[P] Half of science is asking the right questions

[Raymond]

Raymond had begun his visit to the festival with a demonstration of his art; now he watched another as a pale-spotted mare with flowers in her hair danced across the stage, weaving a story of her own with her body. Thankfully no one was likely to compare the two, as her grace and beauty inspired appreciative sighs from onlookers while his likely inspired a whole new generation of strangers to avoid him in dark alleyways.

The red stallion joined in lauding the performance as it drew to a close. By the volume of cheers, she seemed well-liked (or at least well-known) among those in attendance, a fact that did not escape his notice.

A small crowd flocked about her as she left the stage and Raymond lingered patiently, each brief exchange of pleasantries bringing him nearer. When activity had died down enough for the spotted mare to make her way unmolested toward an array of refreshments he drifted seamlessly into her orbit.

"That was quite a performance," he said, the tone of his voice that of an appreciative art afficionado rather than a hungry suitor. Messalina may be lovely and capable of producing lovely choreography, but nothing about the red stallion's bearing suggested he was there to perform a seduction: 'predatory' was not among his list of character traits.


Raymond.
and at his feet they'll cast their golden crowns
when the man comes around

@Messalina

[Messalina]

the glass ballerina
♕

The porcelain dancer’s smile never wavered as she bowed left and right at the swarm of patrons that crowded her like bumbling bees. Despite her best efforts to conceal it, exhaustion pulled at Messa’s limbs like syrup and each curtsy became more sluggish than the next as she struggled to escape the crowd.

Cerulean eyes searched for a familiar head of dark curls through the madness, to no avail — and so with a quiet desperation did she retreat, finally, to a velvet-swathed table topped with colorful sparkling glasses. Swiftly, a glass goblet floated up to tip its contents past parched lips, and the fizzing drink was downed in a wink. She wasn’t sure what, exactly, she was drinking, but it was as sweet as honey and satisfied her thirst enough to keep caution at bay.

She had never expected for her performance to draw such acclaim as it had. Not because Messalina lacked confidence in her skill — she had dedicated too many hours to believe so little of herself — but because her performances in Algernon had always drawn nothing more than polite, muted applause. As was the custom there, where anything past a certain volume was regarded as unrefined. And so she had thought nothing of it, until now.

Her blood still buzzed with the thrill of a roaring crowd, heightened perhaps by the drink she ought to know the contents of but didn’t. It was all too much exhilaration for the solemn girl to handle, and without thinking she downed another sparkling goblet. She hoped to the gods it was nothing more than cider.

“That was quite a performance.” The sudden voice at her ear, deep and rumbling, startled her. The glass goblet trembled dangerously in the air, refracting light like a chandelier; it took a sharp intake of breath to steady it again and lower it to the table with a sigh of relief.

Messalina stared tensely through ivory lashes as she turned towards the voice, her vision a field of rich chestnut. “Thank you,” she spoke, eyes traveling upwards to settle into a warm gaze. “I am glad —" she paused mid-sentence as a flame of recognition sprung to life in her crystal-blue eyes.

The copper pelt, the blade for a tail… she had seen him before. The storyteller with the intricate woodcarving.

“I remember you,” she breathed as her manners returned to her at last, lips lifting into a fleeting smile. “Your story was lovely — I was backstage at the time, but I heard it all.” A stray curl fell across her eyes as she curtsied. “My name is Messalina. Welcome to our festival.”

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@Raymond | "speaks" | notes: dw the drinks aren't alcoholic she'll be getting drunk at a later time

[Raymond]

Raymond expressed his apology for startling the mare with a penitent swivel of his ears that did nothing to cast a shadow over his features. The two of them sharing space made for an interesting contrast: she, soft and buttermilk-pale with a fay creature's diaphonous grace and bearing; he, hard and sleek as the blade he bore, gifted with an entirely different sort of elegance. One artist sees another.

He nodded graciously at her recognition as a connection was made. "Much appreciated! I can't recall ever having a better audience with which to share it," the red stallion replied without hyperbole. In another universe, where things had transpired very differently in his life, Raymond imagined he very much would have been quite the socialite and tale-teller.

But then, would he ever have lived a life that would give him such stories to tell?

"Name's Raymond." He bobbed both head and tail blade, offering the height of rendari respect in response to the pale mare's curtsy. "I'm new in town."

Messalina must have been from Dawn court - strangely the first he had met since Ipomoea who was not obliged to entertain him by virtue of being a merchant or server. The festival seemed to have attracted all manner of attendants, which he assumed was the point given the sheer variety of performances and decor. "Where did you learn to dance like that, Messalina? I must say, I've never seen quite such exquisite choreography before."


Raymond.
and at his feet they'll cast their golden crowns
when the man comes around

@Messalina Pfff why put off later what you can do right now