Welcome to Gaia! ::

Malikai stood very still, and held his breath.

He couldn’t forever, of course, but the environment made him feel as though he ought to try, just the same. Around him, everything glimmered. Impossibly pristine. Beautiful. Perfect. From the marbeled floors to the sweeping, ornate ceiling, to the embroidered and lace curtains that draped from paned glass windows multiple times taller than he, the entire presentation looked magicked into being from a dream of elegance somewhere. Long tables lined one of the far walls, out of the way, but dotted with exemplary samples of the finest works of Serenian confectioners and bakers.

Of course, he didn’t dare touch. These things were not meant for grubby peasant fingers, and his were out of place enough as they were: tucked behind his back and folded while he stood half at attention, and watched.

The ballroom floor itself looked almost like some elaborate, organized mating display, choreographed to an art. Which, in some ways — as he was beginning to realize, slowly — it was. The number of suitors (for what else could they be, doting at her side and being obvious on occasion in their fawns for her attention even by Malikai’s standards) who approached Laesara alone was beyond count, so far as he could tell. It might have been seven exactly thus far. Not that he was counting. All around, however, the pattern was similar, sometimes more obvious, but oftentimes subtle enough that he suspected he missed it, since — even after the years he had spent in noble company, now — the culture they practiced and unspoken rules they danced to still often eluded him entirely.

The music, though, was lovely, as were the gowns and the suits, the bowing and the twirling. So, even if he personally felt out of place, if he stood very still, he could manage mostly to be ignored and observe in silence.

Or, so he had hoped.

“You know, setting yourself out like that, all alone and painfully obvious as a swollen toe is just begging for attention from the wrong sort of company, I hope you know.”

Malikai worked hard not to wince, and ventured the smallest glance he could to his newest company. Young. Perhaps his age? Lavender-skinned. Flaxen haired. Obviously noble from his dress and posture, and yet, something in the overall demeanor set Malikai off, making him somehow — for better or for worse — less concerned than he might otherwise have been. In the presence of one of Laesara’s cousins, for example. As it was, he shifted his weight, and after an awkward pause, gave a small roll of his shoulders.

“Er, so…ought I be concerned ‘bout your company, then?”

The noble snorted, and then, if possible, his grin stretched further and he shook his head. “Nah—least not at the moment, I’m warning you is all. You waddle along in the shadow of a princess of vipers long enough, you ought to at least try to be inconspicuous.”

Malikai’s expression pinched. “She’s not—I am tryin’ t’—who’re you?”

“I think you’d look more subtle dancing with me,” the noble said without skipping a beat, “and trust me when I say I suspect we would graceful as mating dalaks.”

Malikai was not certain his face was capable of growing hotter any more quickly, and the roll of thoroughly amused laughter that followed in the wake of his blush did not help matters. The noble’s hand was at his shoulder a moment later, patting as he grinned.

“Janatheil Orehian. Shall I tell Laesara she’s opening you to being eaten alive standing like a loyal soldier in waiting, or would you prefer we explore how many shades of purple your skin is capable of displaying in honor of my good humor?”

Malikai opened his mouth, but that was about as responsive as any of him seemed to be. So he shut it again a moment later, clearing his throat and warily eyeing—Janatheil. The name was vaguely familiar.