![Image](http://i52.photobucket.com/albums/g3/Baals_Baby/Lucain/RandomFieldsofIris01.png)
Baruch-Alexander Bartholomew VIII was furious, to say the least. At least he hid it well. He glided down the hall with practiced posture and a stony visage towards the large dining room in his father's mansion. He hated dinner parties, and he hated surprises. So, of course, his father decided to throw him a surprise birthday gala - dinner included.
He halted just outside of the (unnecessarily) large doors to the Great Hall - as his father called it - and took a deep breath. Baruch - or Barry, as he'd much rather be called - had just turned 18 the past week. It was great in the idea that he was now a legal adult, and could do what he pleased.
Except that he couldn't. He was the minister's son, so he had an image to uphold, and very large shoes to fill. So, exhaling loudly, and putting on his "winning smile", he pushed open the doors, and let the applause wash over him. He bowed deeply in order to avoid his father's disappointing glare at his tardiness.
Standing back up, he swept across the floor to join his father at the head of the large table, at his right side - where the eldest son and heir would normally sit. Twisting his grin into a sneer, he looked up at his father with contempt, but only for a split second. He then turned back to the audience and sat, which broke the silence, and let the feast commence. The sooner it's over, the better.