House of Cards RP

There was a time when he spent a lot of his time painting more realistic works - Argine had never been much for abstracts - and at the time, he'd bristled against it, to the point where in the last few years, he'd only painted a few portraits.

Expressionism was beginning to bore him, though. He'd been discovering more inspiration, lately, in what was in front of him rather than in patterns that came straight out of his mind.

This particular portrait only had a certain amount to do with inspiration, admittedly. The idea when it had come to him had half been inspired by pure trolling wickedness, and had half been inspired by a desire to create a stir. Do something wild and inappropriate that would have some of the other Faces frowning in his general direction. And when it came to that sort of a plot, Katya was the perfect accomplice.

He tapped the paintbrush against his lip. "What do you think?" He asked. "Just do away with drapery all together?"

Rap doesn't generally ask permission first.

Well, unless it's possible his face is going to be broken. He likes his face unbroken. It lowers the chances of not being able to see out of his eyes.

So he doesn't ask permission before decorating what areas of the town he can. In many cases, it's extra decorating; where the residents or shopowners have already hung up fairy lights and wreaths, Rap has added cheerful creations of dry twigs or ribbons in between. He's much more ostentatious where there hasn't yet been any effort, and on one shop's wall is the most ridiculous mural of a sleigh crossing the sky showering presents. (If someone got a very good magnifying glass, they might read 'look at me! I'm from Outside!' in the curls of Santa's beard.)

It's an all-nighter endeavour, and he goes forth as soon as it gets dark. Some people give him tacit nods, so he knows he's free to go wild with their properties, some don't notice him at all, or ignore him, and he ignores them in turn, but he still leaves them a little string of pretty glitter-covered dried leaves. And if people are asleep or gone by the time he gets to a place, he isn't really quibbling. Sensible people are in their beds.

Sensible people also open windows suddenly, and Rap runs from those automatically. His decorations hang sadly from one peg, abandoned.

He'll welcome help where he can, try to avoid conflict where he can, but when the sun is rising he'll have opened up the umbrella of one of the Cafe Cocodrilo's less damaged outdoor tables, swept the snow off the table and the chair, and set his head down to rest, near-empty sack kicked under the table.

[ooc: catch him anywhere from evening to wee hours to dawn. He won't have been able to decorate everywhere, and at least one person is going to think of calling him out for trespassing. He didn't think that part through.]

This sort of stuff happens to Other People. Prosper's been lucky in that he's never really been a victim of anything - aside from being a victim of Evan's insistence that the outdoors weren't dangerous at all. Now, however, is a different story. Now he's defeated, slumped against a wall in Town, fuming as he downs his third black coffee of the day.

He's not happy. He's not happy at all, and he should probably find someone to get himself out of the pit, but for now, he's perfectly content to do some wallowing in anger. After all, the one true love of his life has been shut-down thanks to some kids spilling a combination of dangerous biohazards - what else is he supposed to do?

She's managed well enough, all things considered. One night spent burying her tears in Cordelia's fur. Several meals at her parents' table, being clucked over by her mother. Curling up in Alasdair's arms when the opportunity presents itself. Making sure her work still gets done, even if some of the Tens are surreptitiously taking more on themselves for the time being without informing her of the fact.
( And today she's finally taking a little time, properly, for herself... )

[ooc: catch her on the beach, if you want, nobody's seen her dance in a while so it might be cause for comment. Otherwise, it's a long walk from the beach back to Club Castle and she'll probably swing through Town for a small bite and something to drink.]

This time will work out perfectly.

The Clubs are tense this week. It's understandable, considering. Elani had lost the obstacle race, though she'd done much better than most people had expected. And of course, she'd countered, but a debate was something that required preparation, so now the position of Jack of Clubs is hanging in the balance until Pierre and Elani do the counter in a few more days. He's given Elani a little more time off, to get ready, and he and Lucy have been sharing the responsibility for organizing the summer carnival, in a month's time. With two of them working on it - and last year's experience under their belts - it's not that much work to arrange the Clubs' part of the entertainments, though he sincerely hopes it won't end with another ball, as lovely as the Midsummer's Night Dream ball had been.

He really hates ties.

Now, however, he's putting the finishing touches on a completely different project, and ironically it's the sort of project he hated the most when he was a the Court Artist: the royal portrait. There's something soothing about it, and he catches his tongue between his teeth as he mixes together oils to get the right shade to capture the effect of the light on Lucy's hair in the photograph they'd taken for just this purpose. Sittings worked better, really, but who had time for that?

The studio door is standing wide open; they can probably blame Q for that.

So apparently there are a zillion things going wrong with the Deck these days. Murders and Challenges and hijinks and all the sort of thing which really, well, if the denizens don't expect it by now, they're just not the best at denizen-ing this particular location of denizenship, are they.

So you know who isn't concerned? This Joker.

And you know who is still riding a high from his weekend get-away with his super-best-friend Johniel? Also this Joker. So you know who is ready to talk your ear off about elephants and dyeing silk and macaroni on a stick? Yes, still Cynric. He is, at least, playing very energetically while he babbles.

Seriously, though. Mac and cheese. On a stick. You know you have hours to listen to him talk about that. Don't be shy.

Spades on the third floor of the east wing apartments would have woken to a passing pounding on each of their doors early in the morning. Raphael's already long gone before they've poked their heads through the doors to answer, tapping at any wooden furniture and practically singing as he goes.

Well. Not really singing. Maybe a bit of light-footedness, though.

Because it's the Day. The Day of his bridge being completed at last. The previous day had seen sunset with only a few parts left to be nailed into place. Raphael fully intends to impart it with all the ceremony that it deserves.

It's an impromptu party atmosphere. He hadn't intended there to be a much bigger celebration than himself and the people he'd roped into working on the bridge with him, but someone's brought food and there's beer from somewhere. Probably Ben. He'll have to remember to thank him later.

For now there's a jaunty pounding into place of nails and a small balancing act on the rails to proudly declare the bridge to the ruins "OPEN!"

Later he'll be soaked and miserable and have to plan fixing the bridge up from its sudden breaking and dropping him into the ocean. But after all, hubris affects even the worst of men.

[ooc: Minnie will be the one actually saving him, but everyone else can tag before or after.]

Kritika can usually be found in different places in the Spades castle curled up with her laptop. During hours on her shifts, of course, she's sure to stay close to Katya's office. Either way, she's often doing work of some sort.

... yes, looking through online catalogs counts. In her defense, it's her birthday in two months, and she needs to choose sari colors before then. "What do you think?" she'll ask to whoever passes by.

((ooc: tag please? ♥))

Thirty-eight years ago in Aberdeen, Scotland, Benjamin Caillean Mackinnon was born to Anthony Mackinnon - a cardiologist affiliated with the hospital his only son was born in - and Sine Barrie Mackinnon, a historian. The date is no secret, and was neatly noted by the Diamond who met him at the Castle four years ago, when he arrived in Deck.

Still, Ben isn't really one for throwing a birthday parade, and so he's gone through his day the way he goes through all his days. Up in the morning and out with Charlie, because that dog has more energy than Ben does even under the influence of an entire pot of coffee. Then to the pub, to frown at inventory and the books and open the place up in time for lunch business. Then he's largely busy; his birthday went and fell on Friday this year, after all, and that's the day that everyone seems to be coming by.

Sometime in late afternoon, though, he leaves the pub in the semi-capable hands of his cook and goes for a wander in Town. He might buy himself a book or a blade, or just end up at one of the cafes for tea and - probably, because he was human - cake. He does have birthday rituals, even if they're not flashy ones.

One of them involves not working the entire day.

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!

It's not unusual for winter to last well into April where Ben grew up, to watch snow slowly melt into the North Sea and to feel enough of a bite that you'd best keep your jumpers out until May at the least. He wasn't disappointed to have landed somewhere where things are a bit more reasonable, weather-wise, though, and the day was nice enough to go outside during a slow period at the pub and sit himself on the bench outside.

He ought to put tables out here for the summer, he thought. Something to consider he thought as he picked up a block of scrap wood and his carving knife and started to hum a cheerful tune under his breath.

Maybe he'd make an elf. Of course, no matter what he carved, Charlie was likely to think it was a toy.

Most people choosing to spend time by the ocean will have seen Rap coming and going every other day or so, with piles of tree trunks and thick branches and coils and coils of rope. There are disgruntled young Twos of Spades who, lacking any job to do, have been coerced into heavy lifting or guarding supplies. And one very surprised Club has rediscovered his boating skills.

You see, Raphael Scallion is really, really set on his bridge.

But today is a special day. Today is the day the first lengths of rope are established across the water to the ruins. Come join him as he prods people into helping and maybe share a drink or two.

So the Deck's erupting in pieces. So the old and the new are simultaneously rejecting one another. So Medea's daughter has turned into her ghost. So the long-time Ace of Spades is displaced. So the Jack of Spades is drinking on benches late at night. So the horses are eyeing each other hungrily and the brand new ocean is probably practicing boiling with blood while they sleep.

So the Joker's trimmed his hair a little neater and buttoned up into what must be the only suit he's ever owned or stolen to actually enter the Spades Castle of his own volition.

It's not actually going to bother anyone. He's not seeking anyone out to taunt. It's almost, really, an artistic piece of commentary on the world turned upside down, fools becoming kings, echoes becoming identities, the collision of 'what is' and 'what might have been.' People might not even notice another smartly-dressed man with the sharp look of a Spade about him sliding through the shadows of the Castle.

And if they do, well. That's spiffy too.


{At Spades or on the way; here or at SWS.}

TGIF, isn't that what they say? Raphael has different reasons to be thankful for Friday than others. Friday is the day he gets to kick gently shoo Clive out of his office early so it can be emptied of the necessaries and painted over the weekend. He's got a lovely sunflower orange planned. Bright and unominous, just what the King ordered.

So if you're here looking for the King of Spades, Rap will apologise. Or not.

It wasn't, he supposed, really a beach yet, but the rhythmic movement of the tides were already starting to erode the the grace and soil and leave something sandier in it's place. Just at the edge for now, but in time it would become a mix of sand and stones, with only patches of the grass that was currently blanketing the ground in between patches of snow.

He kicked a pebble into the...well, sea, he supposed, and eyed it before looking out at the island with the door.

"Just when you thought things couldn't get weirder..."

"Stop staring like a dirty pervert."

Really much improved, don't you think?

As people seemed to get more and more short-tempered, Diane had figured it prudent to remain as much in the background as possible. She was still a virtual stranger, after all, if you thought of this place in the terms of a small town. Places like that tended to shutter themselves in bad times and outsiders were pushed out.

Nowhere, she thought, was this more well-illustrated than in the Castles.

Unfortunate, then, that it had to become an even more personal lesson when one of the near-constant tremors causes the ground to shudder a bit more strongly than usual, sending her stumbling into a Six of Spades. The apology is on her lips right at the same time he scowls and backhands her into a wall and, she thinks, reaches for a knife to make his point clear that servants should stay out of the way.

Something like that, anyway, but she doesn't hear his hissed words as she pushes herself off the wall, using the momentum to slam her elbow into his chest before he gets the knife out. "Fuck you too," she mutters as he stares at her in shock, trying to catch his breath. Before any more retaliation can escalate, she walks away, the linens she'd been carrying forgotten. A trip to the infirmary seemed in order if the ringing in her ears from her head banging against the wall was any indication.

And to stop her nose from bleeding.