savannah
you shine in this pitch darkness
that is the butterfly effect
He felt pitiful. An absolute wreck of a man. What the hell was Syn thinking - encouraging him to come to an event that would be held in such high regards as the Queen of Dusk's first 'official' event. Further more, a MASQUERADE BALL?! He was the definition of an antisocial hermit. He didn't interact with ANYONE, beyond his best friend, and now he was expected to attend a Ball. With lots of people. . . lots, and lots, and lots, and lots of people. It would be suffocating. it would be dastardly, horrible, disgusting. He did not want it. He wanted to hide away in the safety, the shelter of his work shop. While the others mingled like princesses and dukes on parade, he could be completing his most recent runic array! Instead, he was putting together a costume.
Masquerade ball indeed. Naturally, his best friend would demand he be in costume as well, which meant he was now working on carefully stenciling runes into the leather face mask, and transcribing the runes along the bottom of his cloak - a project he'd been working on for the last few weeks since Absynthe had decided he would be required to attend. The pastel and onyx mage finally turned to the mirror, staring at the mix match of colors his long mane displayed, pinks, and blues, ivory and ebony. It would be hidden beneath his cloak soon enough. But first thing first. He slid the mask carefully over his face, carefully focusing his magic on one rune, simply 'stick' that would hold it into place. The rune flared up, activating and he allowed his telekinetic abilities to drop, the mask now adhered to his face.
It was a simple thing, all things considered, white and covering only half of his face, leaving the other half distinctly open, those pastel freckles standing out against the pale fur of his base pelt color. That would change shortly. His mix match eyes remained bright, with the pink one staring out from beneath the mask, the blue one left on the open side of his face. The mask itself was simple compared to his rather flamboyant coloring, the sleek white extending out, where the edges flared away from his face in a shape that was distinctly that of a butterfly wing. The wing itself was where the simple look transformed into tiny drops of gems, clear quartz crystals that refracted the light - that were utilized more for their engraving properties. Again his magic flared up as each crystal had the rune inscribed upon it activated. "Obscure", "Disinterest", "Overlook" various runes meant to do what his normal cloak usually did - obscure his identity. Particularly since he was limited in his means of obscuring himself.
As he watched the image in the mirror start to distort, until it was hard for even he to find himself in the reflection, he deemed the job well done, his long mane now more non-descript in color, and his sleek draconic-like horns extending out, the bands and dangling gems replaced with silver and quartz crystal, allowing those horns to be on display, rather than obscured beneath his cloak this time. With his hair carefully pulled up and back, half hanging over his mask, and otherwise threatening to descend into chaos, he decided it was as decent as he would get.
Finally the cloak was slid over his shoulders, deep, rich, a velveteen black (that would likely make Alecto weep in envy - Savannah had allowed Absynthe to pick it out after all, so the quality was top notch this time). Along the edge, the runes had been activated a week prior, and now as it settled over his body, fog was being released from the ends of the cloak, produced by the rune that created the affect all along the edge. He stood before the mirror, straightening edges, as his long, leonine tail twitched, slipping from the shorter than he was used to cloak, and half coiling around his hip, small crystals braided into the mess of pastel and onyx colors visible in the long tail hair strands at the end of the lengthy tail.
It was finally at this point that he allowed himself to leave - to make his way from his little shop in Denocte, all the way to Terrastella, where he was already frowning as he entered the room. To many people, far too many people. The crowded around as if they're identity was only worth how many may recognize them. He practically bolted upstairs in a whoosh of black fabric and fog as he ascended to the balconies, his expression distinctly displeased, despite his cloaked face (after all his runes had been more based on obscuring his appearance, not hiding his feelings). He moved through the less dense crowds, fog trailing behind him from the edges of the cloak, as the Phantom like costume settled smoothly upon his shoulders once more. His gaze scans faces, searching out the familiar face of his best friend before finally sighing and merely approaching the edge of the balcony - hardly giving the painted (and fairly exotic in appearance) mare a glance as he passed by her to lean against the railing, and glare hard down at the group below. "Should have risked the ire, and chosen not to attend. This event is nothing more than a charade for the wealthy to flaunt their worth." He realized, speaking softly to himself with a shake of his head, and clearly disturbed by the realization.
"What a stupid event, I cannot fathom why others would find it entertaining, much less a 'must be there' event." He briefly cuts his gaze to the exotic mare who smelled of spices, sharp and borderline unpleasant to his nose, as if daring her to contradict him, before his gaze slid away from her again. He had been speaking to himself anyway. But already he was attempting to decipher the proper amount of time he would need to attend before he could safely make his get away.
"Speech"
Thoughts
@Fever
Notes: Have an odd little mage <3
