Mind Is a Razor Blade

With the drop in lighting Mal watched from the corner of his eye as Ophelia slid her chair closer. His one-sided grin tugged higher as she did so. While questions were a fun icebreaker, his were more likely to cause tears and a ruined atmosphere than the jovial time they were hoping to embark on. It was difficult to lower one's guard when as a bastard and would-be intelligence agent, he had to be on the defensive and was expected to find the enemies secrets. By any means. That way of questioning didn’t go over well in polite, everyday society.

He was grateful Camilla took charge, explaining the rules and quietly observing Enzo’s game while they expertly demonstrated. He’d sneak a glance over to Tiberius, briefly curious as to what exactly Camilla had asked, but the man was standing, muttering and then disappearing back down the stairs to the bar. Well. That didn’t bode well.

Mal soon found Junia’s answer a far more stimulating distraction though. Especially with how Ophelia shifted in her chair as Enzo nodded, impressed with whatever it was. Ugh, the unknown all too easily irritated the young man. Scoffing, Mal reached for his glass, staring over the woman at his side with a bob of his brows. I’m going to ask, because that reaction deserves some explanation. Pray tell, what juicy tit-bit did you uncover? Turning his attention back to Enzo, Mal raised a brow, his question two-fold as his chin gestured towards the stairs then to his occupied side.

To follow, or leave him be? And was the veiled dove worth inviting into his lap or not?