NPC Beatrice De Beaux's page

Beatrice pouts, her silence expressing some annoyance with Marcus not taking her side. “Best be referring to her in these ‘happenstances,’ hun. Emm’s the victim here.” She turns back to the oracle, less accusatory though somewhat begrudging in her assistance. She avoids looking directly at Halcyon. “All of us have full-body mirrors in our rooms. Most of my friends do as well.” She briefly meets Halcyon’s gaze. “And little Caroline has another in the Dark Room. I’m sure she’d be just delighted to show you that one.”

Beatrice chimed in after Seth, “her sentence was for a lifetime. People don’t escape from the Island, it’s, it’s unheard of. They, they had the Archmage tear the very essence of magic from the cells of people like her. I can’t, I mean, I wouldn’t believe it, I mean, if she, she wasn’t...” Beatrice trails off. Here, she may have finished, though her sentiment came through.

When Halcyon brings up the possibility of Emile’s involvement, Beatrice listens wide-eyed, lips pursed, hardly able to hide her anger. “Emm?! Y-You’re the common thread! You predicted poor Abigal’s death, the letter was written for you! And - And how can a blind woman even read a letter? How’d you know that, that this all would happen?” Beatrice turns to Marcus, her hand retracts, and her arms crossed as she calls for his backup. “Well, Marcus? How many times can an oracle see this coming and fail to help before you're suspicious?”

Going to wait on Vincent / leaving for a second. Kinda brought this on yourself by mentioning you say this in front of Beatrice, Hal ;). Try to wrap anything up on-site, team.

Beatrice seems to be holding off tears, grabbing the kitsune’s hand and dragging him inside. “They should enlist you as an officer, you’ve already done more than half of them for this city. ” Beatrice smiles weakly. “You have a way of, um, making terrible days, um...” she trails off. “You, um, you help me through them.”

By the time Marcus is inside the warehouse, Augustine is already defending himself against Halcyon.

Beatrice smiles upon spying the returning oracle, though in moments she shows despair. “Um, Marcus, and the, um, others, they’re safe?” When assured they were fine, Beatrice answers the oracle. “The doctor began her surgery on him. I’m too squeamish to be of any assistance, I’d do more harm than good.”

Though the charred bodies lay out of sight and around the corner, the occasional hint of their smell reminded those still present of what occurred.

The mercenary and the tavern owner arrive back at the what remained of the party. Lucia and Beatrice all stood outside, surrounded by crimson plumed bodyguards and wounded guests. Upon seeing the Kitsune, Beatrice broke from the clutter of survivors, dashing towards him. “You had me worried for nothing!” Her tone shifts from concern to curiosity. “Did risking your life do any good? Did you catch her?”

Vincent arrives outside the warehouse a minute after the other men. He seems relieved to see his sister still safe, though doesn't appoach her. Instead, he joins the plumed bodyguards in holding perimeter as Halcyon slips inside.

Beatrice looks to Marcus as Halcyon calls the bartender over. “Um, sh-should you maybe, um,” she wavers, brow furrowed. Her hands move to the back of her neck, and she unclips her necklace.

“If she hurts you, I’ll kill her. ” Beatrice hands Marcus the balled coil of silver chain with a small, faceted silver medallion. “To keep you safe. If you don’t return alive and with it intact, I won’t forgive you.” Beatrice grins nervously, forcibly even.

When Marcus sends his familiar out once more to deliver his magic, Beatrice catches on to what he was doing. “We, we’re alive. We can, um, help the others now.” Teary eyed, she begins to hum lightly, then louder, crying out a hopeful tune as she hops over the counter.

Inspire Competence, +2 to Heal Checks.

“We, we should, um, leave, right? Halcyon, and the, um, doctor have this taken care of. We should maybe look after ourselves, the seer said something approaches.” Beatrice stand close to Marcus, both of her hands grip her knife now. "Em will kill you if I die, charming."

“Marcus!” Beatrice begins, reacting to his swear. She laughs nervously. “What are you saying? Here?” Beatrice rifles through her purses, producing a thin stiletto. “Em doesn’t let me leave the house without it. I’m, I’m not too good with it.” Her shaky hand grips the knife.

“Oh. No, I’m, I didn’t mean -” Beatrice seems distraught. “Sorry, I, I didn’t mean that. You aren’t like that, I know that.” She pauses. "I'm- I'm sorry."

One of the items to be auctioned, the wardrobe behind Halcyon, Augustine, and Vincent, displays a peculiar effect. A mirror upon one of the wardrobe's two doors begins to ripple slightly. The reflection of the crowd distorts. No one within the warehouse can make out a form within it. Most however, don't even pay attention to the mirror, instead looking at the host and the oracle.

Halcyon, Seth, Raphael, Marcus, and Valentina recognize the effect in the reflective surface. The Man in the Mirror, the assailant they attempted to chase on the morning of New Year’s, displayed a similar phenomenon through the mirror he and his colleagues entered from. To those aware of the spells effect, one was to enter the warehouse through the mirror realm.

Some within the warehouse do recognize the magical effect, or in the very least, the rippling mirror:

• Alexander Ravenhall brandishes a knife. His other hand falls to his chest, on something under his clothes.
  
• Mirabelle's eyes go wide, recognizing the effect for what it is. She does not act, however, remaining tense, unmoving within the the crowd of guests.
  
• Gerard finishes his drink, slamming his empty glass to the counter. He cocks his jaw left and right. He begins to walk to the stage, grin stretched wide, fists clenched.
  
• The secretary of Sinclair LeBlanc eyes the mirror, her arm extends in front of her employer protectively. The old man's smile fades.
  
• The alchemist Sibylle's arm retreats into her blanket. She blinks, nonchalant, though aware of what goes on.
  
• Reyes removes a glove from his hand, exposing flesh outside his face. Augustine seems to take note, glancing back to the rippling mirror.
  
• The halfling officer's hand falls to the firearm at his side. He lets out a sharp whistle.
  
• Mako, trailing behind Halcyon and Vincent, barks out, piercing the conversations of the crowd.

“Playing a joke on a blind woman? Cruel. I'd hope the company we found ourselves in was above that.” Beatrice face curls into a pout as she watches the oracle ascend the steps to the stage. “It wasn’t you, was it? Please tell me it wasn’t, I don’t want to fall for someone like that again.”

“When Emm became our family’s head, Romane volunteered to watch over Caroline and I to free up his time.” Beatrice’s face is turned to a pout as she watches Romane talk to Alexander. It seems interacting with the Vieuxpont pair drained her usually bright nature. “If Romane’s here, that is why Emm isn't. She plays with hearts, she is nasty, Marcus.”

After a sigh, her expression softens. “Glad you were here though, might of been bad for her if you weren't.” She smiles, tightening her arm around Marcus.

Don’t want to walk the fox on a leash, Marcus ;) go wherever you like for the remainder of this break.

Beatrice laughs politely, behavior perhaps automatic given her brother's frequent parties and gatherings. She does little to hide her disdain for Gerard. “Best be careful, Gerard. ‘Hal’ is being charmed by a warrior. A real man.” She grips Marcus tightly, giving him a slight tug away from Romane.

As Marcus’ item is bid upon, it is clear that Beatrice had to hold herself back from the bidding herself.

When Mirabelle’s secret is bid upon, Beatrice again fights an urge. “It’s - It’s really not worth it. Rumor is she’ll give any secret she has for a secret she doesn’t know. They’re all lies anyway, least what I’ve heard...”

When Beatrice’s item was brought up to be bid on, she whispered to the innkeeper. Beatrice tried to hide a grin as the bidding began, holding Marcus close.

“Oh yes, free. Out of the birdcage, I spread my wings. It has been far too long, Verrill, you don’t stop by anymore.”

“It would be rather nice the more I think of it. It would save me the conversation with Emile and Caroline... And it’d get a few boys off my back...” Beatrice ponders the thought. “Enough on Mirabelle, no reason to dwell on her affairs. If we keep on her business, then we’re just like her.” She gets to her feet once more, holding her flute of champagne in her hand. Beatrice seems to have some strong dislike to the Sylph. “Want to eavesdrop on others and find a coversation worth jumping in on?”

Beatrice blushes, her face turning red like a roses Marcus mentions, almost as bright as her vermilion dress. She removes her jacket, placing it on the seat where Mirabelle once sat, and hops upon the stool. She tries to suppress a grin. “Grace and passion… You are too much.” Beatrice seems much more recipient for the compliment. She pats the counter, ordering a flute of champagne, face still blush.

The middle de Beaux turns in her seat, first looking at Marcus, as she extends a hand, then giving her attention Lucia and the dwarf. As they converse, she whispers to Marcus. “What a relief. I was afraid I’d let slip something and have my name slandered.” She is given her drink, and nods politely to the man behind the counter, and continued her whispers to Marcus. “Maybe she’ll write that you accompanied me on this date. If everyone learned that way, it’d be quite the scandal!" She takes a sip of her drink, looking around at all the guests. She grins. "Any other friends you want to show me off to, or is it my turn? I must know someone here..."

Beatrice smiles, but seemed almost taken aback by Gill's comment. “We have the same chin, I know. Curse of my father.” Beatrice takes a hop forward, leaning over Mirabelle to shake the dwarf’s hand. “Charmed. Beatrice, artist of all varieties.” She looks at the doctor, still masked at the time, before she steps back to Marcus’ side to the relief of the sylph she hovered over.

“I intend nothing of the sort!” Beatrice intrudes. She pauses, thinking over what the sylph had said. She bites her lip, correcting herself, “I mean, he wasn’t flirting with you, he was being charming. And kind.” Her voice falls to a whisper, “needlessly so.”

Mirabelle seems to be enjoying the company now, or perhaps be enjoying the attention, or maybe even just Beatrice’s reaction. Her breeze has picked up to a draft, and she moves next to the doctor with a smile.

Beatrice gives her sister a smile. “Well little Caroline, I’ve never seen you talk this much since...” The middle de Beaux places her hand to her chin, tapping a finger to her lips in thought. “Well, ever really. Started your New Year’s resolution early?”

Beatrice looks at Marcus. Her eyes don’t show pity, rather sympathy. A sort of understanding. “Our parents... I mean...” She trails off, either lost in a memory or trying to repel one. Her face is no longer rosey, the only color on her face comes from the paint chipping on her cheek. She weakly smiles, shaking off the emotion. "I hardly remember it anymore."

Caroline looks at Beatrice. She is stern, somber, but doesn’t have the same reflective look as Beatrice. The two de Beaux’s accept Marcus’ apologetic gaze, both give light, fleeting smiles. “We’ll be fine, what you two are doing matters more.”

“Halcyon was right about bed though. This day has long lost its charm, what a way to usher the new year. I imagine your bar is ripe with festivities now. The only screams there must be of joy and celebration.” She seems off once more. “I was wondering... you were so quick to try to help Abigal. Have you ever, uh, seen someone pass before?” She appears solemn, contemplative. "Before Abigal, I mean."

Across the foyer, Beatrice responds to Marcus. “The military boy was heckling them. I haven’t a clue about his backup, but if they act as he does, perhaps they should come later than sooner. Beatrice looks seems particularly agitated over the matter. It seems to have replaced her earlier melancholy. Her face twists at something Halcyon says. “Come from? They come from Roland, same as us all. Where did you come from Madame Oracle?”

"Emile always does what is right. Sacha and Morgan would never be behind this. I’ve even been teaching Sacha to speak like a noble lady." Beatrice watches the three servants follow Seth into the kitchen. She refocuses back to the group at hand.

It is 11:22PM, there are 38 minutes until the New Year. Guard reinforcements should arrive.

Beatrice appears rather shaken. Her skin is pale, and some of her eyeliner smudges. She breathes intently, monitoring herself. “It- It is fine. The intentions were noble.” She doesn’t respond to the comment on if this type of event is regular. She takes a seat, trying to smile at Marcus as he leaves. She can’t bring herself to.

Beatrice nods as she twirls. “Our family’s been in Roland for generations now” She finishes, facing Marcus and returning to a closed position. “De Beaux Oracles are often the seers to Councilmen. Emmy tells me our ancestors even predicted Charlemagne’s plot of taking on the Roland Dragon. What would the city do without us?” She grins. She largely focuses on her dance, seeming to be having quite a good time with it. The dance reaches its end. “So tell me, where did you hail fr-”

Beatrice trails off. She watches Abigal stumble and fall. “Oh my.” When Abigal is lowered to the ground by Aron, she watches wide-eyed.

Marcus and Beatrice do not follow the song so much as they feel it. They ebb and flow with the song, extravagantly making their way around the ballroom, twirling and circling the other dancers. Were it not for another pair, their dance would certainly be the center of attention. Beatrice smiles, appearing a bit taken aback“I thought you were joking about the “charm.” Still,” she twists her head to look at Darius and Ellen, “We seem to have competition. Let’s outstage them, shall we?”

Beatrice starts her bardic performance. She begins to add flair to her dance as the song picks up. She hums to herself, loud enough to be heard by Marcus and faintly by the groups they flit past. Their dancing improves, even more fluid now, an almost perfect meld of song and dance. “So were you born in the city?”

At the tail end of the party making its way to the ballroom is Beatrice, joined by Seth and Lucia. She frolics forward ahead of the married couple, something has excited her.

“Marcus,” she chirps, “you can dance?” She seems surprised and makes her way through the migration of guests to him. “You should have told me you dance. The both of us will charm the ballroom floor!” She giggles excitedly, but it fades to a smile. “Unless you would rather keep eating, of course.”

Emile watches amused, mostly intent on Valentina, but he can't help but smile and watch his sister in her excitement.

Beatrice thinks. “Then let us continue to wander. Wherever there are more people, that is where we should be.” Beatrice takes steps towards the plant room, with Darius and Marcus following behind her.

While Nishara and Tomas hover over a particular flower, a yellow rose it seems, their conversation is muffled by an orchestra of footsteps from the north. Beatrice glances out of the plant room’s eastern door, towards a growing number of occupants in the upper vestibule. “Well, it seems a grand migration is taking place. Should we follow them?”

Beatrice plays off Darius. “Well, between a couple of wonderful paintings and a self proclaimed world class bard playing at your bar, you’ll charm all of your patrons.” She bounces her stance between her two feet. "Should the three of us mingle elsewhere? There are so many more guests to charm."

Darius continues laughing, slowly exhausting himself, gasping for air between laughs. Beatrice smiles, watching Darius curl over. "I would hope those with celestial ties would be above puns. Not quite a joke worth dying over though, Darius. Though it would remedy the whole rightful-Agnes-heir debacle."

Beatrice looks astounded. “Angel blooded? And with wings? How charming, I wish I met them. Gods, an angel at a bar. There is a joke somewhere here.”

In the studio, Beatrice nods her head in agreement. “I sometimes dreamt about being born in a life of adventure. What a charming lifestyle it would be.” She studies Marcus for a second, almost analyzing him. “You must be around all sorts of colorful figures. A bar must charm those sort of characters.”

Darius opens his mouth to say something, but a glance from Beatrice silences him. Darius looks towards Marcus, somewhat interested in his answer now.

In the studio, something catches Beatrice’s interest. “A Kitsune? I don’t believe I have had the pleasure of actually ever seeing one. Mother used to read me children stories about them.” She smiles, blushing a little bit. “I actually thought they were creatures of folklore up until a year or two ago. Same with ifrits actually until I met the Colonel at one of Em’s social gatherings a few months ago.”

Beatrice looks pleased with the current situation, but sighs. “Gods, that was a scribble, Darius. A fifteen minute figure drawing.” She faces Marcus. “But I can make you a masterpiece if you like.”

Beatrice smiles, and begins to walk into the studio room, her head to Marcus as she walks. “A bar, how charming! Emile does the numbers, even if he may not look the part. I certainly could make something that I am sure your patrons would love, even if it is only a single painting.”

The silver haired man and Beatrice de Beaux both give a flattered chuckle upon Marcus’ introduction. Beatrice’s eyes light up at the mention of a commission, and her hair bounces enthusiastically as she talks. “Of course, my studio is always open for business.” The silver haired man begins to walk towards the entrance, closer to the conversation, but his attention lingers back on his portrait. Beatrice continues: “Lovely to meet you, Marcus. Perhaps we should talk more on these paintings you desire. I am sure I can make something enchanting for you.”

In the plant room behind Marcus, Tomas and Nishara spark up conversation once more. Tomas intends to determine her occupation it seems.

The woman rolls her eyes, but smiles at the complement. “Welcome to the studio, I am sure Emile would have wanted me to open it earlier.” She gives a small curtsey, revealing more colors in the folds of her dress. "Beatrice de Beaux, charmed."