Lord. Simply hearing that single word left an all too bitter taste in Oz’s mouth, but his expression did nothing to let others in on it. As quickly as it had come, he just as quickly pushed the useless thought aside. And with that, Oz was about to politely retract his request after seeing the reaction the unfortunate star of the evening had given him, but before he had the chance the musician was already giving him a small bow and lifting her instrument once more. Yet it was the music and dance that followed that truly silenced any attempt he would have made to take back his request.
Simply listening to the fiddler made him feel as if he could feel the calm touch of a night’s breeze and smell a great fire crackling away. For Oz, it was a nostalgic score that he remembered from his time between cities, where he was given refuge by people much kinder than him. It was indeed an unsophisticated festival song whose charm was no doubt lost on most of his fellow audience members, but Oz found he cared little for their confounded expressions. It was the reaction he had been going for, yet the passion that Lilian put into the piece caught him off guard and caused him to sway gently along with the melody.
But it was a short song that ended too soon. Oz was reminded that he was once more at Lord Octave’s party where the smell of smoke was only the acrid pipes of the patrons and the breeze was simply hot air that was being passed by their lips. Still, he raised his glass to the duo on the dais, with genuine appreciation in his eyes, as the song came to a close. Instead of breaking the awkward silence that followed, Oz discreetly excused himself and made his way through the crowd before he drew even more attention to himself.
Lilian Carme and the Demon Girl he mused to himself, I could think of many worse pairings. Oz passed a good number of patrons on his way outside to the balcony, with expressions that ranged from being befuddled to enraged, but he paid them as little mind as they paid him. With subtle glances he checked to see if there were any the wiser as to the disturbance he had caused, but it quickly proved too difficult to tell with only one pair of eyes, so he stopped bothering. Regardless of if he spotted them or not, if they knew that it had been him he would be found at one point or another.
So instead Oz merely welcomed the breath of relatively fresh air that greeted him as he stepped outside. His glass found a place on the ledge as he tugged at his collar for what must have been the hundredth and first time that evening. With a great party going on behind him, it was hardly a surprise to Oz that he was the only one occupying the balcony. The view he had from the terrace was commanding, as he was able to see the city sprawl beneath him and meet the dark ocean, with its waves crashing inexorably against the docks. It was all too easy for one to understand how the world could have people like Octave when they grew up looking down on the rest of the world.
Part of him was ready to act now and be done with it, but in the end his rational side won and made a bid for patience. His uncharacteristic impulse may have been the kind of distraction he had been looking for, but the alleged treasure hunter was rarely one to take risks without enough information. So instead he laid his hands against the balcony and waited.