Continued from [Eloise @anmaruos] and [Hawley @3poenitentes]
Eloise makes it harder and harder for her to protest, mindful of the vampire's particular whims. Morgan's resistance is already lowered as it is, watching the fur-clad warrior step into the gala as though it is an area, perhaps of the social kind. She breaks only for a moment to scan the room in hopes a lion might be brought forth for him to wrestle.
"Alright, alright, you've bested all my better protestations," Morgan confesses. "Let us to the fountain."
Beside his new companion, Bradley finds a laugh deep within himself that only requires some small clawing from his deadened depths, though Hawley's humor makes quick work of that. "I would perhaps like to meet that gnat," he says, watching his wife and Eloise's heads swim through the crowd.
He listens further to the man's story, nodding and humming with sympathy as he explains the nature of his being, the origins of his unique accommodations. "It sounds as though he saved you from things less evident than your physical state as well. That kind of trust and safety can make the pain inconsequential, in many cases." Though, of course, he does not want to tell the man he is not entitled to his pain and grief. There are losses, though leaving similar shapes in one's heart and life, that cannot be so easily filled by another that arrives in more or less a familiar shape.
"I am glad you have them in your life."
Bradley's continuation of the conversation of curios is cut short as Morgan glides back into view, holding their crystal chalices equally weighted with the night's sinful treats. She looks as Themis, bearing the scales of justice between her hands, that keeper of men's oaths. He would certainly never break his when a creature such as she hung the brass plates before him.
"Ladies, lovely to see you," he charms, catching his glass from Morgan's hand in the same gesture he scoops her close to him in a swirling embrace. Not a drop spilt between the two of them. "Eloise, you look simply ravishing as always. Thank you for taking care of my little dove."
Morgan hums and coos her thanks as she, hand now heavy with the promise of the night's entire pretense, does her best to restrain her thirst and curiosity, at least until they've toasted. There is an undefinable scent to the drink, familiar and yet entirely foreign -- it's not wine, it's not blood, but something perhaps in between. Bradley clears his throat and her eyes flicker upwards from behind her darkened shades.
"This is my new gentlemanly acquaintance Griffin," the man introduces. "Modest fellow, was just about to tell me about this watch he has... but perhaps that can wait until we've sampled our host's spirits. Do excuse us a moment."
Morgan's eyes light up at the mention of the watch, as she takes in the man who kept her husband company. She reaches out her free hand, careful with the crystal in the other. "Charmed, sir," she greets him. "I do want to hear your stories, most certainly. Do excuse us a moment."
The vampires detach from their companions if only to have better room to wind themselves around one another once more. Their glasses change hands in the braid, such that he holds hers and she holds his, but the tangle works itself through as the two raise a toast -- Sláinte! -- and sip at one another's offerings, knelt before the altar of some holiness they'd never reach but for tonight.
