Laughing black eyes caught his own dull gray ones for a moment, as if to say I see you, I know you are there, before turning away to someone else. Blaine shivered and shrank back closer to the wall, trying to disappear into the soft tapestries adorning the cool stone. He hated these events, hated them with a passion. There were too many people here, too many looks of revulsion that glided over him as quickly as possible to find something less...disgusting to look at. He hated their revulsion, and he hated their sympathy even more. It sickened him, made his insides twist in fear and self-loathing.

It wasn't healthy. He was a healer, of course he knew it wasn't healthy. These social gatherings shouldn't have made him feel on the verge of a breakdown- it had been long enough since his accident that he should have been long used to the glances and the pity and the revulsion. And he'd been told time and time again, by the Shrive, by the Guildmaster, by Foxbird- he'd been told repeatedly that he didn't look half as bad as he thought he did. He knew he didn't look half as bad as he thought he did. But knowing and feeling are two completely different things. And it was the feeling that made him want to vanish.

He had been so caught up in his misery that he hadn't even noticed the solid figure sneaking up on him- the Assassin's guild prided itself on being better at sneaking than even the thieves, Blaine remembered with irony. Maybe that's why I fucked everything up so badly- I should have stuck to killing and not tried to save anybody. Still those laughing black eyes weren't going to be ignored, no matter how badly he wanted to ignore them.

"If you think you can hide over here, you are sadly mistaken." The half-elven assassin reclined against the wall. Silverlock D'Alestri never stood or leaned anywhere- he lounged and reclined, always perfectly at ease. His trademark gray streak in his long black hair trailed loosley down his temple, the rest of his hair caught up in an impressively complex knot. Silver was known for being as flamboyant and showy as possible at these damned "occasions"; today was no exception. He was wearing his most offensive set of robes, ruby colored silk inscribed with obscene magical sigils that reminded everyone in the room that he was a blood mage. The heavy ruby encrusted gold collar he wore only served to remind everyone that he was a half-elf, and therefore even further deplorable.

Blaine shrugged and tried to retreat even further within himself. It wasn't that the half-elf made him uncomfortable- Silverlock was impossible to dislike unless he wanted to be disliked, a fact that never failed to disconcert the populace as a whole. "I hate these things," he said softly, deciding to be honest.

"I know you do, and I'll let you leave in a moment-" Silver's eyes danced, as though he were in on some sort of huge cosmic joke that no one else knew the punchline to. "But you have to dance with me first."

Blaine swallowed, his throat suddenly very, very dry. "Wh-what?" He was suddenly acutely aware of how he must look, standing next to the famed Silverlock. His clothing, as always, was simple; earth tones had always suited him, had always helped him to blend in and go unnoticed. Next to the blood mage he was like a sparrow beside a phoenix.

Silver smiled and took his hand. "Dance with me, Healer. Then I'll let you leave and won't mention it to the Guildmaster."

"I- I don't know how to dance..." Blaine bowed his head to hide the bright scarlet his face had become. At this rate he would resemble Silverlock's robes...

A gentle hand lifted his chin, while equally gentle fingers brushed his hair away from his face; he was forced to look into those laughing eyes, and forced to reveal the horrendous scars that disfigured the left side of his face. Silverlock smiled, laughter still barely contained within his inky eyes. "To be perfectly honest, Blaine, I don't give a damn."

There was really no way he could argue with that, was there? Or so he tried to convince himself as the stately assassin pulled him onto the dance floor.

---------- Aw, I've been wanting to write something cute involving those two characters for a while. I suck at romance, you know, especially the disgustingly sugary kind- and if Blaine and Silverlock are anything, it's saccharine. At least, they are once Silver gets over himself, and once Blaine gets over his numerous 'issues'...I ought to work on that story. Hn.