Snippet #2128327

Remiel had spent the duration of the next month planning (with the assistance of Remington of course) the evening events for the ball. He made sure that the musicians who specialized in stringed instruments were well accounted for, had the lists of guests that were to attend, and visited London to purchase himself new clothing of first-class finesse just for that particular occasion. He made sure to send an invitation requesting his siblings' presence at the party. His maids bustled about the place, polishing brass until reflections were clear and making the marble floors were shone in all of their glory. It was a hassle when it came to planning things like this, and he was grateful that it would all soon be over.

"You know Remington, I believe I will never be following your advice again. I am almost tempted to just call things quits and deal with my father instead," he finally told his butler one night when they were in the middle of deciding what would be for dinner.

"You don't mean that," Remington had replied, by now used to the bitterness that his Lordship had been displaying since the day he made the choice of giving into heeding his words.

"Oh, I do."

"It is too late to cancel now. You have guests clear from Romania, for God's Sake!"

Remiel withdrew himself from the argument.

Now the grand night had finally arrived. Remiel was fitted accordingly with his rapier at his side, stepping into his boots before he put on his mask that was black, trimmed and detailed with gold. The small orchestra had already begun to play softly, and the food was bring prepared in the kitchen so that it would be ready by the time it was to settle down in the dining hall. He made sure that his wings were properly and neatly tucked away, folding them against his back as well as he could. It was a good thing his wings were retractable, or else he would not ever being showing himself. He looked at himself for a long while in the mirror, taking in the image of himself dressed up in the way of the aristocrat. He was not sure if he very much liked what he saw then within the gilded frame of the mirror. He shook his head, and went to make the descent down the stairs. He went to the ballroom, taking his time to get there. He was dreading this really, but it was for the best. He reached for a crystal glass filled with the finest of red wine in the country, and awaited the arrival of his guests. It was not even five minutes later when the doors were opened and he could hear the whinnying of horses and the sharp clattering of ebony against the cobblestone. People began to flood through the doors, and he would give a bow of greeting to any that matched or surpassed his rank, politely asking how they were fairing and kissing the back of both bare and lacy-gloved hands before they gathered in the ballroom.