Blessedly, and with all the permissions of doting and a'fore fond, amused smiles through friends and elderly ladies wreathed in gilded finery, is Roland presently gone without those gold-heelâd shoes; comfortably barefoot and ringed with gemstones in gold-and-silver bands of rings âround his toes, and each nail prettily painted with iridescent colors befitting the freshwater opal. Rolandâs grin is lazy, pressing his powder-smeared cheek into his own palm.
âThe Lady of the House is wanting of a game of hide-and-seek,â comes he, without any of that superfluous tic of judgment and fluttered for that gorgeous sound of mirth within Rolandâs drink-burred voice. His handsome eyebrows dost bounce in thrice. âI am the Seeker, and shalt find and peruse each individual spot with utmost aplomb, and in so of due diligence. But as am I the animal, the Feral Tooth pressed and pulled into these expensive clothing hast I smelled thine own perfume.â And he presses his finger to the side of his nose, twice, and so winks in that Cunning of a fluttering eyelash. âAnd didst meander to find thee.
"Art thou well?â asks he, suddenly and serious. âArt thou too exhumed upon thine own humor to enjoy the festivity? Art thou so overwhelmed?â concerns Roland, and furrows his brow to find the littlest nuance, any crease within a wrinkled, internal Tapestry.
There is an ease of tension within Maretusâ chest that he hadnât been aware was there as Roland asks after his well-being. Large, ostentatious social situations had ever made Maretus uncomfortable; he never felt as if he belonged at them. Having a familiar face with him and friendly concern bolstered his mood more than he thought it could.
âI am well,â he assures Roland. âMaybe a little overwhelmed, but brooding is second nature to me. Nothing to worry over.â
He takes in the sight of his friend, shining in opalescence from cheek to foot, clearly enjoying himself. For a moment, Maretus finds himself wondering what magic he might find during a glittering masque such as this if he didnât feel the press of anxiety. For a moment, he thinks he might find secret doors and hanging illusory gardens that still smelled of sweetness, that he might find delight in the flutter of layered, gauzy costumes that promised to grant hands sight better than what the eye could see, that he might find the heat of laughing bodies scattered throughout the marbled corridors intoxicating rather than oppressive. A strange shiver runs through him, prickling the skin along his neck and forearms.
He thinks he might just need another one of those effervescent drinks the servants were carrying around on unending silver trays.
But then, almost as a betrayal, a thought strikes him and tumbles out of his mouth before the rest of his mind can catch up and stop it. âYou said you were the Seeker in this game? Would it be against the rules if I went with you?â