It's very easy to be satisfied. Often people mistake satisfaction for happiness, and wind up living their lives wondering why they aren't overjoyed. It takes one little thing to be satisfied - like looking good or getting attention. In the world of Lord Leonardo Bianchieri, he had both: and so satisfaction and happiness really were the same.

Elegant shoes and rich colours. Fitted doublets and decorated masks. Dashing smiles and elegant dances. Bright tapestries and fake attraction. Mellow servants and shiny floors. Gentle music and secret glances. Flashy dresses and hidden loathing. Loud laughter and unraveling dreams... This was undoubtedly a ball.

And Lord Leonardo Bianchieri knew exactly how to act at balls.

Why, he'd already gotten close to that Lady Florence. She was a nice enough girl, and didn't seem half as disagreeable as most of the belles here. She'd known his name, too, that was a bonus - so he liked her well enough, but not enough to swear everlasting loyalty. And that was the reason that he was searching for someone else.

He parted the crowd easily, casting a few hooks of smiles into the sea of courtiers and leaving them until later when he could reel them in. He paused to take a glass of wine, swilling its contents. Everyone knew Marcheford wine was the best around, but that was really the only reason Leo would ever set foot in the place. Alcohol was brilliant, but you needed a hell of a lot to find those Marcheford girls pretty.

"Good day, M'Lady," he said to a woman nearby. He could strike up a conversation with anyone here. "I do hope you're enjoying the Ball?" Plain and simple, conversation starter, interested, asking about them. Leo was visibly relaxed, in his element, and with a little smile on his lips he waited for the Lady to respond.

Antoinette leaned back against the wall, feeling the cool stone press agianst the base of her neck. Letting her head fall to one side, Antoinette surveyed the ball around her. The movement had caused a little cascade of blonde curls over one creamy shoulder. Antoinette let them lie against the ivory skin: she had naught to fix them for. For let us be honest: this was something of a dissapointment. It was not a wretched ball: for she had a glistening gown, and wonderful diamonds: but it could have been ever so much more.
Antoinette was a Soleilian, through and through. And all knew, the world knew, that Soleil is the center of all culture. Of all elegance, of all poise, of all beauty. And in the center of the very court of Soleil: Antoinette had flourished. Her blonde hair and blue eyes had brought her the attentions of many men: some handsome, other not. Antoinette had sharped her skill of flirtation and seduction upon some of the highest men in the land. She was sharp, she was poised, she was blooming.
And yet-here she was. In Adesia. A a Masked Ball-a good one, at that-but nothing on Soleil. There were no cascading piles of sweets. There was no showers of champagne or wine. There were not even more then a handful of handsome men.
Antoinette closed her eyes briefly, trying to will some interest into the evening. Suddenly, something interupted.
Antoinette opened the azul eyes to see a man, quite close to her. A quick glance assured he was handsome enough. Enough.
"I have enjoyed others more." Antoinette said, her smile clearly tinged with irony. "I am afraid my expectations have been somewhat.." Her clear tones faded slightly. "Let down." Her gaze met his, a certain amount of sarcasm in the depths. "And you, m'lord? Have you enjoyed this evening? Have you found any ladies to, ah, ravish?"

A disappointment? This, the finest ball in Adesia, overflowing with drink and dress and desire - a disappointment? The King himself was here, the loveliest ladies in the land, the finest wine and the richest men. How could it be a disappointment? She obviously hadn't met Leo yet. If the world turned into one of disappointments, he would cease to exist.

His dark eyes flickered over her hair, the line of her neck and the angle at which she held her chin, but he couldn't place her. How couldn't he? Any gorgeous girl was well in his radar - he knew all of them. Who was this Lady with the blue eyes and the gold hair? He was sure he'd never seen her. But then who would reside in dreary, pious Harleston when there was Pemberton to be in? If he could choose any other Duchy to be stationed in it would be Pemberton. But to leave Harleston now would be to relinquish his title and his reputation... and Leo wouldn't do that for the world.

He was hardly simply dressed. Some men may boast about being 'manly' and wearing 'distinguished' clothes for their male character - but standing next to Leo they looked indecent. A richly embroidered doublet and matching mask made up his ensemble, and with his normal fitted smile he was more dashing than most men in the hall.

"Let down, really? How so? Is it a lack of intelligent men that has caused you heartache - or merely the lack of drink to wash the mediocre ones down?" But then he was speaking from personal experience. For women, of course. The only way he could see a man in love with another man was if both men were him. Then it was impossible not to.

His eyebrow tweaked at her words. "My my my. 'Ravish', my dear? It seems you are one of those who like the dessert before the first course is quite through. But yes, of course there are. Many, in fact. But few so stunning as you." He bowed with a flourish of his hands, and as he straightened he spoke his name with typical Bianchieri pride. "Lord Leonardo Bianchieri at your service, m'Lady. And may I ask whether beauty itself has a name?"

[OOC: Oh.My.Gosh. I'm so sorry I've made you wait so long!]

((OOC: No worries! I am taking forever too...my muse is on vaycay. XD))

Antoinette dipped a small, requisite curtsy. Her eyes remained fixed on his, however, although the slender body dipped up and down in the movement. Her gaze was not ironic, persay....there was something of a challenge in its depths. A little smolder mixed in with the glittering blue. As she came up from the dip, Antoinette tossed her head slightly, setting the blonde curls to shifting in the candlelight: the golden tints within them gleaned.
She was feeling restless. Adesia had its moments of beauty, even of wonder-but still, Antoinette had been, by and large, slightly bored with the proceedings thus far. She had met several interesting fellows and dames- the Duke, and Lady Helen among them. Still, as the days had faded into charcoal evenings, she had felt this feeling grow. A constant beat in her breats, contrary to that of her heart: it seemed to set her body out of tempo. She began to feel cooped up, penned in. A horse in a corral that is too small; a bird within a cage to tight to let it stretch its wings.
Antoinette did not cope well with feelings such as these. If left alone, they built up in a sort of whirlign frustration that most often ended in a flurry of broken china, or a string of curses that no young lady should have in her vocabulary.
It was in her tonight, this restless beat. And so, as she gazed upon Lord Leonardo, Antoinette did not look with the eye of caution. She gazed instead with the appreciative eye of a woman who knows her charm, faced with a handsome face.
"Beauty does, my lord." She murmured, a smile darting coyly across her face. "Lady Antoinette Rouge of Pemberton." Her gaze lingered upon his own. "As for dessert....well, its more then that. Its a way of living, dear sir. Why dwell upon the dreary courses, when one can skip right to the climax?" As a servant passed, Antoinette reached out a slender hand to snag a glass of sparkling champagne. "To the climax of the ball." She said, toasting it gently to Lord Leonardo.
She knew she was in dangerous waters. She did not know this man, nor his past. Yet here she was, dealing out seductive words as though they were cakes.
Let it be so. For it was a masquerade ball......there is no telling what is to come.

She was pretty from what he could see, but then he couldn't see all of her so he couldn't be sure. She could be hiding some disfigurement beneath beauty, trying, for once in her life, to be attractive and alluring. But it really didn't work that way for Leo. If he couldn't see the outside, he couldn't see the inside - not properly, anyway. It was hazed by curiosity and doubt in such a way that made him annoyed.

"Pemberton..." he repeated musingly, thinking it over. It really was the best Duchy, but women from there tended to be overly showy or seductive. They threw away their chastity as a whore would, and while Leo was quite willing to tug it away from them he didn't want it thrown at him. Challenges and chances were everything.

His eyes narrowed somewhat. Not enough to be wholly noticeable, but a little response to her talk. "Because if there was no drear we'd never realise the climaxes when they came along. Why, my dear, if the world was nothing but climaxes -" very possible, if she was around him "- we'd have nothing to look forward to. Skipping forward only suspends eagerness."

But still he raised his glass too, with a little murmur of: "and may there be many more with you, Lady Antoinette." His words sliced through her light teasing, crushing it with darker and more meaningful offenses. But he cleared his throat softly and reverted back to light-heartedness so that one could watch out for his climaxes and see the full measure of his capabilities.

After a tiny sip of his wine he set it on the table and proceeded to bow again with a little smirk bringing his features back to how they should be. "Care to dance, m'Lady?" he asked as his lips danced across her knuckles, imprinting a memory for her to cherish even if she preferred another. She couldn't forget him, not any part of him - she wouldn't. And if she did... he tried not to let a scowl drown out his elation.

Masquerade ball? What did masquerade have to do with anything? They knew each others names, had a fair measure of each other's attitudes, and although part of her face was hidden he could see most of her. He would remember her step and the set of her shoulders - really, faces were hard to distinguish. Just because there was a mask didn't mean he wouldn't be able to tell her from the crowd.

Antoinette sipped once more from the glass before setting it down again. Alcohol was a potent drink: she had seen more Courtiers then she could count fall to their knees at its blade. It cut down years of reputation in a single fell, and could a marriage in less time then it took the Priest to marry them in the first place. And so Antoine was always wary of its open arms. She never fled into its embrace, no matter how sweetly it called out to her.
Antoinette found herself transporting this philosophy onto the man. He was handsome: strong shoulders, sparkling eyes, a sensual mouth. That wasn't the problem. The problem was that he knew he was handsome. He knew he could twitch his fingers, and women woudl flock towards him like sheep to a shepard.
No one flicked their fingers at Antoinette.
Instead, she regarded him carefully, curiously. He was witty, for he had bounced her remark back at her with the ease of a long standing player. He was a gentleman, for t'were those not his lips that had just brushed her hand? Unwillingly, a smile tugged at the red lips. For Antoinette was something of a sucker for the old chivalry.
This was a game she had played since before she knew the rules. This game of seduction, this gentle flow and ebb of conversation. This passionate art of promises that were never meant to be kept. The words, the looks, the little darting smiles, all were part of the game.
The game of the courtesan, the whore, and the Queen. The woman's game, the lady's pastime.
Did he want to play?
Antoinette cooly removed her hand, lifting it to brush a straying curl off of a slender, creamy shoulder. "I'm afraid my dancing card is full, my lord." She murmured, her smile apologetic, her eyes-challenging. "I've not room for another handsome man. FOr though I love dessert: I am no glutton. I try to spread out my courtships over the course of the year." She gestured around the dancing couples. "This is a court of indulgence, Lord Leonardo. But me- I like anticipation. For I may avoid dreariness like the plague-but still, you are correct sir-what is the climax without the anticipation? Perhaps we shall dance at the Summer Revels?" Her tone was cool, but her eyes met his full of-was it a promise?
Perhaps the first one she ever really meant to keep.