The First Age

Colette's laughter was light, bubbling up like champagne as Adrian approached, her eyes sparkling with mischief beneath the soft light of the lobby bar.  "Adrian, you've uncovered my little riddle with such diligence,” she teased, her voice a melody that danced around him, pulling him closer without a touch. She slid from her perch, the fluid movement of her dress a testament to her grace. Standing now, she took his offered arm, her grip light but confident.  "Stunning, you say? Well, you've not seen anything yet. Wait until we step into the ball; Moscow won't know what hit it.” She wrapped her mask around her face, tying it behind her hair with a ribbon, and they left.

The ride in Adrian's town car was filled with the soft hum of the city outside and the quieter, yet infinitely more captivating, cadence of their conversation. Colette’s flirtation wove compliments and playful teases with the skill of someone who understood the game but chose to play by her own rules. She laughed at Adrian's observations, her hand occasionally brushing against his leg as if by accident, her interest clear yet wrapped in the politeness of someone well-versed in the language of high society.

"Tell me, Adrian,” Colette mused as they neared their destination, her gaze catching his in the dim light,  "what are you most looking forward to tonight?"

Before he could answer, the car slowed, signaling their arrival. The grandeur of the Kuskovo Estate was immediately apparent, a spectacle of lights, music, and an array of guests dressed in their finest.

Helped out of the car, Colette's transformation was instantaneous. The playful, flirty companion of the ride over was now a vision of elegance and poise, her demeanor shifting as she took in the scene before her. It was as if she had returned to her natural habitat, the grandeur and opulence of the event no match for her innate grace. Her arm remained looped through Adrian's, but now it was not just an arm she offered but a statement of her belonging.

Colette posed for pictures on the grand stairs. Her hair was swept up elegantly and diamonds swung from her ears. Her gown was as tasteful as it was beautiful, but it was her smile that lit up the room.

"Adrian,” she whispered as they made their way through the throngs of guests, leaning in as if to share a secret, her eyes alight with excitement,  “is that who I think it is?”

He took the time to greet each member of Konstantin’s family that were present, extending finally his congratulations to the couple whose anniversary they were there to celebrate. He was struck by how much Konstantin’s daughter, Sofia, had matured since last he remembered. It seemed she had grown up overnight, or perhaps the passage of years were blurring too much for him of late.

Myshelov happily agreed to dance with her, but only on the promise that her mother also spared one. As they engaged in light-hearted negotiation, Nikolai’s gaze wandered over the crowd. His eyes were searching, filtering through the faces until they landed on one in particular – Noémi. She was surrounded by a group of men, engaging in what appeared to be an animated discussion. Among them was Mr. James, a detail that did not escape Nikolai's notice. He leaned closer to Myshelov, murmuring a comment about his presence.

Sofia’s mention of dancing snapped Nikolai back to the present conversation. Despite the Custody’s efforts to brand him as the quintessential social butterfly, Nikolai preferred his socializing to be more conversational. Dancing, to him, was a performance, one he seldom indulged in unless the occasion demanded. Yet, the realization that dancing with Noémi required him to participate more broadly tonight nudged him towards acceptance.

“Very well, Sofia,” he conceded with a polite smile, “it would be my honor.”

Shortly after Scion approached, Myshelov broke away from the group to see to it that Mr. James’ presence was summoned, though the Patron would deliver the message through an intermediary. Nikolai greeted Scion with a nod, inquiring after his health and his children. It was a question filled with unspoken understanding, a subtle check-in of their previous agreement.

She left Scion to his networking in order to dutifully procure them drinks. It was a beautiful place filled with the most beautiful people, and she always enjoyed the elegance of such affairs. Vena circulated languidly on her journey through the Vasiliev’s guests. There were plenty of servers from whom she might have plucked glasses, but her gifts gave her insights, and it was why Scion had sent her out. So she used the opportunity to mingle a little, and greet the faces she knew with genuine delight.

She already knew Maksim was here, though she had not yet seen him or his wife. It was a peripheral awareness she didn’t think about much anymore, just as she could have closed her eyes and pointed to exactly where Scion stood in the crowd. The rest of the connections were like a complex tapestry, given that most people here knew one another to some degree. It made for a plethora of sensation, most of which she saw no need to try and interpret for its triviality.

When she finally paused to select their drinks, though, something did catch about the woman with the tray. It was a taste in the back of her throat, one she associated strongly with home – except there was a twist to it, almost rotten or old or forgotten. And there was something else too. Something that made Vena curious with surprise.

The server was half engaged in conversation with a young man (he was here for a woman, though she did not try to fathom who), and Vena used the opportunity to lightly touch the woman's arm and so invite her attention. It would strengthen her gift, that innocent touch. Though when she did she found herself rushed with dizziness, like someone had tied a knot around her chest and suddenly pulled tight.

“Are you okay?” The concern was polite. The woman searched her face.

“You are sweet to ask. Will you bring the tray?” She searched the young woman’s face in return, smoothed her expression into warmth, and resettled her composure. After a moment the woman nodded, and Vena turned unerringly in the direction she knew Scion to be, though her diminutive height meant she could not see.

He was still talking with Ascendancy. Vena gently touched Scion’s elbow as she returned. Just an affectionate touch between lovers. But he would know it meant she had something to share, when there was an opportunity to speak discreetly. Meanwhile she lifted a drink from the tray the woman held out, and passed it to him. She did not interrupt his conversation with Ascendancy.

He barely reacted. It wasn’t a surprising insult, or even an imaginative one, just elitist ignorance at its finest. In fact the very way he overlooked her presence just because she was holding a drinks tray was something Nesrin used to her advantage, usually. But she’d wanted to hear the accent, just to see if it helped her place him before she decided whether it was a game worth playing. After a moment he looked back at her with the brief, irritated surprise of one who'd just witnessed an inanimate object speak to him.

"What?"

Nesrin wasn’t playing a persona tonight, and she did not think her anonymity would be compromised by the natural smirk which twitched her lips in response. Because she might be wrong, but by the way he cast his eyes about she was willing to take the gamble that he just didn’t belong. So she leaned a little, voice low. One brow rose.

“Do you even know whose party this is?”

Another guest touched her arm, then, and Nesrin let the matter drop with only that sly accusation, in part because the small, sultry woman now in front of her for a moment looked as though she were about to faint. Behind her dainty mask, her eyes had flared wide. 

“Are you okay?” The reaction seemed a little extreme, given Nesrin sensed nothing which suggested they had any similar qualities in common. Which begged the question of just what the woman saw in a member of the waitstaff dressed identically to all the others. She’d considered what might happen if anyone here recognised her as a channeler, and she didn’t like the variable, but it was an unavoidable risk until she figured out how to hide that part of herself.

Nesrin couldn’t remember this woman’s name, but she did know whose arm she’d arrived on. Not that she could refuse the request without being obtusely bad at her job, and that wasn’t attention she wanted. The Ascendancy still had people flurrying around him, Scion Marveet included, and distraction would not serve her intentions well considering she probably only had one shot tonight. But neither would being escorted out because she hadn’t declared her gifts on the job application. The security detail was tight. After months of prep, she wasn’t prepared to take the risk.

So she only nodded and followed.

She knew the steel magnate of course; tipped to replace Sulteev in the Sphere as he was. If Scion Marveet dabbled in underworld things, Nesrin had not discovered it yet, but she doubted he was clean. None of them were. She held the tray out for the guests to partake, watching the bubbles in the liquid as the conversation continued on around her. Konstantin Vasiliev would deliver his welcome speech soon. They were on a schedule to deliver out the flutes of champagne for the toast he would make to his wife of forty years. Then the band would begin.

When she glanced up, it was to finally look at the Ascendancy. A foolish title, really, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to see an ordinary man beneath it. Though he had to have been once, to make an ordinary man’s mistake. Presuming it hadn’t been simple callousness. Nesrin was surprised at her own internal reaction – surprised that she even had one, but there was a strange knotted feeling in her chest. Her eyes skated his features for truth, like flesh might reveal more than a photograph, but saw nothing she recognised. She didn’t expect to see a reaction from him, though maybe she hoped for one. His nights had been plagued with recent reminders. Nesrin greatly resembled her mother.

Do you believe what they say? she’d asked Helena. But evidence or not, Nesrin of all people knew how easy it was to fake things. And she also knew what the Asquiths wanted.

[[Carter moded with permission]]

“Sure. Who doesn’t like beautiful things?” he said. Though a burlesque club in the red light district was about as far away as you could get from high brow art of the like he presumed Kristian had shown Jensen. Raffe’s life had never afforded for such intellectual things, and he’d never considered before now – suddenly ensconced in the sort of luxury that was everyday for some – how small the circle of his life was. He’d never even left Moscow.

Normally he would have said more. He wasn’t uncomfortable, and he did not shirk eye contact or seemed distintered. He even smiled, but there was a glass wall between him and his thoughts. Between him and the world, truth told. There had been a man coming to the club as late who sometimes pierced the fugue; reminded Raffe what it was to actually smile, though the feeling happened in a strange kind of isolation. But enough to also remind him how to fake it. It was how he stepped through his life these days, weaving an artifice of normality. But it was getting harder to remember why he did it.

He presumed it was the carved leaves of his mask which directed the conversation. Noticing the small details of a person, Raffe knew the trick; he employed it often at Kallisti, because he always liked to make people feel seen. And he should have cared about the gardens. Not a place he’d visited often, for even the nominal entrance fee was not always something he had to spare.They were indeed beautiful though, and for Raffe it was a beauty that reached deeper than appreciation. Though he could say the same for any green space, beautiful or not.

Talk of tulips and mothers reminded him of personal losses. But it felt like nothing. He could barely remember the sound of his own mother’s voice, and he’d never even been to Holland.

“What beautiful words, Mr James.” He felt Noémi’s touch on his arm as she stepped into the breach of his unintentional silence.

“They are,” he agreed. And meant it. “I’ve been, but not often, and I’ve never seen the tulips. I keep plants on my windowsill. Not quite the same thing.”

Xander smiled the plants around him made sense. "I guess the plant motif makes sense. I bet those plants have a good life." He knew without a shadow of a doubt plants were a big thing with Raffe. But he couldn't take his eyes off of Raffe. It wasn't the mask. Or even the beauty of the man himself. The aura was something he'd never witnessed before.

Xander reached out to touch Raffe, his fingers not touching him but caressing his aura. "Normally I don't lead with this. I've never seen an aura quite like yours." Kristian's fingers touched Raffe's cheek under the mask and then pulled back to hide fact that he'd reached out to touch the aura. "The aura itself is gorgeous like you, bright happy, full of life. But there's a top spinning, like fate hasn't decided something for you. Like Ms. Naomi here you are connected to people. Not quite as powerful as the spokes on her wheel of life. But when that top stops spinning I hope you find happiness. But that's not even the strange thing, there's this hole so gaping. Which isn't connected to the spinning, but I don't even want to look into it. The darkness will swallow me. Eat me whole. Jensen wanted to help someone and if that isn't a cry for help I don't know what else is. I know it sounds crazy."

Xander reached out again but pulled his hand back before actually moving too far. "I can't imagine what it was, or what happened but the light was ripped from you." The words came out as quickly as he spoke them. It wasn't expected but he knew it was the truth. "And I can't tell you anymore than that unfortunately and I sound like a crazy bat." Kristian chuckled.

He was somewhat deflated by the lackluster response to his query. Jensen wouldn’t take it personally, as he believed everyone bore burdens, and when their the weight was overwhelming, sometimes people were less friendly than usual. Kristian did suggest that there was darkness around Raffe, which seemed at odds with his cream-colored suit and ivy-vine mask, implying the life and light that he otherwise valued. Jensen’s expression remained soft and welcoming as a result, ever patient for some sort of connection that he might otherwise nurture.

He smiled at Noémi, silently thanking her for the polite intercession between moments. Now that Jensen properly looked, her dress really was gorgeous. The beading and crystals were sewn so perfectly, he had to assume it was done by hand. And the color. It shimmered with a sparkle somewhere between silver and gold, complementing her skin tone to perfection. There were many beautiful pieces around them, but Jensen did admire Noémi’s. “It really is a fabulous dress,” he pat her hand where it lay on his arm appreciatively. “But I insist you call me Jensen, ma’am.” He added with a soft smile, drawling accent strong.

At his side, Kristian was enraptured by Raffe. Jensen found himself blinking in surprise as the other man invaded personal space, all but reaching to caress the stranger’s cheek. He did not believe the motion to be suggestive nor even intentionally invasive because it was apparent that he was enthralled by the aura only he could behold.

Jensen wondered if he was able to see the spirit of a person - their soul. If so, what was missing from Raffe’s?

When his name was mentioned, his brows rose high. He was so accustomed to secrecy and stealth, it felt wrong to discuss his intentions so plainly. He leaned in a little to signal he only wanted to their immediate group to hear what he had to say. “Could we talk about this in private?” He knew Kristian didn’t mean anything by it, but a nervous glance toward the stairs reminded him that Ascendancy was technically in view, and he wasn’t sure what was and what was not allowed.

He never got the chance to answer her question. Which was just as well. It would have required a lie and thinking up a decent response was more distraction than he wanted to bother with at the moment. Truth was, he may dominate the room with his perfect hair, piercing eyes and imposing presence, and eyes followed him as he climbed from the car, but this was work. He had targets to locate and business to discuss. Colette was an entrance ticket but little more. He disliked that fleeting moment of speechlessness when he saw her waiting at the bar and easily displaced it from his mind ever since. However, he assumed he would be forced to dance with her and generally fawn in the way of such social events over women. He also assumed she would finish the night in his bed, but these were peripheral details to what he intended, and luckily, he wasn’t forced to mince words around any of that.

As fitting, he likewise posed for pictures, but it was Colette who was the star of the stairs. She ascended them like a queen climbing the dais to her throne. The confidence was admirable, but Adrian was just as interesting to the photographers. He allowed them only a few well-angled shots then accompanied her inside.

Her second question was returned with a flat stare.  “Do you know nothing of Moscow politics?” The question was serious, though he guessed she would take it humorously. It wasn’t meant to be a compliment.

However, he could not help but look at the man in question no matter how hard he feigned disinterest.

Xander's brow furrowed, what had he said to send Jensen off into the hiding motif. He regarded his words and the only thing that came to mind was his telling of Jensen wanting to help. He gave the shy man a half smile in apology and quickly amended his words. "I was just telling Jensen that I don't often tell people about my gift, or use them to help others. He insisted I try." There was no point in leaving the party for something they weren't even sure was a problem. For all we Xander knew this gaping hole was cancer or something else. Or maybe a new way of telling him someone was dying. Or a future wasn't written. It was new. And the fact that he felt that he was somehow connected in the future to this man -- a possibility he hadn't ever seen before. Xander wanted to know more about the man but not in private. Xander didn't want to be alone with the darkened maw he saw.

Kristian finished the rest of his drink and stopped the nearest passing server and took a drink and passed it off to Naomi and then to Raffe and finally offering one to Jensen before taking a long swig of his own. "No idea how I can help, other than tell you what I see."

It didn’t occur to Jensen to claim another reason to explain the desire to help, but in retrospect, there was nothing that Kristian said that was misleading. He suddenly felt ashamed for the judgment, and returned the soft smile offered in apology by mirroring one of his own. He hoped the sentiment, while unsaid, was apparent.

“Yes, that’s right,” he agreed. “We’re all blessed with different arrays of gifts, and Kristian has a really special one that maybe there is a way he could use to help others.”