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WARNING: This thread contains material exceeding the general board rating of PG-13. It may contain very strong language, drug usage, graphic violence, or graphic sexual content. Reader discretion is advised. |
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ooc: Late night of the 25th. Dance Tent...
If nights were made of this, of song and dance and festival lights, then it was doubtful she would leave without fuss. Her shop had been closed earlier that day to give herself the time to wander the varying kiosks. Just as she had seen it for the first time, the market was lively with creations human and wolf alike shown on display to be bought or traded. She hadn’t an eye for anything in particular at the moment… more so her intentions were to kill time until nightfall, when the more desired life began. For the second night, it began with the lull of a lovely melody from the large tent that housed the dancers. And for the second night, she was drawn in and was powerless to escape the pull.
She waltzed into the tent to the rhythm of the strings, garbed with nothing more than her own lustrous fur groomed to perfection with wild mane tamed into a single cord draped over her shoulder. Her payment for her earlier services had yet to be adorned, but in its place were an array of feathers fashioned within the rivets of the braid. Owl and Red-Tail both speckled and striped were fitted down the length of the braid then fanned out at the tail end of her radiant locks. Rather than an extravagant dress or fine animal coat, she could content in accenting her born features, drawing less attention to what she could afford and more to what she already had. Vanity was not a word she was accustomed to, but pride was one she certainly understood. And with the shy, unconfident statures she witnessed lining the walls of the tent, she felt she had an upper hand in finding a perspective partner to dance.
Her search for a partner was not out of disloyalty to her mate for she loved him dearly and it was not in her nature to betray him, but she did crave the strangeness, the excitement of again treading the grounds of the unknown; even if it was for the sake of dancing. But as she wandered the interior of the tent keeping light on her feet and twirling in time with the trill of the strings, she realized she hadn’t even danced with her own mate and here she was seeking another’s hand. She hadn’t even inquired if he would like to take part in her favored activity. It almost seemed…silly to ask him for reasons she could not yet grasp. And with his lack of attendance she was more than just a little convinced he would hold no interest. Why would he take her hand when he already had it? He needn’t humor her when he already had her love.
But as she strode lightly around the gathering pulled deeper within the spell of the music and rhythmic sway of entangled forms… the comfort, the familiarity exhibited through their ease of steps, she felt herself grew envious the longer she stared the came to a pause by the fire. As well as the couple claimed to know each other, as often as she had expressed interest in dance, it should have been without question that he asked for her hand… rather than leave her to find a partner for the night to fill the void.
Why couldn’t he have just asked her…?