The First Age

“I will never say no to you,” his gaze roamed the features of his exquisite wife, heart swelling as much as it had the first time he saw her. He truly was the luckiest man in the room, for none of them held Alina in their arms. He danced well, which was to be expected from a mother who put both of her sons (himself and Jaxen) into ballet lessons as young boys. Maksim didn’t stay with it as he aged, but the smoothness of his rhythm remained.

As the first dance concluded, he insisted that Alina sit and rest for a while. She would undoubtedly protest, but the role of doting protector was one he donned intentionally. While walking her out of the dance floor, he passed a man in a white tuxedo jacket. Although wearing a mask, the recognition was unmistakable.

His jaw parted just enough that Alina noticed. “I have to tell you something,” he said to her quietly, then urged her somewhere private to explain.

((He explains that he’s seen Jensen there tonight.))

Cyrena flippantly noticed his relief that Tarik was her brother, and she all but tuned out mention of Pavel. She did not get along well with any of the Vasilev children other than passing politeness and shallow flattery, but she did find Pavel the most detestable, if only because he was the godly first-born that Maksim was not.

“Yes,” she replied without second thought. When she stood, there was a subtle wobble to her steps. She was obviously more inebriated than her speech and expression let on. “For what is a masquerade if not also a ball?” Sarcasm dripped from her tongue like diamonds, but beautifully done. She slipped her arm into his, noting the muscle found within the sleeve, and wondered if this might be her choice of empty company for the night. “Does this mean a guest of Pavel did not bring a date to the ball?” She asked as they reached the dance floor, wrapping her arms around his neck.

It was near to then that she noticed Maksim walking Alina away, but something, or clearly someone, caught his attention. The oddity of it pulled Cyrena’s gaze into obvious investigation. She only glimpsed the man in question. “Who is that?” She assumed Kristian would notice her distracted glances.

Kristian downed the last of his whiskey before offering Cyrena his arm. She took it with a slight wobble. He took note of her inebriation but did not comment on it as he lead her out to the dancefloor. Her hand on his elbow and the whiskey causing his head to spin just a little. Not drunk, not even close, but the buzz going on made things more tolerable.

They stopped in a suitable place and her arms wrapped around his neck. Might not be a bad end to an evening. And Jensen James could always wait for another time. He'd never needed this so called healing before and he was likely to be in the position again to call upon the man's special gifts. As if the thought conjured the man himself, Cyrena drew his attention to the man in white. Kristian chuckled. "I hear tell that is Iásōn. A healer for hire as I understand." While Xander knew who he was he would keep the man's identity a secret that was after all a card he held now. He leaned in and whispered. "And to answer your first question. A date would not let me mingle amongst the crowd to meet beautiful women." Or men he thought to himself.

Xander had done his due diligence after meeting Maskim and Pavel on the same night. His researched turned up a lot more than his investigating on the forged photo he'd gone in to sell. Not that had such inclinations tonight. But that research might now turn her attention back to him. Still close to her ear, he spoke softly, "I never understand why more women in your position aren't more saught after. Intelligent, great business minds." Kristian chuckled. "Specially one of your martial calliber. I might be slightly intimidated."

”That’s Iásōn?" She scoffed, wishing that she had a better look, but the party was far from over, and she intended to get one as soon as possible. The whispers of the Ascendancy’s miraculous angel in white spread like wildfire through the aristocratic world. Cyrena almost wished someone she knew was dying just for the chance of hiring his services and witnessing the truth for herself. In the past she always ignored such gossip except how she might wield it to her own ends, but if Iásōn was in fact here tonight, sharing the same space as Ascendancy and the Vasilevs, the stories were likely true.

That Kristian knew as much made Cyrena study him anew. She eyed him curiously, a half a smile forming on her lips in response to his ability to freely roam. “Ahh, so you are surveillance,” she said with a tone that promised to keep his secret. That he went on to describe her own life in detail meant her guess was accurate, but she wasn’t insulted. Actually, she was flattered.

“I am appreciative of a man who does his homework, and that Pavel thinks enough of me to include me in your dossier.” Her grip on his neck tightened, squeezing, a python embracing its prey.

Cyrena was now fixated on Kristian like a child with a recently discovered toy. “Since you know so much about everyone, tell me something shocking.” Her smile was the sort that promised reward for being given what she wanted. “Like….” she peered around, “Him. What do you know about him?” She was looking in Sofia’s direction, specifically casting her query toward her handsome date.

Tarik held his composure all the way to the men’s room. He greeted those he knew with a hard handshake and compliments for the masks, but the moment he continued, his face fell to intolerance.

True to the gradiosity of the estate, the men’s room was preceded by an opulent antechamber that was one part lounge and one part powder room. The far wall was a floor to ceiling shark tank, casting a blue hue to the space. A monkey was staged in one corner performing tricks with its handler, although everyone primarily ignored it. The shark was more interesting, but it won Tarik’s impression for only a moment before he found what he was looking for.

Better yet, who.

“Grisha,” he greeted as he approached. Tarik stole two shots of vodka lined on a table, offering one in tradition, slapped it on the table, liquid sloshing over the edges in order to down it in unison. Then they shook hands.

Grigori Vasiliev was the youngest of Konstantin’s sons. Tarik was older by a few years, and while he spent more time with Dmitri, he was rather fond of Grigori. Mostly for what he offered.

To that end, a few simple commands transferred funds, and soon, Tarik was enjoying a much needed dose of P. After which, he finally felt more like himself, and he followed up with a, “Hey, congratulations for your father and mother.” He nodded in affirmation. Family was important, as was respect, and Tarik was a pure bred Moscow man. After a few more exchanged pleasantries, he leaned on a chair and watched the dancing monkey across the room.

She was gripping him like the snake he knew all women could be. Vipers if you let them. This might be more about what he knows. Politics was never something Xander liked to get involved with but now he was entrenched in it all. Working for the Vasilliev might have gotten him embroiled in things that make Kristian too much.

Cyrena wanted to know about the very man he'd been sent to watch. He smirked at the sight and licked his lips turning his attention back tot he woman. "He is a dangerous man. Someone I wouldn't cross, nor would I get into bed with him." The latter was true on many accounts. Men, women didn't bother Xander, but that man was even too dangerous for a passing fling or con, or even a partnership. "Other's are far less interesting but far safer to talk about."

Cyrena’s disappointment was apparent. Not that the information wasn’t good, but that she had heard as much all her life. The first daughter of Scion Marveet, Cyrena was simultaneously strangled to death with hyper-protectiveness and completely dismissed as a girl. To her, every man in Moscow was dangerous. She wasn’t impressed.

To that end, she tossed her hair over one shoulder and loosened her grip on her dance’s body. He was quite literally letting her slip through his fingers. “I’m sure he’s very dangerous. The type that will poison his enemies and keeps a super-villain shark-tank in his office.” Her smile was sinisterly sweet.

Then she decided to take another tactic, because Kristian did know something about him. Besides, if he was that dangerous, he wouldn’t be in Sofia’s arms. She was certain Pavel would put an end to it, if not Konstantin himself, which meant as the man who worked for Pavel, whether a contractor, spy, dealer or paramour, he knew enough.

The song shifted to the next about then, slower this time, and Cyrena sidled up into his arms, pressing her body into his. It was svelte beneath the silk dress, her chest obviously bare beneath the material as she leaned into him. “Maybe I like dangerous men,” she whispered into the curve of his ear, sliding her lips upon the ear lobe and nibbling for demonstration.

“You like dangerous men, too, don’t you Kristian? Like Pavel? You know what they say about him, don’t you?” She whispered sultry gossip into his ear, next before arching back enough to peer into the eyes behind his mask. Her own sparkled beneath the chandelier’s crystals. “I promise I won’t tell.”

Xander hadn't heard that juicy bit of gossip but then he wasn't searching for it either. And whose lovers were whose didn't matter unless he could take advantage of it. Xander whispered back. "I like my head attached to my body as well. There is death about him. And not the kind when someone dies in bed of old age." Kristian pulled back with a frown. "It is bad juju. I value my head."

The dance left Alina breathless and smiling, her protests at Maksim leading her away only superficial in nature. Initially she found herself confused by him then ushering her to privacy, but her eyes widened quickly at the revelation. She had not had a good look at the man in white, having no real reason to note him as he passed, and she was torn between an uncomfortable fear for the entangled politics, and an overwhelming need to sweep the man up immediately and thank him for what he had done for Maksim. She cast her gaze around for the Ascendancy, but spotted him nowhere near. Which meant nothing, for he certainly had eyes. And Pasha would not have been so foolish to invite a man the family was supposed to have no knowledge of. So how and why was he here?

She squeezed her husband’s hands with her own indecision. Sofia would kill her for breaking family confidence and risking the Custody’s ire. Unless they might do so subtly? Jensen’s presence almost certainly suggested a test of loyalty, but with each fierce beat of her heart all Alina could see was the swollen ruin that had been Maksim’s face, the rattle of his breathing, the beep of the monitors. Their son might have been orphaned, still too young to have significant memories of his father. Their second child, still growing inside her, might never have met him at all.

“We must thank him somehow, Maksimka. Without breaking confidence, of course.” She was earnest in her resolve, though not quite sure how to achieve it yet. Despite herself, she looked immediately for Jensen when they returned to view. The flash of his white tux was nowhere obvious, but she did spy Sofia – distracted and enjoying herself, so far as Alina could see. Briefly she wondered if her sister was responsible for their mysterious guest, given the nature of her date and the power play between them. But it didn’t seem like the sort of risk she would take.

As they rejoined the fray she sought out her other siblings, if only to ensure none had noticed the warring guilt inside for what Maksim had shared. Pavel was austere, surrounded by a dark cloud of compatriots – and already heading to one of the other rooms to hold court. Grisha had disappeared entirely, despite his earlier warning. And she might have assumed he was keeping Dima occupied as promised, except she saw him striding rather purposefully across the dancefloor just then. She glanced a fraught look up at Maksim, but while Noemi took a rather purposeful step back from him when he approached, there was no immediate scene.

A smile parted her face that said aww, too bad, but the flash of her eyes said Pavel must have opened up his asshole and shit out this wimp fucker.

A shake of the head followed, disappointment for the prey that slipped the jaws of her mouth. Cyrena kissed him on the cheek, then pat him on the chest. “Too bad. If you change your mind, I’m sure you can find me. Goodbye, Kristian.”

She abandoned him mid-song, but Cyrena was already scanning for the next nibble on the trail now laid for her. She chose a route that passed her within Sofia’s orbit. She didn’t so much as learn her date’s name, but she was sure someone else would be willing to share. She looked him up and down as she passed, judging whether or not he was everything Kristian described. Sofia met her eye briefly, but Cyrena only signaled acknowledgement with a raised brow and small nod. She would never attempt to confront the vicious bitch, not openly anyway, and it was best to not garner that kind of attention.

Her meandering route continued through the party, skimming faces for white-clad backs. Her search yielded little fruit, so she returned to the bar.