Ballroom Blitz [Open] - Printable Version
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Ballroom Blitz [Open] - Tindome - 05-22-2015
![[Image: ball.png]](https://alonimi.net/misc/images/graphics/ball.png)
Ballroom Blitz [Open] - Tindome - 05-22-2015
The invitations arrive, although they are not delivered. On nightstands, on tables, mingled with the mail. Fine parchment, gilded in filigree and sealed with red wax marked with a heart. The paper smells of roses.
![[Image: invite.png]](https://alonimi.net/misc/images/graphics/invite.png)
Stepping through the green door (for there is always a green door) there is a moment of cold, and of light. Then there is the foyer, where guests may admire their new attire. There is no apparent rhyme or reason to it, different eras and styles of fashion. All are appropriate for a ball, and all come with a mask to match. There is no rule that they must stay on. Whatever other jewelry they may wear, there is always one piece with seven brilliant opals. For each day that one is in attendance, it fades to something matte. This is the timer by which all guests may count their days.
Leaving the foyer, there is the ballroom. It is a prism all of glass, reflecting light in a million colors. It is difficult to see anything through the windows but rainbows, but those who are determined will see only stars. The servers are faceless, blank white masks carrying whatever their guests may desire. There is an oak tree in the middle of the ballroom, at least a century old, and yet within the great hall it is dwarfed.
Mirrored halls lead to powder rooms, to libraries and bedrooms and solariums. It seems easy to get lost, but instead it is difficult. The door that is wanted it always the door at hand.
There is only one door that leads to the outside. One way, it will always lead to the masquerade. The other way will return a guest to their place of origin. Once a guest leaves, they may not return, no matter how many days they had left. Whatever the jewelry that marks them, they may not stray from it; when the timer is done, they will find themselves home, exactly when and how they were.
This is a between place, between times and worlds and universes. A bubble of light and of sound, where there is always music and champagne, where new clothes always fit and nothing is ever too hot or too cold. Guests may take nothing with them: not silk, not jewels, not even memories. It is as if it never happened, as if it never will.
Sometimes, very rarely, a guest may glimpse something in their dreams. The faintest echo of an image of something lost, so delicate that to breathe would make it shatter.
Welcome to the Otherworld Masquerade.
1. Don't worry too much about logistics. It is fairytale cartoon dream logic. Turtles all the way down. Characters can try to bend the rules, but they won't break.
2. Physical violence is a general no-go. It just doesn't really suit the theme, you know?
3. The basic idea is to get a chance to play a character at a time or place in their life that you usually wouldn't. For most people, this will be when their characters were younger and less jaded. For some, this will be older characters with less to prove, or maybe alternate universe versions of the same. There are no real limits on what kinds of characters are allowable, though trying to keep it humanoid is a good idea. Characters who know each other under circumstances can 'meet' here in ways that would otherwise never make sense, and characters from different universes can make friends. Cyborgs befriending fairies! Aliens drinking with dwarves! Pandemonium! There's no reason you can't just play things the way you usually would, but why would you?
4. Music will usually be kind of orchestral, instrumental, that kind of thing. The most risque it will get is jazz. Probably no Top 40 hits. Characters are nonetheless free to try and twerk in ballgowns to Mozart, or sing AC/DC, if that's what they're into.
5. The area is based on the Crystal Palace, so it is pretty much... huge. Big enough to have a tree in it huge. It is freaking huge. And that's not counting the side rooms. Huge.
6. Pretty dresses, wacky hijinks, people that would normally be at each other's throats accidentally falling into doomed interdimensional puppy love, people that would otherwise love each other becoming bitter rivals. Yes? Yes.
Stepping through the green door (for there is always a green door) there is a moment of cold, and of light. Then there is the foyer, where guests may admire their new attire. There is no apparent rhyme or reason to it, different eras and styles of fashion. All are appropriate for a ball, and all come with a mask to match. There is no rule that they must stay on. Whatever other jewelry they may wear, there is always one piece with seven brilliant opals. For each day that one is in attendance, it fades to something matte. This is the timer by which all guests may count their days.
Leaving the foyer, there is the ballroom. It is a prism all of glass, reflecting light in a million colors. It is difficult to see anything through the windows but rainbows, but those who are determined will see only stars. The servers are faceless, blank white masks carrying whatever their guests may desire. There is an oak tree in the middle of the ballroom, at least a century old, and yet within the great hall it is dwarfed.
Mirrored halls lead to powder rooms, to libraries and bedrooms and solariums. It seems easy to get lost, but instead it is difficult. The door that is wanted it always the door at hand.
There is only one door that leads to the outside. One way, it will always lead to the masquerade. The other way will return a guest to their place of origin. Once a guest leaves, they may not return, no matter how many days they had left. Whatever the jewelry that marks them, they may not stray from it; when the timer is done, they will find themselves home, exactly when and how they were.
This is a between place, between times and worlds and universes. A bubble of light and of sound, where there is always music and champagne, where new clothes always fit and nothing is ever too hot or too cold. Guests may take nothing with them: not silk, not jewels, not even memories. It is as if it never happened, as if it never will.
Sometimes, very rarely, a guest may glimpse something in their dreams. The faintest echo of an image of something lost, so delicate that to breathe would make it shatter.
Welcome to the Otherworld Masquerade.
Rules and Guidelines
1. Don't worry too much about logistics. It is fairytale cartoon dream logic. Turtles all the way down. Characters can try to bend the rules, but they won't break.
2. Physical violence is a general no-go. It just doesn't really suit the theme, you know?
3. The basic idea is to get a chance to play a character at a time or place in their life that you usually wouldn't. For most people, this will be when their characters were younger and less jaded. For some, this will be older characters with less to prove, or maybe alternate universe versions of the same. There are no real limits on what kinds of characters are allowable, though trying to keep it humanoid is a good idea. Characters who know each other under circumstances can 'meet' here in ways that would otherwise never make sense, and characters from different universes can make friends. Cyborgs befriending fairies! Aliens drinking with dwarves! Pandemonium! There's no reason you can't just play things the way you usually would, but why would you?
4. Music will usually be kind of orchestral, instrumental, that kind of thing. The most risque it will get is jazz. Probably no Top 40 hits. Characters are nonetheless free to try and twerk in ballgowns to Mozart, or sing AC/DC, if that's what they're into.
5. The area is based on the Crystal Palace, so it is pretty much... huge. Big enough to have a tree in it huge. It is freaking huge. And that's not counting the side rooms. Huge.
6. Pretty dresses, wacky hijinks, people that would normally be at each other's throats accidentally falling into doomed interdimensional puppy love, people that would otherwise love each other becoming bitter rivals. Yes? Yes.
Ballroom Blitz [Open] - Tindome - 05-23-2015
René Voclain woke near to sundown, because he had been awake until noon the night before. The pleasures of the night would wait for no one. He assumed that the invitation had been left by a paramour, but found it odd that he could detect no trace of anyone upon the paper. And how odd for it to be in English! What Englishman could possibly have found their way into a fashionable gentleman's bedroom? He licked it, and accomplished nothing in the process.
What a peculiar and delightful prospect.
Should he wear something decent to greet them, the fellows at this mysterious green door? But what a waste, when they would be dressing him. If they did not anticipate his showing up half-dressed, with an invitation such as this, they did not know him very well.
He left his bedroom in nothing but a half-fastened dressing gown, and found the green door at the end of the hall. There was no door there, and it rightfully ought to have lead right out into the garden, after a three-story fall. He laughed, utterly delighted by the nonsensical nature of it, and stepped through without the slightest hesitation.
A light that burned his eyelids and a terrible chill, but when he was through he was standing in front of a mirror.
It looked utterly unlike any suit he had ever worn. What peculiar material, and what a strange cravat. He found the pin in his lapel to be a skull, and on closer inspection, so too was his shirt decorated in such dreadful symbols.
He laughed again, and did a twirl to observe himself. He did cut quite a figure, didn't he? Even if it seemed entirely too much black. He looked downright funerary, didn't he? And no makeup at all, his hair tumbling loose and wild over his shoulders. The black domino mask made him look quite the criminal, though he did not think that anyone who knew him would have any trouble identifying him. He looked at the ring that had appeared on his finger, silver and set with seven opals. He spun it around the digit, and wondered if he was dreaming.
What a very strange dream, if he was.
The thing to do, when one was dreaming, was to behave as if everything were perfectly ordinary. This was also a good rule of thumb for situations which were not dreams. So he strolled into the ballroom, which dwarfed him utterly. Everything was light, and despite the size of it the room was awash with flesh and fabric, teeming with all sorts of emotions of such strength and volume that for a moment he was overwhelmed by them. Even at Versailles, he had never seen so many people. He saw a few men wearing suits alike to his, though he was biased to think that his own was better.
So many lovely people, feeling so many lovely things. Who would he have first? Perhaps he would work his way around the room, clockwise, until he'd finished at the center. Certainly not the woman in the red gown; she would clash terribly with him, and she seemed a terrible dancer, besides.
He grinned, wide and crooked and sharp, eyes bright blue as he snatched from a faceless man a glass of champagne.
What a fascinating day he seemed to be having.
What a peculiar and delightful prospect.
Should he wear something decent to greet them, the fellows at this mysterious green door? But what a waste, when they would be dressing him. If they did not anticipate his showing up half-dressed, with an invitation such as this, they did not know him very well.
He left his bedroom in nothing but a half-fastened dressing gown, and found the green door at the end of the hall. There was no door there, and it rightfully ought to have lead right out into the garden, after a three-story fall. He laughed, utterly delighted by the nonsensical nature of it, and stepped through without the slightest hesitation.
A light that burned his eyelids and a terrible chill, but when he was through he was standing in front of a mirror.
It looked utterly unlike any suit he had ever worn. What peculiar material, and what a strange cravat. He found the pin in his lapel to be a skull, and on closer inspection, so too was his shirt decorated in such dreadful symbols.
He laughed again, and did a twirl to observe himself. He did cut quite a figure, didn't he? Even if it seemed entirely too much black. He looked downright funerary, didn't he? And no makeup at all, his hair tumbling loose and wild over his shoulders. The black domino mask made him look quite the criminal, though he did not think that anyone who knew him would have any trouble identifying him. He looked at the ring that had appeared on his finger, silver and set with seven opals. He spun it around the digit, and wondered if he was dreaming.
What a very strange dream, if he was.
The thing to do, when one was dreaming, was to behave as if everything were perfectly ordinary. This was also a good rule of thumb for situations which were not dreams. So he strolled into the ballroom, which dwarfed him utterly. Everything was light, and despite the size of it the room was awash with flesh and fabric, teeming with all sorts of emotions of such strength and volume that for a moment he was overwhelmed by them. Even at Versailles, he had never seen so many people. He saw a few men wearing suits alike to his, though he was biased to think that his own was better.
So many lovely people, feeling so many lovely things. Who would he have first? Perhaps he would work his way around the room, clockwise, until he'd finished at the center. Certainly not the woman in the red gown; she would clash terribly with him, and she seemed a terrible dancer, besides.
He grinned, wide and crooked and sharp, eyes bright blue as he snatched from a faceless man a glass of champagne.
What a fascinating day he seemed to be having.
Ballroom Blitz [Open] - Tindome - 05-23-2015
Nadine burned her invitation so that her husband would not find it.
She didn't know what it meant. There was what it said, but what did it mean? Was someone offering her a way out? The writing was in English, ordinary English, not whatever it was they used here that was so similar and yet not. Was it a trick? A trap? She rubbed at the raw skin that circled her wrists.
It wasn't like it could hurt to look.
On feet quiet and bare she slipped out the door to her suite, so much larger than she needed it to be. Everything was so much larger than she needed it be. Except for the green door, which she found where there was usually a hallway. It was the size of a normal door, from a normal place. She refused to get her hopes up. She stepped through, through cold light like the sun reflecting off snow, and still she refused to get her hopes up.
The first thing she noticed was that her wrists no longer hurt. That very faint paleness of new skin, but no more raw or red.
She didn't think she'd ever worn a dress like this, sheer lace in black and white. Her lips were painted red, and her curls fell loose and wild. The only crown on her head was white roses made of silk. The black lace of her mask matched the lace of her dress, and she frowned as she realized she could see. Experimentally, she took the mask off. Her long-distance vision disappeared. She prodded at the eye of the mask, but there was nothing there. She put it back on, and looked at her nails. They must have been acrylic, because hers had never been this long, all black and silver. Green eyes looked at themselves in the mirror, then fell to lips painted red, to a necklace cast in silver of an anatomically correct model heart. That was the first thing that made her smile. She looked at her wrist, to silver bangle dotted with opals, and hummed thoughtfully.
Walking in heels was tricky. She hadn't done it in so long. More used to slippers, more used to being barefoot.
The ballroom was overwhelming in the size of it, but that wasn't what struck her. What struck her most was: most everyone she saw was an ordinary height. She walked into the crowd and she stared at people not much taller than she was. A sea of voices, but some of them, she thought, sounded… American.
Her nails dug half-moons into her palms.
Maybe this was her way out.
She made her way to the glass panels of the wall, and pressed her hands to it to try and look outside.
She didn't know what it meant. There was what it said, but what did it mean? Was someone offering her a way out? The writing was in English, ordinary English, not whatever it was they used here that was so similar and yet not. Was it a trick? A trap? She rubbed at the raw skin that circled her wrists.
It wasn't like it could hurt to look.
On feet quiet and bare she slipped out the door to her suite, so much larger than she needed it to be. Everything was so much larger than she needed it be. Except for the green door, which she found where there was usually a hallway. It was the size of a normal door, from a normal place. She refused to get her hopes up. She stepped through, through cold light like the sun reflecting off snow, and still she refused to get her hopes up.
The first thing she noticed was that her wrists no longer hurt. That very faint paleness of new skin, but no more raw or red.
She didn't think she'd ever worn a dress like this, sheer lace in black and white. Her lips were painted red, and her curls fell loose and wild. The only crown on her head was white roses made of silk. The black lace of her mask matched the lace of her dress, and she frowned as she realized she could see. Experimentally, she took the mask off. Her long-distance vision disappeared. She prodded at the eye of the mask, but there was nothing there. She put it back on, and looked at her nails. They must have been acrylic, because hers had never been this long, all black and silver. Green eyes looked at themselves in the mirror, then fell to lips painted red, to a necklace cast in silver of an anatomically correct model heart. That was the first thing that made her smile. She looked at her wrist, to silver bangle dotted with opals, and hummed thoughtfully.
Walking in heels was tricky. She hadn't done it in so long. More used to slippers, more used to being barefoot.
The ballroom was overwhelming in the size of it, but that wasn't what struck her. What struck her most was: most everyone she saw was an ordinary height. She walked into the crowd and she stared at people not much taller than she was. A sea of voices, but some of them, she thought, sounded… American.
Her nails dug half-moons into her palms.
Maybe this was her way out.
She made her way to the glass panels of the wall, and pressed her hands to it to try and look outside.
Ballroom Blitz [Open] - megs - 05-23-2015
The music of the ballroom was punctuated by the sound of a chorus of laughter. A crowd had gathered in the corner, mostly men with a scattering of women, and in the middle of the grouping was a woman who seemed to be the cause of the cacophony. She held a sparkling glass of champagne in one hand, as she gesticulated with other, emphasizing key points of a particularly captivating tale. Being no stranger to grand balls, or entertaining, Julianna commanded the crowd's attention, effortlessly. It certainly helped that she was easy on the eyes. All done up in purple and black, and her tanned skin looked darker because of it. The dress she wore had a corset that hugged her curves, and presented her breasts like an offering; inscribed with eye-catching silver curls. Tulle ruffles in the thematic colors, flared out from her hips to touch the floor. A silver choker decorated her throat like a spider's web and cascaded opals across her collarbones. And to top it off, settled within a complicated nest of snow-white strands and silver-furred Lynx ears, was a silver diadem accented with bright amethysts. A testament to the royalty she truly was.
Behind a mask of purple lace that splayed out like the wing of a butterfly on one side, chartreuse eyes scanned the room as she spoke. Even surrounded by a seemingly enraptured crowd, she seemed to look for more.
Julianna's invitation had come through a courier she hadn't recognized. The message within had certainly intrigued her, but she had brushed it off as utter nonsense in the end. As the day had drawn on and she was on her way to the music room after tea, she spotted the door, green and out of place at the end of the hall. Naturally, curiosity got the best of her, so here she was with one opal already dulled.
Ballroom Blitz [Open] - Tindome - 05-23-2015
René had been having a delightful time as he moved through the crowd, eyes shining bright amidst his mask. He would grab a partner – and it was difficult to stop him, when he had strength and the element of surprise on his side – and sweep them into a waltz, making a meal of their fear and confusion and delight. Then he would release them to disappear back into the crowd, too thrown off and too dizzy to find him before he'd disappeared.
He kissed a few of them, but only a few. Most of them did not quite match, and none of them were sweet enough to make the aesthetic sacrifice worth it.
He spotted the dress first, the exactly perfect shade of violet that decorated her skirts. He came to an immediate halt, spinning on his heel to stop himself, taking two strangers by the shoulders to steer them out of his way. He twirled and he slid through the sea of less pleasing prospects, and in no time at all he'd descended on her. Without the slightest concern for her audience, he took her by the waist to sweep her up, lifting her up to spin her around him, careful to keep her steady. As long as she didn't startle, there was no reason to waste the champagne. Though he would not mind at all if she spilled it over that marvelous décolletage, since then he could drink it for her.
"A-ha!" he said as he spun her. "I have found my follower!" His grin concealed nothing as he set her back down, exactly where she had been but a moment before. "That is the word, yes?" he asked, French accent thick and marked by something else more difficult to place. "The one I will lead in a dance." He gestured grandly with two hands to her dress, then used the both of them to snatch her hand, kissing the back of it and along her wrist until he was kissing her pulse. "We are a perfect match," he declared. "You see it, yes?" Even aside from the match of their dress, they made a stunning contrast. She was dark where he was light, as well as the reverse. Where their hands met, she looked darker, thrown into sharp relief by the astonishing paleness of him. "We must dance, ma minette," he declared, kissing further down the inside of her forearm. "Only tell me what I must do to have you, and it is yours."
He kissed a few of them, but only a few. Most of them did not quite match, and none of them were sweet enough to make the aesthetic sacrifice worth it.
He spotted the dress first, the exactly perfect shade of violet that decorated her skirts. He came to an immediate halt, spinning on his heel to stop himself, taking two strangers by the shoulders to steer them out of his way. He twirled and he slid through the sea of less pleasing prospects, and in no time at all he'd descended on her. Without the slightest concern for her audience, he took her by the waist to sweep her up, lifting her up to spin her around him, careful to keep her steady. As long as she didn't startle, there was no reason to waste the champagne. Though he would not mind at all if she spilled it over that marvelous décolletage, since then he could drink it for her.
"A-ha!" he said as he spun her. "I have found my follower!" His grin concealed nothing as he set her back down, exactly where she had been but a moment before. "That is the word, yes?" he asked, French accent thick and marked by something else more difficult to place. "The one I will lead in a dance." He gestured grandly with two hands to her dress, then used the both of them to snatch her hand, kissing the back of it and along her wrist until he was kissing her pulse. "We are a perfect match," he declared. "You see it, yes?" Even aside from the match of their dress, they made a stunning contrast. She was dark where he was light, as well as the reverse. Where their hands met, she looked darker, thrown into sharp relief by the astonishing paleness of him. "We must dance, ma minette," he declared, kissing further down the inside of her forearm. "Only tell me what I must do to have you, and it is yours."
Ballroom Blitz [Open] - megs - 05-23-2015
Julianna laughed, and conversed, and she flirted, but she had yet to dance. It was not to say, that she had not been asked, or was unable to do so. There was not or woman enough thus far to catch her eye, so she waited and drew attention to herself.
She hardly had time enough to lay eyes on him as he parted the crowd to get to her. He swept her from the floor, before she could protest, so she only uttered a small squeak of surprise. Soon after, she developed into giggles, steadying herself with her free hand against his shoulder.
"Partner," she corrects, as her feet clad in black heels met the floor once more. She sipped champagne, to hide a grin as she looked him over. She could not deny his observation, they certainly would make a gorgeous pair, as they circled the dance floor. She handed the crystal flute to someone standing nearby, as he trailed his mouth across her arm. "Minette?" she repeats, her expression melded into to something all wide-eyed and scandalized. Glittering green hues gave her away, because they crinkled around the edges and watched him with interest.
"So, we must," she agrees in French, setting digits below his chin to pull his lips away from her arm. "I am hardly so cruel as to deny such a request."
Ballroom Blitz [Open] - Tindome - 05-23-2015
The sounds she made were lovely and girlish, and the taste of her was interest. She had a regal bearing with the others of her entourage, though he'd quite ruined it for himself by tossing her about. A few of them felt sweetly toward her, though she did not return it; they did not feel kindly towards him at all, and that made him smile.
Her mouth made such pretty shapes when she feigned offense – and he could taste that it was false, even as he saw the sparkle in her eyes. Tips of sharp nails barely brushed the soft skin of her arm, all gentle as he pressed a final kiss to the inside of her elbow. Fingers urged his mouth from her skin, and so he obeyed, following where she lead him and further, as if he'd kiss her right then and there. Then he grinned, sharp-toothed and eager, as he turned his hand to lace his fingers with hers, wrapped the other around her waist to pull her closer. Another twirl to pull her away from an army of would-be paramours, lifting her off the ground again to delight in the way her skirts fanned out when he did it.
«Kitten,» he repeated, «pretty kitten, to be so kind as to allow me your hand in a dance.» His hands lead her through steps that she surely already know, though here and there he would add a flourish to see how her balance fared. He held her entirely too close, and with her heels and without his she could almost match his height. «Do you think if we went near the walls, Miss Kitten, we could see our reflections? You look stunning in my arms, and so it would be a terrible waste if I did not also look stunning holding you.»
Her mouth made such pretty shapes when she feigned offense – and he could taste that it was false, even as he saw the sparkle in her eyes. Tips of sharp nails barely brushed the soft skin of her arm, all gentle as he pressed a final kiss to the inside of her elbow. Fingers urged his mouth from her skin, and so he obeyed, following where she lead him and further, as if he'd kiss her right then and there. Then he grinned, sharp-toothed and eager, as he turned his hand to lace his fingers with hers, wrapped the other around her waist to pull her closer. Another twirl to pull her away from an army of would-be paramours, lifting her off the ground again to delight in the way her skirts fanned out when he did it.
«Kitten,» he repeated, «pretty kitten, to be so kind as to allow me your hand in a dance.» His hands lead her through steps that she surely already know, though here and there he would add a flourish to see how her balance fared. He held her entirely too close, and with her heels and without his she could almost match his height. «Do you think if we went near the walls, Miss Kitten, we could see our reflections? You look stunning in my arms, and so it would be a terrible waste if I did not also look stunning holding you.»
Ballroom Blitz [Open] - megs - 05-23-2015
She ignored the way the press of lips and fleeting brush of nails commanded goose bumps on her skin. Her fingers left his face as he moved closer, but not before they smoothed over the length of his jaw. She couldn't help but to mimic his grin, her own teeth were elongated, but not as sharp. She did not resist when he pulled her closer. The hand he did not hold smoothed over his shoulder, resting near the curve of his neck. Another giggle bubbled from her throat as he spun her around again, and her thumb rubbed tiny circles against the back of his hand, hardly noticeable as they glided across the ball room.
She followed the way he lead her around, matching steps and additions, all smiles and grace. The way he held her tight against him, put his words nearly up against her ear. They twitched in response, pushing back against the crown of her head before standing upright again. «Julianna,» she offers, not that she wasn't fond of a nickname. She turned her head, briefly too look past him and out across the room, observing pearlescent windows. The movement sent colorless strands across her shoulders. «I would very much like to see the two of us in glittering reflection.»
Ballroom Blitz [Open] - megs - 05-23-2015
Grayson hated magic.
It was complex and primal and dangerous. He studied it out of necessity, but the more he learned the more he came to loathe it. Magic had a mind of it's own and something so volatile should not have been so easily accessible to those who couldn't control it.
Grayson had tossed his invitation in the trash. It was either a strange prank or something actually supernatural and he was not the sort to go looking for trouble in the metaphysical. So, why exactly he had gone through the green door that had replaced the one that usually went to his bedroom was a question he did not want to be asked. Because he would not be able to answer it.
The black mask he wore was a poor replacement for his glasses. It wasn't because he couldn't see - it was because he could not fidget with it as easily without setting the whole thing out of place. The same went for his hair that had been smoothed out of his face for once, and held in place with gel. He replaced his usual habits by tugging, annoyed, at his cuff links. Save for the dress shirt, the three piece suit he had been fitted with was all black, even down to his his tie. The only color on his person was the glittering opals that dotted his tie clip and he was almost offended. He was surrounded by a shifting sea of hues, and for whatever reason he was as monochromatic as possible.
He leaned in a corner with his arms over his chest, frowning and bored as was his usual nature.
Ballroom Blitz [Open] - Tindome - 05-23-2015
He quite liked the way she giggled, the way her hand held his – or was held by his. The distinction was unclear. But for every unexpected twirl or dip or backwards step that she matched, his grin grew more pleased. Graceful in step, but maybe not in manner, holding her as if at any moment he would sink his teeth into her throat. He'd quite liked, as well, the way her fingers had lingered on his face, on skin unsettling in its perfection.
René was not even attempting to play fair; it was hardly a waltz at all, except in the most basic shape of it. Stealing maneuvers from country dances, from ballet, from dances long-dead from places equally so. Even from other dancers, because he was nothing if not a fast study. That she could follow along with his improvisations was both frustrating and sublime. Perhaps she would stumble if he kissed her.
"Julianna," he repeated, sing-song, elongating the vowels. «Lovely Julianna, who dances so well. Are you too fierce to be called Kitten, or are you suggesting the gentleman introduce himself?» His steps began to lead them, in wide arcs across the floor, toward one of the glittering walls. «If you are concerned about propriety, it is far too late for that. Or maybe the rules are different, where you are from? They do not seem to apply here, regardless.»
Stealing from a dancer he had seen earlier, he shifted the hold on her hand to twirl her about without him, a spin that ended with her near parallel to the floor as he held her low by the waist. «What do you think?» he asked, and his eyes left the expanse of her throat to look at the wall, at the complimentary lines they cut in the reflection, a dazzle of color like paint splashed across a watercolor.
René was not even attempting to play fair; it was hardly a waltz at all, except in the most basic shape of it. Stealing maneuvers from country dances, from ballet, from dances long-dead from places equally so. Even from other dancers, because he was nothing if not a fast study. That she could follow along with his improvisations was both frustrating and sublime. Perhaps she would stumble if he kissed her.
"Julianna," he repeated, sing-song, elongating the vowels. «Lovely Julianna, who dances so well. Are you too fierce to be called Kitten, or are you suggesting the gentleman introduce himself?» His steps began to lead them, in wide arcs across the floor, toward one of the glittering walls. «If you are concerned about propriety, it is far too late for that. Or maybe the rules are different, where you are from? They do not seem to apply here, regardless.»
Stealing from a dancer he had seen earlier, he shifted the hold on her hand to twirl her about without him, a spin that ended with her near parallel to the floor as he held her low by the waist. «What do you think?» he asked, and his eyes left the expanse of her throat to look at the wall, at the complimentary lines they cut in the reflection, a dazzle of color like paint splashed across a watercolor.
Ballroom Blitz [Open] - megs - 05-23-2015
Admittedly, keeping up with him was taking quite a bit of concentration. She would likely have been spilled to the floor, if she'd not been studying dance for a long as she'd been walking. Her feline affinity was also helpful, and not just for show. And maybe sort of like cheating. «Kitten is not so distasteful,» she admits, cocking her head as they slipped across the floor. Her tail was hidden beneath layers of multi-colored fabric, but it swayed contentedly as he spoke. «Do I get to call you Monsieur Fox, in return? So nimble and clever.» She laughed lightly, and removed her hand from his shoulder to brush gently at a curl against his face, keeping in time with his intricate pace.
Her skirts flared out as she was spun, revealing the sparkling black pumps they had been concealing. Her arm swept outwards with a flourish of her own, bracelets glittering as he held her low to the tiles. He eyes rolled to the side, to catch the way they looked in the glass and she smiled. «Magnificent,» she exclaims, pulling herself upright, and back against him.
Ballroom Blitz [Open] - Tindome - 05-23-2015
René laughed, boisterous and with teeth in a way that resonated through his chest. It was as much in surprise as amusement, and when she brushed a hand by his face he quickly turned his head to kiss her fingers. «Clever kitten,» he praised, «to catch me in the henhouse so quickly. And here I had hoped you would think me a tom.» Tomcat was certainly one word for the way he strutted and he preened, pretty as he was. "Mais, pas Renard," he corrected, "René."
He admired the turn of her ankle and her wrist, and did not hide the way his eyes raked up her figure, imagining how her legs might look with her skirts around her waist. He neither unsettled for terrified her, and for him this was strange. It had been a long time, now, since he had dallied with such creatures as might share something of his nature.
When she rose he resumed dancing, though he was slower, taking his time so that they could speak as they pleased, not having to divide their focus. She would not stumble, so the game was abandoned. He held her close, still, because he could, and he kissed the hand that he held much as he had before.
"René Voclain," he finished, "Marquis d'Ambert." The corner of his mouth crooked. «Or perhaps that is too much? I have revealed more than I ought, and ruined the mystery. I should have let you wonder at my name and at my face, until curiosity overwhelmed you. No?»
He admired the turn of her ankle and her wrist, and did not hide the way his eyes raked up her figure, imagining how her legs might look with her skirts around her waist. He neither unsettled for terrified her, and for him this was strange. It had been a long time, now, since he had dallied with such creatures as might share something of his nature.
When she rose he resumed dancing, though he was slower, taking his time so that they could speak as they pleased, not having to divide their focus. She would not stumble, so the game was abandoned. He held her close, still, because he could, and he kissed the hand that he held much as he had before.
"René Voclain," he finished, "Marquis d'Ambert." The corner of his mouth crooked. «Or perhaps that is too much? I have revealed more than I ought, and ruined the mystery. I should have let you wonder at my name and at my face, until curiosity overwhelmed you. No?»
Ballroom Blitz [Open] - megs - 05-24-2015
She found that she quite liked the sound of his laugh, and the was he called her clever, so her smile was hard to suppress. Her fingers curled in surprise, when he kissed them, before settling back on his shoulder. One of her ears fell lopsided as if startled by the intimacy of the exchange. "René," she repeats, the vowels little more than a purr at the base of her throat. «A pleasure.»She found him neither unsettling, nor terrifying because she had yet to perceive him as a threat. She wasn't so foolish as to think no harm could come to her, she was simply confident in her ability to take care of herself. She was also gloriously alone for once, aside from her handsome dance partner. No smothering guard or glaring brother. Just herself, and her capability to make perfectly reasonable decisions.
Her ears pressed forward and she watched his mouth as he brought her hand to it, before emerald orbs flickered back to his blue ones. She had kept her own title to herself, the tiara she wore did little to give her away in a masquerade. She would likely continue to do so. It mattered little here, with she was a commoner or a queen. Her own status, however, did not keep her brows from disappearing behind a fringe of bangs as he introduced himself further.
«You should have,» she concedes loftily. «You would have easily had me begging for more details by night's end.»
Ballroom Blitz [Open] - Tindome - 05-24-2015
«I am,» he agreed, because he was nothing if not startlingly immodest. He found that he liked the way she said his name, and wanted her to do it again. And again. And perhaps louder. A hint of sweetness suggested she would not be entirely opposed to this idea.
He chuckled at the unexpected occurrence of her agreeing with him on the matter, musing over her surprise and that faint sense of something like recognition. A lady in disguise, but then, what lady here was not? It was all the same to him, in the end. But he'd always loved having a title, a single word to inspire awe and respect. It was the contrast, he supposed; he knew what it was to have no such thing, and so he reveled in it now. Patrician, Laird, Marquis, he would keep them all and list them in turn if they were not attached to different names. Tragic, that this masquerade had not seen fit to give him a crown.
«And what about by morning?» he teased. «You do not seem the type to beg, Juliana, on your knees or otherwise.» He clicked his tongue and grinned, and took it as an opportunity to twirl her again, because he could only resist that temptation for so long. Fortunately for her, he was unlikely to get so restless as to lift her over his head, though he may have done it if her skirt were shorter.
«There are so many things you still do not know!» he assured her. «Never say, Juliana, that you have bored of me already, or I shall throw myself from the balcony. I would be fine, of course, but it would be very dramatic and embarrassing for the both of us.»
He chuckled at the unexpected occurrence of her agreeing with him on the matter, musing over her surprise and that faint sense of something like recognition. A lady in disguise, but then, what lady here was not? It was all the same to him, in the end. But he'd always loved having a title, a single word to inspire awe and respect. It was the contrast, he supposed; he knew what it was to have no such thing, and so he reveled in it now. Patrician, Laird, Marquis, he would keep them all and list them in turn if they were not attached to different names. Tragic, that this masquerade had not seen fit to give him a crown.
«And what about by morning?» he teased. «You do not seem the type to beg, Juliana, on your knees or otherwise.» He clicked his tongue and grinned, and took it as an opportunity to twirl her again, because he could only resist that temptation for so long. Fortunately for her, he was unlikely to get so restless as to lift her over his head, though he may have done it if her skirt were shorter.
«There are so many things you still do not know!» he assured her. «Never say, Juliana, that you have bored of me already, or I shall throw myself from the balcony. I would be fine, of course, but it would be very dramatic and embarrassing for the both of us.»