when: may 30th, coronan lantern ball who: conall dunbroch and elaina lumiere @fatedfables

The ball room was no place for a warrior such as he. Scowling from the sidelines, Conall did not fit the mold of a gentleman one would wish to spend time with at such an event. He was not romantic or well mannered, not in the genteel society way. He did not know how to charm pretty young ladies or their overeager parents. He didn’t even know how to dance. Conall’s expertise was in combat; a great shot on rifle, though a far more adept archer and swordsman. His life was spent in the rough and rugged hills of the Highlands easing tension among warring clans. There was no tenderness in his touch, all rough and calloused palms and harsh grips. Here in Corona, in an opulent ball room with crystal chandeliers and marbled floors, gentry in the most exquisite refinery, the kilt wearing Scot was woefully and miserably out of place. There was no corner where he truly belonged.

Procuring a drink off the tray of a wandering footman, Conall wasted little time downing the refreshment. It was no satisfying drink, not the burning alcohol that warmed the hearth in DunBroch. How he wished he could escape to the ivy choked castle ruins he called home. Conall decided to seek the next best thing, quickly but stealthily following the perimeter of the room until he could find the large archway which lead to the gardens. The gorgeously manicured courtyard ran parallel to the length of the ballroom, just west of the castle. From there one could get a gorgeous view of the sun setting over the Audratic, the sea mirroring the sky’s scarlet and amber glow.

By then it was far too late for the sunset, the sky a dark blanket full of twinkling stars. Conall invited the cool night breeze, took comfort in its icy kiss upon his flushed cheeks. He hated how they rouged, how boyish his high cheekbones and rosy complexion made him look. He was a man, a crusader, and yet he always had this quiet softness to him. He felt it gave the wrong impression. But there, bathed in moonlight and stoically walking down twisting paths flanked by hedges with various flora, a look of calm and serenity in his face, a softness did overwhelm him.

Slowly, the red headed man bent on one knee by blush colored peonies. Long fingers brushed over the leaves on the plant, then the pink flower petals, breathing in the sweet floral scent which filled the air around him. He was so engrossed in the plant, he almost missed the scuffle of shoes upon the stone pathway. He did not look up to see the intruder happening upon him and the flowers, barely raised his chin in acknowledgment. Instead he simply said, “They’re bein’ a bit overzealous with the watering.” As if the other person walking through the gardens in that moment had been observing that particular bush with him this whole time, had seen what he was seeing. The way the flowers were beginning to wilt, the browning on the leaves. Symptoms of both overwatering and underwatering, the cause he could determine by pressing his fingers to the sopping soil beneath the flowers. He understood in a sense, it was rather sunny on the island city, but it was clear they had overdone it with this plant.

He pulled his hand away, brushing it against the rough fabric of his kilt to clear his fingers of dirt, before rising to his towering full height. “Nae sure if it’s wise to tell the Countess on her special day, but they ought to change things a little. If they wish ‘em to thrive anyhow.” He looked then to the other person and recognized Elaina Lumiere on the path. Could have been worse company, he supposed. He could have had to introduce himself. Mimicking the gentlemen he observed at these events, he turned his full body towards her, arms hanging limp at his sides and feet together as he squared his shoulders and bowed his head in humble greeting. “Miss Lumiere, how do you do?” His voice was low, laced in that thick highland accent and rendered in a monotonous tone. “I was seekin’ reprieve from the party, ye ken. Needed a little air, an’ the gardens are quite inviting, wouldn’t you say?”

tag dump for conall !