[center] Clara didn't quite know what to do with herself, pressed to the far corner of the ballroom as near to the bar as she could get without the blatant show that she had perched herself there for a quick glass or two. It seemed the only comfort she could find in the evening was the ever-flowing liquor that she'd only just delved into moments before. Once Christian had parted from her, she had been left to her own devices, mulling over the possibilities of escape without her companion realizing that she was soon gone. Her gaze flickered across dancing couples, small groups laughing over lame stories about their humdrum days in producing their riches, the occasional stray that seemed hell bent on drowning themselves in drink that evening. It was a different night full of familiar faces – at least, familiar scenarios. Everything was so very [i]predictable[/i] that she hardly wanted to be a part of it. How could she, when she had far better things to be doing other than trying to entertain a partner or two in the hopes of possibly getting lucky and then sending them on their way? Nothing was of interest to her; nothing could have caught her attention when her attention was focused elsewhere in the bitter corners of her mind, unable to let go of something that had happened so very long ago with little sign to any resolution in the near future.

A sigh had fallen from her painted lips as she lifted her glass to savor the last sip of wine that had lingered for far too long. Why the hell Christian had decided to bring her along despite her protests had truly been beyond her understanding. No matter how many times he had pulled her from their home, she would inevitably dig her heels into the ground for each and every step, attempting to make it just as miserable for him as it was for her. She had to hand it to him, despite all of her shortcomings and her incessant need to drive him up the wall, he still persisted in trying to [i]fix[/i] her. He still had held onto that shred of hope that one day Clara could be restored to what she once was, but it was a fool's quest entirely. The girl that she used to be centuries before had been lost, broken and scattered across the shore that she was left at, and even if he could have collected each and every piece that had been discarded, she still wouldn't look the same, let alone [i]feel[/i] the same. And even so – even if Clara could very well go back to how she used to be, she would never dare. That girl was [i]weak[/i], so terribly consumed with the thought of something better, that she had been ignorant to the truth before her. They were all [i]liars[/i], and it was much easier to push everyone away than it was to let them in – she couldn't get hurt if she refused to let them in… 

Clara had frowned as her thoughts had lingered down that twisting path for far too long. She had been staring off, focusing on the many people passing her by and yet not entirely [i]seeing[/i] them in the process. Her now empty glass had been brought against her shoulder as she rested her elbow atop her other crossed arm about her chest.  She had not noticed the man that had approached her until it was far too late, her hazel eyes narrowing in the slightest as she had focused upon Maximillian. The first thing she had noticed was his white attire, so very bold compared to the usual black tuxedos that most men wore to these things. It was typically up to their partner to add a splash of color and flare to their outfits – after all, they would be on their arm for the entire evening like a mere accessory. She'd been nearly picking his appearance apart piece by piece before she had heard his voice, yet had not entirely heard his request immediately. 

There had been something about his tone – something terribly familiar as he stood there before her and it was almost as if the answer were just out of her grasp. Clara had watched him carefully as he spoke, taking in each little nuance as he ran his fingers through his hair. She was certain she hadn't met him before. She'd noticed the cane in his hand apart from the glass of wine that he had offered her and it only solidified her assumptions. She would have remembered someone like him… But there was a nagging feeling in the back of her skull, drilling away at her own urge to immediately dismiss him. She needed to know more at least to sate her own curiosity. 

"I suppose when a glass of wine is being held for ransom, a girl can't quite refuse, now can she?" Clara spoke quietly, her tone soft and almost delicate, with that hint of a chill that had been creeping up on her throughout the centuries. Perhaps she could satisfy her curiosity over a dance, realize it must have been a mere coincidence – that the man before her could have reminded her of someone in passing, and then she could be rid of him just as quickly as a glass of wine. It seemed like a plan for now; she could play the part of a doting female eager to dance with a masked stranger for at least a little while longer. She turned to place her empty glass down on the same table he had, her head tilting in that mild curiosity as she seemed to look him over once more. "The name's Clara…" She offered quietly, unsure if she should extend her hand in the usual niceties exchanged or not. For now, she brushed another stray curl out of her vision, tucking it away behind her ear. "And might I ask of your own, or do you intend to hold that for ransom as well?" [/center]

[@Dylan]