#gowevent

The backyard was a sprawling, shameless thing, illuminated by the warm, golden light of antique lamp posts - original, he guessed, plucked from some old city core, the kind big money could buy. And its purpose? A conversation piece. The whole damn house was a conversation piece, built with the intent to impress. Nate was of the opinion that it was unintentionally tacky, and intentionally impressive in its tackiness. There were summer sofas and lounge chairs lining the shimmering pool, but Nate found himself sitting on a backrest of a marble bench, the stone cold beneath him and absolutely refusing to warm up. He’d been looking out towards the gardens, all symmetry and carefully plucked greenness, dark in the night - it was the only thing he genuinely enjoyed looking at in this place. 

It was quiet out here, the music and the clamour of the gala only a distant, muffled noise so that the steps of the person approaching hardly went unnoticed, “The house is stunningly ugly, but the view is... something, I’ll have to give the Mayor that at least.”, he brought the cigarette to his lips, drew a smoke, his eyes still trained on the city that could be seen sprawling in the distance, “There’s alcohol in there, if you want, none of that champagne shit they’re serving inside.” He gestured vaguely, to the silvery flask that stood beside him on the bench, “It’s not spiked, don’t worry. Though I suppose that is something someone who spiked it would say.” 

Apathy hovered thickly in the air, shrouding the gala in a claustrophobic embrace. Time was tethered to a choke chain of stagnation, fighting to march onward toward a slowly fizzling decrescendo. The real festivities had yet to begin – when the pretty people peel themselves from the watchful eyes of acquaintances and business partners and evaporate into the night. Samantha knew it wasn’t feasible yet, but she drifted her way through the party.

There was a novelty to the anonymity offered this particular evening. Her surname had been noted and something she had struggled to get out from underneath. Her name, her work, was often the final chapter of someone’s life. Trauma, memories — a soul deduced to an autopsy report. Samantha wove her way through the sea of masked figures, curious hues flicking over anything that might of interest.

A sharp peel of laughter rang out and anchored her thoughts to the present, though not enough to totally sidestep a disaster. A wayward elbow of another clandestine figure connected with a tray of sparkling bubbles. Samantha was soon awash in a sea of alcohol and shattered shards of glass at her feet. “Watch it,” she snapped and moved to inspect the layers of champagne soaked silk. The crowd thinned but a pair of eyes upon her retreating form didn’t go unnoticed. Once secluded, she wheeled around to face the other. “Can I help you??”

He stood beneath a colossal bookcase, a grand piece of mahogany with carefully crafted golden etchings and rows after rows of books, neatly tucked away and seemingly untouched, the spines of finely bound leather free of that wear and tear all beloved books are marked with. Someone had cared enough to dust them off regularly, but that was the extent of care they were provided, a shame, considering the collection. Nik took a sip of his champagne, allowing the silence to hang between him and the person who’d just walked into the study for a stretch of a moment before he spoke, “Seems like such a waste, doesn’t it? It’s an astonishing collection.” A crystal ashtray stood on the expensive-looking end table beside him, and Nik tapped the ash from his cigarette into it, before taking a slow drag, “If you’re here to tell me I’m not supposed to be here - I’m going to have to argue you’re here too.” His fingers, still carefully gloved in fine black leather, reached for one of the books and pulled it out, and he ran them absentmindedly and gently, as if to caress it, along the golden letters, “There are cigarettes here on the end table, help yourself.” 

Benjamin had no plans to attend the masquerade ball; not after he almost killed his own sister per Killian’s orders. Granted, he didn’t know it was his sister at the time. He hasn’t seen her since they were kids. So when he put her in his scope, she was just a target. Her brain matter would have littered the sidewalk and he would have thought it was the city’s problem. They could clean it up and be done with it. Knowing that’s what he thought (even for only five minutes) made him incredibly sick with himself and remorseful. He wasn’t even sure he could be a Reaper anymore and yet he knew better than to get on Killian’s bad side. Doing so would only land him in Tombstone City with the rest of the rogue soldiers. 

Then there was Isabelle (the girl who was now a queen as she walked arm in arm with the king). Benjamin fell for her and promised himself that he’d look after her. She may have started to believe she was fit for this world, but he didn’t. In fact, she reminded him of his sister (but not in a weird way). Lorelei had a good heart. She was spring masquerading as winter storms. Her heart was pure no matter the scars that kept her and others from thinking so. Which, is why he decided to attend the ball. Because he knew if he didn’t, Killian would be suspicious. And Benjamin had something to lose now. Bringing Lorelei with him was probably a bad idea but she begged and pleaded with him after she found the invitation. Ultimately, he couldn’t deny her this chance to live after having almost killed her. She wasn’t going to be his prisoner. He didn’t want that kind of life for her. 

Realizing he was staring too long at Isabelle, Benjamin turned away and noticed Lorelei may have clued in. They talked a little bit about Xavier and Isabelle last night at his house, but not enough to incriminate each other. Benjamin didn’t trust her with everything given the idea that she’d been dating a Lycan. He was sure she felt the same way, considering he was a Reaper. They were loyal to opposite sides. Though maybe not so much anymore. Because two seconds later, Xavier walked by with another girl under his arm. Benjamin recognized the tattoo on his neck from the photo he was given last night. He was trained for this kind of stuff. His photographic memory and predatory instincts were what made him the best at what he does. “Two rules, Lory. One, don’t look at Isabelle or ask me any questions about her. Two, don’t look for or approach Xavier.” Ben wasn’t sure if she spotted him too. But he sure as hell wasn’t going to tell her where Xavier was and who he was with.

KILLIAN STEELE: DEADLY LIAISONS 

Nicholas Sterling attending the Masquerade ball at the Riveria Estate 

BENJAMIN CARUSO: DEADLY LIAISONS 

Nathaniel Blake attending the Masquerade ball at the Riveria Estate