Prompt Love is Blind: Shut Up and Dance

[Lucie]

Art by: Tito Velasco
For Petra (Tipsy) and Cydonia (Bees)​

---

The music echoed into the night through the open balcony door. Polite laughter and the soft clink of delicate glasses float through the chill air of the evening. The ball hosted by one of the Altalusian Noble houses. It had been the talk of the the Kingdom for months as the preparations were made and the invitations went out. Only those with the right standing had been invited to the event. Only those who held just the right importance. Just the right connections.

Peeking in through the windows, would show the swirl of colorful gowns and coat tails as the dancers swirled on the floor. Servants walked around carrying trays of little finger food. Snacks made from ingredients that weren't common to the Northern Kingdom, various fruits, fish, game, no expense had been spared. There was rumor that the Queen might make an appearance, but as the night wore on that was looking less and less likely, but even still all the party-goers were enjoying the event. Who would notice two more souls using the bustling chaos as a chance to sneak in after all?​

 

[Petra Darthinian]

"Would you look at that?" Petra murmured, crouched just beyond the flickering light spilling from the grand windows. Her grin was sharp with mischief as she nudged Cydonia. "They’re practically inviting us in with all that excess."

The swirl of colors, the clinking of glasses, the sheer audacity of luxury—it was intoxicating. This was exactly the kind of place Petra loved to slink into, unseen yet utterly at home. And why shouldn’t she be? Just because she wasn’t on the guest list didn’t mean she didn’t belong.

Straightening, she smoothed her hands over the borrowed jacket she’d taken from some unfortunate noble’s unattended carriage. The navy-blue cape that flowed behind her reached her knees, trimmed with shimmering gold embroidery. The chain securing it at her throat was arranged just so—secure but roguishly casual. Beneath it, her embroidered vest hugged her frame, the fine stitching catching the light and making her look every bit the part of an aristocrat. The billowy white shirt beneath it was dramatic, its long sleeves cinching to her wrists and concealing the draconic scales of her right arm. Her deep navy gloves completed the look, hiding the black talons of her hand.

Her breeches were sleek and form-fitting, just a bit too small, with matching embroidery tracing the lines of her legs. Polished black boots with sharp, pointed toes made a satisfying sound with each step. Her hair, styled in an elaborate ponytail, framed her face in wild curls that cascaded down her back. Gold jewelry dusted the edges of her elf ears, glinting in the light. A heavy touch of kohl around her eyes made them smolder in the dim glow from the ballroom window, and a bit of gold shimmered on her cheekbones to finish the look.

She struck a mockingly noble bow, tilting her chin up with a feral grin. “Do I look insufferable enough to pass?” she asked, barely suppressing a laugh.

The music from inside swelled, catching Petra's attention, and the moment was now. With a wink at Cydonia, Petra exited the bushes and took a step toward the open doors, slipping into the night’s golden embrace of the entering crowd with all the confidence of someone who had every right to be there.

@Cydonia

 

[Cydonia]

Petra's spontaneity split a broad smile across Cydonia's face. She giggled along as the other elf pilfered some unknowing noble's carriage, only half keeping a lookout for trouble. The novelty of sneaking into an occasion had turned her chirpy. Usually, a ball was an arduous affair for her - writing back after the invitation, then months of having a dress made, then the packing and travel for her and all her retinue. But she was not burdened by the expectations of her station, tonight.

Tonight, Petra spent but a few moments doing her hair up, Cyd twined her arm around her handsome escort, and then all of a sudden they were inside. The doorman barely glanced at the pair as the warm lights of the glittering chandeliers enveloped them.

“Do I look insufferable enough to pass?”

"You make it look easy, dear," Cydonia responded, glittering up at the taller woman. Realizing what she'd just said, she gasped. A pink flush of embarassment tipped her ears. "Wait, that's not. I meant to say--" A shake of her golden hair, which hung a soft frame around her face. It was too short to braid, just brushing her shoulders. "Ah, there's no recovering from this, is there?"

Cydonia had not had to lift anything from the bushes. The dress she wore was one she had packed for their time in the city. She never knew when she might have to answer a summons or navigate some formality. Pleats of pure white draped across her form, creating a simple sillouhette. The sleaves were long and gauzy, slit up either side in the style that the sun elves of north Ilica were known for. Wings embroidered in gold folded around each of her shoulders, the only adornment on the snowy fabric.

"Hold on, you've got a bit of..." Cydonia tugged on Petra's arm, pulling her to a stop. She unhooked herself and reached up, pinching a stray leaf that clung to Petra's curls. "...Something in your hair."

The leaf didn't come loose right away. It tangled deeper into Petra's thick locks. Cydonia went up on her tip-toes, trying to get a better angle to outsmart the mischevious leaf.

 

[Petra Darthinian]

The elf felt the cares of her duty fall away as the lights of thousands of shroud crystals bathed them in an amber glow. As if one returning from a long night spent in the barren cold, to a blazing hearth. A place where her burdens did not matter, and she did not have to be herself. Those worries and expectations like snow-drenched furs that she stripped at the door. Here was a place where only mirth and the finer delicacies would touch her lips and ache the laughing apples of her cheeks.

So, it was with the most carefree of laughter that Petra answered Cydonia's endearing fumble. Gently squeezing the top of Cyd's hand that was safely tucked away in her elbow. Before she could tease her fellow Knight, Petra was drawn to a stop and suddenly found herself under the ministrations of a very determined elf.

The gossamer of Cyd's sleeve brushing against Petra's cheekbones like soft wind. The easy smile dropping from her mouth at the slow dragging of nails against her scalp and she swallowed at the involuntary shudder. Suddenly overly aware of how close they were standing, Petra found herself drawn into the way the woman's blonde lashes feathered her full cheeks and the amber light that kissed her soft jawline.

Clearing her throat, Petra gently snaked her hand up Cydonia's arm until Petra traced the top of her fingers, stilling them; her other hand hovering without touching near Cydonia's lower back, ready to steady her on her tip toes. "Perhaps, I can wear it as a badge of honor for a thievery well done." Her normally mischievous composure returning with each word, until a feral grin lit her face. "After all, getting away with it in plain sight is half the fun, no?"

Ignoring the erratic staccato of her heart, she deftly extricated herself from the bubble they had created, one hand still playing in the cage of Cydonia's fingers, tugging her along towards the massive buffet table along one wall. "Come on! I'm positively starved.

@Cydonia

 

[Cydonia]

A warm touch quieted Cydonia's fussing. The flesh of Petra's thumb pressed into Cyd as she fell back on her heel. Her brow untangled itself as she eased back down. But her hand remained raised a moment longer, her fingers fluttering with a slight shake against the claw and scale of Petra's hand. Gold eyes looked down into her silver, neither of them smiling for a moment. Something other than merriment curved against Petra's lips.

The moment burst like a bubble. The smile Petra flashed cut through the peculiar face she had worn before. Her grip around Cyd's fingers strengthened, and their arms swung down in a wide arc. Cyd half-stepped, half-skipped her way behind Petra as she was led to the other end of the ballroom. They wove between gawkish nobles and their long-trained dresses, and Cyd was happy for Petra's height and impolite hips.

"Pardon us," she laughed back to a startled partygoer who had to stumble back in a half-circle to avoid the two knights. "Coming through~"

Several young women lingered near the buffet table, but only pecked here and there at the offerings laid out. Mostly they sipped at tall flutes of pink wine, and chatted about their families and the latest fashions. A server offer Cyd a glass of the same stuff, and she took it with a warm smile and an elegant bend of her neck.

The wine shimmered and crawled inside the glass as if moved by some invisible current. When Cyd held it up to her nose, she heard it whisper to her in a crackling voice. She frowned at the drink, lifiting it up to the light to see lines of miniscule bubbles rising from the bottom of the glass.

"Is this safe to drink?" she asked, incredulous.

 

[Petra Darthinian]

The second flute that Petra had already begun draining paused at her lips, "Er, let's hope so, considering I'd already be a goner." She finished her drink with relish, letting the glass drop from her lips with a satisfied hum. Twisting the empty flute in her fingers, she gave it a lazy, speculative look before passing it off to a nearby server with a wink.

“Although,” she continued, settling her shoulder against the pillar with a sinuous ease, “if we’re to make a jest of it, I’d counter by asking what exactly it is you wish to be safe from?”
Her tone curled with amusement, but her eyes pinned Cydonia in place, oblivious to the curious stares of interested nobles that milled about them.

She sucked her teeth, her grin sharpening into something more wolfish.

“Merriment? Dancing? Lowered inhibitions?” A pause, eyes flicking over Cyd’s face like flame licking over parchment. Then, softer, lower. “I promise I wouldn’t let you do anything you wouldn’t enjoy.”

A ripple of laughter peeled from a nearby cluster of lords and ladies.

She leaned in just a touch, her voice a velvet drawl.

“Besides… a little danger keeps the heart young. And if something were to happen…” she raised a brow, “we're Knights, are we not?” Her hand ghosted towards the absentee hilt at her waist, then instead flicked out to snatch a candied fig from a silver tray as another server passed.

“I’ve faced worse than enchanted wine,” she added with a wink, popping the fig into her mouth. “Like the time I had to fight off half a tavern's worth of sailors over a botched game of foxglove dice. Now that was a terrible breakfast.”

She chewed, savoring the sweet for an indulgent moment.

“So.” She extended a hand, a warm challenge glinting behind the invitation. “Shall we dance before the poison sets in?”

@Cydonia

 

[Cydonia]

Petra's voice dragged across Cyd's skin like velvet, soft and well-fitting. When the taller elf leaned in to deepen the effect, Cyd playfully pushed her away. Fingers of one hand spread out against the lapels of Petra's pilfered jacket, a shove easily countered.

"You are downright, a bad influence," Cyd teased. She lifted the glass of bubbling wine, inspecting it one last time before giving a shrug. "Here's to a little danger, then."

Up went the glass, and spread the fizzy spell onto her tongue. It tasted spoiled. But spoiled on purpose, like a fancy cheese. Cyd did not swallow it as confidently as Petra had, but she managed to drain the flute without embarrassing herself too much. Now, where was she supposed to set it down? Looking left, then right, Cyd discreetly slid the empty flute onto a nearby table. She hopped back to Petra's side as if nothing had happened.

Clear as daylight, Cydonia laughed at Petra's challenge of a dance. She squared her shoulders, and struck a ready stance that had her thin dress shifting in inelegant ways. "A knight would never leave a lady to face the unknown dawn alone." She reached out and accepted the invitation. Petra's gloves cushioned the touch, but still she felt the strength beneath the fabric. Both their hands were rough from swords drawn and lives fought. "So yes, let us dance to meet it."

She let herself be led to the center of the floor, following whatever pace Petra set.

Whoever's party this was, they knew how to set the mood. Instead of a central chandelier, the ballroom floor was lit by myriad shroudlights and cut glass, domed high above in a half-circle and sliding low along the outer walls. Warm and cool fragments of light blended together to create an iridescence in the air, as if the room was caught within the walls of a giant soap bubble.

Dreamlike, other dancers swirled about them. Jewels on the necks of ladies gleamed in colors not their own. Gentlemen stepped with shined leather shoes and bright favors pressed into their coat pockets. The music was sweet and flowing, a myriad of stringed instruments coming together and pulling their harmonies apart in rhythm with the dancers. And with each passerby, a new, impossible scent filled the air. Orange blossoms, oakmoss in the rain, kaikias sage - all faraway and out of season.

"It feels strange," she admitted to her companion. "To not have a reason to be here, no quest to complete." One of her hands clasped Petra's, the other rested lightly on the other woman's shoulder. "How do you do it? How do you know where to put your feet, when there's no place you have to be?"

 

[Petra Darthinian]

The weight in Petra's hand was pleasant enough to be driven to distraction. That is, if it were not for the rainbow refractions that bent through the shimmered glass above them, light dancing in gilded flecks across Cydonia's white-gold hair like a halo.

And Petra, as all dragons are before beautiful things, was entranced.

She found her partner's constitution to be gentle and self-possessed. Observant in a tender way that caused Petra, in no small measure, to pause and endeavor to try and experience the way Cydonia saw things, in the same manner. Especially when compared to herself. So often Petra was a hot self-consuming meteor striking the sky in a blaze of reckless abandon, caring little for the stars she knocked from their orbits.

But here was a creature of grace. Of easy joy. And Petra, almost unthinkingly, felt the pull of wanting to be worthy of that gaze. To be seen as good in it.

She pressed a light squeeze into Cydonia’s hand and slowly drew her into motion, letting the music settle into her bones. She led with subtle pressure and the occasional playful drag of a heel, letting their bodies find the rhythm together. Their fingers remained intertwined, and Petra’s eyes trailed the path of Cydonia’s curious gaze— landing, and then for a flicker of a second, on her mouth.

She had asked a good question— focus.

Petra’s tongue darted out, wetting her lips. She let out a low, breathy laugh, the fae-spun wine beginning to shimmer through her blood like fireflies under summer skin. Adjusting her grip, she guided Cydonia in closer, melding the smaller woman to her front, the soft places between them folding into the other.

For a rare moment, Petra's usual mischievous light dimmed, replaced by a more sincere nature now with their faces so close.

“Well,” she began, voice quiet and thoughtful, “you and I are both elves, yes? So I can’t exactly claim it’s long life that gave me ease.”

Her fingers gently circled over Cydonia’s lower back as she continued, unknowingly tracing the dips along her spine.

“I will say, something changed when I bonded with Norvyk— besides the obvious." A cheeky flash of teeth, fleeting. "But imagine being born to fly, but never knowing it. Always looking up, but never quite understanding why. Searching for that why and unknowingly walking a path that only ever takes you farther from the sky. Worried that every new step is the wrong one."

Petra indulged a small spin with Cydonia, snapping her back to the soft giving of her embrace.

"Then, one day, you’re given wings.”

Her brow folded into a wistful expression, a rare moment of self-given grace for herself.

“And suddenly, it didn’t matter where I stepped. The world opened up, and I stopped measuring myself by the paths I’d walked." That grin returned. "Or something clever like that.'

@Cydonia

 

[Cydonia]

The dance was a slow one. The meandering rhythm allowed for every breath of conversation to be felt, every bump of bodies to be noticed. The touches between them were quiet enough that they could be accidental. A step slid too far that led to a press of hips. A squeeze of fingers as balances shift. Warmth bled through fabric as an embrace was held long past the beat of music.

And Cydonia kept up with it all, the perfect echo of Petra's lead, no ask denied and no pressure met with resistance. She wavered in Petra's grasp, hung there as a garment pinned to a line. Heavy with her own weight, moved only by the whims of the wind. When it came time to fold in closer, she let herself be folded.

Breath filled her lungs, as Petra's fluttering hand found a hollow place to settle along her back.

Some of her grace lost, the breath didn't come back out easily enough. Though the lights shimmered around her, none of that radiance met her eyes. Cydonia tried to focus on the other woman's words, surrounded herself with them. Norvyk and wings. Finding the thing that matters most. Being born for something and waiting, waiting for the sky to open up and for--

The spin caught Cydonia already dizzy.

She could see Petra returning to that bright smile of hers, trying to bring Cyd forward with her into the next step. The tinkle of gold earrings as she shook her head wistfully at her own words. A bounce of dark curls. The flex of strength at her collarbone, where her jacket lay a little askew. It should have been enough to bring Cydonia back, to make a connection. There should have been warmth returned, glossy banter and flushed cheeks. All she could feel was the cold spot at the base of her spine, prickle of nerves sending a chill through her.

Cydonia reached round and grabbed Petra's hand, before it could find its way back to her waist.

"Please--"

Her grip was ragged, fingers firm enough to bend tendons. "I'm sorry. It's just--"

Reason did not come to her. She didn't know what it was. The next song began to play around them. It was faster than the last, but Cyd could not return to the wash of reverie. She'd turned to stone amongst the tide of dancers.

 

[Petra Darthinian]

Petra stilled.

The pressure of Cydonia’s fingers, so sudden and unyielding, washed through the effervescent rhythm like flood water over flame. Her golden grin faltered, dimming into a concerned frown as the air shifted, and her hand turned over in that grip, open and placating, while her other hand let go and hovered uncertainly in the air between them.

She searched Cydonia's face and saw perhaps banked panic there in the chilled aftermath. The threat of some great emotion spilling over.

"Alright," A bobbing nod of her chin, a look about for an exit strategy as she stepped closer to Cyd, for the music surged around them, pulling others into its orbit, but Petra stood firm as a stone in the raging river, stopping them from pushing into the smaller woman.

“You don’t owe me pretty apologies, it's okay, if anything, I'm sorry,” she added gently, her head tilted imploringly, wanting nothing more than to help her fellow Knight be comfortable once more. "We can stop? Or leave? I wouldn't mind chugging more champagne or stuffing our faces, whatever you need."

@Cydonia

 

[Cydonia]

What did she need?

The question traveled through her on slow rotation. A thousand possible answers presented themselves, and none of them fit. She tried on several emotions in a near instant, cycling through them like dresses for a party. Anger didn't fit, it was too raw and red and she only felt flabby in it. Nor did sorrow suit the moment, for she could have kept dancing if that was the only garment draped across her shoulders. Jealousy wasn't it either, even if Petra's talk of wings made her own feel clipped.

The only answer that came close to the truth was the needle pricks that still whispered against the spot on her back. Get it off, stabbed the little needle, a tickle between the vertebrae. I don't want to be worn like that. But Cydonia could not feel it above the rush of her own blood.

She settled on anxiousness, trying it on. "Oh, I don't want to cause a fuss." Some animation came back to Cyd. She loosened her grip on Petra's hand, moving instead to paw at her own wrist in a nervous twist. "I just need--"

A bright gentleman in a blue jacket and yellow kerchief had somehow managed to get past Petra's defenses. Off-white daisies were embroidered into the hem of his kerchief, a subtle lace that frilled out from the pocket just like a bouquet would. He looked human, except his eyes were very green, and he was exceptionally tall.

"Pardon the intrusion my lady, but I spotted you from across the way and I could hardly believe it. Am I greeting the Sun Maiden herself? I never dreamed you might brighten such a humble hall as ours." The gentleman said, voice smooth as caramel, but with a sour apple lilt that could dip into mockery at a moment's notice. He pushed one foot back and leaned into a generous bow, his hand outstretched. "Please, honor me with a dance."

 

[Petra Darthinian]

He crowded in over Cydonia like some slavering mongrel, a mutt drawn to what shimmered without regard for what stood guard.

His honeyed words only poured fuel on the simmering snarl curled behind her teeth. Petra’s shoulders tensed, the movement subtle but seismic with restraint. Dragons didn’t share well. And they especially didn’t take kindly to threats against those they considered under their charge.

Emerald talons caught silk and collar. A yelp leapt from his mouth, snatched out of him like a coin from a purse as Petra pulled him close, her insidious whisper slithering hot, envenomed goosebumps down his skin. "And if I weren't to pardon you?"

His eyes shrank to small green beetles, fixed now on the sharp edge of her teeth and the promise of violence carved into each one.

“You are mistaken, friend.” That last word spat soft and sour. “You saw no Sun Maiden here. Especially not one foolish enough to subject herself to the company of snakes.”

Petra released him with a careless little shove of dismissal, the man stumbled, caught off balance, and landed hard on his ass, the breath knocked from him in a sharp oof.

Around them, gasps rippled like wind through silk. A few sharp titters from the ton followed his landing, the rest was suppressed laughter from behind fans and champagne flutes as they watched him scramble in disarray, frock askew, pride eaten by a gluttonous drake.

With none of the fury that had just laced her limbs, she reached for Cydonia’s hand, hands gentle in their entwined fingers.

"Come on, let's get some air."

She guided her through the ripple of dancers and curious eyes, her gaze fixed ahead on the tall glass doors that opened to a balcony draped in moonlight. Towards the open night air, where the music dulled and they could both breathe again.

@Cydonia

 

[Cydonia]

Skin prickled as voices grew hotter around Cydonia - mostly Petra's voice, a dragon's wrath possessing the woman, sharpening her teeth and narrowing golden eyes to fervid slits. If Cyd had been on surer footing she might have been able to do something about it sooner. But as she stood, she could only watch. Claws and hot breath raked relentless at the man. Pushed him to the edge of a fight with cruel words and careless action.

And then, that wandering hand came again, which dared to be gentle with her. All at once, the cold distance that had dulled Cydonia's presence flashed into heat.

Her fingers balled into a fist, refusing the tangle and promise that Petra offered.

"What are you doing?! You'd threaten a man simply for speaking to me?" Anger flushed pink on her cheeks. Cyd did not want air anymore. She had plenty of that puffing up her chest. Two breaths cycled through her, one to steady her voice, and the other to settle her posture back into something respectable. "You've no right to choose my company for me. I can do that myself. And if this is how you think a knight behaves, then I'll belly on the floor with the snakes."

With that she twist and flew away from Petra, fabric tugged free from the line. Cyd came to kneel next to the man, not caring what the scuffed tile would do to her white dress.

"Are you alright?" she asked, taking his hand in her own, ready to brace him back up to standing and right the wrong that had just been done to him.

"Don't worry, it's only my pride that's been bruised." The gentleman sat up straighter and tried to sort himself out. At the movement, he gave a thespian's wince, half-smile. "And perhaps my tailbone."