Rubbing Shoulders With The Plebs

Vandrad wasn’t entirely certain why he agreed to this job. Maybe it was the need for something different, maybe it was the decent amount of jewel that would be coming his way (even if he didn’t need it) or maybe it was an attempt to get out of his head. Ever since Desierto, ever since he had been kidnapped, chained up and sold into temporary slavery by Mercury, he had come just the tiniest bit undone. All of that had been just built up a continuously building pile of contempt for the woman, so much so that after he had escaped, he had only one path in mind; ending her existence once and for. But his rage had burned so bright, so high that day that he had lost time and when the finally reclaimed it and came to his senses, he found himself lying with the woman.

It was the worst case scenario in the worst case scenario. A man of his practice and stature having been so caught off guard by his emotions that he had lost himself and, apparently in it, had awakened some kind of primal fury that had changed drastically. And of all the people, why did it have to be that insufferable woman? All she did was make him furious and teach him just how little he cared for snarky comments. Yet he couldn’t hold her entirely in contempt either, could he? She had taken that job for the sole purpose of rescuing a boy from slavery – a boy that wound up being a Bellum native like himself. It hadn’t offered much in terms of jewel and yet she still had taken it. And after everything was said and done, she didn’t try and run away from him either. She stood her ground and prepared to take whatever punishment he dished out on her. It was a show of respect, albeit one lately earned.

Whatever the case, he needed a break. Apparently a special job had come up asking wizards to take part in a wedding ceremony. At first he had balked at the idea, as his first assumption meant he had to blindly marry someone. But after reading the finer details, he came to discover that he could simply attend a wedding and get paid for it. It wasn’t quite the challenging job he would normally take but it was something different and, hopefully, something that took him away from people he’d rather not see. Of course there was the stipulation that if he didn’t provide a partner, he would be paired up with one. There was no way that he was going to wind up there and find Mercury waiting for him, grinning that smug smile of hers. The chances were astronomical.

Rose Garden was a veritable wonderland of lights, sound and magical airiness. It honestly reminded him a lot of home, were it not for the mechanically constructed buildings that lined the pavement. If there were ever a place that seemed to perfectly mesh the cold, calculated machinations of machinery and the natural chaotic essence of magic, it seemed to be here. He was actually quite impressed with the design – not that he’d ever say that out loud or admit that to anyone openly. It was a bit too crowded for his tastes; people were bustling everywhere, leaving almost no area to move about. Apparently this city also doubled as an amusement part that children and adults of all ages could come and enjoy themselves. It was absolutely horrendous to be surrounded by this many people at once.

As he stepped out of the moving crowd and into an open area that was far less obstructive, he took a moment to adjust his tie. No one had provided a dress requirement for the event but he knew better to assume that it wasn’t formal. He’d gone out and purchased a deep crimson red suit to wear, adding brown dress shoes and a gray tie on top of a plain white shirt. The formality of it all definitely reminded him of home; having to stand around in royal balls and get togethers and pretend to rub elbows with long distance relatives. What an atrocious bore.

He pulled out the job posting again, reading over the details that had been relayed to him after his initial agreement. He was here to meet with someone named Beira. Of course they didn’t provide any kind of description. Scoffing, he shoved the paper back into his suit jacket and approached a table with a single woman sitting at it. She was a pretty enough woman; wearing a pale green dress that showed a lot more skin than most people were comfortable with. She had a certain kind of grace about her as she sat there drinking from a glass of wine. “You Beira?” he asked, stopping in front of her and crossing his arms.

Vandrad carried himself as a business first, pleasantries later kind of guy and his tone and stance had formed in such a manner that his ideals were obvious from the forefront. He rarely wasted time playing around and certainly never failed to show just how unpleased he was about any situation or person at a time. So indeed, as he approached his ‘date’ for the evening, as luck seemed to smile on him briefly if only to keep him from interviewing several single women at tables, he was probably not the picture of the ideal evening partner. One may have expected someone more attuned to being charming or pleasant – hell, they would probably just take nice. But whatever this Beira considered useful attributes to carry her enjoyment for the rest of the night mattered so little to Vandrad that he hadn’t even thought about them. This was a job and nothing more. And fate seemed destined to keep pairing him with women that liked to poke the metaphorical bear.

She addressed his tone right up front, seemingly amused at the situation. She pondered over his existence, apparently curious if he was hear to collect on her head or if he was, in fact, her promised date for the evening. "I am here because of the job and nothing further. The matters of your head remaining on your neck are your own affair… until they become mine.” He left that little tidbit out there for her. A woman boldly wondering if he’d come to attack her meant that she was wanted somewhere. Whether it be in Fiore or a nation beyond, she clearly had some kind of trail that hunters could follow. And by her way of offhandedly admitting that she’d done nothing ‘naughty’ recently, it seemed she may have earned whatever bounty there was. His train of thought on the subject paused suddenly as she spoke aloud her thoughts on him, calling him both short and old all at once, though apparently his physical definition fit whatever hopes she had. He snorted a small laugh and smirked down at her, unmoved by the blunt comments. "And I expected to find a woman with maturity and a decent sense of dress style. I suppose we’re both going to be disappointed this night.” The Prince of Bellum was nothing but honest to the point of bludgeoning. If that was how she wished to play it, he was more than happy to go along with it. It just meant he didn’t need to attempt sugarcoating any kind of manners for the evening.

As she rose to her feet and stood there, she placed a hand on her hip and asked the name he went by, even teasing him about the possibility of coming up with a nickname herself. "Vandrad. And yours is Beira,” he said, referencing her name once more and holding up the job sheet. "Though I guess I could have checked a bounty board and figured that out, if you’re to be believed.” He crumpled the piece of paper up and tossed it idly over his shoulder, no longer needing it now that he’d found his partner. Truthfully, a part of him mentally took her comments to heart and prepared a strategy in the back of his mind, just in case shit hit the fan fast. Casual as she appeared, there was the possibility that she presented an imminent danger to himself. Possibly others too, though the Prince cared very little about that. A few dead Fioreans was nothing to cry over after all.

Before they could continue the farce that was their date, a repugnant and rounded fellow came skittering over like a penguin on drugs. Words flew out of his mouth like water over a fall, pouring out as such great and uninspiring speeds that most of what he said went completely past Vandrad. In the man’s defense, the Prince had barely paid him any mind anyways – even with him coming up and deciding to join the conversation uninvited. He did ramble something off about the two of them having ‘better’ outfits for the wedding, completely covered by the company hosting the debacle. He sneered down at the man, eyeing him for the cockroach he was. He’d already bought one farce of an outfit for this ceremony already; now he had to put on a completely new one? Beira dismissed him quickly, though her remark about nothing wrong with her clothes earned her a small snort of amusement from Vandrad.

Yet the man persisted, claiming to have some kind of ‘clothing manifestation magic’ and assuming they were mages and for all intents and purposes, refusing to back off. While Beira may have held herself back from simply dashing the man to the side, Vandrad’s hair was already starting to bleach and magic energy was rushing to his clenched fist. He had every intent on sending the man soaring halfway across this circus of a city when Beira spoke up, apparently conceding to the pudgy fellow. So apparently this was happening then.

"Tsk,” Vandrad scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. The man seemed pleased, even going as far as to suggest that they could wear matching outfits together. Beira refused, just a second faster than the Prince. The last thing he wanted was to be caught wearing the same damn thing as her, no matter what it was. She continued, comparing Vandrad closer to her father than an actual date. It earned her a chuckle. "Believe me, woman; I’m not thrilled being paired with someone barely old enough to drink, let alone accompany me on this charade of a festival.” At the man’s incessant waving for them to come into the tent, she seemed resolved that her decision would only end in regret. "And if I wind up in something ridiculous, you’ll regret it for the both of us.”

This woman had a sharp tongue, he’d grant her that. Even in the mildest manner of threatening, she seemed completely unflapped by his tone and inclination. If anything, she seemed more amused than anything else. Well, at the very least he wasn’t going to have a dull evening. So long as she didn’t find ways to throw her nose into his business like certain other women seemed inclined to, he may even almost enjoy himself. Speaking with Beira was a bit like being back home – the courts of Bellum were almost as dangerous as any battlefield, with the weapons being replaced with tongues and word of mouth. One’s wit was the only ammunition you could carry and should you find yourself low on metaphorical ammo, you’d be slaughtered where you stand. She had some kind of background in proper etiquette though he could only imagine where, given her sheer outfit. Whatever the case, it seemed he was in for an evening of battling quips and retorts with the young lady.

Yet it seemed he’d already found a point of weakness in her. Though she had been the first to remark about his age, when he came around to throw it back at her, it hit hard. She stopped right where she was and spun to face him, the mosaic of elegance gone from her face as blood pumped into her cheeks. That was a sharp nerve he’d hit and for a brief moment, he prepared himself for a direct physical assault. But in a moment it passed, gone as quickly as it had come and she laughed the jibe off, commending him for his victory, while still managing to rib him over her perception of him as some kind of father figure. She’d set her defense there and if that was what made her feel comfortable, that was fine by him. He preferred the far more honorable jest of ‘Father’ over being called ‘Vandaddy’ any day.

Vandrad had remarked about regrets coming if he happened to wind up looking like a clown. Indeed, it had been directed at her at the forefront – she had been the one to agree, albeit reluctantly, to dressing up. But she caught it and gave him a shallow warning about making threats. He snorted in amusement. "Of course not. What kind of man would I be if I started making threats while I’m escorting you to this father-daughter prom business?” He could play against her defenses too, the man more curious to see just how much she could resist the ache of that particular nerve. But as he entered the tent after her, he got to watch a group of people nearly grab her and run her off to get changed. Ten minutes in and they were already being forcibly separated.

Ah well, not like he wanted to change with her or anything. A similarly numbered group came toward Vandrad but stopped the instant his eyes set themselves on them, his dark gaze bringing the parade to a halt. "Lay one hand on me and I’ll hang you all by the fabrics you use,” he said coldly. His message was received and rather than be manhandled, he was gestured towards the area prepared for him.

As he came around the corner, who was waiting for him but the fat, energetic penguin man again. Next to him was an older gentleman who looked more suited for a butler than a tailor. He was holding several bolts of multi-colored fabric, which he adjusted slightly as Vandrad entered the cordoned area. “I imagine you are quite excited to partake, hm?” the rotund man asked, searching hard for a positive answer.

He came up empty. "I’m excited to get this malarkey over with. Now get on with it before I change my mind and burn this entire tent to the ground.” The fat man shuddered and scurried out of the area, evidently done with dealing with clients for the moment.

The tailor seemed quite unruffled by the comments. Whether brave or stupid, he stubbornly stood there and took a gander over Vandrad’s form, humming and murmuring to himself. “I won’t be able to properly dress you unless you strip,” he explained, already pulling some of the bolts out from underneath his arms and placing them in the corner.

The Prince of Bellum growled softly but relented. He took off each article of clothing until he was standing there in his underwear, looking just as slighted as always. The tailor picked up each piece of clothing, folded it neatly and placed it on a nearby table. Once that was all set, he came around and stood in front of Vandrad, eyeballing him like a piece of meat. Gods, it was like the first him he met Mercury all over again – stared at like he was candy and it was feeding time. "Do you need a napkin, old timer? I can practically see your drool from here,” Vandrad snapped.

The tailor glanced up to meet his gaze for only a moment before he nodded to himself. “Alright, I think I have just the thing.” With that he pulled out a black length of fabric and whipped it violently around the Prince. All at once the cloth began to pull in towards him, encasing him in its comfort before it contorted and started to take a more defined shape. As his vision cleared, he glanced down to watch the last pieces of stitching formulate themselves over his body. “Voila!” The man said as he pulled the full length mirror over and turned it so Vandrad could see himself in it.

It was almost exactly like his other suit, just slightly more formal. In fact, it seemed that the tailor had wrapped a full tuxedo around him, of similar design as a groom might wear. He even had a small red bowtie to go along with it. With a sigh, Vandrad nodded, finding no reason to argue against it. The tailor nodded and shuffled out of the room, sneakily grabbing the Prince’s other suit and taking it with him. It seemed that Vandrad didn’t even notice, grimacing slightly at the sight of his tux once more before he turned and walked out of the makeshift room.

As he came out into the main area, he found Beira walking – no, shuffling – her way out of her area. They’d dressed her in a tight-fitting red dress that still didn’t leave much to the imagination. The Prince of Bellum snorted and smirked at her. "Oh good, now I know if I happen to blow this place up in annoyance, the Rune Knights will have no problem catching you as you try and waddle an escape,” he shot her way before chuckling. "Apparently they thought you were joking about matching us,” he said, gesturing to his bowtie and her dress.

She accused him of caring – what a notion! He snorted loudly at the mocking though, still smirking as he met her gaze. Beira continued her outrageous showcase of thoughts, calling him a grumpy old bore and assuring him that if the Rune Knights were to come after them, she would not be lacking in the means to defend herself. She then proclaimed in faux surprise about how he would simply leave her – apparently a maiden – behind to deal with the consequences of his own actions. "Well I would hope a woman of your apparent capabilities could hold her own. Maybe I’d simply leave you behind to see if you could survive. You claim that you could summon up the ability to move hastily should certain circumstances arise; I think I’d very much like to see how you move.” His smirk deepened a tad before pausing, his brow knitting together. Wait, was that… some kind of flirty comment? Where in the actual Hell did that come from? "In combat. I would… be interested to see you move in combat,” he quickly clarified. Damn you Mercury – even her mindset had rubbed off on him a little.

Putting aside that nonsense, he addressed her attention to their matching apparel; her dress and his bowtie. She was less than enthused, remarking about the peasants ‘not listening these days’. An odd turn of phrase that further deepened his conclusion that she had some sort of royal training or upbringing. He nearly missed her compliment to him over the red suiting him, his face contorting in surprise at the comment. Even more surprising was the fact that she didn’t think the red suited her. Against his better judgement, seemingly knowing it was a woman’s introspection brought to the surface, he opted to speak up. "Nonsense. Though it may not match your hair, it does highlight your eyes. Makes them a bit deeper, if no less dangerous,” he told her slowly, taking a moment to meet her gaze so she knew he meant it. After all, it was unmannerly to let one’s date sulk, even temporarily. As much as compliments didn’t usually come to him outside of combat, this one he deemed… acceptable.

It seemed they were one of the last ones to finish dressing, as the other tailors, assistants and guests had already departed outside. While she mused over the idea of having to go out and partake in the events, she felt it far more appropriate than to stay inside the tent with him alone, should anyone think something scandalous was occurring. He snorted but didn’t deem the comment worth building upon and was about to start walking when she, surprisingly, held out her hand to him. He glanced at it and then at her, a puzzled look overwriting his features as he wondered what the hell she was on about. It seemed she was fully committed to this whole ‘date’ scenario. It took a lot of mental fortitude to force the blood from rushing to his cheeks as he reached out and took her hand in his, a gesture that was modest and civil. It wasn’t the first time he’d had to escort a lady through a similar event but usually that required her to take his arm. Holding hands was so… personal.

As they exited the tent, they found a raucous crowd awaiting them. Hoots and hollers and chants echoed throughout the area as a crowd had gathered around a single spot. "Were I to guess, I would assume that is the dance floor. It’s fairly customary at the more… civilian of weddings.” Though the Prince of Bellum had never personally attended a wedding that wasn’t some chic and elegant ball, he’d heard enough from other people to know what to expect. As they came to the very perimeter of the dance floor, he glanced down at the shining and magically imbued tiles. Apparently this was some kind of specially enchanted floor that gave people the ability to… what? Dance slightly better than normal? The commentator made it sound so simple but frankly, even with magic spells, moving against one’s body wouldn’t succeed in becoming a professional. Vandrad scoffed at the very notion, content with staying outside of the floor. Beira, however, was having none of it and began to pull away from it, apparently wanting to be as far away from it as possible.

But before she could haul away with him in tow, someone within the crowd had given her a push. The Prince of Bellum wasn’t honestly sure if some stranger had given her a tap or if she had stumbled in her hasty retreat and wound up going forward but there she went. And in a moment of compassion for the poor resistant woman, Vandrad had reached out to try and keep her going any further onto it. Unfortunately, doing so pulled him off balance and he, too, wound up stumbling onto the floor. Immediately his legs felt livelier, imbued with magic and rainbows and all the disgusting things people thought of when they danced, probably. His body moved on its own, gliding up to Beira and taking her in his arms so that he could, against his will, give her a proper dance. It wasn’t the kind of dancing he was used to – he had been raised with ballroom dancing practically since he was out of the womb. This was far more… intimate, more loose and jerky rather than tight and flowing. He would have much preferred if it was some kind of instrumental tune playing if he had to choose.

"Damn this stupid – OW!” He had started to blast the mechanism when her foot solidly found his, stamping on it. "The hell is wrong with yo – oof!” Her body seemed to be dancing against his – a hurricane trying to be contained and refusing to be so. "Enough of this insanity!” Vandrad hissed as he regained a moment of composure within his feet. He slammed the foot down with such force it cracked the tile he stood upon, resulting in the entire device shutting down. A cavalcade of annoyed and disheartened sounds came from the crowd and other dancers as the commentator announced that someone had gotten too excited and caused a problem. As the announcer explained that they would have the problem fixed in a brief moment, Vandrad took that opening to grab Beira by the hand and haul her off the floor before they made even bigger fools of themselves.