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From the moment hte apology slipped from his lips, he knew that the other would pay no mind. Gentry were usually like that never gracing anyone of lower class with anything but their left over scraps. Though their pride always demanded it, very rarely would they ever receive true respect from the common populace with attitudes like that.

And so it stayed as such, waiting until the faintest squeak of Mriye's shoes signaled his leave which he gladly took with only the faintest echo of ringing bells.

Judging by the excessive clink of glass and loosening lips that seemed to spill unspeakables, the wine was quite the hit. Considering his current position, he was free to indulge in something he normally wouldn't even think of but the knowledge that he'd have to physically push aside his mask to do so was unappealing to say the least.

The uneven stumble of someone who had perhaps overindulged in the opulence of the night caught his attention, the odd rhythm of footfalls uncharacteristic of the drunk, yet it was clearly unbalanced. Perhaps of the mind, and not the bottle, he mused but regardless of his status as a guest and not a servant, one may find it hard to disregard eight centuries of training for a single night.

His ears led him to one of the private rooms that were littered around the ball, a staple of any sign of wealth. Not surprising, he could admit, that one would desire the safety of enclosed spaces after the overstimulating festivities of an open ballroom. And so he waited for a few moments before knocking on the wall, careful to leave the open door unobstructed by his body.

"Forgive the insolence, but this one humbly requests if Milady requires any assistance."

---

Shieta swept her gaze upon the already tipsy crowd, a faint frown of distaste resting on her face. In her time, balls and ceremonies were much more serious and formal. With feathered whispers behind the gentle waves of the lady's fan, or the nonchalant gaze that held an ulterior meaning. Perhaps she wasn't yet used to the laid-back style of the current generation. How could these youngsters care to express their opinions so freely?

Shieta lampooned at her current predicament, at the rate the night has been progressing, perhaps she has over prepared and took the situation overly seriously. Perhaps the peculiar scent she has whiffed was just a youngster's way of getting her attention?

Afterall, even a fly will come up with something remarkable if it meant waking up the tiger.

Shieta shook her head gently, careful not to let her hair get undone. Perhaps she should wait just a little longer, and if nothing seriously happens, she shall retire for the night.

---

---

---

Admist the raging storm in her mind, Misako could faintly discern the words spoken by another.

”Forgive the insolence, but this one humbly requests if Milady requires any assistance.”

The voice was sweet and well spoken, with an air of politeness around it. Misako assumed it would be some sort of servant.

She forced herself to look up, and spotted Iciolan looking back at her. Looking at his plain mask, then to the abundance of lily of the valley flowers, Misako made the connection through the hazy fog in her mind that this was the famous servant of the even more famous Romanian vampire.

Oh, how badly she desired to sink her nails into smooth flesh, to paint that ivory in a beautiful etching of her nightmarish symphonies.

With a mind only somewhat her own, she locked eyes with the Iciolan and flashed him a disconcerting smile, from under the cracked porcelain of her bunny mask.

Wherever Misako was, was not quite in the room she was physically in.

“Some assistance would be nice indeed.”

Her words were strained, and spoken from faraway

Permission granted, he bowed and closed the door behind him. In between one moment and the next he had crossed the room to kneel in front of Misako. He was no stranger to bending knee to vampires other than his Master and so he felt no shame as he pushed up one sleeve to offer the Duchess of Frigid Plains should she choose to take such an option. Though he doubted that she actually would, gentry were picky about who they would drink from and a servant was never one of their picks.

Still, his other hand came up to conjure up a most wretched thing. Dehydrated and shrivelled up, it was hard to tell what it was from a first glance other than the wrinkled red skin that curled up into itself in fetal stasis. A singular yellow eye blinked open, the searching mouth already drawn to the energies that rumbled rampant. Another option, choose to let an unknown entity latch on and ebb the blood-lust. Not another one that he had any faith that the Beautiful Abundance would choose either, the trust needed to even entertain the idea beyond the scope of what even he was capable of with anyone other than his Master.

The final option stared back at the unbalanced gaze that seemed to look beyond him at at something that was simply an apparition of something he had no jurisdiction to speculate over. Of course, getting blood on his dress was unfortunate but he wouldn't die. Not really. Even crushing what remained of his organs would keep him dead for long, the spirit much more important than the body which it housed. He had died before, he could handle another few rounds with the Terminus. Probably the most likely outcome of them all even if it was the most troublesome. He couldn't fault her for that, it would only be troublesome to him, after all.

And so his assistance was laid out as thus. "Imbibe, Entrust, or Indulge?" he offered, eyeless mask showing nothing but silent acceptance of whatever she chose.

---

Amidst the boorish decadence, something… unique… caught Flagram’s reptilian eyes. In the distance he spotted a guest dressed in relatively plain clothing. For a fleeting moment, he held the person with respect. After all, Flagram himself was born to no heirloom or inheritance. This strange guest may be a lesser heir of their house, born to nothing but obscurity. Thus, did Flagram start to feel a kinship with this guest that he had never even spoken to. However, upon closely observing this guest interacting with another, their deportment gave it away. This was no lesser heir, this was a servant, invited as guest. Flagram’s kinship became confusion, before finally becoming rage. What kind of master is so pompous as to send a mere servant to a ball in their stead? Sure, Flagram himself may not enjoy these festivities but he still attended to honor long standing tradition. One who deems themselves above such things is not fit to be lord. As the servant and the other guest vanished from sight, Flagram was utterly repulsed. But now was not the time to strike. The arrogant lot would get what was coming to them, but haste would only spell his own swift end. He would be patient, for vampires always have time on their side

Misako didn’t want to taste blood. She wanted to draw it. To let the ruby hues dance across her fingertips, slash against the white walls like a painter and her canvas. She wanted to dig her fingers in the pool of gore and terror.

But rational Misako also really wasn’t in the mood for murder. And so, the only option remained clear.

With whatever control she had left, she reached out for the unnatural, grotesque, yellow eyes beast. She didn’t know much, but she did understand that it would help dissipate her bloodlust.

Still lingering in the corner, she felt the familiar pangs of nervousness creeping up on her—no, not just a bit nervous—she was very, very nervous. Her gaze flitted around the room, taking in the overwhelming number of people. It felt like too much, far too many faces, voices, and movements all at once. Moments like these made her wish she could speak English fluently, confident and smooth, without second-guessing every word.

Earlier, she had mustered the courage to socialize, steeling herself with rehearsed phrases and imagined conversations. But that resolve hadn’t lasted long. Doubts overtook her, and she retreated into the safety of her corner once more.

After a moment of internal debate, she forced herself to try again. With a deep breath, she stepped out of her little sanctuary, summoning every ounce of courage she had. Almost immediately, she was greeted by a stranger—someone she didn’t recognize.

---

"As Milady desires, this Iciolan shall fulfill."

Without an outward ounce of emotion, he lifted the Moroi close enough for it to latch onto the meat of Duchess Misako's hand. There wasn't even a pinprick of pain as an avaricious mouth found the source of energy, its body swelling and bloating as it slowly rounded out from embryonic horror into impish infancy. A wave of lethargy crashing over Misako as the treatment progressed, nothing more than the deep seated desire to simply rest for just a moment. Moroi lived off the energies of anything that had the capacity to live and this particular one was starved of a meal, its greedy gorging consuming the bloodlust in a matter of minutes.

Watching with a sharp ear, listening to the darkness that seemed to fill up empty desires, he let himself wonder. He knew it wasn't trust, that was naive to even consider. Perhaps the desire to not cause a scene? Or to keep in his Master's good graces? It was such a confusing choice, drinking the unknown vial and hoping that it wasn't poison. He simply couldn't understand it, the illogical nature of it all befuddling. Trust was earned, never given.

But even if he couldn't understand, he could always respond in kind.

As he felt the bloodlust temper itself into something healthy, something that was more than manageable, his hand snatched the Moroi and dispelled it immediately. Small fry was usually easily dispersed with a thought, nothing more than his will needed as ultimately its power was under his control, but he was surprised to find that this time he had to actually try to wrangle the summon into submission before it finally followed his orders. That was something that should never be consumed.

Already familiar with how the process usually went, the fur coat draped as an overskirt over his hips was thrown around Duchess Misako's shoulders. Having one's energy forcefully taken always left the victim cold and tired, even if it was taking away excess, an unpleasant side effect that came as a natural consequence of such workings though consuming Bloodlust was new. What the aftercare for such a thing was, even he wasn't sure but it was not for his comfort that such things were done. "Would Milady require anything else? The lethargy should soon fade, but consider this one at your disposal as you recover."

---

Otto noted the girl's hesitance and cleared his throat, putting his hat back atop his head. "Forgive me, miss. I meant not to frighten you." He stepped back a bit to prevent himself from cornering her. What could he possibly do to make her less nervous? He could... introduce himself. The chances of trouble from this single interaction were dim. Otto was unfortunately aware of his not so redoubtable reputation and so he found no terror in what others would say about him. The girl in front of him seemed as threatening as a bunny rabbit.

He put his hand to his chest. "My name is Otto. I've heard it is German, with the meaning of 'wealth'. A true definition of my fate, though I can barely scratch the level of which everyone else here has amassed." He took a wide glance around the room.

With the fog having cleared from her mind, Misako wrapped the fur around her tighter, eyes returning to dull grey.

"Would Milady require anything else? The lethargy should soon fade, but consider this one at your disposal as you recover."

Looking up at the Iciolan, she offers a brief, but grateful smile “There is no need. I can rejuvenate myself quite easily”

Misako shuts her eyes, focusing on the knot of emotions within, drawing some out, before her face regains its lively expression once more. Being an Empath had many perks. Especially when she could draw on the mirth of the crowd, like an endless supply of energy.

“You must be the Lily of the Valley. The servant of the great Romanian vampire, yes? Thank you.”

Lilly of the Valley, what a silly name others have given him. He had no need for such things, perfectly content to live out his duty as yet another forgettable face but he supposed that even vampires fell prey to the age old allure of understanding everything that crossed their paths.

Still, he could find humor in the irony of it all. In an event where everyone's identities were masked and anonymized, here he was with his identity proudly displayed for all to see. It made him identifiable, which he supposed was the root cause for the incomprehensible amount of trust he had been temporarily given. With what scraps of information he had gleaned, already he could begin to guess who he had shamelessly inserted his aid to, but while bloodlust was not the most common ailments among the vampiric gentry, it was common enough that he didn't feel confident enough in his assessment to pinpoint who he was conversing with.

"Milady has a discerning eye, indeed this one serves the House of Drăculești." He affirmed, pride to his Master kept locked right in his chest. "No thanks are ever needed, not when it is a servant's task gladly done."

---

Kamiya blinked a few times, she felt a weird lightheadedness that tugged at her brain. Like a rush of adrenaline, she felt the urge to eat more food, consume more and more, whether it be food or drinks, it didn’t matter.

Picking up some more food, she calmed herself by sipping more of the wine, beverage or whatever it was, downing the whole glass in one go.

Taking a few breaths to steady herself, Kamiya sat down, and returned to glaring at every guest in the room. A gently yet aggressive voice echoing inside her head. A red light flashing somewhere just out of sight and a ringing, buzzing noise inside her ears.

With one last parting smile, Misako curtsied, and returned the cloak. With a clearer mind, she re-entered the crowd, weaving her way gracefully through the masses.

She found herself beside Ldeya, who seemed to also have drunk of the wine Otto had so graciously offered.

“Care for some more?” She offers, procuring the full bottle which she had taken prior.


“It tastes lovely, I’m sure. I personally quite enjoyed it.”

The corner she hides in provides safety and comfort as she calms her nerves. When she opens her eyes again, she can see that some guests have started conversing with others that they had not originally talked to when they entered the masquerade. She can also feel that the tension has eased since the beginning of the event. But still, she prefers to find comfort in the shadows than try striking up a conversation with a stranger who may not be interested in her at all. She presses herself closer to the wall until she is almost invisible.

---

A wave of dizziness crashed over him the moment Misako lef the room, forcing him to sit down for a moment. His stomach lurched violently and for a moment, he was thankful that he hadnt eaten before arriving, almost certain that if he had it would have lost it already. It passed as quickly as it came, though the freefall feeling of nausea lingered for a moment longer.

Composing himself, he slid the fur back into place, fastening it. Keeping a straight face, he let himself fall back into the mask that he had cultivated for so long. Physical or mental, masks were a familiar thing, a comfort that lay heavy on the things that roared and raged to be let free. Such things were superfluous, uneeded. What good was a servant if they couldn't learn to keep things to themself?

Stepping out, he blended back among the crowds, doing as a servant would. Simply listen, and assist when needed.

---

Ldeya rested her chin on the palm of her hand, long fingers curled to support her cheek, the black silk cool on her skin. Her legs were crossed in a lazy display of elegance, eyes scanning the crowd nonchalantly, with all the self-assured confidence of a lounging cat.

A cat waiting for prey.

She turned at the sound of a voice beside her, a charismatic smile on her lips, an enigma which beckoned for your attention, pressing questions into your mind, compelling you to step forwards and unravel the mystery.

Her attention settled on the bottle.

A flicker of hunger crossed her eyes, momentarily turning the charming guise darker, before flashing away as quickly as it had appeared.

"Oh yes please, it appears to be the only thing that can satiate my boredom."

She spoke in a childish drawl, like a young princess forced to attend such a social event, whining to her parents and asking when she could be allowed to leave.

---

Misako chuckled, pouring out a rather large glass of the wine for Ldeya. She had a heavy pour, for what she assumed was a heavy drinker.

“Cheers.” She drinks a little herself, savoring the unique flavor of the wine. Otto was indeed a master of his craft- whether it be the wine being his creation, or simply his taste in picking out a good bottle.

“I hope you’ll agree with me, that this wine tastes significantly better than the refreshments the host has served? My compliments to the lad who served it.”

He put his hand to his chest. "My name is Otto. I've heard it is German, with the meaning of 'wealth'. A true definition of my fate, though I can barely scratch the level of which everyone else here has amassed." He took a wide glance around the room.
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“Oh, hello my name is Ying Yue but you can just call me Ying” she forced a smile trying not to be disrespectful or just become a stuttering mess, “it’s nice to meet you Otto”

From his seat, Flagram continued his silent judgement of the event and its guests. At another table, he noticed a well dressed vampire in a top hat giving out wine. Flagram found this quite peculiar: why should the guest be the one waiting on others? However, many other guests were partaking in the liquor and from the looks of it, these guests were not the materialistic fools drunkenly dancing. Perhaps he would deign to give this wine a taste. Thus, Flagram silently rose from his seat and noiselessly made his way to this vigneron. Once directly behind Otto, Flagram announced his presence.

“Greetings good sir, may I trouble you for a glass?”