((Alright, and of those that were both planned and written, this is the last one! I’m gonna do one more at least on Saturday, but I have to wait for the King/Queen announcements for that one obviously, and while it’s gonna get counted offically as an extra, that’s only because it’s not getting written at the same times as these. Like I said before, if these actually get some traction I might write up some of the other extra scenes I cut to preserve my sanity. Much like the last piece too, this one’s song is very obvious. It’s a cover version of Something, originally by the Beatles. The specific one I mentioned is closer to Frank Sinatra’s cover, but not exactly. I took some liberties.
And for the final time: if you are not okay with unhealthy relationships, this is not the ficlet for you.))
Careen closed her eyes, letting her head rest upon the chest of her matesprit. What could she say about this night that hundreds of other trolls, be they esteemed singers or romantic poets of old, hadn’t already said better? She had her pitfalls, certainly. Her matesprit’s other friends, boorish landdwellers that they are, had a peculiar habit of causing problems anytime the two were together and encouraged him to act out for no good reason. The blueblood from earlier, the lovely and dutiful Skasol, left after the fight, citing a need to return to his own partner for the night. Careen assumed such was an easy way to escape from an uncomfortable situation without losing too much shame. Not that she needed him, anyway. When her matesprit returned from cooling off his degenerate of a moirail, he remained by her side as a good matesprit ought to. The only hiccup to an otherwise perfect night, and one she managed to resolve peacefully with him through being so generous as to spend some extra time with the rustblood.
On second thought, there was one more. She probably shouldn’t invite Siroet to come out with her next sweep. If nothing else, get her set up on a blind date to keep her wrangled in. Her friend was unfortunately incapable of stopping herself from inspiring black infidelity in scores. Which Careen would have less of an issue with if said (usually lowblood) partners weren’t also coming up to Careen and forcing her to explain that’s just how Siroet is and they shouldn’t think anything of it. While not one large issue, it was certainly several small issues that amounted to a consistent thorn in her side. Still better than the downer attitude Pothos put up, but not exactly by much.
And the music, despite the orchestra being less an orchestra and more a backing band for guest singers to appease the landdwellers, was still divine. Granted, Careen missed most of the earlier acts while she rested in the VIP room, but she couldn’t find a single flaw in their current musician: a sharp dressed tealblood in a black trilby crooning a gorgeous song about his matesprit. He kept the song slow, at a perfect tempo she could just curl up around her darling matesprit and just forget the world. Nothing fast. No blaring trumpets or honking saxophones to rip her out of her trance when a chorus of string instruments can sound so much more appropriate for this event. As it should be.
The only way such could be more flawless would be if he serenaded her while they danced. Maybe he was, just too quiet for her to hear over the singer? She hoped so. He might be on the shy side, but Careen knew he had that spark for romanticism. It’s part of why she wanted him so desperately after meeting him: he was so close to being an ideal prince for her, he only needed that push. Let go of all his lesser qualities to mold himself the way she wanted: the same way she managed to with Atenic and failed with awful little snake.
Plus Careen had to admit, she was a sucker for a fixer-upper.
Careen’s eyes fluttered open for a minute to gaze lovingly back up at her matesprit. His own eyes were closed, and his lips tightly shut. So he wasn’t singing. That's fine too, she supposed. Disappointing certainly, but….fine.
“Darling, can you sing?”
His eyes shot open to look at her quizzically. “Careen we have talked about this,” he said quietly.
She curled up further into his chest. “And what was the answer?”
“I ah...well, I cannot. Not well, at any rate.” He smiled sheepishly. “Unless one includes an ability to talk-sing? If so, I am adequate.”
“No, I don't,” she sighed. This is what she got for taking him as a quadrant long before he was ready. Almost five sweeps and he still couldn't sing? Every seadweller could sing in some capacity. The arts were always massively important, and no self-respecting noble ignored it.
But Careen was also patient, and considering how considerate he was tonight, she'd bring it up another day. For tonight, she simply rested her head back on his bony chest and made a mental note to talk to him later about it.
“You’re asking me, if my love grows. I say, I don’t know. I don’t know.”
She could hear the waver in the singer’s voice. Cover or not (Careen hadn’t bothered to commit whatever drabble he introduced his set with, but she thought he said his only performances would be covers), he had a matesprit whom he adored the same way she did her own. There was no other answer. One they must have anticipated as well, if the slowing instruments and break in vocals was any indication. She understood enough about the ins and outs of performance to know how likely that was.
He gave Careen the window for a slow release and twirl for the tempo change, one which she graciously accepted. There was no better way for them to properly slow down, no better way to truly showcase the sheer, sparkling overlay to her red velvet dress than letting her spin underneath the twinkling 12th Perigee lights around them. Or if there were, the host of the ball hadn’t thought of it. A pity, but to be expected. She can’t anticipate a landdwelling troll of any kind to have the same level of foresight she does, delusions of seadwelling grandeur or not.
Speaking of the host, shouldn’t the submissions for king and queen be in yet? She thought last sweep there had been some sort of announcement for submissions and votes. Yet tonight, she hadn’t heard anything. Not that Careen particularly cared for submitting herself, of course. She was kind enough to let some other troll feel like royalty for a single dance and prance around in an oversized, wiggler-worthy crown for the rest of the night. And her matesprit? Ignoring how such titles were largely won through popularity than anything else, and her matesprit’s refusal to socialize with those to gain the recognition necessary, he wasn’t exactly ball king material. Careen had done her research. The winners were celebrities. Charming. Artistic. Popular. All things he wasn’t, no matter how much she tried to change that. Thankfully for her, his asocial tendencies discouraged him from ultimately disappointing himself. No worrying he’d take losing personally and mope about for the rest of the night.
Then again, maybe he did care. Careen’s almost certain she had caught his eyes glance over toward one of the far tables, all the way in the back of the room away from the rest of the event, for notes. Her matesprit surprised her like that sometimes, cared about ideas and concepts that she’d never expect someone like him to care much about. He already expressed interest in dancing with another troll once, tonight. That only set up the beginning of what may be a worrying trend. Plus, she failed to see the point in not asking. It would be good to discourage him from making such an awful decision that could ruin tomorrow night.
“Dearie, I have a question.” She paused, and with a shake of her head added, “actually...two.”
Her matesprit slowed their dancing down again, letting the two of them talk easier. “Hm?”
“Do you know when they’ll announce the vote?” She dropped her face to the floor to better look up at him with her winning doe-eyes. “I’m afraid I forgot.”
“Ah...erm…” he blinked harshly in confusion as he trailed off uncertainty. “No? Afraid I hardly know what you are talking about, quite frankly.”
Here it was. The moment of truth. No going back from this question. “So...you don’t want to be the Ball King?”
The fingers that loosely kept hold of Careen tapped against her own skin. “The...the what?”
“Oh you know,” she said, freeing up a hand just long enough to push her hair back behind her fin, “the 12th Perigee Ball King and Queen. They had it last sweep. I’ve just noticed you eyeing the box at points in the night.”
“I was...I was eyeing it?” He sounded confused. Careen knew better. She knew he was trying to hide his interest.
“Well...yes.” She sighed. “If you really, truly want to nominate yourself, I suppose you can, but really I must advise against--”
She was interrupted by a sigh. “Careen, I assure you, if my lack of memory does not give it away, I am not one for schmoozing and politicking to win a dance with a total stranger.”
She had to resist letting out a huff. So he wasn’t interested in the nominations. That’s fine, too, she supposed. He couldn’t have sounded more rude toward her attempt at being helpful, but it was fine.
And anyway, she wasn’t interested in the Ball nominations to nominate him. Not even to nominate her friends. She only wanted to cast her vote she truly felt deserved it. Unlike last sweep, with the bottom of the bottom winning. Had they worked for it? Really worked? Impossible. Lowbloods didn’t work the way any other blood color did. They lacked the strength.
“Something in the way she knows, and all I have to do is think of her.”
Her matesprit sped back up to match with the song. She let her arms slide down, around the bottom of his waist. She felt him tense in surprise underneath the coarse tweed of his suit.
Careen frowned deeply, fins drooping. “It’s just me. No reason to freak out.”
He looked down at her with a confused expression. “I ah…my apologies.” He shook his head. “I erm...was un-unaware…”
“It’s fine, darling. It doesn’t upset me in the slightest. That being said,” her hands wandered down to his rear to rest. No grabbing. Not yet. But the night was young. “A healthy dose of fear is completely normal in our society, don’t you think?”
Her matesprit hummed. Not an answer, not really, but Careen loved the feelings of the sweet, soft vibrations the noise sent up her fins and down her spine. Moreso, anyway, than whenever he spoke with that posh voice of his. Not that she disliked it when he spoke of course. In fact, she very much loved hearing it when she wanted to. So long as the two weren’t physically close, she even preferred just hearing his voice. Undoubtedly, it was Careen’s favorite thing about him.
And even more than that, she loved the intimate silence that followed. The singer’s crooning quieted down to little more than a whisper into the microphone. The band played a few more bars, but they too needed to end the song eventually. Her matesprit gave her a final twirl and parted, bowing.
“Perfect gentleman as always, Dontoc,” she cooed.
He answered not with words, but with a smile. It looked somewhat forced, but that was okay. It was her night, after all, not his. He was here with her now, treating her just like the princess she actually was. A dutiful matesprit. Exactly what Careen, the rightful Heiress, always deserved.
