"Wh-- oh! Oh, no, nonono, not at all," Del shakes her head, now panicking about two things; the situation and not wanting to give the impression to Cyran that he had made her uncomfortable in any way. But if not that, what was she trying to impress, exactly? Inwardly, she curses; she wasn't normally so easily unseated. Del prided herself on her adaptibility, how fluidly she could change direction if something new came up. This was just another new thing! So, why did she feel so damnnably frazzled?

Like when she was first starting to learn to walk again after her injuries, or when she first climbed a tree and looked down to the ground, the dizzying lack of centre that made her want to sit and get her bearings for a second. The hair-on-end tingles that spread over her skin when lightning stuck too near. A little frightening... exhilarating.

His explanation helps to soothe her racing heart for a moment. Though, the reason for Cyran's pause and abrupt clarification flies over her head in her own panic; was the proximity the problem? Or that they were friends? Close in that sense. Goodness, if she had disturbed his dream by immersing him in her own terrible nightmare, she would never forgive herself. "I, I see!" her voice creaks like a rusty hinge and has to clear her throat. Was this in any way similar to what had happened with the rings? That was something she still did not understand... much like this, actually.

The thought of it being mutual was... she didn't know the word. Absurd? Ridiculous? Unlikely? ...Possible? It stabs her heart with a thousand tickling pins.

When he asks after her, Del blinks. "I, ah, yes. I did." The best sleep of her memory, actually. Del swallows, turning away so he can get dressed properly. "Thank you. It... you really did help." She adds quietly.

It was not an exaggeration to say that it was the first time that she could remember where she had a dream of something other than the usual nightmare. Even in her flustered state, trying to get her bearings and remembering that she had to be Elen today (and for the forseeable future), that soft gratitude is clear in that. Honestly, she could have continued to sleep for a long, long time with Cyran at her side.

Walking the dream with her. Of course. Helping.

"Yes, um. We should. Very busy." She clears her throat and gathers up... whatever it is she's wearing today. She slips away to the powder room to press her burning forehead against the cool tile for a minute or two.

Once they are both ready, dressed again in finery (and horrible shoes) Del straightens the upward coif of her her "Elen" hairstyle, and turns to Cyran as they get ready to leave. He truly does look very smart in a suit, trim and rapier like. She reaches up to lightly brush the sheaf of his hair off his shoulder with her fingers, to fix his lapel. "I'd... like to know more about how that works. What you said, last night. When there's time."

--Suddenly realizing the familiarity of this action, she clears her throat, and lifts her gaze up to his. "The event is, ah, today, yes?"

It didn’t take long for Cyran to get into his Illias getup, even when flustered. It was like putting on an old, ill-fitting suit that gathered dust in the back of the closet. Oh, he didn’t like playing the part of the nobleman again, but it at least calmed his nerves somewhat after the mortification still lingering from last night. Illias would not find it odd to wake up with his wife in his arms - that was normal for him. Illias and Elen had been married for one hundred and seventy-five years to the day.

This was normal.

He stood, making sure his hair was properly in place and his jacket was perfectly secured. “Good.” He breathed out, relieved. “I know it may be… invasive, but I am sincerely glad it helped, if only for one night.” He subconsciously leaned forward as she moved to brush his hair away, fixing his jacket. “I can tell you as much as I know.” He replied. If she wanted to know, he didn’t have it in him to deny her request, though Cyran still wasn’t entirely sure how his own magic worked.

… It scared him, sometimes, if he were being honest.

Not today, though. With the wonderment that Del looked at him with, as if he’d performed some miraculous feat instead of merely chased away her nightmare, one would think it was a good thing rather than some dark infestation brewing in him.

“Oh, yes, the event.” He composed himself, back to business. “It’s supposed to be a festival in celebration of Hearth Day marriage traditions… supposedly, there is an acting troupe on board that is supposed to perform tonight.” An all-day party, one that was meant to be accompanied by merriment and the celebration of love - supposedly set to end with a grand show of fireworks over the Luna Sea. “It would be worthwhile to investigate the troupe. They generally move from place to place with revolving members, so it would be easy for someone to slip into their ranks without notice.”

“Lucky it fell on our anniversary, yes?” Cyran smiled, offering Del his arm so that they could make their way to the dining hall for breakfast.

---

The meal itself carried nothing of note. Cyran and Del kept to themselves for the most part, as did many of the guests who were up this early after a late night of dancing. Virion was on the other side of the room, enjoying a full breakfast with his wife.

They were finishing up their meal when a servant approached them with two glasses of orange juice and champagne in his hands. Cyran attempted to wave him away. “Oh, we didn’t order any drinks.” He tried, keeping his tone casual, though on the inside, he was suspicious. A poisoning attempt? It was a rather bold move if so. But despite his protests, the servant put the glasses down with a bow.

“Oh, do not worry. This drink is on the house, courtesy of the Duchess Pewhairangi, in celebration of your special day.” He gestured to an elderly woman on the other side of the room, who waved at them with a charming smile plastered on her face and a knowing look in her eyes, directed at Del.

Who in the world was she? Not wanting to be disrespectful when manners dictated that he thank her, Cyran bowed his head, picking up the champagne glass and raising it to her. If this was a poisoning attempt, it was a rather hackneyed one - nevertheless, he took a small sip, holding it in his mouth but not swallowing as she looked away. He picked up his napkin and spit the liquid into it, just in case. One could never be too careful.

… The rest, he discretely poured into his Charon’s best Dad flask before putting it back in the champagne flute, getting rid of any possible poison, before doing the same to Del’s.^[1] If they were going to have to endure hours of snotty noble parties, then he was going to need the rest of his drink.

Once they finished, they quickly deposited their plates and made their way to the deck. Servants were bustling about, hanging flowers and decor from every available surface in preparation of the evening’s event - more than usual. Nobles were lounging around, reading books and conversing with one another. Unseen enemies everywhere and nowhere at once. If they wanted to investigate, now would be the time to do so.

He turned to Elen, gripping her hand tightly. “We have some hours before we’re expected to make an appearance at this celebration - what is my lady in the mood to entertain herself with this morning?”

---

1. Charon's Best Dad Purifying Flask

"I didn't find it invasive," she assures. Which... it should have been. Stepping into her mind like that should have rankled her in some way, though she didn't fully understand her own squirming discomfort at the thought. But for Cyran, it did not feel like an umcomfortable truth, but a natural response. As if that sort of vulnerability was freely alotted to him.

That should have been a scary thought by itself. Yet, it wasn't.

"I'd--. Yes, love to know more about that," she gives him a tentative smile. "Once we have a second, of course." Right now, they needed to be on the clock and working. Their mark was not going to prevent their own assassination.

--But the idea of enjoying performances and engaging in an event for married couples that were typical on Hearth's Day hardly seemed like work. Her heart flutters a bit as she gives him smile of encouragement, looping her arm through his offered one. An action that was becoming more and more natural every time. "Every day I marvel at the fact that am the luckiest woman in the world."

Despite the facade, that, at least, was true.

---

Dining in the hall with everyone was reasonably pleasant. Del seemed to feel none of the haggardness of the other passengers, though she and Cyran had went to bed probably later than most of them had, waiting until the party had wound down. She felt rested, invigorated, more than she had in a long time. The cup of black tea was scarcely necessary, but it did at least provide a reasonable cover as she took stock of the people in the room with them.

"Oh! That is-- so very kind of her." Elen beams putting a hand to her face

Seeing Duchess Pewhairangi looking across the room at them with a knowing look, Del feels the temperature in her body start to rise, understanding precisely what that look means. She puts on her best smile in response as she waves back, squeezing Cyran's arm as they gratefully accept the drinks from the servant. "Met her last night in the hallway while you were finding my coat," She whispers as they turn away, keeping her voice coy and mischevious for anyone listening while Cyran fiddled with the glasses. She moved her chair closer to him to provide him a little visual cover as he poured the liquid into the flask. "She said it was clear how," oh it's harder to keep up the voice on these words. She drops her volume a little more, "In love with each other we are. She seemed quite taken with how we treat one another."

Elen gives her Illias an adoring smile, before her gaze turns to look elsewhere, at all they needed to be observing. And to hide her expression for a second, as she tries very hard not to think to hard about that. Her eyes follow what he is doing with the flask, curious. She catches a glimpse of the words on the outside and smiles a little to herself-- a secret smile for Del herself, not Elen.

Once they have finished their meal and gathered their drinks to walk with, she looks up at her husband fondly as he holds her hand. "Oh goodness, you're leaving the choices to me? Goodness to start with..." She looks around them-- a fair few options to select from and look for. Where was the person they were meant to be guarding? And where were the people who were interested in him specifically.

There were a lot of people to talk to and look into. And he was right, they certainly could look into the performers, see who was new and how they were setting up. They had a good look of what exits and entrances were abounding last night, but that had been primarily at the ballroom itself.

Del takes the hand that holds hers, cool and soothing in her grip, and pulls it up and over her shoulders as they stroll. "Mm. Well, it is our special day. We could do a little mingling, or some further exploring of the ship. See what wonders our accomodations have to offer. Who knows, maybe we will find some interesting conversation, no?"

“Oh, you know her…” Well, that explained why the Duchess was sending them drinks - and it made far more sense than coming out of the blue, but Cyran still couldn’t curb his suspicion right away. Taking a long swig of the flask-purified drink, Cyran drummed his fingers against the table. Returned Elen’s lovestruck gaze with a look of his own. This had to be some sort of ruse on the Duchess’s part, surely. There was no way she… sincerely believed that they were so in love.

Yes, that was it. They were… good actors.

Good enough that they fooled the Duchess Pewhairangi into believing they were truly so enamored with one another, or she wanted something from them. It was a cynical viewpoint, he knew, but in this enclosed space, Cyran couldn’t bring himself to trust anyone.

Well, that wasn’t quite accurate.

There was one person he trusted implicitly.

Said woman was currently picking out where they should investigate first - Cyran agreed that it would be good for them to scope out the area first and talk to some of the other passengers. There were so many couples around that it would be impossible for them to get to know everyone, but… he spotted a pair of familiar faces in the crowd that they should definitely question.

If they couldn’t narrow down who might want to kill Virion, then perhaps getting some information straight out of the horse’s mouth would prove useful.

“Yes, the day is young. Let us mingle before we find somewhere to settle down for the celebration.” His eyes flitted over to where the young couple was hanging around one of the snack tables on the other side of the open area, feeding each other hours d’oeuvres with dopey expressions on their faces. A young couple, hopelessly in love.

Cyran wondered who in the world might want to put a hit on them.

Argent hadn’t given him much to work with as far as who to look out for. Frustratingly enough, he didn’t see fit to give Cyran much information in the first place. From the scant briefing he received, his employer seemed to imply it was a business competitor, but… there was no harm in digging a little deeper.

He winked at Del, which looked rather awkward with one side of his face covered by hair, before mouthing, follow my lead.

With that in mind, he set off through the crowd, plucking another champagne flute from one of the waiters that was gliding through the area. It was all too easy for him to make his way over to where husband and wife were, as if he was merely interested in the snack table. Closer he drew, until he was nearly at the table -

A calculated trip, and Cyran stumbled straight into Virion’s chest.

Champagne spilled all over his fine jacket as Cyran tried to catch himself before he fell - he stood before he could fall into the couple, but the damage had already been done to Virion’s jacket.

“Oh, Lunala, I am so sorry.” Cyran gasped, immediately reaching into his pocket for a handkerchief. With nervous movements, he attempted to help clean it up, but Virion waved him away before he could. “Here, please, let me clean it up-“

“Oh, think nothing of it.” His smile was a little pinched at the corners, no doubt annoyed at having his finery ruined - Cyran recognized the fabric, and there was absolutely no way to get such stains out of the material. “Mistakes happen, especially on choppy waters. It is my fault for taking up space at the table.”

Cyran rubbed at the back of his neck, the picture of sheepishness. “Still, I insist that you allow me to take your jacket, to clean it - I have some cleaner back in my room, Oh, Elen is always teasing me over it, but it’s good to be prepared - I can have those stains out in no time. Please, it is the least I can do.”

Virion looked like he wanted to decline, but his wife put a hand on his shoulder, a bright look on her eyes. “Oh, will you, Viri? It is your favorite dinner jacket, after all…”

“I will handle it with velvet gloves, I swear.” Cyran added.

Eventually, the young human nodded before shrugging off his jacket, which he handed to Cyran. Sheepish, Cyran folded it gently over his arm, making sure not to crease it. “Thank you… I promise it will look as good as new once I’ve cleaned it.” As an afterthought, he stuck out his hand.

“Illias Mellora, of house Mellora in Moonglade.”

“Virion Zirona. Also of Moonglade.” He said, a polite expression on his features like he didn’t particularly care either way. “I can’t say I’ve ever heard of the Mellora household.”

“We are a small name.” Cyran replied. “In the textile business. A family of weavers and and artisans. We mostly stick to ourselves… I can’t say I’ve ever heard of the Zirona family before, either.”

“Oh, we dabble in this and that. We used to handle a couple of trade ships between Moonglade and Sol City… though I suspect that our nature of business will change soon.” Truthful, though there was a tinge of something... other in his voice. 

“Virion’s got big plans for the Zephyr Company!” His wife chimed in, a bright, moonstruck expression on her face.

Virion’s expression grew pinched once more. “Layla, hush. Now is not the time to talk about such things.”

She pouted, jutting her lower lip out. “Forgive me… I just get excited, is all.”

“Hm, well, yes.” He coughed, turning back to Cyran, who had already turned his attention to Layla, the sun elf.

“You must be his wife… it’s lovely to make your acquaintance, madam Layla. My own wife should be somewhere around here…. Ah, Elen!”

He beckoned her over, a bright smile on his face as she took her place by his side, wrapping his hand around her waist. Inwardly, he sent her an apology for such an overly casual touch, though it was what was expected.

“Elen, these are my new friends, Master Virion and Mistress Layla of house Zirona. Merchants in Moonglade. We were just getting acquainted with one another.”

"Pleasure to meet you." Virion said, like it wasn't really much of a pleasure at all.

Del catches the subtle wink and the barely-there mouthing of words from Cyran. It makes her chest squirm, and she gives him an encouraging smile while she finds herself something to busy herself with.

Though, really what she does the whole time is watch Cyran.

Busying herself with the buffet table, Del takes her time picking a couple of different finger foods for her and her husband's shared plate, listening to the distant sounds of conversation and watching from the periphery of her vision. She has no problem picking out Cyran's voice, and finds herself smiling a little, privately. For being a hunter, he was incredibly good at his role, the slip and trip completely disarming. He was eloquent, conscientious, and effortlessly endearing. Who wouldn't be captivated by him?

...It was a good thing she was acting the part of his wife, then. He was so convincing, Del found herself swept up by his charms.

He calls her over and Del lifts her head toward the sound. She approaches, small plate in hand that she sets down on a nearby table when she steps into Cyran's reach.

It's so natural, the way he draws her in, the way she fits in to his side like a puzzle piece. For a second, even with the little apologetic curl from him, she feels just a bit light headed.

Elen splays a hand on Illias' chest as he pulls her near, fingers sliding just a bit beneath the lapel of his jacket. Not because her knees had wobbled when his arm looped her waist, no. Not Elen-- because it was natural to be so familiar and touch him so. It was their anniversary, and they were so terribly in love still. Her own inward reply of apology follows his. Elen giggles a bit, swaying at his side. "Illias, darling." She greets, covering the lean she had developed to catch herself to brush her lips against the hinge of his jaw. Her lips alight with electric tingles. "Have you now?" She turns to look at the husband and wife, scanning them quickly. The gentleman was clearly tense and unhappy, his wife trying to hold the good humour aloft.

"A pleasure to make your acquaintence, Master Virion, Mistress Layla. I am Elenithildin Mellora." She deigns to give them a small curtsey and a winning smile. Her eyes zero in on Laylas brooch, a mother-of-pearl cameo over Ironwood. "Your brooch is simply, gorgeous, if I may say."

Layla lifts a hand to touch her brooch, brightening a little at the compliment. "You are too kind! It was my grandmothers, an old family heirloom."

"It is radiant and goes with your shawl splendidly," Del asserts, trying to sound as airy-yet-confident as possible.

"How sweet!" she touches a hand to her cheek, feigning modesty, before she refocuses on Del. "Your husband here informed us the Mellora household is in the textile business?" Her gaze drops a bit to Del's; the sheer fabric of the sleeves hides some of her scarring, but not the width of her arms. "Are you involved in the business as well?"

She searches quickly for the right words, ensuring her smile remained in place. Confident, elegant, sure of herself; that was Elen. "Why, yes! I grew up using and building looms, and when Illias and I started our business, his vision inspired me to design a state of the art loom that could accomodate the intricacies of his designs." Del lets her head list to Cyran's shoulder to give him a fond smile. "We have plenty of staff to do the task now, but I still like to run a loom myself now and again, to keep my skills fresh, much as my darling husband would like for me to rest, of course. I can't help myself, though; When he comes up with a new design, I simply must be the first to try the pattern to ensure the machines are worthy of his perfection. That was how he proposed to me, you know."

Layla's hand drops to her chest, touched. Virion looks a little less impressed, though his staunchess seems to crack a little. "With a design?"

"Oh, we were betrothed by our parents for many years, but Illias wanted his promise of devotion to be unique. One of the very first designs we collaborated on... fifth or sixth, I think? Wound up being a wedding blanket. It was terribly clever; I didn't realize it was for us until I wove together the runes. I wept over the last yard of that blanket. It coming out completely perfect was my gift in return to him, evidence that we were fully of one heart and mind. Truly, we are a match made in paradise." Del replies with a light laugh, "It's our anniversary, in fact."

"Is that so! Cheers to the happy couple," Virion raises his glass to them in toast, and Del inclines her head and smiles graciously.

Layla gives them an excited look. "How lovely! You must be so thrilled to get away from your business for a while, no? We're on a romantic getaway as well. I know our evenings are likely booked up for the event, but would you both be particularly opposed to another little soiree some time?"

Virion looks a little surprise, looking at his wife with a little exasperation. "Layla, really, I am sure Master and Mistress Mellora have better things to be doing than chatter with us."

Inwardly, Del smiles. Outwardly, she looks a little surprised, but flattered by the suggestion. Playing hard-to-get. "Your offer is... extremely kind, but we wouldn't wish to impose on your holiday..."

"Oh, not at all! We would be delighted to speak with you more. Right, my love?" Layla turns to her husband, putting on her very best pout to sway him. "We came here to unwind, and Master and Mistress Mellora seem to be of a similar mind, no? It seems a little socialization would benefit us all. Give them a chance, my love! They seem fun."

Virion looks at his wife and seems to relent a little, if somewhat reluctantly. "No imposition at all. these cruises can be terribly dry if you don't have someone to liven things up a bit."

"If you are certain, then... I'm sure we could find the time?" She looks up at Illias, batting her lashes convincingly. "Perhaps we could meet our new friends for drinks during our trip? I know you have so much planned for the two of us, but Master and Mistress Zirona seem to be terribly good company, don't you think?"

Del approached them from where she’d been listening in on their conversation, not only responding to his husbandly gesture by putting a hand on his chest, and -

Uh.

Cyran fell silent for an embarrassingly long time while Del continued chatting up Lady Layla like nothing had just happened. Foolish, really. It was all just for the show, he knew this. There was no need for him to lose his composure over a simple gesture - Illias would not get nervous over every simple kiss from his wife. That was meant to be normal. Or at least, it ought to have been. Distantly, the thought occurred to him that even when he had been wed to Rowan, and they played this old song and dance. There was cordiality, kind words exchanged here and there; but nothing like this.

He almost felt like…

No. Del was merely playing the part, a doting wife. Cyran and Rowan were never a good match, and made far better strangers. Del - she was his friend. She cared about him, or at least he thought she did. Enough to go along with this ridiculous request of his. Enough to weave this story of a happy couple, young business folk who were so in love despite the nature of their engagement. Arranged, but… still meant for one another. Was that truly possible? For the first time, Cyran almost felt envious of Illias, a man that did not properly exist. But that was a ridiculous notion.

… This train of thought was starting to give him a headache.

“Yes. I surely must be the luckiest man in all of Charon, to be blessed with the other piece of my soul.” He added, jumping into the conversation as Del complimented him. A match made in paradise. He turned his attention to Lady Layla with a kindly smile. “I’d not had the best luck in love before I met -“ A stumble- “Met Elen here. But sometimes… allowing others in is worth it. and today, we celebrate one hundred and seventy five years.”

Layla’s eyes glimmered in interest, flitting to Virion with something akin to longing painted on her expression - a hopeful look that she quickly covered up with a lovestruck expression and a plea that they spend a little more time together, but not before Cyran noticed it. It didn’t take much to realize why. To Layla, Illias and Elen had that kind of constant love, the romance that spanned centuries. She and Virion had a love like a blazing star - burning bright, and burning fast. And soon, far too soon for an elven lifespan, it would collapse and fall apart, leaving Layla with nothing but the fleeting impression of light behind her eyes and memories of wishes she once made that would never come true.

Oh.

It wouldn’t do for Cyran to truly get close to the people he was set out to protect - but his heart went out to the young woman hanging onto her husband, begging him to relax and lighten up a little.

“If the lady insists, far be it from me to deny her request.” Cyran nodded at Lady Layla, tilting his head to rest against Del’s curls. “I greatly cherish the opportunity to get to know others aboard the ship - this voyage isn’t just a celebration of love, it’s an homage to friends. Both old and new.”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re trying to proposition me for a little business.” Virion joked, but there was a hardened edge to his voice.

“No business.” Cyran assured him smoothly. “Elen and I have agreed not to do work talk during this trip - in fact, I strongly encourage not mixing business and pleasure.”

“Good.” Virion seemed to relax a little at that - finally relenting to his wife’s pleading and Del’s suggestion for some drinks. “I have been meaning to pay a visit to this ship’s open bar… perhaps tomorrow evening, if you both are amenable, we could meet there after dinner.”

“Wonderful.” Cyran nodded. “That will give me a chance to clean your jacket… and please. I insist you allow me to pay for the drinks. It is the least I can do.”

“I might just take you up on that.” Virion said, a ghost of a smile finally playing on his face. He was beginning to relax around them. “Well, we must be going - I’ve heard that they’re planning on opening some card tables a few floors down - but we shall reconvene tomorrow evening.”

“Until then.” Layla said with a friendly laugh, bouncing up to place a friendly parting kiss on Del’s cheek before rejoining her husband as the two took off in search of the makeshift casino, leaving Cyran and Del behind.

“That was brilliant.” He whispered, just loud enough for Del to hear - and he meant it. Not only had she opened up a way for them to get close to the Zironas and learn more about the couple, but the chance to become friendly with them would allow Cyran and Del to better watch and protect them. Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer, or so the saying went. They weren’t the only ones with a vested interest in the Zironas. Spending more time with them on the ship would allow the two to observe the company that the young couple kept… and anyone that might be watching them from the shadows.

Not to mention…

Cyran glanced down at the jacket, still bundled in his arms.

An extra layer of security.

“We should probably make our way from the drink table before your clumsy husband assaults anyone else with a drink.” Cyran joked as the two set off together into the ship. They’d made contact with the target - with their remaining time today, they should probably start to mingle with others and investigate. They had a good idea of the basic layout, but the Judeia was far larger than Cyran had anticipated. Too many places for a killer to hide, and not enough time.

He and Del would have to make it work.

"Oh, cards no less? I look ever more forward to it, then. Until tomorrow!" She twirls her fingers in a loose wave. Del doesn't even notice the little peck from Layla until the couple have already left; it was almost odd for a moment that it didn't bother her, before she shrugged it off. She was just being friendly, like Cirice, or the children of the orphanage. That was why it didn't register as any discomfort for her--

Wait.

If that little peck from a stranger didn't bother her, why had Cyran's sent spiraling bolts of lightning along her nerves and made her heart race?

--Surely it was only because of the whole 'being married' thing. That was it, yes. Surely. Speaking of; Cyran's compliment draws a sheepish little smile from Del, shifting her gaze slightly to look at him from the corners of her eyes. Pleased she had done him proud. "I just followed your lead," Del murmurs back, smiling nonetheless. His little trick with the jacket had been a stroke of genius. An effortless ice breaker that had gotten their foot in the door.

A laugh bubbles up, responding to Illias' casual little joke by giving him a playful look, squeezing his arm as they turn from the tables. "I think you mean my 'charming husband' endears himself after a slight mishap. In either case, though, you are right; there's so much more of our accomodations to see."

That word again, feeling as though she was talking around a mouthful of rose petals; 'my husband', like the syllables themselves would fall out of her mouth and scatter like those tiny gold blooms that had been in her hair earlier. As though it was too affectionate, too precious to be something she was allowed to say.

My husband.

She clears her throat as Elen looks up at Illias. It was for the mission. The job. She would have to get used to saying it, these roses on her tongue. "Perhaps a little wander to the event area might be in order? See if we can get ourselves a sneak peek at any of the performers?" Del gives Cyran a small, mischevious smile, though it only echoes what he had said earlier about looking into the performing crew that had been hired for the show; perhaps there was something around there... perhaps while they were in the midst of rehersal?

There was a flash of confusion and mortification fluttering like a nervous hummingbird in the back of his mind. What had caught Del off guard? Was it his small act of physical intimacy, their talk of holy matrimony and soft fantasies of an engagement that never happened? Yes, surely that must have been it. Perhaps he ought to draw back a bit, for her own comfort. It was easy for Cyran to compartmentalize and attempt to separate Illias and himself - with how competent and sharp Del was, he could forget that she was not... not an assassin. She walked in the darkness by his side, but Cyran did not just inhabit the shadow. It was a part of him.

“I can assure you that you are the only one that finds me charming.” Cyran joked, hoping his breath didn’t hitch too badly when Del squeezed his arm. “… Then again, there is no one else I would rather have think of me as such.”

Her smile almost turned… melancholic for a moment - if he were anyone other than the man bound to her soul, he might have missed it. But the ring, currently worn on his finger for the sake of the ruse, almost seemed to grow warm with an emotion he might call longing, if he could properly understand why Del would possibly feel such a thing in that moment. It did not occur to him that someone might want to refer to him as ‘husband’ as he wanted to refer to them as ‘wife’-

Er.

Not that he wanted to refer to Del as wife, of course. Marriage was not something he’d ever truly thought he might want again after how disastrous his own arranged union had ended, but if he found a spouse in someone as considerate as Del, then he found the idea did not leave him as weary as it once did.

That was a daunting thought.

“I’m sure we can arrange something.” Cyran nodded his assent, playing the part of a placating husband who could not deny his curious wife a single thing. No one would look twice at a curious, anticipatory couple who wanted to catch a glimpse of the performance setup. With that in mind, the two made their way out of the lounge in search of the performance hall.

Virion Zirona’s jacket was still hung over one of Cyran’s arm, and Del on the other. Her presence was a warmth - the other, a reminder.

---

The performance hall was unsurprisingly devoid of passengers when Cyran and Del made their way to the grand entrance.

Attendants all clad in matching outfits - with particularly festive pink roses pinned to their lapels and gowns - were bustling about setting up chairs around the stage, all moving and whispering amongst themselves while they worked. A few gave Cyran and Del suspicious looks as the undercover couple stood at the door.

“Excuse me,” A particularly irate servant called, “The event does not start until dusk. Please feel free to return to the upper floors and enjoy all the amenities we have to offer until the show is scheduled to begin.”

“Oh…” Cyran gave him a sheepish smile, as if to say, whoops, silly me. “You’ll have to forgive me. My wife and I here like to consider ourselves fans of performers… we’ve been fans of the Kymenos Family Circus in particular.” He explained. “Though we’re rather particular about who we visit - there are only certain troupes that offer entertainment up to our standards. My wife here was hoping to get a peek behind the curtain and determine whether we should bother attending the performance.”

A decent enough excuse, but the servant didn’t seem especially convinced. “The backstage is off limits. No one is to see the performers until the evening.”

“… A shame.” Cyran turned up his nose at the server, channeling as much disappointment as he could. Oh, how he hated playing this role. Reaching into his pocket, Cyran wrapped his hand around a small vial of a familiar blue substance - with his thumb, he uncorked the glass and allowed the slime to pour into his open hand, which took the shape of a bag of jingling coins.^[1] Untangling his arm from Del’s, he took a step forward to the servant, smoothly slipping the bag into the young man’s hand.

The bribe, no matter how fake, still made him feel disgusting.

“Turn the other way and I’ll make it worth your while.” He whispered. A command disguised as a kind request.

The servant weighed the bag of coins in his hand, a scowl on his face before he gave Cyran a tense nod.

Cyran clapped him on the shoulder.

“Wonderful! I’m glad we could come to an agreement. Oh, Elen, let us go quickly, okay?” The bribe would work well enough to force the servants to give them a wide berth, but he still didn’t want to dally. Once Del joined him, Cyran made haste for the backstage, still arm in arm with her.

The servant shrugged, shoving the bag into his coat pocket and going about his business. He would not check the pocket until hours later - not until he was in the safety of his own room, and discover that the money seemed to have vanished into thin air, and back into the vial in Cyran’s pocket.^[2]

They’d cleared the first hurdle and made it backstage. Though Cyran couldn't shake the feeling of self-loathing that had begun to settle over his shoulders like a cloak.

---

1. Shaping Putty (forming a bag of coins)
2. Summon: Possession

The 'no one else' adds to her fluster, a little. He meant Elen, of course. Not her, not 'Del'. Still, in the moment, she was Elen, and she did find him very charming. Which she should, of course. He was her husband.

Dust and ash, that word again.

"Such luck for me, and such a loss for the rest of the world, then," she declares. There's a small urge to kiss him again, on the cheek, but this she resists-- that would be too much, probably. Odd that she wanted to at all, as if the first little kiss she had given him had unlocked a cascade. Was that what it truly meant to be married, to be with someone? To be brimming with affection just begging to be expressed?

There was an odd sensation again from within her mind that was not hers, a wistfulness that she could not place. Memories of memories, maybe, something within Cyran's mind that left him searching, wanting. It was a mystery as far as Del was concerned; she would never guessed what may be the reason behind it.

Elen beams up at Illias, "Oh, could we? You're a miracle worker, my darling." she croons, leaning her head to his shoulder as they make their careful way toward their new location.

---

It was quiet in this area of the ship-- almost a blessing, but such a different scene from the other areas they had been so far that it puts Del more on alert. Like wandering into part of the forest that was too quiet.

Still, it made sense; the public shouldn't be in this area while the performers were doing their dress rehersals and getting things underway. And as they approach, and a servant spots them-- terribly irritated by their presence-- Del does her best to smile confidently, as she lets Cyran, again, take the lead.

He swiftly bribes the servant away from the entrance, and gets them the crucial access to the backstage that they need. Her bright smile is not feigned as Cyran beckons her along, holding her skirts as she moves up to his side. As she passes the attendant, she mimes buttoning her lip and winking, to hopefully take the edge off, at least on the servant's part.

Cyran, however...

Del could feel the loathing and the disgust tickling the back of her mind, a self-directed sensation that did not show on his face. As they round the corner, Del steals Cyran's hand for a moment to give him a comforting squeeze. What he did wasn't pretty, but it was necessary. Someone's life was at stake, and the servant was not harmed. Del had been fully prepared to kill an elderly woman just the night before if she thought their cover had been blown, so this was by far the lesser of two evils. "You are not him," she murmurs, voice low so only he could hear. He was not Illias-- but he needed to act as him to get what they needed done accomplished. "We do what we must. There is no shame in that. Especially not for why." Del lifts her eyes to him, amber and gently smiling. They were saving a man's life. "You are incredible, as always."

She moves her hand back to his arm as they continue on, backstage.

The dressing area and green room was quiet, the distant sounds of lines being read still on stage. The lead actors had their own special dressing rooms, but out here in the proper backstage area, the room was lined with costumes, trunks, chests and tables of makeup and wigs for days on end, each carefully labeled and organized by the stage manager. Everyone seemed to be watching the ongoing runthrough at stage left, which gave them some time to have a look.

Del moves in, looking for paper-- a script, a clipboard... a roster of people who were working on the project. She slides this forward and gestures to it in silence for Cyran to come and have a quick look. Most of the names looked like old-hat performers, people who had done this a few times. One of the lead actors was crossed out, though, marked as 'unable to perform' and leaving their understudy to perform the role in their stead. An actor who had only joined the troupe relatively recently. Just before the Judeia was set to disembark in fact.

She looks over her shoulder at the dressing rooms. Remaining silent, she nods in that direction; not a bad place to start digging for things, by her account.

You are not him, Del whispered. Cyran’s brows furrowed - it was not that he forgot about this… strange connection between them, or what it meant for him. Knowing that, though, and seeing it in action, that Del could feel the smallest parts of his emotions on the job. That much was normal - he knew it was a necessary evil, no matter how much he despised this act. Going undercover, especially in this role, was one that left a sour taste in his mouth.

That was normal.

He was just supposed to deal with it.

He squeezed her hand back, finding her comfort a balm all the same. He nodded at her, a response in not so many words - I know. Thank you.

How strange it was, for Del to have access to his inner feelings. He was a man that kept a straight face - people worried about him, asked after him to make sure he was alright, but none who had just known in their very soul that he wasn’t.

But he would be.

Cyran was awfully good at compartmentalizing.

And there was a job that needed to be done.

The backstage dressing area was quiet, the muffled silence only broken by the sounds of music and scuffling performers in the other room. Costumes, masks, and props, were all littered around and organized surprisingly neatly for a place that ought to have been a mess. While Del searched through the ledgers, Cyran poked his head into a couple of trunks. These were not personal ones specific to any actor, but more full of general props for the show - though Cyran would not discount finding incriminating evidence here. A personal trunk was connected to a name… there was risk in keeping something where everyone could find it, but there was a level of anonymity to it.

He dug through dresses and spare shoes, lips pursed when everything was rather clean and mundane. If I were an assassin, attempting to hide a weapon or a poison in plain sight, where might I conceal it…?

The answer came easier to him than he thought it would.

Prop weapons.

He straightened, searching for a trunk with an appropriate label until he found it under a dressing table, in a rather unremarkable location. The dressing room looked like it belonged to some dancer. Kneeling, he popped open the trunk - unlocked - and started rifling through the contents. There were fake axes, capped with rubber for throwing tricks, though running his fingers through the blade revealed they were all blunt. A couple swords, all made of wood and painted silver. Nothing of true quality, or anything real, until -

A glint of silver, in the bottom corner of the trunk.

Oh? Cyran reached in, hissing when he cut his finger on the side of something sharp - he quickly withdrew, clutching at his hand to examine his finger. Blood welled up from a small gash along the side. A real knife. Frowning, Cyran moved some of the fake weapons away to pluck the real knife from the trunk. He pulled the putty from his pocket, shaping it until it was near-indistinguishable from the real thing.

There. If they couldn’t find the real assassin, that might at least thwart an attempt. As he was putting the prop back into the trunk, closing it with a dull thud, when he saw Del gesturing towards him out of the corner of his eye. He made his way over towards her, curious as she gestured towards the list - the actor’s name. The understudy.

He nodded, understanding what she meant. The door was unlocked as he nudged it open, peeking inside.

Empty. For now.

They shouldn’t linger for long. Cyran opened the door a little wider for Del, letting the door softly close behind them before they split up to start looking for clues.

Del slips in the room behind Cyran, quiet as the grave. She dared not talk out loud while they moved about back here. Elen and Illias were set aside for the moment; shadows were needed now, not their masks.

The room is... small, but then, this is a ship. It is not a grand dressing room at a marquee, but a privilege awarded to the lead actors to have a space to rest and recline all their own between scenes. That said, there was still plenty of room for her and Cyran to manuvere, despite the room being in a relative state of disarray.

Costumes were strung every which way, old editions of scripts and other books piled precariously in a corner near the desk the surface itself didn't have much on it, which seemed a little out of place... as though thing had recently been cleared away.

She gives Cyran a silent nudge forward to do his thing and look around-- he had an incredible, keen mind for this, a hunter's attention to detail. Del found herself amazed, watching him at work before moving towards the costumes themselves for any clues as to what they may be looking for.

There were some... buried beneath the costumes was a small box that also appeared to have clothes in it. Not mere costumes, but clothes of the nobility. Some from Zienav, Moonglade, The Pale City... she frowns as she kneels, looking at the make of the clothes. She holds one up for Cyran when there's a clatter outside in the dressing room.

"Where did you say it was? Next to the mirror? Right or left?"

Del turns to Cyran, eyes wide. Shit. Someone was coming. She quickly replaces the garments as she found them, thinking fast.

Pulling shadows around them wouldn't work-- Del had not yet learned to slip between the layers of shadow to get to other places. They could both render themselves immersed and invisible within it, but this room would not comfortably fit three people; the actor would know someone was here, and with that one servant who had seen their faces upon leading them back here-- that would be altogether to obvious who it might be. With no other way out but through the front, there was only one thing left to do.

Improvise.

Good thing they were in a theatre.

It was easy-- perhaps too easy-- to think of what reason Elen and Illias might have for commandeering a dressing room in an area of the ship they were decidedly not supposed to be in.

Panic, an idea, an apology in rapid succession flows from her to him as she steps forward and shoves the collar of her dress off her left shoulder and rakes a hand through her hair, sending pins scattering. Swallowing hard, Del pulls Cyran's jacket open, hooking one finger around his tie and quickly loosening it. Her breathing shallows as she pulls him towards her (finally, a benefit of the heels) as her back hits the door and she quickly, dizzingly, presses kiss after kiss along Cyran's jaw, his cheeks, his neck, the corner of his mouth, the collar of his shirt, leaving lipstick marks on each to make it look as though this was what they were doing in the room, this and nothing else.

It was fine, this was normal, Elen and Illias were married, besotted with one another, it was their anniversary, they were married, they were married, is the chant Del repeats over and over in her head, as if it will somehow ease the existential panic of whatever the hell she's doing at the moment. The alarm of being caught, the panic leaves her just as disheveled and flustered, breathless as she puts one last mark beneath his ear, pulling Cyran close by his lapels, before the door is unceremoniously thrown open by an unaware stagehand, revealing the staggering, off balance couple who looked as though they had been caught making-out like adolescents in a closet.

Even though she knew it was coming, and this was all a ruse, Del cannot suppress the "Eep," that squeaks out of her, or the furious blush that she is sure will make her melt away then and there. Her heart was pounding, she felt dizzy and over-warm and out of breath, weak in the best possible way.

...Maybe that would add to the illusion, somewhat.

There was far too much crammed into such a small area.

The room itself was more like a refurbished closet than a proper room - a single piece of furniture occupied the side of the wall, a desk pushed up against the wall and books stacked in the corner. A chair, covered in costumes of all shapes, sizes, and colors. Down here, so deep in the boat, Cyran could feel the gentle rocking of the water underneath his feet, the small, ever-present movement that accompanied seafare. The motion did not make him so nervous, but it served as a… reminder of where they were. An isolated room in the middle of the sea, where they would be cornered if they were discovered. And if this actor truly was the one they were looking for, then Cyran and Del had walked themselves straight into the lion’s den.

An understudy. A too-sharp knife. Twice was a coincidence. Three was a pattern. But would there be a third piece of evidence to condemn the owner of this dressing room? With Del’s gentle nudge, Cyran set through the room, peering at the books first. Titles that looked like they’d been dumped in this room before the actor, nothing out of the ordinary. Behind him, while Del shifted through the costumes, Cyran examined the desk, combing through the usual places people thought to hide things. Behind the mirror, between the pages of the books…

Nothing.

Save the costumes that Del had pointed out. They weren’t the cheap, but colorful and sturdy fabrics that the performers utilized. These were noble clothes. Real ones. The kind a performer might use to blend into a crowd of love-struck cruise passengers and not draw anyone’s attention.

The evidence was slim. But Cyran wasn’t in the business of taking chances…

Who was that?

The look of panic that overtook Cyran’s features mirrored Del’s own. Normally, Cyran would be able to cloak himself in the darkness, hide in its embrace until the interloper passed. But he could not bring Del along with him.

Focus. Plan. Cyran’s mind started kicking in, figuring what the best way would be to approach this. He could cause a distraction. Leave the room and get whoever was outside to follow him, lead them on a chase long enough to let Del slip out undetected. Then all he had to do was erase the interloper’s memory of his face. He turned to Del, opening his mouth to whisper the plan, just loud enough for her to hear -

Oh.

Huh.

Well, that was certainly a thing that was happening.

Apparently, they’d had very different ideas about the plan. Cyran found that he could scarcely breathe as Del nearly ripped his tie off, planting kisses along his jawline, leaving a trail of lipstick. Distantly, he could feel her apology for the ruse. Distantly, he could feel the mantra of ‘Elen and Ilias were married. It was fine. They were married.’

Distantly.

Because right now he was trying to stop his soul from leaving his body while Del left red lipstick all over his face and neck, making sure it was evident exactly what they were doing ‘sneaking around’ here.

… So that was her plan. Admittedly, his mind was not working very well at the moment.

He was so distracted he nearly missed the sound of the door opening, Del’s surprised squeak as she froze, and the harried cry of, “What are you two doing down here?”

His flushed face and bewilderment, in that moment, was not faked in the slightest.

Cyran frantically raised a hand to run it through his hair, only serving to muss it up further. His legs felt weak. Dear gods, what a compromising position they’d found themselves in! He knew that was the point of the ruse, and yet…

“Ah. I am. Sorry. We heard practicing, and thought it would be safe to pop in while no one was. Using it. Ha.” While he spoke, his hands had to move - fiddling with his collar, the strap of Del’s dress. Why wasn’t this button closing-? Oh, it was broken.

“It’s our anniversary.” He added lamely.

The good news was that Del’s plan had the intended effect. There was no suspicion in the stagehand’s face, only shock and mild irritation, like this was something he saw often. “Bloody hell, don’t they give you all rooms? This is a public area… go on! Get!” He waved his hands, shooing the two out like he was herding a particularly aggressive pair of stray cats.

“Yes, of course. I’m. Sorry. We shall… return to our room and do that.”

Holding delicately to Del’s wrist, Cyran led her out of the room, face burning in shame, as if he really had just been caught in the act like some lovestruck teenager. Their walk of shame continued all the way out the audience hall, with servants casting them knowing looks as they left. But still no suspicion.

Only when they were out in the hall did Cyran finally muster up the courage to turn and look at Del. He opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

“I am. Uh. Grateful that worked.” He readjusted his collar with his finger. “Show! The show is starting soon. If that…” What was the word in common again? He was still finding it hard to think. “Performer is going to make an attempt. Tonight. We should freshen up really quickly and go there.”

He held out his hand, a handkerchief manifesting in his open palm.^[1] Cyran started wiping the lipstick away, trying to ignore the complicated knot of feelings that had begun to lodge itself in his chest. He shouldn’t have been so flustered at this, really. Cyran was no stranger to physical intimacy, encounters that meant nothing. This one should have been no different than the ones he’d had in the past.

It shouldn’t have been.

…

Cyran couldn’t focus the entire evening leading up to the performance.

---

1. Summon: Possession

It worked out better than Del could have thought it would. She hadn't considered that she wouldn't need to act at all when the door was opened and the blood rushed to her face. Del was sure steam was pouring out of her ears. "Got. Carried away." She manages to choke out, the tail end of her words a wan little laugh that fades immediately. Cyran lifts her sleeve back onto her shoulder and she reaches down to smooth her skirts, patting at her hair, trying to make herself look... less like they had been caught kissing in a closet.

Which wasn't what happened.

But also it was?

Del's head spun. She rolled her bottom lip through her teeth.

"Yesofcourse," She wheezes softly as they are shooed off, allowing Cyran to pull her along as they made their escape. She tries to hold her head high, act as though nothing was wrong... but the sly sideways glances, their gazes.

They all knew.

Once they were out of the area and alone again in the hall, they stop, and Del puts a hand on her chest, trying to still her hammering heart. She looks up at Cyran-- and then away, feeling an odd twinge as she sees her lip prints on his face, the collar with the missing button. Gods, why did she still feel breathless, shaky? She wasn't some blushing maiden who swooned over... casual encounters. Never mind how long, long, long ago they were. "I'm, ah, you're... welcome. Waitno," she shakes her head, blushing worse now. Words. Use words. "I'mgladitworkedaswell."

She reaches up, tentatively, and adjusts the collar with the missing button, some faint excuse to avoid meeting his silver gaze, so she wouldn't stare as he... cleaned her kisses off his face. She could fix the button. Maybe. Did she know how to sew? Del couldn't remember right now.

"Show!" she echoes, taking the subject change eagerly. "Yes, you're right, of course, we should... go and, ah, fix ourselves up. For the show. Ahem," she clears her throat and dares a look up at Cyran, his expression not one she could read at the moment. Her chest felt as though it was on fire, and every time she tried to smother an ember, a new one appeared elsewhere, catching easily on the plentiful kindling. Slowly, Del took his arm as they started back to the room. They still had to take care of the jacket. Still had to be Illias and Elen.

On their walk away, they pass Duchess Pewhairangi leaving from the betting tables to go and find herself some late lunch. She nods elegantly in greeting... and spies the lipstick print on Cyran's collar. The elderly woman flashes the two a smile, winking her approval at Del, before they pass one another again.

There's a twisting flutter in her stomach again. Del returns the look, trying not to look as sheepish as she feels. Once they pass one another, Del bites again at her lip.

It was fine. Illias and Elen were married. They were... they were in love. This was normal.

So why did it feel so extraordinary?

...

Del couldn't focus either. Try as she might, she could not get those few seconds in dressing room out of her head. Gods, she was an idiot. A fool. Putting him in that position like that. It had worked out and saved them, kept their cover, but their easy rapport had been replaced by something else, something quiet and smoldering, like a fire waiting to be stoked. At least, that was how it was for Del.

She catches herself biting her lip again and forces herself to stop.

 The performance was meant to be dinner and then a show, and while she had intended to eat a full lunch before the performance so she wouldn't be tempted to eat while they were waiting for an assassin to strike, Del also found herself... not terribly hungry. Her stomach was in knots, a pressure in her chest that made her feel as though she was buzzing. She felt like pacing, like climbing something, like screaming, maybe? She wasnt sure, but she wanted to move. Jitters. Yes. That was all it was.

"Are you ready for our evening, C-- sweet darling?" She catches herself, and gives Cyran Elen's best and brightest smile.

Cyran was still on fire as he cleaned himself up, Del moving to fix his shirt to at least make him appear more presentable. He couldn’t even bring himself when Del whispered out a harried ‘you’re welcome’. To his relief, he wasn’t the only one unaffected by the compromising position they’d found themselves in… this was just the body’s natural reaction, he convinced himself. They were both adults, they could be normal and mature about this. They would go to the show and focus on the job they were here to do. This didn’t have to be a big deal if they did not make it one.

… And yet, he was still hung up on it as they made their walk of shame all the way back to their room to freshen up. He was so lost in his thoughts that he missed the look of approval from the Duchess Pewhairangi shot Del, but he could feel the burn of her embarrassment and mortification all the same. It was not exactly a secret what they had been up to, by Del’s design. The cover was good. But that did not make the trek back to their room, where wolf-whistles and pointed stares followed them, any less mortifying.

He made quick work freshening up - discarded the shirt that would need repairs by replacing it with a long, ebony tunic that was far more… modest than what he’d previously been wearing. Wiped the lipstick off of his face and neck. Ran a comb through his hair. When he looked at himself in the mirror, even freshening himself up could not hide the dilation in his pupils and the flush in his cheeks.

Gods above. What was he, a teenager?

Cyran splashed some cold water on his face. And then some more, just to make sure.

That would have to do for now. They were expected at dinner and a show, and they had a part to play. Illias and Elen - members of high society. The act did not feel as easy to slip into after everything that had happened this afternoon.

He couldn’t speak for Del, but Cyran was still finding it incredibly hard to think at the moment.

He rejoined her, nodding when she asked if she was ready. There was a slip of a tongue - she caught herself before she could say something else. Was she about to utter his name? And why did the thought of her correcting herself make him oddly disappointed? Cyran knew that it was dangerous for her to say his name, and yet.

And yet.

He cleared his throat, offering his arm out to her. “Yes, I have found myself quite hungry after the day’s events.” A bold-faced lie - he didn’t think he could handle food at the moment.

Dinner itself was a quiet affair, in which Illias and Elen picked at their meals. A few passengers approached them with coy smiles reserved to Cyran and Del, raised brows and questions about whether they were having a good anniversary. It was undue attention that Cyran didn’t particularly want on themselves - but in a way, it was good cover, he supposed. They had painted themselves as a couple far too absorbed with themselves to bother with the outside world.

… It would have to do for now.

Once they were finished with their meal, it was time for the play. They made themselves to the performance hall for the second time that night, Cyran attempting to scan the crowd to make sure that Virion and Layla were there. He spotted the husband and wife a little ways away, and he offered them a friendly nod. Layla waved at them excitedly, which was as good as he would take at the moment.

There were a couple of other people filtering their way inside - a human, wearing a pinstripe suit and a pink tunic underneath, the duchess, a couple of brightly dressed felinefolk - nothing of note. They took their seats together in a corner of the room, waiting for the enchanted candles to dim and for the play to start.

He just had to focus on the performance. Look out for any performers out of place, that didn’t mesh quite as well with the others.

… What the hell was this show?

It appeared to be some romance, as far as he could tell, and a raunchy, passionate one at that. Cyran had to avert his eyes to prevent from watching the passionate act, face still beet red as he fiddled with his hands in his lap.

… This was going to be harder than he thought.

Thinking, at least as Del was used to doing it, was not a feature she currently had access to. Her brain seemed altogether too keen on replaying the those few harried seconds in the dressing room. Feeling his breath on her cheek when she leaned in to mark him with kisses, sigils of affection and desire, that had, of course (or so she told herself vehemently) nothing more than a means to an end, and that she shouldn't read into Cyran's frozen, breathless reaction as anything other than pure surprise. So would her brain please stop thinkin of it?

The answer appeared to be 'no'.

The tunic looks lovely on him, she thinks, though she wondered why he chose something so long at the hem. Del herself had slipped into a different dress as well-- something a little less flashy, to match Cyran's new frock, though it still elegant enough to pass for, perhaps, a relaxed noble look. Her head tips slightly as she looks at Cyran, catching a twinge of... something after she speaks. An emotion or feeling she couldn't place. There's a moment when she thinks about asking, but he is offering her his arm again, gallantly. Taking it without a second thought, the now second-nature of looping her arm once more through his, her mind goes blank for a few seconds.

Dinner is amicable, if a little quiet. The frequent interruptions from interested passengers don't help. Their wry, conspiritorial expressions are plain to see. Del doesn't like feeling so... exposed. But Elen would not give it more than a second thought. Though tapping into Elen at the moment was a little difficult. Was it that their 'performance' earlier had simply drained her of that resource? Maybe.

Or perhaps she was too focused on the way Cyran's skin felt under her lips.

Focus, dust and ash, please.

She twirls her fingers in greeting, spotting Virion and Layla when Cyran nods in their direction. Good that they had eyes on them, at least. Even as everyone else had eyes on them. At last, blessedly, it's time for the show to begin. The lights dim, the curtains part... Now under cover of shadow and darkness, they could sit and focus and wait for the potetial attempt--

Oh.

OH.

"Oh, but for sweet Josephine-- my heart's truest desire,"[/i] the lead performer waxes poetic, casting his longing gaze across the stage to where the actress spoke in silent aside with others. "Would not she deign to grant me her eye? Would that she would speak my name, a mere whisper of which on the wind that would lay me so terribly low. Her voice could bury me alive, were it her eyes that gazed down to me, her words soil on my coffin. And her kiss-- oh, it could wake me, revive me from mine very grave; life and death, bequeathed upon me in equal measure from her plump, precious lips. What agony. What bliss."

Del fervently wished the gods were still alive so she could curse them. Her face was so warm she worried she was becoming incandescent with heat. Her ears were ringing, one lifing to the scooped collar of her dress to tease the embroidery beneath her collarbone while her teeth worried at her lower lip.

She dared (it certainly felt daring) to glance out of the corner of her eye at Cyran, who similarly looked... uncomfortable? He wrung his hands in his lap, jaw tense. Del thought for a moment to reach out and offer her hand, to try and offer some comfort-- dust and ash, no, if she did that he would feel her racing heart, how incomprhesibly warm she was. But... Elen and Illias would--

She did not want to think at the moment about what Elen and Illias would want in this moment.

Especially not as the balcony scene ended with the pair in a passionate embrace, kissing as though doing so staved off the internal combustion that threatened to consume them if they didn't. Del clears her throat, a little creaky sound. The mission. The mission was to find and stop the potential assassination.

Or was it enduring this performance without being terribly reminded of earlier in the day? She was having a hard time remembering, at the moment.