ꜱ1ᴇ2　　red carpet

(TW: Blood, Gore, NPC Character Death, Flashbacks contain segments of ual, physical, emotional, and psychological abuse. Take caution.)
Music: Demons - Jacob Lee

‘Your silly little tongue got you into this predicament, now crawl your way out of it.’

She’d hear him growl, his voice her clearest memory as she grasped at the sheets beneath her. A rush of her running through her veins as a choked gasp fell past her parted lips in desperation, her body eager, desiring the addicting rush that she hadn’t had in years--and yet, as her eyes fell shut and the man that had her for that night ed within her heat--the old vampiress’ sunlit eyes darkened.

It wasn’t nearly enough. Not like him…

The stranger’s body collapsed on top of her, his frame moving to lay on his side as he pulled the phoenix-eyed vampiress against his chest. Waves of obsidian fell over ivory skin once she turned to face him, her slender fingers dancing over his bronzed skin while her eyes travelled over his features. What was supposed to be a stranger’s brown eyes had replaced itself with the steel of his own, her slender fingers combed through his locks of sunset spun gold.

It wasn’t as soft as his.

“You.. were amazing.” The baritone voice of the stranger breathed against her ear. Maybe… maybe if she were younger, the caress of a man’s breath would’ve had her breath ragged, the sweet flutter of butterflies would float and flirt about within her stomach as she listened to sweet nothings which plagued her within the past. Maybe, had she been younger, she would’ve found this stranger attractive. Maybe… had she still believed in the stories of one true happiness being found within a happy ending and a Prince Charming, she would’ve found this stranger to be her possible Prince Charming. The sweet little human she once was. Whether she was with sight or without, the little princess would’ve found a sense of love within this moment. Love, happiness, or even a sense of joy.

But alas, this was Jin Longjia. The dragon who blessed her motherland with the good of her sacrifice.

There was no happy ending.

“I want more…” Longjia breathed past parted lips. Her body moving on top and with him still inside her--Longjia’s hips began to move. Her body carved and shaped from the finest jade, the petals of her body and her demeanor much like that of a lotus, pure. As if the goddess Guan Yin had landed upon Earth itself while Longjia’s hips rocked and bounced herself ontop of the stranger she had met that night. However, unlike Guan Yin, Longjia was not merciful.

From where she sat on top underneath the dim light, the vampiress’ golden eyes gleamed within the light of the silver moon; illuminating the hotel room within it’s pale light, Longjia leaned in, the stench of his arousal and his blood intoxicating the beautiful Eastern princess with a guttural purr falling past her crimson lips.

“It’s not nearly enough.”

She whimpered softly, the caress of her lips against the stranger’s own with a tantalizing moan, her soft cries muffled within a kiss shared between the stranger and Longjia. Tongues entangled, and her teeth tore into flesh. Her nails dug into him to pry apart his chest with ease as she then tore out his tongue. The sounds of his cries muffled by the gurgles of the handsome stranger choking upon his blood.

This… This was her ritual. She bathed in his blood as his life slipped away. Her breathing growing heavier, her hips rocking herself faster and faster. More. More. More. Her body arched, a choked sob fell past parted crimson lips and she was on cloud nine.

Her eyes closed shut as she came. Her legs trembling as her blissfilled washed over her.

It was better than nothing.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

‘Did you think you could get rid of me that easily…?’

‘You may say that you’re not mine, Jia, but your body knows it’s owner. No one makes you feel the way that /I/ make you feel. You are mine, mia Regina, whether you like it or not.’

Even as she washed off the blood from her hands, she could still see it. The blood, the dirt, bile--there was to be a ball. A ball and Longjia had to let herself get into her emotions. She scrubbed at her skin. Scratched at her flesh til it turned raw and soft to Longjia’s touch.

Why did she do it? /Why did she do it?/ Why. Why. Why?! Why did she /enjoy/ it?

She imagined that it was him. That it was him. Looking up at her with her fingers around his neck, that it had been him. She wanted to hear him gurgle and plead… to plead for her mercy. Mercy he had not given her. Longjia wondered… wondered if he’d taste even better begging for mercy; pumped full of adrenaline; left completely yearning for the bliss of death that she had taken for the two of them.

Longjia breathed…. The bright gold of her eyes burning the remaining cinders of innocence as she pinned the last of her obsidian hair up into a bun. The black dress she donned adorned her ivory skin and accentuated the curves of her sylph-like frame. The author’s beautiful features formed into a sweet smile.

“Jin Longjia!”

There was a ball… and Yeol would be expecting her there.

Fang had wanted to look good for a change. He’d never been invited to attend the annual party before, but for better or worse had received an invitation. He trusted Sterling had too, and had been quick to snatch up the pretty dragon to be his date. Maybe when the dragon’s hoard increased some, they’d be able to drag more people down the red carpet with them - but as of right now, they’d have to cope with just the two of them.

The young human was dressed in a suit of course, to match the occasion, his hair falling into his eyes, keeping half of his expression shrouded. The red dye in his smooth locks at the back of his neck had been redone by himself the previous night. He’d turned up to the Vos residence fairly early, as it was always better than being late, and upon reaching the door had hurriedly explained to whoever asked that he was taking Sterling to the party. Quite understandably, the gang was still very intimidating to the human. Humans were squishy, and Fang was also supposed to be a hunter, both things that might contribute to them wanting to kill him if he played things wrong. But getting hunted by angry mer was Lio’s thing, so he’d leave it to the baker for now.

“You look gorgeous, Sterling,” Fang commented with a smile as they got out of the car. He’d been fawning over the dragon the whole way, almost drove into a lamppost more than once while looking over, but it felt good to compliment him outright too. Offering the pretty creature his arm, the human led the way after hearing their names called out alongside one another’s. Walking in front of the cameras made the usually solitary man’s neck prickle, but he was sure Sterling would be preening under him, so didn’t rush them along too much even though his ears were ringing by the end. As they always said; happy baby dragon that’s taken you into his consenting hoard of people, happy life.

The pause in the foyer gave him a moment to catch his breath, though pulling out his lighter got him a stern stare from the doorman, and he slowly put it back into his pocket. With the photos taken in a short time, they were in.

The evening was theirs to take by a storm.

( ) caution: mental illness

the once proud king demitri gautier crosses the threshold into the ball. while the sun had dipped below the horizon several hours ago with the party now later in its festivities and the proud cape draped across his broad shoulders, demitri's ghastly figure still presented as hardly visible. while he made a great effort in appearing presentable, the fallen king feared slipping from the memories of the last few people who recognized him and thereby lead him and his tragic legacy to drown beneath the seas of time.

beyond his waning power to exist, the loud, joyous atmosphere influenced demitri's mind to shift several centuries ago. within his now fallen kingdom buried in the mountains of the tundra, demitri could feel the warmth of lovers at the ball brushing past him. the resemblance to his previous life initally lit a fire in his eyes--however, he soon remembered how those same lovers were torn apart by invaders, and the king helplessly stood beside them and watched.

"filthy rats, everywhere." he snarls beneath his breath, shifting his narrowed gaze from one guest to another. he can hear them already, rats gnawing at the flesh of the victims of such tragedies. as the music reaches its crescendo, so does demitri's fears heighten. the fallen king forms his hand into a fist, forcefully slamming it into the body of a nonexistent rat against the wall.

by now, the panic is beginning to eat him alive. he feels the rats on him, and he tries not to attract the attention of the supposed enemy--otherwise the other guests of the ball--by brushing over his clothes with his palms. in his desperation, he reaches forward to a random patron. he steals her from her dance partner, forcibly bringing her closer. "do you see them?" he murmurs through clenched teeth, yet he soon raises his voice as the sound of rodents grows louder. the musicians continue, dismissing demitri as a patron who should have never attended in the first place: forgotten.

as she greets his gaze with fear, demitri releases her with a look of abject horror. "do not look upon me with scorn in your eyes!" he shouts, turning away as he can feel the patronizing whispers already sifting amongst the other patrons. overwhelmed with what he views as uncontrollable, demitri instead sits against the wall, burying his face in his hands as he succumbs to the rats in abject misery.

“The restaurant is closed tonight Kairos, why are you here?” Hestia’s lilting musical voice called from the back of the kitchen. “Besides, don't you have some pretty girl or boy to woo at the mayor’s ball? I know you were invited.” Kairos remained quiet despite the others' questioning, it just went to show how little she actually knew of him.
“I’ll prep the stocks and sauces for tomorrow then, you should go enjoy the ball” he called voice weary with resignation,
“Nonsense Kairos, you are my . Now, go get dressed, we leave in 30 minutes. No Arguments”
The desire to disobey her orders coursed through his veins, Raptor silently agreeing in the back of his mind. But Kairos knew that only trouble would come from disobeying the goddess. She had already been content to make his life miserable in the past and he knew she wouldn’t hesitate to use force to make him go with her.
Swallowing the lump in his throat only to have it bloom like poison in his stomach Kairos climbed the stairs to his tiny apartment, and went over to his wardrobe. Even with every piece of clothing he owned hanging, save the ones on his body it barely filled half the wardrobe but none of the hanging clothes were appropriate for a formal ball. Shaking his head he closed the wardrobe, crossing the room to flop with a huff across his small bed. He didn’t want to recognize it but it seemed he had no choice. Sliding off the bed he knelt and pulled the silver clothing box from under the bed, he had tried so hard to forget that day… the anxiety, the shame, the disappointment…. The understanding that he was broken; who would want a husband with two souls? No one. That had been made clear.
Sliding the lid off the box, Kairos pulled the neatly folded suit from the box, it’s bright blue color and off white undershirt as crisp as they had been on the day of the ill-fated wedding.
Dressing quickly, Kairos turned to study himself in the wardrobe mirror, shifting the fabric so it sat better against his skin. His reflection shifted, trembled and then broke away from his actions. Raptor’s hard stare surveying him, “Why are you wearing that again?” he asked voice hard with disdain and steely sarcasm. “It’s the only formal clothing we have,” Kairos mumbled, struggling to hold Raptor’s gaze.
Raptor shrugged and then folded his arms over his chest, “why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost then?” Kairos blinked at his reflection, who was Raptor. “Don’t you remember when we last wore these?”
Raptor raised an eyebrow, “Yes, and?”
Kairos could only stare, looking as though he was on the verge of tears. “The clothing is not what happened, Kairos. Put your warpaint on, you are stronger than this. Go make that ball your . Or let me out so I can!”
Kairos visibly stiffened “I can drive”
Raptor nodded “ Then do it.” and was gone, the reflections wavering for a moment before it went back to following Kairos’s movements.
The trance-like moment was broken by Hestia’s sharp wrap on the door. “You better be ready” she called.
Sliding on his dress shoes and grabbing a necklace from the mantle he made his way over to the door, “Who ever heard of a man taking longer to get ready than a goddess” it was clear she wasn’t really talking to him, impatient disdain written all over her face.
She was dressed to the nines in fancier clothing than Kairos had ever seen; the black floor length silk ballgown with gold accents simply dripped from her body, as did the jewelry that adorned her every appendage.
Kairos struggled to keep his jaw from physically dropping, “you look- beyond words” he said in an almost reverent voice, This Hestia such a stark departure from her normal self.
“Flattery will get you nowhere Kai, you know that”. Flushing in embarrassment, Kairos stood before her anticipating the inevitable inspection. “Not bad, but you’ve forgotten something” she said tapping the circlet that rested across her temples and draped over her meticulously placed locks.
Kairos winced visibly, he would have to wear his heritage for everyone to see… he hesitated but Hestia’s gaze left no room for negotiation, so with no more protest he returned to his wardrobe to pull the circlet box down off the top shelf, retrieve his adornment and place it on his head. It was a delicate thing really, swirls of fine silver wire in the motif of waves embracing tiny gems of labradorite a their crests and corresponding silver sheen obsidian beads lining the troughs.
“Good, lets go” Hestia called, spinning in the doorway and heading down the stairs.
With a small sigh he stowed the box away and hurried after Hestia, locking the door securely behind him.

Arriving at the ball itself was like stepping into a blazing inferno and an ice bath simultaneously, where Kairos shied away from the attention and the rapid flickering of the flashbulbs Hestia bathed in it, loving every moment. Content to let her have the spotlight he stayed just a few steps behind, content to fly in the Goddess’s shadow for the time being.

They turned the corner and found themselves at the edge of a red carpet, a literal red carpet, Kairos almost couldn’t help but snort, the pompous presumptuous grandeur of this whole event was a marvel really.

“The Goddess Hestia and Kairos Raptis of Greece” The announcer called.

Hestia swept him down the red carpet with her and into the venue, waving and blowing kisses to the reporters enough for both of them.

↳ ᴍᴀʏ 31, 2051
↳ ɴᴏᴡ ᴘʟᴀʏɪɴɢ: hypnotic - zella day

Sometimes, Akaedi Vos questioned the decisions that he made, and this was certainly one of them. Attending the ball with Wang Yeol, of all people? He wasn't sure what had possessed him to agree to this, why he had accepted the demigod's invitation. Yeol was someone who was always needling the Mer, poking and prodding until he had Akaedi on the brink of losing his cool. They were rivals and Akaedi was always incensed over something Yeol had done, and yet...

And yet Akaedi was wearing one of the pins Yeol had sent to his doorstep, attached to the lapel of his silk top. Draping, gems, silver, jewelry... Akaedi, as always, looked expensive. The mother-of-pearl tears painted one of his eyes completed the look, a nod to how his tears could turn to pearls.

His drive to Yeol's home was enough time for the Mer to relax yet again. It was extremely unlikely that Yeol would attack; he was mostly harmless in his behavior toward him, even if he did enjoy riling the Mer up. It was usually Akaedi who had the violent streak... a very Mer tendency of him, if he did say so himself, but regardless, Yeol was not at present posing a threat. Unless Akaedi chose to stab him, but that was yet to be determined. Wang Yeol excelled at pushing all of Akaedi's buttons, and not just one at a time, either.

Once Akaedi arrived, he didn't have to wait long before the demigod was inside his car. Akaedi listened to his words and rolled his eyes as he pulled away from Yeol's house, one hand on the stick shift and one on the steering wheel. A weakness of Mer was vanity; Akaedi was no exception. He was certain that Yeol was well aware of that, as he seemed to think he knew a lot about Akaedi.

Akaedi was a quiet driver. He didn't bother with small talk, instead focused on the road and where he was going. The Cardinal was hard to miss, even if one wasn't as acquainted with the city as Akaedi happened to be, and when the valet took his car away, that left Akaedi and Yeol to do their walk-in together.

Akaedi had forgotten that the press would be there; ah, well. It wasn't as though they were allowed to harass them once they were inside. Still, Ziminiar needed to do something about all of the story-hungry reporters before Akaedi fed one to Monarch.

He said as much to Yeol, on the way inside, before they passed through the doors. One of them probably heard him, but he could have cared less.

Akaedi was more interested in experiencing his date's dancing prowess.

↳ ᴍᴀʏ 31, 2051
↳ ɴᴏᴡ ᴘʟᴀʏɪɴɢ: power is power - the weekend, sza, travis scott

When his girls had left, Ailell had still been wearing black, the clothes he'd put on when he'd gotten up that morning and started his daily work routine. His job was a round-the-clock deal, but going to the ball was part of it. So instead of turning up in the same black suit he'd worn last year, he found himself putting on white, with just a splash of blue for color. He removed his brown contacts, blinking leaf-green eyes. Paired with the point of his ears, they made it impossible to mistake him for anything but Elven blood.

That was always handy, when it came to blending in with those who weren't Mortem and didn't know the identity of any of the hunters. They were less likely to suspect other creatures; it was a simple fact, one Ailell had been taking advantage of for years.

And no one ever bothered to ask Ailell who he was or why he was there. That was why he liked these annual events hosted by the city's Mayor. There were so many people in attendance that one simply didn't question those who were there... and that made the job of Mortem so much easier, Ailell almost wanted to laugh at the dangerous folly of it all. He didn't want Mortem to win. He wanted Mortem to be destroyed—he wanted to protect the kids in his squad, and that was one of the only reasons he hadn't yet sold out Mortem. There was no guarantee that those children he had practically raised, the ones that had no chance to be anything but hunters, would be kept safe. After all... there was blood on their hands, just as there was blood on Ailell's.

In this city, it seemed like everyone had blood on their hands.

Ailell drove himself to the venue, his mind a million miles away for the duration of the trip. The Mortem squad leader was concerned about anyone being recognized, particularly Beau if she was to encounter the phoenix she had fought before. He didn't want anyone's identities to be exposed, for it would put them in danger and the rest of the squad in turn. Mortem always interacted closely and if one was exposed, Ailell wondered just how long it would take for the rest of them to be exposed as well.

The name he had given was not his real name; it was the Elven name, the name that might as well have been a dead one. No one had called him by it in years, aside from at these formal events. Here, one would be hard-pressed to connect him to the name Ailell Brier, if it wasn't someone already privy to that identity.

Instead, he was presented as Elysia Hawthorn, walking into the venue without so much as a smile or glance at the swarm of cameras. Elysia was an uptight, cold Elf, scarcely a surprising reality.

Ailell just had to avoid his Mortem brats for the night, and perhaps things would go well.

If Dangun Wanggeom were being completely honest, he never expected Akaedi Vos to agree to be his date. They bickered constantly, Akaedi talked about Yeol's death quite often, and their organizations constantly clashed over territory and clients. Yeol had no issue with the Mer, finding him quite endearing in his own strange, stubborn way. Mer tended to be either very relaxed, or very stiff, and Akaedi definitely fell on the later side of the spectrum.

Nevertheless, the male had agreed to be Yeol's date. Yeol would still be careful through the night to make sure he wasn't shanked or slipped any other kind of drug, but even if he were stabbed or ingested something, it wouldn't kill him; most things failed to. So he was not worried, instead looking forward to a night with the Mer. He wondered if Akaedi was a good dancer, if he'd want to take the lead or allow Yeol to have the honors. Even if Yeol walked out of the night with a stab wound or two, it was sure to be exciting.

Akaedi had sent him a picture of what he was wearing, and seeing it was blue, Yeol easily found something to match. He picked his own blue suit, not too many shades apart from Akaedi's silken outfit, though Yeol's was pinstriped. Hoping the stripes would not clash too much with the bedazzlement on the Mer's, Yeol put the suit on piece by piece. The demigod wore suits quite often, so for the ball he made one adjustment; he did not put on an undershirt or a vest, instead picking something that buttoned quite far to the side and left only the top portion of his chest exposed, showing the lines of his pecs and the sun-kissed skin he was proud of. A brown belt to match his brown oxfords, which he wore without socks, a nice watch, slicked and coiffed hair, and of course his thick jade ring that marked him as royalty, and Yeol had his look completed.

The demigod strode out of his mansion at a leisurely pace, having heard a car approach earlier. He shot a lazy smile at the driver, his date, then went around to the passenger side, beaming at Akaedi. "Well you look dashing, Akaedi. I fear all the women will be upset that they've been beaten for belle of the ball before they could even try."

Sterling had preened and prepped for his entrance to the ball since the night before, when he had applied one of his expensive face masks and taken his sweet time doing his skincare routine. He put a mask on his hair before washing it as well, and today he was feeling fresh and absolutely gorgeous.

Sterling had forgone the usual traditional suit, wanting to impress his date Fang. In lieu of a three piece, Sterling had instead decided on a cropped, dark red boxy suit jacket that ended just above his navel, showing off a strip of pale skin. His dress pants fit snugly on his hips, curving around his thighs and ending atop his point-toed black leather dress shoes.

The sun dragon's blonde hair was down, decorated with gold beads to match the warm hue of the suit, and he had on matching gold necklaces and rings. As a dragon he had to show up decorated, or how else would anyone know what he was? Sterling popped in contacts that combated his night blindness (just in case any funny business happened at the venue and the lights went off), feeling safer with them in.

He tucked two black roses into the chest pocket of his chest, one being for Fang, then grinned at himself in the mirror before walking out of the house to meet Fang since they were going to be riding together to the venue itself.

↳ ᴍᴀʏ 31, 2051
↳ ɴᴏᴡ ᴘʟᴀʏɪɴɢ: the fall - banks

Amine Reivana was the younger of Colette Reivana's twin children, and ever since the twins were young, he had been their mother's favorite. Where Beau never seemed to do anything to make their mother happy, Amine seemed incapable of doing wrong. There had been times where his sister was punished for his behavior. And though Amine was a gifted actor and pretended he cared about his family... deep, deep down inside, there was a dark little seed that his mother had planted that only grew, and grew, and grew, fueled with the pure hatred he nurtured for both of his parents, but particularly his mother.

Growing up, Amine had done everything to please his mother. When your parent was the head of Mortem, it wasn't as though there was much choice. He became a model, much like Colette. He became an accomplished hunter, much like Colette. He was educated and clever and manipulative just like his mother.

And she would never know from the way Amine behaved that he hated her. Oh, no. Amine was an actor. He was skilled at fooling Colette. After all, he was the golden boy, the favored child, and he could get away with just about anything anyway. He could never do any wrong and he could never hate his mother and father.

Oh, but he did.

The little pit of darkness in Amine grew and grew and grew and all he wanted was to destroy his parents.

Colette in particular.

There were only two people he loved in this world: himself, and his twin sister. Oh, he had people fooled. Mortem thought he was just some dorky college boy who was in the syndicate to sniff out recruits (and because of his parents). Mortem thought he was close friends with Lian just as Beau was. But Amine just had them wrapped around his ing finger. Mortem could burn, for all he cared. After what his mother had done to Beau...

If Amine poisoned Colette's tea one of these days, she'd deserve it. If he slit during a "family bonding" session, she'd deserve it. If he betrayed her location to the Dream Guard, she'd deserve it.

But Amine had a prettier revenge planned. Oh yes. He knew, in detail, what she had said to his sister. He knew what had been done to his sister. And Amine was going to help Colette understand where Beau had been coming from. There was something to be said, for being a clever little snake who knew how to blend in and seem harmless; he knew things and he knew people, knew identities that perhaps others wouldn't have seen.

And he was going to put them to good use.

You see, that was why Amine was attending the ball. It wasn't because he was invited, it wasn't really to please his mother. He had ulterior motives, motives that would culminate in a grand punishment for Colette once Amine's web was thoroughly spun. It was a grand plan, a plan that could just as easily result in his death, but Amine was willing to take the risk. This was for Beau, after all. Colette had to be punished for Beau.

Amine ran his fingers through hair that had been dyed pink the night before, admiring the vibrant locks. His mother didn't know about this. She wouldn't know until she saw the pictures, watched the live coverage of the entrance or until she saw him. Amine imagined she might have kittens, but he could care less. The pink hair, the lack of a shirt beneath his jacket, the jewelry and the chain attached to his pants—Amine wanted Colette to have kittens. She'd be distracted with his appearance, and that was all part of the plan.

Amine made his plans thorough.

Checking the time, Amine determined it was time for him to leave. Flicking off the light, he locked the door behind him as he went, whistling a cheerful tune as he headed down to the garage to retrieve his car. Provided by his parents, wasn't that sweet?

Amine hated it.

The drive was long, Amine lost in his thoughts. But all too soon he was at the venue, and his name was being called. The pronunciation of his first name was off and he winced, but then plastered on a fake smile and headed for the door. The tracker he had put on his sister told him that Lian and Beau were already there, which meant Amine would briefly detour from his plan to greet them and compliment Lian on her dress and give them both hugs, yadayada, all of that which he did to maintain appearances.

And then Amine had to find a phoenix.

Music: Bad at Love - Halsey

She wasn’t blind to romance. Having gone through her own romances with others, the Reivana heiress was rather accustomed to the idea of romance… so much so that she’d become numb to the idea of it. Entangling within the sheets with another for one night before Beau slipped out, just barely underneath the rising light of dawn. As one could say, Beau Reivana would never spend longer than a night with another. Yet… after the battle, Beau found her heart beating once again. Silently, Beau opened up to the baker who saved her life. She found herself falling. Falling into the depths of vulnerability that Beau had dared to show no one. Even sweet Lian, Beau had opened up to her more than she had ever had before. Finding herself adoring her beautiful childhood friend who seemed to never waver.

That was until she had her meeting with her mother.

Now, Beau had detached herself. Watching from the shadows and the silent depths as she read and watched the world around her revolve and continue to move on. There was a silent ache, to be with her friends, to visit the baker who had unknowingly stolen the Reivana heiress’ heart. And yet, as Beau watched the world move on, Beau found herself locking it up once again. Her smiles and glee were replaced with cold steel as the heiress of the French Alps returned to her former, occupying her mind with nothing but the sweet torture and bliss of execution and cruelty. But alas, Beau was still a woman. A woman whose beating heart bled and ached.

The ball was here, Ziminar’s ball.

And so, Beau waited. She waited, kept her eyes on her phone to see if he’d call, if he’d ask her. In the end, he hadn’t. It was then that Beau figured she wouldn’t go at all. Only to have Lian come in, to ask Beau if she’d be her date to the ball.

Beau wasn’t blind to romance. Having gone through her own romances, the Reivana heiress was rather accustomed to the idea of romance. Sweet Lian, having gone years without much of a glance from Beau, or even an ounce of recognition, Beau realized then and there that she had a night.

A night with Lian.

Adorned in white with the Reivana’s long hair braided and pinned up into a bun, Beau had brushed on the slightest tint of rouge upon Beau’s lips and the glimmer of gold at the outer corner of her eyes. Beau’s arm held Lian tight.

“Beau Reivana and Mu Lian!”

The bright flashes of the camera, the rushed hushes and calls for the two Mortem women to turn their heads towards which camera. Beau’s eyes hurt. They strained against the bright flashes that attempted to capture the looks of the cherry blossom princess beside Beau and her knight that had brought her to the ball. Without much of a smile towards the camera, Beau’s gaze finally trailed over towards Lian. Her bright smile and glee caused the Reivana Executioner’s lips to quirk up just enough.

“Let's dance, Princess Lian. I’m all yours tonight.”

↳ ᴍᴀʏ 31, 2051
↳ ɴᴏᴡ ᴘʟᴀʏɪɴɢ: set sail for the golden age - antti martikainen

Kallistae's dress was an extravagent one, and one that she wouldn't actually die in once she had it on. It was short in the front, but had a long, billowing skirt at the sides and back. It was feathered and bejeweled and flattering, but not her preference. Ah well, it was a formal event, sacrifices were to be made.

At least she looked good. Much like her brother, and any other self-respecting Mer around, Kallistae was fond of jewels and was practically dripping in her diamonds and sapphires. She'd had extensions put in her short black hair and was wearing it up in a long ponytail, getting it off of her neck and out of her face in case there was danger. See, her outfit was pretty, but also practical. No self-respecting pirate would be caught where she couldn't fight and operate a ship.

Jinhai and Akaedi had raised her better than that.

And speaking of Jinhai, Kallistae had damage control to do when she arrived at the ball, too. Her captain had been sulking over not having a date, and all because Uxia couldn't control what came out of his mouth or fingertips. Kallistae decided she would glue herself to Jinhai's side and keep the captain company—she had no interest in dancing with strangers or trying (and failing) to drink anyone else under the counter. Kallistae could hold her drink, but Jinhai had a greater tolerance than she.

Regardless, Kallistae would keep him company so he would have less reason to sulk. She didn't particularly like it when she had to deal with a sulking Jinhai.

Hailing a cab, the Mer tucked herself into the vehicle and instructed the driver to take her to the venue. The drive was silent, Kallistae not a talker in the presence of insignificant strangers. Upon arrival she paid the driver and stepped out of the vehicle, smile cool when she greeted other attending guests who were also waiting for their entrances.

"Kallistae Vitriya!"

She walked the red carpet like it was the deck of the ship she served upon, her hands folded behind her back and her head held high, chin tipped upward, strides confident and long. Her eyes were like the chilly depths of the ocean, dark and cold, so very cold. Her only smile was directed to the doorman as she swept into the foyer, steely gaze locking on the camera for one more picture.

Now, where was that captain of hers...

↳ ᴍᴀʏ 31, 2051
↳ ɴᴏᴡ ᴘʟᴀʏɪɴɢ: judas - banks

Ailell finished zipping up her dress and placed his hands on her shoulders, giving her a gentle shake. "You didn't have to close your eyes, Lian."

The young hacker opened her eyes, grinning broadly when she made eye contact with herself in the mirror. "I didn't want to look until I could see the finished result!" she bubbled, about to do a spin but Ailell's hands on her shoulders stopped her from doing so. "Can't I twirl?"

"You can twirl at the ball. I don't want you breaking anything or messing up your pretty dress being a little heathen." The older hunter steered her out of his bathroom, gentler than one might have expected from the fearsome Ailell Brier. Well, maybe not if they were in Mortem. Everyone in Mortem Squad 719 knew he was basically just thought of as /squad dad/ rather than /squad leader/.

"I'm not a heathen," Lian pouted, sweeping out her skirts so she could sink down on Ailell's leather couch. It was pristine, like everything else in his quarters. Ailell never had a thing out of place. He was basically... the biggest neat freak she'd ever met. "I'm a sweet—don't snort at me!"

"Okay, okay. What time is Beau getting you out of my hair, again?"

Lian checked her phone and sighed. "She should be here in like... thirty minutes."

As soon as she said it, the panic set in. Did she look okay? Was her hair, partially braded but mostly worn down, okay? Was her minimal makeup okay? Was she pretty enough for Beau, who had specifically told her to look pretty for her—and Lian had spent plenty of time screaming about that into her pillow, she didn't want to disappoint her! Maybe she should have gone with Amine after all... No, she was definitely not feeling /that/ insecure. Even if her makeup and hair weren't extraordinary, the dress was impressive. Lian had hacked several bank accounts of dirty lawyers and bankers to afford that dress. (She probably could have asked Ailell to buy it for her, but Lian usually only asked him for food).

"Calm down." The couch beside her dipped when Ailell sat down, and Lian immediately leaned on him. He was wearing all black, which was totally boring and not going to help him score a date, but that was Ailell. Every year Lian had watched him don all black for Ziminiar's May ball, but this was the first year she was old enough to be invited.

"I'm just worried. There's going to be a lot of fancy, important people there," Lian sighed. It wasn't the full truth, but she wasn't going to say the words out loud. What if Beau had Ailell's apartment bugged? No, thank you! She'd rather die than have her feelings exposed like that! She'd be the mockery of Squad 719, Beau and Amine would hate her and she'd be absolutely /miserable/ whenever she was forced to face Lio... after all, he was her competition for Beau's heart!

But at least she had Beau as her date, and Lio didn't. That was a battle won, in her book! But...

She couldn't think about that. She was going to have a good night! She was going to dance with Beau! She was going to have fun! She was maybe going to snag something to drink if Ailell wasn't watching! It was going to be a wonderful night and even Lio being there wouldn't ruin her night! She wouldn't let him take away her happiness at finally, /finally/ getting the attention from Beau that she had been craving!

There was a knock on the door, and Lian nearly fell off of the couch in her hurry to get up and run to the door, skirts flinging one of Ailell's drink coasters somewhere she didn't track. Excitedly, she pulled open the door and beamed up at her best friend.

"Beau! Is it time to go?" she asked, practically bouncing up and down despite her heels. She'd probably regret not wearing sneakers later, but it was a formal event!

There were his and byes between Beau and Ailell, and Ailell warning them to be safe, and then they were on their way to the venue. Lian was too busy being on cloud nine to pay much attention to what happened on their way there, her arm wrapped around one of Beau's. She was ecstatic! Nothing could ruin her day!

"Beau Reivana and Mu Lian!"

Walking the red carpet with Beau, Lian had to calm herself down and keep from chattering, her smile shy and her wave at the cameras tiny until they made it through the door for just one more picture.

"Shall we dance?" she asked, dragging Beau toward the dance floor. "Or... d'you wanna get something to eat or drink?"

↳ ᴍᴀʏ 31, 2051
↳ ɴᴏᴡ ᴘʟᴀʏɪɴɢ: east of eden - zella day

Choosing what to wear to Ziminiar's ball had, for Chrysanthi, been a struggle. There was so much to choose from; the suits of his day-to-day life as the head of the Kelen conglomerate, the dresses and gowns that he owned but had been left untouched since he had left the Underworld. In earlier years, when he wasn't as established in the mafia world, media and rivals would have eaten him alive if they laid eyes on him in a skirt. It would have been an unpleasant experience. But now there was nothing to stop him, no words or clothing that would threaten his position or reputation. But Chrysanthi would welcome them to try.

His fingers danced over the selections of dresses that he had in his closet before he made a soft noise, pulling his cellphone out of his pocket. There was something to be said for being a Goddess; his text message had barely been delivered before the Mayor of the city responded.

So the color scheme of the night was blue. Chrysanthi raised an eyebrow and pushed a few of his suits out of the way so he could pull a black dress out of his wardrobe. It had embellishments and a train, it was fancy enough to suffice for one of Ziminiar's events and Chrysanthi's first formal appearance in a dress.

Chrysanthi had experience with dressing himself, even in extravagant dresses. It was something of a struggle, as he was out of practice with gowns, but he managed to situate himself. The gown was snug, hugging a slim waist and billowing out around his hips with a train that billowed out behind him. His husband had been very fond of dresses like this one, when Chrysanthi had still resided in the Underworld with him; a bittersweet smile flitted over the Goddess's face when he looked at himself in the mirror, turning to the left and to the right to check his body line and establish that this was, in fact, the dress he'd wear.

Settling a flower crown in his dark hair, Chrysanthi blinked at his reflection. He looked... well, it had been a long time since he had worn a dress. It felt a little surreal, to be again wrapped in billowing cloth and the sparkle of crystals. However, he liked the feeling, and he had missed the feeling, over the past hundred years that he had been in charge of Kelen.

A short phonecall had his driver bringing the car around, and the Goddess gathering up his skirts and leaving his penthouse apartment. Beneath his dress he wore a pair of laceup heels—not the best in the way of support, but Chrysanthi would sacrifice comfort for appearance on occasions like this. They were annual, but this would be the first year Chrysanthi was actually in attendance at one of Ziminiar's balls. The Mayor was a friend, but Chrysanthi had been keeping himself busy.

He had no date, but he didn't need one, nor did he want one. It wouldn't have felt right to appear with anyone other than Hades—thousand-year-separation or not, at the end of the day the God of the Underworld was his husband and Chrysanthi loved him dearly. The time and space was supposed to do them good, and Chrysanthi remained faithful. There was more to life than that which mortals broke one another's hearts over and betrayed each other with.

Well.

Chrysanthi knew which God they got that behavior from, but he wouldn't voice it aloud.

"No date, Mr. Kelen?" his driver asked, as the lights of the city passed and Chrysanthi solemnly watched the sidewalks as they slid by.

The Goddess shook his head. "No date, but that is hardly unusual, is it not?"

In response, the man hummed, and the rest of the drive was spent in a comfortable silence. When they arrived, Chrysanthi was sure to think his driver and inform him of the time he planned to leave the ball, gathering his skirts and sweeping to his place to wait for his grand entrance. Ziminiar had told him they would be calling his full name, and he was interested to see if the pronunciation would be correct.

"Persephone Chrysanthi Ahelia Irini Akakios Síla Argyris-Kelen!"

What a dedicated mortal! His name wasn't even pronounced incorrectly. With a smile, Chrysanthi set out across the red carpet, though he spared no time to answer questions before he swept past the doorman and into the foyer. The picture was quick and then he was free, entering the ballroom to mingle as he saw fit.

Pratu was ecstatic. She was over the moon. It had been over a decade since she's had a chance to dress up and go out to an official event ever since she turned. The only time she would ever go out was when she was working or bar hopping. Her innocent, doe eyes scanned the lavishly dressed guests as they made their way down the red carpet, making her smooth her hands down the blue, silk dress self consciously.  There were many unfamiliar faces here, ones she didn't have a chance to see when the sun set. It made her nervous and uncomfortable.

She pinched her inner arm to snap her out of her insecure thoughts before lifting her chin up, her pouted lips curving into a smile. "Let's give them all a chance to meet pratu sunarok, now shall we?" She mumbled under her breath. Leaning into the doorman's ear, she whispered how she would like to be announced, earning an eyeroll from them.

"The beautiful and majestic Pratu Sunarok has arrived."
She tilted her head down and smiled, waving at cameras and posing once she walked the red carpet. It was quite extra of her, but she loved the attention she was getting.

"Ah ta ta.. No. Take it again. This is my good side." She said, turning to her right and lifting her shoulder up slightly, flashing a flirty smirk at the camera. After spending a good few minutes taking pictures, she strutted her way to through the entrance and looked around. She didn't come with a partner. Pratu didn't know many people and the ones she did know were scared away by her playful antics. Some of these people were simply too high class or too boring for her. She didn't need them anyways, considering they'd all die off eventually and leave her all alone. She pursed her lips, rocking on the balls of her feet before deciding to head straight for the bar.

⇢ NP : crown lands - one good reason

‘BANG!’

After seeing another deer succumb to death beside his rose bushes, Derek lifted his head from his scope, his brown orbs gleaming with dark satisfaction as he took a swig of his flask. He yawned and brought his wrist up to check the time.

“Ah! I’m late.”

A bored sigh left his lips as he pushed himself off of his windowsill and walked to the mirror to examine his outfit and fix his hair, brushing a strand of his hair away from his forehead. He was wearing a white t-shirt with a baggy suit thrown over it. He had no idea whose closet he was borrowing them from, but he was definitely not going to give them back. Derek was never one for balls and usually didn’t care to wear anything decent to one. However, because of his previous offenses and failure in trying to snake his way into social circles, he decided that it would be better to blend in this time. Shorts were out of the question. One day of being ‘normal’ wouldn’t hurt.

Within minutes, he was in his dusty, black jeep wrangler, driving at 100 mph. Once he got to the venue, he pulled into an empty parking space, his tires screeching obnoxiously loud against the concrete and drawing the attention of other ball guests. Brushing them off, Derek kicked his door open and stepped out, taking one last hit of his cigarette that was wedged between his fingers before tossing it to the ground, the smoke leaving his nose and lips. He leaned back against the door to his jeep as his brows knitting together.

“... Dejavu?”

He shook his head, resulting in his locks falling over his eyes. After sighing, Derek reached into his car, grabbing his steel flask and making his way to the red carpet. Before the doorman could even finish announcing Derek’s name, he walked through the red carpet casually, his hand shoved deep into his pocket while his other hand held the flask to his lips as he tilted his head back. As he took a few swigs, his eyes traveled to one of the cameras just as the flash went off, capturing one of his chilling smirks. He lifted his flask at the cameraman in a ‘cheers’ before turning away and pushing his way into the ballroom.

Valor Rosewain likely had a problem not many others had regarding this ball; he had far too many suits. Valor was a gentleman who always dressed well, and he always took care of his clothes, though sometimes time would wear holes into garments that weren't easily fixed. However, even with time slowly chipping away at his wardrobe, he still had plenty of suits from various different eras in history, though he skipped a few decades he did not particularly enjoy fashion wise, namely the 60s through the early 2000s.

Going to one of his chests where he had suits carefully wrapped in acid free archival paper to keep the wools and cottons from deteriorating, Valor found what he wanted: a tailored suit from the early 1900s made of high quality black wool. The vampire pulled the suit out and set to work dressing himself. Being used to suits, cufflinks, and buttons, he made quick work of getting dressed, pulling out the lace cuffs from the ends of his jacket and wrapping a matching ruffled ascot around the high collar of his shirt.

Valor was all black and white in the dark suit and white undershirt, his hair looking even more white than usual against everything. His eyes and lips were the only color he had in his complexion, honey colored orbs and pale rose lips. A quick fix of his snowy hair, and he left in a taxi, wishing Kivari didn't have to work so that they could have arrived together.

Valor wondered what Kivari would be wearing. He'd made it clear that no jeans were allowed, but Kivari didn't always listen. Even if he had put on slacks, Valor was not holding his breath about what Kivari would wear on top. He was expecting a T-shirt, perhaps. Maybe a T-shirt with a button-down worn open over it at the most. Valor sighed softly, wondering if he'd ever see Kivari in anything nice. But even if he did wear jeans, Valor would still enjoy his time with the phoenix. Sure, he'd gripe and nag and complain, but he would never have anyone else as a dance partner besides his phoenix.

Stepping out of the taxi, Valor fixed his cuffs once more, the heels of his leather shoes clicking softly against the concrete as he made his way to the entrance, guessing Kivari either wasn't here yet or was already inside. The vampire was making his way towards the red carpet when he saw movement from the corner of his eye. Already his sharp hearing could detect the heartbeat that was distinctly Kivari, smell his burnt-sugar-and-marshmallows scent.

Valor turned his head, ready to greet the phoenix, but his words stopped in his throat once he saw Kivari. Valor hadn't recognized him at first, and by the time that he confirmed it was Kivari--because of course it was, no one else had that scent, had that thrumming hearbeat--he was already speechless. All the breath rushed out of Valor, his golden eyes widening in surprise as he looked the phoenix up and down.

It was a suit. An actual suit, with three pieces, a tie, and /dress shoes/. He could not smell blood on Kivari, nor ash. All he smelled was Kivari's sunshine and sugar. "Kivari?" he said once he had found his voice, still not quite believing his eyes as he continued to look him up and down. The vampire swallowed, unsure why the empty space in his chest was aching and heavy. "Vous êtes si belle mon amour," he said in a quiet breath, not even processing that he had called Kivari "my love", only intending to call him beautiful.

Barely processing what Kivari had asked him, Valor stared at the box before carefully taking it and pulling it out of the box, smiling softly at the flowers. He carefully pinned the flowers to Kivari's lapel, reaching up to sweep Kivari's light hair from his eyes, his chest aching more, feeling like his dead heart was about to leap out of his chest and be exposed to Kivari, bleeding and beating just for him.

"I'm..." he started, then cleared his throat to gain his composure. "I'm impressed," he finally said, smoothing Kivari's lapels and sliding his hand down the phoenix's chest, his hand lingering too long and yet not nearly long enough before he dropped it to slip his cold hand into Kivari's warm one. "You look wonderful, Kivari. Truly."

Valor's topaz eyes were pools of molten gold in his face, and anyone who looked at him would be able to read him like an open book. His feelings were so obvious, yet neither he nor the phoenix could comprehend them just yet. Valor swallowed down the imaginary beating of his heart and smiled. "Let's go in then, mon cher."

↳ ᴍᴀʏ 31, 2051
↳ ɴᴏᴡ ᴘʟᴀʏɪɴɢ: beautiful mistakes - maroon 5, megan thee stallion

Valor had threatened to break off their friendship if Kivari wore jeans, but little did the vampire know that had never been the plan in the first place. The phoenix would have preferred to wear jeans, of course, because they were comfortable and, despite the many disagreements he and Valor had had over whether they were formal or not, he saw nothing wrong with wearing them to formal occasions. But Kivari, still feeling a little bad for scaring the vampire when he had drowned, and of course for the things his Mer coworkers said to and about Valor, had opted to do something nice. Slacks he knew the vampire was going to expect after their last conversation, but there was a button-up, a suit jacket, even a tie... and equally as impressive, a pair of dress shoes. Not even boots, as Kivari tended to wear on nice occasions.

Kivari hadn't done this all by himself, of course, because he didn't know how a suit was supposed to fit and he had no sense of style and no idea how to tie a tie, either. He'd enlisted the help of Monarch, the cannibalistic pixie grumbling but not offering much else in the way of a complaint when he dragged Kivari to buy a suit to surprise Valor with.

"It's what good friends do," Kivari had said.

Monarch, straightening Kivari's tie, had snorted. "You're a , Kivari."

Kivari didn't know what the pixie had meant by that, but the pixie had already left to go to the venue and the phoenix knew he had to leave as well, so he could meet Valor there. He had told Valor he wanted to meet at the venue because he had 'Vos work' to do beforehand, but the reality was that he wanted to surprise Valor when he arrived in the suit.

But he felt like he was forgetting something.

Monarch's number was the natural one to call, since Monarch would only affectionately call him stupid. Akaedi probably wouldn't answer since he had a date of his own to attend to, and he couldn't ask Valor because that would ruin the point of a surprise, and well... Kal was as mean as her brother and Avra didn't wear suits. Jinhai didn't either, and he'd probably mock him. And Uxia...

Well, Kivari wouldn't lower himself to ask /him/ for anything, no matter how dire his situation was.

/"What do you want, twerp?"/

"Hello to you, too, Monarch. What am I forgetting?"

/"Did you get the boutonniere?"/

"The what now?"

/"The lapel pin."/

"In my hand," the phoenix answered gravely, "I won't forget it."

/"Then I think you're good. Now, I'm trying to greet my cousin's alligator."/

Kivari sighed, sliding his phone into his pocket and looking at the small box in his hand. Hopefully, Valor wouldn't mind helping Kivari with his bou...whatever Monarch had called it. With the reassurance that he wasn't forgetting anything, Kivari left his room behind and stole down the stairs, hoping not to draw attention from members of Vos that were still at home. So far, Monarch was the only one who knew he was wearing a suit. Kivari would like to keep it that way for as long as he could.

They'd probably say something stupid, and Kivari didn't want anyone to try and ruin his day. He was in a good mood as he walked to the hotel, humming a song to himself. Even though most of Vos would be there, and people Kivari didn't like were probably going to be there too, he was excited to have the night with Valor, who had taught him to dance many years ago. He was the only person Kivari danced with, because he couldn't be bothered to do it with anyone else—perhaps because Valor accepted his mistakes and didn't get angry if Kivari stepped on his foot or tripped on air.

Regardless, Kivari had a spring in his step when he approached the people waiting, seeking out the vampire's snow white hair amid the crowd. When he saw Valor, he made a beeline for him, uttering /excuse me/ as he pushed through the people to reach his date's side.

"Valor!" he greeted cheerfully, and held the box out to the vampire. "Could you help me out with this? Monarch said you'd know how to put it on and that I'd probably stab myself instead of doing it properly."

Dateless. The captain of Xiao Wangzi, the ancient mermaid Liu Jinhai himself, dateless! It felt like an outrage that no one had asked him. Did Jinhai think of asking anyone? Of course not, but he was not to be blamed for this embarrassment when it was clearly the fault of all of his crew and friends for not ensuring that he had a date to begin with.

Feeling miffed and annoyed, Jinhai pulled on his layers of underclothes, followed by another layer of white robes, topped with a final white garment made of spider silk, decorated with blue accents by the shoulders and hem. He left his hair mostly down, only pulling the top up into a half-ponytail, tying a white silk ribbon around it that flowed down the length of his inky hair. Jinhai braided a few sections by his face, lacing the braids with pearls and finishing the ends with sparkling beads.

As a mermaid, Jinhai did not skimp on accessories, and so he began piling on layers of necklaces. He had multiple strings of pearls in varying lengths, long chords of fishnet decorated with mother-of-pearl, sea glass, and delicate shells. He placed small pearl earrings in his ears, adding rings on nearly every finger, and multiple rings on some fingers, all holding pearls, diamonds, sapphires, and other precious stones. He had his favorite thick jade ring on his thumb, and it took a belt of fishnet and pearl for him to feel like he was decorated appropriately for the occasion.

His black boots were standard, and after tucking in a flask of plump wine into his robes and hooking his jian onto his belt he left. Once he got to the venue he bit back his embarrassment at showing up alone and put on a big smile, his sea-gray eyes holding a threat as he glared at reporters; if any of them dared to mention him not having a date, he would promptly drown them and regain his taste for sea-soaked human flesh. The slight point to all of his teeth made that last point clear.

"Liu Jinhai!" the doorman called as Jinhai waved jovially, happily skipping into the venue and immediately going to the bar towards one end of the room to get something fruity and blue.

Nerves were starting to set in for Thorn as he looked at himself in the bathroom mirror of his barrack. He didn't have anything even remotely resembling a suit or dress clothes, so other members of the guard had gotten him a formal guard suit, all of them being very encouraging and saying that he looked nice. Thorn, whose wardrobe was small enough to fit into a backpack, wasn't convinced.

The kitsune kept fiddling with the decoration on the blazer, fixing the belt and making sure his knives were on the inside of his jacket just in case. He puffed out his cheeks as he attempted to fix his hair, feeling very lonely and small all of the sudden. Thorn blinked at himself in the mirror, the pale blue of his eyes seeming duller today than usual. He felt as though something was off, but could not place what, and it was bothering him. Arthur too was hanging around closer than usual, and was currently sitting on his windowsill, the window open wide for the warming air to drift in.

"Do I look okay okay?" he asked the owl as he stepped back into the room. Arthur ruffled his feathers and Thorn nodded, sighing. "I know, but they said I have to go go. Can help if something is not okay is wrong. No one will see me if don't want them to." Arthur stared at him with his large yellow eyes, his gaze pensive but strong. Thorn smiled, happy he had the confidence of his friend.

Pulling on his tall lace up boots, Thorn attempted to fix his hair one more time before giving up, tucking in a few extra throwing knives into his boots. From there he left the barracks, Arthur flying above him as he went, watching over him as he always did.

As Thorn approached the venue he saw flashing lights, the noises growing in volume. At once the kitsune halted in his tracks, his hands starting to flutter at his sides like butterflies. He swallowed thickly, his breathing starting to pick up; Thorn was very bad with crowds, loud noises, and lights. They were all overwhelming and he wanted to cover his ears like he used to when he was a child to block everything out. Glancing up at Arthur, the owl stared down at him and he nodded, deciding what he would do.

As Thorn got closer to everyone, he took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Slowly, he extended his reach to all of the photographers, the doorman, the reporters. He was placing a veil over their eyes, preventing them from seeing him. He was happy he had been practicing lately, but he wouldn't know if his hallucination had worked until he walked by them.

Carefully the fox stepped around the doorman, and as he walked down the red carpet not one camera flashed, not one person looked at him. Trying not to get too excited and lose his concentration, he soundlessly slipped inside, letting out a breath as he dropped the veil, then smiled, feeling proud of himself.

However, now that he was inside, Thorn still felt overwhelmed. He made his way over to a corner and sank down, hugging his knees and rocking back and forth, trying to calm himself down and block out all of the unnecessary sounds. It would be hard, but he would get through the night.

Atlas had to force himself out of his very comfortable bed piled high with mossy green blankets and fluffy pillows, and he was already grumpy. However, he did not feel like suffering the consequences of not going via Monarch's wrath, and so the dark pixie had reluctantly gotten himself out of bed and dragged his feet to his closet.

Most of Atlas's clothes were baggy, comfortable things in varying shades of green and black. He had to dig to find the white dress pants and blazer that he had in mind, sighing out in relief when he saw he'd had enough sense to leave them in a garment bag where they rested unwrinkled and undisturbed, the creases of his pants aligned perfectly and hanging over the hangar; Atlas wasn't the one who had hung it up, so he guessed it was the brownie that came by when he slept sometimes and did chores for him in return for milk, honey, and fairy cakes. Atlas would have to leave him something good out tomorrow, if he could remember.

Pulling the white suit out, Atlas pulled the pants on then looked at the blazer thoughtfully. It looked boring, and he wasn't planning on wearing anything underneath. Without a moment's more hesitation, he grabbed a pair of scissors and cut into the sides of the blazer, large triangles that would show the sides of his ribs and waist, dipping forward to reveal some of the lean lines of muscle in his torso. Satisfied, Atlas pulled it on and checked himself in the mirror. He was not the bulky kind of muscle; no, as a pixie he had a slight frame and wiry muscle that covered his limbs. They were visible, and Atlas was confident in his figure, never knowing how he kept it when he didn't eat very healthy and tried to move as little as possible.

Using the remaining fabric to fashion himself a collar, Atlas sat down at his vanity and did a light wash of sparkly makeup over his eyes and on his lower lash line, fixing his hair to give it a wet look. He was a swamp pixie, as he liked to say, and he enjoyed looking like he'd just crawled out of the swamp, even if he had to wear white today instead of his favored hues of brown and green.

Atlas decided to forgo shoes since they seemed annoying, knowing that he could fly to the venue if he needed to and that his feet didn't even need to touch the ground if he didn't want them to.

And now came the fun part; getting Sir Reginald, his alligator, in a leash. As soon as he stepped out of his little hut he saw the reptile waiting for him outside, and it made the pixie smile. "Hello, Sir Reginald," he greeted happily, walking up to him and petting his head. The alligator's eyes closed in an expression of contentment, and Atlas smiled wider. "Okay, time to go. Try not to eat anyone, even if they smell like fear. I get it, it's hard, but I'll catch you something good for dinner tomorrow. Promise."

Atlas had a way of communicating with reptiles and some amphibians that not too many pixies had. Most of them preferred to commune with forest creatures or birds, but Atlas had always been partial to the diversity of swamps and other wetlands. He slipped the black collar onto the alligator that had a little bowtie on it, deciding he'd clip the leash on once they got to the venue. "Let's go," he said, and they were off.

The venue was a bit of a far walk and Atlas wanted to whine about it, huffing out in annoyance enough times that his alligator made a low sound of concern, but Atlas shook his head. After a forty minute walk they had made it to the venue, and Atlas clipped on Sir Reginald's leash as they walked up the steps.

"Oak Lichen!" they called out, and Atlas was quick to whisper something in the man's ear. He gave Atlas a strange look, but added, "and Sir Reginald!"

The alligator hissed in pleasure, and all at once all the cameras stopped as the reporters and photographers scrambled back in fear. Atlas cackled, continuing on into the ballroom to hopefully find Monarch or Konani.

↳ ᴍᴀʏ 31, 2051
↳ ɴᴏᴡ ᴘʟᴀʏɪɴɢ: crab rave - noisestorm

"Klahan, would you be a dear and help me with my dress, please?"

Klahan had just finished slipping on his jacket when Reina asked him for help, and after checking himself one more time in the mirror on her vanity table, he padded into the bathroom where she was patiently awaiting him and his assistance. Brushing long black hair out of his eyes, he knelt in front of her and helped her into her dress, stepping behind her when it was ready to be zipped. When he finished, he tapped her on the shoulder and she turned, lifting her skirts so she could move.

"Should I have put my shoes on first?"

Klahan shrugged. Of course they had forgotten something like that. "Probably. Now I'm going to have to put them on for you."

"Oh, no, you won't have to do that," Reina started, but then she stopped. A look of realization crossed her face. "You will have to do that."

"Uh-huh," Klahan drawled. He led her out of the bathroom, and while she sat on the bed, he entered her closet so he could look through her extensive collection of shoes. Seriously, she had too many pairs of shoes. Klahan didn't even know where to begin. "Which pair of shoes are you wearing, anyway? You have so many."

"The white pumps. The lace ones."

Klahan scoured the many shoes for a pair of white lace pumps, and when he found one, he grabbed one of the shoes and held it out of the closet so Reina could see. "These ones?"

He heard her laugh, not unkindly. "No, Klahan. The other ones."

Klahan returned to his search until he found another pair that were white, lace, and fit in the category of pumps. Victorious, he emerged from the closet and knelt down in front of her once again, slipping the shoes over her feet and zipping the backs, checking the thin straps around her ankles. They seemed to be more for decoration than support.

"Now are we ready to go?" the phoenix inquired. As he got to his feet, he held out his hands to help her stand. She only took one of them, however.

"I don't think we need anything else," she laughed, running her fingers through her smooth dark hair. The shoes made her taller, but not as tall as Klahan. Not that it mattered. People were going to talk when they showed up together regardless of whether one was taller or one was smaller.

"Shall we take my chariot?" The goddess hooked their arms together as they began to walk.

"We'll take my car," Klahan vetoed, guiding her into the elevator and pushing the button for the garage.

Reina sighed. "My chariot would be quicker."

"The car is more fashionable," the phoenix combated without looking at her.

"And we care about fashion now?" She sounded amused, but Klahan just shook his head.

"You're dripping in diamonds and crystal embellishments. You, at least, care about fashion."

"What can I say, a girl has expensive taste."

Yes, Klahan would agree to that; Reina had expensive tastes. Stepping out of the elevator, he fished his car keys out of his blazer pocket, a beep echoing through the garage when he hit the unlock button.

"Are you sure we can't take the chariot?" the goddess persisted, drawing his attention back to her.

Klahan sighed, glancing down at her. "First off, the valets wouldn't know what to do with a chariot like yours. Second, I'm driving, so we take the car." He opened the passenger door as she raised her hands to show surrender, and, like a gentleman, helped her into the car.

"Fine, fine, the car it is."

The drive was a quiet one, Klahan trying to stay awake as he drove. It had been... six days since he had slept last? Whenever it had been that Eden had disappeared. Klahan had refused to sleep until Eden turned back up and it was taking its toll on him, but makeup covered all of his dark circles. So even if he had to concentrate a little harder to drive, that was fine.

Once they arrived, he got out of the car and opened Reina's door. "Are you ready to face the cameras?"

Reina snorted. "I'm always ready. The cameras should be worried about if they're ready to face me."

Offering his arm, Klahan had to laugh. Of course Reina would say something like that. It was a classic line for her. Was she worried about something? No, and it should worry about her. The phoenix guided Reina into their spot, making pleasant conversation as they waited their turn.

"Reina Thor and Klahan!"

There was definitely a clap of thunder, and definitely bright flashes of light. They were both show-offs, they always had been. But Klahan had to resist gaining a sour expression when the reporters began to ask questions, saying things like 'could this be a new couple in the Dream Guard?'. Klahan thought it was altogether stupid and he allowed Reina the time to get a great picture, smile shining before he pulled her into the foyer for their picture together.

And then he escorted her into the ballroom, nodding to a younger Dream Guard as they entered.

"Let's find Youngmi so you can have your dance."

↳ ᴍᴀʏ 31, 2051
↳ ɴᴏᴡ ᴘʟᴀʏɪɴɢ: crab rave - noisestorm

"Klahan, would you be a dear and help me with my dress, please?"

Reina didn't get a verbal answer, but Klahan's soft footsteps were enough of one as he entered the bathroom, where Reina was holding her dress. If she tried to get into it on her own, she'd probably break her neck; luckily, she had Klahan there to give her a hand.

He knelt down in front of her so she could step into the dress and pulled it up, letting her situate it where it need to be before he moved behind her and pushed her hair out of the way so he could gently pull the zipper up. A pat on the shoulder told her he was done, and she reached down and grabbed her skirts, lifting them so she could turn and face the phoenix.

"Should I have put my shoes on first?" she asked, and Klahan shrugged.

"Probably. Now I'm going to have to put them on for you."

"Oh, no, you won't have to do that," Reina started, but then she stopped when she realized her dress would restrict her from putting on her own shoes. Perhaps she shouldn't have started drinking before she was dressed—no, it was still unlikely that she would have thought of the shoes first and then the dress. Reina so rarely wore things like this... Ziminiar's annual ball was usually the only reason she dressed in gowns. "You will have to do that."

"Uh-huh," Klahan drawled. He led her out of the bathroom, rummaging in her closet while she sat on the edge of her bed. "Which pair of shoes are you wearing, anyway? You have so many."

"The white pumps. The lace ones," she added, hitching up the front of her skirt as much as she could to expose her dainty feet. She'd remembered to paint her toenails. Good for her.

"These ones?" A shoe was held out of her closet, and Reina laughed.

"No, Klahan. The other ones."

Two white pumps in his hands, Klahan emerged from the closet and knelt down in front of her. He was quiet when he got her shoes on her, but that made it less awkward, Reina felt. It wouldn't have been fun to make awkward small talk while he was adjusting and zipping her shoes because she couldn't do it for herself.

"Now are we ready to go?" the phoenix inquired. As he got to his feet, he held out his hands to help her stand. It wasn't necessary, but it was a nice gesture and Reina put one of her hands in his.

"I don't think we need anything else," she laughed, running her fingers through her smooth dark hair as she rose. Even with her six-inch pumps, she was still a few inches shorter than Klahan. No matter, at least she had gotten one of the smaller men in the Dream Guard so she didn't feel absolutely tiny beside her date. She looped their arms together and with her free hand lifted one side of her skirt so she could walk. "Shall we take my chariot?"

"We'll take my car," Klahan vetoed, guiding her into the elevator. He pushed the button for the garage, and Reina sighed.

"My chariot would be quicker."

"The car is more fashionable."

"And we care about fashion now?"

"You're dripping in diamonds and crystal embellishments. You, at least, care about fashion."

"What can I say, a girl has expensive taste." They stepped out of the elevator and Klahan fished his car keys out of his blazer pocket, a beep echoing through the garage. "Are you sure we can't take the chariot?"

"First off, the valets wouldn't know what to do with a chariot like yours. Second, I'm driving, so we take the car."

Raising her hands in surrender, Reina allowed Klahan to open the car door and help her into her seat. "Fine, fine, the car it is."

The drive was a quiet one, Klahan focused on the road and Reina running her fingers through her hair, impatient to arrive at their destination so she could dance and mingle and make merry... though of course, there was the worry of Eden. A rather sobering thought, but they had already determined who would meet him and talk to him when he arrived, and sadly, it wasn't her or her date.

"Are you ready to face the cameras?"

Reina snorted as she took Klahan's hand and stepped out of the car. She hadn't even noticed they were stopped. "I'm always ready. The cameras should be worried about if they're ready to face me."

The phoenix laughed, offering his arm. She took it, and they made small talk as they waited to make their grand entrance. There were people behind and in front of them, but she paid them no mind as she and Klahan laughed quietly about other Dream Guards, amusing things they'd seen, and whether or not they'd see one of Reina's baby daddies somewhere among the crowds of people.

"Reina Thor and Klahan!"

If there was a clap of thunder or the lights glowing brighter, no one was to be the wiser as the two Dream Guards strode the red carpet, arm-in-arm. They'd been around for a long time and they weren't an uncommon sight at Ziminiar's balls, but they had never attended as a pair before. Cameras clicked and questions were shouted at them, but Reina just smiled her prettiest smile and waved before Klahan whisked her inside to face the last camera.

And then they were free, both laughing as they reached the safety of the ballroom, laughing at the ridiculousness of it all.

Blinding lights everywhere, that was the first thing Luna saw upon stepping out from the backseat of the sleek pearly white car. She was tempted to shield her sensitive eyes.

Her assistant was right by her side, supporting her full weight. Disguising it by hooking her arm around his like she saw gentlemen do in the historical movies she grew fond of, her hand resting at the crook of his arm. Without his help she wouldn't be able to walk three steps without causing a fatal accident in those horrendous weapons having the audacity to be called shoes.

Luna was wearing a simple almost sheer looking blush colored gown. Nothing too flashy to take the focus away from the main attraction: 'the mother of pearls' her latest creation. Thousands of fresh-water pearls and diamonds of exquisite quality and cut catching and reflecting the lights of the cameras.

Her concentration was full on smiling while walking on the red carpet gracefully, while inwardly chastising herself for not chosing a model to go to this seemingly pompous event. She'd rather stayed in the safety of her atelier, polishing her pearls while watching said movies.

The dragon had attended many formal events in his time. Though for the past few years, he’d declined each invitation he’d gotten to Ziminiar’s ball. He didn’t have much of an interest in such things, plus these types of events required some speaking, which was difficult when you /couldn’t/, but this time he was tagging along with the other Vos members who’d be attending. Basil didn’t need a date, he knew he looked good without needing someone on his arm, or being on someone’s arm. It was nothing too over the top that he dressed in, either, a formal wear and makeup done by Monarch, who he’d been positive must’ve been pretty pissed off by the time they were done. He couldn’t help it, the brushes had tickled him and kept making him scrunch his face, pull back, or smudge what they’d managed to put on. But he’d gotten there in the end, and he looked good for it.

“Basil!”

As his name was called, he strode with pride, one hand playing with the strings of jewellery around his neck, the other tucked so very casually in his pocket. He had no surname, or if he had ever been given one, he’d traded it away a long time ago. But the simple given name was enough. He didn’t glance at the cameras, though he knew they’d be taking their shots. He was old, certainly one of the city’s elder residents, and that always peaked people’s interest. Humans were nosy, so very nosy, though that made them adorable sometimes. He gave the doorman a nod, smile of greeting, then headed into the foyer to allow some pictures.

Vos’ silent dragon had no goal or plans for the night, merely to grin at the unfortunate people who chose to get drunk, and hear the gossip of the city while he drifted like a phantom between people.

A ball.

The moment Daesung heard about it from the live broadcast a few days ago, he never really understood the importance to such a prestigious event. He has witnessed his fair share of them from afar during the long time he was alive, but he still has yet to really fully see its purpose other than to have people gather in one place and dance. No actual substantial reason as to why it's necessary enough to be put on the news when one were to put it that way. If anything, Daesung only saw the very obvious flaws in hosting a public event that held some, if not all, of the most important individuals in the city. Announcing it to the masses was the cherry on top and it was almost laughable to think that everyone, may it be allies or enemies, was aware of all this.

Nonetheless, Daesung was going.

Nobody needed to force him into doing so despite how gratuitous he finds the event itself. If this annual ball were to warrant and beckon forth any form of danger, then it's best he attends to make sure everything goes smoothly. After all, the mayor was going to be there and God knows who'll try to take this opportunity to make a move. With the sea of people focusing on themselves while the waves of music drown out everything else into the background, trouble stirring on the sidelines was far from being impossible.

A sigh leaves the archangel before he proceeds to glance at his reflection. Although he already sports formal wear everywhere he went, being in a suit was much more uncomfortable than he initially thought it would be. It's definitely different from the blazer and turtleneck combo he dons every other day. Considering how he doesn't exactly have a thin frame and rather has a pudgy stomach instead, having to button up the suit jacket was discomforting. Nothing he couldn't handle though.

As his hand grazes over his buzzcut while he gives himself one last look in the mirror, his phone suddenly buzzes in his pocket only causing him to immediately attend to the notification. He wasn't exactly expecting Eden to be there after having him gone missing for the past few days, but after receiving some very distressing and concerning voice messages from the captain himself, Daesung finally realizes the urgent need of his presence at the ball. The Lord truly knows when to send His signs and this was clearly it.

Taking his golden sword with him after informing the rest of the guards that he will take the duty of confronting Eden and seeking the unamed object in his office drawer, Daesung uses his ability of teleportation to get himself to the venue in a matter of seconds.

It was nothing but annoying flashing lights and chatter of nosy reporters upon his arrival to the red carpet. A lot of them instantly recognize him as one of the dream guards and they do their utmost best to gain his attention as he trudges towards the entrance. He doesn't spare them so much of a glance, not even daring to display a single hint of emotion on his face— that would, after all, only feed their satisfaction of getting a reaction from him. Besides, he had other matters to attend to.

Once he is greeted by the doorman, Daesung gives a curt nod before he makes his way inside, a sneer now visibly present on his visage as he makes it past the foyer with a tight grip on the mission given to him. He had been left on edge ever since the captain had gone missing days ago, so suddenly knowing he was attending the ball with a forewarning filled with caution and secrecy stirred something in Daesung.

The ball was an event for dancing? Then a dangerous dance they shall receive.

↳ ᴍᴀʏ 31, 2051
↳ ɴᴏᴡ ᴘʟᴀʏɪɴɢ: anarchy - jvcki wai

A flutter of red silk against black cloth, black fringe that shows whispers of the midriff Monarch loves to display, bracelets, a fitted necklace, a low-cut collar, black pants, a corsage at his wrist. He's made sure he won't be hungry at the ball (maybe) by eating a light snack, and he's holding a cluster of purple flowers for... well, he'll give them to someone, he's sure.

In the meantime, he's concerned with his appearance. He looks fine. The half-pixie knows he's gorgeous, the outfit is flattering, his details of makeup are alluring. This isn't the problem—no, Monarch feels as though the /dangers/ of his general appearance are gone, even though his canines are still show when he smiles and his eyes are still swirling pits of acid behind blue contacts. As a pixie he already struggles with his appearance—his frame is slim and slight, delicate and fragile, and Monarch wonders if maybe he should have picked a different outfit to make him appear more imposing.

No matter. He will make up for it with his cold gaze and his demeanor if he must. Monarch almost hopes someone gives him an excuse to make them bleed. Akaedi will be upset but Monarch can't care less; Akaedi knows that Monarch is a wild thing with fangs and claws and when he doesn't feel himself, when he doesn't feel as though he'll be respected, he feels the need to inflict pain and fear.

/"Your mother is a and you are one just like her."/

There's a loud snap when the toothbrush in Monarch's hand breaks in half. His teeth are already clean, glistening when he parts his lips. His breath smells like mint rather than his recent snack. His lips are stained with a little extra color to combat the pallor from his mother's side of the family. And the contacts, the ever-present contacts, cover his beautiful golden eyes.

He suddenly wants to wipe the color from his lips and look pallid, colder, more like marble than a living man.

Monarch's mother wasn't a , though Monarch holds nothing but contempt for her—and Monarch certainly isn't a , but it had never stopped his father's advisors from whispering such things to him as though it would help their cause. If anything, they only sped up the process of what would lead to devastation.

/./

Monarch thinks it's a funny thing, that the first time he was called a he was only twelve years old, wide-eyed and afraid after being delivered to the mercy of his blood father. How was /he/ the then, he used to wonder; but Monarch has reached realizations about people that would turn a weaker stomach.

Perhaps now he shows his body without shame because...

It doesn't matter.

Monarch shakes himself, blinking at his reflection, and exhales a quiet sigh. He isn't a . He is a rightful king. A monarch in more than just name, and he's going to take back his throne. But in the time being, he has a ball to go to, and he's going alone.

An unbidden thought comes to mind, and Monarch snarls at the mirror. There it is, the true face of Monarch, the anger and rage and pure hatred... Atlas was not wrong, when he teased about Monarch feeling only hatred. It's been so long since Monarch felt anything but contempt, spite, hatred, violent urges that he has forgotten what it is to care for someone—perhaps Atlas' presence will help, but Monarch does not hold his breath.

He sweeps his keys off the counter and leaves, the door slamming and locking behind him. He doesn't drive, so he sets out on foot, not having far to go but walking slowly to savor his time alone and try to compose himself before he is into a ballroom filled with people. It wouldn't do for him to feel trapped and agitated. It might give way to hunger and, well... Monarch is not good with controlling the hunger. The thirst is easy to resist, but the hunger...

A vampire should have never bred with a pixie, let alone a dark one. Monarch is the monstrous result of a union that shouldn't have happened. He is all anger and hunger and violence.

Sometimes Monarch wonders if his siblings are better off than he is; he knows Willow is in the city but has yet to encounter him. And little Juniper is probably thriving somewhere, her wit taking her far. Monarch doubts either of them remember Birch, the middle sibling, the...

/"He's a disgrace to my family and I won't have him here."/

Mr. Vandel was always such a good father.

Monarch's thoughts are invasive until he reaches the event and he waits for his name to be called in chilling silence. Those around him do not attempt to speak to him and that doesn't bother him, waiting for the moment...

"Birch Vandel!"

Monarch is uncertain as to how the mayor's people know his real name, but so long as no one is calling out the secret name... he won't bite anyone's head off, literally or otherwise. As he walks, he doesn't look at or acknowledge the cameras, allowing them to take shots of him walking as though they don't exist until he reaches the door and, with a nod to the doorman, slips inside.

In the foyer, they stop him again for a picture, and Monarch only allows them the one before he escapes into the ballroom, a smell hitting him even over the mix of scents.

Willow is somewhere among the crowd, and Monarch is going to try and find him.

Filled to the brim with excitement, Youngmi fought the grin trying to force its way onto his lips. Perhaps he’d fallen a little too in love with the dress he wore, but when he’d found it he knew he had to have it. Sparkly and well decorated, but with a certain feel to it that made him feel like a disney princess. It swept below his ankles, and he’d had to run up and down the stairs back at the barracks a few times to train himself not to trip on the hem of the dress. Of course that hadn’t been all he’d done to prepare for the event. He wore a small amount of makeup, mostly around the eyes and glossy lips, to avoid covering the charming blanket of freckles displayed across his cheeks. He walked with grace - well, as much grace as Lee Youngmi ever carried - but with the smallest bounce to his step.

He didn’t linger with the cameras when his name was called, as he wasn’t really anyone too interesting. Just another member of the dream guard who’d been invited. Part of him was quite relieved he wasn’t favoured by them. The thought of finding himself reported on in a newspaper about the guests of The Mayor’s party made him cringe. He wasn’t sure how some people coped, when the press thought them to be minor celebrities of a kind.

Of course, there was probably less attention on him because he didn’t have anyone interesting that he was going in with. Not that he minded, meeting someone, or having a date to arrive with would have been nice, but wasn’t necessary for him to have a good time. If worst came to worst, he’d insist on dragging various guard members from their hiding places to dance with him. At least he’d know some people there, even if he’d been looking to find more people to adopt into his small circle. A brief thought crossed his mind and he suddenly wondered what the guest list looked like. There would surely be people he knew and got along with, but what about those he /disliked/. He told himself it wasn’t a big deal, he was an adult after all, it didn’t affect him who showed up and who didn’t.

After he’d had his promised dances, he could settle in a corner with a drink or two and let the night go by people watching. He reached the foyer, blinking a few times at the eye stinging flash of cameras, then headed to the ballroom, arms by his side as he went to find a comfortable place to settle.

↳ ᴍᴀʏ 31, 2051
↳ ɴᴏᴡ ᴘʟᴀʏɪɴɢ: introduction - jax jones, demi lovato, stefflon don

If not for Reina Thor and a persistent twin brother, Areti wouldn't even be going to Ziminiar's ball. But there he was, slipping on a pink velvet blazer and looking at himself in a mirror, trying to resist the urge to run away from the situation. Balls meant dancing, socializing, and watching Avra flirt with every attractive man in the vicinity.

With a sigh, the nymph grabbed the cane that was his accessory and also a weapon, checked his hair and was out the door. Unlike his brother, he was wearing shoes, pants, a watch on his wrist and an expression of utter dismay. He didn't want to be at the ball. He'd cast aside the Spiros name and yet these events always called him Areti Spiros and treated him like he was still a part of the family.

Some family they were, but Areti didn't want to put himself in a worse mood. He was going to make sure his twin had a good time and was safe throughout the night. There was no other reason for him to be there.

For Avra. He could do it for Avra.

His brother was already walking when he arrived, but when Areti's name was called Avra stopped at the door to wait for him and Areti couldn't stifle a sigh. He loved his brother, but they were so opposing in personalities, Avra's outgoing nature clashing with Areti's more reserved side. But he hooked his arm through Avra's and escorted him into the foyer for their pictures, angling Avra more toward the cameras. His twin deserved the attention that he thrived off of, and Areti just wanted to find somewhere to hide while keeping an eye on Avra.

Then Avra was dragging him inside, obviously excited, and Areti sighed. "It's not going anywhere."

Ignoring him, Avra continued to tug, somehow not tripping on his mass of skirts in his hurry to get out onto the dance floor. "Come, Areti! I want to dance!"

"I don't like dancing."

"Oh, too bad!"

↳ ᴍᴀʏ 31, 2051
↳ ɴᴏᴡ ᴘʟᴀʏɪɴɢ: queen of disaster - lana del rey

Glittering bursts of sparkles, bouncy tulle, delicate lace, sprawling floral designs and roses wrapped over the sleeves and around to the back of the dress. A sweetheart neckline, a swoop of thin mesh between his pectorals, a fit that flattered his delicate waist and proud shoulders, dainty throat and slight structure, a back that showed the trident tattoo on his left shoulderblade in green ink, viney and dainty just like the nymph. A seashell necklace, gifted to him by a dear friend fourteen years ago, settled at his throat with a claw pendant that his brother had gifted him more recently. A silver chain bracelet around his right wrist, two small charms hanging from it—charms for the two babies he had lost, unfairly ripped from him. Two dainty crystal earrings in each ear, and the laurel crown crafted of the purest gold settling in his blonde-blue locks to complete the picture.

Avra Spiros was beautiful, studying himself in the mirror to ensure that not a hair was out of place. Everything was perfect, right down to his bare feet—the nymph had always hated shoes, and when Areti had suggested he wear a pair Avra had slammed the door in his twin's face with a huff. He felt bad for it now, but as he looked at his panther, sprawled on his counter, he had to smile.

"I will be home later, Kallios," he promised, gathering his skirts so he could leave his tiny cabin and step out into the cooling air of the forest. A shadow followed him as he began to walk, the forest protecting its own as it was wont to do.

Over logs and twigs and dirt and moss and leaves Avra swept, some catching in the hem of his dress and his feet growing dirty—but he was a nymph and nymphs did not care and for fourteen years Avra had been arriving to Ziminiar's events with dirt on his feet and leaves and dirt and twigs caught on his dress. Every year it caused a stir and every year he paid it no mind, for he was the forest and the forest was him and what did he care if it put the mortals and some monsters in a tizzy? He was beautiful and he was sweet and he was liked by those he cared to speak to. Avra made enemies by being himself, but could care less about it.

After fourteen years, the citizens of the city were more accustomed to seeing Avra break the treeline in his extravagent gowns, skirts lifted in each hand and a smile on his face. Most of them were quietly accepting of his eccentric behavior and others greeted him. Those who disliked him were of no consequence to him! After all, he had people who loved him that he could spend his time interacting with.

"You look like a princess," a small human child told him as he walked past, and Avra took the chance to stop and crouch down and speak to her, voice soft and smile wide. He let her touch his crown and dress and awe at the way grass grew when he touched it, allowed her mother to take a picture of them together. It put a skip in his step as he went on his way, remembering days when human mothers had screamed at him for being near their children for fear he'd steal them and eat them—the nerve they had to assume a nymph was capable of such horror!

"Now arriving... Avra Spiros."

He stepped onto the red carpet and heard cameras click as he started walking, catching the dirt and leaves at the him of his dress—and he only smiled wider, doing a spin as he neared the door. What was the point in serious behavior, when he could dance and prance and be the happy little spirit of nature that he was? Areti was the one who could represent their serious side.

"Now arriving... Areti Spiros."

Speak of the devil! Avra opted not to enter, instead twisting to greet his twin with a wave, excitedly awaiting his arrival. Areti rolled his eyes but returned the wave as he drew near, decked out in velvet with a cane as an accessory. Avra thought it was rather funny a look, and giggled but held out his arm for his twin so they could enter as one. The doorman didn't seem impressed, but he had never liked Avra anyway and it was of no consequence.

In the foyer there were more cameras, the twins posing for a picture before Avra dragged Areti into the ballroom.

"It's not going anywhere."

"Come, Areti! I want to dance!"

"I don't like dancing."

"Oh, too bad!"

↳ ᴍᴀʏ 31, 2051
↳ ɴᴏᴡ ᴘʟᴀʏɪɴɢ: riot - hollywood undead

Gisela's resplendent in white when he steps off of his motorcycle and tosses the keys and a helmet to a very confused valet. As he walks up the red carpet, he's taken back to the first event he ever attended that was hosted by Ziminiar; his children had been quite young then and now they're adults and had both declined their own invitations. Aurelio could have played his cello in an orchestra for the mayor but had opted to stay at home with his older brother.

A wise choice. They're safe from the claws of the public, the cameras, the press waiting to tear people apart. Gisela feels eyes on him as he walks toward the door, face one without expression. He can't allow himself to show any vulnerability, to have any visible chinks in his armor. He hasn't worn white...

He hasn't worn white since the day he was forced to make his vows to someone he despised. But Gisela had chosen this suit, and he chose it for a purpose. The press outside, cameras flashing as he walks the red carpet, a murmur spreading at the presence of the elusive widow Gisela Dani Yavetz-Weir actually making a public appearance... Gisela is making a power move. The last time the press had seen him, he was with Alan. The last time he was photographed in white, it was his wedding day and the suit had looked a lot like this one.

He nods to the doorman as he passes, receiving the tiniest of smiles.

It had been hard to put on the white suit and actually come to the venue, but here he is, striding inside and pausing in the foyer for another flash of cameras. He doesn't have a date, he simply couldn't be bothered to get one, and he doesn't need one to be here. Gisela is past the point in his life where he was arm candy. Appearing alone... that's just another thing done to stick it to the family that he knows will be out for blood.

That's fine. He's here, he plans to enjoy himself so his sons can gloat that they convinced him to do something "good for himself". And if all goes well, Gisela won't have to break any arms or blow out any brains.

It would be a shame to ruin his new suit.