Snippet #372072

A woman approached that he had often seen through Amelia’s dreams, but never in person. There was a tightness to her face, particularly her mouth, as she looked at him, as if she had just sucked on a lemon. Her eyes quickly sized him up, taking in the material of his jacket and the weight of his pocket watch, trying to determine whether or not he was of her level or not. One eyebrow quirked above his mask as he imagined the reaction he would get from her in his usual motley garb.

River’s mouth set into a hard line, already anticipating a debacle with Amelia’s mother. However, his summoner seemed to take a tiny step forward, looking her mother in the eye. A moment passed, and confusion seemed to cloud Lady Amberly’s eyes, then she wondered away, no longer interested in Amelia or her guest. The bronze skinned man looked down at his companion quizzically, taking in her flushed cheeks, and recognition hit him.

“Well done, Amelia. A bit lackluster, and you seem to have exerted yourself, but not bad for a human, much less a woman.”

There was a look of consternation- or was it panic?- on her face. Some sort of emotion played across her features that River couldn’t quite place, but she was right- it would be wise for them to leave her mother’s line of sight before that bit of magic wore off. “I hope you’re not expecting me to dance with you,” he scoffed irritably. “I didn’t come here to pretend to be your suitor, after all.”

Too focused on his summoner to notice the man walking blindly toward them, Amelia and River were abruptly run into by another man. River staggered and regained his balance, and the other man helped Amelia regain himself. River resisted the urge to roll his eyes behind his long-beaked mask. Pleasantries, he thought with a scowl. Humans really could be dull sometimes. He turned to look at what the man had been so preoccupied with and his eyes landed on an oddly matched couple in the middle of the room, dancing with mediocrity. The woman, he thought, seemed uncomfortable in her very own skin, much less her expensive gown, and she danced with a bit of a limp, as if her shoes were too tight for her feet. There was something familiar about the way she moved though, he thought, a memory trying to surface. The memory resisted and he shook his head, turning back to Amelia and the other man.

“Watch where you’re going, eh?” said River, brushing a bit of imaginary lint from his jacket. “We’re at a ball, not war.”