Just curve away ♕ ONGOING

[oshutup.livejournal.com]

When; SEVEN IN THE PM on the TENTH of AUGUST...not that you couldn't...tell...by the date this is posted...oh and taking place AT The Blue Light
Rating; You can't curse in a Disney film, mate. Never mind that Poly Territory =/= to that. PG-13 and under, lalala...yes.
Characters; If you're not Jadis, it's probably okay...and she's not here so...yeah. Anyone Caspian invited...anyone Lucy or Susan might have invited, anyone Reepicheep might have invited............and anyone wandering into the Blue Light at that time who wouldn't cause a ruckus XD AGAIN it was a surprise party, and you can assume he was very surprised....yay, success!

Summary; It's not a surprise if they tell you ahead of time.

Log;

The Blue Light is always lively to Peter, whether he is working or not, but tonight it is particularly layered with sound and movement. From the good music--no karaoke--to laughter, from the shuffle of many more pairs of feet than he would have anticipated had he seen this coming to the intertwining of conversations, it makes for a cheerful atmosphere to say the least, and he is enough over the shock to be smiling more casually--as opposed to the sort of startled upward curve of his mouth from the first moment people started pooling in, like there must be some mistake. There isn't of course, and it's a simple enough thing to go from Peter Pevensie to something that resides more evenly between the schoolboy in England and the High King of Narnia--gracious with an earthbound kind of humor for the unexpected, and he doesn't doubt who's behind it all either.

He doesn't mind, but even that sentiment leaves something to be desired.

Grateful might be a better way to put it, and he is that too.

No matter how understood family can be, no matter how much of a given, these kinds of gestures, these joint efforts reinforce what even the proudest and surest of people can sometimes question, if only because they depend on it so completely. When the music lends itself to something of a waltz, his expression softens, because there is something about that traditional quality that makes the bar and dance floor seem wider, grander, older. It might all be in the back of his heart of course, and in the end it's too hard to tell for certain, his hands lightly tucked into the pockets of gray slacks that make for a most boring if practical match with a long-sleeved blue button down. He isn't dressed to the nines--a surprise party being...well, a surprise-- but this isn't the sort of affair that calls for that, because the people who set it up know better. As much as he fell in love with the ceremony of kingdoms, Peter tends toward simple things, including his attire.

Fitted t-shirts are adventurous, if you were wondering.

In any case, after a day of imagining his brother in this place and that place--wishful thinking or a curse, but either way he has brushed it off as much as he can--a party is actually quite relieving, quite ordinary, and he can settle himself quite familiarly amidst the cheer of celebration when he is so inclined. Tonight, he is, and he nods at some who wish him well, exchanging words here and there, often gravitating back to his sisters or the other Narnian royal present, but it isn't conscious, this habit of finding himself with his hand on Lucy's shoulder from time to time or his eyes going sideways to share a look with Susan, and so on. It's barely been an hour, and it could go on for quite a while--so he realizes--currently with his back pressed to the bar, drawing his arms up to fold lightly across his chest, taking in the scene.

To anyone not near enough to be heard over the music and conversation, he waves and mouths thank you and he means it, ever aware of how every moment should be paid its credit and attention, lest it slip away and a person walk away going I wish I had or I should have and the like. Even happy events call for this attention to detail--especially happy ones, so he grants it with a smile and a grace that belies the years his face no longer clarifies, the exception perhaps being his eyes that travel the breadth of the room, drawing a blue line between sharp and intrusive, keeping to the former side of that line.







[ooc: Please mark in subjects if you want it open to anyone or just open to....one person. Sigh. /eyes this opening tag of doom... Yes...really VERY SORRY ABOUT TL;DR IN A POLY NEAR YOU...I...seem to have a problem with logs...orz. THIS IS UP EARLY, CLEARLY since I'll be at work later at the actual time...real time, whatever we call it. Okay that is all!]

Comments

[7thborn.livejournal.com]

"Well, why not?" the redhead says after a moment's consideration. "I suppose if you're absolutely ghastly on the dance floor and need a bit of help... But I'm hardly that horrible," Ginny grins with just the trace of a wink.

She doesn't say that a part of her rather wished she knew how to charm shoes when she was thirteen years old. Maybe then she could have saved her poor toes from Neville Longbottom's good, but left-footed, intentions at the Yule Ball. Ginny brushes back her long hair and raises her brows at the king, questioning.

"You planning on dancing, then, or are you going to play host the whole evening?"

[treadingdawn.livejournal.com]

"I know you can charm shoes to walk. I've seen Luna do it...or do her shoes simply walk on their own," he muses aloud, probably just confusing himself even more over this. "But I didn't know you could use magic to make them dance well for you, I mean...on your feet."

He has seen white magic and black magic, always at the hands of a power bigger than himself, or seemingly so. It would make sense then that neither hag, werewolf, black dwarf, or the witch herself survived a casting based on pure deception. Meanwhile the gods of the rivers and the spirits of the trees still travel through and across Narnia at will. Magic itself is no evil, its nature changes by intention and will. Clearly dancing is nothing remotely harmful, nothing that requires the blood of a Son of Adam, but it is sort of a curiosity for Caspian who, admittedly, had to learn dance since boyhood. Shh, his secret.

"I do plan on dancing, and proving that you are not even close to hardly horrible," he smiles, maybe challenging the lady to a round on the dancefloor.

[7thborn.livejournal.com]

"Is that a dare, Caspian?" Ginny smirks, propping a hand on her hip and one eyebrow quirked in amused challenge.

Oh, well, now it's on. She's already watching the other dancers out of the corner of her eyes, trying to pick up the steps of the dances she isn't as familiar with. She wonders, briefly, if Harry knows how to dance—he hadn't done much of it at the Yule Ball, she remembers—but tucks that thought away for later. She doesn't doubt that Caspian could show her a step or two and the youngest Weasley is certainly a fast learner.

"Just what sort of dancing do you do, then, and will that sort of music be playing tonight?"

[treadingdawn.livejournal.com]

"On the contrary, Ginny, it's an outright challenge," he clarifies cheerfully with equal amusement.

What music plays, well Caspian couldn't tell her. He is unfamiliar with the specifics of music from an era the Pevensies know and Boy Blue clearly favors. Maybe it's Autumn Leaves in a faster pace or Bach's Double Violin Concerto...knowing the Fable's taste it's likely the former ten times over before it will ever be the latter. Music is music though, and all the songs played tonight are first and foremost danceable. He extends his hand to Ginny.

"Let me show you."

To use a modernism: the ball's in her court.

[7thborn.livejournal.com]

"Alright then," she grins, intrigued.

Ginny has missed this, without a doubt. The easy fun in a social gathering, the Gryffindor eagerness to prove herself and to try something new. Most girls would probably be a touch nervous at stepping out to an unfamiliar dance to an equally unfamiliar tune. But challenges are what Ginny Weasley enjoys and it's without hesitation that she slips her hand into Caspian's, inclining her head.

"You're on."