so_many_balls

Anisa

To celebrate the upcoming completion of the Redward wizard tower, a ball was held. Originally, it was to be had after the completion, but unforeseen labour costs required delay. The ball wouldn’t be delayed, though. Red Talon, the owner of the venue (and Anisa’s mother) did not care for changing commitments.

Anisa had sponsored the remaining costs. She arrived with the ostensibly not pre-drunk John, she adorned with her standard blue work pantsuit, John with a loud black blazer. Normally, Samantha would be the one to attend these events; and indeed, Anisa would’ve preferred such. Unfortunately, forces greater than either of them deigned such an arrangement presently impossible.

“We go to so many balls,” said Anisa.

“What was the last ball you were at?”

“7 months ago. Bank ball.”

“Mine was two weeks. Farmer’s End of Spring Festival.”

“I know,” said Anisa.

“I’m unclear on what you’re saying, then, I go to plenty.”

She didn’t care to disambiguate. “I’m going to go threaten Redwood,” she said.

“Okay, have fun,” said John. “That’s why we’re here, after all.” She didn’t care to disambiguate that, either. “Do you want backup?” He scratched his chin, and his blazer stretched in such a way to show an outline of something tightly held to his body. Probably either a flask or a knife. She was about 60% certain it wasn’t the knife-flask she had gifted him; the craftsmanship was shoddy, and he had made a show of presenting himself nice. He wore more makeup than she did, a thin layer of foundation to cover the burnt turgidity of his countenance. She wore none. She’d washed her face.

All to say, his overblown persona, though so overblown it was obvious it was a persona, had a 6 in 10 chance of being genuine enough to not risk contamination with a gaudy bauble. Though, that statistic was a snap judgement.

He pulled out his knife-flask, popped off the back of the hilt, and sipped. He’d changed the fabric wrapped around the hilt and the sheath to match the black of the blazer.

She wanted to find fault with him, but this celebration was for the people, and the people loved him. These people, maybe less so, though.

“Do you really need to do that?” she said.

“Do you want some?”

“You saw the itinerary. They will be serving wine.”

“I find I can better swallow wine if my stomach is full of beer.”

It was a knife with a hollow hilt, his stomach would be nearly empty. She’d workshopped with Hendrik the possibility of a knife with a hollow hilt which was bigger in the inside, for his next birthday.

“It would only be full if it was nearly full before we arrived.”

He looked at her, lips pursed, like a kid proud of drawing pictures over tax documents. She walked away.