NPC Darius Agnes's page

Darius laughs with Marcus. “Death doesn’t follow me everywhere I go, I assure you.” Emile appears irked on both of Marcus’ mention of the assassination. His gaze his stern and contemplative, but he doesn’t speak a word. Darius continues. “Laughing to death, maybe,” he smirks, “but I’ll leave that at the door for you.” The silver haired man fixes the shoulder of his shirt, once more placing it up to his collar from his bicep. “I’ll crawl out of bed for your bar, Marcus, it is a promise.”

Darius claps his hands together once for what must be some gesture of resolve. “I certainly must. A bar full of such life, it’d suit both me and my sister’s hab-”

Darius remains flushed, and his laugh strikes through the foyer. He winds down slowly. “Oh how, heh-he, how your bar must bring stories.” He shouts to Emile, calling his name. “Emm, you must keep inviting him, if just to hear the stories fresh as they come!”

Darius’ brow drops as the conversation subject takes a serious turn, while Estelle seems enthusiastic about it. They speak one after the other, hoping to either turn the conversation back or further it.

“Ah, so this one night will drag on for months, even years. That means we have years, even decades, to converse on the matter. To spend this evening on the morrow’s subject, well," he chuckles, looking for a read on his fellow guests, "well, it would be the second-most atrocious event of tonight. We should open another bottle of wine. Just for the five of us.”

“Emm would never, that’d be far too much fun. Me on the other hand…” It seems he is entertaining the idea. Only Emile and Lucia are aware this sort of event happens far too often. “A party… of Bachelors… I think you are on to something...” He nods his head, gripping his chin as he thinks.

Seth enters as Raphael departs. Estelle gives him a wave, and a quick “best of luck.” She looks slightly annoyed, perhaps at Raphael's brief presence, or maybe she doesn't want too stay long with Darius. She braves through the latter to meet Seth.

Darius is quick to introduce himself to the newest member of the circle. “Well, if it isn’t the man himself. I feel as Lucia has spoken so much of you already that even I am married to you at this point.” He bows, his shirt slipping off one of his shoulders. He readjusts it as he rises. “Darius Agnes, Saint of Silver. And this,” he gestures to Lucia, “is Lucia Varianna. I am sure you two will get along wonderfully.” He laughs at his own joke.

“Memorable indeed. Normally I fling glitter in the air and have a chorus of angels sing a prelude to my entrance, but tonight's circumstances are just as memorable for our convergence.” He smiles wide, passing his hand through his hair once more. “May as well make the best of the evening, I’ve never stayed the night with Emmy before, I'd love to see the bed, darling.” Emile shakes his head with a smile to the flirtation.

Raphael inspects Darius, sizing him up and gathering his memories as to who he is. Darius thinks it is something else entirely. “You know, Raphy, you could be more subtle. Or be a little more forward. It is this in-between state I don’t care for. Act uninterested or engrossed and we may have something.” He sticks a bit of his tongue out when he smiles. You aren’t quite sure how serious he his being. "As she said, I am Darius. A sincere greeting."

Darius elbows Emile as Estelle and Lucia make introductions. "Not the same hair I hope. I have put days more into making my fair hair perfect. Feel it, Emile, nothing softer in this realm." Emile laughs, and it may have even been genuine.

Darius comes out of watching the scene in time to deliver a quip. “The dead, Galatian elephant at that.” he corrects her. He looks to her now. “Agnes, Darius Agnes. Of the Agnes Mining company.”

Darius chuckles lightly, though it doesn’t last as long as before, it doesn’t sound quite as hearty or genuine. “That is funny I suppose.” He chuckles again. A woman approaches the three of them. She has long, chestnut hair that drapes down past her shoulders, down the back. Her eyebrows are sharp, arching into small sharp points. She wears a brass wind-chime like necklace that jingles as she walks, and has a small white dove pin on her chest.

Darius seems a bit surprised by the statement. “Oh? Is this where my invitations stop?”

Darius calms, passing his hand through his hair. “Emile, you really should choose your guests better at times.” Sinclair manages to convince the Guardsman in the front that letting him leave is what Helmuth would have wanted. After he talks circles around the boy, Sinclair departs into the darkness.

“Never ever” He smiles again. "It’d ruin my complexion. If I had time for guilt or worry, I’d begin to show age." He playfully laughs.

Darius chuckles with Lucia, Sinclairs smiles. “I really should? Do you think my silvery hair would be confused for gold In the right light? I might end up with a knife in my back on a night like tonight.” He laughs. “I jest, I jest. One more like that and I’ll sleep guilty as the killer here among us.”

“We will indeed. Perhaps I’ll bring Agatha for a playdate if we catch her in the right mood. ”Emile returns with another sigh as Darius fully accepts his role conversing with Lucia. “Oh, he is just perfect, your husband. How could a lover like myself compete with a fighter such as him? ” He chuckles to himself. “Though I’d look rather gallant in a knight’s armor I suppose. Not to overdo the motif, but something shining silver. Silver and black.” He is lost in thought for a moment as an older man defects towards Lucia’s group. “Oh yes, perhaps it isn’t too late to be a fighter after all…”

Back in the foyer, Darius grins, running his hair through his silver hair. “See Emile? I am fine. “Nice” even.” Darius laughs. He continues to address Emile. “One of these days I’ll throw an opposite party for us. You can have fun and act straight forward for once, and I’ll speak only in subtle double meanings.” He appears gleeful, he might be giving actual thought into the matter. He turns his attention back to Valentina and Lucia.

“I don’t know, Val, it seems to me you’ve been chasing someone all night.” Darius playfully winks and smiles. “You even changed your outfit just to catch them. I’ve never killed for love before, but if it got the attention of someone like you…” He extends the last word for a few seconds and his eyes hang as long as the word does. Emile groans. “Though it seems that your attention remains unrequited. Perhaps you should pursue someone new for the night.” Another wink.

The silver haired man grins. “And once so was I.” Emile wipes his hand over his brow, dragging it down over his face. He lets out a sigh, mouthing an apology to Lucia as Darius chuckles over his quip. Darius recovers. “I jest, pray I am not shown scorn over a joke. Have you children, Madame Varianna? Or you, Val?”

“I don’t, but to any lady of Roland it is my pleasure to meet them.”

“I’ve never seen my sister won over so quickly without a drink in her hand. The pleasure is mine.” He chuckles lightly, long silver hair dancing along his shoulder. His shirt is loose and white, and cuts a “V” so deep his skin is like a porcelain blade down his center. He is thin and slightly built, and easily revealing the most skin at the party. His voice sounds inviting, ending sentences with sing-songy, whimsical higher inflections. He is handsome, appearances seem to be something the Agnes family is born with.

“I’ve never met another with hair so fair as ours, Val. We will have to swap notes on conditioners. I have this one made from our own grounded silver. It’ll have you literally dazzling.” He laughs once more, Emile looking slightly annoyed. Lucia makes her entrance, tired of talks of Patrons and Familiars, tired of glazed, drunken tirades of what each spell does by Alistair.

Darius smiles at the introduction. “Lucia Varianna, how wonderful to finally meet you. I am Darius Agnes. ” He bows, smiling.

Halcyon, escorted by Marcus, briefly takes Valentina away, taking the remnants of the potion. Halcyon takes a small bit of it, less than a droplet.

In the studio, the music begins to fade. The device playing the sounds seems to have stopped. Darius begins to recover. Slowly his laughs are replaced with giggles, and the giggles with assorted chuckling. He breathes deeply, going back to a normal state. “Well, I will have to find my way to the bar. No telling Agatha though, she is strictly anti-fun.” Beatrice shakes her head at the mention of Agatha.

“But if you want an Agnes at your bar, call on me. There isn’t an instrument in this world I cannot play.” He grins at his own claim.

Darius perks up. “Oh, oh! I have one. So an angel walks into a bar, right? And he goes to the bartender,” he tilts his head to Marcus. “So he walks up to you and orders his rice wine. Darius holds himself together. “So he, hehe, takes a sip, gives it a second look, and then finishes the entire thing.”

Small chuckles escape him. “So the bartender looks at the angel, and asks ‘how was the wine,’ and the angel, ha, the angel says...” Coming apart at the seams now, Darius hunches over in laughter. While not quite recuperated, he finishes the joke between giggles. “And the angel tells him It was heavenly..”

Again he breaks into laughter. Beatrice chuckles either at or with Darius.

Darius laughs heartily. From a northern room, another laugh echoes, more high pitched. It doesn’t seem to come from Nishara or Tomas. “I used to think Fey were just in fairy tales.” He scratches the back of his neck, thinking a moment. “Well, I guess they are fairy tales if you think about it, but you get the idea. Don’t hear of them too often besides the ones in Murgleis. But I like the Kitsune idea, adds something exotic.”

10:29 PM. 1 hour and 31 minutes until the New Year.

Darius meets them halfway. “Is it too late to reserve a painting? If this fellow is getting one then I need to match him.” He walks to Marcus, extending a pale arm, speckled with small splashes of paint. “Darius Agnes. Of the Agnes Mining company. If you ever have a need for silver, my family owns almost all of it.” He returns his look to his painting before turning to Beatrice. “Your art is otherworldly, Triss. Your paintings will fill the Agnes estate.”

The door swings open to the room south of the plant room. A young woman, perhaps no older than twenty opens the door. Her hair is brown and long, tied up in the back. Her face and arms are covered in all colors of paints. Her dress, at one point a soft brown, has become a painting itself, swirled with beautiful colors of lavender and sunset oranges. Her face is rosy, and her eyes are an orange-brown.

The room seems to be an artist’s studio of sorts, and a large one at that. Many projects seem to be going on currently, across half a dozen of mediums. A slab of marble is chipped away to resemble a human shape. A series of paint buckets and dozens of paint brushes lie near a wall, contributing to an ongoing landscape painting, perhaps eight by fourteen feet. While canvas cloth covers most of the floor, none of them are white anymore, and paints have long since dried on the wood of the floor, on the walls of the room and even on the ceiling. A clockwork box emanates sound in the corner of the room, some sort of technology designed to play music.

A young man stands in the room, inspecting a small portrait. It resembles him: than and handsome both in person and portrait. Gorgeous even. His hair is silver, and flows a to his neck. His eyes are dark, surrounded with a violet eyeshadow, but accented metallic silver underneath. His outfit is loose and white, and cuts sharply down his chest. He turns to the woman. “Either you flatter me, or what I hear about my looks is absolutely true. The painting is stunning, Triss.”