As he is wont to do, the aggressively lanky Vileblood strides into the ball, head held high and posture nothing short of perfect. His outfit, of course, only emphasizes his unnatural height and his lithe form. Craning his head around the bustle in the lavish ballroom, he opts to head towards where others had gathered to converse on the sidelines. The tables full of hor d’oeuvres almost tempt him, if not for the food, but for the people around them. Each and every outfit, paired with an equally intricate mask, intrigues him. Lace, velvet, satin, silk, brocade—he adores all of it. So many brilliant colors and striking patterns to be seen.
Naturally, Adrian not being born among other proper Cainhurst Vilebloods and instead growing up middle class, cannot help but feel ill-prepared. Hell, he only recently learned how to do a proper ballroom dance. It took a few weeks of Helena teaching him before he became remotely good at it not. Still, he didn’t let how much it wounded his pride get to him or show in his body language. While it would be a pain when he seeks out food and drink, his mask does have the benefit for fully concealing his face save for his expressive eyes. He keeps his hands to his side in an attempt to be as inviting as possible.
