01-12-2024, 06:42 PM
Kristian Osterhagen was a nobody here. He knew no one, didn't matter. Xander didn't feel uncomfortable in fact he felt more himself as he walked through the crowd. They didn't need to know his name, but he belonged there. There would be no doubt. He could talk and walk like these fools is high dollar suits and masks. Not that he wasn't pretending to be one of them with the same insecurities and display of money. You had to spend it to make it -- otherwise what was the point of it all.
Xander snagged a flute of champagne from one of the servers with a fresh smile and a nod in thanks. The servers could be just as informative as the others. He took a sophisticated swallow. He wanted to gulp it down, drown the impending migraine that was about to explode when he let his gift unfurl. But that was the whole point of the night -- benefit his patron (and himself of course). Hiding behind the mask was only going to partially cut it. At least the pain would be hidden -- mostly. Xander was a good actor.
He closed his eyes as savoring the golden liquid that fizzed down his throat and let his personal shields down. It was like watching the curtains fall in a theater production revealing the colorful scenery behind it. Colors bloomed in his vision. Everyone's uniqueness haloing their bodies in a vast array of unicorn puke. Some were bright and fluffy, others were dark, and still others kept their auras to themselves -- Xander particularly liked those folks, but this wasn't that type of crowd. Most everyone flaunted their auras -- it was the nature of money and power. Few knew that they projected their shit to anyone who could see or feel it. It fucking sucked.
The biggest downside to being in Moscow was the number of special cases with their plethora of images radiating from them without having to look hard or even at all. And like the city itself there was a number of people here that made Xander turn away quickly as he scanned the room. He had a target he had to read, the rest would be icing on the cake. But first he had to acquaint himself with the mass of sensory input. He sipped again at his drink with a bright smile. No this wasn't overwhelming at all. He was perfectly fine. He could hold a conversation. Now to find one...
Xander snagged a flute of champagne from one of the servers with a fresh smile and a nod in thanks. The servers could be just as informative as the others. He took a sophisticated swallow. He wanted to gulp it down, drown the impending migraine that was about to explode when he let his gift unfurl. But that was the whole point of the night -- benefit his patron (and himself of course). Hiding behind the mask was only going to partially cut it. At least the pain would be hidden -- mostly. Xander was a good actor.
He closed his eyes as savoring the golden liquid that fizzed down his throat and let his personal shields down. It was like watching the curtains fall in a theater production revealing the colorful scenery behind it. Colors bloomed in his vision. Everyone's uniqueness haloing their bodies in a vast array of unicorn puke. Some were bright and fluffy, others were dark, and still others kept their auras to themselves -- Xander particularly liked those folks, but this wasn't that type of crowd. Most everyone flaunted their auras -- it was the nature of money and power. Few knew that they projected their shit to anyone who could see or feel it. It fucking sucked.
The biggest downside to being in Moscow was the number of special cases with their plethora of images radiating from them without having to look hard or even at all. And like the city itself there was a number of people here that made Xander turn away quickly as he scanned the room. He had a target he had to read, the rest would be icing on the cake. But first he had to acquaint himself with the mass of sensory input. He sipped again at his drink with a bright smile. No this wasn't overwhelming at all. He was perfectly fine. He could hold a conversation. Now to find one...