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Ivo Robotnik wasn’t typically the type for ‘malicious compliance’– as clever as finding loopholes could make him feel, he often found it easier to perform malice with as much defiance as possible.
That being said, there was a certain swell of satisfaction that overtook him as he addressed Walters with a smug “What? You said it was a masquerade ball.”
Walters’ face quickly cycled through the five stages of grief, before backsliding to the third step with a scowl. “Ivo, your presence at this gala was supposed to impress potential investors–”
“–And so I put a great deal of effort into my costume!” Ivo smiled sardonically, giving Walters a little twirl and enjoying how his cape and coattails swished dramatically.
“–Not scare them off with your eccentricities! I would expect someone so smart to be able to comprehend how important securing funding is to your future projects.”
Ivo scoffed. “Oh, please. Just cut the salaries of those imbecilic assistants you keep throwing at me and you’ll have plenty of spare cash.”
“The agents are assigned for your safety.” Walters said through gritted teeth. “And if you’d just–”
“Oh! I just remembered that we’ve had this argument about twenty-seven times before. Boring!” Ivo exclaimed. He brushed past Walters, approaching the doors to the ballroom. “If you insist on having it again, at least wait until after the party. I’m famished, there better be hors d'oeuvres…”
Ivo threw open both doors with a shove, allowing golden light to spill into the dimly lit ballroom. His shadow stretched into the crowd of suits and dresses milling about, most of whom turned to oggle at the sudden intrusion. Perfect.
Ivo glided through the crowd, leaving a trail of whispers in his wake. Although he loathed the effect alcohol had on his mind, he swiped a glass of champagne from a stunned waiter’s tray for dramatic effect.
Approaching one of the windows, Ivo caught his own reflection in the glass surface. He was adorned in black and red, with heeled boots and a single green gem adorning the clasp of his cape. The true centerpiece of his costume was his mask– one eye was covered by a four-pointed star, with a red lens embedded in the middle tinting half of his vision scarlet. The other side of the mask was the typical domino style, with silver and red accents and embellishments.
Altogether, he didn’t look half bad. It was true that he had been going for style over substance when designing the outfit, simply wanting something to make a scene and piss off his commanding officer, but the end result was rather dashing… sacrificing his sleep for crash-courses in fashion design and virtual sewing lessons had definitely been worth it.
Still, his pride and self-satisfaction could only carry his mood so far. Fortunately, Walters seemed invested in keeping the benefactors on the opposite side of the ballroom, so Ivo was not required to sit through any mind-numbing conversations. The downside was that staring into space listening to the band cover various Christmas carols was almost worse. At least in conversation, he had something to be angry at. Now, he just felt… bored. He eventually retreated to one of the tables near the edge of the room, sitting down with a huff.
Ivo regretted not bringing a book. Maybe if he concentrated hard enough, he could recall the exact phrases of his first Physics textbook, problem sets and all–
“Excuse me?”
The smooth, slightly syrupy voice snapped Ivo out of his thoughts. He glanced upward, barely registering the low-level government agent that spoke before reverting his attention back to his bubbling glass of champagne. He briefly considered ignoring the intrusion outright, before deciding whatever the imbecile had to say would at least provide entertainment. “Yes?”
“Well…” The agent, holding a nearly-empty glass himself, scratched the back of his neck with his other hand. “I was wondering– you’re Ivo Robotnik, right?”
“Doctor Ivo Robotnik,” Ivo replied tersely. Still refusing to look back at the agent, he ran a finger over the rim of his glass. “Why, want an autograph?”
“N– well, that would be great, of course, but… I came to ask you for something else.”
A combination of the flattery, audacity, and ambiguity of the statement sufficiently shocked Ivo’s system enough that he looked up on instinct. The agent’s face was half-obscured by a domino mask fashioned after a reindeer, but his bashful smile and sparkling brown eyes shone from behind the disguise. Something began to rumble in the pit of Ivo’s stomach– contempt, probably.
Ivo scoffed. “And what might that be?”
The agent held out a hand. “A dance?”
For the briefest, most delicate moment, Robotnik almost thought he was serious.
Ivo guffawed, loud enough that it soared over the music of the party and turned a few heads. “A dance? What is this, senior prom?” He mimed wiping a tear from his eye, before noticing the agent still hadn’t lowered his hand. “And even if it was, what makes you think you’re worthy of a dance with the universe’s greatest mind?”
“Oh, I’m not!” The agent said brightly. “Truly, I doubt that anyone is.”
The agent spoke so matter-of-factly that it took Ivo a moment to process the compliment. The feeling in his stomach grew, and he quickly frowned and coughed into his fist. “Yes, well, you’re clearly less idiotic than you look. But if that’s the case, why bother asking?”
“It’s a selfish request, I know,” The agent said, a lilt of laughter following his words, “But I’d imagine a mind such as yours would be woefully understimulated at an event like this.”
“So you think I’d demean myself to dancing with a complete stranger in order to stave off my own boredom?”
To the agent’s credit, he had the self-awareness to look embarrassed. Ivo relished the expression for a few moments, before finally putting him out of his misery.
“Well, you thought correctly. Come on.”
Ivo stood, abandoning his glass in favor of grabbing the agent’s hand and dragging him to the dance floor. The agent stumbled slightly as he attempted to keep up, and Ivo smirked.
The pair took to the dance floor, squeezing their way between the suits and dresses of stuffy government workers. The music was slow and steady, allowing Ivo and the agent to slip into a rhythm with relative ease. Ivo took the opportunity to scrutinize the agent further– aside from his mask, he wore a green tie with mistletoe pinned to the knot. The rest of his outfit was fairly standard formalwear, accented with golden buttons and cufflinks. The only detail that piqued Ivo’s interest was the dark nail polish adorning his fingers, ever so slightly chipped in a way that indicated he’d painted them before the event. An odd choice, especially for a government agent…
“Um,” The agent’s voice was slightly unsteady, “My name is Stone. Aban Stone, that is.”
“...Right,” Ivo replied, eyes gliding back to the agent’s face. “And you already knew my name, didn’t you?”
“Oh, yes,” Aban confirmed. “I’ve read all of your papers– you’re brilliant, sir, really.” His warm eyes sparkled with genuine admiration.
Ivo suddenly gained an intense interest in the pattern on the ballroom floor. “I know that. Obviously I know that.”
“Of course.”
Quiet stretched between the pair, undercut by the music lilting in the background. It took Ivo a few seconds to realize that social conventions dictated he ask a question in turn, and a few extra moments to disguise his rudeness as intentional, before he finally asked “So… what is it that you do for GUN?”
“Oh, I’m a field agent,” Aban replied lightly. “Nothing special.”
“Hmph. Well, you’re certainly better read than the majority of those grunts,” Ivo replied with a slight sneer. “Smarter, too, if you understood even half of what I wrote.”
To Ivo’s surprise, Aban’s eyes sparkled at the compliment. “Thank you– I try to be.”
Ivo raised an eyebrow, but declined to comment on how clearly starved the agent was for compliments. He idly wondered if he behaved this desperately with everyone, or…
A sudden shift in the song’s tempo sent Ivo stumbling forward, forcing him to lean into Aban’s arms for support. Aban didn’t comment, but a slight twist in his smile showed Ivo that he noticed the misstep.
Ivo huffed, straightening his back as he regained his composure. “So why are you working for GUN as a footsoldier, anyway?”
Aban’s eyes flicked to the floor, but his smile remained on his face. “Well… the short answer is, it pays the bills. Isn’t that why you’re working with them, sir?”
Ivo’s eyes narrowed. “So you think I’m settling?” He inquired, gripping Aban’s hand tighter.
“Oh– I didn’t mean it like that! It’s just logical, to work for the people offering you the most money and resources, isn’t it?”
“...Astute observation,” Ivo begrudgingly admitted.
Aban beamed, and the wriggling emotion from Ivo’s stomach fluttered up to his chest.
The song continued, melody lilting through the ballroom. Ivo began to notice more details about Aban– his arms, though hidden by the sleeves of his jacket, clearly held strength, and his left hand had a faint scar on the back. He also occasionally muttered the beats to himself in a way that teetered between annoying and adorable–
Wait, adorable?
Ivo scrunched up his nose at the thought, as though he’d tasted something sour. It wasn’t as though he was unaccustomed to his own sense of physical attraction, but he truly loathed how it manifested at the worst of times…
Noticing his change in expression, Aban loosened his grip on Ivo’s hand. “Everything alright?”
“Oh, peachy.” Ivo shifted his weight as the song began to wind down, considering his options. He supposed that a hookup would be more entertaining than whatever the rest of the evening had in store, even if it was probably some sort of Human Resources violation. Actually, the idea of inconveniencing Walters further only made the idea more alluring…
The song ended with a final flourish. As Aban moved to pull away, Ivo tightened his grip on his hand. Aban looked up, confusion clear in his expression. “Sir?”
“It’s hot in here, don’t you think?” Ivo asked. “How about we go outside to cool off?”
Aban blinked. “W– you– uh–”
“Unless you’d rather not?” Ivo raised one eyebrow.
“No! I mean, yes! I mean–” Aban took a deep breath. “Yes. You are right, as always. Let’s go outside.”
Rather abruptly, Aban turned and began walking; not in the direction of the ballroom’s exit as Ivo expected, but towards the terrace. A bold choice, considering the brisk December weather, but Ivo was never really bothered by the chill. He shrugged and followed Aban.
[nuit's lovely art will go here once it is posted :)]
The terrace was home to a variety of evergreen bushes that Ivo might have been able to identify if lighting conditions were better (and if he bothered to care about biology). The space was lit with twinkling pink lights that were strung around the space. Ivo traced his gloved fingers across one of the strands, before turning to face Aban.
Aban was staring at him, but quickly looked away once he was caught. He cleared his throat, putting a fist to his mouth. “So…”
“So.” Ivo knew he could throw the poor sap a bone, but watching him squirm was almost too amusing.
Eventually, Aban was able to find a topic of conversation. “Your costume… did you make it yourself?”
“Naturally.” Ivo adjusted the hem of his cape. He expected more gushing to follow.
“I have some experience with tailoring as well,” Aban said instead. “It’s fun, isn’t it?”
Ivo blinked. “Hmph. Yes, I suppose there’s an element of satisfaction, though usually such endeavors would be too frivolous to be worth my time. But what about you?” Ivo quickly turned the questioning onto the agent. “Don’t tell me you turned to the military after your career in fashion fell apart.”
Aban smiled in response, but it lacked the sparkle Ivo had grown to enjoy. “No, nothing like that… It’s just that no one would get us nice things, so…” He said the last part quickly, before trailing off.
Ivo tilted his head slightly. There was a lot to unpack from that little nugget of backstory, and yet… it probably wasn’t something Aban enjoyed discussing. And who could blame him? It’s not as though Ivo was jumping at the chance to spill his own traumatic secrets.
Still, if his assumptions were correct… they may have more in common than just their shady employer.
As another Christmas carol began to waft out of the ballroom, Ivo sighed dramatically. “You know, I can’t stand these winter holidays. ‘Merry Christmas, Happy New Year…’ All completely useless.”
“Really?” Aban’s smile curved into something more genuine. “I think I understand the problem with Christmas, but… New Years too, huh?”
“It’s just so arbitrary! Every year, people pretend that one day matters more than any other, and that on that specific day they’ll somehow magically fix themselves of any and all bad habits– it's absurd! You can make a resolution any time of year and it’s just as meaningful as doing it on January 1st.”
“That’s fair,” Aban replied. “Still, some of the traditions are nice, wouldn’t you agree?”
Ivo snorted, then smiled as a devilish idea crossed his mind. “Oh, trust me, you don’t have to wait until midnight to kiss me, either.”
Aban made something similar to a strangled sound. “I– well, I’d be honored– that is, if you really– I mean, if that’s what you want?”
“Please, I wouldn’t have suggested it if I didn’t want it.” Ivo removed his mask in preparation. “But don’t get the wrong idea about this– you’ve proven to be intellectually competent and physically attractive, don’t ruin it with sentimentality.”
“Of course not, sir.” Ivo looked up and– ah. Without his mask, Aban’s dark eyes sparkled even brighter, betraying his excitement despite his demeanor. He really was adorable…
Ivo took a few steps forward, until Aban was directly in front of him. “Well?”
Aban placed a hand on Ivo’s face, cupping his chin in his palm. His thumb ghosted over Ivo’s lips, with a touch so delicate it sent involuntary shivers down Ivo’s back. And his eyes… huge and brown, they shined in the rose-tinted light, drinking in every second of this interaction.
Ivo realized with a start that Aban’s flattery wasn’t just that– it seemed he really believed it. His opinion of Ivo was almost as high as Ivo’s opinion of himself. And while Ivo had experience with dalliances, he’d never seen someone savor it so deeply, so selfishly… he’d never seen such adoration, such–
–Love.
Well, that was certainly not ideal–
But Ivo didn’t have time to consider any more of the implications, as soon Aban was pulling him forward and their lips were colliding. It was a simple thing, really, short and sweet. Ivo only got a taste of salt and champagne from Aban’s lips, and his chest swelled with the urge for more.
Not ideal in the slightest.
Ivo’s emotional cocktail must have been present on his face, because Aban looked concerned as he pulled away. “Was that not…?”
Ivo blinked. Though part of him was screaming to say anything that would get him out of the situation immediately, his usual barbed tongue had abandoned him. All he could manage was a simple “Adequate.”
Even that pitiful compliment made Aban’s face light up. “I’m glad to hear it.”
Ivo’s alarm bells rang louder. “Well, this was… certainly a distraction. But I have to go now.” He turned away before he could read the reaction on Stone’s face, speedwalking back to the ballroom.
Ivo hadn’t been wrong before– the ballroom was sweltering, especially compared to the fresh outside air. He inhaled, trying to stop his heart from beating until it felt ready to burst. It was fine. He had escaped. It was fine.
The taste of Aban still lingered on his tongue. He needed something to drown it out– before he could think better of it, he grabbed another champagne glass and downed it in a single gulp.
It was fine. It was fine. Everything was perfectly fine.
After all, it’s not as though he’d be seeing the agent ever again.