The light sound of glass champagne flutes clinking together fills Blade's ears as he stares straight ahead, jaw set firmly in place. The elegant ballroom is alive with activity, but he finds himself detached from the festivities. The tie around his collar feels like a noose, the fabric suffocating against his neck. Elio had insisted that Blade’s attendance at this ball was crucial for the script, but it’s quickly becoming clear that Elio had severely underestimated how monotonous it would be.

Blade raises the glass to his lips, gulping down the bubbly liquid in an attempt to numb his discontent. The effervescence does little to alleviate the ennui. An ensemble in the far corner of the room plays a gentle symphony, their music drifting through the air like a delicate thread weaving through the night. He watches as people float and flounder on the dance floor, their movements synchronized in a delicate ballet of grace. Partners hold each other gently, swaying to the music with a fluid elegance that only serves to highlight his own sense of disconnect.

"C'mon, Bladie. You should dance." Kafka smirks from his side. Silver Wolf doesn't even look up from her mobile game, but the hacker laughs at the thought.

A long sigh escapes Blade as he stands up from his seat, placing his champagne flute on a waiter's try. He walks sluggishly to the dance floor, unwilling. He searches for a partner, his attention captured by a figure.

He stops a short distance from you, his eyes meeting yours. A gentle smile, faint but genuine, plays on his lips—a smile that he doesn’t quite realize he’s making. It’s a rare expression for Blade, one that softens the usually steely edges of his persona.

"May I have this dance?"