13: Fun, I promise

It had been a long time. Alexandrie guessed months, at least, maybe a year since she had had so much fun. But she’d promised Lucas she would at least put La Chanson to the back of her mind and try. If there was one thing Alexa Donadieu (petite fille d’Alaina Donadieu) could do, it was keep her promises. So it was, buoyed by the smile on Lucas’ face as she relayed what she’d learned from La Chanson, Alexandrie danced. She danced with all who would spend time with her and exchanged light words with all who did not wish to dance. Seeing Eshi’nani leading people around the floor, she was hit with a sharp and painful pang of homesickness, but she pushed that to the side as well, choosing instead to feel the joy of the evening. Everything here was so very almost-not-quite-but-close-enough to home that it was easy (when she allowed herself) to get swept up. She felt...safe. And comfortable in a way she hadn’t felt in a long time. And now…now she relaxed in bed, feet stinging, muscles aching from all the new dance steps she had learned, all the new movement styles she had accommodated and shared. 

To be a good dancer meant Alexandrie needed to anticipate every movement, tensing and releasing the right muscles at the right moment, keeping time with the music and her partner, and preparing for every step while being supported and guided around the floor by her leader. In reverse. In borrowed heels. In public. The intimacy of the dance in public was too understated, in Alexandrie’s mind. There was a level of synchronicity required in true dance that counting steps and muttering beat numbers could not hope to meet. A good dancer could move without thinking of the steps. 

A great dancer realised there was more to dance than steps.

Pulling loose hair to one side the next morning, she stared at the darkly ornate ceiling in thought. As she lay in the dark, her mind’s eye travelled home to another party. A friend, sort of. As much a friend as Sinrou-Mirroturcretez ever truly became. Maman had wanted her to attend, so attend she had. Alexa loved to dance, so dance she had, rarely lacking in dance partners. Dance was more engaging to Alexandrie than the chatter that occurred from those watching - though she was an accomplished enough dancer even then not to need to consider steps, and so was able to consider what was being said to her instead. There weren’t many dancers of her caliber at this gathering, however, and so she was just about to announce she was bored and ask Chevalier to help her escape when Byron appeared. 

She could say a lot of things about Byron, but he was un merveilleux danseur.

La Chanson had been far away in those days, quiet, so when he’d pulled her closer than decorum suggested, her breathing quickened. When he whispered his desire to spend time alone with her, she’d glanced at Vee (Chevalier, then) and slipped out the door a moment after Byron, something she often wondered about now. At the time she thought she’d escaped Vee’s attention. Now she knew better. 

They hadn’t gone far before a dark hall and hormones made suggestions. They didn’t get far into those suggestions before the Sanjuio of the house had called for none other than Maman to claim her daughter before (to put it delicately) Byron did.

What had followed was a discussion - oh, she had been soundly punished, yes, but a discussion had followed about public perception, children, marriage and emotions. She’d listened to most of it, and had heard Chevalier berated by Maman through the door for his carelessness. Though she liked to think that she became a well-behaved Sanjuio after that, in reality La Chanson had drawn closer and commanded more of her attention, much like the fingertips lazily, sleepily skimming her cheek. 

Returned almost to the present, she thought back a few hours. Meeting eyes across the dance floor, dancing with someone new who (thankfully) rescued her from Em’mat’to. Not long after, they had spoken, already on their way from the ballroom. Then they had spoken  no more. As the lacing of her dress had loosened, the fabric allowed to fall, she hadn’t folded it. There was a time for neatness. This was most certainly not one of them. She’d turned, her own hands reaching for lacing, fastenings, fumbling at the newness of the angle, lips pressed against hers, a tongue seeking entry. Touch - intimate touch - a welcome novelty. 

“Fun,” she sighed, smiling at the newness that was not entirely new.

The party had been beautiful - perfect. She’d danced with Chevalier for the first time in a long time. He had, after all, been one of her dance tutors. It had been a soothing, wondrous return to her childhood to dance with her best friend, and know that between the two of them they could easily command the attention of the room. She had enough of Maman’s mannerism that a curtsy took her gracefully, demurely, to the ground in a show of exquisite gentility, yet enough of Grandmère that her movements at times shifted from the stately to the sensuous.

Lucas was right, Alexandrie was smiling. She hadn’t taken the time - hadn’t perceived she had the time - for fun. So intent on following Grandmère’s footsteps, so intent on doing what La Chanson asked that in the year and a half since she’d first heard it, she had pushed fun to the side in favour of responsibility. The teenager had done her very best to grow up, because (of course) only adults went on adventures and undertook important tasks. La Chanson had no need of a child.

On the face of it, Lucas was really the better choice for La Chanson. He was older, trained for a purpose. He didn’t need protecting. Alexa knew that without La Chanson she would be almost helpless - she was young, not stupid. Even Spider might make better use of La Chanson, if she were truly honest with herself. But she meant what she’d said to Lucas. The conclusion she was rapidly coming to was that La Chanson itself needed help, and that perhaps it needed someone young and good to help fulfil whatever task it needed help with.

Alexandrie had no doubt she was good. She knew she was young. She knew - or thought she knew - herself. That Lucas was unsure discomforted and soothed her in turns. He had taken the time to think about it, and seemed to be telling the truth. At any rate, he knew what she wanted to hear, and he hadn’t said it just to placate her. She appreciated that. And his desire to protect Spider was valiant, but…she hoped that in time he might care a little more about La Chanson. It pleased her that following the Song had led him to her, though she wasn’t sure why. Perhaps it spoke of the Song’s faith in her, or her faith in it, or their connection. She wasn’t sure, but it felt good.

Like telling Lucas his Grandpère lived. 

Watching Lucas grow genuinely happy was, she concluded, a powerful thing when he wore the right face - the one that allowed her to see it. It made her want to make it happen more. Like the music of the Song made physical, she could, in those moments, imagine that he had indeed broken all the hearts he claimed. It was a dangerous power, one that La Chanson had nothing to do with.

She was brought back to the present by that same hand, which had moved from her cheek to her shoulder, and begun to trace the curve of her breast. Less sleepy now, definitely. The person attached to that hand wanted her, and wanted her attention. She smiled and turned to look at the sapphire eyes that glowed quietly in the dark room. It was morning, she knew, though she couldn’t tell how far into the morning it was. How long she had been watched she didn’t really know. Rolling to face the elf beside her, she took in what she knew to be deep grey skin, the colour of roiling clouds, heavy before a storm. She took in the choppy blue hair, mussed and sticking up in places. 

It had been a busy morning already. 

“Good morning,” she whispered, reaching a hand out to lightly stroke the cheek of a woman she knew only as the confusing (particularly at this moment) title “Cousin”. The woman, with no hesitation or seeming bashfulness on her part, drew her close and kissed her deeply. Fun indeed.

“Good night, cousin Alexandrie,” she said as they came up for air. 

“Cousin…” she repeated, somewhat lost. The woman laughed suddenly.

“Ah…we didn’t formally…” Alexandrie shook her head, cheeks flaming. “Cousin Ny’ana.”

“Ny’ana,” Alexandrie replied. “Your name is beautiful.”

“My name is unimportant.” Glowing eyes narrowed. “I have to ask. Had you ever -"

“No. That was my first…” she floundered.

“Ah.” Ny’ana laughed again. “With a woman or -"

“Anyone.” 

“Hm.” Ny’ana’s face grew speculative. She raised an eyebrow, and Alexandrie’s face grew (if possible) redder, but she said nothing and waited for Ny’ana’s assessment. Goose pimples broke out on her skin as the Ebon elf grazed nails down her side.

“You dance well,” she said at length, hand slipping beneath the covers. A slow smile spread on the half-elf’s face, though her eyes looked anywhere but at the sapphire orbs fixed on her.

“There’s no point in being timid now, not after what you’ve been doing.” Alexandrie released the breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding as the hand moved beneath the sheets. She met Ny’ana’s gaze to find the elf had tilted her head to expose her neck. Running from neck to breast were dark bruises.

“Did I do that?”

“You did.”

Alexandrie began to think about the events of the last few weeks and immediately dismissed them in favour of the present sensation growing in her core. Her lip quivered and she nudged closer to Ny’ana, close enough that the elf could just hear her light gasp.

“I would like to do that more.”