Everything should be colourful, and it is, the women in their egg shell white dresses, pale pinks and yellows, even the men introduce colour to their cloths. The laugh as they dine, drinking fine Winston Churchill Champagne and the finest Pacific Oysters. They talk about weddings and children and even business. They talk of their travels to Paris, Rome, Silicon Valley, of their Lake house in Lausanne, Château in Provence and Chalet in Aspen. Their holiday house in Porto Rica how they only get there every few years. Then they move onto current events, the finical climate and laugh because it hardly effects them.
The talk about charity and the grand dinner at The Ritz next week, a friend got a knighthood? A husband a promotion. Another child on the way? And so soon.
It goes through this cycle, because their all so happy, why shouldn't they be, their rich after all, everything money can buy and all that jazz. They sit in the light.
Charles sits in the dark, in his blue suit, just looking. Only paying half attention really. He's been to these things since he can remember. His mother had always dragged him along, he'd fall asleep in the living room while the adults continued with their conversation. Then he went off to boarding school, so his sister Raven went, but she was more used to it than he. She'd been to all the afternoon teas and lunches with mother while Cain his stepbrother had been too the Sunday shootings in the grounds.
And then he went to Oxford, it was so easy there to get lost in class. He didn’t need to go, he had plenty of money didn’t need a job but he loved the experience too much.
But now at twenty six he's back in this dining hall with these people.
Occasionally he'd get asked:
"How's your Mother Charles?"
"Oh darling, pass my regards to your Father."
His mother only tended these things every so often, back in Winchester with Kurt. Cain had gotten out as soon as possible, went into the military only spending three years at home before leaving. Raven was still there however, at fifteen years old, Charles will still get the occasional teary phone call, begging for him to let her stay with him in London.
No one really talks to him but he's glad for it, he spends his time staring into space wishing he was anywhere but here. The people will continue their conversation, with their rueful laughter. Charles wants to scream at them, to tell them all what shallow people they are but he doesn't dare. So many years that he's been told his family's name means so much, that he should be respectful of these people their friends.
Erik would hate these thing to, that's why Charles never asked him. Erik is used to the open air, as an artist is would be expected but Charles has no doubt that Erik would find this scene the most interesting thing to paint. The innocent prince surrounded by ugly beasts disguised as beauties only to have their masks fall at the stroke of midnight. He'd never draw Charles smiling and when he asked he'd always get the same answer; because you're not happy Liebling, your blue eyes never shine. Of course Erik had said that was the reason, said that was why…
Charles could never cure the empty feeling he'd get sometimes, especially when he's here. He is in a room filled with people yet he's alone.
Later that night when the cabby drops him off at his place in Covent Garden, he gives him a fifty instead of a fifteen. But that doesn't really matter.