Red/Juliette | early in the evening - COMPLETE
The women did look rather pleased with themselves — it was a shame Redwald intended on disappointing the both of them.
There was plenty of space on the dancefloor amidst all the couples, but Red quickly ushered her clear across the room, weaving in and out through the throng of people. The girl didn’t want to dance and neither did he; there was no point in forcing her through a polka for the sake of their families. No, the two of them needed to be as far away from the prying eyes of the Demiel-Vannes coterie as possible.
He picked up a two flutes of champagne from a passing waiter and handed one to the young woman with a knowing grin. “Dancing with people you barely know is exhausting. And you can drop the ‘my lord’ schtick. ‘Red’ will suffice.”
She took the champagne when it was offered, giving him an inquisitive look. She hadn’t entirely expected this, of all things, though she could not say that she was sorry for it. She didn’t know what to say to him, either; of course dancing with strangers was exhausting, particularly unpleasant strangers, but stating that here seemed entirely unrealistic. Even if she suspected others shared her feelings on these functions, no one ever actually voiced them.
“If you insist, my lo --” she stopped, flushed pink, corrected herself, “Red.” It felt oddly familiar; his name was Redwald, and even with her few friends, she never used nicknames. Another pause before she said, “Thank you.” Unconventional or not, he had rescued her, in a manner of speaking.
“You’re welcome, Juliette. You don’t mind if I call you Juliette, do you?” There was a teasing lilt to Redwald’s voice, but no trace of any lasciviousness. In fact, he was being truly genuine for one of the first times this evening. Sipping at his champagne, he studied the twirling couples on the dancefloor.
“Feel free to tell Lady Demiel all sorts of horrible things about me. I’m not sure if that will stop her from seeing me as a potential suitor, but I suppose it’s worth a shot. But she must be pretty desperate if she sees me as a viable option,” he added with a self-deprecating laugh.
“Of course you may,” she said, because she ought, and because he wasn’t Pyr whom she could could instruct to call her something of her choice (even if the other squire only listened selectively). At least he wasn’t trying to shorten her name.
“I wouldn’t dare, of course,” she demurred. Especially considering he had been nothing but decent to her so far. And Faram, what was there to say to his self-deprecating comment? Call him a more than adequate option and damn herself, or agree and be rude? Neither seemed as though the situation would turn out well for her. Better all around to change the subject. “You do not enjoy dancing,” either, “my l -- Red?”
“I don’t mind dancing. But dancing with someone who seems as if they’d rather be eaten by a marlboro isn’t exactly my idea of a good time,” Red explained, tossing in a knowing wink for good measure. Juliette was polite and prim, the very definition of ladylike behavior, but she was going to have to hone her acting skills—if she cared about pleasing Lady Demiel, at least.
There was another sip of champagne before he added: “Not to worry, though. No personal offense has been taken.”