Dancing Lessons

[ambitious-woman.livejournal.com]

[At last, her Christmas gift from beneath the tree on the Plane is to be put to use.

At Reinette's feet, quite nearby rests a small, sparkling object. A glass dome that protects the delicate workings of the music box within. It is a complicated masterpiece, one capable of playing several independent musical interludes.

It is also?

Made entirely of parts from the Clockwork Men.

At the moment the music heard is a waltz]

Comments

[a-pretty-fire.livejournal.com]

[Drusilla gravitates towards the music and the beautiful woman like, well, like a vampire gravitates towards blood.]

Are you a princess?

[She adores beautiful things. Catching and keeping them. Observing them. Breaking them so nobody else can ever appreciate how truly special they are...]

[ambitious-woman.livejournal.com]

[if Reinette were any other woman, she might have laughed aloud. But she can only be herself, even if a warm humor has elevated the color on her cheeks]

No, I am not a princess.

[and to be polite]

Are you?

OOC:zomg this post was so Dru I just about squeed all over myself! Bows to you.

[a-pretty-fire.livejournal.com]

Oh, yes. But I can't find my crown at the moment. They're trying to make me wear thorns instead.

[She moves a little closer to Reinette.]

Thorns aren't as pretty, not even when they're red. They don't sparkle properly.

OOC: I just couldn't resist. Poor Reinette...

[ambitious-woman.livejournal.com]

People often attempt to force us into that which we do not wish to do.

[and because it is this place, which everything is so far from France, Reinette curtsies to the stranger]

But thorns are beautiful, I think, for the bloom that they support.

OOC:The minute this appeared in my inbox, my mind flashed to Dru's doll collection. If there ever was a type....lol.

[a-pretty-fire.livejournal.com]

Bad manners! They deserve to be spanked and sent to bed with no supper.

[Drusilla doesn't know how to curtsy. Or, at least, curtsy in any recognised way. The dip she makes is oddly balletic, but, like all of the vampire's movements, isn't quite right. She smiles broadly.]

You are a princess. I can smell something on you. It's new. Rich.

[ambitious-woman.livejournal.com]

Of course the would maintain they have the very best of manners.

[Reinette watches the movement with fascination. She does not recoil at the suggestion of smell, but her carriage does still]

Truly, I am not. Though your insistence is most flattering, It is most likely my perfume you sense.

[a-pretty-fire.livejournal.com]

[Drusilla can indeed smell a pleasant enough perfume, but the scent beneath that - the scent of skin and life and humanity - is far more interesting.]

What are you, if you're not a princess? Are you hiding in the music?

[ambitious-woman.livejournal.com]

[her gaze sharpens a bit, at that. For speaking in riddles, the other woman sees a great deal]

Not hiding, no. Certainly not.

My name is Jeanne Antionette Poisson, and I am a marquess, not a princess. Most here call me by the name Reinette.

You would be?

[a-pretty-fire.livejournal.com]

Jeanne Antionette Poisson. That’s pretty. Like a story.

I’m just Drusilla. Nobody tells stories about me anymore. They all burned out.

[She bends down to look at the music box, but, even if her eyes are no longer on Reinette, it’s clear that her attention is.]

Music is a good place to hide. It can swallow you up. My Spike likes his music, but I can never listen for long. The songs are never as beautiful as the ones in my head.

[ambitious-woman.livejournal.com]

[she is amused]

It is certainly a long enough name to claim a beginning, middle and end, in any case.

It is a pleasure, Druscilla.

[she cannot deny that the music box is fascinating]

Your Spike? Is he your lover? Husband?

Your child?

I am coming to believe that reality is rarely as beautiful as the wonders within our minds.

[the woman is strange, and almost child-like herself. But Reinette has seen a great deal since coming to this place. This is but one more]

[a-pretty-fire.livejournal.com]

Everyone has a beginning, a middle and an end. Will you write your own, or will it find you first?

[She hums along to the music for a moment, and the tune is similar to the waltz produced by the box, but not quite the same.]

Oh, he's all of them. My lover and my child. My darling deadly boy. I want to bring him here, to see the stars, but it's a secret.