1 Knight of the Temple, 1 Templar Knight guards, Luzio, the burly Mirrormask arrive, following Giada.

Alantir arrives, following Brigid.

Gio has joined the bar in the corner.

Gio has left the bar in the corner.

At the gates of Seawatch Sanctuary, a pair of guards is stationed to welcome attendees of the Refugee Relief Gala into the courtyard where the Ken, the steward of the estate, checks their ames against the guest list or accepts payment for tickets. Once permitted past Ken, guests find themselves led into the estate by torch and starlight. Within the foyer, a runner of brilliant red velvet has been laid from the entrance to the wide open doors of the conservatory ballroom. Already, the sounds of a lively event spill past the doors and invite newcomers in.

The ballroom is part garden, lush and vibrant with the specially installed flowerbeds in full bloom. Taller plants create separation of different areas for gathering. On the small stage, a string quartet leads dancers at the center of the large room. It appears that many refugees have been brought in for the evening, given a chance to shed the concerns of their situation and rub elbows with those who would help see them resettled. Servers are circulating with trays of finger foods, glasses of wine, and one even has a basket to collect additional donations. Near the bar, Medeia's assistant, Klavdiya, is making sure everyone who is entered into the raffle has their name in another basket. The hostess is standing by the dance floor, saying hello to people as they come in.

The Softest Whisper is in attendance tonight to support both his patron and her very noble cause. Dressed like a summer sunset, he is /not/ antagonizing Klavdiya, because who would be foolish enough to do that? He is flitting around the ballroom, greeting guests as they enter, making sure any last-minute touches are in place, and soothing any awkwardness the refugees may feel.

Perhaps shocking and certainly out of form, Giada the Archlector of Tehom has shown up at a fancy party, and she's dressed the part. The black beading on her umbra gown glints in the light as she walks in with Aelgar, a light click of heels to accompany them.. "So, the plan is to socialize?" she asks him quietly, almost as if double checking. "...I think I put on weight since I had this dress made." It fits perfectly; the priestess likely just doesn't like the glitz.

Lore arrives on her own, a warm smile for all she passes, pausing to offer a curtsy and murmur greetings to Medeia before moving along to keep the lines from clogging. She plucks a glass from one of the passing trays and takes a small sip it as she meanders around to find a suitable space to occupy. Cesare gets a smile and lift of her glass in greeting, though she doesn't keep him. In shimmering damask and iridescite, hair up to cage the riot of curls for the evening, she might almost pass for nobility. Almost.

"I should have worn pants." Can be heard in a clipped cadence as Brigid Moore arrives on the arm of Alantir Valardin, lithe scarred fingertips clinging to a bicep whilst the other is adjusting the shimmering fall of silk that encompasses the curvature of form, sable waves released in hip length freedom and curled around wildflowers plucked from her garden. All in all, the knightly Oathlander pair managed to clean up rather nicely! Which is saying something since they are usually in armor and covered in some manner of gore or dirt or who knows what else.

Gio has joined the bar in the corner.

"Nonsense, Lady Brigid, you look stunning," Cesare counters, sweeping over in the Dragoon and her princely companion's directions to offer a bow. "Green suits you. It brings out the depth in your eyes. Prince Alantir, it is good to see you." Alantir, as always, is in armor, so there's not a lot Cesare can do for compliments there. "Lore, lovely as always. Archlector Giada... what an honor to the Sanctuary to see you arrive so adorned. An honor to the Sanctuary and to the eyes of all of us who are gathered here tonight. My goodness. You look ravishing."

Mostly just watching after the intial smiles, waves and greetings, Aelgar murmurs something to Giada before turning his attention to the hostess.

Giada's eyebrow arches at Cesare with his compliments. "Uh." The other eyebrow arches too. "Thank you? Good to see you, Whisper Cesare." She pauses to listen to Aelgar for a second before chuckling and turning to Medeia. "Lady Eswynd. Good to see you again. I hope all is as well as can be hoped for?"

Yes, it would seem that Blessed Giada isn't the best at accepting compliments to her looks.

"It's not too late for an emergency wardrobe change," Alantir replies, glancing over his shoulder and in the general direction of the Seawatch Gate. No smile follows his words, perhaps calling into question the sincerity of the man's sense of humor. And then he laughs, at the very last second, very nearly avoiding a disciplinary swat. "Good evening, Cesare." No, his armor did not deserve to be complimented. It was well-maintained and polished but exceptionally plain. But maybe that was why he'd worn it -- to serve in stark contrast to his companion's more exotic attire. "Lady Brigid has only recently recovered from a bout of seasickness. Can't keep her bearings on a boat. I tried explaining that ships were simply large wooden horses, but her stomach wouldn't hear it."

This is Gio. This is Gio with a glass of wine cradled tenderly his right hand, taking an idle sip from it as he arrives, comfortably impassive - as though he lives here. An unlit haze cigarillo is tucked behind his left ear. Although figures do pass him by and he takes notice, complimenting quietly on the finery - "Archlector of the Thirteenth, Blessed Giada - you're a swift shadow moving across a wine-dark sea this evening. Good evening to you and Brother Aelgar." A beat, sucking in a breath, "Apprentice Lore Artiglio - your jewelry is divine." A pause, and Gio offers a short, succinct bow to Alantir. "Good evening, your Highness. To you and the Lady Bridgid." Last, "An utter vision, truly, in those jungle-greens."

Medeia's typical warm smile is in place as she glances over to find Cesare, the Whisper's presence giving her a sense of calm for the evening. When she spots Giada, her eyes open wide in appreciation for the spectacular dress the archlector is wearing. "Blessed Giada, how lovely to see you, and how stunning you are! You have been holding out on us, I suspect. Welcome to the sanctuary and thank you," Her head turns and bows to Aelgar, "Thank you both for coming and supporting the refugees. Brother Aelgar, it has been too long. I hope you enjoy the evening." Lore gets another bright smile from the lady. "Thank you, we will talk later!" Her attention slides back to Giada, giving just a nod to confirm that things are well before her ears perk at Brigid's voice. "My lady, there is not a single garment you could wear that would be anything but fabulous on you." There is the slightest trace of concern in Medeia's hazel eyes as she looks at the woman, but whatever she is thinking is left unsaid. "Prince Alantir, welcome to the sanctuary." She gives a partial curtsy, finding the gesture less than elegant in her current state. "And Gio. Glad you could make it down the stairs." A fond wink is sent in the man's direction.

Brigid checks composure at hard. Brigid fails.

How convenient! Gio has ended up right next to Cesare. "Have you met Lady Brigid and Prince Alantir before?" Cesare inquires, putting a hand on Gio's elbow as if to show him off like a lovely piece of pottery one is particularly proud of. "This is Gio diMalvici, our esteemed new resident of the sanctuary. Fleet of tongue and wit, as you have no doubt already surmised. Lady Brigid was lately a great help to me in conducting a series of lectures educating the public on the history of the Sylv'alfar, a subject on which she has great knowledge. Prince Alantir has proven to be a sound voice of support and reason."

"A wine dark sea?" All of a sudden, Giada grins. "Haven't been on a ship in a while, so I'll have to take your word for it, Messere." But her eyes are on that cigarillo for a couple of moments, almost as if she wants to steal it for herself. To Medeia, she inclines her head. "I actually had this made for a Mirror Masquerade years ago. Never got around to wearing it, so..." She spreads her hands as if to say 'Welp'. "Lady Moore, Highness, Apprentice Lore. Good evening."

The dance floor has room enough for all who wish to dance, even though it looks rather full. Many of the refugees present are strolling around the path to see all the flowerbeds in the ballroom. A few others stand by the open doors to the garden, getting fresh air from the Bay of Thrax and looking up at the stars that the wall of windows provides a view of. As the event swings past greetings, the band picks up the pace with a song that draws the refugees to the dance floor to join in a rousing circle dance that leaves them breathless and laughing.

Giada sighs as a messenger arrives. She reads it. "Motherfu-- Alright, fine. Let me get out of this ridiculous thing and I'll be there."

Griz the huge wolfhound leaves, following Aelgar.

1 Knight of the Temple, 1 Templar Knight guards, Luzio, the burly Mirrormask, Aelgar leave, following Giada.

Gio inclines his head, offering Medeia the twitch of a full lips. Hint of a hint of a smile. There's a lazy flick of his gaze from the patron - to the protege - and the expression remains. The gentle listens to Giada, offers her and Aelgar a smile. Until there's another mention of his name. There's the added flush of rosy color to his cheeks, acknowledging the introductions, and the slouchy scholar offers a respectful dip of his head. "I have heard - and the pleasure's all mine, Lady Brigid. Prince Alantir." He remains seated, watching the festivities with a dreamy half-smile.

There is a moment where that silvery cut of gaze mists towards Alantir, very much looking as if she might swat him before attention shifts towards those far more graceful. A nod of head in greeting towards the resplendent Cesare, a ghosting smile that touches lush lips towards the ravishing hostess that is Medeia who catches a touch of an arched brow at the limning flicker of concern. At the commentary of color from Gio, there is a corvid cant of head and amusement seems to rest in eyes only as cheeks had begun to color quite vivaciously in a roseate flush across cheeks. "I'm sure there is much more that I have to learn still but I do try to make sure most of the populace is informed." A pause, watching as the Archlector departs before offering offering a wry smile towards current company and it's clear that the gesture is one of rare nerves - perhaps it's the compliments, perhaps it's the fact she might wish to smack the Valardin for bringing up her seasickness, "I've recently come under the guidance of Prince Romulius and so I feel there is going to be a lot more adventures at sea - I can only hope that my stomach will adjust over time."

Lore offers smiles to everyone, dipping her head in deference to the nobility (and royalty) in the room. Remarkably quiet tonight, she seems somewhat preoccupied, as if there are other concerns on her mind just now. Still, she murmurs soft thanks to the compliments and gives a small nod to Medeia's statement. Sipping idly at her wine, she continues to simply mill around and offer soft greetings and smiles.

"I think so," Cesare says to Brigid. "I did get sick my first time at sea, but after that I found it much easier. Prince Romulius is a very good man, and exceptionally erudite and stubborn both. I think you will prove an able mind for him to spar with, Lady Brigid, should that prove to be your desire; and if not, you will certainly prove an able sword arm at his side. Your new affiliation will doubtless bring you into contact with my friend Prince Jasher Thrax as well, another man of principle and ideals. I think you have found yourself a good circle, if one that is somewhat... dusty, in certain ways." A wink. She knows what he means, doubtless." He leans in, murmuring something to Gio, indicating the impressive selection of spirits and wines behind the bar.

"Good evening, Gio diMalvici. It is a pleasure to meet you," the Oathlander prince says, offering the younger man a polite smile. Medeia is given a similar greeting, though this one is followed with a courteous dip of chin. "Thank you, Lady Eswynd, for the invitation. And for your efforts on behalf of the Physicians Guild -- which, if I remember correctly, you are also a prominent member of." Truthfully, Alantir struggled to recall names, positions, and titles; these things were often mistakenly substituted, mispronounced, or forgotten and had on more than one occasion earned the knight a scoff or sharp glare from his peers. "What's on the docket, then? It's been several weeks since I've embarrassed Lady Brigid by attempting to dance in full platemail. Though I would be happy to take her hand again, should she be willing." A pause. At Cesare's description of Romulius and Jasher Thrax, he laughs. Heartily. "A dour bunch."

The murmur takes a moment to be understood, Gio turning to consider Cesare. He nods, offering another enigmatic smile- and he quietly ghosts off in the direction of the bar - confident in making a selection, pouring another glass. This leaves his own personal glass of white table wine entirely unattended.

"I've sparred with the Sword once before which is actually how we became acquainted and I helped his family in the past. I've also had the pleasure of speaking to your friend Prince Jasher and while I can't comment upon their dusty or as my Oathlander counterpart put it...dour selves, I have actually found them both to be delightful. So, I do agree that I have found myself hopefully in good company." A pause as the austere Dame took a moment to flicker attentions between Cesare and Alantir, "Especially since it's been commented upon that I'm not emotionally forthcoming myself and can see companionable similarities."

"You actually did an excellent job of dancing and made up for my lack of it." Brigid offers with a curl to lips, a bare softening touch before glancing about, "You could get me a drink to start with."

"I am, yes," Medeia replies to Alantir. "Master Physician with the guild. And newly appointed Voice of the Apothecary College." No one can question where the lady's strengths and interests are. "I hope that I would do this even if I was not, however." She smiles and asks a passing server for something chilled and non-alcoholic to drink. "There will be more dancing and socializing. A few of the- oh." She looks over and excuses herself for just a moment as a couple approaches her.

The couple approaching Medeia is older, in their mid-late 40s at least. The wife is dressed in a very nice but aged gown of simple, deep purple silk. The husband is in clean black breeches, a muslin tunic and a vest that matches his wife's dress. "Pardon, Lady Eswynd?" The wife speaks hesitantly to get Medeia's attention. Once she has it, she continues, "We wanted to thank you for this, my lady. Even were it not a fundraiser to benefit folk like us. Wilhelm," The woman indicates her husband, "And I haven't felt like celebrating anything. It's good to remember what we're working back to."

Gio has left the bar in the corner.

Cesare laughs. "They /are/ Thraxians," he replies to Brigid and Alantir both. "I will have Prince Jasher wearing /a/ color before the year is out. It will be a dark, dull color, but I promise you, it will be a color. I don't know if I'd even call him delightful, or Prince Romulius - but the latter at least enjoys a good cocktail; they both have qualities to recommend them."

His gaze strays to the couple approaching his patron, a keen look as they speak to her, but he does not interrupt. Indeed, he simply smiles a bit. Perhaps at the mention of dancing. The Softest does like a dance.

"Frigid is what they call you," the prince comments, offering Brigid's hip a firm squeeze before retreating in the direction of the nearest counter. There, he petitions the barkeep and orders two glasses of unidentified amber liquor. When Alantir finally returns, one of the two vessels is promptly surrendered to the dragoon. "Their hearts are in the right place. Jasher and Romulius, I mean. The purpose of a castle's walls, after all, is to protect something vulnerable. They are gruff, old stones on an ancient watchtower overlooking the sea." He sips at the drink and shifts his attention to Cesare. "Have you considered asking him nicely? I can't imagine his Highness refusing a sincere request if it result in the production of a net good."

For a moment lips part as if to argue, instead shoulders are shrugged as she can not particularly deny the nickname itself. There is a curl of fingers around the offered glass, a quiet thank you murmured. The conversation is noted as the couple graciously thank the hostess, "The work will continue and there are many who seek to right the wrongs done with sword and mind bent towards Bastion's reconstruction." There is a pause as the Knight of Solace squares up, "But it is all the more worth it seeing that laughter and happiness can still be a light in the dark - so I thank -you- for attending." Is spoken in that tranquil cadence, prophetic almost as the Moore's farseer blues peer relentless before breaking attention back to see exactly what Cesare has to say about politely asking.

"Can you not imagine it?" Cesare replies to Alantir placidly, looking over in the direction of the bar again, and then back at Gio's unattended wine glass. "I can - well, I suppose I don't /need/ to imagine it, as I'v seen it happen. He's very polite, in the refusing, but refuse he does."

Wilhelm bows graciously when his wife introduces him. "My wife speaks true. We fared better than some, our sons all made it out of the city with us, but we lost everything else." When Brigid addresses them, both issue gestures of polite greeting to the lady. "Your accent, not a Crownlander?" Wilhelm studies her for a moment. "My lady, it warms us to know that help comes from beyond our lands." The wife is quiet, a tear flicked away from the corner of her eye.

Eventually, there's a return to Cesare's side, proffering a glass of wine for the Softest Whisper with a subtle nudge, "Your drink?" There's a pause, stormy gaze following Cesare's languidly toward the pair that step up to speak with Medeia. Gio notes Brigid's response - eyebrows furrowing once, bemused, and he seems poised to ask a question. However, there is a drink - one, two. The second is once he has a new opportunity to claim his initial glass of wine. Eventually, for the observant - there is a slow circulation of both glasses, drinking from one. Then the other. Gently drooping, a slouch back into a nearby seat, "Lonely watchtowers, all."

Brigid checks command and leadership at normal. Brigid is successful.

Alantir makes a mental note to mention Cesare's plight to Prince Jasher Thrax the next time he is given the opportunity. In the grand scheme of things, encouraging another to experiment with their wardrobe was neither impolite nor psychologically taxing. As Brigid engages one of the two refugees who had formally introduced themselves to Lady Eswynd, the knight simply observes with a small smile -- though he does interject briefly with a hushed whisper, words intended for the dragoon alone.

Cesare inclines an eyebrow, takes the glass of wine with a murmured thanks once Gio is done with it, and sips, testing. Apparently he finds it acceptable - what would the Softest /not/ find acceptable in a glass of wine might be a better question. He settles next to Gio, watching Brigid speak to the two refugees with a certain softness in his eyes. "I heard there was going to be dancing?" he asks, before saying something more softly to his fellow resident of the Sanctuary.

"Oathlander, actually." There is the quirk of a smile that highlights briefly in a lift, brightening previously taciturn expression, "I'm Brigid Moore and merely a Knight of Solace who sees that all roads are to be protected. My own home was destroyed once and so I have a bit of understanding in what losing everything is like but I've seen a lot of strength recently come from the Crownlands and reminds me a lot of my own people when trouble comes knocking. It is an honor, truly, to assist." Chin lifts, sending a ripple of sable waves drifting about hips, "If you'll excuse me, I'll let you go about enjoying the rest of your evening." It was rare for the woman to bow to anyone so it was a fisted palm over heart in a salute, proud chin ducking before gliding as gracefully as possible to find a seat.

Medeia smiles at the couple, asking the wife, "I am sorry, I did not get your name?" The response, 'Ana, Ana Tiffin,' is nodded to. "I am happy to have you both here, please do continue to enjoy the evening, and if there is anything you need? Be sure to let me or my assistant," She points to Klavdiya by the bar, "Know." The couple bows again and rejoins the crowd on the dance floor. The lady turns to her guests and notes, "I will give you all some time to dance, but I will be pulling the winners of the raffle before the night is out."

Alantir downs the remainder of his drink in a single swig and then turns his gaze to Brigid expectantly.

"Sailands, the white table wine in mine - in yours, the blush. One to accompany the other, Softest Muse, and I think that they are perfect - light for the heat of a summer evening." Gio murmurs, nearly sleep-soft, with those dusty green eyes averted. Making a dry remark, "I mentioned a dance." Lips twitch over his wine, taking a drink - studying Cesare, and he blinks. "I think." The last comment in directed to the dregs of his wine, smirking. "Next time," he promises.

Carolina approaches with a message for Lore. Accepting it, she opens the note, a smile growing across her face. It turns practically beatific. Thanking Carolina, she moves forward, draining her glass and setting it on a passing tray. Approaching Medeia and company, she offers a quick curtsy and murmurs, "My lady, thank you for hosting such a lovely benefit. There is something that I must attend to, but I hope that everyone here has a wonderful night." Offering a fleeting smile to everyone, she hurries out of the room, collecting her assistant along the way.

Carolina, an orphan from Bravura leaves, following Lore.

"Disappointing," Cesare murmurs, mildly, his eyes following Lore as she departs, lips slightly pursed. "Well, another time, as you say." He sips his wine, smiling faintly at the - one might say - eager expression on the knight-prince's face.

The current song ends and the dance floor clears somewhat as many guests decide it is time to tuck into the food and drink. Medeia's guard, Loryk, approaches Cesare quietly, his gaze darting from the Whisper to the scholar and back. His this Isles accent comes out softly, "You would dance?" He seems uncertain about whether he is stepping - metaphorically - on Gio's toes. The quartet is settling in to begin playing another song, this one slower and perfect for a close dance that provides opportunity for private conversation.

There is a deadlocked stare as Brigid meets the expectant stare of Alantir, going so far as to check a brow at the rogue before rising to her feet. With a similar grace is the remainder of her own drink downed with a toss back of head, breathing in a fiery breath. Turning to flicker a glance at Gio, "You should shift your body from where it's settled and join the Softest Whisper in a dance. You speak with such an interesting poetry that perhaps Cesare might be able to provide vision to." Blunt, before addressing Medeia, "This was absolutely wonderful but I was just reminded that I've an early training day tomorrow and must depart. Thank you for hosting and I hope that generous are those who attended."

1 Malespero Guard arrives, following Macario.

Alantir leaves, following Brigid.

In typical Macario fashion, he arrives late and with a goblet of wine (from some other venue, no doubt) in his hand. It's not easy, the walk here, through here and past somewhere else and around somesuch and whatnots. Still, he's buzzed and unhindered by the journey. Upon entrance, he signs a parchment noting some level of donation for the event. After the paper-work is done, he reclaims the goblet of wine and steps further into the room.

Medeia watches as Loryk approaches Cesare with amusement, but her expression sobers as she says good night to Brigid and Alantir, assuring them she will alert them if either wins a bottle of wine. Macario's entrance is noted with a smile. "Cousin," THey aren't really cousins, "How are you? How long has it been?"

"Of course I'll dance with you, Loryk," Cesare says, rising from his seat. "Gio's had too much to drink and will need him to carry you upstairs momentarily." He takes the guard's hand graciously and allows himself to be led onto the floor, wiggling a finger-wave hello to Macario as he goes. "Lord Macario, it's been a while."

Loryk looks surprised by Cesare's agreement to dance, but is smiling a silly little smile as his hand is taken. He bows his head and leads Cesare to the dance floor, awkwardly arranging his hands where they're supposed to be - the Prodigal learned all he knows of this style of dancing from being Medeia's guard and watching her at parties. It is unfamiliar to him.

"Cousin!" Macario greets, a little louder then one should, but sobriety is not a mark of fortitude this late in the evening. He's alert enough to do a proper (Lyceum) greeting with a kiss (at a distance, without contact) on either cheek. "Looking wonderful. Congratulations on this, and that, and that other thing," he reads off a few thoughts in his mind. "I can't keep track. One can't follow your path, but you are terrific, and I do hope this event finds you well." Cesare is hard not to spot, and Macario raises and eyebrow, "Cesare Whisper. So nice to see you. I seem to have arrived as everyone left. I hope this isn't the part of the night where everyone looks toward the exits in hopes of escaping more nuanced civilities."

"You are just in time to watch my guard make an endearing fool of himself," Medeia says to Macario. The ballroom is still quite full of refugees and other guests, eating and drinking and dancing. Klavdiya is preparing for the wine raffle. "What have you been up to?" She looks up at the Malespero lord before looking out to watch Loryk and Cesare.

Cesare shoots Medeia a glare, patiently guiding Loryk through the steps as only a consummate Whisper could, and certainly /not/ allowing him to make a fool of himself. "What more nuanced civilities, precisely, am I meant to be trying to escape, my lord?" he inquires, deftly avoiding a toe-stepping-on. "I think we are just about at the time of the night where we all get a bit sloppy, to be honest."

"Nothing too dramatic." Macario is quick to reply to Medeia's accusation (it wasn't). "Just, you know, the usual." He sips at his wine as he watches the crowd mingle. "Which is to say, things are interesting, but nothing I might talk about. I did meet this Lord Marco the other day, the one that's been causing Archduchess Jaenelle a grey hair. She's pregnant, did you hear?"

Macario adds to Cesare, "Oh good, my favorite part of the evening!"

Cesare makes an 'oooo' face. (He did know that.)

Loryk looks grateful for Cesare's patient instruction, and just a little bit like a lovesick puppy. Medeia's offers an apologetic smile for her comment about her guard looking like a fool. Her head tilts, turning to look at Macario. "Oh? Hm." She doesn't say anything else on the matter of Lord Eufrasio, but she does note, "I did know, yes," About the archduchess' pregnancy. "I should get the raffle done." She excuses herself while the others continue to dance and talk.

Macario manages to obtain the attention of a server to refill his goblet of wine. That alone is a good success, as Medeia head sup on over toward the stage. "Well, that's all the gossip I had," he notes.

"Wait, was this before, or after the Assembly?" Cesare asks. "And he still has his head?" He turns a very brief, blinding smile on Loryk. Hopefully there are enough strong-backed individuals here to carry Loryk out, if the Eswynder passes out or dies of a heart attack.

"He seems to," Macario replied. Freshly filled wine glass, he drinks some more. "He's more about individuality... 'I did it on my ooooown' ... than other feuds, it seems. But I wasn't at the Assembly so maybe I have that wrong."

Loryk will be fine, he's a strong man. Really. The party continues for a while after Medeia calls the raffle, announcing the dozen winners of the exclusive wine bottles. The quartet continues to play so long as dancers are on the floor, and food and drink passes until the last guest has left the sanctuary.