𝔅𝔢𝔞𝔲𝔱𝔦𝔣𝔲𝔩...

His heart was pounding in his chest, just about rattling his ribcage. Why did he have to be so cocky? It made Salo's blood boil.

"well, i shouldn't steal you away from your other guests, should i, councillor? but i'm sure we'll meet again soon." that last word is filled with teasing promise as fingers brush over pinked cheeks for one final unbidden touch before he wanders (or, more accurately, doesn't quiet stumble) back into the crowd.

❝Oh, you absolute - ugh!❞ He shakes his head, and pulls himself even further away with such a look he might as well have sucked a lemon dry. Well, at least now he'd filled his quota for socialising. The balcony would remain his sanctuary for the rest of the night.

He'd never felt so scandalised by a few words in his life. He tried to move away, but he staggered in his step, his confidence instead held up solely by the last inch of cockiness that resided on a surface level in himself, much like his attitude. And that, too, was beginning to waver.

long fingers snake out to grasp that fine, slender waist when salo stumbles backing away and the industrialist holds him steady. "careful," he warns in that same tone, "wouldn't want to embarrass yourself in front of everyone now, would you?"

His heart was pounding in his chest, just about rattling his ribcage. Why did he have to be so cocky? It made Salo's blood boil.

LOW | ●●●●● | HIGH

He crossed his arms delicately over his chest and remained perfectly still, not wishing to show the ever so slight tremble in his hands that had begun to betray his confidence.

draining the last of his wine, he sets his glass aside (perhaps a little too firmly) and leans in to boldly take that narrow chin between thumb and crooked forefinger. zaunites can't be expected to have the manners of the piltovan upper class, of course. "pretty little thing, aren't you," silco all but purrs as he lifts that face up to scrutinise with his mismatched gaze, "would fetch a pretty cog down in the lanes. have you ever been across the bridge, mouse?"

He'd never felt so scandalised by a few words in his life. He tried to move away, but he staggered in his step, his confidence instead held up solely by the last inch of cockiness that resided on a surface level in himself, much like his attitude. And that, too, was beginning to waver.

Silco despises attending these… parties. They’re an infuriating, disgusting display of Piltovan opulence squandered on trivialities. But they’re also important opportunities to better understand his opponents: the merchants and council members that make it their mission to abuse Zaun’s resources for their own wealth. So, while he finds the whole affair vile, there’s not a single tiny thread of evidence on his face. Instead, the chem baron has been mingling effortlessly. He’s listened to the menial drivel of those that dare converse with the Zaunite in their midst, paid note of those who whisper or stare behind his back, and to those that might be blackmailed into compliance later. And he’s drunk overpriced, imported wine steadily to keep his hand from clenching. At least now most party-goers have gotten accustomed to the stranger in their midst now and have sated their curiosity, leaving Silco to watch from a balcony largely unnoticed. Only one set of eyes regularly settles on him now; a lingering flash of green, chartreuse rather than his own single seaglass one. The industrialist smiles self-indulgently as he catches them yet again, only for that gaze to flick away when he meets it. It becomes something of a game. Another glass or two later and Silco finds that his admirer is much closer now—the other end of the balcony. A thin slip of a blonde thing draped (like so many of the others) in white and gold. A councillor and the host of this little gathering, if he recalls correctly. Now, wouldn’t it be fun to toy with this curious little creature to make his night a little more interesting? The chem baron’s smile becomes a smirk as he levers himself away from the railing. Silco’s vision whirls a little with the motion and he’s just a bit loose-legged as he makes his way over to where the younger man is now outright staring, looking for all the world like a small creature caught in the gaze of a predator. A table corner appears from nowhere and catches the industrialist’s hip, but he plays his stagger off and manages to catch himself on the bannister by his ‘admirer’ in what he intends to be charisma. “You’ve been watching me, little mouse. Scared I’ll snatch you up?”

He crossed his arms delicately over his chest and remained perfectly still, not wishing to show the ever so slight tremble in his hands that had begun to betray his confidence.