[He takes the glass by its stem, watching as the liquid moves within. It is very rich and plummy-looking. He lets it hover just beneath his nose, taking in the scent, and it doesn't take much to catch in his nostrils, though not in a wholly unpleasant way.
Eyebrows lift.] In that case, this is worth a toast, isn't it?
[ do not be rude about this wine, Henry. a bottle is forty times more expensive than the daily needs of the most aristocratic, servant-flush, ball-attending lifestyle in dungeons and dragons ]
Hm. [ it's no small thing to toast, she thinks. it has to mean something. so she casts around for something to toast to, and settles on: ] To... meeting again.
[ rather than pour herself a glass, she offers the bottle towards him ]
[He's not being rude, wine is just very foreign to him in general, gosh!! His palette is not exactly the most refined, though he can at least appreciate that it'll be better than the godawful beer he found in that other prison.
Also, girl are you going to drink from the bottle.
[ she's going to drink from the bottle. it would be nice to smile back, too, but it's still just a little too raw for that, so he simply receives a faint twitch of her lips.
clinks the bottle against his glass ]
To satisfying ending.
[ for him, at least. she still isn't sure about herself. ]
["Exquisite libation" means nothing when your experience with alcohol has been a shitty can of beer and a little bit of wine in a memory. To be fair, it is categorically better than those prior experiences, but it's strong, and though rich and certainly not without taste, Henry's palate still declares that most of it tastes... Same-y. Sorry, but these expensive bottles of wine are wasted on him.
I do. [He does, or at least, he can appreciate the taste from a novice's standpoint.] But it's so different than what we had last time, I was surprised. My tastes aren't exactly expensive, you know -- we've established that.
[ can you blame her for wanting him to like what she likes? if their only similarities and common interests are the dark and unpleasant things, it feels... like he'll grow bored of her. or at least unimpressed. ]
[ to her, the music is not as important as the act. one last dance. neither of them may return to this room again... so whatever is there will be enough.
she moves over to the gramophone and lifts the needle. ]
[Whatever she remembers might just be fragments, or something new the mind pieces together like in a dream, but it’ll suffice. It’s the experience that counts, isn’t it? The crux of every memory.
So he sets his glass aside and stands, stepping closer.]
One last dance, then, to whatever your mind thinks is suitable.
[ what more can you expect from her? this is not the happiest occasion. after a beat, she sets her wine glass down (has to clear a space for it on the nearby bookshelf) and slips her hand into his. ]
[Ow, in the way that it didn't really hurt, but was a little surprising.]
I wasn't so bad the first time.
[And he waits for it -- for the beats in the measure to reset, and once it does, he'll take the lead, starting them slow around the clearance of the observatory.]
[ we both already know there isn't much of that in here, but there's just enough to slow dance.
once she's settled into the backwards feeling of following, and stopped trying to instinctively take the lead and turn Henry around the room instead of the other way around, she... drops her forehead quietly against his chest. scantest contact. ]
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[ this, just barely breathed out. she turns and offers him the glass; the wine is plummy and smells incredibly strong. ]
This is our pact, after all.
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Eyebrows lift.] In that case, this is worth a toast, isn't it?
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Hm. [ it's no small thing to toast, she thinks. it has to mean something. so she casts around for something to toast to, and settles on: ] To... meeting again.
[ rather than pour herself a glass, she offers the bottle towards him ]
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Also, girl are you going to drink from the bottle.
But he lifts his glass, smiling.]
To the inevitable.
[Meeting again.]
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clinks the bottle against his glass ]
To satisfying ending.
[ for him, at least. she still isn't sure about herself. ]
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He has a reply for that, but first... He drinks from his glass. Just how strong are we talking for wine?]
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Sprezzatura does in fact sip from the bottle, tipping her head back. ]
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But yes, strong though. His brow wrinkles.]
That's... interesting.
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... you don't like it?
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[ can you blame her for wanting him to like what she likes? if their only similarities and common interests are the dark and unpleasant things, it feels... like he'll grow bored of her. or at least unimpressed. ]
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[But he's smiling, so obviously he's just poking fun.
Is this a more reassuring gesture, then: he takes another sip, slowly this time, and not even a crinkle across his brow.]
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One last dance?
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It goes down easier, at least, with some repetition.]
Did you have a song in mind?
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[ to her, the music is not as important as the act. one last dance. neither of them may return to this room again... so whatever is there will be enough.
she moves over to the gramophone and lifts the needle. ]
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So he sets his glass aside and stands, stepping closer.]
One last dance, then, to whatever your mind thinks is suitable.
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but she does lower it, and something like this. not exactly, but so close. ]
Well?
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(And yes, the dance will eventually end. But isn't that better than no dance at all?)
He extends a hand.]
It's melancholy. But beautiful.
[High praise for someone with a bias against music.]
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[ what more can you expect from her? this is not the happiest occasion. after a beat, she sets her wine glass down (has to clear a space for it on the nearby bookshelf) and slips her hand into his. ]
You can lead today.
[ for the first, and probably only, time ]
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His hand closes around hers, the other dropping to her side.]
As long as you promise me there'll be no two left feet from you.
[He's kidding. Cheer up a little.]
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I know how to dance better than you, Mister Creel.
[ thwaps him with her tail ]
WE STILL NEED SOMETHING HAPPY TO THREAD
[Ow, in the way that it didn't really hurt, but was a little surprising.]
I wasn't so bad the first time.
[And he waits for it -- for the beats in the measure to reset, and once it does, he'll take the lead, starting them slow around the clearance of the observatory.]
THIS IS GIVING ME WHIPLASH
once she's settled into the backwards feeling of following, and stopped trying to instinctively take the lead and turn Henry around the room instead of the other way around, she... drops her forehead quietly against his chest. scantest contact. ]