She had to admit, the ballroom always looked like another, more magical world for these events.

She always felt like anything could happen on these nights, like someone might appear and sweep her away on a grand adventure. It was always these nights, where the staircase dividing the two floors of the ballroom were lit romantically with candles that were cradled in old antique lanterns, and the chandelier was alight and glittering, sending fractals of light shimmering on the dance floor below them, that she got the most creative inspiration for her games. The balconies on the second floor, wrapping around the space and showing off the gorgeous city lights were given their own lanterns, the tall French style doors pulled open to let the summer air in. Everything was awash in golden light, and felt like it was another time, and another place, and she practically felt like royalty as she stepped gracefully down the steps toward where most of the attendees were congregated, around the largely sparse dance floor.

She hummed along with the quartet of strings that played in the corner, and relished in the thrum of the melody reverberating in her chest as she reached the first floor of the ballroom. Sharp amber eyes scanning the crowd for signs of her brother, she eventually saw him chatting amicably with another man their age, no doubt one of the friends he was referring to. The man was tall, almost taller than her brother, and had short, dark curls sat atop his head. His skin was a lovely olive color, and he had the loveliest topaz eyes that were glittering with laughter over something her brother had said. He must have noticed her before her brother did, as he nodded in her direction before her brother finally turned to notice her, and began waving her over. By the time she was beside the two men, Charles already had a delicate flute of champagne held in his hand for her, that she took with a soft, 'thank you,' and began to sip delicately on to delay her need to talk to this other man she didn't know.

“Clara! So glad you could make it!” Charles said with a broad grin. “I was hoping you'd come soon! I want to introduce you to a dear friend of mine from university,” he gestured to the man she had seen him conversing with, and felt her heart flutter, just a little, at realizing that she was going to have to talk to this inarguably handsome man. Judging from the way he smirked at her, he knew he was handsome, and something in her flared in anger at his cockiness.

“Daryl Marley, of Marley Medications,” he said, hand outstretched for her to shake. She took it in her own, but couldn't hold back the gasp of surprise when he bent and kissed her knuckles. In spite of his arrogance, she felt a vague fluttering in her chest. Curse this man for his wily ways! The nerve!

“Clara Evans,” she said evenly, in a tone that she hoped harbored no misconceptions of attraction on her part; he was pretty, to be sure, but he already seemed far too arrogant for her liking. “You strike me as familiar – have we met before?”

“A few times, briefly,” she found herself curious as to why the smile he shot at her hadn't quite reached his otherwise bright eyes. What was the story behind that? “But we've not necessarily spoken too much.”

“I see,” was he disappointed that they hadn't talked before? It was so hard to say.

“How has the business been, then? Thames Pharmaceuticals not giving you too much trouble, I hope?” Charles piped up, clearly eager to change the subject, and ensuring that her curiosity would not be sated for the night on the subject. She made a mental note to ask him about that later, after everyone had already left.

“Of course not, no,” Daryl said, smoothly transitioning onto the clearly lighter subject. “They wouldn't dare make any form of medication that isn't name brand, for fear of, 'tainting the waters,' as it were,” he said with an eye roll. “Their loss. Thanks to their lack of competition in the market, our profits are the best they've been in a long time, and we're helping more people this way than if we didn't manufacture off brand medicines.” She sipped at her champagne, glad that at least he's partially interested in helping those in need of medicine over profits, even if the two weren't mutually exclusive. Perhaps she had been too judgmental? If she were honest, that was entirely likely. “So, Clara,” Daryl said, returning his attention to her. “What is it that you do?”

The question was an innocent one, and likely one that he expected the usual answer to – 'oh, I run a portion of my parent's company and am incredibly successful,' or, 'oh, I'm an entrepreneur and I make a lot of money doing it,' not the answer she was going to give. But all the same, she owed it to herself to be honest about her career, to own up to what she was doing, and by God, she was going to be proud of it.

“I, ah,” she said, already not starting off on the most confident foot. “I design video games,” she dove back into her flute of bubbly alcohol, hoping that she could just hide in it until everyone went away that she might not have to face another judgmental stare like the last time she boasted about her career at one of these soirées.

“Oh?” Daryl said with a curious tilt of his head. “Is there a specialty that you're best at, in terms of making them, or are you a jack of all trades kind of developer?” She blinked owlishly at him, surprised that he was even remotely interested in what her career entailed.

“I'm mostly a writer for games,” she said, feeling the flush on her face and not sure whether or not it was from embarrassment or from the champagne. Perhaps it was both, but it was hard to say at this point. “But I'm not with a studio right now, so I'm solo developing a game at the moment.”

“By yourself?” Daryl said, clearly surprised. “That's incredible! I wouldn't have the foggiest idea where to even begin!” He smiled kindly to her. “You must be incredibly talented and creative.”

“Flattery?” She heard herself say in a sarcastic droll. “And obvious flattery, but I appreciate the compliment all the same.” Oh, she was flirting – the exact opposite of what she wanted to do; he was indulging her need for acknowledgement in her career, and she was so starved for it that she was lapping it up, nothing more, she had to firmly remind herself.

“And such a sharp wit!” Daryl threw his head back with a deep rumble of laughter, and she caught herself staring at the bob of his Adam's apple when his chuckling dissolved into another sip of champagne. She grimaced, realizing that while there was certainly more to him, he was certainly doing little to dissuade her from thinking him arrogant and cocksure. Charles excused himself from the conversation discreetly, being called upon by another of the patrons, no doubt to gush over the ball and how much this particular old bitty would donate, leaving her to converse with Daryl alone. “Join me on the balcony? I feel as though it's getting a little too crowded here.”

“I suppose you're right,” the more intimate setting that the balcony provided wasn't lost on her, but even she could see that it was going to become harder to hear, both Daryl, and her brother. With a touch on her brother's arm, she informed him where they were going, and to meet them there when he was finished. With an affirmative nod from him before he returned to his conversation, she accepted Daryl's offered arm, and they wove their way through the crowd.