(Open) Between the velvet lies

[Albert Wesker]

As he rolled through the gate to the Moors, the sight that greeted him was... Well, it was definitely on the drab, dreary side. And there was a certain feeling in the air that he had often felt during his military career. It was an unpleasant feeling, and it weighed on his mind heavily enough that it brought a mild grimace of distaste to his face. He shook his head, hunching his shoulders in an attempt to shut out the atmosphere of the place and let the bike rumble on.

He was forced to check the directions on the flyer rather frequently. He would have preferred to stop and ask for directions from the locals, if at all possible, but...he never quite came acrpss any. He chalked it up mostly to the time of night he guessed it to be, as he was yet unaware of just how dreadful the Moors really were, and the real reason for the rather sparse presence of people.

Soon enough, his rolling along carried him out of the town proper, leaving him with even fewer ways to ensure he was still on the right path, beyond the general note in the directions to stay on the 'main road'. He could only assume that the well-beaten path he trundled along now was the main road mentioned, as if it wasn't...he was going to end up very, very lost, and in very short order, to boot.

He was confident enough he would manage well enough even if he did end up lost, but that didn't mean he wanted to go and get lost if he could help it.

His studious following of the directions paid off in the end, however, as not only did he not get lost, he managed to arrive at a point that was unmistakably his destination. The foreboding atmosphere of the place took a sharp jump as he reached a clear enough path through a dense tangle of woods. He brought the bike to a halt, staring at the trail ahead with a blank look on his face. It was probably his imagination running away with him -- or so he sincerely hoped, at least -- but it looked like his head would've brushed some of the overhanging branches.

Overhanging branches that he could swear were swaying. Against the light breeze.

"Arara... Should have gotten more rest before I came here, I guess..."

With a grim sort of determination, he lowered his posture on the bike and let it roll on forward. And as he went, frost started to flow down over his form, trailing behind the tires of the bike, leaving a rather clear trail in his wake. Said trail melted within mere moments, but the mist-like layer of miniscule ice crystals that clung to his own form -- specifically the sleeves and back of his long coat -- remained clear and visible, sparkling and shimmering in the faint light.

And making the air in his immediate vicinity even more chilly as he want along.

It was more of a play for intimidation than anything, as he doubted he could react to or fight effectively while riding the bike. He didn't have Smoker's experience in riding the strange, three-wheeled contraption. And he wasn't entirely sure he ever wanted to; that was just too much out of his element.

Further action and travel was brought to a halt as he finally left the woods behind, arriving before an admittedly rather huge mansion, that just had to be his destination. He brought the bike to a halt, staring up at the building for a long moment, as if in contemplation, before finally giving his head a long, slow shake, heaving a deep sigh, and killing the engine of the billower bike.

He climbed to his feet, and took the necessary time to extract the means of conveyance back to its component omnilium, before he straightened his posture, adjusted his tie and smoothed the rumbles in his suit from the long ride as best he could. Goodness, he'd forgotten how stuffy this suit could be form time to time.

He slowly strode toward the doors of the mansion, attended by a lone doorman with what must have been the masks mentioned in the flyer. He took a good look around the exterior of the mansion and its grounds as he approached, one hand sliding into a pocket of his suit in an old habit. When he finally reached the doorman himself, he looked down at the man, who looked back up at him.

"Another Prime here to attend the Masquerade?"

Kuzan lifted his free hand and scratched absently at the back of his head as he answered. "You could say that."

The doorman looked him up and down intently, before wrinkling his nose and letting out a sigh. "Well, I suppose your attire is suitable enough, at least." He reached into the pile of masks to one side of him without looking and retrieved a mask, offering it to the former Admiral. In what could not possibly be a coincidence, the mask he received was that of a pheasant. And it was even blue. He wrinkled his nose at the sheer unlikeliness of it all, holding in the far from insubstantial amusement he found in it all, and simply took the mask, affixing it in place as best he could. His rather...poofy hair made it momentarily difficult, but he managed in the end.

Once the mask was in place, he was ushered inside, and left to his own devices. He let out another hefty sigh, adjusting the collar of his suit once again. The atmosphere of this place wasn't sitting right with him for some reason. Maybe he should have just let that thief go on and show up here himself, and let whatever happened happen to him.

The first thing he noticed as he meandered further into the mansion, in the direction he assumed the Masquerade proper was taking place, was that he had arrived with things already somewhat in progress. The second was that, as usual, he seemed to stand well more than a head taller than nearly everyone else in the room. And it was enough to make him thankful, for a moment, for the mask he now wore, as it hid the scowl that lit up his features. That would make it all but impossible to keep a low profile and keep an eye out for the whole reason he had come here to begin with.

Shortly after his entrance, however, he was caught up in the sudden rush of assorted partygoers as the band struck up their playing into something fast, jazzy, and what he knew must be a delight to dance to. And it was a good thing that part of military etiquette had included even affairs such as this. Perhaps less grand or ostentatious, but it was enough to carry him through a dance he was pulled into -- rather strongly, though not against his will -- by a not unattractive young woman that he was quite certain wasn't human.

He hurriedly excused himself after a minute or so, and made his way to the edge of the room, seating himself at one of the tables presumably arranged for guests to sit at and rest. He heaved another sigh as he seated himself, rubbing at the faint traces of a beard on his chin. He was already tired of all this.

Maybe he should just...try and slip out...