❄ Winter Gala | forward-dated to December 24

[11ady]

Who: Everyone and everything! All of you are invited. :3
What: Preventer's 1st Annual Winter Gala (though they may call it a Holiday Gala next year because, lol, it's not winter in the Southern hemisphere 8U); dress code is black and white, no dates required 8)
When: December 24. This log is so forward dated and backtag friendly. :D NOBODY IS LATE TO

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[maestro_ezio]

[Now at first you might not recognize Ezio immediately, not without his usual armor and hood. Tonight, in fact, he looks much more modern that he usually does.

He gently takes her hand in his, leaning in a little bit to give her a kiss on the cheek.]

Stop doing that.

[thinkin_arbys]

Stop doing what?

[Hands are suddenly in her lap! Shhhh.]

[maestro_ezio]

[He gives her a bit of a look, but not without a small smirk.]

I wonder what I could mean.

[thinkin_arbys]

[Sigh.] My leg is bothering me. It looks fine, doesn't it?

[maestro_ezio]

It looks beautiful, just as you are. You are not the only one with scars.

[thinkin_arbys]

[Half of her is going, "really, cheesy lines?"; the other half just fell in love all over again.

...Oh. That's not a good time for her to realize that at all.

Her face reddens.]

Thank you. I don't feel comfortable, but this is what's required for these things. At least there's no corset.

[maestro_ezio]

[He gives her hand a light squeeze of encouragement.

But at the mention of the corset, he laughs lightly.]

I don't think you would have worn one, even by force.

[He leans in closer, dropping his voice to a whisper.]

Stop worrying. You look beautiful, scars or no scars.

[thinkin_arbys]

No. They look painful. Another benefit of being cloistered: no fashion.

[His voice is soothing against her ears, even as she's trying to wrap her thoughts up and tuck her revelation away. This isn't the place or time to explain, so she'll swallow it.]

I'm using my Stand to cover them, and it's a little tiring.

[And she missed an inch-long one near her collarbone.]

[maestro_ezio]

[And if he could tell her that he does not care if he can see her scars, would she listen? If he could tell her that each scar makes her more like herself, would she believe him?]

Then leave them be. Is it worth hiding them when you could be thinking of other things?

[He sets his hand on her cheek.]

People will not hate you for having scars. I don't hate you for having scars.

[thinkin_arbys]

[She would believe him, and then some. He never looks scared of them, or seems to feel threatened. In fact, he's never asked, not yet, where they came from. But...]

They might ask questions. I don't care if they hate me, but I won't answer their questions. Will you help me berate them if they do?

[With a smile, she pulls her Stand out of her purse, settling it resolutely against her palm. Her eyes flicker to Ezio, then back to the Stand, and then, finally, to her leg.

Watching the bits of liquified flesh spring off her body and back into the canister only broadens her smile. She moves it like one would a spray can, along her limbs and every inch of exposed skin, revealing dozens of scars, different lengths, depths, all unique.

All the world sees is a woman suddenly covered with scars. Quietly, she closes both hands around Cream Starter. She may be dressed up, but now she's herself.]

[maestro_ezio]

[He covers her hands with his and kisses her fingers. He can't exactly see what her skin is doing, he does see what is left below the surface of the layer that seemed to dissolve.

If he had ever doubted anything about her and what he has with her, it's gone now.]

This is the woman I know and love. You and I will scold them together.

[He unclasps her hands. He loosens his tie, starts to unbutton the top two buttons. A few of his scars are peeking out, slashes of different lengths and widths, angular cuts from arrows and knives and swords and anything and everything his enemies could get their hands on.]

And now we are the same.

[thinkin_arbys]

[Her heart...

...

...Her heart feels like it might stop. She doesn't know how or when or why people are supposed to fall in love, and she stares at his fingers and everything and nothing makes sense. She was a nun, then she was a "man". This was never supposed to be said to her.

Never.

Seven months, almost on the mark, and from the first day they'd met, she knew he was exceptional, intelligent and good of heart and spirit.

He's broken and dark like she is, but... But.]

And I love you, as well.

[They've always been the same.]

[maestro_ezio]

[He brings an arm around her shoulders. He sets his hand on her cheek as he leans in to kiss her.

He does not know if this was or was not supposed to happen, though, to some extent, he had already felt it was too late to do anything about it. Another choice gone, another adjustment to make, another adaptation by force. He had become accustomed to being and working alone.

But he is both grateful and overwhelmed that it has changed for him.]

[thinkin_arbys]

[She would apologize if she knew he felt such a heavy sense of obligation, but she would never leave.

What is happiness? The only thing she can compare this to is holding the very body of Jesus Christ in her arms. Her heart is full, her stomach aflutter, and her head filled with only thoughts of him. If he asked for anything in the universe, she would try to obtain it, just to make him smile.]

[maestro_ezio]

[He continues to kiss her for a little while longer before pulling back.

He is so deeply infatuated with her, so stupidly in love with her, that he would give anything just to keep her happy, to keep her in his arms.

He presses a kiss to her cheek. If one notices, Ezio looks visibly relaxed, as if nothing could possibly weigh him down.]

[thinkin_arbys]

[She presses a kiss to his cheek, taking one of his hands in her own.]

Amore, are you happy?