TRIGGER WARNING
Moments later, the darkened theater was filled with indiscreet chatter amongst the seated members. With the central screen blank and the auctioneer offstage, the staff of the refreshment service strode between seats to serve the guests.
Bursts of controlled laughter and hushed whispers filtered through the lavish air.
Drogo's fingers remained curled, his temple resting against them as his gaze stared lost in space. The quiet thuds of his expensive wooden soles sounded beneath him as his lips were pressed into a neutral line.
"Mr. Bartholomew!"
His head snapped in the direction of the voice, masking his thoughtful expression with a calm smile.
"Bishop Gilbert?" he called out to the elder man who stood before him, dressed in all black.
"Oh please, Mr. Gilbert is fine here." The elderly man waved a dismissive hand. "No need for unnecessary pleasantries, is there?"
