w (heir) wrote in repose, @ 2019-12-14 00:22:00 |
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Entry tags: | *narrative, damian wainright |
Narrative: Damian W
Who: Damian Wainright
What: Compulsory attendance
Where: A gala in the Capital
When: Nowish
Warnings/Rating: None
There was a predictable itinerary to events such as this gala. Damian had not attended many, but he had observed countless such proceedings in preparation. One was expected to stand about, in attire intended to announce one's wealth and social standing—no, not announce. Boast.—Then, as men and women moved about with learned inconspicuousness to offer up drinks and hors d'oeuvres, one was then intended to 'mingle' and 'rub elbows.' There would be a time for dinner. Perhaps there would be an auction. That remained to be seen. But, otherwise, the full intention seemed to be simply to be present, as if such was an announcement (or boast) in and of itself. Damian found the affair boring. He had dressed the part only just and he did have a flute in hand. But, the conversations were formularized and dull. The champagne tickled his nose unpleasantly. And he did not partake in the hors d'oeuvres as he did not eat shrimp. This left him with much time to himself, and a latitude to observe the space and the people in it. This was how he came to see a man—more a boy, truthfully—moving through the space with a different intent than those around him. He was not present to be present. He had some directive. Damian spectated from afar, his green gaze following pale head through the throngs. The boy was pretty, he assumed. The accepted conventions of such tended to be lost on him to a large degree. But, intellectually, he could see it. The fairness of his skin, hair, and eyes—all highly valued. He had a face Damian would have described as cherubic, if he described faces in any specific way at all. He could see the way the boy's inoffensive smile put those around him at ease. (Damian's own visage tended to have the opposite effect.) It was careless of him, but in the moment it took him to hand off his untouched champagne to a foot-soldier in the army of waitstaff, he lost sight of the anomaly. It had, perhaps, departed. With a sigh, the man was forced to turn back to the gala at large. Of course, it would only be too simple to reacquire his coat from the concierge and espy the boy upon the street. He considered this for a moment.—Once he had decided to do so, Damian found he was only too glad to leave the event and its constraints that chafed at him. Soon, he would arrive in Repose and he could bring his own directive to fruition. In the meantime, though Grandfather would chastise him for the distraction, it would hardly matter if he opted out of the rest of the evening. Alas, however. By the time he had left the building and sought out the interloper among the crowds of holiday shoppers and so on, he only managed to catch sight of a head of pale blond hair as it ducked into a taxi cab. By reflex, he committed the taxi number to memory, but it would not do to pursue the distraction further. Instead, Damian turned upon his heel to call upon the valet. As he walked past a group of huddled homeless, he tossed them a bill too large to be easily broken and sighed. |