72.1 Chance Encounter
Describe a chance encounter that meant something to you.
Afterwards, Astrid told Sascha she should seriously consider swearing off holiday parties.
The last evening of the Grand Conclave saw her, Sascha, and nearly a thousand other dragons from around the world all clustered in New York City, in a palatial-sized ballroom whose name she had since forgotten, something ostentatious and well-known, no doubt. She and Celeste and a few others had spent three days working out the seating arrangements so that no one from rival houses were seated together, another few hours debating and discussing the menu with the chef she had found, and then a week instructing Richard in exactly how things were going to go while somehow managing to make him think it was all his idea. She herself still had no idea how she was roped into this, except that she was one of the few people who could negotiate with the companies and organizations whose services were needed to make this possible without alienating everyone involved.
At least she looked nice. She was dressed in diaphanous layers of what the dressmaker had called seafoam green and misty blue, little accents of gold in her hair and at her wrists and throat, nothing too ostentatious. Flats on her feet; she wanted to still be able to walk at the end of an evening of dancing. She would have cut a fashionable figure at any Presidential ball, and at that she was still the plain girl next to most of the rest of her kind. It would have taken a trained eye to notice, though.
That was fine by her; she was content in the sidelines, keeping an eye on the tables and making sure no one abused the staff, drifting between crowds of people and listening to the myriad of languages she didn't speak, like multicolored waterfalls. A feast for the senses, the whole evening was. Light and sound and music and the scents and tastes from the food were divine. She was going to remember him the next time she came into town.
Her fingers brushed the linen of the tablecloth as she passed by Celeste's table with a smile from her friend and meant to move on except that cold slender fingers closed around hers. She looked up and over into a smile and a pair of ice blue eyes, humorless and unquenched, whatever he was searching for tonight. He was hunting something. He was always hunting something.
"May I have this dance?"
Possibly, he was hunting her.
She'd meant to avoid him tonight. They'd had to collaborate on the arranging of the shindig, but that didn't mean she had to speak with him once it was in full swing, and she hadn't intended to. But he was smiling, and calm, and behaving himself. At least outwardly. She felt the press of his charm against her skin and knew that he was focusing on her the full weight of his attention. Pulling at her emotions.
Well, all right. She was up to this challenge. She was Astrid of Black Stone, she knew the worth of her self. And she knew she was worth more than what Richard would deign to give, so she lifted her chin and smiled and took his hand. "Of course." Letting his imposition of his sensuality roll off of her. Yes, she acknowledged his attraction. He was handsome, well-shaped, with nice eyes and soft-seeming lips. She still did not like him.
It seemed to confuse him when her stance didn't soften as he led her out to the dance floor. As his cool hand slid to her waist and she smiled up at him with kindness and something she realized was close to pity she watched his eyes pale with confusion. His smile faded as they took a spin around the floor, finishing up the last song to begin the next. A stately dance. The kind of dance they did in English countrysides and in the colonies when they first came over. Richard might have known this dance as a child, she realized. She grew up with the cabaret.
He guided her automatically, ever the gentleman. This was how he had been raised, to be a gentleman, to be lordly and stately and ambitious, to show no weakness and to provide for the weaker sex and the children of whatever union had been arranged. When marriage was an economic decision. When the course of lives was decided by fortunes made or lost. None of which explained why he was pushing himself onto her as a clumsy suitor in a way that only would be clumsy as they were dragons. She had no fortune, no name any longer, her only asset was an ability regained that no one but Sascha knew she had. Unless he saw some potential in her. Astrid raised her chin again to meet his eyes as they passed by each other in the forms of the dance, all persons making patterns on the floor. What do you see in me?
His eyes widened. He hadn't expected her to stare so directly at him. They caught hands to spin about, his fingers curling over hers this time, cool. Cold. But his thumb caressed the back of her hand as they separated again, cast down around the back, taking her hand and lifting it like a queen on a king's arm as they proceeded down the front. Head high, a flush on her cheeks. A tingling on her skin that hadn't been there a moment ago. Was it him? When they caught up to each other again he looked distant and distracted, so perhaps not.
"Richard," she teased, a smile turning up the corner of her lips and a purr in her voice that sounded as much like teeth in his throat as a lover's touch. "What are you doing?"
One red-gold eyebrow arched. "Dancing," and they parted, and turned, and came up the middle. "With you."
She wrinkled her nose just a little, spoiling the effect further with a very out-of-time phrase. "The hell you are," she muttered. Hadn't meant for him to hear that but she wasn't bothered by the fact that he had. He stared at her, not smiling any longer. They were still in step perfectly despite the quick movements and progression but they had gone out of step at some point. He had lost control or been tripped up in his attempt to overwhelm her, but she didn't know how. Or why. It wasn't her doing, that much she knew for certain.
Astrid was startled to realize that she felt sorry for him. This wasn't his element. This was a mockery of his element, and the one thing that he knew how to do well and had tried, had failed. He knew how to push, how to manipulate but only in a few limited ways, and he had tried to push her into his arms and possibly his bed, and that hadn't worked. She had been on the verge of laughing at him. They reached the end of the set and stood at one end of the hall, her head tilted slightly at him while she explored his looks. He had his head drawn back as though rearing up in a much larger form, taken aback.
Poor Richard.
"I'll be taking dinner now," she told him, before he could come up with anything persuasive or witty to say. "But if you would like another dance, do feel free to stop by and ask in a little while." And she turned, shoulders first and head last, and went back to her table with Sascha and the rest. She could feel his eyes scorching her back as she walked away.
Astrid Kessler
Black Stone Rising (original)
1,288 words
Partner: Richard Parry of the Ice Fields
Afterwards, Astrid told Sascha she should seriously consider swearing off holiday parties.
The last evening of the Grand Conclave saw her, Sascha, and nearly a thousand other dragons from around the world all clustered in New York City, in a palatial-sized ballroom whose name she had since forgotten, something ostentatious and well-known, no doubt. She and Celeste and a few others had spent three days working out the seating arrangements so that no one from rival houses were seated together, another few hours debating and discussing the menu with the chef she had found, and then a week instructing Richard in exactly how things were going to go while somehow managing to make him think it was all his idea. She herself still had no idea how she was roped into this, except that she was one of the few people who could negotiate with the companies and organizations whose services were needed to make this possible without alienating everyone involved.
At least she looked nice. She was dressed in diaphanous layers of what the dressmaker had called seafoam green and misty blue, little accents of gold in her hair and at her wrists and throat, nothing too ostentatious. Flats on her feet; she wanted to still be able to walk at the end of an evening of dancing. She would have cut a fashionable figure at any Presidential ball, and at that she was still the plain girl next to most of the rest of her kind. It would have taken a trained eye to notice, though.
That was fine by her; she was content in the sidelines, keeping an eye on the tables and making sure no one abused the staff, drifting between crowds of people and listening to the myriad of languages she didn't speak, like multicolored waterfalls. A feast for the senses, the whole evening was. Light and sound and music and the scents and tastes from the food were divine. She was going to remember him the next time she came into town.
Her fingers brushed the linen of the tablecloth as she passed by Celeste's table with a smile from her friend and meant to move on except that cold slender fingers closed around hers. She looked up and over into a smile and a pair of ice blue eyes, humorless and unquenched, whatever he was searching for tonight. He was hunting something. He was always hunting something.
"May I have this dance?"
Possibly, he was hunting her.
She'd meant to avoid him tonight. They'd had to collaborate on the arranging of the shindig, but that didn't mean she had to speak with him once it was in full swing, and she hadn't intended to. But he was smiling, and calm, and behaving himself. At least outwardly. She felt the press of his charm against her skin and knew that he was focusing on her the full weight of his attention. Pulling at her emotions.
Well, all right. She was up to this challenge. She was Astrid of Black Stone, she knew the worth of her self. And she knew she was worth more than what Richard would deign to give, so she lifted her chin and smiled and took his hand. "Of course." Letting his imposition of his sensuality roll off of her. Yes, she acknowledged his attraction. He was handsome, well-shaped, with nice eyes and soft-seeming lips. She still did not like him.
It seemed to confuse him when her stance didn't soften as he led her out to the dance floor. As his cool hand slid to her waist and she smiled up at him with kindness and something she realized was close to pity she watched his eyes pale with confusion. His smile faded as they took a spin around the floor, finishing up the last song to begin the next. A stately dance. The kind of dance they did in English countrysides and in the colonies when they first came over. Richard might have known this dance as a child, she realized. She grew up with the cabaret.
He guided her automatically, ever the gentleman. This was how he had been raised, to be a gentleman, to be lordly and stately and ambitious, to show no weakness and to provide for the weaker sex and the children of whatever union had been arranged. When marriage was an economic decision. When the course of lives was decided by fortunes made or lost. None of which explained why he was pushing himself onto her as a clumsy suitor in a way that only would be clumsy as they were dragons. She had no fortune, no name any longer, her only asset was an ability regained that no one but Sascha knew she had. Unless he saw some potential in her. Astrid raised her chin again to meet his eyes as they passed by each other in the forms of the dance, all persons making patterns on the floor. What do you see in me?
His eyes widened. He hadn't expected her to stare so directly at him. They caught hands to spin about, his fingers curling over hers this time, cool. Cold. But his thumb caressed the back of her hand as they separated again, cast down around the back, taking her hand and lifting it like a queen on a king's arm as they proceeded down the front. Head high, a flush on her cheeks. A tingling on her skin that hadn't been there a moment ago. Was it him? When they caught up to each other again he looked distant and distracted, so perhaps not.
"Richard," she teased, a smile turning up the corner of her lips and a purr in her voice that sounded as much like teeth in his throat as a lover's touch. "What are you doing?"
One red-gold eyebrow arched. "Dancing," and they parted, and turned, and came up the middle. "With you."
She wrinkled her nose just a little, spoiling the effect further with a very out-of-time phrase. "The hell you are," she muttered. Hadn't meant for him to hear that but she wasn't bothered by the fact that he had. He stared at her, not smiling any longer. They were still in step perfectly despite the quick movements and progression but they had gone out of step at some point. He had lost control or been tripped up in his attempt to overwhelm her, but she didn't know how. Or why. It wasn't her doing, that much she knew for certain.
Astrid was startled to realize that she felt sorry for him. This wasn't his element. This was a mockery of his element, and the one thing that he knew how to do well and had tried, had failed. He knew how to push, how to manipulate but only in a few limited ways, and he had tried to push her into his arms and possibly his bed, and that hadn't worked. She had been on the verge of laughing at him. They reached the end of the set and stood at one end of the hall, her head tilted slightly at him while she explored his looks. He had his head drawn back as though rearing up in a much larger form, taken aback.
Poor Richard.
"I'll be taking dinner now," she told him, before he could come up with anything persuasive or witty to say. "But if you would like another dance, do feel free to stop by and ask in a little while." And she turned, shoulders first and head last, and went back to her table with Sascha and the rest. She could feel his eyes scorching her back as she walked away.
Astrid Kessler
Black Stone Rising (original)
1,288 words
Partner: Richard Parry of the Ice Fields