[ CHAOS ] - A dance that is difficult to define by virtue of its nature as a medley of popular dance moves across history that somehow come together to form an entertaining, if chaotic, whole.
(An excellent sense of rhythm. Coordination and flexibility that can only be honed by years of training. The impeccable footwork. All for this. Alcryst is clearly having the time of his life though! Thank you, dance parties of Solm)
At once, the ball is both everything and nothing like what he’d predicted it would be.
It’s formal, in ways that are sometimes stifling. As if everyone is set in the middle of a thousand different performances at once, all with underlying scores that don’t quite mix well together. It’s disjointed, and Seadall finds himself at the edges of complete anarchy with his arms outstretched with the relentless need to fit the pieces together in a way that pleases him.
A fool’s errand, and one that leads him towards the path of destruction - waltzing with a woman he doesn’t get to introduce himself to only to whip into a fast-footed foxtrot. Spinning in wide arcs that allow him to bypass the dancers that choose to stand still.
Then, there’s Alcryst. Seadall sees him long before he’s able to approach, marveling at the sweet stretch of a smile that relaxes features usually tense with worry. He looks younger, for all that the way he stomps his feet seconds behind the beat creates a needle that drives into his head to the tempo of it.
They collide. “Oh,” He doesn’t mean for it to happen, but the other’s backwards step and flailing arms dig into the trail of silk attached to Seadall’s arm, reeling him closer. It’s jarring, jolting a few steps to match the pace with which the prince moves. “Ah, -” He can’t help the laughter the falls forth, placing a hand on Alcryst’s shoulder to smooth their circles long enough to untangle himself. “You’re enjoying yourself,” He notes, eyes warm under the bright lights as he catalogues this new, wonderful expression he can’t recall Alcryst ever making.
As they dance in proximity, he can’t help but adjust, hands guiding the twist of his shoulders every now and then to add a touch of grace to the…choice of dance. For his own sanity! “May I…dance with you?” He’s still not certain it can be called dance, but for now, he can (attempt) to push it aside.