A party raged around her. It was not the first, and most probably not the last, and yet it felt different somehow. As if it was the start of something that could change her life forever. She chuckled to herself, knowing that the thought was silly. Things like that only happened in fairy tales, and her life was certainly nothing of the sort. Though she did not look, the woman could feel the judging eyes on her, knowing that she should not have made a sound. After all, it was not what a good slave did.

Her eyes caught sight of the silver bands around her wrists, heavy in more ways than one. It was so strange how they were all here to see her, and yet she could be treated as though she should be grateful for their presence instead of the opposite. The woman knew that most were here out of curiosity. Having heard of the slave who danced at each party her master held. She flinched, knowing that it was more than her talent that caused them to come.

One of her hands made its way to the strands of hair that hung loosely in her face. It was the unusual color, bright red, that drew all these people to the party. Her master would say that it was his popularity, but that wasn't true. The guests had come because they wanted to see the devil girl themselves. For obviously, it could have been no other creature that had adorned her with her unnatural hair.

It was time. She raised her clasped hands to the sky, and stood on her toes, praying. She didn't care who or what they thought she was praying for, it didn't matter. Instead, she wished for beauty and grace in her performance. And as the music began and she stepped into her first dance of the night, one last prayer crossed her mind. Ignia wished to be free.

Varic Vizaz was wealthy, extremely so, perhaps not to the same extent as the decadent Octave, but he was wealthy enough to possess slaves of their own rarity. Ellyah was one such slave. Orgravi women were possessions at home, traded and bartered as one would with currency or commodities, and though they were rarely traded to outsiders, there were always the exceptions to the rule. Those few, those precious few, were extraordinarily valuable in Ageuos, and Varic had paid a princely sum for her. He had owned her for years now, and aging, the master’s favourite pleasure slaves were usually a lot younger, though her training still found her called to his rooms more often than not.

And of course, she was to accompany him in his retinue tonight. She knew the Octave family, though the last remaining member had only been young, as had she, when his father had sold her to Varic. Well… sold. He had lost her in a bet. Varic had used her to rub his victory in the late Octave’s face, though she no longer had such significance.

Her master strode into the party before his retinue, though waddled would probably be a more accurate. He was huge, a veritable blimp of a man. Great rolls of chins fell from his face, pink and moist already from the heat. His great belly was swathed in what looked like three or four acres of black velvet. It was supposed to have a slimming effect, but all it achieved was to demonstrate the man’s great size all the more. Beads of sweat rolled across the great expanse of his forehead as he threw out a hand languorously.

“Go, enjoy the party, we are safe enough here, Octave may be arrogant but he knows to hire guards at least.”

His voice was deep, rich, and mellifluous, far more attractive than his form would suggest, and at his command his guards and retinue dispersed among the party, though staying within eyeline, and one remaining close by. Seric left as well, her master’s minstrel, and for a moment his eye’s met Ellyah’s, then he slipped away into the crowd. Ellyah made to move off in the opposite direction, but a fat arm snaked behind her, one hand tapping her buttock.

“Not you dearest, you stay with me.”

She nodded, her eyes and head lowered in subservience, “yes master, of course.”

---

Varic was sprawled on one of the many chairs scattered around Octave’s house, Ellyah knelt obediently by his feet. She was watching the so-called ‘devil girl’, his eye’s however, beady and swamped in the fat of his face, were watching the back of his pleasure slave calculatingly.

Ellyah had seen a great many exotic things in her life, things that most of the people of Ageuous would be astonished by, but the flaming red hair of the slave dancer, it was easy to believe that she was cursed by a demon, or blessed by a god with a twisted sense of humour. And then as the girl began to dance she forgot about her behaviour, how her eyes should be downcast and her head lowered, and she simply watched.

Edit: forum glitch doubled my post :/

Ava always loved parties. Well, she mostly loved attending parties with her masters, as hosting parties was exhausting work. She stood out like a sore thumb amongst the party goers, partly due to her age. That are her outfit was extremely simple, a white cotton dress, distinguishing her easily as a slave. Despite this, at first glance someone might have mistaken Ava for a guest, maybe the granddaughters to the elderly masters who stood near her. But with her posture straight, her arms pressed firmly to her sides, and her gaze cast downward it was pretty clear where she belonged. The dark branding burned into her wrists were a clear marking of who she was.

"Avaline." A wavering, elderly, voice called out. Ava immediately looked up, respectfully engaging her masters. "Yes ma'am." She spoke clearly, almost surprised. She sounded as if she for got where she was, she was, too deep in thought. It had been a long time since she had been to such a large party. "Go fetch me a fresh drink." The elderly master spoke as she handed Ava a half finished glass of some strange champagne. "And one for my husband as well." Another glass, this one empty, was handed to Ava. And then the two elderly people returned to their conversations.

The elderly couple was not much to look at. The women, the younger of the pair, often tried to deny her age. Her wrinkled face was caked with expensive makeup, all applied by slaves at the mansion, and her glasses were adorned with sparkling gems. She was also rather small her back hunched. Her husband was even more hunched, walking with a decorated and expensive cane. He was also very quiet, either due to his old age or his wife being the loud and commanding type.

Walking slowly, as to avoid from breaking or spilling her glasses, Ava eventually made it to the bar, requesting the fresh drinks for her masters. She gave the slave behind the counter a warm smile as he poured the fresh glasses. Once they were safely in her hands, Ava began her walk back. But something distracted her. The almost hypnotic dance of the girl with the red hair. It was baffling to her, she had never seen such vibrant colors. She had heard her masters mention the strange girl, but didn't actually believe she existed.

Ava's thinking was suddenly interrupted by a sharp hair in her scalp as her curly hair was suddenly grabbed and yanked back, forcing her to look up. Ava held back a yelp of surprise and pain as she tried her hardest to keep the drinks of spilling. "You work far too slowly, slave." Her elderly master spat, dragging her back to the area her and her husband were chatting with the other guests. Ava handed the drinks back, resisting the urge to rub her stinging scalp as she thought of the strange girl.

Lilian sat on a comfortable chair that curled around her as she sunk into it. The party had yet to come into full force with only a handful of guests milling about and so her employer Octave had decided to wait to unveil the demon girl until some more well known faces showed. Lilian laughed silently. The girl, she knew was no demon but from the way everyone treated her she could have been the Daughter of the Prince of Darkness himself. Lilian had yet to actually see her but she had met one or two girls with the "demon hair" before. They were rare, perhaps one in every thousand and most where smart enough to dye there hair at an early age. This Ignia hadn't been one of the lucky ones and now was paraded out for the enjoyment of her pompous master and his friends.

Lilian sipped a light brew from a tankard she'd found in the kitchen. Everyone else drank there's from fine glass wear provided by Octave. Lilian preferred the tankard and also enjoyed the scowl however fleeting that darkened Octave's face when he saw her with it. It did not convey the class and prestige he wished for this party.

More people were starting to trickle in now and soon enough she'd be performing. She was not the main attracting nor was she the only Minstrel but the demon girl could not dance without music and Lilian was the most skilled of any Octave could hire.

"My Lady, his mastership is ready to unveil the Demon Girl. She required your music." It was a small little man. He was dressed in a suit. Most likely a waiter, one of the slaves that was meant to serve rather than show off wealth.

Lilian chuckled inwardly at being called "My Lady". Slaves where the only ones that ever showed her that sort of respect. She sighed and set her tankard down. It was quickly swept up by the little man who whisked it off to the kitchen. As she stood an evening dress flowed around her. It had been commissioned by Octave. He'd had to pay her extra to wear it and let his slaves do her hair. It was red and lacy, designed to compliment Ignia's hair but it was modest. After all Lilian wasn't the main attraction. Her hair was braided down her scalp and set with red flowers that reflected the light in the room. In Octave's mind she must be some sort of demon servant of Ignia's or something, doomed to play her music for eternity. It was perplexing the length rich people would go but Lilian was happy enough, it put gold in her pocket.

As much as she hated the dress what Lilian really missed was the weight of her sword hanging on her back. It was forged by Stonecrest smiths from her home. She'd taken a great risk returning there to buy it but she wanted nothing less than the best. It had cost her but thinking how many rouges and thieves she'd used it on she considered it a worthy investment. When she moved she could almost feel it on her back like a phantom of the sword but it was not there.

Lilian picked up her fiddle and walked to the back center of the room. There was a little dais where Ignia would perform and behind that the place where Octave wished her to play her fiddle. The case the fiddle was in was made of fine leather and wood. Another lone from the master of the house. He'd said he would rather hire another than she been seen with the case that normally housed her instrument. It was old, the leather beat. It was still protected the instrument but it was not something one wished to look at.

Her fiddle itself was made of fine oak. Each string had been replaced several dozen times since she'd gotten it but all were of the highest quality. Carved into the handle were the letters: R.N. She told people that they were the initials of her mother who had owned it before her. It was a nice fantasy, so much better than the truth.

One of Octave's servants brought Ignia out to a stunned applause as people saw her hair. She was beautiful, Lilian had to admit. Her hair was a stark contrast on her pale skin and it was perfectly believable that she'd been touched by a force not of this world. Lilian smiled to herself, everyone of the people here were fools, this girl didn't have demon blood in her anymore than Lilian herself had.

Octave had told her to start with something fast paced, something that got the blood pumping, something that when Ignia danced would make her hair appear as fire. Lilian had the perfect composition. It was something she'd picked up from a minstrel in Adonia. It was a favorite dance song there. Some may know it in Thessalonik, she couldn't be sure. What she did know was that it got the blood pumping which was precisely what Octave wanted.

Lilian rosined her fiddle, drawing the bow across the strings. It was slightly out of tune and it squeaked as she drew her first note. She turned one of the nobs, tightening the strings then began. She couldn't worry if she had tuned the fiddle properly (not that any of the guests could tell the difference) this was the kind of song that had to be launched right into or else it lost a great deal of its effect.

Lilian played hard and fast, Ignia dancing in time as the bow moved back and forth pouring out a beautiful song that one couldn't help but tap to. Someone had once told Lilian that he could see her soul when she played and now here playing this song she supposed it was true. Her bow moved faster and faster and she almost imagined that sparks were flying from the strings until the song reached its peak and ended with a final note leaving the beat of it lingering in the air.

Then as people were coming out of the shock of watching the demon girl dance Lilian approached her. "It there anything specific you wish to dance too? The great master Octave," she said pouring as much sarcasm and contempt as she could into the words "only told me what he wanted for the first song. Are there any tunes you dance well to?"

Oz tugged at his collar for what must have been the hundredth time that night. The tightness of it all was something he feared he would never grow accustomed to, but Octave had insisted he leave behind his drab clothing, just as he insisted he come to the party in the first place. But even though Octave had said he would be an esteemed guest, the man knew full well that he may as well have been on the same level as the slaves that the nobles brought with them to this party. For his only purpose here was so the young lord could pull him aside whenever he felt convenient and brag about the treasures that Oz had secured for him, just like a trained parrot reciting lines.

Luckily, Octave was far too busy speaking amongst some of his insufferable cohorts, so Oz was still left to his own devices. Taking a rather large taste of his wine, Oz took the role of the fly on the wall, watching the partygoers as they revealed that they revealed parts of their true nature. He watched as a colossal penguin of a man wrapped a possessive arm around a slave, whose clothing revealed her home country Ogravia, and as much older one tugged at the hair of a girl that could have been his great-granddaughter. With a sigh of disgust, he left his perch on the wall and made his way towards the music that was reaching its crescendo. The party was equal parts elegance and decadence, with each of the attendees that had come willingly trying to desperately one-up their peers.

Paying the nobles around him little mind, Oz gracelessly made his way towards the front of the crowd. It wasn't until he was near the front that he was truly able to see the so called demon girl, her hair dancing like flames as she moved with the intense music. Of course he had heard of her, not to mention the ridiculous rumors that surrounded her, but all Oz could see was a talented dancer. It wasn’t until the musician announced that she was taking requests that he was finally able to divert his attention away from. It was impossible to miss the sarcasm drip from her lips as she referred to Octave, and the contempt in her eyes all but took a color of its own as she waited for a response. The audience was still in a trance like state from the girl’s dance, but a light grin started to tug at the corner of Oz’s lips as an amusing idea occurred to him.

“I’ve been just dying to hear ‘The Thirteen Cows in the Attic.’” he told the brunette with a sly wink, his voice sounding all too serious. It was obvious to anyone that actually looked that she was not thrilled to be here, and if his suspicions were correct she would enjoy a chance to peeve their host with such a song. One that had absolutely no business being played for an audience as cultured as this one, but it would be hard for Octave to punish the girl for taking a request from one of his esteemed guests.

Garret followed in silence, the small irregular clicks of his amulets hitting against each-other beneath his roughspun tunic, the only sounds that came from him as he followed the short, fattening, ostentatiously merchant towards the large dwelling. The front doors stood open, a guard on ether side, each were taking names of the new arrivals and checking them off a list that each had in hand, and both looked exceptionally bored. As Garret and his master approached the door, the light airy sounds of music floated out the opening, only to be broken by the bored voice of one of the two door keepers. "Hold. Name?" he asked with an expression that betrayed the yawn that was about to erupt.

"Luris Quisali, thank you very much." Garret's master responded, matter of factly, using his stubby fingers to flatten his hair as the guard flipped his list a couple of times, his eyes scanning the scrawled names.

"Quisali.. Quisali.. ah here we are." The guard said after a short time "Seems I have you down here for yourself and a slave." He looked at Garret, who met his bored glance, with his own cold stare "Ok, go right in. Appears you got here just in time." He added with a sly grin. A disgusted look sat itself on Luris's face and he started in, Garret moved to follow when he was stopped by the two. "Hold on. Im sorry but we cant allow this one in here armed with those." the same guard spoke, motioning to the two war picks that hung from Garrets belt, and the two broad throwing daggers that were sheathed and tied on Garrets forearms.

Luris sighed and turned, putting on what Garret called his lying face. "I'm so terribly sorry about that, hes one of those northern Vow dogs you see. Carries the things with him everywhere. Are you sure you can't just let him though, I swear no trouble will come of it." He smiled his ugly smile, the same smile a frost snake gave you before it bit you, Garret thought quietly to himself.

But the guard shook his head. "Sorry sir orders are orders, and Lord Octave his ordered all weapons not possessed by house guards are to remain here." He emphasized the last part as he eyed the two semi-ornate picks, but gulped when he saw the glare that had formed of Garrets face. Luris only sighed and waved his hand and snapped his fingers at Garret, who always found this action infuriating, but he knew what it meant, and his contract meant he had to listen. Rolling his eyes and gritting his teeth. Garret removed the two knives and war picks delivering them to the waiting guard, who tied a bit of colored string around them and gave a piece of the same color to Luris, who tucked it into one of his velvet pockets. Finally being allowed inside, Garret allowed himself a small smile. The idiots hadn't checked him for any hidden weapons, he thought as he felt the press of the three hidden knife scabbards. But this moment of slight mirth, was of course soured when Luris decided to speak.

"I keep telling you, but apparently those winters as you grew up froze your brain. Or is it that you just like making me look the fool, hmm?" He spat out in a hushed tone, the disgusted look reappearing on his face. "You need to learn. I. Own. You. Your contract was given to me as payment, and that means that you are mine. Do you understand me?" But Garret had long since stopped listening, instead his attentions were turned towards the center of the room for there she stood. She was indeed captivating as the others had said, and the attention of the room seemed to gravitate and swirl around her. She must have just finished her dance as the musician seemed to be conversing with her and one other. "Splendid isn't she?" and all at once the captivating spell was broken, replaced by the same old revulsion. "The one they are all here to see, well her and Octave's hospitality. But mostly her." Garret gritted his teeth once more as his master laughed at his own musings, his forming jowls rippling with the action. But even then, he watched the three, at least until Luris made a move once more, forcing Garret to follow him.

The two weaved their way through the crowd, well Garret weaved, his master was more brunt in his advance a smile on his face. Following the mans movements Garret took a guess at where he was headed, the seated old couple seemed familiar, probably financiers of some venture of his master's or clients, it really didn't matter to Garret. As Luris reached the two he bowed, an odd sight to the mercenary who had crept up behind him. "Ah, friendly faces at last. My lord and lady it has been too long." he said his lying face already in place. Garet resisted the urge to roll his eyes behind the man, and proceeded to stop listening to the proceedings, only breaking his cold facade to give a slight smile to the small child with the two.

Johannes' office was a small room on the basement of a building which could only be considered remarkable by the fact that it had guards. The room spoke of its owner's choices - from the small size of it, signalling he didn't feel the need to impress, to the solid wooden desk, good but not luxurious, to the fact that there was no chair for any guests to sit on, while Johannes himself sat on a plain wooden chair, not even padded.

Ariel found himself approving the man's style as he stood in front of him, waiting for Johannes to pull a sheet of paper out of one of the folders that covered the walls.

"Mhm, here." Finally he found the contract he was looking for, handing it over to the large statue without the merest sign of the difference in size affecting him. "It's from Octavius. You probably don't know him, he's not in any circles I'd expect you to move in, but he's a pretty big shot."

Ariel nodded absentmindedly as he read the contract carefully - his lack of eyes fortunately did not keep him from seeing.

"He wants me as a guard." The statue's voice was surprisingly human, yet completely lacking in emotion, emerging from a point somewhere in its throat. "Did you tell him about. Of course you told him about my prices. And he told you money is not a problem." He looked at Johannes, the man nodded, back at the paper. "I don't..."

"Wait." The smaller man cut him off. "There's a dancer in that party, a girl. She's famous. People think she's been touched by demons. I thought you'd be interested in seeing her face to... face, I guess." The man chuckled to himself. He'd been messing with Ariel's aspect for as long as he'd been handling his contracts, and the statue didn't seem to mind his guilty pleasure.

Ariel stood motionless for a couple of seconds. "I see. Thanks." He put the contract down. "I will want to see her in private as payment." Johannes raised an eyebrow, but took the contract and quickly jotted something on it. "Or twice the usual fee." More scribbling. "Is that all?" One final nod, and the statue was off, crouching to pass under the door.

---

Ariel felt extremely grateful that he was attending the party as a guard. Social events were not something he was used to, least of all high-society parties, and he would've felt completely out of place had he not had a task to complete. The instructions he'd been given by Octave before the party started were the essence of simplicity - ensure everyone followed the rules of the party, stop any kind of rough-making, and protect the slaves.

Nothing was ever that simple, of course. With the amount of people invited and the size of the room, he'd quickly realized sitting in one place would make him miss a lot of the action, so he'd had to start moving in a slow patrolling motion to keep tabs on everything. Perhaps it was the sight of a guard, perhaps it was his size, but he soon started noticing any sparks of roughmaking had a tendency to calm down when the moment they saw him heading that way.

There was nothing much out of the usual - here a man fondled his slave, there a woman attacked hers, elsewhere two youths argued about something probably irrelevant, over by one of the corners a circle of merchants were trying to outbrag each other, at the entrance a man was arguing with the guards - but there was something in the air, a sort of collectively held breath that Ariel didn't notice he'd been holding as well until he saw a streak of red on the performers' dais.

The demon-girl had come out to play for she wasted no time in words or introductions, launching herself into a hypnotic dance that in tandem with the musician's skill, had the whole room enraptured. Almost unconsciously, Ariel drifted closer to the dancer as she moved, eyes glued onto her body - in another life, he would've praised her good looks - as he pushed his way through the crowd. His sight flickered onto the crowd, once, twice, making sure she wasn't being threatened by any grasping hands and then right back onto the dancer, until the music finally died out.

Ariel stared at the red-haired woman as the musician talked with the audience, trying to figure out whether she was actually a demon, possessed, or just a simple, unfortunate human. He gave up after a few seconds, unable to reach any solid conclusion; but then again he didn't have his mind up right this instant. With any luck, Octave would spare his gold and simply pay him by meeting the dancer, and then he'd be able to tell for certain.

A glance was shot around him searching for any threats that might've appeared while he was distracted, but beyond one man calling for a decidedly inappropriate song it all seemed to be safe, so he was free for the time being. Expecting that most of the attention would be where the dancer was, at least until she was done, he made his way through the crowd to stand next to the dais opposite where the musician was. This was a rather major show of power from Octave after all, and it wouldn't be any surprise if one of his rivals decided to try and spoil it.

Ignia stopped when the music did, her barefoot slamming down when that last note finally ended. For a moment, she stood there, her chest rising and falling as she caught her breath. The woman was a dancer, but even they had a limit to their stamina and with a song like the one just played, well. Most people would be flat on their face after that.

Her hazel eyes caught those of the musician and though her contempt was mirrored in them, Ignia knew things that this girl did not. "You musn't speak of him that way and you must not play that song..." she said quietly, so as not to be heard. Her gaze then fell on the man egging Lilian on. There was nothing she could say to him. Lilian was not a slave, but she may as well have been with the way she was treated. This man, he was different. He was here as a guest. There was no way Ignia could talk to him as if he were her equal.

Instead, she addressed him properly. "My Lord, please, if you would choose a more appropriate song, I'm sure that My Lady would be just as happy to play it as I would be to dance to it." Her words were a warning to them both. Do not do things that Octave does not like or you will certainly regret it. Whether the two heeded that warning or not, well... it was up to them.

In the end, it was not her job to look after them. Technically, it wasn't really her job to do anything because that implied getting paid. So, she moved back to the center of the dais she was performing on and looked around the room. Many times she had performed here, but never for quite so many people. It seemed that her legend was spreading. That or Octave's riches were somehow expanding. She doubted the last one with the way he spent gold.

It was an uncomfortable feeling, to have hundreds of people's eyes on you. The worst of it was that she knew it was not her dancing, which she believed was rather good. It was neither her beautiful ebony dress that flowed around her with each turn nor the gold accessories that made her look like a tribal woman. No, it was what these two were meant to bring attention to: her hair.

Another sigh escaped her lips as she once again stood on her toes in prayer. Like before, she prayed for grace and beauty and waited for the music to start again.

---

Octave watched his favorite pet as she moved across the dais. She'd done so well the past few years. The way she danced always made her hair look like fire, as if she had come from the depths of hell herself. For that reason, they always dressed her like such a creature, sure that it would make the rumors spread even more quickly.

Yes, she was perfect, just what he had been hoping for when he'd bought her so many years ago. Everyone at the party was bound to respect his position and wealth after seeing her. She was the slave that they all wanted but could never have, and he would hold that advantage over all of them until the day he died.

A sly grin formed on his lips as he remembered something else. Recently, she was also buying him workers. A guard that he had hired for the party had specifically asked for "time alone" with her. Normally, Octave would have said no. After all, whoring his slave off was just bad business, but with the amount of gold he was saving he'd decided this one time would be fine.

Though, sitting in his throne-like chair and staring at his demon girl, Octave wondered if perhaps she might earn him very much if he started to use her that way.

After giving the glasses to her masters, Ava turned again to watch the strange girl dance. It was almost hypnotic, along with the music playing along, it was almost hard to breathe with she watched. She was absolutely speechless. The way the music and the dance of the girl seemed to flow and move in perfect harmony, it was amazing, as the dance ended and the party goers began to clap, Ava looked over at her masters. They appeared unimpressed, maybe as a way to contain their dignity. But it was obvious that the dance affected them, maybe even scared them, by the way their pupils were blown to full size and their hands seemed to shake as they nonchalantly clapped with the crowd.

They continued to chat amongst themselves for a bit, until a familiar face appeared to them. Ava knew about all the people her masters invested in, and this man was one of them. Ava tried to hold back her distrusting and disgusted expression. This man was a total suck up, she could tell by the way he very quickly changed tactics from when he was walking to when he was talking to her masters. Her masters were not very wise people, however, and as soon as he bowed they were falling all over him. Metaphorically speaking.

Her masters loved being praised, and being bowed to, and as soon as the strange man began to talk they seemed to be under his influence. They hanged off every word he said. Her mistress fanned her wrinkled face, as if suddenly overcome by an extreme heat. "Oh Sir, you flatter me. We have been here for the longest time without any sort of company! And I was just telling my husband..." Since the conversation was clearly not about her, Ava looked off, no longer caring about what was being said.

She glanced around her masters legs, smiling up at the slave by the mans side.

"Tommy you idiot!" Diamond gritted her teeth as she climbed out of the water. She finally remembered her friend could swim; he must have stayed underwater for some time to trick her into the pool. She sat on the ground, wet from head to toe, smelling like...fish? Feeling something wriggling in her hair, she felt for her hair and gave a yelp of surprise before shaking her head hard, sending some tiny fishes the size of anchovies to the ground. She could not be certain but from the smell of the water, the writhing thing in her hair, she had just swam in a fish pond. But wasn't it supposed to be a clear swimming pool? Did she remembered wrongly...

Diamond frowned. Her surroundings felt strange to her; it seemed she was in a different place altogether. The night seemed darker than before, and what was supposed to be the modern furnishing around the pool were replaced with neatly trimmed shrubs and small pretty paths made of round polished pebbles. She supposed it was a garden of sort, probably owned by some kind of rich person, judging by the neat beautiful landscaping. The air smelled sweet of grass and flowers save for the wet fishy smell that was slowly drying on her. She rubbed her arms for warmth and frowned some more in thought. What was happening? It was only moments ago when she jumped into the pool to save her friend and now she ended up in the middle of somebody's garden of nowhere. Diamond shook her head to rid her mind of jumbled thoughts. She had to face the present; it was pointless to wonder about the past when it clearly did nothing to provide her the answers she needed.

Diamond stood, shivering. She had to get something dry to wear quick and if possible, a nice warm bath or risk coming down with fever and terrible cold. She walked barefooted on the pebbled path, muttering a few low curses at her friend for causing her such predicament. Her brown eyes swept around the area for sign of human activity. There were people moving in hurried paces into a building, in which she realised was a grand mansion. Feeling curious, Diamond followed an elderly couple who was too absorbed about the fact that they had arrived quite late to be bothered by the girl's presence behind. She ventured along the hallway, keeping her head down pretending to be more interested at the ground beneath her or looking away whenever she sensed curious eyes on her. Once or twice she dared a peek at those who looked her way, and they were mostly girls in black and white dresses, presumably servants in that wealthy household.

"Oh my, how breathtaking..." The elderly man in front of her spoke in awe as they entered into a luxurious ballroom. Rubbing her arms for warmth, Diamond shuffled to the side of the room to observe as inconspicuously as possible. From her vantage point, she could see the crowd, at least a hundred or more, gathered around some kind of stage. One could tell the people attending the event, a party she gathered from the various delicacies served at the side tables, were of the rich sort judging from how they portrayed their wealth with gold and jewels on their necks, hands and lovely colourful clothing. The servants stood out in contrast, their black-and-white forms moving in and out of the crowd with heads lowered and men in dark blue suits littered across the room, dishing out drinks and refilling glasses after glasses. Faint music filled the air and the crowd seemed captivated by a dancer's performance. Hmm, a party, Diamond thought. She felt like joining the crowd to watch the performance, but the pressing need of wearing dry clothes made her turn to one of the servant girls who happened to walk unconsciously towards her.

"Hi, I'm sorry but is there any dry clothes you can spare me? I..." she paused for a while, "...fell into the pond accidentally and lost my shoes there. I would appreciate it if I can get a bath, if not, just some dry clothes is fine." The servant girl about her age jumped in surprise at being addressed and she stared at her wide-eyed as though she had seen a ghost. The girl looked about a few times as though afraid somebody would come and give her a few spankings before she answered Diamond in a small voice with eyes downcast, her expression half-puzzled and half-afraid. "My Lady...I could bring you to the fitting room...there might be one two spare gowns that might be of use to you..." The girl glanced at Diamond nervously before moving away with small quick steps. Diamond shrugged to herself and giving the crowd one last look, she took after the girl's lead.

***

"Oh gosh, this feels soooo gooooooood...I can't believe I smell like a fish just now! Ugh! And hmm, this is pretty," Diamond said to herself as she rubbed her hair dry with a towel while looking into the mirror. She was lucky there was a pink gown made of silk and a matching pair of red shoes that suited her. Although she found the gown to be elaborate and low cut to her liking, she was not in a position to complain. She wanted to ask a few questions to the servant girl but the girl seemed uncomfortable around her and always kept her head lowered. "You look like a pitiful servant, like a slave lol," Diamond told her lightly and the girl looked up with a confused expression before returning to her submissive look. "Yes My Lady, we look like who we should be, as Master Octave's slaves." And she mumbled an excuse that she was needed elsewhere before leaving Diamond wondering alone in the room at her words.

Feeling restless, Diamond quickly dried her hair before wandering out of the building through the way led by the girl earlier. Her instinct told her the house was not a place for her to linger around for long, however fascinating its interior appeared to be. From what she gathered, the mansion she had just intruded was owned by this so-called Master Octave. And it seemed Master Octave kept slaves to do his bidding, something she disapproved coming from a world that spoke greatly of human rights.

Diamond sighed, her expression troubled. Everything seemed so weird the moment she appeared out of the fish pond. She wondered if she had stepped into a different era of the past. There were slaves to begin with, a Master Octave and rich people's party...

"Hmm, rich people's party," she mused aloud, stroking her chin in thought. Now that she was dressed like a rich girl herself, she could probably play along as one of them. And maybe with luck, she might be able to find her way back home somehow.

With a determined look, Diamond walked as ladylike as possible towards the crowd.

Ignia seemed almost fearful to answer her question but some in the crowd were not as shy. Though technically her question had been for Ignia specifically one of the men watching had seemed to take it as a cue to make requests. Lilian almost burst into laughter at his suggestions. ‘The Thirteen Cows in the Attic’ was a song that every farmer knew. It was the sort of song that was played at a Harvest Festival or bonfire dance, it was the kind of music that got people moving with light happy notes that had people swinging each other round kicking up dust. It was not the sort of music that one played for a prestigious crowd like this. A small smile curled her lips as she imagined the look on Octave's face if she played that song. People would laugh about it for weeks.

Lilian's thoughts were shattered by the demon girl, Ignia. She seemed almost terrified at the prospect of Lilian playing such a song for she would have to dance to it. There was a low warning in her tone as she addressed the guest respectfully. She clearly feared her master which was perfectly normal in a slave, especially one to whom beatings were likely not uncommon. "Come now," she said gracefully with a light playful laugh in her tone. "Why should we deny this honored gentleman his request. He has presumably come a long way to see your Infernal Dance. Shall he be disappointed."

Then she moved slightly closer to Ignia and grabbed her arm, turning her so that Lilian's lips were blocked from the man's view. "Which do you think will get us in more trouble," she said in a harsh whisper. "Playing a song that Octave may frown on or having that man tell your Master that you, who aren't even suppose to speak without permission, that we adamantly refused to play a request for him. If Octave questions us about the song this guest will shoulder the blame. On the other hand if Octave questions us on why we turned down one of his honored guests surely when this is all done my pay and your hide will pay for it."

Lilian said all of this very fast into Ignia's ear before releasing her, she gave a bow to the man who'd requested the song and stepped back to her place behind the dais. She couldn't wait to see Octave's face after this dance. Of course he would be unable to do anything in public else he risk seeming as though he could not control his slave. Lilian's contract kept him from cutting her pay without a decent reason (playing a song that made him look bad did not qualify) and (she hoped) Octave's need for Ignia to appear in public often would stop him from doing any serious harm to her. Lilian didn't consider that he might bring violence against her. She was not his property and minstrels were often as skilled with a sword as some mercenaries.

Lilian drew her fiddle again. Before she began to play she took a brief servant of the room. Every member with the exception of some of the slaves were grotesque. There was a man who waddled like a penguin and she was surprise that gobs of grease didn't drip off him what with how much fat was packed under his expensive wear. Another older couple were no different. The woman must have had several inches of make up on as though it would make her look young again. It was disgusting, this whole show.

Lilian hated playing for the so called higher class, most appreciated her reputation more than her music. A good bonfire dance was what she really enjoyed. The pay wasn't great usually being whatever the mayor of a town could scrap together at the last minute. She had fun at those events. She didn't have to stand in a stiff dress while other enjoyed themselves. At town gatherings she could dance while she played swinging around a fire to the music pouring from her fingertips. Not that she was a skilled dancer or anything, but she enjoyed it immensely. Losing oneself in the music.

Lilian touched her bow to the strings and began to play. Thirteen Cows in the Attic was a dancing song but it was much cruder than these folks were likely accustomed to hearing. It was the kind that village girls and boys danced to when the days work was done letting there hair fly free and there passion open to the music. Lilian thought this type of music was some of the most beautiful she could play but she knew very well that Octave would not be in agreement with that. Still she played on, it wasn't a long song, lasting perhaps three minutes but while the notes swirled all around her she felt it was an eternity. It was peaceful and calm. There was no other word to describe how she felt when she played, blissful.

All too soon though the song came to an end along with the demon girl's dance and Lilian waited with an innocent look for someone to break the silence.

Lord. Simply hearing that single word left an all too bitter taste in Oz’s mouth, but his expression did nothing to let others in on it. As quickly as it had come, he just as quickly pushed the useless thought aside. And with that, Oz was about to politely retract his request after seeing the reaction the unfortunate star of the evening had given him, but before he had the chance the musician was already giving him a small bow and lifting her instrument once more. Yet it was the music and dance that followed that truly silenced any attempt he would have made to take back his request.

Simply listening to the fiddler made him feel as if he could feel the calm touch of a night’s breeze and smell a great fire crackling away. For Oz, it was a nostalgic score that he remembered from his time between cities, where he was given refuge by people much kinder than him. It was indeed an unsophisticated festival song whose charm was no doubt lost on most of his fellow audience members, but Oz found he cared little for their confounded expressions. It was the reaction he had been going for, yet the passion that Lilian put into the piece caught him off guard and caused him to sway gently along with the melody.

But it was a short song that ended too soon. Oz was reminded that he was once more at Lord Octave’s party where the smell of smoke was only the acrid pipes of the patrons and the breeze was simply hot air that was being passed by their lips. Still, he raised his glass to the duo on the dais, with genuine appreciation in his eyes, as the song came to a close. Instead of breaking the awkward silence that followed, Oz discreetly excused himself and made his way through the crowd before he drew even more attention to himself.

Lilian Carme and the Demon Girl he mused to himself, I could think of many worse pairings. Oz passed a good number of patrons on his way outside to the balcony, with expressions that ranged from being befuddled to enraged, but he paid them as little mind as they paid him. With subtle glances he checked to see if there were any the wiser as to the disturbance he had caused, but it quickly proved too difficult to tell with only one pair of eyes, so he stopped bothering. Regardless of if he spotted them or not, if they knew that it had been him he would be found at one point or another.

So instead Oz merely welcomed the breath of relatively fresh air that greeted him as he stepped outside. His glass found a place on the ledge as he tugged at his collar for what must have been the hundredth and first time that evening. With a great party going on behind him, it was hardly a surprise to Oz that he was the only one occupying the balcony. The view he had from the terrace was commanding, as he was able to see the city sprawl beneath him and meet the dark ocean, with its waves crashing inexorably against the docks. It was all too easy for one to understand how the world could have people like Octave when they grew up looking down on the rest of the world.

Part of him was ready to act now and be done with it, but in the end his rational side won and made a bid for patience. His uncharacteristic impulse may have been the kind of distraction he had been looking for, but the alleged treasure hunter was rarely one to take risks without enough information. So instead he laid his hands against the balcony and waited.

Raime's night had started off different to most other under Octave's employ namely because it started with him watching the trickle of guests entering the estate and keeping an eye out for fellow infiltrators or otherwise. Though watching from a rooftop covered in a thick, gray cloak was a much different circumstance but it would take someone far more observant than the average mercenary or agent to spot him on the poorly lit arch he sat looking much like a decorative stone figure. He was rather enjoying the weather and freedom of the interior where the party would take place getting to look out over the city from his vantage point when he felt he had a moment to spare. It would have appeared to be the most relaxing evening in Octave's service yet, though the two fast moving shadows converging on the western side of the mansion soon betrayed it.

Why would I expect a quiet night? Raime thought to himself with a great deal of exasperation. It looked like he was working for his pay again though these parties kept him rather busy, Octave did not disappoint his first impression as someone who had many enemies. Then again the two could be here for anyone at the party so he would simply find out for himself prompting him to get up from his perch and see where the figures entered from the side of the rather large building. His hunch was correct thinking they might set up along the ballroom's higher balcony which annoyed him slightly given how predictable these assassins were, discrediting the profession really with they're actions. It took only a moment to throw off his robe in a non-visible spot so he could move freely then he sprinted across the rooftop to just above the balcony where he gauged the height difference near instantly, a 15ft drop at the most. He walked to the edge of the rooftop and turned his back to the fall behind him letting go and adjusting himself mid fall to land on both hands and feet to stifle the sound of his landing on the balcony.

Raime was on the two before they knew he was even there knocking out one with a decisive strike to the lower back of the first's skull, it would lead to swift unconsciousness, before having a knife just grazing the skin on the second's throat while pulling them back further out of sight of any of the more attentive guests.

"Your employer and target?" Raime asked with a cold edge much like his knife to which he was given silence." Very well than I suppose your accomplice will give me what I want, Liema non tijet."

He brought the soon to be dead assassin over the balcony where the man stabbed him, in much the same way he struck the assassin's compatriot, the blood would land in the well trimmed bushed below as well as the body which he would deal with later on in the night, he did not worry no guest would bother to be outside with an inside party normally however it would have to be dealt with once the guests left. He went back to the unconscious assailant, the smaller of the two by far, which upon inspect turned out to be a girl of 14 years at the most likely tagging along to learn of the trade as even assassins had betters to learn from. He shook her to consciousness looking her in the eye in much the same way as he spoke before to get his message of intimidation across without a word.

"Your employer and target?" Raime asked once again quietly but without the same edge as he did with the older man who gave silence.

"I-I-I do not know much. We wait for a signal near the end, three fingers to us and one pointing to the host." The girl said barely managing a coherent statement but just enough to get the information across.

"Leave here as it is your contract or your life." He muttered quietly keeping in mind her slow, uncoordinated movements from his previous strike.

"They are the same. This was my option out of dying for trying to steal coin." The girl said on what appeared to be the verge of tears spotting Raime's bloodied knife to his side.

"Then stay if you believe you can recover and kill that who forced you. The host might pay you as such for dealing with a threat, if not hide further into the building until I appear to collect you." Raime said leaving the girl to make up her mind and he would find out at the end of the night either by an arrow or bolt to the heart of her former employer or a lack of presence on the particular balcony.

The assassin left to change to more formal clothing through a servant entrance before appearing from beside Octave's 'throne' as a young nervous advisor who just came late and expected scolding. He thought the information would be of use to his employer and it might earn the girl a pardon for her forced work, he might be able to convince the man if necessary despite the nature of Octave. Raime would wait until he was addressed as to not incur suspicion of the previous events this was a specific order Octave had agreed to because who would expect the anxious advisor to be a masterful agent, especially one that appeared so incompetent. He had arrived just before the second dance which he used as time to scan the crowd picking out slaves, mercenaries, and a lack of disguised agents like himself. It was the sort of music he might hear at home during a festival which he would often attend even if his father could not, it brought back brief but good memories though you could never tell past his expression which was made to look like he was enthralled like many others.

Flitting through the narrow back-alleyways with soundless, cautious steps, he took note to keep himself clocked in the shadows cast from the faint moonlight. Even from afar, Elrik Karne could tell that a great party was underway. The nocturnal breeze that caressed his face carried with it the discordant sounds of people talking mingled with an undertone of titillating music. Even through his shemagh he could smell the heady scents and perfumes of the rich and the sweet, savory aroma of food; the usual redolence that comes with a great party. It contrasted greatly from the stench of the alleyway and Elrik wrinkled his nose at a particularly offensive stink as he neared his destination. Stopping in the shadows of another structure just two buildings shy of the targeted mansion, he took out a short hollowed bamboo that resembled a flute. Careful that he won't cause a light reflection, he slotted in a polished shard of crystal into one of the holes and adjusted it as he peered through it.

His vision magnified by crystal, Elrik scoped out his targeted area, taking note of the usual armed guards placements and their patrol routes before turning his seasoned eye upon the invited guests, comparing a few of them before picking out a lone obese man with a weak-looking face, covered in great swaths of cloth with a thick, flowing embroidered robe that would not be out of place on the shoulders of royalty. Nodding to himself, he made a mental map of possible locations the obese guest would head to; the insides of the mansion already familiar to him as he had wandered in under the guise of a monk begging for alms a few days before the party. Next, he turned his attention to the rooftops and vantage points, picking out any abbreviations and oddities that caught his eye as well as observing the shadows for movement. He squinted at a particularly suspicious-looking stone figure, noting the lack of any other stone statues but not entirely discrediting the notion that it might just merely be a decoration.

Retreating further into the shadows, he looked at the moon. It was almost time. Elrik had taken great efforts in hiring a middleman to hire some local assassins and thieves as bait to lure out any security surprises that might be in store for him. The thieves had went in earlier in the evening and failed badly, their poor disguises all too easily discovered by the wary guardsmen and swiftly escorted away without raising a fuss. Elrik respected their efficiency. They handled the situation well enough that maybe none of the guests found out about the incident except for the mansion's owner. But they would glean no information from them, he made sure of that. Slow acting poisons had been slipped into their drinks earlier in the morning, the two would die of different causes at different times, both poisons nearly undetectable once fully absorbed into the body. As for the assassins...

Aah, there they are. Slightly late, but it mattered not, his speed could always make up for the lost time. Atch, the poor fools were heading towards the mansion without a whiff of concern for subtlety or caution, so openly did they run towards their target. Again, it mattered not, Their deaths would be prove to be the perfect distraction for his entry, and even if captured, well...there are no loose ends. Elrik had not taken the liberty of poisoning them as he did with the thieves, but he did eliminate their employer and carefully planted evidence that would suggest a rivalry gone bad. After all, Elrik Karne is nothing but meticulous.

He made his move once he saw the 'stone figure' turn and start towards the approaching duo, his mind racing as he adjusted the memorized guard patrols, positions and travel route for his entry, his strides bringing him quickly to the mansion's front door even as he clung to the shadows as a petulant kid would cling to his favourite toy. The music inside the mansion had stopped and there was the splattering sound of applause, but Elrik was not overly concerned; the music seldom stopped for long in parties such as this one. Pulling the hood of his cloak further down but removing his shemagh, he instantly assumed a very natural walking stance as he followed a fresh group of guests, slipping from one to another whist timing the gazes of the guardsmen positioned there, carefully ensuring that he was carefully hidden by their backs. By now, some of the guests noticed him and were giving him weird looks and it wasn't long before someone would raise an alarm. Yet, just like clockwork, the pieces moved according to plan. Just as one of the guards consulted his list to for a guest's name, he reached his target, the obese man with the royalty robe. The music started again, this time a raunchier, bawdy tune more commonly heard around campfires than in high societal parties. Just in time.

Unnoticed and unseen, Elrik swiftly striked, his attack a mere blur to any who were watching intently. The entry and exit of the cold, unforgiving metal was so neat that no blood was spilled and nigh undetectable with the voluminous folds of the lard on the man and even though the wound was very shallow, the poisoned blade did the trick. Almost immediately, the man shrieked and gasped, the poison working through his system. The guards came barreling their way though the screaming and shouting crowd to the source of commotion as the man collapsed onto the floor, frothing at the mouth, his eyes turned so far back that only the whites showed. It would seem the music and whatever performance they had going on inside managed to keep them from hearing the ruckus outside; no sounds of alarm and no screaming came from the inside. Elrik, who had blended into the crowd immediately after he struck, came forward and shouted at the guards as he moved to help the fat man up to his feet. "Quickly! He'd had a stroke, the poor man! Help me bring him inside!" The guards looked warily at him, exchanging doubtful glances among themselves. Elrik, the very image of an impatient and concerned man, shouted at them again. "Hurry you fools! Least he dies out here! Do you want to be responsible for his death? Hurry! I can't carry him myself!"

Perhaps it was the threat of being responsible for the fat person's death or perhaps it was from Elrik's shouting, a few of the guards complied and together with much huffing and puffing, managed to drag the dying man inside the mansion as the remaining guards attempted to placate the guests queuing outside. As if it was the most natural thing to do, Elrik coolly peeled off the group upon entering the mansion, but not without relieving the dying man of his similarly obese coin pouch before headed off to the servant quarters for a change of guise, carefully avoiding the shuttling servants as they did so him, his mind swirling in anticipation of the riches that he might loot from tonight's plunder.

Ariel remained motionless, as if he were part of the decoration, while the people nearby argued about the choice of music. They both had their points, of course, but if anyone was going to be punished for this it would most definitely be the guest, who the statue expected would never set foot in any of Octave's parties ever again.

Things were going on, that much the statue noticed, ignoring the dancer this time as he screened the room once more. Commotion at the main gate, agitated servants, whisperings around the room. Perhaps this was the way a normal party was supposed to go? How was he supposed to keep tabs on anything when the guards were doing their own thing, though, and kept him in the dark? He was definitely not capable of keeping track of the way everything was not going how it should on his own.

He would've sighed if he had been able. Of course, he wasn't. He was supposed to look impressive and intimidate Octave's enemies, who had probably been invited to the party as well just so he could brag; all under the excuse of being hired to keep watch - but when push came to shove, it was clear that Octave didn't expect anything out of the mercenaries, and a lot more of his own guards. Just like the dancing slave, just like the paintings and the food, he was there so that Octave could brag. He shook his head slowly - with any luck, the boredom and the worries would be worth it. And, if he had to look at the silver lining of this awful job, at least he had an excellent view of the dancer, though his sense of duty kept from doing more than sneaking glances at her as she performed.

A sight caught his attention as the dance went on - a destitute-looking man, who had just made his way out of the commotion in the main gate. It wasn't Ariel's job to check for who was authorized to be here, true, but the man's appearance was so vastly different to everything else that he was seeing in the party that he had to wonder just where he'd come from. Probably one badly-treated slave, owned by a master who didn't want to conceal his cruelty in public. A sad sight indeed, he thought as he followed the man with his eyes, curious about who his master would be. Perhaps Octave himself?

Diamond marched towards the crowd with a sense of purpose...only to find herself heading towards long tables of food at the side of the grand room. She thought of mingling with the crowd right away; it seemed like a sensible thing to do to know more of whatever that was happening around her but she was not ready to face them and endure their scrutinising eyes. She took a plate and started piling up food: some fruits, a scoop of garden salad, a small slice of...whatever-cake. And she stood by the table eating while observing like an outsider she was.

With food as a good distraction, Diamond felt the tension within her slowly ebbing away. Without realising, she had been nervous and worried about interacting with the people around her. Would they sense something strange about her and realise she doesn't belong to their world? And when they do, how would they react? Once a worrywart, always a worrywart...Diamond thought and sighed. It would not come as a surprise if she ended up having lines on her face at the age of sixteen.

It proved a wise decision to be an observer of the party at the edge of the room. Diamond's position allowed her to take a decent view of the dancer who seemed to be the highlight of tonight's party. Quite a fair-looking girl she was, with fiery red hair and matching red dress which made her whole being seemed aflame. Her movements were graceful, and Diamond felt a tiny bit envious of the girl. Nearby, the lady musician was dressed in a similar shade, looking equally lovely. Diamond found herself enjoying the beautiful lively tunes she played with her fiddle; the lady must have put her entire heart into each stroke. "And here I am, lacking talent of sorts..." Diamond mused.

Her eyes continued to scan the crowd. She was never an observant person, but having appeared in another world forced her to be more attentive to her surroundings. There were guards posted at each entrance, distinguished by their uniform, and in the midst of the loosely spread crowd stood a big-sized armoured statue, an odd decoration. Except the statue could move its head and limbs...

Diamond rubbed her eyes single-handedly and frowned. The place got weirder the more she lingered around. Whoever heard of a walking statue, or was that a special trick employed by the organiser of the party as extra entertainment for his guests? A commotion at the main gate briefly distracted her line of thoughts. Diamond tiptoed to get a better view, but all she could see was a few guards' helmet top and a short moment later, someone entered the room, presumably a late guest. Setting her empty plate on the table, she slowly weaved her way to be part of the crowd, listening for information. People were bound to gossip and spread news regardless of era. True enough, for a lady in front of her muttered something about "a man too fat to defend his own heart" and "kind fellow, to carry that pig of a man to safety", so Diamond assumed a good-hearted gentleman must have came to the aid of one of the nobles with the help of the guards before joining the party. Nothing of my concern, she thought and her eyes swept back to the puzzling figure-thing. Her curious side urged her to go close for a little harmless inspection. It wouldn't hurt...or would it?

"If it's some guy cosplaying, I can just say hi, comment that the costume's cool and make friends or apologise and walk away right?" Diamond thought of leaving the figure-thing alone but curiousity was persistent and got the better of her. Biting her lower lip, she slowly made way towards it in small cautious steps.

The song was one that even Ignia could enjoy, though she could never really remember a time when she had been allowed to dance around a fire in some small town. It did not matter, though, because she could imagine it. It was calming in a way, to be able to pretend she was performing for fun and not by orders. Like the first song, she let the music guide her in a way most would never understand. It was a common question that was asked for the hour or so that Octave allowed her to talk to guests: "How do you do it?" It was also a question that Ignia would never be able to answer. Lately, she'd taken to just telling them that it was in her blood. The country of her birth was well known for its talented dancers. It was only natural that she grow up to be one too. Despite herself, a smile made its way to Ignia's lips as she lost herself to the music that was playing all around her.

Octave, on the other hand, was seething despite the calm appearance he displayed. The musician, he could do nothing about, as she was hired by contract. His slave, however, would be easy enough to punish for the embarrassment that he was sure she'd done on purpose. He was so distracted, thinking of how to do just that, that he almost missed when a certain spy came to stand beside him. For anyone else, what information this man had would be more important than an inappropriate song that people were barely reacting to. For Octave, someone who cared about appearance above all else, this was not the case. He motioned to Raime, indicating that he should follow as Octave stomped across the floor towards the dais that Ignia was dismounting.

So distracted by her own thoughts, the demon girl had not seen him coming. More importantly, she had not had a chance to turn and run. It would have been unseemly, and probably would have gotten her a worse beating later, but it was an instinct that she could not suppress. As it was, Ignia did not even know he was there until he grabbed her arm harshly and began to drag her away. The point he was trying to make came across clear as day. He was letting everyone at that party know that he could control any slave, even the one that many of them feared. More so, he was using Ignia as an example of what happened to people who embarrassed him. Perhaps next he would sick his guards on the musician. It would be a fitting punishment.

As for Ignia herself, she was just trying to keep the panic off her face. It was not like her to be scared of Octave as he was more bark than bite, but the look on his face told her that this time she had committed a great crime against him. This one had been in public, and it would likely drive some people away from the party, something that was the exact opposite of what Octave wanted. So, as he threw her through a door and into a hallway, she knew that something bad was coming for her. Even so, her curiosity got the better of her as she stared at the man following her master. It was not someone she'd seen before.

As if reading her mind, Octave turned to address this man. "Tell me what it is you must and then leave."