When Raoul came in that night he was bombarded by his valet, an unsettling man with shifty eyes, Raoul was certain was a spy for his father perhaps meddling in his personal things when he wasn't around and trying to see if he was staging a revolt against him.  "So what are you wearing tomorrow night sir?" The jittery little man asked in an annoyingly wheezy voice and holding up two ridiculous outfits one of silver and blue and one of red and gold.<br/><br/>"For what?" he asked irritably pulling at the clasp of his cloak to get it off from around his throat, it suddenly seemed too tight.<br/><br/>"Why...the masquerade of course," he simpered in a manner that Raoul supposed was supposed to be placating but just made bile rise to the back of his throat.<br/><br/>"My father would throw a pretentious show of wealth," he said his lip curling with distaste. but picked up the blue one as it was more his color than red ever would be. "It should match the bruise on my face," he said by way of explanation with a slight smirk he hoped would unsettle the little weasel of a man.<br/><br/>The next night he put the clothes on himself not wanting the Valet near him; as usual, and fixed a silver mask upon his face. He looked in the mirror and hardly recognized himself; maybe he could find the Scarlet Arrow again, she had such unique eyes he might stand a chance...At the thought his mood brightened a little and he headed for the grand ballroom at a clipped pace.