*having just claimed a bit of floor near the buffet table, looks up in surprise as the lights come down*
*watches as faceless ladies and gentlemen exchange coy glances from the safety of disguise, as those already coupled instinctively draw closer to one another, as the bright and dazzling glare virtually fades into shadow and bold colors and sounds mute and blur and hush*
*before he realizes what he's doing, gulps two glasses of champagne in rapid succession* *gradually becomes aware that his legs are propelling him toward your table, where he can do nothing but watch helplessly from inside himself as he comes to a halt before your companion, silver on sable and, he prays, little more than a wraith*
*extends a hand to her, his voice barely discernible as anything above a whisper but utterly vulnerable, all the same* Will you dance with me?