#his dead-eyed smile and attempt at a jovial response in both

[divorcedtom]

when you’re in love with two people but neither of them want you back

[missingjackklinehours]

when tomorrow comes 🌳

good gods i know it's ship day but this is solely a gen michael & lucifer & raphael & gabriel fic :')

Inspired by Sam & Dean's S.W & D.W carvings on Baby. Who's to say the Archangels weren't first in that idea?

Rating: G (Gen Archangels fic)

Special thank you to my beta!

Playlist & Fic available on AO3. (it's also under the cut, if you prefer that!)

Heaven's lush hills always seemed greener and livelier when all four archangels lay against them. A rarity the occasion was, a trivial shard of diamond in the cascading abyss. It always seemed that Heaven needed an archangel here, there, everywhere at once; It made familial bonding far more complicated than things used to be.

However, a special day plucked from each year never failed to offer the archangels plenty of time together. A day of thanks, a day where Heaven displayed gratitude for their eldest brothers—Michaelmas, the Feast of the Archangels.

Morning sun rays highlighted soft violets and dusk plums of aster flowers, a humble gift for the very firsts of their species. By nightfall, bright angel-made clusters of heat-producing hydrogen and helium littered the black sky in the name of each archangel. Fledglings flocked to watch the fiery protostars burn in the cosmos.

While Lucifer happily revelled in the praise, Michael hid his jittery hands by tucking them behind his back and flashed a polite, yet photogenic smile to his newest siblings. Raphael, seemingly indifferent to the holiday, remained by Michael's side, occasionally shooting their brother a subtly reassuring look. Jovial, yet also graciously wanting to include others, Gabriel mingled in the crowds with the fledglings to watch the protostars, enthusiastically explaining to Heaven's children how the young stars would eventually grow to become massive beacons in the night.

By the time the thick, yet routine night fog had clouded the view of the protostars, the flocks of angels had dissipated. It was their cue to leave; The archangel hideout awaited. Or, as Lucifer liked to call it: the Badass Lair.

The refreshing air genially accommodated them, the chilled wind carried their wings as they flew. There was always a sense of thrill around the Autumn Equinox, nearing Michaelmas—perhaps it was the comforting thought of familiarity, a high from nostalgia of sorts. Whatever the seed, it didn't matter; Focusing on the blossom of a sibling’s love and appreciation was much easier.

Raphael's garden always seemed to flourish increasingly with every rare gathering the four indulged in. Even midair, as they descended upon the immense greenery below, Michael had already begun to muse about how the banyan trees had expanded since his last visit. Raphael quietly, yet blithely soaked in the adoration from their archangelic brothers.

The softness of the grass, however, always remained the same. Lucifer was the first to land, being the quickest flier of the bunch. He cracked an astonished grin as he surveyed his younger sibling's growing garden, slightly pivoting to catch the vibrance of Raphael's indigo feathers amongst the blackness of the sky.

"Not bad, Raph!" The Morningstar loudly called out, adding more quietly with a snicker, "For a kid."

The thunderous sound of strong, flapping wings echoed behind him, prompting Lucifer's playful smirk to widen.

"I'm literally only four hundred years younger than you," Raphael's familiar voice remarked, and Lucifer turned once again to meet his sibling's deadpan expression.

"And despite the age difference, Raphael has created far better things than you have, brother," Michael offhandedly commented as he silently landed farther away from the pair. Lucifer's face contorted into a pout, and Raphael fought to contain their own appreciative smile at the eldest angel's words.

"Woooow, Mi! I'm hurt!" Lucifer faked offense.

The heavy fog of nightfall seemed to become almost pellucid at the very presence of Heaven's firsts. Peeks of sheer luminosity from the protostars of Michaelmas seeped from the impervious midnight clouds. Even the banyan trees seemed to lean into the comforting presence of archangelic grace.

Lucifer squinted into the elegant cloak of the night sky. "You think Gabe's gonna break his neck when he crashlands?"

Raphael turned their attention to the sky in search of the youngest archangel in question. "He's been getting better at landing. He'll do fine."

Lucifer hummed in response, brightening slightly when he caught sight of Gabriel nearing the garden. "Mn, doubt it. Wanna bet? Loser has to listen to Michael's fifty page manifesto on why ducklings are Pop's best creation."

Raphael blinked, looking over to Michael in bemusement. "Your-... your what?"

Michael's eyes darted to Lucifer to glare daggers at him, who only sniggered in response. A gust of wind washed over the trio, and frantic fluttering of golden wings broke Michael's glower. Beside him, Gabriel was close to landing—or rather, close to failing at landing. It was really more similar to falling, with his limbs flailing all about and eyes squeezed tightly shut in preparation for impact.

Michael sighed hopelessly at the sight, extending one of his grandiose fuschia wings low to catch his younger brother. Upon the soft sensation of Michael's velutinous feathers, Gabriel's eyes reopened in surprise.

"Hey, no fair! You interfered!” Lucifer huffed at Michael, who merely rolled his eyes and helped Gabriel to his feet.

“I almost made it, I was so close!” Gabriel whined, furrowing his brows as Michael thumbed a smudge of leftover party sweets that was stuck to his cheek.

“Next time, bug. You’ll get it next time,” Raphael reassured, and Gabriel’s grace seemed to relax at his older sibling’s encouragement.

Lucifer yawned, and the twinkle of the protostars above them began to reflect the dew on the grass. “M’kay, new bet. Last one to the tree has to listen to Michael’s manifesto.”

Gabriel perked up curiously and cocked his head at Michael. “What manifesto?”

Michael shook his head and stubbornly huffed. “I was two hundred years old, Lucifer. The duckling phase of my life is over.”

“Oh? So you’re saying ducklings aren’t the greatest living creatures?” Lucifer pried, exaggeratedly leaning his ear towards Michael to hear his response. Raphael and Gabriel eyed the two bickering brothers and exchanged amused glances.

Michael shifted uncomfortably in place in an attempt to keep in his passionate ramblings; He ultimately failed. “I never said that. Ducklings are the epitome of absolute goodness and commendable purity in the universe. The best traits of all of creation can be found in their small yet mighty little bodies. Not only do they bring togeth--”

“Blegh, no more lectures! Lulu, your bet’s on!” Gabriel groaned, spreading his sets of still-developing golden wings.

"'Atta boy," Lucifer impossibly brightened, his grin quickly returning. "On three! One... "

With one singular number down, Lucifer watched in incredulity as Gabriel mischievously laughed, a flash of golden feathers passing them all by. After the initial shock wore off, Lucifer briefly hummed, nodding in approval.

"Touché, little brother, touché," The Morningstar muttered to himself, before theatrically shrieking into the night, "YOU'RE DEAD MEAT, GABE!"

Gabriel's boisterous bursts of both elated and happily frightened screams in the distance elicited an endeared smile from all three of the older angels. With a whistling streak of vermillion wings, Lucifer chased after his youngest archangelic brother.

Michael and Raphael observed them in comfortable silence, the illumination from the protostars just bright enough to see the vivid colors of their wings against the midnight sky. As the breeze audibly raked through the trees, Raphael slightly swiveled to curiously peer at Michael.

"I'd actually like to hear about these ducklings," Raphael calmly stated, gesturing with their head towards the specific tree that Gabriel and Lucifer were headed for.

The blinding look of pleased excitement on Michael's face was enough to bring a smile to Raphael's lips.

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚

In contrast to the vivacious growth of much of Raphael's garden, the Badass Lair retained all of its youthful glory.

The haphazardly-built abomination of a fort from sticks and logs stood distinctly adjacent to the veiny streams of the garden. Across from it dwelled a meager hill of lush grass and florid lilac petals of asters—A place where Michael taught all three fledglings to fly, a place where Lucifer created his first defective star, a place where Gabriel grew the lavender flowers as a gift to Raphael. It was their safe haven, a site of alleviation and bliss.

In the center of both dear venues settled a special banyan tree— their banyan tree.

Against the smooth, grooving bark of their tree, Michael’s ginger fingertips almost seemed to purr. The swaying aerial roots that veiled the intricate trunk wavered joyously over his head, and in a sense, their tree looked overjoyed to see Michael. Behind him, Raphael sincerely watched at the way their older brother’s fingers reverently traced the markings on their tree.

“You know… it’s not just gonna disappear, Mi,” Raphael’s voice was soft, a kind whisper carried by the midnight wind. Michael’s hand never halted against the tree bark, marginally turning his head to look at Raphael with a sad smile.

“That’s true,” Michael’s gaze fell back to the etchings on their tree. “It just seems like it was yesterday when… You three have grown too fast.”

Raphael sympathetically tilted their head, stepping forward to place a soothing hand on Michael’s shoulder. Up close, the carvings on their tree stood out boldly, a beloved memory held close to all of their hearts.

Under the then-small aerial roots of their banyan tree, each fledgling archangel had carved their names into the young bark. Something to hold onto, Michael had stated, a bittersweetness as Heaven had first begun to flourish; The eldest had an inkling that duty would steal time spent together—And he was right.

Raphael could still make out the places where Michael had once helpfully guided Raphael’s shaky hand, the spelling mistake in Lucifer’s name, the heart that Gabriel had drawn after his name, and Michael’s near-perfect handwriting, even in carving-form.

“Lusifer?” Gabriel, who seemingly appeared out of nowhere, squinted as he approached the base of their tree. Both Michael and Raphael struggled to repress a thoughtful smile as Gabriel sounded it out again.

“That’s how my name should’ve been spelled!” Lucifer called out from above, and his siblings gazed upwards to catch him resting against an exposed branch. “Lucifer with a c… ridiculous! Looks like luck-i-fer.”

Michael’s rapture remained as he lightly shook his head. “Brother, you are just stating this because you lack efficiency in spelling.”

Lucifer playfully stuck his tongue out at his older brother. Michael scoffed in good nature, and Gabriel giggled at the sight. Raphael’s attention wandered outwards to the perched hill, a peaceful silence enveloping the archangelic siblings.

The argent light from the protostars shone divinely upon the lucid green and lilac of the hill, an invitation of sorts. The sifting breeze was cool, a grateful lullaby to its archangelic inhabitants. The night was the epitome of perfection, though not because of nature—rather, because of the familial love that radiated energetically from each of their graces. A comforting peace, a cherished silence of nostalgia lingered between the four… until Gabriel’s reticent, yet hopeful voice proposed a profound request.

“I wanna stay with you all forever,” His voice was dreary, a sweet innocence embedded into his tone. It prompted all eyes to shift to him. “Let’s stay together no matter what, okay?”

A beat of tranquility followed, their banyan tree leaned in to listen. Michael was the first to react, tugging Gabriel into a tight hug, a sentiment that few were blessed upon. Gabriel’s toothy beam was evident in his quiet giggles as Michael held him close, before the eldest pulled back with a gentle smile of his own.

“Of course,” Michael assured, crystal emotion brimming in his eyes.

A rapid flash of vermillion flared from the top of the tree, and both Gabriel and Michael’s squeaks of surprise induced a jump from Raphael. Lucifer, who had quite literally deliberately plummeted from the tree, now held both of his brothers in a deathgrip hug, a wide grin across his face.

“You’re a real dumbass if you think you’ll ever be able to get rid of me,” Lucifer sniggered lovingly, and Gabriel leaned into his brother’s embrace. Michael lightly elbowed Lucifer for the profanity, yet his delighted simper lingered on his face.

Raphael shuffled closer, eyeing their brothers with absolute admiration. Their hand moved to lightly ruffle Gabriel’s hair, who turned his cheery beam to his sibling. Raphael’s brothers observed them with a giddy sense of euphoria, the aura resonating a promising hopefulness in anticipation for their response.

“Without a doubt.”

[theresneverenoughfandoms]

Sanders Unsolved - ch. 1

Okay I admit it, I’m trash, but the second I saw the ‘Ghost Hunting’ prompt on @sanderssidesspook ‘s Spooky Month prompt list, I KNEW I had to go with my favourite Sanders Sides AU ever, Logan and Virgil x Buzzfeed Unsolved

Also, as a fun twist, I’m combining two of the prompts and adding ‘Ghost!Sides’ to the mix! So without further ado, Sanders Unsolved!

Word Count: 5,566

Pairings: Romantic Analogical, Romantic Royality

Warnings: talk of major homophobia, talk of murder, swearing, one use of a dated and offensive term for homosexuals, general spookiness

---

“This week on Sanders Unsolved we’re investigating the remains of the mysterious Lovell manor near what is now Riverside, California as part of our ongoing investigation into the question, are ghosts real?” Virgil recited in his signature rich tones as Logan shook his head beside him, exasperated. However, it was quite difficult to remain straight-faced as he heard the subtle excitement in his husband’s voice. Logan and Virgil began bantering easily as the latter told the story that had led them to visit the supposedly haunted locale.

The manor was built in the early 1800′s and belonged to a wealthy aristocrat named Roman Lovell. Lovell lived his life apparently doing all he could to be as adored as possible, from writing and starring in local theatre productions to donating to practically every existing charity and orphanage in western America at the time. All this philanthropy, however, had disastrous consequences for Lovell. Eyes were on the man at almost all times and people began to notice a strange pattern emerging. Lovell had many servants to maintain his estate including a jovial young man named Patton Woodward, a gardener. Despite his duties assumedly being mainly outdoors, Woodward regularly entered the house and did not leave until hours later. Eventually, a curious reporter trespassed onto Lovell’s grounds and supposedly caught a glimpse of Lovell and Woodward waltzing together through an uncovered window. An article written by that reporter was in a prominent place in the next day’s paper and the rumour quickly spread. Roman Lovell was a sodomite. Tragically, soon after the article was published, both Lovell and Woodward’s bodies were found broken and bloodied in Lovell’s home. Their murderer was never identified.

“The devastating events that took place in this mansion have had many believers wondering if perhaps the disgruntled spirits of Roman Lovell and Patton Woodward remain, desperate for revenge. Tonight, we aim to find out.”

After the two finished filming the exposition, Logan went and turned off the camera, preparing to move farther into the house. As he disassembled the tripod, he glanced around their current location. They had set up in the main foyer of the old mansion. Two grand staircases mirrored each other on either side of the room and a massive chandelier, dusty and neglected, hung above their heads. Roman Lovell had certainly had a flair for the dramatic.

“Where are we searching first?” Virgil looked up from checking the ghost-hunting equipment and thought for a moment.

“We’ll start with the less haunted areas of the house and work our way up so I’m thinking we go kitchen and dining hall, library, and the master bedroom first. Then we can check out the gardens and the ballroom, which are the most active parts of the estate.”

“Yes, because any part of a building that has been abandoned for over 100 years can be called ‘active’.” Logan quipped, earning him a withering glare from Virgil. The two laughed as they picked up the equipment and made their way to the dining hall.

---

“It is now...” Virgil checked his digital watch, which shone a dim light onto his face in the darkness, “1:27 AM and we are heading outside to visit the gardens. The gardens are supposedly one of the most spiritually active locations on the grounds. Multiple visitors and paranormal investigators have reported seeing the figure of an adult man wandering the rows of plants. He has been described as wearing clothing appropriate for the serving class in the mid-1800s. Could this be the lost spirit of Patton Woodward?”

Logan held the camera steadily as Virgil ‘hyped up’ the audience. (He truly didn’t understand the terms his husband used sometimes). The biting cold wind rushed through the duo’s hair as they exited the house and walked towards where the gardens once flourished. Something crunched under Virgil’s shoe as they arrived and he glanced down to see delicate frost coating the grass.

“Logan?”

“Yes?”

“Are you seeing the frost on the ground?” Logan raised an eyebrow but his eyes widened ever so slightly in surprise when he too saw the frost.

“Well...it is a rather chilly night.” He reasoned, placing a steady hand on Virgil’s arm to try and reassure him.

“In June?”

“It happens.”

“In California?” Virgil cried, exasperated. Before Logan could attempt to rationalize the situation further, another gust of wind slammed into them and the two men stumbled. Logan’s hand fell from Virgil’s arm and he closed his eyes to protect them from the sudden force. When he opened his eyes again, their surroundings seemed much darker somehow. Thankfully, he was able to make out Virgil’s shadowy silhouette about 10 feet in front of him.

“Virgil, are you alright?” An unsettling feeling gnawed at his gut when he received no response.

“Virgil?” He called again, stepping closer to his husband. Reaching out slowly, his fingers gently brushed the figure’s shoulder. He had expected to feel the familiar texture of Virgil’s well-worn hoodie and was chilled to his core when he realized that whoever this was, it was not Virgil.

The stranger before him slowly turned around and paralyzing, irrational fear gripped Logan’s chest when he saw his eyes, which were glowing an ethereal sky blue.

---

Shit shit shit shit shit shit. Virgil was practically vibrating with fear as he glanced around his new location. No longer was he outside in the gardens. A vaulted ceiling stretched into the darkness above him and muted moonlight shone through the towering windows set into the right wall. No doubt about it, he had somehow been magically fucking transported into the ballroom. The most haunted part of the entire house.

And Logan was nowhere to be seen.

Swivelling his head around, Virgil attempted to locate the door. Panic coursed through his veins when he realized it was on the other side of the ballroom.

“What are the chances that I walk across the room and nothing awful happens to me?” He muttered, checking to see if the Go-Pro attached to his chest was still filming. If he was gonna die, he was gonna do it catching some ghosts on tape damn it.

“I must say, the chances are remarkably slim.” A voice echoed through the cavernous space. Virgil tensed as a thick, red-tinged fog rolled into the room and began taking the shape of...something...in the center of the floor. The candles mounted on the walls flared to life and the fog suddenly fell away, revealing what appeared to be a man wearing a luxurious red dressing gown.

A scream became stuck in Virgil’s throat and he stumbled backwards when the figure’s eyes snapped open, both of them glowing a terrifying blood red.

---

“Please, don’t be afraid. It was not my intention to startle you.” The blue-eyed man held up his hands as if to prove to Logan that he was unarmed. Slowly, Logan nodded, his mind racing. Finding Virgil was his top priority, but first, he had to deal with whoever was now standing with him.

“It’s quite all right, no harm done.” The stranger grinned, evidently pleased with the response.

“My name is Patton Woodward, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Logan blinked, momentarily stunned, before near-hysterical laughter spilled from his lips. Immediately, he attempted to stifle the sound with his hand but to no avail. Between laughs, he began frantically apologizing.

“I’m sorry. This is incredibly rude of me. I don’t mean to be disrespectful. It’s just...you must be kidding? Patton Woodward has been dead for over 150 years.” The man smiled tightly and a glint of annoyance quite literally flashed in his blue eyes.

“You’re right, I have been dead for over 150 years. And I must say, it is quite rude to comment on an individual’s deceased state when they are standing directly in front of you.” Logan took a few steadying breaths and fear swirled in his gut. As inconceivable as the situation seemed, he could not disregard what he was seeing simply because he didn’t want to believe it. A man appears out of nowhere, has legitimately glowing eyes and possibly a quick temper? Ghost or not, Logan had to be cautious.

“My sincerest apologies. I really didn’t mean to offend you. I am just having trouble believing what I’m hearing. You must understand, I don’t-” His brow furrowed momentarily. “I didn’t believe in any of...this until this exact moment. I am, however, willing to admit to my mistakes. I hope you are able to forgive my disrespect?” Please oh please let this...ghost be benevolent. A moment of tense silence passed between the two before Patton’s smile softened.

“I suppose that is understandable. I too would be distressed if I had met a talking human spirit while I was alive. I accept your apology.” A breath Logan didn’t know he had been holding rushed out of his lungs.

“Thank you...may I call you Patton or would you prefer Mr. Woodward?” Patton laughed good-naturedly at the living man’s nervousness.

“You may call me Patton. May I ask what your name is?”

“My name is Logan Sanders. You can call me Logan if you’d like.”

“Wonderful! Well then Logan, as I said, it is a pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise.” Logan nodded in acknowledgement. Now that the situation had been effectively defused, he decided to dig a little further to try and determine what had happened to Virgil. “Patton, would you happen to know where the man accompanying me went?” A tendril of fear tightened in his chest when Patton glanced away guiltily.

“I...he...I don’t know where he could have gone.” Well clearly that was a lie, the...ghost had practically flinched while saying it. But pressing him would likely lead nowhere good. Logan had to change tactics.

“Well, that’s understandable. The property is so large, how could anyone be expected to guess where one person could possibly be? There are simply too many options. It is honestly very impressive that anyone is able to navigate the house at all. Oh, but what am I saying? Of course, you must be able to.” He chuckled.

“On the contrary, I spend most of my time outdoors. However, Rom-Mr. Lovell can traverse almost the entire house with his eyes covered. Which he has indeed attempted to do before.” Patton muttered the last part softly, a glint of nostalgia appearing in his eyes.

“You seem to be quite fond of this Mr. Lovell.” Logan commented lightly, determined to learn as much as possible about this man before he decided on a course of action. Unfortunately, this had evidently been the incorrect thing to say as Patton’s gentle expression tightened immediately and the easy smile he had been wearing dropped from his face.

“He is a remarkable man, and it was an honour to work for him.” He said stiffly. Logan raised an eyebrow at the change in tone.

“Forgive me for asking but, does that mean that it’s no longer an honour?” Patton tilted his chin upwards slightly and narrowed his eyes.

“I no longer work for Mr. Lovell.” He said coldly. “And forgive me for saying this, but the nature of my relationship with him now is not your business.”

“Of course, my apologies. I only mentioned it because I-”

Before Logan could finish, a sudden flash of brilliant light coming from the house caught their attention. A steady red glow began to emanate from a collection of large windows along one wall on the first floor.

“What room is that coming from?” Logan glanced at Patton and was shocked to see that the man’s face had paled considerably.

“The ballroom.”

“Patton. Where is the man who was with me?” He asked frantically, icy terror coiling in his stomach.

“...The ballroom. Roman wanted to...speak with him.” Regret and guilt were laced through Patton’s voice as his eyes fixed on the house. Immediately, Logan began sprinting towards the nearest door, leaving all of their equipment - including the camera he had been holding - behind, strewn across the grass in the gardens. Virgil was in there, and something was very, very wrong.

---

“Why have you invaded my home?” The red-eyed man asked, tilting his chin upwards and glaring down his nose at Virgil, who was about 3 seconds away from losing his entire goddamn mind. A few seconds passed while his fight-or-flight instincts went haywire, trying to think of a way out of the situation. On one hand, he had no clue if he would even be able to touch the man so fighting would be risky. On the other, this spirit had somehow teleported him into the ballroom and was seemingly still strong enough to fully materialize so running seemed futile.

“Fuck.” Virgil hissed to himself, realizing that he would probably have to try and talk the ghost down if he had any chance of leaving alive. The ghost raised an eyebrow, his lips twisting into an irritated sneer.

“Am I truly addressing someone so faint-hearted that he cannot even bring himself to answer my questions? Speak, you impudent coward!” The man snapped. Taking a deep, steadying breath, Virgil spoke.

“Are you...Roman Lovell?” He was surprised at how steady his voice was, considering how badly he just wanted to curl up in a ball and hide.

“You really must be thick. Of course I am Roman Lovell, who else would be in this location?” Roman scoffed.

“Patton Woodward, for one. But I assumed tha-” Virgil cut himself off when Roman’s eyes flashed and the candles illuminating the room flared brighter.

“You have no right to speak his name. You trespass onto my property, disturb my home, seek Patton and I out, and for what? To learn the truth? To find out if we were as shameful as history paints us? I have met your kind before. Amateur investigators that traipse about and pretend to know us. You pretend to understand what we went through in the hopes that we will show ourselves to you and pour our hearts out just so you can go forth into the world and share what you’ve learned.” As Roman raved, he began floating above the ground and his form flickered with dangerous-looking red energy. Virgil stepped backwards, tears of pure terror forming in the corners of his eyes. Blinking them away, he attempted to explain himself.

“We don’t want to ruin your good name, we only want to try and let people know that you were treated super unfairly and open their eyes to the truth of the situation. You deserve better than what you got.”

“It is not your story to tell!” Roman roared, his voice thundering throughout the room. A blinding pulse of light flooded the room as the spirit lost his composure. Spots of light coated Virgil’s vision for a few moments before he was able to see again and he noticed with horror that the entire ballroom was filled with a bright blood-red glow. Whipping his head around frantically, the man tried to see where Roman had gone. Unfortunately, the spirit seemed to have abandoned the physical form he had been utilizing. He had not, however, left entirely.

“I will not allow history to repeat itself. Patton and I lost our lives because our story was told without our knowledge or permission. I vowed to never let anyone harm Patton ever again.”

Virgil decided to refrain from asking how they could possibly be hurt anymore if they were already dead.

“Hundreds of people have visited this place before, why did you decide to only appear to us? Why appear at all? Please, I just want to understand.” The living man asked aloud, unsure of where to direct his question. Clearly, Mr. Lovell had a penchant for monologuing and Virgil hoped that if he managed to distract the spirit, he could begin making his way towards the door. From there he could try to leave the room and hopefully, find Logan.

“I was observing you and your companion while you trespassed on my property. After so many years, I have learned a few things about the development of the world since I perished. Somehow, a type of instantaneous widespread communication has been created, as well as cameras that capture moving images. I saw that you have a few of those cameras and you continuously speak to them. Obviously, you intend to document anything you discover within these walls and share it. No longer would it only reach a small number of individuals. You have the ability to expose Patton and I again, and I will not stand for that.” While Roman explained himself, Virgil began inching closer and closer to the exit, not daring to make any sudden moves. “I knew that if I allowed you two to leave, your documentation would prompt more visitors. More spies, prying into things that they have no right knowing.”

“If you know there are two of us, why is my companion not here as well?” It was risky, bringing Roman’s attention back to him, but he had to know what happened to Logan.

“Patton is speaking to him right now, just as I am speaking to you. Don’t worry, you two will see each other again very soon.”

Virgil didn’t particularly appreciate the sinister tone in Lovell’s voice as he said that.

Silence filled the room, but the red glow didn’t fade. They had reached a stalemate. Virgil had no doubt that if he tried anything, Lovell would not hesitate to do...whatever he was planning to do to him. But he also had this strange feeling telling him that despite all of the spirit’s bluffing, he didn’t want to hurt anybody. Not really. He was just…

“Afraid.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You’re afraid. You were caught off guard all those years ago and something terrible happened. You lost someone you loved. You couldn’t protect him. And now you’re afraid that if you drop your guard for even a moment, he will get hurt again.” A moment of shocked silence followed that gem of a character analysis before Roman responded quietly.

“How dare you assume that you know me. How dare you assume that you know anything about how I feel.” Virgil suddenly felt an intense pressure around his neck and began silently choking. His body was lifted off the ground until he was suspended 6 feet in the air and he flailed frantically, quickly losing air. “How dare you assume to understand anything about what I have gone through!” Roman hissed from somewhere by Virgil’s ear. Just as the ghost hunter felt the last bit of air leave his lungs, the pressure was gone and he began plummeting towards the wooden floor.

---

Logan practically flew through the hallways, desperately trying to locate the ballroom and his husband. He heard a voice come from behind him as he ran.

“Logan, please, stop for one moment. Let me lead you to the ballroom!” Patton cried as he followed the panicked man. Rage bloomed in Logan’s chest at Patton’s pleas.

“You knew! You knew that your damned boyfriend had Virgil and you lied to me about it!”

“And that was a mistake! I never should have kept the truth from you, I was...afraid. I didn’t want you to become angry! Which I realize now did not work out as well as I had originally planned! Allow me to atone for the mistakes I made. I will show you where Roman has your companion.” Patton pleaded, and Logan slowed his running. Logically, the chances of him finding the way to the ballroom in a timely manner on his own were very slim. Letting Patton lead him there, even if he didn’t quite trust the spirit, would be much faster.

“Fine. Show me.” Patton caught up to him and with a timid smile, began leading the charge. The two hurried along the silent hallways, an intensity burning behind both their eyes as they got closer to their partners.

“Here, this is it.” Before Patton had even finished his sentence, Logan was shoving the doors open. A panicked cry burst out of him when he saw Virgil hovering in midair. His face was turning a dangerous shade of purple and as Logan stepped into the room, he began to fall. A booming thud echoed through the room as Virgil hit the ground.

“Virgil!” He screamed, rushing towards his husband’s shaking form.

“Roman, what are you doing?” Patton’s alarmed voice seemed far away as he pulled Virgil into his arms and cradled him close to his chest.

“Virgil, are you alright? Can you speak? I’m so sorry I tried to get here as fast as I could but I didn’t know where you were and I didn’t know where to go and oh god Virgil I’m sorry I’m sorry I should have-” He was cut off by Virgil pressing his fingers to his lips and smiling gently up at his babbling husband.

“I’m okay. Mostly. Actually, I think this proves that ghosts are definitely real so I guess I’m pretty great.” Logan laughed quietly, brushing strands of Virgil’s purple-stained bangs away from his stunning dark brown eyes.

“You’re ridiculous.” He said, cupping Virgil’s face with his hand.

“But you love me.”

“I do. God, I love you so much.” Logan leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to Virgil’s forehead, continuing to hold him close to his heart.

A flash of red light brought the two back to the situation at hand and rage filled Logan as he looked up and saw another man standing before them, presumably Roman Lovell.

“You! How fucking dare you! My husband almost died because of you, you piece of shit!” Normally, Logan prided himself on being able to express his emotions without expletives, but at that moment he was so livid he could not care less.

“Husband?” Patton asked incredulously, walking up to stand beside Roman.

“Yes! Husband! These days, that’s a thing I can have. Of course, I almost didn’t have one anymore thanks to-”

“Logan,” Virgil interrupted his partner’s tirade. “Calm down. I’m okay, you don’t need to throw hands with a ghost.”

“I...I believe we may need to have a talk.” Roman admitted, glancing sheepishly at Patton who looked as if he was torn between being furious at Roman and relieved that nobody was seriously injured.

“Yes. I believe we do.” Logan spat, helping Virgil to his feet after checking him once again for injuries, which the man insisted he didn’t have. As the two pairs stood to face each other, Logan dimly noted that they must make quite a spectacle, two men decked out in ghost-hunting equipment and two Victorian-era ghosts. It was almost comically ironic. However, it was hard to find anything particularly amusing when he was staring down the man that nearly suffocated his husband. That man, Lovell, cleared his throat and straightened his spine, attempting to regain some of the composure practically bred into him.

“Yes, well, I feel as if I would be remiss to not begin with an apology. I lost my temper and acted rashly. There is no excuse for my actions and I am deeply sorry for treating you as if you alone were the cause of my personal troubles. That was indescribably unfair of me to do. All I can request of you is that neither of you condemn Patton for what I have done. He participated because I begged it of him, not because he desired to harm either of you.” Roman pressed his hand against his chest, sincerity practically radiating off him. “You were...right. About everything you accused me of. I was afraid of someone hurting Patton. Afraid of truly losing him this time. What you said was the truth and I simply refused to admit it. I am sorry for endangering you.”

“Uh...don’t worry about it. I shouldn’t have tried to get all in your business. We both messed up and I forgive you. But maybe next time, try and avoid the whole strangulation thing huh?” Virgil commented with a faint teasing smirk tugging at his lips. Roman nodded gratefully.

“I forgive you as well. And...I shall certainly try.” He chuckled. His face quickly sobered, however.

“I acted out because I was afraid of losing the one I love. But I...I nearly caused that same thing to happen to you.” He admitted sorrowfully, turning to face Logan. “Everything that I feared, I almost made a reality for you. For that, I am eternally sorry. I cannot imagine what I would do without Patton, just as I assume you could not imagine what you would do without…” The ghost trailed off, suddenly aware that he did not know the two living men’s names. Patton giggled, breaking the tension in the room a bit more. The teasing smirk grew on Virgil’s face as Roman floundered.

“Virgil.” He supplied.

“Without Virgil.” Roman finished emphatically, gesturing grandly at the aforementioned man. Logan remained in stony silence for a moment, allowing a feeling of apprehension to settle between him and Roman. Patton glanced nervously between them, his eyes meeting Virgil’s momentarily as he too awaited Logan’s response. Finally, he spoke.

“I suppose...you seem sincere. I will think about forgiving you.” He said coldly. Virgil elbowed him in the side. “I forgive you.” Logan corrected himself. The temperature in the room noticeably rose as Roman and Patton both grinned dazzlingly.

“Again, Logan, I am truly so-” Patton began before Logan held up a hand.

“Please, no more apologizing. I believe it would be best if we just moved on. No hard feelings.” Patton nodded, tension draining from his shoulders.

“This is super sweet and all, but I think we might need to figure out what happens next,” Virgil spoke up hesitantly. “There may be ‘no hard feelings’ but the fact is, we’re talking to ghosts right now. This has never...happened...before at any of the locations we’ve been so like...what do we do? Do we help you guys move on? How do we even do that? What are we gonna tell the fans? We can’t show this footage, the house would be swarmed! But if we don’t release anything they might think something is up and then what would we do?” The thoughts spilled from his lips as his overactive mind began picturing everything that could potentially go wrong. Surely they couldn’t just leave Roman and Patton without trying to help them somehow but he had no idea of where to start. Did they need to find whatever physical object was tethering them to this world and destroy it? Did they need to murder someone’s descendant to help them enact revenge? He really didn’t want to murder anyone. His spiralling train of thought was interrupted when Logan placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Slow down Virgil, one thing at a time. In regards to the fans, we’ll simply cut out the parts of the footage in which we mention the gardens and the ballroom and film the outro as if we found nothing of interest here.” Logan nodded towards Patton and Roman. “Unless of course, you two would prefer that we share nothing at all of our time here. We obviously don’t want to upset you.” He added. Roman glanced at Patton, who looked thoughtful for a moment before turning to face his lover.

“I will not make a decision for the both of us but I believe we should allow them to share what they captured. Not all of it, not the parts with you and I, but as Virgil said, if they release nothing at all surely that would raise some suspicion if there are people expecting the results of their investigation.” Fear flashed on Roman’s face before his expression settled into one of reluctant understanding, the corners of his lips tilted downwards ever so slightly.

“I trust your judgement, my love. If you trust them...so do I.” Patton smiled gratefully at the shorter man and raised the aristocrat’s hand to his lips to place a gentle kiss on the back of his knuckles. As Roman’s face flushed with colour, Logan glanced at Virgil out of the corner of his eye. He almost laughed when he saw the glint of resignation behind his husband’s eyes. He knew that the sight of the overly-affectionate couple was reminding him of their friends Remy and Emile, who were both very shameless when it came to PDA. Clearly, the two of them and the ghosts were kindred spirits. Internally groaning at the unintentional pun, he brought his attention back to the present.

“Well then it seems like the video will not be an issue. There is one of your concerns resolved Virgil.” He commented precisely, catching the distracted couple’s attention and causing Virgil to snicker. “Now, the other problem you brought up may not be so easily dealt with but I am confident we will figure something out. Firstly, do you two actually desire our assistance in moving on to the next life?” Shock and confusion painted Patton and Roman’s faces as they blinked for a long few moments.

“I...I suppose...yes? Yes, we do.” Patton said hesitantly, looking to Roman for input. Hope glimmered behind his eyes.

“Yes! Of course!” The actor cried excitedly, grasping Patton’s hands in his own. “We could finally leave this place, Patton! We could forget about these dark and miserable halls and be somewhere better!” Bright smiles grew on the pair’s faces as the prospect sunk in.

“Uh, great! Cool. So like, how do we actually go about helping you? Do you know why you guys are stuck here?” Virgil piped up, slightly calmer than before.

“I can’t say that we do. Even in the beginning when we were not quite aware of our spiritual state, we felt no desire to do anything in particular that could set us free or anything of the sort.” Roman muttered thoughtfully. Silence fell between the four men as each of them looked to each other for an idea.

“As loathe as I am to suggest this, perhaps this particular puzzle would be best approached at another time.” Virgil’s eyes widened as Logan continued. “It is past 2 AM and neither Virgil’s nor I’s reasoning skills are functioning at their highest right now. I suggest that the two of us go home and do any damage control necessary before we release this video. That will also provide us with an opportunity to conduct some research that may help us determine how best to move forward. We could be back one week from now with anything we have found.”

“You can’t be suggesting that we just leave them here!” Virgil exclaimed.

“Well, I-” Patton began.

“Only for a week, while we try to figure out what to do.”

“Why can’t we do that here? We have our phones to do the research.”

“Honestly I agree wi-” Patton tried again.

“We are in an abandoned manor with no electricity Virgil. Our phones will last no longer than a day.”

“So you think we should just abandon these two.”

“We’re not abandoning them. It’s only for a week.”

“Virgil!” Patton shouted, causing everyone to jump. “I think Logan is right. We have been here for many years already. We will not be upset with you for leaving us for one week longer in order to help us move on for eternity.” He reassured the worried man with a kind smile. Virgil sighed deeply.

“Fine.” He huffed. “We need to find all our stuff though. It’s too damn expensive to leave behind.” He grumbled before turning and leaving the room. The remaining three men glanced at each other and quickly followed after him.

---

After all the equipment had been gathered and packed away in the bags Logan and Virgil carried, all four men stood in the grand entrance hall, where the ghost hunters’ unbelievable night had begun.

“We will be back in 6 or 7 days, depending on flight availability.” Logan reiterated.

“Thank you so much you two. You cannot understand how much this means to us.” Patton beamed, practically giddy with joy. A smile tugged at the corner of Logan’s lips and he nodded.

“We shall eagerly await your return. Be safe and do try to avoid any other angry spirits. That is now my role to fulfill.” Roman joked, causing Virgil to laugh.

“We’ll do our best.” With that, the two ghost hunters waved goodbye and exited the manor, which loomed over them menacingly in the darkness. They walked quietly towards their vehicle, the silence sitting heavy between them.

“What the fuck happened tonight?” Virgil suddenly muttered.

“...What the fuck indeed. Clearly, I was incorrect about the existence of ghosts, which was somewhat shocking. I believe tomorrow when this all catches up to me, I may be a bit more concerned.” Logan mused.

“We are going to help them, right?” Logan was silent for a long time as he glanced back at the darkened manor. Virgil followed his gaze to the front windows where the faintest traces of red and blue light could be seen. Looking closer, they saw two small figures waltzing around the entrance hall. They could practically sense their joyous smiles from where they stood. Finally, Logan spoke.

“We are certainly going to try.”

---

OH MY GOD. This is officially the longest fic I’ve ever written (and there’s more to come) I had so much fun with this and I got way too into researching the mid-1800s in order to write it lol. And now, taglists

General (just ask to be added or removed!)

@virgil-my-diamond

@ajdraws0430

Romantic Royality

@a-blog-just-for-sanders @ace-v-p-d @all-these-trees-stealing-mah-o2 @allthemetalsoftherainbow @angeliclogan @angered-turtle @anonymouseandkeyboard @aph-roma @artistictaurean @asalwayss @ashbash-the-trashcash @AskolotlQuestions @asterias-confused-writings @baileystarsketches @candiukas @captain-loki-xavier @cashmeredragon @catsandrandomness @cinderlunarcyborg @cinquefoilelove @clueingforblogs @confinesofpersonalknowledge @cripplingchips @deadinsidebutliving @deathbyvenusftw @dementeddracon @depressed-alone @do-rey-me @emovirgil @evilmuffin @faacethefacts @faithhopefelony @fandergecko @funsizedgremlin @grey-lysander @hamster-corn @hanramz-the-fander @heythereprincey @runyou-cleverboy-andremember @inkwasalwaysherere @ive-given-up-on-it @jade-dragon226-fan @johnnyboylaurens @jughead-is-canonically-aroace @justmyshitandmoreshit @k9cat @katatles-the-fish @katesattic @kentato-kenart @kurna-kovite @l-i-t-vocabcards @lana–22 @lo-brokeit @logan-exe @logically-sided @magicmapleleaf @maximum-fander @mercythemermaid @micha-like-you-find-in-rocks @migraine-marathon @milomeepit @minamishipsit @minshinxx @mollycassmith @multi-fandom-trash-x9000 @muontsy2 @musicphanpie-b @musicsavedmefromdeath @nightly-illustrator @notveryglittery @nymphaedoratonks @nyxwordsmith @ocotopushugs @on-lock-like-attica @ono-its-ryane @pandagirl0730 @pansexual-cat @pansexual-cat @patchworkofstars @paxtonlovestea @pearls-of-patton @pieces-of-annedrew @pinkeasteregg @planetsanders @potterlover394 @poundland-twoface @proudhufflepuff @prplzorua @purplepatton @purpleshipper @radioactivebread @reba-andthesides @redundant-statements-for-400 @robanilla @romanssippycup @rose-gold-roman @rptheturk @sanders-fam-ily @sanders-sides-things @sanders-trash-4ever @sanderssides-deathangel @saphirestrike @savingshae @shygirl4991 @silversunshine2012 @siriuswhiskers @smokeyrutilequartz @spacenerrrd @starlightlogan @starry-eyed-haiku-dreamer @storytellerofuntoldlegends @strangerthings-and-phan @strangerthings-and-phan @superintrovertfangirl @thats-so-crash @the-feels-are-coming @the-incedible-sulk @the-optimism-of-the-ostriches @the-prince-and-the-emo @theanxietyofbeinganxious @thecrimsoncodex @thegreyacefromspace @thepusheenqueen @theshipqueenarrives @thesilentbluesparrow @thestoryofme13 @theworldismysupernova @theworldismysupernova @thisisshien @thomas-must-get-to-sleep @thought-u-said-dragon-queen @too-precious-to-process @too-random-for-me @toujours-fidele @trashfireiplier @trashypansexual @treblesanders @tree4life25 @unknownsandersfan @urtrashhq @violetmcl @virgil-has-a-houseplant @voices-and-stardust @vulnerablevirgil @XxxxWitlee @yourhappypappypatton @l-i-t-vocabcards @houseplxnthoodie @ultimate-queen-of-fandoms2

Romantic Analogical

@a-blog-just-for-sanders @ace-v-p-d @acechirou @acrobaticcatfeline @ahoardofsides @aikogumi @alextheodd @aliferous-ly @all-these-trees-stealing-mah-o2 @allaboutme7 @allierox15 @allthemetalsoftherainbow @an-anxious-gay-mess @angeliclogan @angered-turtle @anonymouseandkeyboard @anxie-teaa @anxious-darkwolf @anxiousoddish @anyay666 @aph-roma @areyousirius-noheisdead @artistictaurean @asalwayss @ashbash-the-trashcash @AskolotlQuestions @asterias-confused-writings @blaikleethepanagender @blazeimagines101 @bluebellie01 @candiukas @captain-loki-xavier @catsandrandomness @cinderlunarcyborg @cinquefoilelove @clueingforblogs @confinesofpersonalknowledge @confinesofpersonalknowledge @countessmissyshort @crankywhenprovoked @datonerougecookeh @deadinsidebutliving @deathbyvenusftw @deep-ocean-blues @dementeddracon @depressed-alone @devastate-my-space @digitally-analog @do-rey-me @dreamerhowelll @dudlebuggs @emokittenlikesgore @emovirgil @erlenmeyertrashofsandersides @evilmuffin @faacethefacts @faithhopefelony @fanatic564 @fandergecko @ffsas-side-account @fricksonsticks @funsizedgremlin @galacticallynonbinary @grey-lysander @hamster-corn @hanramz-the-fander @happypappypatton @heythereprincey @hghrules @hissesssss @hoodie-bros @hottopicvirge @icbatocomeupwithausername @runyou-cleverboy-andremember @inkyroo @irwinscupoftea @ispeakhalflies @ive-given-up-on-it @jade-dragon226-fan @johnnyboylaurens @jughead-is-canonically-aroace @justmyshitandmoreshit @k9cat @katatles-the-fish @katesattic @kentato-kenart @kickthenavi @koalaaquabear @kurna-kovite @l-i-t-vocabcards @lacandra @lana–22 @lo-brokeit @logically-alone @logically-asexual @logically-sided @louisthewarlock @lynisnotamused @madelynna @magicmapleleaf @makemeaplant @maximum-fander @memesanddreamsinc @mercythemermaid @micha-like-you-find-in-rocks @migraine-marathon @milomeepit @minamishipsit @mollycassmith @multi-fandom-trash-x9000 @muontsy2 @musicphanpie-b @musicsavedmefromdeath @neko-ereri @nightlovechild @nightmarejasmine @nuttytheorizer @nymphaedoratonks @nyxwordsmith @on-lock-like-attica @osnapitzbc @out-of-existence @pal-im-not-clever @pandagirl0730 @pansexual-cat @pansexual-cat @Paxtonlovestea @pearls-of-patton @pieces-of-annedrew @pinkeasteregg @planetsanders @potterlover394 @poundland-twoface @prplzorua @purplesatankittycat @radioactivebread @rainbow-beaniegirl @raisin-oatmeal-cookie @reba-andthesides @redundant-statements-for-400 @robanilla @roman-is-a-gay @romanssippycup @rose-gold-roman @royallyanxious @rptheturk @ruuworld @sanders-fam-ily @sanders-sides-things @sanders-trash-4ever @sandersfanderscandoers @sanderssides-deathangel @saphirestrike @sarcastic-anxious @save-dirk @savingshae @sehtah @septifanderplier @shesavampirequeen @shygirl4991 @sides-of-a-sunset @silentwhistlingwind @silversunshine2012 @siriuswhiskers @smokeyrutilequartz @space-d0ubt @spacenerrrd @starlightlogan @starry-eyed-haiku-dreamer @storytellerofuntoldlegends @strangerthings-and-phan @strangerthings-and-phan @superintrovertfangirl @thats-so-crash @the-feels-are-coming @the-incedible-sulk @the-optimism-of-the-ostriches @the-prince-and-the-emo @theanxietyofbeinganxious @thecrimsoncodex @thenerdycube @thepusheenqueen @thesilentbluesparrow @thestoryofme13 @theworldismysupernova @thisisshien @thomas-must-get-to-sleep @thought-u-said-dragon-queen @too-random-for-me @toujours-fidele @trashfireiplier @trashypansexual @tree4life25 @trivia-goddess @unknownsandersfan @urtrashhq @vampyrsarah @violetmcl @virgil-is-verge @virgils-anxiety @vivimarius @voices-and-stardust @vulnerablevirgil @walking-encyclopedia @watch-me-introvert @XxxxWitlee @yourhappypappypatton @l-i-t-vocabcards @enderperson43 @heck-im-lost @ultimate-queen-of-fandoms2

[lysandra-vanburen]

Fated Meeting

The following tale is written in the third person for maximum depth to the characters and their shared story. This tale has been written by the talented @itraeis  and myself!

The sun had slowly begun to set on the horizon of Kul'Tiras. The chill of the night air carried with it an unspoken whisper of fortune, the promise of change lingering in the atmosphere as the two unsuspecting nobles drew closer and closer.

What had essentially drew Lysandra nearer the Upton Borough bonfire lounge was unknown to her, alas the pull was irresistible and enticing. There was familiarity to the outdoor patio, and she couldn’t deny that it was one of her more favorite spots to linger for it provided a perfect meld of out-doorism and posh comfort, too it provided a fine mixture of fresh air but lavish luxury such as fine wines and, if desired, a meal provided by an ever cheerful staff.

Having finally gotten a little more accustomed to life here in Boralus, the young lordling Itraeis Holt decided to go for a walk about the Upton Borough. It was the closest thing to home he could think of, other nobles and wealthy individuals enjoying the evening air without a care in the world.

It was a few twists and turns later and the lad found Itraeis at an outdoor bonfire. It was a homely place complemented with comfortable couches and attendants serving drinks and hors d'oeuvre to the wealthy patrons. The area seemed rather quiet, only a few patrons scattered about. For now he'd keep quiet and enjoy a glass of wine on one of the couches as he casually eyed the other patrons in attendance.

Despite the exhaustion of her days worth of work weighing her body, Lysandra dared not to deny the universe it’s game. She followed her gut, her boots heels thumping against the cobblestone path as she moved through the dim street lights, her eyes lifted  skyward to marvel the beauty of the stars daring to peek out through the sunset’s fading lights.

Lysandra’s walk proved to be quick in unveiling intentions.

That same persistent breeze, which guided her, manifested once again -- carried from the seas -- and managed to  catch the particularly unsuspecting noblewoman mid walk. Her hat was completely snatched from her atop her head, allowing her long wavy brown-red hair to whip about in the breeze as she gasped out in horror. Her gloved hands clung to the scarf which, too, flung around her slender neck threatening to fly off just as her hat currently had, and too she held the opened flaps of her coat closed so as to protect her torso from the chill of the ocean air. "Damn!" Lysandra cussed, her slender features grief stricken as the black cap flung through piles of fallen, dead leaves and puddles of water left over from the previous rains. In the wake of the flying hat had a saggy and greying hound begun to bound after it with newfound vigor, barking loud enough to rattle even a passer by's ribs, his massive fangs glinting from beneath his massive jowls which -- quite like Lysandras scarf - bounced and flung about, wads of collected slobber flinging around carelessly.

It was hard for Itraeis not to notice the commotion of the greying dogs deceitful youth and the chorus of greeting nobles and attendants a like. A mildly amused Lysandra brought a hand to cover her nude lips, hiding her grin and muffling her giggle at the old dog's antics, momentarily impressed with the burst of youth that urged him to chase her surely mucky and dirty cap. She followed him closely, surely passing her most frequent hang out -- which would bring a handful of the regulars and the staff to raise their hands and express greeting toward 'Miss Vanburen' whom in return would raise a hand and wave in her relatively chipper attitude.

Looking around, it seemed Itraeis alone was the only one who didn't greet her when compared against everyone else.

Miss Vanburen he thought. That's the second time he'd heard that name in recent days. Though this woman seemed much more mature and proper than the one he had met before, not that he minded. Without warning a slobbering, soaked, dirt riddled and leaf-clinging cap would splat at the woman's black leather booties, bringing her golden eyes to drop down and inspect the heavily panting hound.

"...Good boy, Olaf," she confessed, bringing a hand down to pat the old man's head affectionately.

The Lord’s eyes darted down to the old, droopy-jowl canine companion. A short smirk and accompanying laugh as he watched the exchange. It had been some time since he'd even seen such a friendly dog. It was rather heart warming to watch the interaction.

His eyes lingered on the two for perhaps a bit longer than he would have intended.  But between the jovial dog and the lovely woman, it was hard to look away as he took another sip of his wine.

Huffing gently Lysandra squatted down to gather her cap between her forefinger and thumb, holding it out in show of her disgust whilst turning to enter the outdoor center. Instantly an attendant approached and, with a hearty laugh, retrieves the cap and exchanges it for a scotch glass of what she expressed to Lysandra, "Your regular, miss Vanburen.” Providing the helpful server a hearty smile the older Vanburen took up her cup of dark liquor and offered a final nod to answer her, followed by an exasperated, “Thank you."

It took mere seconds for Itraeis to become rather entranced with the woman. She seemed to have everything he had always desired, but always lacked. The attendants respected her so highly, they waited on her every word with out question. They did so with a smile even. The young lord could scarcely get his family's underlings to lift a finger at his command. All this woman need do was smile and they flocked to her.

Holding up the cap would prompt the staff woman to ask, "Shall I see this is taken to the cleaners?"

“Promptly, please,” Lysandra offered a nod in response, taking a moment to fish three gold coins from her pouch before offering it to the bright eyed servant. With this both women part ways, Lysandra moving toward the couches set up to face the warm bonfire placed in the small pit in the middle of the wall-less room. Before she sat Lysandra set her cup atop a table near her chosen couch to begin shedding the most unnecessary layers, her gloves and coat removed to exposed manicured hands and a dark olive green long sleeved fitted sweater hugging her average sized figure. Alas, while she was average her bosom was anything but, being just one size larger than typical for a woman her weight. Her hips and long legs were dressed in equally form fitting dark brown trousers.

Watching her undress only strengthened his interest. She undoubtedly wore her age well. Her mannerism, fashion, and -lets be honest- her bosom were all captivating to the mainland noble.

He had to talk to her. Downing his glass of wine, a shot of liquid courage, the young lord dared rise to his feet and begin his approach, maneuvering around of patrons and couches which stood between them.

Neatly, an unsuspecting Lysandara folded her coat and draped it over the arm of her couch, her tumbling brown locks falling over her slender shoulders now that she has settled atop the gentle cushion. "Mmh, come boy," she coos to her dog, the old man inching forward before slumping onto his belly at her feet, laying down and immediately falling into a deep sleep. Sound of mind a content Lysandra crossed her left leg over her right thigh, leaning heavily into the back of the couch whilst sipping her liquor.

Midst gingerly sipping from her cup the woman was, at best, entranced by the natural beauty of the dancing flames, her eyes twinkling with some unspoken thrill with the warmth it radiated and soaked upon her chilled flesh, warming her to the point that goosebumps would appear on her exposed skin. "Excuse me, Miss Vanburen, was it?"

From Lysandra’s legs Olaf stirred and perked his upper lip over his teeth in a growl, much too old to jolt upright and begin snapping at the man. So gentle rumbles worked. Upon being addressed, alas, Lysandra was torn from her day dreaming and left momentarily speechless after angling her head to see whom was begging her attention. What made her so breathless was, initially, the overall handsomeness of the gentleman. His youth was quite apparent with how lacking he was in the years of weight and trial baring upon his features, and for some reason she couldnt help but find that to be terribly appealing. She'd lower her cup wielding hand to rest atop her second hands wrist, both folded arms propped atop her left knee whilst flashing the Holt boy a startling bright grin, "Well," she hums, "Hello there, dear. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I don't mean to intrude," Itraeis replied, though that seemed as if it were more addressed to Olaf than Lysandra herself. But his eyes returned up to hers once more after his apology to the dog was made clear.

Momentarily the woman was most amused with the careful attempts to reassure her hound. Simply had she lowered a hand to comb against the grain of his shaggy black, white and brown fur, thus soothing the dog and assuring him that she wasn't in immediate danger. "My name is Lord Itraeis Holt of Duskwood," he introduced with a proper bow, "I'm rather new to Boralus, I'm one of the visiting nobles from Stormwind, and I couldn't help but notice you as you and your young hearted friend here came around. If it's not too forward of me to say, but you're quite captivating." In tandem with his words came the flash of his boyish smile; bright and white enough to match her own. He extended out his right hand in polite introduction for her to take should she so desire.

As Olaf's head sunk low to rest atop his paws would Lysandra finally bring her hand to rest gently in the offered palm, the very tips of her fingers lingering against his flesh -- in such a bold gesture to beckon the more typical route of greeting in which the man would delicately kiss the woman's knuckles.

Of course the young lord would follow through with tradition. Leaning forward as he brought her delicate hand up to his lips, Itraeis placed a delicate kiss on the back of her knuckles. "Well mainlander," she provided him a cheeky grin, "You certainly are ever the charming debonair, I do imagine you and I shall get along if you continue to lavish me in those compliments--," for a moment the woman bit on her bottom lip before motioning toward the cushion beside her with her other hand, "Would you care to join me, Lord Holt?"

"It would be my pleasure," he answered as he smoothly sat down on the plush cushion beside her, "Lavish compliments cast upon such a beautiful woman is but my humble duty. Why someone of your grace and status should have a dozen or so young lads paying you such praise daily." If there was one thing Itraeis loved to do, it was flirt. Being the only active bachelor he knew, it a fun past time that always ended with more fun in return. The best investment. "You know, Lady Vanburen, you're the second one of your name I've met since coming to Boralus. I get the feeling your family is a rather well known one. You especially, with how the other patrons and attendants here light up on your arrival. Beauty and status? quite the double threat. I imagine I could learn a fair bit about Kul'Tiras from someone as integrated as you are."

For the time during which the gentleman was talking Lysandra coukdnt help but marvel him longer, her lingering attention disguised as intentive listening. Upon the ending remark the woman aimed to mask her bashfulness by tilting her head away to watch the fire whilst tucking a chunk of her wavy hair behind a jeweled ear. Her lips carried an astonishing smile which carried the warm" romantic glow of the fire. "Awh, yes.. The Vanburen have been established in Kul Tiras for many a-years," Lysandra bowed her head for a moment, just after sipping from her cup, "You may have met one of my nieces, or even my mother depending if she was an older, more frightening individual. Alas," Lysandra gained a cheeky smile once more, turning to eye Itraeis once over, "None of them quite know Kul Tiras as intimately as I do--," with a pause she'd add quietly, "Save mother, though I imagine my company would be more likely to sate your appetite."

"Oh I am positive your company will sate my appetite many times over," he dared advance with a teasing wink. "I do believe it was a niece of yours I met then, Karlotta was her name. Nice girl, seemed rather entranced with the idea of travelling to the mainland of the Eastern Kingdoms. Could make for a decent friend out here. Though, in truth and if I may be so bold, I think I'd enjoy your company more. The way the people seem to love you, surely it's not just your beauty alone that has them smiling so. It's obvious even to an outsider like me, that you're a beloved soul for many reasons. Such a rare gem should be cherished. So perhaps a bottle of your favourite drink and a few stories between new friends tonight? If you and your guardian here have the time." he requested with his boyish smile, flashing those pearly whites as he flirted so.

"Aha," Lysandra guffaws, bringing a hand down to rest upon the boys knee whilst she shakes her head, clearly amused with his misconceptions, "I'm hardly the saint you are painting me as, sweet boy. The reason the staff here love me so much is I tip generously," she waggles a finger toward him, having removed her hand from his knee.

"A woman after my own heart, money truly can buy anything it seems." he replied with an honest chuckle. His own hand now coming to rest on her knee, though he didn't remove it as swiftly as she did her own, instead it rested there unless she gave reason to move it, gentle strokes of his thumb along her knee adding to the intimate gesture.

Midst their conversation had Lysandra's eyes fallen to inspect the oddly misplaced hand currently making home atop her pants concealed limb. Though if she were being true to herself she wasjt terribly unnerved by the brave gesture. If anything it gave her a surge   of confidence which showed in how her features gained a look of youth, her eyes sparkling with mirth.

"I admit I have my brash tendencies, my nieces and nephews have appointed me the title as Nosy and over all overwhelming in all things, alas..  If you still are willing to give me the chance to make your own opinion..," she'd provide him a smaller, more genuine smile, "Id be delighted to share the evening with you dear." "Nosey? Well that just means you have that many more stories to share. An inquisitive mind is an attractive one. So I definitely think I'd enjoy the opportunity to make my own opinions. Tell me about yourself then, what part of Kul'Tiras do you call home?"

Lysandra gave a soft chuckle for a moment.

"I, like the many Vanburen before me, hail from Drustvar. Dastardly drab in the fall and winter, although if I'm being honest it can give a sense of forlorn and melancholy at all times of the year," she'd scoff then, bringing her cup to her lips one more time before setting it atop the table entirely, freeing both hands. "Though that doesnt stop me from making my home lively with colors other than dark and dull tones like my brother Silas. He has embraced the darkness of our homelands alittle too much, his home looks like that out if a thriller novel,” Her teasing her brother was followed by a titter of gentle giggles, her teeth soon to bite on her bottom lip in effort to swiftly silence the noise, her eyes growing a distant and longing expression.

"Too, I am a horse breeder, of both war and palfrey horses. Infact, a majority of the equine in the guards stables have come from my brood mares! Gloriously magnificent beasts they are. Simply love their power and beauty.”

Clearly she wasnt shy about divulging in her life with a perfect stranger.

Damn Vanburen’s narcissistic gratification.

Itraeis listened with honest interest as the woman spoke of her home, her family, and her pride. He'd chuckle along with her as she made fun of her sibling, smile with her as she gushed over her horses in the guard. He was wholly invested in each and every word she spoke.

"Well then, you truly are an intricate part of this culture. Kul'Tiras is lucky to be blessed with such a woman," he praised. With a slight quirk of the brow Lysandra angles her head to better face Itraeis, desperate to not present herself as so self absorbed by inquiring, "What of you, dear? You said you're from Duskwood? What is it like?"

"By the sounds of this Drustvar, it's much like Duskwood is back home. The woods are thick and blot out much of the sun, leaving it to be a rather dark region year round. It's been prone to a less than bright history. Many cursed creatures roam the darkest parts of those woods these days. Though my family has been there longer than they have,  so we've learned to live in relative peace. Enough magic and steel keeps even the foulest of monsters away." he said with a soft smile, though to the trained eye, the topic of home seemed to cause him a little anxiety all around. "I can't say I have such a established life as you though. I am a lord by birth alone. No lands or great assets to call my own as of yet. Truly, I've only just begun my mission of building myself up to be more than the bratty youngest brother. Invested some money in my cousins shipping company here in Kul'Tiras, and a theatre troupe back home with a rather famous actress. But I suppose we could say I'm still finding my way in the world."

Carefully Lysandra placed her hand upon that of which rested on her own knee, her fingers curling around his thus to squeeze his palm, aiming to provide the young Lord a bit of comfort. All the while she wore a reassuring smile, her tone gentle, "I know best of all what it is to be the youngest bratty sibling, thus I encourage you to keep your chin up, darling. There's still time to rebuild yourself, there's still time to make amends and find yourself. Quite honestly when I was in my teens I had only just begun to come into my own, and when my sister ran away... I felt forced to take on her role as well as my own to try and fill the hole she left in our family's' hearts. It wasn't until I was in my thirties that I really began to take my own shape."

Sighing wistfully the maiden would draw to a halt, her eyes narrowing now. "Pardon me, I seem to just be realizing... You are a Holt? Are you kin to a Cedrick Holt?"

Itraeis bore a soft smile at her reassurance. Though his demeanor quickly turned to that of caution and fear at her final query. "Oh fuck..." he mumbled under his breath. It would figure his surname would curse him as it always seemed too. "Yes... I'm one of those Holts. One of many it seems. Cedrick is my cousin. I'm well aware of the less than stellar reputation my family seems to have across human kingdoms. Though, for what it's worth. I'm something of a black sheep in this family. Hence being here, alone, and not with any of them." he explained, hoping it would afford some repair to the damage his namesake may have caused already.

If there was anything that put off Lysandra most it wasn't the house name itself, it was how quickly Itraeis felt the need to defend himself. She'd hesitate, letting out a faint exhale of a chuckle before patting his hand once more, "Fret not, dear, I am not going to ridicule you. I'll be the first to admit I've heard enough of the Holts to know they're a prestigious family, alas their short comings or accomplishments have not been a topic of conversation in Kul Tiras. You are free to relax now," she'd follow up with a faint giggle.

A quick sigh of relief escaped him at her positive reassurance. Looks like he jumped the gun. Though after so often being looked less than fondly upon for his name sake, it was hard not too make such a reaction his default. "Nay, what I was saying before was Venreena Holt is my niece!" "My apologies," he said, offering her hand a soft squeeze of appreciation in response were it still there, “But my, what a small world we seem to live in then," he replied with a chuckle, "Venreena's business venture is the one I invested in. I had heard through the family grape vine she had hit a few snags with enemies. So I offered her some coin to bolster her fleet in exchange for a small percentage of the company. Nothing large, just something to build a profit off of and pass on to my children if I ever make it that far. Though, I do hope my relationship to her husband won't make my flirting off-putting, because I wasn't planning on stopping anytime soon."

"Fret not, harmless compliments never hurt anyone. I'll not stop you any time soon if you wish to continue-- like I said, it's not very often I'm dotted upon so fiercly. When my nieces all came of age is well around the time the bachelor spotlight turned away from me. It doesn't help that bachelor's became aware that I was firm on my decision that I do not wish to conform to socieities norm regarding marriage." With the little bit of information regarding Ven's business's issues Lysandras mind had begun to wander, hoping her and her brothers investments would be enough to help. At last, whilst snickering, Lysandra took this moment to beckon a nearer server, turning to address Iraetis with a questioning: "Do you prefer red or white wine? I imagine Id like to extend thks evening as much as we are able, you are particularly wonderful company to keep.  Tell me, Lord Holt, do you have any pets?" Now she was eager to delve into the more intimate details. It was in that moment, infact, that she realized how invested he was into her words. He had simply listened to her ramble, wearing a patient expression. Upon her final remark, alas, he’d dare to speak up… To her that was the most overwhelming show of a man’s character. He was listening to her.

"Societal norms are boring. If the bachelors turned away from you to chase your nieces, then I feel sorry for them. They've all made a terrible mistake, but their loss, is my reward." he flirted some more, "I think red will do us both nicely tonight. I'll trust your decision on which you feel would serve us best."

With the answer provided had Lysandra addressed the server with a casual, "Being red, you know exactly which one I want, dear," and instantly the server bowed his head and turned to depart from their couch. "And... I can't say I've been blessed with any companions. I've thought about getting a dog or cat... or a bird. But I'm not sure I'm ready for the responsibility just yet. I much prefer the freedom of riding my bike off into the sunset on a whim."

With her full attention upon Itraeis Lys takes a moment to point out, "Dogs, cats, falcons.. They're all giving companions, I imagine you might feel... Fulfilled if you gain any one of them as a pet. They can provide you yeara full of amazing memories... Even Olaf here," Lysandra smiles down at the old man, "I've had him for nearly twelve years now. He's been my hunting companion, my protector... Infact he provided me great protection recently on a hunt..." Instantly Lysandras mood would shift, her features sagging into a darkened hatred, "Damn Horde troll had enroached upon my lands... Dared to send her raptors after me and my beast, alas I had the ultimate advantage--," and she nearly revealed a dire Vanburen secret, visibly hesitating aa she stared down at the sleeping old man. "I..," she huffs, "I know my forest better than most. Its my life, the thing which I love. Thus I was able to out.manuever two raptors, one of which I now have its head as a trophy in my den. The third raptor nearly got me. But this old man here... He willingly leapt into it's path." She'd sigh, sinking back into the couch, "I decided then it was time to retire him. He received substantial wounds protecting me, I never should have put him in harms way."

Slowly Lysandra smiled toward the boy, "Aha... My apologies, I'm ranting... Uhm, my point is companions can make a grand difference!" Then would the server return, providing the duo individual cups after placing the bucket of ice and wine bottle atop their table.

Itraeis graciously accepted the goblet with a nod to the server as they departed. "That's quite the harrowing story," he answered, both shock and awe at how well this woman handled herself in her tale, "I know many of my family's soldiers fought in the Siege of Lordaeron this past summer, and continue to fight against the Horde in Arathi and across Zandalar. But to fight back a Troll just the pair of you, with a pack of raptors no less." he looked down at Olaf with a smile, "I'd say he's earned his heroes retirement, and I'm pleased to see he still manages to act the young pup when the moment suits him." In that moment, he raised his cup up in a subtle toast, "To Olaf," he proposed. Taking a sip, he looked back at Lysandra with a twinkle in his eye.

In this time Lysandra sipped from her glass, musing gently, "To Olaf," beginning to adjust so as to slip her right leg over her left thigh this time,turning her torso more easily face the fellow. "Perhaps, some day, you'll let me see this trophy of yours,” Itraeis claimed, “I've never seen a raptor before. I can only imagine what a terrifying trophy it must be."

Momentarily Lysandra wore a bashful smile, "Any time you'd desire to make the trip to Drustvar I'd be honored and would love to host you, aswell... Just say the word! You might be invited to stay as long as you desire," she winks slyly.

“I most definitely think it would be lovely to roam this land of Drustvar and spend some time at your home. For as long as you'd have me." he finished with a teasing wink in return.

For a moment Lysandra was silent, mulling over the memory of the troll and her raptors… It truly was more terrifying than she was able to ever convey in words. The tale wasn’t quite as glorious as she made it out to be.

"I'll be honest, it's such a surprise how quickly the factions fell into war after the horror of the Legion... Though knowing how hot headed our men and women can be and how bloodthirsty the Horde can be it's... Almost anticipated," Lysandra confessed.

"I suppose after so many decades of aggression with each other, it's not terribly surprising," he said with a shrug between sips, "Let's just hope it ends with us the victors."

In this time the maiden lingered for a long while, her eyes soft as she peered toward her companion. He truly was a strikingly attractive young man… She  promptly scolded herself internally, confessing how terribly wrong it was to be lingering on how attractive he was… He was so much younger than she! It felt completely inappropriate!

"I assure you I'm a wonderfully polite house guest. I'll even be sure to bring a gift, bottle of this fine wine here I presume would be acceptable?”

Itraeis broke the woman’s internal struggle, her eyes widening as she returned to their reality.

"Well like I said, I would love to host you. I can already see it, forcing you on horse back to tae a tour of the grounds, joining the shooters out to gather game to eat that evening if you're at all interesting in hunting. And too, wine is always acceptable -- In general, every Vanburen seems to have their vice, for myself it's either wine or bourbon. Can never seem to find myself without a cup in hand," she muses out loud before drinking the remainder of her cup and plopping the glass atop the table. Sitting upright and at the edge of the couch cushion would Lysandra linger here, her lips weighed by a frown upon listening to the words which she just spoke. It was a disappointing sentence to relive. With a roll of her shoulder the woman aimed to leap out of her concerned state, desperate to now weigh down his evening as well. "So, what else would you like to talk about, mmh?"

"Vices are only a problem when they hinder us. I dare say if a drink in hand is your biggest problem, it's not problem at all." he attempted to reassure her. "I suppose I could try my hand at hunting, though I'll admit I'm a terrible shot. I'm better with sword than I am with bow or gun. But I'll give it a try to impress the lovely lady." he flirted, "I'm still very curious about you, however. The raptor slaying noblewoman of Drustvar. This might be a silly question, but being from Kul'Tiras and related to Venreena, does that mean you have a passion for sailing as well? Or is that just a trope-misconception we have of all Kul'Tirans?”

For a moment Lysandra was simply lost in the younger lord's eyes, finding immense comfort in his presence alone. Thus, she settled herself back into the cushion of the couch once more, this time inches closer to her current conversational companion. All the while he spoke she wore a dashing smile, finding herself doubting his motives the longer they sat.

Itraeis smirked some at her admission, and her distaste for the common sailing culture around her. As she inched closer towards him, he took that as the cue that he could do in turn. Daring even so to sneak an arm onto the back of the couch and around her shoulders. It was an odd feeling, being so dotted upon as religiously as Iraetis made a point to be. Especially dotted upon by a man far younger than herself. "Ahh, yes..," Lysandra gained a noise that of a groan before regarding, "The majority of Kul Tiras are lovers of sailing, I cannot deny that with a straight face. Myself, however... Not so much. I prefer horse riding to sailing, too I'm... I'm not necessarily a fantastic swimmer. That's assuming I can swim."

"Are you?" She'd inquire after a time, "A fan of sailing, that is."

"Can't say I've done much sailing... ever. I rather enjoy being on firm land personally. Though I do swim for fun down in Booty Bay. Perhaps, if you ever find yourself interested in some time in the water, we can go for a swim together?" he suggested with a playfully flirty wink. "I can teach you to at the very least, not sink."

With a soft chuckle the older woman would accuse the lord, "Really? You can teach me to swim-- Am I too bold in believing that your desire to swim with me isn't necessarily to only just be helpful, but to see me half dressed? You cheeky lil' blighter," she'd bring the back of her hand to smack against his gut in a playful swat, leaning forward a moment to regather her cup of wine before settling back into the enticing young man's arm.

"You caught me, I really just wanted an excuse to get you in your swim wear," he confessed with a cheeky grin. Her hand slapping against his torso only caught him to laugh that much more, "But I suppose tanning on the beach will reward me all the same." She felt so many years younger being all cuddled up with a gentleman. It was such a satisfying emotion, one that almost completed her.. Alas even Lysandra knew it would take alot more than some handsome younger man's touch to heal all her wounds. But atleast for right now she was ultimately at peace! "Though I am comfortable with my lacking skill with swimming.  I have no reason to fret, I'll do well enough on my own darling. If ever come a day I'm required to go near a pool or the beach I'll opt for tanning over splashing around with the family. And I am comfortable with that idea." With this she'd begin to sip at her cup of wine, wearing a small smile that slowly would begin to sag into a doubtful frown, suddenly aware of how pathetic she must look. An old woman in the arms of a young boy. A boy old enough to be her son! Oh, it twisted her gut with grief...

But the way her smile turned into a frown quickly caught his attention.

"Are you alright, Lysandra? You suddenly appear rather distraught. Wine not sitting well?" he asked in honest concern, gently stroking her hair as he tried to sooth her.

"This... Isnt--..." Instantly hundreds of goosebumps overwhelmed her with the gentle coil of fingers toying with her hair, and thus she'd force herself to stand. Setting her cup atop the table and taking a moment to compsoe herself, the woman would address Iraetis with flustered bright red cheeks. "I... This isn't appropriate, Lord Holt," she sounds alittle more hesitant, as if there was nothing more she wanted than to settle back into his arms, but she was quick to move on by regarding, "I need to away, anyways... And again I... I welcome you to my estate, alas I must resume with my evening now."

Itraeis rose with her, though he was still cautious not to give Olaf reason to get aggressive. "Lady Vanburen... Lysandra," he whispered, raising a hand up to brush along her cheek, "If you need to go, I won't stop you. But I want you to know, I find you both captivating, beautiful and brilliant. After all, you yourself said not long ago you weren't one to conform to societies norms. So while I won't hold you here against your will, I truly hope you won't deny my advances solely because others might deem it 'inappropriate.' And... if I may be so bold, one kiss before you take your leave?" he dared. Though he didn't make the move in just yet, only continued to stroke her cheek with his thumb.

Instantly her cheeks flustered, her gaze drifting around a moment. But his words seemed to shoo away her own attempts to disparage herself. It hadn't been so long since she was a with anyone, and as she so recalled a kiss was as chaste an action one could participate in. Thus, while alittle hesitant, Lysandra would turn toward Itraeis whilst her lips would apart to exhale a slow and shaky breath. Midst reaching up to caress the back of his hand upon her own cheek she'd bring her other hand to rest atop his upperarm, lingering close now. Her body language alone was enough to reassure that she was willing to receive a kiss, but it came out in a soft, "Yes..."

It was gentle, soft, almost timid, the way Itreais leaned in to Lysandra. His hand that stroked her cheek took on a gentle grip as though to pull her closer to him. His other hand resting respectfully on her hips, daring not go any lower than the small of her back. Their lips locked in a tender kiss. Not the rough aggressive tongue invasive action of a man and woman in the throws of passion. But an innocent kiss from an entranced young man to show his interest and affections to the woman before him.

Midst the kiss it was as though Lysandra had simply melted. Her years of shaping herself into a woman of dignity and grace disappeared as her knees becamr shaky, her figure swaying gently against his. All of her attention and thoughts went toward memorizing the warmth of his body, how his lips molded against her own. How soft they felt, even....

After a few moments, he pulled back and looked deep into Lysandra's eyes. Moonlight sparkling against the dark brown of his own.

The moment he'd pull away was when the reality became suffocating, her brows furrowing and bottom lip puckering in a pout. Although Lysandra did not keep this pitiful expression long, soon straightening herself to her full height, taking a moment to use both of her hands to adjust and smooth over Itraeis's torso wear... And then she'd step back, turn to gather her coat and gloves, then nudging her dog awake… All the while remaining ever flustered. "Thank you for a lovely evening, Lady Vanburen. Get home safe, and I look forward to seeing you again."

"Thank you for providing me this unforgettable evening, Lord Holt. I certainly look forward to--," she'd hesitate before providing him a smile, "To whatever the tides may bring for us."

"To whatever the tides may bring for us," carried his wishful tone -- or was it even wishful?

Did she just imagine that? And with this she'd step away, adjusting her coat back onto her figure just after she’d tug her gloves onto her shaky hands. At her side shuffled the worn, grumpy old man of a dog, his tail wagging in a slow, gentle sway.

As her feet carried her across the cobblestone pathaway it took everything in Lysandra to not burst into a fit of angry, shameful tears. She felt responsible for the strangest things all of a sudden -- she felt as though she had compelled that young man… Forced him, in some way, to feel obligated to soothe her ego…

She felt so disgusted with herself, she even hated Itraeis some for making her feel so vulnerable and open… She was a fucking Vanburen! She was a woman of pride and grace, a successful woman who had years of experience in the courts residing under her belt, a prestigious elegant lady of well refined decorum…

And he made her feel like a teenager all over again. Like a girl who was experiencing her first crush.

“Deplorable,” she’d hiss to hersel, finding it equally unforgiving that she was genuinely thrilled by the idea that maybe, just maybe... He might truly write to her.