Niyol was down to four bright opals framing the large turquoise in the silver circlet in his hair. Three dull and matte, three days out of the desert, three days without his sister. Three days without anyone trying to give him an order. He could get used to that.
The clothes were all thin and light, completely impractical back home; none of this was the sort of thing he would have worn to a formal event under ordinary circumstances. But being the only man shirtless would have been awkward, so. It sort of worked out. It wasn't quite the kind of suit he associated with outsiders, either, and he didn't know enough to know that it was a sherwani. He thought he didn't look half bad, anyway. He did get a few familiar things, the leather in his braid and a bone choker around his neck. The white made his skin look darker, but since some people here were blue and green, he didn't stand out all that much. His white leather mask covered half his face, was shaped to evoke a coyote. It felt appropriate, if a little heretical.
He'd figured out early on to go after the women with only one opal left. A built-in expiration date, a time limit. Here today, gone tomorrow, and never any risk that it might be otherwise. No one to ever get mad at him in the morning for the things he'd done the night before. If it could be called night. There wasn't really a sun. Or a moon. Or even any changes in lighting.
The trickier part was getting women to do the filthy things that were his preference. He could not, unfortunately, just pay them. Everyone here was on equal terms, which was horribly uncomfortable for him. It meant he had to be charming.
He could do charming. He wasn't half bad at it, in his own estimation. But damned if it wouldn't have been easier to just pay for it. He'd even had to learn how to dance, although that had worked in his favor, coaxing the woman who'd taught him to spend time with him. Did everyone but him know how to do these terrible dances? It felt like being in one of his sister's awful old novels.
He sipped champagne as he scoped the room for his next… partner. They stopped on white – not just her dress, but her hair and her skin, pale as snowflakes he'd never had the privilege of seeing.
Niyol was absolutely going to need to find out how many days she had left.
He didn't stare at her or approach her directly, instead opting to wander this way and that through the room until he had meandered near the glass where she had positioned herself. Closer, he could see that there was more skin and less dress than there had appeared to be from a distance. Yes. Good. He could also see that she was the same height as him. Less good. Tall women felt like home and a smack upside the head. She was pretty and pale and exotic and half-naked, so he'd overlook it. Even if he'd be happier to have her on her knees.
"Hate to be a bother," he said as he sidled up beside her, the lazy desert drawl he'd adopted to compensate for his natural accent and the tendency to clip his vowels short. "I know I'm just setting myself up for heartbreak, a lovely lady like you," he said, and he flashed a grin as bright as his eyes were dark. His head cocked a little, eyes raking over her to try and divine how long she'd been at the masquerade and lingering a little on bare skin. "But are you spoken for?"
The clothes were all thin and light, completely impractical back home; none of this was the sort of thing he would have worn to a formal event under ordinary circumstances. But being the only man shirtless would have been awkward, so. It sort of worked out. It wasn't quite the kind of suit he associated with outsiders, either, and he didn't know enough to know that it was a sherwani. He thought he didn't look half bad, anyway. He did get a few familiar things, the leather in his braid and a bone choker around his neck. The white made his skin look darker, but since some people here were blue and green, he didn't stand out all that much. His white leather mask covered half his face, was shaped to evoke a coyote. It felt appropriate, if a little heretical.
He'd figured out early on to go after the women with only one opal left. A built-in expiration date, a time limit. Here today, gone tomorrow, and never any risk that it might be otherwise. No one to ever get mad at him in the morning for the things he'd done the night before. If it could be called night. There wasn't really a sun. Or a moon. Or even any changes in lighting.
The trickier part was getting women to do the filthy things that were his preference. He could not, unfortunately, just pay them. Everyone here was on equal terms, which was horribly uncomfortable for him. It meant he had to be charming.
He could do charming. He wasn't half bad at it, in his own estimation. But damned if it wouldn't have been easier to just pay for it. He'd even had to learn how to dance, although that had worked in his favor, coaxing the woman who'd taught him to spend time with him. Did everyone but him know how to do these terrible dances? It felt like being in one of his sister's awful old novels.
He sipped champagne as he scoped the room for his next… partner. They stopped on white – not just her dress, but her hair and her skin, pale as snowflakes he'd never had the privilege of seeing.
Niyol was absolutely going to need to find out how many days she had left.
He didn't stare at her or approach her directly, instead opting to wander this way and that through the room until he had meandered near the glass where she had positioned herself. Closer, he could see that there was more skin and less dress than there had appeared to be from a distance. Yes. Good. He could also see that she was the same height as him. Less good. Tall women felt like home and a smack upside the head. She was pretty and pale and exotic and half-naked, so he'd overlook it. Even if he'd be happier to have her on her knees.
"Hate to be a bother," he said as he sidled up beside her, the lazy desert drawl he'd adopted to compensate for his natural accent and the tendency to clip his vowels short. "I know I'm just setting myself up for heartbreak, a lovely lady like you," he said, and he flashed a grin as bright as his eyes were dark. His head cocked a little, eyes raking over her to try and divine how long she'd been at the masquerade and lingering a little on bare skin. "But are you spoken for?"
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