Conan gave the other squire a tap to the shoulder, stretching his arm to reach her through a tight crowd. What a change to see her outside the context of training. And kicking his ass. Grinning widely, he brushed his hands off his pants (his mother would scold him if she saw him ruining his one good pair of formal trousers). The squire had been dogging the servers and their food trays, eyeing the buffet table with a scavenger’s determination. The evening had just begun to get exciting but until now he counted out of the question.
Instead, he strode over to the familiar figure with a bounce in his step, itching for a break from the stuffiness of balls. “This is fun, right?”
“A pleasure to see you as well, Conan.” She was no longer surprised; as the evening had gone on, she had come to realize that the commoners would by far outnumber the nobles this evening (and this was, perhaps, a good thing -- though she had not yet quite owned up to this realization).
He looked nice, which was a bit surprising. She wondered if she, in her insufferably ruffled gown, appeared as odd to him as he did to her. “It is a pleasant evening so far.” She was uncertain about his definition of fun (she thought it might involve the quality of the catering), but the evening was not as dull as most noble affairs, it was true.
Even here at the same formal event, both squires dressed for the occasion, the mingling of two distinct classes could not be ignored. It was evident in the way she carried herself, poised and elegant, versus his slouched, hands-in-pocket posture. That the boy had been crammed into a nice suit was not enough to place him among her ilk. Tonight, for once, he had the confidence not to remember the differences between his and hers (or Storm’s) type.
“Food’s good,” he said, the declaration of his opinion unneeded after the gleaming look he gave a passing waiter. “What d’you do here so far? Lots of dancing?”
“The duke’s banquets are always particularly lovely,” she said, agreeing with his assessment of the food. It was hard to think otherwise. As for his question: “I have taken tonight as an opportunity converse with a variety of acquaintances,” she said. When she could, she still avoided the dancing; old habits took some time to die. “Morgayne is here as well.” And some of her friend’s excitement had been infectious.
“And yourself?”
“Eating mostly,” Conan answered without embarrassment. “Not much of a dancer, except for the jitterbug.”
She looked vaguely puzzled as she admitted, “I am afraid I am unfamiliar with that one.” Was it perhaps one of the mysterious dances the orchestra launched into periodically at the duke’s events, the ones the nobles side-eyed while the commoners danced merrily away?
“Really?” He made no effort to hide the mixture of surprise and excitement in his voice. How often was it that he knew something that the brainy Storm or Juliette did not? Not often, he would admit. “It’s easy and pretty fun,” Conan said. “A friend of my ma taught me and I haven’t stepped on her feet yet.” As though this was a measure of a dance’s difficulty.
Another waiter passed and the boy reached for one last cookie. He held up a hand to the other squire to indicate “wait”, before scarfing down the snack, and wiping his hands on his pants again. She could teach him hand-to-hand fighting, but he, at least, had this. “Wanna learn?”
She considered for a moment before nodding. “If you would be so kind.” At the very least, Conan was nowhere near mature enough to place his hands where he oughtn’t (or so she fervently hoped). She waited for him to hold out his hand, and he did so within the second.
“Come on, then.” And one squire led the other, fighting lessons abandoned for a dance lesson in the duke’s ballroom.