[center][h1][b][color=9354FF]Fritz "Ryn" Hendrix[/color][/b][/h1][/center]
Ryn kept a watchful eye on Lord Smithwood after they left the Gentlemen’s Grill and Cabaret and made their way to the spa. Though the lord’s sudden pinkness was the result of nothing more than a dye job, the enchanted glasses revealed a familiar magicae imprint—one Ryn recognized from the day Lord Smithwood’s voice had climbed to a squeak and sudden, uncontrollable laughter overtook him.

Thankfully, the imprint was far less strong or menacing this time, reduced to wisps of tiny, surprised-looking faces swaying at the edges of Lord Smithwood’s magicae like stalks of ryegrass in a gentle breeze.

A field of… tiny little faces... Eerie, but harmless. Even a little adorable, as it turned out.

With every contented sigh and blissful groan elicited from Lord Smithwood by the masseur’s skilled hands kneading away the knots of tension, the heat of the sauna’s steam seeping into his weary bones, and the scented bathwater cleansed the day’s troubles, the faces faded away, their expressions softening into something almost resembling smiles.

Long before the dye washed clean from Lord Smithwood’s skin and hair, all remnants of the magicae imprint had vanished. Still, the count lingered at the lord’s side, until the deepening creases in Lord Smithwood’s brow warned Ryn he teetered on the brink of overstaying his welcome.

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[center][color=9354FF]Time:[/color] Sola 25, 1739; Daytime Hours
[color=9354FF]Location:[/color] Edwards Estate, Backyard
[color=9354FF]Interaction(s)/Mention(s):[/color][@Lava Alckon][@princess][/center]
Just as he had done for the Damien’s masquerade party two nights ago, Ryn arrived early to Lord Edwards’ fête with the intention to catalog the unique traits of each person’s magicae as they filtered in.

Not to toot his own horn—though a small toot might be forgiven—he became rather adept at identifying the hosts of each magicae. He circulated the garden with an easy smile, exchanging pleasantries while continuing his observations.

At last, the birthday boy made his entrance, resplendent in his fine clothes and immediately surrounded by well-wishers. Ryn crossed the garden to pay his respects, greeting those who surrounded him politely before turning his attention to Lord Edwards himself. [color=9354FF]“Happy twenty-fourth birthday, my lord,”[/color] he said warmly, clasping the man’s hand. [color=9354FF]“I trust you’ve recovered from yesterday?”[/color]