LYSANDER
It is not for him to say anything, when first he and Flora interrupt – and surely it is an interruption they have caused. It’s amusement he feels, and surprise, and all that is natural enough for him – but it’s the hurt he feels on Florentine’s behalf that comes more unexpected, and it’s something like anger that he tucks down before the attention of the king and the regent turns to him.
Less of a surprise is the amusement that blooms in him at the virile anger in Reichenbach’s look. His wants are written clear across his handsome face, and it takes Lysander an unusual amount of control to keep his smile from becoming anything but innocently genial.
Ah, it would not do well do get tangled in a brawl the first day in a new world. And he is a man made for other things than fighting.
The king’s words surprise a laugh out of him, bright as a bell. “Ah, no. I’m no suitor. Flora and I are old friends – I’ve not seen her since she was a little girl.” He glances to her then, all fondness, and smiles at the secret between them – that her childhood, for him, was only weeks before. What a funny thing time and worlds were – what a marvelous creature she was, that she could play in in them like a seal in the sea. He wonders if any of those here have any idea just how remarkable the golden girl and her dagger truly are.
He is saved from just what they’d spoken of – likely for the best; he can’t imagine Reichenbach pleased to hear how Florentine, small enough her flight-feathers had not yet grown in, had proclaimed she would marry him someday – by the kirin, who stepped in deftly as any practiced courtier. Lysander offered him another bland smile, though he was well aware of Florentine’s growing unease.
He shifts his gaze politely away when she replies, both to her lover and to her regent, and as he watches lanterns rise and snowflakes tumble he wonders just what kind of world he’s walked into.
Certainly not a dull one.
At the ivory-and-gold man’s words he flicks his gaze back, an eyebrow arched, and looks him once more from gleaming antlers to glorious golden scales. How doth the little crocodile, he thinks, and inclines his head affably.
“I was promised dancing and wine – I would be happy to follow anyone, so long as they take me to those things.” Another grin, white teeth and dark curls, his gaze keen on the kirin, assessing in turn the look he found in those pale slit-pupiled eyes. “Lead on, then, if you are up to the task. I would love to learn more of your people and how they conduct their affairs.”
One more look he gives to Florentine, this one softer. There is a part of him that wonders if he should stay – but she is no longer a little girl, and his presence here would do more harm than good. He does not touch her, but inclines his head, and inhales once more the scent of hyacinths, of distant summer. “With your permission, my lady,” he says, and indicates Isorath and the festival that waits ahead.
@Florentine @Reichenbach @Isorath - shall we start a new Iso/Lys thread?
Less of a surprise is the amusement that blooms in him at the virile anger in Reichenbach’s look. His wants are written clear across his handsome face, and it takes Lysander an unusual amount of control to keep his smile from becoming anything but innocently genial.
Ah, it would not do well do get tangled in a brawl the first day in a new world. And he is a man made for other things than fighting.
The king’s words surprise a laugh out of him, bright as a bell. “Ah, no. I’m no suitor. Flora and I are old friends – I’ve not seen her since she was a little girl.” He glances to her then, all fondness, and smiles at the secret between them – that her childhood, for him, was only weeks before. What a funny thing time and worlds were – what a marvelous creature she was, that she could play in in them like a seal in the sea. He wonders if any of those here have any idea just how remarkable the golden girl and her dagger truly are.
He is saved from just what they’d spoken of – likely for the best; he can’t imagine Reichenbach pleased to hear how Florentine, small enough her flight-feathers had not yet grown in, had proclaimed she would marry him someday – by the kirin, who stepped in deftly as any practiced courtier. Lysander offered him another bland smile, though he was well aware of Florentine’s growing unease.
He shifts his gaze politely away when she replies, both to her lover and to her regent, and as he watches lanterns rise and snowflakes tumble he wonders just what kind of world he’s walked into.
Certainly not a dull one.
At the ivory-and-gold man’s words he flicks his gaze back, an eyebrow arched, and looks him once more from gleaming antlers to glorious golden scales. How doth the little crocodile, he thinks, and inclines his head affably.
“I was promised dancing and wine – I would be happy to follow anyone, so long as they take me to those things.” Another grin, white teeth and dark curls, his gaze keen on the kirin, assessing in turn the look he found in those pale slit-pupiled eyes. “Lead on, then, if you are up to the task. I would love to learn more of your people and how they conduct their affairs.”
One more look he gives to Florentine, this one softer. There is a part of him that wonders if he should stay – but she is no longer a little girl, and his presence here would do more harm than good. He does not touch her, but inclines his head, and inhales once more the scent of hyacinths, of distant summer. “With your permission, my lady,” he says, and indicates Isorath and the festival that waits ahead.
@
Oh, it’s a bad, bad ritual
Oh, but it calms me down
