Nyima: has a very straightforward gait. No nonsense, no purposeful hip swinging, luring gazes to her as she passes deal. But, she's got a confidence in herself that does tend to get her a second look from interested parties.
Ghenha: grumpy plod with a hint of murderous intent best describes it. Like someone just told her they took a shit in her azelea patch and expected a laugh.
Ji-hoon: alert, studied relaxation with an undercurrent of anxiety.
Yueliang: another no nonsense, straightforward gait. She's a former soldier, so has excellent posture and moves economically, without wasting a single calorie's worth of energy.
It was early fall, and Acolytes dressed in their finest crowded the ballroom. Music played softly in the background and couples danced in the centre of the room. Along one wall, long tables arranged with plates of food. On the opposite side of the room the drinks table, with both alcoholic and non-alcoholic beverages.
“Whoever organised that needs taking out and shooting,” Date commented, shaking his feathered head.
“Go get me a juice,” Vyxen said with a cheeky smile.
“What did your last slave die of?” he replied, rolling his eyes.
“Nothing,” she shot back, pointing to her brother, Salem. He'd made more effort trying to win a burping contest with his friend, Ghenha, than he had dressing up. “He just complains more than you do.”
To the side of her, Tundra snorted. “I wonder why,” he said, having returned from his own trip across the room with two brimming glasses. He handed one to Nyima. “You drink, right?” He'd forgotten to ask beforehand.
She levelled him with a look that suggested he was stupid. “Yes.” She took the glass and sipped the contents, humming with surprise at the crisp, cool taste. “What is being this?”
“Champagne,” Tundra replied, frowning. “You haven't had it before?” When she shook her head, he realised the confusion. “Maybe you should stick to just one.”
Nyima raised an eyebrow at him as if to say, “Who made you my keeper?” and downed the contents. She then stalked off to find another glass, unimpressed with being told what to do.
Vyxen sniggered. “You totally walked into that one.”
As the evening wore on, the assembled party-goers became more unruly. The latest batch of recruits, along with those that didn't drink, clustered together giggling and poking fun at the others. Two inebriated girls were comforting a third, who'd made a fool of herself trying to kiss Culvers. His gentle rejection and repeated assurances of, “It's fine. You're not the first,” made her want to die. Beside them was a girl who seemed to have been there since the beginning of the evening. No one knew if she'd had too much to drink or was just tired.
Another girl stumbled around the floor, having tried to beat Ghenha in a drinking contest and lost in spectacular fashion. A slavering Uwe, who was waiting for her to sober up just enough for his hypnosis to have an effect, followed her.
Zercey tripped around the dance floor glued to Lerki, who was wearing loose-fitting clothing, despite Date boorishly telling him to dress properly. Lerki it on himself to care for Zercey after he realized she was hazardous to her own safety when over-indulging. So far he'd prevented her from falling off the balcony and toppling the drinks table over, although in hindsight that might not have been a bad idea.
Scyanatha played to her strengths and stuck to scotch. She charmed a couple of panting recruits to doing her bidding and set up a table and cards in a room off the ballroom. The groans and complaints filtering out showed she was on a winning streak. Seth, sat opposite, suggested betting items of clothing, since he was out of gold.
“I don't mind you displaying yourself to everyone here, dearest” she said in a sultry voice, “but are you certain you want to encourage more girls to pant after you?”
Seth laughed loudly as he felt the back of his neck heating. “As long as the right one is too, I couldn't give a -”
“We would prefer you to concentrate on the game,” Inari interrupted from the seat to Seth's left. They turned out to be an expert player and Scy's main competition. Beside them, although not playing, was Abaddon.
“I think a short break is in order,” Scy said, gracefully rising. When Seth shoved his chair back so hard it toppled over she tittered and moved to take his arm, letting him lead her into the ballroom where she then set about making mischief. Any Acolyte she spotted looking longingly at another she shifted the floor so they bumped into each other, subtly pairing them up. As for Uwe, who was getting on everyone's last nerve, she “accidentally” broke her bracelet and obsidian beads tumbled beneath his feet, making him flip head over heels to much laughter.
Ghenha watched Salem and Imogen sweeping the floor and making a spectacle of themselves as usual. She'd won both the burping contest and the drinking contest and was only a little tipsy. The problem with dwarf constitution was it took so much alcohol to get her drunk it wasn't worth all the trips to piss. Looking to her right, she nodded to a familiar lilac haired woman. “Raemina, yeah?”
The woman nodded. “You are?”
“Hang out with Avari.”
Raemina's polite expression grew fixed. “I see.”
Ghenha snorted. “Weren't her fucking fault your pal went rabid.”
“Rhovan is not rabid and there was no need to hurt him,” Raemina replied, turning to pick up her glass. “I am sure you are pleasant company in other circumstances, but I would rather not speak about that woman.”
Ghenha laughed. “You'd be fucking wrong, but I see your meaning. She picked up her mug and swilled the beer around. “Just saying, Avari don't do nothing if it's not for the best.”
“It was not,” Raemina stated. She indicated Rhovan with a head tilt. “He is not dangerous.”
“Yes, he fucking is,” Ghenha disagreed. “But, he's got you watching his fucking back, so maybe he'll get better.”
Raemina smiled at that. “Thank you for the compliment.”
Ghenha shrugged and finished her beer as Raemina moved towards Rhovan.
Tundra finally ran Nyima to ground out by the balcony. She was sitting on the floor, legs drawn up, head on her knees, with an empty glass of champagne next to her. She was barefoot, which wasn't anything unusual, but he was sure she'd been wearing heels at the start of the night. He noticed movement out of the corner of his eye down in the gardens and spotted Raemina dancing in the moonlight with Rhovan. At least they seem to have things right. “Hey,” he said, crouching in front of Nyima.
She rolled her head to the side and gave him a goofy smile. Nyima and goofy were two things that never belonged together in a sentence. “Rrramooo,” she said, giggling.
“What?”
“Rrramooo.”
"I have no idea what you’re saying,” he chuckled. “How many have you had?”
She shrugged and toppled to the side.
“Steady.” He grabbed her by the shoulders and held her up. “Guess that answers that question. Too many. Come on, up you get.” He hoisted her upright, despite her turning to jelly. “Where are your shoes?” Nyima's head lolled again, and he looked down to see two small puddles. “They melted?” He had to laugh at that. It was sheer luck she kept her dress on. Although, now he had her up it was losing a fight with gravity. He grabbed handfuls of fabric and held them against her.
“You was for to being shouldn't not for to having being touching hic!” Nyima giggled and lifted her leg high so she could place her toes down first.
“What?” While he was unravelling her telling him not to touch, she took another stumbling step and pitched to the side. As Tundra spun around with her, trying not to end up in a pile on the floor, he was left with a dead weight as she passed out. He gathered her up, draped the trailing fabric over her and carried her back to the Jasper barracks where he put her to bed. She'd have a hell of a hangover in the morning, but he was looking forward to teasing her for making cow noises, hiccuping and having an adorable giggle.
