[Though he requires very little sleep, Gale has still found himself feeling worn thin as their appearance at Cazador's club opening swiftly approaches; the time and effort that he has put into examining their situation from every angle has kept him from finding any true rest, but fortunately, he's not alone in this— aside from Amelia herself, they have the support of a few trusted friends to help them navigate this particular nightmare.
He just so happens to be saying goodbye to one such friend as Amelia starts down the stairs; Astarion had been an invaluable source of intel, but for a number of reasons, he would not be joining them and trying to blend into the crowd. Aloud, he would say he didn't blend well, but even if he had tried, Gale would have insisted he keep his distance. Astarion didn't need to be within a mile's radius of Cazador.
The door latches shut behind Astarion as he slips away into the night, leaving Gale to turn towards the sound of his own name.]
Perfect; we're doing quite well on time. Astarion was just—
[He cuts himself off when he lays eyes on her, finding himself suddenly at a loss for words, his eyes widening.
It's been days, now, since she'd given him her wrist and he had allowed his self-control to fray. He's been especially careful since then to be respectful of space, not to hearken back to that moment though he knew it must be on both of their minds. Admittedly, perhaps his more than hers, but he can't help letting a needless exhale escape him as he takes in the ensemble that's been put together.
He thinks he is especially fortunate that he hadn't just reached for his mug to take a drink. Surely, it would now lie shattered on the floor if he had.
He clears his throat softly as he composes himself, his gaze lingering perhaps a bit longer than he means for it to.]
You've certainly dressed the part. We already knew they would be watching us closely, but I imagine everyone will find it difficult to look away, now.
[Not that he's one to speak— his usual attire is sharp, neat and modest, stylish without being overstated, but tonight he's wearing a shirt that's open to almost to his abdomen, deep purple with a faint sheen to it in the low light, baring his chest and the mark it bears, an arcane-looking tattoo that appears to have been inked over scarring. The trousers he's wearing look like they're straight out of Astarion's closet, hugging his hips and outlining the lower half of his silhouette with very little room for imagination.
Shadowheart didn't have to do much to Amelia's short bobbed hair aside from refreshing it so that it could shine under the moon and any lighting found in the club and pinning an obsidian hair clip to one side of her head so that it could sweep across her face in an attractive manner.
It was the makeup that was given great care. The witch's lips were painted a rich wine-colored hue and her eyelids were shadowed with a glittering sage powder, enhancing the color of her emerald eyes. With the black, ivy-patterned dress hugging her curves, Amelia has become the very vision of an alluring enchantress; it's a heavier aura compared to her breezy and warm demeanor during the day.
She pauses when she reaches the last step to give Gale a once over, eying his tattoo aware that he was taken by her appearance as well.
Amelia is mostly good at not showing her inner thoughts. Mostly.]
I think I'm in real trouble now.
[Gale is handsome and she had never been shy about saying it aloud to him, but more as a fact rather than an indication of attraction... But neutrality between them isn't a factor anymore and it hasn't been, not since they tasted one another's lips.
Regardless, Amelia musters up a smile and some humor, moving closer to him, ready to leave when he is.]
I think it's safe to say I'm not the only one who's going to make heads turn.
[She reaches up to smooth out his collar (her perfumed scent is a combination of smoke, flowers, and herbs).]
If we're lucky, then we can make everyone swoon, faint, and call it a night. Don't you agree?
[It's the closest they've been since the night they had almost gone too far; while he hasn't kept his distance, he's been very careful not to touch her since then, unsure if he could trust himself, and that same uncertainty begins to make itself known all over again as she steps in to smooth out his collar. Her floral perfume complements his own lavender and cedarwood, and underneath it he can still smell her, and it reminds him of precisely how it had felt to be pressed close to her on his bed, rather than falling asleep surrounded by the scent of her in on his sheets and pillows.
Gods above, tonight was going to be even more challenging than he'd surmised. He can hardly afford distraction, but given the story they intend to sell— the fact that he can practically feel his heart threatening to beat again when he looks at her might actually work in their favor.
Maybe.
He manages to maintain his composure, but he's clearly not unaffected by her touch, color coming to his face where it had once been pale.]
If we're very lucky, things will go precisely that smoothly. There are certain expectations, behavior they'll be looking for, but I hope you'll remember that you're safe with me.
[It's almost unnerving, in fact, how little trouble he thinks he'll have acting possessive of the woman standing in front of him.]
[The scent of lavender is simultaneously calming and delectable. She wishes she could just lay nearby and let it blanket her.
If this were another time and another place, maybe they could afford to just take each other's hand and forget about all of this. They could forget about Cazador, about being predator and prey, the servanthood, and instead, bask in each other's orbit, marveling at the gravitation. But this was a cage they both found themselves in and now their priority is to survive the monsters that they live alongside with.
Amelia nods and sets down her hand, aware of that tension that thrums between them and barely maintained over the previous few days.]
We can just consider each other a good luck charm. How about that?
Do we have a ride to the party or are they providing transportation some other way.
[His mouth feels unusually dry; he feels as though his cold, dead heart might be stuck in his throat, but he swallows it down and remains collected. Tension sings through the air, but he puts every ounce of effort he can muster into focusing on the situation at hand.]
I've arranged a ride, for our safety— a trusted friend is outside with a car. Cazador and his people are only very tenuously playing by the rules, I don't trust him not to try something in an effort to acquire a witch, eager as he seems to be.
[Gale hasn't allowed himself to question to what purpose; everything he knows of Cazador through Astarion as well as his own experiences in vampire society tells him it can be nothing good. Having an alliance or some other connection with a witch of any sort had the potential to put particularly ambitious vampires in a very, very dangerous position. Cazador was far more than ambitious; he was monstrous and cruel, kept slaves rather than made alliances.
Amelia deserved far better.
He clears his throat softly, offering his arm as he inclines his head towards the door.]
Shall we? I promise you, we'll be in good hands with Halsin. Shadowheart will also be nearby, should we have need of assistance while we're there.
[Amelia accepts Gale's arm with a small smile. It is delicately looped around his, glad for the closeness, but ever aware of that unspoken tension between them.]
Between you, Wyll, and Shadowheart, I feel very well taken care of. Let's get this show on the road then.
[If they can survive this night, she's sure they can survive anything.]
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sunfloras2024-05-18 10:26 pm
no subject
He just so happens to be saying goodbye to one such friend as Amelia starts down the stairs; Astarion had been an invaluable source of intel, but for a number of reasons, he would not be joining them and trying to blend into the crowd. Aloud, he would say he didn't blend well, but even if he had tried, Gale would have insisted he keep his distance. Astarion didn't need to be within a mile's radius of Cazador.
The door latches shut behind Astarion as he slips away into the night, leaving Gale to turn towards the sound of his own name.]
Perfect; we're doing quite well on time. Astarion was just—
[He cuts himself off when he lays eyes on her, finding himself suddenly at a loss for words, his eyes widening.
It's been days, now, since she'd given him her wrist and he had allowed his self-control to fray. He's been especially careful since then to be respectful of space, not to hearken back to that moment though he knew it must be on both of their minds. Admittedly, perhaps his more than hers, but he can't help letting a needless exhale escape him as he takes in the ensemble that's been put together.
He thinks he is especially fortunate that he hadn't just reached for his mug to take a drink. Surely, it would now lie shattered on the floor if he had.
He clears his throat softly as he composes himself, his gaze lingering perhaps a bit longer than he means for it to.]
You've certainly dressed the part. We already knew they would be watching us closely, but I imagine everyone will find it difficult to look away, now.
[Not that he's one to speak— his usual attire is sharp, neat and modest, stylish without being overstated, but tonight he's wearing a shirt that's open to almost to his abdomen, deep purple with a faint sheen to it in the low light, baring his chest and the mark it bears, an arcane-looking tattoo that appears to have been inked over scarring. The trousers he's wearing look like they're straight out of Astarion's closet, hugging his hips and outlining the lower half of his silhouette with very little room for imagination.
Clearly, he'd had a fashion consultant, as well.]
no subject
Shadowheart didn't have to do much to Amelia's short bobbed hair aside from refreshing it so that it could shine under the moon and any lighting found in the club and pinning an obsidian hair clip to one side of her head so that it could sweep across her face in an attractive manner.
It was the makeup that was given great care. The witch's lips were painted a rich wine-colored hue and her eyelids were shadowed with a glittering sage powder, enhancing the color of her emerald eyes. With the black, ivy-patterned dress hugging her curves, Amelia has become the very vision of an alluring enchantress; it's a heavier aura compared to her breezy and warm demeanor during the day.
She pauses when she reaches the last step to give Gale a once over, eying his tattoo aware that he was taken by her appearance as well.
Amelia is mostly good at not showing her inner thoughts. Mostly.]
I think I'm in real trouble now.
[Gale is handsome and she had never been shy about saying it aloud to him, but more as a fact rather than an indication of attraction... But neutrality between them isn't a factor anymore and it hasn't been, not since they tasted one another's lips.
Regardless, Amelia musters up a smile and some humor, moving closer to him, ready to leave when he is.]
I think it's safe to say I'm not the only one who's going to make heads turn.
[She reaches up to smooth out his collar (her perfumed scent is a combination of smoke, flowers, and herbs).]
If we're lucky, then we can make everyone swoon, faint, and call it a night. Don't you agree?
no subject
Gods above, tonight was going to be even more challenging than he'd surmised. He can hardly afford distraction, but given the story they intend to sell— the fact that he can practically feel his heart threatening to beat again when he looks at her might actually work in their favor.
Maybe.
He manages to maintain his composure, but he's clearly not unaffected by her touch, color coming to his face where it had once been pale.]
If we're very lucky, things will go precisely that smoothly. There are certain expectations, behavior they'll be looking for, but I hope you'll remember that you're safe with me.
[It's almost unnerving, in fact, how little trouble he thinks he'll have acting possessive of the woman standing in front of him.]
no subject
If this were another time and another place, maybe they could afford to just take each other's hand and forget about all of this. They could forget about Cazador, about being predator and prey, the servanthood, and instead, bask in each other's orbit, marveling at the gravitation. But this was a cage they both found themselves in and now their priority is to survive the monsters that they live alongside with.
Amelia nods and sets down her hand, aware of that tension that thrums between them and barely maintained over the previous few days.]
We can just consider each other a good luck charm. How about that?
Do we have a ride to the party or are they providing transportation some other way.
no subject
I've arranged a ride, for our safety— a trusted friend is outside with a car. Cazador and his people are only very tenuously playing by the rules, I don't trust him not to try something in an effort to acquire a witch, eager as he seems to be.
[Gale hasn't allowed himself to question to what purpose; everything he knows of Cazador through Astarion as well as his own experiences in vampire society tells him it can be nothing good. Having an alliance or some other connection with a witch of any sort had the potential to put particularly ambitious vampires in a very, very dangerous position. Cazador was far more than ambitious; he was monstrous and cruel, kept slaves rather than made alliances.
Amelia deserved far better.
He clears his throat softly, offering his arm as he inclines his head towards the door.]
Shall we? I promise you, we'll be in good hands with Halsin. Shadowheart will also be nearby, should we have need of assistance while we're there.
no subject
Between you, Wyll, and Shadowheart, I feel very well taken care of. Let's get this show on the road then.
[If they can survive this night, she's sure they can survive anything.]