[center][h3][color=#9D8573]⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆[/color][/h3][/center][center][h2][b][i][color=#9D8573]Hala Sami[/color][/i][/b][/h2][/center][center][h3][color=#9D8573]⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆[/color][/h3][/center][right][color=#9D8573]28 Sola, Night
The Grand Banquet[/color]
[@PapaOso] [@Helo] [@Potter][/right]
[color=#DFC9BA]

Hala swirled the wine in their glass as they studied the artist who went by the name of Milo St. Claire from across the banquet hall. His outfit wasn’t just assembled—it was curated, calculated, and criminal in all the right ways. In this wasteland of sartorial despair, the man’s attire was a revelation.

[color=#9D8573]“Well, well,”[/color] Hala said, wine glass dangling from manicured fingers. [color=#9D8573]“Someone actually dressed for the occasion they wanted, not the one they were invited to.”[/color]

When Rohit mentioned exclusive gatherings, Hala’s smile unfurled like a poisonous flower.

[color=#9D8573]“VIP party? Sounds delicious. I’ll be joining you in the next one.”[/color] Not a question. Not a maybe. A fact. The sky is blue, water is wet, and Hala would be at that party. Invited or not.

Reluctantly, they dragged their eyes away from Milo to locate this other VIP Rohit mentioned—Mina, the flame-haired woman. Instead, he pointed toward a plain-looking girl who must’ve stumbled in here by accident. [color=#9D8573]“Rohit, locks of any shade adore you.”[/color] They plucked a sugared fig from his plate and popped it into their mouth. [color=#9D8573]“Don’t insult me by selling yourself short.”[/color]

[color=red]“How was your journey? Have you been bored without me?”[/color]

Hala sighed, their head falling back slightly. [color=#9D8573]“Mind numbingly. I was hoping we’d get attacked by pirates on the way just to spice things up. Alas.”[/color] A shrug, then a sharp pat on Rohit’s arm. [color=#9D8573]“You’ll have to make up for your absence.”[/color]

The introductions between Rohit and the woman sitting across from them—Kira, if the castle staff hadn’t botched the name cards—barely registered in Hala’s consciousness. Their focus magnetized back to the golden-haired artist.

[color=#9D8573]“I’m going to go say hi to this Milo man.”[/color] Hala announced, rising from their seat with sudden decisiveness.

As they navigated the crowd, Hala felt the familiar weight of eyes following them. Nadim’s protective presence trailed behind like a shadow, and conversations briefly stuttered as they passed—a small pleasure Hala had come to expect but never tired of.

Hala stopped short of Milo, making no effort to hide their blatant assessment of his ensemble. When his hazel eyes met theirs, acknowledging their inspection, Hala merely offered a smile—part challenge, part approval, all confidence. They closed the remaining distance between them, fingers reaching out to ghost over—but not touch—the fine embroidery on his sleeve, examining the quality of the material while the rest of the room faded to background noise. 

[color=#9D8573]“Are you an artist who creates with your own hands, or do you direct others to make your vision a reality?”[/color][/color]