red carpet.

　　⤿ ᴅᴇᴄᴇᴍʙᴇʀ 31, 2057
　　⤿ ɴᴏᴡ ᴘʟᴀʏɪɴɢ: i need somebody - day6

　　The truth is, Mei doesn't want to go to Ziminiar's party. She hasn't gone to one of his bashes before. The previous year, she'd been little more than a nobody; but it isn't even that which causes her reservations, she's not worried about being a new face. But this was never what she wanted, when she decided she'd become a singer. Everyone dreams about success, but no one really stops to think about what that actually entails. And for Mei, it means she has to go to these parties. Make connections. Who knows, maybe pick up a sponsor. But above all else, she can't be too much, she can't be too little, she has to be just right. Like a bowl of porridge. But she's not a bowl of porridge.

At least she'd be a pretty bowl of porridge.

She's dropped off outside the hotel by her manager, who would not in fact be going inside with her, and there's an uncomfortable twisting in Mei's stomach as she waits to be announced. She thinks she hides her discomfort well, smiling and waving at anyone who says her name and looking surprised when someone — not the announcer, but someone in the crowd — screams for her a little too loud. By the time she gets to the door, Mei is ready to disappear and get away from the cameras — because that, at least, is a silver lining; there won't be six thousand cameras in her face once she's inside — but of course, there's one last photo session to face.

In the lobby, she rests both hands underneath her chin and smiles pretty for the camera, one quick shot before she gathers up her skirt and rushes — at a quick walk, she knows better than to run and she's wearing strappy, thin heels anyway — for the inside of the hotel, away from the crowd of people outside.

Admittedly, for a small part, the party was a means to an end. Jianhong had enjoyed a few thousand years with very little human contact, and done just fine with it. But, it was still nice to get to see how so many people seemed to rightfully revere the man that made him whole. Of course, he couldn’t claim to have been *helpful* per se in helping them to arrive - if they were dressing nicely, it was just the gentlemanly thing to do to offer the dragon a hand. Or two. After spending some time carefully taming his hair into a ribbon, long enough now to put up, if noticeably shorter still than it had previously been. He was grateful it had grown out well, the awkward stage of being between tying it up and letting it stay down had been a nightmare. Nonetheless, he was finally happy it didn’t look half bad in the end, along with the rest of him being suitably well presented. He was, after all, a complementary piece alongside his lover, who deserved the eyes of every soul on him for his beauty. Not that he’d let anyone look for too long though, obviously. There was a balance between appreciation and getting on the bad side of the nymph.

With a gentle smile reserved for one man only, Jianhong offered his arm at the sound of their names, rolling sweetly together in a way that made his heart leap. Their surroundings were of little importance to him, what mattered was the smaller figure beside him, a flawless gem of the highest value. When they snuck away later, he would be sure to try to put words to the beauty before him, though he knew none could do real justice to it. For now, he was sure his gaze said everything, an undying admiration of unmatched degree. Flickering away only to glance to their destination before he returned fondly to his companion.

Winter was the wrong time for any sort of fancy outfit. When it came to the red carpet, Fang nearly chickened out - he didn’t know how he’d gotten an invite, and every time he did to an event, he was worried it would be a ploy to be speared by a group of fish, or some public execution. After grimacing at it for long enough, he thought, well - what the hell?

“Fang Geming!”

His collar was starting to get pretty damn chilly by the time he heard his name, but finely tuned to focus in on it, like a Pavlov dog at the sound of a bell, he hurried down the carpet. Red was festive, right? Right. So really, he was on theme. In the past, he’d had some moral support for walking down, despite his height, someone to tuck himself down beside to take the spotlight off him. He was quick to make it to the foyer, where it was not only warm, but there was less happening around him that he wasn’t quite polite enough to try and make organised sense of. Still with an overbearing sense of awkwardness, he stood, gangly and offered only a thumbs up in pose before he made for the safety of the room.

“Lee Youngmi!”

Steps were measured, careful - maybe he’d rehearsed it a few times in his quarters beforehand, he’d wanted to be really sure he wouldn’t trip over his own feet and make a fool of himself. It was always a little intimidating, the cacophony of voices - just what was happening with the guard? Were they still able to do their jobs, if their Captain was seemingly… away for work? It all fell upon deaf ears, a warm grin and excited waves all he had to offer to familiar faces, nothing else important. Seemingly, he didn’t need anyone by his side, with bouncing steps and a newfound confidence, as if finally, after some time, having grown into a body he wasn’t yet used to. A little time out of work and self-reflecting had been enough to pull the fragmented pieces of himself back together, he was finding. Maybe, he truly couldn’t answer the questions the papers were desperate for, but at the very least, he could enjoy the night that lay ahead. Dancing, after all, was one of his favourite things about these events, and he *would* be dragging all of his friends to dance with him at least once. Though tucked tightly to his body as he walked, the archangel’s wings sprung to life as he reached the entrance to the event - two, tucked close to his calfs, two, comfortably resting at his centre, two, coming up to cover his eyes as the picture was snapped. A perfectly biblical image, he was hoping for. Truly, a seraphim worthy of a mournful painting. With a final grin, he ducked away, showmanship spent.

He’d forgotten how bright the camera flashes were on his eyes. Squinting a lazy glower in the direction of a particularly close photographer, the dragon straightened up at the sound of his name. He had to attend this thing. If, only to claim he didn’t spend every minute either eating, sleeping or pestering. So he’d glare from the bar at anyone who tried to strike up conversation. Nonetheless, the mayor’s parties were a chance to dress up; and Basil would never miss the chance to look fancy. He didn’t know how many of these he’d missed since he’d been asleep - but he’d have to impress at least a little this time. After losing a fight with a make-up brush in the mirror, he opted to just go natural. Definitely not because he didn’t have a skill with anything that required precision. And definitely not because he refused to ask for help from any of the beach house’s little pests. Ignoring questions, as he had an excuse not to answer of course, humouring the flashes with a sharp toothed smile when he finally reached the entrance, the walk lasting an eternity with the thrum of noises all around. The moment he was inside, he could relax- dateless, looking quite lost, Gods knew what the results would be, but what harm could a short evening of festivities do?