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rosavelle2025-10-30 12:15 pm
royaldecreemods) wrote in rosavelle2025-10-30 12:15 pm
Entry tags:
Welcome to Rosavelle!
INVITATION
You're going about your day when you notice an envelope that most certainly wasn't there before. It's beautiful, if a little old-fashioned: pale pink paper, sealed with a pressed flower instead of wax and your name written in looping cursive that shimmers faintly in the light.
Inside, the letter begins;
... It goes on like that for a while, whole paragraphs assuring you that you can leave whenever you want, no time will pass back in your world, the Everbloom's magic will keep you safe, etc etc… honestly it gets to the point that it starts to sound less like an invitation and more like a contract. But then, mercifully, the writer finds their footing again:
Maybe you accept right away or maybe you dismiss it as a prank or something equally unimportant. No matter what you think when you first read it, your mind eventually turns back to that invite and your find yourself thinking that it might not be a bad idea…
And once you do, you feel the world going soft and sweet around you, the scent of blooming flowers filling your nose - and before you can quite process what's happening, you realize you've accepted.
Inside, the letter begins;
- Dearest friend—
Goodness, I hope that isn't too forward. We've not met, after all. But I have been told that when one writes an invitation, it's important to sound sincere.
My name is Calanthe Rosabella Petalia de Amoré. I am the Crown Princess of Rosavelle. It's a little island kingdom far, far away - so far that it may not exist quite in the same world as yours.
I know this must sound terribly strange, but I'm writing because I need your help. You see, my coronation is approaching soon, and Rosavelle's magic - the Everbloom - responds to the strength of one's heart. It's said that a ruler must understand love to truly awaken it. Not just romance, mind you, but all kinds of love: friendship, kindness, care.
The trouble is… I'm not very good at it. I've read so many books about love, but real people don't seem to follow the same rules the novels do.
That is why I'm writing to you. The Everbloom - our most ancient and wondrous magic - has granted me the means to reach across worlds. I'm inviting a handful of remarkable individuals, like you, to Rosavelle to help me learn. Not only to teach me what love means to you, but to help me see how it can bloom between friends, companions, and strangers alike.
I promise you'll be treated as an honored guest.
... It goes on like that for a while, whole paragraphs assuring you that you can leave whenever you want, no time will pass back in your world, the Everbloom's magic will keep you safe, etc etc… honestly it gets to the point that it starts to sound less like an invitation and more like a contract. But then, mercifully, the writer finds their footing again:
- If you'll come, I'd be so very grateful. I know this is a strange request, and you owe me nothing - but still, I hope you'll consider it. Rosavelle is beautiful this time of year, and it is my hope that seeing it alongside fresh eyes will allow me to see it more clearly as well.
With all my thanks (and my hopes!)—
Princess Calanthe Rosabella Petalia de Amoré
Maybe you accept right away or maybe you dismiss it as a prank or something equally unimportant. No matter what you think when you first read it, your mind eventually turns back to that invite and your find yourself thinking that it might not be a bad idea…
And once you do, you feel the world going soft and sweet around you, the scent of blooming flowers filling your nose - and before you can quite process what's happening, you realize you've accepted.
ARRIVAL
You arrive in a haze of soft, rosy light. For a moment, everything is weightless - the air around you hums faintly, thick with warmth and the heady scent of flowers. When the haze fades, you find yourself standing beneath a vast glass dome that stretches impossibly high overhead. The light filtering through its pink-tinted panes paints everything in gentle rose and gold and petals drift through the air like drifting snow.
You are standing in the Everbloom's Greenhouse. The walls curve upward in graceful arches, every pane glimmering faintly and the air is warm, fragrant, and shimmering with faint motes of magic. Flowering vines climb the supports, colorful blossoms of all kinds spill from hanging baskets, and everywhere you look there's flowers, flowers, flowers.
At its heart stands the Everbloom, a colossal tree the likes of which you've never seen before. Its smooth trunk is faintly luminous and the canopy stretches so high that you can't see where it ends, vanishing into a haze of golden light and drifting petals. The air around it hums softly with power and for a moment, all you can do is stare up at it in awe.
A moment later, movement stirs: castle attendants glide forward in elegant uniforms, carrying towels, refreshments, and generally doing their best to make sure everyone's arrived safely. After all, you're not alone. Around you, other figures begin to appear - some blinking in wonder, some already steady on their feet. Each seems as out of place as you, drawn from distant worlds and disparate lives but under the rosy light they all seem to come together like flowers gathered into the same bouquet.
Those who stumble are gently guided toward a bench cushioned with flowering moss. Cool towels and drinks infused with rose and mint are offered freely. Eventually, once it seems like everyone's arrived and mostly gotten their bearings, one of the attendants - a lady-in-waiting as you'll eventually find out - speaks up.
"You are most welcome to Rosavelle," she says, dipping into a polite bow. "Their Princess will be hosting a banquet this evening to greet you all properly. Until then, please take your time to get settled and familiar with your surroundings. If you need anything at all, do not hesitate to ask."
For now, you're free to mingle. This is your chance to get your bearings, meet your fellow arrivals, and explore your surroundings. Beyond the main atrium, you can glimpse winding paths lined with blooming hedges and fat, colorful blossoms. Somewhere in the distance, you can faintly hear birdsong. You feel a little tug somewhere in your chest and if you follow it, you might just come across a flowerbed somewhere in the Greenhouse that you somehow know as your own.
After some time to mingle and acclimate, the attendants return, clapping their hands gently to draw attention.
"It's nearly time to prepare for the evening banquet! If you'll come with us, we'll see to your attire."
DRESS UP
You're led from the warmth of the greenhouse through a series of winding marble corridors until you're ushered through a set of grand double doors into a suite of guest rooms bustling with motion. Tailors, stylists, and attendants hurry between privacy screens, racks of lavish garments and trays piled high with glittering jewelry. Silks and satins gleam and lace and velvet catch the light in soft waves of color.
Tailors and stylists bustle about, armed with measuring tapes, pins, and brushes. The staff are cheerfully firm about making sure everyone looks their best for the banquet but nobody's forced into anything they don't want; the attendants listen to everyone's preferences and somehow find something flattering for even the most reluctant participant. Whether you comply with good humor or grumble through the process, it's impossible not to get swept up in the flurry of preparation. … of course, if you're determined to be a grump about the whole thing, you're welcome to wait outside until everyone's dressed up nicely.
The attendants encourage everyone to chatter as they work or even to lend a hand to another guest struggling with their ensemble. Maybe it's out of curiosity - the staff are polite, professional, but it's clear that dressing guests from other worlds is a novelty they want to enjoy.
As final adjustments are made and mirrors fill with transformed reflections, the bustle slowly quiets. Attendants exchange satisfied looks, then guide the group once more through the corridors. The faint strains of music drift down the corridors until at last, you find yourself before the towering double doors of the Azurite Banquet Hall, carved from the stone it takes its name from. The lady in waiting pauses just long enough to smooth a wrinkle here, adjust a collar there, and make sure everyone is present before pushing the doors open.
Tailors and stylists bustle about, armed with measuring tapes, pins, and brushes. The staff are cheerfully firm about making sure everyone looks their best for the banquet but nobody's forced into anything they don't want; the attendants listen to everyone's preferences and somehow find something flattering for even the most reluctant participant. Whether you comply with good humor or grumble through the process, it's impossible not to get swept up in the flurry of preparation. … of course, if you're determined to be a grump about the whole thing, you're welcome to wait outside until everyone's dressed up nicely.
The attendants encourage everyone to chatter as they work or even to lend a hand to another guest struggling with their ensemble. Maybe it's out of curiosity - the staff are polite, professional, but it's clear that dressing guests from other worlds is a novelty they want to enjoy.
As final adjustments are made and mirrors fill with transformed reflections, the bustle slowly quiets. Attendants exchange satisfied looks, then guide the group once more through the corridors. The faint strains of music drift down the corridors until at last, you find yourself before the towering double doors of the Azurite Banquet Hall, carved from the stone it takes its name from. The lady in waiting pauses just long enough to smooth a wrinkle here, adjust a collar there, and make sure everyone is present before pushing the doors open.
BANQUET
The Azurite Banquet Hall glows with warm candlelight reflected in polished marble floors and the air inside smells of wine and roses. Long tables stretch the length of the hall, each one dressed in embroidered runners and heaped with platters of food that look almost too beautiful to eat and in the corner, a string quartet plays a soft, lilting melody.
At the head of the room stands your host, Princess Calanthe Rosabella Petalia de Amoré. Draped in pale gold, they look every bit the part of a royal... though the slightly nervous way they adjust their posture speaks of someone not entirely at ease in the spotlight. When they catch sight of the assembled guests, though, they brighten a bit. Their hands are clasped too tightly around their wine glass, but their voice is bright and earnest.
... suddenly, they look sheepish.
They raise their glass, cheeks pink but eyes bright.
As the toast echoes through the hall, the music swells again - a graceful waltz this time - and attendants sweep forward to usher guests toward the buffet tables.
There's something for every palate: platters of lemon-butter shrimp and rosemary-crusted fish, seared scallops on saffron rice and fillets of calendula-cured salmon alongside oysters resting in crushed ice and lobsters cracked open beside dishes of herb butter. It's not all seafood, either - whole roasted ducks glazed in something fruity dot the table, alongside lamb, chicken and a mouthwatering roast beef.
Between the platters, bowls of vegetables offer roasted root vegetables glistening with sweet glaze, delicate salads strewn with edible petals, caramelized carrots, blistered cherry tomatoes and crisp greens grown. And, of course, baskets of warm, golden bread wait beside whipped butter and creamy sauces.
If you're in the mood for sweets, there's desserts in dizzying abundance: sugared fruit tarts, meringues shaped like blossoms, chocolate soufflés dusted with candied violet, and pastries of all kinds filled with custard, chocolate and all manner of fruity, flowery fillings.
A side table gleams with crystal decanters and goblets: bottles of wine, deeply colored mead and delicate floral liqueurs seem to be the alcoholic offerings but there's carafes of chilled fruit water steeped with mint for anyone who's not inclined towards spirits.
If you're feeling bold, the cleared space near the musicians makes a perfect dance floor. Perhaps you find yourself drawn into a dance, or perhaps you linger at the buffet, trading stories with a stranger over a shared plate of sugared pastries. Or maybe you'll take the opportunity to introduce yourself to your host now they've made an appearance.
Eventually, as the night wears thin, the quartet's melody softens to a gentle hum. Candlelight flickers low. The attendants appear once more, smiling as they begin to guide everyone toward the final stop of the evening.
At the head of the room stands your host, Princess Calanthe Rosabella Petalia de Amoré. Draped in pale gold, they look every bit the part of a royal... though the slightly nervous way they adjust their posture speaks of someone not entirely at ease in the spotlight. When they catch sight of the assembled guests, though, they brighten a bit. Their hands are clasped too tightly around their wine glass, but their voice is bright and earnest.
- "Ah - good evening, everyone! I - well, goodness, where does one even begin?
First of all, thank you. Truly, thank you all for coming here - to Rosavelle, and to me. I know this must all seem terribly strange - one moment you were in your own world, and the next you're here. It's strange to me too, you know. I've been imagining this for weeks, and yet somehow it still doesn't feel quite real.
Ah - oh! I suppose I should introduce myself properly. My name is Calanthe Rosabella Petalia de Amoré. I am the Crown Princess of Rosavelle, soon to be its sovereign, though I admit that still feels a little surreal to say aloud.
I invited you here because - well, I imagine all of you read your invitations. The Everbloom, our kingdom's oldest and most sacred magic, is bound to the heart and mine is… embarrassingly, quite uneducated in such matters. I couldn't imagine anyone in this world I could burden with such a problem and so I thought - perhaps - those who come from other worlds might help me."
... suddenly, they look sheepish.
- "That said, ah - there is a small complication. It is. Um. Frowned upon by most scholars to interfere with the affairs of other worlds, even with the best of intentions and I fear it would cause quite a stir if word got out. So for the time being, we'll need to keep your origins a secret. Please don't worry, though - we've arranged everything you'll need. Over the next month, we'll be teaching you about Rosavelle and all its customs so that when you venture out for the Wilting festival, you'll feel quite at home.
I realize that's rather a lot to ask, and I'm - well, I'm deeply grateful for your patience. I promise to do my best to make this worth your while.
So, once again, thank you. For answering my invitation. For being here, together, tonight.
Now then-"
They raise their glass, cheeks pink but eyes bright.
- "To new beginnings, and to the bonds we have yet to form. May they bloom as beautifully as the flowers of Rosavelle... oh, that sounded quite good, didn't it? A toast - to all of you!"
As the toast echoes through the hall, the music swells again - a graceful waltz this time - and attendants sweep forward to usher guests toward the buffet tables.
There's something for every palate: platters of lemon-butter shrimp and rosemary-crusted fish, seared scallops on saffron rice and fillets of calendula-cured salmon alongside oysters resting in crushed ice and lobsters cracked open beside dishes of herb butter. It's not all seafood, either - whole roasted ducks glazed in something fruity dot the table, alongside lamb, chicken and a mouthwatering roast beef.
Between the platters, bowls of vegetables offer roasted root vegetables glistening with sweet glaze, delicate salads strewn with edible petals, caramelized carrots, blistered cherry tomatoes and crisp greens grown. And, of course, baskets of warm, golden bread wait beside whipped butter and creamy sauces.
If you're in the mood for sweets, there's desserts in dizzying abundance: sugared fruit tarts, meringues shaped like blossoms, chocolate soufflés dusted with candied violet, and pastries of all kinds filled with custard, chocolate and all manner of fruity, flowery fillings.
A side table gleams with crystal decanters and goblets: bottles of wine, deeply colored mead and delicate floral liqueurs seem to be the alcoholic offerings but there's carafes of chilled fruit water steeped with mint for anyone who's not inclined towards spirits.
If you're feeling bold, the cleared space near the musicians makes a perfect dance floor. Perhaps you find yourself drawn into a dance, or perhaps you linger at the buffet, trading stories with a stranger over a shared plate of sugared pastries. Or maybe you'll take the opportunity to introduce yourself to your host now they've made an appearance.
Eventually, as the night wears thin, the quartet's melody softens to a gentle hum. Candlelight flickers low. The attendants appear once more, smiling as they begin to guide everyone toward the final stop of the evening.
HOUSEWARMING
The banquet winds to a gentle close and ne by one, the guests are gathered once more by the castle attendants who lead the way through dimly glowing corridors. The halls are quieter now, the rosy light of evening filtering through stained glass in sleepy shades of pink and gold. Everyone is lead through the castles and out into the grounds, their splendor only a little dulled by the darkness starting to settle over the castle.
"Your lodgings are just ahead," the lady in waiting says, her voice hushed out of respect for the hour. "You've each been assigned to a house - named for the flowers that chose you."
Slowly but surely, everyone's names are called and each person is supplied a heavy brass key to a house named for a flower you may have seen blooming somewhere today. When they speak the name of your house, something in you stirs with faint, inexplicable recognition, like you know it already - or maybe it knows you.
In any case, the barracks themselves are nothing like the name implies: warm, inviting, and softly lit by enchanted lanterns. Each house has its own cozy common area where low couches and plush chairs are gathered around softly glowing hearths. A long table in the center has been set with some late-night comforts, in case you somehow have any room left in your belly - plates of fruit and pastries, steaming pots of tea, and rich cocoa dusted with rose sugar.
The attendants leave you to settle in for the night, with a promise that the barracks staff will prepare meals from tomorrow onwards but mostly, you'll be left to your own devices. You could just track down your room and crash for the night but now seems as good a time as any to get to know your new housemates.
"Your lodgings are just ahead," the lady in waiting says, her voice hushed out of respect for the hour. "You've each been assigned to a house - named for the flowers that chose you."
Slowly but surely, everyone's names are called and each person is supplied a heavy brass key to a house named for a flower you may have seen blooming somewhere today. When they speak the name of your house, something in you stirs with faint, inexplicable recognition, like you know it already - or maybe it knows you.
In any case, the barracks themselves are nothing like the name implies: warm, inviting, and softly lit by enchanted lanterns. Each house has its own cozy common area where low couches and plush chairs are gathered around softly glowing hearths. A long table in the center has been set with some late-night comforts, in case you somehow have any room left in your belly - plates of fruit and pastries, steaming pots of tea, and rich cocoa dusted with rose sugar.
The attendants leave you to settle in for the night, with a promise that the barracks staff will prepare meals from tomorrow onwards but mostly, you'll be left to your own devices. You could just track down your room and crash for the night but now seems as good a time as any to get to know your new housemates.
no subject
He lifted his glass, half to take in its aroma and just equally so to recover from trying to process her meaning.]
Ah, well... On that level do you compete? If it's televised, I could see you becoming a sensation for some time.
no subject
National. You're talkin' to the record holder of the only six consecutive G1 wins. [ Never mind that said record has been broken by her mentee... ] I've run international too, took the Prix de l'Arc de Triomphe by storm!
[ She didn't win, mind you, but she's extremely proud of having been invited to run thay race! ]
The Unsinkable Gold Ship's disappearance is gonna be huge news! Hehehe.
no subject
He pulled the budget on that ridiculous neural connection with another sampling of wine.]
Ahh. I see. [Naturally, he made an assumption that seemed utterly benign to fabricate. She was a jockey. That made complete sense, barring the strange choice in headwear and the fact that she almost made it sound like she was the one running.]
So, your horse is in good health this season?
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[ Record scratch.
She looks down at herself with sudden confusion and concern, patting her body with her hands in a search for something wrong. ]
Pretty sure I am...? Why, does something look off?
[ Her hands go up to her face, checking her nose, her teeth, then smacking her cheeks with her palms hard enough that she grunts in discomfort. ]
I feel fine.
[ Touching her ears last, which flick with annoyance once she realizes those too are fine. ]
Oi... are you messing with me, Oji-san? It's not nice to scare a gal like that, ya know.
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He'd seen incredible, terrible and terrifying sights in his career and while there were many things he would have wished erased from that sea of information, he hadn't encountered women with horse ears. Those spirits came about in different ways.]
Ah. My apologies, young lady. I was thinking of something else. [So, what was the best approach when dealing with something inherently unfamiliar? Pretending it wasn't a big deal in the slightest. He cleared his throat and set down his glass so he could make an adjustments to a cufflink.]
Have you been out of the country besides for racing?
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Course I have! As planet Golgol's foremost champion idol extraordinaire I've been to many of Earth's countries, securing their loyalty and energy drink supply for the eventual grand Gold Ship ascendancy.
[ She crosses her arms and nods sagely. ]
Do you travel a lot too, Pops?
no subject
Besides, Archer had already seen insane impossibilities already. Who was he to judge?]
Though certainly not as much as you, I'm well-traveled. [Next came a well-timed, hefty sip of wine--] Only ever for work, though.
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[ The way he just keeps. Drinking. Without eating. It's kinda starting to bug her?? So she very unceremoniously proceeds to thrust her unfinished plate into his unoccupied hand. There's plenty of untouched finger foods (AND SO MANY CARROTS) piled on there. She eats kind of like a horse, imagine that. ]
C'mon, we're all buddies here. What's "work", you a spy or something?
no subject
It amounted to him quickly raising his glass up and away from his body. His eyes went from it to her hands a few times, trying to discern the bigger concern even as his other hand found the plate and began pushing it back towards its original owner with a deep-seated sigh hissing out--]
Young lady, be more careful. If I spill this on you, it'll ruin your dress. [Her nice clothes were at risk, not his. Those didn't matter.]
no subject
Her ears pin back and her smile is just gone. ]
Oi, oi... what's with that tone, old man?
[ Very calmly she steps to a nearby table, sets her plate down, and turns back to Archer. She rolls her neck and shoulders, and uh... cracks her knuckles. Because she has all the chill of a horse. ]
I ain't some delicate flower, ya know, or some slow-ass klutz. I'm the Gold Ship, I woulda avoided anything ya spilt.
no subject
Already, there were eyes on the two of them just by the realization that one voice grew more elevated, none the less its owner had gotten ready for a fight.
The other, though? He looked particularly unenthusiastic about what was happening. Her newfound rage and how much attention was being paid to him? At the very least, he was discovering new ways to regret his decisions to help others.]
...I see. You were just looking to pick a fight from the start.
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[ She says that with the kind of tone usually reserved for someone saying "Bitch". Her tail swishes behind her as the agitation grows, but at least she's not raising her hands? She's just kind of resting her fists on her hips for the time being. ]
Condescending and presumptuous is a bad combo, Pops. I was lookin' to make sure some paranoid idiot wasn't about to starve themselves. Now I'm kinda thinkin' they might need an attitude adjustment.
no subject
...I see. Then, I won't make that mistake again.
[Carefully, so he wouldn't wrinkle it, he began taking off his cravat. It seemed like the thing that would, undoubtedly, soak up all the blood from a potential broken nose.]
I hate to repeat myself but please be sure not to get blood on your nice clothes for the sake of your tailors.
no subject
Tch. Ne sois pas arrogant. [ Says the girl speaking french just to show off... ] Nothing's touchin' me unless I want it to.
[ With her cravat off next come the gloves, the ensemble placed neatly on the near table. Her tail doesn't so much swish as it does crack, well, as much as a horse tail can crack anyway. ]
Kinda shitty behavior to rile a gal up in the middle of Their Highness's welcome party. Still time to quit bein' a dick and call this off.
no subject
The lukewarm way he'd addressed her hardly seemed sufficient enough and even his gentlest suggestion that he could have caused an accident riled her in the first place. Were there a lesson to learn, it would be to simply to avoid that girl at all costs in the future and so, he'd allowed himself the freedom to let that matter go completely.]
I don't intend on fighting back, girl. [No longer 'young lady' but the most base description he had on hand. Really, how many times had he been in that precise spot in the past? With nothing on the line, he still preferred to be stubborn.]
It's your pride and therefore... your responsibility.
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Intentional or not on Archer's part, he threw out bait and like an amateur Gold Ship's taken it. She can hear her Trainer and McQueen both in the back of her head scolding her for letting her angry streak get the better of her, but if she pulls back now she'll look like a total punk. ]
Seriously? An' how exactly is it serving my pride if ya just stand there and take it. That's not a fight, that's assault.
[ She doesn't back down but she doesn't quite escalate either, for now. Her fists go to her hips and she stares him down directly. Archer has about ten cm on her give or take, but she doesn't let that deter her from Glaring. ]
So we just gonna spend the rest of the night starin' each other down? Because I can manage that if you think you can.
no subject
On that, we're agreed.
[Not that agreeing with her would make her happy. No, he understood that look. Nothing would make that girl happier than wiping a smug look from his face, even if he knew he wasn't feeling smug or even trying to act her superior. No, Archer had been in enough fights to know he could start them just by being himself.
Sighing, he admitted to himself how much he wanted another drink. Even then, his head was too clear for a grudge. Instead? He tried to make the best of things, holding out his hand for Gold Ship with his palm facing up, even if he understood what he'd suggest could easily be construed as a scare tactic.]
We may as well dance if you insist on staring me in the eye then. I've been trying to work myself up to try it again for the sake of practice.
no subject
He's just made an enemy for life. ]
Heh. Hehehe. You think you're pretty slick, don'tcha?
[ THIS IS A CHALLENGE TO HER and not one she's going to back down from, plus it keeps this from escalating into a full on brawl. So she takes that offered hand hand while keeping her eyes fixed on his, her expression giving way to a grin. ]
Alright, let's see what you've got. Step on my feet too much and I'm kickin' out your shins, got it?
no subject
Still, he was more bewildered by the smile that followed. Perhaps he should have anticipated an athlete having a competitive streak but he'd almost hoped his dour and distance demeanor would have been off-putting enough to send her running from an offer to dance.]
Mind you, I'll do the same if you step on mine. [Dryly said, he took her hand and deliberately positioned himself to not be so easily kicked through a window--not in the first fifteen seconds, at least.]
You do know how to do this, correct?
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Don't tell me you don't. [ His tone is dry but hers is as enthusiastic as it was at the start of their interaction, maybe a little exaggerated even. ] Tell ya what, if you're nervous I can lead. S'long as that doesn't offend your pride.
[ She does know what she's doing. Tracen puts its students through their paces for all kinds of dancing, mainly for the concerts, but when you've got a crush on the future head of a prominent family (and come from a decent one yourself...) you spend the time learning the more refined things too. ]
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[As a lead, she was quick to move but not so brutishly as he'd anticipated from her combative taunts. She really must have been a star, to come out of the gate so aggressively without losing her footing but Gold Ship would find Archer's steps fell with her pace skillfully. Where she stepped, he'd follow her lead without allowing her an opportunity to test him. In a way, the atmosphere he created was that of a textbook example of waltzing in sync, offering little else than practice for someone who clearly knew what she was doing.]
You have the mindset of a star, so you may not understand those without pride...
[He'd let her encroach upon his steps and place whatever pressure she liked, all while matching the flow of her movements as a skilled dancer might boast.] ...but, I'll only memorize what I must to yield results.
no subject
[ She lowers her voice to a pitch as close to his as she can manage and rolls her eyes. Is this guy serious? Goes from riling her up for a fight, to dancing without ever changing tone or expression. He could at least appreciate he's in close proximity to a cute if dangerously volatile uma, damn it! ]
Where's the fun in that? Or the point even? If ya don't take the opportunity to at least learn somethin' new you may as well just stay in bed the whole time you're here.
[ She quickens their pace. While the steps are still a waltz it's like she wants to push the pace into a salsa or tango's speed, totally discordant with the music. It's intentional if her smirk is anything to go by. ]
Besides, m'thinking you protest too much. You're movin' pretty good for just "memorizing what you must". [ There's that tone again, followed by a laugh. ] Loosen up or I'll have to bust ya in half like the board you're tryin' to act like, alright?
no subject
You're not satisfied with just getting to exhibit your talent? Honestly, you're fairly demanding to ask so much from me.
[His brows knitted, a touch of annoyance coming to bear for her words far more than her incredible pace. She was just comfortable enough talking smack that he could deal with the majority of it but that repeated urgence that he enjoy himself was making it apparent she wasn't approving of his indifference.]
You should indulge your vanity and forget that I'm even here. Focus on your technique... [Pride had nothing to do with his motivations. If he misstepped, he'd practice and continue to put his whole effort into correcting himself but that didn't happen even as he found himself pulled into that new rhythm and pace she'd chosen. Archer went with her, the flow of his steps and the path he'd taken blending seamlessly with hers. Little by little, it twisted from something mechanical and precise to steps of his own that simply fit in place where she wanted him no matter how the style she'd chosen might have changed.
Despite that, he was anything but breathless. Where other dancers might have been huffing or puffing to match her pace, that stone-faced expression of his was permanently carved into his features.] ...and, I'll match you at every turn.
no subject
It's how he calls out her ego. She has one, she knows she does, most uma do, it ties into their competitive nature. But vanity? It hits her ears wrong, it seems so... petty. It puts a frown on her face and an aggressive tilt behind her steps. ]
Oi, oi. Who ya callin' vain?
[ Her voice is low, almost dangerous, her tail flicks with clear agitation. ]
World's a stage, sure, but the only reason I go for the spotlight is cause I want to, not cause I want approval.
[ That and because staying in the spotlight and playing everyone's clown means never having to think too hard about her life, her responsibilities, her feelings, her legacy, her feelings...
Oop, that makes her madder, thinking about her feelings. Her tail flicks again. ]
That's why you're kinda pissin' me off. Seems like you care an awful lot 'bout lookin' like ya don't care, ya know? Putting that kind of effort into being miserable is a buzzkill. Heck, even your dancin' is kind of a buzzkill...
[ She glances down as she says that, not avoiding his eyes, watching his feet, chewing her lip thoughtfully, then looking back at his face. Precise, yes, too precise. Literally going through the motions. ]
S'like you're a machine. Where's the passion, huh? You could at least be annoyed that I won't shut up.
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We're all vain, one way or another. Don't take it so personally.
[Even as she led him, she'd paid a great deal of attention to him--focusing in a way that made it feel she'd wanted to look somewhere other than his face the entire time they'd cut a line through the dance floor. When she finally looked away, the destination was enough to make him lift his brows, though the mystery of the 'why' was offered freely. There was a small measure of guilt in him, realizing he'd just been using her as a means to practice when he couldn't find a way to deflect her attention, but he'd known better than to let it show.
Instead, he tried to chide her gently, with the the sort of patience and gentleness indicative of a school teacher. He'd held her hand in the middle of their last step, leaning over her so he could speak candidly without raising his voice too much.]
I may be annoyed with a few choice words of yours but I have no reason at all to be annoyed with you, young lady, no matter how intense you are. [Besides, he'd met far more intense people. It was a cost of his career, after all.]
On the other hand, I know precisely how unlikeable I am.