[B]Unto the Foray[/b] -- Minerva Fairchild

The Festival was always a troubling time for the Lion's Fang. 

For she understood the necessity of it, a mass gathering so that those who might be so fortunate to find their soulmate would do just that precisely. In her eyes however, she simply saw it as a security risk; people gathered en-masse only provided an easier target for those with ill-intentioned methods.

It was for that reason she was there. A pale, crystalline petal, pristine amongst the masses casting an ever vigilant eye about as she kept her arms guardedly folded. A migraine at worst and a headache at best, she was here only at the behest of her uncle--as a security measure so that maybe her cousin would finally meet someone worthwhile, and begin a new generation of Fairchild nobles to ensure the future of the family. 

She, however, the Black Sheep, would likely nary have even the slightest chance. Her duties were to be acutely focused, free of distraction. Observantly, her eyes drifted over the vast degree of variation that had converged, and she persistently scanned for trouble and soon found it. There was a thief, but it was handled by a samaritan; elsewhere there was social conflict, but it seemed to have been settled. 

Closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, as much as she desired to actually have something to do--something to distract her from what she would [i]never[/i] have; she similarly knew that these people deserved that chance, and wishing trouble from them was selfish, even. Shaking her head and causing prisitine platinum locks to flare about, the noble would finally emerge from her wallflower position and fade into the crowd. 

It was the best way to catch a fool--blending in, that is. 

With all the peculiarities and the like traipsing about, the matter of such was all too easy. A soft tune curled along her lips in a melancholy hum, but the Magi would not make a sound further.