Re: Near the dance floor
Once they arrived at the tent, Solomon had backed away so he could watch Evangeline. For a while, he stood at the edge of the crowd with her father, somehow avoiding any dangerous turns in conversation. They discussed the weather and other mundane things, including the success of the party and the elderly. It was still strange to Solomon to see people so old. There were precious few in Musings. Most people seemed to solidify into immortality in their prime. Very few stopped aging past sixty, and even they remained somewhat spry. To be surrounded by so many people with wrinkles and white hair was at once odd and exiting. He looked forward to the prospect of aging.
A moment later, he excused himself from Benedict and began prowling the edges of the tent, needing to move. He wore a charcoal colored suit, truly vintage in that it was one of the few pieces of clothing he had kept from Musings from the 1930s. He looked like a displaced gangster, like he was on leave from the mob. His hair was styled with gel, looking windswept and rakish. For the occasion, he had even applied a small bit of make up. It was nothing noticeable, he loathed being ostentatious, but the subtle bit of concealer and blush made his already attractive face even more so.
As he came around the tent a second time, his gaze strayed from Evangeline and her company to another woman. Her dress was lovely. It suited her, and Solomon appreciated a woman who could dress herself well. He approached her because if he didn't, he would snap the neck of the man talking to Evangeline. "Would you like to dance?" he inquired, leaning closer to her as he extended a hand. Dancing would be a welcome distraction. There were few things he enjoyed doing with a woman, but dancing was one of them.