#cervanke

as the cacophony of stomping starts up——sounding less like people learning a dance and more like a bunch of angry horses had shown up in the ballroom——she spots another girl also emerging from the same crowd and gives her a sympathetic smile. "not your kind of thing either, huh?" grabbing her lily bouquet from where she'd left it, a hand extends one naturally by way of acknowledgement.

no, it absolutely isn't—were she in the mood to get trampled on an evening as fine as this one, she'd have gone to the racetracks and stood in a horse's path instead.

the remark prompts a quirked brow, followed by a good-natured huff that quietly concedes defeat. to think that despite her attempts at politeness, a sudden departure had left enough of an impact to turn into small talk-!

"that obvious? i was hoping no one would notice."

it's hardly a loss when she much prefers to be in the company of another this way: conversing freely, with no strings tugging them one way or another. "maybe i'm not the actress i thought i was."

and bumps into someone. "oh! i'm sorry——" a girl in a blood-red dress embellished with a bust of flowers is her unwitting victim, familiar. hold on, hadn't she seen her somewhere. . . ? "wasn't paying attention to what was around me."

Out of all the dances she's learned through court and ancient walls, it is this one that speaks a story of plight and future. Intrigue flourishes in her eyes as the story unfolds. Every step they take is timed; ineloquent, unlike Adrestia's. They stand apart, wary of getting close through sharp turns and dramatic spins. As they near in proximity, their hands reach out— Brief, hesitant, until they retract to the bases in which they belonged. There is no trust.

Not yet. Two pour as if they are five. One's hands widen open; another's are closed tight. It's nothing like the eagle-type motion embellished in Adrestia's signatures.

Brought away, Edelgard is quick to acknowledge the clash with a step back and graceful motion of the head: "There's no need. I can hardly blame you. This area is far more crowded than others." How could it not be? Not when the display etches the very being their eyes are witnessing, bringing forward a knowledge she and many others would have lacked without it. She gives this encompassment to no credit of the church, but of the people who brought fact in the first place.

. . . well, he could think about it whatever he wanted.

the fact alone that she was standing here handing out flowers meant he hadn't said anything to anyone yet. face steadily neutral and the energy dropping from her voice, she holds out the hydrangeas anyway, mechanically ; no point making it even more uncomfortable. "these will make up the base of the arrangement, so go ahead and put them in however you like."

Maybe it was suspicion, and not interest, that brings Ronan over to the flower arrangement station, but the cool disinterest he would ordinarily show toward the activity makes for a convenient cover while he waits to be called. His true aim is to try to spot flecks of blood or other signs of dishonesty in Ananke's demeanor, as if to make up for how blind he'd been the last time they'd worked together, but glimpses of her from the other side of the counter yield nothing. Or maybe he hoped that he'd find nothing at all, and that would be all the proof he'd need to tell himself that the last time had just been a fluke, a product of circumstance, and that she wasn't capable of cold-blooded murder all on her own. Because he'd liked her - likes her still - and hurts all the more for it.

His heart isn't exactly certain why he's here, or what he wants, but uneasy relief comes when he's finally called over because it means he'll finally have something to do with his hands. As instructed, he grabs one of the prepared vases and brings it to the table, eyes meeting with those of his now-instructor and casting a chill over the room.

"... Sure," he says, skipping a greeting entirely for lack of an appropriate one, and dropping the stalks of the vibrant flowerheads into the vase quite artlessly. This isn't the kind of thing he would ever do on his own, and even now that he's here creating the "base" for an arrangement, he struggles to understand why they must be arranged at all - why not drop a handful of wildflowers into the vase or tie them into a bundle? Suddenly though, he becomes aware that neither of them have said anything for a while.

"Have you been busy?" he grasps for smalltalk instead of the accusations that clamor loudly in his mind. If he had really distrusted her, she wouldn't be here. But if he actually trusted her, then he wouldn't be here either. Already nearly through the hydrangeas, he raises his eyes with the intent to probe, only to be disarmed by cervine features. Deer were innocent creatures by nature - he had spent enough time watching them to know - so what comes out of his mouth next is a more innocent curiosity to match.

"... is it true that flowers can talk?"

Far more than practicing the dance, he had been hoping to get rid of more of the flowers that made up his bouquet. Having seen the young lady mingling around the outskirts of the room, he thought this might have made for an easy opportunity. Her rejection was a surprise, but he was grateful that she took it regardless, even if it was only to burden him with another flower in return. Finn sighs as the lily is tucked away admit a sea of orchids.

"I have someone with rather high expectations waiting to check in on me at some point during the night. I am sure if she does not see me attempting to practice at least once before her return, she will have strong words for me to suffer." Though, knowing her, she will probably have complaints even if he does...

Nevermind. It would be a disservice to waste this young lady's time with unattainable standards. In response to her name, he gives her a short bow. "A pleasure to meet you. My name is Finn, a knight in service to house Leonster. I appreciate your aid in this."

Giving out swords freely like this seems rather irresponsible, not to mention expensive when looking at the quality of the blade. He frowns at the sword before looking back to Ananke. "I feel it best to warn that I am also learning this dance as we go." And still, he slides into the starting position that he had seen the others demonstrate. "If that does not inspire confident in you, I will not stop you from choosing to leave."

Wardrobe mishaps loved to appear at the most inopportune times. One moment, Céline is enjoying a pleasant conversation with the daughter of a trading business, and the next, she feels the fastening at the back of her bodice begin to loosen. It wasn't as though she particularly had much to show, but flashing a room full of people wasn't quite the sort of diplomacy she wished to engage in.

And so, with a request to excuse herself for a pressing royal matter, Firene's princess makes a tactful retreat towards a more secluded area of the venue. A dark corner, a side hall that was completely out of the way, so she could take a moment to tighten her dress...

Alas, the hall she steps into isn't empty at all—there stands a woman, quite literally like a deer in headlights (those ears are the first thing to capture Céline's attention), holding a cup of... snacks?

She pauses to register the scent in the air. A hint of butter, spice, lime... mm, definitely snacks.

At first glance, the woman certainly stands out from the glitz and glamour displayed throughout the rest of the ball. But the embroidery of her dress. The necklace, the beads... it had a traditional, home-like feel to it. Cultural, perhaps.

Céline smiles, "...I suppose we had a similar idea, hm? Seems we both share a strong need to duck away from prying eyes for a bit." A giggle, "Please, don't mind me. Do as you will. I came to simply retie the string on my dress..."