mycrosstobear | PSL

Mm. Many a tale has a ball, a garden... [a serendipitous meeting of individuals whose lives intertwine...]

Simply standing here leaves you open to such things. But keeping your guard up may not serve you well in such cases. [destiny seldom cares, but people do.]

[He raises his eyebrows.]

That supposed to be about me or you?

[with a sprinkling of haughtiness:] If it was for me, why would I speak to it aloud in such a way? [she turns her head to peer at him sidelong.] I'm passing along wisdom I seldom share, Wolfwood. Consider it a gift and do as you like with it.

A gift, huh?

[She's been so guarded in this world, at this age. Not the sharp defensiveness of when she was younger (or...less of it). But walls built over time, and carefully maintained for just as long.

Pot, kettle, black. Isn't he supposed to know better by now? But old habits make everything easier.]

...Appreciate it.

[her mouth turns up slightly before she turns away again, tilting her head as her ears pick up on the music flowing through the windows on the building's upper floors. her exhale comes with a drooping of her shoulders.]

Meanwhile, the advice for me...must be to return to where my attention may be most necessary. [but not necessarily wanted.] Which, it seems, means we'll part ways for a time. Since you mean to escape the night.

Don't think maybe you're supposed to be open to taking a break?

[She does worse at hiding how tired the idea of going back inside seems to make her than she does at hiding her little part-smiles, and she hasn't had a flawless success rate with that either.]

"May be" ain't the same as "has to be."

[she takes a moment to pick at his words and look for meanings under meaning that might hide there...all in speculation, of course - all built from scenarios lived through many times over. difference here: this is the first scenario with Wolfwood himself within it.]

Compared to now? Are you suggesting break or breakaway, I wonder.

[...She really does just overcomplicate things.]

I'm suggesting you don't have to go back in if you don't want to.

[BECAUSE SHE MUST.]

What I want really isn't what's important here.

[He's not going to argue that. What either of them might want isn't important here. There's a job to do. However-]

Y'know, even I knew you had to take a few hours off now and then.

[It didn't always work, in that it was perfectly likely he'd just pass out and have nightmares for those hours. But attempts were made.]

[with a dry note:] Are you worried I'll overwork?

Somethin' like that.

[It's more that he knows what it looks like when you forget yourself because of what you "need" to do.

It wears you down, blinds you to options. And eventually probably just makes things worse.]

But you're not going to listen, are you?

[Wolfwood, after all, isn't nearly as good at breaking through to people as Vash.]

[she smiles small, glancing over her shoulder back at him.]

I always listen, Wolfwood; it's a matter of heeding you're on about. And I'm afraid there's a few things which overrule you in that regard.

[that said, she shrugs her sparkly, sheer shawl up over her shoulders and starts to walk down the footpath back toward the doors.]

Shame, though; I can't say I could predict what a break would look like in your company...you laze about enough as it is.

[Ah, she let him see that one. Maybe it's a compromise, considering that she is indeed not listening, or heeding, or whatever.

The accusation of laziness does sting a bit, but he's pretty sure she's leveled the same accusation somewhere in their past. Probably. And in this world, it's truer than it's been before. On the last Earth, there were kids to look after, churches to volunteer with, gardens to help with, and sometimes the universe to save. And in his own world, of course, he'd kept...busy. Here, though, with all the magic and established hierarchies around, he's taken more of a back seat.

He starts following her, a few paces behind.]

It usually involves alcohol.

[with a dry note:] Didn't you notice? The ballroom has quite the array. Were none of them to your tastes? [or is he off to partake now? admittedly, she didn't expect to hear his long-legged strides behind her.]

A few of them are. A lot of it's too sweet, though. [He wants a drink, not dessert.

He keeps those strides in check enough to stay behind her. He got used to playing rearguard, and besides, they usually have an easier time talking when it's not face to face. The kind of people they are like to limit how much they give away at any one time.]

[she slows at the threshold of one of those massive, open glass doors, tilting her head so she can peer at his reflection behind her own.]

Sauvignon Blanc. It's dry, but not without flavor.

[He, in turn, looks down to meet her reflection's eyes. There's probably some kind of metaphor to be found in that, only looking directly at each other through the shadows they cast on the glass. He's not fanciful enough to come up with it, though (and there's something painful in keeping the thought long enough to try).

Best to just be relieved their reflections aren't trying to kill them.]

Thanks. I'll ask for that next time.

[her mouth curves up faintly, briefly, before the reflection is blurred with her moving inside, back into the noise and movement of the party. she remembers many like them, though none are ever precisely the same. the lifting of her chin is as much a response to the atmosphere as it is necessity to see over dancing figures and survey what she can beyond them: the ever-flowing dance floor is bordered by throngs of bodies or tables...a dense jungle to navigate. one could be terrible and bully themselves through any and everything in the way, but that's so unbecoming, and could also yield some consequence greater than a party foul - fey nonsense is a threat here, after all.

before her foot can even cross the threshold of the dance floor, she turns her head to peer behind her at her lanky, shaggy-haired shadow.]

Are you going to cross the gauntlet with me, too?

[He shrugs, as casually as he can in this stupid, stupid coat.]

I may not be much use with politics or spells, but I know how to have a friend's back.

[Or sides, or front, as may be necessary when such a large crowd of people and tables are shoved into such narrow borders.

...Wait. That's the gauntlet, right? Not the dance floor. Please tell him he simply has to bully a path through a crowd. Please do not tell him he's just committed himself to dancing.]

[she smiles crookedly.]

And her hand?

[across a dance floor, right?]

[Oh no.

He just committed himself to dancing.

He's been shoved around to these kinds of parties for...3 years? It's really been that long? The point is, Wolfwood has been very successful at not dancing. It's just too...too much like putting himself at the center of attention. Too exposed. Too distracting in the event that something's about to attack, which it probably will.

But she's smiling, and that's really unfair. That it's crooked just makes it kind of cute.

He holds out a hand.]

About all I can promise is that I won't step on your feet.

[she almost balks in surprise, having expected him to have a fresh excuse. two left feet, no rhythm, something...

instead, there's a hand out for her. how unique a happening - not dancing, she's done that thousands upon thousands of times - but his offer. despite knowing she's better left in the periphery of his life, she can't refuse this offer.

while settling her hand in his:] Do you know how to lead?

[To be honest, objections other than "I don't know how" or "not my thing" never occurred to him. Anyone who's seen him in a fight would immediately call him on claiming no agility or balance, and anyone who knows him well enough to get past his honest reasons not to dance is automatically assumed to have seen him fight.

Her surprise and, well, his own tendency to claim he knows something just so he won't be shown up puts him very close to saying that of course he knows how to lead. But that'd just mean being shown up even more in a few minutes, so he bites it back.]

No idea.

[It feels strange, her hand on his. Wolfwood realizes that pretty much all the contact they've ever had has been pulling the other away from something, with the occasional clinging to someone familiar in a crowd for variety. This is new territory. He's not sure what that means.

Other than, you know, condemning himself to public embarrassment.]

[she smiles small, taking a step backward, being the first to cross the threshold of the floor, meaning to gently pull him with her.]

Then I'll talk you through it. [she's done so before for...many before this. and always, her heart squeezes in some kind of way, but the quality is different this time.] The moment you start, you're forbidden to look at the floor or your feet. It's easier that way.

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