The First Age

A speech drew their attention. Xander got a better look at way too many people. He put his hand on Jensen's arm and gave the man he'd pulled over to the pair. Kristian gave them a bright smile. "I need some air."

He didn't wait for an acknowledgement nor let the speech finish as he hunted for the first door outside. He grabbed another drink on his way out the door into the cool air outside. The auras had gone to his head with little warning. It was near everything he could do to keep his liquior inside his body where it would at least help. He sipped at the bubbly champaign and took deep breaths as he stared out into the vast emptiness of the sky above the city leaning his arms on the railing. This was why he didn't let his gift out often.

Rafael seemed a thousand miles away, and for all that he smiled and spoke it had the feeling of rote. The two men were clearly enamoured of her companion, and Noémi demurred naturally, but was surprised he did not seem to pick up on their interest in him. She accepted the compliments of her dress with grace, content not to seek the spotlight – preferring it, in fact. Kristian was almost theatrical in his warm welcome, but there was a profound melancholy to Jensen, as though he did not feel he fit the grandeur around him. She felt a kinship for that.

They spoke about plants and botanical gardens, something she would have expected to ignite Rafael’s interest. Noémi was attentive to the conversation, but ultimately her heart lay somewhere else. She did not dare catch Nikolai’s eye across the distance, concerned at what might be betrayed in her expression, for even her peripheral glances set her heart to beating with longing. Her place was not at his side, and she would never relish what scrutiny would ever come with it, but she desired it nonetheless then. To feel the secret of his whisper against her skin amidst a room full of people who would never come to know the real him.

The conversation around her shifted then. She did not know if Kristian spoke the truth of such visions, though he seemed in earnest. Noémi did not consider herself naive or easily led, yet there was something in the manner of Rafael’s reaction that drew her to genuine concern for him. She watched his smile drain, like even that much effort became too much to bear. Kristian’s depictions sounded sinister, only enhanced by the low music he produced on his wallet. Noémi glanced at Jensen, though there were no answers there and he seemed likewise concerned. She sought words of comfort, uncertain what exactly was even wrong, while Jensen sought to steer the conversation to more innocent topics.

Kristian departed as the speech began. Noémi was reluctant to shift her attention to the stairs, but neither wanted to invite undue attention upon their gathering. She touched Rafael’s arm. “We can go?” she offered softly. But he did not answer her either.

Jensen sensed Raffe’s reticence, and a wave of empathy washed over him. Observing the man, he couldn’t help but recall a younger individual he once counseled, one teetering on the brink of despair. The memory brought a somber note to his thoughts, as the pervasive sense of giving up struck Jensen square in the chest. If only he could heal hurts of the spirit as effortlessly as hurts of the body.

He shared a reassuring smile when Noemi caught his eye. Despite his reluctance to impose on those he barely knew, Jensen felt a compelling urge to reach out, but Kristian also seemed distraught.

As the event transitioned to the formal speeches, Jensen leaned in towards his new acquaintances with a low, gentle voice. “It’s been a pleasure meeting you both. If there’s ever anything I can do, please don’t hesitate to ask. I might be able to help.” His eyes, earnest and full of genuine concern, met theirs in a silent promise of support before he politely excused himself with a soft “Pardon me.”

He then sought out Kristian, finding him isolated on a terrace, a lone figure framed against the ornate beauty of the estate’s gardens. The night air carried a chill that promised snow and the distant murmur of the party. Jensen approached quietly, his footsteps soft against the flagstone.

Pausing to consider Kristian’s shadowy form, he felt a mixture of concern and curiosity. “Are you alright?” Jensen finally broke the silence.

The voice startled him as he stared out into the vast emptiness of the sky. "The unicorn vomit threatened to turn into real vomit." Xander joked. He didn't turn around to look at Jensen but tapped the rail next to him to indicate he was welcome to join him. "I suppose there is a reason I choose to see a persons soul through their art verses their auras." Xander leaned into Kristian's background. It wasn't far from the truth. Hell it was probably the truth.

Xander closed his eyes and saw the gapping maw staring back at him. "I've never seen anything like that before. I've seen deaths and murder. And I've seen lost love and heart break so devastating the person didn't live beyond it for long. It was like the light was ripped from his soul, so empty and menacing. And then to turn and see all the auras and flickering images of so many people with gifts." Kristian rubbed at his temples the best that he could with the mask on.

"Fuck it!" He pulled the mask down around his neck and massaged his temples. "I should have said no."

Darkness that was going to chase Kristian in his sleep. Darkness that would swallow him whole. The music only drilled it in, touched someplace deeper than words reached alone. Raffe listened without expression, not sure he could artifice one that would not simply crack over his skin and crumble. Holding together all the strings of his composure suddenly seemed pointless. He said nothing. Felt nothing but a siren’s call of despair. What was there to say? If even his pretence at normality failed him, what was left but the fall?

He was vaguely aware of the others talking. But he was thinking about the boy he’d beaten at the orphanage; beaten bloody long after he’d made his point, because he’d been seduced by the thrill of madness in it. He’d been something to fear, and he’d hated the way the other kids looked at him. His father’s son. But maybe that darkness had always been there.

Jensen felt a twinge of regret for interrupting Kristian's reverie, noting the profound absorption in his thoughts.

The pause was momentary before he approached the rail as invited, hands in his pants pockets to protect from the chill, gazing out while lending an empathetic ear to the man's confessions. As Kristian shared his unique perceptions, Jensen turned to face him fully, his expression one of compassionate curiosity. Though art was not Jensen’s forte, he appreciated beauty in its many forms, recognizing it in nature’s creations and the divine craftsmanship behind them, but he wondered at the comment.

“I can’t imagine what it’s like, experiencing the world with such intensity,” Jensen said, his voice soft yet filled with genuine intrigue. “Has it always been like this for you, seeing beyond what most of us can, even as a child?” He pondered the notion, visualizing a young Kristian trying to navigate a world overloaded with unseen stimuli. “It must be overwhelming at times,” he continued, empathetically trying to picture the sensory overload Kristian described. Focusing on one person out of a large group must be like listening to a whisper while a symphony plays out of tune. Jensen wondered if Kristian perceived any unseen layers around him now, hoping such visions were not causing distress.

Observing Kristian’s weary gesture of removing his mask and massaging his temple, Jensen's instinct to help surfaced. “You know, I might be able to help alleviate some of that discomfort,” he offered gently, his concern palpable. “I’d be happy to try, with your consent, of course.”

Xander shuddered at the memories. "I was five when I saw my father's death in my mother's aura. And I was 8 when I found her dead from that loss. I learned to turn it off to some degree. To do what I was asked I opened up to it and well this is what that got me."

Jensen joined him and Xander smiled. "As generous as the offer is, it will only return the moment I go back in there." Kristian turned with a bright smile. "But, if that offer still stands when you are ready to leave this grand affair, I would take you up on the offer, and I'd owe you a drink -- someplace much quieter and more personal than a place like this. Someplace where you were the only distraction."

No one was likely to remark upon the open awe of a simple waitress, even if they saw the way she looked at him then. Unprofessional, sure, but not unexpected in a young woman. She was fairly certain he heard at least, for he stood astutely still as he watched Konstantin Vasiliev speak. Nesrin turned her gaze away the moment she realised he meant to ignore her. Irony laced the bitterness, even as she recognised the necessity. It was far from a bad outcome, actually, only how long had she spent praying for her father’s ignorance as a child? Creeping around the pitfalls of his unexpected anger, hoping to stay as invisible as she truly felt now? It said something that she'd always preferred the safety of the whorehouse to his protection when she was growing up.

Brandon didn’t deny her out of hand though, which meant it really was still possible. Well, unless he was simply avoiding the spectacle of her removal because it would be poor form to interrupt his hosts – she couldn’t discount that either. An interesting test of her skills, if such proved the case, but she had no real doubt about her capability to slip back into the shadows if this all went to shit once the speech ended, and she didn’t waste time worrying about it.

But what to do after? Regroup, or flee? That would be the question; one she already began considering, because the Asquiths were not likely to let her go if she suddenly proved resistant to them after all the years they had invested in her. Their recent claim of her birth seemed the most unlikely fiction, albeit one that was an opportunity to exploit, but she’d be lying if she didn’t admit it had also stirred something in her; to wonder at its truth over these last few months.

Only she’d never been certain what she actually felt about it.

She’d long ago lost the only evidence she’d ever had of her mother’s existence; a photograph folded and unfolded so many times the colour leached from the creases and the paper had begun to tear. Trapped in Cairo’s slums, in a life that cared little for the wellbeing of a little girl, let alone her dreams, what child wouldn’t imagine an angel in the place of a dead parent? For a long time Nesrin had used every resource she’d ever won for herself to discover more. But she never had. Though it was a face burned into her memory, it seemed probable she didn’t even know her mother’s real name.

When she finally realised it was hope stirring in the space behind her ribs, Nesrin was quick to contain it – to burn it to ashes before it ever rooted. Lies founded in truth were the most potent kind. But cons with sentiment attached were doomed to failure.

By now Konstantin Vasailiev was talking about family like it was something to want; something to protect, and cherish, and build upon. She didn’t move or shift her attention, just listened politely alongside everyone else, but she hoped Brandon was listening; that the seed of doubt took root. She didn’t watch him move on. Nor did she stay, to risk becoming ensnared by the woman on Marveet’s arm. She was on her way back to the kitchen when a quiet word was placed in her ear. She only nodded, and continued on her way.

[[Continues at A Little Chat]]

Sofia watched their interaction with no small amusement. Zixin managed to be charming and insulting in equal measure. Actually they both did.

She tolerated Danya’s placations in part because of who he was, but mostly because she knew Elena to be little more than his choice of flattering and interchangeable accessory, and for that there was simply no comparison. If the woman herself was aware, she proved dismally vapid about the insult. “You’ve fine taste, Danya, and as ever a finer talent for words.” Her lips flickered a sly smile to his wink, indulgent. She was not convinced Daniil actually believed in loyalty, not like his father, but she treated him like a cousin anyway, and so long as he played his part she would continue to bestow that favour.

Afterwards her gaze shifted to the woman in question. She only gave Elena attention at all in order to observe Zixin’s reaction to her, or perhaps more succinctly to see what Elena would do with the weight of Sofia’s gaze on her. It was a bold or frankly stupid woman who would risk flirting; Sofia’s reputation far preceded her, and until she decided exactly what she planned concerning Zixin and his Syndicate, he was most emphatically hers. But Elena only wilted under Zixin’s arrogant charm. Wise girl.

Drinks were passed around between them, and she did not miss who summoned them with a snap of his fingers. Sofia laughed at the whisper in her ear, meeting Zixin’s gaze with a look of her own which said clearly. She had felt the heat of his eyes earlier, and she did not mind being the distraction when he was the one doing the looking. A man coy in his desires was always a disappointment, and she wanted that show; to make the kind of mark that would be flush over the gossip feeds before dawn. 

By then her father had begun his speech, a flex of power in ode to the family who built it, but she’d heard it all before, and did not immediately pull her attention away to listen. In fact the smile lingered on lush lips for several moments more before she peeled her gaze away from his.

Her glass raised along with the rest, a sea of crystal, for the final toast. But afterwards she shifted to clink her glass against Zixin’s. “To rewriting the rules, and coming out on top,” she told him, and him alone, with no explanation as to exactly what she was meaning, but she thought he would agree with both the sentiment and the ambition.

Around them the band finally began, and Sofia felt a small thrill for the evening to unfurl. She glanced in the Ascendancy’s direction, smug in the knowledge of his promise, but it was Colette she spied then. If Daniil was after a vision, that was where he should have been looking, though Colette was certainly no mere accessory and Sofia never would have foisted Daniil’s company on her. They’d spoken at length about tonight, including the identity of her date, who she looked up and down briefly now. Adrian Kane was handsome, in a brooding way, but he was also peripheral to any actual power in the city.

Colette could have done much better.

“I expect to see you two on the dancefloor later,” she said to Danya and Elena with a teasing smile. “It will be a vision to crown the evening itself, I’m sure.” She said it with complete sincerity, but did glance briefly in Elena's direction, still smiling with that knowing tease. A private pity. Danya looked as beautiful and elegant as a swan until he tried to move with any sort of rhythm. Which was why she would dance with his father, but reneged to extend the same invitation to Daniil. “Excuse us, I see a friend.”

Her arm slipped through Zixin’s, not at all abashed to run her fingers against the firm muscle beneath his sleeve, as she pulled him away.



“Sofia paid her to disappear,” Alina added in a whisper. Her brows rose. They both came from large families, and neither were unused to sibling scandal. Her sister was not the forgiving type, but fortunately she was likely to be distracted by her company tonight, and in any case, Alina would like to think Sofia wouldn’t actually go so far as to ruin their parents’ evening for the sake of an old grudge.

They circulated some more, greeting guests as they went, including dour uncle Sulteev who Alina nonetheless doted on with all the sweet graces of a favourite niece. She tactfully avoided wandering too close to Scion, always seeming to catch someone else in the corner of her eye, though they couldn’t avoid him forever. Alina was a well known social butterfly though, and the couple were both well-liked; it was easy enough to get waylaid.

She turned brightly when her father began the toast (her own fluted glass being lemonade, of course). The love between her parents was always something she had idolised, and she leaned into Maksim while she listened, her arm looped through his. After thanking the guests for celebrating with them tonight, and in particular the Ascendancy of course, Konstantin held out his hand for Edita to join him on the staircase, resplendent in tasteful gold, while he spoke about family, empire, and the love of his life.

After the glasses were raised, the band promptly began. The estate would hold plenty of diversions tonight, catering to all whims of its guests – there would be fireworks later, she knew – but it was straight to the dancefloor Alina was minded. She plucked Maksim’s glass from him with a smile. “Dance with me?”

He gently patted Kristian on the arm, his touch imbued with somber sympathy. “I’m truly sorry for the loss of your parents. Enduring such a trauma in childhood, while grappling with an ability that would bewilder even the seasoned mind of an adult, must have been profoundly distressing. My deepest condolences.”

It was completely understandable that someone scarred by early adversities might shield themselves from further emotional turmoil. Yet, he pondered, what sparked the revival of Kristian’s suppressed vulnerabilities? Could it be that Kristian had spent a lifetime disconnected from his innate nature, only to recently rediscover it? What was the catalyst?

Jensen offered his undivided attention, tuning in to every word with earnest intent.

In the manner of a true southern gentleman, he felt compelled to repeat his offer, typically insisting two or three times before reluctantly accepting a refusal. Suppressing the instinct for such courteous persistence, he said, “if there’s anything I can do, I will try when you are ready. It’s about the only positive thing this gift has given me — the ability to share it.” A tentative smile crossed his lips before he turned to absorb the view once more, his contemplative moment punctured by the distant, melodious drift of music.