lucetilogs | Comfort and Joy

Entry tags:

Comfort and Joy

Who: Come one, come all! ...In formal attire.
What: A Christmas ball, old world style.
When: December 1st, beginning around five in the afternoon and ending when the last person leaves.
Where: The rec center.
Summary: Earth's eighteenth-century peeps are throwing one hell of a party.
Rating: Well, considering no one is serving water? Probably PG-13 for alcohol consumption and the results thereof (there's coffee and hot chocolate!).

The recreation center has been utterly transformed.

The doors open to a host of candles and a warm, old-world smell and feel. The scent of food and spices hangs in the air—mulled wine, wassail, evergreen boughs, fresh bread and roast meat. Cream brocades, simple but elegant, are draped over the walls. Traditional red rugs have been thrown over the floor. Gone are the billiard tables, ping-pong, and foosball. It looks like a different place entirely, every table impeccably dressed with light linen cloths and set with fine china and crystal. At least one-half of the room is cleared and ready for dancers.

The tables are lit with candles, and five chandeliers have been temporarily added to the room for more light, giving the room a golden glow instead of the sterile luminescence of fluorescent lighting. On the tables, boughs of evergreen and holly surround the candles, and mistletoe has been hung discreetly here and there. In one corner of the dancing area, by a large and beautifully decorated fir tree (Buffy’s insistence), the musicians are set up to play, unobtrusive to the diners but essential to the dancers. Leading them is Frederic Chopin himself, and few here can say they have had anyone better play for their pleasure.

Things will begin with a grand dinner late in the afternoon, with a light supper (mostly consisting of cold meats, bread, and other lighter fare) at around nine o’clock. The selection of food on the tables is enormous. Most of it is meat-based and some of it is simply meat. Roast beef with mushrooms, goose in giblet gravy, herbed chicken, baked salmon, and a whole pig are among the choices. There is some hope for vegetarians, though, with spinach mixed with bread crumbs and cheese on small toasts, turnips (or rutabagas if you speak American), onions, carrots, parsnips, mashed potatoes, asparagus in breadcrumbs, and savory onion and wild mushroom pies. There is hot fresh bread and rolls with butter and heaps upon heaps of small mince pies filled with fruit, molasses, and yes, a little minced lamb. Moreover, there are fresh winter fruits like oranges and mikans and many different desserts, such as Christmas pudding, a rum chocolate dessert, and spotted dog with custard. Sit and help yourself. For a complete list of the food offered, take a look here.

Among the drinks throughout the evening are wassail, tea, hot chocolate (less sweet and much more intense than most modern characters would be used to, made with cinnamon, vanilla, and a hint of cayenne pepper), coffee, brandy, wine both mulled and plain, port, sherry, and gallons of rum punch. Even though the food is fantastic, overseen by Jack Aubrey, the conversation is the point of the game, and who knows who they will wind up sitting beside. At the center of each table is placed a pineapple as a sign of welcome and wishes of prosperity.

There is dancing light as the music itself, with Archie Kennedy and Elizabeth Swann teaching the steps of each dance before striking up the music and letting everyone go to town with it. They are poised and elegant but relaxed and seeming to glide as they demonstrate the motions with an effortlessness that comes with years of practice. They were both raised on these dances and this sort of social function and seem completely at home here. The dancing begins after dinner with the minuets and continues after a light supper with some informal English country dances. Anyone unused to dancing like this may find that it’s harder than it looks, but when one gets used to it, it feels very graceful, beautiful, and…fun! The activity will only end when there are too few dancers left to continue, and will continue all night if possible. As dancers pass each other or move hand-in-hand, eye contact can be made, quiet words exchanged, subtle (or not) messages passed as they spin through the room, or perhaps the room spins while they remain still.

It might depend on how much they’ve had to drink.

Those who do not wish to dance have other activities to participate in. In one corner, card tables are set up with multiple decks of cards stacked up, and there is even a box or two of dominoes and a handful of dice. The tables themselves are round and made of polished rosewood or mahogany. This area is well-lit and on the opposite end of the room from the musicians and dancers, probably as a mercy to the tone-deaf Horatio Hornblower who loves cards but can’t abide music. Here, discreet (or indiscreet) gambling is inevitable. There may be no money here, but that doesn’t mean there’s nothing to wager.

Are you lingering at the dining tables, drinking and talking loud and laughing with friends, or will you shyly sit and watch the dancing and games and hope to be invited in? Are you sitting quietly alone and listening to the music as your foot taps on its own, or are you unable to sit still and ready to dance all night if they’ll let you? Are you playing cards with a few new acquaintances, or are you hanging on someone’s arm and helping them cheat?

Whatever you do, have fun.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Is it gonna be a mess? She told me..." And then Buffy paused. How much did Jack know? That was something she realized she hadn't been aware of. "How it happened. James wouldn't or I never asked or why would I even...but she said it before I could stop her."

Would Buffy have actually stopped her? Probably not. She preferred to know. Her chin dropped back against his shoulder. "Otherwise? It's been okay. Been teaching her about all the wonders of a modern household."

"She's not the housewifely type, is Lizzie."

Yet.

"You're very good to her, love."

There was that mercy again, in action. "Makes me want to dance you around, like."

"None of us at Seven are, Jack." Housewifely. "Doesn't mean she can't learn how the lights work or how to nuke a Hot Pocket if none of us have bothered to cook anything."

Somehow, that was delivered stiffly. And yet she relaxed again when the pirate pointed out what she needed to hear. Appreciation and notice of the leaps and bounds she was making. It warmed her up.

But not without the usual edge: "Gee, I'd kinda hope that you'd have more reasons than that."

With one smooth flourish, Jack whipped the napkin out of the front of her dress. "I have all the reasons. Aaaand I promised you, didn't I? A dance at the party. Though quite possibly later on we'll also dance at Seven--lair of the unhousewifely--to your ethereal Scotswoman."

Occasionally, the unintelligible utterings went both ways. This was one of them. Buffy looked hopelessly lost for a moment before she opted to roll with it push up from her chair.

It wasn't until she had pulled him to his feet alongside her that she finally figured it out: "O-oh. I don't think she's Scottish, Jack."

"......Either way. Scotswoman or no Scotswoman, I'll dance you to her. For now, you can show a blue man what you learned tonight, mate."

With utmost gentleness and gentility, Jack Sparrow lifted her knuckles to his lips. It was fun, this, acting the Quality. Not so fun as being a pirate, of course, but it had its privileges.

There was something instinctively thrilling about his backwards grammar. Dance you to her; Buffy ran the phrase over and over in her mind. Backwards and forwards and spinning. Her fingers shifted only slightly under his kiss -- a refreshed energy that was not quite hitting the note of happy but was well on its way.

And then, of course, the final word. Mate. Why did that tie her nerves up so much more pleasantly than any of his other throw-away nouns? She coaxed him closer to the dance floor.

The couple were just in time to start a new round---perhaps fortunately so. The dancers had lined up in two facing columns, and Jack made sure that he was facing Buffy as his partner.

He bowed to her, low, as the music struck up the beginning of the tune that would see them dancing together-yet-apart in the style of those country dances. Touching hands briefly as they crossed lines; following separate but identical patterns across the room. Jack was not nearly as good a dancer as Archie Kennedy, but he was exceptional at observing and faking good dancing. Mostly he was watching Buffy---hoping to catch a smile of enjoyment on her face. Looking for the fun in it.

Then they would be not-nearly-so-good together-yet-apart. Each flighting chance for contact was warm and firm; dedicated. And while she wasn't so preoccupied with watching her sometimes-distant partner as he was her, she did at least show a spark of deeper interest when their paths crossed and recrossed. Buffy tripped her way through the movements and steps -- jaunty, lively, and so gradually the unburdened grin slipped back into place. While the Slayer could be quite melancholy, she rarely stayed so for long in the face of partying and merriment. Contrary to everything she ever said, she enjoyed happiness. She enjoyed good things.

Give it a few more passes and soon she would be feeling rather tempted to break the line and haul the pirate off into their own makeshift dance. However, for now, the toed conformity and kept her forwardness in check.

A few more passes and Jack felt he had finally found the true step and rhythm and spirit of this dance. It was so very different from the jigs and reels got up in the Twelve Daggers. And when the two columns lined up once more, he found himself at the opposite end from the Slayer.

Opposite ends would not do; the Slayer surveyed the lines -- leaning both forwards and back to try and figure out some creative problem solving. If he was there, then perhaps...

As the movement resumed, Buffy nudged first one dancer and then another out of step. She jumped the queue, cut in line, foisted off partners before they were meant to be foisted, and generally played havok with a number of the rules and regulations of the dance. And all of it done with muttered apologies and shallowly convincing grimaces that tried to suggest that she was only ever mistaken.

Partner by partner, she was getting back to him.

It was becoming a proper game of tag, then, because Jack was devilishly switching spots, twirling girls, and insinuating himself between partners just to remain one step ahead of her. Teasing. Leaving a trail of confused dancers and rolling eyes in his wake.

It must be confessed that it took Buffy rather longer than it should have to realize that this was taking place. That she -- she! -- was being turned into the chaser and Jack was the chasee. The realization sank like a stone to the pit of her stomach and, not paying enough attention, she trod on her current partners toe. A small scene ensued.

Jack pretended not to notice the small scene. He was too busy bowing to yet another new partner.

Colour rose to her cheeks. So long gone away and only a handful of kisses and some stolen parsnips and why weren't they dancing? Only she wasn't feeling any anger. She could see what he was doing. She wasn't entirely convinced that she could blame him -- and yet it did feel mightily absurd to have the shoe on the other foot.

Buffy smiled stiffly to a man who must've been a New Feather because she barely recognized him. And then she brushed him off as she passed him into the hands of some other dancer.

The music continued---boisterous. Spirited. Jack began to feel warm in his frock coat; the tie at his throat felt suddenly constricting--so very different from the unbuttoned look he had perfected in day to day life. His breathing quickened with the energy of the dance and the fun of being prey. Her prey.

And...lovely...that blush over her pale skin.

But it couldn't last forever, and he found himself taking fewer and fewer creative pathways away from her. Jack was content to let her catch up to him.

Her palm pressed lightly against some other stranger's hand; she behaved with none of the firmness or insistence with these passing partners as she had earlier exhibited when she had been dancing with Jack. Her insistence was undeniably elsewhere and she was barely attempting to pretend otherwise. The last few partners sniffed and possibly left with the impression that she was simply a cold and disinterested sort of person. This was nearly always the unintended side-effect of her easily distracted nature. Other social norms fell away in the pursuit of one or two goals -- Slayerly ones or otherwise.

But then there was only a partner each between them and Buffy boldly pressed past decorum and order and snagged the pirate by his wrist -- exiling the both of them from the dance and pulling him apart from the crowd. Alongside her. Her other hand reached for the waist of his coat.

"Got you."

"Took you long enough."

Sparrow let her grab hold of him, although the temptation was there to shrug his way out of that coat simply because the room was getting so warm.

"What? You'd rather have me swat and shove and manhandle everyone out of the way just to get to you?"

She tilted her head back and bit down upon a wider smile. Trying to maintain her faux-stern demeanor. "Don't answer that; I think I can guess."

"There's to be manhandling tonight? Thought gentleness was in order, love." At gentleness he very lightly caressed her collarbone. Something about this dress seemed to demand only the most restrained touches; it was both wonderful and maddening.

She bit down on her lip; just barely. Did he know that he was...? Yes, she decided. He must. Her head tilted to the side, opening up an expanse of bare neck above that collarbone. A decidedly vulnerable gesture for a Slayer although the only two vampires in attendance were...far off. One had a presence she could still feel in core of her spine -- now that he was back. Undead again.

But she found it surprisingly easy to ignore others -- even vampires -- given this long-sought reunion. She stepped closer.

Quiet and hardly above a whisper: "God. How long do we have to stay at this thing? Not that it's not..." She trailed off...perhaps a little guilty for unintentionally slamming Archie's pet feast.

In the end, they would certainly have to stay long enough to chat with James Norrington and get the DL on his little tête à tête with Elizabeth Swann.

The food and drink and dancing had at least had the effect of driving off Jack's post-mission exhaustion for the time being. Thus it was with a very courtly tone that he informed her:

"As long as you like, of course."

"Which inevitably translates out to as long as you arbitrarily think is socially appropriate, Buffy." It was true; they couldn't leave yet. There were still others to converse with -- properly and in good spirits, now that she had less of a reason to look so impatient and glum.

"Mmmhm. You've got a marvelous inner compass when it comes to identifying social mores. Me, I'd likely as not just get drunk and fall asleep under your great fir tree and leave sometime tomorrow morning-afternoon-ish."

"I'm taking you home even if I have to carry you. Again. That's a promise and a threat."

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