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Daphina Taraias (inmyelements) wrote in watchers_rp,

Daphina’s eyes lit up as she realised she had given an answer many might consider to be right, though how an opinion could be correct was beyond her. “Mm,” she nodded her understanding, though her head tilted ever-so-slightly. “Which bit will not you observe? I have been told I treat etiquette like a menu.” But if there were rumours of any strangeness about herself, she would have known. Nobody called her queer either behind closed doors or in open conversation. Nobody uttered a syllable about magic, save the one bizarre metaphor from a stable-hand at Deleik. Daphina had no idea how she might react if she learned that people were talking about her negatively in any way that she cared about, and realised she admired Gia more for it.

“Mother and father found me a vocal coach, though I didn’t need him,” she remarked without a hint of conceit. It was mere fact, and her mouth twisted in a display of how unimpressed that fact made her. “I think it was meant to entertain me. He called me Lark for weeks--” It was less of an emphasis than an unloading of disdain. “--until I refused to sing during lessons because caged larks are not known for their singing.” A small smile, somewhere between triumphant and vindictive, played about her lips. Sometimes it truly was the little victories that cheered her up. Daphina was both fascinated and horrified by the idea of learning in a forge, though the latter came from having been warned away from anything resembling a forge by the smiths themselves at home. Watchers, the farrier by Deleik would never let her near while he was shoeing her horse. Just in case. “Oh, fie on that. If he tries to pay her off I shall counter it,” she declared with a giggle of mischief. Overruling Lord Ridell suddenly seemed like fun.

There was a dance, Daphina had forgotten the name, where the couple did not touch. At least, not for most of it. The idea was to mirror each other’s moves as though you were physically joined, but there would always be an inch or so between your hands. As wish many dances, eye contact rarely broke. The whole point of the dance was to build tension, so those taking part were invariably couples and it was most often seen at weddings -- or, she supposed, at someone’s behest. With those thoughts and the compliment to her hands swirling through her head, Daphina allowed her face to give away how undeniably pleased she was feeling. Then she broke the one rule of the dance, hands shifting so they each caught one of Gia’s. Quite brazenly, at that. “I thought they might get cold,” she offered in excuse -- or rather, an excuse that only just hid a refusal to apologise. Since the mischief had not yet left her eyes and Gia’s hand were making her blush by virtue of being in her own, Daphina was not at all sorry.