#this man has so many issues and Stolas is half of them by now

[hina-has-no-life]

We all know how fucked up the situation is for Stolas...but have we thought about how strong of an aneurism Blitz has to get anytime he even looks at Stolas?

Stolas is not just the demon he loves. Stolas is a royal, an Ars Goetia. He is the man Blitz is using. He is married and has a kid, a kid that Blitz KNOWS. He is a childhood friend. He is the son of the guy his dad sold him to for 5$ and a condom. He is the guy Blitz has wonderful sex with. He is the guy Blitz thinks doesn't even like him but he's also doing nice things for him. He's the super powerful demon that saved his and his families life. He is the guy Blitz wants to hate but can't. He is the guy that admitted that Blitz was his only friend. He is the guy that had Blitz as his first gay sex experience. Stolas and Blitz are in an BDSM relationship. Stolas is the guy Blitz robbed TWICE. Stolas is the guy Blitz uses and hurts but Blitz also feels so so bad and guilty about it. Stolas is the guy Blitz feels safe with. No matter what Blitz does he feels so strong and so much for Stolas despite never wanting it. He is someone Blitz couldn't forget for over 2 decades after one afternoon together as kids.

[chrysalispen]

Prompt #3 - Muster

AO3 Link HERE. Response under cut.

==

"Aurelia! Aurelia, come inside, now! Off the balcony, there's a dear-"

The voice belonged to one Marcella het Laskaris - a stout lady of imposing height and middle age - currently peering down her nose at her ward with sharp and critical pale grey eyes, painted lips pursed. "Surely you know you can't just stand out here all night," she said. "Do you think your uncle and I brought you along on a whim?"

"To see the royal gardens, perhaps, aunt?"

"Oh, Aurelia, don't be cheeky," Marcella huffed, grasping the girl's mink-covered shoulders. "Come along now."

She bit back a heavy sigh, as it was quite clear she had no say in tonight's proceedings. "Where are we going?"

"I'm introducing you to Livilla's son--"

For a moment she blanked, then her memory put the pieces together and before she could stop herself Aurelia let out a despairing groan.

"Oh.... seven hells, not Marius quo Dolabella."

"Don’t be so ungrateful. You should be thanking me for the opportunity," Marcella scolded. "And it's Marius rem Dolabella; he's just returned on leave from a campaign in Nagxia. He cuts quite the dashing figure, if I do say so myself."

Whatever his title is, he's a bloody bore. She'd spoken to Marius quo Dolabella at a dinner party nearly a year ago, for precisely half an hour, and it was as much conversation as she ever cared to have with the man henceforth.

"This way," her aunt was saying, tugging on her elbow. "Follow me. Be quick- but don't run. The Emperor himself might be present! Graceful strides, graceful strides. Shoulders back-"

"Yes, aunt! I know, I know."

Resigning herself to a tedious evening, Aurelia tugged the heavy stola tighter about her shoulders until the expanse of collarbone and decolletage were shielded from the touch of the wind and any prying eyes, before passing through the double doors and into one of the estate's many parlors. The sooner she kept her mouth shut and acquiesced, the sooner she could be shut of this place and back to her studies - studies which, much to her internal dismay, her uncle's wife refused to take seriously.

I am supposed to be studying materials for the Academy's bioengineering lectures next month, not... prancing around the imperial palace! As if His Radiance hasn't countless better things to do than muster every ridiculous man and woman of age within fifty malms to come make fools of themselves kowtowing to him.

But it was what it was. There was little point in beating her wings against the bars of her gilded cage.

She trailed at her aunt's back, taking in the sights around her with a perfunctory eye. Despite the staid and functional ugliness of most of the compound without, the interior of the imperial palace was surprisingly elegant, with shelves of books and paintings in each room as well as a pianoforte - each one currently occupied. Soft and unobtrusive melodies whispered from those keys into the milling crowd, a delicate and quiet sound meant as nothing more than window dressing, the aural equivalent of a handful of diamonds scattered with studied artlessness across a velvet canvas.

Beneath the music, hints of conversation caught at her ears as they made their way to the great hall-- mostly from older women, gathered in clusters and tittering over glasses of Dalmascan wine. She kept her features carefully schooled as they passed by her uncle: the retired legatus was deep in conversation with three other hard-faced, broad-shouldered men whose postures likewise marked them as career officers of the imperial legions.

"Did you hear the latest? About Midas nan Garlond's boy?" one of them said. "Word has it he's been found, building airships for those savages in the south..."

The conversation drifted off as the men made their way towards one of the opened side parlors and her own trail took her towards the massive guard-flanked doors. These would open into the high, massive hall, wherein one old man held sway over fully half the star, if not more these days.

"Aurelia, dear," her aunt's sharp voice, "mind your posture. Ladies do not fidget."

"Yes, Aunt Marcella," she said, not bothering to keep the weariness from her voice. "Forgive me."

Her apology received not even a cursory nod. The uniformed figures at the door were looking at her aunt's card, and bowing, and the doors were already swinging open on ponderous hinges to receive them into a slow and stately partnered dance. Aurelia's late arrival had cost her the opportunity to display her own skills at the art, not that she minded - she enjoyed dancing well enough, but not if it meant putting herself on display - and thus she had to wait until the coda drew to its conclusion before making a proper entrance.

"Give me your furs," Marcella hissed in her ear as the pair walked along the carpet. "It won't do if you're not seen."

Hells. That would be no issue, Aurelia thought sourly; the would-be suitor in question was looking right at her. Desperately she cast her gaze about the hall, looking for any sort of distraction that might-

"Oh, Aunt Marcella- that's Theodosia! Pray make my excuses to the Dolabellas; she's seen me and I must say hello!" Ignoring her aunt's protests, she wove her way through the throng until she was at a suitable distance and closed in upon the first friendly face she saw to take the young woman's elbow. "Theodosia! Over here, this way-"

"Aurelia," Theodosia bas Procillus began, blue eyes wider than usual in her sharp-featured face, "you're late! You've just missed His Radiance."

"Have I?"

"He said he wished to remain longer, but he was feeling unwell and must retire to his chambers ere the last dance could-" Her classmate stared blankly at the alcove with its plush chairs half-concealed from sight of most of the hall. "...Relia, why are we hiding?"

"It's either hide from prying eyes and ears, or let my aunt drag me about to meet the eligible bachelors of Garlemald like a prized dairy cow on public auction." A slow, stately rondeau rolled into their ears as the pair sat. "She's determined I should be betrothed this season."

Silks of varying shades like the petals of her roses, twirling in languid ripples about delicately slippered feet and the sensuous sway of a flared hip: demurely gloved hands, palm to palm upon each heel-turn, ceruleum-powered lights from a great chandelier catching the outline of carefully coiffured hair and their finery in turn. It was almost hypnotic, she thought. Each young woman guiding in each step the attentions of young men in starched collars and long-tailed jackets-- a picture made lovely by artifice if not by nature.

Theodosia leaned in with a conspiratorial smile.

"For all your talk you seem quite content to watch them dance."

"Watching does no harm."

"And what do you see?"

"...I see a muster of peacocks." Aurelia's gaze dropped to her gloved hands, folded in her lap and clutching her silk fan. "All bright colors and meaningless noise, and naught of any real substance 'twixt their ears to recommend them."

"Aurelia bas Laskaris," Theodosia said, "mark my words: someday, one of those pretty men out there is going to have to do battle with that spinster's tongue of yours, does he wish to claim your hand. I must say, I pity him for his infatuation."

Aurelia snorted.

"Save your pity for me, Thea," she said. "For if one of these overstuffed roosters liked the look of me, I should be forced to bear his company whilst he shakes his feathers in my general direction."

Her classmate uttered a small, shocked laugh as the music built to a crescendo and another suite came to its conclusion. 

Upon the polished marble floors, clad in their bright finery, the so-called peacocks and their dancing partners acknowledged their accomplishment to polite and scattered applause and the coldness of an empty throne.