silviiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiia!

Momentum Mori

“Sure can. I’ll introduce you as ‘Lady Silvia, the princess who stole my heart.’ Just make sure you hold down those drinks,” he’s beaming now, almost uncontrollably so. A smile is a staple on Lewyn’s face, but around Silvia–on this special night–he couldn’t wipe it off if he tried. It’s funny how things got to be this way; if he never ran off and abandoned the throne, he would never have met her. For all he knows, he could’ve been chained to a stuck-up bride wanting nothing more than the title of Silesse’s Queen. Things are better this way–much better. With Silvia, at least he can rest easy knowing that she actually likes him. “Last thing anyone’d want is the spittin’ image of refined tastes passed out on the dance floor.”

Her hand is taken into his, and it fits like a key in its lock. A bard’s fingers hold many things throughout life, but if Lewyn could hold only this for the rest of his, he figures that wouldn’t be a bad gig. A small squeeze is given to the Bragi girl. Perhaps it’d remind her that her dreams are becoming reality, or send some of that long-repressed love from his body to hers. In any case, he’s ecstatic to be touching something he once thought he lost. The tight grip around Silvia’s fingers would be a reminder that from now on, there’s no letting go. 

And all that’s left is to exit. The two take their time, so that Silvia can steel herself, and Lewyn may silently thank whatever god brought her here. His taller head is weighed down to rest on hers as they walk–filled with thoughts of what just happened tonight. The rumors of the Goddess Tower have proven to be true to Lewyn. Love has been brought to two souls once destined to be forever apart. 

If that’s no miracle, he’d struggle to imagine what is.

Lewyn’s never looked at her like this before.  His smile is bright and joyous.  It even reaches his eyes.  He’s always been handsome but, right now, he is stunning.  Was it really her that made him this happy?  She’d run away with him again right now if he asked her too.  She’d enlist in an army just to spend more time with him again.

“Hey!  That was only the one time!”  She tries to pout but her own grin refuses to be quelled and she laughs.

Their fingers lace together and Silvia marvels at how warm his hand is.  She looks down at their hands and smiles.  They’ve done pretty much everything else together but somehow never this.  

She knows it must just be the time they’ve spent apart and how much she wished he’d been there for her and the kids but she almost gets the sense that he feels something different toward her now.  It’s dangerous to get her hopes up like that again but she can’t help it.  It’s Lewyn.  

“Hey Lew, I...”  Silvia goes quiet.  How would she even finish that?  “I’m glad you’re back.”

"i tried to get you something a little more you… i know my style is quite a bit different from yours. i hope you enjoy it."

First Lachesis and now Edain. Silvia hadn't even expected so much as a 'happy birthday' let alone gifts. She really doesn't know how to respond and dumbly takes the package.

Even the bow is almost too beautiful to touch. She very carefully unties it and opens the box. When she sees the dress, her eyes grow wide and her jaw falls open. Very, very cautiously, Silvia pulls out the dress and holds it up. This is for her.

Well, if not, Lachesis had quite the remedy for such a shortcoming! Especially on one's own day of acknowledgment!

"Here," She offered the parcel, a smile upon her face. "Two sashes for when you perform! I feel they fit your palette, but House Nordion's sigil rests at the bottom with an embroidered rose-- a sign of our friendship! If you'd allow it, I'd love to support you at your next performance, and perhaps we might go out for tea?"

Lachesis not only approaches to wish Silvia a happy birthday but she also comes bearing a gift. The dancer is more than overwhelmed. Such kindness is so unfamiliar to her. She could probably count on her fingers how many people ever cared to celebrate her birthday before.

With nervous hands, she opens the package and pulls out the sashes. Silvia gasps. They're finer than anything she's ever owned before. Far too lovely to use dancing on street corners or in seedy bars! "Are you sure? These are really for me? Heck, they're so beautiful!"

The Nordion offers to watch a performance and Silvia has half a mind to refuse. Lachesis is far too refined and elegant for the places she dances in and the people she dances for. But this princess is not one to sit back and take nonsense from anyone. If she isn't able to cut any creeps down with her words, she's just as sharp with a blade.

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  Before he can even pull back, Silvia is reaching for him and Lene is coming in as support. He’s surrounded with few ways to leave without making a scene.

A part of him wishes to run away anyway. Who cares what scene he makes? It’d send an abundantly clear message to this woman all on its own and may even help solve his problem. And he almost does— almost has a childish fit and runs away, injured hand and all.

But Lene apologizes to him, gives him an option that’s considerate of him after all of this, and he knows she’s trying far more than him. His father wouldn’t be proud to know his son has acted this way even if he’d be gentle about it, knowing Coirpre had put up a fight against people who were willing to compromise for his sake— for keeping the peace.

This was no battleground, but it’s the most turmoil he’s experienced— far beyond any skirmish or military offensive he’s ever taken part of.

“ …Alright. I hear you, Lene. ”  He stays put, pulling the glass shard from his palm with a further wince, not wishing to have it still embedded when the wound would be closed. Blood further gushes and pools, but he does his best to remain well-behaved about it as he holds his injured hand out to Silvia.

There is no kindness in his voice. There is only the brattiness that he’s been accused of when handed off to be looked after by mercenaries who clearly wished they were doing just about anything else.

“ If you can heal, then do it. But I’m not going along with whatever plan Lewyn set you up to, approaching us as you do. ”   // @supportingdancer​

It hurts that Coipre wants nothing to do with her.  Wants to get away as soon as he can.  But Silvia gets it.  What has she ever done for him?  She left him with strangers and ran away.  Of course he must hate her for it.  She hates herself, too.

But it is sweet to see her kids looking out for each other.  Lene so easily steps in as a caring big sister.  She might have doomed them to the same motherless life she lived but at least they have each other.

Silvia gently takes hold of her son’s hand, careful not to hurt him anymore than it already is.  “I’m no cleric but I can at least stop the bleedin’.”  Her hands glow warm and magic begins to seal the gash in Coirpre’s hand.  She remembers how frustrated she’d been when she had been paid for for a dance in a magic lesson--magic isn’t going to fill her belly--but it was more than worth it now to have this chance to care for her son.

“The convent, yeah.”  She finally answers Lene’s question.  For everything she’s done, she at least owes them an explanation.  She won’t look up and her eyes remain staring at Coirpre’s palm.  “They let me give birth there but there wasn’t room for me to stay.  I swear I didn’t want to but the money ran out and I couldn’t feed ya.  You deserved a better life than livin’ on the street with me.”

It takes a moment before their mother registers Coirpre’s comment.  He knows Lewyn.  Or he at least knows of Lewyn.  She recalls the intimate moment she spent with the bard in the Goddess Tower and her cheeks flush.  “Hang on, you know Lewyn?”

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    There’s only so many pieces of glass for Coirpre to pluck up off the ground. Eventually, his excuse will run out. One by one. He can watch as it evaporates. But at the same time, the faster he can get out of this, the better.

He tells Lene to leave, but she seems to have no intention. This woman has cast a spell on her.

I must’ve been about two when a young lady, a dancer I think, left me at the convent. And that sort of explains why I became a dancer. I thought I might be able to find my mother someday if I did.

Words from a year ago ring in the back of his mind. Of course once Silvia had dropped the bait, Lene would then leap for it. Lene had even told him as such that all she danced for was for the sole purpose of finding her birth mother, and now she had gotten her wish.

If she won’t leave with him, then he’ll leave alone.

He speeds up the process, obviously rushing retrieving the glass shards off the floor until his haste leads itself to hubris. Crimson stains the ballroom floor, dripped from his hand as he winces in pain, biting his lip to suppress the noise that dares to try and slip out of his mouth.

He’s stabbed himself in the palm with a greater amount of force than even he could have anticipated, blood gushing out of its center and splitting his skin. // @supportingdancer

The convent.  Silvia is convinced.  As impossible as it is, these have to be her kids.  Suddenly the music is way too loud and the ballroom is overcrowded.

She should say something.  There are so many things she knows she should say or wants to ask.  But she just stands there staring.  The dancer came here to avoid ever having to face her children and yet here they are.  They’re here and old enough to fully understand what she did to them by leaving them with the nuns.  

It feels like someone just sat on her chest.

Coirpre cuts himself and his pained expression breaks his mother out of her stunned stupor.  Silvia never thought she was much of a mother or possessed any kind of maternal instincts--not in the way some of the others like Edain or Deirdre did--but seeing her grown son hurting lights a fire in her.  

Points Earned: 1

Check: Reason +1

Skill Changes

Reason: E -> E+

Classes Unlocked

Dancer

Rewards

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    “ No, ”  Coirpre answers immediately, gaze only hardening even more. There are many things to question about this scenario, but not a single one of those questions is about what emotions he feels right in this very moment.

Lene’s hand is one that tries to offer comfort, but he doesn’t know if he can accept it in their present circumstances, knowing what he does. He crouches down, partly to escape both her and having to look at the woman with them, using the justification of carefully picking up the shards of glass from the floor, gathering them into the palm of his other hand.

It’s the right thing to do, he tells himself, but it also buys him time to solitude. He wants Altena. He wants Hannibal. He wants someone— anyone he would call family and know it would feel right.

Not this.  

“ We should leave, Lene, ”  he tells her as he’s doing this, voice icy and firm. It is said not only to her but also as a warning to Silvia as well— a wall that tries to set itself up between them.  // @supportingdancer​ 

"No, don't!" Silvia reaches out toward them but immediately withdraws her hand. This Coirpre already seems freaked out enough. Instead she plays with the ends of Edain's ribbon tied around her waist. She wishes Lewyn was her. He always knows exactly what to say in any situation. Maybe he'd even offer to hold her hand again.

Then again, if these somehow really are her kids, maybe that's not the best idea.

"Sorry, I...my kids are named Lene and Coirpre. You two even look like you could be them if they were grown." Her tongue stumbles clumsily in her mouth as she tries to explain it. None of it makes any dang sense. It's impossible. There's no way. But if Silvia doesn't ask while she still has the chance it's gonna bug her forever.

"I'm gonna sound like I'm ravin' mad but you didn't grow up in Dahna, didja?"

Momentum Mori

Ah, threats. How very ‘Silvia’. Lewyn’s used to hearing these kinds of things, so he’s able to laugh off the idea of getting tag-teamed by both the dancer and the diviner, but he wonders if someone else would’ve taken this sort of thing the wrong way. Even if they would, it doesn’t matter now. Nobody else will ever have to deal with Silvia clinging onto their arm now that she’s here with Lewyn. He wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Just remember that this ain’t gonna be like last time. I’m actually into you now–the real you–so I won’t be goin’ anywhere any time soon.” Always a tease, that Lewyn. His hand briefly leaves Silvia’s body to gentle tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. Though he’s quick to make light of their situation, he wants the dancer to know he deeply cares for her. This small gesture is an easy way of doing that. “Don’t come cryin’ to me when you’re sick of seeing me either.” 

He’s then quick to pull her into another hugging embrace. The two had been conversing about some heavy topics for a good while now, and Lewyn feels as though they’d need a little something extra to lighten the mood. His face, though it retains its charming aura, has a more sentimental touch to it now. There’s simply something about this dancer girl that gradually unearths a softer side to Lewyn. 

“You ready to head back down now? I can hold your hand like you’ve always wanted.”

“You’re into me!?”  He’s never said anything like that before.  Even back in Augustria when they had their little fling.  He said she was cute, he let her stay with him, he didn’t beat her but he never said anything about being interested.  As much as she convinced herself that he really did like her and he really did want her around, she knows now that she could’ve been any girl and it wouldn’t have made much of a different.

Something about him is different now.  He talks about the ‘real’ her.  He’s gentle as he tucks her hair behind her ear.  She’d only had attention like this from a man once before and she had given up all hope that she might ever find it again.  Especially from Lewyn.

Lewyn pulls her in tight again and she stops and thinks about how different it is from the times he has held her before.  She can’t quite explain it exactly but she feels safe.  He really, actually might just genuinely want her.  It’s terrifying and exhilarating.

Silvia nods when he offers to hold her hand, at a loss for words that is so very unlike her.  She has always wanted this.  A public acknowledgement of affection that’s proof that he isn’t ashamed to be with her.  Something that’s more than just fooling around behind closed doors.  “Can we pretend I’m a real lady?  Sip on fancy champagne and dance like nobles?”

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    It’s been a while since Lene has said she’d go to get some water for them both. Coirpre grows a bit concerned, wondering if she might have been accosted by someone who doesn’t mean well. Dancers, after all, were always the type to be targeted by scum. Though Lene’s reasons for dancing have nothing to do with that, that did not mean she was entirely invincible against anything like it, and so even though Coirpre knows the best thing to do when wanting to be found is to stay put, he starts moving instead, weaving through crowds for any sign of her.

He rudely passes by those who try to make conversation with him, those who try to congratulate him or try to even rope him into a dance as one of the runner-ups, mind focused all on one thing: find Lene.

It is only when he hears his name called by her voice that he feels any more at ease, though he tries not to show his worry too much on his face regardless.

“ Coming! ”  he calls back to her, kicking his feet towards the direction he heard her, moving closer, calling once more,  “ Lene! I was looking for y— ”

When he gets there though, his body freezes. Keen eyes look at the woman past her in disbelief, approaching Lene from behind, and he realizes then he had been careless.

He had thought it’d be awful men who would approach Lene, but he had forgotten another worry he had had this entire night: Silvia. The name Lewyn and some stranger had both mentioned, a name that burdened Coirpre both times it had been uttered.

Coirpre wasn’t stupid. Though he hadn’t seen this woman before, he knew she was Silvia. She had been the one who had been dancing with Lewyn before. She had been the name signed up with the tactician for the White Heron Cup. She must then be the Silvia he had been talking about, even if she hadn’t told Coirpre this fact herself.

Lene may have gotten Coirpre a glass of water, but the realization that sets in almost immediately has him dropping the glass the moment he is given it, a sharp noise cutting what merry mood the older woman had been trying to set.

This was the one woman he had never wanted to meet.   // @supportingdancer​ 

“Coirpre...?”  Silvia’s voice is quiet and drowned out by his entrance as she tries to wrap her head around the weird coincidence that this kid has the same name as her son.  When he approaches he even looks like he could be her son.  Well, brother would be more accurate.  He can’t be much younger than she is.

“Wait, LENE!?”  She doesn’t even register the fact that she’s been splashed with the dropped water.  These two dancers both shared the same name as her very young children.  They looked like her even.  It doesn’t make sense.  It’s way too similar to be a coincidence but the alternative makes even less sense.

She came here to get away and distance herself from what she had to do to her poor babies.  Is this supposed to be some kind of a nasty joke?