House of Cards RP

Normally, if Julien is seen out at a table somewhere, he does so with a deck of cards.

This time he's sitting in front of a checkerboard and he's carefully setting out the checkers.

And it may be that the former King of Spades is sitting across from him.

[ooc: blame tumblr randomnity. And Jordan. And also feel free to have your character watching the madness.]

"So act like you know me."

The cane he still carries scrapes across the stone floors of Club Castle, signaling the King's arrival even if the King had wanted to move silently. Only a few more weeks, he tells himself as he gives the cane a baleful look and then casts a more curious - and more concerned look at the door.

Argine is no longer Queen, but she still knows how to issue a summons. These days, when she does - it isn't the best of news.

But perhaps he's just being pessimistic. People tell him he has a tendency to think the worst.

He knock; he waits, and when he hears her voice, he steps inside. "You asked to see me?"

No one should be able to giggle this much this quietly!

The state of things in the Deck recently - from embezzlement, to the sudden rising xenophobia, to some vague murmurings about the Chess Set - have meant that no one has given much thought to the little things. It's been months since Iggy got the wrong files and found out about Alasdair's little career, and after waiting for the shoe to drop, Alasdair got complacent about it.

Maybe no one cared.

But that was wishful thinking, when it comes down to it. Things are calm enough for people to start whispering, and this isn't the first person to come up today and ask him about it. The answer's pretty much the same, though:

Yeah. I guess it is true.

See this face? I'm not interested.

Now that the weather's warmed up quite a bit, Johnny has been spending more time outside playing his fiddle as opposed to inside bars and coffeehouses. Conveniently, various shop owners don't mind him camping out by their shops.

Certainly the Deck isn't so large that he doesn't see certain people repeatedly in short periods of time. But one girl keeps showing up far more than just general coincidence. At least, he thinks, she doesn't seem to be the starry-eyed sort who follow him from time to time.

He's fairly certain she's a relatively new Card...maybe a Spade. Not that it really matters at the end of the day. It certainly doesn't preclude him from striking up conversation. Or from finishing his set, packing up, and walking down the street with her to pick up a coffee.

Obviously he isn't thinking about what the gossip mill might say or how it might get back to Rowan. Then again, they've hardly seen each other lately. It makes flirting with a beautiful lady all the more easy.

This year, Wren's phone call to wish her happy birthday had come two days late. She hadn't heard from Tegan yet, but she would, Avery thought as she finished her coffee in the Diamond kitchen and stretched her legs under the table. She was dressed for riding, and she'd make her way to the stables soon enough to have Drusilla saddled for their weekly ride out of Town.

But for the moment, she was sitting quietly in the kitchen before the Castle completely woke up, a contemplative look on her face. Twenty-nine. She wasn't one to put much stock in age as a number, but there was something strange about thinking of herself as almost thirty. Some days she didn't feel that old. More often, she felt a lot older than she was. It was odd, she reflected as she pushed her cup away. She had actually achieved most of her goals - though it had always Queen she'd wanted to be, not Ace - but they didn't give her the satisfaction she'd expected even a few years ago. That was the way life went, though, wasn't it? She asked herself silently as she stood up and gave Minnie a wave as she headed out the doors and through the corridors of Diamond Castle until she was outside in the crisp March morning air.

It always sparkled more looking in than when you were actually there.

[Run into her before she leaves or at the stables, or even once she's riding.]

There's still a lot to learn.

But that's okay. He's starting to feel properly that it's okay. It's okay that he's still getting used to walking with a knife in his boot. It's okay that he's adjusting to which Fives to call by their name and which will all but slap him if he doesn't say 'sir.' It's okay that his greatest visible skill is an incredibly efficient knack for getting paperwork filed and delivered, and that the skill he's been progressing best at is classical piano.

Yes, the man he came here to find is an overwhelming force of nature. Yes, watching his father Challenge to Ten had absolutely sent him, briefly, through half a crisis. But that's okay too.

Because he's here. He's here, and here is the right place to be.

It's the right place to be while he works at filing cabinets. It's the right place to be while he steals mouthfuls in the kitchen and whispers in more comfortable languages than English with other former Outsiders. It's the right place to be while he gets his ass handed to him in the training fields and forces himself back up onto his feet.

And it's the right place to be while he steals out on an afternoon off to just skip rocks over the newly thawed lake. Because it's really nice to know that skipping rocks and throwing knives are both starting to feel equally normal.

He hadn't attended Julien's challenge to Ten a few weeks back, though it had seemed at the time that he'd been the only one who hadn't. Jordan had been somewhat...preoccupied at the time with the sudden disappearance of the Nine of Spades who technically served as his supervisor in the legal department.

He hadn't thought that it was like Emily Smythe-Jones to do something like that, but she'd vanished as if she'd never been there. Maybe she knew something the rest of them didn't, Jordan thought as he twirled his pen before setting it down on his desk. In any case, with her gone, the small legal staff was looking to him, even if he had the least legal training of all of them. He was, after all, the Nine. And more than that, at least with one of the paralegals who'd grown up in the Spades - he was the Novak and the Bernard. Surely he'd have a handle on things.

He did, mostly, though there had been more late nights than he liked to think about. It was possible, though, that his grandmother had been correct at dinner the week before when she'd stated that Jordan needed to take charge. It was true enough that he hadn't had time to fall into a mood recently, nor did he feel the inclination to do what he did too often recently - barricade himself off with his dark mood until he felt ready to pretend some interest in the rest of the world.

Something that was odd enough to give him pause when he finally realized it. Something that made him wonder, Jordan thought as he stepped out of the legal department and glanced towards the King of Spades office, if his grandmother was also right about what else he should be doing.

He turned on his heel, walking in the opposite direction from the royal suites. That, he reflected, would require him to be a Ten first. Probably it was worth more of his time to think about that first.

Annie's lot in life is being tripped up by her own expectations. Didn't expect to wake up at sixteen in a hospital bed, didn't expect to return to the Deck, didn't expect to make an enemy of an old friend, certainly didn't expect to fix that friendship or to marry him. If at all, plans and expectations are for Future Annie, the one always a week, a month, a year off.

It always catches her off guard when Future Annie insists on being Present Annie.

Therefore, Present Annie is turning up on your doorstep, whether home or office, with a definite need to talk. Possibly for advice. Possibly just to panic.

It's getting back to skirt weather again. With jackets and leggings, of course, but skirts and dresses nonetheless. And that's a nice thing. Eileen's personal style has always been more in the line of skirts than of trousers; the freedom and aesthetic which young girls fashion tends to leave free and loose and lovely.

But this year, it feels a little different. This year, she's apparently 'got legs.'

Which is ridiculous, because she's always had them, and she's always kept them in fighting shape, and she's never made much effort in hiding them away from the world. But apparently this is the year when fifteen year old boys are going to acknowledge them. Apparently this is the year when boys are actually going to talk to her in a way that's awkward because they keep glancing over her rather than twisting in the uncomfortable way children often do around their Suit's Ace.

It's one of the many things swirling in her mind as she sits quietly on a bench in the Green, nose wrinkled in her habitual thoughtful expression. Getting chatted at is, after all, doing nothing to help her sort through the lingering feelings in her gut after the last Challenge she'd attended.

Home isn't a place. Cynric's known that almost since before he could walk. Almost since before his little voice had started trying to wail in harmony with the brother strapped to the back of the parent not carrying him.

Home isn't a place. It doesn't matter he's spent so many months wandering again, flitting here to there along the borders, visiting the links of the chain which is the Outposts for a few days at a time and never getting stuck too long at any particular stop. It doesn't matter that he only sees Johnny in fits and starts when the other man appears briefly on the radar. It doesn't matter he hasn't rested his chin on top of October's head and asked her about poetry in ages. Home isn't where he is.

It isn't 'coming home' to wander his way into Town, a scrawny little pup trotting at his heels with a waggling tail. It isn't 'coming home' to sit on the Green with the creature leaning against his leg and his lute being idly plucked like a smaller instrument in his lap. It certainly isn't 'coming home' to slip his way through the halls of Hearts and find himself finally scrawled comfortably in a familiar bed with the puppy curled up on his chest.

It will be 'coming home' when Johnny actually gets back to the small quarters. Or, you know. Anyone who comes wandering in instead of the man who actually lives here.

Katya had likely not been thrilled when Julien had presented his request for Challenge to Ten, at least not in his requested method. But it had been a year since he had been made Nine and there was little reason for her to deny him. At least with Julien, unlike certain other High Cards, he did not have a reputation for killing during a Challenge despite whatever his subsequent job duties may or may not have entailed.

And so it was that Julien approached one Jameson Monroe on a bright Sunday morning upon finding the man relaxing with a few of his cronies on a Spade Castle veranda. It was entirely possible, Julien reflected, that their coffee mugs contained a little more Irish than coffee.

The Nine had planned this Challenge with more care than most might give him credit for. He arrives looking just slightly less than dressed perfectly. It's actually impressive he made it this far without Chives catching him. And so the top button of his collar is undone, there is a loose thread on his sleeve, and his shoes are just slightly scuffed. Nothing that would call too much attention to itself, but just enough for the subconscious to take in a man not at his best. Just enough to solidify the image in Jameson's mind that he wished to see of the former Ace. A man beaten down by his fall in life, a man who had not had the drive to Challenge back up immediately upon gaining his release from prison. A man who had been relegated to training and working out of a small, back corner office. Certainly not the bogeyman he'd once been made out to be, everyone knew that first Athena's first disappearance and then his later being beaten by then-King David had taken most of his fire. The imprisonment was just the last straw.

Or at least that's what Jameson wanted to believe. It was, to him, the fate of all Outsiders, to eventually learn their place within the Deck. He expected Ethan would learn the same lesson soon enough.

Julien, however, knew that Jameson was impulsive and arrogant, particularly when it came to impressing those around him. It was, really, quite amazing that the man had both attained the rank of Ten and held onto it for as long as he had. The Nine had watched quite intently as Jameson had defended his rank only a few months ago. And made notes.

So now, Julien approaches the little knot of men with something almost like hesitation in his step, he quite carefully does not meet Jameson's gaze with his own. His entire attitude suggests a weaker man addressing his better.

It's something of a surprise, then, when Julien states to Jameson's left shoulder that he's Challenging the Ten for his rank, unarmed combat, last man standing. Jameson laughs disdainfully and stares Julien down, thinking it just another sign of Julien's newfound stature in life that he didn't Challenge with blades. If he'd been more clever, he might have given second thought to the entire situation but no one had ever claimed the man was particularly clever. "I accept," he says, after glancing briefly to the other men around him, "this afternoon. Four o'clock. Practice room B."

Julien's lips curve up just slightly as he finally meets Jameson's gaze, a predator who's just snared his next victim. "As you will, your lordship."

Only then does Jameson start thinking he had perhaps made a mistake.

( Four o'clock sharp and the two challengers meet in the appointed space. )

What do you think about Caitlin?

It's possible that things aren't exactly occurring according to schedule. It's probable that Zoe Fox is jumping the gun a little bit. But hey, looking at names never hurt anyone.

It was the night before Valentine’s Day.

Some years ago (or has it been decades, already?), during the Spades’ reformative years, they built a bigger ballroom closer to the heart of the castle to accommodate a bigger castle-dwelling population. This old room had since fallen into disuse, and it had become a bit of a storage space for miscellaneous paintings, ornaments, old bits of furniture and other knick-knacks that no longer had a place on the castle’s walls.

But beyond the physical objects that were cowering under large white sheets, this old ballroom also held a lot of memories. This old ballroom still had faint marks on the polished floors and invisible lines on the walls beneath the wallpaper, where they had once feasted and celebrated and dreamed and challenged and died. This old ballroom still had the old grand piano in the corner. And tonight, this old ballroom had a dark silhouette sitting at the grand piano, playing a song in the complete darkness.

There was little natural light from the outside filtering in through the curtains, all the lights were switched off and the space between the doorframe and the door standing ajar let light into an unoccupied corner of the room. But the fingers never missed a key.

Once upon a time, years and years ago, a now-older Spade composed this song for a now-dead Queen. Once upon a time, in this very room, people laughed and cried and danced to this song.

At midnight, when the magic turns the fantasy back into some mice and a pumpkin, the ballroom-cum-storage room would revert to its dusty silent state, and the silhouette bent over the piano would let go of the nostalgia that dragged him here and spend Valentine's Day with the living. But until then, like blood seeping out from an open wound, the music would continue to trickle out of the dark room and into the hallway.

It's one of those days when lots of things that are ridiculous are bound to happen. Even in rough times--even when the world feels uncertain around them--people are coming together. People are holding hand and staring into each other's eyes and setting paper hearts on fire, as is appropriate.

Of course Evan McCartney's going to be one of the ridiculous ones. Of course he's going to be in the spirit of the season, even if the actual end of times arrives (which it absolutely has not yet). And of course he's going to use the goodwill he's built up across all four Suits over the to amass just enough equally (or slightly less) ridiculous human persons to assist in it.

It takes very little to get Riley dragged out to the Green with him. It's taken just a bit more to actually pull off a flash mob.

Which is wonderful. Which is far from flawless, but which is full of their friends--of their family, of the people they love. Which is lots of jumping and laughing and spinning even if steps are forgotten and tripped over and made up on the spot.

And which all comes down absolutely to kneeling before his girlfriend in the middle of all those people who make up their lives with a nervously hopeful look on his face.

( 'Riley Aemilia James.' )

[ooc; The last bit clearly aimed at Riley, but the general spectacle is open to comment if anyone else cares to make comment. Also, feel free to assume that if you have spoken even once to Evan or are a friend of Riley's, you were probably invited to be a part of the dancing. Happy early hearts-day fluff in your faces.]

It was snowing again, Addy thought with a wry sort of expression. At least he was somewhat amused, which was a vast improvement on his moods the last few days. Elisha, however, did not seem too pleased with Addy's humor- or his decision to be the King's personal bodyguard. However, being a man of action and not explanation, Addy hadn't bothered to argue. He merely continued to conduct himself as a bodyguard would, while pointing out if Elisha hadn't been reckless it wouldn't be necessary.

It was the King's own fault, really.

All the same, he sat silently outside the King's door, playing solitaire without much concern for the rest of the castle's grumbles. That was Elisha's problem, not his.

Julien had been remarkably even-keeled for quite some time, particularly for him. So it became a bit of a surprise to his students when he'd begun snapping about a week ago, pushing them harder than they were perhaps ready for. It hadn't escalated to anything particularly dangerous, but it was still perhaps noteworthy.

For his part, Julien was just as irritated about the fact that he'd let something so stupid get to him as he was about the little spat he'd had with the youngest Ace the previous week. She'd never outright refused to see him before, though, and the rejection stung.

It shouldn't affect him so much, but it had.

So he's dismissed the two students he'd had for this afternoon and sat himself in the closet they call his office down by the training rooms. He can, at least, get some work done. But there's no focusing on that, either, so what he's really doing is throwing knives at a target on the wall instead.

The door is, at least, open.

This had, apparently, been an interesting time to throw himself into this work--this world. He'd been led to believe it was something dangerous but a bit antiquated.

But now there were briefcase bombs, apparently. Now there were a rash of Challenges across all the Suits--some fairly civilized, some bloody as anything. Now there were people whose lips curled at his accent and stood a little more stiffly until he left--and people who arched their brows and told him to be ready.

The accent he had been working on diligently. The fluency with English was coming from his near constant practice. The filing is much more satisfying work than polishing at soup spoons had been.

But now was the time to make certain he was working on other important thing. He'd practiced fustély in his physical education courses as a child, but that was something to continue working on quietly. Today?

Today, he's on the training range with an almost ceremonially-arched bow, squinting down the line of the arrow thoughtfully.