Repent: Gwyllomay of the Darkness (1.5) (MANUSCRIPT)

[Transcend, 2] Capitol 43 - Taste, 1

    "Lord Quilke! The royal household of Maranopskivich would like to play for you songs of worship." A voice called out a narrow hallway as shreds of light kissed the edges of dark stones. 

    A slim man rose up from a sturdy chair. "Why, of course. Leon and Marie are always welcome to bring their orchestra here for my viewing!" 

    "Absolutely tidy, sir. I shall signal for Marie to come right this way." The first voice exited from the mouth of a man who dawned a black circle above his right eye. 

    "I'm quite ecstatic to hear what they have to play. Truly, the rainiest days in this land are quickly brought to the ruin of sunshine once the chorus of Marie's symphony strikes my ears." Quilke Weldspar looked down at his fingernails. "Oh boy, I guess I'll be looking at another trim this week." 

    "Your nails grow like a werewolf, lord! Bahahaha." 

    "Cesare, I do not approve. Werewolves are disgusting dogs. Leon and Marie would agree with me on this." Quilke scratched at the trimmings of a velvet stool. 

    "Ah, right, sir. I have done to you a mistake. Your highness does not like their species." 

    Quilke's head slowly bobbed up and down. "Mhm. Cesare Roselein, I do believe it will also be soon time for my... evening-feast." 

    "Yes, your lordliness. I have a line of lesser Polidorians lined up in the Vent Kitchens." 

    "Hm, I love those. I'm often quite bewildered as to why the former lord, Gwyllomay- or Elizara Roselein too, did not partake in equipping either of their chefs to the Vents." 

    Cesare bowed once more. "Aye, sir. I do believe you have made well in utilizing the Vents to their full potential." 

    "Hmmm. Cesare, have you dyed your hair recently? I absolutely love what you've done with those frosted tips!" 

    "Hm. Sir, I take on the appearance of quite an older man, and you compliment my hair. I am quite flattered." 

    "I feel quite infatuated with the look of you, Cesare. You do not come off that old." 

    "Ah, my lord, what does 'that old' imply, if you don't mind me asking?" 

    Quilke scratched at the red chair once more, the soft arms of the cushioned furniture coming up slightly. "I find that your elder appearance makes you all the more charming. Your ability to scare Leon quite amuses me so." 

    "Ah, sir, I do find it dearly so that you are really, how do they say it back in Donev, 'blowing smoke up my behind'?" Cesare waved Quilke down, his slender arm covered asunder by a large white sleeve with buttons coursing all throughout it.

    "Ah, Donev. The Eastern Quarters of this great land. I once stood there by my dear Caralein. I had found it so pretty- All sorts of gardens in the sky, simply powered by windmills of water!" 

    "Hm. My niece is from the lower parts of Donev." Cesare ran a finger across a sparkling and silver mustache which sat itself just under his nose. 

    "Ah, yes. I do remember your niece. Her name was Elizara. Heheheh. One of the former lords, who I do not believe did a very good job at 'playing house'." 

    "Hmph. So, is that why you had your men go and attack her?" 

    Quilke looked down at his trusty servant, the advisor Cesare dressed in all red. "My, my. I can really sense some animosity charging up on your end. Please, if there is anything I can do about it, do let me know." 

    Cesare grunted, tightening his teeth together. "I just wanna know if-" 

    "HEY EVERYBODY!" Came the carnival-esque roaring of a phlegm filled voice. 

    "George, quiet down! What the fuck, man?" A violent hiss soon followed. 

    "Hm? My, my. It would seem we have guests here." Quilke sniffed the air. 

    Cesare put two hands up to his cheeks. "In these dark chambers? Who would-"  

    "IS IT ALMOST TIME FOR THE FRIGGIN' BRISK-FESTIVAL YET?" 

     A young man with white streaks of hair put a hand to a black hat. "George, why must your voice be so damn loud? Ugh. Master Quilke is gonna fucking-" 

    "KILL US? WHY WOULD HE DO THAT BEFORE THE FESTIVAL HAS EVEN STARTED?" 

    "George, listen-" 

    "I'M HUNGRY!" 

    "I know, but, fuck, would you just-" 

    "FOOD!" 

    "Son of an ass. I know, but please-" 

    "SUSTENANCE!" 

    "Yes, all and well, however-" 

    "GIANT TREES AND SINGING LADIES-" 

   "George!" The blackly hatted individual tightened his wrists, veins extending throughout his pale skin. 

    Cesare turned, bags under his eyes deepening. "Look, Danyard, I know that you think you're so spiffy and all with telling Kellnex to silence his loud mouth, yet you are making yourself just as overly pronounced as Kellnex is." 

    His frosty white hair falling past his neck, a lanky Polidorian named Danyard lowered his head. "I... do apologize. I was acting a little out of line by trying to be too morally high-strung." 

    Cesare nodded. "As long as you know, and furthermore, as long as it doesn't happen again. Lord Quilke cherishes peaceful and soft discussions. Why are you two here, anyway? Danyard Bathory and Kellnex George Dellnisse. The last I saw you two, there had been a nasty prank mucking about followed by an even sadder funeral." 

    Kellnex vibrated his throat heavily in that moment. 

    "No, no, no. I would really appreciate it if Danyard spoke. Sorry, Kellnex, yet I think you understand by now that your voice is not particularly loved by all." Cesare crossed his arms behind his back. 

   Danyard slowly removed his hat from the top of his blonde highlighted scalp. "Yes, well, you see, Sub-Master Cesare, when former ruler Gwyllomay reigned, today would've been the Bri-" 

    "The Brisk Festival. That's- That's right! Oh my gosh." Cesare turned his head around. "Lord Quilke, what are your thoughts on this?" 

    His pair of crimson irises merely squinted. "Yes?" Quilke's soft, buttery voice echoed throughout a chasm of twisted branches, dark oak huddled over the limbs of trees. 

    "Since you have, technically, become a strong ruler of Polidoria -- the only groups left being the rebels -- I do not remember you instating any new kinds of holidays." 

    "Heheheh, that's correct. Lord Gwyllomay himself used to have all sorts of breaks and leisurely pleasurable times throughout the hours, days, and weeks of his reign! GGGHAHAHA! Well, I do not wish to be so quickly overthrown as soon as I have instated myself. Therefore- Yes, yes- Danyard, your beloved holiday of the 'Brisk Festival' will continue and commence!" 

    "Hmhmhm." Cesare licked his lips while his fingers shook beneath a belted waist. "Good choice, Lord. Good choice! I've missed the various tastes which that festival would produce. That holiday had so many tastes."