Tiberius found himself swept along with the tide flowing into the opera house, prickling at every lingering stare or knowing smile. This part was, unfortunately, unavoidable. This feeling of being out of place, among the people and places he’d been raised alongside. He didn’t see Enzo, or Mal, or anyone he knew well at all.
Many that he knew of, however. He found himself smiling at old Lucillius, another Laetan lordling perhaps from his father’s cohort. Ruddy and red nosed, the old man probably had a drinking problem – he certainly spoke like he was already drunk. Lascivious questions about Orlesion ladies, and one in particular.
If Lyric were actually here, Tiberius might have felt compelled to make a show of things. As it were, he simply pretended to be an idiot, complimenting the dowager empress in a florid but overall nonsensical manner.
“Eyes like the mold on the very best of cheeses. Thighs like ...” So on and so forth, until he wasn’t looking at Lucillius at all. Enzo was just there, some distance beyond the old man’s whiskered cheek. His gaze was riveted. Iron bands constrained his lungs, a terrifying skew of emotion that he wasn’t ready to deal with right now.
Until Enzo spoke, and attention slid to him. Half a dozen unmasked faces turning to see how one sheep might speak to another, one prodigal and one black.
“Oh, nothing like that. You’ll recall that my family is exceptionally long lived?” Not to mention that there were few better illusionists living. He made his excuses to Lucillius, promising to pick up their acquaintance again soon. “Perhaps we’ve had that fountain all along.
“Now tell me that your family still maintains a box, Pavus, and invite me up. I’d rather like to enjoy the balcony view tonight.”
Many that he knew of, however. He found himself smiling at old Lucillius, another Laetan lordling perhaps from his father’s cohort. Ruddy and red nosed, the old man probably had a drinking problem – he certainly spoke like he was already drunk. Lascivious questions about Orlesion ladies, and one in particular.
If Lyric were actually here, Tiberius might have felt compelled to make a show of things. As it were, he simply pretended to be an idiot, complimenting the dowager empress in a florid but overall nonsensical manner.
“Eyes like the mold on the very best of cheeses. Thighs like ...” So on and so forth, until he wasn’t looking at Lucillius at all. Enzo was just there, some distance beyond the old man’s whiskered cheek. His gaze was riveted. Iron bands constrained his lungs, a terrifying skew of emotion that he wasn’t ready to deal with right now.
Until Enzo spoke, and attention slid to him. Half a dozen unmasked faces turning to see how one sheep might speak to another, one prodigal and one black.
“Oh, nothing like that. You’ll recall that my family is exceptionally long lived?” Not to mention that there were few better illusionists living. He made his excuses to Lucillius, promising to pick up their acquaintance again soon. “Perhaps we’ve had that fountain all along.
“Now tell me that your family still maintains a box, Pavus, and invite me up. I’d rather like to enjoy the balcony view tonight.”
04-30-2024, 05:51 PM
