Tango'd Web {OS, solo I}
Dec 19, 2014 2:02:35 GMT -5
Post by Anatra on Dec 19, 2014 2:02:35 GMT -5
Tango'd Web
A unsung lady of the Capitol finds herself taken by the hand by a mysterious dance partner |  |
Her hair is beautiful. It lays politely on one side, a sweet blonde tone decorating her olive skin. Her feet tap impatiently as she waits outside, the cold air nipping her exposed legs. The white fabric of her dress does not swoop, it simply rests as straight as a pencil down to her knees. “Roslin, hurry.” she orders to the now approaching red-head. “We can’t be late.” Her hand reaches out to grab the hurrying other. They seem to be both of the same age, twenty at the absolute most. Roslin’s eyes are a pale blue whilst Rosette’s are brown. Rosette is the sweet blonde.
The duo approach the entrance of what can only be described as a grand building. Few could fail to be impressed by the dated architecture, or even the sound of an orchestra playing from inside. “Your tickets please, ladies.” The usher’s hand waits expectantly. Rosette digs into her sparkling purse, allowing no time for casual chatter. The usher’s eyes roll at the behaviour that has probably been the norm of the evening, the typical frantic fanatic. “Here.” she almost snaps. He rips a corner into each of the two tickets. They are thick and ornately designed, but he seemed to have some kind of unique clipper in his hand. Roslin’s eyes dart around. She worries already whether people know it is her first time coming to the Theodore Ball. Before she can worry about any of that, she is quickly being ushered (quite literally) by Rosette. The main hall’s deep warmth hits them almost instantly. “Here it is Ros, we’ve made it.” Rosette’s smiling couldn’t be any more wide, or fake. Roslin bites her lips only a slight, looking around delicately at all of the busy guests. Everyone is dressed to the neck in suit or dress. Almost every outfit is an outrageous colour, and every wig appears more drastic need of a cut the further back that she looks. She takes a deep breath. “Where do we start?” she looks to Rosette, expecting nothing less than guidance.
She’s gone.
Suddenly everything moves quickly for Roslin. A waiter skims past her idle self as she stands there, almost clueless. Her eager eyes cling only to something that everyone has in common; a drink in their hand. She turns on her heel and heads straight to the waiter that had passed her. “Excuse me,” she begins. Nothing but ignorance follows. She goes to tap him, but somebody walks in the way, accidently. “Sorry.” she utters, practically to herself as he disappears into a different crowd. “Excuse me.” she repeats, not even louder. He doesn’t respond again. He is still proceeding ahead. Roslin sees somebody else just take a glass from the plate in his hand. She almost stomps her foot in disappointment with herself. She really has no place here. ’Why did I even come here, I can’t do anything right.’
She’d finally gotten a drink, but Rosette was still nowhere to be seen. ’Where did she get to?’
Something happens. The crowd begins to disperse in an orderly fashion. Roslin can’t help but conform with how it flows. Everyone finds a seat. Roslin instinctively reaches for her ticket as though she would have it. Rosette does, though. Panic runs over her face briefly, but a hand shoots into the air as Rosette beckons Roslin over to a small, discreet table near the back.
She takes another breath. ’Stay calm...’ she has to remind herself.
“Where did you go?” she hastily asks. “Shh! Sit yourself down, quickly.” Her commanding voice cannot be disobeyed, not when Roslin had clearly misplaced her own friend so easily. “It’s about to begin.” Rosette’s enthusiasm is no longer fake. She is almost swooning, and Roslin doesn’t quite know why.
Jared Theodore was why. His eyeliner is neatly shading his eyes, and his black hair is sweeping to his shoulders. “Welcome, ladies and gentlemen - and variations thereupon.” his suit is nothing short of a miracle. Two fashionable spikes are atop his shoulders, and a sweeping romanticised black pattern covers the whole heavenly white suit. “Do make yourself at comfort, the initial dance is about to begin.” That panicking anxiety hits Roslin’s chest again. ’Who am I going to dance with, Rosette?’ It is a traditional ball, so a man and a woman would be expected to dance with one and other. “I wouldn’t look so worried, Ros. None of the men choose a worried lady.” She takes a stand without Roslin. Others are doing the same.
Then the music starts. A steady tonic pedal on the cello, setting the rhythm.
It’s a gracious collection of sounds. Roslin is utterly distracted. A hand softly finds her own, raising her to a stand. “Would you dance?” he asks, his smooth voice completely throws her. She almost stutters, a dryness building in her throat, “Yes. Yes, of course.” Her shyness is noted in the silvery eyes of the man taking her hands. This person doesn’t look like a monster, and he most definitely isn’t wearing anything scandalous. He looks handsome to her. They walk together onto the dance floor where all of the couples have collected opposite one and other, each on one side of the pale square.
The gentlemen step forward first. Roslin’s mysterious partner is dressed formally, but his demeanour holds a certain casual nature among all of the grandeur. The initial tune is played on the clarinet, and the dance begins. The ladies are idle whilst the men walk forward. Suddenly, the strings come into the melody and her partner has taken her by the hand, sweeping her into his other arm with a small spin. Her breath is almost taken, but he seems unmoved by it. The dance gets very intense almost suddenly. Roslin’s feet basically fail to keep up with the red suited, black legged dancer she has been challenged with. It truly does feel like a challenge to her.
But she enjoys it. It is thrilling.
Among the slight fumbling, her feet find their place and she begins to remember what Rosette had taught her. One, then two. Four, then three. Two, then one, and two then one. The dance comes together and it turns into a full waltz. Roslin is guided completely by her partner, who never seems to look her in the eye. It is all routine to him.
She doesn’t even know this man, and she definitely doesn’t seem to mind in this moment.
As they spin in a motion that is foreign, to her only, Roslin cannot help herself become bewildered slightly by the moving lights above her, the spinning of other dancing pairs and the motions that carried in the smallest levels of alcohol that she had induced into her system. His hand stop her, and she would expect herself to topple over; but no. She remains in place.
He knew.
The surrounding, seated guests, begin to clap. Before she knows it truly, the mysterious partner joins the other gentlemen, walking away from their partners to then complete a small bow to them in gesture of a thank you.
Back at her seat, Rosette hasn’t spoken. “Wow.” Roslin contains her exclamation. “That was just amazing!”
Rosette retains her silence.
It breaks. “You could’ve told me you knew Antoine Cotoire!” She looks genuinely furious. “We could’ve gotten in for free.”
Naturally, Roslin is taken aback. “Who is Ant-” She is cut off. “Who is Antoine Cotoire?!” Rosette snaps. “Only the most desirable... Lovely...” She need not finish her sentence. Roslin already knows.
“I... had no idea.” She turns around, trying to look for him among the crowd, to no avail.
“You won’t find him, dear. He’ll be long gone now.” Rosette spins her wine glass to motion the poison inside. “He doesn’t stick around for long. He’s got what he wanted.” She stands up at Roslin, like she usually does before leaving. “I’m going to get another drink.” Her tone is biting.
‘But where is Antoine?’
She suddenly finds her heads spinning with his image.
And not once was it replaced that night, as he didn’t turn up.
The duo approach the entrance of what can only be described as a grand building. Few could fail to be impressed by the dated architecture, or even the sound of an orchestra playing from inside. “Your tickets please, ladies.” The usher’s hand waits expectantly. Rosette digs into her sparkling purse, allowing no time for casual chatter. The usher’s eyes roll at the behaviour that has probably been the norm of the evening, the typical frantic fanatic. “Here.” she almost snaps. He rips a corner into each of the two tickets. They are thick and ornately designed, but he seemed to have some kind of unique clipper in his hand. Roslin’s eyes dart around. She worries already whether people know it is her first time coming to the Theodore Ball. Before she can worry about any of that, she is quickly being ushered (quite literally) by Rosette. The main hall’s deep warmth hits them almost instantly. “Here it is Ros, we’ve made it.” Rosette’s smiling couldn’t be any more wide, or fake. Roslin bites her lips only a slight, looking around delicately at all of the busy guests. Everyone is dressed to the neck in suit or dress. Almost every outfit is an outrageous colour, and every wig appears more drastic need of a cut the further back that she looks. She takes a deep breath. “Where do we start?” she looks to Rosette, expecting nothing less than guidance.
She’s gone.
Suddenly everything moves quickly for Roslin. A waiter skims past her idle self as she stands there, almost clueless. Her eager eyes cling only to something that everyone has in common; a drink in their hand. She turns on her heel and heads straight to the waiter that had passed her. “Excuse me,” she begins. Nothing but ignorance follows. She goes to tap him, but somebody walks in the way, accidently. “Sorry.” she utters, practically to herself as he disappears into a different crowd. “Excuse me.” she repeats, not even louder. He doesn’t respond again. He is still proceeding ahead. Roslin sees somebody else just take a glass from the plate in his hand. She almost stomps her foot in disappointment with herself. She really has no place here. ’Why did I even come here, I can’t do anything right.’
She’d finally gotten a drink, but Rosette was still nowhere to be seen. ’Where did she get to?’
Something happens. The crowd begins to disperse in an orderly fashion. Roslin can’t help but conform with how it flows. Everyone finds a seat. Roslin instinctively reaches for her ticket as though she would have it. Rosette does, though. Panic runs over her face briefly, but a hand shoots into the air as Rosette beckons Roslin over to a small, discreet table near the back.
She takes another breath. ’Stay calm...’ she has to remind herself.
“Where did you go?” she hastily asks. “Shh! Sit yourself down, quickly.” Her commanding voice cannot be disobeyed, not when Roslin had clearly misplaced her own friend so easily. “It’s about to begin.” Rosette’s enthusiasm is no longer fake. She is almost swooning, and Roslin doesn’t quite know why.
Jared Theodore was why. His eyeliner is neatly shading his eyes, and his black hair is sweeping to his shoulders. “Welcome, ladies and gentlemen - and variations thereupon.” his suit is nothing short of a miracle. Two fashionable spikes are atop his shoulders, and a sweeping romanticised black pattern covers the whole heavenly white suit. “Do make yourself at comfort, the initial dance is about to begin.” That panicking anxiety hits Roslin’s chest again. ’Who am I going to dance with, Rosette?’ It is a traditional ball, so a man and a woman would be expected to dance with one and other. “I wouldn’t look so worried, Ros. None of the men choose a worried lady.” She takes a stand without Roslin. Others are doing the same.
Then the music starts. A steady tonic pedal on the cello, setting the rhythm.
It’s a gracious collection of sounds. Roslin is utterly distracted. A hand softly finds her own, raising her to a stand. “Would you dance?” he asks, his smooth voice completely throws her. She almost stutters, a dryness building in her throat, “Yes. Yes, of course.” Her shyness is noted in the silvery eyes of the man taking her hands. This person doesn’t look like a monster, and he most definitely isn’t wearing anything scandalous. He looks handsome to her. They walk together onto the dance floor where all of the couples have collected opposite one and other, each on one side of the pale square.
The gentlemen step forward first. Roslin’s mysterious partner is dressed formally, but his demeanour holds a certain casual nature among all of the grandeur. The initial tune is played on the clarinet, and the dance begins. The ladies are idle whilst the men walk forward. Suddenly, the strings come into the melody and her partner has taken her by the hand, sweeping her into his other arm with a small spin. Her breath is almost taken, but he seems unmoved by it. The dance gets very intense almost suddenly. Roslin’s feet basically fail to keep up with the red suited, black legged dancer she has been challenged with. It truly does feel like a challenge to her.
But she enjoys it. It is thrilling.
Among the slight fumbling, her feet find their place and she begins to remember what Rosette had taught her. One, then two. Four, then three. Two, then one, and two then one. The dance comes together and it turns into a full waltz. Roslin is guided completely by her partner, who never seems to look her in the eye. It is all routine to him.
She doesn’t even know this man, and she definitely doesn’t seem to mind in this moment.
As they spin in a motion that is foreign, to her only, Roslin cannot help herself become bewildered slightly by the moving lights above her, the spinning of other dancing pairs and the motions that carried in the smallest levels of alcohol that she had induced into her system. His hand stop her, and she would expect herself to topple over; but no. She remains in place.
He knew.
The surrounding, seated guests, begin to clap. Before she knows it truly, the mysterious partner joins the other gentlemen, walking away from their partners to then complete a small bow to them in gesture of a thank you.
Back at her seat, Rosette hasn’t spoken. “Wow.” Roslin contains her exclamation. “That was just amazing!”
Rosette retains her silence.
It breaks. “You could’ve told me you knew Antoine Cotoire!” She looks genuinely furious. “We could’ve gotten in for free.”
Naturally, Roslin is taken aback. “Who is Ant-” She is cut off. “Who is Antoine Cotoire?!” Rosette snaps. “Only the most desirable... Lovely...” She need not finish her sentence. Roslin already knows.
“I... had no idea.” She turns around, trying to look for him among the crowd, to no avail.
“You won’t find him, dear. He’ll be long gone now.” Rosette spins her wine glass to motion the poison inside. “He doesn’t stick around for long. He’s got what he wanted.” She stands up at Roslin, like she usually does before leaving. “I’m going to get another drink.” Her tone is biting.
‘But where is Antoine?’
She suddenly finds her heads spinning with his image.
And not once was it replaced that night, as he didn’t turn up.
