𝞋𝞎 ˖ ⊹ 𝒅𝒆𝒃𝒐𝒏𝒉𝒆𝒖𝒓𝒔 : no matter what , you will always be a diamond to me — a dependent multi - muse wherein the societal lens of 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒕𝒐𝒏𝒉𝒒 adds to the whispers as written by 𝒏𝒊𝒌𝒌𝒊 .
Riya took a moment to admire Aera's kindness and willingness to understand her. They were genuine, and not to mention quite stunning. She hoped they would be another friend to add to the roster of people she has come to get to know since her return.
With a playfully drawn sigh, she acquiesced and agreed, "I would like to thank the bakers the only way we could with desserts." Mirroring Aera, her eyes flitted the crowd and nearby partygoers but paused to giggle. "Please, just call me Riya. We are friends now." They were some of the best company she'd had tonight, aside from the elated Bertie and the ever-adored Tobias.
Aera was methodical in the way they tore the morsel apart, which Riya found herself admiring greatly. It was simple, but told of their grace. They would have to come visit the Das residence, though she was sure Nalan would have much to say about that. But she did not care. Once she had her piece, she raised it. "To you, my new friend," she declared before biting into the dessert.
"to new friendships! i'm glad to count you amongst their numbers, riya." to be so quickly upon a first name's basis would have the lingerers and gems talking, but aera minds not. somehow, it feels rare to find someone who wants to bond over the eating and dining as action rather than the idea of conversation surrounding it. to discuss food and to experience food are two different animals, each with their appropriate part to play, but how aera prefers the latter! "friends are honest about how their dancing and partying has gone, so. has yours treated you well?" a pause to chew, not every ounce of decorum lost despite their newfound excitement. not only were they sharing similarity, but riya was beautiful and of house das. the name knows its reaches currently. "i'm feeling rather dashed already. these dances have me moving quickly. i've never gotten the hang of the reels, but then again, square dancing might be just as shocking." another bite. they half-hoped a square dance would be played, they could do that with eyes closed.
Ceara was acutely aware of his focused disposition, and it brought her out of her own self-depricating mindlock. For now, at least. The point of attending this ball was not to sulk in the shadows, but that was where she found herself and it was hard to push herself out of that mindset, these feelings.
"I wish it were that simple," she drawled, wringing her fingers. "A proposal gone awry, more like." To think that she was proposed to--albeit accidentally--and her first instinct was to flee. It was an embarrassment. She was an embarassment. Her mind quieted at his admission, face softening. "It is a bit much, isn't it? All of this grandeur and nearly everyone in Mayfair cramped in one ballroom. But is that why you are hiding?"
Upon his curiosity, she glanced down at her dress. She wished it had been hers alone, she had felt beautiful in it before she arrived. Before Kitty's suggestions made her second-guess herself. "I will be frank: I'm not sure. I am borrowing this from someone. Lady Katherine Thorne? She's the chirpy, pretty one who's been running about all night."
Ceara actually let out a soft laugh, thankful she knew enough French to understand him. "Mon pauvre," she tried playfully before admitting, "My French is not the greatest just yet."
a flickering of acknowledgement passes over his face. "ah ... then my condolences. love is not a source of luck." not for me either, but he supposes the last person she would want to hear about is someone with so many distant bygones and hopefuls. "did you not wish for it?" any awkward situation sometimes requires a good fleeing. lasaru has seen many flee from the measurements stool upon realising their good friends chose the exact same designs without collaborating with them. hurt feelings were hurt feelings no matter the cause, and he takes in a breath that sounds like the seaside to his ears, scraping his throat. "it's been too long since i've been asked to any party worthy of nobility, mademoiselle, i find the rules draining." despite how long he has lived in them, bore witness to them up close.
his ears perk at the name. "it's difficult to miss her, i think. when she's out there displeased, she's quite loud, quacking as a duck in a small pond so as not to be outdone, yes? she asked me for new shoes." not really a secret, as eventually, they would be worn and seen, but las finds it difficult to hide a smile. a young lady calling another young lady chirpy is ... interesting.
There was nothing quite like the Moonstone room, but it was not just the shimmering, eerie decor, or how the pale, gauzy curtains made it seem as those who entered the room had stepped into a dream. Nalan could not help himself, he ran his fingers against the fabric and he could feel the quality between his fingers. Then there were the masked figures, offering their appraisals to those who dared approach and given his recent scandals, Nalan did not dare to seek an appraisal of his own.
Amongst the crowd, Nalan watches as gentlemen and ladies dared to be appraised, their smiles once full of wonder now brittle and strained after their encounter with Moonstone Judges. Just as all of London had begun to see, would they see beneath the refined Cambridge education or the wealth of his father?
“Tell me, have you submitted yourself for an appraisal or do you believe that your chosen gemstone tells the world enough about who you are?”
Nalan Das was more curious at others appraisals than his own, maybe even his own sisters would dare to ask for their judgement, but for now, Nalan was content on the side-lines, happy talking with others instead of being judged by them.
"heavens, no, who would do such a thing?" laughter bubbles in her throat, the fan moving ever the faster. the gossip and appraisals interests her as well, and she has yet to move through the masses. so far as she would be concerned, she would not be partaking. let them fuss and muddle. "they all do a fine job of appraising us no matter what we wear." fan flicking all the more, watching as he touches the curtains and arching a brow.
what on earth is he doing? good grief, is he going to try to steal the damn thing? eden purses her lips at the idea, more than willing to encourage such a petty theft, so long as she didn't have to be the one doing it. "i believe actions speak louder than words, and less words should be spoken. don't you agree?" their fan gestures towards their person, up and down the length of their gown, in a burst of pale, pale lilacs and ivories, striking.
The Lytton’s were a fascinating family, but for all the wrong reasons in Sophia’s opinion. To have bought their way into social acceptance last year was a difficult feat and one that the princess did not admire, and yet they had somehow endured and thrived within the ton. Now, one of their own was named the bachelor of the season and Mx Lytton and their brother remained, overshadowed by their own guest.
“You were the chosen diamond last season, it is little wonder as to why I remember your name Mx Lytton, though it is a shame that you remain untethered to anyone. Is that of your doing or societies, Mx Lytton?”
The princess did not mean to be harsh in her words, if they were to enter the diamond trial then she needed to be sure that her partner would be made of sterner stuff than most in the ton and added to the fact they were American was not ideal, but no less fun, or so Sophia had hoped. The Americans had such high expectations of fun, the English society sounded rather dull in comparison to their own adventures.
Without any more delay, Sophia took the first step and walked through the threshold of the Diamond Trial, which surely could not be much worse than her Moonstone Appraisal, but curiosity got the better of her once again. The masked individuals were scattered about, looking for their victim and they were delighted when they saw the princess of England and the American heir. While they moved through, Sophia could hear the not-so-subtle whispers, all of them whispering about the princesses two failed engagements, a brother who had run away while the other gambled away the kingdom’s fortune.
“I take no notice of their words, they are meaningless if they are hidden behind a mask and if they are bothering you, we shall endure it together and come out the other side stronger for it, I am sure.”
perhaps it should make them nervous, but the trial didn't. and with the princess's own air of confidence, aera uncovers their own and brings it to the forefront. their chin juts, their shoulders squared. the whispers begin about the princess, the things she wondered if others said; these others say them. it is the same for aera, the whisper of lettres written and affections provided, and this adds to the sharp pang of sophia's question. “i would say both, your grace. i haven't found anybody who's willing to keep up with me without telling me to slow down. i may not crave constant adventure nor travel, but to be caged as a bird is not the future i want either. some of us don't gamble.” this comment aimed at one of the diamonds with the glittering mask, and may it be cursed to be rhinestones, upon the whispers of gambling away the kingdom. certainly that is nobody's true business if they aren't part of the house, and the person behind the mask purses their lips, as if offended, then changes their whisper.
if only the american was good enough to be heiress, then their brother wouldn't have to take it from them. aera arches a brow. such comments do sting, but they straighten further. “it's easy to make these kinds of comments when masked, i agree. it's a test of our willpower and nothing more. do you wonder if anything about others is true when you hear it?” maybe this too was a harsh or forward question, but this was a harsh and forward expedition. it reminds them of their first voyage to english, the winds in the sails of the ship, the storm on the distant horizon. they came out the other side of that too. whispers become murmurs, as if matching the reflected boldness of the two who go through the trial with grace.
“i admit it makes me curious, but i like to let people speak for themselves.” whether this gives way for confirmation or otherwise of the whispers, aera seeks not for this gossip. and there was plenty in there that wasn't anywhere near true, such as their not being an actual lytton.
Someone who could appreciate the finer things, the materials needed for such endeavors was one that Nalan appreciated even if he did not see them in the same standing as himself. Lasaru was not those amongst Nalan considered inferior, the man was an expert at his trade and without such skills, London would surely fall apart and therefore, Lasaru was amongst those in London whose value was beyond compare especially with such expert craftsmanship.
“Does it not scream new money, as if they have gone into a fabric store and asked for the most expensive without considering taste or decorum?”
Nalan Das was almost an expert in scandals, or so it had felt recently, but watching others flit about as they willingly, unreservedly gave up those more precious than jewels was either astounding or plain stupid, Nalan had just yet to decide which one it was.
“That is quite an assumption to make, but one I have no quarrels in believing given how the season operates but I hope to find a friend in you, Mr Bessette. I have my family’s fabric business and with your shop, I believe we could both be unstoppable. Perhaps I could even introduce your son to my sister, Lady Kavika, baroness of Bedford?”
It would be mutually beneficial, a sister engaged or matched with the son of a modiste, elevated in every sense of the world while ensuring that she would not outrank her own brother more than she already did.
how ghastly to imagine perusing a fabric store for a full-blown garment. the lack of any attention to detail and payment for the artisans in questions makes las scoff in kind. a shake of his head as the gowns continue, some clear resemblance between paper and these fabrics. “mm, i hope not, but i also have very little hope, monsieur das, that skirt right there is missing stitches, and the pearls on that lady are false.” if only cigars were allowed inside, thus it would be lit and even shared, for there were two in his lapel pocket, but for the time being, las foregoes the smoke of this for the ones of words.
“faster and convenient fashion attempts to chase our businesses, but you know quality as well as i.” not even boldness to state this in the modiste's mind, but observation, acknowledgement of the empire the das house has constructed from the ground up. the scandals which broke didn't cause him fear to be seen speaking with nalan and there was a modicum of admiration in how he picked himself up after that. it makes las wonder how he would react to such news breaking. “we may very well be friends, yes. the seasons are fickle, but the fashion shifts drive the direction. without you, fashion would simply not exist here.”
hard to create much of anything if fabric itself struggles, and las thinks of the wisdom of keeping nalan's sources out of the aforementioned faster shops. at the introduction offer, his chest tightens. oh, ramón, he would not be pleased if he found out las agreed, so rebellious could he be — but it would assist in their station and security. “i'm honoured you consider ramón.” a nod of respect. “please, if you'd like to introduce him to miss das, you have my blessing.” besides, a meeting was a meeting, no need to jump to conclusions in his mind.
The tension seemed to ease from Aera's shoulders bit by bit; at least that's what Edgar assumed, as he watched them sit down, and found - somewhat unexpectedly - that he preferred this version of Aera to the untouchable figure drifting through the ballroom. This one felt real. Less diamond, more person. He lowered himself beside them a moment later, stretching his legs out carelessly before taking back the flask for another sip. "Your mistake," he said lightly, "is believing diamonds are meant to be flawless." His gaze flicked toward them briefly, quieter now. "The interesting ones usually have cracks somewhere."
The corner of his mouth tugged upward afterward, enough to soften what might otherwise have sounded too sincere. "And if society cannot survive discovering you possess ordinary human exhaustion, then I fear society is far weaker than advertised." At the mention of his brothers, Edgar huffed a laugh through his nose. "Ah, yes. Dominic is likely terrifying prospective husbands without realising it, and Frederic is probably one inconvenient conversation away from climbing out a window." Fondness lingered beneath the dry amusement. "As for me, I perfected the art of disappearing from these events years ago."
Their final remark earned a sideways glance from him then, sharper with recognition. "I do speak from experience," he admitted plainly. "People decide what they want you to be long before they know you. After a while, it becomes exhausting carrying around a version of yourself built for everyone else." The confession sat strangely honest between them. Edgar looked out toward the gardens again before adding, quieter this time: "So when I say you deserve quiet moments, I mean it."
they give him an incredulous look, but a grateful one all the same. the reminder comes at a time when soft edges need be sharpened and societal norms bind them, yet here they both are on the outskirts. aera clings to the idea that gems are imperfect, even if others don't wish to see it that way. and if one person could, surely others could join along with the mindset. “so we're to march in there and say that to the judging opals or whoever they are?” retort they. “i'd like to see their gasps behind the masks, to tell you the truth.” maybe stirring things up and changing the status quo was necessary. one cannot be elected diamond twice in a row nor ever again so far as aera knows, so what matters?
“how weak do you think them? really and truly.” they almost wish not to edge towards the cliff of any gossip, but edgar has the common sense aera seeks, the perspective which was simpler to agree with. an outlook which didn't further add stress nor burden upon their shoulders, strengthened the spine in how they assisted holding junho up where he needed support. a laugh: “terrifying them! what, is he a hard man to gain approval of? i danced with him earlier in the night. he is …” a pause. a searching of the skies, the stars hanging visible through the thin cloud cover. “… a confident lord, certainly.”
others might have another word for it, but aera found it easy to match his energy as well. and they would not wish to be called arrogant — not yet. “mr. frederic did appear ready to sprint away. well. they've found their moments, and we've found ours.” if they had a separate glass, it would be raised in toast. “this is the real you, then? what am i to think when i see you charming others in the ballroom after this?” inquisitive. aera puts forth their own performance, one clearly noticed by even he. but he seems to not want to label them in a particular box despite that, which both confuses and intrigues them.
amidst the musical performances and the gossiping gems in the corner, EDEN FOX takes a dramatic seat in an attempt to decide what to do with her night. / OPEN STARTER, accepting replies .
the great fan in her hand greets others first. it wafts in front of her face and chest, the violet shades of her chosen tanzinite gown seeming to fall limp alongside her frame. her papillon sits rather tired-eyed in the crook of her arm, like owner, like pet, or however the saying goes. “ please, no. i can't do another song. ” she had been asked to sing a few times upon some of the musicians realising she attended the gemstone ball. although she obliged to please the masses, now her voice had a distinct ache — from all that and the talking, of course. she touches her throat in that silent plea for any water. or, well, anything to drink. “ if you've something to ask of me, let it be something else. ” at last, her dark gaze over the fan's edge, an arched brow.
OPEN EVENT STARTER | to thetonhq
LOCATION | GEM BALL
Music became livelier and an announcement made for one of the dances to start. He was looking forward the most to that one out of all the activities going on. The idea of the appraisal sounded fun but he wasn’t too sure if he wanted it. Since it was a more relaxed dance, he didn’t bother, like usual, of filling out a dance card and instead grabbed the hand of the person next to him and started to dance, thrilled that it was some of the commoners taking part and they seemed to outnumber the nobles and their children in the dance. “It’s easy!” He says to the person, “come on! Just like this,” and shows them the dance everyone around them was doing.
eyes widen when he takes her hand. oh, dear. he most certainly wasn't looking at where he was grabbing. more surprise than much anything else spurs her to rise alongside him, the spiking of her adrenaline encouraging the serpentine moves and her hands to raise to clap. when this motion comes, at last, she makes eye contact with him, still rather incredulous in expression. “ is this easy? it feels ghastly and fast to me — ” cut off by the reel of the music, and music is what she is made of, faltering in the following move to attempt to lift her skirts to step with him. “ good heavens! whose name for this dance will be put on my card, sir? you dizzy me. ” whether or not that was a good or a bad thing, eden reserves opinion. still, there's something ridiculous about the whole thing. and she can't decide whether she is thrilled by this or not.
the tension slowly eases from his body. his father towers above him, casting a large shadow, but ramón is grateful for his presence right then. easier to shed the mask of politeness and marketing before the man who raised him, even despite the silent expectations.
so he shrugs at the raised brow, taking another puff with a small smile. but how quickly it fades at the mention of rioting. the word lingers, swirls, digs into his heart. how it evokes more than it should for someone with a legacy to protect.
clearing his throat, ramón sweeps a hand across the space. "here is the chance, no? even if it may be short." another small smile; thankfully, not forced at all. "are you happy with the work on display? the diamond of the season wearing your design, along with so many others?"
he has kept his manners intact. but it becomes much easier to release those to the winds at this opened place away from the hullabaloo, and lasaru's laugh rocks through the clear of the night. “ oh, i suppose. i suppose i am happy, even if i am filled with doubt. ” pulling a similar cigar from his inner pocket, for it is in fact of the same brand, simply rolled a bit differently. a personal lighter to the end, awaiting the unique tobacco to alight and comfort him. “ it should fill you with strength and confidence as well, ramón. some of your designs are most complimented. ”
it was getting to the point where ramón could sign his own name to some of the creations, but not all. the reputation for his work had not yet gained, and lasaru stepped in to assist that. ( did it? or did it hurt him? ) “ you astounded me with your take on the tourmaline. ” it was as close to some kind of affectionate compliment, especially about work, as lasaru would get. for most others, it could be taken in both the negative and positive light.
"then worry about the crease in your forehead becoming permanent if you don't use the time here to relax. let me worry about my work." for this was as much his as it was lasaru's. his father designed and constructed, but it was ramón editing, adding and subtracting as needed. when the diamond of the season walked through the ball, it would be his skill on display as much as his father's
and then he hears his name.
his hands still. only for a beat. nearly imperceptible. in the next breath, the world moves as it should. "you will not be still for long, aera." a first name for a first name, societal demands be damned. "i will be flexible on that for you."
and he does, for as he finishes pinning, his feather-light touch guides them to spin on the pedestal, catching the natural light through the windows. he counts each pearl, assuring symmetry. "no, this is not overstepping anything. and you are no giant; when you feel that, remind yourself you are the diamond this season." a foolish practice in his eyes, but he swallows that criticism as he lifts his face to theirs. "there's leeway in that. and power, to set trends as you wish."
ramón gently spins them back to face the mirror, hand hovering at the small of their back. "so if you want to move around those eggshells with more, i will gladly assist in shaping its look. though this look does look exquisite with the inlay, if i do say so myself."
“ you're going to make my ego the size of a theatre. ” other than this, they accept his words, and a shy huff fills their body. they almost can't look at him as they finally go still, allowing the movements to be relegated to their left hand only, where they flex and stretch the fingers. feeling the nails against their palm, then leaving them. a reminder of being in their body, of being human even now. how odd to need to remember that. “ especially when you and i both know london chooses a diamond based on seasonal whimsy, not any previous reputation or lack thereof. ” in their mind, reputation certainly assists it, but they see some choices as bias. they wonder what bias resulted in their diamond election last year — and almost don't want to know.
there are blows to their confidence enough. “ i'm most pleased about the inlay. ” complimentary. “ you showed me how you managed it, and yet i still can't wrap my head around it. ” in a way, its delicacy almost felt foreign to aera. of another country, time, or personality, not someone such as they. part of them was surprised to have accepted it as part of the design. “ how do you set a trend? a modiste has different freedoms to that than i. ” they wore the pearl earrings as he had requested to match the accent colouring. only one is visible in how they turn to look at him.
the ball reminds her of one she had attended upon her entrance to french society as the baroness of mayenne, all glittering and gaudy with overpriced decorations and flowers that may have been discarded the following day without thought. though the music at the barnett's ball was far more to nora's taste than that of the neighbouring lord in mayenne, she still found herself out of place within the dance hall. gems of higher quality dance beneath the lights, shimmering in just the right way that her amber could never acheive - but she preferred it this way, to be hidden.
and hidden from everyone, she was not. she had attracted the attention of this american from not attracting attention at all - nora could not win. pasting a polite smile across her features, her nature does not allow her to simply ignore the inquisitive woman. "an old favourite." reluctantly, nora follows and sears herself beside them stiffly. she wished to return home. "i have few jewellery pieces without amber embedded in them and it has always offered comfort, so i suppose that is why i chose it . . . " a moment passes and eyes widen, "i apologise. i haven't introduced myself - ms. leonora mercier."
aera falls silent to listen. the initial spiritual rupture, as they like to call it, of interrupting another person settles into that vibrant hum. awkwardness or not, aera was accustomed to this kind of reception, both due to being an american and even within their own family. junho often jolted out of his skin and had a little remark when they accidentally interrupted him before; truthfully, this felt no different. at the softest, it was clear she enjoyed talking about the heirloom, and aera enjoyed listening. such encounters could be that simple. “ ah, i see. it's a comforting colour, i agree. i believe i read in a novel once it's considered to be liquid sunshine, and heals the person who wears it. ” and they say there are no truth in novels! this lady embodies it, though her sunshine seems hesitant to emerge.
“ ms. mercier, i didn't introduce myself either before i impeded on your solitude. ” they wink. “ mx. aera lytton, of the railroad business, so on. charmed to meet you. ” and they are. to meet anybody like this when thrust together into a loud party is charming. they must view it this way lest they begin to go insane. “ is this your first time in london's season? ” there has been an influx of people aera hasn't met. this is their second time in the season, so that doesn't quite worry them as of now, but if it continues, they may start to worry about not paying as much attention as they should. it's difficult to keep track sometimes, the comings and goings of the whims of london.
It must have looked strange or unnerving to anyone looking at her, seeing her so focused on the fabrics, the colours and the movement of every garment and admiring the work in awe and fascination. Even the people who did not use her work looked exceptional and she thought all looked the best they had all season, every single person reveling in the theme and using it to express some part of themselves that they saw or that they wanted to see. It made her proud to see it even though she wasn’t involved in it. Her father would say this is exactly why he did the work he did and loved their trade, allowing people to express themselves in their clothes.
“Your work is exquisite and I truly do mean it. I can see the different greens and how it changes in the light. I think you have dressed yourself to be the best of the evening.” It wasn’t a shallow compliment or false words, she meant it and thought such good work should be praised. “I would be honored to dance with you.”
lasaru was much the same when it came to clothes. some might label him as being judgemental — and to a degree, this assumption is right. but at the end of the day, it comes down to the love of the garments, of the craft and showing one's skill through others wearing it. that is the purpose of a modiste, and the passion in kaira's eyes often reflects the one he has in his own. he cannot resent her for that, even if that odd grief fills him, knowing eventually age will be against him. his fingers will become unsteady, his eyes unfocused, and no longer as particular as he once could be. “ then the honour still shall be mine. ” offering her his hand, paused until she takes it.
it seems as if the orchestra will warm up for a livelier reel. the music has been in full swing for some time, and yet the melodramatics around him haven't yet wore him down. he takes his pace in the line and bows to her to begin the dance, a deep bow with his hands clasped behind his back. he then extends the other to her. “ the diamonds who are here to rate us may disagree, but i too can see the work you've put in to yours. may we be crowned the best of the night to spite them then. ” a rather mischievous smile, all things considering. las still doesn't mind these moments being stuck to the upper class, when able. “ unless my eyes mistake me, i think i see some of your stitching on the barnetts' most honoured guests, yes? ” he is equal parts curious to hear who is a patron of hers as of late.
(jodie turner smith,) Goodness, EDEN FOX has arrived! SHE is 34 , of the LONDON FOX'S, and an OPERA SINGER, BELONGING TO THE GENTRY CLASS . They are RETURNED to England and the season. This author has heard they are ENIGMATIC but also IRRITABLE. Accompanied by THEIR PAPILLON, BAFFI , there is much talk of their arrival and accepting calls but be warned: I have heard they TAKE EVERYTHING PERSONALLY!
𝒃𝒂𝒔𝒊𝒄𝒔
name: eden ainsley fox .
family: none living . ( that she knows of ) .
role in society: opera singer, highly experienced & well-travelled .
sexual orientation: pansexual .
date of birth: february 2nd, 1780 .
languages: english, german, french, italian, czech, russian .
appearance: of average height and lush build, with a preference for bright, bold colours atypical for most seasons .
hair colour: black, with slight grey undertones .
eye colour: sepia, deepest brown .
tattoos/scars: none / none externally, although there are some internal scars currently affecting her .
positive trait: passionate, extremely willing to engage .
negative trait: quite literally takes everything as personal offence .
𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 ( cw mentions of parental loss )
both of her parents were born onto the stage and circus, working under philip astley as his entertainment circuit began. eden's life has always been chock full of travel, experiences, and meeting new people. as a child, they were meek, hiding behind her mother's skirts and avoiding confrontation, but something changed when she was permitted to perform with her parents. gliding on a horse's back one night, then singing to a wild and raucous crowd on the other, and the need for the spotlight bit her ferociously. it awakened her ambition, wishing to follow in her parents' footsteps and carry on their legacy. when she lost them rather young, after a performance in her teens that put her onto the seasonal map, it was the first time she sung with such emotion in the performance to follow. this is what alerted those in the higher positions of the season to begin asking her for personal recitals, to perform that grief-laden song named automne in the french. song after song, and impoverished living between payments after living, she finally took flight in the more prestigious opera scene by getting scouted by the leading patron of the opera house in rome. she left london behind for better things.
eden never believed she'd return to london, for the season or otherwise. her travels took her across france, italy, and austria, with visiting nobles from the czech republic sitting in as well. her second decade was a whirlwind of invitations, social climbing, forming networks, and gaining financial backers who funded her performances and lifestyle. she became known for her tremolo, and capability to hold notes in a way that sounded emotional all the way through as opposed to force, resulting in more parts that pushed her vocal limits. she resonated throughout the theatres, and her ambition helped her remain passionate in this chase, the healthy pay-outs certainly helping. this lasted until now, for reasons she remarks are thus: the seasons in the other countries have come to a close, and she simply cannot pass up the opportunity the london house has granted to her. a homecoming of one of london's own, bringing the same kind of fame and intrigue with her? well, it seems a no-brainer that she returns to this season with this reputation. but all may not be as it seems, and the regal star seems to be, as some tabloids might whisper, looking a bit more strained than they should. at least her dog, baffi, is in good health, and attends every invited event alongside her.
Dominic turned to the man, trying to silently appraise him. He’d seen him about town, admired the works and probably even had a few of his pieces in his own personal wardrobe. “You don’t think too highly of yourself, do you?” Dominic asks without malice. Dominic knew of Lasaru’s work and admired it for a while. There wasn’t a tailor or modiste like him in Ireland, and Dominic appreciated those who worked hard and excelled, especially when his own brother’s didn't. “I’ve seen your work about town; I’d like to commission some pieces if it suits you." He asks, admiring the man’s own attire. It wasn’t every day that those not born into society outdressed the nobles, but Lasaru clearly had impeccable style. “Unlike our hosts, I promise I can pay.” He says, laughing a little at his own dig. Dominic couldn’t resist disparaging the Barnetts. Even with their new influx of cash, Dominic knew they’d soon go through it quickly. It was only a matter of time before they’d ruin themselves.
“ i prefer to let my work do the speaking for me, monsieur. ” some might assign additional ego this decision, but although some choices come from ego, that one doesn't for las. having been in the modiste field for a handful of decades, and learning the arts since he had once cleaned his hands well enough to hold a needle steadier, the experience and the progress was enough for such words. interest piques, and las lowers his drink from the proverbial sips he has seemed to be doing over the course of the evening. lips, twitching at the offer of true cash, and las chortles. a disparaging word of one family against another always alerts them, makes them wonder what else has happened. “ i see the barnetts do not impress you with their splendour? ” with his pinky, he gestures towards those hesitant diamonds and judgemental pearls. “ i do wonder how much will remain for them after this, but i take a man at his word. what pieces are you wishing to have? ” las takes in the cut of his current clothes, the sateen of the fabric as opposed to what should've been used. he wonders if the lord is aware, or if it would matter, and for now he keeps it to himself.
who: Anyone in the Ton
where: The Barnett House(for the gemstone Ball)
Junho could feel the tenseness of everything at the ball. It always surprised him how a simple ball could have tension. He thought balls weren't meant for fun, but no. English society always needed to cause trouble whenever they are. How pitiful. He's settled next to the rows of sweets.
He hadn't even realized he didn't really know anyone. He knew of people, but friendships weren't his strong suit. He can talk and treat people like friends, but that was different from having real friends. It didn't trouble him most days, but being in a social event showed the evidence of it.
He's chewing on a sweet as he looks at the crowd. He felt someone standing next to him, and he slightly perked up and looked over. He was eager to speak to whoever was nearby. "Enjoy yourself this evening?" he always speaks as if he knows the person next to him, whether he actually did or not.
the eldest lytton makes a beeline for the duck tail. as in, the one where his dancing jacket has popped out in the back, and they press it down and tuck it back into the line of his belt before leaning over his shoulder. “you had a tail swimming back there, 오리.” whispered to his ear. regardless of where they would be, aera would look after him. make sure he stayed neat, presentable; make sure eyes were upon him and completely enamoured. “i'm enjoying myself much better now that i've found you amidst all these sour faces. i guess the gleam is leaving the jewel for most.”
then they come to stand beside him, the aroma of the sweet emitting as he chews upon it, and the slight mother in them almost wishes to tell him to get rid of that faster and stand up straight — but that would be erasure of all things junho, and aera would be damned if they succumbed to such idiotic thinking. if those around didn't like him for who he was, and attempted to drain him dry for what he could bring, they would have to go through them first.
“your dance card best be full. if not, point me in the direction of those who rejected you and their drinks will find themselves mysteriously spilled.” they beam at him. pride fills them, seeing him even having attended. small steps for the lytton house, for security and fortune.
"I rather some hideously energetic mess of noise to this." The polka sounding music was admittedly too much for Kitty as well, but at least it was entertaining watching people make a fool of themselves while dancing to it. Maybe part of her was jealous that she didn't have anyone to truly be intimate with to be comfortable engaging in such a dance... But that was a thought for future Kitty to unravel.
"What is your taste in dance then, Mr. Bessette? Do you enjoy this slow music?" She raised an eyebrow, letting herself be curious. The corner of her lips quirked up a little at his acknowledgement that she was sought after and she nodded in agreement. "It is the burden I carry to dance as much as possible, a burden that I gladly carry." Said as if she was a martyr going into battle. "Being a debutante is tiring work, but I manage." Her feet were often very sore after such events so she always had to take a long soak to soothe the pain. "Perhaps you should make me some shoes that do not kill my feet by the end of the night! My father would be very pleased to see me not so grumpy."
he ducks his head in a solemn nod, his smile threatening to cut through. ah, the young martyrs of the season, debuting and being daring so far as decorum would allow. he had various through le mesure, debutantes who came back for engagement and wedding gowns, others who faded after the season was finished with them, and many of those who fell in the middle. where would she fall? this, so it keeps him engaged. “shall i request another polka for you, miss thorne? they may even bring out an accordion.” las had spied a case behind the rest of the orchestra, truly prepared for any taste.
“i can make such a pair of shoes for you that will not welt your soles. but the shoe in question, i must study it.” he declines no such offers, however quips or flippant they may be. the business was still in good credit, but this was a perilous cliff's edge, and las took nothing for granted, even as he himself … well, was somewhat crooked in how he viewed it. “as for my taste in music, i like the quadrilles. there is speed enough, changing form, and yet also you can speak to one another.” it may also give hints as to from where he hails, for the dance recently has been imported to the english season from france, a lovely thing he recalls mimicking with other street children from his youth.
