risingruin

[risingruin]

"Compliments to the Queen of good choices, then." Enchanting, that she is. Even more so, when she sits on his lap. Elias does have to admit, he has a thing for married women. "Better, from here? You know me, and the fact that I always, only watch."

Perhaps, a pang of fear is the cause of this. Perhaps, not. "You do know I come by these parties only for you, and Arden?" She feels comfortable on his lap, like she just belongs there. His hands refrain from touching her one second, the next they're slowly sliding beneath her dress, fingertips feeling lace, bare skin, then the soft material of her underwear. His fingers do not stop there, no, his middle finger briefly brusher over the pearl of her desire, before it dives deeper, paired with his index finger. Both find the wetness of her core, and Elias has to sustain himself from groaning quietly when they are engulfed with warm, and wet skin. "I'm boring.", he whispers against her lips, "No?"

Curling his fingers inside of her while he leans back, Elias looks up at her like she is a goddess, or perhaps, something worse. "I'm sure you like your men less chatty.", he grins, softly, "You could fix that, if you just sat on my face."

Sienna could not easily be kept away from the manor that she once called home. It wouldn't matter if she was shunned from society due to the games her former husband had played with her livelihood. Everything in the home had been hers, given to her upon his death and yet Arden had decided to take it all away. Sienna would make him suffer for the crimes against her. She could blend in with the throngs of people that were beckoned to the extravagant parties he threw in her absence. They were cheap imitations to the ones they had when they stood side by side, but she would ignore his grave mistakes.

Instead, Sienna would enjoy the party, drink the liquors that her husband provided for every lowly person that stepped through the French doors and flatter any man or woman that would catch her previous husband's attention. Including the man who sat by himself, his eyes seeming to contemplate the life before him. A man who liked to watch.

"Sir Elias," she called out with a purr, hovering over him. Her teeth bit into her lips, listening to his quiet thanks and shook her head, "he doesn't need thanks, not when everything here was curated delicately by myself."

Smirking, she placed the fine crystal on the side table before sitting gently on his lap, "I've been having a wonderful time and I believe it will only get better from here," her hand ran through his chestnut locks, her blood red nails scratching against his head, "don't you think, Sir?"

[risingruin]

99 percent of the time, Elias' reactions are a mere act. Controlled down to the slightest twitch of his lips, the batting of an eye. The lies are the easies part of it -- reacting as if he had never been kissed by a man before, surprised by the mere audacity to do so where everyone could see it. Reacting as if he was outraged by the act of it. But Elias could do none of that -- Arden had managed to catch him entirely of guard. His eyes are still closed when he parts from him, but the tap against his cheek snaps him awake.

While Arden takes grapes into his hands, Elias chooses a different fruit -- a half cut pomegranate. They have, in a strange way, always reminded him of blood. Elias digs two fingers into the flesh, lets them soak up in the fluid, and hums, amused. Then he takes them out of the fruit, dripping red, places it aside, grasps Arden's chin, and relatively gently pushes his fingers in between his lips. Fingers, that taste just like Sienna. "And I thought I was about to bitter your sweet." A satisfied, cocky grin wraps around his lips as he leans back, withdrawing his fingers from his mouth, "Too bad. And there I thought I was in for a bloodbath."

At Elias' stagnant presence, he indulges in his attention if only to give him the evidence for what he sees. The kiss is quick, still fervent in passion, but it's like the burn of passing a palm too close to a candle. It's concluded with a tap of his hand against his cheek, and Arden climbs over the back of the couch to sit beside him. "I am not married anymore, for one. This is far more entertaining than any promenade."

"Quite frankly, you are positively peculiar, Elias," He sighs, ripping a fistful of grapes from the platters before them. Formalities are often abandoned within the manor at this hour, from names to the rogue smeared across his neck. The rooms hums with laughter from the floor above, and the hearty conversation between the corridors of the parlor and dining room. Some reciting of Shakespeare has been interrupted to defile it into a story of more passion, more feeling, more luster. "And while it is not my preference, I have respect for any cuck if he is aware of it. I do not wish to bitter anyone else's sweet."

[risingruin]

"No you're not." The smile on Elias' face turns smug for a second, then he averts his gaze to analyze the flowers she would have fallen into. Thorns, that would have hurt, and maybe cut up her beautiful skin. Disastrous, had it really happened. "Good instincts can be tiring, if you run to save the world every few seconds." Which he does not -- which is also why his instincts aren't tiring to him. But a lie or two, won't hurt. He's lied too much in his life too care. If one falls into a rose bush, you will not be able to tell the difference in between a thousand, and a thousand-and-two thorns.

"Will you walk with your savior for a moment, then?" They look alike, in a way -- Elias finds himself wondering that if he had a daughter (for all he knows, he could have one out there), if she would look like her. Maybe she would, maybe she wouldn't. "You could say, I was your Knight in shining armor.", he jokes, lightly, "Though this plain white shirt does not quite shine as much as armor would."

one moment, rosemary is walking down the path, the next, her foot slips- the leather of her shoes betraying her. she's headed for a rose bush, no doubt going to be covered in thorns and bramble. at the last moment, she corrects herself inches from the rose, hoping to save her embarrassment if anyone saw her.

only, someone did see her. where had the man come from? rosemary doesn't remember him being near her, then suddenly there he is- a mountain ready to protect her from a rose bush. her mouth opens agape at surprise before her lips form a small smile. "i am always careful." a lie.

rosemary scans him for a moment, dark hair and very blue eyes. similar to her. "there is nothing to apologize for. your instinct to help someone...i think that is very admirable." she nods her head, bowing it slightly. "lady rosemary hermance, my lord. i am grateful you were my savior, anyway."

[risingruin]

( @honeyedache -- The Sinclair Estate The drawing room )

"Lady Sinclair." A smile takes over Elias' face -- and to his surprise, it is an honest one this time. "Your mother has told me a lot about you." Originally, he had ought to visit her brother Callum, or her mother -- both had been good options, both were on the top of his list to draw in with his charm. Elias had been trying to take over the house of Sinclair like a parasite -- infesting their rooms, beds and lastly, heads. "You are at least ten times more gorgeous than she has been describing." Of course she is. She is a Sinclair, after all. "Have you been tormented with matches made by your parents yet?" Elias takes a sip of his tea, and leans back in the armchair he was placed in, "I had it quite easy." My parents got rid of me before they could even try.

"My father was happy to have me, after my mother's death, and let me choose whoever I wanted. Then there was the war, anyway." Elias winks at her, "Which is luckily over now." Luckily, or sadly. Elias has not decided yet.

"Tell me, are there any suitors that interest you yet? The Queen's choice to match you with... Sir Thayer Claremont is surely interesting."

[risingruin]

"To the modiste. Of course she did." Elias remembers something at the mention of Callum's name -- a recent Lady Whistledown paper, written to curse and destroy. Interesting. A weakness he could use to favor himself, if he twisted and turned it the smartest way. "Please, call me Elias. And I am quite content with a simple cup of tea." Nothing sweet or sugary has ever been able to amaze him enough. Maybe the war and the countless hours without food were at fault. Maybe sweet things just stuck to sweet things, and the bitter tea to his bitter soul.

"I will join you and wait for her return. Your mother and I are old friends." Not so old, indeed. And even if she were -- she would not have recognized him, like the rest of his family. Like his mother, the gruesome snake, that would not even recognize her own blood, stood it in the same room as her, gifting poisonous smiles. Elias fucking hates this family. "I have found myself enjoying the company of your family within the last few weeks. I heard that this obnoxious Lady Whistlebum or whatever her name is, has found joy in tearing your family apart -- at least with words. Disappointing, if she cannot stand up for what she thinks, and wants to stay."

Each day as of late had been taxing on Callum’s mind and body. Lady Whistledown’s had once again sunk her venomous teeth into the Sinclair family, but this time Callum blamed himself. If he weren’t ill, different, and tortured by his mind — then his family wouldn’t be facing yet another scandal. Whistledown was trying her very best to destroy the Sinclair’s, but Callum wouldn’t let that happen. He’d take the blame.

He’d decided to try escape it all through reading a book. Callum was a few chapters in when he heard a deep voice and it shook him from his book. “Oh, I believe she went out to the modiste with my sister,” he explained, “I’m sure she’ll be back soon if you’d like to wait? I could get tea and biscuits for you.” The man looked familiar, but Callum couldn’t quite place it. “Lord Fitzgerald,” he smiled softly, “It’s a pleasure to see you again. I’m Callum.” He ushered the older man further in the drawing room, “I’m alone for now, but you’re welcome to join me if you’re not busy?”

[risingruin]

( @promisedhexvens -- A river, in the forest in the afternoon )

Elias tries to remind himself, that it is just a bag. That there is no need to retrieve it from the river if he cannot bring himself to do so, that he could just leave it there. It had fallen off of the bridge that he had paused on, and was now laying in the middle of the water. All his belongings were drenched by now, anyway, and if there was one thing he could not bring himself to, then it was stepping into the water and lifting it off of the pebbles and off of the large stone.

He took a few deep breaths, but it was a lazy attempt at calming himself. There was nothing 'calm' that came to entering a river. He would be drenched up to his thighs -- and in theory, that was not the problem. He could handle the questioning gazes, but he could never handle the icy cold, the freezing, the reminder of a death he almost died. Elias took a step back from the river as he heard someone approaching, and his gaze held low, he accepted his defeat, "How much would I need to pay you to stop into this river for me?"

[risingruin]

( @serpentinheels -- at one of the couple's parties late, at night )

There's a difference in between dangerous, and lethal games. Toying around with the Sinclair family -- his family, if he wants to be precise -- is partially lethal, partially dangerous, though mostly walking on thin ice. Staring at a married woman like she is heaven brought to earth, is lethal. Especially, when her husband is around. Especially, when the woman looks lethal herself. Elias tries to push his thoughts in other directions -- towards the red wine in his glass, which tastes exceptional, or towards the beautiful decorations spread all throughout the home.

When Sienna approaches him, Elias freezes partially. He does not get up from his chair, instead he looks up at her, and analyzes her features. Yeah. Gorgeous. Deadly. "Good Evening.", Elias greets her, "I am yet to see your husband to thank him for his invitation." He had accepted it -- in hopes of finding out more about Lady Whistledown, and had been greeted with... strange sights. "Are you enjoying yourself tonight?"

[risingruin]

( @ofbledwine -- One of Arden's parties late, at night )

Darkness clouds Elias' brain, and the slightest hint of light is only brought by the delicious red wine that swirls in his glass. At first, the parties were more than just strange to him. The idea of monogamy, just to break it so frequently, rubbed into the other partner's face, confused him. And yet, he agreed with the Queen -- a great chance to find out more about Lady Whistledown, were she to be present -- and with himself -- a break from the norms of society that had once almost lead to his own death.

When he watches Arden approach, Elias leans his head back against the cushion of the chair he has been sitting in for the last hour, taps his fingers against the glass of red wine, and closes his eyes. "I'd tire of this at some point, if I were you." Crooking his head to the side, he let's his gaze glance over the small crowd, "And I still wonder where the idea to invite me came from." Perhaps, the interest he had taken in Arden's wife is at fault. Perhaps, it is something else. Elias downs the rest of his red wine, and places the empty glass on a table, "After all, all I do is watch."

[risingruin]

( @fcrgivenesss -- Kensington Gardens early, before noon )

"Careful." One second, Elias is lost in thought about a conversation he had with a fellow knight just minutes ago, in the next he's protecting a woman from falling into the rose bushes -- or so he thinks. At second thought, it seems like she was just leaning down to enjoy the smell of the beautifully grown flowers, and Elias feels a hint of shame knock against the windows of his mind -- but they are shut tightly, secured with locks. The shame disappears. Maybe tonight, when he's laying in his bed, it will return, and he will let it in. But that is nothing to worry about now.

"Apologies.", Elias bows his head, and a sigh rumbles in the back of his throat, "I only saw you leaning forward out of the corner of my eye, and I fear that my instincts took over." Instincts that snap alive with every single noise, movement, and word -- instincts he sometimes wishes he'd left on the battlefield. The woman is beautiful, and her eyes are captivating. Yet, he's sure he has never seen her around before. "May I introduce myself?" Elias smiles, "Lord Elias Fitzgerald. At your service, Miss...?

[risingruin]

( @secretgcrdens -- In front of the Sinclair Manor mid-day )

The sun burns into Elias' skin like she's an enemy long-forgotten -- prickling, and constantly on his mind while exposed to her. She tickles memories that he so carefully locked away in a chamber, that were chained to a chair with no hope for escape. Sun never seemed to shine in the war. Only when it ended. The doors finally open, and the Lord sniffs in disgust, that only makes the corners of his mouth wrinkle, and never reaches his eyes. The Sinclairs. He died in this house once, and so death he brings right back to them. With every touch to a piece of furniture, he can see it: Blood dripping off of their edges. Imprints on their walls. And the smell. Sickeningly, and treacherous. A loving family if viewed from the outside, but what are their secrets? Elias will pry for them, no matter the cost.

"Lord Sinclair." Elias is ripped out of his thoughts when he steps into the room meant for visitors, and is only greeted by one familiar face -- "I was expecting to find the Marchioness herself." His great plan. Steal them. Every single one of them, like a cuckoo. "I believe we have met before. My name is Lord Elias Fitzgerald. The Knight Grand Cross?" Humming, Elias scans the room as if he has never seen it before, "A pleasure. Are you here all alone?"

[risingruin]

BREAK FREE OF ALL RESTRAINTS TWIST THE DAGGER

( cillian murphy / forty-nine / he/him ) has LORD SIR ELIAS CORIAN FITZGERALD has ever truly felt at peace? as it reads in lady whistledown's most recent paper, the KNIGHT GRAND CROSS suffered in the war, like many over men. but what has he done, that deems him this worthy of the queen's great attention? i am sure it was his devoted service and not killing the marquess sinclair after being exiled from his true position in the society. there is no peace to him, especially not on his birthday, every year since NOVEMBER 12TH, 1764.

creaks of walls and windows are nothing but haunting noises at night. but what is a haunt, if there's a hunter, and what is a hunter, if there is still prey. -- tw death, violence, slight abuse (indicated), torture, war trauma

He ignores his words out of habit. His knuckles are bruised, and his face is buried deep in what they deem healing waters, though Elias is sure that it’s just a muddy broth, and not much more. Breathing it in and out cannot feel good or ‘freeing’, as they claim it to feel. Elias lifts his head, face dripping, hair dripping, lips slightly parted, and stares at the wall. The wall does not stare back, though he finds himself wishing it would -- then he could agree with that they're saying, whispering about him. Lost in life. A madman. Violent.

At eight, he does not quite grasp the word 'violence'. At sixteen, he lives, and breathes it. As the spare, Elias could not care less about his reputation. The bar fights he gets into are messy, and the constantly bruised knuckles speak for themselves. Faking his death is easy for his parents -- a son that only brings disgrace, discarded by men paid an enormous sum, in an alley dark and dirty. Elias lives through the dark- and dirtiness, lives through nights on the street and the burning of his soul so empty. He finds something to throw his anger into -- a war, and a Lord, who's son has recently passed away, alongside his wife. Elias snaps right into place, every trace of the name Sinclair wiped out of his history -- Fitzgerald is the name he proudly carries on the battlefield.

A fracture of darkness can be brightened by the light of a lantern, but Elias' heart cannot. He leaves every single piece of it in the war, on the battlefield, and the only remaining piece of it is set afire as he watches his very own father bleed to death on the muddy ground, surrounded by other nameless men.

The dirt stays in the war, and the polished and clean name Fitzgerald stays when he faces the Queen, knighted with a title he truly does carry with pride -- and tasked with something almost impossible -- find Lady Whistledown, no matter what it might cost.