October 13, 1895 - Gilbert’s birthday party Lord and Lady Westenra’s Masque

Gilbert was well and truly satiated. This evening had gone splendidly so far, between the mass attendance to his personal buffet and the surprise gift Azazel had left him in his study. (Lovely creature— red hair, striking eyes? O negative. It was exactly the combination he favored most.) But best of all was the complete and utter willingness of the gift to be… gifted, both body and blood. He didn’t know how she had managed it or if it was just some strange anomaly but hats off to his better half. She’d really outdone herself this year.

Closing the door to his study with a quiet click, Gilbert wiped the corner of his mouth on a handkerchief. It was green to match the color of the masque he’d lost somewhere in the coupling. Beside him, a smart looking house elf popped into existence, the only one on the entire premises. “Marlowe,” Gilbert smiled indulgently. “Perfect timing as always. Please see that our guest has everything he needs and a glass of that blood replenishing potion you’re so clever at acquiring for me.” At the elf’s nod, he resisted the urge to give it an affectionate pat on the head. This was the only creature of such species that Gilbert even remotely tolerated and as such, he often borrowed the little elf from his club when he had need. It wasn’t often but… it was enough. “Oh and do make sure he doesn’t wander. I think I’ve managed his memories, but one can never be too careful.”

With that, the vampire felt around in his pockets as he took off down the hall. The clever black jacket he wore was slightly creased from activities but for the most part he looked presentable enough. If only he could find that blasted masque… ah. Marlowe must have sent it to his pockets when he went in to tidy up. How keen. The vampire grinned as he re-affixed it to his face and made to turn down a spiral staircase. Now it was time to rejoin the festivities.

He’d just rounded the corner of the hall that would lead him across the impressive foyer towards the ballroom when the sound of footsteps further along caught his attention. Coming to a halt, Gilbert inclined his head. A human. And they were poking about where they didn’t belong. He followed the scent of its blood away from the ballroom and towards a small salon that had been used mostly for storage up until this point. Crates both large and small littered the space, most covered in dust under an antique, poorly lit chandelier. The human - a woman - seemed out of place in her finery here. Gilbert approached quietly from behind and didn’t pause until he was just in her ear over her left shoulder. “Can I help you with something, leibe?” He whispered, hoping for a start.

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Antigone Lestrange & muse song

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   Ursula Black

Twinkle twinkle you can't hide
I'm the devil in disguise

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The masque thus far was entertaining enough she supposed, but her spirits had been low - stormy and unpredictable to be more specific - since she'd learned of Angeline's death last month. She wasn't sad per se, but she was deeply angry and resentful. Angel had been a loyal and devoted friend since school and now some stupid mist came along and she was just gone! Who gave her the right to die? It wasn't right, it wasn't fair, why weren't one of Angel's sisters taken instead? Tig didn't have any use for her stupid sisters, they were expendable. Without any known culprit behind the murderous mist though, there was no clear way to seek revenge and vent her frustration. So she'd been letting it accumulate all month and letting everyone around her know about her foul temper. So really not much different from usual.

She wasn't making much of an effort to hide her mood tonight either, it probably didn't help that her near full-face mask allowed her a level of anonymity that was making her straight up careless. She'd danced twice so far that evening and had sent two men scurrying off nursing crushed hands and shoulders. She could barely even appreciate the opportunity to speak her native languages nor the fact that she was closer to home than she'd been in years.

After two dances she'd stalked off to explore the house which she thought might at least be passably entertaining and certainly less taxing on her mood. The architecture was rather impressive she supposed, if you cared about that sort of thing. The choice of decor was a little more genuinely interesting to her but in her present mood, it wasn't doing much for her either. Nevertheless, she continued to apathetically snoop around the place.

Tig stared around at the room she'd just entered. It was incredibly underwhelming. There were crates and what might be more crates under sheets. Thrilling. Without much expectation of being pleasantly surprised, she was reaching for her wand with every intention of opening up one of the crates to see if it was full of paintings or something more interesting, when she heard a voice right next to her ear. She whirled around and brandished her wand at the man who'd had the audacity to sneak up on her. For a start, I'm not your love. It had been a long time since she'd heard that term of endearment, not that her mother was particularly sincere when she used it. She wondered if she'd recognize him without the mask, though she doubted it, he sounded rather more local to here than Britain and she'd never had the opportunity to mix in European society.

He'd unfortunately caught her off-guard with her hand on her wand and now that she was pointing it at him it made her seem rather more ruffled than she cared to be. Annoyed, she lowered her wand but didn't put it away. How had he been so quiet walking up behind her anyway?

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Dress & Mask | Tag: Gilbert Prusseneit | Notes:

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   Gilbert Prusseneit

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Even after his satiation, Gilbert’s eyes danced at the way the woman’s pulse jumped and her blood hammered in her veins. Frightening others had always been one of his favorite hobbies for exactly this reason, though he was much better at self-control now than when he’d started playing his little games. She smelled faintly of something he couldn't place (was that... cat?), but the fear that laced the air was all the more appetizing. It was a good look on her; it complimented her striking eyes and pretty face.

The wand that was brandished in his direction did nothing to dissuade Gilbert. He watched as she took a step away from him and he merely raised his hands innocently as if to imply he was no threat. And he wasn’t. Yet. More interesting to him however was the fact that she’d understood his native German. Was she native herself or merely talented? There were a number of magical folk from across the German Empire here this evening. Lord and Lady Westenra had deep ties, some of which were affiliated with Gilbert himself, or Azazel, and some merely by association with the prestige. But then again, English was becoming an increasingly common language to default even in his beloved Prussia. Deciding to test her, Gilbert switched over entirely.

“Verzeihen Sie mir, Fräulein,” he purred, lightly. Though she looked a bit old to be a Miss, he’d give her the polite benefit of the doubt. He didn’t know her name as it was anyway. “Is there something you’ve lost here, by chance?” He continued, still in German. “I can’t imagine our hosts would take kindly to wandering guests without good reason.” He paused, waiting to see if his words would filter in or if a blank look would accompany that empowered stare of hers. There was an energy to this woman, even as she lowered her wand, that Gilbert couldn’t quite place. It fascinated him. Enough, perhaps, that he would keep his mask on and let her live. If she made it worth his while.

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Antigone Lestrange & muse song
* Forgive me, Miss.

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   Ursula Black

Twinkle twinkle you can't hide
I'm the devil in disguise

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To her displeasure she observed herself needing to tune her brain into German as though she hadn't spoken it long before English. Living so long with a linguistically uncultured pleb had taken a toll, it was one thing to occasionally talk to Moselle in other languages but she so rarely got to converse. Ironically she was considering saying nothing and letting him think she couldn't understand what he was saying, mainly to assert herself in the situation by dictating the direction of conversation or lack thereof, but also it might prove interesting if he said anything thinking she wouldn't understand.

She stared at him hard, not immediately replying. What was he about? Poking around someone else's house and then having the audacity to try and call her out for it. Unless he actually did live here but there was no particuar reason to think that when plenty of people had more audacity than she ought. She didn't count, she had just the right amount of audacity. Aside from his audacity, there was something odd about him but she didn't know why she thought that exactly, it was unexplained, instinctive. Tiberius was odd in a similar way, which was to say he wasn't like other people, he had another dimension. That line of thought was a little too close to being complimentary so she shut it down.

After an overlong pause wherein she simply stared him out, she finally made up her mind and spoke. If you're so worried, you'd better leave before they find you here then, hadn't you? She mentally winced as she caught herself using the Luxembourgish for 'leave' as opposed to the German. The difference was only a 'oo' vowel sound instead of an 'a' but it made her sound weird, particularly if he was unfamiliar with Luxembourgish which he probably was. Merlin this was awful, she had to sort this out before her fluency degraded any further. Maybe she'd start talking to Tiberius in Luxembourgish and German just to antagonize him. Why hadn't she done that already? Surely she had? It was so obvious now it occurred to her. Maybe she'd stop speaking English to him altogether and see if bombarding him with a language would eventually force him to understand it? Was it too late to indoctrinate their son so he forgot what English sounded like and couldn't talk understand his own father? Obviously that would involved banning his nurse from speaking English which would be awkward if she only spoke English...

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Dress & Mask | Tag: Gilbert Prusseneit | Notes: Using italics to denote non-English dialogue.

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   Gilbert Prusseneit

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Gilbert could see the thoughts running around like a small rodent in her head. Even behind a mask the woman’s eyes were miraculously expressive, characteristic of intelligence marred by… a feeling he got from her. There was still some air of madness however, and it pulled him closer a step.

Her words, for all their bravado, were odd on his ear. The last time he’d heard this accent was closer to the 1850s… maybe? In a part of the Netherlands, no… was it a Duchy by then? Ugh, Gilbert had long since stopped keeping Europe’s dynasties straight. They never lasted long enough for it to matter anyway. Silly humans and their silly thrones. The point was— she wasn’t Prussian, that much was evident. An interesting tidbit, however useless.

Lips curling up into a bit of a grin, Gilbert resisted the urge to flash pointed canines under his mask at the woman. The room was dimly lit enough that she might not see him for what he was, but he wasn’t willing to risk it yet. He liked to play with his meals before they expired. (Even if he wasn’t particularly hungry at the moment. It had been a long time since Gilbert had thrown up from overindulgence and he’d happily like to keep it that way.) “I’m built into the property’s... security, you might say,” he hummed evasively. “It’s my job to ensure wayward souls don’t wander into areas that are off limits to guests.” And it was true, technically. All paths here were his paths. He was, for all intents and purposes, both Lord Westenra and an anonymous bodyguard in one.

“So I’ll ask again, schmetterling,” he took another step closer to the woman. “Have you lost something I can help you find? Or shall I escort you back to the ballroom?” This time there was no restraint in the grin Gilbert flashed her. Pointed canines gleamed under the dull chandelier (that really needed to be dusted, duly noted). He proffered the woman his arm, calmly, and inclined his head towards the door.

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Antigone Lestrange & muse song
* Assume German for dialogue until further notice <3 he's thrilled 

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