It wasn’t his intention to be so bold, as Benjamin was not a bold man. Yet, the laughing lady before him kept, again and again, calling him out on it. Truly he didn’t think he was this bad with courtly mannerisms. She dubbed herself Isolde. He was not so knowledgeable in old topside British Folktales as to dig deep for his name, and he found it rather soothing that hers wasn’t at all very cryptic. Though, it was very tragic.

Yet, his thought process was immediately interrupted by her proximity. Her finger tapped his mask, and he pulled his chin down and in, wreathing it in the softness of his weight, which really didn’t curve around his face except in moments like this. It was almost as if trying to escape her, but at the same time not to show he was disgusted. He very intrigued, but he was also very well aware of how she’d entered his personal space with the grace of a—well—dancer? Honestly, could his mind not think of a better comparison? He was smarter than this. When she pulled away, he straightened up, attempting to jut his chin out and draw his shoulders back. Did it look as if he was trying to seem a little less paunchy? My, my, what an effect a brief conversation, and an even briefer moment of contact, had on him. Good thing his mask hid a slight blush.

“Isolde it is then,” he said. He wanted to thank her for taking it easy on him, but she’d already pointed out how easily he showed his hand. He had to ask himself who she was. Had she also taken the name because she was not fond of reaching literature? Was she parrying his overly-simplified name with her own? Or was she a romantic? Honestly, it could be any of those or none of them. Considering it made his head hurt.

It was then her attention turned back to the cloaked figures. Right. They were terribly more entrancing than stuffy ole him. She pried for his thoughts on this one. This one was obviously—tougher. Honestly, Mr. Wines had been a terribly easy guess. A party. The type of crowd. The nature of the ambiance. This one seemed less fluid in this setting and not at all preening at the attention. Benjamin shook his head. “I haven’t the faintest. It’s obvious, though, that social graces are not their strong suit. [i]As if I have room to talk,[/i]” he said that last little bit under his breath. “But someone not at odds with Mr. Wines. Dangerous, perhaps?” Her brow knitted. “My, what have we—I mean I, I shan’t speak for you—gotten myself into?”

He cleared his throat. “Though I haven’t seen much of the other patronage here, I did catch glimpses of a few masks. They were not… well produced. A mixed crowd, perhaps? Meaning… mixed purpose?”

[@Hekazu]