Setting: Evening party, buffet table glowing under warm lights. Music plays in the background, stick figures dancing in the distance.
đ˝ď¸ Velrise & Christine
Velrise is elegantly holding a tiny glass plate stacked with desserts, sipping punch as she mutters,
"This place is rich in sugar and poor in secrets."
Christine, already on her fourth plate, says while chewing,
"Secrets don't feed the stomach, babe. That red velvet roll does though."
Velrise raises an eyebrow.
"You ate one of those with your hand. That's not velvet. That's violence."
đ Purana, Camila & Roselit
Meanwhile, the other three girls have broken off from the food table and are fully enjoying the night.
Purana is talking to two stickman twins in matching suits, pretending to argue over who's taller while she keeps correcting their grammar mid-flirt.
Camila is casually doing a slow spin to the music, just enough to make her movements look like a martial arts display. A few stickman onlookers are totally mesmerized, unsure if she's going to punch them or kiss them.
Roselit, with her hair flicked to one side, sits on a glowing bench kicking her feet. A flirty stickman tries to sit next to her but she just pats the spot beside him and says:
"That seat's for someone who can dance better than me."
Then she gets up and challenges the DJ with a smirk.
The room dims.
As the first haunting notes of "Red Champoure" echo through the ballroom, silence spreads like ink in water. The violins riseâbut not sweetly. They screech with elegance, a bold tone that commands, not pleases.
Then he appears:
đ The Long Stickman
He's at least a head taller than everyone in the room, his silver outfit almost liquid, like molten moonlight stitched into clothes.
Each step he takes sounds like a muted chime, his boots crafted from some lighter alloy unknown to commoners.
The obsidian goblet swirls red wine like blood and rubies, reflecting the light like mirrors within darkness.
He lifts his head, revealing a long, confident smirk that somehow feels centuries old.
"You may resume moving," he says, waving his goblet lazily, "as long as you do so in my rhythm."
The DJ, a bead of sweat on their face, obeys and switches the track to the long stickman's composition â Red Champoure. A mix of waltz, ambient dread, and a heartbeat bassline that makes even Roselit pause mid-step.
đś Everyone Reacts
Velrise narrows her eyes. "Who makes their own classical music and forces people to listen?"
Christine, mid-bite, says: "Oh no⌠he's hot, isn't he?"
Camila steps forward slightly. "That's not fashion. That's intent."
Purana quietly mutters, "He's not here to dance. He's here to change the tone."
Roselit just smiles. "Finally... something worth a little chaos."
The music swells around Amend's words, carrying a hypnotic undertone that ripples through the crowd. His silver-clad figure stands tall and poised, every movement deliberate and graceful.
He locks eyes with Velrise, a slight, knowing smile curling his lips.
"Hey there, so you finally arrived. Thank you for being here," Amend says smoothly, his voice a soft, compelling melody amidst the classical strains.
"Say, care for a dance? It'd be my pleasure to show you the hospitality this city is famous for."
The crowd parts subtly, sensing the unspoken challenge in his tone. The other girls glance at Velrise with mixed expressions â curiosity, concern, and excitement.
Velrise hesitates for a heartbeat, then steps forward, her gaze steady and unreadable.
"Hospitality, huh? I'm not one to decline a challenge, Amend. Let's see what your rhythm's really made of."
The orchestra's crescendo rises, and the floor becomes theirs. The spotlight narrows, capturing the two stick figures poised for a dance that might mean much more than just steps and music.
he ballroom transformed as the music shiftedâa swirling blend of mystique and sultry jazz weaving through the classical base. The second sheet, titled "Midnight Whispers," unfurled its notes like smoke curling through the air.
Amend and Velrise moved flawlessly, their bodies synchronizing in perfect harmony as they tapped the floor with rhythmic precision. Each tap sent subtle ripples through the air, the sound like a heartbeat syncing with the rising tension between them.
The jazz quartet in the corner leaned into the grooveâsaxophone notes sliding smoothly, trumpet blasts punctuating the beat, while the double bass thumped steady and deep.
Spectators watched breathless as the dance evolvedâfast footwork, intricate spins, and daring lifts blending with a quiet, electric intensity.
Velrise's eyes never left Amend's, both locked in this elegant battle of willsâdance as language, challenge, and conversation all at once.
The Fallen One's sharp gaze flickered toward the glowing screen of his phone as Splint's voice cut through the silence of his new house.
Splint (over call): "Velrise is in danger. Not just your usual contract targetâthis is serious."
The Fallen One let out a dry chuckle, voice low and steady.
The Fallen One: "So?"
Splint: "No, you don't get it. Your mission just changed. After you refused to eliminate her for Jest Cain, the higher-ups put everything on holdâthe corruption, the land grabs. Now it's about protecting her."
He paced slowly, the weight of the new assignment settling like a stone in his chest.
The Fallen One: "Protect her, huh? Guess I'm babysitting now."
Splint: "Yeah, but not in plain sight. You're going in as a bystander at the ballroom party. Observe. Study. Be ready."
With a swift move, The Fallen One morphed his sword into a sleek, black earpiece, tucking it into his ear.
The Fallen One: "Alright. Let's see what trouble this 'hospitality' really is. I'm on my way."
He grabbed his coat, stepping out into the night. The city lights blurred as he vanished in a flash, the hunt â and the protection â just beginning.
The Fallen One adjusted his coat collar, shadows playing across his sharp features as he approached the grand entrance of the ballroom. The dim glow of the chandeliers seeped through the tall windows, casting an elegant aura over the night.
He didn't care how out of place his slightly rumpled, old-fashioned detective look seemed among the glittering crowd. With a calm confidence, he stepped forward to the burly bouncer blocking the door.
Without missing a beat, he held up a forged ID cardâweathered but convincing.
"I'm a cook," he said flatly, voice low and steady.
The bouncer squinted at the card, then gave a nod and a grunt.
"Alright, Chef. You're in."
The Fallen One slipped inside, blending seamlessly into the swirling mass of guests, his eyes already scanning the room for Velriseâand whatever danger lurked in the shadows.