[AW] ten silver spoons coming after me | party

[Ruth]

☼  RUTH OF HOUSE IESHAN  ☼
רות

"MOTHER SAYS THERE ARE LOCKED ROOMS INSIDE ALL WOMEN--"

Oh, this is trouble. This is certainly trouble.

When I told Ishak about it, he laughed (in a way that would make anyone a bit cross – even me, and I am hard to trouble), and he told me that he had other things to worry about. I suspect that this is his way of telling me that he is still upset at me for getting lost on the island. I can’t say that I blame him for his annoyance, but I can say that I blame him, firmly, for his apathy.

I slip through the gathered crowds, sidestepping stumbling drunks and overeager dancers. I am small, and not especially striking, and I have always been easily overlooked - I have to be the one to keep an eye out, host or otherwise, lest I will find myself crushed beneath the hooves of some far larger brute. Normally, Ishak would be at my side, but he has been ignoring me for much of the evening. I haven’t caught sight of him in hours – I suspect that he is chasing after some pointless lead, or sneaking around where he doesn’t belong.

As long he doesn’t get caught, it is of little interest to me. If he were to get caught-

(I am no longer sure what I would do about it.)

I pace down the first floor, halting, finally, in the hall of statues.

If the stories are to be believed (and I will refrain from saying whether or not I believe them), I – and all of my siblings – are as a good as living statues, too. I suspect that Pilate’s choice of entertainment is in reference to that.  Any opportunity to add to our mystique, our illusion of unearthliness.

I find the hall unnerving. Unnatural. (Among my siblings, I think that I am the most accustomed to what it means to be composed of bone and sinew, muscle and fat; I spend my days intimately acquainted with spilled blood and guts.)

Somewhere, down the hall, I make out the pale-gold shape of my brother, nearly a statue himself. I dare not look at him too closely. I don’t find the sight of him horrifying (I am too used to illness to be startled by it), or even especially depressing; there is some lingering, professional awareness, in the back of my mind, that my brother is dying. It should be devastating, but I don’t feel devastated.

At most, I think that I feel frustrated, and, even then, I am frustrated more by the way his illness injures my pride than I am by the pervasiveness of his condition.

But – I shake off thoughts of Adonai, and then all the rest of my siblings. They are all quite preoccupied; most of them have set up little events around the mansion. I’m sure that I should have done something (there are obligations that come with my family name), but I thought that it would be enough to keep an eye on the health of the partygoers.

That has already come back to bite me, but I digress. I weave nervously between the servants, slipping a bit too close to the backdoors and pieces of art to be mistaken for a simple guest – or one of my more rambunctious siblings. There is a hurried tremor to my steps, however, a certain urgency where I am normally unhurried; oh, this is trouble, and I’m not at all sure what to do about it. A few of the maids eye me, their expressions inquisitive, but I grit my jaw and offer no answer to their stares. I am reluctant to disclose too much of this trouble to anyone outside of the family.

I move down the hall, searching the faces of each statue for signs of life. I know how gossipy they are; if anyone has rumors over what may have happened to that precious thing, it would be them.

Unfortunately, I didn’t bother to memorize them during the preparations. I’d hoped to avoid such spectacle entirely. My jaw gritted, I meander forward, brow creased in worried concentration; if I can’t find it, this will certainly be a fine mess to deal with -

but I have only just begun searching, and the night is still young. Surely, there is still plenty of time to find it.

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open! || quick lil setup for the scavenger hunt <3 || warsan shire, "the house"

[Corradh]

I was not born for these marbled halls with their tapestries catching the desert breeze. I was not born for these carefully maintained gardens, or the fountains that laugh like breaking crystal. I think it is the teeth, too large in my mouth, that set me apart. I think it is the leopard’s rosettes that dapple my flanks and give me, forevermore, a craving for blood. 

I feel half-wild, tonight. And as the hours tick by—filled with me painting faces with a lack of whimsy and an artistic flare more like blood splatter than intention—I begin to feel even more out of place. Eventually, I cannot stand the noblewomen who bring their children, grinning, to my station; eventually, I cannot stand the playful lovers who dare one another to some fanciful drawing. There is a woman, too, who demands I paint my own rosettes upon her cheeks. If she had been more beautiful, I might not have turned her away—but my taste, even if my disposition does not match, has always been exquisite. 

No. 

I wander off, bored. I enter Adonai’s hall of statues. I might have done just that—wandered, if not for the way Ruth’s hurried movement catches my eye, like the movement of a deer between the trees.

I am deft in cutting her off. It is my purpose, perhaps, as the youngest brother—always up to mischief; always prodding; always trying to understand.

“Whatcha doin’?” I asked, with a child’s feigned intrigue. I drawl the words so thickly my noble accent is almost lost—but it remains in the impish glint of my eyes. “You look like you’re up to somethin’, Ruthy.” 

My voice is candy-apple sweet. 

"Speech." || @Ruth 

we are born like this, into these carefully made wars

where the masses elevate fools into rich heroes

CREDITS|| Avis

[Ruth]

☼  RUTH OF HOUSE IESHAN  ☼
רות

"MOTHER SAYS THERE ARE LOCKED ROOMS INSIDE ALL WOMEN--"

If one of my siblings were to find me while I was searching, I had hoped that it would be Miriam. Or Hagar. Or even Adonai, though I have barely spoken to him since he fell ill. One of the ones that feels, politely, more dependable, or at least somewhat more inclined towards goodness than trouble.

Considering where I am, I seem most apt to attract Adonai’s attention, but, instead, I am interrupted in my search by the appearance of my youngest – and only younger – brother. I thought that Corradh was occupied by the painters, who have made an ornate canvas of his coat – winged and red and gold and beautiful and awful -, and I am not sure what has brought him to the hall of statues. (My brothers are usually antagonistic towards each other, and he must have known that Adonai would be here.) I turn to look at him, slowly. Knowing Corradh, he likely just got bored of painting, or of being painted, or of dealing with party guests falling at his hooves.

(Of all of my siblings, he is likely the worst for fickle romance. It’s going to get him into trouble – more than he already gets into – someday. I don’t bother commenting on it, though. I am not Miriam. I have never made a good older sister, and I have never been good at being any of my siblings’ keeper. I think that Mother would have despaired to have left any of us in my care, besides; I might have chosen to be a doctor, but I am no good as a caretaker. I lack too much for that.)

“Whatcha doing?” His voice is as sweet as sugar. “You look like you’re up to somethin’, Ruthy.” I wonder what all of the pretty young ladies who fawn over Corradh would think if they saw him acting like this, if his innocent act would be seen as charming or off-putting compared to his usual, princely demeanor. (And the accent! I'm sure they'd be alarmed by his drawl.) They might buy his acting; they usually do. I don’t. Not even for a minute; I know him too well for that.

I stare into his mischievous, emerald-bright eyes, and I resist the urge to grimace.
 
Corradh is always up to something or another. (All of my brothers are far more troublesome than most of my sisters. The older ones, at least. Now, Delilah – Delilah is something else.) Still. Now that he is already on my trail, there is very little use in trying to convince him that I’m not up to anything. Since he’s here, I might as well take advantage of him; if he doesn’t have anything better to do (and it is relatively rare for any of my siblings to have anything good to do), he should be able to help me search. “No,” I say, rather quickly, though flatly. “Up to something isn’t the right way to put it, Corr.”

I’m not lying – this is trouble, but it’s not as though I’m scheming something. I know better than to lie outright. (Mother, at least, raised us not to do that.)

“I’m looking for something – do you want to help me search?”

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@Corradh || <3  || warsan shire, "the house"