The Funtom Company

22: The |Ball| Company

"Dazzling as always," Vincent sneered at the getup of the place. Adrian shifted awkwardly in his attire. He certainly felt more attractive, but that wasn't the issue here. The issue was that he was sitting so incredibly close to Vincent at this table. He could practically feel him and they weren't even touching... technically. 

An angel glided over to their table. Her wings outstretched so far that they nearly hit the heads of the other guests. An artificial halo hung above her head in such a way as to look real. Her blonde hair flowed over her robe with grace. "Mr. Phantomhive," she began, "so glad you could make it. I'm Rika, in case you didn't know, the organizer of this ball." 

"Pleasure, darling," Vincent stood up and grabbed her hand to kiss. He was dressed as a flamboyant circus ring leader as if he thought this was all some elaborate show. Which it was, actually. A purple top hat with a matching purple tailcoat. White pants and dazzling golden accents. Grell is all about accents. 

"I saw your paintings in the charity auction. Thank you for donating," her hostess voice was loud and clear. She wasn't hiding her disgust for Vincent or Adrian. 

"Oh, those old things were collecting dust. I'm glad they've seen some sunlight. Don't mind them," Vincent laughed. Battle of the false kindness. 

"You paint?" Adrian inserted himself into the conversation, as one does. 

"Didn't you know?" Vincent appeared to be a tad shocked. But, Vincent appeared to be a lot of things. 

"My fiance is a photographer. He takes a lot of pictures inspired by Mr. Phantomhive's works," Rika said. "You really should take a look at them if you haven't seen them before. They're breathtaking, the paintings I mean, not that my fiance's work isn't breathtaking too." 

"You seriously paint?" Adrian was almost offended that he hadn't heard of this before. 

"Don't sound so wounded, dear," Vincent snickered. "Were you expecting something? Did you want me walk up to you one day and ask to paint you like one of my French men?" Rika laughed as if Vincent's words were a joke. Adrian frowned. Maybe he did want that. Vincent didn't know. Maybe Adrian dreamed of being swept off his feet and stolen away by a painter Vincent. Things happen. 

"Oh, excuse me," Rika looked past Vincent, "I believe I have more guests to greet. My apologies," she said as she walked off. 

Vincent sat down at his table once more. He looked at Adrian, glanced over his shoulder in the direction of Rika, and when she was far enough away he spoke, "In case you didn't know, that woman is the one that stole my wife," he explained. 

"Her? Really?" Adrian was about to look at her again. Vincent stopped him. 

"Don't look, silly. Are you daft?" 

"Oh, right, sorry," Adrian apologized. "But she has a fiance! She doesn't seem like that kind of person..." 

"And I have a wife, your point?" Vincent rolled his eyes. "Tell, me, Uny, dearest, when you look at my face I don't look like a coldblooded adulterer, do I?"

"That was that," Adrian gestured with his hands. He made a box with them and moved it to his left. "This is this," he moved the box to his right. 

"Way to avoid the question," Vincent stood up. "Adultery is adultery." Vincent walked off in the direction of his wife. She was dressed as a devil, not the best costume design considering the circumstances, but leave it to Rachel to be absentminded. 

"My love, how are you?" Vincent stretched out his arms for a hug. 

"Vincent! You came! I didn't think you would," she was on the verge of tears. "Angelina said you wouldn't because of the news." Rachel took a deep breath. Her voice cracked.