#vb122

She was pretty sure at this point, her stylist was trying to kill her. She hadn’t had much other choices though, everything was packed bar clothing and things that the kids would want and need for the journey to Four. Moving was all that she’d been thinking on the past few weeks, and she hadn’t thought to question the stylist choices. She was losing her edge. She huffed a little as she leant against the balcony railing, reaching up to remove her mask and stabbing her hand on it at the same time. “Ow, fuck!” she snapped, “This fucking mask.” as she lowered it, she was too focused on the cursing to notice she wasn’t alone. 

"And there goes another." She was two hours into the ball, her mask in hand as the thing was damn itchy. An attempt to grab a bottle of whiskey without the bartender noticing had resulted in her dropping some cocktail sauce down the front of her gown. She smiled as she shrugged it off though and secured to bottle anyway. If anything it was better than the charred mess she had returned after the presidential ball three months ago.

“Have you had anything to drink?” Agatha settled into the chair beside a scowling Azrael, martini in hand, crossing her legs politely before cocking her head at him. “You look positively dreadful, if I do say so myself.” 

He’d excused himself to the balcony for a cigarette after ensuring Emilia was okay. He needed a moment away from the crowds of the ball. Stepping into the night air. He leaned against the railing and pulled his pack of cigarettes from the inner pocket of his suit and withdrew a cigarette from the pack before placing it back in his pocket. He placed the end to his lips and pulled a lighter out to light the cigarette. He looked up as he took a deep drag from the cigarette having heard the door open behind him, the loudness of the music picking up for a moment before quieting again as the door was shut. 

@decadesofpain​

@dont-pick-me​