And it all breaks down.

Perhaps this was normal at balls, Tic thought dully, as a second person collided into the man at his side. The figure was unusually tall; unusual, with bright blue hair. It spoke with a sarcastic tone, donned by the familiar long, black coat -- and then the arm around Tic tore away as the metal hand of Matthias crunched into the ruler's face.

As he watched his captor fall, he was sure that Matthias might take him then. But the ruler was too quick, and the boy found himself being forced into the crowds and into the hands of another. He nearly struggled, watching as the decorated bodies obscured his sight of the two men. After seeing Matthias alive -- and assuring himself of escape, he was convinced that he would leave right there.

But the sounds of thuds and grunts were filling the air, followed by the jeering laughter of spectators. He watched desperately, straining his ears, trying to stay as the woman took him farther from the scene. Most everyone was distracted now, and he saw the chance to get away; though his confidence was fading with the stupor, but he didn't want to let go if it yet.

"Where are you off to?" the woman asked, hands tightening around his shoulders as he turned.

And then he realized the eyes -- the many eyes; the glances of the upperclass men and women, breathing scented breaths, peering down at him. They judged thoroughly, seeing the boy close now, as though he were something rare. His heart began to race, and he looked again through the crowds for any sign of Matthias.

"Something wrong..?" another voice spoke. Tic kept his eyes ahead and didn't respond, ready to move if the man might appear. But a calm had started to embrace the ballroom again, lacking the desired tension of guards scurrying through. Tic wanted to deny it; to see Matthias plow everyone down and take him away. But it wasn't going to happen, he realized slowly. And just as his frantic gaze began to rest, his wrist was taken from him in a sudden yank.

"This is new," a man spoke coldly, holding Tic's hand tightly in the air, "for the Shrike, I must say."

Tic's breathing stuttered, and he stared hard at the hand around his own. The man looked familiar; he had greeted Larkin earlier, pointing at Tic and questioning. But now he was looking him over, and Tic turned his face away. It was a relief not to be at Larkin's -- the Shrike's side anymore, but this was soon becoming worse.

"Did you expect any less from Larkin?" another female said, taking Tic gently by the other arm and tugging him from the man's grip. "I wouldn't suspect age matters to him," and her glance moved from Tic to the girl Larkin was dancing with.

Tic's heart was pounding in his ears. He tried to supress it, but the feeling was much too strong, and he let himself jerk away. He had begun to move backwards, but another hand had found his arm, trapping him there as they began to question.

"I heard he was from The Sink. Is that true, boy?"

"How old are you, anyway? What's your name?"

"I'm more interested in what Larkin's going to announce."

"What would he be doing with someone from Sink? This boy, even."

By now, Tic had broken away again. He was walking slowly, blindly backstepping from the voices and faces that appeared. His hands were pulled up into open fists at the waist, as though to push them away. The pressure around his face was building, his stomach burned with the need to run. He continued to move -- moving until a single hand stopped him softly on the shoulder.

"Well," a male voice sounded slowly from just behind, "I don't see anything so wrong about him... "

The boy's eyes widened, face grimacing sharply as the other hand found him. He insantly pulled away after a shocked pause, turning with a flushed face. The man smiled back as he turned, and Tic found his legs taking him more easily backwards than before.

More voices were questioning him then, his reluctance, but Tic was beginning to move now. He was soon passing through them, slowly slipping between the dresses and suits. The swishes of music and dance went past as he almost began to run, feet carrying him as away as they could. His eyes remained on the haunting faces, willing them not to follow, so that as he began to break into his run, he nearly crashed into someone ahead.

And when he did, his heart plummeted hard into the concrete of the dancefloor. The orange gaze turned, burning with that seering flame. Tic stared back, catching sight of the pretty girl in the Shrike's arms, but never wavering from the ruler's face. His feet moved freely of his mind, moving slower than the second, just doing anything to keep him from the rage of those eyes.