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Chiaroscuro did not like crowds.

At least, he did not like to be in the middle of them. This was well known to everyone he worked with, yet the glassblowers had dragged their lucky omen out anyway, then promptly forgot about him and dispersed. The idea of making Rosco come out and enjoy himself had only seemed pressing when there wasn't food and festivities to distract them from their task, and Rosco's nervous fretting tended to bore when compared with more interesting distractions. So it was that the anxious little magpie man was alone and not alone, surrounded by strangers in a massive throng of celebrants, clutching some money and trying to look smaller still. The only good thing about the situation was that he had, at least, been born into the crowded middle city, and while having many people around was not pleasant for him, it was at least familiar. He stood around anxiously for but a moment, and then, letting his natural instincts set in, gave up on trying to merry-make when it was not in his nature. Hopping through the pressing throng, he found a somewhat empty nook to set himself up in, and instead began to draw, pulling a notepad out of his coat and glancing up every now and again at the scenery. The good thing about festivals was that people dressed up to put on a show- there was no one who was not a little fancier than they usually looked, and no one particularly noticed or minded a nervous City Person sketching their revelry.

Slowly he began to relax, and by inches, enjoy himself. He would have preferred to be back in the workshop, but if he had to be at the festival for his coworkers' sakes, he might as well do something that he liked to do. The lighting here was dramatic due to the bonfires, but erratic, also due to the bonfires, and it made for good sketching, but it was not Rosco's favourite kind of illumination. Eventually, irritated by how poorly he could see his drawings, his work became less and less elaborate until he was simply people watching and occasionally drawing the prettier ones roughly into his sketchbook, wedged between columns and spires and rose-window patterns. There were more Book Children here than usual, and for one who liked colour as much as Rosco, these were especially nice, taking up pages in his sketches when they darted in and out of the celebrating masses. One of them had tried to get everyone's attention about something earlier, he remembered, though he couldn't quite remember what. Whatever it had been, they had been terribly loud about it, and Rosco felt glad that there was no Book Child in his workshop. Though they were pretty from afar, they were awfully disruptive things.

He inhaled, shut his eyes for a brief moment and tried to force the urge to search for blue and gold out of his head. The environment was assailing his senses - if he could only stop himself from noticing everything, in his own bird-like fashion, perhaps he'd be able to find just the grey...

So all he managed at this point, as people flowed about them, was a non-committal "huh." Vlad certainly wasn't a social creature, and he'd almost been driven to madness in the period of time he remained anywhere near the festivities. In addition to that, he'd started to think that he was never going to find that girl. For anything else, he would have given up - no, not given up - discarded thoughts of their existence and made off, but that girl...

Important. The idea that Estra was important to him was incredibly repulsive. Vlad gazed at the curvature of her mask defiantly, composed himself, then pronounced in a most contrary and inexplicable fashion: "it's not important. But she looks a bit like me."

Obviously there was something rather complex going on here. Or someone wasn't being entirely honest with themselves. She was unsure if any advice was needed. It certainly wouldn't be wanted, she could tell that much. Verin paused here, staring straight back into Vlad's defiant face. The mask never quite let their eyes connect. It was annoying in that way, even for Verin, but there was something else it did that softened the blow of his unpleasantness for her somehow. Enough that she was rather more amused than annoyed by his unfriendly disposition.

Verin couldn't exactly claim to be miss congeniality herself, anyway.

"Firstly, a lady is never an 'it,' you should know," Verin began, without any reproach in her voice. She sounded blithe, almost. "And if she's not important then go home. Go home and don't even think about her, whoever she is. Though the fact that you came out here at all makes me think it's a little too late for that. If she was never important you wouldn't care at all, would you?"

To be honest Verin had half a mind to go looking for this girl herself (not that she'd have any way of recognizing her), if only to see both sides of the story that was slowly piecing together. "Though, did you really 'lose' her or did she vanish by herself?" she wondered aloud, keeping her tone light though she was aware of the barbs in her words. Behind that strange mask Verin was smiling. It crept into her voice. "Because I am not sure it counts, in that case."

Now that Vlad was a little more lucid than before, at least in terms of their conversation, he would have refrained from this much talk. But since the topic on hand was his stupid Estra, even more speech than usual was drawn out of his stubborn self, much like a rant that needed an outlet...

"She's an idiot," he said airily, "and hardly a lady in that way. I've considered that, but she's never been out on her own at night before." His expression was mixed, a half-grimace even, as if his face couldn't decide whether to smirk or frown. "It's hardly an exaggeration how stupid she is, some harm will probably befall her." It wasn't so much an opinion as a set assumption. "She's not important, but I'd hate to even momentarily be troubled when something happens."

"So." He fluffed his collar up obstinately, completely missing the fact that he was currently troubled by her disappearance. "She's lost."

One thing Verin was ever thankful for was the mask. Especially right now. It was a good thing Vlad couldn't see her face, because it- well, she wasn't entirely sure what kind of face she was making. A very skeptical one, at least. She had a very honest face, she'd been told once a very long time ago. But the mask was a perfect liar, and she needed that right now.

"Of course," she said, forcing as much understanding into her tone as she could. "That would be inconvenient, and you are obviously in no mood to be inconvenienced." Two agreeing nods and a pause. "And loathe am I to see someone come to harm on the Night of Stories. Let me look for her with you. You'll be able to go home faster that way."

The key here - not that Verin was entirely against lying when she felt like it - was that she hadn't said she'd help him find the missing girl. Though at present Verin still wasn't sure if she'd sabotage his efforts just to give the poor thing a few more minutes or hours to herself, or if she'd walk up to her and ask what the hell why she hadn't run off sooner?

Vlad's face was similarly honest - it creased into an uncertain suspicion from her agreeable motions to his disagreeableness, then her last statements eased it into reluctant belief.

He folded his arms, considering her offer with much hesitation. Though he was predisposed to refusing help and getting things done on his own, it was true that the place was far too massive, the festival far too dispersed and yet crowded for him to find Estra: he'd tried. He...he'd failed. Well, not quite. He was still looking, and ergo was in the process of trying. Yes, it...it would help. And if anything, this conversation would finally end.

A glance downward, then up, and he said, clipped, "Fine."

"Long hair, grey dress -"

- and all of a sudden one of those black and white people barrelled into the scene.
"- and feathers, a bit like me." He repeated quickly, afraid to be held up from his search again by another. "And I am Vlad." A swift nod and Vlad made his getaway, ducking into the monotone swarm and almost blending in, save his blonde hair bobbing away.

The girl only caught the tail end of the conversation as the Book boy left. Blah blah blah feathers blah blah blah Vlad, but nothing that pieced properly together in her mind. She nearly drowned herself in thoughts when she caught the word 'lost'...lost?

Despite it's black and white nature, Lore's face was absolutely radiant. Lost? It seemed like a horrible situation had turned into a wonderful opportunity! The best chance to "kill two birds with one stone" as a book she read said. In this case, three birds. She'll not only find out what everyone's so busy searching, but also use it to show her sincerest apology (despite it not quite being her fault) and start an adventure! If the face didn't give her intentions away, her wagging tail did.

Swoosh. Words flew out of her mouth in swirls of excitement, "No, wait, wait! I can help! I know this place like the back of my glove. What is it that you're looking for?" Lore pointed a towards the tallest building in the square. "It's a bit difficult to travel through the roofs here but I believe we'd still have better luck on higher ground." It's also a lot less dangerous, she thought but kept it quietly to herself. Jostling crowds have been added to her dislikes list.

"On the rooftops?" Verin repeated incredulously. Well why shouldn't they? Half of the City was built on the roofs of what was below it but she'd never thought to walk off the designated roads. Part of her doubted the safety of it - not every roof was stable after all. Unfortunately Verin was too proud to admit even to herself that she might be a little afraid of walking above the crowd rather than through it, so against her better judgment and in defiance of her uncertainty she said, "Very well, if you will show me the way."

Glancing around the square quickly to make doubly sure Vlad was no where near them she masked Book Child revealed, "We're looking for a girl. A Book Child with very long hair. We should find her before that other one - the man with the black feathers around his collar - spots her."