Snippet #2458312

The models strutted their colors and charms across the walkway, the hovercams flashing, the crystalline light dancing vibrant patterns across the walls.

From the milling throngs of aristocrats and photographers came a tall, handsome human man garbed in an elaborate gilded robe. He talked as quietly as he could to the aide at his side amid the white-noise and the music, his counterpart diligently scribbling away at a holoboard in his hands.

The man's icy blue eyes passed briefly over Kaza before doing a quick double-take. What was this? Pretty girls at the Nizzriala were not uncommon, but the smart ones attached themselves to a fat-pursed date the first chance they had. Perhaps even more alarming was the unfamiliarity. He didn't recognize her... and this particular patron knew just about every Misranan in the room down to their million-Meldel shoes. Or hooves.

"Paramis," the human said to his aide, "who is that girl? I thought I had the names of everyone coming to this event last night."

The aide, a squat, fat-nosed Malemni, shuffled uncomfortably. "I meant to tell you sir. She's a walk-in."

"A walk-in? When's the last time we had a walk-in?"

"I don't know, sir, but I'm afraid she flashed such an unseemly sum of money at the door that it would have been..." Paramis gulped, "...imprudent... to bar her entry. There were many bystanders."

The human sighed. "Tell me these things ahead of time, Paramis."

"I'm sure it won't compromise anything, sir. Just the daughter of a nobleman with money and time on her hands. A passerby. It shouldn't interfere-"

"That's not the point," his voice took on a steely edge, his white teeth flashing like fangs in his mouth, "she's an unknown variable. A wild card. I don't like not knowing who my guests are." He straightened up, brushing lightly at the sleeve of his robe. "You know what this particular show means. You know what we're staking."

"How in the gods' names will she disrupt..."

"She will disrupt nothing," he snapped, glaring, "but if she's different than the rest of these people, then there will be... complications." He frowned. "Go attend to the preparations. I'll see to her myself." The Malemni wandered off.

The human walked gracefully over to Dallin, offering the young girl a charming smile. Tall, broad-shouldered and lightly tanned, he cut quite the figure despite the relative modesty of his dress-ware. "Madame," he bowed slightly at the waist, "my name is Aarim Stromn, assistant to Mar'ique Slovi'um, chief director and designer of this year's Nizzriala." The last he pronounced with a masterfully accented flare. "I must extend you by deepest apologies. I try to make a point at greeting all my guests personally before the show starts. You appeared to have slipped by." He offered a carefully manicured hand. "Perhaps we can rectify this oversight?"