Dolente, a mourning dove, Dolce, a collared dove arrive, following Cesare.

Dolente, a mourning dove, Dolce, a collared dove leave, following Cesare.

Dolente, a mourning dove, Dolce, a collared dove arrive, following Cesare.

The Pit of Reflection is at the moment how it should be. Those hoping for face masks and such items are going to be disappointed at this juncture or the evening. For it looks like it's just Noah with his feet kicked up. There are a variety of drinks and 'things' to be inhaled, smoked, sniffed and all sorts of this is a bad idea. At current the man with a plan is speaking with Jordan.

Ian blinks as he comes in, as though his eyes are adjusting to a different level of light, even though the change in light isn't enough to require this. He looks around. There's a sense of distance about him, of looking at the world from a long way away.

Noah glances up at Ian. "Ian.." The man rumbles. "Are you interested in drink, drugs, brutality?" He pauses to look the man over in a thoughtful manner. "I don't think I've seen you around lately."

"I've been in and out of the city," Ian says after a moment. Then, belatedly, he remembers to add: "Congratulations on the marriage. I don't think I've seen you since that happened."

Cesare is late, which is unusual in itself, but other than that, nothing seems to be amiss. Except that here he is with two people distinctly more traditionally manly than himself, and only Jordan between them to act as punching bag - wait, no, scratch that. He glides in, walking straight over to pour himself at least three fingers of whiskey. "Does anyone want anything while I'm over here?" How polite.

Noah smirks. "I'm still a little surprised she said yes at the alter. Jae is a funny creature. I could totally see her set up this expensive wedding and then just go, naaah. I think I'll keep looking." He winks to Ian and then tips his head back to look at Cesare. "Well, if it isn't the Softest Whisper. I have wine, Ian might want something though. I assume you both know each other?"

"Whiskey." Ian answers Noah and Cesare at the same time in his flat voice. He doesn't seem sure how to take what Noah says about Jaenelle; he's never had the best sense of humor, and he might be trying to figure out if he should laugh or commiserate. In the end, he does neither, and just moves on. "We know each other. Cesare, Zoey still has those flowers. She did something with them to preserve them, something with wax or something."

"Of course," Cesare says congenially. "Hello, Lord Ian. How are you? It's been a while. I hope you and Lady Zoey and the children are well." He takes a big swallow of Whiskey and then plops himself down right next to Noah. "You know, your highness, about the other night? I think part of the reason she was upset is that she's been trying to get a night alone with me for a few weeks, now, and you came in right in the thick of it."

Noah arches a lone brow over his left eye. "Oh, that wasn't it at all. It was completely what I said to her." A smirk on his lips. "Then I lost my temper. Doesn't happen often, but people throwing daggers at my head sort of do that." He looks back towards Ian at that and seems happy to be reclined. "Flower?"

Violeta Emili, a Ravashari smuggler dressed as the wind arrives, following Mattheu.

Cesare looks at Noah, very coolly. "Maybe thats why /I/ was irritated," he says. Another swallow of whiskey. He is sitting with Noah, somewhere, while Ian lingers nearby. "That is nice to hear. I sent him home with a bouquet of dried flowers for Lady Zoey." He hands Ian his own glass of whiskey, and pushes up to pour himself another.

Ian shrugs to Noah. "He gave me flowers to give to her," he confirms what Cesare says. He's collected a glass of whiskey from somewhere, and lifts it, visually confirming the height of the level of alcohol in the glass. Then he takes a sip. It's a strong spirit, but Ian shows no signs that it tastes or feels like anything but lukewarm water. "She liked the colors or something."

Jingling melody of bells echo through the halls as Mattheu enters the room walking backwards while saying something in Ravashari to the woman that follows him, switching to Avarni. "...He said. No Women. You need to stay out there, I don't care what my sister told you." then turning around to face those in the room. "Prince Noah! Whisper Cesare!" He bows in his flourished style to both, knocking his hat off of his head and catching it as he stands back up, turning to look at Ian for a moment. "Lord Mattheu Rivenshari." A broad smile on his lips as he reaffixes his hat to head while bells upon his clothing and in his hear sing out.

"You are assuming I didn't send a messenger to let her know I would be on my way there. Maybe she should have told me she was busy?" Noah offers not the least bit reactive. "Were they any sort of special flowers? I admit that I have a sort of interest in plants." He studies Ian then and nods his head towards the ring. "Want to knock me on my ass?" Mattheu is given that smirk-smile of his. "Mattheu, how are you finding Arx, still liking it?"

"Maybe she should," Cesare agrees. "Although I'd arrived not long ago either, so perhaps she didn't have time. To be fair, I thought the joke was rather funny, personally." He squints. "I can't remember what was in it. It's been some time. They were all from the gardens at Seawatch Sanctuary, the apothecary gardens. Nothing deadly, or even terribly poisonous, so probably not of interest to you, your highness." He lifts his glass to Mattheu. "Good evening, Lord Mattheu."

Ian blinks once at Mattheu before giving him a reserved nod. There's a peculiar mix of focus and distance in his electric blue eyes. "Lord Ian Kennex." His voice is absolutely inflectionless as he introduces himself to the Rivenshari lord. There's a quality to the way people generally speak names, especially their own, that sets them apart from ordinary words. Ian says his own name like he's rattling off a couple of common nouns. Then he looks at Noah. "On your... ass?" He asks after a moment, like he's somehow forgotten that hitting people was part of this whole event. "Is that something you want?"

Mattheu sticks his tongue between upper teeth and closed lip, a soft 'tsk' noise before responding to Noah with a curl of lip faint to a smile, "It's been a fair garden that has been found to play within." He pauses shortly, pulling his hat off of his head to run fingers through his hair. "It was actually the sparring that I was mostly interested in. Drink is good too, though my usual spar partner has gone silent after a short trip home." Turning his attention to Ian, the lack of inflection is not lost upon him. "Lord Ian, would it be easier for you if I were to silence my bells?"

Noah gets a message and then.... THERE IS GLITTER EVERYWHERE. Noah just sort of sighs. "Theresa might be a bit put out that she's not here." He pushes the glitter down his form to the ground. "She could have made it black glitter." Then he looks at one from the other. "I don't remember what the joke was either. I'm sure it was inappropriate. It was probably needed." Then he looks back to Ian. "Not really, but don't you like beating people. I was giving you an option." He winks to the man before back to Mattheu. "If you want to spar with Ian, I would give up my place."

"I'll fight you," Cesare says to Noah. "Whoever loses has to eat a handful of glitter." This is a bad idea for everyone involved, but there it is.

Ian has gotten the Thea Glitter Messages before, this is clear. It's clear because he takes one look at the note Noah is hold, starts to back away, and manages: "That's a --" And then Noah opens it, and there's glitter everywhere. Except on him, because he got the hell out of the way. He doesn't seem sure how to react to the supposition that he likes beating people up, and finally says to Mattheu: "I'm better with a sword than I am without one, but I'm willing to give it a try. It's been a while since I did much sparring. The bells will make it harder on you than they do on me."

Mattheu nods in a soft jingling to Ian, "I'm game for either. I have my glaive, or we can knuckle it." there's a shrug back about the bells being harder on him.

Noah nods his head. "Why don't we let Mattheu and Ian go first and we can catch up." There is a glance towards the glitter and the fleeing Ian and then back to the glitter. "Cesare, you know that she makes it from crushed gems right? It's literally eating sharp glass. As dumb as I might be, my wife will kill me if I eat glass and start bleeding internally from it."

Cesare raises his eyebrows at Noah, and takes another swallow of whiskey. "I'm open to negotiations, then, as for the wager. And real gems aren't glass, they're just rocks." He doesn't feel the need at that precise moment to remind everyone that he ate an entire mud pie, but it's hovering, there: the thought is in the room, like an invisible elephant." He kicks his feet up next to Noah's and crosses them at the ankle. "Get on with it! Fight, fight."

Ian looks down at himself for a moment. "The only sword I have is alaricite." He's not wearing ANY visible sword, but there is the cane in his hand. "You know how to throw a punch?" He starts taking off his coat.

3 Thrax Guards, Chief Rin Redreef, Hrafn the stoic raven, 1 Thrax Elite Guards arrive, following Galen.

Mattheu nods to Ian, "I can throw a punch or share a kick. Anything goes? Or keep things above the waist?"

Ian leans his cane against something nearby that he's using to drape his coat over. "Just don't stab me or put a thumb in my eye or something."

Noah responds to a messenger from a spider. "Wager? What should we wager then? I am not big on games of chance." He kicks back a bit more as he looks from one to the other.

3 Thrax Guards, Chief Rin Redreef, Hrafn the stoic raven, 1 Thrax Elite Guards leave, following Galen.

Ian sheds his coat and vest, but not his shirt (or pants or boots), and leaves his cane behind. Especially without the cane to act as a third point of balance, it becomes painfully clear there's something very wrong with his legs; he's a little bit uncertain on his feet in a way that's not going to make for the kind of light footwork usually seen in brawlers and fencers. He doesn't seem worried, though. His expression has a serenity to it as he regards Mattheu at the beginning of the fight.

A fight has broken out here. Use @spectate_combat to watch, or +fight to join.

Violeta Emili, a Ravashari smuggler dressed as the wind have been dismissed.

A fight has broken out here. Use @spectate_combat to watch, or +fight to join.

Ian really ought to be easier to hit than he is. Because initial appearances proved correct about how fast on his feet he was going to be. He basically doesn't move, or not very much. No smooth darting about, no fast sidesteps. And yet somehow he just isn't where he ought to be when he ought to be there, like he has a sense of precognition, just a couple of seconds into the future, that's letting him know what his opponent is going to do before he does it. He pairs this with a tendency to focus on controlling attacks and very precise attacks over punches that makes him shockingly hard to hit. It's pretty clear that his training as a brawler is limited; probably he normally only uses it, on the battlefield, as a means of restraining someone so they'll be easier to stab. This leads to a couple of times when he blocks a strike in a way that would allow a great followup for someone holding a blade, but isn't quite so great for someone throwing a rather inexpert punch.

Mattheu starts out with quick footwork, though catches on that Ian isn't going to be moving much and seeks to try to stay within a range where they can duck or weave, though is seeking to throw a punch that doesn't get blocked or leave a breath of wind past the man as he still finds movement out of his attempt. Ducking down, Mattheu's anger in seeking to hit Ian comes to kicking hard at his legs. A solid strike from the several traded blows they've already found.