ArchivedLogs:Brighter Shadows

Brighter Shadows
Dramatis Personae Lucien, Nox
In Absentia	2013-03-26 '
Location <NYC> Tessier Residence - Greenwich Village
Understated opulence claims this spacious and well-kept townhome, the decor throughout the whole of it of the highest quality and carefully chosen. The front door opens onto the entrance hall, a closet close at hand to receive coats and shoes -- the pale hardwood floors gleam underfoot, unsullied by tracked-in mess from outside. The living room beyond the entrance is all dark woods and pale earth tones, comfortable couches and armchairs and a thick soft rug laid down beneath. Two large and painstakingly aquascaped aquariums flank the entrance to the dining room, with several brightly coloured species of fish within. Most of the rest of the wall space, notably, is taken up with shelves -- shelves crammed with books of every subject and genre. A study branching off of the main hall is cozy, small, done in pale blues and lined with books as well around the large computer desk and smaller futon, though these rarer books are cased behind glass. Another securely locked door leads to the basement, and another to the full bathroom downstairs. The kitchen connects to the living room; in contrast, it is sleek and modern and well-appointed, stocked by someone who takes their cooking seriously. And takes their alcohol equally seriously -- to one side of the kitchen there is a fully-stocked bar. The back door to the kitchen looks out on a small well-kept garden. Spring has ceased its game of hide and seek with the eastern seaboard, deigning to share an unveiled sun and temperatures approaching balmy. Even the light wind that cuts through the streets is pleasant, ruffling hair and tugging at the lighter jackets people have donned to tempt warmer days. The forecasters are calling for showers this evening but today, this afternoon, it's beautiful outside--and the population has ventured out to bask. This has proven problematic for Nox. With the sun out she isn't able to slip without notice to her destination. She's donned a khaki skirt and a light sweater, along with her sunglasses and galoshes, to travel to Lucien's home. As she walks up the sidewalk towards the townhouse, those who are likewise strolling along the way can't help but notice the dark woman with restless hair and a tendency to duck her head when approached. One of his neighbor's, a stout woman with a gaggle of designer yorkiepoos on a web of leashes, goes so far as to call out to her, "Hey! You're that lady from the news!" The dogs let out a chorus of yips and yaps. Others turn to look. Some point. Nox hurries up the stairs and practically stabs the doorbell. Lucien is quick enough to answer it. He's simply dressed, in jeans, barefoot, a plain black v-neck t-shirt. There is a small handtowel draped over his shoulder, and one of his arms is wet up to the elbow; he's pulling the door open with the other one to let Nox inside. He gives the people outside a slightly frowning look, a thin press of lips; he makes no motion to /hurry/ Nox inside, just holding the door open and eying the pointers. "Good afternoon. My apologies. I would have said after sunset but I have work tonight. I hope --" He's glancing outside again, and if his tone is even his hand at least is tightening on the doorknob, "your trip was not /too/ unpleasant." Yip yip yip yip! Yorkiepoo woman has followed Nox up the sidewalk, the dogs in a frenzy of excitement as they pick up on their mistress' own interest in Nox. They clamor at the pair in the doorway from the end of the walk, their barks sending the shadow lady quickly into the house once the door is opened. She keeps her head down until she's well into the lesser light of the hallway, one arm curled at her waist, the other up with her hand over the opposite shoulder. "No, no," she murmurs, "it's all right." With the din at least muffled, she turns to find a smile for him and if her eyes go from his bare feet to his wet arms to the more casual clothing, well, it's difficult to tell because of the sunglasses. "...I think this is the first time I have seen you so...relaxed. Even while you slept, you were more..." Words fail, she ends by shaking her head--but the smile deepens. Lucien flashes the woman outside a small thin smile, and closes the door firmly. Locks it. The smile he gives Nox is a little warmer, a little easier. "Is sleep relaxing?" He is drifting his way back into the apartment, where a large plastic tub is sitting by one of his aquariums; it holds a number of plants wrapped in wet paper towels. The tank is open, and he reaches back in, taking another plant to place it. Frown at it. Move it a half-inch to the right. "Does the clothing make me relaxed? I do not know, really. How have you been, Nox?" "It is a different sort of relaxing, one supposes. You have always had shoes on." And this appears to make a difference? It keeps Nox's smile in place, at least, as she lifts her feet from the galoshes before moving to follow. The plants draw a small murmur of pleasure, fingers extended to brush over dampened greenery. It was meant to be a passing touch but just that is enough to keep her near the tub, exploring the little fronds and wisps of verdancy with delicacy. "These are lovely...mm. I have been well enough, you?" Her face tilts up towards him, lenses winking. "And you, Lucien?" "I do not wear shoes in my house," Lucien says, "the floors --" He gestures towards them. They are every clean. He stoops to take another plant, examine his tank /very/ carefully, and then reach in to settle it into the substrate. The fish inside scatter from his arm, save one dark seahorse that floats over to nibble at it thoughtfully. "This," he says, nodding towards the tank, "is relaxing to me. Do you like them? You could help." "Shoes or socks," Nox corrects herself, as if it were important. But she is inclined to help and straightens up to drift to the tank's side. Bending first, to smile at the seahorse, at the darting fish, before rising again to look down into the water with left-hand fingers curled over the side and right hand dipping within. "Show me?" She glances sidelong at him. "And you did not say how you have been." As nudges go, it is the gentlest sort but for the fact that she continues to watch the man, silent and expectant. "Mmm. The actual placement is easy. The art is in deciding where." Lucien finishes placing the plant, and takes a step back to eye the tank. "The fish like places to hide. And the rest of us like a good visual aesthetic when watching them." He picks up one plant, large and fanlike, and unwraps its paper towelling to hand it to Nox. His other hand flicks towards the Very Large tank; it contains already a number of rocks, a few sponges, a host of fish. Its companion tank on the other side of the dining room entryway is freshwater, meticulously arranged already. "You choose." He is studying the tank critically. "I did not," he allows, eventually, one corner of his mouth twitching slightly. And, in lieu of answer or possibly by way of it, he says again: "This is relaxing to me. I tend them when I am in need of relaxing." Nox cups her hands to accept it, fingers supporting the fronds before she lowers it into the water of the Very Large tank to let buoyancy take over. Then a moment is spent leaning slightly back to best study where it should go. Her lips purse as she considers. "Matt?" The question seems to come from nowhere, given the intensity of her focus on the tank, the way her hair creeps forward to tickle its ends over the surface of the water. Immediately afterwards, position chosen, she leans forward to guide the rootball down to gently work it into the material at the bottom. Slowly, so very slowly--partly from care, but mostly from inexperience. Every piece of debris or grit that floats up is cause for concern, every bit of marine life that strays near causes her to go still to avoid startling it. Most of the fish are shy, scattering to lurk behind rocks or against the far walls. The seahorse is again curious, snoutnose peck-nibbling lightly at Nox's arm as she works the plant into the gritty floor. Lucien is standing back, for a moment, examining Nox's choice of placement with a deep frown and critical purse of lips. Perhaps more thoughtful than disapproving, because ultimately he accepts this decision with a nod, looking at the remaining plants in the bin to choose a feathery-wispy tall one, next. He doesn't place it. He lets his fingers skim lightly against the surface of the water. "See? Easy. The plants pretty much just -- sit. If you choose them properly, at least, they fairly well care for themselves. The fish can take some work." His eyes are focused down in the tank, watching from above the ripply-watery image of Nox's arm beneath the water, the seahorse and his nibbling. "Still in the hospital," he answers eventually. "It is difficult, for him." She is not so eager to plant a second one. The seahorse is too sweet a distraction. Where water turns many things darker, her arm is silvery grey beneath the surface, without the disturbances of tiny hairs to catch currents or small bubbles. Her fingers turn then grow still again to lure the seahorse in closer. "It must be so quiet underwater," Nox muses softly. Just that, a random thought from her mind. Then her head turns again and behind those glasses, her eyes find his face. "I should visit him. Late, if he is likely to be awake. I can go in without being seen. Stay the night and be gone in the morning. If his room is private." "{His name is Mistral,}" Lucien volunteers in absent-quiet backslide into French, watching the watery-distorted image of the seahorse bumping lightly up against Nox's hand. "{His room is private. He is often awake. Sleep has not come easily.}" It takes a while, but Lucien slips his hand downward, nestling the feathery plant in nearby Nox's. Mistral still butts up against Nox's arm. "And the next two nights I am occupied," he adds, with a frown, "He will be alone. The night after that is -- well. You will be occupied, yourself." "{Hello, Mistral.}" French for French, and a slow flexing of her fingers to occupy the curious seahorse. But Nox's attention remains on Lucien, on his face, the tilt of his frown and the shift of his eyes. Slowly, carefully, she draws her dripping arm out of the water and sidesteps to slip in behind the man. Not so close as to interfere with his movement, but she's stood like this before and he's confessed to relaxing. Two sources of relaxation will surely equal the true thing. Her arms find their way around his waist, dampening the t-shirt. "I can stay with him, while you are occupied. And that night..." It is a conscious decision to sigh. "Did my dress arrive? I asked them to send it here. And the accessories." Lucien's fingers press into the pebbles and grit, gently hollowing out a space for the plant's roots; gentle, too, as he pushes the substrate back to bury the ball. His head bows, fingers brushing lightly up against the edges of the leaves, swaying in the small current that the tank's filter creates. "That would be kind," he says, quiet, and he /is/ relaxing as Nox's arms slip around him, exhaling slow and quiet with his gaze still fixed on the water. "-- Your dress." This makes him freeze, arm stilling. And then, abruptly, he exhales a quick breath of laughter. "/Your/ dress," has rather the tone of a sudden realization. "Oh. /Oh/. Oh, yes, it arrived. I have it all upstairs." The shaking of laughter is welcome if somewhat unexpected. Nox's chin rests lightly on his shoulder, the better to hear the bemused smile that lurks in her voice. "Whose dress would it be, if not mine? Does Desi have admirers who send her gifts?" It takes another moment before she realizes her mistake here--that she had neglected to tell Lucien that a package would be arriving, and her arms tense around his middle to punctuate her apologize. "I am sorry, I forgot to say something...they wanted an address and yours was the only one I knew. Is that all right? I...I did not think." Unseen, her cheeks are coloring. Easier to sense is the way her arms fall away, a hand lifting to pass over her face. "It is quite alright," Lucien answers, though his voice still holds a not insignificant undercurrent of laughter. "It is no trouble. It just confused me, is all. People so often send me things --" There's a moment when he leans back, just slightly, into Nox, and here there's another quiet laugh. He gently pulls away as her arms drop -- there are two more plants to place! And only so long they can be happy out of water. He scrutinizes the tank, carefully reaches in to make room for another. "-- but the dress was hardly to /my/ measurements. If it had been a gift it would be a poor one. Things make so much more sense, now." "People send you dresses as gifts?" Alas, Nox's confusion seems to grow in time with Lucien's amusement. Her smile remains gamely in place, even as she steps up beside him again to observe the placement of the plants. And perhaps also to tease the seahorse into nibbling her fingers once more, as she dips her hand into the water. After a time--a long and silent time--she slides an abbreviated glance towards him. "You lead a very interesting life, Lucien." Which may well be her way of offering up a question without the need for...question marks. "Perhaps not so much gifts as -- suggestions," Lucien answers, eyes flicking up to meet hers, briefly, but turning shortly back to his work. He adjusts the plant. Little bit forward. Then a little bit right. He stoops to pick up the last plant, keeping it in one hand loosely as he turns to look at Nox. "Mmm. So says the woman who saved the city's children from a ravening beast." "Suggestions," she echoes. Because that makes even less sense. Nox plays her hand through the water now, no longer entertaining the seahorse. Instead it is simple enjoyment of liquid on skin, the subtle currents from the filter and the difference water-refracted light makes. His final remarks earns the ghost of a smile. "Touche," she murmurs. But that is not the end of it. She might /hesitate/ to pry, but now he has made her curious and soon she's looking at him again. Though...prying... "Should I not ask, Lucien? I...would like to know. More about you. I would like to...do as people do, to learn more. And come closer." "Suggestions, yes. According to their preferences --" Lucien dips his head, turning back to settle the last plant near a corner, tall and grassy in its long thin fronds. Slowly a few of the fish are acclimating to these intrusions, creeping back out to dart by although none are quite so bold as the seahorse. "Not ask? You may ask, work is just hardly an interesting -- " Lucien seems almost surprised at this, but then he straightens, looking Nox over thoughtfully as his hand moves to rest on the edge of the tank. "-- I have never /told/ you what it is I do for work, have I." "You dislike questions. Each time it feels as if I should ask permission again. To ask." Nox waits until his hand has settled, then lifts hers dripping from the tank. Her fingers move to set their tips against his knuckles, tracing lightly to join droplet to droplet. Her smile is small, whimsical, but sobers when she glances up to look him in the eyes--once she remembers to reach up and remove the sunglasses, at least. "You keep odd hours. You have an association with Ms. Frost's club. You are young but doing well for yourself. I thought perhaps you were...an event organizer for the well to do. Perhaps even an investor, though..." She pauses, lower lip caught between her teeth. "No," she finally says. "You have not." "From most people I do not mind questions," Lucien says, and here his lips twitch upwards. His gaze slips downwards, watching Nox's fingers draw glistening water-lines against his skin. "Most people pay little attention to the answers." His smile fades, though, and he looks mostly just thoughtful, looking back ino Nox's eyes. "At the Hellfire Club my title is Networking Consultant," he says, in quiet murmur, "I cater to their members' needs; in many cases it helps to make certain wheels turn that much more smoothly. Among society with fewer pretensions of propriety, though, I am a whore." He doesn't say this with any particular shame or reticence; just quiet-even, studying Nox thoughtfully. "I know. I listen." Her tone matches that twitch. The sunglasses are tucked away, leaving her hand free to return to his. Paths are drawn through his knuckles, small circles traced over the tendons--and then Nox pauses while she digests what's been said. It's a brief severing of contact, enough to keep her initial feelings from being felt. She doesn't withhold for long though. Soon that touch is back and roaming again, and with it comes emotions. That she's troubled is clear, heart picking up speed and gaze lowered. Some of that is concern. Some a soft anger directed elsewhere. There's a hint of sorrow too. "That is a cruel word, Lucien," she murmurs eventually. "Is it choice? Is it necessity?" "It is an honest word," Lucien answers, and he is watching Nox carefully; with his gaze, yes, but also with the quiet flex of mutation that keeps careful tabs on her mood. "It is -- complicated." This comes a little wry, his mouth curling up once more, though thinner, this time. "Chemotherapy gets expensive. I turned to what I knew. I am --" His free hand uncurls, gesturing to the house around them, "good at what I do." "Cruel," Nox counters, and there is resistance there--resistance to it, resistance to Lucien being painted with it. She balks, as much as a shadow can--or as a shadow can, refusing to be hooked into agreement. Her fingers slide up to curl loose around his wrist, the contact maintained. "Small wonder you keep yourself so near. We have...some of us. Have turned to that. None so successfully." Her attention strays only briefly to the things around them. To the /house/ around them. Then her gaze lowers again to hand on top of hand, fingers on top of tank. She's wrestling with it, need with want, worry with uncertainty. "What you knew." For a moment there is a trickle of sensation, tugging at Nox; a swirl of pleasure, a swirl of /want/, something that creeps in and weakens inhibition in the face of a pervasive creep towards euphoria. It is perhaps not the most appropriate time for stirring these things, but in Lucien's expression there is only the same quiet thoughtfulness, and the feelings are soon to fade -- demonstrating, rather than titillating. "I have certain advantages, in this line of work. I was not always so successful. But when Matt got sick --" His head shakes, slightly. "I did not want him to die on the streets." His hand turns over, fingers turn up, damp as they curl back against her wrist in return. The last statement just draws his eyes down again. "What I was good at. It is not all cruel," he says, quietly. "These days I choose my own clients. People whose company I enjoy. They treat me well. It is a far cry from what most people think of when they think of sex work." Demonstration is enough. Or perhaps even too much--Nox's fingers press suddenly hard against his wrist, her tongue's tip touched to her lips and her eyes closing. "Don't," she whispers. "Please. Do not do that again. Not...like that. Lucien." She waits until the last of it is gone before looking at him again, trying to see past thoughtful and quiet. But she lacks his advantages. Finally, she says, "No, you would not want that for him. You have made a beautiful home. If you...have found a way to enjoy, then all the better. To be treated well, that is. Important." Lucien's head dips, and the feelings are replaced with the familiar one, soft and cool and soothing. Though even this cuts off quickly. "{I am sorry. It is second nature, I hardly think of -- I am sorry.}" His fingers rest against hers -- no mutation, just the cool-damp of his currently saltwatery skin. For a long while he is quiet, just looking at Nox. "It bothers you." There's a quiet note of questioning to this statement. The apology is accepted likewise in silence. Nox's head bows again, their hands the subject of her gaze. The grip she'd had on him is gentled and the pad of her forefinger used to lightly stroke the tendons of his wrist. "Yes. And no. And yes, but no. I have no claim on you. It does not make me want to move away from you. To leave." Each word is measured out with quiet deliberation, precise as the feelings he shares can make them. But. Her chin lifts slightly, the look she steals at his face coming from an extreme angle. Honest, in this instance, is painful inside, no matter the soothing. "I should not be bothered by what you need to do. For your family. For yourself, if you are good at it, and...and enjoy it." "Should not be is different than are. And I am not sure /should/ is a worthwhile concept to entertain, when it comes to feelings. Feelings are what they are, and then you choose how to let them influence what you do." Lucien's eyes return to the water. The fish are coming back out, now that their water is no longer disturbed, and his eyes track one bright blue-and-yellow fish as it investigates the new plants. "I am good at it," he says. And then quiet. Softer, "I am glad that you -- don't want to leave." "It is hard," Nox murmurs in agreement. "Knowing...imagining. You. When I am..." But she shakes her head to send those thoughts away, her hair performing a slow drift around her head with the movement. Her fingers leave his wrist with a last caress, a final disturbance of the sheen of moisture left there before she tucks her arms across her stomach. With that loss of contact comes a loss of empathy but her smile returns, turned up at him. "I tried to leave you be, before. I doubt I would be any more successful on a second attempt." "When you are --?" Lucien's muscles tighten up, a brief flex of arms, of torso, tensing as Nox pulls away. But then he relaxes again, flicking a glance up towards her with a crooked hint of smile. "I shall count your failure as my blessing, then. The day you do decide to leave would be --" His head shakes, and he pulls away from the aquarium, flicking water off his fingertips into the tank and then closing its lid. He pulls the hand towel off his shoulder, offering it to Nox. "Would you like to see your dress?" A direct prompt is difficult to evade. She tries. Nox shakes her head again. Her fingers sink hard against her arms, disappearing entirely as a ripple of darkness goes through her grey. In the end, her continued attempt to maintain honesty--transparency--wins, though it remains an effort. "When I am so inexperienced. When you...when we kissed, that was my first," she confesses, slowly, softly. "Your patrons might use you but at least they are...mm." The towel provides a welcome reprieve, taken and rubbed over her hands as she steps back, clearing the path to the stairs. "Please, yes. I should like that." "Your first." Lucien says this slowly, quiet. He studies Nox, his own arms curling against his chest, pressing spots of damp against his shirt. "My patrons are many things, but they are not --" He hesitates, a faint flush of colour tinting his cheeks. Briefly. "It is different. When you care. In some respects, perhaps, that makes you my first as well." His arms are tightening again, with these words, muscles tensing against his chest. There is a pause of silence before he moves forward, slipping past Nox towards the stairs up. While the silence and the stillness lasts, Nox simply looks at him, focused on his eyes. The moment stretches, her lips are tugged by the beginning of a smile...and then Lucien is moving. Were she capable of taking a deep breath, she would do so. Instead she waits for his feet to hit the stairs before she turns to follow at a short distance. The time is used to regain some composure and to let that smile gain roots--by the end of the climb, as the gloom of the hallway closes in, she glides closer and curls her fingers in the crook of his elbow to let him lead the way to the pretties. With that touch comes an organic sharing of the sensations he'd demonstrated earlier. All natural, and more muted because of it, but genuine. "Did you try the gown on?" Lucien's smile returns, at the touch of hand to his elbow. The master bedroom is not /much/ less gloomy than the hallway, windows curtained off with just a sliver of late-afternoon sun peeking through. He heads towards the closet -- it is large, a walk-in quite full of clothing. Nox's dress is not the only dress hanging there, still draped in its crinkly plastic sheathing. "Ah -- it did not seem quite my size, I would hate to ruin such an elegant garment. I have -- others." He gestures to the LotsOfClothes. "They tailored it a great deal at the store," Nox admits. "Ms. Frost had warned that designers would be intrigued by someone who could change their shape." And then? Silence, this time of the stunned variety as she actually gets a look at closet contents. So surprised is she at the wealth of fabric and other material on display that she stops and turns in a slow circle to see /everything/. Somehow, she manages to articulate, "...", before turning back to Lucien with a hum of bemusement. "So many." But most importantly her gown, which she glides towards to run reverent hands over crinkly plastic. "I need to be able to cater to many moods," Lucien says, and it's quietly amused as Nox takes in the -- admittedly rather excessive number of varied clothing and shoes. He takes the gown down off the rack, holding it up in front of Nox before, after a moment of letting her hands run over the plastic, slipping it off to let the gown hang. "The accessories that came with it are there," he gestures towards a small bag nearby against a wall. "Do you want -- should I -- I should let you try it on." He ducks his head almost sheepishly, handing the gown to Nox so that he can turn to leave the closet. "Wait." The gown is gathered to her chest, losing its appeal as Lucien threatens to leave. Nox takes a step after him before stopping herself. Two can play at sheepish. Her cheeks turn almost black with a blush as she tries to find something to say that isn't 'stay'--because people do normally change in private, don't they? "I will...I will need help, zipping it. After," she settles on finally. She won't make him stay but... "I'll be quick." The promise comes with a smile that could pass for shy and then she too turns, just to move deeper into the closet. The advantage does go to Nox for quick changes...though normally she could simply pre-zip the dress before fitting herself into it. Lucien hesitates, for a moment, his eyes sweeping over Nox. But then he heads towards but not out the exit, standing at the other end of the closet with his back turned to Nox. He is unusually fidgety, for him, which -- admittedly means one fidget. Fingers twitching restlessly before he just folds his arms again, settling back into quiet stillness to allow Nox her quick-change. Behind him, a soft hum. She is either amused or pleased. Perhaps both. The rustle of organza soon fades over the sound, followed by less refined cloth noises. Then, silence. But Lucien isn't left to fidget for long. A minute, possibly, maybe a little more and her fingers touch lightly to his shoulder. There is no bangle around her wrist, no beads of jet around her shoulders and throat--the accessories bag was skipped. But the gown is in place, its simple, ruched bodice sagging slightly and the skirt more voluminous as a result. Nox has the straight and sleeveless neckline held to her chest with an arm. The other curls behind her back, trying to pin the two sides of the zipper together at the top but the waist has been tailored in so sharply that it's an impossible task. It gaps. Her cheeks look permanently stained with ink. Lucien turns, and for a moment he just looks at Nox, eyes -- just slightly wider than usual. Maybe it's the dim light of the closet. He doesn't move behind Nox; he slides his arms around behind her, instead, one hand holding the fabric together and the other finding the zipper to slide it upwards, careful as he moves so as not to pinch the skin. His eyes, though, are skimming down along Nox's form. "You are going to be the most striking person in the room." "Oh..." Nox curls both arms to her chest now--a needless gesture as the zipper purrs up and secures the gown around her form. Her chin dips and that hum begins again, softer this time. Felt through his fingers, thrumming through the silk, it fades only slowly. "The darkest, certainly. Perhaps I should have chosen a color." She peeks up at him, smile returning. "Will you be...will we be able to...?" Even after the gown is zipped, Lucien's hands don't move from Nox. One slides down to rest at her waist, fingers curling lightly against the small of her back. His other slides up to rest his hand against one of Nox's. "Will I be --?" His eyebrows raise, questioningly. "I do hope you will save me a dance." Nox moves her remaining hand to his shoulder. This much of dancing at least she knows. "Will you be working." Her inflection is careful to avoid making a question of it, negating the need for an answer. Instead she lets herself move forward by half a step. Distance closed, she's able to almost lean into him--a success, as she doesn't step on the hem, /or/ his foot. "Of everyone who will be attending, yours is the only dance I look forward to," she says with soft conviction. "I will be at liberty to dance with you." Lucien's hand slides into hers more firmly, and the pressure at the small of her back is light; enough to guide, not enough to pull. He steps back, out the closet door into the bedroom proper. "You outclass me by far," he murmurs, soft and amused, looking down -- at her gown, at his jeans -- even as he falls into slow waltz-step. "Good." Reassured, Nox is relaxed in his arms--but for the quiver of pleasant tension that lingers to be so close--and easy to guide. Almost too easy, in fact, with steps that are as light as air. So light that they don't feel like steps at all, she simply drifts where he turns her. "For once," she says of their respective attire, humming her laughter again. "Do you prefer me this way?" "Yes," Lucien answers this promptly. He continues to move, slow and rhythmic, waltzing without music through the dim bedroom. There's a small smile on his face as he looks down at Nox, hand squeezing hers a little tighter and a soft cool press of feeling coming with the grip. "-- I prefer," he clarifies lightly, "when you are relaxed. Laughing." Nox lacks the heart for it but that trickle of feeling is answered by a surge that serves for a quickened pulse, for a rush of happiness, of affection. For a time, she's content to bask in that, the dance and Lucien, her hand tensing in return and her hand holding his without blinking. The hem of her gown tickles his bare feet. The humming continues but it takes on a softer note--pleasure, then. "She warned me. Not to believe in the fairy tale," she murmurs eventually. "But you make it difficult. Just you. Just this way." Lucien's eyes slip half-closed, at that rush of feeling from Nox, his smile just a little bit wider. At least, for a moment. The dance continues, slow, but his smile fades into a simply thoughtful expression. "It is perhaps an apt warning. Fairy tale or no -- most of the real ones hardly got the Disney endings." "I know. Who would know better?" It isn't a bitter question, or even a rueful one. Nox whispers truth and offers reassurance with feelings, that affection growing. For once, she projects warmth, in direct contrast to the coolness of her touch. Beneath the hem of her skirt, the feather-light weight of her feet settle over his to let Lucien carry the dance, so she can just lean into him. "People are not made to be always happy. But because of that, the happy moments are precious. Brighter. Even for shadows. You make me happy, Lucien." Lucien's hand curls, tighter, around Nox's back. It's not proper ballroom position anymore, though his dance continues; it's just holding her close, his head tipping down to rest against hers. "Good," he says, soft enough that it is practically a whisper. "There is little enough of that to be found in the world." His movements come to a halt, his eyes closing as his cheek presses down against her hair. In answer to her warm feelings and cool touch he has the reverse, his hand warm in Nox's and a cool flush of calm sensation washing gently out into her. And Nox responds, tendrils of hair brushing his cheek and ear, her cheek finding its place against his chest. She closes her eyes as well to enjoy the simple pleasure of hearing a heartbeat there. In a little while, there will need to be a return of their public faces, she to her street clothes and the hospital, he to his business attire and work. But even knowing that deadline looms over them won't keep the woman from savoring the moment. As Lucien has said...there is little enough of that to be found in the world, and too few of moments like this one.