It's the post I just wrote in which Dorian is meeting Oceane at the masquerade!
A certain driving force had sent Dorian along this path: thirst. While he wasn't much of a drinker, he did like a few to mellow the edges, enough to relax and be companionable but not so much that he would draw attention to himself. Still solo, he moved easily through the throng, occasionally toying with an interesting costume as a way of checking for welcoming vibes. Much could be read in individual response, from irritation that someone had dared
to touch to welcoming glances. His tiger's face mask had been a good choice, as most responses were promising. After all, didn't everyone love a tiger? At last, he reached his goal, seeing that the bartenders were doing brisk business as could be expected at any event. How often he had been on the other side of the bar though never at such a swanky place catering to such a wealth of glittering talent as was packed within these walls. But, there was no ambition within the young man to rise to this level. His only talents lay in his appearance and his specialized skills, with a dollop of sheer nerve.
Ahhh... He had the attention of the bartender, who had the right balance of willingness to serve but not toadiness. No bowing or scraping with this one, with his, "What will you have, sir?" Sir:
He liked the sound of that much more than he would admit to anyone. Respect felt damned good. Now, the question was, Should he order what he wanted or something that looked/sounded good?
"Liquid Coma?" he tested, knowing that the ingredients should be readily available: dark rum, dark creme de cacao and peach liqueur. It was a good start, soothing, delicious and nowhere near strong enough to lure him into questionable behavior. Not long after, he held a cocktail glassful of the mixture, something that seemed more dessert than beverage, very soothing, something to be sipped, not slugged back. Stepping away from the bar, he turned to study the room, moving the mask so that it lay on his chest, as he had done near the Cove. Slipping his left hand into the pocket of his surprisingly well-fitting black suit, he assumed a GQ-worthy pose, a stance practiced over so many years that now it took no thought. Had he ever considered that one day he would be in such a situation, an elegant party at Opera Populaire
? He would have insisted that he had never allowed himself the luxury of dreaming of a finer life, yet certain things had occurred that had led to this particular moment. Yet, if he admitted to unknown forces, so much for clinging to his master of my fate
way of thinking that he had made his personal motto. The soul part that followed had never been included. Thinking about souls led to religion, and he had no faith to place on that bet.
Dorian took a sip of the drink and smiled with satisfaction, faintly curious about what the evening held for him. His pale green gaze swept the kaleidoscope of partygoers, and he wondered if they all had come as couples. But, didn't tigers hunt alone?