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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: