He stares in some bewilderment at what looks like an outdoor version of several somethings he's been to (though never as a guest, and always as invisibly as possible. Wouldn't do to have unsightly things disturbing the guests). He stares, bewildered, at the suits, the food, the gazebo, unsure of what exactly to do here. He was just going to go and do some swordwork.
Phedre spots him - she ... may have been looking for him, really, and she crosses the dance floor to go to him after she fetches a second flute of cordial for Sandor.
"Good evening," she tells him, a fresh smile and a small blush on her face, as she offers him the drink.
He blinks, and focuses on her, takes the drink with a nod of thanks and has a sip, an almost smile flickering around his lips. "Was this," with a nod at the dance floor, "Your idea?"
He considers that, honestly, and then shakes his head slowly. "Why would I mind?" I'm just not familiar with this kind of thing. "How did you manage, though?" Where did all the decorations come from?
She gives him an amused smile, and takes a step closer, to slip her arm in his, companionably. "I got help from a very dear friend," she murmurs, perhaps a purpose to make him bend towards her.
He always does, when she's there, shift to angle toward her, but he does bend closer to hear her speak. "Mmm?" Still kind of watching the festivities with the same kind of vague, distracted curiosity he's always had about this kind of thing.
She smiles, and tiptoes so that her lips will graze his ear. "I was saying that Jaenelle did the work. I only suggested it," she whispers... suggestingly, yes.
"I am glad that my ideas please you," she whispers again, tenderly. "Now, Sandor, will you stand by and watch a lady by the dance floor without inviting her?"
At that, his head swivels around and he stares at her in genuine surprise. "I've never really danced at one of these," a touch awkwardly. I'd embarrass you!
He stares in some bewilderment at what looks like an outdoor version of several somethings he's been to (though never as a guest, and always as invisibly as possible. Wouldn't do to have unsightly things disturbing the guests). He stares, bewildered, at the suits, the food, the gazebo, unsure of what exactly to do here. He was just going to go and do some swordwork.
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"Good evening," she tells him, a fresh smile and a small blush on her face, as she offers him the drink.
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Which, of course, means, in Phedre-talk, yes, it is, do you terribly mind?
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