#bbwintermaskball2k17

☬~The envelope felt odd in her hands, both the texture of the paper and of the mere fact that it had been addressed to her. In all her years, the silver-haired Hunter had never been to any such ball as this. She had been pampered when she was young by her parents in anticipation for when she would inevitably be brought to one and shown off for suitors. Such as it was though, it never felt right to her and she had never liked the lessons, Arthur usually finding ways to steal her away to lead her around the streets where she had felt like she belonged. And all of this was of course before their parents were lost and her brother had set out on his quest for vengeance.

All those years and though she had had an opportunity once before, she had chosen to avoid the party, thinking she’d only feel out of place. Yet here she was, dressed in a black, modest gown with feathers growing tightly out from the shoulders, black gloves that came up to her bicep--the right one decorated with more black feathers at the elbow--and an intricate mask she’d happened upon. It was a finely crafted, black metal mask which had careful swirls and twists, the shapes coming up along the right side to give the faint impression of a spread wing whilst the left side simply dance down and away from her cheek. Perhaps it did not quite give as much anonymity as she’d have liked for such an occasion, but it hid enough without being a full face cover.

She took a deep breath, feeling her heart beating hard and low in her chest anxiously as she ascended the steps of the estate, finding some comfort in the blade she’d strapped to her leg. She was not particularly fond of the dress and would not regret tearing it to retrieve a means of defense if such an act was necessary. Even if she doubted such an event would occur, its weight and presence was comforting.

Rancid, the whole lot of them. Perfumes and cologne poured on all of these bodies by the gallons. Antares was sure they would have just fainted if they hadn’t managed to escape to the edges of the crowd. While they had enjoyed talking to Adrian and some of their other friends, the old hunter was more relieved by this private corner near food and drink. Now, they were gingerly sipping a cup of hot cider. Their imposing height in a black bear mask and cloak probably stopped a few guests from approaching them. Good. More privacy. And more refuge from all of these smells. Damn their sensitive nose.

There was a whiff of something less disgusting though. Something a little metallic, but still pungent… Blood. Rotting blood, from the likes of it, not unlike what would stain the old hunter’s Crowfeather cloak after a successful night’s hunt. But where? Who would wear such smelly clothes here- Oh, another Crowfeather? They seemed to be eyeing all of the food on the tables. Antares would have thought nothing of seeing another covenant member until they noticed the other's trick weapon. A folded sword, one very reminiscent of an old colleague... Could it be him? Something seemed a little off though, this hunter almost seemed too small for their clothes...

It was enormously outside Lorian’s comfort zone to be here, in this place crowded with people, to the point that he finds it difficult to breathe as he nears the place. He looks down at the icy cobbles instead, holding tight the ceramic crock pot and basket of bread Miriam had given him. Food for the party, probably far too spicy for the locals, most of whom didn’t seem to believe in salt. That was fine with him though. More leftovers for when he got home.

He practically runs out of the manor as soon as he’s set the food down, to await for Antares outside. Stiffly, he sits to calm his protesting legs, his joints unhappy from the cold and the long walk over. As soon as he does, though, he notices someone struggling up one of the side paths with an enormous instrument case. Someone he knows, the scholar he’d met back in the upper ward. Dara, it was. They’d seen one another a few times since then, although Lorian didn’t know if Dara considered them friends or not. It wasn’t something he had much experience with.

As he is wont to do, the aggressively lanky Vileblood strides into the ball, head held high and posture nothing short of perfect. His outfit, of course, only emphasizes his unnatural height and his lithe form. Craning his head around the bustle in the lavish ballroom, he opts to head towards where others had gathered to converse on the sidelines. The tables full of hor d’oeuvres almost tempt him, if not for the food, but for the people around them. Each and every outfit, paired with an equally intricate mask, intrigues him. Lace, velvet, satin, silk, brocade—he adores all of it. So many brilliant colors and striking patterns to be seen.

Naturally, Adrian not being born among other proper Cainhurst Vilebloods and instead growing up middle class, cannot help but feel ill-prepared. Hell, he only recently learned how to do a proper ballroom dance. It took a few weeks of Helena teaching him before he became remotely good at it not. Still, he didn’t let how much it wounded his pride get to him or show in his body language. While it would be a pain when he seeks out food and drink, his mask does have the benefit for fully concealing his face save for his expressive eyes. He keeps his hands to his side in an attempt to be as inviting as possible.