Aely:
These sort of things were secretly overwhelming for her, there was usually just too much going on at once and her patience was already terribly thin to begin with. While many were here to line their own pockets and feign the act of charity, she was here on business and business alone, but that meant she still needed to play the part. Blending in wouldn't be the issue, not here. Everyone donned fancy gowns and suits, flaunting the wealth and status of their own standings. The only anonymity anyone held here was what a simple mask upon the face could hide- she was no exception.
Fitted in a long, deep emerald dress that hugged her petite but curved frame, a slit at her thigh exposing her pale skin. Beneath the other side of her dress, tucked into a small band of lace lays her smaller gun—not too big to be noticed, but still capable to wound should she need to use it. Black heels sparkled at her small feet, still only giving a very minor difference in her already short stature. The masterpiece to her outfit is the same, deep emerald shade of her dress but adorns the soft minty shade of her eyes. Decorated in a subtle splash of a few darker gems of blacks and gold gives her mask a shimmer in the right lighting, the top two corners of her disguise flows upward subtly, mimicking the design of two horns sticking upward.
She wasn't entertaining every hand that reached for hers, rather she was pursuing the crowd and selecting disguises she was given the description of prior to the event. In between exchanges of hands she carefully slips very small baggies of various substances into the pockets or up sleeves of the men and women she was dancing with throughout the night. After what seems like hours of doing this on repeat, she slowly fades over to the bar. Fancy bottles and glasses of different shapes line the wall and lower counter piece that the bar tenders are mixing orders on. Aely is able to finally call over someone for her own requests and she makes herself comfortable in her own spot at the bar. Masked faces of all types approach her, only to be shoo'd away or led on, whichever she chose to do with them as the night went on. She's assumed her work for the night is over, too sure Killian or any of her other brother's might be in the crowd pulling their part. So, technically, she had the rest of the night to herself. She also decided this fact about four drinks ago, not at all concerned with the tiny possibility that she would have a few more clients to contact here. She lingers, propped against the bar with one arm folded and the other on leaning on to the counter. A martini taunts her from the bottom of its glass, and she's on the right track to getting drunk enough to pick out the prettiest man here and taking him home for the night, see what he has in his pockets to keep and send him out her door at 3 in the morning. She always has a plan, always keeps herself ahead of the game. A sigh falls from her lips and pours into the glass at her mouth as she raises it to finish the drink.
These sort of things were secretly overwhelming for her, there was usually just too much going on at once and her patience was already terribly thin to begin with. While many were here to line their own pockets and feign the act of charity, she was here on business and business alone, but that meant she still needed to play the part. Blending in wouldn't be the issue, not here. Everyone donned fancy gowns and suits, flaunting the wealth and status of their own standings. The only anonymity anyone held here was what a simple mask upon the face could hide- she was no exception.
Fitted in a long, deep emerald dress that hugged her petite but curved frame, a slit at her thigh exposing her pale skin. Beneath the other side of her dress, tucked into a small band of lace lays her smaller gun—not too big to be noticed, but still capable to wound should she need to use it. Black heels sparkled at her small feet, still only giving a very minor difference in her already short stature. The masterpiece to her outfit is the same, deep emerald shade of her dress but adorns the soft minty shade of her eyes. Decorated in a subtle splash of a few darker gems of blacks and gold gives her mask a shimmer in the right lighting, the top two corners of her disguise flows upward subtly, mimicking the design of two horns sticking upward.
She wasn't entertaining every hand that reached for hers, rather she was pursuing the crowd and selecting disguises she was given the description of prior to the event. In between exchanges of hands she carefully slips very small baggies of various substances into the pockets or up sleeves of the men and women she was dancing with throughout the night. After what seems like hours of doing this on repeat, she slowly fades over to the bar. Fancy bottles and glasses of different shapes line the wall and lower counter piece that the bar tenders are mixing orders on. Aely is able to finally call over someone for her own requests and she makes herself comfortable in her own spot at the bar. Masked faces of all types approach her, only to be shoo'd away or led on, whichever she chose to do with them as the night went on. She's assumed her work for the night is over, too sure Killian or any of her other brother's might be in the crowd pulling their part. So, technically, she had the rest of the night to herself. She also decided this fact about four drinks ago, not at all concerned with the tiny possibility that she would have a few more clients to contact here. She lingers, propped against the bar with one arm folded and the other on leaning on to the counter. A martini taunts her from the bottom of its glass, and she's on the right track to getting drunk enough to pick out the prettiest man here and taking him home for the night, see what he has in his pockets to keep and send him out her door at 3 in the morning. She always has a plan, always keeps herself ahead of the game. A sigh falls from her lips and pours into the glass at her mouth as she raises it to finish the drink.
Roman:
The demands of his mother still rang in his ears as Roman stepped through the massive, ornate archway that led into the ballroom. You must take your fathers place and carry the family name! Which meant showing face at fancy events such as this, and reinforcing that the Melniks were still a reputable, strong family name despite the death of their Patriarch. The atmosphere wasn't completely out of his realm of expertise - he'd been raised to have diplomacy and grace when in public settings, and he did it well. And in his opinion, he was better at it than any of his siblings.
Roman came dressed to impress - an ivory suit made of cashmere, silk and alpaca wool was fitted spectacularly to his bold, athletic frame. The vest under his jacket was gold, sparkling in the subtle lighting every time he moved. Pinned upon his breast was an assortment of military medals - enough to show he meant business, but not enough information to divulge just who he was. However, the most striking feature of his outfit was his mask. Eager to embrace the anonymity of the ball while still retaining the power of his wealth and family, a striking mask designed in the shape of a bucks skull shrouded half his face in mystery. The bone had hammered gold armouring it for added stability, while also adorned with attractive accents of chain or embellishments that only added to the almost ethereal beauty, which was only furthered by the two, multi-pointed antlers that rose from from his crown. While it appeared heavy and ornate, it was remarkably lightweight and easy to maneuver as he glided through the ballroom floor, switching between idle chatter, gentleteasing dances with the pretty women he picked out, and hunting for refreshments.
After a few hours, the decision to occupy the bar to rest his feet had him up on a stool. A ice cold glass of the finest whiskey was swirled in his hand as he took the occasional sip.
It was only when a somewhat familiar voice tickled his ear did he look up and around. He couldn't pin point where he'd heard her from, but his olive eyes found the source. A woman, whos emerald dressed seemed to be cut specifically for her, as it hugged her curves so tight it left very little to his imagination - but of course, just enough to grab his interest. It was obvious she was enjoying her drink, and so he flagged the bartender to send another one over while he waited to gauge her reaction. If she was receptive, perhaps his bed would smell of a strange woman come morning.
The demands of his mother still rang in his ears as Roman stepped through the massive, ornate archway that led into the ballroom. You must take your fathers place and carry the family name! Which meant showing face at fancy events such as this, and reinforcing that the Melniks were still a reputable, strong family name despite the death of their Patriarch. The atmosphere wasn't completely out of his realm of expertise - he'd been raised to have diplomacy and grace when in public settings, and he did it well. And in his opinion, he was better at it than any of his siblings.
Roman came dressed to impress - an ivory suit made of cashmere, silk and alpaca wool was fitted spectacularly to his bold, athletic frame. The vest under his jacket was gold, sparkling in the subtle lighting every time he moved. Pinned upon his breast was an assortment of military medals - enough to show he meant business, but not enough information to divulge just who he was. However, the most striking feature of his outfit was his mask. Eager to embrace the anonymity of the ball while still retaining the power of his wealth and family, a striking mask designed in the shape of a bucks skull shrouded half his face in mystery. The bone had hammered gold armouring it for added stability, while also adorned with attractive accents of chain or embellishments that only added to the almost ethereal beauty, which was only furthered by the two, multi-pointed antlers that rose from from his crown. While it appeared heavy and ornate, it was remarkably lightweight and easy to maneuver as he glided through the ballroom floor, switching between idle chatter, gentle
After a few hours, the decision to occupy the bar to rest his feet had him up on a stool. A ice cold glass of the finest whiskey was swirled in his hand as he took the occasional sip.
It was only when a somewhat familiar voice tickled his ear did he look up and around. He couldn't pin point where he'd heard her from, but his olive eyes found the source. A woman, whos emerald dressed seemed to be cut specifically for her, as it hugged her curves so tight it left very little to his imagination - but of course, just enough to grab his interest. It was obvious she was enjoying her drink, and so he flagged the bartender to send another one over while he waited to gauge her reaction. If she was receptive, perhaps his bed would smell of a strange woman come morning.
Boredom was sinking in terribly fast the longer she lingered at the bar, the need to leave growing stronger with every drink she sips and every song that transitions. She denies herself company; ignoring both men and women as they approach, she only watches as the night bleeds on.
She's turning herself around as her arm slides along the counter and slides her glass towards a near unsuspecting bartender—he catches her unexpected empty glass but does so with a glare that could shatter the glass itself. She pays little mind to his aggravation as he's delivering her drink already. He gives an annoyed glance and point over towards a towering figure; his mask is a stark contrast to the rest here, even rivaling the peculiarity of her own. She pays him only a glance, just barely but a small smirk quirks a corner of her lips.
The strangers glass is in her hands as she hails the bartender back to her and orders another drink—not for the stranger, but herself, as she hands off the free drink to another stranger walking by. When she has a drink she's made the bartender pour in front of her, she turns to the stranger at the other end of the bar and raises her glass to him. She's intrigued, nonetheless, and she slowly makes her way to his side of the bar. Taking a seat just a space away from him, she sits as if she hasn't noticed him once and orders another round, one for her and one for him. When the pair of drinks are at her new seat, she gently slides the whiskey towards the seat next to her as she sips her own. She's watching him, eyes like daggers of emerald as she let's herself study the pins and medals that adorn his suit. She doesn't let it show on her face, but she's recognized the particular assortment, save for a few that may not be there currently. There's only a few men she knows in the military—ones she works with—but she knows they don't waste their time at events like these. She purses her lips slightly before twisting them into a feined polite smile. She gestures toward the chair beside her with her hand closest to him, while her other hand casually snakes to the weapon she has sheathed past the slit in her dress at the thigh and rests her hand there.
She's turning herself around as her arm slides along the counter and slides her glass towards a near unsuspecting bartender—he catches her unexpected empty glass but does so with a glare that could shatter the glass itself. She pays little mind to his aggravation as he's delivering her drink already. He gives an annoyed glance and point over towards a towering figure; his mask is a stark contrast to the rest here, even rivaling the peculiarity of her own. She pays him only a glance, just barely but a small smirk quirks a corner of her lips.
The strangers glass is in her hands as she hails the bartender back to her and orders another drink—not for the stranger, but herself, as she hands off the free drink to another stranger walking by. When she has a drink she's made the bartender pour in front of her, she turns to the stranger at the other end of the bar and raises her glass to him. She's intrigued, nonetheless, and she slowly makes her way to his side of the bar. Taking a seat just a space away from him, she sits as if she hasn't noticed him once and orders another round, one for her and one for him. When the pair of drinks are at her new seat, she gently slides the whiskey towards the seat next to her as she sips her own. She's watching him, eyes like daggers of emerald as she let's herself study the pins and medals that adorn his suit. She doesn't let it show on her face, but she's recognized the particular assortment, save for a few that may not be there currently. There's only a few men she knows in the military—ones she works with—but she knows they don't waste their time at events like these. She purses her lips slightly before twisting them into a feined polite smile. She gestures toward the chair beside her with her hand closest to him, while her other hand casually snakes to the weapon she has sheathed past the slit in her dress at the thigh and rests her hand there.