July 1st, 1892 — The Wixeldorf Estate - Paris, France
Vincent Iago

How many hours had it been already? Enough to feel like an eternity that was for sure. Between being dragged all the way out to Paris to have her Coming Out Ball held at her grandparents estate and needing to be her mothers wind-up doll of displayed elegance, Beryl was about ready to accept a fate in Azkaban and eviscerate the vile woman who’d birthed her. Thankfully it seemed her mother’s own façade was beginning to crumble after hours without a strong enough drink down her gullet, and Mrs. Wixeldorf’s overbearing watch now appeared to be consumed with locating some hair of the dog to dull the pains of her lush lifestyle. Amusement tugged at the delicate corners of Beryl’s otherwise disinterested features, and as she kept her focus on her mother, it was with great pleasure that she watched her mother excuse herself and slink away across the ballroom.

Beryl’s eyes then followed the trail of attendee’s back to the obnoxious French man that stood proudly next to her, still blathering away with some prolonged nonsense that she’d already been tuning out for quite some time now. “I’m done with this.” The interruption was sudden, and Beryl gave a slight flick of her hand as if to elegantly shoo him away. It was enough to bless the moment with a stunned silence, but as confusion slowly etched across the man’s face, Beryl quickly intervened before he could even form a question in that undoubtedly empty head of his. “This conversation might have the least amount of redeeming merits to any I’ve ever been forced to listen to in my life,” Pausing for a moment, Beryl’s already narrowed eyes gave the man a quicker once over then he even deserved. “And sadly you are far from handsome enough for me to even consider enduring this any longer.” Pivoting on her heel, Beryl left the man with his mouth foolishly agape in her wake as she seized the opportunity to take a break from the endless parade of imbeciles she’d been forced to engage with all night long. Although not before jutting a sharp, albeit tiny, shoulder into the French mans frame as Beryl made it a point to move out of the way for no one.

Making her way across the ballroom, Beryl took note of the quickly averted gazes of the many men that had attempted to dazzle and intoxicate her with their lavish words at varying points throughout that evening. Their uncomfortable and almost fearful aversion made the corners of Beryl’s mouth curl up in satisfaction, and as she gracefully made her way towards the doors that led to the balcony terrace, she kept an unfaltering glare of contempt burrowed into each and every one of them as she passed them by. Her nose confidently held high to remind them all of just how beneath her she’d found the whole lot of them.

Reaching the doors that led out to the freedom of the gardens, Beryl took a moment to slyly glance back towards the many ballroom guests, and when it appeared that they had all become consumed by their varying conversations and dances, she softly pressed into the ornately carved doors and quickly slipped through in one swift movement. Keeping her footsteps delicate encase some bat-eared ward of her mother's was outside, Beryl stepped out onto the balcony terrace. The shift to the gentle rustling of a soft breeze and the various critters that inhabited the vast gardenscape washed over Beryl in the most refreshing of ways, and as the door clicked shut behind her and the ballrooms deafening activities became nothing more than mere white noise, Beryl genuinely smiled for the first time that evening.

The balcony before her extended out into a half moon that overlooked the extremely intricate labyrinth of garden beds down below, and beautiful wisteria vines had crept up and woven themselves into the architecture in a way that left the balcony draped in a beautiful kaleidoscope of lavenders, violets, and blues. Throughout the gardens many pathways a couple of gazebo’s and a decently sized pond lined by weeping willows could be seen from the vantage point. All of which was lit by the soft and almost romantic glow of what appeared to be enchanted fireflies lighting up the impressive spectacle. It was clear from just the first glance that the intricate display was her grandparents pride and joy of the estate. A point that had been further resonated by the mirrored color scheme and décor bestowed upon the ballroom for that evening.

Walking up to the stone railing, Beryl closed her eyes for a moment so that she could fully appreciate the beautiful hum of the night's inhabitants. Everything was so much more enjoyable here when no one was bothering her. However, it was a criminally short-lived moment as the sudden click of the terrace door shattered the undoubtedly perfect moment she'd been aching for all night. “Honestly woman! At least find a way to make yourself useful if you’re going to haunt me like a fucking omen and-” Angrily turning towards what she’d assumed had been Ms. Grimpuckett hovering closer like the watchful and overbearing ward she was, Beryl was even more irritated to discover that it was actually a man that was disturbing her. Disdain furrowed Beryl’s beautiful face as it shifted to unimpressed annoyance before the man could even utter a word, and without offering even the slightest of apologies for her misunderstanding, Beryl turned back towards the gardens while letting out an audible sigh of clear displeasure. Great.

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   Ida Chang, Vincent Iago

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[Please feel free to slap, throw things at, or even punch Beryl at your leisure! <3]

We are waiting on a telegram to give us news of the fall…
“Dear Paris is burning after all.”

To be here, at this debut, was more than Vincent could have imagined for himself a few years past. The gilded ceilings and marble floors were not beyond the obliviator’s imagination, but his attainment of them - in his capacity here as a guest, and not… say, a layer of security? - was an accomplishment. It was his accomplishment. Rolling his shoulders back and standing just that much taller, the blonde felt a sense of smugness tug at his expression. He was pristine in his tails, not bought specifically for this occasion as some might like to imply, thank you. Vincent actually was part of the upper class, or raised as such, much as those around him seemed inclined to forget. The only reason he and his mother had ‘fallen from grace’ was a lack of funds, not breeding. This though… the debut of Beryl Wixeldorf, was his crowning accomplishment so far.

To have received an invitation to this event - an event even other upperclass members of the English ton were not privy to - said something. What it said, Vincent was not sure of in it’s entirety, but it had to prove at the very least that he deserved his place, both here and amongst the powerful and wealthy. No muggleborns, no halfbloods, and nobody at all - sacre dieu! - from the the middle classes had been invited. And here was Vincent Iago, both a halfblood and a firm member of the middle class, whom scandal had chased about all his life, able to lift a crystal champagne flute to his lips.

The bubbly amber liquid tasted so much sweeter laced with such a privilege.

Looking about the ballroom, Vincent appraised those of the ton that had been deemed worthy. Green eyes settled upon the young lady of the hour and, though he’d met her briefly in the greeting line, she seemed unfamiliar to him from this distance.

Beryl Wixeldorf. She was the first and only daughter of Gaston and Elizabeth. The latter was an old crow, but the former… a much more interesting man, if Vincent had ever met one. They were friendly, in their way, much as a lion might be friendly towards a cat to help them catch a mouse in a smaller hole than its paw could reach. He’d done a few odd jobs for the old man Wixeldorf, confiscated a few memories and handed them over in little glass vials for insurance. The price tag? An introduction to the upper echelons of society, just like this evening. Perhaps even a permanent introduction in the form of a betrothal, lest he earn it.

Running into one Timoleon Maxime here, of all places, was just icing on the cake he’d baked for himself.

Vincent could still feel his gut curl at the sight of the other man. His ugly mug, his two-sided betrayal, his smug, holier-than-thou attitude. Vince had done his research after the incident in October… He’d done some prior, upon first meeting the less-than gentleman, but he’d buckled down harder the second time around. He’d slunk and dug and traded for any and every scrap of information on the bastard he could find, digging up only that he was a second son, a spare, brought to light only due to a fortunate splinching accident. Untimely, perhaps, but fortunate. Nothing interesting, or particularly ruinous had come of Vincent’s investigation. The only thing of note aside from his brother’s incident was that - for whatever reason - Timoleon seemed to have a particular interest in his baby cousin. The interest seemed superficial however.

They’d shared a few not-so-unpleasant moments throughout the night, which was more than could be said for the lady of the hour otherwise, but like most he interacted with - Timoleon seemed to care neither hair nor whisker about her, truly. At least in so much as Vincent had garnered from a distance. In fact, the only thing that resonated with him about their relationship at all that struck as oddly favorable, was that he’d never actually seen Wixeldorf smile like that at anyone else. Not ever. (And Vincent was well versed in the smiles of handsome gentlemen.)

It was on this observation that the blonde had mulled over a majority of the evening. He knew it would strike at the egotist’s weakest limb if said baby cousin came to any injury or fault. Would it break him? Would it bend him over and castrate him the way Vincent planned ultimatley? No. But Rome was not built in a day, and each stone cast would weaken the resistance.

It was with this mentality, over another glass of champagne, that Vincent Iago had resolved to ruin Beryl Wixeldorf, and ruin handily.

Fast-forward to mid-debut. He’d been watching her all evening. The girl was sharp. She was a thorn waiting for a moment to strike an unsuspecting victim who happened to be drawn in by the soft petals but was too stupid to recognize beauty was not all it appeared. She wasn’t the most subtle in her thorniness, driving off suitors left and right, but she was certainly determined. Peeling himself off the wall, Vincent finished his glass and set it on a passing tray before he straightened his collar and followed the brunette. Evading the overbearing brute of a woman she called a mother by stepping out onto the balcony, the girl had unknowingly set up his precise moment to approach.

It was a beautiful estate, he’d give them as much, Vincent thought as he carefully weaved through guests to reach her balcony doors. Then, with a quick glance over his shoulder, the blonde slipped through the door and shut it with a small click behind him. (He had more elaborate plans to ruin her, but if being caught unchaperoned with a gentleman on the balcony was enough to start dissent, then why complicate things for himself?) Vincent paused to take in the landscape for a moment. If he were a romantic, and not obsessively enamored with his former-partner-now-boss and best friend, the whole of the scene might have struck him as whimsically lovely.  Wisteria, fireflies, maze gardens. As it was, the romantic in him had been stabbed one too many times and died a grisley death, and all Vincent saw was opportunity.

The click of the door must have drawn attention however because in that moment, before he’d even so much as approached her fully, the girl was spewing off all sorts of rude comments and words real ladies should never utter in public. Vincent almost laughed despite himself, and if an amused smile fell across his face before he could catch it, well, that was neither here nor there. Clearing his throat to keep the amusement mostly at bay, Vincent leaned upon the railing beside her and stared out over the garden too.

“While I suspect you’re having a marvelous time being haunted and scaring the deamons off yourself this evening, is there anything I could do for you Ms. Wixeldorf?” Vincent turned a half-amused grin on her again, this time making no effort to restrain himself. “I’m sure you might have just as much fun bossing me about, and I wouldn’t dare disappoint one so handily weaponed as that.” He raised his hands slightly in mock surrender. A veritable truth, if Vincent Iago had ever uttered one.

Dance fair people, dance and drown.
Dance fair Paris to the ground…

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Beryl Wixeldorf & obviously this theme song because THEY WILL BURN PARIS DOWN

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   Beryl Wixeldorf, Ida Chang

Was there anything he could do? Perhaps jumping off this balcony and painting the roses a more genuine and delightful shade of red. Frowning, Beryl graced the man with the slightest turn of her attention and watched as amusement found its way across his face as he seemingly attempted to charm her. Her eyes flicked away in a roll for a moment before finding their way back to his features. As he continued to speak however something did seem to captivate her attention, though despite how it may have appeared it had nothing to do with his words. She remembered this man. But why? Shifting her unimpressed posture so that it was more than a mere side glance she was tossing his way, Beryl’s eyes traced the gentlemans features till it finally dawned on her. He was the man her mother had so venomously spat under her breath at when he’d first entered the ballroom. Beryl hadn’t given it much thought at the time, hell, who didn’t the pickled hag despise? But it did undoubtedly make him the most interesting man that had spoken to her all night up until that point, and now it was her face that had amusement creeping up into her features.

There were many things Beryl had strived to achieve over the years. She was proud with academic prowess, insightful beyond the years of the average girl her age, and even elegantly dipped in the vain wealths of beauty and accessories that come from a family pedigree such as her own. A family that on any public occasion held their heads high with smiles and warm words, but behind the darkness of closed doors were devoid of love and affirmation. Each simultaneously living for their own benefit as greed tainted them, and envy stoked their ambitions. It was from such a place though that an almost childish deviousness raged inside Beryl. One she’d never audibly admit to, but also one that was peaked the second she could hear her mother’s words ringing in her ear from earlier that evening: ‘What is that vile man doing here?’ He’d been the only one to elicit such a reaction from her. Why? His dress appeared as refined as the rest, and he clearly thought himself to be charming. Perhaps a halfblood then? Merlin knew he couldn’t have been a mudblood or the woman would have lost her stomach across the ballroom floor. Whatever the reason, the vexing man now had her full attention.

Beryl let out a single, low, laugh. “You’re wise enough to gather that I’m handily armed but are still willing to strike up a conversation with me alone, and out on a dangerously high terrace at that?” She mused at the man, finding enjoyment out of a conversation for the first time that night. “Unfortunately that begs more questions, don’t you think? Because either you’re a complete and utter imbecile,” pausing, Beryl stepped away from the wisteria tangled railing and gracefully made her way over to the staircase that spiraled down into the gardens. “Or you yourself are dangerous enough to not find such things necessary to concern yourself with.” Glancing down at the empty garden pathways leading out from the bottom of the staircase, Beryl turned back towards the blonde man as she took the first step down the stairs. “So which is it, Mr. … ?” She coyly taunted, her words trailing off into a question of the man's name and intelligence as she invitingly took another step down the stoneway.

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   Vincent Iago

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[Please feel free to slap, throw things at, or even punch Beryl at your leisure! <3]

To say he was impressed by the newly crowned debutant’s wit might have been a stretch, but Vincent certainly found her much more amusing than he’d expected. Here was one that was not so much airheaded and ready to be woo’d by the first prospective suitor, but rather a girl who seemed hellbent on her mood. As such, Vincent couldn’t help but assume she was a capricious, fickle thing but it was of no consequence to him. She would provide sufficient entertainment while helping him achieve his aims. What more could the blonde ask for? Still, she seemed interested enough. Managing to pique her attention was a small victory on the long road to Babylon.

Her implication that he was brave for approaching her spoke volumes of the girl’s conceit, and yet Vincent could only continue to grin a little impishly as she stepped away from the balcony. White fabric rustled delicately like dove’s wings with her movements and Vincent zeroed in on her direction. She was leading him down the staircase, it would seem. For a moment, he forgot all about her baseless accusation and wondered, idly, if she so unhappy with her lot as to determine her own plot to seduce him? Or was she just bored enough to tempt fate with a stranger she did not know in the darkness. He supposed it did not much matter. She was serving up his revenge on a silver platter. The only instinct Vincent currently toiled with was self-preservation.

He could not afford to be found out by the father Wixeldorf with whom he had his own dealings. Not like this, here and now, when his benefactor had so generously trusted him with the first of - hopefully - many more such invitations. A true snag in his plan, if ever there had been one.

Thinking carefully on his next move, Vincent continued to lean on the veranda and turned in the debutant’s direction, pressing the bulk of his weight on one arm and bringing the other hand to run through his hair thoughtfully. “It is not the danger I pose to you that you ought to concern yourself with, Ms. Wixeldorf,” he replied, smugly. “I am a gentleman enough not to dare threaten a young lady’s reputation in the dark corners of a garden, at her debut no less, and under her father’s watchful eye…” He gave her a meaningful look. “I will say however, if you fancy yourself the next Mrs. Iago there are expediencies that could be sought.” It was a tease, or a dare, but it came out more predatory than Vincent had intended. He could not see this debutant denying him vehemently, or turning down the challenge if she was determined to keep up her prickly facade; but if she knew anything about his surname, it was sure to strike a nerve. The blonde straightened.

“Vincent,” he supplied with a grin, unhelpfully after the fact. “Vincent Iago, at your service.”

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Beryl Wixeldorf 

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   Beryl Wixeldorf

Beryl stopped her descent down the winding staircase before allowing a scoffed laugh to loudly leave her lips. Her father’s watchful eye? The France trip marked her first time seeing him all year. Not to mention the fact that he had been mostly absent since arriving, outside of social events deemed important enough to him of course. The whole Paris affair had been nothing more than a mere business trip to the cold hearted man. “Oh, you’ll have to forgive me, it must have slipped my mind to add ‘pathetic’ as one of the posed answers to my question.” Leaning into the vines that climbed the side of the Wixeldorf estate, lavender petals began to loosen against Beryl’s tiny frame and flutter down into the finer details of her gown as well as cling to her dark tresses. She was vastly below him from her stairwell landing, and yet her nose still swayed high as she peered over towards him as if she were the one with a towering frame. Smug amusement clear as day across her face.

Iago? No wonder her mother had reacted the way she had. Someone ought to give the woman an award for actually holding it together and not painting the floors in bile. “Please, if you’re going to tell a joke at least make it funny enough to garner a laugh.” Did he view her as some romantic fool who could be swayed so easily? Please. She quickly dismissed the notion of his rather ambitious proposition. One that fell right in line with some of the gossip that rattled through their London estates walls when Mrs. Wixeldorfs drunkenly rambled to her hag coven. The social climber. The snake. Though she supposed one could argue the look on her mother’s face after such an affair would make for undoubtedly the best punchline she’d ever seen.

Tapping her small foot slightly against the stonework, Beryl weighed through her options in silence for a second as she eyed the sly Mr. Iago. Snake or not he was still the most interesting encounter of the night. Plus she rather enjoyed this over the French ramblings of the dull heathens that had been attempting to talk her ear off all night. Pushing off from the wall, Beryl quickly climbed the couple of steps she’d begun walking down and moved right past Mr. Iago with quick purpose. Pressing into the balcony’s door, Beryl softly unclicked it and peered in to see the sight of a panicked Ms. Grimpuckett worriedly darting her eyes around the ballroom as she paced fearfully along the edges of the room across the way. “Imagine being given one simple task and not even being able to do that correctly.” Beryl huffed the words out towards Ms. Grimpuckett who quickly noticed the familiar scolding tone and began to dash towards to the doorway, relief clear as day washing over the woman. “Its such a mystery as to how you couldn’t get back into Hogwarts after your O.W.L.s” Rolling her eyes sarcastically, Beryl released her hold on the slightly ajar door, pressing it closed again so that the ward could open it herself and attempt to follow.

Striding back in, Beryl’s steps clicked against the stone as she kept her eyes locked on Mr. Iago, a devious grin perking up her features. “Fear not Mr. Iago. I can be man enough for the both of us.” She jested under her breath as she strolled past him once again, condescension dripping off of each word towards his previous, almost fearful, concerns. “Also,” pausing at the first step, Beryl tapped delicate fingers against the stairwell's railing as she smirked over at him. “I’d be careful of the vines on your way down.” The smile widened even further, her words playful. “Since we both know how fearful you are of slipping down a few pegs.”

The following 1 user Likes Beryl Wixeldorf's post:1 user Likes Beryl Wixeldorf's post
   Vincent Iago

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[Please feel free to slap, throw things at, or even punch Beryl at your leisure! <3]

Expecting needles more than niceties, Vincent smirked at the young lady’s response. He hadn’t been joking; not really. If Beryl Wixeldorf had taken him up, seriously, on his offer - Vincent would have been on his way to Gretna Green in a heartbeat. She was exactly the type of candidate he needed to propel himself, and his ambitions, into the upper echelons of society. As it was, she was not quite so easily caught, and he could only shrug at her rebuke. “Can’t blame me for trying,” he replied. “It’s what every man in that room is angling for, I simply had the audacity to offer.”

The girl seemed more interested in playing games that he’d anticipated however, and she came back up the stairway only to march back over to the balcony door. Vincent’s gaze narrowed a bit, curious as to what she could be playing at as she muttered something to herself. Was their game to be over so quickly? He wasn’t disappointed in her per say, but he was irritated another excuse would need to be sought. It would seem, however, Ms. Wixeldorf had other plans as she turned on her heel a moment later only to make direct eye contact and waltz past him again. It took Vincent a fraction of a second to recognize the setup she’d just caught him in; one fraction of a second too long, it would seem.

She was forcing his hand. He was either to accompany her into the garden and hide from the chaperone like a naughty child, or be caught out here on the banister with the lady perfectly unchaperoned. Vincent’s face twisted into a grin. Clever, he thought to himself. That said, the gentleman had only one option available to him and he was not thrilled with the prospect.

Heels clicking closer to the balcony door, Vincent made a split second decision. Instead of beelining towards the stairs like the young lady evidently expected, he grabbed a hold of the railing and decided to put that ministry training to use. In one fluid movement the blonde launched himself over the side of the balcony, grasping a gentle hold only of one of the wisteria vines, and vanished in an unexpected flash. All that remained of the man was a heap of well-tailored, now loose tails that landed in the grass below. Luckily they had fallen just out of sight were someone to look out over the railing.

Vincent himself slithered down the side of the balcony, under the stone lip that hid him from view, and slunk towards the unsuspecting debutant. He debated, briefly, sliding under her dress and giving her a bite on the ankle for the trouble she’d caused, but decided ultimately that it would be juvenile. Instead, he waited for her to descend the stairs and stealthily slithered over onto her shoulders, wrapping himself around her collarbone like a necklace. Her skin was warm against his cool, black scales. He figured she wouldn’t be scared of snakes, but at least the threat of one around her skinny little neck was something.

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Beryl Wixeldorf 

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   Beryl Wixeldorf

With his words taking on a more formal and less charmed and amused formation, Beryl had to bite the inside of her lip slightly to hide the spreading enjoyment from playing completely across her face. Berating and toying with the giant platter of men that had been presented before her all night had been nothing short of the only redeeming quality of her Coming Out Ball, and this moment was no different. She didn't want to overly treat the man with the gift of the obvious sight from her clear enjoyment of engaging with him after all. “True. But every man is quite the fool should they think the best things in life will be handed to them with ease.” Beryl retorted, her confidence and ego shining through with the words.

As Ms. Grimpuckett’s shoes clicked closer and closer to the doorway, Beryl began to playful take the steps faster. She’d expected Mr. Iago to follow suit, lest be scorned by his peers in attendance, but as she glanced back to give him another devious, albeit playful glance, it was much to her surprise to see him launching himself off of the balcony like some kind of absolute mad lunatic. The sight stunned her in place for a second before the rustling of the door propelled her down the spiraled staircase quickly, although with grace. Would he be painting the flowers a new shade of red after all?

Tapping her own way out from the stairwells opening, Beryl glanced around in confusion when there was no splayed man bleeding out on the ground before her. Dying words being uttered from his lips. Instead what she found was the sight of Mr. Iago's crumpled suit piled in the grass and shrubbery that lined the very edges of the wall below the balcony. So that’s how it was, was it? Intrigue wiped her face clean of the brief confusion, and Beryl began to sharply dance her eyes about the greenery. Well, well, well. Mr. Iago was turning out to be vastly more interesting then she could have even guessed given her main interest in him had stemmed from her mothers absolute hatred of the social climbing halfblood.

Before she was able to spot anything in the dimmed evening light however, the sound of her own traps hurried steps could be heard reverberating off of the stone balcony above. Tucking her way in the concealed vantage point from above, Beryl’s ears perked up as she tried to distinguish what exactly was going to be Ms. Grimpuckett’s next course of action. It was only once a brush across her neck continued past that of the feel of wisteria leaves and petals was it that Beryl brought her focus downward to see a black snake fastening itself to her like a black jeweled necklace. Delicately she brought a hand down to bring the snake's head out before her so that she could take in its serpentine features. She smirked at the man, her amusement from the situation growing. “You were right.” Beryl brought the snake up to her rosy lips so that she could whisper softly into his ear and not be overheard from above. “You are fun to boss around.” Her lips brushed against the animagi's head slightly as she continued her hushed words, before ultimately turning her lips upwards into as playful smirk. Pulling the man back from her mouth, Beryl delicately began caressing elegant fingers underneath the snake's chin before angled him upwards, admiring the red specklings that seemed to trail down the garter’s underbelly. How befitting for the man to have manifested in the most blatant form of truth.

The sudden click of the terrace’s door drew Beryl’s attention away however, and she looked upward towards the source of the sounds. Was she leaving to return with more to aid her in the debutante’s retrieval? Perhaps to wrangle Leo into assisting her? Remaining motionless in the drawn out seconds, it wasn’t until the sound of the door closing again did Beryl exhale. Looking out at the gardens grounds now, Beryl took a step forward before glancing back at the scattered suit piece’s Mr. Iago had been wearing prior to his transformation. It would take only a moment's time to gather the man’s wardrobe, but honestly, where was the fun in that?

With rushed steps, Beryl left the cover of the balconies half moon overlook and entered into the labyrinth of colorful floral. She wondered if Mr. Iago was even aware of the situation he’d just been put in, and as the bushes and species of plants grew into a height that could actually be considered a worthwhile maze, Beryl snickered out loud. “You know you did promise me you wouldn’t dare to disappoint.”

The following 1 user Likes Beryl Wixeldorf's post:1 user Likes Beryl Wixeldorf's post
   Vincent Iago

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[Please feel free to slap, throw things at, or even punch Beryl at your leisure! <3]

Vincent looked up into big brown eyes from a closer distance than he had yet. He was so close to her that he could feel the heat of her breath waft over his little head, especially as she pressed feather soft lips against him to speak. The sensation sent a curl through Vincent’s scales and the snake rolled a little over her skin. Daft fingers tickled at his underbelly then and Vincent melted into the contact, pressing himself flat against her neck. Well he certainly hadn’t expected that.

Suddenly, the blasted girl was moving. Vincent sighed mentally, watching as she retreated from the cover of the balcony above and further away from his clothing. He should have known: she was no proper lady, to position a gentleman in such a way. It was a good thing Vincent Iago was not so fully a gentleman. As the young Wixeldorf retreated into the maze and rounded the first corner, Vincent released his hold of her neck and slithered across her bosom meaningfully before launching towards the ground. In a silent flash he returned to his full bodied form, manhood and all, and stood before the feckless debutant blocking her progression further, arms crossed over his chest.

“I should hope I have not thusly,” he replied, amusement still alight in his tone. “Is this what you desired Ms. Wixeldorf,” he asked uncrossing his arms and advancing on her. “I can assure you, I have many tricks yet up my sleeve if it is relief from the norm that you desire.” He muttered. Then, leaning directly into her face so close he could feel her warm breath over his features again, he ran his index finger gently down the length of her face, from her ear to her chin. “But I should not push boundaries I was not prepared to cross if I were you." He whispered. "You never know what kind of snake you might encounter in the tall grass parading around as a gentleman.” He hissed the last word in a small smirk before straightening. Then, unabashed, he strode back the way they had come towards his clothes.

Luckily there seemed to be no commotion from above and Vincent was able to snatch a hold of his things and pull them on expediently. He grabbed his wand and gave it a wordless flick to assist the many assets in their effort to reattire him. Before long, the gentleman was fully dressed and as immaculate as before. He reached into his breast pocket then and pulled out a cigarette - the ultimate gentleman’s scapegoat for being found in remote, strange areas out of doors. Just in time too, because a moment later, the patter of footsteps striding with purpose down the staircase was heard. Vincent lit the thing and took a deep puff, exhaling as none other than the mother Wixeldorf herself rounded the corner. She halted in surprise, perhaps at seeing him standing there so nonchalantly.

“Mrs. Wixeldorf, what an honor,” Vincent greeted, giving the lady a small mock-bow. He knew how much she despised him and the taunt did not go by unnoticed. “If you’re looking for your daughter, she went that way,” he added before the woman could say anything. Pointing in the direction of the maze, Vincent raised the cigarette to his lips again. “There was a gentleman with her too,” he said slowly. “I didn’t catch his face.” Then, puffing out another breath, Vincent dropped the cigarette to the ground and stomped it out. He strode past the woman and began his ascent up the short, spiral staircase back onto the balcony. “Ta~” he tossed delicately over his shoulder with a grin.

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Beryl Wixeldorf 

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   Beryl Wixeldorf

While the notion of leaving Mr. Iago’s clothes behind had been a split second choice of bemusement and indulgent fun, the reality of a fully naked man emerging before her was a completely different concept that Beryl had not really given proper thought to in the heat of the moment decision. She'd merely wanted to toy with the man, not become the toy herself. The Slytherin alumni had never ever witnessed such a sight before in her life, and the view broke her normally refined composure that she wore at all times. She was speechless. In no world had she been expecting him to parade about fearlessly. No, rather, Beryl had expected great laughs from a man cowering embarrassingly in some askew bushes for cover. But this... where was one even supposed to look?! Her eyes focused onto his green ones as best they could before glancing down almost out of pure curious reflex and then hurriedly darting back up only to then divert away towards the bushes. A slight heat slowly crept along her cheeks and across the bridge of her nose and Beryl suddenly found herself beyond glad that the evening's darkness was starting to settle in. A fact that would hopefully hide the embarrassing reality of her obvious childish reaction. She should have just tossed him back into the bushes like the child’s snake he was.

As Mr. Iago spoke and advanced towards her, Beryl attempted to force herself back into some sense of composure. Although it was without notice to her that her heart was now beating quite a bit faster then it normally would. “It’s not my fault you were the fool that needed to dramatically dismount an overlooking terrace.” Her brow furrowed as she tossed the blame back towards him, burrowing deep eyes into him stubbornly as he began to trace her down her jawline. It was a gesture that mixed with his words had Beryl’s heart start to race faster. It felt dangerous. Hell, it was dangerous. “And what I had desired was simply some relief from playing the part of my mothers daughter. You were the one who stepped into my court the second you followed me out onto that terrace.” His breath was sliding warmly down her already flushed face, but pride kept Beryl firmly in place, eyes unfaltering as she refused to let even step back from the man's threatening behavior.

Narrowing her gaze at him and his words, Beryl let out the softest of breathed chuckles after he tried to sound holier than thou with his advice towards boundaries one might not be prepared to cross. It was one that he was only even capable of hearing because of the fraction of distance that barely separated them. “Don’t talk to me like you have even the slightest of clues of what boundaries I should be pushing.” She angrily breathed the whisper back his way before boldly taking a small step forward towards the naked disappointment. “And snakes?” Beryl mused, annoyance still laced into her tone as her lips now tickled his human ear as she ever so slightly went onto her tippy toes to reach. “I’ve spent my whole life being suffocated by them.” Considering Mr. Iago was in attendance there was no way he didn’t have some semblance of how the average Wixeldorf carried themselves. “You’re nothing.” Beryl’s nose wrinkled as she bitterly breathed out the words. A social climbing snake was quite possibly the least of her concerns.

The sight of Mr. Iago unabashedly striding back towards his clothes left Beryl glaring off in his direction. What had started as a breath of fresh air and escape from a noisy ballroom, had somehow managed to turn into quite possibly the biggest disappointment of the night. Something he'd promised her he wouldn't dare do. She’d desired entertainment after a night's worth of the mundane, excitement, and while Mr. Iago had solely piqued her interests because of her mothers open disdain for the man, it wasn’t without frustration that he was the one leaving her feeling like her night had been ruined. Huffing in the man’s general direction for a final time, Beryl stepped through the maze as she considered finding one of the gazebo’s to hide out at for the rest of the evening. That was until her bat out of hell mother came stomping up to her, stepping through rare flowers and snapping them under her feet as she had no care for using the garden’s pathways.

“Get back in there right now you disappointment!” Her mother grabbed at her wrist with one hand while lifting her other to audibly strike down on her in one swift motion. “Eighteen years and you still can’t even exist properly! How in the world you can come from me and still not be a proper young lady is beyond me!” Glaring into her mothers clearly intoxicated and glossed over eyes, Beryl didn’t utter a single word in response. Choosing instead to just silently channel her hatred in her mothers direction. “You even have the snakes of society speaking poorly of you off their lips!” Spit flew onto Beryl’s face as her mother’s glazed eyes examined the Wixeldorf gardens for any sign of movement from a second party. When they returned to her daughter however, it seemed her alcohol soaked brain was disconnecting from the flow of her own words as she shrieked with rage. “Didn’t I tell you to get back inside?!”

Marching the length back up to the terraces staircase, Beryl walked in silence, her tiny hands scrunched up in embittered rage over the whole night’s turn around. She’d merely wanted to find some form of relief from this already suffocating debutante lifestyle. Who would have thought that the correct play in the end would have been to continue listening to some French twat drone on and on about himself?

Stepping back into the lavishly decorated ballroom it was with great displeasure that Beryl felt the wave of party going noise hit her like a wave of pain. So this was it was it? Her new life of being displayed like some kind of creature being auctioned off for her cow of a mothers pleasure. Glancing around the room, Beryl noticed that Mr. Iago appeared to have settled himself right back into the grand affair. Of course he had though. This kind of event was filled with all the kinds of people he probably wished he could be. Flicking her eyes back towards the balcony’s doors, Beryl watched as her mother reentered, smiles and grace ushering her every movement as if she hadn’t just been a raging behemoth just moments ago.

Clenching her jaw, Beryl narrowed her eyes back onto Mr. Iago and advanced straight towards him. He wasn't the only one wishing for a different life that night, and there was no way in hell she wasn't going to take him down with her after his act earlier. As she walked, Beryl could feel the inquisitive pairs of eyes following her as she made her way across the ballroom floor, and once she managed to close the distance she offered out a small, delicate hand to the social climbing pariah. “I believe you offered to do anything for me earlier this evening Mr. Iago.” Her smile was proper, although a devilish smirk played at the edges as she tossed his opening words from that evening back at him. “I’d love a dance.” Brown eyes stayed locked into his green ones as Beryl didn’t even need to humor herself with a glance back towards her mother who was probably beside herself with disbelief at the scene. There were far too many guests in attendance for her to say anything or even break them apart without causing an even bigger scene after all. It was a victory that breathed new life back into Beryl as the deepening red mark her mother had left her with moments ago ached, now appearing as though the young debutante had vastly uneven blush.

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   Vincent Iago

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[Please feel free to slap, throw things at, or even punch Beryl at your leisure! <3]

Vincent noticed the blush that crept across Ms. Wixeldorf’s face as he stood before her in all his prowess. He also noticed her eyes dart and with some self-satisfaction at having caught her out, he spoke dangerous words in her face. Her responses were feeble and desperate against his obvious upper-hand. The blonde only smirked as he straightened and waltzed his way back. (If he lingered mentally on her comment about snakes, then that was his business. He knew the Wixeldorf home was not a happy one but how many really were, anyway?)

His reentrance into the ballroom from the terrace door was met with little fanfare. Vincent had little doubt anybody had even felt his absence, unlike the lady of the hour herself, and he meandered over to the refreshments table to reacquaint himself with those prestigious champagne glasses he was so fond of. Lifting one to his lips, the blonde had just settled in to make some rounds - zeroing in on the rat he’d so come to despise - when he, like the rest, noted the young Ms. Wixeldorf making a beeline. Surprise was not so wholly unexpected, but the emotion did not flicker across the obliviator’s face. Instead, a charming, toothpaste-commercial grin greeted the lovely lady.

Well this was a turn of events wasn’t it? Vincent had done nothing worth reward out there in that garden, save for maybe rescue the feckless twat from herself by not indulging her whims. And yet! Her she was, a veritable queen offering her hand and making a demand of him that to all nearby listeners could only come off as a genuine request, an acknowledgement of his worth and place both here at this ball, and in truth, within upperclass society. Not only was Ms. Wixeldorf the leading lady of the evening all coveted, but her family was well respected. If the youngest Ms. Wixeldorf dared to compliment him with her request for a dance then surely this was something to talk about for the ton!

All charming gentlemanliness and grace, Vincent accepted the lady’s hand and bent to give it a kiss. He looked up at her from between his eyelashes and gave a soft smirk only she would feel vibrating against her fingers. “The honor would be mine, Ms. Wixeldorf,” he replied elegantly. If Vincent noticed the evidence of a slap against her cheek, he didn’t say anything. Instead, the gentleman glanced in Timoleon Maxime's direction and gave the man a subtle nod as he led the lady to the dance floor where a waltz was due to start. (Oh how he would have loved to intrude upon the man’s mind with his legilimency at that moment!) He gave Ms. Wixeldorf the customary bow and settled his hands gently upon her, as if holding a glass figurine over a looming canyon. Vincent was quiet for a moment, appraising the young lady, until the music started. Then, as they began to twirl amidst the obvious whispers of the guests, he offered her the illusion of an olive branch.

“I didn’t deserve that,” he murmured under his breath, only just so that the lady could hear. She had to know what she’d just done, and the favor it was to him. “What is it you’re after, hm?” he inquired, genuine curiosity piquing his interest. “Perhaps if you share your ambitions with me, I could assist you rather than serve as a benefiting pawn in your endeavors.” A line Vincent had used before, though never to such a small degree. He gave the girl an appraising smile. “I promised you I wouldn’t dare disappoint. Don’t you trust me?”

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Beryl Wixeldorf 

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   Beryl Wixeldorf

It was with great effort that Beryl didn’t roll her eyes as Mr. Iago’s smirk delicately brushed against her hand, instead opting to narrow her eyes ever so slightly as to only have her look of mirrored mischievousness be readable from their close distance. Of course this snake was eating up every moment of this. A pleased smirk of her own flicked up Beryl’s own smile at seeing how pleased this offering was making the social climber. If it wouldn’t taint the very facade’s actions Beryl would have tossed her mother a quick smile over her shoulder just so she could watch the rage drip right off the old hag from the exchange.

“I know you didn’t.” Beryl countered under her breath as she elegantly twirled along with the flow of the dance as they took center stage. As if she didn’t know she’d just graced him with the best gift he could have received all night: herself. Although he might feel differently should he not slither away into the darkness before her mother inevitably cornered him in a drunken rage later on in the evening.

A chuckle escaped Beryl's lips as the snake’s curiosity seemed to be getting the better of him now, the man still being just as fun to toy with as he had been outside. Assist her? She’d merely wanted to put on a show to destroy her mothers night with the murmured gossip from all of her uptight friends ringing throughout the ballroom's air. A stain forever imprinted on the image she forever attempted to paint herself in as the daughter she pretended to love in the public's eye danced with someone of lower status. Not only that, but for the first time that night every single one of these disguised monsters could see an angelic smile of enjoyment clear as day across Beryl’s face. Everyone in attendance with half a brain cell would assume it meant Mr. Iago was the only man to truly peak her interest. They weren’t wrong however. Every Wixeldorf was a snake themselves after all, and she'd be a liar if she tried to say Mr. Iago wasn't the most alluring gentleman of that evening thanks to his differences in social standing that he desperately clawed against.

Taking in Mr. Iago’s words, Beryl thoughtfully kept her eyes locked onto the man as they both gracefully continued on with their dance. Without even looking away from the tall blonde Beryl could feel the entirety of the ballroom’s attention utterly captivated by their every twirl and breath. It was everything she could have wanted and more as the sting of the mark her mother had left still radiated across half of her face. “Only a fool would trust a snake Mr. Iago.” She mused over at him quietly, thoroughly enjoying his inability to contain his own ambitions as words of offerings and promises poured sweetly from his mouth. What could he even pretend to offer outside of being a rather handsome pawn to slide across her game board?

As the dance brought them closer and their movements flowed alongside, Beryl finally flicked her eyes away from Mr. Iago’s to the scene of her mother’s poor attempt to hold her glass steady as she shook, seething from rage at the image of the pair of them. Going against the otherwise pristine execution of the dance they’d so far displayed, Beryl boldly leaned in closer to Mr. Iago considering the amount of eyes glued onto them. “I want to ruin her.” The words were breathed into his ear hushedly before she returned to the proper form of the dance, her brown eyes settling once again into his green ones. A treat for the inquisitive pet.

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   Vincent Iago

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[Please feel free to slap, throw things at, or even punch Beryl at your leisure! <3]

Vincent wasn’t surprised by the lady’s agreement and as a result paid her no mind. He was clever enough to realize she was using him, but he did still wonder why? Why him precisely, and what had she to gain from bolstering his reputation like this? The music started and on queue, better practiced than most because he simply had to be, Vincent took the leading step and began their little tete-a-tete. It was a practiced movement, the waltz. Simple in its way, but incredibly intimate under the right circumstances. If she’d planned it like this then he gave her kudos, but likely it was just a happy coincidence.

Grinning then as Ms. Wixeldorf stated the obvious, Vincent tried to help himself. He resisted the urge to let an abashed look crossed his face, as innocent as innocent could be. He wanted to tease her, to ask if she really considered him such a snake after he’d saved her from herself out in the gardens. But… something about the reflection of that slap still echoed inside of him and Vincent refrained. If he had really protected her, there would not be the beginnings of a welt on her cheek. Turning the lady with some delicacy, he held cold hands steady against the finery of her dress. He waited for her to say something more only to find the intimacy with which she leaned forward a bit jarring. Her words, even more deliciously so.

Green eyes glistened with interest as Vincent appraised Ms. Wixeldorf with fresh perspective. He could only assume the ‘her’ the lady was referencing was her own mother, considering the look that had been flicked up moment’s ago and the likely owner of the red marking on the lady’s face. Conflict tickled at the obliviator’s stomach momentarily; he was not one to get involved in petty, familial tiffs, especially not those so close to home for one such benefactor that promised him so much. And yet, that rankling feeling of wanting to impress her sins upon the woman that had dared to slap her own daughter made Vincent’s interest pique.

“She’s the one who slapped you out in the gardens then,” he hummed, noncommittally. “In not an infrequent gesture either, I presume?”

He didn’t know why he was asking, not really. It was of little consequence to him what this frivolous, feckless debutant’s home life consisted of. Even if he was to one day be her future husband, she herself was little to nothing on his radar. Still, the question hung in the musical notes between them. Vincent supposed if he was to garner any useful information from the girl, this was as good a place as any to start.

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Beryl Wixeldorf 

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   Beryl Wixeldorf

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i desire very little but the things i do consume me

His question silenced her for a moment. Years of adults turning a blind eye to various obvious marks on her had left Beryl jaded and embittered. It was just the life she lived and the painful badge she wore that grazed the surface of the soured darkness her mother rained down upon anyone within her presence behind locked doors. It had taken her ages to even enlighten the girls to her at home plights, and in the years since it had been that very turning point of intimate divulgence that at times would leave Beryl wondering what her life would have ever become if she’d not swallowed her childhood rage and let them in. Probably a mirrored embodiment of her own boogeyman’s rage. “Don’t worry little snake.” A more forced smile pulled at Beryl’s features, as the often unspoken question perplexed her slightly. “Didn’t I already tell you I’ve spent my whole life being asphyxiated by worse?” Why did he even care? No. He didn’t. This was the feigned interest of a man with an agenda.

Tightening the grip she had on his shoulder as they complimented each other's dancing skills quite beautifully, Beryl couldn’t help but find herself glad that the social climber had set his sights on her as a genuine smile continued to grace her face. She’d been dreading her Coming Out Ball since she’d first been dragged out to France weeks ago, and until Mr. Iago had followed her out onto that balcony, Beryl had been certain that her dread had been justified. The whole parade of men before him had been miserably boring that it was a miracle she hadn’t stabbed her own eardrums out with her wand. “Besides,” She danced her tightened fingers playfully on Mr. Iago’s shoulders, caressing small trails with her fingertips into the fabric of his suit in a way that vaguely mirrored her previous fun with his snake form. “Shouldn’t you focus on the task at hand?” Elegantly twirling, Beryl gave a slight sweep of her hand as if to remind him of the display they were putting on. “It’s your moment after all.” She teased between them, changing the subject from his attempt to slither into the more intimate parts of her personal life.

“Tell me, Mr. Iago.” She nipped at her own curiosity now, as he wasn’t the only one with lingering questions festering in their mind. “How does one so out of his status make it to such an event? You seem far too intelligent to scale your way in through the estates cracks on a whim, and while bold,” Her eyes devilishly glanced downward before reconnecting with his as she smirked at him toyingly. “I’d argue even you’d know better than to put your life in my mothers grasp so foolishly.” Inquisitively, Beryl narrowed her gaze on Mr. Iago as she thoughtfully looked at the riddle of a man. Just what kind of secrets and connections were hidden behind those watchful green eyes?

  

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[Please feel free to slap, throw things at, or even punch Beryl at your leisure! <3]

Vince wasn’t convinced by Ms. Wixeldorf’s obvious dodging of the question, even if it did confirm his suspicions. Perhaps the reason the slap was roiling in his gut had something to do with his own relationship with his mother; they were close, to the point that Vincent was absolutely, unabashedly a mama’s boy. He’d never met his father, but he could only assume the worst of a man whose reputation had haunted his son for thirty years after his death. A man who, presumably, had killed his first wife and then gone to Azkaban for it. Someone like that struck Vincent as abusive, even if his mother refused to confirm it, and he counted himself lucky to have never come to it himself. Humans like that didn’t deserve children; or life, but that might be another matter entirely. Had they not been dancing, and his hands otherwise occupied, Vincent wondered if he’d have acted on the urge to stroke her slapped cheek. As it was, he only hummed noncommittally again in response.

The dance continued and Vincent eyed the crowd ogling them as subtly as he could manage. He spotted Maxime watching them amongst the masses. The look on the gentleman’s face was imperceptible but it gave Vince a thrill of satisfaction nonetheless. He grinned broadly for the other man’s benefit, even if it might have seemed like it was in response to something ingenuously witty the darling debutant had just said. “I am enjoying my moment,” he replied, pleasantly. “But I can focus upon it and upon you all in the same.”

The girl changed the subject anyhow and Vincent let her. He had no other particularly pressing questions of his own about her life. He was amused, in part, by her following question however. It was prying, and objectively rude considering she was of a station above him, but Vincent figured general etiquette had long since ceased to apply to them. He and Ms. Wixeldorf shared almost a new understanding; a confidence that could only be brought about by seeing one party naked in entirely un-sexual a manner. (Or as un-sexual a manner as could be had, considering.) Still, he took the compliment on his intelligence with stride.

“Why, I was invited of course,” Vincent replied, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “The invitation had your mothers name as well as your fathers, if I do so recall. She doesn’t make a habit of ejecting invited guests, does she?” He asked, feigning simplicity. Of course, Vincent knew that the invitation had come at the insistence of the father Wixeldorf, with his promises of future earnings, but the daughter needn’t know that.

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Beryl Wixeldorf 

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   Beryl Wixeldorf

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i desire very little but the things i do consume me

Enjoying his moment? Talk about an understatement. Beryl’s eyes traced over Mr. Iago’s features as he tried to subtly gaze off into the crowd of onlookers, thrill glinting behind his green eyes as his obvious pleasure over the moment was hardly contained from her close up distance. At least the snake had done his homework when it came to executing the timing of dance, as they stayed in perfect harmony with one another throughout his gloating need to grin out to their audience. “Don’t worry about me.” She assured, as his self indulgence was sure to be cutting her mother deeper with every fleeting glance he tried to steal of their surroundings as they twirled about. “I am far from some foolish girl that solely vies for a man's attention.”

Beryl kept smiling over at Mr. Iago as he most definitely lied to her with the true ease of a snake. Interesting. There was no way in hell her mother knew he was going to be in attendance given her visceral reaction of pure disgust at the mere sight of him. “I wouldn’t put it past her.” She hummed out the words pleasantly, her smile of peaked amusement never faltering from her face for even a second. “Once she breaks the seal to her lush habits for the evening all bets are off as to how she might react.” Trailing her eyes off of Mr. Iago, Beryl locked eyes with her mother and beamed gleefully at the hag as she tightened poised hands once again into his suit. “Every passing sip only opens more dangerous possibilities than the next as the night progresses.” The whispered words were the truth, but even floating lushes learned how to contain their demons amongst peers when shoved into the limelight. They were safe - for now.

“But I imagine that would be right up your alley,” Giving a final coy smirk at her mother dearest, Beryl turned her attention back to Mr. Iago. “Given the fact that you're my fathers guest.” An educated guess at best, but one does not strive for perfection in their marks without gaining the benefits that come alongside a hunger for knowledge, and the more Beryl let Mr. Iago’s presence seep into her thoughts and color her curiosity, it seemed by far the only logical answer. How else could someone like him have been allowed to join in on the festivities if not for the close connection? It made sense that her mother would be left in the dark on the invite as well. The woman was just as closed off from her father as she was, and the late nights that he did return home she was often passed out from her own miserable routine hours prior. Beryl, however, had managed to catch some of the rattled and hushed words from a few of her fathers guests as they echoed out from the vent in her father’s office over the years. Mere pieces and snippets of a grander and highly intricate puzzle, but without a doubt an extremely dark one.

The question now though, was how did Mr. Iago fit into that puzzle? He didn’t have enough wealth to be of use to her father in that regard. So what did he bring to the table? It had to be something quite useful to have earned himself a spot there for the evening. Beryl kept her brown eyes turned upwards as she bore her strong gaze into the tall blonde as the sounds of the song slowly cascaded downwards into a quiet finish. However, her tiny hands kept a firm grip onto Mr. Iago’s shoulder as the next song’s melody began to softly hum across the ballroom. He wasn’t going anywhere. “What is it that you do for a living Mr. Iago? I'd love to hear.” Another shade of curiosity deepening her colored interest in the snake.

  

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[Please feel free to slap, throw things at, or even punch Beryl at your leisure! <3]

Vincent found himself infinitely amused with Ms. Wixeldorf’s reply. He didn’t believe her of course; all young ladies, especially those in their debuting season, primarily spent their time vying for male attention. But he remained amused nonetheless. “I’m glad to hear it,” the blonde replied, indulgently.

They continued to twirl then, their waltz picking up tempo even as the conversation stayed fairly fluid. Green eyes narrowed in on the small form before him as the brunette discussed her mother’s habits. He still found it odd that a woman could be so unnaturally resentful, jealous even, of her own child. Vince supposed he was no stranger to the unnatural inclinations of humanity, however, and so he set his judgement aside as a big blonde facade flickered across his mind’s eye. Instead, he refocused on capturing the woman’s attention and eyed the elder Mrs. Wixeldorf in passing as he gave the daughter an elegant little turn.

Protective had never been a word Vince would have associated with himself. He was self interested, at best. Possessive. But protective for the sake of keeping something from harm without any direct benefit to himself, well… that wasn’t Vincent Iago. Not anymore. Especially not someone he’d only just met who really could offer him nothing on her own. Still, at the little brunette’s words, he felt something tug the deepest, rustiest parts of him that hadn’t felt the warmth of sentimentality in years. Ignoring the stirring, Vincent hummed at the girl’s continued conjectures, neither confirming nor denying. So she’d realized he was here by her father’s hand, had she?

The song came to its natural conclusion then and Vincent paused, ready to release the debutante of the evening and relinquish her back to her world. She however, seemed to have her own plans. Little fingers tightened their grip as he attempted to step away and she ever so cleverly asked him his profession. Vincent grinned. “I make dreams come true,” he replied, opaquely, and tugged himself free. “As for you, Ms. Wixeldorf,” he said, holding nothing but her hand. “I do hope we have a chance to meet again.” Green eyes twinkling with unresolved mischief, Vince bent at the waist just enough to give her hand a gentle kiss in parting. Then, without another word, he turned and disappeared into the crowd.

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Beryl Wixeldorf 

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   Beryl Wixeldorf

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i desire very little but the things i do consume me