Oberyn is not exactly sure what is going on, but is willing to go with it. And hence is lounging against one of the tables, watching for anyone who might look intriguing to talk to - or waiting for intriguing people to come to him.
It is, after all, always the people at these events he's interested in.
You know who Oberyn hasn't met yet? That's right. The puck. Who is doing exactly the same thing as he is, at the other end of the room. He's nursing a drink, quite happily.
Oberyn's eye catches on Robin a couple times, before going on over, around, rather. And approaching Robin, sauntering, almost, he smiles. "Not participating in the dancing this fine evening?"
"Oh, I am participating," Robin replies, grinning and teasing, open. "Though not making a show of myself, just now. Wouldn't want to dazzle the crowds too early in the evening."
Well, Niko presumably might have been in on the joke, or at least suspecting that his girlfriend (hee!) was up to something. He hasn`t changed, and is still in his usual dark gear, but he sneaks up behind Jaenelle and wraps an arm around her waist.
"The most beautiful woman in the known world is about, and not even a bodyguard to protect her pretty fingernails. Tsk tsk tsk."
His girlfriend was up to something! And thanks to Phedre, is more dolled up than she's ever been, including her dress that she almost never wears, made of spider silk and lace, silky and black and sinuous.
And blushes, and laughs, leaning her head back against his shoulder to smile up at him. "Hello to you too, Niko," but oh, how flame-red she is. "I was hoping you'd be here."
He kisses her forehead, tenderly. "Wouldn't miss it for the world, beautiful. If you'd given me the heads up, I would have made an effort, though. I feel woefully underdressed for the occasion."
Even if, of course, Niko is as impeccable as he usually is. "Are we celebrating anything?"
He stares in some bewilderment at what looks like an outdoor version of several somethings he's been to (though never as a guest, and always as invisibly as possible. Wouldn't do to have unsightly things disturbing the guests). He stares, bewildered, at the suits, the food, the gazebo, unsure of what exactly to do here. He was just going to go and do some swordwork.
Phedre spots him - she ... may have been looking for him, really, and she crosses the dance floor to go to him after she fetches a second flute of cordial for Sandor.
"Good evening," she tells him, a fresh smile and a small blush on her face, as she offers him the drink.
He blinks, and focuses on her, takes the drink with a nod of thanks and has a sip, an almost smile flickering around his lips. "Was this," with a nod at the dance floor, "Your idea?"
Oh, Phedre likes this. Phedre likes this a lot. And that is why she wanders about in one of the dresses, something that resembles the Freya design Favrielle no Eglantine made for her for the midwinter masque.
She has a flute in her hand, and is merely mingling about - possibly hoping to see a familiar face, or to meet new ones.
Oberyn isn't going to miss that one. Oberyn comes wandering over, wearing fine clothing himself, to murmur, quietly in her ear, "Looking for something to suit you, fair lady?"
She shivers pleasantly, her hand grazes his side. "I believe looking may not be the best term, Lord Martell," she replies, elegant and leisurely. "Though to say present company does not suit me would be an outright lie."
He smiles, a little, still close behind her. "I should think it wouldn't be too difficult to find something that would look well on you," with that little smoulder in his eyes, as always, that says he likes things off of you too, Phedre, but he doesn't say that. "Though I am, of course, relieved that my company suits you so well."
Presumably, Galadriel was on her way back from the greenhouse. The scent of magic is everywhere, and this is one magic she knows well. While she usually would not be someone to indulge in such revelry, she understands that this may be the last time in a while that she can enjoy the Mansion's more pleasant effects.
So here she is, browsing the designs, and trying to see if there's something she can try on. Perhaps -- perhaps she can please her beloved one last time before she embarks on her journey.
Jaenelle comes over and - well, there's no other real word for it, glomps Galadriel, with glee. And joy. And all kinds of other happy emotions. "Galadriel! I'm so glad to see you - I didn't know if you'd be here or not."
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It is, after all, always the people at these events he's interested in.
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"The most beautiful woman in the known world is about, and not even a bodyguard to protect her pretty fingernails. Tsk tsk tsk."
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And blushes, and laughs, leaning her head back against his shoulder to smile up at him. "Hello to you too, Niko," but oh, how flame-red she is. "I was hoping you'd be here."
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Even if, of course, Niko is as impeccable as he usually is. "Are we celebrating anything?"
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He stares in some bewilderment at what looks like an outdoor version of several somethings he's been to (though never as a guest, and always as invisibly as possible. Wouldn't do to have unsightly things disturbing the guests). He stares, bewildered, at the suits, the food, the gazebo, unsure of what exactly to do here. He was just going to go and do some swordwork.
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"Good evening," she tells him, a fresh smile and a small blush on her face, as she offers him the drink.
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Which, of course, means, in Phedre-talk, yes, it is, do you terribly mind?
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She has a flute in her hand, and is merely mingling about - possibly hoping to see a familiar face, or to meet new ones.
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So here she is, browsing the designs, and trying to see if there's something she can try on. Perhaps -- perhaps she can please her beloved one last time before she embarks on her journey.
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