#sylphade

 “What? Don’t tease me like that, my heart really skipped a beat for a moment!” She playfully holds a hand to her heart and laughs along with Dorothea, relieved to find that the other girl was fairly down-to-earth. Some performers could get swept up into the fame and glamour of showbusiness, and Lene figured that might be especially true for a diva from a rich country like Adrestia.

    But sometimes, it was the opposite. Sometimes, a person in the limelight needed to stay grounded, else they lose sight of themselves and their goals, and be crushed underneath the weight of scrutiny and expectation.

    Lene pulls out her card and offers it to Dorothea, taking that moment to stamp the other woman’s with her own initial: ‘L’. “I’ve got that look about me, huh? Must be my amazing legs.” She chuckles, “But no, you’re right. Dancing’s my trade! I pretty much do it for a living. Never been one for court waltzes, though.”

[x]

With a smile, she tucks her newly signed card away after doing the same to Lene’s. Even if these cards are so simplistic in nature, she’s sure there are people here only wishing for specific people to sign theirs. Those of status, of power- She can’t stand nobles like that.

Although Dorothea’s expertise lies within singing and her operatic experiences, that hardly means to say her dancing talents are subpar. Though, if it’s Lene’s livelihood, Dorothea can’t help and grow even more curious at how fantastic she must be. “Oh yeah? What’s your specialty, then? Quick-paced? Improvisation?” Much as she harbors knowledge about waltzes herself, often did they lie within the noble family’s ideals. If she couldn’t shine, she’d only end up stuck in an eternal loop of staring off into the stars at a dimming light.

As disappointing as Lewyn's (it definitely was all his fault) performance had been when it was their turn, Silvia sticks around to watch the rest of the White Heron Cup. There are a lot of impressive and promising dancers but one pair sticks out to her. A blonde boy and a green haired girl tearing through the competition. It's strange. There's something about the two of them that really reminds Silvia of her own children. She can see Coirpre and Lene growing up to look like that. Maybe one day they'll attend a fine academy like this too. They'll be successful and smart and have every opportunity Silvia herself had never been offered.

The girl in particular dances with a natural grace. She puts her whole heart into her movement. Silvia can tell that immediately. She approaches her after the competition concludes with the intent to congratulate her and possibly even swap some pointers.

"Hi, I'm Silvia! I'm a dancer and wow, you really are good. Beautiful, graceful...you don't see folks with that much talent even in my profession."

"Hello! You're Saias, right? I'm Lene. We're in the same house." She offers her hand for a friendly shake, signet ring glinting under the light of the chandelier. "Care for a dance? Or we could just trade stamps, if you'd rather that."

"Hello, Lene! It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he greets the verdette girl with a smile, shaking her hand. Although it still feels odd whenever it occurs, after many months here Saias has become more accustomed to strangers recognizing him or his name. “Yes, that would be me. I don’t mind a dance at all! Perhaps we could trade stamps first so that we don’t forget, and then dance?” Even though they share a House, this is the first time he’s met her, and he might as well try to make friends with her. I wonder what her favorite subjects are here? Her slight build leads me to think magic, but it’s possible that she prefers physical weapons far more.

Pulling out his own card, he hands it to Lene and waits for her to hand hers over while adjusting his signet ring. “If you’ve heard about me before, is it safe to say you’re from Jugdral as well? Unfortunately I haven’t exactly been around the continent very much, so I haven’t gotten a chance to meet people from there until now. Everyone I know from there I met through the academy.” He doesn’t even know the choreography for the traditional Grannvalian waltz that many people are performing on the dance floor, and a part of him feels the keen loss, bereft of an upbringing that should have been his if not for the Loptous cult’s machinations.

"Um, hi... can I just say that your dress is AMAZING? Like, I hope that's not too strange to say?" The dancer laughs, almost sheepishly. "I'd love it if you would share a dance with me too, but only if you'd like! I can also stamp your card, if you need?"

Her face is aflame at the young woman's compliment but Elincia can do naught but smile in response. She holds her hand out for her companion to take, listening intently to the beautiful melody of her laugh.

“You flatter me, truly. Such a compliment is far too kind, especially for one as beautiful as yourself,” Elincia allows herself to be guided onto the dancefloor, enchanted by both the stranger who takes her hand and the melody that plays for them both. It’s an easy, slightly jaunty tune. Nothing too grave or proper, rather a song intended to be danced to with joy and lightness in one’s heart. “I’d love to dance with you, although I apologise. I’m not well-trained in ballroom styles. Still, isn’t dancing supposed to be fun?”

Lene shakes off the thought. "I... didn't expect to see you here. How've you been?"

Jugdral, Shannan could not speak for. Isaach was left in capable hands though. Seeing a comrade currently not having a mental breakdown was absolutely invigorating, as sad as that may be. Shannan and Lene... well, they were not particularly close per say, though there was no inherent ill will. Perhaps this is one of the better changes about being here.

"If I run at Ares, he will most certainly catch me in his arms." The idea suddenly comes to mind when Lene spots her favorite brooding knight standing in front of one of those photo-artifex machines, nudging a random classmate as she makes her bet. They're incredulous, of course, but they also didn't know Ares. No matter what came his way, he was always as sharp as a tack.

And maaaybe she also liked messing with him. Just a little.

"Yoo-hoo, Areeeees!" Lene breaks out into a run towards Nordion's heir, leaping for him just as a brilliant flash flares from the machine.

Cheese plate in hand, Ares enjoys a brief moment of peace during the knight's festivities. Of course it had been quiet for far too long. He was beginning to get suspicious that something was afoot.

"Yoo-hoo, Areeeees!" Ah, there we go. The tranquility is broken by Lene’s cheerful voice reverberating around the room. She really has a pair of lungs on her. Ares turns, a half smile on his face ready to tease her for being so loud when.

Gods, she was charging straight at him! Lene leaps into the air and, entirely instinctively, Ares drops the plate, letting it fall to the floor as he prepares to catch her.

Click!

He holds her close to his chest in a princess carry, expression blank with shock. Then his brows knit together - she could have been seriously hurt if he hadn’t caught her. If he’d been carrying glass, someone else could have slipped and fallen face first into it. Stern and stony faced, Ares scolds her.

“Don’t you think that was reckl--” or well, he tries to. Lene’s eyes are bright with delight, her smile putting laughter-loving Aphrodite to shame. His shoulders fall. No one was hurt, so he supposes that just this once, it’s fine. When Lene is so alight with laughter, he can’t really resist a grin of his own. She knew him like the back of her own had, had him wrapped around her finger. Of course he’d catch her - he always would. “Okay, I admit it was a little funny. Just be careful.” 

"Not a fan of parties?" She clicks her tongue, "And here I was, hoping to poke you for a stamp. Maybe even a dance!"