The post-mortem of the fabled Ferratii Necrom’s parties were an exhibit that had to be seen to be believed.
Plush reds and deep ashen grays of the decor threatened to swallow the leftover party-goers that lay strewn over couches and benches, up against railings, down across marble stairs. Delicacies could be seen wasted in the cracks of priceless tile flooring and sometimes found saved, stashed away upon a stray bookshelf where perhaps their original owner had simply never found their way back after the empty glass of champagne beside had been topped off. Clothes, like consolation prizes after a night of potentially disastrous decision making, lay every which where in all shades of sociopolitical circumstance, reflecting the varied nature of the hoards of guests these to-do’s tended to draw.
Music, liking a dying organ giving its last wheeze, still trickled quiet over the manor’s speaker system. This was perforated by the occasional snore from a castaway attendee out cold, and - in the case of one corner of the labyrinth’s west wing, the quiet clicking of designing heels on tile.
Robe an ebony shroud billowing behind him in an unnecessarily long trail, the rail of a myth that was the master of the house emerged from his quarters. At a stride, he stalked the halls - nursing a headache and cradling the remains of last night’s last glass of ... tealblood, by the looks of it. Hm. Odd. He tended to prefer a good, deep blue, or perhaps a sparkling tyrian --- but teal would do for breakfast.
He wrinkled his nose a touch at the degenerates he glided past, and gave a small smile at the gems among the bunch. It was always a fun game for him, seeing in post some of the bodies that had showed up at these little shendigs. Most of them were +1′s (or 7′s, in some cases), to the point he mostly didn’t so much invite people these days as simply threw a party to see who might show up.
His personal pick for bedtime company had been a couple of indigos and a --- well, teal, he gathered - though as he recalled, they hadn’t been so much an exclamation point as a comma, period. Just kind of, drew on, and eventually found their end.
As he glanced about, he noted perhaps he’d missed a few golden opportunities. Ah well. Next time, perhaps.
In the wake of his walk, he paused, catching an upright shape out of the corner of his eye rather than a horizontal one. Curiosity caught him, and he shifted a gaze with a drawled,
