faefeasts: the midwinter gala - IC

Who: Maverick and Illaria
What: Tête-à-Tête.
Where: The Feast.
When: After Potions Plot.
Warnings: None.

( Old, but I'm not that old. Young, but I'm not that bold. I don't think the world is sold, we're just doing what we're told. )

[for the first time a gravelly voice decides to make its presence known, tightness in the words as if it has been far too long since she spoke last, weathered and aged, brushing off the dust of silence.]

All of you sounded like a bunch of animals in rut, I didn't know whether I should dump cold water on you or put you out of your misery with my bow. Luckily I became distracted, hm?

Of course, I would arrive too late to partake in such a party. Pity!

As I had thought. I missed the certainty of solitude. If one does not wish to be found, then there are a plethora of options available to them. Tell me, what benefit does being surrounded by the masses bestow?

[The voice is distinctly masculine with an amused lilt to it. For those who know him, there is no mistaking who it is.]

Another ball. Has it really been so long since the last one?

Who's ready to have some fun?

[her voice is low, cool, and slightly distracted.]

I am not impressed.

I expected the palace to be in ruins by now.

[A tenor laugh, certain that saying anything will set the man in a fury]

Having some fun?

[The wisp is elated, sighing happily as it flurries its message to awaiting ears.

My dears it has been far too long since I reveled about a bonfire. [Giggling, considering it was just the other night, but what is time to a fae?]

I shall be having one when the moon reaches its peek, there will be feasting, dancing and joyous celebration. All are welcome.

Aelius or Gemma, if you would provide the fire I would be most obliged...

... Aoife, darling, I require a dance, and of course I will dance with any who ask.

[What was once was a baritone voice comes to the bitter cold, as a rather husky feminine voice.]

I'm rather curious, I have seen what has happened to me... I'd love to see what the King has chosen for you.

I do believe that we have to meet up again. I despise being told what to do and yet the Sun is trying to forbid me from even coming near you. I wish to be my own man who makes his own decisions and not have any thrust upon him. What do you say, Dear Winter?

[His writing is striking and bold, the letters like slashes on the page. There is a hurried quality to his writing. He must have something to do.]

Tell me, my children, did you enjoy my masquerade? My Queen and I found you indescribably amusing.

It's perhaps a sign of bad form that I haven't officially started taking bets on the course of the evening. It's must easier to make these predictions when not at home, I'd say.

Anyone in on such? I'll still wager a carafe of the best mead one can find that there won't be a single deflowered mortal in...this side of midnight. That might be a tad too generous.

[Written Wisp: Unseelie Courtiers]

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