<em><strong>Renard (http://i779.photobucket.com/albums/yy71/markuslovegrove/gaspard5.png) - Arriving at the Auction</strong></em><br/><br/><br/>The task of cultivating the best artwork known to man was not something easily accomplished; it called for a great deal of ground to be covered, places visited, and wheels greased. It took a great deal of smooth words drifting off a silver tongue to get invited to all the right places, even when you had a great amount of wealth at your back. Renard had shook so many hands of late, and entertained many fool hearted ideas of grandeur that he could no longer differentiate between the many socialite assholes that surrounded him on a daily basis. There was no appreciation for the raw art amongst them; they lacked passion for the lustful sensations that were present beneath the paint, pastels and clay that formed every piece of work that he sought.<br/><br/>"This better prove promising," he said to aloud to no one in particular, as he looked over the formal invitation he had received from the art studio. The name echoed in his mind, it seemed vaguely familiar yet he was unable to properly place it. Perhaps it had come up during coffee with one of the experts he had consulted before prowling the galleries and museums for unique pieces to add to his collection. After reminding his driver to park close by, just in case the auction showed no promise, he adjusted his expensive, custom tailored, Armani suit. It formed to his fit body perfectly, giving him the graceful appearance that suited his mysterious allure.<br/><br/>The invitation had called for costumes, so he opted to adorn a simplistic, but classical outfit that served as a representation of his tastes. He wore a tall top hat, and his face was masked by a silver and black Venetian mask that was from his personal collection. The ensemble was completed by the walking stick he carried, fashioned from blackthorn that tapered off at the custom silver head that was shaped to resemble the head of Zeus. A part of him was alive with the excitement of a new and bold evening, one that would hopefully be spent among kindred spirits that could ignite the passion that was desperate to flare.<br/><br/>Renard ushered his way into the basement, putting pause to step as he took in the vibrancy of the room and the many colourful and flashy costumes that were on display; he licked his lips and smiled with a hedonistic hunger. There was no waitresses or servers to be seen, he was slightly surprised that they had merely set up a refreshment table; regardless, he moved over and mixed himself a drink. They failed to provide his particular brand of scotch, so instead he mixed himself a potent martini before moving through the crowd to mingle and admire the costumes that were being voted on.<br/><br/>As Renard sipped at his libation his eyes wandered the crowd; the faces blended together for the most part, and many were hidden behind masks making it difficult to discern any details beyond the depth of the eyes. However, his attention fell on one particular woman and the delightful costume she accentuated with her body. He licked his lips and sucked one of the olives out of his glass, devouring it with fervour as he watched her move. Kitty had caught his eye, and that was a dangerous quality for anyone to possess; he was known for his relentless ability to pursue the things that appeased his senses. It was easy to discern which costume was deserving of his ballet; it was Kitty.<br/><br/>The lights dimmed and it was time to take a seat and watch the evenings entertainment; he took another long sip of his drink before taking a seat near the back, for the moment he did not wish to draw a great deal of attention to himself, it was best to maintain a low profile.