Zi'da 49, 717
Venora Charity Gala
A breath, that's all he really wanted—just a sarding moment to breathe. Caius had taken it all in stride for a good break longer than he thought he could, the weight of the Gala crowd with all of its shallow conversational demands and well-conditioned laughter and obligational prying into his preferably private life becoming heavier and heavier on his narrow shoulders until he simply needed a moment in his own head, a moment out of everyone else's view. He couldn't explain what he did at the Gazette one more time. He couldn't chuckle his way through a discussion on the political affairs of Gawyne one more trill. He couldn't smile about how lovely Darcyanna was next to him, not again. It had been enough already. Too sarding much.
With a shy smile and too warm lips against the delicate pianist's cheek, Caius dismissed himself from yet another sarding conversation as casually as possible, the cavity of his chest heavy with so much cast off lead. He disengaged himself from making more pretentious words and slipped away, fleeing the concentration of well-dressed bodies and slinking toward a far less occupied corner of the main ballroom, just to escape the chatter and the noise.
He could have picked up a drink on the way, but he didn't, perhaps bordering too close to the edge of over stimulated to find alcohol of any use. Instead, the young Gawyne ran ink-stained fingers listlessly over the polished silver buttons of his long, House purple velvet jacket, straying upward to toy thoughtlessly with the silver chain that decorated the collar before finally curling one hand into the strangely eloquently unkempt mess of his hair.
Quiet. Finally.
The noise faded just enough, closer now to the music than anything else, and the northern noble could relax, eyes fluttering shut for a moment just to tuck everything away and find a bit of calm in all of the bustle of the Gala's atmosphere. He thought about the simple, repetitive nature of sorting type, the wordless effort of carving an image into a block of wood, and the soft wave of freshly hung paper on the drying rack, retreating into the process that he'd come to find so necessary in order to literally keep his restless, too full of thought self sane.
Caius sighed, unable to help opening his eyes again and let his sharp blue gaze fall back onto Darcyanna as she moved from one conversation to the next even from across the room, the hint of a smile warming his otherwise tired expression—wistful. Bogs, he had no idea what he was doing but it sure as the Seven felt mostly alright. Better than alright, no matter how crazy the ride.
He felt the weighty awareness of eyes on him, but in the well-dressed crowd before him saw no one. Everyone had already surely been given their eyeful of himself and the blonde Venora together, and he was thankful that his friends at the Gazette had already had their fill of gossip long before the Gala. Smirking before looking at the other man, the young Gawyne anticipated his presence,
"Yes, Oliver?" His words were quiet, a softer, greener shift of color in his irises as he tilted his head in the older Venora's direction, unashamed to admit his own weaknesses if only because the other man was the brother to one of them, "Did you need a moment of quiet, too?"
With a shy smile and too warm lips against the delicate pianist's cheek, Caius dismissed himself from yet another sarding conversation as casually as possible, the cavity of his chest heavy with so much cast off lead. He disengaged himself from making more pretentious words and slipped away, fleeing the concentration of well-dressed bodies and slinking toward a far less occupied corner of the main ballroom, just to escape the chatter and the noise.
He could have picked up a drink on the way, but he didn't, perhaps bordering too close to the edge of over stimulated to find alcohol of any use. Instead, the young Gawyne ran ink-stained fingers listlessly over the polished silver buttons of his long, House purple velvet jacket, straying upward to toy thoughtlessly with the silver chain that decorated the collar before finally curling one hand into the strangely eloquently unkempt mess of his hair.
Quiet. Finally.
The noise faded just enough, closer now to the music than anything else, and the northern noble could relax, eyes fluttering shut for a moment just to tuck everything away and find a bit of calm in all of the bustle of the Gala's atmosphere. He thought about the simple, repetitive nature of sorting type, the wordless effort of carving an image into a block of wood, and the soft wave of freshly hung paper on the drying rack, retreating into the process that he'd come to find so necessary in order to literally keep his restless, too full of thought self sane.
Caius sighed, unable to help opening his eyes again and let his sharp blue gaze fall back onto Darcyanna as she moved from one conversation to the next even from across the room, the hint of a smile warming his otherwise tired expression—wistful. Bogs, he had no idea what he was doing but it sure as the Seven felt mostly alright. Better than alright, no matter how crazy the ride.
He felt the weighty awareness of eyes on him, but in the well-dressed crowd before him saw no one. Everyone had already surely been given their eyeful of himself and the blonde Venora together, and he was thankful that his friends at the Gazette had already had their fill of gossip long before the Gala. Smirking before looking at the other man, the young Gawyne anticipated his presence,
"Yes, Oliver?" His words were quiet, a softer, greener shift of color in his irises as he tilted his head in the older Venora's direction, unashamed to admit his own weaknesses if only because the other man was the brother to one of them, "Did you need a moment of quiet, too?"
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