reverie overflow.

[vecna]

i still haven't put something less stupid here

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[vecna]

[He laughs gently at her parodied attempt.]

See? That's not so hard. You can throw names of wines around all day and I wouldn't know the difference.

[velluminous]

[ sniffs ] Tragic.

[vecna]

I know. I've been so deprived. But you get to enlighten me, even if it is only in your head.

[velluminous]

Then by all means, this is very expensive wine, and you like it very much.

[vecna]

[And he takes another sip.]

Perfectly spoiled. I can't complain.

[velluminous]

[ huffs a faint laugh. the idea of spoiling him... well, she did say she would refine his palate. this can be the first of many instances to come.

after a beat, she pushes from the bed and begins to fuss with the gramophone, filling the cramped room with the crackling, soft sound of music ]

[vecna]

[Even as he takes one more slow pull from his wine glass, his eyes track her as she moves to the gramophone, imbuing the air with music.

(Normally, he would not allow that, twisting the memory up to invalidate the very existence of the thing, but this is not a normal visit into someone's head -- nor is he certain the crooning music will present a problem at all.)

The question being: just how much does she enjoy the song playing right now?]

[velluminous]

[ her gaze is lowered, watching the record gently spin, wine in hand, hair falling forward over her shoulders. she likes it; that's why she owns it. I wouldn't call it her favourite song, though. a dark, haunting sort of piece. ]

I don't suppose you dance.

[vecna]

["Liking" it is not quite substantial enough for this memory to start ripping at the seams, at least. In fact, he is not exactly sure how music would affect a contented memory at all; he has no experience in the matter.

Not that it matters. Her question has him raising his brows again.]

I can.

[There was not much dancing at Hawkins Lab, and maybe only a middling amount of it in the 50s as a child being humored by those around him. But does he have the knowledge of dancing nestled in his head somewhere, "borrowed" so kindly from someone else? Yes.]

Do you want to?

[velluminous]

[ for now, it seems that the music simply... is. it adds to the memory itself—one she is not trying to escape from. shrugs, sipping at her wine... ]

Only wondering. [ she takes a breath, lets it out again ] "What kind of man is Henry Creel...?"

[vecna]

[Hm. Another final take of his wine, setting the glass down on the desk amongst its many papers. Then he stands, one hand gently beckoning her over.]

You brought it up, so dance with me and find out. And tell me what you manage to learn.

[velluminous]

[ ooh girl, danger

she dumbly crosses over to him, still holding her glass ]

[vecna]

[Sprezzatura continues to make the best life choices. But it's just a dance -- what's the worst that could happen?

Reaches out to take her glass by the stem first, though, when she nears close enough. Amused-]

You can save the rest of that for after.

[If he manages to take it from her, he'll just place it down on the desk next to his own.]

[velluminous]

[ feeling strangely exposed without it; something to occupy her hands and her thoughts that isn't Mammon, why did I bring him here? she ends up crossing her arms in front of her, tucking her tail down the opening of her boot ]

Do you intend for me to need to drink, after?

[vecna]

[Chuckles. Henry is all easy mannerisms and the indication of a shrug.]

No, I hope you won’t think I’m that bad of a dancer.

[velluminous]

We will see.

[ after a strange beat, she straightens her posture and assumes—a leading stance? ]

[vecna]

[A leading stance? Well, if that’s her preference, this is not the time in which Henry will try to convince her otherwise.

So, he straightens, as well, except he seems to fall into the stance of following with much more nonchalance. Hand in hers; other hand slipping around her back.

Looks down at her expectantly, waiting for a new measure of music and... for her to get them started.]

[velluminous]

[ straightening even more when his hand moves around her back. rather than meet that expectant gaze, she glances aside at their joined hands, assessing. a lich... she is truly insane. ]

Follow my lead.

[ murmured unnecessarily; he clearly does know this. but the song trails out, seaming into a new track, and she begins to pull him around the room. it is so cramped that it leaves very little room to dance, but fortunately, she isn't leading them in anything high-energy or complicated. ]

[vecna]

[His touch is warm today; his fingers are long, slender, and pale, such a stark contrast against the hue of her own skin where they meet. Henry’s grip is neither overly tight nor loose with disinterest, but simply committed to letting her lead as they move about the room to a new song.

It’s hardly a ballroom, there’s barely much clearance to take a full turn around the room, but thankfully this is not a blistering waltz. Just a basic slow dance, in which he is able to follow without issue. Not a single stumble yet.

Tries to catch her look with his own, curious.]

Your impression so far?

/2

[velluminous]

[ fuuuuuck but she has a thing about hands ]

[velluminous]

[ she takes him to the curve of the telescope window, then turns them back towards the gramophone for another spin. ]

I am wondering how man who claims to have missed so much in life came to familiarity with ballroom dancing.

[vecna]

[Well. His hands are very nice.

Back towards the gramophone they go, its needle sometimes crackling gently in the wax.]

I wouldn't call this ballroom dancing.

[This is what teenagers manage in the gym of their school, dressed up for thematic dances that seem so very droll to him.]

Put me into a competition, and I'd fumble. But I was taught a little when I was younger.

[It's not false; he just never took to it, and it's not where he draws this skill from now. But Alice, she loved spinning about to slow songs, sweeping across the floor with an invisible partner. A silly, silly girl.]

Enough to impress you, I hope?

[velluminous]

Let us call it... satisfied.

[ she can't ascribe much better, being a woman weaned on soirees and parties and the many, many, many dances therein. she has real poise, even if their movements now are so simple; for a small woman, she still seems to command the room (though that's namely because Henry is allowing this), and where she oftentimes walks around with a hunch, she's straight-backed and prim now.

after a few more turns, she even dares to move to dip him. just to show off that she can. ]

[vecna]

Coming from you, I’ll take “satisfied”.

[And it’s clear from her own dancing that this is no effort for her. She has poise in the minute movements, the turns, where he does not — something garnered through what must be years of practice. He is led around the room as easily as though he were a shadow, she may as well command the music to her flow.

Henry even makes the mistake of opening his mouth to ply another remark, when it’s cut off—]

How long have you been da—

[—mid-dip, the height difference between them making it a very dynamic move, his blond hair sweeping back and his gaze nearly upside-down to view the observatory at large.

God, she is bold when she wants to be.]

I might need a drink after this.

[velluminous]

[ her dark, dark eyes are on him, making sure he doesn't look too displeased. she has her tail around his back to help support him, though her grip is sure and it doesn't appear to strain her much besides the sheer disparity in height meaning she has to hold him quite close.

that is still something of a discomfort ]

It is not that unpleasant.