Oz tugged at his collar for what must have been the hundredth time that night. The tightness of it all was something he feared he would never grow accustomed to, but Octave had insisted he leave behind his drab clothing, just as he insisted he come to the party in the first place. But even though Octave had said he would be an esteemed guest, the man knew full well that he may as well have been on the same level as the slaves that the nobles brought with them to this party. For his only purpose here was so the young lord could pull him aside whenever he felt convenient and brag about the treasures that Oz had secured for him, just like a trained parrot reciting lines.

Luckily, Octave was far too busy speaking amongst some of his insufferable cohorts, so Oz was still left to his own devices. Taking a rather large taste of his wine, Oz took the role of the fly on the wall, watching the partygoers as they revealed that they revealed parts of their true nature. He watched as a colossal penguin of a man wrapped a possessive arm around a slave, whose clothing revealed her home country Ogravia, and as much older one tugged at the hair of a girl that could have been his great-granddaughter. With a sigh of disgust, he left his perch on the wall and made his way towards the music that was reaching its crescendo. The party was equal parts elegance and decadence, with each of the attendees that had come willingly trying to desperately one-up their peers.

Paying the nobles around him little mind, Oz gracelessly made his way towards the front of the crowd. It wasn't until he was near the front that he was truly able to see the so called demon girl, her hair dancing like flames as she moved with the intense music. Of course he had heard of her, not to mention the ridiculous rumors that surrounded her, but all Oz could see was a talented dancer. It wasn’t until the musician announced that she was taking requests that he was finally able to divert his attention away from. It was impossible to miss the sarcasm drip from her lips as she referred to Octave, and the contempt in her eyes all but took a color of its own as she waited for a response. The audience was still in a trance like state from the girl’s dance, but a light grin started to tug at the corner of Oz’s lips as an amusing idea occurred to him.

“I’ve been just dying to hear ‘The Thirteen Cows in the Attic.’” he told the brunette with a sly wink, his voice sounding all too serious. It was obvious to anyone that actually looked that she was not thrilled to be here, and if his suspicions were correct she would enjoy a chance to peeve their host with such a song. One that had absolutely no business being played for an audience as cultured as this one, but it would be hard for Octave to punish the girl for taking a request from one of his esteemed guests.