Ciara - wind nation

Ciara began humming the tune "matchmaker matchmaker give me a match" as she slipped away from her sister and the man. After grabbing a glass of wine she made her way to a door that led to a courtyard. Trees and bushes with magnificent lights framed the exterior and an intricate fountain stood in the center. The twinkling of the lights entranced the princess and the buzz she had going made her giggle. This was the perfect thing to cure her boredom and misery. She sat on the edge of the fountain and ran her fingers through the water.

"Peace at last."

++Seraphina, Princess of Fire Nation++

A certain chill crept within her as the man before her took the hand she had offered. she was not certain if it was a sign of danger or something else. Drowned in this mystery of her feelings, she failed to notice the spark of sexuality in his voice as she was now dragged into the crowd of people dancing. Normally, she feels very uncomfortable surrounded by strangers she had no idea of. However, she felt quite secure as he pulled her into his arms. She had never been held like this by any male except her father and brother. The fire princess was bewildered at this but decided to hide it with a mask of pleasantries.

Upon their present situation, Seraphina had took a whiff of alcohol from her dance partner. She gazed at him and gave a small smile at his reply of never disappointing. She wondered where she got the urge to say her previous statement. Thinking about it, she wondered if the prince assigned to be her husband would be similar to him or not.

"Let us put that to a test."

Zenith - Dark Nation Prince

Zenith's hands were quicksilver in hers, all fantastic intrigue, pseudo-mystery and veiled danger, truly impossible to hold onto. His offered hand didn't shake, hardly wavered as he awaited her response. From the corners of his flinty eyes, he spotted her bemused sister grinning like a cat basking in sunlight and offered her a slight smile, as well. However, his ebony eyes locked back with Zooey's baby blues, and he counted the differing colours casting constellations, undecipherable but honest. The way he managed to carry himself hid any ill intentions, if any at all, he could have passed off as one of the bartenders' who'd taken a brief brake. Royalty was in his blood, but he was far more acquainted with commoners—it served as a mask, as well as monumental experience—and he believed that Zooey saw him as such. And even if she did, who was he to correct her?

His fingers curled lightly as he stood anchored in place, a small smile playing on his features. Whether or not she accepted an innocent dance was entirely up to her, he was planning on keeping his mind off troubling matters one way or the other. Zenith watched a small pinch of hesitation cross her visage, mostly in her eyes, and he was about to excuse himself for asking so boldly. Manners and etiquette were mostly lost on the young man, it had always been his downfall; more or less an embarrassment for his family. Royalty ought to act as royalty, they said. Only his mother seemed to comment on such things. No harm would come from such a simple gesture; a dance was a dance, nothing more. So, when she set her empty champagne glass down, his smile widened and his pearly whites peeked through.

Zenith bowed his head to Ciara, and chuckled lightly. “Thank you for letting me borrow her,” He whispered, his voice lilting with an unrecognisable accent. As soon as Zooey's delicate hand slipped into his own, he curled his fingers lightly and brought the top of her hand to his lips in a quick kiss, straightening his posture immediately after. Tonight, he decided, would prove to be interesting. His free hand rested on the right side of her hip as he led her out into the middle of the dance floor. From his peripherals, he noticed that his brother had the same ideas—though a few shades shoddier—, so he twirled her away from them. His steps were seemingly precise, practised. Two strangers colliding, it seemed.

Alayha - Water Nation Gypsy

Egoists and pigs had rallied up this selfish ball, that much she understood. How they could squander their coin and pleasantries to each other, ignoring the realities of the world with silly traditions. And Alayha understood wearied traditions all too well. Gypsies were prone to walk the same beaten paths they'd paved for decades—everything was familiar, everything was the same—and these men, high on their thrones, put their offspring through the same tortured rituals that they had to suffer, for what? She could never understand that. No sisters or brothers of hers suffered their traditions; it provoked laughter, not turmoil and grief. She shook her head. Sleek, snowy white hair framed her dabbled visage; to please her new masters (or entertainees, as she'd like to call them), she pulled her outlandish hair from spilling down her back into a styled bun that appeared more like the Wind Nation and less like the outskirts of the Waters. She was an outside party looking into a flowered window, daintily decorated to sell off their children. What she saw, she didn't particularly like or agree with.

As graceful as a firefly skirting the waters, Alayha gathered her Water Nation dress and nearly floated across the waxed floors. By all accords, gypsies hardly wore footwear unless they were forced. Strapped sandals would appease royalty, she balefully hoped. There was no love to be found in the confines of the building; only the shattering sound of children fighting against their captors—their parents, their societies, their prudish traditions. She had seen firsthand what love was like, had witnessed it countless times in her beautiful city. Listening to two people falling in love, a thin wall like paper wings between their one heart, fluttering and ebbing and pulling together. Much like butterflies. Did any of them know that? Alayha pursed her lips, surveying the dance floor as she dwindled on the sidelines. Something in her urged her to join them, share her own water swan dance. Her better senses dismissed such ideas; she was here for one thing only, accompanying the Wind Nation back to their homes so that she could serve them as an entertainer. That was all.

Kvan Skyheart:

The young man sighed. It had been so long since he'd attended such a formal occasion, and he was glad that he was able to wear his normal clothing underneath the ceremonial armor he'd been told to wear for the ceremonies. He stepped back from the royals, once more leaning against the cool marble of one of the pillars supporting the great ceiling high above. Scanning the crowd for threats, he noticed the gypsy girl wading through the crowds like a breeze through a field.

"Hmmm. Another commoner passing through crowds of royals like myself? Interesting," said he, marveling at how she moved so easily. She was a dancer, for certain, but would she show off her talents for the crowd, or would she simply walk around and enjoy the variety of foods?