classy: our muses go to a formal event (Boro or Imrahil, your choice! 8))
the theatre is beautiful, all marble and gold and lush red carpets, chandeliers dripping with crystals. where the walls are not curtained in heavy velvet drapery, they are covered in paintings - - faded, just a little, from time and light, but no less beautiful. the people, too, are sights to see : all dark suits and beautiful dresses, sparkling jewels. her wide grey eyes take all of this in, drinking it up as though she shall never see a more beautiful sight. as though to memorize each detail, to pin it fast to her memory. and she does mean to remember it, though she knows she shall see beautiful things in abundance (there has been, after all, no lack thereof, so far). still - - - it is good she has her cousin’s arm to guide her, for she thinks, for it allows her to gaze her fill and not worry where her feet must go. he guides her skillfully, weaves them easily through the crowds, the sheer size and strength of him parting the crowds. “oh, boromir, thank you for bringing me,” she says, looks up at him with a smile. “it’s beautiful. if we left now, it still would have been worth the trip.”
“there is more still to see,” he says with a chuckle, leads her further inside, to the grand stage with its ornate carvings and gilding, the heavy curtains, the rich red-and-gold of the seats. when he points to the box they will be ascending to, soon, lothiriel follows the gesture…just to find her gaze landing on three familiar figures: theodred, as comfortable in his chair as though he sat upon his own couch, talking to eowyn, who looks as though she hasn’t yet decided if she’s glad to be there….though glad, clearly, to be speaking with her cousin, if the animation of her eyes is any hint. but it is the figure there beside them both, shaking his head at whatever they’ve said, that draws her gaze and the little squeak of surprise she cannot quite suppress.
“boromir!” she wants to duck behind him, but the three above have seen them already, and so she only smiles, nods her head, prays she does not look too startled. “you did not tell me that he-….that they…would be here!” almost nervously, she straightens the long, flowing skirt of the dark blue dress she had chosen, suddenly grateful to whatever gods of reason had made her choose one with sleeves that wouldn’t require subtle fiddling. and then, more softly as they begin to wind their way forward : “i did not know that eomer had any interest in the ballet.”
boromir’s chuckle is louder, this time, shaking his shoulders as a smile lights his face. smiling still, he leans down to press a quick kiss to the top of her head. “i do not think it is the ballet he is interested in, little swan.” she turns to look at him, the meaning evident in the laughter in his eyes, the smile still lighting up his face. it turns her cheek a magnificent shade of pink that she can only pray will fade by the time they’ve reached their seats, and she pinches his arm in revenge for it. “you are worse than amrothos,” she scolds, though it is followed by a laugh. “well. at least now i know why you would not tell me what it is that you had planned!”
(in the box, while eomer is not looking - - - pretending, in fact, not to be looking at the pair of cousins currently winding their way through the crowds - - theodred nudges eowyn’s shoulder, passing a bit of paper torn from his program. all is says? be nice. with eomer still not looking, she wads the paper up and tosses it right back at him. “you first,”)
DRABBLE CHECKLIST : (accepting)
