Seeing how he successfully gained the attention of the female, Mal’s eyes gleamed with a subtle spark of delight. Warmer hazel hues collided with her colder grey gaze, and what can only be taken as the start of a devilish smirk tugged at his lips at the notice of this woman’s faintly red flush accompanying her cheeks. As she spoke, Mal was certain even the deaf could pick up on the less than friendly undertone to those final words, ‘kind sir’, she called him. Instead of being taken aback by such a tone, rather Mal mildly tipped his head to the side, almost in an encouraging manner for her to continue. Only briefly did his eyes flicker to the coin she allowed to roll back and forth along her knuckles, and before she caught it and tossed it back to where it rightfully belonged with its rubbish friends, Mal’s eyes had already re-tethered to the woman.

Her voice filled his ears once more, his smile remained, and he waited for her to briefly cease in speaking before he threw in his two sense. “I believe it's a combination of common sense, keen eyesight, and deductive reasoning that would prevent a sensible individual from buying this garbage. But for your sake, we’ll run with it being ‘an eye for the arts’.” He mocked, throwing shade now at the Ehilaani, just for good measure to know he’s really striking a nerve. The blonde had no quarrel with the Ehilaani, no reason to lean too heavily with admiring or denouncing them, they were just merely another misinformed people devoted to entities they foolishly believe dictate the world around them. It’s much easier to blame one’s acts on behalf of righteous piety as well, is it not? As long as one is ‘doing their gods right’, who are they to be at fault? But of course, a man of no faith is merely selfish, or misled at best. Whoever first spurred the idea of entities behind why the damn sun would rise and fall day after day -and more idiotic declarations-, was surely dropped on the head, and yet managed to get their insane preachings to fester and blossom in the minds of others. And the foolery ran rampant from there. Soon enough religion turned into a trade of making money off of devoted believers, places of worship were constructed -because apparently supreme beings need people on their knees offering praise and servitude in order to feel special-, and it just turned into various congregations of inept individuals making small sacrifices in their names. Or whatever it is people do to appease the gods.

The woman surged a few steps towards Mal, with the male raising his brow in intrigue as she fared closer to him. Ah, a silver tongued sweetheart. Biding his time for a moment until the woman relinquished herself from speaking, Mal took the opportunity to release his own sweetly spoken words. “Bold of you to assume I’m a man following any kind of moronic sense of religious fares, polite-society included. I suppose I should be of the utmost grateful I encountered no such typical Ehilaani so devoted to following in the footsteps of brutish creatures you deem worth worshiping though.” Pressing his lips momentarily together in a grinch of a smile, a few more words spoken from Mal then further graced the air between the two. “I must humbly reject your pity should I find myself in rougher circumstances with a varying Ehilaani, however. I would find such an encounter too amusing, and thus, your pity would be put to such a shameful waste. Pocket your pity, my lady, and bestow it to an individual truly in need of such a thing.” Mal smirked, parroting her proper delivery with sworded undertones, although Mal certainly was a bit more aggressively straight forward in word choice. The blonde’s demeanor, however, had actually enlivened amid their interaction.

His hazel eyes cast away towards an adjacent stand as if he had just grown bored, but consider this to be a further jab to attempt to incite a reaction from the woman worth gathering the eyes of those around them. Mal truly had a sickened sense of love for being in the limelight, no matter how he got there. It certainly made his occupation strenuous at times, for he couldn't boast about his great feats. The young man has managed to keep some semblance of a grip on his mouth though, even if it doesn’t appear so. What should scare anybody is knowing what he isn’t saying, because truly what he omits is far worse than anything he dares utter out loud.

It truly ignited a sense of genuine joy to see his attempts to irritate working so well. As they should be. He doesn’t go out of his way to piss people off just to be left with no reaction. No, where would the fun in that be? The redder this female grew, the more enlivened Mal had become. It was just too good. When he had developed this sick desire to rile others up just to spark confrontation or retaliation. . . Mal was unsure, but this was a lust he’s had for years. It just so happens to be easier to make others angrier than it is to make them happier, and it’s also rather invigorating to see how far people’s limits go until he steps on just the right boundary to send them over the edge.

While Mal had turned for just a second to let what he said grow on her, as soon as his eyes flickered back to the female he was met with a -familiar- sting to the side of his face. While Mal didn’t so much as step back, of course his face had turned to the side with the slap. If this were a man, Mal would’ve slapped back without hesitation. Not out of rage. No, no. For fun, to have a nice little slap off. Well, unless his opponent pulled a weapon, then Mal would have to bow his way out. That was due to his inhumanly fast healing though, and he couldn’t risk that being seen by a gathering of people. This ability is also the sole reason Mal’s face wasn’t currently crimson tinted in the mark of where the woman’s hand had connected with him just a moment before.

Mal got exactly what he wanted though, a scene. And his smile reflected a prideful enjoyment in this entire situation. At the woman’s question, perhaps an attempt to make him question whether or not he had learned anything from this, Mal simply raised a brow and gave a light shrug. Will you slap me again if I tell you the truth? Being scolded or reprimanded had no effect on Mal, and his show at biting back a laugh was evident that this woman really wasn’t getting anywhere with him. She was an object of his amusement, and that was what his overall stance made clear. As she finished speaking, throwing in her lovely use of kind sir once more -which irritated Mal more than he let it show- the blonde turned to watch her fleeting figure for a moment before he spoke loud enough to try and make his input the final words of their encounter. “What, no second slap for the road, my lady?” Mal certainly is petty enough to want the last word in most squabbles, so that was his attempt to feed himself that satisfaction.

Despite the various eyes and already mumblings between people on the street, Mal clutched his newly acquired weapon closer and began to walk back in the direction he had originally come. That was probably enough of a show for today, or at least on the streets of Dainem. The woman was fairly out of sight, out of mind now though, and naturally Mal’s focus was already shifting to what was to come later. Perhaps if he had the money he’ll be getting for this job, he would have bought out the entire stand in front of that woman just to spite her… and to throw a few wares at her, just to really send her flying into a rage. Now that would have been funny. Fun aside though, Mal knew it best to get mildly serious about preparing himself for the ball, and for the precise assassination of the host.

One has never known prissy until one has been in Mal's presence when he is putting effort into dressage. Pity the tailors he does hire, for his tongue does not relent in sharply critiquing their every stitch and embroidery work if it’s not up to par with his lavish standards. And Mal’s standards are quite high. It’s his mannerisms of how he goes about criticizing though that would almost suggest he’s more of a diva, and perhaps he is on the verge of being one. And for this ball? The young man was actually relenting from clothing himself in attire that would put even the most well dressed royals in all of Dainem to shame. Sacrificing his standards for money is truly the only exception he had for this kind of thing, and thus he settled for the subtly flashy wear he had brought for his ball attire.

A thinner, but smooth and gently textured black button is where Mal had started. The collar was neatly folded down, and was accented with gold embroidered touches. The pebble sized buttons were a subtle rose gold in color, mostly to accent the embroideries on the button down and the jacket he had specifically to match this shirt. While the jacket itself was also thin, it also hugged his figure in a complimentary style, while still retaining a loose enough fit for him to easily maneuver in. Which as a swift assassin, he found to be a rather important aspect of all of his clothes to have. The jacket itself was the eye candy of his outfit, however. Simple, but regally styled golden embroideries also lined the folded back opening of the jacket, as well as on the sleeve cuffs, and hem of the waist. If he weren’t planning on having his daggers concealed on his person, he would have left it completely open. However, Mal buttoned the midpiece of the jacket together to better hide the lethal blades he was toting. One carefully tucked at the left side of his waist due to a nice additive to his black, perfectly fit tailored trousers. And the other dagger, sheathed in his right boot. These boots being sleeker looking, in a well made black leather lace up style, where they came to a stop at his mid-shin.

Other than the mild grooming of his blonde locks, which was almost always neatly slicked back anyway, the last of his attire were the accent pieces. A variety of differently styled silver rings were spaced out between the fingers of his right hand, with in all, there being seven complimentary jewelry pieces on his hand in all. Then of course, by now he couldn’t resist a thinly made two band golden ear cuff that was placed on his left ear. It wasn’t greatly noticeable, but it was just a bit of personal pizzazz in Mal’s opinion. Then of course, what would a ball goer be without their mask? Mal’s just so happened to also be designed to match the theme of his black and golden embroidered jacket, with it being a narrower styled mask, but one that definitely pulled his entire look together.

It took quite some time for Mal to reach the fabulous state he was currently in though, mostly because he needed his outfit to be perfect. Stunningly subtle, and don’t think the blonde didn’t check himself out a bit before he began his ascent up the capital streets to reach the Archduke’s home. Mal didn’t mind this kind of crowd, as with most of them, he was able to conform enough to easily slip through. It also helped to get a look at the competition of male ball goers, you know, so he can rip off their clothing styles later and design something far better to have made for him. Oh, and Mal was already eyeing a gentleman with a beautiful black and red vest… having one of a similar fashion made was certainly on his to-do list now. And with the currency he should be receiving when the lethal deed is done, perhaps he'd get that gorgeous vest made quite soon.

Coming upon his turn to hand his invitation over, it took a single flick of his wrist to dip into his jacket, and within his forefinger and the middle, was the invitation he showed with a carefree flick of his wrist to the guards. This snobbish nature was expected of most higher class individuals, so not even a second glance was spared in Mal’s direction before he proceeded to saunter forward. Funny enough Mal didn’t have to imitate the higher class to come across as a snobbish wealthy man, he just had that prissy flamboyance to him naturally. Upon entering, Mal’s gaze deceivingly admired the entirety of his surroundings as he examined the space around him. A pace of a gentleman engorging his eyes on the awe-worthy ballroom was the facade he wore, and one that suited him well. Admittedly Mal wasn’t much of an enjoyer of alcohol, so he merely continuously stirred around and fake sipped from the same champagne glass for some time. Several times he would cast a casual glance to Archduke, studying his mannerisms and what he was doing. Nothing would exactly be easy in terms of killing him, as it would take quite a bit of work for Mal to deceive so many eyes in this room with his illusions.

But no one notices the help. Mal had already eyed a few manservants and attendants to the Archduke that get close enough for them to have the window to kill, which was all Mal needed. Or perhaps the disguise of one of the guards would serve him best. The One mentioned an opportunity, but did they mean an opportunity given, or one meant to be found? Mal wanted to believe his thought process was leading him to make the correctly spurred decision. He just had to lure at least a guard or two, maybe an attendant, away long enough for him to take their place with an illusion so he could get close to the Archduke. It would be easier to do a large scale deceit of his illusions to cover a kill if he was within feet of the Archduke. And of course, slipping away would be an art in itself, but it was doable. Scanning his immediate area, the plan laid itself out for him. Nearest a table with drinks was a louder, but larger group of chuckling individuals, which Mal was going to use as a part of his ‘lookey, lookey over here’ idea, in order for him to attempt to pull strings elsewhere.

Approaching beside the group, Mal had his back turned while giving an older gentleman the illusion he had tripped over something with one his steps back, which sent the gentleman to stabilize himself at the expense of Mal knocking into the drink table. Just missing any alcohol being spilled onto his clothes -luckily-, Mal watched as glasses had fallen over and champagne dripped from a stream to the floor. “Excuse m-” The older man had started in apology, with Mal turning on his heels in narrowed eyes, cutting him off in a louder manner. “You’re damn right you better excuse yourself, sir. I would keep in mind that everyone here has manners, so it’s rather rude to be carelessly stumbling around and bumping into others.” Mal hissed, his raised tone drawing eyes from the immediate area. Shoulder checking the older man as he went by, with the older man’s voice following after him with a string of curses, Mal gained enough distance to observe which attendants left their Archduke in an attempt to tend to the mess, seems as how the guards were watching carefully versus moving. Mal observed them all from the safety of a crowd, where he was fairly unnoticed to them. I’ll have to open a new window for myself. Mal decided, glancing around the room for what he would need to spur a scene bigger than the one he already made in order to get the attention he needed, without allowing the guards to escort the Archduke away… unless, Mal was able to slip in as an escorting guard under illusion. That could work. And yet Mal could still hear that older man ranting, and upon glancing over, the man was still gesturing in Mal’s distant direction. Which wasn’t what he needed, so further to the opposite side of the room Mal walked to gain a better vantage for his next small opportunity, while still keeping a careful eye on where the guards attentions were, and of course, his eyes were on the Archduke as well.

Now that’s a pair of boots even I could appreciate.

It wouldn’t be the first time Mal thought about taking a trophy from a victim, it just so happened to be in his favor that the Archduke sported quite fashionable footwear. You can’t really steal from the dead though, as Mal has come to the conclusion of. And who would he be to let those darling things go to waste after the pitiful man of power becomes nothing more than a motionless meat sack. His lusts were all rather pointless if he couldn’t get a grasp on the right opportunity to make the kill though, of course.

The sudden sensation of a hand being heavily laid on his shoulder earned the blonde to tense, but he relented from lashing out -both in venomous words and his abilities- as a familiar voice smoothly trickled from an entity Mal considered a comrade. Tilting his head to the side enough to eye the man that practically towered over him, a mildly quizzical expression engulfed the visible features of his face. “What?” Malachi questioned, turning now to better face Deryk, and to judge his demeanor. No, what Deryk said made no sense. None whatsoever. Yet Mal’s eyes briefly bounced from entity to entity within the grand room, deciphering whether any faces looked familiar in the slightest. Deryk’s tone insinuated he suspected that this was a trap. But Mal refused to believe he was being swindled or lured. And if he was… there had to be good reason.

“How many of us?” Mal inquired quietly, a subtle glint of vexation festering in his gaze now. Not at Deryk’s presence, per say, but at the thought of being tricked. He is an infamous trickster, but he did not enjoy being on the other end of deceptive actions. And if there were several society members in attendance, Mal was torn between two thoughts; viewing them as competition for financial gain, or seeing this situation as a very bad thing to be in the middle of. Years of successfully laying low could easily be blown tonight, if this is a trap. But who would have the means? Why? How? Mal had too many questions, and not enough answers, and he didn’t like it. The blonde clenched his jaw and shook his head, trying to justify that what they are perceiving as their reality is a grander scheme, one that still ended in gain. “Maybe it’s a test.” Mal spoke, confident of the plausibility of the hypothetical scenario he made up in his head.

“What if -and hear me out- this a way to see who is the most successful of our kind? If someone had the means to gather several of us in one place, maybe the point is to spook off the more cowardly individuals in our Society. And whomever the victor tonight is… well I haven’t figured out that part yet, but as a master of deceit and games, I have a gut feeling that there’s something greater at play.” Mal elaborated, having weaved the illusion over his voice to any external listeners -void Deryk- that Mal was laughing off his dispute with the other nobleman. As a man who can alter people’s perception, he wanted to believe there was a game being played here; he just had to learn the rules, and then he could win. Or maybe it was his dire thirst for money that clouded his own perception, but he wouldn’t admit to that. Rather, he looked to Deryk to see how he took to the situation at hand.

From what Mal had come to understand about Deryk, is that he’s a relatively trustworthy fellow. A bit of a bore to the blonde, but someone whose vocalizations should be considered. Coming from anyone else, Mal would have brushed off what Deryk had approached him with. But if Deryk was concerned, it did spark a sense of fear into Malachi as well; which only pissed him off further. Fear was something he liked to strike into the hearts of others, not be another mere victim of its grasp. But if tonight was a trap, what was the end game? To see the fall of ability wielders? It seemed too simple of a desire to be the reason behind this all. Or maybe Mal was kidding himself, he was struggling with deciding where he stood on the matter.