#e0nian

With a flitter of two fingers, a delicate thud, a steaming show of porcelain rests before Erin. Inviting, and with an intrusive aroma, Sariel sips at her own glass before flexing the dull ache from her fingers, blessed to be free from the weight of two handles. Her eyes never shift from the book in her opposite hand as she approaches from behind, and on to the flooding light of the nearest window. "...You can leave it if you like.” Needless, she supposes, to think too hard on how a human had made its way into her home. And had she seen this face before...? Regardless, as she shifts to face the stranger (while sparing no glance from the modest text, of course), she speaks from a place of airy, umbilical politeness. No need to dismay the woman, for whatever business she has here is her own concern (a mystery, indeed).

She’s more than a little surprised...and confused.  Or perhaps confused was the wrong term...but she didn’t have a better one yet, and Gabriel did tend to do this to her, prompt this feeling of...bewilderment.  Complete lack of control.  It seemed to her he had mentioned this was his Sariel’s home before, though apparently he had his own rooms in it.

She remembered the woman, striking as she was, she stuck in the memory, but too she remembered all the things she’d learned about her, all the information that Darius told her...and then what Gabriel said after.  She isn’t totally sure what to think, but the drink is probably fine.

Timid footsteps halt short of fully approaching the figure in the dark. He’s hesitant, in that he’s not able to see too well, but he also doesn’t feel right just leaving if something is wrong.

(continued from here)

{ ♚ }  She didn’t know what it was about this day; on a typical morning, Sariel would prefer to find herself immersed in a thought-enriching book, or perhaps a lovely little   [ and perhaps completely unnecessary ]   experiment of alchemic design for recreation’s sake.  Anything to discourage the inquisitive eye and tongue of a meddlesome stranger.

 On this day, however- the first in a blue moon- she’d found herself inspired by the taunt of a venerable interest.  She cared little for manners initially, but today, her gaze was bold as she scrutinized the man before her.  It wasn’t that she’d found him particularly remarkable, no; she simply found herself apathetic to any discomfort she may be causing in favor of a rare interest in the people around her.  Today, this man had the unfortunate distinction of being the one who’d caught her eye.

 “  If you’d prefer, I can take a picture, ”   She spoke with an uncommonly satisfying snark that only a day like this would allow,  “ I’ve always favored studying that which can’t analyse back. ”

“Is that supposed to be an insult...?” Slight irritation could be heard from his cold voice as his crimson eyes fully shifted towards the female’s, now having his attention. “You have a sharp tongue, although spewing words like that could you cost your life one day...”

Jack’s smile BRIGHTEN as he saw the other’s reaction to his little GIFT, he was happy he could make the other laugh, it appeared they were ALONE on a holiday that was primarily for COUPLES. Jack just enjoyed the colours, love, and decorations so being single didn’t BOTHER him (thats a lie but its FINE).

@e0nian

“Knowing you, I’m not sure whether that means a portrait on canvas or my skin.”  Knowing him, both.  Especially now that she’d voiced the thought.  Even so, Erin smiled a little at the angel, faintly, glancing between him and her task, repairing one of her skirts.  He wanted attention.  He always wanted attention, unless he didn’t, very much like a cat...probably the most apt comparison to him that could be made.

“No extensive tattoos.”  She had a few already, but they could be covered easily with clothing.  Having him do up her arms and legs would limit her travel options in the future, and if there was one thing Erin hated it was being limited as to where she could go.

@e0nian

@e0nian​ said:  "Well, this is curious..." he muses, hardly loud enough to be heard over the echo of a song that seems to never end from the halls far behind them. The smooth darkness of his bare toes is stark even in the moonlight as he pads through the white sand to her, drink in hand and giving little heed to the mess that would become of his lavish clothes. "This beach is private property; I can only assume you're a guest..." He raises a cheeky brow. "Heaven forbid you're a host. Don't care to mingle?"

Unprompted IC asks: Accepting from mutuals!

Even in her supposedly-subtle departure from the lively party, she'd been spotted. Just as well: Sonia had a problem when it came to bunking off in the middle of a work event, even when an official appearance blurred the lines between professional event and recreation. It was the sheer fact that in a lavish beachside villa, filled with the wealthy, powerful, or otherwise famous, it was difficult for her to shake the necessity to be a princess instead of a person.

It was why, despite the breadth of white sand beneath the moonlit sky, she'd chosen the single bench close to the villa. It was why she'd held up the hems of layered pale turquoise chiffon gown when she'd traipsed across the small bit of sand to reach her spot, and why a pair of silver heels were set neatly beside her as opposed to being left elsewhere: in the sand or, more aptly, tossed into her car or her luggage where she hoped she'd be free of that particularly dreaded pair that pinched her toes. Sandy hems and a lack of shoes didn't suit a princess, or at least the princess others wished to meet.

She was always 'on' now. As a child and teen Sonia had wailed (mostly inwardly, occasionally to a member of staff assigned to listen to her) that she hardly ever was permitted to be herself: just the Princess of Novoselic. Now, she had no choice but to shake her head and understand how wrong she'd been: she'd had far more freedom then, far more chances to be reckless with her interests and her passions. Now, it was a constant awareness of cameras, how she smiled and the words that spilled from her lips and how it could all, if they wanted, be twisted and turned against her. The blonde still believed in the goodness in the world: that was something no amount of spitefulness could ever shake. But there was a certain level of care, of hesitation, in her own conduct now. It was necessary.

"Your assumption is the correct one, Sir," Sonia smiled, "About the part of me being a guest, not the rest of it. I simply needed a small reprieve from greetings and photographs, and at events like this one, breaks are not formally part of the schedule. So I must create my own sanctuary when and where I can."