Post by Emily on Nov 3, 2015 22:09:34 GMT -8
CAST: Nero Dollarhyde (hatecuiture@aol.com), Hannah Fein (smiledsobright@aol.com)
SUMMARY: Nero plans a surprise meant to turn a painful memory into a smile for Hannah and succeeds in further endearing himself to her.
TW:
[Nero] It was like any other day in the recently dubbed Godwin Manor, except for the sound of wicker furniture being shuffled around in the conservatory. Nero had reorganized every piece of furniture in a manner which seemed to open up the entire room; as if he had some activity in mind. It might've been less suspicious if he weren't pressed and dressed to the nines in one of his tailor-made three-piece suits. As per usual, he knew how to dress in order to provoke the best reaction. But it was unusual for him to adopt such formal attire in the comfort of his own home, unless of course he had gone absolutely daft and arranged a formal event at his home. Just so we're clear, he wouldn't have. Godwin Manor was Hannah and his Fortress of Solitude --- a place for them to escape the prying eyes and curious minds of the outside world. Here, they could afford to lower their defenses and just be comfortable around each other in their own skins. Nero made certain it remained a safe haven for the both of them. After all, they were both very private individuals in their own right. The only formal event he had organized here tonight was meant to be a pleasant surprise for Hannah. She may have thought he wasn't listening to her when she confessed of how she wished he would've asked her to dance at that ridiculous formal they Saint Brigid's held. Nero had decided against these newfangled gadgets of the modern age to supply the music, so he opted for his vintage record player instead. In his opinion, it supplied the best sounding and crisp music in which to host a dance by. Nero had several records to choose from, so he gathered a collection of the best classical waltz music in his possession, and even had one ready to go on the turntable. Now all he needed was his counterpart, Hannah, to join him. Surely the noise had stirred her curiosity by now. Subtlety wasn't exactly his strong suit.
[Hannah] "Nero?" It wouldn't have been difficult for her usual near-silent footfall to have gotten lost in the scrape of furniture feet on rough tile, despite her occasional joke that there was nothing he didn't smell or hear in the entire northern hemisphere. Especially at home. Hannah nearly always went barefoot at home. She liked the energy that coursed through the materials the old Manor was made out of; warm, comforting, safe. It wasn't a river, but rather a rivulet. Something she could absorb as little or as much of as she liked whether she was working at some project that still needed doing in establishing the home properly or turning whimsical piques through the halls with songs in her head and on her lips. What ever had inspired Nero to choose it; the more time she spent there, the more it suited her happiness. The conservatory's floor was cold against the ball of her bare right foot as she stepped into the room, not at all prepared for what met her eyes. They widened considerably. "Oh, no; are we having company? I'm not dressed right." Her hazel gaze lingered on him, a moment, so polished and so perfect in a world she once thought he might just be too beautiful for. He cleaned up well, and she didn't mind looking at it one little bit, even if her favorite version of him was half-asleep with mussed hair, mumbling nothing coherent at her when she snuck-snuggled up behind him in their bed to hold him for a while as the sun came up. When she looked down at herself, it was with her bottom lip caught between her teeth and a furrowed brow. The leggings that clung close to the athletic curve of her musculature were obvious ballet class throwbacks. They were probably black, once, but they're washed-too-many-times charcoal, now. Her teeshirt boasted Bianca del Rio fandom, a crash of clownish drag queen comic and color on a tomato-red backdrop that fought the wave of her left-loose hair for visual attention. "I'll go change," promised the silly little thing, turning to leave with the notion that a sprint upstairs was in order.
[Nero] Oh, wasn't she just adorable. Naturally she made the assumption that he had organized a formal event here tonight, in the privacy of their very own home. Then again, he could see where she might arrive at that conclusion. He had gone through the trouble of reorganizing the furniture so as to maximize the spacious conservatory. But there would only be one couple attending this event; no others had been invited. Just as she turned to race upstairs for a last-minute change of clothing, Nero made his move for her, reaching out to grab her by the forearm before she had a chance to evade him. He presented her with one of his charming, ladykiller smiles; the kind that had a tendency to make even the dragon melt. "No, luv. You misunderstand. Allow me to further clarify." He said, backing away to fully reveal the interior of the conservatory to her and the small area he had provided. But even in backing away, he kept a firm grasp on her hand. Effectively escorting her alongside of him. "If memory serves me correctly, you had said that you wished that I had asked you to dance at that ridiculous formal event Saint Brigid's held last year. You were beautiful that night, I remember. But as fate would have it, my parents were in attendance. Therefore I spent much of that night either keeping up appearances or making a conscious effort to avoid them at all costs." Nero proceeded to lead her all the way to the very center of the room. If she had tipped her head heavenward, she would see the twinkling stars in the night sky shining down through the glass roof. "With that said." That's when he finally relinquished his grip on her hand, Nero made several steps backwards to create separation between the two of them. He then extended his arm, holding his hand out to her with his head bowed ever so slightly, but maintaining eye contact with her throughout. "May I have this dance?" Oh shit, he almost forgot the music. With a quick clearing his throat, he straightened his posture before running over to the record player and turning the turntable on. Almost immediately they were rewarded with the beautiful instrumental piece, the Blue Waltz. Nero then raced back over, resuming the exact same pose as before. His efforts were quite comical in their own right.
[Hannah] They hadn't lived together very long. She tried to be conscious of his movement through their home, of his preferences for certain things and his habits. He was a businessman; what if he occasionally entertained professional associates at home? She couldn't very well traipse through the place looking the way she did, if that were the case. What would they think of him, shacked up with an inelegant ragamuffin? It wouldn't have taken her long to do what she'd planned to do -- a ballerina has to be a quick-change artist, you know -- if he'd let her go. A few well-placed bobby pins would have done something less wild to her hair. She had one pair of earrings, and a few things little and black she could have slipped into without much trouble. A swipe of brick red wouldn't have hurt her lips any. But there was a strong hand closing around her forearm and a disarming smile weaving its distraction tight in the pit of her belly, asking her to stay, so she did. Hannah took to Nero's side, hand lost in his, as he explained her misunderstanding away. Once his true reason for having made all the ruckus that had tempted her from the book she'd left upstairs was laid plain, not a single star framed by the conservatory's clear glass roof could have outbeamed her. "I didn't think you'd ever even realized I was there," was her softly laughed response to both his compliment and his recognition of the fact that they'd once occupied the same campus without but one or two run-ins. He gave her laughter no reason to cease in his blunder with the record player. "I'll dance with you," she relented, as though he'd had to yank at her arm to get her to, and placed her right hand in his left. "If you promise that you won't lower a pole from the ceiling and make it weird just because your parents aren't here." Oh, yes, Nero Tiberius. That had been her first impression of you. And you know just what I'm writing about, too.
[Nero] Nero's face suddenly flushed with a bright crimson at the mention of lowering a pole from the ceiling. "The blame for that shall forever lie with that infernal djinn, Valentine. I was in full control of my faculties until he stepped in." Sure, Nero. That's exactly how it happened; more like that's what he recalled from that night. Nero wasn't about to admit the events of that night had been done of his own accord. It was so much easier to blame someone who wasn't here to defend themselves, and so he exploited the situation. She had placed her right hand into his left, and his right hand dropped to her left hip. Nero stood there a moment trying to recall the basic steps of the waltz. It wasn't long before he remembered, leading off his left foot. Nero took a step forward with his left foot. Next his right foot moved to the side, bridging the gap between both feet by sliding his left foot close. The next series of steps followed just as the first, instead they were inverted. Following the exact same pattern, only with his right leg as opposed to the left. Naturally he took the lead, but like any considerate partner he waited for her to follow before starting the next step. These were simply the rudimentary basic steps to the waltz. It wasn't as if they were attending an official formal event, where sometimes it paid off to impress others of equal or higher stations within the British social hierarchy. As it stands, they were just a couple sharing the moment in one another's company. Nero was professional at first by creating separation between them, but following those first few steps he increasingly drew her closer to him. Until they were practically pressed together in the privacy of the conservatory. It was obvious that he enjoyed seeing her beam whenever he went out of his way to make a statement through his actions. They weren't grand gestures in the common sense, but they seemed to make all the difference to her, and that's what mattered to him.
[Hannah] "Oh, look at that," Hannah whispered conspiratorially, doing her very, very best to keep the guilty smile on her face from becoming more. "You blush. Who knew?" She shined in every way as he took her by the hip, raising her left hand to try to soothe some of the color out of his pallor. Gentle brushes of fingertips and thumb, sweet affection to make right the hard time she'd given him. It was precisely because it was just the two of them that she didn't correct the errant placement of Nero's right hand. She let it sit wherever along the side of her body he saw fit to mold it to her, opting instead to appreciate closeness and the thoughtful evening he'd arranged for her. She didn't even raise an eyebrow to defend poor Valentine's honor. Let's face it, Valentine Drach doesn't have a whole lot of honor, anyway, even if he is her friend. It had been a long time since her last waltz. Oh, sure, she had to partner up with that Ash kid for a dance class, but that was lyrical jazz... and he dances like a gay figure skater. There was no denying her preference for her current partner; not the way she let him pull her too close as their waltz faded out into something quieter in four quarter time, or the way the fingers on her left hand curled into the sleeve of his jacket, or the way she sighed, cheek nestled against his shoulder. Those things, those little nothing to other people but blatant gestures of warmth to her things were just for him. Gifts from Hannah to Nero, to make sure he knew all of the hundred things she left unsaid between them.
[Nero] Needless to say, they were sharing one of those rare, precious moments with one another. These were the exact same kind of memories that people cherished and held onto to serve as a reminder of what true love actually was, or the prospect of it at the very least. They danced and danced. Nero led them in a series of repetitive steps, as if slowly finding his stride. Her cheek against his shoulder, and he had to practically fight off the urge for physical contact; to run his fingers through fiery red strands. But in the end, he gave into his urges and did just that. Quite unaware of how she might react to these bold advances. Nero never wanted her to feel as if he were pushing her into anything she didn't already want herself --- even if she refused to admit to it. Nero actually wanted this relationship he had with Hannah to work out.
[Hannah] It was a moment she'd longed for, truth be told; to be a starlight sway in his arms. Even if it was only destined to be a short moment, it belonged to them and no one else, and in it she was truly happy. The fingers pulling gently through her hair inspired her so close, so belly-to-hip and breast-to-ribcage that no breeze would have survived between them, had there been one. She abandoned both his sleeve and his grip to sneak her arms underneath his jacket, where her hands marveled at the solidity of him under all of that finery. They idly explored the shapes created by lumbar spine and oblique muscle, and there they fixed themselves until either the hour or a natural disaster tore her from him.
SUMMARY: Nero plans a surprise meant to turn a painful memory into a smile for Hannah and succeeds in further endearing himself to her.
TW:
[Nero] It was like any other day in the recently dubbed Godwin Manor, except for the sound of wicker furniture being shuffled around in the conservatory. Nero had reorganized every piece of furniture in a manner which seemed to open up the entire room; as if he had some activity in mind. It might've been less suspicious if he weren't pressed and dressed to the nines in one of his tailor-made three-piece suits. As per usual, he knew how to dress in order to provoke the best reaction. But it was unusual for him to adopt such formal attire in the comfort of his own home, unless of course he had gone absolutely daft and arranged a formal event at his home. Just so we're clear, he wouldn't have. Godwin Manor was Hannah and his Fortress of Solitude --- a place for them to escape the prying eyes and curious minds of the outside world. Here, they could afford to lower their defenses and just be comfortable around each other in their own skins. Nero made certain it remained a safe haven for the both of them. After all, they were both very private individuals in their own right. The only formal event he had organized here tonight was meant to be a pleasant surprise for Hannah. She may have thought he wasn't listening to her when she confessed of how she wished he would've asked her to dance at that ridiculous formal they Saint Brigid's held. Nero had decided against these newfangled gadgets of the modern age to supply the music, so he opted for his vintage record player instead. In his opinion, it supplied the best sounding and crisp music in which to host a dance by. Nero had several records to choose from, so he gathered a collection of the best classical waltz music in his possession, and even had one ready to go on the turntable. Now all he needed was his counterpart, Hannah, to join him. Surely the noise had stirred her curiosity by now. Subtlety wasn't exactly his strong suit.
[Hannah] "Nero?" It wouldn't have been difficult for her usual near-silent footfall to have gotten lost in the scrape of furniture feet on rough tile, despite her occasional joke that there was nothing he didn't smell or hear in the entire northern hemisphere. Especially at home. Hannah nearly always went barefoot at home. She liked the energy that coursed through the materials the old Manor was made out of; warm, comforting, safe. It wasn't a river, but rather a rivulet. Something she could absorb as little or as much of as she liked whether she was working at some project that still needed doing in establishing the home properly or turning whimsical piques through the halls with songs in her head and on her lips. What ever had inspired Nero to choose it; the more time she spent there, the more it suited her happiness. The conservatory's floor was cold against the ball of her bare right foot as she stepped into the room, not at all prepared for what met her eyes. They widened considerably. "Oh, no; are we having company? I'm not dressed right." Her hazel gaze lingered on him, a moment, so polished and so perfect in a world she once thought he might just be too beautiful for. He cleaned up well, and she didn't mind looking at it one little bit, even if her favorite version of him was half-asleep with mussed hair, mumbling nothing coherent at her when she snuck-snuggled up behind him in their bed to hold him for a while as the sun came up. When she looked down at herself, it was with her bottom lip caught between her teeth and a furrowed brow. The leggings that clung close to the athletic curve of her musculature were obvious ballet class throwbacks. They were probably black, once, but they're washed-too-many-times charcoal, now. Her teeshirt boasted Bianca del Rio fandom, a crash of clownish drag queen comic and color on a tomato-red backdrop that fought the wave of her left-loose hair for visual attention. "I'll go change," promised the silly little thing, turning to leave with the notion that a sprint upstairs was in order.
[Nero] Oh, wasn't she just adorable. Naturally she made the assumption that he had organized a formal event here tonight, in the privacy of their very own home. Then again, he could see where she might arrive at that conclusion. He had gone through the trouble of reorganizing the furniture so as to maximize the spacious conservatory. But there would only be one couple attending this event; no others had been invited. Just as she turned to race upstairs for a last-minute change of clothing, Nero made his move for her, reaching out to grab her by the forearm before she had a chance to evade him. He presented her with one of his charming, ladykiller smiles; the kind that had a tendency to make even the dragon melt. "No, luv. You misunderstand. Allow me to further clarify." He said, backing away to fully reveal the interior of the conservatory to her and the small area he had provided. But even in backing away, he kept a firm grasp on her hand. Effectively escorting her alongside of him. "If memory serves me correctly, you had said that you wished that I had asked you to dance at that ridiculous formal event Saint Brigid's held last year. You were beautiful that night, I remember. But as fate would have it, my parents were in attendance. Therefore I spent much of that night either keeping up appearances or making a conscious effort to avoid them at all costs." Nero proceeded to lead her all the way to the very center of the room. If she had tipped her head heavenward, she would see the twinkling stars in the night sky shining down through the glass roof. "With that said." That's when he finally relinquished his grip on her hand, Nero made several steps backwards to create separation between the two of them. He then extended his arm, holding his hand out to her with his head bowed ever so slightly, but maintaining eye contact with her throughout. "May I have this dance?" Oh shit, he almost forgot the music. With a quick clearing his throat, he straightened his posture before running over to the record player and turning the turntable on. Almost immediately they were rewarded with the beautiful instrumental piece, the Blue Waltz. Nero then raced back over, resuming the exact same pose as before. His efforts were quite comical in their own right.
[Hannah] They hadn't lived together very long. She tried to be conscious of his movement through their home, of his preferences for certain things and his habits. He was a businessman; what if he occasionally entertained professional associates at home? She couldn't very well traipse through the place looking the way she did, if that were the case. What would they think of him, shacked up with an inelegant ragamuffin? It wouldn't have taken her long to do what she'd planned to do -- a ballerina has to be a quick-change artist, you know -- if he'd let her go. A few well-placed bobby pins would have done something less wild to her hair. She had one pair of earrings, and a few things little and black she could have slipped into without much trouble. A swipe of brick red wouldn't have hurt her lips any. But there was a strong hand closing around her forearm and a disarming smile weaving its distraction tight in the pit of her belly, asking her to stay, so she did. Hannah took to Nero's side, hand lost in his, as he explained her misunderstanding away. Once his true reason for having made all the ruckus that had tempted her from the book she'd left upstairs was laid plain, not a single star framed by the conservatory's clear glass roof could have outbeamed her. "I didn't think you'd ever even realized I was there," was her softly laughed response to both his compliment and his recognition of the fact that they'd once occupied the same campus without but one or two run-ins. He gave her laughter no reason to cease in his blunder with the record player. "I'll dance with you," she relented, as though he'd had to yank at her arm to get her to, and placed her right hand in his left. "If you promise that you won't lower a pole from the ceiling and make it weird just because your parents aren't here." Oh, yes, Nero Tiberius. That had been her first impression of you. And you know just what I'm writing about, too.
[Nero] Nero's face suddenly flushed with a bright crimson at the mention of lowering a pole from the ceiling. "The blame for that shall forever lie with that infernal djinn, Valentine. I was in full control of my faculties until he stepped in." Sure, Nero. That's exactly how it happened; more like that's what he recalled from that night. Nero wasn't about to admit the events of that night had been done of his own accord. It was so much easier to blame someone who wasn't here to defend themselves, and so he exploited the situation. She had placed her right hand into his left, and his right hand dropped to her left hip. Nero stood there a moment trying to recall the basic steps of the waltz. It wasn't long before he remembered, leading off his left foot. Nero took a step forward with his left foot. Next his right foot moved to the side, bridging the gap between both feet by sliding his left foot close. The next series of steps followed just as the first, instead they were inverted. Following the exact same pattern, only with his right leg as opposed to the left. Naturally he took the lead, but like any considerate partner he waited for her to follow before starting the next step. These were simply the rudimentary basic steps to the waltz. It wasn't as if they were attending an official formal event, where sometimes it paid off to impress others of equal or higher stations within the British social hierarchy. As it stands, they were just a couple sharing the moment in one another's company. Nero was professional at first by creating separation between them, but following those first few steps he increasingly drew her closer to him. Until they were practically pressed together in the privacy of the conservatory. It was obvious that he enjoyed seeing her beam whenever he went out of his way to make a statement through his actions. They weren't grand gestures in the common sense, but they seemed to make all the difference to her, and that's what mattered to him.
[Hannah] "Oh, look at that," Hannah whispered conspiratorially, doing her very, very best to keep the guilty smile on her face from becoming more. "You blush. Who knew?" She shined in every way as he took her by the hip, raising her left hand to try to soothe some of the color out of his pallor. Gentle brushes of fingertips and thumb, sweet affection to make right the hard time she'd given him. It was precisely because it was just the two of them that she didn't correct the errant placement of Nero's right hand. She let it sit wherever along the side of her body he saw fit to mold it to her, opting instead to appreciate closeness and the thoughtful evening he'd arranged for her. She didn't even raise an eyebrow to defend poor Valentine's honor. Let's face it, Valentine Drach doesn't have a whole lot of honor, anyway, even if he is her friend. It had been a long time since her last waltz. Oh, sure, she had to partner up with that Ash kid for a dance class, but that was lyrical jazz... and he dances like a gay figure skater. There was no denying her preference for her current partner; not the way she let him pull her too close as their waltz faded out into something quieter in four quarter time, or the way the fingers on her left hand curled into the sleeve of his jacket, or the way she sighed, cheek nestled against his shoulder. Those things, those little nothing to other people but blatant gestures of warmth to her things were just for him. Gifts from Hannah to Nero, to make sure he knew all of the hundred things she left unsaid between them.
[Nero] Needless to say, they were sharing one of those rare, precious moments with one another. These were the exact same kind of memories that people cherished and held onto to serve as a reminder of what true love actually was, or the prospect of it at the very least. They danced and danced. Nero led them in a series of repetitive steps, as if slowly finding his stride. Her cheek against his shoulder, and he had to practically fight off the urge for physical contact; to run his fingers through fiery red strands. But in the end, he gave into his urges and did just that. Quite unaware of how she might react to these bold advances. Nero never wanted her to feel as if he were pushing her into anything she didn't already want herself --- even if she refused to admit to it. Nero actually wanted this relationship he had with Hannah to work out.
[Hannah] It was a moment she'd longed for, truth be told; to be a starlight sway in his arms. Even if it was only destined to be a short moment, it belonged to them and no one else, and in it she was truly happy. The fingers pulling gently through her hair inspired her so close, so belly-to-hip and breast-to-ribcage that no breeze would have survived between them, had there been one. She abandoned both his sleeve and his grip to sneak her arms underneath his jacket, where her hands marveled at the solidity of him under all of that finery. They idly explored the shapes created by lumbar spine and oblique muscle, and there they fixed themselves until either the hour or a natural disaster tore her from him.