He refuses to say anything on the grounds of being very very embarrassed. And yet, despite it all, he still takes her hand in his with that same tender touch. His features softening as he looks towards his future bride (in like two or three hours depending on how things go), before the both of them make their way to their guests who eagerly await to greet the couple.
There is still some difficulty in trying to keep an appearance of normalcy when Django is the type of man that he is. His mask had begun to slip a long time ago—rather deliberately as he found no need in hiding away who he was anymore given all that had occurred on this island over the past couple of years. However, this shouldn’t mean that a good sense of manners wasn’t worth keeping around, especially for these sorts of occasions.
He knows how greatly important it meant to blend in with your surroundings; both from his own mother’s teachings and from that weird and short bookstore owner that he strangely missed. So for both his and Medb’s sake he will be social. He will smile and say hello to those he’s not quite familiar with, and leave them with an impression of a man who, despite all appearances, seemed to be rather polite for the most part.
But god knows he’s gonna feel a helluva lot more comfortable around those he’s unknowingly let into his life. He’s certainly in a far better place for doing so, even if he doesn’t realize it just yet.
The two of them make the rounds of social pleasantries and polite words, things Medb could do with the same level of ease and charm even if she was suddenly stricken blind or otherwise impaired; she was simply that talented at such things, as it was one of the many gifts she had as someone with blood like her own. Being a Rider, a Servant, did not deter from the fact that she was a Queen. Nothing could ever deter her from the spot light, the attention of masses, nor the love that came with being royalty that was dedicated to her people.
Yet, when her hand was in his, Medb felt something else.
It was not the adoration of people who worshipped her, it was not the lust of a one night stand that temporarily sought after her body or power.
When Medb held Django Foley’s hand, she simply felt love. True, deep love, that touched her in a way that few had ever made her heart stir in any way, shape, or form. It was almost entirely unique to him, and as her fingers interlocked with his, Medb knew she never wanted this feeling to end.
Her existence as a Servant was fleeting, and they both knew that their own time on this island was potentially even more temporary; the threat that at least one of them might disappear, never to return (or even worse, return different) loomed over them constantly. Even so, when she felt his warmth beside her, even just from his hand, the Queen felt at ease. She felt loved.
Leaning over, Medb tugged on his arm after they had politely greeted another set of guests. It was a gesture that would do well to bring his face down to her own. She whispered his name, his true name, and left a not so chaste kiss on his cheek.
Her words rang true, but she still could not help herself in trying to fluster him. Teasing him as she pleased was just all part of the fun.
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