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The Great Hall / Ballroom [Faye Manor]
Topic Started: Aug 12 2010, 01:15 PM (1,032 Views)
Damocles Faye
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Throughout the span of centuries, through many heirs, desertions, betrayals, and runaways—one fact about the Fayes had remained constant: they loved to decorate. Not only did they love to decorate, they were exceedingly good at it, having a genetic knack for the knowledge of what napkin ring to use with which napkin, how far the tables should be from the dance floor. Down to the last inlaid pearl on the grand piano that night, each detail was heavy with the intent to impress their guests. The dance floor was carved marble, the walls glittering golden designs spun with a single-hair paintbrush. Not one—but three chandeliers hung overhead so that the room seemed to drip diamonds and gold. A wall of glass on the west wall kept a thin barrier between the bright, shiny hall and the impenetrable navy night cloaked in its secrets.

It was the east wall, that everyone was looking at as they entered, probing the wood and scarlet carpet for the foreign dignitaries of whom so much town gossip had already extolled. They were here from the east—the far East, where the winters were harsh enough to stop seasoned generals and the summers exploding full-throated heat over ravines and valleys. They’d come because the youngest sought a bride—no, the eldest needed help in a war. Weren’t there two girls? Two boys? Sisters…no, no that wasn’t right. It was brothers, one sister, and a childhood friend. The person saying that actually worked in the kitchens of course. Whatever had been heard, hundreds of eyes ached for a sighting.

Only Damocles and his posse did not constantly run a vigorous sweeping glance of the top step. Damocles was engaged in retelling a thrilling tale from a particularly spectacular duel (that he’d won of course.) Each twist caused hearts to skip a beat from courtiers watching Damocles, though he was enveloped entirely in reenacting the two-step his spell has forced out of his opponent, and hardly noticed the actual size of his audience. There were roars of encouraging laughter from rowdy friends; the ladies swooned properly demure, and the smirk on Damocles face was wide. Traces of his own laugh in his speech lit the tone of amused, as he was that anyone yet thought they could defeat him. His cousin and dueling partner, Leigh, laughed lightly, and turned away.

A moment later Leigh was knocking his elbow into Damocles arm, yanking him out of his dance and bringing his gaze to the top of the stairs with the rest of the room as a sudden hush fell from the voices. Even the plunking piano and spinning violins seemed to soften—or perhaps he’d just gone deaf.

At the top of the stairs stood the Lady Anastasia.
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Anastasia Zytsev
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The unknown...it'd been far too much of her life. Far too controlling of her life. She didn't know so many things, so many important things, and for the most part she tried to ignore it and hope it didn't happen for ages and ages. It was just really hard for her to understand that mindset when Parker was laying there like that. It looked so final.

But luckily, before the waterworks started again, Brandin moved on to the ball. Attempting to be more lighthearted, more herself, Anastasia told him, "The party never starts until I get there anyways."

There. She was pleased to find that her haughty tone didn't waver, nor break. Much better. Then, finally, Brandin moved onto the more whimsical. The emotional; and Annie couldn't help but smile at him. "It is the perfect setting. I...didn't know you did that too." The story thing was basically her life. Many times Annie got lost as to what was reality - and what was fantasy. It wasn't entirely all too healthy, but it made her happy. It always made her happy; so this persona of sorts, she could handle it. She could go this ball, and have a good time. She would, have a good time, so that when she came in to visit Parker afterwards he would see smiles - not tears - on her face.

Annie's hand simply closed over the necklace and Brandin's hand for a moment in acknowledgement, and then took his arm. "Here goes nothing..."

It wasn't a far trek to the hall. In fact, it ended a lot sooner than Annie was expecting. She'd been walking with Brandin, amusing herself by seeing how quiet she could make her heavy heels be, when all of a sudden they exited out of a doorway and were on the landing of the stairs into the hall. All of a sudden, there was silence, and people staring.

Well this wouldn't be the first time she'd walked down stairs to people's sharp eyes. Amused at the memory, Annie patted Brandin's arm, "Now, don't break too many young maiden hairs tonight, sugar. I doubt Cat would like that very much." She had to, of course, let go of him so she could remove her cloak and give it to the servant quietly asking if he could take it.

Scanning the floor below to see other women's dresses, Anastasia carefully untied one string loose, and then the other, allowing the warm material to slide off her shoulders so she could hand it to the servant. There actually weren't many women with their arms and shoulders bare (and even more were in bright colors, not her deep violet), but at this point it couldn't bother Anastasia. She simply lifted her chin against whatever gossip was happening, gently rested her hand on the banister, and smoothly descended.

Hell, if she couldn't walk down stairs in a heavy dress then she'd learned nothing from her parents.
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Damocles Faye
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It wasn't proper to open-mouth stare. A single glance with a hint of a smile in an impassive stone face, this was how Damocles was supposed to look. His hands were supposed to cross, his legs lock in a stiff stance and he was not supposed to move towards her immediately. Any other reactions were reserved to those who had no self-control, no manners; it was reserved to the overeager and those who had no sense of propriety. He wasn't supposed to open-mouth stare.

How about open-eye stare?

It simply was not possible for him not to do so. Anastasia revealed not only how attractive she was--but also her grace and poise with a single sweep of her cloak, handed off. Damocles' hands had swung from their tight grip on his forearms, hung in the air. Heart beginning to race and his head tilting, he moved with a slow procession through the crowd. If he was parting a sea, it was a river of red with himself carrying a staff--the crowd utterly ceased to matter and melted on either side of him into some far off meaningless abyss.

And now he was a damn cliche. It figured. Just what was this woman doing to him?

He halted at the base of the stairs, hand curling around the banister himself and waiting for her to join him. Off to the side a bit as he was so she was still the focal point, he straightened up and locked in place with the symbol of respect. A moment later he was bending forward and offering his hand towards her own, so that she might kiss it.

"Good evening, Milady Anastasia."

His eyes had softened, his smile had widened in it's place.
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Rebecca Cowen
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Since she was a little girl, Rebecca had adored dress up. For several years her mother had lamented about the impossibility to get her into anything that wasn't her Belle costume from Disney's Beauty and the Beast. It had been her favorite movie, for she related so completely with Belle that she had hopped through her father's bookstore singing Tale as Old as Time since she was six years old.

At that moment, she wished dearly for that puffy, golden, sparkly gown that had simply pretended to be from that time, as the real thing was laying on top of a metal contraption she'd never worn at age six. Merlin, dammit did corsets hurt. Who decided breathing wasn't important?

Then again, it helped immensely to put her into character as she found herself escorted by tall, dashing door men. Anastasia was on the other side of her, but being lead down another path away from her. As Rebecca craned her neck around for a moment, she remembered herself and looked straight forward. Anastasia could handle herself. Trying (and probably failing) to look unimpressed by the ballroom. It was dripping jewels, courtiers and tapestries; the ceiling apparently lit by floating candles connected by crystal strands reflecting the flickering light onto the dance floor. As the man at her side bowed and returned to the entrance, a thank you fell from her lips accidentally.

He looked startled for a second before returning, "Milady is too kind."

Common courtesy was something she had to learn to do without? Was that more or less important than learning to go without breathing?

Smiling in spite of the compression on her chest, she took a few steps forward, the jewels in her hair sparkling themselves. Her red gown immediately caught the eye of a few courtiers she noticed, the slightest flicker of disgust tracing her lips at their appraisals. Well then, common courtesy certainly wasn't on their minds.

Except for one. She saw, out of the slightest corner of her eye one who looked to be her age. He wasn't wearing fabulous jewels or a cut and fitted suit; rather the coarse cloth and ruffled red ascot of a servant. She noted that second to the expression on his face, which had for a heartbeat been a wide-open mouth and then a blush before he averted his eyes. Her smirk widening naturally, she turned to head in his direction, the gown sashaying across the ground in delicate swirls until she stood in front of him.

It wasn't until she was two inches from him that she remembered she probably wasn't supposed to speak to him, let alone ask him to dance, and no words fell from her lips at first. After her own lips gaped a bit, she drew herself up and asked simply,

"May I ask your name?"



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Anastasia Zytsev
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Anastasia had made a customary scan of the dance floor, trying to match as many faces to names as possible. Brandin had helped her a little bit, and although she had a good memory for names she had been a little distracted. Either way, she wasn't supposed to actually know any of them but Damocles and Merwyn.

Eventually her gaze dropped on the man she had been thinking of just mere moments ago, already feeling herself lighten, just a little. Brandin was right; she could get lost in the story. She could think of herself only as what they had fabricated. She could be happy. He looked rather dashing in his red and gold dress wear, and that was what she focused on as she built the story around herself once again. She was Lady Anastasia Zytsev, a near-royalty (thank you, Brandin Faye) woman from Russia traveling with her two brothers. In addition they had an equally beautiful family friend, and they had traveled for months to reach England. One brother was deathly ill, and they were looking for a cure.

She was worried about him, but she was okay. It was all, going to be okay.

Although Anastasia had arrived with Brandin, she figured that she should pay attention to the host instead. So when Damocles reached for her hand, bowing, even, she turned her smile to him. "And to you, Lord Damocles." She even curtsied for him, sinking down in one fluid, deep motion; her head bowed, but her eyes stayed simply on him. "My sincere apologies for arriving late; we had to attend to my brother."

My brother. Merlin, that felt weird. But she focused on the story - only the story, and it allowed her not to waver as she took in the beauty of the room. "Your taste in decor is impeccable. It's a dream."

The piano had caught her attention first, finger itching to play; itching really, for her flute. Past that though, she was able to truly hear the vibrating strings of the violins, the melody of the piano wrenching at her heartstrings. Chopin, she believed. It was beautiful. The chandeliers gave the impression of wealth she was certain this really was; a power play, of sorts, but either way they danced light around the room, small rainbows appearing when the light hit the crystal just right. All gold and jewel, and it took her breath away.
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Another day, another social event to endure. It was actually such a routine in his life right at that moment that it wasn't even terribly exciting anymore. Well, at least tonight he didn't have to wear the 'proper ceremonial servant robes' and what not. Rowland always found a way to look at the brighter aspect of things. Today for example, Damocles had not required him to re-wash his clothes, granted that had been because Rowland hadn't done them by hand and had risked being found out and jailed all for the matter of being too lazy but technicalities could be overlooked.

He walked around, serving the guests drinks on an overpriced and over decorated golden and jeweled tray. Yes, the very tray that served drinks was garnished to appear as elegant as possible in the hopes of intimidating and re-establishing titles and creating jealousy and other clever manipulating tactics on their part. Selling even one of those trays would feed his family for several weeks if not months; sometimes he wished he had less of a spine. Yes, it would make walking extremely difficult but he figured that he could use that as another excuse for his apparent 'lack of work discipline'.

He made his way out of the crowd of people and back to one of the side tables where other servants were congregating for the moment. "The elite dine in luxury once again," he commented with small amusement as he turned around to look out at the scene. He wasn't bitter really, not at all. He never dreamed of a life of luxury, he enjoyed his simplicity.

He barely heard when Desmond next to him started talking, because right at that moment his eyes were fixed on a lady that had just been escorted in. His arms dropped from being crossed over his chest and stayed at his sides, and he looked at her rather amazed and shocked at the same time. She was beautiful, breath-taking, she…was staring at him. He blushed and closed his mouth, looking away as he fidgeted with something, anything at all. Where did Desmond go? Away from him, apparently, after pushing him in annoyance. Great, now what?

He turned around again to look, despite knowing he shouldn't, and was surprised to find her walking towards him. He blinked in confusion, not knowing her intents at all. She stopped right in front of him, but didn't seem to say anything. Was she going to reprimand him for staring at her so out of place? He blushed again, before he began asking "Can I help you, Miss?" But as soon as he had finished, she was requesting his name. A rather…odd thing to ask for. Why would she want it? To better blame him to his masters?

"Rowland, Miss," he introduced inclining his head in a small bow.
NPC-- Rowland Stone
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Rebecca Cowen
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For a moment, Rebecca was about to return a curtsy to the nod, but her neck remained stiff from shock alone. She was unused to this. Unused to the hype and stature, unused to being intimidating in the slightest. Her hand curled unconsciously around her gown, resting on the side of her hip to fidget with the cloth. When he pulled himself back up to eye level, she'd recomposed herself.


"Charmed, Rowland. I'm Rebecca." She committed the name to memory with the smallest of graceful smiles and went to lift her hand for him to take.

Stay in character, stay in character…

"I couldn't help but notice you were looking at me." Rebecca's smile here was perfectly genuine, which she was sure would annoy Brandin. Rowland's face creased a bit and she realized he was assuming he might be about to be yelled at, so she clarified shortly, "It was very flattering."

Of course, she wasn't sure what type of character she was meant to even be projecting at that moment. If she was supposed to get close to someone in the household to insure a way in, it made the most sense to her to start with a servant. Courtiers were far more likely to demand something of her she was unwilling to give and would be less knowledgeable. Few people paid attention to servants…and servants paid attention to all.

That was how she justified her next question; it was necessary for their overall success, and not simply that she was finding it adorable the way he seemed to blush so easily when she was merely standing there.

"I'm terribly sorry to ask but--"

And with perfect timing (that she might have been stealing from a novel) she looked around at the many stricken faces looking at her and sighed for emphasis.

"…Apparently I can't ask here." Her brow furrowed. "I don't suppose you'd meet me in the corridor?"

Edited by Rebecca Cowen, Aug 13 2010, 03:49 AM.

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So, whatever higher power there existed in the world seemed fit to grant him and bestow him the honor of knowing her name. He wondered if that was some sort of mercy gift, given to him to alleviate the force of the blow that was to come once she let anyone know of his behavior. He didn't particularly like getting in trouble, because that's when the hard labor was assigned, and it tended to be outside so he couldn't cheat and use magic. He really hoped that wasn't the case, but if he had to choose? He would do it all over again. This woman was simply…stunning, beautiful.

Realizing that he still hadn't taken her hand, he did so, bowing over it once more. Normally, him being a servant and so far below in social status he wasn't even allowed to do so, but his argument was (should anyone demand an explanation for his irrational and stupid behavior) that he wouldn't want to sully the reputation of the esteemed Faye name by refusing to take a hand when it was offered. Yes, he could manipulate just as well as any of them.

Then came the explanation, and Rowland immediately stiffened and started opening and closing his mouth, sounds and words that normal humans weren't capable of understanding yet emitting from it. He tried to explain, and was going to start apologizing (in English) but the Lady Rebecca stopped him by saying that she didn't mind. That certainly had the ability to shut him up, and he did. He still looked down, abashed, and felt the blood rise to his cheeks and tint them in a pink color. He didn't particularly enjoy being embarrassed as such.

Looking up at her also didn't help the blushing problem, so he cleared his throat and tried to ask again, "Is there anything I can help you with m'lady?"

Rowland was surprised that he actually could, but frowned as he looked around as she did, noticing the number of faces looking their way; it had him averting his eyes back down to the floor even as she continued talking. He wasn't sure it was terribly proper to…be seen with a servant that wasn't your own outside of a social event, but it was even less courteous to outwardly deny a request.

"I would be honored," he responded honestly to her request as he inclined his head again, before adding, "I’ll depart in a few minutes." He didn't want attention, and he…did have to walk around again with more drinks before then.
NPC-- Rowland Stone
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Rebecca Cowen
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Rebecca was staying perfectly still as he kissed her hand, unwilling to bend as she knew the moment she did her act would be a complete lost cause. She smiled in spite of her self, sure she was going to be blushing in a moment or two. Her eyes were tracing his face, following his darting eyes to the floor and her own immediately graced the ceiling. Oh, merlin. She was not used to being intimidating. New York might have given her a bit of an attitude, but it was in response to the jerks and sleaze who tried to hit on her everyday; not when she was offering her hand. Not when she was so sure she was going to be reduced to a puddle.

There was something about Rowland that she just couldn't put her finger on. It was a feeling, fleeting as it may be, that he was as kind as he appeared to be. The blushes, the stumbling responses, the anxious smile...she would normally assume she was being played. What she wouldn't normally do would be invite him to spend time with her privately. Yet she didn't withdraw the invitation or indeed, do anything but relax into an easy smile. It was the most calm, she realized, since she had arrived in the year 1884.

"I will as well." She whispered it out of strict habit with that silly smile still plastered on her lips, and twisted around.

With anxious butterflies taking hold of her stomach, and her heart thudding against her ribcage, she just smiled when he nodded again and waited for him to depart with drinks. As he left, several eyes immediately left her (to roll to the ceiling she assumed), and another man approached her near instantly. Her fluttering butterflies stilled and her lips pursed slightly. Still, she didn't want to be rude (honestly with her luck the man approaching her would be the head of the household and they'd be pickled before the evening was over), so she let her lips run into a smile. He nodded and introduced himself--her eyes lighting up as he did so. Leigh Faye, which meant he was related somehow...

"Lady Rebecca." Was she supposed to curtsy? He wasn't bowing. Settling on a deep nod in return, once again she responded by raising her hand for him. He kept his eyes on hers, taking an absurdly long time to kiss the top of her hand. Her hand withdrew to her chest while her smile tightened. He predictably immediately inquired, "I saw you speaking to one of the household servants. Have you not found everything satisfactory?"

"Oh, the most." Her lips curled, for every happy and trustworthy feeling Rowland had arisen in her was being spoiled by this man. Leigh seemed polite enough, but she had no desire to trust him. Waving it off with the same smile as though it were unimportant she explained, "I was merely inquiring after what might have been done with my cloak."

Now if only she had asked Rowland that question; she might have been able to actually tell him that. Of course, Leigh didn't seem to care.

"Ah, of course. I had hoped it would be a matter I might be able to better assist you on."

Her smile flickered, "As you see, it's not."

"Shame."

The entire exchange had taken less than three seconds and though both kept smiling, they tightened further every second. Feeling as though snubbing him would not be the best idea in the world, she repeated back at him, "Shame, m'lord." And flickered her smile again, her eyes dipping. For all the fabulous jewels and courtesy one found in this time period, men were clearly the same. Now if only she could blush on command. All the women around her seemed to be able to do it; Brandin's instructions had been quite clear on these matters.

"Seeing as I am new here, however, may I inquire after my host?" Clearly, it didn't take much to flatter this man. Leigh's smile only deepened, and she kept a smile on her face as he launched into an explanation. Lord Merwyn was his uncle, his father was Edward Faye, his mother Honoria a Selwyn, pureblood for several generations back on both sides...her interest most certainly waned after ascertaining his connection. Certain that he lived in the house, and also certain that Rowland now had to be waiting her, she ws utterly torn. Between what she needed to do, not what she wanted to do. If it was up to her emotions only, the drink she was holding might be on Leigh's head right now and...

Clearly her smirk as she imagined how that might look had been noted, for he nodded, "Yes, it is quite amusing isn't it?"

"Absolutely, m'lord. Charming. If I may excuse myself...?"

His drink lifted, which she assumed was sadly a gesture for her to depart as opposed to a gesture to make her daydream come to life, and she nodded an exit. Making her way around the room she paused to speak to Brandin to get Leigh to stop looking at her. By the time Brandin had asked, "Yes?", Leigh had turned away and she melted into the crowd with impeccable ease.

The adjourning corridor was apparently almost as extravagant of the ballroom. The elegance still had her nearly breathless, and she had to admit that were it not for the overwhelming worry, dread, and fear...this actually was a little fun. Rebecca had always wanted to be a princess after all--what little girl has never dreamed of that?--and she had gotten her wish in at least some way, hadn't she? Her smile far more natural as she spotted Rowland she immediately went to apologize.

Two moments later, halfway through an 'I'm sorry', she realized he probably wouldn't expect an apology at all. Oh, merlin, she really was messing this up...

"I'm s--I was detained." A compromise then. "Does Leigh always speak that much?"

Her smile was now utterly genuine.

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Lady Rebecca...was making a very strong impression very quickly on him. Rowland almost didn't know what to make of it. He was quite simply charmed and flabbergasted. He refrained from pinching himself to make sure he wasn't dreaming because other members of the household, guests, and some of the servants as well, already thought the whole minute long conversation between him and the Lady Rebecca had been rather strange if not entirely improper. As usual though, the crowd dispersed and he was no longer looked at. Rowland hadn't been sure before that night whether or not he liked being invisible and now at least he had an answer- call him a ghost for he was officially transparent and liked it.

Though he wasn't transparent to his fellow servants, and an elbow hitting his rib did nothing if not jar him from his daydream. Oh but what a daydream it was; forgive him for wanting to remain in a world where beautiful woman waltzed up to him and requested an audience with him in a more private vicinity. He was allowed to dream, every now and again and when that dream was based on reality? Well, he didn't think he had been awarded such a privilege since Damocles had declared that he had found a better candidate to muck out the stables.

Clearly, his life was...less than luxurious if...he was comparing anything to such an event.

He picked up the tray, the overly garnished and decorated tray, and resumed his duty of offering drinks to all passer-byers. None of the looked him in the eye, none of them asked for his name, none of them actually even noticed his existence- as he previously said that he was actually grateful for. But this Lady Rebecca, arrived with the Russian party of course, the close family friend of Lady Anastasia; news traveled fast in the manor especially when a rather exuberant heir couldn't quite seem to keep his thoughts, or mindless chatter, away from the beautiful Russian lady. Beauty was, however, in the eye of the beholder and he beheld the beauty of Lady Rebecca higher than her friend's. With absolutely no offense meant.

Had he really been humbled to the point where he was apologizing for his own thoughts? Well, it was to be expected, the size of the egos in the household took up the majority of the room available- he simply had no space left for his own. Sometimes he wasn't sure he even had an ego, more like an abnormal form that sometimes resembled an ego on the rare occasion of it having enough breathing room left to grow.

Rowland served the drinks on his tray quite quickly, almost a bit anxious to reach the corridor. Whatever the Lady needed to discuss well then he would be all ears -oh he could just imagine the joke Desmond would make with that phrase- and be of enormous help if it was in his power and ability to do so. He wasn't entirely quite sure what a servant might have to offer but that did not mean he was unwilling to help. Rowland was helpful by nature.

Somehow, some way, he had managed to avoid glancing over at her direction when he had been in the main room and now he was waiting. Seconds ticked by much more slower, he imagined. He drummed his fingers on the side of his leg in anticipation, leaned against the wall then fiddled with his hands and- he was annoying himself. Thankfully, the waiting ended and Rowland pushed himself off the wall with a small and modest smile. At least he tried to keep it that way.

Detained, yes, well of course she would be detained- she and the rest of her party were the object of gossip and were the shiny new play-thing. He nodded, adding, "There's no need to explain yourself m'lady." He didn't expect it by now, actually, never did from the beginning.

She had the displeasure of meeting Leigh then? Dreadful first impression. "Lord Leigh is..." a Faye and henceforth in love with the sound of his own voice, "...a very avid story-teller," when the stories revolved around himself, which they tended to do, "A filibuster with an uncanny ability," to behave like a clotpole on command. He ended, his lips twitching in amusement he couldn't hide momentarily before he asked, "The nature of your inquiry, m'lady?"
NPC-- Rowland Stone
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Damocles Faye
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Honestly, Damocles had not bothered looking around the room in the entire hour he had already been there. Not, at least, to take in the many decorations. He had performed a few sweeping glances to feign interest in the proceedings; his gaze had perhaps lingered on (or skipped hurriedly over) a few of the females in attendance, but until the moment none of them had truly held his gaze so captivated, let alone the decorations. As he watched the lady Anastasia take them in, however, he found a slight beam radiating from his upturned lips as though they had all been his idea. Not only his idea in fact, but he had personally handmade, painted, and arranged each and every one with his important time spent on every painstaking detail until it was all perfect, for her and only her.

At least, that might as well have been true for how he started smiling at her compliment.

"Thank you." He said, quite modestly he thought, bowing his head with her curtsy, and continuing, "And no apology is necessary."

He took her hand, kissed the top of her hand, his own fingers (and lips, perhaps a tad) caressing her palm before releasing her and straightened. He felt perhaps, he was not being entirely honest, though he'd spoken no lie. Anastasia had no need of apologizing for her need to attend to her ailing brother; he was, however, still sorry to have missed her. After all, thus far, this ball had been terribly dull. Save for the spare jest with Leigh, the odd circling gossiped comment (the only one that had caught his ear was that of a supposed werewolf attack on an outlying village), and watching his sister's face when she was forced to dance with the forty-two year old Marrid boy--Damocles might have been asleep.

No longer.

"Although, I have been missing you personally." He amended, head tilting with his grin. His arm outstretched once more, to offer his elbow so they might walk away from the stairs as he continued, "It was previously shaping up to be a dull night."

Previously. Head tilting with concern however, his tone softened, "How is--" He took a heartbeat of a pause, realized he had already forgotten which brother was sick and continued simply, "--your brother faring?"


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Rebecca Cowen
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As Rowland hopped off the wall, Rebecca realized her cheeks had to be darkening with a blush and she pressed the back of her palm to them to sustain a giggle. Her smile was not so easily forgone. His own was so bright, his own expression one of sheepish enjoyment with that hint of genuine surprise--she couldn't contain the smile of response. It would be like asking Brandin to stop meticulously counting the ingredients in his collection.

"Right." She said it faintly, cheeks wide with her smile, well aware she'd already forgotten at least twice and was now seriously in danger of giving them away. Her hand falling as he spoke, she gently bunched up the side of her skirt, pushed it to the side and fidgeted while continuing to smile. His expression as she mentioned Leigh made her almost chuckle, wetting her lips as she remarked, "That's one way of putting it. You could tell me how you really feel."

And that, Rebecca thought, was how people in the 19th century remarked 'Man, tell us how you really feel' to a polite insult. It was also, time ten thousand and eighty one, in the last minute and a half she had done something that had the direct possible response of being found out and she bit her bottom lip again. Smiling at Rowland was as easy as breathing to her; she really, really had to stop this.

"My inquiry?"

Oh, thank merlin. He was asking her another question. Oh. Cheeks coloring as she realized she had forgotten for a moment that she was supposed to be there to ask him about the clock--supposed to get him to trust her…something like that. Honestly, she had walked down the steps, spotted him, and the mission of getting close to one who could tell them more had fallen forgotten. There was something in the smile--something in the way Rowland had looked at her that brought the smile on her lips and the blush in her cheeks. He was both cute and…there was a hint of something more there as well. There was something about him that made her trust him almost impeccably.

And that was scaring the hell out of her.

"Right." She continued, straightening, lips twitching. "My inquiry was only…" Her brow wiggled a bit. "Do you know how to dance? "

There were a few strains of pulsating violins and gorgeous melodies she could not quite make out, but could hear well enough to want to dance to.

"I couldn't ask in the ballroom." She confessed with a small, small smile. "I just…well, Rowland, if I might be frank? No one in the ballroom looked at me quite the way you did. I don't know if I can explain it. I just…I know I want to dance with you. If you…want to."

She really had to stop acting like a nineteen-year old girl lost in a fairytale ball a hundred yers before her time.

But then again, how does one stop being…exactly who they are?

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Anastasia Zytsev
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Anastasia returned from her perusal of the details on the dance floor to see Damocles all but shining in pride at her compliments, something that just automatically made her smile back. It was infectious, and she couldn't help it. Either way, she didn't think it mattered so much. As she had when she first met him, she saved the praise until he could respect her, and then gave it a time or two generously to make up for something or another. Being late was a very rude thing, but it seemed like her approval of the decor healed that snub.

She'd expected to be forgiven, of course. Annie found herself coaxing them out of him a time or two, and she believed it wouldn't be too, too hard. He wasn't a cold man. What she didn't expect was to have shocks shooting up her arms, butterflies that weren't her daughter's movements fluttering around in her stomach when he kissed her hand.

For a moment that stunned her, fingers trembling slightly as she took it back, a slight flush rising on her cheeks in her surprise. So she was susceptible to a bit of charm now and then. It really didn't mean anything.

"Dull? Well in that case, m'lord, we'll simply have to liven things up a tad. There's far too many people standing around gossiping. You have music for a reason, and although I promised my brother a dance, I do say I could get some others moving about, far more than the few on the floor now." She moved away from the stairs with him, her face turned conversationally towards him, her tone quiet and melodic. "That is, if m'lord would do me the honor of showing them how it's done?"

Was that too bold? Were women even allowed to ask men to dance in that age? Anastasia did not know the answers, but she figured if necessary she could claim things were done a little differently in Russia. As of so far she'd not met anyone who would know the difference. And speaking of meeting people, she added, "After I have been introduced, I suppose."

When she glanced around, Anastasia found Rebecca speaking to Leigh - though looking quite uncomfortable - and then heading to Brandin, and that was about as much thought as she gave it. "Parker-" She supplied, "He's...hot. He's very hot. but he's being so strong and optimistic, joking around with us. Though I think perhaps we should leave the update at that, Damocles. I just fixed my face for the second time. I'd rather not try a third."
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Rowland wondered whether or not the radiance of the sun had ever been dulled in comparison to anything; if such a situation had not yet happened, he was sure it was happening now as the Lady Rebecca approached him with a smile. A sight drastically better than the sunrise in the sky. True, that was also because the sunrise meant the start of the work day for him, so he wasn't entirely fond of them on days of total exhaustions though. Sunsets were a lot better, complete night was a total bliss. Lady Rebecca shone like the moon.

The whack he would be getting across the arm, from multiple parties, if he made his words universally known.

"Small correction," he started, then regained himself and added, "if I may." He smiled and continued, "I would, if I could, but I cannot." A complete difference than saying he could. He really couldn't; speaking ill about a noble to another noble was a sure way to a week in the dungeon. And while he already liked the Lady Rebecca immensely, he still could not deny the fact that she was of noble and high class birth. Plus, sometimes he believed the walls had ears or something- and once in a while people overheard the gossip of servants. Couldn't risk that- Leigh would show no hesitance in making him pay for defiling his image in front of a lovely lady- etc, etc etc.

Not to mention, just the briefest mentions of his 'true feelings' regarding any subject was instantly ready to make his blood rush to his face in a blush. He had rather embarrassing thoughts, and he wasn't nearly as sure as himself to express them without a hint of shame. He wasn't very confident, he'd never had anything to be confident about he was more of a behind the curtain type of person.

The lady's nature of her inquiry caused him to adopt the oddest look of confusion on his face, or rather he thought it odd. It also made him wish he didn't have two left feet and tone deaf ears. It made him wish he were a better liar, even though he would be disproved almost immediately and then he would be a liar. It made him wish that proper decorum didn't exist. If he prayed internally for the next few seconds would God be able to grant him the ability of dance?

Probably not.

As the Lady Rebecca once again brought up his apprehension of her inside the ballroom, Rowland blushed once more. It wasn't an act that he was proud, no matter how flattered Lady Rebecca was by his gaze, he knew it was entirely improper. Such as accepting a request to dance- but wouldn't denying it be worse? One of the arguments to bring up if someone ended up spotting them. He would have to deny her request of course, as gently as he could: while I've received no flattery greater than your request, it would be entirely improper of us to do so.

"Nothing would please me more," he admitted, a shy smile on his face. Wait, that wasn't what he was thinking. "Though I cannot lie, I am not capable of dancing without causing bodily injury." He was tone deaf, clumsy and had two left feet. It felt like he would be tempting fate in trying to dance.
NPC-- Rowland Stone
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Rebecca Cowen
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He could hear her heart, right? It was that loud? With every beat it gave, she felt sure it would jump out of her chest. Small talk was not her strong point. She was either herself--in which case she was awkward and blush-inclined--or she was the New Yorker used to lame come on attempts who was a right bitch for thirty seconds and fled before her true self came out. Either way seemed ridiculous an approach for this encounter with Rowland. Rebecca was far too happy just to stand and smile at him, chewing her bottom lip.

At the correction of her words, Rebecca was sure her cheeks flushed darker in embarrassment-- of course. This was the age when everything was held under standards of how proper such an action might be. Which was certainly why a servant and a supposed lady were engaged in a clandestine meeting in a stone hallway. Music still drifted towards them, flames flickered in their holsters on the walls.

"I wouldn't have told." She said quite honestly, with a nod to show her sheepish understanding. She didn't know Rowland. She'd met him ten minutes ago. More importantly, he didn't know her. Much as she suddenly was seized with the desire to know him, he couldn't know her. With an odd twinge of guilt, she continued with that sudden fear, "I can keep a secret."

A thousand cliches were attacking her mind, giving her little pause to breathe or think coherently. Part of her was certain he was going to decline dancing, point out impropriety, or else call her out on this foolish fantasy. Swept up in the dream around him, it was all she could do to keep herself from humming Tale as Old as Time beneath her breath. However as she saw the small shy blush and gentle open decline without commitment, her heart leaped once more in her chest. Holding her breath for a moment, she remarked lightly,

"Well." Her own smile was simple, as she thought. "I'm not so sure you've ever danced the way I do."

Her gentle tease brought her lips into a small smirk as she realized what she'd said. No, he'd probably never been to a club. He'd definitely never done shots beneath flickering strobe lights, amidst smoke, fishnets and sweat. Not necessarily about to show him a grind however, Rebecca moved closer hesitantly. As she lifted her hand to his, she took it with ever the air of gentle guidance and almost immediately laced his fingers with her own. Her other hand wrapped around his neck, seized with a sudden bravery.

Hanging her hand off his other shoulder, she cast her gaze down to their feet, showing a simple sway and turn, so that there were no tricky steps or swirling waltz necessary. One step to the left, then one to the right in a very slow circle. The music far off somehow matched, or at least in her mind it did. Licking her bottom lip with the awkward blush, she cast her eyes back up to his and grinned.

"See?"

A heartbeat later she kept herself to one question and one question alone, despite the overwhelming need to ask him the thousand that had just occurred to her.

"So tell me about yourself, Rowland."

That just was one question, right?

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Rowland was a very trusting person by nature. Most people would call him naive or foolish or an idiot but he sincerely believed that there was good in everyone. Yes, that included his masters; their 'good' just took a lot more digging to get to...if one ever got there. Well, Rowland believed for the most part that there was something good in almost everyone with a few rare exceptions being there for people like...no, they would remain nameless. So, naturally, it wasn't a surprise that he wanted to immediately trust the Lady Rebecca even without knowing that much about her. He immensely wanted to be able to do so. Then there came the big obstacle of knowing that that would probably never happen.

When Lady Rebecca said that she wouldn't have told, he believed her. He smiled softly in acknowledgement but he couldn't bring himself to say the words vocally. After all, then he might be forced to explain as to why he did and he wouldn't have been able to amidst stutters and poorly chosen words. Truth was he didn't know how to explain it, he just knew. The latter though, he could comment on without there being fear of any kind of bad response. "I as well only I....am a terrible liar," he admitted with a small chuckle. The problem wasn't in being able to keep the secret, it was in covering it up and hiding it.

Merlin knew he couldn't keep using rats as scapegoats. Particularly because rats had absolutely no resemblance to goats.

Rowland smiled and nodded in agreement, "I'm quite sure I haven't." Peasant dances tended to be a lot less structured than the noble's dancing, a lot less elegant. Not to mention, Rowland's two left feet and clumsiness didn't make him an apt candidate for dancing in the first place. Sometimes, it was just best to let sleeping dogs lie. Or let clumsy people remain sitting down. And even then, Rowland wouldn't doubt his ability to somehow trip over something while being completely still. That would be both skillful and downright embarrassing.

Though no amount of embarrassment would be able to make him go as red as he was now, as his hand was intertwined with hers and her hand was on his neck and...okay, now he had an arm uselessly hanging at his side. He knew where it was supposed to go yet it was only after he looked around once to make sure they were still undetected that he brought his hand to lie at her waist. Keeping his glance down after that was only too easy, and it would allow for the blood to stop flowing up to his face. He followed the steps carefully, not being anywhere near as graceful as she was being, but he also hadn't stepped on her feet yet so that was an accomplishment all on its on.

A few moments later, he couldn't help as a grin overtook his face- the fact that he was actually dancing with one of the most beautiful women he'd ever had the honor of laying eyes on was sinking in. He looked up with the same grin still on his face as she spoke out again. Her own small grin left him a bit awestruck, with nothing but a small nod and a "Yes," as a reply. Yes, he could definitely see...that she had the most beautiful smile he had ever seen.

He was kindly pushed back into reality as she spoke out again, and he had to make sure he didn't lose the rhythm as he cleared his throat in order to prepare to answer the question, even though he didn't particularly like talking about himself, he was kind of hoping that he could ask the same question later on. "Well...I don't want to bore you but," he began shyly with a small smile before continued, "My full name is Rowland Oliver Stone, I'm twenty years of age, the middle child of nine children, I...don't have much free time but if I did I would probably spend it playing poker," he laughed softly, his embarrassment only growing by the second. "I'm bad at this, I don't know what to say."
NPC-- Rowland Stone
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Damocles Faye
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Anastasia fit at his side, her elbow tucked within his own. She neither lead nor followed--she simply matched his steps. The distinction was important perhaps only to Damocles, who was used to leading women when they walked. It was as though they thought it would be rude to offer up any indication that they had their own mine. The thought would have made him sigh, were he not flattered, and were he not in the company of whom he considered (quite simply): the most beautiful woman in the world.

Fitting his fingers around her own, he kept his eyes on her own. She was speaking softly, so that he had to tilt his head towards her to hear over the straining violins and spinning cellos. This particular song had a single flute floating over it all, providing a lighter air for a quicker step. He did not mind tilting forward to hear her.

In fact if he was being perfectly honest, he preferred it.

The subtle flattering comments fell over ears that expected and enjoyed them, but the fact that she had just asked him to dance? His surprise was genuine, delight spread it's way across his lips and he paused walking to turn to her. Although he could see friends eying him, apparently wanting to actually meet her, he had to admit the idea of sharing her was somewhat unappealing. Was it improper if they danced first? He knew Leigh and Cyrus would take the mickey out of him for it, but he decided he could stand the ridicule if it meant spending every spare moment in her company.

Besides, it would make everyone aware that she was that important--not to mention special to himself.

He said nothing at her answer about Parker, but gave a small nod of understanding. He spoke with the lightest air of amusement, leaning closer so she might hear him, "I would be delighted. Even if I was, deprived the honor of asking." His breath tickled her ear, but he leaned back, released her elbow and stepped in front of her a moment later.

He bent his neck once more, this time deeper, bending forward into a stately bow. Straightening, a smile flicked across his lips for a moment. Offering his palm first to the air, flat and stopping a half inch from her own flat palm in the air. The beauty of almost touching (admittedly, not his own preferred style most times) had it's merits. There was a soft electricity in the inch of air between their fingers, or was he imagining that? Eyes locked on her own, Damocles took a step forward, spinning slowly to the music. Fighting rising breath, after spinning one way, he paused with the music, turned on his heel, and lifted the other hand to her own. His fingers accidentally brushed against her tips for a second, a mistake he never made, and for the shock it gave him there might as well have been a bright blue light.

It was therefore a relief when the couples on the floor, lined and spinning, were allowed to actually approach each other. Wrapping one arm secure around her waist, his fingers tangled with her own, palms encased within each other as he stepped forward to lead. His gaze was still intent on her own, the hand on her waist tangled in fabric and his breath heated on her lips. It was simply impossible for him not to want to get as close as possible.

And even closer...
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Rebecca Cowen
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As Rowland kept his eyes on their feet, Rebecca swallowed back a giggle. It didn't really concern her that she was leading, and he was following. It didn't actually seem like that was what was happening; their steps were too close and matched to separate. Her hand squeezed his tighter in response, steadying their soft dance and keeping her mind on the present. Too many childhood fantasies were consuming her.

Her best friend, Kimberly, and herself had often dressed up in over sized gowns stolen from their mother's closet and danced around her bedroom on invisible arms of handsome princes. Of course, while Kim was happy with her elusive Prince Charming, Rebecca had to admit she far preferred the story she was dancing to right now. A secret embrace in the hallway, away from prying and disapproving eyes, her very own Lady and the Tramp. Except, Rowland was far cuter than any tramp she'd ever laid eyes on.

Hell, he was...well. The firm hold, the gentle rhythm, the playful grin...

His throat cleared, and her heated breath drew in at the sound, a sheepish smile covering her embarrassment of where her thoughts had been about to lead. Oops. Remembering that she was meant to be a proper Lady, she twisted their step to give herself a moment to breathe and pulled back in to listen to his words. Committing these facts to memory--hell, he had eight siblings? his mother was clearly a saint--she remarked first, "You're not boring me if I'm the one who asked." They were now slowly revolving on the spot, her arm around his neck and hanging over on the other side. "Besides, I get the feeling you could never bore me."

That was true. Rebecca had many feelings at that moment, actually. Some propriety kept her from naming. Others were simply too confusing and fluttering about to attempt to name. It felt in some ways as though she had met him before (though that was clearly impossible), and in others like she was having the most exciting first encounter of her life. Her breath was quick and hot, her face sure to be a bright red with every giggle she'd lost control over. Her heart was still too loud. It was in her ear, beating it's strict rhythm, louder than the music they were swaying to, louder than anything she could imagine.

She had the feeling she could trust him, as well, which was a feeling Rebecca did not come by often and was unsure how to proceed with. It didn't mean she could speak freely. They were breaking one of the most important rules of their Wizarding world--no one at all was supposed to change time. It was a danger to everyone--that butterfly effect of choices that altered such important events was not to be messed with.

So why did she also have the feeling that this meeting was one of fate?

Tilting her head so that her hair blew over his shoulder on accident, she remarked brightly, "You play poker?" A moment later, she thought that there was no way his version of poker was the same as her own--when was poker invented anyways?--but nonetheless the fact that he was a gambler brought her a wide smile.

"Rebecca Avery Cowen." She said, deciding to stay for now on facts alone, her remarks all but whispered. "Nineteen, an only child, and an avid poker player myself." Her smile flicked, her kind eyes crinkling as they locked on his own embarrassed gaze. "I don't think you're bad at it at all." She laughed herself. "I suppose it was a very general statement. Or...question."

No, no, no that wasn't the music coming to a halt behind them, was it? Her breath caught for a moment, and then she heard with relief another song striking up a heartbeat later and drew a relieved smile. "Nine siblings? Your mother must be a saint. And...well, hm. How long have you worked in the household? Where, exactly? Favorite color? "

Perhaps if someone could make to clear for her what was going on between them, why this meeting felt so right when it was shrouded in so much random chance and covered in half-truths and secrets, why it was she felt so comfortable in his embrace...then she could be better at knowing what the situation called for.

She paused, flushed herself and mirrored, "I'm bad at this, I don't know what to ask."


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Anastasia Zytsev
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Anastasia was certainly glad that he didn't seem to mind that she walked with him, rather than letting him tug her along like she was a dog or some sulking child. Of course, things were a little different in this time, but she attributed it all the same to her own. She had to admit; his intense attention, despite all his guests all around him, being only on her was extremely flattering. She didn't mind his proximity, how close his face was to hers. It gave her a chance to take in the actual color of his eyes - blue, as she'd first taken in, but flecks of something deeper. His eyes weren't just a simple flat color. She was perfectly content to take in how long his lashes were, watching his eyebrows for movement as was typical for her.

Instead of being taken as too bold in her request to dance, Anastasia was pleased to find him smiling. Of course, it caused her to stop lest she run into him as he paused and turned, but she was happy to smile in response up to him.

"You may ask me for the next one." Anastasia promised, turning her face to respond in his own ear. Of course, she had to tease, "I might say yes."

It excited her to get to dance, a bright beam spreading across her face as she sunk into another curtsy for him. Luckily for her she'd learned this kind of dance in her many lessons. Hopefully there wasn't something that had been modernized about it and cause her to step wrong.

Her gloved hand went up, but she looked at it a moment before she was pulling them off really fast. They were sat on a passing servant's tray, her own rising straight again nearly against his own. With no small amount of pleasure at getting to actually move to the music surrounding them. She raised on her toes slightly, as she might have when wearing proper salsa heels, spinning in tune with the rhythm. Although, if she remembered correctly, their hands weren't supposed to touch. It was a slight brush, a moment that no one else who hadn't felt it themselves could have seen. Despite the simplicity of it, the experience shot up her arm, causing her to take a more unsteady breath. Dazzled. That was all. She was just being dazzled. This was just his typical, and she was falling for it far too easy.

She still had no moment to take a breather and separate herself from his game when it came time for him to actually touch her, and it was in that moment that she lost. In one simple, quick moment his arm was hot and tight around her waist, his warm palm encasing her own. Automaticaly her free hand rose to his shoulder, startled as just how close he'd suddenly gotten. It was more than what the dance really required, closer than any British dance deemed necessary. Her eyes were captured on his, nervously wetting her lips as she struggled. Had it been in the 21st century, a moment like that would have definitely resulted in a kiss. She'd already subconsciously leaned closer, her lashes lowering to half-mast as she looked up at him underneath them. She was seconds away from closing the distance completely, imagining that she was already there. She could basically taste him.

It was with staggering relief that Anastasia was distracted by Brandin's voice, breath suddenly rushing back into her lungs with a nearly silent gasp. Breaking tradition of the dance, she twisted them around, forced him to stop leading for just a moment so that he would spin her. This gave her two things; one, she didn't have to be following everyone else in some kind of puppet-show, and two, she had a moment to be away from him, and breathe. Just a moment until she was back, but it gave her the composure that she needed.

Her voice was calm, albeit perhaps a little breathless, in result as she complimented, "You dance well, Damocles."
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Damocles Faye
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Most women, Damocles admitted, looked at him with some manner of respectful admiration. From the courtiers seeking favor through flattery to the peasants seeking assistance with outright awe, Damocles was used to the attention of beautiful women. Yet when Anastasia looked at him, he felt unnerved, as though she was seeing something beyond his smiling mask. It was fascination and study she offered, not simply blank-eyed idolization. There was thought behind her crinkled eyes, as though she were taking notes internally. She had the look of one looking at some other part of him he didn't know existed; she had the look of gazing directly to his soul. A part of his stomach he'd never felt before suddenly seemed very heavy--or perhaps very fluttery. He just couldn't tell anymore. The tease twitched his lips and brow, his amused chuckle escaping without thought.

"Might?" He echoed, his brow offering the slightest wiggle, as they began to revolve. "Ah, how might I persuade that to a definite yes?"

When Damocles had been instructed in this dance the first time, he was but seven years old. His partner had been his overexcited eldest sister; Abira had been sneaking off to watch their parents balls since she was five, hiding in her over sized skirts beneath the balcony while elves attempted to find her fast enough that their parents didn't know she was missing. Her own fervor had not mirrored in Damocles. As skilled as he was in the art of dueling, practically since he could walk, he had never taken to the skills of Society the same way. Lessons in propriety had been the most boring, and lessons in dancing? Easily the most difficult. At first it was due to his lack of caring. As he hit that particular age when men certainly began to want to dance with women, however, it was the troublesome "near touch" that gave him pause.

Abira had told him crossly after one lesson that he simply was missing the point. In many ways, almost touching was as heated as a close embrace, she had sworn to him up and down. Out of hand he had dismissed her, believing Abira's words were only that of a fantasizing, romantic thirteen year old. Not until this very moment had he understood her point.

Revolving on the spot without touching Anastasia for more than a moment, somehow, however impossible it was for him to believe, only drew him closer to her through that scorched air. It wasn't until they met that he realized her own breath--constricted as he supposed it had to be in that wonderful gown--was almost as quick as his own. Her simple smile had flushed wider as they moved closer--far closer than he supposed was proper or customary. Her bare hands were gentle in his palm as ever, each soft caress remarking upon a callus of his own. As though drawn there by some force he had no control over, Damocles found his neck craning, his lips yearning with desires of their own to brush against her own. The gloss on her lips, spread by her own nervous swipe of a tongue was tantalizing, his own lips spreading...

She spun away from him suddenly, his arm whipping out to accommodate out of pure habit in his surprise, the soft embrace suddenly becoming a teasing game of pure delight and he almost broke into a chuckle. The clear statement of how much will she perhaps had over him already--or was it his over her? he couldn't tell--and simultaneously that she could never be so easy awoke him to reality. Her skirts fanned out as he spun her, his arm lifting high. Her hair, plaited as it was, spun beneath his arm, kindled on the turn. He was struck by a scent, tasting light and pale and beamed as he saw the spiraling daisy's woven between the strands.

"I could not imagine a flattering enough adjective to return the compliment..." Catching her out, carried on the wings of the dance, he spun her back into the embrace, now perhaps a more proper distance away to remark with a grin, "But you do as well, Anastasia."

Saying her name felt like a breath of fresh air, tinged with that light air of the flower in her hair.
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