Disgraceful.

  Disgraceful. Disgraceful. Dis grace ful.

  That was the universal word he had to describe that which was transpiring around him at every moment.

  The food? Disgracefully cking in taste. Disgracefully cking in color. Disgracefully cking in presentation.

  The people? Disgraceful to the st. They cked regality in the way they moved, disgraceful. Their clothing cked the purpose and fir of the nobility, disgraceful. Their mannerisms were sheepish and cked the boldness necessary to rule, disgraceful.

  What of the venue? It cked the fashion and luxury one needed to properly convey - it was disgraceful.

  All of it, every st aspect of this feast bar a few key individuals were utterly cking in the areas necessary to satisfy even the lowest standards he had set. Even those who did manage to pass the low bar were still only barely acceptable.

  "This won't do!" His whispers were loud, but nobody was paying enough attention to him to notice. That was disgraceful in itself. "I knew it, allowing prince Merndil to ascend to the throne is no good! He cks the requisite qualifications to be a ruler, an emperor."

  His breathing quickened as he choked down a gss of wine. This was perhaps the least disgraceful part of this entire circus, if only because it was a product of the Bulsarzian Empire. Even then, it could not compare to the quality of wine from the fruits of the Imperial Gardens.

  "Keh! And the second prince is worse!" Truly, the disinherited Rashtvice had disgraced the great name of the Bulsa Imperial Family. He would certainly be reporting this incident to his father and the emperor upon his return.

  "Truly, the third prince must inherit! He is the only hope to maintain the grace and prestige of the Empire." Another breath, another gss of wine. How he wasn't drunk was beyond the knowledge of the common man. It was probably beyond the understanding of many a practiced physician too.

  "I must do something, anything, to separate that woman from the prince! This disgrace of a party was her idea, her idea! How could he not have consulted me beforehand?!?!" One more gss of wine trickled down his throat, the waiter standing next to him had log since abandoned the idea of walking away with a gss still on the ptter. "Could she be. . ? Impossible! No wretched skank could possibly think about ying their hands on the royal bloodline!"

  The ptter was starting to run low on wine, a development that was very much welcomed by the waiter.

  "Of course, he is still searching for a suitable empress. No vile and arrogant woman who views herself as beautiful and pure could possibly resist the allure of being the emperor's wife! She has to be stopped, and the prince must not be allowed to risk his seed as such in the future!!!"

  The man began to gnaw at his thumbnail, now that the wine was gone this was the only way to manage his stress. The warping in his nails was an excellent indicator of just how often he coped in that way. However it was effective, the pain of his teeth pinching the nerves on his thumb bringing him back to reality.

  "At least there is some level of elegance here!" His eyes were drawn to a particur table close to the center of the room. "He passes! An exempr of proper etiquette and the Noble mannerisms. If only these people were half as graceful as that man, then I might not even be a tenth as angry!"

  He contempted walking over and starting a conversation with the man, currently embroiled in the festivities with a few far less graceful individuals. However someone of his status could not be seen to make the first move to establish retions with someone of lower status. Even if they were of equal rank, if he hailed from a lesser nation then it would only be proper for him to pay homage.

  "Another time perhaps, another time. It isn't every day that I come across another as graceful as I, but it would be disgraceful of me to make the first move." His hand moved to his mouth, what remained of his thumbnail being spared only by the arrival of another waiter. "If we are fated to interact, our paths will cross once more. Perhaps in a less inhibiting environment. Perhaps in an official setting. Yes, yes. That would be proper. That would be graceful."

  He downed the gss, somehow more coherent than he had been three bottles ago.

  - - - - -

  "What's his problem?" Wall didn't lean over to whisper in Sanna's ear, such would make it incredibly obvious that they were talking about the nuisance in question. Instead he lowered his voice to a quiet talk and made it seem like he was engaging in normal conversation. "He's been muttering about disgrace and the like since this party started."

  "You run into those types every now and again, nobles with a stick up their ass and believe manners and appearance are the primary factors that determine one's worth as a person." Sanna rolled the dice, menting that he did not get a four, five, or six on his first roll. "Those qualities are important of course, I believe that the outside can be a good indicator of what is inside, but as we have seen with our dear squad leader it isn't anywhere approaching a perfect measure."

  "You wouldn't expect him to be such a sve driver from the way he normally looks and acts."

  "Exactly." Sanna rolled again, a six and a four this time. "Unfortunately, there are a great many dimwits who do not understand that. I was one of them at one point in my life, rather recently as well."

  "Day one?"

  "The first day of training was when my eyes were opened, that is be correct. My father had always told me not to judge by appearances, and I thought I had figured out what he meant years ago. I never would have thought it would be a monster to wake me up to the truth."

  "Personally, I thought we were still going to be dealing with a hard ass from his introduction." Wall had been absolutely delighted with Manama's cooking, he was on his fourth pte. "That was beyond my expectations though."

  "I was under the impression that commanders usually took that attitude to keep the troops in line, but I suppose you would have more experience in that field." Sanna rolled his st time, no fives. Disappointing, but as he had learned over the course of the night it happened more than you might think. "Back straight and elbows off the table. Looks aren't everything but they aren't nothing."

  "I know, I know." While he was at it, he corrected his grip on his utensils. "How is Len doing?"

  "So far so good, though I can't really hear him." Sanna handed the dice to Wall. "I'd like to say he is conducting himself well, but I think we both know that isn't really the case."

  "They aren't ughing with him, that's for sure." Wall rolled the dice, three sixes, a five, and a four. "YES!"

  Sanna grimaced from the sudden shout, and his comrade's disproportional luck. "Keep it down, Wall. It's just a game."

  - - - - -

  "So you are a part of Lord Strauss' squad? Interesting. What exactly do you do when you aren't competing?"

  "W-we mostly just train." Len was doing far worse than Sanna was giving him credit for. "We wake up in the morning, workout until we drop, and then we are left to practice our own weapon skills on our own time if we feel up to it."

  "Oho?" It was that sort of reaction that turned him off from sharing this sort of information. It was slightly haughty, hard work often considered a sign of weakness. Natural born talent had a tendency to trump all for these types. Len, someone who was better than average but still technically of common blood, did not fit their definition of 'talented'. "Are you not already a proficient fighter?"

  "I am, I think, but Sir Strauss isn't satisfied with our current skill level. We had a te start, sort of, so he wanted us to catch up with everyone else as fast as we could." Len rolled the dice with a shaky hand. "He did let us participate in the tournament though."

  "The tournament? The very same one Lady Tempest participated in?"

  "Y-yes."

  "Fascinating. How far did you make it?"

  "I beat one person. . ." Len could feel the tears coming on. For the 'son' of an esteemed general, it was embarrassing to admit just how poorly he had done.

  "Ah . . . better luck next time." They seemed to have lost interest in him at that very moment, returning to their game of Cargo and making conversation in a way that seemed to exclude him.

  Was he supposed to know about the fabric certain clothes were made of?

  What about wine? Did he know how to appraise it's quality?

  Was he expected to understand the intricacies of music?

  "I think I should be going to check on the commotion that broke out a while back. . ." Len made to stand up, his feeling hurt further when nobody at the table responded. He snuck away quietly and headed towards the hall that he had seen Titanyana run down and a few panicked people run out of. If he was going to make an excuse to leave, he was going to make sure he followed through on that excuse.

  Besides, he was a little curious as to why Titanyana was in such a rush.

  Avoiding other nobles as best he could, he made his way towards the crowded hallway exit. It wasn't too hard, most of them were already speaking with their own little posse as he passed. They payed him no mind, he was still 'just a boy' after all. It hurt, but if he could use it as an excuse to not interact with them he could accept it.

  "E-excuse me." They barely made an effort to let him through, resulting in him brushing against some of them as he passed. "Thank you."

  Manners were important for someone as reserved as him. Should he forget it could be seen as disrespect.

  Now all he had to do was look around and see what was going on.

  "Len?"

  - - - - -

  Rashtvice was coherent enough to identify the newcomer when he walked into the room. His vision, still a little fuzzy when looking at distant objects, had a tough time making out his face. However his remarkably small stature in comparison to everyone else immediately drew his image to the forefront. How common was bck hair, red eyes, and a short height at a party of nobles?

  "It's been a while since the tournament. Did my brother invite you?"

  His brother knew just about everyone from the Empire who was in attendance at the academy. He didn't invite all of them to his parties, more than just a few of them barely disguised their hostility towards him, but getting on Sir Arrelois' good side by including his adopted son was a political move so obvious even Rash could see it.

  "Your brother?" Len seemed a little put off by the sudden recognition. "I wasn't invited by anybody? I - I - I live here?"

  Rash stared at his little friend like a dummy for a few seconds while his concussed brain struggled to make the connections. His first thoughts encapsuted the realm of 'don't you live on Sphitori' and 'this is just a barracks, nobody lives in the barracks' before he reminded himself that he was attending the academy. For the moment, Len lived on the Great Csilcra and slept in the barracks.

  "And what do you mean by your brother?"

  More confusing information for a dull under normal circumstances mind to comprehend. 'What do you mean by that?' he thought, 'Everyone knows my brother. He's the Crown Prince for Sanctum's sake!' The gears were turning, but not as fast as he would have liked. Perhaps Len was more of a recluse than he thought? That still wouldn't really expin why he didn't know who was hosting the party . . . except his brother wasn't hosting the party.

  Diana was the host, Merndil was the sponsor.

  "Are, are you okay? You don't look okay."

  Len came close enough for Rash to make him out clearly. Red eyes, white skin, bck hair. A unique combination in his experience, and he had more experience than most. He couldn't help but notice a slight saggy redness underneath those eyes though, obviously Len wasn't okay either.

  "I'm fine, just got socked in the jaw. Just an average night on the town for me." Len didn't look convinced. "Don't worry about it, chances are I deserved it."

  "You definitely deserved it dimwit." A light chop on the back of his head could only be his brother. "Thank you for being concerned young man, but this idiot is going to have to deal with the consequences of his own actions at some point. I take it the two of you are acquainted?"

  "First off, ow!" Even a light shock would hurt him when he wasn't prepared for it. "And yes, this is the guy I was talking about before, Len. He's Arrelois' adopted son."

  "Is he now? Well, Len, I must say it is a pleasure to meet you." Merndil extended a hand. "Merndil Bulsa, Crown Prince. I have heard great things from your father."

  "From . . . my father?"

  Len paused. Just as Rash was trying to piece things together, he was now ambushed by unexpected information.

  "And you are . . . his brother?" Merndil nodded. "A prince? Bulsa? Merndil?" They were still in the middle of a handshake, Merndil seeming quite amused by this reaction. "Prince, Prince Merndil. Prince Merndil? Crown Prince Merndil?!"

  "That is correct."

  "A-and that would make you Prince Rashtvice?!"

  "Didn't I say that before?"

  Len panicked. Well, he began to panic more. "N-no! I don't think you did!"

  cakeonfrosting