For most of the night Harrowheart hadn't seen Isidor. She'd shown up in the earlier ceremonies, then disappeared from his view. And maybe it was for the best. He hadn't intended to be seen with her tonight, after all. It might raise eyebrows, might make people talk. No, no mights. It certainly would. He saw how people looked at Hephaestia and her partner, felt the rude sting of Poenia remarking on his friendship with the Durant siblings. It wouldn't do to be seen actually speaking with any of them. Not tonight.
So imagine his surprise when he finally sees her in a new outfit, shoeless, with some strange man. Harrowheart is tall, so standing near the back of the crowd doesn't have him at a disadvantage. He's glad for it, too, when hot sparks begin to fly and the two mages become engaged in an acrobatic, martial dance of whirling flame. Part of him wants to leave, wants not to be around that sort of magic, that sort of danger. Another part of him refuses not to watch. He can't miss an opportunity like this to see Isidor doing what she does best, and doing it so flawlessly. Her style, her grace... He'd smile if he weren't so keenly aware of the fact that she's performing this well-rehearsed show with a man he's never seen and he's positive he's never heard about.
A family member? A family member. It must be. Don't think about it too deeply. Keep it to yourself, Harrowheart, and most importantly don't ask.
When her display is through and Isidor has found his drinks, when the crowd is thinning and he can lock onto her face, he stares at her. Doesn't move – not just yet. Only stares, statue-still, blue eyes like torches in the dim light of the outdoors. Is he allowed to approach her? Should she approach him? Will she give him a sign, at least?...
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2017-08-11 05:42 pm (UTC)So imagine his surprise when he finally sees her in a new outfit, shoeless, with some strange man. Harrowheart is tall, so standing near the back of the crowd doesn't have him at a disadvantage. He's glad for it, too, when hot sparks begin to fly and the two mages become engaged in an acrobatic, martial dance of whirling flame. Part of him wants to leave, wants not to be around that sort of magic, that sort of danger. Another part of him refuses not to watch. He can't miss an opportunity like this to see Isidor doing what she does best, and doing it so flawlessly. Her style, her grace... He'd smile if he weren't so keenly aware of the fact that she's performing this well-rehearsed show with a man he's never seen and he's positive he's never heard about.
A family member? A family member. It must be. Don't think about it too deeply. Keep it to yourself, Harrowheart, and most importantly don't ask.
When her display is through and Isidor has found his drinks, when the crowd is thinning and he can lock onto her face, he stares at her. Doesn't move – not just yet. Only stares, statue-still, blue eyes like torches in the dim light of the outdoors. Is he allowed to approach her? Should she approach him? Will she give him a sign, at least?...