I TOOK MY LOVE AND I TOOK IT DOWN (``Invoria)

Title: I TOOK MY LOVE AND I TOOK IT DOWN
Description: edphie

Sophie Porthaven - April 4, 2011 03:07 AM (GMT)

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<div style="line-height: 100%; width: 400px; letter-spacing: 1.7px; font-family: courier new; font-size: 24px; text-shadow: 1px 1px 0px #000; color: b7b7b7;">TAKE IT, TAKE IT ALL</div>
<div style="line-height: 80%; width: 400px; letter-spacing: 1.9px; font-family: courier new; font-size: 10px; text-shadow: 1px 1px 0px #000; color: 7b7b7b;">I'D GIVE IT ALL AWAY JUST TO GET YOU BACK.</div>
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There was a lot to be grateful for.

The phrase seemed to be a never ending train Sophie was driving through her little head. It accompanied her wherever she went, from her spot during the exchanging of vows to where she was now. The mantra was what kept her going, as well as the avoided glances and distance she kept from the others. Somehow, anyone verbally inquiring after your well being only made things worse. Sophie, though usually quite the sociable gal, especially at such events, kept complacently quiet and spoke only when spoken to about her work or what the bride was wearing. It goes to say however, the seamstress would never let herself display a long face on such a joyous occasion. Her smile was neatly placed, and always directed towards Caterina for some particular reason. She supposed the Siren Queen's happiness and complete radiance was a contagious factor. For that, Sophie would be grateful.

<p>It was the same phrase she'd whisper to herself when she fitted Caterina for her dress and observed the sudden transformation from a dominant sovereign to the delicate and complete woman that she was just for this one day. She traced it on her lap as she watched the happy couple lean in for that matrimonial kiss and mouthed the words just before she took that sip of that punch. She slowly anticipated that the reception was probably the worst place to be in her state. The girl had many questions, some only partially answered by the letter that her new found "father" had written her. The others... well, she was a bit afraid to ask. Alessandro had enough to worry about and did not need the additional strain of Sophie's life to weigh him down even further. Due to the inevitability of the circumstances, Sophie had reached a form of tranquility, one in which was characterized by a few sighs from here to there but all the while very accepting in its own way. Whatever the case, she did not feel up to the tiring task of mingling tonight.

<p>That brought her to the next thing she was so grateful about. Unfortunately, the original coat check was not able to make it today and there was no one to replace her as everyone else had their own duties to do. Sophie had volunteered herself for the task, one because she was a seamstress and no one else knew better how to take care of clothing and two, because she needed a task that would keep her mind occupied for the time being. For the most part, she thought she had done quite well avoiding sneaking glances at her former friend. It was better to pretend that they had never met and she was that girl months ago who didn't even recognize the face of her own King.

<p>Soon enough, once she took her position in front of the coat room, she was greeted with a number of guests, almost a bit more than enough for her to handle. Waves of people came and went, eager to join the party that awaited them and hungry for the food after the long precession. The monotonous act of taking coats, going inside and then coming back out again was soothing in many ways and therapeutic to her soul. When the line dwindled down, she was finally free to organize some of the coats to ensure a fast and efficient pick up process. Seeing that no other guest seemed in need of the coat check, she left her post only for one moment to disappear within the confines of the coat room, about seven to ten coats on her arm, ready to be hung.

<p>Careful not to rip her own gown, an emerald colored article she had whipped up last minute, she made her up a step ladder, hoping to exploit the second tier of hangers that were available to her. The coat room was not necessarily the smallest of rooms, though it was built in such a way that height was added in order to decrease the longitudinal distance the room took up. Clothing racks were stacked together in aisles, parallel to the door frame, and so it was easy for her to lose track of who was opening or closing the door, which was carelessly left open when she had headed in. As usual, she had not noticed the intruder until she started stepping down from the ladder, almost falling as she realized the other person's presence just one aisle away.

<p>Judging by the only visible article of clothing she could spot from under the wall of coats that stretched between them, it was a man with leather shoes. <b>"Sir? You aren't really supposed to be in here. If you need your coat checked in I can get it for y--"</b> She stopped even before she finished making her away around the aisle. Shoes, you see, were distinctive almost to character. Sophie's had quite a lot of experience with shoes of this person's caliber and so it did not take much for her to recognize who they belonged to. But despite the knowledge of who this person was, she was compelled to continue in her original route especially since she had so foolishly made her own presence known already. She continued, this time slower, as if around her ankles were two tons of weights. Her eyes widened to confirm the identity of the other (as they were in the dark), an identity she realized she had constantly mistaken in her encounters with him. Of course, she had not known the implications of that just quite yet.

<p><b>"Your Majesty,"</b> There was no hesitance, for she had in their time a part from one another adjusted herself to the idea of such a phrase once more. Her curtsy was steady, her anxiety from before completely leaving her at this point. She wondered for a moment what had changed. She was... at a sort of peace with herself, even in front of this man who she still did not have the complete confidence to look at in the eye. What had propelled him to step in here? Perhaps she had kept him waiting after she left her post and he grew impatient. Perhaps he had sought her out. Perhaps the reason had always been... negligible to the matter at hand.

<p>An arm reached out for his coat, her head bowed. <b>"I'll take your coat if you would like."</b> Her tone was now void of familiarity, something which was massacred, not too long ago.</div><p>
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Edward Raymer - April 4, 2011 04:27 AM (GMT)

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Edward was quite impressed with the ceremony, and that was not something that he had ever expected of this. The fact was that, frankly, he was surprised that Sethius could have pulled it off. For the second time in Invoria’s history, beauty had married a beast – and this monster had been so patient about the whole thing. His hands were barely more than a smidgeon dirty, each line of his uniform straight as ever: how had Sethius had the patience? Edward suddenly respected him a great deal for it. The time that the commander had taken to rise to power was far greater than his own, considerably more premeditated, and because of this, it was so incredibly subtle. He was struck by how much he suddenly appreciated the work of the man Edward had thought of as nothing more than the Queen’s whore up until then. He had wormed so effortlessly into the life of the Lancreteroux family, and now here he was, all but crowned. There were some who might question the new husband of the Hydriad leader – a man of honour or deceit? – but Edward didn’t need to wonder: he knew. They were two bound to exist the same way, misleading and evading the questions of their power, while quietly laughing at their own genius.
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But sharing that genius made Edward feel threatened. He was more experienced than Sethius in the public eye, and surely more dangerous, but every time the Siren moved, he was uncomfortably aware of just how big he was. Did the man cross his arms so simply to attest his size? That aside, he was clean-shaven, revealing fresh marks on his face, three thin lines. For what purpose? Did he exaggerate pain in his step, and did showing to prove that he was weak or that he was a survivor? It didn’t matter, really, for the man looked something just short of a savage, with his thick eyebrows and dark hair peeking out beneath his sleeves. He looked ridiculous, like a man who threw stones and had spitting contests trying on the wear of a military man. But however he degraded Sethius, his size caused Edward to falter. Caterina, the strongest leader that perhaps the world had ever known, alongside somebody devious and sizeable; the thought made Edward uncertain where he stood and, though he knew he wasn’t such an expert at drinking, as the ceremonies concluded and the evening fell away into the reception, he tipped back an entire glass of champagne, feeling bubbles incessantly prickling his throat. Certain that no liquid was left to drip into his mouth, he placed the glass down on a tray and touched Lenore’s hand affectionately, masking his newly-arisen political insecurity beneath a smile which suggested he might be thinking back to their wedding.
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Which he wasn’t.
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As per usual, Edward was seeking comfort in his routine. Insecurity was such an absurd thing, but yet here he was. His actions were so engrained into his behaviour that he wasn’t even aware as his mouth formed the familiar smile, fingers combing back through his hair as he bashfully bit his lower lip, feigning ease and a boyish curiosity. The reception seemed to have components both indoor and out, and so, depending on the cooperation of the evening, either place was suitable. Edward eased indoors and out in the first few minutes of transfer between ceremony and reception, chatting with those it seemed appropriate to chat with. Somewhere, he had separated himself from Lenore, mostly by choice in the fear that she would see through him. Edward wasn’t in the mood to play games with the only person he was truly afraid he couldn’t fool. The King had chosen instead to wander with less aim and no fixed companion, enjoying that he could feel lightness in his head already from his drink. Though he had taken it first out of politeness, he wasn’t at all regretting his decision to down it. Tipsy? No, not Edward. Buzzed might have been more accurate. He was so absorbed in sticking to routine and thinking that he was more drunk than he was that he didn’t even realize he hadn’t surrendered his coat until it was mentioned to him: “If Your Majesty intends to remain indoors, it might be beneficial to deposit your coat.”
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Of course, the man was entirely correct, and Edward laughed with him, making a comment he was sure was witty but had already forgotten, and moved towards the coat check. He was stopped in his tracks when he caught the sight of a delicate face he surely recognized. While it wasn’t unrealistic to expect her to be there – rumour had it that she had some involvement in Caterina’s dress’ construction – it seemed so nasty that fate would align them in such a way which would inevitably cause them to collide. He took great, unintentionally-obvious steps back, pausing in the midst of traffic to think of how to behave. The most pleasing of these options was to not deal with it and pardon himself early. But then – he had been feeling unsettled since their last encounter, like something was incomplete, and slowly he was coming to terms with what exactly that was.
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It upset and contradicted everything Edward believed in to here let rank fall second to emotion. Women, occupations, class – all of it held such value in his world that it was unfathomable he would pardon it. He had thought with parts of his body that weren’t his head before, and that physical, irrational process had gotten him in trouble. But Sophie was innocent, and the closest thing to a friend he had known since Soren. He had to make amends with her for his coldness, his conceited cruelty. It was unusual that anything should put him in the line of kindness like this – oh, and how difficult it was to get these thoughts organized! Each was more conflicted than the last. Probably without thinking, and without paying a great deal of attention as to who saw him (except to make sure that it wasn’t Lenore), the King ducked through the open door. He told himself he wanted to deposit his coat without the hassle of pretence between he and the seamstress – he lied to himself, but not so poorly that he left. The room was surprisingly dark, and Edward pretended to look for a hanger.
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He was waiting for her, of course, like a suicidal man running amuck with delusion. This wasn’t something that would ever reach a good place. This was a dead end. This was going to fuck him over eventually, even if it wasn’t today. Who would have thought that Edward Raymer’s soft sport was his extramarital affiliations, when he had played his cards so well everywhere else? But when Sophie extended her hand to him, using the title which he himself had coldly informed her to use, he lifted his hand in reflex, fingers pushing lightly down on her wrist and lowering it as he stepped closer to her, “I would rather if you didn’t.” He said quietly, though his coat was quite forgotten as his fingers drifted down her hand slowly after they parted from her wrist, deliberately tangling with her fingers, slipping along each as he pulled his hand back to his body. Once more without contact, he said what Edward rarely saw reason to say: “I’m sorry for my behaviour. It was unwarranted, undignified, even.
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“And quite selfish,” he added, “But I didn’t –” the pause was for effect, something which naturally slipped into his voice for no reason other than to prolong his statement and present him as the humble King he was, “I didn’t think it would be wise for us to see each other after the storm. I think you know why.”

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WRITTEN FOR PENNY’S <br>CHARACTER SOPHIE PORTHAVEN
<br> AT CATxSETH WEDDING IN 1331 WORDS.
<br>OOC: NOTHING TO SAY. (;
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Sophie Porthaven - April 5, 2011 12:12 AM (GMT)

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<div style="line-height: 100%; width: 400px; letter-spacing: 1.7px; font-family: courier new; font-size: 24px; text-shadow: 1px 1px 0px #000; color: b7b7b7;">TAKE IT, TAKE IT ALL</div>
<div style="line-height: 80%; width: 400px; letter-spacing: 1.9px; font-family: courier new; font-size: 10px; text-shadow: 1px 1px 0px #000; color: 7b7b7b;">I'D GIVE IT ALL AWAY JUST TO GET YOU BACK.</div>
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She was so puzzled, feeling the gentle pressure of the other's hand slowly bidding her arm down and back to its side, finding it odd that she no longer flinched to the touch like she used to. The Seer didn't understand what more reason he had to stand here in front of her other than to hand her his coat so she could fulfill her duty as the true servant she was. It had taken a few days to truly take in what he conveyed to her and it was no easy task either. For someone who lived life cut and dry, someone like Edward, the man of divided souls, was too complex of a character for her to understand immediately. She did not speak politics fluently and saw friendship as either an amiable or intolerable option with another. Their friendship seemed to be unlikely as they were more incompatible than anything else, in both status as well as livelihood. The life of the rich had its standards, standards that she would never be able to fill no matter how hard she tried. That sort of relationship with the King of all people was doomed to the start and that was a fact not unknown to Sophie. So why had she continued down the path when she knew it would be a dead end?

<p>She didn't look up at him until he started to speak. It was an admittedly a fight between her and her own anxiety at this point, a girl desperately trying to keep control under the pressure of his presence. But she could not deny the trepidation in which she took in those words, as if bracing herself for any hidden or shrewd insults thrown her way like a child who would flinch just before their mothers threw down that painful and punishing blow. However, when that blow did not come, she was struck with unexpected relief, eyes shaking ever so slightly at the epiphany. Suddenly, whether or not her own adjustment qualities were to blame, the room seemed a little brighter and she could see him more clearly. Blinking back residue of any sort of pain, she took in a deep breath and wrapped her arms around her own elbows. She periodically alternated gazing down or up, sometimes even to the side as her lips curled inward to cushion the edges of her teeth from making contact with one another due to her gritting her jaw. She felt that sinking feeling in her stomach again, waves rippling from it throughout her entire body, blocking off air to her lungs. Just as the wave of split emotions passed and the pathway her lungs cleared, she took another breath and shook her head.

<p>It was too tiring to suppress her emotions at this point and for too long had she blindly searched for reasons to understand Edward.

<p><b>"No, actually. I don't know why, and I don't know much of anything at all."</b> This time, she simply didn't understand. It was the closest to frustrated as she could get, her voice never fully conveying such a feeling until now. Oh how desperately she wanted to take that coat away from him and send him off. Unfortunately, as the situation played out, it was to be a long night full of longer talks. She wanted in her own way to dismiss any thoughts of restoring their friendship. For a moment, she wondered how ironic it was that while everyone else in the reception were probably enjoying the night, she would be here standing with one of the most sought after person on the guest list. Adding salt to injury was Lenore Raymer's presence, a woman for whatever reason Sophie just could not find herself speaking with outside of the comforts of her shop. Lenore was beautiful and when standing next to Edward became the other half of the perfection the royalty of Rutilius seemed to portray. Under the knowledge that his own wife was under the same roof, Sophie couldn't help but to feel a bit foolish standing in front of him now in what she used to consider her asylum. Amidst all this glamor and elevation, the only escape seemed to be this quaint coat room and if there was one thing Sophie learned about clothing, it was that clothing did not judge you or make you feel less than what you were worth... not like people usually did.

<p>Once the control of her emotions was unleashed, she acted upon her own devices and with two, careful arms, scooped the coat from the other without his consent. With the coat now around her arms, she felt a certain power overtake her senses, whether it may be her dignity or her sense of pride. She was sure he wouldn't miss this one piece of clothing once he was again among the company he was familiar with. <b>"You don't have to apologize. There was nothing wrong with what you said. Everything... everything you said was true."</b> She paused, straightening out the coat in her arms. She had thought to leave the conversation there so that he may return to his life without delay. But her mouth had opened on its own as she looked up, locking her grayish eyes on his blue. She was tired of being satisfied with the bare minimum of knowledge. Though she was relatively sound now, she knew that this would never end unless she got herself a clear answer from him.

<p><b>"Am I a game to you?"</b>

<p>Another pause, just to observe how he would react to that statement. She had only realized the emotion packed within that one sentence only after she spoke it. There was clear anger in her voice one of utter helplessness and disparity, so much so that she almost did not recognize herself as the speaker. The conflicting intentions she was displaying were very clear now. As much as she wanted him to leave her to her own, she wanted him to stay and not to apologize but to be honest with her. She hoped that if he even had the ability to be honest, he would choose to use it now. Seeing as she had already drifted off to this sort of territory, there was no other option but to continue. She had to. <b>"Do you think just because I don't play a significant part in a society of yours you can choose whenever it is <i>convenient</i> to have anything to do with me?"</b> Was that it? She was just a somebody he wanted to speak to when things were going fine but when the going got tough, it was an automatic rejection.

<p>When her vision started to blur with the unmistakable pool of tears bubbling from her eyes, she knew that she had reached and perhaps even passed the point in which her patience could endure. Quickly, her hand went up to wipe them away, making smooth motions across her cheeks, lest they dirtied the other's coat. Once her composure had gotten back to her, she found herself steadying her gaze upon the other's neck to harden herself from stepping even further into the abyss of her heart. Her voice dropped back down to a whisper, soft but firm. <b>"It is like you said, your Majesty. You and I, we are from two different worlds. Right now, you belong out there with the guests."</b>

<p>Just like how she belonged with these coats.

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Edward Raymer - April 5, 2011 05:02 AM (GMT)

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Sophie was so cold that Edward found himself silent for a moment, struck dumb by her most unexpected reaction. Up until then, he had perceived Sophie to be a woman who simply moved with the flow of things. She had never expressed herself as anything but submissive: to his taunting, to his threats, to his bipolar kindness, and then to his rough conclusion. She wasn’t a creature who would outwardly deny an apology, as far as he could tell, and the type who was too considerate of others to really even consider it an option. He had misjudged Sophie to be the sort of woman who was flexible beneath the will of others, the kind of person without an iron spine, but rubber to be bent and twisted. He was surprised at the defiant chill in her voice, and her insistence. Perhaps the King had been naïve to believe that things could be concluded simply because he wished it. He was so used to people surrendering their intentions in the face of his own, and he was taken aback so entirely that he stared at her dubiously, hunting for the right words. His mouth opened stupidly, and he was relieved that the darkness might have muted his obvious alarm.
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Edward was too proud to immediately think of something to say. He wasn’t going to beg for her to agree with him – it was not his style – but it was also not his way to accept that he was rejected and turn from the room, with his head bowed in defeat. The determination to make this apology held him steady, but her sudden outburst of tears shook him where he stood once again. The Magician shifted awkwardly on his soles, wishing that he could take his coat back from her and hang it himself simply so that he had something to do other than watch her cry. The seamstress wiped her eyes dry, and Edward uncomfortably diverted his gaze. If it had been anybody else, he would have held his focus on their face, hoping probably to intimidate them or seem attentive, but for Sophie he felt responsible. Convenience. Her accusations were not so inaccurate that he could say anything witty to divert the conversation, nor were they true enough that he could respond and walk away, dignified and cruel.
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But he hadn’t the inclination to repeat exactly what he had entered this situation with hopes of rectifying. The Seer had an adept grasp on her position in society relative to his own, but still the King couldn’t muster respect for her. She was, after all, his subordinate – and, on that note, one speaking well out of turn and in such a tone which was dismally inappropriate – and so couldn’t be thought of as any more than a citizen being shown goodwill. And truly, with this in mind, Edward intended to leave her and forget this incident. There was no reason for it to go further, he knew … but her rawness was endearing, when he had known a world of cold lies and traitorous intent. He was softened by the realness she showed him, warmed by her genuine emotion, however negatively impactful.
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He didn’t wish to be affectionate with Sophie. It hadn’t been in Edward’s plans, and the last thing that he wanted to do was ruin his reputation for a second time, soiling it with prints of women who weren’t his wife – his wife. He loved Lenore, and that had never been a question. He thought of the Queen only with the greatest affection: not only had she led him to the throne, but she had been his first love, his first tumble in the sheets, his first and only successful tryst with romantic intentions. She was his Jill of all trades, a perfect representation of everything that he sought in his life – but then, Edward had learned before that the reason people were unfaithful was not because they loved the other person any less, or even differently: they were disloyal because another person offered something that they hadn’t found in their existing relationship. They were disloyal because, as Edward had once so eloquently put it, toast wasn’t always enough, and sometimes it took another person to be jam. His next words were not because he stopped caring for Lenore, but because he saw something different and attractive in his present company.
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“Perhaps,” he said, raising his hand to brush her cheek lightly, “But I dearly wish that I was wrong.” Edward pulled the line out of the scripture written in his mind, something he was almost positive he had used before, but was reassured enough that it hadn’t been directed at Sophie that he could use it again. Given how spontaneously he had made the decision to speak to her, he had nothing planned to pull from his bag of tricks, usually so endless and overflowing. Where was his ease in society? Where, now, was the calmness that he could find to center himself on a regular occasion? Edward was speaking completely without a plan, and it made him just as unsettled as this encounter did alone. He opened his mouth and closed it again, searching for friendly tenderness, nothing more, but could only find that Sophie looked rather dashing in her dress, and also that he was awfully sorry once again? It was so painfully inadequate. He found her eye’s detachment from his face to be irritatingly insincere in the light of all that she had just said, and the King, without thinking, cupped her jaw with his hand and, not entirely gently, raised her face to so that her line of sight matched his.
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The words which dropped from his mouth now were so unplanned that he hadn’t even the presence of mind to be alarmed at his own brutish artlessness, “Say that to me again! Look at me without your tears.” He said abruptly, hot with his own spur-of-the-moment blurb. He snapped his hand back from her face, as if only just aware of it, “I beg you to speak to me frankly then ask me to leave because, while I thought this to be for the better, I see now that nothing has changed:” his eyes flashed darkly, as if he saw his own perverse frankness the way that Sophie might, “You make what notions I have of fidelity false, through your so-called ‘friendship’, while you bare your flesh and dress to steal men’s eyes with your … whorish impropriety!” Where had the temper which pried those words from his lips come from? Was it temper, or was it the dangerous lust he spoke of? Edward had stepped close to her, so close his torso pressed against the coat in her arms and his face was within inches of her own, “Was this your plan all along?” he breathed into her, “No,” he answered his own question as a whisper in Sophie’s ear, angered to hear his thoughts aloud and stricken that he had become absorbed in a senseless, guilty monologue, “That isn’t it.” He sighed, leaning back enough that he could run both of his hands backwards through his hair and finish trapping himself, lock the iron cage with a bitter, dissatisfied laugh, “You’re lowly and a woman and you may one day see my past or my future – either damning. So what is it that makes me want you, Fi?”

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WRITTEN FOR PENNY’S <br>CHARACTER SOPHIE PORTHAVEN
<br> AT CATxSETH WEDDING IN 1243 WORDS.
<br>OOC: ENTER LENORE X HABRYS. xP
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Sophie Porthaven - April 6, 2011 02:36 AM (GMT)

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<div style="line-height: 100%; width: 400px; letter-spacing: 1.7px; font-family: courier new; font-size: 24px; text-shadow: 1px 1px 0px #000; color: b7b7b7;">TAKE IT, TAKE IT ALL</div>
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The letter that she had never sent, for whatever reason, had jumped into her mind just at that moment when his knuckles brushed by the soft skin of her cheek. In just a flicker of a second, she thought she had seen in him the Edward she once knew, and that allowed herself to hope. Hope consequently was a dangerous thing for the believer that Sophie was. Even a small inch of the substance could cause the most practical and reasonable side of Sophie to give into the impractical and absurd. Her duly noted optimism was surely going to be her inevitable downfall, especially when it was placed within someone like Edward Raymer. She had quite the backwards version of the man who at the time was still reaching into his bag of fibs to further pull the blinds over Sophie's eyes. Whereas the facts would tell you that any affection or attraction he had for her was spurred on by the Raymer-breakfast theory, it was under the Seer's belief that Edward was good at his core. As perspective as she was, she could not will herself to doubt his true character. To her, he was a genuine and kind-hearted man underneath layers of haughty superiority. This belief, she would soon learn, was of course, far from the truth.

<p>Whereas Edward's theory on why he was simply drawn to the seamstress was as complex as everything else about him, Sophie had a simpler approach to the subject. At this point, she could no longer deny to herself what she felt for him, despite his faults and misdeeds. He <i>was</i> arrogant, completely spoiled not to mention even insolent in the shrewdest manner. But he was also well-mannered, strikingly intelligent and carried an intensity in his eyes she swore she surely could never forget, even in her sleep. She was drawn to him like a moth to a flame... though describing the outcome of such an attraction would only be an understatement. The two of them had long passed the point of impropriety with one another. No words were set in stone and no committed actions were made but nevertheless, the infidelity was there and perhaps the both of them knew it. The moment they had set their eyes on one another, Edward was long lost in that sea of betrayal to Lenore and Sophie was well on her ways down that dead end road to a combustion of an innocent soul.

<p>Jerked literally from her thoughts, she found herself lost in his eyes once more, immersed in two pools of absolute intensity and raw power. It was the same fiery gaze she assumed Caterina and her siblings possessed as well, the look of complete confidence that things would go their way because things had to go their way. She could only in return peer up at him with her doe-like eyes, as wide and quizzical as ever, like a rabbit that had just been grabbed out of the comfort of its den. She heard every word loud and clear but just as her lips parted in an effort to reply, she found that she had no words to respond with. He had challenged and called her bluff and as any inexperienced player of this game could tell you, it was hard to redeem yourself once your cover was blown. Her limbs had somehow frozen on the spot as he stepped closer towards her, shortening the distance between them enough to stir up quite a bit of trouble if anyone was there to witness. The words whispered into her ear pierced through her like needles, causing her eyes to flicker down between her two, bare shoulders at the mention of her "whorish impropriety".

<p><i> “You’re lowly and a woman and you may one day see my past or my future – either damning. So what is it that makes me want you, Fi?”</i>

<p>Again, the very nickname that had haunted her since as long as she could remember would bear new meaning on this night. She didn't know if it was possible to associate 'Fi' with anyone else now that Edward, like with most things, dominated the complete usage of it. She should have been mad, completely repulsed by what he was saying to her and yet, she was feeling something else instead. As much as she was angered by his irrational outburst (and she was quite shaken), she was more frustrated than anything that it ended with a question she simply did not understand nor knew how to answer. The key was not what he had said about her clothing, though it certainly didn't help matters. The focus of attention laid in his last sentence. Everything he had said up to that point had only been to insult her, degrade her position in the world and yet, he <i>wanted</i> her. He wanted this woman with no determined background or position to deserve a King's affection. Surely, it <i>had</i> to mean something... perhaps something worth sacrificing for.

<p>Before she could think through what she was about to do next, she pressed softly, the tentative palm of her hand to his cheek and as best as she could, leaned up to place a delicate but unmistakable kiss against his lips. Never mind she had never done something like this before. Never mind that his wife was currently still out there in the very party the both of them were supposed to be attending. Never mind that every fiber of her logical and sensible being told her that it was the wrong move. She had only done what she wanted to, and since they were already teetering on the edge of destruction, one little kiss would only make the process happen faster and more painlessly she had hoped. It was laced with the bitterness of a woman who saw no other option but to love the man in front of her. There was never the matter of 'what' or 'why'. To Sophie, something like this could never be truly described with words. She felt, and in consequence followed her own feelings.

<p>Parting from him, she tilted her head and gazed up at him with slanted brows. <b>"I don't have the answers to your questions, Edward."</b> She allowed herself to use his name, knowing how precious these opportunities where when she could speak with him face to face like they were simply two people skating or falling on the ice actually were. <b>"All I know is that ever since you spoke with me in my shop, I've only felt pain, pain that I can only assume associated with my feelings for you... whatever they may be."</b> She was earnest, with full intentions of pouring her heart out to the other, her eyes sparkling with unmeasurable sincerity.

<p><b>"I care for you, Edward. More than a friend should, especially for a married man... and I... I don't know what to do."</b> Her confusion was written so clear on her face. Still, she was in control enough that she was prepared for the worst. If he was disgusted by her declaration, the door was open and readily available for him to step out of. She had done and endured all she could from this seemingly endless game of hearts.

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Edward Raymer - April 11, 2011 04:11 AM (GMT)

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Where in his response had Edward said something that Sophie found satisfactory? Even while it was inexplicable, he didn’t care for an answer. There was no equation to simply the way that he felt towards her, and it would have been unseemly to expect that her own thoughts might have been so neat and calculated. Once more, he had been forward and unkind, and she had responded inoffensively, looking up at him with wide, attentive eyes, so close that their distance supported everything that he had believed, even if he was at partial fault for having closed it. If she had been deceiving, he hadn’t been strong enough in his protest. If she had agreed or disagreed with anything that her king said, it seemed only logical that Edward take the moment to walk away. He might have, having turned rather red in the speech he had just delivered, although mostly to himself. It was prudent, it was faithful, and it would save him any further shame. The Magician was sure that turning now would be the best option available to him – up until the moment when her lips touched his, and it was as though a glass between them had shattered into a thousand pieces and littered the ground beneath their feet.
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Kissing Sophie was the moment hovering above a clear shard: there was a moment of awareness for what was happening, and yet it was too late to avoid dropping one’s step. The seamstress touched her lips to his softly. Her kiss was not Lenore’s familiar one or Taeva Halloway’s extravagant showmanship, but one seemingly riddled with sincerity. Too shocked to do anything, Edward was frozen, with his lips neither compliant nor opposed. His mouth was hard and closed and only seemed to respond when she began to pull away, the moment when he abruptly realized he wanted her close. His heart ricocheted in his ribcage, thundering with its echoing cadence. His fingers itched to raise and touch the warmth she had left on his lips, but still almost afraid of motion he recalled the unexpected tenderness of her gesture while entirely statuesque.
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Her words were like stepping on glass. Though metaphorically proper, given the situation, it was foolish of the King to slide away from her. She didn’t repel him, and that was exactly what forced him away. Every word from her lips was sweet and spoken in earnest but, the more that he listened to their truth, the more Edward slowly retreated, stepping back, as if the enormity of those words could be avoided. He wasn’t even aware of having done so, for he was watching her mouth. She kept speaking with her painful authenticity, and it was more than Edward had expected he would ever have to answer to. What he really needed was for her to deny him. All that his words had asked for was to be rejected, to be turned from and forgotten. It would have been easier for him then to turn and behave as a man of his statute was expected to. Edward could have left, perhaps with a bruised ego, but without otherwise suffering. Instead, his madness was seeping into her, though, and she was spouting the same unsafe nonsense as he. Sophie was still speaking, but she said the same thing to his ears, the same way that blood from pierced skin always poured red: she wanted him as he wanted her, and now they were caught in the messiest entanglement that could possibly have arisen from his intrusion that evening.
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Now he just wanted to step close to her again and take her in his arms and kiss her back, slowly, but boldly. Edward was ashamed of his physical inclination, the way that he wished only to respond to her words by silencing her with his body, but he couldn’t subdue it entirely. How had he lost control? How had everything he prided himself on sunk away into nothing? Oh, Edward had been on this path before, but it was so difficult to slow down once he picked up momentum. The time before had been a most terrible mess, a cursed and condemning degradation. The stain upon his reputation had never quite been purged in his own pejorative gaze, and yet it seemed that all too quickly he would venture down the same road and take a perfectly lovely person with him. It was bitterly unfair that now, with a lowly woman he truly thought he must care for, the fear of pushing her away was a physical ache, while the woman he loathed and feared from the beginning had clung to his repulsion (selectively overlooking some of the unflattering desires on his behalf, of course). How could he do this? What could he say to make sense of the confusion she spoke of so simply?
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In a perfunctory gesture of kindness, Edward stepped forward, the tips of his fingers grazing the skin on her arms as he spoke, “I don’t know what to do either, Fi,” he said quietly, “But … maybe no one has to know.” He stepped close to her again, and he could see the faint details of her face, undermined by shadow, patronizing him with their delicacy. Lust and tenderness, conflicted, darted across his face, his eyes flickering across her facial features and then down to skim over her body, “Whatever it is that we do.” He hesitated, only a second, thinking of Lenore, “You’ve become such a friend to me – I don’t know when, or how – but I don’t know if there’s any way to keep this simple.”
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She had been so brave, and in return Edward wasn’t weak enough that he would doubt his own romantic essence. The King raised his hand to her, cupping the back of her head and bending his neck so that he might kiss her as she had kissed him. He didn’t know what Sophie had to say, and somehow, senselessly, he didn’t think. He was the Edward Raymer, fulfilling what apparently two people wanted, not forcing himself on her: the thought that this might not be mutually desired didn’t occur to him. She had been so suggestive before, but his increasing ferocity, with his lips on hers and his hands sliding down her back and around her waist, might have been more than the sweetness the young woman had perhaps bargained for. Undressing a woman with one’s eyes was only satisfying for so long.

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WRITTEN FOR PENNY’S <br>CHARACTER SOPHIE PORTHAVEN
<br> AT CATxSETH WEDDING IN 1085 WORDS.
<br>OOC: ENTER LENORE X HABRYS. xP
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Sophie Porthaven - April 12, 2011 01:44 AM (GMT)

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There she stood, breath caught in the juncture of anticipation waiting for a response, any response whatever it may be. Flickers of doubt flashed before her eyes and slowly, the possibility of rejection took its toll on her. Nothing could prepare anyone for heartbreak, after all. It was, needless to say, difficult to be so plain about her feelings when the man started stepping away from her, but somehow, she had managed to stand her ground and continued through it even when the existence of a light beyond the tunnel remained unclear. He was surprised and that was as well since even she herself was taken aback by what came out of her mouth. Cognition and motor skills were paradoxically hindered when one was in love.

<p>If the kiss had truly repulsed him, Sophie found console in only one thing: that in the very least it would have freed one of them. The Seer had tried and failed to completely separate her feelings from him like she had written about in that letter of hers. From the moment she had stepped into the wedding venue and saw his face once more, she had realized she was ensnared in an ordeal that she would never be able to get out of unscathed. As for Edward, if the kiss had confirmed his words about her, that she was merely a wench and nothing more, he could leave satisfied that he had rejected the advances of a common and shameless woman. He had a reputation and a wife on the line whereas all Sophie had was an existence in which otherwise would be lived through in monotony. What did she have to lose by initiating the catalyst that would bind their union? So, Sophie had opted to take a note from one of her closest friends and reached out for what she desired. Yes, she was nervous and awfully terrified by what kind of response she would elicit from him but at the same time, she felt free and strangely satisfied with what she had done, having never felt so in control but out of control at once in her entire life.

<p>Yet, though she was a hopeful individual, never in her wildest dreams had she thought that things could escalate to this stage. It seemed ironic that a Seer didn't see this one coming but perhaps if she had, she would have never made some of the decisions that she was going to. It seemed fickle to think about, that if a seamstress did not clumsily bump into a King in that alleyway, she would not be standing here, in this position. But nonetheless, here they were, on the precipice overlooking an inferno. One more step and they might as well be engulfed by the flames down under. Maybe that could explain why his touch burned her in the most addictive way and left invisible scorch marks in its wake. The heat made her want to shiver, the burn causing her to ache for more.

<p><i> “But … maybe no one has to know.”</i>

<p>So lost was she, distracted by the lingering grazes on her arm, that she did not realize the duality of the statement. Yes, she had not thought this entirely through enough to realize that what she had so volunteered herself to just now was an affair of the highest scandal. It was however, difficult to recall such frivolities when one's lips were met with the reciprocation of another's feelings. When an occurrence like that presented itself, you didn't ruin it with extra words. In fact, there was nothing left to say. It was precisely, when things were the most complicated in which words would just be in excess. Thus, one could hardly blame her for not having pondered his words more carefully before submitting into that kiss, eyes closing in incandescence and arms moving up so she could caress the junction of the back of his head and neck. Sophie was finally experiencing the weak-in-the-knees phenomenon, head somewhere in the stratosphere as she submerged herself into this reality, fantasy... whatever it was. Only moments into the kiss and her heels felt inches taller like she was standing on stilts instead of solid ground. Her mind traveled to somewhere distant, away from this wedding, away from coats, away from fabric and away from all purpose. On par with the nature of Sophie's life, nothing she did was ever completely flawlessly graceful.

<p>Her knees gave way and suddenly, she imagined the both of them back on the frozen lake, falling to their hearts' content. This time however, instead of the harsh and sharp pang of cold that greeted their fall, they would fall into a bed of tangled table linen and cloths stored conveniently so behind where they stood. Everything else would be forgotten for a short time, the inhibitions, the doubt and the consequences combined.

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