The man sighs to himself, adjusting his white collar as he folds it up, slipping an obsidian black tie around it, the silky material smoothly running across the soft cotton of the buttoned-up shirt.
He ties it quickly, his large, expert hands folding and threading the tie like he was knitting, and formed a tight yet gentle knot, he grips it with care, two fingers on one side, a thumb on the other, then gently pulls it up to his neck, his other hand holding the loose rear-end of the tie.
The knot kisses the base of his neck, and he stops, exhaling again as he pushes the rear-end of the tie into the little clasp attached to the behind of the broad end.
He stepped back, observing himself as his hands folded the collar back down, and smoothing it out. It clung tightly to a thick neck, attached to it was the head of the man.
His hair tickled the back of the collar, gently brushing it whenever he moved it, his hair contrasted the perfect creation that it grew on. Some holding gel had been moved through it, hardening the hair into a messy yet clearly combed head of hair. It was a dark brown, and yet where the sun hit it you would say it was blonde.
His tanned, hard skin was tightly stretched over his face, his strong cheekbones and sharp jaw jutting out like it was trying to pierce through. And yet, where there seemed to be nothing but skin and negligible amounts of fat, there were still supple, pink, healthy lips, hiding a blindingly white set of teeth behind them.
A knock sounded out in the room, he turned his head slowly to the door, "Yes?" he says, inviting the door knocker in with the word. The words falls from his lips like a blessing, the words softly yet powerfully spoken, each small lilt and inflection in the small word said with terrifying accuracy, and guaranteed precision.
The door opens gently, and a short man with harshly gelled and combed hair walks in, a perfectly trimmed moustache placed upon not so perfect lips.
The maybe blonde-haired man strokes his own facial hair – a goatee that was a naturally lighter shade than the rest of his hair, but it was practically imperceptible. A laser could've been what had shaved the man, as the goatee was perfectly lined – and yet it still managed to look messy.
"Sir, the auction is nearing. We'd best leave now."
He nods at the words and smooths out the dark suit he was wearing with calloused yet perfectly manicured hands.
"Okay." He walks over to the door, where the servant turns and walks, clearly expecting to be followed. But it was with no arrogance, who could be arrogant in front of him?
The man with multi-coloured hair follows his servant, he is taken through a large building, crystal chandeliers lighting the hallways, they arrive at the front of the building, where a carriage waits for them, pulled by a horse with wings.
He steps into the carriage and sits on the soft, red, pillowed interior.
He sits in silence, alone, as the carriage moves. It accelerates, causing the man to rock back slightly, after a few minutes he looks out a window lazily, noting the buildings beneath him move along at a brisk pace, he can make out the faces beneath him, even in the dark moonlight, staring up at him – or the carriage – in awe.
Another few minutes, and the carriage lands – not roughly, smoothly – and rolls slowly to a halt. He can already here the screaming outside, the absolute carnage that was going on.
He took a deep breath, his hands gripping the hilt of his sword, just for him to realise that he hadn't brought the sword with him.
Momentary panic sets in, but relaxation is forced over it as his features soften again, his eyes not widened anymore. The carriage door is opened by another short servant, with aggressively slicked-back hair.
He nods to the servant politely, and steps out slowly into the battlefield.
War raged around him; a pathway laid before him. A red carpet rolled out from the entrance of the auction house to the carriage he had just left. He looked out at the masses of people, fighting and screaming at each other and the guards that held them back from him, their eyes filled with envy and wonder as their gazes were fixed on him.
He takes another deep breath and walk down the path made for him, as usual. The shouting fans screaming his name, trying to get close to him. His thoughts wander for a second, what would they do if they were allowed to me? Perhaps they hadn't thought that far. They would probably hug me or something.
He refocuses on the path he was treading, and a smile appears on his lips as he continues his walk and looks out at the fans, waving at them generally. His eyes land on a red-haired woman with long hair, but she is quickly tussled by the crowd around her, and he loses sight of her.
After he enters the building, the smile drops, the almost predatory gazes were not on him anymore. A few guards were inside, they nod at him as he walks past, he goes straight to a private set of stairs, which he takes until they run out.
He walks into a room, the highest room. He walks to the barrier, the room was like a balcony, but it didn't look out, because the view was much better inside.
He walks to the barrier and rests his hands on it as he looks out beneath him, a dizzying array of voices sounding out as people leisurely chat, waiting for the auction to start.
He looks at the large stage, where every item would be presented soon.
Soon, they are appeased, as the lights on the stage switch on, a spotlight in the centre of the stage, revealing a good-looking woman standing there, she smiles out as the crowd as they scream out at her.
Despite every Velvet Room only containing high nobility, that didn't stop even them acting like depraved animals as they scream out for her too, his eyes dart around the rooms beneath him, looking how each reacted – each the same.
Except a few, all were women. Not many people had a Room all to themselves, but there were a few, one of these was a woman, a woman he had seen before, but had never met. And he couldn't remember where.
Before he could think on it too much, his gaze is back on the woman on the stage, who is starting off the auction.
He grins to himself, he couldn't wait to see how much the fruits of his labour would sell for. Not because of his money, but because he loved seeing his work appreciated.
They would be heavily appreciated tonight – like every auction night – after all, they were always the main event.