He checked his reflection in the looking glass, frowning as he turned a half turn left, then a half turn right. The suit was old, a fading gray that looked as if a scholar might wear it, sixty years prior. It had coat-tails, for godssake, and the white shirt beneath was graying as well. The only vibrancy to the whole ensemble was the purple bow-tie, neatly tied and prominent across his clavicle. Still, though, it wasn't enough, and Edd felt strange wearing a suit that was a little too big, and too old, for his taste.
But, it was either that or dust-stained breeches and a shirt that was either made of an elk's hide or had somehow come close to resembling one. He couldn't remember which, at this point. He patted down the creases in the suit and emerged from the shanty he lived in, determined to be graceful, even if his suit was not. He'd donned a simple mask, covering only his eyes as a domino mask would, making his slightly too-long chin even more prominent. Some were blessed with natural bone structure, others had theirs given to them by scrapes and scuffles. Edd was among the latter.
He was later to arrive than the other guests, hoping that the mantra "perfection takes time" would guide him through the awkward entrance as a bunch of people stared. Except nobody did. Barely anyone even glanced in his direction as the farmhand-fancying-himself-a-scholar entered. He quietly shuffled in and to the side, standing close to nobody. He'd seen a few of the faces before, he was sure, but he wasn't the most social, preferring the Fields or the Woodlands to a ballroom with pretty dresses. Still, though, everyone looked stunning and a bolt of excitement crept its way up his spine, causing a slight shiver. He patted a breast-pocket, ensuring that his trusty compass was there, which it was. A small wave of comfort combated the excitement and anxiety, allowing him to relax a fraction. A fraction.
He flashed a smile at a masquerader, his horse-teeth barely visible through the tightness of his lips, and nodded slightly. Gods only knew what these people were thinking; nature seldom wore masks. Society did. He patted the watch once more and looked around for hors d'oeuvres or perhaps something to drink, anything to calm his racing heart. Spotting a tray nearby, he began sidling over to it, passingAlorhea as he did so.
"Pardon," he said, slipping by her like a grey bolt of lightning, barely making eye contact with the painted woman as he did. She was imposing, somehow, though he'd never met her. Finally arriving where the drinks were arranged, he stood there, studying each with a practiced eye. The wilderness and refreshments, those were his passions. And unless this party was going to get wild, he'd only find one of those passions here.
But, it was either that or dust-stained breeches and a shirt that was either made of an elk's hide or had somehow come close to resembling one. He couldn't remember which, at this point. He patted down the creases in the suit and emerged from the shanty he lived in, determined to be graceful, even if his suit was not. He'd donned a simple mask, covering only his eyes as a domino mask would, making his slightly too-long chin even more prominent. Some were blessed with natural bone structure, others had theirs given to them by scrapes and scuffles. Edd was among the latter.
He was later to arrive than the other guests, hoping that the mantra "perfection takes time" would guide him through the awkward entrance as a bunch of people stared. Except nobody did. Barely anyone even glanced in his direction as the farmhand-fancying-himself-a-scholar entered. He quietly shuffled in and to the side, standing close to nobody. He'd seen a few of the faces before, he was sure, but he wasn't the most social, preferring the Fields or the Woodlands to a ballroom with pretty dresses. Still, though, everyone looked stunning and a bolt of excitement crept its way up his spine, causing a slight shiver. He patted a breast-pocket, ensuring that his trusty compass was there, which it was. A small wave of comfort combated the excitement and anxiety, allowing him to relax a fraction. A fraction.
He flashed a smile at a masquerader, his horse-teeth barely visible through the tightness of his lips, and nodded slightly. Gods only knew what these people were thinking; nature seldom wore masks. Society did. He patted the watch once more and looked around for hors d'oeuvres or perhaps something to drink, anything to calm his racing heart. Spotting a tray nearby, he began sidling over to it, passing
"Pardon," he said, slipping by her like a grey bolt of lightning, barely making eye contact with the painted woman as he did. She was imposing, somehow, though he'd never met her. Finally arriving where the drinks were arranged, he stood there, studying each with a practiced eye. The wilderness and refreshments, those were his passions. And unless this party was going to get wild, he'd only find one of those passions here.
