"This is more than us four, Ornstein."
"Trust in me, Gough. This will be better."
There were a few dozen people invited to this particular party, still considerably less than would be privy to an official Anor Londo ball.
The event was being held in one of the lesser halls, still plenty spacious and decorative. One end opened into a massive balcony that provided a breathtaking view of the city in the warm night air. A small group played a lively tune in the wings, a bit racier than one might hear at a ball. The general atmosphere was light, and conversation was running steadily, punctuated by laughter and the clinking of glasses and silverware. A space had been cleared for a makeshift dancefloor, and some had taken to it in pursuit of the rhythm of the music.
Ornstein had carefully chosen his outfit; not too fancy, but certainly not casual. He wore a rich orange tunic with red lining to match the shade of his hair. Shiny black boots with golden buckles adorned his feet, with matching black gloves.
Gough was personifying the opposite end of the spectrum. He wore his usual casual wear, the exception being an acceptable vest. He noticed Ornstein's vaguely disapproving look. "I was going to wear my bow tie, but I seem to have misplaced it."
"Very well." He clasped his hands behind his back and scanned the crowd. "Almost everyone is here, just waiting on a few more."
"Sir Artorias?" the giant inquired.
The captain indicated a table in the corner. It had been filled to maximum capacity, and more chairs had been dragged over. The Knight was there at one of the heads, playing some sort of card game with those seated. The rest were watching. Artorias was actually wearing a fine blue tunic with silver trimming, but had unbuttoned the cuffs and rolled up the sleeves for freedom of movement.
"Ah. I may need to get myself into that game."
"Don't forget to socialize, Gough. We're important figures."
"If they wish to speak to me, they will find me. I shan't be hard to find." The giant grinned as he made his lumbering way to the table.
Ornstein mentally checked off his list. He had invited Queyla, but wasn't hopeful of her availability. As important as he was, she was a hundred times more so, similar to Gwyn's children. He had invited Commander Korde with similar expectations. He was expecting Ciaran to do her usual check-in for these events. He frowned. Smough was parked by the refreshments, despite not having been invited.
He calmed himself. This could easily be handled, as long as no one provoked him or got provoked by him. Perhaps he could post a—
"Ornstein."
He was snapped out of his reverie by Ciaran's voice. He kept his eyes on Smough as he said something to a familiar-looking human.
"Ciaran." He acknowledged her. "When you do your patrol tonight, I need you to keep a watchful eye on the Executioner. He arrived a few minutes ago, and has since—"
"Ornstein."
He glanced at her, and did a double-take.
She stood before him, and not in her armor. She wore a navy blue kirtle with golden trim, paired with a black chemise. Nothing was very loose, and he spied fine leather boots at the end of her skirt.
Overall, he was very surprised, but kept his composure, aside from raising his eyebrows. "So you've decided to join us?"
She gave him a look. "Don't push it. I'm still armed."
Laughter erupted from the far table, and money exchanged hands as cards were played. Artorias was pointing at a man across the table and grinning, sliding a small stack of coin to his place.
Ornstein smiled slightly. "I suppose that will be your destination?"
Ciaran glanced at him quickly, and he saw the hesitation in her eyes.
"No one will think less of thee for this, Ciaran. Be off, I will see to Smough."
Old habits were hard to break, and so Ciaran seemed to disappear between the door and the table. At her arrival, Artorias stood up and went over to her. Their conversation was lost due to the ambient noise, but the Captain could infer. He had never seen her in anything less than partial armor. She was sure to turn some heads tonight, though he knew she wanted to turn a particular head.
He put his hand on her shoulder and gestured for her to join them, and he could have sworn he saw her smile.
A night of firsts, then.
Something caught his eye at the drink table. "You there! Who told you to bring that out? Do you have any idea how long that has been aging? I will not see this event devolve into chaos!"
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
After a few hours, things eased into a sort of genial chaos. A few more people had arrived, and Artorias wasn't sure if he knew them. There was a human that had started playing a guitar with the original group, a long spear propped up nearby, a few channelers standing to one side with drinks in hand speaking in low, foreign tongues, and a figure playing dice in a voluminous cloak.
There were plenty that he did know, as well. There was the Berenike Giroldus debating something passionately with the cloaked figure, and Commander Korde nursed a drink near the door.
He would have a hard time loosing track of Gough, large as he was. The giant had gotten an impressive amount of spirits in him, and now shook the floor nearby as he attempted to keep up with the music, rather unsuccessfully. His roaring laughter fed the atmosphere.
Sif had somehow found his way in, and was having the time of his life begging food from the party-goers around the tables.
Ornstein was looking a bit ruffled, but not in an unhappy manner, he was wearing an expression that he probably thought was a good poker face as he held his cards, but his evident smile left him looking a tad deranged.
All of that was in the background for him though. He was far more distracted by his company.
Ciaran had needed some reassurance in the beginning, but she seemed confident in her decision to show up tonight, dressed as she was. He hadn't seen her like this at all, and from what he could glean from everyone else, they hadn't either.
And she needed some more reassurance right now.
He waved at her again, gesturing toward the dance floor. She had turned him down the first time, choosing to just have another drink. He saw the hesitation in her yellow eyes though, the words that almost left her lips.
She was looking his way as he tapped out the rhythm of the tune with his heels and toes, that indecisive look writing itself on her face again. He grinned widely and gestured again, brushing his hair back to its original position.
She wavered for a moment more, then finished her drink in one pull and made her way to him.
"She appears!" Artorias gave a deep sweeping bow as she approached, raising his voice to be heard.
She laughed, waving his bow away. "Prepare to be disappointed, I don't really dance."
It was his turn to dismiss her. "Nonsense! Come, into battle!"
He held out his hand to her, and she took it. His hand enclosed hers, warm and calloused, yet surprisingly gentle. He gave her hand a little squeeze and led her through the crowd, eventually stopping near the middle. He released her, taking a step away and letting his feet find their timing again. "Here we are, our own little kingdom!" He spun with most of the crowd at the corresponding cue from the guitar. "Come on, I know you've got it in you! It's not terribly hard!"
She began vaguely imitating the dance steps she saw, Artorias coming alongside her to help her out.
"There you go, there you go! Then tap your heels aaand…turn!"
She followed as best she could. "I told you I don't dance!"
"What? You just don't know this dance!"
The song had ended, the next one being born amidst it's final notes.
He gestured around as the crowd began to dance as they saw fit, this tune having no official choreography. He began a simple motion, laughing.
"It doesn't matter if you don't know the steps, Ciaran. What matters is your passion!"
The new piece began to pick up as the guitar was joined by a particularly well-played flute. Ciaran looked around. Everywhere she looked, there were smiling faces. Even Ornstein was smiling, performing a high ballroom dance and trying to teach it to those nearby with very limited success.
Artorias smiled that lopsided smile as his heels clacked on the tiles, and he punctuated it by throwing his arms wide and nearly bowling over a silver knight.
No one was judging her.
No one would think less of her.
And gods this felt good.
She felt a grin light on her face, and allowed her body to find the beat.
They danced until light and drink had faded.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Ciaran awoke slowly, the sunlight stabbing at her eyes. There was a throbbing in between her ears, and her mouth was dry. She had probably hit it a bit too hard last night…
Last night.
She closed her eyes.
It seemed so surreal now, looking back, and certainly not in a bad way. Had she really been out on the dance floor? She hadn't danced since she was a child.
Well, a little inner voice said, Artorias didn't seem to mind.
A small smile found its way to her lips, and she stretched. She would need to get some water, she felt extremely dehydrated. Especially lying in the sunbeam like this. The bedsheets were slowly becoming uncomfortable to her in her current state, and—
Wait.
Sunlight?
BED?
She shot up to a sitting position, and regretted it immediately. Her headache protested, and her eyes still hadn't adjusted. To reach a compromise, she cracked her eyes slightly and scanned her surroundings.
She was in her chambers, or rather her chambers for this month, as she moved them every so often. She was perched upright in her bed, still in her dress from last night. Realizing her tracers were still on her, she concluded that to be the source of her uncomfortable legs.
Her room looked mostly the way she had left it, save for an item or two that had been knocked off a shelf. She had been neatly tucked into bed. An unfamiliar sound met her ears, and she got up to investigate.
In the next room, she found Artorias.
He seemed to have attempted to crash on the pallet last night. Of course, it wasn't sized for him, so his arms and legs mostly hung outside it. His mouth was open, and the noise she heard was him breathing, sounding like the bellows of a forge. His shirt had been partially undone, perhaps to the point of immodesty.
She considered doing the shirt up for him, but he began to stir. Not wanting to seem as though she had been watching him, she retreated back to her bedroom. Now if she could just get a blasted drink…
There, on her bedside table.
A tall glass of water waited, out of the sun.
Things were good.