I, um. Well. I'd hoped to ask your thoughts on that, actually!
An acquaintance of mine, Lestat, is making it out as though it would be a terrible sin for a young lady to turn up at such an affair without an escort, and, well. Do you think that's how it is for everyone? I wouldn't want to do something improper, or...well, not modern. And I'm afraid I'm not really certain what the "done thing" would be.
Well...no, I suppose not! Not if it's proper to. I just, er.
[...]
It's only that I don't want to look foolish, is all. And I rather think I'll already look a bit foolish no matter what I do, just from all the things I've been seeing go up and around when we've been at the event hall all this time, so I just don't want to add any more to it than there'll certainly be, already.
[There is some deliberating going on from Alucard. On one hand, he could certainly offer to take Rosella himself. Honestly, he had invited her to join in helping with dance lessons because he wanted to encourage her to join the actual party, to have something nice.
On the other hand... there is the sudden kneejerk reaction to squirm at the concept. No, not again, never again, he thinks to himself instinctively, darkly, panicking. Won't he come to regret this, too? Just as he's come to regret everything else.
But is it also worth just leaving her on her own? How many more blind men would not seek to take her?]
Rosella.
Would you like to attend the party together with me?
[And there is a part of her, a little tiny part, that guiltily thinks: convince him to take Lestat's girl instead. It would be better, and more proper. Certainly someone who'd done all that work would be more deserving of it — more deserving of someone like Alucard, who is handsome and kind and funny and just a little bit mean, but in all the right ways, who dances beautifully and has perfect manners and —
And.
And maybe, just this once, she wants to be a little bit selfish, after everything else.]
[ at the steps of alucard's opera house rests a paper-wrapped gift blooming profusely from its seams with long-stemmed paper flowers in dizzying greens and reds and oranges splayed along the painted watercolours of a rising, winter-morning dawn pale with still-visible pinpricks of mourning stars.
unwrapped, there is a sketchpad. within its pages are five separate blueprints. it is difficult to call them blueprints so much as they are dreams - design renderings of the opera house's interior made into a home. one version sports a bedroom on the second floor designed out of the current loft with a double set of staircases that double as the roof for a small study. another has the entire section beneath the stage hollowed out for a set of rooms with low ceilings where a piano might fit in a renovated study. yet another has a spiral staircase ascending from the stage, a narrow stairway to heaven which connects the stage with the loft above, which has been transformed into a landing entranceway for alucard's accommodations.
each is a dream. each is incomplete. the rest of the pages of empty, save for the last one: a hazy sketch of alucard in his gala finery in motion, turning towards the viewer.
the note: ]
To Alucard,
When thinking of a gift to present to you for the longest night of the year, my thoughts once again turned to the opera house. You mentioned that you intend on renovating it into a place that is more like a home. I have come up with five flights of fancy. None of them are complete as none of them have your input. All of them are mere dreams of what the opera house could be, or might be in another time, another place. But should you have need to actualise a dream into reality, do let me know, and I shall endeavor to help.
May your coming year be as sweet as watermelon, and as fruitful as pomegranates.
[Delivered to the opera house on Christmas Day (and thankfully under a cover, lest the elements get to it) comes a very clearly homemade gingerbread house that doesn't look at all as though there's a witch living inside it.
Atop the box cover sits a pink rose from the gardens, with a note tied to the stem in ribbon:
On afternoons 'neath summer sun A little girl would often run To go a-nibbling like a mouse At such a rather tasty house As this. (However, you must know The real one was much larger, though.)
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
text; un: rosella
I, er. I was wondering if I might ask you a question, about the, um. The event that's coming up? With the dancing lessons and all.
Might I assume that means you've the intention to attend the event, as well?
no subject
I do. I wish to support Kaveh, Ghost, and everyone else in their endeavors.
[That is at least half true, but... well. Also.]
Will you also be coming, I hope?
no subject
An acquaintance of mine, Lestat, is making it out as though it would be a terrible sin for a young lady to turn up at such an affair without an escort, and, well. Do you think that's how it is for everyone? I wouldn't want to do something improper, or...well, not modern. And I'm afraid I'm not really certain what the "done thing" would be.
no subject
Are you concerned about going on your own?
no subject
[...]
It's only that I don't want to look foolish, is all. And I rather think I'll already look a bit foolish no matter what I do, just from all the things I've been seeing go up and around when we've been at the event hall all this time, so I just don't want to add any more to it than there'll certainly be, already.
no subject
[There is some deliberating going on from Alucard. On one hand, he could certainly offer to take Rosella himself. Honestly, he had invited her to join in helping with dance lessons because he wanted to encourage her to join the actual party, to have something nice.
On the other hand... there is the sudden kneejerk reaction to squirm at the concept. No, not again, never again, he thinks to himself instinctively, darkly, panicking. Won't he come to regret this, too? Just as he's come to regret everything else.
But is it also worth just leaving her on her own? How many more blind men would not seek to take her?]
Rosella.
Would you like to attend the party together with me?
1/2
And.
And maybe, just this once, she wants to be a little bit selfish, after everything else.]
no subject
[Wait. Wait. Be cool about this.]
If you promise you won't tease me about worms the whole of the night, that is!
no subject
I would be honored to escort you, truly.
delivery. backdated to whichever day was the winter solstice in this city!
unwrapped, there is a sketchpad. within its pages are five separate blueprints. it is difficult to call them blueprints so much as they are dreams - design renderings of the opera house's interior made into a home. one version sports a bedroom on the second floor designed out of the current loft with a double set of staircases that double as the roof for a small study. another has the entire section beneath the stage hollowed out for a set of rooms with low ceilings where a piano might fit in a renovated study. yet another has a spiral staircase ascending from the stage, a narrow stairway to heaven which connects the stage with the loft above, which has been transformed into a landing entranceway for alucard's accommodations.
each is a dream. each is incomplete. the rest of the pages of empty, save for the last one: a hazy sketch of alucard in his gala finery in motion, turning towards the viewer.
the note: ]
To Alucard,
When thinking of a gift to present to you for the longest night of the year, my thoughts once again turned to the opera house. You mentioned that you intend on renovating it into a place that is more like a home. I have come up with five flights of fancy. None of them are complete as none of them have your input. All of them are mere dreams of what the opera house could be, or might be in another time, another place. But should you have need to actualise a dream into reality, do let me know, and I shall endeavor to help.
May your coming year be as sweet as watermelon, and as fruitful as pomegranates.
With kind regards,
Kaveh
→ delivery, christmas day
Atop the box cover sits a pink rose from the gardens, with a note tied to the stem in ribbon:
A little girl would often run
To go a-nibbling like a mouse
At such a rather tasty house
As this. (However, you must know
The real one was much larger, though.)
- Rosella
Merry Christmas!]