"Oh, Sylvaine? Look at you, so handsome. Wooing all the ladies tonight?" Nehir walks up smoothly.
"Truly a wonderful party Serena has hosted, such lovely people, such lovely decoration."
"Oh!" she stops short, dramatically facepalming, "Did i forget to introduce myself again? My apologies, I'm Nehir, a special admission student"
[Sylvaine stands poised, carefully drifting between conversations, letting attention gather and disperse at his discretion. Befitting the theme of the party, he came with his hair down, dressed as Celestino, Venus of Dusk. Because of course he did...]
Sylvaine turns at the sound of his name, already polished.
“Nehir,” he repeats smoothly.
A faint smile curves at the corner of his mouth — practiced, warm enough to be flattering, sharp enough to be deliberate.
“Handsome?” He places a hand lightly over his chest. “You wound me. I put in far more effort than that deserves.”
“And wooing all the ladies?” He tilts his head, letting his attention narrow until the rest of the room seems to fall away. “Hardly.” His voice softens just enough to feel private. “At the moment, I’m only interested in the one standing in front of me.”
At the mention of Serena, his eyes flick briefly across the room — quick calculation — before returning to Nehir.
“It is a remarkable evening,” he agrees. “The décor is beautiful.”
“Special admission,” he echoes, interest sharpening just slightly.
He steps just close enough to signal attention, but not so close as to suggest its exclusivity.
“So tell me, Nehir,” he says, voice lowering a fraction, “are you here to observe the spectacle… or participate in it?”