D&D - Ballroom
Oct. 26th, 2011 07:44 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
squeaklingsTitle: Ballroom
Wordcount: 2,321
Fandom: D&D campaign AU
Rating: PG
Warnings: None.
Summary: Syral tries to fit in and not embarrass Miria at the first House dinner she's invited to.
Notes: This is an AU story to the Shadow Hunters campaign we had. Thought it would be fun to put Syral in a society she doesn't really understand. Syral is a shifter, which for all intents and purposes means she's a kinda cat-girl.
"I’m not wearing that."
"Yes, you are."
Dame Althea grabbed Syral as the shifter tried to skirt past, and expertly slipped the velvet mask over the young woman’s face. Syral thrashed and clawed at the air, but the matron’s grip was iron, and eventually the rogue had to give in. She pouted and slouched as the older woman carefully dressed her in a truly uncomfortable dress, and got smacked for her troubles.
"Stand up straight. Lady Miria will be here soon with the rest of the family. We can’t have you embarrassing her."
"I don’t embarrass her," Syral nearly muttered, but the words died in her throat as she did as she was told. She hadn’t seen Miria in almost a month, not since she’d been dropped off at the manor and left to her own devices. But this was her chance to prove to everyone that she belonged here with Miria and she’d suffer the frilliest dress possible if need be. It was everything else she wasn’t sure about.
"You’ll be on your best behavior, of course," Dame Althea continued, tightening Syral’s bodice. "I didn’t spend so much time teaching you to be proper for you to ignore every lesson. No slouching," she grated out, and smacked the small of Syral’s back again. "Good, very good. Don’t speak unless spoken to, that goes without saying. No growling--"
"I don’t growl!"
Althea tightened the bodice again and Syral yelped. Her already small chest felt painfully constricted. "There, now you look decent." She began to muss with Syral’s hair, trying different ways of putting it up or letting it hang down her back. She finally settled on a loose bun that left the last foot of the shifter’s hair to curl around her shoulders. "And now you look presentable."
"I feel like a doll."
"All the better." The door opened as the dame finished, and a servant entered quickly to whisper in the matron’s ear. She left just as fast, leaving the door ajar. "And now you have to hurry to the foyer. Our carriage is here."
-
Syral stood at Dame Althea’s side as numerous Highborn entered the large mansion. This was her first time in the city proper since she’d been sent to the manor, and she stood in the matron’s shadow, trying to hide her unease. She’d never had a chance to meet any of Miria’s family, and she didn’t think she’d ever get to as they all filed in with the other Highborn Houses. They as well as the other Houses gave her quick glances before ignoring her in favor of the matron, but Syral could still hear them laughing about her as they walked away. More than once she felt Althea’s hand on the small of her back, and stopped herself from glaring.
Miria entered last, and it took the matron’s steadying hand to keep Syral from jumping the other woman. Instead, she curtsied as she’d been taught.
"How are you doing?" Miria whispered after she greeted the matron. She looked stressed and tired, and Syral brushed a hand along the half-mask her mate wore. Althea casually pulled her hand away with none the wiser.
"I’m alright." Better now.
Miria smiled. "Good. I’ve been meaning to--"
"Lady, please come this way."
She frowned and glanced up at Althea, who nodded slightly. "...Sorry, I’ll have to talk later." The words were barely out of her mouth before she was whisked away, and soon only Syral and Althea were left.
"Come along, child," Althea said, and steered the stunned shifter into the Grand Ballroom, where tables were laid out through the middle of the hall, and one large one sat perpendicular to the others at the far end. Servants lined the walls, most brought with the various cousins, and nearly all the seats were filled by chatting Highborn. Althea led Syral up along the largest table, and showed her a seat a few down from the head table before she went to join Miria and the other leaders of the Houses.
Someone beside her coughed loudly, and Syral turned to face a young Highborn man with striking blue eyes. She did her best curtsy.
"Excuse me," he murmured, eyeing her. "I believe your seat is there." He pointed towards the smaller table, back towards the doors, and Syral bristled.
"I was told to sit here," she said, trying hard to be demure and polite. The man’s smile bothered her, as did his wandering eyes. "Sir," she added.
"Yes, well, obviously there was some mistake." He sat down in her seat and leaned over to a masked female. "Such a strange little thing," he said, and both laughed. Syral looked to Miria’s seat for help, but the young Lady was distracted by the Lord of some House and hadn’t noticed the exchange.
Don’t embarrass her. The matron’s words tumbled through her head, and with a sigh Syral marched herself towards the seat the man had indicated. This new seat was so close to the door it might as well not even be part of the table, and she had waiting servants at her back, and children ahead of her.
"It’s a fur," a young, veiled girl whispered loudly, and pointed towards Syral as she approached. The other children all turned to look, openly staring. One boy ran behind her as she started to sit down, and she jumped as he touched her backside.
"She doesn’t have a tail! I told you she didn’t," he said excitedly to another boy, and Syral’s claws twitched.
"I wonder if it can talk," another boy mock-whispered, and a masked girl nodded and said "My father told me they can only hiss and growl like large cats."
"I can talk," Syral said, loud enough for them all to hear. They shrieked and giggled, and she rolled her eyes as she sat down. Miria was ridiculously far away, but she smiled as she caught the shifter’s look.
Dinner was an atrocious affair. Syral lost more and more hope at seeing Miria as each course was served, and the other rarely had a chance to even glance her way. There was always someone vying for the Lady’s attention, from the elder dames to the young man trying to show off his exploits to Lencia’s greatest warrior. Syral sat surrounded by waiting servants and children, although she had to admit the cubs weren’t so bad.
"And then she bit me," the little girl in the veil was saying, as she tried and failed to demurely cut her meat with utensils that were too big for her little hands. Syral deftly took them and cut up the girl’s food before helping another. "So I cried and Daddy came and she was sent to her room."
"I see," Syral said, moving onto a young boy’s plate and hacking the food into bite-sized pieces. "And then what happened?"
"Um..." the girl said, and a boy across the way leaned over and tugged Syral’s sleeve.
"Dame, are your nails real? Can you cut someone with them?"
"Yes, I can. Why?"
He pointed to an older boy farther down the table. The resemblance was unmistakable. "Could you cut him for me? He stole my wooden sword and won’t give it back."
"Hey, Dame?" Another little girl tried to get her attention. "Dame, dame, look here!" This from a boy no older than three. "Dame, can you help me?"
Syral tried to answer them all, reaching over the table and under, separating boys as they began mock fights, and forgetting everything Dame Althea had told her about formal dinners. This was like being back home with her little brothers and the other young ones as they all sat around the large bonfire. The only thing missing was someone in the back playing an instrument while others began dancing.
"Excuse me, dame."
Syral was jarred back to the dinner at the cool voice. She sat back in her chair quickly and tried to hide the greasy stain on the edge of her sleeve. She must have dragged it through someone’s meat while trying to stop a fight.
"Yes, sir?"
The man eyed her carefully, and the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. Silence began to fill the hall as the rest of the tables quieted.
"If you could come with me, please?"
She nodded and stood, aware of all the stares. Whispers followed as she was led to the front of the hall and to the head table. Miria smiled at her from among the gathered Lords and Ladies, and Syral did her best curtsy.
"Word has it," one of the Lords said, sitting a few seats away from Miria, "that you have some talent in dance. We’d like to see it."
"At the very least, she’s walking better than expected," a dame said from farther down the long table. "I guess you can dress them up."
Syral looked to Miria, and the other smiled back at her. Don’t embarrass her.
"I can dance," she said softly, although she wasn’t sure hers was the kind that would fit in a Highborn dinner party.
"Someone get a musician," one of the cousins called from down the table, and there was a scrambling of chairs as everyone turned to watch. One of the women beside Syral looked her up and down.
"I’d like to see her dance to Tira and the Bull."
"I’m sorry, Dame, I don’t know that song."
"Well how about the Lament of Artea?"
Syral shook her head again. Other voices floated her way, each one a song she’d never heard of. At the door, the musician appeared with a lute and found himself a seat. Dame Althea finally spoke up, cutting off the barrage of suggestions.
"Why not have the child perform something traditional from her home?"
There was a murmur of agreement, and Miria nodded. A flurry of movement surrounded the shifter, and she found herself being ushered towards the open area just to the side of the tables. The musician plucked a few notes and assured her he knew some tribal shifter songs. Everyone backed away to give her space.
The musician began softly, plucking out a song that was vaguely familiar. Her skirts hindered her movements, but Syral closed her eyes and let herself feel the beat. After a few moments she began to move, slowly at first but gaining momentum, allowing herself to forget her surroundings and go back to the bonfires and drums she knew so well. When she did open her eyes, deep within the heart of the song, everyone was staring but she couldn’t be bothered while she danced. Although now that she thought about it, her skirt really was heavy, and the shoes they made her wear hurt her feet, and--
She tripped and fell and the music abruptly stopped as people began laughing. Miria surged to her feet but the Lord beside her stopped her, and Syral pushed herself to her feet. Her dress had a tear along the bottom and her hair had come loose and hung wild around her shoulders.
"It seems she’s not as skilled as we’d been told," the woman who first asked her to dance said with a sniff. "I suppose you can’t expect too much from something like that."
"I thought it was a great show," the man beside her said, smiling. "She just needs a little more training, is all. Where’s the kennel master when you need him?"
"I’m sorry," Syral whispered to Dame Althea as the matron led her back to the table. "I didn’t mean to."
“It’s fine,” the matron said, her voice clipped. She sat Syral in a chair and shooed away the children who tried to swarm over them. There was some commotion at the head table, and then Miria finally made her way towards them, walking quickly.
“Are you alright?”
“I’m fine. I tripped.” She glanced from Miria to Dame Althea and then back. “…Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. You’re not hurt? Here, let me—“
“My Lady D’Urban.” One of the other Ladies came up behind her, some other Highborn in tow. “I’m afraid, now that the entertainment is over, that we have business to attend to. If you’d come with us…”
“It’s best that you do,” Dame Althea said, interrupting any complaints Syral or Miria might make. “I’ll take care of things here.”
Syral wanted Miria to fight and stay with her, but the young Lady looked between her peers and Althea, suddenly tired. “I’ll be back later,” she whispered to Syral, and then she was gone, circled by the other Highborn.
“Come, let’s get you cleaned.” Althea guided Syral out of the door and back to the guest parlor, her back straight and gait stilted as they went. Along the way she found a servant and sent her to fetch a change of clothes from the carriage. Once safely behind the doors of the parlor she began to pace, her abrupt movements enough for Syral to know to keep still.
“I didn’t mean to embarrass her,” she finally ground out as the servant hesitantly entered the room with a pale blue dress. Althea took the offered dress and sent the servant away, and Syral shrank back.
“It was hardly you doing anything embarrassing,” the matron snapped, and hastily redressed the shifter. “I cannot believe the farce that was allowed to happen tonight,” she muttered as she laced the young woman into her new dress.
“I’m not used to shoes,” Syral began, and Althea spun her around so they stood face to face.
“You are to sit near me when we return to the banquet, do you understand? I won’t tolerate such an insult to our House again. Do only as I say, is that clear?” Syral nodded and Althea patted her cheek. “Good, child. Now let’s go back and save what we can of this dinner.”
Wordcount: 2,321
Fandom: D&D campaign AU
Rating: PG
Warnings: None.
Summary: Syral tries to fit in and not embarrass Miria at the first House dinner she's invited to.
Notes: This is an AU story to the Shadow Hunters campaign we had. Thought it would be fun to put Syral in a society she doesn't really understand. Syral is a shifter, which for all intents and purposes means she's a kinda cat-girl.
"I’m not wearing that."
"Yes, you are."
Dame Althea grabbed Syral as the shifter tried to skirt past, and expertly slipped the velvet mask over the young woman’s face. Syral thrashed and clawed at the air, but the matron’s grip was iron, and eventually the rogue had to give in. She pouted and slouched as the older woman carefully dressed her in a truly uncomfortable dress, and got smacked for her troubles.
"Stand up straight. Lady Miria will be here soon with the rest of the family. We can’t have you embarrassing her."
"I don’t embarrass her," Syral nearly muttered, but the words died in her throat as she did as she was told. She hadn’t seen Miria in almost a month, not since she’d been dropped off at the manor and left to her own devices. But this was her chance to prove to everyone that she belonged here with Miria and she’d suffer the frilliest dress possible if need be. It was everything else she wasn’t sure about.
"You’ll be on your best behavior, of course," Dame Althea continued, tightening Syral’s bodice. "I didn’t spend so much time teaching you to be proper for you to ignore every lesson. No slouching," she grated out, and smacked the small of Syral’s back again. "Good, very good. Don’t speak unless spoken to, that goes without saying. No growling--"
"I don’t growl!"
Althea tightened the bodice again and Syral yelped. Her already small chest felt painfully constricted. "There, now you look decent." She began to muss with Syral’s hair, trying different ways of putting it up or letting it hang down her back. She finally settled on a loose bun that left the last foot of the shifter’s hair to curl around her shoulders. "And now you look presentable."
"I feel like a doll."
"All the better." The door opened as the dame finished, and a servant entered quickly to whisper in the matron’s ear. She left just as fast, leaving the door ajar. "And now you have to hurry to the foyer. Our carriage is here."
-
Syral stood at Dame Althea’s side as numerous Highborn entered the large mansion. This was her first time in the city proper since she’d been sent to the manor, and she stood in the matron’s shadow, trying to hide her unease. She’d never had a chance to meet any of Miria’s family, and she didn’t think she’d ever get to as they all filed in with the other Highborn Houses. They as well as the other Houses gave her quick glances before ignoring her in favor of the matron, but Syral could still hear them laughing about her as they walked away. More than once she felt Althea’s hand on the small of her back, and stopped herself from glaring.
Miria entered last, and it took the matron’s steadying hand to keep Syral from jumping the other woman. Instead, she curtsied as she’d been taught.
"How are you doing?" Miria whispered after she greeted the matron. She looked stressed and tired, and Syral brushed a hand along the half-mask her mate wore. Althea casually pulled her hand away with none the wiser.
"I’m alright." Better now.
Miria smiled. "Good. I’ve been meaning to--"
"Lady, please come this way."
She frowned and glanced up at Althea, who nodded slightly. "...Sorry, I’ll have to talk later." The words were barely out of her mouth before she was whisked away, and soon only Syral and Althea were left.
"Come along, child," Althea said, and steered the stunned shifter into the Grand Ballroom, where tables were laid out through the middle of the hall, and one large one sat perpendicular to the others at the far end. Servants lined the walls, most brought with the various cousins, and nearly all the seats were filled by chatting Highborn. Althea led Syral up along the largest table, and showed her a seat a few down from the head table before she went to join Miria and the other leaders of the Houses.
Someone beside her coughed loudly, and Syral turned to face a young Highborn man with striking blue eyes. She did her best curtsy.
"Excuse me," he murmured, eyeing her. "I believe your seat is there." He pointed towards the smaller table, back towards the doors, and Syral bristled.
"I was told to sit here," she said, trying hard to be demure and polite. The man’s smile bothered her, as did his wandering eyes. "Sir," she added.
"Yes, well, obviously there was some mistake." He sat down in her seat and leaned over to a masked female. "Such a strange little thing," he said, and both laughed. Syral looked to Miria’s seat for help, but the young Lady was distracted by the Lord of some House and hadn’t noticed the exchange.
Don’t embarrass her. The matron’s words tumbled through her head, and with a sigh Syral marched herself towards the seat the man had indicated. This new seat was so close to the door it might as well not even be part of the table, and she had waiting servants at her back, and children ahead of her.
"It’s a fur," a young, veiled girl whispered loudly, and pointed towards Syral as she approached. The other children all turned to look, openly staring. One boy ran behind her as she started to sit down, and she jumped as he touched her backside.
"She doesn’t have a tail! I told you she didn’t," he said excitedly to another boy, and Syral’s claws twitched.
"I wonder if it can talk," another boy mock-whispered, and a masked girl nodded and said "My father told me they can only hiss and growl like large cats."
"I can talk," Syral said, loud enough for them all to hear. They shrieked and giggled, and she rolled her eyes as she sat down. Miria was ridiculously far away, but she smiled as she caught the shifter’s look.
Dinner was an atrocious affair. Syral lost more and more hope at seeing Miria as each course was served, and the other rarely had a chance to even glance her way. There was always someone vying for the Lady’s attention, from the elder dames to the young man trying to show off his exploits to Lencia’s greatest warrior. Syral sat surrounded by waiting servants and children, although she had to admit the cubs weren’t so bad.
"And then she bit me," the little girl in the veil was saying, as she tried and failed to demurely cut her meat with utensils that were too big for her little hands. Syral deftly took them and cut up the girl’s food before helping another. "So I cried and Daddy came and she was sent to her room."
"I see," Syral said, moving onto a young boy’s plate and hacking the food into bite-sized pieces. "And then what happened?"
"Um..." the girl said, and a boy across the way leaned over and tugged Syral’s sleeve.
"Dame, are your nails real? Can you cut someone with them?"
"Yes, I can. Why?"
He pointed to an older boy farther down the table. The resemblance was unmistakable. "Could you cut him for me? He stole my wooden sword and won’t give it back."
"Hey, Dame?" Another little girl tried to get her attention. "Dame, dame, look here!" This from a boy no older than three. "Dame, can you help me?"
Syral tried to answer them all, reaching over the table and under, separating boys as they began mock fights, and forgetting everything Dame Althea had told her about formal dinners. This was like being back home with her little brothers and the other young ones as they all sat around the large bonfire. The only thing missing was someone in the back playing an instrument while others began dancing.
"Excuse me, dame."
Syral was jarred back to the dinner at the cool voice. She sat back in her chair quickly and tried to hide the greasy stain on the edge of her sleeve. She must have dragged it through someone’s meat while trying to stop a fight.
"Yes, sir?"
The man eyed her carefully, and the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. Silence began to fill the hall as the rest of the tables quieted.
"If you could come with me, please?"
She nodded and stood, aware of all the stares. Whispers followed as she was led to the front of the hall and to the head table. Miria smiled at her from among the gathered Lords and Ladies, and Syral did her best curtsy.
"Word has it," one of the Lords said, sitting a few seats away from Miria, "that you have some talent in dance. We’d like to see it."
"At the very least, she’s walking better than expected," a dame said from farther down the long table. "I guess you can dress them up."
Syral looked to Miria, and the other smiled back at her. Don’t embarrass her.
"I can dance," she said softly, although she wasn’t sure hers was the kind that would fit in a Highborn dinner party.
"Someone get a musician," one of the cousins called from down the table, and there was a scrambling of chairs as everyone turned to watch. One of the women beside Syral looked her up and down.
"I’d like to see her dance to Tira and the Bull."
"I’m sorry, Dame, I don’t know that song."
"Well how about the Lament of Artea?"
Syral shook her head again. Other voices floated her way, each one a song she’d never heard of. At the door, the musician appeared with a lute and found himself a seat. Dame Althea finally spoke up, cutting off the barrage of suggestions.
"Why not have the child perform something traditional from her home?"
There was a murmur of agreement, and Miria nodded. A flurry of movement surrounded the shifter, and she found herself being ushered towards the open area just to the side of the tables. The musician plucked a few notes and assured her he knew some tribal shifter songs. Everyone backed away to give her space.
The musician began softly, plucking out a song that was vaguely familiar. Her skirts hindered her movements, but Syral closed her eyes and let herself feel the beat. After a few moments she began to move, slowly at first but gaining momentum, allowing herself to forget her surroundings and go back to the bonfires and drums she knew so well. When she did open her eyes, deep within the heart of the song, everyone was staring but she couldn’t be bothered while she danced. Although now that she thought about it, her skirt really was heavy, and the shoes they made her wear hurt her feet, and--
She tripped and fell and the music abruptly stopped as people began laughing. Miria surged to her feet but the Lord beside her stopped her, and Syral pushed herself to her feet. Her dress had a tear along the bottom and her hair had come loose and hung wild around her shoulders.
"It seems she’s not as skilled as we’d been told," the woman who first asked her to dance said with a sniff. "I suppose you can’t expect too much from something like that."
"I thought it was a great show," the man beside her said, smiling. "She just needs a little more training, is all. Where’s the kennel master when you need him?"
"I’m sorry," Syral whispered to Dame Althea as the matron led her back to the table. "I didn’t mean to."
“It’s fine,” the matron said, her voice clipped. She sat Syral in a chair and shooed away the children who tried to swarm over them. There was some commotion at the head table, and then Miria finally made her way towards them, walking quickly.
“Are you alright?”
“I’m fine. I tripped.” She glanced from Miria to Dame Althea and then back. “…Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. You’re not hurt? Here, let me—“
“My Lady D’Urban.” One of the other Ladies came up behind her, some other Highborn in tow. “I’m afraid, now that the entertainment is over, that we have business to attend to. If you’d come with us…”
“It’s best that you do,” Dame Althea said, interrupting any complaints Syral or Miria might make. “I’ll take care of things here.”
Syral wanted Miria to fight and stay with her, but the young Lady looked between her peers and Althea, suddenly tired. “I’ll be back later,” she whispered to Syral, and then she was gone, circled by the other Highborn.
“Come, let’s get you cleaned.” Althea guided Syral out of the door and back to the guest parlor, her back straight and gait stilted as they went. Along the way she found a servant and sent her to fetch a change of clothes from the carriage. Once safely behind the doors of the parlor she began to pace, her abrupt movements enough for Syral to know to keep still.
“I didn’t mean to embarrass her,” she finally ground out as the servant hesitantly entered the room with a pale blue dress. Althea took the offered dress and sent the servant away, and Syral shrank back.
“It was hardly you doing anything embarrassing,” the matron snapped, and hastily redressed the shifter. “I cannot believe the farce that was allowed to happen tonight,” she muttered as she laced the young woman into her new dress.
“I’m not used to shoes,” Syral began, and Althea spun her around so they stood face to face.
“You are to sit near me when we return to the banquet, do you understand? I won’t tolerate such an insult to our House again. Do only as I say, is that clear?” Syral nodded and Althea patted her cheek. “Good, child. Now let’s go back and save what we can of this dinner.”
