Masquerade [Kuskovo Estate]

[Jensen James]

He wasn’t sure what he should do at the party nor why he was even invited. Jensen generally wasn’t ill-at-east at such grand affairs, but he certainly felt like an outsider without knowing a single soul. He decided to use his solitude to his advantage, taking the opportunity to explore the sprawling estate.

It was a gilded labyrinth. Guests mingled in clusters, laughing, drinking and talking everywhere he went. At one point, a server deftly offered him a flute of champagne. Jensen accepted it almost reflexively, the chilled glass feeling pleasantly cool in his hand. He took a sip, the champagne’s effervescence tantalizing his palate with its rich, golden flavor. A lingering, almost ingrained voice in his mind briefly whispered about the sin of indulgence, but the exquisite taste of the drink made such thoughts fade away.

As he wandered, Jensen found himself pausing before a large piece of art. It dominated the wall of an opulently decorated room. The artwork was a whirlwind of abstract swirls, a storm of colors that seemed to dance, play and fight on the canvas. The colors were vibrant – deep blues, fiery reds, and bursts of sunlit yellows, all intermingling with softer pastels that provided a sense of balance to the composition. It was as if the artist had captured a storm of emotions and translated them into paint. There were hints of form and structure within the chaos, suggesting a deeper meaning or narrative hidden beneath the surface.

[Sofia Vasilieva]

Sofia was on her father’s arm when he welcomed the Ascendancy, she assured it. Konstantin had long been friends with Myshelov of course; the Patron wielded an iron fist beneath a velvet glove of congeniality, but they had always gotten along, and Sofia had girlhood memories of the opulent VIP rooms of the casino, filled with smoke and whiskey and the convivial business of important men. Growing up she’d called many of them uncle despite no shared blood relation – all the children had been brought up with old world respect, and never been hidden away from the world to which they had been born. Business and family were one and the same. The Vasiliev women were like jewels, the utmost of family treasure, but they were primed for power.

Between her father’s greeting and his steer of the conversation she complimented both men on their choice of attire and mask, using the Ascendancy’s title of course when she addressed him. A message of assured obedience that came smoother from her lips than Pasha’s. Sofia was an engaging and practised hostess. And she was dressed like a goddess. The gown was deepest crimson couture, looped in a silk tie around her neck that cascaded down her bare back. It was detailed at the hip, and fell in luxurious waves that would part when she moved. The mask was pearlescent white, adorned with teardrop diamonds that accentuated the perfect red lips beneath.

She talked with them a while, and certainly long enough to be seen with the most powerful men in the room. Her father was affable and unruffled in his conversation, and he pat her hand where it rested in the crook of his elbow when he felt her shift.

“Ah, I have spied your son, Uncle Myshelov, and I must make sure to go and say hello.” She smiled, made a pleasant retreat, kissing her father on the cheek and informing Myshelov in good and teasing spirit that she expected him to save a dance for her. Then she looked at Nikolai Brandon, and added with a graceful tilt of her head, and smile, “And the Ascendancy too of course, if he dances.”

The excuse she made to leave wasn’t entirely true. Daniil was indeed loitering by the staircase, watching with his shark eyes, but it was a figure in white and blood red who’d teased the edges of her attention by then. She was not displeased to see the ripples he created in his wake, and she would expect him to make the effort to find her. Sofia fully intended to be noticed as she made her way over to Daniil, for the dress was most beautiful in motion. Nothing at this party was incidental for all the exquisite frivolity. She’d invited Zixin, and it was a statement.

“Danya, how wonderful that you came,” she said with a pleasant smile in the meanwhile. Not that they were overly close, but they had grown up together and it afforded the familiarity. Her gaze ghosted the woman at his side, but saw nothing she needed to acknowledge. Daniil could introduce her if he wished. Sofia would not be rude.

[Xander]

The chaos of the auras was everywhere and Xander found himself wandering the estate to adjust his eyes to the onslaught. He found himself standing next to a man in white with such a chaotic aura that he wasn't sure he had escaped or found himself in the middle of an unfathomable storm. The jagged edges were jarring, the colors muddy and he couldn't pick any one color that signified anything. He was special on top of the storm within the aura. Images cascaded around him and Xander couldn't really catch many. He saw family, that he was an American by birth. Seemed to be more of them than Xander liked. Not that he expected to find anyone he knew. A cross spun on its axis, round and round it went, it didn't know where it wanted to land. Whatever was going on here, Xander wasn't sure he wanted to be a part of it -- except for one thing, this man was a healer. There was no doubt in Xander's mind that the predominate image he saw was symbolic of laying on hands.

The art they stood in front mocked Xander's eyes. Not only was he see chaos no one else saw, he now stood in front of the same chaotic unicorn vomit that he was trying to get away from. But he smiled and Kristian came out of his mouth smooth and suave and not at all sounding like he was about to throw up from the visual cacophony he saw.

"Calls to your soul doesn't it?" Xander said with a little German accent hinted at. Kristian's voice didn't normally inflect with his faked German roots, but a little nerves were a good thing when meeting those who choose to be alone. It made the mark more comfortable.

Kristian was an antiquities dealer he knew his art. And he spoke to the man about what he saw, and felt and the technique used. He didn't say it looked like unicorn vomit despite his feelings and he never once winced as he looked at the man. "Kristian Osterhagen, I deal in antiquities if you hadn't guessed that yet."

[Jensen James]

Jensen turned as soon as he heard the slight German accent. His own Texan drawl contrasted sharply against the European tones. "It really does,” Jensen agreed, his gaze returning to the swirls of color. “I wonder what the artist was trying to convey.”

He shifted his stance slightly in order to get a better look at the man behind the mask. The stranger was both taller and broader than Jensen himself, but it was the man’s confidence that Jensen noted first. He seemed well at ease in the party. As the man shared his insights into the artwork, Jensen found himself nodding, genuinely intrigued by the depth of his knowledge.

“Jensen James,” he introduced himself as well and extended a hand in greeting. His smile was warm and inviting. “You sound like you could be an art dealer with all that knowledge. Is this piece considered an antique then?” He gestured at the piece, wondering how old it was.

[Xander]

Xander loved a receptive mark. Contact and connection. He smiled at the man's name. "It is a pleasure Jensen James." He commited the name to memory and only wish he had a face to go with it. But for now a name would do. "Early twentieth century. And it's a fake." Kristian said with confidence. "The pigments are man made, and by man made I mean synthetic not pigments found in nature. You can tell how the lighting has faded the colors ever so slightly. The brush strokes just aren't as even as the original."

Kristian took a step closer, not so much to touch but to get a better look at the plaque. "And recently stolen it looks like, but the original isn't worth much. I think I saw it float through the shop recently." By shop Xander meant the dark web. While he might be playing a role, Xander did all the things he said he did in his personas. He even went so far as to take a few art history classes online, and spent several months apprenticed at a museum in New York City learning all about how the inner workings worked. That was just one of the things he did in the name of a con. This wasn't a con, but old habits die hard.

Xander may not really buy and sell antiquities but he could. He often found information that led to acquisitions that he'd have to fence later. But he liked information more, and perhaps this tidbit might gain him a bit more cred with his new employer too. "Most of the porcelain in the place is however does qualify. 18th century if I remember correctly. So be careful what you bump into, most of these are priceless." He pointed around the room at the vases and finery decorating the walls and nooks.

"You are a very long way from home, what brought you to Moscow of all places?" Xander asked.

[Jensen James]

The revelation that the striking art was not authentic visibly struck Jensen’s expression as surprised. He restudied the piece with fresh perspective, but the soft smile that followed indicated it hadn’t diminished his admiration for the piece. “It’s still moving even if it is a reproduction. I’m sure the owner enjoys it.” He continued to absorb the swirling storm of colors a few more moments before his attention was redirected to the more sculptural pieces in view: porcelain, vases and glasswork. He wasn’t the kind of person who was clumsy, but he had a feeling that if he broke one, he would not be able to patch it together as easily as he could human beings. “Thank you for the warning, Kristian. I’ll make sure to keep a wide berth.” His tone was light, balancing humor with a bit of sincerity.

The question about his relocation from the States to the CCD was inevitable. Until recently he ran in circles where personal questions were avoided, but he had an answer at the ready. “I guess you could say work brought me to Moscow. It was time to get out of the States.” His guilty conscious picked at him as soon as he said it. It was truthful in that there was nothing misleading about the explanation, but he knew that it suggested a different kind of story than one he actually lived. Luckily, it seemed that Kristian did not recognize him by name. That wasn’t uncommon either, here. Unless someone had specific awareness of religious culture in the United States, they’d be unlikely to recognize a preacher.

“But I’ve been here a few years, and it feels like home now. I met someone I admire, academically speaking, and he’s been very generous with me.” He hoped that didn’t sound like he was suggesting an improper relationship, but he wasn’t sure how to amend the impression, so he quickly diverted to a new topic.

“What about you Kristian? How do you know the Vasilievs?”

[Xander]

Work... Xander knew who the man was. Kristian did not. Kristian was a man from the CCD not fluent with the religious front, best to not mix personas. And definitely not slip. Xander remembered just a little of the controversy not that he cared one way or the other. And it seemed that Jensen was just as eager to leave his past behind as Xander was his own. He didn't pry. There was no need. Mentions typically brought up images and Xander read them with ease. The controversy nearly destroying a family -- did destroy the reputation. Some of the chaos bled from the images.

The tides inevitably turned to talk about him -- it always did. Xander smiled. And nodded towards the party. "I'm here to do a job for Pavel. Like you I have a gift -- nothing nearly so flashy as healing bodies. I read people in a way no one else can." He said with a smirk as he'd just displayed the phenomenon. Xander took a step towards the crowd -- confident and assured his gift was working and he steeled himself for the upcoming onslaught of auras. "My cup is nearly empty. Join me and walk through the masks and I'll tell you about the strangers we see. I probably should also add food to my list of things to seek." Kristian might have offered an elbow but Jensen didn't give confident vibes about who he was, and there was no need to make things uncomfortable. He did extend the invitation with his arms to join him. Standing alone behind a mask hardly was worth while. "And we shouldn't let these outfits go to waste standing alone. The mask cost more than my paycheck." He lied -- sorta. It was more than the paycheck Pavel was offering him, but not more than Xander could afford. But it put him down to earth if a little frivolous with money.

[Jaxen Marveet]

Scion Marveet

Scion entered the party with Vena on his arm, and together they walked straight to his old friend, Konstantin. Scion smirked as the two shook hands, each still trying to out-squeeze the other.

“Getting weak, old man.” Scion challenged. Of the two, Konstanin was the taller, but Scion was always built like a battle tank. He may have more girth around the waist, but he cut a fine fucking form in his tux, and Konstantin could blow over in a summer breeze. Next, he addressed Edita, whom he kissed once on each cheek in greeting.

“Congratulations on your anniversary, Edita. He does not deserve so beautiful a woman staying with him for forty years. When you’re ready to leave him, I am waiting.” He then introduced Vena, in case they had forgotten her name. There was no comparing the young and sexy Vena to the more mature Edita, but Scion was sure that she had no trouble making her husband hard as a rock assuming he took his viagra first.

With the flinging of insults and compliments complete, he asked Vena to procure a drink for him while he approached the Ascendancy. He was rather surrounded, as to be expected, but the approach of Scion Marveet made way. Scion was acutely aware that everyone in sight would know he was flagged to succeed Valentin when the old cocksucker finally retired, or better, died, and he was enveloped in the group with open arms (metaphorically speaking - he was kind of still on Ascendancy’s shit list).

He shook hands with Myshelov, scoffing at the man’s gaudy mask. “What’s with these bullshit costumes? We look like a bunch of fucking prick clowns at a low budget orgy.” Myshelov would appreciate the derisive comment, but even Scion made sure to say it while Ascendancy was busy talking to someone else.

[Zixin Kao]

Zixin was thoroughly enjoying himself at the Vasiliev’s party. He had already drank two champagnes and was at present time sharing a riotous story about a party gone awry back home. It was a natural segue, as he was the only Asian in view as far as he could tell, and the Russian sonsofbitches were really fucking racist. So everyone asked if he was Chinese, and while he could trace his ancestors to China, their blood thinned before the days of the Dutch East India Company, and he was altogether his own, now: Singaporean.

On the throes of undoubtedly fake laughter, which Zixin accepted as if it was the genuine thing, he spied his date for the night. He’d kept a sharp eye out for any of the family whose name they were here to celebrate, especially — shit, what was his name? Gloves guy? He laughed to himself for the momentary lapse. Pavel He suddenly recalled out of no where. Hilarious.

Which was when he found his date. He eyed the man that Sofia was speaking with as he slipped into their group. He recognized Daniil Myshelov as someone on his to-do list to employ.

Sofia showed far more skin tonight than she had the last time they met. She was as beautiful as a king cobra, but Zixin was mildly surprised when she invited him. That reminded him, he should really show off his prized collection sometime. Perhaps their next date? It seemed they had a spark after all.

He leaned in to kiss her on the cheek in greeting as was the Russian custom.

She might be surprised that there was nothing creepy in his embrace, unlike his companion from the bridge, for he saw more than flesh in her. Though he was almost surprised the Russians didn’t stomp their feet, flash their asses, and spit like primates when greeting one another. He smirked, feeling like a prince among macaques at her. Undoubtedly, there was a woman, but he also saw an enemy, and if they fucked between now and sunrise, she would find the kind a pleasure that she’d never known before, but he’d still not so much as turn his back on her.

“Sofia, won’t you introduce your friends to your date?” The animals might have peed all over her shoes, but Zixin flashed a smug smile instead.

[Jensen James]

Jensen struggled to focus on the things Kristian was explaining. He was rendered rather speechless by the revelation that another stranger knew about his Gift. He understood that the entire reason he masqueraded as Iason was to protect his identity in service to Ascendancy. Now he was at a party at Ascendancy’s behest. Was this coincidence or were these people also in the government’s confidence?

He swallowed nervously and closely studied those whom they passed. He was vaguely aware that Kristian was describing details about others as they strolled, and the pieces began to click together. “Do you mean with a single glance, you know intimate details of people’s lives?” He sought to clarify, as that would certainly explain how Kristian knew he could heal. “But please, if that is the case, I urge you to keep what you know to yourself. I can’t really explain why, but it’s important to me.” His fingers splayed across his chest, he could feel his heart beating hard within, but it was beginning to subside.