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“Part of the spirit of a masquerade ball is to at least try to hide your identity, you know,” someone says from Mona’s left.
She turns from where she had been gazing at the sea of costumed chitchatters and dancers, and warily acknowledges that her solitary wall-flowering has now been interrupted. The speaker is a short, dark haired man in a sleek black suit, with an ornate cat mask covering his face. The expression of the cat is joyous and full of mirth, a contrast to the man’s sardonic tone.
Mona, unlike the cat, is not amused. “Is it your job to harass guests on their attire? You must be proud of yourself to hear that while apparently I’m obvious in who I am, I do not know who you are.”
“What? I don’t work for whoever set this up,” the cat man sputters from behind his mask, indignant. “Why are you so offended? Your whole outfit is themed after the moon and stars, and you’re an astrologist, aren’t you? That was my joke. Jeez.”
That is not what she had assumed. Embarrassment settles over her, as yes, she has on a moon-shaped headpiece and a dress decorated with stars. Her mask only partially obscures her face, not doing much to hide her identity. Fischl had insisted she was a perfect accompaniment to her own sun-themed costume, but now she does not know where Fischl is and some strange cat man who recognizes her is teasing her.
“Because you’re the only one who has seemed to have had a problem with it,” she counters, putting her hands on her hips. Why random men always think she wants to speak to them, she doesn’t know. “What do you want? A fortune? I do not hand those out freely. Or did you really waste your time coming over here just to insult me on a costume, of all things.”
The cat man shifts in place, awkward. “I am not looking for a fortune. I was told to have a conversation with somebody, and you seemed like the best choice,” he says.
She huffs. “Told by who?”
“My associate. I wouldn’t have come at all if I were not requested to be here,” he says, and he points to two people speaking a couple dozen paces away. One of them is a small girl in a fluffy bird costume, and the other person is dressed in what appears to be a copy of Diluc Ragnvindr’s regular clothing with an odd mask, though his twin braids make it obvious who he really is: the lackadaisical bard, Venti.
Mona dislikes Venti. There’s plenty of mysterious people in Mondstadt with hidden agendas and histories, but he unsettles her. Something is creepy about him, and she can’t put her finger on it. “Of course you’re with him,” she says, sighing.
The cat man shakes his head. “No, not that guy. I don’t know who that is. The girl, she’s my associate.”
The girl, like she can hear them discussing her, turns and gives them both a happy little wave. Though it’s difficult to tell with her costume, she seems very young. The cat man hesitates, then gives her a stiff wave back. Satisfied, the girl goes back to her conversation. Mona would be more concerned about her talking to Venti, but the ball is being hosted by the Knights, and their steady gazes are constantly scanning the crowd for trouble.
“I see. Do we know each other?” Mona asks, because the more she speaks with this man, the more confused she gets. He’s exceedingly peculiar.
The cat man pauses, then shakes his head again. Despite the mask taking up most of his face, his eyes are visible. They’re big and a vibrant purple-blue color, lovely in an almost unnatural way. With his denial of them knowing each other, his eyes shouldn’t seem familiar, but she has the feeling she’s seen them before. The almost-memory is cloudy and just out of her grasp, like a long forgotten dream.
“I’ve heard of you,” he adds. “I’ve read your column a few times.”
“Oh, so you’re a fan?”
He laughs, sharp and mocking. “No. Your field is ridiculous, and goes off of belief instead of reality. I can admire your devotion to research, though. Honestly, your hydromancy could reach new heights if you disregarded the stars.”
“You- Wait. Are you saying that you don’t believe in the stars?” She stares at him. “Do you think they are not real?”
“Never mind that,” he says, brushing her off as if he had not brought up something inane a mere second ago. “You’ll figure it out someday. So, why did you choose your costume? Is it because you’re an astrologist? You didn’t deny that reasoning.”
She rolls her eyes, and wonders why she is still entertaining this conversation. “I’m matching my friend, who also insisted I come. She’s the sun, but I don’t know where she ran off to. What about you? There’s like three other cats here. You’re not getting any points for originality.”
The cat man isn’t bothered by her jibe at him. “I didn’t choose it,” he says. “You think I would pick a cat? I’d pick something much fiercer if I had decided it myself, like a demon.”
She can’t help it; she laughs. “Then it’s a good thing that it went this way. You’re a cute cat, I think a demon would be very silly.” Mona isn’t lying. Even if his personality leaves much to be desired, he really is cute with his weird haircut and big eyes paired with the ears and tail.
That catches him off guard. He shuffles his feet where he stands, and looks away, failing at hiding bashfulness. “Thanks,” he mumbles. “You look nice, yourself.”
“I know,” she says.
He laughs, and it’s a little unusual, like he learned how to laugh from copying someone else.
“Would you like to dance?” She asks, half joking, expecting him to refuse. The song playing right now is fast paced, and she can see the tiny Spark Knight in an alchemist’s coat attempting to continuously spin the Cavalry Captain, who is dressed like a peacock and looking increasingly dizzy.
“Don’t step on my feet,” the cat man says instead, and takes her hand and gently pulls her into the dance floor. His hand is cold, even though the room is quite warm and he’s wearing a few layers of clothing.
As soon as they step out, the song changes to something slow and sweet, and many of the dancers shuffle away to give couples room. The cat man is undaunted by the change of music, and leads her into a close waltz. It’s clear he has experience: his movements are smooth and elegant, and he guides Mona even in her missteps. His grip on her goes back and forth from confidence in making them both move to the rhythm, and a hesitance from the touch itself.
It’s the most pleasant slow dance Mona has ever had.
When the song ends, everyone around them begins to take off their masks. Mona takes hers off, happy to no longer have the sensation of it covering her face. The cat man looks around them, then takes his own mask off.
She’s never seen anyone so beautiful before. It almost doesn’t seem fair that someone could look that way. A part of her mind whispers, that no human could look that way, that something isn’t right.
“Thank you for the dance,” he says, and kisses the top of her hand before letting go. His lips, like his hands, aren’t warm like a person. “It seems the night has come to an end, Astrologist Mona Megistus.”
“It doesn’t have to,” she protests, a bit transfixed by this very beautiful and very annoying man. “What’s your name?”
He smiles at her, and there’s something regretful in it. “Call me whatever you like. I don’t care.” With that, he fastens his mask back on, and disappears into the crowd before she can get her wits back.
There's an ache in her chest as she scans the people around her looking for where he went, but it is like he never existed.