Kullen carefully glanced about the magnificently decorated ballroom. To call it opulent would be an understatement. Nearly every surface - including the people - was positively coated with wealth. The carpets adoring the floors were a bright but dignified red, woven with such care and poise that they were more akin to silk than the tougher fabrics they most likely made of. The red of the carpets was a sharp contrast to the white painted walls, each of them covered with exquisite tapestries from all over the continent. Portraits of noble ancestors rested next to lifelike renditionings of orc hordes breaking against an elven shield wall. People and servants swirled about the room, themselves covered in more jewelry and expensive fabrics than he had ever seen in his entire life up this point. Many of them milled about, in a dignified sort of way, every participant of this entire exorbitant display of wealth eager to make the rounds and socialize. To make connections they could use to further their already quite clearly vast wealth and power.

Kullen ofcourse, was not here to socialize. Or rather, that was not the primary goal of his appearance at this exclusive if not necessarily secret gathering of the rich and powerful. He was a short man, although by halfling standards he was in fact quite tall. It had taken his parties combined funds from their last two adventurers in order to obtain not only an invitation to this event, but appropriate finery to mask the fact that he clearly did not belong.

But it would all be worth it, if Kullen could just complete his part of the job, they could all retire for a while. Desna only knows how they needed the break. There last adventure into the faewild had not been kind to them.

Kullen double checked his posture. Mentally relaxing so that tension wouldn’t cause him to show his real thoughts and feeling via body language. As a Bard, he firmly believed that all the world was a stage, and that as an actor, it was his duty to ensure that every aspect of his body bent to the success of his performance. His breathing needed to be steady, but slightly elevated to convey excitement. He had to lean slightly forward, just enough to convey a constant interest in whoever he was facing, but not enough to imply over eagerness, or worse, a need to hide certain physical reactions. His gait had to be swift, and sure. As close to a straight unwavering line as possible on his trek through the ballroom to his target. These things, and a million more small adjustments came over Kullen, even has he examined his fellow party goers for those same tells.

People often assumed that duplicity was a result of language. While certainly lies and half truths had their place in the game, few people were ever so self aware as to manage anything but the barest control over the signals their body sent others. The woman he was approaching, The Duchess of Amarind, was in a word, stunning. She had long black hair that flowed down to the middle of her back in smooth glossy ringlets that no doubt took a bevy of servants hours each day to maintain. To match it, she wore a tight fitting black dress that drew the eye in and held it there, it's dark expanse like a glimpse into a vast abyss. When one finally finished appreciating the workmanship though, a few other things became obvious. The dress, which was of a modest cut that completely covered the Duchess’ torso and ended in a sort of turtle neck was cut to emphasize her positively wondrous figure. Her breasts were full and pushed up even more so by the dress. Her hips, wide enough to qualify her as having an hourglass figure, were wrapped so snugly that Kullen marveled that the woman could even move without exploding out of the garment. A scenario he allowed himself a moment to savour imagining.

She laughed coyly at a young noble as Kullen approached, her back arched in a way that invited his poorly hidden ogling, while also leaning away from him, an indication that she enjoyed being admired but found his actually company tedious at best.

Kullen had to give her credit though - the tall woman had at least some schooling in the social graces, and he noted her occasional shifts to avoid showing too much dismissive body language well practiced, if still amateurish.

“Your Grace.” he said, his tone cordial even as he unceremoniously inserted himself into her conversation, interrupting the other man present.

Kullen smoothly slid across the rest of the intervening distance between them. He had spoken while just slightly too far away to hold a polite conversation. Under normal circumstances this was not uncommon. Among high society though, where many of the elite valued the illusion of privacy and intimacy while conversing it forced the two surprised socialites stop talking, and wait for his two step approach. It effectively forestalled any retort to his interruption, and gave Kullen control of what followed.

“Quite the outstanding display Duchess.” he said as he finally came to a stop, an expensive crystal glass of wine in one hand and his body angled so that the other man present was outside his field of view. He wasn’t worried about being attacked in this setting, and knew that the dismissal, and disdain, would be obvious even to someone with less training than he.

“It is important to maintain cordial relations with allies, both new and old Sir…?” she trailed off, clearly expecting him to fill in the blank. As she did so she turned away from the fop gently sputtering muffled cries of outrage at him. Her bosom, large as it was, seemed to move a hair ahead of the rest of her. An uncomfortable maneuver to be sure though a clever way to draw attention to them.

He was touched that she would go to the effort.

Unfortunately for the Duchess, Kullen was drastically better at the game than her. Yes she was pretty, more so than most mortal women, but she was also accustomed to attention in this respect. While many would say that hungering after her was demeaning in a way, they would be quite wrong. This woman used her sexuality like a lure, anyone who fell prey to her wiles would immediately relegate themselves to a position well beneath her - ironically guaranteeing that looking was all they ever did.

Kullen obliged the Duchess’ play by allowing his gaze to flick down her body once before returning to her face to lock eyes with her. The he smirked, doing his best to convey that he had seen better. It wasn’t really true, but he tried to channel his hopes for the future into the gesture.

“Kullen your Grace, just Kullen.” Kullen said, his tone just a bit more salacious than was appropriate, but still well below what could be considered an open invitation.

Her eyebrows rose a fraction of an inch, a gesture of surprise that she quickly schooled.

“Yes, I was just discussing something to that effect with Sir Eledmar.” she finally said, her full lips twisting into a pasted on smile that spoke of forced politeness. Kullen however, knew better. He read the signs, the slight increase in breathing, the forward leaning posture. To Kullen, the half turn she made so that her breasts stood out more clearly on her frame may as well have been tear filled begging.

Kullen finally chose to glance at this Sir Eledmar and had to stifle a laugh. Despite the Duchess having referred to him directly by name, the poor fool had been completely distracted by her heightened attempts to get a rise from Kullen. The result was, despite both of them looking at him, Sir Eledmar stood blankly as he stared the the Duchess’ rear end.

The Duchess was unimpressed, and a soft click of her tongue against her teeth finally drew the attention of the distracted nobleman.

“I- If you will excuse me my lady, I believe I have a prior engagement.” He said taking one look at the situation and what he’d been caught doing - then quickly excusing himself, practically fleeing back into the crowd. Kullen allowed one mocking eyebrow to rise, as though to say ‘this is who you keep company with?’ but otherwise said nothing, content to allow the Duchess to speak first.

“I do not believe I have had the pleasure of meeting you before Sir Kullen.” The Duchess forged ahead, happy to allow Sir Eledmars mistake to pass uncommented on as she dealt with her unwanted guest.

“I should hope not your Grace.” Kullen quipped pleasantly, taking a sip of his wine and glancing about the room in lieu of appreciating the Duchess prominently displayed assets.

“Oh? Why might that be? And please - it’s Sarissa.” she said, her head tilting slightly to the side and a lock of raven dark hair falling down to frame her face.

“Because if an unwed woman such as yourself had met me and forgotten, I would be highly offended.” Kullen noted in a matter of fact tone.

Kullen knew this much wasn’t enough to do anything but catch Sarissa’s notice. But for someone as accustomed to this song and dance as Kullen - who like any good Bard slept himself into and out of more situations than he ever fought his way through - being noticed was more than enough.

Sarissa slid forward on one heeled foot, placing herself just slightly closer to him than was strictly polite, and forcing him to look past her breasts in order to make eye contact with her - halfling that he was. Little did she know that he was angling to steal just a bit more than a kiss from her tonight.

Oh yes, the game, as a certain famous man once said, was afoot.

Alan wasn’t one to brag, but he always that any game session where there was no combat was an achievement unto itself. It wasn’t that he disliked combat in his adventures. Monsters & Mayhem was a game of high fantasy and adventure, where fighting was more common than anything else. It was simply that, he so rarely got to use his natural talents in such a benign way.

“Good game guys, see you next week same time.” said Alan as he rose from the booth table his local comic book shop had built so people could hang out and play games in the store. It was an amazing business decision really. Need miniatures? Just get up and buy some. Lost your dice? Grab some on the way in. The only downside was how perfectly small that seats had to be in order to fit into the otherwise cluttered warehouse come hobby shop. It was a trial just to avoid bumping into the person in the neighboring seat as he stood up.

Alan rose and slowly shuffled his character sheet, laptop, and other assorted knick knacks and snacks into his ugly orange backpack. This was a common stalling tactic for Alan. It was one of more than a few such tics that lead the people around him to assume that Alan was an extremely awkward, highly anxious person, who had to check and double check every action. He wasn’t - anxious that is - but he found the alternative unpleasant enough to cultivate the image regardless.

“Well, once more the Bard has managed to seduce our game master. Take it easy on her man, she’ll have a heart attack one of these days.” said Jacob, the parties fighter, in a somewhat annoyed tone that said much more than he probably intended. Alan didn’t bother to look up and across the table at him, but had been at this table with him long enough to know that his posture would be drawn in, and his arms would be carefully crossed on the table in front of him. Jacob was, in a word, a power gamer. He held very little love for the roleplaying aspect of their tabletop game, instead preferring to perfect and tune the numerical values of his character. In truth, Jacob was not a great fit for their group - which spent a large portion of its time chatting to each other in character - but he was tolerable enough unless one of his buttons was pushed.

“Well you know what they say about bards.” said one of those buttons. Leah, their game master or storyteller depending on what game they were playing was a topic of some import in their little group. Alan had met her when responding to an online line posting on the shops website, while looking for a game to join in the area. At the time he had assumed the posting by a user named GreatCaligula was just another group missing a player. He had been very, very wrong.

Leah was, in a word, gorgeous. She rarely wore makeup, or particularly fancy clothing - usually opting for some combination of a long pleated skirt and a knit sweater that covered her almost entirely, but it didn’t take x-ray vision to see how her breasts pushed the sweater up and out, or to notice when she brushed against you during a game while trying to reach across the table for something. A short woman of french descent, today she was wearing her dark hair back in a ponytail tied back by a blue scrunchy, and almost every eye in the building turned towards her when she rose from her seat.

If Alan had known how fixated on her the locals were he might have considered choosing a different game to join. But he found he enjoyed the game enough that it was a tolerable issue. The only problem was…

“That they’re the worst class in the game?” sniped Jacob, his ire only slightly tempered by the joking tone of his crush.

“He’s saved your life more than a few times.” she pointed out, and Alan couldn’t help but note out the corner of his eye that - as always - her body language might as well have been a giant arrow pointing straight at him for anyone who cared to pay attention.

And Alan, unfortunately, was always paying attention. Not to Leah specifically, though he wasn’t averse to looking at her when he could get away with it. But to people. Their body language, their micro expression, their tics and tendencies. It wasn’t a skill he had every really worked to acquire. It was just something he had always been able to do. An innate understanding of other people that had been somewhat difficult for him to come to terms with growing up.

Which was why, despite the fact that he knew Leah held at least some affection for him, he maintained a careful distance between them. It wasn’t that he didn’t like her, or that he didn’t occasionally fantasize about her. But his talent for reading people went both ways. Most people emoted their true thoughts even if they didn’t speak them. Alan did not. Alans every gesture, every bad habit, every outward facing action, was carefully planned to achieve the message and effect that he wanted. Lying came as easily to him as breathing. If anything, the skills he frequently attributed solely to his character Kullen were drastically understated compared to his actual capabilities.

And he really wasn’t interested in a relationship based on a mask. It never worked out when the walls came down, and he had long since resolved to try and let his guard down enough to be his true self around anyone he eventually intended to date. And the chances of him dating someone that would earn him the enmity of everybody in his social group were essentially nil.

“Yeah with a spell a cleric could cast, that he could only use half as often!” snorted Jacob.

“Jakey Jake, your missing the point man.” Whined the last member of their group. Dan was tall, and just a bit older than the rest of them. Three inches taller than Alan at 6’1, and nearly thirty years old, Dan was one of the few people Alan knew that he didn’t feel guilty doing a read on. It was because he was just so damn honest. Dan was one of the extremely small number of people Alan had ever met whos body language always matched up perfectly with what he was actually saying. Honest to a fault, Dan was the peacemaker of their group, often negotiating the sometimes tenuous friendship been Alan and Jacob. He loomed out of his own seat, all lean muscle poise, and shot a wink Alans way.

“Bards suck man. It’s a fact. Read the forums sometime would yah?” Jacob griped, his volume dropping slightly as he was cowed by their much larger friend. Alan had no idea what Dan did for a living, but he was pretty sure it had something to do with weight lifting. There just wasn’t any other way for someone to get that patented superman posture and bearing.

“Jay come on. Roleplay someone elses character? What’s next, watch porn instead of getting your own girlfriend? It ain’t the same bro.” Alan most certainly did not allow himself to snort at Dan’s statement - but he wanted to.

“Dan! Don’t be shitty!” complained Leah, perching on the back of the seat directly across from Alan so that Jacob could slide past her. She pouted cutely as she spoke, deftly rotating as Jacob passed so that their bodies never made any contact during the transition.

“Oh come on don’t you start! You think I haven’t noticed that all those npcs Al keeps seducing are starting to look like -” Dan chortled, pointing an accusatory finger across the table at Leah.

“Dan.” Leah said, the single word speaking volumes and stopping Dan mid sentence. They stared across the table at each other for a second, communicating something Alan would have probably been able to decipher if he had been looking. But he wasn’t. Even his current casual analysis of their movements was a product of his peripheral vision, with familiarity filling in the gaps.

Alan felt this was a good moment to make his exit, so he finished packing his things, slung his backpack over on shoulder, and slid out of the booth.

“Later guys.” He waved to them.

“What? Naw man, come on it’s friday and I know you don’t have work tomorrow. Come hit a bar with me - you need to get fucking laid.” Dan’s was voice was hopeful, and he darted a glance to Leah as he spoke, no doubt noticing the troubled expression that come over her when he had finished. Alan thought about it for a moment. As a pick up artist, he wasn’t without some level of skill - and he had virtually no compunction against using his talents on people he didn’t actually know. On the other hand, he really was tired. He’d had to work that morning before rushing to class, and then take the subway to the shop immediately afterward for the game.

“Maybe next time bro. I’m actually getting kind of a headache and just wanna go home.” Alan said truthfully. A look of relief came over Leah’s face, and Jacob rolled his eyes - not believing that Alan had, as he would describe it, ‘game’.

With a wave and a final glance across the shop, Alan left - trudging out into the Toronto streets to make his way back home.