tampered | (no subject)

WINTER GALA IS OPEN ~ !

Seen the sign? It’s everywhere.

And every little corner, and every little street, strident and glistening and snow everywhere. Statue here, statue there – North, South, East, West – they do call it the Square. There’s word they’re war heroes, or troubled hallows, or nothing of the sort. That might be ice they’re sculpted in – or the sliver in some champagne glass, because giants drink too, and the City knows things. The City doesn’t tell.

But the tap those statues once or twice, and tap them strong, and tap them well, and they’ll whisper a secret. The little Elf army scuttling about has seen better days for wear (mostly Thursdays), but they’re only three feet tall, and the silver powder on their cheek’s both rigidly applied, and rented. Kick’em. They’re fluent in seven languages, you know. They have a degree. Naghladi’gjamarai got a Nobel nomination last year; no one knows. The human reporter didn’t look down to his knee when he was interviewing. Humans, so damned righteous.

Like the lights everywhere can never go out.

Like they’re the first ones here, dancing all too merry.

Like it’s their celebration.

Like it’s not all coming out of their City taxes.

Idiots.

[ooc: OK, kids, as per Jesse instructions: please title your comment + replies in such a way that you mention if they're directed at anyone in particular. Free-for-all ball, enjoy ~ ! ]

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"Doing what, Sarah?" he replied, allowing his hand to drop from her face. "Have you not...missed me?"

Jareth straightened and, in the same motion, moved back just enough to allow her escape if she felt she truly needed it. She clearly desired it, and he could not quite find it in him to deny her what she wished.

"You wound me...are you so miserable to see me?" His countenance still the picture of tranquil mockery, he offered a hand to her. "And here I had come to ask you for a dance..."

If she refused, it would appear from afar that the lovely young woman had rashly refused the offer of a gentleman. If she accepted, perhaps he could draw an answer or two from her.

Either way, he would not lose.

((OOC: ...Turns out that was my outer limit. ^^;;; Backdating ftw?))

When at last he moved, Sarah released a tiny sigh of relief, not even realizing she had been holding her breath. She hoped it was too subtle for him to catch, though she rather doubted it. He seemed to catch everything she did, every minute gesture, and found a way to make her mindful of each one. She would send him a picture, if he missed the sight of her so much. It, at least, wouldn't be hurt by the inexorable mockery behind every deceptively charming smile.

She paused before replying, her eyes still lowered, her voice still nearly inaudible. "N-no. I haven't."

Another pause was necessary before she could answer his next question. She felt - what did she feel? Indignance? Anxiety? Fear? Awe? She could not tell, but she did know that she could not dance, not with him, not here.

She reproached herself almost immediately. Why did she have to feel things so deeply, take things to heart so? Why should it matter so much to her? It obviously did not matter to him.

Lifting her chin ever so slightly, she whispered, "All right."

It did not matter if her fingers shook a little, if she had to will her hand steady before placing it in the one he offered her, in open invitation.

It was a dance, and only that. Only that.

((OOC: I suspected as much! ftw!))

A lackadaisical smile, as catlike as his movements as he drew her up from her seat, stretched across his face. Jareth's eyes did not stray from her as they walked. Her behaviour--the hesitance in her replies, the way her eyes had sometimes avoided him, the slightest tremble in her small fingers as she accepted his offer--suggested that he had her at least partially cowed by his presence...but not so much so that she would take the opportunity to run from him.

She yet had her spine, and he was irrationally pleased at that fact.

"If I recall," he commented as they reached the dance floor, "you were...not untalented as a dancer. I presume you are yet." A hand at her waist, a hand clasped with hers, head dipped slightly toward her, but standing at a respectful distance, and...dance.

((OOC: Nnnngggghhh, slow, et cetera, apologies.))

If it had been anyone else who said that, she would have laughed outright. Only hours earlier she had been dancing in front of the mirror, her hands suspended in mid-air, her arms poised, as she twirled with her imaginary partner. She had been - well, she had been rather terrible. She glanced too much at her reflection, anxious that what she saw there came nowhere near to what she had been capable of before.

As it was, an odd little half-smile turned the corners of her lips upward. Would she be terrible still? She honestly had no idea.

But once she caught the cadence of the dance, once she began following his fluid movements as he gently lead her across the floor, something else occurred entirely. She understood his intent without discussion, and moved accordingly. They complemented each other perfectly. There were no attempts to keep up with the music; the music enveloped them. It was, as the poet Yeats had said, impossible to know the dancer from the dance.

"All right," she repeated, almost unwilling to interrupt. "With you, there is always a reason, so out with it. What is it this time? How is it in your best interest to keep me here?" Her scrutiny took on a suspicious turn. "You're not trying to distract me, are you?"

Carefully, naturally, they made their way around the room, as perfectly matched as if they had been created in one another's arms. Their movements were thoroughly intuitive, so much so that Jareth's conscious mind was surprisingly free from inner commentary. In fact, he found himself simply enjoying her presence and the way they glided so smoothly together.

...Or, he had been, up until the point that she chose once more to open her mouth.

"Distract you?" An eyebrow raise, as though instead of considering the point, he had chosen simply to deride it. "What have I to distract you...from? Your friends remain suspiciously absent...and your brother is presumably safe in his crib, a world away."

Commentary beyond the question itself was, perhaps, the fastest path he could possibly take to forcing her back on her guard, thus losing any chance he had of a true answer...but the threat of argument and parting on poor terms wasn't quite enough (wasn't nearly enough, wasn't even a threat he noticed) to keep him from pressing the point to his own satisfaction.

((OOC: As thoroughly delicious as this is, I am of the vote that we consider foreshortening it in favour of future in-journal lols? ~~Also, I'm afraid I'll make it drag on forever and a half, considering how slow I tend to be. ^^;;~~))

((OOC: Agreed. So, dances happened, stuff was said, and Sarah most likely waltzed off in a flurry of righteous indignance.))