[center][color=F2E9AC][h2][b]A[/b]ndronikos[/h2][/color][/center]

A faint knot of anxiety had wormed its way into Anton’s stomach, and lingered there resolutely. Here he was, on the world stage, ready to be presented to royals and nobles from all around the world.

And he’d agreed to ‘distract’ them, somehow, to let Blue arrive in peace. His mind scrambled for some way to make it happen without embarrassing himself, which was likely not going to happen – the best distractions are the embarrassing ones, after all. He tugged the pressed and starched collar of his dress shirt – pure white, under a darkest blue suit finely tailored to him and embellished with the tiniest of gold embroideries. He and Val looked a pair together, as had originally been intended – to dress them as matchily as siblings or – as dates.

The corners of his mouth twisted up, half in a grimace and half in a wry smile, but he could not continue his train of thought as he was announced to the assembly. Plastering a smile on his face, he strode quite briskly down the receiving line, holding his chin high and trying to resist the urge to hop up onto his tiptoes surrounded by all of these tall people. His shoes were specially designed with inserts to lift his heels an inch or so off the floor, but even so he was comparatively dwarfed. 

“Congratulations on your engagement, Ms. Lynton.” He said quietly to Lea, not looking at her directly. 

Fuck. That wasn’t distracting enough. That was remarkably uninteresting, in fact.

He swept into a bow, an unnecessarily elaborate one that was (once) the Athenian tradition… in approximately the fourth century, but it was fine. The press would spin it to be his appreciation and respect for cultural roots. And it would theoretically draw the eye of most. 

If it didn’t, his certainly brusque – [i]Standoffish and mysterious,[/i] he corrected himself – mannerisms absolutely would. He rose from his bow quickly and turned on his heel, to enter the ballroom proper. He snagged a glass of champagne, with a curt word to the servant bearing the tray, and took up a vantage point in a corner of the room, seeking out a group to join in with; ideally the loudest and flashiest of young royals.
[hr][hr]
[center][color=c2e2a7][h2][b]D[/b]omitia[/h2]
[sub]Interacting with Elias [@morningstar1399][/sub][/color][/center]

Dom had a few minutes to reflect on the stupidity of having worn their armor. Under the lights of the ballroom it was quite quickly getting warm on the inside – and it had been sized for them in an altogether different condition, and was already weighing painfully on the points of their shoulders and collarbones. There would be bruises there in the morning, for certain.

Really, it was just altogether too heavy. They hadn’t worn it in nearly three years, not since their graduation – their father and grandfather had prohibited it and even threatened to have the suit melted down if they ever made themselves visible in it. 

They shook their head, reaching for a passing tray of something that looked like a fruit punch that they prayed was nonalcoholic – they almost never drank, even at home where it was the norm, and certainly would never at social events in foreign countries. Taking a sip from the cup, they willed their fingers to stop trembling and the waves of dizziness to recede.

[i]100.[/i] The number burned into their head as they sipped the punch. [i]no, mark it as 150, better to overestimate.[/i] The black spots that had been dancing before their gaze flared and then faded, the ringing in their ears that they hadn’t consciously recognized subsiding too as the sugary drink immediately flooded their system.

They took a shaking breath, blinking their eyes rapidly to ground themself. A man in a chiton and flowing cloak was approaching, though for several moments it seemed he was more interested in the treats laid out nearby. Elias Kokinos- Dom would have recognized him anywhere. A man they had always idolized, one they weren’t sure even knew of their existence.

The floor seemed to go out from under them as the tall man looked them over and made a comment about their armor. Several times they blinked, trying to find words without appearing the idiot. At least the query of sparring was a relatively easy one to answer.

“I do, though I fear I am out of practice.” A thin, rueful grin crossed their features. “Most people at home do not wish to duel with ‘the girl’, unfortunately.” They gave the man a long look, sizing him up as an opponent - certainly a formidable one, towering over them, built solidly and well-muscled. Their only hope in a duel would be that his bulk made him slower, though such a thing was certainly not guaranteed.