Wh—What now?
In terms of social interaction, Facade was beyond hopeless. He could leap from immeasurable heights, evade multiple territories, and tangle any resisting throat, but mingling with people? It was an impossible task to complete.
The horde was still murmuring, looking at the man draped in black coverage. His dove-grey hair shone under the bright chandeliers, his veil reflecting the scattered rays.
When Facade's rapid thumping beat calmed to an extent, he began to function, marking his attendance as he joined the rest.
He had expected to wade through the invited guests, encountering different individuals before starting his mission, 'The Iron Veil.' But the second he placed his foot into the throng, the crowd parted in two sections, making a clean lane for Facade.
Huh?
Blank at first, he didn't resist accepting the unusual protocol. Instead, he eased in, already pressing his way into fragrant smells.
"He's Facade?"
"Oh, yes, I've heard about him. Look at that…"
"It feels real. What is this?"
"Look, the veil."
Dazzling whispers surrounded the hall, some gasped out of fear, and some, unwilling to see his queerness out of ignorance. Facade just strode through, not knowing where and when to stop. He could have taken a hushed corner ages ago, but the peculiar stares made him avoid halting in one place.
People lessened as Facade marched deep into the hallway, finally finding a vacant seat near a mantelpiece. He could still feel the confused gazes locked on his veiled face, reactions identical to those before.
"Shall I pour you a beverage, sir?" a random attendant approached from his back, professionally shifting his golden tray from one hand to the other.
"Humph…water, if you have one," Facade responded in a hush, almost yawning while the orchestra's bright notes bounced around the hall. "Very well." The steward turned to the mantel, filling the mantel décor with his ornately carved gilded tray.
"Sir..." After a gap of harmonious pause, the waiter, masked in white masquerade, twisted his face to his shoulder, giving a quick glance at Facade's sullen mood.
"Yes?" The Empyrean chandelier made the candelabrum lose its elegance, but its stand remained visible on Facade's booked table. He was the only one indifferent to the beauty of a lavish setting, eagerly waiting for the festivity to drop its curtain, while others complimented the texture and grain of each other's apparel.
"What's the matter?" he asked, heaving a deep sigh in a nonchalant way.
"Do you mind if I ask you…" The steward paused for a second, controlling the knots building in his stomach, position still unaltered. "A-About your veil?"
"My veil?"
"I-If you don't mind, that is!" the waiter stammered in between, unable to keep his flow. As soon as he had completed his sentence, a feeling strung his throat, as though he had unconsciously committed a sin.
People with no association to any of the six societies, or more accurately, the 'supporters' of the Mansion, were expected to keep a low profile. No individual should concern themselves with any matter, be it as inferior as clicking a single button or as superior as invading properties; the supporters weren't meant to interfere in any regard. But still, they were held in high esteem, given a number of facilities in exchange for their commitment. Although, Hood, the master of the entire Mansion and the creator of the system, had regulated limitations to keep the structure balanced.
'Not to ask anything.'
It was the first assertion highlighted the catalogue of Book I, 'The Moral of the Nights,' placed at the core of Mansion's restricted section. The book fully dedicated itself to the committed supporters, conveying both the dictation and the diligence to its reader.
However, it was one of the tales that Facade had heard from an unknown lip, unsure if the book that mentioned the two major pillars, even existed.
"Hm…" Not long after witnessing the steward's delayed tone, he chose to pour a tweak of faith into what he called a 'baseless rumor.'
"Well, people ask me about that before even asking for my name," Facade retorted in a lighter tone, making his naturally bold voice into a compressed hum. The waiter's furrowed brow instantly released its lock, eyes giving out a rapid hint of interest. He was half certain that the man with the rank of an elite, wouldn't report his bravery to the council.
"I-I'm sorry about being direct, but... I do know you. Nearly all the guests know you, sir." Even after believing his own instincts, the attendant felt uncomfortable conversing with someone designated to heights.
"Heh? Is it because of my veil?" Facade, who was almost drooped into the backrest of his side chair, rose slightly in attention. He finally got someone to confirm his lingering concerns.
"Oh, kind of both." The man dressed in fine fabrics preached his informal asset of words, finding it much easier to continue the conversation. "I'm pleased to meet you, Mister Facade, and to witness the veil is an honor itself."
Facade listened silently from behind, hearing the rattles of the wine glass blending into a melodious perfection.
Oh…so that was it? Case solved.
He inwardly cherished the complete evasion of his unease, finally getting the perspective of several minds.
"Never mind. Continue your question." The steward finally faced Facade. "What's the thing that made you break the rule?"
"Yes, okay. Well, it's about—"
"Oh, someone is talking with him."
"Who's he?"
"Maybe a supporter? What are they talking about?"
"It's been minutes since he's there."
Two feminine mumbles met the ear, audible to both Facade and the steward. "They'll stir up a fuss if you're too slow, you know?" Facade didn't turn sideways to glimpse at the elegantly masked ladies. The waiter, on the other hand, had already thrown a swift glance, so quick that even Facade wasn't able to catch him red-handed.
"I—I guess I'll go—"
"Just say it already!" Facade let out a faint hiss; his frustrated exhale combined with his hoarse voice alerted the surrounding, driving many to avoid any conflict, including the duo from before. His manner left the waiter's heart pound endlessly, his arms notably squeezing the emptied tray.
"...D-Do you wield some kind of power?" The man finally blurted out. "Could you…control it by flick of your fingers? Per—Perhaps just from a single word? Is that even true? E-Even possible??" The steward rushed the clause like a bullet, as if it was something privileged to common ears. He constantly sweated behind his porcelain mask, lips pursed in confusion while cheeks heated from shame.
I knew I wouldn't have said that!
The attendant complained to himself while he stood perplexed, ready to hear unnatural views on his wicked yet childish thoughts.
...
"Huh?"
Facade's feature went expressionless the second he processed the drafted statement, almost blanked at the news.
"Where does this rumor came from now?" He flipped straight in confusion, unable to make out who broadcasted his framed recognition.
Meter shot to the skies as one person struck his mind, the one and only one Facade couldn't bear:
"Fiver Cedmar..."
Fiver had declared his rivalry to Facade when he was up rising the tiers, continuing it for many years. Even today, when Fiver had achieved much to take pride in, he was reluctant to back down from the stage, still borrowing a torch to burn Facade's soul at any given moment.
It was recent when Fiver upgraded the name 'rivalry' into 'nemesis', all out of blue. Not only did he forge the title himself, but announced his fresh adversary in public, right before the presence of the council members.
Excluding Facade from the scene.
Facade clearly remember how he controlled his almost death-ridden desire to crush Fiver's skull with his stone vase, but Dan appeared right on time, easing the situation with his coaxed words. It strangely satisfied Facade to a certain degree, making him realize that it wouldn't soothe his tingles if he ended everything with a bash. He would tear Fiver's presence to shreds, passing his judgment directly into the pits of hell.
That damned rotten-brained one-heck-of-a-jerk! He's using petty tricks!
Even now, only Facade knew how he was keeping his fire extinguished inside his chest, wearing a sweet smile behind the flames of his rage.
"Nope... that's not the case." It was all that Facade could blurt in response, trying to completely bury the rumor to where it was built from.
"Oh…is that so? Humph…rumor is rumor, I guess." The waiter slightly breathed in relief, trembling hands returning their normal grip. "Never mind. I'll fetch you a glass of water, sir. Thanks for the clarification." Even though the waiter's fascination dropped to the surface, his voice reappeared jolly, not receiving an earful in packed crowd.
Facade nodded, and the waiter left for the desired order, slowly merging into the assembled horde.
"Hi there..."
Facade's eyes instantly widened when a familiar voice wiggled his respite. Boiling blood gushed through his veins once again, teeth gritting at the thought of the presence beside him. "Remember me, my friend?"
Inhale…
Exhale…
A deep breath, and his temper briefly evaporated in the air. Facade wore a warm smile, a welcoming appearance no one else could accomplish to produce.
A totally forged face.
"I surely remember you, Mister Fiver."