shelley_winters

Standing nearby a dark-haired man glanced down at a glass of wine. Swirling it with dull disinterest, Asmodean stared into the murky red depths of the wine. The Friends of the Dark carefully stepped around him. Most knew of the brooding musician Asmodean and knew to be wary of him.

Often he would glance up quickly, dark eyes darting in search of the other Chosen. He wanted to know where they were at all times. He hated that Lanfear had talked him into coming here. A small napkin was tucked into his robe. Frequently, Asmodean would jot ideas on napkins.

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From here, she can see most of the room. Brightly-coloured clothes, draped or clinging in hundreds of diffrerent styles, most running to the ornate and decorated with gold and jewels. Everything is about display tonight - the dresses, the conversation, the dancing.

Shelley sighs unhappily, clinging to her blank mask and avoiding the eye of anyone who looks her way. She wants to go. Home, preferably, but she knows Ishamael well enough to be sure that isn't likely.

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woven-threads.livejournal.com

Nearby, two Friends of the Dark, one a tall man with short-cropped white hair and the other a much younger elegantly dressed woman conspired together. The light glinted off the jewels on her hand as she talked in low tones.

"That man over there is Asmodean."

"The musician? I never cared for his music myself..."

"Careful! He might overhear."

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With some effort, her head does not whip around at the name. No. Calm. She knew he was here. But if those two don't shut up about his music, they really will be in trouble, she can tell that.

A few beats longer and it feels safe to turn her head idly to one side. There. Brooding by the edge - like her - looking very much the same as when she knew him. She's tempted to move away, but looking like she's running away from something would be stupid in this company. Hopefully he won't recognise her dressed up like this.

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Quick, darting motions from the Chosen as he glanced about the room keeping track of the many powerful and dangerous patrons of Graendal's party. A slight twitch of his lip.

His eyes fell upon the little redhead. So that was the girl that Lanfear was talking about. She was... smaller than he was expecting, barely older than a child. How odd. Dealing with the girl was, thankfully, not his concern.

A small, polite nod to her.

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Shelley swallows, frozen in place.

Unpleasant and conflicting emotions make keeping her face calm a battle - fear, anger, misery and even guilt still, after all this time - but she nods back after only a short pause, making no move to get any closer. She doesn't think she could talk to him without her nerve breaking.

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woven-threads.livejournal.com

The older man whispered conspiratorially to the younger woman who was busy brushing at her long blonde hair. The young woman picked up a cup of wine from the tray before edging carefully away from the servant as if she might bite.

"I hear that little girl is Ishamael's lady. He came with her."

The little blonde girl studied Shelley curiously for a moment before turning and confiding quietly in the older man.

"You would not think a little girl like her would be with him."

"I saw her dancing with Graendal and Rahvin. She is probably well-versed in the manners of the Chosen. They are different than you and I."

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Shelley frowns as she catches the odd few words from the slightly indiscreet couple a little way from her. A quick glance over tells her that she was correct in thinking that 'she' was her.

Well, that's just rude.

The glance lingers on them and she raises her eyebrows slightly, aloof and enquiring.

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woven-threads.livejournal.com

At her intense gaze, the older man quickly turned around to comment inanely on something across the room from Shelley. The younger woman quickly joined him. She was on Ishamael's arm and in his bed. One word to him and they were finished. Hoping she had not taken too much offense, the couple wandered off through the crowd.

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Shelley smiles slightly, grimly pleased at the alacrity with which the two vanish, before remembering why they are likely so afraid. She sighs, trying to imagine what the reactions would be if they knew the reality of the situation - that she is just as terrified of him as they are, and for better reason.

Then tries to regain the cool, calm expression. She's getting tired, and it's getting harder.

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A small smile from Asmodean. Something about that little girl intimidating an undersecretary and his arm ornament was particularly funny. Returning his attention to his wineglass, he glanced up through the crowd. There was Lanfear.

What did she want?

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Lanfear had seen the girl, of course, long before she approached Asmodean. But she is not in conversation with the Chosen, or even very near, so she does not acknowledge Shelley as she smiles at her colleague.

"Right where I left you, Asmodean. Having fun?"

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An unamused smile from Asmodean as he glanced up at the beautiful woman, before swirling his wine idly. What a useless question. His voice is flat and toneless as he commented more to his wine than to Lanfear.

"Plenty."

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Lanfear rolls her eyes delicately. Fool man never did grasp the idea of putting on a public face in order to learn. He had other methods, but hers was a one that cost nothing and potentially gained much.

"Then forgive me tearing you away for a dance?"

She smiles. They have a few things to discuss before the evening ends, and it is a good way to do so. Besides, she enjoys it, and she knows he can do so both from their time together and more recently observing him with Malacoda.

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A short chuckle that approached amused down at his wine before setting it down. He wanted to hear what she had managed to determine in her carousing. It would not be too unpleasant.

"Absolved."

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Shelley is absurdly grateful for the distraction provided by Lanfear - how can someone look so perfect? - and takes the excuse to turn away slightly, back to the ever-moving whirl of the room, trying not to feel so sad.

She misses him, but that man is not Joar - not even Natael, who in spite of everything, she had ended up liking.

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Lanfear turns to lead him out onto the floor, conscious but not seeming to notice the way people fall back for her with fearful but wondering stares for her beauty and reputation. Soft falls of thin white silk from her sleeves billow in the air and brush the floor as she holds out a slender hand to him.

"I spoke with Ishamael," she says, voice light, eyes soft and penetrating.

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The lace-touched dark grey of his sleeve nearly engulfed his hand as he took hers. How familiar was this? He put his hand on her slender waist as they began to step and turn to the music. His robe billowed with hers, fleeting touches with the white, as they moved.

"Oh?"

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"Yes."

She completes the first turn of the dance before continuing, a smooth and graceful motion, making her skirts swirl out lightly.

"Sadly I had to interrupt his dance to do so, but Rahvin was kind enough to partner his little lady instead."

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Asmodean held her hand delicately, but with little enthusiasm. His eyes narrowed at her comment. He did not want Ishamael in pursuit of him for a crime he did not commit... nor for one that he did, for that matter.

"I hope that Rahvin behaved himself, lest Ishamael blame us for his misdeeds."

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"As far as I saw, he did - and Ishamael barely reacted. Noticably did not, in fact."

Which is perhaps more curious than constantly watching and frowning. And Lanfear thinks she knows why. She smiles, a hard light in her eyes.

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There was no smile on Asmodean's face. His dark eyes cold as she gently spun Lanfear. She was so very beautiful, but he would hardly let that distract him.

"Ishamael is cunning. Dangerously, so. He may have seen through our ploy."

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"Hardly a ploy, at this stage," she says, unworried. She did not approach the child - unlike Graendal. Her interest had been quite plain.

"Any of the Chosen would be curious, so he does not show what he feels for her. Telling in itself, hmm?"

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Asmodean shrugged as the two of them danced. His dark-eyed gaze caught Semirhage still speaking with Rahvin. What could those two be discussing at such length?

"I suppose."

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"I think we can continue, given this," she smiles again, arms moving up to circle around his neck in deference to the slow music.

"But perhaps such a discussion is for later."

She can never be too careful, after all. Not with the Chosen.

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