A Royal Pain [OPEN]

[Aziel]

From the ballroom a pleasant melody filtered in, muffled in sound yet distinct in meaning: the party was to begin shortly. A young satyr, with a mop of tousled brown locks that fell around withered horns stood just beyond the metal doorway that divided him from the crowd. He dawned a black tuxedo and bowtie for the occasion, fitted over a white dress shirt and matching gloves. His face was deadpan, though such expression was frowned upon, in his exhaustion it was all he could muster for the night.

"Game faces, gentleman."

Routine was all but instinctive now. While several aiding waiters shuffled into position, straightening spines and taking deep breaths, Aziel was in his zone, mind elsewhere, wading through consciousness as muscle memory took care of the rest.

Strathos Manor was the place in Belstram to party, nearly exclusive to those of wealth and power. Tonight was one of few rare occasions, where the Manor's oak and stained glass doors were hauled open, and those having received an invitation could indulge in dance and champagne hours to come. In an effort to keep strong ties and popular vote with the public--sweeping numerous shady business plans under the rug--multi-millionaire Drascus Strathos occasionally threw the poor a bone. He built a small business college down by the river, a private institution to hone children of the elite.

The bone here was that in celebrating, Strathos would, ideally, arrive in the flesh, providing an opportunity for those of the lower class to share their talents with the man, as he was known to pick up fresh blood and shape them into strong, sophisticated businessmen. Money here was the goal.

Money was always the goal.

"3, 2, 1."

Aziel took a deep breath, heaving deep through his nose, and the doors swung open.

Left, right, left. Each server had a silver platter in hand, hoisting with them wherever they went an extravagant dish of appetizers: shrimp cocktail, crab cakes, mini quiches or stuffed mushrooms.

Aziel held, balanced with precision on his fingers, a tray of margaritas as he maneuvered his way through the herds of people. They went quickly, and he spoke little--just enough to thank his guests and tell them the alcohol content, while in his mind the clock ticked down with deliberately cruel slowness to four, when he could at last crawl back to his bunker and fade into the bed sheets. Just seven more hours.

[Valeria]

Distinctively, she could identify the two types of participants gathered under the chandeliers. It was difficult to choose who to scoff at: those elaborately dressed and faces ashened with make-up (like clowns), or those who were trying to fix their fingers around a champagne glass clumsily. The disdainful turn of the faces of those from the wealthier classes, the competing sounds of the orchestra melody and shoes in the dancing area, and the exhibition of drinks and sides.

The boy at the bakery was not passing a base-less rumour, the master of this manor had indeed allowed a portion of the poor to be here.

From the window sill of a higher window in the ballroom, Valeria continued to chewing her bread. This party, to glorify the host, would drag on for several hours, followed by a period of time to recover from the exhaustion of such a night. With the little concentration of security in the other areas away from this hall, there was ample time to search for what she wanted.

Not far, a group of teenagers was sighted in the corner, huddled with their head bent like penguins in winter. Was this a discussion of how to impress Strathos?

It was a very rare chance, the boy had exclaimed with fists balled into excitement. The best chance to show your talents in this town, and be chosen.

Chosen to do what? Talents were rare. A survivor of a life of poverty, having not lost his gifted abilities nor morality was even more so. Watching the servers robotically moving through the sea of heads, the thought of being selected was even more distasteful.

Dusting her jacket for any stray crumbs from the finished bread, she stood up, jumping up to the next higher window to the right. Pulling her on top of the window sill, she peered down again at the hall’s clock. One last glance at the gates to ensure that there was no one watching, she reached both hands above, hauling her legs over the roof.

She took a breath watching the stars in the evening, the soothing echoes bells from Belstram were sounding from afar, unspoilt by the hum of chatter from the room below. Blue eyes turned towards the shadows of the roof panned out towards her.

Now, where would be the most optimal place for a library?

[Aziel]

Aziel moved with stealth and agility through the crowd, going unnoticed to all who weren't specifically hunting for him. It wasn't long before the drinks he flitted around with had been taken and consumed, his nose well-trained not to crinkle at the alcoholic breath of those he made contact with.

His eyelids were not entirely open, with brows on a low-grade knit upwards in your typical Jeeves-like fashion. His hooves made little noise trotting over polished marble floors, made possible by years of diligent training. If Aziel had anything at all to express, it was subtle, if not completely unrecognizable under a rigid poker face.

His eyes flicked around the ballroom, absorbing information at the speed of sound. There was a tall gentleman with an ill-fitted cloak that pinched towards his shoulders sported rosy cheeks; he should be avoided lest Aziel be tasked with handling a drunk. In the far corner of the room stood a women shifting uncomfortably in her heels. Her gaze seemed to rest on a wealthy looking fellow in a white tux, who paid her no mind. Aziel would see to it that they were seated together later in the evening to converse. And scaling the window was a--wait Holy Aethel what??

Aziel's neck nearly snapped while he was swiveling his head to glance at a girl hiking herself out the window. He had to consciously will himself not to let out a surprised bleat, ears perking with sudden alertness. For a fraction of a second, Aziel's face twisted in horror.

Then he remembered his training, composed himself, and power-walked as casually as possible to the stairs around the corner.

Once guests were out of sight, he let out an undignified snort and pranced up the massive spiraling case to the second floor to close all the windows.

How positively rude! Well if this child wanted to play on a jungle gym then she'd just have to find another manor to climb. The Strathos property was not a place for such shenanigans.

His tail coat bounced behind him as Aziel dashed to various windows, sliding them open and scanning for the figure. His trip began at the observatory, then the goat made his way through various guest suites and recreational rooms, finally ending with an indignant huff in the library.

Butlers were not meant for running, geez.

With glove tipped fingers he hauled open the last of the windows, the last being a particularly large stained glass portrait of angels. It was the biggest entry from the roof (somehow?? perhaps with parkour skills) to the manor, and the library's chandeliers provided excellent visibility from outside. If Aziel had any luck, this would be enough to prompt the figure inside. And then he could give her a stern talking to! Meddling kids and their punk antics. Don't they realize their negligence gets the employees in trouble? To think what would happen if someone fell off the roof at one of Strathos' esteemed gatherings.

Another bleat forced its way out and Aziel covered his mouth, disgraced with himself.

Well, no matter; he wouldn't let that happen. The satyr scampered over to a shelf of books and concealed himself against it, waiting to ensnare this ruffian.

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