dualislogs | oh, we dance in misery

oh, we dance in misery

WHO: Open to all Dualizens!
WHAT: the Plague Memorial Masked Ball
WHERE: the Mayor's Mansion (central Dualis)
WHEN: the evening of November 16
WARNINGS: Visuals/discussion of disease and death in the setting. Anything else, please use appropriate warnings!

At 8 p.m. sharp, the lights inside and around the Mayor's Mansion turn up, and the doors are opened to the crowds that begin to trickle inside. All entrances are manned by Iterations, and all party-goers are scanned for both proper attire (formal and masked, mandatory) and weapons (absolutely forbidden) before being allowed entry.

Once inside, attendees are greeted to a spectacle of warmth and light and lavish decorations, all themed in white accented with gold and violet. Venture into the ballroom, and you'll see intricately carved ice sculptures in various representations of death, all laden with garlands of marigolds and violet chrysanthemums. At one end of the room, a rotating cast of musicians plays soft music in differing arrangements of strings and piano. Long tables at the other end of the ballroom are piled high with punch fountains and platters of delicious party foods, and a few bar stations serve beverages of the more adult variety to those of age.

Outside the main ballroom are seven smaller rooms, for more intimate conversations and quiet recovery from the main gala (or just skulking like a brooding weirdo, if that's your thing). Six of the rooms are decorated in monochrome blue, purple, green, orange, white, or violet, and the seventh room is pitch black with red accents.

Throughout the night, the mayor herself winds in and out of the crowds, shadowed by a pair of bodyguards. She is all smiles, greeting people with a friendly handshake and effusive words of thanks for attending the ball, but she never stays in one place long enough for a true conversation. This is a celebration of life and a remembrance of the dead, after all - not the time or place for talks of business or politics.

Enjoy yourselves tonight, everyone! And remember - death eventually comes for everyone.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

This is definitely on a level of goofy, but goofy might make it easier. Helps him relax a bit more, and Tidus nods at the suggestion.

"Okay." He turns his hand held out, thinking. "That means I'll have my hand on your shoulder."

It's a question without the lift at the end, because while he's saying he's bad, David ~~i'm assuming~~ covered him fairly well about this stuff. Doesn't mean he doesn't feel like he owns two left feet (if Tidus even knows the saying), but he isn't also going to be too transparent about this.

But please lead away, Nida. The night is young.

Exactly correct placement. Nida smirks and steps under the hand, his own curling around Tidus to rest on the small of his back.

"Keep your eyes on mine. Don't look at your feet. I'll avoid spinning you. So just move where my hands guide you. And trust that I appreciate my feet enough to not get stepped on."

He's guided clumsy people before. This shouldn't be a problem.

Haha. "Okay, but I think I'd like to see you spin someone tonight. Sounds like a show."

Tidus has to admit to himself, the guy's at least fun. There's some noticeable tension when the hand goes to the small to his back, but it eases some, just as Tidus finds a ghost of comfort in the pattern of the dance that he recalls being taught. He keeps the count he learnt in the back of his head as the music follows its own tune, and it's not perfect (it's not dream-like), but there's no knocks to any feet yet, so there's that.

But keeping his eyes on Nida—that's the biggest trouble Tidus is having. The side of his mouth quirks and his gaze likes to slip away, but then it corrects itself, even if he looks around the space under Nida's eyes instead. It's not cheating though, is it? Maybe it's not so important, or their masks will mean that Nida won't notice.

(Something something masculinity.)

"Oh, the spin isn't the show," Nida says, leaning in to whisper in his ear. "It's the dips."

Sure, he might now be aware that Tidus is dating someone, but that doesn't mean that Nida is going to be any less himself. Well, the him that sweeps anyone onto a dance-floor. Which means the him that is playful and definitely a bit more daring than he should be.

But then he's focusing on the music, on the dancing. Until he notices Tidus's eye difficulty. He smiles wide and warm and shakes his head.

"It's okay, you know, to not look right at my eyes. People say that to teach because the point is to not look down at your feet. Look at my chin or my hair or my ear. Imagine another face and look at that. Just keep your head up. When you look at your feet you're thinking too hard."

He has some pity for the guy.

Ah, he’s been caught. Tidus gives a sheepish pull of the mouth.

“I’m kinda not used to being dressed up and dancing with guys.” Jokingly told and yet the truth, and also the problem. And it’s stupid that he cares, Tidus realises, once he's said it out loud. He’d been fine with the idea of dancing with anyone before he came, had accepted the offer in the first place. Now here he was, getting, what—bashful? Come on.

The hand on Nida’s shoulder becomes a little firmer where it rests, at the same time Tidus takes a breath, lets his eyes come to rest on the pair in front of him.

“You’re right. I’m thinking about it too hard,” he admits, preparing himself. “Let’s talk. Why’d you learn to dance?”

If they're talking, then he might not care so much about where he looks. It's worth a shot.

Ah, now here is an interesting question. And he doesn't mind talking as he brings the dance up a bit in speed.

"It was a mandatory class at my academy. Mercenaries can be more charming or infiltrate areas better if you dance," Nida answers. "I was better than most, and expanded past mere waltzes. Over time I learned more because I loved the feel, like I was gliding. Now I can do all sorts of things."

THere are also parts of his combat style that benefit from the grace and fluidity of the dance, so he had been invested for that purpose as well.

Tidus can understand taking lessons from other skills and putting them into battle, but Nida already has him curious. His feet move to follow Nida's, the small urge in him to look down and check being stifled.

"What, mercenaries don't just fight fiends?"

He doesn't remember any other terminology on the fly to use than fiends, but also, huh, he got the wrong idea about mercenaries, it sounds like.

"No, Tidus. It's in the word. Mercenaries. We fight for who pays," he answers. "Though we do fight monsters too. Some aren't fun. Fuck Marlboros. And Behemoths. And Dragons."

Too many types of monsters he really hates dealing with. Strangely, he's better with behemoths than the other two.

"I'm a blade for hire. Whether that blade strikes at a monster's neck, or slips between the ribs of an evil man, or cuts knowledge free from the minds of others, that's my work."

Edited 2019-12-03 15:43 (UTC)

It’s not that he isn’t familiar with the concept of mercenaries—but it’s not complete either, like an unfinished thought. A world that doesn’t need mercenaries, or covers them up well. A lot of things were like that when he thinks about it: like a self-sufficient city out on the sea, never considering the finer details of how it sustained itself.

“That’s a heavy image to bring to a dance floor,” Tidus remarks, just for something to say at first. Picks up from there. “We don’t have mercenaries where I’m from. If we do, I’ve never met any.” A pause. “Don’t think I’d want to, when I’m trying to dance.”

Oh you sweet summer child. Life would be so much better for everyone if there weren't the call for men like Nida. But who knows what would have happened to him without a call for men who can sell themselves.

"I'm sure it is," Nida chuckles. "That being said, your world likely has them, you might have met them, and it could well have been on the dance floor. We usually aren't selling out trade in such a location."

He huffs, a sound close to a laugh.

"Alright, sure, I'll give you the world," Tidus submits. "I wouldn't put it past some of the guys I met. But the kind of dances I could have gone to? You weren't there. Guys like you didn't exist."

And how much of that does he want to explain? He doubts Nida will believe him, and there's some safety in that, but that doesn't make it comfortable. His mouth pulls to a side.

"You could have just been a guy who really liked to dance there."

He doesn't try to sell it as anything other than how it sounds: a fantasy.

Guys like him didn't exist. Nida bites his lip and tries not to laugh.

"Do you mean mercenaries, or do you mean gay men? Because I assure you, the latter existed."

And he's a guy that really likes to dance here as well. But the fantasy is a nice one to let himself hold for a moment. To be in a world where he doesn't have the weight of who he is now on his shoulders. An impossibility, but a nice dream.

How did Nida get that from— It doesn't matter. It catches Tidus off-guard when he wants to do more than just sputter a laugh, knocks him off his rhythm, feet bumping into one another—side by side than one on top of another—before he can recover. He does thankfully, leaving it to only be a small blunder, one they can pick back up from easily enough.

But when there's a chance: "That was your fault," he's quick to blame, but not without cheer. Okay, maybe it was his fault too, but still. It's hard not to smile. There's a risk his face will hurt by the end of the night. "Yeah, gay guys did exist. And they would've loved to be dancing with a sports star too."

And doing other things too, but he wasn't going to actively encourage Nida.

"Was it now?" Nida asks, smiling to himself. Sounded like the guy was trying to erase men like him. And no doubt, he'd had the attention of men like Nida before. But he's got a good smile.

No wonder he's taken.

"Right, you're supposed to be famous. I don't know. You don't seem that much of a star. Shouldn't a sports player be more nimble on his feet?"

Edited 2019-12-04 17:15 (UTC)

“Oh, what, I’ve got to be the best at everything?” Tidus jokes back, his faux unimpressed look maybe coming through over the mask. It can be heard, anyway.

"I'm doing fine for my first fancy dance. And my sports involves swimming. That's a different kind of leg work."

"Perhaps you should be. Otherwise it doesn't go so well with your pretty face."

Oh yes, he's still enjoying the feigned flirting. If he doesn't do that, if he doesn't get reactions, how will other men around here know he enjoyed the company of men? Duh.

"Still, that gets you a good ass, that swimming."

His lips tug askew, and fortunately this time, Tidus doesn't lose his feet to Nida's wonderful commentary.

"So how long has it been? Because it sounds like it's been a while." That, or dancing just got the guy in the mood. He sure wasn't being like this when Tidus was half-dressed at the pool park. "You sure you don't want to be dancing with a guy who'll let you know more about his ass?"

"How long has it been since what, my friend? Since I danced?"

Don't ask the other question. Don't ask how long since he got laid. Because he might get a bit tetchy. Life's been complicated here. They're being used by a super computer, remember?

"Suure," Tidus drawls, not believing for a second Nida didn't catch his meaning. Was this a lead into something? Or just Nida trying to trip him into implying an interest that wasn't there?

"Since the last time you danced." But he'll go with that if he has to. "A private dance. The kind not just for the dance floor."

Oh come on, man, that's just rude. Nida's expression darkens and, as a bit of punishment, he spins Tidus out away from him, intending to snap him back a bit hard.

"I was working on teaching someone a samba," he answers, his voice firmly stating that he means the actual dance. "He disappeared."

Tidus doesn't have time to properly process the look behind the mask—he's thrown, yanked, and no part of him knows how to respond to any of it. The hand that had been on Nida's shoulder lands somewhere under it on his chest, and heat flairs in Tidus like competition.

But then Nida responds so coolly, that it extinguishes it as a flame between fingers. He takes a quiet breath, not sure if to continue dancing or to fix his hand. Nida can decide that.

"Sorry."

He means it.

Sorry isn't a strong enough word. As for the hand, Nida doesn't even really notice. Okay, that's not true. He totally notices. But he doesn't care.

"Yeah, well, losing a dance partner doesn't matter. It's just a thing that happens."

He pretends like it means nothing.

The placement of his hand is inconsequential, doesn’t mean anything other than somewhere to land after the spin. But as Nida speaks, it does go over his shoulder to rest flat across his back, their hands laced for the dance given a squeeze. Tidus dips his head in a little for privacy.

“It does matter. It’ll always matter.” His voice is warm, low, the hand on Nida's back firm. “They’ll always be special. But it's okay,” he adds, “to have other dance partners too. It doesn't make you and them anything less.”

If only his mother had learned that. But maybe Nida did—and then someone here had to open his mouth.

"You don't know what you're talking about," Nida snarls, dropping Tidus's hand. Yeah. No. He's done with this dance. He twists out of the hand at his back and then moves to bow. An end to the dance, given with a dark look in his eyes.

After all, Tidus is right. Nida's whole goal was to distract himself in that way. But he hadn't wanted to HEAR someone say it.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

oh, we dance in misery

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fair assumption

ty david

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