High atop one of the many luxury condo complexes in Manhattan was a lone penthouse, taking up the entire top floor of the skyscraper and costing about as much as one would expect. A picture of clean, sharp modernity, the condo was decorated lavishly, with hardly a thing around that didn’t scream ‘opulence’. As the sun finally dipped below the horizon, a number of timed blinds slid open to reveal the glittering cityscape of Manhattan below. From this height, one could hardly see the filth that infested the place.
In the master bedroom the owner, a tall, lithe man with an ivory complexion and snow-white hair, fastened a silver cufflink to the sleeve of an extravagant jacket. His whole suit was white, decorated with shimmering silver embroidery and glinting with silver accents, including a sharp-looking pair of steel collar points framing a grey satin tie. As he finished choosing his rings for the evening - a few on each hand, in silver, white and black to match his outfit - he picked up the mask on his dresser, examining it one last time. It was a minimalist wolf mask, white with a texture that glistened like freshly fallen snow, accented here and there with silver and onyx. He’d spent a long time figuring out what to wear to this occasion (a man’s reputation took no rest after all, even in his position) and the wolf motif seemed fitting. He grinned at the mask, blue eyes still cold as ever and teeth just a little too sharp, before he placed it back down again, leaning to call out the bedroom door.
“Natasha, come here,” he commanded, barely having to raise his voice for it to carry through the condo.
“And bring my shoes.”The scurrying of footsteps ceased before reaching his door, slowing into something more acceptable as she walked in. The chiffon of her dress followed lazily, coming to a halt as she did. Holding his shoes in one hand, the other tried to push in a comb that kept her hair out of her face. After a few unsuccessful attempts, she thought it was finally in and presented the shoes requested, polished to perfection. She tried not to look too excited, though her expression fell as she felt the comb slipping once again.
“Here they are, Mi--ah,” She cut herself off as her hand flew to her head, holding back a groan of frustration.
Mikhail only looked up when he heard Natasha enter, though she didn’t get far before fumbling. He quirked an eyebrow and resisted the urge to roll his eyes, instead shaking his head and painting on a benevolent smile as he crossed over to her.
Natasha was much shorter than him, so he could easily see the problem; her hair ornament was sloppily secured. He sighed. He didn’t know Natasha for her expertise in
anything, but he thought she might have figured this out at least.
“Here,” he murmured, gently prying the comb from her grip and freeing it from her hair. She’d done it so demurely, too; he didn’t exactly mind, but she could have stood to dress it up a
little more for an event like tonight’s, even if he didn’t want her outshining anyone. After gently flicking a few locks of hair into more appealing arrangements, he secured the comb properly, and stepped back to lift Natasha’s chin, guiding her face this way and that to admire his handiwork.
“Much better,” he reassured the girl, voice dripping with sweetness and offering her that same caring smile he’d practiced so carefully for so long. He gave her a light tap on the chin before he dropped his hand.
“Do forgive me, I should have expected you’d need a little help.” Natasha was still as a statue, pointedly looking away as she tried not to react. Admittedly, it was a little embarrassing; she was in the middle of working on her hair when he had called. The proper thing to do was to finish what she was doing and
then answer his call, but she didn't realize she had taken off until it was too late. At least she was virtually dressed, her cocktail dress elegant and refined, almost making her worthy of attending the masquerade by Prince Mikhail's side. She couldn't quite control the way she felt her chest flutter as his fingers worked through her hair, appreciative of his help. Trying not to stare too much as he turned her face this way and that, she couldn't quite hide her shame as he blamed himself for her ineptitude.
"Thank you," She said, once again offering his shoes.
"I have your shoes shined and ready."Mikhail nodded in response, examining that hint of shame on Natasha’s face with the slightest satisfaction before turning his attention down to his shoes. That, at least, was something she'd gotten the hang of, and this time she did not disappoint.
“Very nice,” he complimented her, stepping back to his bed and taking a seat. Natasha knew what to do, and he looked her over as she worked, nothing every detail of her outfit with a critical eye.
“The dress suits you,” he remarked, following the drape of the chiffon and back up to her hair again. He'd chosen the dress, a cocktail style with bell sleeves and an outer chiffon skirt all in black, to strike a balance between acceptable for the occasion and still not too flashy, and combined with Natasha's pleasing looks and body type, he'd say he achieved his goal. Acceptable, but plain. It seemed fitting for the wearer.
“Do you like it?”Holding back a grin, Natasha knelt down as she carefully slipped on each shoe. His compliment was wasted on her, she thought. He had gone out of his way to pick something for her after informing her she would be accompanying him to the masquerade, and she had a few sleepless nights out of a combination of nerves and anticipation. It was the first time they would be attending something
together--not that they were together, of course--and it was something she found herself actually looking forward to. That said, being a nobody suddenly turning up somewhere with the prince was bound to get a few people talking, and it would be hard to ignore looks and questions and the like. Or maybe she'd get away with everyone ignoring her existence. Admittedly that was preferable, and that way she would probably have a nice time.
“I do, it’s lovely,” She replied, a light tug on the hem of his pants signaling she was finished as she stood straight.
As Natasha stood, Mikhail spared only a glance at his shoes to ensure they were done properly before looking up and motioning for the girl to spin, looking critically over her outfit one last time.
“I’m glad,” he commented absently, taking a mental inventory of everything she’d put together. Pantyhose looked fine, shoes were acceptable… he took her hand in his, examining her fingers and nails and finding them passable; the manicurist he’d hired did a fair job, though he wasn’t sure he’d ever let her touch
his hands. Looking up to her face he motioned for Natasha to come closer, reaching up to steady her chin as he looked over her makeup.
“You’re looking nicely put together, save for that eyeliner,” he noted, not specifying anything particularly wrong with it before he continued more brightly,
“But that won’t matter much tonight, with the mask and all. Speaking of.”Mikhail stood and moved to his dresser, where next to his own mask was a nicely decorated box bearing the logo of a designer popular among the upper class. Flipping open the top, he reached inside and lifted out a fine mask, done in black enamel with a hint of gold in the vague likeness of a sheep, similarly minimalist to his. It was simple overall, just a half-face covering thing with a flat nose and eyes accented in gold, but the focal point were the two horns set into the mask, curling back over the head and down to the cheekbones. Allowing Natasha a moment to admire it, he beckoned her to turn around, positioning her so she was facing the mirror and him standing behind her.
“I had this specially made,” he told her, placing the mask gently on her face and taking a moment to tie the black ribbon attached behind her head to secure it.
There wasn’t a chance to ask about his comment despite the feeling of her stomach dropping. Natasha hated to disappoint, even more so when she didn’t get a chance to explain herself. Then again, if she didn’t make the mistake in the first place, he probably wouldn’t have commented on it.
Fortunately, the ornate mask was a welcome distraction, her excitement coming back in full. She reminded herself not to look down, watching Mikhail work behind her in the mirror’s reflection. It was hard not to stare, her eyes following his movements. The way he concentrated and ensured his work was perfect was admirable, even if it was something as simple as tying a mask.
“It’s beautiful,” She commented, biting back a giddy giggle.
“You have very good taste.”Mikhail grinned.
“I’m glad you agree. I chose you didn’t I?” He took Natasha by she shoulders and turned her to face him, pressing on the small of her back as he did to get her to stand a little straighter.
“And now that you’re finally presentable, just one more thing before we leave.” He gave her a firm questioning look, not unlike a professor cold-calling a nervous student.
“Do you remember what I told you?”Natasha straightened up, a little excited that for once she could say she did.
“Stay with you unless told otherwise, don’t speak unless spoken to,” She listed each one off with a finger as she spoke.
“And be polite and respectful no matter what.” Even if he was to the contrary, which she never understood, but who was she to question him?
Mikhail nodded, smiling wide.
“Exactly,” be praised her, knowing how profound an effect it had on her and secretly relishing the fact. But he moved on quickly, growing a little more serious again.
“But there’s one more thing.”He took her hands in his, a comforting gesture.
“There’s something you must be aware of. Although my father invited the whole Society tonight, we’ll still be mingling with a lot of the elite. And your kind—half-bloods—aren’t held in very high esteem.” He shook his head solemnly, as if he held any different opinion than the rest.
“They’ll think you’re worthless, filthy, the lowest of the low, unfit even to breathe the same air as them.”He allowed a second for that to sink in before lifting Natasha’s face with a finger, having her meet his eye.
“I just don’t want you to be blindsided if someone treats you poorly, and it pains me that this even needs to be said. After all, it’s me who made you this way, addled as I was by whatever was in your blood when I found you. But you’re lucky.” He smiled.
“You handled your transformation beautifully. Many half-bloods can’t say the same. You could almost pass for a regular turned as long as you keep those unsightly long fangs hidden.” How she lived for his praise! Short lived as it was, it was put to the side as he informed her of a fact she had once heard him mention. The vampire hierarchy was more complicated than she had anticipated--then again, vampires existing in the first place was something that had shocked her, so where she ended up on the totem pole had been the least of her worries at that time. But now, it actually was a concern; the last thing she wanted was to embarrass her prince after everything he had done for her.
It was hard not to feel her heart sinking as he informed her gently the reality of the situation. At least he warned her ahead of time. And well, she figured she could handle it. The feeling of her hands in his comforted her greatly, filling her with determination.
“I won’t let you down,” She said, lightly squeezing his hands in return.
It never ceased to interest him how so little could motivate this girl so much, but Mikhail certainly wouldn’t complain. She was endlessly entertaining, the perfect little pet, living for every ounce of attention he gave her and hanging on his every word. Certainly a pick-me-up at the very least, and Mikhail bottled the laughter that threatened to escape him and turned it into a smile, dropping Natasha’s hands and clapping once.
“Wonderful!” he exclaimed, plucking his own mask from the dresser and securing it to his head as he swept out the door, Natasha on his heels.
“Tonight we have fun!”
