Happy October Everyone! I have a new follower! Welcome aboard the train, covert188. I haven't had time to write much lately (new job is very busy), but I've been polishing this part for a bit, so I think it's ready to go. It's a little long this time, but it seemed to make sense to keep it all together. Hope you enjoy, and hope to have more ready soon. Feedback always appreciated.
Ardyn regarded the garish ballroom with cynicism hidden behind his poker face. If you'd seen one decadent ball, you'd seen them all. The décor may be Baroque rather than the minimalist opulence of Gralea, but otherwise it was no different than the Gralea elite functions he had attended during his time as Chancellor.
He had to admit the wine was better here—but perhaps it was because he was able to feel its effects. Altissia's wine was known for its potency, and it was living up to its reputation. He had been able to down it by the bottle in his immortal days, craving the rush of warmth it offered, or the forgetful oblivion it promised, just to be rendered totally immune to both. How painfully ironic that now, when he needed his wits about him most, the effects he had once craved were within his grasp if he so desired them.
He couldn't afford it. He needed to watch his back, figuratively and literally. He found a convenient wall to lean negligently against, nursed his mostly untouched glass of wine, and surveyed the crowd. While it was veiled behind a thin façade of opulence, every sordid vice was in evidence at the ball, for those who had the wit to see it.
Gluttons lingered by the buffet tables; the greedy were at the gaming tables in the corner; those taken away by the potent wine dozed slothfully in the corner. And, of course, lust was in subtle evidence as well. Masked women in low-cut or high leg-slitted gowns coyly hid behind their masks, giving come hither glances to any of the swaggering pomaded men who gave them the time of day. Some couples were much further along—using the dance floor as an excuse to grind against each other, then following up with a public display of affection at one of the many mistletoes festooning the doorways, and leaving the party together.
It was the type of party where propositions were made that would be regretted in the morning; favors were written on cocktail napkins that would not be remembered when the favor was called in. And it was amid all of this that Ardyn was to supposed to meet potential allies and procure protection for Lux and Eostre. He shrugged philosophically. All he needed to do was talk less, smile more, stay sober, and he would be more than a match for any of the key players here. If he could just identify them.
"Is the wine not to your liking," a woman coyly purred from beside him. He turned his gaze to her, disturbed that his drinking habits (or lack thereof) had been noticed. If the word sultry were a noun, the woman beside him was it in human form. Her healthy olive complexion, liquid dark eyes that oozed cunning and intelligence, and her straight black hair that cascaded almost to her feet all worked together to radiate an exotic glamor.
Her dress was tight, low cut, red satin. Others would be mesmerized by her beauty and promise. He was able to stay aloof—he wasn't sure what that said about him, but at least it was beneficial at the present moment. He recognized her type. This was the second courtesan in 24 hours to notice him. He wasn't sure whether he should be flattered or annoyed. In any case, he knew it was a trap.
"I prefer my wines on the dry side," he replied, refusing to admit he was concerned for the potency.
The woman smirked in a blatant display of scarlet lipstick. In a brazen gesture, she took the wineglass from his hand and deliberately sipped it from the same side he had drunk from. She smacked her lips in what was obviously meant to be a seductive gesture. "I find it plenty dry," she replied. "Perhaps you are not used to our wines. You are from, out of town?"
"How can I be, considering borders are locked down," Ardyn returned.
The woman batted that notion away impatiently. "No borders are every truly closed if there is enough money behind opening them. And I know you aren't from here. I would have seen you around. I'm always on the lookout for, handsome men," she crooned, boldly caressing his arm.
He realized it was a distraction, but a second too late. Her other hand withdrew his wallet from his pocket and began leisurely rifling through it. Her pickpocketing skills were good, he had to admit. Her touch had been so light he (who had already been suspicious) hadn't felt it.
"Hmm. No passport, no ID. Lots of gil though. A rich man of mystery, aren't you," she taunted.
"You're a little hasty to get to the payment part," Ardyn taunted back. "We have not even completed a transaction yet."
The woman smirked, not denying what she was, and handed back his wallet with contents intact. "Now I'm very curious about you," she stated. "Perhaps we can become, more acquainted?"
Ardyn was thinking quickly. He had no intentions of getting mixed up with a lady of the evening, but furthering his acquaintance up to a point might yield some information.
"Hmm. I confess I am a little curious about you too," Ardyn returned suavely.
The woman smirked in satisfaction. "Perhaps we can, satisfy each other's curiosity over a dance?"
"I was about to suggest the same thing," Ardyn replied smoothly offering his hand.
It crossed his mind that he was waltzing with a courtesan just as Eostre had taunted him about. He almost wished she were here to see it—he would be quite curious what her reaction would be. No matter. It was just business. And if his dance partner became too, eager to further their acquaintance, he had ways to break it off, as forcefully as needed.
To the woman's credit, she didn't use the dance to attempt to take liberties. One hand stayed fixed on Ardyn's cape-covered shoulder, the other clasped his hand with the firmness and impersonalness of a handshake. Considering it was a waltz where people were meant to stand almost too close, she kept a decorous distance. He had no doubt that if he initiated anything more personal, she'd allow it and at least pretend to be interested. However, it would be up to him to initiate. He wasn't going to.
"I'm surprised you haven't asked for my name," the woman said.
Ardyn shrugged. "It is a masquerade. Our names are meaningless here. We can be whomever we want to be."
"Ooh that's a good line," the woman returned gleefully. "But I think it's because you know if I give you mine, you have to give yours."
She was clever. Ardyn had to give her that. "You are quite astute. And that combined with your light fingers makes you dangerous. It wouldn't surprise me if you have the ear of Don Corneo himself," Ardyn replied smoothly.
His partner stiffened. It was slight, but he felt it. "And why would you be interested in him," the woman returned, an edge of wariness to her husky tones.
"I may have a business proposition for him if I could have the opportunity to meet him. I have heard tell he would be here tonight, but unfortunately I do not know what he looks like."
"And what makes you think he would want to talk to you," his partner asked.
"Rosebud," Ardyn returned smoothly.
The woman cocked her head, evidently thinking. "I would be most curious who gave you that little codeword. It is not given to those from, out of town."
Ardyn shrugged. "I am, well informed. Which is why I think I may be of use to Corneo."
"Business with him may be, dangerous, for you. He tends to ask for things in return that may not be to your liking."
"I'm willing to take that risk," Ardyn returned.
The woman stopped dancing and stared up at him intently. It was as though she were trying to read his very thoughts and intentions.
"He is, very prudent," she returned. "He does not show himself to just anyone. Even to those who are, fond of roses."
"I daresay he will show himself to me once he realizes who I am," Ardyn replied with confidence. "If I give you my identity, can you connect us?"
The woman gave a tense nod.
He leaned forward to whisper in her ear. "I am Ardyn Lucis Caelum."
The woman was as much a master of the game as he was. She didn't gasp or stiffen or cower at the mention of his name. She stood perfectly still, breathing calmly. "I, will attempt to make arrangements," she replied thoughtfully. "It's been a lovely dance," she stated. "Perhaps we can meet again later tonight," she asked provocatively.
Ardyn gave a slow, comprehending smirk in response. "I shall count the minutes," he said smoothly, taking her hand to kiss it in the gallant fashion common when he was courting Aera 2000 years ago.
The woman preened at the gesture, but Ardyn could tell it was a practiced response, as no doubt everything about her was. She sashayed away, leaving the ballroom.
Something Corneo-related would happen at this ball. Was his dance partner going to play Ardyn false? Set up a trap? He didn't know. However, he wagered to say he might at least get Don Corneo's attention, which was a start. He gave another cynical glance around the room, noting derisively yet another couple under a mistletoe in the corner. His eyes narrowed as he realized the woman was trying without success to break away from her amorous companion.
Even seeing her from the back, Ardyn felt a flash of recognition. It was not the dress she was wearing, although he remembered it from the costume shop. It was not her considerable height either. She may have covered her hair, but he sensed her, recognized her movement, her very presence. Eostre had disobeyed his orders, shirked her duty, and tailed him.
And that realization, combined with the dress she was wearing, almost stopped him in his tracks. Whether it was shocked indignation at her defiance, or being struck by her looks, he couldn't say. The dress became her as he knew it would. She looked good in black and gray, he thought, shaking his head at the absurdity that her appearance affected him more than the looks of the practiced seductress he had been dancing with had.
Although, he wasn't alone in his opinion of Eostre's appearance tonight—the man attempting to kiss her no doubt thought the same thing, Ardyn thought with a sneer. He supposed he should be gallant and come to her rescue—and then "remind" her that he was not someone to defy.
Eostre had only attended a party of this nature once. Back when she was the new kid on the block at Verstael's lab. It was an event you were "supposed" to go to to mingle and get noticed by colleagues and potential superiors. She had stayed an hour, and left in disgust. If what had went on there was the only way to get promoted, then she would be fine staying a peon forever.
It wasn't really the moral grounds that put her off, not entirely anyway. Live and let live was her motto, as long as she was left alone. It was because she was awkward in crowds, and had two left feet when dancing. She got bogged down in the fact that she was taller and, sturdier, than the other woman there, and it made her even more self-conscious. She had missed her own prom for those reasons. She didn't need to go to events that highlighted her flaws as a human being
And now she was putting up with the embarrassment of a ball for Ardyn—no, not as a favor to him of course. She had to keep an eye on him and any threats he was too busy being his sleazy self to catch. She couldn't see him in the crowd at first—being too overwhelmed with the parade of people and kaleidoscope of colorful or crazy costumes to pick out anyone.
When she got over that, she observed she was getting attention. She wasn't vain enough to think it was due to her looks. While the black and silver gown she was wearing was lovely, she knew she wasn't doing it justice. For all that the tag said it would fit her, it wasn't perfect. The hemline (supposed to be ankle-length) cut off on her mid-shin. The bodice was designed for someone with narrower shoulders than she possessed. The sleeves cut off at her upper arms instead of covering her shoulders, giving her more exposure of her shoulders and upper chest than she would have liked. It was not indecent, but she had to be careful when moving her arms to keep the dress from siding down more than she was comfortable with.
At least she was able to zip it up in the back all the way, and wasn't squeezed mercifully. And, she supposed, the shorter skirt made getting around the crowded ballroom easier. If only she could shake off her self-consciousness, amplified further by all the eyes on her. Both the eyes she could see regarding her, and even worse, the ones she could only feel.
The unwanted attention she was getting was no doubt because she had used the word "rosebud" at the door. Everyone was always interested in someone high profile, or pretending to be. She didn't like it. She was used to being ignored—being the odd one out. She was grateful for the silver loo mask covering her face. It allowed her to better shield her expression, her discomfort.
She found a windowed alcove on the side wall that gave her fresh (at least fresher than the blend of perfume, food, and humanity that permeated the ballroom) air and used that vantage point to survey the room, and possible threats. She saw Ardyn immediately, dancing with a glamorous woman. Her annoyance at Ardyn mounted.
He was a vapid idiot. How could he be taken in by such an obvious—slut? There, she said it. That dark-haired woman was bad news and obviously a trap. How could Ardyn be so shallow to be swayed by a pretty face and blatantly obvious flattery? She had thought he was more discerning than that. It was just like what the world said—men only cared about looks and who would put out. Brains, personality, accomplishments meant nothing to them.
She shouldn't have thought Ardyn was any different, yet at some level, she thought he was better than that. If nothing else, 2000 years of wisdom and the perspective of immortality should alter one's opinions on the matter. To see someone with his unique worldview resorting to acting like a frat boy was, frustrating to see. She was disappointed in him.
They did made an attractive couple, Eostre thought, spirits lowering for some reason. That suit/ruffled shirt/cape ensemble Ardyn had bought suited him well. It gave him the flamboyance of another era. An era when men were gentleman, more chivalrous than they were now. And the cape gave him a stalwart edge—an aura of noble rakishness. Of course he would mesh well with that—exotic woman in his arms.
Eostre could never match that woman's looks, or her dainty height. She could never act as comfortable and confident in a man's arms as his dance partner seemed to be. All of Eostre's accomplishments and intelligence faded away against that. It was almost painful to watch them—Eostre didn't know why.
She still had to though—it would be up to her to observe anything suspicious. Especially since he was too busy whispering sweet nothings into his companion's ear and kissing her hand. Eostre's annoyance with Ardyn surged into anger. No wonder he wanted Eostre to stay back with Lux—he wanted to—to cavort without an audience.
"Such fire in your gaze. I could drown in it," an unfamiliar, slurred with drink, male voice sounded beside her.
She had been too busy making sure Ardyn was safe that she had forgotten about herself and the attention she had been getting. She glanced sharply to see the owner of the voice standing right next to her in the alcove, his shark-like black eyes staring at her with sordid interest.
Everything about the man was greasy—his pomaded to the point of shiny slicked-back black hair, his waxed handlebar mustache, his oily swarthy, pudgy complexion. Even the maroon tuxedo covering his gluttonous paunch was shiny. Eostre broke out in a cold sweat as unease and disgust took over.
"You must be drunk if you are mixing your metaphors," Eostre said repressively. "Please go sober up and leave me alone."
The man wheezed a laugh. "You've got a smart mouth on you. I simply must taste it."
Eostre didn't even reply. She merely turned away to beat a hasty retreat.
"Oh not yet, mysterious lady," the man said, grabbing her bare shoulder with surprising strength and turning her back to face him. "You owe me a kiss."
She recoiled from the feel of the hot, sweaty hand on her bare shoulder. "Back off, creep," she spat back, attempting to twist out of his grasp. She dimly felt her dress slip a bit down her arms in response to her movement, which just added to her fear.
"But, you are under the mistletoe," the man returned mischievously, pulling her closer despite her efforts. She could smell the aftershave he used, the chemical smell of his pomade. It was enough to turn her stomach.
He'd asked for it, she decided, flexing her knee in preparation for giving his crotch a lesson it wouldn't soon forget.
"I know when my wife is not interested in a kiss," Ardyn drawled from behind her. "For your own safety, I advise backing off."
His tone was conversational yet dangerous. The message was subtle but understood. Eostre stiffened at his words and what he had just implied about her relationship with him. Her would-be assailant released her like she carried the plague and muttered an apology that Eostre didn't hear as Ardyn took her hand in a strong grip and escorted (or was it dragged) her away.
She would have thought Ardyn would take her to another alcove, but to her surprise, and annoyance, he led her to the dancefloor. His arm closed around her waist, and his other hand took hers in the typical waltz position. What even she (with her limited dance skills) knew should be a light, flirtatious touch was instead hard, almost rough. His anger as he held her was palpable. But then, so was hers.
As angry as she was, she was still aware of the plush velvet of his cape as it brushed against her, and the fluffy caress of his ruffed shirt against the bare skin of her upper chest and shoulders exposed by the lower than usual neckline of her gown. He really was holding her too close. It merely increased her anger and annoyance.
She felt a savage satisfaction as she stepped on his foot. It had been accidental, but she was actually glad it happened as he hissed in discomfort. "Sorry," she said, her tone indicating she wasn't contrite at all. "I can't dance, but you had to bring me out here."
"As the alternative is another mistletoe festooned alcove, I fear I must take the risk of your bad dancing. I have no wish to be one of your, alcove partners," Ardyn sneered.
Eostre flushed. "You're lucky. Otherwise I would have kicked you in the junk just like I was about to do the other guy when you, interrupted," she snarked back.
"Ah, your fabled surprise attacks that I have yet to see in action," Ardyn replied mockingly.
"Really? Your mind must be going in your 2000 year old senility. I seem to recall a fire extinguisher taking you by surprise ten years ago," Eostre contradicted, reciprocating the mockery.
She marveled at herself that she could even reference that frightening scene from years ago. The scene burned into her memory and nightmares. Now she was bringing it out as a passing insult. What had changed? Was it because she had met him again and realized he was not the dangerous fiend he had once been?
But that wasn't quite true. He may not be able to turn people into daemons anymore or be immortal, but the danger was still there. He had knowledge accumulated from 2000 years of immortality and absorbing memories. And knowledge was power. He had the powers of the Lucis Caelum clan. He knew the gaps in people's armor and exploited them with a masterful ease. He was dangerous, perhaps even more so now. He was not a beast who had lost his fangs. He was a beast who was currently cornered, chained up, and desperate.
Ardyn looked blank for a moment before his eyes narrowed in remembrance.
"Ah, yes. Do forgive me for not remembering. That was, not me, at least the me I'd like to remember," he returned matter of factly.
Eostre blinked in surprise at the admission. "Someone who murders someone in a fit of rage that they later regret will say it wasn't them either. It doesn't make it true," Eostre lectured regretfully.
"Oh, I know," Ardyn returned. "I know what I am, and that I am, past forgiveness."
There was a tone of regret in there that Eostre knew he would never admit to. It was more an edge of wistfulness, perhaps. Almost like he sought redemption but knew he would never find it. It made her, almost want to reassure him that anything was possible. To give him hope.
"Just like I know, from your helpful demonstration all those years ago, is that your surprise attacks are, lacking," Ardyn interrupted her thoughts tauntingly—blowing her momentarily softer feelings out of the water.
"It's better than what I've seen you display tonight," she returned angrily, an extra bite to it now because of that flare of compassion she had almost felt for him. "Mister, oh I will watch my back, at least until Miss Sultry pretends she is interested in me."
Ardyn gave a cold smirk as he used his arm around her waist to whirl her around sharply, causing her to stumble even closer against him for a moment. "On the contrary. I'm doing what I said I would—making contact with our possible allies. Unlike you who saw fit to abandon your post. Who is watching Lux while you are here in my arms?"
"I didn't abandon my post! He doesn't trust you and wanted me to check up on you. And I'm glad I did. Who knows what you would have allowed happen?"
Ardyn's grip on her hand tightened. His golden gaze blazed down at her. "What's the matter? Afraid I would have eloped with my dance partner leaving you and Lux in the lurch?"
"Eloping is the wrong word, seeing as you so nicely said I am already your wife," Eostre spat back, not wanting to give Ardyn the last word.
"And a jealous, possessive wife, too, it seems," Ardyn oozed, a gleam in his eye that Eostre didn't trust.
It was Eostre's turn to clench her hand in Ardyn's. "I'd have to care about you to be jealous, Ardyn. And I don't," she replied coldly, logically. "And possessive implies that I ever could be someone you'd care about. I've seen the type of women you gravitate to."
There. She had been logical, perfectly reasonable.
But then, there was nothing logical about any of this. Ardyn's angry gaze turned speculative. It burned a path from her hair, now exposed as her wimple had come askew during the manhandling attempting to masquerade as a dance; to her stormy gaze amplified by the silver mask; to the skin exposed by her collar that had dipped a tiny bit too low; to the figure flattered by the dress that complimented his own apparel.
Eostre felt it again—the same tension she had felt on that catwalk in Gralea ten years ago. The fear within her mixed with fascination. The reckless defiance that almost made her want to make Ardyn do his worst. The urging to get past Ardyn's aloof façade and get him to show his real self—even if it was dark and dangerous.
The music stopped. Ardyn released her with an almost abrupt gesture, bringing her back to reality with a jolt, and wondering what the hell she had just been thinking.
"Go back to the hotel, Eostre," he ordered. "I shall be having a, late night."
"Enjoy your evening, Ardyn," she said smoothly, striding over to the bar (mercifully free from mistletoes), staring back at him defiantly, and making it clear she had her vantage point for the evening.
Ardyn's face was a cold mask of frustration as he strode over to her. "I can warp you back to the Levelle in two minutes, and be back here in another two. Care to test that?"
"I never thought I'd see your face again," a snooty man's voice called out to them before Eostre could reply, or before Ardyn could make good on his threat.
The voice was strangely familiar, Ardyn realized, turning sharply to confront the man who evidently recognized him.
The sandy-blonde haired man was ignoring Ardyn, and glaring at Eostre instead. She was the one he recognized, Ardyn thought with surprise.
Eostre's response was even more surprising. Her face, what was visible under the mask, went pale. "Loqi. What are you doing here," she gasped out.
"Looking out for threats in my adopted city. And I found one," the onetime Gralean official Loqi Tummelt grated back with a viciousness that boded ill.
