The fact that she gets to keep her nickname isn't lost on me, keeping close to him as we enter the hall. Verando gives his name to what I would consider the master of ceremonies."So, is this some sort of Court...? What's the plan of action?"

Leading me into the massive room, it's overflowing with people, though there is minimal seating. The lights are slightly dimmed, accompanied by giant chandeliers and gentle instrumental music playing in the background. He snags two glasses of an alcoholic beverage in a tall glass from a passing waiter and hands me one.

"It's a benefit, I believe. I honestly didn't pay attention well enough to the invite, Marisol just told me I had to come. Senators and some political figures are here today to raise money to bring that 'woman' over here-- the one they claim has mystical powers. Her funding went dry since you came along. Imagine that."

I frown at him, despite the pleasure the pride in his voice brings me. "Oh, so you endorse her, now?"

Making a face, he takes a swallow of his drink. "No, but I want to see who does and start making connections. This doesn't add up; none of it does. I've been following your tour; none of the changes you make are sticking, and I think something must be reversing it."

"Or someone," I mutter, speaking more on myself and my lack of motivation.

"Also, your group planted crops so close to winter? At first, I thought this government was evil, but actually, it would appear they're just naive."

Sheepishly, I trace my finger over the rim of my glass. "I forgot about winter..." Swallowing my entire glass, I ignore his surprise and hand it off to a passing tray, snagging another to calm my nerves. Had he ever made me this nervous before? 

 My body was sore, the suit was rubbing against my bruising and scrapes-- I would need more than a single glass to get me through this.

Pursing his lips, he tilts his head to catch my eyes.

"Don't you come from a farming nation?"

I consider getting offended, but I know him well enough to summarize that he's teasing me. It surprised me how out of step I felt with banter since losing him; nobody questioned me, nobody prodded at my insecurities like he used to.

Letting it go, I managed to smile; he was attempting to 'make nice' and not ruin the evening with his sour mood. However, I find it difficult to look past his ravishing appearance, and catching myself staring brings on a whole new wave of embarrassment. Ending it had been my idea; I had been the one who hadn't gone back for him, so I should feel no claim to the glorious man before me.

The more awkward I feel, the more I drink.

With each drink, my guard begins to slip. Between talks of strategy and my current plans, I could very well assume that I was part of his quest for intel. Just as he was hoping to charm the investors, he was allowing me to spill everything for him while he gave me only casual commentary.

I take a step closer to him, admiring the way he looks so comfortable as he explains his intention to lure the mutant felines back into the public eye to take pressure off Marisol's team, which was still actively helping the needy in the underground.

The drink makes me sway. I hadn't eaten nearly enough today, and I wrapped my arm around his, pressing my cheek into his shoulder to absorb the warmth. The scent of him meets my nose, making my pulse quicken.

"Why do I feel like you're letting me get drunk?" I begin, touching his arm, earning an expression that I can't quite read. "What are you hoping to do with this information you're extracting from me?" 

It felt too good to touch him, and I marveled at his firm body under my fingertips. Before my buzz, I would have been worried about sending him the wrong impression, but now I couldn't stop imagining exactly what he might have done to me. Verando is stiff under my touch, as if he wishes to step away from me, but it might not bode well for our public persona if we were to avoid each other. 

"Can you control yourself?" He exhales under his breath. 

"I'd say I'm entirely in control, Mr.Mercer." I retort with a smirk, "I'm just commenting on the fact that I've been pouring information to you and getting very little in return. If you're going to interrogate me, I'd rather be fairly compensated." I move to take another sip of my drink, and Verando places his palm over the mouth of my glass.

"Perhaps you shouldn't find yourself inebriated so soon into the evening, yeah?"

He was so close to me, my eyes focused on his lips, his voice music to my ears. "Trust me, I'm not drunk."

"I'm following your rules." Verando reminds me firmly, raising an eyebrow. 

"Fuck the rules." I exhale, stretching onto my toes. 

"Mr.Mercer!" A voice greets, and I sigh.

The large, round man approaches with his wife, and Verando smiles at them, a forced and uncomfortable expression on his face. She was right; he does need help. "Good evening; so glad you could make it with all the weather."

"I wouldn't miss it."

"Oh, I always forget you have that beautiful accent, Mr.Mercer, speak for my friend here." The man motions to another couple who make their way over. "I can't decide if I absolutely love it or find it... Incredibly odd. You sound like you're from one of those old movies!"

"Who trained you?" His wife asks.

"Beg your pardon?" Verando raises an eyebrow.

"Your accent, darling!" The woman botched the pronunciation, I wasn't the only one who was partaking in the alcohol. She waves him off, giggling at herself. "Who trained you? I'm quite fond of the 'London' accent myself! I study with a speech instructor to get the hang of it; yours is quite good! It's a bit old-fashioned for me, if I do say so myself. You might want a refund; no one talks like that anymore, love."

I almost snort in my attempt at restraint, covering my mouth politely with the back of my hand as I see his attempt to keep me at arm's length begin to crack. Touching his forearm, I take a slight step forward to gain the forefront. "I assure you, madam, it's quite natural. Mr.Mercer is from Europe, though he actually spent much of his life in Spain."

I drop the tidbit of information, which brings on a small applause as if being exotic was a remarkable feat. The woman makes an amused sound, and the small group that's gathered nods in approval.

"Spain?" The man questions us, looking over the top of his glasses. "And in Spain they speak... what would it be, Spanish? I imagine that must have been difficult for an English fellow. "

"He's quite modest, Mr.Mercer speaks four different languages, perhaps even five?" I insist, earning another round of infatuation from the small crowd.

"You're too kind." He sighs at me.

"What a 'charming' fellow!" The man chuckles at his cleverness. "Where are you from, Mr..."

"Matesscu." I resist the urge to bow, so I opt for a nod, extending my hand for him to shake.

"So polite and exotic, as well, I see you have an accent as well. Are you an acquaintance of Mr.Mercer?"

Am I? I offer Verando a glance, and the gray-haired man softens his expression slightly. "He's my fiancé when he chooses to be. I'm afraid he's quite coveted; I claim him when possible, but we haven't gotten to spend much time together recently."

The group falls silent. "Your fiancé?" A woman insists. 

Verando shrugs, and I try not to melt into a puddle of uncertainty and anxiety. I hadn't expected him to rebut my half-hearted claims with a proclamation. It was quiet permission, acceptance that if I was willing to throw away the rules, perhaps I was, too.  

"Well, congratulations! You know, I've been known to dabble in men myself-" The rounded man  snickers, and I turn a new shade of red as Verando flinches on his drink. 

The man's wife smacks him. "Jerry!" she hisses. It just brings an innocent chuckle, and I find this man is too happy for my taste. 

The announcer comes on the loudspeaker and calls for silence as they announce our arrival; I learn that Verando is a part of tonight's entertainment, and he's called away to perform—his hand presses against the small of my back.

"Stay where I can see you, careful not to indulge too much, everyone here is looking for a scandal. I'll be right back."

I feel something slip into the back of my pants, and when I reach back, I discover that it's a gun. Verando vanishes, and I'm left with the oddest people in the room, though it seems they're competing about who can say the most outlandish thing.

From what color I choose for my hair to my sexual availability, I find this isn't much different from a dinner party with Haryek. While I'm uncomfortable with the way they stare and stand too close, the venue was so much better than one from our own time. The alcohol was cold and the room chilled, now that Verando was gone I was able to notice just how cold I was. 

His warmth had radiated through me, soothing the throb in my aching body. I shift uncomfortably in the dress shoes, stylish footwear had done little to change it would appear. As the patrons surrounding me mutter through conversation, I cast my gaze over the room and note that I was not the only one with startling red hair, though my distinct color couldn't be neared by simple box dye. 

There was a variety of hair colors, from blue to green, splashes of red, and even a few women who had opted for gray. Anything to stand out in the haze, I would assume. The wealthy in this era were just as eccentric as those in mine, and if we had had the capability, I'm sure I wouldn't have been the only person with an unusual hair color. 

 By glass six, despite counting my drinks, I find I'm a bit more intoxicated than I genuinely wanted to be. The lights dim as the room becomes quiet as they push out a piano, and Verando comes out to greet the crowd. A flood of warmth settles in my stomach when I see him, and I press the rim of the glass to my lips as I shudder at the sensation. 

Jerry stands beside me, "Such a beautiful voice that man has. Do you know what implant he got to sing?"

I blink, forcing myself out of the depths of depravity. "Implant? He's a natural singer, always has been."

"Oh." Jerry hums, stunned.

"Is that a bad thing?" I retort shortly, stopping myself from indulging any further in my alcohol. I'd hit my limit, and the effect the champagne was having on me was starting to go to my head. The world felt fuzzy around the edges, heat rushing to my cheeks, I loosened my tie slightly as I wondered where the chill from before had gone. 

"Romanian, you said? It must be different there, but no, it's just odd. Nobody can sing anymore; all this music you hear today is centuries old. Frankly, I'm surprised you don't know that. People haven't sung in about three hundred years, I'd say. I'd say that's why Mr.Mercer is very popular; it's the first time people have had a live concert in a long while. Such a treat! Some people can get an implant, but it doesn't quite sound like this."

The song choice is a slower number, and it appears to be about loss, perhaps even a breakup.

The words begin to sink into me, and I watch this man on the small stage, remembering my wedding night when he sang me a similar song.

Jerry bumps me gently.

"Wonder who these songs are for? They're all like this, you know, pretty popular with the ladies, but I guess they'll be disappointed to hear he's gay. Is there a juicy story to be had?"

I pull myself back out of the depths and clear my throat, pressing the glass against my temple to soothe the swimming feeling. "Um, no. We work a lot, so we aren't always together. I can't imagine he wrote these himself, either."

"Hmmm.. so these aren't about you? A mistress, perhaps? I've seen him with a woman before? Is it an open relationship? Do you both happen to be.. Swingers?"

"Swingers?" I chuckle, trying to think through the fuzz. "Never heard of it, nor would I picture Mr.Mercer with a woman-- maybe if she had giant tits. No, he likes men. Which I am. A man."

Jerry raises an eyebrow and chuckles back. "So you are. You don't come to these often, do you?"

"What is in these drinks?" I sigh, it felt like it was hard to breathe, the heat rising to my throat. "I don't... I-" Hesitating, I stop myself, I almost told him that we weren't even together. "I've got a lot going on that prevents me from coming to these sorts of events. I'm a King, you know, very complicated schedule."

Surprise fills the group, and I quickly place my hand over my mouth. I'd over-shared.

"A king? In Romania, you said?"

I feel a hand on my arm, glancing over my shoulder to see Verando. "Hi, we were just talking about you." I put my arm around his waist, dragging my nose against his shirt as I turned to face him. It was like a shot of morphine to my senses. Jerry tipped a glass to us.

"Mr.Matesscu was just telling us that he's a King from Romania?"

Verando stiffens and gives me a stern look. I shrug and giggle back at him. "I've been bad." Hanging my arm around his neck, I pull him to me, and he quickly straightens to avoid my lips. "I think I was talking too much. What is wrong with these drinks? Is there somewhere we can go? To talk? Privately?" 

Sliding my hand between us, he quickly grabs my wrist with a heavy exhale of frustration. "For the love, Nicolas," Verando mutters under his breath, before turning his attention to the small group of observers. "You'll have to excuse him, it's been a stressful couple of days."