Characters involved are: Sylvina (RED), Citan (ORANGE),
Logged by Sylvina

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Bledavik, Sylvina's Mansion(#688RJ)
This room is well organized, well kept, and well furnished. Obviously designed for both the dealings of business and personal luxury, this room holds a fine sofa against one wall, while the others hold shelves, bookshelves, and fine cabinets draped with tapestries and decked with fine goods. A table in the center of the room has four chairs organized about it and finely set decoration upon it. A <stairway> leads to the upper levels of this home, a <door> leads out.
Contents:
Citan
Rex(#5993JX)

Opulence can be such a bore sometimes. The well-kept sitting room of the mansion is in stark constrast to the bustling street outside, being a haven of almost-tranquility, the room seeming almost empty, as the utterly silent Sylvina sits at the table in the center of the room, poring over some documents, business-related memos, sales reports, whatnot. It seemed too much to ask to keep herself afloat these days, with the mansion to keep, and Baby Khiea starting to walk compounding her little daily annoyances. Still, for now, the child sleeps, and she can get something done, as she remains silent, in study.
There's something about the world these days that makes it so very... crisp. Alive. Reckless, ruthless. And how very well is it fit by Aveh nights, filled with the lingering hints of desert warmth rapidly disappearing under the absolute cold of the sands. Citan, dressed in the sleek coat of his SolJasper uniform--so close to his old Elements coat that he feels reassured by it rather than distressed--checks the address again on the paper out of formality's sake. So done, he lifts a gloved hand to knock once upon the door, twice, and then wait, stepping back to blink at the residence from behind the circular rims of his glasses.
You will not receive Public messages.
The vaguest of sounds would be at least disturbing this late. But, a knock? Rex the butler has retired, and God knows who else could have business here this late? Still, it must be urgent, if anyone would dare interrupt her. The occasional caravan made it in late, or was attacked, or just had a prticularly fastidious, or annoying leader. Putting down her pen, she silently clears her throat, and half-shouts "Yes? It's open.". This...had better be good.
That would depend on your definition of good. If you happen to believe that a Nightmare-wrapped Hyuga who sounds as if he is trying to shake a Solarian accent from his speech is good, it might be better to sit down and check your medication levels. If, however, you happen to find a rather amused looking man in an ornate blue and white uniform, long hair almost unbound around his shoulders, and a faint smile on his face as he leans against the doorframe after pushing back the door--oh, all the time in the world, he has, all the time to just -lounge- here and smile--then that might be a different story indeed. "I am terribly sorry to bother you, Madam Dalant," he murmers, the low richness of his voice just high enough to be able to call inside, "Is this a bad time to bother you? I understand that it is late, and it is boorish of me to expect you to be attentive to... the message I bear for you." Oh, yes. Hyuga is definately having too much fun tonight.
Sylvina blinks. Well, this is certainly a change from the usual scraping underling that begs her attention. Well, at least she would hope to think she had underlings. In reality, less and less people had come to her door of late, the lack of a war not being good for business. Trade routes back to normal, almost, and the exorbitant prices that could have been charged mere months before, were now scoffed at. No, this is probably someone here to gloat, or repossess something. Still, 'Madam' Dalant. A nice touch. She listens intently as he speaks, and a mock expression of puzzlement crosses her face. "Well, please go on. I am awake, as you can see".
"May I enter?" A formality, that, for Hyuga is already dropping his gloved hand from the doorway and ducking his head as he steps across the threshold. Appearance could be everything, as he and she both knew--reason why the Guardian has not spared himself the mirror before making this visit. He crosses to a properly delicate distance before he drops into a fluent bow, one hand back and the other extended as if to take Sylvina's and examine her fingers for beauty. "I apologize for the irregularity of this visit," he continues, the words as fluid as the Element he is so aptly given rights to. "I am... Citan Uzuki," right name, remember the -right- name, "Ambassador of Pax Jasper, Liason to the Regency here." Diplomat. Or close enough. "I visited here some time ago, you see, and I had had the good fortune to encounter you in passing in the... marketplace, I believe?"
Hm. Perhaps. There were so many people she...Sylvina's face turns white, and she has to clear her throat with surprise, as it dawns on her. Of course. With um, the girl. Yes. "I'm sorry. I don't remember you...when was this, again?...Never mind. Ambassador, you say?". Hm. This could get interesting. Liaison to the Regency? Was it something to do with trade routes between them? This...could also get profitable, if she played her cards right. "But of course, how rude of me. What can I do for you, Mr. Uzuki?" She stands, and heads for the door to close it behind him.
"It was some time ago," Citan affirms agreeably, straightening to better turn and face Sylvina as she deals with the matter of the door. He in turn takes advantage of the moment to set a hand on the side of the table, leaning on it for support. Better to look relaxed, better to focus on one's target. "I am only afraid that I did not get a better chance to make your aquaintence then as I passed through town on my business--the contact was quite fleeting," he adds, allowing for slips to be covered up if needed. "Of course, you have heard of the recent fuss at Fatima Castle? Naturally," he laughs, shaking his head in apology, "You were doubtless one of the very first to have known of the new Minister, even before he did. Then you must know as well what other affairs are about there these days for celebration..."
Sylvina returns to her desk, and leans on it, facing Citan. "Well, to tell the truth, not even the workers that were there that I have heard from know exactly what it is. A visiting dignitary, the birth of a new child, a random celebration, new feast day. Conflicting stories. It's a little late to be passed off as being for Minister Gaisce. Although I doubt the decor is his style, really". The truth this time, and she looks up at him, puzzledly. "Is this what this is about?". Abrupt as always. Still, she didn't get where she is today by fawning. Out with it.
The Guardian folds his hand up to his mouth, knuckles half-hiding the smile which extends around the semi-fist. A bit of study for a moment. He can afford to wait, be indulgent in his own humor for tonight as he watches Sylvina quietly over the glove of white. Finally he drops it and apparently his interest, judging from how loosely he treats his words as he replies, "The Solarian Princess, adopted daughter of the Empress Luka herself is to visit the castle and be entertained. I understand that she wishes playmates sharing approximately her same birthmonth that they may too celebrate her natal day with her." A slow smile, delivered with a look out of the corner of his eyes. "Not to mention that the rest of those who will be invited to the celebration must also find properly invigorating company to be with them. Perhaps?..." Everything hangs on that word, so lightly tossed out as if it were a feather.
Well, this is a bit of a surprise. And, for a while, Sylvina is being completely genuine, as she blushes a little, and covers her mouth gently with one hand. "Well, I...well, this is so sudden, and...Well, I'd be delighted, of course.". She is just enought Sylvina, still, to jump at the opportunity. Still, she can remain a light shade of pink, and still be in character, right? Well... "A solarian princess? Well, this is an honour. When is this event occurring?", she adds, just lucent enough to remember to ask about such details. "I am flattered, and honoured. I would be delighted to accompany you, Mr. Uzuki".
If anything, that smile comes richer still. But only on the inside, as the Guardian tilts his head in a fine veneer of polite confusion, crossing almost visibly across his features before he recovers gallantly. "It is to be later this month--the final details were to be ironed out once the Castle had a tally of who would be to attend. The records had shown you as having a daughter of approximately the right year--seven ago, was it? They had been so certain that she was born on the fifteenth, you see, and had wanted to send another messenger down to speak to you on the spot. I intercepted them en route and wished to have the pleasure of seeing you all to myself, I am afraid." Then the Guardian shakes his head in sincere apology, lifting a hand to forestay the impression of rejection. "I had feared that you would not be free to attend, since rousing the ire of jealous husbands is something the Ministers would prefer I stay free from while I am here. However, if you are truly free--how could I refuse your wish to attend the celebration?" A brow lifts as does the smile in what looks to be the Guardian flattered, and more than that, startlingly pleased. "It would not be a problem for you, then?"
Sylvina is...still blushing, but it is not from embarrasment this time. He _knows_. He was with her. Now, the conundrum. To lie, and laugh it off as a mistake, or...? Hm. It is a problem, indeed. "No, there will be no problem with...with...um, with anything. I..."...she trails off, and regards him shrewdly. Why? Why would he come here for that girl? It is puzzling in the extreme. Wipes her eyes, and pauses for a second. Oh, what the..."Hm. Actually, if you wanted to know anything about the girl, you needed only to ask. It's not as if I want her dead.". She looks up at him, straight in the eye, and regards him with an annoyed look. In her own mind, she does not like being strung along. And in her own mind, this is what is being done.
With this smile, I have seduced my enemies. I have laughed my way out of jail cells and into government and beyond. I have known kings. Now? Now the Guardian is turned cooler, the intensity of his focus blatently upon Sylvina at this point, leaning down upon the table he half-lounges upon to train those dark irises upon the woman. "They wished to know when the girl would be born to invite her, you see," he murmers, not letting his gaze slip for a moment. "I, on the other hand, knew that if she -were- eligible, then that would hardly be incentive to persuade you to attend, would it?" The corner of his mouth teases up, but it does not reach the seriousness of his eyes. Sylvina's annoyance does not even reach him. "If she happens to be born on another day, then it would be easy to report this back to the Ministers and so clear the way for you should you wish it." See? Ah, the choice is -Sylvina's- and has been all along. This had simply been a way of seeking to keep her from a possibly humiliating situation should she have gone unwittingly. "And... do you?" he adds lightly now, though not with humor but rather dark offering. "I know that it would be the most fitting place of all for you to be, though you might not share such an idea of your station. Your modesty befits you well, Madame, but surely you must want to move past it at times."
With a cutting shrewdness, and eye for oportunity, _I_ have provided for all that matters to me. _All_. The spectre of a past indiscretion will not bring me to submit to anyone, let alone this calm presence, seemingly unaware of what either of them knew they were talking about. She breaks eye contact, and retreats to a filing cabinet, taking her time, as she reaches to the very back, retieving an old, tattered-loking file. From this, she selects a stiff, official-looking certificate, and removes it from the cabinet. Returning to her place at the front of the table, she holds it out for him to take. "There. I think everything you might want to know is right there.". Far be it from her to even tell him herself. He can take it away, for all she cares. It no longer belongs to her.
Birth Certificate created with number 3963.
Description set.
You must specify a positive number of gold pieces.
Dropped.
Not a second glance is given to the file--indeed, Citan takes it delicately from her and drops it onto the table, even twitching it to the side with a gloved finger as if its proximity somehow dirtied the atmosphere around it. No, the Guardian is watching Sylvina, expression almost unaware of just how intent it is to set her up as a thing to be hungered after and a being already in one's possession already--it was only up to the target to realize it. "Everything?" he asks softly, letting that go for now. "Does this file hold your ambitions, Sylvina? Your hopes, your thoughts, that which catches your interest on summer afternoons, the particular shade of your eyes in candlelight? No--now it is gone." A pause. Yes. After this, many things were gone. Another moment of study, and he moves as if to slide off the table in disinterest and leave, though his eyes never shift. "And if you fear that that is all anyone would want you for... then I cannot stop you from refusing what you deserve."
Sylvina cannot move. A blank stare directed to Citan, the gravity of his words almost lost in the sheer...confusion of it all. "I...what do you mean, what I deserve? I'm afraid you've lost me.". Yes, he has. Sylvina has also lost herself, sullen air of shrewdness giving way to wide-eyed confusion and a kind of half-terror at not expecting any of this. For when you know what is happening, you are in contol. You can attain control. You can control others. Sylvina...is not even in control of herself. "I...what is it you want?". The confused question she might already have the answer to, but just not want to admit it. The question, perhaps, she does not want answered.
Truth be told, it's less what the Guardian wants than what Khiea wants. No, wait. It's not how Khiea would react, but how Hyuga would. No, that's not right either. This is the Guardian rising up to respond to what might have been a mortal affront to him were he Khiea long before and... never mind any of that, it was just a mess. But it does not matter what precisely this toying stems from--only that it is here, as hypnotizing as the pressure of Hyuga's stare as it captures what is beneath it, not in the dominating way that the untrained might but the seductive claim that you really wanted this all along. It's true. You want this, and something about the night and wine and candles could also be inserted here. "With this," again, the dismissive flick of his fingers to the file, "you no longer have that child attached to you at all. Now you are free to have what you deserve at last." Now you are free to be taken. Do you want this, this promise of mystery and power, heady and tangible as honey liquor? "Tell me, Sylvina," the Guardian continues, voice almost a purr, "what do -you- want?"
Sylvina stares intently at the floor, for the longest of times, clock ticking on the wall, faintest of patterns from fotsteps in the deep red carpet she stares into, the feeling of the wood of the table at her fingertips. It was a break from what she thought she had cast away so long ago. It is a feeling that she may never really have closure from that. It is what she said to Khiea on that day, to Go, be happy, and never come back. It is a childish wish, like a child crying for the moon. It is that which cannot be granted. And, what else would she possibly want? What else can she achieve, that will atone for what she did, if she felt need to atone? That would satisfy her more than any of what she has. She is hollow. She is a nothing, inpursuit of nothing. She raises her head. "...I don't know...".
And when she lifts her head, there is Hyuga still, already watching her with those depths in his dark eyes. They speak of so many things that are there if only you -reach- enough, seek and dive and hunt. "Come to the Princess's Birthday then," he whispers, sliding an envelope out of his jacket's inner pocket by feel and setting it down with a tap upon the table. "Come and find what is owed to you, Sylvina." Now the smile comes, low and warm and very much full of rapacious presence. "I can promise you that you will have a time to compare to none other." And with that, the Guardian lifts his head, drawing in a breath and turning in a fluid motion away. The eyes are the last to break, glimmering in a look over his shoulder before he strides towards the door, jacket and hair fluttering in confident lockstep, the door framing him before he is leaving through it and shutting out the moonlight behind him. Somewhere the file has disappeared, but he did say it meant nothing, did he not? This is raw power. This is raw drive. And you have only to take the invitation to join the dance. Well?