House of Cards RP

He hadn't come to Town looking for a fight, but the fight came to him nonetheless when accusations were flung his way about doing something as silly and trivial as spraypainting walls with toxic and smashing glass doors of Outsider-owned businesses.

Refusing to entertain baseless allegations, what ensued was how Christian preferred to send a message - in blood, and not in the cover of night like a criminal.

He wasn't callous enough to let the twitch of a smile show, but he didn't look apologetic about the situation.

"I had to defend myself." Which might not explain why Christian didn't even have a scratch on him and there was an Outsider bleeding, bruised and broken on the floor, not dead yet but not quite alive anymore. But it was the truth, and anyone who'd seen the Deckborn Spade being accosted could testify to that.

A sporting chance. It was more than what was deserved, so much more. Yet he'd acquiesced to the recommendation, figuring the message delivered would suffice. No announcements were made, no official notices given, save to the principals, but Ethan knew the gossip mill would take care of that.

He'd delivered his gauntlet to Romaldo Vega earlier in the week; it was elegant in its simplicity: duel to the death or permanent exile. Truthfully, Ethan had prayed the old Spade would choose the latter. Not that he didn't want to kill the bastard, but because he did. Unfortunately, Ser Vega's ego and his firm belief that those beneath him should be "unseen and unheard" demanded he meet the Ace's challenge. In the field, with sword and dagger.

( on the training fields )

This isn't the sort of Challenge-...well, counter-Challenge, that tends to draw much of an audience. Certainly not compared to all of those who had shown up to see the results of Pierre's original Challenge. Typically, a debate on historical points would have perhaps those in the Deck particularly interested in its history and...a few people directly connected to either the challenger or the challenged.

Of course, this isn't a typical challenge debate, not when it will decide whether Elani McCartney remains the Jack of Clubs or if Pierre Chareut will take her place. And so the auditorium is rather more filled with people than might be expected.

The actual format is relatively simple. Both parties were given a pool of potential historical turning points in the Deck from the last century or so to research and understand what led to those turning points and what came of them. Just before the debate begins, an unbiased third party draws at random one of those topics. A coin is tossed and comes up heads, giving Pierre the choice of whether to argue for or against that turning point. He chooses for and the participants have fifteen minutes to mentally prepare their respective arguments.

The judges' panel consists of three Cards chosen from outside of the suit of Clubs. One is a teacher of public speaking and debate at the Deck school, one is a historian for the Hearts, and the last is a historian from the Spades.

Once the research time is up, Pierre and Elani each take their places at a podium. Since he is speaking in affirmation, Pierre has the opportunity to lay out his argument first. Once his time is up, Elani sets out her opposing viewpoint before the cross examinations and rebuttals begin.

Both challengers speak well for the crowd and with conviction for the points they have chosen to debate. But in the end, the judges decide in favor of Elani due to her superior usage of the historical facts at hand.

When the winner is declared, Elani's relief is palpable in the way her shoulders settle and relax in a way they likely haven't since Pierre originally challenged her. And then the smile breaks out. She'd done it, despite the whispers that she'd crumble under the pressure, despite the simple fact that standing in opposition to Pierre was an intimidating feat in and of itself. She was still Jack and now she felt that she'd truly earned it.

Pierre had done some shopping earlier in the week. Things with Briony had progressed to the point that it was time to make it official and take that next step. She would rebel against it at first, and he knew that, but from where he stood, it was his will that she was submitting to. That's what she wanted, and it was time to give her a permanent reminder of his conquest. It didn't matter to him what others thought about their relationship, because no one would ever know what the relationship truly was.

She'd had her bells to be worn when with him for a while now. But this was a step that he'd waited to take for a long while; it was time.

Now, he was preparing himself for the battle of wills that waited ahead. He sat quietly with a beer in hand on a bench outside, taking in the quiet. His mind had been buzzing not long ago, worried about the embezzlement which he'd caught wind of and the upcoming counter-challenge, not to mention everything that hinged on the acceptance of one piece of jewelry which meant so much more than they would ever share with anyone. Yet now, so close to when he would present her with it, his mind was still as the air around him.

"Will she live?"

It was the only question he'd asked the medical staff thus far. And praise be to God that the nurse nodded, rechecking the IV pole at the teenager's bedside. "Call me when she's awake," he ordered, then abruptly turned and exited the medical facility. He had reports to do, a boatload of them.

( Three hours later, )

As he waited to hear his official time, Pierre stretched. He'd already shed his soaked shirt, and now stood in only his shorts, socks, and shoes. He was covered in mud and his own sweat, and a little bit of blood from where he'd risen a little too high and gotten his shoulder snagged in the barbed wire above him.

It had been a tough challenge, and a lot of preparation had gone into it in the last two weeks, but now he was just glad to be finished with it. He was exhausted, but flying high on the second wave of an endorphin rush. He'd walked through fire, run and crawled through more mud than he cared to ever see again, climbed under nets and barbed wire, and hefted his entire body weight across two separate vertical upper body challenges, and his body was finally protesting. His muscles burned and his veins pumped battery acid.

But the time had finally come back: one hour, forty-seven minutes. Elani had taken an hour and forty-nine minutes.

He'd won. He'd barely won, but he'd won, and his conditions had been harsher. Of course, he'd anticipated that, but it was still a relief to have his victory declared. He was halfway to getting the idiot out of the Jack's office.

While he was trying to catch his breath, Elani officially issued the counter-challenge. A debate, regarding the historical turning points in Deck history. He'd never actually had that as part of his education while growing up, so Pierre had some studying to do. The counter would take place in a week and a half.

He couldn't celebrate yet, but that didn't mean he wasn't thrilled.

[OOC: For those who are curious, the obstacle course was six miles long, and the challenges were the following -- Twinkle Toes, Hangin' Tough, Bale Bonds, Fire Walker, Mud Mile, Spider's Web, Funky Monkey, Trench Warfare, and Kiss of Mud.]

He'd been gone for the last few days on a business trip, dealing with an unfortunate soul who was putting the Deck in jeopardy. This one hadn't been an execution, but it was certainly a reminder to take care whom he fucked over; there were a handful of people whose entire job description was tying up loose ends like the man in question, but Pierre did it as a hobby, and as a service to his Suit which no others could or would handle, with exception to the King himself.

Now that he was home, his bags unpacked, and every inch of him scrubbed clean (but oh, how he'd reveled in the blood while it had lasted) just to be certain that there was no trace, Pierre had a mission report to give to Elisha. But since the King wasn't in just yet, it seemed that he had some free time -- which suited him perfectly; he could stand to have a proper homecoming with a few particular individuals.

It's a fairly well-known fact among those who are interested in this sort of thing that there are two superlative gardens in the Deck that specialize in the beautiful and the poisonous. One belongs, of course, to Maggie St. John in the Hearts, but the other belongs to Briony. She found it amusing, back when she bought her house, to specialize, and so her back garden is full of foxglove, belladonna, and her personal favorite - delphiniums.

They're such a pretty flower, she thinks as she steps outside, dressed to work. No one ever thinks the pretty things can kill you.

It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out Elisha's motivation for organizing - or, honestly, delegating the organization of - a semi-formal dance party. Lucinda had suggested a ball, with stars in her eyes. She probably had already picked out ballgowns and themes in her head when Elisha had nixed the thing and - in a moment of desperation, with the memory of the swing-themed Fox wedding still in his head - suggest a Spring Swing, instead.

Everyone had run with it, and Elisha was pleased to say it had come out well. He was even more pleased to say that he didn't have to wear a suit, even if he stepped out into the lantern-lit gardens in everything but the tie. He paused near the raised dais provided for dancing and gave the small band the signal to start up the music before he attempted to fade back in the crowd. Not that that ever worked.

"Let the games begin," he murmured to no one in particular as he picked up a glass of champagne off a tray.

Note: Open to everyone and their brother; tag around, have fun!

Things were unruly again, but it was getting a little better. It seemed that the stable man, Jack, was missing, and along with him, the others who had arrived with him. Questionable, certainly, but he'd maintain his silence for now. Eachann was still fine, and his Suit wasn't quite falling apart, so he'd let it go. For the moment.

Besides, he was still contemplating the repercussions of his recent...excursion with Briony. It was different from their past interactions. He it probably didn't mean anything, but he couldn't help wondering.

Still, there was something else bothering him. The cruel inner struggle raged on, and he could only keep the beast leashed.

It would need to be relieved soon, even still.

It'd begun simply as two old men meeting in the street after market down in Town. One thing had led to another, and just after sundown, a large group had gathered around a seemingly magical fire and instruments had found their way into talented hands and piece after piece after piece floated out over the evening.

The Joker, of course, was in the midst of it all, dancing merrily around the fire, twirling and swirling as the music dictated. She laughed, clapped her hands, pulled others from their seats to join her, even as her large equine shadow nickered, tossed his heavy head and cavorted just beyond the fire's light, dancing himself.

Some had brought food, others had brought drink, all had brought a sense of fellowship and good cheer, content to raise their glasses and voices in both toast and song, as if defying the hardships of yesterdays. Passersby were hailed, invited to share in the merriment, a few even hurried to the Castles to ensure all knew of the revelry taking place out under the starlit sky.



[ooc: come one, come all, come sit by the fire, have a drink, or dance with Juliette (she won't mind :>) feel free to start threads of your own, 'tis a party for anyone and everyone. Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow brings uncertainty, but tonight we rejoice in our blessings!]

This whole experience was just. Stupid. He didn't even want to be involved in the wedding thing at all, but he had to be. Couldn't very well be the best man without showing up, right?

The problem was that it meant a party and a speech. And he wasn't good at either of those things, damn it, but it had to be done. So if he was sitting under a tree in the Clubs' garden, slush be damned, and if he was trying to make words work together in a coherent manner, it wasn't his fault.

It also wasn't really his fault that pretty words didn't work for him because he didn't have the fancy education that others had. He didn't even have the education that his uncle had. There was no way this was going to be good.

Pierre cares for his uncle's family. They're sweet and more than a little affectionate, which can sometimes get uncomfortable, but he tolerates it. Nóra still insists on critiquing his wardrobe, and Erin really wants him to have children someday, but that wasn't even the most shocking bit of news today -- and, in fact, none of that was shocking at all. What did surprise him was being asked to stand as Mikail's best man when he and Alisain renew their vows next month.

He'd agreed, reluctantly, and promised to do his best to bring Briony around more, too. For some reason, Alisain was incredibly fond of her.

Whatever made the woman happy, he supposed. It wasn't that big of a deal, considering that he spent a portion of his spare time with her anyway. There was certainly something to be said for a woman who could take what he had to give and give it back just as good.

But now he was doing what he didn't do nearly enough: playing with Jaxon. The kid was sweet as candy and overly fond of 'Unca P,' so he did what any good cousin would do and indulged him. He'd probably take him home soon, but for right now, running after him was the name of the game.

It was time yet again to undertake an onerous chore: deciding what to wear for the Feast of Fools. Claudia glowered at her closet, wondering how much trouble she'd get into if she "accidentally" tossed a lighted match inside...after dousing the contents with gasoline. Probably more than she'd care to handle, really. So she merely sighed, strode determinedly forward and dove in. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, or so the saying went.

Two hours later (and with all sorts of clothing scattered everywhere), she'd narrowed the selection to two choices: formal, and ultra-formal. No doubt of which one she was expected to wear; her mother had sent up the latter just the other day, clearly Claudia was to take the hint.

--God, she needed a drink.


[ooc: Claudia Chareut, Nine of Diamonds, Assistant Director of HR and Pierre's half-sister. Info and such is in the journal; feel free to drop in to help out the poor girl's frustration! Also, can has tag?]

Pierre absolutely hated being anywhere near his mother for more than ten seconds at a time. Being around his mother, his cousins, his sister, and the rest of his family, along with the Gaspars and every other ridiculous family that the Chareut matriarch had decided needed to be in attendance only made it that much worse.

The upside had been attending with Briony and thoroughly disturbing the Chareut women. His date was the old Queen's spitting image, and it was only emphasized by her evening's dress.

Now Pierre was sitting at the bar, not having bothered to change out of his tuxedo yet, with a beer in front of him. He was just trying to decompress from the evening.

It had been a week since the doors leading back to the Outside world had become a one-way street. And while the Spades' kitchen could technically run on local produce, ingredients might start to be in short supply if the entire Deck was going to be relying on what was locally available. In winter, no less.

Iollan found the interim solution of getting Outsiders to bring things in only for them to be unable to leave to be... less than ideal. So between meals, he slipped out to the kitchen and headed into Town. There were half a dozen things he would need to source locally now, or find an acceptable substitute for. These weren't things you could wait until the shelves were empty to take care of.

Anyone who gets in the way of the man on a mission - either while he's in his castle or out and about in Town - will be entertained, if only briefly.

Pierre does what he does because he, on some level, enjoys it. He associates with whom he associates because he, on some level, enjoys them.

What he does not enjoy, however, is the gleaming white card stock invitation in his hand informing him that he's invited to the Chareuts' annual winter gala. It's a black tie affair that he will have no choice but to attend, or Martine will be sure to throw her quiet fit at him for ruining her event. If her own son can't be expected to show up, how can she expect anyone else to attend?

It doesn't matter how many times Pierre points out that he's only her son when it's convenient to her. He's invariably expected to attend or face the Chareut wrath, and though few are aware, Martine's anger can be almost as vicious as Shea's was, though in very different ways. While Shea would destroy a man's body, Martine attacks mind and mettle.

It's perfectly justifiable for him to have a beer in his other hand, then, while he stares with distaste at the invitation and, by proxy, the superficial woman for whom it stands.

Being an Ace isn't easy, but really? Being twelve isn't easy. Being in a cast isn't easy. Being asked to accept that, once again, someone who had been like a father seems to be gone isn't easy. Being asked to write poetry isn't easy.

Eileen, brilliantly, will be focusing on how poems are hard and dumb and not thinking about anything else.

Assist at your own risk. She's clearly in training to be a proper tween.

[Planting bulbs before it snows again.]

It was a few months ago that she and Cooper had this idea of a community garden at the Green, to replace the grove destroyed by The Magician a freak weather pattern, but time's gotten away from her. Between the storm at the beginning of last month, some oddities off-Deck and on, and the latest incarnation of the Face Card Shuffle, there hasn't been all that much time. But there seems to be a brief - possibly momentary - lull, and she's raided Bloom and Grow in the Club District for some bulb plants she can get started this autumn. Most of the garden will have to wait until spring, but the callas, the tulips and the daffodils?

They're going in now.

As it turned out, the Hearts and Clubs were instating their new monarchs on the same day but at different venues and times. On Friday morning, Carmella found herself surrounded by her former colleagues who were performing the very tasks that she had once performed for Argine. It was odd being waited on, having someone else dressing you and piling up your hair, but a ceremony was a good opportunity for her to get used to the idea of handing over the reins. The Club’s coronation was not intended to be an extravagant affair; then the Diamond event planners came to the party. The shining Suit was also responsible for the dress and flower arrangements.

Carmella had attended Oyotunde Obi’s coronation as King of Hearts earlier in the day but had not stayed on for the feast as she had her own coronation to attend. The welfare of the Hearts was still important to her, considering her ties to them but she was now a Club through and through. Mrs Rosengart had mixed feelings about Carmella’s ‘promotion’. On one hand, she was proud of her daughter’s success but it also departed from the family tradition of undertaking for Face Cards. By the early evening, it was the Club Suit's turn to present their monarch. The event was fancier than Carmella had expected; at least the audience was of a comfortably small size. To end off the ceremony she recited a coronation oath, swearing loyalty to the Clubs.

Members of her Suit and all of the Face Cards are invited to speak with her afterwards or to mingle.