ArchivedLogs:Types of Beauty

Types of Beauty
Dramatis Personae Lucien, Nox
In Absentia	2013-04-26 First Dates
Location Lincoln Center
Lincoln Center is /busy/ on a Friday evening -- or at least it will be, as showtime draws nearer. But Lucien today is bringing his date rather unfashionably early to the concert hall. He is perhaps trying to make up for Unfashionably Early in attire, a very well-tailored grey suit, shot through with subtle veining of pink pinstripes. Vest. Bowtie. The doors have not even yet opened, though judging by the press of people outside they will shortly; Lucien avoids this crowd by heading off towards a smaller side entrance. It opens shortly after a text from Lucien; the attendant who lets them in lets them into a nearly deserted lobby, save one man sweeping and a pair of ushers chatting by the doors. "Thank you," Lucien murmurs, the the woman who admits them; and to Nox, "would you care for any refreshment? It will," he says, a hint apologetically, "be a short while before the performance begins." And yet there is nothing to be made up for--Nox's anxiety is soothed by these preparations, the attention to details that will ensure a happy evening rather than one that sees them hissed from their box. Her attire is slightly less extravagant: a simple little black dress, the bodice gathered and the neckline scooped, black flats, a filmy shawl that she has drawn up loosely around her head and face to provide some protection from random glances. Her hair is doing its best to escape this barrier. No jewelry but her smile is adornment enough, both relieved and grateful, bringing a hint of light to too-dark eyes. After she has dipped her head in thanks to she who made this possible, she curls her hands over Lucien's elbow and enjoys an unguarded study of the lobby. Her delight and excitement are palpable, courtesy of his talents. "I do not mind the wait, I have never minded waiting. What do people have for refreshment here? Are we allowed programs? If I were normal, would I look all right here? /You/ look perfect." "Sandwiches. Salads. Pastries. Wine. Coffee. Soda. Cocktails. They have quite a few." Lucien rests his fingers lightly over hers, at his arm, and he is in no rush through the lobby. "And," he says, a little bit brighter, "for possibly the first time ever it will not require a lengthy wait in line." His eyes slant sideways to flick over Nox, his smile small and warm. "You look absolutely lovely. You look wonderful here just as you are." "Wine would be lovely," Nox decides, if only for the mental image: "I have always wanted to stand openly in a room like this," she murmurs, "with a handsome man at one hand and a glass of wine in the other." Admitting this is every bit as embarrassing to her as it is amusing but in her muted giddiness, it comes bubbling out--much as the darker tint that sweeps through her cheeks at the compliment. In spite of all of this excitement, she does keep her pace to his. Each person spied within the lobby--the ushers, the man with the sweeper--cause her fingers to press more firmly against his arm. But each surge of anxiety, the temptation to hide, is carefully battled back. Nox might be shy in studying them but Lucien's presence bolsters her. "Do you suppose they mind? The inconvenience. Allowing us in, serving us before everyone else." This admission puts a warmer smile on Lucien's face, and his fingers squeeze at hers lightly. There /is/ a wayward wary glance, form one of the ushers, but they have apparently been notified of this arrival because he just looks to the woman who let them in and then goes back to his conversation. Lucien leads Nox off across towards the cafe-like concession stand, tipping his head back to look at the menu. Menus. Wine menu, beer menu, coffee menu, actual food menu. "I must admit the image is an appealing one. A deep red, perhaps. All the more striking." Because if you are going to go for image, attention to detail matters! He glances away, at the others around the lobby, and his quiet hum is dismissive. "Perhaps, perhaps not," he murmurs, head tipping down and his smile a small private one, "they will tolerate it, I imagine. I tip well." Surely Nox did not notice that glance, focused as she is on the board with its multiple lines of script. Small script in a bright space and she is taking a step closer to be certain of the choices. Another reason that it's good Lucien is there! She breathes out soft relief while absently tugging the gauzy stole further in front of her face. "Whichever you believe is best." A very, very brief look goes flickering towards the people scattered through the lobby before her head tilts towards his. "It seems more like bribes," she observes with fair to decent humor. "You should not bankrupt yourself like this again." "It might be bribes," Lucien acknowledges, his lips twitching upwards further. "I prefer to consider it a trade. They are helping make my evening delightful. I can help improve theirs." He orders a Merlot. Two Merlots, one for each of them. And a plate of cheeses, because -- wine. "Mmm. I admit I /was/ rather hoping for opportunity to do it again. In the future. Like," Lucien says, leaning in closer after he has paid for wines to /confide/ this to Nox, in a low voice, "a /second date/. -- That is perhaps preemptive. We have not yet survived our first." The confidence is given due attention and though she's serious for the start of it, by the end he has her humming softly. Nox touches light fingertips to her lips and lowers her head until that surge of mingled amusement and pleasure have subsided. Wine. Yes, wine and cheese. /Excellent/ distractions. "I can think of a hundred things that we might do, that would not require you to open that wallet. Happy though I am to be here with you tonight, Lucien. This is a dream." She reaches for the glass when it is presented, cradling it most carefully--distrustful of her fingers and hand, wary of dropping it. There. Vision achieved, wine in hand, man at her side. She hums again. "Is it poor manners to accept a second date before the first is over? I do not want to err." Lucien's mouth opens. And closes again. He navigates away from refreshments, slowly, angling towards the stairs up to the balconies and boxes but only at a slow pace. "-- I would not know," he admits, thoughtful, "I have never /had/ a second date. Or. For that matter. A first. Per/haps/," he muses this slow and thoughtful, his forefinger tapping against the stem of his glass, "manners are a question of who you will offend. If all parties are comfortable, there has been no breach." With this decision he glances towards her again, and this time the slow sweep of his eyes is longer. Taking her in. Wine glass and dress and all. "-- I would say, then, that it is no worse manners for you to accept a second date preemptively than it is for me to ask you on one." It takes a moment of quiet before he ventures: "Would you like to go on a second date with me, Nox?" "Yes. Oh yes." She has gone onyx with blushing, features indistinct with their very darkness but there's no mistaking the enthusiasm in Nox's whisper. Her hand finds its place tucked in his elbow, her eyes aim forward and down to navigate the stairs--but it would not take an empath to know that she is so very much focused on he who walks at her side. "I would like that. Very much." Time is necessary after that to compose herself. To wait for blackest skin to become simply charcoal again. A breath is feigned as she lifts her head to tilt a smile at him. "For our next one, perhaps I can take you below. There are old stations. Some of the first. Long closed, but they can be so beautiful. Not beautiful in this way, but..." Lucien was, actually, holding his breath for this answer. This is evident because now he is exhaling in one long-slow rush, a note of relief in his smile. He climbs the stairs quietly, shifting cheese and wine both to the same hand so that he can retrieve tickets from his pocket. He lets one of the ushers scan them. Claims a pair of programs in return. The box they are shown to is a small one, though the view is good. There are six seats, all to themselves. "-- I would like that," he answers, quietly, once they are alone again. "There is so much of the city that I never see. It would be nice. There are many types of beauty." He miiight be stealing another long look at Nox there. So many things for poor Lucien to carry! Though she's reluctant to do so, Nox slips her hand free and reaches to take the programs so that he can juggle the refreshments without risk of spillage. "To think you thought I would say no...when I would say yes, every time you ask," she teases almost inaudibly as they crest the top of the stairs. The next few minutes are spent in silence. At first that look goes unseen because Nox is...slightly overcome with their location. Box seats! To themselves! And the stage is right there! She steps immediately to the railing to stand looking down into the theater, her study of it intense--memorizing every detail, or attempting to, no doubt! When she finally turns back to him, she shimmers. Glowing is beyond her but the edges have frayed and created a dark glimmer around the woman as she steps around to approach him again. Her eyes are immense, and shining. "There are. This is one. And being someone who would give me this...that is another. Thank you," she whispers. Lucien sets his glass down, beside a seat; he balances the cheese plate on the arm of another one because why not? They have them all to themselves. After this he just observes, nominally leafing through his program though in actuality his eyes are on Nox more than on it. Down below there are noises stirring. People, footsteps; the doors have been opened, the crowds filtering in. Lucien is still just watching Nox, taking a half-step closer as she approaches him. His fingers lift, curling through hers to lift her hand, press a light kiss to her knuckles. "{It is good,}" he says in quiet French. "{To share it with you. Thank you.}" Nox moves closer still at the sound of others joining them. In the other boxes, in the seats below. It becomes imperative to move away from the space that would allow others to see her--until Lucien effectively distracts her from that as well. She's looking back over her shoulder when he takes her hand and the touch shares habitual anxiety, an awareness of crowds so well-worn that it's almost comforting. Then awareness of /him/ filters through that, claiming it all in a rush of deeper emotion. Fondness. Uncertainty. Attraction. She watches him in turn as the kiss lands and if she were able to breath, it would be held in that moment. "Lucien," she murmurs, just to say it. Then, "{You are a dream.}" Carefully, she slips her hand free--the other still holds her wine, her program--and curls it beneath his. The light kiss is placed in his palm, where she can tuck his fingers over that spot after, as if it were a gift that could be held. She smiles. The anxiety is met with a familiar feel, too, cool-soft-soothing as her lips meet his palm. Lucien's other hand, program still held in it, slips around Nox's waist. He might be aware of the crowd slipping into the theatre but the crowd, at least, seems fairly unaware of /them/, just two dark figures up in the shadowy balcony. His head tips forward, forehead resting lightly against hers. "-- You know," he says, a touch apologetically, "I did not even ask if you cared for Stravinsky or Prokofiev." His program is lightly tapping at the small of her back. Once, twice, then still. Lucien draws in a slow breath as he straightens, steps back towards their seats. "I mean, a proper dream should have a proper soundtrack, no?" Her eyes close, proximity having much the same effect as that shared quieting. Nox is content there, shifting only slightly to make it less a sin against his neck and back to rest that way with her. It is a sad thing when he shifts away--but there is music to come, and privacy, and so. "I could not tell you if I enjoy them. When I hear, maybe I will know? I can never remember names. Or...many names. But music..." She takes a seat first. The program is set on the seat to her left, the wine beside it. He's set the precedent! Then, Nox just...watches him. Maaaybe taking a page from his earlier example or possibly wanting to do as she'd done with the theater, and memorize him in that moment. "That would be your music. The proper soundtrack," she murmurs. "Your singing. The violin." Lucien settles into the seat beside Nox. One hand curls around the stem of his glass, on his far side. His other rests on the armrest between them, palm turned upwards. "My --" It's dark, but still discernible faintly as his cheeks tint slightly pinker. "I don't know if I can much compare to the performers tonight. But. Ah. Perhaps, afterwards, you might come back home with me. The music can continue." "Yes." Assent also comes with Nox slipping her hand over his, fingers curling through to make this more a clasp than simply resting there. This way, he can feel as well as hear the humming that follows--a blush for the several he's won from her? She can celebrate that. "I will confess to some bias. But you are...better than you think. When you sang for us, for me, that is when I think I came to care for you." A confession that sends her fleeing into silence. Nox takes up the wine and mimes a sip, looking ahead and down to the stage. This confession drops Lucien into silence, as well. His fingers curl back through hers, the soothing cool returning. "I do not know," he decides, after a long pause for thought, a small sip of wine, "when I -- it is hard to find the moments. When I started to care for you and when I /realized/ I had started to care for you." His thumb brushes slowly against Nox's knuckles. His eyes skim over her, but then slowly, reluctantly, turn back towards the stage as the last of the crowd is getting into their seats. "Perhaps it is an ongoing process. It certainly seems to grow, all the time." "There need not be a moment," Nox assures him softly, "I did not say that so you would look for one. It is...it is enough. To know. That you do." And through their joined hands, he will feel her pleasure, the gentle--even shy--pleasure to hear the same from him. This is a sweeter mix than the giddy pulses of excitement from the lobby. This is as quiet and deep as Nox herself. And she shares that with him as the lights go down, as the curtains come up, a silent symphony between the two of them while the conductor raises his baton to summon the real thing.