For an event that was supposed to bring future husbands and wives together, there was awfully little courtship going on. Then again, Vesa supposed that he was not exactly the best person to decide what was considered courtship or not; he had only ever attended one other ball, and that was nowhere as grand as this one. It had not even been one of the kingdom-wide balls, held at Hesey, and had been just a small function hosted by one of the more well-known lords in West Burlia. In fact, now that Vesa thought about it, calling the alcohol-fueled, expletive-filled, fight-starting event a ball was an insult to all balls.

He snickered inwardly at the thought as he stood near the entrance of the ballroom, his arms stuffed into the pockets of his coat as he watched the various peoples. The nobility - easily spotted thanks in no small part to their elaborate clothes - clustered together, sipping on their drinks as they no doubt discussed matters of import, while servants flitted through the crowd, their presence either ignored or not even noticed, as they removed soiled cutlery and replaced them with clean ones. 

Vesa drew in a deep breath, and straightened his back. Whether he liked it or not, he had just taken a month-long journey down from Raikkavar to Belchester, and he was not about to let all that effort go to waste. Even if he did not find a wide - as he himself suspected - he was going to have his fill of southern food and drink. He felt almost certain that it had to be better than the austere fare he ate on a daily basis back in his march. 

He walked over to one of the tables, where a lady stood as she took sips from her glass ([@Kaalee]). "Excuse me," Vesa said, a little more curtly than he had intended, though his intent had been to be brief. Just as he wrapped his fingers around a glass, and was about to lift it, he felt a hand clap down on his shoulder. 

"Excuse me, what do you think you're doing?" A stern voice asked from behind.

Vesa shrugged the hand off his shoulder and turned around, coming face-to-face with one of the castle's guards. "Practicing flower arrangement," He replied dryly, and looked at the guard's unamused face with an equally unamused look of his own. "Having a drink, what does it look like?"

The guard folded his arms and scowled. "You have some lip, for a bodyguard. This is for nobles only. Go find your lord or lady if you want something to drink."

"I-" Vesa began, then remembered his attire. To just about anyone, he must have looked like a regular Burlian soldier, and he did not exactly have a nobleman's face or tongue. A sudden as it came, Vesa's indignation disappeared, replaced by a sense of dull amusement and relief. It would not be too much of a trouble to clear up the misunderstanding. "You are mistaken," He said, his face neutral and expressionless. "I am Vesa Kaivarri, marquess of Raikkavar."

The guard looked at him for a moment, then burst out laughing. He collected himself soon enough, and said, "Right, and I'm the King of Merriedge. Stop with your delusions and come with me. Raikkavar's not even a real place."

Vesa blinked once, then twice. Perhaps the guard had not been informed of the list of people attending, or more realistically, he could not remember everyone's name and title, but still, he felt rather surprised, and a little wounded, that his march was so unknown. "It is a march of Burlia," He said slowly, as if he were explaining something to a young child. "Eternal winter, hunger, depression, no?"

Whatever mirth the guard had disappeared, and his face turned hard. "Look, I haven't got all day. Come with me now, or we'll have problems."

Vesa could think of many problems, though most of them involved the consequences of him assaulting a Merriedgean guard, or even accidentally killing him. He let out a sigh of frustration, and glanced over at the lady beside him, hoping that she could somehow lend him a hand.