see that girl, watch that scene

[gameofsocks]

slow dancing ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ a meme → COMMENT WITH YOUR CHARACTER'S NAME, FANDOM, AND PREFERENCE. → PICK A CHARACTER YOU WANT TO TAG AND GO FOR IT. → PLAY NICE; NO WANK, FLAMES, OR GENERAL HUMBUGGERY. ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ the deal FORMAL OR INFORMAL, WITH MUSIC OR WITHOUT, YOU COULD BE AT A GLAMOUROUS GALA WHILE A SINGER CROONS SOFTLY OR IN THE SILENCE OF YOUR OWN LIVING ROOM. WHEREVER YOU ARE, YOU HAVE THE URGE TO DANCE. DID YOU ASK YOUR PARTNER OR DID THEY ASK YOU? HAVE YOU GOT TWO LEFT FEET OR IS THE VIENNESE WALTZ YOUR JAM? IT COULD BE AWKWARD, IT COULD BE ROMANTIC. EITHER WAY IT'S CUTE AS HELL.

stolen from the @ crypt.

Comments

[courtintrigue]

Surprise flits across her face. That is unexpectedly exciting, the way that Leliana, of all people, hands such a straightforward -- if polite -- dismissal to the Dowager. People rarely treat the woman lightly, so complex is her web, and Morrigan's patience for the Game has always been low. Her eyes light with approval. "I am as well as can be expected."

One thing she can say with certainty is that the last few balls she has attended have been far more interesting than any that took place before her assignment to the Inquisition.

"I am here to solve a mystery. One that no one here is better equipped to assist with than you." Though she moves no closer, a hint of a smile tugs at the corners of her mouth, making her question seem more of a challenge than curiosity. "Do Divines dance?"

[fightingale]

Should Morrigan being well be a cause for gladness or concern? As well as can be expected seemed ambiguous at best. Leliana's own expressions are more guarded in the presence of Orlesians and those who frequent the court, all of them so eager for even a whiff of something betrayed by the Nightingale. It made thwarting them and laying down false trails all the more entertaining. In terms of what could be expected from Morrigan, however, that was another matter. Leliana had long ago began to realise that you could expect all you like, and Morrigan would more than likely act entirely to the contrary. It could be as frustrating as it was charming.

"Do Divines dance?" Deliberately sounded out, thoughtful, as if she needed to test the words against the air to parse their meaning. "That is a worthy mystery indeed. I imagine it would depend on a good many things. The manner of the dance, the quality of the musicians, the lighting and the time of day, whether they have consumed a little too much sacramental wine — the partner, of course." She hums, musing, and idly resting her knuckles under her chin as if this will help her pensiveness.

"I would say," and she pauses, nodding as if she had settled on a very serious and satisfactory response to a very important question, "they could be persuaded to." Her own smile or, rather, the echo of it, is perhaps a shade less guarded than usual. "They might even be compelled to invite someone to dance themselves."

[courtintrigue]

A corner of her mouth turns downward, but it only makes the crook of lips seem sharper. She continues to see glimpses of the old Leliana whenever there is a good opportunity to give a performance.

"Ah," she breathes out, as though she possesses a considerable amount of patience. She takes another small step forward, shoulders and chin still proud. "Since you have obviously given this much thought perhaps you will share what you believe could so compel a Divine."

She had thought to do the asking herself, but now that idea pales in comparison. It would cause even more of a stir if onlookers believed the Divine asked, and that is far too delicious an opportunity to miss.

[fightingale]

At times Morrigan seemed as though she might be a Spirit of Challenge granted human form, should such a spirit exist. It did not seem entirely plausible, all things considered. Pride and Challenge and something slightly mischievous entwined around that. The thought makes her mouth quirk subtly, a pleasure she'll keep entirely to herself.

Very gravely: "A truly devout partner." Leliana begins, mulling it over quite seriously. "Obviously someone terribly dull, that's the only thing that's seemly. Dullness and an utter lack of interest, to ensure that propriety is upheld."

She retains an air of contemplation, before retraining her gaze on Morrigan, wicked only in her deliberate innocence. She holds her hand out in offering, bold and apparent and for anyone to see, eyebrow quirked and curious. "Alternatively, the Divine could be inclined to the opposite."

[courtintrigue]

Here she was, wanting one final stir to see her off, and how obliging Leliana is, despite her teasing. Few things that could realistically happen here tonight would gratify her more.

"How fortunate--" Raising her hand, she clasps Leliana's own. "--for the Chantry that its beloved Divine has such an open mind."

It sounds a bit rich even to her own ears; she has not always thought of Leliana as particularly open-minded. For a long time she largely considered the Chantry anything but a problem of hers, which has never quite been true. From templars hunting the much-rumored apostates in the Wilds to the uproar caused by her position at court, the Chantry has always been something to spite. She would not miss it if it crumbled, still thinks Leliana a fool for caring, but if there must be a Divine is it not better to see Leliana taking the title than anyone else who would be willing to wield it?

She walks with Leliana onto the dance floor. The grasp of her hand tightens briefly, an act quick enough that perhaps it was not noticed at all, and once they have a spot she considers sufficient she turns and places her unoccupied hand on Leliana's hip. "I thought that perhaps you would wish to begin your time as Divine with an event worthy of a story."

Only half of the truth, but certainly true.

[fightingale]

Beloved Divine, indeed. Leliana laughs quietly, a breath of a thing that is barely audible. "Fortunate," she agrees, quite aware that there are a good many people who can't fathom some of the changes she has in mind, that there are those who will not understand her decisions no matter their regard for one another. Dancing with the dread Witch that manipulates Celene and her court is, perhaps, courting a certain degree dissent before she is even fully stepped into office.

They have known, however, who they had elected Divine. Leliana has sparked dissent ever since she was a lowly sister in Lothering, and allowing herself to be lead onto the floor by Morrigan has a pleasing anticipation bound into it.

Morrigan's hand on her hip gets a slight hitch of a smile, before she presses her own free hand to the small of Morrigan's back, a suggestion of more closeness rather than a demand, possibly even a dare when it's coupled with Leliana raising her brow a little as the music starts.

"Did you? I thought you couldn't stand my stories."

[courtintrigue]

A little anticipatory thrill unfurls along her spine, prompted by the light but unmistakable pressure of Leliana's hand at her back. Only encouraged, she takes a seamless half-step in as they start to truly dance.

She is absolutely certain that they have a riveted, whispering audience. Her smile steadily stretches, far more pleased than she addresses with words, but her eyes are only for the woman in front of her.

"Oh, do you intend to tell it?" Her eyebrows rise. "I thought you no longer had time for such things." In her opinion, she heard far more of Leliana's stories during the Blight than she ever wished. She will remain unapologetic about it forever if need be, but she angles her face toward Leliana's in a way that is reminiscent of more private moments between them. "Others, however, will be quite happy to fill their time with this one. They will suggest that I have ensorcelled you much as I did the Empress."

[fightingale]

"Ensorcelling me." Sounded out slowly, thoughtfully and with that overly precise manner of hers as she guides the dance. There is something thrilling in such public proximity, in the barriers of silk and velvet and witnesses when she has become so well acquainted with the slop of Morrigan's skin against her own and the different ways that such closeness as this allows her to make Morrigan's breath less steady.

A pleasing thought, and one that spurs her to lean just close enough that her words come as a murmur against Morrigan's ear; "Surely if that were the case this would be a rather less proper diversion?"

And she smiles then, conspiratorial. "And in my Divine wisdom I am sure I can make time for spinning tales. After all, you manage advising and ensorcelling and turning half the court to toads very well. I should follow your example in time manangement." Quiet, dry, and punctuated with the sort of smile that all but forbids the notion of her telling any kinds of story.

[courtintrigue]

That is a nice distraction, barely more than a whisper in her ear. From the smug flutter in her chest one would think Leliana spoke of a less proper diversion in far more exciting detail.

"Ah," she sighs dramatically, a huff of breath against the side of Leliana's face, "one more far-fetched tale, is it? Had I the ability to turn anyone into a toad I would not have stopped at half of the court." Her own smile is sharp, fingers pressing as though the fabric between her hand and Leliana's skin means nothing. "And how do you, in this so-called Divine wisdom, intend to spin this story to those around us? It must be believable."

No one will think her interested in the Maker's plan.

"Perhaps it can involve a moonlit ritual. That always seems popular."

[fightingale]

Between the brush of Morrigan's exhale over her skin and the pressure of her fingers, Leliana could well believe their circumstances were more private than they truly are. There is something both thrilling and exasperating in this wanting, in knowing that were they not held in the gaze of dozens of courtiers that the breaths and the grasping would be that much more strained.

"So long as you'd stop at me you'd find little protest."

Her hand at Morrigan's back appears relaxed, to slide easily, but she presses it hard against the fabric of the dress and for half a moment her lips graze Morrigan's skin, a fleeting, accidental contact as she moves into the next steps of the dance and turns them. For the briefest stretch of time they are far too close, even for a dance of this nature. In the next, propriety is restored.

"From what I understand, moonlit rituals demand a certain degree of nudity." She has the temerity to sound faintly scandalised, even if the smile lurking at the corner of her mouth betrays her. There is just the faintest note of teasing in her tone when she carries on, "What a romantic figure you are, Morrigan." Such inspiration for a young bard.