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The Great Hall / Ballroom [Faye Manor]
Topic Started: Aug 12 2010, 01:15 PM (1,033 Views)
Anastasia Zytsev
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Anastasia almost giggled when Damocles' eyebrow moved, glad that his own laugh masked the two-second instant reaction. She didn't mask the grin that resulted in his simple flirt, something that, though she wasn't sure of the words, she was expecting. For a moment she considered him, trying to think of an answer to his question.

"I want to see if you're any good at dancing first." Annie finally responded, heart pumping in her throat as the first strains of the violin began the next measure. It was always such a thrill to her to get to do this. Music was another kind of passion, a fluid motion of one's body and soul. One could do all the right steps, and have the technical down, but it wasn't truly dancing until they were able to paint a picture, and move with some deep, pounding emotion behind it. Every single dance had something behind it.

This one spoke of sexual tension, of romance and whirlwind emotion. At least, it did for her. It wasn't the blatant tango, nor the appropriate waltz. There were strands to this dance that she felt had been watered down and technical-ized over time. It ruined it, and she refused to allow that to truly happen. As of such she moved with the understated beat, and took over the lead now and again to stop following the crowd. She could eventually rub it off on the Russians doing things a little differently.

He had begun to lean down to her when they first came together in the dance, a fact that made her extremely grateful that she had been distracted enough to take her mind right back - and far away from the dangerous, horrible, despicable territory that she had been going down. To say she hadn't been thinking would have been completely wrong; she was thinking. She had been thinking a lot in those mere seconds. She had been thinking about how tightly he held her waist, so secure, firm and safe. How his hand in her own fit in the whole opposites kind of way, as Faye men tended to. His were large and rough, hers, small and soft save for where the pen or pencil rubbed when she wrote by hand. She'd been thinking about how firm his chest was; how strong his jaw was. She was thinking, as his lips parted and he leaned down closer, how it would feel to kiss him.

She'd even almost initiated it.

And for that, Anastasis'a stomach had dropped to the floor, feeling a little sick with the realization. How horrible was she? The love of her life, the man she had finally started letting in and trusting completely was laying in a bed dying, and here she was fantasizing about kissing his great-whatever? All he had done was danced with her, not even for a full ten minutes. It made her pale slightly, glancing around the room as if she could hope that no one had seen. It was far, far too late for that. Her only hope was that none of the gossip would get back to Parker. That was the last thing he needed; to be hearing about twisted details of what awfully almost happened while he was fighting for his life.

Wonderful.

Still, it was hard not to be touched when he moved with her addition, complimenting her on her own ability to dance. She loved to dance, and get dressed up for whatever reason. "Thank you." She told him sincerely, still trying to catch her breath a little. She'd withdrawn just a tad, nearly unnoticeable as she kept herself at a much more acceptable - and perhaps, even a tad bit prude - length from him until the end of the dance.
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Damocles Faye
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This dance had been performed in that ballroom a hundred times, by Damocles himself perhaps a hundred more. Maybe he was exaggerating. It was a lot, though, and yet every step he and Anastasia took felt slightly different--slightly elongated or stepped just off to keep him on his toes. It was a complex waltz, an alluring tango with a hint of reserve masking an inferno, of barely concealed passion. He spun faster, he held her tighter and kept his eyes locked on her own. Breath was rapid in their heat, but just as the music climaxed it reached an adante pace and brought their dance back into a softer, somber order as he spun her out once more.

Damocles had never considered himself to have an overactive mind. He said what he thought (usually as he thought it), and thought of things as factually as possible, hardly carried on idle thoughts of fancy, and certainly not internally. It couldn't be his imagination then, that Anastasia had almost kissed him, as he had almost kissed her--and similarly, it couldn't be his imagination that she was suddenly flushing with an uncomfortable attitude he didn't quite understand. There was no ring on her finger, no engagement or man to speak of --or at least, she had not indicated as such, and in dancing with him indicated the opposite--and yet, he watched her gaze flicker around the room.

A moment later, he thought he understood. The impropriety of snogging in public was one that would have brought his own reputation under fire as well, naturally. It was a move even he had never pulled. His gaze, so intent on her own flickering one, pulled her back, the hand he held hers in squeezing a comforting embrace as opposed to the one they had both just been lost in for a minute. "I apologize." He said carefully, keeping their distance intact. "I believe I forgot the eyes we had on us..."

He certainly had, actually, hence his reassurance. He had no desire to make her uncomfortable around him--in fact, such a goal was the precise opposite of what he truly wanted. Damocles wanted to spend not only "more" time with her; he wanted to spend "as much as possible, as well as every second free that he had." Each step they took, each revolution and every word they spoke drew him in. He was working to keep a new unspoken promise of distance; but emotionally? Anastasia was exciting, leading him as often as he lead her, yielding only to surprise him and contained he thought, more beauty than a field of her beloved daisy's under sunlight, and a rainbow on top of that.

At least, that's how he would describe it to her. To himself, he already thought there was no sight more beautiful than a lovely, seductive lady, and Anastasia was easily the most beautiful of all of them. Lips upturned yet in his smile, he continued, "Apparently, dancing might be a bit dangerous."

To their images, mind.

"And I believe I've kept you from introductions." Reluctant to step away, he returned to offer his arm, indicating with a nod of his head. "Would you care to meet my sister, Abira? She appears unoccupied. Relieved to be, actually. "

Anyone but Leigh.
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Anastasia Zytsev
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Although the dance didn't last all too long in general time, in Anastasia's mind it lasted far, far too long. Every second was elongated into many moments and glances, many movements and shifts. For every step she slid back, he moved two forward. For every spin, his grip grew more confident once again. The seductiveness of the dance itself wore on her as they moved around the ballroom.

She was battling alternating dread and guilt with flattery and excitement, both uncomfortable and intrigued by his gaze staying on her face. Perhaps she wasn't hiding her reactions as well as she should have, but Annie wasn't exactly known for her impasse'. There was some kind of dawned realization in his eyes - something that may have made her amused had she not been so focused on the fact she wasn't exactly feeling regret - and it took her a moment before she could actually look at him again. Perhaps because of the emotion in her eyes she didn't want him to see, or maybe because she was scared she was about to start bursting out laughing in light of his comforting hand and understanding commentary. It was so unbelievably sweet that he was apologizing to her for something that she had almost done. Merlin, it wasn't like she hadn't been very nearly responding in kind.

"Apology accepted." She told him, biting her cheek so she wouldn't merrily grin. Her moods had been changing pretty quickly throughout this trip, a fact that she blamed on the pregnancy riddled with all this stress. Hopefully he didn't think her too insane, or things would be a little more difficult to go through. "And you have my wish for forgiveness as well. I may have been carried away with the romance of the ball."

It was kind of that perfect settling, the fairytale ball in which a princess is swept away by her gorgeous prince and all lived happily ever after. Wouldn't that just be so damn nice?

Either way, the song had ended, and she tilted her head in thanks for his dance, amused once again when he took responsibility for 'keeping her from introductions'. Like she hadn't just asked him to dance immediately? It was her own fault, but she had the feeling he would take credit for whatever and whenever to protect her. Even if it was only from gossip about how rude it was to dance before meeting anyone.

"I suppose so." Anastasia agreed easily, taking back her gloves and sliding them on before she was taking Damocles' arm once again. "I would love to meet your sister!" She then responded, glancing around for who he was gesturing to. Family members were the number one way to get to know someone, Anastasia believed, and it was some kind of honor that Damocles indicated she would be the first he would want to introduce her to, unoccupied as an excuse or not.

It was sweet.
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Damocles Faye
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Before Anastasia had spoken, Damocles' gaze had flicked over her shoulder to hail his sister, whom it seemed had already got the the hint. Perhaps she had been watching the entire time honestly; he wouldn't put that past her. He was well aware quite a few eyes were on them -- his father's, of that he was certain -- but it was only Abira's opinion that mattered to him in that moment. The rest of them needed to get lives, for once that had nothing to do with his own. Uncomfortable for the first time with that scrutiny, Damocles turned back to smile as she accepted his apology. Oh, good. He hated to think he might have caused her distress and that was certainly the momentary vibe he thought he had glimpsed in her expression. Perhaps that was his own anxiety, for he seemed more nervous that she have a good time than he could ever remember wanting for any of his other escorts over the years.

Had that only been one dance, truthfully? Five minutes, give or take a few seconds? It seemed impossible. In his mind, that dance had lasted many hours and seconds alone. It all had seemed to hang with no meaning for them, each gentle touch shocking them with something overpowering and halting time's relentless march. At least, in his mind. Her own darting gaze and sudden amusement only heightened his confusion and intrigue with his relief. The Lady Anastasia clearly was not going to be an easy person to know, let alone figured out.

Then again, he did say he liked a challenge, did he not?

"Then consider yourself forgiven." He returned almost instantly, his tone for a moment lower with it's sincerity. "Though your mistake was easily understandable." And then, before Damocles could stop himself and speaking strictly from habit, he continued, "I do have that effect sometimes."

Without Damocles being aware of it, his brow was up and wiggling an inch as he turned and halted their walk in front of Abira, who it seems, had caught his last remark. Her own gown one of sparkling gold, Abira spoke before he'd said a word.

"Oh, please excuse him. You'll have to make certain allowances for my brother's ego." His checks tightened at her words in his slight embarrassment, and overall amusement. "Merlin only knows how he even manages to fit in a room as small as this."

The Grand Ballroom had twenty two foot ceilings, only, after all.

She extended her hand a moment later towards Anastasia to grasp in greeting, continuing, "I'm--"

At this, Damocles decided to cut over her. Part of that was habit, part of it was his good natured decision to be fed up with the insults, and part of it was because even if he was already labeled this improper for the evening already, he could still at least introduce his sister.

"The Lady Abira Imogen Faye, of the same town, my eldest sister." Abira's mouth snapped close with the proper introduction. "And this, sister, is the Lady Anastasia Zytsev, of Adygea Russia." There. See, he still could be proper in some small ways, even if he was still holding Anastasia's arm without actually escorting her anywhere.

"Call me Abira." His sister continued simply. "Please."

She was seconds away from rolling her eyes at him, wasn't she?
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Anastasia Zytsev
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When Damocles' eyes slid away from her, Anastasia took that second to take a deep breath, placing her hand against her stomach. It was hurting, anxious between the butterflies. She didn't imagine her little girl was all that comfortable in there at the moment. She certainly wasn't, and she'd put the corset on herself. Add on all the conflicting emotions, and she was feeling a little overwhelmed. On one hand, when she was nervous her Russian accent came out all the stronger, making their story more believable. On the other hand, nerves weren't exactly how she wanted to be seen with this crowd.

Really though, meeting people wasn't going to be too hard. All she had to do was...smile and try to remember their faces; remember what Brandin had told her. She kind of wished he was over there with her; a sort of 'safety blanket' alternating with now nervous she was suddenly feeling with Damocles escorting her around. However, she was a big girl. She could handle intense scrutiny. It wasn't anything new to her; no one made their way into the professional level she did without both writers and readers alike digging into her. She'd only had one secret to keep, and since she had been meticulously keeping it for two years before her life started.

It helped a little when she literally gave up on not laughing and quietly shook her head. Before she could even comment on it though, a woman in a spun gown was commenting on it herself. "I was wondering if there was a larger door made for his entrance only. It's alright. My brothers are the exact same way. I'm...incredibly used to it." Anastasia replied, grinning. She let go of Damocles to take Abira's hand, subconsciously checking the differences of her friend named after the woman. It seemed to fit; confidence, beauty, and strength in the grip. At least, she was until Damocles moved back into the conversation once again with a proper introduction, almost responding, 'Call me Annie.'

No; she didn't have to do that anymore, did she? "It's a pleasure to meet you, Abira. I've been surrounded by men all day; it's wonderful to be able to talk to another woman. I adore your gown. What kind of fabric breathes like that? I swear it has a life of it's own, dancing around in the light like that."

Safety. Sparkling things. Fabrics. Decorations.
Edited by Anastasia Zytsev, Sep 1 2010, 12:53 AM.
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Damocles Faye
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Abira was giving him the look. He knew his sister fairly well, and she was giving him 'the look'. The look that inquired after his intentions. The look that told him very plainly she was aware of something he wasn't. It was that aggravating all-knowing look and he narrowed his eyes back at her over Anastasia's shoulder. His own look told her just as plainly she didn't need to give him the look, because he knew perfectly well what he was getting into. He didn't need to be reminded of her nobility status and the rules of having guests.

...And he didn't need his sister knowing what he was thinking.

Her eyes averted to latch onto Anastasia's and Damocles found himself laughing in spite of himself, the tease lifting his lips into an indignant smile, his brow arching. "Oh, I see how it is." They were ganging up on him already, were they? "It's true; even a door as large and a room as grand as these have trouble living up to myself."

And the arched brow wiggled as he released Anastasia's arm (with some reluctance) and moved to stand with his arms folded into his jacket's pockets.

"A true mystery, clearly." At this, Abira's eyes did roll. Luckily for Damocles, she found her attention captivated by the compliment as she shook Anastasia's hand. Her smile lifted, and she turned to rest her palms back against the glittering gold fabric.

The look Damocles gave her back virtually ignored, Abira was taking stock in everything surrounding them. The looks jealous female courtiers were casting Damocles weren't of importance--and she ducked the looks from the males looking at herself--but she thought she saw out of the corner of her eye, a passing glance from one of the brother's Anastasia had mentioned. As though Brandin was paying as much attention as Abira was, which was curious alone. Then fact that Damocles and Anastasia had released each others arms a few seconds beyond when was usually expected; that dance, the fact that he'd gone straight to her side and abandoned his friends...all of these were facts she filed away.

As she looked at Anastasia, a smile still inscribed on her lips, Abira was aware she was being studied as simply (and politely) as Anastasia was. The lady was beautiful, unafraid of teasing remarks and challenging egos (well, she did have brothers herself), and her accent was unmistakable. The few seconds of smiles they exchanged, and Abira concluded she thought she liked Anastasia well enough.

Then she spoke again, and Abira's smile softened with genuine enjoyment. Her gaze flickered to her brother for a moment and she said with a delighted smile, "All day? Oh, why am I surprise by my brother's selfishness?" Her own brow had arched for a moment, dropping as she looked back at her gown for a moment, smile still yet wider. "Thank you. Camaca silk, actually..." Her eyes cast back up and she beamed. "I love that deep violet, actually. It's very daring." Her eyes cast around at the brighter colors of the room and she continued, "Is that common in Russia? I'm afraid I've never been."

She cast her eyes back at her brother, who appeared just itching to steal Anastasia away once more and laughed with just the creases around her eyes. How impatient he was! Even if his stature was a strong stance coupled with a firm smile, she could tell. Men.
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Anastasia Zytsev
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"Mmm." Anastasia hummed in amusement as Damocles immediately attempted to twist the tease into something in his favour, boasting pride to his extensive ego. It was alright if he was confident in it, she supposed. Either way, she was glad to see his hackles didn't go up too far, and he took it relatively good-naturedly.

She noticed that Abira had looked around, her eyes automatically going to Brandin, just curious. Sure, the story was that he was married, as he was. Didn't mean that he wasn't a gorgeous specimen or that he didn't look particularly stunning and powerful that night. Looking at him now, when she didn't have tears clogging her eyes and his robes in her face, she realized she was proud. He'd become just as much her family as she'd been claiming, whether or not they were actually blood related. He was holding them together, she swore to merlin. There was no way herself or Rebecca could have even thought to come here and ask for help. Eventually, maybe. But they would have been extremely lost. She didn't know what they would have done without him.

Her next thought of what would have happened took her to a much less happier thought process, so she focused back in on Abira. It was amusing to her that she was being inspected - wondering if her story was legitimate, maybe? - but either way she didn't comment, moving on to the next address she was given.

"All day with my brothers, actually. And you know how men are when they're sick." She sighed, despite her heart clenching, her smile not dropping. Truth was, she didn't mind taking care of Parker at all. She just wished she could do a little more, and he wasn't being a baby. He was just trying to get through it. The name of Abira's dress actually did ring with her, glancing down at her own dress, "Silk, satin, and lace tulle for my own, I believe. As for the color, women in Russia do tend to prefer the darker colors; the more rich, royal tones. For one it looks better with our coloration. I wouldn't be able to pull off your dress unless it was a more dusky gold, for example. The style, on the other hand, is definitely more daring. I like to be a trend-setter."

Her gloves she smoothed down over her arms, glancing for just a moment at her bare upper arms to check the definition. The stress was getting to her, but she figured it was still passable.

"Damocles also mentioned he'd not gotten a chance to visit Russia." Annie added, glancing up at the man beside her. "If either of you do gain the opportunity to visit, I'd be pleased to show you the jewels of my country."
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Rowland was attempting to avoid embarrassing himself over his lack of dancing ability so he had been spending the majority of his focus on exactly that. Once he had adjusted himself even the slightest bit, however, he was immediately aware of the other aspects of dancing together. Like, for instance, he was a bit self-conscious about his hands right at that moment. She had smooth hands, the smoothest he had ever touched actually; he assumed it was because of her being of noble birth and therefore not having to do much manual labor. He, however, had been doing manual labor since he was practically a year old. A new found awareness of the rough texture of his palms and the calluses. He would have taken his hands back if he didn't think it potentially more embarrassing, and as a result merely had to grin and bear. Or more accurately blush and bear it.

Once he was asked to speak about himself though, it gave him a new task to focus on and therefore new details to worry about embarrassing himself with. He smiled abashedly as she told him that he couldn't possibly bore her. He shook his head, "Don't speak too soon, I might surprise you yet." With boredom, which wasn't exactly something he was hoping for. Maybe he should just keep his mouth quiet because he clearly, words were not his forte.

Rowland chuckled and nodded as she asked about poker, "On occasion, yes, when I have time. Which isn't much anymore." Not that it stopped him, or any of the other servants from skipping out on chores at times to play. Besides, more often than not that's what they actually gambled with- chores. A backwards gamble of sorts- losing chores instead of gaining them. He won about as many times as he lost, but that's what made everything all the more interesting.

Rowland listened intently as Lady Rebecca started talking about herself. "Cowen? Doesn't sound very Russian," he pointed out before he slightly winced and then laughed nervously. "Apologies, I know it's not my place to comment." After all, what's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would still smell as sweet. He had other cliche lines in his arsenal as well but he guessed those would have to be reserved for when he would actually bring himself to say it out loud.

"Well she certainly thinks so," Rowland replied with a small chuckle. His mother was certainly a force to be reckoned with. "Time passes by so slowly here," he joked with a small smile before he continued, "I think it's been about two years or so. I'm Lord Damocles' manservant." No matter how many times he said that out loud, it still didn't feel any less odd. Though he supposed he had Desmond to blame for that- so many jokes were shared between the two of them it was difficult to not think about them.

"I haven't really given much thought about my favorite color...probably red," he shrugged with a small smile. This was...rather awkward. "Don't be embarrassed," he told her, smiling at the irony of his sentence, but more on the fact that he was the one saying it. "I did say I was horrible at this as well."
NPC-- Rowland Stone
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Damocles Faye
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Why, exactly, his sister found it necessary to engage the Lady Anastasia in a discussion about the clothes they were wearing, Damocles didn't know. He did know that were Anastasia not there, he wouldn't be. He'd have left a good thirty seconds after they stopped paying attention to him. He could admit he was as captivated by Anastasia's choice in gown, but it wasn't exactly the gown that was keeping his attention. Luckily, the fact that they were talking meant he didn't have to bother entertaining. He cast his glance for a moment, attention wandering away from the fabric discussion to take stock in their surroundings as well. Clarice looked livid--absolutely livid. He side-stepped behind Anastasia without realizing it, brow wriggling for a second. Honoria looked impossibly bored beside her husband (his cousin), and Evelynn appeared to be stealing her off to adjacent rooms.

There were a fair number of women in the room, but beyond the irate glare (Clarice seriously had to stop staring; she was embarrassing herself) and his relatives, Damocles had stopped caring. His attention was drawn back to Anastasia with ease, though she had not indicated him, nor made motion towards him. His grin still in place, it widened with a natural smirk.

He was now ignoring the weighted look from Abira, waiting an appropriate length of time in their discussion of the sights of Russia before clearing his throat and saying lightly, "If you might be able to stand the company of one more man for the evening..." His brow wiggled again naturally, "May I accompany you for another dance?"

As the night went on of course, Anastasia would be pulled away from him for several different reasons (the most prevalent of which being his duty as heir to dance with more than one female all night), but to say Damocles gaze was ever elsewhere was an outright lie.
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Rebecca Cowen
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"Surprise me?" Rebecca beamed, chuckling in spite of herself. Rebecca loved surprises. She supposed it was in part due to the difficulty to surprise her, what with her ability to 'See' or whatever. It bothered her. The burden of foreknowledge was a heavy enough load without depriving one of the simplest pleasures in life: a birthday party where your cousins jump out from behind the bookshelves to drop balloons and shout while covering you in confetti, a diamond set of jewelry from a beau...

On the other hand, Rebecca knew how often surprises were -- to put it eloquently--bad things. Who wanted to see their uncle giving that diamond set of jewelry to his mistress, cheating on your favorite aunt? Who wanted to know their birthday gifts before hand? And who in their right mind wanted to watch their best friend die in their dreams over and over again? Her brow furrowing now, she paused their steps to cast her mind away from it, shaking slightly in Rowland's gasp.

Then she swallowed. Her gifts were not so well-developed. Her mind was bound to wander on occasion, wondering what it was she could do, or perhaps more frequently: what life would be like without it. She'd never asked for this ability, no matter how enamored with magic she was. Still, if it was saving Parker's life...

Now her chest was definitely constricting, and her heart--already racing--was about to break the cage her dress had become. Turning her attention back to Rowland she only remarked, "I'd love it if you could surprise me." Her gaze flickered with the slight internal joke. "Not with that." She was quick to add, her cheeks flushing again. "But I'm...hard to surprise."

Flushing yet darker, Rebecca paused for a moment at his comment about her last name. "I know it doesn't. I--" Oh merlin. How did she explain that? How could she hope to, without blowing their cover? They'd said she was a friend of Annie's--one from childhood. Her name should have sounded more Russian, not the Scottish it was. Why hadn't she thought of that? Oh bother. She tightened her grip in his hand, trying to steady herself as they continued to revolve and simply said instead, "No, it's not." His place to comment.

Her lips twitched and then she continued, "But I'd prefer you to speak your mind. Don't worry about it."

Was that proper enough? Better question: was that proper at all? A moment later, she decided not to care. "Ah, but you think so as well right?" Rebecca teased, about his mother. "She sounds formidable." That she did: it was a fact she committed to memory with ease.

Figuring out exactly whose servant he was--beyond, obviously, that of the esteemed Faye family--brought a surprised smile to her lips. Anastasia had talked a very tiny bit about Damocles. She had explained it was he who let them in the house, he seemed the perfect gentleman and then she had teased both Parker and Brandin about how clearly the ego "ran in the family".

"I bet you could tell some stories." She grinned in spite of herself. "For though I have not had the...pleasure, of meeting Damocles myself yet, he sounds like quite the character." And that he did. "My favorite color is probably lavender. I am...a friend of the family, I was traveling with them when Parker fell ill." For a moment her face flickered, betraying her concern for the man and consequently--for all of them so heavily involved. "Brandin's doing what he can but..."

She paused, still flushed with her unease and worry and kept her arms tighter around him even as the song outside ended. For a few moments she smiled at him in silence, somewhat calmed by his adorable grin back and steady gaze on her eyes. The pregnant pause only brought her to be more embarrassed, but she released him slowly, understanding that it had been several minutes--that Brandin was sure to be looking for her.

Her eyes still on his, Rebecca was reluctant to move at all. For a moment she seemed entranced, until the music striking a faster song up in the distance awoke her to reality and she murmured, "I should probably go." It was apologetic. Her smile still in place, "But I'll see you again?"

His wide smile was enough of an answer. Her hand still in his, she cast her glance back to it and paused, lips twitching for a moment. Breath caught, Rebecca had to wait for her heart to start again before continuing in a rush, "But you mustn't tell." It was a hurried command, her eyes lifted to his once more in the sudden urgency.

"It'll be our little secret." She remarked lightly, pulling her hand back to dab one finger to her lips in a silent hush before turning, lifting her skirts with the same hand and retreating down the hall.

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