To be perfectly frank, there was no reason not to go.
That won Alec over, in the end. The day started with incredulity, after all. The costume provided was all shimmering royal blues on black velvet, too many frills with too little reserve, and the accompanying mask -- a delicate deer's face in porcelain, complete with gilded antlers -- was as ostentatious as it was ironic. High-flung enough for Seregil's tastes, to be sure, but Alec? He'd always preferred a more subtle touch. His decision was firm and final; there would be no gallivanting tonight, particularly not in that atrocity of fashion.
But as the day wore on, something pulled at him. It wasn't so much hemming-and-hawwing, Alec had always been a decisive sort. Rather, some instinct drew him in, slowly, like a strangling vine creeping into his better reason.And waste an opportunity to gather information? He could practically hear the admonishment in his talímenios' voice, tutting and shaking his head in that affected way that never brooked any argument. So there was one reason, and perhaps that was reason enough. What else was he meant to do with his evening, after all? Stare at the ceiling?
But this place was so strange. The technology, the music, the food; overwhelming. There were too many different things to try wrapping his head around, so many people, all drunken loudness and debaucherous revelry, and perhaps overwhelming was an understatement. Rather than give himself a headache from it all, Alec tucked himself into a quieter corner and watched. Observation would suit for now; with champagne flute in hand, propped against an alcove wall, and feeling damned grateful that the mask disguised most obvious signs of his discomfort.
If he weren't people-watching so closely, he might have missed the first glimpse of familiarity. It was hard to tell with the mask, but that smile, his gait, the way he held himself... It couldn't be. Alec hadn't felt their bond since arriving here, but...
Alec followed him to the next room, squeezing past a few revelers, until they were (mostly) alone before a dessert table. Pretense be damned, if there was any chance...
"Talí?" Alec asked, and continued in perfect Aurenfaie Bokthersan dialect: "Seregil, is that you?"
You need a husband to keep you virtuous at a party here...
That won Alec over, in the end. The day started with incredulity, after all. The costume provided was all shimmering royal blues on black velvet, too many frills with too little reserve, and the accompanying mask -- a delicate deer's face in porcelain, complete with gilded antlers -- was as ostentatious as it was ironic. High-flung enough for Seregil's tastes, to be sure, but Alec? He'd always preferred a more subtle touch. His decision was firm and final; there would be no gallivanting tonight, particularly not in that atrocity of fashion.
But as the day wore on, something pulled at him. It wasn't so much hemming-and-hawwing, Alec had always been a decisive sort. Rather, some instinct drew him in, slowly, like a strangling vine creeping into his better reason.And waste an opportunity to gather information? He could practically hear the admonishment in his talímenios' voice, tutting and shaking his head in that affected way that never brooked any argument. So there was one reason, and perhaps that was reason enough. What else was he meant to do with his evening, after all? Stare at the ceiling?
But this place was so strange. The technology, the music, the food; overwhelming. There were too many different things to try wrapping his head around, so many people, all drunken loudness and debaucherous revelry, and perhaps overwhelming was an understatement. Rather than give himself a headache from it all, Alec tucked himself into a quieter corner and watched. Observation would suit for now; with champagne flute in hand, propped against an alcove wall, and feeling damned grateful that the mask disguised most obvious signs of his discomfort.
If he weren't people-watching so closely, he might have missed the first glimpse of familiarity. It was hard to tell with the mask, but that smile, his gait, the way he held himself... It couldn't be. Alec hadn't felt their bond since arriving here, but...
Alec followed him to the next room, squeezing past a few revelers, until they were (mostly) alone before a dessert table. Pretense be damned, if there was any chance...
"Talí?" Alec asked, and continued in perfect Aurenfaie Bokthersan dialect: "Seregil, is that you?"