Karla and Warren's Suite, The Estate in Glacia, Tuesday Night Fandom Time
Well. Warren hadn't had a good back-and-forth frustrated prowl around a room in months. Of course, Warren usually didn't let himself get to the point of pacing and grumbling to himself. It was bad form. Hell, it was rude, which was why Warren had excused himself from the function tonight that saw one of the less gilt rooms in the estate full of Glacian aristos.
In spite of the fact that he'd been born into wealth himself, in spite of the fact that he was Consort to a Territory Queen, making them both pretty much the top of the aristo ladder in Glacia, Warren had decided, tonight, that he was not a fan of Glacia's social elite. And, in fairness, for the most part their guests were just fine. He'd entertained a few guests with idle chat, Karla did the same, and, truth be told, they were both bored out of their skulls.
It was when the dancing started that Warren started to move from 'anxious to do something more interesting' along into just plain anxious territory. That was when he started noticing little things as they made their rotation around the floor. The way some of the aristo males would pull her close and whisper in Karla's ear when it was their turn to dance with the Queen. The way some of them had come in alone, with painted faces, dressed to the nines and not taking hungry eyes from her all night. The way so many of the males in the room wouldn't afford him so much as a second glance before stepping up to dance with his Queen. And he was more or less fine with most of that. Karla was polite, but coolly disinterested in the other males, brushing off their advances in a way that made it perfectly clear that she wasn't exactly on the market, but thank you all for your interest.
It was the one who whispered something in Karla's ear that had made his feathers prickle. The way she'd smiled, the way her head tossed back and she'd laughed a genuine laugh before saying something in turn. Warren didn't have any idea what the aristo had said, but that, after the short parade of dances before it, had rubbed him wrong enough that he'd excused himself early from the dance, and made his way to their room.
So. Prowling. Pacing. Frustrated. And kind of wanting to bite something.
That last feeling was new. Great.
[OOC: For that Queen! NFB for not-on-the-island-ness, of course!]
In spite of the fact that he'd been born into wealth himself, in spite of the fact that he was Consort to a Territory Queen, making them both pretty much the top of the aristo ladder in Glacia, Warren had decided, tonight, that he was not a fan of Glacia's social elite. And, in fairness, for the most part their guests were just fine. He'd entertained a few guests with idle chat, Karla did the same, and, truth be told, they were both bored out of their skulls.
It was when the dancing started that Warren started to move from 'anxious to do something more interesting' along into just plain anxious territory. That was when he started noticing little things as they made their rotation around the floor. The way some of the aristo males would pull her close and whisper in Karla's ear when it was their turn to dance with the Queen. The way some of them had come in alone, with painted faces, dressed to the nines and not taking hungry eyes from her all night. The way so many of the males in the room wouldn't afford him so much as a second glance before stepping up to dance with his Queen. And he was more or less fine with most of that. Karla was polite, but coolly disinterested in the other males, brushing off their advances in a way that made it perfectly clear that she wasn't exactly on the market, but thank you all for your interest.
It was the one who whispered something in Karla's ear that had made his feathers prickle. The way she'd smiled, the way her head tossed back and she'd laughed a genuine laugh before saying something in turn. Warren didn't have any idea what the aristo had said, but that, after the short parade of dances before it, had rubbed him wrong enough that he'd excused himself early from the dance, and made his way to their room.
So. Prowling. Pacing. Frustrated. And kind of wanting to bite something.
That last feeling was new. Great.
[OOC: For that Queen! NFB for not-on-the-island-ness, of course!]