#melox

ABOUT DAMN TIME I POSTED SOME MELOX ON MY BLOG

Vox inhaled deeply, a sense of contentment filling in her chest like a warm fog-- the music, the eloquence, the properness struck a particular chord in her, as did the glittering golds and silvers and the rich reds and purples. She could almost hear Tatiana’s humming, the smell of her perfume. (Although she wasn’t bitter and she wasn’t sad. The time for that has passed.) The spinning of the dancers on the dance floor before them was nothing short of a performance, and from their place behind the broad dining table at the head of the hall, it looked expertly choreographed and performed. Vox wouldn’t be surprised if it was. The best for the Queen.

What made it even better--although she would never admit it--was Melo next to her, for once not being an insufferable pain in the neck, dressed in their formal wear, snow-white hair braided in intricate patterns, grinning almost as brilliantly as the silver in their hair and on their dress. Vox couldn’t help but smile, too. They looked like a child.

The Queen made a toast. Everyone drank. People came and went from the dancefloor. Vox’s job was easy-- this time, at least. There was nothing wrong to be felt for miles. 

“So, lovely tough Jedi,” Melo said, leaning a bit closer. (Vox met their gaze with a mostly patient look. Wondered very distantly why they looked like they wanted the ground to swallow them whole.) “D- d- uh. Would you like to dance with me?”

Vox found herself smiling before she even thought about it. Melo. And her. Dancing? “You know how to dance?”

“Well- I, uh-- yeah! Of course.” They looked more than moderately nervous. “This-- uh, this song, it’s traditional, from Arkania, where-- uh--”