[center][h3][color=6ecff6]Boston[/color] Park Plaza
June 29th, 2021
Mirage [color=6ecff6]Umbral[/color] Waltz[/h3][/center]


Heavy smoke lingered in the air, dancing with the smells of bitter alcohol and sweet mixers. The occasional gentle clinking of glasses echoed across the barroom, heard only by the few souls that dared to populate it at this time of day. A slightly shimmering glass, wet with condensation, sat before the Head of Habsburg. The amber liquid beckoned to be drank, wafting forth and calling to the noble with it's caramel tones. 

Picking up his glass, Otto took a slight sip of the liquid, thinking only to his past. He hadn't partaken in alcohol for at least a decade. His father had done enough drinking for the both of them, back then. It had done nothing but build a bonfire of hate for the hobby inside of Otto's heart. Drunkards were some of the most detestable vermin to walk this Earth, Otto had thought. Yet here he sat on the bar stool, glaring down at the aged whiskey with all the hate a son could muster for his long dead father. Otto pitched his head back, downing the rest of the burning liquid, before signaling to the barman for a refill. 

The events of the day had driven Otto to the den of sin. He could still see, and hear, what his Servant could. Distant echoes and visions that gleamed inside his mind, and allowed him to direct Archer. It was laughable, and without shame, in all honestly. A prestigious mage took to conducting his business in a barroom. Given, the barroom itself was in the back of the hotel lobby, it still was the far cry of his estate, or his new impromptu headquarters on the 15th floor. 

Another glass chimed as he it was placed in front of Otto, the man behind the bar only giving the Master a polite smile before turning to attend to other business. Otto considered the liquid, his face even and calm, but his insides boiling with fury. Twice today he had been done over by his opposition. Oh, how the lowly tear apart at the seams of the Nobles at the signs of cracking. Otto dared a smirk into his glass, teasing himself at how he'd play the main part in the second fall of Habsburg. A joke he swiftly removed from his mind, along with his smirk. 

Even now, he carried on silent instructions and conversation with his Servant, interested in Rider. Their quick appearance after the assault only spoke to some kind of hidden alliance between Rider and Assassin, but Otto knew there was more to it than that. Rider spoke of Habsburg in too familiar of a tone, for his liking. A sense of understanding, or at least, knowing that bothered the noble. He would set up this meeting, using Archer as his go between, and hear what Rider had to say. At the very least, he would find one way or another to obtain what was rightfully his. While fury bubbled underneath, Otto knew better than to buy into feelings of vindication or vengeance. Now was the time for neither. Now was the time for a measured response to his increasingly dimming situation. 

Otto was snapped out of his own thoughts by the flash of gold, from the other end of the bar. That made it the fifth time now. She had been here before him. Otto dared not return her stares with his own, least he invite the shadow of conversation on himself. In his peripheral, however, he had managed to make heads of his admirer; Blonde locks that fell in elegant heaps upon her dainty shoulders, soft golden hazel eyes that begot innocence and youth, and clothes that spoke to a certain amount of wealth. 

He had not sensed anything out of the ordinary entering the bar, nothing that would make him pay any heed to scant few in the barroom. He had found a sense of peace that he had not known since he was back in Austria, playing with his eldest son in their gardens.  However, this lost lamb nagged at the edges of his mind, invading and inducing paranoia in a way only a mage's mind could bring about. Against his better judgement, Otto pushed these thoughts out of his head, refusing to allow them to interrupt his nig-

A sixth time, now, this time seemingly longer than the rest. With a heavy sigh, Otto picked up his glass, swirling it in his hand. Otto was unsure if his anger towards the girl was necessarily legitimate, or if he was just looking for a scapegoat to take out all his feelings upon. Whatever the case for his fury was, the girl was transgressing. Besides a couple that shared a booth on the edge of the wall, Otto and the girl were the only two in this barroom. She had to know what she was doing was obvious. That or she was too nervous to realize her own actions. 

With a dull thud on the lacquered wood, Otto placed his glass upon the bar. The noble took a moment, closing his eyes and taking in deep breaths for a moment, pondering the consequences of many actions. Finally, he opened his eyes back up. With a stern expression and piercing eyes, Otto von Habsburg turned towards the girl, meeting her fleeting stares with a long, uninterrupted one, of his own.