[ she sets a brisk pace into the festival. too quick to look casual, comfortable, and she realizes it when the first crowd of bodies bottlenecks on the path ahead of them and she has to slow down.
she looks like she's competing in a race, not enjoying an afternoon. alina draws a slow, steadying breath.
up ahead, music spills out of the central square. beneath it, the sound of a crackling fire. smoke fills the air. she glances over her shoulder to ensure she hasn't lost the darkling — not out of worry for him, but for what kind of trouble he might get up to.
but the bottleneck gives way, and they filter into the square, where people dance in unfamiliar but energetic steps in staggered congress near the roasting pig. a dance, a wrestling match, and an offering. she can make it through just three things. she draws her shoulders straighter and turns to him, offering her hand. she can't claim to have quite parsed all the steps, but failure is a part of joining in for festival dancing. you figure it out as you go. ]
( he'd been thinking about all the similarities between this and the winter fête. it wasn't the sort of thing he'd muse aloud — not with alina's temper already so frayed.
that doesn't mean his brow doesn't dip, briefly skeptical of the proffered hand. )
How long has it been since you danced like this? ( his voice is neutral, carefully so, as he finally takes her hand. )
If I told you that I danced like this with Nikolai Lantsov in West Ravka?
[ she draws him nearer, taking his other hand too so she can tug him into the first skip-like motion, turning into a side bend together as they find the rhythm. there are other movements, but her first order of business seems to be the footing and turning. ]
[ Nikolai wasn't the first person to use Alina to make himself look better, to try to advance his claim on Ravka. At least Nikolai's method didn't involve murder.
The dance involves a peppy step, a sort of near constant bounce that has Alina releasing one of the Darkling's hands to twirl around him like he was a kind of maypole. She draws her other hand back and picks up too-late on a series of claps, fumbling. Her brow furrows as she loses step. ]
I wouldn't conflate a lack of ability to collar you with a lack of desire to do so. Given the choice between you and his throne, which do you imagine he'd choose?
( simple, unweighted. in this, he and nikolai are perhaps not that different — what is different is that he had always intended to have them both. and what he wanted, he tended to get. )
The question you should be asking — [ the steps bring her in against him as she says this, and she bumps against his chest in her own clumsiness. it's a natural part of folk dance, the staggering. people around them laugh at their own mistakes. alina doesn't. she glowers at him, hesitating. ] — is how many innocent people he would kill to get either. And the answer is fewer than you.
( hands immediately lift to steady her. there's an awkward moment that verges on intimacy, which threatens to push memories of the beach ritual to the surface of his thoughts.
but this is not that kind of situation, even if her proximity makes his skin tingle with the desire to touch her everywhere. )
Leading is never wholly bloodless, Alina. No matter how pure your intentions.
There is a difference between accepting that fact and embracing the bloodshed.
[ she shoves him back from her. the dance has continued. the couple next to them is trying to move into their space as the whole group rotates, and alina pulls aleksander with her, trying to catch up. her steps are out of rhythm. too fast, too jerky, too angry.
the fire is hot, even with the air billowing under the loose shift of her dress, the light breeze rustling over the sweat of her bare back. ]
If all you wanted was to lead, do you really think I'd have stopped you?
( he'd considered it, actually. not immediately, because she had still been an unknown quantity, then, and he had been so close to his goal. close enough to taste it. but eventually, he had.
and then she'd run and whatever tenuous trust he'd had withered like fruit on the vine. there were no chances after that. )
( they settle into the rhythm of the dance. it's still clumsy at points, because he really hasn't danced anything like this in years but there's something about being close to her, being swallowed up by the music. )
[ sweat gathers in the hollows of her collar bones, pools against her lower back and soaks the silken fabric of her dress where it dips there. the dance is animated and lively, the music thudding and energetic. yet there's something melancholic about it.
we could have had this. even attempting to negotiate like civilized people. it was what she had gotten good at amongst the grisha of the little palace, even as she gave the lantsov family tight smiles and vapid agreement. it could have been the two of them grappling to terms. she would not have mourned for the king who violated genya if he were the only casualty. she wouldn't.
how many years had they missed that chance by? how many lives lost because time had made the darkling hard, had swallowed up aleksander and left only shadow and ink behind?
she tires out after some minutes, realizing there will be no break in the music. her feet are sore. she staggers past him, holding onto his arm so she can pull off the straps of her sandals and carry them in her free hand as they depart the courtyard that has turned to a dance hall. her breath still comes in uneven pants.
the evening is young, though, an cheers from the arena interrupt the music, competing. ]
Let me take those, ( it wouldn't do for a dominant ㅡ even one as stubborn as she is ㅡ to be seen carrying her own shoes.
he considers, briefly, offering to carry her instead. he imagines her reaction, the way her expression would twist and pinch, and refrains. he did promise to behave himself.
[ he acts so unbothered by all of this. alina knows it's an act and she still falls for it at times. she surveys him with something sharp in her eyes. he isn't made for subservience, yet he settles patiently into it.
fine. let him. she hands over her shoes. ]
You're taking to this well.
[ suspiciously so. she doesn't miss a beat, though, leading the way towards the arena. she should have known he would have an easier time of it than her. should have guessed. yet here they are. ]
I'm afraid it'll take more than a little nudity to shock me.
( this is an objective truth. he's old. he's seen things and done things ㅡ endured things ㅡ she can't possibly imagine.
saying that it's easy for him, though, is a mistake. so much of this place grates on him. anathema to everything he stands for. but he is patient, eventually he'll find the cracks in their system and he'll dig in his fingers until it bleeds. )
[ the blisters that have already started on her feet ache exposed to the air, brushed by concrete and stone. but it's better than the leather sandals rubbing against them more.
the arena comes into better view, a hastily prepared gladiatorial ring with stadium seats. down in the center, two women slick with oil grapple for one another's most intimate places. skin sliding on skin. a member of the audience on a bench to their left has taken to pleasuring herself to the site, skirt hiked up, fingers inside of herself.
it is no different than applause, alina supposes, to these people. she squares her shoulders like she's preparing for battle, eyes darting up only briefly to meet the cold gray of the darkling's. ]
he casts an eye over the crowd, lingering briefly on the woman and her skirt, unabashed in her pleasure, before returning to alina. she's getting better at masking her emotions but there are still cracks in the veneer. a young girl's uncertainty shining through. )
Angry with the city officials who pulled me out of war and death into luxuries like our world hasn't seen?
[ he's seen the books piled beside her bathtub by now. the art in the downstairs. the frozen pre-made dinners that he'd had to clear out to stock the kitchen in any reasonable fashion for him to cook instead. ]
Don't start on the cost. It's too ironic. [ she gestures up ahead. ] Here. [ she steps into the row of bench seating, and when she has made herself comfortable sitting down, she places her hand on the seat next to her to keep him from occupying it. ] No. Kneel.
[ only when he has complied does she continue. ]
This city has done nothing to me that you haven't already done. [ he too had given her luxury as a cage, had put a collar on her and controlled her power and her freedom, had used her desires against her. ] I'm beyond angry. I'm strategizing.
Strange how strategizing looks so much like putting down roots.
( because it's not like she's hidden how tired she is of the war, how ready she is for things to be over; for all its quirks, the city offers her a life of comfortable luxury at very little cost to her, personally, if only she can look away from everything else. )
[ coming from him, that doesn't feel like a compliment. it sounds like he's calling her ruthless, accusing her of using power as he would. and if she's doing that, isn't she doing it wrong? isn't the whole point of doing this to be a better alternative to him?
the implications trouble her. such that she brings her nails to her mouth, fidgeting as the arena is cleared out and the new, clean, nude wrestlers are brought out. ]
Worried I'll remain here, and you won't have a way to control the Fold?
You're right, of course. ( he says, turning away to consider the arena and its new occupants. two men, this time. roughly of a similar size and build — though as they are stripped, it becomes clear that the one is a submissive and the other a dominant.
he jerks his chin toward the spectacle, ) How do they select their challengers, do you think?
[ she finds it hard to look at them. even months in, it still feels strange to just baldly stare at a naked man. some part of her stirs in complaint. she stomps it down, and only glances away to regard the darkling. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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she looks like she's competing in a race, not enjoying an afternoon. alina draws a slow, steadying breath.
up ahead, music spills out of the central square. beneath it, the sound of a crackling fire. smoke fills the air. she glances over her shoulder to ensure she hasn't lost the darkling — not out of worry for him, but for what kind of trouble he might get up to.
but the bottleneck gives way, and they filter into the square, where people dance in unfamiliar but energetic steps in staggered congress near the roasting pig. a dance, a wrestling match, and an offering. she can make it through just three things. she draws her shoulders straighter and turns to him, offering her hand. she can't claim to have quite parsed all the steps, but failure is a part of joining in for festival dancing. you figure it out as you go. ]
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that doesn't mean his brow doesn't dip, briefly skeptical of the proffered hand. )
How long has it been since you danced like this? ( his voice is neutral, carefully so, as he finally takes her hand. )
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[ she draws him nearer, taking his other hand too so she can tug him into the first skip-like motion, turning into a side bend together as they find the rhythm. there are other movements, but her first order of business seems to be the footing and turning. ]
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It does seem like the sort of thing the little Lantsov would enjoy.
( the spectacle, at least. like the rest of his family, nikolai knows how to make a scene. )
Particularly with the Sun Summoner on his arm.
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[ Nikolai wasn't the first person to use Alina to make himself look better, to try to advance his claim on Ravka. At least Nikolai's method didn't involve murder.
The dance involves a peppy step, a sort of near constant bounce that has Alina releasing one of the Darkling's hands to twirl around him like he was a kind of maypole. She draws her other hand back and picks up too-late on a series of claps, fumbling. Her brow furrows as she loses step. ]
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( simple, unweighted. in this, he and nikolai are perhaps not that different — what is different is that he had always intended to have them both. and what he wanted, he tended to get. )
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but this is not that kind of situation, even if her proximity makes his skin tingle with the desire to touch her everywhere. )
Leading is never wholly bloodless, Alina. No matter how pure your intentions.
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[ she shoves him back from her. the dance has continued. the couple next to them is trying to move into their space as the whole group rotates, and alina pulls aleksander with her, trying to catch up. her steps are out of rhythm. too fast, too jerky, too angry.
the fire is hot, even with the air billowing under the loose shift of her dress, the light breeze rustling over the sweat of her bare back. ]
If all you wanted was to lead, do you really think I'd have stopped you?
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( he'd considered it, actually. not immediately, because she had still been an unknown quantity, then, and he had been so close to his goal. close enough to taste it. but eventually, he had.
and then she'd run and whatever tenuous trust he'd had withered like fruit on the vine. there were no chances after that. )
The West was rallying against us.
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[ How many times will they rehash this argument? How much time do they have to do precisely that?
She falls back into step with the rest of the crowd, tugging the Darkling along with her. ]
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( they settle into the rhythm of the dance. it's still clumsy at points, because he really hasn't danced anything like this in years but there's something about being close to her, being swallowed up by the music. )
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we could have had this. even attempting to negotiate like civilized people. it was what she had gotten good at amongst the grisha of the little palace, even as she gave the lantsov family tight smiles and vapid agreement. it could have been the two of them grappling to terms. she would not have mourned for the king who violated genya if he were the only casualty. she wouldn't.
how many years had they missed that chance by? how many lives lost because time had made the darkling hard, had swallowed up aleksander and left only shadow and ink behind?
she tires out after some minutes, realizing there will be no break in the music. her feet are sore. she staggers past him, holding onto his arm so she can pull off the straps of her sandals and carry them in her free hand as they depart the courtyard that has turned to a dance hall. her breath still comes in uneven pants.
the evening is young, though, an cheers from the arena interrupt the music, competing. ]
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he considers, briefly, offering to carry her instead. he imagines her reaction, the way her expression would twist and pinch, and refrains. he did promise to behave himself.
more or less. )
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fine. let him. she hands over her shoes. ]
You're taking to this well.
[ suspiciously so. she doesn't miss a beat, though, leading the way towards the arena. she should have known he would have an easier time of it than her. should have guessed. yet here they are. ]
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( this is an objective truth. he's old. he's seen things and done things ㅡ endured things ㅡ she can't possibly imagine.
saying that it's easy for him, though, is a mistake. so much of this place grates on him. anathema to everything he stands for. but he is patient, eventually he'll find the cracks in their system and he'll dig in his fingers until it bleeds. )
Are you uncomfortable, being here?
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[ the blisters that have already started on her feet ache exposed to the air, brushed by concrete and stone. but it's better than the leather sandals rubbing against them more.
the arena comes into better view, a hastily prepared gladiatorial ring with stadium seats. down in the center, two women slick with oil grapple for one another's most intimate places. skin sliding on skin. a member of the audience on a bench to their left has taken to pleasuring herself to the site, skirt hiked up, fingers inside of herself.
it is no different than applause, alina supposes, to these people. she squares her shoulders like she's preparing for battle, eyes darting up only briefly to meet the cold gray of the darkling's. ]
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( simply put.
he casts an eye over the crowd, lingering briefly on the woman and her skirt, unabashed in her pleasure, before returning to alina. she's getting better at masking her emotions but there are still cracks in the veneer. a young girl's uncertainty shining through. )
I would have you be angry, if anything.
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[ he's seen the books piled beside her bathtub by now. the art in the downstairs. the frozen pre-made dinners that he'd had to clear out to stock the kitchen in any reasonable fashion for him to cook instead. ]
Don't start on the cost. It's too ironic. [ she gestures up ahead. ] Here. [ she steps into the row of bench seating, and when she has made herself comfortable sitting down, she places her hand on the seat next to her to keep him from occupying it. ] No. Kneel.
[ only when he has complied does she continue. ]
This city has done nothing to me that you haven't already done. [ he too had given her luxury as a cage, had put a collar on her and controlled her power and her freedom, had used her desires against her. ] I'm beyond angry. I'm strategizing.
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( because it's not like she's hidden how tired she is of the war, how ready she is for things to be over; for all its quirks, the city offers her a life of comfortable luxury at very little cost to her, personally, if only she can look away from everything else. )
It suits you, power.
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the implications trouble her. such that she brings her nails to her mouth, fidgeting as the arena is cleared out and the new, clean, nude wrestlers are brought out. ]
Worried I'll remain here, and you won't have a way to control the Fold?
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( something terrible, his tone clearly implies. they think they know what it is, what it can do, but they really have no idea.
even he, centuries after its creation, has barely scratched the surface of what it is and what it's truly capable of. )
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[ she scoffs. ]
You'll have to be more creative.
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he jerks his chin toward the spectacle, ) How do they select their challengers, do you think?
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[ she finds it hard to look at them. even months in, it still feels strange to just baldly stare at a naked man. some part of her stirs in complaint. she stomps it down, and only glances away to regard the darkling. ]
Thinking of throwing your hat in the ring?
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