Le Masquerade just wasn't the same anymore. Darian missed Éloi with a burning passion. He had to fetch his own drinks - he had to wait at the door! He couldn't go traipsing about where he pleased. He was relegated with the plebs to the main floor (not that those exclusive clubgoers of a place like Le Masque were plebeian - or that the main floor wasn't a silken dream of a space). The staff section upstairs was no longer a place he could go swanning into and expect a warm reception. When he was excited or bored or simply needed a fix he could not count on Éloi to greet him with his refreshing lack of morals. He was so displeased. He and the proprietor had had all the same interests. They had wined together, dined together, slept and smoked and seduced together. They had devoted themselves together to the Cult of the Aesthetic! They had had long conversations and longer, lazy days.

It was heartbreaking, in a way. Darian was not sure he'd ever see Éloi again. His father had him locked up in a tower of business like the proverbial fairy princess - not even in France had Darian managed to arrange a meeting.

So he got drunk, of course, his first trip back to the club. And the second. And the third. It made his state of affairs a little more tolerable. He did not mean to be maudlin, though he didn't mind appearing so - draping himself artfully across velvet cushions had always been his forte. Aria was lovely... she just wasn't the same.

He was not drunk tonight. Not yet, anyways. Darian was flirting with the idea of being concerned for his safety. He kept picking it up and then putting it down again, toying with it as one might when saddled by the detachment of recent vacation. Le Masque had always been an extremely secure place, but then again he'd always been upstairs behind an additional layer of protection. Jean-Luc could waltz in as he was so fond of doing and just pluck him up from the embroidered chairs like his laundry. A mask was a thin thing behind which to hide. Darian hadn't returned to London to be afraid; he had asked around, the Cirque de la Lune seemed to be gone. But one could never be too sure, could they? He was tucked away in a draped and private corner, not out for all to see - not drinking at the bar, not snogging against the wall with the gaity of assured anonymity. Ohhh, bother. Oh vixation and drat. He was so TIRED of paranoia. It didn't suit him at all.

What he really needed was a good distraction. Thank Merlin Le Masque was full of those. He might lure someone interesting into his company - and poking his head out from the curtained and cushion bedecked nook he did look around, all red curls and silver flash of mask. He would even settle for a bit of conversation. But who to nab?

The St Mungo's Benefit had proved to be somewhat stifling for Johann. He was there under the pretence he was accompanying his oldest friend, Elixa, and yet she was more content with chattering to a girl who looked to be a Hogwarts student, grinning like a lune at a colleague with purple hair, and then begrudgingly schmoozing with men who looked like they might be widowed soon.

Ignan on the other hand was shadowing Miranda on what was perhaps their first visible outing as a 'couple' to Johann's understanding. He wasn't entirely sure how long they'd courted, but it was probably not as long as Johann and Arcturus - which had been since the last days of January.

The linguist and the healer were still at the incredibly awkward stage, and Johann never quite knew if he was coming or going with the man. Arcturus was so terribly tentative, and kept the whole thing under wraps as far as possible. Even if Elixa still threw herself at Arcturus, Johann couldn't do anything about it, and had to keep her in the dark too - that he'd strange 'romantic' feelings or something of the sort for her housemate who she was also rather fond of. That he'd had the thrill of kissing the other man, but not really much else since.

And so, he'd found his way from the hospital to a familiar haunt. Le Masque didn't care what mood you'd been in before you stepped inside, as you put your mask on and you could play a part or reinvent yourself if you wished. Johann had no great time for glamour spells, but he had dressed to attempt to acquire some new business contacts at St Mungo's (relatively fruitless in the end, people were there to flash their cash for charitable reasons, not to make business arrangements). It seemed a waste of Darian Morgan's tailoring to take it back to Godric's Hollow, peel it off alone.

His eye was caught by the twitch of curtain off to one side, a silver mask amidst red hair. Curiosity got the better of him, he'd already had enough whine to drink for one night, and if nothing else, he felt like some company and to not go home that night. Glancing about him to see if anyone made a move towards the curtain, he decided to approach it himself, adjusting the deep green mask upon his cheekbones. The likes of which several patrons had remarked they'd 'know anywhere'.