[center][img]https://fontmeme.com/permalink/220311/27efd277073263c7d99ebe605d1cfab8.png[/img][/center]
[right][sub]Attire: [url=https://i.imgur.com/rL0GEox.jpg]No cane, cloak taken off[/url]
Interactions: Mayet[@13org], Wystan [@mantou]
Mentions: Anastasia, Auguste, Edin[/sub][/right][hr][hr]
Wulfric had recently finished his meal with Mayet when servants with bowls started going around the ballroom. [color=ab274f]“This again,”[/color] he murmured with a resigned sigh. Turning to his conversation partner, he briefly explained the custom, then promised to meet her afterwards, [color=ab274f]“for the main event,”[/color] as he’d put it.

Soon enough, one of the servants approached them to make their selections. Wulfric leisurely put on the gloves he’d stripped for the duration of the dinner, fully expecting to be handed a piece of paper personally. Though the selection was indeed random for most of the guests, his matches were usually arranged. Thus, he was rather surprised to be offered the bowl itself. Nonetheless, he delicately grasped one slip from the top. He read the number upon it, memorized it, crumpled the paper into a ball, and flicked it upon the table. It landed perfectly on the crumpled serviette he’d used after dinner.

He said his farewells to Mayet a tad reluctantly, though their temporary separation was amicable enough. Afterwards, Wulfric secured himself a position where he could both wait for the numbers to be announced comfortably, as well as not have too far to walk to the front once his was called.

He noticed Anastasia being escorted inside by Auguste’s personal guard when the last of the papers were being distributed. It was good she’d arrived in time for this preliminary activity – ah, but there she’d just foisted her number upon Wystan, hadn’t she? The whimsy was just like her, truly. If nothing else, the guard was dressed appropriately for the formal event, the clothing tailored for him. Auguste’s work, to be sure.

When the pair ahead of him took off, Wulfric strolled towards the front. He removed his cloak, handed it off to a servant to take care of, then stepped into the leading position. As he did so, he caught the approach of his partner. The mystery of who it might be was resolved suddenly, and with no forewarning at all.

As he locked gazes with Wystan, several thoughts crowded for attention. One, this would be a publicly remarkable pairing, for several reasons. He, the first prince of Caesonia, dancing with a mere servant, high ranking one though he may be. A man with a man. Two, father was sure to nag him for this, no matter that he’d had no hand in it. Three, Wystan did have him at a slight height disadvantage. That one could be resolved easily enough, as long as the watchdog wasn’t too awkward about it. Four, he’d likely have to accommodate his less-skilled dancing partner.

But most of all, resounding in his head so loudly he wished to exclaim heavenwards; [color=ab274f][i]Is this punishment or a reward?[/i][/color]

Showing nothing of the complicated swirl of thoughts and emotions, his expression the perfect façade of glacial serenity, Wulfric shallowly nodded to reciprocate the other man’s bow. [color=ab274f]“Good evening, Wystan,”[/color] he returned the greeting, tone professional. Habitually, he offered his left arm the way he would to a lady. Aware of how unlikely this all was, he wryly raised an eyebrow at the battlemaster. Once his arm was grasped, he would lead them towards the centre of the ballroom.

Behind his back, he could hear Anastasia’s laughter. He felt a dark amusement of his own arise, though it was doubtlessly for reasons radically different to his sister’s delight.

[color=ab274f][i]Looks like this time, I’ll be the one showing off your precious, loyal watchdog, brother dear.[/i][/color]