act like i'm the best (calanthe)

[Luca Oleander]

act like i'm the best

[attr="class","box1a"] Luca felt caught in an orbit; his head was spinning while the revel spun around him. There was a good chance that this could be owed to the gold stain on his tongue, or the sparkling, prickly edge to his breath that he didn't remember the source of. He had a truly terrible habit of kissing unknown powders off the mouths of courtiers. Now, he did vaguely remember the press of lips, his hand in a mane of wild hair, the scent and then the taste of something sweet. But the rest was lost in the blur of the music and lights.  He never really used the ability on purpose, but he had the blood of what they called a "love-talker"—the kind who could charm mortals to their deaths, who could make the fae silly with desire. It was a tricky thing, easy to do by accident when he wasn't paying enough attention, especially at parties like this.  He let the current of the dance sweep him back into its formation, now two intersecting circles; the tempo was upbeat, and he felt nowhere near to tiring. The movement let a breeze flow through the loose linen of his shirt, billowing open over his collarbones and the chains of gold and pearls at his throat. His arm slipped around the slender, cool-skinned waist of some nymph as they swirled around one another, changing forms, and then he was back in the dance, mouth open for drink to spill in or a laugh to spill out.  His eye caught on a shape in the corner of the room as he and the other dancers spun past. A girl, North Court by the blue tint to her cheeks against her icy complexion. The daughter of a noble, he thought.  Why doesn't she dance? Luca wondered. Why not join in the festivities? It seemed a shame to attend such a party as this and hide in the corner. Perhaps it was whatever substance most certainly buzzed in his bloodstream, but he broke from the dance without much grace, deciding that he ought to talk to her.  Calanthe Willowlace [newclass=.box1a]margin:0px auto; width:300px; height:425px; background: transparent; overflow:auto; padding:8px;[/newclass] [newclass=.box1a::-webkit-scrollbar]width:5px;[/newclass] [newclass=.box1a::-webkit-scrollbar-thumb]background: #e8a72a;[/newclass]

Music Word count: 353 Notes:

credit to Laura of Adox + SeaJem

[Calanthe Willowlace]

Calanthe stood in the corner of the ballroom, watching the festivities that whirled around the rest of the room. She had never been one to get swept up in the frenzy of a revel, but she quite enjoyed floating around its edges, observing the colorful folk that passed her by, her presence going entirely unnoticed.

At least she thought she was unnoticed, until she saw a boy made of nothing but sunlight weaving his way across the floor towards her. It made her eyes hurt. Frowning, Calanthe thought about slipping away, blending in with the next crowd that passed in front of her until she had escaped his sight, but this boy made of gold and smiles seemed determined, and it seemed unlikely that something as simple as changing locations would deter him from whatever he was up to.

Resigned to her fate, Calanthe sighed and settled herself against the wall behind her. Watching with sharp, critical eyes and waiting for him to arrive.

tags: Luca Oleander

[Luca Oleander]

act like i'm the best

[attr="class","box1a"]Talking to her should be easy. Talking was easy. It didn't matter how loose his tongue became; as long as it was honeyed and well-maneuvered, no one really minded what it had to say. And Luca could turn many a lovely, if empty phrase. His words were nectar.  His walk was almost a saunter as he approached the girl, rather loose-limbed with drink and festivity. She was so serious by contrast, so self-contained. It would be impossible for her to hide beside him. Luca was reflective; he was a thousand facets of light, the lantern at the center of the dance, and he'd be pretty even if he broke. "Well, now, what's this?" he said, propping one shoulder against the wall beside the North Court girl. He folded his arms and leaned nearer to her, peering, curious with the kind of half-lidded eyes that were usually backed by silk sheets. "Are you not having fun? Am I such a terrible host?" Her cold eyes burned like frostbite. It made something worryingly close to self-consciousness curl behind his sternum. That and—something more than curiosity. There was nothing Luca wanted more than the things he couldn't have. He shifted onto his back foot, tucking two fingers under one of the gold chains that collared his throat, tugging it absently. If he did his job right, her eyes would fall to the outline of his Adam's apple, the muscle climbing the sides of his neck, the hollow where his collarbones met. He knew what he was. "Shame on me—I am a terrible host. I haven't asked your name, have I, my lady? What is it? I hope it's lovely to say. Oh, and your rank and title—I must know how low to bow, you see." Though one or the other of us might end tonight kneeling. Who knows? The possibilities without the cost were dazzling.  Calanthe Willowlace [newclass=.box1a]margin:0px auto; width:300px; height:425px; background: transparent; overflow:auto; padding:8px;[/newclass] [newclass=.box1a::-webkit-scrollbar]width:5px;[/newclass] [newclass=.box1a::-webkit-scrollbar-thumb]background: #e8a72a;[/newclass]

Music Word count: 312 Notes:

credit to Laura of Adox + SeaJem

[Calanthe Willowlace]

Calanthe held her ground as the boy reached her, leaning against the wall beside her, watching her as much as she was him; albeit in quite a different manner. She scoffed internally as he toyed with the chains around his neck and inquired who she was, voice dripping with honey and eyes half closed. She knew what he was trying to do, he wasn't the first to try, and it wasn't going to work.
"Quite the shame," she said, "after all, a good host would also have introduced themself, before interrogating one of their guests." She watched for a reaction as she responded. A flicker in the eyes, a twitch at the corners of that shining smile, anything that would betray his thoughts. She tilted her head slightly as she observed him, before turning her gaze back to the revel before her.
"Calanthe. Willowlace." She wasn't quite sure why she decided to humor him, but she did, introducing herself with short, sharp words. "I hail from the North court. Noone too important, I assure you." Perhaps, she thought, it was because she was curious. This boy was interesting. He shone so brightly and yet the light he gave off seemed odd, filtered, like sunlight through hazy clouds. A level of falsehood was expected from any fae of course, but she was still curious all the same.
"Who, sir, are you then? To approach me so boldly you must have quite the high rank, or you must believe me to have quite the low one." She inquired, better to find out who exactly he was first, before humoring him any further.

tags: Luca Oleander

[Luca Oleander]

act like i'm the best

[attr="class","box1a"]Luca clicked his tongue, honeyed eyes narrowing with undisguised interest. "You've forgotten your manners, to address a prince that way," he said, tapping the circlet at his brow that was half-hidden by his sunny curls. "Now, what noble family is it that trains their daughters up so poorly?" He bowed—excessively deeply, even if she had been another royal. "You see, that's how it's done, my lady. Prince Luca Sulien Oleander. You can call me by some other name, if you like, but do mind my title, won't you?" An easy grin slipped onto his full mouth.  "Calanthe Willowlace." He rolled the name around in his mouth as if he was tasting wine. "All the more brazen, then, my lady, if 'no one of importance' would so boldly lay out my faults." Offended though his words were, it was not difficult to see that Luca was strung between intrigued and enjoying himself, matching her gaze, never dropping his pearly smile. The South Court were known for the fact that though their words could not lie, their dispositions could and did.  "Is it bold of me," he questioned, leaning closer, "To see such a lovely lady all by herself at my revel and not attend to my responsibilities? One could even consider this an obligation. In fact—" He extended a hand that shimmered with rings, some more of that mysterious powder on his fingertips. "I find that I am obliged to ask you to dance with me, lady Willowlace." Even if that was not her true title, it would be the name he called her. He wasn't sure why, but it was so satisfying to see her scowl at him.  Calanthe Willowlace [newclass=.box1a]margin:0px auto; width:300px; height:425px; background: transparent; overflow:auto; padding:8px;[/newclass] [newclass=.box1a::-webkit-scrollbar]width:5px;[/newclass] [newclass=.box1a::-webkit-scrollbar-thumb]background: #e8a72a;[/newclass]

Music Word count: 287 Notes:

credit to Laura of Adox + SeaJem

[Calanthe Willowlace]

   A prince, figures, although Calanthe was aware of the royal family of the South court, she had never met any of them, as such she hadn't recognized the prince at first. She frowned just slightly as she glanced at his face, adorned with such a bright smile, she couldn't tell if it was false or true. Could be either, she thought, could be both. Between his words and his general attitude, there was no doubt that he was taunting her, challenging her. Whether it was out of boredom or interest she couldn't tell, but either way she was intrigued.

   Shifting her gaze she considered his outstretched hand, fingers shimmering gold with the same powder that graced his lips and glittered around the corners of his mouth, and the offer that came with it. A dance, it's been so long since I've danced at all, I suppose it couldn't hurt. "Are you?" She responded skeptically, playfully "well then, your highness, who would I be to deny you such an obligation?"
   
   Calanthe accepted the proffered hand, her own fingers staining gold as she did so, and allowed the prince to lead her to the dance floor.

[Luca Oleander]

act like I'm the best

[attr="class","box1a"]Luca had been curious to see if the lady would be abashed once he revealed his rank, but somehow he preferred the look she wore now—the barest frown, observant, surveying, as if deciding what to make of him. As if she hadn't drawn all of her conclusions from the simple fact that he was a prince. That might make it more difficult to win her interest, but—he had to admit that he liked being evaluated with so little regard for his status. Though, what was left, then? A marble smile and a boy of fragile sunbeams, so easily split or scattered?  Was the light even his own, or did he simply reflect and refract? Luca would have frowned had he not cared too much about optics. He wasn't nearly drunk enough to be getting philosphical. Perhaps this girl would be bad for him, and he should choose one of the other options—champagne bubbles, boys and girls and the curious ones between, frothy and insubstantial and unthreatening to his light regardless of its source.  But it would be bad form to retract an already offered dance, so he raised their joined hands and brought them to his lips with every ounce of elegance he'd ever learned. Calanthe's skin was cool to the touch, soft as a petal. "Yes, I am well-studied in decorum—but fear not, the obligation is hardly one that I mind," he said, raising his honeyed eyes to meet hers from his bent position.  He straightened and lead her out onto the floor, where an intricate, planned number was beginning; skirts, capes, and trains were whirling, shimmering under the strings of light that dripped from the arched ceiling. The dancers would pass one another from partner to partner, but always return to the one with whom they'd begun.  "Are you familiar with the steps?" he queried with an easy, tilted smile on his lips. He slipped one arm around her waist and drew her to him in the position of the dance; the fae did not have the same mortal sensitivity to space between them, given that their lovers changed as easily as their moods. And for Luca—love-talker—this was guided almost entirely by his whims. "If not, I can teach you." Charm flowed from him like a fountain of ambrosia, almost thoughtless. He was the prince of sunlight. How could he help the orbit he exuded?     Calanthe Willowlace [newclass=.box1a]margin:0px auto; width:300px; height:425px; background: transparent; overflow:auto; padding:8px;[/newclass] [newclass=.box1a::-webkit-scrollbar]width:5px;[/newclass] [newclass=.box1a::-webkit-scrollbar-thumb]background: #e8a72a;[/newclass]

Music Word count: 406 Notes:

credit to Laura of Adox + SeaJem

[Calanthe Willowlace]

    Calanthe couldn't help but notice how the prince's face twitched at her scrutiny. He's good at keeping face, I'll give him that. The prince took her hand and kissed it lightly, prompting her to try and keep her own face from twitching, before leading her to the dance floor. It seemed like the whole room was alive with dance and song, fae whirling around the room in a kaleidoscopic array of color, it almost looked... fun? Her mood was dimmed though when the prince questioned her grasp of dancing. Do I really seem so removed from this sort of environment? "I assure you I am quite familiar with this dance. I won't require any instruction. Now, shall we?" Her smile dripped with honey and venom alike, tail swishing behind her, as she raised her hands and assumed proper form. 

    Calanthe's tail was a long, thin, graceful thing, like a whip. Her little sister had once compared it to that of a unicorn, back when she was much younger and still begged Calanthe to let her braid her hair and the matching plume at the end of her tail. As Calanthe and the sunny prince began to dance, she held her tail as daintily and intentionally as she did the rest of her. Poised in practiced perfection, like a doll that had been posed on display, always exactly as she should be. As the two of them began to dance, joining the crowd that whisked through the room, Calanthe wondered; what was the boy in front of her like, underneath HIS dollish posing.

Luca Oleander ,

[Luca Oleander]

Title Here

[attr="class","box1a"]Luca laughed. He was, after all, a boy who laughed as easily as breathing. He had picked it up like speech, and laughter was indeed a language—a laugh could say go away or come closer; it could signal joy or an attempt to dignify acute pain. It was a language he knew as well as the spoken word, and unlike speech, it was a language in which he could lie. He'd gotten very good at that.  The dance whirled to life and he let memory guide his steps. There was a bit in the middle where they would have to exchange partners, but for the time being, the lady Calanthe was his captive audience, and he hers. "I never meant to offend," he said with an easy, tilted smile. "It's only a matter of formality, my lady, you understand. Amusing though it might be, it would make a shameful appearance for me to put you in a position for which you were unprepared." His smile flashed wider, a pink tongue peeking between his pearly teeth with the mischievous mirth of a child. "You need have no such fears for me, however. I am prepared for nearly every position." The inference was obvious, but he truly couldn't help himself. Luca was trilingual if one counted laughter and flirtation. The lady struck him as the type to preserve her dignity and ignore such comments, but she was at a fae revel, after all. Very few of the guests would be waking up in their own clothes or their own beds.  Calanthe Willowlace [newclass=.box1a]margin:0px auto; width:300px; height:425px; background: transparent; overflow:auto; padding:8px;[/newclass] [newclass=.box1a::-webkit-scrollbar]width:5px;[/newclass] [newclass=.box1a::-webkit-scrollbar-thumb]background: #e8a72a;[/newclass]

Music Word count: Notes: 259

credit to Laura of Adox + SeaJem

[Calanthe Willowlace]

    Staunchly ignoring the prince's comments as they continued to whirl and sway, Calanthe watched him closely. As strictly as she had been raised, taught etiquette and rules and politics, curiosity was one thing that had never been trained out of her. She was fae after all, and curiosity was simply a part of her nature. As they swished around the room, turning and bowing and stepping in time, she finally voiced what she had been thinking all night, " Why did you approach me? You clearly prefer to be in the midst of the crowd, why approach someone who was perfectly happy staying out of it?" 


Luca Oleander,

[Luca Oleander]

act like i'm the best

[attr="class","box1a"] As they neared the heart of the dance, carried by the music like a falcon on an updraft, the pattern of steps and turns spiraled to life in a nautilus of kaleidoscoping movement. Sweat shimmered on Luca's freckled features with a pearlescent sheen, only adding to the opulence of the decoration he'd already applied to himself. He gave an open-mouthed laugh, anchored to Calanthe by his grasp alone, flying through the movements he knew as well as running.  He deftly lifted her by the waist as the dance prescribed, beringed fingers splayed to hold her steady. "But your place on the outskirts was the reason," he said, not breathless but halfway to euphoria. "I feared you weren't enjoying yourself, and I would be an irresponsible host to leave you that way." Now he laughed again, an interjection, just another word in the sentence. A word that might have meant unspoken truths, translated directly. But the lady Calanthe was not fluent in the language of laughter as Luca was. He was safe for that. "To be sure, I am irresponsible," he added, twirling her with a reckless, pearly smile. 'But I take my revels very seriously, my lady." This was, of course, all true; his tongue would've been stilled, had it not been.  They were nearing the part of the dance where they would shift into concentric rings and trade partners outward from the middle, but Luca wanted to tease her with the prospect of not letting go. Of course, if she didn't accept any of his movements or offers, he would retract; there were many willing participants to be had, and Luca found no joy in flirtation or anything else if he was forcing it upon the other participant. He shifted his hand to cradle her lower back as a test of sorts, drawing her nearer to him. "Do the North Court fae never get warm?" he questioned, speaking close to her ear rather than attempting to overtake the music.  Indeed, though her skin shimmered with sweat like his, Calanthe remained cool to the touch, her skin somehow fleeting as a breeze despite the constancy of their contact. It was so curious in its similarity to her nature.  Calanthe Willowlace [newclass=.box1a]margin:0px auto; width:300px; height:425px; background: transparent; overflow:auto; padding:8px;[/newclass] [newclass=.box1a::-webkit-scrollbar]width:5px;[/newclass] [newclass=.box1a::-webkit-scrollbar-thumb]background: #e8a72a;[/newclass]

Music Word count: 373 Notes:

credit to Laura of Adox + SeaJem