[As predicted, the post-opera gala keeps Dimitri busy; the Adrestian prime minister has a particular gift for the orchestration — pun intended — of such affairs, and the real genius of it lies in the way he crafts them to seem egalitarian to minor nobles and wealthy patrons, while still maintaining exclusivity for the truly royal and well-off. It's a spectacle with choreography nearly as good as the opera's itself, carefully arranged to allow titled guests to keep their personal guards close at hand without attracting undue attention from others, retaining military security while providing the appearance of liberty.
What it means in practice, of course, is that Dimitri never sees the vast majority of the guests attending the gala, save from a concealed balcony here or the one-way glass of an antechamber there. His companions are the Emperor and her spymaster, his own entourage, a handful of Adrestian political leaders, and of course, the head of the opera serving as host alongside the prime minister himself. Felix hates it, of course, and claims it's because it makes security difficult, but really Dimitri knows he just loathes the pomp and circumstance.
And he does too, really.
As the night wears on, he finds himself thinking again and again about Yuri's invitation from the dressing room before — and catches himself occupying the vantage points that overlook the more common crowds more and more, hoping to spot a glimpse of the elusive tenor.
Finally, he sees him — and ah, that must be the enigmatic fiancé there at his side. It's hard to say what it is, but there's something about the man that Dimitri finds immediately disagreeable; perhaps he's too loud or too crass or perhaps he's just looking for reasons to dislike the man, yes, all right, it's likely just that.
Well.
Drink in hand, he conceals himself near the edge of the balcony that overlooks the main ballroom, hidden neatly behind the shadows of draperies, and watches from above as Yuri and his intended mill about down below. Adrestian reds are almost too rich a hue against Yuri's delicate coloring, Dimitri thinks a little pettily. Something softer would surely suit him better.]
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What it means in practice, of course, is that Dimitri never sees the vast majority of the guests attending the gala, save from a concealed balcony here or the one-way glass of an antechamber there. His companions are the Emperor and her spymaster, his own entourage, a handful of Adrestian political leaders, and of course, the head of the opera serving as host alongside the prime minister himself. Felix hates it, of course, and claims it's because it makes security difficult, but really Dimitri knows he just loathes the pomp and circumstance.
And he does too, really.
As the night wears on, he finds himself thinking again and again about Yuri's invitation from the dressing room before — and catches himself occupying the vantage points that overlook the more common crowds more and more, hoping to spot a glimpse of the elusive tenor.
Finally, he sees him — and ah, that must be the enigmatic fiancé there at his side. It's hard to say what it is, but there's something about the man that Dimitri finds immediately disagreeable; perhaps he's too loud or too crass or perhaps he's just looking for reasons to dislike the man, yes, all right, it's likely just that.
Well.
Drink in hand, he conceals himself near the edge of the balcony that overlooks the main ballroom, hidden neatly behind the shadows of draperies, and watches from above as Yuri and his intended mill about down below. Adrestian reds are almost too rich a hue against Yuri's delicate coloring, Dimitri thinks a little pettily. Something softer would surely suit him better.]