[A simple reiteration slides its way in as gloved fingers pull a gilded mask fully free, discarding it in lush grass off to one side (they won't need it now, will they? If he turns up here tomorrow it'll only bring about a swift kick in the ass— or as Fenris so aptly surmised: thugs— let alone a deeper inquiry as to who at all invited them, and he'd rather not bring suspicion down around the Duke's ears either for having spent the evening at his side, an inevitable consequence of investigation. No, he'll cash his check and find another way to ferret a few tidbits of information without being seen, or endure the consequences; Riftwatch can't even begin to compare with Cazador's admonishments, after all), white curls slightly damp from dancing and the blowback of his breath behind that mask, leaving them splayed wildly in all directions.
In sore need of combing down, which he does with his fingertips thereafter, exhaling.]
Keep flattering me and I might actually commit myself to teaching you. You weren't a terrible study, as it so happens. [Is a tease, and an admission, and it comes with a far more praising wink for good measure before he leans back.
Squints up at what few stars can be seen over city lights as they continue on.]
Hah! Goodness no.
Despite the way it is both well-known and perfectly acceptable as an art in higher hallways, you certainly won't catch the Duchal Grandmatron hiking her skirts with both hands at the start of every ball. [Spares one delighted half-snort of delight at the imagined thought.]
Most are either rowdy enough to warrant warnings depending on the establishment, or remain about as stuffy as your typical exchange back there. The usual step-pause-step-step-pauseeee~ [a bored half-sweep of his hand runs long] ~wait for your partner to imagine the whole of your lives together, the children you might rear, growing old together whilst battling the scars of the past through tearfelt romantic readings of old memories plucked from a notebook, something-something kissing in the rain- anddddd step.
no subject
In sore need of combing down, which he does with his fingertips thereafter, exhaling.]
Keep flattering me and I might actually commit myself to teaching you. You weren't a terrible study, as it so happens. [Is a tease, and an admission, and it comes with a far more praising wink for good measure before he leans back.
Squints up at what few stars can be seen over city lights as they continue on.]
Hah! Goodness no.
Despite the way it is both well-known and perfectly acceptable as an art in higher hallways, you certainly won't catch the Duchal Grandmatron hiking her skirts with both hands at the start of every ball. [Spares one delighted half-snort of delight at the imagined thought.]
Most are either rowdy enough to warrant warnings depending on the establishment, or remain about as stuffy as your typical exchange back there. The usual step-pause-step-step-pauseeee~ [a bored half-sweep of his hand runs long] ~wait for your partner to imagine the whole of your lives together, the children you might rear, growing old together whilst battling the scars of the past through tearfelt romantic readings of old memories plucked from a notebook, something-something kissing in the rain- anddddd step.