At the Opera House

Cyril stood hidden in the plain sight of the crowd as yet another important person was escorted into the Opera House. 'So that's the Queen Chelle that I've heard so much about.' He watched her go inside, on the arm of some nobody. The Queen wasn't his target. No, from all he'd heard, someone would need to pay him an immense amount of money to even consider taking care of her. Today, his target was one of the dancers, and for that, he had to make his way inside the building.

Cyril backed out of the crowd of paparazzi and adoring public, making his way towards the side of the building. With the wealthy and powerful providing a distraction, all he would have to worry about would be security. He rounded the side of the building, putting on the face of a lost patron as he approached the single guard in charge of preventing people from entering the stage door. 'When will humans learn that they should take better care of their treasures?' he wondered with an invisible smirk.

"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to leave," the security guard stepped away from the door to head him off. Cyril looked back at the way he'd come, an apologetic look perfect on his face.

"I was under the impression that this was an alternate entrance," Cyril smiled at the guard, doing his best to act the part of the misinformed civilian, "With all the press in the front it's extremely difficult to reach the doors." He took a small step forward, his enhanced hearing picking up the guard's increasing heart rate.

As expected, the guard took the bait, closing the distance between himself and Cyril. "This is not a public entrance Sir. If you do not leave immediat..." The guard looked down at the dart sticking out from his hand, then back up to Cyril. As the guard crumpled into unconsciousness, Cyril caught him. The mercenary dragged the man back to the door, positioning him so that it would appear that he'd fallen asleep on the job.

'With any luck,' Cyril told himself, 'He'll be out until the performance is over.' Removing his lockpicking kit, Cyril made quick work of the lock and silently slipped through the stage door. Strangely enough, no one seemed to question the 6 foot 6 man who'd appeared backstage. 'Too preoccupied with their own preparations,' he mused. Using his senses to avoid anyone in charge, Cyril made his way to the door that would lead him out into the lobby.

Once there, he graciously accepted a glass of wine from one of the waiters and sipped it quietly, moving and mingling just enough so that the average person would think he belonged there. 'She'll be too protected before the show,' he reminded himself as he heard a group of dancers move around backstage. With a quick glance at the clock, Cyril returned his barely touched wine glass and went to seat himself in the theatre. Careful scanning of the room showed that the person that security most likely wouldn't approach would be Queen Chelle. Cyril made his way over, choosing a seat close enough that security would think he was with her entourage, while far enough away that the Queen would hopefully believe him to be just another patron of the arts.

The lights dimmed as he sat down, the show was about to begin.

Cyril stood and applauded with the rest of the audience. From what he understood about humans, it hadn't been a bad performance by any stretch of the imagination. 'Not that it'll ever happen again,' he reminded himself. He had a job to do, and do it he would. On the pretense of making his way through the crowd, Cyril gave the stage door a studying glance. So, the Queen was going backstage. That would make his job slightly more difficult, as killing Chelle Takeiro would certainly be noticed. A slight frown crossed his features as he noticed who she was speaking to, it seemed that a security guard had taken up position at the stage door. 'Complications, complications,' he mused inwardly. He had no cause for worry, not yet at least. Most performers went out for a drink or two before going home exhausted, especially performers such as dancers who participated in such physically straining exercise under hot stage lights. It would be a simple matter to...

His ears perked up as a voice came over the speakers in the theatre, and his frown deepened for just a second before he managed to replace it with the happy smile that should have been expected from the announcement. Apparently, the party was to take place on Takeiro's yacht. Cyril strained his ears towards the stage door, making out the sound of excited chatter from the dancers. It appeared that his quarry would be going to this party, and so, he would too.

Cyril's usual mode of transport a bit unorthodox for the front doors, he walked a few blocks before deactivating the device he always had in his pocket, defaulting back to his natural form. Harrier wandered into an alley, ignoring the drunken man in a stupor against the wall as he spread his wings for flight. The mercenary made sure to fly high enough that to those below, he couldn't have looked bigger than a large bird. His eyesight made quick work of identifying the Queen's limousine, and he followed it until they reached the docks, using the time to adapt his strategy. His benefactor wanted the girl dead, but they also wanted it to seem like an accident, and those were always the most difficult.

A yacht would present an interesting challenge. The girl could drown, or perhaps drink just a bit too much, or possibly even fall and snap her neck. Harrier smiled, fangs gleaming against the black scales of his face, humans were so very fragile. 'Ah, but here we are.' The long line of fancy cars and limousines told him exactly where he needed to go. Harrier swerved off to one side, scanning for a location where he could land with relative ease. 'It seems fortune favors me this night,' he commented as he noticed the helicopter pad on the back of the yacht. If he managed to reach it while most of the party goers were still boarding, then he could both gain access to the ship and remain undetected.

Gliding down, Harrier activated the device that allowed him to appear human while still in the air, so that to anyone watching it would seem that the man had simply jumped onto the yacht from a high point. Cyril cast his senses around in a full sweep, detecting no one in the immediate vicinity. With confident strides, he made his way to the front of the yacht to where the party was just starting, appearing for all the world as if he belonged among every well-dressed person there.

Mr. Strange Post
(As the show neared it's start)

Mr. Strange sat in a private top balcony off in the side of the theater. Where the collection of performing artists, beautiful set pieces, and lustrous instruments masterfully filling the air with their own mesh of symphony and art would normally catch the attention of the theatrically inclined Mr. Strange, today he sits tapping his finger, annoyed of his existence there. He speaks in clear Italian to his butler who sat across from him.

Mr. Strange: You could have told me that Romanio Del Rosario had to make an appearance before the Prime Minister before we started the flight.

Damon Raffaelo: Well master "Rosario", you simply didn't ask. I informed you that I left all necessary information in the briefcase.

Mr. Strange: On the plane.

Damon Raffaelo: To which you assumed was heading to America.

Mr. Strange: But was really a ruse to take me to a formal event to maintain my "status quo".

Damon Raffaelo: And here we are. Tea, sir?

Damon, sporting his Italian made two button tuxedo with his usual dark vest with the blue tint and matching bow tie, sitting crossed legged across the table from Strange, pouring himself a cup of tea from a pot. Sitting the pot down next to dimly lit candle, he offers the cup to his master, to which he crosses his arms and legs almost child like in protest.

Mr. Strange: I don't want tea. I want entertainment. Real entertainment. Not the same performance I've seen for decades done slightly different and in different language.

As he sat their, looking like a well dressed child, he itches his forehead, careful to avoid his slick backed hair. Damon smiles as he puts the tea down and pulls from a pocket, his trusty and old deck of Tarot cards and starts shuffling them. Strange's eyebrow arks as he notices this.

Mr. Strange: You felt something?

He shuffles his cards, keeping his eyes solely on what he was doing. It were times like this you would notice the subtle grin he Damon always has plastered on his face, more or less for the public appearance of Mr. Strange. A happy looking servant serves well for the man's publicity, like lighting the mood at any camera angle.

Damon: Indeed I have, sir.

Mr. Strange: And you didn't tell me? I'm hurt.

Damon: I apologize, sir. I was left to believe you didn't care about the life of "Romanio Del Rosario".

His voice was as smooth as glass without the slightest hint of sarcasm but Strange new better. Cheeky brat.

Mr. Strange: What did you feel?

Damon: Something old.

Mr. Strange: Old?

Damon: Ancient even.

Mr. Strange: Oh?

Damon: and it sent chills down my spine the moment I entered this place.

Strange was clearly on the edge of his seat now, excited of the new game in front of him.

Damon: I've never ran into anything like it before.

As Damon shuffles his cards, Strange looks out into the audience. Something old that sends chills even down Raffaelo's back. Something in here, someone perhaps? He hoped it wasn't a ghost. Only the cheeky brat can deduce if it was but if it weren't....

Strange: What's the score?

Damon: I won the last time putting us at you with 3 and me at 7.

Strange: But you take so long with those cards and there are so many people. The advantage is mine.

Damon: Is it now? Something ancient has been mingling in the crowd for longer then us and you think you can pull it out?

Strange: Were only deducing the identity today. It's not like we can strap it to a table. If I guess it right, you confirm it for me.

Damon: And if I find it first, vacation days.

Strange: Right. What can you tell me about it?

Damon: It's old, it's powerful, and I hear whispering spirits shudder in fear. That's all I know.

Strange: So don't be alone with it.

Damon: It's possible that even I wouldn't be able to protect your soul.

Strange sits upright looking ever so closely at people with his opera glasses. A game to find the wolf, hidden in with the flock of sheep. A dangerous game that may have more on the line then the pettiness of mortality. The danger made it all the more alluring. His leg couldn't stop shaking. He had to grab just so he could focus through the lens. Meanwhile his gentleman sat there, playing with cards as he went on about his business. Hours later they would find out the party would be relocated after the event, giving the two more time for their game.

Cyril's act was as spot on as could be. He was in rare form tonight, that was certain. Mingling his way through the crowd, chatting about all sorts of human issues, even partaking in an impromptu toast to the dancers in the hot tub. For anyone ordinary, Cyril was just another party guest enjoying himself.

Then again, it was just an act. In truth, the mercenary's senses were on high alert, fully aware that on the yacht there were limited escape routes should he be compromised, even fewer should he need to leave without flying. Then again, that meant that his quarry had just as many if not fewer opportunities to flee as well. He smiled a bit, taking a small sip of the drink he had. There she was, so close, and yet so very far away. The dancer he'd been sent to take care of was off in the hot tub, partying the night away in much the same fashion that Cyril expected she'd partied away most of her nights. 'Poor girl,' he thought with another smile. Oh, he'd enjoy himself tonight. There was no real hurry to kill her, not yet at least. She simply had to be dead before tomorrows performance, and that meant that as long as he kept an eye on her, he could continue to blend.

A cheer went up from the other end of the yacht. Cyril turned, placing a smile on his face and joining the applause as the Queen herself descended from on high. 'Such an honor,' he chuckled dryly to himself. He kept watching, even after most of the other party goers had resumed their own business. He glanced at his quarry; she appeared in no hurry to leave her friends in the hot tub. He returned to the party himself, slowly making his way towards where the Queen had placed herself away from the party. Cyril maneuvered himself skillfully, casually approaching her while simultaneously making sure that he had an unobstructed view of the dancers in the hot tub.

"Quite unlike a host to not partake in her own festivities Madam Takeiro," he commented, giving her what could only be called a genuine smile.

Mr. Strange Post

Mr. Strange: Weight, height, facial features, shoe size, mannerism, gestures, blemishes, hair color, hair style, posture, language, behavior, ethnicity, scars-

Uncontrollably shaking his leg, an anxious Mr. Strange would sit off in the corner with his servant Damon, who would casually shuffle his deck until he felt necessary to stop. The sun was beginning to set, bringing out the true colors the yacht utilizing colorful lights to brighten the scene and set the mood for others off on their own little passionate adventures. With all the laughter and bright smiles, Strange would stick out like a sore thumb were he actual mingling. He sat on the side, examining everyone that passed by, making mental notes of just about every feature the man could analyze in a desperate attempt to mind the needle in the haystack.

Mr. Strange: gender, is he a member of the prime minister, is she a dancer, a wife, a butler, a politician?

He turns to Damon who stops shuffling and begins drawing once again. Casually he bounces ideas off him.

Mr. Strange: Something ancient and bone chilling but not necessarily physically powerful? Possibly something that could still be wounded by mortals?

Damon: I can't rule anything out.

Mr. Strange: So how does something terrible old survive all these years? Everyone who is here is from the theater. Most politicians opted out on coming here, all the dancers showed up here, as did the crowd. The crowd mostly consist of men and women well off in the world. If your ancient, you can roots anywhere and deep. Clearly this thing has little fear in coming out in the public. Lets rule out the politicians of the Australian government. Would something so ancient foolishly jump into a flashy career such as politics?

Damon: Possible. There is not telling what it sees in the world of today. Though it would be rather unlikely by our standpoints.

Mr. Strange: So logically we explore the idea of the "thing" being a dancer. Naturally if you've walked the earth for generations, one would think that there would be a certain level of skill or control you would have of your body. That rules out the majority of the dancers considering the level of skill. Honestly, I can only think of one dancer that could be a potential match.

Strange drummed his fingers on the table, thinking quietly to himself as Damon pulled flipped through more cards. After a few silent seconds, he looks over to Damon.

Mr. Strange: This is pointless without more facts. Without knowing more about creature itself it's all just pointless speculation. Pointless, pointless, pointless guessing. Just punching in our own lines of code of thinking without factoring in what creature thinks and wants. Surely you come up with some other clue?

As Damon cycles through his deck, as if whispered to, he stops and looks at one of the cards he landed on. With a glazed look, it would almost appear he were looking past the card entirely, as if being talked too.

Damon: Stress.

He quietly said, putting the card back into the deck and shuffling yet again.

Mr. Strange: Stress?

With a shuffle and a tap from his fingers, he cycles through his cards again.

Damon: It's stressed. The old one, I mean.

Mr. Strange: Those spirits of yours happen to know why it's stressed?

Damon continues through his deck, all focus on the cards as he casually talks to Strange.

Damon: You know that's not how it works. There are whispers from some rather on edge spirits speaking of "the beast's" stress. They're doing their best to avoid it, minus the jackals that feed from it. Once more....

Strange sits up on the edge of his seat. He can tell this next bit of information rather haunts Damon.

Mr. Strange: Once more?

Damon: The white owl passes. It sits above... waiting.

Mr. Strange stands right up, as does Damon who shifts his cards back into his pocket. As the two straighten up, Damon takes the lead through the crowds, being sure to guide Strange through it. The owl, of all omens was the interestingly enough, is one of the worst omens to run into, signifying someone's inevitable end.

Damon: What's the plan, sir?

Mr. Strange: We check the dancer first, as planned and hope your little feathery friend isn't for us. I still intend to finish this game Raffaelo. Now it just gets more interesting! Do you think it's a vampire? Perhaps the one that dies is a victim tonight? Exhilarating! The thought of catching one in the act! I'm glad you don't have the eyes to see where it's own are looking. Tis be a shame were the surprise ruined.

As they stormed through the crowd, Strange continued to take mental notes of every passerbyer, careful of each and every small interaction they made. An interesting thought suddenly occurred as to where the dear madame who ran this party departed to. To throw a party and not involve yourself when death was out and about brought together so many more interesting scenarios. They'll start with the dancer first and keep a close eye on her.

Now the sun was completely gone as the party truly started to feel as vibrant and colorful as it could be with the lighting as it was. Strange occasionally picked at the top button of his collar, a nasty habit he began awhile ago when anxiously walking somewhere, much like his leg shaking when he sits down. Then he'd to a quick check on his hair, always afraid a hair would be out of place, and random diggings through his pocket, despite that Damon carried everything for him. Where was the damned dancer any way?

Cyril listened as the Queen spoke, granting the conversation the attention that might be expected from a sincere party goer. He heard rather than saw as the majority of the dancers left the hot tub, not wanting to betray his purpose to the woman in front of him. He offered her a pearly smile, accepting her hand in a firm, yet gentle grip and kissing it lightly, "Samar, Madame Takeiro." Cyril released her hand, indicating the boat around them, "It would seem all of your experience has paid off. This is a wonderful party." He let the complement hang in the air, not a trace of sarcasm attached.

Meanwhile, his mind whirled as it used his exemplary hearing to isolate the lone dancer left in the hot tub. Cyril smiled in spite of himself, luck was still with him this night. The one remaining dancer was indeed his target, and it seemed that she was already flirting again despite her fellow performers leaving. He widened his smile, "Of course, a wonderful party cannot happen without wondrous people such as yourself Madame Takeiro." There was a bit more in this compliment, a small sprinkling of flirt, as though he'd begun to have a bit too much to drink and was growing loose-tongued. Nothing could have been farther from the truth. Cyril's amber eyes, while reflecting his perfect smile, searched the woman's face, looking for weaknesses or potential that only those in his line of work or similar could find.

It was in this search that he noted her eyes flick to something off to one side. Cyril took another sip of his beverage, careful to drink only enough so that he had the excuse to call over one of the waiting staff. "Here you are," he set the glass on the tray, using the moment to scan the crowd for anything unusual. His amber eyes picked up on a pair of men, evidently not here for just the party, making their way through the crowd. Cyril turned back to the Queen, storing the information away for the future and turning to look at the sea in one fell swoop. "Beautiful, isn't she?" he spoke, the words rolling off his tongue silkily, "A natural marvel of a force so awe inspiring," Cyril looked back at Madame Takeiro, his amber eyes sparkling in the last glows of the setting sun,

"And deadly."

Mr. Strange: Testing, testing, testing my patience...

A completely on edge Mr. Strange stood with Damon, looking over at the hot tub that had the girl they were looking for. Like a child made to wait to open a Christmas present, Strange would rock on his toes for abit, biting a finger and thinking. The obstacle didn't persuade him from stopping his constant search throughout the crowd for abnormalities.

Speaking of devil, a man catches his eye if only for a moment but long enough for him to take some notes. Amber eyes, different tone from normal amber but nothing unusual, taller bloke standing above even Strange at presumably 6'5 to 6'6. Moderately decent hair, doubt he knew too much about hair care outside of basic needs. The man's shoes bothered him more of a pet peeve then anything else. Dress shoes with scuff marks, presumably new from the tone of shine on the shoes. Normal man who blended in well. Only thing that peeved and threw Strange's mind into a few seemingly impractical scenarios were the direction he was coming from. Specifically away from the flock or Russian beauties that seemingly caught the attention of most males and a few women on board. Drinks were across the ships, the hostess as well, and he lacked proper attire for a dip in the spa. He looked as though he knew where he was going, casually greeting and mingling with people he walked by. He didn't look Australian and he didn't look Russian. Those mere seconds were enough to gather what he needed to know.

Strange would immediately put his focus on the next person to walk by, and the next, and the next but would make sure to keep track as he stood there trying to find away around this monkey hanging around the neck of their suspect.

Damon: I've got the girl if you can draw the crowd away.

The butler smirked as he lowered his hands behind his back. Strange wouldn't even think twice as he moved out into the crowd. As the man navigated his way through the people, he eventually stumbled upon a table to which he jumped on top of, seemingly like a madman to the people sitting there, and then as he reached deep in his pockets, he pulled ruby the size of a small ball.

Mr. Strange: Good evening ladies and gentlemen! My name is Romanio Del Rosario! I am an eccentric man who leads a life of adventure and learning! Today I challenge the lot of you to a game! If any of you who deem to possess the talent an intellect to beat me at my own game, you can walk away with this ruby that I've collected in one my ventures out! As you can see, it is quite large and you'll have your chance to look at it in just a bit! Am I a man of wit or a man of magic? All will be revealed as the game goes on!

Fortunately the music lowered itself when the man began screaming out like he were mad. Most would think that he had far too much to drink but the bait was as tempting as it should have been as now crowds of people would gather before the man in their hopes to claiming a small memorial for their times on the ship. Curiously enough, Strange took special notes on the ambered eyed man he saw earlier who for a brief moment looked like he was physically being pulled from two different directions. On cue, Damon made his way over to the Russian beauty in the tub and in mere seconds she was in a giggling fit as the other man walked away hopelessly. In minutes he would talk the girl into a tarot session. In the mean time, Strange would take the opportunity to show off a few tricks. He always did love the theatrics.

The idle chat with Madame Takeiro was rapidly coming to a close, Cyril knew that. There was simply not much chatter to use in such a situation, and not even appealing to the woman's admittedly splendid visage seemed it would be of much use. No, Cyril had reached a decision. Madame Takeiro was not simply another rich face. Her eyes betrayed her mind, and it was a cunning one at that. Still, appearances had to be maintained. He was playing the part of the party guest, so he must see the engagement to its natural conclusion. Her chuckled response only proved to him how very correct he was. Here was a woman who believed she had the upper hand, and on her home territory, Cyril knew better than to challenge her directly. He returned her smile, giving a small toast and taking a sip of his drink.

Madame Takeiro it would seem, was not the only Lady who fit into Cyril's plans that evening. Once more Lady Luck reared her head, as one of the strange pair leaped onto the top of one of the tables. Cyril raised an eyebrow, this was certainly a distraction, the question was if it was a distraction he could use. Sadly not, as it turned out. The man, Rosario, was indeed drawing the crowd's attention, but as the Queen moved to challenge him she unwittingly brought the crowd to surround his target. He moved with them, casually depositing his practically untouched drink on some server's tray as he went past.

So, the Queen would challenge Rosario to his game? That would certainly be entertaining, but Cyril had other matters to attend to. He'd maneuvered himself so that he was close to the hot tub, and now he could make out the other member of the strange pair speaking to the dancer. 'Ah,' he allowed a small smile to play about his lips, 'A distraction indeed.' So, the one on the table was drawing attention from his companion. But for what? That was the question. Cyril crossed to them smoothly, allowing the rest of the crowd to be mesmerized by Rosario on the table. When he was close enough, which was still fairly far away, Cyril saw the cards. An eyebrow raised, he'd heard about these types of cards. Carrot, or tarot or some such name. Regardless, if this man managed to get his target squared away some how then his job would become much more difficult. The time had come to enter the fray. "A fine trick for a beautiful lady," he sidled up to the pair, coming up just behind the dancer and slightly to the side so that she could still see him. He made sure to put emphasis on the word 'trick' hoping to distract the man from whatever his goal with the dancer might have been.

Cyril knew it was a risky game he had entered, he just wasn't sure which of the combatants truly had the upper hand.

The deck lights continued uninterrupted with their flickering, creating that special ambiance that only be found places such as these. With the moon as bright as it was, it would be hard to hide much in even the darker corners of the ship. As the crowd gathered around, Strange began tossing the single ruby around in the air, catching more eyes as he went on. In seconds a couple of tin foiled balls he nicked off over at the food court were also thrown into circulation as he began juggling them. This was more for entertainment value then anything. He wouldn't need them unless he had to move down to simpler tricks. All eyes were where they needed to be as he hopped down. He picked an eager ballerina first.

"Madam, the game I have in mind is a simple one but, one I'm afraid you simply can't win unfortunately." The girl didn't seem to take to it well that he already pegged her to lose. Getting people flustered was just one of the many things that amused Strange to no end. Tilting a game to his own advantage by simply playing with a person's emotions, even the minor tweaks had been proven to be beneficial at times. "But, if you figure me out, the ruby is yours. Deal?"

She smiled eagerly at this at least. It sounded easier then actually winning what ever game he had in mind. Besides, any chance to deprive "this" cocky fool of a his ruby would make anyone's night really. Strange continues to juggle the balls around as he examined her. Short stature, petite, frail, the make up, nails, slight and subtle stain on her dress, her posture, her eyes, everything quickly went into account. "This game is simple." Strange would boast. He catches the two tin foil balls in his hand and the ruby in the other, handing it to the ballerina. She takes it and examines it closely, with everyone curious to know where this was going.

"Your going to hide that ruby in your hands and I'm going to guess which one it is. Pretty easy right? The way anyone can see it, it's a fifty fifty chance! Too simple to pass up, am I right?" A couple of the people were getting anxious now. It was clear they want to go as soon as possible assuming the girl didn't win to better their own chances of taking advantage of a clearly alcohol influenced individual and depriving him of his small token. "I will tell you exactly how this is trick is done if you can't figure it out or if no one else can for that matter! Fair game? Then lets begin!"

As the crowd continue to force itself to get closer, Strange borrowed a cloth from one of the gentlemen carrying food around. As he blindfolded himself, he gives a little crack in his neck and a streach. Only to further prove his inability to see the young woman, he lays his head on the table. "Madam! To make it fair for everyone around you, raise the hand that you have decided to hide the stone in. Everyone needs a fair chance of guessing this so please be fair to them when you fail!"

This was the selling point. This was the part where everyone "thinks" they knew how it worked, the illusion that he was getting help, a mirror on the ground, something incredibly dry like that yet not quite so boring. After a few seconds, he called out "I'm going to lift my head now. Is it clear?" To which the young lady would answer yes. It was clear in her tone there were slight annoyance from the treatment she received. Strange took the blindfold off and turned around to see the hands presented. He pointed to the right to which the girl opened and sure enough there it shined, his little ruby. "For the price of the ruby, how did I do it?"

He asked, to which the girl responded bluntly "someone tipped you off" "No" strange would reply. "You sir! What say you?" He pointed to a balding man who eager held his hand out "The girl is actually in on it!" "A very interesting theory but a very wrong one as well, anyone else?" To which then Strange was bombarded with other countless theories. The more he answered "no" the more impatient and agitated they all got. "So do you all give up?" There was silence. "Ladies and gentlemen, the culprit here is none other then the young lady's blood. When you raise your hand like the young lady did to show you the ruby, her hand became paler then the other that idly sat by her side. Less blood flow, less color, a simple observation. Your children will love this when you show them later"

There were a few fun cheers out in the crowd and minor clapping but overall most people could be seen raising a hand in the air to try to confirm this for themselves. As the crowd gave a mixed reaction, the lady of the ship finally made her grand appearance, at least the first towards Strange. She overshadowed the same ballerina he did his trick to. A momentary snap would occur for Strange as he overlooked the woman. The material and colors of the dress, eyes, hair, facial features, posture, complexion, and other swarms of data continuing to process of staring. Out of all, the most curious features for the woman were a vague scar that could just barely be seen at the edge of her dress. Something very unbecoming of a woman of high stature but something that you could see as plain as day that she cared little about the opinion of the people who can see it. Was it an accident, on purpose, inflicted by outside parties, why was the shape run across in a straight line? Was it a perfect cut, a possible burn, perhaps something caused by a car accident? A quick examination of her hands showed a rather rough texture of skin for a fair lady racking in a fortune.  A lady that should have no need to lift even a finger yet here she stood alone, no personal servant hanging by her side much like how Strange preferred to live. No, someone this popular was not timid or weak but rather carried an air of confidence, possibly a person that preferred doing things alone but that would require a more in depth means of studying to figure out. The whole "Socializing" subject Damon was rather persistent on having Strange undergo.

This woman clapped her hands together and spoke out "Well, I love games, so shall we play, then?" Then she shifted her posture a bit. The raise of her eyebrow suggested confidence in her abilities which said something about her character. "Pardon me. My name is Chelle Takeiro, Signor Rosario. It's a pleasure to meet you" As she nodded, he returned the gesture, idling reaching for a glass of wine from one of the passing servants and took a little swig and put it down on the table. It was less for the pleasure and more for a bit of stalling. Chelle Takeiro, Chelle Takeiro. Didn't ring a bell. Strange  wasn't blessed with photographic memory or any sort of natural gifts such as these. It was rather hard for him to put a face to a name occasionally. Unless of course if said person was being documented to which he pulled all the stops to remember that person from start to finish. This was precisely one of the many reasons he kept Damon around. Regardless who the woman was, she brought a thicker crowd around and kept their eyes glued right where he wanted them. All in all, he couldn't complain.

Clearing his throat, he starts tossing the ruby into the air again, along with the tin foiled balls. A quick glance back at his partner made the hair on his neck stand as he saw the questionable man with the annoyingly scuffed up shoes approach him and his suspect. Things were getting rather exciting now. With his eyes back on the Lady of the ship, he throws a bit of a flare in his juggling act, making sure while he kept everyone here, they'd at least find some entertainment to the man's tricks. "It's always good to see other people who can make the time for some light entertainment. A little dissipation here and there can make life all the more interesting, wouldn't you agree?"


___________

Flipping through his cards, Damon sat with his back against the railing on the ground, casually talking with the ballerina his master so adamantly wanted interviewed. She was captivated, leaning on the edge of the tub with her arms crossed over and her head resting on them. The tub gently cooed with bubbles from the jet but the tub itself was empty with the exception of the fair swan, the star of her own show, floating idly, and clearly taken away by Damon's own little show he was putting on. "When you were a little girl, something traumatic happened to you. You lost someone important, your grandmother I believe?" What was casual interest began to turn into something a bit more bone chilling. Before, Damon was only just saying things that anyone could have heard about. "Are you stalking me?" She curiously asked with a slight pang of fear that could be seen miles away.

"Your grandmother was a major influence in your life. All of the stories she told you inspired you to be what you are today. Your following in her footsteps? You seems so innocent to me. You poor thing." After what was merely a few minutes of talking, it was evident that the poor child was not what they were looking for. She was just a poor lost soul carrying her grandmother's ambition. He could hear as plain as day her grandmother's cries of worry over the girl. Hearing such things use to give Damon a knot in this stomach, knowing that there was nothing more he could do but tell them where they came from and where they're going as the spirits would plead for more.

"How do you know all of this? How can you see it in those cards?" She asked, trying to dig into something she couldn't understand. "This urge to follow in her footsteps led you to make a lot of poor choices, including your taste in men apparently. You question yourself at nights, always second guessing, never too sure that even the friend you have are really your friends. Sometimes you want to sit in your room cry over not knowing what to do, now that you've accomplished your grandmother's dream but not at all your own. She's crying for you even as we speak. She wants you to go home and get away from this place."

It was as plain as day these words shot straight through her defense. She floated their, shaking like a leaf from what others would perceive to be the cold. "How-?" As she began to ask her questions, he flipped through his cards and listened. As he stopped flipping, genuine surprise spread across his face as he tried to read into where she was going. He looked around as a man approached the two. "A fine trick for a beautiful lady," he cooed out, layering the words with clear passive aggression towards Damon. Damon finally took notice of the man and packed away his cards. "I'd say they provide the entertainment they need to, good sir." Damon picked himself up and straightened, putting his cards back into his pocket. "madam, I thank you for keeping me company. I wish you a good time on this cruise. You need it" And with that, he walked off, leaving the woman completely thrown off and nervous, like she was standing in that water transparent and anyone could read her like a book. She was beginning to climb out to follow the man but he didn't wait up. He quickly disappeared into the crowd leaving her with the strange man.