verbrannt | you don't talk to no one, don't you look at nothin'

Tonight's masquerade ball isn't much different from any other, if you ask the hostess. People milling about under the thin veil of secrecy, though anyone with an eye for detail can figure out who's who with very little trouble. Married couples committing adultery in separate, shadowed corners; dignitaries trying and failing not to talk about work. And, of course, eligible bachelors from across Exandria vying for the hand of the wealthy, widowed hostess.

She looks resplendent this evening, as she always does; a long black-and-gold gown dripping with feathers hugs her every curve, the high collar showcasing the elaborate updo that had taken her handmaiden Portia hours to arrange. A winged mask tops the whole thing off. And behind the mask...

Boredom. Her crimson eyes slide from left to right, hands joined politely in front of her, the movement of her gaze stilling only once she realizes she's being approached. By a woman, and an unfamiliar one. Interesting; she thought she had memorized the entire guest list. But it's no matter. A prim smile comes to the Countess's lips as she accepts the flute with a nod of thanks.

"I can always count on my guests to keep me well-hydrated," she remarks wryly, lifting the glass to take a drink. "If this keeps up, I shall be quite under the weather tomorrow."

Astrid, of course, has certainly done her homework on their host. Countess Satrinava's parties are well known, and most certainly intentional venues for more covert purposes. Dark corners and back room deals, hidden trysts; quite a bit would be for sale, tonight, for the right buyer and the right price.

The only show of amusement is hidden beneath her own mask, a quirk of an eyebrow. Instead she shrugs elegantly, taking a light sip.

"You would be, were you not the experienced host that you are." Surely she has long perfected the ways of discreetly disposing of excess drinks, especially from particularly determined patrons.

"An astute observation." The glass hovers near Nadia's wine-red lips, a small smile curling up the corners of her mouth. "I admit the plants receive a bit more watering than they strictly ought to."

The countess cocks her head slightly to one side, her curiosity piqued. "I don't think I've ever seen you at one of these parties."

"No," Astrid responds easily, shrugging elegantly. "You haven't. I'm here on behalf of my employer, Imogen de Barbarac, the cloth merchant from Nicodranas. She's taken ill but sends her regret and her regards."

She turns again, the pose accentuating certain lines and curves as she catches the Countess' eye. "And me."

"Oh," The countess says softly, recognizing the name and duly noting the absence, come to think of it. She's about to open her mouth to express her regret at dear Imogen's absence, when the mystery woman goes on, looking Nadia so boldly in the eye, and tilting her head just so.

It isn't easy to ruffle her feathers, but Nadia does blink several times as the weight of those two words settles over her. Then, her mouth curves into a rueful smile.

"In my homeland, it is a freely accepted practice, so long as both parties are willing. Here, they are much less open-minded about such affairs." She's choosing her words carefully, her tone perfectly demure. "I should hate to sully your reputation." Unless you wished it, is the unspoken end of that sentence.

Astrid is pleased to find this particular rumor verified; it's gratifying that her research and risk have paid off. Or, seemingly have, at least. Best not to celebrate too early. There's plenty of opportunity yet for something to derail the whole thing.

She takes another sip, slowly licking her lips before speaking again. "I do not have such a renown reputation that it would matter. As for willing -" Her eyes flicker openly up and down the Countess' form. "I should rather consider it a privilege."

The last part is perhaps even a little bit true.

Nadia can't help the way her eye is drawn to the woman's lips and the tempting swipe of her tongue across them; she can feel her body responding to what's on offer. She's sorely tempted to take this lovely young thing back to her chambers straightaway, but it's far too early in the evening to excuse herself from her duties as hostess...

The countess raises a finger to tap against her full lower lip, still slightly smiling.

"Well, then. If you linger at the top of that staircase—" Her finger points across the ballroom toward a white marble staircase. "—near the stroke of midnight, you may catch me on the way to my chambers."

So far, so good.

"Understood, my Lady," Astrid replies demurely, completing the response with a perfect curtsey even in her long dress. "I shall be honored."

Instead of taking the customary step backward before turning, Astrid twists away slowly, giving the Countess plenty of time to notice wide, open diamond at the back of the dress, revealing smooth, bare skin all the way down to the tapered V at the small of her back. She drifts away, melting into the crowd to pass time collecting other information over the next few hours.

A minute before midnight, she ascends the grand staircase up the side, keeping to the back as she awaits for the Countess' own ascension.

The ensuing hours are excruciatingly long; Nadia finds her eye flickering to the great clock at the head of the room with alarming frequency, and she drinks perhaps a little more than is strictly necessary. Hoping that each ensuing glass of her favored Golden Goose, imported directly from Marquet, will make the time pass a little more quickly. But there are many dull conversations and awkward dances to endure before she is to receive her gift from the esteemed Lady de Barbarac.

Eventually, though, the hour grows suitably late that she excuses herself from her present company, begging off to nurse one of the headaches she is well-known to suffer from. Despite her excuses, though, and despite the wine, Nadia's head is sharp as anything as she ascends the grand marble staircase that leads to her wing of the palace. Her late husband the Count had a taste for extravagance that was only matched by Nadia's own, and it shows in the decor.

She's announced less by her footsteps, muffled in her satin slippers, and more by the soft rustling of feathers over marble. Her fingers skim the polished brass handrail as her eyes swivel left to right behind her feathered mask. And at last they alight on the slim figure in the shadows; her wine-red lips split into a brilliant smile.

"I see you haven't run off before we could reconvene." She sounds delighted.

"I hate to leave before a job is completed, my Lady." Astrid steps silently from the shadows, chin tilted upward to assess the Countess' condition. Certainly more intoxicated than when they had met earlier, which meant this might go along more easily than she anticipated.

"And I meant it when I said it will be an honor." It doesn't matter, in truth, but if certain rumors were true, she was at the very least in for an enjoyable evening. It would be hard to complain about that aspect, later on. There were far worse things.

Astrid lets Nadia lead the way, following behind with a sharp eye to the path for quick memorization. She makes mental notes of the doors they pass that look promising for later.

The Countess' chambers are...extravagant. The word feels like an understatement, truthfully, and she can't help but pause a little bit in wonder. It's a good cover - giving herself time to note windows and other possible exits.

As she allows her gaze to come back to Nadia, she begins to slowly peel off her gloves.

"Do you have any preferences, my lady?"

Indeed, her crimson eyes—often whispered-about and assumed to be a product of some magical glamour—are a little unfocused behind her mask, but she's certainly not stumbling drunk or anywhere near approaching it. But her body language has relaxed from their earlier encounter, the elegant line of her shoulders less tense and formal as she leads Astrid to her chambers. She doesn't say another word until the door is closed behind them, at which point she pulls her feathered mask off to reveal her face properly at last.

The question makes her smirk, setting the mask on her vanity table and turning toward her companion with hunger plain on her face. The flash of skin she'd gotten as Astrid had turned away from her earlier has haunted her all evening.

"Mm, a few. First I would like to know what I should call you."

She doesn't particularly care if it's her real name or not, but having a name to use makes everything a little easier.

Edited (now with correct formatting!) 2021-10-11 05:49 (UTC)

Astrid doesn't remove her mask quite yet, taking her time with the gloves, loosening each finger slowly before peeling one hand free. Her hands are small but elegant, not quite dainty, but certainly capable.

"You may call me Eléa, my lady," she answers neutrally, tugging at the fingertips of the other glove. "Or whatever you wish to call me, for the duration that I am in your service tonight."

Perhaps it is too much the obvious ploy to use her teeth to pull the second glove free, but somehow she feels that Nadia would rather enjoy the obvious flirtation. Leaning just a little over the line of the act is sometimes what makes it more convincing, after all.

Much in the way that she turns, ostensibly to set the gloves on a nearby table, while also conveniently giving the Countess another view of her back. Astrid glances at her surreptitiously to ensure that she is watching, before lifting both hands to carefully loosen the tie of the mask behind her head, being sure to arch into the movement and give even more length to the curve of her spine.

As Astrid undresses, Nadia is content to perch at her vanity, slowly pulling pins from her hair while she enjoys the show. The smooth expanse of skin revealed by this young lady's dress is certainly mouthwatering; Nadia wants to press her lips to every inch.

"Eléa will do nicely." It's elegant and airy, reminding Nadia of the Elven tongues. It suits her, even if it isn't her real name. Five, six, seven pins and those yards of pink-violet hair go tumbling down her shoulders. Nadia's fingers shake through the tresses, sighing as the tension on her scalp is relieved.

She rises, still wearing that magnificent feathered gown, and crosses to where Astrid is removing her mask. Gently, her fingertip traces the exposed length of her spine, her voice approaching one ear as the other hand takes the mask from Astrid's hand and sets it aside.

"As for my other preferences...I am a very busy woman. I spend my days making important decisions. When it comes to me leisure time...I prefer to allow someone else to take the lead. Do you understand?"

you don't talk to no one, don't you look at nothin'

soiree

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