Skeletons in the Closet I [Memory] (Degare)

[Salen]

18th Ash, 4619

The moment Dahlia sent Salen alone on this assignment, meant that there was a chance to prove himself to the woman; after becoming her protege, she had given him many opportunities. It was the first time he had been sent to a party alone to investigate a connection between a scandalous cause, one which Dahlia would eventually profit from in the future. It was dark and the night was young as he stepped into the mansion. The sensation of the darkness and the macabre paintings that lie on the wall were hung in various different angles. He looked over to the right of him and saw a couple of mannequins with their heads completely missing. A series of wax figures linger the room as he walked on into the large, yet darkly sophisticated mansion. Dahlia had sent him to meet an old friend of hers.

As usual, there were also other Entente around; the players of the great game of chess known as the Candor. It was essentially something that Salen didn't want to participate in. It was an extremely clever way of gambling with a man's own life for the sake of gaining power, riches and other debaucherous gains. The essence of greed that has made Salen cringe. The den of wolves would look at him enamoured by his beauty, his flawless porcelain skin and his complexion, as well as the Entente regalia that he donned for the party.

It was going to be an interesting night for him, knowing he would have to bask in the horror of being within a mansion, ruled by a macabre owner. He wondered if Dahlia would arrive shortly after, but there was no sign of her yet. For the time being, he would indulge in the various drinks that were being passed around by the neighbours. It was going to be an interesting night for the man as he had no idea why he was here. However, he knew it wasn't for his own enjoyment.

[Degare]

TIMESTAMP: 18th Ash, 4619 / 20:17
NOTES: -

► Show Spoiler

Mood Board for Degare & his house

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The night was young and the mage slipped through the streams of people milling about the halls of his manor quite unassumingly. Many were rather distracted by their own conversations and affairs alongside his face being covered with a dark hood and scarf. The outfit he wore was dark as night, thus allowing him to blend closely with the shadows of the fairly dimly lit rooms. He wore knee high black leather formal boots adorned with several superfluous buckles expertly crafted of silver. Pants were of a cotton-based satin, having a rather matte texture when compared to other types of satin; they float somewhat loosely around the knee but are quite a bit more fitted to his figure near the waist. As for his coat, it was composed of velvet and had half sleeves that opened up at the elbows-- though they continued downward with long, flowing swathes of fabric that reflected deep blue in direct light. The front of it stopped just halfway down his thighs with a cape trailing behind down to his calves, split in the center. It is fitted at the waist and possesses three pairs of shiny black buttons down his breast. A thick, ornate velvety finished belt sat just above his hips with a silver buckle. Underneath it, he wore a simple black silk button down shirt, though now one could only see the sleeves of which that stopped at his wrists. Most of his outfit was black, though the long sleeves faded into a deep, plum purple as did the cape of his coat. The bottom part of the front faded into a deep, dark bluish purple patterned with roses. The cooler tones of his outfit did contrast against bright crimson walls, fabrics and paintings that adorned the house, but against the blacks, purples and blues, he was barely visible.

The man recognized almost everyone at his own party; he was the one that sent most of the invites and oversaw the guest list when other members of his house added their amendments....and yet, there were always some unfamiliar faces floating amongst the crowd-- people who had used fake identities or came in place of others. Though he knew he should, it was hard for the elven mage to really care. He had plenty of methods of security and protecting himself within his own home, after all. He'd decided to stop his trek around his house in a room that was lit entirely with candles; macabre furnishings and black finished wood filled the space and bright red paint adorned the walls. To sort of off set the shock on the eyes the red would be, the walls also had flowing black velvet curtains and oil paintings of a darker palette to break up the space. Looking around, he saw many people he did know-- a few family members, some colleagues and many he was ambivalent towards. Walking amongst them, however, was a man dressed in clothing typical of the Daravinic Entente, though he did not have a face that Degare recognized. He didn't stick out; rather, he fit in even more with how perfect his features were on top of skin completely lacking in blemishes. It was a little suspect to find somebody like this that he didn't recognize. Something was off about the man, so he decided to keep him within his gaze for the time being...after all, those who do not belong are always the most fun.

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'Thoughts'
"Common Tongue/Speech"
"Raillen Tongue/Speech"

[Salen]

As for Salen's night, it was extremely uneventful with the amount of it was better to fit into the social hierarchies that define the Entente ways. After all the goal was to be invisible to his so-called Entente peers; although noone knew who he was. He blended perfectly. No need for a Remnomancer's mask or any form of illusion, just a simple notion of becoming the wolf in sheeps clothing. He draped. He sat down amongst a red curved chaise as he lounged on it casually, looking around at the picturesque, yet oddly gothic room. There was an eerie feeling of discomfort that unsettled Salen as there were a number of people who looked at him.

Why?

They were enamoured by his scent as he entered, although it wasn't unusual for a man to carry colognes and fragrances alike. Salen's appeared to be much more natural, as if he was infusing the rooms with the smell of sandalwood, lemon and (strange enough) leather. The pleasant smell of the earthy substances was enough to attract a single man to his chaise. He appeared to have had lecherous intent. However, Salen didn't give it away that easily as he looked at the man "Yes?" He blinked twice as he looked at him. His stare was somewhat locked into a passive-aggressive stance as his eyes would meet with his; the man would smirk back as they waged a war with each other's passions "I haven't seen you around here before..." He asked as he circled around the chaise, like a shark for a moment as if trying to catch his prey off guard.

Salen knew the type of game he was playing; it was obvious. He played those games too, although he was much better at it, compared to his techniques of seduction "Maybe you have, maybe you haven't... What's it to you; have you got a reservation you'd like to contend with? Get in line." He added as he looked away for a moment, knowing his reaction was taken back. Salen's confident moment had left the man stuttering for words "Why, I don't mean to offend you." Salen looked back at him and smiled, although it was very chameleon. The way he batted his eyelids twice made him seem innocent, but really there was a demon hiding in his mind. A demon that would manipulate a single man if he wanted to. He watched as the nobleman sat down beside him; Salen glared at him as he sat down "I see you've gotten in line. Well done. Give yourself a round of applause for annoying me even further..." The passive-aggression could be told from the tone of his voice. It was abrupt, defensive, yet seemingly sarcastic.

"Now... If you'll excuse me... I think its best that you'd find some other friends."

Salen could have any man or woman he wanted, but he was focused on the task; he took another champagne glass from the tray and sipped it softly; it wasn't until then his attention was turned to the dark hooded man in black formal leather boots. He seemed Sil'Noraian in complexion, yet tall, slim and much more porcelain, although it was difficult to tell underneath the dark attire he was wearing. His skin was the whitest of wax; it was the colour that decorated the whole entire house with wax figures, followed by the dark attire he was wearing. He was a dark horse to him and yet somewhat intriguing as he laid his eyes upon him. However, he was extremely defensive. He liked to play games, sooth his own desires.

Perhaps it was in Salen's fortune to get lucky.

Who knows?

He raised a toast to him with his glass of champagne as he nodded to him, hoping he would notice his advances.

[Degare]

TIMESTAMP: 18th Ash, 4619 / 20:30
NOTES: -

► Show Spoiler

Mood Board for Degare & his house

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The man stood still as a statue; his arms were crossed as he leaned against a wall resting one foot against it as he observed the stranger that had caught his attention. The unknown man set himself leisurely upon a nearby chaise and it appeared that it wasn’t just Degare’s attention he had caught. The approaching man he did recognize, though he wasn’t very notable– a lesser Veiran not currently known for anything remarkable. At least, not his present knowledge. Their interaction amused the elf. It was like a dance between two predators, though one was vastly more competent than the other. However, it did appear that the mystery man must’ve had something more specific on his mind, as he made a swift exit for himself when he realized the other man was actually trying to persist. Though his goal was ultimately unknown, he deftly grabs another glass of champagne and appears to toss his glance in the elven man’s direction.

’An invitation?’
‘For what purpose?’

Was accepting this advance a mistake? Would doing so be walking into a figurative honey trap? Maybe, but Degare was fairly notorious for taking carefully calculated risks, despite appearing to have wanton disregard for his own safety– and that of others. With slow, languid steps the tall elven mage makes his way over to this would-be companion. Making a quick stop to obtain his own glass, he raises a pale, graceful hand in kind as he makes his approach to match the other’s gesture. The dim flicker of the candles would provide brief glimpses of the shimmering filigree of Sil’noraian tattoos that snaked over his skin alongside the faintly visible signs of leaden veins. Lifting a hand, two elegant fingers move the scarf that had been obscuring the lower portion of his face. The hood he wore would still cast shadow over the features on the upper portion of his face, but at this distance, bright, reddened amber eyes would be visible.

“Care to enlighten me as to who you are? It’s not quite common for a face to escape my knowledge at an event like this,” his voice was low but smooth like velvet. There was a softness to it, but a keen listener would find these more demure tones somewhat off-putting given the ambiguity of the man’s intentions. Amber irises shift from the stranger’s face down his figure, moving at a slow, leisurely pace– he wanted the other man to be acutely aware of his gaze. After, his eyes flit back up to his face, though he was careful not to make direct eye contact. Doing so with a stranger was somewhat of a faux pas, Degare thought, as it implied a certain level of respect or trust he simply refused to give out freely. That, and of course…sometimes, eye contact carries with it unknown dangers.

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'Thoughts'
"Common Tongue/Speech"
"Raillen Tongue/Speech"

[Salen]

Salen glanced at the Veir who towered over him as his gaze followed the path in which the male would walk, although he did not seem phased by his presence as he lounged casually amongst the chaise, taking up all the room so no one could sit next to him. When the Veir reached his destination he smirked, before glancing another side-eye to another Veir whom he seemed to have attracted, just by being a mere ornament.

An object of desire.

Although, Salen was a man who would give consent before approaching, for any man who would touch without permission would either be stricken by a wrath of wordplay, or even the wrath of a fist. The Half-Sil'Norai didn't want trouble, but he would gladly dish it out to those who seem to cause it for him "Well... Two very interesting men, although one isn't as interesting as the other. I have to say one of you is the weakest link..." He stares at the other Veir as he shoos him away with a hand, before directing his attention back to Degare. The fragrant scent got stronger in his presence as it changed with the smells that Degare desired most.

His positioning was somewhat coy in front of him, although he did not engage in any acts that would divide suspicion. After all, it was a party, other Entente were watching for a moment to seize and scrap the power for themselves. Not that Salen cared, he hated the Entente but enjoyed playing games with them.

Psychological games.

"Sorry, I seem to attract the moronic goons over, forgive my brazen attitude. Although, I don't reveal my intentions to anyone." He smirked. It was somewhat disrespectful as he had his eyes on him the whole entire time. He sipped his wine as he swivelled the glass in slight circular motions "You have a nice party here... A very nice party indeed... I'll rate whatever service you have a solid ten." He complimented. It was hard to tell if Salen was being earnest or sarcastic, judging by the apathetic tone he had to his voice. It was like he didn't have a care in the world. Although, it could be his carefree attitude to approaching his assignment or even just purely being a chameleon.

For tonight he was one of them.

An Entente Veir.

[Degare]

TIMESTAMP: -
NOTES: -

► Show Spoiler

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The Ferrier found it deeply amusing how at home the other man appeared to be here, despite knowing that this man had never set foot in this manor before. Normally, people act a bit more reserved in a new setting, though it would be a lie to say he's not come across many who've acted like this before…just that it was significantly less common. When the other man dismisses his would-be suitor, Degare laughs with a sly grin.

At this point, the two men were only a few feet apart. Peering down at this would-be companion, Degare would notice a peculiar yet inviting scent. 'A rather unique cologne he must be wearing,' the elf thinks. It was a warm, inviting musk with subtle notes of particular flowers he'd always been partial to. Interesting how the other man had a scent that he was uniquely biased towards. Though he is striving to keep his face neutral, one would be able to tell from his lingering gaze the desire that had been planted within him.

Degare cants his head as the other speaks more directly at him now, an expression of interest being worn. "Can't say I'm surprised. Those who find themselves subject to their more innate desires would likely be drawn to you like moths to a flame," the elven mage speaks. An indirect compliment delivered with an impish smile and a smooth, confident voice. His red-amber gaze was focused on the other man's face, languidly drifting over each feature, though still making a point to not look him directly in the eyes. "My thanks for the compliments, though. All services are provided by members of House Socorro and our lovely valran," words said with a prideful smile, though he does neglect to mention any help that may be provided by lesser servants or folks who are perhaps lacking even more freedoms than that.

"However…I did notice your eyes on me. Though you may be loath to state your intentions, would you at least care to indulge me in at least one thing?" A question asked with a playful timbre to his voice. "That is…what interest of yours have I caught? I, at least, was not trying to stand out tonight." His facial expression at this point is oddly demure as he ends this sentence.

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'Thoughts'
"Common Tongue/Speech"
"Raillen Tongue/Speech"

[Salen]

Salen's eyes narrowed slightly as he smiled, charmingly; he was amused by his sudden and brazen way of dismissing a potential suitor. The fact is none could have him; even if they tried he would still be questioned to all kinds of emotions. He takes his work seriously, but yet there was always the feat of being a social chameleon. He fitted in perfectly within the rights of the pressures.

However, he was bedazzled by how the man approached himself. Was it the peculiar nature of his natural smells of orange blossom and lemon? There was no denying it, the fragrant scent was wafted through the entire room, it was harder to smell any other sort of perfume. Yet Salen sat there, looking at Degare; almost as if posing for a painting or a sculptor. He was a work of art as his features were flawless. His smirk widened into a grin as he laughed at the simple rhetorical wording of his actions. He was right, he was like moths to a flame, although his inner flame burnt hotter for a reason.

An act of social self-defense, it was not uncommon for the man to simply imply witty remarks and sardonic dry humor that he seemed to have entertained the guest of honor. Salen was heavily trophied that night, and yet didn't take kindly to other people spoiling the fun. He had a goal. That goal must be achieved. He smiled and laughed "Can you not blame me?" He said abruptly as he tried to maintain eye contact, wondering how uncomfortable he could make him. Salen's way of social sadism proved to work most of the time; it was knowing about a person that often made him more threatening, although he did not reveal his intentions.

"House Sorocco, you say... My, you're reputation is quite astounding for your stature" He smiled as he dished out another compliment; he was working the charms of the man like a chambermaid would clean his floors. Tidy, spotless and strangely tactful, although it was normal for Salen to provide a way for a man to feel good about him. He leaned closer as he looked him up and down "Maybe I'm just bored, tired... I'm just looking for someone interesting, yet extravagant and strangely grandiose this evening. Judging by the way you lay you're place out, you seem like a man dedicated to the arts... Am I not correct?" He laughed, his eyes would lock on him, like a predator watching his prey, waiting for an opportunity to strike.

It was the perfect time.

"Why not, sit down..." He suggested.

[Degare]

TIMESTAMP: -
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► Show Spoiler

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Though his head stays anchored in the same position, the Ferrier's eyes take note of the rather interesting position the other man had decided to take. It was as if he were posing for a painter. This man was definitely some sort of honey trap. To what end? For whom? For good or for ill, he could not answer these questions. It would ultimately be foolish to entertain this mysterious stranger given the fact that he was the one the other man appeared to have sought. If, in fact, he did have nefarious intentions…Degare would be putting himself at an unnecessary amount of risk if he chose to continue this conversation. Yet…on this evening, he didn't really care. Perhaps it was arrogance, or the false belief that in his own home he was safe, but ultimately, the mage did not feel at risk here, despite the myriad alarms that echoed in the back of his skull.

It was also quite evident the other man wanted to connect their gazes, though Degare still resisted doing this. Admittedly, it was tempting– partially because it appeared that his new companion wanted to. If there was an actual reason, the elven mage's natural curiosity itched to know…yet now simply did not feel like the proper time nor place. "I thought I was fairly unassuming tonight, to be honest," he says with a coquettish grin, "So really– my ignorance to your interest is quite genuine." After he says this, the other man continues. "My, the flattery is quite sweet," Degare replies, voice low and smooth. "...but to answer your question, yes. House Socorro is primarily a House of musicians, though we happily foster any family member's interests in the arts. The darker themes of the decor are more of a result of my parent's and my own tastes, but most of us are quite fond of it in general," he says with a soft laugh as he finishes speaking.

When the stranger floats the suggestion of sitting down beside him, the Ferrier's initial reply is a soft laugh as his eyes drift around the room. "Such a tempting offer…though I'm afraid a man of my reputation must refrain from getting too close, physically. At least in the presence of so many other eyes…" The way he speaks makes his interest obvious. His only concern is with the Candor– and it would be considered rather inappropriate for the two to sit in such close contact unless the other shifted his position at least some. "I would be happy to if you gave me a bit more space," he says with undercurrents of desire beneath his features.

Though as he finishes speaking, the taller man coughs. One of his hands moves up to his throat as he does this, taking a deep breath with a fairly large exhale afterwards. From both the cough and the exhalation do iridescent, coruscating ashes bloom from the mage. Completely harmless in this density, they would shimmer in the air and fall as if simple, docile faerie dust. The mage sighs a laugh, "Ah, my apologies. Bit of a side effect of my magic…but don't worry, it's entirely harmless," he clarifies with a warm smile.

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'Thoughts'
"Common Tongue/Speech"
"Raillen Tongue/Speech"

[Salen]

The male was strangely cautious of the male, perhaps this was a well thought of plan, yet he decided to remain persistent; he had to give him the perfect opportunity to distract him from the true task at hand. Finding that piece of cold-hard evidence to destroy. To clear his so-called mentor's name, after all his mentor had alot of secrets. Dark secrets. Secrets that needed to be long dead and buried within her quest for political power. However, she said it was for Brazim's interest. Was it truely though? Was she being deceitful in the hands of Brazim himself? Time will tell about that reveal. Salen raised an eyebrow at his rejected response as he sipped his wine in a rather coy and innocent way. His eyes narrowed with a lupine, sly look to them as he shrugged his shoulders as he listened further to the male, remaining quiet and polite to the subject until there was an opportunity to speak "Interesting, I'm assuming you're a musician yourself, perhaps you care to perform for me sometime. I quite like a minstrel himself" He said as he remained there, like a wolf resting from his prowl.

He wasn't going to give up at the last hurdle; he was a persistent and yet patient man with a seemingly great understanding of how to charm his way through a situation. He took another sip of his wine for a moment, before tilting his head laughing "When the night ages and everyone leaves, perhaps we can then... I don't mind waiting. I can be very patient when it comes to matters of privacy." He laughed before he looked over at another admirer who appeared to be looking for a much more predatory position. His smirk was lecherous, but yet Salen rolled his eyes as he slopped some of the wine from the glass as it was hurled over in the direction of the other man, making it look like as if it was an accident "Ops, oh my my..." The wine appeared to land on the approaching man's coat as the wine had stained his lovely white and golden attire "Perhaps, a little too much there... Sorry." He laughed.

It was clear it was done on purpose, knowing he had to pretend to be drunk for the occasion, after all he could not feel the same mundane effects when taking debaucherous substances such as drugs, alcohol and amongst many other things which excite the mind. The man appeared to glare at Salen as he walked off to tidy his attire.

That was a polite way to begone and plow yourself. He turned his attention to Degare and laughed "Sorry, I don't think I've captured your name... Do enlighten me." He said.

How many more moths would dare even come close to the fire?

[Degare]

TIMESTAMP: -
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Recovering from the buildup of ashes, Degare simply listened to the other man speak as he took deep breaths to clear the lungs. With each one, some amount of ashes would continue to be released, though to a lesser extent as time passes. It would've been clear from the time it takes him to do this that the ashes collecting within do genuinely make it hard for him to breathe properly at times.

When the stranger asks him a question, he responds, "Ah, I do. I play both violin and piano. I'm no savant but I am fairly competent at both, I think." The elven mage laughs a bit before he continues, "Oh? I could be convinced to perform for you, if you really wanted. Though if it's a more private setting you want, you could just meet me at my tower after the party dies down. It's near impossible to miss– through the garden between the main manor and the valran quarters." He floats this offer with a sweet, velvety timbre.

As Degare finishes speaking, another little moth flies up too close to the flame, resulting in wine being spilt on his attire. The elf giggles a bit, almost like a child, finding it deeply amusing how people just seemed to embarrass themselves in this stranger's presence almost by default. Plus, a little bit of mischief was endearing to the Veir– being prone to mess with others himself. When his new companion turns his attention back to him and asks for his name, he responds, "Ah– you may call me Degare. Current head of the house. Do you have something I may call you?" His voice was curious. He honestly didn't think whatever the other man would reply with would be a real name, but nonetheless he did need something to refer to him as.

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'Thoughts'
"Common Tongue/Speech"
"Raillen Tongue/Speech"