neveradamsel | (no subject)

It was a room full of painted faces; crowd deafening in their carnival laughter and sickening debauchery. The wine flowed freely; thick satins and heavy velvets brushed against her as she pushed her way through the crowd, apprehension tight in her belly.

He was here.

There was a glimpse of blue that made her stomach catch in her throat, but further inspection yielded only the innocent hues of someone’s heavily brocaded jacket.

Her partner appeared out of nowhere, the hand on her arm a small comfort in a crowd filled with unrecognizable porcelain masks.

What a horrible idea, she thought sourly, glaring through the crowd, to have a masquerade for the mayors birthday party.

“Easy, Roxanne.” His voice was soft in her ear and his hand ghosted across her waist to protectively pull her in close. Even now, after months of training him, teaching him to be human and how to fight like one, he still felt an innate need to protect her, keep her safe.

The night was young – anything could, and would happen.

“He’s here. I can sense him.” She nodded almost imperceptibly, the feathers of her mask tickling his cheek.

“It’s too quiet.” She murmured stiffly, allowing herself to be turned in his arms, fingertips trailing across his coat. A gloved palm settled at the small of her back as he led her into a dance.

Blending in, she’d taught him, was crucial. If their enemy was here, and Roxanne was certain he was, then it was imperative that they not stick out. Their real identity was still a secret, and if their cover was blown…

Well. Optimus was almost certain that dancing was worse.

“Yes.” He agreed, wrapping his fingers around hers. “But it won’t be for long.” She shook her head, the scent of lavender wafting through the air.

“No. Not with the ambassador here. Relations are already tense. Why would they send a high ranking official to Metro City? It doesn’t make sense.”