SWEET MOVING. ALEXANDRINE

[BASTIAAN ANDREIS VANDERBILT]

Finished! (:

» - - - - - - he's as blind as he can be
JUST SEES WHAT HE WANTS TO SEE - - - - - - - - - - «

It was that time of the year again, the season he dreaded the most, winter. Everything about the month of December seemed so cruel to Bastiaan. The cool breeze was bitter against his skin numbing his muscles and straining them the hairs aligned upon his fair coating stood straight along his arm ready to defend, the thick layer of snow covered the Italian ground it was a sneaky murderer bringing death to whatever it touched then covering the evidence with its crunchy white ice, what pained Bastiaan the most was the absence of smooth bare legs the ones that would help him pass time as he admire them now however they were shielded from his frosty hues. Winter, what was there to love about a season that brought chills? Though the corners of his lips refused to allow a smile to play upon them, the faces that flooded around him radiated with rapture the thought of why they found themselves in bliss in such a horrible time of year was something he couldn’t contemplate, especially since he was trapped in the Santa Croce Winter Ball. Once upon a time, in a land far away, a young boy with heated cheeks and light hazel eyes would feel as if a raging flame ignited his bones whenever one was to mention the annual ball. He was merely just a child, fresh into the academy and untouched by many sins, hell he could barely feel the testosterone running under the skin he wore. In his naïve mind the Winter Ball brought promises of mysterious beautiful women, those that he could enchant as the night carried on, the dark blanket cast above him with holes that allowed light to pass through acted as the perfect backdrop to his fairy tale fantasies, he could meet his Ms. Right without any clue of her true identity, but it didn’t take the schoolboy long to transform Ms. Right to Ms. Right Now. It was as if there were shocks shooting up and down his back, quivers playing in between his vertebrae teasing his nerves. To think that that young lad was what Bas once felt shameful, however pride still seemed to ring in his posture as his back leaned against a wall, after all anyone who casted their eyes upon him wouldn’t be bothered about the caterpillar he once was instead they would be bewitched by the wings he wore; even though his identity was concealed by a white mask he was certain that they would find themselves trapped in a spell cast upon his clean cut good looks. With brand new eyes and a school notebook filled with girls he had slept with, his perspective on the annual ball was much divergent to his childhood dreams. It had been three years since he was first introduced to the Masquerade, three years since his perspective was refashioned, and through his wiser eyes the rarely amused Bas could only see deceit.

It is true that Bas was often dubbed as a cheater or even a criminal, but the so-called felon valued honesty greatly. He rarely understood why people would tell fabrications to one another, being born into a world where his name was held higher than many others he didn’t even grasp what the point in lying was, he rarely seemed to use it. Whenever he found himself entangled by seemingly inescapable dilemmas he would tell the truth and perhaps slip in some cash as well, if he wanted a girl he wouldn’t have to compose a serenade of sweet nothings he would be open with what he wanted, and if anyone wanted the truth that he didn’t want to give he had a quick enough wit to try and find loopholes to evade it. So why does the second eldest Vanderbilt despise the ball so much? He had drawn up a conclusion that the event was merely a combination of the two things he hated most, dishonesty and sleeping with the same woman. Those that had broken into Bastiaan’s way of functioning had gathered up the answers as to the reason why he never flirted with a girl he had sacked, the Bas was hard to amuse and could easily feel ennui. Here at the annual Santa Croce Winter Ball he had once found himself trapped in an affair that caused his eyes to turn glassy was frustration, he had spent the night flirting with a winsome brunette and as the clock struck midnight and identities were revealed he found that he had wasted his time on a female student he had slept with a couple of months before.

Though she had a pretty face and wasn’t all too bad underneath hid dorm room sheets, the eldest Vanderbilt feared that history would repeat itself whenever he walked through the grand entrance of the ball room. Over the years he had tried to abstain from being fooled by the anonymity of the night, whether it be trying to recognize a distinct aspect on someone, or attempting to remember the way they would talk, but those ways proved to be impossible as his list of whom he had slept with expanded and his memory grew foggy. With a glass of gin and tonic in his hand he felt more at ease in the room filled with ghosts of his past, the condensation cooling his rough palm and the comfort of a friendly burn travelling down his throat would keep his nerves at bay and help him endure his starving for sex. With an expensive designer made tuxedo and polished black shoes he stepped upon the marble floors with a new tactic of surviving the ball, he would simply not converse with any girls until their masks were taken off. Perhaps if he didn’t feel so morally bound to having to attend the social occasion he could have not turn up at all, however as soon as he heard the news that Louise had appeared in a slutty playboy suit he knew he had to play the responsible older brother and try and steer her away from doing anything, very Louise like. With his back against the wall his posture defined apathy, though it very much contrasted with the anxiety that shook his bones and caused him to stare intently at his younger siblings. From the corner of his eye he found himself catching a glimpse of a familiar face one that slowly broke him out of his vigilant watch, by the mere appearance of her light brown strands against her fair skin Bastiaan was certain he knew the identity of the girl not too far away from him. He had practically imprinted everything aspect of her in his mind, finding that it was not placed there because he wanted to, but because of all the time he had spent with her all the years they had shared together. That was how familiar the brunette was to him, and only one girl besides his twin sister of course could bring up such a strong sense of a casual comfort in him. “Lexa.” He called out to her a ring of friendliness seemed to naturally be sung by his lips, “Are you having fun here? Because you know, if you’re not we could always have that sleepover.” A smile finally broke upon his chiselled face, “If I’ve got this all wrong though, and you’re not Alexandrine Lefebvre then don’t bother in replying.”

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