Imre - POV (Homecoming Party)

He likes drinking as much as the next person, never to stupidity but he enjoyed a nightcap and the usual social drinking. As much as he gained energy from being surrounded by admirers at his own parties, he felt it ruined because as social custom dictates... he must allow others to speak.

But really, who recounts tales in a more interesting fashion than him? The problem with people is that they retell things in such monotone ways. The point of a story is to make yourself look better, whether that betterment comes from heroism or comedy.

He found that most people talk his ear off to impress him. Which, how boring.

This night he has never felt more alone in his way of regaling a crowd than having to hear some girl who took a liking to him and has not departed his side all night. He has enough experience in pretending to listen that, he smiles every time she finishes a sentence. She's talking about... horses? Did he hear that right? From what he remembers the conversation began with the weather.

He takes a sip of his champagne, eyes scanning over the rim to the multitude of people crammed in this small room. Most are couples. Older than him and constantly throwing him smiles as a way to ingratiate themselves with his father.

He had hoped Nia would save him from this girl but she's downing champagne as if she were lost in the desert and the alcohol was an oasis. Every time she looks over she has a mocking expression in her eyes. She likes watching Imre get caught in his own social webs. He loves and hates her for it.

He had to drag her to this party, when she first heard who it was for she declined quicker than he could finish asking her to be his plus one. Imre didn't quite know what went on between Nia and the youngest Crown but he knew Nia would get this rather sour look in her face when he tried to bring the subject up. Only with her can Imre contain his natural curiosity.

She must've left him in the clutches of this girl because she's still miffed that Imre went to her father to tell him about the party so that she'd be forced to come to keep up appearances. It was a selfish thing, he admits. But Imre has the sinking suspicion that Nia will be more of a thorn in his side if she figures he's harming her precious friend in her absence. At least now she will see that that isn't his intention.

Well... if they do get harmed, he can live with that. A pity, though. He remembers thinking he also found them much more interesting than the regular townie bumpkin. And if they can help him as he believes they can, he might even consider doing things that won't push them entirely into the abyss.

But that's all secondary.

First he needs to get this girl away from him. Margaret. That's her name. She clearly looks like one.

"They don't have a wig on for goodness sake," Imre says blasely.

“Uh everyone knows that when you go crazy you pull out all your hair and like scratch your face off," she replies in a nasally voice.

“I beg you not to gawk if that is the case, we’re guests here. If they are as insane as you claim then maybe it’s best if you don’t give themreason to attack you, Margaret,” he advises.

Margaret just huffs, annoyed that he's not commiserating with her over the town's residence sideshow attraction.

He's not heartless, he feels for those unfairly maligned but if he's not mistaken, from the corner of his eye he can see someone hiding by the parlor doors. He can see a sleeve peeking out from behind the wall.

He can't be sure it's them but just in case he should make a good—

They come out from behind the wall, entering the parlor with a set clench to their jaw. The clothes they choose fitting in a way he finds flattering. He can see the way their fingers lightly twitch against their thighs. He internally grins.

The orange glow of the fireplace bathes them in a warmth that adds life to their dull skin. Their hair could be better and their posture conveys a severe lack of comfort in their surroundings. Not a triumphant entrance, actually quite pathetic. Really, he can't even tell why he was always so impressed by them.

They look like a child. And as Sally guides them around the room, introducing them to all the upper crust of Croun society, they look more and more lost. Like a puppy around wolves. And Sally oblivious to what he's doing to them.

Imre's eyes minutely watch their hands, the look in their eyes as they're introduced to each person, the way they shuffle about. The way their shoulders seem tense, the bones moving under the fabric. Margaret's chatter dulling in a way it hadn't all night.

They moved throughout the room as a wisp of smoke, not really touching anything. A ghost forced even in death to play nice. He never understood until now how it must feel for someone who doesn't like the attention. Who's voice cannot regale others with fanciful tales.

They could still make an effort. It's a bit insulting to not even try.

Imre, who has always managed to follow everyone in a room with his eyes as if they were all little ants under his microscope can't seem to take his eyes off of them. Nothing of what they're doing is particularly astonishing or strange but they have something that pulls his eyes to them like a beacon.

And as the hour goes by, he sees them escape a group of passive-aggressive gossipers and sit down at the furthest edge of the couch, near the fireplace. The fire dances across their skin. Alluring.

"— and she's like 'Marg they only come in blue'!"

Margaret laughs like a hyena, making Imre wince internally. Instead of answering her as he wished, he grins in that way he knows melts those around him. "Margaret? You'll have to excuse me, I think I'm going to greet the host."

Margaret looks at them, her smile immediately turning into a scowl. "They're not even the host! Sally is!" Her nasally voice turns shrill.

Before she can start a scene, Imre brushes his fingers against hers. Margaret's voice dies as she looks at her hand. Her eyes go wide, a blush blooming on her cheeks. Imre gives her a flirt smile and whispers in a low voice, "why don't you come to the mansion tonight?"

She's irritating but he's seen her nude and so it's a small price to pay to be allowed time to enchant the baby of the Crown family.

She's still staring down at her hand, as it's frozen in the position he left it in. She nods dumbly and Imre swiftly excuses himself, his eyes trained on the only person he truly wants to speak to tonight.