#sollegro

it becomes abundantly clear to dorothea that this stranger makes for very good company.

charming in the way so many noblemen are not — apt at carrying conversation rather than forcing her to pick up the slack, and friendly in a manner that doesn't make the fine hairs on her arm stand.

the little tells always give away more than the overt ones, and dorothea notes that beyond the compliments and the teasing, there is something else there. an earnest kind of honesty, buried beneath a flirtatious exterior, in wanting to get to know another. a willingness to wear her heart on her sleeve, and a readiness to lay herself bare.

thus, the songstress indulges, accepting the bowl with one hand and offering one of her blooms with the other. she beckons the girl over to a spare table where they might sit and chat, when conversation rolls over unexpectedly as it dawns on dorothea that there is something ... familiar about her.

"i may be off the mark with this," she says with a breezy laugh, "but i have to ask."

"I heard she ----- in the stairwell. Right there! The cooks even heard-"

On principle, Sylvain both listens and participates in the rumors that fly through Garreg Mach. Sometimes important, other times useless, but always entertaining.

( And the rumors that fly about him? Well, he's earned every single sentence to his name! )

One of the servants claps a hand over her mouth, so red that Sylvain pinches a strand of his own fire-spun hair for immediate comparison. "Are you serious?" The whisper is more of a shout. Sylvain thinks she's going to pass out right then and there. She doesn't. "Is that. Is that something that. People do? For...for fun?"

The blushing woman is escorted away, and Sylvain is left with nothing but open curiosity. He's impressed! Soleil might just be outdoing him on rumors alone."I've heard you've been busy." He says, in the tone of someone that knows something and intends to hold it over someone's head.

this continues for at least ten more texts.

[ TXT ]: ur not still mad 🤬 at me 4 sneezing In ur face rite

text me please | Not Accepting!

[ TXT ] : [Read]

A long pause before the next text message is sent.

FOR SOMEONE WHO CLAIMED NOT TO KNOW HER ,　𑣲　she was pretty bold about acting like she did. she can't remember if soleil had been like this when she'd first met her too. . . the circumstances then had been so different. but it makes her wonder——did she really come from some other past, like she'd made it sound like? or was there just something. . . wrong? memory loss, or something strange about fódlan messing with her, and this really was the soleil she knew, just brainwashed or something?

it's not like she's going to find out by just staring at her hard enough while she gets up there to request the next song from the band. caeldori sighs, looking down to pick thoughtlessly through the orchids in her hand and count how many people she'd have to find tonight to give all of them away. . .

when she hears her name called.

at first, head snapping up, she assumes it's someone she knows, scanning the heads of the crowd for a familiar face making their way through, only for her search to eventually land on the expectant eyes at the front and soleil, waving and jumping and calling her name too. did she. . . want her to come up?

bewildered steps squeeze their way through the dense warren of ball-goers to the stage where the band sits. "is something wrong?"

"you've been nominated to sing a piece," the violinist replies to caeldori's stunned surprise——then rapidly-onset horror.

"sing a piece? wh——no, i'm not really not much of a singer." she casts a look behind her shoulder to the crowds milling throughout the enormous room. all those people, hearing her? not warmed up? unpracticed? just to sound passably mediocre? she couldn't imagine anything worse.

Dancing with Soleil is easy.

It's more than the familiar comforts of home without the burden of the crown; it's the natural way they still move together, perfected when the stakes were much higher and the songs less sweet. She steps right; he mirrors left. She advances; he retreats. No matter how crowded the ballroom gets with experienced and novice dancers alike, they don't miss a single beat as they weave in and out, close and away.

—even if their maneuvers are a far, far cry from what his tutors once taught. Still, it's fun—and that's kind of a marvel, that he would find this so enjoyable when it's such an abrupt departure from everything he'd once practiced ad nauseam. They hardly make it a minute into the song before they're doing something else entirely, Nohrian in its footsteps but Soleil in everything else. Dancing might not be her strong suit, but Siegbert counts her among his own—and so it's easy to keep up, anticipating each movement and meeting her halfway.

By the end of it, he can't help the smile that pulls at his cheeks.

"You truly are one of a kind, Soleil," he says, when they part and bow and still remain past it all. "I hadn't thought dancing could be so enjoyable; in fact, I daresay that was the most fun I've had in quite a while. Nothing you did was traditional in any sense, but it was all very you. Though..."

His smile tips a little sheepish, a little fond—and, if one were to squint, maybe even a little amused.

Oh, so she thinks that she can run away unpunished, does she?

Attempting such a ridiculous plan in such close proximity to the banquet table was quite a brave move on Soleil's part. Was she unaware of how much potential ammunition was right here at Mitama's fingertips, or was she simply too blinded by her own passions to realize what she was casting onto herself?

Mitama places down the plate of pastries, reaching instead for one of the box of chocolates. It is already opened and missing half its contents, but that is quite alright. That just makes her vengeance easier.

"Soleil." Her name comes out in a sing-songy tone that is hardly inviting as she slowly approaches her coughing friend. A piece of chocolate in the palm of her hand begins to soften and melt quickly, and a little bit of magic does the job in speeding it along. "Did you think you could dart away without allowing me to return the favour? How cruel! Here, I simply must insist!"

Fair is fair, after all, as Mitama dives in laughing as she attempts to smear the melted chocolate in her hand across Soleil's face.

she grins, fingertips alight and the flames ghoulish on her person. she at least had the sense to abandon her tailcoat. ( not much else, though! ) "ready?"

by the first dragons, out of all the dances, why did soleil have to choose this one?

"wait a second," is all shigure says, though, as he gathers both of their bouquets and gently sets the flowers on a side table. better to risk less collateral damage --- soleil would be devastated if all her hard work from tonight simply went up in smoke.

( in the moment, it doesn't occur to him to tell her no. it will never occur to him, not even in the distant future, that he could, or should have. )

"okay," he nods, setting himself back in position, amber eyes focused upon the unsteady flame in her hand. if he recalls correctly, it's meant to be passed from partner to partner---and so as long as he stays on his toes, surely it'll turn out just fine.