Yet Another Piece of my Nano Piece I Affectionately Call: Steampunk Hell
Moira stood against one wall of the ballroom. She didn't know how an impoverished mechanic like her ended up in one of the most desired social events of the winter season, but here she was in a dress that cost more than the entire building she lived in with jewelry that was probably worth even more. Not to mention the shoes.
The next time Moira saw Charlie, she was going to shove a heel so far up his ass, he would taste the sole for years to come.
The party was being held in the ballroom of the Soleil Family Estate, and true to their name, it shone like the sun. Gold filigree lined the pillars, sat on tables, even covered parts of the ceiling. The chandeliers were even worse, with the amount of both glass embellishments and magic crystals adorning them.
She took a sip from her champagne glass, somehow managing not to cringe at the taste of alcohol (Moira was never fond of it), and played with the end of the flowy, three-quarter sleeve of her dress using her silver-gloved fingers.
One of the few things Moira would willingly attest to about Charlie was his fashion sense was immaculate. (How he hadn't become a famous designer yet, she would never know.)
He'd put her in a deep sapphire and pale blue number with a skirt of thin layered fabrics that hit just above mid calf. It gave the appearance of waves wrapping about her body, while also teasing to her curves. Moira wasn't the skinniest woman in Arlenington - she took pride in her strength pillowed by a thin layer of fluff, thank you very much -, but few designers actually took her body type into account when making most clothing due to their taste in skeletons.
Charlie even put a crown in her stick-straight bob that brushed her shoulders at its longest point framing her face. His partner, Lawrence, begged to do her makeup for her, and as Moira had already been forced into the dress, she had no energy to say no to their puppy dog eyes.
He'd applied some dark blue powder and lined her eyes in silver. Her lips were painted a midnight blue. Lawrence then added some shimmer to her cheeks and left it at that. Something about her skin being good as it was despite the hard labour contracts she took on occasion, not that the other two had any idea what she actually did at those jobs.
Moira downed the rest of her drink.
Humming along with the music, she made her way from her wallflower spot to the refreshments table further down the wall. Her eyes wandered over the dancers swinging away to the music.
It reminded Moira of her mother teaching her to dance in her father's studio.
A server offered to take the empty glass, and Moira handed it over with a smile.
She was about to head for the bar for a cocktail more to her taste, when a gentleman about her age (23) approached her.
"Milady," he said with a shallow bow and a gloved hand outstretched. "If I may be so bold as to have a few minutes of your time?"
Moira resisted the twitch that wanted to manifest in her left eye. She'd hoped to go the night without interacting with anyone other than Charlie, Lawrence, and the servers.
The young man before her wore a simple but elegant black suit with a silver vest embroidered with a simple geometric pattern beneath it. A short cape attached to the suit with silver brooches hung over his right shoulder. His dirty blond hair was pulled back into a low side-ponytail, and gel held his bangs out of his face.
Moira didn't want to seem rude, so she decided to pull on the etiquette lessons Charlie dragged her to when they were kids.
She placed her hand in his with a polite curtsey. "You may, good sir."
The man gave out a wide grin, crinkling his bright hazel eyes. (Moira would put good money on them shining gold if the light hit them right.) He placed a chaste kiss to her knuckles. "I thank you for your generosity."
Letting go of her hand, The man offered her his arm. "Where to, milady?"
"The bar, please. I'm a bit parched," Moira said, ignoring the raised eyebrow of her new companion, as she looped her arm through his.
He began to lead her around the dance floor to the long, ornate bar against the back wall under the imperial staircase.
"My apologies if I came off a little too strong," he told Moira, "but I wanted to be by your side before someone else stole that honor."
Moira couldn't hold in a snort at that comment before clearing her throat in realization of what she'd just done. Charlie's childhood tutor, Master Leon, would be so disappointed in her.
"Please forgive me for being rude," Moira apologized with an embarrassed smile. She glanced around looking for Charlie's bright head of red hair. "I didn't think I would be so popular."
"Why wouldn't you be? A gorgeous doll such as yourself shouldn't have such low confidence," the man replied seriously.
Before Moira could respond, they reached the bar.
"Any requests?" the man asked.
"Nimble Tonic, please." Moira placed a hand on the wooden bar top as her companion leaned on it while hovering a hand over her mid back, almost as if to say she was his for the time being. Normally, Moira would've shaken him off the moment he did so, but there were eyes on them, and she didn't want to cause trouble.
The man waved over a bartender, who gave him a nod.
He turned back to Moira. "And again, I must apologize. You were being stared at by one of the more, ah... unsavory characters here tonight."
"Oh? And who might that be, if you don't mind," she questioned. She knew some of the gossip and scandals bouncing around thanks to Charlie being a Count, but she'd hoped to avoid it while at the party.
"Ah," Moira said. She'd heard stories of Lord Richardson's cruelty.
"What can I get for you, Mi'Lord?" The bartender asked, cleaning a glass as he stood before them.
"One Dire Flash and a Nimble Tonic on the tab, my friend."
The bartender gave them a smile. "Right away, Sir."
Moira raised an eyebrow at the man but decided again to let it go. The drinks here were, after all, expensive.
"My Lady, if you don't mind, may I ask for a name to call you by?" The man asked as they waited.
"I go by Emmaline," Moira responded. She always used her middle name at events such as these or any time she modelled for Charlie. "May I inquire as to your's?"
"My friends call me Ferran," he smiled at her as the bartender came back with their drinks.
Moira was about to question his use of the word friends when the song finished.
The dancers stopped and applauded each other and the band. Moira and Ferran joined in with the clapping as did the other bystanders.
The next song began, and Moira's eyes widened as she stared out at the band.
"You know this song?" Ferran asked.
"Yes." Moira didn't just know this song. She was there when it was composed by her father and knew the dance by heart.
"Care to join me for a dance, Lady Emmaline?" Ferran held his arm out for her once more.
She glanced at their drinks and opened her mouth to ask about them, but the bartender spoke before she could.
"I can hold your drinks for you, Sir and Madam."
"Thank you Alex," Ferran said to him without looking away from Moira.
Moira looked between the two then let out a small sigh. "Very well, I guess you've convinced me."
She took Ferran's arm with a grin.
