The First Age

Xander rarely shared the secret and much less his story, but there it was. Kristian Osterhagen was now a connection to his past. Fuck! Not that he worried about this man finding his secret out, but still it was concerning that he was being as free with is gift as he had been. Something about this place -- this strange new world where magic was openly visible and his gifts weren't nearly as strange as some others.

Jensen's concern made him smile but it was Kristian who pulled out more charm. He knew vaguely of the conspiracies and he'd have to look deeper into things. But this was a man who could be used if he ever needed help of the natural kind. A good relationship to foster. The music started playing again and Kristian turned to look inside the ball rooms beyond the door he'd exited. "I need to continue mingling and looking through the rose-colored glasses, so to speak." Kristian took a deep breath and pulled his shields around him ever so slightly. He couldn't read the images as readily from far way, but the auras still shone brightly enough they could hint at a mark or something of interest to his employer. "Care for a dance and then I'll let you mingle with the others? Or you can join me. Either way I'll find you near the end? I would very much like to see your gift up close and personal when this is all over." Things could be read into the words he spoke. But they were also innocent enough to just being friendly. Kristian didn't push. Xander might have. He might have to look up Seven at a later date see if he could draw anything from that connection. It had been fun night -- but Xander focused on the current task at hand.

Nikolai escapes the room for a brief while. 
Continued at A Little Chat

It quickly became apparent what sort of party he and Guillaume had crashed. Carter was suddenly grateful for the mask, simple black as it was, to obscure his reaction. How the hell did Colette climb this social ladder so fast that she was at a party like this? Surely her family’s name did not carry that much leverage in Moscow. Colette’s beauty was always mesmerizing, but look around, every woman in sight was gorgeous. She was nothing special here.

The waitress had disappeared by then, and he now understood her cryptic words. Carter, meanwhile, texted Gui, asking if he knew that this party was attended by the Ascendancy himself. Gui responded with a non-committal answer, and Carter stuffed his wallet back in his pocket without replying. He spent the rest of the time staying on the periphery of the room, carefully positioning himself behind larger or taller people. Yet he kept an eye on Colette, but all he caught were glimpses of a blue hem and the flash of her profile.

Eventually, he realized that she was with someone, and Carter circled to get a better look at his competition. He spotted them by the grand staircase, Colette laughing at something the man said. Her companion was tall and muscular, impeccably dressed, and exuded an air of effortless confidence. Carter’s heart sank, but he clenched his jaw and planned his play.

Daniil watched Sofia with a calculated gaze, amusement touching his lips at her interactions with Zixin. It was a sight that both intrigued and irritated him, a dance of power and seduction that he was all too familiar with. He noted every glance, every touch, every coy smile Sofia directed at Zixin, and mentally filed it away as potential leverage.

As Sofia tolerated Zixin's charm and insults in equal measure, Daniil's amusement deepened. He knew Sofia enough to understand that her indulgence in his placations was a strategic move. He returned her sly smile with a knowing wink, playing the part of the charming cousin to perfection, but the wink was unsettling against the more sinister cut of his eyes. He doubted she believed in loyalty, not like his father did, but as long as she treated him like an ally, he would return the favor—until it no longer suited him.

When she commented, “You’ve fine taste, Danya, and as ever a finer talent for words,” Daniil's smile widened. He knew it was flattery, but he appreciated the recognition of his skill in manipulation. “Thank you, Sofia,” he replied smoothly, his voice dripping with feigned gratitude. “Coming from you, that means a great deal.”

His eyes followed Sofia's gaze to Elena, the so-called accessory of his evening. Elena, blissfully unaware of the machinations around her, wilted under Zixin's attention, earning her a momentary flicker of disdain from Daniil for the stereotype. She was beautiful, yes, but painfully vapid—a placeholder until something better came along. He tolerated her because she served a purpose, but she was expendable.

As her father's speech began, Daniil raised his glass along with the rest, more out of habit than respect for the old man. He clinked his glass against Sofia’s with a bland smile, her words—“To rewriting the rules, and coming out on top”—eliciting a faint nod. Ambition, after all, was a language he understood fluently. He didn’t need her to explain; he knew exactly what she meant. “To rewriting the rules,” he echoed, his eyes locking with hers in a silent challenge. “And to ensuring we are the ones who dictate them.”

The band began to play, and Daniil’s eyes followed Sofia’s gaze to the Ascendancy, then to Colette. If he was after a vision, indeed, Colette was where he should have been looking, but the frequent smiles flickering her lips would have annoyed him before she served her purpose.

“I expect to see you two on the dancefloor later,” Sofia said to him and Elena, a teasing smile playing on her lips. Daniil returned her smile with one of his own, though it didn't reach his eyes. Dancing was not his forte, and Sofia knew it. Her teasing was both a challenge and a dismissal, a reminder of his limitations. He would dance, but with Elena, and not for the amusement of others. “I wouldn’t miss it,” he replied smoothly, his tone betraying none of his irritation.

“Excuse us, I see a friend,” Sofia said, slipping her arm through Zixin’s. Daniil watched them go, his mind already calculating the next move. Sofia's departure was an opportunity, a moment to maneuver. As her fingers brushed against Zixin’s arm, Daniil felt a pang of something that might have been jealousy, quickly suppressed. He couldn't afford such weaknesses.

As Sofia and Zixin moved away, Daniil turned to Elena with a smooth smile, though his eyes were cold. “Shall we get this over with?” he asked, his tone leaving no room for refusal. He didn’t care about the dance itself, but it was a necessary evil.

Jensen found himself slightly off-balance as Kristian's words washed over him. There was an unmistakable charm in Kristian's demeanor, a blend of friendliness and something else that Jensen couldn't quite pin down. Was it flirtation? Or was he simply overanalyzing a polite offer?

Jensen's mind raced. The casual invitation to dance, coupled with the interest in his gift, or perhaps the interest was a double entendre, left him feeling both intrigued and uncomfortable. He wasn't used to this kind of attention, especially from someone like Kristian, whose intentions were hard to read. Was Kristian genuinely interested, or was this simply part of the social game, or both?

"I, uh, appreciate the offer," Jensen began, his usual eloquence unmoored. "I'm not sure I'm much of a dancer, but... maybe later?” He gave a hesitant smile, trying to gauge Kristian's reaction.

As he considered the invitation to join him, Jensen was a tumbled mix of emotions. He was drawn to the idea, but his thoughts kept drifting back to Ezvin. The attraction he felt towards any man was murky and confusing, but for Ezvin, it was a little clearer, a little more straightforward. This, on the other hand, was jarring and dark. As he glanced toward the terrace’s exit, someone passed within his line of sight that he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about since meeting him, and with the glimpse, his emotions split into a triad of conflict. Three men, two interested, one comfortable and easy, the other uncertain and intimidating; the third was an impossibility for a hundred reasons.

"Sure, we can catch up later," Jensen said, deciding to keep things open-ended. "I'll be around."

Then he slipped back into the party, hands in his pockets, having no idea what to do.

Xander was let go to mingle with the rest of the crowd. He'd hoped to be detained a little longer. But such as it was he meandered through the hall watching those on the dance floor. Picking out images of importance. Some not so important. Things he could use, or pass on to his employer he wasn't sure yet. His job had been to view their guest. And he'd done that. Dangerous men lurked in sheep's clothing tonight.

Auras danced through Xander's vision. His head swam with images. So many people with the gift the Ascendancy had shown the world. And now they flocked to Moscow like flies to shit. It certainly felt like shit even with his shields partially up. His mood was taking a downward spiral. If his employer wanted more than he gathered then he'd have to pay him more.

Xander made his way over to the bar and ordered a straight up whiskey. When the cool glass arrived to his hand he turned pulling his shields tight about him and sipped at the burning liquid. Kristian made his way through the crowd, he was very much an outsider among the elite here in Moscow. But that was alright. Even without the vision eaves dropping was easy enough over the glass of whiskey and his attention on the dancers.

The two Marveet siblings were far from the inner bubble of power pulsing with diving-fucking-radiance near the staircase. There was only so many spaces for Marveets at a private party after all, and those coveted positions were taken up by their father and his favored boy on a leash, Maksim.

Once the grandiose, self-patting, look-how-big-our-dicks-are speeches were concluded, Cyrena rolled her eyes as she turned away, languidly leaning on the bar. The open back of her dress plunged nearly to her ass crack as she did, Tarik snorted in compliant derision. “Hope Alina has her doggie bags nearby.”

Cyrena’s brow lifted high and curious. She ignored Tarik's mumbles about Maksim shitting all over himself any minute.

Father didn’t even ask them to attend, only hinting around that it was an incredibly important night for their family. Maksim, of course, being married into the family was present, but Cyrena and Tarik attended of their own volition. Sure, they were members of the circle, and both brought lavish gifts for the honored couple of the night, but most wouldn't give a rats ass if they were absent.

When Cyrena turned to prop her elbows on the bar, Tarik’s impression of her was of a hungry cat deciding which mouse to chase. They both bided their time at the party, waiting for whatever was going to happen to happen, but Tarik was a man of action. He pushed away an empty rocks glass as he spied Daniil heading toward the dance floor with a woman. Danya always had an empty vessel for a date, and it seemed tonight was no different. Danya was in for a treat though, Elena was a decent lay.

On the far side of the ballroom was Grigori Vasilev, whom he previously messaged that he would find at some point. It seemed that time was now.

Cyrena interrupted the change in his posture. “Where you going?”

He looked back at her flatly. “To take a piss. Why? Want to hold my dick for me?” he asked with a smirk.

She made a noise of disgust. ”If nobody else is going to,” she retorted as she twisted away. 

Tarik’s response was something approximating amused as if he was open to the idea, but it had been a long time since either of them went to that place. He stalked off alone, eventually pushing his way into the men’s room.

Following Tarik's departure, Cyrena finally found something that might entertain her. A man joined the bar about then, broad-shouldered with an angular, masculine jaw. She cocked her head to the side, eyes running up and down the length of him behind a generic blue and black mask. Blue sapphires dropped from her earlobes, as did a diamond and sapphire necklace dripping like water into the deep plunge of her dress. 

"You know its polite to offer to get a lady a drink," she said to him as she toyed with the stem of an empty martini glass.

Xander smiled and turned around back to the bartender. "Can I get whatever the lady is drinking?" The problem with masks was you couldn't tell whose who and he should know everyone in this room. Everyone was a mark waiting to be conned if he could gather the right intel. But he would have to do it the old fashioned way. Or at least ask the name, but the information that was not old school. Though Xander didn't pull his shields down yet. He wasn't ready for whatever onslaught might happen. Instead as he waited for the bartender to bring her order Xander introduced himself offering his hand. "Kristian Osterhagen" He gave a slight bow as is befitting the rich and famous ladies of the place. "Your companion should be beheaded for leaving such a beauty behind."

Cyrena found nothing wanting from Tarik’s replacement at the bar. He was far more couth, for one thing, but Cyrena was raised a woman amidst a veritable mountain of men, and that those men were Russian, well, her standards were hypocritical to say the least.

As the bartender prepared her drink, a vodka martini with a twist, she studied Kristian, and went so far as to shake his hand. Perhaps unexpectedly, her handshake was firm and she gave no facial indication that the squeeze of his grip bothered her. The miniature bow was met with amusement, which was exchanged for her own name. “Cyrena Marveet.” The sound was rather slithering and sinful as it passed her lips. She shared one thing in common with her youngest brother, Jaxen, and that was the ability to use her tongue.

As the bartender delivered the finished martini, Cyrena sipped from the rim aggressively. This was no demure woman delicate with her movements, but there was something held back, however. As if she was restrained the whole of her life from coming into the fullness of herself.

The imagery of Tarik’s head lopped from his shoulders was playfully incited. She was not the kind of woman who relished in violence, nor even the joke of it, so she opted to focus on the other aspect of his line. “Jealousy, hmm,” she purred. “I like that in a man.” She held his gaze directly, wondering at the face that was obscured behind the remainder of his mask. His accent was quite European, enough to match his name.

Ultimately, she tipped a shoulder in a shrug, crossing her legs as though to cross Tarik from her mind. “But in this case, I am happily rid of my brother.”

She waited a moment to gauge his reaction before adding, “So, whose guest are you, Kristian?”

Kristian smiled at the prominent name. He knew of the Marveets. He had met Maskim just recently as a matter of fact. Wasn't it fortitious. "Ah, your brother." His smile changed knowing he wasn't flirting with another man's woman. That could end rather badly, and with Russians it was even worse. "I am here as a guest of Pavel Vasilev."

There was a change in song played and Kristian smiled. "Care to dance?"