Now this, I've got to see. [ it's relaxing to banter with him, to settle into the quiet camaraderie of laughing softly at one another. she can guess that he's had training of some sort - all nobles seemed to go through something like that. it seems one's status of birth couldn't change the fact that music was powerful, and that the ability to perform it was a talent worth seeking.
it's made dorothea smug more than enough times in the past, watching auditions for the company and confirming that talent is truly blind to class.
all thoughts of interrogating sylvain further on the matter fall away from her mind as he takes a step towards her. her mind fills in the rest: he'll take another step, and another, and set his hands on the table on either side of her waist, caging her in, and he'll slowly press one of those kisses to her lips, and they'll pick up right where they left off, and--
he lifts his arm in her direction and it's like a cold bucket of water dumped over the anticipation she's built up in her head. stupid, really. stupid and girlish, and she hates feeling like she's not in control of her own mind.
she knows she's been silent for a fraction of a second too long, so she injects eagerness into every movement as she steps forward, slips her hand into the crook of his arm, giving him a wry grin. ] If you're going to call me "my lady", you can't stop me from calling you "your Grace". At least one of those is a true title.
[ and as she speaks, she'll tuck her bag over her shoulder and steer them out of the dressing room, down the hallway to a back door, and into the city at night. ]
no subject
it's made dorothea smug more than enough times in the past, watching auditions for the company and confirming that talent is truly blind to class.
all thoughts of interrogating sylvain further on the matter fall away from her mind as he takes a step towards her. her mind fills in the rest: he'll take another step, and another, and set his hands on the table on either side of her waist, caging her in, and he'll slowly press one of those kisses to her lips, and they'll pick up right where they left off, and--
he lifts his arm in her direction and it's like a cold bucket of water dumped over the anticipation she's built up in her head. stupid, really. stupid and girlish, and she hates feeling like she's not in control of her own mind.
she knows she's been silent for a fraction of a second too long, so she injects eagerness into every movement as she steps forward, slips her hand into the crook of his arm, giving him a wry grin. ] If you're going to call me "my lady", you can't stop me from calling you "your Grace". At least one of those is a true title.
[ and as she speaks, she'll tuck her bag over her shoulder and steer them out of the dressing room, down the hallway to a back door, and into the city at night. ]