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

[treadingdawn.livejournal.com]

He's tentative about this because yes, despite his age, what people expect of seventeen year olds these days, his crown, the fact that he rules a kingdom, Caspian is still just this side of shy when it comes to such contact. Fear or prudishness are not what factors into this feeling but more his belief that...well...wouldn't she want someone closer to her heart to have the privilege? Call him old fashioned, out of the dark ages, or boyish beyond acceptability. He has seen the dancing women at Victrola and knows not all people are taught to exercise the same etiquette he has, to Caspian X Blair Waldorf is a lady, and he the gentleman his Queen Mother would have wanted him to be.

Nevertheless they are friends and friends have nothing to fear from each other, so he lets his hand rest where she guides it. His palm settles comfortably, neither ready to retract nor acting in possession. It's an adequate hold for a dance, and he will not compromise giving her at least one good round over the floor for outdated chivalry.

"All right then," Caspian nods once, a smile still present.

[miss-waldorf.livejournal.com]

Sometimes she thinks that life would be perfect if she were born in the last century instead, where all women were ladies and all men were gentlemen. But after meeting so many royalties of various personalities in the City, she knows better than to generalize. She concludes that gentlemen become so only by choice, and Caspian is the perfect example of that.

She tries to make herself focus on the music and the steps, but she can't. It keeps coming back to her that it doesn't take a genius to put the pieces together, but the whole thing seems implausible. So she makes herself count to ten before finally voicing her thoughts.

"Was it you that Chuck hurt?" She avoids looking into his eyes.

[treadingdawn.livejournal.com]

At her question he's well aware the fluidity of their movements and the closeness they keep in the dance are a cover for quiet words exchanged in full confidentiality. When Caspian speaks it's close to her ear. Anyone who looks upon them now might not think any wiser beyond a 'couples' number.

"Yes," he says in a sure tone. His confidence doesn't waver because he has said this before to others who matter.

"I was foolish. We are both at fault," Caspian admits without a drop of anguish or remorse. What good would any of that do?

[miss-waldorf.livejournal.com]

Blair nods gravely. Both of them are people she wholeheartedly trusts. Neither of them would ever lie to her.

So she tells him, "he didn't mean to hurt you." Even if Caspian probably already knows that. But Chuck has a tendency to undermine himself when it comes to these things. She thinks she should speak for his sake because he might not. "I think he's still very sad."

[treadingdawn.livejournal.com]

"I know he didn't. It was an accident, that much is clear to me. I should not have made the decision I did," he nods again, having no qualms with taking some of the blame for what happened. Chuck should not have dismissed the risks, especially for a man unfamiliar with what's 'normal' for their world. Caspian should not have been so eager to throw caution to the wind in order to experience a piece of their world. He said this to Chuck too, Chuck who remained brooding but seemed otherwise accepting of Caspian's willingness to forgive each other and move on. As long as it doesn't happen again. That's all that matters.

But to hear he's still sad...it brings a slight frown to the Telmarine's face.

"But we talked. I thought he understood. I did my best you know, to tell him how I felt without making he feel worse, I really did, Blair..."

[miss-waldorf.livejournal.com]

"I don't blame you," Blair quickly retorts. She really doesn't. She meant to say that Chuck didn't take care of his business well because he wasn't in his right mind. He has been too much of an escapist these days, running to booze, drugs and women to get his mind off of things. The whole accident was his fault, but there is just no logic in blaming him. Just like there is no logic in blaming a mad man for murder, she supposes.

The thought scares her, but this is a birthday party.

"Besides," she turns to him with a bright smile, trying to end the subject on a better note. "You're pretty much even now. He sent you to the hospital and you gave him a bloody nose," she says, laughter crinkling the edges of her eyes. Oh, if she only knew.