Debut [Open]

[Anton]

M A N S E • M I C H A E L I S

Searing 82, 121 Age of Steel

The Michaelis family. House Michaelis as they still preferred to be called, was old - and their physical home was just as venerable. An immense estate in the city's West End, its most ancient stones predated the Sundering itself, the edifice a dour reminder of their longevity and power. For tonight however its flagstones had been scrubbed, its bushes trimmed, its windows lit, and its grand doors thrown open wide for the first time in nearly twenty years as tonight the family had an occasion not merely worth celebrating, but showing off.

Within his suite of rooms, the star attraction of the evening stood silently as he was dressed, the swirling forms of the attendants darting to and fro in his faux-vision with soft and steady drumbeats. Garbed in raiment of tight packed snow paired with a burnt forest floor - or as he was reliably told, a white shirt with black trousers - he was at last ready. The door quietly opened, Anton turning on his heel to behold the sounding horns and staccato rim beats that he recognized as his father. The two regarded each other silently for a moment, but the son recognized the quiet addition of a lone violin in his father as unspoken pride.

"It's time, then?" Anton asked, practicing eye contact for the last time before he would finally have to put it to the test.

"Just about, the first guests will arrive promptly," the general replied before stepping back out of the doorway, clearly expecting his eldest son to follow.

The pair exchanged no more words as they made their way to the manor's receiving hall, departing from one another as Anton took up his post at the front door. There would be no well wishes, no last encouragements, no advice, and no support. He had prepared for this day for years, and he would either fail or succeed. His father's form vanished, joining his mother at the back of the hall, ready to entertain their peers and subordinates assuming that their son was able to capably perform his own part of the evening. After so long secluded, the legions of doctors and the minor disgrace of requiring a Mystic, it was not enough for the young man to be merely seen by society. He had to prove he was worthy not just of his family name, but of Zaichaer itself. Standing in his home's foyer and greeting those who decided to attend his societal debut was merely the first such action he would have to take, and certainly one of the least important - but it was a necessary one nonetheless.

At precisely 7 o'clock in the evening, the first guests arrived just as the servants plated the last trays of food and the string quartet began to play. Almost universally members of the Defense Corps, they were comrades-in-arms, subordinates, and very rarely superiors of Anton's father. The military men would be the hardest test, barring any members of the Order who attended, and he was grateful that their military timeliness ensured that he was at least done with them swiftly. In truth, the challenge would barely register as such to most, his one task being to greet the uniformed men and their companions as they entered after which they would become his parents' problem. For him however it required constant attention, forcing himself to identify and meet their eyes through the swirling cascade of sensations that Semblance gave him in stead of sight, all the while well aware that they were watching him for any sign of weakness.

His hand already beginning to cramp from shaking each new officer and their adjunct and their wife and their adjunct's wife, and with the actions slowly becoming rote, his mind began to wander as anxiety and apprehension turned to boredom. Soon enough, he knew, those near his own age would arrive, and his task would turn from greeting an endless stream of senior officers to making up for lost time. Anton had perilously few connections among his own cohort of rising Zaichaeri citizens, having been hidden from the vast majority of them for his entire life. Internally, he was rather excited at the prospect, though he knew that even these would have to be held at a certain remove. Still, he could not help but let his senses wander in between guests, attempting to discern when the first such would arrive.

[Eitan Angevin]

"For the last fucking time, Albrecht," he said in the privacy of the hansom cab as it pulled into the old manor's drive, "this is just how it's done. You wanted to come to a real party, well, you're really not the sort of person who would be on their guest list. You're here as my subordinate and you can act like a valet or I'll just have the cab take you back to Verowa End and you can fuck yourself for the night. It's appropriate for me, who was invited, to greet Anton Michaelis. You will stay in my shadow. Speak if you're spoken to, and if you're spoken to, try not to speak too much. I don't know the Michaelis family well, so I can't gloss over things as I did with the Dornkirks. You wanted to come so I need you to do your part to make things run smoothly. Help. Me. Help. You." He clapped with each period to punctuate things.

The cab began to slow.

"If you think you can do that, follow me. If not, take the cab home." Then he smiled and all his exasperation melted away, or seemed to as his social mask came up. At the same time, he was calming himself. It wasn't that he didn't understand where Albrecht was coming from; it was that they were going to follow the rules of Zaichaeri society because they sure as hell weren't going to change them. "Ready?"

The door opened and he let himself out, not looking behind him. It was his job to keep an eye on the Lysanrin, both as a ranking officer on their airship and as the Watcher assigned to keep him from using his powers outside the sanctioned requirements of the State.

He fit right in with most of the arriving guests visible, wearing his dress uniform. His curls were slicked down, nothing unruly about him. He looked sharp. For him, it was important to look the part; it was a way to show respect to those around him and to show that he was also worthy of respect. There wasn't much of a line; things were moving at a brisk pace. All the same, he found himself idling for a couple of minutes making polite conversation with a friend of his father's, who then preceded him.

Then it was his turn and the argument in the cab was all but forgotten.

"Air Commander Eitan Angevin," said the person tasked with making introductions for the young debutant.

The man's smile was sincere as he made to shake hands, his white gloves pristine; they were a part of the full dress uniform, but not everyone wore them. The Angevins were old-fashioned, however.

"Thank you for the invitation, sir. And congratulations on your début."

[Florian]

"Fine. Fine! I will stay quiet. No disruptions, concise responses. If I'm even addressed at all." Florian's eyes burned black, but he had conceded. It was not an argument he could win, and he had to know when to back off. He had already prepared himself for a night of saying nothing and dodging dark looks. Some part of him could tell that Eitan spoke from a place of concern, or even care, but his methods were unabashedly harsh, but it was true that he'd wanted to come, and Eitan certainly had the option to deny his attendance entirely.

And yet, here he was, dressed and with his hair...somewhat tamed, though the waves and curls were not so easily contained as Eitan's. He stayed silent, like the shadow of a man that he had been commanded to be. Whatever argument he had left in him just hid in his eyes, even as he composed himself and followed Eitan out of the cab. Almost in a heel like a well trained dog, and with any luck, that would be the worst of impressions he made. It seemed if Eitan had anything to say about it, it would be the only impression he made. But the night was still young, and while Florian was not intent on embarrassing his superior, he wasn't going to allow himself to sit around and be stared at the entire night.

While he couldn't speak, however, he could watch. Many people, entirely human, as far as he could tell, had come to this debut. He had no concept of why someone would throw a party just to be seen in public, but he also knew he had no such concept of what the people in these circles considered important or not. What they deemed necessary never seemed to be something that he deemed necessary, but when one had their basic necessities covered and excess leisure time, they had to make up their own entertainment. Or so he assumed. He knew it was a privilege that he had come at all, but now that the event had come, he'd no idea why he'd wanted to experience it in the first place.

Florian had already drawn a few concerned, disdained glances, but he hoped that his uniform would speak enough for itself. In some cases — such as with Brenner — it seemed that the uniform was the last thing anyone noticed. His brow furrowed a bit at the memory of that meeting, but he rolled his shoulders and cooled himself. If he was lucky, his eyes would be their calm sky blue by the time anyone was close enough to notice. Not that anyone but Eitan would know their meaning, but he wanted to avoid his mercurial moods for as long as possible. The more inhuman qualities he showed, the more annoyed Eitan would be. As much as he felt it a fitting payback, he did not want to jeopardize anything to sate his spite. He could be spiteful somewhere else, where social status and the currency of names did not affect so many things.

[Anton]

Anton was genuinely happy to hear Eitan's name announced, the smile on his face as the man approached him in the receiving line for once not forced. The Angevins were after all of the same pedigree as the Michaelis, and though he was not certain if his father considered the Admiral a friend, the General had certainly never spoken ill of him in his son's presence. Which is more than could be said of others at the highest echelons of Zaichaeri society. Eitan was, he remembered, near his own age, though neither legitimate nor full-blooded. Still, if Admiral Angevin considered him worthy of being counted as his son, it would not do for Anton to second guess him.

The white gloved hands met in a firm grasp, the prospect of speaking with someone he could reasonably consider a peer revitalizing the young man. Eitan himself reminded him of Anton's own father, though with noticeably fewer brass and hints of woodwinds in the background. At once, he decided that at very least this was not a man he would grow to dislike.

"No sir, it is I who must thank you for attending. Please, do make yourself at home," he said, following his script with more vigor and sincerity than he had for the legions of senior officers before. It was done exactly as it should be, as society expected him to act. And then he turned his attention to Florian, and swiftly ruined that success.

Secluded as he was, the perennially ill debutante had never seen a Lysanrin during his boyhood, and exposing him to such had never been deemed a priority to his parents. With his aether-enhanced senses, he was able to distinguish - with some practice - between the races he had been in contact with, but that amounted to nothing more than humans and tori. And Florian was.... different. He did not sound like anything Anton had seen before, though he carried the same melancholic undercurrent that Siltori always seemed to have about them, but harsher, almost rebellious against the main theme of a martial march at a walk, coupled with the otherworldly tones he associated with mages yet somehow distorted. Deciding to err on the side of caution, he resolved to greet Eitan's follower with the same courtesy he would a Hytori.

Further complicating matters however was Eitan's refusal to introduce Florian, and Florian's own silence. A military adjunct would typically introduce themselves after all, and a Commander typically didn't rate so highly as to receive one. The notion of a valet he dismissed out of hand, servants would hold their own gatherings while their masters engaged with one another at the main house, which was after all how most of the drivers were currently occupying their time. Finally, he considered whether the figure standing besides Eitan was in fact his spouse. It was traditional for husbands to introduce their wives, but perhaps the Angevin expected him to kiss his companion's hand? Yet, Eitan was quite young, and as far as Anton was aware unwed. Deciding that the safest course of action was to assume that the unidentified figure next to him was not the Commander's wife, Anton resolved on the most cautious course of action he could take with his lack of information.

"But sir, it is impolite to not introduce a companion you deem important enough to bring into my father's house," he said cautiously, before inclining his head in recognition of Florian. Aware that the delay had caused the line to grow, and frankly embarrassed at his own inadequacies, he swiftly hurried the pair off inside of the mansion. "You shall have to rectify that after I have finished with my duties at the door," he said as he released the other man's hand, hoping that he had not made a complete fool of himself while turning to greet the next well wisher.

[Dreyfus]

♅ 82nd of Searing, Year 121, A.o.S ♅
Company: Thysbae and others| Thoughts: Im glad he is doing well| Mood: Calm

---

♅ The ride to the Michaelis chateau was a quiet one, Dreyfus sitting within the vehicle with eyes closed and even breathes. Parties truly weren't his thing, but this one was different. The Michaelis and Monteliyet were close in terms of alliances, both hailing from the Gelerium Imperium and being staples within the state. Dreyfus often remembered visiting the estate when he was younger, hearing of the state of their firstborn and sympathizing with him.

Both sustained afflictions of their births and it was something the Wolf felt connected the two together. Granted Dreyfus was eleven years Anton's senior, whenever he had the chance he would inquire as to the health of the young heir. Thysbae sat across from him, as the two went everywhere together. Along with them was Natasha, dressed in one of Helena's elegant gowns, fidgeting with it as it was not comfortable for her.

As he sat there he remembered what his aunt told him about Anton.

Remember, Anton "sees" by using semblance, so in order to keep you from giving him away, you'll have to ward against him. Dont worry, the Michaelis family and our own go way back, so they are aware of your unique condition as well.

Those words echoed in his mind as they entered the driveway. Placing a hand over his chest, he began to form the anchor, imbuing it with properties to block out invasive aether, to block out anyone trying to read his aura. He never encountered Semblance before, but he knew what it was capable of from his instruction within the order.

His eyes opened as he finished building his ward, looking across him to Thysbae, waiting for the vibration of the vehicle to come to a complete stop. "Remember Thysbae, as far as anyone is concerned, you are not Lysanrin, but Rathari. You are to stay by my side or Natasha's at all times while here. Understood?" he didn't wait for an answer as it was more a command than an inquiry.

He hated treating the young man like that, but it was imperative that the fewer others knew of his real racial origins the better. He exited the vehicle shortly after and was greeted by the doorman who ushered him and his guests inside. Dreyfus was dressed for the occasion as best he could. "Reconciliator Dreyfus Monteliyet!", the man in charge of introductions sounded, the mere mention of his name causing the atmosphere to shift, as many had not known he was coming.

It was a surprise he silently reveled in. Seeing their hidden dismay, feeling their creeping dread, it truly put a satisfied smirk on his face as he took in the sights. His eyes moved across the many faces that adorned the room. He could see many of the regulars of high society & military mingling among each other. He was the only representative of the order present, or at least that's what he thought.

He glanced to see Eitan speaking with the man of the hour, Anton. A feeling of relief fell over Dreyfus as he cut through the crowd, making his way toward them, and waiting patiently for Anton to be free to converse. This would be the first time in some years the two had actually spoken to one another, despite their families being close with one another. ♅

---

"Common Speech"
"Silandris Speech"
"Self-Thoughts"

[Thysbae]

Thysbae couldn’t have hoped for too much. It was already good fortune that he was allowed to attend this event. The half-breed, though, couldn’t stop the petulant expression that had marred his features. A prominent pout as he sat in the carriage, gaze on the floor of it. He didn’t have the history that Dreyfus did, surprise widening his eyes as he caught the familiar swirl of aether as the mage used his magic on himself. He glanced to Natasha to see her reaction, but garnered nothing that would explain the action.

He perked up as he was addressed, sat up straighter in his seat. The heel of his palms pressed into his thighs, shoulders squared as if he were being drilled by a sergeant. This had been explained to him before in the past, but he didn’t need much explanation for it then. It was obvious what sort of reaction a lysanrin would bring in this setting. It didn’t mean he had to be pleased about masquerading as a rathari. Some part of that felt worse to him, and he couldn’t quite understand the reason. Maybe because that seemed no better. But he nodded, regardless.

As the exited the carriage, Thysbae froze a moment. He hadn’t graced thigh society before, not like this, and it was all he could do to take in the manor they’d been taken to. It was perhaps around the same sphere of size as the Monteliyet Estate, though theirs was a home of extravagance that made itself abundantly clear. An excess that had to be projected to anyone who might think of seeing it.

Bae swallowed, shuffled forward after Natasha. It was probably best that he was last in their little procession. His gazse shifted downward, staring at the shining shoes and hems of dresses. He considered his own attire, dress pants shortened to accommodate his legs, a blouse that might as well have been silk for how soft it felt against his skin with a flared collar accentuated by a vest. Thankfully, there had also been alterations made for his tail. It would have been all too stifling if that was trapped behind fabric.

He clopped forward, lips pursed as he tentatively looked up to see the edges of scowls and frowns. Soft gasps filtering through chatter forced him closer to Natasha and Dreyfus. Though, familiar colors caught his eye as he walked, lips parting in a gasp of his own. He hadn’t expected that he would see someone he knew here, no matter how short their first meeting.

[Brenner Dornkirk]

Searing was a season of soirees, and Brenner Dornkirk had been conscious of raising his political profile since being flagged by The Grand Marshal's mother after she witnessed his actions on Glade the 8th. He didn't remember much of what had transpired in the midst of the massacre, when his blood was hot and his mind sharpened toward the task of stopping carnage and saving human lives. He had sharp, little shards of memory- Aetheric bursts below, kill shots he'd delivered with a rifle, the look on the old woman's face when he ushered her off the terrace. But it was mostly a blur.

The Air Commander glanced up from the fingers that had been fidgeting with the bottom button of his waistcoat, and regarded his brother, who sat across from him in the coach.

"This feels rather like a last hurrah..." He mused, pursing his lips. They were days away from embarking upon the greatest gambit of both of their lives and this evening represented a break from the intense preparations that were required to execute that endeavour. "I know you don't tend to enjoy these things, but try to let loose a bit tonight, Stefan. It'll be all rations and rotgut, ere long." That was a grave exaggeration of the provisions that were being prepared, but still- He hoped his older brother could contrive to enjoy himself.

It wasn't long before the coach slowed down and joined the line of vehicles drawing up to the front of the Manse Michaelis. Brenner pushed a curtain to one side and stuck his head out the window to see who was ahead of them in the queue. As they slowly pulled up to where the footmen and grooms were tending to their respective duties and helping guests out of their conveyances, Brenner saw Agent Dreyfus emerging. He sat back and let the curtain fall into place once more,

"Well. The booze should be good, at any rate." He noted, as they pulled up and the door to their coach was opened for them. Brenner stepped out and adjusted the sash draped across his jacket, and tugged everything straight before marching down toward the receiving line. He heard the herald announcing guests up ahead, and turned to face Stefan- fixing his ascot with deft hands, before stepping forward and nodding to the waiting herald.

"Lord Stefan and Air Commander Brenner of House Dornkirk!" He called forth in his resonant baritone, and Brenner headed down to the small group amassing around the pale young guest of honour.

"Excuse me, Agent Montilyet, and-..." He blinked, recognising the antlered creature at his side. "...plus one. Good evening to you both," He then shifted his sapphire gaze to Anton.

"Master Anton." He bent at the waist and offered a flourish of the arm as he bowed to the scion of Michaelis. "Allow me to extend my heartfelt congratulations, and my gratitude at having been invited." Lifting his head from the bow, he noticed Eitan had arrived ahead of him, as well, with Private Albrecht at his side. He arched an eyebrow at the unconventional plus-one, but it seemed he'd had the same notion as Dreyfus.

He parted his lips, but deferred to his recent diplomatic training and elected to withhold the comment he wanted to make about not having realised this was a pet-friendly party. Since he didn't know his host particularly well, he thought it best not to say something that might be received as an insult to the household. Perhaps they'd cleared this ahead of time and they were more liberally-minded than most Zaichaeri Old Guard with whom Brenner had treated.

Whatever the case, Brenner stepped aside, gesturing for Stefan to assume his place as the commander took a step closer to Eitan.

[Stefan Dornkirk]

The elder of the Dornkirk's watched his brother worry at his buttons, a sure sign that Brenner was either nervous or excited. The party, any party, was unlikely to be the cause of worry for the younger blond so Stefan had to assume it was nerves concerning their quickly approaching voyage.

"I will try." He said, lacking the usual terseness that made up his tone before large social gatherings, "Considering the nature of the event I doubt I will be the man all the socialites and their mothers are eyeing over and weighing for potential."

It was a relief, honestly, to have a man who was even more desirable on the marriage market being displayed without pretense, or, well, very little pretense. That, and the fact that his family was now in open talks again over his marriage to Delia Angevin made it likely he might even enjoy himself, as Brenner was constantly telling him he should.

When the carriage came to a stop he glanced over his brother for anything that had come unfastened or escaped its pomade in the journey but found nothing amiss. He knew if anything was wrong with his own appearance he would be told, so when nothing was said he followed the younger man out and entered the ancient estate. Glancing about he was impressed, and not at all against his will. The Dornkirks were for progress, naturally, but Stefan himself like the old architecture better. The money pits that were old manor houses were still lovely, even if they required fortunes in upkeep as great as their House's sons and daughters did to be offered in marriage.

He did not say anything to Lord Montilyet as they passed, nodding only even as he gave the man and his companion a decided looking over. Dreyfus never seemed to behave as was expected of him, even his oddities had oddities. He and Brenner had discussed the man occasionally, sharing stories of the times they had met him individually and could not, between them, make out any consistencies in his behavior, except that he always found a way to offend almost everyone he spoke to.

When it came to his turn to greet the newly minted adult and welcome him into society he also bowed. It wasn't nearly as flashy as the one Brenner had offered, but that was true of every aspect of the brothers.

"How do you do, Lord Anton?" His tone was that of one equal to another, which some might have considered a compliment due to the difference in their ages while others would have been offended at an upstart from a new family to speaking to the scion of an ancient one thus. Stefan was aware of these things, but thought that if more people had spoken to him like a person at his own coming out, instead of half as though he were still a child and the other half as if he were an object, he might have had an easier time adjusting to society.

"I hope you're having a good birthday, even for all of this." He made eye contact and truly meant it. Childhood birthdays for the wealthy or noble were rarely the fun they were supposed to be, more of a duty and not typically a pleasant one. It was unlikely their families would cause him to meet Anton often but he felt a sort of kinship with him for reasons he couldn't quite describe, maybe it was the resigned politeness that hid anxiety that showed on the boy, no man now. Stefan felt the same way almost all of the time he spent at parties like this. Perhaps it wasn't a similarity and Anton was only nervous about his debut. Time would tell, and in the meantime...

Stepping away so as not to take up more than his allotted moment with the host he followed his brother and was pleased to see that not only Eitan Angevin was already there but that he had brought his Lysanrin. Stefan was eager to continue his conversations with the young man, had even stopped really seeing the oddities of his physical form as his fascination with his powers had grown.

"Eitan," He said, reaching out to shake his friend's hand, then giving a brief polite bow to Florian, as he might to the wife of a man he worked with.

[Anton]

A veritable cavalcade of Zaichaer's rising stars followed in Eitan's wake, as if they had waited for the Angevin and his mysterious companion to arrive before finally lining themselves up to enter. The next to approach him after he had seen the pair off was an inky black void from which neither sight nor song escaped, a hole in the fabric of the world in the shape of a man, an utter lack of perception. In other words, Dreyfus. He had been warned about him after all. Michaelis and Monteliyet had danced the dance of power since before many of the nouveau riche's ancestors had left their farms, and an understanding had developed between them on Anton's particular condition. Which at very least avoided embarrassment due to Dreyfus' own cruel fate.

He reached uneasily for the man's outstretched hand, hoping that any observers would simply take his inability to actually identify it for nerves at shaking the hand of a Reconciliator. Eventually, they clasped, Anton managing a warm smile that was more relief than joy at having accomplished it. "Dreyfus, a pleasure to see you again." What was that axiom again, hiding in plain sight? Turning to face the man's entourage, he gave a respectful nod to the familiar form of his bodyguard - strings tuned too tightly arching upon their highest notes - and then paused to contemplate the third. Thybsae somehow managed to further complicate the issue he had faced with Florian earlier, mixed woodwinds and airy reeds clouding the picture of 'Lysanrin' that he had without knowing that it was so begun to construct in his head. Other airs stirred within him as well, but he ultimately decided to treat Dreyfus' unnamed companion in the same fashion he had greeted Eitan's.

"I am beginning to think I may be missing something fairly important. You shall have to explain, and introduce me, when I am through," he murmured, just as the Dornkirks were announced and Anton was forced to turn his attention towards the brothers.

The relative social stations of old and new money was always a thorny question, but even a family as old as the Michaelis was forced to grant a measure of respectability and even respect to the founder of the Windworks and his heirs. Brenner approached first, the younger of the two, a powerful man composed of snares and trumpets who reminded Anton of nothing so much than his own father - but far more severe. Returning the bow, though not as deep, he made sure to crane his head up to make eye contact with the man. "Nonsense, Air Commander. I have done nothing particularly worthy of congratulations, nor should you view your entry here as exceptional. Our door is always open for you and yours." The pair turned apart from one another shortly after, Brenner noticing the same oddities that had so beguiled Anton, while the younger man greeted Stefan.

In stark contrast to his brother, the older Dornkirk was a chorus of woodwinds and chimes complementing a lone trumpet. Meeting the far more subdued bow, he decided to take the gesture of friendliness on face value, the mask of politeness effortlessly fading into a far more natural smile. "The day is going rather well, Lord Stefan. And not just because you appear to be the last in the receiving line." There would, of course, be more attendants arriving late - but at least he could finally get away from the foyer and perhaps even enjoy the party nominally being thrown for him. "As I was telling your brother, the Dornkirks are always welcome here. We do not forget those who ensure the safety of the State from its enemies," he said in a soft voice before they too took each other's leave.

With the receiving line finally emptied, he immediately gestured one of the butlers to bring refreshments, only turning to regard his guests again after he had a glass in his hand. Perhaps putting a damper on the celebrations however he was drinking water instead of wine, Anton not quite ready to test his constitution with alcohol, and certainly not in so public a place.

"So," he said, walking back to the growing circle of... not entirely youthful, but at least younger than forty, Zaechari well-to-do. "I believe I requested introductions."

[Eitan Angevin]

"Of course," he had said, acknowledging Anton's request and admonition. "My apologies."

He flashed a bright smile, and then proceeded into the party with Albrecht trailing behind him. His charge was treated to quite the display of social skills as he shook hands, kissed knuckles, and seemed to know everyone by name as well as thoughtful details about them, their work, and their families. When one came into the world an embarrassment, one learned to compensate for it.

After only a little while, he found a server with a silver tray and thanked him kindly for the flute of sparkling wine.

"Have some champagne, Albrecht," he said. As they were alone for a moment, he added, "It's a vintage you might enjoy. Tastes like stars on the tongue. Small sips, mind. When it gets too warm and the taste dulls, just hold onto it for a while and then swap it out when you see a likely new tray. Keeps them from catching up on you too quickly."

And then he heard a familiar voice calling his name. He turned and smiled. Albrecht might wonder if his social mask was up for the Dornkirks, but he would either have to ask or learn from contextual clues the more time he spent with them. At least, he had already seen Angevin in less formal settings with them, but he and Brenner had used to share birthday parties, and their fathers had been collaborating for decades now. The Admiral had always said that they ought to be proud of their blue blood, but that it meant nothing without a fiercer pride in the State. Hail Zaichaer, not hail Angevin. Those days were past, though they could continue their glory by adding to that of the High City.

"Stef!" he said cheerfully, shaking his hand and bringing him in for a light hug—nothing too boisterous, but quite enough to show any onlookers that whatever they might have heard, the Angevins and Dornkirks were still on the best of terms. "Two parties in on season? Are you feeling all right?" But he grinned. "Delia will be along later from what I understand.

"And Brynn..." He saluted. "Captain, my Captain!" Then he shook his hand heartily as well. While he might yet be a Commander, he would at least be captain pro tempore when their expedition was underway. He didn't mention that directly, but he did say, "This feels almost like a prelude to our own début, don't you think?"

His smile didn't fade at Stefan's treatment of Albrecht. If anything, he was glad there were familiar faces for the Lysanrin as well as for himself. The little spitfire might actually enjoy himself. It was a party, after all.

Before their greetings could get too far into the light fare of conversation that occurred this early in a party, the Anton Michaelis himself approached.

"Ah, the man of the hour." He raised his glass, though it wasn't a proper toast. Those would, perforce, come later.

"This is Private Albrecht of the Noble Gambit," he said. "I must have misspelled something on the RSVP or he would have been properly introduced to you. These parties aren't really his thing, but I was afforded a plus-one and I thought his good performance in the line of duty deserved a bit of music and champagne."

His smile turned to include Albrecht, though it was a smile that also said don't you fucking dare embarrass me or I will literally turn you over my knee and spank you later. Well, that part wouldn't be obvious, but he was definitely thinking it.