[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/b320BZk.png[/img][/center][indent][indent][indent]So, the mysterious figure in the woods was a woman. That being said, Moses wasn’t so regressive as to let his guard down. Anyone could be dangerous. A child with a knife and a well-placed view of one’s legs and arms posed just an equal threat as a grown man with a pistol. But it seemed as if [i]Mademoiselle Noir[/i] was, in fact, also a guest at Wilde Hall this evening. His shoulders relaxed under his coat, and he quickened his pace to fall in step with her.

[b][color=ac2100]“Ah yes, let’s,”[/color][/b] he said, agreeing that they should move a bit more briskly. Moses had to guess she was French given her accent, but he couldn’t begin to decipher what she might say in her native tongue. The only bit of French he was familiar with was from rum runners out of the French Caribbean, but the accents and dialect were so vastly different he wouldn’t know where to start. If she cursed at him, he’d know, but he couldn’t imagine that she was prone to using a sailor’s tongue.

As soon as they’d traveled a ways on the tight wooden path, another figure joined them. Moses jumped. He blushed in embarrassment and hoped the cut of his jacket had hidden the scare. Attempting to wave that off, his fingers dived into his coat in hopes of fishing out his lighter. 

The next person in the woods seemed to be another guest. Mask, nice outfit, and a genteel nature that didn’t suit someone that would be idly wandering the woods at night. He searched his pockets as the man, Mister Violet, introduced himself. His nature was immediately off-putting to Moses, and the older man tried not to sigh too loudly into his unlit cigarette. 

[b][color=ac2100]“Deacon Gray,”[/color][/b] he said, having been spoken over by both of the other party-goers and not given a moment to label himself. Finally, he’d procured his lighter from his coat, his fingers glossed over his small bit of “protection” to get to it. With a quick, very practiced motion, Moses flicked the top on the lighter—resembling a miniature candle snuffer—open. A few metallic cranks of the flint-wheel and a small flame erupted from the nickel box. He lit his cigarette in silence before flicking the top back down and pocketing it. 

It seemed as if he had all but been forgotten about as the Mademoiselle Noir honed in on Mister Violet. He let the smoke trail from his lips as he moved forward, taking the lead. [/indent][/indent][/indent]
[@Romero][@Lady Selune]