The Elixir

~Gala

Derald squirms uncomfortably as Xara fusses over his dress suit, one last time. The evening chill is settling on his skin, and it's causing gooseflesh to raise across his skin. He shudders once.

This is going to be a night to remember.

But not in a good way.

"Stop moving, Derald," growls Xara, slapping his ankle lightly.

"Remind me why again I'm going to this and not Owain? This stupid plan is his idea anyways."

"Because," Vieva drawls, glancing at him sidelong once. "Your family has a higher position than Owain Snagsnout." Her eyes glow. "Founders, if I walk into that gala with Owain Snagsnout on my arm, I'll be the laughingstock of the noble population." She looks him up and down again. "You're a baby step up."

Derald scowls.

After the home weekend two weeks ago, Owain had burst into their rooms, eyes wide and breathless. He had explained his plan to them all; get into the Inventory Gala, get to the warehouse, and look for anything of importance to the Warlord so they can have an edge over him. It's risky, and there's many things that can go wrong for them. They may not be let in, they may not be able to get to the warehouse, or they may not even find anything of worth and the whole experience could be for naught. But they have to try.

Lysabel huffs impatiently from behind them. "We don't have all night, guys. Hurry up, will you?"

Vieva cranes her neck back, glaring at Lysabel. "Not that you would understand, but if we don't come to this event looking perfect, then we might as well not go at all."

Vieva turns back to studying the Inventory with those intense, fiery eyes of hers. There is rarely an instant where Vieva Bestel doesn't look perfect, and even Derald, who still isn't a big fan of Vieva, has to admit that she looks stunning.

Her shoulders, pale as milk, are completely bared, but she doesn't appear cold. Soft wafts of smoke rise from her unblemished skin. Her silvery silk hair has been pulled up into a complicated looking updo, sparkling under the star-studded sky. It seems as though the very stars have been wrangled to sit in her hair.

Her dress is a strapless, attention-grabbing creation; a figure hugging, glittering material hugs Vieva's curves, enough to maintain modesty, but also enough to tantalize anybody watching. It's an off-white color, with a slight peach tone to it. It falls and pools on the floor in a luscious puddle of pastel. From her waist, gauzy tuille effortlessly floats to the ground, like wings.

She's gorgeous.

Not that Derald would ever tell her that. Vieva would never let him forget it.

As if she could feel his attention, Vieva nails him in place with her molten eyes.

"Xara's done, just so you know." She lifts her chin imperiously. "Whenever you're done ogling me, we can leave."

Derald tears his gaze away from her, looking for Xara, who smirks next to Owain. His cheeks flare up but he tries to look as dignified as he can, turning to face the other three. Lysabel stands, hips jutted and hands perched, lips tight.

"Lysabel's going to slip around the back, and start rummaging around. You two make your way through the party and to the back, to meet her there. Try not to take too long." Xara reiterates.

Derald rolls his eyes. "You act as though this is our first heist."

Xara arches a brow, so characteristically Xara that he almost smiles. "Isn't it?"

Derald goes silent.

Lysabel darts around them, shooting them a warning glance.

"Don't dawdle." Then, with a flash of blonde, she's gone. Xara just shakes her head, bewildered at her roommate.