Faction Dearly Beloved, Dearly Departed | THR Great Houses

[Taera 'Calypso']

Location: Atria Estate, Epica
Tags: Lancel Atria | Open

The young Lord Faustus Atria laid in state at the foot of the dais in the estate’s great hall. Silver daylight filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows, as clouds gathered in the sky overhead. Weather droids had predicted a light drizzle for the day but it would not be enough to deter the invited nobility from paying their respects. Mourning flowers had been artfully arranged around the casket, and a holoprojector hovered nearby, displaying images of the deceased in life.



Baronness Calypso Atria stood off to one side, a respectful distance from the casket but close enough that those paying their respects could also easily pay their condolences. Right where etiquette demanded she stand. Her attire had been meticulously chosen: an understated black dress with a lace bodice and sleeves, incorporating black gemstones and pearls sewn in elegant designs. A black sun hat of the finest black wool tilted over her brow at an angle, a black veil hanging in front of her face. Simple pearl and diamond jewelry complemented the look. Elegant, understated, the picture of a wife in mourning.

Calculated.

Calypso clasped gloved hands in front of her as she received whispers of politely offered condolences from nobles that thought they knew the lordling or were just fulfilling the expectations demanded of them. The black leather felt soft, even from the inside. Quality. Beside her stood Lord Lancel Atria, younger brother of Faustus, her brother-in-law, an arm crooked to escort the elderly and ailing Lady Seraphine Atria. As Calypso received another well-wisher, she had to admit to herself that the family looked good in black.

Dry-eyed and distracted though she was, Calypso was sad. Of the many men she had known in her life, Faustus had been one of the handful of decent ones she’d met. Stupid, yes, wasteful in his lavish lifestyle, certainly. But genuinely kind to his friends and family, and loyal to a fault. One of his last acts had been to attempt to ensure marital bliss for his brother, by arranging a marriage to an offworld princess.

Which showed how little Faustus knew his brother.

She stole a glance to see how well he was holding up. Faustus’ sudden death hit the family hard. The picture of perfect health one day, and an aneurysm according to the coroner the next. She lost her husband and they a son and brother, a man in his prime. Importantly, he had left no heirs either. The legal proceedings wouldn’t start until another few days and they would be slow-going. They would have to muddle through the grieving period and the legal mire together.

Tears streamed freely down Lady Seraphine’s face. Calypso made eye contact with Lancel and gestured subtly with eyes and hands to get his mother a handkerchief.

“I’m so sorry for falling apart like this,” Lady Seraphine said in a shaky whisper. “It’s terribly unseemly. You are bearing it with more grace and strength than I, my dear Calypso.”

Calypso took a moment to lean down and give Lady Seraphine’s free hand a gentle squeeze.

“Only because I must,” she said quietly. “Tears were never a luxury I was afforded but they will come when I no longer need to hold myself upright.”

Her eyes darted to Lancel again as she straightened and readied herself to receive the next guest in the interminable line of visiting nobility. Truly, how long did a noble need to be the center of attention while dead?

 

[Guinevere Cavello]

​

Earlier - Traveling to Funeral
Wearing: X

The Llamrei cut cleanly through hyperspace, its engines humming with the quiet confidence of a vessel that had carried generations of Cavellos before her. Princess Guinevere sat by the viewport, hands clasped too tightly in her lap, then loosening, then tightening again. She hadn't even realized she was doing it until her fingers began to ache.

A funeral. They were traveling to Epica, to the Atria Estate, to mourn the dead.

The irony was almost cruel enough to make her laugh. Because this was also where her parents had calmly, efficiently informed her that she would meet her future husband. Lord Lancel Atria. Betrothed. Promised. Settled. The words had landed like a verdict passed down long before she'd entered the room.

A funeral seemed fitting, she thought darkly. Something was being laid to rest, after all. If not her body, then whatever small, fragile freedom she'd managed to keep tucked away inside herself.

Her foot bounced. She smoothed her dress. She twisted a ring on her finger, then removed it, then put it back on. Every motion betrayed her nerves, her mind racing far faster than the ship ever could.

"Guinevere."

Her mother's voice cracked like a snapped rein.

"Stop fidgeting," she snapped, sharp and precise. "You are a princess, not a child."

Gwen stilled instantly, hands folding into perfect stillness atop her skirt. Her spine straightened, chin lifted, expression carefully neutral. Years of training slid back into place like armor. Grace. Poise. Obedience.

"Yes, Mother," she said softly.

But inside, her thoughts refused to quiet. Epica loomed ahead, an elegant estate wrapped in mourning blacks and polite condolences, where grief and celebration would blur together in a way that made her skin prickle. She wondered if Lord Atria would look at her and see a bride… or if he would see the same thing she felt herself becoming.

An offering.

The Llamrei surged onward, carrying her toward a funeral that marked the end of someone else's life, and, she feared, the quiet burial of her own.

 

[Cynan Obaith]

Location: Atria Estate, Epica
Outfit: Funeral Suit
Tags: Taera 'Calypso' | Guinevere Cavello

Funerals were never affairs that Cynan found any comfort or believed that they offered any assistance in the grieving process.

Arriving on Epica, Cynan had dressed himself in the funeral regal that he had wore on previous occasions and ensured that he looked presentable to attend the event. Cynan had sent ahead of time a bouquet of flowers and a message to the Baroness on his sympathies for her loss. To lose a partner while so young, it was a tragedy in of itself. Cynan hoped to be a grand old age when he passed before his partner. He did also suspect that he would be the one to pass first as well.

Striding towards the procession, where many of the nobles within the Hight Republic had gathered, Cynan looked around. He lowered his head in sympathy towards the Baroness for her loss and thought about what this could all mean as well. What changes could be happening from this event. There was also a chance for him to rub shoulders with some of the other elites within the High Republic as well, a chance to learn more about what they are getting up to and figuring things out more about where he needed to be guiding the political activism that he had been working with.

Cynan did not attempt to make his way forward to approach the Baroness, he knew it was important to allow things proceed as they should first. Give space to those closest to the deceased. Instead, he kept to the back and listened to those mourning closest to him. Feeling the light drizzle on him as it reminded him of the heavy rainfall that occurred the day of his father's funeral. It had been necessary for coats and umbrellas. Today was different in that regard but he wondered if the weather would worsen as the funeral proceeded.

 

[Lancel Atria]

It was odd to note that which stood out on a day of grief. To find himself preoccupied by the aroma of the floral arrangements was something entirely unexpected. He had not cared such a bouquet for many years, not since Fuastus inadvertently stole his favoured scent as a child, back when having something such as a favourite colour had seemed important.

But that was Faustus. Dear, Faustus in all his oblivious glory. As the heir, he did not realise how easily he stepped into possession of things that others had set their heart upon. So accustomed, had he been, to getting his own way, that there had hardly ever been a stumble in conscience when he got what he wanted, even if at another's loss.

Lancel examined the floral arrangements on the casket thoroughly, but he could not spot a single yellow-orange blossom of the talum vine. It was not surprising, really. The vine was a weed, hated by gardeners all over Epica, and rarely seen on the Estate. It was that sense of the forbidden, the untamed wild creeping into his curated home estate, that had attracted Lancel to the aroma. It was the scent of the illicit.

The soft sobs of his elderly mother brought Lancel back to the reality of the moment. Then he noticed that Calypso was staring at him. He stiffened instinctively. The widow's netting over her face could not hide the sullen determination on her face, and Lancel was momentarily distracted by her intensity. The eternal second snapped and the urging towards consolation was understood. He pulled forth his clean handkerchief and offered it to his mother, who readily and apologetically accepted.

Then. Calypso leaned in front of him. He missed every word she spoke. Instead, assaulted by the overwhelming presence of talum blossom. His face grew pale, and its muscles taut. He looked...haggard.

"Funerals are made for tears, mother," he muttered, a poor choice of words to comfort. And poor timing, the aroma of the blossoms being heightened by the taste of the air. His eyes closed, briefly. And Lancel nodded to another noble well-wisher.

He opened his eyes, and avoided Calypso's momentary gaze. Instead, looking for the rose who his brother had deemed a suitable replacement for the blossom he had longed desired.

Faustus' death was the cruelest theft of all. Lancel would never be able to convey just how much he hated his brother for his parting gift.

Guinevere Cavello Taera 'Calypso' Cynan Obaith
​

 

[Maëlys Amnen]

H O U S E • A M N E N​

Location: Epica
Objective: Mourning flavoured networking
Tags: Vitaly Antantonio Taera 'Calypso' Lancel Atria Guinevere Cavello Cynan Obaith

Wearing

Maëlys had been to Epica only twice before. The first was was to bid in person on a ridiculously priced old magnum of Epica wine, the second was to buy the vineyard it came from. Lovely place, thoroughly elegant and the sort of place one might find themselves moving to to grow into their later years. It was sad that her third visit was for such a sad purpose. It wasnt that she personally knew the deceased but she knew what it was like to lose loved ones and noble funerals had a tendency to be bold affairs and always reminded her of lost Amnens of the past.

"Senator" she said to a gentleman she recognised by reputation. Vitaly Antantonio cut quite the form as the woman clad in black and Aurodenium-r approached him. Her people had done plenty of business with his people so it would be good to actually converse with him, perhaps even gain an ally within the Republic, after all her world as only a stone's throw from the Republic and one of the largest mineral and spice producers in their region of influence.

"Tragic thing, isn't it. Did you know the gentleman?"

 

[Guinevere Cavello]

​

Earlier - Traveling to Funeral
Wearing: X

The Llamrei touched down on Epica without ceremony, its landing quiet and precise. Within moments, the Cavello family was moving toward the great hall where the visitation would be held. A thin mist clung to the ground, beading softly against stone and silk alike. On any other day, Gwen might have worried what it would do to her hair. Today, such trivialities felt distant and unreal.


Her parents walked several paces ahead, arm in arm, offering practiced, mournful smiles to those gathered. They looked every bit the grieving dignitaries, measured, composed, unassailable. Gwen followed with her brother at her side. He offered her his arm, and she took it without hesitation. Together, the two blond siblings trailed their parents, a picture of dynastic beauty and obligation.

"Gwen… you're trembling."

Her brother slowed, concern softening his voice as he looked down at her. She hadn't realized how badly she shook until he said it, her hands, her knees, even her breath betraying her. A thousand thoughts collided in her mind.

What if Lord Atria is cruel?
What if he demands children immediately?
What if he doesn't like her at all, and insults her parents for it?

And if that happened...if she failed at the only role she had been shaped for... what would become of her then?

Her entire future rested in the hands of a man she had never spoken to.

She swallowed hard, fighting the sting behind her eyes, forcing her feet to move even as panic threatened to root her in place.

"Don't let me fall," she whispered fiercely under her breath.

Her brother's grip tightened at once, solid and reassuring. He didn't reply, but he didn't need to. Together, they continued forward in the slow, inevitable procession.


At last, they reached the Baroness and the gathered Atria family. The protocol droid stepped forward, its voice smooth and impartial as it announced her father, King Cavello, and her brother, Prince Cavello. As tradition dictated, it omitted the women entirely. The droid knew its role well.

That did not stop her mother from stepping forward, extending her hand with solemn grace.

"My dear Baroness Atria, Lady Atria, Lord Atria," she said gently, "I am so deeply sorry for your loss."


She did not introduce her children. Perhaps she felt this was not the moment. There would be time for that later, time enough for Gwen to be formally presented, appraised, and discussed. Besides, it was obvious who the princess was.

Gwen wore deeper mourning than the rest of her family. The man who had died was, after all, her future brother-by-law. Her mother had insisted it was appropriate.

The princess lowered her sea-foam eyes first to the Baroness, then. slowly, reluctantly, to the man standing beside her.

Lord Lancel Atria was handsome. That much registered immediately. He looked a few years older than her and she felt her stomach jolt, wondering if that would upset him. His face was admirable but there was no warmth in his expression, no softness to temper the sharp lines of his face. Perhaps it was grief, she told herself. Of course it was grief. Still, the sight of him sent her stomach twisting tighter.

She supposed she should feel relieved that he was attractive. Instead, she felt only dread.

Carefully, Gwen composed her features into polite sorrow, a mask she had been trained to wear since childhood. Her gaze flicked away from Lancel almost at once, afraid that if she lingered too long, her breath might betray her.

She focused on breathing.
On standing.
On not falling apart, here, of all places.

Taera 'Calypso' Lancel Atria | @others in the area

 

[Atham Harek]

Quite sad, you see.

Atham's family wasn't a royalty, sure, but they were the most wealthy on the planet, or at least one of them. These so-called Great Houses were GREATLY in need of financial backing time to time, and the Harek family seemed to do just that. People asked Atham what his father, grandfather, and the like did. Well, it was an easy answer to a complicated question.

Shipping was his usual answer. It didn't concern him. He didn't really need to. But it did make him a usual go-to for appearing in public for events such as this. His father was out of town, so he said. His mother was sick, so she said. His uncle, busy with work, so he said. His brothers, well, they just said they didn't want to come. His conniving heartless queen of a sister was equally unwilling to come.

So, Atham naturally went to get proper toasted and pay his respects. But truth be told, he never quite liked the dead man. Not that he knew him particularly well, but there was something that he couldn't remember of why he hated the man. Maybe hated was the wrong word.

He relayed this fact to the nearest passer-by, an elderly woman clad head to toe in very sad-looking funeral attire. Sad stuff, really. Sad, sad.

"Sir, do you not know we are laying to rest a beautiful, lovely boy today!"

Atham took another swig of his lavish and rather free liquor. He was spiffy looking, in his blues and in his best. Shoes shined. Beret shaped. The best.

"Did someone else die, miss?"

Atham sauntered off, drink in hand, and walked right up to the viewing area. He held up his drink, pointing it towards the dead man in the middle of the room.

"Quite sad, off so soon old bean. But, we all make the trip. Hope you enjoy the party."

Oh, right, right, that reminded him. He needed to shake babies and kiss hands or whatever it was that fancy types did at these parties. He needed to... talk to someone... the widow! Of course. Naturally. Why wouldn't he miss the chance to aid a grieving woman, who was recently, rather unfortunately, without a husband! Oh how lonely she must be....

​

 

[Taera 'Calypso']

Tags: Lancel Atria | Guinevere Cavello | Cynan Obaith | Atham Harek | Open

Location: Atria Estate, Epica
Outfit: Funeral Suit
Tags: Taera 'Calypso' | Guinevere Cavello

Funerals were never affairs that Cynan found any comfort or believed that they offered any assistance in the grieving process.

Arriving on Epica, Cynan had dressed himself in the funeral regal that he had wore on previous occasions and ensured that he looked presentable to attend the event. Cynan had sent ahead of time a bouquet of flowers and a message to the Baroness on his sympathies for her loss. To lose a partner while so young, it was a tragedy in of itself. Cynan hoped to be a grand old age when he passed before his partner. He did also suspect that he would be the one to pass first as well.

Striding towards the procession, where many of the nobles within the Hight Republic had gathered, Cynan looked around. He lowered his head in sympathy towards the Baroness for her loss and thought about what this could all mean as well. What changes could be happening from this event.

Nobles from across the High Republic space kept arriving. Calypso caught sight of one such noble, his outfit for the occasion speaking to the fashion sensibilities of Naboo nobility. Their eyes met and he inclined his head, wordless. Calypso dipped her head slightly, acknowledging the moment. A respectful, if distant, message. Quick, quiet, and more honest than the myriad of words and platitudes. Something she could genuinely respect.

​

At last, they reached the Baroness and the gathered Atria family. The protocol droid stepped forward, its voice smooth and impartial as it announced her father, King Cavello, and her brother, Prince Cavello. As tradition dictated, it omitted the women entirely. The droid knew its role well.

That did not stop her mother from stepping forward, extending her hand with solemn grace.

"My dear Baroness Atria, Lady Atria, Lord Atria," she said gently, "I am so deeply sorry for your loss."

The FIII Footman droid announced the King and Crown Prince of Avalon as the royal family stepped forward. Calypso noted the lack of recognition the women received and it pricked old feelings. The droid was only following protocol, announcing dignitaries according to the customs and traditions of their homeworlds. But the queen stepped forward as if the ommission weren't a slight against her gender or capabilities.

Calypso received the hand gently, an appropriate squeeze signalling acknowledgement of intent and protocol.

"Our thanks, your majesties," she said. This meeting had always been a possibility, and one she'd planned for and rehearsed. "Your presence and support in our time of misfortune mean a lot to us."

Atham sauntered off, drink in hand, and walked right up to the viewing area. He held up his drink, pointing it towards the dead man in the middle of the room.

"Quite sad, off so soon old bean. But, we all make the trip. Hope you enjoy the party."

Oh, right, right, that reminded him. He needed to shake babies and kiss hands or whatever it was that fancy types did at these parties. He needed to... talk to someone... the widow! Of course. Naturally. Why wouldn't he miss the chance to aid a grieving woman, who was recently, rather unfortunately, without a husband! Oh how lonely she must be....

​

The words of a man with the posture of a soldier at the casket carried quite clearly through the more respectable low hum of chatter that filled the great hall. Calypso took a deep breath and kept her face carefully composed. The honesty, the lack of remorse or self-awareness, the joke in poor taste—it was almost too much for her. She'd have to have a moment in private later to reckon with it.

Calypso's green eyes slid over to the other woman in the royal party. The princess. Mourning attire but carrying a touch of color. Modest. Furtive looks. A carefulness to her composure. But a glance only told so much. Calypso looked forward to the moment when she could get the full measure of the slip of a girl.

Her eyes returned to the king and queen. "Thank you again for making the trip out here." She glanced once more at the princess. "Your presence is a soothing balm on this day."

Calypso kept an eye on Lancel out of the corner of her eye. The man had barely looked at the princess and seemed to struggle with his composure. From what, she couldn't say for certain.

But she had a very good guess.

 

[Vitaly Antantonio]

​

It was by any estimation Vitaly Antantonio could conceive, a good day.

True, the weather was taking a turn toward gloom as evidenced by the sour cast of light that failed feebly to fill the hall, forcing fires to be lit in half a dozen or more braziers. Flashes of orange and red made shadows dance across the floor and over walls, a macabre sort of ball amidst the mourners.

One of The Ten was dead.
The Antantonio Family was not among The Ten. Their blood ran as far back as any of them but in the founding days his family had been shut out, rumor was over a woman, shut out and disrespected. Always looked down on by The Ten but they were never toothless. The Antantonio’s built power away from Epica City in the town of Corrado. Corrado City is now the 4th largest city on Epica and it belongs to The Antantonios. Yet, they remain on the outside looking in. For now.

“Senator” Vitaly turned to find himself being approached by a stunning woman dressed in mourning attire. Korun by the look of her but one never could tell just from looking. People were from all over these days.
"Tragic thing, isn't it. Did you know the gentleman?" She asked without introduction.

“Very well unfortunately,” He answered, his basic covered in a thick Epican accent. Vitaly did not elucidate whether it was unfortunate that he had known the deceased well or that someone he knew well was deceased. “Our fathers were acquainted before either of us were born and we both played on a couple same sports teams as kids.”

He’d known Faustus for ages and never much considered the man. His name carried substantial weight on the world, that was a certainty, however, it was his family name that people demurred to, never the man himself. He was a second rate saber, a sub-par shot, a horrid huntsman, an undistinguished man of no distinction at all who will be forgotten to time at the end of it all. Yet, of The Ten. Vitaly felt joy at the death of his enemy.

It would be expected that he give his sympathies to the family. For now Vitaly was content here with this stranger.

“Tragic? I don’t think so. Here on Epica we say: Una bara aperta è un dono. As you say, an open casket is a gift.”

On Epica assassination was the tool-dejure in political disputes.

He offered to take her hand in his and lightly kiss the back of her hand. “Vitaly Antantonio,” he said. “And you are?”

Maëlys Amnen Atham Harek Guinevere Cavello Taera 'Calypso' Lancel Atria Cynan Obaith

 

[Lancel Atria]

His mother gave a subtle whimper when the Queen of Avalon stepped forward with condolences. She did so love the notion that her younger son would marry into royalty. It was a feather in their family cap for sure.

Lancel's focus, though, was on the young princess. Though he did not stare. Instead, he simply acknowledged. A meeting was already arranged for them to acquaint themselves with one another personally. His opinion of her, to begin with, was not overly flattering.

My word, she looks exhausted. Drained of all life, like her own father had been laid out dead before her.

Lancel could not abide dour people, and should she be such an individual, spoilt and joyless as some royalty were, he was going to have a more unpleasant experience with this whole marriage issue.

He nodded to each of the Avalonian nobles in turn. Giving the Princess an apologetic look, should his expression have been all readable as he processed her emotional state.

Senators. Nobles. And a drunk.

"Mother. If you would..."

He turned to his sister-in-law.

"...please...just for a moment, take her arm. I shall not be long." He did not look her way, instead looking around her, daring not to breath in least he become intoxicated with the scent of Talum.

Excusing himself momentarily, Lancel walked about the back of the family ensemble —cousins, uncles, aunts and the like — and made his way to the drunk. He bowed his head, and smiled somewhat warmly.

"Friend. It is perhaps not the best moment to appear drunk before royalty and people of influence," he said, quietly talking past his ear rather than straight to Atham, "perhaps we should take a walk...before irrevocable damage is done to reputations. What say you?"

He lifted his hand, placing it on the man's shoulder. The grip was steady, and firm.

"The answer...is yes."

Directly: Taera 'Calypso' Guinevere Cavello Atham Harek
Indirectly: Cynan Obaith Vitaly Antantonio Maëlys Amnen
​

 

[Maëlys Amnen]

H O U S E • A M N E N​

Location: Epica
Objective: Mourning flavoured networking
Tags: Vitaly Antantonio Taera 'Calypso' Lancel Atria Guinevere Cavello Cynan Obaith

Wearing

She grinned "An open casket is a gift, I shall need to remember that one. I commiserate your loss but admire your openess to oppurtunity.

Maëlys Amnen, a pleasure to finally meet you." she said to finally share her name. She hoped it might have some recognition behind it, as was always the way of wealthy nobles, but he likely did business with many worlds.

"Speaking of oppurtunity, I had been hoping to converse with you about my own planet. Mon Gazza is hoping to join your republic very soon. And perhaps we can make arrangements which would let you consider supporting my role as ambassador, and perhaps senator in future." there would be tension when Mon Gazza joined, perhaps not as much as if a hutt world was to join but her world had such a reputation due to the spice trade and the fact that the half the world that wasnt owned by miners was was likely owned by drug lords. If her demeanor and her lavish outfit that glimmered with gold was telling, she could make it worth his time.
​

 

[Atham Harek]

"Drunk? Oh goodness no, this is just my third drink. Wait until my fifth to hear what I really think." He said, putting the glass down on a nearby... well he had no idea what it was. Atham had not even gotten good and toasted yet. Sure, he was there, but he was not ALL there. He was just that much of... Atham. All the time. Atham was not the usual nobility, or even usual well-to-do. His family teetered at the edge of nobility, with enough money, power, influence, land, businesses, holding, many tax-exempt charitable donations, a few hundred staff, good amount of employment, groundskeeping, wedding dowries, philanthropic entities, institutions, an orphanage, a free dental clinic, the latter half of a free coffee shop, and a sizeable amount of the parking garages of the planet- to be considered for importance and influence. No, they were not royalty. But did fancy titles or credits and a balanced checkbook matter more?

However, the pilot. The stiff little pompous ass put his hands on Atham Harek. For just that brief moment, his left shoulder, being touched, didn't move, but his right shoulder went to punch the younger man as hard as he could- but ended up just being a slight twinge, a flinch if you will. Atham leaned over, lowered his tone, and spoke quietly towards the young Lieutenant. Atham did not hide the venom in his words. His words were venom, the killer, the Commando, came out of him.

"Flyboy, unhand my shoulder, be quick about it, or I'm going to pull your spine out through your ring piece."

He leaned back, smiled, and faked a tear at the dead man. It was surprisingly good. Oh his grief! Drove him to such oddities. Such as drinking too much (he hadn't even begun to really indulge himself). He looked over, and down at the pilot. Sized him up. Atham broke into a little grin. A cheeky, well-to-do grin.


@ I ain't tagging you all

​

 

[Vitaly Antantonio]

​

Maëlys Amnen Lancel Atria Taera 'Calypso' Guinevere Cavello Cynan Obaith Atham Harek

"An open casket is a gift, I shall need to remember that one.” She said, a smirk threatening to turn into a grin.

He was glad she found him amusing. He supposed it was a funny phrase without knowing how true the words rang.

Above all Epica valued peace. There were uncountable amounts of ancient pacts, innumerable marriages between the houses, hundreds of hostages exchanged every year, all in the name of avoiding civil war. In place of war was assassination. They were quite often brutal affairs and thus the lack of open caskets.
He returned her grin.

“I commiserate your loss but admire your openness to opportunity.”

And what an opportunity it was. For Vitaly. For the Antantonio Family. For Epica. Lord Faustus Atria lay dead in a box and was soon to be rotting in the ground. A scan of the great hall had told him that Epica did. not. care.

Oh, it was a full house to be sure. But it was packed with people, not prestige. Vitaly, as newly minted senator for Epica, may’ve been the most important Epican here that was not related to the family in mourning. There were a handful of notable names, though they were more known for their ignominy than their power.

Among the notable was Duke Alessandro Montiverno. The man may’ve cut an opposing figure in his youth but now a handful years over fifty and his belly hung over his belt, pale flashes of flesh would peek out over his dark pants unbidden each time he moved, and even in the gradual and growing dim light of the room Vitaly could see the streaks of black trickling their way down Alessandro’s forehead and cheeks. It would seem the Duke’s hair was actually as silver as what he claimed to pull out of those mines, which, if rumor was to be believed, were as dry as his wife.

Marchesa Fiorenza Bellacorte was also in attendance. Her hair black as night and done up in a fashion that stretched credulity. She, of course, was wearing a wig. The Marchesa, for the occasion, had also donned a pitch-black cloak of fur with brilliant stripes of orange from some creature he could not place. The fur, of course, was a fake, the Marchesa having sold her real furs almost a decade ago to help alleviate the debt her husband had incurred. Degenerate gambler that he was.

Lady Serafina Malvezzi, the Baronessate of Corveluce, was to Vitaly’s mind the most intriguing of the local nobility that had made themselves present at the funeral for one of The Ten. Lady Serafina was young and beautiful. She was also recently married to a member of house Borgias, widely considered the most powerful family of The Ten. She was quite easy on the eye, Lady Serafina; it was too bad then that she had come to Atria lands only so she might carry on her affair with one of the common-born soldiers in Faustus’ retinue.

Each and all owed some allegiance to a family among The Ten, and yet none were of The Ten, and surely they had as much to do with the Lady’s tears as the loss of her son, if not more. All knew it was the younger boy who stood out among the two. All but Faustus, but he was dead, so it didn’t much matter what he did or did not know.

There was opportunity in their vulnerability.

“Maëlys Amnen, a pleasure to finally meet you."

“The pleasure is mine, Lady Amnen,” Vitaly bowed his head in contrition. “Forgive me my ignorance, I had not thought to see you here.”

Vitaly hadn’t thought to see any from outside Epica here, new as she was to The Republic. He knew Maëlys Amnen from reputation. Amnen Mineral Holdings operated half a dozen mines on land owned by his family. Vitaly, however, had not been the one to make those deals, and he was no miner, but the name remained familiar.

"Speaking of opportunity," she continued, “I had been hoping to converse with you about my own planet. Mon Gazza is hoping to join your republic very soon. And perhaps we can make arrangements which would let you consider supporting my role as ambassador, and perhaps senator in future."

And there it was. The first favor sought from the new senator of Epica. Vitaly flashed a wolfish grin. Vitaly’s power in The Republic was theoretical at best and yet to be cultivated at worst. His world was one of the newer members, yet the Republic itself was new and ripe for strong hands to take control and shape her future.

“My lady, I would be thrilled to make this conversation with you. I think no here. It would be frowned on, I think, to have such a pleasant time while among the grieving.” It felt more like a private conversation, “we could do dinner, maybe? I know a great place on the coast. The mussels are to die for. I mean it. Wars have been fought over less.”

There was a twinkle in his eye. Charm? Confidence? Arrogance? Likely, some combination of the three.

There was a commotion near Faustus’ rapidly bloating corpse.

“Drunk? Oh goodness no…”

Vitaly watched as the young Lord Lancel accosted a mourner in a military uniform. Vitaly didn’t know the man, but he recognized the uniform. He had seen it dozens of times when he made his trip to Naboo to be sworn in as senator. Young Lancel placed a hand on the stranger, apparently in an attempt to be reasonable. The stranger made a sort of spasm, subtle though it was.

A twitch was a twitch. Likely, the man didn’t even know he’d done it, but Vitaly clocked it all the same. He grew up in shockboxing gyms. Six times Vitaly was the under twenty champion(four times consecutive), his sharp eye didn’t leave just because his career ended.

“Perché avere delle guardie?”

Seriously? What’s even the point of having goons if you go and get your own hands dirty?

 

[Lancel Atria]

Lancel did not flinch. He offered a smile that was both condescension and rebellion. His hand did not move until it did. When it came off the gentleman's shoulder, it was because Lancel determined it time to do so.

"Well. You hold your liquor and your tongue in equal measure," Lancel said, before looking toward a pair of Aurodium guards who waited quietly to the side. A small hand gesture, a nod, and the message was given clearly to those that would keep an eye on him.

"Consider the message delivered. Good sir," Lancel said, the smile unwavering, "comport yourself with dignity and you will fare well. Embarass yourself further and you shall be escorted from site."

With little more to add to the conversation, Lancel turned about on his heels and made his way back towards his station beside his mother. He gave a courtesy nod towards dignitaries that expressed condolences. Words of thanks, and offers of later meetings were given.

He resumed his post beside his mother, thanking Calypso for taking the role temporarily. "As much as I wish to grieve my brother," he muttered to his sister-in-law, "I do wish this event was approximately fifty percent shorter in duration."

"Lancel?" His mother pulled his attention away, "I would like to mingle a little, dear son. Would you accompany me? I am not exceptionally steady on my feet these days."

"Certainly, mother," Lancel acknowledged, before letting her lead in her direction of choice.

Atham Harek Taera 'Calypso' Vitaly Antantonio Maëlys Amnen Guinevere Cavello
​

 

[Taera 'Calypso']

Tags: Lancel Atria | Guinevere Cavello

Calypso took her mother-in-law's arm as Lancel left their side to deal with a potential disruption. Her eyes tracked him as he left before she looked back at the royal family. It was better for the visitation and wake if he did resolve it. She wasn't above conflict but it wouldn't do to have the grieving widow make a scene like that. Instead, she turned all of her attention to the royals in front of her.

"I am . . . terribly sorry about this," she said quietly. "We will have to arrange a more private meeting for proper introductions in the future. Epica can be quite dramatic when it comes to wakes."

The King of Avalonia deigned to mutter something like assent to her. Calypso kept her face carefully neutral, in spite of the indignation that threatened to rise. She gave a sidelong glance at their retreating backs through narrowed eyes. Seraphine's hand tightened on her forearm in a brief, firm squeeze. Calypso smoothed her expression as she accepted condolences from the next guest in line.

Lancel returned, seemingly successful. Good. A scene was the last thing they needed. She passed the familial duty back over to him and clasped her hands in front of her. She'd much rather clasp hands behind, as in a parade rest, but this presented the better image.

"As much as I wish to grieve my brother, I do wish this event was approximately fifty percent shorter in duration."

The corner of her mouth twitched.

"Lancel? I would like to mingle a little, dear son. Would you accompany me? I am not exceptionally steady on my feet these days."

Lancel, ever the dutiful son, acquiesced. That would leave her alone to handle things for a time. Calypso took a deep breath. She could do that.

"Please don't be long, Mother," she said softly. "Your presence is . . ."

Green eyes flicked up to Lancel. ". . . Comforting."

How much of his struggle with the event had been her doing, she wondered.

 

[Cynan Obaith]

Location: Atria Estate, Epica
Outfit: Funeral Suit
Tags: Taera 'Calypso' | Guinevere Cavello | Lancel Atria | Vitaly Antantonio | Maëlys Amnen | Atham Harek

Cynan had remained silent during the events on going and observed the differing conversations. He could see how people mingled and the connections that were already made and the ones being made in the moment. There was also some brash soldier who clearly could not handle his drink, disappointing to see at events like this but not unsurprising. There was likely to be one uncouth drunkard roaming around the place ready to cause a scene.

Seeing that the widow of the deceased was currently unattended, Cynan made his way over to her. He had seen her nod to him early in response to his own and it was the opening move that Cynan was important in maintaining respectful dialogue. Walking over to her, he gave a low bow, "greetings Lady Calypso. I am Lord Cynan from Naboo. If you do not mind my company, I thought I would offer my sincere empathy to you. If there is anything I can do to offer any comforts or alleviate the heaviness you feel in your heart and soul, please feel free to ask."

He remained a respectable distance from Calypso as well, not wishing to come across too familiar in the moment of her grieving. He offered a comforting smile as he recognised a similar loss and anguish that he had felt during the funeral for his father. There are voids in the soul that never seem to fully recover, only become less all consuming.

 

[Atham Harek]

Embarass yourself further and you shall be escorted from site."

"Nonsense lad, I have not yet begun to defile myself." He said with a grin, knocking back another swig from his free drink.

Atham took a moment, folding his hands behind his back, staring at the dead man. He looked pensieve, contemplative, deep in thought. Perhaps grief. Perhaps sorrow. Reflecting on his own mortality. He was, truly, actually, deep in thought.

He was trying to remember why he didn't particularly like the man. There was something there, something about him.... something he said? Did? Didn't do? Did he owe Atham money? Beat him in a tournament?

He just couldn't place it.

​

 

[Taera 'Calypso']

Tags: Cynan Obaith | Vitaly Antantonio

The nobleman with whom she’d shared a respectful nod approached, offering his empathetic condolences. He was well-dressed and well-groomed, carrying himself with an effortless grace quite a few of the attending members of the lesser Families could have taken lessons from. His tailored suit hid the finer details about his frame but as a former soldier, Calypso could spot true athleticism a mile away.

“Well met, Lord Cynan,” she said, her voice steady. “I do appreciate the effort you’ve made to be here to support our family in our time of need.”

He kept a respectful distance, conversational without familiarity. Good. Even a hint of scandal at the funeral was the last thing they needed. Calypso let her eyes wander over the guests for a moment, taking note that none of the other Ten Families had sent even a token representative. Instead, members of the lesser Families had taken the opportunity to network themselves into saving their failing houses.

And after all the effort she’d done in Faustus' name to forge a couple of alliances.

“Thank you for your generous offer,” she continued on, recognizing that the Nabooian nobility held more sway closer to the capitol of the High Republic. “I hardly know what assistance I might need. It . . . It’s all happened so suddenly.”

She clocked the presence of the Epican senatorial representative, Vitaly Antantonio. Himself a member of a lesser Family, he had the distinct prestige of having the most influence on Republic politics where it concerned Epica. The Antantonio family had been making moves in their own holdings, dominating other lesser Families in their region.

An invitation to some sort of tea or event should be sent, when the time was appropriate.

Calypso looked down at the ground, remembering the moment she found Faustus dead. “He had been . . . so lively just hours before. I suppose I should be grateful though. There is a saying on Epica.”

Her voice softened. “‘An open casket is a gift.’ Our politics here can be quite cutthroat.”

 

[Vitaly Antantonio]

​

Maëlys Amnen Cynan Obaith Taera 'Calypso'

He’d paid little notice to the foreign dignitary prostrating himself near Faustus’ widow as he made conversation and planned future meetings with Lady Amnen. The little he did suffer to notice made his stomach toss more than Faustus’ putrid overripe corpse. What was Faustus to this off-worlder? He was nothing. Faustus was nothing even on Epica and yet here this foreigner was acting courtly and offering courtesy to a woman he could’ve scarced heard about more than a week ago. It was nakedly false flattery and for what?

For what indeed. The widow, as formidable a figure as she struck was almost destined to return to the nothing she had been before Faustus elevated her. She had given him no heir and there was not a family of import on Epica that did not know of young Lancel’s betrothal. Vitaly had seen the bride to be with his own eyes this very day. Light of hair, pale-skinned, and terrified. Led by her parents seemingly at blaster point, the girl quivered like flame in a breeze. Had she not know what her life would be? What it meant to be a woman of noble house, or in her case a royal one? It seemed to his eye someone had failed her in that way. She would marry Lancel, he no doubt soon, would be enshrined as Lord Atria, The princess would produce an heir and the widow would be forgotten.

She knows this too. He knew.

And he thought he knew her feelings about it as well, and who would blame her? None longed to be set aside, to dim and wither in the dark with not a soul to care.

He thought also, he knew what she would wish to do about it. He knew what he would do about it.

There was opportunity in her position. For the both of them he thought, all she need do was have the resolve for it and all Vitaly needed to do was make himself available to her.

He excused himself politely from Lady Amnen to offer his condolences to the widow, sweeping past the off-world noble trying to engage with her.

Vilay’s long strides brought him directly to her as though he was expect to join her. He made a remorseful gesture with his hands as he approached. Lightly he kissed her on each golden cheek and took her hands in his. A gesture of frank familiarity, perhaps some places but this was Epica. “Mille condoglianze a voi, mia signora, per la vostra... perdita. Che vostro marito riposi in pace.” He told her in native Epican. Ashla knew the woman had been on world long enough to know the joy of the sweetest-tasting language in the galaxy.

Then, again she was herself a foreigner. Faustus’ ‘Golden Star’. He loved to call her that, or he had loved to and would never do so again, Ashla be blessed.

She was an angel sent from the stars to have heard him tell it.

She was a long fanged demon, to hear tell from those that were her enemy once upon a time she served as a soldier.

A common born foreign girl, plucked from the rank and file to become Lady. to no less a family than Atria. It begged little wonder why they had fallen out of favor with The Ten and even now they mean to marry their new lord to a foreign girl. Who would they turn to now that it seemed they had no friends? Who would she turn to?

“If I can be any help to you,” He placed a hand mournfully over his heart. “All you need to do is ask.”

 

[Cynan Obaith]

Location: Atria Estate, Epica
Outfit: Funeral Suit
Tags: Taera 'Calypso' | Vitaly Antantonio

Nodding his head to the widow, "times like these... They are never easy. When my father passed away, my mother was inconsolable for many years. It was a difficult time for my whole family." Cynan confessed, giving a pause as he remembered the trouble years they had with the grief, the struggle they went through until Cynan could abide by it no longer. "However, while the hole from this loss will never fade, the ache it causes will ease."

Listening, it was tough when a death could be as sudden as this. Especially since it was clear how common cutthroat and less subtle ways of death were for the Epican people. It was not something that Cynan was familiar with, he had heard of such politicking and knew it was common with certain factions and groups of people. However, he did not think that such acts would be done here. Within the High Republic space. It was something to take into consideration.

"Of course, do not think I require an answer in this moment or this day. I can give my contact information and if you ever require a friendly voice or sympathetic ear, feel free to get in contact." Cynan bowed his head to Calypso once again. "Grief only consumes us when we bear it alone." He then stepped to the side as someone new entered.

Speaking clearly in the Epican language initially, Cynan could only assume it was someone local, someone familiar with the lady. "I shall take my leave so that you two may converse more freely." Cynan did not wish to overstay his welcome if they were in need to discuss something away from ears they did not trust.