Board Thread:Role Plays/@comment-5999656-20190205035159/@comment-25582638-20190208104633

Like moths entranced by a flame, all heads turned in unison at one single direction, eyes of varying emotions watching and anticipating what will happen next. If they were in the bottom of the food chain, beggars and thugs would barely bat an eye; or worse, take the opportunity to steal from the two like rabid dogs. However, this was the domain of the elites of the auction- the place where barbaric, unrefined behaviors had no place and were unanimously sneered upon as childish. There are two ways the upper-class criminals position themselves: one is that of sophisticated flaunt of power and wealth, something that most criminals with the disposition of spoiled children does; and two, indirect and subtle, but sometimes reeks of restrained bloodlust that a mere gaze and a few words could spell the end of life. But infamous Decadere Diaboli didn't do either one of them, and thus, had broken the convention.

Aggression. Assault. The combat servants of the Bluthardt family must repair this.

One man stepped in front of Maris, pointed, H-shaped purple-tinted visor dully reflecting the artificial lights, low raspy breaths escaping from the respirator of the silver mask-like helmet. Upon closer look, one would realize that he was wearing an exosuit with silver-colored segmented armors from helmet down to greaves and boots under the cloak. His garb was seemingly different from the rest of the security detail of red and black uniforms plated with armors. And the safety of his titanium gold .50 Desert Eagle was switched.

The nameless man gazed stoically at Decadere through his visor, watching whether the white-haired man would either continue or cease his actions. Two other security personnel stood a distance away from Decadere's back.

"Ah, my old friend. I can handle it from here." A gloved hand clasped the silver-armored man's shoulder. The helmet turned to look at the Crimson Snake. “Why don't you cut our friend some slack tonight? It seems that a tiny bit of alcohol started playing tricks with his mind.”

“Is that so?~” A pair of hands gripped Maris’ shoulders lightly and moved the girl a little to the side. Hilda once again slid her arm around Maris, giving Diaboli a fake condescending gaze, as though reprimanding him for stealing her “friend”. “I didn't know you're quite a lightweight. Regardless, I think an apology is in order, isn't that right, Decadere?”

The onlookers whispered amongst themselves, words such as “lightweight” and “idiot” floating around. A few stepped out of the store to avoid any brewing inconveniences. Others just shook their heads at embarrassing sight of the young man's ungentlemanly actions against such a younger girl. If he can't hold his liquor, he shouldn't had gotten drunk and outright marched into this place. The corners for the filth is fitting for him if it was fight he was looking for. And most of the people dispersed for the lack of entertainment.

At that, the gazes turned away from the lameness of the scene to something worthy of their time. Sighing in relief, Wynston moved to Decadere's side. Thankfully, it seemed that Hilda was in the mood to play along and diffuse the situation, rather than worsen it. Her volatile mood can be quite alarming from time to time.

The ever stoic man in exosuit moved away simply and then set his eyes at the Stalker.

“What business do you have with our guests, Stalker?” Asked the man, his voice sounding robotic.