Fynn stopped and turned towards the swordsman accompanying him. Alric was bent over a street vendor's tray of assorted masks, holding up a white ceramic mask with a pointed nose.
"This is so cool," said the young Sword of Valor munchkin, looking through the opera mask's eye slits at Fynn. "We've got leave to party tonight. I haven't got a costume yet. How's this?"
"That's not much of a costume," came Fynn's dry reply. The opera mask was not much of a mask either, covering only the wearer's eyes and nose. Fynn eyed the masks laid out on the mahogany tray. Fynn hated masks. Or what they represented: men's need to hide their true natures. His eyes picked out a slender full-face mask that would cover one's eyes and then tapered off to one side as it reached the mouth.
"I like it," Alric decided, as he fumbled inside his beltpouch for zeny. The merchant nodded at him, grinning, acknowledging good taste. "You coming with us tonight, Sir Elenium? You're welcome to join. We're a fun bunch."
"I'll think about it. It depends on whether the Door's really been closed."
"Aww, that's alright. They killed the beast that came out anyway. Commander Valcrist said it's over."
"Who was that girl, by the way?" Fynn suddenly remembered the silver-haired girl in armor that burst into Valcrist's room as he left it, cloaked in shadow. Somehow, she reminded him of someone. But no, Venris was far too delicate to take up swordfighting.
"Ooh, you mean Sevrin Astergarden? Man, she's one of Valor's best fighters. She's almost a knight, too. Keeps to herself in the company." Alric strapped the mask on. "Woohoo. This is nifty!"
Fynn thought the long pointed nose was ludicrous but did not feel like raining on the munchkin's parade. He bent to pick up the phantom of opera mask that caught his eye. It was also white ceramic. He would be out patrolling tonight, just in case a Door opens again. A mask would be very useful in blending in. Besides, a little party never hurt anyone, and the gods only knew how long he's had some fun.
He turned the mask over in his hands, eyeing the delicate craftsmanship. White reminded him so much of her. The Lady Venris....
"I must warn you," Alric whispered suddenly, breaking Fynn out of his reverie. "Sevrin--they say she hates men, you know what I mean? Oh, but don't tell her I said that." Fear filled the munchkin's last sentence.
Fynn smirked. "Sounds like a lady I once knew."
Noone--not even the vendor who was distracted by a new customer--noticed Fynn as he slid the mask into his pack. Yep, I still have it, he thought wryly. Once a thief, always a thief.
"So, shall we, Sir Alric?"
The assassin and the swordsman resumed their walk through the crowded streets, heading for Morroc's north gate.
