D U N E
- ☾ -
T
he girl is not from here, that much is obvious. She also doesn’t have the feel of a tourist. And there were a lot of tourists in Solterra, particularly this time of year. They had a certain kind of recklessness, a freedom that came with not knowing anyone. In some ways Dune could relate, for every night he was a tourist in the dreams of others. But, a dream is different from an island, which Novus indisputably was. There were consequences here, despite the suggestion at every corner of this party that there were not.He watches her carefully taste the drink, taking just a sip instead of thirstily gulping away as he had seen others do increasingly with each passing hour. There is something refreshing about the way she considers it- and a strange charm in the way she says “lovely” like she’s someone’s grandmother. He notes the lilting accent of her voice, reaffirming her foreignness, and he’s about to ask where she’s from and how she likes the party when she breaks the silence first.
“Why are you only painted on one side?” She asks, and before he can respond she backtracks with “I- I mean- oh dear. Is that…appropriate to ask? I’m sorry if it isn’t.”
It was never acceptable to laugh at a guest, even if they were being wildly insane (or, in this case, sweetly naive). If she was not laughing, he was not allowed to, but he was at least able to smile. And at “oh dear” his smile finally melts into something warmer, something that struggles to contain the laughter bubbling in his chest. “Nothing’s inappropriate to say to the help here.” He takes a drink for himself, the gold one that smells like it’s spicy. He’s been sampling the drinks all night, though very carefully so that he never reached the point of inebriation. It was a simple job but he took his responsibilities seriously, and it was this level of care that ensured he could always find a job somewhere. Most employers didn’t recognize Dune, which he considered the highest praise and the greatest job security- it was the failures and screw-ups that made themselves remembered.
That being said, his shift was almost over, the night grown late, and he allowed himself to drink a little deeper of the golden beverage, scowling through the sweetness. “I think it's an artistic statement? Dunno for sure, it’s above my pay grade.” His smile grows sardonic and his eyes glance past her to the rest of the crowded room. This is the point where he should ask “anything else I can do for you?” And be on his way to the next thirsty-looking guest. But to be honest he just doesn’t want to. This girl is different, and kind, and quite pretty… also across the room an older mare is getting snippy with her gentleman friend and Dune really doesn’t want to be the one to break them up.
The server circles the pegasus, presenting the painted side of his body. The fight about to break out is conveniently at his back. He arches his neck and prances in place for a second, a pose to mirror those countless stupid statues. “Do you like it?” He quickly quits the prancing (feels too foolish) and straightens once again into the formal, precise posture the servers were expected to maintain at all times. There is a mischievous edge to his grin now, and something like a challenge in his expectant eyes.
we look almost happy out in the sun, while we bleed to death from wounds we don't
know about
