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sylvains
[ faerghus feels like a whole world away when she's back in enbarr. the parties, the nobles, the people - everything was whisked away as soon as she got home and settled into her normal routine. she's starring in two shows the company is putting on, one that's running and one that's still in rehearsals, so most of her day is spent in the theater.
she throws herself back into her work with renewed enthusiasm for focusing on something other than herself. she tells herself it's because the couple days off rejuvenated her, but she knows that's not the case. part of her is glad she has something to put all of her energy towards so that she doesn't keep thinking about what exactly she did at that party in fhirdiad.
not that it was a bad thing. it was good. it was fine. it had no moral significance. it was just a nice time spent with an old friend.
anyway. the point is that she's here, throwing herself into being a senior diva again, ignoring mail and keeping fit and wearing herself out so that she sleeps as soon as she crawls into her quarters by the theater every night. so everything is back to normal, really, and she can almost forget that she ever made a promise to go back to faerghus, because who has the time? not her, certainly not this season.
so it surprises her, one night she steps out for her first aria. she performs to the whole audience, of course, and that means making eye contact with the high-rollers in the boxes. they want to feel like the opera is just for them, and singing a line or two in their direction usually keeps them coming back. halfway through her piece, she turns to the box on the lower stage right, and even past the blinding stagelights, she thinks she recognizes who's there.
she doesn't react at all, because she's a performer before anything else and nothing, not even sylvain gautier showing up at the mittelfrank, will keep her from singing her heart out. but after the performance is done, she'll hang around backstage, throwing a robe on after she removes her costume instead of retiring to the dressing room to pack up and leave.
who knows if he'll come? but judging by the way the other girls are giggling (and come to think of it, they'd been making faces at each other before the show had even started, dorothea should have known something was up), she's not making a fool of herself in expecting him to arrive. ]
You didn't tell me you were coming. [ she'll say when she sees him, in lieu of a greeting. her tone is even, but it isn't angry. just... bemused. ]
she throws herself back into her work with renewed enthusiasm for focusing on something other than herself. she tells herself it's because the couple days off rejuvenated her, but she knows that's not the case. part of her is glad she has something to put all of her energy towards so that she doesn't keep thinking about what exactly she did at that party in fhirdiad.
not that it was a bad thing. it was good. it was fine. it had no moral significance. it was just a nice time spent with an old friend.
anyway. the point is that she's here, throwing herself into being a senior diva again, ignoring mail and keeping fit and wearing herself out so that she sleeps as soon as she crawls into her quarters by the theater every night. so everything is back to normal, really, and she can almost forget that she ever made a promise to go back to faerghus, because who has the time? not her, certainly not this season.
so it surprises her, one night she steps out for her first aria. she performs to the whole audience, of course, and that means making eye contact with the high-rollers in the boxes. they want to feel like the opera is just for them, and singing a line or two in their direction usually keeps them coming back. halfway through her piece, she turns to the box on the lower stage right, and even past the blinding stagelights, she thinks she recognizes who's there.
she doesn't react at all, because she's a performer before anything else and nothing, not even sylvain gautier showing up at the mittelfrank, will keep her from singing her heart out. but after the performance is done, she'll hang around backstage, throwing a robe on after she removes her costume instead of retiring to the dressing room to pack up and leave.
who knows if he'll come? but judging by the way the other girls are giggling (and come to think of it, they'd been making faces at each other before the show had even started, dorothea should have known something was up), she's not making a fool of herself in expecting him to arrive. ]
You didn't tell me you were coming. [ she'll say when she sees him, in lieu of a greeting. her tone is even, but it isn't angry. just... bemused. ]
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when she sees him turn around, affording her even more modesty than just the screen, she's not sure what she feels. security, she supposes, that he's here for a good reason. confusion for what that reason could be. disappointment lurking beneath, that it looks so easy for him to resist.
but as long as he's not looking at her, her eyes roam over him while she dresses. the line of his shoulders, the cut of his suit, the mop of red hair that she can't even call a mop anymore because of its neatness. it's been a long time since she's let herself look at anyone like this. ]
They're very disheartened that I don't have a romantic life for them to be invested in. [ they're all i have, she nearly says, but she doesn't want to be depressing. ] So they have a lot of pent-up energy I'm sure they'd expend on any friend of mine. Not that you'd know anything about that.
[ she hesitates before she goes on, asks the question that's been on her mind since she saw him in the audience. ] Did you have plans for us this evening, after surprising me at my show?
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[ sylvain would be lying if he said he hadn't used the 'romantic life' quip to test the waters, but as much as dorothea and him were cut from the same cloth in terms of the way they thought, she was still incredibly hard for him to understand. guessing what she's thinking, that's a challenge he's balking at. then again, he's probably the same to her, isn't he? they'd both made their masks their defense, and habits were so hard to break.
idly, sylvain picks up something from the dressing table and feigns interest in it, like he needs to keep his hands busy lest his body take over from his more reasonable mind and do something unbecoming like, look over there. where she is. ]
Well, nothing in particular. I didn't want to assume you'd be free, since you're in pretty high demand around these parts.
[ he puts whatever-that-was back down and slips his hands into his suit trouser pockets, glancing down at the flowers he'd brought her on the dressing table. sylvain had pegged her for more an exotic rose type of character, but again - they seemed to be doing their best guesses at each other. ]
What do you usually do after you finish up here? Some sort of raucous theatre afterparty?
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[ her age isn't the reason she's stopped partying - sylvain knows, after all, that she isn't opposed to knocking back several drinks and, well.
in any case, it's just that she's so tired these days. what had once been a delight (being a part of the company, sneaking into the parties when she'd been too young to be invited along) has now become routine. and she's never particularly keen on being sought after and flirted with by strangers, not like she used to be before. she hates being in high demand. it all leaves a hollow feeling in her stomach.
that's an awful lot to explain to sylvain - and it doesn't apply to him anyway, so why bother? she steps out from behind the screen, back in her usual clothes. tall boots, a hat at a jaunty angle, a daringly cut dress with a jacket thrown over it. nights in enbarr are pleasantly cool these days. ] I'll do you the favor of keeping myself awake for you, if you'd like. [ her smile is easy as she comes up next to him, sweeping all the little things from the table into her bag and tucking it under the chair. the flowers, she sets in a vase she grabs from someone else's table, a finger running along the tip of one of the blossoms before she looks up at him. ] I'd prefer something on the quieter side, though, if that's alright by you.
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[ staying awake for either of them at this point is nothing to sneer at, considering dorothea had been performing her heart out and sylvain had just ridden across the continent to see it. truth be told, the combination of the past few months of intense work and the long ride had left him pretty exhausted as well - and as much as his mind was willing in terms of a slamming party, his body was very much opposed to it. maybe he'd just asked out of force of habit, not quite willing to accept that slowly but surely, he was getting older.
as he hears her voice come closer, emerging from the screen, sylvain dares to look around again and hopes that his timing is correct. luckily, it looks like he won't be incinerated on the spot this day, though he does look rather struck by what she comes out in - it's incredibly hard not to appreciate dorothea's beauty, and each time he catches her in something different, it's like he's realising how stunning she was all over again.
it occurs to him that the silence has gone on for just a second too long to be appropriate, and that he's probably staring, so he quickly covers his tracks by doing his go-to move when he's got no idea what to respond with - a grin, and half-baked wit. ]
To be honest, I'm not in the mood for a large party anyway; the ride here was long, and sitting down is still a challenge.
[ funny that now they weren't being deployed every other week, sylvain had fallen out of practice with riding. a week and a half in the saddle would probably wreck anyone, though. ]
What does your maiden's heart desire? A walk, perhaps? A candlelit dinner? Or I could just accompany you home and serenade you while you stand on your balcony. If you have a balcony.
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A maiden's heart? The opera is over, Sylvain. [ she turns to lean back against the table, looking up at him. she knows what men look like when they stare at her. she can tell easily, at this point, when someone is particularly struck by her beauty. she knows what the look on sylvain's face was when she stepped out from behind the screen.
he's seen her look far worse, is the difference. and yet, he still pauses to look at her, still sees her for what she is now. wrinkles at the corners of her eyes, freckles on her complexion, all tiny things that she's vain enough to enumerate every morning in the mirror. ]
I don't have a balcony, no, though I'm very curious about your serenading skills. [ she smiles, a little impish. ] And for the sake of your riding-impaired self, I won't force you to sit through dinner. We could have a walk, though. There are some food stalls I've heard are good nearby.
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[ at least, he'd taken the bare minimum of music lessons when he was growing up in the gautier household - for now, he could keep that a secret, though. sylvain is still rather unused to playing all his cards, used to hiding his hand much in the same way dorothea does too. then again, that almost makes everything new he finds out about her that much more exciting - especially when everything was so protected, so guarded from others. it's an interesting dance that they're doing, and it's likely contributing to the fact he's here right now.
there's definitely... multiple reasons. anyway; ]
And, I'm humbled for your concern about my health. Honestly. Sounds like a walk it is!
[ taking a small step towards her, sylvain extends his elbow outwards slightly as an invitation for her to take it - more decorum, and at this point the lines are a bit blurry as to whether he's taking all this protocol seriously, or making a small mockery of it as someone who's entirely tired of all the rules and guidelines.
either way, last time they'd seen each other, he'd offered to take her to dinner - and regardless of what form that dinner took, he'd come to enbarr with at least the intention of staying true to that offer. a low bar, maybe, but he's learning to pick bar up. ]
Shall we, my lady?
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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. ]
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Ugh, point taken, point taken. I'll refrain.
[ sylvain still sounds rather cheerful despite the threat though, as they step out into the warm night air of an enbarr evening. he's just never been able to get used to this - the heat of the south was almost overwhelming to someone from faerghus, a land that was more often than not covered in a blanket of freezing snow. it had been just as unbearable when they'd taken the capital as it was now, but dorothea? she looks perfectly in her element, in the summer adrestian fashion. he, however, was going to have to try not to sweat straight through the suit he was wearing, and likely not just because of the heat. ]
So, how've you been? It looks like your operatic career is as successful as ever, judging by the faces of your adoring fans.
[ innocuous smalltalk, perhaps. it's not like he hadn't wondered how she was doing down in enbarr as his mind had drifted to thoughts of her, thoughts of them back at the king's party in faerghus. more than he'd like, and more often than any other dalliance had snuck into his mind, proving this entire situation to be rather foreign to him. sylvain had certainly never ridden across a continent for any other individual, that's for sure.
the streets are humming with activity as the city settles into a night market atmosphere, merchants hawking their goods from either side of them as they worked their way through the throng of people lining the street. every now and then, someone stares at them or whispers behind their hands to their companion, most certainly talking about them - and don't think sylvain doesn't notice the effects of dorothea's fame in these parts. it almost makes him firm his grip, until he wonders - just why is he jealous right now? ]
I would've ridden down sooner to fulfill the 'promise', but it's been difficult to get away; the king's finding fun in keeping me busy. I feel he thinks he's keeping me out of trouble, more like.
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when sylvain ask how she's been, it's not easy to find an answer. oh, she knows what she'd tell most people - it's a thrill to be on stage, she's so lucky to still have her job after the war, her parts are delightful, and so on. but it doesn't feel right to go through her regular spiel when sylvain already knows she's more often satisfied than truly happy with where she is.
so she lets out a soft laugh, doesn't bother hiding the weariness that accompanies her answer. ] I've been busy. Sometimes I wish I were worse at singing, or acting. I'd just be more stressed about making a livelihood then, but at least I wouldn't be so in demand.
[ that makes her focus on work sound less self-inflicted, surely. it's not like she's lied - and she's not about to tell him the full truth, that she's been slaving away at her parts and at rehearsing to stop herself from thinking about that night in faerghus constantly. whatever he may want to hear, it's definitely not that. ]
You? Getting in trouble? Now, why would his Majesty think that of you? It's so uncharacteristic. [ she dares a glance up at sylvain, all innocence and bright eyes in her look. ] I thought you'd been behaving yourself now that you've got your fancy title. At least, that's what I gleaned from my visit.
[ sneaking out from a party with stolen food and drink to make out: you may not like it, dima, but this is what peak behaving looks like. ]
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[ there had certainly been reputations attached to students at garreg mach, and sylvain hadn't had a particularly fantastic one in terms of being sensible and diplomatic. he'd like to think that's at least changed a little, but the mischievous side of him was one he'd never shake - he liked it far, far too much. what dimitri didn't know wouldn't hurt him, and even if he found out? he was much too busy to galavant over to gautier territory and slap him on the wrist. sylvain would take his chances.
and dorothea seems to bring that side out of him, he's coming to discover. sylvain certainly hasn't thieved anything from a party since, and maybe part of why he's drawn to her is that she coaxes out the parts of him that he likes instead of having to pretend - be someone he's not, say things he doesn't mean, constantly be guessing their intentions. it's so easy to be here with her, and that's something significant, he's discovered.
it's enough introspection to almost drag him into a reverie, but the street was too loud and busy to do much of any deep thinking - probably for the better, right? sylvain was only on leave in enbarr for a few days before he had to ride back for a faerghus council, so he should probably make the most of his time here. they were out for, what did dorothea mention? food stalls? and he did intend to treat her to something, so as he keeps her arm linked in his, brown eyes stay peeled for what he guesses she might like. ]
So, what are you feeling? Fried? Baked? Both?
[ though he pauses a moment as a stall catches his eye- ]
Elaborate dessert? That sounds like something celebrities would enjoy, right?
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what's hard is figuring out what sylvain expects from her, what sylvain wants from this. whether she's striding ahead confidently or tripping all over her own feet, he doesn't seem to mind. it should make her feel at ease, but it fills her with anxiety instead. she likes to know the whats and whys of every situation she's in, but asking why sylvain likes her, what he's doing here, is a non-starter.
you're overthinking things, manuela would tell her. she hasn't seen manuela since the war ended and she went off to teach goddess-knows-where. somehow, dorothea misses her guidance in this moment more than anything. ]
I don't really like food. [ she wrinkles her nose. ] I mean, it's not as if I hate it. But I don't have many preferences.
I'd hate to be stereotypical, but elaborate dessert sounds fun.
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[ out of habit, he flashes dorothea an easy grin - sylvain can't particularly relate to not liking food, not after being friends with ingrid for any length of time, but he's not here for his stomach; he's here for the company. it's actually not as hard sylvain thought it'd be to cut across the thick crowds in the streets, since for some reason they seemed to almost part in front of them like waves as they moved. dorothea's fame combined with the fact that sylvain wasn't exactly an unknown face after the liberation of enbarr proved to be giving them a certain kind of berth that he's not going to think too far into.
instead, he steers them towards a half-inside, half-outside dessert outfit at the beginning of one of the street's alleyways - it looked like it was just quiet enough and afforded just the right amount of privacy for them to actually talk. truth be told, there were several reasons behind his sudden appearance at the opera, and sylvain would prefer to actually fulfill these without being accosted by the adoring public. hers, not his.
there's a two-seater table under an awning that he brings them to, making a good show of pulling out a seat for her, though it's still a gamble whether he's taking chivalry seriously or making mischief out of it. ]
At least now I can say I make good on my promises. I mean, this isn't dinner, but I'm still taking the win.
[ and when she's seated, he'll sit across the table from her, relaxed and sitting improperly as usual. ]
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Let's get the deluxe special, shall we? [ the most expensive item on the menu, of course - not that it'll be anything much to sylvain, seeing as it's a food stall rather than an actual restaurant. ] And maybe if you let me know next time you arrive, we can grab dinner rather than something so impromptu.
How long are you staying, anyway?
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[ sylvain grins at the slight admonishment - it had, after all, been quite the trip. he wouldn't have managed to sneak into the opera, ingratiate himself with all her co-stars and do important reconnaissance if he'd planned ahead and warned dorothea first. no, sylvain much more enjoys the element of surprise on his side, and it's definitely not because he's mildly concerned about rejection if he'd let her know beforehand. better to take the risk and charge in head-on, just like he lives the rest of his life.
someone pops by to take their order briefly, and he repeats dorothea's request - a deluxe special with two spoons, thanks - before turning back to her and leaning casually forward on the table. here's his undivided attention again, and despite the easy-going air he maintains, sylvain's attention has always been... a bit of an intense thing. ]
A day or two; not long, unfortunately. Someone's gotta make sure that Duke Fraldarius gets his naps, otherwise he gets crotchety and politicking is out of the question.
[ a joke, but more to deflect that he can't stay. ]
Though, I do admit I came here with some ulterior motives before I get found out. Though I'm obviously here for your charming company, I also have a proposition, if you will.
[ it definitely sounds like a flirt, even if it's not. ]
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when his attention turns to her, she can feel it. his gaze is palpable. there's really only one way she's ever learned to deal with being overwhelmed - which is to match the other person at every move, of course. so she doesn't let it fluster her (that is, she doesn't let it show on her face), and she leans forward as well, hands politely folded in her lap like they're at a proper dinner instead of a little stall on the road.
when he admits how short his stay is going to be, she keeps a perfectly even expression on her face, because she won't dare to let the disappointment she feels shine through. no, that's a feeling to lock in a box, shove to the back of her mind, and interrogate later. she hadn't seen sylvain for nearly a year and she'd lived a perfectly fine life. it doesn't make sense for her to be so eager for him to stay now. ]
If you pull out a ring right now, I will smack you. [ for many, many reasons - but she's teasing. mostly. maybe? god, she has to stop letting her mind wander like this. ] What did you come all the way here to ask me?