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F.A.Q. ♦ RULES ♦ PLOT ♦ FACE CLAIM ♦ CANON SPECIFICS ♦ BIO FORMAT ♦ CANONS ♦ DEATH TO MARY SUE! ♦ BELIEFS ♦ EVENTS |
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JOLY Technicolor-Werewolf SISTER SITES  
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| Viewing Single Post From: The Sea of Smiles | |
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| PqA | Jun 24 2009, 12:39 PM |
Agent
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These kinds of affairs were dreadfully bourgesouise... but that could be overlooked. There were too many people gathered in too small a space to mind that now. Tonight, he was not Bahorel. Tonight, he was Marcandier, Bacchus, Don Giovanni. With one fluid motion, he straightened his short jacket, and began to cut through the sea of swirling color. He was looking for someone to dance with, and entirely confident of finding a partner, despite the apparent lack of unaccompanied women. His jacket and cape were a dark, velvet red, the trimming a gold design of sweeping vines and small emroidered flowering. His mask was very much the same- a somple thing, with small rounded holes for the eyes, and which curved along the same line as his impressive whiskers- which he had allowed to grow out somewhat, for the occasion. The mask was tied simply with a wide black ribbon. His vest, which was high collared, was black, with thin red striping running vertically along the length. He toyed absent mindedly with one of the buttons. Round gold things, with an interesting clasp mechanism which he'd used to fasten, unfasten, and refasten many times before the fiacre had reached the Ball. They were fascinating, really, and their shine made for such a grand entrance. Perhaps he did not make quite a grand entrance as the Count of Monte Cristo once had- but it would cetainly do. Ah- there! A young thing, standing alone near the side, there. Dressed as a swan. She seemed young- probably too young for Bahorel, on any other night. But that may have had something to do with the not quite perfectly fitting costume. In any case she was dashing. And the point was, she'd look even better, dancing with him. Bahorel dodged a rather too poetic looking candlebra- gold, with lights glowing softly. The entertainment struck up a new waltz. The chello first: pom pom pum, pom pom pum... One, two three, one, two, three. Then the rest of the strings and the winds. It was a delicate tune, which wound itself deftly about the room. Somewhat like a snake, or a river. Both two very different things, admittedly, though both lethal, under the right conditions. He approached the young thing, and held out his hand to her. "You make a wonderful bolt," he said, in a suave manner, using a common slang term for "bird." Perlpex the girl, and get her to dance. Not bad, old boy. Edited by PqA, Jun 24 2009, 12:45 PM.
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| The Sea of Smiles · In Character | |
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 3:30 AM Dec 4
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