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Xavier dislikes charity events, and it’s not the charity part he dislikes per se; he’s got more than enough money to spare, and plus, he’s not that heartless. It’s mostly the ‘rubbing elbows with the rich and wealthy’ part, or the caviar. The caviar he has to pretend to like.
Valentina’s much better than him at sucking this sort of thing up, which amuses him to no end—his hot-headed wife who’d physically recoil at being told what to do and her staunchness on social customs. They have a carefully crafted reputation to uphold, sure, but Valentina takes it to another level.
“You know you don’t have to do quite so much,” Xavier says, voice complaining. “This thing itches a ton!”
“Be quiet. It’s decent attire. You think I like wearing all this fur?”
“It’s a pinup…! I’ve had it with those things. I have to keep pushing my sleeves up.”
“Now, now,” Valentina says, in that voice of hers that’s a cue for Xavier to stop complaining and bear with it, Xavier, you’re a grown man, but truthfully he can’t help whining about things he dislikes and are virtually out of his control. He could rule over the entire world and he’d still have to care about what other people think, which is a good summary of his life. “We’re in charge of wine testing. We have to try and look the part, don’t you think?”
“I agree!” Xavier booms, staring at his wife’s dress in the mirror. Valentina is a tall woman, almost as tall as himself, and the heels she’s wearing make it so that she’s head to head with him. Nearly. Her evening gown still drapes behind her slightly, and it reminds Xavier a little of their wedding day—the thought makes him smile. “You look beautiful, love.”
Valentina hums. She sounds pleased. “You won’t be wooing me into anything. You’re wearing the single-breasted one whether you like it or not.”
Xavier groans.
“Isn’t it awesome!?”
“I mean,” Ana raises her arms awkwardly. It’s not awesome, honestly. Not one bit, but she nods along. “Uh… it’s not to my taste.”
Her gown has sequins all over it. It’s a nice one, but it feels too expensive to even walk in—what if she trips over the thing and ruins it? It’s the Night Countess’s, who happens to be her mother—her sharp-eyed, control freak of a mother, who’d corner her for a stain on it. The Joel Treatment, as Xavier put it. Putting her adult brother into timeout. It’s fun to laugh at, but not half as fun to go through it herself.
“The tux is tight, but I like it!” Joel exclaims, beaming at his reflection in the mirror. “It doesn’t have big pockets, though, so that’s another downside.”
“We need to start talking fancy.”
“Like those elocution classes mom made us take for this event?” Joel questions, clearing his throat. “Trust me, Ana, I know.”
Ana opens her mouth, but Joel gets there first. “This clear, fragrant mixture of carbon does suit my taste, but you’d know, wouldn’t you Jeremy, just like back in our old days—”
“Stop, stop,” Ana says loudly, covering her ears shut. She’d forget what they were actually taught if she heard anything else. “Who’s Jeremy?”
“Old English donator on the committee. Mom hates his guts. She always tries to melt him with her eyes.”
To be an enemy of the Night Countess… well, Ana supposes it’s for the good that this Jeremy person, whoever he is, is old. It’s the only thing sparing him. “I don’t know how to walk in heels…”
Joel slides to the other side of the room, grabbing a vase—an antique china, ceramic vase, the kind you’d see in a museum, and it’s not out of place in the Acosta estate, but Ana still feels nervousness stir in her lower belly when Joel grabs the thing—and flings it at her.
Ana yelps, dashing forward to catch it. “Are you insane!?” she yells at Joel, who’s looking more smug than usual. It really doesn’t help. Ana may punch him hard enough for a bruise to last, and his winning smile is the only thing that’s gonna push her through this evening. “You’ll get us both—”
“See? You can walk in heels just fine. You practically ran in them just now. If anyone’s in trouble, you’ll save them just fine.”
Ana can… see his point. “This gown is so tacky, Joel. I hate it.”
“I know,” Joel sighs. “I know. It’d look better on Santino, too.”
Ana doesn’t question him on that.
The only time either Ana or Joel have tasted wine—or any liquid other than water—is in the labs, in the form of distilled alcohol, the same specimen applied to wounds. Most parents treat their kids’ broken knees with it. Theirs pretty much feed it to them.
“If you two ever get poisoned on a mission,” Rajani had said to Ana, whose eyes had watered with the taste of it (but she was crying, anyway), “your body can adapt to it.”
So, Ana’s not a lightweight. Technically. One of the first places Joel visited when they got out of the lab was the club—was it a sex club? A regular club? A gay bar? All three? Ana had no idea, and frankly, no desire to ask him.
“I’m so excited,” Joel whispers, leaning down to her ear. “The floor is so clean. I can see myself!”
“Uh-huh,” Ana says, not knowing what to say. He’s got a point. It’s freakishly clean. And every person at the event made her feel like she was a waste of air. Ana despised a lot of these people—charity events didn’t make the fact that they hogged wealth without paying for taxes any better, or that one spoonful of caviar was—”Holy shit!” Joel whisper-shouts, “It’s ten thousand dollars a spoon! It can’t be that good!”—but she sucks it up, like she always does. Somehow, her parents—her control freak, up to no good parents, the protectors of peace themselves—were much better at this.
Valentina doesn’t hold Xavier’s arm like many wives of their rich husbands do. She stands close to him, which speaks volumes of their intimacy, because there’s not many people Valentina would let in her close proximity, even out of obligations for niceties. She’s appeared in magazines with captions like that, and that sort of fashion, Ana can definitely appreciate.
“I abhor this flavor.” Ana hears her mother saying from across the room. The room goes quiet, and she could cut the tension with a knife, such is the trademark presence of Valentina Acosta. “It’s not wine. It’s grape juice. I’d give this to a toddler if they cried hard enough.”
Xavier looks at her fondly, with the kind of look in his dark eyes that screams, that’s my wife, yes, everyone’s terrified of her, that’s the woman I married! It’s endearing. Very much so. Ana is endeared, and also a little unsettled that these are her genetic origins.
“Ma’am, it’s been aged since 1887—”
“You’re lying to me. Where’s the bottle? Give me the lapel. I’d like to have a look.” Valentina’s red lips stretch into a pretty, dimple-framed smile, “Of course,” she adds softly, “I could be wrong. Which is why I’d like to confirm whether or not my tongue betrays me.” (Her tone suggests that she’s anything but wrong, Ana notes.)
1887… Valentina does make the perfect picture of a vampire, and Xavier, a very, very willing victim. But that’s not the main takeaway from this, Joel knows. “I want a taste of that grape juice,” he says, and Ana snickers.
“I trust mom’s taste.” Ana says firmly, “I don’t think she’d ever go wrong in this department. Or in any department, really.”
“Yeah, but,” Joel laughs, “oh, god, Xavier looks revolted.”
Ana gives him a wry smile. “I don’t think he likes anything other than diet coke.”
“Yeah, mom confiscated all of it…”
“See?” Valentina’s voice is neutral, but Ana can tell it’s decidedly smug. “It’s from six months ago and it’s grape juice. What’s the next one?”
There’s a tap on Ana’s shoulder. “Are you enjoying the party so far?”
“What—” Ana steers clear of the man’s way, suspecting he got the wrong person. It was a tall man, her father’s height, but he looked around Ana’s own age. “Ah… are you asking me?”
The man nods, looking amused. “Ms. Acosta, is that right?”
“Th-that’s me, yes.” Ana says, heating crawling up her neck as she realizes that, from the periphery of her line of vision, Joel is watching the scene unfold, and it doesn’t feel like he’s, well, intruding but—it’s an invasion of a conversation! She needs to uphold this with dignity! “It’s great. Fun.”
“You don’t look like you’re having fun,” the man rumbles. He extends his hand. “My name’s Alphonso. I’m the son of the host of this gala.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” Ana says, shaking his hand with vigor. “I didn’t know he was married.”
“Most people don’t,” Alphonso agrees. “His wife—my mom—died in the Cordoba incident years back.”
“... Oh, I see.” Ana hopes her tone doesn’t morph to ice, but it’s not a good reminder. Her mood deflates a little. “Well, it’s a nice event, and it’s for a good cause. I’m grateful to be here.”
“You’re surprisingly humble for who your parents are,” he laughs, nodding in agreement. He seems pleased, so Ana’s ought to be doing something right. Even Joel’s gotten bored of their conversation, so he’s left the area—another plus point. “Captain Fortitude and the Night Countess themselves… if I were you, I’d never live it down.”
“I don’t live it down, either.” Ana says enthusiastically, happy they’re on the same wavelength now. “This is, um, my first event.”
“But you do talk so nicely…”
Ana’s ears turn red. “My mom gave me and my brother elocution classes before this,” she says, modestly. At least in a tone she hopes sounds modest. “They were a pain to get through, but I’m glad something good came of them.”
He offers her his hand, which she instinctively decides not to take. “... Sir?”
“I’m asking you to dance,” Alphonso laughs. “Relax. I’m not that lecherous, if that’s what you assumed of me.”
Oh, right. Ana can hear violins in the background, playing elegant tunes—back where her mother and father are dancing, in the middle of the ballroom, there’s an orchestra pit. A proscenium stage? There’s no area for people to be seated. Everyone’s dancing. Even Joel, the hell? There’s a girl linked to his arm, she’s blonde, and apparently laughs it off every time he misses a step—it endears Ana at first, like many things do, but then she figures the girl’s probably getting close to him for his money. Or rather his parent’s. But Ana doesn’t assume too much of it; she’s glad Joel’s having fun. Ana takes his hand. “Sorry, I still don’t know much about all this,” she admits, raising her gown.
“Relax,” Alphonso repeats again, soothingly. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll guide you.”
Ana’s eyes dart to her parents’, at first. She wants to watch their steps, if they’re akin to fighting at all. Maybe she could adapt quicker. Xavier’s hand is on Valentina’s waist, and hers is perched on his broad, collared shoulder—they’re the perfect picture, she thinks, but there’s a pattern to how they’re moving. They’re easily the best dance in the room, and twenty years to make room for each other have given them this rhythm. It’s smooth. It’s enticing. They hold each other’s hands, even as they spin, they never let go. It’s beautiful, and for a moment, she doesn’t realize anyone else is even in the room. Just her and her parents.
Ana melts into the dance well, not recoiling when his hand goes to her waist—hers naturally goes to his shoulder. She watches and watches, till they spin, and finally understands why her dress is so poofed up—it spins elegantly with her, movements periodic, and Alphonso smiles at her, too. You’re doing good, his smile says, and it’s all the encouragement Ana needs.
The music becomes—not louder, but faster, more intense, as the violin strings bend and bend further and set a different rhythm entirely. Ana moves with them. His hand raises, and with it, so does hers, and it’s her cue to spin—on her heels, Ana’s terrified of the gravity, but she knows her partner would catch her, so with that in mind, she quickly darts and extends her arm, and then rolls back into his grasp, letting him dip her as far as he can.
The music stops. Suddenly, there’s applause. Ana has no idea who it’s directed towards, so she joins in on the clapping, till she realizes it’s for her. For them.
“That was splendid!”
“Such a perfect waltz!”
“And, my god, that saunter…”
She flushes beet root red, up to the very strands of her hair. “U-Uh, thank you!”
Ana has been applauded before. Just not for something like this. It feels nice, but it’s also something she’s unused to—if she’s not out saving people, there’s not much worth in what she does, but still. It’s a nice feeling, so she savors it. Ana’s eyes go to her parents.
Valentina looks amazed, eyes wide, but something about her mouth twitching tells Ana that she’s pleased. Xavier, too, looks proud, but he’s also staring daggers at Alphonso, so. There’s that too.
“I had no idea you could dance!” Joel exclaims later, when Ana’s parted from the host’s son. “Why didn’t you teach me!? She liked me, but she thought I was too clumsy—”
“I didn’t know, actually,” Ana says lightly, staring fondly at her little brother with an exasperated face. “I just… watched our parents. I figured, ‘hey, they’ve taught me how to actually use my powers without risking everyone’s lives, they can probably teach me this, too!’ and I, um. Went with it. That Alphonso guy was great, too—”
“Why do you always get the cute guys?” Joel complains. “He looks like he has so much money, why didn’t you make a move on him?”
“You can, if you want,” Ana grins at him. “I can introduce you to him.”
“Well…” Joel blushes, actually blushes, what the actual hell? Her brother was the most insincere homosapien to walk this earth. There was surely no way he actually had anyone in mind. “Um, on second thought… I’ll just watch him from afar like eye candy.”
“Sure, I suppose,” Ana says, and for some unknown reason, Santino comes to mind.
“May I have this dance?”
“If you so please.”
Xavier’s movements are light and airy without the weight of everyone’s eyes on him. It’s a full moon night, just how Valentina likes it, and the only light on them is the stars’ light. The balcony is spacious enough for them to ballroom waltz, even if their movements are slightly sluggish from all the wine in their system.
“You know…” Xavier sniffles, “They do grow up so fast.”
“Mhm.” Valentina chuckles. Her husband’s not the sentimental type, but he’s always wanted children, and even if unfortunate circumstances are what brought them together as a family, they’re together now. Maybe her mistake was for the good, after all. “Ana moves like she fights.”
“I noticed that,” Xavier says, a note of pride in his voice. “She watched us, the clever brat. I didn’t know she had it in her!”
“That Alphonso boy,” Valentina says, sidestepping to Xavier’s swift gestures, “I’ve a good feeling about him.”
“With—with what? Setting her up with him?”
“No, of course not.” Valentina shakes her head dismissively, “Ana’s not one to fall in love. I meant for Joel.”
Xavier makes a displeased noise.