s w a h i l i
take a drunk girl home
let her sleep all alone
leave her keys on the counter
your number by the phone
pick up her life she threw on the floor
The desert dancer glances towards the odd gem encrusted stallion, her head tilting the side just enough to send the locks of curls tumbling down her cheek, though his chuckled answer produced a frown of consideration. "I've learned in many situations, even one can be a crowd if your inner voice is screaming loud enough." She retorted, before blinking at his comment of wanting her persepctive on Day Court, "I am the last one to ask such a matter. While I may be a member of the court, I am not among the court's populace often. Further, I wasn't raised in the Courts at all." She pauses, she hesitates, her gaze clearly searching to locate where her family members are, how far away the guards are, before she further explains, "My mother is a member of a nomadic tribe of gypsies out in the desert. I was raised until I was roughly six months old in the deserts, in an entirely different environment than the courts." She offered, the faintest hint of a smile breaching her outwards appearance at the memories. "Upon arriving at my father's doorstep, he spent the next many months tailoring my education to be a proper member of the upper elite society with in Novus."
Her mind strays to the alley of outcasts. To the peddlers desperate for a dollar. To the old croons who sell tonics that do what they're supposed to, but their cripple appearance scares most buyers away. "However, in any civilization such as this, there are flaws. There always will be. Walk the alleyways of Solterra, and you will see what I mean - when you stop walking among the general public, and your eyes are drawn to those left in the crevices of greatness. Able to see the light before them, but unable to emerge from the shadows they've been cast into." She shakes her head, and there is honest regret and sadness in her eyes for those who are forgotten and ignored, in large part, because she to is the forgotten and ignored outcast in her own family. Even now her father's gaze checks on each of her sisters with out coming anywhere near her - he's already forgotten her attendance. "In the shadows of greatness, you'll always find those who were walked over to reach the light. Are you the sort to climb over others to achieve your goals, if you are - then do not spare a thought for those of us, who dance in the shadows, and walk the alleys. We do not stand for false sympathies." It's the only warning she offers, as the desert rose turns to look at him, her hazel-green eyes searing into him. Not just warning him from making an enemy of the alley-walkers, but also aligning herself with them as well.
His attention turns to the dance, and she frowns at his words. Yes, the dancing may be practiced and perfect, but did he not see the act the very event wore, "It's not just the dancing that is perfect with out flaws - it's this very event. It's the stiff way the men interact. It's not social, it's not casual - it's business. My own father is making alliances to further his own profits as we speak. The ladies who curtesy and dance - do you not see the predatory gleam in their eyes. They are not hear for social interactions, they search for a future partner who will be able to carry them, and their children into the laps of luxury. The wealthy have come upon this event, they have stolen the true purpose of it . . . and it is . . . it is heartbreaking. A masquerade is meant to be a time to shed expectations, to try on the face, the being of something new, and live life in the moment. None of them see it that way - they merely are deploying all their acts, their mirror-perfected smiles, and award winning acting to further their own selves."
The blossom shakes her head before glancing briefly at the stallion when he comments on no creativity in their movements, and she snorts briefly, "This is the wrong sort of party for that. Search out bonfires, where the music is wild, and no one feels a need to care. You'll find the individuals there tend to be less of the wealthy - more of your average worker. But it's also where the entertainers let themselves shine. There are few places in Novus where we entertainers can let lose and be ourselves - bonfires tend to be one of them; and the Marketplace of Denocte another. There, you'll find others dancing in the dark, and not worrying over who may be watching." Her self included, sometimes.
She shakes her head, before unfolding her legs, and climbing to her hooves with a slight ripple of her pelt, realigning her curls, before eyeing the stallion, "Why do you ask me for my opinion on Solterra, though? She asks, as she moves to the table where the spread of food and drinks are laid out, her continued conversation the only offer he would be given to accompany her there. "Surely I'm not the only Solterran you've met there?" She adds as she collects a glass of a bubbly champagne for herself, eating the strawberry out of it. "Or are you so new to the lands, Jarek; that you're clinging to the only familiar faces you find?" There was an almost playful edge to her tone, the casual allowance of permitting his company - at least for tonight. She'd have to test him out later to see if he can keep up with her when she wasn't being the perfect daughter under her father's watchful eye another time.
"Speech"
Thoughts
@Jarek
Notes:
