Information

Charisme
Legacy Name: Charisme

The Glade Archan
Owner: Lugosi

Age: 14 years, 6 months, 2 weeks

Born: October 17th, 2009

Adopted: 13 years, 9 months, 3 weeks ago

Adopted: July 14th, 2010

Statistics

• Level: 1,036
   
• Strength: 2,575
   
• Defense: 2,557
   
• Speed: 2,552
   
• Health: 2,685
   
• HP: 2,622/2,685
   
• Intelligence: 2,786
   
• Books Read: 2437
• Food Eaten: 9726
• Job: Director of SAI

Him. Who brought him to the party? Who would dare bring that gorgeous creature to a place like this? Dressed like *that*? Who finds it so impossible to properly attire legs so long, shoulders so wide, a waist so narrow?

Pencil stopped on paper, eyes narrowed, lips turned to a slight frown, and everyone in the design circle noticed. As one heads lifted, turned, then followed the focused gaze to land on the fresh new model. Sir heard their whispers, insolent wind gossiping to itself beneath the gentle symphony played from the other end of the hall. The young man, bless him, seemed to have a natural talent for knowing when he was the subject of great attention. He turned towards the small group of designers, set off to the side but clearly on display themselves in the echoing ballroom, before rewarding his audience with a flashing grin, casual pose, and the blush of shy nervousness blooming in his cheeks.

If only you understood the injustice being done to you, young man.

The model's shift in attention was caught by his designer, a young woman who turned, then gasped, then paled. Sir caught her eye as he lifted his glass, downing it in one smooth swallow before tipping his chin up in greeting, then tilting his head and winking at her. Nice of you to notice me, he seemed to say. Care to come a little closer?

From where Sir sat he could see her throat constrict as she swallowed convulsively, as she turned to her star model and fussed over him like a mother. Fingers running through his hair, tightening and flattening and moving panels of fabric into perfect order. She grabbed the arms of several others, men and women alike, and though she gave them the same treatment Sir couldn't understand why. None of them were as interesting as *him*, not in natural beauty or dress or charm. She ran her hands over her own bodice and skirts, speaking to them all in quick, tight-lipped words. Sir tilted the corners of hips lips into a curious smile and wondered what advice she was giving, what thinly veiled threats, what promises and prayers? And then she turned and tried her best to float with nonchalance to his circle, the model of focus one step behind her and the other, inconsequential spares not far behind him.

"Sir," she said breathlessly, "it's such an honor to meet you. My name is ---"

"Shhhh!!" One of the displayed designers quickly silenced her, furrowing her own brows and making a quick slicing gesture with her hand to cut her speech off at the tongue. (danger!)

Sir swiveled his head slowly in her direction, keeping his eyes on her until she bowed her head in submission. A cigar and lighter appeared in each hand, though no one could have said from what pocket he pulled them. A snick of the lighter, a fire, a puff, puff, sigh. And then a smile, as brilliant and flashing as the fires of hell.

All is forgiven, that perfect smile said. This time.

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