In all of Maximillians years upon the Earth, he had exchanged pleasantries with thousands of individuals. The man, though he didn’t look the part, had acquired a keen eye for detail that could rival even the most talented of mortal artists; a skill such as that has a variety of uses in a myriad of situations, but is especially useful during casual, nonchalant conversation. To Max, the first impression one gives to someone is potentially the most important step in cementing himself in their mind. In his experience, one only had a small window of opportunity to truly capture their target’s attention. This woman, isolating herself in the corner of the room, gazing into the distance while she swam in the sea of her memories… To the average individual, that window of opportunity; that moment in which her attention could be most easily aroused was virtually non-existent. To Maximillian, on the other hand, everything from the way he walked, to the graceful, melodious tenor of his voice oozed confidence and charisma. With the right tone of voice, the careful choice of one’s words, and the carefree nature of an eagle gliding on the wind, even someone who’s so obviously attempting to shut themselves away from reality can’t help but feel the seeds of intrigue germinate in their mind. 

Unlike those thousands of conversations Maximillian had had a part in prior in his life, something about this first impression he was making felt… Off. He was unable to approximate whether it was her actions, his own, or something else entirely, but he was completely positive that this was a situation he did not expect to find himself involved in. Even the masquerade and its mysterious nature is predictable in some sense. Regardless of the masks and their presence, people meet, people pair up, they dance, and they leave in each other’s arms. But the aura which this woman created in his company was different to that of anyone else he’d spoken with throughout the entirety of his lifetime. Even to a man as attentive to detail as Maximillian, this stranger was an enigma. From the very moment she noticed his approach, her eyes had carefully began to appraise his appearance. Under most circumstances, this wouldn’t strike Max as unusual, if not for the look in those flickering hazel eyes as they travelled from the tip of his crown to the toe of his cape—metaphorically, of course. The way her body remained tense, yet only relaxed slightly upon the utterance of his request intrigued him even further, and she held onto her words for long enough to create the briefest of silences; That momentary hesitation was enough of a sign for Maximillian to understand that this woman definitely felt the same odd feeling that currently bubbled in his gut.

	"I suppose when a glass of wine is being held for ransom, a girl can't quite refuse, now can she?”

	Her voice was soft, barely louder than a whisper, and it carried a rough edge of uneasy chilliness that completely contrasted the statement she had made. When someone speaks in that manner, their tone is often flirtatious; Curious, playful, even anticipatory in its utterance. This woman had absolutely no intention of masking her message. If not for the strange feeling arcing between them, this woman clearly would have had no intention to exchange words with him. It was that, and that alone that motivated Maximillian to pursue the conversation further. The fires of curiosity had been lit within his mind, and he would not rest until those fires were extinguished. With a careful, curious tilt of her masked visage, she placed her empty glass upon the table and spoke further.

	"The name's Clara…" She began, tucking a caramel curl behind an ear.  “And might I ask of your own, or will you hold that for ransom as well?”

	“An intriguing name for an intriguing lady.” Maximillian replied smoothly, his elegant tenor carrying a tinge of curiosity as he spoke.  He paused for a moment to lean his cane against the wall, then turned his attention back toward Clara with a fraction of a smile upon his masked visage. “Maximillian. It’s a pleasure, Ms.  Clara.”  His smile broadened slightly as he finished speaking, and he took a small step closer to her as he graciously extended his left arm, promised glass of wine in hand.

	“I truly hate to interrupt your evening, but I couldn’t help but notice the gloomy clouds hovering over this corner of the room. Little did I suspect I’d discover a glistening emerald, all by her lonesome.” What was once a polite smile upon his lips had casually morphed into a more sarcastic one as Max embraced his inner poetic spirit, and with a small, genuine chuckle he offered Clara his right hand. 

“I must warn you, I tend to be an absolutely unbearable conversationalist. You best rid yourself of me now before I have the opportunity to bore you to death.” He maintained the slight sarcasm in his voice as he spoke, but paused for a moment as he concluded, waving his left arm toward the couples twirling and whirling on the dance floor before he continued.

“But if you think you can tolerate a stuffy bastard such as myself, I’d be delighted to take you for a spin upon the tiles. A lady like yourself is bound to have an interesting story or two.”