Ball-Room Etiquette for Dummies
Disclaimer: I don't own anything connecting to the show. There are references to and direct quotes from a book entitled The royal ball-room guide and etiquette of the drawing-room, containing the newest and most elegant dances and a short history of dancing by Rudolph Radestock. Obviously that's not mine, either.
I also have to admit that I have no idea how any kind of formal event is actually built up. Let's go with the idea that it's fairy-tale land with its very own program for these kinds of event.
Summary: The curse is broken and they are back to fairy-tale land where Emma has to realize that royal balls are a royal pain in the neck. Fortunately she doesn't have to suffer trough it alone. Established Emma/August
Enjoy!
With shaky legs and a smile that was nowhere near sincere forced on her lips, Emma descended the stairs to the large, lavishly decorated ballroom, clinging to August's arm for dear life. Don't look down! Don't look down, she repeated over and over again in her mind while she simultaneously prayed that she wouldn't trip on the edge of her long dress. Straight and proud, chins up, she remembered Snow warning her on countless occasions while she tried to get grips on this whole how-to-be-a-princess thing.
Apparently there were strict rules the members of the Royal Family had to adhere to on social events… and there were many of them.
Well, in her opinion, it royally sucked.
When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Emma let out a sigh of immense relief: one less thing to be potentially embarrassed about. Just imagine it, the daughter of the king and the queen going stumbling down face first on the stairs in a mess of bright green. That would have been epic!
Her tense features actually relaxed into a small smile – well, more like a smirk – when she heard the same sigh escape August's lips. Sometimes she forgot that being born (or cut out of wood) in fairy-tale land didn't necessarily mean that one grew up among the higher circles of the Royal Court.
August was feeling just as awkward as she was… and it made her feel good. She loved him – she really did – and she wouldn't wish for him anything bad, but being in a potentially embarrassing situation together felt comforting.
They shared a small smile before stepping up in front of the Royal Couple.
The Master of Ceremonies introduced the couple to the distinguished crowd already gathered and Emma and August bowed before the king and the queen. Emma exchanged a little triumphant smile with her mother before taking her seat next to her.
She spent the next hour resisting the urge to lean over her parents just to make some – probably quite inappropriate – remark to August, who was sitting on James' left, regarding the arriving guests. It would have been much more fun if she'd been allowed to talk to him. But no, she was stuck smiling politely and bowing her head in greetings to people she'd never met before. What fun!
Several times she shifted in her seat uncomfortably and tried to look down at her dress just to gauge the state of her evening gown. It was still in place, she noted but it did little to settle her nerves. She still felt overly exposed in her light green dress which, apart from being a hideous shade of green, looked surprisingly okay… at least compared to some of the gowns she had seen some women wearing.
Ella, for example, wore a fluffy pink dress which really made Emma bite on her tongue but it seemed the young woman was completely enjoying looking like a frosted birthday cake. Good for her.
Emma was feeling miserable in her okay-looking dress. And it didn't even help the situation that she actually knew she was looking good. After all if she had a clear view of her mostly bare breasts then there was no way that the others didn't.
"You okay?" She was pulled out of her thoughts by August who had magically appeared in front of her. It was only then that she realized that the formal greetings had finished at last. She sighed in relief and accepted August's hand to help her up.
"Just peachy," she murmured under her breath while taking the opportunity of August's wide shoulders concealing her from view to actually reach up and pull that damn gown a little higher on her chest.
"What?" She looked at the man with narrowed eyes when she could hear him chuckle. "As you might have noticed, I don't have large tits so excuse me if I feel uncomfortable when I look down and can actually see them because they are so pushed up in that damned corset."
"I like it," August stated staring unabashedly at her chest.
"Of course you do," Emma rolled her eyes unimpressed. "Now, try acting like a gentleman and stop ogling my breasts."
When August didn't react in any way, Emma raised an eyebrow crossing her arms on her chest. Of course, it gave a much better look for August whose lips turned upward in an appreciative smile… then he caught himself. Clearing his throat, he lifted his eyes to meet Emma's not so happy ones.
"Sorry," he offered weakly and despite her annoyance, Emma couldn't help but smile. That man could be so damn adorable at times.
"Everything's all right here?" James appeared next to the couple and looked between them with suspicion. "I hope you're not planning your grand escape even before dinner has begun."
"I wouldn't dream of it," Emma gave a sweet smile to her father then pulled one last time on her dress just to make her discomfort clear to everyone present. James threw a questioning look at his future son-in-law but August just shrugged.
"Don't look at me, Your Highness. All I did was to compliment on her."
"You didn't compliment on me, you complimented on my breasts," Emma pointed out and enjoyed the way August suddenly turned every shade of red in front of her father.
"You look beautiful, Emma," Emma could see her father throw a look toward her fiancé that seemed more disbelieving than reproaching before turning to her with a warm smile.
"Yeah," August cleared his throat awkwardly. "You look absolutely gorgeous."
"I know," was Emma's simple reply that disregarded every norm the proper etiquette would have demanded from her when accepting a compliment. "Let's go," she pressed herself through between the two men. "I'm starving."
James watched his daughter's back with a long-suffering look. Apparently he knew very well that Emma and the proper court etiquette weren't on very friendly terms.
August seemed to have caught on his thoughts as he weakly offered, "I think this is the part where I go and accompany her to the dining room… Right?"
"I will go out on a limb here and say that neither you nor Emma read The Royal Ball-Room Guide properly," James sighed.
"We..." August cleared his throat, trying to avoid to look James in the eye, "I didn't… really… find… the time for it," he finally stuttered, once again turning bright red.
James, instead of calling him upon his strange behavior, made an excellent job at keeping a straight face and acknowledged August's confession with a curt nod before sending the man after her daughter and setting out to find his wife and escort her to their table.
In Emma's opinion, dinner was invented as a form of torture… and that was without mentioning the corset that essentially prevented Emma to have a healthy meal.
The first time Emma was subjected to the endless rules of dining etiquette, Snow had reassured her that the whole thing looked more complicated than it really was. All Emma could say to that, seeing the countless forks, spoons, glasses and whatnot, that of course it was easy. All she needed was a plate and a fork. At that Snow looked suitably horrified – no doubt, she was remembering how much Emma had liked to eat her chicken wings with her hands back in Storybrook – and Emma smirked to herself. If she had to go through with this whole etiquette thing, at least she'd find amusement in messing with the people who put her through that torture.
Though Emma felt utterly uncomfortable, dinner went by without any incident - that is, of course, if one didn't count that awkward moment when Emma bit on a slice of celery which she thoroughly disliked and in her haste to wash in down she reached for the nearest glass. It was just her luck that that glass did not belong to her. Every glass on your right belongs to you, she suddenly remembered Snow telling her and she gave a sheepish smile to August who looked at her questioningly as she downed his wine.
When it was time for the opening dance, Snow and James took the floor with elegant ease which made Emma want to run for the hills. Apparently August felt the same way because he was all but pushed onto the dance floor by Frederick and his movements lacked any grace as he asked Snow to dance. Emma wondered whether he was like that when he was still a wooden puppet but she didn't have much time to distract herself by August clumsiness because her father appeared in front of her and she suddenly found herself stumbling into his arms.
"Easy there, Emma," James smiled at her as she steadied herself and grabbed onto his hand. "It's just a dance. No need to look so panicked."
"Easy for you to talk," Emma muttered as she bowed her head trying to find out where to put her feet when they began to move. This, however, only made her groan and not because she accidentally stepped on her father's leg. It had more to do with the fact that she had a clear view into the large cleavage of her dress. It was disconcerting.
"Up here, Princess," James demanded her attention. "Just let me lead you, all right? And don't fret about the foot," he added with twinkling eyes. Emma laughed out and mouthed 'fret' with an amused expression, not really believing that King James had just used that word. She could still remember that, back when the curse had been broken and she'd met him as James for the first time, the first thing she noticed was his articulateness as opposed to David's everyday language.
They laughed through their dance and Emma didn't even notice how quickly time passed. She only became aware of her situation once again when it was time to give her thanks to her father and she found her legs wobbling as she curtseyed. James quickly reached for her and led her to August who looked slightly sweaty as Snow petted his arm with a warm smile.
"A drink?" was all he could say when Emma joined them on the arm of James and she couldn't agree more eagerly. In the back of her mind she knew that there must be some point made on the appropriate beverage consumption of a lady but she chose to ignore it whatever it was and she let August lead the way as they hastily retreated in search of something that contained alcohol… a lot of alcohol...
Seeing that they had promised to Snow and James not to leave the ball at least until midnight, Emma and August planned on remaining in the background for the rest of the night. After the third round of dance, however, it became apparent for Emma that, short of becoming invisible, there was no way that she could accomplish that. After all a lady can't refuse the invitation of a gentleman to dance because that would be rude. What a bullshit, she thought as she curtseyed to the third nameless and faceless gentleman then quickly excused herself and practically ran away before he could have engaged her in yet another boring chitchat about the weather. She grimaced as soon as she'd turned her back on the stunned gentleman. Her face was hurting from the constant polite smile that she had plastered on it for the last couple of hours. Her feet were killing her, too, and she was sure she'd suffocate before the night came to an end unless she managed to get rid of that cursed corset.
The party was a real blast!
If Emma found the small-talk with the gentlemen boring than she had yet to come up with an appropriate adjective for the small-talk with the ladies.
Emma swore to herself if she had to endure one more minute in the company of the nice – and incredibly boring – old lady, who claimed to be the aunt of Cinderella, she'd get a sword and fall into it… or maybe just simply break out in tears and begin to scream for help. They were in fairy-tale land for God's sake. One would think that they had more exciting topics to talk about than dresses and hairstyles and every annoying and unimportant topic that would surely gain a column in the weekly edition of Tall Tales Weekly. What happened to dragons and trolls… what happened to heroes going on adventures?
She resorted to a clearly audible sigh after yet another futile attempt to make the lady shut up but she was blissfully unaware of Emma's discomfort. That was when August appeared next to her, effectively cutting off the lady. Emma could have kissed him right on the spot, etiquette would be damned.
"Oh, Pinocchio," the old lady's face lit up after August had introduced himself. "My sister Rose was right. You are indeed a dashing young man," she said running her eyes appreciatively up and down August's impressive form and she actually winked at him with a look that Emma could only describe as lewd.
Great, she thought with a hardly concealed frown, now the old lady was hitting on her fiancé. Maybe she should have kissed him after all.
"I want to dance," she quipped before the old hag could grope August in front of her very own eyes.
Well, if nothing else, her request turned the lady's attention from August and now she was giving her a disapproving look. Emma let out a frustrated smile then turned to August with a sweet – though rather fake – smile. "Please, excuse my briskness," she cast down her eyes with pretended shyness while she fleetingly wondered why the etiquette applies to asking somebody to dance but not flirting with him in front of his fiancée. "I would really like you to share the next dance with me, Pinocchio," she repeated her request politely and almost burst out laughing when her eyes returned to August's. Apparently he had a hard time keeping up a straight face.
"Of course, my princess, it would be my pleasure," he replied holding out a hand for her.
"Oh, aren't you a lovely couple?" the old lady cooed. "I cannot wait for your wedding day. I'm sure you parents are planning on a huge wedding, dear."
"I am sure they'll make it as beautiful as they can," Emma answered with yet another fake smile while seriously considering to find a way back to the real world and persuade August to elope and get hitched in Vegas. Hell, if they want a fairy-tale character to marry them, they'd most probably find one there, too.
She all but dragged August away from his new admirer while murmuring some carefully-chosen remarks under her breath which would most probably scandalize half of the people in the room and make the other half blush furiously.
"Why's the attitude, Emma?" she could hear August chuckle behind her. "She is a nice old lady."
"Well, that nice old lady was just about ready to jump you."
"Are you jealous?"
"Jealous? Believe me, I'm a lot of things at the moment but 'jealous' is not among them."
"Enjoying the party, I see."
"Immensely," Emma muttered sarcastically as she turned to face August on the dance floor. August sneaked an arm around her waist and took her hand into his.
"Maybe that wasn't such a good idea," Emma observed as dancing couples were swirling around them.
"Well, I would have pointed that out earlier if you hadn't been so damn hell-bent on getting away from that nice old lady."
"Okay, let's do this," Emma took a deep breath as if readying herself. "Just one dance… We managed to get through the opening dance after all…"
To say that they were out of rhythm would be an understatement. They hadn't managed to find it at the first place. Actually they genuinely looked like a couple who had never done that whole dancing thing before while they tried not to step on the other's toes or just guess in which direction they should take the first step. They earned a couple of strange looks from couples passing by, easily swaying to the music, when they got some swearing words leaving the mouth of one or the other of the stumbling couple.
"You know what," August spoke up after a while. "Screw this." And with that, he let her hand go to sneak his arm around her waist where he rested his hand next to the other one, and pulled her close to him. For a moment, Emma looked startled but then a pleased smile appeared on her face as she brought her hands around his neck. "We can do this in our way."
"Now you're talking," Emma agreed stepping closer to him letting her temple press against his unusually smooth cheek.
"Just pretend that we're in a smoky bar somewhere in Boston and the jukebox's playing "November Rain"."
Well, through the loud music that the orchestra supplied, it wasn't an easy task but Emma closed her eyes and willingly gave herself up to his idea. The dance ended all too soon, though, and Emma – though unwillingly – pushed herself away from August to give him the compulsory curtsey. They shared a smile and Emma was ready to leave the dance floor when August pulled her back into his arms while partners got exchanged in the background and the opening cords of the new piece of music started.
"What are you doing?" Emma inquired surprised.
"What does it look like? Dancing. I've just got the hang of it."
"But Sir," she started with exaggerated indignation, "you are not allowed to engage the same partner in two successive dances."
"Says who?" August raised an eyebrow.
"Well, for one that group of girls over there who're just dying to get your attention."
"You've got all my attention," August husked with a seductive smile as he leant closer with that obvious intention to kiss her.
Emma stopped him, though, with a finger pressed against his lips. "And The Royal Ball-Room Guide explicitly says so," she informed him with a cheeky smile.
"It does now, doesn't it?"
Emma's eyes widened comically. "You are saying that you haven't read it?"
August shrugged remembering the time when Emma tried to read it with him. "I had other concerns on my mind." He raised a suggestive eyebrow. Well, it certainly didn't help that Emma was lying practically naked in bed while she was reading aloud passages for him. He just wondered when Emma had actually had the time to memorize it. "It turns out that you reading the ball-room manual is quite a turn-on," he leant closer to nibble on her ear but Emma promptly pushed him away.
"But, my Lord!" Emma kept up the façade. "That was completely inappropriate. I will let you know that 'engaged parties should avoid displaying their affection by dancing too often together in public'," she cited with a serious expression then her eyes widened – this time for real – when August promptly pressed his lips against hers and kissed her. And it wasn't just a chaste kiss. Emma moaned as August tongue invaded her mouth and cursed her bulky dress for not being able to press herself more firmly against him.
"Now, how is it for public display of affection?" August asked breathlessly as they separated. "I bet the book doesn't say anything about kissing 'engaged parties'."
"That's probably because nobody with proper manners would do that," Emma mused. "I think you just scandalized the Royal Court," Emma smirked still flushed from their previous kiss. Truth was she couldn't care less.
"Like they hadn't spent the last thirty years in a world that was the perfect embodiment of moral decadence," August pointed out. "And anyway, I think I just saw Prince Eric and his Mermaid waltz out. Care to guess where they must have gone?"
"Rather not," Emma snorted. "But I have an idea where I'd like to go."
"Really?"
"Oh yeah. Come on," she reached for his hand and nudged him to move. "I think it's passed midnight... and I still have that book under my pillow. We should study it more carefully," she turned back to him. "You know… just to make sure what makes a completely inappropriate behavior," she explained accompanied by a wink then she turned to pull August out of the room.
"Feeling naughty, my princess?" August chuckled as he followed his suddenly very enthusiastic fiancée.
"Absolutely…" Emma breathed against his lips when, after leaving the room, she pressed August against the wall in the nearest recess on the corridor, somehow still being aware of the fact that catching the princess making out unashamedly in a public place wouldn't really bode well with the distinguished guests, "and completely turned on," she added, her chest heaving. "Plus, I need you to get that damn corset off of me."
"As the lady wishes," August reversed their position against the wall and he set to lay kisses down her neck and over her rather exposed chest.
"I'm serious, August," Emma panted. "You've got to get that thing off of me now before I pass out. This kind of activity and my compressed lungs don't really go well together."
"Oh," August lifted her head and looked at her. "Come on then," and with that he hoisted her over his shoulder and with large steps, he started towards their room – well, technically Emma's room but that was beside the point.
"Hey Ivan," he greeted the young blond tsarevich as he exited a room in the company of a young lady. Both of them looked quite disheveled. "You missed a button," he quickly pointed out before disappearing down a corner with Emma still hanging over his back.
In spite of being seriously short of breath, Emma chuckled against August's back. It seemed that that ball-room guide needed some serious revision.
The End
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