#ca ball

It was a begrudging effort on the part of Alisa but she somehow managed to get him into the outfit. And he didn’t look half bad. Despite the fact that he couldn’t help but wear a brooding kind of frown. When he walked in alongside the girl, he was turning a few heads.

"This is Mab, the mistress fairy, That doth nightly rob the dairy, And can help or hurt the cherning As she please, without discerning..."  -William Shakespeare

Having said his piece he simply shrugged lightly.

23:19, December 31st.

Not long left to go until midnight; this much would be apparent in the atmosphere here even without a clock. The countdown has already begun in everyone’s heads, whether that is a matter that brings about joy or relief or melancholy. To those not too tired to continue enjoying themselves, the new year will arrive before they know it.

The rest are left to wait with a twinge of impatience, but no one really starts counting down the seconds from 2,460... 2,459... 2,458-- Bansai knows he’s been idle too long. Ordinarily there would be nothing wrong with sitting around here the whole time-- ordinarily he would not be here. This is a rather special occasion, and he has taken on a particular obligation of his own free will. He’s done well so far; what would that person say, were he to back out at this point?

He’s thinking of the wrong person. 

The one he is here for is... here, which means there is no need to imagine. No need to think at all, for that matter! He already knows exactly what he needs.

He lets his posture slacken, downs two glasses of wine from the nearby table without even taking the time to taste them, and makes his way almost directly back to where Kaito is.

“I’m back...!” As though he's late, and not just free to wander off here whenever he feels like it. He should ask if it’s alright to leave. But no-- he grabs the android’s arm (lightly, he reminds himself) and tugs him away from the conversation he might have been having.

“Say, Kaito-san... it is getting late, is it not? Perhaps we ought to have another dance before the event is over.”

With a small nod of his head, Shakespeare acknowledged the man who drew near.

   He’s been entertaining since he got here. He’s enchanting. He’s about to pull a stunt on that poor girl captured by the intensity of his storytelling, if she’s not careful. 

   She can tell. She’s arrived late -- but that doesn’t mean she can’t appear like she belongs. The swirling excitement is hardly abandoned, it takes a few hours for it to take off the nervous edge, and then the awkwardness disappears.

   So does the shyness, the frigid introductions, the sideglances at who brought who along, is wearing what. After a while, everyone that came dressed for the occasion becomes your “friend”. -- As for your sworn enemies, unless you’ve both come to pick a fight, problems start to dissolve after a few hours. To come in late...

It starts to makes obvious things that have been going on for hours. 

That’s why the bubbling champagne finds way to her mouth, as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear to unwind and exhale the icy wintry wind that still coats her features making her seem even more unapproachable than usual. That’s what she gets for donning a shoulderless, nearly backless dress.

But no matter. His voice is swelling. Convincing. He’s wrapped in a handful of guests under a trance. The ball is just getting on its heel, and all seems right with the world for that moment. 

The subtle burn works its magic to put warmth back into her cheeks, as she throws her back to gargle, and in no time at all has her seeking the gaze of others and the elasticity of their shallow smiles -- she’s all about bidding off the approval exclusive to a first glance. She knows what kind of effect she gives. That’s why coming to an event like this? Simply can’t be planned. 

   Anywhere she goes, she’s prim, authoritative, but the boy likes surprises and so doess she. What’s better than surprises?... a notch above a surprise is a scare. 

   Maybe that’s why she dashes the entire thought of calling for him. Nails sweeping over the rail as she sprints down -- along with other couples eager to occupy the dancers’ floor, she goes unnoticed closely huddling closer to the girl in front. she’s his target, 

@phantasmicmarauder

because she’s listening.