23rd April, 1891 — Minister’s Masquerade (The Orient)
It wasn’t as though he couldn’t go to any party he liked, really, but this was one of the first that counted as a Ministry function, in which Kristoffer could attend as a newly-minted Ministry man.
Not that it made a whit of difference to him, really, particularly not when his metallic silver mask meant no one could tell him apart from any other gentleman; much as Kristoffer had no shame in his identity to begin with, the anonymity of the evening had granted him opportunity to rack up more dances than usual with hopefully-good-looking society women who might have been otherwise... less enthused to waste their time on far-too-young-to-be-eligible (but still probably out-of-their-league) young men like him.
And, in terms of shamelessness, he had downed a few more drinks than possibly necessary up on the mezzanine just now between sets.
But he made his way back down to try and find his next partner, all the same, his sauntering a little less steady than usual. Ah! He recognised the mask in the sea of them, and approached the woman without hesitation (nor much regard for whether he had been interrupting her). He cleared his throat. “I believe the next dance is mine?” He did not believe, he knew; they had definitely arranged it earlier. Probably.
open to a female character!
Not that it made a whit of difference to him, really, particularly not when his metallic silver mask meant no one could tell him apart from any other gentleman; much as Kristoffer had no shame in his identity to begin with, the anonymity of the evening had granted him opportunity to rack up more dances than usual with hopefully-good-looking society women who might have been otherwise... less enthused to waste their time on far-too-young-to-be-eligible (but still probably out-of-their-league) young men like him.
And, in terms of shamelessness, he had downed a few more drinks than possibly necessary up on the mezzanine just now between sets.
But he made his way back down to try and find his next partner, all the same, his sauntering a little less steady than usual. Ah! He recognised the mask in the sea of them, and approached the woman without hesitation (nor much regard for whether he had been interrupting her). He cleared his throat. “I believe the next dance is mine?” He did not believe, he knew; they had definitely arranged it earlier. Probably.
