#c:prudence

“I feel you have an eye for these things,” Allard declared. He paused, let the statement sit as he took a sip of his drink. “What do you think of the buildings in Thirteen?”

@gardien-du-secret​

“You!” Zafiro’s long fingers close around Prudence LaVoie’s wrist. He knows her through the both of them knowing Zoya, but hasn’t seen her around in some time. He’s long since stopped asking Zoya about the people who come and go from her life. She has her reasons for everything, and if she wanted him to know, she would tell him. He trusts that, unwaveringly, but even if there is something more underlying the absence of Prudence from her life, he isn’t about to be unkind to her now. Not when he was so merry from wine and mirth.

“You simply have to dance with me, Miss LaVoie,” he gushes, gently pulling her towards the dance floor. “Everyone will be so jealous, you see, that I have the best dancer in London as my partner. By the way, did I ever tell you how much I enjoyed your Nikiya last season? Moved me to tears.” He keeps up the steady stream of chatter as he gets them into position for the dance, releasing her wrist to clasp her hand. 

“I’ll even let you lead,” he shoots her a wink. “As long as you make me look good.”

For about an hour after arriving, all Daya wanted was to go home. Coming here was a mistake. She didn’t want to dance, didn’t want to talk to anybody, and had refused every request to dance, to take a walk, or to otherwise do anything social. There was once a time where she was the life and soul of the party, but she had quite forgotten how. So in the absence of any sense of joy about the ball, she had occupied her time by downing glass after glass of wine. 

But her cup was annoyingly empty. She has moved past her uncomfortableness, now, filled with a pleasant buzz. She’s not much of a drinker normally, but there is no avoiding it tonight. In search of a fresh glass, she moves through the crowd, gaze darting left to right until she spots a tray with one left. Perfect. 

She moves to the tray, hand outstretched, but she is not the only one reaching for it. She looks up, blinks and forces a smile on her face. “You take it,” she drops her hand, stepping back in defeat. “I think - I think I’ve had enough, anyway.”

Bill is no stranger to balls and parties, though he holds little taste for such matters. They are simply part of his job, a key way to rub elbows with people who could be of use for him. But. Bill does not know who this mysterious Mister Ashton was, nor what business he had welcoming half of London, rich and poor, into his estate, a place Bill has never heard of. It is a mystery - and that alone is the only reason he contemplates attendance, the beguiling lure of a secret to be uncovered and capitalised upon drawing him in. Perhaps there is nothing at all to be discovered - but if there is, and there is some hidden, unseen reason for all of this, Bill wants to be at the forefront. He has never taken kindly to being kept in the dark. 

But if he is to attend, there is one small matter that will need to be attended to - that of a costume. Bill had thought long and hard. it would not do to commission something new. That is not the type of image he wanted to portray, a man who spends money on such frivolities as fancy dress while his constituents suffer. Neither can he attend with no costume at all. To do so would be considered a great insult to his host, and that is similarly to be avoided if he can help it. There are few options remaining to him, and The Theatre Royal is, perhaps, a final port of call. 

He rifles through old costumes, kept in an airy wardrobe backstage at the theatre. Most are entirely unsuitable, too flashy, too tight, to terribly gaudy for him to even consider. Such attire might suit a danseur pirouetting across the stage, but not a politician. His hands hind a soft white-and-red garment, something akin to a long wrapped sheet, and his eyes spark with recognition. “Nero,” he mutters, the idea coming to him. It is then that he looks up, looks aroud, and invites the dancer lingering nearby into conversation. “What do you think? Is it too on the nose?”

Pairing: Prudence/Eleanor

Type: Double Drabble

Prudence just couldn’t stop laughing, she knew that Eleanor was giving her the look, but she couldn’t help herself, it was too funny see the great queen Eleanor struggling with a piece of wrapped paper, and to be honest with herself Prudence was enjoying the cute annoyed look in her wife’s face. “I’m sorry baby, I’m so sorry, it’s just…You look so cute when struggling like a child.” Eleanor scowled at her clearly annoyed by the way Prudence was still laughing at her. “My life would be so boring without you in it” The ginger queen told between smiles. In deed her life would be nothing without Eleanor and the family they had made.