Benjamin had done it—knowingly. He’d probably burned bridges he wasn’t even aware existed. This was why he rarely ever participated in circles outside what he was familiar with. Library, university, and the occasional salon where intellectual conversations seemed to be more fashionable than the clothes on their body. He knew he should have just stayed home and buried himself in books—now he wished that would happen quite literally.

A gentleman seemed as if he’d been wounded to the very core of his soul as he backed away from the loosened circle that surrounded the professor. Benjamin didn’t quite know who the fellow was, but that probably had less to do with his vision and the masks and more to do with the fact that he never sought to know other people of import in Fallen London. Assured that the shunning would happen in the same coy way these people conducted themselves, Benjamin smoothed down the length of his coat in hopes of seeming to own his rudeness. That being said he was quite nonplussed. It was just like those dreams that he’d have at night where he would show up to a lecture in the buff. And then there was one time it had actually happened—he’d been young and a student and boyish dares were the only way to earn clout. Now he’d never dream of it.

The lady he had been speaking to previously began to laugh. Snide chortles were a thing of society, were they not? Yet, this began to escalate. Her laughter struck out like loud, indelicate chimes. Benjamin could feel the circle become more nervous and judgmental. He had the exact opposite reaction, he smirked. Maybe this entire ordeal wasn’t so bad, after all. It’d been a long time since he’d made someone laugh, and even longer since it had been a lady.

Another voice entered the conversation and, like a hand of a gentle matron, smoothed the fur of the bristled cat. Honestly, Benjamin didn’t know how certain people of renowned, especially not the Masters, acted in situations like these. He knew them from brief interactions at the Bazaar or from stories. Maybe his parents were right, perhaps he’d spent far too long befriending stuffy intellectuals and pages on a book and not enough with other people—any other people, really.

With the man’s declaration, people went back to their previous conversations and the noose of bodies loosened and allowed Benjamin to breathe. He thought of removing himself as well. There were bound to be unoccupied dark corners for him to silently melt into. Actually. This was the Neath, so perhaps not. He’d already made a fool of himself in this singular spot in the party, he best not spread it around like an unwanted infection. He tilted his head towards the lady as she began to speak, realizing that he hadn’t truly looked away. His focus had just shifted slightly. Her words died away, and immediately her gaze drifted elsewhere. He followed it. 

[i]Oh good, more blobby shapes.[/i] Assured that his spectacles wouldn’t give him entirely away, he fished them out of his pocket and held the lenses near to his eyes. Two hooded figures entered the room about that time. They drew attention to themselves, but while one tended to it, another did not. He had to assume the former was Wines. So, he had been correct. [i]Now is not the time to be smug,[/i] he thought, noting the enforcement.

“I promise,” he said to the laughing lady, “I do not have the power to make my words real. Though, there looks to be more than one that I accounted for. Shame I’m not better at—” he almost said something telling of himself. Not that it really mattered. He’s said many things telling of himself. So, who cared. “Knowing who people are or attending parties in general.” He pocketed his spectacles. “So, if I may be so bold. What does this foretell? And—“ not breaking cadence, “do you have a name in which I may address you this evening? You may call me Arthur if you wish. I’ve always been fond of taking swords from beautiful women in lakes.” He smirked. “Metaphorically.” He probably should learn the art of a compliment.

[@Hekazu]