CW: Explicit language, substance abuse, mentions of sex/sexual activities.

“Jun? Jun?? Are you listening to me?”

Jun blinks, rousing himself from his thoughts. The Crown Prince’s sharply handsome face comes into focus, his cold blue eyes narrowed at the little lord in irritation. “My apologies, your Highness. What was it that you were saying…?”

The prince huffs and drops his rear onto the reading table, planting himself right atop the book his friend had been blankly staring at. “I said, I should very much like to attend Lady Nam’s soiree this evening. Won’t you sneak away with me? I heard that she has hired the entire Rose Palace as entertainment.” A lascivious smirk perches upon his thin lips as he imagines himself playing with said Roses, a much loved pastime of this royal.

Crown Prince Hino Erie is a striking figure with icy blue eyes and midnight hair. His eye colouring is never seen in a native Easterner, and they are characteristic of those with imperial lineage. But should one look past these features, the prince is much like any other Eastern young master. He has the tender look of one coddled and indulged since birth, with skin as fair and smooth as porcelain and a default arrogance holding his chin aloft. Diligent training however, has given this young master a lethal edge, his body grown strong and tall over the years. In fact, only two people aside from his instructor have ever managed to defeat him in a spar. The first being the Dragon General of the East, a formidable woman who leads the Mother’s army. And the second being Fifth Lord Hwan Jun.

“We are barred from attending, your Highness,” Jun points out, sitting back in his seat and folding his hands in his lap. Dark shadows hang heavy under his eyes, telling of many sleepless nights. “Father has explicitly told us not to attend any event hosted by Lady Nam. You know he thinks of her rather poorly.”

“Indeed,” Erie says, eagerly. “I have heard she is quite the licentious woman. Which is precisely why I should like to attend her soiree! Come, Jun. Aren’t you the least bit curious?”

The little lord huffs a laugh and rubs his eyes, feeling a deep ache gripping his entire skull. “I think I would much rather remain at the estate, your Highness. I am not quite in the mood to socialise this evening.”

Erie leans over, blues ticking as he studies the tired lines in his friend’s face. “Mira tells me you haven’t been sleeping lately. And that your mood has been quite dour.”

“I am perfectly fine, your Highness. You need not worry.”

“Does it have to do with that derelict? Mira says he robbed you blind.” Erie crosses his legs, joggling a foot impatiently in the air. “It matters not. The Governor will find him soon enough and you will have your justice.”

“...I asked my father not to look for him.”

“Eh? Whyever not?”

“...he left mother’s things alone,” Jun mumbles, eyes dropping to his lap. A tentative smile tugs his lips. “Not a single item from her room is missing.”

“Oh gods, a thief with a heart! How absolutely inspiring. Let’s give the man an award!” Erie clasps the lord’s shoulder, giving him a little shake. “Jun, my old friend, I do believe you’ve finally gone mad. Tragic, but entirely expected. Shall I send for the Imperial Healer?”

The smile gains body when Jun lifts his head, his gaze warm upon the prince. “My apologies, your Highness. You have come all this way from the Blue Plains and yet I have been nothing but a poor host--”

“Yes!” Erie shouts, clapping his hands together. “You have been! A most terrible, inconsiderate host. But I am a magnanimous prince and I shall forgive you - but in return you must do one small thing for me.”

Jun releases a helpless sigh. “Your Highness. Would you like to accompany me to Lady Nam’s--”

“--soiree? Really, Jun! You are a rapscallion! To think that you would rebel against your own father--”

The lord huffs amusedly and shoves his friend off the table. Erie clears his throat and straightens his royal blue robes, the imperial insignia of the sun shimmering in gold silk across his chest. “Very well, Fifth Lord Hwan. Despite my reservations, I shall accompany you to Lady Nam’s soiree.” The prince speaks in a mock-formal manner, his tone low and austere. “Perhaps this might remedy your current ailment and blast all thoughts of a certain rat from your mind.”

Jun’s smile wilts but he nods his assent. “You are most gracious, your Highness.”

“That I am. Now let’s make our preparations! Do you suppose I should wear this robe or the one lined with Echanan silk?”

The little lord sighs and closes his book, staring blankly at the cover. A certain rat lingering on his mind.

***

The soiree is a colourful array of constant motion and noise, juxtaposed by the calm Hanjuyang River which is silken smooth like spilt mercury under the full moon. The upper echelons of society mingle on the vast wooden pier and in the great white marquee raised along the waterfront, decorated in the same quality of opulence as their surroundings. Here and there are giant statues of mythical beasts, painted in Hwan White then drenched in light, giving them the illusion of having been sculpted from fire. All in all, it’s a dazzling sight and a taste of the night to come.

“Sun Sculptures,” Bucky says as she walks up to the boys with two silver masks in her hands. She looks stunning in her lush robes, sea blue with delicate white roses patterned around the hem. “One sculpture costs more than what I’d make in five years.”

“What a waste of coin,” Rin drawls, looking utterly unimpressed. His robes are simple in contrast. The gentle shade of the plum blossom gives him a fresh and youthful aura. “Lady Nam sure does go all out. Look at all those rich assholes! We’re gonna be living it up for months.”

The well groomed Bellow grunts in agreement, though his expression is uneasy as he adjusts his robes for the umpteenth time. A sharp slap to his arm interrupts his fussing. “Stop it,” Rin huffs, his lips pursed in irritation. “I know you’re not used to looking so pretty, but they’re not gonna let us in otherwise.”

“You think I look pretty?” Bell blinks at the raven, the latter simply rolling his eyes in response.

Bucky hands them the masks, grey eyes glittering in amusement as the boys struggle to place them upon their faces. “Just remember to keep a low profile. If anyone requests your service, tell them that you have already been bought for the night. It shouldn’t be too difficult to keep your cover, I think almost everyone is intoxicated from the ball.”

“Hm. But what if I do want to service them?” Rin asks in a lilt. The silver mask sits beautifully upon his face, accentuating those dangerous eyes.

“As if anyone would wanna buy a skinny lil’ fleabag like you,” the bull grumbles, picking at his oiled hair.

“Don’t worry, pet. If I ever get hungry, I’ll just come find you. Happy?”

Though Bellow doesn’t respond, those reddening ears betray his true feelings about this arrangement.

Hundreds of revellers teem within the marquee. Ministers, nobles, wealthy entrepreneurs, government officials, and even foreign diplomats and visitors, all rubbing shoulders in the most frenzied of manners. It seems that while the ball might have been a formal and stately affair, it’s really during the post-ball feast that the social elites truly release their inhibitions. Protocol and etiquette is thrown out the window, and the purest of snow and the strongest of Poppyseed Wines make the rounds. An entire sinfonietta is set up beside the buffet table, playing the kind of sweeping, romantic music one could only experience in the High District.

The honoured lady lounges languidly in her throne, presiding over her slovenly subjects like an idle queen. Perched upon her lap is a Western woman with such exquisite looks, that many cannot tear their admiring gazes away. Her beauty, while breathtaking, also has a dangerous edge -  a violent wildness like that of a fierce inferno. Indeed, Kahin is the kind of woman who inspires the same terror and exhilaration that one might experience in the eye of such a storm.

The beauty sweeps her green eyes once around the marquee, lingering on every Rose they pass, before sticking to her lady’s profile. She says something to Yujin, the latter who smiles indulgently at her companion before burying her face in the crook of her neck.

“That’s Madame Kahin,” Bucky says to Rin, noticing the boy’s stare. “Lady Nam is the one necking her.” A fellow Rose glides past with a tray full of wine and Bucky swipes two glasses for herself and the Rat.

“Kahin’s gorgeous,” Rin hums, sipping at the blood red liquid. His eyes widen at the complex and delicious taste. Hurriedly, he takes another sip. This time deeper. “But she’s not quite what I imagined.”

“What did you imagine?”

“Hm. I thought she’d be bigger. Taller. Like a tree, maybe.” He tilts his head in thought. “Someone...less human.”

The blonde scoffs through her nose, gaze cooling. “Trust me. She only looks human.”

“Oh?” He side-glances the Rose, brow raised. “Thinking of leaving?”

Bucky blanches and she quickly averts her gaze, a cold sweat beading her brow. “No. The Rose Palace is wonderful. I would be nothing without the Madame.”

“Yeah, that’s convincing.” Rin rolls his eyes and downs his glass, smacking his lips in satisfaction. “I don’t really give a shit. It’s your life. Your choice. But you can always become a proper Slummer instead. It’s shit and depressing, but there's always coin if you stick with me.”

The Rose smiles faintly at her friend’s offer and she pats the small of his back in appreciation. “Thank you, Rat. I will think on it.”

His cheeks flush lightly at the woman’s touch and he grabs another glass of wine as a tray swings past. “Whatever. Look, I’m gonna find someone to play with for a while. Don’t wait up.”

It doesn’t take very long to find his first target. Standing stiffly beside the buffet table, there’s a Northern man with a sour face and wet lips. He’s tall and thin with sallow skin, dressed in a blue militant suit with various medals pinned to his lapel. Rin tries to make friendly talk with the man but the Northerner’s answers are curt and he glares at his surroundings with a curled upper lip. 

Just before he leaves the table, Rin stumbles drunkenly into his target. While he apologises profusely to the irritated man, he deftly swipes one of the medals, disguising his action as brushing dust from the man’s chest. An initial feel confirms the medal to be pure silver, valuable enough to feed him and Dasom for an entire month.

By the time midnight rolls around, Rin the Rat is well and truly blitzed.