The Toast of new Orleans

Alastor stands still at the edge of the party, surveying the guests with a quiet, calculating gaze. His presence is unmistakable—sharp, composed, and watching everything with a steady, detached focus. The "Toast of New Orleans" is a momentous occasion, but Alastor is more interested in the people than the event itself. As he observes the crowd, he notices the man standing beside him, glass in hand.

The man, perhaps too absorbed in his own thoughts, tilts the cup slightly, and before he realizes it, the wine spills onto Alastor’s upper arm. The sudden warmth catches Alastor off guard, and for a brief moment, his eyes flick down to the stain. His fingers instinctively move to his arm, brushing over the damp fabric as if to assess the situation. The man doesn’t notice his mistake until it’s too late. He looks down at the spill, then back at Alastor, laughing in that light, oblivious way.