Tall Tales and Tailored Suits

#contingency plans #caseybanning

It takes exactly a day for Amantius to write back.

Dear Casey,

How wonderful I am so fortunate to have met you- it is one of my favorite plays. I would love to see it again. And, of course, I look forward to seeing you, too. Perhaps when we meet again, you can tell me of your ‘less gentle’ interests.

With enthusiasm,

-Amantius.

Contingency Plans

Casey’s next letter acknowledges the silence from their end over the last several weeks.

Dear Amantius,

Apologies for the delay in my response. One event cascaded into another, into another, and the Feast of the Exceptional Rose has long arrived and left since we last spoke! I hope you were able to find a suitable dancing partner for the festivities. Myself, I can be decent at dancing–it is an art that I had to learn on the Surface, and one I find to be similar and yet more gentle than my current interests.

On the subject of plays, the friend I mentioned previously is one Narcis- Confortola, whom wrote a play called The Zee-Change. My spouse and I were there for it’s opening night, as a show of support for the arts and for all the dear friends and acquaintances involved in it’s production. Have you seen it?

Sincerely,

Casey

#contingency plans #caseybanning #'oh I almost forgot about this I've been busy'#you know he lying

Amantius responds to Casey’s letter at his leisure.

Dear Casey,

In truth, I nearly forgot about my invitation. I have been terribly busy. I’m so glad that our difficult schedules coincided; I would have hated to withdraw my invitation, or worse, ended up ignoring you. It seems that sometimes, chaos arrives in just the right time, and leaves precisely when it should. I did indeed enjoy the dancing, very much so. It was a memorable Feast. I hope you enjoyed yourself, too, even if you couldn’t make it to the Embassy’s masquerade ball. Luckily, there needn’t be a ball in order for there to be dancing. My offer still stands, if you’re interested.

As for The Zee-Change- oh, goodness, I loved that play. I wish I could see it again. Will there be any repeat performances? Can you ask, for my sake?

Sincerely,

-Amantius

ephemeral-elegance

Embroidered Taffeta Court Suit, ca. 1770s

via Museo del Traje

#wardrobe

Contingency Plans

Amantius sat curled up on a divan, a box of venom-filled chocolates within easy reach. He held an ormolu tray in his lap, which was full of calling cards, and he was delicately sifting through them with his talons.

“No, too common. Common, common… that one was allergic to roses and never wrote back. Bernard has his paws on that one… is this really all there is?” He sighed, and reached for a chocolate, popping it into his mouth.

Yesterday, his adorable researcher had told him under no uncertain terms was he to speak to her again. And now, the charming, gregarious Amantius found his schedule for the next week depressingly full of empty spots. Bernard had insinuated that Amantius was ‘losing his touch,’ but that was nonsense. No matter how charming he was, he couldn’t account for human fickleness, after all.

He pawed through the calling cards one more time, and his gaze fell on the image of a thorny vine winding around a name and address, with a Latin motto below. One word; Infragilis.

“Oh! It’s you!” Amantius laughed, holding the card up between his talons. “And to think, I nearly forgot about you.”

Ever the optimist, Amantius stood, went to his desk, and found some stationary. He sat down, and began to compose a letter.

Dear Casey,

I recall that last we spoke, I mentioned Christmas and the New Year. It is unfortunate that I could not invite you to one of the Embassy’s celebrations, but I trust that you had a merry time with your friends and loved ones. And I hope that you did all the things that make you happiest, the best to bring in a New Year full of more of the same.

The days are still cold, and London still smells of lacre. Yet February is upon us, and, traditionally, spring follows. I look forward to visiting the flower sellers at this time of year. The paper craft that the children sell on street corners is very lovely and fine in its own right, but nothing can exactly imitate the fresh scent of Surface flowers.

Amantius paused, and looked around the room. There was a vase full of red roses on a nearby end table. He considered them.

Therefore I hope you find these roses

But no. Red roses? Red might send the wrong message, at this stage. He might have to stop by the flower shop before mailing this letter.

He crumpled up the letter, and started over.

Therefore I hope you find these flowers welcome, and I hope they find you in good health. Everyone should have a little piece of spring, no matter the distance from the Surface.

You were very welcome company at the deviless’s salon. Indeed, meeting you was the highlight of an otherwise rather depressing afternoon. I’m certainly glad I left before I had to hear you-know-who publicly roast some poor, unassuming individual. Did you ever get to the bottom of that incredible rumor? (The one about Salome’s soul.) If so, I would be glad to hear what you found. If not, I would be equally glad to hear from you all the same. I found your conversation refreshing and honest, something that is sadly missing in most drawing rooms these days. Perhaps we can talk again sometime. I would love to hear your opinions about the latest play in Veilgarden.

Ever hopeful,

Amantius.

With relish, he folded the letter into an envelope, and sealed it with his special seal. Then he rang a little bell, calling in a servant. He gave her precise instructions about which flower shop to visit, which name to drop, and what flowers to buy, and then sent her on her way.

That same day, the letter arrived for Casey, accompanied by a small bouquet of yellow irises.

It takes a while for Casey to compose a response. The flowers were a cheerful and welcome decoration for the house, adding a splash of yellow to the usual wash of Casey’s field of greys and blues. They considered the irises, noting the hue, and finally began to write.

Dear Amantius,

I could write reams on my thoughts on the matter of Salome’s soul, but to save paper it could be summarized as less exciting than I would have hoped. Perhaps I am just not suited to the crowds typical to those particular salons. As for Veilgarden, well… a new show is every night, it seems, and I find the best performances are on the streets themselves. The stage-shows are always great–a dear friend of mine is a playwright and a composer, so I am eager to witness the arts.

What of you? What have you been up to since our conversation?

Thank you for the flowers, they are quite lovely.

-Casey

#contingency plans #caseybanning

Amantius receives Casey’s letter one day, and, pacing himself, responds on another.

Dear Casey,

From what you say about the soul, it seems that the rumors were either false, or impossible to substantiate. This is more or less the best that could be expected. Nonetheless, I am a little sorry to hear it. It would have been fascinating, if it were true.

If I may say so, I believe you are the kind of person who belongs anywhere they care to go; but that is not to say that those crowds ‘suit’ you, either. I don’t perceive that there is anything within you that is desperate for validation, nor do I think you are eager to derive a sense of superiority from the downfall of others. I am glad that we met; let us not meet there again, however. There are far better places to be in London than that deviless’s salon.

I had a particular play in mind, but you mentioned your friend, the playwright. Perhaps I’ve heard of them? If not, I would love to be introduced to new talent. Are they putting on a show anytime soon? Or have they recently?

I have had a wonderful time preparing for the Feast of the Exceptional Rose. My tailor and I have been busy colluding over the creation of several costumes, and I have been practicing ball room dancing. I flatter myself that I am already somewhat graceful for my size, but to be perfectly honest, I am far too anxious for the balls to begin, and it helps me work off some of the anticipation. Unfortunately, my dancing partner has had a rearrangement of her priorities, to the final result that I am no longer one of them. Do you know how to dance?

Sincerely,

Amantius.

Contingency Plans

Amantius sat curled up on a divan, a box of venom-filled chocolates within easy reach. He held an ormolu tray in his lap, which was full of calling cards, and he was delicately sifting through them with his talons.

“No, too common. Common, common... that one was allergic to roses and never wrote back. Bernard has his paws on that one... is this really all there is?” He sighed, and reached for a chocolate, popping it into his mouth.

Yesterday, his adorable researcher had told him under no uncertain terms was he to speak to her again. And now, the charming, gregarious Amantius found his schedule for the next week depressingly full of empty spots. Bernard had insinuated that Amantius was ‘losing his touch,’ but that was nonsense. No matter how charming he was, he couldn’t account for human fickleness, after all.

He pawed through the calling cards one more time, and his gaze fell on the image of a thorny vine winding around a name and address, with a Latin motto below. One word; Infragilis.

“Oh! It’s you!” Amantius laughed, holding the card up between his talons. “And to think, I nearly forgot about you.”

Ever the optimist, Amantius stood, went to his desk, and found some stationary. He sat down, and began to compose a letter.

Dear Casey,

I recall that last we spoke, I mentioned Christmas and the New Year. It is unfortunate that I could not invite you to one of the Embassy’s celebrations, but I trust that you had a merry time with your friends and loved ones. And I hope that you did all the things that make you happiest, the best to bring in a New Year full of more of the same.

The days are still cold, and London still smells of lacre. Yet February is upon us, and, traditionally, spring follows. I look forward to visiting the flower sellers at this time of year. The paper craft that the children sell on street corners is very lovely and fine in its own right, but nothing can exactly imitate the fresh scent of Surface flowers.

Amantius paused, and looked around the room. There was a vase full of red roses on a nearby end table. He considered them.

Therefore I hope you find these roses

But no. Red roses? Red might send the wrong message, at this stage. He might have to stop by the flower shop before mailing this letter.

He crumpled up the letter, and started over.

Therefore I hope you find these flowers welcome, and I hope they find you in good health. Everyone should have a little piece of spring, no matter the distance from the Surface.

You were very welcome company at the deviless’s salon. Indeed, meeting you was the highlight of an otherwise rather depressing afternoon. I’m certainly glad I left before I had to hear you-know-who publicly roast some poor, unassuming individual. Did you ever get to the bottom of that incredible rumor? (The one about Salome’s soul.) If so, I would be glad to hear what you found. If not, I would be equally glad to hear from you all the same. I found your conversation refreshing and honest, something that is sadly missing in most drawing rooms these days. Perhaps we can talk again sometime. I would love to hear your opinions about the latest play in Veilgarden.

Ever hopeful,

Amantius.

With relish, he folded the letter into an envelope, and sealed it with his special seal. Then he rang a little bell, calling in a servant. He gave her precise instructions about which flower shop to visit, which name to drop, and what flowers to buy, and then sent her on her way.

That same day, the letter arrived for Casey, accompanied by a small bouquet of yellow irises.

#contingency plans #caseybanning #maybe someday people will realize Casey is color blind

A Very Select Salon

Amantius nods gravely. “Oh, every time,” he says. “Everyone is always hopeful their find will be the one to finally impress her, and every time they’re sadly mistaken.” He nods in the direction of a small deviless, who is clutching a redware jar close to her chest, her jaw set as she strides into the next room. “Poor dear. It’s probably a perfectly good soul, too, but our hostess has highly singular tastes.” He shakes his head in pity.

“As for Salome, it would have to be pure gossip,” he says. “I don’t think it’s very likely. But if you find out, let me know, won’t you?” He stands, stretching a little, and then draws a card from his pocket, offering it to Casey. It’s an ornate one, with red and black roses, and gold fringed borders. One scarlet rose petal lifts away to reveal his name and an address on Ladybones, as well as some sort of rhyming motto in Latin.

They smile, accepting the calling card and securing it inside their coat pocket. Casey stands up, glancing once more at the last of the people filtering into the main room, and pulls out their own calling card. The paper is cream-coloured and features a spiralling, embossed image of a thorny vine encircling their name and address. “Latin! Quite interesting. I might have to pull out my old books to translate this one,” Casey says, inspecting his card. “We’ve got that thing in common, at least.” At the bottom of their card is not an entire phrase, but instead just one word: Infragilis.

“I’m definitely going to find out more on the matter of Salome. Next time I’m around Ladybones, I’ll keep an eye out. Maybe by then you’ll have tried your hand at poetry.” Another smile.

#caseybanning #a very select salon

Amantius takes Casey’s card, pausing to examine it. He cocks an eyebrow, impressed, and then pockets it. “You had better hope not,” Amantius says, grinning. “Because you know I’ll make you read it. Goodbye, Casey. It was... auspicious to meet you. One hopes.” He bows, and then makes for the door, leaving the fragrance of burning matchsticks and violets in his wake.

A Very Select Salon

Amantius nods. “Food for thought,” he agrees. “Or, in some cases… it’s simply nice to pay a stranger to tell one about oneself.” He chuckles. “’You are a true romantic, enigmatic and alluring,’” he says, mimicking Madame Shoshana’s mystical tone. He leans in, and lowers his voice. “Between you and me, I would put more stock in one of our ladies’ readings. I will say nothing of Madame Shoshana, other than a woman has a right to earn a living, by whatever skills she has.” He raises his eyebrows, and sits back.

“Ah, we’re moving into the main room,” he says, noticing people rising from their chairs and shuffling through the door. “Do you really want to stay for this? It’s going to turn into a front row seat to watching some poor individual get publicly eviscerated. She’s known for her incisive wit, our hostess. Some people enjoy that.” Amantius says it tonelessly, but of course manages to imply that he doesn’t, and no decent person would, either.

Casey pauses, watching the other guests start to move toward the doorways. They’re gripped with indecision again, stuck between the desire to possibly see Salome’s soul and the new information that Amantius has provided.

“Do you suppose that would happen?” They ask. “I really only came for Salome, but f it’s going to turn into a circus at somebody else’s expense, well..”

#caseybanning #a very select salon

Amantius nods gravely. “Oh, every time,” he says. “Everyone is always hopeful their find will be the one to finally impress her, and every time they’re sadly mistaken.” He nods in the direction of a small deviless, who is clutching a redware jar close to her chest, her jaw set as she strides into the next room. “Poor dear. It’s probably a perfectly good soul, too, but our hostess has highly singular tastes.” He shakes his head in pity.

“As for Salome, it would have to be pure gossip,” he says. “I don’t think it’s very likely. But if you find out, let me know, won’t you?” He stands, stretching a little, and then draws a card from his pocket, offering it to Casey. It’s an ornate one, with red and black roses, and gold fringed borders. One scarlet rose petal lifts away to reveal his name and an address on Ladybones, as well as some sort of rhyming motto in Latin.

A Very Select Salon

They were about ready to answer him, a constructed ‘Oh no, Roland would not favor the Embassy at all’, but Amantius spins the conversation back around to the supernatural. “That does sound fun. I’ve had readings of all kinds down at Mrs. Plenty’s Carnival… most of which had no accuracy to my life, but it would give me something to think about at the end of the day. Isn’t that what it’s really for in the end? Food for thought?”

Amantius nods. “Food for thought,” he agrees. “Or, in some cases... it’s simply nice to pay a stranger to tell one about oneself.” He chuckles. “’You are a true romantic, enigmatic and alluring,’” he says, mimicking Madame Shoshana’s mystical tone. He leans in, and lowers his voice. “Between you and me, I would put more stock in one of our ladies’ readings. I will say nothing of Madame Shoshana, other than a woman has a right to earn a living, by whatever skills she has.” He raises his eyebrows, and sits back.

“Ah, we’re moving into the main room,” he says, noticing people rising from their chairs and shuffling through the door. “Do you really want to stay for this? It’s going to turn into a front row seat to watching some poor individual get publicly eviscerated. She’s known for her incisive wit, our hostess. Some people enjoy that.” Amantius says it tonelessly, but of course manages to imply that he doesn’t, and no decent person would, either.

A Very Select Salon

“There’s no need to apologize,” Amantius says, good cheer restored. “I contributed equally to the subject, and your question was a natural progression of it.”

He beckons the servant woman, and has her refill his cup. “Mm, now that you mention it, it is close enough to that time that I should be making plans. I have been thinking about Hallowmas, and sparing no thought towards the New Year. The Embassy always has parties, of course. Warm sherry, sparkling cider, cocoa. Dancing and gifts. That’s right, I will have to do my post-Sacksmas gift shopping, and select the cards I will be sending out. On the Eve itself, the ladies will be sitting in groups, doing their tea leaves. That’s always interesting, whether or not one believes in it. And then by midnight… a kiss. One hopes.” He smiles pensively, rubbing his thumbs over the rim of his cup.

“The Embassy does know how to put on lovely events,” Casey agrees, shrugging. “From what I’ve seen, or heard about at least. My spouse and I enjoy some of those things around New Year’s as well, within the company of friends or even just ourselves. One rarely has to worry about the famous midnight kiss when marriage is involved.” Casey smiles wryly.

“The reading of tea-leaves, though? I didn’t realize that was in fashion at the Embassy.”

“How lovely,” Amantius says, patting Casey on the shoulder. “So good to see love affirmed in this cynical, heartbroken city. Perhaps you and your spouse will attend the Embassy’s New Year celebration this time around?” He grins, and moves on. “Oh, yes. Oh, most certainly. Tea leaves, tarot, palm reading, all very fashionable. It’s all in good fun, whether or not it’s accurate. No Bibliomancy, you understand, unless it’s done tongue-in-cheek.”

A Very Select Salon

“Apologies,” Casey says, setting their glass aside. “My intention was not to pry exact experiences out of you, and instead was more to question how it would be possible that somebody would not have experienced heartbreak in the past. It probably still dug those experiences up though.” Distantly, they’re grateful for the length their hair has grown out to be, because they could feel the reddening of their ears at that moment, now concealed from view. Casey coughs, trying to think of a new direction to bring the conversation.

“What would you plan to do on this upcoming New Year, then?” They ask.

“There’s no need to apologize,” Amantius says, good cheer restored. “I contributed equally to the subject, and your question was a natural progression of it.”

He beckons the servant woman, and has her refill his cup. “Mm, now that you mention it, it is close enough to that time that I should be making plans. I have been thinking about Hallowmas, and sparing no thought towards the New Year. The Embassy always has parties, of course. Warm sherry, sparkling cider, cocoa. Dancing and gifts. That’s right, I will have to do my post-Sacksmas gift shopping, and select the cards I will be sending out. On the Eve itself, the ladies will be sitting in groups, doing their tea leaves. That’s always interesting, whether or not one believes in it. And then by midnight… a kiss. One hopes.” He smiles pensively, rubbing his thumbs over the rim of his cup.

A Very Select Salon

“Are you saying that you’ve never experienced those?” Casey asks quietly. “You don’t know the wounding effect of heartbreak or betrayal–or both at once, as if from a deep friend or lover, or even a snubbing? Or do you mean that you’ve experienced these, and you simply are able to move on unscathed?” They stare him down, a curious gleam in their eye. “I wonder if that’s the difference between you and I, or the difference between humans and devils.”

They lift the wine to echo his toast, and finish it off. “A new friendship is by nature a fresh start.”

Amantius meets Casey’s gaze, and then blinks. He shifts in his chair, and scratches his nose tenderly.

“I try to take a philosophical approach,” he says, finally. “If it’s not meant to be, then perhaps it’s for the best things end the way they do. Sometimes losing one person creates an opportunity for someone else to come into my life, and so on.” He shrugs, and then gives Casey a little shamefaced grin. “Or perhaps I’m a liar, and I prefer not to speak of less happy memories. You know, some people celebrate the New Year by doing all the things that make them happiest. It’s good luck: It means the next year will be full of those things, too. Perhaps I’m superstitious, but I think the same thing applies to conversations with new friends. I would rather talk about the good things with you.”

A Very Select Salon

“How refreshing,” Amantius says. “I never give a surname, myself. I always felt first names were friendlier. I absolutely hate having to address everyone like a stranger.” He smiles. “As far as I’m concerned, if we shake hands, we’re well on our way to becoming friends, don’t you think? People these days can be so aloof, so cynical.” Someone is pouring coffee, and the rich aroma fills the room. Amantius turns his head, inhaling. “Oh, coffee! Impeccable timing.” Soon, he has a cup in his hands, and he’s beaming at Casey over it as a silent servant offers them a cup, too.

Casey politely turns down the coffee, gesturing that there is still some of their beverage left to finish off, and then dives back into the conversation. “I believe that people are aloof and cynical at times as a means to protect themselves. Sometimes if you’ve been hurt too much, you come to expect the next person in your life will be just the same as the rest, so you bite first before they even open their mouth.” An amused grin spreads on their face.

“Or is that also too cynical?”

Amantius looks thoughtful, and he sips his coffee slowly. It’s a moment before he responds. “Not cynical,” he says. “Insightful. I never thought about it before, really, but now that I do, it seems obvious.” He starts to nod, the corners of his eyes squinting just slightly as he focuses on the air above Casey’s head. “Yes. Heartbreak, betrayal, snubbing. I’ve witnessed these things myself.” He lowers his gaze to Casey’s face, and smiles. “I suppose I don’t take it personally, so I forget that it has... lasting consequences for others. Not everyone is like me, and not all pain is alike. But, Casey! A fresh start for the two of us, I hope?” He raises his coffee cup, as if in a toast, and then drinks deeply from it, steam curling around his mustache.

A Very Select Salon

Occasionally, a devil in a striped vest glances their way, but otherwise, Casey has Amantius’s attention, and only Amantius’s attention, for the moment. The devil rests his chin on a large fist, and listens with apparent rapture.

“Wonderful,” he says, once Casey concludes the poem. “Your voice is very soft and measured.” He takes the book back, and sets it down on a nearby end table. Then he offers Casey his hand for a handshake. “My name is Amantius. I’m delighted to meet you. Can I call you Casey?”

“I insist upon it,” Casey says, shaking his hand. “I’m one of few individuals who would prefer that to any of the titles we would otherwise fix to a person’s surname. Mister or miss are both… lacking. So yes, Casey is fine. Do you prefer Amantius or is that too informal?” They ask, sipping at their wine. “In which case, one would need something more formal to go by…”

“How refreshing,” Amantius says. “I never give a surname, myself. I always felt first names were friendlier. I absolutely hate having to address everyone like a stranger.” He smiles. “As far as I’m concerned, if we shake hands, we’re well on our way to becoming friends, don’t you think? People these days can be so aloof, so cynical.” Someone is pouring coffee, and the rich aroma fills the room. Amantius turns his head, inhaling. “Oh, coffee! Impeccable timing.” Soon, he has a cup in his hands, and he’s beaming at Casey over it as a silent servant offers them a cup, too.

A Very Select Salon

“Oh yes, I’ve heard of this movement,” They say, trying to locate a poem that could be a quick read. “It’s the biggest trend in Veilgarden at the moment. Head down there, and you’ll see a whole line of poets ready to profess their love for anything fungal. Let’s see here…”

It’s not long then until they find a poem about a sentient shroom traversing through the marshes. The rhythm was easy enough to articulate, and Casey began to quietly recite the poem. Occasionally, they glanced up from the chapbook to eye the room, hoping nobody else was paying too close attention. Once finished, they close the book with a flourish and hand it back to him.

“Recited by Casey Banning,” They finish. “What is your name?”

Occasionally, a devil in a striped vest glances their way, but otherwise, Casey has Amantius’s attention, and only Amantius’s attention, for the moment. The devil rests his chin on a large fist, and listens with apparent rapture.

“Wonderful,” he says, once Casey concludes the poem. “Your voice is very soft and measured.” He takes the book back, and sets it down on a nearby end table. Then he offers Casey his hand for a handshake. “My name is Amantius. I’m delighted to meet you. Can I call you Casey?”

A Very Select Salon

They finally smile, but the expression is somewhat guarded. Casey’s lips are pressed together and the smile beams on their face for a few brief seconds, as if to quietly say ‘Thank you for acknowledging the complicated matter of my former Biblical affiliation and not prying.‘ The expression changes, trying to show interest as the conversation turns to poetry.

“I do,” Casey says, taking the chapbook and flipping through it. “Is this some of your work?”

Amantius laughs. “Gracious, no! I have neither the talent nor the skill. Perhaps someday, but... no, I’m getting ahead of myself.” He taps the spine of the chap book with a polished talon. “This is the work of the mysterious, and much celebrated, poetic soul whose praises our hostess has been singing. All fungus themed, and strangely...” He motions with his hand, as if groping the air for descriptive words. “...Lifelike. Vivid, voluptuous, lush. Not words one normally associates with fungus, yet somehow the poet does it. Will you read a few verses?” He smiles. “My breath and inflection are abysmal, I’m afraid.”

A Very Select Salon

They give Amantius a once-over, furrowing their brows at the sparkling beadwork and his earnest smile. It’s as if Casey is thinking over how friendly they want to sound in their response. “No story,” They finally say. “A Biblical aficionado, I suppose you might say. Formerly. It’s complicated.”

They punctuate the end of their sentence with another silent sip of their wine.

“I would guess you’re a collector yourself though,” They finally say. “Or you’re with… colleagues. Enjoying the show of something potentially historic and dazzling. Let’s hope that it’s not all smoke and mirrors.”

Amantius sits up a little straighter in his chair. “A former Biblical aficionado!” he repeats, with relish. “How interesting. But you say it’s complicated. I assume that means something not fit for salon small talk.” He waves his hand, as if neatly brushing the subject aside, and smiles again.

“I’m simply here for the poetry,” he says. “I hate to admit it, but if the deviless thinks it’s something special, then it must be. I am a fan of poetry, but my taste is less refined. Perhaps I will learn something.” He picks up a chap book, and offers it to Casey. “Do you like poetry?”

A Very Select Salon

One such human had just (finally, after much negotiating and pulling-of-strings) arrived at the salon. Casey’s entrance is quiet as they slip through the crowd, keeping their gaze lingering on the other human attendants. Nobody they knew. This was a room full of complete strangers.

It doesn’t take long for them to secure a beverage and linger on the fringes of other peoples’ conversations, trying to listen in for clues about Salome. A couple devils give them a curious glance, but nothing more. The drink in their hand is a shield; they raise the cup up to their mouth for a sip, giving themself an excuse to stay quiet instead of joining in on the talk. Anyone who’d know Casey would comment on this strange slip in their demeanor–why blend in when you can stand out? Even their outfit is subdued, awash in a stone-grey suit and accented in pale gold and white.

Their study of the room leads them to glance in Amantius’ direction for just a moment, but they don’t seem to acknowledge him past their brief gaze. Their expression is cool, non-judgemental, and focused entirely on taking in the surroundings.

Amantius watches Casey. Smoked lenses are useful in many ways, and right now they hide his interest. Casey’s very attempts to blend in with the wallpaper are what draws Amantius’s attention. The first conclusion he draws is that they are not here to make a bid for the deviless’s affections: Any human who wanted to do so would have come armed with poetry or music. He wonders if they might be a detective, in that case. Investigators sometimes got through the initial screening, although the deviless’s paperwork was always immaculate. The rumors of Salome’s soul would be certain to attract lawful attention, and this time- if the rumors were true- the deviless would not have the paperwork. So, that should be interesting. The next conclusion he draws (in a part of his mind much quieter than the rest) is that, either way, this probably means this human isn’t here to sell their soul at all, not to the deviless or anyone else. Initial disinterest has never deterred Amantius before, and it certainly won’t now.

“What’s your story?” he asks, taking off his glasses and tucking them into his breast pocket. When he smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkle, making him look genial, and he wants to give Casey the full effect. “It’s rare for humans to attend these salons. Are you a collector, yourself? Or an aficionado of a different sort?” Amantius is wearing his sapphire blue suit, with a design of abstract flames done in intricate glim beadwork, which winds up the forearms of his sleeves and the sides of his coat. He also wears a violet cravat with blue embroidery, for an inversion of the chosen color theme.