Re: Entry Hall
Carrick had never been much of a social butterfly - he was more of a death's head moth. It had been a while since he'd spent any time with his own kind, though, especially with other ancients, and the Mikaelsons were the very definition of ancient.
In the days leading up to the Mikaelsons' party he sent his most formal tuxedo to the dry cleaners and had one of his slaves polish a set of antique cufflinks and collar studs until they shone. He toyed with the idea of a pocket square in Sparta's traditional crimson, but chose formality over heritage and replaced with the more traditional plain white silk.
When he arrived at the Mikaelsons estate, the candlelight and soft classical music roused a certain wistfulness in him. Social life had been so elegant, once, before electric lights drove out the shadows and amplified music killed the sinuous voice of violin strings. It would be pleasant to return to those days, if only for tonight.
Carrick greeted his hosts in the hallway. "Ms Mikaelson. I don't remember daylight, but I'm still positive you would outshine the sun." He held out his hand for Klaus to shake.