Roman Raskolov

[corporate-shuffle]

“Oh. Okay.” Yeah, this guy was reading way too into things. Roman didn’t consider himself a ‘the curtains were fucking blue’ type of person — in fact, he despises that type of person — but sometimes you just enjoy a flavor of liquor. The most alcoholic, rowdy person in the world could select a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon and it doesn’t mean he’s refined or anything. It just means he’s alcoholic and wants wine at the moment.

“I… can assure, I did not choose because to get attention.” Damn, Roman’s neck is kinda starting to hurt from looking up at this guy. Fuck being vertically challenged. This dude really likes to analyze things, huh? So much for not judging. This entire conversation so far has been a judgment. Not necessarily negative, but definitely a judgment nonetheless.

“But, you got the last part right. Is loud here. Could we step out a little?” Roman pinches his fingers to emphasize his last word, although his English is passable enough to make his points clear as day. Last thing he needs is to misunderstand Dorian’s English because of the atmospheric noise. Roman shuffles behind the closest pillar and out into the much less densely populated vestibule.

[dorianofthebody]

Dorian caught the shift immediately. The defensiveness. The faint irritation threaded through the words. It didn’t bother him. If anything, it sharpened his interest.

He lifted one shoulder in a small, conceding shrug. “Fair,” he said easily. “Sometimes a drink is just a drink.” There was no mockery in his tone, only a quiet recalibration, as if he were adjusting his footing rather than pressing a point. “I have a bad habit of reading rooms for a living. Occupational flaw.”

When the suggestion came, Dorian didn’t hesitate.

He followed without question, steps unhurried as Roman moved toward the vestibule. The noise softened almost instantly, the music dulled to a distant pulse. Candlelight here felt calmer, less performative, shadows stretching more generously across the marble.

Dorian stopped a comfortable distance away, giving Roman space to straighten his neck, his posture. He leaned back against the pillar opposite him instead, arms loosely crossed, head tilted just enough to show he was listening rather than looming.

“Better?” he asked quietly.

His gaze lingered, thoughtful now rather than teasing. “And for what it’s worth, I wasn’t trying to pin you down. Just… filling the silence. Masquerades make people either talk too much or not at all.”

A pause, then softer, more honest. “I can do quiet, if that’s what you need.”

[corporate-shuffle]

“It is whatever. At least you are self aware. Same cannot be said for 90% of idiots on this planet.” With that, Roman took a larger-than-usual swig of his drink, trying to accelerate its effect. Maybe Dorian did clock him in a way. Roman didn’t usually drink, but when he did, it was always social. Drinking alone made him feel lazy and oafish, but drinking around others made conversation with laypeople at least tolerable. He’s learning though that the residents of Azure were not laypeople, and that’s helping him a bit. The exclusivity made it so he only really was interacting with people who knew what they were doing or at least didn’t freak out when they realized they didn’t know what they were doing.

Roman takes a deep breath after finishing his mouthful, able to hear Dorian’s voice much clearer now.

“Much better. I would say I am talking more than I usually would. Which I think is fine.” Roman is starting to shiver a bit. The AC seems to be cranked up in the hallway, and while he’s usually wearing his thick coat to deal with that, he’s only got a few thinner layers on due to his suit, and his teeth start to chatter. There are pros and cons of where you position yourself at a party… noted.

“I do not mind the talking. Especially once I get more of this down. Just… do not expect me to start a lot of it… but I can try. What is the coolest place you ever been to?”

[corporate-shuffle]

Location: Moonfall Lounge

Roman had given himself a few days to charge his battery, to make him yearn for at least a little bit of interaction again. He had spent that time holed up in an office, processing requests to the right departments and keeping track of volume and feedback. Nothing customer facing for a bit. The masquerade was the actual most perfect event for him to open up. He could hide behind another layer of anonymity just in case his family was doing something weird and somehow found his location again. The only real distinguishable feature that he couldn't do much about was his height, which would almost certainly betray him if he happened to be pursued by those who knew him.

Hopefully, that isn't the case.

He's taken off his work-from-locked-office attire, consisting of his normal thick, furry coat and jeans and swapped them for some real nice fabric, a dark green suit he had altered because he was already too small for all the mens' sizes. It put him back a lot of rubles, but it hasn't let him down. In the way that a sports car that you only keep in your garage and never, ever, EVER actually drive has never let you down. Roman's chosen a mask resembling a polar bear, because he thinks it looks badass and there's no way to hide his origin either way, so he might as well embrace it.

He drifted past cliques and prepared himself a glass of blackberry Crown Royal to sip on, hopefully calm his nerves a bit. He isn't great at large gatherings, but he feels kinda shit after holing himself up, so this is his punishment.

[dorianofthebody]

Dorian noticed him almost immediately.

Not because of the mask, though the polar bear was striking in its own right, an unapologetic choice amid silks and filigreed gold. It was the height first. The way the man had to angle slightly beneath the lights, how the crowd parted for him without quite realizing they were doing it. Presence like that always announced itself before introductions ever did.

Dorian watched from the edge of the lounge as the stranger poured himself a drink. Blackberry and whiskey, if his nose wasn’t lying to him. An interesting choice. Confident. A little sharp. The man’s posture was controlled, but there was a tension beneath it, something coiled and alert, as if he were both daring someone to approach and bracing for it at the same time.

That, more than anything, drew Dorian in.

He crossed the space with unhurried ease, the low hum of the masquerade folding around him. When he stopped beside the man, it was close enough that their shoulders nearly brushed, close enough to feel warmth through fine fabric. He leaned one elbow lightly against the bar, angled just enough to make the approach feel intentional without being invasive.

“Blackberry Crown Royal,” Dorian said quietly, gaze flicking to the glass before lifting to the polar bear mask. His voice carried an easy warmth, smooth and unforced. “That’s either very deliberate, or very dangerous.”

A pause. A faint smile beneath his own mask.

“Mind if I stand here?” he added, already doing exactly that. “I promise I won’t ask your name. Tonight feels like it would be a shame to ruin with details.”

He lifted his own drink in a small, companionable gesture, eyes lingering with open curiosity, letting the moment stretch. Whoever this man was, Dorian didn’t recognize him. And for once, that felt like the point.

[corporate-shuffle]

Which was unfortunate, because the last thing Roman wants to do is draw attention to himself. He almost doesn’t hear the man’s attempt at joining him, due in part to the chatter of the party and also the rather hilarious height difference between the two men. He sips one more time before he realizes there’s someone trying to start a conversation with him, and he finally turns and looks up.

“Oh. Hello. Uhhh. This is dangerous?” Roman raises his glass a bit, up to height with his shoulder. He didn’t even consider the idea that the alcohol might be poison, which is unlikely but not impossible… or was this guy saying the alcohol was the poison itself? Much more likely. Was he being judged? Was this guy judging him right now? This is why he doesn’t do parties…

“Yes, the… the name thing. That is the point, good job.” His accent is impossible to miss, and it seems he has a bit of limited range of vocabulary in English. His mask almost slips a bit, and he quickly pushes it back up his face so it rests precariously on the bridge of his nose.

“What do you mean deliberate or dangerous?”

[dorianofthebody]

Dorian’s attention sharpened the moment the man turned fully toward him.

The height difference was… impressive. Enough that Dorian had to tilt his chin just slightly, an adjustment that felt less like concession and more like curiosity. The accent sealed it. Rich, unmistakable, curling around the words like something he wanted to hear again just to catch the cadence.

He smiled beneath his mask, slow and easy, not unkind.

“Dangerous in the sense that it announces something about you,” Dorian replied, voice low enough to stay between them despite the hum of the room. He gestured subtly with his glass toward the blackberry whiskey. “Sweet first impression. Dark finish. Lingers longer than people expect.”

His gaze lifted again, openly assessing now, not hiding the interest. Noticing the nerves, the way the mask had nearly slipped, the quick correction. He didn’t comment on it. Instead, he shifted a fraction closer, not crowding, just… present.

“Deliberate,” he continued, “because you chose it knowing someone might comment. Dangerous,” a pause, just long enough to feel intentional, “because it invites conversation. And conversation is how nights like this stop being quiet.”

The accent drew another small smile from him, softer this time. Dorian leaned an elbow against the bar again, posture relaxed, inviting without pressure.

“But if it helps,” he added, lightly, “I’m not judging you. I’m standing here because I wanted an excuse to talk to the tallest man in the room who looks like he’d rather disappear into his drink.”

His glass lifted in a small toast between them.

“And I won’t ask your name. I promise.”

[corporate-shuffle]

“Oh. Okay.” Yeah, this guy was reading way too into things. Roman didn’t consider himself a ‘the curtains were fucking blue’ type of person — in fact, he despises that type of person — but sometimes you just enjoy a flavor of liquor. The most alcoholic, rowdy person in the world could select a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon and it doesn’t mean he’s refined or anything. It just means he’s alcoholic and wants wine at the moment.

“I… can assure, I did not choose because to get attention.” Damn, Roman’s neck is kinda starting to hurt from looking up at this guy. Fuck being vertically challenged. This dude really likes to analyze things, huh? So much for not judging. This entire conversation so far has been a judgment. Not necessarily negative, but definitely a judgment nonetheless.

“But, you got the last part right. Is loud here. Could we step out a little?” Roman pinches his fingers to emphasize his last word, although his English is passable enough to make his points clear as day. Last thing he needs is to misunderstand Dorian’s English because of the atmospheric noise. Roman shuffles behind the closest pillar and out into the much less densely populated vestibule.

[corporate-shuffle]

Location: Moonfall Lounge

Roman had given himself a few days to charge his battery, to make him yearn for at least a little bit of interaction again. He had spent that time holed up in an office, processing requests to the right departments and keeping track of volume and feedback. Nothing customer facing for a bit. The masquerade was the actual most perfect event for him to open up. He could hide behind another layer of anonymity just in case his family was doing something weird and somehow found his location again. The only real distinguishable feature that he couldn't do much about was his height, which would almost certainly betray him if he happened to be pursued by those who knew him.

Hopefully, that isn't the case.

He's taken off his work-from-locked-office attire, consisting of his normal thick, furry coat and jeans and swapped them for some real nice fabric, a dark green suit he had altered because he was already too small for all the mens' sizes. It put him back a lot of rubles, but it hasn't let him down. In the way that a sports car that you only keep in your garage and never, ever, EVER actually drive has never let you down. Roman's chosen a mask resembling a polar bear, because he thinks it looks badass and there's no way to hide his origin either way, so he might as well embrace it.

He drifted past cliques and prepared himself a glass of blackberry Crown Royal to sip on, hopefully calm his nerves a bit. He isn't great at large gatherings, but he feels kinda shit after holing himself up, so this is his punishment.

[dorianofthebody]

Dorian noticed him almost immediately.

Not because of the mask, though the polar bear was striking in its own right, an unapologetic choice amid silks and filigreed gold. It was the height first. The way the man had to angle slightly beneath the lights, how the crowd parted for him without quite realizing they were doing it. Presence like that always announced itself before introductions ever did.

Dorian watched from the edge of the lounge as the stranger poured himself a drink. Blackberry and whiskey, if his nose wasn’t lying to him. An interesting choice. Confident. A little sharp. The man’s posture was controlled, but there was a tension beneath it, something coiled and alert, as if he were both daring someone to approach and bracing for it at the same time.

That, more than anything, drew Dorian in.

He crossed the space with unhurried ease, the low hum of the masquerade folding around him. When he stopped beside the man, it was close enough that their shoulders nearly brushed, close enough to feel warmth through fine fabric. He leaned one elbow lightly against the bar, angled just enough to make the approach feel intentional without being invasive.

“Blackberry Crown Royal,” Dorian said quietly, gaze flicking to the glass before lifting to the polar bear mask. His voice carried an easy warmth, smooth and unforced. “That’s either very deliberate, or very dangerous.”

A pause. A faint smile beneath his own mask.

“Mind if I stand here?” he added, already doing exactly that. “I promise I won’t ask your name. Tonight feels like it would be a shame to ruin with details.”

He lifted his own drink in a small, companionable gesture, eyes lingering with open curiosity, letting the moment stretch. Whoever this man was, Dorian didn’t recognize him. And for once, that felt like the point.

[corporate-shuffle]

Which was unfortunate, because the last thing Roman wants to do is draw attention to himself. He almost doesn’t hear the man’s attempt at joining him, due in part to the chatter of the party and also the rather hilarious height difference between the two men. He sips one more time before he realizes there’s someone trying to start a conversation with him, and he finally turns and looks up.

“Oh. Hello. Uhhh. This is dangerous?” Roman raises his glass a bit, up to height with his shoulder. He didn’t even consider the idea that the alcohol might be poison, which is unlikely but not impossible… or was this guy saying the alcohol was the poison itself? Much more likely. Was he being judged? Was this guy judging him right now? This is why he doesn’t do parties…

“Yes, the… the name thing. That is the point, good job.” His accent is impossible to miss, and it seems he has a bit of limited range of vocabulary in English. His mask almost slips a bit, and he quickly pushes it back up his face so it rests precariously on the bridge of his nose.

“What do you mean deliberate or dangerous?”

[corporate-shuffle]

Location: Moonfall Lounge

Roman had given himself a few days to charge his battery, to make him yearn for at least a little bit of interaction again. He had spent that time holed up in an office, processing requests to the right departments and keeping track of volume and feedback. Nothing customer facing for a bit. The masquerade was the actual most perfect event for him to open up. He could hide behind another layer of anonymity just in case his family was doing something weird and somehow found his location again. The only real distinguishable feature that he couldn't do much about was his height, which would almost certainly betray him if he happened to be pursued by those who knew him.

Hopefully, that isn't the case.

He's taken off his work-from-locked-office attire, consisting of his normal thick, furry coat and jeans and swapped them for some real nice fabric, a dark green suit he had altered because he was already too small for all the mens' sizes. It put him back a lot of rubles, but it hasn't let him down. In the way that a sports car that you only keep in your garage and never, ever, EVER actually drive has never let you down. Roman's chosen a mask resembling a polar bear, because he thinks it looks badass and there's no way to hide his origin either way, so he might as well embrace it.

He drifted past cliques and prepared himself a glass of blackberry Crown Royal to sip on, hopefully calm his nerves a bit. He isn't great at large gatherings, but he feels kinda shit after holing himself up, so this is his punishment.

[corporate-shuffle]

My name is Roman, I will be helping with concierge. I will make sure your stay is smooth and enjoyable. That is all. Bye