+- The First Age (https://thefirstage.org/forums)
+-- Forum: Middle Moscow (https://thefirstage.org/forums/forum-33.html)
+--- Forum: Residential, Estates & Hospitality (https://thefirstage.org/forums/forum-40.html)
+--- Thread: Masquerade [Kuskovo Estate] (/thread-1567.html)
RE: Masquerade [Kuskovo Estate] - Carter de Volthström - 05-13-2025
The air outside the estate was bracing, crisp enough to make Carter’s breath cloud in the dark. A few errant flakes of snow drifted through the lamplight, catching the glow like confetti from a more honest party. He adjusted his coat collar, spine still tall, posture composed. There was no security flanking him now, no staff ushering him into a car, just the echo of a night gone wrong. Or right, depending on how you looked at it.
Colette’s rejection wasn’t new to Carter, but tonight wasn’t that. Not truly. Because she had looked at him. Colette hadn’t touched him, hadn’t called him back. She hadn’t needed to. It was all there in the flick of her eyes, the way her voice faltered for half a breath, the way her hand brushed her gown as though suppressing the urge to reach. She had said no. But she had meant something else entirely.
Carter knew the difference. He told himself he’d already won the moment her mask slipped, even just a little. Even if she’d slammed the door afterward. Even if she’d done it in heels.
A soft rhythm of steps broke the stillness. Not the confident staccato of someone striding across a marble floor. This was slower, uneven. Measured out like someone managing pain. Cyrena Marveet emerged from the shadows, limping ever so slightly, a fur coat draped over her bare shoulders like a pelt taken from a richer kill. The dress beneath it still shimmered beneath the low exterior lighting, but her expression had dulled from its ballroom brightness. She didn’t look furious. She didn’t look amused. She looked done. She stopped beside him, barely glanced his way.
“If you need a ride,” she said, voice smooth but tired, “get in the car.”
The back door was already open behind her, interior warm and inviting. He glanced at it, then at her, then down at the mask still in his hand. There was no need for it anymore. He let it fall to the ground. No flourish. Just gravity. Then he stepped into the car, not speaking, not asking where they were going. Whatever the night had been, it wasn’t over yet. And technically, he and Colette weren’t anything at all.
RE: Masquerade [Kuskovo Estate] - Colette Moreau - 05-13-2025
The marble countertops were cold beneath her palms. Colette leaned forward slightly, letting the silence of the ladies' room settle around her like a second skin. Her reflection was flawless, of course. Lip color retouched, hair re-tucked, expression smoothed into something unreadable. But internally, she was still parsing through the sharp little aftertaste Guillaume had left behind.
He nearly ruined things for me, she had said.
She didn’t like the way her voice had sounded when she said it. She took a breath. Straightened. Then she stepped back into the world. When she returned to the ballroom, her gaze instinctively sought Adrian. It didn’t take long. He was precisely where he always seemed to land: in the thick of a conversation that looked casual from a distance and anything but up close. The woman he was speaking to was blonde. Ambitious posture. Controlled smile. The unmistakable poise of someone who wanted to be the center of every room, and had finally become it. Jessika Thrice.
Colette had never met her in person, though they’d almost certainly crossed social circles. Evelyn had spoken of her with caution, as if unsure whether to admire or condemn her. And that ambiguity had always intrigued Colette. After a moment’s pause, she made her way over. Not to Adrian, he could fend for himself though he was nearby, but to Jessika. The distance between them shrank like closing a gap on a chessboard.
“Privilege Thrice,” Colette said smoothly, offering a slight tilt of her head. “I thought it was time we met.”
Jessika turned. Her eyes flicked across Colette’s face with a calculation that was both immediate and familiar. Women like them didn’t waste time with introductions. They looked for motive, leverage, weakness.
“Colette Moreau,” she added, almost like a formality, though her voice remained light. “You’re close with Evelyn Avalon, I believe.” Jessika smiled, sharp but not unkind.
“Then I suppose we already know a few things about each other.” Colette didn’t smile back. Not yet. “I imagine Evelyn is still trying to understand how Texas walked out of the Union and landed in the Custody’s lap without a single shot fired.”
Jessika’s eyes glittered. “And yet, here I am. Still standing. Still welcome.”
“That’s one word for it.”
“Would you prefer ‘necessary’?” Jessika asked, tilting her head slightly.
“I’m more interested in how it was necessary,” Colette replied. “And why. If you’d waited, let the rest of the U.S. join on their terms, Texas might still be a red star on a blue flag. But you didn’t.”
Jessika took a sip of her drink, then gave a small shrug. “Because if we’d waited, there wouldn’t have been anything left to save.”
It wasn’t said with drama. It was matter-of-fact. A statement of inevitability. Of triage. “And now?” Colette asked. “What does Texas look like from up here in the clouds?”
Jessika’s gaze narrowed. “Cleaner than it was. Still bleeding in some places. But at least now we decide where the bandages go.”
Colette studied her. She didn’t flinch at the answer. There was something valuable in it. Several things, actually. Pieces to pass on to Evelyn, certainly. But more importantly, pieces she could use when the time came to speak with the Ascendancy. Jessika hadn’t just survived a geopolitical fracture. She’d capitalized on it. Claimed chaos and carved out legitimacy. That was useful.
“You speak with conviction,” Colette said.
“I speak with memory,” Jessika replied. “I watched half my state burn while the other half debated jurisdiction.”
For a moment, neither woman said anything.
Colette finally allowed herself a slight smile. “I’m sure Evelyn would be very interested in your version of events.”
Jessika returned the smile. “I’m sure she would.”
“I’m curious,” Colette continued. “Now that Texas has joined the Custody, your voice may not shape law directly, but it will be heard. Especially by the Ascendancy.”
Jessika didn’t correct her. That was its own kind of confirmation. “What are your thoughts on the education of channelers?” Colette asked, folding her hands lightly at her waist. “Who should oversee it? And more importantly, who decides when power becomes dangerous?” Jessika’s head tilted slightly. This wasn’t gossip. This wasn’t political theater. This was ideology, and Colette knew it would show her more than any speech ever could.
“Well,” Jessika said, still measuring her tone, “I suppose that depends on whether you believe power is inherently dangerous, or simply dangerous in the wrong hands.” Colette didn’t answer. She just let the silence do the work for her. Jessika went on. “Channelers need guidance, of course. Education. Control. But I don’t believe in trusting the state with that responsibility entirely. That’s how fear becomes policy. That’s how children get locked away before they ever do anything.”
“And policing?” Colette asked. “Who draws the line between discipline and fear?”
Jessika’s gaze hardened just slightly, the glimmer of warmth dimming like a candle shielded by a hand. “If someone threatens peace, truly threatens it, I believe in consequences. But I don’t believe in rounding people up because of what they might become.” Her voice lowered just a notch. “I saw what that kind of thinking did. In Texas. In the South. I won’t help replicate it under a different banner just because the uniform changed color.”
Colette considered that. It was, in a sense, what she wanted to hear. Not entirely. Jessika’s stance leaned toward decentralization, a more hands-off model than Colette might personally support. But there was sincerity there. Hard-won experience. Not idealism. Memory.
Adrian remained quiet beside her, watching Jessika with a look that didn’t reveal much. But Colette could feel the tension behind it. He was cataloging everything too.
“I appreciate your candor,” Colette said. “Evelyn will want to know where you stand. So will others.”
Jessika only smiled, all polished composure again. “Good. I prefer to be heard clearly.” That was the end of it. She turned, vanishing into a tide of waiting attention. Colette stood still for a moment, thinking.
Jessika wasn’t just a politician. She wasn’t a revolutionary either. She was something else. An architect of survival, building from the wreckage with hands still dirty. It made her more dangerous, and possibly more valuable. Colette wasn’t sure yet which. But she would be.
Jessika turned, excused herself with a smile, and disappeared into another cluster of admirers. Colette watched her go, expression unchanging. Then, slowly, she brought her glass to her lips and took a small, careful sip.
Adrian was still standing beside her. Silent, as usual. She didn’t look at him right away. She didn’t need to. She knew that if she did, he’d be smirking. He lived for collisions like that one. Instead, she let the quiet settle, turned the conversation over in her mind like a card she hadn’t expected to be dealt.
Because if we’d waited, there wouldn’t have been anything left to save.
It wasn’t rhetoric. Jessika hadn’t spoken like a politician trying to win her over. There was too much acid under the varnish, too much truth. That woman had seen the edge of collapse and made a decision most leaders would’ve never had the spine to entertain. Not idealism. Not loyalty. Triage.
That was a different kind of survival instinct. One Evelyn Avalon would recognize, but likely not forgive.
Colette filed it away. Evelyn would need to know that Jessika believed she had no choice, that she acted because the alternative was nonexistence. Not betrayal. Preservation. That subtle shift in motive could be useful especially since Evelyn campaigned for the union’s joining them as well.
She could frame Jessika’s decision not as a crime, but as the lesser evil. It wouldn’t change Evelyn’s politics, but it might soften her timing. Give Colette a little more room to move. Then there was the other half of the equation: Jessika hadn’t denied ambition. She hadn’t flinched when Colette questioned her methods. That meant she wasn’t insecure about her position in the Sphere. She was already playing at the next level one eye on the Ascendancy, maybe both.
That’s useful.
Colette glanced at Adrian then just briefly. He hadn’t moved. Still calm, still watching. But she knew that look in his eye. He’d been studying the exchange, not just for tension, but for leverage. Jessika had dismissed him mid-conversation to engage Colette. That meant something to him. Everything meant something to Adrian.
“How did I do?” she asked lightly, not bothering to feign ignorance.