There was not a single circumstance that Vincent would paint his entire face orange for a costume. Not a circumstance that could be immediately thought of in any case. And
Dionysus's Night of Terror with its many guests in well-made, stylish, and most noticeable promiscuous costumes with the utmost details and adjustments, was no exception to the rule. That did not mean, however, that Vincent put no effort into.his own costume. He was never one to half ass his look and not on a night like tonight. Amongst all of the creepy and very not so creepy, men, women, and others, he had to stand out as a well-dressed figure and well-dressed he was.
Vince has prepped his outfits weeks prior to the night, taking on the appearance of the headless horseman. The design of his clothes were intricate, dating back to the 19th century, but finely sewn by modern hands. He would have appeared as some sort of dark gentleman from a gothic novel if not for the well carved pumpkin head that hid away his true face. It was the best route to complete his costume, not face paint, not hiding his head in the chest of his button up and vest (though it would have looked nice on the outside), and the invisibility mask Annabelle tries to convince him would be perfect. He likes the usefulness of magic as a tool, but he didn't trust it nearly as much on himself.
The pumpkin was the best option and he made sure to have a damn good job done on it just as he did the rest of his costume. Though, by far his favorite accessory was the skull he had in hand. When he was tired of carrying it around, he chain similar to those that were attached to pocket watches fastened to his chopped off head. It made more than a one stop by to ask him about his costume, leaving him with drunken compliments before they found their way elsewhere in the club.
His costume was not the only success of the night, but the part as well. Vincent expected nothing less. If he wasn't succeeding then he was losing. And he hated to lose.
"Do you see her?" Annabelle asked Vince from her seat beside him.
The two of them were on the second floor of their club. Just a few nights before they were carrying out business and entertainment both torturing a man who crossed lines. Now they were lounging in chairs at their table, one next to the balcony where they could watch the guests of their club from above. The birds' eye view made people watching all the more amusing.
"Her?" Vince quicker an eyebrow, not that she could see when his head was pumpkin. For a second, his back straightened and his eyes looked more sharply into the crowd of people on the first floor.
"Do you mean Anais? She's here?" There had to be a little pierrot clown somewhere near if Annabelle spotted her.
"Oh no, not her," laughed Annabelle.
"I mean the cute Bumble Bee."
The focus of Vince's gaze decreased within a second along with the excitement that had begun building up in his heart. The quicker pace of his pulse relaxed and he only briefly glared at Annabelle before remembering it'd do no good if she couldn't see it. He looked below again and found the Bumble Bee in the mini skirt and breaststroke nearly spilling out of her top. It was a wonder the costume was still holding together on her body. But her gaze kept flickering up to Annabelle with coy smiles.
"I wouldn't describe her as cute." Vince remarked, picking up his glass, and lifting his mask just enough to finish his last sip.
"Hmm, sexy then." She glanced between the woman and Vince, biting the corner of her lip briefly.
"I think I'm going to talk to her."
Her announcement more or less translated to "I'm not coming back."
"Have fun," Vince leaned back in his seat and crossed his legs, hand still playing with the skull he carried on him.
"Don't spend the night just with your daughter, Vincent. Maybe you should find your own bee to play with." Annabelle smirked and winked suggestively at her boss, but she was on her heels and scurrying away like the flapper she was dressed as before Vince could get a word in.
Vince snorted into the next sip in his drink. He was not moving from his spot, he wasn't one to chase after bees. He found more entertainment pouring himself a second drink as he listened to the music the live band below as putting so much vigor and talent into. It was only a shame he couldn't feel the vibrations of the music by standing on the first floor. But he could get a better look at who was going and coming from above.
He stood up from his seat, slipping his leather gloves back onto his hands and balling his fist after doing so.
"Where are you?" he mumbled to himself as he leaned over the railing, watching the door and the stream of people entering. He wasn't quite sure what he was to be looking out for - or who.