Queens Rave

Kiss the Ground, Bow Down

Birch

Again. Again there was some sort of celebration in this frivolous country, this time for hardly any reason at all. Again Birch was fetched, pulled from his book in the perceived but never truly attained privacy of his room within the castle. Again he was to meet the self-proclaimed white queen somewhere in an obviously romantic set up. And as much as Birch could be jealous even if it was against his will, he couldn't help but wonder if Jester or any other male member of this guild was harassed as much as he was.

This time, he was to go to Hosenka to meet Saraphina. Their last excursion had been a doozy. A fake wedding had ended up more physical than he'd anticipated, a fact that the woman thankfully seemed to have forgotten entirely. It had been a strange encounter all around, ending with neither of them really acting themselves and fleeing from the Rune Knights after slaughtering the refugee Hostians along with everyone else in attendance. The bloodbath had certainly been the highlight of the whole thing in his opinion, though not enough to drown out the kiss and dancing and other happenings that only reminded him to resist more heartily. Yes, it seemed he had a type. He knew it and he hated it. He wanted to hate her. Up until this point, he'd been doing a decent job of doing just that and keeping his distance, though even in that he'd hit a whole new set of complications...

The sane decision would be to refuse to go. Stick to his guns, nip this all in the bud and get on with his goal. Time was running short for him. Yet he also knew that saying 'no' to Saraphina would only make things harder for him. He needed to stay in her good graces a little longer, and as much as he wished he could forego the perilous dance of imperfect manipulation, he was already too far in to turn back now. Birch was committed to this play, even though it was riddled with traps and dead ends and had no clear ending. Would he know when it was time to jump and pull the cord? It was all so messy.

In the end, the blond was moodily moving through the dancing crowds throughout the painted-neon town, hands in his pockets as he did his best not to actually touch the sweaty, light-waving partiers. Birch was unfamiliar with raves, and if this trip did nothing else, it imparted the knowledge of what one was as that he predictably hated them. The blacklights in the lanterns caused his white button-up to annoyingly glow, disappearing into the void of impeccably pressed black slacks. It was warm out, so his sleeves were rolled to the elbows, but otherwise, he looked as casual as Birch could possibly get. Once he caught sight of his 'date', he cursed Nadaline under his breath. Again the puffy princess dress was missing and instead she was wearing Birch kryptonite. For all his secrecy, the maid had caught on to his preference to the tight, ripped pants and shirts that showed the midriff. It was improper, indecent, and...dangerous.

If only he'd known Saraphina had no idea he was coming and couldn't get mad at him denying her.

Coming up behind her, his low voice struggled to cut through the energetic dance music and cacophony of voices. There couldn't possibly be a scene he belonged less in. "Saraphina."

     

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Kiss the Ground, Bow Down

Birch

Ah, yes. Again she hadn't even known he was coming, and thus hadn't been expecting him. He could have declined the fetching and Saraphina would never have known. Wonderful. Her cursed servants were quickly becoming his least favorite people. How to play this? Should he make it obvious that he was sent to meet her by Bertrand and, presumably, Nadaline? Or would it serve him best to let that part slide and just hope this would work to his advantage someday? Either way, he was already here. Birch wasn't above turning around and leaving, but that would go over worst of all, he suspected. In the end, a simple "Yeah" and returning her hug served as his answer, leaving him to ultimately follow her as she made her way to the bar.

The music was terrible. In fact, Birch would never agree it was music at all. It was just rhythmic noise and thumping at a decibel that was far above what was necessary to be heard. Perhaps it was his age showing, but just by looking at him it seemed obvious it wasn't his style. All he could hope for was that Saraphina would get drunk quickly like she had before and they could return back to the castle quickly.

If he was to bear this scene for however long they were here, though, he would need to drink. Nothing on the menu looked familiar and they apparently didn't have whiskey or gin at this particular vendor, so he just ordered the same as Saraphina, a Sloth Toddy. Stupid name. However, as the second bartender took one look at his sour expression, he was instead given a disgustingly bright pink drink that she tried to elevate by adding a pointless sprig of green. On what planet did it seem someone of his stature and demeanor would want a drink such as this? However, after peeking at the lavender mess with the ridiculous ice cubes, he'd take his offering and stamp without much fuss and suck it down. All the drinks would clearly be as insane as this party.

The blond did have to admit that the drink wasn't bad. After he sipped it, he couldn't stop himself from draining the glass of its surprisingly delicious contents. Unbeknownst to him, his skin was starting to glow, starting in his belly which was thankfully beneath his shirt. In the short time it took him to rejoin Saraphina, all of his skin had taken on a dull glow that was only growing brighter. The side-effect Birch was more acutely aware of was a sudden, god-awful thirst that overtook him, so strongly in fact that he gripped her hand with the drink with which she invaded his space and pulled it to his lips, taking a hearty swig before releasing her. "God, that's so sweet!" he cringed in response, yet he couldn't say he wouldn't drink it all down if she offered again. So. Thirsty. His throat felt like a hot spot in Desierto, and he was craving the ridiculous pink drink as if it was god's nectar. In fact, he spotted them being elevated on a tray and carried through the dancing crowd. "Let's...dance that way," he pointed, not yet jonesing hard enough to head back to the bar to order one, but if he just happened to grab a random drink off a tray...

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Kiss the Ground, Bow Down

Birch

  Birch wasn't drunk enough to think the movements Saraphina was doing were anything but terrible. While he didn't understand the robot, or robot-like person's dance and how it was either better or worse, he could at least cringe a little over what he was seeing in general. The crowd had a right to be confused. She looked a little like she was having a seizure, but was too drunk to really get into the convulsions. Actually, it reminded him of a woman he'd met in a traveling tent that had once come to his kingdom. They'd had exotic bellydancers and other services, but this one girl, in particular, had been without rhythm and the heart for any of it. Half-hearted belly dancing was a true tragedy. It was painful and empty. Like if obligation was a dance. It wasn't as enjoyable to watch and even someone like Birch felt a twinge of sympathetic embarrassment for her and everyone who was witnessing it, just as he was for Errings Rising's Queen just now. Soon enough, as easily as she had wandered into the center and tried to dance battle the robotic man she wandered back out, over it all. Her attention span was really very short, only playing into that petulant brat persona he generally disliked.

The tight-pantsed woman returned to his side, snuggling to his arm and dragging him off. It was only mere moments before her attention was on something else and she was begging him to DJ? What did that even stand for? Slow thoughts trickled through his Sloth Toddy brain, which meant the overt hostility he held for most things, especially those he didn't understand, was missing. Birch really was genuinely trying to remember what to stood for because he felt like he'd known at some point. Dirt Jester? Drop Johnny? No, this type of thing used to take records right? Another word was...Disc. Disc...Jockey. Yes, that's what DJ was. He still wasn't sure how jockey related to discs, but it didn't matter. People these days didn't use records or even discs. It was all electronic and...computery. Admittedly, most technology was completely lost on Birch. He'd certainly been around as it was invented and progressed, but he'd lived way longer without it and didn't have the patience to sit down and learn to use it for himself. It also opened people up to giving out too much info or getting info hacked and stolen, so for someone as secretive and paranoid about said secrets as Birch was, technology was just a no go. He didn't even have an iLac.

He did, however, have a little music play loaded with only a few songs. Birch occasionally liked to listen to music, especially when traveling to drown out all the chit chat around him. It was impractical to drag his record player and records with him, and his more portable disc player had been smashed on a job. With the help of one of the many maids around the castle had ultimately helped him acquire and put music files on his little lacpod, which he'd deemed safe due to its inability to hook to the net or communicate with other technology in any way other than via cord to a computer, and even then he'd bought the thing with a fake name and certainly put no information about him on it. The only thing someone could get from it was what style of music he liked.

So at Saraphina's urging, Birch smiled down at her and gave in with a little nod, then volunteered. This was a good idea anyway. At last, he could play something more his speed instead of this pounding, classless, garbage. Once he was stamped and handed a cord, he plugged his little device in and scrolled the wheel until he got to just what he wanted. The thumping, electronic dance music everyone undulated to abruptly stopped. In its place, the expert notes of an old, long-dead pianist began to twinkle out. A placid smile passed over the blond's face as he stood there, hearing classical piano music in stereo from high-quality speakers, echoing off the buildings that formed the walls of the rave. It was a beautiful moment. A well-timed breeze dramatically fluttered his shirt and wavy locks, as if the spirit of Chopin rushed down from heaven to embrace him. Music at last. Something of substance instead of mindless drumming and random noises!

The energy of the party took a giant nosedive. A murmuring started. People wondering what was happening, some calling Birch and the music gross and weird, others waiting to see drama unfold. "BOO!" someone toward the back called, escalating the murmur to a more urgent pleading for the DJ to reclaim his equipment and change it back. "Get off the stage!"

He complied, though not for the reasons they thought. Strangely, the DJ didn't move or speak, just standing there as if frozen in fear from the look of it. Birch floated down in ethereal bliss to approach Saraphina, bowing and offering his hand. "Now, this is some music we can dance to, m'lady," he spoke, easily heard over the classical tunes. The tall, normally broody and cranky man was absolutely serene and smiling as if he wanted nothing more in the world than to waltz with her right in the middle of this rapidly souring horde of intoxicated bimbos and gaudy neon graffiti.

     

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