“Egads, man! What happened to your face? I’ve never seen such a malformed server in my life.” A thin reed of a nobleman said haughtily at Zach, all the while grabbing a drink from his tray and motioning for him to leave with a sweep of his hand.

Keeping his face calm, the Halfling let out a small bow and continued prowling through the ballroom. Zach didn’t give a fuck who the toffee-nosed prick was, all he wanted was to slice the self-important bastard’s own face into ribbons. If it wasn’t for the plan he’d bloody well do it too.

He tried to take a deep breath, practically choking on the thick cloying scent of perfume and cologne pervading the ballroom. Since Sykes had mutilated him, the nobleman's overt disgust was hardly the first time he’d gotten such a response, and at this point, he was finding it hard to keep a cool head about it. He could feel the scars beginning to itch as he felt his ire rising, though he gamely kept an admittedly thin smile plastered on his face.

All these so-called noblemen and noblewomen loved to prattle on, swirling across the marble floor with all the grace and decency of peacocks. Beautiful, no doubt, but just as brainless, Zach thought to himself, deftly stepping out of the way of one extraordinarily drunk man’s hapless gyrations. They were just a bunch of arseholes, thinking that they ruled the world because they had more gold than sense. It must be nice to be trapped in such a bubble, oblivious to the way the real world works.

The idea of any of these fops tangling with Sykes for a few rounds brought a genuine smile to his face for a moment, until the next noblewoman let out a frightful gasp as she peered upon his visage. Truly, they must lead blessed lives if a few scars were enough to frighten them so, the Halfling grumbled as he stalked his way across the dance floor, heading back to the kitchen to restock his drink tray.

Still, the surly rogue had to admit the ballroom itself was impressive. Sure, it wasn’t to his personal taste but he could appreciate opulence like this. The ballroom was huge, a sprawling open area that was tiled in polished marble. He’d already seen a toff or two nearly go arse over tit on it, the servants making sure it was so clean you could eat the overindulgent hors d'oeuvres off it.

The walls were draped with spotless white curtains, perfectly laundered and smelling like Queen Duscle flowers. Placed around the edge of the ballroom were tables and chairs, each one covered with cream fabric, each place immaculately set with the bloody stupid silver cutlery he’d spent most of his afternoon shining. Every table had a centerpiece made from more Queen Duscle flowers, each bloom the perfect pearly white.

Above them, was a massive circular glass dome with stained glass panels depicting colorful birds and flowers. The panels seemed almost too bright amongst all the white and cream. In the center of this dome was a large chandelier, elegant and decadent at the same time, every single crystal droplet glittering in the light. It was a far cry from the hovel that Zach had grown up in. He reckoned that it would be possible to house half the Slums into this place, not that Lord Casey would ever deign to let a single peasant near his finery.

Zach let out a growl and felt another flash of rage when one of the other servants nearly collided with him, the pinched-face Halfling servant trying to slip out of the kitchen right as Zach was about to enter. They’d all been given a long, extremely boring lecture by Jormir about ‘decorum’ and ‘professionalism’, and here was this wanker acting like an idiot.

Reaching out and tightly grasping the boy’s collar, Zach bodily tossed the fool back through the kitchen door. Thankfully, the squeak of surprise as the lad no doubt collapsed did plenty to soothe his annoyance. Still, if this damnable ball went on for much longer, he might stab someone, he thought to himself almost ruefully.

As if on cue, the master of ceremonies cut through the gathered noble’s chatter, and announced a new face to the waiting crowd. “Lady Armaria of the House Blackmaul.” Zach couldn’t help but chuckle as he turned to see a very sullen-looking Winifred glide into the ballroom. She looked downright miserable in the dress he’d nicked. It was a decent dress too, he’d had to lurk about in the Residential District for ages before he’d been able to purloin it.

Thankfully, her glum look lasted all of a moment before Winifred let out a charming smile, and began mingling. She looked like she belonged amongst the Richie-rich, her deep-blue silk dress flowing down her body, and her hair coiffed into a tight bun. If Zach didn’t know better, he’d certainly believe she was a proper lady, but as prettied up as she was, the Halfling preferred her bloodied look.

They’d gone all out on her accessories as well, and it showed in the gleaming jewelry Winifred was wearing. A well-placed garnet necklace to draw attention to her bodice, large shimmering diamond earrings, and a single ring of gold. Of course, none of it was real, but it looked the part, and if you couldn’t tell a real from a fake, what difference is there really?

Despite how miserable she'd looked, "Lady Amaria" was actually doing a decent job of looking like a snob. Sure of foot, and graceful to boot, there was still a sense of wrongness to the brunette as she walked amongst the nobles, stopping to greet a few she recognized. Perhaps it was the densely packed muscles barely covered by the dress, or the square nature of her shoulders, or, most likely, the way she genuinely threw back her head to laugh at some noble’s jest.

Offering his tray to the occasional noble, Zach made his way slowly over to Winifred, doing his best to avoid any attention on his journey. The plan would all go tits up if they were caught consorting too much but he needed to make sure she was going to play her part well enough to be convincing.

As soon as he approached her, Winifred grabbed a flute of champagne and downed it, barely able to hide her disgust at the flavor. “By the Gods Above and Below, that’s too sweet by half. I forgot how awful this shite was,” She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

“For God’s sake woman!” Zach hissed through his gritted-toothed smile. “You’re acting like a bloody troll! Walking in here looking like a bulldog chewing a wasp and then having all the table manners of an Orc. You’re meant to be a lady, so bloody well act the part. I know it’s all a bit above you but you could at least put in some effort. You did alright when you walked in apart from the face like a slapped arse.”

“And who pissed on your bonfire wee man?” Winifred asked with a sly grin. “It wouldn’t be Jormir by any chance?” She continued her face now a picture of innocence.

“We’ll talk about that later, don’t you bloody worry,” Zach replied with disgust. “In the meantime, try forgetting you’re, well, you and try to fit in with these rich pricks. Luckily for you, there’s no sign of the artifacts yet, nor the Count. Only a few of the true Lords arrived yet, just the usual popinjays.” Zach continued, the polite smile fixed on his face was beginning to hurt.

“The auction is still sealed at the moment, though. The other three of our companions are in position, so it’s just up to us to deliver. I’m keeping my end of this shitty bargain so you better too! Act like you’ve got a stick up your arse and you’re halfway there,” The Halfling joked grimly, resisting the urge to scowl at an older lady who’d nearly hit him whilst dancing.

“Aye and you’d know about that would ye? Wee man from The Slums, thrown a lot of fancy dinners? Inviting all the local riffraff for the event of the century?” Winifred mocked peevishly. She grabbed another flute from the tray but this time took great pains to sip it rather than down it. She even put out her little pinky finger in a very affected manner.

“Alright, alright. Don’t take the piss,” Zach replied. “I need to head back to the kitchen, come loiter by the door so we can plan.” The Halfling announced before promptly setting off, offloading the last of his drinks before sweeping into the back.

The kitchen was mostly empty at this point, all the various servers working hard for their meager pay. Making his way to the blasted sink, Zach took a moment to try and relax. As irritating as the nobles were, it wouldn’t do for him to let it show. He was calm, collected, and bloody well better than the lot of them.

Promptly ditching the tray covered in empty glasses, Zach swept up a plate of mini quiches. Tossing one of the admittedly tasty snacks into his mouth, the Halfling grinned ruefully, before heading back out towards the ballroom.

After all, a priceless artifact was worth a few disparaging compliments. Plus who knows, maybe he’d pay their mansions a visit one day, torch in hand.