(no subject)

[shelley_winters]

Attempting to put as much distance between herself and Rahvin as he converses with Semirhage without actually seeming to hurry away is trickier than Shelley had thought, and has the side effect of her not paying too much attention to where she ends up.

She doesn't know if he was really trying to scare her, or deadly serious, but each remark he had made was worse than the last as they all built up together with the coldness in that gaze - a gaze which made her blush all by itself, if she's honest - and she really really wants to be alone. But of course she mustn't leave the room. Oh, dear.

Preoccupied this way, it is perhaps for the best that she doesn't notice the curious or fearful looks people give her as she walks by - she has been seen partnering three of the Forsaken, and speaking with two more, who knows who the lady really is, or what she does? So she is left with a little space around her, and manages even to feel a little less crowded when she stops by a small table at the edge of the room.

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[forsaken-bard.livejournal.com]

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.