Mercury is not quite sure how she feels about being transformed in the bar. On the one hand, her disguise is holding up rather well-- as is only to be expected. But on the other hand ... she has made some unsettling discoveries about exactly how transparent she really is here.
Better to be outside, tonight: There are fewer people.
As she draws closer to the lake, she begins to make out lights-- as if somebody were brandishing torches. But the nearer she gets, the more she realizes it isn't torches at all.
Water and ice, and it's the ice that isn't appropriate here-- not so close to real, warm summer. Mercury hesitates, watching the dance and wondering if she shouldn't.
But he doesn't seem to be bothered by my being here ...
She flushes a little when he grins, waiting for some sign of a break before coming any nearer.
Yrael had been thinking of seeing how the ship on the lake affects the acoustics of the area, but his wandering stroll towards the lake has slowed to a stop, by now.
He's been thoroughly distracted. He watches, standing silent in the long, uncut grasses of summer.
The dance is a beautiful, dangerous thing. It saddens him, in a way, for it reminds him of Rachel. And it saddens him, for though the dance is one for passion and fire, of daring to move in such brilliance and, defiant and proud, not be consumed by it, to be of it... the dancer is yet unable to truly feel passion, unable to feel pride.
He's standing, holding his cane, before flicking his hand out, both sides igniting in twin flames as the cane begins to mirror Axel. Or more appropriately, compliment him.
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Better to be outside, tonight: There are fewer people.
As she draws closer to the lake, she begins to make out lights-- as if somebody were brandishing torches. But the nearer she gets, the more she realizes it isn't torches at all.
Mercury exhales, softly. "Oh ..."
This power ... like Mars. Who is he?
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Water. Someone like Demyx, a little, but with a heart.
He gives her a grin for the soft exclaimation, and a nod before his next spin.
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But he doesn't seem to be bothered by my being here ...
She flushes a little when he grins, waiting for some sign of a break before coming any nearer.
It's not polite to interrupt, after all.
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"Hey there. Enjoy the show?"
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He's been thoroughly distracted. He watches, standing silent in the long, uncut grasses of summer.
The dance is a beautiful, dangerous thing. It saddens him, in a way, for it reminds him of Rachel. And it saddens him, for though the dance is one for passion and fire, of daring to move in such brilliance and, defiant and proud, not be consumed by it, to be of it... the dancer is yet unable to truly feel passion, unable to feel pride.
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"Hey."
No sweat. No heavy breathing.
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"Evening," Yrael says with a smile. "You dance magnificently."
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"Thanks." He plunks himself down, and gestures for Yrael to sit with him.
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