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"Fine." Damian stormed off to his own corner of the house, to the library, where he could be surrounded by everything was silent but still spoke.
He didn't have the mind to read, just brood.

Meanwhile Lorey snuck out of her room wearing a sleeveless turtleneck shirt to hide the bruises she had. Sneaking, mostly to avoid the fight she'd just heard, or to avoid the people who'd just been yelling.
She made it safely out the door, though, and was off for her interview in no time.

"What the--?" Damian nearly fell out of his chair and onto the floor as she plunked the newspaper down. Anxious fingers scrambled through the pages, while his eyes scanned every title and every word for any trace of...
"Liam Centurion, The Passing of a Great."

His heart pounded in a crazy fashion as he began the article. It was kind enough, detailing his work, his fortune, the Ball Room...
"Liam Centurion had one son, Damian Centurion, who was unable to be reached at the time. Goodness knows his grief must be extensive, with this being the second major loss of his life. The death of his mother, Felicia Centurion, left him ragged at the mere age of ten, and now that the Ball Room seems to have been left in different hands, one can only imagine what path lays before the exalted son of one of the greatest men in Veratia..."

The so-called exalted son sat with shaking hands and a dry mouth. How utterly disgusting. Not a soul had tried to contact him. There was no message on his landline, no missed calls upon his cell phone which he had indeed left at home during their escape off-planet. And this article, this lie claimed otherwise?
Everything else was true, however. The Ball Room along with his father's fortune had been left to someone else. But he knew it was intended for him. He would just have to find out who was running the show while he was away...

And even though he'd been desperately trying to find anyone who could serve as spy, his previous contacts were all too prying and untrustworthy. Raquel had been the next best thing in that endeavor, but obviously things had changed, and he would not throw her to the wolves. Besides, he thought bitterly. Raquel didn't have the know-how to make herself a flawless aristocrat. Mannerisms and fake knowledge to withstand the curious masses didn't come overnight. With another grimace he also realized, and not for the first time, that the chance of her having slept with someone who was key in being convinced was quite high.

This was all disastrous.

"Raquel, I am not pulling you into this," he said, rather breathlessly. "There is no way I could have you become entangled in this mess. You could be killed if what I believe is going on actually is."
Which was, quite simply, a take over of the aristocracy of Veratia to create some kind of monopoly. Damian couldn't be sure, but... he had to force himself to trust her.

He suddenly walked to Raquel and kissed her to stop his thoughts if only for a moment.
"If you are set on this, you will not do it alone."

He took a gulp for the sake of a quiet moment in his mind. They could both be killed... they could both be taken down by the media and anyone who got in their way. But that could simply happen anyhow, even if they didn't go poking their noses where they didn't belong.

"Only... if you will wear that dress you wanted to go dancing in, and be the belle of the ball like you deserve to be."
And he would wear his best suit, be the graceful dancer he was bred to be. Flirting with death always required looking good to boot.

"Was that... french?" Damian had a verrrry bad feeling already. Most, if not all, of the frenchman he knew were complete cads in every respect. Not as if he hadn't been one himself once upon a time, but his change in demeanor would no doubt cause quite a stir socially, once he actually ventured out into the crowd again.

"And... he's coming here? Good grief, I am not even decent!" And without further thought, he ran from the library, going straight to the shower to desperately scrub himself into the aristocratic prat he was.

There would have to be champagne, or perhaps a casual wine out, he thought all the time he was preparing himself. Finger foods, and perhaps some sort of expensive gadget working its wonders as they spoke...

Damian walked in wearing a classic black suit with a tie to match his eyes. He, too, walked into the main meeting area, idly fixing his cuffs as if he wasn't about to meet someone he might actually know. And indeed he did recognize the man in his house, making his insides twist.
Of course none of this showed through his calm, complacent demeanor. He could not let it, as years of being at the Ball Room had taught him emotions, especially those that were unpleasant, were best left undetected.

"Ah," he said, gesturing at him as though he was an old friend. "Raquel did tell me you would be paying us a visit. Do come in, there is a bit of wine ready on the table."
Three glasses had been poured by another droid, who had slipped silently back into the background before anyone could even hear its hum.

Restraint was the best way to describe the precaution Damian was taking then. Bibelot?
His silver eyes watched every single gesture Chase made, along with every touch. Should anything be deemed inappropriate, goodness knew he would sick himself upon the pristine gentleman, even if he did need his help.

But that would have to wait.
"Chase... if I may have the pleasure of being on a first-name basis," he began, extending his hand to the couch for them to all have a seat. "I am afraid this situation is rather dire, and as humorous as it undoubtedly is, we do need your assistance."
Though he would like to degrade the we to a 'me,' perhaps if this Chase believed Raquel to be in need of help, he actually would.