「ᴅ ʀ ᴀ ɢ ᴏ ɴ ʙ ᴏ ʏ」

       Guilds of a vendetta made up of fibers belonging to sustaining treachery and becoming prone to such militia—deputy to play role the deceased could not yet remain cautious in the meantime. Who gave such a justified responsibility to someone who cannot heed the finances and request of others, she wonders only to realize it was the misfortune of her bloodline that had granted such nobility. A title she holds so dear, one she could not do without a battalion to lead with the sway of a sword is what taints the pride she dares not to diminish. Gerome, however, understands that just as well as she. His companionship and comprehension of tropes that linger mentally is one she is internally grateful for, as is his endeavoring loyalty to patch up what she could not. 

       ”I must apologize for trying to maintain barbaric behavior even in times where I am physically endangered. I do not mean to weigh such a burden onto you." With whatever ability that continued on in her strength to adjust posture, now slouching as she leans against the desk beside her, she concludes with, "Please do grant me your assistance, Gerome.”

    There is hidden relief that she conceded, and while he wished she would see a proper healer he would make sure she'd not remain in discomfort. She couldn't afford to be nor would he wish to see her suffer needlessly. "It is hardly a burden Lucina," what was more important than her well-being? He'd pledged his loyalty to her, there was no burden too great. "Wait here," swift to leave in order to attain items necessary to fix her wound properly. Upon his return he places the acquired cloths, bowl of clean water and flasks of vulneraries on the desk she now leant on. Hesitantly fingertips move aside the slightly stained tunic to reveal the blood seeped bandages just above her abdomen.

    Advantage, perhaps, but not entirely the requisite knowledge to make the best of it. Still, Kjelle gathers up the little she remembers as he  leads them toward where the other guests are dancing, keeping in mind the timing for this particular style of dance. When Gerome sets them up carefully, with a great deal more hesitation than Inigo had, she looks down at her feet, and then back up at him as he makes mention of her dress. Nodding her understanding, she waits for him to take the lead. Whether he means to or not, she knows Gerome will wind up showing her up in the end— this isn’t a challenge she’s going to win. At least, not without some sort of travesty on Gerome’s end, of which the chances are slim.                          “I assure you, the dress will be fine. It’s only fabric.”        Granted, pretty and expensive fabric, but she doesn’t think about that too much. It will only give her a headache in the long run. Still, obligingly, she gathers a bit more fabric from her dress into her hand with a few careful motions of her fingers, and then looks up at him, inclining her head. 

                        “Whenever you’re ready, Gerome.” 

    Although he was skilled in this area, such physical contact had always felt awkward to him, having shied away from it for so long. Thus his hesitation when carefully deciding where to place gloved appendages. Only fabric she says, yet it's that fabric he fears falling over, a travesty on his part may not be so unlikely as she believes. "...Very long fabric," he adds but doesn't think there's any point in complaining about it. With a short intake of breath he begins to carefully guide her across the marbled floor, hidden gaze often switching between her and their feet in hopes neither of them trip. So far things were moving smoothly, she seemed to have taken Inigo's advice rather well.

    "Truthfully I'm a little surprised to see you here...or rather see you here in something other than armour," half expecting her to show up in some sort of armoured gown. He had actually been tempted to come armoured himself, feeling far too light without it, yet it's that weightlessness that aids him now as they dance.

Send (///д///) for my character's reaction to yours tripping, knocking mine over and landing atop them in a rather risque-like way.

    This was likely one of the most ridiculous things to happen to him thus far in this city. He seemingly trips on air when in truth it was probably a pebble, colliding harshly into an otherwise unaware wyvern rider. After the fall there's a horribly long silence that follows, the situation is clearly awkward yet of a completely different sort than what Gerome was used to. As it seems the man wasn't going to move quick enough, obviously still perplexed by the fall, he takes it upon himself to act. He doesn't think his father would approve of his following actions however...

Send (///д///) for my character's reaction to yours tripping, knocking mine over and landing atop them in a rather risque-like way.

    Apparently he was having an off day, where his usually sharp senses would pick up on such things. Yet she's falling into him before he's able to comprehend the situation, and now they were situated on the floor. Her long hair falls forward to irritated his face, perhaps it was best that it blocked the majority of his view, for even without being able to see he can conclude he wants out of this situation immediately. Yet he's not so bold or rude as to push her off...yet.

Send (///д///) for my character's reaction to yours tripping, knocking mine over and landing atop them in a rather risque-like way.

    The scene that follows is something far too comical that it almost appears to be acted out, yet it's completely accidental. If he had his wits about him as was usually the case he'd have likely avoided the encounter, yet his mind is elsewhere and thus unable to avoid the collision as the young woman trips and crashes into him. During the fall his mask is slightly misaligned, and it's only when he readjusts it does he see the rather...precarious position they're in. First instinct is to shove her off, but he doesn't think it's appropriate, so instead he props himself up on his elbows unable to make any sort of eye contact.

             Eyes scathed across the premise, the museum offered upon the individuals who lived within this realm caught some interest of her. It had been the plentiful amount of energy bouncing along the walls and the moments she acquired upon dancing. The mixture of it had brought her heart to feel all to encumbered by the fruitful night. She needed peace of mind, to breath a calming air to settle her nerves as they slowly became brittle with anxieties. Noire was a but a meekly, thin, tiny archer among a flock of beautiful flowers. With little to offer, she found her mind thinking oft of what was actually inside of the museum. Which is what left her to explore, she’d not gone far though. As the heels she wore clattered to a soft hault.               Bewildered, a loss of breath had been had. Looking along the finely painted image of Robin. An individual she was so closely attached to and felt herself acquitted with. Their relationship although a strange one, girth with much love and admiration from herself. It was fickle to say, she wasn’t comforted by the sight of such a thing. A smile etched across her features, hands softly cluttered to one another upon her chest. Making sure that she’d not lose herself in the moment.               Appreciating it’s form and existence, she’d had not kept her wits about her. Lost in it’s glory the presence that appeared beside her had wrought a slight twitch in her demeanor. Head flipping toward one side as she looked upon the figure beside herself; another thing to be amazed over. She’d not come to see him adorn in much else but his armor. To say the least, she’d not even note it to be him had it not been for his warm voice filling the air with familiarity.  ❝Gerome.❞              Words uttered in a mere loss of breath, collected by a quick one when she had realized it was he who spoke. A smile reflected upon her expression, taking a moment to take a look once more upon her. Cantering her head back to the painting as her hands fell between the folds of clothing that made up her dress. ❝Its…. Beautiful though… When you go to see them— A-All those happy faces, everyone dancing—laughing even… It’s all too much to take in at once, for me…❞              The comment is made with envy elict from the tone in her voice. Bone’s did rather and her entire existence did not want to linger there longer, but her heart. It ache’d to be a part of something she herself knew she’d not be able to handle much of. Yet she was content watching, eagerly encouraging her friends with soft yet nervous smiles. To enjoy themselves and what would become of this night. ❝Are you…. A-Are you alright though? I… I know you don’t like things like this…. I-I’m happy you did come.❞              The context of her statement having mean’t to note how he would never come to such parties. Though he came regardless and as Noire saw this as a peaceful notion mean’t for everyone to smile and enjoy. The archer had hoped he’d feel as much some how—though a part of her thought it foolish to think.     

    His eyes fall back to the painting as she speaks. While his reasons for seeking solace are different from her own, he's aware of why she's here now when it's evident she desires to be with others. He can agree that it is pleasant to see their comrades enjoy a moment free of burdens. After years of nothing but warring and loss did they not deserve such things? And to think they would find it here, in this often bewildering city. "It is…I know none more deserving than our comrades," isn't that why he's come after all? To be with them, to be in their company as it's company he cherishes more than anything. Perhaps that's why he's here now, why he thought to approach. Because he knows how overwhelming it can be for her and he'd not want anyone to spend this night alone. "…Then you'd not mind my presence? Needing to be alone but not wanting to…I suppose I can say I understand that more than most." 

    There's brief surprise hidden behind his mask at her words, she's not the first to say it tonight, yet he finds himself taken aback all the same. To be told that his being here made others pleased meant more than he could express. In truth if it were not for them he'd not have come, it's their presence that filled that desire to be here. For all the things he'd said in the past, he didn't like being alone. He appreciated silence in a world oft filled with noise, but he'd not turn a cold shoulder to those he cared about. And to know that they wanted his company, despite his ways, truly expressed their care for him. He only wishes he could find his own way to show that appreciation.

    In truth the whole event was a little overwhelming, if not exhausting for someone who valued the quiet more often than not. That's why he's taken a moment to step away from the large crowds, to find a place secluded from the masses to recuperate as it were. A few individuals are scattered around the area, admiring the pieces the museum has presented. Although away from the dancing, he can hear the faint sounds of music and chatter, and if he dare say he could remain here and be content. Yet despite his ways, he yearned for the company of those he called friends, they are the reason he can be comfortable in a place he'd usually avoid.

    As if to answer that desire, crimson eyes concealed behind ebon mask spot a familiar individual, regardless of her mask he can tell it's her. He'd not spoken to her directly for a little while, yet they'd exchanged messages frequently. She stands, admiring a piece that both of them can recognise. Their tactician and the fateful day whereupon she gave her life to end Grima for good. He considers leaving her be, yet ultimately decides to quietly approach. Standing at her side he takes a moment to eye the painting before turning to look upon her visage. It's odd seeing his comrades out of their usual attire, yet he cannot deny how well suited everyone is in their chosen garments. Noire is no exception, adorning a dress that exemplified her natural grace.

It’s nice to watch various couples dance and enjoy themselves, and there’s a soft smile on the Exalted noble’s face as she stands off to the sidelines, but there’s that slight emptiness she’s been feeling for a while now. She can’t help but feel guilty; such an event should be a happy one, not spent feeling sorry for herself. Cerulean hues scan around the area, to try and find a shepherd or two to get her mind off of the loneliness she’s feeling. She wonders if Severa is around; maybe she could spend her time at the ball with her.

It’s the tap on the shoulder that causes her to spin around, facing with a certain wyvern rider. It’s not hard to tell it’s Gerome, even before he spoke up. Lucina could pick Gerome out in a crowd no problem, and it looks like he could do the same with her. A friendly smile is on her face, a bit bigger than the smile she had on, and the blue haired woman bows her head politely to greet him before raising it back up.

     “Not right now. There’s not a lot of people to dance      with and I can’t help but feel a bit shy asking for a      stranger’s hand.”

His words causes her to pause. For some reason… they meant a lot to her. So much has happened in the past month and season that some time off wouldn’t hurt too much. After the ball, though, she planned on working once more, picking off where she paused for the ball.

     “I’m glad to see you here too. I wasn’t sure if you would      come or not. I haven’t seen the others yet. Hopefully we      can run into them later; I’d like to dance with them at least      once.”

    It's pleasant to see her smile, for he recalls she hadn't done so in their last meeting, at least not so genuinely, no doubt plagued with troubled thoughts. There's a small dip of his crown to her own greeting before replying. "Hm, well you have little to fear in regards to being rejected if you were so inclined to ask a stranger." Although he understands being timid about such things, for he lacked that confidence perhaps more than she did, she'd always been far more brave. He'd always admired that about her.

    "I suppose that's warranted," to not know if he would make an appearance or not. In the past perhaps he would have remained in solitude, yet loneliness was not something he needed presently. And he doesn't think she did either. "Still even I don't desire isolation constantly," even less so these days. "I had the er...pleasure of dancing with Kjelle earlier, no doubt she'd be keen to show you her newly acquired skills." There's a moment of pause once again as he thinks on his next words before speaking.

Everything was nearly perfect at that moment, truth be told. The music was just right, the alcohol of the amount of wine she had taken was starting to have it’s effects— which meant she had drank a lot. Vi might not be the greatest dancer, but she was sure as hell not easily embarrassed. She was dancing however she just felt like it, even if that brought stares and laughs from people. In her mind, she was dancing like a star.

She practically didn’t notice she was nearly hitting someone in the face, much less heard when they spoke. Either the music was too loud, or his voice too soft. Or both. It was only when he touched her elbow, apparently trying to get it off his face, that she turned around.

“HUH? WHAT DID YOU SAY? I CAN’T HEAR YOU OVER THE NOISE. DO YOU MAYBE WANT TO DANCE? WE CAN DO THAT."  She practically shouted, hoping he had heard her. Then smiled, waiting for his answer. Whoever he was, she could see he wasn’t the dancing type, but so far she had done a fairly good job at dragging people like that to dance, so he could be the next.

    Well...he supposes he can admire her enthusiasm, but that was about it. Her form was terrible and it's evident she was moving based off the amount of alcohol she'd consumed. He hadn't touched a drop himself, not really finding a taste for it. There's a subtle cringe as she yells in reply, it was true the music was far too loud, and he's grateful when the racket that was supposed to to music ceases and something more calming begins. It's far more appropriate for what was meant to be a ball, and something familiar to his ears.

                  "One of the only talents I have which I can apply to this situation,               I’m afraid. Well, that and my knack for footwork.” 

      Strange though it might seem to anyone else, Gerome alone would understand the meaning behind her words— after all, Kjelle’s ferocity in battle was hardly brute strength alone. For someone who preferred her armor over most anything else, the use of her training armor made her almost impossibly light on her feet in her actual combat armor. It was a fact that had saved her its share of times against enemy soldiers.        The fact that she was able to apply that skill to something like this would have been funny, if it weren’t so distinctly embarrassing.                          “…of course.”        It’s both an answer and a mildly exasperated proclamation, her hand landing in his as he offers it. How could she think Gerome would deny the opportunity to show her up, after all? Taking careful hold of a small portion of her dress’ fabric, she sets it between her fingers, lifting the skirt enough to minimize her chances of tripping, then sets her hand properly in his as she steps forward and onto the dance floor. 

    True that their training for battle would actually aid in such a situation, especially regarding footwork. To look at it that way, Kjelle in theory could be rather decent at dancing, and how she was by nature he has no doubt she could conquer it if she truly desired. "You have an advantage most lack in that regard," although perhaps her dress was quite a large disadvantage despite how elegant it looked. 

    Of course his intention isn't to show her up, merely taking the opportunity to see how much she'd learned from her crash course with Inigo. And in truth he doesn't mind her company among a crowd of people he's not very familiar with. With her hand grasped between gloved fingers, he leads her out to the mass of already swaying bodies. Then turning to face her, he briefly pauses as if to contemplate on how to proceed. Her hand still held, the opposite hand is hesitantly placed on her hip, perhaps this would be more challenging than he thought and for very different reasons. It's then that he glances down to their feet, he thinks she wont be the only one tripping over her dress before the night is through.

    Trying to escape from the crowded hall was becoming nearly impossible, having been dragged out to dance more times than he can count now. He supposes it's good practice, as he'd not partook in such activities for a while. However, while he makes to take a breather he passes a young woman with brightly coloured hair, who's movements were...well he doesn't really have a word for it. Erratic perhaps? He would have easily moved on if she'd not almost elbowed him in the face with her strange dancing.

    Any form of compliment, especially from Gerome, might have escalated in strange and unpredictable ways. So it was, perhaps, for the best that Gerome was better at expressing himself in action and writing than in speech. A glance askance is his only response for a moment, her fingers picking up her skirt as if she means to move again. She doesn’t, and should he pay close enough attention, he can see that the motion is simply a method of control, transferring the tension back into her arms and shoulders to keep from shaking.                      “You cannot be faulted, I suppose. This is hardly my usual realm of comfort.”        Lips pressing tight together, she frowns behind the mask, light and almost imperceptible. Of course he’s a great dancer. Of course. For a moment, she envies his relationship with his mother— Cherche was as talented and well-rounded as her son, nay, more so still— because he’d had the opportunity to learn everything she knew. Kjelle could hardly say the same, and what’s more, she could hardly say her mother knew a waltz from a fugue. 

                         ”I’ll admit this portion of my abilities is… lacking. However Inigo has                    been kind enough to teach me a bit. Perhaps I should let you be the judge                    of my skills?”        None of those things, however, is going to make her back down from a challenge of his.

    As one with eyes so keen as his, her tension is easily noted, although you need not be a master of perception to understand that much. He can at least empathise with her plight, and perhaps understand how she may be struggling more than he might be. "Indeed, although you seem to be adapting well enough," he'd not seen her fall over yet in the shoes she currently wore. He thinks that in itself was a task worthy of praise. It's true that there was much he learned from his mother in those short years, and much of that he continued to practice as if to feel closer to her. Formal dancing just happened to be one of those things.