It wasn't quite the flashy, dramatic entrance Locke had in mind, but it would have to do. He didn't quite have the money to afford a limousine, and besides (he figured) that most likely would have been overkill. He settled instead for a Hansom cab, splitting the cost with a well-dressed middle-aged woman who looked to Locke's eye to be a minor noble of some sort. It had taken no small amount of charm (and agreeing to pay for a larger share of the fare) for the garishly dressed ice elf to convince the prim and proper woman in the plum-colored dress and pearls to hitch a ride with him. He didn't even seem to register the possibility that his pale-pink tuxedo jacket ? complete with black lapels ? and pleated ice-blue dress shirt was anything but a dapper fashion choice. Or if he did, he didn't seem to care.

The cab sped through the streets of the city, cutting sharp corners with its turns and narrowly missing the sides of several large carriages it passed on its way to the theatre. Locke clapped his hands with glee at every near miss, while the the noble beside him tried to draw attention away from her rapidly paling face by chattering on about various pieces of court business from some barony or duchy or kingdom he had never heard of. Finally, with a screeching halt to avoid the crowd of people milling near the curb in front of the theater, they arrived. With the barest of farewells, the woman stumbled out of the cab and hurtled through the theatre's front door. Locke just chuckled as he carefully stepped out of the fly, tipped the driver, and sent the man on his way. With a quick tug on the waistband of his black trousers, Locke ambled into the throng. He glanced down at his feet, both to marvel at the way the marquee light reflected off his shiny black lace-ups and to mock-scowl at the lack of a red carpet for his arrival. He felt like a movie star in his fancy tuxedo, and some small part - well, perhaps a fairly significant portion - of him wanted the world to know it. The moment passed though, and that incandescent grin of his was back. He handed his ticket to the usher in the box office booth, slipping into the lobby once his share of the stub was returned to him and pocketed.

Some of the dignitaries, diplomats, and other miscellaneous upper-crust arts supporters were vaguely familiar from Locke's time spent in New Haven, but most of them were just acquaintances or even just people he'd seen around town a time or two. There was nobody here he knew well, save for his boss Gerard, who he immediately recognized and made brief, idle small talk with. He wasn't sure who the woman Gerard was with was; Locke didn't ask, and she didn't seem to wish to talk too much. She appeared to straddle two lines of age: in the right light, she might be young enough to be his daughter, or she might have just had plastic surgery or magical augmentation to look that way. Gerard's behavior to her, courteous and conservative, gave him no further clues. She might've been a New Haven fashion model, Gerard's wife, or his daughter, for all Locke knew. After a polite goodbye, he shuffled off to snag a drink and some hors d'oeuvres. He grabbed a small plate with some cold vegetable samosas and a cocktail glass full of some sort of fruit and yogurt-derived beverage. He ate and drank daintily, watching carefully for the doors to the auditorium to open.

As dusk approached, Peredhil walked slowly down Rhydin's main avenue, soft steps soundless on the cobblestone road. Couples strolled arm-in-arm, shoppers hurried to buy what they needed before the stores closed down for the night, and a few kids passed by on bicycles, calling out to each other in high-pitched voices.

From the looks of it, nothing and everything had changed, Peredhil thought as he watched life go on around him, invisible in the midst of it all.

As he approached a small bakery, one of his old haunts, a flier caught his eye. The name of the ballet was unknown, but his gaze was drawn to the sketch of a young lady. Although the ink was somewhat faded, the result of the flier's exposure to the elements for a couple of days, he immediately recognized her.

Changing course, he quickened his pace until he stood outside Manu & Sons Tailors. Ducking his head under the low overhang, he looked around, spotting no one in the small store.

"It cannot be!" Manu exclaimed, racing to embrace one of his best customers. "Many months pass and you do not come." He wagged a finger at Peredhil. In a heavily accented voice, he admonished, "You lose weight. Come -- my wife prepares delicious meal. You will join us."

Peredhil tried to protest, but his feeble attempts got him nowhere. Already, the smell of roasted mutton and steamed vegetables reached his nostrils.

Manu and his wife, Laurana, seemed to know almost as much about Rhydin's gossip as Marc Franco, and they filled Peredhil in on the details while they ate. After they had finished eating, Manu pushed his plate back with a satisfied sigh.

"Tell me, my lord, what brings you to my store?"

As Peredhil explained his need for a suitable suit for tonight's performance, Manu's eyes widened with delight. Busily sorting through the material he had available, he spoke softly to himself. "Yes, yes..." He looked up at Peredhil. "You make grand return to Rhydin society." Fingering a piece of dark silk, he looked at Peredhil with an appraising eye. "We take measurements again and I fix suit for performance."

Peredhil grumbled a little as Manu took his measurements, but it was more out of habit than anything else. As he sat patiently in the anteroom, Manu and his wife worked quickly and efficiently.

Thirty minutes before the ballet was to begin, Peredhil approached the ticket booth in a dapper black suit. He purchased one of the final available tickets and made his way to his seat just as the lights were dimming. Settling into his chair, he waited with great anticipation for the curtain to rise.

"Ya guys gotta go bafore they start takin' the candles ou'."Squeezing both Johnny and Sianna's hands, Katarina weaved through the organized chaos backstage minutes before the performance. She walked by her chair, curious at the notes and bouquets that had already found their recipient. She didn't have time to relish the thought, before properly preparing her shoes with a combination of water and chalk powder.

The last minute was moving quickly, a layer of tension and anticipation coming over all of the performers. Katarina eased her own nervousness by rubbing the pad of her thumb over the rest of her fingertips. She caught sight of Andy, who as The High Brahmin, was of the first scene.

"Break a leg, Andy." She flashed him a brilliant grin, "Er twist 'n ankle, er pull a muscle. Yanno, th' works tha'll ruin yer career."

He showed his performance smile and spoke through his teeth, "Don't twirl so hard that your headpieces falls off. Oh," he wiggled his brows, "you've already done that."

She tried to keep her laughter as quiet as possible, and when the first group was waved on the stage, Katarina blew Andy a kiss and went back to rubbing her fingertips together.

Programs were given to each and every viewer with a synopsis and scene explaining each scene and act. It also listened every member in the opera, down to every musician, singer, and dancer. The candles slowly dwindled until just a handful were left on along the walkways and the curtains parted.

"Act I, Scene I, Outside Temple in the Sacred Forest: The High Brahmin, priests, and temple dancers are celebrating the Indian Ritual of Fire. Nikiya, the most beautiful of the bayad?res, has been chosen to be consecrated the lead temple dancer. The High Brahmin declares his love for Nikiya, but is rejected by her. Nikiya meets secretly with Solor, a young warrior later than evening. They dance together and swear eternal love over the Sacred Fire, but are discovered by the jealous High Brahmin, who vows to kill Solor."

Katarina's entrance was completely soloistic, the choreography taking advantage of her long limbers. She smoothly changed from lines to curves, the control of the slow movements exquisite. When dancing with Bryan, the dancer for Solor, her facial expressions exaggerated the feelings that substituted words. Movements were sharper to play upon the intensity of their passion.

"Act I, Scene II, A Room in the Palace: The Rajah has decided to reward Solor?s valor and decrees that the warrior will marry his daughter, Gamzatti. Gamzatti falls in love with Solor?s portrait, and when they meet, he is overwhelmed by her beauty. Even though he has sworn eternal love to Nikiya, he cannot defy the wishes of the Rajah and agrees to marry Gamzatti. The High Brahmin informs the Rajah of Nikiya and Solor?s secret love, hoping that the Rajah will do away with Solor. Instead, the Rajah decides to kill Nikiya. The conversation is overhead by Gamzatti, who summons Nikiya to her rooms and attempts to bribe Nikiya to give up Solor. Refusing, Nikiya frantically attempts to kill Gamzatti. Nikiya flees and Gamzatti swears to destroy her."

"Did'cha see 'em?" Katarina quietly asked Andy during their short break together, watching Christine brush her fingertips lovingly over a painted portrait. "Dun thin' tha' many knew wha' ta 'pected, huh?"

"Well, maybe it's best to have no expectations. It can be unique and refreshing." He sent her a grin, "I am off to set your perpetual death." Performing some ornate bow, he set off for his next scene.

Despite the beginning difficulties with Katarina and Christine, their natural disliking made their scene together more powerful. They both portrayed their array of emotions, and Katarina might have been a little too forceful in her "attempt" to kill Christine. It seemed to have been anticipated, which only showed a more realistic approach. They were both able to at least give each other respectful smiles once the scene had finished.

Act I, Scene III, The Garden of the Palace: At the betrothal of Solor and Gamzatti, Nikiya is commanded to dance. Gamzatti presents her with a basket of flowers which Nikiya believes to be from Solor, and which conceals a deadly snake. Nikiya is bitten, and when Solor leaves with Gamzatti, she refuses the proffered antidote and dies."

Katarina's solo this time showed a larger range of variety. Before the basket of flowers is presented, her movements were long, curving downwards with several movements performed on her knees, as if pleading. Once receiving the flowers, the music and demeanor is instantly lifted. Her dance becomes more lively, if not smug at thinking that Solor had given her flowers. Once "bitten," her movements become staggered, repeatedly holding the base of her neck and showing her palms. Her dying sequence lasts for two minutes before the scene ends and the curtain close.

Once more the candles are relight, signaling a brief intermission before the rest of the ballet would be performed.

The dancers bowed, the audience clapped, and then the curtain fell. Some members of the audience grabbed their purses and other possessions and headed immediately for the lobby, having other places to go this evening. Others stood in the aisles, gossiping about the ballet and the dancers, comparing each to past shows and past performers. A few of them, Locke included, started to make their way up towards the stage and to the wings, where red curtains cordoned off from sight the entrance to the back stage area. Upon seeing Gerard and his companion heading the opposite direction, Locke shook his boss's hand and said his goodbyes to the two, before giving a quick tug to the lapels of his tuxedo coat and heading towards the orchestra pit.

With little effort, he twisted and turned around those who were standing and conversing in the aisleways, until he was past the rows of seats. Intuitively, he took a right, brushing aside the fabric blocking him from backstage. Pointed ears picked up the dull murmur of conversation, but he couldn't quite determine which room it was, and he was leery about embarrassing himself by swinging open a door that might lead to a dressing room, or put him on the stage without knowing it. Instead, he aimlessly milled around, looking at the posters of old shows that had been placed at intervals along the walls. He was intently studying one for ?The Marriage of Figaro,? when he felt a tap on his shoulder. A short, broad-shouldered gentleman in a cream-colored usher's uniform greeted him when he turned around. He seemed quite uncomfortable in it; Locke wasn't sure if it was because of the fit (a little tight around his chest, if he was seeing things right), the color, or a combination of the two.

?Can I help you, sir?? Locke smiled widely, white teeth and purple gums gleaming in the light.

?You certainly can, mate. I am supposed to be meeting Katarina Smith backstage, for the after-party.?

?I see.? He gave Locke a quick look-over, doubt clearly clouding his features. Finally, he pointed at the poster Locke had been looking at, voice still gruff. ?Wait here. I will go get her.?

Locke kicked a foot against the wall to lean, arms folded across his chest and a smirk on his face. He pretended to cock a gun and fire at the usher. ?Wouldn't dream of leaving, mate.? His stance was reminiscent of his delinquent days, and were it not for his tuxedo and general cleanliness, he might very well have been mistaken for one at that moment. He stifled a giggle as the man walked off, shoulders rolling with a sigh.

Locke dropped out of the lean, straightening in posture as Katarina approached. He brushed off the front of his jacket needlessly, and sent a crooked, sheepish grin her way. He looked as if he had been caught misbehaving by a school teacher, and couldn't quite feign remorse for his actions. The guilty look quickly faded though, once he'd gotten a closer look at her outfit. He let out a low wolf whistle, then winked playfully.

?You look aces, mate. Just like your performance this evening. Congratulations.? He reached a gloved hand up to scratch at the more subdued spikes of white hair, smoothing them over a little bit as his cheeks briefly took on a slight purple cast. He regained his composure with a wide, cheeky smile, then adjusted the collar of his pleated blue dress shirt. ?Not that you probably noticed, considering you most likely have more bouquets backstage than you would ever know what to do with, but I had a florist send you some flowers earlier this evening. They're...? And he trailed off, fruitlessly searching his usually spotless memory for the name he had been given. ?Bugger. I seem to have forgotten the name. They're, uh, quite red?? Hands now clasped and folded behind his back, he took a half-step forward, almost bashful in the gesture. "But that is neither here nor there. To answer your question ? yes. Yes, I am ready for the after-party.? Locke extended an arm out for her to take, grinning all the while.

Locke's gift of gab came in handy during the after party, when it seemed like every rich merchant and businessman and every idle noble and politician wanted a piece of the show's star. Of course, he was quite a spectacle himself, in his pale pink tuxedo coat, light blue tuxedo shirt, pointed ears and blue skin. He knew he was an eccentric sight, and he was counting on that and his natural charisma to deflect attention from the lead dancer.

He pulled it off with gusto. He glad-handed the rich, famous, and powerful with his usual charm and swagger, while doing everything in his power to keep as much attention off of Katarina as possible. Sometimes, it was by subtle turns in the conversation, towards topics that Locke was more well-versed in. Other times, it was more blatant, pulling her away with a quick ?Goodbye? from those fans who couldn't take a hint that the conversation was over. He bragged up his (minor) achievements in the dueling rings, garnering sympathy with stories of past injuries suffered in the heat of battle. He played up his relationship with Koyliak, and by extension, the Governor himself. He invited many of the men present to stop by Highlife Haberdashery, to examine the store's wares. It was difficult, but he managed to keep his snide comments about some of the attendees more questionable fashion choices to himself and Katarina, through the occasional sly whisper.

Slowly but surely, the party started to die down, as the patrons started to shuffle out in ones and twos, the food and drinks on the tables now picked over. Locke took advantage of a brief lull in conversations with others to murmur something in her ear. ?Have you put in enough face time this evening to make a dignified exit, or do we have to grin and bear it for a while longer?? The tightness of his smile was a clear indicator that even he had limits to the amount of brown-nosing he could do.