His devil hands, her sparkling necklace

Hearths were lit, luminaries sparked to little flames, a hum of entertainment was heard rumbling low from the estate, food and liquors laid out across the hosting hall's table: a Vincenza event was anything but subtle and dull. Faces of the shadows and light swarmed the opened doors, most with an invitation to already welcome them, while others sneak in through the cracks. Such events have always been a usual occurrence for the family, the children were just never allowed up past the darkening hours to be involved, being blindfolded to any happenings until they erre finally of age—but even now, it's likely that Lorenzo Vincenza is present, holed up somewhere with her father and his associates, rather than indulging in what the party has to offer.

Alessa is greeting new faces and old, while putting on a face that represents the Diamond of Luciano Vincenza, on her best display of behavior. That is, until the sun does finally set, and the flames that dance around hearths and scattered luminaries follow her shadow as she floats around, tasting various fermented selections, and dares the ales set out for the guests with.. no taste buds. College class mates arrived later in the night, some snuck in by the Vincenza heiress herself, some already there on behalf of their parents. She had a select few of her own associates here, most though derive from relationships established through er father. There is one face she has yet to see arrive, however—an invitation sent to a particular vineyard in Edinburgh hadn't made its way back to the estate yet, one formed by her father of course but she still expected a face, nonetheless.

She hovers near most, welcoming some while checking on others. She watches a different corner of the room constantly, mismatched hues flitting to the doors that connect the foyer to her father's office for entertaining his associates. Throughout the night, the swing open and shut, different faces filtering in and out—maybe her father's invitation to Murrough didn't quite make it, or he himself couldn't make it. She was looking forward to the man's company, even if she had to pry him from her father's grasp. As time ticked by, she stopped watching the faces that moved in and out of the doorway, marking Murrough up as a no show and she lingers by her father's office only a little while longer before shrugging the slight disappointment off and throwing herself back in to th entertainment of the night. A shout in Italian, "non lasciate che il nostro cibo e i nostri liquori vadano sprecati, miei bellissimi ospiti!" (do not let our food and liquor go to waste, my beautiful guests! ), and she sets off a wave of amusement as she makes her way to the stair case that guides her up to the a balcony thay overlooks the company. Others roam about up here, many being shooed away from any sleeping quarters and important studies, but Alessa pays no mind to them as she observes her guests from the balcony, accompanied by a drink as she stands secluded for a brief moment.



"matteo"
"alessa"

there's no above or under or around it
we're surrounded
and we're hounded
for "above" is blind belief
and "under" is sword to sleeve

Tucked away in the door of their manor was a single envelope. He didn’t need to open it to know where it had come from or what it meant. Word spread quickly, especially when a family so well-known, respected, and feared threw its grand annual ball. The invitation was addressed to Murrough, but the family seemed to forget that he too occupied the space. With a flick of his wrist, he whisked the invitation out of the door, opened it to view its contents, and then discarded it where Murrough would not find it. What did they expect from a blind man who couldn’t read an invitation—unless, of course, it was written in Braille? Unlikely though, since the Vincenzas were known for brawn, but not brains. His tongue clicked off his teeth, and he figured he would do them both a favor by showing up on Murrough's behalf. He knew Alessa wouldn’t be pleased, but his mind was made up.

When the day arrived, Malachi made sure to maintain the image of class. His fur was well-kept and clean, not a hair out of place, though his motives were far from pristine."I will be back later, or tomorrow," he addressed his friend, who he knew wouldn’t ask many questions. This made slipping out the door all the easier.

The lights were blazing across the Vincenza estate, but slipping through the front door would not be acceptable. He knew well enough he wasn’t on the invitation list, but getting what he wanted had never been a problem. With such a large estate, there were many flaws in its defenses, and they seemed to forget to secure the entrances with their exaggerated security. Toward the back of the estate was a familiar staircase, though over the years, cracks and missing stones had made it almost impossible to navigate.

Unless, of course, you were Malachi Mercer.

The first hurdle was the hardest, but he cleared it with a running leap, landing gracefully and continuing up the rest of the stairs. Here and there, he had to clear another jump and stick another landing. He'd done this once or twice before—much to Alessa's dismay and, in her most vulnerable dreams, he was a nightmare he was certain. Malachi knew where her room was, and he was intimately familiar with the estate’s layout for the most part, though others still evaded him. This route would get him close enough to her, at least, if she was as predictable as he remembered.

At the top, he found a single window cracked open in one of the bedrooms—just slightly, but enough for him to maneuver his way in. It barely creaked, its sound drowned out by the laughter and cheers of the company below. Malachi reached the door and slowly pushed it open. It felt like a gift wrapped in a bow, just for him when he saw her—Alessa stood there, as though expecting him to join her. A sinister smirk curled on his lips as he silently approached, his presence barely noticed until he was hovering over her, his muzzle grazing the fine hairs of her velvet ears.

"I hope I didn’t make you wait too long," he purred, his voice dangerously low, his chest pressing into her back where his warmth radiated.

code

She was only fooling herself, denying the dissappointment; her mismatched gaze flittered slowly through the crowd, sifting, as she looked for not one but, two faces that had to be here. If Murrough was here, she didn't doubt the inevitable fact that Malachi would be lurking. Even if Murrough wasn't here, she couldn't deny the fact that she knew her father would have shamelessly extended the invitation to the shady brute—or the fact that Malachi would and could jusy as easily take the invitation for himself. The glass she's been savoring slowly becomes less savored and more of a habit as she takes small sips between glances around the floor below her.

It isn't until theres a fast, sharp shiver creeping down her spine that she brings her attention back to where she's standing. A familiar musk snags her attention; her cheeks heat and ears ring near instantly as the all too familiar weight on her back prompts a subtle flash of the night in the bar with him. Then, the warmth of his breath seeps over her crown as his muzzle parts above her ears. The ringing in her ears comes to an abrupt halt as his voice mutters low rolling chords."I hope I didn't make you wait too long". She doesn't freeze as she realizes he's invaded her space once again and now hovers over her—she doesnt try to move out from underneath him, either. Once more her cursed mind flashes another moment from the bar, and her crown flicks to the side subtly as she forces the images from her head.

She makes a move to down the liquor in her glass, giving pause as she lifts the glass to her lips as her hammering heart reminds her thay it's still there, to acknowledge it and the man above her. She throws the drink back, clearing her throat as she stumbles mentally to choose her next words. Before she does so, her hues are half covered by a squint of her lids, turning her head slightly to either, taking note of the staircases on either side that were in her view—how the fuck did she miss Malachi approaching. "Usually, guests should arrive at the front door. Who's window did you break to get in up here?"" her words are quiet, but laced with a drunken lull as she fights the subtle but very infuriating urge to tilt her head to caress the base of his neck and inhale his intoxicating scent—something she's so sure would get her drunk on it's own if she wasn't already.





"matteo"
"alessa"