Re: Wandering: Hannah/Fiach
He did not know Hugh well, though perhaps he should, his interactions with the inhabitants of this town had thus far remained slim and rare. Call it pride, or perhaps even more so, shame. It was difficult to be a pruned rose covered in thorn among colorful wildflowers. The town and world were dull, the people? Surprisingly not so much. It ruffled him in ways he did not expect, like ladies who guided a drunken prince home, or wanderers shining bright in their dull layers.
He smiled when she giggled, it was welcome. Not many he knew or met could allow their defenses down to find joy in the unexpected, especially when the expected often lead to pain and disappointment. He, himself, wasn't someone who could. It was an admirable, likable quality, not entirely unexpected from a woman with stars in the back of her eyes. Not lost, midnight stars, but the stars at the break of dawn and new days. His own hand laid open until her fingers rested in his open palm. He didn't grasp her hand instantly, his hold did not tighten, instead they cradled, delicately keeping their arms poised. Strength in the ability to not clutch.
"I can lead," he assured. "At least in dancing, I’m afraid I must make no promises in anything else. I think a waltz should suffice, it tends to go with anything, even when all the rest of the world can only hear silence." His brows went up, as if he knew what she did, that sometimes music were symphonies in the mind while the rest of the world drown in that deafening quiet.
"I am going to place my hand upon your back, my lady." Archaic? Perhaps, but if he was aware such expression was, he didn’t show it. No, his eyes were focused on the face of the person before him. He didn't say it because he assumed she didn't know what he was speaking of, oh no. This woman, with her poise and assurance when taking his hand--it was not someone unaccustomed to dance. This was a bit unexpected, but pleasantly so. He expected it of women in flowing dresses, wine colored lips and lace laden charms of the court, not oversized overalls and rain galoshes. The contrast was delightful. Besides, silk and lace had a terrible habit of masking sharp teeth and claws.
So, he laid his hand on the small of her back. One hand to guide, one hand to steady, eyes to focus the lead as he looked down at her. “And…one, two, three…” His feet began to move to the invisible strings playing in his mind. The simmering below his surface ebbed away, the goblet beside the mirrors went forgotten.