Sight. Sound. Smell. Taste. Touch. Never a crowd to disappoint, the Villiers had perfected the recipe for an immaculate event, and it appealed to all five senses. B e h o l d ; the ballroom of the Chescote Manor-- a meager moniker in comparison to the estate’s grandiosity, glittering with the grandeur of the Hope Diamond with every twist and twirl of every socialite’s enchanting dress. The happy chatter of prosperity intertwined with the theatrical narratives of gossip filled every crevice. Wafts of unpronounceable delicacies and saliva-inducing pastries teased Xavier’s nostrils as penguin-suited men and women skirted by bearing plates with rich snacks. It would figure that they’d taste even better. Its inhabitants were the picture of upper-crust, with their gloved hands and pearly smiles. They mingled with a liquid ease. Nearest to Xavier, a man had nearly doubled over in guffaws as the two men in front of him fabricated a story that couldn’t possibly hold its entire truth.
And on the fringes, Xavier. Always watching, never participating. In his eyes, the portrait before him was a distortion. And he did not like falsities.
( This, in any case, is what he fancied. In his second-hand suit and uneven haircut, Xavier Reznik of Hell’s Courts stuck out like a sore thumb among the modern royalty. Even if he longed to belong, he would not know where to begin. )
And so our vigilante did what vigilantes do second-best; Xavier took to the shadows. With a fluke in his hand-- that would remain full, taken only because it was forced into his calloused palm, he had ducked from the ballroom and now wandered down a lavish corridor adorned with Renaissance paintings. ( Perhaps the thin glass of bubbling champagne gave his fingers something to do. Stripped bare of his tools, the knives and wrenches and crowbars that were worn with love, his hands felt naked and throbbing. ) His steps were calculated. His ears were fine-tuned. If there was to be a disruption, Xavier would catch it, and this duty gave him a comfortable sense of purpose, one that the aforementioned ballroom had not borne.
The sound of a footstep directly behind him caused him to whirl around. For the first time that New Year’s Eve night, his face was alive.
