open | your baddest behavior

[cozen]

WHO: Alexandrie, Bastien, Byerly, and their captive audience
WHAT: Mandatory etiquette and dance lessons
WHEN: Justinian 15, 9:45
WHERE: The Gallows
NOTES: See the OOC post and IC announcement for more information! If you didn't sign up, you can still participate in Parts A and D, and just handwave the other two, without needing to sign up or get an assignment. If you want to do B and C, you can find your own dance partner/seating group OOC, or you can sign up now and we'll dole out new assignments if we get enough latecomers to do so. If you signed up and are missing from the lists when you shouldn't be, I'm sorry and please tell me!

disclaimer: event less fancy than pictured

Seating Assignments
— Table One: Gwenaëlle, Iorveth, Matthias, Athessa
— Table Two: Flint, Ilias, Darras, Med Seller, Yngvi
— Table Three: Julius, Thranduil, Anders, Brienne
— Table Four: Benedict, Colin, Valentine, Six, Derrica
— Table Five: Teren, Salvio, Bartimaeus, Osana
— Table Six: Freddie, Petrana, Kain, Merrill, Silver
— Table Seven: Yseult, Cosima, Steve, Inessa
— Table Eight: Sidony, Fifi, Nell, Fingon
— Table Nine: Thor, Nathaniel H., Solas, Skadi

Dance Partners
— Cosima & Nathaniel H.
— Athessa & Anders
— Teren & Flint
— Freddie & Bartimaeus
— Yseult & Darras
— Nell & Julius
— Merrill & Colin
— Skadi & Benedict
— Gwenaëlle & Solas
— Petrana & Salvio
— Osana & the Medicine Seller
— Sidony & Matthias
— Six & Thranduil
— Brienne & Valentine
— Fifi & Steve
— Thor & Fingon
— Ilias & Iorveth

Comments

[radiosa]

“That’s,” Osana says, and pauses, for a moment.

Her dress is nothing too dear to her and nothing compared to some of what’s on display in the hall. Mostly linen, the skirt a color hovering between cream and brown and forgiving of life’s daily smudges. But not of wine, no, and it isn’t anything special, but it is the only dress she owns anymore.

So the pause is heavy with dismay, but it’s the dismay of an unexpected inconvenience, not of heartbreak, before she emerges on the other side with a smile.

“That’s all right. It might come out.” She crouches—almost kneels, before she understands what a bad idea that would be, which causes a little wobble—and reaches aside him to right the jug, succinctly and pointlessly, like putting a daisy in the center of a mud pie. “And if it doesn’t, maybe I’ll stain the whole thing. I like red better. Are you all right?”

[inkindled]

Matthias makes a distressed hiss between his teeth. He's staring, hopeless and blank, at the stain--which looks as if it might actually be spreading, somehow, against all logic and reason. A stain does not spread up, does it? How could it?

"Yeah, yeah-- I'm all right, just that I was-- Red's a fine color," he adds, quickly, picking up on the chance that this might not be the worst thing he's ever done, that there's a glimmer of hope down there somewhere, "and, y'know. It'd suit you. The red."

Does that help, at all? He tries a grin. It comes out a little uncertain, the kind of grin that's ready to backpedal and take it all back. He's certainly trying.

[radiosa]

It's working. She wants to keep him forever.

"Red would make me feel less like an old rag doll," she says, voice dropped to something politely and confidingly low. All this finery. Orlesians are awfully colorful—or bright, at least, when they go with white. She hopes no one expects her to dress that way, no matter where she's invited and by whom. She'll wear armor, and polish it up so everyone else can use it to check their hair, or something.

She stands back up, extends a leg for a second to bring her skirt into view for another survey of the damage-slash-art, and offers a hand down to the—man. Boy? He looks like the youngest person here, but that may just be his face.

"Were you trying to escape?"

[inkindled]

"Depends. If I say yes, are you the type to report me? 'Cause if you are, then no, I was fetching wine to--that man. Over there."

Matthias points out a random face in the crowd (it might be anyone's, he's not looking, he's focused here. He'd felt his fortune turning. It was all locked in when she'd sort of joked back at him--then the offer of the lift up had been the final seal. He knows how this works. He takes her hand, his grin going a few notches more toward confident.

Once he's on his feet, he dusts himself off, then crouches to gather up the lost cups and empty jug.

"Or maybe I was bringing the wine over to you and did a really shit job of it. Which one're you more likely to believe, d'you reckon? I'm Matthias," he adds. A bit of a tack-on, but there's nothing to be done about that. "So you know who to blame if anyone gives you trouble over your skirt."

[radiosa]

"Osana," she responds, and begins to hold out a hand, and then decides that's redundant when she's just helped him up and lowers it, and then decides no, actually, a handshake is a separate thing, with a separate meaning, and holds her hand out again. "So you know who to blame when they come for you."

The wine authorities. The diplomacy police. Whoever would be responsible for disciplining young men who run away from dances with arms full of alcohol and destroy young women's clothes in the process.

[inkindled]

Matthias snorts, as they shake hands. It's a good handshake. She's got a decent grip, which is always to be admired. It's how someone first comes to know you, a handshake. Want to be certain you're showing the best and firmest.

"I'd not put any blame on you." Maybe it seems like loyalty--and maybe it is, a little fledgling thing, easily earned from Matthias. He does take some of the power out of it when he goes on: "Don't want to risk getting knocked about by any angry boyfriend or girlfriend or whatever term you'd prefer. It's a danger that comes with spilling wine on dresses and then somehow putting the blame on the person wearing the dress. Not that I've ever done this before."

With a little grin, he stoops to look into the jug. "Barely enough to fill an acorn cap. If I go off for more, d'you want some?"