CRIMSON-STAINED

She laughed, a full, throaty thing. “Oh, I don’t think I will be doing any hosting of parties just yet,” she told the gentleman. “Besides, nobody even knows me yet. No one would come. And what a disaster that would be, to throw a party no one attends? I would be forced to hide my face in shame.” Sarcasm dripped off every word, the absurdity in her new life not quite worn off. She was no lady, and yet, here she was, being paraded around London by her grandparents, having to mind her manners. The fact that a party no one attended would actually be a travesty to some of these partygoers was somewhat bewildering to her.

“Perhaps you will throw the next big party. I promise I would show up,” she told him, a wide, warm smile upon her face.

@lucidvisions

“that’s remarkably insightful, miss—?”

there’s something about the way she speaks and smiles that has hakim falling quiet in inspection, déjà-vu overwhelming his senses for the briefest of moments. here’s someone who freely shares her thoughts and who speaks them into existence without a single care for what others might have to say about it; she’s brusque, he hears some of the other people whisper in quiet disapproval and it’s in that single instance that he decides he hasn’t met anyone who could hold a candle to this woman.

still, he finds, there’s a different kind of horror to be found at gatherings like this one; one that one too many women seem to delight in. perhaps, to be seen isn’t quite enough to outweigh the terror of being singled out but what does he know, being the stranger that he is at this court that has done nothing but feign interest in the intense disinterest of his person?

to impress and to be impressed; how frightfully meaningless such notions sound to him. he’s surprised—and delighted—to find someone who seems to share the same sentiment and a lack of pretense that would indicate otherwise.

the woman’s steps falter for only the briefest of moments when their eyes meet.

she radiates an unassuming sort of enthusiasm that elevates her appearance from lovely to delightful when she smiles at the first gentleman to sweep her into a dance in evident appreciation at being singled out by the other sex. it has caught hakim’s notice some hours ago for the first time and it does again now that she speaks.

english rose, is what comes to mind when he shifts his gaze in her direction for the first time that evening after he notices how out of breath she appears to be, a rosy blush creeping up her neck and spreading across her cheeks. dancing can be a taxing activity for those in tight-laced corsets and he’s rather certain the stuffy air in the salon isn’t exactly accommodating those who love to twirl and spin. but it’s her cadence that interests him, one that cannot be described as anything but dreamy and he’s fairly confident in having detected the slightest hint of something far more unpolished in her voice than her appearance would lead him to believe. there’s no noble drawl and the lack of a retinue begging to be noticed is yet another indication that while the woman might be of high enough status to warrant a place in london society, she is virtually nothing against those of nobler birth.

and so he concludes this: it is her appearance, only, that has the men falling at her feet.

does that make her the hunter, or the hunted?

hakim’s acknowledgment of her words is a fluid, flawless bow of his head. “a political woman,” he muses while his dark, inquisitive eyes remain pinned on her features, the ghost of a smile tracing his own. “such a rarity.”

music flows around him, while the ballroom blooms to life through the graceful movements of the dancing couples on the floor; the longing gazes of lovers yet to be married are apparent in their shy glances and small smiles and hakim—half in disgust, half in annoyance—allows his gaze to drift away from the dancefloor and through the crowd of people in search of something more interesting to observe.

what he catches is more of the same, old tale: young girls, barely women in their own right, flocking together to giggle at the gentlemen asking for dances, or chatting to each other about things he can only guess at. he’s long since come to the conclusion that the easily excitable ones are the worst to accommodate; those with rosy cheeks and with sparks in their eyes who still view the world through the dreamy lens of a highly romanticized life, one that's typically found in books or poems.

he might be at another court, but hakim has no doubt that it’s just as ruthless as the one he’s grown up in, the one he has left behind. a muscle tenses in his jaw against some memory from the past but it’s near imperceptible and in a bid to shake his unease off, he turns—only to find his gaze now pinned on the silhouette of a woman sitting at a nearby table. she doesn’t seem to show any obvious interest in dancing, let alone her surroundings if the leatherbound book on her lap is anything to go by. 

hakim arches a brow in mild curiosity and with a few, quick steps, is close enough to peer at the opened pages from behind her shoulder. considering her fast pace, the woman seems to be skimming rather than truly focusing on the book's content. “you’re a quick reader,” he remarks after a moment’s pause, offering a slow tilt of his head once he’s startled her out of her thoughts.

    *    Are you aware that Lord Ludlow has been staring at you all night? It’s a rather unsavory look. 

meme source.

   Clear hues drifted with ease over the sea of ornate heads, her breath still hitched from the ending of the quadrille.   It was easy to spot Lord Ludlow,  just disheveled and flushed at the cheeks from the abundance of booze he tended to ingest during public events. he was a most unseemly man, always with a thin coating of sweat, but wealthy in a way that the english were still not so familiar with. Austrians, well, different story. She lifted the glass to her lips as her eyes carried on their scavengers hunt, not wanting to give the man any strange signal that wouldn’t be corresponded, lest of all in public.

           “  Of course I have.   He’s practically my …   meadow- tobacc— …   “     A pause as she thought over what the word she was looking for looked like in english;   schatten.        “   —dark reflection...     Damn— He’s been following in my steps since he saw me tonight.  “        The blonde said that nonchalantly, though she gave him a pointed look, a small    keep him in your sight    hidden between blush and smirk.     “  Would you like to tell him how you feel about that?  “     The blonde teased,  lifting her brows as she spoke, glancing over at Hakim in his pretty suit, with his gorgeous cheekbones, the polished overall appearence, much more fitting for a ball like this than either her enthusiasm at the dance floor, or Lord Ludlow’s well - known - of antics.

@verosia ( but for hakim )

the ballroom is a vision of opulence.

where he expects to see the classical themes of greek mythology mixed with chinese influences painted on walls and embroidered on chairs, there are instead a variety of highly detailed carved creatures: gryphons, dragons, and an array of fantasy creatures whose names have escaped him. the shadow of the night pouring in through the opened doors is washed away by a flood of warm, vibrant light bouncing off the walls. in the middle of this vibrancy is dorothea, cheeks flushed from a dance but with blue eyes that have a shadow of a different kind lingering in them.

she returns to his side and is followed by eyes who have questions reflected in them, a hushed kind of fascination that wishes to know something hakim isn’t keen on sharing. so when he turns to face the royal with a spark of mischief lighting up his dark eyes, he does it on purpose.

“cursing is unbecoming of a lady,” is all he offers in response to her suggestive challenge. the words are spoken with a straight face but his tone is velvety, nearly teasing in nature. irony is easily used with the archduchess whose candor is both refreshing while maintaining a sense of annoying self-assuredness; it’s not so much a façade than it is an inextricable part of their relationship, a back and forth that demands to be heard and seen in much the same manner that the woman by his side is so accustomed to being perceived.

this is a show and hakim knows as much. his right hand rises to gently touch dorothea’s chin, the movement causing her to lift up her face to meet his eyes. there’s the hint of a smile playing across his features, the gesture enough to fulfill the illusion of tenderness. “besides, don’t you enjoy being shadowed?”

Hello, everyone! Our first meme has been designed to go with our first event, so here is a list of sentence starters you can use to prompt conversations between your character and others. You can send and answer these at any time during the event, but remember that you will received paired threads through the duration of the event. Happy writing!

“Oh, no. I think that punch was stronger than I thought.”

“No, don’t talk to me! I’m trying to hide, you’ll give it away.”

“Why would I want to dance with you? Last time you kept stepping on my toes!”

“My, you’re highly desired. This is the first time I haven’t seen you dancing all night.”

“Don’t move, I think I just heard something rip.”

“If you didn’t want to come, then why did you bother showing up?

“Are you aware that Lord Ludlow has been staring at you all night? It’s a rather unsavory look.”

“And when can we expect you to host a party?”

“Here, I brought us both a drink… although maybe you’ve indulged enough.”

“Wait, I beg your pardon, but haven’t we met before?”

“We’ve already danced once tonight, we can’t dance again! What would people think?”

“Please give me anything to talk about other than the two women who unfortunately arrived in the same dress.”

“Are you alright? You look faint, I think you should sit the next dance out.”

“Can you believe what they did? They spilled their drink on me and now this outfit will be ruined.”

“All those months apart and not a single letter for a dear friend. Were you really so busy that you couldn’t write?”

“If you’re not careful, one of your feathers is going to catch on fire from that candle.”

“Has anyone seen the royalty that’s supposed to show up yet? Or even know who it is?”

“I don’t understand why a ball that takes place before parliament starts is any more special than one of the dozens that will take place afterwards.”

“Oh, you simply would not believe the trouble I had getting here tonight!”