Dressed as Clara Stahlbaum for what's supposed to be a rather private exhibition of her pointe technique on a small stage, hair loose and curled rather than braided and glasses done away with for the time being, the tiny principality could nearly pass for a preteen from the distance her audience of one sits.
The stage is set, appropriately enough, as a parlor belonging to a wealthy nineteenth century family, with couches and tables and a massive, glittering Christmas tree rising from behind them. Monaco flits about the stage, weightless and sylph-like, performing a solo routine that truthfully has nothing to do with The Nutcracker at all, and one would never realize how crazy that inconspicuous little branch of mistletoe hanging over center stage is driving her.
Spain was rather happy to receive the invitation to Monaco's private exhibition after having told her of how he'd like to see her dance the ballet someday. Fortunately enough, the Hotel seemed to be in the mood to grant this request and so this performance was set up
( ... )
As the music fades out, she curtsies, deeply and elegantly, head bowed down as she tries to catch her breath. Cheeks flush pink and an appreciative smile spreads across Monaco's face at the compliment; truthfully, she's never played Clara in a real performance before, always deemed too adult-like by her instructors. But here, with no real children to compare her to, she's able to fill the role rather well. Layer upon layer of white and peach-colored ruffles hide her figure in a silhouette of youthful innocence, and the wooden nutcracker doll used as a prop is slightly oversized, making her appear even smaller in comparison. Though while Monaco may appear to be a child at first glance, the steady grace of her movements bespeak the experience and maturity of someone her true age
( ... )
He doesn't notice the mistletoe for now, as should probably be expected from Spain. Besides, there are other things more interesting to the eye such as his rose bouquet-bearing ballerina who looks particularly lovely under the soft stage lights. He smiles wider at her words, that smile touched with humor, as he carefully takes her soft, pale hand in his. Of course, her skin feels smoother than his and it's that smoothness that compels him to lean forward and kiss over her hand.
"Of course not." He assures her with a grin and a gentle squeeze of that hand. "You looked lovely and you danced very well. I'm sure if there were other people here with me, they'd say the same thing." Of course he's no expert at anything pertaining to ballet, but Spain knows dance, movement. In his eyes, Monaco had done very well, moving well in time with the music, and if she had ever made a mistake, it wasn't obvious. Plus, her dance hadn't been boring at all no matter how different it was from what he was used to. Certainly that has to count for something.
His lips on the back of her hand make Monaco swallow excitedly, involuntarily, a vivid image of them pressed to her own mouth suddenly forced into her mind and nearly drowning out the praise being given to her. It's not that she doesn't care what Spain has to say (in fact, it's quite the opposite; she adores hearing his endless torrents of praise for her), but an oddly intense desire to carry out a Christmas tradition overshadows any longing to hear wonderful things about herself. She smiles and accepts the compliment, though, her skin tingling where Spain had softly kissed it.
"Thank you very much," Monaco says, bowing her head down again just slightly. Blonde curls spill over her shoulders as she does so, tickling her bare arms. "Though I must admit, the last time I danced with you truly was the last time I danced. I'm a touch out of practice, you see
( ... )
"Well, it must be because we've been here for some time, yes?" He can imagine the Hotel doesn't really provide a place for her to practice. It's perfectly understandable. Still, Spain thinks she did very well despite it all. He gives her hand another squeeze as he smiles up at her, admiring her still. The dress is pretty in a very girlish, youthful way and the softness of her hair when it's down like that just suits her very well. She looks young and carefree and very charming in this demure, Old World sort of way that he's always found attractive. And the flattering lights just make it all the better.
He gives her hand another kiss before he finally notices something. An amused laugh escapes him as he spies the sprig of mistletoe hanging over the stage. What a strange place to put such a thing!
"Monaco, look." He nods up towards where the mistletoe hangs from the ceiling, unaware of how she's known about it all this time. "Mistletoe." Spain turns that bright smile back up at her then. "You know what this means, right?"
Counting back the months since her arrival (seven already?), she's just about to agree that they have been here far too long, but Spain is suddenly laughing and directing her attention to the ceiling. China-blue eyes dart upward, and she turns to look high behind her, blinking a few times and smiling as if she hadn't known that tiny branch had been hanging there by a red ribbon throughout the entire performance.
"O-Oh my..." She feigns surprise touched with shyness, looking back to Spain with a bounce of those ringlets as she moves. "I suppose it cannot be helped, though."
Slowly, though perhaps a bit too obligingly, she sinks to her knees before him, her fingers gripping his for balance while the other hand rests atop the footlights, her roses set aside for the time being. They're at about the same height now, with Monaco just slightly higher, the smile on her lips still looking tentative as she carefully leans out over the edge of the stage, pressing her mouth to Spain's.
The smile doesn't leave his face even as she leans forward over the stage to kiss him. He can just imagine how it looks, pretty, petite Monaco leaning over to grant a kiss to her most adoring admirer. With her positioned as such, they must make a picture worthy of a romantic movie and the thought makes him chuckle before her lips fuse with his.
The kiss is a touch tentative, perhaps because of how Monaco has situated herself. Just a little push and she could fall over the edge and into him. It's not as if he'd let her fall, but just as well, he leans closer, gripping against the edge of the stage, and deepens the kiss soon as they are both more secure. A soft sigh escapes him as he tilts his head and gently prods his tongue against hers more confidently. That's much better.
The soft press of lips against her own is truly a desire Monaco has been unable to rid herself of since she first stepped beneath the mistletoe; though it had been a surprising sensation at the beginning of her performance, once she actually located said branch hanging high above her, it wasn't particularly difficult to put two and two together and realize that the Hotel was once again exerting its influence over her, however uncharacteristically innocent it may seem this time around
( ... )
Eventually, the kiss ends, oxygen becoming a necessity. He draws back a little, not going too far. Their hands are still entwined, fingers locked gently but firmly. This close, it's obvious how her breathing has quickened, how red her lips are. He looks at her and remembers their kiss, how he's holding her hand as they lean over the edge of a lit up stage, how she has danced so beautifully for him. It sounds so very sappy, but the night has been so magical so far and he doesn't quite want the spell to break just yet.
"Monaco..." He whispers, his lips just a few scant centimeters from hers and somehow he doesn't quite know what to say. There's just that feeling of magic and romance in the air and that just seems enough.
There's warmth between them, a kind of soft, nebulous feeling of fondness that makes Monaco's lips curve upward into a gentle smile as she squeezes the fingers laced with hers. Though she's almost hesitant to say anything (move and it'll surely break the spell), she finds herself pulling away and momentarily glancing about the empty theater, as if making sure one last time that no one's there with them.
"Come here," she says softly, playfully, pulling a little on Spain's hand. "Hop up."
There are no stairs leading from the floor of the theater onto the stage, so the only other way for him to join her would be to take the long way around through the dressing rooms backstage. Though Monaco would normally be hesitant to encourage such unrefined behavior, it's impossible to hide the impulsive, mischievous twinkle in her eyes tonight. Perhaps, in her time spent getting closer to Spain recently, he's begun to rub off on her.
Her words surprise him a little, making his eyebrows lift to express that feeling exactly. It's not always that Monaco spontaneously and playfully initiates something. She's usually so proper, careful and conscious of the rules of decorum and etiquette, but maybe she's affected by the same magical atmosphere he is.
The surprised expression soon melts into a grin as he moves to do as she says. Spain nods before squeezing and letting go of her hand for a moment. Hands steady themselves over the wood floor of the stage before he hoists himself up with a bit of a grunt, the motion otherwise effortless. It's not long before he's pushing himself up into a standing position, hands immediately open and reaching forward to take her back.
"Do we dance together now?" He asks with his usual unknowingly charming grin, green eyes twinkling with his smile and the stage lights. It's the only reason he can think of for her to get him up onto the stage with her.
However spontaneous her request may have been, Monaco is never quite able to completely suppress her tendency to worry; there's a brief moment as Spain climbs up onto the stage where her eyes widen and smile falls slightly, a gentle request to be careful (both with himself and of the footlights lining the very edge of the stage) falling from her lips. But soon enough, she finds herself standing before Spain, now far too short to see the top of his dark head, her hands enveloped in his.
Quietly, she chuckles at his question, staring dotingly up into his eyes, though with a bounce of golden curls, she's up en pointe once more, effectively boosting herself up high enough to place a quick kiss on Spain's lips.
"I don't know... You're not wearing the outfit," she teases, glancing down at the tiered ruffles covering her own chest. Yes, she can just see it now: Spain struggling for twenty minutes to get the patterned tights on only to realize he's put them on inside-out. Monaco holds in another laugh, pressing her lips together.
"I have to wear the dress too?" He easily teases back, emerald eyes crinkling with hilarity as he looks to her with smiling eyes. His hands hold hers, supporting her weight easily even as she rises up on her strong ballerina toes to give him another kiss. From this angle, the details of Monaco's outfit jump out at him, the ruffles piling up over one another and the fragile material of them. No, he won't be able to pull off a dress like this. That is, even if he wanted to.
The thought makes him chuckle before he leans down to return the kiss, as soft and as fleeting but no less sweet than the last one she grants him. He doesn't go far even after the kiss ends, his fond, smiling gaze on her completely. "I don't think I'll be as pretty in it as you are. Are you sure?" It's of course a joke though it leaves him open to a serious answer rather than a playful one. Nevertheless, whatever answer Spain gets, he's sure to greet it with his usual cheerful, easygoing attitude. You can be sure about that.
"Now, now, I never said anything about a dress," she laughs softly, his kiss tingling on her lips and the image of the two of them in matching pink frills even funnier than him in a fight with a pair of tights. If she could find another dress in his size, it's likely that he probably would humor her and put it on, but (un?)fortunately for Spain, she did not see another garment like her own in the dressing room.
What Monaco did see just backstage, however, was part of the Mouse King's costume; a violet cape lined with gray fur and trimmed in gold, as well as a matching prop crown and a plastic saber. Hardly fitting with her role as Clara, but at the same time, marginally cuter than a big, goofy hat and a pair of white stockings.
"Though I think I have something better in mind," she says as if she's trying to be mysterious, gracefully stepping away from Spain and pulling him along to one side of the stage and behind one of the heavy red curtains.
Spain obligingly follows her into the back of the stage, hands linked with hers still. It's a completely different sight backstage. For one, it's darker and drearier, a complete contrast from the bright lights and pageantry of the stage. Back here, you would come to remember that everything is a show and yes, it all starts in these quiet, deserted backrooms
( ... )
The stage is set, appropriately enough, as a parlor belonging to a wealthy nineteenth century family, with couches and tables and a massive, glittering Christmas tree rising from behind them. Monaco flits about the stage, weightless and sylph-like, performing a solo routine that truthfully has nothing to do with The Nutcracker at all, and one would never realize how crazy that inconspicuous little branch of mistletoe hanging over center stage is driving her.
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"Of course not." He assures her with a grin and a gentle squeeze of that hand. "You looked lovely and you danced very well. I'm sure if there were other people here with me, they'd say the same thing." Of course he's no expert at anything pertaining to ballet, but Spain knows dance, movement. In his eyes, Monaco had done very well, moving well in time with the music, and if she had ever made a mistake, it wasn't obvious. Plus, her dance hadn't been boring at all no matter how different it was from what he was used to. Certainly that has to count for something.
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"Thank you very much," Monaco says, bowing her head down again just slightly. Blonde curls spill over her shoulders as she does so, tickling her bare arms. "Though I must admit, the last time I danced with you truly was the last time I danced. I'm a touch out of practice, you see ( ... )
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He gives her hand another kiss before he finally notices something. An amused laugh escapes him as he spies the sprig of mistletoe hanging over the stage. What a strange place to put such a thing!
"Monaco, look." He nods up towards where the mistletoe hangs from the ceiling, unaware of how she's known about it all this time. "Mistletoe." Spain turns that bright smile back up at her then. "You know what this means, right?"
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"O-Oh my..." She feigns surprise touched with shyness, looking back to Spain with a bounce of those ringlets as she moves. "I suppose it cannot be helped, though."
Slowly, though perhaps a bit too obligingly, she sinks to her knees before him, her fingers gripping his for balance while the other hand rests atop the footlights, her roses set aside for the time being. They're at about the same height now, with Monaco just slightly higher, the smile on her lips still looking tentative as she carefully leans out over the edge of the stage, pressing her mouth to Spain's.
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The kiss is a touch tentative, perhaps because of how Monaco has situated herself. Just a little push and she could fall over the edge and into him. It's not as if he'd let her fall, but just as well, he leans closer, gripping against the edge of the stage, and deepens the kiss soon as they are both more secure. A soft sigh escapes him as he tilts his head and gently prods his tongue against hers more confidently. That's much better.
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"Monaco..." He whispers, his lips just a few scant centimeters from hers and somehow he doesn't quite know what to say. There's just that feeling of magic and romance in the air and that just seems enough.
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"Come here," she says softly, playfully, pulling a little on Spain's hand. "Hop up."
There are no stairs leading from the floor of the theater onto the stage, so the only other way for him to join her would be to take the long way around through the dressing rooms backstage. Though Monaco would normally be hesitant to encourage such unrefined behavior, it's impossible to hide the impulsive, mischievous twinkle in her eyes tonight. Perhaps, in her time spent getting closer to Spain recently, he's begun to rub off on her.
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The surprised expression soon melts into a grin as he moves to do as she says. Spain nods before squeezing and letting go of her hand for a moment. Hands steady themselves over the wood floor of the stage before he hoists himself up with a bit of a grunt, the motion otherwise effortless. It's not long before he's pushing himself up into a standing position, hands immediately open and reaching forward to take her back.
"Do we dance together now?" He asks with his usual unknowingly charming grin, green eyes twinkling with his smile and the stage lights. It's the only reason he can think of for her to get him up onto the stage with her.
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Quietly, she chuckles at his question, staring dotingly up into his eyes, though with a bounce of golden curls, she's up en pointe once more, effectively boosting herself up high enough to place a quick kiss on Spain's lips.
"I don't know... You're not wearing the outfit," she teases, glancing down at the tiered ruffles covering her own chest. Yes, she can just see it now: Spain struggling for twenty minutes to get the patterned tights on only to realize he's put them on inside-out. Monaco holds in another laugh, pressing her lips together.
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The thought makes him chuckle before he leans down to return the kiss, as soft and as fleeting but no less sweet than the last one she grants him. He doesn't go far even after the kiss ends, his fond, smiling gaze on her completely. "I don't think I'll be as pretty in it as you are. Are you sure?" It's of course a joke though it leaves him open to a serious answer rather than a playful one. Nevertheless, whatever answer Spain gets, he's sure to greet it with his usual cheerful, easygoing attitude. You can be sure about that.
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What Monaco did see just backstage, however, was part of the Mouse King's costume; a violet cape lined with gray fur and trimmed in gold, as well as a matching prop crown and a plastic saber. Hardly fitting with her role as Clara, but at the same time, marginally cuter than a big, goofy hat and a pair of white stockings.
"Though I think I have something better in mind," she says as if she's trying to be mysterious, gracefully stepping away from Spain and pulling him along to one side of the stage and behind one of the heavy red curtains.
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