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[ Clay might be too distracted by the road to notice, but there’s a subtle slump to Cadence’s shoulders as her posture softens. This is familiar, this can work with. ]
Who’s arguing? You really need to calm down. I’d hate to get there and cause a scene.
[ She takes out a compact from her clutch as she says it, the smallest smirk on her face as she goads him. Flipping the contact open, she checks her lipstick, confirming her hair and make-up remain perfectly unmussed. ]
Who’s arguing? You really need to calm down. I’d hate to get there and cause a scene.
[ She takes out a compact from her clutch as she says it, the smallest smirk on her face as she goads him. Flipping the contact open, she checks her lipstick, confirming her hair and make-up remain perfectly unmussed. ]
Edited 2023-04-16 22:44 (UTC)
[ He snorts as he resumes their drive, putting on his turn signal at the next intersection and waiting for pedestrians. The next comes like an admission, after he re-straightens the wheel once the turn is complete. ]
I guess I am. Let me… rephrase. Do you have to invite an argument all the time?
[ Cadence’s movements make him turn to look at her once he’s behind a car again and he rolls his eyes. And yet, takes the opportunity to check his hair in the rear view while she has him thinking about it. ]
Or have you always been like this?
I guess I am. Let me… rephrase. Do you have to invite an argument all the time?
[ Cadence’s movements make him turn to look at her once he’s behind a car again and he rolls his eyes. And yet, takes the opportunity to check his hair in the rear view while she has him thinking about it. ]
Or have you always been like this?
[ Cadence’s primping slows for a second as Clay’s words settle.
“You surely do not want such violent attentions…?”
Cadence curtly snaps her compact shut, as if the sharp noise alone can banish the lingering ghosts of the past. ]
I’m not “inviting” anything—you can react however you choose. But yes, if I’ve had a lot of people project their own actions onto me, if that’s what you mean. It’s easier to blame my kind for a deadly shipwreck than a bad captain who remains in power both on land and sea.
[ She’s blatantly deflecting, but it’s not untrue: for as many men’s lives that she’s scuttled, Cadence has been blamed nearly as much for an unprovoked wandering eye destroying house and home all on his own. ]
“You surely do not want such violent attentions…?”
Cadence curtly snaps her compact shut, as if the sharp noise alone can banish the lingering ghosts of the past. ]
I’m not “inviting” anything—you can react however you choose. But yes, if I’ve had a lot of people project their own actions onto me, if that’s what you mean. It’s easier to blame my kind for a deadly shipwreck than a bad captain who remains in power both on land and sea.
[ She’s blatantly deflecting, but it’s not untrue: for as many men’s lives that she’s scuttled, Cadence has been blamed nearly as much for an unprovoked wandering eye destroying house and home all on his own. ]
I can react how I choose?
[ Clay blinks. Twice. Utterly unsure how to respond, he mentally unpacks all of that statement. The deflection makes his initial anger dissipate as he waits in a line of impatient drivers for the valets. As the car idles he lets out a scoff and looks over at her profile.
Nothing new: he can’t get a read on what she’s thinking. She looks simply indifferent and haughty- and painfully gorgeous. ]
I know a bit about having “my kind” blamed for a lot of stupid shit. But don’t make it sound like you’re a victim because you said something snarky and I “responded how I chose;” I’m an asshole, I fucking know that. But you’re-
[ He won’t say a bitch. He won’t say a gaslighting bitch, but he wants to. Except he can tell there’s something making her like this, about this. That was too personal of a thing to say, by her high standards.
He’s worried he’s too close to something that hurts and he won’t scare her farther into whatever fucking self imposed wall this is. Gaslighting bitch or not he’s invested in this. Financially, emotionally, fuck it. He closes the thought quickly, not wanting to give Cadence a chance to interrupt his hanging sentence with more of her bite. ]
You’re too smart to be anyone’s scapegoat. I know that, too.
[ Clay blinks. Twice. Utterly unsure how to respond, he mentally unpacks all of that statement. The deflection makes his initial anger dissipate as he waits in a line of impatient drivers for the valets. As the car idles he lets out a scoff and looks over at her profile.
Nothing new: he can’t get a read on what she’s thinking. She looks simply indifferent and haughty- and painfully gorgeous. ]
I know a bit about having “my kind” blamed for a lot of stupid shit. But don’t make it sound like you’re a victim because you said something snarky and I “responded how I chose;” I’m an asshole, I fucking know that. But you’re-
[ He won’t say a bitch. He won’t say a gaslighting bitch, but he wants to. Except he can tell there’s something making her like this, about this. That was too personal of a thing to say, by her high standards.
He’s worried he’s too close to something that hurts and he won’t scare her farther into whatever fucking self imposed wall this is. Gaslighting bitch or not he’s invested in this. Financially, emotionally, fuck it. He closes the thought quickly, not wanting to give Cadence a chance to interrupt his hanging sentence with more of her bite. ]
You’re too smart to be anyone’s scapegoat. I know that, too.
[ She’s over-reaching, she knows it, but that look he gives and the way he calls out her bullsh— ]
It’s not about intelligence.
[ Again, another half-truth she’s leaning on too heavily; she’s lived long enough to know that if someone wants to point fingers, there’s not much chance of altering that choice.
But choosing to spark that ire and control it from the get-go? There was power in that, safety even if used right. ]
And you should be smart enough to know that much.
It’s not about intelligence.
[ Again, another half-truth she’s leaning on too heavily; she’s lived long enough to know that if someone wants to point fingers, there’s not much chance of altering that choice.
But choosing to spark that ire and control it from the get-go? There was power in that, safety even if used right. ]
And you should be smart enough to know that much.
[ Clay is saved from an impulsive reply by being waved to bring the car forward. He pushes the gas pedal gently and clears his throat. He shuts off the car and looks at her again, smirking in his best charming manner while the employees write down his license plate— because the would-be date had to be normal for another few minutes. ]
I do. We’ll finish this inside- You have your purse? And make up thing?
I do. We’ll finish this inside- You have your purse? And make up thing?
[ If sparking and shaping someone’s anger like a flame is a means of control, then Clay is robbing her of it. She stares at him for a second, trying to remember if the hot-head’s self-discipline was always this strong, before pulling her eyes away from him and clicking open her clutch. ]
Fine, and yes, it’s here. Lead the way?
Fine, and yes, it’s here. Lead the way?
[ Knowing she was from the Mediterranean was frankly his best lead when it came to selecting which show to plan on attending with Cadence. -- He's still stunned she accepted. And he still remembers she spent the night, once. If he sat and reflected on what brought him here- which he did, multiple times- he knew he liked her more than she would ever invite openly.
He was bored when he harassed a "fishy" woman in an upper-class riverside bar who seemed oddly interested in picking up a man. The more she spoke, the more he was interested, and he knew he couldn't chalk it up to her powers like a mortal, either. That excuse went belly-up when he pulled out his American Express on a $400 pair of high heels. She wasn't around to influence any part of that decision. What he did know was that they were a ticket to making sure she came back for that meeting...
Now: months later, Clyteus has one hand on a whiskey ginger, and the other cradles a martini on his way to the box seats he purchased; the two seats of the four-set behind them were purchased by one Clayton Emerson as well, but they sit empty. The last thing he needed was someone else talking to him, or overhearing what would sound like nonsense while he tries to pull more conversation from her. ]
Extra dry, with olives.
[ He lowers the drink from behind the chair toward Cadence, offering a business-like smile over the chatter coming below them. Their seats offer a stage-left view, but high enough to see everything. It feels appropriate for the way he wants to treat her. And for some reason being here is making his nerves worse than the drive. At least he was doing something before, and in control of the car, and it didn't feel quite so intimate. And they had been intimate of course, but seated so close together and well-clothed it felt like they were inching toward being even more vulnerable. His gut twisted, and he exuded the desire for her to take the offered glass so he couldchug sip the other one he held. ]
He was bored when he harassed a "fishy" woman in an upper-class riverside bar who seemed oddly interested in picking up a man. The more she spoke, the more he was interested, and he knew he couldn't chalk it up to her powers like a mortal, either. That excuse went belly-up when he pulled out his American Express on a $400 pair of high heels. She wasn't around to influence any part of that decision. What he did know was that they were a ticket to making sure she came back for that meeting...
Now: months later, Clyteus has one hand on a whiskey ginger, and the other cradles a martini on his way to the box seats he purchased; the two seats of the four-set behind them were purchased by one Clayton Emerson as well, but they sit empty. The last thing he needed was someone else talking to him, or overhearing what would sound like nonsense while he tries to pull more conversation from her. ]
Extra dry, with olives.
[ He lowers the drink from behind the chair toward Cadence, offering a business-like smile over the chatter coming below them. Their seats offer a stage-left view, but high enough to see everything. It feels appropriate for the way he wants to treat her. And for some reason being here is making his nerves worse than the drive. At least he was doing something before, and in control of the car, and it didn't feel quite so intimate. And they had been intimate of course, but seated so close together and well-clothed it felt like they were inching toward being even more vulnerable. His gut twisted, and he exuded the desire for her to take the offered glass so he could
did you really pick drinks based on their fire/spice vs. water/briny aesthetics you brat?
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beckonings
2023-04-20 10:51 pm (UTC)(link)
[ In Clay's absence, Cadence has taken to people-watching from the balcony; while the people are more well-dressed than usual, she can still pick out a few stragglers who've veered towards the casual outfits overtaking Broadway these days. She can still remember the days where showing up here with a black tie instead of white would have left you blacklisted from society events for at least a good few months.
She's still quietly reminiscing on her visits with past would-be paramours to see long-dead mezzo-sopranos and baritones when a strong hand (ungloved, doesn't that just pull her back into the present) brings a martini into her periphery. ]
...You remembered.
[ She says it in a tone that could equally be read as incredulity he was capable of remembering her preferred drink order or appreciation he'd actually paid attention. She takes the glass stem from his hand, her perfectly manicured nails gently brushing his fingers as she does. Cadence then takes a small sip to check the taste (best not let him get comfortable quite yet) and smiles as she savors the sharp, briny taste. ]
Not bad.
She's still quietly reminiscing on her visits with past would-be paramours to see long-dead mezzo-sopranos and baritones when a strong hand (ungloved, doesn't that just pull her back into the present) brings a martini into her periphery. ]
...You remembered.
[ She says it in a tone that could equally be read as incredulity he was capable of remembering her preferred drink order or appreciation he'd actually paid attention. She takes the glass stem from his hand, her perfectly manicured nails gently brushing his fingers as she does. Cadence then takes a small sip to check the taste (best not let him get comfortable quite yet) and smiles as she savors the sharp, briny taste. ]
Not bad.
[ In some twisted consequence of the past few months, Clay reads into her simplistic statements as a form of approval. The obvious opposite would be, naturally voiced, her disdain. He's equally sure that silence would be her version of being equivocal- nothing she says towards the dragon goes without some sort of meaning. If she speaks, every word has intent, and he would bet his scaly neck on that.
He smiles and snaps back from the nagging feeling trepidation that was making him nervous about the rest of the night after that drive. Ignoring the small thrill that creeps up his arm under the suit, he seats himself next to her. The glass lifts to chin height in a toast, and gives Clay directs his usual cockeyed smile at Cadence. A smile that reaches both of his eyes was reserved for polite business and, perhaps, some unforeseen peak of joy. ]
To a good show. [ He takes a drink again, bringing his glass to halfway. ]
Have you seen this?
He smiles and snaps back from the nagging feeling trepidation that was making him nervous about the rest of the night after that drive. Ignoring the small thrill that creeps up his arm under the suit, he seats himself next to her. The glass lifts to chin height in a toast, and gives Clay directs his usual cockeyed smile at Cadence. A smile that reaches both of his eyes was reserved for polite business and, perhaps, some unforeseen peak of joy. ]
To a good show. [ He takes a drink again, bringing his glass to halfway. ]
Have you seen this?
[ Cadence brings her drink back up to her lips, taking a slow drag of the martini whiles she takes a moment to dwell on the many "variations" she's seen or heard of "this." ]
Yes, a long time ago though. Not exactly my favorite of Handel's works.
[ Naturally, she doesn't expand on the why of that answer; while her drink had initially left her feeling content, there already seems to be a storm cloud brewing in her, in her classic mercurial fashion. ]
Yes, a long time ago though. Not exactly my favorite of Handel's works.
[ Naturally, she doesn't expand on the why of that answer; while her drink had initially left her feeling content, there already seems to be a storm cloud brewing in her, in her classic mercurial fashion. ]
[ Her knowledge of the Opera makes him smile more brightly, and he chuckles before his reply. A glance at her thoughtful sipping, her looking less enthused than she did at his reentrance, slightly troubles him. ]
Oh, and which is your favorite? Are we back to your beloved Classical?
Oh, and which is your favorite? Are we back to your beloved Classical?
[ Cadence actually makes eye-contact with him at the question before trailing her eyes down and up his torso, lingering for a moment at his jawline before she answers. ]
Please, the only ones that are worth seeing are the “Classics”—I don’t see you clamoring for Girls of the Golden West tickets anytime soon.
[ It’s a typical snark-filled rebuttal from her, but it also unintentionally shows her hand: for as many theatre shows as she’s been dragged along to for social clout over the centuries, Cadence has developed a softness for (and critical taste of) operas. ]
…probably Giulio Cesare, though I prefer other composers.
[ Cadence debates cutting it off there, already feeling like she’s give up too much, when the question slips from her lips. ]
And you?
Please, the only ones that are worth seeing are the “Classics”—I don’t see you clamoring for Girls of the Golden West tickets anytime soon.
[ It’s a typical snark-filled rebuttal from her, but it also unintentionally shows her hand: for as many theatre shows as she’s been dragged along to for social clout over the centuries, Cadence has developed a softness for (and critical taste of) operas. ]
…probably Giulio Cesare, though I prefer other composers.
[ Cadence debates cutting it off there, already feeling like she’s give up too much, when the question slips from her lips. ]
And you?
Edited 2023-04-23 00:04 (UTC)
[ The dragon quietly chortles at her snark, raising his brows and giving a tacit expression of agreement with her statement. His arm not holding the drink instinctively cranes around her chair as he leans into the conversation- a response to the look-over she gave him, if we had to attribute it to something specific. He’s not thinking that far into it; just engaged in the moment. ]
Handel actually is my favorite. When I was young he was rather popular, especially his being from Britain. There weren’t many “big” names in his genres from that side of Europe.
[ He hums and smiles at her, his look staying a touch too long which prompts him to take a small sip to distract from it. ]
Cesare is excellent. You have good taste, as always. My personal favorite would have to be Alessandro.
[ He smiled wistfully. Alexander the Great was one historical figure he enjoyed a lot. (The very recent movie was fucking terrible.) Because of course he likes the men with fierce intellect and a lust for power. William the Conqueror, Charlemagne, Napoleon- all in the same vein of interest. ]
I was at that premiere, which is part of the appeal it holds for me. That was a night to remember.
Handel actually is my favorite. When I was young he was rather popular, especially his being from Britain. There weren’t many “big” names in his genres from that side of Europe.
[ He hums and smiles at her, his look staying a touch too long which prompts him to take a small sip to distract from it. ]
Cesare is excellent. You have good taste, as always. My personal favorite would have to be Alessandro.
[ He smiled wistfully. Alexander the Great was one historical figure he enjoyed a lot. (The very recent movie was fucking terrible.) Because of course he likes the men with fierce intellect and a lust for power. William the Conqueror, Charlemagne, Napoleon- all in the same vein of interest. ]
I was at that premiere, which is part of the appeal it holds for me. That was a night to remember.
[ She doesn’t quite snort at his wistful sigh (that would be unladylike) but she does roll her eyes. She also, notably, doesn’t pull away as he moves closer. ]
Can you? I’m assuming you were basically a child, barely hatched.
[ It’s hyperbolic, she knows he’s older than that, but it’s hard to take him seriously sometimes when she thinks about how young he probably is. ]
Alessandro is…all right. I have mixed feelings on dramatizations of him.
Can you? I’m assuming you were basically a child, barely hatched.
[ It’s hyperbolic, she knows he’s older than that, but it’s hard to take him seriously sometimes when she thinks about how young he probably is. ]
Alessandro is…all right. I have mixed feelings on dramatizations of him.
[ One eyebrow raises at the comment on his age, and he filed it away with the other scant tidbits she’s dropped about herself. He lifts his shoulders and gives a minute and equivocal lift of his hands. ]
It completely depends on the work. Different actors, composers, directors, bring different Alexanders to life. I’m sure you would say the same thing about, say… Cleopatra.
[ He grins and drinks again. His unconscious habit is to finish it before the curtain opens so he doesn’t have to keep track of it during the dark show and he can focus on it.
The lights dim with the silent warning of “get to your seats, you have a minute” and he frowns toward the stage before he finishes his drink. How inconvenient. ]
It completely depends on the work. Different actors, composers, directors, bring different Alexanders to life. I’m sure you would say the same thing about, say… Cleopatra.
[ He grins and drinks again. His unconscious habit is to finish it before the curtain opens so he doesn’t have to keep track of it during the dark show and he can focus on it.
The lights dim with the silent warning of “get to your seats, you have a minute” and he frowns toward the stage before he finishes his drink. How inconvenient. ]
That’s different, she—
[ She’s about to go off on Cleopatra’s ultimately Egyptian identity despite her Greek roots compared to Alexander, the glory and pride of the Greek isles, how much “her temptress ways” have always been stupidly one-note in all retellings, but she stops short. She’s already said too much, and the lights are already warning the start of the show. ]
It’s not the same with her. Alexander’s and Cleopatra’s legacies are…they’re not the same to begin with, and the retellings have been even more stark. Let’s just leave it at that.
[ She’s about to go off on Cleopatra’s ultimately Egyptian identity despite her Greek roots compared to Alexander, the glory and pride of the Greek isles, how much “her temptress ways” have always been stupidly one-note in all retellings, but she stops short. She’s already said too much, and the lights are already warning the start of the show. ]
It’s not the same with her. Alexander’s and Cleopatra’s legacies are…they’re not the same to begin with, and the retellings have been even more stark. Let’s just leave it at that.
Edited 2023-04-23 01:22 (UTC)
I smell a feminist argument- which I will happily listen to at intermission- if we don’t get sidetracked.
[ At the pause he cocks a grin. He will, and chews on the fact that he actually would be happy about it. Her thoughts and opinions fascinate him- For some reason. Clay sits up straighter when the theater’s anticipation swells like a balloon before it’s popped with the first note from the invisible orchestra.
His arm pulls away from the back of her chair with the same reach he offers to put his glass of ice beside his chair. When he comes back to face forward, he has a nigh imperceptible hesitation before he relaxes the hand that was just around her chair above her knee instead- not as high as her thigh. This was a respectable venue and opera, and it’s not that sort of gesture. ]
[ At the pause he cocks a grin. He will, and chews on the fact that he actually would be happy about it. Her thoughts and opinions fascinate him- For some reason. Clay sits up straighter when the theater’s anticipation swells like a balloon before it’s popped with the first note from the invisible orchestra.
His arm pulls away from the back of her chair with the same reach he offers to put his glass of ice beside his chair. When he comes back to face forward, he has a nigh imperceptible hesitation before he relaxes the hand that was just around her chair above her knee instead- not as high as her thigh. This was a respectable venue and opera, and it’s not that sort of gesture. ]
back in my day, u either died in battle or a snake bit ur tit - cadence, probably
beckonings
2023-04-23 01:57 am (UTC)(link)
[ Cadence’s expression shutters at the offer—he’s thankfully misread her criticism, but she refuses to offer up more than she already has. It’s not feminism per say—it’s just harder to remove herself from what still feels like current events to her.
I remember Alexander’s army leaving for war, the way the crowds clamored for him in Macedon. I also remember the night they told that city they had brought his body home, the sheer amount of wailing in the streets. The man I had been with that night had touched my hair and asked me if I might have been his natural sister or daughter before I tore out his heart.
Cleopatra’s rise and downfall was at least on the other side of the Mediterranean, even if Augustus’ and Caesar’s versions of events had been self-empowering bullshit…but you attended Handel’s flowery retellings, you tell me about them.
She stills further as she feels the warmth of his hand gently press down on her knee, resting on the sheer fabric of her dress. Again, she doesn’t pull away, even though she feels like she could. It’s all too close, too intimidate; it’s dangerous. ]
…Hardly. Just focus on the show.
I remember Alexander’s army leaving for war, the way the crowds clamored for him in Macedon. I also remember the night they told that city they had brought his body home, the sheer amount of wailing in the streets. The man I had been with that night had touched my hair and asked me if I might have been his natural sister or daughter before I tore out his heart.
Cleopatra’s rise and downfall was at least on the other side of the Mediterranean, even if Augustus’ and Caesar’s versions of events had been self-empowering bullshit…but you attended Handel’s flowery retellings, you tell me about them.
She stills further as she feels the warmth of his hand gently press down on her knee, resting on the sheer fabric of her dress. Again, she doesn’t pull away, even though she feels like she could. It’s all too close, too intimidate; it’s dangerous. ]
…Hardly. Just focus on the show.
Edited 2023-04-23 02:03 (UTC)
[ He rolls his eyes and looks back at the stage. The hand on her leg squeezes slightly in acknowledgement that he heard her but he stays quiet to respect the performance. The show begins and he relaxes with a feeling of familiarity and joy; he always enjoyed the opera.
Clay does, in fact, focus on the show. It’s only during breaks in the musical numbers that he looks over at Cadence with interest to gauge her response. And there is a particular moment between the nymph and her eventual lover that he swears he senses some physical reaction elicited from the Siren. Applause at the appropriate pauses had drawn his hand away from her for a portion of the performance, but he takes the content of the stage below and her reaction as a moment to put his hand back where it had started the show. ]
Clay does, in fact, focus on the show. It’s only during breaks in the musical numbers that he looks over at Cadence with interest to gauge her response. And there is a particular moment between the nymph and her eventual lover that he swears he senses some physical reaction elicited from the Siren. Applause at the appropriate pauses had drawn his hand away from her for a portion of the performance, but he takes the content of the stage below and her reaction as a moment to put his hand back where it had started the show. ]
[ As soon as the lights dim and the orchestra starts, Cadence is fully engrossed in the show. Handel may not be her favorite composer, but he still can write a compelling tragedy. Normally, Cadence heavily prefers a well-written drama over some of his more ridiculous comedies, but this one eats at her a little more than usual.
Galatea had never been her favorite sister (not that being her favorite had done much for Menippe either) but there was something particularly painful in watching her would-be reincarnation sing of her love for Acis, knowing what was coming in the end. It's a mixed feeling: she knows in reality, Galatea had suffered terribly during the events of this story. But she also knows everyone was frustratingly accepting of her morbid obsession over a dead mortal, and she can feel her whole body tense when the actress hits the hit notes of their love song.
Subconsciously, she can feel his hand return to her knee, but again she doesn't shrink back. If anything, the soft weight on her almost eases some of the tension in her body, though she's not sure how much she wants to examine that. ]
Galatea had never been her favorite sister (not that being her favorite had done much for Menippe either) but there was something particularly painful in watching her would-be reincarnation sing of her love for Acis, knowing what was coming in the end. It's a mixed feeling: she knows in reality, Galatea had suffered terribly during the events of this story. But she also knows everyone was frustratingly accepting of her morbid obsession over a dead mortal, and she can feel her whole body tense when the actress hits the hit notes of their love song.
Subconsciously, she can feel his hand return to her knee, but again she doesn't shrink back. If anything, the soft weight on her almost eases some of the tension in her body, though she's not sure how much she wants to examine that. ]
[ The hand on Cadence stays even through applause after the lovers’ song ends. Clay lightly taps his thigh with the other hand, in a polite acknowledgment to the cacophony below them. He looks at Cadence, an eyebrow raising above the crease of his mild concern; a silent inquiry should she choose meet his gaze.
It was, of course, like it never happened. And maybe it didn’t- he reasons. Perhaps he was caught up in the scene below and in that mistook her shoulders straightening up, and only imagined the way her eyes lost focus for a moment, in his periphery. But he still tried to place any reason for her to be discomfit.
Oblivious to her past- as she wanted it to this point- he speculates silently over the clapping. He wonders if it was a previous show, long ago, that made her react. Or maybe something closer to her personal experiences.
(With a lack of any conceptual fathom of how close.) ]
It was, of course, like it never happened. And maybe it didn’t- he reasons. Perhaps he was caught up in the scene below and in that mistook her shoulders straightening up, and only imagined the way her eyes lost focus for a moment, in his periphery. But he still tried to place any reason for her to be discomfit.
Oblivious to her past- as she wanted it to this point- he speculates silently over the clapping. He wonders if it was a previous show, long ago, that made her react. Or maybe something closer to her personal experiences.
(With a lack of any conceptual fathom of how close.) ]
i had nothing good to say, she's so tense right now sorry;;
beckonings
2023-05-11 05:16 pm (UTC)(link)
[ Cadence still can't bring herself to look from the stage, as frustrating and, well, almost haunting as the story is to her. She misses Clay's attentive glances in favor of fixedly watching the stage as a fellow shepherd, Damon, offers advice and encouragement for a romance anyone who's read the damn myth would know is doomed.
By the time the end of Act One comes around and the couple starts singing of the joy they've brought each other by coming together, Cadence feels like she's ready to lose it. She needs something to help ground her and grasps on to the only thing that's seemingly been able to calm her this entire damn show: Clay's hand, still resting as a soft weight on her thigh. Eyes never leaving the stage, she takes it with a small squeeze then realizes the pressure she's putting on him, what it might give away on her feelings about the play, and loosens her grip to place her joined hands back on her thigh.
She's still grasping his hand, face turned out to look at the crowd, when the curtain closes for intermission. ]
By the time the end of Act One comes around and the couple starts singing of the joy they've brought each other by coming together, Cadence feels like she's ready to lose it. She needs something to help ground her and grasps on to the only thing that's seemingly been able to calm her this entire damn show: Clay's hand, still resting as a soft weight on her thigh. Eyes never leaving the stage, she takes it with a small squeeze then realizes the pressure she's putting on him, what it might give away on her feelings about the play, and loosens her grip to place her joined hands back on her thigh.
She's still grasping his hand, face turned out to look at the crowd, when the curtain closes for intermission. ]
[ Clyteus feels a long-dead tightness in his throat that he can’t pin entirely on the emotional scene below. Not that it didn’t make that emotion elucidate itself- in his mind- much more easily. A combination of the surge in passion and storytelling on the stage combined with a novel touch of pressure on his hand makes the opera’s dynamic all the more compelling to the beast. Dragons are, of course, fixated on holding and counting and possession of some treasure. In his shifted human form in particular, this makes Clay particularly tactile when it came to intimacy— and he hates it; her physical response to his simple offer of companionship in a hand makes him ache in a way that had absolutely nothing to do with his sexual interest in her.
That irritating feeling in his throat has to be literally swallowed before he will speak around something like that and look like a fool. His Adams apple moves and he instinctively loosens his hold, lifting the thumb an inch in preparation for her hand to pull up. He’s sure it will go to her purse for a trip to the restroom. It feels like the standard intermission protocol.
He looks after her face while the applause dies off- watching her continue to look to the stage a bit longer than a normal attendee would be held by a closed curtain. Clay’s lips part but he doesn’t know what to say. Whatever is happening, Cadence hasn’t experienced it before in his view. There’s such a reluctance to interrupt whatever this show has done to her.
The post-curtain reflection involved in a compelling show were the main reason he would attend. Whether they were comedic, dramatic, tragic or a combination- he enjoyed the musings on past and present life it brought to him. When/if possible, he would love nothing more than to hear another’s thoughts, if of course he found the person to likely hold interesting and critical thoughts.
And there isn’t anyone he’s met in 700 years whose opinions he would like to absorb. His hand doesn’t leave- very tenderly, he squeezes her hand in a belated return.
The dragon tries, patiently as he can, to wait- all this thought in the fleeting but awkwardly prolonged moment she remains focused upon the closed curtain. He can’t fathom what she’s feeling- but this has to be what Cadence looks like when she is… invested? Emotional? After the weeks of arguments, banter, and nights spent together, he still can’t place what this new expression is on her. ]
You sure you’ve seen this before?
[ He offers a (hopefully) light comment at last- something to snap her out of whatever reverie has captured her attention. Clay’s right hand is still holding her left upon her lap. ]
That irritating feeling in his throat has to be literally swallowed before he will speak around something like that and look like a fool. His Adams apple moves and he instinctively loosens his hold, lifting the thumb an inch in preparation for her hand to pull up. He’s sure it will go to her purse for a trip to the restroom. It feels like the standard intermission protocol.
He looks after her face while the applause dies off- watching her continue to look to the stage a bit longer than a normal attendee would be held by a closed curtain. Clay’s lips part but he doesn’t know what to say. Whatever is happening, Cadence hasn’t experienced it before in his view. There’s such a reluctance to interrupt whatever this show has done to her.
The post-curtain reflection involved in a compelling show were the main reason he would attend. Whether they were comedic, dramatic, tragic or a combination- he enjoyed the musings on past and present life it brought to him. When/if possible, he would love nothing more than to hear another’s thoughts, if of course he found the person to likely hold interesting and critical thoughts.
And there isn’t anyone he’s met in 700 years whose opinions he would like to absorb. His hand doesn’t leave- very tenderly, he squeezes her hand in a belated return.
The dragon tries, patiently as he can, to wait- all this thought in the fleeting but awkwardly prolonged moment she remains focused upon the closed curtain. He can’t fathom what she’s feeling- but this has to be what Cadence looks like when she is… invested? Emotional? After the weeks of arguments, banter, and nights spent together, he still can’t place what this new expression is on her. ]
You sure you’ve seen this before?
[ He offers a (hopefully) light comment at last- something to snap her out of whatever reverie has captured her attention. Clay’s right hand is still holding her left upon her lap. ]
Edited (you don’t get to roll a 20 for perception, Clay) 2023-07-07 21:40 (UTC)
[ As predicted, Clay's voices breaks Cadence out of her fixed trance with a sudden start; she quickly squeezes his hand as she's startled to the present before she regains her composure and lets go completely. If she's embarrassed by her lack of self-control, she sure does a good job of keeping it off her face, although she notably doesn't meet his eyes as she speaks. ]
I have but it's been a while, it's...different from what I remember. [ Both compared to former productions and her own unfortunately sharp firsthand memory, but that's not a conversation for him (or anyone else for that matter.) ] ...The actress is more talented than I expected honestly, she conveys the emotion in the score very well. She's one of the better Galateas I've seen.
I have but it's been a while, it's...different from what I remember. [ Both compared to former productions and her own unfortunately sharp firsthand memory, but that's not a conversation for him (or anyone else for that matter.) ] ...The actress is more talented than I expected honestly, she conveys the emotion in the score very well. She's one of the better Galateas I've seen.
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