A Night To Remember

Mythal’s entire understanding of Serilda – no, his entire life in fact – was going to get a lot more interesting in the waning hours of the day. He obviously didn’t know it yet, as he was practically still at the beginning of it. He looked at the doorway where Serilda had been dragged out of and couldn’t help the small snort of laughter that came from his nostrils. In an ironic way, it was actually quite funny. He glanced back at the general as he continued to try and take the bright side of things and Mythal simply shrugged. “I’m sure it’ll be fine. But yes, booze will make it better,” he admitted, chuckling a bit to himself.

After that, the general explained exactly what getting fit for a suit would entail and frankly, it sounded a lot less painful than he expected. The tailor apparently used magic to size and formulate the clothing to the right body, making his anxiety of being touched practically disappear. He nodded and followed the man, his hands finding their way into his pockets as they went. Down they went, moving into a lacrima-lift and riding it down to the bottom most floor. There a middle-aged man met them, looking about as posh and elegant as a man could. He wore a full suit that was prim and proper, his silver white hair was combed back in perfectly straight lines and his thin but poignant glasses fit his nose bridge without the slightest hint of misbalance. He met them both, taking the time to shake Mythal’s hand and look over his skin. He commented on its roughness, idly making mental notes about what he must have done for work.

Ironically, he was fairly on point. But conversation wasn’t the man’s strong suit nor was it Mythal’s so rather than chat away, they got right to work. Mythal was asked to stand on a small pedestal where he could easily move about. The God Slayer did so and before he was even set, tape measures were flying through the air and wrapping around his limbs. His body was coiled by the tapes over and over again, causing him to gag, cough and inhale sharply each time one tightened just a bit too far. As he was abused, the tailor spoke the measurements out loud to… well, he wasn’t sure who at first. But then, out of the corner of his eye, he could see clothes flying out from a vast closet and floating in front of him, while the man picked and banished. When he found a piece he felt he could work with – a bright white suit jacket, a gray shirt and black pants – he flicked his wrist and closed the closet door.

He moved his hands like a conductor in front of an orchestra, every small hand gesture perfect and precise. Instruments from pins, needles, scissors and threads flew about him as he stitched before him without need of any device. Mythal was honestly amazed by the sight; he’d seen a lot of magics before but nothing so… interesting and metro. When the final thread was snipped, the tailor waved his hand and the clothes moved over to a hanger, perfectly lining themselves up onto the metal bracket so not to get wrinkles. Then the tailor shooed Mythal off to the dressing room, to put it on. As the God Slayer asked if he was checking to see if it fit, the man snorted and boasted that he knew it would fit.

Funny thing is, he was right. Mythal slipped out of his clothes and as he put on each part of the new outfit, he was more than surprised that it fit perfectly. There were no gaps or tight spaces – it was like everything was in its place. He buttoned the shirt all the way up, though it was lacking a tie and walked out, asking what kind of tie he was going to pair with it.

“Oh Christmas, have I got to do everything for you?” The tailor asked, rolling his eyes as he walked over. Before Mythal could even protest, the man snapped off the buttons that brought it all the way up. It now was open enough that the small passage between his pectoral muscles could be seen.

“Whoa!” Mythal said, taking a step back. “I thought this was a ball.”

“Honey, clearly you’ve never been to a Minstrel ball. The whole daring, mysterious rogue aura you have going for you is working but we need to make it pop. We need you to show that you know there are rules and you don’t give a damn.” As he finished up that though, he glanced at Mythal’s hair and sighed. “Speaking of, we can’t let this flabby, limp thing just hang like that.”

“What are you talkin’ ab-…?” Before Mythal could finish his thought, the tailor reached over to a side table he didn’t even see come floating in. His hand dipped into some hair wax and he quickly rubbed it between his palms and fingers. Then before the God Slayer could protest further, the tailor’s hands went into his hair, pushing it back, forming it and styling it. It was over before he could even say a thing.

“Mmm there we go,” the tailor said, nodding approvingly. He reached forward to pop Mythal’s collar a little more, taking a long glance down the opening of his shirt as he did so. “Now the ladies will be whispering about you all night. Or men. I know I certainly will,” he finished with a poignant wink.

“Uh… thanks but I came here with a friend…” Mythal said softly, trying to understand what had just happened to him.

“Oh, don’t worry. I’m discreet.”

The general stepped in then, having never really left the room in the first place. He hurried Mythal away, commenting about important business before the ball began. There was no important business but the general was helping Mythal get away from an awkward situation, having clearly read more into the God Slayer’s relationship with Serilda than either one of them had. There was not much to do so the general offered Mythal the opportunity to spend some time walking the grounds before the ball began and he would send someone to retrieve him when the introductions were bound to begin. And so he did, opting to find the most secluded places he could. He was bound to be around a lot of people come evening.

And so he was. The general had snuck him in early, so he wouldn’t have to deal with being introduced. That would just be downright mortifying. He found himself near the kitchen until the place had filled up and it was quite literally filled to the brim with people. Once he was able to step out into the crowds, many of their attentions went to him. Indeed, just as the tailor had gleaned, many of the women and a few of the men let their gaze linger on him, whispering to one another about the roguish man near the bar. The whispers stopped, of course, once the nobles began to arrive.

Mythal had just gotten his first drink; something smooth but weak to just dull his anxieties a bit. He heard the introductions for the Musketeer ladies that had whisked Serilda off and turned to face the door, fully expecting to hear ‘and guest’ with it. But none came and the Voidwalker wasn’t with them as they descended. His brow furrowed and he looked around, wondering if perhaps she had snuck in as well. He had pulled the glass to his lips when the announcement came and what a robust title it was. The booze exploded out from his lips in a fine mist as he let out a small spit take in shock. Heiress?! She hadn’t said anything about being an heiress? His eyes twisted back to look up the stairs and… the panic stopped, if only for a moment.

Gods she was stunning. The dress they had gotten her for her far more suited for a nightclub than a regal ball but then again, he’d been told these people adored people of scandalous nature. Her hair was down and over her shoulders, wonderfully crimped and curled. The sleek black dress did not leave much to the imagination for her chest and gave a length view of her legs too. His breath caught in his throat for a long moment before awareness reared its ugly head and smacked him. But even then, he was still at a loss for words.

Heiress?

Minstrel	Fairy Tail
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