“Good job, everyone,” Leandriel praised as his team landed after their final flight test, a prolonged battle against a flight of storm drakes.
Beside him, Falco immediately collapsed to the ground in exhaustion, his teammates following suit with various levels of grace.
“How are you still standing?” Dariel complained, lying on his side so his angel wings would not get in the way.
“…Did you run out of stamina potions?” Leandriel asked.
“We’ve been fighting storm drakes for twelve hours. Of course we’re out of stamina potions,” Allia grumbled.
“I think I’d throw up if I tasted another one of those things,” Falco groaned.
“…” Leandriel slowly withdrew the stamina potion he had pulled out of his belt pouch and was about to offer the werefalcon. “Does anybody else want one?” he asked.
“How many do you have left?” Allia demanded.
Leandriel checked his inventory. “A hundred and forty-two.” He was taken aback at the incredulous looks everyone shot him.
“What’s your stamina?” Dariel demanded.
“Three hundred thirty-seven. Yours?”
The answers ranged from an astonishingly low 132 for Falco up to 167 for Dariel.
“…That is barely enough to maintain basic flight. How have you been keeping up with our schedule?” Leandriel asked, stunned.
“By guzzling stamina potions,” Dariel answered dryly. “Which had the unfortunate effect of making it hard to increase base stamina.”
“‘Let’s volunteer for the flight project,’ he said. ‘It’ll be fun, he said,” Falco grumbled. “Never again, Alexei!” he shouted at the sky, presumably to the developer he most closely partnered with.
“Uh, your dragonborn avatar is eventually going to need flight testing, you know,” Dariel pointed out.
“And as I’ve told Alexei many times, I won’t do it unless I get to haul my scaly butt around with magic.”
“Guys,” Leandriel said. “You do realize you do not have to actually drink potions for them to work?”
Falco stared blankly at him. “What do you mean?”
“Well, drinking them is more efficient because none is lost, but skin contact is sufficient.”
“Oh for [bleep]’s sake!” Falco snatched the stamina potion Leandriel was still holding and dumped it over his head, looking revitalized as soon as he did so. “I want a new dev! Why do you get one that actually tells you useful things?”
“Have you tried PMing your dev instead of yelling at the sky?” Dariel asked dryly, accepting the second stamina potion Leandriel took out.
“No way. That gives him an opportunity to reply,” Falco said, seemingly content with the paradox of wanting to be told useful things while not having to talk to anyone.
Leandriel cautiously extended a third stamina potion to Allia, not wanting to encourage her attentions but wanting to avoid obviously excluding her from the group.
He winced internally when she flashed him a bright smile. Time to escape. “Gentlemen, lady. I have an engagement tonight that I should prepare for.”
Falco was the quickest on the uptake. “You have a date to the Yule Ball!” he accused. “Is this the reason you’ve been working us like a slave driver this whole time?”
“Absolutely,” Leandriel confirmed. He winced again when Allia’s head rose sharply in surprise.
“Who is it?” Dariel asked, as big a gossip as everyone else on campus.
“No one you know,” Leandriel said evasively.
“Fey-Fey!” Magic said helpfully from his shoulder.
Clearly, he was not escaping hastily enough. “Goodbye.” He launched himself into the air and flew off at an almost sprint, pretending not to hear the shouted questions behind him.
***
Fey sat stock-still in her stylist’s chair while the makeup wizard applied fake eyelashes. The lack of movement was entirely involuntary, as she was under the influence of the wizard’s paralysis spell.
She messaged Sirena:
That particular reflex was sending furious signals to her eyes to blink as the stylist applied the lashes, followed by various types of eye makeup, and the inability to do so was as uncomfortable as an unscratchable itch. When the stylist finally removed the paralysis, Fey blinked so many times in a row that her eyes became sore. She carefully resisted rubbing her eyes; it would be her worst nightmare if she ruined the makeup and had to have it applied again.
After both hair and makeup were done, the wizard applied a ‘dragon-proof’ preservation spell to them both.
“It’s actually dragon-proof,” the stylist assured her. “If a dragon came and incinerated you right now, your hair and face would fall to the ground, completely intact.”
“That’s not disturbing at all,” Fey said ironically. “On the other hand, having invincible hair is a step towards my childhood dream of becoming an anime character, so yay!”
She paused. “Wait a minute, can you apply the same spell to equipment?”
The stylist winked. “It will last for twelve hours. Have fun!”
Note to self: Never fight a makeup wizard.
Dressed and coiffed, Fey, Sirena, and Mimi made their way to the conveyance that would take them to the nearest teleportation gate and then to the ball.
Fey stared at the golden carriage pulled by four matched white horses waiting for them. “Where did you manage to get this from?” she asked blankly.
“I have my ways,” Sirena said mysteriously, clambering into the carriage before anyone could ask her exactly how much of the party’s money she had spent for this ball.
Confined by her corset and high-heeled shoes, Fey required significant help from both Sirena and Mimi to navigate the carriage steps.
“Never again,” she panted (shallowly), exhausted by the short journey.
Sirena patted her shoulder. “Of course, my little masochist.”
Fey rolled her eyes. “I don’t enjoy pain, I enjoy complaining. There’s a difference.”
“Mmhmm…” Sirena agreed (without agreeing).
The carriage took off at a smart trot.
***
The Yule Ball was hosted at Cloudhome, a massive floating palace outside the celestial city of Skyhaven. Even the immense structure was insufficient to host the millions of players descending upon it for the festivities, so for the duration of the ball, the main floor of the palace was duplicated into an infinite number of “floors”, accessible by magical “elevators”. Players could choose to freely mingle in one of the hundred public floors, or create a private instance to enjoy the company of their friends.
Acting on Sirena’s orders, Blade had dutifully gone ahead and created a private instance for their party. He had personally had a rather boring day, finding random hunting parties to join while his regular party members cloistered themselves away in the name of beauty enhancement. He was looking forward to the ball being over and things going back to normal.
Especially his clothing. Blade tugged at the collar of his dress shirt and sighed. This was going to be a long night.
The sudden fanfare of invisible trumpets drew Blade’s attention to the grand staircase that led down into the ballroom. A graceful figure in green appeared and began her descent.
Sirena was halfway down the long set of stairs before Blade managed to pick up his jaw and close his mouth. The mermaid’s gown was a silky, flowing number in sea-foam green that perfectly complemented her skin and she glided down the stairs like the personification of a beautiful sea nymph. Her (blue) hair was left mostly untamed, with only a red starfish pin above her left ear. Silver sandal-like high-heeled shoes completed the outfit.
Blade walked forward to meet Sirena as she reached the bottom of the staircase. Her impish expression reassured him that it was indeed the mermaid who had baffled, dazzled, and shocked since he met her – all of those and more, but she had never bored him.
“Like what you see?” she asked teasingly.
“You look really nice,” he said honestly.
Sirena’s expression softened. Taking advantage of her elevated height (her heels were actually even higher than Fey’s, but she had way more experience at walking in them), she kissed Blade on the cheek.
The pair moved away from the staircase. The next to descend were the Feypets, looking adorable in little red bowties.
Amethyst led the charge, hopping exuberantly onto the landing before pulling herself up to the railing and sliding down the banister. Deciding that that looked like a fun way of getting to the main floor, the glooms followed suit.
The staircase was quite long and the smaller Feypets accelerated to quite the speed by the time they reached the bottom. Amethyst clearly had not considered her exit strategy, flying off the end of the banister and splatting loudly on the ground (*splat*). The glooms did various acrobatic flips before landing more gracefully on their feet while Sirena applauded enthusiastically and scored the attempts out of ten.
Boris descended in a more dignified manner, walking at a stately pace down the steps. In addition to his bowtie (which actually wasn’t little but appeared so compared to his size), his iron-gray hooves had been polished to a silver-bright shine.
On Boris’ back was Magic, the death angel mushroom having picked up enough self-possession from his new owner to not indulge in (as many) silly shenanigans.
“Oh, hi, Magic! When did you get here?” Sirena greeted.
“Hi-hi! We arrived two hours ago! Leandriel is very nervous,” the mushroom reported cheerfully.
Sirena laughed. “I’ll bet he is. Well, at least he’ll have company. Fey might actually faint tonight.”
“Why?” Magic asked curiously.
Amethyst piped (squeaked) up and thus began a lesson on corsets and the physiology of respiration.
Blade and Sirena jumped when Mimi greeted them from behind.
“Where did you come from?” Sirena demanded.
“Stairs,” Mimi answered concisely, the barest quirk of her lips showing her amusement at having snuck into the brightly-lit ballroom with her stealth skills.
The smile disappeared as she looked up to see the entrance of their final party member.
***
Leandriel tugged nervously at the sleeve of his already immaculate suit. In addition to being custom-made to his exact biometric scans, it was enchanted against tearing and staining, and would in fact make decent light armour for a level 60 player.
Not in the mood to deal with strangers, Leandriel made himself a private instance to wait in until Fey arrived.
He took a deep, calming breath when Fey messaged him with the ID number of her party’s private instance.
Leandriel made his way to the elevator/teleportation gate. “Nothing to be nervous about,” he said to himself.
“Nope,” Magic agreed cheerfully on his shoulder. The mushroom looked dapper in the red bowtie Lacey had provided.
“Right,” he chuckled. A final unnecessary adjustment to his sleeves and he stepped into the elevator.
Leandriel stepped out into a ballroom identical to the one he had just left, except for its additional occupants. A figure in a gown of the deepest purple turned to greet him and his breathing stopped.
Fey looked mysterious and delicate in her dark gown that set off the moonlit paleness of her skin. Her long hair was pulled back to reveal the graceful length of her neck, the smooth skin of her collarbones and shoulders. A waterfall of silky curls tumbled down her back to her waist. Her eyes looked dark and full of secrets he wanted to know, her lips soft and inviting.
The sensation of Magic hopping off his shoulder to greet Fey’s pets brought Leandriel back to himself. Grateful to his pet, he bowed. “Fey, you look even more beautiful than usual tonight.”
Fey sank into a curtsey in response to his bow, lips quirking at his compliment in a way that told him she did not really believe it. “Thank you. You look amazing. Where did you get this suit?”
“A friend designed it for me,” Leandriel answered, making a mental note to buy Lacey something extremely expensive for Christmas.
Noticing the purple accents on his collar and cuffs, Fey chuckled. “Hey, we match.”
“…What a coincidence.” Leandriel made a mental note to lecture Lacey on the morality of using employee resources to spy on players for personal reasons. He shifted the subject before his poor acting skills made the situation look suspicious. “Speaking of matching…” Leandriel pulled a mana blossom corsage from his pocket.
Fey held up her gloved hand so Leandriel could fasten the corsage to her wrist. It matched the tattoo outside her left eye perfectly, he noted with satisfaction.
Fey looked adorably flustered. “I didn’t think to get you a boutonniere…”
Leandriel smiled and pulled the matching piece from his other pocket. “Would you do me the honour?” he asked.
Fey took the mana blossom bud and carefully fastened it to his left lapel. He did not know why, but the small action made him inordinately happy.
He offered an arm. “Shall we?”
Fey laid her hand over his. “I really will need help,” she warned. “I can’t walk in these.” She extended a leg enough to show off a strappy, high-heeled shoe that indeed looked quite precarious to balance on.
“I will not let you fall,” Leandriel promised.
***
Despite Fey’s fears, the stairs’ shallow steps were designed with her type of footwear in mind and she was able to descend to the ballroom floor without spraining an ankle.
She focused intently on walking without tripping on her dress. The purely physical task was a welcome distraction from the ridiculous being beside her.
Fey breathed a (shallow) sigh of relief and looked up from her feet once safely on level ground—
Just in time to get a squealing hug from Sirena (*glom*). “I’m so happy for you!” she exclaimed. (The squealing continued telepathically in the background.)
Fey frantically tried to shush her (also ridiculous but in a different way) friend.
Sirena wrinkled her nose defiantly. “How do you know?” she asked aloud, not bothering to make the conversation private.
Fey glared a death threat at her friend. “If you think I can’t kill you while wearing this dress, think again,” she hissed through clenched teeth.
Undaunted by the fledgling ability, Sirena continued, “If you kill me, who’s going to be the maid of hon—”
“Amethyst, Interrupt!” Fey shouted.
Amethyst pushed off her bubble-arm and plastered herself to Sirena’s mouth.
Fey tugged on Leandriel’s arm and led the somewhat confused-looking angel out the exit to another elevator/teleportation gate located on the lower floor. “Let’s get out of here before she remembers she has telepathy.”
Leandriel looked somewhat bemused but willing to go along. “Where would you like to go?” he asked. “There are the public instances or we could go to another private one.”
Fey disliked crowds but the idea of being alone with Leandriel right now while he looked like that was disabling. Public eyes would force her into some semblance of normal behaviour. “Let’s go check out a public ballroom.”
The elevator accelerated and stopped as if taking them to a lower floor. The doors opened to a swell of orchestral music.
The lively ballroom gave Fey the feeling of a real ball. Players in costumes of every style and colour mingled and danced, glittering under the huge chandeliers. The murmur of a thousand conversations flowed under the music of the live orchestra. Extra rooms extended from the main ballroom with heaping buffets of food and nooks for conversation.
Even in such a varied crowd dressed in their finest, Leandriel stood out. Fey was fairly sure he would draw stares even without his enormous, white wings, but the appendages certainly helped him draw stares faster.
Leandriel did not appear to notice the extra attention, again offering his arm to escort her onto the ballroom floor. “Would you care to dance?”
The orchestra was playing a waltz. “I don’t know ballroom dances,” she admitted.
Leandriel paused. “Would you like me to teach you the basic steps?”
Of course he knew how to waltz. “Yes, please.”
The basic step-step-slide was easier to learn than Fey feared, and as long as she moved the correct foot on the first beat, Leandriel was good enough at leading that she ended up where she was supposed to be.
Soon, they were twirling around the ballroom in a reasonably graceful manner. Some time after that, Fey was able to continue without counting beats in her head.
She glanced up to see Leandriel smiling at her and had to focus hard to keep from stumbling.
Fey’s mind was usually a mix of a hundred stray thoughts and random musings. At this moment, she let them all go and existed fully in the present, inhabiting all of her senses. There was movement, and colour, and music, and warmth, the pounding of her heart and rapid breath.
She was surprised when the music ended and Leandriel guided them to a graceful stop. He was still smiling.
“That was fun,” he said.
“Yeah,” she agreed, breathless in more ways than one.
“Would you like to take a break?” he asked, clearly noticing her lack of stamina but choosing not to mention it explicitly.
“Probably. This is the most impractical outfit I’ve ever worn,” Fey admitted.
“Fashion can be impractical,” Leandriel agreed mildly. He found them seats in one of the side rooms.
“Would you like something to drink?” he asked.
“Juice or water, please,” Fey said gratefully.
“I will be right back.”
She watched Leandriel from her seat as he made his way through the crowd. It was a relief to be able to stare at him as much as she wanted while his attention was elsewhere.
Leandriel moved with a natural strength and grace that Fey could watch all day. Despite the players and furniture everywhere, Leandriel did not even brush the edges of his wings against obstacles as he walked, keeping them tight to his back as part of his naturally perfect posture.
In his avant-garde suit, Leandriel looked cultured and sophisticated, a look that suited him just as well his normal warrior image.
Fey was not even slightly surprised when other players approached him, most but not all of them female. She was too far away to hear what was said, but the body language was clear enough, all flirtatious glances and inviting looks.
In stark contrast, Leandriel was polite but disinterested, moving on as quickly as he could from each conversation. Seeing him brush off the attention so easily gave Fey insight as to exactly how much attention he garnered wherever he went.
In a separate conversation:
“Good job, everyone,” Leandriel praised as his team landed after their final flight test, a prolonged battle against a flight of storm drakes.
Beside him, Falco immediately collapsed to the ground in exhaustion, his teammates following suit with various levels of grace.
“How are you still standing?” Dariel complained, lying on his side so his angel wings would not get in the way.
“…Did you run out of stamina potions?” Leandriel asked.
“We’ve been fighting storm drakes for twelve hours. Of course we’re out of stamina potions,” Allia grumbled.
“I think I’d throw up if I tasted another one of those things,” Falco groaned.
“…” Leandriel slowly withdrew the stamina potion he had pulled out of his belt pouch and was about to offer the werefalcon. “Does anybody else want one?” he asked.
“How many do you have left?” Allia demanded.
Leandriel checked his inventory. “A hundred and forty-two.” He was taken aback at the incredulous looks everyone shot him.
“What’s your stamina?” Dariel demanded.
“Three hundred thirty-seven. Yours?”
The answers ranged from an astonishingly low 132 for Falco up to 167 for Dariel.
“…That is barely enough to maintain basic flight. How have you been keeping up with our schedule?” Leandriel asked, stunned.
“By guzzling stamina potions,” Dariel answered dryly. “Which had the unfortunate effect of making it hard to increase base stamina.”
“‘Let’s volunteer for the flight project,’ he said. ‘It’ll be fun, he said,” Falco grumbled. “Never again, Alexei!” he shouted at the sky, presumably to the developer he most closely partnered with.
“Uh, your dragonborn avatar is eventually going to need flight testing, you know,” Dariel pointed out.
“And as I’ve told Alexei many times, I won’t do it unless I get to haul my scaly butt around with magic.”
“Guys,” Leandriel said. “You do realize you do not have to actually drink potions for them to work?”
Falco stared blankly at him. “What do you mean?”
“Well, drinking them is more efficient because none is lost, but skin contact is sufficient.”
“Oh for [bleep]’s sake!” Falco snatched the stamina potion Leandriel was still holding and dumped it over his head, looking revitalized as soon as he did so. “I want a new dev! Why do you get one that actually tells you useful things?”
“Have you tried PMing your dev instead of yelling at the sky?” Dariel asked dryly, accepting the second stamina potion Leandriel took out.
“No way. That gives him an opportunity to reply,” Falco said, seemingly content with the paradox of wanting to be told useful things while not having to talk to anyone.
Leandriel cautiously extended a third stamina potion to Allia, not wanting to encourage her attentions but wanting to avoid obviously excluding her from the group.
He winced internally when she flashed him a bright smile. Time to escape. “Gentlemen, lady. I have an engagement tonight that I should prepare for.”
Falco was the quickest on the uptake. “You have a date to the Yule Ball!” he accused. “Is this the reason you’ve been working us like a slave driver this whole time?”
“Absolutely,” Leandriel confirmed. He winced again when Allia’s head rose sharply in surprise.
“Who is it?” Dariel asked, as big a gossip as everyone else on campus.
“No one you know,” Leandriel said evasively.
“Fey-Fey!” Magic said helpfully from his shoulder.
Clearly, he was not escaping hastily enough. “Goodbye.” He launched himself into the air and flew off at an almost sprint, pretending not to hear the shouted questions behind him.
***
Fey sat stock-still in her stylist’s chair while the makeup wizard applied fake eyelashes. The lack of movement was entirely involuntary, as she was under the influence of the wizard’s paralysis spell.
She messaged Sirena:
That particular reflex was sending furious signals to her eyes to blink as the stylist applied the lashes, followed by various types of eye makeup, and the inability to do so was as uncomfortable as an unscratchable itch. When the stylist finally removed the paralysis, Fey blinked so many times in a row that her eyes became sore. She carefully resisted rubbing her eyes; it would be her worst nightmare if she ruined the makeup and had to have it applied again.
After both hair and makeup were done, the wizard applied a ‘dragon-proof’ preservation spell to them both.
“It’s actually dragon-proof,” the stylist assured her. “If a dragon came and incinerated you right now, your hair and face would fall to the ground, completely intact.”
“That’s not disturbing at all,” Fey said ironically. “On the other hand, having invincible hair is a step towards my childhood dream of becoming an anime character, so yay!”
She paused. “Wait a minute, can you apply the same spell to equipment?”
The stylist winked. “It will last for twelve hours. Have fun!”
Note to self: Never fight a makeup wizard.
Dressed and coiffed, Fey, Sirena, and Mimi made their way to the conveyance that would take them to the nearest teleportation gate and then to the ball.
Fey stared at the golden carriage pulled by four matched white horses waiting for them. “Where did you manage to get this from?” she asked blankly.
“I have my ways,” Sirena said mysteriously, clambering into the carriage before anyone could ask her exactly how much of the party’s money she had spent for this ball.
Confined by her corset and high-heeled shoes, Fey required significant help from both Sirena and Mimi to navigate the carriage steps.
“Never again,” she panted (shallowly), exhausted by the short journey.
Sirena patted her shoulder. “Of course, my little masochist.”
Fey rolled her eyes. “I don’t enjoy pain, I enjoy complaining. There’s a difference.”
“Mmhmm…” Sirena agreed (without agreeing).
The carriage took off at a smart trot.
***
The Yule Ball was hosted at Cloudhome, a massive floating palace outside the celestial city of Skyhaven. Even the immense structure was insufficient to host the millions of players descending upon it for the festivities, so for the duration of the ball, the main floor of the palace was duplicated into an infinite number of “floors”, accessible by magical “elevators”. Players could choose to freely mingle in one of the hundred public floors, or create a private instance to enjoy the company of their friends.
Acting on Sirena’s orders, Blade had dutifully gone ahead and created a private instance for their party. He had personally had a rather boring day, finding random hunting parties to join while his regular party members cloistered themselves away in the name of beauty enhancement. He was looking forward to the ball being over and things going back to normal.
Especially his clothing. Blade tugged at the collar of his dress shirt and sighed. This was going to be a long night.
The sudden fanfare of invisible trumpets drew Blade’s attention to the grand staircase that led down into the ballroom. A graceful figure in green appeared and began her descent.
Sirena was halfway down the long set of stairs before Blade managed to pick up his jaw and close his mouth. The mermaid’s gown was a silky, flowing number in sea-foam green that perfectly complemented her skin and she glided down the stairs like the personification of a beautiful sea nymph. Her (blue) hair was left mostly untamed, with only a red starfish pin above her left ear. Silver sandal-like high-heeled shoes completed the outfit.
Blade walked forward to meet Sirena as she reached the bottom of the staircase. Her impish expression reassured him that it was indeed the mermaid who had baffled, dazzled, and shocked since he met her – all of those and more, but she had never bored him.
“Like what you see?” she asked teasingly.
“You look really nice,” he said honestly.
Sirena’s expression softened. Taking advantage of her elevated height (her heels were actually even higher than Fey’s, but she had way more experience at walking in them), she kissed Blade on the cheek.
The pair moved away from the staircase. The next to descend were the Feypets, looking adorable in little red bowties.
Amethyst led the charge, hopping exuberantly onto the landing before pulling herself up to the railing and sliding down the banister. Deciding that that looked like a fun way of getting to the main floor, the glooms followed suit.
The staircase was quite long and the smaller Feypets accelerated to quite the speed by the time they reached the bottom. Amethyst clearly had not considered her exit strategy, flying off the end of the banister and splatting loudly on the ground (*splat*). The glooms did various acrobatic flips before landing more gracefully on their feet while Sirena applauded enthusiastically and scored the attempts out of ten.
Boris descended in a more dignified manner, walking at a stately pace down the steps. In addition to his bowtie (which actually wasn’t little but appeared so compared to his size), his iron-gray hooves had been polished to a silver-bright shine.
On Boris’ back was Magic, the death angel mushroom having picked up enough self-possession from his new owner to not indulge in (as many) silly shenanigans.
“Oh, hi, Magic! When did you get here?” Sirena greeted.
“Hi-hi! We arrived two hours ago! Leandriel is very nervous,” the mushroom reported cheerfully.
Sirena laughed. “I’ll bet he is. Well, at least he’ll have company. Fey might actually faint tonight.”
“Why?” Magic asked curiously.
Amethyst piped (squeaked) up and thus began a lesson on corsets and the physiology of respiration.
Blade and Sirena jumped when Mimi greeted them from behind.
“Where did you come from?” Sirena demanded.
“Stairs,” Mimi answered concisely, the barest quirk of her lips showing her amusement at having snuck into the brightly-lit ballroom with her stealth skills.
The smile disappeared as she looked up to see the entrance of their final party member.
***
Leandriel tugged nervously at the sleeve of his already immaculate suit. In addition to being custom-made to his exact biometric scans, it was enchanted against tearing and staining, and would in fact make decent light armour for a level 60 player.
Not in the mood to deal with strangers, Leandriel made himself a private instance to wait in until Fey arrived.
He took a deep, calming breath when Fey messaged him with the ID number of her party’s private instance.
Leandriel made his way to the elevator/teleportation gate. “Nothing to be nervous about,” he said to himself.
“Nope,” Magic agreed cheerfully on his shoulder. The mushroom looked dapper in the red bowtie Lacey had provided.
“Right,” he chuckled. A final unnecessary adjustment to his sleeves and he stepped into the elevator.
Leandriel stepped out into a ballroom identical to the one he had just left, except for its additional occupants. A figure in a gown of the deepest purple turned to greet him and his breathing stopped.
Fey looked mysterious and delicate in her dark gown that set off the moonlit paleness of her skin. Her long hair was pulled back to reveal the graceful length of her neck, the smooth skin of her collarbones and shoulders. A waterfall of silky curls tumbled down her back to her waist. Her eyes looked dark and full of secrets he wanted to know, her lips soft and inviting.
The sensation of Magic hopping off his shoulder to greet Fey’s pets brought Leandriel back to himself. Grateful to his pet, he bowed. “Fey, you look even more beautiful than usual tonight.”
Fey sank into a curtsey in response to his bow, lips quirking at his compliment in a way that told him she did not really believe it. “Thank you. You look amazing. Where did you get this suit?”
“A friend designed it for me,” Leandriel answered, making a mental note to buy Lacey something extremely expensive for Christmas.
Noticing the purple accents on his collar and cuffs, Fey chuckled. “Hey, we match.”
“…What a coincidence.” Leandriel made a mental note to lecture Lacey on the morality of using employee resources to spy on players for personal reasons. He shifted the subject before his poor acting skills made the situation look suspicious. “Speaking of matching…” Leandriel pulled a mana blossom corsage from his pocket.
Fey held up her gloved hand so Leandriel could fasten the corsage to her wrist. It matched the tattoo outside her left eye perfectly, he noted with satisfaction.
Fey looked adorably flustered. “I didn’t think to get you a boutonniere…”
Leandriel smiled and pulled the matching piece from his other pocket. “Would you do me the honour?” he asked.
Fey took the mana blossom bud and carefully fastened it to his left lapel. He did not know why, but the small action made him inordinately happy.
He offered an arm. “Shall we?”
Fey laid her hand over his. “I really will need help,” she warned. “I can’t walk in these.” She extended a leg enough to show off a strappy, high-heeled shoe that indeed looked quite precarious to balance on.
“I will not let you fall,” Leandriel promised.
***
Despite Fey’s fears, the stairs’ shallow steps were designed with her type of footwear in mind and she was able to descend to the ballroom floor without spraining an ankle.
She focused intently on walking without tripping on her dress. The purely physical task was a welcome distraction from the ridiculous being beside her.
Fey breathed a (shallow) sigh of relief and looked up from her feet once safely on level ground—
Just in time to get a squealing hug from Sirena (*glom*). “I’m so happy for you!” she exclaimed. (The squealing continued telepathically in the background.)
Fey frantically tried to shush her (also ridiculous but in a different way) friend.
Sirena wrinkled her nose defiantly. “How do you know?” she asked aloud, not bothering to make the conversation private.
Fey glared a death threat at her friend. “If you think I can’t kill you while wearing this dress, think again,” she hissed through clenched teeth.
Undaunted by the fledgling ability, Sirena continued, “If you kill me, who’s going to be the maid of hon—”
“Amethyst, Interrupt!” Fey shouted.
Amethyst pushed off her bubble-arm and plastered herself to Sirena’s mouth.
Fey tugged on Leandriel’s arm and led the somewhat confused-looking angel out the exit to another elevator/teleportation gate located on the lower floor. “Let’s get out of here before she remembers she has telepathy.”
Leandriel looked somewhat bemused but willing to go along. “Where would you like to go?” he asked. “There are the public instances or we could go to another private one.”
Fey disliked crowds but the idea of being alone with Leandriel right now while he looked like that was disabling. Public eyes would force her into some semblance of normal behaviour. “Let’s go check out a public ballroom.”
The elevator accelerated and stopped as if taking them to a lower floor. The doors opened to a swell of orchestral music.
The lively ballroom gave Fey the feeling of a real ball. Players in costumes of every style and colour mingled and danced, glittering under the huge chandeliers. The murmur of a thousand conversations flowed under the music of the live orchestra. Extra rooms extended from the main ballroom with heaping buffets of food and nooks for conversation.
Even in such a varied crowd dressed in their finest, Leandriel stood out. Fey was fairly sure he would draw stares even without his enormous, white wings, but the appendages certainly helped him draw stares faster.
Leandriel did not appear to notice the extra attention, again offering his arm to escort her onto the ballroom floor. “Would you care to dance?”
The orchestra was playing a waltz. “I don’t know ballroom dances,” she admitted.
Leandriel paused. “Would you like me to teach you the basic steps?”
Of course he knew how to waltz. “Yes, please.”
The basic step-step-slide was easier to learn than Fey feared, and as long as she moved the correct foot on the first beat, Leandriel was good enough at leading that she ended up where she was supposed to be.
Soon, they were twirling around the ballroom in a reasonably graceful manner. Some time after that, Fey was able to continue without counting beats in her head.
She glanced up to see Leandriel smiling at her and had to focus hard to keep from stumbling.
Fey’s mind was usually a mix of a hundred stray thoughts and random musings. At this moment, she let them all go and existed fully in the present, inhabiting all of her senses. There was movement, and colour, and music, and warmth, the pounding of her heart and rapid breath.
She was surprised when the music ended and Leandriel guided them to a graceful stop. He was still smiling.
“That was fun,” he said.
“Yeah,” she agreed, breathless in more ways than one.
“Would you like to take a break?” he asked, clearly noticing her lack of stamina but choosing not to mention it explicitly.
“Probably. This is the most impractical outfit I’ve ever worn,” Fey admitted.
“Fashion can be impractical,” Leandriel agreed mildly. He found them seats in one of the side rooms.
“Would you like something to drink?” he asked.
“Juice or water, please,” Fey said gratefully.
“I will be right back.”
She watched Leandriel from her seat as he made his way through the crowd. It was a relief to be able to stare at him as much as she wanted while his attention was elsewhere.
Leandriel moved with a natural strength and grace that Fey could watch all day. Despite the players and furniture everywhere, Leandriel did not even brush the edges of his wings against obstacles as he walked, keeping them tight to his back as part of his naturally perfect posture.
In his avant-garde suit, Leandriel looked cultured and sophisticated, a look that suited him just as well his normal warrior image.
Fey was not even slightly surprised when other players approached him, most but not all of them female. She was too far away to hear what was said, but the body language was clear enough, all flirtatious glances and inviting looks.
In stark contrast, Leandriel was polite but disinterested, moving on as quickly as he could from each conversation. Seeing him brush off the attention so easily gave Fey insight as to exactly how much attention he garnered wherever he went.
In a separate conversation:
