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rosavelle2025-10-30 12:15 pm
royaldecreemods) wrote in rosavelle2025-10-30 12:15 pm
Entry tags:
Welcome to Rosavelle!
INVITATION
You're going about your day when you notice an envelope that most certainly wasn't there before. It's beautiful, if a little old-fashioned: pale pink paper, sealed with a pressed flower instead of wax and your name written in looping cursive that shimmers faintly in the light.
Inside, the letter begins;
... It goes on like that for a while, whole paragraphs assuring you that you can leave whenever you want, no time will pass back in your world, the Everbloom's magic will keep you safe, etc etc… honestly it gets to the point that it starts to sound less like an invitation and more like a contract. But then, mercifully, the writer finds their footing again:
Maybe you accept right away or maybe you dismiss it as a prank or something equally unimportant. No matter what you think when you first read it, your mind eventually turns back to that invite and your find yourself thinking that it might not be a bad idea…
And once you do, you feel the world going soft and sweet around you, the scent of blooming flowers filling your nose - and before you can quite process what's happening, you realize you've accepted.
Inside, the letter begins;
- Dearest friend—
Goodness, I hope that isn't too forward. We've not met, after all. But I have been told that when one writes an invitation, it's important to sound sincere.
My name is Calanthe Rosabella Petalia de Amoré. I am the Crown Princess of Rosavelle. It's a little island kingdom far, far away - so far that it may not exist quite in the same world as yours.
I know this must sound terribly strange, but I'm writing because I need your help. You see, my coronation is approaching soon, and Rosavelle's magic - the Everbloom - responds to the strength of one's heart. It's said that a ruler must understand love to truly awaken it. Not just romance, mind you, but all kinds of love: friendship, kindness, care.
The trouble is… I'm not very good at it. I've read so many books about love, but real people don't seem to follow the same rules the novels do.
That is why I'm writing to you. The Everbloom - our most ancient and wondrous magic - has granted me the means to reach across worlds. I'm inviting a handful of remarkable individuals, like you, to Rosavelle to help me learn. Not only to teach me what love means to you, but to help me see how it can bloom between friends, companions, and strangers alike.
I promise you'll be treated as an honored guest.
... It goes on like that for a while, whole paragraphs assuring you that you can leave whenever you want, no time will pass back in your world, the Everbloom's magic will keep you safe, etc etc… honestly it gets to the point that it starts to sound less like an invitation and more like a contract. But then, mercifully, the writer finds their footing again:
- If you'll come, I'd be so very grateful. I know this is a strange request, and you owe me nothing - but still, I hope you'll consider it. Rosavelle is beautiful this time of year, and it is my hope that seeing it alongside fresh eyes will allow me to see it more clearly as well.
With all my thanks (and my hopes!)—
Princess Calanthe Rosabella Petalia de Amoré
Maybe you accept right away or maybe you dismiss it as a prank or something equally unimportant. No matter what you think when you first read it, your mind eventually turns back to that invite and your find yourself thinking that it might not be a bad idea…
And once you do, you feel the world going soft and sweet around you, the scent of blooming flowers filling your nose - and before you can quite process what's happening, you realize you've accepted.
ARRIVAL
You arrive in a haze of soft, rosy light. For a moment, everything is weightless - the air around you hums faintly, thick with warmth and the heady scent of flowers. When the haze fades, you find yourself standing beneath a vast glass dome that stretches impossibly high overhead. The light filtering through its pink-tinted panes paints everything in gentle rose and gold and petals drift through the air like drifting snow.
You are standing in the Everbloom's Greenhouse. The walls curve upward in graceful arches, every pane glimmering faintly and the air is warm, fragrant, and shimmering with faint motes of magic. Flowering vines climb the supports, colorful blossoms of all kinds spill from hanging baskets, and everywhere you look there's flowers, flowers, flowers.
At its heart stands the Everbloom, a colossal tree the likes of which you've never seen before. Its smooth trunk is faintly luminous and the canopy stretches so high that you can't see where it ends, vanishing into a haze of golden light and drifting petals. The air around it hums softly with power and for a moment, all you can do is stare up at it in awe.
A moment later, movement stirs: castle attendants glide forward in elegant uniforms, carrying towels, refreshments, and generally doing their best to make sure everyone's arrived safely. After all, you're not alone. Around you, other figures begin to appear - some blinking in wonder, some already steady on their feet. Each seems as out of place as you, drawn from distant worlds and disparate lives but under the rosy light they all seem to come together like flowers gathered into the same bouquet.
Those who stumble are gently guided toward a bench cushioned with flowering moss. Cool towels and drinks infused with rose and mint are offered freely. Eventually, once it seems like everyone's arrived and mostly gotten their bearings, one of the attendants - a lady-in-waiting as you'll eventually find out - speaks up.
"You are most welcome to Rosavelle," she says, dipping into a polite bow. "Their Princess will be hosting a banquet this evening to greet you all properly. Until then, please take your time to get settled and familiar with your surroundings. If you need anything at all, do not hesitate to ask."
For now, you're free to mingle. This is your chance to get your bearings, meet your fellow arrivals, and explore your surroundings. Beyond the main atrium, you can glimpse winding paths lined with blooming hedges and fat, colorful blossoms. Somewhere in the distance, you can faintly hear birdsong. You feel a little tug somewhere in your chest and if you follow it, you might just come across a flowerbed somewhere in the Greenhouse that you somehow know as your own.
After some time to mingle and acclimate, the attendants return, clapping their hands gently to draw attention.
"It's nearly time to prepare for the evening banquet! If you'll come with us, we'll see to your attire."
DRESS UP
You're led from the warmth of the greenhouse through a series of winding marble corridors until you're ushered through a set of grand double doors into a suite of guest rooms bustling with motion. Tailors, stylists, and attendants hurry between privacy screens, racks of lavish garments and trays piled high with glittering jewelry. Silks and satins gleam and lace and velvet catch the light in soft waves of color.
Tailors and stylists bustle about, armed with measuring tapes, pins, and brushes. The staff are cheerfully firm about making sure everyone looks their best for the banquet but nobody's forced into anything they don't want; the attendants listen to everyone's preferences and somehow find something flattering for even the most reluctant participant. Whether you comply with good humor or grumble through the process, it's impossible not to get swept up in the flurry of preparation. … of course, if you're determined to be a grump about the whole thing, you're welcome to wait outside until everyone's dressed up nicely.
The attendants encourage everyone to chatter as they work or even to lend a hand to another guest struggling with their ensemble. Maybe it's out of curiosity - the staff are polite, professional, but it's clear that dressing guests from other worlds is a novelty they want to enjoy.
As final adjustments are made and mirrors fill with transformed reflections, the bustle slowly quiets. Attendants exchange satisfied looks, then guide the group once more through the corridors. The faint strains of music drift down the corridors until at last, you find yourself before the towering double doors of the Azurite Banquet Hall, carved from the stone it takes its name from. The lady in waiting pauses just long enough to smooth a wrinkle here, adjust a collar there, and make sure everyone is present before pushing the doors open.
Tailors and stylists bustle about, armed with measuring tapes, pins, and brushes. The staff are cheerfully firm about making sure everyone looks their best for the banquet but nobody's forced into anything they don't want; the attendants listen to everyone's preferences and somehow find something flattering for even the most reluctant participant. Whether you comply with good humor or grumble through the process, it's impossible not to get swept up in the flurry of preparation. … of course, if you're determined to be a grump about the whole thing, you're welcome to wait outside until everyone's dressed up nicely.
The attendants encourage everyone to chatter as they work or even to lend a hand to another guest struggling with their ensemble. Maybe it's out of curiosity - the staff are polite, professional, but it's clear that dressing guests from other worlds is a novelty they want to enjoy.
As final adjustments are made and mirrors fill with transformed reflections, the bustle slowly quiets. Attendants exchange satisfied looks, then guide the group once more through the corridors. The faint strains of music drift down the corridors until at last, you find yourself before the towering double doors of the Azurite Banquet Hall, carved from the stone it takes its name from. The lady in waiting pauses just long enough to smooth a wrinkle here, adjust a collar there, and make sure everyone is present before pushing the doors open.
BANQUET
The Azurite Banquet Hall glows with warm candlelight reflected in polished marble floors and the air inside smells of wine and roses. Long tables stretch the length of the hall, each one dressed in embroidered runners and heaped with platters of food that look almost too beautiful to eat and in the corner, a string quartet plays a soft, lilting melody.
At the head of the room stands your host, Princess Calanthe Rosabella Petalia de Amoré. Draped in pale gold, they look every bit the part of a royal... though the slightly nervous way they adjust their posture speaks of someone not entirely at ease in the spotlight. When they catch sight of the assembled guests, though, they brighten a bit. Their hands are clasped too tightly around their wine glass, but their voice is bright and earnest.
... suddenly, they look sheepish.
They raise their glass, cheeks pink but eyes bright.
As the toast echoes through the hall, the music swells again - a graceful waltz this time - and attendants sweep forward to usher guests toward the buffet tables.
There's something for every palate: platters of lemon-butter shrimp and rosemary-crusted fish, seared scallops on saffron rice and fillets of calendula-cured salmon alongside oysters resting in crushed ice and lobsters cracked open beside dishes of herb butter. It's not all seafood, either - whole roasted ducks glazed in something fruity dot the table, alongside lamb, chicken and a mouthwatering roast beef.
Between the platters, bowls of vegetables offer roasted root vegetables glistening with sweet glaze, delicate salads strewn with edible petals, caramelized carrots, blistered cherry tomatoes and crisp greens grown. And, of course, baskets of warm, golden bread wait beside whipped butter and creamy sauces.
If you're in the mood for sweets, there's desserts in dizzying abundance: sugared fruit tarts, meringues shaped like blossoms, chocolate soufflés dusted with candied violet, and pastries of all kinds filled with custard, chocolate and all manner of fruity, flowery fillings.
A side table gleams with crystal decanters and goblets: bottles of wine, deeply colored mead and delicate floral liqueurs seem to be the alcoholic offerings but there's carafes of chilled fruit water steeped with mint for anyone who's not inclined towards spirits.
If you're feeling bold, the cleared space near the musicians makes a perfect dance floor. Perhaps you find yourself drawn into a dance, or perhaps you linger at the buffet, trading stories with a stranger over a shared plate of sugared pastries. Or maybe you'll take the opportunity to introduce yourself to your host now they've made an appearance.
Eventually, as the night wears thin, the quartet's melody softens to a gentle hum. Candlelight flickers low. The attendants appear once more, smiling as they begin to guide everyone toward the final stop of the evening.
At the head of the room stands your host, Princess Calanthe Rosabella Petalia de Amoré. Draped in pale gold, they look every bit the part of a royal... though the slightly nervous way they adjust their posture speaks of someone not entirely at ease in the spotlight. When they catch sight of the assembled guests, though, they brighten a bit. Their hands are clasped too tightly around their wine glass, but their voice is bright and earnest.
- "Ah - good evening, everyone! I - well, goodness, where does one even begin?
First of all, thank you. Truly, thank you all for coming here - to Rosavelle, and to me. I know this must all seem terribly strange - one moment you were in your own world, and the next you're here. It's strange to me too, you know. I've been imagining this for weeks, and yet somehow it still doesn't feel quite real.
Ah - oh! I suppose I should introduce myself properly. My name is Calanthe Rosabella Petalia de Amoré. I am the Crown Princess of Rosavelle, soon to be its sovereign, though I admit that still feels a little surreal to say aloud.
I invited you here because - well, I imagine all of you read your invitations. The Everbloom, our kingdom's oldest and most sacred magic, is bound to the heart and mine is… embarrassingly, quite uneducated in such matters. I couldn't imagine anyone in this world I could burden with such a problem and so I thought - perhaps - those who come from other worlds might help me."
... suddenly, they look sheepish.
- "That said, ah - there is a small complication. It is. Um. Frowned upon by most scholars to interfere with the affairs of other worlds, even with the best of intentions and I fear it would cause quite a stir if word got out. So for the time being, we'll need to keep your origins a secret. Please don't worry, though - we've arranged everything you'll need. Over the next month, we'll be teaching you about Rosavelle and all its customs so that when you venture out for the Wilting festival, you'll feel quite at home.
I realize that's rather a lot to ask, and I'm - well, I'm deeply grateful for your patience. I promise to do my best to make this worth your while.
So, once again, thank you. For answering my invitation. For being here, together, tonight.
Now then-"
They raise their glass, cheeks pink but eyes bright.
- "To new beginnings, and to the bonds we have yet to form. May they bloom as beautifully as the flowers of Rosavelle... oh, that sounded quite good, didn't it? A toast - to all of you!"
As the toast echoes through the hall, the music swells again - a graceful waltz this time - and attendants sweep forward to usher guests toward the buffet tables.
There's something for every palate: platters of lemon-butter shrimp and rosemary-crusted fish, seared scallops on saffron rice and fillets of calendula-cured salmon alongside oysters resting in crushed ice and lobsters cracked open beside dishes of herb butter. It's not all seafood, either - whole roasted ducks glazed in something fruity dot the table, alongside lamb, chicken and a mouthwatering roast beef.
Between the platters, bowls of vegetables offer roasted root vegetables glistening with sweet glaze, delicate salads strewn with edible petals, caramelized carrots, blistered cherry tomatoes and crisp greens grown. And, of course, baskets of warm, golden bread wait beside whipped butter and creamy sauces.
If you're in the mood for sweets, there's desserts in dizzying abundance: sugared fruit tarts, meringues shaped like blossoms, chocolate soufflés dusted with candied violet, and pastries of all kinds filled with custard, chocolate and all manner of fruity, flowery fillings.
A side table gleams with crystal decanters and goblets: bottles of wine, deeply colored mead and delicate floral liqueurs seem to be the alcoholic offerings but there's carafes of chilled fruit water steeped with mint for anyone who's not inclined towards spirits.
If you're feeling bold, the cleared space near the musicians makes a perfect dance floor. Perhaps you find yourself drawn into a dance, or perhaps you linger at the buffet, trading stories with a stranger over a shared plate of sugared pastries. Or maybe you'll take the opportunity to introduce yourself to your host now they've made an appearance.
Eventually, as the night wears thin, the quartet's melody softens to a gentle hum. Candlelight flickers low. The attendants appear once more, smiling as they begin to guide everyone toward the final stop of the evening.
HOUSEWARMING
The banquet winds to a gentle close and ne by one, the guests are gathered once more by the castle attendants who lead the way through dimly glowing corridors. The halls are quieter now, the rosy light of evening filtering through stained glass in sleepy shades of pink and gold. Everyone is lead through the castles and out into the grounds, their splendor only a little dulled by the darkness starting to settle over the castle.
"Your lodgings are just ahead," the lady in waiting says, her voice hushed out of respect for the hour. "You've each been assigned to a house - named for the flowers that chose you."
Slowly but surely, everyone's names are called and each person is supplied a heavy brass key to a house named for a flower you may have seen blooming somewhere today. When they speak the name of your house, something in you stirs with faint, inexplicable recognition, like you know it already - or maybe it knows you.
In any case, the barracks themselves are nothing like the name implies: warm, inviting, and softly lit by enchanted lanterns. Each house has its own cozy common area where low couches and plush chairs are gathered around softly glowing hearths. A long table in the center has been set with some late-night comforts, in case you somehow have any room left in your belly - plates of fruit and pastries, steaming pots of tea, and rich cocoa dusted with rose sugar.
The attendants leave you to settle in for the night, with a promise that the barracks staff will prepare meals from tomorrow onwards but mostly, you'll be left to your own devices. You could just track down your room and crash for the night but now seems as good a time as any to get to know your new housemates.
"Your lodgings are just ahead," the lady in waiting says, her voice hushed out of respect for the hour. "You've each been assigned to a house - named for the flowers that chose you."
Slowly but surely, everyone's names are called and each person is supplied a heavy brass key to a house named for a flower you may have seen blooming somewhere today. When they speak the name of your house, something in you stirs with faint, inexplicable recognition, like you know it already - or maybe it knows you.
In any case, the barracks themselves are nothing like the name implies: warm, inviting, and softly lit by enchanted lanterns. Each house has its own cozy common area where low couches and plush chairs are gathered around softly glowing hearths. A long table in the center has been set with some late-night comforts, in case you somehow have any room left in your belly - plates of fruit and pastries, steaming pots of tea, and rich cocoa dusted with rose sugar.
The attendants leave you to settle in for the night, with a promise that the barracks staff will prepare meals from tomorrow onwards but mostly, you'll be left to your own devices. You could just track down your room and crash for the night but now seems as good a time as any to get to know your new housemates.
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The horse ears sticking out from her hat pin back and her eyes narrow as she responds to Darin's tug with a sharp one of her own. She can feel how strong he is so she has no issue putting her full Freak Horse Strength™ behind the movement. ]
Oi, oi! Try askin' nicely ya punk.
[ She grits her teeth in a competitive snarl. ]
Captain Goldship ain't about to let your rudititude slide!
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[But then she calls him a punk and that raised eyebrow sets to twitching. Darin jerks the slab of meat back harder with enough force to attempt to tug Goldship off of her
hoovesfeet.]Oh a Captain? Oh man, where are my manners? Forgive me, Captain. But if you would allow this poor, humble, Master Smith to make one request, I would kindly as you to shove it and off in that order!
[Darin drops his back foot onto the beautiful floor and plants himself like an immovable mountain. So much for hiding his powers, he's way too hungry and this woman is absolutely getting on his very final nerve.]
[...Wait, is that her hair or are those ears?]
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Gah...?!
[ Initial surprise gives way to a fire lighting in her eyes, Golshi isn't going to let something like this go easily. With a grunt of effort she plants her foot back down and digs in, her muscles flexing under the fabric of her outfit as she puts more effort into holding on.
Immovable mountain, meet unsinkable battleship. ]
Only thing m'gonna shove is my boot up your behind!
[ Her ears give an annoyed twitch, in time with the angry swish of that horse tail she's got going on in the back. ]
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[If he weren't so damn hungry, he might admit that this was kind of fun.]
[But if Goldship thinks he's out pf tricks...well, she's clearly never met someone of Darin's
idiocycaliber.]No way in hell am I letting you have this meat, lady...!
[And so, Darin cranes his head down, and sinks his teeth into one end of the slab of prime cut beef, effectively discarding the silverware, and using nature's cutlery.]
[He flashes her a triumphant grin.]
HEH!! NOW WHAFF?!
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... ]
LIKE HELL THAT'S STOPPIN' ME!
[ Looks like they're doing this. She tosses her utensil over her shoulder in the same motion as she moves to chomp down on the opposite side of the beef. Teeth sunk in she jerks her head back, just straight up growling around the meat. ]
Mnght gibbin' up that eashly!
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[They're just letting this happen.]
[No doubt in horror because who the hell would step in and try and stop them? Who actually has that kind of death wish?]
[Then again, if the good Princess wanted to learn about matters of the heart, then lesson one is clearly "the heart wants what the heart wants." And the hearts of these two are quite literally very hungry.]
[But Darin sure isn't about to let this ridiculousness of this situation stop him. So, he pivots and attempts to swing Goldship around to dislodge her. Luckily, he's sending her in the direction of the dance floor.]
HEH!! ME NEIFER!! YOU PICKED THE WRONG OFFONINT LADFY!!
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NOT THAT SHE CARES, this turned from a minor scuffle into an all out war as far as she's concerned. She'd no sooner let this guy have the beef than she would
intentionallylet Gentildonna beat her in a race! ]PHHTS MY LIHN, BSHTERD!
[ Rather than resist Gold Ship leans into the direction of his pivot, her feet skidding to a stop indeed on the dance floor. As all assembled watch on in horror, awe, amusement, or a combination of all these things, the dance floor becomes a battlefield.
With her feet back under her Gold Ship braces and literally jumps while jerking her head to the opposite side of her own spin in an attempt to send her opponent reeling with the sudden shift of momentum.
this is so stupid. they're both stupid. ]
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[As Goldship swings Darin around, he closes the gap, arm snapping out to reel Goldship in close and keep her there as Darin jerks his head in the same direction that Goldship's is facing. That's right, they've invented the meat tango, and instead of a rose, these idiots are snarling and growling over prime rib.]
THIFF ALL YOO GOT?!
[The anger in his voice is gone. This is a game now. A competition, and Darin's not losing.]
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Reaching out she grabs the front of Darin's clothes, her grip so tight that her knuckles turn white. It is taking what little self control she possesses to not go for the instant win and attempt to kick him between the legs. SHE'LL DO IT IF SHE HAS TO, but that's ending the contest too early. ]
FIHK PHEL FT FIS!
[ She steps forward into his space, turns, then steps out again. And yeah. Yeah no this is just a messed up caveman tango now. Amazing. ]
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[At this point, they're not only fighting over the meat, they're fighting over who is leading in this fleet-footed foolishness. Darin swings about, and since he can't exactly abruptly turn when they're both connected to the meat at opposite ends, he pivots, and deathrolls like the dumbest looking crocodile, turning the slab of meet into a bloody corkscrew between them as he takes the opportunity to reverse direction.]
[The worst part about this? This wasn't even the last piece of meat! In fact, one of the servers attempts to end this foolishness by bringing another piece over to them.]
E-Excuse me, honored guests. Might I interest one of you in this? It's freshly sliced...
[Darin halts and looks at Goldship.]
[...This isn't even about the meat anymore is it. This is the principle of the matter, right? He's not alone in thinking this.]
[Right?]
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THR--
Before Gold Ship can go on the offensive and start trying to kick her opponent they're interrupted! She looks between the server and Darin, Darin and the server. This really isn't about the meat anymore, it is the principle of the thing, but Gold Ship wouldn't be Gold Ship if she wasn't an absolute shit when the opportunity presented itself.
So she lets go. And coughs, properly, while giving the most dazzling of proper smiles. ]
Ah! Merci, merci. Ecusez-moi's companion's deplorable behavior. L'addition escargot, no?
[ She sweeps her hat off her head and bows politely. ]
I shall insist you take this as well, mon ami! Please, satiate your hunger.
[ As the server turns to offer Darin the fresh cut, as directed by Gold Ship, she straightens from her bow. Makes direct eye contact with Darin
And sticks her tongue out at him. Because she's very mature. ]
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[WHAT?]
[DID THIS CRAZY GIRL'S ENTIRE ACCENT CHANGE?! WHAT?!]
[And then it clicks. Oh. Oh she's trying to save face here and make him look like the asshole. Oh. Ohohoho. Oh two can play at this game, but maybe not in the way Gold Ship expects.]
[When the situation finally clicks, Goldship might see Darin's brain working in real time. Adapting on the spot. He snaps his head back and tosses the slab of meat still hanging from his teeth up and into the air, where he chomps it down in one— two bites. Does he care that she'd just been hanging on to the other end with her teeth? Not even the slightest.]
[After he audibly gulps it down, he reaches out to a passing server and very deftly plucks a napkin from their tray, dabbing at his mouth.]
Oh Captain, you're far too kind. I'm quite starved as you know!
[And so Darin graciously takes the meat with a winsome, charming smile.]
You have my thanks, sir. Oh, but before I forget. The good captain here? She's got some really potent food allergies. You see, that whole business was her very pointedly trying to warn me that almost all of the food might not sit right with me as it does with her. Not exactly the best way to communicate, mind you but...well, look at her. Her tongue is all swollen and misshapen! She's trying to hide it, bless her, but unfortunately, I've taken notice.
Can you do me a favor and go and make sure that under no circumstances can the good Captain here have any food until the reaction has passed? It'll probably take the rest of the night, poor thing.
[The server nods in total understanding, no it would not do to have one of their honored guests suffer an allergic reaction to the food! He hurries off to inform the rest of the staff to make extra sure that Goldship does not eat any food, lest she fall ill!]
[Darin waves goodbye to the server and very pointedly crams the remaining piece of meat into his mouth. And with his cheeks stuffed to the brim, he looks right at Goldship.]
Sho good...
1/???
She sighs as she walks past Darin to stand by a wall. Mostly to plot her comeback in solitude, but then he goes and rubs it in.
Something inside her twists. Her vision goes red. Her resolve solidifies.
Her pace quickens, is she dashing to the corner to cry???]
2
"Breath in, out. In, out. Clear your head, focus on the goal ahead. Nothing on the sides, nothing behind ya. Just the finish line."
Her breathing and heart rate synch up. ]
3/4
A missile of muscled fury sprinting at race horse speeds dashes towards Darin, the only warning people in the way get is a wordless growl of fury accompanying her sound of her boots pounding the floor. ]
4/4
The good news, Gold Ship's borrowed boots do not have the metal cleats hammered to the toes of her usual running boots. The bad news, she's still an angry horse missile hurtling right at someone. ]
EAT LEATHER YA BASTARD!
1/???
[Maybe he shouldn't have made it so she couldn't eat any food. And hey, she's strong as hell! Darin's never met someone who actually could push him to tap into some of his strength. And she wasn't immediately calling him a 'monster' or anything!]
[Maybe he could attempt at extending an olive branch.]
2
[Some meat, some veggies...]
[And hey, those desserts look great, right? Don't girls love desserts? Or something? Who the hell knows.]
[As he's loading a large fruit tart onto the edge of the plate, the sound of...something...hits Darin's ear.]
[What the hell was that? It sounded like...galloping? Who in the hell brought their horse to a—]
3
HOLY SHI—
4/5
[Crepes are catapulted.]
[Tarts are tossed.]
[Pies are pitched.]
[And now, standing amidst the devastation is Goldship, triumphantly standing on this moron's face. There's a solid chance he's dead. Do you know of any humans who can withstand getting kicked in the face by a horse?]
5/5
[And he slowly lifts her off of his face. Which is covered in dessert save for the two very obvious foot-shaped spaces on either side of his nose.]
...No thanks. I'm full.
[And then he throws her into the table with all of the soups.]
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At least, it is until Gold Ship hits the table nearest her. Gasps and shrieks from nearby patrons fill the air along with the flying soups and stews! ...including a fine minestrone right onto her dress. ]
Hrgk-!?
[ Well, that's definitely a migraine starting to swell behind her eyeball. ]
Alright, that's about enough.
[ She flings out both hands, glass of wine forgotten on the floor (how did it not break??), and two rectangles of purple ice form around both Darin and Gold Ship in a cold snap. ]
Maybe this will cool your heads a little.
[ Their heads are the only parts of them visible outside the Ice Coffins, so maybe that's not quite so literal a statement. ]
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She's not going to take it lying down though! Gold Ship springs to her feet ready to full on grapple her opponent when she suddenly finds herself unable to move. ]
Eh....?
[ Unable to move at all. Looking down it takes a minute for her brain to process what it's seeing. ]
O-oi.... OI! I'm a Golshicile! What the hell?!
[ She of course struggled as much as she can but thats not going to do much more than slightly rock her frozen prison. She's been put on ice. ]
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H-Hey! OI!! W-W-WHAT THE HELL?!
[Naturally, this is Gold Ship's fault.]
YOU HAVE ICE MAGIC?! HOW IS THAT FAIR?!
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Are you two just about finished?
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