Event | Sinbrilee | Bacchanal

[ironwood]

Characters: Any and all!
Date: August 24 - 30th
Location: Sinbrilee
Situation: An ancient festival of an ancient city, all are welcome at the Bacchanal!
Warnings/Rating: Please label threads as appropriate.

Death and destruction cannot curtail the single most important festival celebrated by the denizens of Sinbrilee: The Bacchanal! The ghosts in and about the city have begun to gossip about high fashion and festivities, sending any that inquire to the Amphitheatre -- a grand, circular structure nestled in the west side of the city.

This structure bore the fall of Sinbrilee and the wear of time with dignity, having lost handfuls of archways and one long stretch of wall to crumbling decay. Despite this, it is obvious that the amphitheatre once hosted many a display and every more festivities than the mind can grasp. This was their solace and safety; here is where the people of Sinbrilee came to find the mind's escape from all that threatened them and their great turtle.

Ghosts have been busy throughout the week, clearing paths through debris and hanging great cloth banners of soft blues and greens to disguise the more blatant signs of its decline. Many hundreds of them shimmer and slid through the area, providing for tables upon tables of food, offering drink, and overseeing competition of sport and skill (some even denying death's non-corporeal curse to enter).

Here, well... Here is where the party begins!

Food & Drink | Music, Discussions, & Dancing | Wrestling & Competitions

Comments

[saisamour]

[If there is any distaste he feels at calling her 'thou'—a word he had only ever addressed and thus related to Cosette—it is not seen in the well-practiced expression of neutrality that remains when his smile fades. He furthermore still appears to be listening to her, and he is, of course, or at least is making an attempt to even when his thoughts turn to Cosette and how she called him 'thou' in that melodic voice as if he was the only important person in the world and—

Oh, but his mind is flying off again, isn't it? He blinks, forcing himself back to the present, and tilts his head almost imperceptibly when Eponine finishes speaking. A thoughtful look crosses his face when he ponders on what to say to that; in any other case he would simply have not said a word in response, but he is making an attempt at friendship, and friends do share personal things with one another.]

I have never had many friends myself.

[There, that is a start, isn't it?]

[jondrette]

I find that incredibly hard to believe, m'sieur Marius! You, who are so kind and handsome! I'm sure you had many friends when you were at school! You are only saying that to make me feel better. You had your friends at the barricade, and that m'sieur Courfeyrac as well. You cannot tell me otherwise, and even still, that is still more friends than I have had!

[She's just going to prattle for a while. But she has so many words to say and no one that had wanted to listen for quite some time. But Marius is her friend, and this is what you do with friends.

After a moment, she reaches down, seizing his hand in hers.] Come, m'sieur Marius! You must dance with me!

[saisamour]

[He lets out a short, disbelieving laugh at that, because oh Eponine, you sweet summer child.

And then his eyes widen suddenly as she grabs his hand.] I...

[Am not a particularly good dancer, but will he be able to say that before Eponine pulls him to the dance floor while he attempts to construct his thoughts into a sentence that sounds less embarrassing?]

[jondrette]

[Nope. If he got the words out, they were lost to the music as she drags him to the dance floor, before situating herself in his arms, as she'd seen the fancy ladies and gentlemen do.] You will have to lead me, and tell me that I am a very graceful dancer, Marius. I shall tell you the same. But I complement you all the same, for I believe you are deserving of all of the nice words in the world.

But I am sure at home you were complemented many times, by all the pretty ladies.

[saisamour]

[Well, all right, it is not as if he has time to anyway, what with his heart beating fast with sudden nervousness. He is going to make a fool of himself, he is sure of this, but he swallows and puts a hand around Eponine's waist anyway, resting at the small of her back, as her other hand goes into his, raised to the level of their heads.] I have not—

[He tries to lead her forward, but something squishy at the tip of his shoe tells him that he's definitely stepped on her toes. He pales considerably, and avoids her eyes, staring instead at his feet.] M-My apologies!

[jondrette]

[Eponine has no problem intertwining her fingers with his, all under the guise of having no idea what she's doing. But letting him lead happened to probably not be the best idea ever.

Case in point: her foot.

She winces, but says nothing until he speaks. Then, she takes her hand from his shoulder and gently tilts his head up to look at her.] Just be glad I had shoes on this time, m'sieur Marius. You are forgiven, it did not hurt. I have had worse.

[saisamour]

[When he feels her tilt her head up to him Marius presses his lips together and nods, deciding not to comment on her last statement, not because he does not feel a sense of concern but because he simply does not know what to say. He breathes in and releases a shaky breath, before steeling himself and making another attempt to lead.

One, two, three, one, two, three... So far so good, at least. He doesn't trip or step on Eponine's foot this time around, but his movements are still stiff and awkward.

He's trying.]

[jondrette]

[And he's doing wonderfully. She follows along with him, though her movements have an easier grace to them. She hadn't danced like this since she was a child and sometimes the music in the inn would become a sort of waltz and her father would happily spin her about.

Ten years, and so much had changed.

No, her grace came from a life on the streets, having to be quick in wit and on her feet. Clunking around was an easy way to get yourself killed.]

[saisamour]

[Oh, God, and Eponine is an admittedly good dancer, too. He feels his face grow hotter from embarrassment, and that is enough cause for him to accidentally bump into the couple behind them. He stammers out an apology, looking absolutely mortified, before turning back to her although not quite meeting her eyes. His movements are slowing down and growing slightly behind the beat of the music.]

I-I have not danced in a long while.

[Specifically not since he left his grandfather's house, and with that the life of luxury and dances and parties that never were really as exciting and as enjoyable as everyone invited tells themselves.]

[jondrette]

[She can see he's blushing, but Eponine does not care. She's simply happy to be here, dancing with him. Even as they bump into the couple, she offers them an apologetic smile, but the second Marius looks away, she glares at them.]

Neither have I. Do not fear- if you do not wish to continue, we can stop.

[saisamour]

[Oh no oh no this only makes him more distressed!]

I-I cannot possibly ask you of that if you still want to dance.

[It's not very fair for Eponine, after all, and he does not want to be inconsiderate, especially as he is trying his hardest to be a friend to her.]

[jondrette]

M'sieur Marius, [She reaches a hand up to gently cup his cheek, stroking the soft skin with her thumb. It's an intimate gesture, and she does it in attempts to calm him.] It is of no matter to me. I want what you want. That is all. If you wish to stop dancing, then we shall stop.

[saisamour]

[He blinks and tenses at the gesture, meets here eyes for only a fraction of a second before they return to staring at a random spot on the ground. He nods, a little stiffly.]

V-Very well, then.

[He releases her then and gives her a polite bow. All right. Now what? Still beet red from embarrassment, he offers her his arm to her so he can lead her away from the dance floor.]

[jondrette]

[Marius you are the cutest and you are blushing, and it is adorable. Eponine returns his bow with a curtsey, and happily takes his hand, trying not to grin too hard.

...Just pretend that her brushing your hand was an accident.]

Thank you, m'sieur Pontmercy. You honored me with such a small thing.