It’s the slight forward pitching of his stance, the waver of his gaze, the tension cording its way across his shoulders that gives away his nervousness.

And then you smile, nodding, and step into Clavis’s arms. It’s impossible to miss the shower of relief that overwhelms him as he gathers you close and begins the slow steps of the dance. Silvio takes another deep sip of champagne. He’s rather had fun with the two of you on your diplomatic visit to Benitoite. Clavis is far shrewder than he appears and you are the perfect ambassador, with your warmth and intelligence and face that would melt the snow on the Achroite mountain peaks. And seeing how you both have King Chevalier’s ear, wouldn’t it be fitting if it was here, in his kingdom, that you two finally acted upon what is clearly a mutual attraction to one another? Wouldn’t it be a fond memory of his country to take back home and perhaps, with associations of love and romance, keep decisions tilted in his favor?

There  is only one problem with his plan. Despite having asked the orchestra to play the sappiest, most romantic song he knows, you and Clavis are dancing close….and nothing else. Other couples have their foreheads pressed together, hands wandering into territory that is scandalous-adjacent. Some have even stopped dancing on the shadowy edges of the floor, kissing discreetly. But not you two. You’re still dancing an appropriate distance apart and despite the naked yearning on your face, Clavis’s golden eyes are not on you but past you, as if he can’t bear to see what you are offering him.

“Idiota,” he mutters as he drains the rest of his drink. The dance comes to an end and the orchestra begins a livelier dance. You and Clavis move away from the  floor and only Silvio sees the way you’re blinking back tears.

Fine. If Clavis is too blind or too chickenshit to see whats right in front of him….he’ll fucking make it happen himself.

The wine cellar is remarkable. You’re still not entirely sure why Silvio scooped you and Clavis up from the ballroom and insisted you follow him to have a look at it. Surely it could have waited until tomorrow. But you don’t argue with the newly-crowned king and so you follow Silvio out of the luxurious ballroom and down several marbled hallways and a winding set of stone stairs. A gorgeously carved wooden door depicting vineyards and grapes leads to another, shorter set of steps and then you are inside.

Silvio lights several of the wall sconces and you are greeted by a white room with vaulted ceilings and dark wooden barrels bigger than you and Clavis put together. The walls are lined from top to bottom with bottled wine and one corner of the massive room has glass bottles of crystal-clear mountain water taken from the very peaks of the Achroite mountains. It is dizzyingly impressive and Silvio is actually quite knowledgeable and charming as he guides you and Clavis further back into the massive cellar.

You turn your attention away from the sheer magnitude of it all and back to what he is saying.

“.....but you ain’t gonna believe me until you try it. Just stay here. I know where we keep the good stuff.”

Clavis gestures with his white-gloved hand. “That none of this is “the good stuff” is truly surprising. You have wine from every country I know and then some.” You’re certain Clavis knows every single country but he is a master of flattery, playing down his razor-sharp intelligence when he knows it is a singularly good choice.

Silvio grins slowly, his teeth white as a wolf’s. “Just you wait.” He jangles as he walks back towards the entrance, a sound that echoes throughout the cellar. Despite the light of the scones, there is a chill that lingers here and no windows at all. A shiver suddenly runs through you, sending a scattering of goosebumps across your arms. Why do you have such a bad feeling about this?

As if in answer, the cellar booms with the closing of the door. 

Wait….what? 

You and Clavis exchange a look before he takes off on long legs, hurrying in the direction Silvio went. By the time you catch up, he’s already at the beautiful wooden door. The beautiful, locked wooden door.

“No……” Something akin to panic squeezes your heart and you find yourself drawing in a deep, unsteady breath. “He didn’t…..”

Clavis doesn’t look dismayed. In fact, his handsome features are bright with an expression of absolute delight.

“I would seem he did, the jangler. The question is why. What a curious action to take.” 

“How are you so calm?” Dismay has you looking around the cellar, hoping for some miraculous other stairway to appear or maybe a trap door that would lead to a tunnel to get you out of here. 

Clavis shoots you a grin, one that would normally send your heart racing if it wasn’t already dizzy with the first fumes of panic. He reaches into the pocket of his soft lavender coat and pulls out a small velvet pouch which he deftly unrolls with the snap of his wrist. Inside are several long, pointy metal objects. 

“Because I am never unprepared. So calm your rabbit heart and watch as I save the day and pick our way out of here.”

“It seems we are at an impasse.”

Speaking more to himself than you, Clavis sinks down onto the top step. Gone is the confident gleam in his eyes. Instead he’s frowning down at his lockpicking set like it has failed him. How could Silvio of all people have a lock in this ostentatious mess of a palace that Clavis Lelouch can’t crack?

He inhales, ignoring the voice in the back of his head telling him that he has failed, that he’s disappointing you. But it’s so very loud, filling his mind until it’s all he can hear. 

Failure. Failure. Failure.

It’s so loud in fact that you have to call his name several times, each time increasingly louder, until he jerks his head up.

“Clavis, come here!!”

He pushes himself off the steps, following the sound of your voice past the glass bottles of wine winking at him in the firelight of the sconces to a narrow doorway at the very back of the cellar. Stepping inside he finds himself inside a small room with a simple bed in the center, a humble wooden nightstand and a single candle which you have lit using the tinderbox and wooden splint that were in the nightstand drawer. You’ve also stolen a bottle of mountain spring water. Clever.

“At least we don’t have to huddle on the ground for the night.”

The intimacy of the room feels overwhelming, like a cloud of gray fog rolling through his mind. He couldn’t….you would be so very close, one slight movement and you might touch. Yes, you touch all the time, yes he held you close dancing but it is exactly the memory of what he felt then, the electric almost frantic desire to pull you bodily against him and taste the sweetness of your smile that has him forcing a casual shrug and a smile bereft of its natural sunshine.

“You can sleep here. I’ll stay awake. Play your trusty guard until one of these Benitoites opens the door again.”

He’s stayed awake through the night before. In fact, sleepless nights are no stranger to him. He’s felt the sharp rake of their fingernails across his forehead, felt their claws scrape against his ribcage and send his lungs shrinking in fear. Insomnia chose him as a constant companion after the death of his mother, when the nights became endless, every shadow a predator, smelling the blood of a broken heart and stalking him for one final kill.

“No.” You surprise him with the conviction in your voice, the frown on your face. “I mean…..I would….I would be grateful if you were here, close to me. If…if that’s ok.” 

The truth is you’ve never been a fan of the dark, especially this dark. The dark, cold places deep within the earth. They remind you too much of graves, of death, of eternal night. Clavis, with his golden eyes and quick smile, is light and one glance at the candle on the nightstand tells you that soon, he may be the only thing left to keep you feeling calm and safe.

He hears it in your voice. The wavering undercurrent of fear that flows through your words. 

“Of course, if that’s what you require, my dear.”

You slide your feet out of your shoes and sit on the edge of the bed. Carefully you undo your earrings, beautiful but heavy jewels the color of wisteria, setting them on the nightstand before laying back and settling yourself on the bed. You’re grateful you wore a gown more in the Benitoite-style, a softer, looser style of dress that allows you freedom of movement that the stiff, corseted ballgowns of Rhodolite would not. 

Clavis waits until you roll onto your side and close your eyes before he undoes his lavender jacket, leaving him in his white dress shirt and pants. He sits on the opposite side of the bed, undoing his own shiny leather boots. What now? Your back is to him, exposed by the halter-style fastening of your dress. His gaze traces the lines of muscle and bone, the lay of the fabric along the curve of your hip. He blinks, then clumsily reaches for the bottle of mountain water like a man parched and removes the stopper, drinking deeply. It’s so chilled he feels it slide down his throat, down through his sternum where he hopes the cold will extinguish the heat you have unwittingly caused. He closes his eyes and takes several long sips. There. Yes, it should be just fine now. Why he's positively frosty. He carefully sets the glass bottle on the nightstand and then lays down next to you, on his back. 

Eyes wide open.

The small room is illuminated only by the faint orange of the single candle and the slowly encroaching darkness only works to heighten his other senses. He can hear your breathing, smell the scent of your rosewater perfume. The thin blanket under his hands is rough and scratchy, the pillow too soft to be entirely comfortable. He blames these things for his wakefulness, but in the shadows of his heart he knows the truth: he could be asleep in his own luxurious bed in the palace, with soft moonlight filtering in through the arched windows, with the sounds of silver-stringed crickets and gently hooting owls punctuating the night….and even then, if you were near, he would never fall sleep. Your presence is too bright, blinding even. His skin is electric with awareness. Every breath you take is thunder in his ears and when you suddenly speak, breaking the room’s cloud of silence, it feels like an earthquake shaking his bones, unsettling the blood in his veins.

“It’s getting cold.”

He hadn’t noticed, not with his whole being focused on your proximity to him. But now he feels it too. As the hours of the night deepen, the cellar has grown chilly, cold dancing along the exposed skin of his neck and face. 

“Here,” he murmurs as he pushes himself up. “You can have the blanket and-”

“Clavis.”

Your voice is small, subdued. And something in it brings all of his nervous motion to a halt.

“I’m sure you’re cold too so…..would it be ok if you put your arm around me? We could press together. For warmth.”

His heart feels like it might just beat itself right out of his chest. His breath sticks in his lungs like tar. Somehow, he manages to answer.

“Dearie me, but you're full of clever ideas tonight.” But the words are air, lacking his usual warmth and vigor and effervescence.  Anxiety is crawling through his veins, a familiar prowler. He swallows hard at the lump its forming in his throat.

He turns, his body mirroring yours and lifts his arm. And then you are there, curled against him, pulling his arm down around your middle. He forms a protective shield behind you and the feel of him so close sends an exhale of relief past your lips. The growing darkness no longer feels quite so menacing. The little flame’s slow descent of the wick is not quite so ominous. Clavis feels like the sweetest safety, the most beautiful armor against your fears.

“Thank you,” you sigh as your eyes close. 

His breath is warm against your hair when he answers, his voice as frail as spider-silk. “You’re welcome, my dear. Now sleep, if you can. I’m here.”

Your eyes blink open slowly. You can feel your eyelids moving, feel the strain as you try to clear away the blurry streaks of sleep still muddying your mind. But all you see is darkness, a black so heavy it feels like it is pressing down on you, a foot to your chest, a burly hand over your eyes.  Panic slowly uncurls throughout your body, hot and stinging like venomous tentacles.  

You bolt upright, throwing off Clavis’s arm which is loose in slumber, and rub at your eyes again, looking frantically around the pitch-black room for any source of light that might combat the heavy blanket of darkness. 

“Wha…..?” His voice is thick with sleep, but the uneven, staccato sound of your breathing is a waterfall of ice water through his system. Without hesitation, he reaches out, stumbling through the dark until he’s found your hand.

“It’s ok…..I’m right here. Close your eyes again.” He speaks evenly, voice calm as still waters, holding your hand firmly but gently. You do as he asks, closing your eyes and your body turns towards him automatically, your free hand reaching for him. He catches it and with exquisite tenderness guides you towards him, pulling you into the circle of his arms. You press your forehead against his shoulder, eyes squeezed closed. His scent surrounds you, the soothing calm of lavender, and you stay there, still as stone, feeling the rise and fall of his breathing beneath you, unconsciously matching it with your own until the panic unhooks itself from your mind, dragging itself back to the mire from which it came.

He’s been talking to you the whole time, one hand reassuringly rubbing the spot between your shoulders, his touch warm against your skin. The dark has never been his friend. How many nights did he fill its dark corners with cries, and then small whimpers, begging for it to bring back his mother. To bring him someone who loves him. How many lonely nights has he endured without a kind touch, a comforting voice. Holding you is the very least he can do to ease your dismay, to keep the dark from drowning someone else in its flood.

Keeping your eyes closed helps. This way it feels like the darkness is a choice you’re making and not something you have to endure. Your breathing slowly evens out and awareness of how close you are now dawns. You are pressed against him, your arms tucked between your bodies, your cheek resting on the soft linen of his shirt. You should move away, but your body refuses, drawn to the sanctuary of his embrace like a magnet. And with the way his hand is pressed against your back, the other resting on your waist, it doesn’t feel as if he is in any hurry to let go.

“Clavis?”

“Hmm?” He doesn’t trust himself to speak, not with so many different emotions spiraling through his mind, tightening his throat.

The darkness scares you. But it also frees you to speak the question that has been lingering like a specter in your mind since the dance.

“Why didn’t you kiss me?”

You’re so close to him you feel his sharp inhale. Part of you wishes you could look into his eyes, the gilded brightness of them, and search for truth. After all, Clavis is the king of spun-gold answers, beautiful but insubstantial as rainbows after the rain. He can side-step a direct reply like a fencer parrying an opponent’s blow. But now, when he speaks, his voice so close to your ear, there is a hushed truth twined around his words.

“I would never presume that someone like you would want to be that kind of close with someone like me.”

Quiet words, but they hit you like an earthquake. You shift in his arms, using your fingertips to find his shoulder, grasping it. 

“Someone like you? You mean someone compassionate and kind and caring? Someone who puts everyone else first?”

His silence is more telling than any words and you feel when he turns his head away from you and the truth which has left your lips on trembling wings of faith. You slide your hand up until you have the side of his face cupped in your palm and you turn him back in your direction.

“You, sir, may presume that someone like me wants to kiss someone like you. Because I do. Very much.”

It takes a second, several in fact, where your own heartbeat thunders in your ears, before he moves, turning his face into your palm and pressing a kiss there, a delicate, hesitant touch of his lips to your skin that sends your heart into a slow spin. And then you both shift in the total darkness, reaching for each other.

You bump foreheads. 

And then you both laugh, a sound gentle yet bright, a beautiful entanglement of his laughter and yours.

Your name is the last thing he says before your lips meet and your heart spins off the precipice and into the unknown, into the darkness as you kiss. He is achingly gentle, one hand coming up to trace the line of your shoulder and slide up until he is holding the back of your head, a steadying force in the midst of this new, spring-green connection between you. Your fingers grip his upper arm as you sink into the pleasure of simply kissing him. His touch is tender and with every movement of his lips, you feel affection and admiration and attraction blossoming. Each kiss is a blossom of trust. He’s handing you his heart, bruised and battered as it is, and you in turn are promising to keep it safely locked within your own, cherishing it above all other things.

Every kiss lingers just a little longer then the last until in unison you break apart. And this time when your foreheads touch it, it is intentional. 

“Sleep again, my dear,” he murmurs. “I’m here.”

And so you settle back into the safety of his arms. At first you were only eager for morning because it meant getting out of this place. But now you believe morning will have so much more to offer.

Tagging: @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesrose @ikemen-writer @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @aria-chikage @redheadkittys @tele86 @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @rhodoliteschaos @kpop-and-otome @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @otomefoxystar @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight @queen-dahlia @princesspraya @scorchieart @nightghoul381 @bubblexly

[chu-uu]

I've been fangirling over Gilbert for a while now that i forget how breathtaking Chevalier is.

[fang-and-feather]

IkePri Ship Suggestions

What kinds of suitor x suitor ships you have for the game? Why do you like them as a ship? I am looking for suggestions and inspiration. Anything that doesn't include incest or Gilbert will be added to my testing list for when I get to any future or past polyamory prompts (your suggestions don't need to be for more than two characters as I am including an MC - Emma, Reader or OC - to the poly part).

IkeVamp crossover ships are also very welcome if you have any.

[leonscape]

The Rabbit and the Tiger

By Lawrence Michel

The rabbit was surrounded by a lot of animals. The rabbit was not scared, but she was a very loved rabbit. They all sat in a group around her and she read the books to them. It was the tiger that was sitting next to the rabbit and no one else could be by them.

No one loved the tiger more than the rabbit. So the rabbit didn’t know why everyone was scared of the tiger.

When another tiger approached the rabbit, the tiger next to her got up and growled. The poor rabbit was go so scared, she didn’t want them to get hurt.

The brave tiger bites the other and starts scratching his claws in him. The other tiger howled in pain but the rabbit quickly stopped the fight.

He was hurt and bleeding but the rabbit saved his life. The loser tiger watched the winner tiger walk away.

“Fight me!” Cal shouted. His wooden practice sword was drawn and aimed at Lawrence.

“No,” Lawrence said.

Cal wasn’t taking no for an answer. He poked the unarmed boy in disappointment. “Party pooper. You just don’t wanna lose to me!”

“I just don’t want to,” Lawrence said.

Again, Cal just didn’t know how to take no for an answer. He ran to retrieve the other wooden sword to give to Lawrence. “Here! Just take this and I’ll beat you up like mama!”

Cal started swinging the sword. Lawrence dodged the attacks by side stepping, not by using his sword to defend himself. Cal’s attacks were starting to get more unpredictable as he grew frustrated with Lawrence’s ability to get out of the line of danger.

“Humph. You’re good at this. But I’m not done yet! I’ll beat you up!! I’ll beat you black and blue! Just like Uncle Yves once said,” Cal declared.

Lawrence dropped his journal on the ground and gripped the sword with both hands. Cal was relentless, continuing his fight. Their battle grew noisier as the wood on wood contact made a crisp “clack” echo out in the air. Even the boys’ breaths grew labored the longer the match went on.

“My, would you look at that. My little boy’s got a warrior’s spirit!” Clavis appeared.

Said boy’s mother also made an appearance. “This kid… he just don’t know when to quit.”

Their battle traveled through the grounds of the garden. It wasn’t long before Chevalier’s peaceful afternoon was interrupted. Though he usually spared no attention to anything that wasn’t an immediate threat to the kingdom’s safety, he watched from the corner of his eye.

“Just give up already! I’m getting tired!” Cal shouted.

“You’re the one that started it,” Lawrence said.

Sweat collected on Cal’s forehead. His hair was already clinging to his face and his cheeks were ripe with blood flow. But he never let up for a single second. His persistent attitude was a little more intense than normal. He was not normal.

Cal was in the zone. Complete focus. While they got closer to the king and queen’s gazebo, Lawrence could feel the pressure slowly rising.

Chevalier watched the boys fight and even Emma seemed to be entertained.

Lawrence cracked under the pressure. A timing mishap, a lapse in judgement, and the loss of rhythm. He swung his sword a bit too early and left himself wide open. But Cal never missed a beat. He didn’t even have to think before his sword was striking his opponent.

Lawrence was “slashed” in the arm and he fell to the ground clutching his “wound.”

“I did it! I win!” Cal celebrated.

“Good job, son,” Ava congratulated.

“YEAH THAT’S MY BOY!” Clavis turned into a cheerleader.

Chevalier approached his own son. He looked down at the boy and started critiquing him. “You fall into the false sense of rhythm he had been laying out for you instead of reading him and anticipating his attacks. Your strikes are always on the defense and lack confidence-”

Emma stopped him, whispering something to him.

Chevalier stopped and processed her words. “However, your footwork was up to par. You never faltered in that sense.”

Chevalier strode away. Emma went to her son’s side and examined his “slashed” arm. It was already red and no doubt going to be black and blue the next day.

“Honestly, what kind of father criticizes his own child like that?” Clavis furrowed his brows.

“Well I mean it makes sense. He’s telling him how to improve. I do the same for our son, idiot,” Ava explained.

“Yeah one time mama said I had two left feet like Uncle Jin when he-”

“Hey! Remember we don’t have to repeat everything!” Ava scolded.

Lawrence just watched his father walk away from him.

[ikeprinces-stuff]

"You and Licht can become good friends."

No thanks, I have enough pessimism, suicidal thoughts and self-hate to deal with already, I don't need to increase the stock

[the12thnightproject]

(Sound up on vid)

Event: One Suitor, One Prompt, sponsored by @violettduchess

Suitor/Prompt: Clavis / Water

Clavis vs Emma, Yves, Rio, Licht, Keith; with an assist from Chevalier, as witnessed by Cyran

Title: The Rube Golderg Escalation

Logline: One prank leads to another... or... does it?

Genre: Chaos Fic

Warnings: There might be a pun

Word Count: ~3000

Precisely at midnight, in a room fortified by three different fail-safe traps, Clavis instantly falls asleep. The moment he face-plants on his desk, the top of his head knocks over the first domino in a line of tiles that snakes across the room. This sets in motion a chain reaction as the dominos topple one by one, until the final tile nudges a marble, which rolls down a ramp and plops into a basket attached to a pulley. The marble’s weight causes the basket to descend and a platform to rise. At the top of the climb, the platform flips a lever, and a dagger pops up to slice a string, releasing a mallet that swings down and knocks over a jar full of tiny silver balls.

The balls whoosh to the floor and rebound in a symphonic clatter.

At the noise, Clavis wakes up and leaps to his feet.

He looks around… checks his traps…

Then he corrals the balls, resets every stage of his device, and settles back at his desk again, determined to stay awake.

At 12:48 a.m., Clavis’s head droops, and as he falls into slumber, he again face-plants on his desk-–

We’re going to pause here, for this scenario will repeat another five and a half times, until 5:29 a.m. The five hours until that moment will be far less interesting than the hours that drove us to this point.

So, let us go back in time a bit…

“Haha, I know you have fallen in love with me. Even though you first set eyes upon me only moments ago, you now are so truly madly deeply attached to my person, that you’ve dropped your plans to conspire against me, your one true love.”

Further back.

“Do you want a cupcake?”

Keep going.

“You want me to instruct you on how to achieve revenge on Clavis.”

Not quite there yet… keep going.

“Congratulations. You have a son.”

That’s … too far.

Two days ago, just after ten in the morning, Yves and Licht fell prey to a pit trap. This in itself was not an out of the ordinary occurrence, as sometimes it seemed that Yves and Licht only existed for the sole purpose of falling into these traps. In fact, they had blundered into so many traps that Clavis had been forced to invent new and exciting ways to make them even more fun for his brothers, to ensure that they did not become bored with the whole enterprise.

Therefore, this particular Thursday morning, the trap had been filled with water, and –

[Right. It has been pointed out to this correspondent that “filled with water” is an inaccurate description. There was indeed water in the trap, water that Clavis himself had poured into the trap, but only to a depth of about two feet. There was not enough water to drown anyone hapless enough to fall into Clavis’ trap. Moving on.]

Where were we? Right. Pit trap… water… Yves and Licht.

Splash!

Sploosh!

Squish.

Casualties of the trap included Licht’s boots and Yves’ entire outfit, for he, unfortunately slid down the muddy sides of the pit and landed inelegantly on his otherwise elegant rear.

Normally, that would have been the end* of it, but when the muddy victims made their way back to the castle, they encountered Emma, Rio and Keith, who were out for a morning stroll among the roses.

Yves’s condition elicited immediate sympathy from Emma. Meanwhile Rio vowed that should Emma become a pit trap victim, Clavis would need to travel past the islands of Kogyoku to escape his wrath. But it was an uncharacteristic suggestion from Keith, offered in an uncharacteristic tone of voice, that toppled the first domino. “Perhaps you should get even with him. Teach him what it’s like to be the object of a prank.”

Yves paused to wring out his cravat before answering. The sight of the muddy water dripping onto the ground caused him to flinch, and Emma was tempted to hug him. However when he finally spoke, it was to shoot down the idea. “I have more important things to do than to get involved in a war of pranks.”

Then he squish-marched his way into the castle without another word.

Things might have ended there, were it not for the unlikely assistance of Chevalier, who nudged the marble forward.

(Yes. Chevalier. Really.)

His advice was quite possibly unintentional. After all, the petty pranks of his younger siblings had nothing to do with him, and there was no incentive for him to step in and help…

“You’re blocking the light, Simpleton. Also. No.” Chevalier did not look up from his book, even though Emma had been patiently waiting for him to speak to her. The eventual acknowledgement wasn’t especially flattering, but she was interrupting his reading time, which probably accounted for his mood.

[Ed. Note: No it didn’t.]

“You don’t even know what I was about to –“

“You want me to instruct you on how to achieve revenge on Clavis.” Chevalier set the book in his lap, the open pages signaling that he expected this to be too short a discussion to bother shutting it, too short even to keep his finger in to mark his place. Not that he would have done so anyway**. “It’s not worth my breath. Besides, a man who expects an attack will never let down his guard enough to be surprised.” He picked up the book again, a clear signal that the conversation was over and Emma had again become invisible to him.

“Expects an attack…” Though Emma had spoken aloud, Chevalier did not react. There had been a considering tone to her voice, as if an idea had occurred to her. It was only after she left his private library that Chevalier looked up, with half of his mouth quirked up in a tiny smile.

Perhaps the idea of a private Chevalier smile is artistic license. This correspondent will leave that decision up to the reader.

The following morning, a strategy session took place in the secondary kitchen. Though Yves had professed disinterest in revenge, he had been lured to the meeting with the promise of a recipe from Jade that Keith swore was an heirloom from his Grandmother’s kitchen. And since he was already there, he supposed he could hear Emma out…

“… what is so perfect about this idea is that we actually don’t have to do anything.” Emma went on to detail her idea. “If we set it up correctly, the prank will just work on its own.”

It was simple.

It was deceptive.

It was devious.

It was a surprise that this devious plan had come from Emma.

“You’ve been working too hard with the Bossman.” Rio examined her for signs of nervous exhaustion.

Emma decided it would be a bad idea to mention that the impetus of this plot had come from Chevalier.

Even after they all agreed that the scheme was really quite workable, they might not have ever come up with the nerve to deploy it. That was when fate stepped in, kicking that marble down the ramp.

“Dearie me, you’re having a secret breakfast meeting without me.” Clavis put his hand to his heart. “I can only think that you must be putting together a surprise for my birthday. Let me guess – we’re going to have full day to fete me? A Celebration of Clavis, as it were? Or… Carnival of Clavis! I am touched.”

At his words, the five co-conspirators immediately displayed the shamed faces that only people unused to subterfuge can do. Emma blushed. Yves cleared his throat and fiddled with his earring. Keith stuck his hand in his coat and stared at the wall. Rio looked up at the ceiling. Licht looked down at the floor.

A more guilty looking party you couldn’t find outside of a political convention.

Instantly alerted by their reactions, Clavis gazed at this gallery of rogues. “I sense a plot is in the works.”

“Eep.” Emma could only squeak.

“Nothing.” Licht’s denial was mumbled at sub-audible volume***.

“My mistress would never dream of such a thing.” Rio turned and winked at Emma.

Casually… perhaps too casually at this point – Clavis stole a pastry from the tray and popped it in his mouth. Only after swallowing it during a silence as uncomfortable as a lukewarm bath in winter did he speak. “If I were a suspicious type, one who did not believe his family loved him, I might think you all were planning a dastardly trick on me.” He added a disbelieving laugh at the end, and waited for them to deny things.

A chorus of not terribly convincing “Of course nots,” arose, after which the original members of the tea plotting party suddenly recalled that they all had tasks that immediately needed accomplished, and made their escape.

Only the dregs of their breakfast remained, and Clavis was left gazing at the space where they had been. They truly were up to something. A game… a plot… a… revenge?

Maybe… maybe filling the pit trap with water had been a bad idea?

Hm.

He resolved to be on his guard for signs of surprise attacks. Not that they could possibly come up with a revenge that rivalled his own pit traps and other experiments.

The marble had fallen into the basket, and the platform was on the ascent.

Upon exiting the kitchen, Clavis noticed Emma had paused to talk to Cyran. When Emma glanced over her shoulder and spotted Clavis, she bit her lip and scurried away.

“You too?” Clavis’s words weren’t loud enough to reach Cyran’s ears, but he had already seen Clavis peering out of the kitchen, so he greeted the Prince accordingly.

“Good morning sir.” Taking in the remains of the conspirator’s food, he added, “Did you make breakfast for Emma then?” This was said in the guarded tones of a man who has eaten Clavis’s cooking and barely lived to tell the tale.

Ignoring the question, Clavis gestured to where Emma and Cyran had been talking. “Did she try to recruit you to the cause?”

“What cause?” Cyran said outwardly. Now what? (He said inwardly).

“Dear me, there are multiple causes. I knew it. For they will need to attack on simultaneous fronts in order to best me.” All five of them were independently working on plots against him. “Thank you for confirming the existence of those dastardly plans.”

Cyran sighed. “I said what cause, not which cause.”

“Ah ha!”

“Ah ha?”

“Ah ha ha ha.” And with that, Clavis strode off, leaving a truly confused Cyran in his wake.

A short while later, Clavis discovered Emma furtively creeping out of Sariel’s office. She held something shiny in her hand that she tried to hide when she spotted him. “We meet again, my love!” He bowed over her hand, inspecting the object. It was a key. Flashing her a dazzling smile, he said, “Hahaha. Sariel gave you a key? It won’t open the door to my room, so if you plan to wait for me there on a bed of roses, it is all for naught.”

“What? No!” Emma blushed and thrust the key behind her back. “It’s for the hidden gazebo in the garden.” Her face still bright red, Emma edged away from him, then zipped down the hallway.

Once she was out of sight, a frown crossed his face. Had Sariel managed to make a key that would unlock his room? Clavis had designed that lock to be impossible to break… but just to be safe, it would be a good idea to increase the protections in his room.

As a precaution.

And thus… the dagger sliced through the string, and the mallet swooped down, releasing over the course of the day, a series of suspicious incidents, conversations and near misses that bounce through his mind like tiny silver balls…

Item One – a serving tray full of Yves’s freshly baked pastry. Just before Clavis could take a lavender-bergamot flavored cupcake, Rio rotated the tray. Had this been a suggestion he wanted Clavis to take the cake now closest to his hand? Or maybe a diversion that was aimed to ensure he took the purple frosted one he had originally been aiming for? In the end, Clavis decided he was safest depriving himself of the treat altogether, and went without tea.

Item Two – Emma and Keith (and perpetual tag-along Rio) invited him on an excursion to that previously mentioned secret gazebo. But… were they nudging him down a specific path? Clavis could not see any evidence of a newly dug trap… but danger didn’t only lurk below. He eyed the line of hedges, looking for a suspended net or hanging bucket… and in the process, stubbed his toe on an unevenly placed stone on the path. Giving up on the trek, he returned to the main garden, and perched upon a warm sunny bench in an open area where he would be able to see if anyone approached. A slight sunburn was his reward – but at least no one attacked him and no net landed upon him.

Item Three – At a party that night arranged for a delegation of visiting nobles from outside the capital area, Clavis took note of a lovely, long-legged lady who eyed him with overt appreciation. Ah… another instance of love at first sight. He would permit her to lay her heart at his feet. However, before Clavis could reach her side, the lady was temporarily waylaid by Emma and Yves. He was too far away to hear their conversation, but … what if this unknown lady had been hired as part of their revenge prank?

Alas, for Clavis, the woman was completely innocent of any conspiracy, and his less-than-subtle questioning of her only resulted in a –

Slap!

At this point, Clavis called for a tactical retreat, barricaded himself in his room, and set up a complicated alarm to help keep him awake past midnight, in order to ensure he could instantly repel a pre-dawn revenge raid.

This brings us to 5:27 a.m…

Clavis has once again fallen asleep at his desk. Regrettably, in his exhaustion, he neglected to correctly reset his ‘Clavis Personal Sleep Interrupter™’ and the dominos ceased falling mid-stream. The marble stayed at the top of the ramp. The dagger never cut the string to release the mallet. There was no cascade of silver balls across the floor.

Instead, at 5:28 a.m. there is a crash, followed by a yelp of pain outside his room, caused by one of the maids colliding with a castle footman and dropping her dust pan... on the footman’s foot****.

Awakened and alarmed by the noise, Clave jumps to his feet, grabs a weapon, and runs to his door, determined to confront an invasion. Given his mostly sleepless night, it should not come as a surprise that he forgot his own booby traps. Therefore, when he throws open the door, there is a BOOM as an explosion of pink dust fills the room. This is followed by a sploosh when a bucket of honey (stolen from Luke who will not be happy when he realizes it is gone) falls on his head. Then finally a floof, when the honey-blinded Clavis trips over a rope and falls into mini-pit full of feathers.

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK

(The Maid, upon seeing the pink honey and feather colored beast emerging from Clavis’s room).

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK

(The Footman, deeper voice, same cause).

At 9:42 a.m. a freshly cleaned, de-honeyed, de-pinked, de-feathered (except for one tiny feather stuck to the side of his head), very tired, sunburned and slightly feverish Clavis finds and confronts the gang of five, who are, this time, enjoying breakfast in the rose garden. “What a sorry looking cabal of conspirators.” Five “innocent” looking faces greet this statement. “You’re planning a revenge prank are you not? Ah hahaha. Have I not proved that I am equal to anything you might throw at me?”

As he spoke, that one tiny feather finally loosed itself and drifts harmlessly to the ground.

After a moment of silence for the kamikaze feather, Emma, who has somehow been elected speaker, shakes her head. “Prince Clavis, no one here is planning a prank on you.”

One eyebrow rises in disbelief.

“It might be more honest to say that instead… we convinced you that we were going to prank you… and…” She waves her hand in the air. “Then you pranked yourself.”

There is a long moment of silence while Clavis ponders the ramifications of that.

Longer…

“Ah hahahah haha” Clavis throws back his head and laughs into the sky. “I knew it! You all love me! Nothing else could have motivated such a brilliant plot. Emma… Rio… Keith… and my beloved brothers… I’m overjoyed.” Indeed, it does appear that Clavis is shaking with excitement. “Only people who adore me and respect my genius could have realized what was truly necessary to trick me. Because of course, the only person who can successfully prank me is,” he pauses for dramatic effect, “Me! How deliciously intriguing.”

The conspirator’s momentary relief that he appears to be taking this so well, changes to worry at Clavis’s next announcement.  “I cannot wait to show you all how much I love you in return.”

(The end.... or is it...?)

*Pun intended

** Not that would Chevalier ever stoop to leaving his finger in a book, turning it upside down or commit the heinous crime of folding down the corner of a page. He has no need to as he always remembers his exact place.

***More sub-audible than usual

**** Though this uproar is incredibly well timed and placed, it is actually just an unfortunate coincidence. Emma, Rio, Yves, Licht, Keith and Keith were all asleep in their respective beds when this occurred and had nothing to do with the maid/footman collision. Sometimes an act of fate is simply that.

Thank you @violettduchess for a lovely event that forced me way way beyond my Sengoku comfort zone.

Also thanks to Lorei helping to ensure this isn't egregiously OOC.

[dear-mrs-otome]

So given that his story is in Part 3 of the anniversary, and that the maid story event comes after the anniversary stuff (unless they change the order and somehow cram it in before the 7th which I doubt) ...basically they won't be doing any of the pre-relationship events for Silvio before his actual route releases?? That's pretty friggin lame.

[solomons-poison]