A gust of unnatural wind circles the manor, rattling all the windows.

At a party in Oroshe, under the shadow of the Howling Mountain, there's really only one thing it could be.

And indeed, moments later the wind comes in through an open window by the other end of the hall, spins in place on an empty spot of floor, and condenses into a swirl of black vapour which in turn resolves into the form of a tall, muscular man dressed in black silk and red velvet, in styles that went out of fashion thousands of years before anyone in this room was born. Serik Tanaikon, Lord of the Howling Mountain, has arrived.

Yeah, no, she should have just left this damnable city when the idiot broke out the terrible poetry. Actually, she should have never even come here. She shouldn't have tentatively accepted the reassurances that the Lord of the Howling Mountain only shows up three times a decade at most to mean that it was probably safe enough to visit the capital for a few weeks. Sure, 'don't let the threat of the terrifying all powerful sorcerer rule your life' sounds nice in theory, until he actually shows up to a party and you want with all your soul to trade places with the nearest houseplant.

She takes a minute to run through her favorite list of swears in her head, briefly debates opening a window and commandeering the curtains to get as far away from this place as possible before she reminds herself that this would likely make her interesting. Half an hour ago, maybe, she would have liked to be considered interesting. Now? She wants to be the absolute most boring person on the planet.

Rivethira downs the remainder of her drink in a vain attempt to steady her heart, and takes the most roundabout route to safety in numbers as is possible. Maybe see if there are any sneaky servants entrances she can slip out through or cupboards to disappear into. If they look uninteresting enough.

His eyes scan the crowd, then settle on... her. The red hair stands out.

He strides in her direction. The crowd melts out of the way. Someone stumbles and falls into his path, and he pauses to look down at her, and she scrambles out of his way, shaking with terror.

Should have gone with the window. She should have remembered the hair. She should have figured out a way to literally melt into the floorboards.

Fuck.

Bolting would get her precisely nowhere. Hiding behind someone else would get her nowhere, as she seems to be the novelty again. Talking her way to mundanity is likely a lost cause. Maybe if she were near the buffet she could pretend to be in the middle of eating, but she's not.

A thousand different potential options swirl through her head, and unable to decide on one, she doesn't do any. Instead she stands, completely still, frozen with fear.

For the moment he's still distracted by the fallen woman. He leans down to offer her his hand, and she hesitantly accepts and lets him pull her to her feet. He murmurs something to her, too quiet for anyone else to hear; she freezes in place. Then he laughs, and strokes his fingers down her cheek, and turns back in Rivethira's direction and continues on his way.

His eyes are hazel, like hers.

Shit, she should have taken advantage of that to make her escape. Why didn't she, she's an idiot, why is she just standing here she should do something.

She doesn't even know how to be boring. What should she do, talk about the weather? He'd be impressed with the novelty of someone actually managing to make out a sentence to him, probably. Clearly he's enjoying the terror he inflicts. So should she be terrified? That's pretty easy, she's already there, but what if her terror manifests in some way that's as interesting and novel as her damnable hair?

With no better ideas making their way into her head, she decides upon shrinking and shivering and staying right where she is. Be boring. Be boring. Be boring.

When he reaches her, he picks up her hand and lightly kisses the back of it, a courtesy that's been going slowly out of fashion for a century.

"Good evening," he says, with a slight smile. His voice is very smooth. It would be nice to listen to, under other circumstances. "Whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?"

AAAAAAAAAAA.

Right, okay, her head is clearly not working right now. What does one do when meeting someone for the first time?

So she curtsies. Remarkably well, actually, but for the shaking.

"Good evening. R-rivethira Lentirai," she says, feeling small and powerless and inane. "From the southern coast."

"I am delighted to meet you, Lady Rivethira. It is Lady Rivethira, isn't it? I haven't visited the southern coast in several centuries, so it's no surprise that your family is not known to me."

"Lady, yes," she agrees, softly. "My grandfather acquired the title after the preceding lord passed without an heir."

I'm not important I'm not important I'm not important go away go away I'm boring.

He smiles down at her.

"You are exceptionally beautiful, Lady Rivethira."

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

There are no words, only screaming. Rivethira operates entirely by courtesy, clinging to it like a raft in a great and terrible storm.

".... Thank you, my lord."

His face wouldn't be particularly striking, on anyone else. It's not unusually attractive, not unusually ugly. Plain, unremarkable. His smile is just a smile.

It's the context that makes it so terrifying.

"I see the southern coast hasn't yet forgotten me. What stories do they tell down there, I wonder?"

"Most of them wildly implausible, my lord," she says, speaking without thinking. "The most absurd of which involves the mountain secretly being a volcano that is the source of your power, kept dormant by living sacrifices."

Wait no that wasn't boring abort abort abort.

He laughs. "I like that one! It has style! Tell me another."

noooooooooo.

But she thinks he might just kill her if she annoys him by not obeying, so she does.

"That you stole the Last Emperor's soul and keep it in a box, and he's been driven mad by time and demands you fetch more citizens to join the Ansati Empire he's made of his prison. And then of course, the screaming comes from when you open the box to put in more souls." Nearly as wildly implausible as the first, but that is what he asked for, isn't it. Or maybe she's just clinging to the implausible stories, trying to make fantasy of this nightmare she lives in.

He grins.

"Charming. Whoever came up with that one clearly never met my father, not that that's a surprise."

"No, as much has been recommended for eating one's vegetables, I don't imagine they extend life that completely."

aaaaaa you idiot you idiot stop being funny!!!

(She can't help it, it's how she copes!)

"I like you," he says, laughing. "How would you like to visit my castle, Lady Rivethira?"

What an utterly predictable outcome. She is not at all surprised. Despairing, yes. Surprised, no. This might be the most spectacular failure of stealth that the world has ever seen.

Her head's filled with screaming again, so it's back to courtesy. Politely decline without giving offense.

"I'm - flattered, my lord, but I'm - I'm afraid I have a prior engagement and am expected back home soon." Most convincing excuse ever. Terrible at blending in and terrible at talking her way out of going to the nightmare mountain. Good job.

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that," he says, disappointed. "Ah well. Have a lovely evening, my dear. And do remember me if you find yourself less occupied one day."

And he turns away. A ripple of fear and dismay goes through the crowd. There is by now a good ten feet of clear space surrounding the pair of them in every direction, as the nearest guests edged away as discreetly as they could manage; Lord Tanaikon surveys them again, finds someone else who catches his eye, and strolls in their direction.

What.

What???

A polite goodbye is completely beyond her. She - edges back a step, and then a second. Then she turns on her heel and walks with jittery determination to the nearest potted plant. And then, with utmost grace, she does the only sensible thing one does after a conversation like that. She vomits.

... Yeah, she'd still trade places with it.

Is he playing mind games with her? Is she actually in the clear and he's going to enjoy watching her squirm? Or is she still target number one, with an imminent snatching by an all-powerful sorcerer hanging over her head? She doesn't know. That's probably the point. Ugh, why do evil immortal sorcerers that make people mysteriously disappear have to be such assholes?

She cannot be near this many people right now. Partially because she's a walking hazard and anyone near her might be drawn to his attention by association, partially because she cannot be near this many people right now. So she straightens up and turns to find some quiet place to not be near anyone at all. ... Her path takes her by the drink bar. She relieves it of a bottle of its strongest wine. Decorum no longer matters. Maybe nothing really matters, maybe she's dug her own grave with relentless efficiency, and all there really is left to do is to drink. Because clearly there isn't much loss to losing her inhibitions, she did that while sober.

A nook is found. Everyone very wisely keeps their distance. The wine burns her already acid-charred throat, and she finds she really doesn't care.

Lord Tanaikon leaves her alone for - at least two hours, if she's counting. He talks to several other people, drifting here and there through the slowly-thinning crowd.

But then his shadow falls over her where she sits at the base of an out-of-the-way stair.

She is about three quarters of the way through the bottle by then. It's a big bottle. She looks up at him, glumly.

"Could you at least let me finish the rest of this before I'm spirited away?" she says, a little plaintively.

He chuckles. "Does that mean you've decided to accept my invitation after all?"