#cyril1

He did his best to shrink into himself and avoid bumping into anyone, but it was hard, squeezed as he was into a tight-fitting black and silver suit. He could barely breathe in the damn thing, let alone move with any kind of grace. Still, he had to admit: most of the guests looked like modern-day Adonises, decked out in their extravagant Victorian outfits. For a brief moment, Ric found himself feeling vaguely jealous, wondering if anyone would ever look at him the way they looked at each other. It was a foolish thought, especially in a place where people were already treated like objects without needing to be further fetishized—but he couldn’t help thinking life might be simpler if he could just relax a little, come out of his shell the way the other slaves here seemed able to.

He was still lost in that train of thought when he noticed something interesting: a man who looked just as miserable as he felt. That seemed like a good place to start—at least they had that much in common. “Gods, what I’d give to wear a loose shirt like yours,” he said with an awkward little smile, perhaps a bit too quietly for the stranger to actually hear him. “Is it just me, or would you rather be in the woods with a hundred bears than stuck in this ballroom?”

He relaxed a bit when it became clear the man wasn’t going to punch him just for speaking. Probably. As he looked into those intense dark eyes, Ric tried to imagine what Briar would do in this situation. He always seemed so much better at handling moments like this.

@bloodsoakedwhiskers

It said something that this was only his third event at the castle and Soren was already finding himself navigating with disturbing familiarity. On the one hand, there was no anxiously looking over his shoulder for a glimpse of his brother, dreading what Taliesin might've been forced to wear. On the other, he was terribly aware of another presence in the ballroom he had to account for at all times. Stigr was never far and Soren knew himself now at the man's beck and call, should the councilman desire anything from him. That thought alone was enough to drive the human to the bar, reaching for the offered flutes of champagne like a man parched in the desert. By sheer grace of timing, he spotted the hand of another reaching for the tray beside it and made a quick sound of warning before his eyes flicked to the stranger. "Careful, that. Those are the bloodied ones, and I don't mean tomato juice."

Gwyn had noticed the new addition to Euphoria almost immediately -- heavens knew he spent enough time in the club, even after Raphael's insinuations about his activities. The most suspicious thing he could do was stay away, right? And the sith enjoyed the nightlife there too much to abandon it for good, after all. After Cían's departure Gwyn had made decent inroads with the new bouncers but no relationship quite as fun as the one he'd enjoyed with the absent hellhound. Cían would've helped him with his little problem. It just meant he would have to start from scratch... and pick the right person. The new boy was not quite so brash as the sith's old friend. Decent at his job, serious, a bit nervous. Gwyn had watched how his head shot up towards errant noises, seen the stiff way he held his shoulders. Some kind of shifter, by the scent of him. Was that just how they were, keyed up on animal instincts? The stranger was certainly cute enough to warrant finding out.

Gwyn finally approached him late into the night, a little past one, too early for the club to be closing but late enough that few newcomers were pouring in. He sidled up with cigarette in hand, grinning before he'd even spoken from atop his platformed boots. "Someone looks a little bored," He chirped, leaning up against the brick as he eyed the new bouncer, "Want one?" The sith extended the carton with one cigarette already half tugged out for the other man, cocking his head expectantly. "Can't imagine doing your job, lovey. All this time doing nothing... do you ever want someone to make trouble just to break the monotony?"