[color=lightgray][center][img]https://i.imgur.com/Ys69OMJ.png[/img][/center]
[hr][center][color=Bisque]Time:[/color] Evening 
[color=Bisque]Location:[/color] Banquet Dining Hall
[color=Bisque]Mention:[/color] [@JJ Doe] Hala, [@Tpartywithzombi] Ariella
[color=Bisque]Attire: A Suit Fit For A True Artist[/color][/center][hr]

Milo's hand remained where Hala had placed it, the weight of their touch fitting so naturally into the crook of his arm it might have been stitched there. Their voice curled through the air like smoke from the finest of bespoke blends that Sorian’s [i]Gentleman’s Cigar Shop[/i] had to offer, thick with heat and indulgence, and Milo breathed it in with visible pleasure.

[color=bisque]“You make it terribly difficult to stay humble,”[/color] he said, the words soft and amused, delivered like a secret shared between them. [color=bisque]“Good thing I’ve never been particularly fond of modesty to begin with.”[/color]

He let his gaze drift lazily across the room, a man surveying a canvas, not with detachment but with wonder. There was no rush to leave Hala’s side. They were a vision, one daring the world to prepare for their trouble, and he took his time admiring the boldness of the lines and the richness of their colors as though they were one of his masterpieces.

But then something caught his attention.

A sound, a hush, a note shifting in the harmony of the room. His head tilted, just slightly. His eyes moved, not searching but already knowing where to look… Because it wasn’t the first time he had looked [i]her[/i] way that evening. 

He saw Ariella.

The wine tipped, a crimson stain blossoming across polished porcelain and delicate silk, and her gasp fluttered up like a lace curtain stirred by the wind. But beneath the performance, beneath the soft, sweet cooing and fluttering fingers, Milo saw something raw. Something sharp and silent and absolutely breathtaking.

The corner of his mouth lifted, though his smile had changed. It was still warm, still beautiful, still lit from within by whatever strange sun seemed to shine through him. But now there was weight behind it. The kind of weight found in oil paintings that stare back at you long after you’ve turned away.

[color=bisque]“Forgive me,”[/color] he murmured to Hala, his voice still dressed in silk but touched now by something more akin to need. [color=bisque]“Something divine is happening just across the room. And I do so hate to miss the moment history begins.”[/color]

His hand slipped from theirs with a softness that bordered on reverent. His fingertips lingered as if reluctant, but he began to pull away from them before turning back to speak. 

[color=bisque]“Don’t you dare believe this is goodbye,”[/color] he said, his smile returning in full as he looked back at them one last time. [color=bisque]“I [b]will[/b] see you again, lovely. Perhaps in a place and time that belongs only to us.”[/color] He raised Hala’s hand to his lips and pressed a decadent kiss to their flesh, one laced with the promise of more to come. 

Then he moved back toward his seat, the crowd parting for him not just out of courtesy but as though they had no choice. Each step he took was pulling the thread and closing the distance between himself and the chaotic beauty of Ariella. As he walked, his mind drifted to enjoy how [i]deliciously close[/i] they had gotten that morning at his art gallery…and how close he wish [i]and planned[/i] to get to her tonight.[/color]
 

[center][h1][color=red]❗❗❗❗❗FLASHBACK ALERT❗❗❗❗❗[/COLOR][/h1][/center]
[center][hider=Flashback: Ariella & Milo at the Art Gallery] [center][img]https://i.imgur.com/ImXB2im.png[/img][/center][color=lightgray] Milo St. Claire moved through the gallery like a man perfectly at home within his own kingdom. He was neither hurried nor idle, his pace a languid stroll designed to be observed. Every now and then, he exchanged pleasantries with guests who called for his attention, offering indulgent smiles and cryptic witticisms that left them wondering if they had just been complimented or gently mocked. His presence was magnetic, drawing admirers into his orbit with little more than a glance, a smirk, a knowing tilt of his head.

He thrived in the admiration, of course. But admiration was predictable...tedious, even. What thrilled him was something rarer, something unexpected.

And then he saw her.

Ariella Edwards, standing alone before a painting, her posture poised yet subtly tense, as if caught in the midst of an unraveling thought. The dim candlelight played along the soft curls of her hair, casting fleeting glimmers upon the pale blue silk of her gown. She looked polished. Lovely, even. Not at all like the wild, sharp-edged girl he was used to seeing tracking dirt across marble floors with barely a care.

A slow, amused smile unfurled across his lips.

[color=bisque]“Curious.”[/color] The word was barely spoken, more of an exhale to himself, yet he savored it like the first sip of fine wine.

He didn’t move immediately. Instead, he observed.

Ariella shifted, glancing over her shoulder as if expecting someone to be there. But there was no one. Not yet. The subtle way her hands clasped together betrayed a flicker of unease. Had she heard something? Felt something? He wondered what had unsettled her. It pleased him, that faint tension—an unsolved mystery wrapped up in silk and candlelight.

Milo could resist the pull no longer.

He crossed the room with the grace of a man that knew better than to let its presence be felt too soon. By the time Ariella might have noticed him, he was already beside her, his presence like a whisper against the skin...felt before heard.

[color=bisque]“My, my… I believe the world has shifted slightly on its axis.”[/color] His voice was a low purr, rich with amusement as his hazel eyes flicked toward her, Ari's gaze shifting towards the familiar voice. [color=bisque]“Lady Ariella Edwards, in soft curls and shimmering silk? Tell me, is there some divine intervention at play, or have I been granted the singular pleasure of witnessing a rare transformation?”[/color] 

He turned his gaze to the painting before them, studying it with a slow, deliberate tilt of his head. [color=bisque]“Though, if I had to guess…”[/color] A smirk played at the corner of his mouth. [color=bisque]“You look like a woman who’s already been confronted with something far more interesting than brushstrokes and oil.”[/color] Her eyes fell towards the floor as she glanced back up looking at him with an unimpressed expression. 

He finally met her eyes, his expression unreadable yet entirely knowing. He hadn’t forgotten the way she had glanced over her shoulder moments ago. He was giving her the chance to answer...or to deflect, which might be even more fun.

Either way, she had his attention. And Milo St. Claire’s attention was never given lightly.

Ariella exhaled sharply through her nose as he pulled her from her trance, shifting her weight from one foot to the other as if she could somehow shake off the discomfort clinging to her like the cursed fabric of her gown. She tugged at the silk near her ribs, scowling as it refused to give even an inch. [color=slateblue]“If the world has shifted, it’s only because I’m stuffed into this godforsaken dress, and the universe is laughing at me.”[/color] she huffed. [color=slateblue]“My mother insisted.”[/color] she added. 

She turned her sharp gaze on Milo, eyes flashing with irritation, though whether it was directed at him or the gown was debatable. [color=slateblue]“And don’t you dare call it a transformation. That implies I had a choice.”[/color] She huffed, lifting the hem of her skirt just enough to peek down at her shoes with barely concealed disgust. [color=slateblue]“She insisted I wear shoes.”[/color] Her toes clacked together before her hem fell.  

Milo hummed low in his throat, a sound rich with amusement, indulgent as a man sipping aged wine. [color=bisque]“Shoes,”[/color] he echoed, tasting the word like it was something foreign, something distasteful. [color=bisque]“My condolences. I had no idea your suffering was so profound.”[/color]

Ari looked down at her feet nodding as she continued to pull at her dress. 

He studied her, the way she tugged at her gown like it was strangling her, the sharp edge of irritation in her voice, the way she loathed the very fabric wrapped around her body. The sight of her in silk and candlelight was lovely, of course...he was an artist, he would know. But it wasn’t her. No, Ariella was wild and sun-warmed and always on the verge of turning into something unpredictable. This? This was a charade.

Milo took a deliberate step closer, close enough that he could lower his voice to something only she would hear. Ari’s eyes flicked up as he caught her attention. [color=bisque]“And tell me, wild thing...what does it feel like? To be caged like this?”[/color]

His eyes flickered downward, tracing the hem of her dress, the place where silk concealed the insult of her shoes. [color=bisque]“Is it unbearable?”[/color] He exhaled through his nose, a slow, exaggerated thing, as if sharing in her distress. [color=bisque]“Wouldn’t it be such a tragedy if…oh, I don’t know...your laces mysteriously came undone? If those dreadful, oppressive shoes were to slip right off your feet in the middle of this very fine, [i]very public[/i] event?”[/color] Ari’s eyes fell back down to her feet as she looked at him slightly confused.

His lips curled, his voice a velvet promise. [color=bisque]“You’d be an absolute scandal. A barefoot menace, but we both know it wouldn’t be for the first time.”[/color] A smile started to creep on her lips as a light seemed to perk from her eyes. 

Milo pressed his fingers together, as if considering something very carefully, then nodded once, as if he had reached a decision. [color=bisque]“Yes. That settles it. I must steal them.”[/color]

His gaze found hers, gleaming with wicked delight. [color=bisque]“Not for you, you understand. No, no. This is for art. For the integrity of the evening. The aesthetic of it all.”[/color] He sighed dramatically. [color=bisque]“A lady, undone by the cruelty of social expectations...ravishing.”[/color] [color=slateblue]“Scandalous..”[/color] she whispered softly as the smile still sat on her lips. 

And then, as if to prove just how deadly serious he was, he moved. A shift, fluid and precise, the sort of grace that made him so magnetic. One moment he was beside her, the next...just behind, an artist circling his subject. His hand ghosted just above the delicate fabric at her back, never touching, never needing to, his voice a whisper at her ear.

[color=bisque]“Say the word, Ariella.”[/color] her breath caught in her chest as his voice caressed her ear like an unspoken secret. 

It was a dare. A temptation wrapped in silk and wicked amusement. [color=bisque]“Say the word, and I’ll make them disappear. You won’t even feel it happen.”[/color] Her lips parted to speak but the words didn’t seem to want to come out. 

Then, as though this entire exchange had never occurred, as if he had not just offered to commit perfectly executed shoe theft for the sake of her comfort, Milo pivoted lazily to face the painting she had been studying before his arrival.

[color=bisque]“Though I must ask, Ariella,”[/color] he mused, his tone softer now, more thoughtful. [color=bisque]“Was it truly the art that held you captive just now? Or was it something else? Given that you already had the pleasure of witnessing most of these pieces the other night, I imagine its more the latter.”[/color]

His gaze slid to hers, searching, gleaming with something far more dangerous than charm. [color=bisque]“You looked as though you had seen a ghost.”[/color] Her eyes fell down to her feet for a moment before looking back up at him with a soft smile disappointed that her shoes were still present. [color=slateblue]“I thought I heard someone call my name but I think I misheard it.”[/color] she played off the strange events she had been experiencing.  

[color=slateblue]“Your event appears to be doing very well, you must be proud.”[/color] she offered him an encouraging smile. 

Milo’s eyes flicked toward the glittering crowd for the briefest moment before returning to her with a lopsided smile.

[color=bisque]“Pride?”[/color] he echoed, voice smooth as ever. [color=bisque]“No, my darling. Pride is for politicians and fathers.”[/color]

He leaned in just slightly, the scent of expensive cologne and something darker clinging to him.

[color=bisque]“I am… entertained.”[/color] A pause. [color=bisque]“Which is far more difficult to achieve.”[/color]

His gaze drifted out over the crowd, eyes half-lidded as he watched them sip, laugh, admire...all so beautifully choreographed, as if someone had handed out a script at the door.

[color=bisque]“They flock in,”[/color] he murmured, more to himself than anyone else, [color=bisque]“draped in jewels, smelling of citrus and desperation… all hoping to feel something profound, if only for a moment.”[/color] Ari’s eyes watched as the onlookers of his work continued walking around more interested in their conversations than the art. 

He tilted his head, watching a man tilt his wine glass just-so before gesturing at one of Milo’s more chaotic pieces with an expression that suggested he’d just solved a great philosophical riddle.

[color=bisque]“Most of them don’t understand the work...not truly. They parrot what critics say. They latch onto whatever phrase sounds clever enough to repeat at a dinner party.”[/color] He smiled, sharp and idle. [color=bisque]“Sheep in silk.”[/color]

Milo let out a soft hum, swirling the wine in his glass though he hadn’t taken a sip in some time.

[color=bisque]“But every now and then… someone lingers. Someone looks, not at the paint, but through it. They tilt their head, narrow their eyes. You can see the moment the image begins to unravel them.”[/color]

His voice dropped, eyes catching the flicker of gold against candlelight.

[color=bisque]“Those are the ones I watch. The ones I collect.”[/color] Her attention turned to Milo as she noted his collection with a curious expression. 

He paused, a lazy flick of his gaze following a woman as she laughed too loudly beside a canvas she didn’t even glance at.

[color=bisque]“As for the rest? They’ll still spend more than the lifetime earnings of a common man just to hang one of my pieces above their fireplace. So they can say they own a Milo St. Claire. That’s all they want...proof they were here.”[/color]

She kept quiet for a moment, her eyes glancing back towards the painting she was admiring, her eyes fixated on its intricate details and brush strokes. [color=slateblue]“People often don’t see the beauty in things they don’t understand.”[/color] she said softly. The words seemed to resonate with her more than I think she wanted to admit.

[color=slateblue]“Do you not find that it destroys the artistic vision behind your works when people merely want to own something to status? To disregard the idea or thought behind your paintings and simply want to collect them like another piece of furniture?”[/color] she turned to look at him curiously. 

[color=bisque]“Does it destroy the vision?”[/color] he repeated softly, his gaze returning to her with something just a touch more focused, more intimate, as though her question had stirred a note he hadn’t expected to play tonight. [color=bisque]“No, my dear Ariella... it completes it.”[/color]

He took a step closer, not enough to crowd, but enough that the air between them began to shift, charged with something heavier than banter, heavier even than art. His voice, smooth as silk but low now, laced with intent.

[color=bisque]“You see, the tragedy of it all... the absolute poetry... is that they never understand it. Not truly. They fawn, they covet, they spend obscene amounts of money just to drape meaning on their walls like jewelry around the neck of a corpse. And yet... they still feel something. A stirring. A need. They can’t explain it, and they don’t try. But it’s there. And that... is where the art lives. Not in their understanding, but in their hunger.”[/color] Ari’s attention focused on Milo as he explained, his voice soft and smooth in its delivery that she felt herself relax in his presence. She nodded slowly in understanding of his views, her mind comparing it to people’s actions within the hierarchy of society and people’s reach for power. 

His eyes never left hers now, the warmth in them beginning to burn slow and low, like an ember caught beneath fine ash. [color=bisque]“They want to possess it because it resists possession. Just like you.”[/color] Ari adjusted herself slightly as she allowed those words to sit with her. 

A pause. A shift. His gaze flicked, barely, toward the nearby guests…two women pretending to admire a sculpture while clearly eavesdropping, a gentleman whose interest in the painting seemed to pale in comparison to his sideways glances in their direction. Milo’s smirk returned, lazy and knowing.

[color=bisque]“And of course,”[/color] he murmured, [color=bisque]“now we’ve given them something new to speculate over. I imagine we’re the most compelling installation in the room.”[/color] Ari stopped to look around them, catching the sideways glances and the women who were too clearly interested in their conversations. [color=slateblue]“I don’t believe ‘we’ is the correct usage here. I imagine it is you they are so interested in, and here I am monopolising all the time of the great artist.”[/color] she said with a soft laugh as her face lit up briefly. 

He turned back to her fully, and this time when he stepped in, there was no mistaking the change. The temperature of the space between them grew warmer, more intimate, as though the walls of the gallery had receded entirely and left them in their own private exhibit. His voice dropped to a whisper, velvet and wicked.

[color=bisque]“But conversations like this?”[/color] he breathed, [color=bisque]“They deserve candlelight without an audience. Rooms where the walls don’t echo with envy.”[/color] Ari regarded Milo nervously as the distance and tone of his voice didn’t go unnoticed. 

His fingers lifted, almost absentmindedly brushing the edge of her sleeve with the lightest graze, nothing more than a passing thought given form.

[color=bisque]“Come with me.”[/color] The words weren’t a question, not really, but neither were they a command. They were an invitation wrapped in the kind of charm that unraveled caution thread by thread. The charm appeared to work on Ari as she looked around for a moment, slightly shocked at the invitation. [color=bisque]“There’s a room upstairs, quiet and dim. No portraits. No pretense. Just you, and me, and all the truth you’re so eager to uncover.”[/color]

And then, with a look that could melt secrets and corset laces alike, he offered his hand… not outstretched like a prince, but slightly turned, waiting, as if she might meet him halfway. Her eyes dropped to his hand, glancing back up to his expression that created a nervous smile. 

[color=bisque]“Unless, of course...”[/color] A flick of his brow, a slow curve of his lips. [color=bisque]“You’ve grown rather fond of your cage.”[/color]

Her eyes widened, just barely—a subtle flicker of hesitation that rippled through her expression. Her hand lingered in the air, frozen between instinct and memory. [i]Her cage…[/i] The thought echoed in her mind like a haunting memory. A flash of cold stone and iron bars surged forth: the cell where she'd spent the night, Cal's quiet presence a fragile comfort amidst the gloom. But deeper still was the other cage—the invisible one her mother had spent years locking her inside. Expectations. Control. Silence.

She drew in a slow breath, steadying the tremble in her fingers. Milo noted the tremors with a curious glance. Then, deliberately, she reached out, her arm slipping through his with a quiet grace, every movement laden with intent.

[color=slateblue]“I despise cages,”[/color] she murmured, her voice a thread of silk wrapped in steel. For a heartbeat, her eyes darkened—then just as quickly, the shadow passed, leaving only the faintest trace behind. The onlookers shifting with envy as their whispers grew louder with small gasps escaping them. 

[color=bisque]“Good,”[/color] he murmured, his voice brushing the shell of her ear like a secret. [color=bisque]“Because I was beginning to worry this conversation might end with you still [i]behaving[/i].”[/color]

He led her through the crowd like a man strolling through a dream, perfectly unhurried yet utterly in command. Guests parted for them without realizing why, drawn aside by nothing more than his presence and the invisible shift in the atmosphere that trailed behind them. The whispers only grew louder, of course...but Milo wore them like cologne.

His fingers adjusted, brushing lightly along her forearm as he leaned in, just slightly.

[color=bisque]“I won’t take you far,”[/color] he promised, though there was a glint in his eye that suggested otherwise. [color=bisque]“Just beyond the frame... behind the canvas. Where the colors bleed a little brighter, and no one’s watching to ruin it.”[/color]

As they neared the stairwell, he glanced down at her with a lazy smile that didn't reach his eyes.

[color=bisque]“Unless you’re hoping to be caught.”[/color] 

And just before they vanished from the gallery floor, he added...almost idly, as if it were a throwaway thought:

[color=bisque]“You say you despise cages, Ariella… but tell me.”[/color] He tilted his head, his voice low and molten. [color=bisque]“How do you feel about ropes or chains?”[/color][/color][/hider][/center][center][h1][color=red]❗❗❗❗❗FLASHBACK ALERT❗❗❗❗❗[/COLOR][/h1][/center]

[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/7sHqL3M.png[/img][/center]