log; in progress

[i-themagician.livejournal.com]

When; Thursday, October 30th, the night of the masquerade
Rating; PG
Characters; Lucy Saxon (inbetrayal) and Clow Reed (i_themagician).
Summary; He was the one who closed the door, yes, and then locked it - but it was understood that she could crack it whenever she wanted.
Log;

Dancing. A wonderful pastime. The best thing about it is that it gives you the opportunity to flirt with and impress people with whom you have absolutely no intention of getting involved - the addition of masks only makes it better, enabling you to do so under the pretense of anonymity. In the nineteenth century, masquerade balls were little more than an excellent excuse to go home with someone other than your spouse with the (dubiously) plausible deniability of not realizing who it was.

Clow doesn't have any desire to go home with anyone tonight, but he gets an odd bit of amusement out of making people think otherwise. It works - he doesn't even look like himself dressed in a white suit and with that feathery mask with the wing motif. It's hard to say how exactly he solved the problem of trying to wear spectacles and a mask at the same time, but there you go. He's being a bit of a wallflower at the moment, watching the dancers and the attendees as a whole and trying to pretend that he doesn't see that familliar figure across the dance floor.

Comments

[inbetrayal.livejournal.com]

Disguised he may be (as is anyone else present in the proceedings, of course), but Lucy can and has recognized him, glancing over as unobtrusively as possible throughout the course of the last hour. She's debating, really; she could go over and make an effort to hold a conversation, to be nice. She'd be lying if she said she didn't miss him, but she can't presume to know he feels the same way. But finally, finally she does come to a descision. It's worth a try, after all, and so the masked woman in red (as always, as ever; it's a recurring motif, and no wonder) makes her way across the makeshift dance floor towards him. Quietly, of course, removing herself to the edges of the place and travelling slowly with the crowd, until she reaches him, stepping up next to him and extending a hand to touch his arm.

"Would it be too presumptuous to ask for a dance?" It's asked quietly and innocently enough; there's no hint of expectations, plans, anything of the sort in her tone for once.

[ooc: awprtjkqrkjfnlajlsadfjlksanlksa I am so sorry for the... hours-long-lag asdlkfjlsfjlsadfj I ended up napping for like a MILLION YEARS and then had to do an assload of chem hw. DON'T KILL ME PLS CHIBUTT?]

YEAH, I SEE HOW IT IS. *kills* And I'm sorry, but this is all I have time to write orz

[i-themagician.livejournal.com]

To say that he didn't see her coming one way or another would have been a lie, but he does act mildly (and pleasantly!) surprised. It's part of the masquerade, you know, pretending to be someone else even if only for its own sake.

"My dear, it would be my pleasure~," is his reply as he smiles, takes her hand, and kisses it gallantly.

[ooc: ... otherwise, I would have thought of more action to put in.]

SOB YOU'RE A HORRIBLE PERSON. LOVE IS OVER.

[inbetrayal.livejournal.com]

She would be disappointed any other way; of course, she's playing her own part in all of this, and the irony and appropriateness of a lady asking this particular gentleman to dance is not lost on her. The music - admittedly almost lost in the hubbub of a crowd - ends, veers into a waltz, and so does the pair. Lucy is, at worst, a competent dancer, and at her absolute best a stunning one (being a bit out of practice has left her unfortunately more on the lower end of the scale, but the stadium and tonight have helped her recall the proceedings to some degree). Thankfully enough, this is one she knows well enough that she can simply let Clow lead; it lets her be able to think for once, and gives her an opportunity to talk.

Finally, she says, honestly enough if not in a manner that is outwardly vulnerable, "I've missed you, you know." She doesn't necessarily mean as in a relationship, either, or an attempt to fix that; she saw him as a friend first, and even after their time together ended, that was something she believes they both wished (even simply as a matter of having allies and friendly acquaintances) to keep. It's been strained, though, and after recent events brought even closer to the breaking point.
So, she's making an effort, trying to be nice, putting that mask back on (or maybe taking another one off)- how apropos to the occasion.

[ooc: orz orz. no worriesss <333 and lkadfjlka apparently eljay is going down later tonight too. >_>]

[i-themagician.livejournal.com]

He likes to lead, or thinks he does, or is convinced that he should. It is simply assumed that the gentleman should lead, and although it should have made him uncomfortable for the lady to ask him for a dance... it worked, in this case. They weren't going to dance any other way, were they? This week has given him plenty of practice at dance, and his ankle is well enough by now that it doesn't even give him any trouble as they glide across the floor. Nothing too flamboyant, but a vibrant sort of waltz. You wouldn't think it was an old man dancing, at least.

"I've missed you, too." There's a certain fondness to his voice, like that between close friends. They're not that close, not yet, but if she's patient... "For all of our fighting, I think we really want the same thing."

[inbetrayal.livejournal.com]

She's used to old men, really. They're everywhere in politics, after all, and that's what she grew up with - no wonder that all of her 'choices' in relationships would follow the same course. She refrains, however, from asking after his ankle, because obviously it's better (at least, enough), and it'd be rather distasteful given that it was her husband who inflicted the injury in the first place.

She does keep a careful physical distance as they dance, though - not enough to hinder the movement, but it's kept carefully neutral in any case. "Depending on your definition," she says, carefully but pleasantly - remember her position, and that the things she wishes for most are almost definitely seperate and different from his. "But it would be a shame to lose a friendship."

[i-themagician.livejournal.com]

"I definitely agree," he replies, not sure how to respond to the first part. But that is what he wants, friendship.

There's silence for a few moments, and then the thought hits him. He wants to ask about her relationship with the Master, and so it's without much thought about wording that he broaches the subject - obvious from his tone what he's referring to. "So how are things...?"

[inbetrayal.livejournal.com]

When he asks, she nearly falters, fingers tightening on his hand. It's more a gesture of warning than anything else, really; a controlled sort of anger, or unsettledness, or even discomfort that he asked, though she knew he'd have to sometime. "They're fine," she says, evenly enough, though the obnoxious refrain in her mind is one of even though it's none of your business. It's not quite an adequate answer for the situation, but it's not one she quite feels like expanding on - and that tension is quite visible in how she's holding herself.

[i-themagician.livejournal.com]

"Glad to hear it," Clow responds, squeezing her hand back gently. He has caught the subtle hints and is responding in kind - what he really means is 'I'm sorry I asked.'

But what he really wants to know, and couldn't possibly ask, he definitely has no right, is why. She wouldn't hear it from him if he said it, but she deserves so much better.

There's several moments where he doesn't really look at her, lost in his own thoughts. Better not to get too close - this thing with the Master can't turn out well and he just doesn't want the drama. Doesn't want to have to look like he's jealous or something when he's really not, doesn't want to deal with him. She made her bed and, while he'll definitely be there for her, Clow isn't about to lie in it with her.

[inbetrayal.livejournal.com]

There's so many answers to that; most of them simply verging on the sense of gut feeling rather than a logical (or even intelligent) course of action. Because he knows me. Because we used to be happy. Because I feel lost without him, without anyone. Because I don't know what else to do.

For a moment, she's almost tempted to just reach for him, hold onto him as tightly as possible and just cling. Of course she can't, though; it's not right at this point and she should remember that that avenue is one she doesn't have the luxury of taking anymore. So she just smiles at him, a slight, almost-sad smile, and doesn't say anything at all.

[i-themagician.livejournal.com]

Well, there's an expression that she should erase from her dictionary. Clow was convinced that he was the only one who was allowed to smile sadly and get away with it. In any case, it's difficult to decipher what exactly she means by it and this might only make things worse, but-- he kisses her tenderly on the forehead, as if kissing a small cut to make it all better. And then he holds her closer as they continue to dance. It doesn't really matter what she's doing there or why, just so long as she understands that he's there for her.

[inbetrayal.livejournal.com]

She could probably come up with a few viable synonyms if she tried, really. She lets him, though - she's almost slightly surprised by it, and has the slightest feeling of trepidation about it, but she lets him. She even brushes her fingers - of the hand on his shoulder - against his jaw, briefly. It's a small gesture of affection, a little bit of vulnerability willingly shown in return.

After a few more measures, listening to the music slow down (the end of the song coming, soon), she says, just quietly enough for only him to hear, "Do you remember what I said to you, that night after the memory curse?"

[i-themagician.livejournal.com]

He leans into the touch a bit, savoring it, as they slow down with the music.

"We both said a lot of things that night." But he's smiling, perhaps remembering that very thing she's thinking of.

[inbetrayal.livejournal.com]

"Then I imagine you'll have to recall what I'm referring to on your own," she says, very softly, leaning up just far enough so her lips are next to his ear, "because I won't say it again." It's not a seductive movement, or even coy (at least not purposefully), but it's an action almost a bit too intimate for the setting - the masks are emboldening, a pretension of anonymity and thus to lack a consequence. "But I want to say: it still holds true."

The music slows, then, dipping to a halt as the song ends (and so, too, the dance). She pulls back, meeting his eyes not with hope but again, rather, that small bit of sadness - more fond than anything else this time.

[i-themagician.livejournal.com]

Of course she won't say it again. He can't just fall in love with people who give their love freely. It's so much better when it's rare, though, when he has to work for the slightest hint of affection. It makes him smile all that much brighter, makes him just a little cockier - as if he really needed to be, right? Which in turn makes them want to swat him down harder.

"Then just know that I feel the same way about you." A finger reaches and caresses her chin as he hears himself echo Yuuko's words to him, as he pulls away from Lucy and leaves her. 'Go be happy with that other man,' he wants to say, and he'd mean it... if she could. His heart sinks. If she could ever really be happy.

[inbetrayal.livejournal.com]

She closes her eyes for a moment as he touches her face, eyelids fluttering shut as she leans forward just a bit in response. Of course he does, and of course it won't change anything. He pulls away, and her eyes flicker open again, but she doesn't do anything to stop him - just watches as he walks away, standing still in the midst of a flurry of movement.

She could be happy - she has, but it would only be a halfway sort of joy at most. Bittersweet, and though she's hardly feeling any joy right now, there is the bitter part - a tightness in her throat, a prickle in the corners of her eyes. Wishes never do get granted in quite the way they're supposed to.