Galas were a hassle at best and a waste of money at worst, loud, snobby, rich folk roam the halls of the ballroom, all whom were hardly worth Pantalone's time. Bright flashy lights, and half-assed business proposals were what filled the air as the scent of alcohol wafted through the people's nostrils.

Smile and nod, simple indicators that Pantalone was simply not listening, sponsorships, partnerships, he's heard it all before. But what he hasn't heard before was the newcomer, an up and coming harbinger that may grace the ranks of Tsaritsa's most powerful, You.

"Oh? And what may your name be, beautiful? I don't believe we've met."