open to all silvers!
Octavian felt the hum of the carnival echoing through him like hymnals. The pounding of feet on the ground, the buzz of the rides, the steady endless white water rapids of chatter—cresting, swelling, always on the move and threatening to overwhelm. It was like being at the centre of some great beast, twining its coils around Archeon and washing it in revelry. He loved it so much he felt fierce and wild with it, the loneliness that had been plaguing him since arriving in this city and beating its champion into the sand smoothed out for a single night.
He stood now at the edge of a great circle of dancers, one hand wrapped around a cold beer, wishing absently for a partner to grab and launch himself into the dance with. But he didn’t know the steps—was sure to show himself up as a clumsy provincial, the boorish Pict to the dancers’ assured, fluid Romans. If he had been surrounded by laughing reds he would have chanced it, thrown himself in without a thought of self-consciousness. Even if he’d been around the lower silvers he’d grown up with. But he wasn’t—he was in the middle of a throng of the highest silvers, regal and imposing, and he was blisteringly aware of his status among them. Their champion, the current shining star in Archeon. And as that figure, he couldn’t just wade in and make a fool of himself.
But if someone invited him in…he drained the last of his beer and set his glass down, then cast his gaze around himself measuredly, hoping to catch the eye of somebody seeking a partner.