Normally, Ciaran loathed attending formal events—they reminded him too much of the old, stuffy parties his father forced him to when he was a child—but he was perfectly capable of making an exception. He could not, however, erase his distaste for dress attire. Grumbling, Ciaran stared at his glaring reflection in his bedroom mirror while he hastily buttoned his shirt.
“Honey, are you almost ready?” He could hear the delight in her voice. No doubt she was jovial about him attending the masquerade-slash-auction, shrouded in mystery as it was.
“Almost.” Ciaran bent down and shrugged on a black suit jacket that matched his slacks. Another glance in the mirror caused him to crinkle his nose and furrow his eyebrows. At the insistence of his mother, he had combed back his hair, an arduous process when he preferred to leave it messy and unattended to. A couple rebellious strands stuck out, but he made no movement to slick them into place. He preferred them that way. When he added the mask his mother had dug up in the attic, Ciaran scowled. He was half-tempted to rip off the fake, golden flower and claw off the glittering lace, but Ciaran restrained himself. He had a party to attend to, and messy appearances would not be tolerated. Ciaran walked over to his desk to pick up the invitation. Again, he eyed the paper, but eventually hid it into his pocket.
“I’m leaving,” he announced as he eased down the front steps and passed the gate.
“You’re not calling a carriage?” His mother worriedly called out.
“Hate ‘em,” Ciaran curtly replied with one final wave. He heard his mother’s faint, amused giggle, and he smirked.
It didn’t matter that he was currently wearing dress shoes. On top of the claustrophobic atmosphere, riding a carriage made him feel pompous. He did not require fancy rides. His own two feet was sufficient enough. He would arrive to the masquerade by walking, even if his feet ended up sore. Ciaran strolled through Nova Nona’s streets, ambling along the sidewalk as he steadily made his way towards the West Gates. The long walk gave him precious time to mull over things. Why was he going to this party? The enigmatic letter and the peculiar contents had piqued his interest. What would the auction sell off? He had no clue, but it must be some array of items to keep the entire event so mysterious and hush-hush.
Ciaran sighed, his breath appearing as misty fog that evanesced into the night air. Was it really that cold? Perhaps his recently gained experience of camping outside had given him a stronger resistance to harsh weather.
He spotted the gate up ahead. Remaining calm, Ciaran casually adjusted his mask as he pulled out his invitation. His shoes clacked against the stone street as he strolled up to the doorman. Ciaran wordlessly held out his invitation for the man to examine.
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Syusaki's Sane Corner
My little corner of sanity. :D
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Syusaki
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STATUS: they pronouns | moved from skype to discord