07-26-2018, 09:08 AM
Oriena melted into the crowd. Some familiar gazes shied away from hers, but she was not invested in petty secrets, or even the thrill of tightening thumb screws. They were safe from her tonight. Maybe forever. Her attention diverted, flighty, and old charms lost their shine. Her gaze washed the chandeliered heights above, in apparent awe of their lavish surroundings as she twined a meandering path. Not at all scoping her surroundings as she snagged another drink from a passing tray, suppressing a smile.
She tracked the figures in black, curious. Listened to the breath of rumour; let it grow like thorns through her thoughts, the dark stain of an immerging idea.
Until some fool drunk fool knocked into her. Reflexively her grip on the champagne glass loosened, like it tumbled by sheer accident. But it never smashed to the floor as intended. Her gaze sparked up. His plain tux had seen service; a rental. Not one of the diamond bright elite, then, which begged the question of how he'd found himself here. And perhaps betrayed how very alone he was. His brows rose like an invitation, but the only thing he nominated himself for was willing victim.
He didn't fit.
Not that Ori fit either, but she was comfortable in costume.
And my, was she an actress.
Her eyes widened as the glass rose, the stranger's expression cocky with the flourish, like she was supposed to be impressed by such parlour tricks. But it wasn't awe flooding her expression or pulling her a stumbling step back. "What are you doing?"
The glass rose higher, spinning. Not on his whim, anymore, but only he knew that.
She knocked into the people behind, felt a hand try to steady her. Curious attention turned to the spectacle. Drank in the frightened girl and the smirking man, then rose to the glass on its wild trajectory, like it rapidly began breaking free from the bonds of control.
To crack and send shining shards straight towards her.
Ori flinched as pain razored her cheek, below the bone. A few other hot stings of pain lanced, but that one was exquisite. She leaned back into the stranger propping her up, like the surprise of the injury unset her. Shaking fingers brushed the jagged fragment where it embedded, the familiar burn of welling blood hot on her skin.
Someone screamed.
She tracked the figures in black, curious. Listened to the breath of rumour; let it grow like thorns through her thoughts, the dark stain of an immerging idea.
Until some fool drunk fool knocked into her. Reflexively her grip on the champagne glass loosened, like it tumbled by sheer accident. But it never smashed to the floor as intended. Her gaze sparked up. His plain tux had seen service; a rental. Not one of the diamond bright elite, then, which begged the question of how he'd found himself here. And perhaps betrayed how very alone he was. His brows rose like an invitation, but the only thing he nominated himself for was willing victim.
He didn't fit.
Not that Ori fit either, but she was comfortable in costume.
And my, was she an actress.
Her eyes widened as the glass rose, the stranger's expression cocky with the flourish, like she was supposed to be impressed by such parlour tricks. But it wasn't awe flooding her expression or pulling her a stumbling step back. "What are you doing?"
The glass rose higher, spinning. Not on his whim, anymore, but only he knew that.
She knocked into the people behind, felt a hand try to steady her. Curious attention turned to the spectacle. Drank in the frightened girl and the smirking man, then rose to the glass on its wild trajectory, like it rapidly began breaking free from the bonds of control.
To crack and send shining shards straight towards her.
Ori flinched as pain razored her cheek, below the bone. A few other hot stings of pain lanced, but that one was exquisite. She leaned back into the stranger propping her up, like the surprise of the injury unset her. Shaking fingers brushed the jagged fragment where it embedded, the familiar burn of welling blood hot on her skin.
Someone screamed.