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balance_logs2020-01-11 09:09 pm
janthony) wrote in balance_logs2020-01-11 09:09 pm
Entry tags:
I'll touch every star in the sky
Who: Everyone [Open]
Where: Ravenfell, Fanelia
When: During Queen of Hearts
What: The Scarlet Court has invited everyone to a masquerade ball in honor of the Queen of Hearts' decree promoting unity and strengthening of bonds. Where else but a masquerade can peasants dance with princes, and knights dance with nobles?
Content Warning: None overall!
Posters begin to appear along the Queen's Highway, more common outside of the City than inside it. Midnight black, they seem to twinkle like stars, with metallic blood-red ink.
I - Ravenfell
The town of Ravenfell sits tucked in the shadow of a mountain valley, with crystal clear water and plenty of orchards and grazing space for sheep. If you're early for the ball, you may as well explore a bit! There's a bustling market that's always full of fresh food and craftsmen selling their wares.
II - L'Université Médicale
The other sight to see in Ravenfell, of course, is the towering university that stands imposing, almost chiseled out of the base of the mountain, with a wide, long set of granite stairs leading from the path from town. The ball is set to be hosted in the great hall of the university, known as the hall of the serpent for the royal crest inlaid into the floor, a coiled black serpent with a red belly and eyes of inlaid gold. Feel free to take a tour around, or spend some time in the library before the ball.
III - The Feast
Finally, the main event! The hall of the serpent is decked out in silver banners, with crystals hanging from the ceiling like snowflakes. The long tables are laden for a feast, with just about anything you could dream of being served, and plenty of wine to drink. There's no assigned seating, and no special place for royals. After all, everyone is masked - so get to know your neighbor!
IV - The Dancing
Just as there were no assigned seats for the feasting, there are no pronouncements for the dancing. The music that's been playing all night picks up as the tables are magically cleared out of the way, and the dancing begins in earnest.
V - Wildcard
Or anything you want!
Where: Ravenfell, Fanelia
When: During Queen of Hearts
What: The Scarlet Court has invited everyone to a masquerade ball in honor of the Queen of Hearts' decree promoting unity and strengthening of bonds. Where else but a masquerade can peasants dance with princes, and knights dance with nobles?
Content Warning: None overall!
Posters begin to appear along the Queen's Highway, more common outside of the City than inside it. Midnight black, they seem to twinkle like stars, with metallic blood-red ink.
I - Ravenfell
The town of Ravenfell sits tucked in the shadow of a mountain valley, with crystal clear water and plenty of orchards and grazing space for sheep. If you're early for the ball, you may as well explore a bit! There's a bustling market that's always full of fresh food and craftsmen selling their wares.
II - L'Université Médicale
The other sight to see in Ravenfell, of course, is the towering university that stands imposing, almost chiseled out of the base of the mountain, with a wide, long set of granite stairs leading from the path from town. The ball is set to be hosted in the great hall of the university, known as the hall of the serpent for the royal crest inlaid into the floor, a coiled black serpent with a red belly and eyes of inlaid gold. Feel free to take a tour around, or spend some time in the library before the ball.
III - The Feast
Finally, the main event! The hall of the serpent is decked out in silver banners, with crystals hanging from the ceiling like snowflakes. The long tables are laden for a feast, with just about anything you could dream of being served, and plenty of wine to drink. There's no assigned seating, and no special place for royals. After all, everyone is masked - so get to know your neighbor!
IV - The Dancing
Just as there were no assigned seats for the feasting, there are no pronouncements for the dancing. The music that's been playing all night picks up as the tables are magically cleared out of the way, and the dancing begins in earnest.
V - Wildcard
Or anything you want!
no subject
[In the library among the tomes, wanders a man with dark glasses and long plaited red hair. His clothes are black, velvet and silk.
He doesn't wear a crown, so those not from Ravenfell would be forgiven for not recognizing the Black Prince - His Highness Lord Crowley, ruler of Ravenfell and head of the Scarlet Court.]
III
[The tails of his black coat are long and billowing like a gown over his slim cut black breeches, and his hair is decorated elaborately cascading down his back, but for all that he's dressed like he's excited to be here, he doesn't seem to be too interested in the food. Sure, he picks at it, has a taste of a few things here and there, but he mostly seems to be there to help pass things.]
IV
[He doesn't seem too interested in dancing, either, though he won't turn down anyone who asks. It's almost like he's looking for someone in the crowd, watching the dancers twirl across the polished wood floor.]
V
[Or anything else! He lives here, obviously.]
iv
His mother's death some years before had marked the last of Aziraphale's blood relatives. With no other family to take him in, and no assets to his name, he had remained with his stepfamily. His mother's second husband, to whom her entire estate had passed, was jovial and charming to the neighbors, but once the outsiders had gone, his smile disappeared, his piercing purple eyes icy cold as they pinned Aziraphale where he stood. His stepsister never raised a hand against him, not personally. But when his sadistic stepbrother played his cruel tricks on Aziraphale, she stood and watched impassively, not raising a finger to save him.
Still, it was a mercy and a kindness that they allowed him to stay at all, as his stepfather reminded him every day. Aziraphale worked hard for that mercy. From first light to sundown he worked, and beyond, until the candles burned down to nubs and he was so tired he stumbled where he stood. There always seemed more to do. If he did manage to complete all his chores, his stepsiblings never failed to find another job for him, menial task after menial task until he was left with no time for himself or his beloved books.
The Prince's Midwinter Ball - the aforementioned magical night - had been a rare exception. The others had been so thrilled with the prospect of the Prince's ball - open to the entire kingdom! - they'd hardly spared a thought for Aziraphale. After they'd left, he'd followed himself. The entire kingdom, after all, meant the entire kingdom, did it not? And that included him.
His attire had been a poor showing compared to the shimmering gowns and exquisitely tailored jackets of the other attendees, but he'd done the best he could, working for weeks in stolen moments to mend his own outfit, an ancient one that had once belonged to his father. The curious glances he'd received at the old-fashioned apparel had been worth it, to see for himself the university - the library - what seemed like every noble and most of the rest of the kingdom, all decked out as splendidly as possible. And, of course, to see him - the Prince.
Aziraphale had expected, at best, to catch a glimpse of the Black Prince from across the hall; even that, even being in the same room with him, would have been an honor, and a memory worth keeping forever. But oh, Lord Crowley was nothing like he would have ever imagined. Far from keeping a respectable, royal distance from his subjects, he'd mingled among the crowd itself, nobles and commoners alike, with a charming smile and gracious nod of greeting for everyone. He'd never balked, never cast a disdainful eye even for a second at those more shabbily dressed, those who could never in their lives hope to earn enough for even a foot of the fine velvet comprising His Highness' own outfit. And -
And he'd danced.
Not just danced. But danced for hours, with, it seemed, every young man or woman who wished to do so (and who would not?). Aziraphale had watched from the edge of the dance floor, transfixed. He never dreamed of dancing with the Prince himself; just watching, just being present, was a privilege he would never forget. It had been near the end of the evening when the Prince's gaze had fallen on him. He'd smiled. He'd held out a hand, wordlessly, with a gentle, inviting look and an upward quirk of his eyebrow over his dark glasses. And Aziraphale, who had spent the entire evening up until then carefully melting into the crowd, as anonymous and unnoticable as possible, had forgotten himself, and reached out to take the Prince's hand.
His stepfamily had been furious.
They'd behaved at the ball, naturally. They could hardly rip Aziraphale out of His Highness' arms. But once they'd all returned home, rip they had. His father's outfit, so carefully mended, had been torn to shreds, the mask that had done nothing to concel his identity from them stomped and flattened against the cobblestones, and his responsibilities had become even harsher and more time-consuming than before. Even had he had another outfit halfway suitable for a ball, he would have had no time to properly tailor and prepare it it in time for the Winter's End Ball, announced mere weeks after the first.
The kingdom was all atwitter. Another ball! Had Lord Crowley - noted scholar - abandoned his studies entirely in favor of dancing? What had become of him? Was this to be the norm, in future? But of course, all who could accepted the invitation. All but Aziraphale. The night of the ball, he stood, despondent, in clothes that were little more than rags, watching his stepfather, stepsister, and stepfather board the carriage that would take them to the University. It all seemed hopeless. There was nothing he could do, and in the end he'd collapsed onto the ground, leaning heavily on a cold stone bench, sobbing his heart out.
The night of the Midwinter Ball had been the most magical night of Aziraphale's life - until what happened next.
A fairy godmother. A miraculous transformation. Such things should have been impossible - and yet there she was, standing before him and impossible to deny. And now here he is, in an intricately embroidered outfit, a perfect match for his blue eyes, and as beautiful as anything at the ball, except for the Prince himself.
The truth was - the truth was, for Aziraphale, it had been love at first sight. Even through his glasses, even unseen, the Prince's gaze upon him had mesmerized him from the start. His long, slender fingers, his red hair, the kindness of his smile. Everything about him. Oh, Aziraphale hardly knew him - didn't know him at all, even after dancing with him, except by reputation. But His Highness lived at the university, not the castle; he was curious and intelligent. He offered alms to the poorest of his subjects; he was generous and compassionate. He invited commoners to his balls, and walked among them as if among equals; he was humble and kind.
He was so kind. And if he was...eccentric, nothing like any other member of the royal family in living memory, if he had (rumor said) a tendency to become moody and withdrawn, more interested in seeking out knowledge in the library than attending court, well, what was wrong with that?
The Prince is here now, at the Winter's End ball, and so is Aziraphale. As before, he stands transfixed, in his sky-blue coat and shining glass slippers. As before, his face is hidden behind a mask, and he can only hope that his platinum-blond hair (unamanageable as always, even with the help of a fairy godmother) won't give him away to his stepfamily. But he isn't thinking about his stepfamily now. He's thinking about the Prince, in dark glasses as always and a black velvet coat that is, if anything, even more elegant than what he had worn at the Midwinter Ball.
He can't help it. He sighs, dreamy and longing, and, to his horror, perfectly audible. ]
no subject
The truth of the matter was, he was just awkward and bored. He enjoyed the rush of learning things more than meeting new people.
He liked his masquerade balls, when he had to greet others, because there were no rules of formality to abide by. Nobody bowed and scraped in front of him, and he didn't have to watch his words. He looked forward to the unmasking the least, which was why he always set it for the end of the night when the partying was likely to conclude shortly after anyway.
Never had he regretted that so much as when the white-haired man had disappeared from the Midwinter Ball.
The way the man's eyes had sparkled behind his mask, changed from green to blue to gray in the changing lights of the colored candles that decorated the dancing floor, the way he'd smiled and ducked his head shyly when Crowley had taken his hand... It was all like catnip to Crowley. He never stood a chance.
For once he'd looked forward to the unmasking, looked forward to finding out who it was behind that mask, who he'd danced with and talked to for hours.
And yet, seconds before midnight, the man had disappeared.
Her Majesty's new turn toward fostering the spirit of unity and friendship couldn't have come at a more opportune time. Prince Crowley's balls were usually seasonal - though if any season deserved more merriment, it was dreary, cold winter - but after all of his initial leads had come back dry he had no intent to make it to spring without trying to see the mysterious white-haired man again. He had had a harder time convincing the Scarlet Court, but in the end his stubbornness had worn them down.
And it all pays off in a second, when he sees the man standing on the sides of the dance.
The musicians start warming up for a lively branle, and Crowley makes his way over, slipping into the crowd and the shadows to come up beside him without being seen.]
You look like you could use a partner.
[He holds out a hand, palm-up, in invitation, his other arm behind his back.]
no subject
He tries, inwardly, to deny his disappointment - Lord Crowley has so many subjects to meet and to greet, and they'd danced for an embarrassingly long time at the last ball - embarrassing only in retrospect, as Aziraphale, at least, had been entirely too enthralled and happy to make note of the hours ticking away at the time. He can't begin to guess what had possessed the Prince to spend so much time with him, but really - what hope could someone like him have of understanding the actions and motivations of a Prince?
He's just starting to successfully convince himself that he's being foolish, that it had been a waste of time and fairy godmotherly energy to get all dressed up and come here at all, that the Prince will certainly not grant him so much as a moment here tonight, after such an embarrassment of riches at the last ball, when there's a familiar voice in his ears, and he turns to see Lord Crowley himself, holding out an expectant, elegant hand. Aziraphale gasps, cheeks flushing a happy pink behind (thankfully) his mask. ]
Your Highness!
[ He darts his gaze around, just checking, just making sure that the Prince is really addressing him, not someone behind him or to one side, but there's no denying it. He turns back, lips curving up into a sunny smile as his heart threatens to leap out of his chest in joy. ]
I w-I would be honored. Yes. Thank you. Oh -
[ And he takes the Prince's hand, eyes shining bright. ]
no subject
He doesn't really think he's worthy of such a look, but he's too selfish to turn it down.
He bows, before sweeping the man out onto the floor.]
I was almost afraid you wouldn't come.
no subject
Seeing the smile - one that looks almost fond, he thinks, though surely tolerant is nearer the mark, surely he's simply grown used to foolish commoners all but swooning at his feet - Aziraphale finds he couldn't care less whether the Lord Crowley really does turn into a snake at night, or what secret his ever-present dark glasses hide, or whether he actually can see into men's souls - no, on second thought, he hopes desperately that that isn't the case; he'd be mortified if the Prince could see all Aziraphale was feeling in this moment.
No, there are other secrets the Prince is hiding, he feels sure; less exotic and fantastical, perhaps, but questions that pull insistently at Aziraphale's imagination, all the same. Who are you? What do you read, what do you think, spending all your days here among the books?
Why should you ever want to dance with me?
He squeaks, a bit, clearing his throat before he's able to speak again. ]
S-surely you would never have noticed my absence, Your Highness, among so many noble and dignified guests.
no subject
[The dance is a simple one, more akin to "skipping along to the beat while holding hands" than something that requires real thought put into remembering the moves.
Of course I noticed your absence. Your disappearing act from the last ball is all I've been able to think about since. This ball wouldn't exist if I wasn't hoping you'd come.
But he can't just say it like that, so he takes the time while they're facing away from each other to try and rearrange his thoughts. Something that's not easy, when all he can think about is how soft the hand in his is, compared to his own long, narrow fingers, and the sound of the man's shoes tapping against the glossy wood floor as they shuffle their feet to the music.
When they turn to face one another, the long tails of his jacket twirling behind him (thanks to the weights sewn into the bottom hem, a little trick to make the effect more dramatic - see, not everything is magic), the smile is there, full force now.]
I never got your name, last time. I've been wondering what kind of a man would spend all evening dancing with a prince, and not want to stay for the unmasking.
[They turn away from each other again, and when they turn back he teases-]
Let me guess - you turn into an ogre at dawn's first light.
no subject
[ It's not quite what the Prince had asked for, but it's as close as Aziraphale can manage, for the moment. He bobs his head, nervous but with a thrill of excitement as their hands brush against each other, as they glide along the dance floor.
Everyone is watching, obviously. He knows that. It's true, the Prince's costume is anything but a disguise, and already he fancies he can hear whispers in the crowd about Lord Crowley's choice of dancing partner. Firmly, he banishes the thought from his mind. If he starts worrying about his stepfamily seeing him now...
He surprises himself by laughing at the Prince's joke, though it's more an expression of joy at the fact that this is happening, again, at the kind, teasing smile on the man's face, than anything else. ]
Oh...no, it's not that...
[ It had been his stepfamily. They would have absolutely murdered him, if he'd gone so far as to reveal himself at the ball. He'd been half afraid they'd do so anyway, and had counted himself lucky he'd lost only his father's precious outfit in the end. ]
I had...duties to attend to. I apologize for any rudeness.
[ The prince hadn't technically asked him his name, he'd merely commented that he'd never learned it, and so, Aziraphale justifies to himself, it's not a terrible breach of protocol not to give it. ]
no subject
The point being that Crowley has learned to ignore the stares of others, no matter how "on brand" his choice of clothing is for a masquerade.
He contemplates the answer as they turn forward again.]
I hope your duties won't keep you tonight. Else I'll have to do a better job of distracting you from the time.
no subject
A scullion. A servant - no, worse than that. A slave. Entirely powerless, living at the whim of his stepfather's mercy, with no prospects and no hope for a better life in the future.
What would the Prince think, if he knew that the hands he now holds spend their days scrubbing floors, sweeping cinders, emptying chamberpots? Aziraphale's lips dip briefly downwards, an unhappy moue that not even his mask can hide.
His low mood doesn't last long, though. His stepfather has never tolerated moping - certainly not from Aziraphale - and he's grown practiced at hiding his sorrows and worries behind a cheerful look. He smiles as the dance brings them fully face to face again, meeting the Prince's eyes as best he can through his glasses. ]
You're too kind, Lord Crowley.
Happily we have hours left til midnight.
[ He catches his breath as soon as the words are out, his body tensing. Too bold, too bold! The Prince might suggest that he keep Aziraphale here so long as it pleases him to do so, but for Aziraphale to assume that Lord Crowley might wish to spend another minute with him, let alone hours, is a shocking liberty, far too great for him to take. He casts his eyes down to the floor. ]
That - that is to say, milord, I am at your disposal.
no subject
He starts his next question while they're facing away from each other, a full beat after the man cast his gaze down like he was afraid.]
Answer me something, will you? Pretend I'm not the Prince for a moment. Just- just for a moment.
Would you still have said yes when I asked you to dance?
[They turn to face each other.]
Be honest, now. They say I can tell when you're lying, [He adds, with a grin.]
no subject
Besides, it doesn't matter. He wouldn't dream of lying to Lord Crowley. Obscuring the truth, well, perhaps. But it's clear he's not even considering doing that in this case, studying the Prince's face quite seriously.
When he speaks, it's low and intense. ]
I would have said yes the more speedily, sir, and with no less joy, because I would have been able to assure myself that much quicker that what I heard was true, and not some impossible dream.
[ The steps of the dance take them twirling away from each other for a few beats just after he finishes this speech, giving Aziraphale a much-needed chance to catch his breath and try to still the trembling in his hands, his cheeks flushed behind his mask. ]
no subject
So this is love, he thinks, heart racing in his chest, and suddenly he's wanted nothing more in his life than to know the identity of his dance partner.
His words die off in his tightened throat, and he's thankful for gloves because he can feel his hands clammy like a schoolboy inside them.]
Well, I- erngh. Yeah, uh. Good.
[He tries again.]
I mean... Would hate to find out you were just dancing with me 'cause you felt like you had to.
no subject
But he can't have Lord Crowley thinking, even for a moment, that Aziraphale had only accepted his invitation to dance out of obligation. Not that he's in the habit of influencing the beliefs of princes. Not that, normally, he would assume his own motivations mattered a whit to anyone at all, much less royalty. But the idea of it - that he might have agreed to dance with the Prince, with this gorgeous, fascinating, admirable, remarkable man, for any reason other than his own earnest, fullhearted desire to do so - is so abhorrent, so completely opposite to the truth, he cannot bear to leave even the slightest room for doubt in the Prince's mind.
He meets his eyes, and contrary to the movements of the dance, takes both Crowley's hands in his as they come face to face once more. ]
I would never have returned for this ball, but for the slim hope that fortune might smile upon me a second time, and grace me with the briefest of moments in your presence - a glimpse of a smile, the faintest glimmer of recognition in your gaze as it passed over me. Lord Crowley, I -
[ His fine words fail him, and he breaks off, shaking his head. ]
You have given me a gift I shall live on for the rest of my life.
no subject
You don't have to live on just the memory, he wants to hiss, whatever duties you have I can take you away from them, I can make them go away, just let me find out who you are!
But after a tense second where he wants to say all that but can't, his expression relaxes into a smile, and he brings the man's knuckles to his lips as the song comes to a close.]
You were all I could think about after the last ball. I tried to find you, but no one had any idea who you were. If you hadn't come tonight, I-- Well, I would've had to look farther, I guess, but... Yeah. So, uh... I know all the secret passages, if you want to sneak away with me.
no subject
But it's the Prince's words that take his breath away. Now it's turn to gape, staring stupidly. ]
S-sneak away?
[ The idea is so absurd, so impossible, that he actually laughs, a disbelieving titter before he remembers himself and claps a hand over his mouth in horror. ]
Forgive me, Your Highness, oh, please forgive me. Oh, listen to yourself. Running out on your own ball.
[ With me, he doesn't add. Instead, his voice softens, infinitely gentle as he lets his gaze slide around the room, at the guests surrounding them, the members of the Scarlet Court watching the Prince's every move. ]
There's nowhere to go.
no subject
But more than that, he's hurt. Behind his mask, his brows furrow, and his lips curl down in disappointment for a second or two before he recovers his charm and lets go of the man's hands.]
There's a balcony. I've already seen a few other couples and groups step out for some fresh air and quiet conversation.
no subject
But somehow, it seems, he hasn't utterly ruined everything with his foolish words. The Prince frowns and lets go his hands, and his heart sinks, but he doesn't walk away. Instead, he starts talking about a balcony. The phrase other couples rings insistent as a bell in Aziraphale's ears, and he firmly pushes it aside, trying not to look too terribly hopeful and relieved. ]
I would be delighted to join you.
[ He smiles, tremulous. ]
Thank you, my...my Prince.
no subject
Your prince, I mean. I haven't seen you at court, or at the university.
When I couldn't find you before, I was worried you weren't from around here. Was part of the reason I spread the invite for this one out so far, was so it might catch you wherever you were.
[The next song starts while they're still on the dance floor, and Crowley's lips quirk in a slight smile.]
No choice, I guess. One more dance before we go outside?
no subject
You did all that for me?
He catches himself just in time, taking the Prince's hand and allowing himself to be swept along. With what he hopes is a mysterious, but still charming smile, he reaches up with his free hand to tap the edge of his mask. ]
May I remind you, my Prince, you're not meant to know whether you've seen me or not.
[ His blond hair is a bit of a giveaway, of course, and Aziraphale knows perfectly well he's never set foot inside the university but for these balls, much less the Scarlet Court. The thought of it makes his heart ache with longing. But worse is the thought of Lord Crowley knowing, of the look on his face when he realizes that while Aziraphale might be his subject, his destiny lies not with the great halls of the university's books, not with the intrigue and nobility of court, but with brooms and buckets and tea trays placed deferentially at the foot of his stepfamily's beds. ]
no subject
[He grins, winks even, behind the dark lenses of his mask.]
But you can hardly blame me for trying.
[Of course, if Crowley knew his companion's humble origins - or, not even origins, but the depth to which a lady's son had been forced to fall - his reaction would indeed be fearsome. Though the target of the prince's wrath would hardly be who his dance partner expects and fears it would be.]
Would you like to? Come to the university, I mean. I wouldn't wish court on anybody who doesn't have to be there.
no subject
He stares, nearly missing his footing again at the offer. Perhaps they should escape to the balcony after all, if the Prince is so insistent on taking Aziraphale off his guard. ]
I...I would love to.
[ More than anything else. Even as a child, even before the Prince had gifted his own lands and buildings to expand it, he'd been fascinated by the university, high on a hill overlooking the town. And now...the thought of all those books, of men and women dedicated to learning, of peace and quiet and intelligent conversations...It's all he could ever dream of.
Well, almost all.
But a dream is all it is, and a moment later, his face is falling behind his mask again, as he reluctantly shakes his head. ]
But I can't.
My duties...
no subject
But that's no way to court somebody, let alone to behave at court, so he simply steps into the next spin with a deft swivel, and smiles, a twist of thin, stylishly painted lips.]
There are farmers who come study over the winter and go back to their homes with spells and techniques to reap a higher yield the next year. There are hired shepherds who learn sums after lambing season is done and the flocks are brought in from the fields, butlers and maids and cooks who race to see who can read the most books from the library while their masters are abroad.
[He spins the living angel in his arms.]
Surely I can tempt you- [When they rejoin, he pulls him closer this time than propriety would strictly demand.] -into making some time in your very busy schedule.
no subject
But it seems to break, at the same time. He forgets herself as Lord Crowley pulls him in close, and clings onto him tightly, his desperation and longing showing through. Oh, he wants this. Not just the university. But this, the Prince, the way he looks at him, how generous and giving he is...He's still a stranger, for all intents and purposes, and yet Aziraphale already feels as though he knows him. Even as though...even as though he could...
He falters. He thinks of his stepfather's forbidding frown. And he nearly bursts into tears as his heart sinks. ]
I can't.
I wi- I wish I could, you've no idea how much. It sounds heavenly...
[ Or better than heaven, even, given how poorly Aziraphale's own home had proven to live up to its divine namesake. ]
I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.
no subject
Which means privacy, along the edges of the room, while the celebration is centered on the dancers in the middle.]
Alright? Nothing to be sorry for.
[He sighs. Frowns. Pushes a few escaped strands of hair back behind his ear.]
Was my fault, I went too fast.
no subject
It doesn't come. Nothing to be sorry for, says Lord Crowley, and Aziraphale dares to lift his head, incredulous. ]
No, no, you didn't, I...
[ He sighs, miserably.]
Please. You've given me so much. You've offered so much more. I wish I could accept it, I do, but..
[ But he can't. And there's no way to explain. ]
Can't we just... enjoy tonight? This moment, it won't last long, but... it's... it's ours, isn't it?
no subject
But everything he says just makes things worse, so even he will admit that there's a point where he has to quit while he's ahead.]
You're right, [He says, putting the charming smile back on.] 'Course, of course you're right.
Come out and walk with me? We haven't gotten that air I promised.
no subject
And there's a moment where he wishes he'd said differently. Accepted Lord Crowley's offer. After all, if there's anyone able to stand up to Aziraphale's stepfather, to take Aziraphale away from him at last, it's the Prince, isn't it? Couldn't he...?
He can't. He can't ask that of Lord Crowley, or of anyone. He can't confess all that he'd so successfully kept hidden. No, he had been right. He's had, now, not one but two magical nights, hours of happiness beyond his wildest dreams, and the second one isn't over yet. Having to reject the Prince's generosity, despairing more and more each time, isn't how he wants to spend it.
He returns the smile, and after a moment in which he second- and third- and fourth-guesses himself and finally decides to go for it, holds out an arm for the Prince to take. ]
I would be delighted.
no subject
[Mortal parties are, of course, generally not the Boogeyman's thing. They're usually bright and loud and full of life - maybe he could creep out a few people walking home alone late at night, but there's no point attending.
Lately, though, he's been venturing among them a lot more. Odd things are going on lately. Anyway, a masquerade ball really appeals to his dramatic side. Maybe he could just vamp around a little, freak someone out at the unmasking, and call it a fun night?
So yeah, he ends up going. His outfit is kinda creepy, if a little less...flashy? Than he might like? No sense drawing too much attention all at once, he guesses. Technically, the feast is already taking place, but he doesn't seem like he's rushing to take a seat. Maybe he's a bit of a wallflower?]
ii. dancing
[So. Here's the thing. He's never actually...danced with other people?
Hell, he's never even been to a party. While the Boogeyman might have danced for his own entertainment from time to time - not that he'd ever admit to it - he's suddenly feeling a tiny bit out of his depth with the turn this party has taken. Somehow, he hadn't anticipated this. He could step on some people's feet, he guesses, but that's not even scary.
Far better to just wait for the unmasking. Sticking to the shadows as much as possible, Michael tries to lurk his way out to one of the balconies. There, no one will try to make him dance, right?]