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Post by Francis Bonnefoy on Mar 25, 2010 20:53:50 GMT -5
Flitting through the crowd gracefully, François Bonnefoy was having quite the time of her life amongst the others of her kind also known as people, but that did not sound quite as literary. Curtsying was definitely a skill she needed to practice as she went about the room, having caught a fresh lung-full of breath. About to disappear once more into a particularly large throng, not aware of the looks she received around the room, she paused as a young man came before her.
Shorter than her, however, this was not particularly amazing. Tall for ma-- ahem, woman, naturally she was taller than the other, but not in a fashion that made him dwarfed by her size. Well... not in her mind, five inches was not a particularly amazing difference, she reasoned. Besides, he was not of a displeasing countenance, unlike a few men she had danced with that night. Unable to figure out his full looks, however, François was quite positive that he was not someone she had met before. After all, she was positive if that were the case, he had the potential of being found out in his little act. Which would spoil the fun of the entire night, really. That was unacceptable.
After mentally assuring herself it was safe, she acted accordingly to the request. Curtsying in response to the request, she offered her hand to him formally, "I would be honoured," she replied, a bright smile gracing her face. Of course - manners were always the most important at parties such as these, aside from dancing skills, which were also a talent of the blonde's. After all - if one is to live amongst the rich despite it all, one must act and behave in a similar manner as they. Dancing was one of these behaviors held in high regard. Especially when it came to dances - places to show such skills off.
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Post by Ivan Braginsky on Mar 25, 2010 23:37:59 GMT -5
Ivan was definitely new to the party scene and because of that many things struck him as odd. One of these oddities came as he watched the crowd. There were two men rather close together and while that wasn't odd in and of itself, the fact that one had his hand in the others' pocket (the other looking mildly displeased with this) was. He knew he was bad at some things, but he knew for certain that didn’t happen too often. He watched them curiously for a moment, before his attention turned back to the musicians and the graceful movement of each one as they played their instruments.
There was only one thing that could make them look better in fact--being splattered with their own blood; a healthy dose of fear in their eyes. He could picture particularly well one of the smaller musicians with blood running down his face and dripping to the ground like liquid rubies, hear his screams as his throat went raw and feel the strength dripping out of him as he slowly grew quiet and gave in, submissive and docile as a puppet with cut strings.
He was drawn out of his imagination before he could imagine anything worse, when a smaller male--and he was quite small at that, especially compared to Ivan-- moved to the wall nearby him, mumbling a little to himself before shutting his eyes and enjoying the music. It seemed he wasn’t the only one who thought it was nice to stay out of the crowd for a bit. Ah, could it be he wanted something? He mumbled another thing that Ivan didn’t quite catch and Ivan was just about to offer some vodka--because honestly vodka made everything better, it was almost his fuel after all-- when the Armenian's entire demeanor changed and he swiftly left.
The Russian's eyes followed his path, and settled on the reason for the sudden departure-- a rather beautiful blond woman with a flushed face and an exquisite outfit moving through the crowd. There was something odd about this woman--something a little out of the ordinary--but he couldn't put his finger on what exactly it was; maybe it was the spark of mischief about her or the way her dress showed off the slight curve of her hip? Whatever it was, Ivan didn't mind it and couldn't help but watch as the Armenian made friends with her.
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Diran Parisyan
Junior Member
Ranger
"We are presumed guilty, even when proven innocent."
Posts: 54
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Post by Diran Parisyan on Mar 25, 2010 23:43:08 GMT -5
Taking the hand of François, Diran led her onto the floor. The room was spinning and making him dizzy, although that could have been the wine. Deciding to write it off at the wine, Diran pulled François acceptably close with his hand on her waist and began waltzing in time to the music. He wasn't particularly skilled in this, but he knew the steps, and kept his agile feet off of his partner's toes.
"Ah-heh-heh... Do you go to these sort of things often?" He asked with a soft laugh.
'Oh, are you expecting her to be secretly some poor traveler like yourself, little fool?' Diran's inner voice scolded him until it realized that the rest of him was preoccupied with François. Diran was astounded at his own reactions to this woman- she could be the key to the end of his confusion, at last. If he found this woman attractive, then he was finally doing something the way he was taught that it should be. For so long he had been confused and perhaps-
"How rude of me, I have not introduced myself," Diran interrupted his own train of thought as he was so wont to do. Stepping away for a moment, he bowed with a flourish. "And I will continue not to do so, for the sake of suspense, if you would not mind that."
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Post by Veata Chea on Mar 27, 2010 16:44:20 GMT -5
Veata peered out almost a little shyly from beneath her blood red mask at the mass of people that had taken over the room. The female wasn’t unaccustomed to parties, her father himself had thrown one too many after they had escaped the refugee camp, but this was something else all together. She was used to formal parties of only her own country where the food was an exotic mixture of ingredients stolen from the jungle and where the people walked about adorned in sarongs and gold. Never had their guests hidden their faces behind physical masks or danced in such strange manners with their oddly made clothes. Even the words drawn out by their loud and boisterous voices seemed nothing like the soft and humble words of the Khmer traditional parties.
Out of instinct the Oriental’s hand clasped tightly around the silver locket her father had given her. Against her pale skin and raven black hair it stood out strongly but the deep red of her silk, Eastern-style dress complemented it beautifully. A golden dragon weaved into the fabric danced across her body with every subtle movement of her frame and as she wrapped sleeveless arms around herself, Veata couldn’t help but notice how out of place she seemed to be here. The dress she wore was beautiful but it wasn’t a dress made for a party quite like this one where European seemed to the dominating influence. All at once it was too bright and simple compared to the flowering skirts of the women and the deep black shirts of the men. How she came to be at this place was beyond her comprehension.
A small, aggravated sigh pressed at the tip of her tongue as she ran slender fingers through her hair. Leaned against a stone white pillar with a glass balanced in one hand she let her head fall back onto the cold material. This party had been going on for more than just a few hours and while she had been drawn to the dance floor by a few men that had found her “exotic”, Veata was quickly beginning to tire of the place. She was a person that needed something exciting and interesting to keep her attention in place. This party, unappealing to start with was only worsening with her lack of interest. If something didn’t happen soon she was going to leave the place behind and go home for a nice, long sleep.
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Post by Lovino Vargas on Mar 27, 2010 17:33:41 GMT -5
Lovino stiffened, eyes widening in shock as his fingers were forcibly withdrawn from the other man's pocket. This was impossible! No one had caught him pickpocketing in years! Biting back a reflexive Chigiiiii!, he sputtered wordlessly for a moment before his smooth tongue developed from years of thievery took over. "What! You're accusing me!" Lovino adopted his best hurt expression, even though his heart pounded furiously and a slight flush crossed his cheeks. "You suspicious bastard, I saw someone else take something from you, and was trying to return it without causing a scene!"
He tried to pull his wrist away, but failed to break the Spaniard's... wait. Spaniard!? Behind his mask, one of Lovino's eyebrows twitched as he studied the other man's masked face. Judging from his voice and clothing --and especially his choice of words-- it might just be the man he'd met before. Goddammit why did it have to be him of all people!? For all he knew, the Spaniard might get the sudden urge to hug him or try to molest him again. Lovino had to force himself to keep his horror off his face. "T-that's appreciation for you, Spanish bastard!" Again he tried to tug his hand free to no avail. "Try and do something nice for someone, and it's all my fault! Jerk!" [/blockquote]
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Post by Francis Bonnefoy on Mar 28, 2010 5:45:24 GMT -5
Pulled in to the customary position in his arms, François could not help but chuckle at the feeling to herself. Naturally, this was a bit odd to her since by day, without the mask, dress and make-up she was a man, a traveller. However, this was a fact she was not about to reveal to her companion. That would have been a foolish move. Not to mention it would cause quite the uproar from the men she had previously danced with. They wanted none of that, uoi?
Although not skilled in the art of dancing, François was pleased to find he at least was not making a poor first-timer attempt, she had had quite enough of fumbling around on the dance floor, performing more of an odd dodging game with her feet. The music wafted softly in her ears, leading her throughout the dance in tune with her partner's movements.
"Non, not particularly," she muttered in between a few steps, although she had enough practice to barely pay mind to her own steps. It was those of others she was cautioned about, hardly wishing for a teared dress or ruined shoes. "Only when possible." She finished with a bright smile, feeling that was quite enough information to be given. After all, mentioning that she knew alchemy or anything else had the potential to give way to questions, questions which François was positive she could not answer without giving a hint or two to her identity.
Chuckling a little to herself, she nodded in agreement and bent over, easily covering the five inches separation between their heights, "It adds to the mystery, does it not?" She suggested, the whisper intentionally made suggestive as her lips kept a fair distance away from the rim of his ear, although the warmth of her breath could not be helped. Quickly, she straightened her form out, lips pulled into a sly, fox-like smile, devious and wily and not entirely innocent if it could ever be interpreted so.
Contented with the work she had done, the effect she had made on this particular man, sensing that although not quite at an end yet, the music was slowly changing its form, she gave a small curtsy. "I do believe our three minutes are up," she stated politely, blue eyes dancing with something stirring beneath them, in her mind, perhaps, "Maybe we shall see each other again," she said with a wink. Of course, then she would not be wearing the dress, mask nor the heels, she would be dressed in proper male attire. Leaning once more, she placed a kiss on his cheek as was customary (for her) before deciding that there were more people to play with in the crowd.
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Post by Anica Popescu on Mar 29, 2010 20:16:45 GMT -5
Why am I here? Anica asked herself for the umpteenth time, idly playing with the mask in her hands. Compared to the other masks she had seen worn by some of the various party goers, hers looked like something you picked up at a cheap sale. One look at the clothes she was wearing explained it all. Black silk vest over a comfortable white dress shirt, black tie, crisp black knee length skirt with leggings and heels really told the story.
Anica Popescu was reduced to being a waitress for some noblewoman snob. The things you do when you're desperate for money...
With a exasperated sigh, Anica slipped her mask over her eyes before peeking into the exquisite ball room, it was almost like looking into an entire different world. One filled with gorgeous women (as far as one could tell) in amazing silk gowns being swept across the dance floor to the sounds of the most amazing violin music she had ever heard in her life. There was something... captivating about one of the brunettes, maybe it was because just by looking at him, she could tell he had a good up bringing. A regular aristocrat.
The Romanian ran her fingers through her hair, probably the only time it would be so smooth to the touch, and picked up a tray of champagne glasses and stepped into the fantastic world. Instantly feeling like the air itself was suffocating her. Anica might have belonged to the upper class once, but that felt like an eternity ago. Not even her father held such fancy parties.
Once she got to the refreshment table and began placing them neatly around the bottle of champagne, she took the time to look around her. Trying to pick out people who didn't blend in like paint. Hard to do, with an event like this.
There was that aristocratic violinist, a man who seemed to be watching him who, interestingly enough, had white hair.
"Probably dyed, or something..." Anica said to herself. Someone who really stood out was a huge man who stood out for that reason: for being tall and broad-shouldered. He seemed to be the wall flower type since all he did was stand there and drink from a bottle. Anica tucked the tray under her arm and watched the event as if she were on the outside looking in, reaching up and loosening her tie just because the atmosphere still seemed to want to suffocate her.
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Diran Parisyan
Junior Member
Ranger
"We are presumed guilty, even when proven innocent."
Posts: 54
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Post by Diran Parisyan on Mar 30, 2010 0:49:45 GMT -5
The words seemed to arrive in his ear minutes after they were said, and until they did, all he could understand was that François' warm breath was tickling his neck. It was sensational. Too soon he had to release her hand and move away. And she kissed him. That, too, was sensational. After their dance was over, he floated out of the crowd and twirled by a waitress at a table and plucked a glass of champagne off of it, and tossed it down his throat in a similar manner to the wine. Getting drunk was the second-best part of any social situation.
His face had lost its normal blankness and composure- his half-drunken glee was on full display and he didn't care. Grabbing the hand of the Romanian waitress in front of him, he twirled her around a few times and floated away feeling more content than he had in months. Provided, he hadn't really been drunk in months.
He spun away- rather conspicuously, drawing a few stares from those who considered themselves too dignified to behave like that- and eventually halted beside Ivan, almost colliding with the large man. His eyes shone with a dizzy, not-quite-sober light as he gazed up at the tall figure. "You're the man with the vodka," he pointed out quietly, still gazing up at him. "I know because you're wearing that nice, thick scarf. Doesn't your vodka get warm in there?"
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Post by Elizaveta Héderváry on Mar 30, 2010 5:45:20 GMT -5
Interesting things seemed to happen during her rest.
First, there was this beautiful girl, or at least, it looked like that she was beautiful, if one were to judge this particular girl from her clothing and mask. She looked like those star of the party kind of person, what with how she dressed herself. Exquisite, detailed dress, with expensive looking material, a mask that was a complete match for the dress. Elizaveta almost wished that she were in this girl's position, but then reality came and she was forced to look at her own plain white shirt again. Besides... something was... odd about this girl. She can't quite place what though.
Second, she had come to notice that a fight was brewing in this ballroom, this very minute. That is, if she were to judge from the loud shouting noise at the other end of the ballroom.
But really...
Being a wallflower is not fun. She had come into that conclusion after what, minutes of watching others dance on the dance floor. It shouldn't come as a surprise for her, after all, she came here not as one of the lucky guests. She came here as one of those poor workers, forced to watch peoples have fun while they worked like there's no tomorrow, making sure that the guests had enough food and drinks.
Guess I should get back to work. The Hungarian thought to herself, casting her gaze towards her fellow worker, who had been swept off for a dance by a drunk guest. She can't help but felt a tinge of jealousy at that. But ah, no matter. She just need to focus herself to the work at hand and soon enough this night, and this job would be over. She can stand another few hours. She can.
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Vash Zwingli
New Member
Assassin
"Happiness is just an illusion, filled with sadness and confusion..."
Posts: 11
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Post by Vash Zwingli on Mar 31, 2010 5:08:23 GMT -5
Sorry this took a long time X-X-X Vash took her hand formally and graced themselves inside. For once, he was glad to have a mask one to hide himself. Normally, he wouldn't be like this. As a waiter passed by with some champaign glasses, he took the liberty to get one for himself and his friend here. He took a sip and felt to see how it tasted. It tasted good despite the efforts to make this party a success. "Seraphine, why not enjoy the part yourself for now?" he asked the young woman who seemed to enjoy it. Unlike him, he still didn't see why people enjoyed this. What was so fun about this? He was here now. People were laughing and dancing and getting drunk and all. This must be their definition of fun.
"Instead of staying with me for now. Enjoy it. Besides, I bet people would like to dance with you." Vash stated. He bowed his head for a while and turned around leaving the young woman all by herself. He knew she could handle things like this. Unlike him, this was her area of specialty. He finally left the party early. ---
Super short reply
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Post by Gilbert Weillschmidt on Mar 31, 2010 7:28:20 GMT -5
More and more people were coming into the main dance room by the minute, and it left Gilbert feeling uncomfortable and crushed. He worked his way around the dance floor, carefully avoiding conversations with anyone he passed on his way to the other side of the stage. There were less people there, but he would still be close enough to catch the musicians (or rather, on in particular) as they stepped down for their break.
Different voices rang out from all directions, and for once, the Prussian truly detested his enhanced hearing. He would have given anything to be deaf, if only for a few minutes, but that would mean he wouldn't be able to hear the music (which was something of a depressing thought). Closing his eyes, he tried to pick out the sound of the violin he knew to be Roderich's and focus on only that sound, but his efforts were in vain and the chorus of unending conversation forced it's way into his mind. Dammit, he thought bitterly. I hate this. He'd better be fricken grateful I showed up at all.
Each heartbeat in the room echoed loudly, easy to pick out among the voices and it felt like he was being shown a buffet that he couldn't touch (or in his case, wouldn't). They were all different, but none unhealthy, and it was driving him mad. The younger humans smelt better than the elders, but it was blood all the same and he knew it wasn't a good sign. He couldn't afford to lose control, not here, and not now. Whatever this performance was, it seemed to be making Roderich happy, and that's what matter.
Just don't breathe, he told himself silently, opening his eyes to look at the stage again. Somewhere to his left he heard someone mutter something about 'dyed' and he smirked. Was his hair really that unusual? He had always saw it as something unique; being albino was rare, but not unheard of. The eyes were really the best deal. It was normally only someone who was albino that had them (and somehow, this was a little known fact). Thus, it was fun to scare people with them.
His attention snapped back to the music and he concentrated on it and being as still as possible. As long as he didn't inhale, he'd be alright. His cloak was pulled around him which meant he didn't have to worry about someone noticing his lack of breathing, and people were too busy off doing their own thing to notice that he'd all but become a statue (which was frustrating in it's own way. He hated sitting still and doing nothing). He just had to hope no one suddenly changed their mind and found him interesting. ...This song is too long.
-------- A/N: I'm using my right to reply, even though I can't do too much until Roddy stops playing. So, um, fear me. Yeah. Mwuahahaha.
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Post by Roderich Edelstein on Mar 31, 2010 12:11:42 GMT -5
The last quivering notes of his violin resounded through the crowded room as Roderich lifted his bow from the strings, the other musicians following suit with the conclusion of this particular song. There was a break in conversation at the sudden silence, then polite applause echoed through the large ballroom. Inhaling slowly, Roderich used the opportunity to wipe a drop of sweat from his nose with the blue cuff of his white jacket and glance about the room, studying the people scattered around him. His gaze froze at the sight of a familiar mop of silver hair, and his eyes narrowed. That can't be... Gilbert? He shouldn't be here. There's too many people; he would never come... Then again, even in this strange city of many cultures, how many people could share that distinct shade of silver?
The applause faded away slowly as the guests returned to their previous activities, and Roderich raised his bow again, using the very tip to flip to the next sheet of music on the stand before him. Almost bored, he read the title and preceded to ignore it, knowing the song without needing to read the music. He had a sudden, overwhelming urge to just play, but knew without a doubt that the other musicians would never be able to keep up with him, even if by chance they could interpret his tune.
The applause faded away except for one sharp pair of hands, clapping alone. A young woman, clad in a deep red dress that matched her hair and mask, smiled directly at him and waved a hand as if to bid the violinists stop. Eyes narrowing again, Roderich stood and moved aside as she delicately mounted the stage, belatedly recognizing her from the mane of red-gold hair as the woman who had hired him.
"My lords and ladies," she curtsied formally and smiled as all eyes turned to her, something in her voice making them fall silent. "I do hope you're enjoying my little party here..."
As she continued to speak, from his vantage point atop the stage, Roderich could see men dressed in similar hues of red carefully closing and locking each door. A feeling of unease mounted in his stomach, and in spite of himself, he glanced at the silver-haired man in the corner, hoping fervently that he was indeed Gilbert.
"I know it is early yet, but I just want to ensure that no one has the urge to leave," she continued, voice silky-smooth as she gestured almost casually at the now-locked doors. "So please continue to enjoy yourselves at your relative's expense."
So casually had she spoken that Roderich almost missed the meaning behind it before his head whipped around, eyes widening behind his mask.
The red-haired woman spread her hands before her, magic pulsing through the room in the direction of each of the doors. A semi-translucent thread of crimson energy spidered into a web across each door. Over the tumult growing in the hall, she clapped her hands again for silence. "You will all stay her until your family pays the ransom I have personally ensured will be delivered at your estates." Almost looking regretful, she glanced first at the musicians, then at the serving girls. "Those of you who were hired or came uninvited shall remain here as well... I always have a need for... help."
The gleam in her eye, visible even behind the mask, was enough to make Roderich's grip on the neck of his violin tighten; he doubted that whatever she had in mind would be pleasant for any of them.
With a small laugh, the red-haired woman clapped her hands once more and faded away. "Enjoy yourselves," she called as she vanished entirely, leaving the ballroom in a state of seeming shock. [/blockquote]
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Post by Anica Popescu on Mar 31, 2010 14:40:01 GMT -5
For a moment, Anica’s mouth was unbelievably dry. As if she had just swallowed a mouthful of sand and chased it with a blast of hot air. This… all of this… was just some elaborate kidnapping plan…?
“Că căţea!” The Romanian exclaimed once the moisture in her mouth returned, grabbing a champagne glass from the table and slinging it across the ballroom in frustration. Wishing, oh God wishing that the broken glass had been the noble-woman’s head and the alcohol her blood and brain matter. Anica ripped her mask off and tossed it aside; wanting to find that woman and strangle her with the tie she was wearing. “Cine se crede ea este?!” She grabbed her hair in her fists and took deep, calming breathes. Yelling was good, but it wasn’t going to make the oh-so-pleasant image of that woman begging for mercy and closer to reality. Already, panic broke out among the party goes, some of the men were already trying to break the doors down in a hopeless attempt at escape. But the magic, whatever it was, pretty much guaranteed a single thing.
They were all trapped. Like rats in a cage. What would a woman who could afford such luxuries want with even more money, anyway? Was it her goal to become the richest person on the planet, or some clichéd bullcrap like that? And… what would happen if these ransoms weren’t paid?
The question that was the most important to the Romanian woman however was what did that noble woman she-devil mean by ‘help’ from the hired and uninvited? Anica licked her lips only to bite the bottom one almost hard enough to draw blood. Why had lady Luck decided to just say ‘screw you’ to her this time? Now she was apart of a hostage situation that, depending on the people, could either end very good or very bad.
“In short…” Anica began, her voice somewhat level and calm, the fingernails of her tightly clenched fists biting harshly into the heels of her hands, “fuck my life. ---------------------------
("Că căţea! Cine se crede ea este?!"- "That bitch! Who does she think she is?!")
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Post by Veata Chea on Mar 31, 2010 17:45:20 GMT -5
…a…ransom? Of all the things to have been lured into this mansion for and trapped into it had to be for a ransom? Veata wasn’t sure if she should throw a fit about something quite as stupid as this or if she should just go ahead and leave this tiring place without a single thought. There was most certainly no possibility that the female would even consider sitting here quietly like a good little girl as her older brothers worked on having the money sent over…especially considering that her home was across an ocean and it would take two weeks at the very least for the money to make it into this idiotic woman’s hands. And besides that, what kind of aristocrat that was clearly well off need to ransom all of the people here for? She was just a greedy creature with no common sense but a good deal of power; the worst kind of person one could ever have the displeasure of meeting and Veata would most certainly not stand for it.
There was a small huff dancing on the very tip of her tongue as her lithe form pushed off of the pillar and slipped between the mass of bodies that was quickly allowing for the panic to set them off. Most of the men and women here had probably lived cushiony lives where they had no worries of where this next meal was coming from. No doubt the sudden stress of being treated like this in such a manner would set them off rather quickly. Veata on the other hand, despite her own rather cushiony and noble life lately, recalled easily the years spent in a refuge camp under the power of others. The instinct to insure her own survival at the very least that had slowly died over the years rekindled with the direct threat to her wellbeing.
“Now, let’s see here…” The words were quiet, barely there and directed more towards herself as Veata paused in front of the main doors. It was one of the very few empty areas surprisingly…Perhaps because of the deep webs of red magic weaving back and forth across the wood. An unfamiliar thing that many would much rather prefer to avoid lest there be physical consequences for coming too close.
A small tilt came to the girl’s head as she lifted a curious hand towards the red threads…
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Post by Ivan Braginsky on Mar 31, 2010 22:38:50 GMT -5
Ivan wasn't exactly sure why he was getting odd looks from the people of the masquerade, or why the givers of those looks seemed to give him more space than necessary, but for the most part this wasn't unusual for him. He seemed to stick out like a sore thumb no matter where he went and the masquerade wasn't any different. Although, he wasn't the only one getting looks. A irritable looking man with white hair got a few himself. But what was so strange about him? Ah, maybe it was because everyone was smaller than him? Maybe they were scared? That was easily dealt with; if he just sat down, no one would notice how big he was and he wouldn't stand out so much anymore. He was looking around for a chair when the Armenian male came back from dancing, rather unsteady on his feet and almost collided with the larger Russian.
Ivan blinked down at him, putting his hand on his shoulder to steady him as he swayed, before smiling broadly. Maybe he could make friends with this man--he didn't seem too nervous around him. "Ah, my vodka?" he giggled, and held up the glass bottle which was still mostly full. "Is good. See, it's not warm at all. Is better that way, da?" And surprisingly enough, the bottle would be cool to the touch, slightly cooler than his own skin. Then, with his head tilted to the side, he peered down at Diran curiously. Drunk… the smaller man was drunk, or at least very tipsy. "You haven't had any zakuski…. You cannot hold your alcohol without them, da?"
The violins stopped with a final note and a woman on stage started speaking, her voice calm and smooth. Something about her, either the way she looked or spoke, made Ivan think of a blood-red wine--tasteful and decadent, but not at all to his tastes. He didn't like her on sight and the smile left his lips as she spoke, saying strange things about ransoms and not being allowed to leave.
There was a word for what she was doing--it was on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn't quite get it out. Some silly word, that didn't quite…. ah, yes, kidnap. She had kidnapped them. The doors were shut and locked as she spoke, but it didn't bother Ivan. It would give him plenty of time to make friends with the people who were trapped here with him. The ransom bit of her speech would be a little problematic for him--he had no family to speak of--but then again he wasn't exactly an invited guess, so it didn’t matter.
The room was silent for a minute after she left but as soon as the moment was over panic ensued in the form of confused murmurs. Which turned into angry cries and the sharp sound of a shattering glass. Ivan laughed and it was like the sound a child made when he just figured out something particularly clever. "Ufufufufu. This is an interesting party, da?"
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