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year 5, quarter 3
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Softly, deftly, music shall caress you hear it, fear it, secretly possess you
The night air was stifled and filled with the smoke of too much machinery; it mixed and mingled with the already oppressive drizzle that never seemed to get any lighter or heavier. The neon lights sparkled and shimmered in the puddles littering every few steps that Mateus took down the street. Men and woman painted like fine china stood in the illuminated doorways offering respite and warmth from the cold dreary night for just a couple of gil. Mateus sneered as one strong hand came to rest on his shoulder. "Nice and cozy room just you and me. What say you, my fine, fine gentleman." He quickly flicked the man's hand off of him and groaned loudly before picking up the pace. The sooner he was away from this sleazy slum the better off he'd be.
The further he walked the worse the atmosphere seemed to get. He made sure not to touch or be touched by the drunks and vagabonds that littered the sidewalk. The smell of stale cigarettes and urine was a nauseating mix to Mateus, and he made quite the show of covering his face with the cloak he wore. He held the purple cloak tight and fast about his person not daring to let these commoners the splendor of his dress. He had not the time to trifle with some petty thieves who would dare to assault him. He had an appointment and destination he would not miss.
He thought it quite off that the opera house would be in such a dilapidated and rundown part of the city. Then again much of the city looked the same, so why should this part be any different, but as he walked he did begin to notice the gaggle of pedestrians were less reclined on the ground and more moving on two legs. The stench even began to lighten a bit as the neon grew more subtle in the advertising and building signs. A few moments later he rounded a corner and came to see his destination.
The opera house sat on a cul de sac. Instead of the garish neon lights, the marquee was lit by individual bulbs set a few feet apart.
"MARIA AND DRACO: THE DREAM OATH. ONE NIGHT ONLY. SOLD OUT."
Mateus began to look at the group beginning to form. Tailored suites and couture dresses abounded. Not to be upstaged, Mateus let loose his cloak allowing for a full view of his robes. He was wearing an opulent grey and white set of robes with a crimson design on the innermost cloth. He had his best rings on which complimented the jewelry laced about his ornate hair. His royal purple eye shadow matched the shade of his fingernails. This outfit he had picked up back in Provo was finally doing something other than collect dust in his traveling bag.
How long had it been since he done anything to pamper himself. It was definitely before he had been forcefully dragged into this world that was for sure. He couldn't count the number of headaches that had been caused by his interactions with the people of this land. He'd been humiliated, defamed, and disgraced left and right. His poor body had been tattered and torn by the elements and the fatigue of traveling. Finally he had been allowed this treat. How had he gotten so lucky to have a box to himself?
"Sir, I'm sorry but there's a problem with your ticket. It appears to be a fake. I must ask you to leave."
Mateus blinked slowly as the words cascaded over him and the ticket placed back in his hand. He gave small chortle. He waved at the man before belittling him, "There's no mistake. You're clearly incapable of your position if you'd deny me admission. I demand to be let in lest I need cause a scene?" The temptation to grab the man by the neck and press him against the wall for his behavior passes quickly as Mateus eyed two guards at every entrance. He could feel color rush to his cheeks as the party behind began whispering rumors to one another. He sighed and discreetly as he could slid off the pure silver ring of his index finger and placed it softly in man's hand with the ticket. "I say you should check once more before offering such insult to a man such as I."
The usher eyed the ring quietly before pocketing it and nodded. "So sorry, sir. My mistake. Enjoy the show." Mateus scoffed as he entered the premise. Who would have guessed such opulence lied in such an ugly city? Gold chandeliers hung about the vaulted ceilings which themselves were painted with scenes of what Mateus could only guess were this world's myths and legends. Ornate marble statues adorned the bottom of a grand staircase that lead to the upper floors. For now the staircase was closed. It was still a good hour before the show began. Mateus checked his cloak at the coat check before eyeing where he would bide his time. A couple of empty seats at the bar called his name as he saw champagne and appetizers were being served. He was served quickly and a genuine smile spread across his face. Finally a moment of reprieve from all the woes he had suffered.
[Here's <-- Click for the inspiration behind WoL's look for this thread.]
“Are you sure this is wise?” The Warrior questioned the young woman who moved around him, her hands lost in a flurry of fabric and tape, pulling and tightening the various layers of colorful clothing she’d adorned him with, “I fear I’ve never been known for my stealth or crafty wit.”
The young woman waved a hush to him, silencing him instantly, “Follow my lead, nameless warrior, and you’ll do just fine.”
Despite his doubts, the Knight hardly had any other choice. It was only through a series of lucky circumstances that he ended up in such a position to begin with. The journey to that point -- it hadn’t been easy.
Though the people in the city of Sonora were wary of strangers -- their guard immediately defensive and lacking a trusting bone in their body -- the Warrior was quick to find some favor here and there. There weren’t enough military-able bodies to throw at the fire-breathing, hungry dragons always soaring overhead, and the guard weren’t ones to turn down a helping hand. They were, however, naturally suspicious of a man without a name who refused payment for slaying dragons. Skeptical, that he had no foul intentions, and only sought to help a people he didn’t even know.
However, a toll was paid. The Warrior had no money to sway people with, but he did have power. A few felled dragons, their crimson blood soaking his armor, won him passage into the chilly city.
… At times, though, the Warrior wished they’d have turned him away. It wasn’t his first time being exposed to a city far too large with resources stretched to thin for its people. The slums were large, taking up huge swaths of Sonora -- it’s people suffering, hungry, and dirty. Poorer parts of cities were the same everywhere, at their core. Though Sonora was much more ”high tech”, that’s what they’d called it right? -- than he was used to; it’s flashing lights and signs written in a language he didn’t understand, it was the same as even Cornelia’s slums at its heart. People. People, dirty, poor, drunk, hungry, living in the shadows of those who could afford better. Some reached to grab at his armor, desperation in their eyes. Others called to him from the fronts of stores, offering services he’d misunderstood once long ago.
His heart ached for them, truly. The Warrior of Light would always seek to right the wrongs of any land and help bring peace to its people, but this -- he’d thought, staring down the winding streets of dirty, desperate faces -- this was far more than he could fix alone.
The best he could do for them, for now, was to destroy the beasts that plagued their already difficult lives.
The nameless knight sought someone, anyone, who he could fight for in order to potentially gain information in the meantime. Destroying the dragons was only part of his objective, after all. He was still seeking down the man responsible for it all -- Kuja -- with a quiet fury. In order to do so, he needed to question people. The right kind of people. Kuja was a fanciful manipulator, taking advantage of people who had something he needed or wanted.
Like the Warrior’s influence in Torensten.
It took a few days of surviving on the streets before the Warrior could convince a family of stature to allow him to help them in any way he could. Thankfully, with the military being busy, many of the more fortunate families were now without any sort of guard. The family; dressed in loud colors and beautiful, shimmering jewels, accepted his offer -- and thus his job in Sonora had officially begun. He accompanied the family on their ventures and played guard to their mansion; waiting and listening and questioning when he could.
Weeks passed, however, and there was naught but silence -- so far as a man with silver hair went, anyway.
A curious sound caught the Warrior’s ear one night, however, as he accompanied the young lady of the family through the slums. Songs and music, muffled by the stone of a building. The lights, typically too disorienting for him to pay attention to, drew his attention towards the source of the sound. He must have paused too long, ears straining to hear words fluttering over different octaves, as the young woman -- Ms. Romanoff -- spoke up.
“Have you never been to an Opera, nameless man?”
The Warrior turned his attention to her, a curious glint masked behind his stoic eyes, “I’ve not heard of such a thing.”
The young woman smiled, leading him by the building, “An Opera is a performance of song and music. Many wealthy folk come to watch the Opera here weekly. Though it may be in a more dilapidated part of the city, the architecture of the building simply creates such unbelievable sound.”
“I see,” the Warrior mumbled in response. Yet another thing he didn’t immediately understand, but didn’t question. He stewed over the words in his mind, following the young woman with heavy footfalls, until he slowed in thought once more.
Ana Romanoff, thankfully patient with her strange guard, turned to look at the Warrior, a question on her accented tongue, “Something on your mind?”
The wheels were beginning to turn for the Warrior. An Opera -- from the sounds of it, the place was fairly packed with wealthy people in power. The perfect place for someone who was looking to garner influence with others through their status. He could barely picture it in his mind, though imagining more people like from his world, but he could see it. People in all different colors, from all over the world, the types who always kept their heads held high and their words sharp. They were a type of people he usually had trouble understanding -- wealthy folk with ill intent hid their true intentions behind clever words and cleverer still mind games.
These were the type of people who tried to take advantage of his naivety and lack of social understanding.
They were similar to Kuja.
“The man I am searching for,” the Warrior trailed off for a moment, glancing between the young woman and the building once again, “This is a type of event one might expect to find him enjoying.”
“Well then. I suppose it’s high time you enjoy the Opera yourself, eh nameless knight?”
Ana Romanoff purchased a ticket for the next Opera, a week later -- the title lost on the Warrior after the first time she’d said it. He couldn’t read the writing on the ticket, but that was the least of his worries. The young lady took to teaching him all she could about their culture, their status; how to eat, how to speak, how to walk. The nameless Warrior felt, in those few days, as if he’d been suddenly forced to live another lifetime. But, it was necessary, in order to avoid unwanted attention at the event, while he searched for his quarry.
And thus he’d ended up in this situation, with the young woman dressing him for the show that started in a few hours time. The outfit was easily more complex than his armor, and ten times more colorful. Proper shoes that felt too snug against his calloused feet. Silk undergarments that hugged his skin all too tightly. A colorful coat sporting shades of royal purple, crimson red, and shimmering gold. Enough pulling and pinning, and the nameless Warrior had to move onto the next round of torture.
The wealthy people of Sonora, or at least this family, wore colorful make-up, they’d called it to match their outfits. The Warrior did his best to hold still as the young woman pressed different pale color liquids and powders to his face. She used a pencil to draw close to his eye, and he couldn’t help but blink constantly even as she chastised him. Colorful glitter, or at least that’s all he could think to call it, was mixed across his eyelids, and a pale, pinkish color across his lips. The Warrior hardly recognized himself as Ana had him look in the mirror.
“Remember not to touch your face. Otherwise it’ll smear.”
The color and decor didn’t end there. The young lady managed to brush his hair free of tangles, and braid in a few fine jewels. She adorned his wrists and fingers with shining jewelry, which clinked together unnervingly anytime he moved his arms.
However, despite all the quiet, internal frustration he held, the nameless knight had to admit he was impressed. He didn’t recognize himself in such clothing, so clean and proper and colorful, standing how Ms. Romanoff had instructed him to do. Tall, his back straight, his head tilted ever so slightly upwards.
“Remember,” she reminded him softly an hour later, when she and another guard dropped him off at the familiar entrance of the Opera hall, loud, blinding colors and sounds greeting him, “You are Zoran Romanoff -- my cousin, if anyone asks. He’s a recluse that never leaves his home outside of the city.”
And with that, he was alone.
The Warrior looked toward the entrance with well-hidden nervous anticipation. He’d never tried to do anything like before. Dressing up as someone he was not, pretending to be someone he was not, all in order to gain information or, god willing, find the man he was looking for. With his armor and sword stationed nearby in a place no typical human could reach, the nameless man felt he was well prepared for a potential encounter with the enemy. He was not, however, as well prepared to deal with … this.
Any of this.
Slowly, the Warrior made his way up to the door, his long cloak shielding him from the bite of the cold. The small crowd formed there were getting in fairly quickly, thankfully, but the knight couldn’t help but let his eyes drift toward the guards stationed at the entrances. They seemed antsy -- he could tell by how stiffly their arms were locked, how their eyes drifted over not only the crowd, but the sky. They were uncomfortable, likely called back toward the inner city from fending off dragons. Whether or not they considered it a relief from that duty, or perhaps they felt it a waste of time, none could say.
“Sir? Sir. Your ticket, please.”
The Warrior snapped out of his daze, turning his gaze to the man at the door. He passed along his ticket, which the Romanoff’s had been more than kind to purchase for him, and felt himself ushered along.
Once inside, the knight found himself completely distracted once more. His crystal blue eyes fell wide with wonder, taking in the sight before him. A light hung from the ceiling, crested in gold, illuminating artwork that one could not put any simple words to. Rich colors dazzled every surface, and statues of the finest carved quality stood by the ornate, marble staircases, as if standing guard. Even the floor, where people’s feet moved fanficully from place to place, was somehow one of the most exquisite sights he’d ever laid eyes on.
It was impossibly difficult to convince himself to stop paying attention to such frivolities, but the Warrior managed to pull his mind back into focus. He needed to focus on the people around him. Following their lead would be the best way to keep himself from standing out too much. The nameless man removed his cloak, revealing to the room his lavish outfit, equally as colorful and ornate as those around him. He eyed a few others turning their coats in to another man, who was hanging them and putting them away, and so the Warrior followed suit.
If there were eyes on him, honestly, the Knight wouldn’t have been able to tell. His own blue eyes scanned the crowd, finding it difficult to focus on simply finding one specific color, that silver of Kuja’s hair. Perhaps, he thought as he moved forward a bit, it would be easiest to stick to one area for the moment, and watch people from there. Speaking to them was his last resort, as it was likely to give away that he truly did not belong among them.
There was a stand-of-sorts, the Warrior wasn’t sure what to call it, serving people drinks and some of the smallest offerings of food he’d ever seen. Moving toward one of the seats, he quickly settled in, taking a glass filled with a light, fizzy beverage with a polite smile and nod. The taste was dry, but somewhat fruity, the Warrior noted to himself as his gaze scanned the room once more. It was loud, the sound of murmuring voices and shoes against stone. Their movements and colors threatened to disorient him once more, and their words sounded like gibberish to his ears. Perhaps he’d bitten off more than he could chew. (Though, not literally, that so called “food” they were handing out was hardly a bite.)
Finally, the Knight found himself staring directly to his left. Two empty seats separated him from the next soul -- but immediately, the Warrior found his gaze captivated. The man next to him was dressed ornately as well, but differently from many around them -- in lavish robes of gold and crimson. His face was painted with color, as was his brilliant hair with beads and jewels. The man oozed elegance, regal and powerful.
And, just as quickly, the Warrior felt the pit of his stomach drop.
But, why? He’d never seen that man before, so far as he could remember. The nameless man searched his hazy memories best he could, with all the chaotic movement and sound around him, but found … nothing. He could swear, though, that this man was familiar. That he’d seen him before. That he knew him. However, no name came to his tongue. The only feelings that lingered were the sense of dread in his bones, and the little voice in his head that screamed to run.
Even blinking, his body felt alight with an electric shock.
However, reality set in, and the Warrior realized he’d been gawking at this man for far too long to be socially acceptable. Thankfully, the make up on his face hid the crimson blush that otherwise would have given away his shame as he diverted his crystalline eyes, bowing his head in apology.
“My apologies,” the Warrior quickly murmured to the other man, who was thankfully alone as well, “I did not mean to stare -- that was quite rude. I’m afraid I may have mistaken you with someone I once knew.”
He could only help he hadn’t committed a social taboo against anyone who had the power to get rid of him so early in the evening.
I refuse to believe, that I’m nothing more than a machine I refuse to believe, that we can’t learn to see The truth was in a dream I will not kill No I will – believe.
Softly, deftly, music shall caress you hear it, fear it, secretly possess you
The hubbub and excitement of the aristocracy about him let Mateus slip into a place he had not been in a long while. The trials of finding himself in a strange land, having slummed through Provo, and dealing with that girl on the mountain all slid away as easily as the champagne flutes kept sliding down Mateus' throat. There didn't seem to be a limit and Mateus' was not about to say no to another. How often had the liquor poured as he feasted with each kingdom taken into his control?! Luxury like this was something he had been sorely missing from home. A something that was as a part of him as the fine clothes that adorned him.
There was still some time before the opening act and as such Mateus began to survey the room about him. He scoffed at how under dressed some of the other patrons appeared. If this was the one respite from the treacherous seediness of the neighborhoods that surrounded the Opera House, could they not at least show that this place was deserving as such? Mateus finished this third flute and threw it onto the plate of a server who passed unaware of the angry look he was given by the man. He plucked at the plate of the next passing server, grabbing a small slice of bread, affixed with cream cheese and strawberry, as he began to survey the room once more.
Most of the people filing in appeared to be already coupled. Even those who had multiple seats seem split by the twos the couples either holding hand or being led by the hip. His gaze lingered on the odd couples though. Hands grasped too tight and gazes that said they'd rather be anywhere but here this evening. The faces that would turn quickly so their partners' lips only gazed the cheek. He gave soft laugh at their plights. He knew of those who had to sell their self worth to attain upward mobility in their social classes. It made too much sense given the environment this place was attached to. He admired those souls though. That need for more and better was something he responded to deeply.
As he reached for his next flute and absentmindedly gazed about, Mateus turned his gaze to one that was staring right back. A man with skin as pale as porcelain was dead set upon staring at him. Mateus averted his eyes downward for a few seconds. Nothing was more awkward then the accidental eye contact. However, as he looked back at over the man, Mateus noticed that he was still staring. The pit of his stomach sank as he discreetly surveyed the other. He was man of note that was for sure. His ruffled collar and cuff-links let that be known instantly. His long luxurious silver hair made Mateus run a few fingers through his own golden locks just as a reflex.
Mateus continued to retract his own gaze from the man. It was impolite and improper to stare, but even so, his eyes almost involuntarily shot back at the man. Their eyes met once again. Had he ever seen such beautiful blue eyes before? He looked back down as his stomach began to turn. There was something so familiar about that stare, but then again he swore the man a stranger. He looked at the counter-top in front of him. The waiter had not taken the tray of champagne away and this Mateus threw back the flute he had before grabbing two more. The waiter scoffed but Mateus shot a glance that quieted him almost immediately. It was best if the help knew their place in such things.
Hoping the man would have found another site upon which to stare, it wasn't surprising that he had been the target though, his elegance and beauty was one unrivaled by those who had entered thus far. Still an uncertain easy feeling descended upon as he batted his eyes over and caught the man still just staring. He was a sight to behold though. His stomach hurt and churned as the continual scrutiny of the man continued though. Either he had had too much to drink too fast or there was something else that was at play here. Enough was enough though. He was going to have to call this man out, but the man spoke first throwing Mateus off both his guard and game.
Mateus listened as the man apologized for staring. Someone this man knew? His stomach began to turn again at the accusation. He had never seen this man before in his life, but something kept him from getting up and heading towards his waiting line. Instead he laughed, a rather loud laugh that caused those around him to stare at him. "My dear sir," he began tossing his fourth flute down back before continuing, "a gentleman such as myself is used to scrutiny and the occasional gawking." He waved his hand graciously to show no ill will was felt for now. "As for us having met," he gave a sly smile to the stranger who both amused him and for some reason made his stomach churn, "I believe the only place we might have met is in the depths of our dreams." Mateus flashed his best smile at the man. "For now, I'm content meeting you in this waking world." He waved the man carrying something other than champagne down. The pink concoction he carried smelled sweet enough that he grabbed two before sending the waiter on his merry way. "Come," he declared as he sat the second drink beside him at the unoccupied seat. It wasn't a request more so a demand that the stranger come join him. "Let us converse and see if we might not know each other better than in our passing thoughts. The opera is still a while away."
The Warrior wasn’t sure what he expected the man’s reaction to be as he apologized for staring. Perhaps anger -- he’d experienced plenty of that when he was first learning manners, as it were. Or, maybe, flustered embarrassment? The Princess had certainly reacted that way when the Knight had realized he’d spent too much time observing her for injury after her rescue. Gawking, his friends had chastised him for it. He expected this stranger to react in a similar way, either turning sharp words and disapproving frowns against him, or perhaps a shade of red across the cheeks, followed by a sputtering understanding.
He hadn’t expected the regal stranger to laugh.
The bellowing volume of his chuckle caught the Warrior off guard, eyes widening in surprise and stomach clenched in recoil. What did that mean? Had he behaved so boorishly it deserved such hearty laughter? Other people were staring at them now. The Knight cast his gaze to the floor, silently stewing in his own confusion with questions rapidly firing in his mind. What to do -- he hadn’t intended for any attention to be stuck to him, and now there were countless eyes turned towards them.
The stranger spoke, catching the Warrior’s well-hidden, frantic attention, his voice so smoothly bending away the break of social tact. He didn’t seem upset, so that was … good, the knight supposed, attempting to veil whatever emotion may have slipped to his face. It seemed as if this man was extremely aware of every part of himself as he spoke -- the wave of his hand, the curl of his lips, the way his shimmering blonde hair so subtly dripped over his shoulder as gestured and talked. It was almost mesmerizing, the way the stranger danced around his words and actions the way the Warrior himself would a blade.
The nameless knight had seen such an action before -- for those who could not wield a weapon or magic, their words and charm were their only defense.
And offense.
The Warrior listened politely as the decorated blonde so effortlessly spoke, eyes occasionally flicking downwards, hidden behind long lashes in subtle embarrassment and confusion. He caught the other man’s movements in the small shifts of his own blue eyes; the bright, curled smile, the elegant wave of his hand. As the warm words left his colored lips, the stranger waved down another servant -- taking small glasses of bubbling, pale liquid, and gesturing for the knight-in-disguise to slide one seat over.
Meeting in a dream? The Warrior knew, most likely, that the man was simply dazzling him with flowery prose, but he couldn’t help but feel some amusement from those words. If only the shimmering stranger knew of the battles and deaths against mysterious opponents that plagued his dreams nightly, perhaps he’d insist that they did not meet in such a place.
Pushing his ever-diminishing thoughts of the cycles from his mind, the knight found himself so easily moving toward the open seat next to the well-spoken blonde. He couldn’t quite say for sure what made him get up and move without a second thought, as the mixture of emotions that brewed in his gut did him no favors. Even as he, well as gracefully as he could, took his new seat, the Warrior felt his chest tighten and his sword arm tense. Fighting instinct was all he had, all that creation had graced him with, and it was difficult to ignore.
Instead, he grabbed the delicate glass of bubbling vice that the elegant man had retrieved for him, and patiently sipped at it -- sickeningly sweet on his tongue.
“You speak to a stranger so effortlessly,” the Warrior finally found his voice once more, strong tones melding into the murmuring air around them as a small smile piqued at the corner of his lips, his eyelashes fluttering as he stole a glance toward the center of the room -- still no silver hair, “I believe you are more suited for these lavish events than I.”
There was a touch of laughter in his voice -- genuine, even, as what he said was true. The Warrior of Light was not equipped for such a social event in any way other than playing the bodyguard, yet there he was; dressed colorfully, clean, armed with nothing but his wit and limited knowledge of word games. He missed all the glances from passing crowds that the two gathered, dazzled in their colorful jewels and light, well groomed hair. He missed the hushed tones of people nearby. All of it was lost in the sea of color, the dulcet tones of the nearby piano softly playing to keep those entertained.
In another sip, the flute was half empty. How were these drinks supposed to last for so long before the event even began?
The Warrior crossed one leg over the other in his seat, one hand curled around the bubbly flute and the other draped across his lap. Still, the feelings of discomfort brewed in his gut -- the more he leaned towards the elegant stranger the more his mind screamed to run.Yet, at the same time, he felt drawn to do so. Not uncomfortably so, but enough to feel … comfortable. The feeling was strange and not necessarily wanted, but the Warrior did have a part to play.
And nobles were oddly touchy, he knew. However, regardless of how he felt, he needed to try and get any information that he could ... from anyone.
“I fear I did not catch your name in these dreams,” the knight continued, attempting to keep his tone light -- friendly, open, as he turned his attention away from the colorful, mesmerizing crowd and back to the yet more mesmerizing stranger, “Who do I have the luxury of spending a portion of this enchanted evening with?”
I refuse to believe, that I’m nothing more than a machine I refuse to believe, that we can’t learn to see The truth was in a dream.
Softly, deftly, music shall caress you hear it, fear it, secretly possess you
The odd sense of deja vu still hung over Mateus like an oppressive thunder cloud ,but he found his new companion much too interesting to pay it much mind. Though how was it so handsome a man could tug at the hatred plaguing his thoughts that only a handful few had been able to expunge from him remained the mystery. It was almost as if there was another silver haired man that he must have met once; one the antithesis of so mild mannered the man before him...
Mateus was pulled from his dizzying thoughts as the man began to speak to him. Matt waved the compliment off as he finished off the champagne that never seemed to last as long as he wished. When was the last time he had been able to drink so freely? It was almost to the point where he could not identify if the warmth in his cheeks were from the drink or the other man; perhaps it was both. "Strangers?," he feigned shock but immediately continued as to not offend the man with another soft laugh, "Come now! We've shared a drink. We are strangers no more. I'd say another and we become fast friends. And such modesty, to be above the rabble here is not hard. We find ourselves the center of attention if you pay mind to the stares we're receiving. Your elegance draws the eye just fine." With those words, not caring the other had not yet finished his flute, bade a waiter for more. The waiter gave Mateus a hesitant stare and not quick enough to comply which in turn caused Matt's smile to cease as his lips thinned at the boy. He raised his palm slowly.
Thankfully the glistening of his companions hair in the soft light caused to him to remember his surroundings. He stopped his hand before it could lash out and strike the boy instead using it to grab a few from the tray as to not have to wait on someone so slow and thoughtless later. Shooing the boy away, Matt collected his thoughts. This was not Palamecia. He needed to keep the thought at the forefront of his mind. There anyone who thought to lash their tongue at such a display would soon find themselves without one. Mateus did not like to be kept waiting and many a waiter had found themselves on the streets if not worse at his hand. Here though the people were too easily offended even if a lesson needed taught.
He turned back to his new companion who he noticed had finally moved closer to him. He was an even finer specimen up close. Hauntingly blue eyes seemed to bore straight through to the very heart of him as though with one carefully bat of the eye Mateus would lay bear any secrets asked of him. It was strange. He had had beautiful men before as part of his harem. An emperor in the throes of war had no time to find himself himself in the throes of a passionate affair. And who could measure up to him anyway? Who worthy enough to be his consort?
"How powerful a name can be," Mateus mused when asked to supply his own, "To know another's name brings about a sense of intimacy. It almost tells all you need to know in such simple a word. Mateus is mine. Treat it with care." Matt gave the man another of his genuine smiles. It was true though, a curse needed a name just as much as a wanted poster to call attention to the same man. "And what might be yours?" Mateus asked but his tone implicated he would take great offense if not answered. He gave the man a long second of eye contact before casting his glance back to the foyer.
A piano was playing he had not noticed before. The waltz was lively enough that couples had begun to use the lounge as a makeshift dance hall. A the dance. The intricate movement between the partners laid bare the trust one had in another. He could easily spot the affairs brought about by money or convenience. How long had it been since he last danced. Long before he had begun to conquer the lands of the world. Had it really been his coronation? He had dazzled the room as he twirled and waltzed with the nobles of the court. Perhaps it was the liquid warming and coursing through his veins that caused him the sudden idea. He stood and extended his a long painted hand to the stranger, "Ah music. A commodity and gift not often appreciated enough, like beauty." He paused once more as he let the words imply what he meant looking down on the man. At this hiis flight or fight response kicked in but he chalked it up to nerves and the drink. "And what better way to become acquainted than through the dance."
The well-spoken stranger next to him drained his flute of the fizzy, sweet beverage as if it had been air. The Warrior hardly had time to consider how many of those tiny glasses the man had likely consumed, however, before that familiar, elegant voice spoke up once more. He tried to turn his eyes away, a finger absentmindedly twisting at a lock of his own soft, silver-white hair to resist the urge to reach for his non-existent blade.
“Strangers? Come now! We've shared a drink. We are strangers no more. I'd say another and we become fast friends. And such modesty, to be above the rabble here is not hard. We find ourselves the center of attention if you pay mind to the stares we're receiving. Your elegance draws the eye just fine."
The nameless man smiled, or at least he believed he’d had, as he brought the glass to his lips once more, finishing his own drink. He wasn’t sure how to respond, nor was he certain how true the man’s words were. Did he speak truly and freely, or was this yet another dance of elegant speech meant only to trick another soul into answering how one wished? For every word the Warrior considered, every response, he felt as though he were tip-toeing on a delicate line of continuing his charade, or falling and exposing himself as what he truly was.
A simple knight playing an undercover game.
A waiter came near at the man’s motioning request. It was a young man, perhaps still a teenager even, wet behind the ears with uncertainty and innocence in his eyes. Yet, he still held the tray steady, dark eyes carefully flitting between the pair, glasses only barely clinking together as he paused in front of them. His eyes seemed locked on the blonde man, however, and the Warrior nearly missed the tiny, unspoken interaction between the pair.
The boy paused. The elegant man’s pleasant smile dropped. He brought up his hand --
The knight’s breath caught in his throat. The only thing that stopped his own quick reflexes, hand nearly coming up to grab the elegant man’s wrist, was a woman’s too-loud-laugh nearby. The Warrior hesitated, hand awkwardly raised, body leaning closer. The blonde merely reached for the tray, grabbing the drinks himself.
The Warrior quickly tangled his fingers back in his hair, to hide the motion.
The man turned back to him and their eyes locked once more. There was nothing in those light, amethyst eyes that the Knight could outright read -- no obvious emotion, no hidden secrets he could attempt to translate. They were simply … well, they were simply nothing. They were complex and strangely beautiful, complimented by the colors above his eyelids, the jewels in his hair. For a moment, the Warrior felt as though he couldn’t blink, as those eyes stared into his own -- as if he’d lose something for doing so. Like turning his back on an enemy.
He was not one to call many things beautiful. He had no such strict definition for the word. The way the sun painted the sky during sunrise was beautiful. The smiles on his friend’s faces, that was beautiful. Watching the light flicker and blossom in someone’s soul was beautiful. The Warrior typically didn’t think to use that word on people, because people were … complicated. Complex. It was hard to pin one word down on a person.
But, this man was beautiful. Staring at him made the Warrior’s mind go blank, his heart race. Aside from the small voice in his head that screamed to defend himself, he had no clear thought when looking at those shimmering eyes.
Thankfully, the stranger spoke, and pulled the knight from his very dazed and confused thoughts.
"How powerful a name can be. To know another's name brings about a sense of intimacy. It almost tells all you need to know in such simple a word. Mateus is mine. Treat it with care."
Mateus. Even that name was oddly ethereal, yet … familiar. Why was it so familiar? The question faded from the Warrior’s mind as Mateus gave him a bright smile, and inquired about his own name.
Oh. Oh no. What was the name that he was supposed to give for this event? The Warrior’s heart raced with fleeting panic as he tried to remember -- why was his mind so fuzzy? The young woman he was bodyguarding, Ana, he was posing here as her reclusive cousin. Why could he not remember the name she gave him? How long had he been silent? The knight felt his cheeks flush -- think, think. A name, any name, the first name to pop into his mind.
The first name. The first person to pop into his mind was--
“Garland,” the Warrior breathed the name, filled with an intimacy and long, long history of its own. He immediately felt foolish, but it was the first name he could think of. Who used their nemesis’ name as a cover? He’d mentally berate himself further for it at a later time, surely, but he hadn’t the time to ponder on it for now. If Garland himself knew, he’d likely bark an obtuse laugh before cleaving the Warrior in half for committing such a foolish atrocity.
Too late to take it back.
Mateus’ gaze was drawn away, and the Warrior took that moment to breathe. Cursed with this odd captivation, he’d nearly forgotten his original goal. Gathering information, or looking for Kuja. Whichever was easiest. He went back to scanning the crowd, managing to set his empty glass on the bar. People were dancing to the music now, as it had gotten oddly catchier. Still, there were no familiar faces in that crowd, and the knight felt himself tense with very light frustration. All of this could be avoided if Kuja simply showed himself, somewhere. Anywhere.
The nameless man (or, Garland) paused his scanning of the area as Mateus stood next to him, moving effortlessly, reminiscent of a feline. For a moment, the Warrior wondered if the blonde was going to take his leave, all too soon. However, instead, he extended a hand forward, commenting on the music. Blue eyes scanned the beautifully painted hand for a moment, before glancing back up to the man’s captivating eyes. He didn’t need help getting up from his seat, so what was --
"And what better way to become acquainted than through the dance."
… Oh no.
“Garland” smiled shyly, casting his eyes to the ground. Here it was, the moment that would expose him as no noble at all. Even in Cornelia, all of the nobles knew how to dance. His companions did. Everyone around him seemed to know how to do it. But the Warrior, he knew only the steps to artfully dodge an opponent’s strike, not -- not waltz like the couples around them now were doing. They would become acquainted, surely, but not the way Mateus was likely thinking. Not unless he could work miracles on a man who’d never really danced before.
Still, he reached forward, delicately taking Mateus’ offered hand, making eye contact with him once more. He thought to behave like his good friend, Oran, did in the presence of Princess Sarah -- shy, bashful, polite. It was a similar circumstance, save for the fact that the Warrior didn’t feel love for this beautiful stranger. As he stood, he pressed his free hand lightly against his chest, doing his best to appear positively apologetic.
“I am flattered, truly,” the knight spoke, voice blending with the captivating, one-two-three melody on the piano, “However, I am a stranger to such a beautiful act. I would dare not to embarrass you.”
Not to say that the Warrior didn’t think he couldn’t figure it out. Steps in a fight were much more complicated than dance, and if nobles could do it, surely he could quickly learn. But, they way they moved, the way they swayed while staring into each others eyes, was truly intimidating. He wanted to get close to this man, to ask him about Kuja at the very least, but … He also did not want to blow his chance to interrogate as many people as he could, if possible.
“Yet,” the knight paused, a small smile on his face, eyes averting just barely past Mateus; bashful, “If it meant spending more time in your company, the chance to know you as more than a dazzling friend -- I would let the music, the dance take me as the fool I may be.”
The Warrior was surprised by his own elegant speech. Perhaps those tiny drinks really were doing something to him, or maybe Oran’s lessons in reading and speech had finally rubbed off of him. Whatever the case may be, he simply had to wait and see if Mateus bought into it or not. In a moment or two, he’d be making a fool of himself for all to see, or perhaps he’d be alone. There was no telling which way it would go, and yet, the knight found himself equally hoping for either.
Though Mateus was charming, elegant, and kind to him, though his beauty was captivating, the Warrior couldn’t help but continue to feel … alarmed. Anxious.
Ignoring his gut instinct to fight, or to flee.
I refuse to believe, that I’m nothing more than a machine I refuse to believe, that we can’t learn to see The truth was in a dream.
Softly, deftly, music shall caress you hear it, fear it, secretly possess you
"Garland?" What an obtuse and ugly name for a man neither of those things. Still the name lingered on his tongue and made Mateus pucker as though he had just sucked the juice from a lemon. Garland. The name caused a revulsion in the pit of his stomach. The name was cold like steel and grey color sprang to the forefront of his mind, but he he willed it away as he felt the man's hand grab his own. There was no time to dwell on what a horrid name had befallen the poor man. The dance was upon them.
Mateus found himself surprised by the man's touch. Although the man's palm lay softly on top oh his own, Mateus could feel the roughness of the skin. Compared to the silky quality of his own, it felt as though he were handling sandpaper or a coarse log. Mateus lightly wrapped his thumb atop the man's hand as he pressed their palms together. Callouses pressed against his own velvet palm and it gave Matt pause. What did this man do that would cause such roughness? Had he a side hobby to stave off the boredom of aristocracy? The nobles were much more crass here than they were in Palamecia, so he wouldn't be surprised. Still, in such company it was impolite to ask and this he just smiled as he moved them to the dance floor.
He gave a small laugh as the beauty contested to dancing. "The only fools here, my dear Garland, are the ones denied the pleasure of your company. I'll be honored to take lead." Perhaps instead of the dance, he had done whatever it was that made his hands so hard to hold. Gazing about at the other couples, Mateus would not have been surprised if he were the best dancer among them all. Having led them to the dance floor, Mateus assumed the position as the leader of the two. Before beginning he did the customary deep bow before he assumed the position. He draped his arm across Garland's shoulder resting his hand softly on his back. The man had such a thick muscular shoulder blade it took Mateus by surprise for a moment. He regained his composure quickly. "Chin up," Mateus tutted lifting the man's face with his hand. He made sure the man was looking up and into his eyes before positioning the man further
"Let's get you into the proper position." With theses words Mateus placed the mans left hand gently atop of his own shoulder. The last step was too trace his finger down the man's free forearm before gently grasping his hand and lifting it up and outwards at an angle. "Make sure you keep your legs shoulder length apart," he advised looking back into wistfully blue eyes that held both intrigue and something that made him light in the stomach. "As the follower just anticipate my movements, I step forward you step back," he stepped forward with his left floor only slightly using his weight only to show the man he should be stepping back at that point. "We'll start simply," Matt slowly lead the man through the basic steps hoping he would catch on rather quickly
The first few minutes were abysmal. The man seemed to think atop of Mateus' feet was were his were supposed to lie. Matt threw furtive glances at the couples that would bump into them as the floor circled. Still, eventually the two of them had the basic box step down and the tension and ache began to leave his feet. "Tell me Garland," the name still tasted bitter in his mouth, "I've not seen this opera have you? You say you're unfamiliar with these fancy scene, than if not the opera, how do you pass your time?" With the basics down pat Mateus began to lead his partner the twirl. He didn't think the man ready to begin to waltz in formation with the others, so the two just spun in spot. "It's been some time since I've been able to enjoy the theater," the champagne was now beginning to take full effect as he felt his cheeks flush, a genuine smile on his face bringing out the sharp beauty of his cheekbones, and his tongue a little freer than before. "War tends to keep the arts too serious for my tastes," he mused as continued the eye contact necessary for the dance.
And even if he had wanted to enjoy the theater being the Emperor came with the immense responsibility of being the head of the army as well.There was no time for pleasure when rebellion loomed over his head. That was then and this was now though. "Excuse my speech, that gloomy subject has no right to be talked about in present company. Let's talk of happier things," He noticed his attention was fading and immediately snapped it back to the man at hand. The perfume that Garland wore was pleasant and attractive to his nose; he almost wanted to take a lock of the man's hair and smell it. The way the light played across the other's face and cast into a kaleidoscope of color and shadow cause Matt a moment of hesitation. He wanted to lean closer to take in that beauty at a closer level, but he did not want to intimidate his awkward dance partner into mistiming a step.
For a moment he fell silent, it was just Mateus and the man dancing in time. As their momentum began to build again he asked, "Think you can handle the spin? Twirl under my arm your back against my chest and then twirl back out again into what we are presently doing." he asked lightly beginning to raise his arm anyway in anticipation. Mateus held out hope the man would oblige. If successful, the sight of the two of them would be enough to dazzle the entirety of the room. If not, well Mateus could of worse things that could happen than a beautiful man stumbling into his grasp.
