[Walter, as many others, has taken steps to dress up tonight, and arrives in full white-tie regalia. However, on account of the short time available to prepare, the suit is rented, not fitting quite as closely as he would prefer.
He comes with his own mask; a simple pattern adorned with the stylized depiction of a star-speckled night sky, to which one small modification has been added — the eight-rayed Star of Bethlehem is nestled next to the right side — his right, and any would-be observers left — as a subtle nod to the winter holiday celebrated by his people. A few silvery, flowing lines have been added as well, to tie in with the lines adorning the white, full-fingered gloves made by his friend. It is an understated mask compared to some of the others at the gathering, but he has slicked back the fringe of his hair to show it off properly, only the forelocks on either side of his jaw left untouched. Being longer, they wouldn't look right if he were to tuck them behind his ears.
A paper-wrapped parcel carried in his hands, Walter pauses before the entrance, reading over the rules. His lips turn downwards as his eyes catch sight of the third, but he shrugs, and continues on inside.]
II. Welcome In
[Pausing before the book, Walter shifts the parcel so that it is nestled firmly under his arm as he bends to write. He's not letting it out of his sight until he gets it to where it needs to be.
His penmanship is cursive, a few lines of letters written in the English language as he explains his country's Christmas traditions, both religious and secular.
That done, he heads into the interior of the ballroom, surveying the setup in quiet contemplation before moving to the area designated for the charity raffle.]
III - C. Charity Raffle
[This is what Walter has come for tonight. Making a beeline for the area, he sets the parcel down on one of the tables and proceeds to unwrap it. Two thin, velvet-coated cases are inside — the sort meant for jewellery; having cut a substantial quantity of labradorite from Lotus Pod Mountain, he'd gone and had a few pieces made for this occasion.
[Walter is perfectly capable of dancing. He's rather quite good, for someone who hasn't been professionally instructed. But he does not venture out onto the dance floor to seek out partners. Accustomed to social isolation, mingling is far from second-nature to him, and so he sticks to the side-lines like a very nicely-dressed wallflower, neither chatting nor drinking, but quietly observing, scanning the sea of bodies for sign of a familiar face.
III - B. (Oh No, Not the) Mistletoe
[A dreaded plant. Walter catches sight of the sprigs early on, regarding them with a heated glare each time he spots a new one. The doorways have been booby-trapped, it seems. And that corner by the bar, too. Better give that a wide berth.
The doors, however, are a bit more difficult to navigate around.
Standing rigidly beyond the bounds of one of the 'kissing zones', Walter grumbles to himself.]
Walter C. Dornez | Hellsing: The Dawn
[Walter, as many others, has taken steps to dress up tonight, and arrives in full white-tie regalia. However, on account of the short time available to prepare, the suit is rented, not fitting quite as closely as he would prefer.
He comes with his own mask; a simple pattern adorned with the stylized depiction of a star-speckled night sky, to which one small modification has been added — the eight-rayed Star of Bethlehem is nestled next to the right side — his right, and any would-be observers left — as a subtle nod to the winter holiday celebrated by his people. A few silvery, flowing lines have been added as well, to tie in with the lines adorning the white, full-fingered gloves made by his friend. It is an understated mask compared to some of the others at the gathering, but he has slicked back the fringe of his hair to show it off properly, only the forelocks on either side of his jaw left untouched. Being longer, they wouldn't look right if he were to tuck them behind his ears.
A paper-wrapped parcel carried in his hands, Walter pauses before the entrance, reading over the rules. His lips turn downwards as his eyes catch sight of the third, but he shrugs, and continues on inside.]
II. Welcome In
[Pausing before the book, Walter shifts the parcel so that it is nestled firmly under his arm as he bends to write. He's not letting it out of his sight until he gets it to where it needs to be.
His penmanship is cursive, a few lines of letters written in the English language as he explains his country's Christmas traditions, both religious and secular.
That done, he heads into the interior of the ballroom, surveying the setup in quiet contemplation before moving to the area designated for the charity raffle.]
III - C. Charity Raffle
[This is what Walter has come for tonight. Making a beeline for the area, he sets the parcel down on one of the tables and proceeds to unwrap it. Two thin, velvet-coated cases are inside — the sort meant for jewellery; having cut a substantial quantity of labradorite from Lotus Pod Mountain, he'd gone and had a few pieces made for this occasion.
One box bears a wire-wrapped tree of life pendant. The second box, larger in size by a fair margin, includes a set; an ornate necklace and a pair of carved earrings.]
III - A. (Not) Dancing the Night Away
[Walter is perfectly capable of dancing. He's rather quite good, for someone who hasn't been professionally instructed. But he does not venture out onto the dance floor to seek out partners. Accustomed to social isolation, mingling is far from second-nature to him, and so he sticks to the side-lines like a very nicely-dressed wallflower, neither chatting nor drinking, but quietly observing, scanning the sea of bodies for sign of a familiar face.
III - B. (Oh No, Not the) Mistletoe
[A dreaded plant. Walter catches sight of the sprigs early on, regarding them with a heated glare each time he spots a new one. The doorways have been booby-trapped, it seems. And that corner by the bar, too. Better give that a wide berth.
The doors, however, are a bit more difficult to navigate around.
Standing rigidly beyond the bounds of one of the 'kissing zones', Walter grumbles to himself.]
I wonder if I can use the windows instead...