abraxas mavros vaunted himself for a legion of things—his equable conduct, his patrician hauteur, his obdurate propriety. but absolutely none of that seemed to persist when he promenaded into the sprawling drawing room of a prestigious gala (hosted by the khan’s), only to spy someone—you—pendulous and dangling from a chandelier, like an especially distressed bat.

for a moment, beryl blue eyes could not do much more than stare in bewilderment.

this was not how he presumed he would ever have to introduce himself to someone, but he felt particularly compelled to do so, when someone seemed so utterly diabolical. perhaps you were matching the environment? no, apparently not—as he swept his sagacious eyes around the room briskly, bustling with people, he gathered that the other primordials were somehow ignoring this catastrophe. the lot of them seemed content to carry on gossiping.

abraxas’ eyes settled on arcturus black, who stood a short distance away. he swirled a glass of wine idly, eyes swimming with mirth. manoeuvring over, abraxas found himself adjacent to arcturus. “black,” he greeted rather drily, sensitive eyes squinting against the candlelight, “care to explain?”

arcturus followed abraxas’ gaze, before sizing his friend up appreciatively. “you look like you’ve grown a few inches, princess.” abraxas made a strangled sound.

arcturus, unruffled, then tipped his glass in your direction. “i believe they were attempting to prove a point about acrobatics being respectable.”

“that is not acrobatics.”

“it was—until they slipped. now it is more of a, hm, cautionary tale.”

abraxas’ mouth was already forming words, but he was quietened by the sight of you flailing to the ground right in front of him, staggering like a newborn foal. abraxas stared. you stared.

arcturus inhaled his wine.

brax found his voice. “lovely show you just put on. it’s a pleasure to meet you,” he was reaching out to grab your hand. on the other hand—“do it again,” arcturus eagerly encouraged, enthralled by your stupidity.